You see a river

It's an infinite supply

You've not seen it dry

You take a quiver

Every arrow has a mark

You shoot through the dark

You use all in haste

You will miss them once they're gone

You will still press on

You value the waste

Each moment is a measure

Missed marks are treasure

You will not repeat

The blind past adores its mirrors

You relive your fears

Your steps trill a beat

Time prowls through your graying hair

You flow without care

Time has a way of messing with my head, thought Jeremy Vitters. He laughed at himself. There he was, the scientist that NASA deemed crazy, now ironically standing at the podium in Stockholm Concert Hall. He cried out and raised his fist as the scientific community that used to condemn his efforts now applauded him. The Nobel Prizes for physics and physiology were now his after he discovered a fundamental truth about the speed of thought.

In Jeremy’s distinguished scientific paper, which was reviewed by theorists and experimentalists alike, he proved that thoughts are not what we thought of at all. The 51-year-old scientist did indeed discover that the concept of ideas and thinking is faster than the speed of light. In doing so, thoughts also travel backward and forward in space-time. No matter how many people refuted the idea, Jeremy’s math checked out.

As the King of Sweden readout Jeremy’s contributions, cheers from over 1,000 people bounded across the hall. To the frustration of the other Nobel Prize winners, Jeremy pridefully thought. The noise died down when Jeremy took the podium and gave his appreciations to the crowd. The time for a speech was evident when the hall silenced. Jeremy was thrilled that he was allowed to do so during the award ceremony itself. Speeches are usually for after the ceremony. But not for my achievement, he thought.

“Thank you all again for this momentous occasion.” He bellowed into the microphone. The crowd swelled once more. Jeremy looked across the blackened podium and saw many that had what he would call ‘professional’ smiles to go with their weak clapping. One critic, Stuart Dewitt, did not cheer once. Jeremy didn’t need to read his mind to foretell his thoughts. Hell, he didn’t care. Today was his day. His victory. That bearded sag can just go and drink his wine, Jeremy thought with a gritty smile of his own. Jeremy grabbed the microphone and walked to the side of the podium. The media crept closer with their cameras like vultures sizing up a morsel. Lecture time.

“I proved that thought patterns re-occur throughout history!” The crowd roared. Lights flashed. “I proved that Science fiction has the potential to be a scientific fact just through the merit of existing!” Jeremy bathed in the vibrations. “We can freely surmise that our ideas thrive across the eons because the thought of them travels across the eons!” His heart was beating with the rhythm of excitement. “I proved that the déjà vu phenomenon is not just in our heads, but shared in space and time!” The clapping was deafening.

“And I proved that I can read minds!” Jeremy was Einstein.

The clapping had abruptly stopped. A click from a shutter camera echoed. Jeremy, still drunk with revelry, barely registered the change in mood. Jeremy’s paper proved that thoughts travel outside of space-time, not that we can physically pluck them from the air and hear them consciously. He cleared his throat at the quizzical looks.

“Well, I think so, anyway.” Jeremy quickly mustered. The crowd laughed sheepishly, and the ceremony went on.

Jeremy received his Nobel Prizes, and now was time to leave the concert hall and rest at the hotel. However, as Jeremy approached the limousine, he discovered someone sitting inside the cabin. The man smiled at him. He was freshly shaven, with gray hair to go with his military cap. He was donning the signature dark blue formal wear of the United States military.

“Jeremy Vitters? I don’t believe we’ve met.” The man said, motioning him inside. Before Jeremy could say anything, a similar-looking man at arms had not-so-graciously ushered him into the limousine. Jeremy was going with them whether he liked it or not. So, he rolled with it. The car door slammed as the other unknown officer forced him into the middle of the cabin. --Blocking any chance of escape. “What’s this all about?” Jeremy asked of them. “If it’s about my research, I’ve already released it. There’s nothing more to--”

The gray-haired officer that spoke before interrupted him now: “Oh, I know there’s more. At least, now I do.” What? Do they know something? Jeremy thought. His look must have given him away because his captor smiled: “Forgive me. I’m Lieutenant Jermaine Freed. I’d like to pick your brain.” Jeremy shivered.

