I push back the tears. Try to stop thinking the thoughts that always bring the tears back. I regain control of myself, measuring my breathing. In, out, in, out. I focus on the chair I sit in. I Feel the smoothness of the wood. It helps me calm down. Focus on the facts, focus on the cold, hard facts, I remind myself.

I am in the waiting room of a hospital. I barely remember how I got here. It's all a blur of loud noises and blinking lights. We were driving and laughing, and then we were spinning, and it went in slow motion, but it moved so quickly.

I am losing control of myself. I must stop thinking. I look around. There is a picture of a sunset over a still lake on the wall to my left. The carpet is rough. Keep breathing in, out, in, out. The walls are whiter than snow. The air smells clean and sterile. I don't think time passes here.

There are three other people around me. One lady who looks to be in her mid-forties, sitting and calmly reading a magazine. Nothing is wrong, I tell myself. That lady is calm. If something was wrong she wouldn't be calm. My hands shake. I feel the tears start coming back. I grip the chair tighter to stop my hands from shaking. I can't feel the scratches on my arm. I'm almost surprised to see them there.

Focus, focus I tell myself. Be strong. The other two people in the waiting room seem to be waiting together, father and son, they do not speak. They sit in tense, strained silence. They are both taking deep breaths. They seem anxious and worried. They look exactly how I feel. Their pieces clinging together just long enough to know if whoever they are worried about will be okay or not. Apart from everything. Drifting in uncertainty. The waiting. The wondering. Not knowing is torture, but knowing could be worse. Steady I tell myself. Breathe in and out. Be strong, be strong! The tears well up in my eyes. It would be a relief to cry, but I refuse to let myself give in. I am stronger than this. That's what she always said, before... before the accident. Before our worlds came crashing down. I can't stop the tears anymore, they flow freely from my eyes. It's too late to stop them now.

My breathing becomes unsteady hiccups and my hands began to shake uncontrollably. I resist the urge to cry out. The other people in the waiting room look at me, with pity, with understanding. The door opens and a nurse walks in. I am filled with dread when I see her face. She is certainly the bearer of bad news. She is walking towards me. It takes all the strength I have left in me to stay in my seat, not to flee, and yet I couldn't move if I tried. She walks past me. She walks over to the old man and his son. Their faces as she talks to them are unbearable to see. The agony and pain in their eyes. For a moment I forget why I am here, as I feel the world of the man and his son crumbling beneath them, their lives falling apart. The father puts his head in his hands. The son bangs his fist against the arm rest of the chair. And then I remember again. Remember that any moment I may be getting the same news. None of it feels real. I wonder if I will react like the father and son. I don't know. I feel so numb all of a sudden. Separated.

The man and his son get up and leave the room, their arms around each other, struggling to hold the other together as they fall apart. I think about how any moment that could be me, but I will have to walk out alone. I will have to hold my own pieces together. But I am strong. I will be ok,  I keep repeating it, trying to make it true. My hands keep shaking and I can't stop crying. I try to breathe in, out, but I can't stop hiccupping. The door opens again and another nurse comes in. her face is unreadable, she is older. Her face is cold. She's done this before, many times before. Suddenly I don't want to know. I can't bear to know what has happened. I would rather wait here forever, with just a shred of hope then have that hope taken away. I shrink back from the nurse.

She comes over to me, "Miss, I am so sorry. We did everything we could for her." Her words blur together, like trying to see through tears. I can't hear what she says next. I find myself falling, everything becomes a blur. I don't know what's happening. I am dizzy. One sentence keeps repeating in my head. She is dead. She is dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. It fades to a dull hum. My whole body aches. I cannot stop shaking. I don't know where I am or what's happening, but I feel myself being lifted up and gently laid down. I wish everything would go away. I want to die. Oblivion sounds like the most beautiful thing in the world. I hear snatches of conversation but it sounds muted and faraway. People are around me, I see bits of blue and white but everything is a blur, and then I close my eyes again and let everything slip away.

