The ground beneath my feet sank; mud was caking to my boots. I stumbled away from the scene in utter disbelief of what I had just witnessed.

My legs collapsed on me as my body went into shock. Breathing was a challenge for me now; my breaths were shallow and unnatural. I noticed that my linen shirt was torn, probably snagged on a branch as I passed through the woods. It’s funny what insignificant things you can notice when your life is in danger. I think anything trifling would catch my eye so that I wouldn’t be forced to face the facts.

I am a failure and not even worthy to hold his sword. Death should grant me mercy and steal me from this world. There are certain commitments that I must fulfill and one of them was to protect my knight from harm, but he is dead.

Just recently I aged to fourteen years old and upgraded from a page to a squire. I preach on how I would forfeit my life for my Lord the King, and yet I just ran as Sir Daniels was mauled by a creature of these woods. Just the thought of that demon makes my chest tighten and my throat swells to the point it is hard to swallow my own saliva.

As a squire, when my mentor and I traveled I was in charge of holding his two-handed sword, battle axe, mace, daggers, and his shield. When the evil force preyed upon my knight, I should have been brave and struck the belly of the beast with his sword.

It was just so gigantic and intimidating. It was a metallic purple color but I’m sure the night was playing tricks upon my eyes. The moonlight caused the creature’s scales to glisten. His wings were taller than any oak in the woods. I knew my life would be pointless if I didn’t go back and retrieve my knight’s body because he is my responsibility as his squire.

My body was quaking as I stood to my feet. I gripped onto a nearby tree to stabilize myself. My right hand began to spasm as my memory brought back the vision of the bloodbath I had just witnessed.

The dragon lifted Sir Daniels into the sky snugly fit in between his teeth. The creature chomped down because Sir. Daniels was his chew toy. Blood painted the grass a vivid red color but again the moon deceived my eyes so it appeared as a bright pink haze.

Sir Daniels’ screams echoed in my head. Revenge upon the beast would silence his cries. I had to muster up enough courage to work my legs for they weren’t obeying my orders to walk. It seemed like an eternity until I reached the scene and set my sights upon the beast.

It was very peculiar that there was no trace of Sir Daniels upon the dragon or the grass, not even a speck of blood. The crafty bastard must have lapped up the blood, what a foul demon.

This would be my first battle so I had no idea on which weapon to use. This monster was enormous so feeble daggers wouldn’t have much of an effect upon it.

Sir Daniels told me once in confidence that his battle axe made him feel like such a badass. It was his favorite so it would be used to avenge his honor. This weapon was a thing of beauty to any warrior. The steel would slice through bone without hesitation. Blades were apparent on both sides carved into a circular design to afflict more damage.

I pulled the weapon from my sack in pure rage. I lost my mentor to this heinous monster so in return it owed me his life. The creature didn’t even stir as I swung the blade with all my will slicing off one of its back feet. It screamed in agony almost sounding human.

One of its wings flew at me striking me down. Blood from the beast bathed me as I made my way up. The creature lowered its head to examine his missing leg.

Okay, I thought, now is the moment to decapitate his head and avenge my knight.

I raised the axe high in the air to gain all the momentum gravity would aid me with. Then with one mighty thrust the axe sliced right through its thick neck.

Curious, I lifted up the head which didn’t weigh all that much. An eerie feeling passed through my body. The eyes of the beast looked frightened as the last bit of life escaped from it.

Drenched in blood and wrapped around the dragon’s body was an old sack full of treasure. Dragons always guarded a treasure that was the rule. I tugged until the sack freed itself from the dragon. I would bring it to my King to show him my love and also I would bring the decomposing head in the sack for proof that such a monster does exist. I took a moment on my knees praying for my friend who was slain in battle and wishing him the best afterlife possible.

I ventured on my trek back to the kingdom for it would be a long journey. My body was exhausted at this point.

