“Honey I’m home!” He exclaimed, waving the signed loans in his hand.

“Honey we’re home” he whispered squeezing her arm, as they marveled at their new restaurant.

“Honey they’re home” he shouted, carrying his two children on his back.

“Honey he’s home” he cried, hugging his son in military clothes.

“Honey your home” he sighed, as she showed him the doctors note.

“Honey come home” he whimpered, as he laid next to her at the hospital.

“Honey I’m home” he said, walking into an empty house knowing she wasn’t there to run to his arms.

Why? Why don’t we smile? Do we even see the stars, Feel the air, breathe the light into our souls? Do we even look for the good anymore? Why?

Why? Why with our words do we kill the earth?

With beautiful breath blessed to us Lives are destroyed with lies And with hatred and darkness And more lies. Why do we curse the light? Can we not even see it in front of our eyes? Does humanity even want to be happy? And if it does,

Then why choose anything else?

Maybe most of humanity doesn’t know the difference yet.

"Tell me!" My heart hurt like someone was trying to reach into my chest and pull it out. My breathing raced and I felt my face twist into something horrible.

He looked distraught. "I I I I don't know. I mean I do know. I did it because it was what felt safest." I shook my head, "Tell me why you did this over ALL of the other things you could have done. ALL of the other courses of action." I gestured wildly, nearly hitting a stack of books off of his desk.

His eyes widened, "I needed to protect myself, I don't know why you don't see that. Living a double life allowed me freedom to dismantle what the Raiders have wrought." "What they have WROUGHT?" I was shrieking now. "YOU did this YOU brought them here." I pointed viscously at him. "Tell me WHY you think that abandoning your place on the throne to galavant around this fucking city is at ALL taking responsibility for your actions."

He shrugged, "You can't deny I've been helping." My mouth dropped open, "Whaaaa" stunned into a whisper by the casualness with which he talked about his lie. "I'm not even from this fucking country," I put my face in my hands and sat on the floor. There was a long pause. "Tell me why you decided to involve me," I said wearily. I looked up with tears in my eyes. The truth always makes you cry. He did all of this knowing who he was. Knowing exactly what he did to put us in this mess. His country, his friends, and me.

He looked at me pleadingly. "Nothing about us has to change. Nothing about the way I feel about you is a lie—" "Oh I'm sorry but everything else is." I cut in. "Your love for me isn't a lie but WHO YOU ARE is a lie, what you have done is a lie! How you even know how to contact Lieutenant Grave that's a fucking lie too!" Oop I had started yelling again. Tell me tell me tell me tell me rang in my head. He couldn't.

I stopped short. He couldn't tell me because he still didn't think he had done anything wrong. Arguing with someone who is able to acknowledge wrongdoing is one thing. Arguing with someone whose core identity is attached to them being right and good is a losing battle — they cannot accept anything else. They would rather live in a different reality than accept the harm they have caused.

And that was it. That was the truth that was cutting my heart. I shook my head. "Come tell me when you're ready to be accountable for what you've done. Not to me but to your people."

“Don’t worry about it,” she said as she closes the envelope, tucking the top flap into it so Olivia could open it easily. “She’ll love your gift, Ellie, it’ll be fine.”

When I came home crying about Rhys continually tearing my drawings during break and lunch, she whispered it into my hair, “Don’t worry about it.” And I listened, and Rhys was pulled out of the classroom a week later to get a lecture.

“Oh, El- uh, what do you want me to call you?” “Lucas.” “Well, don’t worry about it! You’ll always be the same kid I raised, whatever your name is!” And my heart sang with hope. For a week.

“Don’t worry about it, Lucas,” Mum said quietly, pulling her fingers through my too-long hair before picking up the scissors. “I’ll speak to the teachers. That’s unacceptable.”

“HE’S DEAD!” I found myself screaming, far too out of breath to say much else. She gave me a horrified look, not needing to know his name. James had vanished a week earlier, after all. “Don’t worry about it, alright? You’ll be okay.”

“They’re targeting kids in Lucas’ form, Mum. All the worst transphobes,” Ash stirred their cereal almost absent-mindedly. “People in my classes suspect him of being behind these killings.” I dropped my toast with a curse. “Don’t say words like that, Lucas,” Mum said without looking at me. “And don’t worry about it. There’s no real evidence.”

“Mum, what’s happening?” “Don’t worry about it.” There was a small, sad smile playing at her lip. Ash took one look at the policemen and their handcuffs and stepped forward. “I did it. I killed them. It wasn’t Lucas.” What?

“Don’t worry about it, Lucas,” Ash mumbled, picking at a bit of rust on the bars of the holding cell. I’d begged and pleaded to be able to see them, and this was what they were saying. “Are you joking? You — you didn’t do it!” “I know that,” they sighed. “Oh, Lucas, you’re an idiot.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said to her as I put the phone down. They’d be here soon, and then Ash would be released, and things would be… okay.

I don’t trust you, I don’t trust you after you proved to me countless times I never meant a damn thing to you.

I don’t trust you, I don’t trust you after you kept me tightly gripped in your hand as I gave and gave and gave everything I could to be, what? An object, you constantly took from. And never let me make my own choices and breathe.

I don’t trust you, and I never trusted you, constant red flags in my face, and whispers in rooms when I was there, nothing but a fly kn the wall. Nothing but untrustworthy.

I don’t trust you.

“I am a hollow reed,” Larry said to himself. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It had been an extremely long and difficult day at the Chronicle. He still didn’t think much of this phrase, but he decided it couldn’t hurt. Besides, sitting there in the Mustang no one could hear him talk to himself… or perhaps AT himself.

