Issue 5 Fiction

Welcome to the fiction and nonfiction page!
Enjoy the clever stories and essays written by the talented writers of SMHS.

Table of Contents

Change

Kiefer Hinton

It was but a warm summer day, unassuming of its nature–an evening like every other: boring, uninteresting, uneventful. So I sat on the corner of that cliff with my thoughts, as usual, thinking about life. That place was where I always went when I wanted to think; it was calm without trouble, a peaceful place of solitude and silence. I looked to the moon as I often did, calling out to it–with no reply of course. I would have conversations with it, as it felt like I had some sort of weird connection. Something felt off, so I got up to return to my home, when, all of a sudden, a flash of light blinded me.

CHANGE

I heard that one-word echo in my mind, and suddenly I was in this old convertible. Later on, it turned into a van and later into a spaceship-like thing. This old man was driving me around, a sort of hipster with a weathered voice. We were high up over the road, like the cliff I had been on earlier. The car had the convertible top but the front console of the van, a strange vehicle. We were heading west, coming up to a stop light. The light was beautiful with the combination of this colorful sunset, as time seemed to move back and forth wherever I ended up. I was feeling this weird happiness, a calm feeling mixed with… nervousness? Like something was about to happen, I just didn’t know what yet. And suddenly, this guy in a sports car comes out of nowhere and cuts us off. The old man slammed on the brakes and nearly avoided rear-ending him. I was infuriated, but I was not the one driving. We pull up behind him at the light, and he’s just glaring at us through his rear-view mirror with a smug look that says,
“Yeah, I did just cut you off. What are you gonna do about it?”
And so I say to the man,
“Well, go on. Are you not going to say anything to him? He almost caused an accident
back there,”
to which he kept his gaze forward and calmly replied,
“You know young one, the only way I’d ever put something like THAT out there was if I
was ready to dance with this kid, you feel me? You put something out there, there’s
consequences, you know.”
“All you’ve got are your actions, man. And just remember, words are actions too. So I’ll
ask, you wanna dance with that dude?”
And I just sat there, with my thoughts and I realized that my feelings of anger had suddenly melted away. I realized that this old man was driving me around and I hadn’t even asked for his name, nor had I thanked him. At first, I was skeptical, because I hadn’t known anything about him. But actually, he was taking care of me. Watching my back. Talking me down from starting something with that reckless driver.
And with that realization, a beam of light similar to the one earlier, only less aggressive, appeared before me. We drove straight into it, and I knew I probably would never see this old man again.

CHANGE

The words echoed through my head again, but this time, they almost seemed… calm. They seemed as though the thing that I needed to be convinced of, I had realized.
And suddenly, I woke up. I had fallen asleep on the corner of that cliff. The moon appeared to have a sort of smile, a happier look. It had all been a dream.
It’s almost funny how sometimes in a dream you don’t quite realize who’s your friend. Maybe all of these people were you in the dream. I only realized that after I woke up.
But maybe that other dude in the sports car was me as well. Like you’ve got this one side of you that watches out for you, keeps you collected, steady. And this other part, full of anger and hatred. Like the old man, and the man in the sports car. But they’re all a part of you. I think of it like taming a lion. The lion is the man in the sports car, and if you aren’t careful, he will bite you. Hard. See, the old man knows about the lion. He’s there to set you straight and make sure you don’t make any unwise choices. You don’t want to kill the lion, you want to become friends with it. Harness the power it holds, so you can use it.
It’s almost like every part of you needs to be harnessed, in a way that builds the best version of yourself. I would never have come to this realization without that trippy dream.

Escape the Monsters

Jace Santiago

28 Y.O. Dennis Marksman is currently sleeping on a tree in the Rio Vista park in San Marcos, Texas. He’s light-skinned with short, blonde hair, a red t-shirt, blue jeans, a brown belt, & brown sneakers. Dennis doesn’t realize this, but he overslept, & now, the park rangers have closed the place down. All he has are his house keys & wallet. He explores the place a bit and sees various birds, squirrels, & anthills.

Dennis hears a strange howl off in the distance. It’s not like real wolf or coyote howls, but of a human screaming in agony. Dennis hides behind a tree, keeping on the low. While he isn’t particularly strong or agile, he is very smart. Dennis finds the clothes from a park ranger, as well as a flashlight & a syringe labelled “Wolfsbane”.