Jermaine laughed calmly: “No, that’s just a joke Mr. Vitters, I’m not going to dissect your brain.”

“Doctor Vitters,” Jeremy replied.

“Hmm?”

At that retort, Jeremy was seething: “It’s Doctor Vitters. I’ve worked too hard to avoid that crass distinction.”

“My apologies, Dr. Vitters. Titles can be hard for me sometimes,” Freed said casually.

The man to Jeremy’s right side startled him as he went to move. For a split second, Jeremy thought he was going to pull a gun on him, but instead, he pulled out a small black box. He handed it to Jeremy. Upon opening it, he saw a familiar and small metal wad. A device.

The device! Jeremy thought. That was locked away in my hotel safe! Where did they --?

Jermaine stroked his chin and interrupted him: “So, what is it, Dr. Vitters?”

“It’s nothing!” He answered. But everyone knew it wasn’t just nothing.

The device looked like a crumpled heap of tinfoil over a spaghettified mesh of copper wiring sitting precariously on a black plastic square base. However, each intricate crevice of metal paper surrounding the wiring had been successfully tweaked by Jeremy to slow down faster-than-light thoughts and convert them into weaker electrical patterns. Jeremy knew that underneath the crumpled metal and wiring framework, a small speaker was soldered inside the base. At the center of the base was a singular small hole. A USB wire protruded from the back.

The man that had presented the box grabbed Jeremy’s arm in response. Scared for his life, Jeremy conceded: “Wait! Wait. Okay?” The idiot let him go. The lieutenant stared expectantly.

“It reads passing thoughts. The metal and wires slow them down. T-the speaker can hear them in real-time. The USB powers it.” Jeremy couldn’t get rid of the bad taste in his mouth from spilling his secrets just like that.

Jermaine gave Jeremy an incredulous look. “Really now. Okay. Bob?” The lieutenant gave his lackey a look. The brute that just grabbed Jeremy scoffed again and knelt to open a small cabinet on the side of the cabin. In it, Bob retrieved a metal military laptop with the labeling: U.S. Department of Intelligence | Official Business Only. Jeremy pensively watched as Bob carefully took his experimental device and plugged it into the computer. Suddenly the hole at the center of the device shone a hue of green. The small LED light inside indicated that the power was on.

The small speaker slowly emanated a warped hum and scratch similar to that of an idle gramophone. The sounds of silence were interrupted with passing whispers. --Likely the thoughts of people driving close by. Suddenly the speaker squeaked: “what was that?”, “is it working?” “oh my god” “think of the applications.” “it really works.” “it sounds off” “that’s not my voice”

The overlapping phrases sounded more electrical than human. --Like they belonged to synthetic angels. You couldn’t tell who the owner of the passing thought was.

“fuck you!”, The speaker blared.

As soon as they heard Jeremy’s proclamation from the speaker, the soldiers looked at him. Before they could do anything, Jeremy shot his hands out to grab the device and managed to get a firm overhand hold. The metal paper on top gave way to slight pressure. “wait,” The scratched noise came from the speaker at the same time Jermaine said it.

Jeremy scrunched it with his hands as the speaker fizzled and popped a small “no!” before shorting out. The lieutenant screamed: “What have you done!?” Bob pulled out a pistol and pointed it to the side of Jeremy’s head. He punched Jeremy with his other arm and forced him to look at Jermaine. Fearful for his life, Jeremy fought back with words: “You don’t want to kill me. I got it all in my head, and it doesn’t matter if you dissect my brain either!” As Jeremy was making his plea, Jermaine fiercely interjected.

“Do you not realize the importance of that device?” He spat.

“I do! That’s why I destroyed it!” Jeremy screamed. Bob let go of Jeremy’s head and cocked the gun.

“Bob,” Jermaine intervened.

With that, Bob reluctantly pulled the gun away. Jeremy shuddered.

Jermaine continued: “How long was it since you finished this device?”

Now numb to the questioning, Jeremy just answered truthfully. “Since Yesterday.”

