“3, 2, 1, GO!” The referee announced commencement of the arm wrestle competition. The two men’s vein in a sudden bursted out, their arm twisted, twirled, in attempt to overcome the one in front of them.

“I can feel you’re strength decreased, worned out already?” The man insulted in hope of tarnishing my confidence.

“Maybe if you used the strength you used to insult on your hand, you might win” I vehemently replied to his comment. In a flash I prevailed against his strength and slammed his hand on the table. I celebrated with my arm up as I earned the trophy. I bragged about this astonishing news in my school, I showed off my trophy too. This information spread all over my school, girls get attract by me, boys envy my robust body.

“Quite being so cocky, your strength will become your downfall one day” My parents lectured me, they have no idea how great my power is, there is absolutely no way this power could bring misfortune. On a typical usual day I received an invitation to my friend’s party, with no reason to deny, I came to his party. The party was located inside an arcade, piles of arcade cabinets filled the room, brimming neon lights all around the place. We reveled by dancing, drinking beers, and of course playing arcades.

Abruptly, someone cried from within the crowd, “fire! There’s fire!”. People screamed in horror, they all rushed to the one and only exit. Flames devoured the one who aren’t fast enough, I tried hard to not join them but my huge body couldn’t squeeze through the crowd, nor the arcades cabinets blocking my way. As the blazing flames touched my body, I felt the most intense pain I’ve ever felt in my entire life. My body has fallen unconscious from the enormous pain, when I woke up I’m already on the bed of a hospital. It really is a relief that I survived.

Everyone has their great strength in life. Mine is my composure. I don’t show emotions. I never have. This is why I’m such a great fighter. I don’t feel pain or grief. I can’t feel regret. My strength was the core of my greatest weakness. A long time ago, only about a year, I met a girl. She wasn’t just any girl. She was my girl. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. I wanted to grow old with her. We dated for a couple months. She told me she loved me. I didn’t say it back. Trust me, I loved her with all of my heart. That strength I have, my composure, wouldn’t let me say it back. I’ve worked so long to build and keep this shield. It’s gotten out of my control. I can’t turn it off or on. It’s just there, doing everything for me. My girl left me, because I never said it back. The girl of my dreams was gone, and it was all my fault. I would never have that life I wanted to create. I would never have those moments when all you can do is smile. When in my life did my greatest strength transform into my greatest weakness?

“I shall never speak her name again for she never made it to the garden of Dovehill,” said the young man at his 38-year-old wife's funeral.

“Please, grandfather, tell me about my grandmother,” said the man’s young grandson, Thomas.

“Your grandmother was a lovely young woman. We married just days after we met. You see, we were both on our own at that point, our parents far from where we were. We were going out that day. Just the two of us were going to her dream garden, the garden of Dovehill. But she never made it,” said the old man.

“What happened, grandfather?” asked Thomas.

“We had just gotten to the far side of the meadow when I looked back to see her. She especially smiled at me. We had just crossed the creek and came into the woods when I looked back to see her fall to the ground. I carried her home and got the doctor, but by the time he had come, it was too late for him to do anything about it. She had died, and so every year we went up to the garden downhill where she was buried and planted a new rose bush.

“When are you doing the ritual this year?” asked Thomas.

“I’m getting older and I don’t think I can cross the creek again this year, so it’s up to you and your aunties to do the ritual,” said the old man. Certainly! Here’s a continuation of the journey and the ritual itself:

The journey to Dovehill was always a solemn one, filled with memories and a sense of duty. Now a young man, Thomas remembered the stories his grandfather had told him about the meadow, creek, and woods. Each step was a step back in time, to the day when his grandmother smiled her last smile.

As Thomas and his aunts prepared for the ritual, they gathered the tools and the rose bush they would plant. The rose bush was a symbol of love and remembrance, a way to honor the life that had been lost too soon.

The path to Dovehill was familiar yet challenging. They crossed the meadow, where the wildflowers swayed gently in the breeze, and approached the creek. The water was cold and clear, reflecting the sky above. Thomas helped his aunts across, steadying them as they navigated the slippery stones.

Once they reached the woods, the air grew cooler, and the sounds of the city faded away. The trees stood tall and silent, witnesses to the many journeys made to this sacred place. Thomas felt a sense of peace as they walked, knowing they were continuing a tradition that meant so much to their family.

Finally, they arrived at the garden of Dovehill. The small plot of land was well-tended, with rows of rose bushes in various stages of bloom. Each bush represented a year of love and remembrance, a testament to the enduring bond between his grandparents.

