Round and round I go

You circling as you show

What you are made of

And you ain’t a dove

You’re throwing me into your pit

You’re nothing but a piece of shit

Good thing, too

I learned from you

That flowers grow best in shit

Banging my head against a wall

Feeling like I’m going to fall

I want to give up

I’ve have enough

But I’ve got to move on

Because I know I am strong

Good thing, too

I learned from you

That flowers grow best in shit

Living day to day

Feeling like I can’t pay

Struggling is hard work

And the monster lurks

But I sit and I smile

Because it’s not an inch but a mile

Good thing, too

I learned from you

That flowers grow best in shit

Now I laugh in relief

Because I no longer feel grief

I feel like I can fly

Like bird in the sky

Because the path that you lit

Showed me flowers grow best in shit

What is drowning,

But floating down a river

That touches the back of your brain

like an old friend.

It is calm and relaxing

Until the swirls of the rapids engulf your soul.

Your soul that once dove deep into these waters

So that it could feel free

So that it could touch the riverbed and toss a rock on shore.

Those rapids tear and pull

And you are

Fighting

Paddling

Pulling up, up, and up

Trying to reach the surface

Until you’ve stopped

And nothing left in your lungs is worth fighting for.

Alex sat in a scarlet pool that gathered on his faded jeans. He grimaced and felt his heart pounding like the slow sound of beats on a war drum. He clenched his teeth and cocked his head to peer behind him. He saw petite hands with cracked blue nail polish facing the floor, palms praying toward the sky. Janie. His breathing rapidly increased and sweat soaked his face as if he just got a bucket of water dumped on him. Grey specks swarmed his vision and his head became a pile of bricks. Then the world was dark.

—

Yesterday

Blue and silver banners decorated the halls of West End High School and students wore everything from neon leg warmers and scrunchies to poodle skirts and loafers. All bright faces walking down the halls, excited for the upcoming pep rally.

“I loathe decades day,” Janie groaned, “we do it every year on Thursday. I need change!”

Alex snickered and tugged at Janie’s scrunchie playfully, “And yet you participate?”

She rolled her eyes and coolly replied, “But of course! We are seniors. I must partake in traditions. It’s a rite of passage!”

“A rite of passage in order to graduate?” Alex asked mockingly.

Janie smacked the back of his shoulder, “Yes actually. But it would have been nice if one of these four years we had variation. Maybe a Nobel Prize day?”

“And what would you dress up as?” he asked genuinely curious.

Janie’s smile grew in size as she proudly replied, “Marie Curie! And you would dress up as radium.” Alex laughed at her answer because he truly loved her mind. Janie was so unique and much more intelligent than he’d ever be and he knew it. He grabbed her hand and kissed her on the cheek as they walked to class.

The bell rung for third block classes to begin. Alex had history, but he longed to be in English with Janie. She was in Honors English and he couldn’t keep up with the work. Besides, he refused to look like a complete idiot in front of Janie. Next to him sat Jackson, head down with wisps of dirty brown hair sneaking off of his black hoodie. He smelled musty and his clothes looked raggedy.

Alex turned towards him with a concerned look, “Jackie boy, you ok?”

“Don’t call me that,” croaked Jackson.

“I’m sorry,” Alex whispered, “but you look real rough. Is home ok?”

Jackson switched the way his head lay on the desk. A muffled voice replied, “Like you care.”

Alex eyeballed the teacher to make sure they wouldn’t get in trouble for talking during the lecture. He placed his head down low as he spoke, “I actually do Jackson. Is there anything I can do?”

“Fuck off,” Jackson said apathetically.

Alex rolled his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. If his friend didn’t want his help, then he wouldn’t help. He went back to doodling on his notes and daydreaming about Janie.

—

Freshman Year

The bus route was different in high school than it was in middle school. There were more neighborhoods and more kids. Alex didn’t mind. He liked making friends. He sat on a cracked brown seat over one of the wheels. Last stop. The grimy stop. The poor kids. The trash of West End. Alex hated all the nasty names that the kids whispered a little too loudly on the bus, but he did not have the courage to say how he felt.

