“I doubt that’s how it’s supposed to work, Safiyyah.” Flower, my youngest sister, said as she watched me mess with the fridge that went out recently.

“Shut up, Dummy! I know what I am doing.” I snapped at her as I messed with the wiring.

I hooked one wire up to the motherboard and heard the fridge running again. I smiled as I stepped out from behind the fridge. Celestial walked in, heard the fridge running and pointed at it.

“Has the repair man come by already?” Celestial, another sister of mine with golden streaks in her white hair, asked as she leaned up against the counter.

“Nope. Safiyyah here thinks she can fix anything, including the fridge that needs replaced, not fixed.” Flower said as she rolled her yellow eyes and flipped her short purple hair back.

I snarled as I launched myself at Flower. She and I tumbled through the doorway to the living room as I held her by the neck. I started putting pressure on her neck as I slammed her head to the floor and I had her pinned to the ground. She started tapping my legs and my body as my anger was past the limit it should be. I heard Celestial yell for help as she tried to pull me off of Flower. I felt another set of hands on me as Flower’s face started to turn purple. I felt them yank me upwards as Flower took a deep breath and started to cough. I started to wriggle through the hands as they spun me around and made me face them. I looked to see it was Celestial and Killer, the eldest brother who had golden hair, hold onto my arms.

“Calm down, Deera. She meant no harm by whatever she had said.” Killer said as he grabbed my face.

“Breathe, Deera. In, Out, In, Out. Calm down and breathe.” Celestial said as I copied what she told me.

I turned to see that Death was checking on Flower as our parents walked in from going to the store. They stopped by the door and dropped the groceries.

“What happened? ” Our Mama said as she walked over to Flower.

“Safiyyah fixed the fridge and I noticed her red eyes furrowed down when I said the fridge needed to be replaced instead of repaired. She yelled at me she had read the manual for that fridge over and over again. She lunged at me and tried to kill me by choking me to death.” Flower said quietly.

“Why didn’t you control yourself, Deera?” Our Papa snapped at me.

“I... I... I DON’T KNOW, OKAY?!?!? I doubt that you could have fixed the fridge.” I snarled at Papa.

I didn’t care at all. I felt tears running down my cheeks as I walked to the door. I grabbed my jacket, put the hood up and walked out the door. I slammed the door shut and took off running. I walked on the beach for awhile as I watched happy couples running, laughing and jumping around with no care in the world.

‘I doubt no one would like or even love me for... well, me.’ I thought to myself as I noticed something on the horizon.

“Boat!! Boat!! Everyone off the beach!!” I heard someone yell as people whizzed passed me as I watched the boat get closer.

As I watched it get closer, I started walking toward it. My eyes locked onto the boat as I heard my family yell at me. I felt someone grab my arm and I looked back to see it was Death. I pulled my arms out of the sleeves and walked away from him as my jacket dropped to the sand. I changed into my Draginucous form and took to the sky, sand flying from the gust of wind my wings caused. I flew to the boat and circled above it to see two men were dead and a man wounded with another man with a gun. I roared and dived down, grabbed the man with the gun and winked at the injured man to slow down. He slowed down to a stop as I flew upwards with the guy that had a gun. He screamed and yelled at me as I flew back to the beach. I landed on the beach and changed back into my human form as I held onto him.

“Take him away.” I said as I tossed the guy at a Police Officer.

From then on, I walked away, doubting everyone and everything they said. I trusted no one and no one trusted me. Papers were hung in the streets of Belguim, saying they want my head. I stayed hidden even from my family, and eliminated anyone who needed to be executed. My name has been changed so many times, I do not know my real name anymore. I walked into a Tavern known as The Wanted Flame. I kept my hood up until I sat down as a table next to a female elf named Reina. She was cleaning a cup when she made me a cup of Ale and set it in front of me with her magic.

“You okay, dear wanted fellow?” She asked me as I looked at the cup of Ale.

I ignored her as I took a big gulp of Ale and slammed the cup down onto the table. Everyone in the Tavern turned and looked at me. I felt their eyes digging into my skin. I took my hood off, spun around and glared at them. They turned back around and started talking amongst each other. I took a deep breath in then out as I turned back to the table I was sitting at.

“You wouldn’t understand my situation, Reina.” I said as the Tavern got quiet as I spun a strand of black hair round and round with my finger.

“Try that again, wanted fellow.” Reina said as she set the cup she was cleaning onto the table.

