I work from the tenth story in a skyscraper in New York. I may have a nice office with a corner window, but it doesn't make the work any less boring. And a girl has a to find a way to entertain herself.

I always had a bout load of paperwork--the majority of which was useless. So, about three months ago, I started to send paper airplanes out the window. At first, it was just a few a day. Maybe two or three.

Then, someone started to send some back to me. Just two to three a day.

Over time, I grew to wonder who this mystery pilot was. So, I changed from sending useless paperwork to letters.

He sent letters back.

The more and more letters he sent, the more and more curious I became. Day dreams about who this mystery man was filled my mind. Perhaps, he was a sensitive kindergarten teacher? Or a power hungry wall street wolf? Maybe an ex-con looking for a new life? Maybe he was actually a pilot? Slowly, I began to fall in love with him.

At last, I worked up the courage to send a letter asking him out. But I never got a reply.

I never thought my heart could be broken by a man I've never met.

Death...

How do I want to die?

I don't want to die in my sleep...

I don't want to die of something like a heart attack or a stroke...

I don't want to die from cancer...

I don't want to get my ass murdered.....or any other part of me murdered

I don't want to lose control of this fight because I don't want anyone to think it's their fault.

I want to die of old age. Eventually, I just won't be able to go on even if I wanted to. All the people who put their time in and effort into me will be gone and won't be able to mourn. Eventually, I'll be alone. I want to die and not expect it but not have it be fault...

I don't want to choose but if I have to I want to die of old age because that means you have to give me a reason to work towards being able to live that long. Death...I'm not afraid of you....so make me afraid enough to not want you. If we're all going, to be honest here, Death make me want to wait to meet you.

One of the worst things a person can do to you is break your trust in them. I know because it has happened to me many times by the same person.

You probably think its my own fault for having taken them back into my trust after the first couple of times they betrayed it, but anyone out there who is in an intimate relationship knows that a relationship can't survive long without trust. So, it was try to trust again or watch the relationship fall apart due to nagging doubt. I chose to trust again and the relationship still fell apart, not from doubt, but from the certainty that the person I was with is a borderline sociopath.

Unfortunately, the years of never knowing if my trust was misplaced or not left me with a terrible hangover. It got to be that I started to second guess everything I thought was real. Did I just misplace that item or did someone take it? Is it possible that I forgot to mail that check? Am I sane, or insane? Doubting your own reality is a terrible feeling and one that is sure to leave you vulnerable to people who would like to exploit that weakness. It is what I call crazy making.

I am sure that there are people out there who purposelly drive you into thinking that you can't trust your own perceptions in order to control you. This is a cruel and heartless manipulation that can have lasting damaging effects. Not only does it make it difficult to form new relationships as you are suspicious of everyone for fear of being hurt again, you can't trust yourself to be sure that what you think is right, is right. This leaves you in a constant state of doubt and confusion when it would be preferable to just know that the person you are dealing with is a rat skunk and that your precious , heartfelt secrets or what ever it is that is important to you, is gone forever. That is infinately better than constantly wondering if they will turn up again someday or if so and so doesn't already know that you said they are fat. To not know is to be in a state of limbo where nothing can move forward.

In order to grow and thrive in this world you must be able to trust, not only others but your own truth. To be able to trust and keep trusting is a gift that is not to be underrated, so count yourself lucky if you are one who can still trust freely without fear.

“One of you…” I glared at my suspects. “Committed murder.”

My lightning and thunder sound effect flashed and crackled outside the window. All my guests cranked their heads in suspense at it.

Together, the three of us were all huddled around a wooden table in a castle I inherited from my recently deceased uncle. Mold bloomed from each and every crack, making it a HHS nightmare. That’s right, I know acronyms.

“This is ridiculous!” Professor NutsWorth declared, slamming his hands down on the table. “I have an alibi!”

“Okay, first off. This is hand carved mahogany, don’t slam your filthy paws on it. Second off, I didn’t say when yet.”

