They stick their hand out as close to the fire as they can, eyes widening. "HOT!" Yes buddy it IS hot...so don't touch it.

You know they're smart when they can pull the socket protectors (baby proof, of course) out of the electric socket. :|

Hey! Don't touch that!

Bringing Freedom Home 

Kaylin Hamilton

The hooded figure stepped forward slowly through layers of snow—making his way deliberately toward us in the empty clearing. “It’s okay,” he said. “I can help you.”

I kept the bow aimed at his stomach. There would be no mistakes tonight.

“Who are you?” I tried to sound threatening, but the break of my voice didn’t embody boldness.

His eyes flickered nervously from me to my older sister, Rhea, lingering there. She glared back, her tawny eyes full of venom. But beneath the steel of her expression, I caught a flash of recognition. She mouthed the stranger’s name as he pronounced it.

“James,” he answered slowly. He lowered his hands and walked through the clearing, boots crunching against the fresh drifts of snow.

I tightened my bow, switching my aim from his stomach to heart.

“I’ll kill you if you move any closer, I swear.”

“On what?” He took another step.

I frowned. “Beg your pardon?”

He continued walking forward, closing the distance between us rapidly. “You swear that you’ll kill me, but my question is—what will you swear on?”

“I—”

“Your family?” he asked. “Friends? Whoever they are, their life must not be worth that much to you, if you’d throw it away so willingly.”

He paused, crossing his arms menacingly across his broad chest. The material bunched up, revealing a pistol that was jammed into his worn belt loop.

“What about a sister?” he asked.

I wrenched my eyes from the illegal weapon, forcing myself to look him in the face. He was young—not as young as me—but still young. Raising one eyebrow, he waited patiently as I studied him, examining the dark—nearly black—irises and light, disheveled hair.

I didn’t answer, preferring to keep that information to myself. I didn’t have any reason to tell him just how much I was willing to give up for my freedom. I changed the subject.

“When you said you could help us—what did you mean?” I said. “And make it quick, because I’m running out of patience.”

“Ah,” he smiled. “I can’t tell you.”

Rhea had been mute for the entire exchange, and I was surprised when she spoke.

“Why not?”

James addressed me instead of her, staring pointedly around my bow and into my eyes as he replied to Rhea’s query.

“Because your sister never answered my question.”

I counted to ten, breathing steadily to control my anxious heart rate. This was always how it was, even before the revolution. It was me calling the shots. It didn’t matter that Rhea was older; it was always my words that stung—even as I spoke the truth.

Back when things were happy, it wasn’t so bad. Mum and dad loved all three of their children. But as the baby, I was spoiled—not only by them—but by my older brother and sister as well.

“Well?” James asked irritably, pulling me back to the present.

Though the years had passed, and we were both nearly adults, my soft spoken sister had not changed. She wouldn’t save me from answering this question, and I knew that no matter how many times she denied it, my answer would hurt her.

But who says I have to tell the truth? The thought had barely crossed my mind, but immediately I knew it was rubbish. I couldn’t lie about losing the only family member I had left.

“Yes,” I said. “I would. This world has been turned so far on its head that I’d be willing to swear on my sister’s life.”

I avoided Rhea’s gaze, knowing that even a glimpse of the expression of hurt on her face would make it impossible to go on. She knew that I meant what I said, and my confession stung.

“However,” I lowered my bow, hanging it back over my shoulder. This stranger was clearly not a threat; otherwise he would have acted already, “I would only do that, when I knew without a doubt that I would win. You see James,” I smiled slowly, “I love my sister; Rhea’s the only thing that I have left. So when I put her life in the balance, whoever is standing in my way better get the heck out of it.”

The silence of the air drifted between us. I felt—rather than saw—Rhea step closer, linking her arm through mine. The luminosity that she gave off warmed more than my hands. She wasn’t as upset as I thought, though pain still veiled her eyes. We both knew that since the uprising, things had changed.

He chuckled softly, uncrossing his arms and slowly bringing his hands together—applause. Its sound was muffled by his gloves, but there was no doubt of the intention.

“You pass for now Tay,” he smiled. The expression lit up his face, transforming it into something that might actually pass for slightly amiable.

