Everyone except a boy who was busy unlatching his window and quietly removing the screen. His skin was tan, and his dusty brown hair shimmered with gold. A white t-shirt stretched across his muscular frame, and light brown cargo shorts hung around his hips as he jumped out of his first story window onto the soft grass. He gazed up at the sky and breathed as deeply as his lungs would allow, trying to feel the upcoming storm with every part of him. When he exhaled, he heard a rattle at his locked doorknob. Excitement jolted through him. He took-off down the street. When he looked down, the pavement passed underneath him like a river of concrete.

The lightening first struck as he neared the school like a white tear in the sky. He could feel the vibration throughout his body as the thunder rolled, and it sent shivers up his spine. The lawn that spread all around the school was short and dull. The grass, with kicked up dirt separating each blade, was muddied now from the rainfall. His shirt clung to his body as coin sized raindrops fled from the grey sky, and he started in towards the rusty brick building he knew so well. Its familiar rectangular, plain schoolhouse shape was usually a comfort to him whenever he came. But today, Instead of the generic, proud flag that was constantly tugged by a lazy wind, that was always there to mindlessly stare at, a large, dead looking flagpole protruded in front of it with a sideways American flag drenched, half-mast, and clinging to the pole. He stared at it for a few moments with a building feeling of tension, and uneasiness.

Lightning flared again, and thunder roared so closely behind it that he flinched and raced up to the double doors leading into the school. A rusted pad-lock held a chain in place around the handle of each door. He quickly scrounged in the grass and came up with a large rock. With a wild fear in his stomach and adrenaline pushing his arm, he broke the padlock off of the chain with one strong strike and yanked the door open. As soon as he was inside, he pushed the door closed and stepped back until he was flat against a wall, where he let himself slide down to the floor. He sat for a moment, and then footsteps broke through the rumble of the thunder and downpour. Fast-paced and hard on the ground, they grew nearer until the school door burst open. In front of him stood a girl with dark brown hair and soaked clothing. He sighed with relief when he recognized her and rose to his feet, a smile overtaking his lips when as his eyes met hers. A second passed and she sprung forward, into his arms. He held her there, feeling her warm, pleasant form against his own, and he never wanted to let go. She pulled away slightly and looked at him again before kissing his check tenderly and stepping back.

“I missed this,” she said softly.

“I did too, I missed you so much. I thought I would never see you again…” he began, his amazement increasing as he spoke. “After the accident, I… I thought you were dea–” She pressed her lips against his, and he relaxed. In his heart, he knew this was only a dream, but for now he would let himself believe she was really with him again.

Related posts:

1. Thoughts of Rhoda
2. Ignorance is Bliss
3. Afterward

“Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t realize this was someone’s land! They all said it was abandoned.” The girl hadn’t been expecting to find someone else either, and said so. The other girl beamed at her.

“So, you live up the way?”

“Not really…My parents are making us ‘visit’, even though my great grandmother’s been dead for years, we’ve never visited before, and we don’t know anyone here.” The girl tilted her head, and gave her another bright, wide smile, showing all of her perfect teeth.

“I could be your friend! My name is Helia!” The other girl raised an eyebrow, and gave her a sardonic smile.

“Rachel. Nice to meet you.” Helia nodded excitedly, and Rachel rolled her eyes.

“So…wanna go do something? It’s kind of boring out here.” She couldn’t help but pray the girl knew about something to do. She beamed, grabbed her hand, and pulled her deeper into the field.

“Sometimes the older kids hang out in here around midday, but they don’t really like me. Maybe they’ll like you! I hope so. It must be so lonely to be out here all day, all alone. Your dog is really cute!” Rachel forced herself not to jump in surprise at the sudden change in topics and her dog’s reaction. He snapped at the small girl’s reaching fingers, growling.

“Oh jeez. Hey, dummy, stop it, she didn’t do anything. I’m sorry, he’s never like this. He must be tired or something.” Helia eyed the dog warily, her bubbly attitude suddenly disappearing as  she pulled her hand back slowly. For a moment, it seemed as if she might even growl back at the dog, when she suddenly shrugged, and beamed at her again.

