Water Flight

 Water Flight

Anna Rohaly

The Frisbee soars over my head before hitting a tree and landing with a soft, swishing thump in the long grass.

“Maybe we should move this out to the field,” my cousin Danny jogs over to the plastic disk, his shaggy curls bouncing. Thomas, my brother, rushes past me, almost a blur of color as my eyes struggle to catch up with him. Danny sends the Frisbee flying. Thomas jumps through the air and catches it. I turn to watch and as I do, I see pink tinting the fluffy bottoms of some of the clouds. The idea hits like a rain drop.

“Guys! We should go to the beach and watch the sunset. We can throw the Frisbee out there,” both of the boys' heads snap around to look at me. I am the oldest cousin present and the only cousin at the Farm who can legally drive. The prospect of going to the beach while we are on the Farm is a welcome one because for us cousins, it is a rare treat. Thomas and I come from the heart of Indiana. The only oceans we see are the ones made up of corn stalks and bean rows, swirling in the wind. Danny and his sisters Katie and Pam come from the middle of Chicago. They can go to the beach but the experience is crowded, dirty, and unsatisfying. It doesn't bring life to a person. The nearby beach, surrounded by grass covered dunes and secluded shifting sands, is just one more draw to the remains our great-grandfather's farm.

“Lets,” Dan says. We scatter in opposite direction, preparing for our outing.

Five minutes later the three of us, along with Kate and Pam, are piled in the car. I'm driving. The freedom tastes good as I click my seat belt into place and turn the key. We're off!

We are all quiet at first but slowly the sound in the car grows. Pam and Kate in the back chat about soccer games, Thomas tries to poke Dan from the backseat. The drive is short to begin with, but with the pleasant chatter, we are there in just a moment. Pulling off the road into the gravel parking lot, I put the car into park and we unload ourselves. Dan grabs the Frisbee and we run to the top of the largest dune, ducking under the low hanging branches of the trees that block our path. We follow the small sandy trail up through the grasses and patches of woods. Thomas beats us all to the top, closely followed by Danny and me. Kate and Pam bring up the rear. Thomas and Danny already have their cameras out, taking pictures, their faces brushed with orange light. I step through the last trees and look out.

No matter how many times I have come to this beach, no matter how many sunsets I witness over Lake Michigan's churning waters, I still feel a fresh sense of awe for each new experience. This evening is no different. We are a little late, the sun has already made her exit and is now hidden behind the curtains of water. She has left a bright scarf of orange in her wake, lining the horizon with vibrant color. The orange scarf is trimmed in silhouetted clouds, once white, but now deep blue, purple, and gray. Above the clouds, the sky fades from orange into a satin blue backdrop, which stands silent and empty, missing the sun and awaiting the entrance of the stars. A sigh escapes my lips. Around me Thomas and my cousins have fallen silent with the same awe.

I glance down the dune itself. The wind is strong and cool this evening. My hair is blown out behind me like hundreds of silk whips. The tall sand grasses that cover the hill bend and shudder. The water is rough tonight. The waves are about five feet tall, crashing down on each other, spraying bejeweled water into the sky as if mocking it and daring the sun to reappear on stage. There is a line of trees at the bottom of the hill, their branches bending and bowing towards us. Beyond the tree line is a small strip of beach.

On the beach there are only two people standing, a father and his small son. I watch them play for a moment, savoring their simple pleasure. They move towards one of the nearby houses as I move to the other side of my cousins.

We have a tradition. When we come to this beach together, we all go to the top of the dune. There is one small path on the side of the sand hill that is free from grasses and trees, one space that is only forgiving sand. The path is narrow, not more then six feet wide, but it reaches all the way to the bottom of the hill to a vanishing path that goes through the thin line of trees. The incline is steep, more then a 45 degree angle. We have found that running down the dune, allowing each step to be swallowed up by the sand as your pace is hastened by the expected shifts of sand, is more then exciting; it's exhilarating. Tonight, I am going to be the first one to take the plunge.

I am holding my purse in one hand as I jump down into my first step. The sand slides beneath my booted foot and I gain speed. I feel like an imbecile for carrying my purse, but I had to bring it for my car keys and phone in case the mothers need to reach us. I hold it tightly and continue my ski-like decent. As the trees are brought closer, I slow down enough to control my footing as I duck beneath the branches and disappear into their arms. Coming out into the small patch of grasses on the other side I turn and look back up the dune.

