I shouldn’t have done it! Why oh why did I confess to my psychiatrist what I had done? It had been my own little secret for years but I knew I had to get it off my chest before my acidic thoughts destroyed me. What else could I do? I had tried writing it down on paper as a release and then burning my confession but it didn’t work as well as I would have liked.

I had spent almost a year getting nowhere with my doctor. He was watching me closely and saying nothing as I began my story.

“I had a boyfriend named Darren who treated me like an angel. But I made the mistake of telling him about the baby I had when I was sixteen which I had given up for adoption. Because of this choice, I was able to finish school and become a physical therapist and even my parents didn’t know. But now Darren knew and he kept harassing me to tell my parents and try to find the baby. I didn’t want to. I was happy, making good money and respected in my field. But he wouldn’t let up and I was desperate, afraid that he might tell my parents. It really was his fault because he made me feel guilty as I relived that terrible time in my life.” Tears were coursing down my cheeks as I made this confession to my doctor.

“How did you resolve it?” asked Dr. Ogden.

“Well,” I sighed, “I had no choice but to get rid of the problem. Darren and I were mountain hiking when he slipped and fell off the cliff. The rocks were loose and the authorities agreed that it was an accident. I never knew how terrible it would be to see his crushed and broken body at the bottom.”

“Was it an accident?” Dr. Ogden looked at me closely as I answered.

I knew he suspected that I had pushed Darren to his death. “I won’t admit that I had anything to do with it.” But I knew he had come to his own conclusion.

I remembered feeling a small sense of relief when I burned the paper earlier in which I wrote my confession about giving up my baby.

I will burn my world and also, will burn my past completely, I thought. So what could I do? Dr. Ogden now knew about Darren. I must ‘burn the doctor’ so to speak. I took out my pistol and shot him. Dead men tell no tales.

White lights glitter against the black grill

The terrace is door open

A view of the plants can be seen

which are highlighted by the lowering sun giving them an impressionistic look

A slight breeze moves through the awning gently moving it back and forth

The light plays against the rose colored buildings giving them a special magical hue

Another day is coming to a close as nighttime encroaches

The change from light to darkness is in a holding pattern like an aircraft waiting to land

The shades of pink change as the sun drops into the horizon

Evening is fast approaching

As the sun continues to drop its

time to relax and slowdown

The stars are my only constant

Besides you

We lay here

In the dark

Quiet

Peaceful

I hear your heartbeat

Beneath my cheek

The steady rhythm

Reminding me that you are real

We are here

And I am happy

It smells like fresh earth

Our clothes damp where they meet the grass

Sprinkled with midnight dew

I don’t mind though

We have the stars

And feel of your favorite gray sweatshirt

My hand beneath yours

Mindlessly tracing your thumb across my skin

Neither one of us speaks

For we know

These moments

Are

Infinite

And

Fleeting

‘Get out of my house!’ I screamed at the girl in my kitchen.

She looked at me with a sort of bemusement. ‘No.’

Girls can be maddening. No offence to all the girls in my life-they’re all cool. But really, a girl teleporting into my house and stealing ice cream? Not very cool.

‘Who are you, anyway?’ I asked.

She took a big bite of the chocolate ice cream my mother had made (well, it tasted more like chocolate-flavoured ice) and said casually, ‘Satan’s daughter.’ like she was saying, ‘The mall.’

I raised an eyebrow. ‘The dude with the horns and pitchfork? That one?’

She nodded.

‘Prove it.’ I turned the statement into an order.

She took it as a challenge and held up her palm. A tiny fire danced across it. Seeing that I was sufficiently impressed, she stoppped and continued to diminish the ice cream poplation in my fridge.

‘How did you get here?’ I was still a little suspicious.

‘Accident. But Dad doesn’t like it when I make accidents. The last time that happened, he caused the Great Fire of London.’

A bead of sweat ran down the side of my face. ‘Well, get going! I don’t need another Great Fire in my house!’

She rolled her eyes. ‘After I finish this tub of ice cream.’

‘Take it with you and get out.’ I was beginning to get a little nervous.

‘Yeah, whatever. Bye!’

She blinked out of existence like Thanos had just snapped his fingers.

I was about to dismss it as a stress-induced hallucination when the devil himself appeared behind me.

‘Ahh!’ If deities were going to continue to sneak up on me, I would have to get a new set of bottoms.

‘Chill, bro. You seen my little girl?’ he spoke with no trace of an accent, and didn’t have horns or a pitchfork. Just looking very human.