“What do you mean by that?” I asked as she filled the mug up with her magic.

“These fellas in here have been looking to get you for the reward money. They just don’t have the guts to capture you.” She said as she took a drink after she finished.

I felt a tap upon my shoulder and I turned around to see a guard from the Belguim Kingdom standing there. I scoffed motioned them to go away as I turned back around to the table. They grabbed my shoulder and spun me back toward them.

“Deera Safiyyah Freedom, you are under arrest for the murder of innocent lives all over Belguim. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say or do will be used against you in the court of law.” One of them said as they grabbed my left wrist.

“Well, shucks. I will cooperate with you from here on out.” I said as I stood up and they noticed that I had a scythe upon my back.

“Drop that weapon, or there will be trouble.” The Guard said as he moved his jacket aside, showing his gun.

I slowly grabbed my scythe from my back and brought it to my side. I grabbed it with my other hand near the blade and stared at him with a smile.

“How much trouble would I get into if I just hurt you and took off from here?” I asked as I smiled at them, still holding onto my scythe.

“Death sentence would be put on your trial file. Don’t get any bad ideas, missy. Cooperate or I will have to use brute force.” He said as I stood the end of the Scythe up, blade pointed toward him.

“What will I ever do without the help of my fellow wanted crew?” I asked sarcastically as I walked over to a table with a guy known as Skull Crusher and I ran my fingers across his back.

Skull Crusher stood up as he smiled at me. He and I have helped each other when we got into some pretty tight spots. He walked over to the guard and shoved him outside.

“Come here again and I will crush. Your. Skull. Understand?” Skull Crusher snapped as he stepped through the door.

He walked back through the door and slammed the door shut as the Guard stood up and took off running. Everyone cheered as Skull Crusher walked up to me.

“Thank you, Skull Boy. You are such a big help. Here’s your payment for helping me.” I said as I set a small bag of silver into his hands.

“No problem, Assassinator Deera. Get out of here before he comes back with more men. Take your silver and head to The Arid Land. There is a small town called Shelldera, live there and do not forget about your past. Hang your Scythe up and devote yourself to helping those in need. Remember us, all of us.” Skull Crusher said as he handed the small bag of silver back to me then, stroked my black hair.

I nodded, put my hood up and put my scythe onto my back. I walked to the front door and a knock came upon the door.

“Open up!! This is the Belgium Guards!!” A guard yelled.

“Hide in here, Deera.” Reina the elf said as she opened a door to the wine room.

She closed the door and walked over to the front door. I heard it open then, footsteps walking in and around the place.

“Where is she?” A guard asked as he walked to the room I was in.

“She’s not here, sir.” Reina said with a small stutter.

The door to the wine room started to open and I took a step back, knocking cups over. The door swung open and someone grabbed me by the hood.

“Let go of me!!” I snarled as I was thrown to the floor.

I grabbed my Scythe and swung it at them as I stood up. They backed away from me as I scrutinized them with my red eyes.

“Do you not know who I am?” I snarled as I put the scythe on my back and looked at them.

“Get her!” The Lead Guard yelled.

I slipped out the door and changed into my Draginocous form. I took to the sky and flew above the clouds in the dark of the night. I heard them yelling below me. I dove down and hid in a tree beside the beach. I changed into my human form and walked into a shop nearby. I bought a long sleeve shirt, pants and a jacket with a hood. I put that on and put my black hair into a messy bun. I bought a duffel bag and put my assassin clothing in it and made my scythe smaller. I put it in the duffel bag and boarded the boat named The Great Escape. As the boat left, Guards got to the dock and yelled at me to come back. I never looked back from then on. The boat got to the small town of Shelldera, docked and I walked off the boat. People here were friendly and didn’t care that I was different. The first thing I noticed was that Tara Diera was here and he noticed that I was here. He invited me to live with him and I said yes, of course. We have lived together in Shelldera from 1999 to the day.

Jude was sitting in his truck when his cell phone rang. He almost didn't answer it. The number was unfamiliar. As he was about to toss the phone unto the empty seat next to him, something told him he should answer it. He did.

"Chief, is that you?" There was only a few people who would call him by rank.

"That's right. Who is this?" His voice was unapologetically gruff.

"I know it's been a long time. Don't tell me my voice has changed that much!"

"No, I remember the ugly mug that belongs to that voice." Jude relaxed his body as the image of the caller's face came to mind.

