The cavern was so dark, Eli was sure she was dead. The last thing she could remember was the cold rush of the ocean swallowing her whole, and the cold stares of her crew as she fell. But she wasn’t dead, her heart pounding in her chest was the biggest tell; and there was no pain, something she expected with her afterlife. It was almost impossible to see in the faint blue light, but she could make out a wall of rock to her right, and above her. It was dry where she lay, but somewhere in the distance she could hear dripping water. Eli figured she had to be underwater still, in some sort of cavern.

Eli stood slowly, silently, for she had a notion that she wasn’t alone in this cave. Something- or someone- had brought her here, and saved her; or perhaps just set her aside for dinner. Still, in the cavern there was no sound but the dripping water in the distance. She made her way across the room, to an opening in the rock wall, a door, almost, into a hallway. Did she dare explore this place? When her footsteps echoed off every surface around her, magnifying the sounds? It wasn’t like Eli to be scared. She shook her head and stepped into the corridor, grasping at her side where the hilt of her sword used to be. No weapons. Either she lost them when her crew chucked her into the ocean, or her savior took them. Letting out a sigh, she kept going; she was dangerous enough without blades.

The stone corridor was long and darker than her room was; the blue light kept fading intermittently, which left her clinging to the walls. Rocks bit at her bare feet as she went, and she struggled to hold in her curses. When it seemed like the hall would never end, it opened into another room, a cave, bigger than the one Eli had woken in. The light was brighter in here, and from the corridor she could see a hole in the ceiling, letting in the light. The hole was open to air, no ocean covering it; but the pesky sound of dripping water was still ringing in her ears. Eli managed a step out from the stone, and regretted it when a deep, gravely voice boomed

“You’re awake.” Not a question, not a conversation started, just a simple observation from a man across the room. A man who’s back was to her, who seemed to be taller than life.

“What is this place?” Eli hated how raw and soft her voice sounded. “How long was I asleep?” She tried to sound more commanding, more like herself with each sentence- but the man before, even just his back, was intimidating.

The man chuckled without amusement. “I suppose it’s your cage, captain.” Her turned to face her, and Eli gasped.

The man wasn’t a man at all, more so a beast. While his face was humanoid, he had a long beard ending near where his navel should have been, except his lower half turned to fins and tentacles. He grinned at her, with sharp rows of teeth like a sharks. The beast had no feet, just ten tentacles, scales covered his lower half, under a dark coat. His arms, thank the lord, where human. Eli, in every right, was terrified.

“What are you?” She demanded, shaking from head to toe.

“That’s a very rude question. Didn’t your mother teach you manners?” He grinned again.

Eli only gaped at him, at his teeth.

The beast sighed, “I have no intention to harm you, little human. You fell into my lair by accident, interrupting my century of solitude. I don’t want you here.”

“So you’ll send me home?”

“If I could do that, do you really think you’d still be here? Besides, as far as I know, you have no home now.” His words his a raw wound in Eli.

“I do have a home.” She protested. She had to get out of here; she had to prove her crew wrong.

“I’ve seen this time and time again, little human. You females masquerade as men upon ships, and each time, you’re surprised when they chuck you into the sea like yesterday’s dinner.” The beast sighed, almost pitying. “You know pirates are a paranoid type, you should know that your kind are considered bad luck, yet you ignore the warnings.”

“I have a home.” Eli protested again, though she didn’t quite know why. Everything this beast said was correct. Still... she had another home to return to.

“You should be grateful the sea had mercy on you, little human. Other girls, prettier girls, are never quite as lucky. And the few who are, die from terror on their first night. They never make it past the first room I left you in.” He laughed, “they think themselves in hell, with Davy Jones.”

“So... you’re not him?”

The beast gave her a dark look. “If I were him, you would never have made it in here. He is cruel, merciless. I, however, am damned with a human soul.”

Eli didn’t say anything more, didn’t know how. She had too much going on in her mind, flying around like seagulls.

“There’s truly no way for me to leave?”

The beast scoffed and ignored her.

“Please, I’ll do anything.” She begged.

The beast merely raised a hand, and pointed to an opening on the other side of the cave.

“If you insist on leaving, the answers you seek are through there.”

“Thank you-“ She said, and crossed to the opening.

“You won’t be thanking me soon.” Was the last thing the beast said to her, before disappearing from the cavern.