“I’m sure he just doesn’t like how I smell – I work at the local Humane Society.” With that, she skipped off, laughing brightly, but Rachel was beginning to feel odd. Jack was normally the most amiable dog in the world – he got along with everyone and everything, including other dogs, cats, horses, and chickens of all things. He never snapped at anyone, and he normally liked kids a lot. With a sigh, she hugged Jack closer and slowly followed the white clad girl.

Related posts:

1. Ignorance is Bliss
2. The Elementary School Where Her Brother Went
3. Dog on Wheels (live) by Sole Transit

Being a vampire isn’t all it’s made out to be, okay? You have no idea what it’s like to never see the sun again, never age, never be able to do the things you used to do. I used to love being out in the sun; back when I was human, I used to just sit on the beach, enjoying the feeling of the sun warming my skin. I can’t do that anymore. Nowadays, the sun doesn’t warm; it burns. The only thing I get is a cold, pale empty echo of the sun. The only thing I get to see is the moon. The moon and the stars.

And when you’re a vampire, you can’t spend time with humans, no matter how much you want to. Humans are prey. Nothing else. They are weaker, worthless, stupid, pathetic animals. Vampires are smarter, stronger, better. Vampires are used to keep the human population in check. That’s all. We can’t begin a relationship with them, or talk to them, or spend time with them. These are the rules. The laws. They must be upheld. And it’s not like we’d want to spend time with humans anyway, so it doesn’t really matter that we don’t age. Still…it’s a little disconcerting to look in the mirror, and see the same person you were fifty years ago.

Being a vampire isn’t fun. It’s not an adventure. Being a vampire…is really just boring. It’s boring and lonely. A vampire is super-strong, super-smart, super-fast. When you’re the best, nothing can hurt you. And there are so few of us that forming a relationship with another vampire is just pointless. After a while, things would just be one, huge messy relationship.

People who don’t know any better, and waste their entire lives wishing and whining about how pathetic their life is; wishing to become a vampire, and suddenly start living ‘the life of excitement.’ Some girls will spend their entire lives waiting for a dark, dangerous, handsome vampire to come in and ‘sweep them off their feet.’ But this never happens. If you’re lucky, you won’t meet a vampire, not the other way around.

Being a vampire sucks. Period. This half life of crouching and hiding in the shadows. Of murder and blood. Of loneliness. Of anger. Of hate. This half life of killing to survive, and ripping the throats out of innocent people. This isn’t a life. This is an existence. And they aren’t the same at all. If someone gave me a choice, death or this, I would without a doubt choose death. Without a doubt.

And if there was any way to end this, I would. If I could just step out into the sunlight, and end it all, I would. Believe me. But I am being watched. Vampires are always being watched…by the Others. The ones who created us. We are their slaves. And we are damn hard to make. Therefore, if we end our lives, it only means more work for them. Which they don’t want.

So one step too close, or if you linger too long during the sunrise…you’ll get a visit from the Others. And that never ends well. Better to be a vampire who hates its life than a vampire who has no will of its own.

It’s all a lie, okay? Everything and everyone lies. They make the life of a vampire sound so great. And you believe them, believe all their stupid lies. Until it’s too late.

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1. Book Review: House of Night Series
2. Don’t Let This Be You
3. Let’s Remember That Night Together

When she had been younger he had told her about the stars and pointed out star constellations: Andromeda, Cassiopeia, Cepheus, and Perseus. hese were his favorites. He loved the story about Perseus’ adventure. He always liked the constellations about Greek Myths. At night he and Lisa would sit outside on the back porch, just looking up at those stars. He would point to one and say “You see that? That is part of the Argo Navis. That’s the ship that Jason and the Argonauts sailed in. You can’t recognize it right now. The sky here isn’t ‘clean’ anymore…light pollution…”

In his room he had had a telescope. It was long, sleek, and elegant, his pride possession. Lisa still remembered the Christmas he had gotten it. The look in his eye was pure joy. And he was protective of it. Lisa would sneak around it, standing at his door, willing herself to open it and just to take one tiny peek through.

“Please Felix, just one look, come on.” She’d plead with him, but as hard as she tried he stayed firm.

One night however, he came to her door. “Don’t you want to look at Orion today?”

