They walked in, from differnt times and places, into a location that can only be described as comfotable chaos.

There were vines growing on one side, allowing flowers the size of tables to bloom where elves were sitting and playing. The ground was carved into tables were dwarfs were admiring the craftmanship as they drink. The fairies were on...who knows, but they were happy.

Spirits floated, dragons peeked, and humans looked in awe and wonder. Drinks that reminded one of childhood and food of true love served. This was were all were welcomed, as they all made this place.

This was the message given to all the teachers at my school when I was in kindergarden. I was a good kid, not great but good. In most situations I was the defender and was a happy and playful child that was very helpful and loved to be useful. Until he was in the picture. Now, to keep this breif I will not name him too much, but he was a kid in my class who was adored by the parents for pretty handwritting. We hated each other. We were horrible to each other. We were at each other's throats, literarly.

There were times where I was sent to nurses office to get bandages, there were times when he ran off to a teacher covered in bruises. There were other times where the teachers had to rip us off of each other, little teeth and nails in the other's skin.

He had ran into the girl's bathroom with waterguns, kicking in the stall to soak all the girls because he knew I was peeing there. I had permeantely stained several shoes with ugly neon dyes becuase he just got brand new Nike. He tried to strangle me with shoe strings, I beat him black and blue with his own belt, he tried to throw glass shards in my eyes, I had him dragged across concrete and gravel. Teachers were not allowed to have scissors out on the desks over the fact that one of us might stab the other with it, and any who didn't heed any of the whispered words were in a corner head down as the others chewed them out while the absolute chaos that we made was cleaned up around us.

I was called a good girl, and a sweet heart. With him, I wasn't

There are times I wish I was a boy, only because of all the times that I have been grouped with the boys or the men due to my name. That wish only lasts a minute until I get a room by myself.

I am a female, and I don't personally wish to know what its like to be a male. There is alot of things that society does not teach males about females. I do not wish to know the secret horrors that males have to go through that no one teaches us.

I bet you are confused that my first statement I said boy/girl and the second I said male/female. The reason why is simple. I do not believe that gender and sex are the same things.

The reason why is a simple thing. Everything in this world has been catergorized by how it functions and how it functions with the others. We give them the label "sex" for the function. Reproduction, and how the lifeform grows to complete this function. Gender is connected to what we as people think of what a person is when we say boy/girl/man/woman. Do we think about the hormones in the body that is built? How the organs develop? What changes to make way for certain organs? What weakness happen because of that? These things make marked changes, permenate changes. These changes will make a person different on a biological sense.

How a person's hair is styled, what kind of color they can like, and what they are dressed like is not biological. It is how the culture shapes a person based on what they want a person to be, the roles they fulfill, and what they want the person to want. That is NOT biological. Like names, they change overtime with the ages. They flip when the cultures switches values and they are only attractive when the culture deems it to be. The prizes and the punishments are also assigned by what is and isn't acceptable by that person's role. That is also not based on sex. A person's sex will not determine if they are more or less guilty of a crime. But a culture can and will decide it.

Our culture that buys everything wants to put a price on everything, including things that are natural to a person. They want to package and resell you your own idenity, and the easiest thing will be to link two things that should not be linked.

I might sound crazy but this is my own thoughts. There are those that do not agree with me and that is fine. This is just me and me thought of gender

What is harder to keep up with besides the lights going out is everyone going out and throwing themselves in the dark.

The first day that the lights went out, really went out. At first I thought, like everyone else that it was another grid failure, another storm, another grand mess by someone who was paid too much to mess up. We all were going about our ways buying supplies for a few days, looking at the phones and wondering how much longer we would have them until they wore out.

But it was baba, our adopted grandmother, who made us all pause. "The new beginning is almost here, we can't be here."

"What are you saying?"

"The world of iron is gone child. It'll rust away to make way for the new world...run children so you don't rust."

