ornogeopol: The study of birds that live below the Earth

"I want to become an ornogeopologist!" "Ok, honey."

ginfevales: A popular summer-time drink made with vodka, lime, mint, rock sugar, and ice.

Ex. "I'll take a Ginfevales, please." "Coming right up." *shake, shake*

moemed: to imitate the act of throwing up

"I moemed when I heard Stacy's story of how she lost her finger."

sertiolk: a sense of calm and peace

"Whenever I'm in the forest I feel so sertiolk."

dyerinsdin: The gasping sound heard when someone dies dramatically on or off screen

"Did you hear Danny Devito's dyerinsdin?" "Yeah. I heard it's the best in the business."

The plane ride was rough. Nine hours of rough air and boring movies. The same old tropes recycled over and over again. Man meets woman, they fall in love, have children and the children go to the youth center, then a tearful reunion eighteen years later where everything is all right and the couple is still living happily ever after. Kate rolled her eyes in disgust as the hospital staff took the newborn infant away. She knew they were just doing their jobs, but deep down, she hated them for taking away her child. Five minutes. She had held Matthew for a glorious five minutes. Then, he was ripped away from her by hospital staff in stuffy white robes telling her it was going to be ok and giving her pamphlets on how to cope with the pain. She had read through them. There was a section on depression. It was apparently "highly advised" by all doctors that mothers have a strong support system to deal with the loss of the infant.

Her friend Susie hadn't needed that. As soon as her child was gone, she was out, celebrating with her husband and getting ready to have another one. Some people had so many kids that they forgot about, and when it was time for them to come back, they didn't remember their names or that they even had them in the first place. Not her. She remembered Matthew. She had wanted more kids but she knew she couldn't deal with the pain of losing them again. She also knew that she couldn't put Carlos through that.

She remembered one night in particular where the pain of losing Matthew just hit her in full force. She was on the ground in seconds, crying her eyes out. Tears were streaming down her face and she was screaming like she was being stabbed. Because she was. Not literally, but metaphorically. Her heart was ripping itself in two and her insides were being massacred with the loss of Matthew. Carlos had come running into the living room and cradled her in his arms. She knew that night that she couldn't go through this again and she couldn't put Carlos through this again. Not because of anything he said but because of the pain she felt in her stomach and because when he was holding her, she felt his tears roll down her back. In all the years she had known him, she had never seen him cry, not before that moment, and definitely not after. But she never wanted to see him cry again.

The movie ended just as she predicted, with a tearful family reunion and a happily ever after. All these movies did was promote the government agenda. She had researched groups online dedicated to finding out what the government's plan was with separating children from birth, but she had never joined any of them. Once, she considered joining a group for bereaved parents but something inside of her told her that she could never draw comfort from them the way she could from Carlos. She spent many nights in his arms.

The day after her crying incident, she started her plan to take down the government. She plotted it in her head while she was sitting at her desk job as a sales clerk and told Carlos that same night over slightly overcooked pasta. He agreed to support her, and ever since that day, they had been secretly working to take down the government. Now she was on a plane with step one out of eleven complete, on her way to pick up her son. On the armrest next to her was Carlos' hand. she took it and squeezed it, and he squeezed back gently. Her heart soared with pride and joy and she smiled happily. She fell asleep to the thought of Matthew and how when she woke up, she would be one step closer to seeing his face.

A/N: Again please let me know what you think in the comments

In the mountainside was a town called Alsistin. In that town was a coffeehouse frequented by many locals and tourists at various hours of the day. Kate and Carlos loved the coffeehouse but rarely got the chance to visit. When they were able to, they always made a point to get extra coffee for home. Kate was currently standing in line, order prepared. Carlos was sitting down at a nearby table, laying out the blueprints and notebooks on the table. She smiled at him but he was too caught up in his task to notice. She shook her head endearingly and moved forward in the line. She was standing behind another woman who was wearing a red knitted scarf and holding on to her purse for dear life. She never knew what to expect with the people in this town. Slowly, she shuffled toward the register. Five agonizing minutes later, she had placed her order. She moved over to the side to wait for her drinks. When they finally arrived, she carefully took them over to their table and sat down, ready to discuss the plans. Carlos passed her a notebook and she read the tasks that she had been assigned.

Enter through the main door.

Locate nearest fire alarm.

Distract the security guard.

Wait until the phone call.

Pull the fire alarm.

Run.

"Seems like the plan's all set. When's it gonna take place?"