He sunk back in his chair. “I’ve just always out with friends.” He mumbled to himself. “I’m popular, people like me. That’s more than I can say for your lonely ass. Oh, look at me! I’m Inspector Manta! I solve crimes for a living.” He mocked. “And my wife divorced me because I spent too many hours at the office! Well sorry, Martha, your knitting isn’t going to pay the bills so someone has to!”

“Professor, you’re confusing your life with mine. I’m ace. And your wife divorced you because you slept with a student. Also, because your last name is NutsWorth, and let’s face it: no one can live like that.”

“I live like that.”

“Yeah but, do you really think you should be used as an example on how others should live their lives? Your wife just left you.”

The professor sunk even deeper into his chair.

“Moving on… to the murder!” The thunder boomed again.

“Inspector Manta,” Clarisse spoke up. “If you’re going to accuse one of these losers, can you hurry up and do it already? I’m an appointment at the nail salon.”

“Well, sorry Clarissa—”

“It’s Clarisse.”

“Well, sorry, Clarissa. Yeah, that’s right, I didn’t correct myself. Don’t tell me how to live my life. Now, you and your Starbucks-loving, basic white butt are just going to have to sit themselves down until the murderer sings like the yellow canary I had in second grade before it was, coincidentally, murdered.”

Thunder clapped outside.

“Is that synced up to go off every time you say murder?” Clarisse asked.

Lightning flashed a yes. Literally. I anticipated this question and programmed it so that if anyone other than me says ‘murder’ it will spell out yes. My genius, it’s boundless.

“So, why are we suspects of this murder to begin with?” Martha inquired as she stepped inside from the pouring rain outside. As I saw the lightning illuminate the outside world in the letters “yes”, I realized the mistake in my coding. Manta! You fool! No wonder your parents named you after a sea pancake! Or was it a flounder?

“Sorry I’m late, I was just making a big...Ah...knitting sale.” Martha apologized.

“Martha?!” Professor NutsWorth cried out. His face turned a deep red. “Wha—what are you doing here?”

She pointed at me. “This bimbo thinks I actually killed someone.” Scoffing, she added. “Like I would actually get caught.”

“Martha, I know you strangled my uncle to death with that insanely strong knitted scarf.”

She shrugged. “But can you prove it?”

I turned back to the table. “No, I cannot. Doesn’t matter anyway, he forgot to get me a gift card for my tenth birthday so I never loved him anyway. He’s not why we’re all gathered here now.”

“So why don’t you tell us instead already!” Clarisse exclaimed. “Who died?”

“My feelings!” I exclaimed.

Clarisse stared at me for a second, trying to tell if I was actually being serious. Realizing I was being as serious as Santa is real—because he is—then stood up. “Yeah, I’m out.”

“No!” I shouted. “No one is leaving until I find out who the murderer is!”

“There is no murderer since there was no murder!” Clarisse argued.

“Not one that can be proved at least.” Martha mumbled under her breath.

Clarisse continued to head to the door. “I said stop!” I bellowed with about as much authority as the student council has.

From underneath the table, I flipped a switch and initiated total lock down of the building. Sheets of metal slammed down and sealed every window, door, and mouse hole in the joint. No one was getting in or out.

“No one is leaving until I find out who the murderer is!”

“But,” Clarisse whined. “My nail appointment!”

“Sit back down!” I ordered.

She trudged back over to her seat.

Dramatically, I slapped a piece of paper onto the table and raised a curious eyebrow. “Well, that was certainly dramatic.” Martha remarked.

“Thank you. I went to drama camp as a kid. I think it really paid off.”

“Hey, was it the one in River Deli?”

“Yeah, with infected kidney shaped pool and flesh-eating algae?”

“Oh, I went there as a kid! Man, in my day, they had twice has much flesh-eating algae before you kids got spoiled with your ‘health codes’.”

“Would you two stop talking about glorified daycares for teens and explain why the frick that paper is so important!”

