The road bends and winds and continues on a steep downward grade. The rain has finally stopped but the water rolling down the mountains is still making for hazardous conditions. Traffic is light but constant and if the mud starts to slide into the roadway it could definitely pile up quickly. The forecast says says there’s more rain on the way so I decide, I’ll wait.

The winds are strong and the trees shake violently, I remain vigilant hoping they don’t fall down. Without the trees I’ll loose cover and the plan will be ruined. I look around the asphalt platform, the other three are gone, but me, I’ll wait.

I hide along the vacant lot waiting to complete my duty. The three are dead their tasks complete but me, I’m still hiding, waiting for the final target. It’s been hours now and it’s just me, I’m beginning to second guess. I want to leave but I can’t so, I’ll wait.

“The shipments must be stopped, at any cost,” they told us. “If you die it’s for your country,” they reminded us. “No one will know of your sacrifice but your country thanks you anyway,” They mocked us. The trailer passes me, hours behind schedule and my reactions are delayed by my daydreams. I twist the throttle and rocket towards it, the wet roads make my decent difficult. As I approach the cab I stand on the bike. With a prayer I jump and grab onto the truck. I open the door and pull myself up. The driver looks from the road to me as I slowly close the door. I’m looking down the double barrel of a sawed off shotgun. “I can explain,” I say. “Go ahead” he says, “I’ll wait.”

-JCRyans

“In French, you don’t really say ‘I miss you. You say ‘tu me manques,’ which is closer to ‘you are missing from me.’ I love that.’You are missing from me.’ You are a part of me, you are essential to my being. You are like a limb, or an organ, or blood. I cannot function without you.” ~ Unknown

“When I say that I miss you, what I really mean is that your face wakes me from a dark place, your comforting familiarity dissolving in dawn mist like drifting smoke.

That life rushes in to replace my dreams as you slip away from me once more. I grasp for you with arms that will never quite reach you again.

I am empty of you.

I mean that I rise, wondering if you have woken too, and if you are drinking tea in golden sunlight, making plans as I am. I question if you slept all night or whether you tossed and turned, tormented by memories. Did you think of me when you woke? Did you push your unruly hair out of sleep-heavy eyes or leave it in a kissable tangle for someone else’s lips to explore?

When I say that I miss you, I mean that you are a beautiful puzzle piece, carved out of my soul, your intricate pattern forming part of my life picture. There is a space that always longs for you, that can never be filled if you are not here to gently love me.

It means that I yearn for what we were, how we were, the endless possibilities of us. I miss comforting your anxieties, sharing mine; tackling them together, side-by-side. I miss knowing what excites you today, what exquisite morsel of learning has found you and motivated you to try something new. I miss the way you brought me your dreams and your dramas and how I loved you endlessly through both.

When I say I miss you, what I actually mean is, I long for the tender way you say my name and the way yours tastes in my mouth. The way you steal my tears away with soft lips, like the nectar of a goddess. I mean that when my eyes scan the surging crowd, I look for you. I hear your laughter pulsing just around the corner, always a step away.

I mean that I will eternally search for you in the magic of books, in beautiful lyrics and in the kind eyes of innocent souls.

Now you are just a polite stranger with memories sealed firmly away. Our easy discussions, our deepest thoughts flowing molten like lava, are replaced by artificial small talk, meaning nothing. The fire, the freedom, the intensity-all gone. Triviality has never been—and can never be—our story.

It was all a dream.

The cold silver face of the moon brings me hope, a celestial divinity that dances for us both across a diamond studded sky. Wherever you are now, I know you worship her too and I hold to that. I send her silent messages and imagine that they glide back to you on radiant moonbeams. Perhaps they do.

I am weary from dancing alone with the ghost of you. It’s time to change the song, to release you from my loving arms. It’s time for me to dance on without you. It is easier now.” - Jojo Rowden

I remember that I don’t know you, not anymore.

I remember how it felt to be inside your head

And I sometimes wonder

If you miss being in mine

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.

Anorexia.

It's something you don't talk about. It's something that happens to broken people, not you. Something that doesn't happen to smart people, just those who are desperate to fit in with society's standards of beauty.

No one wants to talk about it, no one wants to tell the story.

So I will.

It starts out innocent enough--you want to lose a few pounds, get healthy. You stop eating junk food, you start looking at labels and counting calories. But things get ugly fast.

Now, you can't eat anything if you don't know exactly how many calories in it. Maybe you dump half your food in the trashcan when your parents aren't looking because it's too many calories, too many carbs, too much fat...

