The space would make a closterphobic scratch their eyes out; make a high-calorie human struggle to move. But the space was a perfect place for the two young adults to whisper, with only a single, dim light as a witness.

The girls whispered and giggled, feeling safe in the tight space.

“Help. Someone help. Help.” There was a muffled croak from outside the room.

The two girls looked at each other with a knowing, sad look. The taller one reached for the door, light slithered into the room as it opened. She peeked her head out, held her breath, and stared at what lay in the bed.

An old woman, veins dark purple against her pale white skin. The same skin that pulled taunt against bones and muscles. The same skin ladled with varying degrees of bruises —some days old and other weeks— all having one thing in common: they were hosted by a dying vessel.

The woman’s eyes were squeezed shut. Her hand fisted the sheets. As strong as the weak woman could.

A lady in dull colored scrubs was already at her side. Silently, the two girls watched the nurse push a fluid into the tube connected to the lady’s arm. The nurse looked up and gave the girls a curt nod. With that, they ducked back into their hideout.

“She’s getting sicker by the day, Jude. We have nothing. No insurance. No one else. What are we supposed to do?” The other girl in the room said.

“Don’t look at me like that. I can’t do anything. I’m one person. I work at a grocery store for Gods sake. You’re not even old enough to drive.” The taller girl huffed, giving her sister a pointed look.

“Well I could do something. I’m sure someone would hire me.”

“No Jude. That’s final. We don’t have enough saved up. We never will. The only thing that would truly help us would be if that bank by our house exploded. And we took all the cash.”

“Exploded? Maybe…” the younger sister drew out the last syllable and smiled at her sister. “No one would suspect a silly little 15 year old.”

“Ha ha right.” The sarcasm dripping in the older sister’s voice. “And no one would noticed a 20 year old running towards the bank with 2 large bags in her hand.”

“Maybe no one would notice if a silly 15 year old girl filled those bags.”

“Yeah and we could wear bras 2 sizes too big. We could stuff those too. Like you used to do when you noticed all the other girls getting bigger boobs.” The taller girl teased her baby sister.

“Jude stop that’s not funny.” Despite what was said, the younger sister giggled, no doubt remembering endless days of tissue-stuffed bras.

“We’ll find a way B. We always do.”

The sisters shared a hug in the dim lit room. The bank would stay standing, but so would the two sisters.

Trying to walk home quickly in the storm, you notice drops of blood in the snow in front of you, leading away into the woods.

Quickly you think to yourself: “Hell nah” and ignore the blood and walk straight home.

You don’t feel like being the main character that gets murdered in the woods.

Being a surviving side character will do.

As you get older you start to lose qualities that you wish would never leave. Some say the skinniness of their childhood bodies, some say the airless weight of responsibility. But others wish for something much deeper.

Will. Motivation.

They grow older and older. More tired by the minute.

It’s sad, really, seeing many people fail to succeed because of a horrible hollowness that squeezes its way in. It settles into your gut, replacing the feeling that kept you going; the feeling that kept you wide awake. Then another feeling forces it’s way into your heart. It pushes out everything else that matters. And all that is left?

Hopelessness.

Every turn and every twist. You see it when your challenged. You see it with your goals. How can you escape such an awful feeling when all the other ones were pushed so deep; into the depths of your toes — into the shadows of the cracks. How do you find something that you lost?

What’s worse though, is knowing that you’re losing it. It’s worse when you feel your hope and your will slowly creep away from you. You feel every bloody moment as it drains from your body.

Now that hopelessness suffocates you. Your breathes are short and gasped; you hate yourself for the struggle. You hate that such an easy thing is so hard to do.

After awhile —after you’ve caught your breath— you sit and think. Because running is too much to do. Working out is too much to do. Eating is too much to do. Thinking -sometimes- is too much to do. But you think anyway, and you try to remember what it was like to have fun. What it was like to be aggressive on the court or the on field again. You try to remember wanting to do something other than sitting or sleeping. But you can’t, because you have forgotten, just like me.

I have forgotten.

Stuck to stare, across the room. He longed for her, forever a gloom.

She glanced at him, constantly too. A sad story to tell, if staring is all they do.

A seahorse is said, to mate for life. And here they are, stuck in strife.

For their love is infinite. But distance sets the limit.

If someone could put them together. They would swim, partnered, forever.

Repunzel.

The story always seemed as if Repunzel’s tower was lovely and full of things to do: paint, chores, read, make candles.

But me?

