What is the point of life? It is so short. We are kids, we grow up, we do what we are told, we get a job, we make a family, we retire, and we die. It is the never-ending circle of human life. Why do we do what is laid out for us? Why do we have governments and power and wars? Why is this a part of our human nature? Why are some people considered to be more important than others? We have lived for centuries like this. Governments rise and fall. People live and die. Why? What is the ultimate goal in life? I have been told it is to be happy. That seems very small, and yet very hard to achieve. I don’t think I know anyone who is truly happy all the time. I don’t think it is possible. The sadness helps us to become real people. We need sadness to be happy. We have to suffer to see how lucky we really are. So if happiness isn’t the meaning of life, then what is? Do we just have to be the best we can be so that we can reach whatever waits for us afterlife? Is this life we are living now just a time of waiting for the real rest of our lives. Does the real rest of our lives ever end? I thought that nothing was truly forever. Maybe afterlife is the one thing that is. If we are just waiting for something better, wouldn’t it be better for us to all just end it now and get there? There must be a point to us being here.

He started at our school last year. No one knows where he came from or who he is. When you are talking to him, he doesn’t always seem like a person. He doesn’t seem very smart and he feels very distant when he is talking to you. It is almost like he knows something you don’t and feels superior to you.

I have always been intrigued by new kids. I have sympathy for them. After all, it wasn’t that long ago that I was the new kid. I also like them because you get to be whoever you want to them. They know nothing about you. It’s like getting a fresh start without the stress of beginning again completely.

It was the first day of seventh grade, and I had the same feeling like I wasn’t real that I get every first day of school. It is like my stomach is filled with air and my brain feels weird almost as if I am looking down at myself. It’s like I am not me and I am inhabiting someone else's body. I am not the usual me, but I don’t know if anyone can tell other than me.

Our teacher seemed very nice and I was looking forward to a good year. Homeroom started about 15 minutes earlier, so I didn’t think that anyone else would be coming when he walked in. He has a dark brown afro that for some reason I found attractive and was wearing a green camo shirt and pants that I, again for some reason, really like.

Like I mentioned before, I am not really myself and the strange space in my head seems to have tons of room to think about the new kid while our teacher explains basically what this year is going to be like and a bit about himself- it was his first year teaching in our school and he was very excited to get to know us all.

I thought about how mysterious the new kid looked- how the whole room seemed to go silent when he walked in- how he didn’t say a word and sat himself down in the back corner of the room. If I had done all that, people would just think I was shy, which I am, but the way he did it had a certain swagger. He seemed confident and mysterious rather than shy and nervous.

The year went on and he seemed to take a liking to me and my group of friends. He would walk up to us and talk to us even though he never felt fully there. Our lockers were diagonal to each other.

Every now and then, he would get “mad” at me. I say it this way because when it would happen, he always wore a smile on his face and laughed. And the smile and the laugh were happy, not filled with anger. They were the kind you would give to express joy, and they thoroughly contradicted what he did. He hit me in the most playful way possible. Like a friend you would get upset with and then nudge carefully, ending the argument, but it wasn’t just a nudge. It really hurt. I would laugh it off and not make a big deal out of it. I prided myself on being one of those girls who always seems laid back and fun and he was not going to ruin that. But I cannot help but wonder what would have happened if I had expressed the pain. Would he have stopped or just hit me harder?

I truly don’t think it was a mean-hearted hit but then again, I didn’t know as much about him then as I do now. I might have thought about the incident in an entirely different light.

The next year, he wasn’t on my team. I will mention now that my mom taught that grade so she had inside information for me.

He wasn’t on her team either which I was thankful for. I can’t imagine the things he could have said to her. Even though we didn’t have any classes together, he still talked to me in the hallways. He never hit me again but the things he said were strange. Coming from someone else's mouth, they may have sounded like a joke, but from his, the words sounded more like a threat. He said things like, “I know where you live.” I couldn’t hear any joking in his tone, or catch a glimpse of that playful smile I once knew.

Sometimes, he would come up behind me at my locker and whisper creepy things in my ear. I never turned around. I already knew who it was. I would say hi and he would be surprised I knew it was him. Then, he would leave. One day, a friend of mine said something about this in front of my mom. Later that day, my mom told me to stay away from him as best I could without making an enemy out of him. She told me that whenever he said things like that to me, I should tell her so that they could inform his therapist. She said it was the best way for me to help him.

This was the first time I knew there was something really wrong with him. I always knew he was different in the distant way he talked but I didn’t know how bad he really was. She told me they think he was/is abused and although that’s horrible and he deserves help and a safe place, she didn’t want me to be involved. His teacher said, “If anyone is going to drag a girl out behind the school and kill her, it will be him.”

Considering how much he seemed to like being around me, this frightened me. He would come over to our table at lunch sometimes, and my friends would be rude to him to get him to go away. I never said anything. I also never told my friends what I knew about him. I’ve gotten used to keeping things from them that my mom tells me. I have insider information on practically my whole grade and no one knows.