From the top of the dune Thomas and the cousins had watched me plummet down the hill. Now Dan and Thomas are sprinting down the hill, sliding, aiding erosion with their large feet. The environmentalists must hate us.

Thomas and Dan vanish behind the veil of trees. Kate and Pam now are running side by side through the sand. They disappear as the boys reappear, bursting through the wall of trees. The girls join us shortly and together we all run toward the calling water.

The aunts had told us not to get wet. They had repeated themselves over and over and so out of the mandatory obedience required of offspring, we stop and watch the tall waves splash to the shore and slide like wet seals up to the toes of our shoes. Dan pulls out his camera again, catching the orange reflection on the wet sand and the towering waves. Thomas decides on a different course of action.

He pulls out the Frisbee, hurling it in my direction, shouting my name over the loud crying of the waves. He has miscalculated the strength of the wind though, and the Frisbee tilts, angling down straight into arms of the crashing turf.

Having been told to avoid water, I do what any good daughter would do and walk up to the very edge of the waves. I watch the Frisbee go round and round, surfing onto the shore atop one foaming wave before it is pulled out again under the next wall of water. I wait for some of the waves to be spaced out by a few extra feet before I make my grab for the Frisbee, rescuing it from its watery Ferris Wheel.

I fling the Frisbee towards Pammy. She lets out a squeal as water spirals off of the disk under the power of centripetal force. She is only a few feet away, so the wind does not bend its course. She catches it and makes a throw to Kate. The wind catches it again however, and I watch it veer off into the grasses. After a few more throws, it is apparent that this part of our plan will not work. The Frisbee is abandoned with my purse by a piece of drift wood.

I look out at the water. As the water recedes, the sand shimmers and glistens with reflections of the sky. I keep watching and see that as the sand is pulled back out with the water, an occasional rock surfaces and skips into the lake with the receding water. Like the Red Baron flying after his prey I dash across the wet sand to catch one of the tumbling stones. A waves comes crashing towards me sending me into a hasty retreat to avoid the water.

Thomas soon catches on to what I'm doing and we both continue to make a grab for the stones. Katie and Pam decide to go jogging down the beach and Dan begins racing the waves. This is what the beach should be, a place to revive. Here, out from under the watchful eyes of adults and the pressures of school and peers, we are free to act silly. We are giddy on freedom and happiness. Who needs drugs when beaches are still in existence.

Thomas runs up to me and hands me a wet stone. His jeans are dotted with water and he is grinning. I slip the stone into my back pocket and Thomas and I wait to time the next wave. It comes surging in, foaming up to our tennis shoes.

“Ha! You didn't catch me!” I shout to the water but the wind swallows up my voice and I am the only one who hears the words. The wave begins to pull out again and I see another rock. Thomas and I race for it. Dan joins us. We run full out but before any of us can grab the stone, the next wave is nearly upon us. We run away laughing, splashed by the foam that is caught on the wind.

By this time, the orange scarf is gone from the sky and stars appear as sparkling jewels. An airplane flies high over head, blinking a red light over us. We are alone with the dark waves.

I would like nothing better then to stay here with my cousins and watch the moon rise but as the darkness begins to spread, I know we have to leave.

“We should head back to the Farm soon,” I say to Dan as we retreat from another wave. Like my brother, Dan's jeans are wet at the bottoms. He doesn't hear me through the wind and for a few more minutes all of us run across the sand. I eventually stop and look towards the drift wood where my purse is sitting with the Frisbee. I can barely make out the drift wood.

“Okay guys, I think we should head out,” I shout louder this time. They all hear me over the roar of the wind. They look disappointed that we have to leave but they gather together and we retrieve the Frisbee and my purse.

Together, we trek over the sand and through the darkness to the head of the main trail that leads up the dunes. Going up is harder, the sand slides down under us back towards the water, back where we would like to go. Still, we trudge towards the car. We are out of breath by the time we break over the ridge of the hill. I dig through my purse, find my ring of keys, and unlock the doors. We didn't bring towels because we weren't going to get wet. However, we are all sandy and have to kick our feet against the car tires until the shushing of falling sand stops. We crowd back into the car.

