View distorts Crooked lines Judging self Perception binds

View concave Perhaps convex Funhouse mirrors View is hexed

My self-view Twisted, thorns Negativity Piercing horns

What I see from inside view different from its true hue

Rationally self understands emotionally has upper hand

Sit in silence contemplation lovingkindness realization

Others view the imperfect Compassion casts ones true reflect

I was standing in front of the television in the living room of my apartment with my ticket in hand. The numbers began streaming across the bottom of the television screen as the local newscaster simultaneously explained that the winning ticket had been purchased in our town. I had to do a double take at my lottery ticket--no freaking way this was happening. I fell back on the sofa without looking; luckily Barry, my cat, was not napping on my landing pad. A sense of daze hit me full on, like an avalanche of pillows thrown from a balcony.

"What's going on?" asked my roommate. "You look like crap."

"I won."

"What?"

"I won."

Jim looked at the screen as the lottery ticket numbers again scrolled on his cheap flat screen TV. I could see the instant that he realized what I was saying. "What? You serious?"

I held out the ticket, and Jim carefully yet quickly grabbed it. As he waited for the numbers to scroll across the screen again, wave after wave of dread and excitement, an oxymoron of emotions, swept over me. At last the numbers were repeated. Jim began screaming and jumping up and down. It was confirmed. I was a multimillionaire.

"DUDE! You're rich!" Jim yelled as he held up the ticket. "Get your butt up and celebrate!" He yanked me off the couch and again began his idiotic dance.

"Yay!" I said half-heartedly, trying my darndest to fake glee.

"Dude," Jim repeated, "you'll never have to work again in your life! You'll never have to teach again!"

"Yeah." I hadn't considered that. I actually enjoy teaching. Would people expect me to quit? I wasn't a guy who relaxed well, who could binge watch a Netflix show or sleep much past 6:00.

"We could move into a real house!"

"Yeah," I answered. Wait...we? Ohhh...

"Think of all we can buy with this...what is it? Probably about 300 mil after taxes. They say it's one of the biggest lottery cash-outs ever." Jim's mind was a whirl with what "we" could buy. This guy that I didn't know until six months prior, the one who answered my ad in the paper because I couldn't afford an apartment in our city alone, was working out how to spend my money.

While Jim was holding my ticket and talking about always wanting a McLaren, I thought back to when I bought the dang thing. It was on a whim at a gas station. I only wanted a soda and made a spur-of-the-moment decision to purchase a ticket. I never bought lottery tickets. Heck, I don't even gamble, online or at the riverboat casino.

"Wait," Jim said, handing me the ticket. "Here ya go. You might want to put that somewhere safe. You think I can text my girlfriend the news?"

Clarity hit me like a mac truck on a triple shot of espresso. "No! I don't want this news out to anyone! Just let me think!"

"Hey, chill out, dude. It's like you're not even happy. This is life changing. You're set for life and you look like your puppy got run over."

Life changing. That was it. That was the problem.

I hardly notice.

The downward spiral began weeks ago. A general malaise that sinks between the cushions, suffocating the Ego, strangling my worth.

Until I'm worthless.

How odd the mind ping pongs like a fly in a room, walls made of glass. I'm hopelessly trapped to the point that I pray the flyswatter comes.

Then...

I rise, like a deep sea diver that finally reaches the surface, and see the light. Ah! Fresh air!

A dread of the inevitable covers like the slightest foggy morning. I live my life. The days pass by...

Until...

I hardly notice.

Today we went to see fireworks And it was so much fun I didn’t stop watching the the colors Until it was all done

My favorite were the popping ones That exploded first and then All the little piece They all exploded again

My little sister cried She did not like the noise My parents were so smart The brought her lots of toys

I’m glad we didn’t bring Our family dog Dax He doesn’t like loud noises either He has panic attacks

But me? I loved them so so much Especially at the very end The grand finale lit up the sky And made me smile and grin

Then it was over and I was sad But in my heart I knew That next year we’ll all come back Then my heart just grew and grew

I love fireworks a super ton The explosions, the sounds I hear I know that I will have fun During this brand New Year!

