War Two sides Helpless and weak Soldiers and the strong Strengths gained through the struggle Heroes are never built but made Born are the cowards who couldn’t brave The heat and pain, they’ll let others weep War may have two sides but must they keep Move onward, they will find a new way to grow And build and fill in all that was lost With change brings new thoughts and new ideas We can overcome the bad and suffering A hero’s heart, a warrior’s mind Dying while they save lives Showing an insurmountable love Comfort and healing Coming home Peace
No matter how good my bag smelled, it still wasn’t doing anything to calm my racing heart. I tossed my knapsack over my shoulder mentally telling myself everything I could to make the time pass faster. Here I was, a 16 year old boy walking straight to my death. Awesome. My life was quite the picnic.
I would never have thought I’d be here, I mean few really do, but you could say the reaping was enlightening in the least. I was enlightened to the fact that neither my parents nor my so called friends were going to do anything to try and stop this madness I was forced into. When my name was called, my father saluted me and my mother blew me a kiss as if her son was off to war, not becoming a human sacrifice to entertain a bunch of rich, messed up circus clowns. I was completely and utterly on my own. Well except for my fellow tribute, Graine Plainberry, but I doubted that was going anywhere.
Before leaving home, I was given the “golden opportunity” of picking one non-lethal thing to bring with me. And after much great deliberation, I walked out my grandma’s house with a red tin filled to the brim with homemade peach cobbler. You may be wondering why the heck I’d bring peach cobbler to a war zone and to that I say, what better way to go out than having just stuffed your face with sugar and butter? Not to mention, knowing I’d likely be first to go and I would not stand a chance against the other kids, I figured this was as good as it could get. I just hope to make my way into the trees before someone gets a dagger to my chest or an arrow to my back. I know this is pretty self-deprecating and just plain sad, but c’est la vie I guess.
Now, back to me walking straight into a death trap.
My knees wobbled with every step though I tried hard to breathe. On the longest elevator ride of my life (literally, I’ve never ridden in an elevator), I finally rose to meet 23 other nerve-sick teenagers waiting for the chance to dive into the middle and retrieve supplies. Luckily for me, I had all the supplies I needed.
Armed with nothing but peach cobbler, I stared into the eyes of all my enemies, hoping I portrayed some sort of daunting expression alike many of my other peers. Gosh, they were scary. Why couldn’t we all just sit around a campfire, put aside our differences (and weapons), and eat cobbler. I mean, would that really be so bad?
Putting aside my fantasies so I could have at least some chance of surviving murder wave 1, I listened for my signal to cowardly run from all opposing threats. And come my signal did.
I flailed, my legs running faster than I could keep up. Evidently, I tripped on the first obstacle in sight, a mound of dirt, and went flying face first into the hard ground. Panicking, I barely noticed the sounds of shouting and bombing happening behind me. Bombing?
It took me a moment to process that the sounds of battle were not coming from the tributes around me, in fact, it looked like no one had managed to secure and use a weapon before the explosions started. We all were staring at the smoke and damage in question until we saw it. Hundreds, no, thousands of people dressed in rags and dirty with soot and grime, were marching near us with weapons at the ready. Peacemakers were everywhere too (very much not “making peace” might I add). Some were fighting with civilians while others were cowering and pleading for mercy to these unknown soldiers. No one knew what was going on.
In finality, shouting stopped and bombings ceased, and in the end of all the chaos, someone to my left loudly cleared their throat, grabbing everyone’s attention indefinitely.
And to my utter shock and disbelief, there my granny stood, javelin in hand and battalion out back, looking like she would throttle anyone who dared defy her order. Needless to say, it was quite the common look for the old woman and I couldn’t help but wonder how she didn’t demonstrate her wrath sooner.
With a few clicks of her tongue, she shoved aside a nearing peacekeeper, pulled off her knapsack, took out a familiar red tin and made an announcement.
“Now children,” she addressed us tributes after yelling at some dudes named Focaccia and Crouton to build a fire, “let us have a discussion over some peach cobbler.”
You know what? I am not okay.
