A breeze blows through, hot and dry As the August sun beats down from the sky Above, the trees tremble and shake But below, in the garden, the plants stand Well kept by a diligent hand Despite relying on no stake

A man kneels next to one of the plants Never minding the dirt on his pants Dutifully he prunes each yellow leaf And gives each plant a healthy drink As he lets his mind calm and think He treats each plant as a classic relief

In his other hand is a basket woven and old As he picks each fruit red, ripe, and bold He places them carefully in the vessel As his old back aches while he bends down And his sore knees kneel on the ground But it’s worth it for the fruit safety nestled

His calls a name across the lawn And sees a child wide eyed like a fawn Run to him with dirt on her chin She smiles at him as he hands her a berry And she bites into it feeling quite merry Tasting the sweet acid, she gives a grin

He looks now at the thing he grew Grown since but once no taller than fescue As he stands up, he lifts her as well And ignores his back as he takes her inside For water and to eat the fruit at his side On the hot August day, the breeze swells

It had begun as a trickle.

He startled awake at the feeling of the tiny droplets hitting his face. He grabbed at the compass around his neck, an automatic action. Realistically he knew that it would do little to protect him, but it was habit at this point. In the past, it would guide him when he was lost. It would bring him to a place of comfort, a place of safety.

Such a place no longer existed.

He stood and felt the sway of the boat beneath him. The storm was rolling in fast, the sky a cloudy grey that was darkening by the minute. The droplets were growing in size and the waves were becoming choppier.

He was inexperienced in sailing, but even he knew that the situation was growing dire when he felt the boat lurch beneath his feet, nearly knocking him over-board. He scanned the horizon for land, or a ship - he wasn’t feeling very picky - but instead he saw only the dark waters surrounding him. Distantly he registered that this would have been avoided if he had waited a few days as Rose had instructed.

The rain beat against his skin, it stung, but not enough to distract him from the large wave that was approaching him - fast. He jumped to grab the side of the boat in a desperate attempt to stay aboard, but he wasn’t near quick enough. The wave stole him from the side and dragged him below the depths.

He struggled in the darkness, each move he made feeling like a shard of ice in his rib cage. The water rushed in his ears. He felt himself spin, caught in the frozen embrace, and though he tried to swim toward the surface, he couldn’t tell which way he was facing.

Suddenly, a noise broke through the churning water. A voice.

He understood none of the words spoken, but he felt drawn toward the sound. He could feel it in his bones, taking over the ice and darkness and replacing it with a the warmth that he had been missing. He realized that his eyes had been closed, and when he opened them he was surprised to see a bright green light ushering him forward. He ignored the sting of the salt water, barely registered it.

He felt himself floating towards the voice. It grew in strength as he approached and through the murky waters he saw a figure. He drifted towards them, and as they turned he saw that they were, in fact, the origin of the sound.

It was then that he realized that the light was coming from the jewel set in the diadem they wore. It momentarily distracted him from the rest of their appearance. The mouth that seemed open as though caught in a perpetual scream, the bleach white teeth in its mouth. The green skin and hollow cheeks.

The sockets where its eyes used to be.

He was caught by panic as he desperately scrambled for the surface, clawing at the water around him. He no longer heard the voice, nor the waves, but rather the sound of his heartbeat rushing in his ears.

He thrashed until he broke the surface of the water. He felt something solid - wood maybe - and grasped for it. He sputtered water that he hadn’t realized he had swallowed and felt relief at the sight of the sky. Still dark and grey, but brighter than the water. He held onto what he now recognized as a piece of drift wood like a life line.

He only realized that his relief was ill-founded when he saw another wave coming toward him.

It began with the Sisters, numbered three The Eldest given the Sun and the Sky The Second the Moon and the Sea The Third the Earth & Souls of those that Die The Second and the First, They were glad for their tasks With confidence they were versed In controlling the Tide and making Time pass But the Third, within her, Resentment grew With Fury in her Veins she took a Stake And used it to kill those who she best knew Only once done did she see her Mistake The sky full of stars seemed dead and cold A place once so magical now hurt to behold.

“Run! Quick, get out of here!” May whispered in my ear, fear evident in her tone.

“Relax,” Serenity said while checking her nails. “We’ve done this loads of times.”

“Not like this! Not in front of so many people!”

“Guys,” I murmured, rubbing my temples. “You aren’t helping.”

Logan suddenly leaned in, “Correct, as it stands the both of you will only make this worse.” I thanked the stars for him, he was the only reasonable one here.

Then I felt a jolt, quietly groaning I looked behind me, “Buzz? I really don’t need this right now.”

