A vacant room, inviting as ever

The curtains are shut

Refusing any light that dares enter

A single flower held in a glass vase

Wilting with deprivation

A visitor enters

Opening the curtains

Giving the flower water and sunlight

The room flourishes

No longer vacant

No longer deprived

But over time

The visitor shuts the curtains

and the flower begins to wilt

More time passes

He boards up the windows

And lets the flower die

Eventually, the visitor leaves

The windows remained boarded

The flower dead

And a staleness hangs in the air

There is a vacant room, uninviting as ever

-from my website, bychloejean.com

there exists a corner

within my mind

a nook in my conscious

a crook in my spine

within this junction

there lives no light

no laughter nor love

nothing to survive

just a single wooden chair

alone in this hide

I remain during hardships

perhaps for all of time

but one cannot know

by the look in my eye

if it is here that I stay

or it is within this dark place

in which I reside

-from my website, bychloejean.com

The dewdrops glisten

in situ on each petal

they make their way

slowly rolling down the leaves

resembling tiny jewels

sparkling against the vibrant green

the air is thin and sweet

I inhale its fragrance deeply

in attempt to save the scent in my memory

a hint of fresh cut grass lingers

leaving me with the natural perfume

that the earth provides

the world is sleepy and quiet

only the sound of bumble bees

buzzing amongst the purple morning glories

singing their melodious work song

cuts into the deep silence

that subsists at 7a.m.

in the summertime

-from my website, bychloejean.com

Perusing through the two-story antique shop, the heavenly scent of Corday Toujours Moi wafted through the air. I searched for the scent, following my nose until it reached a small white table adorned with various perfumes. My eyes wandered lazily from left to right, reading the names of the nearly-empty bottles. Narcisse Bleu, Guerlain Shalimar, one with no label, and then finally my eyes met the half-empty bottle of Corday Toujours Moi. I held the vial inches from my face, closing my eyes, and inhaling the vintage scent of life in the Roaring 20’s as deeply as my lungs would allow.

Slowly, the image of the table in the two-story antique shop faded, and a visage of a beautiful young woman pampering herself in the boudoir suffused my senses. “Alice Blue Gown” by Edith Day and Rosario Bourdon played as she sat at the vanity, applying rouge to her soft, powdered cheeks and humming the tune. As I daydreamed of a time passed, I wondered what kind of life that young woman led. Was she a bold woman? Meek? Was she in love? Did she live a fulfilled life? A hand on my shoulder interrupted my thoughts. I startled, and turned to see my love smiling at me. “You’ve got to check this out!” He exclaimed excitedly, and I followed him a few feet over to where a Kodak Auto Revolving Back Tele Graflex camera sat upon an old, dusty shelf.

He was beaming with excitement, likely musing about who owned this dinosaur, and what it was like to wield what we consider to be somewhat of a contraption nowadays. I let him get lost in his thoughts, and once he managed to peel his eyes off of the treasure, we locked eyes, smiled, and continued on. We explored through the overflowing antique shop for hours after. Looking through old band and movie posters, at the many small figurines, the china enclosed safely in glass cabinets, and the bookshelves decked out with books covering many subjects, some even in different languages. We sat there on the floor, grabbing as many books as we could and skimming them until our noses could take no more of the dusty history that permeated the air of the shop.

As we left, I quietly thought to myself about the wonders we found in the maze of what felt like historical artifacts. It was astounding, how what someone once saw as just being “stuff” becomes significant once their time has passed. How we search for a vision, a scent, an aesthetic that can give us some insight to what life used to be in that particular time frame. A store like that can hold so much more significance than one could perceive. So much so, that I encourage you, that anytime you find yourself driving past an antique shop, stop and take a moment out of the monotonous droll of routine and explore. You may find yourself amazed, realizing that you are, indeed significant. You don’t know who in the future will pick up your bottle of Marc Jacobs’ Daisy, or discover your old iphone 5s, or perhaps even find a little trinket that you held close to your heart as a young child. There are many things in this life that can make us feel small and insignificant, but one day, something you owned could become a historical artifact to someone. An exceptional finding in stacks upon stacks of stuff packed together in a small room.

