We were packing furiously to leave, because earlier our mother, who was always cold and overprotective at the same time, had vanished.  She left a bitter taste in our mouths anyway.  The plane was leaving soon, and I already knew I was planning to take two suitcases- one within the other.

But I looked on my laptop.

Mother was online.  And, for some reason, I knew that if I asked her questions today, she would not be able to lie.  So I asked her:

"Tell me about where you're from."

She hesitated.  Then the story unfolded.

She typed slowly.  Deliberately.

I'm from Venus, I could see her in my mind's eye looking at me with a keen, unwavering gaze.  She only typed a few words, but I could hear her and see her story in my mind's eye.  I came and was caught up and trapped in a group of prostitutes traveling from another planet towards Earth.  I am originally from . . . the text, on the screen, merely said "I am from the star system of ------ of the -------------- (star system similar to the Pleiades)."

Suddenly everything made sense.  Her quirks.  Our slightly different proclivities and habits.  Her reluctance to talk about her past.  My brother and I understood completely as we gazed at those letters on the screen, hard in their truthfulness.

Then I blinked.  The text was gone, and all that was left was "I am from."  But I didn't need truth.  I didn't need to know.  My heart was satisfied.  Mother was forgiven for the coldness she had shown to me and my brother over the years - after all, she was not even human.

And I was happy.

Forgotten.

Every moment. Every second.
When did it all go? I reckoned.
Was there a point when my brain
Said it all was in vain
And gave up trying to hold
My mind to a mold?

Going with the flow, hoping something catches me as
the tornado of life sweeps me all over,
grinding me into the ground one
moment and tossing me high.
A helpless doll.
Confused and dizzy, I sigh
out loud, a desperate plea for
help, lost in the roar of everything and everyone around
me.
All that rushing.
Do they know where they're
going? Just going going. What's above?
Below?
Why am I here? Lost in the wind
ow. Window. The wind is screaming ow.

Glass pane. Glass pain.
Shattered.
But is the pain gone? The pane is.
The wind cries out to me. I answer.
But the shriek of everyone else drowns
me.
Something tangible
Something physical

But that's not me.




When did i forget?
When did i get lost on the path of life?
I didn't start here. I didn't plan to travel this way.
Look what happens when I free myself.
But I can't be truly free
Age has slowly wrapped its
Shackles
Around my brain
My heart
My soul.
I used to bounce. I used to smile.
And now, it's all
"Relative."
I take a step, and I hear the chains
Mocking my movements
Tightening, year after year, day after day
Moment after moment
Is it? Is it?
Can I escape? Do I want to?
Have I transitioned from being the
Prisoner
To being the
Prison Guard?
Who am I guarding? Am I keeping things out?
Keeping things
In?

It was a large, flat field, and the two of us had just landed and thrown are wing blades to one side. That was when he began attacking. We ran—oh, how we ran. Without our wing blades, we were incapable of getting close to him, and each jab was more and more dangerous as his bloodshot, rage-filled eyes hunted us down.

"We have to stop him," she cried out.

But how could I, I wondered, when I still loved him so much?

We dodged each attack, and finally she was hit, sent sprawling to a side. Still, she picked herself up slowly, looking at me with imploring eyes.

"We need something sharp," I sighed My heart was heavy, but I knew what I had to do. The screech overhead was getting louder. I grabbed a pair of wing blades that we had dropped earlier, "How can I sharpen these?" I yelled over the noise.

She motioned toward her own wing blades, off to one side. I took the edge of my pair and desperately scraped the edges of the wings against hers. The sound of metal tearing against metal hurt my ears and the motion sent sparks up into the sky. I winced at the noise and at the tear of muscles in my shoulder. There would be pain tomorrow—if we made it to tomorrow.

He was readying for another attack, flying up high from the edge of the clearing, where the trees were. Wing blades whirring, he dove towards me. Why? I screamed at him in my head, Why won't you wake up and see what has happened to you? Briefly, my mind wondered why, despite the intensity and the number of attacks, I had yet to feel a scratch from any of his attacks. Was he deliberately avoiding me? Too late to wonder why I was still alive, despite the odds, I ran towards him, battle cry emerging from somewhere deep in my stomach.