I didn’t care enough about what that meant to ask.

“Tell me what you know,” I demanded, “now. Otherwise, get lost.”

He spoke, “It’s not something to tell, really—more like something to show.”

“Well whatever it is, hurry up.” I rubbed my hands together, willing the friction to raise their temperature.

James stepped closer to Rhea. “Could I see that map you have hidden in your pocket?”

My sister frowned, pulling the compacted ball from her jeans, sitting down on a fallen tree, and smoothing it out on her lap. James knelt beside her, studying the small area where a black dot marked the position of a house, across the forest.

That’s where we aimed to go—at least until we could move on to someplace safer. Living after the revolution had broken all trust of society. For right now, we just had to get away.

He began, “When we drew this map, our navigator plotted the cabin in the wrong spot on purpose—that way no one would find us.”

“Wait,” I looked down at him, “you mean—this map is yours?”

He shrugged, “Of course.”

“So actually how far away is the cabin?” Rhea asked. She carefully kept her eyes away from James, an expression of pure hatred crossing her face when he replied. I laid my hand on her shoulder in concern; her heated temperament was beginning to scare me.

“Well,” he bit his lip, calculating the distance to the hideout. “It’s about six hours to the house—twice as far as what the map says—and two more days to the city after that.”

“There’s a city?” I stared at him, openmouthed. When I escaped the compound, dragging Rhea along behind me, I wasn’t sure that there was someplace else to go at all. That I had found the map was pure coincidence, though now I wondered if somehow it had been planted.

James nodded. “It’s a town, really.” He stood, brushing the snow from his waterproof pants. Unlike the two of us, he was dressed for the weather. “It’s safe there, and I know the way.”

“I suppose we’ll follow.” I felt uncertain, but couldn’t see any other way out of the situation. The enforcers might notice our absence from the compound at any minute. We had already wasted enough time.

“No, we won’t.” Rhea glared at him, drawing herself up to full height— just slightly shorter than James.

I knew that she shared my hesitation, but there was something strange going on with Rhea. My gentle older sister didn’t judge a book by its cover.

Obviously, she must have already read the book.

“We have less than three hours of night left to cross the forest. Whether you like it or not, I’m going.”

“No.” Rhea stood firm, arms crossed firmly over her chest.

He whispered into the night, his warm breath sending clouds of mist and reassurance into the air. “You can trust me. I used to live in the compound; I remember what it’s like.”

I saw the horror flash through his eyes as memories from the camp encircled him. His angled jaw twitched slightly as he turned away, trudging back through the forest ahead of us.

I took Rhea’s arm, pulling along behind me. For a moment she resisted, but then, sighing, we followed behind our contested leader.

His hasty retreat reminded me of my own; mentally, I wasn’t prepared to face the terrors of my past. The only difference between us was that as James withdrew physically from the pain of distant memories, I withdrew inside myself, locking away stinging recollections of dismay that came back to haunt me—never loosening their grip on my gradually eroding heart.

The image of my brother came unbidden into my mind, his limp body being thrown by the enforcers into the common grave near the outer wall of the compound. Jonny had tried to fight back from the moment they took our parents away, and it cost him his life.

I pushed the memories aside before they could get worse, shutting them away in the steel lined chest of my mind. But no matter how tight I slammed that chest, something rose up: a sound, a face, a memory.

Trying to forget was like trying to hide behind a pillar of smoke. Though someone might not see you for a moment, eventually the smoke would swirl together, leaving patches of light. It was these clear, momentary pictures that rose up through my mental defenses, pushing their way into my mind and taking control.

Rhea glanced over at me, her expression one of comfort. It could be worse. After all, that was her job. I make the decisions, but Rhea provides the security. It wouldn’t change just because she didn’t trust James.

There were only two things that I could begin to understand about this stranger.

The first was that if Rhea could, she would do anything it took not to depend on his familiarity with what lay ahead of us. The crime one has to commit to gain this condemnation from her was substantial.

But the second truth was enough to outweigh the first, however significant it may be.

It was enough for me to know that he held a common interest.

Freedom.

Although, I wondered, if he really is like us, and somehow managed to escape, then what could possibly have drawn him back to the forest?