Now, I have a boyfriend, and he is strong, handsome, and amazing, and the new kid has begun to leave me alone more. I think he’s scared. He doesn’t talk to me anymore, but I notice the looks he gives me in the hallway when we pass by each other. His eyes travel down my body and then back up to my eyes. I try not to let him know I see this, but I do, and it bothers me. Now, I know to be careful with getting involved with overly confident new kids.

Um, while I've got your attention,

there's something I forgot to mention.

When I was gone on vacation –

and this is not an accusation –

someone altered the bathroom scale.

I weigh one-thirty-three, without fail.

But since I've been home, it's one-forty-three.

I don't know how that could possibly be!

What? Gravity got stronger? It's adding weight?

That explains it. Thank you for setting me straight.

Tall, dark hair, dark eyes-the perfect boy. He knows it too. You can tell. He has this air of confidence about him that most boys do not have-one that is envied by all the shy, nerdy boys you are used to hanging around with. You spot his tattoo almost immediately, the one that will tell you exactly what his soulmate will first say to him. It is written across his arm in small, but bold lettering. It’s almost too easy. You are excited about this one. You know he is not your soulmate. You know there must have been some mistake somewhere because you have become sure that there is no one out there for you. You were made by the universe as a joke. Even Mother Nature has to have some fun. She seems to have chosen you by dumping all the bad luck she can muster on your poor, innocent soul.

“What’s your name?” you ask in the most flirtatious way you can manage.

You see his eyes light up. He glances self-consciously at the tattoo on his arm and angles it away from you so you can’t see it. You pretend not to notice. Your eyes never leave his face. You have gotten good at this-too good. You raise your eyebrows at him questioningly, waiting for him to answer.

He seems to be thinking carefully about what he is going to say next. You watch as he scans your body looking for a hint of what to say. You know he won’t find anything. Your tattoo is tucked carefully away under your tight dress. He looks frustrated. You smile at him.

“I’m Matt?” he answers. You can tell he is unsure of his answer. He almost winces after saying it like he just ate something sour. He tries not to let it show. He tries to keep up the fake confidence that surrounded him just seconds before, but he can’t fool you. You frown for a second, but make sure it isn’t long enough for him to pick up on. No matter how many times you do this, you never stop hoping that you will be wrong and you will find someone. You still want there to be someone for you deep down.

You almost feel bad, but the emotion passes quickly. You give him another smile-bigger this time. An award-winning smile. A perfect smile. A reassuring smile. The same smile that has allowed you to fool people like this idiot in front of you again and again.

“I’m Cassandra.”

A fake name. You made the mistake of giving your real name before. You don’t think about how badly that went for you. You can’t think about it. Your mistakes make you nervous. You would rather forget them.

A broad smile flashes across his face. His teeth sparkle. He looks like he just walked out of a cheesy commercial. He thinks he found the one. His person. You smile back. This is the part you love the most-the part that makes you feel like you are finally getting even with the world. Everything goes wrong for you, why shouldn’t other people get to feel the same?

He grabs your arm and you squeal in surprise. You were not expecting this. You hate it when things don’t go according to your plan. His smiling face has all of a sudden turned dark. You wonder what is going on. How can anyone possibly change this much in a matter of seconds? Then, it hits you. His face was too familiar. You should have realized. You curse yourself for being so nieve. You are usually so on top of things. That perfect smile caught you off guard. You should have stayed far, far away from him.

The fear must be showing on your face. “Ah, so you remember me now?” he inquires.

You gulp. This isn’t what is supposed to happen. This never happens. You have been so careful, and here he goes-ruining all again.

He is the first person you ever liked. This was before you got your tattoo, of course. You realize you weren’t the only one who gave a fake name. Jeffery. How did he recognize you? How did he find you? Does he know you were trying to trick him?

“How are you, Cassandra?” His grip on your arm loosens and a relaxed smile returns to his face. He has you.

The way he puts emphasis on Cassandra sends shivers down your spine. You both know what your real name is. This is what you used to love about him-the way he could back people into corrners and force them to hummiliate themselves. You hate it now. He never used it on you before. It is easy to love someone’s trickery when you are never the victim.

You feel your face get hot and the fact that he and pretty much everyone else can make you blush so easily just makes you more emmbarrassed.

Then, everything stops. You don’t even get a chance to answer him. What a shame, you think, I could have had fun playing along with his games. You would never admit to yourself that you enjoy this outcome far greater. He leans in and kisses you right on the lips. The moment is so beautiful you don’t even think to question it. No one ever kisses someone who isn’t their soulmate. Is it possible?

He pulls away from you quickly, his eyes gleaming. “This is the second time you have said the right thing to me. We just didn’t know it at first. You have always been so careful about hiding your tattoo. You most certainly don’t make things easy, Issabelle.”

The use of your real name makes the butterflys start flittering around in your stomach. This is real.

“I have always remembered the first time we met because I was immediately enchanted by you. When I got my tattoo, I was overjoyed, but I didn’t know if yours was right. I didn’t ask because I was too scared I would be wrong. Then, about a month ago, I saw you at the beach. I finally saw your tattoo, and it’s perfect. It’s taken me this long to find you, but now that I have, we can both finally be happy.”