She was not our grandmother, but she was an old lady that lived a few blocks away who we got her groceries for. She was a stubborn old thing that refused to learn computers and phones even though she got the newest models every time. To hear her say this made me freeze, this wasn't the ramblings of a crazy old lady. It was the voice of the city talking through her. We always listened to our elders when they said stuff like this, it had helped us more times than we could count.

"H-how soon is everything rusting baba?"

"Its happening now." She stated, staring off in an direction that was neither here nor there.

I felt it, the telltale feeling of panic that bloomed in my chest as my breathing grew shorter and shorter. "T-t-then I...we have to get a car out of the city...wait here, we'll find a way to get you too..."

"Don't worry about me."

Looking back at her, another notch bloomed in me. "Did you already call for someone...baba? You called for someone to come get you right?"

She only smiled and patted my cheek, whispering her message again as I took off.

The second day was us using whatever we could before the generators and the internet shut off itself. Maxing out cards at places that held IOUs that would never be fulfilled we gathered all we could in the caravan of cars as we all drove out of the city, praying that gas stations lasted long enough to get us away.

Third to fifth day was driving. Those who we all called to come was wondering where we were going while others were wondering if the elders of our communites were picked up or was safe where ever they holed up. Tempers were raised as there was more than one instance of traffic that used up precious gas. No sleep in a bed, pissing on the side of the road, and eating barely anything. It was needed though.

It was the sixth day that we reached the destination, whichw as good as we were all running out of gas. Seeing the high mountians we all looked at each other, we began the long walk leaving behind the phones and games behind. They had long lost power, and we wouldn't need them now.

It had to be a the third week that news reached us. We had been tending to the seeds we had planted as a few out us were trying to find a way around to building a green house. It was horrible, the cities had turned into hellpits. If it wasn't the heat, it was the people, if it wasn't the people, it was the unsanitized water, and if it wasn't that it was the lack of good food and access to medicine. And finally if it wasn't any of that, it was the stench of death from all the unburied and rotten bodies.

Looking at each other, there was a moment where we all knew we were still going downwards.

It was two months when they began to fall from the sky. Seeing them like shooting stars were beautiful until they heard the crashes that made us run to tell the others. They didn't even need to go and see the chunck of metal that was once was a satilite that connect the world. "So...how much longer before the winter sets in?"

"...About two more months or so? Weren't you supposed to keep track of the calender?"

Baba told us, the world of iron was at an end. It is odd to see the world "rust" but here we can watch and write it all down. Maybe someday, when we figure out how not to piss off mother nature with out greed our decendants might get the lights back on, but then the world would have probably reset and we would not cling to the light so much. Until then, I will hope that the idiots will stop throwing themselves in the dark. Its amazing that you can hear people all the way up here.

There was a time-

where saying 'I love you'

was an unsolvable task.

Dazzling hearts,

all drawn at midnight,

all with your off-hand.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry,

it took so long.

I love you, I love you.

My adorable me. (love you)

Look at the mirror

enjoy what you see. (I love you)

This is a love song

just for you and I. (You are me)

I must say I love you

at least one million times. (Can you hear me?)

There was a time,

where the darkness had free reign.

The terror of teardrops

made you fall, sick and pained.

Now you face the monster,

the one painted by your closed eyes.

You face down at midnight

but for once, your eyes are dry.

I love you, I love you.

My adorable me. (love you)

Look at the mirror

enjoy what you see. (I love you)

This is a love song

just for you and I. (You are me)

I must say I love you

at least one million times. (Can you hear me?)

A self made prophacy,

a death by time. (death by time)

A self- inflected curse,

a loveless heart (loveless heart)

And yet you remain,

strong and proud (strong and proud)

Come out and reign,

beautiful butterfly (butterfly)

I love you, I love you.

My adorable me. (love you)

Look at the mirror

enjoy what you see. (I love you)

This is a love song

just for you and I. (You are me)

I must say I love you

at least one million times. (Can you hear me?)

