*I know, I know, this is not Chameleon Circuit lyrics…but I needed to post it. I wrote this for a school poetry project and kinda like it. What do you think?*

Reunite

Swirling through my head

are the thoughts of him

Probably more now

then when I saw him

I keep picturing

his so loving arms

Reaching out for me

when reuniting

Never again though

will his arms hold me

You can’t reunite

with a deceased boy

You can only picture

his soft angled nose

Imagine the look

he made when you smiled

Hear his unique laugh

the real and fake one

Feel his fingers cross

in and out through yours

But these thoughts are

the only sight of him

Communication

is limited now

Memories are the

only way to

Reunite

The troubles weighing down on his heart are not the troubles you ‘d expect.

Love, school, friendship. No that is not what fills this 10 year old’s mind.

Instead, his mind is filled with hate, depression, and abusive comments.

His heart is breaking with the repetition of the hatred bestowed upon him.

Daily he is told he is worthless and phrases like “Go to hell jack-ass”

and “Please die already.”constantly being shoved in his tear covered face.

He does not know why these things are said to him or where they came from.

Part of his mind tells him to stand up for himself and be a tough guy.

Though the woman who causes all of his pain, has endurance and won’t stop.

That is right, woman, not group of 5 or more guys his age, but one woman.

School life is actually doing alright, but home is where his troubles begin.

She knocks him down and locks him away, saying he is her biggest regret.

In his room he cries, wishing one day she would ask how his day was.

She wouldn’t have to really care, but hearing her ask would be wonderful.

Instead she gets high in the next room, filled with trash and vodka bottles.

His mother yaps on the phone, breaking up with her boyfriend…again.

Just like every other night, she passes out and he makes his own dinner.

On his own, he does his homework and cleans the sad excuse for a house.

Thoughts of love and happiness appear in his mind as he scrubs the plates.

Though they are invaded with the thoughts of his loveless reality.

He knows there are ways out, but he is to optimistic for any of those.

In his little head he has to keep repeating that things will get better.

Instead of tv, his nights were often filled with dreams and imaging.

Imagining a world with porch swings, candles, and meatloaf from scratch.

He cries himself to sleep on the torn up sofa he found on a street corner

only to wake up, walk to school and hold back the pain by continuing to dream.

Zero seconds:

My hands scrape down the rocks as my body slides into the water

Feet first I fall slowly into the refreshing body of wetness.

Two seconds:

My head is submerged as I keep my mouth closed holding in air

My hair flows away from my head making me a medusa lookalike.

Four seconds:

My eyes start to slightly burn but I keep them open and stare

I stare at the bubbles from my dip, floating to the surface.

Six seconds:

My legs spread apart and make motions like a frog and move me down

My arms move instinctively like an airplane, to push down further.

Eight seconds:

I moved down and am still ok on air, I listen to the complete silence

The silence is unbearable so I think. I think of him.

Ten seconds:

I think of his smile and his hair, along with the way he held my hand

I remember catching lizards and singing in the hot tub.

Twelve seconds:

Memories of him hurt, so I try to think of something, anything else

I focus on the water and it’s temperature as it engulfs me entirely.

Fourteen seconds:

The water gets colder and colder, like ice but it burns my skin

My arms, legs, shoulders, ankles, knees, nose, neck, it hurts

Sixteen seconds:

I start to loose my breath and my chest hurts along with my skin

my lungs and my throat constrict and ache for more oxygen

Eighteen seconds:

I don’t want to go up for air, instead I slowly exhale

While I exhale, I think of his breath on my arm as we lay side by side.

Twenty seconds:

Most of my air is gone but I close my eyes and stop my throat

For a few seconds I remember him and his face.

I recall the exact angles and shapes of his chin and ears

My smile mirrors the image of his, I keep in my mind.

Twenty five seconds:

My body tries to float up, it wants air, it needs air

My heart weighs me down though. I want him I need him.

Twenty nine seconds:

My head shakes as I pull myself down further and further in the water

If I go up, I loose him. I return to the reality which lacks his presence.

Thirty three seconds:

I keep fighting but my body won’t take it anymore so up it goes

I try to remember everything at one time. I want him to be real again.

Thirty six seconds:

My hands kick in, and grab on to a rock, barely still underwater

I squeeze my face and my lungs. I want to not need air, I want to not need him.

Forty seconds:

I know that if I stay underwater, I will drown and never live again

Though I think it is worth it. I want to be with him again.

Forty five seconds:

My mind starts to hurt along with my burning skin and aching lungs

I mentally drift. Realizing I will pass out, I tie myself to the rock with coral.

Fifty seconds:

I think of his laugh and it warms my skin as if I were laying on a sunny beach

I close my eyes and try to give in and just peacefully sleep.

Fifty five seconds:

I fall asleep to dream of him. Dreaming is so much better then reality.

Tied to the rock, my body can’t float up for air, so I am happily stuck.

Sixty seconds:

Warm hands wrap around my back and untie me from the boulder

They lift me on land and lay my dying body on the dry shore.

Although I am gone, I feel a hand on my chest and regretfully wake up

Before I can open my eyes, his warm voice whispers to me

“Do not give up, do not leave me, do not leave this world.

It needs you like you need me. You have to keep living.”

Sixty five seconds:

I awake on land and know what to do next, thanks to him

Drowning is never the answer, I must live without him, for him.

Red and blue paper confetti shot from big black cannons and flooded the arena, as hundred’s of thousands of fans jumped and cheered. Couples made out and groups of teenage girls in band shirts squealed and took pictures with flash. The flashing red and yellow lights from the stage were blinding and the music blasting from the large speakers were deafening but it only added to the experience.

The lead guitarists’ face was covered in beads of sweat. His chest poked out through his ripped black and blue rock star shirt, and his legs were squeezed so tight in his two size too small skinny jeans. His guitar was electric so a black cord led from it to a large black and silver amp. Neon blue was the main color of the Fender and it was covered in silver sparkles that looked like cheap craft glitter.