“Awww, what’s the matter? After this is over then you and Logan can go to the library and do whatever you two do in there.” He grinned.

Logan looked at him with an almost concerned glance, “Read?”

May gasped and we turned to see her horrified expression, “You forgot it at home!”

Serenity didn’t even look up from her phone, “It’s right in front of you dingus.”

“Will you guys quit it!” I whisper yelled. People where beginning to look at us and honestly, I couldn’t deal with that right then.

Suddenly, the sound of my teacher calling me cut through all of the voices in my head, “Danny? I believe that it’s your turn.”

Shaking, I stood up. I hate public speaking.

Your lips are red Your skin is blue You were never wed But he still loves you Your body lay cold You chose him over Me You shall never grow old My heart feels so heavy You left with barely a word You had no time to cry or weep You flew away like Bat or bird Now Darkness begins to creep He stays by your side, ever dutiful While I think you’ve never looked more beautiful.

Note: while writing this I’m re-reading Dracula. This poem was inspired by the part where Dr. Seward spends TWO ENTIRE PAGES describing how attractive he finds Lucy’s corpse, while HER FIANCÉ is in the room. No I’m not kidding, yes I wish that I was.

Tick Tock. Tick Tock. Tick Tock. Tick Tock

I sat outside of the bar covered window watching the man inside. He rushed around the tiny room covered wall to wall in clocks. Suddenly he began whispering, “Hickory Dickory dock...”

It had been 12 years since I had heard that voice. 12 years since that night, but I still remembered it clearly. The smell of pipe smoke. Pounding on the door. My father’s calloused hands grabbing my arm and shoving me beneath a loose floor board. The creaking of the door swinging open. An unfamiliar voice, “John Clevis?” Then my father, “Yes? How can I help you gentlemen?” “I here by place you under arrest for the creation and distribution of unauthorized inventions.” As I laid listening to the one person who had always been there for me being taken away, I desperately felt the need to be soothed, even if it was by myself. So I opened my mouth and quietly sang the words that my father comforted me with so many sleepless nights, “the mouse ran up the clock...”

I was brought out of my thoughts as a distant clock tower rang out once through the still night. My attention returned to the man as he stopped his tinkering and said, “The clock struck one...” I could no longer bear to watch. I began my decent down the prison wall and was almost out of earshot when I heard, “The mouse went down...” I looked up to see the man I called father with his face pressed against the bars looking down at me. My heart skipped a beat. I wanted to say something, but I looked in his eyes and saw no recognition. He didn’t remember me. I wanted to tell him who I was, that I missed him. I wanted to take him far away from that place, but instead I simply looked up to him and said, “Hickory, dickory, dock,” before continuing to climb down. As my feet hit the ground I could still hear his clocks.

Tick Tock. Tick Tock. Tick Tock. Tick Tock.

Consciousness creeped into my mind like a thief through the night. My mind was working a mile a minute, struggling to comprehend the predicament that I was in. The last thing that I remembered was radioing Knight to let her know that I had infiltrated the compound and then- “I know that you’re awake.” He had gotten the drop on me. I slowly opened my eyes. Everything had a reddish tinge to it, meaning that I still had my helmet on. I took a relieved breath. That was good. It meant that I was secure. In that moment I felt childish, like a kid that hides under the covers because everyone knows that the monster can’t get you if you’re completely hidden. But what most people don’t know is that there are many, many monsters out there. Each one is different, and with this one- hiding may be a death sentence. “Long time, no see,” I responded as casually as I could. “How have you been, Tower? Do you even go by that alias anymore? I think that I’ll just call you Ivan for now.” “Like you’re one to talk. What is it that they call you now? Rook? I’d say that Ten suited you much more.” I huffed a laugh, “No one’s called me that for eight years.” “Right, not since that night,” up until then he had been circling me, but he stopped and squatted in front of the chair I was handcuffed to. “How long had you been planning to sell me out? Hmm? Since the beginning?” I couldn’t help but look down in shame, “Bosnia.” “Right, you couldn’t handle it could you?” “She was a child!” “And you were weak!” He shouted in my face, I did my best not to flinch. He narrowed his eyes at me. “All you had to do was eliminate her, but instead, I had to clean up your mess.” He gave a dark chuckle, “You know, at first I couldn’t understand it. I took you off the streets, I fed you, I taught you to fight, I treated you like family, and you sold me out.” His words were laced with venom, “But then I thought about why you wanted to be called ‘The Ten of Swords’. “Originally I had thought that you wanted to take after me, ‘The Tower’. It represents destruction, disaster, and danger, but also freedom and liberation. Do you know what the Ten of Swords means? Of course you do.” He leaned in so close that I could smell his awful cologne, “What it means is painful endings, deep wounds, and betrayal.” He said the last word with such distain that I actually flinched. I summoned all the courage I could muster. “If that’s what this is about then kill me already.” He laughed. Actually laughed. “Oh no no no! I was never going to kill you!” He flicked on the monitor next to him. The screen showed five people, “Instead, I’ll just eliminate your team.”