The ride back is much quieter and much longer. The darkness prolongs the curves of the road and hides the turn-off I need to take. The silence is heavy. None of us want to leave the exhilaration of the beach. None of us wants to go back the pressures of every day life, for me in college, for Thomas and the others high school and grade school. None of us want to go back to acting mature, grown up, and in control of the lives that we can influence so little but we must and we will. We will not however, forget that visit to the beach or the freedom and giddy joy we felt during that trip. Instead, we will keep that memory close. That way, when we meet again at the Farm and realize how overbearing life has become again, we will know where to go. We will go back to the sunset, back to the deafening wind, the sand and the waves. We will go back to freedom.

Poetry

Here are some of my poems that I've written over the last few years. The first one is one that I wrote for myself, while the other two were for a class. I hope you enjoy them!

The Work of Two

Anna Rohaly

Two hearts braid together and form one strand,

four eyes seek out beauty to capture and hold.

The hands of the two clasp together in work,

the fingers carve deep and create something new.

The two minds form artwork which piece together

like squares in a quilt and bright patches of color.

Their work combined brings light to the eyes

of the many who glance and the few who see.

Who gaze on the work of these two simple hearts,

as they offer their gifts to the Lord and each other.

Order

Anna Rohaly

Order is like a carton of eggs.

The militant rows of equal number.

The layers of shell, white, and then yolk.

The egg's place in a list of ingredients.

It is the egg cooking from the outside in.

The unanswerable question, which came first?

The chicken or the egg?

Monday, August 31, 2009

Anna Rohaly

Monday is bright green,

the green of trees, limes, and hoodies.

It is a day that warms my face but chills my heart.

Monday sounds like a long goodbye.

It smells like Listerine and pears.

It tastes like mint chocolate chip ice cream.

It is the day my best friend leaves.

Bat Man Revisited

Here is my revision of my Bat Man story! I hope you enjoy it, I took a creepy twist and I would LOVE to get some feed back!

Bat Man

Anna Rohaly

I have an unusual hunger for bats these days. I hear them through the walls and my mouth waters to taste their flesh. I want the furry bodies, warm beating hearts, thin leathery wings to be sizzling on my stove top. The craving comes with such a sudden need and intensity that for a moment I stand on Mosquito Coast, stranded again by the ocean.

~*~

I remember the wind blowing in my hair as I stood in the bow of the ship. My six shipmates and I were tossed on the ocean as we sailed down the coast of Latin America harvesting fish, the silver creatures of the sea. Eight years earlier, we voyaged out towards the end of the hurricane season. Unfortunately, we left too soon. We tried to ride out the hurricane as the sea turned gray, like churning ash beneath our helm. We were pounded all day by the roaring waters. I saw it coming, the rock that ended our voyage. Off the Mosquito Coast our small metal ship was lifted high on the rolling, rushing waves, so high that my head became light as we smashed down into the razor rocks. There was a ripping of metal as we tore into the rock followed by silence as I flew, arms and legs splayed out like a corpse, into the frigid ocean waters. I was only saved because I was on the deck, trying to get a survival kit and life jacket to the captain as he wrestled to keep his ship afloat. I expected death in the waters, but my captains life jacket helped keep me up as the waves push me towards shore. I might as well have died, so terrible did my fate become.

Mosquito Coast is one of the most desolate and uncivilized areas in the world and I soon began to experience its terrors. Deep down, I knew it was my punishment for living. If I had been injured at all, I would not have been able to survive so harsh was the land. I knew nothing of the plant life and nothing of the animals that lived there. I waded into the jungle only far enough to find vines and branches that I could turn into a net. I twisted and wove, tangled and whittled, until a rough and primitive net lay over my knee. I found a small stream flowing into the ocean's salty mass, and set up my net to capture any fish that might get snared there. I caught very little.

Weeks flew past, I lost much weight and needed a vine to keep my pants up. I carried the survival kit everywhere containing a small knife, a compass, a waterproof tin of matches, a flashlight, and a flare gun. After two months, I was barely able to stand. Pushing back further through the green rain forest and muggy wall of air, I started looking for fruit and vegetation that might be familiar. Nothing. My stomach was clinched with hunger and my vision blurred as I staggered into tall bamboo trees. I tripped on a vine, my chest rose raggedly as I drew shaking breaths. I glanced off to my right and saw the cave for the first time. I dragged myself over to the opening.