4 years 8 months 19 days and 21 hours ago, began my nightly escapade of talking with the devil. Now, you may not take that literally, but I am quite literal when I say there is dark eyed, paled skin creep of a man that visits me at 2 am every night regardless of how much I try to avoid it. When I fall asleep, he jolts me awake. Switching rooms doesn’t do the trick. He knows where I am at all times. I learned pretty quickly to never have company either, as the first time I brought my sister into my room in hopes of him leaving me alone, he cursed her. To this day, she still cannot utter one word that makes sense. Everyone thinks she’s lost her mind. Little do they know it’s me that’s doomed us all.
I didn’t mean to strike a deal with a monster; it just happened. And I never set out to use magic, for my father always taught me magic is a two-way weapon. In the end, everybody gets hurt. I’m starting to understand his point.
3 more hours I estimate, the cursed devil would be visiting my balcony. 3 more hours and I’d destroy him.
You may be wondering, how on earth do you kill a devil? Yeah, I don’t really know either. I’ve tried many things, including the time I foolishly stabbed a sword in the creep’s back, to no avail, but something tells me this time is going to be the last. With the help of an old hag and a smelly herbal potion, I am more than determined to end his reign.
I finish washing and soaking my blade in the tea-like concoction, (this had better work), when I notice my curtains blowing in a thick rush of wind. Not a good sign. In a rush, I stash my blade, pull my hair back, and prepare myself for what could either be a painstaking victory or a nasty defeat. I desperately hope it won’t be the latter.
Claws and teeth are the first thing I see every time the ugly creature greets me. A mix of man and beast, his voice always seems to be a paradox. A calm, comforting tone calls to me.
“Darling, I’m relieved to see you don’t have any company. Makes my job far easier when I only have one to control.” His long, sharp fingernails trace my chin while I hold back a grimace.
“Yes, it is rather a relief that only one of my family members remains insane due to your encounters.” Years of cowering to him aside, I found satisfaction through enacting my rage with passive aggression and sarcasm.
“Hold your tongue girl!” He warned. “I will not allow such disrespect after all I’ve granted you!”
He was right… sorta. Before I found myself in this dreaded position, I was a king’s daughter, a princess respected and well-liked by the people. I didn’t scout for trouble and I certainly didn’t make deals with strange men, but that all changed with the war. My father, ruler over all nearby lands, found himself in a dispute with a diluted lord of our own courts. Ever since, many rebellions broke out due to poverty and illness in our massive country.
Being young and decisive, I struck a bargain with a seemingly kind and frail man in hopes that a little magic could dispel the plagues and conflict among our people. I swear my intentions were good, but nonetheless, magic drew me in more and more each time until I became a servant to the cruel man haunting me now. A deep scar on the inside of my right wrist was proof of that; an eternity of servant hood.
See, if the source of the magic is diminished (the devil before me), everything should be righted and I will be freed, but if I don’t keep my promise to aid and serve, all magic will be undone and further curse will be brought upon the land. So you can see what massive predicament I’m in.
“How may I be of service to you, lord?” I settle on obedience for now.
“Mmm,” he clicked his forked tongue, “well that’s better.” The more he talked, the more snakelike his voice became. “As you know, I am a few hours early tonight. I’ve been hearing some rumors of deceit and betrayal in my service. You wouldn’t happen to know about that would you.” He toyed with a lock of my hair as I felt my skin pale.
“No, your grace, I would have informed you if I ever did!”
“Your grace!” He cackled. “I like that you beg. Do it again.” I was as white as a ghost. Sitting on my knees now, I brought my hands to my chest, fully aware of the dagger in my boot.
“Lord, I am indebted to thee. I’d never dream of deceiving you.”
“Hmm,” he toyed like a cat with a mouse, “I almost believe you.” I snatched my blade right then and plunged it right where his heart should be.
“Good, I’d hate to know you think me a fool. No person in their right mind would be grateful to you. You’re a snake!” He only laughed, hard. His creepy laughing face was quite disturbing.
“Oh little girl. Foolish, little girl. You cannot kill a demon, for I am immortal!” He shouted, haughtily. I felt a smirk wash over my face.