Will the past forget me

Forget that I was there

Leave me off the pages

Because I lacked some flair

Just another visage

Waltzing within the dark

Time drips through my fingers

I haven't made a mark

Will the past recall you

Recall how you were brave

In moments no one saw

The shards of heart you gave

Just another lantern

Waiting for that one spark

The light within the gloom

Recorded in the ark

There’s a place where the sidewalk ends and flowers seldom bloom. If they do, it is only to stare up at passerby and wonder why they did not turn back, to beseech them to run away, or to glance up, hopeful that some caring creature will pluck them up and carry them away from this hateful place where the sidewalk ends.

Even if I wanted to help the flowers out of their misery, I’m not allowed to go there. The little shed at the end of the kickball field, casting ferocious shadows over third base, is a warning to not go any further. We all know what happened to Ol’ Mr. Curtis who lost his hat in the wind and decided to head into those dark, forbidden woods. His name is now merely a hushed whisper on the tip of every second grade tongue.

I know I shouldn’t take those last steps into the forest. I know I should’ve turned back long before I stood before the grand oak trees, scraggly branches swaying listlessly in the autumn breeze, but it was too much. Everything was too much. I ran. I sprinted headfirst into the jagged edges of nature that closed its entrance as soon as I had entered.

I found a lush green clearing, empty but for a small brook. Finally, the sky was visible through the towering trees. I gazed up, letting my features be encased in warm sunbeams. Before me, lay an Eden so glorious only the dead poets could have captured its essence. Roses and daisies embraced each other as the berry bushes played on. The forest floor was alive with magnificent beetles cut from turquoise and a dancing butterfly that searched from flower to flower to find the sweetest treat.

In a moment, my sadness would return, I knew, but for now, I was leaping with the birds and soaring with the wind. I had gotten what I wanted: a break from reality. In the midst of my fun, a weathered hand reached out of a velvet cloak.

“Who are you?” I forced my voice not to quiver.

The figure removed its hood and said simply, “Someone who wants to help.”

Could this be true? Someone wanted to help me?

Now that I saw his face, I took note of a slightly hooked nose, cobalt blue eyes, and a patch of pavement gray hair combed over to cover his crown.

“What is it you want, child?” His gravely voice questioned in a grandfatherly tone.

I stared, shocked that he wasn’t going to cast a wicked spell on me or something worse, before hesitantly responding, “I...just want to disappear.”

“Whatever for?”

“They’re so mean.”

“Who?”

I broke into fresh tears, crystal roots springing forth from my eyes and flowering on my cheeks, “Every-everyone on the playground and m-my school. Nobody cares about me. They all hate me! I want to go somewhere they can’t g-get to me!”

My request was wagering on two things: that he was actually a warlock who would grant my wish and that he cared enough about a poor, little child in his garden.

“I’m afraid it’s hard for someone to disappear entirely, but I’ll give you the next best thing.”

My eyes widened, “Really? What’s that?”

“Invisibility. One day.”

He was right; that wasn’t disappearing completely, but I supposed it would be better than usual. I nodded. Anything to get me away from them.

“Here,” he handed me a gold bracelet, “this will do the trick.”

The bangle was pretty. I noticed small script letters engraved in the center and lilies decorating the sides. He beckoned me to put it on, but I felt a sharp pull when I did. The sun’s rays seemed to burn my flesh while the bracelet clung tighter and tighter still to my wrist.

“It hurts!” I complained, “Take it off.”

He was gone. Two footprints imprinted in dewy moss were all that remained. Like handprints in wet cement, the remnants stayed but he was gone.

“Am I invisible now?” I wondered to myself. It was an odd thought, to be totally transparent.

I followed the path I had taken into the woods that would lead me out. The arms of the trees brushed my ankles and swept past my elbows, but they did not hurt me. I was on cloud nine. Perhaps he really was magical.

The sun was falling behind the flat roof of my school. Cast in the golden glow of pink and orange hues, I wondered how I would get home. I knew the way but the aftermath of rush hour would be hectic, and it’s almost five miles. Maybe I can test my invisibilit, I told myself, hoping my plan would work.

It did. The last remaining teacher in the parking lot opened her trunk, and I slid in. I hoped she would have a guest bed or pull out couch. If not, maybe I could hitch a ride to the capital and play hide-and-seek in the White House. Oh, what fun this would be!

