If you’re trying to find the exit, there is none If you’re seeking any roads, there are none No stop signs, no marked lanes No set rules

Electricity is sporadic, with lights coming on at odd times Then winking out just as fast Leaving entire corridors dark and abandoned for hours Or eternity

Bridges connect light to dark, happiness to sadness They connect, they sever They crumble, they fall They vanish

Up is down and left is right And logic is its own thing While reason is what you make of it But purpose doesn’t exist

Don’t try to win here Stop looking for that exit You’re bound to fail as I have At navigating my brain

The sound was deafening. A roar, falling and rising, sending white foam crashing against the shore.

Even standing away from the waves, he could feel the spray against his face, smell the salt on his skin. He felt sticky.

The afternoon sun beat down on him, draining him of energy, making him lethargic, tired, weary. He wanted to lie down and let the Great Ocean wash him away.

But he had not come here to be washed away. Tentatively, he walked towards the shore, towards the wild embrace that beckoned there. His feet hurt from the sharp stones and shells he crushed on his way.

He wondered what the humans would have made of this - this roaring beast, wrapping itself around the surface of their world. Did they run from it in terror? Or did they do as he did now, and venture into it?

On reaching the water, he pulled his foot back in shock; it was much colder than he expected. But what had initially felt cold as ice warmed quickly. He dipped his foot back in. He weathered the cold this time, and stood in the lapping waves.

Up close, the roaring wasn’t as loud. It was gentle, rhythmic, like a great beating heart. It comforted him.

He stood like this for a while, his eyes closed against the wind and sun, his body swaying with the waves. He wanted to stay there forever; in this place where his senses were overcome, and his loneliness melted away.

A haunting screech filled the sky; he looked up to see a large white bird, carried on the ocean gusts. It glided across the shore, landing on a rock jutting in to the water.

“At last,” he thought, “some company.”

Turning the key to my new home, the lock clicked open. I turned the handle and pushed the door open setting my bags down next to it to take in the scene. I slowly poked around in the three bedrooms, and bathroom. I browsed the kitchen, the air felt crisper here. Scratched countertops filled with happiness and warmth of the people before. I made my way to the backyard, an oasis of green. The grass was lush, soft; not a sharp sticker in sight. Chainlink fences covered in vines so thick you can’t see the other side, but the sight is refreshing, everything i’ve yearned for. This is a place to call home.

“I don’t think I can,” Juniper said, her voice wavering. “Well then it is a good I know you can. Now buck up, buttercup,” Rowena said. “Focus.” The witches locked fingers. The round walnut table where their hands linked trembled. Overhead the kitchen light swayed. Juniper squeezed her eyelids closed. A whiff of ozone snapped and writhed. “Breathe, honey. It’s very hard to tap into your powers when you’re passed out. Trust me, I’ve tried,” Rowena said. Beads of sweat broke out on the younger witch’s forehead. A slight humming rose and grew louder and louder. Juniper gasped. There was a crack. “Excellent and now pull,” Rowena said above the humming roar.
A carmine tendril sprouted. The table floated up and shuddered. Juniper reached out and pulled hard. Majestic magenta power sprang out. The table bumped on the floor. “Did we make it?” Juniper asked. “Yes, this it the realm of the lost, the forgotten, and the inexplicable. Behold rolling hills of tape, mountains of duck sauce packets. Behold the Junk Drawer. The power of potential is tremendous. And you, you have pulled us in, hon.” Juniper sighed with relief. A pale landscape of old receipts and closed restaurant menus crunched underfoot. Shrubs of bone dry markers crowded their steps. The two witches scramble up and over slippery hills of plastic twist ties. They trudged towards the treeline of paperclips. “Now let’s hurry for that key on the endless chain of keys of indeterminate uses. The Contorters will be here soon.”

The rest of the drive passes quietly. We usually listen to music in the car, even if it’s just the radio, but ever since my audition, Mum hasn’t put music on, probably out of pity. And, as much as I hate to admit it, no music’s better than not being able to sing along.