"Tomorrow. Noon."

"Alright, then. You have all the tools you need for the heist?"

He stared at her blankly."What makes you think I don't?"

"I didn't say that. I just wanted to know if you were ready."

"I am always ready."

"Then we're ready."

He looked back at his blueprints sharply. They drank their coffee as Carlos traced his route in red Sharpie. When Carlos had finished, they sat for a while admiring the landscape and worrying about the future that they would create. Too soon, they packed up their stuff and walked out, putting the plans in the trunk of their light blue Volkswagen. They sat in the car and turned on the radio. It was already set to the only station that would play where they were; some news channel about classical music where the hosts spoke in soft voices so as to not startle the child sleeping in the adjacent recording booth.

Carlos drove the car to the house where they were staying. It was very modern, featuring wood paneling, clean, uncluttered designs, and a variety of marble. 

They dropped their bags off at the entrance and prepared to go to bed. They woke up to the alarm blaring and the sun barely rising over the mountain peaks. They dressed methodically and grabbed their bags on the way to the car. 

Carlos started up the engine and drove to their destination: GCC. The Government Control Center. It was the office buildings for all the government employees who handled the "placement" of the country's youth. All youth in the country had to be taken from birth and go through training, assessment, and processing. Very few people knew where the youth actually went because when you were there, it seemed like anywhere else. It was what both she and Carlos had had to go through. That was where they had met. She had recognized Carlos' genius for what it was, and through the night, they formed a pact to take down the government.

When they arrived, they took to their roles. Kate flirted with the guard, a man who had probably never seen a woman besides his mother. When he was falling for her charms, she stabbed him in the neck with a syringe filled with a tranquilizer that would knock him out for a good hour. While she waited for her phone to ring, she went through the security cameras and replaced the last ten hours of footage with a repeating loop of no activity. Soon after, her phone rang. She dashed over to the fire alarm and pulled the lever. Then she ran back outside and hopped into the car. Carlos was right behind her. He pulled the car out of park and drove off smoothly. They were in and out in ten minutes.

An hour later, they were in the airport, faces changed and heading to Bethelinca where they would meet their son Matthew for the first time in eighteen long years.

A/N: So, this is my first story, let me know what you think. Constructive Criticism would be really helpful, and if you want to see more of this or different stuff, let me know in the comments. Hope you enjoyed it!

We dismiss weeds because they are ugly. But does anyone really know what they've been through. Can you weather the storms and the abuse that these weeds have faced? I didn't think so. After all, I don't think many of us have taken the time to actually look at weeds and the way they have bbe crafted. What's that expression again? Something about time? Oh, yeah. Take time to stop and smell the roses. The ROSES. What happened to the weeds? Why is there no saying that goes take time to appreciate the weeds? The weeds are, much as we loathe to admit it, the backbone of the flower community. Without these weeds that are dismissed because of their nonexistant beauty, we would not have a frame of reference for which flowers were truly beautiful. Case and point.

She walked the beaten path of stones and pebbles along the beachside. A wave of sentiment came over her as she saw a pale blue bucket in the sand. She picked it up and remembered the days when she used to play with her brother in the sand. Seagulls would caw overhead and the wind would blow their hair around until they looked like clowns. Nowadays the only time they looked like clowns was in the workplace. She took off her shoes and sank her feet into the sand letting it run freely over her skin. She started strolling, bucket in hand, shoes in the bucket, hair loose, heart heavy. She breathed in the salty air and started walking towards the coastline, closer to the waves. When the sand got softer, she sat down and laid on her back, turning her face towards the sun. Eventually, she dozed off and when she woke up again the sun was setting and the air was getting chilly. She memorized the scene around her. The smooth stones, the soft sand, the warm pinks and oranges of the sky, the deep blue of the sea and the calm that surrounded her at that moment. Smiling to herself, she looked at the sand around her to see if there was a seashell that she could take home with her. She wandered back to the rockier part of the beach and found one. Perfectly round and smooth except for one little crack on the side. Like Chip from "Beauty and the Beast". She added the shell to her bucket and went back to the path, putting her shoes back on when the ground became too rocky. Her car unlocked with a chirp and she put the bucket with the seashell in the backseat on top of a sheaf of divorce papers that she was supposed to deliver. Oh well. Guess the bastard would have to wait. She started up her car and drove off. At the stop sign, she stopped and looked from left to right. Not seeing anybody, she turned right. She continued driving. It was a straight road until the highway and she would get off in a couple of exits to drop off the papers. She was stopped at a traffic light, pondering the degree to which she could push the envelope in her relationship when from the right a car came careening around the bend and slammed into hers. In seconds she was out.

