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I’ve never seen so many beautiful flowers in such an ugly, dark place. Everyone was sad, a few were crying. I guess it was one of those situations where you are too sad to cry, or that it hasn’t really sunken in yet. All of my friends and family were there. Aunt Judy, Uncle Mark, Cousin Leo, and my younger sister Evee. I would glance at them every once in a while but it was like I wasn’t even there. Instead of looking at me, everyone seemed to look through me. They were looking, but they weren’t seeing. I never said hello. Neither did any one else. People just gave each other nods of acknowledgment, like everything that could’ve been said was spoken in one slight motion of their heads. There was a table set up with things to eat. Small sandwiches, bite sized pastries, crackers and cheese and such. The only person eating any of it was my two year old, second cousin Remy, who was too young to understand anything and to feel the grief that created a heavy fog hanging in the room like one hundred year old cob webs. The sun was out that day but it wasn’t shinning. There were no clouds to block its glorious light, but it produced more of a glow than a shine. Even though I was in a funeral parlor I didn’t know who died. I made a checklist of my family members in my head. As I moved about the room I made a mental check next to each of the names. Instead of walking, or even skulking, it felt like I was floating. I looked down at my feet to make sure they were on the ground. They were.
Everyone was here, no one was missing. I had gone over my list twice to make sure and my results didn’t change. I figured I would find out soon enough. I began to look at the flowers to try and brighten my mood. Even though it was a bit selfish of me, I figured there was no use mourning someone I didn’t even know. There were all sorts of flowers. Lilies, daisies, lupine, clavia, and fresias. The most common flowers I saw were purple orchids. Those were always my favorite. Midst the flowers there were also open cards that said things like “We will always miss her” and “She was beautiful inside and out.” Now I really wanted to know who it was who was so greatly missed. I finally came to one of the last cards. It was in my grandma’s handwriting. I read it slowly.
“Winona was my sun on a rainy day. She was a flower in a patch of weeds. I will always love her, even in death.”
I am Winona. My eyes fluttered, but my mind fluttered faster. How could this be? Am I really dead? I screamed but no one even flinched. I tried to remember. I tried to find any memory that could give me a hint as to how this happened. I tried. I did nothing but try. I didn’t succeed but I didn’t fail either. It was just a never ending cycle of trying but not getting anywhere. So I ran for the door. I reached for the door knob but I stumbled and fell through the door. I knew I had hit the pavement on the other side, but I didn’t feel it. I couldn’t feel anything. Not the sunshine, not the breeze I could hear whistling through the trees, not anything. I crawled to the sidewalk to sit under a tree. I tried to lean against it but my head just went through that too. I just decided no to move any more. Just stop trying. People on foot and by car passed by me, but they only saw the tree and not the bottom half of a dead girl. To my surprise I thought I felt something touch my foot. I sat up and my head emerged from the tree. I looked up and saw a girl with pink and black hair, a leather jacket with studs, loose men’s pants being held up by a belt with even more studs than the jacket, big black boots that made her about five foot nine, and one more stud in her nose. People seemed to pass by her the same way they passed by me.
“So,” she said, “I guess you didn’t make it after all” her voice was scratchy and she didn’t sound like she genuinely cared.
“What do you mean? How can you see me?” I asked. Her mouth morphed into something that resembled a scowl as she punched trough the tree.
“How do you think genius?” So she was a ghost too. Maybe that’s how I felt her nudge my foot.
“So are you gonna get up or are you just gonna fall back into the tree?” her voice never seemed to change pitch. It just stayed at one even melancholy tone. As I got up I noticed that a faint beam of sunlight seemed to pierce through her head. When I was finally up right she glanced at my toes them back to my face.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Winona.” I murmured. She looked me up and down one more time then seemed to frown a bit.
“Funny, you don’t really look like a Winona.” I wasn’t quite sure whether or not I should take that as an insult or something else entirely. Then she just turned around and began walking the other way. She didn’t even look back to see if I followed her, which I did. What else was I suppose to do? Where else could I possibly go?
“The name’s Gin.” She said, like some how her name explained everything about her.
“Like the card game?” I asked. She stopped abruptly and turned her head only the slightest bit.
No stupid the drink.” Her voice had gone from despondent to sarcastic in one fell swoop. She then began to walk just as abruptly as she had stopped. I had to jog about two steps to catch up.
“What did you mean when you said ‘I guess you didn’t make it after all’?” I asked. She stopped again but this time she turned around completely. She stared at me and raised her eyebrow.
“You mean you don’t remember?” She said with a dumbfounded expression. I shook my head.
“You were hit by a car.”

"W-what?" I stuttered.

"Come with me." And with that, she turned around and began walking.

"This is it," she said, lifting her arms as if she were presenting something. "This is where it happened." We were standing on the corner of Cherry Street and Harlington Lane. The stop sign was gone and there were skid marks on the road.

"You remember anything yet?" Gin asked. I looked around a little more then sighed.

