Winter's cold breeze gives what it takes, and we were set on a single floor house with a courtyard in between. Generations come with a different number of children. Grandma had three: my father, my uncle and my aunt. My father had two, my uncle and aunt each had three themselves. At that time we were eight grandchildren, two male, six female. Grandma got sick and lost her ability to move, or talk, or even to breathe. But sickness respected the light in her eyes. It was Sofia's birthday, the firstborn of my aunt. And she was always particularly connected to Grandma, she looked a lot like her when she was young. That day, instead of cake or alcohol, we had numerous gnostic and catholic rituals to wave her soul away. She held on to us until she heard the last words from all of her grandchildren. I told her that I loved her and that there's nothing to fear. She was spirit strong, that led to a successful fifty year marriage, 'til death did them apart. 

We kept her for another day in the deathbed, her sisters came from the city with their children (all grown ups) and some of their grandchildren that were close to her. They all waved goodbye to a peaceful looking beautiful corpse. It wasn't agonic to anybody, but it was kind of sad to all of us. She had a glass stand filled with toy frogs and ornamental frogs. That was her leap. I closed my eyes and saw essential light spores jumping with grace taking the form of a frog straight to a big white star. Then it was all tears and liquid laments. 

The discovery day came with the funerary service taking the body case of my grandma away. Between the wrinkles left on the bed, I found an egg. And it began cracking lightly. A little amphibian face looked at me, with the same look grandma gave me when I told her not to be afraid. It was kinda like a frog with little feathers on it. The sky outside the window was clear. And I thought clearly for the first time in days. I took the feathered frog within my hands, we heated. It tried to jump, but was still a little baby creature with no developed survival abilities. I took it to the roof where I looked at the stars. I lived on a city with no visible sky, and I loved to see the sky every time I visited my grandparents. For the time we were there, the feathered frog and I, taking a deep look to the shiniest stars, it had developed greater feathers with a golden tint on the tiny hair that feathers have. It jumped from my hands and expanded a hummingbird like wings, landed on my cheek and whispered to my ear in some language foreign to mankind. I took it with my hands once more, it stared into my eyes, gave me a smile and flew away into the sky with gracious movements until it was just a tiny spot disappearing between the stars. 

That moment I realised that stars are alive. And I also realised that my Grandma is a big one, the one that looks like a feathered frog, always in a leap. 

I want to write something that's going to outlive me

something that'll stand after we've met our destiny

it calls for me

it drives me

it kills me

it is an addiction

that has traction

in my head

cause the theory is

if I just keep writing

surely something will stick.

I've watched you grow up. You used to be so small. Remember that? Remember when we used to go running through the giant oak trees in your back yard, the ones that would drop millions of acorns? Your mom would give you a quarter for every bucket you filled with acorns. We'd start to fill as many as we could, but then you got distracted and tried to make a fort out of leaves, and when you'd get frustrated that it wasn't working the  way you wanted it to, we jumped and stomped through the pile, spreading the leaves and more acorns through the yard.

Remember how stormy it used to get in the summers, and how you were terrified of the thunder? You used to dive under your blankets whenever the lightning would flash, squishing your ears and your eyes so that the only thing you could sense was me. I'd keep you company on those long, loud nights when you couldn't sleep. 

And when you stayed up so late doing homework every night in high school? I tried to get you back, tried to distract you from that boring stuff so we could have fun again. It'd been so long since we'd done anything fun like we used to. I was starting to forget. You must have, too.

You stopped listening to me. You started taking something to "help your focus", to tune me out. You only caught glimpses of me when you hadn't slept for days, or when you had too much caffeine. Even then, I don't think you recognized me. 

You've gotten so big now. You're doing something important, I guess. Too important to have fun with me anymore. Too important to remember. 

I remember when I used to be important. 

Hello. If you're reading this, I have no idea what happened to me, but it can't have been good. I'm sitting alone in a dusty barn. I woke up here. My skin is riddled with cuts and bruises, I'm starving, and I have no idea where I am or who brought me here, but at least I'm not laying bleeding in the street. Not a whole lot of people can claim that today. 

