I'm more haunted by the things I see with my eyes closed. The only solution I've found is to run myself ragged from the moment my eyes open, so when my head finally hits the pillow at the end of the weary day I'm met with the dark dreamless sleep of exhaustion, and not Henry.

It was a week to the day after the accident that Henry started visiting me, though at first it felt more like harassment. No sooner had my eye lids touched he would flash across my mind, waving at me. His front teeth missing and his hair messy, as if he had just rolled out of bed. I didn't know until later that he was only seven years old, but he had seemed so much younger.

It's been almost a year now of Henry visiting me. Waving his tiny hand and baring his toothy grin. Sometimes that's all he does, smile and wave. Sometimes he talks to me, asking me why I followed him that day. A year later I’m still not sure. I've thought about nothing else these last twelve months. What was I thinking? Why did I follow a little boy I didn't even know? Was it worry for his safety? Partly. Was it curiosity? A little. But if I'm completely honest with myself and with Henry, it was because he reminded me of Joan.

The day of the accident was the twentieth anniversary of Joan's death. Joan Louise. My little sister. She had had the same unruly dark hair. The same toothy grin. The same sweet demeanor that endeared her to you instantly. She was only five when she died. Twenty years ago. But I still miss her with a fierceness that's hard to put into words, and I think...no, I know... that's why I followed Henry.

Henry walked alone down Old Murray Road. It's the same road Joan and I used to take as a shortcut to our grandparent's house. A narrow dusty road through the woods running parallel to the Metolius River. Henry was singing some tune I didn't recognize, kicking rocks as he went. I remember wondering why his parents would let him take this road alone, being desperately secluded with a dangerously blind turn right next to the river.

I was walking a good fifty yards or so behind Henry, keeping my ears alert to the sound of cars blitzing around the bend. He seemed completely unaware of the world around him, save the stones he kicked with his feet. He was nearing the turn in the road when I heard it. The grinding roar of a truck engine. My skin prickled and feet began running before I knew what was happening. Henry was still completely oblivious, bending down to scoop pebbles into his hands.

"Hey!" I shouted at Henry. I could see a bright red truck screaming through the break in the trees towards the bend.

"Little boy!” I screamed, “Get off the road!" Sweat was blurring my eyes and my jacket felt as though it was choking me, but I didn't stop running. Henry turned around, a smile breaking across his face, and waved at me.

The truck flew around the corner. I waved my hands wildly as I ran and screamed at the driver to stop, but I knew it was no use over the roar of his engine. I don't know whether it was God, or the neon glare of Henry's jacket, but I watched as the driver yanked the steering wheel to the right and everything turned into slow motion.

The truck, going too fast for such an abrupt turn, rolled. And rolled and rolled and rolled, finally colliding with a tree. Glass shattered, metal crunched, dirt sprayed. High pitched ringing blared in my ears and my legs wobbled. In the horror of watching the truck I hadn't realized I stopped running. A foreign and overpowering urge to laugh bubbled up my throat. Hysteria. My feet sprang to action once again, and I ran over to the mangled truck. The windows shattered and hood wrapped around the tree. One look inside and I knew there'd be no need to check for a pulse. The man was dead.

Despite the sweat pouring down my face and back, an icy chill swept over me when I realized I hadn’t seen what happened to Henry. Refusing to think of what I might see when I found him, I began shouting.

"Little boy! Little boy, where are you!" Nothing. I looked all along the tree line, shouting all the while, but Henry wasn't anywhere...and then I looked to the river.

It's about a ten-foot slope from the edge of Old Murray Road into the Metolius. The river is quiet there, practically silent, but deceivingly fast. In the madness of the accident I had forgotten all about it. I slid down the slope and stood along the edge of the bank.

A collection of logs had built up in the middle of the river about 25 yards down from my spot on the edge. I scanned the water for any sign of Henry. I assumed a boy his age could swim, but I couldn't be sure. I started hurrying down the bank. The water is thankfully a brilliant light blue. It would be easy to see him even from a fair distance. The ringing was no longer pulsing through my ears, but my skin was cold and sweaty. I was on high alert and barely managed to keep my thoughts in a straight line.

I was about to go back up to the road when I saw what looked like a small neon shirt wrapped around one of the logs in the river. I strained my eyes, and it was Henry. He was gripping the too-big log with all his might, his face was turned away from me so that his dark hair blended into the bark of the log. I was about to jump into the water when abruptly, thankfully, I remembered how fast the current was in the seemingly slow river.