A disgusting laugh made my stomach turn in knots. It sounds so vile and was pure evil. I kept on walking until I was approached by an old hag. Her nose was three times too big for her face. Her eyebrows were bushy and a dirt-colored black. A filthy wart rested upon the tip of her colossal nose. Wrinkles hijacked her face. Her hair was a perverted grey color, and her nails were extremely long and loathsome looking.

The old hag started chanting some kind of incantation towards me. I jumped back hoping that action would protect me from her black magic. She probably sensed that I was pure in spirit and pure in my heart. I bet she wanted to defile my soul.

I reached into my bag of tricks exhibiting Sir. Daniels mace. This weapon was also pure steel made by the Gods. Sharp spikes protruded all around the top.

I didn’t want this bitch to curse me, so I just began to violently bash the old hag before she could escape. It felt wonderful to vanquish this evil creature. I began to swing harder and faster. Brain matter began to asteroid out from her skull. I thought I heard her screaming, but I assume it was her ear piercing laugh. When I was through with her she resembled a play-doh model smashed with pins and decorated with random strains of grey hair.

Using my two-handed sword, I cut through her neck misting myself with her putrid blood. Her head would serve as a nice gesture for my King and Queen.

This witch had a sack also. It was black and covered with skulls and bones which I found a little irony in. I assume this was her potion bag so I shoved her head in the bag like it was laundry. My voyage continued…

Eventually I arrived to my castle but the King was not home. A trail of blood had followed me; I assumed the heads excreted it. A box with moving pictures was activated. Maybe it was witchcraft? The Queen exposed herself as I bowed.

“Hello your majesty. I come baring marvelous gifts.” I said.

“Oh, hey honey, what did you go out as? An evil squire I guess?” She reached over and touched the dried blood upon my flesh and then tasted her fingers.”What did you use baby? It’s not corn syrup and it looks so real.”

“Sir Daniels didn’t make it, my Queen, but I did avenge his death and bring the treasure.”

She laughed and told me how cute I was.

“Did you get lots of candy tonight? Do you want me to help you check it? There are a lot of psychos out there on Halloween you know.”

Immediately after she talked the picture box spoke of a breaking news story.

“This just in. Two children were viciously murdered tonight while trick-or-treating. Police have no leads on a suspect or the identification of the victims. The boy was about age sixteen and dressed as a purple dragon. The girl was about age nine and we think she may have been a witch. The killer took their heads as souvenirs. We urge all to bring their kids in early tonight and don’t answer the door for anyone.”

Her mouth was ajar as she disapprovingly shook her head.

“Sick world we live in!” she exclaimed.

“Want to look at my treasure?” I asked excitedly.

“Sure babe, but you got the fake blood in your bags.”

A smile spread across my face as I opened both bags showing the head of the boy and young girl along with all the candy.

The Queen’s eyes widened as tears began to escape and roll down her cheeks. She backed away from me breathing rapidly. I started to laugh at how silly she was being as I bit into a tootsie roll.

A scream leapt from her mouth.

“What have you done?” She yelled or maybe asked. I am not quite sure.

I giggled and searched a bloody bag for a snickers. I wiped away some brain matter coating the wrapper and plopped the candy into my mouth savoring the taste.

“Yum!” I exclaimed.

I am bound to become a knight soon enough I thought as I admired my trophies.

by Naomi Christy
Biography

I am 20 years old. I love to write and read fiction. I am attending school to be a psychiatrist.

Colin had been helping Sarah undress for some time now. After the first few days, she hadn’t been strong enough to do it herself. Her limbs and muscles felt locked, frozen in place. As he lovingly sponged her clean, he thought back to the beginning. He could remember when she had been full of life. It seemed so long ago, now. He could remember when her eyes had been a brilliant blue, rather than the dull, glassy, gray they had become. He remembered her laughing, a strong, sweet sound. Nothing like the gurgled, strangled noises escaping from her throat these days. He thought back to when he thought he had lost her forever.

She laid in the hospital for almost a week before he found her. She was unidentified, cast off with the others like her who had not yet been claimed. After the accident, she had no identification. He supposed he should be grateful they hadn’t just thrown her out, without proper documentation of insurance. The doctor told him that was indeed the protocol in some hospitals. He hadn’t expected her to be so cold. It was hard on him, seeing her lying there like that. Her face peaceful and calm, her eyes closed. He thought he had lost her forever.