‘Yes. She just disappeared.’ I tried not to sound like a hamster.

‘That girl. Always running off. You see her again, you call this number, alright?’

A business card appeared in my hand. It was embossed with a pitchfork and wrote, ‘Satan and Co.’ On the flipside was a number about as long as pi.

‘You- you won’t kill me?’ I did my best to not sound hopeful.

He shook his head. ‘Nah. I’ve got not much energy. Been tracking her for weeks already. I can’t even make fire at this point. Well, I’ve got to go. See ya!’

With that, he disappeared.

I totally forgot about this until a few weeks later, when I heard the sound of an ice cream tub being opened, though I was home alone.

Pulling out the business card, I took five minutes to type in the number.

'Hello? I've spotted Mr. Satan's daughter...'

It was an indescribable dream.

I was in a circular room, surrounded by mirrors. I looked both different and the same.

They looked like me. They all wore that same blue sweater and gray shorts. They all had their hair up in a bun and glasses lopsided.

But, they didn't seem like me. One looked at me with these very sad eyes. She looked so tired and depressed; I had to force myself to look away.

One looked at me with a murderous gleam. She sported a mad glint in her eyes and a determined expression as if she wants me to die. I immediately averted my eyes, not daring to look back.

One wasn't looking at me. She was busy. She was making calls with a cell phone (unsurprisingly) just like mine. Knowing there was not much to see, I turned to look at the next reflected "me".

One looked me up and down in disgust. I immediately felt insecure. She looked at me with such contempt and disdain, that I had to look down and look away.

One was crouched in a corner, hugging her knees to her chest. One quick peek was all I gave her, before she buried her face. She was shaking with fright and so I looked no more.

One looked at me, giving me a curious one over. I felt like a piece in a science exhibit. It was unnerving how she seemed to analyze every inch of me, so I had to move on to the next one.

One was smiling brightly and waving at me. She had a healthy glow around her and her aura was so happy I also had to smile.

The last one sent chills to my bones, greater than the murderous reflection. This one was staring at me and I saw nothing in her eyes. She was like a corpse. She felt dead.

Looking back, I now wonder... Which one of them was really me?

I wiped off the sweat that was dripping down my forehead. My grip was tight and my hands were shaky. My vision was blurry and my heartbeat was frenzied. I didn’t know if I could even move past this. Every ounce of my being was holding up red flags about what I was attempting to do. My head was pounding with the danger of losing all of its brain cells.

It was like a million hours before I finally mustered just enough courage to face my nightmare...

...my math homework.

I shivered in fear of the dreaded task. I know math homeworks are almost every student’s fear, but I have a harder time than most.

I believe I should be diagnosed with mathhomeworkophobia with the level of aversion I have with that torture. Unfortunately, I don’t think there are doctors for that sort of thing so I’ll just have to settle for self-diagnosis.

I think I first showed symptoms of mathhomeworkophobia when I was doing my first math homework. At first, I thought I was doing well. The next day when I passed it to the teacher, I realised I wasn’t.

In the beginning, I wasn’t fazed with the bullying. I thought that if I’d try harder and harder I would get things right, and I did get things right, but it was too late.

I was a very slow learner. I was always a year behind my classmates’ math level. I eventually gave up trying to catch up to them and I think my parents are used to see me fail math.

Unfortunately, time came and I had to not fail math or else I would be kicked out of school. Fortunately, I had a very helpful math whiz friend. She always let me copy her homework and would find ways to send me the answers to the tests. She is an absolute pro at helping cheaters. I couldn’t have asked for a better friend.

My miraculous improvement in Math made me a superstar. My parents were dumbfounded and my teachers were impressed. I felt happy that they were finally proud of me even though I didn’t deserve all of their awe.

I owed it all to my best friend.

I was doing well and finally learning to adjust to Math. I guess I was actually learning something from all that copying. All was swell until a tragic day came... my best friend had to move away.

I was on my own.

That was why I am now dreading doing my math homework. If I got it all wrong, I would be more of a laughing stock than I was before my best friend helped me. I couldn’t afford that. How could I show my face to my classmates and family? I would be the black sheep again.

I guess I’ll have to resort to “extreme” measures which I do not know If I will come out of alive.

Launching Operation: Overcome Mathhomeworkophobia.

Phase 1: Studying

The figure doesn't look like a coward, at first. Cowardice stands at the front line like every other soldier, beside Courage, their twin. At first, it is nearly impossible to differentiate the two figures. Both stand tall, both claim that they will fight to the last breath. Both have haunting eyes, eyes that have seen many things, but with different results. They both look like any other soldier, tired, dead-faced, but pushing to survive despite this.

