Monika

The mirror was life-sized. As intimidating as a man with hurtful words would be. No. No words were spoken here, just a painful image of what I was not. I'd cocked my head this way and that, turned sideways and observed my flat tummy, as my pale hand ran along the velvety fabric over the flesh. Like a stab into the fog that suddenly had me enveloped, it ripped my thoughts back to reality, were my Aunt Asta was calling my name from downstairs. I didn't reply immediately, I just didn't want to, I cast a long glance at my face in the mirror and walked away from it, disappearing into the bathroom across the hallway. Tonight was the dinner that my Aunt has been planning for the past week that I've been here.

You see, our family lived all the way in Chicago, but they didn't want me around anymore. I couldn't hate them, after all, I was the one that severed the ties and dumped my family's good wishes down the drain. How stupid I was. Much like what happened with Aunt Asta, she's an energetic brunette with bright eyes and an obnoxiously social personality. She had ran from our family with the hope of a better life, and found herself alone on the shore of America. Just like I was right now.

Eventually, I emerged from the bathroom, a fresh batch of make-up like a fresh layer on my features, and then I descended down to where my Aunt was rummaging in the kitchen. "I don't like it," I simply stated, standing in the doorway of the brightly lit kitchen, causing Asta to swing around and examine the thin frame that the dress hung off of. I had lost half my weight.

"It looks fine--well, I don't know. Come here," the woman crossed over to hook her arm into mine and bring me upstairs to change. "I have a red dress that I used to wear when I was back in Chicago." When she was anorexic. But I wasn't. My body is fine, at least I thought so. I just don't have an appetite.

"Can I just wear jeans? I mean, it's not a real date," I complained, allowing Asta to drag me up the stairs like a bag that I was sure I felt like.

"What do you mean, it's not a real date?" Asta hissed, furrowing her thin brows over her eyes in irritation. "You need to get out there, and see people, socialize. That's the only mistake I did when I separated from the family, don't do what I did," Asta explained, words repeating themselves because they've been spoken so often for the past week.

"But I did not JUST separate..." I sighed, deciding to let the matter go before she ruined the night for both of us. Eventually, I was squeezed into a lovely red mini-dress and black heels, and a black clutch to add, and was pushed out the door with eagerness, landing me in the presence of a handsome but clearly a cocky young man. He was tall, and with aryan features, and the way that he carried himself was a clear indication that he was well educated and very confident of his abilities. He'd had a reservation at a formal restaurant just in town, with a romantic little nook by the window. I wasn't exactly feeling it, though, and it probably showed on my features because he began to question my mood.

"You're probably used to more formality, what with living in Hollywood," Dave, my date began, smirking a charming smile.

"Not really," I answered coldly, seating myself when the chair was pulled out for me. When he settled across me, I continued. "It's actually more casual in Cali."

"How do you like it here?" Dave asked, relevant to the topic.

"Well, I'm not sure--"

"--I like the ocean front here, fresh and clean, the air is crisp," he had cut me off.

"That's nice." It was a timid reply to his sudden need to exclaim his own opinions. And that's when the date from hell began, with him talking about himself and his activities, about how his mother had a cat ten years ago that he would stroke before bedtime. It was all too much for me, so most of the time, I had just tuned out everything, only replying in one word comments of how nice that sounded or simply a quiet "oh". And by the time he had dropped me off back at Aunt Asta's, I was exhausted and irritable. The bed was the only sanctuary I could really enjoy at this time, now.

Ken

I was cooped up in my room, with nothing but a covered window and a desk, papers defiling it every which way. I probably didn't look my best, unshaven and clearly malnourished, I've been in the same room for a week. Currently, I was sitting on the bed, staring at the digital clock that sat on the table next to my bed. There was utter, insane silence, until the door to my room began to rattle, a few rough knocks and the sound of my friends on the other side.

"Ken!" They had called out, while I simply sat there. Eventually, I moved, stood slowly and sauntered over towards the door, cracking it open. My friends stood in awe of what they saw was left of his friend. "C'mon buddy, you gotta get out of that room," Englishmen were my friends, living here to teach English to rich Greek kids. One of them placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "There's a party out at the beach, You wanna come?"

"No," was my answer.