~E.L.~

When my body hits the ground stone cold

I don't want to be alone

Remind me of the stories my mama told

Surrounded by bone

I don't want to know the final century

Let the world go on

Don't let me die, make me history

Cry for the night, not dawn.

Don't save me for the future let me rest

I'm not infinite

Don't forget my generation, it's the best

We were the world, lit.

So when I die, Say goodbye.

You can't Mourn when youth is born.

E.L.

I used to tell a story

Of how I came from my own earth

I made up my own universe

A beautiful story of my birth

I told them all that I was different

Had a mind all of my own

I changed my name to change myself, to keep from falling down

They told me I was a princess

But I said I didn't want a crown

I named myself after fire

I wanted to burn everything down

I pretended I was special

Thought I could matter somehow

I said I'd never curse aloud

Never let anger rest upon my brow

I never dreamed of being perfect

Because perfect is a fake tan

I dreamed of being alien

Because humanity is so inhuman

I told them all lies

Because I hated the truth

In reality everybody dies

But not In a photo booth

I want to change people's perspective of me

Be Someone different

Than the person they all see

I look in the mirror

And a stranger looks back

So familiar I can't see

The beauty and hopeful lack

They all tell me to smile more

But who wants to see a fake

When they can wait and see

The truth before the give and take. 

Do I even bother dating this? The old measurement of time means nothing anymore, it means nothing to a civilization unraveling, becoming uncivilized. So consider this Day 1, Year 1. B.E. (Beginning of the End)

I don't understand what's happening. Sure, I've heard of it a million times, but its the stuff of movies. It was always fictional. I've seen the news, I remember the first time they mentioned zombies without joking. I remember the first time they said it was possible. I remember when they said it was coming sooner than anyone thought. I remember when they issued the first zombie apocalypse warning, and I wanted to laugh in some sick way because it felt like a stupid dystopian teen romance novel. 

I started to wonder who I would be, if I would be the bad ass girl who saves the world, or merely one among a million other helpless people, terrified of dying, and terrified of living. I don't know what there is too do, I never prepared for this, I never really believed it could come to this, but now I look out my window and it's here. This is only the beginning, it can only get worse. I sit inside, It's not safe to go out. It's not safe in here either, but there isn't anywhere that really is. We still don't know how the virus is traveling, no one knows anything. All we know is that some people are walking around half dead and we can't save them, we can think only of saving ourselves from them. 

Everything around me seems useless. all the trinkets and things I've collected, all the work I've put into my schooling, it's all pointless now. None of it matters. My Volleyball knee pads and my alarm clock, my college applications. All my makeup and perfume. All the fashionable clothes I've wasted too much time thinking about. It hurts me to look at all of it, because even as it isn't gone now, I know it will be. It all represents a style of life that's over now, an age coming to a sudden end. I am so jealous of everyone who died before me, everyone who got to live this life I was supposed to have, that I almost had. 

I was supposed to go to college, I was supposed to study to be a journalist. I was supposed to get married and have beautiful children and watch them grow up. I was supposed to have a life that meant more than survival. But I will never have that life.

Me and millions of other people won't have the life we've worked our butts of for, and we can do nothing about it.

This might be my last day, or the beginning of my last days, so Goodbye.

Goodbye, please remember me fondly. 

-Mia 

I once met a charming boy,

And he said "teach me how to smile"

I was a bubbly girl full of joy,

So I tried to teach him for awhile.

After lots of failed lessons,

I thought of a new way to teach.

I pressed my smile against his lips,

And soon my joy Him did reach.

Still he said, "teach me how to smile"

So I gave my smile to him again.

It seems it wasn't quite his style,

But still he took it, to my disdain.

I walked around, no curve to my lips

While he took his dimples on trips.

Then I met a new boy, he said:

"Let me teach you how to smile."

I didn't think he could,

But still he tried for awhile.

Soon my lips mimicked his,

We shared this bright grin

And that other boy I no longer miss

He stole my smile, it was a sin.

《A/N let me know what you think of this in the comments, I'm new here and I'm not sure how all this works but I hope you enjoy!》

"Mom?" I ask, my voice trembling slightly.