Only one kid got on the bus. He was about Alex’s height and scrawny. His hair was a messy mop of brown that covered his green eyes. He wore tattered jeans and a black hoodie. He didn’t have a backpack.

As he walked past the seats, the kids scooted so that he would not be able to sit. It was like a cliche movie scene. Alex couldn’t bare the thought of this kid not having a seat. Alex waved him over and all the others stared as he slowly made his way to Alex’s seat.

“Hi I’m Alex!” Alex said with a toothy-braces-filled smile.

“I’m Jackson,” the boy replied dully, “Nice backpack.”

Alex face brightened when he realized that maybe his Batman backpack might have been cool, “Thanks! I see you don’t have one. That’s cool. But you might need a notebook and a pencil. I have extra. My mom always buys a ton of extra supplies.” He reached into his backpack and handed Jackson two glossy, new spiral notebooks and two pencils, freshly sharpened.

Jackson took the good of his head and let a smile sneak across his face, “Uhm thanks. You talk a lot.”

Alex laughed and it echoed through the bus, “I get told that pretty often. And now you have a friend to talk to too!”

Jackson smiled when the word friend left Alex’s lips. The bus arrived at the school and the two boys bounded in the school not knowing how much their paths would divide.

The moon was a perfect twinkling image mirrored in the lake. A doppelgänger, if you will, that Jacquel’s ebony eyes fixated on. I️t was not the moon that fascinated him, but the idea of reflections. He saw reflections as one of two things: either the perfect, radiant image or the wildly sinister image that no human dared to imagine themselves as.

The moon itself had craters and footsteps. Tampered and broken in a slightly ironic way. Its reflection, however, beautiful and twinkling, practically untouched. Did the moon encompass some deviant spirit? Jacquel shook his head at the thought and headed to bed to rest before these thoughts wandered too deep into his subconscious.

Waking to the sound of his phone buzzing, Jacquel rubbed his dream filled eyes and picked up his phone.

“Hello?” He asked groggily.

“Jac, it’s already noon. Get your ass up and come over. I have that thing for you,” chirped a high pitched voice.

“Faith, what the hell? I thought I was coming by next week,” Jacquel groaned.

“I don’t want this in my loft anymore. It’s weird. I don’t know Jacky... it creeps me out. But Grandpa always creeped me out. Now he’s dead and this damn book is yours,” Faith replied cheekily.

Jacquel rolled his eyes at his sister’s saucy response, “Fine. Be there in forty-five-ish or so.” He hung up quickly without saying goodbye. He always loathed how much Faith didn’t appreciate their Grandfather’s quirky charm.

About an hour later, Jacquel arrived at Faith’s loft. He hung his head low and hid his dark circles and pale stricken face. He wasn’t in the mood for small talk either, so he grabbed the aged, leather bound book and left the loft before Faith could even finish a single sentence.

Back at his rusty shack by the lake, he sat gazing, Grandfather’s book in hand. He pushed back his greasy, mangy hair and realized he hadn’t showered in three weeks, since his grandfather passed. No one knew quite how he died, but by no means was it peaceful. He was found with his own blood pooled up under his limp body and his face and hands were twisted like the knots that one sees in an old tree. The police couldn’t identify who the murderer was, if there was a murderer, and put the case on the back-burner.

Jacquel shuddered at the thought of who or what could have done such a terrible deed. He took in a deep breath. The smell of must, tobacco, and aged leather filled his lungs. The leathery surface felt soft against his fingers. He cracked open the book and dust spitted out. Putting the back of his hand up to his nose, he coughed. The pages felt oddly sturdy and thick. As he looked at what the pages contained, his face furled in confusion.

The pages were filled with odd symbols he did not recognize and it burned in his mind so much so that his head ached and felt as if it was on fire. He immediately dropped the book and it fell to the ground silently to the world, but Jacquel could hear the odd sound it made when the book met the ground. A sound foreign to him. Sweat beads puddled on the brim of his forehead. He ran inside into the bathroom.

Jacquel splashed his face with cold water. It felt refreshing, but he could not shake the burning in his mind. He spotted a towel over his dripping face and scanned the mirror. Something was off. His reflection was like a fun-house mirror that twisted at every angle. He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly and slowly even more he let that air escape. Opening his eyes, he realized his image had not changed, but now had a sneer that stretched ear to ear and started to cackle.