“And if you weren’t?” His eyes darkened, then they widened.
“How could you have known?” He seemed to realize how weak he was becoming. “You stupid, stupid girl!” With one more stark look of hatred my way, he disappeared into ashes. Ashes and smoke.
Finally letting out a breath, I picked up my blade. It was then I saw my scar. Not only was it still present, but it was bleeding like mad. Shoot. What have I done?
If I were a beauty queen How would I see myself? Would I wear a crown everywhere I go? Would I smile and wave to crowds I don’t know?
What would I do If a world’s full of people saw such a view Could I fall in love with myself Or would my outer appearance triumph everything else?
Maybe I’d be down about my skills Maybe I’d feel my life empty, unreal Maybe I’d pick apart every inch Every piece of my soul I’d crush and I’d pinch
So maybe I’ve got folds and rolls Maybe my scars are greatly pronounced Maybe my face is pale and under eyes dark And also my skin covered by all these marks
Yes this is me short of a queen The truth hard to swallow The imperfect secrets are the ones I bear Having to cover all of my tear and despair
But the more I learn the more I can see We all see ourselves short of beauty queens Does that make us all rightly self conscious Or is there a reason for us to be honest
In another light I see the beauty in my curves My scars so strong and unique My skin in the clear glass is soft and angelic I’ll handle with care myself like a priceless relic
Perfect as can be I am I value my faults as high as I can Each and every bit of me For there is beauty in everything if you only look and see
Hospitals have a very unique smell. I bet you are imagining it right now. The mix of metal, chemicals, mediocre food and depression. Yeah, that itself pretty much sums up my stay. Well, that and the fact that I’m here all because I was hit by a freight train. Yup. Last year, I was recovering from a bullet to the thigh, and before that, a near-death sting from a jellyfish. What can I say? I get around.
I woke to flashes of cords and the sight of a blue hospital gown. Adjusting to the light, I could see two faces overhead, pounding me with questions like “What can you remember?”, “How’s your arm feeling?” and “Goodness me, Sara Teresa Jenkins, what on earth were you doing standing in front of a train?!”
I rubbed my eyes, feeling the tug of the IV stuck in my hand, and tried to make up the faces in the room. There was a curly-haired woman in scrubs, reading my vitals. My mother, of course, was on my other side, looking as if I’d lost my mind, which maybe I had. Last, and most concerning, was a man on a laptop, sitting on a bench five feet away. I racked my brain for a name or face that matched his, but I came up empty. I looked at him awhile longer, which seemed to pull him away from the screen.
“How are you feeling?” He asked rather impassively. I hesitated, wondering if I was suffering from some kind of amnesia. “I feel like I’ve been hit by a train.” I deadpanned. My mom’s face was in utter horror. “What?” I mused. “Too soon?” The nurse stifled a giggle and a gasp. At least someone appreciated my sense of humor.
The man, who appeared rather unimpressed, rose from his seat and focused his attention on my mom.
“May I have a word with your daughter in private? We have some important business matters to discuss.” To that, the nurse sped out, a little skittish. My mom, slower to respond, turned to me, unsure, but nodded nonetheless. Though if my mom’s expression told me anything, it was that we’d be having a long conversation about this later. Eh, I couldn’t blame her. What kind of stable person willingly stands in front of a moving train? I had a good reason, mind you, but we’ll get to that later.
Once my mom left, the stranger in front of me took her seat and for the first time, I noticed his bright red briefcase. The only color to him. How hadn’t I seen that?
Feeling out of place in my hospital gown and messy braid, I asked, “Um, sir? I apologize, my brain is rather foggy, but have we met?”
He looked as if he’d expected this. “Indirectly,” was all he said.
“Might I ask when?”
“Miss Jenkins, we have been watching you a long while. We think you’d make a great asset to our team.” He unlatched his briefcase. “Your talents and expertise are exactly what we’ve been looking for.” Now, I was even more confused.
“I’m a teacher. Not even a good one.” I spoke each word with emphasis. “I’m an under-qualified substitute teacher.” That got him to crack a smile.
