Tag: stories

The Revolution: Chapter 5

Christanna Rowader3 Comments

“Please identify your ship,” a deep male voice reverberated throughout the shuttle’s cockpit.

Lilliya had safely arrived at the glittering planet of Coruscant and had disengaged the cloaking device in order to be detected by the planet’s security defenses.

“I am Commander Lilliya Tentle of the Galactic Raiders. I have stolen this ship from an unknown source in the Endor system,” Lilliya responded, her voice cracking in slight exhaustion. “Request landing and an audience with President Organa Solo. I have vital information of a security breach on the Endor system.”

“What is your identification?”

Lilliya sighed in irritation. There were times where she hated the numerous security procedures she had to go through. She punched in her identification code and waited for a response.

“Please hold for verification,” the deep voice said.

Lilliya rested her head on her hand as she waited, staring at the glistening planet below. It took all she had to not close her eyes and lose consciousness; the wound on her head began to pulse stronger, though the blood had crusted over into a thick, black scab.

“Commander Tentle,” the voice echoed, making Lilliya snap to attention, “we are unaware of a security breach from Endor system.”

Lilliya gritted her teeth. She knew they were going to be difficult. Ever since the Yuuzhan Vong war and the recent planet rebellions, the Galactic government had become a paranoid, security stronghold. In any other situation, she wouldn’t blame them. Right now, she was tired, angry, and didn’t feel like dealing with it.

“There was no time to send a transmission. My fleet had intercepted an unknown battle ship and we were destroyed. The Raider base has also been eliminated. I am the only survivor,” Lilliya responded.

There was a moment’s pause, and then, “We are unaware of a Raider base on Endor. Please standby.”

“Wait!” Being put on security hold was the last thing Lilliya wanted. She could just imagine the kind of idiots that were on duty at this time. “The Raider base is a secret government funded security outpost. If you check with your supervisor, you will find that the base exists. I don’t have time to go through checkpoint procedures. I have to let the Senate know of—”

“Please standby.”

“Dammit!” Lilliya slammed her fist down on the console in frustration.

Two aggravating minutes later, a female voice came through the com.

“Commander Tentle,” she said, “your identification has been verified. Your request for audience with the Senate has been granted. Please follow flight coordinates. Do not deviate. Thank you.”

That was a surprise, Lilliya thought. She had assumed that it would have taken an hour before she could pass security checkpoint and land. Thankfully she was wrong. Four sleek and heavily armored security ships appeared suddenly on all sides of Lilliya’s shuttle and escorted her down to the planet. Half organic and half metal towers and spires passed her viewscreen as she maneuvered her ship through the city’s maze. A floating docking port came into view and her ship automatically landed itself, hovering silently over the platform before gently touching base.

The security ships landed in formation around it. Lilliya carefully stood from her pilot seat, all too aware of her head spinning and her stomach churning. She removed the medallions, which, in turn, shut the ship completely down, and exited down the ramp. The ship sealed behind her, the crease disappearing. She wondered why she never noticed that before.

A tall, black shrouded figure stood before her. Lilliya shuddered. She had forgotten how disturbing the security officers looked with their black faceplates and black bodysuits. She could never see their eyes or what they looked like underneath their uniforms; it was only when they spoke that she could get a read on them.

“Commander,” the security officer spoke, its voice sounding metallic, almost computerized, through the faceplate. This one happened to be female and was probably the same officer who allowed Lilliya to land.

Lilliya nodded and stood in standard formation in order to be searched. Two other black uniformed guards approached her from either side—they were always so quiet and stealthy—and began to scan her. They removed her blaster and any other metal object, including the ship’s medallions she had hidden in her pocket. They unzipped her suit halfway, exposing the crystal necklace that glittered in the sunlight against her sternum. Lilliya always hated this part; it was so humiliating.

The guards scanned the necklace and one of them reached forward to remove it. Lilliya gripped the guard’s wrist before it could touch the necklace.

“Don’t,” Lilliya growled. There had been a time when she allowed them to remove her necklace. It had been weeks before she was able to get it back and during those few weeks she had never felt so sick and weak in her life. She considered it her good-luck charm and she never let anyone touch it.

The guard turned to its supervisor. The two looked at each other for a second—there must have been an inaudible conversation—and then the guard stepped away from Lilliya. A hot breeze blew by, ruffling the loose strands in her hair. The movement sent her stomach on edge and it took all her strength to swallow down the nausea.

“You are clear to proceed. Follow me, Commander Tentle,” the female supervisor said.

The other two guards flanked on either side of Lilliya and she followed the tall supervisor into a sleek security speeder. Lilliya was grateful to sit down in the enclosed passenger side of the speeder. She was starting to feel too dizzy and she leaned her throbbing head up against the tinted window for support. The nausea subsided for a brief moment until the speeder shot into traffic at high speeds. Lilliya had to close her eyes from watching the traffic and skyscrapers zoom by. The officers didn’t seem to notice, though the main officer watched her intently from across.

It took about five minutes, though it felt like forever to Lilliya, before the Galactic Palace was in sight.

“Approaching GP station,” the hidden speeder pilot announced.

Lilliya forced her eyes open and carefully peered out the window. There, she was able to view the organic monstrosity that represented the capitol of Coruscant: the Galactic Palace, or GP station as the pilot had referred to it. Lilliya had never seen it before, but had heard plenty of it through rumors on Endor. Now that she could see its unique frame and jaw-dropping appearance, Lilliya could understand the obsession and fascination people had with it.

It was stunning. GP station originally was just a simple metal structure with varied tall spires. After the Yuuzhan Vong invasion of Coruscant, the palace’s metal exterior had been eaten away by the alien vegetation virus and was replaced by an organic, rainbow hued material with strange, rounded formations. Since the Alliance retook Coruscant, the ruling Senate at the time decided to keep the organic structure and renovate the interior. Later, decorators of every species added their own personal touch to the palace as a representation of unity. Now, the palace was a massive, red, green, blue and yellow giant with layers of spires and towers of every shape and size, with silver metal glinting in between its colorful skin. One would think that its multitude of shapes and colors would make the structure seem random and distorted. Instead, it shined a sense of brilliance standing alone in the center of a metal plateau surrounded by nothing but space; the other structures, apartments, and towers stood about twenty miles away, per security protocol. The palace seemed almost alive, the colors shifting and shimmering in the bleak sunlight.

Lilliya stared in awe of its magnificence, the palace’s immense size filling the window, blocking out the sun.

The speeder passed through the invisible security shield and landed on one of the lowest docking ports. The two guards that had flanked Lilliya exited the speeder first, Lilliya followed suit, and the supervisor behind her.

Hot wind smacked Lilliya in the face, almost knocking her over. The tall officer caught her before she lost her balance completely and straightened her back up.

“Thanks,” Lilliya murmured, glancing at the blank faceplate of the officer. She nodded in response, but said nothing.

Lilliya looked ahead of her at the entrance and allowed her gaze to trail upwards. The palace was so tall she couldn’t even see the top from where she was standing. For a moment, she was distracted from her nausea.

Out of the entrance came four droids, decommissioned as military droids after the Yuuzhan Vong war had ended and restarted as GP guard droids. They were frightening in size and appearance, resembling the skeletal-like faces of the Yuuzhan Vong, with ominous glowing red eyes. These things gave Lilliya the creeps, but that was the point, she supposed.

Between the foursome came a beautiful, white-haired woman. She was sleek, but small in frame, coming only to Lilliya’s shoulder, but moved like a dancer, stealth-like and smooth. The woman could have been any age, but her face resembled a child’s, young, sweet and pure.

The woman stopped a foot away from Lilliya, the GP droids standing guard inside the palace entrance.

“I am Mazy,” the beautiful woman said, her voice clear and like a bell. “I am the President’s personal aide. I understand you have requested an audience with the President.”

“Yes, I have vital information I think she should be aware of,” Lilliya responded, hot air continuously blowing all around her and Mazy, making Lilliya’s hair whip against her cheeks and eyes. Surprisingly enough, Mazy’s white hair, cropped short and spiky to her shoulders, stayed perfectly still, unmoved by the wind.

Mazy nodded. “The Council is expecting you. They deeply regret your loss.”

Lilliya stiffened. Being reminded of the massacre she had left behind made her sick to her stomach. She had to strain to focus on making sure her mind was in the right place.

“You may follow me,” Mazy said, turning around on her heel in one fluid motion and heading back inside.

Lilliya followed her, all too aware of the black shrouded officers watching her leave, as if she would turn around and attack at any moment. The galactic government never took anymore chances.

Cool air seeped out from the inside of the palace as the sliding doors gave way to Mazy and her entourage. This alleviated much of Lilliya’s unsettled nerves. The six of them entered, the sliding doors sealing immediately behind them, and, much to Lilliya’s surprise, were surrounded in a dark blue-green glow emanating from little stalagtites jutting from the metal walls.

“Don’t touch,” Mazy called gently, as Lilliya had tried to reach out and brush one of the blue-green stalagtites as they walked passed.

Lilliya quickly retracted her fingers from touching one. She barely noticed how it glowed hotter in reaction to her.

“These stalags are one of the lighting decorations left from the Yuuzhan Vong occupation,” Mazy continued. “They are very hot to the touch, despite the fact that they give off a cool atmosphere making the rooms they inhabit feel like a cave. They are alive as is customary of Yuuzhan Vong.”

“Interesting,” Lilliya murmured. She did notice the drop in temperature from the moment she walked in—it made the pounding in her head subside ever so slightly—but she had assumed it was from the typical cooling system. The Yuuzhan Vong technology never ceased to amaze her.

They continued down the dark corridor for a few minutes more. Lilliya imagined this must have been a secret way into the palace. There was no way they would direct normal visitors through here unless they wanted to spook them first.

Finally, they stopped at a lift tube, rounded metal doors allowing them inside, and the tube shot straight up. Again, Lilliya was surprised that she felt no motion from inside the tube, but she imagined they were going very fast.

A moment later, the darkness gave way to light as the granite wall blocking the glass view pane disappeared. Through the glass, Lilliya could see the inside of the palace, the center of GP station.

It was bright as day and there seemed to be something that resembled a sun at the top of the ceiling, a ceiling that also seemed to have no end. All sorts of species—diplomats, politicians, tourists, high class families and lower class families—filled the center of GP station. It was incredibly to see so many people in one place. It was like a little city all on its own. Across the way, there were other lift tubes going in opposite directions, but none were going in the same direction as her tube. Lilliya leaned forward against the glass to keep her sights on the fascinating display—there was so much to see—as the tube reached higher altitudes. She was able to make out the sun-like light source as the tube neared the top. It was a collection of yellow stalags, similar to the blue-green ones in the tunnel, and they were all organized in a circular pattern, giving off almost blinding light.

As soon as they passed the “sun,” the view pane was blocked again by more black granite, although, Lilliya noticed, if she looked closer, she noticed the black was not entirely black at all, rather a thick mixture of florescent rainbow colors.

The journey quickly came to an end as the doors rotated open to let them out. The six of them stepped out into a simple windowless hallway with rounded ceilings lit by white lights and deep red carpeting stretched down the endless hall. This was probably an addition by the Galactic Senate, Lilliya thought, because of how bleak and simple it was designed. They made their way to double glass sliding doors; it didn’t take them too long.

Through the glass, Lilliya could see a small line of people sitting in simple chairs organized in a half-circle. Her heart began to pound nervously now. She had realized that she never really thought about what she was going to say. The truth would be simple enough, but to announce it professionally and eloquently was the hard part. She was never good at public speaking.

Too late to start practicing now, she thought, as the doors slid silently open, Mazy being the first one to enter. Lilliya followed and the four GP guard droids stayed close behind.

The room was just as intimidating. The floor was made of a thick multicolored green carpet patterned in a circular fashion. The ceiling was high and rounded, shimmering a gold color. The walls were mirrors, which made the room seem enormous. There were no windows.

As soon as Lilliya’s little entourage entered, the quiet chatter the counsel was engaged in ceased immediately, all eyes turning on her. Lilliya’s stomach turned upside down and she swallowed hard in an attempt to swallow her nausea away.

“Council Members,” Mazy announced in her tiny voice, “I present to you Commander Lilliya Tentle of the Galactic Raiders.” Then Mazy stepped to the side and Lilliya had the floor.

That was it? Lilliya cleared her throat and scanned the counsel members in front of her. She didn’t see the person she was looking for—President Organa Solo.

“Good evening,” Lilliya said, her voice cracking with fatigue. “Unfortunately I come to you with bad news from Endor.”

No one responded.

So, Lilliya decided to spill it the best she could.

“My team intercepted a battleship with incredible power,” Lilliya said, trying not to let her fingers fiddle with each other. “The ship was already in attack formation and my team did its best to defend ourselves. We seemed to have the upper hand at one point, until the ship unleashed a type of weapon which obliterated the base on Endor. No one survived.”

There was a moment’s pause, then a man, human, spoke up.

“What kind of a weapon?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” Lilliya responded, trying to recall the memory as best as possible. “I’m assuming it was a laser. The only thing I experienced was…blinding light.”

“Where were you at the time?” the man asked again.

“I was up in my ship with the rest of my team. We were engaged in a firefight at the time,” she answered.

“You assume it was a laser?” This time an Ithorian woman asked. “Could it have been something else?”

Lilliya tried to recall the memory, but all she could remember was one moment they were in normal space, and then the next she couldn’t see anything but bright white light.

“I’m not certain,” Lilliya said. She continued to scan the room. Now she was certain the President wasn’t in the room. “Where is President Organa Solo? I had asked to see her.”

“The President does not sit in on meetings such as these,” the Ithorian said. “We will discuss with her the situation as soon as we determine what the situation is exactly.”

“Oh.” Lilliya clenched her fists in frustration. She should have assumed that this would happen. She knew seeking an audience with the President was an almost impossible request. And at this point, she wasn’t sure how long she could hold on to her consciousness. Her head had begun to spin faster and she dared not look at the circular carpeting in fear of passing out.

“Can you tell us anything else about his mysterious ship,” the man asked this time.

Lilliya wondered why no one else spoke up. Or did it matter at this point? The President wasn’t here and the Council would take forever to pass on the information.

“All I know is that appeared out of nowhere,” Lilliya said, her voice beginning to lose volume. “I’m not sure where it came from. I remember that we couldn’t track its previous coordinates and it was already in attack position.” She took another breath to steady herself. She almost wished she could lean on one of the guard droids, but she wasn’t sure how it would take it. “The ship’s design was something I’d never seen before. I don’t think it’s from here.”

“What do you mean ‘from here’?” Another council member spoke, but Lilliya’s vision was blurring so badly she couldn’t see who it was.

“There’s a high chance that the ship is from outside the galaxy—”

“How could you be so certain? There’s also a high chance that it was made right here by one of our own Galactic planets,” the Ithorian said. “Maybe a planet that is doing illegal testing. Maybe a planet that plans on rebelling against the Galactic Alliance. Have you measured these options?”

Lilliya looked towards the Ithorian’s direction, but all she could see was a blurry mass. She thought of the shuttle’s design, how the instruments inside were like nothing she’d ever seen before. Her father had her study many different ships and their designs by all the species in the galaxy. She remembered all of them. None of them every came close to how the shuttle functioned. And the strange geometric key hole…which matched her crystal charm…

“It couldn’t have been…” Lilliya whispered, mostly to herself. She could feel it in her bones, that tingling feeling again.

“What was that, Commander?” another member said.

Lilliya shook her head to clear her thoughts and immediately regretted the action. The motion made her vision black and her stomach lurched. She could feel the bile rise up her throat and she reached forward as if to hold onto something. All she felt was air and then she noticed herself falling forward. She landed hard on the carpet, despite the extra cushion it provided, felt the acidic bile erupt from her mouth, and then the blackness took her consciousness.

The GP guards acted on instinct and steadied their weapons on Lilliya’s passed out form. No one from the counsel moved, except that maybe one of them gasped in surprise. Mazy’s quick movements had her all the way on the other side of the room punching in a code on one of the mirror panels. As soon as she did that, the closest mirror to Mazy vanished instantly to reveal a dark room.