Jacquel woke up the next morning with him and the bed drenched in his warm sweat. His head seemed fine today, no burning sensation. He let out a sigh of relief and ambled to the bathroom. Before showering, he checked the mirror. The image was his own and he couldn’t help but let a small smile cross his face knowing yesterday was all a dream. He stood under the shower letting the water beat his worries away. It felt calming down to the depths of his soul.

“Ow!” Jacquel yelped. The water was searing hot, but he hadn’t touched the temperature. He got out feeling clean both physically and mentally. With nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, he made his way to the book he left outside.

The book was on the table in his living room. He cocked his head because he could not remember which part of yesterday was a dream and which was reality. He let it go knowing that worrying would only make it worse.

The book felt warm when he grabbed it, as if it had been roasting over a fire pit. The lights in his house dimmed to a low, muted color. Jacquel chucked the book across the room. The same silent sound that only he could hear echoed when the book hit the wall.

“Oh no, fuck this. I’m out,” he stated.

A siren-like voice cooed in reply, “But Jacquel I need you. Yesterday was not a dream. The initial power was just too much.”

“Who or what are you?” Jacquel couldn’t help but respond. This was not his cup of tea, but he felt like he was in a trance, “I... I want to help, but what do I do? How can I trust you?”

“The book, Jacquel. It contains your grandfather’s energy. I can show you the truth about what happened to him,” the cooing voice echoed in Jacquel’s head.

Jacquel’s eyes grew larger than the moon he had observed a few nights ago. He had always wanted to know the truth even if it was a gory end. He needed closure; he needed to know how and why this happened. In his trance, he drifted to the book and picked it up. The pages were different. In his mind’s eye he could understand the cryptic messages.

“Say them. Say them to the mirror,” the voice continued to coo. Jacquel found himself speaking in a language he did not know. He spoke whatever ancient language was in the book and he surprised himself when he realized how well he was speaking it. He found himself unable to control his legs, they seemed to move on their own accord toward the bathroom.

When he arrived at the bathroom, his reflection was normal. No real problem here. He continued to chant the sayings in the book. As he did this, his head started to burn again, hotter than it had the other day. He ignored the burning and chanted through the pain. He gazed at the image in the mirror. The edges of his face blurred and knots grew like boiling bubbles on his face. He tried to stop chanting, but had no control over his mouth and vocal cords. He finally looked directly into his own ebony eyes. At that moment it was over.

Jacquel felt his face that once had knots entangled all over and now they were gone. He let out his original, soft smile and checked the mirror one last time. His choked as his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. His reflection was not his own, but that of a beautiful woman with deep red hair. What caught his attention even more so was her bright red eyes and sneer that went ear to ear. The woman cackled and walked away from the mirror. Jacquel looked around and realized he was alone in a dark world unknown to him.

“Fuck you!” He cried out, tears streaming down his eyes. He slammed his fist against the mirror cracking it down the center.

For the last time he heard the cooing sound of the demonic siren that locked him away, “I am the moon, and you will always just be its beautiful, twinkling reflection.”

A week later, Jacquel’s body was found on the floor of the bathroom in a pool of his own blood and hands and face knotted up like his Grandfather’s.

She felt golden in that hour, but in that hour golden was not what she was . A deep bluish-black like the deepest depths of the ocean overtook her. Darkness. All because of that mask.

Two days earlier, Layla received an invitation. It was cream colored card stock trimmed with glinting flakes that reflected the sunlight. The black ribbon tied through two holes at the top was already tugged at by Layla’s dancing fingers. She bit her lip and stared at the intricacies of hand drawn masks, champagne flutes, and dancing couples on the front of the invitation.

You have been cordially invited to Reynard Charles Upton the Third’s twenty-fifth birthday celebration. It will begin promptly at 8pm and take place at the Salazar Palais. Formal attire and masks preferred. Please present this invitation upon entrance.

Layla had known Reynard since early prep school. Every year they had classes together and every year the two became closer. Layla confided in Reynard her soul, the secrets that made her heart breath and the nuisances that made her mind tick like a clock. She thought he had done the same, but she had not truly seen into his depths until six months ago.

