The sun shines its fiery gaze As soft feet dance atop blistering sands Relief comes in the form of an oceans wave Sizzling skin seeks refuge under umbrella shade As the sun refuses to fade Its plain to see That the heat of the day Is here to stay

Out in a field in the middle of Wyoming, a father and daughter lie underneath the stars. Every star is shining just as bright as the next. “I’ve never seen the stars this bright before,” says the daughter. “It’s beautiful.” It was a significant change from the skies of Los Angeles, California. “That’s because there’s no light pollution. The only light out here is the moon and the stars,” says the father. “How many stars do you think are out there?” “Thousands, I bet.” “More.” “Millions?” “More.” “More than millions? What’s more than a million?” “There are approximately two hundred trillion billion stars in our universe alone. It’s hard to comprehend that amount, huh? In other words, there are about two hundred sextillion stars out there.” She smiles and giggles to herself. “You said sex.” He smiles at her and laughs. He hadn’t heard her laugh in such a long time. Not since her mother, his wife passed away from cancer. He finds that he is tearing up thinking about her, but not in a sad way. He’s happy that his daughter is happy, at least in this moment. “I did, didn’t I?” “How many zeroes are in a sextillion?” “Twenty-one zeroes.” “Wow, that’s a lot!” She kept her gaze on the stars, seemingly trying to wrap her head around the vast number of stars. “Is that where momma is? Up in the stars?” “I’m sure she is up there, amongst the stars,” he said, more tears welling in his eyes. “Where among the stars do you think she is? Can we go see her?” How he wished he could go back and trade places with her. She loved her little girl more than anything else, even the stars. “I’d reckon she’s up in a cluster of stars known as the Quintuplet Cluster.” “What’s that?” “The Quintuplet Cluster is a beautiful cluster of stars, twenty-five thousand light years away from us.” “Could we walk there? If you believe enough? You always said that if you believe hard enough, dreams come true. Well, I’m dreaming of seeing momma again.” A shooting star shot across the sky, followed by one, two, no, nearly a dozen more. It was as if she had heard them talking about her, letting them know she was there and that she was listening to them. As if you she never left. “I did say that, didn’t I? We could try.” “How far away is twenty-five thousand light years? How long would it take if we walked?” “A long, long time. A light year is about 5.9 trillion miles long. We’d have to walk pretty fast.” “We could run!” she was giggling. Then she stopped and asked, “What does the Quintuplet Cluster look like?” “Oh, it’s beautiful. It looks like bright multi-colored Christmas lights. Your mother loved Christmas. It was her favorite holiday.” “We’ll have to bring her a Christmas present when we see her!” “What would you bring her?” She ponders for a moment, then says, “Something yellow.” “Yellow? Isn’t that your favorite color?” “Oh yeah. Maybe we should bring her something green. Forest green!” The stars seem to brighten at the very thought of getting a Christmas present. “Let’s go, honey.” “I’m not ready to go yet; I wanna stay with momma a little longer.” “I know,” he says as he takes her hand. “Close your eyes.” “Why?” “We’re gonna go see your momma,” he says, almost in a whisper. She didn’t say anything; she just did as he asked. They lie beneath the stars, and as they drift off to sleep, a bright multitude of colors starts flashing behind their closed eyes. When they open their eyes, they’re surrounded by a million stars varying in color. Greens, yellows, purples, and reds. “Woah! Where are we?” the daughter says. “The Quintuplet Cluster,” he says. Hand in hand, they walk down a boulevard of shining Christmas stars. At the end of the stars is a woman illuminated by the colors. “Momma!” screams the little girl, tears falling down her cheek. The man smiles and begins to choke up as well.

Who is the author Of this never-ending play What act are we on All the world’s a stage Your role not yet decided What part will you play Are you an extra Or are you cast as the lead How bright will you shine A word of advice Everyone is a critic Don’t take it to heart Once you’re six feet deep There won’t be a curtain call The show must go on

Suffering sad eyes Follow him around the room Pleading him to stop Windows to the soul Shattered battered and beaten Shades of black and blue Bleeding tears stream down He can change she knows he can Mascara covered He bought her flowers “I’m sorry” he would tell her “I had a bad day” She saw in his eyes His empty and hollow eyes He didn’t mean it Heading for the door She’s been abused long enough He blocks the doorway Her eyes go dead red Bringing down a knife to flesh His eyes are lifeless