From the room came a smaller woman wearing a simple white jumpsuit and cloak, her gray-brown hair wrapped in tightly woven braids on top her head, resembling a simple crown.

“Alright, I’ve seen enough,” President Leia Organa Solo said. “Someone get her to the infirmary.” Leia had been watching the whole time behind one of their security rooms. The security rooms came highly recommended and were almost always enforced upon her by the Council for safety reasons. “I want her revived and her identity verified.”

“What do you think about her story?” the human male asked. By now the council members began to get up from their chairs, some of them making their way to Leia, others making a circle around Lilliya.

“I want to make sure she is who she says she is before making any big decisions,” Leia said. “However, I want an investigative task force set up and prepared to ship to Endor just in case she is telling the truth.”

“Why do you think she would make this up?” Mazy whispered beside Leia.

Leia eyed Lilliya’s form suspiciously. One of Leia’s many talents as a politician was that she was also a Jedi. The whole time Lilliya was talking, Leia was searching her thoughts and trying to sense her presence within the Force. She found nothing. Just a blank spot, a void within the room where Leia could hear and feel everyone else, including the droids’ mechanical presence. The only time she ever experienced a void in the Force was when there was a Yuuzhan Vong, and they were infamous for their realistic disguises.

“For all we know, Lilliya Tentle is either dead or alive and well on Endor, and this is some sort of imposter,” Leia announced. She then turned to Mazy and quietly added, “See if you can contact the Raider Base on their private frequency. If you get nothing, I want you to lead the investigative team and head to Endor immediately. I don’t want this becoming a distraction before the Armistice Celebration.”

Mazy nodded, her gaze becoming dark with anticipation. She was Leia’s personal little spy/destroyer. She was a born killer inside a tiny feminine body. Leia had found her among the bowels of Coruscant and decided to take Mazy under her wing. Leia trained her to use her deadly talent for good and useful purposes. Although, Leia found herself wondering whether or not she was doing any good training someone like Mazy how to become even more deadly than she already was. These days Leia was questioning herself more so than usual. She wished Luke was more present in her life than he was. He focused all his attention on Ossus and the Jedi Order and never had time for his own sister, or even worse, his own son, Ben.

As Lilliya got carried away by a couple of emergency droids, the GP guard droids following closely behind, Mazy disappeared into the security room, the mirror reappearing behind her. Leia followed the guard droids out, but was stopped by the Ithorian council member.

“Are you sure it’s safe, if you think this is an imposter?” she said.

Leia glance at the Ithorian, then glanced back at the young girl with the golden hair being carried away. Though she did not sense the girl’s presence in the Force, she also didn’t sense any real danger. The girl, or whatever it was, was sick, and that had to be taken care of first.

“I’ll be fine,” Leia turned back to the Ithorian. “Please inform my husband that I’ll be late for dinner.” Again, she added to herself.

***

 

Lilliya awoke inside a white security chamber, her wounds cleaned and bandaged. An MD droid wheeled to her side as soon as she showed consciousness.

“Hello, Commander,” it said in its typical soothing male voice. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” Lilliya was able to croak out a response through her dry throat. Aside from still having a headache, her nausea had subsided immensely, and the dizziness was no more than a memory.

“You had a concussion,” the MD droid continued. “We had to treat you, but you should be all right. We also took a small blood sample to make sure you had not contracted a disease. Certain tiny insects can be very dangerous on Endor and they have infected a number of inhabitants.”

Lilliya never heard anything about dangerous insects, but she was sure she’d been vaccinated a long time before she ever moved to Endor.

“Thanks,” she mumbled. “How long have I been out?”

“About twenty minutes. Not long.” This time it was a woman’s voice who spoke. Lilliya turned around on the hard medical bed to see Leia Solo leaning against the wall of the security room. Leia pushed off from the wall and slowly made her way to the disheveled girl.

“Hi, I’m Leia—”

“Yes, I know,” Lilliya interrupted. She was entirely surprised, but thoroughly pleased that she was finally able to meet the president. “I’ve been wanting to speak with you.”

“I’ve heard everything,” Leia responded. “I have sent a team out to investigate Endor and to confirm your story, and maybe find out some answers to your mysterious ship.”

Lilliya examined Leia for a moment. She was a small woman, dark hair lightening with age, but she had a beautiful, almost serene face, eyes glowing a rich, dark brown. Those brown eyes also scrutinized back, Lilliya noticed quickly. She wondered if the president trusted her or not.

“I’m sorry to have to do this to you, but it’s security protocol,” Leia said, gesturing back to the four guard droids.

Lilliya glanced to her side to see the droids waiting for her and shivered. She hated this part, but should have seen it coming. Lilliya’s response was a single nod as she hopped off the bed table and shuffled to the droids. Her muscles still ached with fatigue. It was a shame they couldn’t give her anything for that.

The droids ushered her into a sterilization tube and began to strip her down behind an opaque shield. Leia watched curiously for any signs of a Yuuzhan Vong disguise, while continuously probing her with the Force, and still coming up empty.

The MD rolled over to Leia’s side. “She comes up clean. Her blood is not Yuuzhan Vong. And she is indeed Lilliya Tentle. I have her medical records from when she joined the Galactic Raiders.”

Leia frowned, distraught by this news. How else could she be invisible to the Force?

“So she’s human,” Leia grumbled, as though she was determined to catch an imposter and was disappointed to find her legit.

Lilliya had now entered the sterilization tube and was blasted with a white cloud-like chemical.

“That’s the interesting part,” the MD said. “Come take a look at her DNA.”

Leia moved over to a computer to see a representation of what Lilliya’s DNA strands look like.

“Now, here are a human female’s DNA strand.” The MD pointed to the adjacent DNA.

“They look the same to me,” Leia said, shrugging indifferently. She looked up to see that Lilliya had moved on to the x-ray screening. Leia still didn’t entirely trust the girl, even though the doctor proved her identity.

“Yes, they are very similar, are they not,” the MD murmured mostly to himself.

Leia glanced up curiously at the droid, then back down at the DNA representation.

“See here,” he pointed. “There is an entire block missing and replaced by a completely different pattern.

Leia squinted at where the droid pointed. It took her a second to see it, but there it was, a section of the DNA that normally curled like a human’s was sharp and erratic. Still, however, Leia wasn’t impressed.

“So she’s a humanoid, so what? There are lots of different species out there that look like humans,” she said. Leia was tiring of this topic and wanted to get back to interrogating the girl.

“Yes, you are right about that,” the MD said, almost giving up on his own interest in the discovery.

Lilliya had finished the screening and was now donning a thin white dressing gown to replace her bloodstained Raider uniform.

“Except that,” the MD continued quietly, “this DNA does not exist in any record of any species throughout the entire galaxy.”

Leia’s frown deepened and she shot a surprised look at the MD.

“I‘m not sure what she is,” he said, and if an MD droid could shrug, he would have done just that. Instead he rolled back to his computer station and continued his work.

Lilliya came out of the sterilization room, a look of annoyance settled on her face. The four GP guard droids stayed close behind.

“Hold those files under my private documents,” Leia muttered to the MD droid, quietly enough that Lilliya couldn’t hear. “No one is to access those files but you and me.”

The MD nodded.

Leia then quickly turned to Lilliya and approached her casually.

“I’m sorry to put you through all that,” Leia said, as Lilliya shivered in her dressing gown.

“It’s nothing,” Lilliya said.

“I’ve got it from here,” Leia said, turning to speak at the guard droids who began to follow them out. They stood at attention in the security room and watched Leia and Lilliya walk away.

“Those guys can be really creepy,” Leia mumbled, trying to spark conversation between her and the tall blonde.

Lilliya only nodded.

“Well,” Leia smiled, “now that we know you are who you say you are, I would like to invite you to stay in one of the senate apartments in the palace. To accommodate your loss of home and family.” Leia put her arm around Lilliya, noticing for only a second the immense height difference between the two of them, and walked with her out into the hallway.

“Thank you,” Lilliya said. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

“You’ve had a long day,” Leia said quietly. “I have to ask, how is it you are the only survivor?”

Lilliya squinted and stared off into the long corridor. There was nothing on the walls and still, there were no windows. The atmosphere seemed colder now.

“Just lucky, I guess,” Lilliya answered, not really sure how to explain it and not really wanting bring back the memory just yet. She was barely holding on as it was.

Leia’s real intention was to see if there was hole in her story, but she quickly realized she wasn’t going to get anything out of the tall girl. She was either two things: tired and needed rest before more interrogation, or a spy acting tired and therefore Leia needed more time to break through to her. Nonetheless, the girl was going to be under heavy surveillance just to be sure.

“What happened to the shuttle I flew in to get here?” Lilliya asked, breaking the silence this time.

“I had a science team take it and investigate it,” Leia answered. “They will try to determine what it is we’re dealing with, exactly.”

Lilliya nodded in approval and the two of them continued the rest of the journey in silence. Lilliya hadn’t yet noticed that they had arrived at the Senate Apartments. The hallways were much brighter in décor, and both sides of the walls had long panes of windows to view Galactic City. The glass corridor led to a public living center filled with colorful plants and aromatic flowers. Senators and other politicians lounged on the large red and gold sofas, a few small children running through the many different hallways. Lilliya imagined they were at the top of the palace because she could see nothing but the cityscape on either side of her. They journeyed a couple floors up and stopped at a silver door.

“These will be your quarters until you can get back on your feet,” Leia said, punching in a code that slid open the door with a quiet hiss.

Lilliya stepped in and observed her surroundings. These quarters were much fancier than she was used to on Endor. On Endor, she only had a simple bunk bed, a desk and small closet. This room was decorated with dark reds, greens, and golds, all swirling together. There was a large sofa in the living area in front of an entertainment holographer. The kitchen was black marble and fully equipped, and an enormous window looked out to the city. The two suns were already beginning to set, which cast the entire apartment in a gold-red hue. To her right, a small door led to the bedroom.

“I think I’ll let you get settled in,” Leia said from behind Lilliya. “There are few items of clothing in the closet over there and I’ve left you with a few credit chips that should help you get by. Tomorrow I’ll send for you and we’ll continue our interview.”

Lilliya nodded solemnly and for the first time, Leia felt sad for the girl. Maybe this girl was harmless and really was only trying to warn the government. Leia was becoming paranoid in her old age. Paranoid and grumpy, she thought. She looked back up at the tall girl who wandered around the living area aimlessly. But the simple fact that she couldn’t get a read on her through the Force nagged at her constantly. It was like standing next to someone who repelled the Force, or who went beyond the boundaries of the Force and was hiding somewhere—some place Leia couldn’t reach or touch. This thought made her nervous and she hoped Luke would arrive soon to Coruscant for the YVA celebration, if only to solve this strange mystery.

“Get some rest,” Leia said. “I’ll let you know if the investigation team finds anything.”

Lilliya turned to see Leia leave the room, the sliding door sealing with a hiss. Lilliya moved to the bedroom to find another large window facing west into the double sunset. There was a white marble desk with a simple holopad and credit chip card lying on top, and a simple black chair. Across the room was her bed, also large in size and adorned with velvet red comforters and silver satin pillows. Lilliya moved straight for the bed and flopped face-down. She didn’t bother drawing the shades down to block the golden light from the sunset. Lilliya squeezed her eyes shut and willed herself to sleep. Shoving her face into one of the silver pillows, she let out a quiet sob that lasted for a total of ten seconds before sleep took her.

Memoirs of a Wonder Woman

Christanna Rowader1 Comment

What is life? The term is so vague to me. Nobody understands it, though some claim they know how to explain it. Some claim they know what it feels like. Some claim they know the meaning it contains. Bull shit. That’s right, I said it. It’s a load of crock. Nobody knows anything, but they like to think they do. All my life I’ve been trying to figure out what life is about, but no one can give me a straight and consistent answer. I’m no philosopher, scientist, professor, what have you. All I do is work for the government in a lab, testing ground samples of the planet. Will somebody tell me what all of this is for? What it’s worth? What it means? No? I didn’t think so.

Journal 1

I am dead. But not really. Technically, I’m a living, breathing, swallowing, blinking, eating human being. And yet, I am dead…inside. I have made the ultimate decision, and that is to stop. I’m stopping everything and everything that was ever something. I have stopped walking…because there is no where else to go. And where I want to go, I can’t. It’s not possible. As if anything is anyhow. Thirty-two years and I’m giving up. Thirty-two years is far too long. God!—am I really this old? Can it really come down to this?—this feeling inside?—this hollowness gaping inside my stomach eating me alive. Ha! I sure know how to be dramatic. But I don’t know one thing about what it is to be anything that has anything to do with living the same damn thing every waking moment. Maybe I should clarify, Journal, so that you can better understand what the hell I’m talking about.

The sun was shining in my humble town Littleton, the day I was born. At least, according to my mother. I grew up in this town, along with my five older brothers, and no dad. Grew and stayed. My mother didn’t believe in moving, which I suppose was fine because I did have a sort of emotional connection to this place. I suppose you could call it beautiful, but it was more than that. It was this tingly, warming, calming sensation—how do you explain the feeling of home without thinking of a rectangular building with pointed tops? It was home, a place of belonging and acceptance, but not because of the people who resided there. It was the air, the smell of the air and when it moved about you, it seemed to give you permission to breathe, and when you breathed, you felt what it meant to be what it was you were.

Does that make any sense? I’m still figuring it out.

This was when I was a child, the simpler times. I never cared about anything that needed reasons and explanations. Like my mother and father. Why they divorced—it didn’t matter. It happened and that was all that needed to be known. Why my brothers smoked behind the garage after dinner, hiding it from my mother, and always blaming the smell on their jackets on the next-door neighbors. Why my mother never cried at the movies or at the news of a friend who had died recently. Why we never had a television set in our house. Why I had my own room and my brothers had to share. None of it really mattered.

My brothers and I used to play games around the house while Mother was off at work. My favorite was Wolf. My oldest brother would play the wolfman while the rest of us had to hide either in the backyard, inside the house, or on top of the roof—if you could get to it. I was too small to climb the roof by myself, but, if I was lucky, one of my brothers would pull me up on the ledge so that I could have access to the rest of the house’s roof. The two of us would hide by the triangular corner of my mother’s window. It was always night when playing this game. We remained on our knees, always ready to escape, and kept our eyes focused on the dark green of our backyard. I didn’t breathe. We had to be as quiet as the night—there was no breeze at this time, so that the oak trees never rustled, the leaves on the ground slept, and cars remained in their little garages. The only thing you could hear was the slight hum of the lightning bugs floating around the ground, their tails blinking on and off a golden glow. For a moment, the silence would be broken. Inside the house we would hear one of our brothers scream and a sudden rush of muffled movement probably inside Mother’s bedroom. Then nothing for about a minute. This is when my brother and I would watch the ground intensely. Emerging from the back of the house would be two figures: the wolf and the youngest brother—he always hid inside Mother’s closet. The wolf dragged my brother into the little garden at the corner of the yard and locked him inside the fence. The wolf would find all of us before making us his dinner. We kept our eyes on him, watching his slow movements, hoping that he wouldn’t spot us with his glowing eyes and special wolf night-vision. Making one last glance at his capture, he slinked back towards the house’s door. I watched my brother inside the garden intensely. He paced back and forth then looked up at us suddenly. He waved and we waved back, signaling him to stop, in hopes that he hadn’t given our hiding place away. We could attempt to rescue him. But the situation was extremely dangerous. There were, of course, two other brothers left. If we could all band together, we could corner the wolf and win. But that was always difficult to do, seeing as we had to find each other first, and that could lead the wolf to us. We couldn’t capture the wolf without all of us together.

