The troubled mind

Heyo mayo everybody-o!

I am in the midst of exams.

That should explain my absence and the inspiration behind this story. Enjoy. 

With my backpack slung on one shoulder and a ring folder in one hand, I was getting ready to leave the library when I saw James.

“Hey James!” I whispered as loudly as I could.

He waved and gestured for us to talk outside.

I nodded and smiled. I had been looking forward to talking to James. I just watched the YouTube video he shared with me last night and was eager to tell him what I thought of it.

He finally emerged and with not even a hello, or how are you, he said “How did you find the Chemistry paper?”

My smile ran away from my face. For a second, I felt the living daylights sucked out of me once again. I clenched my folder even tighter and released a soft sigh.

Chemistry. The Chemistry paper. That DARN CHEMISTRY PAPER.

“Um…..” I began. “It was…..”

“Unbelievably easy right?!  I can’t believe they’d set the standard SO LOW this year! I mean I expected it to be much worse, honestly!”

I smiled weakly.

“Actually…”

“And it was so easy that even EMILY thought it was a piece of cake! I mean, that girl sleeps in class!”

“Um, James? I, uh, need to um, go. I’ll catch you some time this week?”

“You alright, Susan?”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s just that… I forgot I needed to do something”.

I said a hurried bye and headed the opposite direction of where James was heading. I didn’t know where I was going. I just wanted to be anywhere that was not beside James.

Sigh.

I can’t even think about Chemistry or look at my Chemistry lecturer without feeling my heart pump a little faster, shoulders hanging a little lower or my spirit feeling a little dampened.

It was bad.

It was so, so bad.

It’s not like I didn’t work for it. In fact, before the paper, I felt so ready. I did all the preparation I could. I stayed up late for many nights trying to memorise everything and I did. In fact, I spent so many nights studying that it felt like it was just last night I was downing Red Bull desperately trying to memorise just one more thing before I called it a night because it might just make the difference in grade. I really wanted to do well in it. I was desperate to, in fact, because Chemistry is my favourite subject. I worked so hard for it. I have pages and pages of practice exercise to prove it. Colour pens that I’ve exhausted to show my hours of labour. Mountains of notes to show how I took this seriously.

Suddenly, my phone rang. I snapped out of my day-dream and realised I didn’t know where I was because I was so lost in thought. James’ name flashed across the screen. I gulped and pressed the red button on my phone. Why, James. Why?!

When the exam came, I just…. I don’t know. I had forgotten things that I knew even before my first day in Chemistry class. For some reason, the hours just flew by so quickly and I was only halfway through my paper when the invigilator said that we only had 15 minutes left. After that, I experienced the worst 15 minutes of my life. After the exam, I just picked up my bag, avoided all eye contact and went home to  bawl my eyes out  watch TV . I was so sure I was going to fail and unless you've been in this situation before, you wouldn't know how infuriating and depressing the whole situation is. If only I could turn back time.

Speaking of time, it was only then I realised how dark it was getting. I then realised just how alien this place was to me. Where was I? James tried calling me again. I ignored it. I needed to find my bearings. The streets were so unfamiliar and I had no idea where I was. I wiped a tear on my face and made sure I boarded a bus that would bring me home.

It’s so unfair. I worked so hard for it. I know my Chemistry textbook inside and out. Ask James. Ask my lecturers. Ask my classmates. Ask the Paul the janitor or Emily the kind canteen lady. They’d tell you how dedicated I am to my work. I work harder than anyone else and now I’m the only one that found the paper hard? Sigh.  I just wish all that effort wasn't so wasted, ya know?

I eventually reached home. I took off my boots, removed my coat and dropped my bag on the floor. It was frustrating that all my effort didn’t show itself on its paper. I don’t know what went wrong. Why did I do so badly? Did I not pay enough attention in class? Am I not smart enough to call myself a Chemistry student? Did I not prepare hard enough to get through the questions quickly enough? Suddenly I wasn't sure why I thought I did badly for the exam. What ACTUALLY happened? All I felt was the familiar frustration build up in me again. Maybe my anger was blinding my memory. 