"Nope," I said shaking my head. "I got nothing." Gin bit her lip and looked around.

"Try touching one of the skid marks." She said tilting her head towards the road. I gave her a confused look, but she just jerked her head again. I crept over to one of the marks and kneeled down. I stretched out my hand but looked back at Gin one more time. She was pressing her tongue to the side of her cheek and looking at her boots. I turned my head back to look at my hand. Finally, I stretched my fingers and touched the mark and to my surprise, I could feel the texture of the road. Then, everything became a blur. Things just seemed to be flying by, like when a space ship went into warp speed in Star Wars. Everything went from light to dark, light to dark, and back. Days were flying by. I counted at least twenty, almost a month. Then, things seemed to slow down. It was night time. Coming down Cherry Street I could see my small yellow punch buggie rolling along at a decent speed. I watched myself come to a stop at the corner and look both ways, taking basic driving precautions. I began to pull around the corner when a giant light came hurdling down Harlington Lane. The light smashed into my car, completely destroying the drivers side. The deathly light turned out to be a big black Hummer. A hooded figure leapt from the Hummer and ran over to my car. They looked at my dying body and reeled back. Then the coward took off running into the park. I began to scream but everything went blurry as I came hurdling back to the present. I closed my eyes. I didn't want to see the days fly by. I didn't want to face the reality that I, Winona Sillow, was dead. 

I felt things slow down so I opened my eyes. The cars were gone and it was now day time. I could no longer feel the road. I could hear Gin behind me, kicking at the dirt with her clunky boot.

"How did you know?" I asked, not turning around. My words had come out in faint breaths. Like baby breaths. I knew she had heard me but it took her a while to answer.

"'Cause I was there." she murmured. I turned around and gave her another look of confusion. She scowled and kicked the ground harder.

"Just 'cause I'm dead doesn't mean I can't see shit happen!" Her voice came out like a bark. She was trying to be tough, but her eyes betrayed her. She looked at me a while longer then turned her head.

"And I've been dead for a while." She whispered, but I heard her. I stood up and walked over to her.

"So how did you go?" I asked boldly. So boldly I surprised myself.

"I drowned." She stated simply. Her voice no longer came out harsh or dead. Instead it had a hint of sadness behind it, the sadness you could see swimming behind her eyes like tadpoles. Neither of us said anything after that. We both just looked at the ground. Occasionally I would look up, but Gin's gaze never left the ground. It was like she was looking down into Hell, getting lost in the flames.

"Gin," I muttered. She lifted her head, but just barely, "can I go see my family?" Her eyes narrowed and her mouth formed a small pout.

"Why are you asking me?" She growled. She lifted her head and the small tadpoles were gone. The flames had consumed them.

"I don't care what you do or where you go. I couldn't care less." Now her eyes matched her words. She let her eyes do the talking as she glared at me. Her angry pout disintegrated and then she turned away.

I wasn't sad as I walked away from Gin. I wasn't angry because of the way she spoke to me I actually pitied her a bit. I pitied her inability to trust those who only wanted to help. I had wanted to help her, but clearly my assistance was unwanted and in her eyes unneeded. But the more I thought about it the more I realized how little I could actually do. I would be no more than someone to talk to. I wouldn't even be able to give her advice on how to fix her situation because her situation, our situation, can not be fixed or undone. No! I told myself, shaking my head back and forth. Don't think like that. Things always happen for a reason. But what, exactly, was the reason for this? What did the universe gain from my death? I shook my head again, preferring to drop the subject of death entirely. The accident didn't happen far from my house, it was actually only two blocks away. I turn the corner and see my house. I spent all seventeen years of my life in that house and some how I feel like I'm just meeting someone for the first time. I climbed the front steps and raised a fist to knock, and stopped, remembering my encounter with the door at the funeral home. I let my arm drop and proceeded through the door. As expected, the room was gloom. The ceiling light was emitting a faint shimmer, just enough to make out the shapes and patterns of the furniture. The living room was unoccupied. As I moved on towards the kitchen I saw my mother scrubbing away at the stove. Cleaning was always her gateway to peace. "A clean house is a happy house." She'd tell Evee and I that when we were little, trying to influence us the help her dust, mop, or polish. It worked too. I stood there for a while, watching her clean, waiting for her to sense my presence. She didn't. She never looked up, not even a pause in her scrubbing. Nothing. I looked down at my shoes, a frown creeping along my face. Disappointment spread throughout my body much like a bottle of spilt paint. I could feel it staining my skin, my clothes, my hair. It was blue paint. People always picture ghosts as being white, like the person who was deceased was dipped in a vat of white paint. I think ghosts are blue, the sad ones at least. The color really depends on the emotions felt by ghost. Some are green with envy of those still living. Others are red with vengeance, while some are black. They feel nothing. Gin is purple. A misunderstood sadness floats about her.