"Hold on!" I shouted. Henry turned his face towards me, but I couldn’t make out his expression. "Hold on, I'm coming!" I ran back up the river's edge a ways and then jumped into the water. I let the current take me down to the collection of logs. I had never been more thankful for all the summer growing up along river, learning how to swim with the current. I tried to grab the first log, but the slime made it impossible to grip and I was pulled past. Two, three, four logs escaped my grip, and then I saw Henry. I wouldn't miss the next log. I grabbed the bark with all my might and cried with relief when my hand slipped through a crevice in the log. I had a firm hold and was a little over an arm's length from Henry.

"It's going to be okay," I told him, my voice confident despite my alarming internal panic. Henry was crying softly and looking out at the river petrified. The ice-cold water swept swiftly between us like it was being sucked down a drain. I knew that I’d have to be fast and precise. If I got swept away, who knew how long it would take me to get to the shore and back to Henry, before his poor little arms let go from exhaustion.

"Hey," I said gently. Henry broke his gaze and stared at me, wild eyed and terrified. "It's going to be okay. I'm going to get you home." His dark hair was matted against his pale face as he slowly nodded.

"What's your name?" I asked him, forcing myself to smile. He said nothing for a moment, looking at me as if he wasn’t sure I was really there. Like I was something from a dream.

"Henry," he whispered, barely audible over the flow of the water.

"Henry. I like that name," I smiled in genuine, trying to ignore the forceful tug of the river on my legs below. How Henry was able to hold on to that log at all is still a mystery to me.

"Okay Henry, I'm going to come next to you. Is that okay?" He nodded again. It had been years since I prayed, but I was desperate. God, I beg of you. Don't let me miss this log.

Forcing another smile, I took a deep breath and reached out for Henry's log and let go of mine. I dug my fingers into the first part of bark I touched. My fingers screamed in protest, but I didn’t care. I dug in so deep I could feel cuts slicing along my fingertips, but I was securely attached next to Henry.

"Whew!" I laughed, hoping to put Henry at ease. I could only imagine the fear tearing through his little mind.

"Okay, Henry. This next part is going to take some courage. But you seem like a brave boy to me." Henry looked up at me, his eyes uncertain but again he nodded.

"Now you see," I smiled. "I knew you were brave. Okay Henry. I need you to hug me around my neck, don’t be afraid of hugging me too tight. I'm going to float on my back, with you on my tummy and we're going to float to the shore back on to land. Do you think we can do that?" Henry looked back at the river. Tears filled his eyes. He was silent and suddenly seemed so small, but he whispered,

"Okay."

"Brave boy,” I smiled through chattering teeth. “Here we go Henry. I need you to let go of the log, and I'll pull you to me. Grab around my neck and don't let go." Henry gave another quick nod; his eyes wide and face pale.

"One, two, three, go!" I held out my hand, and Henry grabbed it fast as lightening. I pulled him into me, and he hugged me around my neck as he shook violently. My chest ached and eyes watered as I held him there. So small and frightened. For a brief moment, I felt as though I had traveled back in time and was hugging Joan.

"Here we go, Henry. Let's get you home," I whispered into his ear. With one arm tightly around Henry, and the other still clamped on the log, I pulled my feet up to the surface and got myself into the floating position. I took another deep breath and let go of the log. I put my arms out to the side, all the while telling Henry to hold on tight, and that we were almost to the shore. He continued to shake, violently but silent on top of me.

After what seemed like an eternity, we reached the shore, about a quarter of a mile down from logs, right by the intersection of Old Murray Road and Sisters Highway. Henry rolled off of me and onto the bank, and I crawled up and sat next to him. We sat there, soaked to the bone and frozen, looking out at the river, saying nothing. I put my arm around him and pulled him next to me. I'm not sure how many minutes passed before we heard a rustling in the trees behind us. I turned around and running down the hill was a small group of police and park rangers, and a frantic looking woman -- who I later learned was Henry's mother.

"Henry!" She screamed as she rushed ahead of the group and threw herself upon her son, bursting into sobs. I tried to stand to give them space, but my legs wouldn't move. My body felt as though it had turned to stone.