You finally cave in, have a couple pieces of chocolate or a pint of ice cream. You don't understand how you could fail like this. You realize how fat and ugly you are, your weakness and weak will.

Perhaps this cycle only repeats itself once before you correct it, or maybe this is a pattern that makes up your months, you weeks, your days...

You are only proud of yourself when you are strong. And that is when you're hungry, your stomach so empty it could be mistaken for a black hole in space.

Eating is a sign of failure, of weakness. And weakness isn't beautiful.

Anorexia destroys the real lives of real people, some of which you come in contact with everyday. It doesn't just happen to broken people or desperate people or stupid people.

It happens to regular people, regular teens...who just want to be accepted and beautiful. People who see past society's "Love yourself the way you are" to the skinny models and stars promoted as beautiful.

Society is anorexic, it is empty and starving of true beauty, the beauty that runs deeper than face value. One that isn't created using makeup, lighting, starvation, and editing software.

You are beautiful when you are yourself.

Forget society's standards. Forget people's judgements. Just be, just do...you.

'Throw That Dog a Bone!'

Caleb was drawing monsters on the sidewalk outside his house when he saw the man fleeing down the middle of Sherman street. He dropped his green chalk for a minute, and watched from behind the holes in the chain-link fence that surrounded his front yard. There was a torn milk carton, and some pop bottles on the grass outside his fence, and then a drain dropped down into the street. Beside the pile of trash was Elmer or 'Future Bum' as the neighborhood called him on account of his bad sunglasses. He was sleeping on the grass by the street like nothing ever happened in this whole wide world. There could be a dang bomb going off, and Elmer wouldn't twitch. Meanwhile this crazy white boy was sprinting like a spooked mouse right past his house at thirty miles an hour! O, well, it looked like today was gonna be another busy day. As Caleb watched, the white boy stopped at the intersection of Sherman and Center street. He paused, and looked back, and it was like he was looking back at Caleb, but then Caleb looked behind him, at the corner where the white boy popped out and saw a big looking dude, the size of the Hulk in a suit, stalking slowly towards the scared white boy. Hulk was taking his time, slowly closing the distance between them on the sidewalk. This Hulk guy looked kinda like the guy who came by his house to talk to his Mama, and told them they had to move on account of new business moving in. This Hulk guy looked more mean though, the guy who came to the door had a big smile, and a beard. Caleb remembered the guy at the door because his Mama looked so sad after he left.

"Fucking Microbrews popping up everywhere, it don't make no fucking sense," she had said to nobody in particular.

The Hulk guy suddenly pulled out a shiny silvery thing, and then Caleb recognized it as a gun. He looked back at the white boy, and the boy's face got even whiter. His eyes swelled up like balloons, and he turned to run just as a car turned off of Sherman to swing down Center Street. That's when the gun fired three times, and Caleb blocked his ears from the explosive sound. The white boy got all rubbery, and red ribbons started flying from his pockets. His body slammed backward into the car as it was turning, and bounced off the windshield, leaving a red stain on the car. Caleb was still holding his ears with his teeth tightly clenched, when the scared white boys' body pitched forward onto the sidewalk. Caleb glanced back to where his green colored chalk had rolled. It lay on top of his drawing of a green monster with red and yellow flames coming out of the mouth and nostrils. He then looked up at the white boys dead eyes that gazed back in Caleb's direction, but saw nothing, like the hamster that he found in it's cage last year. Caleb looked back for the Hulk sized man, but he was gone. Elmer slept soundly on his patch of grass without a peep.

*

Nick was looking everywhere for his .38. He looked under the magazines in the magazine rack. He looked in the secret cubby he had had specially made for illegal contraband shit by the fireplace and the bar. After closing that back up, he looked in the coat closet, and then started yanking all of the pots and pans out one by one. He thought he knew where he had left the gun last time, he just didn't know where the fuck it had got to now. In desperation he stalked back to the bedroom, and checked every drawer, and nook and cranny, though he had done this twice already. His wife, Linda, was sitting on the edge of the bed. She had a box of tissue, and there were dark worry lines around her eyes like a raccoon. She looked like a trapped animal, but Nick wasn't paying attention. She had a comb, and she kept nervously raking it through her hair while Nick continued his search.

"What the Hell are you looking for?..." Linda gasped between breaths. She was obviously distressed but Nick didn't have the time to care. After awhile of searching in vain he answered her briskly.

"My keys...They're the keys I need for work, goddamnit...My goddamn keys...damn it..."