"I don't care, you're coming," my friends exclaimed, tugging me out of the room and down my stairs to face the brightly lit kitchen and every other room save for my bedroom. They would get me out of the house if it was the last thing they did, it seemed. This depression kept hitting me once every year, around the time my wife passed.

A couple of hours later, us four were heading down to the beach where a crowd of people were either dancing or spending time walking around the beach. At sunset, the area was beautiful, but also depressing if one didn't have a couple to spend the evening with. Eventually, while my friends were hitting up numbers from a few bikini-clad girls, I managed to wander off. Away from the crowd, away from the noise. I walked far enough so that the only thing I could hear were the waves crashing and the muffled sound of voices of the party, as well as the music.

What I came across was a dark cave, too dark now that the sun has set, it wasn't deep, I could see the other end of it. There were cigarette buds littering it, a few empty bottle of alcohol, and what's that in the corner? Slowly, kicking up sand, I approached what looked like an old book. I bent over, lifted it up and brushed the sand off the thing, gazing at the simple brown leather cover. Slowly, I unlatched the hook to open it, and looked down at the several pages of written work. I didn't read it in the cave, it was too dark, I just looked, flipped through it, re-hooked it and tucked it in between my arm.

It looked far more surreal than a typical party night at the beach. So I left with the book in my arms. When I returned, my buddies were all at the bar, drinking it up, so I decided to join them. No one ever took notice of the old book I found, no interest in garbage found at the beach, but I had a feeling this wasn't just any book or journal. I'd have to read it when I got home, and home was the only thing on my mind right now. Too bad, my friends weren't allowing me to leave just yet.

Chloe

I sat curled up with War and Peace in my favorite place on the window seat, staring outside into the grey London streets. There'd been nothing but drizzle for a week, and it was bringing everyone done, especially me. When the weather was bad, it forced everyone inside, meaning more time with my family. At least I still had Elliot to talk to. Just because he was a dog doesn't mean I played with him. No, he's who I confide all my dreams and sadness in.

"Hey, weirdo," said my older brother Nate as he walked into the room. Nate was the eldest of my siblings, and often the cruelest to me. "What are you doing here? And why are you reading War and Peace? You're like, ten."

"I'm twelve, Nathaniel, and just because you're illiterate doesn't mean we all are."

Nathaniel was stupid, but even he understood when he was being insulted. He walked over and slapped me on the side of my head, bringing tears to my eyes. I willed not even one to roll down my cheek; I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing he caused me pain. Even still, I probably shouldn't have said anything. I usually didn't...I don't know if it was the rain or what it was. I was feeling more cynical than usual.

"It's time for supper, you little brat."

I marked my place in my book, and got up from the window. I followed Nate into the dining room to find the rest of my family already at the table. My second eldest sibling, Max, and my older sister Amy. I took my place next to Amy, who didn't take one look at me. None of my family looked at me, really. It's like I was completely invisible. And of course, the entire supper was spent with talk about my siblings achievements. And of course, I was never brought up or addressed once.

I got up from my table once I was finished eating to put my dishes in the sink and go find Elliot.

"Just one moment, young lady. Your mother and I have something we want to discuss with you," said my father. I looked back at our table in astonishment--my parents never paid me any attention. I didn't exist to them. But one look at my father and mother's solemn expressions, and my siblings smirks told me that I was probably going to wish I was still invisible instead.

Annette

"Mason, don't forget to grab your coat!" I called from the kitchen. Grabbing a juice box from the refrigerator, I placed it carefully in the red lunch box on the counter. Closing the lid I sighed. Nothing out of the ordinary for this Thursday morning. In fact, everything was annoyingly typical. Same five am alarm, same breakfast of cold cereal and toast, same drab decorations in the same 'too small' apartment. I ran a hand through my hair, a nervous habit I suppose. [i]Maybe new curtains[i], I thought as I stared from the kitchen to the living room. A brown tweed couch, glass coffee table, cream colored rug with several fading stains. Somehow, this morning, I couldn't stand the sight of the purple curtains. The room looked too dark. We needed something brighter. Yellow, maybe. Yeah...something bright. "Mason!"

"Right here, mom!" I smiled as my son came running into the room, one arm still hanging free from the red windbreaker. The sight of him brought tears to my eyes. Here I was thinking curtains would brighten the room, but the second Mason walked in, my whole world lit up. Brushing the tears away, I knelt to eye level to help him into his coat.

