Recommended Topic: [Rose Harrison]

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• Rose   -

      Cold, stale air filled a gray, cramped cubicle. The sound of a soft click of a pen was the only sound to be heard before she spoke. “Come on…” Rose mumbled, staring at the clock. She wanted to get home the minute she could. Her youngest son’s birthday was so soon, and she knew she would be busy that day, so she had to be there for him now. Even Terry, her eldest, would be planning to do the same, as he wouldn’t be able to make it for ‘Chael’s birthday either. 

        The final tick resounded and Rose rushed out of her seat like a high schooler scurrying to escape class, not even bothering to pat her long skirt down. She strided down the hallway, glaring at the ground as if it was its fault she couldn’t get to the car faster. Running would be against decorum. Suddenly a warm body stops her. Shit. Dexter put his hands on her hips to steady her, and Rose stifled the impulse to snarl in his face. 

        “Where are you going, beautiful?” He whispered “seductively”. Rolling her eyes internally, she curled her red painted lips into a practiced smile and tried to slip past Dexter. 

        “I'm sorry, I’d love to talk but I’m in a little hurry.” Her words sounded strained even to herself. Dexter caught her by the hand, and she breathed a curse. 

        “Surely you're not in that much of a hurry though?” He asked, feigning innocence. 

        Rose couldn’t help herself. “You're right. My five your old kid, who’s birthday is tomorrow, is home alone and probably sad, but you wouldn’t be able to see past his facade because you're that dense, and my kid is so much smarter than you that he’d rather pretend in order to make me happy, while you can’t even hide the fact that you just want to “get lucky”!” Rose snapped, panting as she looked up at Dexter angrily. Dexter scratched his scalp and looked around nervously for help, but no one was willing to talk back to her. She felt a little pride at that, but she had bigger priorities right then, so she pushed past the door instead and hurried into her car.

        Hands on the wheel, Rose hung her head and sighed. I’m gonna regret that tomorrow. Groaning, Rose swung her head back up and drove out of the parking lot and down the road. She lost herself in thought, costing her a honk or too, as if she cared. “I should have convinced Liam to let Michael have a fun birthday.” She dragged a hand over her face, pondering her husband. Once, he’d been a fun, inventive man. A little obsessed with becoming rich, but he always seemed to have an entrepreneurial spirit, which intrigued Rose’s rebellious heart. Alas, all he obsessed over these days was to find an heir for his business, and Rose knew why all too well. His childhood hadn’t been a rich one, and it had cut him deep, spurring unhealthy obsession. 

       Suddenly, an old friend’s word’s resurfaced. “Rose, I know Liam just as well as you. You're blinded by love, fooled by his passion because you think it pleases your dreams. You’ll see. Passion gives way to obsession, and suddenly you’ll be left in the dust! Please, choose a safer option. A safer person.” Heinrick was right, just not in the way he had thought. Oh Liam, Heinrick, Thomas. Whatever happened to us?

        She pulled into the garage calmly, albeit a little quickly as her temper scraped the surface. She drove like a maniac when she was mad. 

       “‘Chael! I’m home early!” She heard soft footsteps and smiled as a small child peeked around the corner. He and Terry had her pale blue eyes, though not her dark red hair. Michael stared blankly at her for a few seconds, then suddenly he blinked and his lips twitched upward in the most adorable little face. Rose’s eyes twinkled with love as she rushed to give her little baby a hug. She was a doting mother through and through, and would happily murder anyone who had ill intentions toward her little babies. Especially those teachers. She hissed to herself. Slow to process things and struggles to express, my ass! She hugged Michael tighter. He was her perfect little boy, and no teacher nor doctor would dare tell her otherwise. 

        “Was it okay at your dads workplace darling?” Rose asked sweetly, waiting patiently as Michael paused. He nodded, just slightly, and Rose patted his head. “I’m sure tomorrow will be far better! And, I’ve got a little surprise for you before I go!” Rose smiled. Michael’s eyes widened just a little, spoiling his internal curiosity. Michael had always been curious, sometimes to the detriment of himself. 

         She waved him on over, leading him like a little duck to her special present. Terry was tough competition when it came to birthdays, the cute, observant little bugger, but she knew he wouldn’t think of this. “I’m gonna cover your eyes now, ‘kay?” She whispered, gently placing her hand over his eyes. He flinched slightly, but stayed still. Leading him by hand, she showed him to the living room and stopped. She grinned.

         “Alright. 3…2…1…tada!” She slipped her hands off Michael’s face, revealing the collection of flowers to him. It seemed odd, but she knew Michael loved flowers, and how the smell of them calmed him, so she got him a ton. One upside to lots of money, I guess. She shook those thoughts out of her head, turning to Michael. After a second, he realized what this meant and dashed over to them, not even having to drop to his knees with how tall they were. She had every color of flower there was, from red to blue to white. She watched as his mouth parted in his subtle expression of awe as he brushed his hands softly through the flowers. He inspected each one before arranging them into rainbow order. He was almost done when he paused, and Rose beamed. He may not have expressed it, but rage knew he was a bit disappointed. “The last surprise!” She snatched something out the storage closet nearby and closed the door to reveal the ultimate. Not one minute was it in her hand before Michael had grabbed it, caressing it with visible admiration. Rose could hardly blame him.

       Black petunias—expensive flowers, those are—sat still in small little separate containers, their beauty stunning. She had worked very hard to find out that Michael liked black flowers best, but what happened next made it all worth it. 

        Michael tackled her in a hug, squeezing her short frame tight. “T-thank you, mama.” Michael whispered softly, his voice hoarse from lack of speech. 

     Rose, a thirty one year old woman, barely contained the urge to squeal. There was no way Terry, her fourteen year old competition, would win. Michael never spoke, only when his emotions were strong enough to push past his bad case of glossophobia, which even extended to talking in front of his family. The last time he spoke was when he saw Liam hit Terry. Rose shivered at the memory. 

     Terry was such a good kid, and he craved the attention he was never given, always vying for everybody’s love. Having to grow up so fast must have hurt him fundamentally. She snapped herself out of those thoughts. Be in the present, she chided herself. 

          She smiled down at Michael, letting herself feel happy about the moment again. “You're my most awesome little rockstar, so you don’t have to thank me for anything.” She ruffled his black hair and gave him one last squeeze before letting go. She beamed in pride and love when Michael gave her his best little half smile. She bent down and gave him a little kiss on the cheek before grabbing her bag. “I’ve got to go, darling, but I promise I’ll try my best to be there to make you breakfast tomorrow morning before I leave, ‘kay?” She explained as sweetly as she could. His tiny smile straightened back out and he looked normal, but Rose knew he was sad. Look at you, making promises you can’t keep to your own boy because you have a job you can’t quit. She sighed, but turned to leave despite herself. Dammit Terry. I hope you’ve got a banger surprise, because I’m not sure how I’m ever going to forgive myself for this.

Recommended Topic: [Terry’s Surprise]

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• Terry   -

          Alright, alright! Everything’s gonna be perfect! Terry looked in the mirror and smiled big and gave his jacket a tug. He cleared his throat. 

         “Great! ‘Chael will be so surprised.” He told himself confidently in the mirror, shoving away his make up and sighing. I need to restock soon. He threw his blanket back over the mirror, covering it, before leaving. He hurried downstairs, taking care to be extra loud. Michael got scared if you snuck up on him, and it would take him a minute to recover. Tonight had to be perfect after all. 

          “‘Chael! Are you ready for your early birthday surprise?” Michael turned, the vacant, distant look on his face slowly disappearing. He cocked his head to the side, curious. Terry grinned and waved him over. “Maybe you're not the mischievous type, but do you want to sneak into dads office?” To his surprise, Michael reacted with a nod in record time. Terry paused, a little shocked, but shrugged it off and led Michael into his dads office. He heard a tiny gasp and smirked when he found Michael looking around the room, obviously interested. Michael suddenly snatched a black object and pointed to it, raising an eyebrow. Terry burst out laughing. 

