“Again.” I stop and catch my breath, my heart pounding in my ears. I brace my hands on my knees as I turn to Calathiel. Her face is solemn and cold. 

“I have been trying all day. Maybe the fire was just a once-off thing.” Even as she speaks, she remains unmoving, her arms folded across her chest.

“I watched you yesterday, Arroch. I know you can. You just aren’t trying hard enough. How would you like it if I had to tell the Council that they’re wrong. That your sister should be here instead. Everyone has said that this is insanity, a boy won’t wield fire.” She leans in close now, speaking low, “prove them wrong.” I grit my teeth and stand straight again, bringing my hands up in front of my face. I concentrate, allowing the heat that I am always restraining to wash over me, the chill of the wind fading. I see the forest far below me, small rocks hitting my shins as gusts of wind blow past the barren cliff. 

I focus on the sound of crackling fire that roars in my ears. It’s loud enough to echo through the entire valley. Only, I’m the sole person here that can hear it. It starts to feel like I’m game on a spit, rotating over the fire as heat ebbs and flows. My hands start to gain a pinkish tint, like I’ve been out in the snow too long in winter or I’m holding my hands over hot coals as Father and Mother prepare dinner. My hands are on fire now, literally. Small flames dance over the palm of my hand, yellow and faint. 

“I-I, I did it, Calathiel!” I laugh as I turn and smile broadly at her. A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth as she raises an eyebrow. 

“Did you?” She asks, as if she’s talking to a small child. Confused, I look back down towards my hands. Nothing. No fire at all. 

“You have to stay focused. You can’t get excited over sparks when you could be creating  wildfires. You are better than you think, you limit yourself too much, Arroch. Again.”

This time, I turn back to the valley, mad. How can she not see how amazing this is? Who is she to tell me what I can do? She doesn’t know me better than I know myself, she may be strong but she isn’t all knowing. She tells me how much she believes in me, then she is never satisfied with whatever I do. I can never be enough for her. 

Licks of fire wash over my hands, orange flames singing my sleeves, blackening the hems. I turn my hands over, looking as the fire burns over my hands, scars from my childhood unaffected by the heat. This time, when I look at Calathiel, she is smiling and walks closer. 

“Did I not tell you how much power you have, if only you knew how to access it? Draw from that anger, draw from that need to prove yourself. If you do, you can do incredible things, Arroch, I know it. Focus on the fire burning in you, not the one in front of you.”

“Time to go!” my aunt called from the next room over. 

I shot out of our bed, fueled by the anticipation of today. I grabbed the clothes that I had neatly folded into a pile the night before and shrugged them on while yanking my socks over my feet and shoving my feet in my pink Hokas. I leapt up, streaming down the hallway, hair flying. I took one look at the bathroom, toothbrush and toothpaste on the counter where I had left them the night before. Nah, today is too important. I ran back into my room to grab my hairbrush, and caught a glimpse of my cousin, still enveloped in the bliss of her dream, and the sinking, hygge, comforting feeling of sleep. I rubbed her rich, chocolate brown skin and whispered, “Time to go!” Her eyelashes fluttered, took one look at the pitch black sky outside of the floor to ceiling windows, and she rolled over to face the wall.

 “Milly!” I whispered in exasperation. She was fast asleep again. I scooped up her chubby body and tickled her side, and she exploded in laughter. Giggling and glaring, she got dressed. We met Auntie Alice in the kitchen where she was still savoring her sips of coffee, and my cousin Xander was tugging on his shoes. 

“Ready!” I said. 

“Alright, let’s go.” she replied. We strolled down the path that ran through the courtyard, Milly still half asleep, hugging my side and using me as a support. As we entered the office, the man still sleeping in an electric blue sleeping bag pulled himself up.

“Checking out?” he asked. As my aunt chatted with him, I gave my cousin a squeeze. 

“Alright, we are good to go!” Auntie Alice said. As we walked out of the hotel double doors, we saw our vehicle. A tall, friendly guy introduced himself as George. Milly, still not fully awake, dazed drowsily into the car. She made it all the way to the back seat, where she promptly collapsed, and within a few minutes, was fast asleep. 