I love you, I love you.

My adorable me. (love you)

Look at the mirror

enjoy what you see. (I love you)

This is a love song

just for you and I. (You are me)

I must say I love you

at least one million times. (Can you hear me?)

I'm sorry this took so long

to reply.

I have loved you

for the longest time.

I'm thankful you were born,

and that you are here.

Every morning

you bring me cheer.

And the best part of all,

is that you are here.

When I look,

in the mirror.

(Its a bit fast, like a pop song.)

I have a current project named Deluminate Archives that is a podcast I am making. I am using this as pratice for voice acting and editing. These are stories I have written over the years that never got a proper platform to shine. It will be on Mon and Wed every week with stories that are short or long. Most episodes will be around the 10-15min mark. There might be a few that are longer or shorter. If there is an story from a previous season that is really liked I will redo them to be the total lenght of the story in one episode. If people really really like the stories I will try and have them publish for those that like reading more than listening to stories.

I am also a co-speaker for a podcast that comes around every thursday. It currently on Spoon, and its called "I might offend you." We let the audience pick the topic for that days session as anywhere from 2-8 people (currently) talk about it. We all go under different names but I am Kisa Amora there. If there is any other projects I am sure it will be mentioned there as well. I hope you guys take a listen and tell me if there is anything I can improve with!

#TheWolfeDen

There’s no happy ever after. No silence filled with laughter.

There is only the broken pieces, dragged from your skin an placed before you.

Its your choice.

Shall you destroy them? Or make your own thorn crown?

Words and tears and insane laughter had spilled from your mouth like vomit,

but now those emotions had grown ashen.

Or had they run away?

Your inner child is still wounded,

you EGO shattered,

your ID feral,

love lanuage dead,

and true meaning cryptic by your actions and reactions.

There is only an empty ruin of what could have been a wonderful--

You here, are here.

Nothing more, nothing less.

And yet you smile.

For now, you can build again.

And maybe you can use the shards as pigments to paint with your fingertips.

#ajrfanz

I was entering middle school, after the affair that was my previous school and the world around me ending once.

Didn't you know? I was already a knight to so many people and I was about to go on a long painful crusade. My heart was hardened and I was already long gone from love.

Then the sun lit up your eyes, amber and brown. Crowned by the morning light and gowned in soft tones of those around us.

I fell unknowning. It wasn't a heart skip like manga, nor the butterflies. It was a pull, a need.

I wanted to be your friend right then and there. I needed to be your best friend. Like a sugar high, I was rendered dizzy seeing you as I walked breathless to you. I smiled at you, the sweetest, brightest smile as I introduced myself. Holding out my hand as I wished to know your name.

It stuck like superglue. A curse. I wondered the halls for weeks trying to find you again, worry and curiosity filling me as I wanted to see you again.

Don't you know? I am usually the person who would try to run away from a horror movie senerio, but for you I was willing to befreind a ghost. I imagined people not seeing you and me looking crazy talking to air. I would normally be horrified, but then and there I giggled at the image like a personal joke.

It would be weeks until we met for the first time again. From a mutual friend whom claimed you as thier best friend first.

You know? I wanted to hurt him, and he was my friend. My anger was masked perfectly as I nodded looking to once again hear your name from your lips, praying you would be cursed by mine.

Even in the school lights, your eyes glowed a soft golden-amber spilled across brown.

Not turning around, the pulsating light beating like her heart. She knew what it was, who it was, thus she let the first words tumble from her mouth. "That was fucked."

That was free will.

Images flicker, all of them of bullest, words, people, and tears. "This is the war of Troy all over again." She whipered.

For you it is...so this time you must win.

"There are no more demi-gods or heros in this age." She countered.

You're wrong. You are all the heros you need.

"Then who plays Cassandra?"

The ones that fell before did.

She was there, as was he, and you. You all looked at her as she could not move.

