It’s unmistakable. The soft glow of these creatures in the fog. The dimming sky lets me know that they’re coming out soon. I shudder. It’s a cool night, and I didn’t wear nearly as many layers as I should have. Chestnut, my brown horse, whinnies in alarm. My head rapidly turns, my eyes darting around to see what could have startled him. I knew there was only one thing here that could. The walls of mist grow higher, thicker. I can’t see more than five feet in front of me, now. I reach into one of the sacks I had strapped around Chestnut’s neck and feel around for a moment. When I’m sure of what I’m touching, I pull a silvery revolver out. Of course, I know a gun won’t do anything to these creatures. But maybe, just maybe the sound of the shots will scare them off. Out of the corner of my eye, I see an angelic figure. But it’s the farthest thing from an angel. I shoot at it. I shoot at it multiple times, desperate to make it disappear. But it doesn’t. It just floats there. I lock eyes with it. It locks eyes with me. It’s mesmerizing. I can’t look away. I try, but I can’t. It’s like it has cast a spell on me. I knew this would happen. I’m foolish, the lowest of the low. Why did I think I could avoid this? All this misty meadow brings is death, and everyone knows that. Chestnut rears up, neighing in fright. His hooves land back down and something crunches underneath them. I barely make it to my next breath before I guess it was a human skull. Suddenly, my mind shuts down. I can’t think. I can’t act. I’m barely conscious of anything happening around me. All I see is the creature. The glow. Creature. Glow. Creature. Glow. Creature. Closer, now. Glow. Creature. Black.

I feel my heartbeat in my head, making its way down to my fingertips. I am running. The tunnel I am running in is collapsing, caving in on itself. Chunks of dirt and rubble rain down on me, showering my skin in an unwanted array of soot. Why did I think this was a good idea? Risking everything to steal this piece of junk, and for what? To be rich? To bring glory to my family? Well, forget all of that, I may as well already be dead. The small sack around my shoulder consisted of one thing; A deep blue gem. It was said to grant the user any wish. I cry as a few specks of dirt fly into one of my eyes, blinding me momentarily. But I keep running. I will never stop running. My legs are worked raw. I start to slow down, my body succumbing to muscle fatigue. If I stop now, I will surely die. Every part of my body will be buried in the ground, and dirt will fill my mouth and nostrils and inevitably make its way into my lungs, suffocating me. But that’s only if I don’t die on impact. I stumble on every single rock that passes under my feet. This, combined with the fact that it feels like my legs are about to fall off, make all hope inside me disintegrate. Death looms over my shoulders as I use up my last bit of energy. Running. Still running. “Maddie!” I hear a random voice call. My head snaps up, and I take a look at my scenery. Not a cave. Not a dirt tunnel. My backyard. The air smells of hotdogs and grill smoke. The sounds of adults talking and little cousins running around gleefully in the grass fills my ears. I look down. My hands are clutching the book so tightly my knuckles are white. My heartbeat slows, becoming more relaxed as I realize I’m not in a collapsing tunnel. I’m at a family Summer cookout. Again, my mother calls my name. “Maddie! Come on, fix a plate! Foods ready.” I breathe in the smells around me, get up, and go on my way, leaving my book in the grass behind me to be continued.

It’s easier to tell someone the truth when you can’t see their face. Like a news reporter, repeating horrific events with their words Without so much as a single tear. Or like some coward Too afraid to tell their partner that they think they need to take a break. So they do it over text. Like someone who leaves a letter, saying they’ve ran away From home. From their life. From the person who’s heart they have broken. It is much, much easier to tell someone the truth When you don’t have to look at them. But does being easy Make something right?

The day had been good, the first of a weeklong church event called Sonblast. The beach day in Panama had been fun. The children, around 7-9 at the time, were being crowded towards the beach by the adults. Pastor Austin, the kids Pastor at the time, had brought his guitar out so that everyone could sing worship songs on the beach before dark. Under the purpling sky, the group sat on the cooling sand. When Pastor Austin looked up, he and some others noticed a huge storm cloud coming straight for the beach. They had to make this quick. The kids sang along to the strum of the guitar. After the last song, Tremble, they all got up to start leaving. They looked up. The sky was absolutely clear.

Freedom is a weird thing, that’s for sure. What is it, really? Does anyone want complete freedom? Does everyone want to be freed from rules, from order? From any control at all? Would the world be more wonderful, or just chaotic? Would people be happier, or would it break humanity? What is freedom? To be completely liberated from all rules and order? So you have almost no idea what your doing or where to go next? Is this the wonderful cost of free will? Is this freedom? What is freedom?