Eli left too.

#pirates #ocean #fantasy #lovestory

I tend to draw inspriation from my life and real things and feelings that happen to me, like many do. So, I wrote about how I feel about my senior year starting in a few days through the mind of a young man named Adam. Many of the things he thinks are thoughts I have or had over the past two months. The setting is a very real, sparsely decorated front porch, exactly like mine. Writing is my way of venting, and the song Doom Days made me want to write about my fears for my senior year and life after that, with a few statements added in for dramatics, of course.

#honesty #fears #inspiration #challenge

The best thing to do in a southern summer, is to sit on the porch regardless of the heat and just exist. No phone, no book, just a drink and a chair— at least, that’s how he felt about summer. Adam didn’t have a job or a camp to go to like all his friends, and he certainly didn’t want to fall into drugs like so many of his peers did. So without fail, every day of his vacation Adam sat on his front porch and existed. He could see the pool from his porch, where the cute lifeguard worked, the lifeguard who graduated a year above him and was best friends with Adams brother. Sometimes Adam let himself imagine a future with him, if he didn’t live in such a small, close-minded town.

Mostly, during the long days of nothing, Adam did daydream— not just about cute lifeguards or working air conditions— about school and after. Senior year was fast approaching. On the surface, he couldn’t wait to graduate, to get away from the twenty two kids he’d been in class with since kindergarten. He couldn’t wait to leave behind all the racist old men and bossy old ladies at his dads church. Sure, he would miss the football games and the team he’d been on since freshman year, basketball and baseball too. Maybe he would miss track... (although he was never very good at running). But under the excitement, he knew he was scared. Adam often found himself wondering; “Can I really survive on my own?”. He knew his parents expected him to graduate college, find a girl and settle down; they’d only told him so about a thousand times. His parents wanted him to stay in town, live on under their legacy, but Adam didn’t want that. He knew he wasn’t meant for the small town world. He dreamed of big cities, of mountains and lakes, not fields upon fields of wheat. Adam wanted to travel, to write, and to live. But his parents would hate that... he also didn’t want to let them down.

Summer in the south means a lot of things. It means harvest and football practice. It means swimming and long days with friends. But for some, for the very few of us, it holds a different meaning. It means dread and fear. It means future, and whether that light is bright... or whether it goes out completely.

#summer #south #senioryearfears #smalltown #areality

The speakeasy was a haze of smoke and music. The jazz band in the corner of the room played a melancholy melody, accompanied by a singer mourning a lover lost to her sister. Laughter rang out, the opposite of the song, from a group of gamblers who were watching one of their own storm away from the table. The percussion to the song of the illegal den was the sound of glasses being set on the hardwood bar, and liquor being poured. The orchestra of illegal, dirty, and bad played in one of many of Charlie’s speakeasies. This was just one in an empire of many. In fact, this was one of the more disreputable ones, where men and women alike could go to forget themselves in the clutches of the devil for a night. Blacks and whites could find sanctuary in the bed of one of the many girls that worked for her. Charlie didn’t care what her patrons did, so long as they had money and kept their mouths shut.

She sat in a corner, surrounded by her subjects: patrons and prostitutes, surveying her rugged kingdom. Even the Queen of the Underground, as she had dubbed herself, needed escape at times, and the disreputable hall was exactly the place she could go. Here, she donned one of her many fake personas: Angel, the favored girl of the owner. Of course, nobody who came really cared who owned the joint. Or that here, and all their favorite places were owned by a woman. Charlie had conquered the entirety of the illegal alcohol industry on her own, by posing as a man and killing everyone who stood in her way. Even the mob bowed under her. Because in a man’s world, if she tried to take over as little Evelyn Martian, the men would’ve laughed their asses off… She knew from experience. All of their graves had yet to be found.

After a few failed attempts to purchase property for her businesses as herself she donned Charlie’s persona, a rich man who sent his servant everywhere for him. After a while, businessmen accepted her, and gave her ‘Charlie’s’ deeds. Anyone who questioned her, or looked to closely at her papers found themselves six feet under.

So, Charlie sat in the overstuffed, smoke scented chair, smoking and waiting for someone to cause trouble. Tonight she was just antsy for a fight, but her mama had always told her “ladies don’t start fights, that’s a man’s job. We’re better off finishin’ them.” Her mama’s advice had never steered her wrong.