With what can only be four hours of sleep, I barely have the energy to observe our surroundings, but I sink further in my seat when we pass the wide, white columns of the British Museum staring, sombre in the daylight.

I stole a priceless artifact, from my Mum’s work no less! It’s only a matter of time before they realise Marcellus is missing, and then it’s only a matter of time before they figure out it’s me. And then I can really kiss music school goodbye. Although … maybe, it’ll give me a real rockstar image by the time I get out of prison. Isn’t that something to look forward to?

When Mum finally parks the car alongside the skyscrapers and steel bridges of Embankment, I stay in the car a moment, focusing on deep breathing, rubbing the back of my neck where I can feel sweat starting to gather.

Come on Kira, you can’t get stage fright now!

Then Mum raps her knuckles on my window so hard it makes me jump.

‘Come on,’ she grins, ‘you won’t want to miss me filing paperwork.’

The briny waterfront assaults my nostrils the second I open the door, chased by an earthy taste that sticks to the back of my throat. Before I can second-guess myself, I seize my rucksack, trying not to look too put out by Marcellus’ weight, and skulk after Mum.

The pavement’s patterned with fluorescent orange cones; a breadcrumb trail leading to a hastily erected wooden hut that could give you a splinter just by looking at you. On either side of the hut loom security fences, easily twice my height, their chain links clinking in the mid-morning breeze. The river front beyond is a blur behind blue tarpaulin pinned to the fence.

I swallow thickly. One way in. One way out.

The burly security guard inside the hut glares at Mum’s I.D badge from underneath big bushy eyebrows before sighing and shifting the gate ajar a few inches.

Mum and I slink through, my burgundy jacket nearly snagging on the wire. But I stop short once I’m through, taken aback by the sheer level of carnage.

Nothing remains of the ordered splash of greenery from the pictures I saw last night. Instead, mounds of moist earth are scattered in an incomprehensible pattern, whilst workers in white plastic onesies crawl like insects amongst the peaks and troughs of dirt, a few holding court around a grave-size hole in the centre of the site.

Mum is quickly drawn into conversation with a dark-skinned woman, sweeping a bouncy brown curl from her face and talking animatedly as she brandishes a palm-sized scrap of earth.

This leaves me to take a few strategic steps to the side and unzip my rucksack in a way that I hope looks casual.

‘You okay, Marcellus?’ I whisper, watching him flinch at the sudden exposure to daylight.

‘It’s here, Bennett,’ he replies, eyes wide with excitement, ‘my body. I can feel it.’

‘Well let’s just hope it’s not under there,’ I joke, watching the woman in the white-suit lead my Mum to a trench on the water front.

But Marcellus is too busy being constipated to reply. He scrunches his face up in concentration, attention zeroing in on the Thames.

‘I stopped here …’ he says absently, voice sounding far away, ‘the curse was … my legs became stone … I … I … there. I fell there.’

‘There?’ I point just ahead of us to confirm.

‘There.’

‘Perfect.’

Because it is where the woman in the white-suit is leading my Mum.

Because of course it is. Because I’m freaking cursed, aren’t I?

Across the bridge, the ground shifted from brown to green, and a heavy mist gathered around my ankles. The source of this mist was impossible to ignore - just up the slope, a massive, gourd-shaped plant sat, emitting steam from pores all along its pale green body. A pink patch on its side glowed intermittently, and as I watched, a mist-like spray emitted from the red fronds at the top of the plant, sprinkling across the path.

On the other side of the path, sticking out from the overgrowth, a large wooden sign read, “Welcome to Valley of Mo’ara,” as well as other words I wasn’t sure how to pronounce: “Oel ngati kameie.” There was a map on the sign, too, though it was rather vague and filled with more unpronounceable words. The warnings next to the map were much more clear: Stay on marked paths. No campfires. Do not run from large animals. This last one was accompanied by a pictogram of a humanoid figure running away from a large dinosaur-esque head.

