Twinkle, twinkle, little star Up above the world so high Like a diamond in the sky…

Amrynn hummed the melody, vaguely mouthing the words she could remember. An alien lullaby.

She leaned against the tree——not that it looked anything like the trees she knew——and scrutinized the sky. The quarter moon drew her attention first. She knew about natural satellites, yes, but to see one was… she hadn’t yet decided whether she liked it or not. It intrigued her, at least.

The stars, however…

Twinkle… …twinkle… …little star

…The stars disturbed her.

Leaving Zira was necessity. Amrynn knew that. She had spent her whole life saying goodbye. Sentiment wasn’t enough reason to stay.

And she was so very sure that all she needed were the stars, and she could forget.

But she’d forgotten that along the way, the patterns would lose their shapes. She couldn’t recognize them anymore, and if they recognized her, they did not say. And the light… this planet was so flodded with light, it clouded the sky.

She didn’t know what to feel.

All Amrynn knew was that this was yet another reminder that she was the alien here.

How I wonder what you are 💫

Lost it. Lost it all. Lost my sanity. Lost my friends. Lost my voice. And ha, I’ve lost my ugly smile. I bet they smile more than ever now. They laugh at my pain. They smile at my tears. And they don’t care. “Always guard your heart,” I say. “Never trust until you know you can.” Just learned from experience honey. Don’t judge me for it. “You can judge me when you’re perfect, got it?” I tell them. They think I want to not trust. They think I want to not be able to love. Oh bitch, trust me I want too. I want and want so hard for me to change. But I’ve realized if I keep changing myself, I will just lose myself. I can’t change others though. I wish I could. So much. That others would stop putting me through so much hurt. I love them. But because of them I can’t love myself. Please someone, change.

It’s official

I am lost

I’ve lost my personality, my voice

I’ve lost my happiness and value

I’ve lost everything and everyone that mattered to me

I’ve lost my will and my passions

I’ve lost excitement and confidence

I’ve lost it all in return for depression and tears and misery

And it’s all because of her

That rat

That witch

That snitch

That bitch

That wannabe

That lier

She took everything from me

All because she didn’t like me

And I don’t like her!

Because I wouldn’t be lost if she hadn’t been in my life!

But I have to face it…

I Am Lost…

Lost it, haha. And damn, still searching.

When did it disappear? Hmm… I don’t know. Shall I say… ehhhh… Around the age of ten.

Still losing it- And damn, still searching. Still grasping in the dark.

Vibing to dark music; Follow Me Into Hell - Iamjakehill DAYWALKER - MGK and CORPSE I Choose Violence - Iamjakehill BULLETPROOF - TOKOYO’S REVENGE DANGEROUS - NEFFEX EAT SPIT! - Slush Puppy

I punch walls more now. Laugh at all the wrong stuff. Evil smirk, twisting things in my mind. Knives call more now, horrid thoughts.

I’m plagued- No, you can’t help. No one can, don’t try.

Cheeeesssee. Haha. See bitch? I’m smiling. I’m showing teeth.

I look into the mirror, my light brown eyes staring back at me, their insight and faltering wisdom dim in the lighting of the hallway.

I look beyond the fading light, beyond the cold stare and look deep into the eyes of my reflection slowly coming to an uneasy and probably the most logical decision.

I’ve lost my mind.

I don’t know when or how it happened but I see the sanity of my existence slowly slipping away. But despite the knowledge of that inevitable truth, I am eerily hopeful. Hopeful that I will not stand out in the world that is already crazy.

For who needs to be sane in a world slowly drowning in insanity.

She stared at the mirror and her tired eyes lingered heavily at the stranger that looked at her.

Her stranger had tired, weak hair that was strangled into a tight bun. Heavy eye bags cling and pulled her face into a stiff, sickly mess of sadness. She wore a dirty hoody as if it were her second layer of skin.

‘You…’.

A static smile cracked itself onto her dry lips, as she scanned me.

She continued on in a dull desperate monologue

‘Why did you lose me?’