"Still not as ugly as yours!" The voice was friendly and playful. "How has life been treating you?"

"I can't complain.You?"

"The same."

"I know you didn't track me down to ask me that." Jude was always direct and to the point. "What's going on?"

"Did you hear about Hayes?" The voice turned somber.

"No. What's he up to?"

"He's dead! Killed by a cop!"

"A cop! What happened?"

"Evidently, he ran a red light. You know Archie. Rules and laws are suggestions and guide lines to be followed or not depending on the circumstances. Anyway, this young, white cop pulled him over and asked for ID. Archie reached under his seat for his wallet and was shot in the head! The cop said he thought Archie was reaching for a gun. Archie never gave anyone a hard time. No one was more easy going, laid back and accomodating. He always admitted when he was in the wrong and took his lumps without complaint.

If Archie wasn't black, it would never have happened! A white driver would have been given a warning to be more careful and that would have been the end of it!"

"Maybe." Jude sounded thoughtful.

"Maybe nothing! That cop had no reason to take his gun from the holster let alone pull the trigger!"

"Agreed. When's the service?" There's Jude being the bottom-line kind of guy again.

"Three days ago. It's taken me that long to track you down."

"If you're not looking for a pallbearer then what do you need, Lieu?"

"Day after tomorrow there's going to be a protest in front of the police station of that young offier. There's to be a BLack Lives Matter march ending at City Hall. The guys are meeting tomorrow in Alabama to join the march."

"Why Alabama?"

"That's where is happened. Some small town outside of Birmingham. So, when can you get there?"

"I'm not going." Jude sounded definite.

"What do you mean, you're not going?" Jude had to hold the phone away from his head.

"Listen, Archie was a pain in the ass. He never stopped talking no matter what was thrown at him. He was always asking guys for socks because he was too cheap to spend money on them.

But he would take his last bite of food from his pack to give someone else saying he wasn't hungry no matter how loud his stomach growled. He woud jump on a wounded soldier covering him with his body while laying down fire. There's no one I would rather have beside me in a fire fight.

What happened to him isn't an outrage because he was black or because he was a Navy Seal. It's an outrage bacause he was a human being, not more or less than any other man. He was a an that Bled Red just like the young cop that shot him."

"All the more reason to be there!"

Typical Jude silence.

"You know this is your fight too. He was one of us. If something like this can happen to one of us and not be addressed then it can happen to any of us or all of us!" Jude understood his vehemence.

"Don't you think I know that?!" Just as vehement."That was me next to you for two years in that hell hole half way around the world fighting for the humanity of people that place no value on human life! They killead their neighbors, friends, family, old men, women, children. They didn't care who died just so they could feel they were right. I'm tired of everything being a fight!"

"If people don't stand up for what's right and protest and fight injustice then the tyrants win!"

"Tell me why this country has to keep fighting the same fight over and over again for a different group of people. Women's equality, Gay rights, Black Lives Matter, Blue Lives Matter.

When will someone stand up and say if I cut you and you Bleed Red you matter. Your life has value, the same value as everyone else who bleeds red. You deserve the same dignity, respect and rights as the others."

Lieu tried to cut in but Jude wasn't finished. "When someone has a Bleed Red March and gathers everyone together, I'll join that. We an put an end to injustice and inequality and senseless violence once and for all."

What coud Lieu say to that? There was nothing. "All right. We'll miss you. I'll loet the others know."

"Good Luck."

"Yeah. Hey, if anyone organizes a Bleed Red rally, I'll expect you to be there!"

"I'll be walking out front carrying the banner!"

"Be well, Brother!"

"You know it. Be careful down there. Just because something begins peacefully doesn't mean it ends that way."

“Don’t try it,” she warned, curling her lips into a smile despite her harsh tone, “you break it, then you buy it.”

“Come on, Delilah, I’m gentler than a field mouse,” returned the enthusiastic Dottie, continuing to fiddle with the silvery band.

“Still, if Johnny finds out I’m even letting you touch it, heck, he spent his whole paycheck on this thing...”

Delilah liked to worry about things. Her earlobes were constantly red from tugging, and sometimes, she pressed buttons against the insides of her cheeks because her teeth nipped at the flesh too much. Once, Dottie teased that she hated spending money so much that she might as well freeze her credit cards. Delilah scrimped and saved and went without to have new dresses. She held in her love, always afraid to get hurt, which is why everyone was so surprised when she announced she had found a husband before any other girls her age.