My brother, however, decided it might have been a safe time to try to rescue the youngest one. He signaled me to stay quiet and stay put. I nodded and watched him slide around the corner and make his way to the slanted ledge leading to the ground. I peered around the window’s corner and watched the darkness make his figure become distorted. My heart began to race. This was the most exciting part: trying to save the captured and run to another hiding place before the wolf saw you. My brother crouched onto his bottom and scooted down the ledge until he was able to safely jump onto the grass. He stayed crouched for a moment, looking around carefully before making his way through the lightning bugs and towards the garden. Suddenly I heard a snap, quiet but definitely audible amongst the silence. It was on the roof! I froze, my heart stopped, and my breath moved so slowly I could barely feel it escape into my open mouth. I forced myself to peer around the window’s ledge once more, hoping that it wasn’t was what I thought it was. The darkness made it hard to see and the jagged corners distorted everything. But there he was. I could see him moving, ever so slightly, towards my hiding place. His hands, curling into claws, scraped the black tile. His arms were bulky and hung in front of his chest and to his sides as though they were too heavy to carry. His face was doused in shadow. The wolf continued skulking across the roof, right in my direction! I wasn’t sure if he saw me at all, but I was sure that he might be trying to scare me out of hiding. Down in the garden, my brother was able to rescue the other and noticed that I was trapped. The two of them started making noise, waving their arms up and down. The wolf turned his head to look and seemed to turn to attack them, but then slowly turned back to me. His steps became faster and this time I was sure he had seen me. I decided that it would do me no good to stay here. Jumping up, I made my way around the corner of the protruding window and ran to the opposite side of the roof. This might have made my brother’s nervous, seeing I was only six years old and if our mother found out, we would be in a whole lot of trouble. But the situation was dire and I had to escape. I had never gotten caught by the wolf and this wasn’t going to be the first.

The wolf moved quickly, paralleling my movements, as if he was taunting me to move towards the only exit. I took off my shoes and threw them down into the backyard. My bare feet could grab the tile easier, especially if I was planning to run. The wolf paused for a moment, not understanding the move I had just made. That was my queue. I ran down the front side of the triangular roof, hoping no one was outside to notice a little girl running around on the top of a house. I could hear the wolf move towards my previous hiding place, so I knew that I would be able to circle around behind him. A couple shingles shifted underneath my feet, but my balance remained stable. I was small and barefoot, this was a piece of cake for me. This time I could hear my brothers in the backyard call out my name, some sort of warning. All four of them were now banded together and if I could get to the roof’s ledge on the other side in time, we could capture the beast. I was determined. I made my way across the uneven tile, crawling over the other triangular window ledges. The wolf was right behind me now, though he was much more clumsy at crossing the roof. I was able to make it to the back side of the roof again, dodging around a chimney, but the wolf was closing in and blocking my only way to the exit. I decided to make an executive decision. I quickly made my way to the very edge of the lowest part of the roof, got down on my bottom and prepared to jump. I remember hearing my brothers calling out to me, telling me no. I even think I heard the wolf say something along those lines, but that’s only because he wanted to capture me and eat me. It didn’t matter. I had made my decision because this was the only way to win. I jumped. The grass cushioned my landing, the lightning bugs zooming out of the way. I rolled a little to alleviate the painful jolt running through my joints and up my back. Then I noticed the wolf crawling down the roof’s ledge. My brothers had surrounded me at this time, asking too many questions and were too distracted by my courageous jump than to recognize the opportunity we had in winning the game. I pushed them off and pointed at the wolf jumping to the ground and running towards us. “Get him!” I cried, and thankfully one of my brothers from inside the house had brought a sheet with him. The wolf jumped towards us, but we threw the sheet above him, engulfing his body. He thrashed inside, but it did him no good. We successfully tied the sheet in a knot and had him trapped. The wolf could no longer attack us again. We had won the game.

Of course, the wolf turned back into my older brother again and so we had to let him out. We would play this game almost ever night my mother was gone until one of my brothers injured himself, breaking his leg and cracking his skull from falling off the roof. He didn’t run barefoot like I did, and his foot slipped on one of the loose tiles, falling backward onto the driveway’s pavement. Since then, we were never allowed on the roof at all. Not even during Fourth of July when the fireworks would go off in the neighborhood’s park a couple of blocks away and we could see them perfectly from the top of our house. When I got older, I would sneak up there in the middle of the night when everyone was asleep and lay there thinking and dreaming. I would write little stories in my head, sometimes acting them out loud. All I wanted was to live in my imagination. Growing up was a disappointment. I promised myself when I was thirteen years old that I would never lose my imagination like grown-ups did. My imagination was all I had. It was the only thing that kept me inspired. Kept me going. Kept reality far from me.

I wish I was able to keep that promise to myself. I wish I could live in my imagination and not in this miserable existence people call life. It’s not what I want. I don’t think it’s something I can continue doing. I’m thirty-two years old and my imagination has been run off by worries and responsibilities, disappointments and destroyed dreams. If only I could stop everything.

Journal 2

“You have a way with words,” the man said. If I were to describe to you my dream man, this would be him. This man, sitting across from me in the tiny diner called Mom’s Pizza and Pies in the small town called Littleton, had chocolate-brown hair, silky and straight, hanging just below his eyebrows and swept to the side. He had these amazing sapphire-blue eyes that seemed to penetrate into my soul every moment my eyes met his. His nose was straight, his skin slightly tanned, rose-bud lips, and a smile filled with perfectly straight, white teeth. One might think he was a manmade human, genetically forced into perfection. His hands also caught my attention. Hands are very important to me. They were a man’s hands, worked, strong and browned with the very slightest of blue veins pulsing from the skin. Those kinds of hands I could only dream to touch me. This was the man of my dreams. I never thought that these things happened in “real-life.” Real-life—whatever that means. But there he was, sneaking a peak at my free-writing, and talking to me about the weather and small-town news.

You have away with words, he had said. And all I want to say is, “Not really.” The only way I have with words is the screwing-them-up way, swapping the order of them in a sentence, speaking in the way as though I can’t speak my own language. My excuse is that my brain is too fast for my mouth. My fingers, on the other hand, can keep up. That’s why I feel more compelled to write. It seems the only way I can really express my thoughts. I’m assuming many writers can empathize. But I am not a writer, though in some other life I might have been. I’m an engineer who works in a lab testing dirt samples for the government. Interesting, isn’t it? And yet this blue-eyed man, sitting across from me at this boring diner, points out the one talent I wish I had, which was the ability to be fluent with words—and to end the corrections I always received from everybody else—and this man says I have a way with words.

It was probably the most wonderful compliment I had ever received in my life. That’s not to say that I believed him, of course. But it was nice to think that he thought it was true. That someone could understand me. We met on many other occasions, Mr. Blue-eyes and I. That wasn’t his real name, but it was the name I had secretly given him. Some days we’d meet at the park and read together. Other times, we would talk from midday to sunset. Watching the sunset with him was something that I can only describe in one word as…filled. Filled with and of everything. Sitting on the grassy hill with my dream-man, watching the sun set into the horizon, red cascading across the sky, filling the white clouds with red-gold hues, the trees in the distance hiding the burning sun as it fell down, darkness creeping forward from behind, until all of the red-gold spikes of color dissolved behind the trees, returned to the sun and left the sky in darkness. For a moment of a second, there was darkness. Then the stars blinked into existence, lighting up the night sky like little fireflies. Like little lightning bugs.

And there I am, experiencing this filled with everything moment with Mr. Blue-eyes. The one person who understood me. For the first time ever, someone understood me. He wasn’t someone who thought I could be fixed, corrected, altered. I hated that. I hated that people thought they had the right to do that. I figure it’s in their nature to tell someone when they’re wrong. Any chance to display their superiority to one another, and they jump at the opportunity. But not him. Not this man, Mr. Blue-eyes.

He was the man I was to marry. The love I felt for him was overwhelming. I never thought a feeling like that could or would exist, just like I never thought he could exist. Every day felt like a dream, being married to Mr. Blue-eyes. I was twenty-six when I married. My mother adored him, my brothers respected him, and my brothers’ wives appreciated him. I lived my life with this man of wonder, and everything was filled with happiness. For a while.

I cannot explain very well what happened next. This is where things got a little muddied. Or maybe a lot…muddied. Nothing changed. My life as an engineer working in a lab testing the same dirt samples every day; the same, if not slightly different, results each time; waking every morning with the same sun rising in the distance; the same sex every day—there’s only so much you can do; the same holidays; the same weather changing in the same pattern—summer, fall, winter, spring, summer; breathing the same air in the same town on the same planet filled with the same contempt, suffering, unhappiness, war, monotony. It was all the same and no meaning. No meaning and all the same. Same meaning. Meaning nothing.

I loved my husband, my mother, my brothers. But these feelings, very real feelings that I cannot describe, changed something inside me. Killing me. Rotting me. I could feel so much all at once and not feel anything at all. Unanswered questions would consume my mind, questions that I never thought mattered. Life was what it was. And one must continue to be apart of it because that’s what makes people happy. Right? I couldn’t accept it anymore. I couldn’t accept anything anymore.

Soon I began to think I didn’t deserve anything. I didn’t deserve this wonderful man who had become apart of my life. I didn’t deserve the loving mother who had worked hard in bringing me and my brothers up. I didn’t deserve the carefully protective brothers and their patient wives. I didn’t deserve to be apart of anything. The thoughts that ran through my mind were like rampant flames burning every other passionate, hopeful, dreamy thought that used to reside there. Every negative emotion that ever existed in the world came into me and burned a hole so wide and so black that I became a vat of barrenness.

It happened that fast. Like lightening tearing the innocent sky on a stormy evening. At first, I tried to come to terms with it, fight it off, find the logic in it all. I tried to find the happiness that used to live inside my thoughts. I tried to recall what it was like to feel something like happiness. Tried to remember. So hard to remember these days.

My husband tried to save me, tried to be the hero people always yearn to be at times like these. But, you see, there is nothing to save, nothing to rescue. It’s already gone. I tried to help him understand this, but he couldn’t or wouldn’t. He was a stubborn man. And I hurt him. It was the only thing I could do, to wake him up, to open his eyes and see what needed to be seen.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he once said. And that was fine. He was honest, and maybe there was a chance that he finally got it.

“Then don’t. Don’t stay around with me. Leave me, if that’s all you can do,” I had said.

Nope, he didn’t get it.

“What is wrong with you!” he shouted. He never raised his voice to me. “What happened to the woman I married? The one I fell in love with? What are you doing to yourself?” He was referring to the raw cuts on my forearms. I had started cutting myself, if only to see what it was like. The feeling of not feeling was killing me. I wanted to test myself by using a knife on my skin to see if then I could feel something. Nothing.

“You can’t understand anything, can you,” I said. “You never understood me anyway. Why try now?” I wasn’t meaning to be hateful.

The sparkle in his eyes was gone. I was killing him along with me, and I couldn’t allow that to happen. His blue eyes that were once vibrant with life and joy had now faded to a grey. I couldn’t let him die. I had to let him go.

“You’re right,” he said, the tone in his voice sounding of resignation. He always sounded like this after these arguments, but it never meant he was quitting the fight. “I don’t know you anymore. You’ve gone to a place where I can’t reach you.” Then, as if a rush of a one-last-chance emotion punched his chest, “Come back! Please, my love, I only want you. I can’t live without you. We can fix this, we can fight what ever this is together!”

I didn’t answer. I hadn’t gotten through to him, and there was no point in continuing this argument.

He stood by the doorway of the kitchen and stared at me with those grey-blue eyes. Staring at me…something I hated. I couldn’t look back at him, couldn’t look into those dying eyes that reflected his crushed heart. He needed to go away.

“I love you,” he said, and it might have been the last thing I heard him say. I don’t remember.

I continued to look out the window, the sun dying below the horizon.

“Why?” I asked. But he was already gone, leaving the doorway empty and cold…like me. Only maybe there was a trace of warmth left from where he was standing, but it soon disappeared with the air.

Soon after, we divorced.

Journal 3

I saw my mother cry for the first time. She never told me why, but it was quite obvious she was hiding it. Her eyes and nose were swollen red, cheeks damp, and she quivered when seeing me. All the same, she pretended to be composed in front of my brothers and their wives. My brothers had lost their sense of humor, and the wives gossiped behind my back. I knew they meant no harm, that their love for me hadn’t faded, but I knew they were talking about the way I looked. I had stopped eating and so my body had become skeletal. I also continued my “cutting habit”, bringing it down to about once a week. All for the sake of exploration, really. Exploring the human body and its limits. Venturing into the unknown. A load of bull, isn’t it? I do it because I want to feel—testing to see if I still can. Eating is a necessity for those who are living, you see. I am already dead. Why waste the food? It should be given to someone who needs it, deserves it, worked for it. I’ve done none of these. And no one can convince me otherwise.

I once had a very memorable conversation with my oldest brother’s wife. She was beautiful. Something to envy with red-gold hair and bright, crystal blue eyes. My other brothers called her the pretty princess that didn’t belong in our rebellious family. I liked her, though. She was kind and smart and proper. All these perfect little attributes one could admire. One day, after my third brother’s wedding, she was telling me about her job in a hospital, taking care of the mentally ill. Ironic, and I say this with a smile.

She couldn’t understand why these people felt the way the felt, how lost they were, and how hopeless life seemed for them.

“I don’t get it. How can anyone feel so selfish to think that they are unloved and take their own life?,” she had said.

I stayed quiet and she continued unnoticing.

“I don’t think I could ever feel that way. Ever feel so lost in my own emotions to think there is no way out.” She looked at me now. “Other than suicide.” She tossed the word into the air as though it was a feather. A steal feather that was light as air, yet brushed my skin with its sharp edges. “It doesn’t make any sense to me.”

“I can see why someone would kill themselves.” It just spat out of me, like vomit. Oh, hell. Now she’s going to wonder if something’s wrong.

But she didn’t say anything. She did stare at me, however, with eyes of confusion and curiosity. She nodded her head, attempting to be agreeable, even though there wasn’t really anything to be agreeable about.

“I guess I don’t get it,” she said flatly. Of course she doesn’t. Who can understand these things, these strange thoughts, voices, roaring at you and with you, provoking you and teasing you, choking you and squeezing you until breathing is something that only exists in a dream.

I wish I could better explain this. I really am messed up. But not in the way you think I am. Not in the way the world thinks. I feel too much and nothing at all. What sense is there in that? No sense. So I’m not crazy, I’ve just realized something that others ignore…in order to be happy, in order to live a full life. A full life of what, though? That’s my question—because nothing means nothing, and there is no meaning in anything. So, what the hell! Why can’t I do what I’m doing?—because some person deems it unhealthy. Bull shit.

I’ve been dangerously balancing on the edge of figuring out the answer to life. However, because of my “studies” I had been encouraged to live with my oldest brother and his wife and six year-old daughter. I am thirty-one years old and I am sharing a room with a six year-old. It doesn’t bother me as much as I thought it would. The child reminds me of myself at one time. She is adventurous, vibrant, imaginative, filled…with everything. Everything I once knew, but no longer have. She brings memories back. She reminds me of what happiness is. She smiles at me, cuddles with me, though she shifts a lot because of how boney I had become, and tells me stories she writes in her mind. She seems to be part of another world separate from mine, as though I’m looking at an image encased in unbreakable glass and I can’t touch it, smell it or feel it. But all I want is to be on the other side.

I can’t. I am dead already.

Since I had quit my other job and remain on the support of my mother and oldest brother, I have spent many days sitting at the park, watching the sun come up and come down. Some days I will take the girl to school and pick her up later. I would sit, walk, breathe, eat the food my brother’s wife would feed me, throw it up later, lay in bed, but never sleep, though sleep is all I really want. It’s the only peace I can think of. One day, I decided that sleeping pills could do the trick. I took the whole bottle and feel asleep.

Amazing, sleep is. It stops the mind, brings peace and happiness. Until you wake up. It’s like you are ripped out of heaven to only be brought back to hell.

