How appropriate that this challenge be covered in twos. That number has been following me for years now. I first noticed when I lived in apartment number 22. When I was 22 years old. And I constantly wore my favorite sweater - which was stitched with the number 22. I have been seeing either 22 or 222 almost every day since 2020. And what a coincidence that this challenge is overflowing with 2s. $222.22, with a minimum of 222 entrants, ending on 2/22/22, and I'm seeing this challenge and participating on 2/2/22.

I just came back from a walk. Took me 2 hours. On the way I've been crying because I was just kicked out and given 2 months to find somewhere else to live. Not because I don't pay rent - I do. Not because I'm rude and disrespectful - I'm not. Not because I drink or do drugs - I don't. Not because I throw parties or always have people over - I don't. But because I like to be alone and never leave my room. I don't eat, or socialize, and don't clean as often as my family would like me to. It hurts their feelings so I'm being kicked out. On my walk, I asked for the universe's favorite way to fuck with me and send me a sign with the number 2 if I should just embrace the parts of me I've been keeping locked up. I passed by many mailboxes and house addresses with the number 22, but I decided those don't count. Then - moments after I decide this - I look up (which is rare for me to do on a walk) and glance at a pole. The pole had the number 90222 written on it.

That's it. That's my sign. I have no money, no friends, and no place to go. My family had just told me to leave and I have no desire to do anything with my life because nothing is fun or worth my time. Because I'm severely depressed and want to do nothing. I have no passions and no motivation. Because no matter how much I "grind," the rich will always be rich and I will always struggle with things as simple as trying to keep a roof over my head and food in my stomach. I'm done caring about the world and its rules. The rules made for the rich, the straight, the males, the whites. I'm done caring. They don't care about me, so why should I care about them? They can break the rules all they want and get away with it, so why can't I? What's the point of having rules if the worst ones out there are getting away with everything?

I just want to snap. Embrace my crazy and dangerous side. The parts of me my deadbeat dad passed onto me. I can stop trying to ignore my schizophrenia and pretending to be normal, stop holding back my anger and allowing others to walk all over me, and finally I can allow myself to do whatever I want at any moment based on my random impulses whether it's something as small as watching a movie at 2 am or trying to become a pirate and setting sail for months. I don't want to be a hero or a villain. I'm done trying to be a "bad bitch" or "that bitch." I don't want to be a king, queen, prince, or princess. It's all so fucking boring. I just want freedom. Pure, absolute freedom. I want to live a fun, rule-free life (within reason of course, not saying I want to go around murdering everyone, but you can be damn sure I'll break a motherfuckers jaw with a hammer if they want to mess with me). I'm tired of being a bystander in my own life. Of being too afraid to stand up for someone else because maybe I'll be hurt instead or maybe - God forbid - people won't LIKE me and think I'm a bitch. Fuck everything. Just let me snap and stop caring about the consequences like death or where to live or not having money or if I'll eat that day or if I'll end up in jail or if I'll be judged. Fuck worrying about retirement or even making it to old age. Just fuck everything and let me live. Damn. Tired of it all.

Life is hard. Not in the sense of work, but watching as those with the least get hammered by those with the most. Super yachts, multi-roomed mansions, private jets and the ability to threaten the politics of every country. So, here I sit watching the sun rise on another day, I find myself thinking of Jeff Bezos worried about his ageing skin, or Warren Buffett sinking more of his millions into a Silicon Valley Ponzi scheme that will not affect him. However, they don't occupy my thoughts as much as the billions of people struggling not to sink.

Poverty is not a choice. Low wages are not the necessity.

But, a warm home is a must, with food that doesn't lead to obesity, because you have no money to make a choice. For people to have life chances that don't depend on the colour of their skin, their gender, or their Zip Code or Postal Code of their abode.

Welcome to my fantasy.

It is the myth made real. The Robin Hood of the Neoliberal Age, with the determination and skill to hack all those accounts, that money hidden away on far off isles, Tax Havens of the rich around the world. So, from my laptop in the North East of England, I gather their excesses and spread it far and wide.

Just as they steal lives from those who seemingly don't matter, I will steal Dollars, Pounds, Yen and Euros that they can't count.

If they can asset strip our fragile earth, so they can deposit a tonne of carbon into air, with their super yachts and trips to the edge of the space. They are not wealth makers, they are not earth creators, they are stealth-mode money launderers, stripping our planet for their own enjoyment. The Robber Barons of the Neoliberal Age.

You may laugh, as you read this. And I hope you do. Because one day it could be you. Down to your last Dollar or Pound, with three weeks to go until some money enters your account. So, desperation creates a vortex in your brain, the anxiety you feel, is pumping blood around your body at hypersonic speeds. Irrationality becomes your core thought because none of what a lack of money is doing to you and body is necessary. Your anxiety doesn't put money in your account, nor does it pay the rent. You've worked 60 hours this week and there is only stress to show, with black bags under your eyes and those won't pay debt collectors.

