The sun had barely begun to rise when Trudia arrived at the toll booth, the cold November air biting at her cheeks as she shuffled inside and settled into the small space she’d come to know so well. This was one of the last non-automated toll booths in the entire country. Once a common sight, now a relic like her, hanging on in a world that seemed, in her eyes at least, to be moving just a little too fast. Trudia didn’t mind, though. The routine was familiar, comforting in a way, despite everything that had happened.

You see the previous day, a day usually associated with joy and happier times, she had learned her fate. The nice people on the phone explained that she had fallen for what they called, a cybercrime. One that made her lose her life savings. Everything that she and North had diligently worked so hard to put away—gone in the blink of an eye.

This was tough on her, exacerbated by the fact that her husband North could no longer work due to his failing health. Hence, it was up to her to keep things afloat. And so here she was, the day after Thanksgiving, needing to work, smiling through the pain, with her grief tucked away in the corners of her heart. But today was a new day. Ever the optimist, she tried to forget yesterday’s dire news as the first car rolled up.

It was a dark SUV with a husband, wife, and their two children in the back. The routine was familiar—take the money, process the transaction, raise the gate. “Good morning!” Trudia greeted them warmly, pushing aside her worries. The husband, Carlos, smiled and handed her the $5 for the toll.

Trudia took the bill. But something was wrong. The register wouldn’t open.

Trudia’s heart sank as she stared at the new system. She had never been good with modern stuff. And today of all days she had forgotten her glasses, bluring the world and with it the tiny words on the system troubleshooting guide. If only it could blur her anguish, she thought absentmindedly. She fiddled with the buttons, trying to remember what the training manual had said, but nothing worked.

“Sorry about this,” she said, glancing at the family. “It’s these new machines. And I forgot my glasses. Please give me a minute.”

“No rush,” Carlos said, leaning out of the window. “Take your time. We’re in no hurry.”

His wife, Maria, smiled reassuringly. In the backseat, their preteen kids, Pen and Nathan, chatted among themselves. As Trudia squinted at the screen, trying to figure out how to get the register to cooperate, Nathan, the eight-year-old boy, pulled out a piece of paper and some markers.

After a while a few cars started to build up behind them, and Maria asked, concerned, “You doing okay in there?” noticing the frown on Trudia’s face.

“Honestly,” Trudia said with a weak laugh, “I’m having a bit of a morning. This new machine just doesn’t agree with me. And you know, this job probably won’t be here much longer with all this ‘Sunny Pass’ stuff.” She shook her head. “I mean, SunPass.”

Carlos, feeling the tension in her voice, said gently, “We’re so sorry to hear that. Is there anyway I can help?”

Trudia hesitated but found herself opening up. “Not really. Well, it’s not just the machine. We, my husband and I recently had a... situation. We lost our life savings recently due to an online thing. A scam. Others did too we were told. It’s just been a bit day”

“Oh no,” Maria gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “That’s awful!”

While his parents continued to chat with and console the toll booth attendant, Nathan leaned over to his older sister and whispered something. Soon, the two were quietly working on something together.

A few more cars got into the line, and Trudia sighed, clearly having no luck. Nathan, now finished with his drawing, handed it to Pen, who started scribbling on it meticulously.

“Pen!” Maria said, a touch of surprise clear in her voice, was about to admonish her daughter for “ruining” Nathan’s drawing. But Pen just smiled at her mom and said “I’m doing my homework.”Pen then snapped a photo of the picture with her cellphone. Maria was about to open her mouth to speak, but stopped when she noticed Nathan’s grin. Out of the corner of her eye she also observed Carlos was smiling.

Pen, who was closer to the booth than Nathan, handed the picture with her scribbles to Trudia, which she took with a grateful smile. Though her vision was blurry without her glasses, she could make out the vibrant colors and the figure of a woman lifting the toll gate, cape flowing behind her.

“Oh my goodness,” Trudia whispered, tears prickling her eyes. “This is beautiful. I’ll hang this right here for everyone to see.”

This put a wide grin on Carlos’s face. At that moment, seeing her struggle with the register, he had a thought. “Can I just pay with my card?” he said, reaching for his wallet. After Trudia, a bit embarrassed she had not considered it, confirmed the card would work, he added “Great! And you know what? I’m covering the toll for the car behind me too.”