It wasn’t until a few days later, after he had taken her home from the hospital, that her eyes finally fluttered open. He wished he could have called her parents and told them. She told him not to. “It would be too hard on them,” she said. “We don’t even know how long I’m going to last.” She told him her tongue felt like it was filling her mouth. “It never felt this big before.”

He thought it must be a side effect of all the medication they had injected into her in the hospital. The doctors had told him it was necessary to preserve her. He thought that was a poor choice of words. Preservation, to him, implied that she was already gone, and he resented them for talking about her like that.

Soon after she woke up, she wasn’t able to move anymore. One day, it seemed, just like that, her body was frozen, and he had to help her. He was nervous, at first. He had seen her naked countless times before. They had been making love for years before her accident. Now, her helplessness made it seem as though it was their first time again. He never knew it could be like this. The level of intimacy he felt from giving her that first sponge bath transcended any experience he had with her during sex. The way her very existence was in his hands made him feel so powerful. Anything she did was a direct result of his steering her, moving her, guiding her. Her utter dependence upon him, for every aspect of her living, made him feel needed. She hadn’t needed him before.

A few weeks after she couldn’t move anymore, during a sponge bath, he noticed her abdomen, between her belly and her pubis, had turned a dull shade of green. He was scared. “Is this supposed to happen?” he asked her, in a harsh voice. “Should I call someone?”

“Don’t worry, baby,” she said. “From everything I’ve heard, this is normal.”

He wondered what she had heard about her condition. He didn’t know who she had been talking to. When he went to work, he did his best to make sure she was comfortable. He fluffed her pillows and set the DVR to play the television shows from the night before in succession, so she wouldn’t have to press any buttons. He put a tray with water in a glass with a straw positioned between her lips so she could drink if she was thirsty. He worried that she never drank, but she assured him that, too, was normal for her case. He realized he needed her, too. She gave him strength, when he felt like having her with him might be a mistake, when he felt like he wasn’t qualified to care for her.

Soon after her skin discolored, he began to notice when he bathed her that her body hair came off in the sponge. This made him a little uncomfortable, but she assured him it was just part of the process. A few weeks after her belly was green, it turned to a rust-colored brown. He thought it looked better than the green. He thought she was getting better. The one thing he couldn’t get used to was her face. The day after he noticed her stomach, her face began to swell. Her lips and cheeks were three times larger than they normally were and her eyes became glassy, and gray. When she talked to him, her face contorted, as though it was painful for her.

“I promise,” she said. “It doesn’t hurt.”

He tried to convince her that she didn’t need to speak to him, that he could understand her just from the look in her eyes. He just didn’t want to see her in pain.

“Sarah,” he said. “You don’t have to do this. If you’re tired, or in pain, we can figure something out.”

“I don’t want to hold you back from life,” she said.

He tried to be compassionate. He thought often about her quality of life. She couldn’t get out of bed – she couldn’t even move. He had to do everything for her. She couldn’t enjoy the simple things in life. She didn’t really like making love anymore – at least, that was his impression.

When her body hair began to fall out, it happened everywhere. Seeing her like that, down there, made him feel like he was with someone new. The first time he made love to her after the accident, he tried to be gentle. He guided himself into her, as he had done hundreds of times before, but it felt totally different. She was so dry. Her body just didn’t respond to him the way it used to. After a few thrusts, he realized he might be hurting her.

“Are you okay, baby?” he asked her, hesitating, as though he could break her.

“Yes,” she replied, her eyes gazing somewhere else, far off. “It feels so good,” she said. Her voice was unconvincing. He didn’t really believe her.

“Maybe I should get some lube,” he offered. “Do you think that will help?”

“Sure,” she said lifelessly.