Dottie was almost the exact opposite. She gave out affection and coins like Halloween candy without expecting anything in return. However, she was not jaded by the wealth she had or kindness she was shown. When she first met Delilah, they had been just children, pigtails and strawberry pink dresses, blue tongues singing summer. Sometimes, she was still that little girl with big dreams and wide smiles ready to break out at any moment.

“When did he pop the question?” Dottie’s question did flips on tongue, she was so desperate to ask it.

“Just two nights ago, outside the gazebo. Oh, it was so lovely. And the ring is so darling.”

“Where from?”

Delilah held her breath, building up suspense for the big reveal, “Martin’s.”

“No!” Dottie gasped.

“Yes!”

“When are y’all gettin’ hitched. I’ll send out all the invitations.” The blonde leaned over the console. "Oh, can I be your maid o’ honor, 'Lilah?”

Delilah's eyes widened to saucers, and she fumbled for words, "Well, you see, it's gonna be the week after graduation."

“Hah, tell that to my mama who said high school flings don’t last.”

Dottie's thoughts flickered through her mind faster than bunnies with ADHD, and she quickly forgot about being the maid of honor or even asking where the wedding would be held. She swigged the last of her glass bottled Coke and let her eyes roam the landscape beyond the car.

"You make sure Johnny treats you right, got it?" Dottie instructed.

"He's wonderful, what do you mean?"

If Delilah had pearls to clutch, she would have been a model southern belle. Her cheeks were flushed in the May heat, her pupils reflecting Dottie's thin silhouette, and her slightly wrinkled bubblegum pink skirt fluttering in and out of frail, bony fingers. Dottie's cheekbones could cut glass, as her brother used to joke, but they were hidden behind a pale unadorned hand and a golden ponytail.

"I dunno, some boys look all nice. Like...well, remember your daddy-"

Delilah, face burning in fury, nearly slapped her best friend, "Don't you dare talk about my father. Ever."

"I'm sorry," Dottie's mouth formed a solemn line, plump lips cresting inward, "I'm real sorry."

"Me too."

If Delilah had the nerve, she would have stomped out of the Chevy and ran to find Johnny.

"I just meant that after everything your mama's been through, you'd wanna think about who you're tying yourself to," Dottie mumbled slowly, brushing flyaways out of her green eyes.

"I've already got the ring on my finger, I love him," she was not sure who she was convincing, Dottie or herself, and she was not sure who believed her, if either.

"Really?" Dottie pressed on, confidence growing like a weed. "'Cause you don't sound like it."

"Dottie, I swear if you don't stop questioning my life, you won't be in it!"

Both girls froze because when they had been young, they had been taught that words were the most powerful weapon of all. The lesson had disappeared into the recesses of their minds, popping in once in a while. Now, they truly felt the weight of Delilah's warning crushing them. Instead of breaking down and letting her best friend leave, Dottie let impulses carry her the rest of the way.

"Sorry," her voice nearly broke, but she got the syllable out in a rush, vastly different from her usual drawl.

Then, she pressed matte pink lipstick against soft cherry red ones. Delilah likes to worry, Dottie knows this. Dottie knows she did something wrong, so she backs off faster than a soldier running from a bomb.

Delilah found her nerve. She did not give Dottie's wide, hopeful green eyes a single look before shoving the door open and taking off. Dottie could not hear anything except the rush of her own heartbeat in her throat and the low humming of the stereo.

Potholes

It started small.

Or I thought so,

This is how everything does.

The annoying

Swerve of your car,

If you weren’t looking

It ate your wheel

And left you with angry thump.

But as the ice refroze and thawed

The commute became unbearable

It began.

It got bigger and bigger

And if you stopped to see

Got low on your hands on your knees

It’d be blue in the middle.

Bright blue.

And the next time, bigger

It’d be green, the purple, 

The sinner

Than gold until the tips of a finger

Reached out to the sky

Until the potholes gurgled with gravel

And out from the hole they surged

With metal faces, terrific smiles

And singing a song,

That burdened the night and the

Noon long

It grew louder and louder as

More of them shout out,

As more of them slunk into our shadows,

We began to wither.

The tyranny, the exhausted slither

The song seeped into our skin,

Into our hearts.

Into our thoughts

Until all we wanted, 

All we were hungry for 

Was rest.