The girl smiled at her stranger.

‘You cannot always look at your scars’

The girl now had strong, healthy hair that blew on the breeze, like a handkerchief whispering and waving goodbye. Her eyes sparkled and shimmered with silent splendour. She still wore hoodies, hoodies would always be a part of her. But now, she had shedded her dirty signature hoody and she would wear a colour combination of hoodies. From red to blue or black to white.

She soon spoke and had her voice came out as a confident assertion, as she exclaimed

‘I can’t always look at my scars and I can’t always look at you my stranger.’

“Hurry up! Grab your suitcase! Don’t forget the one by the bed!” Anne shouted to her son Martin.

“I can’t find my charger,” Martin whined.

“Chargers are cheap, don’t worry. We’re going to miss our flight!” Anne grabbed her rolling bag and ushered Martin out of the hotel room.

“I’m hungry, are we going to be able to eat on the plane again like last time? I want one of their turkey sandwiches. With a pickle! Can I get a soda?”

“Of course, hun. But only one. I don’t want you to have to get up all throughout the flight having to use the restroom. It’s an 8 hour trip. We’re going to want to get comfortable.”

Anne and Martin rushed to the front counter where a plump little lady stood. Round glasses that were too big for her face rested on her nose. She was buried in the computer in front of her, diligently typing away.

“Hello, we’re checking out. Parsons, room 420.” Anne said, pulling her wallet out of her purse. She put it down on the counter.

The woman raised her eyebrows but didn’t look up from the computer. Supposing this was a sign of acknowledgement, Anne waited a couple of seconds.

“I’d just like to return our keys, if that’s alright.”

The woman pressed a few buttons with the mouse, then looked up from her glasses, without moving her head.

“How many keys?” she uttered curtly.

“Two.” Anne placed the key cards down in front of the woman.

“One moment.” She looked back to the screen. Anne looked at her watch. They still had to hail a cab, get to the airport, check their bags, go through security, and find their terminal. All in the span of less than two hours. The airport alone was 45 minutes away, at least that’s what Anne’s phone had told her when she checked last night before forgetting to set her alarm and waking up late in utter panic.

Anne knew it was her fault for them being behind, but she couldn’t help becoming irritated at how long the stout woman was taking, and how little she cared about them or whether they might be in a rush or not.

“And that’ll all get charged to the card I put down at check in correct?” Anne urged, hoping this would speed up the process so that she could just head out now.

“One moment,” the woman repeated.

Anne couldn’t help herself, “I’m sorry ma’am. We’re in a little bit of a rush, what else do you need from me?”

The woman huffed muttering something about Americans under her breath. That was uncalled for, thought Anne, but didn’t say anything.

“Your keys have been received. Our machine is printing your receipt now. Again, one moment and you’ll be on your way.” She glanced at their bags. “I don’t suppose you’ll need a trolly for your bags.”

“No, thank you, we’re alright.” Anne glanced at her watch again then down at Martin. He was sitting on his rolling bag playing with an action figure he had grabbed from his backpack.

“There you are. Thank you for staying with us.”

Before Anne could respond, the woman instantly turned around and walked to the back room. Anne let the rudeness pass and quickly grabbed her rolling suitcase and Martin’s free hand and pulled him along to the large rustic door of the hotel. It felt heavy pushing it, but it could have been from the wind, which she was greeted by with a swift gust. She grabbed at her coat which swayed in the wind and saw Martin sidestep to stop himself from falling over.

She hailed a cab and they rushed to put their belongings in the trunk before hopping in together and cuddling up for warmth. Anne hadn’t realized how cold it would be outside. This was Europe in the winter after all. Her and Martin were used to the sunny days of Florida and the humidity that hung in the air with an awful pungency reserved for the summers. She didn’t miss it there. Now that the divorce with her husband was finalized and they didn’t have to stay in Florida for his job anymore, she was prepared to move up the coast to somewhere in the New England area. She had always loved visiting there as a child. The history, the sights, the weather. It was really why she liked Europe so much as well. She was thrilled to have given Martin the chance to come out here and see it for himself.