It worked better after that. The first few weeks after the accident, they made love every day. After a while, they didn’t do it nearly as regularly. She just didn’t seem into it, into him. He thought it was something he had done. Maybe she knows how powerful I feel when I’m with her, he thought. Maybe she resents me for being the one providing for her now. Maybe she resents my independence and her dependence.

He wrestled with what was in her best interest. She had lost so much weight, he could see her bones through her tissue paper skin. She wasn’t eating or drinking anything. He worried that she was losing her mind. Eventually, she stopped talking. After a week of the silent treatment, he broke down.

“Please, Sarah, baby, say something, anything,” he begged. He was scared she was really gone this time. He was having a hard time adjusting to life outside of his house. It seemed like everyone he knew was slowly deteriorating, not just Sarah. He knew he was just projecting his stress at home onto his co-workers, but it bothered him that it seemed like everyone around him was becoming lifeless. He thought maybe he should take some time off work.

The day he was offered the promotion, he came home to her. He told her about the offer and that the new job was based in Seattle. He explained to her that they would have to move, and he needed her help to figure out how they would do that. It was a considerable raise in salary, so they would have so much more opportunity. When she didn’t respond, he became desperate.

“Isn’t this what you want?” he questioned, as he stroked her dull, black hair. A piece of her scalp pulled off her skull as he caressed her.

“I want what’s best for us,” she whispered, her voice gravelly, as it caught in her throat. Her bloated tongue just didn’t let the sounds through any more. “I don’t think I’m getting any better,” she said, softly.

He thought that she would have cried, if she could have.

“Colin, I love you,” she said, “but I think maybe it would be better if you found someplace permanent for me to stay.”

“I can’t bear the thought of leaving you behind,” he said. “I just want to keep you with me.”

“We should think about what’s best long term,” she said. He thought she sounded sad, but it was hard to tell. Her eyes were completely glazed over and her pupils had swallowed her irises completely. Her brown lips barely moved when she spoke. As she struggled to form words, a tooth fell out of her mouth. Its click against the tile in their bedroom seemed to echo to Colin, as punctuation for her statement.

He began to think about what would be best long term. He decided to go for a drive to clear his head. He pulled into a gas station along the road, to fill up and grab something to drink. He went into the convenience store, grabbed an energy drink, and made his way to the counter to pay for it. Colin noticed the clerk was sluggish, and had Sarah’s gray tinge. When the man spoke, it was as though his tongue filled his mouth.

“That’ll be three seventy-four,” he mumbled.

“You feeling okay?” Colin asked, handing the man his cash.

“I’ve felt better,” he replied, his face contorting as he pushed out the words. “I think I caught the bug going around. I’m sure I’ll be better in a few days,” he said, handing Colin his change. His hand was gray and missing his ring fingernail.

“Well, hope you feel better,” Colin said.

“Thanks, you too buddy,” the man replied.

Colin walked back to the gas pump, swiped his credit card, and began pumping gas. A couple pulled up in a navy sedan, and he watched as the woman driving slowly got out of her car. She moved awkwardly, rigidly, and her face was bloated, like Sarah’s. She caught his eyes with hers, and he noticed they were like Sarah’s, too, completely black, with no color in the irises. He smiled at her and nervously nodded his head with respect. Her response was a blank stare.

He got back in his car and drove. He used up half a tank of gas driving in circles and thinking about how to move Sarah, or if he should move her at all. I can’t just leave her there in the house when I go, he thought. Who will look after her? He finally decided what to do, what would be best for them both.

He parked his car in his driveway and walked into his house. As he entered the bedroom, he lost his breath. The bed was empty. The sheets were tangled with bits of her flesh. He looked around wildly. Where could she be? When he left her, she hadn’t been able to move. Now she was gone. His mind tried to shuffle through possible scenarios. Someone could’ve come into the house while he was out, taken her. He shouldn’t have left her like that. He was standing, frozen, in the middle of the room, not sure what to do next when he felt her. Her cold, gray arms encircled his waist, and held him, like she used to.

“I love you,” she croaked. “I will always love you.”