"What?" She asks without glancing up from her book.

"I-Um," I pull at my earlobe, "I want to-well. You see I-," I force myself to just say it: "I want to find my birth mom."

She doesn't look up. Did she even hear me?

"Mom?"

"Okay." She answers, her tone is measured. 

I wait for her to say more, but she doesn't.

"Will you help me?"

Finally she looks up at me.

"Right now?"

"Um, yeah."

With a sigh, she closes her book.

"I suppose we should start by looking through all the adoption papers."

"Okay." Suddenly I feel nervous, but I close my eyes and tell my heart to slow down.

I follow my mother, staring at her light blonde hair that contrasts completely with my dark brunette waves. We walk into my dad's office, it's clean, but messy. The white walls are covered in my little brother’s art work. There is a nail Polish stain peeking out from under the desk leg, my fault. Books and papers are scattered across the desk, but the bookshelf is carefully arranged in alphabetical order. Even when I was little I would come in here and rearrange all the books my dad had stuffed in haphazardly.

My mother reaches for the box full of all our important papers and documents on the top shelf, but she can't reach it.

"Maggie, you try." She says, like she so often does when something is out of reach.

I stand on tiptoe and pull the box down. It's heavier than I expect, I steady myself so I don't fall over.

"Your birth certificate and the adoption papers should all be near the bottom in here." My mother is usually chatty, but right now she is only saying what is necessary.

I plop down on the floor and pull all the papers out, flipping through the ones on the bottom until I find the ones I recognize as mine.

My mother pulls the stack out of my hands and flips through it, handing me a single piece of paper.

"This has all the information about your birth mother."

I start reading, then quickly begin to scan the page.

"This only has her medical history, it doesn't even have her name. All I know is I may be more disposed to developing a dairy allergy. Isn't there any way I can get her name?"

For some reason I feel like crying, I'm scared I'll never find her.

"You know very well that it was a closed adoption." My mom seems flustered, almost annoyed.

"Of course I know that. But there's got to be some way I can get her name, something." I feel stressed and panicky. I pull at my earlobe.

"Honey, I did meet your birth mom once. She was only sixteen, she was trying really hard to find you good parents. But she expressed that she didn't want to worry about the emotional distress of you ever finding her, that's why her name was never disclosed to us. She looked just like you, you have her hair and her height. She was very mature, just like you. Why don't you let this go for now?"

I look at her for a little while, I stare at her long nose and her light freckles. I stare at her soft brown eyes. She is my mother and I love her, but she is also not my mother, she is a stranger.

"Okay." I lie.

My mother smiles, and I sense relief.

"Put all these papers away, it's almost dinner time." She says standing up and walking away.

I sit down at the desk and open my dad's laptop.

"How do I find my birth mom after a closed adoption?" I type into the search bar.

I scroll past some ads and sketchy websites before I click on a link that looks promising. Every website leads to another website and it feels like I'm on a wild goose chase. Everything I read says I can request medical records from the court, but I can't seem to find anything that will help me find out any personal information.

At last, after an hour of staring desperately at the screen I see something that might work. It says that in some states and provinces an adopted child may send an application to the court where his/her adoption took place and may be given access to his/her closed adoption file.

"It's probably a long shot." I whisper to myself as I click on the link to the application.

Just as the 5 page form finishes printing out my mom hollers for me.

"Maggie! It's dinner time!!"

"Coming!" I shout back.

My eyes dart around the office for a place to hide the form while I eat dinner. I slip the thin stack of papers into the side of the bookshelf and head to the kitchen just as my mom yells for me again.

As soon as I finish eating I excuse myself and head to the office. Grabbing the papers I run out of the office and up the stairs to my room. I shut the door and sit down with my back too it. I read through the form to make sure I won't need my parents help, and I'm pretty sure I'll be able to find all the information I need by myself. I head over to my desk and fill out the form with my left hand as my right hand tugs on my earlobe.

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

It's been three weeks since I mailed the form, now I'm standing in my room holding the response. I'm terrified to break the seal of the letter. I'm scared it'll tell me it's hopeless, that I will never find out who I am.