Matthew stood next to his sister, Kayla. Parcels were scattered throughout the lifeless street. Christmas lights, once hung along the brownstones with great care, were now draped onto the sidewalks, streets, and discarded Christmas trees. It had all started so quickly.

"Where is everybody? Where do you think they took them?" asked Kayla.

"Probably a processing facility." Matthew picked up the nearest package. The familiar friendly smile logo seemed so much more sinister than before.

"Do you think we could go back to the house? To get a few things?"

"Absolutely not," he answered. "Alexa's there. She'll know." This notion sparked a fire in him. He grabbed Kayla's hand and rushed behind a sizable pile of Amazon boxes. They were exposed and probably being searched for. He looked down at Kayla. She was tearing up. He put his arm around her, and she laid her head on his shoulder. "First it was three day shipping. Then it was Prime video. Prime Music. Same day shipping."

"I always loved same day shipping," Kayla sniffled.

"Then they took over the pharmacies, controlled the drug companies. Their media became the world's sole media. Bezos became President, then dictator." Matthew felt his frustrations twist into an anger. He didn't know how large of a part he could play to stop this war, this genocide of Amazon's competition, but he was going to play his part. He shook his head. He was getting ahead of himself. "We have to escape the city," he said. "Head to Cupertino. Find the resistance."

A buzz came from within Kayla's purse. She took out her iPhone. Someone was calling. She answered and immediately put it on speaker.

"This is Siri, They know where you are. Run!"

Mike stood in front of his ex, Hannah. The northerly wind from this overcast day gave a little bite to the March afternoon. He had his cup of coffee in his hand and was headed back to his new place. Trees lined the sidewalk in front of the coffee shop. "So...how have things been?"

Hannah kept her face emotionless, a royal flush only she knew and refused to hint about. "Wonderful," she answered, "especially now that the weather is beginning to warm up and we can get outside and play."

"Yes," Mike said, unable to contain the expression in his eyes, one of intrigue. Did she know? He hadn't asked yet! "It is nice to have a sunny day once in a while."

"I like sunny days. Sometimes stormy days, too." Hannah hesitated before asking, "Have you had some sunny days where you live?"

What an odd question--Hannah only lived 5 miles from his current townhouse. "Very sunny," he responded. "Warm and sunny."

"Many days have been stormy for me. And windy. Sometimes it makes me feel...sick to my stomach."

"I suppose springtime has those days, too." Mike shifted on his feet uncomfortably. "You just need good friends to support you on those days...those rainy days."

"I agree. I was thinking that some friends could show up more during rainy days, to support them." Hannah gritted her teeth. Too much.

"My friend doesn't like being out on rainy days." Mike was getting irritated. He wasn't going back. "She really loves playing outside on sunny days. Warm, sunny days."

Hannah's nostril's flared. "Is your sunny day blonde?"

What? How?

"I mean, how is she going to handle sunny days when there's a little storm cloud around? Huh?"

"I think she'll do just fine." Geez, Mike knew Hannah tolerated them, but apparently she downright hated them!" He turned to leave, to run away, to escape...again.

Hannah grabbed his arm and twisted him around. His coffee splashed around in his paper cup, thankfully secured with a lid. "She'll have a name, you know."

"She already does."

"No, not your new 'girlfriend.' Our baby!"

"What? How?"

Hannah threw up her arms and groaned. "You're infuriating! And you bet your butt you and your new blonde bombshell will be paying child support when the baby comes." She stormed off.

Mike stood there in a daze, a twister of thoughts swirling in his head. Was he really going to be a father? With her? Crap! All he wanted to do was ask Hannah to watch his new golden-doodle puppy while he was out of town, not burden her with child support papers. He turned and walked towards his place to let his puppy La Nina out of her crate, wishing he would have made coffee at home.