The air that rushed out was crisp and cool. It breathed life into me and I felt energy slip into my veins. I pulled out my flashlight. Feeling like a snake, I slithered on my belly inside. The ground of the cave was littered with stones, leaves, and branches probably blown in by the same hurricane that had drowned my crew. The branches and leaves were dry and crunched beneath me. I shone my flashlight around the cave. The circle of yellow light hit the low ceiling and I set eyes on my salvation and damnation. Bats hung in droves from the ceiling. I would eat soon.

I struggled to my feet and reached up in the dark to the hanging furry bodies. I grabbed a bats and swung it down, bashing its head against a rock. As I swung it towards death, it let out a loud screech that shivered off the walls. The darkness exploded into a cloud of leathery wings and sharp claws. I dropped the flashlight as the teeth and claws engulfed me. I groped the dark and caught two more furry creatures, killing them with one hand, using my other hand to clear the little devils from circling my head. Suddenly the air cleared and they were gone. I fell to my knees and reached out with my hands for my survival kit and flashlight, both concealed in the blackness. I found my flashlight first and used the beam of light to find the three little carcases I had dropped to the ground. Stacking them next to a large rock, I crawled across the ground, grabbing any branches and leaves that my trembling hands could reach. Piling them up I pulled out my matches. Smoke puffed out into the beam of my flashlight as flame sparked to life. I dropped the match onto my pile of sticks and branches, letting the flames grow. Finding a long stick, I used it to skewer the bats. Holding the branch out over the flames, I watched as the splayed wings began to crackle and the fur melted onto the delicate little bodies. The entire cave was filled with the incense of burnt fur.

The bats were finally cooked a little. I snapped the wings off the bodies and ate them, remembering the bowls of chips and salsa I had eaten in the past. I ate the bats organs and all, tearing aside the burnt fur to suck the dripping fat and blood left in the meat. I tore through the meal and wished for more. I put the skeletal remains by a rock and lay down to sleep.

When I woke, I rose and walked to the entrance of the cave with my flashlight and survival kit. Getting out into the fading light of evening, I looked down and realized that my hands were covered with blood and small, fine cuts. They seemed blackened and leathery. Two little teeth marks stood out on the pale skin of my wrist, showing where one of the bats had sunk his teeth into the vein.

“Hopefully I ate that one,” I muttered, as I gingerly touched the smarting sore. Either way, I knew that the next day I would go back for more. Weeks and months followed. My diet became more and more dominated by bats. I tried testing fruits and foliage, but never ate more then a few leaves. My skeletal form began to fade or maybe I just became more adjusted to seeing the angles of my bones just as I became used to eating the bats. At first, I tried to stay away from the cave unless I was near to starving, for fear that I might chase the bats away. But in my need, it became easier and easier to kill them and eat them. One day, I was stashing my survival kit behind a rock on shore when I heard a screech and blacked out. Suddenly I found myself in the dark, surrounded by a living cloud of wings, teeth, and claws. I never looked back. Eventually I started just catching them, bringing them live and squirming to my mouth, and ripping their heads off with my teeth. I savored the taste of their blood and mine mingling in my mouth as I sucked the blood from the bites I received.

I started sleeping on the floor of the cave. Whenever I awoke it was dark outside and the moonlight was creeping over the cave floor. I also began hunting in the night with the bats, learning to swing from trees, finding fruits and killing monkeys and birds asleep in the branches. When dawn broke I crawled into the cave, allowing my claw-like fingernails to pull me over the leaves and dirt to the cool, dark, and refreshing cave.

One day though, after this had been happening for a long time, I had a dream. There was a woman with black hair and green eyes. She was looking at me and seeing me. She was talking to me. She smiled and something changed in me. I felt I was human again. I blinked open my eyes and found that it was light outside. Wandering out of the cave, I walked towards the beach. I felt stiff and sore, realizing that this was the first time in days that I had stood up straight. My head seemed clouded with a thick fog, built up from years of isolation. As I reached the shore, I saw something out on the horizon, a speck in the distance. As I watched, it came closer, grew larger, until the outline of a ship looked like a small bug on the skyline. Something in me snapped into place and I ran to the rock where I had stored my survival kit. Pulling it out, I saw that the canvas was shredded and worn. Throwing the canvas onto the beach, I pulled out the flare gun, loaded it and fired. A burst of smoke shot out from the end of the gun, trailing into the sky before bursting into a blast of red. I reloaded the gun and shot it again and again until all of my flares were used. Breathless, I watched the boat. I started yelling at the top of my voice and just as I was about to sink down to the sand, the boat turned and came towards me.