Trudia blinked. “You’d do that? That’s so kind of you.

“Of course,” Carlos said, swiping his card. “Let’s keep the kindness going.” Carlos took the receipt and pen, filled it out, signed it and waited for the gate to open. As Trudia was taping the picture to the booth, clearly visible from the window, the gate opened and Carlos drove through.

After a few moments, the red Beetle next in line rolled up—a mom and her child. Trudia explained that their toll had already been paid. The woman smiled and, looking at Trudia’s window and the new addition now taped to it, said looking at Trudia, “That’s amazing! I would like to pay for the car behind me too.” Trudia could not help but grin. After Trudia explained that only credit was accepted at the moment, the woman handed over her card and repeated the same process Carlos had a moment earlier.

And so it went, one after another, each new driver decided to pay it forward for the next. The line grew longer, but no one seemed to mind. Everyone who passed through the booth that morning, Trudia was certain from people’s expressions, left with a little more joy in their heart than when they arrived. And everyone had loved the painting given by the children in the first car.

By the time the last car drove through and Trudia’s shift came to an end, she was nearly in tears from the beauty of it all. While it was a light travel day coming after a major holiday, everyone had paid it forward—every single car. She ended her day, grabbed her jacket, and printed the daily report, thankful that process had not become more complex as well. After jotting down that the toll had already been covered for the first car the next morning, she folded the picture Nathan and Pen had made and placed it carefully in her bag. Unbidden the memory of that first family entered her mind, and she considered how they had turned what could have been a stressful day into something wonderful.

In the parking lot, North was waiting in their old Buick, his smile warm and gentle. They drove home quietly, the weight of the day easing with every mile. After arriving home and enjoying a modest dinner together as they did every night, Trudia excitedly handed her husband the picture.

“These kids made this for me,” she said, smiling and chuckling, still amazed at the children’s gesture. Grabbing the toll report from her bag, she put on her glasses, finding them of course right where she left them—on the kitchen table. North did the same. After a few moments, they looked up at each other across the table, both wide eyed in their thick lens.

Trudia spoke first. “This can’t be right darling. It’s way too much.”

“Oh, is that right dear?” North responded playfully.

Trudia stared at him for a long beat, wondering what joke he was in on and she wasn’t. Almost as if reading her mind, he handed her back the picture. Now wearing her glasses, it made sense.

The drawing showed her, with a red Superman cape, standing in her booth—it even had her station number: 2. Her left hand was stretched out holding open a huge gate for a tiny car to drive through. But there was more.

Above the scene, in bold colors and capital letters was some text. It read as follows:

“My teacher asked me to find a real life hero and I told her they don’t exist. Well I was wrong. She works at the toll station. Number 2.”

The words continued, “Bad guys tricked her and now her family has no money. But she still came here to raise the gate for us. Please raise her up like she raises the gate for us. Don’t forget to tip. This makes you a hero. Just like my brother who drew this picture of her. He is my hero! (P.s. pls don’t tell him that). To say thank you for your kind heart. My dad has given money for your toll. Please thank the person behind you too.”

[NTP]

Shout words as jokes, because you’re afraid to speak and bring it to life as real. You hide it, scared to fall weak.

You say everything to disguise the terror. “They can’t embarrass me; trial-and-error.”

You can’t fall silent, it’s an act of defeat. ‘Don’t be like that, were you born on the street?’

Don’t talk too much. Don’t talk too little. Most words are jokes, and we’re left in the middle.

If you don’t joke about your insecurities, you’re suddenly just another human impurity.

Because that’s too emotional, too deep and disgusting. Somehow, I guess, honesty died alongside trusting.

An act of kindness is suddenly covering a slip-up? When you help them, you both wonder, was it picked up?

Jokes gone too far, but feelings falling depthless. People laugh at everyone except feelings; except this.

Smash a heart, make a joke. Dance around shards, and cut and poke.

I call you shallow, but I may be a hypocrite. Yet, you whine when you have to go through the thick of it.

If a joke goes too far, nobody gives a second glance. They just smile and laugh, sing and dance. Are you stuck in a trance?

I can write about anything. But not this. There aren't enough words on the planet Too much paralytics in my veins Where do I even begin to explain? I have about 10 drafts One line in common "something is wrong with me" And that's as far as I get. Every. Single. Time.