Courage has seen the horror of the world, the terrible things that keep eyes open out of fear in the dark. They have seen death, despair and terror itself starring back. But despite this, Courage has shrugged aside their fear, taking the challenges of life as just that: challenges to be overcome, not without fear, but recognizing fear as a survival tool, an ally to watch their back in the blur of battles. They hold up their rifle like a sword pointed forwards to the next target, eyes grim, determined, and ready for the signal.

Cowardice has also seen the darkest things, lurking in front of and behind their eyes. They have seen the things that fear pulls out of shadows, they have seen the terror in the eyes of others around them. But unlike Bravery, cowardice flinches away. Fear is a threat, a wall too large to climb. The thing cowardice clings to is self-preservation - why risk life and limb when you could just survive another day by hiding? Fear clings to it like a cloak of darkness. The rifle in their hands is a shield, a device to protect them from the world, to project bravery into the paranoia in their grim-eyed gaze. They will shoot only if it's the last hope, or if it's their best chance.

Both pride themselves in their survival instinct, their morals, the things that keep them alive.

But when the cry of charge sounds through the ranks, as Courage nods to fear before charging, surrounded by soldiers emboldened by adrenaline and bravery, Cowardice will stare up at the figure for a long moment before sinking back, pulling other soldiers away with its long shadow of paranoia and the instinct to survive another day.

"Choose."

I closed my eyes and said nothing, silently pleading it would end, praying this wasn't real.

"Choose."

Again, I didn't answer, but deep in the pit of my stomach I knew I would have to. Why am I doing this? Why am I here? So many of my questions remain unanswered.

"Choose."

"No!" I pleaded, "I can't, please... I just can't!"

"You must choose now. I will not ask again."

I opened my eyes, my mind racing, trying ro calculate any possible escape from this. I could try to run. No, that won't work, this place is a maze. He would find me, and then God knows what he would do. I guess I could refuse, but then he'd probably just kill us both. What am I going to do? What am I going to do?

"Fine. You want me to choose, then I choose..."

to be continued...

There once was a scientist named Bellows,

he did research in Antarctica with other fellows.

Between layers of earth in the permafrost ice,

they discovered living bacteria so very precise.

Bellows stroked his beard and laughed savagely -

he knew the bacteria was key to immortality.

But how could he possibility smuggle it from view

with the other scientists trying to snatch it too?

Well, Bellows liked jello, unlike the other fellows,

he liked all flavors but was partial to lemon yellows.

But he knew using cherry red, it’d be easier to hide

so he scooped up the bacteria and hid it inside.

Bellows iced down the jello and laid it on dry ice,

absconded with the bacteria without thinking twice

for he knew this bacteria was unlike any other -

it had arsenic inside, not phosphorous or another.

Bellows extracted the bacteria from red cherry jello

and injected it into himself, feeling quite mellow,

knowing full well that it was alternative life form,

believing it would extend life above the norm.

Bellows first had tried it on fruit flies and mice

and on human blood cells more than twice.

When he tried it on himself, he never caught

the flu or colds or diseases others fought.

Bellows never died, he lived longer than wife

and his children and friends without any strife.

But he no longer knew anyone on earth

with alternate life form ingrained in his girth.

Bellows was lonely so he injected some others,

knowing he wanted friends if he had his druthers.

Everyone was now comprised of alternate life forms,

not so alternate any more but more like the norms.

So Bellows and the new experimental fellows

lived on forever thanks to the cherry red jello

with the bacteria which wiggled and jiggled,

danced and pranced and sometimes giggled.

I'm not sure anyone would really want to know what goes on in my head for three whole minutes but I guess the people who are reading this are interested so here goes. I walked to work this morning which is a weird thing in this new world of ours. There are less people masked then when I walk to work during the week which I find interesting but there are still about 50 percent masked. I mask. It helps with my allergies. I'm not super worried about getting sick but I am worried about other people getting sick so I mask for them too. I am tired of homeschooling and I am so so so so so happy to get back into the office for a few hours every day even though I am annoyed that I was told my computer and phone would have to be returned if I didn't come off unemployment and come back to work but then I have an eight year old to homeschool so I can't work full time and do that. He's not that kind of eight year old. It takes us about 10 hours a day on average to get through our homeschooling. So we made a deal and I come in two hours a day during the week and five hours a day on the weekend days. I'm still on unemployment but I get to keep my devices. That's my time.