He found himself outside her door, questions he held in his mind for a long time became louder now. Had she found someone else? Did she still live here? Did she even want to see him? Would his appearance only anger her? Should he even be here? Before he could summon the courage to knock her door opened. She stood before him as beautiful as he remembered her. Her soft eyes connected with his own. She leaned against the door and spoke with her soothing voice.

“You lost, mister?” He wanted to look away, he didn’t feel like he deserved to lay eyes on her after leaving without a word two years ago. But he couldn’t pull his eyes away from her. She was too beautiful.

“You might say that. You see…I made a terrible mistake a couple of years ago. I thought I was doing everyone a favor, running away so they didn’t have to deal with me. But I can’t live without the people I left. I hope they’ll forgive me.” Her eyes were as blue as the skies on a warm cloudless summer day.

“You look like a guy I used to know. Who knows where he is, though. Did the same thing you did. Didn’t give me a chance to tell him he wasn’t a burden. That I love him.” The pain in his heart grew, the growing guilt saw to that.

“Sounds like an idiot. Sounds like he should’ve stayed and thought things through.” She smiled. He couldn’t explain it but for some reason that smile healed a good bit of the pain. Relieved some of the guilt.

“Mister, the people you left are probably worried about you. Waiting for you to come home. I’m sure all will be forgiven if you just go home.” He took a step closer.

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Raun blinked, mesmerized by the blood seeping through his bandages and falling, a slow drop at a time, to patter on the granite where he sat.

The wind scratched across the rock and Raun shivered. He laid his naked sword, stained red from the blood of the forest ghouls, across his thighs, where it would be close at hand.

Kin placed another plaster across the diagonal gashes in Raun’s chest, and glanced anxiously around. “Wind’s picking up. The Eaters fear a Long Wind coming. They won’t follow—but we need to find shelter or…”

“I was thinking,” Raun whispered. He stared into the fire, eyes dull with shock. “That I’ll just stay right here.”

Kin swore. “That’s no way to talk.” His hands shook as he wrapped gauze around Raun’s torso and tied off a knot. He shot a glance at the brow of the hill, where a tongue of sun licked the horizon. A tall man, his black hair flying free with the wind, stood on the cliff’s edge, staring down into the dark forest below.

“There’s no give in him,” Kin whispered. “He is so…” Words failed him.

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**

"Arghhhhhhh--"

A deep voice groaned in frustration while tapping his left index finger against the desk his computer settled upon. For some reason, his plans weren't going as he had planned. He leaned forward against his chair, running both his hand through his dirty blonde hair until grabbing a handful of his hair. So many thoughts running through a human mind will cause them to go insane. His eyes seem to wander over towards his window, following a couple of girls. Oh how wonderful, more girls for his male instinct to devour in their luscious curves, and perfect tits. He continued to stare, mind wandering in another direction. Definitely not towards the work he had to attend to; the one girl, her oval face completely covered with full layered brunette hair, a figure that looked as if she was a coke bottle; her breasts were small, but hey… guys like a handful at times. Her slightly pale skin made her seem like a completely different person from the individuals that he has encountered before; almost as if she were one of those vampire kids from Twilight. She apparently was being dragged off by a rather appealing girl. That black as the murky depths of tainted water hair caused his throat to tighten. Was... Was that her? The description that was giving to him, matched this girl. A haircut that seemed to suit her: Her black soft full wave hair had a bang swooped over her left eye with a red streak in it; her skin was a healthy golden-brown tint which showed that she recently have tanned. Her curves seemed out of this world, a similar figure as her friend, but this girl was simply amazing. He checked his face to see if there was any trace of wet substance on his face; drool. "My word..." He mumbled, and then shook his head. No. He couldn't fall for another suspect again. She was the one, and he must have a word with her. As his mind wandered, his eyes glanced down towards her mid-back as her blue v-cut shirt slightly raised some revealing a tribal tattoo with a heart in the middle. The paper never said anything about a tattoo... He reviewed it once more.