I didn’t really want to look at him like all the screaming fans did, I just wanted to look at those stage lights. There was one behind the band that was small, maybe only one foot long, but the light coming from it was an 8 foot wide strobe light that was so light it reminded me of the light depicted in movies about Heaven. Then there were two biig lights at the front of the stage; One red and one blue. These lights waved back and forth covering the entire audience and sometimes crossing over each other.  I loved when these lights pointed to my row of seating. I was just sitting there, ignoring the music and just sucking in the lights.

Then I woke up…I woke up to the darkness, to the black. I woke up to hundreds of noises, but no strobes, no confetti, no large red and blue lights for my eyes, face, and body to just absorb. Well, none that I could see anyway. I carefully got up from my bed, grabbed my cane and slowly walked down the hallway following the smell of my husband making breakfast.
Good morning baby. How did you sleep?”

“Wonderfully. I had another amazing dream.” I started.

“Where were you this time my love? On a boat? Sports game? Grocery store?” My husband Charlie went on as I sat at the table and he placed plates with steaming turkey bacon and scrambled eggs, in front of both of us.

“I was at a concert. I don’t know what band, but it was beautiful. Lots of screaming and excitement from teenagers and young couples alike.”

“Mmm,” He said in agreement, imagining what I had seen. “The lights? What color were the lights?”

“A gorgeous fire hydrant red mixed with a deep royal blue. It was brighter and more vivid then any police car I had seen. They were gorgeous.”

“Wow baby, sounds breathtaking…just like you.” He said as he brushed his hands along my face and kissed me on the forehead. “I have to go to work but I got you a new book to keep you occupied for the day.”

“Have a good day at work babe.” I blew kisses and slowly finished my breakfast. I found the book right by the kitchen sink so I walked to my chair and sat down looking out the window and opened my book. I ran my thin fingers along every inch of the page. I loved new books no matter what they were. The content didn’t matter, just the feel of the small raised dots under my flesh. I loved being able to soak the sun into my face through the window while getting lost in the story of someone else’s life.

Reading was a hobby but not my favorite thing to do. The number one spot was filled by sleeping. Well actually not sleeping, but dreaming. In a dream I could do anything, be anything, see anything. I could see everything. All the people, all the places. I could see the sky. I could see rainbows. Most blind people who could see at one time, say the thing they miss most is the colors. I don’t miss colors that much though, I miss light. I am tired of complete darkness. Eyes closed or open, all I see is black. Not when I dream though. When I dream my brain shows images of  light and colors and bright vivid things and people.

Dreaming is the only time I see anything. I don’t even know what I look like, except what Charlie tells me and what I see when I am asleep. I wasn’t born without sight though, I lost it at age eight. In my opinion that is way worse then always being without sight, because I know what I am missing. I know what the sun looks like and how it reflects off ocean waves of many blues. I know what they sky looks like against the bright white raspy clouds. I know what storms look like and how rain looks when it slams against the dirty concrete. I know what it all looks like, but can only see it a few hours a day while a sleep, and can only remember parts of it the next day.

Every day I wake up and feel like the world is snatched from me and that my blindness is a punishment for something. I have to live like this and never see my husband or my house. I can never see my babies when they enter the world or watch them grow up. When I am old, I can’t sit on my porch watching my kids and grand kids at a family barbecue, just laughing and enjoying life. The only way I can see that is if I dream it up, and as vivid as it is, it will never be the real thing.

No one ever really talks about life in the clouds. There are stories of water, fire, and of course earth, but what about wind? Well I am here to tell you a story, a story about the clouds. I am here to reveal how we have been living, and tell you all about how I changed it.

Let me start off by saying most people that lived in our cloud, Cloud 752837, were happy. Ok maybe not happy, but content for sure. The way we were living was the only way we knew, so it was more than acceptable. It wasn’t until my son, Kotir, fell off of our little cloud and onto another cloud, Cloud 3733366 when things changed. When he came back and told me of his travels, of what he saw and just…

Ok now I am getting way ahead of myself. My son and I lived in one of the smaller huts on the cloud, but we were happy with it. Most families here consisted of a woman, her very burly husband, and two sons. All daughters were sent off to Cloud 8735377. No one knew what happened on that cloud, but only one woman had seen her daughter again, when she too went to cloud 8735377 but soon after that, her daughter returned to be a mother and marry a man, to continue the cycle.

That is what the clodess kept telling me I needed to do. “Kaja you must find a man, and marry. Your son needs to learn to be strong as a man so he can work. He is currently one of the weakest on the clouds, and if he doesn’t learn to work, your families personal cycle will end.” Oh by the way, the clodesses are the people that watch over us and help us with important decisions, leading us through this so called “cycle” Each clodess in in control of about 5 families and they are never to be argued with.

Well let me tell you a bit about our every day life. In the morning the men and sons go to work and the women all meet in a large hut to start cooking. We cook these huge buffet style meals, and it takes us all day to finish. Once the sun goes down, and the moon light is the only form of light we have, the men come to the big hut called the dining hall and all eat and laugh. The women eat too but quickly and only very little. The clodesses tell us that we do not need the energy from the food, because we do not work hard at all, especially compared to the men in the family. No woman ever went hungry though, so no one ever complained.

After all the men had thirds, they went back out to work. Women cleaned up and by the time we got back to our huts, the men were already asleep and filling the hut to it’s maximum. During the dry season we would usually take the top leaf off of the hut and sleep on it so we had a bit of padding. Otherwise, most women slept on the ground outside of the hut. My son was still small so we would both have space to sleep in the hut, but the clodesses did not know. If they found out we would both get punished, because I did nothing to deserve the mat in the hut.

Nothing exciting ever happened on our cloud, but for a long time, we did not even know the feeling of excitement. We woke, worked, ate, worked, slept, and woke again the next morning to repeat everything. The first time our cycle experienced excitement was when my dear friend, Kanyk , skipped work one day and dressed as a man, to help do the labor. Us women at work realized she was gone but didn’t have time to worry. It was only when she came to the dining hall in mens clothes and pillows acting as her broad shoulders, that we realized what happened. None of the women ate that night, instead we snuck behind the counters to talk to her about what she had seen.

