On Sesame Street there is a little known monster who lives in a house on the edge of the street. He works very hard but is never really seen in the spotlight. Due to his wishes, I will not be using his name.

He is possibly one of the most important monsters working behind the scenes on Sesame Street. His job? Juice connoisseur. He maintains the ~perfect~ juice standard that Sesame Street has for its monsters and visitors.

There are many other monsters like him, connoisseurs if others foods and drinks. Yet he is by far the most important one, as juice is one of Sesame Street’s largest imports.

He tests for quality, the ratios of sweet to tangy, how well the juice dilutes, it’s sipping capacity, and everything in-between and beyond. He even maintains the dunking quality of Cookie Monsters milk for his cookies after the Milk Connoisseur retired.

He is truly one of the most important behind the scenes members of Sesame Street. After all, without the high quality juice all the younger monsters would get cranky. So it could be said that he is responsible for the good mood that the monsters of Sesame Street are known for.

The sky is raining. Or so it seems. You see the sky opened up in my living room. I am in a puddle of water wondering how to plug up the clouds so they don't come in here again.

Then I see that the rain are my tears and I am just wishing for it to be anything other than me- to hide the truth of my sadness that is right in front of me- falling like rain on my window pane. The sad thing is today was beautiful. Sunny without a cloud in the sky.

I hate being sad on days like today. The wind felt good against my cheek and I was reminded that I am still here. The road was warm on my bare feet and I wonder why I have bouts of sadness on days like today when most of my days are so good.

I then wonder what it means to have sorrow stick to your ribs like cement so every step feels like you are anchoring yourself more and more to the earth. My shoulders droop and my body aches. I am sick. I have been sick. And it is hard to tell what is wrong with me.

But my body is begging me to find an answer. So when I am bedridden and I look out at that beautiful sky I am reminded that I am so very here. Inside with aching ribs with the air in my room smelling like sickness. I do not know how else to describe it other than that.

And then I wonder if on days like today why it is so much easier to write when sorrow is my companion? It makes me sadder still, and even more than that it terrifies me.

I do not want to thirst for dark things so my pen can flow like water in a stream. I wish I was just the current itself. A constant thrum of creativity- but this would make me some god. I am no god. I am struggling living life as a human as it is.

I kiss my pillow with my eyelids, I turn over look at my ceiling with the glow in the dark stars- I will be 30 in about a week- and still love the childish wonder in certain things. Glow in the dark stars is one of them. So I will take this as my trophy tonight as I try to sleep.

Sorrow left an impression but did not drown me.

Because I will open my eyes tomorrow and do the very thing it would never expect:

I will try. One foot in front of the other. I will move forward.

The wind pulled my hair, rain slammed into my skin, shivers crept up my spine, all while I ignored the boy attempting to cuddle me.

"You know that you're blocking the wind for me, right? If you're so cold you need to move to the other side," I said. I pulled on the tangle of strings in my lap, trying to ignore the feelings his touch were giving me. He shifted over to the opposite side of me, closer to the tree where his kite was stuck.

"It's never getting out of there," he said.

"We can get it out! We just need to find a really long stick," I said.

"It's never getting out of that tree," he said. He let out a long sigh and rested his head on my shoulder. "And it was my favorite kite!"

"We literally just bought these kites at the store. How can it be your favorite kite?" I said, looking over at him.

He smiled.

"It's my favorite kite I've bought in the last 2 hours," he said. He changed positions just enough to no longer be touching me. I immediately missed the contact.

The wind picked up again, messing up my carefully ordered mess of strings covering my lap.

"You know that you don't have to untangle that, right?" he said.

"Yeah, I just like to untangle kite stings that boys get all tangled up while trying to fly a kite in the biggest rainstorm we've seen all spring," I said.

"Oh so you do this a lot," he said.

"Nope. First time," I said. His smile drew out one of my own. "Do you think we should give up? I don't think this rain is gonna stop any time soon and now we only have my kite."

"I think that is a great plan. I am very cold," he said. He shifted closer to me again.

"I do have some jackets in my car," I said. "Lets go get you one."

"What about you?" he asked.

"Who do you think I am? I have at least two in there," I said.

"Sam! I forgot I left my kite on the ground over there! Would you go grab it before it blows away?" I said. I was liking his closeness a little too much. He was just my friend.

Like the gentleman he was, he got up and ran over to where I left my kite. He tried to pick it up but the wind caught it and sent it flying across the field. I sat up straighter, getting ready to run over to save it when Sam threw himself on top of the kite, stopping its escape attempt.

I started laughing. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing it he tried to cuddle me again.

“Hey, Nick,” I said, leaning back, sipping a mock-mosa out of a glass in the kiddie pool I was in. My pink unicorn tube bobbed up and down slowly as the reclined in the sun.