His eyes widened as he saw their reflection in the mirror above their dresser. He took in his appearance. His face was contorted and bloated. His eyes had no color left in them. Chunks of his flesh were falling off the bones in his face. His hair was patchy and thin. He stared, stunned at what he saw. He looked down at his arms. They were hairless and the skin sagged off of his bones like cloth.

“I love you, too,” he whispered, turning to face her. “I will always love you.”

by Kat Douse

Biography

Kat Douse is a current student at SCF, Venice Campus. She enjoys her exciting career as a barista, and her challenging course load. She grew up in Brentwood, TN, and relocated to Venice, FL in 2002. She loves writing, especially poetry, and hopes to continue it for as long as she can.

Sixteen foot armored weasel rhinoceros, nuclear platypus generator, Dolly Parton’s bra strap, No, i am none of these things, but i am like an electric meat Popsicle. Six foot tall and 200 pounds of electric meat Popsicle to be exact, introduced to a chilly freezer we call earth.Truthfully that is just about all were made up of water, carbon based meat, with a calcium support stick sending electrical currents making our jolly electrode carrying meat parts move around. In the end serving my purpose and being consumed by the universal being called the average humanlife, that is unless somehow my tastes change to that which is undesirable by the average humanlife.

The universe can be a cold place but earth can be even colder with its harsh temperature changes and its general aptitude towards being one tough mother. Being like an electric meat Popsicle in this environment could result in disaster especially if the heat were to get to me and i ended up worthless, shriveled up, like a dried prune on a stick. Luckily and quite to the contrary though i live in a great society, a society which if i start out with a nice enough wrapping will keep me very stable and not show me the too many hard ships except maybe some cellular damage from freezer burn, nothing that cant be brushed off so i look good when i finally go. Even luckier still i am one of many more like me but that have many different tastes and sizes in this frozen world of ice and frozen life; it’s cool though for far more important meals that may take my place but at least i wont have to worry about leaving my temperature controlled home ’til later in my end days.

I am here to serve the all powerful freon system ’til my final days when my purpose is needed and remain complacent praying only that the power won’t go out ’til then. Serving my purpose wholeheartedly it shouldn’t go off though and maybe if i serve long enough i can buy some gold wrapper or a nice suit to go somewhere else for a while or maybe even a transfer ticket to a different better freezer. But being like a electric meat Popsicle, i think a lot about what some of the other not as important meat snacks think, what happens if i wanna be a burger patty or even a steak dinner you know move up the corporate snack ladder reprocessed into a better standing food. Furthermore i sometimes even dare delve into the controversial thinking of being like one of the outcasts. The ones that took the plunge out of the great freons game and went out into the heat not only to melt away what they once were but become something more still, more than even the luckiest born and best seasoned fillet minion, to the realm of the toughest of the tough and most experienced in all tastes to the wild untameable jerky. This proclivity to life which buys them that certain undesirability to the average humanlife sometimes makes me smile; but then i remember where I’m at and that I’ve got a lot of work to do tomorrow aging and what not to do and it would take me along time and far too much hard times for me to be like jerky, that’s why for now i know I’m more like a meat Popsicle than anything else.

by Bob Marvin

Today had been just like any other day for Claire with coffee on main street, another successful art class, and now she planned to go home work on her paintings and sip red wine. Claire felt she was happy, but she often sensed something was missing. Still decently young, she fell into a routine that was becoming mundane. When will it all change? she thought.

Dinner was always simple, protein and vegetables. She would switch between pork and chicken, never beef. Claire had a tendency to be indecisive but she would only buy what she would eat that night. Her mother always told her never to waste any food. As Claire sampled Publix‘s take on her favorite dish, she was interrupted by a woman calling her name.

“Claire, is that you?” the lady said.

“Yes?” she said back, trying to recognize the little lady who stood before her, dressed from head to toe in baby pink.

“It’s so good to see you honey, how are you holding up these days?” the little pink lady said.

“I’m doing just fine– thank you for asking.” Claire said with a puzzled look on her face.