I'm scared. I'm sure that's a perfectly reasonable thing to be, but I'm not as scared as I should be. My heart doesn't seem to be racing and I have no intention to panic, which is strange. I'm really a naturally anxious person and this is definitely a situation that should cause some anxiety. My mind feels sluggish. Maybe I hit my head? It feels alright. For now, all I can do is write. Write and hope someone finds this and finds me. 

Honestly, the only thing I feel is my stomach pinching. My wounds don't hurt all that bad, but I'm afraid to move much. I have to be in shock. What does one do to stop being in shock? I certainly don't know, but I'm not complaining for now. 

-

Hello again. I just tried standing up for the first time. Surprisingly, my legs work fine and I can walk slowly. I'm really getting hungry now. It's almost sunset and I wonder if I should go out and try to find food. If I'm in a barn, there should be food nearby, right? 

I just realized that maybe you don't even know what happened. I'm not exactly sure what happened either, but all I know is that, across the world, graveyards erupted. Zombies rose from the ground and attacked people left and right. I know it sounds just like a zombie movie, but it's not so cliché and funny when it's actually happening to you. 

I'm going outside to see if I can get my bearings. Hopefully I'll live to write another line.

- 

Ok. I'm getting more scared now. There weren't any zombies outside, but it's getting really dark and I didn't see any other buildings. I heard some people a little while off and I tried to call out, but I couldn't speak properly. I think my throat is damaged. I need to get to those people. Maybe they can help me. Wish me luck. 

-

Hello. I'm alright. But this is the last time I'm writing. I found the people and I think I'm going to be safe. There's no reason to keep telling you my story. There's a lot of people here, maybe 12-15, and we're pretty isolated so no one will bother me. I don't need to worry about supplies either. They have plenty of stuff. I dread the next time I'll have to leave to find food, but that shouldn't happen for a while.

Their bodies will last me a good long time before I have to hunt again.

     Falling to her knees, Acirema wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth. Many times she had been beaten, and many times she had gotten back up. Servitude seemed her only reality. Desperation settled in, but beneath each heartbeat nestled the sound of hope. King Dlanod laughed. She expected this.

     "My porridge was too cold. How can you expect me to eat it cold?”

Mustering the strength to stand, the young dwarf looked her king in the eyes as she moved to the bowl. In his anger, he had tipped it over. Hurriedly wiping up the mess, she dabbed the blood from her latest slap as she collected the utensils that had fallen around his routine seating arrangement.

     “Perhaps your porridge might taste better if you hadn't banned all the elves from our kingdom, sire? They cooked. We dwarves are miners and smiths, not short order chefs. Don't you remember the feasts you once had?”

     The orange ogre turned and slapped Acirema to the ground again. The wooden bowl flung across the room, skidding along the way. Shaking it off, the dwarf moved one knee at a time until she slowly collected the bowl and spoon she dropped from his attack.

     “You are not my advisor,” he sneered. “I do what must be done for this kingdom in order to provide peace, security and freedom. The elves, gnomes, and fairies got in my way. You're lucky. I loathe your race. But you do as you're told so I keep them around. Look at this nation now. The orcs, ogres, and goblins shall proposer under my intelligence! Everyone else can get in line or be destroyed.”

     Moving to the nearby window, the dwarf servant peered outside. The second sun was rising. Though she could barely make out the faces of those below her, she sensed something in each person making their way about life ... hope. A glimmer resonated through each step taken. And though many of them were headed to work on the great stone wall King Dlanod enforced as a tribute, the unity his reign cemented among the many tribes reassured her all was not lost. 

     Whips cracked. Chains clanked. But the music they produced formed a new beat in her heart; a rhythm in her soul. She called it freedom. Thinking of her former king, Amabo, she knew a leader could be wise and kind. In this moment she thought of her people.

     Looking back at her beastly ruler on her way to the kitchen, Acirema smiled. Things were changing. Perhaps she wouldn't be beaten down forever. Perhaps, if those people felt the same as she did, together they could make a difference. She rounded the corner and entered the chef’s quarter humming the tune of days to come. For now, she had to make the porridge ...