Until we dragged ourselves

Shaking and sore

And crawled back

Into the gold, toes first

Into the world underneath the asphalt,

Into the world they came from.

I felt a comfortable amount of sunshine, peeping through those cream flavoured curtains, fall on my face. My eyes flickered, my pupils ached.

I felt a sharp pain inside my head as I pulled the sheets over to sleep for a few more minutes. But my eyes refused to close. I found an uncomfortable unfamiliarity with this room. I hadn’t seen those curtains, the wallpaper, the shelves or the cupboard sitting in my room. I woke up to the strong smell of a burrito, some hot coffee and fresh polvorone cookies. The room had a unique style which resembled a Mexican motel; vibrantly painted with sky blue, the pine wood furniture, and I noticed the breath taking talavera pottery, creating a shadow on the mosaic tiles. I was sure of either of these:

1) I was in Mexico or 2) I was in a Mexican’s house. The second one seemed more likely than the first one. I wondered how I got in here. Maybe the last night’s booze. I hardly remembered what had happened last night. Perhaps a tough day from work took me to the bar and a lot of shots of some weird drink with a cute guy. His name was Casper or Kane or Kallis. But all of those seemed a less important, I desperately needed to go out of this place. My head throbbed in pain, my palms sweating and my breath smelling like tequila. I paced towards the door to exit, and spread the sweat onto the knob. It wouldn’t open. Kidnapped, maybe. If he was asking for money, well I just had savings for my next travel and nothing more. I strolled back to the bed sitting at my wit’s end. I grabbed my phone and the location was: Mexico. Time: 9:00 AM. Weather: 25 degrees Celsius. Sigh. I felt my sweat blend with the tears of frustration. I wanted to leave. I wanted to work. It felt like my wings had been chopped and I was trapped in a prison. My stomach did somersaults and rumbled and all I could think of is to satiate my hunger. I salivated at the mini breakfast on the desk. I gobbled the burrito, gulped the coffee and munched the polvorone cookies. I examined the items lying on the desk: a few medicines, which looked like antidepressants and a torn photo of a woman. She had big blue eyes, gorgeous brown hair flowing like a brook and freckles which were aimlessly sprinkled all over her face. Her radiant face was wheatish, her cheeks blushed and her smile could attract millions. She was very beautiful. She was my kidnapper.

The door opened, the photo emerged alive; older. Her radiant face turned dull, her eyes which sparkled, seemed to carry her pain and her face lost the smile and instead drew a worried expression. Her skin was no longer glowing, her face wrinkled, and her silvery brown hair was tied into a messy bun.

She let out a sigh and said, “You found out.” I had no idea what I had found out.

“I..” trying to give an explanation for what I had been doing.

“Don’t. Just listen.” she said with assertion. Her eyes stopped me from moving, freezing me to the bed. She just wanted me to listen and I was willing to. I was perhaps spellbound or hypnotized by those ocean eyes. I had no clue. At that moment, I felt like I had no choice but to listen.

“I was not like this; heartless. This is not my profession. I was not this poor, I would have served you a feast, if I had at least one tenth of my previous wealth.”

I continued to listen to her story with rapt attention, wondering what sort of story it would be. “Tragedy”, my brain read.

“History books would have our ancestors’ names printed all over. The Waters*, from Oceana*. Haven’t you heard about them?”

“Yes, I have. A noble family; they usually take care of the administration of towns. They were affluent and had a reputation of being benevolent. Well it’s rare to find even a quasi-Water these days.”

She gave a smile. It looked like she did it after centuries of grief and it reminded me of hope. She took a cigarette from her pocket and lit it. She smoked a little and removed it from her mouth.

“We lived in the banks of river Thyle* in the town of Capsi*. My father, Harris Water had three younger brothers: Marcus, Maxwell and Jonathan. My mother, Viola had two daughters: Isabelle, my younger sister and I, Lily. We were all one family; a happy one. My aunts, my uncles and us. We lived together. My grandfather owned many acres of land, orchards and a huge bungalow. When he passed away, the lands and the bungalow were owned by my dad, as he was the most generous and responsible and my uncles got the orchards. Initially, they were envious and were fuming with wrath. But my father was too magnanimous to allow his brothers inside his property and bury the hatchet. Soon he delegated responsibilities to each one of them to handle the property. Maxwell was given the cornfields, Marcus was given the responsibility of the town hospital and Jonathan got the dairy farm. My dad was the overall head and constructed residential apartments for the town people. My aunts and my mother owned a restaurant in the town, which sold the most sumptuous food. Together, as a family, our business flourished. My childhood was a paradise; I reminisce those days even today. Belle, Rosa, Jack and I were a gang and I was like a gang leader.” She laughed a little; an obvious tear trickled. I was still listening to the most intriguing family drama plot, as she went on.