*"So, are you coming to the party later tonight?" A girl from across the class mumbled to her friend while Anonymous seemed to cross the room to her desk; another boring day in her Government class that will basically suck the very life out of her body, just great. After she had dropped Elizabeth off to her class, Anonymous seemed to daze off while walking behind a fellow classmate of hers. His name was Trevor MacDonald, and he was a rather attractive guy; however, for some reason she thought of him as a brother. Every other day, she would wander behind him just to wonder what he does during their 15 minute break time and to hopefully attempt to keep those jerk-off jocks from harming him. His sandy red hair catch her attention most of the time as it would sway side to side as he wandered down the settled halls, not a care in the world what could happen to him the next day. It was like he was just taking the day little by little; living life like there is no tomorrow, how she wished she could be like Trevor. Glancing outside the window, her mind seems to wander. Her thoughts scanned into her memory as she remembered the words that her father had told her before she was transferred to this school. ‘What is this life, If full of care, we have no time to stand and stare? No time to stand beneath the boughs, And stare as long as sheep and cows: No time to see, when woods we pass, Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass: No time to see, in broad daylight, Streams full of stars, like skies at night: No time to turn at Beauty’s glance, And watch her feet, how they can dance: No time to wait till her mouth can, Enrich that smile her eyes began? A poor life this is, full of care. We have no time to stand and stare…’ Anonymous glanced at her dad in pure confusion to the saying, her eyes slightly squinted. “What does that even mean?” The tone of her voice seemed to scare her; harsh. She didn’t want to hurt her father, he was dealing with a lot as it was: The death of his wife, his job seeming to soon close down due to something; she wasn’t all that sure to why, due to the fact she would never listen to him. He smiled, wrapping his arms around his daughter. She felt safe, and her eyes begin to well up some. “It’s a leisure by W.H. Davies, sweetheart.” He chuckled before mumbling to her now. “I know that I haven’t been the greatest father in the world, but I promise you, my Hija. I will change our life, and work hard to give you the world.” She leans against her father, burying her face into his shoulder. She needed this, more than anything. The death of her mother seemed to give her father a kick in the stomach. Anonymous had no one in her life anymore; her father was all that was left since she never had a brother or sister; her life was just lonely without a sibling around. He rubbed her back with his right hand, sighing. “Life as we know it now, isn’t as easy as it was when your mother was living, sweetie… but I beg you… Give me a chance, please. Give me time.” Her face slightly began to feel weird, like the feeling of someone running their fingertip across your cheek. She reached her left hand up to her face to touch it; wet. She was crying, not again… Not in this class, she sighed deeply while wiping the sudden tear away. Her glance seems to avert towards the clock, ’11:25a.m.’ Ugh. She has so much time left in this class; 90 minutes to be exact. Folding her arms out in front of her body, she rests them on her desk before laying her head on them. Her eyes closed, yawning quietly while snuggling into her arms. She was very sleepy at the moment, and she didn’t know why. For the past few weeks, she’s been nothing, but completely tired and exhausted. She went to bed early; 9:30 p.m. to be technically, and just feels extremely drained. Her mind began to wander into a light sleep as she daydreams about her life: father, school, him. Why couldn’t her mind just press the esc button and just make her ex just disappear from her very own existence? Why can’t she just--? “Annie.” A soft, and mellow voice called out to her just enough to snap her out of her daydream; she was relieved to stop such a dream, and was thankful for the person that awoken her. She smiled up at the individual. “George. Hey, what’s up?” He smiled down at her with such a gentle quirk of the lips- His eyes seemed to squint a little as his small teeth came into view from parted lips. He shifted to his right side while shoving both of his hands into the front pockets of his black jeans, shrugging. “Nothing really, I suppose. How are you doing?” He asked, glancing at her with a complete different gaze; a gaze that causes her heart do flips. She simply shrugged her shoulders, smiling faintly as she glanced down at her arms. “I’m doing well, just here.” She mumbled, turning her glance up to him as she giggles. He nods his head once before taking a sit in the desk beside her. “I see.” He said, placing his book bag on the right side away from them while unzipping the bag to obtain his Government book. Anonymous turned her body towards him to catch a good image of him- His somewhat curly short brown hair made her wish to just dive her fingers into them, just for the pure satisfaction of touching it. His slightly bushy eyebrows that made her want to attempt to arch them into a rather decent looking piece of work, his nose which was neither big nor small; it was rather cute to her in a way. His lips which were full- completely kissable; she blushed. Her eyes seemed to gaze up towards his eyes: what deep, brown alluring eyes he has. She could gaze into those eyes forever and would simply become lost in those murky pools that would drown her in absolute warmth. Wait… He was staring at her now with an intense stare that made her quickly turn around. How long was she staring at him? He must think she was a stalker; creeper. She sulks deeper into her chair, relieved that the teacher had finally decided to show his face into class; Time to get this class over and done with.