"Coat, socks and shoes, lunchbox....think that's everything," I stated. Mason nodded and I ran a hand over his hair. "Think we need to get you a haircut soon." He stuck his tongue out and I laughed. "Come on." I grabbed my coat from the counter before taking Masons hand.

There was no elevator in the les than luxurious apartment building. The brown and green wallpaper was shabby and coming off in some places. I was in the process of looking for a new place to live.

Stepping outside, the cool October air stung at my face. I knelt and zipped up Mason's jacket. We walked quickly to the bus stop at the end of the block and made it in time to board.

"So who do you want to be this morning?" I asked Mason as we sat. His face scrunched in thought and I couldn't help but run a hand through his hair again.

"Superman?" he asked with those large brown eyes of him.

"Superman it is!" I declared. "Where are we going, Superman?"

"To the moon?"

"I've always wanted to go there. What are we going to find on the moon?"

"Ice-cream!" I smiled and we continued our game on the long bus ride into town. As we exited, I took Mason's hand and we walked another five blocks to Maplewood Elementary School. Students were still entering the building, most of them being dropped off in expensive sedans or escalades. At least my living trust fund was going toward something good. I certainly wasn't going to allow my mistakes to affect my son any more than they already did.

"I love you, sweetheart," I said kneeling and kissing Mason on the forehead. He wrapped his tiny arms around my neck and for a fleeting moment everything in my world was alright. "I'll see you at three o'clock." I watched him until he disappeared inside. Turning and walking quickly so as to catch the next bus home, I ignored the snooty and judgmental looks I was getting from other parents. I'd lived with those looks for the last seven years. Yet somehow I never got used to them.

On the way home I stopped at a Value Village and purchased some yellow curtains and hung them before sitting down at my desk and taking my headset. The droll voice began to speak as I hit play, and my fingers moved quickly over the keys as I typed up the personal memo. Somehow, the curtains didn't have the effect I had hoped for.

Gerdi

People always say do what you do best. But what if you are not particularly fantastic at doing anything of merit, I am thinking, and the camera tells me what I have gotten into, where I'll be in the next five years or so, how is your life and how are you doing? Tibor for example, he is a very successful man, a very higher-upper man, five suites high, in fact, but he always has his hands dirty, dirtier than mine, and this is quite dirty let me tell you. Yet it is his forte, like they say in the music world—his greatest asset. So I am wondering if I should keep up with this little best talent of mine. Is a man at fault for excelling at the strange, rather than the respected? I shrug my shoulders at this.

There were six, seven women on film that day, and they were doing what they did best, too, and they were also getting their hands dirty. They were getting many other things dirty as well, but that is another matter. They smiled when they were required to; they gave you the look and you knew you were sold; they made those noises and made you blush and hard. When it was done for the day, I had retired, but I could not help thinking that the men on film were more enticing. More beautiful and real. It was the same beauty that Tibor had. People say Tibor has a Jewish nose and a non-Jewish (Goy, that is what they call it) everything else; I say he looks a bit like Stravinsky if Stravinsky were as beautiful as his compositions. He is also blond. I kept putting him in place of the six or seven women on film and found myself happier than if I hadn't, and when I told him about this in the evening he scowled like he always does, but I knew this was all right because his frown is just a disguise for a smile.

“You're not as subtle as you think you are. Admit it,” he had said, and he leaned forward from the other end of the dining table, and the conversation from then on was spoken in very harsh Magyar. “Szeretlek, Gerdi.”

It sounded like a reminder. Something I could not believe right away. I could have said the same if I didn't go quiet, for suddenly the bowl of goulash was the most interesting thing in the world.

Igen, Kozma úr. I love you, too.

He had put his coat on, did some convincing with me, kissed me roughly on the cheek—because what else can a man such as him do but claim a man such as myself—and then he was gone, out the door. When he will return I cannot say. I still cannot say. It's just something you do not ask about. You sit, and you wait, and you cry tears in his lapels when he finally comes back, and you scoff at everyone knowing it's all right because your frown is just a disguise for a smile.