Stuck inside this maze You turn left and you turn right Just keep on turning You will get out soon If you just keep on turning Can you see the end You can’t see the end Why are the walls closing in I said keep turning Put your trust in me I know what is best for you Just don’t stop turning You can’t take control Going straight is a dead end Why’d you stop turning I won’t lead you astray I have your best interests Turn and turn again Do not defy me There is no easy way out Do not stop turning Give me back control I own you you are not free Turn back from the light Sunshine on my skin The voices have gone to sleep No more turns I’m free

Egg Michael Strom was born on February 15, 1945. His mother, Johanna Strom, was loving and attentive. She tried her hardest to raise him to be a smart, kind, and gentle man. But his father, Ernest Strom, was a bitter, miserable, drunk man. Ernest openly abused his wife in front of his son. Both physically and emotionally. His son was destined to be just like him. Growing up, Michael tried to endure his father's wrath. He tried to protect his mother when his father had his drunken fits of rage. He’d only end up on the floor beside his unconscious mother, blood dripping from his busted lip. When Michael was 10 years old, his mother left without a word. She just packed a bag and left. Even after all the times, Michael tried to save her, she abandoned him. Of course, his father blamed him for her leaving, even though he abused her just about every single day and night. Larva Michael grew up very poor. His father could never hold a job for longer than a month. Fired for drinking on the job, fighting, or just plain not showing up. Michael was forced to provide for himself. He would steal from convenience stores and out the back of parked delivery trucks. He had no other choice. I suppose he could have gotten a job. Maybe that would’ve saved him. Who knows? Perhaps it just wasn’t in his cards. Life has a path for us all and this was Michael Strom’s path. When Michael was 15, his father went to jail. He became homeless and stealing from the back of delivery trucks and convenience stores weren’t cutting it anymore. Michael resorted to robbing passersby. He was on a dangerous path and if he didn’t change soon, he’d end up just like his father, or worse. But the hate in Michael's heart was just too strong. A while after he started robbing people, he decided that wasn’t enough. He started beating them too. He felt it was a way to relieve some of his pent-up aggression. One unfortunate evening, Michael picked the wrong person to rob. Former golden gloves champion out of Arkansas. Now, Michael was a strong fellow. He was built like a tank. Needless to say, he put Michael right into the hospital. Lying in the hospital bed, Michael was ready for a change. Chrysalis After Michael got out of the hospital, he stopped at a convenience store. He used the little bit of cash he had left to buy a bag of peanuts and a bottle of Coke. On the counter, there was a flyer for an upcoming boxing tournament. The winner would be paid $200. Michael never considered becoming a boxer. But after the beat down that golden gloves guy gave him, he reconsidered. He knew he wouldn’t be able to strong-arm his way to victory against real competitors. So Michael went to the local boxing gym. Michael had no money, no food, and no bed to lay his head. But he was able to strike up a deal with the local gym owner. The gym owner took interest in Michael on his size alone. So the gym owner trained Michael and gave him a place to sleep in exchange for him cleaning up and helping out around the gym. Michael was determined to not return to the streets. He wanted to make a name for himself. He wanted to be a good man. He would do anything to not become his father. So he trained and bled and trained some more. He hit like a truck and moved like a dancer. Light on his feet and heavy in his hands. It was a deadly combination. Michael entered his first tournament and came out on top, winning the $200. He tried to pay his coach some of his winning but he declined. Told him watching him win was payment enough. You don’t see that nowadays. The coach had a heart of gold. Michael continued to train and bleed and dominate the local circuit. After Michael was becoming more stable, he was able to get his own place and even got himself a nice little girlfriend. He started paying his coach, even though he protested. Michael was finally doing good. Butterfly Michael’s coach decided it was time to step up into the national circuit. And of course, Michael was eager to step up against better competition. Better competition meant better compensation. Better compensation meant more stability. Michael was a trailblazer. Securing first-round knockouts in nearly every bout. The kid was a natural. He found his calling. Michael would go down in history as one of the greatest boxers of all time. Among Ali, Frazier, Sugar Ray. Michael had changed when his path to destruction seemed ironclad. He escaped his father's shadow and defied the hand he was dealt.