When she took off the pillows and washed her dirty arms and face, we saw bruises and cuts and scrapes all over her skin. We all asked with so much curiosity, what had happened and she described to us how laborful the work of a man was. She had to cut wood and lug around pounds among pounds of stone and heavy metal. She watched as others leashed up animals and dragged then through a slaughter house to send meat to the women. She watched as men and young boys pounded things together with large hammers. They sweat and bled and didn’t, couldn’t stop working. This was a day that I was relieved to be a woman.

Anyways, stuff like that did not happen very often so it was an exciting day, and a story that I believe should be told. Ok now back to my point, my son and the other clouds. Well one day Kotir was walking to work and saw something. I don’t know what it actually was, but he explains it as a light. A few lights actually. Red, pink, purple, blue, and green lights. Lights eight times as beautiful as the northern lights and more powerful then “The Light” that people see as they go to Heaven. He explained it as the sprinkle of silver you see in a single teardrop, amplified the size of a rainbow.

Whatever it was, the light shone enough to make him go past the lines, the part of the cloud that goes around like a giant fence. The clodesses guard it, telling us that falling from it would mean certain death. I only know of four people that had fallen and the only one to return was my son. I do not know how amazing that light was but the point is, he fell. Although what he thought would happen, what we were all told would happen, didn’t. Instead of falling and falling until he burnt up, he fell for a moment or so, and then, landed.

He plopped right onto the soft white ground of a lower cloud; Cloud  3733366. This cloud did not have a gate or fence, so he almost fell off again, but managed to help himself. He decided to wander until he found a clodess to help him back to Cloud 752837. After a while of wandering though, he came across something very unfamiliar. The people were all walking around the large blocks and talking, laughing, and all kinds of things that made no sense. There were men and women of all ages, even babies dressed in clothing that looked new and fresh as if they just got it today. Their hair and nails were perfect and so squeaky clean.

My son walked into one of the blocks and saw so many noises and colors and items that were unfamiliar. Women walked around holding baby boys and girls and talking into small rectangles. They put boxes and cans into metal baskets with wheels and put them on a moving thing for someone else to scan and bag. Somehow he fainted and ended up in a woman’s box with wheels. She made it move and brought him to a large brick box where she lived. There were four rooms with fluffy beds covered in pillows and blankets. Her house also had a private kitchen where anyone could and would cook for the family!

He could not believe it and I still can not. He said that on that cloud, people lived different, however they wanted too. Some men worked but some stayed home all day and there were even women that worked hard every day. There were stores, restraunts, and malls where people could go to get food that was already made, or nice new clothes. Everyone had things called closets that held more clothes then everyone on our cloud had, put together!

He knew though that he didn’t want to live on that cloud, so he asked where the clodesses were so they could lead him back home. Then the woman said “We don’t have clodesses here, we are free.” He did not understand her statement, or understand how people could live without a clodess! How would they know what to do or know when they have done good or bad? Who would keep the society going?

The woman continued to explain that this cloud had no overruling power and no one with ultimate control. Everyone looked after each other but only controlled themselves. Things like roads, food, and health services were taken care of by the citizens themselves. No one was needed to tell them what to do. If some one did need help, they would go to Taithros, the oldest person on the cloud.  He was wise and had a lot of experience so he helped people but didn’t control them like a clodess did. Kotir went to see Taithros and hopefully get some advice. Taithros found a ride that could help him get back to our cloud, but before he went back up, suggested that my son explored the cloud to see more of what this life was like. Even though he didn’t have to, Kotir went to explore. He was curious what people did all day.

Wandering around the town he noticed a lot of people out and about. Some children were out playing and some were in their houses having their mothers or fathers teach them how to read, write, and do math. Most kids there 5 years old were smarter then anyone on our cloud. We knew how to do the things we had to do, but they knew how to do a bit of everything. It was so shocking how some people were working (though not nearly as hard as even the young boys on our cloud worked) and some people were just hanging around.

This whole cloud scared Kotir and he wanted to come back to me and our life, where he understood everything. He got in an mini jet that took him back up to Cloud  752837 where he was greeted by the large steel fence and hundreds of angry cloudesses. They grabbed Kotir by the back of his neck as if he were a cat and nearly threw him on our side of the gate where no one was waiting, because they were all at work.

The cloudesses hissed at the nice woman who drove him to our cloud. “Why did you take our slave.” “Who do you think you are to take one of our workers?” “We are reporting you to cloud 927!” Kotir felt like he made a big mistake as another cloudess brought him to this dark chamber and whipped his bare skin 7 times, the number of hours he was gone. Kotir sat crying as the cloudessed yelled and threatened to whip again or maybe lock up in a cell forever. He knew he had disobeyed but hated being treated like this.

A flashback brought him to Cloud 3733366. There nothing like this would of happened. People were free to go wherever whenever, and never got disciplined by a higher power. He knew right away he had to do something. He ran off  while the clodesses were looking away and showed up at the kitchen where he knew I’d be. He told us all about the Freedom cloud and that 752837 (our cloud number) stood for slaves, which is what we all were. He explained how amazing everything was then with the women behind him, ran off to find the men.

Within 20 minutes nearly the whole cloud was grouped together. We didn’t want to be slaves anymore, we wanted to see the free land. We wanted to be able to be with our daughters, husbands, and sons. It was not right to keep us here like this and we were going to fight back.

A huge mob of dirty, bruised, sweaty hardworking people approached the gates of the cloud. “We want out. We are tired of living like this and will not work anymore! We all deserve to be treated well and with equality!” The clodesses told us to bug off and go back to work, but we would not take no for an answer. Hundreds of us started climbing the huge gates, so that we could fall to freedom.

I had gotten over and was hanging onto the other side of the gate with Kotir, helping people over and gracefully letting them fall to the lower cloud. Then we heard a cloudess say “If anyone is falling from this cloud, they will fall from it dead!” Then she pulled out a gun like thing and starting shooting straight down. We heard many screams and most people ran back to their huts, but about 30 stayed and tried to continue climbing. We all would rather risk our life for freedom, then stay safe as slaves.

Many people were getting shot, but instead of saving ourselves, Kotir and I stayed helping others. We were guessing about 10 percent of people who made it over then fence alive, died on the way down but before we knew it, mini jets were being sent up to grab the falling people and safely bring them down.