Everyday at precisely 10:00 am, Rue could be seen exiting the Grand Farmstand. With her head down, and newly aquired groceries, she hurried past the lavender fields and through the evening's orange rays. She was never distracted. Without a minute to loose, she arrived at the station and stepped into the train and plopped onto the nearest seat. As the train began to start, she reached for her book. She noticed a young boy staring down at his notebook, bare and unwritten upon. He had a slight sadness juxtoposing his furrowed brows. The child refused to look elsewhere. Perhaps he had nothing to write with, Rue wondered. She returned to her book and read until she heard the train annouce her stop. Placing the book away, to her side she noticed the same boy, stuck in a similar state. fixated upon his open notebook unwilling to look away. In that moment, the doors opened and she readied herself to quickly exit the train. But her mind was distracted by the peculiar child. From her pocket she rummaged through and alongside a gum wrapped and a outstretched hair tie, was in fact a pencil. With a slight smile, she handed the boy the pencil, turned, and was out the door.

In his hands, was a yellow and white stripped pencil with a dull point. Why did that lady hand him this seemingly be and new pencil? It is true, that Gus possed no writing tools but at the same token, he was not looking for one. He did not want to ruin its crisp lined pages with schoolwork or anything else really. The notebook that lay on his lap was from his father. Gus would not see his father again. The sentence was final. He refused to believe his father guilty, leaving him with nothing besides this notebook. Was it a wretched thing or a hidden blessed. The thoughts swirled in his mind the entire train ride stopping abruptly at this interruption. A pencil from this stranger. He felt his grief momentarily fade and open a new image for him. a life of hope ahead. The young man, picked it up in that moment and decided to write.

You are not a wretched thing

you are a gift, I know

With this I write to you to say

be blessed

The first pages of the notebook thus said this, leaving Gus eyes welled with tears. Yet, Gus was not quite sure about it. He tore off the page immediately after, folding the paper and slipping it into his pocket. Once the train arrived at his home stop, he stepped off. He raced through the growing crowds, eager to get away to some place quiet. He past through the streets lined with pubs and took the route beyond the boat dock. He arrived at a boulvard of fraiser magnolias, at the brink of blooming. As he decided to take a seat under the shade, an old farmer walked along the road ahead. The lanky man in tattered shoes, cursed under his breath several times. Constant sun had caused his skin to leather while the lines that ran deep across his forehead and hands meant a life of hardship. As the farmer looked up at the boy, their eyes met. they let out a weak smile, with a upturned corner of their mouths, acknowledging the sadness that existed in each other. In that moment, the boy took out the folded paper in his pocket and held it out to the dusty man. The farmer took the paper and quickly hurried his way.

Alf awoke before sunrise that morning to prepare for the busy day ahead. He knew that people began coming to the farmstand for local eggs first thing in the morning. He was not ready for the day but he forced himself to get to the chicken coop and begin his daily collection. With a mere 14 eggs in hand, he headed for the farm stand. through the lavender fields that encircled the farm and over the creaking bridge, he contemplated his life. Alf was a overtaken by fear ever since the bird flu came last month - eighteen of his chickens died including his favotre silkie - Peaches. He was unprepared for the future that was thinning due to the significant decrease in egg supply - his only means of income. He found himself blaming himself for not learn other skills or invest when he had a thriving egg stand. He wouldn't make it past winter at this rate and he hated himself for being so poor and silly. In that moment, he found a folded paper in his pocket.

Reading the words "be blessed" a light sparked though his face. He felt encouraged and smiled, remembering the young boy handing it to him the day before. Proud, he set up his egg stand and waiting for the customers to arrive. Across him, the grand stand too was being set up overflowing green vegetables from the spring harvest. With a new found joy to light his day, Alf wanted to do what he always did when happy, give away some free eggs. However, he did not eggs to give away anymore. The first customer that came to his stand that morning asked for all the eggs he had. She was serious women with dropping eyes. Alf was exstaic to make his first and final sale of the day in one go. He handed her the eggs along with a yellow and white stripped pencil. Its all I can do, he thought.

kind act 1 helps inspire kind act 2 which kind act three inspires kind act 1

gives a pencil to a child child writes a card to stranger about his gift stranger gives away pencils