San Francisco, he had said. Go up and down the strange and slanted roads of San Francisco to get your woman back, if you desired her so much. I decided this was not of worth, however; Dawn and young Frida were in town till the end of the week after the horrible news of the Danube spread, so Dawn, she sighs and makes a note to visit us, say how is your life and how are you doing and when will you get the funds in? Soon, I usually go, and her scowl is not a disguise for a smile—just a scowl.

And now Frida had the big red balloon secured to her wrist, for she had just turned seven, you see, and so still had that right amount of energy to make the older folk very jealous. I was one of them. When she ran and made the park her playground, I could not keep up. For all her wishes, Uncle Gerdi was not the greatest of playmates. He was much better at watching the puppy on its leash even after the animal itself could not keep up with her joy, until her mother returned not in lapels, but in overpriced heels and labels, and just looking at her was causing my wallet to hurt rather badly.

She, too, was beautiful, a different kind of beautiful.

Time to go, she said, when Frida had finally exhausted her small feet from running across the lawn. She leapt up to hug me, and seeing how she'd grown was very hard because every feature of hers was clearly, obviously not mine; she looked too pure, her eyes too blue, her overall person too bright with too promising a feature to have any quality of mine. She was the result of something, someone better. Her mother knew this as she came over and took her hand and held the leash in the other, and when will I see you again?, and like with most things I could not say, just wait till life wanted it to happen, if it ever wanted it to happen.

Smiling is one of the things I do best. I tried.

Just smile.

Just...smile!

I am trying. I am trying so, so hard.

Sebastian

Bleary eyed I stretch out towards the bleating sounds pervading my sleep. My hand fumbles across my bedside table, fingers dancing across deodorant cans, cold pizza and finally - my clock, 5:00am. The silence that envelops me is gratifying, but I'm unable to sink back into the warm arms of slumber. Senses still swimming through a thick haze, I sit up and swing my legs out of the bed. The room is bitterly cold, and I can hear rain lashing the window behind the curtains. I stand up and walk towards it, crossing the small hovel I call a bedroom. In honesty, it also doubles as my living and dining room, with a small partition separating my kitchen. Tugging open the curtains I am greeted by the grey dullness of London. A blue Ford trundles past, paint chipped and tail-light busted - I watch it until it disappears around the corner at the end of the street.

By the time I was dressed it was moving on for six in the morning, and a dim light was filtering in through the partially opened curtains. I splashed my face with a handful of cold water, grabbed my jacket and then slammed the door behind myself. Outside it was even colder than in my home; thick clouds coated the sky, and the drizzle still fell steadily. The walk to the bus stop would take fifteen minutes, by which time I would be sodden. Lowering my head so that the rain rolled steadily off the tip of my nose, I hurried my pace. The streets all looked identical. Lined with old-fashioned cars in garish colours, most missing their tax discs and at least one without a license plate. The houses were crammed in as tight as possible, tiny brickwork hovels with over-grown meter squared patches of grass. I loathed the place.

"Sebastian!" The voice caught me by surprise, and I almost tripped over in my haste to turn around. Sarah was hurrying along behind me, blonde hair matted across her face and a bright purple folder clutched against her chest. I couldn't resist a smile at her expense - though, in truth, I looked little better. "I was calling you for ages!" she said as she drew closer, cheeks flushed red and breath a little labored.
"Running late again, Saz?" The was more than a hint of caustic irritation - I was in no mood for it. She gave me a mock-petulance smile, and slapped me lightly on the arm. "Just in time, actually." The bus pulled up alongside them at that moment, and we hurried to get on. The bus driver was a fat middle-aged man with beads of sweat lingering on his brow, and he gave them both a disdainful look. Clearly, he wasn't impressed by the state of us. The doors gave a pneumatic hiss as they closed, and we spent the rest of the journey chatting idly about nonsensical topics. Sarah was perhaps one of the only friends I still had, and even she looked at me differently now. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the glass across from us, and my gaunt, pale face frightened me. I struggled not to glance at that face again, and tried to focus on Sarah. It went the same most mornings. A soft-motion blur of monotonous grey.