“Miss Jenkins—.”
“Sara,” I interrupted. “Call me Sara.”
“Sara,” he amended. “This may be difficult to understand.” He glanced back at the door, almost as if to check that the area was secure. Strange. “You are one of six people we have knowledge of, to withstand fatal circumstances. We believe you are special.” I snorted.
“What?” I giggled. “I know I got lucky surviving that blow, but don’t medical miracles happen quite a bit? At least more than six times.” My eyes rolled.
“Miss J— Sara,” he’d been serious throughout the entire exchange, but he grew even more so. “You didn’t just ‘get lucky’, your heart actually stopped beating. For hours.” His voice quieted. “You died, then came back hours later.” I was stunned into silence. This guy couldn’t be serious… right?
“Sir,” I spoke somewhat mockingly now. “I don’t know where you got that information, but I have no idea who you are or why you’re here. I think it would be best if I talked to my mom—.”
“No!” He cut me off; calm, yet sharp. “You cannot reiterate any of this to anyone. My people have gone to extreme lengths to hide this information from the doctors and nurses. Your ability is a strength, but if found, it can also be a great weakness. A reason for people to exploit or attack. You’re a weapon. The only way you’ll find safety is if you come with and my associates and I will show you to our safe house until news dies down. We have a doctor on hand who may tend to your injuries.”
I outright laughed. “This is crazy. What the heck are you talking about?” Out of my control now, anger rose in my voice. “I don’t know where this ridiculous idea came from, but let’s get one thing straight. I will not be going anywhere with you nor will I listen to your babbling anymore!” Just as I was about to call for the nurse, the man pulled a gun out from his scarlet briefcase. Ugh, I’d forgotten about the flashy thing. He leveled the gun barrel at my chest.
“I’m sorry to do this, Sara. You seem like a reasonable woman, but you leave me no choice.” With that, he pulled the trigger. I waited for the explosion and the shot of pain, but all that had projected from the weapon was a short, thin dart, sticking from above my clavicle. Huh, it looked straight out of some action movie or cartoon. A tranquilizer dart, ‘cause why not? At least I now could say I’d been shot twice. And with that realization, my world faded to black.
Everybody was running. It sounds pretty cliche if you ask me. From the stoic businessmen in their pristine suit and ties, hauling their luggage like they know exactly where they’re going, to the various families with little children, their parents hauling them by their arms while they wail, and struggling to haul multiple bags while looking lost in the chaos. I felt it too. With my little brother Dax behind me gripping my pointer finger like a lifeline, and my Grandpa George barking inquisitions at a very puzzled plane attendant, it was very easy to feel overwhelmed by it all.
As I tried to make my breathing slow, my phone started to chime. Pulling it out of my hoodie pocket, I saw it was from my older sister, Adalyn. “Where are you guys? We are waiting at the gate!” I could practically hear her panic and impatience. I tapped her profile picture, one taken of the two of us on the beach last summer, and clicked call.
A beat later, she answered with a “You’d better not be getting food right now!”
“Really, Ady?” I mocked incredulously. “You know I have noticed there’s a national panic and although I’d love a good Starbucks herbal tea to calm my nerves right about now, I like to think I value the prospect of living over overpriced spice water!” I countered her, mildly annoyed. However, she lost it at the end of my statement, laughing her head off like she always did when she pushed my buttons.
For what feels like an eternity, my sister has always teased me for ordering an herbal tea on the occasion her and her friends let me join them on their weekly Starbucks runs. But my herbal teas, or as my sister religiously called it, “overpriced spice water”, had a starring role in helping me manage my anxiety. Peppermint was my sustenance. Sugar and caffeine was Ady’s.
“Considering you conceded to calling it that, I know you must be really stressed. If you do decide to stop by a Starbucks, get me my usual!” I rolled my eyes at her antics. I couldn’t decide if her joking around was calming and familiar or driving me more mad. “In all seriousness, Mom’s trying to sweet talk the attendants into waiting for you, but I can’t say for sure if she’s winning. How far are you?”