I have come to despise hospitals. The smell of steel and icy floors, medicine and chemicals, sterile and stale air. It was more than I could bare. But they kept me there, like a captive, talking about me as though I didn’t exist. They would be right, of course. I’m dead already. It infuriated me, nonetheless. How could my family put me through this? How could they allow this to happen? All I want is to sleep, dammit! Let all the swirling madness in mind take a break. Let the logic breathe for once, instead of continuously fighting being overwhelmed with hatred and sadness.

But they can’t understand. Just like Mr. Blue-eyes, who no longer has blue eyes, but have changed to a dead-like grey. No one can understand. Only I do. I am a waste of space, I have no purpose in life, and life is nothing more than specific patterns continuing in the same exact circle over and over. I can’t recall anything from my past. I am thirty-one years old, thirty-one years too many. I was able to convince my family to allow me to move back to Littleton. They had all moved away, but I wanted to return to where I had once known happiness. They agreed, trusting that maybe it was best for me. The little girl was sad to see me go, and for a moment, I thought I felt a sense of guilt leaving her and my brother and my mother. The look in her eyes, the sense of wonderment and understanding filled me with a moment of grief. And for that brief moment, I thought I could finally feel something in that black hole which continued to burn and consume. For a fleeting moment in that girl’s eyes, I saw peace and acceptance and, just maybe, freedom. And then it was gone, just like that. Unfortunately, as all little girls do, they grow into the same monotonous cycle every human being calls life.

So much going through my head…so many thoughts, so many voices. If only they can be silenced…

Journal 4

The sun shines so amazingly here, feels so warm. If there is anything to be said about the sun, it’s the only thing I can feel: its gentle heat against my cold skin, the way it bounces against my hair, the way it blinds me with its compassionate light, allowing me to ignore the pain and suffering for a possible instant. The sun was shining when I was born, my mother had once said. The sun sees everything, touches everywhere, and yet, is not affected by the agony afflicted on the people of this earth. I’ll never understand how people survive, living each day in sadness, ignoring its ever-unmistakable presence and calling it life, and a life they want to live. I am thirty-two years old and life has killed me, taken me apart by the seams and filled me with a rotting emptiness nothing can fill…and does fill.

If I were to tell you my story, Journal—if I were to “have a way with words”—it would be this:

The sun warmed the dead inside of her, filled the void with its heat until she thought she almost felt a glimmer of life. Only a glimmer, though, as the clouds crept across the blue sky, hiding the sun from her, keeping its golden light from touching her skin, her hair, her blinded eyes. She was standing on a bridge above a sparkling river, in her home and humble town Littleton. No one crossed this bridge on Sunday afternoons. Everyone remained home: socializing after-church groups had tea and little cookies, kids played in the backyard, all quite aware of the darkness that lurked inside their heads, the ever-present dimness of life that was easily overlooked by everyone and no one. So she stood alone, looking over the river, beyond the trees and towards the horizon where the sun was making its continuous journey. Even the sun never changed, but she couldn’t help but feel that she wanted to be apart of it, that it was where she belonged somehow.

A cool breeze went by, encircling her, playing with the ends of her hair—maybe it said “breathe”, but she wasn’t quite sure. She barely noticed the goose-bumps prickling her skin, she barely felt the heavy, metal coldness in her hand. It would have been heavier, had it been anyone else. But this was for her, this was where she was going, to a place where she belonged, where she could sleep, where she could feel peace. The thought of it brought a smile on her face and, for a moment, she thought she recognized it as something similar to happiness. She gazed at the dark grey lake, taking in its repetitive movement, and lifted her gaze to the horizon. Always the horizon. It attracted her and consumed her mind, or what was left of it. The sun escaped the clouds and doused her in its warm, golden light. It beckoned her, called to her, and for the first time in her life, she knew where she was going.

And for that first moment, peace. Pure peace. Everything else, gone. Finally.

Finally.

Life has been an interesting adventure. But all things end in time. We all move on. We all die. Some sooner than others. What’s wrong with that? Life is meant for those who are living, not for those who have already died. I was dead. I suppose, Journal, that’s all you needed to know.

The Perfect Human part 2

Christanna RowaderLeave a comment
Carrie spent the entire day home alone, pondering on the decision she had to make. It was only until seven o’clock when her roommates finally came home. Sarah returned with her usual load of homework and Lyn went directly into her bedroom. Carrie sat at the dinner table with an untouched bowl of spaghetti she had microwaved. She waited for her roommates to settle in, shaking her leg unconsciously.
Sarah came out of her room, load free, and started rummaging through the kitchen for something to eat.
“What a day,” she said. “I’ve got so much homework, I don’t know how I’m gonna do it.”
“Yeah?” Carrie said, turning to face her.
Sarah smiled slightly. “What have you been up to all day?”
“Oh, nothing,” Carrie shrugged. “Just been cleaning around the house. Stuff like that.”
“I wish I could have a day off,” Sarah sighed, slumping into the chair next to Carrie, giving up on the kitchen. “Hey, you eating that?”
Carrie looked down at her untouched food, shook her head no and passed it over to Sarah. Sarah immediately began cramming it down. Lyn came out at that point, silent as always, and made her way into the kitchen.
“Hey, you,” Carrie said lightly, trying to give her best natural smile. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”
Lyn didn’t look in Carrie’s direction, but rather continued to frantically look through the freezer and cupboards, throwing dishes in the washer, grabbing the trash bag that was only half full and pulling it out to be thrown away. It seemed as though Lyn couldn’t find a way to calm down.
“I’ve just been real busy,” she answered finally, looking around the living room for something else to busy herself with.
Carrie glanced at Sarah. Sarah shrugged back. The two girls watched Lyn frantically move from her bedroom, to the living room, to the laundry room, and back. When Lyn finally settled, she sat at her computer inside her bedroom, busying herself with more unnecessary work.
Carrie knocked on her door and walked in. Lyn saw Carrie enter out of the corner of her eye, but didn’t turn.
“Hey, I was thinking,” Carrie said, “maybe we could have a girl’s night.”
Lyn finally acknowledged her. There wasn’t a hint of anger in her expression, rather it was neutral, or tired, or her thoughts preoccupied with something else. She gave a faint smile before answering.
“I would like to,” she said, “but I’m going out tonight with Ben and the boys at ten, so I’ve got to get a lot of stuff done before then. I feel so behind since I haven’t been home.” She shrugged her apology and turned back to her computer.
Carrie stood there for a few seconds, watching Lyn busy herself. Ben was Lyn’s boyfriend and the boys she referred to were their friends, who included Carrie’s ex. Carrie couldn’t spend time with the boys anymore because of her recent break up with Jason. Her insides seemed to grow cold, thinking of how Lyn spends every moment with Ben, and here she was spending the night with him again, on top of going out with the friends Carrie can no longer be with because of Jason. It drove her mad how Lyn drastically went from being her closest friend to a distant stranger just over a few weeks. She wanted to blame it on her overly needy boyfriend, Ben, but Carrie somehow knew it was because of her decision to leave Jason that drove Lyn distant. They and the boys used to be a closely knit group. Then it changed, as things always do, when Carrie realized she and Jason could never work, despite the fact that she did, indeed, love him. It was simply unfortunate that they shared the same group of friends.
A feeling of sadness overcame her and Carrie turned away, seeing Sarah still eating the spaghetti at the dining table.
“What are you doing tonight?” Carrie asked.
Sarah looked, seemingly startled from her eating. “Nothing, really,” she said. “Oh, except I do have a ton of homework. I really have to start working on it. Probably take me all night.”
Carrie nodded, almost absently. She felt the loneliness shift into her chest, forming itself into a tight pain. “I was hoping that we could spend some time together,” Carrie said. “Actually I was hoping all three of us could do something. Like old times.”
The look on Sarah’s face turned pitiful. She cocked her head to the side and Carrie could almost swear that her expression resembled a pouty face. “I would, really, if I had time,” Sarah said. “But I can’t. I’ve got so much to do. I’m sorry.” She gave a very realistic I’m sorry frown, then moved her attention to the spaghetti again.
Carrie stood there, staring at Sarah. Her insides wanted to scream and tell them this may be the last time they’d ever see her, that they didn’t appreciate her as much as they should, that she wanted to be with them, wanted to laugh and drink wine, wanted to share dreams and fantasies like they used to, and not be bogged down with unimportant things, to forgive each other, to love each other. She wanted to see something that might make her stay, that might encourage her decision to decline the most important scientific break through discovered in human history ever.
Carrie let out a sigh. She couldn’t scream and tell. They would think she was crazy, or just trying to grab attention. But maybe that was all they needed to change their minds.
“What if this is the last time you’ll ever see me?” Carrie blurted out.
Sarah looked up and smiled immediately, the smile knowingly recognizing dramatics when she saw it. Lyn, though her bedroom door was open, didn’t respond. “This isn’t going to be the last time I’ll ever see you,” Sarah said, smiling. “Are you really that bored?”
“I’m not bored, I—“
“I really can’t, or else I would,” Sarah interrupted, the smile fading. At that, she got up, placed the spaghetti dish into the sink and went into her room, leaving Carrie standing silently alone in the living room. Eventually, she made her way to her own bedroom and closed the door. She picked up her cell phone, checked to see if she had gotten any texts or calls—nothing. Sinking into her bed, she gripped the phone tightly wondering on who to call. She was tempted to give Jason a try, but every time she thought of it, her stomach wrapped itself into a knot. It was time to consider what was important in her life. Her friends, the only ones she really had, were busy with their own lives. Her family lived in another state, so she never got to visit them nearly as much. She had already graduated school, but wasn’t working her dream job; in fact, she hated it with all her being. And the love interest—the one she used to think of marrying and planned spending the rest of her life with—grew into someone else where happiness between the two of them was a feet that would never be reached. There were times she wanted to sacrifice everything, just to be with him and love him, but it couldn’t work if it was never fully reciprocated. And she knew that.  But she didn’t think Lyn knew that.
Carrie stared at herself in the mirror across from her. The color of her hair seemed dull and her face looked pale and sick in the dim lighting of her room. The depression of leaving Jason and the distance of her friends was dragging her down somewhere she couldn’t escape. Change was something she needed, and here was a huge opportunity right in front of her. But was it worth it to never see her family and friends again?
She called her parents’ house. No one picked up. She called again. She ended up calling three times before her mother finally picked up.
“Hi, Mom,” Carrie said, her voice straining to sound happy.
“It’s past midnight here,” her mom said, her voice cracking with sleep. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Carrie said. “I just wanted to talk to you. Everyone’s busy tonight, so…”
“Baby, it’s past midnight.” Her mom’s voice groaned.
Carrie felt a warm numbing sensation spread through her chest and arms. Her eyes burned slightly as she felt the sadness she had been burying spill over. “I know,” Carrie managed, “I just miss you, that’s all.”
“I miss you too, honey,” her mom said, but Carrie could tell that she was still half asleep.
“Hey, Mom, I have a question,” Carrie said. She waited for a second to see if her mother would respond, but she didn’t, so she continued. “If a huge opportunity came around, a really good one, but it put you in a position where you had to choose one over the other, would you take the opportunity?”
“Baby, are you okay?” her mom said, slowly becoming coherent. “How’s work treating you?”
“Works fine—no, it sucks. I hate it. Mom—“
“What about your roommates? How are Lyn and Sarah?” her mom continued.
“They’re fine,” Carrie sighed, pulling at her left eyelid again. “Just really busy. In fact, I don’t see much of Lyn anymore. Mom—what if the opportunity of a lifetime came my way?”
“What kind of opportunity?”
“Of a lifetime!” Carrie forgot how frustrated she could get with her mother. She was this way no matter if wide awake or half asleep like she was. “And I had to make a choice. Take the opportunity of a lifetime and leave my old life behind, or don’t take the opportunity of a lifetime and stay where I am now.”
There was silence on the other end of the phone.
“Mom, you awake?”
“Yes, honey, I’m just thinking,” her mom answered. After a moment’s pause, her mom said, “Well, I would take the opportunity. You never know when you might have missed your life’s calling, so if it’s being handed to you, take it because you’ll never know when you’ll get another opportunity offered to you again.”
Carrie nodded, staring blankly at herself in the mirror, as though the person on the other side was also giving her advice.
“Baby, I’m going back to bed now,” her mom said. “Your dad and I get up really early, you know.”
“Okay,” Carrie murmured, mesmerized by staring at herself, as though the answer were somewhere within her own eyes.
“Goodnight,” her mom said.
“I love you,” Carrie said, almost too quickly.
“I love you too, sleep well.”
“You too—I miss you—“ But it was too late, her mother had already hung up. Carrie sat there for a couple of seconds with her phone stuck to her ear. Her mother had said it and now Carrie couldn’t believe the decision she was going to make. It was a decision that may change her life forever. Or it might end up being a total gag. Something in the back of her mind convinced her that this wasn’t going to be the last time she ever spoke with her mom. She found it hard to believe that she would be allowed contact with the world, but not with her own family. As far as Carrie was concerned, they wouldn’t be able to stop her if she wanted to see them. And how could they ever find out? Once the experimental program finished out its five weeks, they would be set free again. Wouldn’t they? Or did it matter?
She had decided upon her answer and felt there was one more thing to do. She dialed Jason’s number. She didn’t quite know what she was going to say, but it didn’t matter anymore. Nothing did, except to say something one more time. But he didn’t answer and she was taken to the voicemail. She hesitated, thinking that whatever she was going to say, it had to sound normal.
“Hi, Jason,” she said, her voice surprisingly calm. “I know this might sound a little odd, but—“ Her voice broke for a second. She took a slow breath and concentrated on saying the right thing. “I just wanted to say…that you were a really great boyfriend.” She couldn’t think of saying anything else, so she let the phone slowly close.
Carrie exited her bedroom hoping to see if Sarah or Lyn were up and about. Sarah seemed to still be locked in her room, the light shining from the bottom of her door, and Lyn was gone. Apparently, she had already left to meet up with the boys. Standing in the middle of the living room, Carrie realized what she was about to do. She took in her surrounding, trying to memorize every detail, so that maybe she could remember her last moment with this life. She hoped the new one she was about to venture into would be a good one. If nothing at all, at least she knew where she was going now.

Carrie spent the entire day home alone, pondering on the decision she had to make. It was only until seven o’clock when her roommates finally came home. Sarah returned with her usual load of homework and Lyn went directly into her bedroom. Carrie sat at the dinner table with an untouched bowl of spaghetti she had microwaved. She waited for her roommates to settle in, shaking her leg unconsciously.

Sarah came out of her room, load free, and started rummaging through the kitchen for something to eat.

“What a day,” she said. “I’ve got so much homework, I don’t know how I’m gonna do it.”

“Yeah?” Carrie said, turning to face her.

Sarah smiled slightly. “What have you been up to all day?”

“Oh, nothing,” Carrie shrugged. “Just been cleaning around the house. Stuff like that.”

“I wish I could have a day off,” Sarah sighed, slumping into the chair next to Carrie, giving up on the kitchen. “Hey, you eating that?”

Carrie looked down at her untouched food, shook her head no and passed it over to Sarah. Sarah immediately began cramming it down. Lyn came out at that point, silent as always, and made her way into the kitchen.

“Hey, you,” Carrie said lightly, trying to give her best natural smile. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Lyn didn’t look in Carrie’s direction, but rather continued to frantically look through the freezer and cupboards, throwing dishes in the washer, grabbing the trash bag that was only half full and pulling it out to be thrown away. It seemed as though Lyn couldn’t find a way to calm down.

“I’ve just been real busy,” she answered finally, looking around the living room for something else to busy herself with.

Carrie glanced at Sarah. Sarah shrugged back. The two girls watched Lyn frantically move from her bedroom, to the living room, to the laundry room, and back. When Lyn finally settled, she sat at her computer inside her bedroom, busying herself with more unnecessary work.

Carrie knocked on her door and walked in. Lyn saw Carrie enter out of the corner of her eye, but didn’t turn.

“Hey, I was thinking,” Carrie said, “maybe we could have a girl’s night.”

Lyn finally acknowledged her. There wasn’t a hint of anger in her expression, rather it was neutral, or tired, or her thoughts preoccupied with something else. She gave a faint smile before answering.