“The sun rose, and we were out playing in Uncle Max’s corn fields. We ran like mad children till our bones would break, we climbed the tallest trees, the highest walls and did the quirkiest pranks. We once threw cow shit on Miss Melody’s face, you know.” Again the same pained laugh. I smiled, a little to make it not awkward.

“We used to lick the fruits of our orchards instead of stealing because we were frightened of our uncles. But we stole Miss Miranda’s precious golden mangoes not only to taste the juicy pulp but to see her chagrined face, as she would storm into our bungalow and yell with her squeaky high pitched voice. When we went to the dairy farm, we fed the cows there, especially Matt. He was a cute little calf who was loved by all. He often fell ill, but we stood by his side all the time. He loved us too. He would moo in glee every time he saw us and we would laugh at how funny his moo was. We went to school, but we ceased to touch the books. We used to mutter about why we need to add numbers, why we need to know when the Battle of Waterloo took place and so on. They say right, nothing is permanent? Well, so was our happiness. Our life was more than perfect, more than comfortable, more than the best. But the wind decided to change the course of its direction. There was a quarrel, I don’t remember for what, maybe a property issue. This led to a series of quarrels and suddenly my dad was the ‘outcast’. My uncles glared at us, my aunts stopped talking to us, and even my cousins. Sooner than I could imagine, my father was charged for treason and was banished. We were flabbergasted: my mom, my sister and I. Surely my crafty uncles were behind this ploy. They were such materialistic, deceitful bitches. My dad always worked for the community good. He did so much for the people and they always showered their love. My dad couldn’t bear such an accusation against him, he was suffocated, choked and was unable to breathe after this. His heart wept, my mom wept and Isabelle and I still didn’t understand what was happening. Naive Belle asked, “When will we go back?”. There was no going back. My father passed away due to cardiac arrest. We moved to my mother’s old house in Mexico. It felt like these events happened in a few seconds and it left us traumatized. The wounds would never heal, we knew it. My mom worked as a waitress in a cafe in Mexico. My sister and I went to some school, tried to learn Spanish. Nothing worked anymore. Alcohol, cigarettes, drugs were part of the daily ritual of my pity-party. I loved my dad. I loved my life back in Capsi. Maybe the perfect ones are always chosen. My life felt empty and bare, my mom gambled. A lot happened in Mexico: I got pregnant and my mom committed suicide. She was broke and only her insurance could pay the loans. I stopped school and I worked as a care taker. My sister was intelligent, she pursued her career in business management. She really wanted to start her own enterprise. I was stupid back then to just sign a few papers, which gave her the ownership to one last property of my mom. She never wanted to sell that; her whole childhood lived in that property. She was willing to give her life instead of that property to pay back the debts. But my Belle sold that property to start her business. She was no longer, my Belle. She was a different Isabelle, an egotistical one, who cared the least for me and my child. She’s probably earning billions in California or New York City, and I’m here mourning the loss of my daughter, Blake. She was my only purpose to live. My sister killed her. She didn’t want anyone to pick up a fight with her in the name of property. Was she my father’s daughter? Never. She was my uncles’ niece. Mexico, was a city which has only drowned me in trauma. Have you seen a worn out sweater? Have you seen how all those yarns separate? Have wondered why they separate? Because they have been used, a million number of times. I gave warmth, love and affection but I was used, just like my dad. All he did was love and look at what happened to him. My Blake, she didn’t even have a chance to call me ‘mom’ and what happened to her? Will she come back?”

She wept miserably, her voice turning weak, her hands were shaking as she took my hands and pleaded, “Blake, please give me another chance. I have no sister, no mother, no father and no family. I want only you. Please come back, dear.” She wailed, my heart felt numb. I could suddenly feel my heart heavy, the whole room heated up, my eyes burning and tears couldn’t stop. All of a sudden, I felt her hand intertwined with mine, her eyelids shut, her head on my lap, as she lay unconscious.

*****************************************

The setting swiftly shifted to the hospital, Lily in the emergency ward and I stood facing the door in front. I felt beads of sweat, neatly arranged in the lines of my hairless palms; my veins carried fear and anxiety all over my body.