I continued up the slope, to a point where the path split in two, the left fork sloping downward while the right fork maintained its higher course. As I followed the righthand path, the thick foliage suddenly fell away behind me, revealing a wide, sunny view of something I’d seen only in commercials and, over ten years ago, in a movie: enormous moss-covered rocks hanging in the sky. The floating mountains of Pandora.

My eyes scanned the view, searching for wires or transparent support beams and finding none. The only thing attached to those rocks were vines, like the strings on great balloons. And though I knew, objectively, intellectually, that on the other side of the bridge I’d just crossed was a theme park, a childlike voice in my head whispered, “Oh wow, I really have traveled to another world!”

I walk into this big, brick building for the first time. It feels as if the building is looming over me. As I walk in, I see many rooms and many doors in the entrance. Lost of people are walking beside me and everywhere. It feels big and old, used for many years. “Bye, Ellie!” My mom calls back to me as she waved and leaves me to explore the big building to find my room. “This way, this way, please!” Someone—maybe they work here, points to an open doorway to a big room. I step in and the moment I do, I hear a lot of talking—the amount where you would even wonder if we’re humans. But then again, we’re students.

“Hey! Are you new?” A girl who looks at least a year older than me, with a red backpack, patterned with stripes,zigzags, and various strange shapes on it, looks at me and asks.

“Oh. Yeah, how’d you know?” I’m pretty sure that It’s not that obvious, or maybe it is??

“Oh! Well...I noticed you didn’t go to your grade levels line. You also had that name tag thing for people who it’s their first time here.”

“Oh”, I guess it is just that obvious.

“Yeah, I’ve been homeschooled before but decided to start going to the actual school.” I answer again.

“Oh, cool! I can show you your classroom, if you’d like?” She asks me in response.

“Sure” this building was pretty much having an ominous vibe to it, or at least to me.

A woman that I assumed was a teacher squinted her eyes our way.

“Amanda, what are you doing near the exit? They’re in the middle of taking attendance, so please stay seated at your grade levels line.” Huh. I hadn’t noticed we had already gotten near the exit.

“Ah.” Then the girl beside me, ‘Amanda’ as the teacher called her, raised her voice to a normal level. “Sure, Ms. Zenin.” Then Amanda lowered her voice a bit. “Ahh...schools kinda boring though, you’ll eventually see. Sure, recess is fun but the learning isn’t. Most teachers are nice but, I’d rather just skip school and learn by myself—and only learning things like soccer or writing, and I’d choose the times I’d learn or don’t learn. It’d feel cool to be free and chose anything in my opinion, what would you do if you changed school?” Amanda asks me, looking at me with a face full of curiosity.

“Umm...hmm.” I think for a moment then answer. “I don’t know..” I mutter, not wanting her to catch that last part I said.

But she did, of course.

“Oh” is all she said for a moment, her eyes with a neutral and thoughtful expression for a small moment.

“Well, all in all....we’re late for our classes! Let’s. Go!” She said, running through the door and in the direction of whatever was her class.

We might get in trouble for running in the halls, or we might not, since there’s no teachers around right now. But...right now, it feels awesome and I hope Amanda will be my friend. The rush of the breeze as we run sweeps by us, it feels so exhilarating. I think, grinning at my thoughts, as I run in the halls after my I-think-friend.