“I would like to,” she said, “but I’m going out tonight with Ben and the boys at ten, so I’ve got to get a lot of stuff done before then. I feel so behind since I haven’t been home.” She shrugged her apology and turned back to her computer.

Carrie stood there for a few seconds, watching Lyn busy herself. Ben was Lyn’s boyfriend and the boys she referred to were their friends, who included Carrie’s ex. Carrie couldn’t spend time with the boys anymore because of her recent break up with Jason. Her insides seemed to grow cold, thinking of how Lyn spends every moment with Ben, and here she was spending the night with him again, on top of going out with the friends Carrie can no longer be with because of Jason. It drove her mad how Lyn drastically went from being her closest friend to a distant stranger just over a few weeks. She wanted to blame it on her overly needy boyfriend, Ben, but Carrie somehow knew it was because of her decision to leave Jason that drove Lyn distant. They and the boys used to be a closely knit group. Then it changed, as things always do, when Carrie realized she and Jason could never work, despite the fact that she did, indeed, love him. It was simply unfortunate that they shared the same group of friends.

A feeling of sadness overcame her and Carrie turned away, seeing Sarah still eating the spaghetti at the dining table.

“What are you doing tonight?” Carrie asked.

Sarah looked, seemingly startled from her eating. “Nothing, really,” she said. “Oh, except I do have a ton of homework. I really have to start working on it. Probably take me all night.”

Carrie nodded, almost absently. She felt the loneliness shift into her chest, forming itself into a tight pain. “I was hoping that we could spend some time together,” Carrie said. “Actually I was hoping all three of us could do something. Like old times.”

The look on Sarah’s face turned pitiful. She cocked her head to the side and Carrie could almost swear that her expression resembled a pouty face. “I would, really, if I had time,” Sarah said. “But I can’t. I’ve got so much to do. I’m sorry.” She gave a very realistic I’m sorry frown, then moved her attention to the spaghetti again.

Carrie stood there, staring at Sarah. Her insides wanted to scream and tell them this may be the last time they’d ever see her, that they didn’t appreciate her as much as they should, that she wanted to be with them, wanted to laugh and drink wine, wanted to share dreams and fantasies like they used to, and not be bogged down with unimportant things, to forgive each other, to love each other. She wanted to see something that might make her stay, that might encourage her decision to decline the most important scientific break through discovered in human history ever.

Carrie let out a sigh. She couldn’t scream and tell. They would think she was crazy, or just trying to grab attention. But maybe that was all they needed to change their minds.

“What if this is the last time you’ll ever see me?” Carrie blurted out.

Sarah looked up and smiled immediately, the smile knowingly recognizing dramatics when she saw it. Lyn, though her bedroom door was open, didn’t respond. “This isn’t going to be the last time I’ll ever see you,” Sarah said, smiling. “Are you really that bored?”

“I’m not bored, I—“

“I really can’t, or else I would,” Sarah interrupted, the smile fading. At that, she got up, placed the spaghetti dish into the sink and went into her room, leaving Carrie standing silently alone in the living room. Eventually, she made her way to her own bedroom and closed the door. She picked up her cell phone, checked to see if she had gotten any texts or calls—nothing. Sinking into her bed, she gripped the phone tightly wondering on who to call. She was tempted to give Jason a try, but every time she thought of it, her stomach wrapped itself into a knot. It was time to consider what was important in her life. Her friends, the only ones she really had, were busy with their own lives. Her family lived in another state, so she never got to visit them nearly as much. She had already graduated school, but wasn’t working her dream job; in fact, she hated it with all her being. And the love interest—the one she used to think of marrying and planned spending the rest of her life with—grew into someone else where happiness between the two of them was a feet that would never be reached. There were times she wanted to sacrifice everything, just to be with him and love him, but it couldn’t work if it was never fully reciprocated. And she knew that.  But she didn’t think Lyn knew that.

Carrie stared at herself in the mirror across from her. The color of her hair seemed dull and her face looked pale and sick in the dim lighting of her room. The depression of leaving Jason and the distance of her friends was dragging her down somewhere she couldn’t escape. Change was something she needed, and here was a huge opportunity right in front of her. But was it worth it to never see her family and friends again?

She called her parents’ house. No one picked up. She called again. She ended up calling three times before her mother finally picked up.

“Hi, Mom,” Carrie said, her voice straining to sound happy.

“It’s past midnight here,” her mom said, her voice cracking with sleep. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Carrie said. “I just wanted to talk to you. Everyone’s busy tonight, so…”

“Baby, it’s past midnight.” Her mom’s voice groaned.

Carrie felt a warm numbing sensation spread through her chest and arms. Her eyes burned slightly as she felt the sadness she had been burying spill over. “I know,” Carrie managed, “I just miss you, that’s all.”

“I miss you too, honey,” her mom said, but Carrie could tell that she was still half asleep.

“Hey, Mom, I have a question,” Carrie said. She waited for a second to see if her mother would respond, but she didn’t, so she continued. “If a huge opportunity came around, a really good one, but it put you in a position where you had to choose one over the other, would you take the opportunity?”

“Baby, are you okay?” her mom said, slowly becoming coherent. “How’s work treating you?”

“Works fine—no, it sucks. I hate it. Mom—“

“What about your roommates? How are Lyn and Sarah?” her mom continued.

“They’re fine,” Carrie sighed, pulling at her left eyelid again. “Just really busy. In fact, I don’t see much of Lyn anymore. Mom—what if the opportunity of a lifetime came my way?”

“What kind of opportunity?”

“Of a lifetime!” Carrie forgot how frustrated she could get with her mother. She was this way no matter if wide awake or half asleep like she was. “And I had to make a choice. Take the opportunity of a lifetime and leave my old life behind, or don’t take the opportunity of a lifetime and stay where I am now.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

“Mom, you awake?”

“Yes, honey, I’m just thinking,” her mom answered. After a moment’s pause, her mom said, “Well, I would take the opportunity. You never know when you might have missed your life’s calling, so if it’s being handed to you, take it because you’ll never know when you’ll get another opportunity offered to you again.”

Carrie nodded, staring blankly at herself in the mirror, as though the person on the other side was also giving her advice.

“Baby, I’m going back to bed now,” her mom said. “Your dad and I get up really early, you know.”

“Okay,” Carrie murmured, mesmerized by staring at herself, as though the answer were somewhere within her own eyes.

“Goodnight,” her mom said.

“I love you,” Carrie said, almost too quickly.

“I love you too, sleep well.”

“You too—I miss you—“ But it was too late, her mother had already hung up. Carrie sat there for a couple of seconds with her phone stuck to her ear. Her mother had said it and now Carrie couldn’t believe the decision she was going to make. It was a decision that may change her life forever. Or it might end up being a total gag. Something in the back of her mind convinced her that this wasn’t going to be the last time she ever spoke with her mom. She found it hard to believe that she would be allowed contact with the world, but not with her own family. As far as Carrie was concerned, they wouldn’t be able to stop her if she wanted to see them. And how could they ever find out? Once the experimental program finished out its five weeks, they would be set free again. Wouldn’t they? Or did it matter?

She had decided upon her answer and felt there was one more thing to do. She dialed Jason’s number. She didn’t quite know what she was going to say, but it didn’t matter anymore. Nothing did, except to say something one more time. But he didn’t answer and she was taken to the voicemail. She hesitated, thinking that whatever she was going to say, it had to sound normal.

“Hi, Jason,” she said, her voice surprisingly calm. “I know this might sound a little odd, but—“ Her voice broke for a second. She took a slow breath and concentrated on saying the right thing. “I just wanted to say…that you were a really great boyfriend.” She couldn’t think of saying anything else, so she let the phone slowly close.

Carrie exited her bedroom hoping to see if Sarah or Lyn were up and about. Sarah seemed to still be locked in her room, the light shining from the bottom of her door, and Lyn was gone. Apparently, she had already left to meet up with the boys. Standing in the middle of the living room, Carrie realized what she was about to do. She took in her surrounding, trying to memorize every detail, so that maybe she could remember her last moment with this life. She hoped the new one she was about to venture into would be a good one. If nothing at all, at least she knew where she was going now.

The Perfect Human part 1

Christanna RowaderLeave a comment
Carrie Goldwater dipped her finger into her contact case, gently pulling out the left eye contact. It felt like slimy softness between her fingertips as she readied it to her eye. A silent pop and it was on, like a suction cup to a glass window, making her horrible vision somewhat clear again—but not quite 20/20. What an ordeal it was to get ready in the morning. It was bad enough Carrie wasn’t a morning person, but it was worse when waking to a blurry mass of objects which, in turn, tricked her mind into thinking she was still asleep. And, yet, she knew better than that—oh that tricky, tricky brain.
Splashing lukewarm water on her face, she lathered—rinsed—shoved a Crest covered toothbrush into her mouth, brushed hard—spit—rinsed—pulled a brush through her long blonde hair—highlighted of course—dusted her cheeks with pink blush, dabbed her eyes with the slightest bit of mascara—breathed, or sighed—and done.
Looking at herself in the mirror, she frowned. Was it really the same thing every day? Yes, it was, she thought. Carrie grabbed one of her sweaters and pulled it over her loose pajamas that she hadn’t yet changed out of, and made her way into the kitchen. Her two other roommates were gone again, leaving her alone in their humble apartment. Sarah was off at school early, while Lyn was probably still at her boyfriend’s house. Lyn and Carrie had been growing silently apart, ever since Carrie’s recent break up with her own boyfriend, Jason, of two and a half years. Carrie didn’t quite understand the distance between the two of them, but neither did she understand the failure of her own relationship.
As she poured the coffee grounds into the filter and pressed the brew button, she remained standing in the kitchen, watching the coffee drip into the pot, rubbing her left eye. Her gaze drifted to the cabinet of food, realized she didn’t have the stomach for it—glanced towards Lyn’s bedroom—the door was open—and finally rested her gaze on the window, or rather outside of it. She continued to stare through the window, focusing on a tree, its limbs gently bending in the wind, the leaves flashing green from the morning sunlight, the sun’s light pushing into the living room but never reaching the darkened kitchen. Must change, she thought. Maybe cut my hair—pedicure—dye hair brown…
She jumped. A loud knock on the front door startled her out of her daze. Fluffing her hair and pulling at her left eyelid to adjust the bothersome contact, Carrie made her way to the door. She wasn’t expecting anyone in particular and she knew there wasn’t any maintenance needed in the apartment. She peered outside the peep hole and saw two tall men in suits standing outside the door.
She paused before opening the door. She definitely wasn’t expecting any men in suits. Carrie slowly opened the door and gave her most polite smile—which also could have been read as who the hell are you and what do you want. Funny how it works that way.
“Ms. Carrie Goldwater,” the right one said.
Carrie hesitated but nodded, a little taken aback that he knew her name, which meant they were definitely here for a very specific purpose.
“We would like to speak with you,” the right one said again. The left one didn’t seem to have anything to contribute at the moment, but the two of them did pull out FBI badges in order calm Carrie’s nerves down.
But it didn’t do much help. She was already dreaming up scenarios of either Sarah or Lyn being dead or kidnapped, maybe something bad had happened to Jason—maybe her parents!
“Ms. Goldwater, may we come inside?” Right said.
“Of course,” she managed, clearing her throat nervously. “I’m sorry.” Carrie ushered the two agents inside and slowly closed the door behind them. She stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to do next. The two men glanced around then focused on her, expecting her to say something. When she did not, Right gestured to the couches.
“May we sit down?” he said.
“Oh yeah,” Carrie said, a little more flustered than she wanted to be. “Please sit down.” Carrie made her way to one of the couches and sat, the other two men sitting on the opposite couch.
“So is this something really bad?” she asked nervously. “Do I really need to hold on to something or get ready for some bad news?”
“Ms. Goldwater, we are here to inquire if you would like to be a participant in a very specialized government program supported by the US military and funded by Americor Science and Research,” Right said.
Carrie sat in silence, staring blankly at them. All her fears were replaced by pure surprise. She wasn’t sure how long the three of them sat there in silence. To her, it felt like time had frozen and she was stuck in surprise-mode. Finally, she spoke.
“I’m sorry, but I’m really confused,” she said. “I thought you were here to tell me some really bad news.”
“That was not our intention,” Right said. Left just sat there.
“I guess I just don’t see why FBI agents would be asking me to be apart of some program,” Carrie responded.
“The program is specialized for people within their mid-twenties and especially for those who are physically fit and rarely sick,” Right continued, ignoring Carrie’s question. “We need willing participants who will go through a steady and rigorous training of exercise and diet for five weeks. After that, we conduct the experiment. Out of the criteria, we randomly chose a select group of people, and you were one of them.”
Carrie sat there for another silent second and attempted to absorb all of this.
“Wait,” she finally said, “this is a bit much. I’m not even sure what’s going on here. You’re asking me to participate in a program. I’m not even sure what this program is about?—other than all that other stuff you just told me.”
“It’s technically an experiment on the human body,” Right said.
Carrie smiled slowly, finding the entire situation to be ridiculous and almost humorous.
“Okay,” she said, nodding in appreciation to the bluntness of the answer. “Why is the government conducting this program, slash, experiment?”
“That is top secret,” Right said.
“But you’re openly telling me a bunch of stuff about it. What if I were to say no and then go blab to other people that the government is conducting a secret experiment on human bodies?”
That’s when Left smiled. It was one of those calm smiles that somehow radiated creepiness at the same time.
“You could do that,” Right said. “But who would believe you without proof? Besides, it wouldn’t really matter what you would spread if you decided not to be a participant. And you have every right to decline. We are only here because you were one the selectees that was picked by a computer randomizer. And we, among other government officials, have said the same thing that we are saying to you now.”
Carrie nodded, forcing herself to take this seriously, and something inside of her told her that it was very serious. Maybe it was the way Left smile that made her stomach turn.
“Alright, I’m listening,” she said. “So what happens after the five weeks are over? Do I just come back home?”
Right hesitated for the first time and that made her more curious, if not more concerned.
“If you decide to be a participant within this program, you can no longer have contact with your friends or family. Not during the five weeks, or after. To them, you will have simply disappeared.”
The room suddenly seemed to turn cold despite the sunlight filling the room.
Carrie didn’t say anything. She didn’t know what to say. Her insides screamed hell no, but something else held her interest—her curiosity. What program or experiment could be so important, or dangerous, that one would be cut off from family forever? It couldn’t be forever, could it?
“That’s a little extreme,” Carrie managed to say.
Neither Right nor Left said a word.
So Carrie said, “How can I make a decision like that? Especially when I practically know nothing about what you’re talking about.”
“Other people have declined because of the severity of the situation. But there are those who have agreed,” Right shrugged. “It’s really up to you.”
“Well, I—“
“This is the chance of a lifetime,” Left said, and it almost surprised Carrie enough to jump. “There are so many others that will not have this opportunity given to them. We cannot tell you why you must be cut off from your family and friends, and we cannot tell you anymore about the program than we already have. All we can tell you now is that this may be the most important scientific break through discovered in human history ever.”
“At least, so far,” Right said.
“Yes, of course, without saying,” Left responded.
Carrie blinked. She wasn’t sure how to react or think. The whole situation sounded absurd and she wasn’t sure if she could believe them. And even if they were telling the truth—and why wouldn’t they be—should she really drop everything to become apart of something she knows nothing about, except exercise and diet?
“Is it dangerous?” she asked.
“Every precaution is taken,” Right said.
“Would I have any contact with the outside world at all?”
“Yes,” Right said.
It didn’t make sense. She wouldn’t be allowed to have contact with her family or friends, but she could have contact with the rest of the world?
“Do I have to decide now?” Carrie asked.
“No, you can be allowed twenty-four hours,” Right answered.
Carrie nodded. She was wringing her hands in anxiety. Twenty-four hours. That would give her enough time to contemplate her answer and perhaps spend as much time with the people around her as possible—call up her parents and grandparents, make sure Lyn was coming home this time and maybe they could have girl-time along with Sarah—maybe call Jason.
As she walked the two government officials to the door, she was thinking all this. There was so much information cluttering her thoughts and teasing her curiosity, she couldn’t bring herself together. As the two men exited the apartment, Right mentioned that they would return the next day. Carrie nodded absentmindedly, closed the door and double locked it. It wasn’t that she was afraid of them breaking in, but it was the simple state of shock that she was in.
As she slowly, mechanically moved her way into the kitchen, she grabbed a mug from a shelf and poured herself a cup of coffee, something that she had been missing this whole time. Maybe if she had her coffee, things would clear her fogged up head. She had to think. She had all day to think. And she couldn’t believe that she was even considering it at all. How could she leave everything behind, but for something that might be the most important scientific break through discovered in human history ever? Carrie definitely needed to think!