People said that "being late for your own funeral" was the worst, yet the feeling sinking,

d e e p e r

and

d e e p e r

was of rot, of desperation, of wanting to claw out of her own skin!

"I can't breathe," was all she said.

She meant that she couldn't move, she could cry, she could slip out of this uncomfortable skin.

There was a point where the pain, the enternal tiredness of it all made her want to jump, to cut,

to drown,

to burn,

to hang.

Anything, anything, please, just no more pain.

Looking at herself, the image in the mirror didn't change yet she felt it shift and become more alien like it was going to melt and peel off all at once.

Have all sort of unmetionable things underneath to drop into the sink.

There are days where she wished she could pull out a tooth with pliers,

just to feel pain (with blood) and (real) relief for her (actual) tears.

Then there was a song that played.

"I'm tired of being what you want me to be

Feeling so faithless, lost under the surface

I don't know what you're expecting of me

Put under the pressure of walking in your shoes"

It plucked something in her,

radiating and vibrating away the pain for a moment,

as if it was scrubbing away the pain.

Her labored breath forgotten, she tuned to listen.

"I've become so numb, I can't feel you there

Become so tired, so much more aware

By becoming this all I want to do

Is be more like me and be less like you..."

Ah there was the word, the magic phrase that made tears hot, burning, rush down her flesh. But it was relief, it was relief.

She never thought the pain was natural, the tiredness imaginary. But now she had proof. She had another voice sing what she had felt all this time, turning into beat, turning into words.

She had never heard of this song except now, never heard this band until today, but she loves them. She is a die-hard fan. She writes the name of the group and the song onto her hand with a pen, holding that pen close to her heart.

There are days where she is sure that her eyes will fall out of her head and crack open like spoiled eggs.

She plays the song loud enough to rattle the bones in her head.

There are days where she has no strenght to even open her eyes, dreading seeing a perfcet sunny day that will make her scream and scream in abject horror.

She does get up,

only to play another song and snuggle deeper into the bed, letting the song lull her into sleep where she dreams of running wild like wolves.

When the anger, hot, boiling, rolls through her and she wishes to taste blood and feel rended flesh underneath her nails.

She sings along,

eyes closed,

not caring if she looks like she is dancing badly.

She screams in joy when she cathches a song on the radio,

or when she finds a friend or family has them.

Soon people say that her eyes twinkle at the darkest lines,

that her voice joins along the recorded others, that her cheeks are rosy for once when she is not sick.

She only smiles, there is nothing that could hold her now. The rotting is still there,

still skin deep,

but she is bubbling it away.

Pulling it out of her being like popping an abscessed tooth and draining it.

It hurts the same, the relief is just the same.

She wished, if there was a chance to become famous,

that she would hug each person who saved her that day,

with that first song.

She wants to thank them and tell them she owes them her life for curing the pressure of unshed tears.

She finds now that one of them is dead, many years later, so many songs later.

She still has the rotting, she will admit. But there is a freshness there. T

here is an answer within her.

But now someone is gone before she could say thank you, before she could even meet them the first time.

She plays that song again, then the next one she found, then the next, all on an old beaten phone that has seen better days.

She wants to cry, but she does not.

Instead she says thank you as each song ends.

She thanks them for singing,

she thanks them for reaching out with thier words,

she apprecaites them being alive in her time.

When her old phone finally winds down,

she is singing along, her voice broken as the tears she tried to keep back are rolling forward.

She wished that her voice,

young and broken when she first heard them,

could have reached out to touch them,

that relief to know that someone understands the unnatural pain and tiredness,

the neverending pressure to cry at happy moments,

and scream at sunny perfect days when all you want is to be gone.

That her voice could have said all the words they needed to hear, to get them to cry and step back,

to listen to more voices,

like her.

Like them,

singing it all out to touch others the same way.

But there is no time for what-ifs.

She will meet them again, for the first time, in another life.

For now, she plays the song again, for them, and she sings.