“Easy,” I flipped over the paper to reveal the words ‘KICK ME’ on the other side. “Someone taped this to my back yesterday and I wanna know who!”

“Are you kidding me?” Clarisse demanded. “This is why you’re still keeping us here?”

“It really hurt my feelings!”

“Oh, stuff them in a jar and get over it already!”

“That’s toxic masculinity!” I cried. “Guys are allowed to cry at the end of rom-coms now! It’s a revolution!”

I folded my hands and stared dead across the table. “Moving on, you all have the means and motive to plant this ‘KICK ME’ sign.” I turned my head to the side and dramatically gazed out the window like I was in the sad part of a rom-com. “Yesterday, we were all attending Devin’s ‘Totally Awesome End of the Year, If You Don’t Go I’ll Sleep with Your Mother’ Party.”

Clarisse nodded. “Yeah, it was totally awesome.”

Professor NutsWorth lowered his head. “I think he still slept with my mother anyway.”

“Anyway, each of you has a motive. Professor NutsWorth, I wore your shirt without asking. Clarissa, I stopped you from making another one of your nail appointments.”

“And I’d cut you if my nails were fine enough to cut skin. But, unfortunately, I couldn’t make it to that appointment!” She added.

“And Martha, I know you murdered my uncle.” I clapped my hands. “Then! All of you each approached me last night—and gave me a pat on the back.” I stood up and paced around the table. “Perhaps to tell me I was doing a good job managing my professional and personal lives, a balance not many can accomplish—”

“Yeah, there was a spider on your back.” Clarisse corrected.

“He just kept coming back.” Professor NutsWorth tacked on.

“Someone might have put spider bait on the sign.”

“Wait.” I paused. “Why would you say they put spider bait on the sign?”

“Because the sign was already on you when we hit the spider.” Clarisse and the professor answered in sync.

I stroked my chin. “That could only leave one person! Martha!” I spun around to face her. “Did you—”

Martha held up a hand. “Imma stop you right there. I’m the one who put that sign on you. However, I didn’t do it to hurt your feelings.”

“Then why Martha?” My eyes brimmed with tears as I whispered. “Why?”

“It wasn’t intentional. I simply mistook you for Professor Nutty over there. You were wearing his shirt.”

“Well, Martha, I hate to do this, but you are uninvited to my birthday party!”

“Oh, I doubt you will make it to your next birthday.”

“What? Why?”

“Because the poison will have killed you by then.”

“Wha.”

“I mean it was a good to honest mistake really. I put some poison the tape. When you took it off, it seeped their your skin. Judging my the growing blue-ness of your neck, I’d say you have about a minute before you drop dead.”

I placed my hand on my hips. “Well, Martha, I hate to do this even more than before, but you are uninvited to my funeral!”

That was the last thing I said before my body hit the floor.

“So, does anyone know how to get out of here?”

My breath catches in my throat as I make eye contact, yet not with my crush, no it's with a random average looking stranger as I walk down the hallway alone.

The prospect of being alone in a crowd or alone in general so loomingly terrifying. The mere thought of stranger eyes watching my every move and judging the way I breathe or smile invokes inescapable horror and petrification.

Yet here I sit, alone. At a lunch table in the quad, my 'friends' all inside, warm and happy.

But still, here I sit, raindrops falling onto my computer keys that soak into my half-frozen fingers as I type, my jeans slowly soaking up the cold and water.

Something as simple and juvenile as them filling up the seats at the lunch table so I'm at the end with the wannabes made it hard for me to breath, my eyes filling with liquid though I don't personally feel sad or wronged.

My brain shut off as I try to smile to the girl across from me who everyone shuns for her annoying laugh and constant self-deprivation. The girl next to me launching into a rant about orchestra that my ears shut out, my brain spinning in circles, trying to go back to its normal extroverted function.

The only solution my turned around brain can come up with is to grab my bag and blue lunch pail and run.