Yet, the billionaires look at their billions like it is a painting by a Renaissance Artist. They can only look. How many life times would they have to live to spend all the wealth that they have accumulated.

So, I'm knocking off a zero, a nought at the end of that number, because they still won't be able to spend all that money, they stare at each day. So, I am knocking off a nought, a Zero. Taking it away.

But, think what that Zero means for the billions, who could receive a little helping hand at the end of every week?

Life chances change when you're not hungry, when you are eating properly in a home that is warm. A priceless peace of mind, that stops a parent worrying about crime, drugs and alcohol consumption because they have time. Time to spend with their children. Where food is a choice and not what you can afford. A child's dream can be fulfilled because the lure of the gang no longer carries a thrill. A place of refuge is the library of a college, a university or an open field.

So my fantasy is to be the Robin Hood of the Neoliberal Age.

To take from the rich and give to the billions of poor - to those who dream of a dollar at the end of the day, or die trying to make a meagre living either way.

No wealth for me, but a thrill to see people live, not just survive.

The opulence of nothingness that fills the gap between the celestial bodies of our galaxy is simply… nothing.

With the absence of molecules to carry our voices across space, it is irrefutable that the answer to what’s out there, far from the vast majority of other questions we tend to ponder on, is silence. It is quite comical to think that the word “space” is synonymous with “silence,” and that the boundless entity of everything-ness is sealed with the boundless void of nothingness.

That’s what I long for. Nothingness.

Unfettered and unperturbed; A place to truly be free from the buzzing and rustlings of everything. Somewhere to truly be released from the chains of everything, somewhere to find comfort in a place of nowhere.

Though our lives, undoubtedly short and meaningless, I simply wish to be voided and erased from the world, erased of existence, reduced to nothing.

I long for freedom.

I long to disappear, surrendering to the absolute of the starry abyss.

Drunk with exhaustion, I sat down at the kitchen table to drink my coffee and look over the mail. Anyone who does not believe that the full moon does not affect the emergency room has never worked in one. I picked the top letter off the pile, recognizing my ex’s loopy handwriting. Odd. It wasn’t either of the kids’ birthdays, and we did not part on greeting card terms. I sliced the envelope open and pulled out the card.

“Sorry for the way I treated you. I should have recognized a good thing when I had it. I’ll send extra child support next month.”

I blinked. I’d believe it when I saw it, but it certainly would help the budget. The next letter informed me that I had won a long weekend stay in a luxury hotel in the mountains. I vaguely remembered entering a drawing a while ago. Might be legit. Someone had to win those things, right? Why couldn’t it be me for once? I pictured myself sitting back in one of those Adirondack chairs, a book in my lap and a tall drink at my side, gazing out over that misty blue mountain scenery.

I gasped and leapt back as a cascade of hot coffee suddenly poured into my lap. I realized I had fallen asleep face down in the pile of mail, coffee mug still in my hand. Mopping up the mess, I laughed as I realized the mail was the usual junk mail and bills. The fantasy had been nice while it lasted.

The morning is peaceful and concordant, and all the cats are purring. Sunlight filters softly through the window, illuminating the room with a pink glow, casting light upon a simple life, a satisfied life. I am in bed, beside me rests the person I love, the person who loves me, my perfect puzzle piece. He sleeps soundly, his chest rising and falling to the melody of his dreams. I feel his warmth beside me, and I know that I am not alone. Our two cats sit near the foot of the bed, kneading blankets and humming their feline song. I feel their warmth through the blanket, and I know that I am not alone.

I have the option to rise from bed, to shower and prepare a warm cup of coffee. I have the option to remain in bed, warmed by love and feline affection. There's no worry about missing work, I am secure in life, love, and livelihood. I don't need to be anywhere; where I am is exactly where I'm supposed to be. I feel my partner shift slightly, and I know I am not alone. I hear the cats purring, and I know I am not alone. If I were to look at my phone, I would see messages from the people I care about, and I know I am not alone. I am connected with other human beings, I am not alone.

The morning light is beautiful, I see hints of pink clouds from the little gap between window and curtain. If I were a painter, I would paint the morning sky. If I were a photographer, I would document these heavens, commemorating forever the softness of the morning. If I were a writer, I would write about the loveliness of the natural world. I sometimes create art, but I am not a painter. I sometimes take photos, but I am not a photographer. I sometimes write prose and poetry, but I am not a writer. So I lay still, content with experiencing and committing the morning beauty to memory. I am myself, and I am not alone.