I️t was six months ago that Layla had let Jack Daniels flow through her blood and take over her body. I️t was Jack Daniels she let hear her worries and her defeats. This time, Jack heard about her break-up-gone-wrong. And Reynard was there to witness and contribute to the unfolding events.

From across the dance floor Reynard could see Layla stumbling, her feet going against her will. He offered to talk the belligerent girl home, but at a price that Layla could not remember.

The next day Layla woke up aching and blood ridden in her secret garden. Her hair felt matted and smelled like a wet mutt. She thought back to last night and could only remember in bursts. Bursts of laughter. Bursts of dancing. Bursts of falling asleep in Reynard’s bed. Bursts of Reynard thrusting inside her as she pushed and screamed. Bursts of black. And then nothing. Layla choked back tears and walked home slowly, heart heavy from the night before.

Layla inhaled deep as she reflected on the incident from six months ago. It was crisp and biting. She stared at the invitation for a second more, then folded it up into a little square and placed it gently in her coat pocket.

Into an antique shop she meandered. I️t smelled of used books and at the right angle, the light revealed the dust floating like little sneeze causing snowflakes. She loved antique shops. The truly unique and antiquated items seemed to call to her. This time she had not gone far into the store. She stared at the trinkets beneath the glass counter where the cash register lay. A black, glittering mask lay hidden among the other knickknacks.

“Is that a real masquerade mask?” She inquired.

The wrinkly toothless man replied with a smile, “ Sure as hell is, lil’ miss. Shoot, actually just got this mask recently from some eetalee woman. Said she wanted it off her hands. Dunno why. It’s a real purdy mask.”

She smiled at the old man’s response. The owners of this store had a personality as unique as the junk in the store, “I’ll take it!”

“Sure thing, hun,” the wrinkly man let his just as wrinkly fingers softly package the mask and ring up Layla.

Her dress matched her mask. Sleek and sexy. Glittery like the night sky and undeniably a head-turner. She felt different tonight. She felt like a movie star or a queen. A perpetual amount of confidence transcended her being and she knew, she felt in her beating heart, that she needed to be at Reynard’s birthday celebration.

She floated into the party, laughters like bubbles, lighting like a rainbow, and melodic music thumping into her body. She was the sun and all gazes orbited around her, planets worshipping her every move. She felt god-like and wondered if Aphrodite ever felt this much love from her followers.

Reynard’s forest green eyes met her icy blues. And icy they were. Normally her eyes were a pale, grayish blue. Reynard stared, speechless for some time before speaking.

“I, uh, I’m glad you came,” he cleared his throat, “you look stunning by the way.”

Layla let a playful smirk sneak across her face, something she never let herself do, “I know. How have you been? Mischievous per the norm, oh wait, or are you still raping women, best friends hmmm?”

A panic look struck Reynard’s face quicker than lightning, “Shhh. Ok ok. I’m sorry. We were both drunk and I was stupid. So stupid. I should of... I don’t know, made up for it sooner. I really am sorry Layla, you have no idea how much I mean it. I do miss you.” His hand rubbed the back of his auburn hair and he stirred his drink as if it was missing something.

Layla looked him up and down. She could see right through him. Childlike and groveling because he never knew how to grow up. She felt golden and wouldn’t let Reynard stop that feeling. So she smiled sweetly and gently pressed her lips to his. They had the same warm feeling she remembered and she could taste the champagne that lingered in his breath, “I forgive you Rey.” She turned and ambled off before she could see Reynard cock his head and whisper some essence about never being called “Rey” by her before.

In that short hour she felt golden, as if she glowed. But truly, she was a deep bluish-black like the deepest depths of the ocean. As she slept sound that night, dreaming of happiness and future accomplishments, Reynard fell dead on the floor at midnight, bleeding from the mouth.

Tip toes whisper to the ice floor,

Making sure that the secrets are kept sacred amongst each other.

But the door knows too,

And the door is not the silent type.

The door is boisterous, brash, a blabber-mouth.

The door squeals secrets to all,

And the tip toes scurry but know that hiding has fallen to shambles.

The door is nothing but a deceptive villain.