My phone rang. This was the third time James was calling me. My frustration rose again as I thought that I wouldn’t be in this emotional turmoil if James simply didn’t bring up the whole Chemistry paper. GAH! I threw my phone on the sofa. The ringing stopped immediately.

I sat myself down on the sofa. It was only then did I realise just how exhausted I was roaming aimlessly around town and wrestling with this emotional turmoil. I began to relax a little and eventually fell asleep.

“RING! RING! RING!”

URGH.

I woke up from my sleep. It was James. For the first time I felt bad for ignoring his calls. Maybe I should answer his call now. But must be midnight now, so what business does he have calling me at this hour?

“Hello?”

“Susan? Susan? Hello?”

I suddenly woke up. The sun was blinding and my neck was aching. It was....day time? What happened? Where am I?

“SUSAN WAKE UP!!!”

“Huh?”

 “Susan, please get up! You have only 15 minutes left!”

“What?”

I sat up straight immediately. Around me were rows and rows of tables. Everyone was frantically scribbling on their papers, papers were viciously flipped, there was a strange sense of silent tension around me. A bearded man at the front of the room was shaking his head at me. Mr Patrick James, my lecturer was beside me with a bewildered look on his face.

As I slowly came to my sense, I looked down on my table and saw in large, bold, capitalized letters:

CHEMISTRY FINAL YEAR EXAM.

Obsession, Part Two

Tuesday, May 10, 1978

Maxwell was an artist! Today I found an old comic that he drew by himself. How I knew this, I’m not sure. There was no name or anything proclaiming that he drew it, but I just had a feeling that he was the man behind it all. It was a fine piece of art, and I stopped my research and began reading it.

I’m sure that if Maxwell survived, he would have gone on to become a great artist.

--

What are the odds that Maxwell’s comic was still there? I mean, it survived all these years of abandonment and the changing of tenants! Intrigued, I started reading it too.

It tells the story of a young boy who moved into a new home with his family, and started becoming obsessed with a family heirloom until it consumed him.

‘My name is Michael. My life was never meant to be a story. Until I read the atlas. That darn atlas. At first, I thought it was a gift. Now I really see that it is a curse. A curse that I hope ends with me.’

--

Thursday, May 31, 1978

Is it odd that I somehow feel that the comic is now mine? I feel like I am its owner now. It’s quite unbelievable, but that’s how I feel. Maxwell is an amazing artist. I feel everything that Michael feels. I see everything that Michael sees. I know everything. It’s as if I was being sucked into the comic itself. It really is spectacular.

--

I was on my way home that day when I felt like getting a cup of coffee. Stopping at a local diner, I ordered my favourite cup of cappuccino to bring home, but not before telling the waitress to take care not to spill the next order, which of course she did. How I knew this, I do not know. But it feels awesome! When I got home, I started reading Jack’s journal to see if this ever happened to him.

--

Thursday, June 7, 1978

This is exhilarating. I have never felt so amazing in my life. It was just like what Maxwell said. First, I started seeing things. I saw how time passes by. I saw patterns in human behaviour. I see everything. Today, I told Colin to go to his locker to get his spare clothes so that he would not get wet. Nobody believed me until a car passed by and the puddle of water nearby splashed into Colin as a result a few hours later.

Michael must have felt this way too. I don’t know how to explain it, but it is exciting- it’s as if I inherited Michael’s psychic powers somehow. Suddenly, everything has become clearer, sharper. As time passed by, I began to expect and predict events. I could tell when Dad would be back from his work, I could tell when Mum would announce that supper’s ready. I could tell when a car would pass by the road outside the estate. I feel truly invincible.

--

I went for a boxing class today, and it was amazingly fun. I knew exactly where my opponent was going to attack and could defend myself against her. After my lesson, the instructor told me that I’m a natural at this.

