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She lays in bed, staring at her phone trying to distract herself from the immense anxiety she is feeling. Thinking to herself about how she wishes she could stay in her bubble forever. It’s a new job for her, which means new people and a new place to adapt to. She gets up so she isn’t late and leaves her house. As she gets there she’s not sure where to park, she questions where it’s acceptable or “normal” to. After overthinking she sits and waits building up the courage to walk in. As she goes in the man training her introduces himself and everyone else that is there. They all seem friendly but she still decides to stay in the back and not talk. To her, they all seem to have a bond that she would never have with them.

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“Where were you last night?” asked Mama as she silently crept into my bed holding a freshly lit candle which hypnotized me with its dark amber color now lighting up the entire room, I tried to respond but due to the coarseness of my throat because of the prior yelling I had just done I smiled and shook my head gently brushing the question off as if what I had just witnessed didn't matter. Again Mama asked “where were you last night” now desperate to know where her only child went at the late hours of the night last night, I came up with a crappy response to ease her worrying but the expression on her face revealed she didn't buy it for one second, truth-be-told I don't know what happened last night, I figured I saw something truly horrifying and wrong which would explain the coarseness i felt in my throat but my brain doesn't remember anything. Deep into my thoughts I hadn't realized mama had left to fill up a glass of water to soothe the irritation in my throat and cut a thin piece of bread with butter slabbed all over it freshly made the day before to help with my growling stomach which I also had’nt known made a sound. Life is strange i thought to myself, Mama lay the water and the plate of buttered bread on my nightstand eagerly waiting for me to feast, I couldn't, I didn't, quietly i mumbled “thank you” took a sip of water and nodded my head almost as a way of approving Mama she could leave and no longer worry about me or my whereabouts.

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There was a young boy playing in the sand at the beach with his father, they were building sand castles struggling to keep the sand together from the harsh winds. Then a sudden memory came to the father and it brought him back to when he was a young child playing with his father at the beach covered in sand. The warm sun beating on his shoulders to the lukewarm salty water.

Years later the fathers son found a photo in his memory box of the day they spent together on the beach. He smiled and closed his eyes to take himself back to the days when the weather was warm, he felt safe and when he was close with his father. The son felt terrible, he couldn't remember the last time he spent a day with his own father. He had become so busy with work and his new family. Later he called his father and planned to go to brunch.

A few years later his father passed away and he realized how much he would have regretted not making that phone call and how devastated he would've been if he hadn't seen his father before passing. The son went to the funeral and as they were covering the casket with the warm sand it took him back to the day he and his father were at the beach playing in the warm sand and all he could do was smile.

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She was running, faster than she ever had before, because for the first time ever, she was running for her life. She pushed past the shrubbery and ignored the blood trickling down her leg. “Just a few more steps, and then you’ll be safe”, she told herself. She tried to ignore the growing burning sensation in her lungs and her rapidly depleting energy as she glanced at him from behind her shoulder. He was growing closer. She used what energy she had left and broke from a jog into a sprint towards her home, unable to stop moving.

For about 3 years, Leah had stuck to the same routine no matter the circumstances. Rain or shine, she was running 3 miles around her street. She had never felt unsafe or threatened, so by now she was able to easily let her guard down when leaving the house. She lived in one of the safest areas in town, with their province's crime rate going down yearly. It was early into her run when she felt a bit of unease. This was quite unusual, because she had practically memorized this path and knew that she was fine. At first, she assumed the occasional crunching of leaves or sigh was just an animal, but as they grew more frequent, she began to sense that something was amiss. Feeling really put off by this whole situation, Leah decided to turn around and end her run early. But as she turned around, she caught a glimpse of a large, decrepit looking man who seemed to loom over her.

She felt so close to safety that she almost didn’t look behind her. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t have been able to spot the large bat that was coming right for her head. She also wouldn’t have been able to duck when the man that she identified as the head janitor at her school, started maniacally wielding his weapon at her. She, thankfully, was able to duck right at the knick of time, too, because he swung the bat with such force that he accidentally knocked himself to the ground. Leah took that opportunity to sprint inside and call the police. He was soon after arrested for stalking and attempted assault, along with a restraining order being placed on him by Leah and her family. After surveying his belongings along with security footage from Leah’s road, it had been revealed that not only had he been following her on every run for the past few months, he had much darker things planned for her if she hadn’t been able to outrun him.
A day before the incident Leah vividly remembered seeing a tall janitor almost everywhere throughout the school. She recognized his face from passing, and didn’t think much of it as there was so much going on at school that she didn’t really have time to consider it. One thing she does recall is the strange look on his face, as if he had something planned for her, almost grimacing at her. She had felt a little more on edge than usual during her runs for the past week, but just attributed it to the fall season and scary movies being shoved down her throat.