Hu-man [hyoo-mun]

-adjective
1.of, pertaining to, characteristic of, or having the nature of people: human frailty

What can I write,
That hasn’t already been written?
What can I say,
That hasn’t already been said?
What’s left to feel,
If I’ve felt every emotion there is?

What makes me human?
Is it the flesh,
The blood in my veins,
Or the silent heartbeat,
That thumps hard and deep,
In the chasm that is my chest,

What is inside me,
That makes me feel this way?
What is about me,
That makes you look at me that way?
What did I do,
Do deserve these invisible scars?
What can I do,
To make them go away?

Better Than Me

Worthless, her words slither though my ears. Waste of flesh, oozing blemish.
“Shut up.” I growl through clenched teeth.
Unwanted, putrid sack of,
“I said shut up!” I scream. She hates being interrupted, and frankly I don’t give a rat’s ass, but as her fire engine red fingers clench, and her beautiful, flawless face, curls into an unruly scowl, I begin to remember why I usually remain silent.
Fat. She hisses the word like it’s the deadliest and most infuriating insult in the world. Which, it is.
Do you see this? Her hand lunges at the sandwich I’m holding, and takes it.
This! she jeers, waving the sandwich in my face.
Well, this turns into this! Her other hand grabs my stomach and pinches at the small bit of skin and fat, moving her hand up and down, pulling at it.
Do you want this? Hmm? Do you? I look down and poke my sore stomach.
“No.”
Well then we need to get rid of it. She sneers, tossing the sandwich into the toilet. I reach for the handle to flush the forbidden food when she clears her throat.
You need to get rid of all of it. I blankly look at her, then I turn my attention to the toilet.
You want to be skinny don’t you? Well then get rid of it! She pushes me to the ground so that my face is hovering over the toilet. I can feel her starring at my back, waiting.
“Skinny,” I mumble, “I need to be skinny.” And with that, I lift my lifeless finger to my mouth, and let the rest of the sandwich poor into the toilet.

Outside of the bathroom I’m safe, almost. She still follows me, but her words aren’t as meaningful, her sneers not as strong. But she’s still there, she’s always there. Waiting for me to slip up, watching me fall into temptation, trying to convince me all I need is a glass of water and I’ll be fine. I can’t escape. In every magazine, in every television show, she’s there. Every time I peer into a mirror she comes to life. A better form of me. The person I’m trying so hard to become. She is me, but I will never be her.

Nonsense

If you could,
And you would,
Like I know you should,
Go out of your way,
To catch this falling speck,
Of dust,
To kiss this ugly,
Toad,
To walk down,
These lonely streets,
To hug this rabid,
Dog,
But you don’t,
And you won’t,
Like I knew you wouldn’t.

Funny Quote

It is better to have loved and lossed than to have lived with a psycho for the rest of your life

Carnations for Stephanie Version 2

“Todd?” I felt a small tap on my shoulder. When I turned around, I saw it was Lilly, her red pigtails sticking straight out of her head. Lilly sat at my table when ever Ms. Ogg said it was art time. I didn’t like Lilly, she was always teasing me, but that’s only because she likes me.
“Yeah, Lilly?”
“Todd, how come you have two mommies?” In the future, I would get this question a lot, at least that’s what Stephanie told me. She also told me how to respond.
“Because I’m such a handful, that I need two mommies, and two mommies are better than one.” Stephanie’s words echoed in my head as I said them. Lilly tilted her head to the right, her pigtails flopping about as she did so.
“But, what about your daddy?” I just stared at her. Not only was she annoying me, but she was confusing me with all of her questions.
“Because,” I state matter of factly, “I don’t’ need a daddy, I have Stephanie. I try to keep this memory reverberating through my skull, but the pounding of the rain on the casket washes it away. Whether is was the lively flowers that lined her casket or the constant feeling like she was standing right behind be, resting her hand on my shoulder, it still hasn’t registered in my head that she’s gone. Gone, as in not here anymore. Not working at the garden supply store, not tending to her flowers, not standing out back ready to throw the football to relieve some stress, not anywhere.
“Todd, Todd?” Rachael’s voice felt like a bright light on my shoulder. I turned my head slightly. Not enough to actually see her, but enough to let her know that I acknowledged her.
“It’s time to go now Todd. Everyone has left.” I hadn’t realized it, but I had been staring at my feet the entire time and when I finally lifted my head I expected the crowd of family and friends to still be there. They weren’t. I then look at the lonely headstone and the freshly piled dirt.
“Stephanie Abigail Bregger, 1973-2009” I read my mom’s name under my breath. Mom. I’ve never thought of her as mom until now, I always called her Stephanie, just like I never called Rachael mom. They had introduced themselves as Stephanie and Rachael so that’s just what I called them. But there wasn’t anymore Stephanie and Rachael, there was just Rachael now.