Before he can take keys, he hears loud crunching noises. As he flashes his light toward it, he sees a humanoid, canine-like creature crouching down & eating a piece of raw meat. It has black, grizzled fur, 2 pointy ears, a long snout like a dog, & a big, bushy tail. Dennis identifies this from a Fantasy Bestiary (it’s a werewolf). However, as he walks back, a branch snaps, but no matter how faint, the beast looks back.

The beast rushes towards Dennis at lightning speed, like a fast car; it hits Dennis as hard as one, which pins him to the ground. Dennis shoves the syringe into its nose. The substance in the syringe is actually Wolfsbane pollen, used to eliminate wolves during hunting sessions. The werewolf starts to sneeze, scratch at its ear, & shake its body around irrationally. It walks away into the bushes, continuing to suffer hay fever from the injection.

Dennis, with careful precision, unlocks the gates of the park, putting the keys next to the park ranger’s clothes. He then dashes as fast as he can, never to be seen again. Dennis has many questions about the werewolf, but one thing is certain: he survived to see another day…

Fa La Llama Disdain for Literacy

It was common knowledge that all llamas loved literacy–that their school teachers emphasized the extravagance of writing in all its glory. Little llama readers snuggled into bed with little lovely books and read until the mama llamas turned out the lights. The llama children yearned for the written word.
One stubborn llama set herself apart from the rest. Fa-la-lala Kelley Llama hated to read. She stuck her tongue out toward her mother, who only hoped for a literate daughter. It was no use–Fa-la-lala Kelley Llama’s disdain for literacy was immaculate.
Fa-la-lala Jackson Llama–the most decorated teacher llama–had yet to meet a llama so obstinate. “It’s twenty minutes, just read!” She ordered. Fa-la-lala Kelley Llama refused.
With great frustration, Fa-la-lala Jackson Llama marched to the school board. “She’s no use! This child–is she even a llama?–refuses to read. She hates literacy! What kind of lla–”
She never got to finish. Fa-la-lala Kelley Llama’s disdain for literacy overpowered her and a fire was set to the school. All the llama students, and the llama teachers, were murdered by a dislike for writing. And of course–as intended by Fa-la-lala Kelley Llama–the books burned with them.

Sunder Spellcaster

Sunder Spellcaster (laiqul’s Signature spell)
LEVEL 8
CASTING TIME 1 Action
RANGE/AREA Touch
COMPONENTS V
DURATION Instantaneous
SCHOOL Enchantment
ATTACK/SAVE Special
DAMAGE/EFFECT Force

You touch a creature that has the ability to cast spells, that creature must make a saving throw using their spellcasting ability. On a failure, they take 1D12 Force damage for every spell slot they still have remaining or half damage on a success. If the creature is concentrating on a spell, then they take twice the damage rolled. If that concentration is on another creature, that creature must make the same saving throw, taking half as much damage as the original target on a failed save or no damage on a successful save.

At Higher Levels: When you cast this spell using a spell slot of 9th level, you can target one additional creature for each slot level above 8th.

Social Media’s Unreal Beauty Standard

Social medias beauty communities have created unreal beauty standards

In today's digital world, beauty has turned into an exaggerated and heavily edited ideal, being manipulated by the unforgiving influence of social media, with images bombarding each social media platform of influencers appearing flawless and glamorous. The beauty standards have not only become unreal but also extremely unattainable. Social media like tiktok and instagram, with their wide variety of filters, and algorithm based content, have turned beauty from a natural human quality into a materialistic and plastic ideal. This has been promoted by social media, but their standards are too unrealistic and damaging, influencing young girls' perceptions in ways that can bring down a person's self esteem and mental health.

Social media's influence on beauty standards starts with how content is produced by the influencer and then how it's consumed by viewers. Platforms such as instagram and tiktok encourage people to share VERY unrealistic selfies or pictures or--in tiktok’s case--videos.” These are often enhanced with filters and photo editing apps like SNOW that smooth out textured skin, adjust the lighting, and can even alter facial structures. In a BeautyAList article, these digital modifications contribute to a culture in which natural human form is never displayed, and only photoshopped versions of reality are appreciated. This produces a platform where all images, even those of highschool and middle school girls have exaggerated of beauty to fit unrealistic ideals.This creates a standard that is not only unattainable but also impossible for a regular person to achieve. When people compare their unedited, everyday lives with these carefully edited pictures, it can result in feelings of sadness and decreased self-esteem. And being able to comment on pictures and videos doesn't help because social media has always been an unforgiving place for people who aren't influencers.

