I am not real.

I am walking fiction.

I am made up of people I've read about and songs I've listened to and movies I've seen.

My words are not my own.

They are fabricated lies, drifting from one person to the next.

I am hand-me-downs

I am secondhand smoke

I am the lingering of a bad dream.

I am who people need me to be.

I am the characters

within the page,

I am the characters

living on stage.

I am reading lines from a storybook and playing that role out for you, fooling you

that I am she.

Fooling you I've made this character breathe, when in reality, these lies are taking over me.

Okay, I'm in an elevator along with three surly bikers, the elevator suddenly grinds to a halt mid floor. Over the intercom we're informed that help is on the way. Here goes.

Biker 1: Fuck you lookin' at gimp?

Me : Hookay, it's cool, I just have a fear of heights, sorry I meant no offence.

Biker 1: Fuckin' eyeball me man, I'll fuck you up good.

Biker 2 (eager to egg on his pal): Don't take no shit Duke.

Me (nervous): It's alright I promise my gaze just wandered.

Biker 1 (Steps toward me and adopts an aggressive pose): You call me fuckin' gay spook?

Biker 2 (Enjoying my predicament): Take him out Duke!

Biker 3 (Sweating and stinking of beer): You know who we are dick?

Me (Trying desperately to squeeze an atom of bravado from nowhere) Hey guys let me buy you a beer..

My attempt at pouring oil on troubled waters ends abruptly as Biker 1 sneers and grips my throat.

Biker 1 (Snarling and spitting in my face): You call me a fuckin' queer gimp?

Me (sweating): No (gasp), not even a little I just...offered you all a a beer that's all, here look, I have money, take it".

I desperately flash my wallet as panic takes over.

Biker 3 (Spits a huge dollop of phlegm at my face, which hits my nose with a sickly squidge): Fuckin' gonad's got bread man, lemme see that (rips wallet from my hand).

Me : Oh shit!

Biker 1 (distracted): How much Bubba?

Biker 3 (smiles showing yellow teeth): Enough Duke. Let's split.

With a sharp judder, the elevator continues its descent and comes to a halt at the next lower floor.

The bikers head off leaving me shaking fitfully in a growing pool of urine.

Me: Oh that was pleasant.

When I was a spring chicken one of my relations bought me an illustrated children's bible, and even though I wasn't fully able to make out the longer words, I did get the gist of most of the chapters.

I loved it, though not for its content, but for the illustrations which were lavishly stylised and appealing to a young mind.

I cherished that dog eared book, until one day I couldn't find it and my mom said she couldn't find it either, so that was, sadly, that.

When I was just a kid my mom used to take me to my Grandma's place on Sundays, partly for the company for her, but mostly because we always got a share of the roast beef dinner that was always laid out when we showed up.

My old Grandma was a favourite of mine being the kind old woman she was. She never once beat me and she always had a cheeky smile for me whenever I was being stupid.

My Aunt Emily lived there also but when I was acting stupid she always had the same thing to say, that is "Stupid Is As Stupid Does", and for the life of me I never understood what the hell she meant, me being so young.

But I thought her remark must be so clever because I couldn't figure it out, so when I started school proper it became my most used remark when I wanted to impress the teacher.

Of course I know now how stupid I was.

Sucking in my breath I scanned the room: no one moved. No one dared, for if we had the words might've vanished from their place where they hung dry in the air. "Wh-What are you talking about, Luke?" Elle asked frantically.

"I... I don't know..," He said. We could barely make out his slurred, evanesce words.

"Luke if you know what happened you need to tell Detective Presley," I said.

"Wha... Delia, who cares about Presley, you've gotta tell us, man, she was our friend, too!" James yelled. Luke looked guiltily up at us. He shook his head. "Alright... I see how it is then. C'mon, Rach,"

Rachel moved to grab his arm. "James..," She hissed. She gave him a half-shrug-half-eye-roll that suggested he stop in his tracks.

"No, not right now, I've gotta get out of this room, okay? You're either coming with me or you're not but I'm leaving,"

Rachel shook her head, her long brown hair skidding over her shoulders. "Fine," She whispered. "Bye, guys," She stood to follow James.

"Wait, you're not actually leaving are you?" Katelyn rose from her chair, looking scary in her smudged-black makeup. "Our best friend- well, ex-best friend- just died! We're all that we have left... Please," Katelyn begged. "You can't go- we've only just found each other,"

"We'll see you later," Rachel said, rubbing Katelyn's arm. She grabbed James' hand and they strolled out of the room.