      “That,” he wheezed, “is a gun.” Michael nodded softly and looked it up and down. Terry gently grabbed from Michael. Michael stared at his empty hands for a second, processing, before turning to Terry. He chuckled again. “Guns are dangerous. You’d pull this trigger right here,” he gestured to the smooth black trigger on the pistol, “and it fires, causing super duper dangerous damage.” Michael's eyes, surprisingly enough, began to glitter with wonder. Michael reached for it, a dreamy and distant look on his face. Terry quickly pulled it out of the way and put it in a drawer. “Erm, ‘Chael, that’s not a good thing.” Michael blinked, and his eyes returned to neutral, though Terry knew he was probably a little disappointed. 

          Terry gave Michael a minute to explore before grabbing his attention. “I have not one, not two surprises for you, but seven!” Terry exclaimed, waving his hands about extravagantly. Michael flinched, but nodded softly.

          “Tada! Surprise one is none other than homemade leaf earrings!” Terry held up a pile from his bag. Michael’s mouth twitched upward, and that made him grin. ‘Chael’s a sucker for homemade stuff. He had gotten a little caught up and made way too many of the homemade surprises, but at least it was an even number. He smiled as Michael shoved a bunch in each flannel pocket, save for two that were for his own ears. Michael was lucky, they pierced his ears as a baby, unlike Terry. 

            “Now for your second surprise! Which I also made too much of.” Terry said, and pulled a handful of lemon clips out of his bag of surprises, which is where he kept most of the stuff. Before he knew it, the clips were no longer in his hands and Michael’s pockets were much more stuffed than a moment earlier. 

        “And now…number three, four, and five!” Terry shouted, yanking three different objects from the bag in his hands. Michael looked bewildered. Terry started with the first one, holding up a red ribbon. 

       “A cute accessory to go with your adorable face! And your clothes.” Terry explained joyfully, gently placing the ribbon on Michael’s outstretched hands. Quickly tying it around his current outfit—a black sweater for the cold weather—Michael glanced at it. His face didn’t change much, but Terry noticed his eyes twinkle and winked. Presenting the next object to the birthday boy, his eyes twinkled even brighter. Terry held the pair of fake moon glasses aloft and explained.

       “They're fake, but I thought they would look fantastic on you! I even bought an extra so we could be matchers! But you hold onto both, just in case.” Terry handed the round glasses over for inspection, and watched as his curious little brother turned them over and examined them before fitting them onto himself. They were a perfect fit. Terry suddenly got an idea.

       “Hey, when you grow out of those, you can wear my pair, and if you get a younger brother, you can give yours to him!” Terry proposed, quite proud of his epiphany. But that wasn’t what caught Michael’s ear. He cast him a rare little frown and crossed his arms in an “x”. Terry waited patiently in confusion while Michael struggled to gesture what he meant. Finally, he pointed at Terry, then himself and made a circling motion. What…oh. That. Terry coughed and fixed his mistake.

       “Whoops. I mean–um…if we get a younger brother, then you can give him the smaller pair.” Terry said quickly. Moving on, he showed the last object. Two small stars, one light gray and one yellow, rested on his hands. He gently poured them into Michael’s hands and elaborated. 

       “One for you, and the other for a good friend! Or perhaps a love…” Terry said, waggling his eyebrows. Michael brushed it off, not reacting, but his eyes averted Terry. Everybody’s gonna think he’s cute. Only the best for my little brother, though. Too bad I won’t be there. He frowned to himself, but quickly wiped it off and pulled out the last object.

     “Last, but definitely not least, surprise number seven!” Terry cheered, and pulled out the prized possession from his bag and gave it to Michael. It was a black and blue, hand sewn, stuffed animal with long ears and a tail. The stitches were quite visible, but the birthday boy didn’t appear to care in the least. He hugged it tight, only releasing it to stroke its ears and inspect its button eyes. Giving another squeeze, Michael stared up at Terry for a second before rushing over and hugging him. Terry couldn’t help but smile for Michael, or else he would feel horrible. What an angel. He really doesn’t deserve me. Terry shook his head at the thought, it wouldn’t be a problem soon. 

            “Alright ‘Chael, you’ve been standing there hugging the stuffed animal for forever, it’s time to go to bed.” Terry urged him gently, pressing his hand against the small of his back and leading him outside. Michael’s eyebrows were slightly scrunched, and Terry laughed. “I know, but you have to go to bed, or else you’ll be all tired for your big day.” When he said “big day”, Michael didn’t seem to react, but Terry still saw the signs. His eyes turned a little more hooded, and Michael’s softer neutral face hardened. 

           “It’s your birthday. Dad better let you have an awesome day!” Terry flashed him a reassuring grin that he didn’t feel and sent him off. He felt an ugly jealousy bubble in his stomach and sneered at himself. He knew he shouldn’t be jealous of Michael, he was a poor, unknowing five year old for god's sake. Why did he crave his dads attention so much? Terry groaned, a familiar frown settling upon his face as it had so much recently. I need to go to sleep. 

Recommended Topic: [Birthday] 

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• Michael    -

           Michael stared vacantly at the mirror. He was wearing his current favorite of his flannels, a white and gray one. It went with his new little red ribbon, one of Terry’s surprises. He also had three of the other accessory surprises in his hands: the lemon clip, a yellow star that had a white counterpart, and green leaf earrings. He fixed on the aforementioned accessories quickly before he could think better of it. Father will be fine with it on my birthday, right? He dragged his mouth up in a smile with his fingers, then let go with a sigh and headed downstairs. 

           He speeded over to the garage door, but made sure to check the kitchen. No mama. He didn’t let himself go down that train of thought and slipped through the garage door, making his way to the car hurriedly. With a groan, the heavy truck door opened and Michael scooted down into it quickly before the door slammed close. He internally cringed at the loud noise and settled down in the seat behind father. Anywhere father couldn’t see him. But even so, his father tipped the rear view mirror and saw him. No comment. 

           Michael stifled a sigh of relief and slumped down, staring out the window with glazed eyes. 

         “Sit up.” 

           For a second, he just kept staring out the window, then the words registered in his mind and he scrambled to straighten himself out. By the time he was able to relax again, they were already there. Michael unbuckled himself and made his way out of the car, almost tripping over the truck step as his mind wandered. 

          “Watch where you step.” His father snapped in the same, stressed tone as before. Michael shrugged it off. His father had caught him by surprise in the car, but him being stressed or strict wasn’t all that new. 

          “Crap, I’m sorry, I just…” Michael froze in shock and turned to look at his father. He ran a hand through his hair and made a frustrated noise before continuing. “I have an important meeting today and everybody in the building has to be there, so I need you to behave okay?” I have an important birthday today, Michael’s more rebellious attitude whispered, but he didn’t say anything, just nodded. At least his father had apologized. Kind of. Michael groaned internally and followed his father into the building, dragging his feet along the way. He had a feeling this was going to be a long day. I thought I had gotten used to this. 

          They went into the same room as every other day, and Michael sat down into the same chair as usual. Every time he had come, he either sat down and listened to the radio before escaping or stood around waiting. He enjoyed the radio much better, as one would expect. It helped distract him from the sadly familiar acid feeling he got when he was around so many people. He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, tuning out the people around him and turning up the radio. 

        “Man do we have news for you today! Tonsen city is as rowdy and dangerous as ever! To facilitate the deterioration of mental health in the community, famous mental health expert Dr. Fitzgerald has opened up a new help center, boarding those of all ages who need psychological support. We-“ Michael blinked in surprise when the radio crackled, and then sighed in relief when it came back on. “In other news, a local murderer has yet to be found, despite how outrageously cruel and gory their killings are. So far there have been only two victims recorded, but the killer has only been active for about a week, making that amount astonishing. Local folks are questioning how far this city will fall, especially with how finicky our police and security has come to…” Michael stopped listening as he noticed something—or rather someone—pass by the window. He saw a tall, adult blur of blonde hair and sun tanned skin pass by. A lazy thought passed through his mind as what he had seen processed. Father said everybody in the building would be at his building. And it’s important…Michael blinked. His eyes glazed over as his thoughts trailed off.