The walls are bare. My room is empty, all except for a tiny cot that I grew out of years ago. There was one tiny window and one tiny door that was always locked.

Ever since I’ve been here they have never so much as unlocked the door, just opened a latch and pushed trays of food beneath it.

That was it. Food.

No books to escape this endless prison or paints to lessen my boredom.

The only thing I ever heard was the occasional bird peeking in the window.

I couldn’t even reach the window it was so high.

I sighed. Stretching to touch well past my toes. After all these years of nothing to do but move and stretch and run, I’d become good enough at it.

I’d say I was more flexible than the average person, if I ever saw another person.

I stared at the light coming through the window near the ceiling.

And then I heard it. A scratching sound. A clanking sound.

Their was a voice. It whispered.

“Hurry hurry. They’ll be here in no time.”

I gasped and held my breath, my pale skin was alive with excited goose bumps. This was it. I was about to see a real person.

The tiny door swung open.

“What the—“

I knew it was a he.

I also knew something was terribly wrong with him.

He was short and kinda fat. The kind of fat that told you that he was spoiled and rich and never worked a day in his life.

But he was also green.

The deep terrible green tinted his skin so darkly, and it was accompanied by boils of oozing bluish pus.

“Simon.” The treatrous looking boy looked behind him. Then at me. Then behind him yet again.

A figure walked in beside him.

“She’s not infected.” The other man said. His skin was slightly green. It could have fooled you into thinking it was normal, just sickly pale.

He was tall and lanky. The first real handsome boy I’d seen.

“Infected? What?” I found myself talking.

Questions.

I had so many. If only they would stop gaping at me.

“What is it like out there? Why I am locked here?” I fired question after question. They ignored me.

“The rumors are true then. They found an uninfected child. Impossible.” The men talked to each other in whispers after that.

I looked behind them. The door was wide open — still really small — but wide open.

I walked closer to them, their eyes trained on me.

“How long have you been up here?” The tall one asked.

“I don’t remember anything besides this place if that tells you anything.” I answered smoothly, taking several steps closer to the exit.

“What’s your name then? I’m Entrich and he’s Simon.” The short one — Entrich — pointed to the tall one.

“I’m not sure.” I answered, “I was hoping whoever first answered the door would know. Nobody else comes here. Ever.”

“Yes. I know we’re not supposed to be here… but we wanted to know if it was true. He stole his father’s keys and now… well we’re here.” Entrich said. I noticed his eyes land on my skin and stay there.

He must’ve seen me eyeing the door because Entrich stepped away from his friend and crowded up the already too small door.

“You can’t go out there.” He said.

“Why not? You get to go out there.”

“Because your not infected. We are. We don’t know what causes— hey HEY WAIT!”

I didn’t let Entrich finish his little monologue. I squished between the two men and rushed out the door. There were stairs. So many God for sakes stairs. They curved around and around and my stomach hurt by the time I got to the door at the bottom of them. And then with the opening of a latch: light.

My eyes hurt. My skin tingled. I gulped in the air. It was painful but I was hungry for it.

I had to keep going.

I ran. I ran. I ran.

Next thing I knew I was surrounded. A village full of people.

Green disgusting people.

I had to cover up before they saw me.

Before they saw I wasn’t infected; that my skin color was normal.

I would have to make it to what I was sure was a waterfall. I could hear it. In the distance.

Once I ran off that cliff. I was home free.

Shane was beautiful. Her hair was long and black with perfectly tanned skin that flowed along with her perfectly shaped face.

Her body was leaned and muscular.

But she hid a terrible secret, a secret that forbade her from looking into any mirror.

She pulled on her jeans, jumping a few times to squeeze into them. The boards in the bedroom squeaked in response. She huffed and bent down to pick her shirt up: a floral crop top that she assumed hugged her shape nicely. Shane couldn’t tell if it actually looked good on her. She looked at the mirror she covered with a blanket all those years ago.

She remembered the first time she got startled by her own reflection. Her school was having an ice-cream day. She was told that she had to bring a dollar in for a cone. When she came in the next day with no money, she took a dollar from the biggest boy in her class. Shane remembered thinking that he didn’t need another ice-cream — that she was doing him a favor — even as he cried on the play set and watched everyone else eat theirs.

After that day she had seen a mark appear on her face. Deep and haggard. Disgusting. When she saw it, she ran to show her mother but her mother saw nothing.

And now she stared at the covered mirror, a corner of the blanket coming off. She gasped and ran to fix it. When she reached for it, the entire blanket ripped off and slipped to the floor.

