Otters hold hands to represent love. Swans pick a partner for life to show love. Humans have various ways, however, sometimes even too complex for other humans to understand.

I felt the palm of his hand slap my cheek. I could feel the slick vibration run through my body like the pulse of a beating drum. My cheek is still red, but now as I stare into my mirror I can see the onterage of colors, featuring maroon and purple and even a bit of yellow. Yellow is a sign of healing. Maybe that is why it is my favorite color. It is a sign that good things will come, even after the worst. Yellow, although light, will always mask over dark colors no matter how much time it takes. Its a powerful color, but many people dont make that realisation.

I wipe away the tear that has already partially fallen down my face, accedentally rubbing my mark. I wince before my fingers can even graza over the whole mark.

Mark makes his way out of his room to kiss me goodbye. I flinch back, sitting on the very edge of my chair to aviod his lips. His pucker turns to a sour stare. Once he makes the realization, his gaze of love turns from that to a hard stare. Only hatred fills his heart now. Im not sure for me or himself. Sorrow is all that fills mine.

Months pass of repeated marks, foundation to mask until signs of yellow appear, and hiding the truth. Until finally, I am weak. I cannot withold the yellow any longer. There is no yellow in me left to heal. Each bruise is left permanent, which only makes mark all the more upset. Even my face shows how sorrowful I am.

I am dying. Is my realization of the night. And maybe I am. But there is no happiness left in me. No power. No yellow. I am sorrow, and sorrow is me.

I wish I died in love, however. Only then will the yellow restore me, and the laws of permanent surpass me and restore me to my past self. If only the sorrow would pass.

She didnt appreciate casualties of earth Since her mother had died She no longer had desire In her once burning heart The beating blood santuary Crumpled to ash when the words “Im sorry for your loss” Slipped the doctors lips

But when her dragged life Was finally over And it was time time to pass She was finally happy to see her mother

And when the luxurious gates of heaven greeted her And she locked eyes with the face She so desperately yearned for They hugged And so they stepped into the dawn, Foever changed Because heaven wasnt just the place But the person too

A young girl sings herself Her ballad dances in the rythm of the breeze Child, is what her mother called her, was soon ordered back to the house Dancing still, the breeze slowly paces itself Everything seems to slow down as she walks home. From the time she left the forest, nothing felt the same God, she could never match the feeling nature brought her Had she been much older, she would have had the freedom to roam If she was perhaps older, she would have spent every second with the breeze she remembered so intricately Just then, her mother brought her back to reality Kids had no freedom to roam back to those woods, is what she yelled Lame. Maybe just once more… and she would understand… No was always the answer. Once though, she caught a glimpse of the feeling Peppermint fresh breeze blew past Quaking, the girl made her way home Reguardless, crying in her room never made her sadder Sadness brought her the comfort of the breeze To others, it was inexplicable. But she knew. Unless another had felt the breeze that day, no one would understand. Very sad, is what she was. When the end of her life came, she thought of the day in the woods X-ray is what she was, see through. You know that feeling that is so constant it sticks forever Zelda found that feeling with her more often than not, and the breeze always brought her back.

When I was little, I had no idea why the older kids always talked about crying. I cried when I got hurt, or didn’t get what I wanted, but I never really cried about anything going on in my life.

That was until middle school. All of a sudden everything changed Life was hell There was no escape I shut down And crying was the only release for the feelings still left in me

And so now I know People cry to let go And maybe as kids We all found it better to hold pain in Than to release it And maybe I even miss those times

Because now I have evebags And tear marks My face wasn’t like it once was Pure and full of happiness It is obvious to everyone how much I cry And that is a curse in itself.

I spent all of last night hunched over, looking through the clear gaze of my new camera. It had the most beautiful filter, which made every picture I took like heaven. I sat calmy in the woods, still regaining my energy before I thought of getting up. Surrounding me was a blanket, completely red, with little pink tassles hanging off the ends. I twiddled a tassle between my fingers as I grabbed my camera.

My mission yesterday was to find the bald eagle in his nest. The mother had birthed babies not even two days ago, so I was sent to announce it to the world through one picture.

So I waited. And waited. And wait soo long that my eyes began to flutter… and my lips started to crack… and the noise went flat… I fell asleep.