Once the suitcases were soundly in the trunk and we were all buckled in, George pulled out of the tiny parking lot and started our long drive. 

The sliver of sun peeked out from the mountains, rising slowly to start the day, as if trying to savor its sweet moments under the mountainous covers. The vehicle bumbled down the long roads, changing from dirt to pavement. On the side of the road, we passed rusty bicycles and push carts, putting motorcycles and cows every few miles. Goats so thin you could see their rib cages, and cows mooing out in hunger. Dusty, barren field, with deep red clay houses, blending with the earth and little chicks stumbling over to their mothers, women soothing babies, and little girls running around, overflowing with laughter. As I breathed in, I knew that this was where I belonged. My mother was born in Mombasa, Kenya, and just saying that name taps into an inner nerve that I can’t quite describe. My cousins live in Tanzania, the country that shares its northern border with Kenya, and my uncle is Tanzanian. As we drove through the dusty warm red roads of the Tanzanian countryside, little dust clouds formed and swooped up, tainting the fresh air behind us with a red hue. Tall grasses swayed and danced with each other, their only music the light breeze that tickled their tops and made their hips sway. Deep brown chickens teetered about, pecking the ground to gobble up bugs and seeds with nervous chicks in tow, exploring the ground as well. Tiny huts dotted the land, and women in brightly colored clothing, although the poorest people I have seen in my life, were happily doing the chores. The true grit and determination in a world dominated by men of these strong, powerful women filled my heart. At some point along the winding roads, I succumbed to slumber and caught up on some much needed sleep. 

Finally, with a neck cramp from sleeping against the cool glass window, blurry eyed and drowsy, I saw it. We were here! I remember looking back on pictures of me in the Serengeti as a 4-year-old. I look so happy, like a piece of a puzzle that perfectly fits, and the satisfying click that follows. The wooden arch in green with SERENGETI spelled out stretched over the road. I leapt out of the car, exploring everything, trying to imprint this moment on my memory and putting it in the overflowing wooden shelves of long term memory. Milly stumbled out of the car, but now that she had caught up on sleep, was much less cranky. I made myself a cup of tea at the small kiosk as my aunt and George talked to a park official. Eventually, we were called back to the van, and we hopped in, ready to drive through the archway, and into the Serengeti. 

After being contained for a couple hours, my excitement bubbled out of me, and, standing on the seats, I stuck my head out of the massive sunroof, the wind blowing all around me, and I finally let go. Everything that had been holding me back. Petty arguments with Xander and Milly, stress about losing my phone, about starting at SBMS in the new school year, about flying back to London all by myself, it all whistled in the wind, like something that had fallen out of a moving vehicle. Eventually, I lost sight of it, but that was when I saw the first herd of zebras, migrating towards Kenya for a new chapter in their lives, and a graceful giraffe elegantly bent her necks to reach the acacia on the top branch. 

Over the course of the day, we were delighted by zebras, lions, giraffes, leopards, cheetahs and a multitude of animals. Elephants, moving with such grace, planting their feet soundly on the ground, covering the wide expanses of the saharas of the Serengeti. Lazy lions, drowsy from their large lunch, bleating hippos, exploding and at the smallest tiff, loving zebras, nuzzling each other and keeping the flies out of their partner’s eyes, and alert warthogs, trying to stay alive in the minefield that is the Serengeti. Everything clashed, yet everything was in sync somehow. It was beautiful, ugly, heart wrenching, down to earth, drifting in the sky, everything, everything. 

Eventually, we made it to the camp, where I sat through a 10 minute version of “Jambo”. I had grown up singing the classic Tanzanian song, but these gentlemen were singing it so passionately at us, it was embarrassing. Even confident, cheeky Milly hid behind my legs. When they pulled out the hand drums, I realized that we were going to be here a while. After the lengthy song, they gave us warm, wet face towels, fresh squeezed mango juice, and a delicious meal. After our excitement filled day, we welcomed their hospitality. After a long, hot shower and a small tiff over who was taking which bed, we sat around the fire, soaking in the plains of the Serengeti and recounting happy memories from the day before. 