I tug on my earlobe nervously, hardly aware I'm doing it. I close my eyes and open the envelope. I open my eyes when I'm holding the printed letter in front of me.

"Miss Margaret C. Defena,

In the application you sent us you said your adoption was closed. This is incorrect. Your adoption was semi-open. You should have received your birth mothers name and contact information when you were adopted.

In case you have lost or misplaced this information, it has been enclosed within this letter:

Name of birth Mother: Phoebe Millis

Date of Birth: 4/9/84

Sex: F

Place of residency at time of adoption:

1120 S. 44th St. Cincinatti, Ohio

This is all the information which can be disclosed. "

I drop the letter on the floor. My mother’s name is Phoebe. Phoebe Millis. My adoption wasn't closed. They told me it was closed. My parents, my fake parents, lied to me.

A chill runs down my spine. They aren't my parents, they are strangers. Strangers who could've been lying to me forever. Strangers who had been lying to me forever.

I need to find my mom, my real mom. I need to know if she's ever tried to contact me. I need to learn who I am and where I came from. I need to understand why she left me with strangers.

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

I find her on Facebook. She looks just like me. She already feels familiar. I want to message her but I don't know what to say.

Maybe I should ask my mom.

She might be a stranger but I've known her longer than anyone else.

I walk down stairs and tiptoe into the living room where my mom is watching reality TV and folding laundry. Our love for reality TV is one of the only things we share.

"Mom?" My voice comes out too quietly, she can't hear me. I try again.

"Mom?"

"Is something wrong?" She asks me.

"No, nothing's wrong exactly. I just, well. I know you told me not too, but I-uh. I found my birth mom."

My mother turns off the TV. She is silent for centuries upon centuries,

Until finally:

"Oh."

"The adoption wasn't closed was it?" I want to give her a chance to tell me the truth.

"Well, you know it was-I mean, it-" she keeps stumbling over her words. "It was a closed- um. Well." She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath before continuing.

"No. It wasn't a closed adoption. It was Semi-open."

I try to control my temper, to remain calm. I'm not going to get her help if I explode.

"Why did you lie to me?"

"Let me explain" Her eyes are pleading.

"I'm listening."

"Unofficially, your birth mother and me and your dad had made an agreement that she could come visit you weekly. It was important to us that you grew up knowing your biological mother, and although she didn't feel ready to raise you herself she still wanted a relationship with you.

She knew we were not legally bound to allow her any contact and she agreed that the decision was entirely up to us. She did come to visit you every Sunday, and you became very close with her as a baby and toddler.

You called her mommy. You never called me mommy."

She looks hurt, and I feel bad, but I was too young to remember any of this.

"I'm sorry." I say hesitantly.

"It's not your fault. She came to visit once a week until you were 6 years old. She had just graduated from college, she had a job. She wanted her parental rights back, she wanted to get to be a part of raising you. She knew if we took her to court that it would be nearly impossible for her to get her parental rights back, she was asking us not to contest her. We couldn't do that, you were completely our child. We asked her to never come see you or contact you again, and for the most part she respected our wishes."

I can't seem to process what she's just said. I should be feeling something. I should be angry or sad or hurt. But I feel nothing.

"Why? Why did you take my mother away from me? Why did you do that to me?"

"She is NOT your mother! I am your mother, Maggie. I am your mother." It's like she's reassuring herself.

"Of course you are mom. And I love you. But you aren't my biological mother, and you took away my relationship with her. Why would you do that to me?" Suddenly all the emotions hit me at once and I'm angry and hurt and sad about what I've lost.

"It wasn't right, Maggie. I thought I was going to lose you. I was scared. A choice had to be made, maybe it wasn't the right one. But Maggie, you have to believe I thought it was."

I don't know if I trust her. I don't know if I recognize her anymore.

"Did she ever try to call me? Did she send me letters, something?"

The woman sitting next to me hesitates, she pinches her lower lip between her forefingers, a nervous habit.