The answer—I guessed—was one that I probably didn’t want to know.

~

Rhea jostled me awake around midmorning for my watch. I rolled off the blanket, wincing as my bare skin hit the chilling snow.

"The fire's still going," she mumbled, crawling into the nest of blankets that I had inhabited seconds before. "It'll warm you."

"Thanks," I whispered. Before leaving, I glanced around the tent, checking to make sure everything looked all right. It was a habit I had gained on guard watches at the compound. No matter how safe a situation feels, always double check your intuition with your eyesight.

I nudged the lump where James was supposed to be. Groaning, I kicked at the rolled up blankets; he was gone.

Grabbing my bow, I left the tent and approached the fire, stretching out against the fallen tree that lay sprawled near its dim light. Because of the climate of the North, the sky was still dark and much of the light came from the coals.

Chewing my lip, I moaned again. Why on earth did we ever believe he would stay?

There was no good that could come of trusting a stranger. We had met in the woods, for goodness' sake—you'd think that I might have exercised better judgment.

"Hey." James emerged from the trees—a dead rabbit in hand—sinking down next to me on the ground.

"Hey," I replied, careful to control my expression. My eyes didn’t move the slightest from the view of the dim fire. Even without looking, I sensed the uncomfortably small distance he had left between us. "I thought you left."

“Why would you think that?” he asked. "My stuff's here; why would I leave?"

Truthfully, I didn’t want to admit to myself that I was surprised. Somehow, despite my best efforts at apathy, I had still wound up thinking that maybe—he was different from everyone else I’d ever known.

We were silent for a moment, the crackling flames making their own conversation in the early dawn. It was worth the risk—building the fire. The warmth that radiated from its center melted through my damp clothing.

I felt his gaze burning into the side of my head. "You don't trust me."

I snorted softly. "Why should I?" Tossing a pebble into the flames, I listened intently for the pop as it exploded in the coals.

"Because."

I twisted my bow in both hands, working out my frustration on its wooden surface. If anything, his vague remark served as a reminder of why I didn’t have any confidence in him. We sat in stillness, watching the day grow from black to gray as a slim amount of light filtered through the trees.

“Would you stop that?” James leaned over, pulling the bow from my hands mid-twist. My eyes flashed in warning, startled by the warm brush of his hand in the midst of the freezing draft.

"There's something I have to tell you." He frowned, the corners of his lips scowling in frustration.

I didn't respond—slightly put out.

“Tay, when I lived at the compound—" he stopped.

"What?" I prodded. Looking over at him fully this time, I studied his brown eyes. They flickered across the fire, its intensity mirrored in each movement. There was something in him almost longingly coveting those flames.

“Well, I used to know your brother, and I was there the night he died.”

I stopped analyzing his movements, stunned at the revelation. “You knew Jonny?”

He nodded, “I know that you saw the way Rhea looked at me.” Standing quickly, he rushed to finish the sentence. “I just wanted you to know why she’s so bitter.”

I struggled to form the words to speak. “She doesn’t like you because you knew him, or because you saw him die?”

He shook his head sadly, looking at me from above. “Both. But she has good reason to hate me.”

“Why?” I was sick of all this mystery about what had happened between James and Rhea. Now I needed to know.

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

He turned away, ducking into the opening of the tent, not bothering to shut its flaps behind him.

~

The restless wind began picking up as we wandered through the gloomy forest. My dark choppy hair blew into my eyes, adding to the misery of this march through the snow. I pulled up my hood, nervously scanning the trees and watching anxiously for the cabin to appear.

"I think there's a storm rolling in, don’t you?" James studied the sky, frowning at the dark expanse of clouds visible through the tops of the leafy foliage.

When I didn’t respond, he hiked up beside me on the ancient trail. "Look Tay, I’m sorry about last night."

"Save it.” I knew that no amount of prodding would convince him to tell me the truth, and until I figured out what it was, I didn’t want to deal with him at all. I ran ahead a few meters, taking care not to trip over any raised tree roots. Leaving him behind felt gratifying, aiding me in burning off some of my frustration.