When we reached the school, Sarah hurried off to her class in a blur of blonde-and-purple. My lessons wouldn't begin for another half an hour, and I went through the usual ritual of fetching a coffee - black, one sugar - from the canteen. Thirty minutes later I had pulled on my tights and joined the line of seven other students. We began our usual routine to warm up, while our teacher observed. Madame Rosette was a short, thin woman who reminded me of a gnarled tree-root with wiry black hair and a sharp, strong jawline. She cast her eyes over me while I performed, and I could see the familiar flash of pity cross her face. When we finished the routine, I stalked off into the corner away from the others to complete my stretches, all to aware of their mutters. I had been back over two months now, and still they whispered. Eyes cast down to the ground, I did my best to ignore them.

By the time I returned home I was in a foul mood. I slammed the door behind myself and tossed my bag angrily across the room, knocking the lamp from his table in the process. The china base smashed, but I couldn't care less. I stopped momentarily when I caught a glimpse of a photo, now resting face-down on the ground. I left it there, and let my eyes fall onto the orange bottle laying beside them. I walked over, eyes staring through the translucent container and at the tiny white pills inside. Enough to kill me, I knew.

When I fell asleep, it was total. And hopefully endless.

David

Most doctors hated the paperwork portion of completing a surgery. I didn't. Most doctors preferred to work with patients rather than avoid them. I didn't. Most doctors started in this profession to help people. I'm not sure I fit that category. I like the paperwork: patient's name- Eve Sorrento, diagnosis- malignant tumor in the brain, treatment options-radiotherapy, surgery, remission. Easy enough. Problem solved. Things were so much easier when summed up in a file of documents. I wish everything in life were that simple. But things can never be easy when people are involved. There's too much room for human error, stupidity, ignorance, this thing we call 'free will'. By all regards this Eve Sorrento is an easy fix. I can see the problem: a tumor. I can see the solution: surgery. Easy fix. What I can't fix is the effect on her three children: Marie age twelve, Antony age nine, and Robert...age four. What I can't see is her husband’s face as he tries to pay the medical bills. What I can't fix is the tears in his eyes as we shave his wife's head to prep her for surgery.

I spend most of my days buried in as much paperwork as I can get, preparing files, surgery strategies, examining x-rays, scheduling appointments. I'm a glorified secretary. The precious moments either in my office or elbow deep in someone else's blood: those moments, for some strange reason, I can tolerate. But they're short lived. Then come the questions: How did it go? Not as well as we liked. What does that mean?During surgery we removed the tumor and uncovered a slight tear in the brain tissue causing a hemorrhaging. Is my wife alright. We won't know until she wakes up, but it's unlikely she'll make a full recovery. The size of the tear is causing her brain to bleed unnaturally. Is my mommy going to die? We've done what we can. Only time will tell.

People look the same when they hear news of such a nature. First their eyes are round, eyebrows raised in hopeful anticipation of a happy ending. Then, as the weight of the burden hits them, their nose wrinkles, their eyebrows drop, tears stain their eyes red. A jerk of the head, two paces backward, balled fists, and mouth open just enough for a weak choking noise to emit from their throat. Some people sit, other pace, saw a guy punch the wall once, a few times women have collapsed against me looking for comfort. Those are the ones I dread the most. What comfort can I offer? Their mother, brother, cousin, grandparent, lover...they were just another file to me. I didn't know them. Never saw them smile, hear them laugh, watched them while they slept. I cut them open with a scalpel, tried to minimize bleeding, and signed my initials in all the correct places. What do I know about them?

Eve Sorrento: deceased.

Destanie

I was dead. I swear I might as well have been. the way I felt at that moment I could very well have been dead. I was hollow and empty, walking around in a daze. The Australian sun beat down on the school quad and everyone was talking loudly. I looked around from my spot in the corner of the quad, looking at every group in turn. There was the geeks hanging around outside J block, they were only there because the library was closed. Sweat glistened on their skin as the playd handball. One particularly annoying kid was butting into the game and kept gettting shoved out. They all called him snowy, yelling at him to get lost. A small group of girls and guys sat in the coridoor of J block, in an alcove that everyone called the mole hole. I knew that in that alcove in particular there was a cleaner's closet.

