Once upon a time, there was a boy named Harry. Yes; he was a wizard. No; he was not Harry Potter. He was simply named after Harry Potter— of course he was, Harry Potter had been a hero among all magical folks. He had been the destroyer of the treacherous Lord Voldemort, _the Chosen One. _ __ __ Most people seemed to believe this, at least, though young Harry Hawkes thought differently.

Harry Hawkes was a Hufflepuff, and you see, Hufflepuffs were most certainly the most unpopular, uncared for house of all the Hogwarts houses. Hufflepuffs where seen as weak, good for nothing cry babies- but this wasn’t true. Not a bit. They where strong as they where kind, and they where very kind- smart too. But no matter how smart, Harry seemed to be the only one who thought clumsy Neville Longbottom was the true hero, the real chosen one.

‘Without _Neville, Ron, Hermonie, and Harry Potter would most certainly be dead, for he had really defeated Lord Voldemort.’ _Harry found himself often thinking this.

You see, during the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry- “The Chosen One”- must slay He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, or his snake, Nagini. But during this battle, Neville was able to pull out the Sword of Gryffindor and cut off the head of Nagini, letting Harry seize the moment to finish off the Dark Lord. In this moment, Neville was strong and brave and true. Though, he had received none of the credit for doing so.

So Harry Hawkes would much rather have been named Neville Hawkes- though it was not his choice, and no matter what he did, people would simply laugh off his comments on Harry Potter. Oh, but he had and idea to change that.

Ok so I honestly don’t know if someone has already found out her whereabouts but I really miss SQ. So I am trying to come up with a plan to see where she is and if she is ok. So I’m going to try to connect with her through dreams. Kinda crazy IK but I’ve connected with people far away and even one of my dead pets this way, so maybe this will work, I know a lot of people will see this and not really care, and I don’t expect you to, but if you want? I’ll give you a weekly update on how it’s going. If someone has already figured out her war abouts and I’m living in the dark LET ME KNOW, and if anybody is good with social media, maybe you could try to find her in a more, Un stalker like way. Anyways. Yea

One day, 4.5 billion years ago, or so they think, the soup of the earth’s primordial oceans decided, with the right ingredients, to become life. It was so simple back then, a single cell, the grandmother of everyone and everything, the countless lives in their countless forms afterwards. Earth with a population of one.

Although, intellectually, I knew that _thought _and _feeling _and _knowing _itself probably came much later, I can’t help but wonder what grandmother cell felt. To suddenly exist when she didn’t exist before. Maybe that’s what it feels like to be born- this ancient knowledge of coming to being that’s lost on all of us the moment after we become. Darkness and then light. Void and then a star shining somewhere in the distance, then more stars, then a vast sky full of them, twinkling and burning out with new ones to take their places.

Of course, in the billions of years since then, entropy and evolution have had their way with things and everything has gotten more complicated. The enterprising nature of life finding new ways to move, to use resources, to one up each other. Single cells became multiple, and those self-organized into tissues, into organs, into organ systems, into overly complicated beings, who, in reality, are primordial soups all their own. Then, the watery surface of Earth gave way to soil and mountains and somehow, life found a way to walk on dry land. Life got smarter, more complex, and it just kept going, each iteration less refined in some ways, but more in others.

And then, at some point, we came along. Upright and relatively hairless, our brains our biggest asset and worst enemy all the same. I don’t think God had a hand in it. At least not in the sense so many Christians seem to think. No, for better or worse, we were always masters of our own destinies, at least that’s how I’ve seen it for most of my life. If the hand of God did lead us here, he’s not very good at planning. Either that, or his sense of humor is rather cruel and absurd. Or all of those at once.

Anyways, our strange species of overly-aggressive hairless apes eventually came to be in charge of things around here, or as much in charge as anyone can be with that pesky combination of random chance and the inability to know everything. Forces that have plagued us since before ‘us’ existed.

We’ve made quite a mess of things, but we’ve also managed to create a lot of beauty, a lot of humor, a lot of things that are probably only important to us, for us. Children entertaining each other with shadow puppets on a wall in a house with no grown ups present, a neighborhood beyond us in the dark, and more beyond that. The thought brought tears to my eyes for some reason, though I didn’t know what emotions those tears represented.

Stumbling forward through history, we created tools, both tangible and intangible, that unlocked new doors in the house or allowed us to explore the dark corners, eventually to go outside and explore beyond. Science, as iterative and time-bound as evolution, as reliant on repetition and failure and the occasional success. The process of learning what is by learning what isn’t. Our little flashlight in the darkness, illuminating so little, all in all, but allowing us to see something nonetheless. Religion and spirituality to speculate on what we don’t know yet, what we perhaps _can’t _know. Art to process it all, to fill and bridge the gaps.

