I stuffed my right hand in my jacket pocket— partly for warmth —but also to pull out my crumpled railway guide. “Damn it’s late,” I whispered, glaring up at the small clock connected to the large, beige building. It read 12:28 in the morning. Seeing the time only increased the painful sting in my temples. Gently pressing the affected areas with my thumb and little finger, I felt some of the pain release. “12:37 is the next train…” I peered once again at the clock. “I’ve got time.”

WIP

I sweet apple scent The candle floods the room Warmth from the heaters The room breathes

The sweet whisper of jazz The needle weaving through the grooves of the record Occasional crackles add to the ambiance I close my eyes and enjoy

The sound of employees shuffling around the restaurant was beginning to annoy me. I could feel my patience wearing thin, as if it were the strands of string cheese being slowly pulled away, bit by bit. “The menu, sir.” I glared up at the waiter to match their voice with a face. A face that happened to have freakishly blue eyes and an amazingly bold jawline. “Thank you…” I searched for their name tag. “Wyatt.” “Of course,” they replied. I settled back in my seat to get comfortable as I began to scan the menu. Scallops Crap leg Shrimp (blackened, grilled, or fried) Fish ‘n chips (catfish or cod) Soup of the day (ask server)

“Hello and welcome to the Crab ‘n Cod, sir.” I almost fell out of my seat when I heard the piercing, high pitched voice address me out of nowhere. “Did I startle you? I’m terribly sorry.” I held up my hand. “No, no it’s ok. It wasn’t your fault.” “Alright then. Can I get you started with something to drink?” “Sure. I’ll have a Ginger Ale, please.” She started violently scribbling in her notepad. “Gin…ger a..le. Ok, got it!” “G—good. What might the soup of the day be?” “That would be clam chowder, sir.” “Alright… would it by any chance be possible to get something off-menu?” “I suppose.” I took a deep breath. “Ok, I’d like a crab bisque with blackened crap, as well as fried crab. But with the fried crab, can the crust be pulled off, crushed, and sprinkled in the soup, as well as the bare crab, except for those don’t crush them, just put them in the soup as is?” “…lled off…crushed…and sprinkled in the…soup…” she looked up at me with a hint of concern in her eyes, but when we made eye contact, she went right back to scribbling. “Anything else, sir?” she said, frantically waving her hand in the air as if she had gotten a cramp. “Yeah, I’d also like a side of oyster crac—“ I frustratedly rubbed my eye, knowing something had just flown into it. “Sorry, I meant to say a side of oyster crackers, please.” I winked with my right eye to try and rid it of whatever had flown in before I had another fit. “A—are you sure?” I looked up to see the waitress still standing next my table, her eyes bugging out of her head. “Yes, I’m… sure. Is something wrong, miss?” She winked. “No, nothing at all.” I cocked my head as she walked away. Was she mocking me?

WIP

People tell me not to overlook what I have. Not to wait for what’s to come, but enjoy what I can already experience. I think that’s a load of crap. How can you honestly enjoy life when you know you won’t be your full self until you turn 18? My thoughts were interrupted by a loud knock that seemed to rattle inside my throbbing head. “Who is it?!” I asked, annoyed. The door was cracked open, and my sister’s head popped out. “It’s me, you jerk,” she said with a smirk. “I wanted to ask if you were excited for your big day.” I rolled my eyes. How could I possibly not be excited? “What do you think?” “Who knows with you? The last time you were excited was when you got your sight.” “Well it would make sense for me to be excited at the moment, now wouldn’t it?” I pointed to my mouth. “I’m finally getting the missing piece of myself.” “Listen, dude; getting your taste is awesome at first, I’m not gonna lie. But it’s not gonna fill that hole you seem to have. Just remember that.” She whipped out finger guns and made a clicking sound with her mouth as she walked backwards out of my room. “Close the door!” I yelled to her as she left. She dragged her feet back to the doorway and slowly pulled the door. “Right, right, got it.” When the door clicked back into place, I rolled my eyes and scoffed. The nerve of her, trying to tell me what will fill my holes and what won’t.

WIP

“Today, class, I’m going to give you a very different sort of assignment.” My eyes widened. Today was the one day I had hoped to do something simple. I felt awful. My head ached, my arms felt limp, and my ribs were beyond sore. All I wanted was to take it easy, but of course that wasn’t possible, was it? We just had to do something different. Unfamiliar. I clenched my gut. “Everyone go ahead and take out the small boxes we gave you in the beginning of the year,” the professor continued. I heard my friend, Roger, violently rummaging through this knapsack. I turned around to look at him, sure not to disturb my achy ribs. He kept frantically searching, not realizing I was watching him. His round, silver-rimmed glasses almost slid off of his nose multiple times, but his fingers were too quick for them to fall. “Crap! I can’t… find it!” he mumbled to himself as he combed his fingers through his bleached hair in frustration. I chuckled, hoping he would see the humor in this situation. He glared at me, jumping a little after realizing I had been watching him for quite some time. He pulled his hands out of his rumpled bag and turned to face me. “W-what are you looking at?” I smiled, ”Do you need help?” “No, I a-already checked the w-whole thing. I-it’s not in there.” I quickly looked down at my bag and saw the the sparkling black box hidden between my English book and a calculator. I reached my arm in and pulled the box out, feeling it’s coldness in my hand. “You can share mine,” I said to Roger, smiling.

I slowly opened my eyes, trying to recall the events of the night before. I felt a drop of liquid fall onto my neck and looked down at the puddle that had formed under my feet from the dripping remains of the storm. My horse, Jack, uttered a cry of worry. At least that’s what I guessed it was. I ran over to him and stroked his mane. He always liked when I did that. Looking back at my pitiful excuse for shelter, I noticed my boots and socks still hanging up to dry from the night before. “They should be dry by now,” I whispered to myself as I walked over.

I softly chuckled. I really thought that this would be a good idea. “You should get away for a while,” they said. “Take a vacation,” they said. Well some vacation this was. Here we are, stranded on this pitiful island.

To be continued…