Every single year, their questions remain the same.

So do my answers. And so does this godawful food. Boiled green beans and overcooked cabbage and a side of soggy mashed potatoes. How is it even possible to mess up mashed potatoes? That’s one of the most foolproof foods out there, along with cheese pizza and vanilla ice cream. And yet, every year, they manage to make it so it’s both gluey and mushy at the same time and has the texture of heavy vomit.

Insufferable, all of them.

I pick up my fork.

“So, Jackie,” my aunt starts, in that saccharine tone of hers, and it’s all I can do to repress a sigh. “I just met your sister’s boyfriend. Matt, right?” It’s Max, actually. Not that it matters. This family has never been one to pay much attention to things such as their guests first names and which comments make their niece’s skin crawl.

“Cool.” I take a reluctant bite off my plate. Somehow the food is extra terrible this year—the flavor has been effectively boiled out of literally everything, even the roast turkey.

“I think he’s a great guy. And it got me thinking, well, you’ve never brought a boy to Christmas dinner.” And, there it is. The very subject that everyone seems to hyperfixate on throughout the holiday season for some unfathomable reason: Jackie’s nonexistent love life. Not my studies, not my art, not my friends, not any of my accomplishments. I almost can’t decide which tradition is worse, the meal or this conversation.

“Yeah, well, I guess I’m just focusing on my studies right now.” Honestly, this food is disgusting. I don’t understand how it’s too hot and too cold.

“Come on, Jackie, you’ve been saying that for years,” my cousin Tina chimes in in her singsong voice. I shift in my seat. To think we used to be close, me and her, before she started dating and forgot about the rest of us.

“I’m just not interested.” My cheeks flush, and I curse internally, fidgeting with my napkin.

“Oh, don’t be all embarrassed,” my aunt continues. “I mean, everyone your age has had a boyfriend by now.” The whole table is looking at me now, smiling, expecting me to give in to their nagging. But there’s nothing for me to say. There never has. God, why can’t they just leave me alone?

Harsh tears burn in my eyes; I refuse to let them fall.

“I just don’t know, guys.” I finish my last few pulpy bites, and get up to put my plate in the sink.

[Not the exact prompt. This was my first assignment for my Intro to Fiction class at PVA, so I ran with it. And, if you know who these characters really are(Tyson and Sergei are replacement names), you need to keep your mouth shut. I love you <3 have fun.]

“I’m not an _actor_, Sergei, and you goddamn know it,” I seethe, eyes wide in the darkness of the ballroom corner I had ducked into. “If you make me talk to _anyone,_ I will personally blow this whole place up and make you work with Jack every single day of your life for the rest of forever.”

Sergei’s mouth twists into a frown, but his eyes crinkle with amusement. “So mean, Tyson. Not like they are going to eat you,” he says, brushing an invisible speck of dust off of my shoulder.

“Just- oh my god, okay,” I breathe out in a rush, looking over my friend’s shoulder at the high-life folk puttering around talking nonsense about the upcoming auction. I cannot believe I am so enraptured by a guy who can’t clock it when he sees it. “Tabloid reporter, dog statue by the main entrance.” Sergei looks over, and sure enough, there’s some young, bright nobody scribbling on a tiny notepad. “Another by the bar,” I continue. “If I slip up and say something stupid, they _will_ find out by the horrible power of tabloid journalism, and it _will_ end up in the_ _news,_ _and I _will_ be_ _fired_. _Got it?”

Sergei tilts his head slightly. Which means that he’s just ignored everything I just said.

“Я не глупый,” he replies gently. “Хочешь, чтобы я говорил, я буду говорить. Но тебе нужно остаться.” _I’m not stupid. If you want me to talk, I will talk. But _you_ need to stay._

__

“No. No! You don’t need me here. We have comms, they have cameras I can hack, and you don’t need me to follow you around like I'm lost.”

“Okay, Tyson,” Sergei says, folding his hands in front of himself, and _oh no_ he’s about to do the thing. The stupid, absurd rant that absolutely should not work, but-

“You are going to leave and somehow get past security,” He starts, and I immediately groan and scrub my hands over my face. “And I’m gonna get myself lost in this ridiculous mansion, and then I’m gonna get shot_,_” he continues, ticking off his fingers, “and stabbed, and maybe even kidnapped_,_ and then I will DIE, and it will be all your fault because you’re being a pussy.” I scoff at that. “Come on, Tyson. Just once. I promise nothing will happen.”