The whole night they looked through his telescope while Felix talked. “I haven’t told Mom or Dad yet, but I’ve been drafted.” He was silent for a long time staring at his feet and then the stars. “I want you to watch my telescope for me, don’t give it away, don’t let it be hurt, okay?” He shut up again. Lisa looked at him, her eyes tearing up.

The next morning he had told their parents. Their mother weeped while their father silently cursed this “totally pointless” war that was going to “take his only son.”

At first he had written almost every day. Lisa usually found an email every time she logged into gmail. After a few months however, the emails came less and less. Now they only came every week, then two weeks, then month. They became darker, too.

Every night she would check her email, then she would get out his telescope. At the bottom of his emails he always sent her a list of stars or constellations that she should look for. She always picked a few and searched for them, especially when she did not receive a new email.

Then one day a letter arrived in the mail. ‘Dear Cliff Family, sorry to inform you, your only son died in a war that no one agrees with.’ Lisa’s mother locked herself into her room and cried for three days strait. Lisa’s father went for long hikes only returning in the latest hours of the night, smelling of cigarettes and smoke. Lisa was in shock. She deleted the emails and put the telescope in his closet. (A few days later she went through her trash and got every single one of his emails out again.)

It had been two years now. Every now and then she reread his emails, afterwards looking at those stars that Felix had showed her so many times. However that beautiful black telescope never came out of the closet.

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1. Don’t Let This Be You
2. Spilling the Beans
3. Active Imagination

Her blonde hair reached down towards her lower back, and her muscles were relaxed when a feeling of overpowering awe traveled through her. Her thin pink nightgown restlessly danced on small gusts of wind as minutes, or maybe hours – she couldn’t have said which – passed. The whole time was spent admiring each and every different leaf, and groove in the bark, every texture and symmetry, every aspect of the tree until she was at last just admiring it’s vastness. It was until now though, that she bothered to notice the things around her, specifically the form that stood behind her. She breathed in quickly and spun around, “How did you know I’d left?” She squeaked. “I heard the screen door close behind you. You could have been a little less predictable, when you left your shoes behind, I knew you’d come here.” Said a tall man who stood around six feet with brown hair, and even darker brown eyes. The girl curiously observed him, from his fitted blue shirt to his faded blue jeans that hung easily around his waist. “Predictable? I thought it would throw you off.” She said slyly. “You’ve been doing the same thing since we were thirteen, do you really think it ever threw me off?” He smiled at her and continued. “What is it about this one spot you like so much anyhow? You didn’t have some secret romance that you come back to reminisce, right?”

“No! It’s just…”

“Just, what?” He pried.

“It’s just beautiful here… and well, when I was little,” She paused for a moment with a look of wonderment coming over her, “something so tragic happened right here. Right under this tree.” She finished, as she traced a groove in the bark with her finger.

“Before I moved out here I guess, I never heard of it.” He spoke quietly, almost prodding her to continue. “Yeah, it was when I was about five or six maybe. Another girl lived around here, she was maybe eight or nine… no… she was nine, nine when they found her.” She stood in silence for a moment. “Can we go back to the house?” She asked. “I can finish telling you there.”

“Okay, that’s fine baby.” He took her under his arm and lead the way back up the wooded trail to their house.

They sat in a furnished kitchen. The lighting was anything but florescent; more of a warm glow, and the wooden furniture accented the light granite counter-tops. The kitchen table sat next to the wall, and was surrounded by wooden chairs layered with soft cushions. They sat across from each other and he held her right hand in both of his. “- They found her body next to that tree? How long had she been missing?” He asked in a bewildered voice. “Three weeks, she’d only been dead for a few days though, when… she was found.” She said, looking and sounding more distant than she had through the entire story. He looked at her for a minute before asking, “Who found her?”

“I did.” And it was as if she had turned to stone, she was so rigid. Her expression quickly softened at his touch though. “Rhoda was just so young, and so sweet. That man just took her and then left her in the woods to die.”

“She died in the woods?” He asked.