She stared at herself, shocked at what the reflection had become.

An inhumane woman glared at her. The eyes were wild with glints of fire, the arms and legs were chipped and bleeding, her face was merely made of skinless muscle. She couldn’t stand it any longer. She couldn’t believe this is what she had become.

As she got older, the marks got uglier and deeper.

In her own eyes she saw an ugly beast. One that she knew others couldn’t see it.

She would smile and pretend that the wild beast was tame.

But whenever Shane felt moody or angry, she would let the beast run free and those around her would finally glimpse who she truly was: a monster.

“No,” she laughed, entirely dry and humorless, “not the blood that runs in your veins, but rather the amount of it you spill. Sometimes there is just no room for mercy.”

Sure the Queen was beautiful and honorably skinny, but everyone knew why: she trained and trained. Every morning and every night. Her nails were constantly lined with blood, and why shouldn’t they be?

In this world, one can only fight tooth and nail to get on top. For her, that quite literally meant “tooth and nail,” for some of her nails were beginning to regrow from the base of the nail. What was left before the growth was a dark and ugly mix of torn flesh.

She smiled at her subjects again. Some were on the floor in front of her, quivering while they attempted to bow in a puddle of dark liquid. The others weren’t so fortunate.

Her body relaxed impossibly into the hard wooden thrown she sat in. The queen looked at her nails and frowned. She rolled her eyes as she found that another nail had been torn off in her latest “shindig.”

“Look what your friends did to me.” She spat, not bothering to show her subjects her injured finger.

“All in an attempt to dethrone me? I must say, your little band of merry men almost did it. My heart skipped half a beat when I saw you storm into the room. No matter. It’s time to dispose of the treasonous rats.” She flicked her hands at the men. There were 8 total. 5 were already laying unmoving on the floor and the other 3 were staring hard at the ground.

One pissed his pants. The queen smiled delightedly at him.

“Save him for last. I have a few questions…” she trailed off and gave her hunch man a slight nod. The loyal man nodded back. He knew where she stalked off to. She wanted to be alone in her chambers to wash the remnants of her work off her body. Later in the day, the lone survivor would join her for a long death. Where she would treat him to the best food he’d ever eaten and divulge him in polite conversation. Only when he’d be fast asleep — with the help of sleeping drug — would she end his life.

This was her joy.

I practiced this dance a million times. I practiced my greetings and my words. Everything had to be right.

I had to act and speak just like them.

Thousands of miles separated me from my home town; a place no one on this strange continent knew existed. Nobody here knew what lay beyond the vast expanse of water surrounding this place.

The polish on the wooden boards shined as my foot took another step. It was accompanied by the soft sound of a click from my simple, beige heels.

The dress I wore, abhorrently long and large — though not lacking in beauty, with a slight purple, sparkly hue, swished against my ankles with every step. The man leading me in the dance was, no doubt, the towns golden boy.

The way he looked at me would’ve sent any, regular girl into instant cardiac arrest.

When I looked at him, however, I didn’t feel a single thing. I should have, I really should have.

He was exceedingly handsome and so so very charming, but, being constantly reminded of my past, I didn’t allow a single crack in the wall that shields me from everyone else. I can’t afford to love and lose, not again.

My heel clicked on the ground again, instantly reminding me of the one night that ruined everything.

I was wearing heals that night too.

Another dancing click.

Suddenly, deeply enthralled in the depths of memory, I was in a snow-covered wooden cottage. A handsome but different man from before stood in front of me; his jugular vein bulged from his neck as his voice rose unpleasantly high.

I walked away, the sound of my heels getting quicker and quicker as I realized he followed too closely behind. My body strode for the door, not caring about the icy harshness I’d face outside.

It was better to be cold than to stay inside with a man who acted so out of proportion.

Without a second thought, or as much as a glance in the furious man’s direction, I thrust opened the door and stepped out.

Before I could escape the man grabbed my hand. His grip deathly tight.

“Stop let me go. Let me leave. You’re hurting me.” I said, just as my gaze landed on the shotgun that regularly sat outside the door, used to fend off the wild mountain cats and wolves.

“What was that?” The voice sucked me out of my head. My feet stopped moving and I reached my hand up to my cheek to feel it wet.

“My apologies. I was just thinking about something.” I offered the towns golden boy, Damon, my sweetest, most reassuring smile. He seemed to relax just a little bit.