         It’s just a guy, but isn’t everybody supposed to be here? I’ll just let father know, just in case. Tentatively, Michael stood up and creeped up toward his father, not one hundred percent sure why he was being so quiet. Honestly, he was just anxious to bother his father at all. Gulping, he tapped father lightly on the knee, since his short, now five year old frame barely reached his tall father’s thigh. His father didn’t respond, and Michael tugged a little harder. Michael only realized his mistake when his father’s steely glare settled on him.

        “Michael,” Father hissed dangerously. “I told you to not bother me. Was I not clear enough, or do you need to be taught a lesson?” Michael shook. I forgot, how could I possibly forget? It only happened half an hour ago.

        His vision blurred at the edges and he panicked. For a second, Michael’s breathing sped up and he felt overwhelmed. His face didn’t change, but suddenly his emotions overtook his mind. It seemed out of the blue, but Michael realized somewhere in the back of his mind it had been a long time coming. Sure, he had brushed off his father taking him out of school, telling himself out of fear of father that “It wasn’t that bad,” and “I hadn’t gotten close with anybody anyway.” But honestly? He had felt crestfallen. Char and Cal, the girls who were a year or two younger, had been his first silver lining. School had finally been looking up, and from the most unexpected place of all things. Then mama didn’t show up for breakfast, and even though she hadn’t promised and it was the smallest thing, it had hurt Michael to not see her there on his most important day of the year. It wasn’t even her fault. Now father was yelling at him. Michael was always this way, he was slow to respond, lost in thought consistently, and tended to forget. It’s just who he was. He was done thinking about it like an excuse, a handicap. He was his father, and he would have to deal with Michael James Harrison. In the moment Michael’s rebellious side abruptly reared its head, his father’s fist clenched as he continued to scold him, his furious words going unheard. 

            In less than a few seconds, Michael watched—as if in slow motion—as father’s fist came up at him. Time seemed to still, and Michael blankly examined his father in the strange dreamy state. Rage was obvious on his expression, and his fist seemed to just flow with his emotions. He didn’t appear to even notice his hand coming up. Michael looked wistfully at it, wishing it was a hand of comfort, rather than anger. But he wasn’t going to take it. He was being dramatic, he was refusing things, and it felt liberating. It wasn’t like he hated going with the flow, daydreaming, he loved it in fact. But…he liked this too, now. It was impulsive, sudden, new. I’m gonna do what I want. Feeling better, Michael dodged his fathers hit and imagined himself grinning triumphantly, though it was really just a small, sloppy half smile. I’m in trouble now. 

• Liam   -

        Liam had yet to fully comprehend what had just occurred, but he did know that Michael, for the first time, was disobeying. With a little lopsided smile while he was at it. He watched, speechless, as Michael ran off into the mob. It was quite loud with how many people were crammed into the conference, but a sound like the ringing of silver bells still rang true inside Liam’s ears, quiet yet cutting through the cacophony of noise. For the first time in all the time Liam had known his son, he was giggling. 

• Michael   -

         Michael couldn’t remember the last time he felt so joyful. He completely forgot about why he had even gone to bother father anyway. He was surprised to hear the sound of laughter come from himself, but he couldn’t deny it was indeed himself. Of course he had wanted to laugh before, and there were a few times he was almost able to do it. It wasn’t feelings that were the problem, it was just plain old fear. He didn’t know where his fear came from, it was just another memory from when he was a little younger. But everytime he tried to speak, he couldn’t. Simple as that. 

          But alas, Michael wasn’t really thinking much about that, he was reveling in here and now. Where am I going…? He pondered the question for a second, a part of him already knew where he was going. It was really the only place he could go; he couldn’t go home or back to father. The janitors closet. He nodded to himself assertively and glanced around him. People were everywhere, but he could glimpse the door, so he veered toward it with purpose. As he sprinted through the crowd, his eye caught on the radio. An old tan radio that looked like something from an old timey home sat on a shiny polished desk. It was the only old thing in there. How strange. For some peculiar reason, it reminded Michael of when Mama had shown him a bunch of objects in hopes of him saying his first words. Her old violin, a picture of her dream kitchen, a calculator she had used to cheat with in school, random little things that were important to her. It felt less like she was trying to get him to speak and more like she was showing him who she was. Michael smiled at the vivid memory. Where did it come from? Michael blinked. Usually I forget these kinds of-“oof.”

         Michael rubbed his eyes, dazed, and glanced up with dizzy eyes at the door in front of him. Oops. He stood up and shrugged it off, not letting it break his stride. He burst through the door a little more carefully than before, but still with plenty of pep and cheer. He rushed through the white, perfect halls as his giggles of laughter echoed throughout them. Michael grabbed the rusty handle of the blue door and opened it, walking inside. He hadn’t been here too many times, but it was strangely like a haven. In some ways, it was the reason for what he had done today. It was simple, sudden, and very regrettable. But…he didn’t regret it. He wasn’t sure what would happen in the future but-

          “Well what have we got here? A sentimental little kitty-cat?” A deep, young man’s voice whispered inquisitively, and Michael heard the click as the door shut. 

          Michael jolted and turned around, backing up into the closet room fearfully. He didn’t like strangers. Peeking up warily, Michael inspected the newcomer. He had strawberry blonde hair and hazel eyes so bright they were basically yellow. If Michael were older, he may have even recognized this man as stereotypically handsome, but alas right now Michael was arrested by the mama eyes. It was like a wolf's eyes sizing up their prey, and he shivered when the man licked his lips. 

         “A little black kitty, all for myself. Now whatever is your name?” Even if he wasn’t currently shaking violently from fear, he would not be telling this man his name. He gulped, looking around the room for an escape. The man’s tall frame was completely blocking the entrance, and he was obviously holding something behind his back that Michael had no interest in seeing. How did this go from happiness to fear so fast? Michael paused, and he wanted to cry, but he knew better. Go back to looking, Michael. The room was the same, filing cabinet in the corner, a broom next to it, white walls, and odd checkerboard flooring. An idea popped into his head, and he ran to the cabinet, reaching for the broom. 

           The man grinned, not even bothering to stop him. Somehow, that didn’t make Michael relieved, just more unnerved. He snatched the broom and hefted it up in his hand, aiming the butt end at the stranger. They let out a mock gasp. 

          “My, I must have started us off on the wrong foot! My name is Thomas, what’s yours?” The last question came out with barely concealed aggression, and Michael gripped the broom and even harder to stop his hands from shaking. What should I do? What can I do? His eyes flitted around the room, but he knew all he could do was stand there and hope for the best. Thomas sneered. 

           “Not up for small talk, huh? Alright then, why don’t we get started, kitty-cat?” Michael shivered as Thomas’ voice grew cold as ice and he pulled an ax from behind his back. No, no, no, no. Michael jutted the broom out at the now slowly approaching stranger and squeezed his eyes shut. This can’t be happening. It’s just a dream. I’ll wake up and it’ll be my birthday and it’ll all be okay. 

           He heard multiple muffled noises like that of an object banging into something and then he heard screaming. What’s going on? Who’s screaming? Michael was frightened and wanted to know who was screaming, but he didn’t dare open his eyes. Scratch that, he couldn’t open his eyes. The screaming and sobbing continued, and Michael noticed the overwhelming pain. It was like a waterfall pounding on his soul, etching fear into his very being. Whose pain is that? It kept coming even as the muffled chopping noises faded, and Michael was unable to do anything as the pain kept rising, jabbing into him like spikes. Make it stop. Please, somebody, make it stop! 