“What’s up?” he asked, looking over at me from his beach chair.

“I have an idea for the season premier. Tell me what you think: We hire a live band to play Crazy Train, and I ride into the arena on a train, rocking out.”

“We hired a live band to perform your garbage song last season, Caleb,” Willow said, tanning on the beach chair next to Nick. “People will think you’re beginning to lose your magic touch.”

I tilted my sunglasses down. “Hermana, Caleb is not losing his magical touch.”

“Mmmmhmmm, that’s what they all say.” Willow rolled over onto her back. “So, how long will the arena be a beach again?” she said.

I looked around at my creation: I had dumped several hundred pounds of sand onto the stage and set up yellow UV lights to simulate the sun. In the center of the stage was the kiddie pool that I was floating in, set up three beach chairs, and put up a fake palm tree. Very real looking.

“Ferb, I know what we are going to do today,” I said.

*****

The audience filed into the dark room, murmuring amongst themselves. “It’s darker than normal,” an audience member said. “What do you think he has planned?”

“Another musical number? Remember how dark it was when he sang that song for the finale? I wonder if he has recovered any from that prankster, come to think of it…”

"Planned? Dude, it's Caleb. He has nothing planned. He just pull things out of his a--"

"Hey! Caleb is the most creative, most awesome, most coolest, most handsome, most talented person I know. Don't talk about him like that!"

"Ma'am, you do know the whole point of the show and the challenge is spontaneity, right?"

"You shut your mouth!"

The audience member rolled his eyes and looked ahead of him at the dark stage.

The murmuring continued for several minutes. Eventually, it quieted down, until the arena was completely silent. A dim glow began at the stage, not bright enough to illuminate anything. Slowly it brightened to reveal me, Willow, and Nick on the stage in hero poses. We all were wearing our beach-wear and sunglasses with smug looks on our faces. Immediately, we broke out into a fully choreographed dance number, shaking our arms to the sides then switching to the other side. We put one hand on our hip and began leaning it to one side while pointing at the audience in a

circular motion, similar to the Sprinkler. We waved our arms in a circular motion around our bodies, as if we were the face of a clock, then we spun backwards, gave our butt a little wiggle, and spun back around. Nick dove into the kiddie pool, Willow jumped and landed on her side in a beach chair, resting her head on a hand and bending one of her knees in that oh-so-familiar pose. I slid on my knees and grabbed the microphone from the stand. “It’s Pen to the Paper 26, baby, and that means it’s season three!!!”

The murmuring continued for several minutes. Eventually, it quieted down, until the arena was completely silent. A dull glow began at the stage, not bright enough to illuminate anything. Slowly it brightened to reveal me, Willow, and Nick on the stage in hero poses. We all were wearing our beach-wear and sunglasses with smug looks on our faces. Immediately, we broke out into a fully choreographed dance number, shaking our arms to the sides then switching to the other side. We put one hand on our hip and began leaning it to one side while pointing at the audience in a

circular motion, similar to the Sprinkler. We waved our arms in a circular motion around our bodies, as if we were the face of a clock, then we spun backwards, gave our butt a little wiggle, and spun back around. Nick dove into the kiddie pool, Willow jumped and landed on her side in a beach chair, resting her head on a hand and bending one of her knees in that oh-so-familiar pose. I slid on my knees and grabbed the microphone from the stand. “It’s Pen to the Paper 26, baby, and that means it’s season three!!!”

The crowd went wild.

“Also, Nick and Willow are dating.”

My two friends went red in the face and started denying it. I smirked at them, bowed, and sprinted away as they got up to chase me. Little did they know, I was wearing Gingerbread Man underwear.

yesterday was National Poetry Day

and all I got was this lousy T-Shirt

writing poetry is like

telling someone how you feel

and they say

wrong, we are moving on

in our application process

or better yet

they ignore you

a scream in a crowded room

it's rejection served cold

when I already have

abandonment issues

thank you for coming

to my TED talk

may you all

write without inhibition

it sometimes scares me,

how the air of my chosen country can smell like the one i left behind-

the smoky-sweet aroma of burning yams,

the impatient crush of too many earthen bodies,

and the sting of petrol fumes.

it makes me wonder if we are really as different as we pretend we are. if we really leave behind as many things as we pretend to, strapped into suitcases and duffel bags.

it makes me wonder if there are things we don’t like to remember.

i speak of the old country with pride, with nostalgia, with gentle love.

my parents speak of it with fear. with light disdain. with condescension. as if living in the land of the white man has absolved them of the responsibility to their roots.

i wonder what they would remember if they touched this tender wind.

i wonder what they would try to forget.

The town was made of ravens. You could find them everywhere, from the power lines to the porches of the abandon farmhouses, and there were a lot of them. The town was small, only a few people lived there, and those who did knew each other like they had grown up in the same house.