Carrie Goldwater dipped her finger into her contact case, gently pulling out the left eye contact. It felt like slimy softness between her fingertips as she readied it to her eye. A silent pop and it was on, like a suction cup to a glass window, making her horrible vision somewhat clear again—but not quite 20/20. What an ordeal it was to get ready in the morning. It was bad enough Carrie wasn’t a morning person, but it was worse when waking to a blurry mass of objects which, in turn, tricked her mind into thinking she was still asleep. And, yet, she knew better than that—oh that tricky, tricky brain.

Splashing lukewarm water on her face, she lathered—rinsed—shoved a Crest covered toothbrush into her mouth, brushed hard—spit—rinsed—pulled a brush through her long blonde hair—highlighted of course—dusted her cheeks with pink blush, dabbed her eyes with the slightest bit of mascara—breathed, or sighed—and done.

Looking at herself in the mirror, she frowned. Was it really the same thing every day? Yes, it was, she thought. Carrie grabbed one of her sweaters and pulled it over her loose pajamas that she hadn’t yet changed out of, and made her way into the kitchen. Her two other roommates were gone again, leaving her alone in their humble apartment. Sarah was off at school early, while Lyn was probably still at her boyfriend’s house. Lyn and Carrie had been growing silently apart, ever since Carrie’s recent break up with her own boyfriend, Jason, of two and a half years. Carrie didn’t quite understand the distance between the two of them, but neither did she understand the failure of her own relationship.

As she poured the coffee grounds into the filter and pressed the brew button, she remained standing in the kitchen, watching the coffee drip into the pot, rubbing her left eye. Her gaze drifted to the cabinet of food, realized she didn’t have the stomach for it—glanced towards Lyn’s bedroom—the door was open—and finally rested her gaze on the window, or rather outside of it. She continued to stare through the window, focusing on a tree, its limbs gently bending in the wind, the leaves flashing green from the morning sunlight, the sun’s light pushing into the living room but never reaching the darkened kitchen. Must change, she thought. Maybe cut my hair—pedicure—dye hair brown…

She jumped. A loud knock on the front door startled her out of her daze. Fluffing her hair and pulling at her left eyelid to adjust the bothersome contact, Carrie made her way to the door. She wasn’t expecting anyone in particular and she knew there wasn’t any maintenance needed in the apartment. She peered outside the peep hole and saw two tall men in suits standing outside the door.

She paused before opening the door. She definitely wasn’t expecting any men in suits. Carrie slowly opened the door and gave her most polite smile—which also could have been read as who the hell are you and what do you want. Funny how it works that way.

“Ms. Carrie Goldwater,” the right one said.

Carrie hesitated but nodded, a little taken aback that he knew her name, which meant they were definitely here for a very specific purpose.

“We would like to speak with you,” the right one said again. The left one didn’t seem to have anything to contribute at the moment, but the two of them did pull out FBI badges in order calm Carrie’s nerves down.

But it didn’t do much help. She was already dreaming up scenarios of either Sarah or Lyn being dead or kidnapped, maybe something bad had happened to Jason—maybe her parents!

“Ms. Goldwater, may we come inside?” Right said.

“Of course,” she managed, clearing her throat nervously. “I’m sorry.” Carrie ushered the two agents inside and slowly closed the door behind them. She stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to do next. The two men glanced around then focused on her, expecting her to say something. When she did not, Right gestured to the couches.

“May we sit down?” he said.

“Oh yeah,” Carrie said, a little more flustered than she wanted to be. “Please sit down.” Carrie made her way to one of the couches and sat, the other two men sitting on the opposite couch.

“So is this something really bad?” she asked nervously. “Do I really need to hold on to something or get ready for some bad news?”

“Ms. Goldwater, we are here to inquire if you would like to be a participant in a very specialized government program supported by the US military and funded by Americor Science and Research,” Right said.

Carrie sat in silence, staring blankly at them. All her fears were replaced by pure surprise. She wasn’t sure how long the three of them sat there in silence. To her, it felt like time had frozen and she was stuck in surprise-mode. Finally, she spoke.

“I’m sorry, but I’m really confused,” she said. “I thought you were here to tell me some really bad news.”

“That was not our intention,” Right said. Left just sat there.

“I guess I just don’t see why FBI agents would be asking me to be apart of some program,” Carrie responded.

“The program is specialized for people within their mid-twenties and especially for those who are physically fit and rarely sick,” Right continued, ignoring Carrie’s question. “We need willing participants who will go through a steady and rigorous training of exercise and diet for five weeks. After that, we conduct the experiment. Out of the criteria, we randomly chose a select group of people, and you were one of them.”

Carrie sat there for another silent second and attempted to absorb all of this.

“Wait,” she finally said, “this is a bit much. I’m not even sure what’s going on here. You’re asking me to participate in a program. I’m not even sure what this program is about?—other than all that other stuff you just told me.”

“It’s technically an experiment on the human body,” Right said.

Carrie smiled slowly, finding the entire situation to be ridiculous and almost humorous.

“Okay,” she said, nodding in appreciation to the bluntness of the answer. “Why is the government conducting this program, slash, experiment?”

“That is top secret,” Right said.

“But you’re openly telling me a bunch of stuff about it. What if I were to say no and then go blab to other people that the government is conducting a secret experiment on human bodies?”

That’s when Left smiled. It was one of those calm smiles that somehow radiated creepiness at the same time.

“You could do that,” Right said. “But who would believe you without proof? Besides, it wouldn’t really matter what you would spread if you decided not to be a participant. And you have every right to decline. We are only here because you were one the selectees that was picked by a computer randomizer. And we, among other government officials, have said the same thing that we are saying to you now.”

Carrie nodded, forcing herself to take this seriously, and something inside of her told her that it was very serious. Maybe it was the way Left smile that made her stomach turn.

“Alright, I’m listening,” she said. “So what happens after the five weeks are over? Do I just come back home?”

Right hesitated for the first time and that made her more curious, if not more concerned.

“If you decide to be a participant within this program, you can no longer have contact with your friends or family. Not during the five weeks, or after. To them, you will have simply disappeared.”

The room suddenly seemed to turn cold despite the sunlight filling the room.

Carrie didn’t say anything. She didn’t know what to say. Her insides screamed hell no, but something else held her interest—her curiosity. What program or experiment could be so important, or dangerous, that one would be cut off from family forever? It couldn’t be forever, could it?

“That’s a little extreme,” Carrie managed to say.

Neither Right nor Left said a word.

So Carrie said, “How can I make a decision like that? Especially when I practically know nothing about what you’re talking about.”

“Other people have declined because of the severity of the situation. But there are those who have agreed,” Right shrugged. “It’s really up to you.”

“Well, I—“

“This is the chance of a lifetime,” Left said, and it almost surprised Carrie enough to jump. “There are so many others that will not have this opportunity given to them. We cannot tell you why you must be cut off from your family and friends, and we cannot tell you anymore about the program than we already have. All we can tell you now is that this may be the most important scientific break through discovered in human history ever.”

“At least, so far,” Right said.

“Yes, of course, without saying,” Left responded.

Carrie blinked. She wasn’t sure how to react or think. The whole situation sounded absurd and she wasn’t sure if she could believe them. And even if they were telling the truth—and why wouldn’t they be—should she really drop everything to become apart of something she knows nothing about, except exercise and diet?

“Is it dangerous?” she asked.

“Every precaution is taken,” Right said.

“Would I have any contact with the outside world at all?”

“Yes,” Right said.

It didn’t make sense. She wouldn’t be allowed to have contact with her family or friends, but she could have contact with the rest of the world?

“Do I have to decide now?” Carrie asked.

“No, you can be allowed twenty-four hours,” Right answered.

Carrie nodded. She was wringing her hands in anxiety. Twenty-four hours. That would give her enough time to contemplate her answer and perhaps spend as much time with the people around her as possible—call up her parents and grandparents, make sure Lyn was coming home this time and maybe they could have girl-time along with Sarah—maybe call Jason.

As she walked the two government officials to the door, she was thinking all this. There was so much information cluttering her thoughts and teasing her curiosity, she couldn’t bring herself together. As the two men exited the apartment, Right mentioned that they would return the next day. Carrie nodded absentmindedly, closed the door and double locked it. It wasn’t that she was afraid of them breaking in, but it was the simple state of shock that she was in.

As she slowly, mechanically moved her way into the kitchen, she grabbed a mug from a shelf and poured herself a cup of coffee, something that she had been missing this whole time. Maybe if she had her coffee, things would clear her fogged up head. She had to think. She had all day to think. And she couldn’t believe that she was even considering it at all. How could she leave everything behind, but for something that might be the most important scientific break through discovered in human history ever? Carrie definitely needed to think!

Situations and Text Messages

Christanna Rowader2 Comments

 

I had just gotten home after a second date with a guy I had recently met. He and I were sitting on my bed and were engulfed in deep conversation—this “deep conversation” transforming into “deep making-out”—so while we were busy, my phone jingled its trademark tune notifying me that I had a new text message. Out of respect for my date, I didn’t answer my phone, even though a part of me was itching to check it. That part of me was probably just an automatic response, but I was too all aware of my date’s mouth on mine and the subtle hint of cigarette tobacco lingering on his breath, something I wasn’t entirely too fond of. However, it was all part of the moment—honestly I just hadn’t actively kissed in a while. And yet, with all this thinking of kissing, I still wanted to check my phone.
I had forgotten about it until the next morning when I did my daily check-my-phone routine. I then remembered the text immediately and saw that it was from Steve, my first not-exactly-a-relationship-but-something-like-it, which I like to call my “situation.” This “situation” occurred when I was twenty years old. At twenty, I was still as single as ever! Not just single, but had never been asked out. So you can imagine my surprise and unaccustomed reaction to when someone like Steve showed great interest in me. Steve was twenty-six, had been married and divorced twice—claiming both wives had cheated on him—and was a father of two, one of which I didn’t know about until a year later. Apparently, after his second wife’s divorce, he had a two week fling with a girl and had gotten her pregnant, producing nine months later a baby girl. He isn’t aloud to see his daughter. Steve has joint custody of his son and has a friendly relationship with his second wife. I still wonder if Steve’s little boy will ever know he has a little sister. This was just a part of the heavy baggage attached to Steve’s back.
The other part was that Steve had severe depression. He had told me it was because of his traumatic experiences in Iraq when he was with the Army. Steve once said that he and his team had gotten captured and were tortured. He also claimed to have gotten discharged because he had acquired some type of cancer. The problem was I couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t. You see, he claimed to have had the cancer for five years and still had it when he met me. Without chemo, I kept wondering why he hadn’t died yet. He looked healthy enough to me. But that was three years ago.
Three years ago, Steve was the situation I tried to escape from. Three years ago, at the naïve age of twenty and being very inexperienced with any sort of sexual male attention, I was thrown into the year of extreme confusion and drama. Though I liked Steve as a person and a friend, I did not like the sexual/romantic relationship that distracted me from everything else. Of course, that’s not very truthful either because I loved how he made me felt. So I guess I could say my logical side didn’t like it; however, my “not-logical” side craved it. Steve was attractive and charming. He definitely knew how to “work” the female body. I experienced my first orgasm with him and kept going back for more. I finally knew what it was like to be needed, wanted, sexy, and attractive. He helped give me the confidence I needed to be comfortable with myself and the opposite sex. He was like a drug, and I was addicted.
However, that was the year I failed two of my classes for the first time and had to withdraw several others. Seeing as I was used to being an A and B student, the F’s were a huge disappoint and I blamed my relationship with Steve. And I feel I have every right to blame it on the relationship. As far as I was concerned, Steve was not my boyfriend, rather he was something I was drawn to because he made me feel wanted. I’m sure I convinced myself at one point that I was in love with him, but I wasn’t really. There was also a point where I blamed Steve for my own failure. I am not a morning person and I had a horrible Music Theory class at 8am. Steve would sleep over a lot and when my alarm clock chimed, he constantly pulled me back into bed. 
“Don’t go yet,” Steve would say. That’s when he’d start kissing my shoulder, or the back of my neck. I always melted when he kissed my neck. His lips were so enticingly soft—so stupidly, damn soft. I gave in so many times. 
By mid-spring semester, I was able to work up enough anger to end the “situation.” It had all gone too far and my classes were suffering because of my neglect. After school ended, we tried to keep a casual friendship, but that never worked out. Anytime we hung out alone, he always found some way to get me back into his bed. So finally I told him that we couldn’t see each other anymore, at least not until we could control ourselves. 
Steve and I still kept in touch—a phone call every once and a while; after a sufficient amount of time had passed, a random dinner here or movie there. Now it’s been three years and the last time we talked was four months ago. Not surprisingly enough, Steve was engaged. I was happy to know that he had found someone else. I hoped she was the right one for him. I hoped she knew how to deal with someone who wouldn’t accept help in order to climb out of the dark hole he had created for himself. However, I was shocked to discover that she was barely twenty-one. By now, Steve was almost twenty-nine. I was just glad it wasn’t me that he was focusing all of his attention on.
So you can imagine my surprise when I opened my cell phone and the text box read, “Can I come over? I really need to be with someone.” He had sent that at eleven o’clock.
I rolled my eyes in irritation. Not again, I thought. I really wasn’t the type of person that enjoyed these kinds of dramatics and, in my mind, it was entirely inappropriate for an engaged man to come to my house in the middle of the night. I couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that he still didn’t get that, and that he also still kept me a part of his life. We weren’t that close of friends.
So I ignored the text and didn’t respond back. There was no point in adding to the drama. I went on with my day and had completely forgotten about it, of course that was after I had elaborated for a few minutes to my girlfriends about how illogical Steve was to even consider requesting to see me at eleven o’clock at night.
The next morning, I was woken up by my phone again, jingling and vibrating on my bed table—the jingle always reminded me of Super Mario Galaxy—and I snatched it, quickly muting the sound. I hated being woken up by my phone. I quickly flipped it open to see there was another text from Steve. It said: “Sorry about that. I was going to kill myself and Emily [his fiancée] called the police on me.”
I stared blankly at it for a moment, trying to decide whether or not he was being serious, or if this was another dramatic ploy. He had known that my aunt had killed herself when I was young, and I also knew that if a person really wanted to kill himself, then they would have done it by now instead of talking about it. At that point, I could feel myself getting angry. It infuriated me that he told me this, and that he actually considered killing himself in the first place. I didn’t understand what he was still depressed about. He has a son who loves him. He has huge family who loves him. He’s engaged. The last time I spoke with him, which was months ago, he sounded so happy.
 A part of me wanted to ignore this message. I didn’t know why he felt the need to tell me this anyway. But then, I thought, what if he really did want to take his own life? What kind of person would that make me to ignore him like that?
Clearing my throat from its grogginess, I called Steve. He didn’t answer the first time and I forgot to leave a message. After thinking about what I could say for a couple of minutes, I called again, planning on leaving him a message. And then he answered.
“Hey,” I said automatically.
“Hi,” he said, his voice bleak and gruff. It sounded like he either just woke up too, or was drugged up to the point of being comatose. So I just got right to the point. 
“What’s wrong,” I asked.
 He answered that he didn’t know. I asked him how Emily was doing. He answered fine. I felt like I was getting nowhere. Of course, I really didn’t expect to be getting anywhere. I wasn’t a counselor. I didn’t know what was right or wrong to say. I knew that listening usually helps, but difficult when no one is talking. So I told him what I thought. I said that if he had killed himself, then he wouldn’t have appreciated all the work and effort his parents put into bringing him up, that he would have abandoned his son, and wouldn’t have valued all the love his family and friends have given him.
He was silent on the other end, but I could hear that he was moving about, probably getting his son ready for school. A moment passed and he said he had to go, but that he’d call me back. 
I waited. An hour went by, then two. I assumed he forgot to call me back that day. In fact, he never did. He was probably mad at me for not being nearly as sympathetic towards his suicidal attempt as he would have wanted me to be. After we had hung up, I thought back on our conversation and thought that maybe I was a little harsh. But, then again, I was pissed, and he was a grown man that needed to grow out of his depression. Though he didn’t call me back, I somehow knew he was okay and that if Steve had done something drastic, I would have found out through our mutual friends.
Three months later, I had gotten another text from him inviting me to Poker night at his place. Sometimes I still wonder why he includes me as one of his friends. We were never that close. But I was glad to see that he seemed happier, as much as one can tell through a text message.
I didn’t respond this time. I didn’t want any part of Steve’s life. The depression, the ups and downs, the drama, the baggage—I couldn’t do it. Steve and I were no longer friends and we weren’t really in the first place. We were more like acquaintances and I didn’t care to keep in touch. We never could be just friends and I had no interest in trying at something that didn’t really exist. Steve was a closed book that concluded a long time ago.
I don’t answer anymore.