Everyday at precisely 10:00 am, Rue could be seen exiting the Grand Farmstand. With her head down, and newly aquired groceries, she hurried past the lavender fields and through the evening's orange rays. She was never distracted. Without a minute to loose, she arrived at the station and stepped into the train and plopped onto the nearest seat. As the train began to start, she reached for her book. She noticed a young boy staring down at his notebook, bare and unwritten upon. He had a slight sadness juxtoposing his furrowed brows. The child refused to look elsewhere. Perhaps he had nothing to write with, Rue wondered. She returned to her book and read until she heard the train annouce her stop. Placing the book away, to her side she noticed the same boy, stuck in a similar state. fixated upon his open notebook unwilling to look away. In that moment, the doors opened and she readied herself to quickly exit the train. But her mind was distracted by the peculiar child. From her pocket she rummaged through and alongside a gum wrapped and a outstretched hair tie, was in fact a pencil. With a slight smile, she handed the boy the pencil, turned, and was out the door.

In his hands, was a yellow and white stripped pencil with a dull point. Why did that lady hand him this seemingly be and new pencil? It is true, that Gus possed no writing tools but at the same token, he was not looking for one. He did not want to ruin its crisp lined pages with schoolwork or anything else really. The notebook that lay on his lap was from his father. Gus would not see his father again. The sentence was final. He refused to believe his father guilty, leaving him with nothing besides this notebook. Was it a wretched thing or a hidden blessed. The thoughts swirled in his mind the entire train ride stopping abruptly at this interruption. A pencil from this stranger. He felt his grief momentarily fade and open a new image for him. a life of hope ahead. The young man, picked it up in that moment and decided to write.

You are not a wretched thing you are a gift, I know With this I write to you to say be blessed

The first pages of the notebook thus said this, leaving Gus eyes welled with tears. Yet, Gus was not quite sure about it. He tore off the page immediately after, folding the paper and slipping it into his pocket. Once the train arrived at his home stop, he stepped off. He raced through the growing crowds, eager to get away to some place quiet. He past through the streets lined with pubs and took the route beyond the boat dock. He arrived at a boulvard of fraiser magnolias, at the brink of blooming. As he decided to take a seat under the shade, an old farmer walked along the road ahead. The lanky man in tattered shoes, cursed under his breath several times. Constant sun had caused his skin to leather while the lines that ran deep across his forehead and hands meant a life of hardship. As the farmer looked up at the boy, their eyes met. they let out a weak smile, with a upturned corner of their mouths, acknowledging the sadness that existed in each other. In that moment, the boy took out the folded paper in his pocket and held it out to the dusty man. The farmer took the paper and quickly hurried his way.

Alf awoke before sunrise that morning to prepare for the busy day ahead. He knew that people began coming to the farmstand for local eggs first thing in the morning. He was not ready for the day but he forced himself to get to the chicken coop and begin his daily collection. With a mere 14 eggs in hand, he headed for the farm stand. through the lavender fields that encircled the farm and over the creaking bridge, he contemplated his life. Alf was a overtaken by fear ever since the bird flu came last month - eighteen of his chickens died including his favotre silkie - Peaches. He was unprepared for the future that was thinning due to the significant decrease in egg supply - his only means of income. He found himself blaming himself for not learn other skills or invest when he had a thriving egg stand. He wouldn't make it past winter at this rate and he hated himself for being so poor and silly. In that moment, he found a folded paper in his pocket. Reading the words "be blessed" a light sparked though his face. He felt encouraged and smiled, remembering the young boy handing it to him the day before. Proud, he set up his egg stand and waiting for the customers to arrive. Across him, the grand stand too was being set up overflowing green vegetables from the spring harvest. With a new found joy to light his day, Alf wanted to do what he always did when happy, give away some free eggs. However, he did not eggs to give away anymore. The first customer that came to his stand that morning asked for all the eggs he had. She was serious women with dropping eyes. Alf was exstaic to make his first and final sale of the day in one go. He handed her the eggs along with a yellow and white stripped pencil. Its all I can do, he thought.

1976

It started with a bus seat. I stood up for the pregnant woman that got on the full bus. She took the seat, and the man behind her shoved past her and forced me to the back of the bus.