She glanced down at him, watching him silently as he stared out the cab window, looking at the sites one final time. At the people walking their dogs, laughing amongst friends, rushing to work, shopping. She knew he needed this break from reality as much as she did. She squeezed him gently against her.

“Mom, why don’t we live here?” Martin asked, not looking away from the road.

“We’ll live somewhere similar soon. Then we can come here and visit as often as we can.”

“Promise?” He turned to look at her with his big brown eyes.

“Promise.” She kissed his forehead. He smiled and turned away again, new excitement written across his face.

The cab pulled up to the airport and Anne checked her watch. They had about 45 minutes and still had to go through all the checks. She grabbed the last of her cash from her pocket and handed it to the driver. They gathered their bags and hand in hand raced inside.

After checking their bags at the self check and printing their tickets they wasted no time in rushing to find their gate.

They had to pass through customs first, but that wouldn’t take long. They hadn’t bought any souvenirs, just taken photos, and their bags were already checked.

As they wove through the line, time ticking away, they approached the agent who asked them for their tickets and passports.

“Absolutely, one second,” Anne reached into her purse. Her heart dropped. She didn’t keep much in her purse, some gum, tissues, pens, a notepad, and….her wallet. It was obviously absent. She thought quickly, if she left it in her suitcase, or if she took it out in the cab.

“Ma’am I need your passport,” the gentlemen said, rather sternly.

“Yes, of course, I just seem to have misplaced it,” she almost whispered.

“Please step aside while you search,” he said and ushered her to his side.

Other passengers started to walk up to him and hand their identification over as well as their tickets. They walked right through towards their flights, that would surely not take off without them.

‘Oh god, why? This is awful!’ Anne thought, fruitlessly searching her purse. She could feel the sweat forming on her body. She looked at her watch again 10 minutes. She thought and thought again. What could she do? They wouldn’t be able to leave the country. They were going to miss their flight. They wouldn’t be able to buy another ticket, they wouldn’t be able to get a hotel.

“Well honey, maybe we will be living here after all,” Anne joked.

“What do you mean?” Martin asked confused, not understanding. “What about all of our stuff at home?”

“It was a joke sweetie. I just can’t find our passports.” Anne looked defeated, the agent glanced over at her.

“Ma’am, if you don’t have your passport, I’m going to have to ask you to exit the airport.” Anne looked to her purse, looked to Martin, then back to the agent.

“Alright, well thank you,” she sighed and grabbing Martin’s hand again, turned him around and headed back the way they came, on the opposite side of the rope. She looked out the window and saw a plane taking off. Probably not her plane, she thought, but the symbolism was not lost on her.

“Where are we going? What are we doing?” Martin complained. Anne could tell his hunger was setting in.

She pulled them aside to a bench. ‘Maybe if I hadn’t woken up late I would have had my head on straight this morning. Maybe if we’d had a proper breakfast. The hotel boasted about their amazing breakfast,’ she thought and pictured the creamy eggs, fluffy French toast, and coffee. Definitely the coffee. ‘That desk attendant could have used some coffee…That desk attendant! How could I be so stupid! I left my wallet at the counter!’ She jumped up from the bench, startling Martin.

“Honey, we're going back to the hotel!”

“What about our bags?” Martin asked.

‘Shit,’ Anne thought. This was going to involve more steps then she anticipated. But now she had her head on straight. She was super-mom to the rescue!

I lose my patience When I log on And see that the writings I worked so hard on Have no reads No likes No comments

It makes me feel Appalled That I spent hours Writing things And no one Likes them

'You don't mind a warm banana, do you?’ Mad-Aunt Millie looks at me so sincerely it's a miracle I don't burst out laughing.

'As long as that's not a euphemism,' I say. She gives me a stern look. I clear my throat, looking down at the gingham tablecloth. 'I can't say I've ever tried one, ma'am.'