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The Himalayan armies had always been relatively smaller compared to the armies of Hindustan. Even in this case, the mountain folk faced almost impossible odds. For every one of them, there were almost six of the plains’ men.

Rikut had been one of the king’s favorites, and thus he was playing a major role in the current conflict. He had lost his parents, wife and children just two years ago to a similar war; almost his entire clan had been wiped out. The surviving few families from his village from his native village had migrated to another village under them. Rikut’s jurisdiction was twelve villages.

The King had asked all the hill chiefs to collect their men and prepare for war. But Rikut was not part of the offensive, but rather a very important component of the defense. He had been able to get around two hundred men to fight. He and his men fortified his fort pretty well and they were waiting for an attack. Some days passed and nothing happened. They did not yet know that the Himalayan offensive had failed and the king and his men were retreating in hasty disarray.

The news reached the fort when sixty odd men came at the gates, under the command of a distant relative of the king. After being let inside and getting some rest and food, they started talking. They were survivors of a much larger group. Their enemies had been more organized than their expectations but that was not the only reason for their failure. They had been severely outnumbered, and to be precise, they were facing two dozen thousand foes in the battlefield. The king had divided his offensive force to three parts, and this was what remained of on of them, sixty men!

“The others must have surely fled to their forts.”

, thought Rikut.

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That evening my parents drove me over to Stefani’s house when we got the news. I was petrified when I got the call saying that her mother died. It was the first time I went by her. The place was portentous and dark. The house was enclosed by ancient, giant, green trees and the leaves fell everywhere. The road was made of gravel with narrow drains on both sides. The house was an aged, unpainted, small, two-room apartment with a very small kitchen. Two windows were made of wood and three with old frosted glass. There were three dogs in the kennel at the front of the house and a parrot in a cage on a mango tree.

“How are you?” I asked.

“I want mom!” Stefani cried out.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Life is not forever you know. She has gone to a better place. You need to let her go and you have your own life to live,” I explained.

“Stefani misses her mother a lot. I don’t know what to do. I can’t be both her father and mother. Things are so difficult,” said Nick.

“It’s okay. Everything would be alright,” said mom.

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I live a pretty normal life for a geisha. Just the usual things. But I’m different, very different. I may just seem like a normal geisha, but I am the daughter of a ninja, or in other words, the ninja grandmaster. A strong and very powerful man with a good heart and pure soul. I have always loved my father. I would do anything for him. Even die for him.

Last spring though, my father died. My father, Master Odochi, died in battle. He was a very young man and had a loving wife, my mother, Mokota Ishieidashi. She was also very kind and loving. Very supportive and gentle. She liked the art of drawing, painting, and music. They became her professions.

In autumn last year, she died of an unknown disease. We laid her to rest under her favorite Sakura tree in the courtyard, where my father first proposed to her. It was tragic, but we stay strong, that’s what she’d want us to do.

After both of my parents died, I became the current leader of the dojo, making training schedules and what not. I did not want to be the leader, so I appointed my fathers best man, Musako Ishieidashi, to lead the dojo. Ishieidashi was my mothers brother, otherwise known as my uncle.

