Thick blonde hair smacked him in the face, its color radiant. “Oh! I’m so sorry,” the lady said to him. Sunny, he thought, bright, bubbly. She’s exciting. “Don’t worry,” he said, “it’s not every day you get whipped in the face by a pretty lady’s hair.” Her giggle was like the chirping morning birds. Smile so wide, she said, “That is so sweet.” She bought him a cookie, breaking off a tiny piece of her own, her tanned skin moving quickly. Comforting then, he thought. “I have to go, but it was lovely meeting you.” Her wink was evident, so terrible. Her chirpy giggle faded through the air as she walked away.

That girl, with the blonde hair, was a great start to his day. He wasn’t expecting to meet the next person he encountered, though, so she was quickly, painfully forgotten.

“Eek!” The woman’s shriek filled the small office. “Are you okay, Miss?” he asked. Her red nail polish reflected the light, her hips moving as she ran to him. Her curves were sinful. Confident, fiery, dangerous, he noted; her beauty was a trap. “Oh gosh, I’m sorry. It’s been a rough morning and I spilled my coffee.” He chuckled lightly and moved to help her. He hadn’t met her before, but she looked familiar, encouraging him to get to know her. He was going to ask her name, but he was interrupted by the shiny blade behind her. “I’m sorry,” she said. Dangerous. Red was her favorite color.

He tightened his grip on my hand, and I turned to look at him, momentarily lost in the soft golden warmth that radiated off of him. “You okay?” he asked gently. I nodded. “Yeah,” I said, giving him a genuine smile- those always came so easily around him, regardless of my mood- and leaning closer into his side. I relished his warmth as the biting cold from the people we passed seeped into my skin. There was the occasional warm soul flitting by, but most of the time, if I made eye contact with a stranger, I would be staring into a dark, freezing void. He didn’t see the world the way I did, but he understood me in a way no one else did. My family- even now I shiver, thinking of their icy grips on my arms, the mottled bruises they left in their wake- had been all that I had ever known for so long, I was astonished to discover that there existed people without black, piercing gazes. I wonder what he thought when he first encountered the stick-thin girl with matted hair and tattered clothes, and especially what he thought when she began following him around like a puppy that had been starved for warmth its whole life, staring at him with a mixture of confusion and adoration. I couldn’t help myself. Every person I had ever met was cold and bitter, but even as a teenager, the warmth radiated from him, golden light spilling off of his skin. It matched his soul. I had been afraid of everything back then- everything was new, and I couldn’t trust anyone to help- but he took me in. Gave me food to eat, found other people with warm hands that gave me clothes and a bed, talked to me in that gentle voice until eventually, I began speaking back. I told him of my home. When I explained about my family his normally soft eyes turned sharp and I thought I had made a terrible mistake, but he held my hand and his voice broke as he swore to me that no one would ever hurt me again, and I believed him. I told him how I saw the world, and his dark brown eyes blinked bewilderedly at me when I called him “golden.” But I kept explaining until he understood and looked away as though he were embarrassed and happy all at once, murmuring that he was glad I felt that way around him. He told me things too. About his family; I never knew that a mother could treat her child so gently, and I felt a pain in my chest that was almost like loss, though I was so grateful that someone as wonderful as him didn’t have to suffer. Countless stories, real and fictional. We spent hours reading together, but I liked it best when he’d tell me his stories. He liked to make them up and watch my reactions as I listened, and I was enraptured by both the fantastical worlds he’d create and his kind, gentle voice. And then one day, more nervous than I had ever seen him, he talked to me about kissing, and asked if I’d mind… His lips were warm and soft. I’m still timid when going out of my- our home, now. For every golden light I see, it feels like there are a hundred dark, icy voids. But as long as I have my golden sun, I am safe and warm.

I wouldn't meet his eyes. "Just a tall caramel frappuccino, please."

I couldn't see his face, but I could tell he was looking at me quizzically, not because of my order, but because of my avoidance to looking at him. He rolled his eyes and punched in my order. I handed him my card and he swiped it, handing it back. I cringed at the wet, oily substance on it. "Can I get a name for the order?"