"Let me talk to him," Lilly said softly, "I'm sure I could get him to eat something, or at least come out of his room." I couldn't see her, or Rachael, but I could tell that she had turned her head towards my door as her voice trailed off.
"Alright Lilly, but don't get your hopes up. I practically had to drag him home, this is just so," I flinched. Rachael's usually clear, sweet voice had been stifled by a small sob.
"It's okay to miss her Rachael," Lilly whispered, "but both you and Todd need each other, and I adore Todd I really do, but he needs to realize that he needs you just as much as you need him. That's where I want to help." Rachael didn't respond, but I figured she must have nodded her head since I could hear Lilly's hand on the door knob.
"Todd?", there was an awkward pause as she placed her right foot on the maroon carpet, "it's me, Lilly." Like I hadn't figured that out already. She didn't say a word as she traveled the ten feet from my door to my bed where I was laying motionless. Not one sound, just stood there at the edge of my bed, starring at me. Finally, she spoke.
"C'mon, Todd, get up," she paused "please?" Then the awkward silence came back; creating an erie, invisible, fog in the room.
"Please," she tries again, "please get up." Before the fog can creep on back, she walks over the my desk, grabs a chair, drags it back to the side of my bed, and sits down.
"Do you have any idea how selfish you're being?" Despite being filled with dread, I alow myself to chuckle inside. Tough love has always been Lilly's way.
"Rachael is filled with just as much pain as you are, if not more, but you don't see her moping in her room now do you? No, she is up and about, cooking, cleaning, taking care of you. Yet you lie here wallowing in self pitty." I can feel her eyes burning into my back. She is right, I can't deny it, but somehow I can't find the will to move. So Lilly does it for me. She grabs my left shoulder an pulls, forcing me on my back, forcing me to face her. Her face is right next to mine. So close I can feel her heat. After only ten seconds, her blazing eyes die down to a soft flame, and she sits back in the chair. The natural sofness in her face returns.
"She needs to Todd. Rachael neeeds you," she looks down at her hands, "I need you." She lifts her head and stares, not at me, but just past me.
"I'm telling you, as your best friend," her voice trails off, then lets a small, almost microscopic smile, trace her lips, "to get over yourself." I let my internal chuckle slip out, but only the slightest bit.
"There's Todd." she whispers, letting her smile grow,
"C'mon." She takes my hand jerks her head towards the door.
"Come get some food."

A Knight in Rusted Armor

The claws of swallowed demons,
Slashing savagely at skin of steel,
But the stolid knight holds it in,
Blinks it away like it’s not real.

She gulps down yet another monster,
Crafted from rage in the pits hell,
She stays quiet and calm,
Not even a yelp or a yell.

As the fortress that is her core,
Is pelted with the sights her desolate eyes see,
The receptors in her black hole brain lie there distraught,
From being forever lonely,

Slashing at the fork-tongued dragon,
For many long hate filled years,
She can do nothing but bow to the Goblin princess,
Biting her swollen lip to fight back tears.

But one day the brave knight will rise,
And unsheathe her encrypted sword,
And slash off the head of the Goblin princess,
For too long has this tyrant been adored.

Next will be the dragon,
First tail then the toes,
And last will be the head then she turns and walks away,
Leaving the carcass for the crows.

And finally after a lifetime of pain,
She pulls off her helmet and lets her beautiful locks flow,
Revealing her eyes, skin, and soul
Now everyone will see, now everyone will know.

The Faker and the Renegade Strand

The beauty is gone,
When there’s more makeup than flesh,
And it dies when showing skin,
Transcends being pretty.

When the lip gloss shines brighter than your eyes,
The word human is erased from your presence,
And when you wear powder as a mask,
Souls drain from polished fingers.

If the name of your bag,
Is more valuable than your own,
Or if the logo on your shirt says more than your words,
You need to wake up.

Finally, when everyone is a string, wrapped around your finger,
And there’s one strand, loose’d from all the others,
Know that that one strand,
Is me.

Gray Rainbows

Am I worthy of a hello,
Or even a passing glance,
Is it worthless to hope,
Since I never had a chance.

Maybe if I smudged a little more liner,
Or if I changed my hair,
Then you might notice,
Maybe then you'd care.

I guess I'm just not enough,
Not enough to be,
The one you'd run to,
The one to hold the key.

I suppose it's useless,
Maybe I need to get a clue,
Sitting here hoping no one will hear me,
As I mutter "I love you."

Carnations for Stephanie

“Todd?” Todd felt a small tap on his shoulder. When he turned around, he saw it was Lilly, her red pigtails sticking straight out of her head. Lilly sat at Todd’s table when ever Ms. Ogg said it was art time. Todd didn’t like Lilly, she was always teasing him, but that’s only because she liked him.
“Yeah, Lilly?”
“Todd, how come you have two mommies?” In the future, Todd would get this question a lot, at least that’s what Rachael told him. She also told him how to respond.
“Because I’m such a handful, that I need two mommies, and two mommies are better than one.” Rachael’s words echoed in his head as he said them. Lilly tilted her head to the right, her pigtails flopping about as she did so.
“But, what about your daddy?” Todd just stared at her. Not only was she annoying him, but she was confusing him with all of her questions.
“Because,” Todd states matter of factly, “I don’t’ need a daddy, I have Stephanie.”