I sigh. It’s one of those long, heaving exhales that parents always use with their kids. 

“And if I say yes?”

“I won’t kill anyone.”

I drop my face into my hands again. 	

“Hmmph,” I mumble, unbelievably swayed by Sergei’s awful attempt at convincing me.

Everybody’s seen this part in movies. This looks like several bad decisions, and I’m about to make them.

“You’re the worst,” I sigh, and Sergei’s face lights up with glee. “Let’s go.”

Stomach turned coughing and splattering. Tangy taste in the mouth inbeween worlds Queasy stomach Sickness Acidic breath Pale eyes, red heart face flush Trembling arms and legs Blood in the eyes Lack of appetite shivering sensation Deathly quiet Something wet underneath Suspicious Feeling of dread The stitch The stench miasma

I’m sitting at the table Trying not to cry Mom shoots me a look So I drown the tears inside

I smile and say my “please” and “thank you”s I laugh as Grandma talks about how big I’ve gotten (she doesn’t know I’ve binged too often) My uncle pats me on the back The jolliest of this jolly pack They all laugh and sing and shout A family reunion brings joy about

I smile although I want to die (they must never see me cry) Mother is angry but wont let it show At least, not until we go home

Dinner is over I’m feeling sober The sooner the shouts start The sooner its over It’s my fault really I had it coming Who told me to cut on reunion morning

. Only half of me is invited to dinner since I told them my truth

We keep things polite and fun but when they ask the dating life questions
they skip me so they can pretend they’re with the straight me

                   that they 
                           love 
                         more

    that they’re more 
                        used 
                            to 

           Their silence 

has been suffocating ever since I finally gave my true self air I think that they worry that if they accept the new me

               the version 
                   that was 
                   a trophy 

                    will rust 
          beyond repair 

                      I wish 
   they would realize
           that avoiding 
             the new me
   doesn’t give them 
      the old me back 

   That I’m not gone

                   and that 
     avoiding my eyes 
can be more violent 
than an open attack 

         But they won’t  

                   Because 
                   for their 
                        pride 
                   my truth 
              is too much

That the queer me is permanent Is too sharp to touch

            So yet again 
           at this dinner 
              I’ll show up 

                          half 
                     invited

  to where I used to 
  feel most at home 

                  and leave 
           the other half 
                                   in the car

               Smiling but 
       bleeding quietly 
                wondering 
           if they realize 

               that silence 
                             can still leave a scar 



I nervously take a bite of steak.

Glancing around, i want to cry. All I ever wanted to do was chart the woods that were in the corner of Australia! But then I got lost and fell down a waterfall, discovering… THIS place.

I nervously turn my attention to my food. A neat steak garnished with spices, roasted potatoes, and a salad on the side. It tasteas okay.

The Magi at the head of the table is making a toast.

“Thank you, my friends, thank you for being here tonight. Now…” he leans close. “I understand that all of you are wanted alive or dead, due to the fact we are all magic, and i thank you for making the journey and making it alive. You may not make the trip back though, so I have a proposal…” he smirks. “What if we all join together here, in my beautiful cavern mansion behind this gourgeous waterfall?”

A buzz sweeps through the room. Some agree and some don’t. I don’t know what to think. I’m not even magic!! And now I might be trapped here forever?!

The person up front quiets us all with his hands. “Now now, i am sure many of you don’t know what to do. How about this: spend a few days here. Get to know the place. If you have a band or something, send a message and get them here as well! I assure you, this place has never been found, not in the thousand years magic has been hated.”

People are definitely excited now. I am just plain terrified.

Once everyone has definitely agreed, even me, unfourtunatly, he claps his hands and says: “well! Then, if we are all to live here together, I’d like to be on first name terms. Please, lets go around and say all our names and our living place!”

I am panicking now. This is a plot to get me, I know it. He has discovered me. He just wants to be sure.

“I shall go first. I am Gabriel Jasonne, and i live, well, here,” says the person at the head of the table. He turns to the person on the left side of him, a 12 year old girl, for some reason. Why would a child Magi be here? I had gathered this was for infamous, well known Magi. “And you are?” He asks.