It took the men a while to reach me. When they stepped onto the beach, I tried to say hello, but only a high pitched screech escaped my lips. The bats' language was mine now. The men stared at me for a minute, before opening their arms and offering me the first embrace I had shared with another human being in years. Looking down, I realized I was in tatters and the stench of me must have nearly knocked these men over. They helped me to the boat, bringing my survival kit with them. I still don't know why I did it, but as we were sailing away, I looked back and let out a long call.

“Looks like he's trying to talk,” a bearded man said. “Poor fella, can't even make a noise.”

The bats had heard my call though. A cloud of leathery wings soared into the sky and flew out over the water before circling back to their cave and the dark. As they disappeared, the mist in my mind cleared.

“Where are we going?” I asked. They all looked at me for a moment before grinning.

“Welcome back sir,” said the bearded man. “We're taking you home.” The picture melts away from me and I open my eyes and come back to the present.

~*~

I rush from my house, trembling. The bats had called to me, I could hear them. I had thought I was getting better, I had thought that the mad man who tore the heads off bats had died in the jungle. Yet here I am, crouching with my hands on my knees, fighting the urge to climb up my chimney and eat the bats that reside in my home. I feel strange, like that fog that covered my mind for eight years is coming back and engulfing me.

They're crying has faded now and I am able to catch my breath. I walk back into the house to call the exterminator to come and catch them and get them out of my life once and for all. I start dialing the number when the temptation strikes me. What if I just exterminate them myself? One or two more bats couldn't take hold of me again, right? Surely, I have been healed of my insanities. I shake my head, scattering the mist. I finish dialing.

As the phone starts ringing though, the screeches start again.

“Hello, Orkin's Pest Control,” a voice on the other end of the line calls to me. “Hello?”

I open my mouth to respond. “H-heaaaaeeeeeeeee—” My word turns into a screech and I vaguely hear a yell on the other side of the phone. Flinging down the phone, I turn towards the chimney and watch as the bats scatter out of the chimney and into the room. My vision blurs and changes until the colors of the room have dripped into only black and white before blackness. Everything fades away.

I don't open my eyes at first, when awareness starts slinking back into my body. At first all I know is that I am leaning against something hard and rough, like extremely gritty sand paper. Next comes the smell, one of burnt logs and paper. When the realization that I am wedged somewhere flashes through me, my eyes fly open wide and my heart races. It is so dark that I cannot tell that my eyes are even open at first, but my ears sense my heart beat echoing off of the walls and engulfing me. I blink again and can see light shining now down below my bare feet which are pressed against the wall. I try to move, but move falsely and tumble down onto the hearth of my fireplace. My arms and legs are shaking, my head hurting, I drag myself out from the chimney. The room is in tatters. The blinds are torn and the furniture is knocked over. The lamp my mother gave me as a house warming gift lies in pieces on the floor. My clothes are ripped and covered in soot. I let out a shaky puff of air and start cleaning the room.

As I throw the broken pieces of lamp into the trash can, a knock comes at the door. I set aside the broom and dust pan and go to answer the call. Opening the door, I find a policeman on my doorstep.

“Good morning sir, is everything all right in there?” He gives me a look meant to pierce me, but he does not realize who he is looking at, what he is looking at. I am not his normal perpetrator.

“Yeah, eeee-verything is fine, why?” I spit out, swallowing a screech that begins to come.

“Your neighbors called this morning saying that there was a lot of noise here last night and this morning the blinds were torn down. They were afraid someone had broken in,” he said, his eyes sliding across my face. “Are you sure everything is all right?”

“Yeah, I-eeee –” I gulp and feel my face twist into a grimace, “had some unwelcome little pests in here last night. Some baaaaa-bats got into my chimney and I was trying to get them out.” My vision blurs and for an instant I worry I might lose my human composure. Instead, I smile and add, “Forgive me, I just didn't get any sleep.” The policeman squints at me for a second.

“All right, if you're sure,” he turns to start down the sidewalk before turning to look at me one last time. “Next time just call an exterminator and go stay with a friend. It'll save you a lot of grief.” He turns again, walking away with a wave of his hand.