And now, humanity, our great species of overgrown children playing dress up, could reach the stars. Or, in my clumsy analogy, we could explore beyond our house, beyond our neighborhood. But- and I wondered this so frequently that it drove me a little crazy- was it a good idea for us children to steal a car, venture out, and go knocking on doors in new neighborhoods, unknown houses? Maybe. Probably. But who could stop us? And grandmother cell… what would she think if she could see and know what her children have done?

What if! What if I risk it all?

…

What if I risk it all?

I mean it’s just a dream it could end in a disaster if it doesn’t work out. I want to risk it all to be an artist. I have the creativity it takes ,but others may see my art trash. We all know how the community is to aspiring artist. They will say,”oh your not good enough to be with the big leagues.” Or they will say,”you don’t have what it takes to be a famous artist.” But what if I just want to try no matter where it takes me.

…

What if I risk it all?

Imagine my work getting admired by others people wanting to be like me. Thats something I dream of doing aspiring others to go after there goals no matter the backlash they get. But, it’s not that simple, I have to get good at my craft before I can aspire others to join me. All I know is that I have a dream and that dream is to be an amazing artist that inspires others!

She froze at the stand, with eyes pressed hard on her. She tried to hide her heavy breathing but her body trembled ever so slightly at the end of each exhale. The trial wasn’t going in her favor, being bombarded with this picture made up to demonize her, as if it were a set up. After the longest 15 seconds ever had passed, she stood straight and looked up, then straight on taking a scan of the people deciding her fate. She began to testify for herself with a grasp of her necklace that read “if it is to be it is up to me.” “It’s so crazy to me, that my future and life is in the hands of people who have never known me. I have never seen myself as a criminal, as a bad person. This is all new to me. How can strangers know my intentions, my morals, my beliefs purely off of speculation and a sad excuse of evidence. I have a clean record, I work 2 jobs waitressing, I am an artist, I do real estate part time, I have 3 little sisters I love and amazing parents. I have my pets and plants and a loving boyfriend. I go to the gym and swim and cook; if I am putting my energy into these things, how could I have anything left in me to enact evil and pain. People walk away with a lot more against them and people can get locked up for a lot less. I guess it just depends on how much money you have BEFORE you commit the crime right? What if we all decided to come up here and play human? Lawyers and attorneys have their benefits yes, they help us; but we shouldn’t let them fight the battles FOR us. Anyone can be a saint under the right protection but how many of you would be able to come up here and defend yourself? Flip the coin now, how helpful would this all be if a real dangerous ill intentioned criminal came up here. You the people summoned here by civic duty should be able to come up here and ask this person personally, looking them in the eyes, reading their body language, and getting your questions answered. Don’t let people on the stand be prepared for every question asked that their lawyer drilled into them. That’s when you catch the slip ups not only of the person on trial, but from the people who put them there wrongfully so too. Anyone can be evil if you frame it right. So I hope as I begin to tell my story and my side, that you remember what I said and put yourself in my shoes. And before I begin just a reminder, my name is Mantaya Breann. Try and remember it while you decide if I kil….”

She’s beside the chimney.

April says, “It’s tough. You know, I gonna feed my baby. I gonna work after this, another job after this. I go home and I see him sleeping. He sleeping in the bed. And I thought to myself ‘hell, I forgot to take him out of the bed!’ You know what I’m saying? He’s like two years old, and I forgot to lethim out.” April emphasizes on ‘forgot’.

She gave April a look. She had nothing to say.

She said: “Sh*t, these chimneys are so big.”

“Yeah, I know.” April relied.

She didn’t know who she was talking to. She didnt know who April was responding to.

She’s off the shift. She usually takes No 22 to the tomb to see her girl. But she was so confused. Who is she speaking with? Why asking anyway?

So she chooses another path today. Gilmore River waits her at the end, waiting to dissolve all her asking.

As I pace the room and rack my brain, I feel the gears turning and outputting nothing but the dark smoke of frustration. I’ve been at this for hours and I am no closer to a conclusion.

I’ve tried all my old tricks. I’ve gone for a walk: nothing. I’ve listened to music: nada. I’ve even, in my desperation, resorted to the classic Google search, “How to overcome writers block” tried several of the resulting “solutions” and guess what: goose egg.

In frustration, I slam my hand against my desk only to knock over the last quarter of the whiskey I had been sipping on. The liquor spreads across the desk, throwing the tell-tale alcohol smell that burns in my nostrils.

A fluorescent sticky note with some action items from work lays in the path of the coming tide. Too late to save it I watch as the dark ink runs, dissolving in a web pattern. Few things can dissolve like alcohol.

Then, as I stared at the sticky note, a flutter of color lights the idea center of my brain. It’s faint and undefined but there is definitely something there. I concentrate hard on the sticky note, burning the image into my head until I am seeing behind it.