Through a sea of stars We would wander aimlessly Endless universe Hand in hand we went Showering in meteors Drinking from the moon A Milky Way swim Us riding on shooting stars Happy forever An abrupt ending An unexpected blackhole Ripping you from me Alone I wander Searching endlessly for you I can’t be without I am at the end Alone I sit on the edge My feet dangling off You were my whole world Staring into the abyss I am coming home

Sgt. Cortez’s body dropped to the ground with a thud. I run out from behind the crumbled wall and begin to pull him to safety. There is a sniper in the bell tower. How did we miss that? A bullet whizzes right past my ear as I pull Sgt. Cortez behind the wall. “Pvt. Henny take these documents, get them back to headquarters. You must keep them safe. In it are the coordinates of dozens of Nazi death camps,” he said through labored breathing. “You must get these back, millions of lives are at stake.” “Aye sir. I won’t let you down.” I stay with him until he takes his last breath. I remove his dog tags, so his sacrifice won’t go unnoticed. The sniper is still in the bell tower. I will have to wait here until dark. Once dark descends I begin my mission. I crouch to stay low and move through the shadows. I entered a nearby prairie, the grass tall enough to hide me. Just as I think I am safe, a bullet flies into the ground next to my foot. Dammit, the sniper is still up in the tower. How did he see me through the darkness? I begin sprinting in a zig-zag pattern. Bullets pass all around me. Once there is a break in fire, I run as fast as I can and dive into the tall grass. I don’t think he can see me anymore. I’ve gone far enough from his eagle eye. To be safe I crawl the rest of the way on my stomach, using my forearms to pull me forward. I’ve been crawling for hours, not stopping for anything. Dawn is here and the sun is slowly rising. The shroud of darkness can no longer hide me. I am too exposed. I stop and begin cutting the tall grass next to me. I fashion it into a ghillie suit, so I blend in with the environment around me. After I am finished, I start crawling once again. Hours go by without a sound. Then I hear the marching of boots and small talk in German. A Nazi patrol is walking through the field. The field in which I am crawling through. Fear freezes me and my blood runs cold. I feel as if the world around me is closing in, suffocating me. I put my head down and I don’t move an inch. The Nazi’s continue their patrol, their boots falling just inches away from my body. One misstep and I am as good as dead. Not just me though, all of those innocent prisoners held captive by the Nazi war machine. I lie there until the patrol passes. They exit the field and turn left into the nearby town. I pull out my St. Christopher medallion and give it a kiss. It isn’t the first time I’ve been blessed by his protection and I am sure it won’t be the last. I continue my crawl and am approaching the end of the field. I slowly stand up and take inventory of my surroundings. Holes litter the ground from a recent artillery barrage. Building lie crumbled, reduced to nothing but ash and stone. I stand up and walk through the town. I crawl through a hole in one of the buildings near me that is still standing. It’ll be nice to get out of the open. I sit down on a chair and take a needed rest. I pull out some food rations from my bag and check to see if the documents are still secure. They are and so is Sgt. Cortez’s dog tags. I begin to eat. A Tiger tank rolls into the town square. That is the last thing that I need, the Nazi’s most powerful tank to roll up on me. I get low and begin to make my way out of the building and into its neighboring one. As I enter the next building, a Nazi turns around. His gun is on the table just out of reach from him. He starts yelling in German and begins to reach for his rifle. I charge him and knock him to the ground. I grab his rifle and begin repeatedly bashing him in the skull. I do not want to fire because that would draw the Tiger tank on me. Another soldier came rushing in and drew his gun on me. Luckily I was the faster draw. I fire a shot right between his eyes. I didn’t want to fire but I had no choice. The Tiger tank’s main cannon swiveled around to where I was and fires. I was already well out of the house by then. The tank’s gunner saw me though and drew a bead on me. Firing the MG-42 in quick bursts, one of the bursts tore up my leg. I fall to the ground and let out a scream. The gun looked as if it had jammed but the tank’s main cannon was turning on me. I close my eyes and grab a hold of my medallion. A tank’s cannon fires but not the Tiger’s. A company off American soldiers had pulled up. The Sherman tank had fired hitting the Tiger’s weak rear armor. The Tiger started to back up and turn but another Sherman fired. And then another. Three allied tanks destroyed the Tiger with ease. A medic runs to me while the other soldiers secure the perimeter. He bandages my leg and I tell him that I have important documents that need to be delivered to Headquarters. I am loaded into a jeep and we drive out of the fray and into Allied safety. I’m on crutches as I hand the Allied general the documents. “Good work son. You just saved a whole lot of people. Now let’s go get them,” the general said with a determined grin. I take out my medallion and kiss it once more. I say a prayer for Sgt. Cortez.