I go back inside and glance around the house. I put right the furniture so that it wouldn't show I had hunted last night. I feel full and sleepy, even content for a moment before the reality of the situation falls onto me. I had lost control. What might happen to me if someone finds out? This little Georgia town won't accept that. I start pacing before deciding to take a walk. A walk will clear my head.

The streets outside are lined with old, gnarled trees. I head away from town into the forest, adorned with Spanish Moss. The morning is not a clear one. Mist circles the branches of the trees and swirls in the wake of my footsteps. I had been walking for about an hour before I notice, set back under the weeping moss and mist, an old house. A young woman stands on the front porch, her arms crossed over a pale green sweater. Her long black hair falls in loose ringlets around her shoulders. Her face looks worried and she is watching the street as though she is expecting someone. She looks familiar. Before I realize what I'm doing, I wave.

“Good morning, how are you today?” It is the first time I have managed to speak normally since last night. She smiles at me and I feel a familiar warm flare in my chest. The warmth shatters with her words.

“Oh, all right I suppose. I have a bat colony living in my attic and I'm waiting for pest control to come before I leave for work,” she brushes hair mindlessly from her face as my heart picks up and her pale green sweater turns gray for a moment. She smiles again and it hits me. She is the woman from my dream, the one that had woken me from my sleep just in time to signal for my rescue. The one who had cured me before the bats had come into my house last night. Perhaps she can cure me again. I have to keep talking to her.

“I'm an exterminator,” I blurt out. “Would you like me to see what I can do? The fog will make it hard for the exterminator to find you today,” I say, feeling the collision of hope and dread in my stomach.

“That is tempting, I really do need to go to work. Have you really hunted bats before?” She looks at me quizzically, trustingly even.

“Yes, for eight years actually,” I say, trying to stay calm. I walk towards the house to talk with her. Her face was so lovely, I focused on her, even as the bats muffled calls reached me.

“If you're sure you know what you're doing, I'm more then willing to pay you to try,” she said. “I really need some sleep tonight. I'm Emma Graham.”

My heart was pounding as I shook her hand. We stood together under the Spanish moss in the fog of the morning and talked. She told me she was an attorney, working on a big case. I talked about fishing and some of the excitement that it brought me. When she finally had to go to work, I walked back down the road, not thinking of the bats for the first time that day. Her smile preoccupied my thoughts. Perhaps she had been calling to me throughout time and space. Perhaps she could cure me of my wretched hunger.

Reaching my house, I walk straight into the kitchen and began rifling through drawers looking for ear plugs. I am not going to lose my cure. I finally find the ear plugs and start back towards her little house back in the woods under the Spanish Moss. I walk over the front porch and, putting in the earplugs, walk into the house.

It looks like she just moved in. There are boxes lining the walls and her furniture is still covered with sheets. There are only a few pictures on the mantle of her surrounded by parents and grandparents. I walk across the dusty wooden floor and into the tiled kitchen. The fog was beginning to clear and light filters through a green and gold piece of stained glass that hung over the old fashioned sink. I turned the faucet and watch as the water that was spit out change from brown to clear. Turning it back off, I leave the kitchen, beginning to feel nervous about what was coming.

I head up the long staircase, sticking close to the wall because the banister look rotten and I don't trust the stairs. Reaching the landing, I follow the hallway around towards her bedroom. I only peek inside, seeing that this was one of the few rooms that she had moved all the way into. I close her door behind me and move further down the hall to the last door on the right. My hands are sweating as I reach for the door knob and my heart pound in my head. Taking a deep breath, I turn on the light and head up the stairs. Reaching the top, my mouth drops open. Hanging from the eves are the largest colony of bats I have ever seen. Time stops for a moment until one of the bats in the middle of the room, pokes his head out from underneath his leather wing. He turns to look at me with his large black, globular little eyes. I watch as he opens his little snout and in slow motion and lets out a screech loud enough to wake the dead. Everything around me goes black and I lose control again.

Emma's scream is what I wake to. She stands at the foot of the stairs, looking up at me in horror. A headless bat is limp in my hand and I feel blood dribbling down my mouth. I glance around, trying to bring myself back. The attic is a disaster. I had torn old furniture and insulation to shreds. Floor boards are smashed in places and everything is covered with blood. My arms and face are bleeding from the thousands of little teeth and claws that tore my surface. My skin looks black and I can feel pained bumps on my shoulder blades. My nose seems longer as I look past it, back down the stairs just in time to see Emma run away from me.