I once loved myself. More than I’d like to admit, actually. In my mind, I had no flaws. No imperfections. I was funny and kind and smart and popular and confident. I didn’t make mistakes. And I think I finally know why.

I took the glory. My mom fought the battle.

I basked in the sunlight. My dad chased the storm away.

How was I to know that just beyond my haven lie a world of pain and hunger and devastation? A world of bad people, but also of better people? People who want to hurt you, and people who do it just by beating you? Without even trying? Without hesitation?

And without any warning at all, that funny, kind, smart, popular, confident little girl of yours slips away. She wasn’t ready to go. But she wasn’t raised for this.

Fighting back tears, I watched her sway back and forth atop a little elephant rocker. She wore a sparkly Snow White dress, and her blonde curls had been tied into a messy bun. Despite her appearance, the first thing you’d notice was the light in her eyes. So bright. So beautiful. So naive.

“You are my sunshine.. my only sunshine,” she sang absentmindedly. She put a hand to the elephant’s ear and toyed with its soft material. “You make me happy.. when skies are gray..”

She noticed the camera. Her lips curled into a big grin, exposing all of her baby teeth.

“You’ll never know dear,” she sang heartily into the camera, “How much I love-”

The video ended. I hadn’t realized I was crying until a tear fell from my cheek and onto my collarbone, blanketing my bare skin in the oppressive heat that crying seems to cause. I found myself falling apart over a memory that should bring me joy today. A taste of what life had been like before pain and stress and fear and responsibility and regret. 

Before expectations. Before insecurity. Before failure.

All I wanted was to be grown. Now all I want is to be small again.

I want to be wide-eyed again. I want to be willful again. I want to be untamed and defiant. I want to believe in miracles and magic. I want to forgive.

I want to love myself.

The delicate flower of my youth has wilted. It was much too fragile to withstand the downpour.

But in its spot grows a large, unshakeable oak tree.

Even if it means picking themselves apart day by day, stripping away their feelings and pride and joy despite the fact that now they’re incomplete. And they’re tired.

Good people sacrifice their whole to complete a half. Even if that half doesn't deserve it. Not at all.

They think that I have white eyes and perfect sense. They think I’m all mature and on top of it all simply because they’ve never seen my breaking point. They’ve never heard my cry for help. They don’t know that I see what happens during the in-between. I hear what they say about me.

These eyes and ears are those of a person. Just a person who’s a normal person. This mind belongs to a person who doesn’t know what to do with it.

This heart belongs to a young girl who doesn’t know why it’s so big.

It’s as if it doesn’t belong to her at times. It’s as if she was born to lift the weight off of everybody’s shoulders. Over and over again. She’s been doing this forever. She will do this forever.

Forever doesn’t end at her breaking point.

They think that I carry these weights with my own shoulders; my hands. But I carry them in my heart. They’re my problems– my responsibilities now. I’ve been doing this forever. I will do this forever.

Forever doesn’t hear my cry for help.

Forever doesn’t end. It drowns me. Over and over again. But I’m already gone! Forever doesn’t end.

I really should keep this surface level.

But what if good people didn’t exist? Would we know how to be? How to live? How to love?

Or would we all just be bad people without the opportunity to do better?

We need the good people. They see the good in other people. Bad people. Because they put it there. And maybe it stays.

We need the bad people too. Good people were all once bad people.

Bad people that were hurt and manipulated and used and alone and young. Bad people are only bad people because they accept that. They let in the bad.

Bad people change because they see who they want to be in somebody else. And it hurts everyone. But then it gets better.

It will get better.

Flashback to a week ago, the test had been announced. Now, I’m normally not one to procrastinate. In fact, I’m quite the opposite. So you can imagine what a shock it was when, on a regular not-so-special Friday morning, I found out I needed to have memorized an abundant amount of phrases in Spanish that I was completely unaware of! It was supposed to be a silly little test about the kinds of things you didn’t need to memorize, (hence the word ‘silly’).