I knew that because Jeremiah had broken into it when he was in year nine and had been caught with his girlfriend having a 'quickie'. I refused to go near that area now. The girls were in a way popular. But they were popular amongst the juniors. They were all in year eight to ten. The few guys in the group were just weird. Then there were the rejects. The group of guys and girls that didn't fit in anywhere else but in their group. they sat to the left of the quad. They were loud and roudy, and gross. But in a way I wanted to be with that group where it didn't matter what you did, you were accepted. The 'cool' guys sat over in a corner where the try hard girls were flirting overly with them. I pitied everyone in those groups, but I could envy them too. I didn't have to do anything really, except smile at this comment, laugh at that one and be an overall robot. Everyone else was so human. They showed emotion. They sweated, they ran, they mucked around and they weren't afraid to show themselves to people. They had true friends.

The girls and guys in my group were all false. They pretended. That's all this school was, pretence. No one was true to each other. next to me Jenny and her boyfrind Kalin were holding hands, flirting and whispering to each other. I could tell what they were saying. Things like, I love you, I missed you, that sort of stuff. All the while Jenny was making eyes at Will and Kalin had his sights on Helena. Nothing was true.
"Hey Dee, what do you think of my new sweater?" Steph asked. I looked over at her. It was a combination of blues and greens. the sweater was nice, but the colours didn't suit her. I smiled falsly.
"It's great. it totally suits you Steph." I said. She beamed at me and went back to her conversation with one of the other girls. I noticed a guy at the corner of H block, a tall guy with brown hair, wearing our school uniform in a scruffy manner.
"Jeremiah?" I murmured and stood up.
"Guy's I just remembered that I have to goe see mr Harris about my maths assignment. Don't wait up for me if I'm not back when the bell goes." I said, with not much convinction. No one really payed attention. I picked up my white side bag and walked away in the direction of the guy.

I turned the corner of H block and saw the guy. I walked up to him. He was smoking.
"Hey! You know you're not meant to be-" I began before he turned around. I realised my mistake.
"What's up babe?" He asked. I realised my stupidity.
"Nothing, I thought you were someone else." The boy looked at his mates and gave a sick grin.
"I'll be whoever you want me to be baby." He said advancing towards me.
"No thanks, I'll be right." I said, backing away. He kept coming and I ran out of space to run. suddenly another guy came out of a classroom.
"hey, she said she didn't want you Josh, leave her alone." The new guy was tall too, with brown hair straked with caramel blond. He was pretty tanned too. Josh backed off and left with his mates laughing.
"What ev. We were just joking around wiv her anyway." He said before slinking off. The guy turned around.
"Are you okay?" he asked me. I nodded.
"Yeah, thanks. I'm Destanie." i said involuntarily. He smiled.
"Steve." Just as he replied the bell rang. I took the opportunity to get out of the situation I'd got myself into.

I didn't relax until I was seated in history listening to the teacher lecture us about ancient greece in detail.

Elle

Morning always came to soon. Its pale, cold fingers would dance along the wooden floors in my bedroom, somehow finding their way to shine through my lavender-hued curtains. Each day held practically the same routine, everything ordinary, nothing out of step or time, unless I was lucky. I'd groan at the time that my body chose to rouse, lean over, glance at the clock on my bedside table, roll my eyes and allow my willowy legs to untangle themselves from the snowy white sheets and pillow-top comforter I slept with. I never went to bed with anything more than what was required to seem decent in the presence of my roommate clothing my body, which was typically some cotton shorts and an sleeveless camisole. Rubbing my tired eyes, I would manage to awaken myself enough to stumble into the bathroom across the hall and jump into a cold shower and search through my closet for an appropriate outfit for the day. Then, the rest would be up to the city outside my windows.

I towel dried my hair until it wasn't so wet that it would soak through my blue v-necked tee shirt. Then, after pulling on some casual skinny jeans and a pair of easy-to-walk-in ballet flats, I left my bedroom and roamed down the hallway to find my roommate, Anika, in the kitchen, putting on a pot of strong coffee that was already smelling up the entire apartment. I'd heard her grinding beans a few moments earlier, and now my suspicions were confirmed as I strode over to the counter and pulled the loaf of honey wheat bread out of its box and smiled. "Good morning."

"'Mornin'," she replied sluggishly; typical. She wasn't cheery until she'd had her caffeine fix. She looked so mesmerized as she stared at the coffee pot, watching each drop of the liquid fall.