I tear down the stairs after her.

“Emma, wait! I can explain!” I run after her as the color returns to the rooms around me.

She looks back and the terror on her face doubles at the sight of me. She tears around the corner heading for the stairs. Just as I round the corner I hear splintering wood and a scream. My heart nearly stops. I wish it had.

I round the corner to see that Emma had not turned sharply enough and had run into the banister. The rotten wood hung in splintered beams from where she had crashed through. I run down the stairs dreading what I will find.

Her neck is twisted in an impossible angle and her eyes are wide open but empty. Her long black hair is filled with bits of wood and and glistens with blood. Tears spring hot and quick to my eyes and my vision blurs. I am a monster, any person can see that. My vision clicks back to gray. I know what I have to do.

Struggling for control, I walk over to Emma's lifeless body. I straighten her neck and her limbs so that she lies looking peaceful instead of hunted. The last thing I do in this life is close her green eyes. My tears fall down to her face, dripping off the end of my snout. I wish the same power that had turned me into this monster, that had caused Emma's death, could reverse, bring her back and kill me instead. She is dead. My cure is gone. I want to be dead.

I blink and I am outside, barefoot, climbing up the side of the old brick house, just as I had climbed the limbless trees in the jungle. I drag myself up onto the roof and pause for only a second before the black unconsciousness comes to take me forever. Only a second to rid the world of the monster I am before I transform. Tonight I will die or fly, I run over the flat roof and fly into the oblivion of the night.

The Lang Affair

The Lang Affair

Anna Rohaly

Benji was used to being teased at school about his squinty Asian eyes, his skinny legs, and his outrageously messy hair. But up until last year, the teasing and bullying had been relatively light. Last year everything had changed when his Dad, Li Rong Lang had made national news for “allegedly” killing the pretty blond woman. After that, the teasing had become relentless to the point that Benji was glad to change schools when his mom dropped him off to live with his uncle before heading away over the Pacific in her search for “peace and quiet.” Benji leaned his head against the school bus window and watched the trees blur past.

His life felt like that blur of greens, browns, blacks outside. Everything had turned upside down after the trial. He had seen the pretty blond lady, Jeanette, twice. Once, when his mom was gone visiting his aunt, the lady had come for a sleep over with his dad. The second time was two weeks before she was murdered. His mom was gone at a parent teacher meeting. Benji had sat and watched TV, trying to drown out the moans coming from his parents bedroom. The lady had left right before his mom had gotten home.

The day after the lady's visit, his mom had been washing dishes while he worked on homework.

Without looking at him she asked, “Who was the woman Benji?” He put his pencil down and looked at the ground. His mother had turned to look at him, her black hair shining, a strange look on her face. He did not know, he told her, Jeanette something. She nodded and turned back to the dishes, ending the conversation. Later that night, Benji had hidden under his covers as his parents fought.

“What do you want from me, Ai Ming?” Li Rong had shouted. The next week, Ai Ming treated her husband with an uncommon affection. Two weeks after the fight on that Wednesday night, Li Rong was out drinking when Ai Ming had gotten Benji out of bed.

“Benji, you are going to come with me,” She'd said. “We are going for a drive to find your father.”

Together they had driven into the dark night for hours. They had done this when Benji was little and the memory of these nights put Benji to sleep as the orange street lights flashed past. He woke to inky blackness. Letting his eyes adjust he realized that the car was parked outside of a tiny house. The house was surrounded by trees and bushes. As he watched as his mother came a few moments later from the house. She was wearing his father's coat and in her gloved hands was holding something that shone in the pale star light. He watched as she tore a piece of the coat off before he curled up and went back to sleep.

Benji woke once more that night, just long enough to see his mother get out of the car and move towards what he presumed was his father lying drunk in the ally to give him his coat. He went back to sleep.

When he woke the next morning he was in his bed and there was a loud banging outside. The police burst into their home, taking over their every move, and complicating and tainting the rest of their lives. The blond lady was dead, Benji knew that much, but he did not understand why his father was arrested. Or why he had to watch as his father was sentenced to twenty years in prison. Or why a month later his mother had left him at his uncles and left the country.

The bus stopped and Benji let out a sad sigh. Grabbing his back pack he left the bus, preparing for another day to try and make sense of his life.