“Yes. I think that’s why it seems so weird to me. The woods have always seemed safe and familiar, not like… like the dying place of a child.” She looked at him with confused eyes. He could only hold her hand tighter, and comfort her with a kiss on her palm. He knew he couldn’t do more than that. She would only shrug off any further embrace and deny any pity he would offer, so, they sat in silence for a while. He let her sift through her thoughts to find the one she would share, and finally she did. “She had the most beautiful locket. When I was really little I saw her wearing it and tried to snatch it right off of her neck. She didn’t even get mad, she just took it off and gave it to me.” She fiddled with the calluses on her hands and continued, “Her mother had given it to her, and She didn’t know I had it until after they found her body. I had to give it back…. I wonder how scared she was.”

“Who?’

“Rhoda, when he took her. I wonder how many times she screamed for help, I-“

“Amy, stop being so morbid!” He snapped. She looked at her hands and kept silent. “I think we’ve talked about this enough for now. Lets just get some breakfast.” He said and he stood up and walked over to the refrigerator. “Eggs?”  He asked, leaning his body into the cool air. She nodded and mumbled a barely audible, “Yes.”

After breakfast she changed into jeans and loose purple t-shirt, before she left the house again and wandered back to the tree. She opened up the paper-back novel she brought with her and nestled herself into a groove in the trunk. She closed her eyes and forgot about her husband and her life, and only lived for the sent that fled the woods. She touched the dirt, and felt the guilt she had after finding out Rhoda had gone missing. The guilt she held onto after realizing if she hadn’t kept her over so late, she would’ve gone home while it was still light out. The guilt that was re-enforced by a mother who’d lost a child telling her that it was her fault that her baby was gone. An image flashed under her eyelids of that mothers ‘baby’ when she was found. She flinched and a tear fled from her green eyes. She took in a deep breath and wished she hadn’t of shared all of that with her husband.

She held her hand there a long while. But when she opened her eyes she looked back at her book and her thoughts of Rhoda began to disappear.

Related posts:

1. The Elementary School Where Her Brother Went
2. The Rain
3. Ignorance is Bliss

Mary fell to her hands and knees in the soil and reached down to her screaming brother. She knew her brand new dress was ruined now, but she never liked it anyway.

“Can you grab my hand, Matthew?”

The boy jumped, arms stretched and palms white with strain, but his hands met only the moist and earthy walls of the ditch. He yelled, voice cracking, “Go get Daddy!”

“You shouldn’t ‘ve been playing near the big ditch! Mommy said so, Matthew! This is your fault!”

“I’m sorry!” The boy’s face was caked with filth now, the tears running down his cheeks leaving gaps like rivers.

“It’s gonna be dark soon! I can’t see anything!”

“Mary! Go find Daddy, quick! Please! Please!” Matthew’s knees buckled, and he wept, wiping his nose on his bare arm.

Mary stood up and brushed her long red hair out of her eyes. She was used to the responsibilities of an older sibling, despite her single-digit age. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the sunset, always a beautiful sight on her farm, a place free from the blinding street lamps of the city. She ran barefoot along the dusty trail leading back to her small house. It was already too dark for her to make out the tops of the tall trees surrounding the path, and twice she nearly tripped over an embedded rock.

Daddy wasn’t at home. Neither was Mommy. Mary noticed their car was missing and realized that tonight was her parent’s weekly night out by themselves. She felt a void grow inside her and cold sweat made her itch. Mary tried to remember where her Daddy kept that big coil of rope. She had seen him use it only the day before to move his horses through the fields. After he was done, she recalled, he stowed it in the cellar. This slowed her; she did not like the cellar. It was too empty, too dry. Mary loved the warm, wet air of her farm, all of it except that cellar. She knew she must be brave for Matthew.

The cellar doors looked older than the house, but the wood somehow had not rotted away. She lifted one and climbed through the portal.

Mary flicked the light switch, activating the solitary bulb dangling like a hanged man from the ceiling. It lit the vast variety of tools and equipment stored down here, some new and virtually spotless, some old and rusted over. She spied the rope lying an arm’s length away and gathered it up, and a voice said, “You can’t help him.”