If she got truly desperate for a fight she could always just accuse a man of touching her wrong, or join a game of cards just to accuse someone of cheating. Those always got the people riled enough to brawl. Especially the former option; she loved using her beauty to her advantage. The best part was always after everyone simmered down. She would hunt down the person who she accused, declare herself the owner, and kick them out while they were still spitting. Once, a man had even told her, after she’d spat in his face, “That face is as beautiful as an angels, but it hides a damn devil underneath.” She only grinned at him when he said that, then batted her lashes sweetly at him.

His words struck a chord in her, inspiring her to take on the prostitute persona of Angel, alongside Charlie. These days she had so many fake identities, she almost forgot her given name. Until her Cousin came around.

Speaking of her Cousin, she scanned the room for him. He was late, an unusual occurrence for him. She didn’t waste her time worrying for him, as he could take care of himself. There was no love lost between them; they weren’t even technically related. Cousin had only become a coin of phrase between them in the past months. He’d tried to get her into bed with him, and she’d laughed in his face and told him that she would sooner sleep with her own cousin than him. Overall, they were nothing more than business partners. She kept the booze cheap for him and his men in exchange for protection and cash. Charlie stubbed out her cigarette and stood, fully aware that her tiny skirt had ridden up further, and then men’s eyes around her were glued to her legs; men were funny, they always acted like they’ve never seen skin before. She pitied their wives. If only one of the men would try and touch her, so she could finally get into the fight she’d been spoiling for all night.

But when none of them did she frowned, and walked away from the dim corner over to the bar where she was supposed to meet her Cousin. He still hadn’t shown. He was late on his payments, and if he didn’t show tonight, Charlie would hunt her down to get her money. She didn’t want to, and finding a replacement for him would be tedious but… she couldn’t afford to look weak. Her gaze darted between her watch and the entry. It was nearly midnight, and he was over an hour late.

“Looking for someone?” A man’s cool voice asked from behind her. She turned on her barstool to face her, flipping her brown hair over her shoulder.

“Ryan Mendoza, you’re late.” She scolded, but her Cousin only grinned.

“A king’s never late, sweetheart.”

“He is when he’s answering to his queen,” She shot back, only serving to make his grin grow.

“I’ve missed your sass, Evelyn,”

“Where’s my money, Ryan,” She replied, holding out her hand.

“I don’t got it,” He said, then quickly covered with, “But I gotta better deal for you,”

“I don’t want a deal, I want my cash.” She sighed, “I’m sick of making deals with the mob. Y'all get your booze and I get my money and protection. I’ve already let yalls past three payments slide.”

“What if I had a way to expand your empire? Outside of the Oklahoma City area?” He was persistent, she had to give him that. It was the part of the reason she got him into the mob. Evelyn bit her lip, contemplating what he said.

“I’m listening…”

“A fella out in Tulsa is lookin’ to get out of the moonshine business. He’s sellin’ all his shit off for a decent price. I had my boys look into it and he’s got a few nice places. With some cleanin’ and renovations, we-- er uh-- you could take over there too.”

“How do I know he doesn’t already have a buyer?”

“If he does, get rid of ’em. I taught you how to.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“You better think fast, sweetheart. This guy wants to get the heck outta dodge.”

She scoffed, “I don’t blame him. Cops are cracking down on people like us. Bribes ain’t enough anymore.”

“Come talk to me when you have an answer. You know where to find me,” Ryan tipped his hat and stood to walk away.

“Oh, and Ryan?”

“Yes, Miss Evelyn?”

“I want my payment, in full.. Or I’ll pick a new boy to replace you.”

Ryan laughed, “Good luck finding someone as handsome as me.” He winked at her and strode for the door. She only rolled her eyes. Once he was gone, she turned back to the bar and glared at his unfinished drink. She hadn’t even realized he’d been drinking. He knew she despised being called her given name inside her Empire, and he used that against her. The glass was cool against her fingers when she wrapped her hand around it. She started down at the brown liquor, then launched it across the room, straight at a group of men playing cards. Their girlish screams were enough to make her grin, and she turned giddy as soon as the first punch was thrown.