"Ash," I answered.

"Do you want a receipt?"

"No thank you," I said hurriedly, and walked over to wait for my drink.

I sighed and wiped my card on my jeans. It's fine. Whatever. No one else can see it anyway.

The man. His name was Jerry. At least, that's what his name tag said. And Jerry had skin made of oil. Eyes like a snake's. Nails made for ripping into flesh. I don't want to be caught at a bar with that guy.

Ever since I was younger, I've had this gift. I'm not going to be cliche and call it a curse. It's not. It's made me an excellent judge if character. I know when my friend's new significant other is going to hurt them. I know whether my mom's new friend is toxic or good for her. I know whether or not my new boss has a hot temper.

I can see people's character. Their real personality reflected across their body. Like her. That girl over there. Her skin has blotches of paint. Her hair is in shades of color I've never seen before. Her head has levitating blue stones circling it. She's an artsy personality. Strong and tough. She can stand up for herself. And she's outgoing. Talkative. Kind.

That person in the corner? Their long hair flickers in and out of sight, masked by a short haircut no one else but me can see. Their arms have spikes portruding from them, cracking their skin. A hazy, golden sheild surounds their entire body. They aren't comfortable in their own skin. They wish they were someone else. And they are very guarded. Don't easily trust.

Anyway, that's my skill. My gift. Oh, shoot. Right, ok. Introductions. I always forget those. I'm Ash. It's short for Ashlyn. Ashlyn Hendricks is my full name.

"Caramel frappuccino for Ash!"

I look up and see a girl with curled tendrils of color covering her skin and giving off a glow, and a pair of florescent devil's horns floating above her head. I approach her and take the cup, thanking her and grabbing a straw.

She nodded to me and turned to a guy sitting on the other side of the counter by the coffee machines. They seemed friendly. Probably friends. He had crazy and vastly different tattoos across his skin. A dolphin, a car, a flower. His eyes are a bright forest green. When I walk past him, I feel a soothing heat radiating from him.

I stopped to get napkins at the counter and throw away my straw wrapper. I drop my straw into my drink and take a sip. My face crinkles in disgust. Ugh. Paper straws. Assaults to humanity. I don't care if they save turtles or whatever. They're the worst.

On my way out, I feel a hand on my shoulder and a full heat on my back. I flinch away and turn around quickly. "Hey!" The person says with a smile. It's the guy that was talking to the barista. The tattoo guy. "Um, sorry, you have a stain on your jeans?"

I look down at the stain from my card that's smeared across my thigh and look back up with wide eyes.

"Sorry. I know people don't usually chase people around coffee shops to tell them that but I didn't want you to walk around with that and... I am realizing this is a very awkward conversation!" He says, giving me an awkward smile. When he takes in my expression, his face falls. "You can't see it." He looks down and mutters under his breath. "Um, nevermind. Ignore me. I'm insane."

He sighs and turns around, shaking his head. I snap out of my daze and realize he's leaving. "Wait!" I exclaim.

He turns around with a confused expression.

I take a step forward. "You... You can see it?"

I can never really begin to comprehend the day it began. The day my blissful ignorant humanity ended. The day I was forced to see things so dark that i shouldn’t. At the age of 12,I had attributed it to my imagination and the fact that I had watched too much cartoons and anime for a girl. But as I stand by the counter,waiting for my latte,the long years had taught me it was something much more. For some reason, the universe had chosen me to chest this ability. The ability to see people’s internal qualities and hidden agenda;good and bad,sweet and disgusting. The waitress fixing my drink for me was a thief. A big one. The stealth in which she grabbed my crumpled dollars,The way her eyes assessed every crook and cranny of my old sweatshirt,Her Sphinx like eyes. They could all mean something else but I know better.

“That will be $75.” She announces stiffly.

I doubt it’s that much. So I check the menu board. Seeing it’s $75 as she said,I chuckle apologetically. “Yes yes.”