Evryh toime i haerr the sonud off hte ocena oor hte sunod if teh wonds rulsting thorugh teh treeas i tnihk if aall thaty liife haas brooughjt mee und teh joiy anfd wundarss thaat cann bee excperiencesd evrry tiome i oppen muy eyues. I thjink if my soin, omnly two moonthhs old noe growying, goring evey duy annd i thik if myu hubansnd weho groows withh mme aand moore soo, i thiik if nalture, thhe seasoins chanign, thee leeaves groing, tthe voicecs swhiipering annd thhe caalm tthat settlles ovr wheen ever momnnt wwe spned togehter laeds uss too whhat wiill bw ouur infnifty.

The day starts off bright and early with the sounds of birds chirping and the bell ringing from the church. The baker walks down the street carrying his loaves of bread. A baby bird is hopping along the roof of the church. He takes a tumultuous fall but his mother saves him. The baby bird falls some more until it realizes that he has to flap his wings. Eventually, he takes control of his tiny body and the mother and baby bird start flying together. They soar, turning and spiraling in the air.

A horse and carriage clatter down the street and the mama bird and baby bird start following it. From the church's entrance steps out a young man. He is carrying a book and a stack of papers. He hails the horse and carriage that mama bird and baby bird are following and together they go rushing off through the city. Finally, they make it to his destination, a lovely college with a sprawling lawn. When they arrive, he rushes off and throws a handful of coins at the driver. The birds take this as a sign to settle down on the roof of the college. Inside the college, the boy runs, veering left and right in order to meet his deadline. He manages to hand his papers in at the very last second, and the professor makes a point of staring down at him over the top of her half-moon glasses. The boy smiles sheepishly and ambles off feeling accomplished.

This time he's in no rush and he strolls through the garden in front of the college and meanders along the cobbled streets back to the church. On his way he sees people sitting in the streets. He reaches into his pocket to give then a couple of cents but finds that he has no change on him as he spent it all on the horse and carriage. He hurries back to church and on his way splashes through a puddle of mud. He dashes into his room in the church and pulls out a handful of coins, dashing back through the streets and giving the people on the street some money.

They are extremely grateful for the money and thank him profusely before heading off to the bakers to buy a loaf of bread. They open the door to the bakers and he greets them when he hears the light tinkling of the bell. They find the largest and cheapest roll, and the baker, kindhearted that he is, sees their poverty in their tattered clothing and dirtied faces and gives it to them for free. They cry in gratitude and the baker decided to invite them over to dinner with his family. He can spare a couple bowls of soup for them. They thank him for his kindness and the baker takes them home.

The dust bunnies jumped as I opened the door. I was welcomed home to the sight of my comfy old chair, greeting me with the messages of "I love you" and "Thank you for coming back." I dropped my luggage on the floor and set off to the kitchen in order to make myself some dinner. On the way, I turned on the TV for some background noise. I opened the fridge and realized that I only had a packet of cheese in there. No matter. I had some snacks in my luggage from my trips. I went back to my suitcases to start unpacking them. I was halfway through my first suitcase of 5 when the phone rang. I answered and muted the TV.

"Hello?"

"Lily, you have to help me, I think there's someone in the house." "Have you called 911?"

"Yes. They said they're on their way. I tried to call Rob, but he's not answering his phone so I called you. I just need you to keep me calm."

"Ok, I'll tell you about my journey how about that?"

"Ok, thanks."

I started telling her about the people I had met, their flowing dresses in sapphire, ruby and coral, their traditions and customs, how the air felt flowing through my hair, how the sand felt on my hands and my feet, how the sun felt on my skin. When I started telling her about my time in Africa I heard a bang.

"Rebecca?" I whispered into the phone. "Rebecca, are you there?"

I heard some crinkling, then silence. Whoever was on the other side of that call had hung up the phone.

When I was about 6 or 7 years old, I had a playdate with a friend from school. We played with Barbies and other toys, and later on, my mother chased us around the house pretending to be a monster. I remember it as being a time where I was ecstatic to be surrounded by friends and family playing games, and most of all, I remember the color of the brown cabinet that still stands in our living room as I ran by. Now being ten years older, I don’t remember who I had the playdate with, but I remember the feeling of joy that I had running around and being a kid.