We raced toward one another, one diving in from the sky, the other running on foot through the dry, trampled grasses. Finally, at the last possible second, I let go of the wing blades, letting the sharpened tips fly with the speed from my momentum towards his body while I rolled to the side. My tears mixed with grime from battle, and as I peered through the dirt that caked my face, I saw a large plume of dust rise from the place where he crashed.

I stumbled towards him, falling midway, my legs unable to carry me further. The dust began to settle...

I sit in the quiet buzz of the classroom, and the brown chalkboard and fading bulletin board with faded letters seem to close in slightly on me. Lightly breathing, the life of the room whispers its way around each desk, leg, and chair. The fluorescent lighting, reminiscent of the '80s, give no warmth, but their presence, so old and begging for replacement, allow a sense of familiarity and nostalgia to creep in, warming the soul, if not the body. My eyes are dry and beginning to droop in a desperate attempt to remind me that, yes, sleep is important too. But when have I ever listened to my body?

The only window in the room is a squarish latched window with bold red stickers prounouncing the window to be "EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY," requesting "PLEASE KEEP WINDOW CLOSED." It tempts me. Only an armsreach away from my left, I imagine the cold wintery air blasting into my face, causing my eyes to sting and water, moistening them and waking me up. The drowsy mood of the classroom might be turned around then. No more students staring blankly and dumbfounded at the flickering computer screens humming in their face. They would all turn their heads to see why the window was open. Of course, within seconds, their attention would be gone and the window forgotten, but that is okay too.

Instead, I look through the window. The bright sun belies the cold outside. But I don't care. I want to be out there, struggling through the cold wind that tries to eat my hair and my exposed fingers and nose. No more of this stuffy room that is turning my face and eyes pink and dry. No more sitting stiffly in an uncomfortable blue chair that makes me feel like I need to improve my posture. No more.

No more no more.

Ad libbed from nowhere. Or the depths of somewhere. The hole is empty. We may disregard it now.

A question.

--begin--

There is a boy I know. He lives down my hall, actually. On the same side of the building, but much further down. Not that I ever go down the boys' side. The girls' side is so much cleaner. Fresher. Better smelling. Better looking. Definitely.

Back to the boy. He isn't large. In fact, he can be positively described as small. And more or less typical, in some ways. The squinty eyes hiding behind thick glasses. The tousled hair. The air of a studious student. Sometimes, anyway. Yes. He is a certifiable dork. Or nerd. Or whatever kids who look like him are called, either behind their backs or directly to their faces. All the characteristics of a nerd.

But none of a nerd's brains.

In other words, a typical jerk.

He wanders about, a social pariah, more or less. He's only allowed into groups as their entertainment. Not to be entertained. But he doesn't know. He joins, drinks, riots, and rambles on and on and on. He is rude and doesn't know when to shut up. There doesn't seem to be any shred of social consciousness within him. His beady eyes peer from behind his thick glasses, and sometimes I wonder why he can't tell people apart. Or remember anyone. I live on his floor! And yet, he barely realizes that I am alive. Not that I mind. Not in the least.

What are his parents like, I wonder? Do they know how so many people loathe their child? Or how many people avoid him, avert their gaze when he ambles by? They must. They have lived with him-- raised him-- from babyhood. Of course they know. But what happened? Did they give up? Leave him at school to be someone else's headache so as to relieve their own heartache at such an ungainly child? Perhaps. Perhaps there is a younger brother or sister at home, showing much more promise. Perhaps this younger sibling has the disposition of an angel, displaying none of the rude characteristics that are so belligerently pouring out of their older brother. Then they have given up and left him to his own devices.

I am almost sorry.

And almost is such a fine line.

Technically speaking, Mari's world had always been more on the boring side. Every day was routine. In the morning she would blink back the haze that was sleep and shuffle into her kitchen. There, she would pour herself a bowl of cereal and a cup of milk. She would sit silently, staring at the leaves on the tree just outside of the small window above her sink. It was the only patch of color in the otherwise dark kitchen-- she preferred to sit in the dark-- it allowed her to think better. Most days she would sit and wish that her breakfast moment with the bright window and dark kitchen could last forever and that she could sit in the dark forever. But such was never the case. There was always school. Already the family would be stirring upstairs. Peace and quiet never lasted. But while it did, she would enjoy it.