“So you don’t want me to ‘let you go?’” Damon’s eyes held an odd weariness, one that he’s been more frequently looking at me with.

Well. I guess I said that out loud. I inwardly groaned at myself. Stupidstupidstupid.

“It’s nothing, Damon. Don’t worry. It’s fine, really.” I leaned in closer to him, putting my face against his chest. If he couldn’t see my face, he wouldn’t be able to see the lie.

Instead of dancing, we swayed. I didn’t want my heels to click anymore. I didn’t want to remember the sound of that awful shot gun when it fired, not once, but four times.

In my old town, no one would’ve believed me when I told them what happened. I would’ve been condemned to burn without a hearing.

After all, in those lands, women were only lambs, and lambs were so frequently brought to the slaughter.

You would think loneliness would be a great accomplishment when one is constantly surrounded by people.

The Prima Donna is surrounded by her cackle of minions.

A Queen Bee is followed by her entire honey hive.

The Devil has his daemons.

God has his angels.

Every “main character” has their committee of lowly side characters whose only part is to be an accessory for their oh-so-fabulous story.

The queen’s personal investigator let out an exasperated sigh.

He’d finally done it, but the results weren’t what he wanted. After months and months of searching for the rebel, of crossing many many names off a very long list, Raquel was 98% sure he had found the culprit.

His pen shook as he lowered it to the desk. The name he had circled was one of the most prestigious men Raquel had ever met, not to mention one of his closest friends.

“Well shit.” He grumbled, fisting the already wrinkled page in his hand. Of all the people, it had to be him? Raquel never once suspected him, though he hadn’t taken his name away from the list. Now all evidence pointed to his humble, charming friend.

“No. No.” His voice wavered and he quickly balled the paper up further. He scrambled to his feet and rummaged through all the drawers.

Ah-ha. The lighter.

Without a second thought, he lit the well-worn paper, watching it succumb to the fiery hands of the flame. Months of his life; gone just like that. When only a pile of ash was left to dust off his desk, he grabbed his satchel and headed for the door. He and his friend had some catching up to do.

“Ah Raquel! It’s good to see you. You finally taking a break?” The man’s smile was broad and handsome; genuine even. 

“Mr. Silicity. May we discuss something… in private?” 

“Raquel? What’s with this ‘Mr’ bullshit? We’ve known each other for months.” A crease formed on the man’s forehead. He towered over Raquel 2 to 1. Raquel tried not to shrink into his old, wrinkly form. 

“Just say what you have to say here. Not many people are around.” Mr. Silicity said. He was right of course. It was hours past dusk and most people were already heading home. The town square was practically deserted.

Raquel gathered all his courage and quickly spoke in a quiet voice, “I know your the mole. The only plausible person is you.”

Mr. Silicity groaned. He raked a hand down his face. When his eyes met Raquel, the old man practically froze; like a deer caught in headlights. Mr. Silicity’s smile was made of venom.

“All I wanted was a lazy Sunday, but now I have to kill you.” Mr. Silicity took a step towards Raquel. The old man began to panic, sputtering pleads and reasons to spare him. “I really liked you Raquel. I really did. But the cause, the rebellion, is much more important than any feelings I might posses.” Another step closer.

With every step Mr. Silicity took towards Raquel, Raquel took two steady ones back. 

Closer. Two steps back. Closer. Another two steps.

Raquel said nothing as he felt his backside hit a wall. He looked around, on the verge of screaming for help. No one was milling around. All the stragglers had left.

“If it’s any consolation, I am sorry. You were a dear friend.” Mr. Silicity took one more step towards the old man. His arms enveloped Raquel in a tight hug. Raquel didn’t dare fight back; it wouldn’t matter.

He sucked in a breath, feeling the muscular man shift. A cold metal rested itself on the lateral side of his neck.

“Please. Don’t.” The old man’s voice came out as a rasp. He had thought he was above begging, but on the verge of death some things are unavoidable.

With another, quick shift, the old man dropped to the ground, landing with his face smushed against the concrete. 

Mr. Silicity stared at the knife sticking out awkwardly from his back. He leaned down and plucked the knife from his spine; as if it were a feather to be plucked from a chicken. The thick, red liquid drained from the corpse; a slash at his jugular and the longer, deeper one alone his spine.

Mr. Silicity stared at the body, deciding what to do with it. After a moment he shrugged then walked away; the body was hidden in the dark shadow of the building, it would likely be hours, or even days, before someone discovered it. 

Another venomous smile reached his lips; his secret was safe for yet another day.