Mary gave a small whimper and looked for the voice. There was something standing in the gap between the antique lawnmower and the shovel. Mary’s head hurt to look at it. It was standing there and it was many shapes at once. It extruded itself through Mary’s vision. She only gaped and tears started to form in her eyes. It smiled in front of Mary and past Mary. It said, slowly, “The rope will not help him. It is his time.” Its voice was many voices and it was nonsense. It continued, “Do not worry, We will not harm you. You have never done wrong in your life. It is his time. It is not your fault. It was an accident.” It stepped backwards and in some direction incomprehensible and it meshed with the geometry of the cellar and it was gone. Mary found her legs and ran. She did not stumble once running down the path.

Mary could barely see Matthew through the growing night, sitting prone at the bottom of the ditch, his knees brushing his hair. Mary called out to him, “Matthew, it’s OK! I found the rope!” She tied an end of it to a nearby tree and dropped the other end down to her brother. “Climb up!”

Matthew gave a sniff, nodded slowly, and started to climb just as something formed from many impossible directions around the two and coalesced at the bottom of the ditch behind the boy. It walked slowly to Matthew and touched his shoulder. He instantly dropped off the rope and turned to face it. It said, “It was too great a drop. Come Matthew, it is your time now.” Matthew nodded. Mary screamed. It wrapped itself around the boy, small fibers twitching and writhing around his flesh, mingling, dancing. It was gone quickly. Matthew fell to his knees.

“No!” Mary shouted. She swung herself over the side of the ditch and slid down the rope. She reached her brother just as he rolled over, almost a somersault, and she heard something break inside him, like a dry branch cracking. Matthew was lying on his side now, his head twisted in a wrong angle. He was pale. Mary screamed and screamed.

She didn’t know how long she spent in that ditch next to her dead brother. She found herself shuffling weak along the path back to her house, moaning like an injured animal and weeping as hard as she ever had. She was thinking about it shifting itself around her brother. She was thinking about watching the boy stumble headlong and fall for too long. She was thinking of its voice, that impossible voice, and she knew what it said and she did not understand.

She was standing, hunched over, in the driveway as her parents pulled in. She saw them scramble out of their seats, kneel down next to her.

“Mary, what’s wrong?” Her father cupped her shoulder gently. Her mother was already crying, as if she had known when it had happened. She said her dead brother’s name. Her father picked her up in his arms. She described the gaping wound in the earth where Matthew lay. Mary knew only brief flashes of the path as her parents, her family, ran as fast as they could, Mary dangling from her father’s arms.

And they were at the ditch, and Mommy looked down and could just make out the pale form of her baby boy, neck broken, and she collapsed in the dirt and wailed. Daddy placed Mary on the ground beside him.

“How did it happen?” He spoke with great effort. Mary wiped her face on her dress and looked up at her father.

“Matthew fell in. I told him not to play there but he did anyway. I told him I would get help but you and Mommy were gone. I went into the cellar to get the rope-” Mary stopped here. She started crying again, and so did Daddy. Mary whispered, “There was something in the cellar. It wasn’t a person. It said that- it was awful, Daddy. It said that it was Matthew’s time. It said it was his time. And I ran back with the rope and Matthew nearly got out but it got him, Daddy, it got him and it killed him.” Mary was sobbing now. Daddy pressed his fingers to his jawline and looked at her. “Mary. You’re young. This is no time for stories. Tell me what happened.” He spoke now with patience.

“I did! I just did!”

Mary ran to her mother, and they curled and embraced together. Daddy walked slowly to the edge of the ditch and looked down.

He had warned both of them: the drop was fatal.

Related posts:

1. The Elementary School Where Her Brother Went
2. Thoughts of Rhoda
3. The Rain

So when I was awakened suddenly on a Saturday morning (literally at 12:01 am), and informed that I had to travel to Crimson, by following the long yellow (yes, yellow!) brick road that ran through our barely there town, not only was I skeptical, I was hysterical. Of course this was a prank! There was no way I’d ever follow a yellow brick road, and there was definitely no way I was going to Crimson, which was apparently impossible to reach on foot; you actually could only get there by train. I ignored my brother’s insistence and went back to sleep, only to be woken again by a gallon of ice cubes being dumped on me. My brother is quite obviously not the image of subtlety – but then, he never has been. He stood at the end of my bed, hands on his bony hips, glaring at me.