Spikes of fight or flight

flash through his mortal

sac of skin and regrets;

dragging screaming ghosts,

a thousand aborted retorts

and words that befell deaf ears.

The same rictus grin grimaces

back, a thousand-fold from the

hall of mirrors in his oily mind,

assuring all that he is fine.

No, really. These bats flutter

around me, but they rarely bite.

As Science woke up, she yawned. Stretching, her arm hit a vase and it fell, smashing on the ground. She swore under her breath as she stared at the ashes. Hearing the sound, her mother came into the room.

"Is everything all right?" she asked.

"I accidentally knocked over one of my vases. Now this poor person is all over my floor," Science explained, "It's all your fault. You had to name me Science and doom me to a life of getting dead body donations."

This was an argument they had often and her mother didn't feel like having it again, so she silently left the room. Science sighed and looked around at all her vases. She didn't even know where she would have space to put the next one that arrived. Too young (and grossed out) to know how to productively study a body, Science always sent them to get cremated. Not knowing how else to honor them, they were in vases in her room. After cleaning up, Science did what she did every day -studied the human body with countless books and internet searches. She was determined to one day make good use of the bodies.

Eventually a break was needed, so Science took a walk to the park. She sat on a bench and felt sorry for herself. She still felt bad about the broken vase from that morning. Somebody came and sat next to her. A stranger approached her. He seemed around her age, so she wasn't frightened.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Something about the boy made her want to tell all her secrets. Being named Science, the body donations, the vase breaking this morning -she told him everything. Then she made a few more complaints about her name before quieting down.

"You think your name is weird?" the boy asked, "My parents named me GOD."

"They did not!"

"Oh yes they did," he said, pulling out his driver's license, "They're atheists and thought it would be funny."

"Oh my God!"

"Yes my child?" he said and they both laughed.

"I guess that name would suck too," Science admitted.

"No, it's fun. You just have to take advantage of it. I'm sure you could have a lot of fun with the name Science too. For example, if that was my name, I would never do my science homework. You ARE science -isn't that enough? And those bodies you get -sell them to real scientists. You could make a nice profit."

She laughed, "I never thought of doing those things."

Science's friend Amanda walked over.

"Hey, Amanda, I want you to meet my new friend, God."

"Getting religious these days? Is somebody named Science even allowed to believe in God?"

"Not like that. This is God," she turned her head, "Show her your driver's-"

Science cut herself off. She didn't see God anywhere anymore.

"He was right here," Science told her.

"Are you sure you didn't just make him up to comfort yourself?"

God silently chuckled to himself behind some bushes. Hiding suddenly was one of his favorite ways to mess with people. He loved his name. In life, you have to take advantage of the things granted to you. In death, you might as well donate your body to Science.

My foot tapped with a clear impatience as I waited in the line. I had been here since 6:10 on the dot just so I could get a good spot. Mark that on my list of choices that have taken away twenty minutes of my life I’ll never get back.

I pulled out my pocket watch for what seemed to be the 50th time since arriving at the freak show's entrance. Was it just me, or did the small black needle seem to move slower with each second that I looked at it? Pedestrians seemed to be packed around me, making my skin crawl. God how I couldn’t wait to get my own little bubble of personal space back.

But for now, I was just in the same place they were, waiting for the “closed” sign to flip around and the gates to swing open. The show started at 6:30 but as the seconds ticked on ever so slowly my restlessness seemed to get worse somehow, along with my thread of patience. Kids around me screamed and giggled, chasing one another as they weaved through the line. Mothers and fathers barked at them to be on their best behavior, threatening them with whatever punishment deemed to be fit.

Thank God I planned on being single for the rest of my life.

At last, to my relief, the creaking sound of the gate opening rang throughout the entire back lot, bringing silence among the citizenry. As quickly as that relief came, though, it was instantly replaced by disgust and horror.

An old man unsteadily making his way out of the fog on a thin cane hobbled his way out, head down as he bit his lip in concentration. Grey rags of what might have used to be a pinstripe suit clung to his frail frame, bones jutting out where gaping tears revealed pale skin that was tight with wrinkles. Everything about him seemed to be sharp and precise, not a single curve on him. His gray beard speckled with some hairs of white swayed as he walked, whipping around in the frigid wind, a few strands still left on the top of his head.