Life in this small town really is turning out well. I think I might find a way to document this experience. Maybe I should record videos everyday? There’s no point in uploading them online, but it would be nice to have a collection of my memories somewhere.

On my way home, I was too absorbed in my thoughts to warn the girl to not let her cellphone ruin her life. I should have paid more attention; I could’ve prevented the car from ramming into her.

--

Friday, October 13, 1978

Something is not right. My head is getting flooded with things and patterns. It feels like it’s exploding. In the past few months I’ve witnessed too many accidents and events that I could have prevented that I fear I am slowly losing my mind. I’m starting to lose my focus in smaller things- I can barely pay any attention in school, I can barely eat. All I can think about is everything that’s going on in my head.

I found some journals that belonged to Stanley Beck, Maxwell’s father. According to it, Maxwell had started getting disoriented and started hallucinating. His lack of awareness and ability to care for himself wasted him and caused him to contract a weird disease. Apparently, he had then infected the entire family one night.

What this means, I do not know. All I know is that if this doesn’t stop, I’ll have to put an end to it myself. I already know where I can find the quarry. That would be a fitting place.

--

‘Oh shit’, was all I could say as I shut Jack’s journal. 

-----------

And that's the conclusion! With this story I was really pushing myself trying to write this exactly as I had imagined it- trouble is I had envisioned certain parts of the story only and so had to fill in the blanks and so this really pushed my creativity and writing skills. Hope you enjoyed it! 

Obsession, Part One

Hey everyone! This week I decided to write a story without using prompts. Midway through writing it however I realised that it was too long for our standard entries so I shall be splitting this story into two parts. This is the first part- hope you enjoy. Please read & review!

---

I never imagined that my life would change so abruptly. I thought my life was going nowhere- I was stuck in a place where I was constantly shunned, where I had no friends, and no company at all. I kept being told that things would get better, but nothing seemed to be changing- I really thought that that was it. I was going to be stuck in a depressing life.

But that all changed when my parents surprisingly bought a new home in the countryside and forced us to uproot our entire life to settle into a new place. It was easy for me of course, but I could tell that it was stressful for Mum and Dad. It definitely wasn’t easy for them having to change jobs and everything, but I was grateful that they were still willing to do this for me.

It was a huge estate that Dad had bought with his hard earned money. It was a small town where everybody knew everyone, so I was quite nervous about not fitting in- but that all went away when I met my friends. Plus, there was all this greenery and space for me to roam around during the day, so I could also occupy my time exploring my wonderful new home.

I had a great time, and my life could not have been better. Every day there was a new place to explore. One day, I decided to silence my fears and went into the basement which had always creeped me out. It must have been from the stories I’ve read and movies I’ve watched, but I was not going to let this irrational fear take over me.

I’ve never understood the purpose of basements. If you had such a huge estate you could easily build a shed to store your belongings. But upon entering this basement, I started to see why. This wasn’t just a basement to store tools; it was where the previous tenants had kept their precious belongings.

How long have this been here? I wondered as I leafed through all their belongings. All I knew about them was what Dad had told me- that a family used to live here, until their son died in an accident and they decided to leave town and move elsewhere. The house was abandoned for many years, until now. Beyond that, I knew nothing.

My attention was brought back to my surroundings when I spotted a diary. Blowing the dust off the cover I saw that it belonged to a Jack Coleman. I flipped to the first page. After a few pages I gasped. This was the boy who died!

Saturday, January 15, 1978

I can’t believe Papa and Mama moved us here. I hate that Papa got the job offer. Why does he need to bring all of us here anyway? I have no friends here, and everyone seems to already know each other in school. Just today I thought I had a friend in Colin, but he was clearly not interested. What else can I do? Just spend my time here I guess. Every day I run around this estate, exploring every nook and cranny. But one very interesting idea came to me today. I want to research and understand the previous family who lived here, and why they left. After all, what else is there for me to do?

‘Honey, time for supper!’ my Mum yelled, which brought me back to reality.