Her eyebrows pinch together,her gray eyes critically drinking me in. “Of course. Why would I lie?”

And that’s the thing about being hyper aware than a normal human. You act weird when there’s no cause for it. I send her a reassuring smile as I dig through my pockets for $75.

I slap the bill on the table. “Here.”

She hands me my drink almost the same way you would sell weed in an open place.

There are no pleasantries as is expected in a restaurant. Just a suspicious gaze as I break away from the queue and towards the glass doors of the cafe. I had acted weird after all, I deserved it.

On my way to the door and beyond there,home, I catch the eyes of people sipping at their table sipping their choice of drinks. A balding man with a lopsided man who looks sick with cancer, a chubby woman with a dimpled smile wearing a flowing dress with barely concealed eye bags. She looked like the type to send flowers for encouragement, but she was struggling with something that was soon to kill her. It were things like this I didn’t want to see. Things that succeeded in ruining my day. Things that had turned me to an introvert.

     My eyes fell on a lanky guy who looked no older than 21. But what caused me to stop and stare wasn’t his obvious appealing fashion sense but the black aura that surrounded him. A black aura that seemed to choke me, I felt my chest tighten in response, my fingers tense around my drink. His eyes were focused on the rings caging his left fingers,when all of a sudden,they were on me. Those blue eyes would have been beautiful but now they just looked eerie as I all saw was a horrible intent. An intent to kill.

  I guess abilities like this made you deflect lies and escape deception but it could bring you sleepless nights and for someone without control like myself,trouble. 

  You’d think after years of said ability accommodation,I should be used to all if this but no. 

   I tear my eyes from him, exhaled deeply to ease my shaking form and hightailed my ass out of the depressing cafe.

It was november when It happened. A flash of light from my ceiling and then a strange sensation. When if was over I was gifted an ability; One that I can only explain as orbs of light shining to represent another's intention. Strange, yet so appealing.

After the incident I went in my mothers room banging at her door saying " please, open up weird things are happenings" as she unlocked an emerald orb of light appeared where her heart is. It stood hollow inside her. I asked her " are you seeing this? this light?", she said " what light johnny, are you ok? why are you up so late"

the lights changed to a purplish color, and I immediately remember my art teacher stating that this is the color of affection.

When I woke up one day I could see people differently That man - stay away! He has bad written all over him

That smiling, cheeky girl She is beyond happy Loves life, loves the world Wants to help the Earth

The old woman over there Has helped a lot of people Now smiling in a chair, She takes a well-deserved rest

The guy sipping coffee Is strong and determined He was in the military And has been adjourned

That young teen Is really kind and humble When he might look mean Because he’s been through a lot

The outside Is what you see But the inside Is what matters to me

Mary Clare was a clucking hen checking out storefronts, poking her beak and looking for bargains. Her kids, Mason and Jason, were betta fish swirling and sparring, as they followed their mom. Pearl rode her bike through the intersection. Mr. Jensen, the theatre teacher, a huge preening peacock crossed in front of her. Pearl swerved to avoid the high school teacher’s iridescent tail feathers. A corvette full of wolves in basketball jerseys howled at Pearl as she maneuvered around a peaceful dove pushing a stroller. She pedaled faster. Pearl hitched her bike to the rack and hurried into the shop. Closing her eyes, Pearl took steadying breaths. Her world was spinning. It was a zoo of naked intentions, a jungle of personalities always parading in her face. She opened her big dark eyes slowly. The shop was painted lime green, fuchsia, and indigo. One side was retro dresses and chunky boots, and serving dishes kept company with records and cocktail shakers on the other side. In the center at a large wood table sat a shimmering lamp knitting a crooked scarf. The fussy owl who ran the bookstore was arranging hardbacks on a shelf in the back and an ancient crab was closely examining a cuckoo clock. Looking from the shop door to the customers to the table, Pearl bit her lip. “Can you help me?” The lamp lady gestured with her knitting. Pearl blinked. “Wait, what?” “You look creative, good with your hands. I’m clueless.” The girl sat down. Soon their heads were bent over the tangle of yarn. The owl brought them iced tea and snickerdoodles. The way his head swiveled and the way the lamp glowed up Pearl could see how they suited each other. The shop owner lamp checked out customers while Pearl captured the dropped stitches. Pearl felt cozy at the solid table in the quiet space with red wool running through her fingers. The afternoon ran down and Pearl people watched. “You know I came here to get your help,” Pearl said around the last cookie. “But I think I got it.” The lamp smiled. “Thank you. I was in the weeds. Here,” she thrusted a wooden case in my hands. “I found this and it was looking for the right person. Come back soon. I have to bind off some how.” Pearl carried her art box home walking her bike and marveling on how she sees the world.