I emitted a faint laugh as I popped my bread into the toaster, preparing part of my breakfast that normally consisted of some turkey bacon, eggs, and of course, toast. Waiting for the bread to crisp, I reached into the refrigerator to pull out what I needed for the rest of my morning meal. Soon enough, within ten minutes, I had prepared a delicious plate of food and was lounging on the sofa beside Anika, sipping at my cream-diluted coffee as I watched her. "So, are you off work today?" I asked casually, munching on a piece of bacon.

"Yeah. I woke up with a pounding headache, so I called in sick," she dark-haired girl explained, taking a gulp from her mug.

"Ahh." I uttered. And that was practically the end of any important conversation. The rest of the morning was lacking when it came to interesting words exchanged between the two women.

---

Mid afternoon came quickly enough and soon, I was out and about, wandering the streets of Washington, D.C. with my eyes alert and my steps quick. I was always on the lookout for something inspiring, desperate to regain my muse. It was quite comical, according to Anika, who enjoyed poking fun at my "ways". I headed for the metro, figuring I'd look around some of the museums for a good part of the day, until that night that I had to perform at a local jazz bar. It was always like this; never knowing when my next show would be. I slightly longed to have a steady job, but the angst of not knowing when I'd get a call somehow kept me feeling like I was different. I didn't want to end up normal, like everyone else.

Destanie

It was coming to the end of last period and I was dreading the ending of the school day. I didn't think I could bare to go home. When Steph came up and invited me to go shopping in the afternoon I jumped at the chance.
"Absolutely! Of course I'll come. I'll just duck home and grab my purse." I said with a smile. She laughed and agreed.
"Do you want a lift?" She asked. I shook my head.
"No, it's fine, I'll meet you at the shopping centre, kay?" I replied, not wanting her to see the state of disrepair my family was in. I started walking home, wanting the time to clear my head. I was so tired lately. Hanging out with Steph and the others would be good for me.

When I got home I didn't say anything to my parents, just ran up to my room, got changed and grabbed my handbag, dashing out the door again, shouting a goodbye to my mum and dad. I caught a bus to Westpoint shopping centre and met Steph in the food court.
"Are you ready?" She asked. I smiled and laughed.
"Always, Steph." I said. SHe laughed and we hit the stores.

Annette

Finishing three depositions in one day was a lot, even for me. After dropping Mason off at school, the new curtains with all their brilliant yellow hew, couldn't brighten or warm the room. It wasn't healthy...my obsession with my son. I've heard it said that a mother's love is a bond that even the most brilliant scientists can't explain, but there was more than just love for my son that consumed me. He was my whole world. My sun, moon, and stars. All that was bright and beautiful existed in Mason's smile. Even thinking about him now brought a soft smile to my face. Such an angelic creature born of my own mistake. How did I get so lucky?

I yawned as I stood from my desk. Another hour and I'd need to catch the bus in order to arrive on time to meet Mason when school let out. Time enough for a quick nap. I'd certainly need it before my shift at Bilko's. Speaking of which I'd need to make sure to leave some cash for Becky, the girl who live down the hall who watches...Mason....on...the...weekend....

It was warm. Warm like I hadn't felt in a long time. Warm like the summer breeze on the beaches in the Caribbean. My parents ad I had vacationed there was I was ten. It had been the best summer of my youth. Running up and down the shores in my bare feet, feeling the white sand squish between my toes. The tropical scents were overwhelming.

So...why did I smell them now?

Opening my eyes I was startled to see a blue sky above my head. Sitting up abruptly, I heard my own gasp as I found myself sitting, not on the ugly tweed couch in my living room, but on the same white-shore in the Caribbean. But...no...not the same. The sand was almost gold and the water was nearly green. I'd have though it a dream had it not felt so overwhelmingly real.

I stood on shaky legs. My feet were bare and instead of my jeans and sweater I was wearing a white satin dress. My arms were bare exposing my skin to more of that glorious warm breeze. My first step toward the water was hesitant, but the second and third were a more rapid pace. How I longed to touch the water. It looked crisp and wonderful and when I reached it I found it more wonderful than I imagined.

At first touch it was cold, but when the second wave touched my skin it was smooth and warm. I laughed. I couldn’t help it. It was as though, from the moment my eyes opened, a bubble had begun to form in my chest and as I opened my mouth out came a high pitched laughter. The first time I’d laughed sincerely for a long time.