The accident was a year ago today, and no matter how hard I run, I don't think I'll ever stop seeing Henry. That small and brave little boy. He is alive and well, but I can’t shake the “what ifs” haunting me if I hadn’t followed him that day. His family was spared the grief my family was not when we lost Joan and I'm so thankful. For over twenty years I've been running, trying to escape the past. My therapist says that one day I'm going to run myself beyond repair and that may be true. But running has kept me alive thus far. And running saved Henry.

Feeling lost has become a home to me. I’m used to not having a whole lot of company, but it’s my fault nobody’s here and for that I feel guilty, I’m as toxic as ricin, probably more deadly. I try really hard to get people to stay and when they leave I’ll say “It wasn’t meant to be anyway” but the truth is I’m starved for attention and affection, but the only thing that gives it to me is my old friend depression, correction, my anxiety also fuels the oppression, and I’m looking for something new to give me direction, but I don’t expect you to be the exception to my descension, the hatred will only continue conception but I’ll try not to push you out for my own protection. I don’t want the help or the constant pestering, I’m fine, I’ll get through it no matter the suffering and if you think this is bad it’s only the beginning, it won’t help if you’re lingering, I don’t need an awakening or to keep remembering I need you to understand me, which I know can be intimidating. Lately my life is a mess, equally is my bed, the people I’ve hurt won’t get out of my head, the static wants me to come with it to the end but every time I try it fills me with dread, I’m tired of seeing bloodshed and regret, I need you to fix me so I can forget because I’m tired of having intimacy with cigarettes because my head is too foggy, am I making any sense? I’ll keep trying really hard; that’s not much of a plan, but I really need somebody to hold my hand, not another relationship that’s a one-night stand, I don’t care if it’s love, a friend, or just someone as lonely as I am, I NEED HELP BEFORE I DESCEND INTO WONDERLAND. Alone on the edge is currently where I stand. I feel utterly directionless, but I do what I can.

The summer storms are rolling in and I would like nothing other than to be ripped apart by the wind.

I want to drown in the rain and I want the lightning to burn my skin away

I want the thunder to shatter my bones and I want the clouds to flood my skull and keep my brain from thinking

There’s a storm within and a storm outside-

Totally different but all the same

I want you to come back and take this weather away

You left me,

and my heart sputtered once and died.

Collapsed into itself and burst in to flames.

The scent of that betrayal lingered,

clinging to my skin like ink.

Ink that painted pictures that nobody could see,

inside of me.

Ashes, ashes,

the walls fell down.

The basement of my soul

littered with the charred remains.

In disarray I found myself,

Hidden in the fractured wreckage,

and willed myself to love again.

Transcended like that mythic bird of lore.

Bade my heart to heave the burdens of the past

And then my love, it was reborn at last.

Hiring Committee or Whoever Can Validate Me

1234 Hurry Up & Appreciate My Drive

Quarter-Life Crisis #1

Hustle Town, USA 56789

Dear Hiring Committee:

As a lifelong human, I’m delighted to see your opening for a full-time position of Feeling Like an Adult, as advertised and vaguely described everywhere. The role was recommended to me by society. 

I have over 30 years of progressively responsible experience as an earthly being. During this time, I’ve simultaneously managed a surplus of insecurities, developed (and sometimes even completed) numerous self-improvement projects, and balanced a high annual budget of fucks to give. 

I believe that my enthusiasm for peer approval, dedication to not being a disappointment to my family, and knowledge of multiple ways to organize a closet — coupled with my experience in living under the patriarchy and getting shit done — make me an ideal candidate for this thankless role. 

In my current position as Floundering Young “Adult” in the prestigious Milky Way, I have overcome a wide variety of normal human challenges, including a crippling deficit of career fulfillment, spectacular financial demands within a capitalist economy, and (for a few memorable hours last spring), being the hopelessly single maid-of-honor at my sister’s wedding. 

Additionally, I’ve excelled at signing leases for several apartments (each with dishwashers), providing my body with food (often with nutrients), and completing laundry-based tasks (occasionally with little-to-no clothes shrinkage). 

Please see my reputation (attached). If I were to finally join the esteemed rankings of Feeling Like an Adult, I’m confident(ish) that I’d be an exceptionally mediocre member of global society. I look forward to hearing from you as I continue to strive for self actualization and avoid facing the fact of my inevitable mortality. 

Thank you so much for your time and consideration! I may be reached anytime at the crossroads of angst and optimism.