One mini jet flew up by us and since we were the last people on the fence, I jumped into the jet and my son jumped in after me. Not a day passes by that I wish he would of jumped first. One of the clodesses shot him right in the back and he fell down right past our jet. The pilot quickly closed the doors and flew down to protect all the people on it, but I only wanted to be outside the jet. I wanted to be falling dead, with my son. I should of died and he should of lived…

Long story short, Cloud 3733366 Also known as Cloud Freedom, has 13 new people living there including myself. There is also a cemetery now where among the 29 people who died falling for freedom, is my son. I visit him everyday but try not to be sad, because he died helping people get better lives and get true freedom.

I guess the moral of the story here is that you may be a slave and not even realize it. The fight for freedom is so worth it, so stand up for yourself and your family. Stand up for your true rights because honestly freedom is something worth dying for.

I kept my hands flat on the table where I could see them, not trusting myself or the thoughts in my head. There was a frightening energy warming my skin and blackening my vision. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, I just wanted to scream, beat my fists into the wall until my fingers broke,and then paint with the blood
I smiled to myself, feeling the tears in my eyes, something heavy pressing into my chest so I could hardly breathe. I thought about the motionless body upstairs and the darkness around it. I got that desperate feeling, the panicky need to react, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop it. I wanted to run away, beat it down until it’s stops screaming, put a gun to my head and pull the trigger.
I ran my thumbs along the edge of the table, trying to remember the name of the song playing in my head. My mouth tasted dry and dirty. I picked a piece of lint up off the tabletop and rolled it between my fingertips. I heard a clock ticking…tick, tock, tick, tock, time..to…die, tock.
I laughed and did my best to choke back the scream in my throat. But I could still feel it there, trapped inside with everything I couldn’t say. I hated it for it’s weakness, hated myself for allowing it to live. I wanted to cut it out of my skin and pretend it was never there.
Climbing the stairs, I tried to breathe. My chest rose and fell as my eyes tried to ignorethe sickly green walls. My bedroom door closed behind me, shutting out the world and locking me inside . I fell to the ground and stared at the flies on the ceiling. I felt so silent, like I had no tongue, no way to put voice to the things inside, no way to cry….like no one would care even if I could.
An angry self-disgust uncurled itself inside my stomach, turning my insides hot and sick I needed to get myself back under control, kill the demons inside before they ripped my body apart. Otherwise, I felt like I could almost hurt someone else, cut them until they bleed the way I  always did.
I left the light off, trying to hide from myself in a way and not see the ugliness hidden underneath my skin. The knife touched my skin and I felt cold, and alone. I saw everything I hate about myself, and it made me want to stab myself in the throat.
The cool wood pressing against my back didn’t do anything to stop my body from burning. I could smell the blood on my skin, the raw insides from the cuts I made. They smelled like death.
Swallowing hard, I rubbed my sweaty palms over my thighs and pushed the door open with my foot. I hesitated for a moment, understanding that there would be no coming back. But I couldn’t make myself care. Slowly, I got off the floor. I stepped inside and closed the door behind myself.
The silence was complete, total. There in that room, time didn’t exist. I didn’t exist, neither did the world, nor the woman asleep in her bed. We were all just ghosts caught in our own lusts and guilts. What happened here, no one will ever say.
My footsteps were silent as I approached the bed. I couldn’t even hear my own heart beating.  I stood beside her head and looked down at her face. I brushed my fingertips over the scars on her arms, confusion and anger blurring my eyes. For a moment, I almost pitied her.  I understood her pain and realized how closely it resembled my own. Then I remembered the role I was playing and I bit it back until the only thing I could feel was the pulse in my wrists.
My breath came faster. I licked my lips and focused my eyes on the delicate blue veins in the side of her neck. I watched her blood pulse beneath her skin as I reached over her and took the pillow from next to her head. I grabbed it tightly in both hands and smiled because I didn’t know what else to do but press the pillow over her face.
Her fingers curled around my wrists, yet her touch seemed to be thanking me. A desperate, angry panic seized me and I pressed down harder, biting my tongue and tasting my own blood. I wanted her to fight me. Just to show some kind of emotion, give me something to rage  against, a justification for the rage I’ve always felt. But she lie there motionless, and after a while, her chest stopped rising.
It was done and I didn’t know what else to do. I stared down at her, telling myself that she was dead. But it was difficult to understand what that meant, to believe that something so horrible could be so easily done….like closing my fist around a baby animal and squeezing until it’s bones broke.
I stepped away from her, pressing my back into the wall and staring at the floor. I ran my hands through my hair. I looked at what I had done and I didn’t feel anything at all. I knew I should, atleast some kind of guilt, or maybe satisfaction. All I had left was the ghost in my chest and the blatant evidence of my murder lying on the bed.
I wasn’t certain of my reason for living. I wasn’t even sure I was real. I could have been a dream… Someone else’s nightmare. Though considering it, I knew it didn’t matter. So I went to sleep and forgot that any of it ever happened. And when I wake, we’ll do it again.

I ran my fingers through the bright red streak in my hair. I couldn’t help thinking it wasn’t me. Then I remembered, this was the new me. This was who I choose to be me. Therefore, this was very me.

I left the bathroom and nearly got lost on the way to my room. The yellow on the walls cracked and looked nicotine stained. There were rust colored drops coming from the ceiling that I guess was from the upper apartment’s plumbing. I also noticed there were no curtains on the window, but it was ok because there was a brick wall outside of it.

There was a knock at the door. When I opened the old oak wood that barely passed as a door, a wide lady in a big blue dress, with a stretched peacock tattoo on her forearm stood before me. She spoke with the voice of a 60 year old woman from Brooklyn. “I’m ya new landlord. Ya want something, do it ya self. And no cocaine or alcoholic beverages! No parties. You hardcore kids throw these huge parties and leave the place trashed. This time I’m not toleratin’ it.”

I wanted to agree nicely and convince her I’d be no problem, like the old Victoria would have done. But now I was Seattle Victori..er…Vicky. I was a rough as nails tough-ass bitch. This was my landlord though, so I figured I should be nice. “Yeah, whatever.”