I plopped into the seat like a tired bird on its home perch. I can finally breathe again, sweet oxygen filling my lungs and calming my twitching heart and shaking hands.

One girl stands and with a smirk flips her hair and sits back down, the rain streaming down the glass making her appear as though she is crying the tears that pour down my face with those of the sky.

She just did it again, all of my friends giggle and laugh at me, their laughs ringing in my ear though I can't hear anything besides the gears grinding in my brain. My breath hitches again and I can feel my heart galloping like horses fresh out of the racing gates.

I must seem pretty strange on the outside I suppose, a hulking log of a girl bowing to tiny twig-like Queen Bees with their little shoulders, short statures and mean but submissive tendencies.

How awfully peculiar it must be to see a lumberingly clumsy girl in her maroon rain jacket, her long fingers moving nimbly and frantically across the keys of her water dotted computer, her jeans 3 shades darker as they soak in rain and tears, with not even a shiver wracking her body, but great heaving breathes gulping in oxygen that doesn't seem to be doing its job.

How very very peculiar I suppose, how fantastically peculiar.

Alan had always been just a face in the crowd and he preferred it that way. He stood out to nobody and could go about his day like a normal person. But he wasn’t a normal person.

Taking a deep breath, Alan stepped out off the step of the store and into the semi crowded street. He pulled the sleeves of his red jacket down over his hands and tucked them into his pockets. He kept his head down and walked, weaving in and out of people.

He hated crowded streets the most. Too many people, too many chances of physical contact. He pulled up short as an older lady brushed against him with a quiet “excuse me.” It had been an involuntary stop but he found himself holding his breath, waiting for the visions to fill his head. After a few seconds of nothing, he continued walking, his hands shaking.

He looked up just in time to dodge a street vendor who was pushing his cart and not noticing where he was going. Pressing his back against the brick wall of a flower shop, he sucked his gut in, trying his back to stay away from the moving cart.

“Seriously?” he snapped at the man after he had gone by. “Pay attention to where you’re going.”

“Sorry!” the man yelled over his shoulder.

Alan’s cheeks blushed, not knowing that the man had seen him. He was an older man, slightly bent from pushing his cart for so many years. He was on the shorter side, his grey mop of hair barely visible above the stack of material on the cart.

For a moment, Alan felt bad about snapping at him but the feeling was gone the moment an older woman grabbed him by the collar and ripped him away from the wall.

Where did she come from? he wondered as she threw him into the middle of the sidewalk. He stumbled for a split second before finding his footing. How is she so strong?

“What are you doing?” she yelled at him, greying hair tucked behind her ears. “I just painted that wall!”

He could hear her but he couldn’t see her. All he saw was black and for a moment, he didn’t know what was happening even though it had happened many times before. The edge of her knuckles were against his throat, just enough contact for him to see something he didn’t want to.

A white hospital room surrounded him, several posters about pregnancy and childbirth surrounded him. A happy laugh reached his ears and he turned, looking for the source of it. A middle aged woman lay on the white sheeted bed, a tiny baby crawled in her arms. Its eyes were squeezed close and it held the woman’s thumb in its tiny fist. A man stood at the side of the bed, a happy smile on his face.

“He looks just like you,” the woman said quietly.

“Does he?” he gave a small laugh as he reached out the stroke the baby’s soft head. “What name have you decided on?”

She smiled as she held the baby close to her. “Jason.”

Alan jerked back from the woman, eyes wide. She let go of him, leaving a slight wrinkle in his jacket. He looked at her confused.

“Make sure you didn’t get any paint on your nice jacket,” she said, turning to leave. She was obviously satisfied with the lecture she’d given him even though he’d heard none of it.

“Your son, Jason-” he blurted. She stopped and turned.

“What about him?” she asked, eyes dark and narrowed.

“Um, so his name was Jason?” he asked.

She nodded slowly. “Do you know him?”