Todd stared out the window, reminiscing about his preschool days, ten years ago. It was only when a paper ball hit the back of his head that he even realized he was still in math class. The ball had landed next to his foot.
It’s probably from Lilly Todd though. Lilly had gotten over her crush on Todd about three years ago and now she was his best friend. Unfolding the paper, he came to realize, this note was not from Lilly. It had the “F” word on it, the one that rhymed with bag, and a small sick picture below it.
“Alaric.” Todd muttered. Todd has been dealing with Alaric’s taunting since around the time he figured out the relationship between Rachael and Stephanie, which was about fifth grade, and Todd brushed him off each time. Alaric couldn’t get away with much anyway, since all of the teachers looked out for Todd because of his “parental situation”, whatever that was suppose to mean.
Not many people understood Todd’s family, and how could they? They weren’t the ones who grew up holding a rainbow colored sign as they went to protest marches with Stephanie and Rachael. They weren’t the ones who woke up one day only to find that there was the “F” word spray-painted on the right side of their house. No, they had no idea what it was like. Todd took a peek around his shoulder only to see Alaric sticking out his tongue and wiggling it back and forth.
The winter wind bit at Todd’s skin, but not as hard as the word that was being screamed at the back of his head as he walked away from yet another fight.
“Hey I’m talkin’ to ya! Git back her you…” the word stung Todd’s ears more and more each time Alaric roared at him. As Todd hear the thumping of oversized shoes behind him he switched from a slumping walk to a desperate sprint. Todd was smaller, a lot smaller then Alaric, but he was also faster. Ninety percent of the time he was able to out run Alaric and his crew, the other ten percent however, he usually came home telling Rachael he was hit by a car, again, even though he knew she knew he was lying. Today however, was a ninety percent day, as Todd dashed far from their reach. Todd ran passed the identical houses that sat in a perfect line along his street. But Todd knew the people that lived behind those oh so perfect doors and knew they were nothing like their faultless homes. Behind the house with the red door lived the Bews and the father was a drunk. Behind the black door was the Quilms and the mom has depression and had tried to kill herself twice. But behind the green door were the Tulms and they were the kindest people in the entire town. Maria, the wife and mother, always came over and helped Stephanie with the garden and would sometimes paint little childish but fun pictures with Rachael. Joseph, the husband and father, use to come over and watch Todd while Stephanie and Rachael were at work. Since he was a writer and their his daughter was Lilly, he would just bring his laptop over and type away while Todd sat on the rug playing with trains, crashing them into Lilly’s dolls.
As Todd leapt up the front steps and opened the door he figured Rachael and Stephanie weren’t home yet. Rachael works at the town’s Pet Shop and Stephanie works at the Garden Supply so she can get an employer’s discount for soil, seeds, and what not. Stephanie is a very strong and powerful woman, and she has only two things feminine about her, her long blonde braid that runs down her back all the way to her tailbone and her flower garden out front. With all the rain and commonly gray skies, Stephanie’s garden brightens up all of Washington. She even put a little extendable awning over her garden so that the flowers wouldn’t get over watered. There were an assortment of flowers in her garden, pansies, alyssums, and lathyrus, but her favorite was the carnation. Stephanie had every color.
Rachael is a very delicate and dainty woman, so feminine in fact people commonly ask if the garden is hers, but Rachael always claims she doesn’t have enough patience for flowers. Instead, Rachael paints. She paints anything, boats, animals, landscapes, but she never paints people. “There are enough people in this world,” she’d say, “no need to make more of em’”, which was also why she and Stephanie decided to adopt instead of going through the whole sperm donning process. Rachael had always wanted a child but had decided it was her duty to take care of one who was already born and needed parental love and affection.
When Todd is home alone, sometimes he just walks around the house, looking for things he perhaps had overlooked. Sometimes it was a crack in the ceiling or some strange detail in one of Rachael’s paintings he never noticed. Today however it wasn’t and object or any physical thing he noticed, it was instead a feeling, a presence about the house. His house looked and felt… normal. Perhaps it was just Todd’s head that made him think that if someone took one look at him they’d know he was adopted by a homosexual couple, but he always figured people who knew expected his house to somehow be different. That there would be things about it that would make it obvious who lived there, but there wasn’t. There were paintings on the wall, dishes in the cupboard, and rugs on the floor. There was a piano in the corner of the living room with three family pictures resting on the closed top, but not even the pictures changed the feeling that floated about the house, a warm feeling, like the walls formed faces and told you that this house was well lived in.
The ring of the doorbell shook Todd from his trance and he went to go get it. Turning the corner, he could see through the storm door that it was Lilly, and she looked worried.
“Hey,” she muttered, “they didn’t catch you did they?”
“No, they were to slow.” Todd let out a little chuckle as he opened the door and the corners of Lilly’s mouth turned up a little, but only a little.
“I would’ve come to help but you know.”
“Yeah I know.” The last time Lilly tried to help they only pounded him more the next time they saw him and Lilly wasn’t around. Todd didn’t get mad; he knew she was just trying to help, as always.
“What’s wrong?” Todd asked. As always, Lilly cocked her head to the right.
“You mean they haven’t called?” Right then the phone let out a rattling ring.
“What, are you psychic?” Todd joked, trying to brighten the worrisome mood Lilly was emitting.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Todd,” Rachael’s voice quivered at the other end of the phone, “um, Todd Stephanie is in the hospital and I’m here with her.” Todd’s heart stopped.
“W-what?”
“ No, no don’t worry, she’s just getting a CAT scan because she felt uh well, she felt like there was something off about her body and the doctor just wants to take a closer look.”
Todd turned to look at Lilly for some sort of reassurance, but she was starring at the ground, biting her nails.
“Todd? Todd, are you there?”
“Yeah I’m here.” Todd stuttered as he whipped his head back around to stare at the wall.
“We’ll be back by ten tonight so order some pizza for yourself. Alright?” Todd’s throat closed up so he nodded, and then remembered he was on the phone.
“Alright.” He choked.
“Todd please don’t worry everything is alright. We love you.”
“Love you too.” Todd kept the phone next to his ear even after he heard the click of Rachael hanging up. Everything was silent. Lilly shuffled next to Todd, but he didn’t hear her, he was too focused on breathing.
“Do you want me to stay?” Lilly whispered. Todd thought about it for a while, thinking about his words, and then decided to answer.
“How come they called you first?” he asked, giving his emotions more time to decide whether or not he needed to be alone.
“Rachael said that she didn’t know how you would react so she wanted me to be here for you when she told you.” Lilly sighed, as she began to turn around.
“Wait,” Todd quivered as he stretched out his hand to grab her arm, “what kind of pizza do you want?”