-from my website, bychloejean.com

While a number, you once were

Now too, a body and soul

The journey renowned

Down the steps of purgatory

Into what exists below the ground

Enter the circle

One, two, three,

Now the circle is what hath thee

Knock upon the red door

One, two three,

Present your palm

Receive the key

As above, so below

Into the garden you must go

Enter the room

Your sight sets on me

Run from the circle

One, two, three,

Now it is the darkness you must face

The truth hath presented itself to thee

There is no escaping now

You are stuck in here with me

-from my website, bychloejean.com

It was April 5th, 1999. Nate had awoken rather abruptly by the blaring of the alarm clock. He rolled over to face his nightstand, groaned, and turned off that noisy time-holder that had caused a perpetual ringing in his ears. Sliding out of bed, he stood and had a long stretch. Today was Monday, and that meant the beginning of the school week. Nate always hated having to go to school. It was senior year, and he had grown weary of the monotonous routine of high school. Once he had showered, brushed his teeth, got dressed and ate, he left the house and headed towards school. As he approached, he was greeted by his friends, Eric and Dylan. They waved from the entrance of the school, the block letters to the left reading "Columbine High School". Nate smiled, reaching Eric and Dylan. "Hey dude!", Eric said, "are you free after school today to hang?"

"Yeah," Nate replied, "my mom is having dinner with the neighbors so she'll be cool with me coming over."

"Okay sweet," Dylan smirked, "we have something super sick to show you!"

"Can't wait!", Nate replied, curious as to why Dylan seemed so excited compared to his typical blasé composure. The five minute bell rang, and Nate waved goodbye to his friends and started towards his classroom. As he sat down at his seat towards the back of the classroom, Nate let out a long sigh. Economics. The worst class that was ever invented, he thought to himself. Behind him, he could hear two girls whispering back and forth. He focused, trying to listen. "Did you hear about the list? The one online?" Rachel squeaked, "do you really think that they'll do it?"

The next voice belonged to Cassie, Nate had always liked Cassie. "Who knows, Rach. Just because someone puts something online doesn't mean anything. It's probably a joke."

Rachel sighed, "Yeah. Probably." Nate had no idea what they were talking about, probably some stupid list online ranking the girls in school.

The day drudged on, and as the bell rang to signify that school was out, Nate spotted Dylan and Eric walking towards the front of the school, and waved them down. Together, they walked into the parking lot and towards Eric's car. Nate got in the back, and glanced over to see a blanket laying beside him, "Hey Eric, I didn't think you had a girlfriend. What's up with this blanket?" He lifted it and jokingly tickled Eric's face with it. He looked back to where the blanket was, and saw a carbine rifle laying there and inhaled sharply. "Dude, no way. You keep this in your car?" Nate scoffed, "what if you like... get caught? That's some serious jail time."

Eric laughed, "You never know when you'll need to use a gun, man. I like to keep it in here, just in case. Besides, it has a blanket to cover it. Nobody would ever suspect it."

Dylan chimed in, "Yeah, dude. Think about it, if the girl who asks you to prom says no, you can just blow her brains out!" Eric and Dylan laughed in unison, and the conversation died out. Nate draped the blanket back over the gun lying next to him, as if to erase its existence entirely. They pulled up to Eric's house, hopping out of the car and headed to the front door. Once inside, the trio went straight into Eric's room. "Okay, so what were you guys so excited to show me?" Nate inquired.

"Oh yeah! Okay, close your eyes," Dylan said. Nate obliged. With his hands open and outstretched, something large and cylindrical was placed in his palms. "Okay.... Open!" Nate opened his eyes, and what he saw sent a chill down his spine. A pipe bomb. "Dude what the heck! You just put a bomb in my hands!"

"Shhhh! Chill!," Eric screeched, "It's not even activated!" Nate tried to regain his composure, he didn't want to seem too stressed out by its presence. "Where'd you get it?", he asked.

"I made it.", Eric beamed.

"WE made it.", Dylan interjected.

"Yeah yeah, we made it." Eric took it, placing it on top of a drawer in his closet. Nate thought for a moment, deciding whether to ask the question he had been wondering since he had first seen the weapon.

"But... why?"

"Like we said, Nate. You never know when you'll need it."