Finally, after nearly three hours in the car, she arrived. A wave of excitement washed over her as she turned right into the entrance of the park and paid the three dollar admission fee. The phrase “worth the price of admission” came to her mind but then so did “you get what you pay for” and she hoped for the former more than the latter. As soon as she found a place to park, she put Milo on the leash and together they made a B-line to the restrooms. She had been holding it since Crawfordsville and it was getting painful. Finally, after that sweet release she was able to look at the program. She unfolded and opened it up and it read: Turkey Run State Park in bold brown letters, all caps, and underlined at the top. She wasn’t interested in finding a specific trail to walk, she just wanted to get started - the map she would use to navigate out of the park. She found her location on the map and made a mental note of it. “Good enough” she said to herself aloud. Then she and Milo turned towards the trailhead and began. The day was extraordinarily beautiful. What a perfect day to get away and do this, she thought. There was a clear, blue sky, a light breeze, and newly leaved trees and blossoms all around. She looked at her watch and saw that it was a pleasant 73 degrees, high of 78. Another wave of excitement had come and this time it brought a friend: a feeling of perfection. Her attention shifted briefly to what she could hear. Birds chirping, people talking among themselves, the subtle roar of the breeze through the trees. Then she could smell the clean, earthy air. She took a giant breath in and let it go, along with it the remainder of whatever stress there was. Sweet freedom. A few of the trails, including the one she was one, collected into one downhill path that reached towards steps made of rock. As she approached she could see a suspension bridge stretched over a river. On the other side were majestic rock formations lining the river where the bridge terminated. As she and Milo crossed the wobbly bridge, she watched people in kayaks and tubes floating casually beneath her. There were people nodding and saying, “hi” as they passed her on the bridge, occasionally including Milo in thir greetings. They both reached the end of the bridge where the trail markers indicated that a left-hand turn would take them to Rocky Hollow. Milo, who had already turned left and was ahead by a few feet due to a long leash, stood waiting with an attentive face that only pugs can give. It was as if he was saying, “Are you coming, mommy?” “Yes, boo boo, I’m coming.” Rocky Hollow cool and damp and the Punch Bowl cold and wet. The Ice Box, Bear Hollow, and Falls Canyon, all spectacular and inspiring. She noticed that the day had whizzed by, and yet, full of beauty and experiences no screen could provide. She was tired but content. She and Milo found their way back to the suspension bridge and back across Sugar Creek. Up the hill where the trails splayed out like an alluvial fan and finally back to her car. All she had to do was drive to the hotel that was a mere half-hour away, take a shower, order a pizza, and cuddle up with Milo and a good book then the day would be complete.

The End

Everything back then, when I was about twelve years old, was so carefree... warm... pure..., and everything was suppose to be perfect. My parents loved each other, my brother and I were close to one another, school was normal, and life just made sense and more worthwhile. We lived in a beautiful house, owned two perfectly running cars, and we were financially stable enough to support a "special" family like us. Life was good to me and my family, until multiple tragic events left my parents in a nasty dispute.

It so happened to be my thirteenth birthday when things started to get complicated. It also happened to be the last happy birthday of my entire life. I was nearly ecstatic that I was finally a teenager, and my only wish was to celebrate my birthday by revisiting and reliving precious childhood memories.
When I was three, my dad took me to the city park where we had a picnic in front of the duck pond. Even then was I not an average child. I didn't go play on the monkey bars, nor did I swing on the swings. The duck pond was my favorite because their were so many ducks, who happened to put on a show every time we were there. Then, when we left the park, my dad took me out to Jerry's Soft Serve, where we got huge ice cream cones for a dollar. As if anything couldn't get better than a nice day out with your dad, then I never really lived life yet. But it was true, I hadn't lived life for long enough.

When I was ten, my parents took me out to Chuck E. Cheese's in which was a child's heaven and hell. I nearly took off a little girl's head because she took the last teddy bear off the shelf, stolen a few token cups because I wanted to play more games, and took a slice of pizza off of an unoccupied table because I was hungry. You can say I was never wanted there ever again.

And just last year, my mom took me out to go shopping with her at the mall. I got a lot of clothes from Urban Outfitters, Forever 21, Pink and Hot Topic because my mom and I had a hard time carrying a bunch of shopping bags out to the parking lot and to the car. Yes, I was a spoiled child, but it was the better times of my life. All I asked, was to have a birthday that felt like happiness because deep down, I knew that things weren't going to be the same once I grew up. Man, was I right...

Hearing a knock sounded upon the closed bedroom door, I sat up straighter in my bed as I carelessly ran a hand into my wild bed hair. Yawning and stretching out my body, the bedroom door opened and my mom peered into the room. As her warm brown eyes landed on my olive green ones, she smiled softly as she came in with a tray of breakfast. "Happy birthday, sweetheart."

"Thank you," I replied with a raspy voice."you made breakfast. Why?"