--

That night, I spent the entire night reading Jack’s diary.

Monday, April 5, 1978

I found it! I have been at the library almost daily trying to find records of who used to live in our estate. I now know that it is called the Beck Estate, after the Beck family. The entire family died here, but I could not find any information on that. Tomorrow, I will search for more. But I wonder what would cause an entire family’s death. I hope it isn’t a murder, that would be awfully bone chilling and I would have some sleepless nights for sure.

I can now proudly tell others that Stanley Beck used to be the owner of this house, with his wife Maria, and his kids Nicholas, Isabella and Maxwell. Not much is written about the family; it appears that they were quite reclusive. All I know so far is that Mr Beck was in the farming business, and that this huge estate used to be a corn farm. 

From old school records, I have also gathered that Maxwell was quite the scholar. He may be the youngest, but he is definitely the brightest. He’s won everything from the local math competition to the spelling bee contest. I think I would have gotten along with him well.

My next research target would be the basement. I have always feared the basement a little, but I think it is now time to finally venture there. It says that the family kept their most prized possessions there, and I overheard Father saying that he might want to clear it out soon.

I wonder where this obsession with the Becks would lead.

--

I could not believe myself. I had stumbled upon something historical and monumental! This is amazing. I found that I could not stop reading Jack’s journal. The more I read, the more I understood. Maxwell had died of some disease that was common back then, but he had also infected the whole family. It was quite a sad tale- an entire family perishing just like that.

The more I read, the more absorbed I became. What happened to Jack and his family? Did he die of some disease too? I wonder where this obsession with the Colemans would lead…

--

(to be continued)

My Cassie

The alarm clock rings.

I'm already lying awake in my bed. My husband is deaf to it, as he has always been for the past 10 years. I turn the alarm clock off without even looking at it and the morning is still again. I push my feet off the bed and allow them to be greeted by my warm, fluffy slippers before I make my way to another room.

I rub my eyes. I was up all night, tired but unable to sleep. I walk through the corridor, quietly turned a familiar brass-plated door knob and pushed the door, praying that it doesn't creak.

And there it is, the most beautiful thing in my life.

Cassie is still sleeping like a rock, peacefully tucked in thick blankets with elephant prints. The story book that my husband reads to her every night is at the foot of the bed and I look for signs of late night Fruitloop treats that I specifically prohibit my husband from giving her but he gives her anyway. He spoils her, I tell you. And sometimes they turn off the lights in her room to make me believe that she's already sleeping but my baby can't laugh softly, only capable of exploding with ecstatic fits of laughter, just like me, and I hear my husband 'Shhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!'-ing her like he always does with me. Goodness knows how often I hear them giggling and agreeing not to tell me about their little snack. Sometimes I burst in the room and catch them red handed. Sometimes I just let it go. Most of the time, I join them and tell them while laughing "THIS IS THE LAST TIME, YOU HEAR?!"

I take a few silent steps forward and sit at the edge of her bed, careful to be silent, just admiring every detail of her. Her mouth that looks like her dad's is slightly opened. I look at her little nose and sepet eyes that she got from me with wonder once again. Her hair is soft and messy and her skin fair. I count the number of times I see her tiny chest rise up and down, reluctant to wake her up.

I sigh. Life passes us by too quickly. It seemed like it was just yesterday I married my high school sweetheart, got pregnant and reassured my clueless, sobbing hubby that just because Cassie vomitted on him it DOES NOT MEAN that she hates him. And now, here we are.

"Hey dear....wakey, wakey," I soothe as I patted her belly. 

"Mmmmmm........." she silently groans and turns away from me. I don't blame her.

It takes awhile, but eventually she's sitted up. Sleep is still in her eyes but I'm glad. At least she won't see my puffy and swollen eyes. 

"Mummy??"

"Mmm?" I replied. 

She doesn't continue, almost as if she forgotten what she wanted to ask. It's a trait we both share and I smile to myself as I kiss her forehead.