Thomas and his aunts knelt by the freshly dug hole, and together, they planted the new rose bush. As they worked, they shared stories of his grandmother, her laughter, her kindness, and the way she had touched their lives. The ritual was not just about planting a rose bush; it was about keeping her memory alive and honoring the love that had shaped their family.

When the rose bush was finally in place, they stood back and admired their work. The garden of Dovehill was a beautiful, living tribute to a woman who had been deeply loved. Thomas felt a sense of fulfillment, knowing he had played a part in preserving her legacy.

As they made their way back home, Thomas thought about his grandfather’s words. He knew that one day, it would be his turn to pass on the tradition to the next generation. The journey and the ritual were more than just acts of remembrance; they were a way to keep the family’s love and history alive, year after year.

The end

I’m desperate Feverish Looking everywhere for love. To pluck it out the hands of the ones who push and shove.

I need a nurse, a doctor. My temperature is high. My empathy is eating me Bit by bit alive.

I love the poor I love the needy I love the ones who try to kill me. I love them all And bare their pain, With heavy heart I feel it’s weight.

Desire kills me Desire to be loved back. But I never will, And I never have.

I’m too gone to cure, to lovesick to eat. Pull me out of my misery And end this disease.

Break my heart. Burn it whole. Make me unfeeling So I hurt no more.

Anger: It’s tightly clenched fist, broken teeth, rapid breaths.

It drives people away, and you convince yourself that they’re just afraid, but they’re not. That’s fine, though, because you like being alone. Anger is your strength, but what happens when it’s gone? When the echoes of your outbursts fade away?

Do you sit in the quiet of your room, blood tricking down from your head? Do you find yourself alone on the floor, wide-eyed and lost, tears streaming down your face? In those moments, are you truly angry, or have you ever been? Does anger guide your sight in the darkness, or do you prefer the absence of light?

You’re angry and you say you hate everyone but why do you beg to be saved?

Connecting strangers It ends now People staring Staring at what What do you think Of girls like me Naive and loving Matching your pretty

Chest out Blushed cheeks Cigarette smokes Parted lips "Have a ciggy?"

Mouth open Tongue to taste Taste remains Sickly Sour Wrong place

Here for the taking No brain Mind in sight Pretty wide brown eyes Teenage girls Obedient Docile

Take advantage Pull deeper Pedestals slaved away Unsuspecting child

Make you decide Believe it a choice White picket Cottage house Lovely that life Outside the window Not a girl you make a wife

Where's my moles Birthmarks Scarred littered skin I'm the crazy ex For future victims to ask: ‘What were you thinking?’

Know me inside out? Know nothing but skin and sweat You took it all Said it was stolen Slt Slg Easy into bed

I gave it all Because I thought it love Childish dreams Make cynical girls

We are crafted from ignorant guys Weaponised incompetence After all: ‘Boys will be boys’

I watched as my sister and Father argued. Elda had her hand on her sword. And indeed no one would stop her from killing the king. As crown princess it would only cement her rule. Not that it mattered. Eventually she would lose the argument either to Father or the council. And I’d be sent away as some prize for an otherworlder. But that didn’t matter as long as my planet was safe. I touched Elda’s hand before she could draw the fabled sword. The same blade I’d spent months perfecting. Forged from an alloy only found on this planet. The same stuff that our enemies were now bombarding us for. “We need allies.” Elda focused on me, her eyes hard. “So you’d just marry a stranger?” I shrugged. I didn’t much care about stuff like that as long as I could work on my tech. But my lack of care was the reason I could diffuse the bomb that had landed in our courtyard yesterday. A bastard’s strength was only in death after all. “Rakel.” Elda held a warning tone. “If you care so much then devise a test for them.” Elda growled but she stalked off. Father was not long after her. Finally I was left in my lab in peace. There was much to do. Many orders to fill. And my side project that might end the bombardment before the shield failed. I don’t know how long I worked. But I noticed when the stranger entered. Some diplomats guard or another who’d stopped by to get his gun reconfigured. The main armory was too busy so why not add more to the bastard’s plate. A cup of coffee was thrust into my face. The stranger smiled. “Figured you could use a break.” I grabbed the cup and downed it in one gulp. Energy immediately sizzled through me as if I hadn’t been skipping my sleep cycles. I continued my work as I handed back the cup. “That wasn’t a break.” “Is there something you wanted?” I asked as I adjusted the trigger on that bomb I’d diffused. The perfect answer to its owner in the sky. A device that could get past it’s shield and make our people breathe easier. He was silent for a moment. I could feel his eyes roving my face but I refused to meet them. Finally he scooted over the tools on my work bench and sat. Getting too comfortable again. “So the strangest thing happened today. Stranger than the bomb you diffused last week.” He paused but I didn’t react to the passage of time. “Princess Elda got everyone together and had a little competition. Of course we all thought it was good natured so my Uncle allowed me to participate. Imagine my surprise when I won and the princess declared me her brother in law.” I met his gaze, the trigger’s wires still tangled in my fingers. “It was even more shocking to learn that you were the elusive princess.” My hands clenched. “A bastard you mean.” He opened his mouth to say something, but that’s when the bomb started beeping. A moment passed between us before we dashed to the escape pod. He flew the pod toward the troublesome ship while I worked to untangle my fingers. I’d set the trigger for just enough time to get to the ship. It was interesting that he’d remembered my mumbled rambling as I planned out what I’d code. How long ago was that? I blinked down at the wires cursing the caffeine for making me jittery. Finally I gave up and shoved open the airlock. A bastard’s greatest strength was in death after all. But before I could close the door he was there. “What are you doing?” “There’s not enough time to get untangled.” I glanced out the window. “And we’re almost to the ship.” He growled and with one yank freed my red fingers. Then pulled me out of the airlock before jettisoning out the bomb. The pod jolted as it exploded. But my new fiancé was already in the pilot’s chair steering us away. “Why did you do that?” “You may not care but I do.” “Not caring is my greatest strength.” “And saving people is mine.” I sat there for a moment, feeling the secondary shockwave ripple through the craft. Then I sat down beside him. “Does your uncle have a lab?” He smirked as he began the descent down to my home.