The fight didn’t last nearly long enough, but she somehow made it count; and found someone to blame to pay for the damages. Somehow it curtains caught on fire… It didn’t have anything to do with her throwing a candle at all… She almost felt sorry for the poor man she singled out; it would be a hefty bill to pay.

It was a cold, long walk from the edge of the city to her apartment. The walk this time, took her twice as long because some jerk got the bright idea to throw a knife into the mosh pit, and she was the unlucky one who got cut. Though, she could say she was fortunate for only getting a long slash down the inside of her thigh, instead of being stabbed. It still stung like a bitch every time she moved.

The doorman didn’t say a word about her obvious bruises and cuts when she approached, and she was grateful for that. The doorman had demanded to know why she looked like shit once, and wouldn’t let her pass until she told him… He found himself without a job the next day. The new doorman, a kind looking, elderly gentleman just nodded and opened the door for her. She didn’t acknowledge him, but stalked straight for the elevator, pulling her coat tighter around her.

Her building wasn’t the nicest, or anywhere close to it, but it was good enough for her; easy to hide all of her in it. The tower stood on the edge of downtown, just on the outskirts of the slums. Here, nobody asked questions, and to her landlord, she was nothing more than a spoiled, little, rich girl whos daddy paid for everything.

The elevator was slow and old, but she couldn’t complain since it let her off inside her apartment. It was made special, and she was the only one who could access her floor because of a special key. The old doors slid open and she stepped into her dark apartment. Immediately, she could tell something was off. Her gut instincts told her something was wrong, and those instincts never steered her wrong before. The hairs on her neck and arms stood straight as she fumbled for the knife in her pocket. Once she’d flicked the blade out she went for the light switch, ready to attack the intruder.

The empty room flooded with light. Charlie couldn’t hold back her sigh of relief when she saw the empty room. Then she heard the faintest sound of glass hitting wood from the next room. Gripping the blade tighter, she made for the kitchen. It felt like a rope had wrapped around her gut, and it tightened with each step. She pushed the kitchen door open, and saw who’d broken in.

He didn’t even look up at her, but mumbled a mere “Good evening, Miss Martin,” over his drink.

“Who the hell are you.” She demanded.

“A friend,” He said, turning to face her. “So you can put that knife of yours away.”

She started at him for a long moment, then huffed and shoved her knife into the pocket, though leaving the blade out, incase he caused any trouble. The man smiled and finished off his drink. He had certainly made himself at home in her apartment. Charlie took the time to study him, see what kind of threat he would pose.

Although he claimed to be no threat, he looked like one. Even hunched over the counter, she could see he was well over six feet tall, and built like a bull. God had certainly blessed him with looks. His light brown hair was cut short and his beard was almost non existent, save for the faintest trace of stubble on his cheeks. Why, if he hadn’t broken into her home, she might’ve found this man attractive.

“Finished staring?” Her face flushed red. Damn this man.

“You got a name?”

“I do,” He smirked at her. This bastard was toying with her, and enjoying it. Charlie’s hand itched for her knife.

She rolled her eyes, “I’m about five seconds from killin’ you and makin’ it look like an accident.” She snapped. He didn’t even try to look concerned.

“I’ve heard you’re all bark and no bite,”

“You can ask all the other men who thought that when you’re buried with ’em”

Two steps. She only had to take two steps to bury her knife between his ribs.

“Name’s Everett Blake, but my friends call me Rett” He smirked at her, his eyes roving over her body like he was looking at a feast. Pig.

“We’re not friends, Mr. Blake.”

“We could easily become friends, Miss Evelyn.” He stood, pulling off his coat and tossing it on the stool where he’d been sitting. “I know quite a bit about you. I know that you’ve got a rich daddy, I know that you’re still unmarried, despite being the prettiest girl I’ve laid eyes on,” He walked closer to her, until he’d backed her into a corner. “And I know you’re not who you say you are, Miss Martin.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Sir.” She glared at him. This man was giving her the creeps.

“You have many names, Miss Martin, or should I say, Miss Cox?” She flinched when he said her fake surname.

“What do you want, Mr. Blake?”

“Call me Everett.” He told her.

She glared at him. “What do you want.” She spat.

“You’re the most powerful person this side of the state. Rumor has it you’ve even got the mob under your thumb.” He said, completely closing the gap between them. Everett placed his hands on her waist, sliding his fingers just under her shirt. “I’m the boss over in Tulsa, and I want a little taste of power over here.”