"Your lying!...Your fucking lying again!...Why do you always lie to me like this, Nick?"

Linda burst into tears, and dropped her face into her hands. She sobbed heavier and harder then she ever had before. Without breaking stride, Nick ran out the bedroom door. The wood door of their luxury apartment slammed and echoed back to the bedroom as Linda continued to cry. Ginny, her daughter, walked into the bedroom and tried to console her mother.

"I heard you crying from my room. What's wrong, Mom?"

"What isn't wrong? ...Just...just leave me alone, ok? I don't feel well."

"Excuse me for living, Jesus!"

*

Frank was on the way to meet Nick in the room behind the abandoned record store on Sheldon Street. For whatever reason, there was this tiny little vacant space behind a metal door in the alley that periodically got electricity in the only lightbulb in the center of the room only on certain days of the week. Stranger still, the metal door was always unlocked. One of the made guys had found out from some fucking crackhead about the room, and it had been a Mob spot for meetings ever since. The days the electricity worked were on Wednesdays, and sometimes Sundays. Wednesdays were more of a sure thing, though. Frank had made plans to meet Nick here with his newly recruited associate 'Jesus' from the Passion Play he had witnessed in Italy on his trip last weekend. The plans were to talk business, pass on this new recruit to Nick, and then after that they might go for a shvitz at their favorite little place around the corner, who the fuck can say? If this didn't make things right with Nicky and him, he didn't know what the fuck would. Frank walked down the alleyway, found the door, and tried it. It opened like a cracked safe, per usual, and Frank slid inside. It was pitch black, and Frank had to use his cellphone to navigate around, until he found the one light switch hanging like a tampon string from the ceiling. He pulled the string, and nothing happened. Frank waited for a couple minutes, using his cell to light the dirty little room. Frank felt a chill steal down his back. He heard the wheels of a car roll by somewhere. Finally, after about five minutes or so, the light came on with an electric buzz. It wasn't too bright, and it bathed the room in a sickly glow. Everything had a membrane of uneasiness to it. He saw a shovel and some boxes in the corner of the room. Even the walls looked filthy. Nick ducked in, followed by 'Jesus' who must have arrived at the same time.

"Oooh! Hey, it's the Man from La Mancha! Get over here!"

Frank motioned Nick over. Nick embraced Frank, and kissed him on both sides of his face. Frank signaled 'Jesus' to come over and join them.

"You gonna introduce me to this guy? Mr. Longhair, over here parked right next to me, and I was about to punch his cafone lights out when he went for the same door, but then I assumed you knew something about this, and I gave him a pass."

"Calm down, Nicky, he's a friend of mine. This guy is top rate, he's an actor and a made guy over in the wine country. That's why he looks the way he do. He plays Jesus in a play down in Italy. I just want you to take him for whatever job you need a stand-up guy for. I just suggest you call him 'Jesus' for now because his name is too fancy for the other earners to pronounce."

"Don't call me Nicky, Frank, I told you I don't like that shit. What are you, suddenly a consigliere, or what? We gonna do a sit down on this thing, or is this just some new shit from you I gotta take on without the nut? This is beginning to be a thing with you."

Jesus looked down at the ground. His long, brown hair covered his tan face, and he looked sort of like Cousin It from the Addams Family in a leather jacket and grey slacks by Calvin Klein. A car drove by in the opposite direction from the last one before. Frank, Nick, and 'Jesus' clammed up, and got real quiet(this wasn't a problem for Jesus who'd been mute the whole time) until they couldn't hear the motor no more. Frank took a big breath, and let it out slowly. Nick looked at Jesus, and sensed a twinkle in his eye that excited him. He secretly liked guys with long hair, and this guy was gorgeous. Maybe this wouldn't be too bad after all, he thought. Suddenly the lightbulb hanging above their heads went out. Nice timing, thought Frank.

"Look whatever the fuck you wanna do, it's up to you. I just thought you could use the extra help. Jesus here was looking for some work, and he's really got no one but the family to turn to in the States."

"No, look, I'm sorry, Frank, I didn't mean to bust balls. We got a job with distribution in trash trucks that we could use some eyes on. I'm just gonna have to try Jesus out on some smaller jobs first, you understand. I don't need another empty suit hanging around."

"You see what I was saying, Jesus? This guy is gonna take care of you! "

Jesus looked up, and smirked a little. Frank slapped 'Jesus' on the back, and pushed him towards Nick. The two strangers shook hands, and flashed awkward smiles.