An hour later, my hand pushed back her silvery brown hair and my palms caressed her wrinkled face. Her face was still exhausted without food, I saw her breathing heavily. She slowly opened her eyelids.

“When I was 13 years old, my parents died in a plane crash. I felt abandoned, lonely. I could never have those happy family pictures, all of which my friends had. I did not lose my parents, but I lost me. The happy me.” I said.

She took my hand, drops of tears created patterns in the crisscross of wrinkles.

“Blake, dear, you are not alone. Take me home. The obnoxious fragrance of these hospitals make me nauseous.”

*************************************

We sat in the sofa, listening to the Spanish songs together, soothing our minds. My mind slowly shifted to the scenes in the hospital, which happened a few days back.

********************************************

I felt a hand, trying to pull my arm. Frightened, I turned to see a middle-aged nurse, with a really concerned look.

“I need to tell you a truth. Follow me to the file room.”

The next minute, I was surrounded by a thousand files, neatly stacked in teak wood shelves. She scanned through the files for the year 2001, and she came out with one. The file contained a report of Nurse Maria, which read:

ANGEL HOSPITALS, MEXICO.

Patient name: Mrs. Amanda Ross

Nurse: Ms. Maria Rodriguez

Two years back, a patient named, Amanda Ross, came to this hospital for Border Personality Disorder (BDP), accompanied with compulsive lying. People with this mental illness, feel depressed and anxious, suffer from panic attacks and also lie frequently without no absolute reason. Usually their stories would contain intricate details and would portray them as victims or they claim to be affluent. Her daughter, Blake Ross, passed away due to some unknown illness, the experience traumatized her and from then, she has been suffering from this psychological disorder. Her husband, a wealthy businessman, tried all different treatments to cure her illness. He reached a saturation point; he could neither bear the pain or her beautifully fabricated tales. Frustrated, he left her in our home for mentally ill patients. I was her nurse in-charge and tried my best to help her. Every day, she called herself as Miley, Jane, Mary, Nancy. I was tired of hearing her fantasies but I continued to provide her the best care possible. But in all her stories, Blake was her daughter, she loved. One day, she ran away from our care and we couldn’t trace her. Six months after this incident, I was transferred to the main hospital, after a 3-month suspension.

“Two years have passed, and I was shocked to see Amanda again. I wasn’t surprised when I heard that the patient’s name is Lily. She’s still the same. Anyways, how are you related to her?” she asked.

I was numb. Wrong. I felt betrayal, anger. Wrong. The fiery emotions were put off by the winds of sympathy. My hands shivered, unable to accept facts and suddenly my clouded brain couldn’t distinguish between fact and fable. I mustered the courage, I cleared my throat to mask my shaky voice.

“Blake didn’t die. I’m Blake Ross.”

************************************

I sipped some wine, as I read her Lorca’s poems, her favourite. She continued to fabricate, and I continued to be enchanted. She loved my mesmerized look, as she narrated her Mexican fables; that’s what I would call it.

“I’m Julie”, she said yesterday.

“I’m Charlotte.”, she said today.

Perhaps her name will be Victoria tomorrow. But that didn’t matter. Empty, bare and broken hearts have begun to heal, to bloom. People say, ‘Search in the places you have lost.’ I lost my family in my teens; I had given up the search for another family. People asked me to see family in others; you can find one. These words always annoyed me; I abhorred the hopeless optimists, who poured sympathy all over me and always gave false hope. Nothing could replace a family; no money or no person. The years of happiness shared as a family will never exit, but will always exist. All these thoughts kept ringing inside my head, ‘I’m not a poor little girl, who needs help.’ All these years living alone, trying to make myself comfortable, I realized that I have failed miserably. Yes, I was a poor little thing. Yes, I need to search for a family. Yes, I made a terrible mistake. Yes, I should have listened to others. I often engulfed myself in these futile pity parties, and all I wanted was to find the lost. I could never imagine to find the lost again, I never could have guessed that a compulsive liar would be my source of happiness and warmth. I realized that no treatments, pills or drugs could cure her, but only a Blake could. She would cook the most delicious feast when I come back home from work, caressed my wounds; one by one and she loved her Blake. It was astonishing to see such a kind of love amidst the cacophony of battle cries. She was more than a compulsive liar or a mentally ill patient. She was family.

*Note that the places and names are fictional.