And if that wasn't bad enough, there is also the social media platforms' own impact in maintaining such beauty standards. An article by Jantz and Jantz, social media algorithms are designed to post content that receives a lot of engagement like comments, likes and shares, content that tends to conform to the new and very unreal definition of beauty. These algorithms learn from user interaction, which is that the content is constantly favorited and shared. The consequence of this isnt good at all because the more people look at these pictures and videos, the more they learn and believe that beauty can be only in this way but it's all created by the influencer, half of it not being their natural self. This cycle not only restricts the definition of beauty but also excludes those who can't or won't meet these crazy requirements. The need for beauty is overwhelming, presenting even more instances of anxiety, depression, and even eating disorders among young girls.

The venom of these artificially created standards of beauty is really popular among my generation. A recent study by The Established observes that my generation (gen z) is caught in a weird inconsistency: on one hand, there is a growing movement towards unapologetic body acceptance and diversity and being yourself with minimal makeup, which is why the “clean girl”look was invented; but on the other hand, there remains unrealistic beauty standards that still dominate social media. This creates an environment in which young girls are constantly bombarded with hateful messages about their self worth. Though there are many campaigns that encourage natural and self-love, the need for a flawless body is digitally enhanced as a constant reminder of the unattainable standard we are left with. The tension can create all sorts of psychological issues and a decline in mental health, with my generation especially ending up unable to realize what they see online is fake and what they see of themselves is real and natural and unedited. Although social media platforms have the potential to promote diversity and inclusivity, their current mainly create the negative norms that damage self-esteem and distort beauty perceptions of my generation.

The impact of these unrealistic beauty standards extends waaay beyond personal self esteem; they have cultural impacts as well. As society becomes more and more obsessed with the pursuit of an ideal version of beauty, there is a disconnect from the truth and individuality. People are being more and more encouraged to compare themselves to a generally unrealistic standard, rather than being proud of their diversity and what makes them unique that defines our existence. This transformation of culture is not only the deterioration of their own personal identity but the building of a society where shallowness is valued more than actual character and ability. The product of this transformation can be extreme, altering not only their personal lives in isolation but promoting a pattern of an unrealistic goal.

The influence of social media has defined beauty in a way that makes it both impossible and unhealthy for developing teens minds and bodies. Their filtered and edited social media platforms share a distorted representation of beauty that does not include natural beauty but rather comparison and self doubt. This problem affects teens on a personal level, places a strain upon them to conform to strict guidelines, and reshape themselves to become their definition of beauty. To solve this issue requires an approach towards influencers to represent and express their natural beauty. We need to develop platforms in which there are multiple representations of beauty tolerated, even encouraged. It is through resisting these external standards that society can begin to heal the psychological and cultural traumas brought about by an unattainable and unrealistic beauty standard.

You Just Stare

Izin Villarreal

Amelia begins to shake as she continues to talk to her pastor, who has a recording device active on the desk they share. “She was so young, my little girl loved me and David. We spent so much time with her, she used to cry when she met family members and friends”

Amelia hugs herself, tightly gripping each elbow. “The day of her death, I couldn’t sleep. Not even with David in bed with me.” With each word, she chokes on her cries and trembles. “We were horrified by her death in her bed, but when I came home from work the next day, I swear I could feel her in my arms-” In between her words, Amelia offers the air an embrace, hugging nothing to demonstrate her feelings, “-like she was greeting me. It was like holding an ice block in my arms, and it wouldn’t let go until I felt numb. Soon after, I heard footsteps leading to my room-” Amelia begins to sob with tears falling down her face, sharply inhaling post-sob, desperate for air.

She looks up, attempting to remember the moment. “And there she was… standing there with a man, smiling… She held the man's hand.” Amelia looks down at the pastor, losing some of her tension, “The man walked with her into the wall, fusing with its paper, and soon after, these faces began to form from behind the wallpaper. There were sad faces, mad ones, scared ones, happy ones, and evil ones. They all started screaming, laughing, and sobbing at me.”