It took almost a year for Leah to be able to run alone again. Because of what had happened before, she had forced her father to run alongside her, in order to ensure her safety. Even after her culprit was jailed and put away, she was still paranoid about it happening to her again. That thought, that there were others out there like him, scared the living crap out of her. Even when she decided to go run alone again, it was for a much shorter distance and her father had to be watching from the front porch. She was now constantly armed with a taser, a small knife, and a rape whistle if need be. Although these circumstances were not ideal, it was a small price to pay, given what could’ve happened to her, had she not turned around on that fateful evening.

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Once I enter through the baby blue door into my own home I'm greeted with a familiar smell of soap and food coming from near the kitchen. I feel welcomed in my house but sometimes it's not always like that. Getting into an argument with someone in the house basically determines my mood for the rest of the day. I feel very appreciated that I'm able to have access to a home. I know a lot of people don't have that kind of structure so I'm forever grateful for it. My home can give me mixed emotions but I know that I will be welcomed there no matter what. I've grown up there so it means a lot to me.

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"Where were you last night?" She asked. Good morning to you too, I replied. I walked over to the coffee machine, grabbed a mug, and poured the steaming black liquid slowly into the cup. Grabbing a bagel and sitting down at the table. She creeps past me and takes the seat across. Scanning the kitchen I spot the newspaper and head for it, quickly grabbing the paper. She snatches it from my hand and slams it on the table. Making the mug tip and the coffee spill and cover the table. In a stern voice she says again, “Where were you last night?” I look at her, and grab paper towels. While scooping up the now wet and cold coffee, I see her figure standing over me. I slowly bring my head up, to see her staring me down. “Had a late night at the station.” I mutter. Seeing that she’s still not convinced, I say “It’s just one of those cases.” Before she could respond, “I better get ready for work.” I said. I walk out of the kitchen and continue down the hallway. Zipping up my coat I reach for my bag and head out the door.

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Raiyne has always loved the craft of acting ever since she was a little girl. Today is her first audition for a movie and she’s feeling anxious but thrilled knowing that she has been wanting to pursue this career for so long. During her practicing her lines, she starts to remember all of the hard work and sacrifices she has done to be where she is now. And how when nobody thought she could succeed in being an actress and that it was just a phase to when people would make her believe that her dream career was never going to happen. But all of that is in the past, now Raiyne could feel that she was going all out in her audition because she knows her worth and her talent will turn into a reality.

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She was like a beautiful ripe apple

Glossy smooth skin

Red once you touched it

When bitten into,

The apple would still be as sweet as ever

And would only rot

If discarded of

And when she was thrown away,

The decay would start at the heart of the apple

Where it would spread through the veins,

Eventually affecting her shiny red skin,

Now discolored and fragile from the rot

And although rotten apples cannot be ripe once again,

After some time, she would learn to accept the bite marks

The soft, decaying flesh

The fact she couldn’t return

To the same ripe apple she was once before

And she would start to ripen yet again

Almost as ripe as she was on the apple tree she grew on,

Where she was plucked by the very hands

That later bit into her

And threw her core into the trash

Making sure to keep the seeds, so he could grow more apple trees

And produce more ripe apples

That would one day end up like her

And she would do everything in her power

To keep those other apples ripe

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I remember the first time you walked through my doors, a little younger, maybe a little more nervous, but full of that youthful energy. Your laughter echoed off my walls, bouncing with all the other kids that filled me up after school. I became your escape, that one place you all could run to when you just needed to be with your friend or forget about whatever life had waiting for you outside of me.

I’ve seen it all. I’ve seen the groups you came in with, and the groups that left - the shifts in your life, the fallouts, the new faces that replaced the old ones. You came in with one crowd, laughing at your jokes, rushing to grab the best seats or to the vending machine.

The next year, half those faces were gone, and new ones trickled in, bringing new energy. I remember how you all seemed to change from one year to the next, your jokes getting a little sharper, your laughs a little quieter. You were evolving into something different, something older, and I was here for it.

The highs were great - those days when you and your friends piled in, full of stories about school, the newest drama, the new trends you were obsessed with. But I remember the lows too. I saw the fights, the sudden silences between you guys, the awkward days when no one knew who to sit next to. I watched you and your groups go through the motions of growing up. You started as kids who didn’t care for much but each other, just wanting to hang out. But suddenly, one by one, those carefree attitudes started dimming. You started getting more serious, the pressure to grow up dawning on you guys quicker than you were able to grasp.

And the friendships… they didn’t last forever. I watched you and your friends drift apart, sometimes with harsh words, sometimes with just a quiet distance that no one really spoke about. The group that once shared everything - secrets, dreams, ambitions - that slowly shrank, and eventually, I’d see you show up with just one or two people, the familiar faces that stuck around. But even that, even the ones closest to you, started to fade as well.