I looked at Grandpa and the lady to see if an understanding was met, but it was hard to tell with the constant underlying fear in everyone’s faces. It made it hard to read all the other emotions.
A few weeks ago, massive destruction hit the country. Hurricanes in the south, fires in the west, and earthquakes along all the major fault lines. Not to mention, the threat of war that’s looming over our heads the last few month. Things were bad. And the state of our nation reflected in the pandemonium of the airport. It had been made known by our country’s leaders that airlines would be shutting down completely after today. Immediately after, Mom, and a million other people, jumped to get tickets before they were gone. We were lucky to have gotten enough for all five of us, as most flights ended up completely booked within minutes.
As far as I knew, we were headed to Minnesota to stay with Mom’s relatives for foreseeable future. I am really going to miss Texas, and the abrupt exit is leaving me without a proper goodbye.
Grandpa grabbed my wrist. “This way, darling.” I realized he was done asking for directions and I told Ady we were nearing our gate prior to hanging up. Dax still held me tight, silent as a mouse, as we ran after Grandpa. For an aging man, he really was quite nimble.
We moved along past hundreds of faces until our destination was finally in sight. I frowned. I couldn’t see Ady nor my mom. I ran even faster, scooping up Dax in my arms and banging and bouncing our luggage into the many obstacles. One look at Dax and I knew he’d probably want down. Grandpa reacted far calmer than me, moving to ask the man working nearby. “Are we in the right place?”
The man held out a hand to see our tickets. Unlike every other person I’d seen today, he looked greatly uninterested and wildly bored. “Hmm,” he drawled, a little smug. “Flight 845. Yes, you just missed it.”
Two names greeted me on the slip of paper in my hand. One of them being my own, Halle Jones, and the other… I growled. There’s no freaking way. No freaking way I was going to let Ms. Patrick partner me up for this school year’s biggest project with that clown. I looked to my right to see him trying to balance his science journal on top of his nose. He had his head tipped back, chin up, with no sense or care for the world around him. His brown eyes shone with laughter as his caramel curls hung by his ears, weighed down by gravity. An expression I saw often on him. Ugh. I had to look away. Just then, a loud snap echoed from the front of the room.
“Mr. Reynolds,” Ms. Patrick look down through her spindly glasses at the boy next to me. The entire class was looking our way after she’d hit her desk with a ruler in a means to get Sam’s attention. She was not one who you’d describe as relaxed or patient. “Could you please answer the question?” There wasn’t much please in her tone.
I smirked. There was no way he’d been listening to what she had said. I didn’t even try to hold back my grin. He was surely getting caught this time.
“You asked whether or not emotions affect the physical wellbeing of the body. Feelings are a part of our physical health. Emotions, whether they’ve been caused by or are the effect of, are typically accompanied by hormones which are a great distinguisher to our wellness and the body’s functionality. Psychology and anatomy work hand in hand.” He finished off by shrugging. Shrugging! Ugh! If his darn smile weren’t so charming, he would have sounded aloof. But no. The whole class responded well; the girls all giggled, twisting their locks of hair while Max and Sam’s other bonehead friends patted him on the back for not missing a beat. Ms. Patrick looked more than satisfied at his answer as well and moved on to lecturing us about hormones and stress levels. Ha. I could feel my own stress levels on the rise.
I hated when he did that; pulled out the logic and unexpected smarts. All I wanted was to sit here quietly for the rest of class with my annoyance of him still in tact. I wasn’t letting Sam Reynolds and all his jokes and smiles and decent points break my strong demeanor.
Several minutes later, just when I thought this class would never end, I dared a glance to my side only to find that Sam, the bane of my existence, was looking at me. And not just looking, but staring me in the eyes. Not wanting to back down from an unspoken challenge, I held his gaze. Seconds later, the bell rang. I hadn’t moved a muscle when he boyishly smiled, winked at me and said, “See you after school, partner.” His voice dropped conspiratorially at the end. My cheeks definitely went red, but I hoped I’d covered it by drawing my long hair forward by my face.
“Can’t wait,” I drawled back.