I woke this morning realizing I had no picture to show for my journey. Nevertheless, maybe I had forgotten that I took one. So I reached eagerly for my camera, not pausing for a moment before checking the gallery. It was full?

In the gallery, there was 20 perfect pictures. I even saw the eagle a few times. She was feeding her babies in one, and there is even one of her spreading her beautiful wings to take flight. I scanned through the next 19, but I stopped in my tracks at number 20.

It was me. Sleeping.

“I couldnt have taken this…” I thought to myself. As I pondered, I stared more intently. I did not take this, so who did?

Ive spent my whole life in the dark of the real world. I lived in a lab, where my only company were the characters in the books I read. But not even they could hold me as I fell apart, touch my cold, soft skin completely unaltered by the damages of other people. Even though I lacked friends and support, I made up for it throguh knowledge. I knew everything about everything, believing I would bever need to use any of this knowledge. It was the only power I had in the weak body I was in. I thought that the real world was fake, somehow a myth. But ever since being released from the lab, my life has completely changed.

The harsh reality is, the world is hard to fit into. Everyone expects you to just magically know everything about this complicated life, but you dont. Its been 342 days that I have been out of that murky room and all I want to do is go running back to it. Through all the pain Ive suffered there, it is much greater out here.

But I dont want to fit in. I know more than anyone else here, but since I dont understand the meaning of “love”, I am worthless?

Humans are beyond complicated.

“Hello?” I say, nonchallantly picking up the phone. “When are you coming home to visit me?” The person on the other line asks. I feel a lump grow in my throat. “Lynn?” I question. I immediately recognize her timid voice. “Come visit me, honey. I miss you.” “You know I cant…” I say defeatedly. “But why? I have your birthday present waiting for you here. “Your all the way in North Carolina.” “Please??” Her irritation is growing. She is scaring me. “Im hanging up now. I love you.” “No please dont go… please!” She pleads. But I hang up the phone.

Lynn has been dead for 2 years.

You dont know you are a monster. You dont look like the monster that slithers under my bed. Or the monster who hides from the light In the comfort of my closet. But you are one I am 8, and even I know that. I know because monsters are scary, They destroy things.

The glass bottle clashes against the wall, flinging pieces of glass everywhere The monster walks to his cave.

My heart aches after the monster yells at me with his deep voice The monster walks to his cave.

My heart breaks When you call yourself my father Then retreat to your cave.

But I see no father. I see a monster.

And the question is,

When does a man become a monster?

Liliana Grace is a girl. She has bleached blonde hair, with purple peekaboos that make old ladies shake thier heads in disaproval. Liliana has a nose ring, and a tounge ring, and a few other piercings. She likes the free will piercings give her. They make her feel confident. She has the most confidence when she doesnt have to hide herself. She wears long baggy clothing and a silver bracelet that glimmers in the light. It has a heart charm, with little crystals that Liliana runs her fingers over everytime she gets nervous.

I am Liliana Grace.

I dont usually leave my home, one because it is comfortable and two because no one will stop staring at me. They scowl at my piercings. They cringe at my clothes. They especially hate my hair.

But I dont care. What really bothers me is when people underestimate me. I have all these talents, but no one cares to see them because of my purple peekabos. I have so many ideas, but no one seems to mind them because of what I wear. I hope that one day I will be able to speak to people like me, and for them to see me as just another person. I am a girl. Battered and bruised, who deserves attention like everybody else.

Tim Phillips is a philosopher. He is my uncle. He is the wisest man I have ever met, and the most sucessful. Sometimes I wish Tim was my father.

I walk to Tim’s house to prepare him for his big speech. He doesnt have a wife or kids, so I could see how lonely it would get preparing for the biggest moment of his life.

Tim is doing his hair, slicking it back with grease and finger combing it until he finally decides it is good enough. Then, he straightens out his suit and slips on his nicest shoes. He looks nice.

I can feel something building up in my throat. That feeling you get when you know your about to cry, but you hold it back. My eyes well to the brim with tears, but Tim is too busy to notice. I can feeling my heart burning with pride, but a hint of jealousy. Tim is so sucessful, and amazing, what allows me to believe that I am not?