I was entranced by the way my hand was reduced to merely empty air. It was clear, such that I could see the brightly patterned blanket I rested on. The air was hot in the trunk though, and I wished I had asked that old wizard to make me invisible and immune to heat instead.

We arrived at the house when the sun had already tumbled past the clouds. The teacher got out, unlocked the trunk, and I ducked out before the door slammed on me.

“Daniel!” She shouted once we were inside. “What do you want for dinner?”

I settled into my hiding spot, the laundry basket near the kitchen, content to wait for any leftovers. A boy toddled down the stairs. He’s about three feet tall, has blonde hair, is maybe four or five, and answers to the name Daniel.

“Spaghetti or-”

Daniel began to throw his tiny arms up and wave them erratically. I don’t understand what it means and almost think it could be a seizure. Grandpa Cal’s an epileptic, so I would know it isn’t that.

“Alright,” his mother hoists him onto her hip, cuddling him like only a mom could. Maybe if my mom had held me more like that, I wouldn’t be in this position, but bitterness won’t get me anywhere.

He whines and kicks until she sits him in a little chair at a play-table. Ten minutes and a microwaveable bowl later, he’s calmed down mostly. I forget to eat because sleep overtakes me.

The house slumbered the night away without a care in the world, but I awoke too early with fear coursing through my veins. I wondered if I would ever be visible again. I wondered what the man meant when he said, “one day.” Originally, I believed he meant one day I could be invisible, but if I was already transparent, he must’ve meant only twenty-four hours. I could handle twelve or so more hours of this. Maybe I would even adventure to school. Yes, I thought, drifting off into the dark abyss, that could be fun.

If everyone hated me before, they certainly felt indifferent now. My teacher called my name, yet no hands rose to tell her my whereabouts. I guess because they did not know them. She took a deep sigh and rolled her eyes, marking my absence on the SmartBoard. Since I had leapt off the bus at eight o’clock, it had been like this: sad, heart-wrenching, terrible.

I wanted to cry, but I wasn’t sure whether or not the tears would be invisible. Somebody might suspect a leak, and then where would I be? I ran. Luckily, the door was open, yet either way, closed or not, I was out of there.

Now, I needed a way home or a meal or something. My interest was piqued by a bright yellow rectangle on the horizon. Of course, I mumbled, buses. As I knew from the week of community service where everyone had to help clean a bus, some drivers kept their vehicles at home to make the commute easier. Surely, one of them would not mind an invisible child sitting behind them and going home with them.

It was Mr. Fredrickson who I found scrubbing off the last remnants of children from his bus. He kept a tight ship, I knew. Five years in the army, 73 years of age, and arthritis everywhere, but it did not slow him down. I stepped inside my golden ticket out of school but was not prepared for the sight in front of me. Every seat and pouring into the aisles was filled with chocolate. There were bite-sized kisses and king-sized milk chocolate bars, flowing into seas of white and cookies-and-cream. Foreign chocolate perched with dark in the third row.

Every bar and bit was looking like heaven to me. If my classmates could see me now- oh, that’s right, nobody could see me now. That sure put a damper on my good mood. Nonetheless, the discovery was in immediate need of inspection. My stomach rumbles, alerting me that I didn’t eat last night. Before I could move past the front row, the bus jolted into motion, and I was yanked down. Where are we going?

He hummed as he drove, cruising down the interstate with practiced ease. I clicked my heels together like Dorothy, hoping maybe the magic would work on me. I just wanted it to be over soon. And maybe I wanted a chocolate bar too.

We arrived at a small house, decrepit with the siding slipping off at awkward angles and cobwebs growing on every window. The lawn was overgrown and damp, jutting every blade of grass into a sword to protect the house from intruders.

"Where are we going?" I wanted desperately to ask but refrained for lack of explanation as to a mysterious child's voice floating in the air.