“This isn’t a prank, alright? Mom told me to wake you up, because you have to go to Crimson, and you can’t go by train.” I sat up and glared back at him, while at the same time wondering in the back of my mind if he knew how girly he looked at that moment.

“Yes, I have a fairly good idea. Now get up! We have a limited amount of time.” I wasn’t sure what to reply to first, the fact that he must have read my mind, or the fact that he’d said “we.” Didn’t that imply that he was coming with me? I asked that very question and was – surprise surprise – ignored.

“Do you want something in particular for lunch? Or breakfast, for that matter. I’m doing all the cooking, since you apparently are extremely challenged in modern domesticity.” Modern domesticity? So I can skin an animal, tan said animal’s hide, garden, weave, sew by hand, and various other things that were necessary in, say, the Middle Ages, but I couldn’t cook! He must have noticed I was sulking (amidst the gallon of ice cubes now melting on my bed), because a pile of clothes smacked me in the face.

“If you don’t hurry up, I get to pack all of your clothes, and that means you have to wear what I choose.” That got me up and out of bed, into the bathroom. My brother had great taste, but it wasn’t my taste, and I refused to go on this insane journey wearing clothing that made me feel like every inch of skin was exposed.

I caught up with him downstairs, where my mom was sipping tea as if it was 10:00 a.m. and not 12. She waved me to the table, gesturing to the plate of French toast sitting in the center of said table, steaming hot and running with syrup.

“There’s bacon and eggs coming soon – once your brother actually finishes cooking them, along with the massive amounts of food he’s making to bring with you.” She shook her head at that, before pulling out a slender box from under the table. It was about three and a half feet in length, and was made of some dull sand colored wood, with old copper hinges – so old they were green. She slid it across the table as I piled three pieces of the toast onto my plate, muttering.

“That’s yours. I gave your brother his already, but I doubt he’ll use it – and technically, neither of you should have to.” I ate one of the pieces of toast to keep my mouth full, if only to stop myself from hurling vulgarities and insults at her, a result of my early awakening and the fact that I still didn’t really think of her as my “mother.” She was, technically, my biological mother, but when I was born, there was a mishap at the hospital and I ended up with another family. My brother also ended up with a different family, and we never actually met until our fifth birthday party – we’re twins – thrown by the town we both moved to that day, when they learned of the miraculous coincidence. We lived in the same town for another five years, before my family decided to move on- again. It was due to this that I learned that, as opposed to my brother, the hospital hadn’t actually made a mistake – I’d been stolen. My mother had been trying to find us ever since the child at the hospital hadn’t matched her genetically, and our father had died in a car crash only days after our birth – a highly suspicious car crash. So for almost fifteen years, she’d been trying to find us, and we’d finally been recovered about two years ago. My brother and I had, originally, been ecstatic to meet our real mother, and learn we wouldn’t be separated from our families – that is, most of our families. My “mother” had been charged with kidnapping, murder, and apparently child abuse, applied to her eldest. Despite that, I still felt as though I missed her, if only because I’d lived with her for most of my life. My actual mother and I still had yet to completely learn to get along, and we had some extreme rough patches – but for the most part, everything was fine. We loved each other dearly, and it was with that in mind that we worked through most of our problems. Still chewing, I pulled the box closer and worked the ancient latch open, before flipping the lid up.

It was a pair of stilettos, each about three feet in length, not counting the hilt. The hilts were identical, featuring a red winged angel, each turning into a serpent from the waist down, wrapping around the hilt, the tail eventually forming the guard. The blades, however, differed to some extent. One was a deep red, while the other was white, but both were quite sharp, probably painted over, or something to the effect. I wasn’t a weapons expert, and I had no idea if that was even possible, but it seemed plausible. My brother leaned against the back of my chair, examining them.

“I got a scythe, if the term can really be applied.” I looked up at him, and he gave me a small grin.

“I’ll show you when I’m done with breakfast. It’s not a scythe exactly – but it’s got a blade, and is technically a staff otherwise, so I’m at a loss for what to call it.” He shrugged, picking up the red dagger and running his fingers over the writing down the left side of the blade.