Seeing him was like a ghost from a horror story coming to life.

There was a pause between him stopping and opening his mouth. Since his appearance was chilling enough I immediately prepared myself for a demon to fly out of him or black smoke to pour out. “So sorry for the wait everyone,” he croaked, voice hoarse like air rushing over sandpaper, “I have a horrid time trying to find my way around here.”

Lifting his head, I managed to bite back my gasp unlike everyone else. Instead of normal eyes with two colored irises, wide orbs of white gazed at nothing. Red arteries lined the edges that even being a good five feet away was obvious, leading to the bulging scars that inflamed the tissue of his eye sockets. Faintly there was the gray outline of a circle that may at one time been a membrane of his delicate pupil. Just looking at him made shivers trail up and down my spine.

“Now there's a surprise,” he gave a just about toothless grin, only a few brown teeth that scattered along his gums were visible, “No children are crying this time. But I assume I have everyone's attention at the moment, right?”

Some people, so stricken with shock, just managed a slow nod. Obviously, their brains still didn't process the man was most likely blind and a nod would do no good. Since I seemed to be the only one not shaking like an infant, I cleared my throat and let out a loud, “Right you are sir!”

Quicker than my eye could follow he whipped his cane around to point at me. Every person around me jumped back a foot or two but I stood firm, stuffing my hands into my pockets. “Here's a courageous fellow,” he cackled, poking me with the end of it, “What would you happen to be looking for at a humble little freak show like this, hmm...?”

It seemed almost like a trick question as those pure white spheres in his sockets bore into me. Even though I know he couldn't see it, I smirked. “I'm looking for a display of just how creative God can be. Curiosity may have killed the cat but I'm still alive after all of my searchings, aren't I?”

He gave a raspy laugh and reached up to thump me on the shoulder. “You're a brave man I'll give you that,” the corner of his mouth twitched up slightly, “A stupid one at that, but still brave.” He bowed his head and gestured back towards the gate with a crooked finger. “There are creatures in there the devil himself shrinks away from. Monsters of nightmares. Freaks that haven't seen the light of day. They despise people like you, ones who look at them like animals. Go in there,” he lifted his chin, smile gone, “And your life will change forever. I can’t promise you that no harm will come.”

That unsettling feeling was returning quick, whispers of startled guests ringing around me like a church bell chiming as the hour struck. I should have turned and run. I should have decided to just leave it be and go home. I should have listened to the clear warning. But my pride, steadfast and as strong as diamonds, led me to chuckle.

“What do you think I'm here for?”

He started to laugh again, this time, a bit more obnoxious. It was raspy, like a cat that couldn't get a furball out of its esophagus. It was pretty enjoyable until he was coughing for air, struggling to keep breathing. Spit flew out of his mouth, spraying anyone unfortunate to be in a two feet radius of him. One of the women whacked him on the back as she freaked out three times with her purse. To everyone's, including myself, surprise a brown wrinkled tooth flew out and onto a child's hand. I muffled the sound of my own laughter as the little girl screamed and flung it away, wiping at her hand as if she was now infected.

The man managed to catch his breath, leaning on his cane for support as one of his gnarled hands clutched his knee. As he did, he lifted his head so his milky eyes could stare up at me once again. “Go inside then ye young wanderer,” he gave a toothless grin, “Go inside and come out changed forever. Old Man Pete will watch over ye.”

With a pat on my shoulder, he limped to the front of the line and slammed his cane on the front of the gate. “Y’all heard me! Welcome to the land of God's rejects!”

The slender spirit of your soul paid me a visit tonight. I know you’ve never been about the manners, but eh, it didn’t even bother to knock. The sneaky spirit of your soul broke into my castle – it swam my waters of Reason and defeated my Knights of Conscious.

I was high. Up there.

Even the tower of Sleep failed as a suitable shelter.

Your army of memories wounded my peace with Solitude, and put us to sleep in the Nostalgic Lands with fallen hearts, broken loves, and cracked promises.