           A frightening realization struck Michael as the pain consumed his mind and he felt himself begin to fade to black. I was making those noises, and that pain is mine. 

Recommended Topic: [After the Fire]

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• Rose   -

     “WHERE IS MY SON?!!” Rose screeched in the police officer's face. She raised her hands in surrender, clearly afraid of the mother on a mission.

      “Ma’am, I’m sad to report that we have seen no sign of your son. In better news, we have not found his body either!” The officer said, trying to sound optimistic. That just made Rose even angrier, and she poked him in the chest. 

      “How is that good news?!” She hissed, nostrils flaring. Her painted fingernails curled into a fist and she resisted the urge to punch the woman in the face. It isn’t her fault, Rose. She took a steady, deep breath and attempted to calm herself. Behind all her anger and frustration, there was turmoil and exhaustion. She ran a hand down her face and turned away from the police officer, hiding her wet eyes from view. “Just…talk to my husband.” She said dismissively, trying to keep her voice from shaking. She hoped she sounded assured, because she felt anything but. Thankfully, the woman complied and left, leaving Rose standing in front of the building alone. 

       Oh Michael, please be okay. She sniffled, tears spilling unashamedly down her cheeks. I promise I’ll make it up to you Michael. It’ll be the best birthday of your life, just…come back. Please… Memories flash before her eyes. Showing Michael little objects she loved to try to get him to talk, playing dress up, trying teaching him how to stitch, telling him stories at bedtime, growing flowers with him, and so much more. So many things, so many memories. There’s no way he’s gone forever. The police will find him. You know they will.

        “Umm, ma’am?” A timid officer inquired, tapping her shoulder lightly. Rose whipped around, not bothering to wipe her eyes. “I’m s-sorry but we need to get information on your son, Michael James Harrison.” The officer stuttered. Rose looked up in surprise. And up. A tall, huge burly man with dark skin and dark hair stands before her. She frowns. 

        “I thought I told your friend to talk to my husband?” The man scratches his head nervously and avoids her glaring eyes. 

        “Well, erm, we asked but he didn’t know that much besides his basic looks. That’s good and all, but his looks and name are quite generic, so you understand we wish to ask for some information about his personality, specifically how he would greet somebody.” Rose sneered. 

        “He wouldn’t be greeting anybody, dumbass. He’s got a bad case of glossophobia.” She knew it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t like a random police officer would know her son was afraid of speaking, but still. She sure as hell wasn’t feeling very fair right now. Fortunately the police officer seemed to sympathize with her, and he responded in a calm, matter of fact voice that Rose couldn’t complain about. 

         “I apologize. How would he react to being greeted?”

          Rose composed herself. “He would probably do something along the lines of flinch, and then he would most likely dip his head or just not answer.” 

          The officer nodded and jotted something down on a paper he had pulled out, his nervous demeanor completely gone now. “What is he like? If someone were to get to know him, of course.”

          “He doesn’t express himself very well, tends to go with the flow for better or worse, and he’s shy and introverted. Please, find him.” Rose said, watching her own hot tears fall on the ground. She couldn’t even recognize her own creaky voice, so hoarse and uneven. The officer bowed curtly and left her, but she heard him say something before he left. “I promise.” Rose sighed, giving the building and the police scene a final glance. The building was burnt, though not damaged all that badly on the outside. Not like that matters when my son is missing. Rose thought bitterly. The entrance to the building, a simple white wooden door, was burnt black and littered with caution tape. Police were gathered outside it or near it, talking, inspecting, and calling. Rose shook her head tiredly and walked hastily toward her white car. She was tired and emotional, and she couldn’t keep it down forever, so she needed to get home as soon as possible. 

        

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• Callie   -

        “Hello!”

        “Oh yes, we heard you provide…”

        “That’s great! Yes, we would like to send her in…how about a month?”

        “Alright! Thank you so much! We’ll have her ready for you to pick up on that Monday at 3:30” 

        Cal propped her head onto her hand, staring at the plant next to her. She was sitting at the black table in the black themed kitchen of their house, following her dads “modern colors and botanical gardens” vibe. Her mom didn’t really care. She was always traveling for work or staying at some other guy's house, cheating on her husband for the millionth time. Not like her dad really cared, either. He had an insane level of optimism that he used to avoid solving his relationship problems. Ugh. Adults. She rolled her eyes and went back to eavesdropping on her dad, who thought she couldn't hear her for some odd reason. So what if she didn’t understand every word? Just because she was young didn’t mean she couldn’t understand they were talking about giving her to some boarding place. 

         Probably for the best. She thought, opposite to the tears pricking her eyes. I don’t wanna leave.

Recommended Topic: [Intermission: Char]

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• Char??????   -

        Char sighed as she crossed her hands over her chest, laying still in her green bed. Her dad, Heinrick, was worried about her again. Every last thing she did seemed to be wrong to him. “Dr. Fitzgerald, my daughter doesn’t seem interested in sports, is she okay?” “Doctor, my daughter fell asleep at school today, is she mentally stable?” “Doctor, my little girl would rather hang out with her friend Cal than me, I think we need to talk about more long term treatment.” She groaned. Wonder what “Dr. Fitzgerald” would say if I ate a sandwich. At first the doctor had been reasonable, telling him there was absolutely nothing to worry about, but the sheer amount of times that dad called eventually grated down his ability to reject him, and now she was in her current situation. She was to be sent to a dumb treatment facili-whatsitcalled. 

       She curled her body up on the sheets and hugged her knees to her chest. Memories of hanging out with Cal resurfaced in her mind, and she sighed. She didn’t wanna leave, not so that stupid place would make her the talented daughter that wanted to and could do everything. That’s what her father wanted, not her. She wanted to eat till she was sick and watch TV with her best friend. If only Mami were still here. Her Mami, Marcella, had always told her to be true to herself, unless Mami told her to go to bed, of course. She had taken those words to heart, but when she left, she soon learned her dad had his own opinion on how she should act. 

         But…he wasn’t a bad dad, exactly. He always tried his best to make it home on time to cook her food, and he always tried to have fun with her everytime he was home, even if she wasn’t in the mood. Maybe I’ve been too harsh. He does just want to have some father-daughter time, but I never let him. She shook her head. That was true, but she still wasn’t completely in the wrong. Sometimes he asked for too much, forcing her to participate in activities she disliked. But he really wasn’t a bad dad. Just a little misguided, perhaps. 

         She turned back over onto her back and sighed. I don’t know what to do…I don’t want to go. What would Cal do?

Recommended Topic: [Intermission: Ariel]

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• Ariel    -

        “Mom! Please listen! They’re real! It has six eyeballs and claws! I…I can’t sleep.” He protested, mumbling the last part. His mom sighed, shaking her head with “My son is hallucinating.” demeanor. But he wasn’t. It came to him in the night, treading the halls surrounding his room then leaping at him. It didn’t kill him, just scared him. Ariel did not know what torture was, but that was basically it. Of course, his mom didn’t believe a word of it, claiming it to be whatever “BS” was. Something to do with lying, he knew. 

     They’d had this same fight over and over again, always in their perfect, orderly navy blue kitchen with exactly coordinated colors that were apparently “trendy” and “in fashion”. Such was the life of the only child of two interior designers. The house was constantly being redesigned to fit with the times, save Ariel’s room fortunately. It was evening, right before Ariel’s bedtime when he always brought up the monsters.

       “Ariel. I’m sure it’ll be fine. And hey! I’ll be sending you to this lovely camp next week. Dr. Fitzgerald will pick you up next Tuesday, ‘kay?” Ariel didn’t want to obey, but he knew from past experience that each time he protested, Mom just listened less. He was afraid of how long this would go on unsolved. The monster would only let him go to sleep once he was genuinely crying, and he hated it. He didn’t wanna cry, it made him feel helpless. But Mom wouldn’t listen, so he was unsure how he was ever going to get out of this. She’s the best Mom ever…if only she would just believe me. He sighed and gave her a hug. His mom gave him an extra hard squeeze before letting him go, resting her hands on his shoulders. 