The lady continued, “ Oh, well that is good, I’ll let you get back to shopping. When you talk to Aaron please send him my love and gratitude,” and she scooted off.

Claire was beyond confused. At first she assumed it was a case of mistaken identity. Who’s Aaron she thought. The name sounded vaguely familiar. She finished collecting ingredients for her dinner and headed home.

Claire parked her car and slowly made her way to her front door when she noticed it. It was a small white cardboard box, unmarked.

“What is this?” she quietly said, arguing with the thought whether this package would blow her into pieces or not. The box looked as if it traveled half way around the globe. She guessed that no one would have a reason to send her a bomb and brought it inside. Still skeptical of its contents, she decided to make her dinner before opening it. Aromas of garlic and herb chicken and the sweet smell of sautéed vegetables overflowed her tiny one bedroom home. As she reached for her empty wine glass, the plain package caught her eye.

“I just don’t know why anyone would send me a blank box?“ she said, only possibly talking to her cat.

As she sat down to eat her dinner, she decided to open the mystery package. Shrouded in bubble wrap was a picture in a frame. Claire didn’t recognize the picture. It portrayed a small park covered with the warm colors of red, orange, and brown. A silhouette of a family shared a hug in its background. Claire appreciated art but this picture was particularly moving. She decided it must have come from a student and hung it up above her nightstand. After her dinner she sat down to finish her newest painting. The rest of her week went on as it always did. Teaching, painting, sipping red wine.

When the weekend came Claire spent it at her parents’. It was their thing. Claire and her mother would always go look around local garage sales and flea markets and then come home for a grilled dinner, her father‘s specialty. Claire was sitting down to eat when she noticed something.

It was the same picture she was mysteriously sent, only it was painted from another angle.

“Mom, did you and dad send me a package with a painting in it?” Claire questioned.

“No, honey, it wasn’t us.” her mother said, looking off into space. Her father coughed nervously, muttering about dry chicken to himself.

“ Oh, ok,” she replied unconvinced. Claire dropped the subject, but she knew her parents were worried about it. This occurred often over the past year. Usually when she inquired about her past.

The next day, a cool breeze spilled into the park as Claire watched the rusted, brownish-red leaves descend daintily onto the ground. Beautiful, she thought, as she took a mental picture of the mesmerizing autumn vista for later inspiration. She loved painting fall landscapes. As she finished her coffee, something clicked. She was staring at what looked like the picture someone had sent her. It had the same benches, children’s playground, and captivating fountain. She slowly set her cup down and stared aimlessly into the scenery. Claire wanted to understand the connection but couldn’t remember much of her past. She recently turned thirty and figured her memory loss was due to growing older. This scene still triggered something in her brain. The pink lady in the store echoed inside her head “How have you been holding up these days?”. Something had happened. “Who is Aaron?” she asked aloud, lost in thought.

Claire strolled home stumped. Upon arrival, she immediately went to the picture and took it out of the frame. On the back it read, March 8, 2004, Claire, Aaron, and Emma. Claire froze and spoke softly.

“Now, who the hell is Emma? Did I paint this?” Her cat meowed back quizzically.

As she went to place the painting down, she noticed something else. It was a newspaper article hidden in the back of the canvas. She slowly opened the aged folded paper slowly. Deadly car crash, killing child, mother seriously injured, the title read. Emma, 2, was killed in a car crash last night by a drunk driver. Her mother Claire, 29, is in a coma at St. Marks Hospital.

Her heart skipped a beat as tears welled up in her eyes. How is this even possible? she thought to herself. Is this really me they are talking about? Claire couldn’t fathom forgetting a child, let alone losing one. So many thoughts raced though her head at once. Claire couldn’t contain herself anymore and fell to the floor sobbing. She didn’t want to believe, but she could feel the raised skin beneath her long locks. A massive scare circled the back of her head. That night a glass of wine wasn‘t enough. She had the bottle.