My breath hitched, and before I knew it I could feel tears forming in my eyes and I was studying like I never had before. I tried to ask my friends for help, for guidance, for anything for that matter, but it was like they couldn't hear me. Their smiles were too big and their laughs were too loud, almost daunting considering the state of pure bewilderment I was in. I had to lock myself up and make myself okay because everyone else was. 

I tried to scream, “Help! I didn’t know! I’m sorry!” but my cries were muffled and all of a sudden I was falling. Down, down, down, along with my self-esteem, pride, and confidence.

I stumbled out of the room, desperate for air. Nobody noticed. Or nobody cared. Then I saw a friend I knew would get it. A friend who would help me. A friend who would give me a hug and tell me it wasn't my fault. Even though it was. Even though there was nobody to blame but myself. I could tell the teacher, I could play sick and run home so I never had to see the light of day again. But that wouldn’t fix anything. Sooner or later I would have to face my actions.

Luckily, that friend was there for me. She talked me through it and told me all the things I needed to hear, and when I came back into the room, practically a different person, I had a newfound inspiration, all thanks to her. We can all use a friend like that in our lives, someone to ground and comfort us when we need it most.  I studied again, this time not ashamed of the tears falling out of my eyes, or the tiny voice in the back of my head telling me to give up. To forget about it and accept my wretched fate as a student who forgot to study for a test. 

By the time I got to class thirty minutes later, I felt lighter. Ready. (Okay, ready was a bit of a stretch… but lighter for sure.) ‘Even if I didn’t do well on the test, at least I tried,’ I think as I stare down at the blank piece of paper.

***

Flash forward a week, my teacher hands the test back to me face down. I stare at it, and it stares back. As if challenging me. I breathe in, and then out. I had sort of forgotten about the test after I’d finished it so hastily, so expeditiously, so it was almost as if an old memory of something you tried to forget rekindled out of the blue. 

“Hello, old friend,” I mutter. It doesn't reply, probably because it knows exactly where it stands in my heart. The test of shame.

The white page is blank, along with my expectations. But if I’ve learned anything from this experience, it's that you never know what life will throw at you. But you’ll make it through. 

I slowly flip the page, grimacing slightly as my worst fears flood back into my mind. Though on its own, it's just one test, if you think about how many tests there are and imagine how much your future relies on them, it seems like so much more. But what do I know? Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't. So when I see the 100% drawn in a thick red marker, I freeze. ‘Huh’, I think, ‘I guess I didn’t do so bad after all.’ 

Come to think of it, it's rather amusing how a silly little test was so stressful.

Then I think about giving gifts. Sure, there's no physical prize for it, but knowing you made someone else feel the way you do when you open a gift is pretty magical! Like when I gave my dad some random thing from art class in fourth grade. At the time, it was just something I painted and gave to him out of the blue, maybe because I thought he might like it or maybe because I didn’t know where else to put it. But seeing it in his office four years later was pretty surreal. In a way, it's a milestone, a sign that reminds me of my past, those moments of pure adolescence, so I never forget it.

But if both giving and receiving are both great, which is more fulfilling? If you questioned someone out of the blue, simply by asking which they thought was better, ofcourse, they would say giving, because that's the humble thing to say, the thing they want to be true in their mind because that's the ‘right’ answer. Or is it?

Because when I think of receiving nowadays, I don't think of a little girl receiving Barbie dolls for her birthday. Not anymore. When I think of receiving, I think about how when you show delight, happiness, maybe even shock, after someone gives you something they picked out specifically for you, both the giver and receiver have been given pleasure, though both in different ways.

In a way, giving is receiving. Because when you give, you receive in return. I don’t mean literally, like how if you give someone a birthday gift, they’re more inclined to give you one back, but like karma. If someone performs a huge, selfless act of kindness, they are likely to have something amazing happen to them soon. 

And in the end, giving and receiving is a lot deeper than what it sounds like at first. So what's more fulfilling? Well, they have their similarities and differences…But it's up to you.

