There is a saying That we are worth more Than the sum of our parts

It's like saying the sun Isn't a star It's a concept I can't believe

My cracks Merging and breaking More than it all

But I never feel myself By the end Bottling my feelings Before I

Dragging my emotions along Deepening the cracks Do not or do

Hearts slashed apart Here is everywhere and not Have nothing but my own thoughts

Growing bitter Good is what we say Giving what they need to hear

Warped inside Without a place to store Wandering and worldly Wonder left behind

Fractured in and out For nothing but others Forsaking it all for their love

Drips of rain splash the earth Names hushed amongst the wisps My heart nestled in a warm hearth Governed by its surroundings Hustled by the rush

Did we ever know how hard it would be Looking out to the brilliance but never seeing within? Leaving my nature behind

like climbing up a ladder but every stair crumbles when you grip the next rung

Left hanging for naught As you look down you see that it was never worth it

A labyrinth of people to navigate and avoid

A lonesome one pushing through the quagmire

As your screams bubble underneath the mire

you forget what it was all for

was it ever your brilliance that asked for you to shoot for the moon letting the suns be your backup But you never did land among the stars

did you?

Was that moment of ecstasy ever worth the years of drudgery?

Living with billions, but has it ever been home?

Dripping rain soaking into everything

She slumped to the floor. Everyone was dead. It all could’ve been over if they had only listened. When she took an ax and fire to the wooden horse. When she ran the streets, hoping that someone, anyone, would hear as she sobbed her visions to the ground. Only the women were left; their fate–she knew, and she wanted to yell in the injustice of it all. Nothing was left to do but divvy up the women for each man to take home. She had nothing left to do but submit to it–now that Agamemnon was here.

…

She shot up in her bed. Screams and blood echoed through her head. She was going to die. Everyone in Agamemnon’s palace was going to die. She was going to die. The only thing left would be Agamemnon’s wife and her lover. Clytemnestra. She- was- going- to- die.

Nothing left but her tears streaming down her empty eyes and the vermilion across her body.

For most of her life, she had been ignored, violated, and emotionally abused. No wonder everyone had told her that she was disturbed. They had made her a τρελή γυναίκα. It was easier to be insane, to sit there quietly while the men unknowingly plotted their death. She used to want to help them–to say,” wait! You’re going to do it wrong!” She had suffered enough years of deliberate ignorance to know they would never hear her. Her entire life was for naught. A heaviness sank in. Her visions were never wrong. So she knew when she would die and by whose hand.

Should she tell someone?

She took a breath. In and out. Her body relaxed. Maybe this time someone would listen.

…

She paced. She knew when she would die, by whose hand she would die, and the time she would die. Why couldn't she just die now? Then her nightmare of life would be over. She would be going to die anyway...why not now? She started to sob. Why wouldn't it end? She had wished to die for a long time now but never dared to do it. But maybe if she had died during the war, would anything have changed? No. Her entire life was a farce. She was never going to be someone important. Being who she was, being a woman, wasn't allowed. She was only defined by the men around her. Agamemnon, her father, those around her father...Ajax. The ones that she was expected to venerate as if they were the gods that everyone worshipped.

Better to lead them all to their death. She snickered. She wasn't going to just lay down and take it. She did that for years. It was time she took control of her visions.

…

words dancing agamemnon’s demise only creeping.

she’ll die, but take everyone with her.

Cassandra had never been understood. Every time she opened her mouth, no one would listen. Her opinion was disregarded and dismissed as the ramblings of the insane. She couldn't remember one moment where her voice wasn't stifled. So, she sat there–silent. Hoping that maybe someone would ask, “Cassandra–what do you think about this?” It wasn't like she could answer them anyway. They had crushed her and her voice. She hadn’t always been quiet. When she knew things before they happened, and could say something, she did. But after years of being shut up for her voice, years of them telling her that her opinions didn't matter because she was insane...she got rid of it herself.

…

He sauntered across the floor, trailing towards the princess, her fiery red hair and olive skin resplendent under the sunlight. The baby cooed at him, unaware of his intentions. He had come to fulfill a debt. A debt of vengeance. Her parents had forgotten him. A god of the future. So now, he was going to rewrite someone else’s. Ruin their child’s life so he could forgive their debt. The mother’s eyes grew wide. It was him. She and her husband immediately knelt to the ground, hoping for his forgiveness. He wasn't one to be underestimated. She knew now that the city shouldn't have listened to the babe’s father. They were all going to feel the ramifications of this.

“I am here to bless your child.” He spoke, clearly and slowly, comfortable just taking in the shock and fear on everyone’s face. The mother’s jaw dropped. He wasn't here to curse them? The father was simply astonished. He had forsaken this god and instead of ruining them, he was here to bless their child?