“I am a hollow reed.” Another deep breath and slow exhale. Larry knew he only had a few minutes before his exuberant cousin Balki would fling the car door open and get in. So he repeated his phrase from his “Think and Grow Calm” tapes. However, he missed the passenger door opening.

“I am a Halloween?” Balki said, misinterpreting what Larry said. “What that means?”

“I am a hollow reed!” Larry corrected and glared at Balki who was grinning at him. “I was trying to relax when you interrupted.”

“I am a Halloween sounds relaxing, even if you won’t tell me what it means,” Balki said, causing Larry to groan loudly.

-End-

“I love you.” I stopped smiling, puzzled by his words. My heart instantly hoped he meant romantically, but my mind stopped my heart before the hope could set it.

“I love you,” he said. As a friend right? No, He probably just loves me like a sister. He would never think of me that way, I reasoned. His eyebrow furled with worry. I smiled at him to assure him I heard his words.

“Love you, too, Elvis.” I chuckled at my nickname for him. I bumped my shoulder against his, turning my head to look away as I chuckled nervously. Suddenly, I felt his hand on my jaw, slowly turning my head to face him. I blinked, surprised to see his face so close to mine. Our lips so close... He gazed into my eyes once more.

“I love you,” he reaped, slower than the first time. My breath hitched. Before I could react, he leaned in, pressing his lip against mine. He was gentle, yet firm enough to make his point. My body moved on it’s own accord. My eyes closed, my lips slowly moved with his. Moments later, he pulled back just enough to for me to see that sly grin of his. I couldn’t help but blush as I smiled back.

“I love you...”

“I hate you!” She laughed, her eyes filled with mirth as she fell against him, clutching her sides. The sunlight set her fiery red hair aglow, turning it copper and gold. Her body shook with giggles and her hair moved, resembling the flames she lit in his heart.

“I hate you!” She screamed, her lapis eyes shining with tears. His phone was clutched in her hand and the screen filled with incriminating messages illuminated her eyes. They looked like oceans, the very one his heart was drowning in.

“I hate you!” She whispered, her pale form trembling ever so slightly. The dim moonlight from the window made her skin shine silver, as though she was glowing, a maiden of the moon herself. The scarlet liquid reflected the silver light as well, where it blossomed as some dark rose from her chest. Her stained silver skin was cold, with a feeling of ice, the same ice that now encased his heart.

All around me I see fires burning, Wars raging furiously, People screaming at each other. The world is broken.

People hate each other for the color of their skin, their gender, how much money they have and even their society. The world is broken.

Religion is a blessing but people turn it into a curse. They shame each other for who I get worship or why. The world is broken.

But I know there is one true God. The God who keeps me safe no matter what and loves me through and through. The creator of everything. And yes, although the world is broken, I know with Jesus I can put it back together.

John checked his personal email at work and saw the subject line of the latest email campaign he managed. "Camps are filling up fast!" the subject line read.  "Our swim camps are guaranteed to offer your little Michael Phelps or Katie Ledecky the chance to improve, and maybe one day THEY'LL be worth the hundreds of dollars we charge to drown your kids for a half day. "

The ad didn't really say that, of course. But in John's mind it should have. Checking personal email while on the company dime was - of course - frowned upon. But it was also a practice that nearly everyone, from the CEO/boss to the coffee guy in break room C, did on a pretty regular basis. But he was doing it for work, ensuring the latest delivery was completed in a timely manner. Plus, with a subject line of "Camps are filling up fast!" how could you NOT look?

John knew the value of compelling email subject lines. He spent the better part of his day writing some himself. As content editor for a thrice-purchased, twice acquired online marketing company, his whole job consisted of writing subject lines such as "Camps are filling up fast!" and tracking which one generated the most opens and clicks.

He was good at his job, even though it often crushed his soul. He had studied and attended grad school to be a writer. He had earned his MFA in creative writing and had won competitions. Some of his short story work had appeared in literary journals that earned him a tiny amount of money and even less exposure. Like any writer, he knew he held the idea for the Great American Novel in his head. It just needed polishing, and a plot, and compelling characters, and a storyline that people actually gave a crap over. And the person who spent his days writing subject lines like "Camps are filling up fast!" couldn't be bothered with such details.

A message came over the intraoffice chat module. "Don't forget you're presenting stats on the last quarter's performance at 2 p.m. today," the message read from John's boss. She had reminded him earlier that day. He wondered if including the lines that performed best - "Campus are filling up fast!" - would make the presentation more appealing. Probably not. The most annoying and least creative tended to perform best. People liked to be reminded of urgency and a compulsion to act.

"This place is making me nuts," Kris said in the cubicle across the aisle. Like John, she was one of the original hires four owners ago (or was it five?). And managed to survive because she was damn good at her job. She managed the multiple social media accounts for the emails John and his team would send. So when they sent out a message like "Camps are filling up fast!" it was Kris' job to post it to one of the many social accounts she managed and track interactions.

Today, Kris and John would present the analytics to a potential partner for the company. They prepared the slides, which John was tempted to name "Camps are filling up fast!" but decided to go with "Recent quarterly results" instead. They were ushered into the conference room promptly at 2 p.m.

The whole meeting was a ruse. Instead of discussing the performance of email campaigns like "Camps are filling up fast!" and the rest of their work, John, Kris, and the rest of the content team were told that, despite strong performance, they would no longer work for the company. A security detail was on hand to watch as their work areas were cleaned for personal items. The detail would later escort the former employees to the front door, in order to prevent any unpleasant scenes from occurring.

John and Kris returned to their cubicle areas and began to clean out their spaces. They embraced in the aisle when they were done. "We should get away. The two of us," John said, as the guard walked them out. "We could go to the shore for the rest of summer. I hear that camps are filling up fast."