It’s strange to think about my past thoughts. When trees were only just trees, when happiness was food, when my house was only just a house. Now trees are more, when I climbed up the giant sycamore, memories with my sister, climbing, not, either way the memories are still more than just the tree. Happiness is now thoughts, experiences, not just a subject, not something I can touch, a memory. My house is my home, lively, filled with memories from my childhood. My memories hold more than what I thought years ago. I feel as though I’m a new person, knowing more about the valuable parts of memories.

I just sat there, in the back of the room, regretting my whole decision.

 It was really normal that day, just until we found the treasure. Gold, diamonds, all of the goods. I didn’t know what to do with it, so I went to go find an adult. But, this one person that I chose to find ended up to be really greedy. They took the treasure from my arms, now completely empty. I just had to get revenge on him. My brain shook as I thought in my little village. It’s just so strange when you have people steal things right out of your hands, but not metaphorically. Just gone.

Fifteen minutes later, the witch died. The cat felt his magic die along with her. His brain hurt, and his heart felt weak, as if he couldn’t go on without the familiar bond that had grounded him for years, and strengthened his magic.

Just before the witch died, she had sent a mental image: a man standing over her, a bloodied sword in hand. In the other, a healing potion held tauntingly. He turned around, and he was clearly heading towards the room of magic, the key dangling off one finger. A spell was cast towards the man: one final attempt at keeping him from the magic. But the spell was so weak, it wasn’t even fully formed. The cat couldn’t tell what the witch meant to cast. The man turned around and smirked, waving playfully. The witch’s vision went black, and the cat howled with pain and grief and rage.

The cat lifted up his paws, forcing them to stay beneath him. One paw in front of the other, as the cat wobbled and tried to stay up. He walked forward, then ran. When he fell, he stood right back up. He didn’t see anything but the path in front of him, which was wooded, mossy, and uneven.

A person knocked into him. The cat yowled as he tumbled over his feet and landed on his side but immediately stood back up. He hissed at the thing that had bumped into him and kept from his mission.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” the human child said. “I didn’t see you there!”

The cat glared at the child, before turning around and continuing right on his way.

“What are you doing?” the child asked. “Where are you going? Can I help?”

The cat growled and kept walking. The human child walked with him, not letting him leave without an answer.

“Do you have a witch? Are you able to talk to me?”

The hole of grief opened up again, but the cat pushed it away. There’s no time for grieving. I have to get revenge. That gave him an idea, however. He turned to the child and studied them. Maybe thirteen years old, likely female, with brown hair and eyes excited for adventure. Now that he looked for it, he could feel the thin layer of magic running under her skin, begging to be awakened.

The cat nodded and held out a paw in the universal sign for, temporary bond? The child nodded excitedly. She held out her hand and grabbed the cat’s paw. He could feel the current of magic flowing from her, and pushed his own magic to do the same.

The temporary familiar bond formed, and the cat felt power rushing through him. He was sure he could convince this wide-eyed child ready for adventure to help him avenge his witch. Even if she didn’t want to actually kill anyone, all he really needed was that magic strength from the bond, he was sure. The child seemed likable enough.

“Hello, child,” he said. “Would you like to be a team?”

Something whooshes past me, I can smell the sweet tangy citrus that always clings to her. A smell I have grown to know, a smell I have memorized over the countless nights I spent with her standing much too close to me. The memories of those nights send chills down my arms, crawling all the way to the tips of my finger, causing my breath to hitch as I try to bring myself back into the present. 

“Cassandra.” I cringe as the name slips from my lips. I never call her that.

I know she’s there, hiding, hiding from me. I sigh letting words fall out of me as a plea escapes my mouth,

“Please.” 

Then before I can even register what's going on my back is pinned against the ruff bark of a giant oak tree. She’s pressing my wrists and hands into the tree, I can feel the wood starting to cut into my knuckles.  

“I told you it was too dangerous for us to be friends, so why are you here Eva?” Her words ring through my ears as I stutter to come up with an answer. I stare into her deep honey colored eyes, making it very difficult to to think.  