He fell back a few feet, sidling up next to Rhea. Though I couldn’t see her expression, I knew it was one of loathing. Having just witnessed our heated exchange, she jumped to my aid.

"What's wrong with her?” she whispered. I slowed down just enough to hear them, yet far enough to discourage pulling me into their conversation. I hoped they wouldn’t notice my attention was focused on them.

"James," she warned when he didn’t respond. The malice in her voice rang clearly into the wind. "I can’t stand you, and I don’t trust you, and you know that. So you have about three seconds to tell me what’s wrong with Taylor."

I scowled at her use of my full name.

“I can’t tell her the truth,” he sighed. “It would kill her.”

“Yeah,” she said sarcastically, “Sort of how it killed me as I watched it. I didn’t used to be like this, you know. I used to know how to laugh.”

They lapsed into silence.

“Rhea,” James nearly choked over her name; it had been so long since he had allowed himself to say it, “Can I ask you something?”

“No.” I heard her footsteps increase, trying to outpace him the way I had. But Rhea had never been as fast as me, and he caught up easily.

“Why didn’t you ever tell her?”

Rhea’s voice shattered, “Tell her? Sorry James, that’s your responsibility. For six years I’ve avoided telling her what happened that night. It’s not something that I can do.” She stopped. “I think it would crush me just as much as it would crush her.”

I increased my speed, putting as much distance between us as possible. Their voices, for the most part, were inaudible. Thirty minutes later, I chanced a peak behind me, watching my sister wipe a tear from her cheek.

The forest began to grow thicker, and I pulled back. Getting separated now would be devastating, if not deadly.

Rhea’s voice floated back toward me. “You have four hours, James. That’s all I’m giving you to tell her. Any longer than that, and I’ll tell her myself.”

They were silent for a moment, and I thought that maybe it was safe to fall back a bit, closer to them. But then Rhea spoke and I stopped, listening again.

“You were our friend, James. When we were kids, Tay adored you. Even I wish that I had my best friend back. Make it right.”

I listened to his bitter laughter, traveling through the ever increasing torrent of wind. Every aspect of that laugh hit me, knives plunging into the surface of my typically resilient skin. It was to the sound of that laughter that I hurried on, isolating myself into my own misery and pulling ahead into the ever increasing wind.

~

We found the cabin by morning, a blessed fortress against the deep snow piling around our ankles. Within seconds of opening the door, I collapsed, curling up in front of the empty fireplace.

Rhea found a blanket in the closet, draping it across my wilted form. She rustled my hair, her maternal senses almost immediately returning after the stress of braving the elements. The last thing I saw before drifting off was James’ hands—coming together to create sparks that warmed the hearth.

Little did I know that as soon as we were both asleep, he would escape into the forest— leaving us alone.

~

“Tell her!” I heard Rhea’s voice shout from outside on the porch. Across the clearing, her words hit James’ retracting back. “Dang it, James, tell her the truth.”

I got to my feet, though rather unsteadily, trying to make sense of the commotion outside.

I crashed through the half-open door of the cabin, wrapping the blanket around me. The hinges swung faster than I expected, leaving me shoeless in the snow.

“Whaswrong?” I mumbled, still groggy from the short nap in front of the fire.

But my eyesight cleared, revealing James halfway across the opening in the trees. In his arms was a backpack, no doubt packed with the remainder of our food. He had left most of the snow gear inside, probably so that he wouldn’t have to carry it.

“James,” I accused through the torrent of white floating through the air, “where are you going?”

He turned, facing Rhea and I where we stood at the door of the cabin. His hands shook, the cold bleaching his face white. “I—“

In one motion he crossed the clearing, jerking to a stop in front of me. Rhea staggered backward, his repulsing presence like a negative magnet, pushing her away.

But I stood where I was, waiting for the explanation to pour from his mouth.

“Everything I told you was true,” he stammered. “I really did live there, in the same town. But I not only saw the devastation,” I watched a tear slip down his cheek, “It was my fault.”

From behind me, Rhea spat. “I remember the day that you came for Jonny. How could you? He was only fifteen—”

I snapped, “Stop it, Rhea. Just stop.”