Amelia wipes sweat from her face and wipes it onto her dress. “It’s crazy because you’d think you’d scream and run from this, but in reality, you just stare. You freeze like a moron. You act like prey, like a deer in a car's headlights. Maybe it’s because deep down, the two of us have something in common. We both know it's over.” Amelia takes a deep breath and cools off. Her hands stop fidgeting with the crinkles on her dress. “And then the hands followed the faces, stretching from the wallpaper, pulling my room’s skin abnormally far and grabbing at me. Clawing and grasping, but not in a hurtful way, more as if they wanted me to pull them out. Like a crowd trying to escape, drowning in the walls.” Amelia’s pace begins to quicken, “And at the time, I did finally scream. I screamed so loud I felt as if puke were trying to puke out of my body in fear. I ran from that room and ran to the kitchen. The hands and faces were everywhere on the walls. The lights began to flicker, and I felt a hand close to the ground grab my leg, tripping me, and causing me to plummet to the floor. From the walls, the people finally did it. They escaped the choking wallpaper. They tore through, their flesh red and rotting like corpses that fell into a blood bath. People with mouths inside mouths and eyes inside eyes, all crawling and running toward me, but as the light continued to flicker, the electricity went out. I felt and heard nothing. I could feel nothing. Then I cried and thought, “What if this is what death is?” Dark, scary, alone, open yet closed, choking, suffocating, and horrifying. Then, the light switch turned, and David stood there, questioning my sanity and capabilities.”

A Beach’s Final Waltz

Knox Visnak

Glasses clinked around in the bright light of the restaurant. Conversational mutterings homogenized into a low, but ever-present buzz. A regal chandelier lay rooted in the grain of wooden beams. The succulent smells from the meals at various tables smacked me in the face with the various blends of aromatic spices. The cool breeze of the ocean blows in from the various portholes in this entrapping ship.

I look down at my own table. Nothing but a small glass of Cabernet Sauvignon,
an empty plate, and a check sat across from me. No specific person really should be filling the seat, though being sat here sparks the thought.

Though what kind of person would I be spending this night with anyway? An industrious business partner to steal all the acclaim of keeping the shop open for its second year? Maybe a friend wishing me well and catching up after all the sleepless nights? Maybe just a soul to say congratulations. Such a shame to be holding this pity party all inside.

My eyes drifted out the window down to the sandy shore just beyond. Barely illuminated by the moonlight and silhouetted by the few shining waves just below the horizon. A sandy campfire long burnt out providing the only warm glow the beach can take from its tiny embers. A place now used up by the fun who once visited.

The beach is empty enough this time of night. Maybe it would be a better place to hold this hollow success, and the loneliness that forms around it. The stars may be the most of all. Always watching from afar, burning up their life just to shine ever brighter, faltering in twinkled moments, but alive nonetheless.

My waiter comes up to the table quickly, taking up the check, as we both exchange pleasantries with a polite smile plastered across my face. He leaves just as fast and I respond by gulping down the Red Sea in my glass. I step up from the table, leaving a good enough tip, and begin making my way toward the door.

“Have a good night, we hope you enjoyed your meal!” The front of house said kindly.

“Thank you, you too” I say back, absentmindedly. As I begin shuffling my way down the path leading toward the silver waves.

____

It’s always a beautiful day to wake up at 10:30, rush out the door after a breakfast that failed miserably to calm anxious nerves, then drive all the way out to the coast for an oncologist visit. I had just gotten my first real check up for any cancer things. My mom always said I’d have to go in for screenings early in life, but I didn’t think anything would actually come of it.

Now I’m sitting here on the crackly paper, desperately failing to subdue the gnawing stone in my stomach, as I’m about to learn if that stone could kill me. My fingers chip away at the green nail polish I picked out today, begging for some release from the tightness in my throat. I shouldn’t even be this anxious, there’s false positives all the time, maybe this isn’t a positive at all, maybe they’re about to tell me that I am so cancer free I never have to get screened again, that’s totally it.

“That’s totally not it!” Slips out as I hear the door creak open, and Dr. Farad pushes past in that hurried but steady gait doctors normally possess.

“Hello Ms…Rowe, seems this follow up appointment was recommended after the screening you underwent…3 months ago?” He said flipping up the paperwork, searching out bits of information like a vulture picking the last bits of meat yet to sour with decay.

“Hi, yes, I believe there was some complication or something similar.” I shift somewhat in my seat. “Is anything wrong?”

“Yes, well there are many paths that we can take now, whether it’s radiation therapy, chemother—“ He began to rattle off almost as if it were his order at a restaurant.

“What do you mean, what were my results, why call me back here, is something wrong?”

He sat down on a rolly stool with its small un-padded back. A solemn face poked through the busyness he aired seconds before. As he flips through the papers on his clipboard, he regains his composure. My eyes follow his movements loosely as I begin feeling my heartbeat in my ears. Finally a voice breaks through the oppressive wall of ice formed by the silence.