I decide that it is not quite time for me to rise. Later in the morning, after the pink clouds have faded and the sun hangs high in a bright ocean of cerulean blue, I will make coffee, I will feed the cats, I will read the morning newspaper and respond to my friends. Later in the morning, I will wake beside the love of my life, and we will share a smile. I am not alone.

I am in love with the wonder of life, and this love has transformed a simple and mundane existence into a fantasy. I am grateful to be alive. I close my eyes, ready to sink back into the soft embrace of sleep. I am not alone, and all the cats are purring.

My hands... they almost have a mind of their own.

So uncoordinated with my thoughts.

So... *in touch*... with my most secret of needs.

And apparently, I need yours.

Your hands. It's cold out but the air --

The air fears you.

You do have strong hands. Large hands. Warm hands.

Do you feel that? My fingers -- my frozen fingers interlacing with yours.

Please feel me. That's what hands are for. And all my hands want now.

To feel your hands. Every vein, every scar and crease, every callous, every heart beat-

I can feel your heart beat in your hands. You can feel mine in mine.

It's as though we're offering up our hearts to each other --

I'm putting my life in your hands. Your hands.

They're my vault. Safe and secure. Strong, powerful, soft, loving.

Warm. Soft. Worn. Beautiful.

Have you ever watched your hands? How they move, how they act with mine?

Have you noticed how well they fit, how well they hold me? I wish you would.

You're so soft. So gentle.

And your work. Your art. Your hands worship your craft. And I want to worship your hands.

Look at how they move. Even in the cold. Every movement is calculated, so precise, so refined, and so free.

And they hold your heart. Our hearts.

Hold my hands again.

I need your warmth. Your hearth. Your heart.

I fantasize about going off the grid. Leaving social media, society, and cities behind, choosing a life of tranquility. I fantasize being woken up by the Earth's clock, instead of being jolted out of bed by a soulless alarm, making every morning essentially a fire drill. No wonder I am stressed. I go about my days, dreading meetings at work and worrying about what people I do not even know (or truly care about) are posting on their social media accounts. In this world, I consume, I don't engage. I am isolated. The pandemic made it worse. I am no longer uncertain in just myself, I am uncertain in everything. How do I break out of this? I want to be set free. I want to feel whole and infinite. I want to internalize the balance that the universe is built upon. I am not a machine-robot-consumer role I am being forced into! I fantasize about nature, a landscape with mountains, and a garden by my home. Home. That is a fantasy in itself, considering I am still paying off my student loans and definitely cannot afford a down payment. Even if I could, I cannot even build a house by myself without having to pay someone for it. Every square foot on earth costs money. Who owns it? I dream off turning off my fancy iPhone. But, if I did that, I would miss that afternoon team meeting, and I need this job. So I go back to consuming, fantasizing about a simpler life, and tolerating the convenience of my existence.

“Who the fuck is this guy?” My first thoughts as he was inside me after a long night of flirting, temptation, and giving in to this sexy stranger I befriended just a couple hours ago. Perfect strangers one might say. Casual strangers is how I would put it. Someone who barely knows me but sure knows how to fuck me. I’ll give him that.. and a whole lot more. As he goes deeper in me and fucks me harder with each coming stroke (no pun intended), my walls get looser and looser for him and my legs get that locking feeling. Damn, he’s good. Damn, Daddy knows how to fuck this pussy. And damn, he fucks so good I’m calling him Daddy in my mind already.

I think about how I stripped down slowly, drunkenly, and kind of slutty for him. Then, I turned around, let him what he is working with and let him get a peak of that fat pussy poking out from the back. I looked at him, gave him the look just about any man should recognized, walked to my bedroom, and turned off the lights, expecting him to follow. I lay on my back and see this bulky, sexy shadow of a man in the doorway, curious of what he would find if he followed. After a few seconds, I felt his presence. I felt his hands grab my ankles, his bulky arms throw my legs on his shoulders, and waited as he thrusted that big, hard, throbbing dick in me. I felt on it a good part of the night at the bar, in our little corner where we whispered, flirted, touched, and teased until we couldn’t resist anymore. Nightcap went into full effect and now here we are.

He fingered me for a minute or two and got me going. I felt my pussy get warm, start to drip, and get a little loose. Then, he thrusted that pulsing cock into me. Bigger than I expected but damn did that big dick feel amazing going in. If he fucks me good, I’ll choke on that dick until his eyes roll to the back of his head and he can’t take it anymore. I know how to reward a man who works hard and does a good job. I always have. In and out he goes, the wetter I get. The looser I get. The more I want fucked. He must have saw it or felt it. He gave me a “I’m fucking you how you like it?” smirk and put his hand around my neck. He tightened that grip and my legs started to lock as he looked into my eyes and fucked me even harder. Daddy knows how to please this pussy. That dominant shit will make a woman lose her mind, if you are that kind of woman. I sure am.