Maybe next time try befriending the window.

Eyleen stared blankly at the mounds of sand piled into mountains. A warm breeze whipped her face and loosened dirty brown strands in her braid as she drove. Caine refused to elaborate on what happened at the Black Market so Elyeen boiled in her own stew that slowly evolved into a storm.

Caine told her everything. He looked out for her. Her eyes shrank to slits as she replayed the memory in her head. Caine stood up and leaned out the buggy. Elyeen ignored him, not wanting to heed his desert warnings.

“El, stop the buggy,” Caine huffed. Elyeen’s face was permanently twisted in a stormy position. Not even her ears twitched at his command.

“Stop the damn buggy El,” Caine asserted much more barbaric than the first time. Again, she kept her eyes on the desolate desert and let no reaction escape.

“STOP!” Caine screamed at her furiously. Elyeen stomped on the gas and the buggy roared. The desert heat scowled at the two in the buggy. What would normally seem like a beautiful, twinkling twilight was filled with something heavy and dark. There was an invisible fog that made it difficult to breathe and kept Caine on edge. He shoved Elyeen out of the side of the buggy. She tumbled over wave-like and came to a crashing halt. Caine had jumped in the driver’s side and hit the brakes so quickly that the buggy screeched. Caine hustled over to Elyeen as she picked herself up and dusted off her already faded and torn pants.

“What is wrong with you?” Eyleen hissed.

Caine grabbed her elbow and yanked her down. “Shut up and stay low,” he murmured. Both lay on their bellies anticipating what would happen next. A powerful, mechanical humming took over the sky. It was a Kaiser Citadel military ship. These ships looked much like blimps but were made entirely of metal. They were used by the military to transport weapons and to drop off exiled criminals to the unforgiving desert.

Elyeen lowered her goggles over her eyes. Using sensors, the goggles zoomed in on the military ship like binoculars. Crisscross lines pinpointed what her pupils focused on and a red circle enveloped the faces of those departing the ship. Four disheveled people walked down the ramp first. They had black cloths over their faces and their hands were tied up in laser cuffs. Trailing after them were two soldiers. The soldiers of Kaiser Citadel were always adorned in all black garb from head to toe so that they were all uniform and if dealing with a highly sensitive situation, their identity was secure. The last person coming from the ship was quite obviously one of the gaudily dressed military captains. One could tell the ranking based on the color accent and the moon phase on the chest. This particular captain wore a midnight blue cape with identical colors stripping his boots, gloves, and helmet. On his chest, a third quarter moon – left half of the moon visible – lay imposing to its viewers.

“That captain, he’s pretty high ranking I think,” Elyeen uttered to Caine.

“What’s he wearing? What are his colors? I don’t have those damn fancy goggles. I can’t see shit,” Caine grumbled, “They all look like little ants to me!”

“Blue, dark blue, like the night sky. And the moon phase – it’s third quarter.”

“Hmmm, ya you’re right El. He’s only two rankings away from Standardization General and when ya get that far you have access to the people of that planet Arcapia.”

Elyeen paused for a moment before reacting. She had heard of the mythical planet Arcapia and how it was much bigger than the tiny planet of Distonous. Distonous was the size of an asteroid compared to Arcapia. She had only heard of jump ships that had the capability of getting to the planet, but most were destroyed in the Atomic War. What made Arcapia so mythical was that it was apparently the perfect place for people to live and the technology was so advanced that they could even cloak the entire planet so that it was invisible to outsiders. She had never heard Caine talk about the mysterious planet before.

“What about Arcapia?” she asked curiously.

Caine sighed and rolled his eyes listlessly at Elyeen’s response. He grunted out, “Not important right at this moment. But yes, it’s more than just hear-say.”

“Wha- why haven’t you said anything before?”

“El, it’s not like we can get to it anyway. Jump ships don’t exist. If they do… well that’s something the government knows not me.”

“But how do you know that the Standardization General has access to the planet? Why are you keeping things from me?”

“El, it’s better this way. Besides, I buy secrets occasionally at the Black Market for a reason. Anyways all I know is that they have some way to contact the people or at least whatever government officials they have. I’m not sure exactly how though.”