"Come dear," I say, guiding her to stand up. However, she sleepily, instinctively and maybe even stubbornly lifts both her hands in the air, expecting me to carry her. I know the books tell me I shouldn't give in and let her walk herself and I always have been doing that, but today, I make an exception.

"Mummy?"

"Mmm?" I replied, wondering if she's going to remember her question this time. 

She doesn't. 

"I love you, Cassie,"

"I love you too, mummy".

It was only then I notice my husband standing by the door of our room, smiling at us as he watches. I smile back.

"Mummy?"

"Mmm?"

"Will you be with me on my first day of school?"

My heart jumps to my throat and I grip her tighter, feeling fresh tears welling in my eyes.

"Yes, honey. Of course!" forcing myself to sound more cheery than I felt. I kiss her cheek hurriedly, wishing I could immortalise moments like this before she grows up too quickly.

The Glass Shoe Rewritten

I decided to try my hand at using a prompt again! More after the story. 

Fairy tales have happy endings. All of us know what happened in that mushy fairy tale, Cinderella. Write your ending to the Cinderella story, but this time make it so that the shoe fit one of the icky sisters. What does Prince Charming do? How does Cinderella cope with it? And what about the Fairy Godmother?

----------------------------------------

Cinderella was not surprised when the shoe fit Tisbe. After all, there must be more than one person who would have the same sized feet. How else could shoemakers make a living? Cinderella tried to keep herself calm. This was just like everything else that has happened to her. It was one unfortunate incident after another and she would brave through it all.

Fighting back tears, Cinderella tried to smile while Tisbe lapped up the attention of being the Prince’s favourite. She hoped that perhaps the Prince would see that the girl in front of him whose foot fit into the shoe is not the girl he met the night before. But alas, it was just blind hope- the Prince immediately got on his knee and proposed to Tisbe.

‘My beautiful maiden, will you do me the honour of being my princess and wife?’ he said.

Cinderella’s heart sank. She knew that this was probably her only chance to get out of her existing life. The Prince was not only the love of her life, but also her one-way ticket out of misery. But it looks like the door had just shut before her eyes. Cinderella was crushed; it felt even worse than when she was punished by being hit repeatedly with a broomstick.

How can I live with this? Cinderella thought. Can I stop Tisbe? Can I do anything to fight for my Prince?

--

‘Cinderella, where is my dress!’ came a shout from the house.

Sighing, Cinderella moved the pot of soup from the flame and proceeded to find Tisbe’s dress. She couldn’t believe that the Prince would be getting married to her stepsister after only five months. After all, they did encounter some problems at the start. But it looks like the Prince is finally happy. Although it pained Cinderella, she knew that she had to let him go. This is the right thing to do- she wanted him to be happy.

Cinderella only just handed the wedding dress to Tisbe when she heard a knock on the door.

She rushed to open it, knowing that she would land in hot water again if she doesn’t attend to guests quickly enough. Opening the door, she found an attractive young man with a parcel smiling at her.

‘I was told that this is the residence of Tisbe, future Princess of our kingdom. Is that true?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ Cinderella replied. ‘This is where Tisbe lives.’

Upon hearing it, the young man handed the package to Cinderella. ‘A gift from Her Majesty the Queen,’ he said. ‘Have a good day, miss…’

‘Cinderella’.

‘Beautiful name. Have a good day, Miss Cinderella.’ And with that, he turned to leave. But before exiting the garden he turned back one last time. ‘Name’s Oliver, by the way.’ Then he left.

Cinderella felt a weird tingling sensation in her heart. She had not felt this way since she met the Prince. For the first time in months, she felt alive again. And it was because of Oliver. From that moment on, Cinderella knew that she had been blessed with a second chance. The Fairy Godmother must still have been watching over her. This time, Cinderella knew that she mustn’t be afraid.

Acting on impulse, Cinderella ran out of the house. She ran past the beautiful garden that she had tended to, that was her only distraction from the Prince and Tisbe’s wedding. She continued into the forest that she was all too familiar with, recognising certain trees and corners where she used to play as a child and where she walked towards town.