Closer to the ethereal world beyond physical vision where writers live, the fledging idea bursts alight, filling me with the strange anxiety and euphoria of a new story waiting to be brought to life.

What if I ran away?

. . .

What if I ran away?

Nathan has money stashed downstairs. The house is dark as I creep down the stairs—I can hear my brothers in the room over, disrupting the stillness of the atmosphere. The darkness looms as I’m in the kitchen, rummaging through. My heart thumps. I feel so close but so far. The bills slip out easily, and they feel smooth in my hands. Oh, the power of all of these. I’ve never held so many at once before. It fills me with a thrill, with excitement. But there’s no way this can be real.

. . .

What if I ran away?

I walked down the sidewalk, my jacket bundled around me, shielding me from the crisp autumn air. The few cars that pass will think I’m just another stupid teenager, sneaking out to go over to a friend’s house. ‘Oh, she’ll be fine. She might make some dumb decisions, but her parents will find out, punish her, and eventually she’ll grow up to be smarter.’ I’m not wasting my time on all that.

. . .

What if I ran away?

I mix with the crowd at the train station, getting in line for the ticket. The money is already cool in my hand, and it gives me something to focus on. Don’t think about anything else. Just think about the cold and the twenty in your hand. I try not to look around too much, I try not to look down too much. When I get up there, I offer him a quick smile. “One adult, one child ticket please.” ‘Where’s the adult?’ he questions, looking at me with a blank expression. I try my best to match it, looking like a bored teenager who’d rather be asleep than getting on a train. “My dad’s in the bathroom. He asked me to buy the tickets for him.” The man nods, takes the money, and gives me the two tickets.

. . .

What if I ran away?

I lean my head against the window, feeling the cold seep into my cheek, but I don’t care. I sort of like the sharpness of it. I watch the streetlights go by, the town I’ve known, departing. Who all am I leaving behind? They never want to talk deeply anyway, just about the bad classes and afternoon plans. Who cares about that in the big picture anyway? I’m never going to sit in math class again, listening to Ms. Ray teach about geometry, giving us worksheets we never collaborate on, everyone listening to their own music. I’ll never be forced to play volleyball in lifetime wellness again. I won’t get to hear about Layla’s crush and how cute the things he does are when the ball never comes to us.

. . .

What if I ran away?

My brother. He’ll be alone with my parents. They’ll talk about adult topics and I won’t be there for him to sneak upstairs with as we do Mad Libs and play Mario Kart. Never have someone to walk down the stairs with you when our parents have guests over and we get hungry. I won’t be there to comfort your social anxiety, to get over mine and lead the way. I’ll never give you drives to school when I get my license, you annoying me to drive you to McDonalds to meet with your friends. The thought of never seeing your pretty smile again… hearing your cute laugh one more time… knowing your face and your betrayal and your shattered heart when you hear that I’ve left… I can’t break you like that.

I’d shatter the whole world over and over again. I’d scream at my parents and smile at their faces when they see I’m gone, hoping they’re frantic and worried as I break all the rules and buy way too much chocolate. I’d ignore all my teachers and talk back when they speak on the dress code. Love to see their faces and argue my heart out to them. I’d wave my hands to my friends, shooing them away cause I don’t need them. Won’t help them with homework, listen to their problems, go to their lame hangouts after school.

. . .

What if I ran away?

I think of the way you smile when our eyes meet. And how fun times with you can be. How young you are, how you need someone. You can be lonely, the world can be harsh. You need my hand in yours and what if it’s not there?

I would leave the world behind but I can’t leave you. So I’ll stay forever if it means I can stay with you.

So the next morning I’ll wake up and hold your hand in mine.

In the whispering woods where secrets keep, Ale-ooops stirs the dreams that sleep.

• A: Adventurous: A willingness to explore, take risks, and seek new experiences.

• L: Loyal: Devotion to relationships, commitments, and principles.

• E: Empathetic: Sensitivity to others' emotions and a desire to connect.

• X: Xylophile: An affinity for forests, trees, and natural environments.