"Uh, well...," my mom said unenthusiastically, "to be honest, I only made breakfast for me? But I came with a story?!"

"Mom, your breakfast is a cup of bland coffee and a cheese wedge, and no body likes reading in the morning."

"Ok, fine. Your father is making you a small cupcake because he 'forgot' the first cake at the shop; and he dropped the second one all over the kitchen floor. Believe me, we didn't want to spend anymore money on a third soon to be messed up cake. Nah-uh."

"Classic dad," I said thoughtfully as I imagined him dropping a wedding-sized cake on the floor. Hearing another knock on my door, I snapped out of my revery as my dad walked into my room and up to my bed with a weird looking cupcake.

"Happy birthday, munchkin," he greeted me as he set the plate with the weird looking cupcake on my lap.

Looking at the cupcake in disbelief, I glanced at my parents with astonishment. "I thought you guys were kidding!?"

"Nope," my dad replied sheepishly.

"Your father thought it was best to surprise you with something that couldn't be replaced with a perfectly chosen cake," my mom glared disappointingly at my dad. "But, you know. There's always room for screw ups."

Continuing to stare nervously at my parents, my dad gestured towards the plate for me to try the cupcake. Looking down at the plate, I took a shaky breath before I picked it up and brought it to my mouth. Taking a bite into the warm pastry, my eyes widened as I chewed a piece of heaven in my mouth. "Dad? This is good!"

"What," my mom said jealously as she ripped the cupcake out of my hands and stole a bite.

"Awe, thank you, munchkin."

"Herald," my mom asked questioningly. "How come, in the twenty years I've known you, you never made me anything like this?"

"To be honest with you, I never thought I had it in me either." Shaking her head in utter disbelief, my mom took another big bite before she gave it back to me, patting me on the shoulder apologetically.

"Well, we're gonna get ready in a little bit, so it would be very much appreciated if you'd get ready, too," my mom informed as she chewed and swallowed the piece of cupcake in her mouth, not before licking her fingers greedily. Getting off of my bed, she took the cup of coffee and cheese wedge off of the tray before exiting my room.

Still standing next to my bed, my dad put a finger to his mouth before he glanced at the closed door and back at me. "Uh, your mother doesn't know, but that is one of the few things I know how to make. Perfectly, I may add."

"Ahhh... a breakfast pastry with scrambled eggs, roasted ham, fried bacon, a little parmesan, some diced onion and bell pepper, all wrapped in a fluffy, crispy puff pastry dough. Yum."

"And that is why you and me will always have a common interest for food," my dad chuckled before he left me alone with my new favorite breakfast treat.

By the time I finished my breakfast, got dressed and opened a few birthday presents, we were out of the house and in the car. With a big picnic basket in between my brother and I in the back seat, I looked outside as the world rushed by in a blur. I knew we were going to the park, and it was a nice day for some relaxation and entertainment from the chubby ducks in the pond. As we slowly neared the city park, I was silently dancing in my seat as I waited to unbuckle my seatbelt and run excitedly towards the park. When we pulled into a parking space, the engine to the car turned off and we got out, my brother holding the picnic basket.

"Ok, we are here," my dad yelled slightly over a gust of wind. "You may..." Before my dad could finish his sentence, my brother and I took off running towards our favorite spot in the whole entire park.

"Be careful with the basket," my mom yelled paranoid at my brother as he ran after me. I simply didn't care and wanted to go see my dancing friends.

As I got closer to the duck pond, I slowly stopped running as I realized that the ducks aren't there and the pond remained vacant and untouched. Staring sullenly at the calm, crystal blue waters, I lowered my head and shoulders in defeat, not before I got a glimpse of a wooden sign with a sloppy graffitied message. "No more ducks, out of season," I read aloud before I walked the other way with a downcast expression towards my astonish-faced family. Going to help them put down the picnic blanket and tarp, they remained in silence because they knew that I didn't want to talk about it.

"Well," my mom said matter-of-factly. "It's still a beautiful day? There's more exciting things coming your way today."