After Musako started leading the dojo, things became pretty normal. I still had to do training and things like that, but I enjoyed the peace and quietness around the dojo. The garden became my private sanctuary where I wrote poems about life and death, love and stuff. It was also the place where I practiced my music playing and creativeness. I also sometimes practiced my fighting moves there. My favorite style of fighting was Shoalin Karate.

Shoalin is a graceful fighting art, almost like dancing. It was an artistic form of fighting that allowed graceful and flowing movements. It was also my mothers favorite.

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By Lawrence Arthur

My eyes opened suddenly. My pupils shifted towards the top of the wardrobe, where the hands of the clock showed the time at 8:30 am.

“What!” I yelled. I had only thirty minutes to prepare for the party. Esi would definitely be mad at me for showing up late. I felt guilty; not for the lateness, but the fact that a nightlong phone conversation with Afia the previous night, was the cause of the lateness.

I sprung from my bed and opened the wardrobe. ‘There you are” I uttered. My Luici Ventino shirt and my blue ink jeans hung there- already ironed. Maybe I wasn’t going to be too late for the party.

Afia had wanted me to escort her somewhere this morning- I didn’t even ask her where; I knew I couldn’t make it. I had to show up for Esi’s birthday party. I found an excuse for her; that I had to see my project supervisor; but here I was, getting ready for Esi’s party.  Wenger told me this game would be fun; I was finding it adventurous as well. I looked at the time again. I had twenty minutes more. I rushed to the bathroom. When I finally got ready to set off, I had only ten minutes to avoid lateness.

I usually called Afia every morning, but this day, I had devoted to Esi. I would not talk to Afia. That was what I thought. Just before I touched the door knob, my phone rang. I didn’t have to pick up the phone from my pocket to know the caller.

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My job is to protect, project the repetitive prints and chunky old art. When you are alone in a building, in a shiny, open, old, empty building you are out of focus. Not even dreaming of what my career will be after my job. When you’re in an empty, scary place in your mind creates thoughts that you can clear, manipulate, console, and torture as they scream into your ears. Just how people are manipulated from or for a society. Can’t stress enough how productive I am at what I do here. At times I even help with the janitors, dusting the shelves and displays, just so I can imagine the specks floating to another world of a piece dark polished furniture. I feel power in watching for thieves who try to get rich off my duty. I never have stopped anyone, no crime, no vigilantes; just myself. I see myself as a father, no wait more like a uncle who gets passed down from generation to generation until he can’t comprehend the idea of a family no longer. I don’t give a shit.

Its like being a slave, gazing over the rich masters silvers, your job is too tempting. Your main duty is to watch them tempt you, and protect them from greedy bastards from the outside world to shove them up your sleeve, like yourself. Just I was making a single mistake from cutting hopes and dreams out of the picture frame, it happened when I was making my usually runs through the master’s house. It begins with a single stream of blood leading my feet. The building was built over a sinkhole therefore the building leans. The stream I followed was thick; the single blood kept it shape and left an opaque trail behind it. It ran into the east corner of the French artist’s gallery. A dead end, an end into inches of the sick red life source, slowly becoming a pool on itself. Reversing the carpet from wading to drowned.

I turned around following the opposite way of the leaking blood trail. I have never been deeply desensitized before, I have always been cautious, monitoring my every move and well-being. Never taking risks. Pathetic. But I saw the mangled red coated lump, looking like an infected wet cocoon on the floor; the same thick blood clashing with the pearly marble. I ran my eyes toward the upper region of the lump. My entire breath jammed up, I couldn’t release it, my chest had shot up 100mph into my throat. The jaw, fuck the jaw was the worst part

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- - -

Jack was nineteen. He had not started college yet, not with Kat being so sick. He and his sister had been together all their lives, though in high school they learned to enjoy separate things.

Jack was lean and muscular from long days running. His eyes were deep blue and his hair was dishwater blonde that really needed a good trim. Kat was not as tall as he, she was more of an average height; she was fit as well, but ever since she got sick, she had seemed to waste away.