“I am sorry to be the one to tell you this, but the results came back positive for your test. As I said previously, there are many forms of treatment that we can perform, though difficult on your body they may give you an extra year or two. We cfh eahsd hwa-”

His voice begins to blur, as the world does too. Nausea creeps in full swing, and the feeling of my skirt under my gripped fingers begins fading. I can still see his lips moving, maybe mine were in response. until they finally stop, and he leaves the room. The fake plant steals my attention in its green splendor, a dim and beautiful fixture of life in this sterile place. It even reflects some of the sun filtering in from the blinds behind it. I think it’s time I left this place.

I walk through the lobby–careful to not show the nausea making down twist and distort within itself. I go down its steps, and finally see the parking lot Saffron was resting in. The sun reflects brightly off the concrete just behind the glass door, and a flashbang rings off the minute I step through. I blink fast, a little dazed and trying to get used to the brightness again, though in vain. I make my way across the still vacant lot, approaching the brilliant bluish-purple Fiat sticking out in the shade of a nearby tree. I quickly clamber in, appreciating the silvery sunblockers obscuring my windshield. Minutes pass while I get readjusted to life, staring straight down at the PRNDL, noticing all the perfect angles, and little maze I carved into it back in freshman year.

I begin removing the blockers, pull out my keys, and flip on the car almost entirely automatically. I begin pulling out of the parking lot, stopping at lights, and making the long trek back to the apartment I call home further inland. Almost like I am only spectating my movements, mannerisms. But something is different, it's silent, no music, no soreness from my smiles. After only a few seconds in Saff I begin pulling into the parking space he’s called home for so long. I get out, lock him up, walk up the stairs, filter through my door and lock it behind me.

“Wow, I'm so glad I kept today open to watch my favorite show. I think i’ll also get some cereal with it too,”

I say all that, not because anyone’s listening of course, but instead just to feel the vibration in my throat, to have a plan, to remind my body that we’re watching TV now, not running a marathon.

And so I sit, I sit on the couch in front of my TV, flip the channel back to the Cartoon Network I grew up adoring–still do if I’m entirely honest–and watch. I sit and I crunch on some dry crunchy rings, and I watch. The colors pass me by on the rounded screen, as cheery screams, ice cream, and candy dreams fill my head like they once did when I was a kid. And so I stay sitting and watching, just for a few episodes, just for a few hours. As it all passes me by, washing past me like a school day, or a memory, like a memory. Hours and hours flit by as I sit, and I crunch, and I watch. Rotting in a still living body that’s doomed from the start is an odd feeling, a numb and yet itchy feeling. Something that makes you want to scratch your eyes, cry, and crunch. But you can’t rot forever, even rot is alive, and all life ends in time.

And mine will be soon, well that’s sad. I think it’s time for a walk. And so I shamble up from the few cardboard boxes and plastic wrappings that have sprouted around me. My legs almost fail under me, at least till I shake off the pins and needles polka dotting around them. But I’m standing, somewhat. I slink my way over to the sink and chug a glass or two of water. Glancing up, I get a glimpse of this small room. It’s got a nice light rug, now with a semicircle of cereal box trash just in front of a pillow leaning against the small grey sofa on it. The bland white walls peek through small gaps between the various archipelagos of paintings hung on the walls. Their colors are especially striking as auburn hues from the civil twilight filtering through the shades dimly illuminate the room.

Instinctually, I grab my keys and light jacket from the frog themed rack my friend got me to install. That might be the first thing ever screwed into the apartment walls. Though I’m glad they don’t have to be around for this, in the end they were right: “Don’t miss out on your life, because the only permanent thing is the past,” With that, my door shuts behind me, and locks.

I begin walking, and walking, and walking. The sunset flutters by as lights switch from red to green again and again. Almost like a multicolored lullaby drawn on by the infiltrating twilight and rise of the floodlights raining from the front of each big metal death machine barreling down the roads. The swirling lights on and off brush across my view like an oil canvas.

Next I’m walking down the road, hotels and gift shops lining each side. A random man stumbles down the street I’m absent mindedly walking on. Though my eyes are trained higher, as starlight is barely seen between large clouds of smog and light pollution. Still, he tries to drag my attention back down with poisoned whistles from cracked lips, and sludge spilling forth shortly after I pass him.

I walk by another, much more put together and at least sober. Instead of following the other’s lead he rushes past me, as I hear a body hit the floor not far behind me. I would normally look, but the bright constellations above are calling me in a way I haven’t been since my childhood, and much more enticing than the aloof man now struggling on the ground.