Merry Christmas Liam

December 23

Dear Santa,
I’m still not sure what I want for Christmas. Sometimes I’ll walk through the
Toys R’ Us near my house, but there just isn’t anything I want. I know I’m a seven year old boy and I’m supposed to want Nerf guns and Transformer action figures but I just don’t see how they would make me any happier. Every time I look at them all I see is a plastic glob of stupid. I guess you could just surprise me with something made by your elves. Maybe, maybe it could even have my name in it, you know, so I can prove to my mom that you are real.

Thanks Santa,
Love Liam
Liam folded the paper over and slipped it into the envelope, which he then sealed with a Christmas tree sticker. Shoving his letter into his jacket pocket, Liam tugged on his hat and creaked his bedroom door open. Holding his breath, he peered out the one inch wide crack. Seeing her collapsed on the couch he released his breath. She always gets angry when he goes to deliver his letters to Santa. Liam had tried asking her why Christmas made her so angry, but that only ended in another slap to the head. Tiptoeing down the miniature hallway of the trailer, he played out the map to the post office in his head. Past the trailer park sign, up the street, take a left at the stump, cut through the woods, and take a right.
“Ugghh, fshhh.” Liam froze at the sound of his mother’s drunken groans. As she lifted her head, Liam’s heart beat faster and faster. It took three seconds for her to pull her head up from the almost featherless pillow, but to Liam it felt like two hours. Her hair masked her face so Liam couldn’t see her sunken in eyes, prominent cheek bones, or her fowl spongy skin. She groaned one more time, as Liam prepared himself for the beating to come.
This is it he thought, she said one more letter to Santa and I wouldn’t be around for Christmas. She crooked her head to the right, towards him, then flopped back down. It wasn’t until Liam was outside the trailer and down the steps that he allowed himself to breath. Sprinting away from his “house”, away from her, he followed his mental map all the way to the post office.
A gust of sweet warm air rushed into his lungs as he opened the doors. It smelled like postage glue and paper. This smell was comforting to Liam, for some reason it gave him hope. The post man always smiled at him as he slipped his letters into the box. Liam was convinced this man was Santa. He looked like him and always smelled like peppermint.
“Got another letter for Santa, Liam?”
“Yes sir.” Liam responded, glee filling his throat.
“Good, I’m glad there are kids like you who still believe in him.” They shared a smile with one another for a moment, then Liam turned around and left his haven. He spent his way home wondering if she was still asleep, hoping she hadn’t noticed his absence. As he entered the trailer park, Liam’s thoughts began to scramble.
What if she was serious he thought, what if she’s really going to kill me? How’s she going to do it? Oh God, the kitchen knives! His feet felt like cinder blocks as he climbed the four steps up to the front door. The door slammed open as he placed his left foot on the last step. There she was, standing in a drunken stupor. She stood only at five foot seven, but she loomed like an eight foot viper over Liam.
“Where the hell have you been?” she growled.
“The CVS. I wanted some Sour Patch Kids.” He lied. She began eyeing Liam, inspecting him from his hair to his toes.
“Well,” she sneered, “where are they?” Liam’s jaw shook up and down, searching his mind for words.
“I… ate them.” He stammered. Her face contorted into a disgusted scowl.
“Now how could a small boy like you down all those sour patch kids all by himself.” Her question made no sense to Liam, but it didn’t matter, her questions didn’t have to make sense. In her house, she was always right, even when she was completely hammered.
“Come’ir!” she spat, clenching the front of Liam’s shirt and yanking him inside. She threw him on the floor then smashed the door closed so hard it sounded like thunder.
“I thought I told you NO MORE LETTERS TO SANTA! He doesn’t exist you hear me? HE’S NOT REAL!” her eyes grew to the size of quarters, and spit flung from her mouth as she screamed.
“Santa is too real.” Liam grumbled. She froze and crouched down.
“What,” she hissed, “did you say?” Liam huddled in a ball, pushing his chin into his chest and his face into his knees, preparing himself for the impact of her fist against his back. Her hand flashed out like a hawk’s talon and grabbed his hair.
“Answer me when I ask you something. What did you say!” she screeched as she yanked his head away from cover. She began shaking his head back and forth screaming slurred threats into his ear, bits of spit spattering against the left side of his head. Liam’s thoughts jumped around in his head in a way that was beginning to feel like a pinball in a never ending game. Finally he opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was her arm. Her arm, so close to his mouth, his teeth. Liam had an idea and he acted on it. He untangled his arms from his legs, latched his fingers on the limb, stretched his mouth open as wide as it could go, and chomped down. For Liam, this felt like a frame by frame, but in reality it only took about two seconds. He felt the tension on his head leave and saw her tumble back, grasping her arm. Liam stared in disbelief, he actually did it, and he fought back. Then it dawned on him, she’s going to be twice as mad.