“Kids these days…” she mumbled while stumbling away.  I soon found myself back in the bathroom. The red streak was not the only difference. The face in the mirror wore heavy black eyeliner and bright red lipstick. Her bottom lip was pierced twice, “snake bites” as they call it. Her right eyebrow also had a ring going through it. On her neck she wore a black leather dog collar. The red corset type top she wore was low and accented her little breasts as well as possible. Her midriff was bare and legs were squeezed by midnight black skinny jeans. Her boots matched her bracelet. Leatherish with silver spikes poking out. The girl in the mirror was not Victoria. But she was Vicky.

I didn’t exactly remember why there was such a drastic change in my appearance. I think part of it was rebellion and the rest was fear. I moved to Seattle and was scared, so I drew out a faux personality. ; Something other than my stuffed gerbil, to make me feel safe.

The next few weeks I stayed mainly in my apartment trying to forget about my parents. I was 18 and across the United States from them, yet they still seemed to control my life. This is when I knew I had to step up my “bad-ass-ness.”

That day I walked over to SaveMart. I didn’t get more then 5 elderly women look at me and that was just not acceptable. I took out my keys and as I diagonally paced through the parking lot I dug my house key into a reddish pick-up truck. The screeching noise was music to my ears. I then ran into a white Pontiac and kicked the bumper while running the keys all through the paint.  After about 3 more cars were cosmetically destroyed, I went inside the store. I still hadn’t got the attention I wanted.

When I appeared in the store I feel like everyone should have gasped and cuddled their children. Obviously though they didn’t. In a way I was glad, but in a bigger more powerful way, I was pissed. I put my hands under the card table draped with a pink tablecloth and covered with clear boxes filled with chocolate chip cookies. Quickly I thrust my hand up and the table flipped over, spilling happy and chocolaty goodness everywhere. I smiled (evilly) as I heard a few people gasp, but not many were by the front door.

I started to walk through the store, stomping on the cookies, smearing melted chocolate on my shiny high heeled boots. Everything on a counter or on and end cap was soon covering the green and white tiled floor. At least 800 dollars worth of food was open and unsellable by the time anyone approached me. He was thin and about 5’3. Baldness was a very distinct characteristic of his appearance. Dark brown eyes stared up at me trying to be menacing, but me being seven inches taller kind of made me the more intimidating one. He went at it anyway though, “Young lady!” he yelled even though I was right in front, well above him. “You stop it right now. You have to pay for all the food you have trashed. I’m calling the police…”

I figured if the police were coming I might as well really have fun. Before I knew it, my leg was rising and my foot was in his groin. He squealed while falling to the floor and I pushed, trying to knock over the aisles like in the movies. Unfortunately, they were bolted to the ground and I couldn’t move them. So I just ran through the store knocking literally everything off the shelves. Not much joy came from the boxes falling. Most of my smiles came from glass jars and the smell of pickle juice, grape jam, and egg yolk. I was already to the soda aisle before the cops came.

The entire store had been emptied and there wasn’t much point in fighting with them. I got handcuffed and was escorted out. While being manhandled into a cell I realized the problem with being Vicky. The bracelets and makeup were taken off. The problem was I wasn’t Vicky. Vicky was in jail right now but when she got out, Victoria was moving back to Louisiana in a nice house with floral print fabric and parental support. Now that, was the old me, but after the knowledge I had gained, it was also the new me.

“Every one hush up! The test is starting.”
I was sitting at a plain old desk amongst a bunch of other plain old desks in plain old school. The teacher was moving through us, setting a paper on each desk. She had a blank face. No emotion at all, like he was in another place.
My face was blank too. I was too busy thinking of problems that wouldn’t appear on the test. My girlfriend, Stacy, kept springing to mind. She was a cheerleader; that I had no problem with. The problem was her late-night practices, and how she would return sweaty and tired every night. I told myself that I was crazy, that she would never do what I was suspecting, but it still came to mind.
“This test will consist of…” the teacher dully went on.
It wasn’t rational of me to think this way. Or was it? I wasn’t sure. Most likely, this was just nerves. Big test, big worries. The teacher finished passing out the test, mouthing something about stopping when she said to. Or maybe she spoke it. Once again, I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t sure about a lot of things lately.
I snapped out of my girlfried worries as the overweight lady in the pink floral moooo snapped, “You may begin.” I brushed the sweat from my brows, ran a hand through my hair, and slowly opened up my test booklet. I could finish this easily. I don’t know why, but for some reason I had developed a belief that I would be able to get through the dumb test.
My mind changed when I looked at the questions.
Question 1: Stacy how are you?
a)I’m doing good…
b)Charles, there’s someone else.
c)Good, now that you’re here.
d)Hey honey. It’s going okay. Want to go get ice cream?
I choked on my own saliva. It said Stacy! What kind of sick joke was this? I immediately dismissed it as pre-test jitters (again), and circled letter B. Then I moved on quickly to the next question trying to forget the former.
This was only what I had expected. I had never questioned that she was a cheerleader; it was her life and she could do with it what she wanted. It just seemed that, time in and time out, cheerleading seemed to be more important then me. This was not OK.
UGH! What kind of test was this? I promised myself that I would endure one more question before asking the admin if I was on Punk’d or Candid Camera or something of the sort. Next question.
Question 2: Define marvelous.
a) superb
b) the word Stacy says when Micheal kisses her neck
c) average
d) stupid
I saved myself the trouble of choking on my spit again and coughed out of surprise. I coughed partially because this answer was also B, but more importantly because this test was pushed the concept of my girlfriend’s possible cheating, yet it was my ticket into college. And I was failing! I raised my hand quickly and the lady waddled over to my desk.
“What do you want?” she snapped.
I pointed to the questions in front of me about my girlfriend’s possible situation. She looked at them, and then looked back.
“What’s the problem?”
I looked down at the test questions again. The word Stacy never appeared. I was seriously going insane. I sighed and said, “Nevermind.” She rolled her eyes and retreated to her desk. I took a deep breathe, shoke my head as if to wake up and looked at the next question.
Question 3: Revise the bracketed section of the following sentence- The cheerleader whispered that Charles [never needed to know] about her and Micheal.
a)was completely oblivious
b)knew completely and was furious
c)didn’t have a clue
d)No revision needed.
I was glad to have a question with an answer other than B. I circled D and moved on. The answers to the next questions seemed to be spelling something out
b)the spot where we first got ice cream
a)on the lips
c)possibly because she’s bored
d)the captain of the football team
a)is cheating with your girlfriend
b)you can’t do anything
b)under the bleachers after practice
d) after school in the locker room
c)every day you’re not there.
By the time I was finished with the English section I wanted to scream! I was so relieved when it was over, only to remember I had the Math section still. It was never my strong suit. English was usually my favorite, though at that moment I despised it with my heart.
Question 1: If a cone has a circular base with radius r and the height h is 4/3 the length of the radius, how much will the cone hold in volume?
a) 4/3π
b) Not enough to save your relationship with Stacy
c) 3/5
d) 4/3 x 2 + 63
Again, the answer was B.
Question 2: If x = 3/4 y + 14z, what does x/3 equal in terms of v, if v = 3/8 y + 7z?
a) 8v/2
b) x = v(ery likely your relationship is over)
c) x/6 x 3
d) None of the above
I was sick of the letter B. It made me want to puke. I sighed and tried to concentrate, knowing that my relationship was over, whether this stupid test was right or not. Even if she wasn’t cheating on me with the football captain, breaking up with her will stop the constant fear and worry I have. I just wanted to pass this test and get to college. Leave all this crap behind. Leave her behind. I answered the last four questions, and dropped off my test. I didn’t know how many people had finished, I just needed to find Stacy. End this all…