“Ready to go, Tils?” he asks, finally looking back at me. He straightens up his tie as he stares to me.

“Yea, Im ready. I know your gonna do great.” I respond. My resting face slowly melts into a smile.

“Thank you, Tils.” He responds, smiling back to me warmly. “Maybe one day this will be you,” he adds as we walk to the car.

Suddenly, I feel a surge throughout my body. It shocks me, but nothing else comes from it. I am still in the car, driving. Wait, driving?

h look down to my legs. Dress pants and shoes… this cannot be happening!

I swerve the car into the nearest lot, and turns out it is just where I needed to turn. I see a stage ahead of me, with what looks like thousands of people anxiously waiting for someone. Right now, that someone is me.

I look to the backseat and see myself. Who is acutally Tim. He is utterly horrified, an open mouth plastered on his face. His eyes flick with horror, and I cant help but to admire my face.

I decide to embrace this opportunity, a reason to finally share my thoughts to people. Tim and I walk up to the podium, and he wishes me best of luck. I reach for my wrist expecting to feel my bracelet, but it isnt there. I hesitate at the podium for a while, but ad soon as I start to speak, as if by magic, words spill from my mouth as fluid as butter. I am talking about all kinds of things, and the eyes drawn to me from the crowd helps me infer I am doing a good job. Even uncle Tim is tearing up.

Even behind my hidden idenitity, I still feel powerful. Then, I do something a bit spontaneous.

“Im sure my niece would like to say a few words to everyone if you will have her…” I wave to uncle Tim, and shyly, he approaches. He clears his throat and begin to speak. His words motivate. People in this crowd just stare in admiration. No one looks disgusted.

At the end of his speech, everyone claps for the both of us.

After all of this time, I realized it was never me, but the people around me. I just needed someone to care.

As I walked to school like usual, and crossed the intimidating road, something felt wrong. And before I knew it, I was on my knees and then on my stomach. I taken a hard blow to the chest, feeling the wrath spread like wildfire through my body. Everything paused for a moment. I could hear nothing but the ringing from my own ears growing. All I could see were blurs. Then everything went black. It was peaceful. I wasnt scared. Then I met him. The grim reaper. I thought he was simply a myth, but seeing him standing in front of me was so astonishing. He wasnt quite like I imagined. He was beautiful… He wore a cloak, but it was shining and had a faint glow lingering around it. His face was inviting, and he had a warm smile. I wasnt scared of him in the slightest. I looked around to find myself in complete darkness, but I could see him perfectly fine. He held out his hand to me, still smiling. Why was he happy to see me? Didnt he know what happened to me? Do I? He helped me from off the ground and grabbed my other hand so we were adjacent to watch other. His eyes were pure and full of hope, but I could tell they had been pained by awaiting sadness. “Welcome, dear child.” “Where am I?” “Why this is my world, the world of the dead. And and I am the grim reaper.” “Im not scared of you,” I said releasing my grip, and backing away slowly. “I am glad. There is nothing of me to fear.” I was confused by this. “I am not scared of deah, either. Do you see that often?” “Not at all. Everyone seems to be scared of death.” “I was scared,” I interrupted. “Until I realized I didnt have to be. I could embrace it.” “That is wonderful, dear child. I can tell you are wise. It is true, death is beautiful. It is the exit of one world and the enterance to another.” “I am glad to be here.” “The world of death provides joy to many. Sometimes sadness, fear, and even anger. But that is what I am here for. To heal those whose lives had been left unfinished.” “Was mine?” “Yes. You had so much more ahead of you. Which is why I am letting you go back. The world of death will still stand when your time comes. Maybe you will see me in your dreams,” death said. “I hope.” I finally said, feeling a release. I was transported back to the world, and awoken by the sound of frantic strangers doing anything in thier power to wake me. “I want to go back,” I manage to escape in between raspy breaths. “Shhh…” someone says, soothing me with a back rub.

That night in the hospital, death came to me once more. “Dear child, feel free to visit me whenever you may need a helping hand.” Then he disappeared once more. I knew now, that death was never scary. It was not something to fear. It was beautiful. Something to enjoy, the exit of one world and the enterance of another.