I begin to feel as if the ground is slipping out from under me as I keep walking. The air becomes a caustic mix of salt and death, but the stars keep twinkling just as bright despite it all. Each constellation completely unobstructed as the smog decided to lean away from their beautiful sight. I sat down to avoid falling from the unstable footing below me. My jacket shielded me from the cold winds blowing in the smell, though my shorts did not.

I get lost in the stars sometimes, they take me on a journey through the stories I learned back in middle school. They remind me of the crackling fire in front of me, as my dad went on long and grand tangents retelling the death of Orion and the tragedy of Callisto and Arcas. Maybe one day I’ll get back to that bliss. One day I’ll sit bored in the rows of seats in front of the professor. I’ll be able to ignore the stars like I had even just last night.

——

I pass through the doorway almost too fast, as the night threatens to swallow me whole. The restaurant’s concrete stairs are still barely illuminated, as I step down into obscurity. The inky void wraps around me, a weightless blanket of unknown potential. Sparse lights scattered across the windowed walls of the hotels looming above, though the glassy exterior of the various shops and gimmicks only reflect the starlight shining down from above.

My attention quickly shifts down the long channel of concrete lined brick. It leads down to shining silvery waves lapping at the muted grains of golden sand on the edge of the water. My eyes slowly begin to adjust, showing the path among its shadows. Stumbling down in my own aimless ruined celebration, I felt my heels sink into the sand.

The wind hit my face in its beautifully calming way. So I abandoned my footwear at the concrete, in stale apologies that I may just come back for them someday. The grains hit my feet with the softness of my mattress. I began my meander around, while lapping waves gave rise to its soothing froth. My tread slipped down toward the water, and eventually along it. As the forewash pours onto me, a pleasant chill cuts through the warmth of the night.

Almost a thousand feet into my walk, I encounter a girl wrapped up in a blue jacket, looking like a drop of the sky fallen down to the mortals below. Her entire form holds a slight contrast with the scattered hotel lights behind her. Sand clinging to her bare and folded legs as they are kept in place by the baggy jacket arms clutching them. Though curiously, her gaze is sent solely to the sky.

For whatever reason it inspires me to look up. As I do, I'm met with the stark and twinkling dots, flooding what I had previously only known as a blank piece of unending onyx. I stand there, wind flowing around my (outfit), and watch a single star begin to cascade down toward the pale dim halo of light on the edge of the horizon.

I break my attention away from the newfound sky as my feet begin feeling a little numb from the cold. I trudge my way over to the wrapped up skydrop cradled by small dunes below. While on my trek, I began to notice her, really notice her. She has freckles and brown hair. Her eyes are distant and despondent, like she’s seeing far past me and yet not even 5 feet in front of her. She looks like she wants to go back up to it. I sit down only a few feet away, still unnoticed. We sit in silence for a while and stare up at a sky unreachable, together.

——

My daydreaming fractures shortly into my walk by grainy footsteps on sand in front of me. A person walking, Her dark, flowy hair eclipsing the dim stars on the skyline behind her. Yet her face remains somewhat bright. She sits down next to me, while I take a moment to think with the stars all staring back at me, chanting their twinkling affirmations.

——

She persistently stays staring up at the stars. Her gaze far gone into the cosmos, searching for the wonderful beauty of it all. A poetic ocean of beauty, fit for a fallen skydrop such as herself.

I stay there, sat staring up with her. Sometimes I’ll glance down for a moment or two, and see the same steadfast stare in the beyond way up there. I begin thinking about the world, how it’s all down on earth. Maybe it’s not. Who's to say what beautiful sky above may actually be below. The world is always thought of down, but maybe just this once I can peer into the ocean down there. Maybe I can meet her gaze, find out what’s so wonderful about this life that she’s spending her night staring so captivated by a place so far, yet just barely below us.

And for a second I begin falling, I fall deep and down, plunged into the depths of the dark sea. Instead of darkness I found the bright lights dangling. Instead of the cold sea breeze I felt the warm currents flowing around me. Instead of the lonely night I held moments ago, I found the beauty that captured the gaze so completely of a girl so curiously lost.

As I leave my mind, and stare back at her, her gaze is far from the sea we were just at. It laid firmly and entirely on me. Her face blank, as if she is still lost in the stars, or maybe someplace else. It’s impossible to tell

——

“Hey”

“Uh, Hello”

“Do you know any good places for a fun night?”

“I’d be the one asking you. Maybe we could find something together?”

“Sounds good, lead the way eclipse”

“My name is—“
“Tonight it’s Eclipse, and I’ll be uhh…”

“How about Charlotte?”

“Sure, that’s perfect”