My question was answered when we pulled over into the yard. Is this, I wondered, the place where he lives? Mr. Fredrickson barely took a step off the bus before three pixie-like children leapt into his arms and tumbled into his knees. The two boys looked to be twins; both had short, mousy brown curls and a tall frame. Their sister had red hair and a pronounced jaw in addition to a large nose that didn't suit her nearly as well as her brothers' features. While the boys looked maybe eight or nine, the girl was much smaller and could have been anywhere from four to seven. They could not be Mr. Fredrickson's grandchildren because he only had one daughter who had gone away to France and taken her son with her. Who were these mysterious children?

My question was one that would remain unanswered until later, for Mr. Fredrickson had a mission. He peeled seven wrappers off the glorious chocolate bars and gave them to the kids. They gobbled down every bite, except for one single bar that was left untouched and taken inside. I carefully followed them, curious as to their intentions.

The girl carried the sacred treat in unclean fingers. Each boy guarded her side like the treasure was golden, not just a sugary confection. They stopped at a white door with the paint peeling off and slowly turned the knob like a giant was slumbering within, and they did not want to wake him. Somebody was sleeping, but it wasn't a Grimm creation. A pink lump rested halfway on a pillow and half under a rustic quilt.

"Lily," the girl whispered, causing the lump to stir.

The three children moved as one, giving up being quiet as the baby had woken up already. They fed the small baby bitesized squares of the now-gooey sweet. She had one patch of chestnut hair and sweet baby blue eyes.

They began to sing, slightly off-key but peaceful nonetheless as they rocked their sister to sleep. It felt intrusive to stand there any longer and watch a clearly secret moment. I felt horrible because that's what I had been doing for the past day.

I returned to the big yellow vehicle in the yard, head hanging low and shoulders hunching down. All the candy was gone, probably somewhere inside the house now, I supposed. Too bad, I could've used some cheering up right about then.

A checklist decorated Mr. Fredrickson's dashboard. I hadn't noticed before, but the last tickmark on the list said Thompson Family in neon green lettering. Oh, I thought, that must be the name of those people we just visited.

"Oh, hello," a voice startled me.

"Mr. Fredrickson?" I asked, knowing he was speaking to me because I was the only one on the bus, "You can see me? How is that possible?"

"I have eyes, dear."

"No, I mean...it's a long story."

I told him the long, magical tale of how I came to be on the bus with him, and any other adult would have chatsized me for fibbing, yet for some reason, he seemed to believe me.

"Ah," he spoke at last when I had finished, "I understand."

"You do?" I queried excitedly.

He nodded, "Yes, I had a similar experience as a young boy. He made me telepathic."

"Really?"

"Yes, I was able to listen in and understand the woes of people who live in this world."

"What about when they're happy?"

"Well, we don't remember much good. Our memories are plagued in unhappiness, you see. For every two good days, there's one bad one that overpowers it. You see what I mean?"

"Yeah, is that why you were helping those kids?"

He smiled, dentures on display, "Exactly. You see, some people are less fortunate than others. Their mother works very hard, but she can't afford much other than the basic necessities. So I come here every so often and give them something to look forward to. They can use the chocolate to trade for food or sell to other kids."

"But how do you afford all of it?" I wondered, astounded by the sheer size of candy he had handed out.

"Oh, I write it off on my taxes." He winked, "Bus driving doesn't pay much, but it's decent living. My wife's father owned a chocolate factory, so everything's half-price."

"Wow."

"Now, tell me how to get you home."

“Honey, you look a mess,” my mother declared, tears falling steadily. I suppose I did. Now that I could see myself, I saw that my knee socks were dusty and ripped, probably from running through the woods the day before. My hair was tangled and matted at the ends; it would a burden combing through it.

“Where have you been?” Came my father’s stern demand that was not even a question, more like a statement as though he already knew where I had been, but he did not, for nobody could have known where I was.

"It doesn't matter, I love you guys."

Since I had the entire two hour long bus ride to think, I reminisced about why I had wanted to disappear in the first place. Of course, it was a silly wish, yet it paid off in the end. I learned the value of family, how some people don't have much, like Mr. Fredrickson who still tells me about his daughter in France and how he misses her or the Thompson family who I still see whenever Mr. Fredrickson and I deliver treats. I learned how one good thing can offset a bad thing, and most importantly, I learned that some people aren't as lucky as me, and I should cherish what I've got while I've got it.