       “Oh Ariel, I’m sorry you have these little nightmares. Hey, I’ll let you sleep in my bed tonight, okay boo?” Ariel’s eyes widened like saucers. 

       “No! I’ll be fine! Don’t worry at all. I’m worried, but who knows, maybe they won’t be here tonight!” Ariel rambled quickly, practically shoving his mom away and backing away very quickly toward the stairs.

       “Byegoodnightloveyouseeyousoonforalltimes

ago!” He blurted out before running upstairs before his mom could say another word. He rushed into his weird room and sighed. His mom had their house built so that she could keep an eye on him at all times, so there was a hallway on each side leading into his room with no door. It was pretty intense, and Ariel had once asked his dad about it, but he had just said that mom was “paranoid”, as if he knew what that meant. Dad was a great parent too, but sometimes he forgot just how young Ariel was. Probably because he stayed up late like Ariel did. I hope he doesn’t have nightmares too. The sleepiness got to him occasionally and he would tell Ariel to do the dishes when Ariel couldn’t even reach the sink. That was okay though, Ariel didn’t mind that much, not when his dad looked so sad when Ariel got mad. He hoped his dad didn’t have nightmares, or both his parents for that matter.

        He let out a breath and trudged into the bathroom, reluctantly getting ready for bed. He hated doing it; he would rather just flop into bed and sleep. But it’s not like I’d be able to go to sleep anyway, so I might as well not complain. Spitting toothpaste into the sink and rinsing his mouth, he examined himself in the mirror. The bathroom and his room was also themed navy blue and white, and the rim of his mirror was navy. The counter was shiny marble that Ariel sometimes liked to trace when he procrastinated getting ready for bed. The mirror's glass was clear from his moms constant cleaning, his reflection crystal clear and spotless. He had light brown, wavy hair and big, sky blue eyes. Freckles were scattered across the bridge of his nose like a splatter of paint, and he had a giant, soft sweater on. Patting his hair into place, he struck a smile in the mirror and nodded to himself. I definitely don’t need to shower, not yet.

        He rushed into bed, making sure to not touch the floor long just in case it suddenly turned into lava. And making sure to not step on any light patches, just in case they were dangerous. Most importantly, he lined his dozens of stuffed toys up in an army-like array. They helped fight off the monsters, of course. Everything’s in place. Bring it on, monsters! There’s no way you're getting me tonight! 

Recommended Topic: [Intermission: Jeremiah]

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• Jeremiah   -

       A knock resounded through the giant chamber that was the house's entry area. In the living room just past the entryway, Jeremiah was sitting on a luxurious, pillowy cream couch in a huge cream and orange-themed room playing video games on his phone. He heard the noise and groaned, shutting off his phone and moving to get the door. 

       “I’m coming!” He yelled as the incessant banging continued. He was alone at home today since his dad had a full schedule of surgeries to perform, and his mom had been gone for as long as he could remember. He yanked on the wildly decorative door that had all sorts of “cute” ornaments strung around it. Alright, what heavy as hell package did Dad get this-

       “Um, who the crap are you?”  A short, young boy in tan board shorts, a white tank top, and absolutely nothing else besides a soccer ball in his hands stood at the door. He had dirty blond hair and bright hazel eyes with little gold spots in them. His skin was a dark tan color, and he looked like he spent his life outside, evident by the dirt all over him. The kid-sized Jeremiah up as well, and Jeremiah suddenly felt self-conscious of his slightly skinny, six-year-old body. He was pale and spent his time indoors, and he had dark hair that had a strangely blue sheen to it. He had dark blue eyes that bordered on black, looking much like his hair. And worst of all, the kid was spending extra time on his clothing choice. Is he judging my clothes? And who is he? What is he doing there? Maybe he’s the new mail boy…nah, he looks about my age, despite being short as hell. Ugh, he’s still eyeing my clothes. Jeremiah cast a glance at his fashion choice and shrugged. It was a black t-shirt, a bright green and blue jacket, and a pair of joggers he always saved for weekends. He looked up at the boy with a challenge in his eyes. He was pretty sure he looked cool enough. Pretty sure.

       “I demand you let me stay here.” The boy demanded nonchalantly, waving his hand and marching on in. Flabbergasted, Jeremiah grabbed the fiery kid by his tank top. 

       “Hey! You can’t just demand to stay and let yourself in! At least introduce yourself, for god's sake! Jesus…” Jeremiah scolded, muttering complaints under his breath. The boy twirled around harshly and glared at him.

       “André.” Jeremiah blinked.

       “Huh?”

       “My name, dumbo.” Jeremiah groaned, but he had to admit he had asked for that one. Distracted, his grasp slackened and the kid kept on stomping in, seemingly like he knew where he was going. Jeremiah chased after him halfheartedly, mumbling complaints but not actually trying to catch him. At long last, André came across a dead end, and his sure steps slowed. Grinning smugly and folding his arms, Jeremiah watched as André slowly turned, visibly irked. Seeing his face, André stuck his tongue out and tried to barge past him, but Jeremiah caught him. 

     “You don’t know where you're going.”

      “No shit, Sherlock!” So he curses, eh?

      “How about we make a trade, you accept the fact that you need my help, and I might consider letting you stay.” André narrowed his eyes and propped his hands on his hips, obviously skeptical of this deal.

      “Fine.” He spat, looking away from him. Jeremiah smugly smiled and held his hand out so André could shake it.

      “I’m Jeremiah.” André gave his hand a quick inspection before shaking it reluctantly. When he let go, he frowned.

      “Your name’s too long. I’m calling you Jerry.”

      “What?! No!” Jeremiah sputtered, bewildered by his arrogance. He can’t just rename me! And what kind of name is Jerry!?

      “Fine then. What’s your full name?”

        “Um…Jeremiah Alexis Slathoff” Ugh. Why did I even tell him that? I don’t know his last name. 

      “Slathoff? What kind of…whatever. I’ll call you AJ then. Jeremiah Alexis, except the order’s reversed. Now that that’s settled, show me my room.” André stated decidedly, as if it were law.

      “I didn’t promise you a room, I said I’d consider it. Maybe. And I don’t even know your full name yet!” Surprisingly, the kid hesitated at that. For once, Jesus.

      “André Super Awesome.” 

      “There’s literally no way that’s your name,” Jeremiah said simply, not believing André for a second. Plus that moniker was totally lame, even lamer than Slathoff. Realizing the kid had been quiet for a second, Jeremiah glanced down at him. His head was down, a bush of unruly, dirty hair in place of his face.

      “So?” Jeremiah said, obviously not reading the room, “What’s your real full name?”

      “I don’t have one, okay!?! I,” André’s fists tightened, then suddenly uncurled. “I don’t know…” He whispered, his voice cracking. He brought his head up shamelessly, tears pouring down his cheeks. 

       “W-what are you looking at! I’m leaving…” André yelled, his voice already trailing off as he marched toward the entryway. Jeremiah, not one hundred percent sure what he was doing, ran after grabbing him by the tank top again. 

       “Hey! You can, uh, you can stay with me! I’ve got two closets practically the size of a small bedroom, and I don’t even use one of them! You can stay there! I’ve got video games, we could play soccer…” Jeremiah rambled, clutching André’s shirt tightly. André pushed his hand off, but he didn’t run and instead turned to face Jeremiah with a red face.

      “I’m a stranger off the street, dumbo,” André muttered, but he still went upstairs. Jeremiah smiled and ran up ahead of him, eager to show him around. Finally, maybe I won’t have to play games alone. 

Recommended Topic: [Intermission: André]

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• André    -

       “AJ! Last hit on the hot dog!” André yelled, despite AJ being only a few feet away. 

       “Why’d we even call it that?!”

       “I don’t know!”