"Ok, well, I was thinking we could go get a shvizz at The Oakland, and get better acquainted. I haven't seen Angelika in years, and she gives the best massages. You game, Jesus?"

"Why don't you just let me treat our friend Jesus myself since I'm the one taking him on?"

"Yeah...sure. Oh, hey, how's it going with Anastasia at that Yoga place I turned over?"

"Haven't heard a peep, and that's the way I like it."

Nick yanked down on Frank's lapel of his jacket in an effort to end the meeting. Frank took the hint, and used his phone to find the knob that always turned. Light poured into the little rendezvous room, filling it with the wild winds of approaching night, as Frank, Nick, and Jesus filed out into the blood red sunset.

*

Anastasia was tending the roses in her rose garden in the back of her house. There was several patches of black, red, and white roses. Her favorite were the white ones. She was wearing those special steel knetted gloves so she could handle the roses and forgo the painful thorns. She was paying particularly close to this one white rose that she felt really protective of, for whatever reason. Ana could sense the other roses where going through something, but she didn't feel like paying attention. She had entirely too much mulch around this one white rose, but she wanted it to survive more then any of the rest. Holding her nose to it, she was addicted to it's scent, but suddenly she became aware of it's stamen. The more she looked at it, the more it seemed to be growing out at her. She drew her head away from the rose to test the way she was looking at it, and lo and behold, it did seem to be growing! The white stamen burst out of the white rose, and sprung like a leapfrog from it's lovely rose lips. In a huff Anastasia tore the flower from out of it's roots, and threw it down on the pathway of the garden at her feet in revulsion. She now noticed the other roses around her waving from side to side. A row of black ones, and a row of red ones on the opposite side were moving together to the right and to the left like those California Raisin toys that danced to music. A white snake wriggled out from the flower at her feet. It looked to be an albino. It shivered, and hissed at her, staring up at her with it's red eyes. After completely discarding it's husk of dead skin, it advanced on her as she screamed.

Anastasia jumped up from her pillow, and sat up in bed. She was drenched in sweat. She had had the rose garden dream again. Her bedroom landline phone was ringing, but she didn't feel like answering it. Anastasia could swear she heard a dog howling from somewhere. She thought again, and wondered if it was Al on the other line. Maybe he wanted to talk to her about the Zoo. Maybe he wanted to call it off. Either way she had to face Al at least. Al was good people.

"Hello, is this Anastasia? This is Frank's friend Pearl. You might have seen me sing at the Blue Moon? This call is about Nick. I heard you and him had a thing, and he got you your new Yoga job. Anyway, his wife Linda caught him at some shvitz in downtown Detroit. He was giving this guy named Jesus a party with his mouth if you know what I mean. Anyway, you probably knew he swung both ways, that's not what this calls about. Linda shot him. She shot Nick with that Jesus guys dick in his mouth. The Jesus man's sailor went down with the ship, if you know what I mean. There was blood everywhere, it was really a bad scene. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know, because Frank told me, and said maybe I should call you. They got his wife over in lockup."

"No fucking way. That explains all the weirdo fucked up dreams I've been having!"

"Maybe so. Anyway, I hope this news don't stress you out too much, honey, although I don't see how it could with such a relaxing job! Y'know I've been thinking of coming over there? I've heard that Hot Yoga is actually really super healthy for you. Is that true?"

"We don't specialize in Hot Yoga. We do mostly Sivananda Yoga, as all the teachers have been trained in this type of yoga, and none of us have decided whether to buy into the trend, and go for the Hot Yoga thing yet. But I do recommend our course! The Sivananda training system aims to retain the vitality of the body and decrease the chance of disease."

Anastasia felt like a fradulent machine rattling off the tired list of benefits of her Yoga practice, but it was a part of her makeup now. Why didn't she feel anything for Nicky? Perhaps it was a real love that she felt for Al. Either that or she just didn't hardly give a fig about Nick anymore. She cared about him kind of, but it was more like a weight in her gut. She did think about Al alot, but who was to say what love was anyway? Better to just follow your instinct, and see what happens. In the distance Ana heard the dog howling again, and wondered who the neglectful neighbor was. Whoever the culprit, the howl gave her an inward chill, and prompted her to hop out of bed, and get ready for her class. Al would be waiting on her to bring the Cd Player and the music, but this time she thought she'd class it up a bit, and maybe bring her Dad's record player that she'd inherited from him after the cancer. She might be able to surprise Al a bit with all the things she knew about music. She could be a bit of a enigma at times, but so could anybody.

The End