'Great. There's a first time for everything.' She plonks a bowl with the aforementioned fruit in front of me.

Immediately, my nose is assaulted by what I can only describe as an abhorrence of nature. Like Millie's coated this banana in something foul-smelling before serving it up to me under the guise of nutrition.

'Don't wait on my account,' Mad-Aunt Millie says, turning back to the stove, 'I've got my one on the go.'

'Uh, okay.'

I pick up my fork with all the enthusiasm of a boy heading to the gallows, and prod the mashed banana in the hope that it'll grow legs and scuttle far away. Sadly, it doesn't. In fact, it looks more resilient than ever, lurking at the bottom of my bowl like a creature from the depths of the lake, those two arches in its flesh like beady eyes.

'You know what, Auntie.' I flash my widest smile. 'Sorry, but I think I've just lost my appetite.'

If only they’d matured alongside their garden. Delores, “You Live and You Turn, Volume 3 of the Turnip the Volume Series”

MJ had followed the ghost's directions to the letter. He'd approached the horned maiden in coach D seat 30 and had used humor to break the ice. He'd conversated with her long enough to win her trust and had even managed to appear "wise." Beneath the gold-caged lights and tilted banter, it felt good to flash a little sarcasm here and there. Living in the Midwest had admittedly turned MJ placatory to a nauseating degree.

He'd wanted to give the conversation his full attention, he really did, but MJ's true focus lie several rows behind his newfound friend. The monkeys were acting up again.

"Brandon," thought MJ, "leave your little brother alone. You know he needs to take a nap. No. No! Sit down. Sit! N-."

"Feel to be rude on your own time, stud."

The wizard's conversational companion came back into focus.

"Apologies, HM," said MJ. "What were we talking about?"

"Psshh!" said HM. "Keep up, Mellow Jazz! We were talking about my POWERS!"

"Right." MJ's gaze drifted again to the triplets. Bailey had given up on sleep and was now thwacking his brother's head with a snow globe. "Riiiiight," said MJ again. He bit his lower lip as he watched Becca grab both brothers by their tails and dangle them over the narrow, leather seating.

"Heartburn?" asked HM. "My maker usually gets that same face after eight rounds of kielbasa surprise."

MJ watched Brandon stick the snow globe in his mouth.

"Yeeaaah," said MJ. "Um, I am so, so sorry but, I think... I think I-"

"Antacid?" asked HM. "You're fake, right? Can't you just," she hunched her shoulders and swept her hands out before her, "magic something up?"

MJ grimaced. "You seem to have a real handle on magic," he sighed. "I'm sorry but... I think something bad's about to happen."

"Kielbasa surprise kind of ba-?"

OOOOOOO!!

MJ looked up to see Becca wielding a knife.

"Honey!" shouted MJ. "Sweetheart! What do I always say about cutlery?!"

HM raised both eyebrows. Becca hissed.

"Becca!" MJ abandoned his seat and his acquaintance to work his way towards the chaos. "You put that down THIS INSTANT, young lady!"

Becca lifted the knife above her head.

Back when MJ was just a few hairs shy of a mustache, he'd begged his supervisor (then aged 3) to take him to school. He too wished to discuss shapes and colors. He too wished to taste glue. What he didn't see coming was Ronny Giabatti and his stolen pair of adult scissors.

MJ remembered that day for two reasons. One, he'd learned that pointy things could hurt. Two, it was the only time he'd ever heard Delores scream.

It was with that same jolt of terror that MJ raised his voice now.

"NO!" he roared.

Or so he thought.

His mouth had formed the word "no," but his ears received a different word. It was as if some invisible force has molded his speech midair.

In a voice that matched his own, he heard the word "THROW!"

The knife, which in hindsight, was a decorative masterwork, cleaved through the air like a sickle during harvest. Somehow, left of logic, it changed course mid-air towards a slew of unaware train passengers.

The wizard's scream tore from him pained and incoherent as the knife ruthlessly raked Delores' cheek before landing somewhere behind her with a sickening thud.