I had just gotten home after a second date with a guy I had recently met. He and I were sitting on my bed and were engulfed in deep conversation—this “deep conversation” transforming into “deep making-out”—so while we were busy, my phone jingled its trademark tune notifying me that I had a new text message. Out of respect for my date, I didn’t answer my phone, even though a part of me was itching to check it. That part of me was probably just an automatic response, but I was too all aware of my date’s mouth on mine and the subtle hint of cigarette tobacco lingering on his breath, something I wasn’t entirely too fond of. However, it was all part of the moment—honestly I just hadn’t actively kissed in a while. And yet, with all this thinking of kissing, I still wanted to check my phone.

I had forgotten about it until the next morning when I did my daily check-my-phone routine. I then remembered the text immediately and saw that it was from Steve, my first not-exactly-a-relationship-but-something-like-it, which I like to call my “situation.” This “situation” occurred when I was twenty years old. At twenty, I was still as single as ever! Not just single, but had never been asked out. So you can imagine my surprise and unaccustomed reaction to when someone like Steve showed great interest in me. Steve was twenty-six, had been married and divorced twice—claiming both wives had cheated on him—and was a father of two, one of which I didn’t know about until a year later. Apparently, after his second wife’s divorce, he had a two week fling with a girl and had gotten her pregnant, producing nine months later a baby girl. He isn’t aloud to see his daughter. Steve has joint custody of his son and has a friendly relationship with his second wife. I still wonder if Steve’s little boy will ever know he has a little sister. This was just a part of the heavy baggage attached to Steve’s back.

The other part was that Steve had severe depression. He had told me it was because of his traumatic experiences in Iraq when he was with the Army. Steve once said that he and his team had gotten captured and were tortured. He also claimed to have gotten discharged because he had acquired some type of cancer. The problem was I couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t. You see, he claimed to have had the cancer for five years and still had it when he met me. Without chemo, I kept wondering why he hadn’t died yet. He looked healthy enough to me. But that was three years ago.

Three years ago, Steve was the situation I tried to escape from. Three years ago, at the naïve age of twenty and being very inexperienced with any sort of sexual male attention, I was thrown into the year of extreme confusion and drama. Though I liked Steve as a person and a friend, I did not like the sexual/romantic relationship that distracted me from everything else. Of course, that’s not very truthful either because I loved how he made me felt. So I guess I could say my logical side didn’t like it; however, my “not-logical” side craved it. Steve was attractive and charming. He definitely knew how to “work” the female body. I experienced my first orgasm with him and kept going back for more. I finally knew what it was like to be needed, wanted, sexy, and attractive. He helped give me the confidence I needed to be comfortable with myself and the opposite sex. He was like a drug, and I was addicted.

However, that was the year I failed two of my classes for the first time and had to withdraw several others. Seeing as I was used to being an A and B student, the F’s were a huge disappoint and I blamed my relationship with Steve. And I feel I have every right to blame it on the relationship. As far as I was concerned, Steve was not my boyfriend, rather he was something I was drawn to because he made me feel wanted. I’m sure I convinced myself at one point that I was in love with him, but I wasn’t really. There was also a point where I blamed Steve for my own failure. I am not a morning person and I had a horrible Music Theory class at 8am. Steve would sleep over a lot and when my alarm clock chimed, he constantly pulled me back into bed. 

“Don’t go yet,” Steve would say. That’s when he’d start kissing my shoulder, or the back of my neck. I always melted when he kissed my neck. His lips were so enticingly soft—so stupidly, damn soft. I gave in so many times. 

By mid-spring semester, I was able to work up enough anger to end the “situation.” It had all gone too far and my classes were suffering because of my neglect. After school ended, we tried to keep a casual friendship, but that never worked out. Anytime we hung out alone, he always found some way to get me back into his bed. So finally I told him that we couldn’t see each other anymore, at least not until we could control ourselves. 

Steve and I still kept in touch—a phone call every once and a while; after a sufficient amount of time had passed, a random dinner here or movie there. Now it’s been three years and the last time we talked was four months ago. Not surprisingly enough, Steve was engaged. I was happy to know that he had found someone else. I hoped she was the right one for him. I hoped she knew how to deal with someone who wouldn’t accept help in order to climb out of the dark hole he had created for himself. However, I was shocked to discover that she was barely twenty-one. By now, Steve was almost twenty-nine. I was just glad it wasn’t me that he was focusing all of his attention on.

So you can imagine my surprise when I opened my cell phone and the text box read, “Can I come over? I really need to be with someone.” He had sent that at eleven o’clock.

I rolled my eyes in irritation. Not again, I thought. I really wasn’t the type of person that enjoyed these kinds of dramatics and, in my mind, it was entirely inappropriate for an engaged man to come to my house in the middle of the night. I couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that he still didn’t get that, and that he also still kept me a part of his life. We weren’t that close of friends.

So I ignored the text and didn’t respond back. There was no point in adding to the drama. I went on with my day and had completely forgotten about it, of course that was after I had elaborated for a few minutes to my girlfriends about how illogical Steve was to even consider requesting to see me at eleven o’clock at night.

The next morning, I was woken up by my phone again, jingling and vibrating on my bed table—the jingle always reminded me of Super Mario Galaxy—and I snatched it, quickly muting the sound. I hated being woken up by my phone. I quickly flipped it open to see there was another text from Steve. It said: “Sorry about that. I was going to kill myself and Emily [his fiancée] called the police on me.”

I stared blankly at it for a moment, trying to decide whether or not he was being serious, or if this was another dramatic ploy. He had known that my aunt had killed herself when I was young, and I also knew that if a person really wanted to kill himself, then they would have done it by now instead of talking about it. At that point, I could feel myself getting angry. It infuriated me that he told me this, and that he actually considered killing himself in the first place. I didn’t understand what he was still depressed about. He has a son who loves him. He has huge family who loves him. He’s engaged. The last time I spoke with him, which was months ago, he sounded so happy.

 A part of me wanted to ignore this message. I didn’t know why he felt the need to tell me this anyway. But then, I thought, what if he really did want to take his own life? What kind of person would that make me to ignore him like that?

Clearing my throat from its grogginess, I called Steve. He didn’t answer the first time and I forgot to leave a message. After thinking about what I could say for a couple of minutes, I called again, planning on leaving him a message. And then he answered.

“Hey,” I said automatically.

“Hi,” he said, his voice bleak and gruff. It sounded like he either just woke up too, or was drugged up to the point of being comatose. So I just got right to the point. 

“What’s wrong,” I asked.

 He answered that he didn’t know. I asked him how Emily was doing. He answered fine. I felt like I was getting nowhere. Of course, I really didn’t expect to be getting anywhere. I wasn’t a counselor. I didn’t know what was right or wrong to say. I knew that listening usually helps, but difficult when no one is talking. So I told him what I thought. I said that if he had killed himself, then he wouldn’t have appreciated all the work and effort his parents put into bringing him up, that he would have abandoned his son, and wouldn’t have valued all the love his family and friends have given him.

He was silent on the other end, but I could hear that he was moving about, probably getting his son ready for school. A moment passed and he said he had to go, but that he’d call me back. 

I waited. An hour went by, then two. I assumed he forgot to call me back that day. In fact, he never did. He was probably mad at me for not being nearly as sympathetic towards his suicidal attempt as he would have wanted me to be. After we had hung up, I thought back on our conversation and thought that maybe I was a little harsh. But, then again, I was pissed, and he was a grown man that needed to grow out of his depression. Though he didn’t call me back, I somehow knew he was okay and that if Steve had done something drastic, I would have found out through our mutual friends.

Three months later, I had gotten another text from him inviting me to Poker night at his place. Sometimes I still wonder why he includes me as one of his friends. We were never that close. But I was glad to see that he seemed happier, as much as one can tell through a text message.

I didn’t respond this time. I didn’t want any part of Steve’s life. The depression, the ups and downs, the drama, the baggage—I couldn’t do it. Steve and I were no longer friends and we weren’t really in the first place. We were more like acquaintances and I didn’t care to keep in touch. We never could be just friends and I had no interest in trying at something that didn’t really exist. Steve was a closed book that concluded a long time ago.

I don’t answer anymore.

Star Wars: The Revolution: Prologue

Christanna Rowader1 Comment

 

Introduction
Life has continued. Life will always continue. Life is always and everywhere, on every land and in every water, on every planet and on every star, in every galaxy and in the beyond of the universe.  There is Life.  And with this knowledge, they who live bring peace.  The peace that has been sought for over a life time.  But those who live will kill.  So how can they ever understand that the peace they have sought, fought, and died for will never come when they continue to destroy their Life?  Will they ever know?  Will they ever learn?  What will it take for them to finally stop?  Who will it be that stops them?  And will peace finally reign?  Time can only tell…
Prologue
The air was still and warm.  There was no wind this evening.  Neither was there a sound.  Nothing, it seemed.  Nothing but the warm sand clustered like tiny crystal shards blanketing the planet in smooth, round dunes.  And a city—or maybe a small town—nearby a towering orange plateau.  Cantter, Tatooine’s smallest city, glittered with tiny yellow lights as the planet’s Twin Suns settled for the night.  Stars peaked out of the purple sky, seeming to reflect the twinkling sands as the dunes basked in the deep red of the descending suns.  There was silence everywhere.  Not even the little town emanated the sound of people scurrying to their humble clay homes.  And one by one, the tiny yellow lights winked out, sending the town into the now purplish hue.
The last remaining sun lay half way across the horizon now, overpowered by the purplish-black void above where the crystal stars awaited their watch.  Small kokter reptiles crawled from their burrows beneath the sand, awakening from their long-days sleep.  Dancing across the desert, they readied for the long night ahead of them.  Accompanying the kokters were five other small beings.  Humans actually.  They would call them children.  Clothed in a coarse material and wrapped in thick robes, these children scurried across the desert away from the sleeping town.  The kokters, normally frightened by anything larger than themselves, scurried alongside the fivesome in an attempt to keep up.  This was their normal routine as of late: to follow the small humans on their little journey around the towering plateau.  Not a sound did they make, not even the sand was disturbed beneath their light footsteps.
The last sun finally surrendered to the darkness and the dunes glittered a dark grey, the only light emanating from the far away stars above.  Rounding the corner of the plateau, the humans and the kokters entered the large canyon, neither aware of the potential danger darkness might behold.  Neither would they have cared.  Inside the canyon, the caravan was greeted by a small fire.  The red and orange firelight danced images across the walls of the canyon.  Images of the past?  Maybe.  Or perhaps images of the future.  The children always loved watching the firelight dance across the plateau’s side, setting their imaginations ablaze. 
 Drawn by the fire, the children continued slowly onward.  The kokters paused and left the children on their own now, knowing their own journey lay somewhere else.  The five human beings, having made this journey many times before, eagerly made their way to the small fire.  And awaiting their return was a tall figure clad in a single black robe, engulfing his body and hiding his face.  He was human, like them, but quite different.  A hermit of Tatooine—that the children knew—but he was also something else—that they sensed.  A hero maybe.  A long-ago-hero of the old nations—of the galaxy.  Heroes no longer existed now, of course.  And there were no more nations, no more governments anymore.  They had been long destroyed along with most life across the galaxy.  And no one had bothered putting it back together again, for those that would have were also destroyed.  The heroes of the galaxy had vanished leaving life as it was alone.  
So how could this man, this hermit, be a hero?  The children might have believed it and it might have been true, but then again, a child’s imagination can sometimes carry itself too far.
Whether he was what the children believed him to be or not be, he was their storyteller.  These small beings had journeyed almost every night to this exact spot to hear the stories of the old galaxy when adventure and excitement reigned.  When enormous crafts used to travel through space to reach any star it wanted.  When other aliens and humans coincided and androids walked the same plane.  When the Jedi had existed.  It was so long ago, it seemed to the children’s minds, that it might have been a fantasy world this lonely man had created solely for them.
It didn’t matter whether or not it was real, for they had already accepted it as history.  And as if to announce their acceptance, the five young human beings sat in a half circle around the fire, giving plenty of room for their mysterious hermit to begin the next story.  As if on cue, the tall man nodded and sat himself on the cooling sands.  The roughly shaped mouth, being the only visible feature on the hermit’s face, opened and began his tale.
“We did not learn all we needed to learn.  The Yuuzhan Vong war may have ended and peace might have finally reigned, but there were so many other wars upon wars that peace seemed impossible.” The hermit’s voice, though already low with age, grew dark and sad—which was to say the least, how his voice always sounded.  “The Galactic Alliance was no different from the New Republic or the Empire or any other government that had been the controlling factor for the galaxy.  Peace, we believed, was now a myth.  It was silly to think there could ever be such a thing.  So we allowed ourselves to control everyone and everything again; it was the only way to sustain order.  Or to keep the galaxy a safe place.  Different pilot groups, whether government sponsored or independent, set up base on every planet that created the edge of the known galaxy, and guarded.  Guarding from what?  It was irrelevant.  The Galactic Alliance turned paranoid.  There were no questions asked when given an order.  Everything was surveyed, for the utmost protection of the people.  Yes, everything was safe then.  Safe without the generosity of privacy.
“What we didn’t know was that another evil awaited its strike.  A power we had taken for granted.  A power we had no understanding of until it was too late.  A nemesis that appeared so small and minuscule that we ignored the true threat it bestowed upon us.   It was the demise of the entire galaxy.
“But there was one. A female. Little did she know her future. Little did she know her past. She lived in only the present. And what Life gave her was something she could not refuse.  Life gave her the galaxy.”
He paused.  Taking in a low, surprisingly clear breath, and he sighed out any emotion that had built up inside him at that moment.  The children waited with silent mouths and wide eyes for their storyteller to continue.  When he began, he seemed to have found a new strength and his voice rang with clear, bold resonation.
“Coruscant.” He pointed upward towards the night sky.  His finger seemed to pick out one of the many twinkling stars, this one being the smallest.  Yet, it had a bluish hue to it, unlike the others.  “This is where our story begins . . . a long time ago, in the galaxy far . . . ” 
He hesitated, as if it frightened him to say it, to bring himself over the edge, to experience the pain of simply remembering, to go back to that place again.  Then reminding himself that the past can no longer harm him or these children or anything else in this galaxy, he breathed again, finding an even stronger inner resilience.  And, readying for the last epic, the last time he or these children will ever meet, the last time they will journey to the past together, the hermit began. “A long time ago, in a galaxy far . . . far away.”