I had always been the type of person to lend an ear. No matter the predicament, people would come to vent their frustrations and I would sit and nod in response. I listened to a woman bemoan her cheating husband while sitting on a park bench; a high school teacher who had lost the will to inspire his students as we watched the waves roll along the beach; and even my sister, who had been trying for years to get pregnant again, our hands clasped as tears streamed down her forlorn face.

By the end of it, they had managed to release the stress and anxiety and sadness that had slowly been eating away at them, like a tapeworm of the soul. Often, they had an idea in their mind how to solve, or at least deal with, their problems. It was nothing I had said or done - which, admittedly, was nothing at all - but my mere presence was like a lighthouse, guiding others through the darkness. My sister often said it was my greatest superpower.

I think it was this very trait that attracted Stella to me. She had a long list of ex-boyfriends who had little clue how to listen to a woman, so I, being the attentive listener that most women dream about, was obviously a perfect fit.

We began dating and soon fell in love. Every morning upon waking and every night before going to sleep, Stella would recount her thoughts and problems to me. She had the most beautiful voice, and earthy brown eyes that seemed to stare directly into my being.

Years passed and we continued like this, Stella always talking, me always listening. I had no time to listen to other people’s issues anymore, and the friends I had made over the years slowly left me. Even my sister could no longer stand me, accusing me of not having enough time to even meet my new nephew.

Though my heart was filled with the love of and for a gorgeous woman, I felt an emptiness inside that her words could not fill. I missed listening to the tales of others, being there for them in their hour of need. I had a gift, and I was hiding it away from the world so that I could use it to keep Stella by my side.

But soon I began to wonder whether my sacrifice was worth it. Stella’s voice was as beautiful as the day we met - it still put a smile on my face and a spark in my heart. And yet, her words had begun to lose meaning, and I realised that I was no longer able to properly listen anymore. Her words went in one ear and out the other, empty, listless, worthless things that could have come from anyone.

By investing my greatest power in this one woman and neglecting all those who truly meant anything to me and who had come to depend on me, I had made that superpower useless and obsolete. And without it, who was I?

‘If you’re afraid, we don't.’ Zoe whispered sharply in Sara's ear.

The two girls stood in the sun in the large empty parking lot, an immense hollow structure with a tangle of bare ramps. It literally marked the dividing line between the city and the countryside.

Zoe looked older than 17. Maybe because of her jaw and short crew cut hair, or her black T-shirt and military trousers. Her skateboard was missing a wheel.

Sara was 14. Sitting on a guardrail with her school backpack on her knees, a plastic necklace in her hands. ‘If you don't want to because you are afraid, we don't do it.’ Zoe challenged her in her usual flat tone. She returned to the skateboard, whirled around, then came back to Sara. ‘If you don't feel like it you have to say it.’ Sara sat still and didn’t answer. Zoe kicked the skateboard sending it under a rusty car wreck. Sara knew inside herself there was no way to get out of this.

It was already dark when the girls got off the bus along the tree-lined avenue. An uphill curve in the center of the residential neighborhood, riddled with luxury cars, displayed in front of the open air restaurants. Sara observed the atmosphere, loud boys in tight jeans, girls with baseball caps, fresh faces glowing in the fluorescent light of their sparkly mobile phones.