“Ah. Alright. Thank you for the gift.” The parents said, chiming in at intervals. He cocked an eyebrow, “I'm not sure you're going to want to thank me before you even know what the gift is.”

They nodded vigorously, hoping that if they agreed with everything he said, he would go away faster. He approached the baby, brushing her vermillion hair away from her face, and whispered under his breath words that made the air electric. Golden dust swirled around the baby, and a tattoo formed under her eye.

“I’ve given her a gift. However, every one of you in this nasty city is cursed. With what, I won't tell you. I will take my leave.”

He left, his shoes clicking on the smooth marble floor. Within minutes, they had all forgotten the incident, except for one thing, their child must never be believed. Her words would be considered insane from the start.

…

I stood up, about to say something. But as I opened my mouth, I remembered. They had told me that if I said anything they didn't like, they would shut me up in the room. The room is not my happy place like people say theirs is. It's only a place they send me when I'm “misbehaving”. I’d much rather my happy place be in the temple–where the priestesses are. My prophecies mean nothing to me anymore. I would rather just spend my entire life living in the temple. I wouldn't ruin my vows to the temple for anything. I crack up, giggling high-pitched snorts. What in the Artemis am I saying? I sit back down. Those in the court look at me, creeped out. But it's not like they aren't used to this. I've been insane for a while now. “My prophecies mean nothing to me anymore”? I'm full of crap. There’s nothing I love more than my prophecies. Or is it the temple? I'm not sure anymore. Maybe this is what insanity looks like. Two differing perspectives on the same thing, trading opinions back and forth. Or maybe I’m just so insane that I’m trying to justify my insanity. I stand up again and wander out of the court. Maybe being outside would help me figure out my twisted mind. They yell behind me, but they can't do anything. They made me who I am.

…

Her name was Trust, and she was nothing like her name. She would roll your secrets into a small orb, and gift it to anyone interested in its colors. Even if they said nothing, she would surprise them, wrapping the ball in pretty paper, and dropping it at their feet, letting them figure out what she had said. She was only a step on the Rumor train. Hundreds stepped on the platform, leaving orbs rolling across the floors and ceilings. The train never truly stopped, there were only stations where the train would grab the multicolored secrets, and let them hang from the ceiling, like little fireflies.

Trust loved what she did. She would curate the secrets, catalog them, and permit people to take them. For a price. Cliche, she knew, but it made her laugh inside whenever she saw someone blanch when she said that. She worked for the gossip train, traveling around the world collecting every secret left for them. But she had her own array of orbs which was strictly forbidden. No one knew, and she wished to keep it that way. But she knew that even if it were found, she’d be okay. Everyone loved her, even if she didn't deserve it. Sometimes she would step off the train and explore. She was never there for just sightseeing; she came to find new secrets for her collection. It was her only hobby, other than whatever else she did when not on the job.

She paused and thought about it. Was her life just about secrets? She had spent her entire life working towards scoring a life with the Rumor train. Once she was in, she was in for life. Unless of course, she broke one of their treasured rules. She didn’t care for those rules anyway, no one ever got kicked out. She was sure that other people had their collections and did whatever they wanted. She had all right to do the same. Right?

She brushed that waylorn thought away, and focused on getting a new azure orb. That would need a secret that the secret-keeper would never tell their parents. She ticked off the usual things: a secret lover, bad grades, doing drugs, drinking, smoking...she knew where she would find secrets.

The perfect place: a school campus.

A notebook Casing of roses Withered vines forming the lock And the roses hiding the faces Of those penned before

In the bloody petals— The faces who wrote before stand there, beheaded with no way out Trapped in the sanguine

Bloodthirsty flowers Sucking the writer within.

the notebook of overlooked writers and concealed inspiration

Chased

He was ablaze burning up the road but fire can't last forever

Slowly slowly he waned He was the moon

but forever couldn't breathe And the tides drowned him Only remembered by the remnant of smoke and the absence of light.

he withered fell apart Like a blossom who forgot what water was And vanished

Just smoke and the absence of light Instead of a blazing fire.