“Do you know what it says?” I assumed – something I did often, out of pride and quite a few issues with being wrong – that he was speaking to my mother. Logically, that made sense. I examined the other blade as well, only to realize I did know what it said.

“Blade of the ancients – reward thy foe with Death’s embrace.” Alarmed, I took the other blade from my confused brother and read its inscription as well.

“Blade of the queen – bring thy power to thy fearless comrades.” I stared at them, unable to fathom what that meant, or why my mother had them.

“They’re the second set of the Queen’s Champion weapons. Your brother has the third, and another, a young man in Crimson named Prime, has the first. You three are possibly the most powerful people in our community other than the queen. Even Arthur, with mighty Excalibur, could not face these weapons without fear.” This, of course, brought me out of my horrified stupor instantly.

“Arthur? What the hell do you mean Arthur!? As in, King of England Arthur? The Round Table Arthur?”

“Approximately, yes.” Now my brother, usually slow to accuse anyone, spoke.

“Approximately? What the hell does that mean?” Our mother put her tea down and held out both hands.

“The world we live in is a facade.”

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They had talked about this for hours. “If you had a superpower, what would it be?” asked Andree during a routine lie in the grass behind a row of trees near his house. It took May longer to answer than she thought it would. Usually she might have answered flying, but that would just be difficult, she decided. Flying between high buildings, getting bugs in your teeth, risking colliding with an airplane or a helicopter, people would think she was committing suicide. Other times she could have answered, hear as well as a bat, but when she thought about what that would mean, and what she would hear, she decided against that. Invisibility just seemed pointless to May. So she just shrugged in answer and posed the same question back.

“Hyper-intelligence!” Andree burst out with out thinking. -Damn, I wish I had thought of that.- “Honestly, wouldn’t that just be great, I mean, not that I really need it, but still…”
“Do you think anything would change for us if we got superpowers? I mean really?”
“Of course, I could finally do some real good in the world.”
“Yes, and I could finally set some of my evil plans into affect, but do you think you would do anything? Even though you don’t have any superpowers you still pick up trash, you still protest what you think is wrong, you’re involved in school and community organizing. Even though I’m not super-strong or super-smart, I am still evil, I still make plots, I still …”

Andree was silent. “…I’m not sure, but …” Her point was a good one, her point was a very good one.

They sat in silence for a long time, staring at the sun and the clouds and the birds and the planes that passed over their heads, thinking about what would change. They swatted at mosquitoes who tried to land on their skin, missing them for the most part.

After a while Andree said “but if you could have a superpower, what would it be?”

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1. Vampire Of The Night

Suddenly a man came out of the woods. He was carrying a knife. The man fell backward, but caught himself on a branch, obviously drunk. He muttered something and his eyes were glazed. The children ran, hiding behind her and their teacher, leaving Amy behind on the gravel and her brother on the swings. She started to scream, as she ran forward, picking up Amy while she forced herself toward the man and her brother. She tried to get her brother’s attention, but by the time he noticed what was going on around him the knife was already in his small back.

His eyes full of tears he fell forward, onto the hard schoolyard. She reached him and set down Amy next to her. She cradled his head in her arms, as his blood ran out onto the gravel and her jeans. Amy crawled on his other side, Amy’s face as wet and salty as her own. Her hand reached out and felt the last beats of his heart.

The other children ran. They ran to the bathroom and got paper towels, to stop the bleeding, to clean it up, just like they would have for a paper cut. The teacher called 911, but it was too late.