Sincerely,

IDK, You Tell Me Who I Really Am

likereally@mycore.pls

My skin caught on fire at the hot wing eating contest. Bright orange sauce was smeared all around my mouth, cheeks, nose, and hands. It burned a fiery, unyielding burn, but I knew I had to continue. There was no way I was going to forfeit the $200 prize for most hot wings eaten in an hour just because my skin felt like I took a match to it. The old capsaicin was doing its work. 

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a man who had given up. A hot mixture of tears and snot ran down his face as one of the waiters rushed him a cold glass of milk. There was no way I was going to let that be me.

I had to keep chewing. 

The minutes ticked down like hours. One by one, more people began to forfeit. In what felt like an eternity, only two (including myself) remained. These last few moments would define the entire competition. I had to make every second; no, every millisecond count. 

I'd begun to notice a change creeping up on me. My fingers, face, mouth, and tongue had gone almost completely numb. I couldn't even taste the wings anymore. "Keep on chewing. Keep on chewing. Keep on chewing," I repeated to myself. It had become my mantra. 

Only one wing remained. I looked over at my opponent's plate to see he also had only one wing left. My heart nearly skipped a beat. It was neck in neck, or wing in wing rather. My fingers had locked into position for chicken wing holding. I struggled to pick up the last wing. My opponent glanced at me, giving me a sly grin. He knew he had this in the bag. 

All of sudden, my fingers unlocked and I grabbed the last wing like it was a dollar bill on the street. Using every tooth in my mouth I tore off the meat and the skin, leaving nothing but bone. 

"The winner of the annual chicken wing eating contest and of $200 is........................................... MISS KATHY RAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" The announcer declared. 

Wait a minute, I thought. That's my name; he called me. So that means.............. I WON?! 

"Here's your trophy m'am, along with a check for $200. Congratulations!". 

I sat there dumbfounded, staring blankly into space. This is real, this is actually happening to me.  

Cameras flashed, people came up to me to offer their congratulations, heck, I even signed a few autographs! Out of the corner of my eye I could see some of my opponents, sulking bitterly at their bad luck. 

"How in the Sam Hill does some little ol' gal like that beat all of us at something we've been doing for years?" One grumbled. 

The answer was simple. I kept chewing. 

There are always mixed feelings when one realizes that a chapter of their life is drawing to a close and a new one is about to begin.

The thing is, life is full of change, even within a 'defined' chapter. So much of life is how we roll with those changes: How we adapt to them, embrace them, reject them, let them shape up or how we shape the changes themselves.

Knowing that, the first bit of guidance to be provided is stop thinking of your life as chapters, or at least the present and the future. It is easy to distill your past as such, but defining the present as the 'chapter in progress' can lead to complications.

Instead, view life as an endless cycle of hands of cards in a great game. Some hands you get dealt will be great fun to play. Other hands you will want to fold right away. Some sure-thing hands you will somehow still lose. Other terrible hands you will find ways to win with.

Keep track of the losing hands you win and the winning hands that you lose. Those moments in life tend to be some of the most profound you will have. They will show you milestones that are important to notice. Places where you were sure you were going to turn left, but ended up turning right. Why?

Most importantly, no matter how bad a hand or a run of hands get, there is always reason to play on. So, it is important to always tuck away the best and sweetest moments of life...

Because, life almost always throws everyone a wicked curveball at least once. A game-changing hand that is destined to change your course somehow. It is statistically unavoidable. Up until a certain point of life, I had the best and worst moments within a 45 minute window. That transition was brutal. And since that particular moment, I had even worse hands. But, I have also had sweeter as well. You will to.

We are all both lumps of clay to be continually shaped into something as sculptures shape with clay and we are slabs of marble that sculptures chip away at to discover the true shape within. Both at once. It is perhaps the most unique thing about being human.

You have a core to you, that will rarely change. Your foundation. The shape of you that is trapped within the marble. Life sandblasts away at the edges to try to find where the shape of you truly exists.

Off of that foundation though, you are molding and building upon it, as one would work with clay. To the skeleton of your soul, you are adding the sinew and the flesh. The quest to become more whole, with more purpose in the world. It is important to know what parts of yourself that are the rarely-changing core, and what parts of yourself are open (or susceptible) to change (whether you want the change or not).

Knowing and learning that, will help you in all things in life, and help you enjoy life even in the rough times. All of your relationships will improve, because you will better know which ones are the strong ones that fit you and which are not.