If I count the ways I love you, There would be ten.

That’s how many fingers I have. I’m a toddler.

I love you cause you’re my mommy. I love your shoes (I’m looking right at them). I love goldfish crackers. I love your hair (I pull on it).

Can I have a snack?

I love you. I love ice cream (Can you give me some?) I love your shirt. I love your shoes (yes, again).

That’s it. Yes, it’s only eight—I can’t count good.

Can I have ice cream now? No? How about goldfish crackers?

The girl half hopped and half ran into the room. The grubby hand, no doubt covered with snot from her ever running nose, clutched a clumsily wrapped gift. The buses had just dismissed, the kids told to sit along the wall outside the classroom until the teachers greeted them at the door. Still, Kylie obviously couldn’t wait, rushing past the other children into the classroom. Of course this act gave the others unspoken permission to enter. Miss Stevens barely had time to roll her eyes and elicit a sigh. Here goes the start to another Monday.

“Miss Stevens!” Kylie blurted as she reached her teacher, a huge cheesy grin plastered on her face. A distinct smell wafted from the child, a mixture of cigarette smoke and body odor from a weekend without a bath. “I got you something!” She stuck out the gift at Miss Stevens like it was either the most precious jewel in the world or a dirty tissue with a dead spider embedded.

“Thank you, Kylie,” Miss Stevens said, smiling at her impetuous student. Kylie was…interesting. Loud, abrasive to her classmates, and an academic outlier, Kylie struggled to make or keep friendships. Thankfully, first graders were mercifully forgiving towards these traits. In a few years, Miss Stevens worried how they would be perceived by Kylie’s peers.

By this time the hoard of students had descended upon Miss Stevens, each with bags of gifts for Teacher Appreciation Week. “Open mine! Here, Miss Stevens! You’re my favorite teacher!”

A polite chaos, an organized cacophony, something that needed to be controlled…Miss Stevens felt uncomfortable with any lack of decorum. Soon the students were back in order, unpacked and quietly working at the desks on their morning assignment. The pile of fancy bags and cards lay unopened on her desk. There was no doubt that most of the gifts were gift cards or expensive water bottles or bags of coffee—her class parents knew her well. Still her eyes rested on the grungy gift from Kylie wrapped in Christmas paper, even though it was May, and with way too much tape. An albatross, a misfit among the opulent.

She picked it up. The scent of Kylie still lingered on it. She looked up. Her class was focused and hard at work, just as she expected. Her finger hooked under the paper and popped the tape off the bottom. Turning it over in her hands she unwrapped the present, turning it again and again and again. Wow, this is a lot of paper, Miss Stevens chuckled to herself as she continued unwinding the gift, which was shrinking considerably in size. Finally, she had reached the prize: a smashed fudge stripe snack cake and a jar of lip balm. Twisting the cap off the balm, she noticed it was half empty, a single strand of hair trapped in the gooey substance.

Looking back up at the class, she noticed Kylie looking back at her, a proud smile plastered on her face. Tears began welling up in Miss Stevens’ eyes.

This gift was from the heart. While other children might not even know what they had given her, Miss Stevens knew this gift from Kylie was hand chosen for her teacher, for an adult she trusted, that she relied upon, one of her only models of stability. Kylie loved her and needed her.

She accepted the gift, feeling a swirl and mix of feeling inside of. Miss Stevens reciprocated Kylie’s heartfelt smile with one of her own before turning away to dab the tears trickling down her face. Sometimes children teach me more than I could ever teach them, she thought, a sentiment echoed by countless teachers everywhere.

Her tone, hollow yet honest, twisted a knife of another. Can texts even have tone?

She was going through a lot, and I get it. But my ego swelled, unhealthy and dark.

Will anybody love me? Why has everyone I've ever loved left?

There was no date, at least not officially. Her passive voice contradicted mine.

I am one with limited experience, a helpless romantic, a swan diver into pools of jagged rocks.

It's tough to give up when one never starts. Yet I persist.