 

SpaceIntroduction

 

Life has continued. Life will always continue. Life is always and everywhere, on every land and in every water, on every planet and on every star, in every galaxy and in the beyond of the universe.  There is Life.  And with this knowledge, they who live bring peace.  The peace that has been sought for over a life time.  But those who live will kill.  So how can they ever understand that the peace they have sought, fought, and died for will never come when they continue to destroy their Life?  Will they ever know?  Will they ever learn?  What will it take for them to finally stop?  Who will it be that stops them?  And will peace finally reign?  Time can only tell…

 

Prologue

 

The air was still and warm.  There was no wind this evening.  Neither was there a sound.  Nothing, it seemed.  Nothing but the warm sand clustered like tiny crystal shards blanketing the planet in smooth, round dunes.  And a city—or maybe a small town—nearby a towering orange plateau.  Cantter, Tatooine’s smallest city, glittered with tiny yellow lights as the planet’s Twin Suns settled for the night.  Stars peaked out of the purple sky, seeming to reflect the twinkling sands as the dunes basked in the deep red of the descending suns.  There was silence everywhere.  Not even the little town emanated the sound of people scurrying to their humble clay homes.  And one by one, the tiny yellow lights winked out, sending the town into the now purplish hue.

The last remaining sun lay half way across the horizon now, overpowered by the purplish-black void above where the crystal stars awaited their watch.  Small kokter reptiles crawled from their burrows beneath the sand, awakening from their long-days sleep.  Dancing across the desert, they readied for the long night ahead of them.  Accompanying the kokters were five other small beings.  Humans actually.  They would call them children.  Clothed in a coarse material and wrapped in thick robes, these children scurried across the desert away from the sleeping town.  The kokters, normally frightened by anything larger than themselves, scurried alongside the fivesome in an attempt to keep up.  This was their normal routine as of late: to follow the small humans on their little journey around the towering plateau.  Not a sound did they make, not even the sand was disturbed beneath their light footsteps.

The last sun finally surrendered to the darkness and the dunes glittered a dark grey, the only light emanating from the far away stars above.  Rounding the corner of the plateau, the humans and the kokters entered the large canyon, neither aware of the potential danger darkness might behold.  Neither would they have cared.  Inside the canyon, the caravan was greeted by a small fire.  The red and orange firelight danced images across the walls of the canyon.  Images of the past?  Maybe.  Or perhaps images of the future.  The children always loved watching the firelight dance across the plateau’s side, setting their imaginations ablaze. 

 Drawn by the fire, the children continued slowly onward.  The kokters paused and left the children on their own now, knowing their own journey lay somewhere else.  The five human beings, having made this journey many times before, eagerly made their way to the small fire.  And awaiting their return was a tall figure clad in a single black robe, engulfing his body and hiding his face.  He was human, like them, but quite different.  A hermit of Tatooine—that the children knew—but he was also something else—that they sensed.  A hero maybe.  A long-ago-hero of the old nations—of the galaxy.  Heroes no longer existed now, of course.  And there were no more nations, no more governments anymore.  They had been long destroyed along with most life across the galaxy.  And no one had bothered putting it back together again, for those that would have were also destroyed.  The heroes of the galaxy had vanished leaving life as it was alone.  

So how could this man, this hermit, be a hero?  The children might have believed it and it might have been true, but then again, a child’s imagination can sometimes carry itself too far.

Whether he was what the children believed him to be or not be, he was their storyteller.  These small beings had journeyed almost every night to this exact spot to hear the stories of the old galaxy when adventure and excitement reigned.  When enormous crafts used to travel through space to reach any star it wanted.  When other aliens and humans coincided and androids walked the same plane.  When the Jedi had existed.  It was so long ago, it seemed to the children’s minds, that it might have been a fantasy world this lonely man had created solely for them.

It didn’t matter whether or not it was real, for they had already accepted it as history.  And as if to announce their acceptance, the five young human beings sat in a half circle around the fire, giving plenty of room for their mysterious hermit to begin the next story.  As if on cue, the tall man nodded and sat himself on the cooling sands.  The roughly shaped mouth, being the only visible feature on the hermit’s face, opened and began his tale.

“We did not learn all we needed to learn.  The Yuuzhan Vong war may have ended and peace might have finally reigned, but there were so many other wars upon wars that peace seemed impossible.” The hermit’s voice, though already low with age, grew dark and sad—which was to say the least, how his voice always sounded.  “The Galactic Alliance was no different from the New Republic or the Empire or any other government that had been the controlling factor for the galaxy.  Peace, we believed, was now a myth.  It was silly to think there could ever be such a thing.  So we allowed ourselves to control everyone and everything again; it was the only way to sustain order.  Or to keep the galaxy a safe place.  Different pilot groups, whether government sponsored or independent, set up base on every planet that created the edge of the known galaxy, and guarded.  Guarding from what?  It was irrelevant.  The Galactic Alliance turned paranoid.  There were no questions asked when given an order.  Everything was surveyed, for the utmost protection of the people.  Yes, everything was safe then.  Safe without the generosity of privacy.

“What we didn’t know was that another evil awaited its strike.  A power we had taken for granted.  A power we had no understanding of until it was too late.  A nemesis that appeared so small and minuscule that we ignored the true threat it bestowed upon us.   It was the demise of the entire galaxy.

“But there was one. A female. Little did she know her future. Little did she know her past. She lived in only the present. And what Life gave her was something she could not refuse.  Life gave her the galaxy.”

He paused.  Taking in a low, surprisingly clear breath, and he sighed out any emotion that had built up inside him at that moment.  The children waited with silent mouths and wide eyes for their storyteller to continue.  When he began, he seemed to have found a new strength and his voice rang with clear, bold resonation.

“Coruscant.” He pointed upward towards the night sky.  His finger seemed to pick out one of the many twinkling stars, this one being the smallest.  Yet, it had a bluish hue to it, unlike the others.  “This is where our story begins . . . a long time ago, in the galaxy far . . . ” 

He hesitated, as if it frightened him to say it, to bring himself over the edge, to experience the pain of simply remembering, to go back to that place again.  Then reminding himself that the past can no longer harm him or these children or anything else in this galaxy, he breathed again, finding an even stronger inner resilience.  And, readying for the last epic, the last time he or these children will ever meet, the last time they will journey to the past together, the hermit began. “A long time ago, in a galaxy far . . . far away.”

Fortune Cookie Part 1

Christanna RowaderLeave a comment

 

Standing alone on the sidewalk, the wind blowing through her long streak of blond hair, Mandy gazed out towards the sun. The sky was a golden shade tinted with light blue as the sun slowly set below the horizon. There was nothing to expect from this day, nothing to want or need. Work at the office had been the same as always. Her computer had crashed as usual. Her daily routines had remained the same, except this time she was standing across from her car being towed away. Mandy considered herself a very attentive driver, and yet she still managed to find herself distracted enough to run into the car ahead of her. A slight fender-bender that barely dented the silver Audi, but nonetheless smashed the front end of Mandy’s blue 1988 Toyota.
When the accident occurred, Mandy barely reacted. Any emotional outburst would just be another annoyance to add to the situation. In fact, standing as she was, gazing out towards the sun, she realized she didn’t even feel anything. Not a hint of aggravation, not a sigh of frustration. Nothing. Her gaze shifted to the tow truck man, hefty and sweaty compared to her delicate, sweet frame, and she signed the paper on his clip board. Then she signed another paper from the police, the flashing red and blue lights an irritating embarrassment.
As soon as the technical details were done and over with, Mandy was able to get a ride home from a close friend. His name was Sam. He was a little taller than Mandy, a rough 5’10”, and much more roundly built. The two drove in silence, neither wanting to mention the last few hours, and Sam dropped her off at her simple apartment.
“You sure you don’t want some company?” Sam asked before Mandy closed the car door.
“Yeah, I think I need to sit and think a bit,” Mandy said, hoping there was a smile present on her face, though it didn’t feel like there was one. Sam and Mandy had been friends for six years since she started her job at the office. Mandy was a shy girl which Sam was drawn to. From the moment they met, Sam took her under his wing and became the only friend she had in the small town of Ripon, Wisconsin.
“You sure?” The look in his eyes seemed more concerned than they really needed to be.
Mandy nodded sincerely and shut the car door. Sam waited until Mandy was inside her apartment before driving off down the tree-shaded street.
As soon as she was inside, Mandy took the opportunity to throw herself down onto her bed and wait for the tears to come. Having her car totaled was the last thing she needed to happen in her already stretched-to-the-wire life. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how she was going to pay for the damages and the ticket she was cited. Mandy wasn’t without car insurance, but she didn’t think it was going to cover all of the expenses. So she waited with her head burrowing into her pillow for the tears to be soaked up. But they didn’t come. Everything felt…dry. There seemed to be nothing to feel for.
Pushing herself up in frustration, Mandy got up and moved into the kitchen. She rummaged through the cupboards and fridge before coming to the realization that she hadn’t gone grocery shopping in a month. There was nothing to eat except for some pasta and cereal, neither of which sounded appealing.
Snatching up her phone, Mandy dialed the nearby Chinese delivery and ordered chicken fried rice and chow mein. She figured it was probably better for her to spend money on grocery shopping, but seeing as she didn’t have a car at the moment and she didn’t want to rely on Sam, she figured this was the best decision for the time being.
An hour later, Mandy sat on her tattered couch watching Iron Chef and enjoying her chow mein. She was half way through the show when suddenly the screen flickered and flashed off. That’s when she heard the thunder rumble overhead and the lights go out. Mandy sat there for a second, bowl in hand, staring blankly at her television in the dark. She waited for the electricity to come back and heard another rumble from above.
When the power didn’t come back on, she set her bowl down on top the beat up coffee table and stumbled to the kitchen drawers for a flashlight. After searching for about five minutes, she lit up the darkness with a dull flashlight and started to place a few candles around her living room. Once she lit the candles, Mandy settled herself down on the couch and lazily watched the tiny yellow flame dance. She was amazed with herself and how well she was taking everything today. Normally she would find herself in tears, or tearing up one of her pillows in a fit of rage. But this time, nothing happened. A part of her was thankful and another part was disappointed. It was strange how numb she felt inside, as though there was a great black hole sucking in all that she felt or could feel.
And yet, maybe this was something that had been going on for longer than she thought. Something was eating away at her insides, making her feel less and less. It didn’t make sense to her.
Mandy reached out toward the candle’s flame and brushed her finger through it, feeling a brief hotness from the contact. She did it again, only slower this time, and wondered how long it might take to before she could feel its warmth burn through her. She decided it wasn’t a good idea to try and see what would be the result, curious as she was.
Having an urge to move, Mandy got up to start cleaning away her bowl and Chinese. Before she tossed the delivery bag into the trash, she dumped out the plastic wrapped fortune cookie onto the kitchen counter. She tore open the plastic and broke the cookie in half. Pulling the thin white paper out of the cookie, she leaned towards one of the lit candles and read the piece of paper out loud.
“Use your instincts now.”
The thunder crashing above made Mandy jump in surprise and then looked back down at the fortune. The orange light from the candle made the paper glow gently in the dark.
“Very funny,” she murmured to herself, then threw away the broken pieces of cookie and the fortune along with them.

Standing alone on the sidewalk, the wind blowing through her long streak of blond hair, Mandy gazed out towards the sun. The sky was a golden shade tinted with light blue as the sun slowly set below the horizon. There was nothing to expect from this day, nothing to want or need. Work at the office had been the same as always. Her computer had crashed as usual. Her daily routines had remained the same, except this time she was standing across from her car being towed away. Mandy considered herself a very attentive driver, and yet she still managed to find herself distracted enough to run into the car ahead of her. A slight fender-bender that barely dented the silver Audi, but nonetheless smashed the front end of Mandy’s blue 1988 Toyota.

When the accident occurred, Mandy barely reacted. Any emotional outburst would just be another annoyance to add to the situation. In fact, standing as she was, gazing out towards the sun, she realized she didn’t even feel anything. Not a hint of aggravation, not a sigh of frustration. Nothing. Her gaze shifted to the tow truck man, hefty and sweaty compared to her delicate, sweet frame, and she signed the paper on his clip board. Then she signed another paper from the police, the flashing red and blue lights an irritating embarrassment.

As soon as the technical details were done and over with, Mandy was able to get a ride home from a close friend. His name was Sam. He was a little taller than Mandy, a rough 5’10”, and much more roundly built. The two drove in silence, neither wanting to mention the last few hours, and Sam dropped her off at her simple apartment.

“You sure you don’t want some company?” Sam asked before Mandy closed the car door.

“Yeah, I think I need to sit and think a bit,” Mandy said, hoping there was a smile present on her face, though it didn’t feel like there was one. Sam and Mandy had been friends for six years since she started her job at the office. Mandy was a shy girl which Sam was drawn to. From the moment they met, Sam took her under his wing and became the only friend she had in the small town of Ripon, Wisconsin.

“You sure?” The look in his eyes seemed more concerned than they really needed to be.

Mandy nodded sincerely and shut the car door. Sam waited until Mandy was inside her apartment before driving off down the tree-shaded street.

As soon as she was inside, Mandy took the opportunity to throw herself down onto her bed and wait for the tears to come. Having her car totaled was the last thing she needed to happen in her already stretched-to-the-wire life. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how she was going to pay for the damages and the ticket she was cited. Mandy wasn’t without car insurance, but she didn’t think it was going to cover all of the expenses. So she waited with her head burrowing into her pillow for the tears to be soaked up. But they didn’t come. Everything felt…dry. There seemed to be nothing to feel for.

Pushing herself up in frustration, Mandy got up and moved into the kitchen. She rummaged through the cupboards and fridge before coming to the realization that she hadn’t gone grocery shopping in a month. There was nothing to eat except for some pasta and cereal, neither of which sounded appealing.

Snatching up her phone, Mandy dialed the nearby Chinese delivery and ordered chicken fried rice and chow mein. She figured it was probably better for her to spend money on grocery shopping, but seeing as she didn’t have a car at the moment and she didn’t want to rely on Sam, she figured this was the best decision for the time being.

An hour later, Mandy sat on her tattered couch watching Iron Chef and enjoying her chow mein. She was half way through the show when suddenly the screen flickered and flashed off. That’s when she heard the thunder rumble overhead and the lights go out. Mandy sat there for a second, bowl in hand, staring blankly at her television in the dark. She waited for the electricity to come back and heard another rumble from above.

When the power didn’t come back on, she set her bowl down on top the beat up coffee table and stumbled to the kitchen drawers for a flashlight. After searching for about five minutes, she lit up the darkness with a dull flashlight and started to place a few candles around her living room. Once she lit the candles, Mandy settled herself down on the couch and lazily watched the tiny yellow flame dance. She was amazed with herself and how well she was taking everything today. Normally she would find herself in tears, or tearing up one of her pillows in a fit of rage. But this time, nothing happened. A part of her was thankful and another part was disappointed. It was strange how numb she felt inside, as though there was a great black hole sucking in all that she felt or could feel.

And yet, maybe this was something that had been going on for longer than she thought. Something was eating away at her insides, making her feel less and less. It didn’t make sense to her.

Mandy reached out toward the candle’s flame and brushed her finger through it, feeling a brief hotness from the contact. She did it again, only slower this time, and wondered how long it might take to before she could feel its warmth burn through her. She decided it wasn’t a good idea to try and see what would be the result, curious as she was.

Having an urge to move, Mandy got up to start cleaning away her bowl and Chinese. Before she tossed the delivery bag into the trash, she dumped out the plastic wrapped fortune cookie onto the kitchen counter. She tore open the plastic and broke the cookie in half. Pulling the thin white paper out of the cookie, she leaned towards one of the lit candles and read the piece of paper out loud.

“Use your instincts now.”

The thunder crashing above made Mandy jump in surprise and then looked back down at the fortune. The orange light from the candle made the paper glow gently in the dark.

“Very funny,” she murmured to herself, then threw away the broken pieces of cookie and the fortune along with them.