…

Missing

where was he? Screaming and shrieking I couldn't take Couldn't cope

Where was my brother? My spark of a brother That used to breathe life into the world

forgotten air and the absence of him Where was he? Missing

…

Another regret

He told me That he was chased I didn't listen

I wrote it off As his beautiful Imagination

Forgot that he wasn't always going to be here

That I was supposed to listen Not write him off Just another regret

…

No happy ending

Years ago I once had a brother He was my spark of life Dripping pastels fading to monochrome

Just smoke And the absence of light

Forevermore Without him

If I had listened? Maybe life wouldn't be monochrome For me No happy ending

She had always been runner-up Always the second place Always the one who didn't make it

Forgotten while the confetti showers- and she forces herself to remember That she won instead

That instead of in the shadows She basked in the light Confetti in her hair

When she had forever been forgotten never to be seen

Riya looked on as Daya scrambled to find the ring. Daya began to rub her temples, knowing that sooner or later, Riya would end up laughing at the entire situation. She kept digging as patrons of the esteemed restaurant rose their eyebrows, wondering what kind of grime had stumbled upon their elegant dinner. They, however, held their head high because even if the mere presence of the two was degrading the restaurant by the minute, they were the epitome of class. Riya felt like giggling but held it in to spare Daya the embarrassment. Instead of laughing, Riya shoved her fist into her mouth, hoping it would muffle her giggles. Daya looked up, her hands smelling like tiramisu. “Excuse me?” Daya said, giving up on ever finding the ring in the mess of tiramisu. “Yes? Do you need something?” The waiter looked at the table and then at the two women, wondering what just happened. “Well, for starters, I’d like to have a napkin,” Daya began to say as the waiter gawked, wondering if the one napkin was going to cut it. “Okay, fine. Maybe five?” Daya added, tentatively looking at Riya for approval. Riya nodded, realizing that if they didn't clean up fast, they'd be thrown out of the restaurant for causing disruptions. This restaurant was known for its stingy policies. No one could come in here without impeccable formal wear or manners. The minute customers or employees don't follow the rules is the minute they get thrown out. They were pushing it. The waiter hurriedly got the napkins and shoved them in Daya’s hands. “Here. Take them.” He seemed to be doing this so his boss wouldn't throw him out for aiding and abetting disruptions. “Clean up, I don't want to lose my job.” Daya began to scrub at the mess, simultaneously looking for the ruby ring she had purchased. She wasn't going to pay for this fancy dinner, endure the pointed noses of the elitist, and not propose to Riya. Finally, all that was left of the smashed cake was only a faint brown stain on the white cloth. But she still hadn’t found the ring. Suddenly the floor tipped. Daya lost her footing and almost dragged the food off the table. Riya had caught her wrist as she herself struggled to stay upright. Daya got to her feet and slid back into her chair- “Diners! I’m the owner of this restaurant.” The black man ambled across the floor, his steps calculated. “Esteemed customers, please. Stay calm. I’m going to find out what has happened, alright? Please sit tight.” Riya began to panic. She hated not doing anything. Her version of a nice evening, not that Daya had cared, was of an exhilarating night of fun followed by Indo-Chinese takeout. Instead, she was here, in this floating restaurant, trying not to gag at the snails on the plate next to her. Even now, the night seemed to go up in flames. She was done. She stood up, grabbed her bag, and left. She. Was. Done. “Riya!”

She wanders around, looking for cucumbers as she suddenly spots him. He stands in front of her, nervously wringing his fingers. “Hi..? Can you let me pass?” She says, hoping that he’d just move out of her way. “Oh! Sorry, I just wanted to ask you-” “Ask me what? C’mon, Casimir-destroyer of peace. Come up with something a little less stalkery if you want me back.” She interjects, yet again praying for him to just go away. “Wha-? No. I just-” “Just what?” “Ugh! You're insufferable! Stop calling me Casimir! That's not my name!” He yells, angry, even after promising himself that he wouldn't yell at her, at least until he got what he wanted. “Well, to me it is. So why are you here, oh Casimir?” She asks, genuinely curious to see if it's important. “Because...I need you to loan me a few bucks. I got tangled up with some bad sorts.” He says, nervous, yet confident that the Erini he knows will do what he wishes, even though she broke up with him. To his surprise, instead of submitting, she questions him, “Can't you ever”, she says to him, scoffing, “do anything by yourself?” “You bitch. I ask you one thing; you can't just obey and give me the money?” He reacts, disgusted at her behavior. What worth do girls that speak their mind have to him? Or any other man, for that matter? “One thing? ONE THING? How many times have you borrowed money, time, MY LOVE from me? When have you ever repaid me? I know love isn't something to be lent out, but have you ever really loved me? Or did you just love the idea of love? Of someone unconditionally giving you time, love, and money without a limit? I'm not helping you. I will walk right past you, and I am going to call the police if you ever talk to me again.” He began to speak, but before he could even finish his sentence, she already knew. He was going to say some crap about how he won't LET her leave. What kind of man doesn't even see his faults and still fixates on control? She brushed past him, as he finally choked out, “I won't let you.” “You don't LET me do anything, not anymore.”