Zoe ushered her to follow her. She didn't look like the usual Zoe. She was dressed up to blend in with that place. Sara thought she hadn’t quite done the perfect job.

The buildings around them were as alien to Sara as the people. On some of them, geometric designs, obelisks, fierce gargoyles. ‘Come!’ Zoe called. She grabbed her hand and dragged her across the road despite the red light, skimming between the whizzing mopeds. Sara felt the skin of her face tighten as she thought of what she was walking into.

Muffled tones in a quiet living room. A stark contrast with the loud club, only a few minutes earlier. Smiles and chuckles following meaningless mumblings. Sara observed them from the armchair opposite. ‘How can he like her?’ she thought. ‘It’s only because he’s so ugly…’ Zoe had fished the timid stranger from the counter, after noticing him park a particularly expensive car.

Then came the dreaded sign. Zoe’s hand was very close to the bulge on the boy’s jeans. She looked into Sara’s eyes and winked. Sara’s heart sank, she left the room with a soggy wave. The two on the sofa waited for the sound of the front door shutting.

Sara had always thought her greatest strength was her independence. Her introversion. Her not needing people around. She was invisible to her family. It was always either the oldest or the youngest. She was in between, so neither mature enough to be considered, nor young enough to need their attention. So she began cultivating her invisibility. Cherishing her loneliness at school and everywhere else. Except for Zoe. Her only friend. Her only real friend, Zoe often insisted.

The two on the sofa continued their muffled conversation. Fingers fluttering around necks and hair. After a moment of silence, Zoe propped herself up and proposed they take his super car and go to a special place she wanted to show him. With a slight reluctance, the boy nodded and followed her outside the house.

The front door shut behind them, leaving the apartment in a gloomy stillness, except for the irregular ticking of an old clock. The cupboard at the entrance loomed like a large sentinel. Then its shutter creaked. An eye appeared in the slot. Sarah stepped out. She hadn’t left. She had opened and shut the front door and then had hidden in the cupboard, as Zoe had instructed.

Alone again. Up to her now to fill her backpack with valuable objects. And Zoe would criticize all her choices. Anything she would take, valuable or not, would be wrong. Sara felt crowbarred into this situation. Why was she to take things out of there? A suffocating claustrophobia clasped at her neck. Alone again. More than ever. And it was no strength now.

She moved along the dark corridor opening small dusty drawers, trying to focus. But all she could think of was Zoe barking at her, yelling that she was useless.

As she moved in the dark she noticed something curious about the house. Old clocks, pale portraits with old wooden frames. No relation with the boy and his car. Was this really his home? It seemed more like a much older person’s place.

Her thoughts froze. A faint rasping moan broke the silence. Sara was paralyzed. She stopped breathing. From behind the corner of the corridor a distorted, suffered exhalation.

Sara began walking backwards as fast as she could, causing the floorboards to creak under each step. After what seemed like minutes, she reached for the handle of the front door. But! A jingle of keys in the lock on the outside. Someone was coming in.

Sara threw herself in the cupboard again just in time. From the crack she saw something which took away her breath. The boy had come back. As he opened the door he turned in an unnatural position to put down a seemingly very heavy large, black plastic bag. Then he disappeared down the corridor looking for something. Looking for her!

Sara almost suffocated while holding her breath. The boy had unmasked the scam. She could hear him checking drawers and cupboards. She tried Zoe’s number on her mobile, instantly switching it off the moment a faint ringtone emerged from inside the sack.

Sara left the front door open and raced down the stairs making no sound. She had always been proud of her squeakless sneakers. As she rode each one of the three empty night buses, after the long wait at the south east terminus, she kept seeing the plastic bag in the gloom reflected in the large windows. Alone again. She smiled. Now it was a strength again.

I have always been brilliant at keeping my true feelings hidden. About showing a calm expression while secretly wishing I could murder the person I’m talking to — or at least seriously injure them. To fake crying even when I’m not actually saddened by the events happening around me. To throw a realistic-seeming tantrum when it’s required, when it’s good for me to do so.

But wielding a power that requires acknowledging the truth about how you feel? Where your spells are weaker when you lie and hide things?

Hell, you’d think Darkness would love a liar. A person who hides their true self away in the shadows. And yet it’s the truth that I require in order to do things to the best of my abilities.

And I’ve been lying for so long.

I know what the truth is, but expressing it is difficult.

I want to be like Duette, I suppose. Or have a power like hers, where this whole truth thing would be far more a detriment than a helpful thing. If we each had the other’s power, it would be so much easier.

But things are never that easy.