There were as many ravens as there were stars in the sky, and every time someone passed away, it was said that there was a new raven. The raven was born of their skin. On the night that the Jeremy brothers were murdered, two identical ravens, both with blue eyes, the same as the brothers, sat on their graves.

There was an old lady who lived at the end of a one lane road. She fed the ravens; they swarmed her in town, when she went. No one ever saw her collecting groceries, and she only came to town once a month, the ravens following her. The town’s people called her the Raven Queen.

It is said she once told a girl that she created the ravens, that she was the queen of them. That girl had gone missing five years ago, and so had half the ravens. Some believed that the Raven Queen had taken a liking to her and the ravens would protect her... wherever she was.

Naru was trembling at the podium, giving her shaky testimony. Poor girl. She was only 6. But it wasn't her fault she was in this situation.

It was mine.

Well...Not really, I suppose.

But it was me who threw a tantrum. It was me who was mad at mom. It was me who opened the door.

I didn't know him well when he knocked at the front door, but I'd seen him once or twice around the neighborhood, so mom must know him, right? Maisey was on the couch, watching me let him into our house. He was nice. He gave us candy. I wanted to be nice, so I took it, but he gave me a mint candy that I hate, so I just smiled and tucked it into my pocket. He asked if my mom was home, and I said yes. I skipped around the corner to look for her.

But then I heard a thump.

And a scream.

I froze, and peeked around the corner in the hallway in time to see my sister fall on the ground in a heap, motionless.

My breath caught in my throat, and I didn't move a muscle. I couldn't. I was paralyzed. I was only a kid. And then my mother came running. She screamed at the sight, and I remembered myself, hitting the panic button on the wall. With the man turned away from me, I caught my mom's eye. She mouthed a word. I couldn't tell what it was, but I ran anyway. I hid under my bed. All I heard was the screaming.

Soon the police came. Two lives. Just me and my second sister were left.

So here we were. In a courtroom. With him. all the evidence was there. We were going to win. He didn't have a prayer. But what do we even get from this? Having to think about this whole mess even longer? It's been over a year, and nearly nothing has happened, even though he has no redeeming evidence. He acts sorry. Like he accidentally broke my sister's neck and stabbed my mom.

I don't believe him.

But even if we do win (which we will), all we get is two new siblings. Two more people to unknowingly remind us of what their "father" did. I don't want new siblings. I want to go home. But I can't. All of this has to be over first. Then they will contact me and Naru's new family, tell them that they will be receiving four new children. Us two, and the two babies they will cultivate to replace the lives lost. That's what the caseworker said. She said that we were lucky that we didn't have to go live with strangers forever, that we should be glad were related. Distantly. But they don't care about us. I've never met them. Just like I've never met the man who killed them.

My 'Father'.

My father killed his ex-wife and child.

He'd never even met Maisey.

He killed a child he'd never even met.\

I watched in silence as Naru began to cry. I don't know why they were hounding her so much. She was at daycare all day, and our carpooler dropped her off right after the police arrived. All she saw was the man being led away, and peeks at the aftermath.

The session was over eventually, and we were sent to our foster home. I was told the trial would be over soon. The sentencing would be next week.

~One Week Later~

Two life sentences.

And two new lives.

They'll take him to prison. Lock him up, away from us. They'll take his DNA, make us two new siblings. Force him to carry them, as part of the punishment for murder. To 'compensate'. As if anything could compensate for the loss of mom and Maisey. It's like rubbing it in our faces, that he lives on in them, and our family is dead. I heard some people name them after the victims. Even I know that's sick. And if they have the ability to make these children, why can't they just make as many stupid babies as they want? Or maybe take care of people and avoid mass dyings in the first place. I don't care what happens to those babies. They aren't my siblings, and nothing will change that.

~Seven Years Later~

Today is the twin's birthday.

They're seven.

Seven years ago today, we were sent to our new family with two new boys, Leo and Levy. One of Aunt Sarah's girls picked the names.

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if my father hadn't come to our house that day. If I hadn't opened the door. If my mom and sister were still here. But that won't happen. I can't change that. He ended up dying in prison. Hung himself. Left a note saying he was sorry. I don't think I believe him. He got off easy.

The only thing he ever did for us was give us Leo and Levy. I got to watch them grow up. They really are my family, even if I wish I never had to take them. Naru is so grown up now-- 14! I can tell she resents the twins, but I know that she understands that it isn't their fault.

I love my family. Naru. Leo. Levy. Even my little cousins. I still miss you though, mom. I think I always will. I'm constantly torn between loving the boys more than anything, and wishing you were here instead. But I know you always wanted a big family. I know you would be happy with our lives.

I love you, mom. Forever. Even after eight years, I still miss you.