"Yes, Mia. She wrote you letters, she sent you one every year on your birthday. Your dad and I truly meant to give them all too you someday, we were just waiting till you were older."

She reaches to place her hand on mine but I pull away. My chest is aching with betrayal and I am sick to my stomach.

I feel tears overwhelming my eyes, they pour over the precipice of my eye lid and the world is reduced to a blur.

"I hate you." I whisper, but I don't know who I'm saying it too, my mother, my birth mother, or myself. "I trusted you." My voice is raspy and my throat aches. "I never thought you'd hide anything from me, I thought we were a family."

"We are a family. We will always be a family. I'm so sorry I've hurt you Mia."

I don't respond, I'm not ready to forgive this woman I no longer know.

I feel my body stand up and walk away, but it doesn't feel like my body anymore. I climb the stairs to my room, a room in a random house in a random city with a random family I do not know. Not my family.

I take a deep breath. I need to talk to my birth mom. I need to say sorry for never responding to her letters. I need to meet her.

I open my laptop, my birth mom's Facebook page still up on the screen. I click on the private message button, and start typing:

"Hi,

this may seem very out of the blue, and I'm sorry if it catches you off guard, but I believe you are my birth mother. I would really love to meet you.

Sincerely,

Margaret"

It sounds silly and I cringe at the thought of sending it, but I can't think of a better way to say it.

The mouse hovers over the "send" button for several moments before I close my eyes and click.

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

My hand reaches up for my earlobe subconsciously and I force myself to lower it.

I don't want to seem nervous, I need to be confident.

The coffee shop is filled with people, but it's fairly quiet, just the click of laptop keys and the comforting crackle of the fire.

The door chimes and I glance up, my heart feeling frozen in place for a moment before resuming beating, just a little quicker to catch up.

She looks just like me, her face perhaps a little more mature. She hasn't seen me yet, and I hesitate, wondering if I should wave.

It doesn't matter, she's seen me now. She looks nervous, her hand reaches up to touch her earlobe and then she pulls it back down, clenching her fist.

"Margaret?" Her voice is so small.

"Yeah…m-mom?" My voice is smaller.

Suddenly I find myself wrapped in an embrace. I force my tense body to relax in her arms. She is not a stranger, she is my mother. She is not a stranger! Why does she feel like a stranger?

We share the same nervous habits, she is tall like me. Our eyes are the same green.

But I don't know what coffee she'll order, I don't even know if she likes coffee. I don't know what her eyes look like when they cry. I don't know her middle name, or where she lives. I don't know if she's married or single, religious or not. I don't know what phrases she usually says or when the last time she hugged someone like this was.

I don't know her. I don't know my mother. She is a familiar stranger.

"Look at you!" She says pulling away from me, with tears in her eyes. "You are so beautiful, you've grown so much. I've missed you more than you can possibly imagine."

"I-I, I've missed you too. I can't say I remember you, but I've wondered about you for as long as I can remember." I'm suddenly so confused, I don't know how to speak to this woman, and I don't know what to call her or how to interact with her.

"You never got my letters, did you?"

"No, my um, my mother, err-well. No, I didn't get your letters. I would've responded, I hope you know that."

"I do. It's not your fault at all darling." She speaks to me like she knows me, like she loves me, or has the right too.

This all feels so uncomfortable, it feels like I should know this woman, I should be able to talk to her about anything but I can't. She isn't my mother. She is but she isn't. She is the woman who carried me in her womb for 9 months. She is the woman who birthed me. But this woman is a stranger to me, and I to her.

And she chose that. She chose to give me up to strangers, and become one herself.

Suddenly I am surrounded by people I do not really know. Faces I recognize but hearts I've never met.

My parents are strangers and my true parents are strangers, and I've been left with no one of my own, I am alone in a sea of strangers.

The world begins to spin around me, I feel dizzy and sick to my stomach. Little dots form over my vision, everyone is disappearing.

“Are you okay?” I hear distantly, oh, so very distantly.

“I’m all alone.” I whisper it, but hear nothing back. Everything is gone.