Focus on me.

Her eyes big as the moon and full as the sun.

Focus. On. Me.

She shook. Fingers pulling through her hair.

Grey, you need to focus on me. You are chaos. Now focus, or I will make you focus.

I had not quite pulled her through to our side of the parallel. All this violent, directionless energy was tying her to her thoughts, and I could not help her to find her physical location. My mind had found her’s easily. We were sitting, knees touching, on opposite sides of a train car. The cabin was closet-like in size and lit only by candle. A stark contrast to where our bodies sat. Though we still sat knee to knee, the bright light and the white of my lab coat were the antithesis of the frenzied train ride. Bullet proof glass surrounded us, small speakers methodically stationed to allow for sound to completely envelop anyone inside the glass room. Two techs in the same white coat as myself stood at the door, ready to enter should I feel endangered.

On the train, I focused on Grey. I lit a cigarette, making sure to blow the smoke away from her wan face.

Glazed expression, hands trembling.

I need you to focus. We are going to get off the train soon.

Her head shook in reflexive disagreement. Fingers, fidgeting against her right leg.

It’s not optional. Look at my eyes.

A shadow cast across the window, and her eyes darted to catch the movement.

Grey, focus on me.

Her gaze made the slow crawl back to my face. And I held her eyes, irises gleaming with soon to fall tears. I sat calm and still. I flicked my cigarette to the ground and crushed it beneath my right boot. Smoke curled softly off the ground, bringing the smell of burnt polyester. And her breathing slowed.

Focus on me.

And her hand began to reach for my own.

And the weight of the room shifted. The change in atmosphere derailed us. Men in white entered from the door to the cabin.

Her eyes, wide open, deep and full as the ocean.

Her hands pressed against her ears.

Fear pouring off her skin.

And screaming. Shrill, never-ending screams. Her mouth flung wide. A noise somehow deep and high pitched all at once. The windows burst. Shards of glass flying in all directions. I watched, impassive as the men in white tried desperately to save themselves. But the caterwaul burst them as thoroughly as the glass. Eyes and ears bled. Hemorrhaging stomachs and bursting veins. The skin around the eyes all broken blood vessels with bruised throats and limbs.

In the lab, I lit another cigarette. A cool voice played through the overhead speakers.

Did it work? Are you ok?

I bent down making a show of it. The question ludicrous. I checked pulses, though one could clearly see from the amount of blood that I was the only survivor in the room.

Aside from the fact that you sent these two in to fetch me for no explicable reason that I can see, the small detail of this young lady still being lost in her own mind, and the massacre of blood lying on the ground in front of me...we’re ok.

i want my heaven

as much as you

i want to rest

as much as you

i want to fly

let’s make that two

so i can just dream

of the girl who broke the seams

and with broken wings

she flew

Sitting in the sun eating ice cream

Hugging me in the pool

Holding my hand makes my heart skips a beat

Why did the summer have to end

Why did you have to leave

You were my summer love

I loved you and I miss you

I wish I could turn back time to them 2 amazing weeks

But you were my summer love

And I can't get that back

I can't get my love back

So goodbye ice cream afternoons

Goodbye hugging in the pool

Goodbye heart skipping hold handing

But most of all good bye

My summer love

Fog is what I woke up to on the morning when I thought I was going to die. Keep in mind, the fog wasn't very reassuring on the walk to school at 9 am, which is more than an hour after the first bell rings. And the fact that I was sick with the flu and my mom let me sleep was not my near-death.

A man on a bike.

That's how it started.

~

A man riding a bike rounded the corner in the same direction I was headed, as if he were about to go up the hill.

But he slowed down across the street.

I thought nothing of it.

My school lies on the very corner of a main intersection, anyway. Most people who live around here drive by it every day.

"Good morning."

I was so startled I almost screamed.

Wait--reader, pause for a second and ask yourself this: if a man on a bike drove casually past you, said "good morning" and left, would you be as scared as I was?

Probably not.

But, firstly, this man on a bike did not drive casually past me.

Secondly, he did not say "good morning" like a normal human being.

Thirdly, he absolutely did not leave.

At least, not until later.

Because I wouldn't be writing this if I was dead.

A simple,

"H-hi..." is all I can choke out.

I didn't want to seem rude. I didn't want to let him on.

"Hi" was the only way to go.

The man was dressed in all or mostly black. I remember seeing red, yellow, black and green stripes like the Pan-African colors. (I only know this now because I just googled it.)

It might have been a bandana sticking out from beneath his dark hat, or a keychain dangling from his black jeans. I don't remember.

But he had a backpack--it was all black (no surprise) and stuffed to the gills with who knows what. Still I was getting some ideas about what was in it.

The bike was, you guessed it, black, although it had a spray-paint tint to it, suggesting an easy steal from an unsuspecting commuter.

He was white, face reddened from the cold, and a thick red-brown beard peeked out above his scarf. It looked like he could've been up to no good.

Why don't we pause again and picture me?

I was a seventh-grade girl. Skinny as a witch's broomstick and probably too short for half of those kiddie rides at amusement parks.

There was no way I could defend myself, wearing an innocent purple sweatshirt with strings, and leggings with no skirt.

I didn't like the way this guy was looking at me.

"You're very pretty, you know."

He said it in a tone that sent chills down my spine, like a horror movie.

I said nothing, only mentally filed the word "creep" when I thought of him.

It was only a block uphill to school. If I ran I knew I could probably make it.

(Let me just explain my paranoia for a second. I had literally just finished reading "Girl, Stolen" by April Henry. If you've ever heard of it, you likely know where I'm coming from.)

Instead I shrunk into the shadows and picked up the pace, slowly. Only half the hill to go.

He swerved the bike back and forth carelessly on the street. My nerves spread all the way to my heart, making it hammer unrelentingly in my chest.

Suddenly a pack of special-needs kids and teachers came past the turnoff to the field and headed uphill. I hadn't been so grateful, probably ever.

With my mind set on blending in, I broke into a crouch and ran past the Biker.

"Have a nice day," he sneered.

I can't pick a best day; there have been so many good and bad days in my whole life so it's really hard to keep track. But a really cool one was in my 7th grade art class when an 8th grader asked if he could read my Doctor Who shirt, and I told him he wouldn't get what it meant. But he read it and guess what, he understood!!!! I was extremely happy...