He stood with his back to me, he was tall and wide and not a wall I was willing to fight my way over today. So I grabbed a handle, and let my hand be the only thing anchoring me to the bus.

My stop approached, then I missed it. Because the man had to push past me to get off the bus, and then the pregnant lady needed help standing and disembarking the bus. So I stood back for the man, and I helped the woman. Then, because there was so much going against my normal routine, my brain short circuited. I got back on the bus. Why did I get back on the bus?

I had no idea what the route was after my stop. I’d never taken it this far before. I went to ask the driver what was to come, but one look from him had me sitting in the now vacant seat again.

I got off on the next stop. I was going to just figure it out. Then I saw a large, marble building with Greek architecture. A bank! They should have white pages, then I could call my brother. He could help me get home.

I was in line for one of the payphone, there were only two people ahead of me, it shouldn’t have been long. I heard a car backfire, a big loud pop echoing through the quiet marble hall.

Then the screaming. Why were they screaming? It was just a car that backfired. And was….continuously backfiring? No, that’s not right, that doesn’t sound right.

The people in front of me turn around, and look at me in terror. Not at me, I realized. I turned around, and saw the guns before I saw them. I heard “get on the- POP

Leave me alone old bat. You don’t know what I’ve done. You don’t know what I’ve been through i am done. Don’t even bother to bother me, cuz I’ll fuck you up. I am distorted my brain is a prison

Be kind Rewind You’ll find Gold lined

Pay it forward Not for a reward Pray to your Lord Keep walking toward

Then one day Not much to say Did things your way We are here to stay

“Let me help with that!” The woman said to the kid carrying the heavy piece of wood.

As the kid walked to school she saw her classmate picking up stones. “Let me help with that” the girl said.

As the kid carried his stones into school he saw his teacher writing a math equation on the board but struggling to bend down low. “Let me help with that!”

The teacher is teaching the students math when a student is having a problem learning. “Let me help with that!” The teacher said

As the student got home he saw his mom making dinner. “Let me help with that!” He said.

Seventeen-year-old Marigold Hernandez was biking home from her best friend Anna’s house when she heard a terrible “BOOM!” Seeing smoke, she pedaled as quickly as she could toward it. If there was something she could do, she wanted to help. Her heart was racing, but as she rounded the corner and turned onto the next block, it skipped a beat. “That’s David’s house-“ As she came closer, she could hear sirens in the distance, but the entire house was already ablaze. _“They won’t make it here in time.” _Flinging her bike aside, she raced up the steps. Marigold checked the front door by placing the back of her hand on it—and almost instantly jerked it away. There was a bright red mark on her hand from where she had made contact with the door. “DAVID!” She screamed. There was no response. Racing around the side of the house, she found that the gate was unlatched. Marigold raced up to the back door and placed her hand on it, only to find that it, too, was blazing hot. _“I have to get in there somehow,” _she thought. _“I don’t have a choice.” _ Scanning her surroundings, her eyes landed on the bricks David’s mother had used to mark the boundary of her flower garden. Seizing a brick from the edge of the garden, she flung it at a window, shattering it. Marigold hoisted herself onto the windowsill and through the opening, sucking teeth as the sharp edges of exposed glass cut through her skin. There was so much smoke that it was difficult to see anything, and the intensity of the fire made it feel like she was being cooked alive. Coughing, Marigold fell to the floor and began to crawl. Suddenly, her fingers touched something, and she looked up to find—“David!” she cried before she was overcome with a coughing fit. Grabbing him by the ankles, she dragged him back to the window she had opened and with some unknown strength reserve, got him out to safety. Marigold made sure he was a safe distance from the house before charging back up the steps and through the window. Seconds later, the entire structure collapsed, killing everyone within it. _