Glaring daggers at my mom in hurt, she quickly quieted down and the rest of the  time at the park was silent while everyone else had fun, playing and running around the apparatus. Where's my fun? By the time we left the park, the next stop was to get some soft serve from Walter's Waffle Emporium.

Annie fastened the ribbon tighter around my eyes.

“Good?” she asked, adjusting it. “You can’t see, right?”

I giggled. “No. Should I be scared?”

Annie squeezed my shoulders and navigated me through the kitchen. “That depends. Do you trust me?”

“Well, of course— ow!” I yelped, as I’d stubbed my toe on the pillar linking the kitchen to the main hall. “I mean— mostly.”

Annie just laughed.

I’d learned this was how it went with Annie; you could grumble and complain all you wanted, but she could never be anything but happy to save her life. She was one of those eternally sunny people, ever content to be a rainbow no matter how bad the rain.

I smirked. “Okay, maybe less than mostly.”

“C’mon, I’m your sister now, so you should trust me!” She said, laughing again.

An awkward silence followed.

Sure, we were technically sisters now, by adoption, but we’d never actually called each other that. Not out loud at least. I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about it, but... the word had triggered something inside of me, like a new, warm, heart-happy, feeling, and with it came a new excitement that made a thousand tiny butterflies explode in my chest—

“Ack!” I cried, nearly tripping on the step leading outside to the deck.

Annie winced. “Whoops. Sorry, my bad.”

“Explain to me,” I continued once I regained feeling in my toe, “where we’re going, exactly?”

I couldn’t see, but I knew her face was breaking into a smile. “You’ll know soon enough. Come on, walk over this way, and mind the grass.”

“What? Oh— the ground is soft now.” I said stupidly.

She giggled. “And sticky. Watch your step, there’s a rock right there—“

“Oh—“

We made our way through what I recognized as the back lawn, the hot sun making my forehead bead with sweat and my sundress stick to my back. All around we went, left and right and left again, before finally I heard us pass between some rustling hedges and stop.

Annie undid my blindfold, letting it slip to the ground, and then leaned into my ear to whisper.

“Open your eyes.”

I did, and my mouth dropped open.

There, nestled in between two tall oval-cut hedges trimmed neatly in emerald green, was the most beautiful flower garden I had ever seen. Pink peonies and maroon red roses bloomed in shallow clusters to my left, intertwining their stems, as if two young lovers kissing in the sun. Together they emitted a sweet, heavenly scent like sugared raspberries, while to my right, vibrant bluebells and white Queen Anne’s lace swayed gently in the mid morning light, the dainty frills of the lace adding a feminine touch to the tranquil, ocean-like bluebells.

Beneath my feet was a color gradient of sea foam to emerald to a rich earthy brown, the many shades of green complimenting and enhancing one another like a symphony of the grasses. Raising my eyes higher, I saw a stark-white wooden archway, its sides covered in rich olive-colored vines that bloomed wildflowers golden like the sun, their scent reminiscent of sweet lemonade on a spring afternoon. Beyond the archway, a rainbow trail of flowers led even farther into a secluded thicket grove, dark yet somehow so beautiful all the same.

“Whoa,” I breathed.

“I made it for you,” Annie said, tracing her fingers along one of the golden flowers on the archway. “Mom said you liked gardens, so I thought—“

“It’s perfect,” I said immediately. “It’s just... I can’t even describe...” my voice caught. “It’s a beautiful garden. Made by a sister, for a sister.”

Annie’s shoulders visibly relaxed.

Wait, had she just been... nervous?

Her face broke into an even wider smile. “I can’t believe you like it.”

“I love it,” I said again, kneeling down and picking one of the peonies and tying it into my hair. I picked another one and held out my hand. She took it and did the same, adding its petals to her long caramel-colored braid.

“This is what sisters do,” I told her, trying to hide all the happiness bubbling up inside me. “They pick flowers together.”

“Oh?” she asked, even more elated. “And what else do sisters do?”

I let myself smile even more. “This.”

I yanked her hand and pulled her deeper into the thicket, our obnoxiously loud laughter echoing all the way into the grove.