I start to moan. Trying to contain it but not being able to help it, I get louder and louder. Each moan comes quicker than the last and I can’t help myself. The juices are flowing, I’m all warm inside, and I feel my legs locking and my body getting weaker with each stroke. I’m sweating now, getting hotter and hotter as he gets steadier but harder with the strokes. He is building me up. He knows what he is doing. He keeps giving me that smirk and occasionally asks me “You like that baby?” Don’t call me baby if you don’t mean it daddy.

Hell yes I like it daddy. Some of the best dick I have had in awhile and just a couple hours ago, I thought i was going home alone and my rabbit would be my best chance of getting off. I got the perfect dickplacement tonight though. A couple Jack & Cokes for him and a couple tequila sunrises for me and there was no turning back. Next time, I need to get off, I will fantasize about this night instead of watching some random porn.

He lets go of my neck, that tight grip loosening up but my pussy only getting wetter and me only getting louder. I love a man who is in control. I love a man who likes to dominate. He puts both hands under me and feels on that ass. For a moment, I thought he forgot about my initial offering to get him to the bedroom. It seemed like he was waiting, patiently mins you, because he began to grab, squeeze, and rub on that ass as kept stroking that pussy. My legs are locked up and I’m getting tighter but getting ready. I can feel it. This man has me at that point. Ladies you know what I mean?! The warmer my pussy gets, the more my insides seem to be going crazy. I can feel that dick hit the walls deep within my pussy and he found his spot. As the tip hits that spot, I go wild. You can see it in my eyes and how I look at him. You can see it as I get hotter and sweatier but seem to not give a fuck. You can hear it as my moans get louder and longer. I can’t fucking take it. Hit me right there baby. Keep going daddy. This what I say to him over and over with moans interrupting me as I try to get every word out but can’t.

As my pussy starts throbbing and my moans only get higher, I’m about to climax. My breathing got heavy and my insides lusted for him as I let out a high pitched scream with my legs shaking, all these juices rushing out of me faster and harder, and dug my fingers into his back. That climax was followed by a few minor ones and my breathing got slower and lower. I still had sweat dripping from my pores and my whole body was weak but I hit euphoria. This man fucked me into my wildest dreams.

Ladies, there’s only one thing you can do after getting fucked like that. When a man fucks you this good, before you fall asleep from that dick, make that man feel as good as he made you feel. Take care of that dick and show him how much you loved that dick and how he gave it to you. Remember how I said I was going to choke on that dick until his eyes roll to the back of his head and he can’t take anymore. Honey, I did that and a whole hell of a lot more. I sucked on that juicy, throbbing dick and he was so big I had no problem using both hands to stroke while I put it in my mouth. I sucked on that dick and deep throated it until every inch I could fit of it was in my mouth. It touched the back of my throat, I gagged a little bit, sucked it one more time to get some control while it was in my mouth, and felt it pulsing uncontrollably. My tricks had worked. I felt the gooey loads of warm, thick cum hit the back of my throat while trying to hang onto the pulsing dick in my throat. So much cum that he it wasn’t just his dick that filled up my whole mouth. He tasted pretty damn good if I say so myself.

I smiled at him, wiped my mouth with my shirt, and we both seem pleased. He smirked at me, content with us both getting off, and went to take a piss. When he came back out, he got dressed. He told me to text him tomorrow or next weekend if I wasn’t busy. I always have them for a casual stranger. Let me correct that, I always have time for a perfect stranger. Especially one with no strings attached…

There is a door in the middle of the woods that pulses like a heart and whispers like a secret. Behind the door is a world we do not yet know, one that promises something better than what we have. Steady and alive, this is where quicksand melts to a soft pillow of land beneath tiny toes and rainbows shimmer like little diamonds, reflecting their colors on the faces of the children who always have a place there.

If dreams did not die in youth, this would be the hollow clearing where they unfurl themselves from old cocoons, where laughter serves as currency and it is plentiful; infinite. In the middle of the night, the sun shines. In the middle of the night, no tears are smeared across the small cheeks of those who have already seen too much.

There is a war outside the door and we are losing because there are children who drag their parents across the hardwood and drop their empty bottles into the trash and there are those with wide eyes who ask too many questions and find only bruises on their ribs as an answer and we cannot see the purpling beneath their shirts until they are already broken. Dreams settle inside the hearts of the young and lie unprotected, waiting to be scooped out from the inside.

If children are the future then we will soon know boundless ruin because the door in the clearing in the woods is only fantasy and wishing for better does less than feathers tossed against glass houses.

We are the ones who shatter.