He was starving.

Not physically. Physically he was sound: seven feet tall, with toned muscles. He was handsome from a far, but when in person his appearance held a few oddities. His eyes were two different colors, one being blue and the other a vibrant magenta. His skin was a patch work of colors held together by visible stitches, and from his mouth emerged two pointed tusks. He knew of geometry, and of art, and he could calculate the exact amount of force needed to crush a person’s skull; yet he didn’t know how he knew these things. At the same time he could not remember things from before. Before the bright lights, and the orders, and the constant poking with needles. He could not remember the reason why the number 238 was tattooed on his chest or why everyone called him by it. Was it his name? Was he the 238th one created? He longed to ask, but knew that the Broca’s area of his brain was damaged. He hungered, but he knew not for what. It changed when they appeared. They had been different. Up until then his life had simply been barked orders and cruel reprimands, but they- they were kind. They had originally tried to fight him, one with her Spellbook and the other with her bow. It had completely surprised him when the one who had previously been firing arrows at him suddenly stopped. She reached into her pocket and produced a flower, offering it to him. He couldn’t remember being given anything before. He followed them, he fought for them, and they freed him from the sewers where he was held captive. On the surface, they found a way to restore his voice, and his first words were, “238... grateful.” He had been starving, but now he felt satisfied. As it turns out, he was longing for friendship.

Everyone has a superpower.

No, not necessarily flight. Or laser vision. Just an ability gained over time. Not everyone even realizes that they have a power, but it’s a skill that is picked up though one’s experiences in life. When I was young, my parents would fight. Through this I learned what anger, desperation, and fear looked like. When I was five years old, there was a dog that lived in my neighborhood. It didn’t belong to anyone, but people would feed it, bring it in during a storm, or set out a bowl of water for it during the summer. One day it was found in the street, lying still. I looked around at the faces around me and learned what sadness, grief, and -in some cases-indifference looked like. When I was twelve I moved to a new school. At this point I knew what people were feeling based on their body language. One of my previous teachers had told me that I was very empathetic. I told myself that this was my superpower. Like mind reading, but a roundabout way of doing so. I knew when people were feeling happy, afraid, tired, annoyed. And I was proud of my superpower. I was ostracized almost immediately upon arriving at this new school. I was the weird new kid. I smelled like ash and was covered in strange yellow and purple spots. No one offered to sit with me at lunch. Written upon their faces I could clearly see confusion, disgust, and weariness. I tried not to let it bother me to much, they would come around. Wouldn’t they? The last bell had just rang, and I was about to go home when I heard someone behind me say, “Joan?” I turned to see my home room teacher. I looked at her expectantly, but I wasn’t sure if I should speak or not. Her face was kind, but her brow was creased. I tried to decided what she was feeling. Concern? Pity? Yes to both, but there was something more. “Yes, Ma’am?” I asked cautiously. “I are you alright? Would you like to talk about anything? I noticed that you seemed nervous towards the other students.” No, I corrected in my head, I was observing them. Instead I said, “I think that they were more nervous towards me than the other way around.” Again that emotion that I couldn’t place flashed across her face, “I noticed that you have a lot of bruises. Is everything alright?” I wasn’t expecting this in the slightest. “Yeah, I-um-I’m just really clumsy. I fall down, a lot.” Anger? That didn’t fit. “Okay, I just wanted to let you know that if you need to talk about anything, I’m here.”

I didn’t take her up on her offer for a long time, but eventually, I realized what emotion she was feeling. I had never seen it before, but I was surprised at how it changed my life. She showed me compassion.

Cloudy days never go away, The sun doesn’t come out to play. I’d cry, but you hated tears. So I’ll sit and mope, But never give up hope Of seeing you again, my Dear.

When I was young you lifted me high, Now like a bird I’ve learned to fly. And still you softly coo. When I couldn’t stand you held me tight, And then you taught me how to Fight For what is Just and what is True.

You consoled everyone of my fears, And spoke out against the points and jeers What would I do without you? And for yourself you never cared Your love with everyone you openly shared For that is what Fathers are meant to do.