You sigh in releif. The rest of your life is finally here.

“How did you find me?” you ask.

It’s his turn to blush now. “I ran into a friend of yours a few days ago, and she told me you usually come here to trick people into believing you’re their soulmates. She said it makes you feel better and that you gave up on actually finding your soulmate years ago.”

“And you don’t hate me?”

“Of course not. We all do weird things when the world is mean to us. I completely understand.”

You smile. It is finally your time to be happy. Sure, you have some faults, but he’s fine with that. He’s perfect. Absolutely perfect. You know it is finally time to let go of revenge. You know you are ready.

On everyone’s 13th birthday, a tattoo appears on them with what their soulmate will first say to them. Today is your 13th birthday. You woke up and immediately began to search your body for your tattoo. Finally, you found it. It was written in very small letters across your stomach. You have never been more disappointed in your life. It read, “Hi.”

Out of all the phrases in the world, your soulmate was going to say the most basic, most common of them all to you first. Great. Just great. It could literally be anyone. You knew immediately this was going to ruin your life. You knew from then on, you would be searching for people’s tattoos as soon as they say hi to you.

Years passed and you counted exactly twenty one people who said hi to you first. Your response was always the same, “Nice weather we’re having!” It wasn’t a phrase you would first expect from someone, but it wasn’t to uncommonly said to be considered weird. Out of the twenty one people who you knew had said hi to you, you had only been able to spot the tattoos on thirteen of them. The others didn’t seem to be the type of people you would want to be your soulmate, so you let them go, but kept their names just in case.

At the age of twenty, you began to lose hope. You wondered if you would ever find your soulmate. The odds didn’t seem to be in your favor whatsoever. All of your friends were living happy lives with their soulmates, and you couldn’t find yours. You then were contacted by one of your best friends from middle school who also hadn’t found their soulmate. At least I’m not the only one, you thought.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” he asked.

“No.” you responded. You were glad you weren’t meeting in person. You hated when people saw you blush. It came at times you needed it the least. Normal people don’t get embarrassed when they can’t remember things that happened almost a decade ago, you reminded yourself.

“Well, let me try to refresh your memory,” he replied.

“Go ahead.”

“When we were in 7th grade, we were partnered up for a project in LA. You were so shy, you didn’t say one word to me until you absolutely had to. When we sat down at our table, I started by saying, ‘Hi’.”

Your mouth began to open and formed a perfect ‘o’ as you began to realize what was about to happen. You had waited everyday since your 13th birthday for this moment.

“You didn’t reply, and I didn’t try talking to you again for about 10 minutes. I suggested we take turns reading the chapter we had been assigned. You nodded in agreement and immediately started reading. ‘Nice weather we’re having’. That was the first thing you ever said to me. A sentence out of a book. It was a fairytale, might I add. I’m sorry it took me this long to realize… you’re my soulmate.”

You gasped. It was the first sound you had made since you realized what was finally happening. You had never understood when people said they were speechless. All at once, you understood. You had never been happier in your life.

Finally, he spoke again. “Just kidding. I found my soulmate years ago. Happy april fools day!”

Once again, you were glad they had not met up to do this. If there was one thing you hated more than people seeing you blush, it was when people saw you cry. The tears fell silently as he proceeded to tell you all about the fantastic life he was living with his soulmate. He wished you well and said goodbye. You collapsed on the floor. Once again, your life was a mess.

You never did find your soulmate, but you gained a new best friend. Her name is Revenge.

i’m ready

to fall in love

with places,

to light my heart

with memories

of oceans

and alleyways

and balconies

above shadows moving

in the shapes

of strangers

i’m ready

to fall in love

with places,

to ink my soul

with poetry

of distant skies

and open roads

and homes

i’ve only known

in my dreams

of falling.

For some reason, I've been thinking back on why I first joined this site.

I never joined it to write. I never even planned on sharing my work because, if you all recall my introduction post, I truly believed myself when I said, "I can't write for jack squat." Yet here I am, tooting my occasional little brain farts - something I never would have done had it not been for the encouragement I received from other writers. 

There seems to be a point after continually receiving support and encouragement where we get comfortable with obtaining praise and not returning it. I say this because I'm guilty of it. We all are, whether we've been conscious of it or not. Now, I'm not saying this to accuse, demean, or put anyone down - my reasons couldn't be farther from these three. I say this more as a reminder to myself and others to pause, take a breath, and focus on the audience.

There's no doubt that we have exceptional talent on this site, as well as beyond the realm of Prose, but talent can only get us so far. I believe what truly makes a writer a good writer is one who's also a reader. A commenter. A reposter. An encourager. If you love your audience, your audience will love you. We're all writers, we're all someone's audience, and we're all unique. There is no above and below, only individuality.  

My thought of the day is this: Remember to support those who support you. You never know when another Zia might come along, convinced they have nothing to contribute. Your support might just be the push they need to break through their self doubt, find their voice, and shine among the rest of us.

Sincerely,

a Zia