Nate was restless that night. He had tried to sleep, tossing and turning until he finally gave up and let his mind wander. He had wondered what was up with Dylan's sudden fascination with violence. He knew that Eric always had a bug up his butt about weapons, but there was something different about Dylan. All of the sudden Nate felt a sick feeling come over him, as if something menacing had just punched him square in the gut. He got out of bed and sat down at his desk. He booted up the computer, the monitor shining brightly at him, displaying the Windows logo. He opened up the internet search bar, and typed in Eric's website. He had heard Eric talk about it in a conversation once, but had completely forgotten about its existence up until that moment. When the page loaded, videos containing Eric and Dylan littered the site. Nate began to view each and every one until his eyes began to water, begging him to shut his eyes and sleep. He powered off the computer, and climbed back into bed. Those videos he had just watched showed a more animal, angry version of Eric that he had yet to see. He knew that he struggled with some anger issues, but the bouts he had were nothing like this. There was something menacing in his eyes... malevolent, even.

Nate got ready for school rather quickly the next morning. He showed up to school unusually early, at 7:30a.m., he entered the school, and began to walk down the hallway, shuffling his feet as he went. He just walked and walked, unsure of where he was going. Approaching the counselor's office, he realized that he had needed to talk to someone. Anyone. He hesitated for a moment, and then turned the doorknob to see the welcoming face of the school counselor. He motioned for Nate to sit down, asking what had brought him in today. "I... I'm really concerned... about my friends. Y'know, Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold?"

"Yes, I am familiar with those names. What is it that you're worried about? Is Dylan still getting bullied?"

"Uh... no...", Nate continued, "Well, I'm not sure. But yesterday, I was in Eric's car and... he had a rifle in the backseat. Him and Dylan were goofing around about never knowing when they'll need to use it, and I just became kinda unsettled by the whole thing and I wasn't sure why... you see, I'm good friends with Eric and Dylan... and I dont wanna be a snitch but", his voice cracked, "I'm scared. I'm really really scared for myself and for some students that they'd been talking about on Eric's website." Nate began to tear up, his heart racing faster and faster as he told the counselor about the videos, the pipe bomb, everything. When he was done, the counselor leaned back in his chair, looking at Nate with slight bewilderment. "Thank you, Nate, for bringing this to my attention. Would you mind writing down the URL of the website for me?" Nate wrote it down on a sticky note, and handed it to the counselor. "You did a really good job, Nate. Everything will be okay." With that, Nate left the counselor's office and continued his day as usual. During his last class, he heard police sirens approaching the school. Despite the teacher's protest, everyone stood up rushed towards the windows to see what was going on. Four police cars and a swat team stood outside the school, the swat team accompanied by a couple of police officers rushed in through the front, running towards the classroom across from Nate, which both Dylan and Eric had English class in. Nate heard commotion, and tried to push through the crowd and towards the door to get a better look. In the hallway stood Dylan, in handcuffs, being led by a police officer and Eric on the floor, being straddled by a deputy, struggling to put him in handcuffs as he writhed and spat curse words. The boys were escorted away and into the police cars, as the teachers demanded everyone to get back to their seats.

April 20th, 1999. Nate Dykeman walked into his first period class, sitting down in his seat towards the back, and began to prepare his notes, writing "Econ: Chapter 12", on the top of the paper. Behind him, Rachel and Cassie were whispering back and forth, which had become their usual antics. "So I just heard this morning that Eric and Dylan got sentenced... apparently the evidence against them was too strong and they both plead guilty. Dylan was served 5 years and Eric, 15.", Cassie continued, "I guess that Eric got a psych evaluation and its believed that he's a full-blown psychopath. Isn't that nuts?"

"Well...", Rachel started, "At least someone spoke up. Can you imagine what could've happened if they had gone unreported? I heard that they had written out plans and all of this crazy stuff! We could be dead right now if they were still free to roam the school." The whispering continued, and Nate turned his attention to the teacher, who had just entered the classroom. "Okay class, today we are going to be talking about the stock market. Woohoo! Open your books to page 244."

The sounds shuffling, groans and pages flipping filled the room. Nate began spacing out as usual, and the day was as boring and as typical as any other day at Columbine High.