       “Why are you yelling?!”

       “I DON'T KNOW! NOW HIT THE DAMN BITCH LICH!”

       “STOP CALLING IT THAT!” André grinned as he heard AJ’s battle cry, laying back in his awesome chair and watching as the screen flared bright gold and “VICTORY” displayed across the screen. AJ leapt from his black gaming chair and pumped his fist.

       “AJ, you are such a chunni.” He said, rolling his eyes at AJ’s melodramatic showing. He gave him a smug look that said “you're just jealous” and André stuck his tongue out at him. It gave him a bit of a flashback to way back when he first met AJ. They looked quite similar, though a year older now. They were like brothers almost, though they looked completely different. AJ looked the same for the most part, though his hair was a bit more shaggy and longer. He still wore the same dark shirts and joggers combined with blinding neon jackets André secretly thought were cool. Of course, he was still cooler with his tank top and board shorts. He had even kept the soccer ball, for memories sake…he shook his head. Best not dwell on things.

       “So, do we think we-“

      “JEREMIAH!” AJ’s father yelled from downstairs, interrupting André. AJ sighed, looking dejected as he went to open the door. André, familiar with the drill after a year of hiding from AJ’s father, cautiously followed. AJ peeked out the door and waved his hand, showing the coast was clear. André followed AJ through, only stopping when they reached the stairs so he was out of view, but could still listen. Watching AJ head downstairs, he pressed closer to the wall to hear better. With a quick glance, André saw that AJ had reached the bottom and was consciously staying close to the stairs so André could catch what they said. AJ’s father, John, sneered. 

       “Boy, I told you to stop playing video games so much.” He scolded

       “Sorry father,” AJ replied robotically.

       “I have news. I will be heading on a business trip for a long while, so I am sending you somewhere. They will take care of you…and perhaps discipline you a bit. The good news is it’s free for as long as we want, because of some behavioral study-that is, of course, completely safe.” John explained, his voice growing cold. André knew he had once been a kinder, happier person, but AJ said that his mom being gone was finally catching up to him. Especially now that he had more time, with AJ mostly spending his time playing with him. 

       “What? But I…I could just stay here! You could, um, hire a babysitter or something!” AJ tried to suggest, but his fathers face made it clear that was not happening. 

       “They’re picking you up tomorrow at 5:00 am. Make sure to pack.” His father said dismissively, already walking off before he even finished his sentence. AJ sped up the stairs, his mouth agape in disbelief. He practically shoved André into the gaming room and slammed the door. The gaming room was a dark colored room, much like a theater room, but with a gaming compatible screen. Right now though, André was paying more attention to the boy freaking out in front of him.

       “Can you believe him?! Why the hell do I have to go to some…some prison! How the hell am I going to get through that?!” AJ berated, making frustrated noises in between each sentence. But even so, André didn’t bat an eyelash. His history made him quite familiar with the idea of breaking laws and rules and whatnot, so André had immediately jumped to the obvious solution to the problem. 

       “Obviously you can’t just not go, but you can go with me. Your father said it was free because of some behavioral study, so I’ll just sign up and request to be with you, if I can.” André proposed calmly. AJ blinked, considering the information.

       “But they’ll make you sign some adult information, surely?” André nodded solemnly, he had briefly considered this too, but it wasn’t a problem. 

       “I’ve got some information I can use. Not anybody alive though, so I’ll be faking my information.” Not anybody alive anymore, that is. AJ burst into laughter. 

       “You're joking. That’s breaking the law! You can’t just do that!” AJ exclaimed, unconvinced. André grinned

       “Well I’m legally dead in Rio, so technically my existence is breaking the law. I promise you it isn’t that bad.” André said nonchalantly, trying to talk it down.  AJ cast him a confused look, and André sighed, preparing himself for a big argument.

       “Rio? What’s that?” Oh. André blinked, surprised. He forgot that he hadn’t really told AJ 

much about himself, even after a year. It was just that he never asked, which honestly was kinda nice.

       “I never did tell you where I came from, huh? Well I’m from Rio, which is in Brazil. Brazil’s this place that is really far south from here. Like, really far south.” André explained, gesturing wildly to exemplify exactly how far south it was. AJ just stared, his jaw dropped. André smiled. It was nice to see that somebody thought that was cool.

       “Wow. I-Uh, I never noticed, honestly. It’s just that everybody around here is really different looking and you speak English really well, so I didn’t really acknowledge it. What did my dad used to call it? Oh yeah, diverse community. He said that it means a bunch of different things, back when he was still nice.” AJ said, his face turning somber. He shook himself. “How is it there?” André paused, debating how to respond.

       “Some parts are really amazing…some parts not so much. Unfortunately, I kinda lived in the bad part, but I would see the really cool parts all the time! There’s this really famous statue that looks kinda funny!” André said, cheering up. AJ gasped, and a bunch of unintelligible noises of awe came out. André stood there for a bit while he got it all out, laughing as AJ continued to ramble on about how that was super cool and he wished his dad would take him somewhere like that. When he was down ranting, André got them back on track. 

       “Can you ask your father about where some of these things are?” André inquired. AJ sighed, then shook his head. André nodded. He wasn’t too surprised. AJ’s father was usually too busy, and if he was picked up at 5:00 AM, there was no way AJ had time to ask his dad. He had another plan, though.

        “I’m gonna have to leave. I’ll just have to look for it myself. If it’s free and for study, they probably have some form of ad out there, so it shouldn’t be all too hard to find. So…bye, for now I guess.” André said awkwardly. It didn’t feel very real to him at the moment. For the past year, André hadn’t been away from AJ all that long, except for when he went to school. They were basically family by now, so he couldn’t help but not truly process the fact that he would have to leave, even if just for a day or two. AJ looked a little reluctant, but he nodded and whispered goodbye. It all felt so fast and impulsive, but André opened the window and escaped to the ground like he had done so many times before, back then to hide from AJ’s father. Tight feelings wrapping around his chest, André took one last look at the window where AJ was waving and left. I’ll find it, I promise.

Recommended Topic: [Intermission: Edwin]

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• Edwin    -

        “Rose and shine, little bro!” Edwin’s big brother Noah exclaimed cheerily. Edwin, an adorable six and a half year old boy, yawned and rubbed his eyes. As his vision cleared, he got a good look at his brother. His brother had light brown skin, and deep, dark red hair like their father. It was a strange color, bordering on unnatural. Their family was rare, both parents had slightly different colored red heads. His mom had given Edwin his peppy, bright orange like hair and deep blue eyes. He and Noah shared the same skin tone and eyes, their hair color differentiating them. But Noah hated when people pointed out their hair. Their dad was a bad man, and Noah insisted he wanted nothing to do with him. Accused of multiple crimes and barely deemed innocent, dad was a horribly mean man. Sometimes, he had empty bottles laying around him, and that’s when he was super mean. But most of the time, Noah would shield him. Most of the time. Shaking him out of his thoughts, Noah dragged him out of bed. 

      “Come on, Ed, you’ve got school!” Edwin blinked. Right, school. 

      “But you skip it sometimes, why can’t I?” Edwin pleaded. Noah winced. 

      “Well, you see…your brother’s super duper dumb, so me skipping doesn’t matter, but you're, like, super duper smart, so there you have it.” Noah proclaimed. Edwin frowned. 

      “I’m six, not dumb. And you're only a year older than me. You should be at school right now, and being dumb doesn’t change that.” He protested, scoffing at his brother. Noah paused, thinking of how to refute Edwin’s claim. 

      “Well you see,” Noah began, “I…” Edwin gave him a flat look. 

      “Come on, Noah, you’ve got school.” Edwin mocked, reciting his brother's own words. Noah groaned.

      “Oh how the tables have turned. I’m supposed to be telling you, not you telling me. I’m the older brother.” Noah pouted, stomping toward the door. Before he left, he stuck out his tongue immaturely, and Edwin did the same back at him. Then the door slammed close, and it came crashing down on Edwin. 