“Mirachi Garbudo, and I live nowhere!” She declares.

I gasp inwardly. THAT was Mirachi Garbudo? The all-famous magic thief and outlaw? She was that little girl? I’m not the only one surprised, although I was the only one who didn’t believe she was amazing even more. All the others gasped, looking impressed that their idol, who had never been photographed, was a young child.

After that, there were others. Some I knew well through the news and others not so much, but all were wanted Magi— people born with magic.

Finally it was my turn. I took a shaky breath.

“I am… Maohando Jakarti, and i live…in Japan,” i said.

I was neither. My name is jasper havana and i live right here in Australia. But I tried to mask my accent.

When all the names had been told, Gabriel leaned back in his chair.

“Now that that is through… i must tell you something. There is an imposter here.” Several people gasped. I was hyperventilating, sweating frantically. I was doomed.

“Now—“ here he paused and took a moment for the effect. “I have realized this from the beggining. So when they arrived, I told my butler to make a magical drink.”

I blessed whoever was up there weaving fate of the fact I had not drunken any of the juice.

“It is nothing special,” Gabriel was saying. “Just something that would immediately transfer the imposter immediately to the wanted magi list and make them become one of us.”

Ok. So I won’t drink it, i thought. Simple.

“Now,” said Gabriel, inclining his head and raising his goblet, “i propose, to flush out this imposter.”

“We shall all drink the potion at the same time. If the imposter does—welcome to the community, and they are no longer an imposter. If they don’t, they may have to run, though they will not make it. If I was wrong and we are all true magic, then—nothing happens. It simply has a bitter taste.”

People are smiling and nodding at this plan. I, meanwhile, am about to faint.

“So.” Gabriel hoists his globlet. “To catching imposters.” He lowers the goblet to his mouth and swallows it all.

People shout this back and reach to drain their drinks.

I have no choice. I’d rather be Magic than dead.

With trembling fingers, i raise the goblet to my lips.

Sealing my fate, i drink to making me magic…and wanted.

I look around, feeling like a mouse being stalked by a cat. One more move and I’ll be dead. If they realize I’m human… let’s just say the role of guest and snack will reverse.

How did I wind up at a dinner party with vampires? My stupid bestie who I love invited me to this party at the house of Vesonte, then dropped out because she was sick at the last minute! And then, she told me to fill in for her! How do I fill in for her? Why did Susan have to leave me here alone?!

How do I talk about vampire politics? What do I say?

“So, you are filling in for the presidential candidate? You speak for her?”

WHY DOESN’T SHE TELL ME THESE THINGS?!

“Umm ves?” I try to use that vampire accent I’ve heard in movies, but the vampire sitting across from me glares.

“It is quite rude to uphold the stereotypes of us vampires.”

I am dead. Like, literally, so dead. “Haha yes, I was just joking. Those idiotic humans thing they can make a fool out of us? It’s terrible.” Please don’t let me have said something wrong again!

Slowly, he nods. Oh thank the lord.

“I assume this means Soziim is finally seeing where we’re coming from? Has she agreed to stop this silly idea about an alliance with humans?”

Is Soziim some kind of vampire name? It is really similar to Susan. Oh no what do I say? God I hate her so much.

If I make it out of here alive I will kill her. Why did the movies portray vampires so wrongly? I know nothing about them because these stupid movies think vampires have a weird accent, can’t touch silver, and hate garlic.

Both of those I have learned are false as I watch the vampires eat their food, including garlic bread, with silver forks.

Focus! What do I say? I shift my weight on the chair, a bead of sweat rolling down my face. “Um well, Su- Soziim has slightly changed her ideals. She still thinks we should have an alliance with the humans, but only if they apologize for what they have done and create laws protecting vampires.”

“That seems fair enough, we can agree to that.”

Maybe I’m getting the hang of this. It’s not that hard. Still gonna kill Susan, but this isn’t so bad.

“Good!” I take a risk with my next words, “shall we arrange the next meeting?”

“Are you feeling alright? We’ve already arranged it, and Soziim must have told you.” I take it back this is awful.

I can still save myself! I’ve got this! “I must admit I’ve been feeling a little under the weather, as humans like to say. In fact, I may have to leave soon.”