Kat first got sick toward the end of their last year of high school. Graduation came and went and they prepared to make their lives apart from each other. She started to get bruises that would not recede. She was tired all the time, and would come to Jack’s room crying, because she didn’t know what was wrong. Jack urged her to go see a doctor. The next day dawned bright and clear, as Jack’s parents and Kat piled in the car and went to the hospital. Jack had no idea that soon, he would be spending almost all of his time there.

- - -

Jack thought back to the day that the phone had rung. He was in his room. Their home was spacious, bright and airy. His mother had decorated it herself when they had moved there when he and his sister were eight. Granite floors in the kitchen made his feet cold each morning as he gulped down a swallow of milk. He reclined on his bed, relishing the early days of summer. He heard the phone ring a second time and then be picked up off the hook. Kat was sleeping. He hoped the noise would not wake her; she had had trouble sleeping the night before.

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The driver was isolated from his passengers in his own compartment in the front. Behind the driver, placed directly over the entrance to the walkway that spanned the middle of the bus hung the only seemingly brand new object amongst a sea of hand-me-downs. The large wooden Cross had a fresh coat of silver veneer. It reached down from its perch at least a foot off the ceiling, unapologetically announcing its presence to the passengers. Even the shortest of the lot had to duck to avoid collision with the protruding bottom section when entering the bus. The gleaming fresh coat of paint reflected the interior of the bus, watching over its passengers and revealing their slightest movements to the remainder of the group.

One boy sitting near the front, who couldn’t be more than twelve, could be seen in the reflection of the Cross to have his head buried in his arm. The formerly pristine white sleeve of his uniform now had the stains of tears hurriedly wiped away. He noticed the blemish on his robe and quickly shoved his arm behind his back, a maneuver that forced him onto the protruding metal bar sticking out of the front of his seat. He yelped, and then covered his mouth with his unstained hand, praying that nobody around him had noticed his outburst. What he saw out of the corner of his eye confirmed his trepidation; his seatmate, who looked a year or two older than Jonah, was staring at him with a mixture of annoyance and fear. He responded with a look that he hoped conveyed how sorry he was at that moment, before remembering that his eyes must be red from crying. He thought about how unfair it was that his fear had such an obvious physical manifestation. If the others on the bus were feeling similarly terrified, they certainly had better self-control than he.

“Jonah” he mouthed to his companion. The other boy’s look of anger softened.

“Caleb” the other boy reciprocated with a quick smile and returned to his forward facing position.

As he sat there focusing on keeping his eyes dry, Jonah recalled that self-control had never been his strong suit. He thought back to the funeral two weeks before. What remained of his family and the tall suited figures that somebody assured him were friends stood huddled outside in a rain that rivaled that downfall soaking the bus. Perfect, he thought, if anyone sees me crying I can pass it off for rainwater on my face. He stood next to his father, wearing a suit he had never seen until that morning when he found it hanging from his door handle. The suit was an olive green color, and when he tried it on the pant legs stood roughly an inch above his black suede shoes. It smelled as though it had been in an attic somewhere for a few years. A damp attic poorly ventilated and otherwise filled with expired cleaning supplies. The smell made Jonah think that it had endured quite a bit of hardship in its time, and he put it on feeling as though he were wearing an ally in his present misery. The suit understood the pain of aging, loss, neglect and he hoped would thus be able to offer him some guidance in navigating his current dramas. His father purchased the suit for him not because Jonah had ever asked for one, but because a suit is a something for any boy who has parents that know what’s good for him.

He remembered very little of what was said during the funeral. His mother’s sisters shared stories about what she had been like in her youth. The words “full of life” seemed a bit overused. Another man he recognized as a close friend of his fathers delivered a very loud speech. Again, he retained little of the content, just that the man delivering it seemed loud and vaguely angry. And his hands. The loud man’s hands were moving constantly throughout the speech like a general gesticulating to his troops, or someone conducting a frenetic march.

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