After what seemed like forever, she spotted him.

‘Oliver!’ she yelled.

He turned back. When he set his eyes on her the biggest and most charming smile appeared on his face. Cinderella ran towards him and when she was close enough she jumped into his waiting arms.

They looked into each other’s eyes. Oliver smiled again. This time, Cinderella smiled back.

‘Will you marry me?’ he asked.

Cinderella was delighted. She knew that she had finally found her prince, and that she didn’t need to be royalty to be a princess. Oliver had not needed her to be in a beautiful dress, or in a sparkling glass shoe to love her. He had seen her as she is, in her worn out hand-me-downs and still loved her.

Suddenly, the Prince and Tisbe didn’t seem to matter anymore. The Fairy Godmother was watching over her, after all, for she wouldn’t have met Oliver if the circumstances were different. And as Oliver carried Cinderella in his arms back to town where he lived, she said a silent thanks to the Fairy Godmother before living her life with Oliver happily ever after.

--------------------------------

So there you go! This is actually the first time I've ever tried writing a fairy tale or a children's story. I originally tried to go for that approach and writing it as if my audience were children, but then decided to go for something in between. At the end of the day I thought that a good children's story and fairy tale carries morals, so this was my attempt at giving a lesson on morality, added with some cliches of fairy tales and hopefully, a writing style that is suited for children's writing! 

Kor (Chinese for older brother)

Hey guys! MZ here and this is my first entry. To be honest, because I've not written anything creative properly in a very long time I found this incredibly hard to write and even harder to start, though I must say I enjoyed the whole process. I initially tried using prompts like how Jerrenn did but that proved to be too difficult for me so I decided to write something completely of my choosing. It's a very simple story but I suppose it's a start. Enjoy! And comments are much appreciated!


Tiny feet approached the room and a tiny head peered in. There he was, in the dark room on the couch, pushing the buttons of his console with his thumbs and his eyes glued to the screen. BANG! BANG! BANG! blared the speakers. She had no choice. Inhale, Jen. Inhale.

Here goes nothing.

“Kor?”

“Go away or I’ll tell Mummy you talked to a stranger when you were outside”.

 “But I didn’t!!”

RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!!!!

“But she won’t know that, will she?”

“I, er, need you to help me clean my fish tank when I’m away at grandma’s place,”

“STUPID CONSOLE, WHY AREN’T YOU…!”

“I said…” “Argh, can’t you get MOM to do it?! She always does it, doesn’t she?”

“Um…she’ll be away too. You’ll be the only one at home and so you’re the only one who….”

“DIE YOU ZOMBIES! DIE!!!!!”

“IF YOU DON’T CLEAN IT MY FISH WILL DAAAIIII!!!! IN ITS SHEEEEEEET!!!”

The little feet began jumping anxiously.

“Jen, can’t you see I’m a little busy?”

 “IN!!!!”

“ITS!!!”

“SHEEEEEEEEEEEEEE……..!”

“TAKE THAT YOU HORRIBLE MONSTER! AND THAT! AND…”

It was getting harder to see with the tears blinding her eyes.

“KOR!!! I SAID MY FISH WILL ….!!!”

 “And I should care because……….?”

“AHHHHH!!! YOU’RE THE WORST BROTHER EVER!”

 “And you stink! HAHA!”

The last thing Jennifer remembers of that incident was the sound of a door slammed in her face. That incident took place years ago when she was 6 and her brother, John, was 10. After the deafening door slam, everything went silent, and I mean everything. Her senses ceased to work momentarily, she was unable to move and the only thing functioning was her brain, and this left room for a quiet, powerful epiphany to form in the little girl’s mind: Did you see the way he treated you? How little he listened? How he DIDN’T listen? How can you deny the brutality of his words? I mean, come on! He's going to let your fish die in its waste!