He shook his head no before turning and heading back down the sidewalk. He straightened his jacket and zipped it up the whole way. Pulling his hood over his head, his brushed his red hair out of his face and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

A couple minutes later he stood at the base of a fifteen story apartment building. He looked up, stepping back a couple feet to see the top floor. He listened, straining his ears for any sound of music. For a moment, he heard nothing but then, he did. It was a quiet and dainty sounding song that floated through the air slowly, like a lazy snowflake.

With a small smile, he pushed open the metal gate at the bottom and entered, heading for the elevator. He tapped his foot impatiently against the ground as the elevator went up. The button for the 15 floor glowed red telling him where his destination was.

After five seconds of screeching chords and cables, the elevator came to a stop and opened up to the dimly lit floor. He stepped out and headed towards the roof access, hearing the squeak of the doors closing behind him. Taking the rusted metal stairs two at a time, he quickly climbed the twelve stairs and opened the door to the roof.

There was a small wooden platform on the far end of the roof that was about a foot and a half off the ground, serving as a chair and table for those who liked to eat on the roof. For the boy that was laying on it, it served as a bed.

“Vernon!” Alan yelled, lowering his voice.

The boy jerked up, eyes wide, startled. When he saw Alan’s laughing face, he grinned but the paleness of his face remained.

“What do you want?” he called to him, still laughing.

“I was waiting for Ari to return with the food,” he answered, turning the music down.

Alan slid onto the wooden platform and layed out on it, staring up at the white clouds in the sky.

“What’s she getting?” he asked with a sigh. He stretched, finally feeling safe from the flashbacks of strangers.

“Fried chicken,” Vernon flipped through his playlists as the current song ended. “Are you hungry?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, sitting up. “But why are you here?”

“To hang out,” he answered. “Mom and Dad left for a business trip for the next week so I’mma be here a little bit more.”

Alan sighed and rested his hands in his lap. He sat cross legged, slightly slouched. He listened to the song that Vernon had chosen for a moment. It was more upbeat than the last one, the beat in the back more subtly than before.

“Is this the best song you’ve got?” he asked, looking at his friend out of the corner of his eye. The mousy blond boy gave a small laugh. His green eyes always seemed to sparkle, but in the sunlight, they looked to have flecks of brown and black in them.

“No,” he answered, looking at Alan. “This is just the one I thought fit the mood.”

The door at the far end of the roof swung open and Ari appeared, carrying two plastic white bags. She kicked the door shut behind her with her foot and held the bags up victoriously.

“I’ve got the goods!” she proclaimed, dropping them down between Vernon and Alan.

Ari, who was Alan’s twin, looked exactly like him only she was a girl. Her red hair was shoulder blade length, brushing against her arms and high back with every step she took. Her brown eyes were also lit up as she sat down behind the two boys and opened the bags up.

“Chicken for you,” she set a medium box in front of Vernon. “And chicken for you.”

She handed a box to Alan.

“Oh, I see how it is,” he said, taking it from her. He held the box with both hands, the sleeves of the jacket stilled pulled over his hands. The last thing he wanted to get a flashback from was a chicken box from some street corner shop.

“Did you see anything?” Vernon asked, leaning forward, forgetting about his chicken for a moment.

Alan set the box down and displayed his sweater paws to Vernon. “No.”

The boy turned to Ari, “And you?”

“The bags are going to be recycled and the money I gave the cashier is going to be handed to some college girl with the clearest skin I’ve ever seen,” she said, taking a bite of her chicken. “Or just a really good makeup job.”

“And how is that helpful?” he looked at her scornfully before taking a bite of his own chicken.

She leaned over and grabbed the speaker that sat next to him and held down the power button till it turned off. He stared at her wide eyed and then down at his speaker before doing a fake pout.

“No!”

She smiled and slid it away from them. “That’s what you get.”

He leaned back, supporting himself by his hands. He looked at his piece of chicken which he had set back into the container.

“What’s it like?” he asked. “Having abilities and all?”