“I’m not sure what you mean…” Charlie swallowed, praying her wouldn’t notice her slipping her hand down into her coat pocket. She relaxed slightly when her fingers curled around the grip of her knife.

“You and me would make a formidable pair, Miss Charlie. Though, once we married I want you to go by you’re given name. It suits you much better than a man's,”

“You wanna marry me?” She fought back the bile rising in her throat.

“I don’t wanna. I’m gonna.” Everett smirked and lowered his head to her neck. The feeling of his stale breath on her skin was repulsive. He’d cornered her like a cat, and when cats are cornered, they strike. Charlie ripped the knife from her pocket and slashed upwards at his face. He shouted, and his hands flew up to the right side of his face; red was already leaking through his fingers. He was shouting obscenities at her, but it sounded muffled, like he was yelling underwater. The edge of her knife was scarlet.

A savage grin spread on her face. “You shouldn’ta messed with me, Mister.” She twirled the knife. “I’m not some helpless bitch you can use as you please.” Everett was backing away from her now. His hands fell slack at his sides and she could see the deep gash across his cheek. “You were right, I am the most powerful person this side of the state, but I work alone.”

Something like fear lit up in his eyes. “What are you going to do?” terror turned his voice to a harsh whisper.

“I claim the Tulsa mob as my own, as I am about to take power from the boss.” She giggled, actually giggled like a schoolgirl. To his credit, he looked like he was fixing to soil his pants.

“Don’t kill me, please. I won't tell no one what I know!” He begged, tears lined his eyes.

“Damn right you wont,” He relaxed a little. “Because dead men tell no tales.”

Evelyn Martin threw her knife across the room, she had never thrown one before, but tonight was her lucky night.

“What the hell, Cousin? It’s nearly two in the morning!” Ryan’s groggy voice crackled over the telephone.

“Send a few men, Ryan. I got another body to get rid of…” She said, wiping her knife on a towel. “And how do you feel about a promotion?”

#twenties #roaringtwenties #prohibition #speakeasy #mafia

Running. It's all she'd ever been good at. Running for sport, running for fun, and most importantly, running from her problems. She was a coward, and terrified to admit it, because if she did, it would be true and that was too hard to face. So, she would run and deny and build walls and hide from everything that scared her; but she would also create a mask of the worlds most confident girl. It was just easier that way. She wasn't ashamed that way.

He gave his love so freely, so carelessly, it felt fake. He loved without question, without hesitating, and that scared her. But she didn't want to run. Ironically, running from him scared her. But every time he say those three damn words, the seed of doubt in her heart would grow larger, and soon it got to be too big to ignore. Three months passed, of him loving her, and her trying to love him in return; the whole while she questioned if love truely existed.

Three long months of her doubt, until she let him go. Three months of trying to love him, trying to be normal. But after a time of feeling nothing, she wondered if she was broken; if she couldn't love like a human. The girl let him go. He would find someone else, someone who deserved him, she told herself over and over again. To her, she was doing him a favor, even if it hurt at the time.

It didn't take long for the regret to hit. Winter break ended and school resumed, and she had to see him, every day, five days a week. Her chest ached when she did see him, and it cracked a bit more when he ignored her in the halls. High schoolers were good at that, ignoring their own problems. January dragged by, and she wasted a month cradleling her broken heart. she tried to be his friend, but it seemed he wanted nothing to do with her; it was fair to her.

February hit and it changed. The month of love, the month of pink, the month of the lonliest holiday and things started changing. In the dark backseat of a car, he slipped his hand into hers without a word; she couldn't forget the way it made her heart pound. Each beat reminded her of how she couldn't get over him. The day after that fateful night, he acted like nothing ever happened. They were never good at this whole 'talking' and 'communication' thing. She vowed to be better.

One word conversations slowly turned into late night phone calls then into sneaking out to the park to see each other at night with the girl looking over her shoulder, just waiting for her angry parents to drag her back home. They never showed up. By the time March rolled up, she forgot why she ever broke up with him... but she couldn't figure out why they still weren't back together.