“Your music is kind of loud.”
“Yeah well good thing it’s MY music huh?”
“He is right young lady; blasting your music is very disrespectful and not everyone around you would like to hear it.”
“Ugh old people!” I hated this stupid bus ride. I was the only one under I was listening to good music, just not from their generation. The lady next to me gave me a sympathetic look and I turned away toward the window. She smelled like lavender and ocean breeze. It didn’t mesh well with my coconut hand lotion.
I pulled out my journal from my near empty backpack and started writing.
I shouldn’t even be on the bus. My dad is sending me to meet my mom again. I really don’t want to go to her though. The way I see it, if she wants to get to know me, she can drive her ass down here.
“You should give your mom more credit” a voice interrupted.
“Excuse me!” I said defensively while slamming my notebook. “Did I give you permission to read this? No, I didn’t, and I definitely didn’t ask your opinion.”
“I’m sorry, I’m just saying. You don’t know what she is going through right now and how she feels about you.”
‘You don’t know anything about me or my mom!”
“I know you are angry and you are hurt. You feel your mom betrayed you. I know your parents got divorced, probably after a legal problem like drugs or DUI. I also know people make mistakes and you are blocking your mom out, when she may be trying to apologize.”
I was shocked. ‘Who the HELL do you think you are? You have no right to judge me or my family, and no right to read over my shoulder. BUTT! OUT!” I stood up and pushed my way out of the seat, landing in another one a few rows back next to a hairy gentleman. I would have rather sat next to a woman but the nosy one was the only one on the bus.
I had only been on the bus for 45 minutes and had 6 and a half hours to go. I figured I could try to sleep and it would get me out of listening to these old people, slowly talk to each other about books, crafts, and the good old days.
Falling asleep was easy. I started dreaming as the noise of rattling dentures faded, laughter and music. I saw many lights swirling around and teddy bears galore! The smell was of cotton candy, kettle corn, and corn dogs. I had seen this carnival before. I was looking down on a little girl standing in the walkway, looking around as if she were lost.
She started running and was suddenly in a fun house. She was crying and confused. The lights in the fun house flickered as clowns popped out of the primary colored walls and laughed maniacally. She ran from them almost tripping on her untied shoelaces. Sooner then she thought she was looking in a mirror. Now he young girl was tall and lean. Though she was crying, she looked much more confident.
Walking slowly, she looked at herself in every mirror. When she came to the one where there were three of her, and she thought someone was behind her. The little girl ignored it and went to the next mirror. She was small in the mirror and could see the other women clearly. The other woman was my mother, but the girl wasn’t me. The girl picked up her pace and so did my mom. Every corner confused the young girl, as it was a maze. My mother knew he way out yet followed her. The girl screamed as my mom’s gentle hand grabbed her shoulder.
“SCREEECH!” I was awoken with a jolt and hit my head on the seat in front of me. Everyone was murmuring. I wondered why the bus had stopped so suddenly. I thought we may have arrived, yet the halt seemed too aggressive for that.
A short man walked onto the bus. He was wearing a bowler hat and a monkey mask. He also wore a nice suit with a red tie. He was a very odd man. He reached into the coat and pulled out his gun. “Everyone to the back of the bus! You too driver!!!!’ He yelled with an authoritarian voice.
Everyone seemed very scared and squealed while running back to where I and the weird man were sitting. I wanted to be scared, but I wasn’t. I wasn’t anything. Suddenly my emotions seemed numb.
“Get closer together!” he yelled.
Everyone scrunched together and the dumb lady from earlier was practically sitting on my lap.
“Now listen,” he started, “I don’t want to hurt any of you nice seniors, so don’t make me. All I want is a helicopter. The cops will come and after a while of begging, I will get my way and disappear. Don’t get in my way and everything will be fine. Got it?”
No one said anything. Only half could even hear him.
“I said got it?” he yelled while raising his gun.
“GOT IT!” I, and only I, yelled.
He laughed and stared talking while looking directly at me. “Mam you look so young! You couldn’t be a day over 16! Haha. You got a cell phone right?”
I nodded and couldn’t believe he was laughing. I was scared now.
“Call 911. Tell them I’m holding y’all hostage etc etc etc. Even cry if you want. Just don’t forget to tell them I want an unarmed, untracked helicopter or I’m gonna kill you all. Haha.”
I knew I couldn’t speak but I pulled out my cell phone and dialed. I could not risk angering him.
“911, what is your emergency?”
I remained silent, even though I opened my mouth.
“911, what is your emergency?” She repeated.
The lady next to me smiled at me reassuringly and took the phone. “Hi, this is Maria Goldstein. I am on a shuttle bus to Colorado from Maine and we are probably about halfway there. A man in his mid 30s has a gun and is holding us hostage. There are about 31 of us including a young lady who has her life ahead of her. He says he wants a helicopter that is not being tracked or he will kill us. Please hurry.”
“We are sending help right away Ms. Goldstein. Please stay calm and do what he says.”
“Yes. Goodbye.” Her voice was so smooth. She didn’t stutter. While everyone else was shaking she was calm. I was still slightly angry at her for butting into my life, but couldn’t’ help but to put my head on her shoulder. She wrapped her arm around me and it was very comforting.
The next  hour was fairly boring. All the old men continued with their talks but quieter, Maria and I just sat there holding each other, and he man holding us hostage played with his gun. It wasn’t as bad as the movies, but there was this underlying fear. I was probably the most scared. They were all going o die soon anyway. I had a life and many many years ahead of me! I was very happy when I heard the sirens. Finally this was going to be over.
“Come out with your hands up Javier.” A police officer said over the intercom.
“Where’s my helicopter?” he yelled.
The cops said if he let us all go, they would work out he details. Javier didn’t like that. He grabbed an old man and put the gun to his head. Within 5 seconds he set the man back down and grabbed my shoulder. I started screaming as the cold metal pushed against the side of my head.
“Get me my fucking helicopter or the girl dies!”
“Ok ok sir. Please be patient and put the gun down. We are trying to arrange something.”
I ran back to the women, crying. She was my rock. The only thing keeping me comfortable right now. She held me and cooed like I was a 2 year old with a boo-boo but I didn’t complain. As Javier sat down and it was quiet again, she tried to change the subject and get me talking again.
“I’m sorry for butting in earlier. What are really your problems with your mom? You can vent to me dearie.”
She did well at distracting me because I forgot about the criminal and wanted to hurt her. I calmed down and told her the truth.
“My mom was accused of the rape of a little girl three years ago. She got out on bail. I don’t know if she did or not but my dad insists on me staying in contact with her.”
“Oh honey I’m so sorry. But she is your mom. Maybe you should talk to her  about it. I’m sure she’d like to tell you her side of he story. No mother wants her daughter to hate her. When my daughter was two, I left her with her dad. I was young and not ready to be a mom. I came back 5 years later and she despised me. She blamed me for everything because I had hurt her. It took 25 years to gain her trust and now we have an amazing relationship.”
“Wow really? That is so sweet!”
I got wrapped up in the conversation and quickly Javier was out of the bus and under arrest, and the bus was moving again. Talk about a rock!
“You know what, I think I will. Thank you so much Mrs. Goldstein.”
“Anytime dearie.” She said with that sweet old lady smile.