Alan stopped chewing for a moment, thinking. Ari shrugged.

“It’s nothing big,” she answered. “It’s actually kind of stupid, always seeing someone’s future and not knowing what yours is.”

Vernon turned to Alan, raising an eyebrow.

He thought for a moment, slowing chewing. He swallowed, remembering the first read he had ever done. All he saw was flames and all he felt was a terrible burning all over his body. He had been visiting the hospital to talk to his friend Lucas when he accidentally made contact with a burn patient. He remembered the habits and nightmares that had followed the encounter.

“I... it’s terrible,” he picked up another piece of chicken and studied it before continuing. “I feel what they felt in their worst days, I see what they saw, I experience what they experience and it honestly stinks.”

Vernon raised an eyebrow.

Alan gave a small smile before going back to eating, looking at the chicken leg after taking a bite out of it.

“I wish I had something that made me... special,” Vernon remarked with a shrug. Ari set her chicken down and took a deep breath.

“You are special,” she said, patting his shoulders. “If everyone was special, nobody would be special. We need people like you to exist so people like us can exist and be more special.”

“That was not helpful at all,” he narrowed his eyes and took an exaggerated bite out of his chicken. “That made me feel so much better.”

Alan studied his friend for a moment, watching him. His green eyes that had been lit up earlier seemed to lose a bit of their shine and his face had fallen.

There was something Vernon wasn’t telling them.

This is a rough draft so please excuse any misprints. (I tried lol) Thanks for reading and if you want to be tagged in future chapters, let me know!!

A world were people are accepted

it is beautiful is it not?

a world were gender is simply a word

not a descriptor

were true love is seen as love with concent

were people seek peace

not power

a beautifull world is it not?

so why do we not seek it

346 days ago, I met a boy.

346 days ago, we ate ice cream together.

Mint chip, even though he didn’t like it.

and party city, where he bought me a stuffed owl.

we named it together.

I took it home and told my best friend about him.

About Dr. who... about when he took my hand... when he put his arm around me to move me away from traffic.

About the moment I spread my arms in the sun, and he called me a “Goddess” and I caught him staring at me a few times.

326 days ago, he sang to me. He knew all the words and it impressed me.

we talked about our past, our pain

We bought coloring books and colored pencils and we spent hours coloring with an earbud in each ear, showing each other our favorite music.

We cozied up in a coffee shop and he put his arm around me, I put my head on his shoulder for the first time.

He finally worked up the nerve to kiss me for the first time.

I went home and I told my best friend about how he told me he’d never kissed anyone before.

about how we both giggled before it happened.

How he surprised me with asking to kiss me before he did, and it impressed me.

I told her I couldn’t have written a better love story.

310 days ago, I took him to my favorite coffee shop.

He bought me my favorite coffee.

at his place, I drew a line.

I said no.

310 he didn’t listen.

310 days ago, I went home and told my friend about it.

About how unsure I was about it

about how excited I was for my future with him.

I never told her I said no.

In the following few weeks, he was easy to avoid. I had two jobs, he was in the army, and he had to travel a bit. I cried because I thought I was asexual. What happened was normal. It was what happened at the beginning of relationships, but I hated it. Something had to be wrong with me.

I only saw him one more time. We had what I thought was my dream date. Breakfast, a book store, a movie. The food was good, the book store was perfect, the movie was amazing.

I flinched when he put his arm around me.

I cringed when he told me he loved me.

I didn’t let him kiss me.

And when I went home that night, I told my best friend about it.

“I mean, it sounds like you’re scared of him... did anything happen?”

I start to cry. I couldn’t ignore that it’d happened anymore, and I felt crazy.

My therapist later called it rape. I’m a virgin, so I’m struggling with this. How can I both be a victim and a virgin? How can he be both a boyfriend and an abuser?

310 days ago, I could have cancelled. I could have said no and pushed him off and had a conversation about boundaries... but 310 days ago, I froze. I froze, and it ruined the story.

And that’s it.