Spring flew by and they spent every moment they could together. They walked around the park, watched movies at each others homes, trained and ran together during track; just as friends. The boy's proudest moment was when he fended off a creep and the girl looked at him like he was Superman. Spring warmed up and Summer was quickly approaching. Both of them were eager for Summer and the long days they would be able to spend together until She left again, for a stupid summer job up north.

Two small town friends, with a boiling romance between them that they denied. The good could only last for so long. Just as school got out, they started argueing and said things they didn't mean. June went by and they didn't speak. Once July hit, the girl left without a word to him... But he was waiting for her when August came...

And the cycle repeats.

#romance #highschool #reallybadwriting #heartbreak

Happiness is the drug all the addicts are looking for; its high is the one they're obsessed with. The high always comes in fleeting moments, a smile, a book, or seeing the first flake of snow. Some are longer than others, most only last a few seconds. Though, the journey for happiness is more harrowing than it's worth.

She found her happiness in a world of water, trees, and bugs. A place where nature is law, and she's nothing more than a visitor in the cruel woods. Her happiness is in the splash of a wooden paddle, and the soft hum of a canoe gliding through the murky water. It manifests on the vauge yellow and red maps telling her where to go.

The coveted high came with laughter around a campfire, and hiding in a tent at sunset, hiding from the misquitos. Every morning brought a new dose, and as the days went on, the dosaged uped. Each night she went to bed, already buzzing for the next day. The weight of a canoe on her shoulders and the cheering as she walked the rocky trails were better than any drug in the books. The leadership she had and the friendships she build gave her the so precious happiness she'd spent years looking for in vain.

But nothing could beat the rush she got when she was alone. In the woods, on a lake, or even in the lat, was the peak of her high. While swatting away bugs in a tent or paddling down a lake with her crew was good, being on with nature was great. She had time to think, to sing, to speak, and to reflect; something she couldn't do around the buzz of the city, but her thoughts were clear as crystals with the buzz of the bugs in the background.

Of course, all good things must end and after a mere three weeks in the Wilderness of Minnesota, she had to leave. Civillian life was rough and the next few days were the withdrawl she was dreading. Days droned on with class, and work, and stress. When she could find a minute to herself, she spent it longingly looking at her maps, smiling at the memories.

She turned to a zombie in those days. For weeks, she was empty, a husk of who she wanted to be. Depression and angst threatened to end her, end any chance at the happy she felt, but it changed. She found happiness in a new place; in a new person.

He was her happiness. Even if he didn't realize it at the time, he pulled her back from a ledge. This unassuming, asshole of a person, was the one to give her back the drug. Isn't it funny how the ones we despise end up helping the most?

It was inevitable for her to fall for him. He was her drug, her happy, her love. But it was never enough, never quite right. At night she would fall asleep, feeling empty as she drifted off into a dreamless sleep. It was enough, she told herself. I can make it, she lied each night. She was getting used to him, the high, his happy and it was destroying her. The girl lied to herself for months until she couldn't take it anymore. Until what used to make her happy, made her feel nothing. She just wanted to go back to her paradise, and get back the high she had.

She left him.

The shell came back.

She missed him.

She found a new happy. She forgot about him and went back to her paradise. But he didn't forget her. For him, she was his paradise; he got his high from her. The scales tipped and his Sad took over. But she was happy, and that's all that mattered to him. Eventually he had to find a new Happy. The high would come back.

He just knew it would... Right?

He only hoped it would.

My mother always told me the end of the story first.

She never had a real reason to, or if she did, she just wouldt tell me. As I got older, I just accepted it. I would never be surprised by someone falling in love, or a beloved characters death, because I always knew it was going to happen.

When I was a teenager, I finally got upset. I asked her why, for probably the millionth time, and she still didn't give me a reason. All she said was "We don't like surprises." Which was a blatent lie to me; but I'd never really given that thought. Did I hate surprises?

During college, I grew distant to her. I read my stories beginning to end, without ever touching the last page befor the first. I all but forgot about my mothers weird tendancies. Junior year of college I stopped reading all together. The twists and turns were annoying, and I hated not knowing what would happen. For the life of me I couldn't figure out why. Reading quickly lost its flame.

Life is a story in itsself. After college I started to hate life. Not mine necessarily, but the whole idea of it. I couldn't predict, I didn't know how it would end, when it would end or where it would start. I couldn't make anything out of life; nothing like the worlds I would create when mother told me my stories. The end would be the basis for my worlds, and the universe I built around them came from the story. But once I left home, those worlds lost structure.