Don’t judge a book by its cover. Don’t judge someone by there outside appearance. Other people grew up learning this. Not me. Because that’s exactly what I can do. The people I see have a number one through ten. One being the most innocence, ten being the least. Most people I see have a three or five. But today, today I saw a man with a ghostly black number ten above his head. I follow him hoping to find him. Because the only other time I ever see that ten, is when I look in the mirror.

He was black Which is sometimes a good color For it brings out the light in others But in this case it wasn’t like that

He was cold He pushed away people he cared about And never let his pain out And so black was the color that showed

She was white She seemed pure but sometimes white shines to bright in ones mind And blinds them from the spite

She wanted to fix him But it only hurt her more He was too far broken to the core So she couldn’t ever win

In some cases they were good for each other Like yin and yang they met in the middle But she cared to much and he cared to little So gray soon became their color

For black and white Are beautiful apart But when they form a spark The two colors will only fade out and die

This book will explain how I used my 50/50 rule in building two plumbing service business and selling them to public companies. This rule can be utilized in almost any business or life experience. Now a little about myself. I was brought up in a wealthy family. My father owned a business and a lot of real estate. Needless to say he liked his money more then his family. One day my mother decided she wanted a boyfriend and divorce my father. Little did I know at the time my father blamed it on me. He thought I knew about the boyfriend. He told me to leave the house and not come back. I guess what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. After living in the streets with no place to sleep or food to eat I became stronger. I picked myself up and got a job as a night watchman in a peanut butter storage warehouse. There I was allowed to eat the peanut butter from broken glass jars. I guess I got use to a little glass with peanut butter. For eight hours a night I would sit in the middle of a parking lot in an all glass structure. Every hour I would walk through the building with a clock and go to areas where there was a key I would place in the clock to activate a timer showing I was there. There was about dozen areas like this throughout the plant. One morning I woke up at 3am and had a epiphany. I wanted to learn how to write lyrics. My mother use to tell me the teachers in school said i didn’t do many things well except writing poetry. I guess this always stayed with me. The next evening I sat in the glass structure taking lyrics to existing songs and replacing them with my own. I did this every night for about six months. I had become a lyricist. Now become my first 50/50 decision. I can go to New York City and get a job in the music business where I can utilize my new found talent or I can stay where I am and be a night watchman for the rest of my life. I had nothing to loose so I took the gamble and hoped the odds were in my favor. The next day I went job hunting. I had more doors close on me then a fuller brush salesman. Sorry I’m showing my age here. That was a company that had sales people sell their products door to door. Since I couldn’t get a job in the music industry and afraid I would fall to the loosing side of my 50/50 rule I decided to offer my services for free to a music publishing company. This is where I met Nicky Braddy the year was 1988 and he is still my best friend to this day. Nicky was very talented and with my new found talent of writing lyrics we made a good team. At the same time I discovered another new talent I had. I could get into record companies and make deals for the songs and singers we started to produce. Before I knew it we had a record called “Sure Shot” by Tracy Weber. It became a national dance hit. It was at the top of the Billboard Dance Charts. After this came many more records and a fun career in the music business. We even had a #1 billboard dance record and met many cool music people. I could write a book just on my life in the music business so that’ll have to wait. I can definitely say my 50/50 rule worked in my favor in the music business. I could have still been sitting in the glass box eating peanut from broken glass jars.

.