Katelyn looked around, shocked and pissed. Elle wasn't paying attention, she was tending to Luke; her huge-doe eyes pinned to him, his argyle sweater and fogged-up glasses. I let out a sigh, realizing that I'd been holding my breath.

The door suddenly burst open. In walked Principal Hall followed by Detective Presley. "Are you all okay? I heard yelling," Presley asked, gesturing with his hand. "Dammit," his eyes had drifted to James and Rachel's now empty chairs. "Watch them, I need to catch up with-"

"Sir," Principal Hall cleared his throat. "It's after hours, the students must have homework. I'm sure we can pick this up tomorrow?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Oh," Presley answered, glancing at his watch. "Yes, of course, I... Thank you for your time." He nodded, and backed out of the room.

For a moment we all glanced around wide eyed. Finally, I sighed. "I should get going," I said. "Homework," I held up my shoulder bag like it was some sort of prize. "I'll... see you all tomorrow,"

I stumbled towards the door, but Luke's voice stopped me: "Delia," His voice cracked. "Guys, can we... go out or something? Just get some food together?"

To all of our surprise, Katelyn laughed: "That sounds really good, actually,"

"Yeah, I think we all need some cheering up," Elle added.

I smiled at them, like the old times. "Pizza Joe's?" I asked.

Luke laughed: a real smile, not any fake giggles. "That sounds... great," He said, standing. He took Elle's hand, and she blushed, looking straight at me.

"Let's go then," I smiled.

On the way we talked.

It was effortless, easy, but drained. We were all well aware of what gad brought us back together, and were equally as aware of the absence of Rebecca. She used to hover over Luke like a fog, jumping on his back and stealing his glasses.

It was apparent, from the way Elle never strayed from his side, that she was really gone.

Katelyn drove to Pizza Joe's and we weren't there long before Rachel showed up, red-faced and breathless. "I'm sorry," She said. "I shouldn't have left, it's just..."

"We were panicking," James said, rounding the corner behind her. "It's crazy to think of us... without..."

"I know," Luke smirked, and James waddled over to hug him. Rachel stepped over them to the seat next to Katelyn, who'd already spilled pizza sauce twice on her brown sweater.

The entire night I couldn't help smiling. We were back! We were together again! I couldn't believe it, everyone was so happy, we even had a few toasts in Rebecca's name- burying our sorrows and worries in the adrenaline high we all got when we were around each other.

It wasn't until the next morning that things got messy again.

The sun rose slowly over the houses outside my window. Rainy Seattle hadn't felt this beautiful in so long: it truly was the end of Spring.

The peace had been short lived; my memory of the day before resurfaced when my phone lit up: LUKE it read.

Groggily, I picked it up. "Hello?" I mumbled.

"Delia?" Luke cried over the receiver.

"Are you okay?" I bolted upright in my bed, almost hitting my head on the wall. "You sound... anxious,"

"Delia, you need to come to my house right now,"

"Luke, what's wrong?"

"I just got an EMAIL from REBECCA. Please, I can't open this alone, I'll call the others just come quick,"

I stumbled to my dresser as soon as he hung up. What the hell was he talking about? The dead can't talk, therefore they certainly can't send emails... Right?

Nothing in my closet seemed to fit the mood of Dead-Best-Friend-Makes-Contact-With-Ex-Boyfriend but I was able to decide on jeans and my Easy Street hoodie. I fumbled in my purse for my car keys and was at Luke's in under fifteen-minutes.

I knocked on the door with shaky hands, and it flung open. Before I could register who had opened the door, hands were around my neck. "DELIA!" Cried a small voice.

"O-Olive!" I stuttered, remembering Luke's younger sister. She was taller now, three years older than when I'd seen her last. The little eight year old I'd known as an eighth grader had changed probably as much as I had.

"What are you doing here? I thought you and my brother weren't friends anymore," She pouted her lips.

"Well, um,-"

"Olive!" Luke called from behind her, his sandy blond hair messy from sleeping. "Go to your room, I need to speak with Delia,"

Olive stood her ground.

"Alone," Luke hissed.

"Ugh!" Olive screamed, "Fine!" She stalked off, but not before turning to make a face at him behind his back.

"So-" Luke's arms were tight around my neck before I could say anything. "Luke..." I didn't know what to say. His shoulders shook silently with tears and it broke my heart- already I cared so much for this group again... Death was a powerful thing, I concluded.