Along those lines, we live in a time where many like to see things in just the shades of their grey. It is important to still see the black and white in the world though. To see the good and the evil. The right and the wrong. Always re-challenge yourself to make sure you do not lose your way in seeing it.

Always try to wake up and have the first thought of the day be, "This is going to be the best day of my life." Easier said than done, but ever so important to try to do. Again, you have to play the hand dealt to you the best you can. In this case, sometimes you are the best source of good luck.

Understand love. Understand that it is not easy to understand. Recognize the people in your life that DO love you unconditionally. Feel the shape and the pattern of that love and try to apply it to all of the relationships that matter in your life. Always be a nice and good person, but recognize some relationships are not worth cultivating or holding onto.

Understand differences of opinion. In an age where polarity is all of the rage. Drawing lines in the sand. Perpetual us vs. them attitudes. It is ever so important to understand why the differences exist. Sometimes common ground cannot be achieved. But, often times, attitudes of 'agree to disagree' can and should. There is more to all of us than just our singular facets, yet we live in an age where for too many of us, we only let ourselves see people in those singular ways. Rise above that, as difficult as it is. 

Pay it forward. Do good deeds for the sake of doing good deeds. In a restaurant, pay for a stranger's meal. Every so often, drop some food stuff off at a food pantry. Instead of throwing away something used but still nice, donate it. Most importantly, whenever you get to be the hero or you do the yeoman's work, do it quietly. Don't do it and want praise or thanks, do it because it was the right thing to do. Sometimes you will get rewarded directly for it. Sometimes, you will get ridiculed for it. Be the quiet hero.

When you do 'fall in love' with the 'one' and commit. Know that that relationship will be the hardest and yet the best you will ever have. Savor the good times. Understand you will both change over the course of that life together. You might have to fall in love with that person multiple times because of it. It is worth it though.

Never take yourself too seriously or too foolishly. When in doubt, embrace your humility. The path of zen and least resistance usually resides there.

Write often. Journal or write poetry. Write essays or exploratory fiction. Writing can bring you comfort, clear a cluttered mind, help you discover something important, reveal truths shaded in fogs, etc. 

Never sell yourself short. You will stumble, you will fall. But you have purpose in this world. You will touch people in such unbelievably, wonderful ways, (whether with your words, your actions, your presence) that those times alone should be enough to remind you to never sell yourself short.

Finally, and most importantly. Enjoy the heck out of life. You may be have depression issues, anxiety issues, whatever. Find parts of life, everyday, to just ENJOY! To suck the marrow out of the bones.

Good luck! And make as much of that good luck on your own.

I would never have married you if I had known that you were a serial killer.

I began to notice little things that concerned me the first month we were married. You were narcissistic, always primping in mirrors on the wall as you passed. I noticed that you never paid any attention to me because you could only focus on yourself.

I always wondered why you disappeared for periods of time just before the newspaper headlined new rape-murders. Your excuses were vague but you really didn’t care what I thought about your absences. I found explicit, sadistic porn magazines hidden in the garage but you said the previous house owner must have left them.

I hate to admit that I began to use your proclivities to my own advantage. If my boss lady made me stay late, all I had to do was mention it to you and her body would be found the next morning. If someone spread nasty gossip about me, you would take care of her. It’s not that this bothered you that much – it was just that it provided new targets for you. You always felt so powerful and strong when you accomplished a new murder. You never mentioned it, but I knew you were the killer.

I hate to admit it but I became enamored of your proficiency and decided to take a stab at it, if you get my drift! That night while you were sleeping, I plunged my favorite butcher knife into your devious heart. You can’t imagine how excited I became as I watched blood seep out of your body. After getting rid of your body, I decided to take over your job and I was very, very good at it! After all, I studied at the hands of a master!

Sorrow has a way of sinking in. No one said it would be this easy for a soul to crinkle like paper, and no amount of heat can remove the lines. My conscience has created calluses, pain fossilized by years of rebellion against myself. I've been caught in the grip of my spiderweb-intentions, and remorse has sucked me dry. So, I'm gonna paint the day real, real pretty and hope that it eclipses the past. At least I have the night to look forward to, because the darkness covers my steps, if only for a little while. And justice licks my heels like a starving dog, and I chew dread like cud when it does. But this is life. This is why I fear the walls that men can't climb. Because I know, one day, the earth will leave me too dizzy to run. I just hope the sky is clear when I look up from the fall.