“I think I just met the happiest person in the world!” Cassandra slammed into the small magic shop in her usual whirlwind of black tulle, her impressively tall heels clacking loudly against the stone floors. “Hey, Ro did you hear me? Rowena? Where are you anyway?” Cassandra called, narrowly avoiding a row of crystal balls with her massive skirts. Right on cue, a head of fiery red curls popped up from behind the counter, thick glasses askew on her face. “What? Cassie?” The shop owner quickly adjusted her glasses as she peered down at the other woman. “What are you doing here? I’m busy, go away,” Ro sniffed, straightening out her apron which was covered in dust. Cassie snorted, eyeing the empty store with disbelief, but before she could comment a thick, furry body leaped onto the countertop in front of her. “Archie!” Cassie cooed, sarcasm clearly forgotten in the name of kitten cuddles. Ro rolled her eyes. “Please Cassie, his name is Archimedes, leave him with some dignity.” “But Archie is so much cuter, don’t you think?” Cassie pouted, scritching the black cat gently behind the ears. “I absolutely do not. Honestly, we may be witches, but we’re not inhumane. Though, speaking of, a new shipment of human teeth did come in if you would like to restock.” Ro said thoughtfully. Cassie waved her hand, “No, I’m here for something else. Didn’t you hear me? I think I just met the happiest person in the world and I also might be in love.” The taller witch swooned dramatically, pressing a hand to her corset in abject adoration. “Cassie,” Ro sighed exasperatedly, “You have a new paramour every week, you are not in love.” “No this one is different,” Cassie declared stoutly. “She was so...bright. It was practically blinding. She had blonde hair and freckles and this smile...” The lovesick witch trailed off, dreamily twirling a lock of raven hair around her finger. Ro shook her head fondly, used to her best friend’s erratic love life after nearly 7 years. “Okay darling, as long as you’re happy. Though please avoid losing your temper during arguments this time, I definitely do not have room for another cat, no matter how blonde or freckled or happy.” Cassie giggled brightly, giving Archie a quick pat on the head. “Infidelity is an unforgivable sin Ro. But there’s no need to worry. If things turn out badly I’m sure I can at least muster up enough magic for a bunny,” Cassie laughed, eyes glittering with mirth. With a jovial wave, the still snickering witch swept out of the shop, leaving only a swirling dust cloud and the smell of incense in her wake. “Cassie, I mean it! I don’t want any more pets! Cassie!” Ro groaned loudly as the door swung shut with a loud bang, resting her face in her hands. “Happiest person in the world? Oh, she’s going to eat that poor girl alive.”
fingers tap restlessly, nail beds bitten to the quick. my heart pounds like a drum against my ribs, too-hard, too-fast, too-afraid of the worries threatening to pull me under. i could drown in this fear, this unspeakable irrationality. conversations i’ve never had, scenarios i’ve only imagined, overwhelm my sense of sanity, overwhelm my sense of safety. i crave only a moment a single moment of p e a c e
it’s ridiculous, i know it’s ridiculous. you think i don’t know that? you think i don’t know that none of these confrontations will ever happen, outside my own mind? that not one of these conflicts will ever occur outside of my own nightmares? i know that, i do.
but what if?
what if?
a quiet mind, a normal life. it’s my own thoughts, my own mind, that forces my greatest wish inches out of reach
Where there used to be Color, there is nothing but black and white. On a good day it is: The black of her hair, the black of her coffee, the black of her words on a page. The white of her smile, the white of her sheets, the white of her fingers in mine. On a not so good day there is only: The black of her veins, the black of her eyes, the black of her cutting words. The white of her pills, the white of her sneer, the white of her door in my face. But Color is still vivid in my mind. It has not been forgotten, just... left behind in the whirlwind that is love and loathing and life. It was not always like this. I can still remember: The red of her smiling lips, the pink of her flushed cheeks, the gold of her sun warmed skin. The blue of her chipped nails, the yellow of her favorite dress, the orange of her silhouette framed in sunset. But the time of Color has long passed for me and her. The time of spontaneous picnics and dandelion wishes and whispered secrets. The time of shy bouquets and rumpled sheets and music-filled mornings. Young love. What a colorful lie. I miss it. But in this black and white world, love is the lie that’s keeps us alive.