As I rode my bike trough the twists and curves of the leave drenched road I saw them; the perfect family. There was a dad probably about 6 foot 1 wearing jeans, and a light blue shirt. He probably worked a lot on the weekdays and had the weekends left to spend with his family. The mom was, well, average looking. She had dirty blonde hair to her shoulders. She wore a classy white shirt with pink flowers that was perfect for a nice autumn day like this. Then there were two children, a little boy about seven and a little girl about four years old. All four family members were holding hands and strolling with smiles.
It irritated me how perfect their family was. If I could even get my family out together at the same time, there is no way we would be holding hands, let alone smiling. My bike passed by them and I heard them giggling at some joke the son told. This really sickened me. I pedaled faster and when I was well away from them I slowed and sat on a bench.
I was across from the children’s playground but there were only two children. They were swinging on the swings and although they were only about six, I didn’t see a parent or guardian around. Curious, I walked towards them. Everything seemed perfectly fine until I heard a scream. It was a piercing scream, the kind that you still hear even when it’s stopped. The kids were not the screamers and my first thought was that it could be their parent. I to the kids to stay where they were and ran towards scream.
The woman was screaming again so she made it easy to find her. As I turned the corner I was surprised to see the mother of the perfect family, screaming and crying. I hate to say that I was kind of smiling inside. Maybe their family wasn’t perfect. Maybe he beat her or her kids were brats that flipped out when she said no to their request for ice cream.
I soon felt bad for wishing that. Dad was on the phone with 911 and the confused kids were sitting on a park bench mumbling. I walked up to the women hesitantly, having no idea what her next step was. “Wh-what happened?” I asked
“My hair! The bird!” She stopped talking after that as she fell into a huge rush of tears and I wondered why. The bird shit in her hair so what? Were they THAT perfect? I then saw she was pointing to the ground. I screamed too as I saw a bloody finger lying on the ground. Looking around I realized that the family all had their fingers, and connected that the bird dropped the finger in the women’s hair. No wonder she flipped out.
When I realized there was nothing I could do here but freak her and myself out more, I ran back to the children’s playground. The 2 kids weren’t there anymore and then I was very confused. Their parent must of picked them up. They couldn’t of gotten very far. I hopped on my bike and rode around until I saw a man in a black hoodie rushing the kids into his car and driving off. It wasn’t a kidnapping but he seemed so sketchy and nervous.
As I began to wonder if the finger and the kids connected in some way, I stopped myself. I’m not a cop or detective. What business do I have figuring it out? If I give the police all the information I have, I’m helping enough. I don’t need to do this. When I heard the women scream again, along with police sirens, I gave up that thought and decided that I did need to do this and I was going to.
I went to the restroom and when I returned to the “crime scene” the police were investigating and the news crew was showing up. I didn’t see the finger anywhere, and that irked me a bit because that is lost information. I felt like Nancy Drew or Harriet the Spy. I could be Investigator Misa. However, if I’m going to call myself an investigator I need to start investigating more!
My first thought was the man who took the children. He wasn’t with them when it happened or right before. What if he cut off someone’s finger and the bird picked it up? That would explain the rushing away while the woman was screaming. I decided to check it out, but first I took out my cell phone and snapped a few pictures of the crime scene and blood on the ground.
The man’s car was a black car. Small, I think it was a Camry. I also remember it had no plates. This was going to be difficult. I didn’t even know kids’ names! They were both blonde girls and about 6 years old. Finding myself in a stump, I kicked a nearby sign. The sign fell to the ground and as I put it back I saw it said “Smile you are on camera!”
Within a second I was on my bike again going towards the park’s little office. That was probably where the tapes were that recorded the man. If I can get a better look at him and the girls, I’m more likely to find him. When I got to the office there was nobody there. That didn’t surprise me because this is such a small park, but it was still a relief. All I had to do was break one little lock and I was in. Thank goodness our town is safe enough we don’t bolt everything. Well, it was safe enough. Now there was a finger cutting maniac on the loose! I got a rock and slammed it against the lock twice. I was in, and couldn’t believe my eyes.