Even with that revelation, it took me until my mother passed to figure out why I hated reading. I didn't know she was leaving me. When I heard she'd faded, it was too late. I could have saved her, I knew I could have. But I stopped reading, and I never read the end of her story. The ending is the worst part.

I took on her job, Fate made me, since her sister had died. Now, I read the lives of everyone, each story is different, and the endings are always at the begining. If I had gotten to read my mothers story, I wouldn't be stuck here. I would still be a human... But would that be any better?

No.

But at least now I know why my mother always told me the end of the story first.

"I love you." He told her after she had made him cry with laughter.

"I love you." She told him when he was trying to hide his tear stained face.

"You're my best friend." He claimed while they were watching their teammates run

"And you're mine," She lied, not wanting to hurt him.

"I hate you," He had snapped, beginning of his freshman year, and at her sophmore.

"I hate you," She replied, hiding her hurt.

"..." Neither of them spoke for months, but watched the other with wary eyes.

"I think I love him," She gasped, hushed and slurred. It couldn't be true

She was drunk.

"I think I love her..." Though he would never admit it.

"..." Summer went by and they said few words.

"I love you," He told her, hidden away from the world.

"I..." She didn't know how to respond. Denial was her best friend.

"I hate you," He grinned at her, love shinning in his eyes.

"No, you don't" She smirked smugly.

"You're right. I don't." He was stilling grinning as he leaned in and stole her first kiss.

"I love you." He said, only when they were alone.

"I love you." He smiled after his friends had left.

"I... love you..." She said, conflicted.

"I love you." He told her after every kiss.

"I like you." She resented.

"I love you." It echoed in her head as she watched him, hidden in their spot with someone else.

"I hate you."

Just a moment can change the course of history, which is what she had been taught; which was every logical reason as to why time travel stayed illegal. But, with her endless curiosity and wild spirit, Oceania just had to try it for herself.

Now she knew why the laws were in place. She had meant to send herself only five minutes to the future, so she couldn't screw anything up, but her calculations had been off. It was obvious from the moment she'd opened her eyes. Instead of the white walled room greeting her, she was staring at a horse. A horse connected to a carriage.

This was not five minutes to the future, or even to the past. The machine was nowhere to be seen either... Oceania was stranded, in some godforsaken time.

Six months later Oceania was used to living in the Victorian era. Her expiriments with useless materials, to try and recreate the time machine, had become practically nonexistant. Balls, courting and afternoon teas consumed most of her days. Men of her new town flocked to her, intriuged by her stories of the future, though most believed them to be fiction. She didn't mind the attention, especially not from a young man named Alexander.

He was the dictionary definiton of a gentleman: Unfailingly polite, intellegent, charming, funny, and not to mention, handsome. He was a head taller than her, lean, and had an adorable crooked smile that she loved. His eyes were a deep green, like the color of a dense forest, and the contrasted with his golden skin. He was handsome in the most traditional of ways, but Oceania didn't mind; not when his attention was on her and only her.

The memories of her time had nearly faded. Years had passed and she gave up on finding a way back. Alexander proposed, and they'd eloped together, ready to travel the world with each other. Oceania didn't want to go back, couldn't go back. She had a life here in this year, damn the conciquences of the future.

Just a moment can change the course of history. It can change the future, that's certain. But one moment adds up to so much more. One can fall in love in a moment, then fall out of love the next. Oceania changed her history, and the worlds future by traveling in time, but she didn't care. Not when she had Alexanders love all to herself, even if was for just a moment.

I have only one secret I like to keep hiden. Only one, which I breathe to life in my writing. The characters I create keep it close, like a safety blanket. My story is bled onto the pages, everything I love or what I hate, every truth, every lie, every secret I've kept. My secrets are coded into every short story, every poem, every burst of genius I've ever written down. If one was clever enough, they could pick my life's story out of the words I put down. But no one cares enough to; and I suppose that keeps my secrets safe.

When she was young, she never did anything. She lived in fear of being looked down upon, of being second. Being the youngest, only by two years, was hard. Everything her brother did was perfect, and what she did was merely mediocre. The girl was never better than her brother; Doomed to live forever in his shadow. So, she gave up. That's when she started to stand out.