Right there and then, she saw nothing but an invisible barrier that was built between her and her brother, him being the builder who was evidently incapable of treating her with kindness or respect, much less love. A barrier that she could do nothing about. In fact, it was just as impossible for her to do anything about it as it was for her to knock on the door in front of her or turn the door knob open even if she wanted to.

 You see, dear reader, Jennifer was born without arms.

 That is why she couldn’t clean the fish tank when she was 6. That is why she still couldn’t clean a fish tank when she was 20. That is why she couldn’t wipe away the salty frustrated tears from her eyes or the snot from her nose with a tissue paper after the shouting match like how people with arms can.

And that, my friends, is why she felt that there may have been some truth when her brother said that she stank. It was for that same reason the epiphany in her head was that her brother couldn’t, and so didn’t, love her.

 ********************

“Can you PLEEEEEEEEASE hurry up! The match is going to start any time soon! 50 bucks is at stake here, mom!” he impatiently drummed the steering wheel.

“Be patient, John! Your sister’s not decided if she wants the blue or red bag! And it’s her birthday!” Jennifer’s mom shouted just as loudly on the phone, 10 years after the fish tank argument.

“Can’t you just go on Facebook or something while waiting? We’ll look for your car in the parking lot. We’ll be done in 15 minutes! PROMISE! ” Mrs Wong then turned to her chuckling daughter and mouthed “TAKE YOUR TIME!”

 “WOMEN!” Mrs Wong heard John exclaim just before she hung up.

“Thanks mom” Jennifer smiled.

 “No problem, sweetie. You just decide which bag you want. I’m going to the toilet for a bit and if you’ve not decided by then, I suppose we could get you both bags”.

“REALLY?!”

Mrs Wong winked. “Just don’t tell your dad. It will be our little secret. Will be back soon, honey!”

Jennifer laughed. She’s 16! Finally! It sounds like SUCH a big number! She shoved both the blue and red bag into the shopping basket. It felt like it took eternity for her to be this grown up! Speaking of growing up, maybe her mom wouldn’t mind buying her one of those fountain pens…

“HEY WEIRDO!” someone hollered in her direction.

“Huh?” “What happened to your arms eh?”

“Oh, hi Alex”.

Alex was the captain of the football team of one of the high schools in the area, and yes, he was tall, dark and handsome and yes, Jennifer had a huge crush on him.

“Um, I never had arms, Alex”

“NAWH! That can’t be right! Everyone was born with arms! Come on! Show me where you hid them!” 

“Quit it, Alex,” Jennifer’s lips started to quiver.

“HEY EVERYBODY! LOOK AT THIS FREAK!!”

“Alex, stop. Please".

"Hey! Hey! Maybe you could join the circus or something! That would be sooooooooo cool!!"

Then out of nowhere, “HOW’S THIS FOR COOL, YOU LITTLE PUNK!!”

 *BAM!*

Before she knew it, Alex was on the floor writhing in pain and screaming something about his nose being broken. You should have seen his face, guys. It was bloody.

“YOU STAY OUT OF HER WAY AND YOU NEVER COME CLOSE TO HER AGAIN OR I’LL FIND YOU! YOU UNDERSTAND ME?! YOU DON’T EVER! EVER TALK TO HER LIKE THAT EVER EVER AGAIN, YOU UNDERSTAND ME??!! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?! ARE YOU LISTENING!?”

Jennifer gasped.

“KOR, STOP!”

************************

You know how sometimes you can’t sleep because something’s on your mind? Yeah. It was 2AM and Jennifer couldn’t sleep. She kept thinking of her little epiphany when she was 6 and she couldn’t stop replaying what happened in the mall earlier that day. She had never seen John so violent and frankly it scared her a little. She got out of bed.

His room door was open.

 “Kor?”

Silence.

“Kor.”

“WHAT! I’m trying to sleep here!”

 “Thanks for….um, you know”.

 “Ee-yer! You stink! Get lost!”.

She smiled.

“Love you too, kor. Love you too”.