“Of course, we understand. Please tell Soziim the agreement we’ve made.”

“I will, thank you.”

“I bid you farewell.”

“Goodbye to you too.”

I walk out the door, just waiting for someone to call something out. My heart pounds, and my muscles tense. Finally, when I get in my car, I relax a little.

As I’m driving to my best friends house, there is only one thought in my mind.

Time to kill Susan.

It’s been a week . . . A week since I crashed my car. A week since I last sat with the girl. The girl who lost her Mom . . . Because of me.

I stare into the mirror, everything about me looks wrong. Everytime I see myself in the mirror I see a monster.

I staighten my tie on my neck, sighing as my eyes fall to the white granite counter.

“Dave!” my dad knocks on the bathroom door. “You ready?”

I take one last look at myself in the mirror before I open the door.

I slide out of the bathroom, Dad swings his arm around my shoulders. “It’ll all be fine.” He says.

I force a smile. “Yeah.” I mumble. “Maybe.”

I watch the trees and houses fly by out the car window as Dad drives down main street.

Oddly this is my first funeral. All of my grandparents are still walking around in the world. I always imagined that they would be my first funreal to go to. Not the funreal of a mother. Of a mother that I killed.

Dad stops the car, putting it into park.

“You sure you don’t want me to come?” He asks, turning in his seat to look at me.

I nod, “No thanks.” I whisper. “I’m fine.”

Dad looks down at the straw wrappers that cover thr bottom of the car. “Okay.”

I unbuckle my seat belt, pushing open the car door.

I step out into the warmer summer morning. The rising sun shines in my eyes, I lift a hand shading my face.

“Call me,” Dad nods. “If you want to go home.”

I ignore him, not because I don’t like how much he cares. It’s because I don’t need special treatment. I don’t need hugs, and him telling me I can call him if I need my daddy.

I ruined that girls life. She doesn’t get any of that anymore. So why should I?

I walk past thousands of graves. As kid I always loved reading the names and finding someone who died a hundred years ago.

Now that just seems stupid.

The long, wet grass drips over my sneakers. I lift my head up, there’s a whole group of people.

Most are wearing black, some dark blue. There’s a open coffin, which seems to be the glue to everyone at the event.

A older woman notices me as I walk up. She smiles, dabbing her eyes with a white napkin.

I stop a few yards away from the rest of the group.

Sitting next to a huge oak tree is the girl. Even from here I can see her gashed cheek. I hold back my tears as I look at what I’ve done.

Suddenly without thinking, start toward her.

She looks up, hugging her knees to her chest.

“Hey,” I lift my hand in a small wave.

She wipes her eyes with the side of her hand. “Hey.” Her voice trembles.

Her blonde hair is tied up into a neat pony tail. I put my hand into the pocket of my suit pants. “I’m really sorry.”

She looks up at me. “For what?” Her eyes shine with tears. “You didn’t do anything.”

I slowly drop down next to her. Letting my legs stretch out in front of me. Part of me is begging me to tell her. And the other part just wants me to pretend I’m a normal boy.

A boy who saw a girl in pain and decided to try to cheer her up.

“I still can’t beileve it.” She chokes out. “Just a week ago we were getting ready to go on a girls trip. And now . . .”

I gently touch her shoulder as she burries her head into her knees. “The world is weird that way.”

“Not weird,” she cries quietly. “Wrong . . . The world is wrong that way.”

Her blue eyes look so broken. So lost.

Without thinking I pull her close, embracing her tightly into a hug.

She burries her head into my shoulder, shaking as she cries.

For a small moment I feel okay. And then I remember it’s my fault.

There was a heart of darkness, accentuated by the highlights of bright, deep snow drifts and the flickers of sporadic fires. The buran howled indiscriminately around the bodies, destruction and wreckage that had been laid to waste by human beings. One side defending, one side fiercely attacking, all in the name of patriotism. But nature would reclaim and re-balance.

Olga Tyshbir huddled over her stove stirring, her hands bitterly cold from her labours outside during the day. She gripped the wooden spoon with determination and steadiness as she stirred. Her husband Yuri, casually sat on a small stool pretending to not concentrate on the scene outside of their farmstead. The Winter had come with it’s usual Eastern bitterness, but the last month or so had been especially endless and draining.