Something about this place… It had felt off as soon as she had stepped onto the dock. She followed her friend Skylar to the edge of the water. The wood was damp with lake water and mist hung in the air. She could smell the wet earth. All the trees had been stripped bear by early Winter. Piles of dead and decaying leaves sat unmoving. The only sign of life around the lake was the occasional twitter of a bird, chatter of a squirrel, or a ripple on the lake’s surface. Today, the lake was still and glassy. The air was humid, making it uncharacteristically warm, considering the fact that it was late Winter. “Come on, Livi! You’re not gonna die.” Urged Skylar. Livi glanced at her friend, utterly confused of why Skylar could ever want to come to this place. Livi couldn’t imagine what was going through Skylar’s head. “Skylar, am I the only person here that remembers what happened here?” Livi said, her voice small. Skylar’s expression softened a small amount, but even then, Livi knew Skylar wasn’t planning on turning back now. “Just a quick look!” Skylar pleaded. As if Livi had any control whatsoever over the situation. As they walked further down the dock, Livi felt her body grow weak. Her brain clouded with fear and she felt like throwing up. She glanced down despite herself. She could see the slight outline of bloodstains on the wood, faded by water and time. She couldn’t go any further. She stumbled backwards, unable to keep her balance. “I’m sorry.” Livi squeaked. “I can’t do this.” She turned and started to flee. “Wait-“ She heard Skylar, but then the sound was cut off. It got her. Livi didn’t have to turn around. She knew it by the screams. She knew it by the sound of water splashing. She had seen it before. She wasn’t going to see it again.

She couldn’t look in the mirror. She was afraid of what she might see. She was used to her dirty blonde curls. Not the blank face monster that would look back at her. She chanced a glance at the mirror’s reflective surface, slightly clouded with age. She had to quickly divert her gaze back to her feet. It wasn’t her. It wasn’t her. The black face in the mirror. The glaring, silver eyes. It wasn’t her. It was never going to be her. She would make sure of that.

The scene was glorious. To the ordinary person, all they would see was the whiteness. The frigidness. To them, it would be empty. Like an empty house with white walls and no heater. Only coolness. Empty, white, and freezing. I see the colors. Each and every shade as it bounces off of the snow as if it was a trampoline. Simply reflecting. The freezing wind rushes across my face, adding a crimson tint to my nose and cheeks. It whips around my hair as the sun rays give it golden streaks. There are pastel colors reflecting in the snow. Pale colors, but oh, so beautiful. Baby blues and light pinks. Muted yellows and pastel greens. The snow was a giant blanket of Opals, each and every inch with it’s own distinct colors and patterns. Every speck of ice with it’s own tint. It’s own shade. It’s own hue. Christmas snow is wonderful. Beautiful. Wonderful. Unique. Magical.

It was wonderful. It was normal, of course, but it managed to take her breath away every time. She lay on her back, her face tilted to the sky. The grassy hill provided the perfect place to watch the sunset and then stargaze. At this time of year, it was the best time to do so. Summer slowly shifted into fall, painting the trees the color of flames. The Earth seemed to be in the middle of a cool, constant, raging wildfire of reds and golds. The soft breeze rustled the grass and trees and chilled her face, turning the tip of her nose the color of a fresh, red, Winter poinsettia. The fiery scene contrasted with the purpling sky. The faint freckles of stars were starting to appear on the horizon, and strokes of pink and blue softly streaked the cotton-white clouds above. This was one of her favorite nights. One of her favorite Tennessee sunsets.

What I’m the world? My head is spinning. The daily prompt for English Class is “Make a story about a hero that saves the town”. What does the teacher think we are, kindergarteners? I miss the creative prompts that Mrs.Brewer used to give us. They weren’t so vague. Okay, think. What could be the name of your hero? What super powers do they have? Everyone is going to say something like “Flying” or “Turning Invisible”. I swear some girl in here is going to say, “ Ice Powers like Elsa!” or something. There’s nothing good left. All the good powers and super hero names are taken. “Sea Girl? Magnet Boy? Metal Woman?” I couldn’t think of anything worse. Gosh, I hate these prompts. (P.S, this is not in any way a dig at the prompts given to us by the app. I love them, and they are so creative!) Shoot. Time is up. Well, she never checks them, so I can just put my book up and never think about this again, right? Right.