“I…I…I just wanted to see you. Just once more before…you know.” I don’t need to say it out loud, she is already very aware of the fact that in less than a day she’ll be gone. Gone where I don’t know. I’m not even sure she knows, but when the time comes she’ll leave, and I’m not ready. I am desperately trying to grasp onto the last seconds I have, yet they seem to be slipping through my fingers as we speak. 

“Please?” I say again, feeling so helpless and small. 

Her grip on my wrists loosens slightly, allowing my knuckles a bit of relief, as she sighs,

“Fine. You get 10 minutes with me” 

“Really?” I gasp attempting to wriggle free of her grasp.

Quickly she drops my hands taking a step back. I hadn't realized how close she was standing to me, a sudden shiver trickles down my back in the absence of her warm body. 

“Yes really, so don’t make me regret this.” She snaps back at my previous question.

The sound of her usual snarky attitude coming back, has a huge smile plated on my face as I practically fling myself into her, wrapping my arms tightly around her, pulling her warm body close to mine. She chuckles softly into my hair, while sliding her hands to grip my waste, she sighs and says in a soft voice she doesn’t use very often, 

“I’m going to miss this.” 

“Me too.”      

I could feel his knife's sharp, spiky blade in his pocket as we lay down on the log. His big hands were wrapped around my back, and then his dark green eyes met my bright blue eyes and mixed into a vibrant aqua. I knew I had to stop, but something in me couldn't pull myself away from him. I closed my eyes one second, I was there, and the next, I was back at the loud Halloween party dangerously close to the woods.  Upbeat music filled my ears as I frantically searched the house for my boyfriend. Black tears streamed down my face as I realized he was nowhere to be found. 

I ran out of the house, not thinking about anything except the stories that my parent would tell me about the killer in the woods. They would describe him as the green-eyed devil. Twigs are crunching, twisting, and snapping under my weight while my long blonde hair blows into my eyes. I look around for a minute, trying to catch my breath; all the trees look the same: black, covered with bark, and towering over me, wolves howling in the distance. As I ventured into the forest, I found myself questioning my decision. "Why did I do this?" I thought to myself. Suddenly, a quiet, scary, and mysterious voice whispered, "Because you love him." Startled, I realized that I had been followed the whole time. Their presence sent shivers down my spine, and my knees started to shake.

 I dashed forward at full speed, my legs propelling me as if my life depended on it, unwilling to let everything end right there. Finally, after what felt like miles of running, I made it to an open patch, I felt a little better, even knowing that I had run even farther than I had ever been.  That's when I heard the slight crunch of leaves; it sounded as if they had been trampled on by a boot that weighed a million pounds. I looked around in panic, and that's when I saw the tall figure approaching me. He was handsome, wearing a plaid shirt and baggy jeans, I looked closer at the deep red splotches of what looked like paint on his pants.

I looked up and down his body and started to see more and more splotches of paint on his clothes. I stopped for a minute and glared into his eyes; beams of light shot through the pure dark green color, and soon, I was embodied by their beauty. I cleared my mind, and then something snapped, It was not paint that was on his jeans. It was BLOOD. He was the killer in the woods; even though I was furious and just wanted to run away, I couldn't move from my spot on the ground. Maybe it was his looks, or maybe it was how his eyes met mine, but something in me wanted to kiss him. “Hi,” I whispered in a soft, calming voice, “Hello,” he quickly whispered back in a low voice. His response was so quick and mysterious that I wondered if he needed to go somewhere in a hurry.

I leaned in, and he did too, his soft, curly hair touched my face. I felt his silky, smooth, and soft lips on mine, and we started to kiss. I felt him pulling me backward into a tall pine tree; I pulled away and grasped for air. I could barely manage to get words out of my lips with him continuously kissing them. “What are you doing?” I murmured. “Nothing, just relax,” he said to me in a harsh and mean voice, I felt the blade of his knife in his pant pocket as he pinned me to the tree. He pulled it out of his pocket, and the last thing that I saw before I fell to the floor was the handle of the blade sticking out of my chest.