Dear Diary, I think someone is following me. I keep feeling like somebody’s watching me, and I’m pretty sure someone followed me home today. Should I tell someone or is it all in my head?
Dear Diary, It happened again and I’m pretty sure I have to tell someone. That’s what people do in these kinds of situations, at least I think.
Dear Diary, My mom thinks I’m lying, telling me I’m delusional and just asking for attention, but I promise I’m not making it up. I wouldn’t do something like that, and I’m starting to get scared. You believe me, right?
Dear Diary, There’s someone after me, I know it. I’m so scared all the time and I don’t know what to do. Am I being stalked? I just want it to go away. I want 𝘩𝘪𝘮 to go away.
Dear Diary, I haven’t been able to sleep in days. There’s a constant fear, the feeling of those eyes on me, watching me. I don’t know what to do, what should I do?
Dear Diary, I think there was someone in my room last night. Am I going crazy? I was too scared to move, but I could feel him, hear him breathing. I’m terrified all the time, I can barely eat, barely leave the house. I think I’m going insane.
Dear Diary, I’m going to die, aren’t I?
Dear Melissa’s Diary, Soon she’ll realize how happy I can make her, how much I love her, how much I 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 her. I can take care of her, and now that I have her, I’m not ever letting her go.
When the girl looked in the mirror she always wanted to cry.
Her hair was too short, her jaw too square, her chin bristled and rough. Her body was flat and angular and the weight between her legs made her want to scramble out of her skin. This was not her body, not who she was meant to be. This was a mistake; she was a mistake. God, she was going to throw up. She just wished someone would listen to her, prove that she was not alone.
But, Her father said, “A girl? You shut your mouth before I shut it for you, I didn’t raise no faggot.” Her mother said, “Dear, please don’t talk nonsense, of course you’re a boy. I gave birth to you, so I think I would know what gender you are.” Her sister said, “What, like a tranny? Don’t even joke about stuff like that, it’s disgusting.” And she was alone. Trapped in this ill-fitting skin, different and unnatural and wrong.
She wondered sometimes, what it would have been like to have been born “Lydia” instead of “Lucas”. To have long, thick hair and beautiful curled lashes. To have full lips and plucked brows and smooth cheeks. To have soft curves and and a sweet, high voice. To be able to wear cute little skirts and towering heels and flattering red lipstick.
When the girl looked in the mirror she always wanted to cry.
When I think of bravery I think of knights, fighting dragons and saving princesses.
[i see a girl shove away her boyfriend with tears in her eyes and bruises on her wrists]
When I think of bravery I think of kings, conquering lands and ruling countries.
[i see a woman at the hospital with a pregnant belly and no one to hold her hand]
When I think of bravery I think of wizards, casting spells and defeating evil.
[i see a young black boy with his head held high as he ignores the slurs and screams around him]
When I think of bravery I think of superheroes, fighting villains and saving innocents.
[i see a trans man walking in his first pride parade with trembling hands and a wild grin]
When I think of bravery I think of pirates, sailing the ocean and killing terrible sea serpents.
[i see a small girl fight back tears as her weight on the scale rises in symphony with the laughter of her friends]
brav·er·y /ˈbrāv(ə)rē/ noun courageous behavior or character
The startling cry fills the too full room, already brimming with heaving breaths and panting screams and a mother’s smile. The baby, a girl, a 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭, screams her newborn life for the world to hear, echoing in the room, in her heart. She’s small and squealing and perfect, eyes already scrunched closed with the exhaustion of surviving. It’s 8:52 A.M. and the young mother knew her life had changed forever. Nothing mattered anymore. Not her aching body and dry mouth, not her ringless finger and empty waiting room. Nothing except for that small bundle in the nurse’s arms, nothing except for that tiny child that she knows she would give up anything for. The nurse smiles at her, the baby in her arms wrapped tightly in soft blankets. “A perfectly healthy baby girl. What would you like to name your daughter?” Daughter. My daughter. The word rang in her head like a bell, and she knew. The perfect name for her beautiful, strong, baby daughter. “Anastasia,” The woman said as she held the world in her arms for the first time. “Her name will be Anastasia.”