Thanks for everything you've given me. I'll keep writing this journal, but these entries are for you. Keep them safe. I'm letting everything go, starting with these. And I'm sorry for throwing away this life that you gave me, but I have to. I don't even know who I am anymore. I don't want to be like my father. I don't want to see you dying every night. I can't. I'm trying. I swear I am. And I'll keep trying. For at least a little. But just in case, make a place for me when I see you again.

I love you,

Corynne.

"Crisan? So that's what you're calling yourself?"

"Yeah, I will go by Crisan from here on out." The gentleman that now had a name told the voice, the voice that had guided him here from the dark, empty parking lot. "That's ok with you I presume?"

"Sure, doesn't bother me." The voice replied. "Any reason you went with that name?"

"Just made it up, maybe a slight play on the word crisis, since this qualifies as one." Crisan answered. "I'm in a story where there's no plan to the plot, I have no idea who I am before all of this, my only comrade is a voice whose agenda I don't know either. Why, does Crisan mean something else?"

"I guess a Google search will determine that."

"Wait, you have access to Google?"

"I have access to a lot of things." The voice chuckled. "Ha ha ha ha, the name you chose is the same as a hair strengthening oil product!"

"Well, I seem to have some great hair, so I guess that's fine." Crisan said sheepishly. "Now the more important thing is finding out where I am, and what to do next. It looks like I'm in some kind of bedroom right now."

"Indeed." The voice said slightly mockingly, as Crisan's observation seemed fairly obvious.

"Well being in a random bedroom can mean a lot of things!" Crisan said with a slight annoyance at the voice's condescending tone. "That yellow door likely put me in some kind of suburban area. This room is furnished, which means someone probably lives here. And if that person is home, they probably won't be too pleased that a random dude is in their house. They probably won't believe that a random door from a strange parking lot sent me here. So the best action would be to get out of here, and see what the outside world looks like."

"I suppose you're right. Apologies for my rudeness."

"So wait, do you know more about this world?"

"I can only see what you see Crisan. This being a story without a plan, I know about as much as you."

"Ok, fine."

Crisan stepped off of the bed he found himself sitting on after going through the door from the dark parking lot. He observed a small TV on the dresser with an old school gaming system set up next to it. He was tempted to look at the games on the shelf nearby, but he ultimately decided that sticking around a random person's house looking at their stuff wouldn't be a great idea.

Crisan stepped through the bedroom door and found himself on an outdoor racetrack. In front of him sat a small go-cart.

"What kind of house is this?" Crisan asked incredulously. He went back and checked the door he had just come through, and sure enough, the bedroom was still there.

"Looks like you can play some video games in the room, or drive on that track in the go-cart. I know your memory is still shot, but does either activity stir anything up within?"

"Well, the gaming system is one I have played before, but I can't remember anything besides that. I don't remember ever driving a go-kart, but it seems oddly familar to me. As fun as it would be to hunker down to some games, I still don't know if the person who lives here is around, and it would appear that I have to navigate this race course to get out of here."

"Sounds about right Crisan, do what you feel is the right call."

Crisan hopped into the go-kart and checked for keys. Once he was in, the car started driving on its own. The go-kart navigated loop de loops, leaps over pits, and even drove past other carts on the course. Eventually Crisan's go-kart crossed over a black and white checkered finish line, and in front of him was a hardwood door. Crisan hopped out of the go-kart and opened the door. Beyond the door was a typical hallway that could be found in a small apartment. Crisan stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind him. He looked around and observed a small kitchen, a couple more closed doors that could lead to other bedrooms, and a living room with an impressive bookshelf, a large screen TV, and several modern systems hooked up to it. Like the old school system from the bedroom, Crisan had fleeting memories of playing these systems too. He also recognized some of the books on the shelf.

"So, what are your thoughts on this room Crisan?"

"It looks like a nice apartment. I've actually read some of these books, and played some of those game systems. But I don't have any other context past that."

"Why don't you play some games or page through the books? Maybe it will stir up some more of your memories."

"Maybe, but I don't feel right being in someone else's apartment. The exit appears to be over there. I think it's time to see what it looks like outside."

"Are you certain? It could be more dangerous than taking your chances in this apartment."

"I'm certain. Although I am a little jealous. I would love to race on a go-kart track anytime I wanted to go to my bedroom."

Crisan headed for the door that would lead him out of the apartment, when he suddenly froze in fear. He heard the sound of footsteps behind him. Escape was too late.

To be continued....

I allow the thought to pull me in once more,

how gentle your touch once seemed.

How little I knew of myself back then,

trapped in a place, where time refused to move.

We had built our home on hollow ground

praying for the earth not to shake,

as I carried our love blindly, in both hands,

with the notion that my will was enough.

Still the tighter I held, the more that I lost.

Now here we stand, how many miles apart,

stranded in the aftermath of ignorance,

watching every promise unravel at our feet.