The room was dark and musky with odd buzzing noises . It wasn’t as dusty as I thought it would be, but it had obviously been cleaned recently. There were several tables of different shapes and sizes, forming a rectangle, like a game of Tetris. Tools covered the tables, but not the kind you would imagine to see in a park maintenance office. These tools were definitely not leaf blowers, wrenches, and paintbrushes. There was a giant saw and scalpels. Bottles of some clearish liquid, gauze, wires, needles, matches, and rope. I snapped a picture and turned around hoping to find the tapes and get out of here.
All I found though, was a man. He was very tall and bald. He had an oval face with closed eyes. His chest was showing through his shredded shirt and had obvious wounds and scars on it. He was wearing pants that were drenched in what looked like grease or mud. When my eyes reached his bare feet, I saw the chains holding him there. I quickly looked up and noticed his hands tied above his head and also in chains. I ran over and looked at his hands. Just as I expected, he had only 9 fingers.
Quickly, I ran out of the room and nearly threw up. I was so appalled at the sight. After a few moments of much needed fresh air, I remembered why I went in there. I had to pass the man again to get to the tapes, but it was going to be worth it. Besides, I didn’t get to take pictures of the man or his missing finger, and I figured that was critical information. While taking the pictures, I realized he was still alive. I grabbed a knife but it wouldn’t cut through the chains.
“Hello? Can you hear me? Can you speak? Sir what’s wrong? Talk to me please.” He wasn’t responding so I gently slapped his face. I saw a bottle of water and reached to grab it. I tripped over a big black wire and came crashing to the cement floor spilling the water. I then followed the wire and saw the other end, a piece of metal that was making the buzzing noise I heard. It was attached to the man’s feet. I quickly unplugged it and slightly slapped him again. “Wake up!” I could feel tears backing up under my eyelids. This was very emotional. I had no idea who this man was, yet I cared so much. He had his finger sawed off and had been electricuted and cut and burned. He had to wake up he just had to.
After a few minutes of tears, I got myself together and decided to tell the cops what I saw. I had the tape but didn’t need it or want it at all anymore. I was done with this. This was over for me.  Investigator Misa no more. I was sad, desperate, scared Misa and I needed help.
I walked out of the room aand saw the cops driving away. Shit. I was stuck in this. I just wanted a nice bike ride. How did this all happen?!? A moment later I heard a moan. It was thew man from the shed. I ran in there expecting to see him awake. Instead, I saw a familiar looking man near the man I thought was dead. I turned on the lights quickly while yelling, “STOP!”
The man stuttered because he knew I recognized him. It was the father. The perfect father. That vision shook me up quite a bit. He was so perfect looking out with his family, yet so evil looking with this man. “What. Are. You. DOING?”
“This isn’t what it looks like. Just sit down and we will talk about it.”
“No. I’m calling the police. You are horrible! Why would you torture this man? This is just, oh my god I can’t believe you!”
“No. No. No. No. Listen to me. This is all fake. Tell her Robert.”
The tortured man lifted his head with ease and smiled. “Don’t worry! It’s all a show. This is fake.” His voice was perfect and unharmed. I was so confused. I sat down without thinking. I don’t think I could of stood again if I wanted to. My body had gone into shock. I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out.
“Ok um what is your name?”
“M-Mmm-Miisaaa.” I barely replied.
“OK Misa listen. No one is hurt. Robert and my wife and the kids were all in on it.”
“No one ishurt?” I yelled. “Nice fucking try! I already saw him. He is bruised and bloody and missing a finger! I consider that hurt!”
“No seriously,” the tortured man began, “The only thing that hurt was you slapping me earlier.  I wanted to open my eyes just to tell you to stop, but that would blow everything.”
“Everything? What is everything? What is this all about? Why would you do it? And if you didn’t cut off his finger, who did and where did the other finger come from?” I realized I was still yelling as the mom walked out of the back room, perfectly composed. Again I started crying. This was unreal. What the hell was going on? Why did I have to get involved?
The mom ran up to me and held me comfortingly. Even though she was part of this whole mess, I didn’t fight back. “You said your name was Misa?”
I nodded between sobs.
“OK listen Misa, my name is Anna Stone.”
“Wait.” I sat up and confronted her face to face. “The Anna Stone?” She looked familiar in a way but I never would of placed her. “Like the author of Wizard School’s Anna Stone?”
This time she nodded.
“Oh my god wasthis all a publicity stunt?” I thought of this because her new book comes out in about a month and she was a big author, but a lot of people weren’t going to buy it until next year when it was on sale. The women bit her lip and the dad replied.
“We needed the money. The kids start school again in a few months and we can’t afford to buy new supplies. The book was going to bomb. We needed to get people talking.”
“So you faked a dead man and missing finger? That is sick! You are sick evil people! Where did that finger even come from?”
“It was fake and Robert is wearing a glove.” As the dad walked over to take off “Robert’s” glove I got up and ran. I did not want to be in there with those people anymore. I can’t believe they would do something like that! However, before I could blow this all off, I had to know what the man in the hoodie was doing.
Before I knew it I was home and watching the tape. I guess time flew by when I was trying to not think of what just happened. I popped in the tape and fast forwarded. That easily I got his liscence plate. I also saw him holding something. It was a camera. One of those fancy ones. Everything clicked. He was a paparazzi. I flipped to television and on the news I saw the story of the author and a finger dropped by her bird.
I knew the media was going to find out it was fake once the cops did testing. I figured anything I would say would be pointless. She already got the attention she wanted. Her book was going to sell, and there was no way in hell I was going to buy it.