Elyeen huffed and tightened her braid. Something was going on with the soldiers and criminals that caught her eye. Leaving the conversation for a later time, she scanned the situation. She wished she had some way to hear what they were saying based on their aggressive, jerky movements.

The criminals had been lined up in a row and cloths removed. Elyeen didn’t recognize them. She wondered when the soldiers and captain were going to abandon the exiled prisoners to live out the rest of their days in the wretched Dregs. Elyeen watched as the captain pointed directly at the prisoners. Her face twisted in confusion. She had never seen this before, nor had they ever taken this long to drop off criminals. One of the soldiers lifted his lazer shooter toward the outlaws.

Elyeen gasped in horror, “I thought they let them go. I’ve never seen them kill people.”

Caine shot her a glare, “What? No, I’ve never seen that, but now it makes sense…” his voice trailed off as he tried to peer down to see what was happening.

The soldier with the raised lazer shooter had yet to fire and it seemed to have made the captain red. Zooming in, the other soldier stepped in front of the shaking people afraid for their lives. The captain’s reaction to this was not a pretty one. Steam seemed to blow out his ears and his eyes were volcanic. He tore over to the defiant soldier and snatched the lazer shooter out of his back holster then pounded him upside the head. The soldier cascaded down with a thud. With the stolen lazer shooter, the captain shot each of the hostages and down they fell like a row of dominos.

Elyeen was shaking at the horrific sight she witnessed. “Caine, we have to do something. We can’t just–”

Caine worriedly interrupted her, “On it. Get in the buggy. Drive as fast as you can. Think on your feet and I’ll follow.” He swiftly hopped in the car and Elyeen followed his lead.

Elyeen hit the gas before Caine had even gotten himself situated. He grasped the roll bar til his knuckles were white. As they hastily approached the scene, Elyeen gazed at the captain ambling up to the out-cold, resistant soldier. She saw the captain aim the lazer shooter to the helpless soldier. She grit her teeth and skid up to the military personnel.

The buggy tumbled over and around crashing into the captain and the complacent soldier knocking them down face first into the sand. She had hit them at just the right angle to baffle them and give them a dizzying headache, but not directly enough to kill them. The buggy was at a slight angle, easy to fix with a punch to the gas. As soon as she got the buggy completely grounded, she jerked the buggy around the drove past the unconscious soldier. Caine was hanging onto the edge and bent over. As they passed the soldier, he grabbed him by his arm and reeled him in. The soldier was strewn across the back of the buggy. Not wanting to be followed, Elyeen gassed it and the trio disappeared like a speck of sand amongst the many arid hills of the Dregs.

Devlyn’s head was spinning. Her eyelids were heavy and her ears were ringing. She clenched her fists, but panic darted to her face. The left side of her body was numb. No feeling, nothing. She could make out a blurred figure walking toward her.

“Wha… Where am I?” slurred Devlyn.

“Shhhhh,” whispered the figure, “Soon this will all be gone from your memory, Devlyn.”

“How… how do you know my name?” Devlyn grunted in bewilderment. But she could not hear an answer. Her eyes slowly drifted back into the dark abyss.

—

Devlyn sat at the bar, hood covering her face. Her bandaged hands, bluish and callused, clasped the beer she was drinking. She cracked her knuckles then guzzled her beer. The broken clock met her gaze, but she didn’t need to rely on that. She knew it was time.

Hood over head and eyes down, she trudged toward the abandoned factory at the East End of Kaiser Citadel. The factory was at one point used to mass produce the weapons and technology used in the city. That was until the Capitol Tower was built. The factory was grimy and grit filled, much like the entire East End. The East End was known as the slum section of town and was located near the sewage and water pipeline.

Devlyn knew this area well. Her money was hustled on these streets and in the factory. She knew who to talk to, who to avoid, and how to smuggle rarities in and out of the city without getting caught. While most did not know her real name, her fake identify, Arcane, was renowned amongst the bandits, criminals, and gamblers.

The factory door creaked open and muffled bets could be heard. Devlyn made contact with no one. She knew the factor was filled with snakes. She leaned against the wall with her arms crossed, waiting and listening.

