Name: Emerald

Species: Human

Gender: Female

Career: Bronc Rider

Traits: Trustworthy Astute Determined Courageous

Partner: Bailey

Description: Emerald is a fierce, fearless female bronc rider who can tame any horse. Her piercing green eyes and long, dark hair have made her beloved in the audience. She dates Bailey, a woman just like her, and owns two horses, Jade and Hawk.

Greetings and thanks for coming all Since last together many years have past Correct me if I’m wrong but I’ve counted three falls That’s three years since Daniel passed

Every spring since has been nothing but grief The sole of the band at most, and the best of us at least He knew how to reign us in when we lost our temper with each other He was in a way our protective big brother Though he could bitch like a mother He did it with love and kindness like no other

So let us rejoice in his memory While he’s gone it may seem a test But to always smile and be happy And remember the best

Shirley sometimes felt like she was incredibly dull. Not disliked or looked down on in any way. Just dull. She woke up at 6 am every morning. Went to Starbucks, got her drink and her boss’s. Picked up doughnuts for the office. And always made sure the voicemail was checked before the boss came in. People could depend on her for these things. And for many other. She had habits, rituals, daily undergoing that you could count on to always happen. And she could spot whenever any little thing was off. Not in an annoying way, no one ever found her to be annoying, just said things like “Oh, Shirley, thanks for noticing.” The out of place word in a letter. The new haircut. New shoes. The fact that the mailman was late. Every one around the office seemed to enjoy her company. But what no one knew, because she was anything but a blabber mouth, was the amount of secrets she held for those around her. Rhonda in accounting had a crush on her boss Tom. And Richard was having an affair with his secretary. And Jerry cheated on her diet every Tuesday by getting ice cream. Some secrets were little, and some were big, but they all knew they could count on Shirley to keep them.

Patty had so much. Though she didn’t know. So trustworthy she would hush. Maybe a bit spoiled. It was unnatural the way she blushed. She decided to steel owned hearts. But one day she was declined and crushed.

Beloved we are gathered here Not to celebrate or cheer Rather to reflect and ponder Sit quietly a while and wonder Where is all this going for one Can our work ever truly be done Is contentment just a myth A lie to tolerate disappointment with Fulfilment just another figment A desperate leap for alignment Somehow the world keeps turning Suffering defeat but we keep learning

It was about a quarter till one in the afternoon when the sheriff strolled into the interrogation room, popping a piece of gum while whistling a folk tune I’ve heard before. His thick black boots and clinking keys reverberated throughout the room before stopping to take a seat in front of me. I looked away briefly, feeling nervous with the unsettling information I came to share. The truth had me fooled, had us all fooled, but I knew with all my heart that it wouldn’t make anything better keeping it in.

“Oliviah Warren! Pleasure to chat with you again!”

I felt my body flinch into itself at his deep, gravelly voice, my heart racing faster than I ever imagined it to. However, with one painful gulp, I plastered on a sweet smile and took his out-stretched hand in front of me.

“Well, the pleasure’s all mine, Officer Brody, but unfortunately I have terrible news for you. You see,” I hesitated, “it seems to me we have found a new suspect, an alleged suspect.”

“Do tell me who, Ms. Warren,” he said, leaning over the table. My heart nearly flipped out my chest when he did that, yet I tried to keep myself from getting flustered.

“Uh, it would appear that Vanessa Green is the ‘alleged’ suspect, sir.”

The room soon fell silent, except for the slow scratching sound of him rubbing his beard. His dark eyes stared into the soul of mine and I shuttered uncomfortably under his scrutiny. However, the silence persisted for a few more seconds.

“You’re saying that my stepdaughter is the person who killed Stacy McEntire in Central Park at 11:47 pm last Wednesday?”

“Yeh-Yes,” I stuttered, “I know it sounds outright crazy, but Vanessa-“

“Is a sweet, beloved little girl and can never do such a thing,” he added, now glaring at me.

“I know she is a trustworthy young woman, but I believe-“

“You believe what,” he slammed his fists on the table.

“I, believe that she’s an astute little girl and that something Stacy said or done to her pushed Vanessa over the edge,. And whatever pushed her over the edge led her to manipulate and threaten Stacy.”

“But not kill her, right,” he asked inquisitively.

“n-no. She killed her. I-I even took the evidence used to kill Stacy to the forensics team yesterday.”

“While I was not on duty?”

“uh, I guess… yeah.”

I watched him close his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose in anger. Meanwhile, I was trying to compose my damn self. Although, I did know what I was getting myself into.

“and what did they say,” he asked, still pinching the bridge of his nose.

I hesitated for a bit before saying, “it was a match.”

“Alright, it’s time to go, Ms. Waren,” he boomed, jumping out of his seat. The loud and sudden crash of the chair startled me as he stormed towards the door, holding it wide open for me to leave. “Up up! Time to go!”

Trying to stand on my two trembling legs, I hightailed it out of the room, apparently not fast enough as he grabbed ahold of my wrist. And because I could barely walk properly, I nearly fell on top of him.

In my ear, he whispered, “make sure you keep my daughter’s name out your fucking mouth, hmmm? Maybe then we won’t have a problem,” before releasing my hand and pushing me forward. I took no time running out of the police station and hailing for a taxi.