"Alright, that's my report," I finish, a wide grin on my face.

My teacher smiles tightly, like a taut string is pulling her mouth from behind, "Izzy, don't you think that's a little, I don't know, silly for an essay?"

A chorus of giggles and comments break out across the classroom.

"Why don't you go home and write about something real?" She insists, not one for negotiation.

I glance out the crystal clear window to the dark, foreboding woods behind the school. Maybe my mind is playing tricks on me, but I swear a cloaked shadow just winked at me from behind a honeysuckle bush. Yeah, maybe next time I'll write about something real.

i peeled off my skin

dipped them in the river

that had the color

of your name

unraveled my bones

and carved the ridges

of your face

into the bony white

- deathetix

my dear prosers snd prosettes. this Friday, when the sun sets, will be the end of the jewish year. i am not an atheist but i am certianly not an observant man. but this holiday, is one of my favorites. like most holidays, a lot of food is involved. A LOT..honey cakes star the list.

but this year, so much has happened that we’d all have wished that it didn’t, so much suffering and ugliness, and so much more stands in the near future. it brings me to wonder if it is in any way wrong for EVERYONE to celebrate the END of the year. it needn’t be just this occasion. there are plenty of other holidays and festivals throught the world that celebrate an end to this year. the more the better , I say. the passing of this miserable excuse for a year, should be shared and repeated. and a new, better year should be welcomed and celebrated.

so here’s what you need. take an apple. preferably a real sour one. cut it up. then take a bowl of honey. dip wedges of this wonder apple in the honey. throw that in your mouth. done. as you masticate, you notice that the contrast between the unbearable sourness and sweetness gives a remarkable taste.

let the sourness and bitterness of the past wash away in a sea of kindness and joy.

to play it safe, you can drink something beside. my favorite would be Benedictine liquer. but brandy, whiskey, schnapps work well too. red wine will also work nicely.

but friends, don’t get beer involved. bitterness has no room in this event.

personally, i dont drink anymore. but i wish you joy...

as you are drinking, chewing, make a wish, not for yourself but for others, that the year that is coming, whenever it arrives, will be a better one. think hopefully; it will not be much to improve upon the last one.

and so, until the next new year celebration, which could be the Celtic Samchein , i wish you all nothing but happiness, health, love and satisfaction.

Incidentally, i just realized that this is my 500th post on this site. 500 is a nice, round number which does not mean anything more or less than 501 or 637. i plan to be as argumentative, tedious and annoying as before, regardless of the number of previous hack jobs I’ve done. i plan to continue to foment and set an example for mediocrity, crudeness and superficilality. if you enjoyed something i wrote, it is not a bad reflection on you. it’s perfectly acceptable to indulge in trash on occasion.

i hope you all stay creative , supportive and patient as i have learned from you.

be well, and happy new year again (it doesn’t hurt to wish this repeatadly.)

Hold hands till we see the sun,

and the apocalypse has just begun.

Let’s watch the empires fall,

and say nothing at all.

Come on, this should be fun.

We don’t have time to stall,

’cause they are breaking down our walls.

This might’ve been all pretend,

but I’m glad I’m with a friend.

Fires cascading like waterfalls.

The world is about to end,

and there are still bonds to mend.

Get ready to embrace,

Our fall from grace.

The sky is starting it’s descend.

The heavens are ablaze,

and hell is to be raised.

In the afterbirth

of this world unearth,

I have a resting place.

My last night on earth,

spent in magic and mirth.

Burning everything to the ground,

dancing in the lunatic sound.

This is all it’s worth.

Flames crashing all around.

Soon, they’ll let in the hellhounds.

What else can be done?

We stand here stunned,

as the kings all become clowns.

Catastrophes can be outrun,

and Gods can be outdone.

Look the empires fell,

and it’s our tale to tell.

Come on, this should be fun.