“YOU!” she roared, and lunged at him. Liam sprang from the ground and darted to his room. He slammed the door behind him and shoved his dresser in front of the door. He scuttled into his closet, looking for the bag. The bag he had packed and hid, incase he ever had the opening for an escape. It was when he grabbed that bag that he heard the pounding and cursing at the door. He threw the bag onto his back and went for the window. His tiny fearful fingers fumbled with the lever, but finally it opened. Liam shoved it farther up and leapt from the trailer into the pile of leaves that had been sitting out back since November. He shuffled out of the leaf pile and got to his feet. He crept to the side of the trailer and then heard the unforgiving crack of his bedroom door. She had gotten through. He knew she had seen the open window when he heard her gasp then scream a line of profanity. Then he sat there waiting until he heard the front door slam open and the sound of her feet thump down the stairs. Another line of profanities, and the door slammed shut. That’s when Liam made his break. He dashed away from the hellhole like a scared rabbit and followed the map in his head that he knew so well. He was going to the only safe haven he’d ever known. The post office. He remembered the one time the postman gave him a tour and showed him everything inside of the building. There were about three big boxes underneath the counter that created a little gap between the back of the counter and the back of the boxes. A gap big enough to fit a small boy such as himself. All he had to do was wait for the right time. Liam arrived at the post office and peered through the glass door. There was currently no one at the desk. He opened the door and eased it shut. Then, he began tip-toeing towards the desk. Peering over the edge he looked left, then right. Once he was sure the coast was clear, he hopped over and scuttled into his hiding place. The man came back, his timing had been perfect. Liam spent the next three hours sitting quietly drawing in his little sketch book, the postman never even noticing he was there. Liam finished his drawing. It was of a bottle that he associated with is mother, and it lay in pieces. He began flipping through the pages of the worn book with Thomas the Train on it. Liam didn’t even like that cartoon anymore, but it was the only notebook he had. Skimming his multiple drawings of things he had seen or imagined, a smile brightened his face. Grinning from ear to ear he realized something. These drawings were the only thing he had that she couldn’t take them from him. Granted, she could tear them up, but she could never steal his talent or his love of art. Liam ripped out a blank piece of paper and began scribbling another letter to Santa.
Liam awoke to a light pressure on his shoulder. He lifted his head and his eyes fluttered open. What he saw was a large man with round glasses, a white beard, and a plump nose.
“Santa?” Liam mumbled, the haze of sleep hanging in his words.
“No Liam I’m not Santa. I’m Mr. Cleave, the postman. What are you doing here? Why aren’t you home?” Liam looked at his knees and sighed. He couldn’t tell him he ran away from home to escape his abusive mother. Only Santa knows that.
“Um… I love the post office and I want to stay here forever.” Liam put on his best cute and innocent face and hoped Mr. Cleave would buy it.
“Liam, you’re mother is probably worried sick about you”
No she isn’t! Liam thought.
“Come here.” Mr. Cleave cooed. He slid his hands underneath Liam’s armpits and lifted him out of his hiding place. He leaned over the counter and placed Liam back on the other side of it.
“No Mr. Cleave,” Liam gasped, making one more attempt, “please, I don’t wanna go home please, please, please! I don’t want to hurt anymore. I don’t want to die!” Liam’s heart stopped. He didn’t mean to say it, he didn’t want to say it, but he did. Mr. Cleave’s eyes held sympathy and his usually up turned lips slowly faded into a grief filled line.
“Liam there’s something you have to understand about your mother.” Mr. Cleave sighed.
“Eight years ago, a man did something very, very cruel to your mother and she has never forgotten it. A few months later you were born and she is taking her anger against that man and unjustly forcing it upon you, but you have to understand that it’s not your fault that she hurts you. Do you understand me?” Liam didn’t say anything, he didn’t do anything, he just stared at Mr. Cleave.
“Mr. Cleave,” Liam’s voice came out like a kitten’s mew, “how do you know that?” Mr. Cleave sighed and rested his elbows on the plastic counter.
“Because, Liam, the man that hurt your mother,” he sighed one more time, “was my father, and your mother has never forgiven him or me.”
“But,” Liam whimpered, looking up at Mr. Cleave through his long childish eyelashes, “what did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything, but I was the one who reported my father to the police. Eventually the entire town found out. She says I ruined her reputation.” Mr. Cleave bit his lower lip as he stared blankly at his arms. Liam stared at his toes.
“Mr. Cleave?”
“Yes Liam?” he said, finally lifting his head.
“I have one more letter for Santa.” Liam pulled out the crumpled little letter he had been keeping in his coat pocket. He stretched out his arm and stood on tiptoe to slide it across the counter.
“Can you make sure he gets it?”
“I sure will.” Mr. Cleave smiled. Liam jumped at the sound of the post office door crashing open.
“LIAM!” Liam shuddered at the sound of the unforgiving screech he knew all too well. Next came the predictable pinching of fingernails latching on to his arm.
“Where have you been?! I’ve been looking all over town for you!” Liam squeezed his eyes shut, preparing himself for a beating, but was saved by the sound of Mr. Cleave clearing his throat.
“What do you want?” she sneered.
“Is this your little boy?” Mr. Cleave asked politely, playing the role of the ignorant postman.
“Mind your own business!” she shrieked, her voice cracking, a side affect of cigarette smoke.
“Come on Liam, we’re going home.” She said, dragging him towards the door. Liam hung limp like a rag, his pants collecting dirt and dust off the floor. Halfway through the door Liam lifted his head, only to see Mr. Cleave mouth, “I’m sorry.”