After her cereal was gone and the only thing left was a memory of the cold milk trickling down her throat, Mari would trod gently up the stairs and change quickly. Grabbing her backpack and stuffing on her shoes, she would finally be on her way to another boring day at school. Later, she would return home, do her homework, and go back to sleep. Another boring day accomplished.

But today-- today, something wasn't quite right. Mari sat, eating her requisite bowl of cereal - it was Special K today - and cup of milk - two percent - when a robin landed on the window sill. It looked at her for a moment as if to ask why she was sitting in the dark so quietly and alone. Mari stared back, spoon halfway to her mouth. They both blinked, and with a flutter, the robin soared off. Mari let the spoon drop back into her bowl with a soft clatter. She realized that she wasn't hungry anymore. Leaving the cereal, she gulped down her milk and grabbed her stuff and headed off to school with her mind preoccupied with thoughts of why a robin had appeared on her windowsill in the middle of December.

Sitting on the big block of yellow metal that some people enjoy calling a school bus, Mari began to forget about the robin as the students around her crowded and shoved. The big yellow hunk of metal that traveled at high speeds down highways and roads was filled with something more dangerous-- adolescent children with no manners nor patience. Mari usually curled up by herself in the middle of the bus by a window. If she was lucky, no one would so much as look her way until they reached the schoolyard. Then the young futures of the world would pour out of that gigantic hunk of yellow and black and wander into a building where "minds are being sculpted and shaped."

Most days, Mari would just sit stone-faced and silent through all of this, silently wishing she could return to her quiet kitchen. She would file quietly out of the bus, obediently following what millions of students had done before her. She was already sinking into the oblivious stupor that students all over the world had succumbed to. It was only a matter of time before her brain began to rot and dissipate as well. At least, that would have been the case were it not for Jareun.

That day- the day the robin landed upon Mari's windowsill-- a new student arrived at Mari's high school. Jareun, a transfer from a place no one knew, and a student unlike anyone else Mari had met. With the arrival of Jareun, the colors of Mari's life, which were slowly greying, being leeched out by the monotony of her slightly boring and routine life, suddenly bloomed and burst back out into vibrancy.

It was a museum courtyard. There was a large model of the solar system, with delicate-looking, green-patina'd metal filigree holding the planets in place. The courtyard was large and filled with boxy white structures made of plaster-like substance/concrete with flowers and plant-life overflowing. There was a good-sized pool. Shallow, but highly reflective of the bright lights around. It was night. Or dusk. Unsure, but perhaps it was just cloudy. A large class slowly moved, as if through water, around the model of the solar system, admiring. It wasn't an exact replica, for the planets were too large and too closely spaced. The sun was turning green-gold. Like a slightly overgrown paradise land. Quiet.

Suddenly, streak of orange fire dashes across sky, resounding like a rocket. A crash nearby. At least, it seems nearby. It might be hundreds of miles, but because it is so big, it seems close. Dust begins to fall from the sky. Warm white powder, like snow.

Run!

Scramble. Suddenly the number of people seems so much more. Still moving as if through syrup, everyone is pushing and screaming. Water from pool begins to overflow. Flood? Get away! Thin layer of dust everywhere. Musn't breathe it in. Where to go? No, NO! Not the museum! Other side of the courtyard. There is a mall. Such a struggle. Is the lack of energy due to the powdered dust being breathed into the lungs? Finally, last few seconds, the people have made it through the rotating doors.

It's a... mall. Half submerged into the earth, it is safe. Even with glass doors, it is safe. So many people milling about, lost, but not in panic. Father and brothers found. Mother, as well. Good. Inside a athletic store, setting up camp. This will be home now. No one cares about buying or selling. What is needed is taken. Everything else is unnecessary. No one cares. Most people still sit in the large hallway. Still a danger, though, because of such close proximity to the outdoors. Look outside, it's like a snow day, but a large, dense cloud is coming, rushing with a deadly purpose. The ground is trembling.

Back away. Back to the athletic store. Mother, father, brothers. All together. No fear.

We are together. We are safe.

Let the storm come.