“Arcane,” wheezed a scrawny boy much shorter than she. Devlyn merely uncrossed her arms as a response.

“That’s who you’re fighting,” he steadily pointed at a large, boulder-like figure sounded by many people, “It’s uh, Asher Lux and you’re up next.” Devlyn cocked an eyebrow, but again let no verbal response leave her lips.

The bell let out a rusty ding signaling that the next opponents needed to enter the cage. Devlyn hopped into the cage with ease and calmly observed her opponent’s movements.

“Tiny Girl!” screeched Asher, “You will succumb to my power and strength!”

Hearing this, Devlyn’s icy eyes met dead with her opponent’s. Her opponent, Asher Lux, was a notorious ex strong-arm for the President. He was at least three times her size and had veins bursting through his bulging muscles. His teeth were clenched and his eyes were bloodshot. Quite the grandstander, he bellowed at the crowd and flailed his arms to get them cheering.

Sweat clung to her dark hair and made her turquoise streaks glisten like waves in an ocean. Her lips curled up in a devious smirk. She tightened her bandages and motioned for Asher to come forth.

Asher swung a powerful blow, but Devlyn sidestepped – hands behind her back, moving as if a leaf riding the wind. Asher’s eyebrows furled in rage and he let out a howl that echoed through the run-down building.

He backed up and charged straight toward Devlyn. Again, Devlyn took advantage of her surroundings and sidestepped at just the right moment. At this point Asher was only seeing red. Swing. Miss. Swing. Miss. He may have been powerful, but he lacked the speed that Devlyn possessed.

Asher paused and Devlyn’s ears perked up. To her, the roaring crowd turned into a dull buzz and Asher’s sluggish breaths and rapid heartbeat overcame her senses. She flew up. Flipped over and punted Asher in the back of the head. Her blow could be heard amongst the crowd. Rapid fire shots from Devlyn’s balled up fist hit Asher like bullets.

WHOMP! The crowd was silenced. Devlyn looked at the crowd and swung her right arm straight into the air. This got the crowd roaring more than before.

As the crowd slowly dispersed, Devlyn snagged her winnings and zipped out the back door. Hood up, she strolled down the alley and headed home. Only the twinkle in the sky and the muted sounds of the street knew what time it was.

She ambled through the alleys, always careful for ears and eyes were lurking in the darkness. There was a mist that lay low in the streets and a chill that made her hairs stand on edge. Rustling and patters invaded the silence in her ears. Her stomach churned and her eyes grew cautious. Peering over her shoulder ever so slightly, she saw a figure cloaked in black. Only the moonlight revealed the figure’s outline. She started to sprint, but stumbled when a stinging pain penetrated her back.

“Shiiii…,” she murmured as her eyes slowly drifted into the dark abyss.

Air rushing out,

A stampede bursting through the entrance

Ready to be free and leaving the warmth of home behind.

Grasping on to anything to stabilize me

Because I've fallen off the boat

And nothing but the heavy, terrorizing waves surround me.

Color eradicated from my face to the point of translucency.

I am a crystal wall

Trying to keep you out

Trying to stand tall,

But as clear as my barricade is,

You see right through me.

Crashing in

Breaking me apart

Leaving you with raw cuts

From shattered crystal.

Like a poison sinking in,

Mist encompasses your face

Much like mine at the beginning of this disease.

Don't worry darling,

For this too shall pass,

But only after you have fallen from the stars into the vast wasteland

Where you will drown in your own endless, dark thoughts,

Feel like a shriveled up vessel that has been abused and left for dead,

And grasp for air because breathing is no longer a natural occurrence.

Darling I wish you the best of luck

And quite frankly, I cautioned you to stay as far from my contagious ailment as possible.

But alas, you must stay strong like me

And don't reveal your mourning eyes.

Grief becomes me

As it soon will you.

I waited, patient and compassionately.

You sent many gifts of your devotion,

And I humbly admired you from afar.

Never did you let me close enough,

So I loved your gifts with the same passion I had for you.

Some frightened,

Some hopeful and filled with smiles.

I guided each and every one of them.

I comforted them,

And got to know every intricate detail that shaped their soul.

My heart, 

Always so full after guiding every gift

That you created.

But I wish

I had you.