*****

She was helping out at the elementary school where her brother went. Recess was in full progress; some boys and a girl were playing kickball, others were swinging on the two sets of swings. Her brother was one of those, but he was alone at the farthest end of the swing set that was nearest to the woods, which their class sometimes explored (on the wide paths and the bike trails). She was helping a small disabled girl named Amy, who she had a particular affection for, swing on the other swing, but her gaze always shifted over to the woods with an uneasy feeling.
Though she was trying, she couldn’t put her finger on what the cause of that feeling was, only that it was strong and that the only thing she wanted to do was move her brother away from the woods. Then, between the branches she caught a glance of a man. He was stumbling back and forth, his step was uneasy and shaky, and it became clear to her that he must be drunk. He came closer and closer to where the path led into the schoolyard and she realized that he was holding a knife.
– Hold on –, she commanded Amy and ran. She ran to her brother and snatched him. She grabbed him at the same second the man turned around the corner, his knife in hand. It seemed like a lifetime until she reached the swings, behind which all the children had run, to their teacher, leaving Amy in front. She dropped her brother and just as she turned to grab Amy the knife swished through the air.
It was amazing that the drunk who was now lying face flat on the gravel could have hit Amy so perfectly in the gut. Amy lost her grip and fell backwards into her outstretched arms. She ran.
She ran as fast as she could, into the air-conditioned school. Her steps were so loud on the gray linoleum, which was now spotted with small, fragile, Amy’s blood.
– Hold on Amy. Please, please don’t die. — She said crying. Amy looked up into her face and gave her a weak smile as answer.
She had reached the principal’s office and managed to call 911. The school nurse tied up the wound as best she could, but it was too late. Amy was dead before they heard the first siren pulling into the school’s parking lot.

*****

She was helping out at the elementary school where her brother went. Most of the children were off playing kickball or tag. One exception was her brother and a small disabled girl named Amy, who were talking to each other while digging a hole in the schools gravel in an effort to reach China. It was now deep enough for her brother to stand waist deep in it. She was sitting on the far end of one of the two swing sets, the one closest to the woods, talking to the classes’ teacher.
It was a beautiful day and the children were happy, there hadn’t been one argument. Behind her on the path into the woods were several noises, a few snaps and cracks of someone walking very clumsily, but she paid no attention. She was too engulfed in her conversation.
Suddenly Amy gave a shout: — Watch out! — The teacher jumped up and ran to Amy. She turned around and behind her stood a man, his words slurred, the knife in his hand glinting in the September sun. She screamed as he took the knife and thrust it into her ribs. The pain was agonizing and her vision blurred.

The last things she saw was the man, vanishing back into the woods, and the faces of her brother and Amy, looking down on her. The last thing she felt were the tears of her brother and Amy, falling onto her cheeks and then her pierced lungs became too full of blood.

*****

She was helping out at the elementary school where her brother went. It was a beautiful day. The September sun was glinting through the leaves of the woods that lay just behind the school. She was swinging back and forth on the swing set next to where the path led out of the forest. Her brother swung next to her and she held her brothers best friend, Amy, on her lap.
There had been a small argument between her brother and the “leader” of the class. He had bullied Amy, because she was disabled and couldn’t walk. While the other children had laughed her brother had stood up for Amy. Now the teacher was scolding the boy and she, her brother, and Amy were swinging, slightly apart from the rest of the class but happy.
Amy and her brother were talking and laughing. She was just swinging and listening to the sounds of the woods behind her, content. Then she noticed footsteps, irregular in pattern, like a person who couldn’t keep their balance and was trying not to fall. As she turned around she could see that person through the branches. He was obviously drunk. At his side he held a knife, which caught and reflected he sunlight.
She jumped up, carrying Amy and calling her brother, bringing them closer to the school. While passing the teacher and with a sense of extreme urgency, she ordered the other students back to the classroom.
Much later, after she had told the teacher and the principle about the man and the police had arrived, she wondered: What might have happened if she hadn’t noticed that man. -Probably nothing-, she concluded.

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3. Thoughts of Rhoda

were two swans on the

Huron River yesterday

biting

with webs

on feathers

she says they were

trying to kill each other,

that she would have

nightmares about this.

I’m thinking about

whether or not swans

have teeth, and how

they eat and how

far they have to sink

in to sever

I’m thinking about

the last time I went

fishing.

I was eleven

and Uncle Ed

took us to a trout

pond outside of Madison

there was a swan there.

It was Easter weekend

mating season and

the swan had his

chest out, walking.

He smacked a woman

in the forearm

and slung her,

radius to torso

she said to be careful

Uncle Ed taunted

the swan all day

chased it

and named him Josephine.

My dad came along that

day, for once he would

understand natural

selection

or being a man in mom’s

family

it’s making sense now

why she doesn’t like

to see animals

bleed or overflow

into murk

she does not go limp.

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1. Swans