A childlike energy overcame me and I found myself running along the shoreline allowing the water to splash against me as the rolling waves crested the beach. The air was so rich and smooth in my lungs I swallowed it hungrily, allowing it to fill me completely. When I couldn’t run any longer, I turned my back to the water and began climbing the sandy hill. When I reached the peak, I saw there was a dense tree line bordering the small cove I had awoken on. The trees were tall and the leaves were broad. Some sort of tropical, but I couldn’t place them. It was then, as I took my first step onto the grassy floor of the Eden that I began to think.


Where was I? How had I gotten here? My last memory was laying down on the couch at home and falling asleep. But…this wasn’t a dream, was it?

I picked a flower from a nearby bush. It was a ruby red and nearly glowed the color was so rich. I smelled it. A fragrance I had never smelled, but one so lovely I closed my eyes to savor it a moment longer. No. This couldn’t be a dream! But that meant only one thing. I must have died.

I must be dead.

Destanie

I had come back from shopping, bored and dreading to go home to find that my parents weren't even there. I was glad I had got my key. I unlocked the door, trudging through and glad mum and dad weren't there. It made it easier to relax when I was at home by myself. I raided the fridge, walking into the shiny metallic kitchen that reflected light everywhere. I grabbed a coke and a piece of chocolate cake, closing the fridge with my foot as I walked into the loungeroom. I sat on the couch, kicking off my flats and turning on the TV. There was some moving on, a pirate one. I recognised it as Pirates of the Caribbean. I watched it for a while, beginning to yawn. I started to feel very sleepy but couldn't be bothered to turn off the TV. As I was about to get up and go to bed I must have dozed off because I never moved.
I woke slowly, rolling over. I could feel grainy sand underneath mne and I opened my eyes immediately. I looked around me. I seemed to be on an island of some sort. grey blue water surrounded me, on a white sandy beach. I stood up and looked down at my clothes. I was wearing three quarter jean cutoffs and a powder blue singlet. The land around me was beautiful but for some reason I felt less happy here. I was freaking out. The sun was hidden suddenly and I looked up to see storm clouds collecting. Thunder cracked and then it started raining, soaking me almost immediately. I ran up the sand dunes to find shelter. There was a tropical forest up here and I ran for the shelter of the trees.

Hanging my bag in my locker, I passed by several attendees before I reached the back room. None of them bothered to say hello, offer a goodnight or even a smile, knowing that I wouldn’t either. Social interaction was not in my job description.

The room farthest in the back, past the locker room and offices, was a renovated storage closet the doctors used as a bedroom when they were on twenty-four hour call. It was easier to sleep here than to try to drive home. The city streets were bad enough without trying to fight afternoon traffic. Besides, with my luck I’d be called in the moment my hand touched the doorknob to my apartment. Those days were always fun.

Turning the light out and shutting the door, I lay down on the makeshift cot. We used hospital sheets and blankets. They itched so I pushed them onto the floor and stuffed my arm under the pillow. Closing my eyes I could smell bleach, dirty mop water, and the humidity from the boiler room next door. In an odd way, they were perfect descriptors of my life: bleach…mop water…humidity.

Grass?

It smelled like…grass? Taking a deeper breath I was certain of it this time. There was definitely a strong scent of fresh grass. Not the manufactured grass they kept in parks or even front lawns. But the crisp clean grass of the northwest. The kind that grew without restraint. It smelled so clean. It was soft.

Soft?

Opening my eyes with a start, I shot up from where I was laying. Trees. Flowers. Bushes. Grass. This certainly wasn’t what I had expected. I took nearly ten minutes to completely examine my surroundings. The surrounding flora seemed a cross between Brazilian jungle and New England forestry. The reds, greens and golds were stunning. With the overhanging sun, the forest floor was stained a mixture of colors.

It was quiet. I didn’t hear any animals. There was a barely audible wind as it rustled the trees. Taking another deep breath I reclined onto my back again. As if on cue, the sun fell directly on me making my entire body feel warm. The grass was thick and soft. The sun warm. Yawning, not out of tiredness, but out of contentment, I closed my eyes and let the environment consume me.

Despite the odd situation and location I now found myself, my mind was strangely completely still. No distinct thoughts or apparent questions. In truth I didn’t care. I was warm, and relaxed…and it was quiet. Like I’d never experienced before. I was content. So much so it almost hurt. But it was quiet. Hmm