‘How many did you see today my love’?

Yuri had turned his ancient head towards his wife like a tortoise and had raised his hairy, white eyebrow in his questioning. His forehead neatly lined in deep crevasses and folded skin.

‘Many many more! They’re fools and surrounded, but it’s not our comrades that will take them, God is on our side’.

Olga continued to concentrate on her meagre cooking. This soup was as precious as the most valuable diamond and enough to keep them alive and warm. She didn’t know how much longer the situation would remain this way, it had been months, but the elements seemed to be having a final fateful say.

Yuri calmly ran his fingers through his white beard as if deep in thought.

Olga stopped stirring suddenly and turned to look at her husband.

‘I hate them’.

Yuri stopped contemplating suddenly and firmly put his gnarled hands on his boney knees.

‘To hate in much the same mindlessness as them is to not be a human being. In all our years on this planet have we not learnt that we all have light and dark inside us’

The old man paused.

‘I will not be one of them and if that means fighting for good in this world, even at the ends of the hell we are living, so be it’.

Olga grunted in her disagreement but her heart knew her husband was a wise man, and she respected him above all others. She started to serve her steaming soup into two wooden bowls.

He’d been sat for so long in the sub zero temperatures that when Yuri attempted to stand, he lurched forward before righting himself. An inferno of fire would make little warmth in the building they called home. Gaping holes in the masonry were barely keeping the framework together let alone keeping the buran blizzards out.

There was a knock at the door. Frantic and disordered in it’s rap. The knuckles of a frozen, frost bitten hand.

Yuri shuffled forwards and eventually unblocked the makeshift door.

There on the doorstep stood a man.

If you could call him that. His uniform hung from his body and it was clear that this young man was soon to meet his maker. His black finger tips peeped briefly above badly damaged gloves and bandages.

‘We need to take your home for firewood to burn in the morning’. The young man rasped in broken Russian with strong accents of Prussian.

It was clear to Yuri that this man wouldn’t make the morning. This was the moment where two fiercely patriotic parties met one another in a small act of humanity and the old man had his morality tested to the hilt. Despite losing everything, Yuri’s brown eyes met the glass blue ones of his visitor.

The silence was short but telling.

Olga was petrified, she stood frozen at the table grasping her wooden spoon in one hand and wondering if she should grab a weapon with the other.

The Visitor had much the same thoughts as the old couple. He was hated for killing and maiming in a foreign land and he understood that he was here under very dangerous circumstances. Die or be killed.

Yuri could feel the tension rising between the soldier and his wife, but made a vow to himself to not antagonise the situation and act with kindness. He could see the man in front of him was dying of cold and was starving.

‘Here, have this’ Yuri nodded towards one of the two bowls of soup.

The widening of eyes between Olga and the man didn’t need words. There was disbelief, discomfort, rage, gratitude and respect all rolled into this one act. The act of positively rising above a situation in the name of humanity and not into one of hate.

Ruby was so excited to go to the dinner party she was invited to. She could already see it: the fun , the stories , the laughter. Ruby couldn’t wait. Their car was finally parked. “Have fun!” Ruby’s mum said. Ruby finally went in, very excited, and with a smile. When she was now inside, her smile faded. She saw something she didn’t expect. Everyone was paired up. Boys and girls together. Her friend was also with someone. “Hi!” She said. Then she quickly looked away to continue chatting with a boy. She didn’t even give me a chance to wave back … Ruby thought. She went over to where the food was. I shouldn’t have gone here. If I had known things were going to be like this, I wouldn’t have gone. She thought. Ruby regretted going. She didn’t feel like she belonged there. As soon as she walked in, she felt out of place. She regretted her decision. Ruby got some fruits. A boy came next to her, also getting food. They met eyes. “Hi …” the boy said. “Hi.” Ruby said timidly. “You like fruits?” He said with a smile. “Yes …” Ruby said, laughing a little. “I’m Robert …” the boy said. “I’m Ruby…” she said. They shook hands. Ruby was glad to have met him. He made her feel comfortable while she was there. She didn’t feel so out of place anymore. Ruby was glad there was someone who could make her feel comfortable. She was grateful.