"Delia, I couldn't call the others... It's probably a prank or something but..."

"Luke, I don't blame you for not being able to do this alone," I whispered, kissing his forehead as if he were a child.

"No..." He mumbled into my shoulders. "God, why does she get to me so much?"

"She was amazing," I said, and he cringed. "You have a right to be hurt,"

"I don't wanna be,"

"I know," I whispered softly. "Me neither." A tear dripped again from my own eyes and I swept it away. All at once I felt almost nervous, conservative about my emotions. My face went red and I turned away, adjusting my glasses and running a hand through my short, plain hair.

"Sorry," He mumbled.

"No, no, it's not you..." I strayed off. "I think we need to check out this email," I said, staring at the TV behind him.

A picture of Rebecca flashed on the screen, displaying the words: KIDNAPPING/MURDER VICTEM FROM CALIFORNIA.

The image flashed away and Mrs. Vaughn stood, sobbing next to her husband.

Thankful it was muted, I turned back to Luke. "Now," I said.

I am broken glass

Molten lava fills the cracks

Super glue that never holds

Sheets of ice that bends and flows

Never more than here and now

Carry with it a silent vow

The weight of it fills my chest

With nothing more than emptiness

"Hide, Marisa! Get under the bed!" Mama paced frantically around the room. Her eyes locked with mine, and she repeated, "Marisa, get under the bed NOW."

"But-" I started.

"You're worried about me," Mama finished. "Right. I'll be okay; I promise. But you..." She took in a breath.

"I can't bear to lose you, Mama," I whispered, running into her arms. "Not now. Not ever."

Mama embraced me in a hug. "I know, darling. I know."

A harsh voice sounded from outside. "Who's in there? Let us in! Open up!"

Mama looked down at me, her eyes full of tears. "Marisa. You must hide." A tear trickled down her face and landed in my hand.

I wanted to cry, too, but I couldn't. I had to be strong. I took in a shuddering breath and closed my fingers around the tear. "I love you, Mama," I murmured.

Suddenly, the door burst open. I dived under the bed, and watched as soldiers marched into the room.

One of the soldiers held his gun to Mama's throat. "You a Jew?" His tone was harsh and demanding.

Mama's eyes widened. "No, no! We are loyal to Hitler!"

"Really?" The soldier sneered. "Or is this your plan? To make us look like fools, believing you are loyal to Hitler, when you are a Jew in disguise?"

I clenched my teeth together, trying to keep from jumping on the solider. My fingers dug into my hand, and I realized I was drawing blood. I loosened my grip.

Mama drew in a breath. "Look around. There is no proof in this house that I am a Jew."

The soldier did look around, opening books, tearing out pages, smashing pictures. Mama flinched, but did not protest, as it may seem suspicious.

My heart started to pound in my chest as the soldier came towards the bed I was underneath. I watched Mama press her hand to her lips, to keep from crying out. For a moment, our gazes met, and then Mama looked away.

When the soldier did not look under the bed, I let out a sigh of relief. A moment later, I realized my mistake.

The soldier bent down and peered under the bed. When he saw me, his lips curled into a snarl.

He dragged me out from under the bed, I bumped my head on the frame. I let out a sharp cry of pain, but the soldier just smacked my arm. "What were you doing under there?" He demanded.

"H-hiding," I stammered.

"Oh, yes?" The soldier hissed. "Hiding. Why?"

My mind raced to think of an excuse. "Me and Mama, we were playing a game."

"A game?" The soldier asked doubtfully. "How old are you? Twelve? You shouldn't be playing games at that age."

"S-sorry..." I muttered.

"Yay! Game!" Annabelle tottered into the room, her face cracked into a smile. "We play game, Mama?" She asked, toddling over to Mama.

"Yes," I said, turing to the soldier. "We were playing a game. With her."

The soldier's eyes softened. "I have a daughter, about her age," he said. "Ah... Well. We have no evidence that you are Jews, so we shall leave."

Mama nodded. "Thank you, sir." But her eyes swiveled to the shattered picture frames and torn books.

When we heard to soldiers leave, Mama collapsed onto my bed. "That was close," she said. She looked from me to Annabelle. "Too close," she added.

Annabelle was still smiling. "We play game, Mama?" she asked again.

"Not now, baby girl," she murmured. I watched Mama breath in the soapy scent of Annabelle. "I love you. You know that, don't you, my lovely daughters?"

"Always," I said.