“How are you doing, honey?” Grandma Joan asked. Sixteen-year-old David sighed, the guilt that weighed upon his heart was an elephant that could crush him at any time. “I’m fine,” he mumbled as he stirred his soggy Frosted Flakes. It had been two months since the fire. Based on the evidence, the police had managed to piece together what had happened: there had been a gas leak, and his father had unknowingly tried to light a cigarette in the basement. The explosion kicked him instantly, and his mother and little brother—like himself—had succumbed to the smoke and fell unconscious. His friend, Marigold, had seen the smoke and managed to rescue him, but when she went back inside for the rest of his family, the house had collapsed, snuffing out the lives of everyone he held dear. _“I ought to be dead. Why am I still alive? I don’t deserve to be alive.” _The guilt of survival gnawed at his soul. His grandparents didn’t pressure him, chalking it all up to grief. They didn’t know how much he blamed himself for what had happened. “Well, make sure you don’t miss the bus, darling. It arrives at 7:30.” David nodded and rose from his seat. It would be his first day at a new school, but he didn’t feel nervous at all. He didn’t feel—much of anything. He walked over to his grandmother and gave her a kiss on the cheek before cleaning out his bowl and heading out the door.

David shuffled down the hallway with his eyes glued to the floor. His eyes were studying his new combination for hood locker, but his mind was a Hubbard miles away, back in San Antonio. Suddenly, a wonderful, familiar laugh broke through his mental haze. His head shot up as he glanced around and what he saw made his jaw drop. It was Marigold! She was standing just a few feet away from him! “MARY!” David shrieked as he embraced her, tears flowing down his face.

Lily Hernandez stood in shock as a young man held her close, his sobs so intense that her heart began to ache for him. She had no idea what had happened in this young man’s life to cause him such grief, but it must have been devastating. She turned to look at her friends who were just as stunned as she was. Looking back at the boy, she asked, “Hey, are you okay?” He held her by her shoulders as he gazed at her, beaming. “Yes! I can’t believe it! I—where have you been all this time, Mary?” She gave him a sad, confused look. “I’m sorry, you must have me mistaken for someone else. My name is Lily Hernandez.” His smile faded slightly. “No!” he insisted. “I’ll show you.” He released her as he snatched his phone from his pocket and pulled up his photo album. Finding what he was looking for, he turned the screen to Lily, and she gasped! The picture showed the mystery boy and her together. “But—how is that possible?” The bell rang the five-minute warning. Lily grabbed the young man’s wrist and looked him in the eye. “Meet me at lunch.”

At lunch, Lily learned that the person who had hugged her in the hall was David Richter. The story he told about his friend Marigold was incredible—and sad. As Lily and her friends sat in silence, digesting David’s story, she met David’s gaze, and her breath caught at how sad he looked. No—sad didn’t even begin to describe the deep sorrow and pain in his chocolate-brown eyes. With tears in her eyes, Lily stood and embraced him. “You’ve been through so much,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.” She pulled away and looked at him, placing her hand on his cheek. David broke at her gesture and began to weep again. “I blame myself!” He whispered as she held him. “I should have died with them. I—“ “No!” Lily murmured. “If you die, then Marigold’s sacrifice means nothing. Don’t blame yourself. Her selfless act saved you, and it brought you here. You’re here for a reason. Her life meant something. Don’t forget that. And don’t let it go to waste.” He bit his lip and nodded as Lily released him and turned back to her friends. “Hey, Lily,” her friend Derek said, “it seems weird that you and that Marigold girl look so alike and have the same last name.” She paused. “That’s true—“ Turning to David, she asked, “Do you have her parents’ number?” David nodded and handed her his phone. Searching for the name “Hernandez” brought up only a few contacts: Marigold and two other people named Ben and Rose. Her heart began to race as she muttered, “Did you know that I don’t know my birth family, David?” With trembling fingers, she texted the two numbers to herself and continued, “I was given up at birth and adopted into a loving home. I never knew why my parents gave me up. I don’t know why they never reached out to me. Maybe—“ “Maybe Marigold is your sister! And her parents are—“ “My parents. My birth parents.”

David sat beside Lily as they waited on the living room sofa. “Thank you for being here today, David.” “You’re welcome. I just hope I won’t be in the way.” “Of course not!” David’s breath caught as she leaned forward. “You’re the one who made all this possible. Without you, I wouldn’t be meeting my birth parents today!” And then she pecked him on the cheek. They both flushed and looked away. David was the first to break the silence. “I also have you to thank, Lily. Had it not been for you—I—I may not be alive now. I had considered ending it all. The pain and guilt were almost too much to bear.” Leaning forward, he kissed her forehead and whispered, “Thank you.” Then they both parted as they heard a knock at the door.