All through elementary school, teachers would praise her brother. He was perfect, straight A's, behaved in class, never ever got held inside from recess. All through elementary, she was cursed to have her brothers old teachers.

"Why can't you be more like him?" They would ask. "Your brother would never do that." Her teachers would scold. "Why aren't your grades A's?" Her parents would demand, tearing her B ridden report card off the fridge. Her parents would send her away to her room to read, or do math problems, while her brother went outside to play.

Her brother never tried to help her, only taunted and teased her. By the time she was in fifth grade, and he in seventh, the poor girl had given up on being the best, on even being good. Even her baby sister, who was barely four, was doing better than her in day-care.

By the time middle school rolled around, the girl had one rule. She would not spend the next three years of her life being compared to her brother. So, she didn't go to the best school, didn't bother trying to get in. The second best school would have to do for her, and she was determined to thrive.

At her new middle school, her brother's name was only a whisper at home. Her grades got better (except for in math, her brother would forever be better than her at math) along with her attitude. The teachers adored her, praised her even. She got good at sports, started running track and playing softball, and started winning. The feeling of being good at something, at being praised was addicting. Her standards got higher, and she soared.

But everything that goes up, must come down.

Do you see where the story is taking you? The climax is quickly coming, and you know something bad is going to happen, where the secret has to come in to fit the prompt of this challenge, right? What do you think will happen? Will the brother come to her school and mess everything up for her? Do you think I'll follow some cliche and throw in a mental illness curveball? This is my story after all, and I can do whatever I want, the words are my clay and I am the potter.

No, I'm going to keep the story as true as I can. Let's see what happens when one lives in a shadow for the early years of their life.

It hit hard, and it hit fast. She was left like a fish floundering on shore, slowly dying. One year. The girl got one measly year at the school where her they knew her name, and not her brothers. Then their father decided to uproot them, move them far, far away. From that moment, she realized one thing: She hated her family.

She hated them for making her hate herself. For the past year she had done nothing but try to do good; try to shine a light on herself, but it didn't work. While people praised her, she hurt herself. It was never good enough. She was never good enough. The girl reached for support from people with just as destructive personalties.

Regardless of her protests, the move came and went, and she was new. She, her brother, and her sister would be going to the same school now. Her sister in kindergarden, her in seventh, and her brother starting his freshman year. A year of healing. A year of being back in the shadow. But she still tried.

The last two years of middle school taught her lots, like, how to know who your real friends are, how to procrastinate, and mostly, how to roll with the punches. She learned how to brush off the insults people would throw at her, how to laugh in their faces, and how to shine without hating herself. The world did nothing but hurt, so she would grow a tougher skin. She also learned about sexual assault and how it would forever leave scars on her soul, but she grew past that and stopped crying everytime she heard his name.

Highschool came, but it was no change. The same building as middle school, same people, same tiny town. The secrets of her destructive past stayed hidden and she kept them her dirty little secret. Teachers stopped calling her by her brothers name, and started calling him hers (in a small school, grades tend to share teachers). She was a storm to be feared. A storm of wild laughter, messy hair. A tornado of witty remarks and a razor sharp mind. Words became her greatest weapon. Though, inflicting pain never really pleased her, unless it ended with tears. The girl grew, and turned into a weapon, turned herself into a weapon. She stopped hurting herself, and relearned to love herself.

All the while, her classmates went through what she had done alone in sixth grade. She watched them destory themselves through drinking, drugs, blood and sex, only helping when she could, and trying not to let their souls be as ruined as their livers. They called her a killjoy and stopped inviting her places, but she tried not to care. The world loved to kick people when they were down.

The girls story ends here, struggling through highschool with its petty drama, lack of parties, and friends fickler than the weather. As much as I hate to say it, this story stems mostly from truth, though quite a few events are made up.

My motto when writing is "You can't write it if you haven't expiranced it", so, the contents have to be mostly true. The ending though, leaves a question from me to you. Could you find my secret? What the thing I'm dying to keep hidden is? I could tell you, but it would ruin all the fun... I'll play fair though and give you answers. Like a test.

Is my secret

A.) That I partake in the new destructive activites with my friends

B.) That I still fear being in the shadow of my siblings

or C.) That, even though I am not ashamed of having a mental illness, I still fear them

Hint: There's two correct answers.