When you take me by the hand And lead me in a dance I may not be a pro But all I know, all I know

Is that you won’t care I could stare at you All day I walk in your shadow But all I know, all I know

Is that you hold me when I cry And you dab my watery eyes And talk to me real slow But all I know, all I know

Is that I don’t have to be perfect But I’m lucky that me you handpicked And you twirl me under the leafy willow But all I know, all I know

Is that I fall for your smile And for you I’d run infinity miles You I could not forgo But all I know, all I know

Is that we don’t argue It will always be you and me, me and you I say yes, you say yes, I say no, you say no But all I know, all I know

Is that I knew it at first sight As long as we were together we’d be alright To you, my heart I owe But all I know, all I know

Is that you spotted me in the crowd If you hadn’t, I wouldn’t be found Made memories in the meadow But all I know, all I know

Is that without you I’d be a mess And I can’t deny that I have to confess And it might go unspoken or slow But all I know, all I know

Is that you make my world loud and bright Without you it’d be dull, black and white And I’d be feeling pretty darn low But all I know, all I know

Is that we fit perfectly together We’re two birds of a feather You’re a part of my flow But all I know, all I know

Is that you can’t spell “Us” without you I know that we’re real, our love is true But all I know, all I know Is that I love you

When I first saw her, I knew.

I was surprised that anyone could miss it. I’m not one for gut feelings, but I knew it physically before I understood it intellectually. She knew what she was doing when she wore her ill fitting pantsuit and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She would tilt her head ever so slightly when she listened to someone speak, as if whatever was being said was brand new, requiring serious consideration. She would later tell me that it wasn’t an act. Even if what the person was arguing was total dogshit, there was something to be learned about people and how they worked. That sort of thing made me want to rupture my own eardrums, but there’s a reason I stick with the numbers.

I certainly didn’t intend to like her. It’s easier when I don’t. It’s easier if you WANT to mould them based on poll numbers and catch phrases. You take someone you can’t stand to be around, and when you start to hate them a little less, you’ve got an elected official.

But she didn’t need that. Not that she’d have let me change her if she did. When I tell her what to do, she always gives me that wry smile, that tilt of the head— she knows I hate it when she turns that back on me.

I’m the expert, I tell her. She reminds me that it doesn’t work on voters, so it won’t work on her.

She lost her first two elections, but it would only be time. I had never felt so calm. With failure, she became relatable.

By becoming relatable, she became successful.

The circle of life. Kind of.

Not that the public was easy on her. Sometimes, they asked her why she didn’t keep a promise. Why she wouldn’t stop a bill. Why she couldn’t make something happen.

She told them the truth. Not just that, she told them the truth as if they could understand it.

She thinks most of them can. I think most of them can’t. But either way, they feel intelligent, and on the campaign trail, that’s more important than being intelligent.

By the time we hit the big leagues, she could have had her choice of campaign manager. I never understood why she chose me.

“You’re an optimist,” she had told me once, over whiskey after the sort of day that required whiskey, and I had laughed.

But she was serious.

“If you weren’t one you’d like people more. They wouldn’t be able to disappoint you.”

“If I’m an optimist, it’s your fault,” I told her, overwarm from the alcohol.

She gave me that humble smile. Like what I thought mattered.

She was right, though. I would watch the crowd when she spoke. The hope in their eyes made me realize I still had some left in my chest. She spoke firmly. Like she meant what she said. They could feel it in their bones.

And she followed through. She wasn’t effective in her early career. She had morals. She would only bend them so far. But she always tried. People began to see that. Began to watch her in parliament, standing with her hands clasped in front of her, expertly tearing apart an argument as her coworkers heckled her.

But the tide changed, like she was the moon and politics the sea.

She’s flawed. It would do her a disservice to pretend she wasn’t. She was stubborn, slow to ever believe she was wrong. And she had a temper. I sanded those edges off without her realizing it. I knew how to redirect her anger. I knew how to write her a speech that could convince her before she said it.

Now we stand in front of the TV, watching a map change colours. She takes my hand. Squeezes it, as people in the hall outside chant her name.

“Thank you,” she tells me, for some reason.

“Any time. Whatever you need.” I tell her, because rejecting the gratitude will not work.

The map disappears, and the news anchor takes its place.

“Our election team has enough reports for us to call the election,” he says.

The results aren’t all that matters. We will get there, somehow. I know it. I know it every time I see her.

She knows the secrets of all, Yet she would never dare tell. She is intelligent, street smart, Despite her beautiful looks. And she is loved by everyone, But she will always be unhappy. Always. Be. Unhappy.

He never said much but you could always count on him, he was very trustworthy that way, you knew he’d come through. He would sit in his chair at every family gathering, taking us all in, learning about us, taking in his family, his legacy, he was astute to what made them happy and always surprised us with how much he knew us. I hate that you never really understand how much a person does for you throughout your life until they are gone. I remember him making a secret recipe just for me or so I thought because once I gave them a name he made sure they made an appearance at every holiday table, every family dinner -he baked them with love. If anything his consistency was what we all needed the most. We needed to see him sitting in his recliner, looking up at us with an ornery grin, we needed the commitment he stuck to, we needed our leading man. Oh how beloved you truly were Grandpa. May we continue in our own commitment to our children, grandchildren and great grandchildren. May we make them feel special outside of a lifetime of “I love you”s. May we breathe them in, be slow to speak and have them waiting for our words. May they be full of wisdom and experience and hard work. May we hold on as long as we possibly can before we finally let go.