Claire woke up the next morning with a massive head ache. She remembered having a terrible dream. As she walked into her kitchen, she noticed the newspaper lying on the floor next to an empty bottle of Merlot. She frantically got ready and stormed out the door and off to her parents’. No more secrets, she thought. Claire wanted to know the truth, she had to know. Maybe they would know who Emma and Aaron were. Or even why she couldn’t remember the year passed.

Claire bolted to the door, and hammered until her mother answered. Tears rolled down her face, streaking mascara across her cheeks.

“Claire, what‘s going on?” her mom said.

“NO MORE PLAYING DUMB! DID SOMETHING HAPPEN TO ME?” she was crying uncontrollably.

“Honey, I”, her mother stammered, “I’m so sorry”

“How could you keep something like this from me? Why can’t I remember anything?” Claire went from crying to seething with anger.

“I wanted to tell you I did, but the doctors told me to wait,” her mother explained.

“It was too hard to say anything when you didn’t remember.” Claire stared a hole through her mother.

“But how did this happened?”

Her mother reminded her about the car accident over a year ago now. She explained that the doctors told Claire that Emma didn’t make it and she fell into a coma for about a month. When she awoke, Claire had no memory of the accident, who Aaron was, or Emma. The doctors were stern about mentioning it right away. They feared she may go into shock and comatose again. With the memory lost, her mother swept it under the rug. She refused to see her daughter hurt.

Claire felt hollow. Everything she had done was irrelevant. It wasn’t her real life. Before she left, her mother gave her the address of her daughter’s grave. Claire was headed there hoping to say her goodbyes. On her way, Claire remembered she didn’t inquire about Aaron. That could wait.

As Claire pulled up to the cemetery her heart attempted to escape her chest. Although she felt as if she was going to pass out, she had to see her daughters grave. All she wanted was closure. She spent half an hour sulking through the cemetery, looking for her grave stone. Then she saw him. There in military blues, a handsome man was kneeling down holding his face in his hand. In the other, a bouquet of flowers and a letter. As Claire approached, she realized he was at a grave that read, Emma Grace, a beautiful girl, and a wonderful daughter. Taken from this world to early. She walked towards him slowly wondering why he would be at her daughter’s grave. He turned to look at her, face glistening with wiped tears.

“Claire honey, you came” he said in a sweet voice. His gorgeous green eyes immediately comforted her when she looked into them.

“Honey? Wait, you know my name?” she said back.

“Oh yes, I know a lot about you,” he said as he smiled.

Claire didn’t move. She stared at his stunning face for what seemed to be an eternity. He gave her a folded note. She took it and opened it. He reached for her shoulders and held them as she read the note, like he was waiting for her to faint.

Claire,

I know this is very hard to understand right now, your mother told me what happened. I wanted to write so bad, but I didn’t want you to be hurting. I promise I will explain everything to you soon. There is an address on the back of this note, meet me there on October 19th I cant wait to see you, I miss you so much honey, I know its not easy now but I promise as soon as I can make it home I will be there and we can heal together I love you and I’ll see you soon.

                 Love Aaron.

P.S. your mother told me not to send the picture to you, but I couldn’t help it, I just hope that it might help bring back some memories, and a smile to your beautiful face. Just know that I love you and everything matters when I’m with you and you’re my everything.

As she read, a tear rolled down Claire’s face. She looked up at Aaron smiling with the same smile he fell in love with. He had been waiting for this for a long time now. He knew that after reading those words, she would remember.

“I love you and I have missed you so much, can we go home now?” Claire finally said.

As he laid the flowers on their daughter’s grave, Claire kissed her hand and placed it on the cold granite. Aaron took her hand and they began to walk home.

by Chelsea Beasley

Your body was heavy as I dragged you through the flooded cemetery. The coffins had been uprooted by the storm—the perfect place to hide you. I barely broke a sweat as I heaved your body into one of the boxes, the mud threatening to suck me down under the weight. I smiled as your eyelids fluttered open and your mouth formed a perfect surprised “Oh!” For all your cheap catcalls and sexist remarks, you fucking idiot, you got what you deserved.

by Chelsey Lucas

Biography

I’m a literature- and poetry-loving student of English!