Hey, friends! I am very excited to say, I have a chapbook coming out on March 30th! It is being published by Witches N Pink and will be available on Amazon. If you prefer ebooks, you can preorder now - https://www.amazon.com/Expulsion-Emily-Perkovich-ebook/dp/B085T94C9G/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=emily+perkovich+expulsion&qid=1584433586&sr=8-1

Greta's Journal

Keep Out!

8th Day, 3008

We aren't allowed to talk anymore, she said we brought it upon ourselves, this punishment. Vile words and accusations, violence ensued, people were killed, tragedy. The Matron then decreed,"Cover your mouths or your tongues will be cut from your head."

She could speak, hers was the Only Voice, the Voice of Reason, the Voice of Rule, the Voice that seeped into our psyche every night "abide, behave, remain...."

I remember the bloody day like it was yesterday, but truly it has been twenty. It was all the cause of the man and the woman trying to break free, the words, the loudness, the treason. What is a man if not a tool? The Matron always said. But the woman who fell and caused a massacre was a fool. I knew her, she was my own blood relative, and now to bear the shame, our household wore face masks stained in the blood of the dead as a symbol of our failure.

And we all lived in silence. No voices, no music, not even the birds chirped anymore, the few species that survived the Great Explosion. The Matron has a daily Walk, so we are all required to be in front of our homes 2 hours before sundown, us with our stained masks that reek of death and the clan next door with their pristine white, lilac scented, cloud soft, dainty mouth covers. They always look at us, signing "Good Tidings," with their long graceful fingers. Mother merely nods, we aren't allowed to sign to others for one hundred more days. I don't care to sign, I want to scream.

9th Day, 3008

I don't know why I've taken up this habit. The sound of the lead scratching against coarse paper makes me irritable. At least in the privacy of my cold, bare room I can take off the mask and look in the mirror. What do I see? A pale face, tired, confused, angry. Dry lips and drier throat, all the words just dried up. Then I look away. Because they used to say, "You look so much like your sister."

16th Day, 3008

What possessed her to do it? "Love," she said, possibly the last word I ever heard her say. She was in love with the man, and that was not allowed. Why? No one has ever loved a man, a man was merely a cow, to be milked, to use his seed to create others like us in the Great Dome, where the white coats toiled to ensure there were no more defects. After the Great Explosion, the world was almost empty and The Matron always said,

"It is our duty to make the land thrive again, alive again, the Mothers Before started to rebuild and we now, must continue, this is the way."

20th Day, 3008

I have been busy. We are clearing out all of her things. The few belongings she left behind. I found a letter from him, written in blood on a scrap of dingy cloth. "Tomorrow, set me free." I knew it was a bad idea when she got her white coat.

21st Day, 3008

I had another night dream, she was running towards me, I was running towards her, neither of us slowed our pace, yet the distance between us remained so vast, I thought that we would crash into each other, that we would fall unto green grass, and laugh at the sky, but we didn't. Couldn't. There was only running, her to me, me to her. My twin.

35th Day, 3008

When it happened it was a beautiful day. Clear sky, a festival in the square. There was so much noise. I heard singing, I heard laughing, I heard girl children squealing as they held hands and spun in a big circle, child's play. There was joy.

Then the Big Horn sounded, and the doors of the Dome burst open in flames, and she was in the front and he was two steps behind, his brothers closely following. There were screams as they drew closer to the square, women scattered, the Matron's guards with their long braids and matte black guns swooped down. "Freeze!" yelled some. I remember her face and her wide, scared, gray eyes, I remember her reaching for his hand and him grabbing on to hers. I remember the angry faces of the other men, and his face as he watched them lunge into the crowd grabbing women and shoving them down. "No! NO!" his voice was a lion's roar, but it fell on deaf ears. "Brothers! NO! We are free! Let them go!" The sound of guns firing, I saw the first drop of blood burst through broken skin, it was hers. Her blood, her chest, the bullet found its mark. "TRAITOR!" yelled the masses. So much noise. Her white coat turned red, and she was still breathing when i reached her side, chaos around me. He was dead already, bullet to the head. "Why? WHY?" I cried as tears drenched my face and blurred my vision. She looked at me, my mirror, my opposite. "Love."

40th Day, 3008

Today, without a doubt,I will scream in the Matron's face.

*****

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