Liam’s lip throbbed and his entire body still ached from the former day’s beating. His mother’s words still rung in his ears.
“Do you know what they do with your stupid letters? They either burn them or rip them open and read them, laughing at your stupidity!”
It was Christmas morning, but as usual there were no presents underneath the nonexistent tree.
He’ll come next year, he has too. Liam thought. Then, he heard a light tapping on the front door. He crawled off his bed and limped out of his room to answer it. Through the storm door he could see two men dressed in a dark blue.
“Hello.” Liam whispered opening the door. That’s when Liam saw the two badges gleaming in the wintry sunlight.
“Hello young man is your mother home?” Liam nodded his head slowly, terrified of what might come.

“Could you go get her please. We need to talk to her.” Liam began turning around to go get her when he felt a light touch on his arm. He looked over his shoulder and the man on the right was holding a package.
“I believe this is for you. It was sitting on your front steps.” The man handed the box to Liam and he tucked it under his arm. Liam stalked over to the couch where she, as usual, was passed out.
“Mama,” Liam trembled, “there are two men here to see you.” He shook her shoulder lightly. Her head popped up and she let out a snort.
“What two men?” she growled, her dirty blonde hair hanging like a filthy curtain in front of her face.
“I don’t know but they want to talk to you.” He then turned on his heels and scampered to his room. He flung himself onto his bed and stared at the package. There was a little sticker on it that said to Liam from Santa. Liam gasped and began ripping the rough brown paper. A card was resting on top of the box. Liam opened it and began reading.

Dear Liam,
Ho, ho, ho, and merry Christmas! I got your letter just in time and my elves were able to make this just for you. I hope you like it!

Merry Christmas,
Santa
Liam gaped. After all these years Santa finally came through! All his letters finally paid off! Liam placed the card next to his foot and opened the box. Inside, there was a pack of color pencils, a pack of crayons, and a black sketchbook with the letter L I A M painted in gold on the front cover.

Mr. Cleave stood at the top of the hill looking down at the trailer park, hoping he had made the right decision as the police officers questioned Liam’s mother. He pulled his hands out of his pockets. There were flecks of gold paint on his fingers. He let his arms drop to his sides and whispered,
“Merry Christmas Liam, Merry Christmas.”