You don’t come in as often now. I still see you, sometimes - you might stop by to see if there’s anyone else hanging around, but still it’s different now, isn’t it? You’ve outgrown me. You’ve outgrown the games, the laughter, the carefree afternoons. You’ve become someone new, someone who doesn’t need me anymore. Life’s become too busy for this place, I can feel it in the air when you walk in now, a kind of unwillingness. A disconnection.

The others, the ones I used to see every day, haven’t been here in awhile. I remember when they stopped showing up. One by one they just drifted away too. And now the halls are quieter, the echo of your laughter is just a memory.

I’ve seen you change. I’ve seen you grow. And it’s time for me to let go too. People grow and they move on. You found new places to be, new ways to escape. And I’m still here waiting, as I’ve always been. I’m just a little quieter now, just a little more distant.

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Everyone is welcome in this heaven,

for god does not see the sinister or malicious acts made by his children,

he sees the good in each and everyone of us.

He does not punish those for their acts.

instead, he forgives and provides a guiding light.

Heaven is like a mothers embrace.

a warm, soft touch.

Nothing is heard but a slight, sweet breeze,

the sounds of violins played by the angels floats through the clouds,

a symphony of grace.

The echoes of loved ones silent whispers linger,

along with occasional bird song.

A permanent sunset is displayed above the clouds,

shedding light on everything in its path.

Heaven’s golden gates stand firmly at its entrance,

all of those who have passed on enter at a leisurely pace.

Sonder remains.

For we are not just the main characters in our own lives,

but a background character in someone else's.

Though we all have separate stories,

we all end up together in the end.

In heaven.

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This place is filled with all ages of people. In the summer it's typically filled with middle aged families and their kids, or even just teenagers. Aroma depends on your location in this place. In some areas you will smell fresh baked pastries such as bread and cookies, in others you will smell either cooked chicken or raw chicken. But if you're like me in the front, you smell much more, depending on who's next to you. The most common scents are perfume, b.o., cigarettes, cologne, and sometimes no scent at all. I wish there was no sound at all sometimes. Between the sounds of crying children, the screeching of the carts, people yelling and the very loud intercom. Not only can you hear these things but most of them you can see. On the daily, I see kids running around, dropping items and even smashing into things. That's what makes me hate it. People typically come in already in a bad mood and take the anger out on me. At first I let it get to me but now I couldn’t care less because they're coming into “my space”. But as much as I sometimes hate this place, I don’t know what I would do without it. It gave me a couple friends I probably wouldn’t have known if it wasn't for this place. Also a couple friends that I did know but never thought we would be friends. This place is my job. Shaws.

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The padded white room surrounding me, the muffled screams and yelps of the other patients. Probably having their views injected by the elderly nurses. As I look around, tired, ragged, breath going in and out, I take in my surroundings. The white is more so a faded cream, lint and dust lingers in the air and tickles my nostrils. The small window I have outlooks into the beaten up pale blue hallways, with pretty white trims bridging wall to floor. Countless messy and pathetic memories lace these lobbies. I broke windows, smashed vases and crawled across the shattered pieces - not caring at the stinging of blood. Accompanied with repeated and repeated wake up checks, morning pills, breakfast, activity, lunch, activity, evening pills and checks and lights out. The racing train that is my mind comes to a halt, scratching against the rusty tracks suddenly. How did I end up here?

In and out of blackouts and in and out of my mind, cigarette always in hand and smudged dark eyeliner that just made me look pathetic. Wake up, still in my swivel bar seat or at some sad man’s studio apartment. I lived in hangovers, never sober. Recovery was for pansies who quit, who wouldn’t know what fun was if it smacked them across the face. The liquor on my lips, the hands on my hips. It was all so much but oh-so perfect. Perfectly overstimulating, in just the right way.

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My grandfather, he rarely ever spoke.. I know he has seen a lot in his lifetime, but hr never goes into depth. He just sits in his old, beaten up recliner and stares at the off tv. He is in his 70s, and im desperate to hear his stories before his time comes, but it seems that what hes awaiting. Ive seen certain pictures from his past, he used to have a glow in his eyes and looked as if he were eager to be alive, that isnt the case anymore. ive seen his dress blues in his closet, all the pins on the jacket, he is an accomplished shell of a man. When he was hospitalized, health deteriorating, we had no clue what he wanted, he was non verbal and we couldnt tell if he wanted to stick around. Before the hospital trip he had folded and told us a snippet of his terrifying story. So bloody and graphic i almost wish i never asked. So many dead friends, brothers he lost by his side at such a young age i cant do anything but feel for him.