      I forgot to tell him. I keep forgetting. He groaned and exited his room, which was an old tiny area with chipped tan paint and scuff marks. His little bathroom was the same way, except the floor was cheap, slightly dirty tile. He tried his best to scrub it every weekend, but some of the dirt always stayed, and he was too young and lazy to try harder. Noah’s room is way dirtier anyway. Reaching into the compartment that was somehow considered a closet, Edwin pulled out his clothes for the day. A simple green t-shirt and jeans. Nothing special. He sighed and cast a wistful glance at the compartment, imagining a giant closet full of fashionable clothes. Then something caught his eye. Right underneath where his clothes were was a small catalog and a necklace. He snatched the necklace curiously and held it up to see. The pendant was about the size of four stacked nickels, and it sat on a thick, gold colored chain. It was a strange symbol that had two sides to it. One was a black tear drop like shape with a small white dot, while the other was the same thing but with the colors switched. Huh. Wonder what it is. I’ll have to ask Noah when I get back from school. Looks super cool though. Edwin smiled at it and put it on, admiring it in the small hand held mirror he kept. Awesome. He looked back and grabbed the catalog, not caring he was wasting time, and flipped through it. One part had a paper in it, he noticed. Curious, he pulled it out and opened it up. His brother's handwriting was written all over it. Surprisingly enough, he actually had really nice handwriting.

       Pick out something from this catalog, and I promise I’ll get you it! 

       Edwin gasped in awe. Is he serious?! Anything…? How? Edwin shook his head in disbelief. There’s no way. But…just in case. He told himself, justifying why he examined the catalog for another few minutes before circling his favorite and putting it on Noah’s bed. Then he rushed back and got ready, not even bothering to look at the old clock in his room to see how late he was. 

     Like he always did, Edwin ate a small bowl of overnight oats and hurried on to school. Sometimes he went on the bus, but usually he walked. With how many stops the bus had to make, it was pretty much the same amount of time, but far louder. Not like any of his friends rode the bus anyway. Their parents drove them to school. Edwin’s mom was busy from dawn to dusk working to pay for their house and something called “dept”. He didn’t know what it was, but if it made his mom work that much and be that stressed, it was definitely no good. On the other hand, dad was always sitting around watching football, which confused Edwin. One time when dad was in a slightly better mood, Edwin asked why mom worked and dad didn’t, and he said something about “nubile slave women.” Noah had screamed at dad when Edwin told him about it. Shuddering, he remembered the punishment Noah had gotten. So much blood. He still wondered what it meant, if it was enough for Noah to risk such a consequence. 

      Edwin quite liked walking. These thoughts weren’t the funnest, but they were interesting and Edwin couldn’t help but get absorbed in them in the mornings. Every other time though, Edwin didn’t think too hard about those things. For better or for worse. 

       About to fall into another rabbit hole of thought, he arrived at school. A shoddy place, really. But that was his life, and he dealt with the hand he got. I am so mature. Slightly preening internally, Edwin quickly slipped through the doors. There was a kid or two, but Edwin was quite late, so most were already in class. He ran down the halls hastily in an attempt to make it in time.

        Miraculously, he managed to skid into the room just before the blaring ring of the bell. Edwin sighed deeply and sagged, a relieved smile on his face. He creeped into his seat before the teacher or anybody else would notice his little moment. Ms. Sleocki spun on her heel, turning to face the class with a stern expression. She scanned the classroom with her wicked glare, settled on Edwin for one terrifying second, then coughed.

        “Hello pupils.” She said elegantly, or as elegantly as one could with hand me down clothes. 

        “Hello Ms. Sleocki.” The class responded with tired, dejected voices. Edwin was the most cheery. He did have a reputation to keep as the “angel of the classroom.” 

        “Alright. Now can anybody remember what we learned in math yesterday?” Ms. Sleocki asked, her voice quickly becoming just as dejected as the rest of the class. 

        Edwin scraped his way through class, letting out a little moan of relief when the teacher dismissed them for recess. Learning isn’t too bad, but geez. When Ms. Sleocki starts talking about her cats, ugh. Edwin used to like cats. Not anymore. Smiling brightly, he headed outside to the bright, lovely day. It was a perfect, slightly warm fall day. He walked over to his best friends Juan and Marcie with a nice pep in his step. Marcie was a small girl with pale skin, pixie cut blond hair and a button nose. Juan was the opposite with light brown skin like Edwin, a tall figure, long nose, and shoulder length black hair. As Edwin neared, he noted they looked a little troubled. He also noticed their usual nervous ticks and frowned. Marcie was kicking her foot and Juan was looking everywhere except for him. That can’t be good. When he stepped next to them, Marcie started talking, all quick and rushed like she did when she was nervous. 

       “Hey, Ed. I-we both wanted to talk to you about something. Um…so we kinda just wanted to say that…” She said in one breath, staring at the ground like it was the reason she was nervous. A little frightened, Edwin waited patiently for her to continue. “It’s just, most of the time you're a really sweet friend, but sometimes you lose your temper, and you get really scared. Of course we still wanna be friends,” Marcie elaborated quickly, “but we just wanted to tell you that. We were a little, erm, upset at first, but our parents talked us out of doing anything stupid.” 

        Edwin stood there, processing everything. After a second, he had a realization. Their right. I try to be nice as much as possible, but when I hit my limit…even my mom said I'm scary. Or in her words, “A terrifying evil mini version of Satan from hell.” Edwin sighed, then cast his friends his best smile.

       “I’m sorry, you're right. I’ll try my best to fix that.” Edwin answered. I handled that super maturely, in my opinion. He thought that, but he was a little mad. Okay, maybe that was an understatement. But since this was literally a talk about how he was scary when mad, it would probably be best if he kept his emotions under tight wrap. At least his friends looked happy now. He stifled a sigh and returned their conversation to normal, hoping the rest of the day was normal so he could calm his temper.

-

        Throwing his bag onto the ground beside the crusty old front door, Edwin let out a big yawn and sagged into the living room couch. Cracks ran across tan walls that surrounded the small living room. White tile, now grayish from years of dirt, lined the floor of everywhere in the house save the bedrooms. It wasn’t pretty, but Edwin knew it to be home. Just like dad. He wasn’t nice, but he was his dad all the same. The aforementioned individual conveniently walked into the room at the moment, his steps swaying. He had dark red hair, light skin and a wide beer belly. Edwin was surprised, and not in a good way. He couldn’t just run off into his room, but he had to try to find a way to talk to his dad the least amount possible. The more they would talk, the madder dad would always get. Edwin didn’t like to think of it, but he had his dads anger, just on a leash. 

        “Y-you!” His dad slurred, and Edwin gulped. He sounds worse than usual. That’s never good. The only time he was anywhere near this unsteady was when Noah got…Edwin’s thoughts trailed off on purpose in an attempt to not remember. The memories were blurry anyway, his brain obviously agreeing with him on the whole forgetting thing. 

         “You-you fucking bastard.” Edwin jolted. His father stepped toward him now, each foot becoming more sure. More purposeful. Edwin stepped back. He had a feeling he would not like his purpose. He didn’t know what the words he had spoken meant, but he had said them with such hatred that it had struck Edwin to the core. He would’ve been mad if he heard such a rageful tone from somebody, but it truly hurt to hear it from his dad. Never kind, never thoughtful. His dad never gave, only took. So much taking. Too much. Flashes of memory overtook him, spurred on by his dads words. His dad had taken something from Noah too, and it couldn’t be returned. That night, Noah had gotten mad after dad called mom something horrid. That night, his dad hadn’t just hit Noah. Dad had scared Noah. A piece of his ear was gone forever, a terrifying truth that the one person out of two that was supposed to love them, didn’t. Edwin’s heart felt too small for his feelings in that one, snapshot of a moment. 