“I don’t know what to do,” Micheal said to himself in a very soft voice and disheartened tone. “Being rejected so many times. Being thrown around as some worthless toy. Micheal Anderson: Brooklyn’s Forgettable Average Joe would be the title of my life if it were a book,” Micheal angrily shouts. “I know I have power, but I feel like I am powerless. Useless. Worthless. Just nothing,” Micheal continued to talk to himself in a crushed manner. “Nothing…..but someone that everyone ignores or hates. The idea of that, the - Oh, God! I hate that. How lonely and awful it makes me feel. Oh, if only there was a way for me to express this deep, agonizing pain and anger. To what has happened to me and my terrible, hollow life,” Tim said in a very low, rough voice and in a bitterly angry and saddened tone, while sitting in a chair all by himself, tightening his fists and frowning at the fire in front of him. “Wait,” Micheal said, as he suddenly realized what he could do to make himself feel better, sitting up straight with a surprised look on his face that turned into a devilish smile. “Why, of course! My notebook!,”Micheal said as he got up from his chair and walked to a local table. He opened a drawer near that table and got out his notebook and one out of the many pencils in it. “Ah, yes, whenever I feel down, even more than usual, I can always rely on this great thing to explore my most awful thoughts from my disturbed mind and dark heart. What a great escape!,” Micheal shouted out with genuine delight. “What should I write about? Should it be about lighting that Grayson kid on fire? Kicking my neighbor’s dog to death? Killing those annoying guys who always beat me up for no reason?!,” Micheal shouted as he slammed his fist against the table. “You know what?,” Micheal said, thinking about what he was going to do with his notebook. “What about I draw something? Yeah, I haven’t done that in a while.” And so, Micheal started to focus on what he would draw by describing how it would look. “Alright, let’s get started. He has this very wide, muscular structure. Yes, a very intimidating physique that every man envies. Very strong, but not ridiculously, stupidly-looking strong. He is still thin. He has a very rugged and gruff look to him. If he were to talk, he would in a very menacing and aggressive tone and a very deep voice to accompany that,” Micheal said, as he continuously described how his creation would be. But as he described how his creation would look, his shadow started to change form, becoming much more muscular and wider. “He would have a very tight, very dark yet fitting body suit, have a long, a similarly black cape and pair of boots. Yes, Yes, this looks great!,” as Micheal praised his creation, he was left unaware of what his shadow was doing. His shadow got up from Micheal’s chair, stood upwards, and suddenly had a very tight, black body suit that complemented his strong, harsh appearance, had big, black boots and a massive dark cape that swooshed around his calves. “Yeah! He has dark hair that’s thin and wavy. He has a very devious face with two curved eyes and a big mouth that has this devilish smile with razor-sharp teeth,” as Micheal continued to sit there, still drawing, he didn’t know that his shadow came off the the side of the room it was on. He slowly walked towards him as he grew the dark, wavy hair and devious face. And when he was getting closer to Micheal, he started to have that devilish smile on his face. “Perfect! Just perfect! I think it’s the best thing I have ever done!,”as Micheal shouted out of sheer delight at what he made. “Why,” Micheal said as he looked at his creation with a very smug sense of pride. “I must be a genius for making something like this. I always outdo myself when I least expect it,” Micheal said, still too obsessed with what he made. “Well, I mean, it won’t really change anything or matter, but it makes me feel better, which is definitely something, right?,” Micheal said in a reassuring tone. “Something? Yeah…. Definitely something,” the large, terrifyingly structured, shadowy figure said using a very deep voice in an aggressive way, demanding to be heard. Micheal looked over his shoulder, and he saw that figure with that devilish with teeth ever so sharp and bright. As Micheal saw that thing, that whatever it was approach him, he quickly stepped back from fear of what it was and why it was here. “Something you don’t have is something you want, and that something you don’t want is what you have,” the figure says as he slowly walked towards to Micheal, one step at a time. “Something you love is actually something you hate, and something you hate is actually something you love. Something you desire is what you ignore, and something you ignore is what you desire. Something you expect surprises you, and something that surprises you is something you expect,” he said as he continuously walks slowly towards him. “That something…..Micheal…..,” he stopped walking since he was now very close to him. He lifted up his head, revealing his devilish smile, and puts his hand on Micheal’s shoulder. Then he continues to speak. “That something is me, Micheal,” he said in a very deep, rough voice with a venomously happy look on his face. “You may assume that I am just a monster, but no, Micheal. I am not just some monster…..You are. You are a monster for making me, for thinking about me so I can exist,” he said as he watched Micheal in horror, realizing how he is a monster, that Micheal knows that he is not any better than him. Micheal panics over how he is stuck with this monster, with himself forever until the end of his life. “So…..the one question I gotta ask is…..since I am going to stay with you for the rest of your entire life, do you have a restroom here. ‘Cause I gotta take a little ‘phit,’ if you know what I mean,” he said in a shockingly much more relaxed tone, yet with the same rough voice. Micheal said nothing. Micheal did nothing. But all he did was just walk towards his chair and sat down, staring at the far windows. Just doing nothing. “Okay, I’ll just chill over here. You know, relax, take this all in. Maybe do stuff. I don’t know. See ya in a few minutes, bro,” he said just walking around, as Micheal just stares and slowly cries, having to be with this monster, his monster forever and ever. “You have a dog? I was just asking because it smells like crap over here. Am I right, dude?” he said as he smelled what he thought was awful, and as Micheal still cried and stared in true horror. Being scared of the one thing that could ruin his life: Him. For he is his own monster for what he has done to himself.