       His father crooked a finger at him and stepped further toward him in Edwin's moment of vulnerability. 

       “You’re the reason almost it all almost went to hell. I was good as g-gold, but then you came along, and SUDDENLY,” His dad shouted, making Edwin yelp and a few more tears slip out of his eyes. “Suddenly you were there, and I managed to stay innocent, but now I have to deal with that…that bitch!” His dad roared. Edwin’s eyes widened into saucers and fear clutched his heart in a grip of death. His heart pounded as he watched his dad, the man who was the reason he lived, yanked an empty bottle from the countertop and threw it at six year old Edwin with his full force. 

       Glass shattering was a cold, horrifying sound as it pierced the flesh around Edwin’s right eye. Pain whipped in like a raging typhoon, soaking up each and every one of Edwin’s thoughts and filling it with a terrible, spasming ache. It was painful. Pain, sadness, anger, and crushing hopelessness. I’m not going to live. Edwin thought simply as his left eye watched his dad continue to wrathfully throw empty bottles at Edwin. His right eye was dead, but his left eye looked even deader, as it revealed the broken pieces that were Edwin’s heart. He was going to be killed. Murdered. Destroyed. Dominated. Killed. By the very man that gave him life, nonetheless. It was the end, and sadness filled Edwin at the thought.

       Goodbye, Noah. This is the end.

Recommended Topic: [Intermission: Benji]

Confirmed

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• Benji   -

       Benji was a foster kid. Adopted. But that didn’t really matter in his mind. He had friends. His family was pretty awesome. He went to a nice elementary school. All the super awesome stuff, besides the fact that he kinda wished he had a real parent. Just one. It wasn’t that he didn’t love his adopted parents, they were great in every way. Just…he couldn’t help but want the real deal. Or rather, something that felt like the real deal. Maybe he could settle for somebody who just really seemed like his real parent. Because his family was amazing, but it was like his puzzle piece, his heart, was just a little different from his adopted parents’ puzzle. He was still super young and didn’t know much, but he could tell he wasn’t quite the right match for their personality. That’s how he ended up breaking their one and only, the most important, rule they had. Don’t break the vases. Apparently inside of them was the dead family’s ashes, super holy Christian stuff and so on and so forth. Benji didn’t ever get to experience his real biological parents, so he didn’t really believe in god. If god was real, Benji would’ve gotten two real parents, that’s what he thought. At least saying his name is pretty fun. His parents weren’t too peachy about that though. Something about “not saying the lord’s name in vain” or some other stupid nonsense. He shook his head. How silly. But of course, Benji didn’t tell his super Christian parents that, he just thought about it sometimes when he was bored on the weekends, like now.

       Benji sighed and got off the couch. He had already finished his chores in record time, so he had nothing to do while his “parents” were gone. Sometimes he wished he had a sibling, too. About time there was somebody to do something with on lonely days like this.

       With a bit of thought, Benji decided to play with a large bouncy ball upstairs. It was pretty simple, but surprisingly fun. 

       After a bit, he managed to get a little more invested and was soon running around the room playing with it. A blur of red and orange was beating against the wall and bouncing back for Benji to catch. He jumped left to catch it, his dark brown hair—with red and blue highlights his “dad” had let him get—plastering itself against his cheek. Nearly black eyes darted around back and forth, trying to keep track of the flying ball. So engrossed that those dark eyes didn’t notice the fragile vases nearby. The ball snapped against the wall, and bounced far to Benji’s left, smacking a beautifully intricate vase right square in the center. The sound of the ball gently hitting the floor sounded loud in the resulting silence. Benji gasped, snatched the bouncy ball, and carefully examined the vase. He couldn’t tell much, but he was utterly relieved to find that there didn’t seem to be a crack. Saved. I am not doing that again.

        Benji slumped, emotionally exhausted after his moment of terror, and walked toward the stairs with wary steps. Slowly his racing heart slowed down, and he took a deep, cleansing breath. In time with his breath, a loud crack resounded through the air, clear as a canon. And it might as well have been one, because it scared Benji just as much. No way. No. No, no, no. That is not a good sound. Slowly, horror creeping into his bones, Benji turned with wide eyes to look at the vase. The vase was brittle, and he watched in pure terror as a horrible, ugly crack spread across its surface. Benji could just imagine that crack, but spreading between him and his new parents. It filled him with trepidation and fear. And the crack didn’t stop. It kept climbing at an agonizingly slow pace, and time stood still as he watched the delicate vase, along with his hopes, fall apart. Those were dead family members. His family was super spiritual and religious. He had just committed the most horrible crime. The one rule he had to listen to, and it didn’t stop there.

        The vase fell apart, dust billowing in the air like the cloud above a bomb exploding. The pieces landed on the other fragile vases, and they too began to crack and collapse. Unable to take it anymore, Benji ran downstairs. But there wasn’t any escape down there either. The creaking of the garage door opening seemed to echo the creaking of Benji’s spirit as it cracked under pressure. What should I do!?! What am I gonna do…what-

         “Little firecracker! We’re hooome!” His mom yelled, and Benji was still a statue as his dad came around the corner and lifted him up in a hug. When he set him down, he noticed the look on Benji’s face. 

         “Benji? You okay, little man?” His dad asked, concern seeping into his voice. Benji was frozen, but the truth still spilled out of his mouth.

         “I broke the vases.” Benji could only witness as his dads loving face turned into a vessel of pure wrath. Even his mom, who had just rounded the corner, turned into a wrathful demon from hell. Rage twisted both of their features, and Benji barely managed to gulp as the room became too quiet. Calm before the storm. 

         “GET OUT OF THIS HOUSE RIGHT NOW!” His mom screamed. Benji winced. He had always wished for real family members, and he had just destroyed the remains of theirs. His dads nostrils flared.

         “Can you not hear?! OUT!” His dad commanded in a loud, booming voice that shook Benji to the bones. Hot tears raced down his face, and Benji ran to the front door and yanked it open. 

     He kept running, not bothering to look back or close the door. He ran away from his feelings, away from his “family”. Away from his life. And it made him realize the truth. He had always wished for a real family, but he had never realized just how wrong his family felt now. It felt more like he was a roommate, a tag along. His “parents” had done their best to try to make it seem like the real deal with nicknames like “Firecracker” and “Little man”, but it didn't work. It felt…like they didn’t love him the way a parent would. 

     I don’t want to go back. I want somebody who truly loves me. Just somebody.

Recommended Topic: [Intermission: Sarah]

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• Sarah   -

        “Ms. Lockheart, I have told you countless times, abstract art. This is still realistic.” Sarah winced. She had thought she’d had it down this time, that she would finally get it right, but the end product was still very realistic. The man sighed and then patted her on the shoulder.

     “I’m sorry, young girl. But your father insists that if you are to pursue art, he wants you to be the best.” Sarah nodded. She wanted that too, but that didn’t make it any easier. Tucking a strand of curly blond hair behind her ear and straightening out her yellow sundress habitually, she grabbed her painting unceremoniously from its stand. She didn’t care much for decorum, it would only slow her down. 

      Mr. Jin, the older Asian man who taught her art, waved her goodbye. Sarah flashed him a smile and waved as well before going out the door. She quite liked Mr. Jin. She found it a bit comical how he would give his harshly honest opinion, then realize just how harsh it was and comfort her. Converse shoes skipped the stone steps leading down the pavement to Sarah’s house. She loved her shoes, even though mom probably thought they were a little unbecoming of a young lady like her. Oh well. She smiled at the thought of her mom. My parents are the best. And I’m going to a camp next weekend! I’m so excited.

       Sarah skipped down the steps a little faster, her cornflower blue-gray eyes looking out at the scenery. It was a beautiful, clear day and the grass was green. Her family kept their lawn nice, but nothing special. They weren’t rich by any means, but they had a good sum of money and only two daughters, Sarah and her twin Ella. Sarah grinned. I love my life.