My mind spun, and I couldn’t concentrate on anything but my sister’s words. What did she mean, he “came for Jonny?” What did my brother have to do with this?

He took my hands, his eyes pleading. “I didn’t want to, Tay. When the commander sent my unit after your brother, I fought it with all my strength. We were friends—me and Jonny—I couldn’t hurt him.”

“You did more than hurt him,” Rhea cried. “He died because of you. Don’t you get it? He died.”

“Rhea,” I turned, pleading for her to stop. “I need to hear him.”

She nodded, retreating to the edge of the porch. I didn’t blame her. Right now distance looked really good, especially from the person in front of me. I yanked my hands from his and pulled the blanket tighter around me, as if it would protect me from reality.

“Explain.”

He swallowed, “I was only six months older than him when they issued the draft. The war was on against the rebels, and Jonny just barely missed the cut-off.

“He decided that if he couldn’t fight on one side, he might as well fight against them. It wasn’t so much the cause. It was the war: the glory.

“Then your parents found out,” I stood stunned as he laid out the story of my life. Suddenly the fears of a million memories flooded my vision. I remembered the dark nights as winter approached and mum and dad grew more restless, constantly trying to hide something. I was young, only thirteen, but I knew; I remembered.

I filled in the information he missed. “After my parents were arrested, it was just me and Rhea at home. Jonny was hiding out, someplace over on West Street.”

James took a broken breath, “They sent my unit that night to apprehend him. It was either go, or die with him.”

I met his eyes, their dark centers shining. “I chose to go, Tay—just like I’m choosing now. If I could change what I did that night, I would. I would die before reliving life the way I have—hiding. But as for this choice—I know that I’m doing the right thing by leaving you.”

I shook my head. “You’re making a mistake. You promised to take us all the way to the city—to freedom.”

I didn’t care if he’d never actually spoken that promise aloud. It was implied, and he knew it as well as I did.

“No,” he smiled sadly. “I’m bringing freedom home.”

I felt a shiver travel through the soles of my feet, icy on the cold wood of the porch. It spread, chilling through my spine and spreading across my shoulder blades. He backed away, retracing his footsteps through the snow.

“You have to trust me,” he pleaded, “it’s what I’ve said all along.”

I nodded slowly, gritting my teeth and accepting his word for what it was. There was simply no way to change his mind now.

Now it was my choice to make. I could sit here and wonder what to do, now that he’d abandoned us.

Or I could trust him.

For the first time in my life, I made my decision fully, holding nothing back.

I chose trust.

~

The days spent in the cabin were long and grueling. Most of the time we slept, regaining the energy lost on our short trek through the forest. I didn’t venture outside except to collect firewood.

That is—until our food ran out.

Three days after James melted into the trees, we ate our last bit of salted rabbit and gruel. I grabbed my bow and arrows and pulled on my boots—somehow still wet from our escape.

The land was barren as well as cold and I spent hours scouting the area from the above in the trees. The most I ever saw was a squirrel, swallowed by the undergrowth before I could even grasp an arrow.

Returning to the cabin empty handed, I helped Rhea collect snow to boil down. We could last a few more days on water alone, but—.

We fell asleep that night to the incessant growling of our stomachs. If we didn’t get food soon, there would be nothing left when James returned.

If he comes back at all.

I tried to smother the thought, but by now I was seriously re-evaluating my decision to trust the boy I had grown up with. Although I was finally able to unearth a few blurry memories of him from the back of my mind, I still couldn’t pinpoint exactly where I had first seen those dark eyes.

The fifth day arrived, bringing with it sunshine. I rolled over on the mat, pulling the blankets over my head. Rhea laughed at me from beside the fire. She was already up—busy boiling our drinking water for the day. By now it felt like my stomach had shrunk to the size of a pebble; pretty soon, even water wouldn’t satisfy my body’s need for sustenance.

Suddenly, a loud bang shook the cabin. The door flew open, letting the cold air seep in.

I sat up and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, heart racing as hope dripped into my veins. “James, is that you?”

I heard Rhea gasp, then a crash as the pot of water in her hands dropped to the floor.

James—his face unshaven—stood in the doorway, his eyes sparkling in triumph.

Behind him, seemingly grasping each other’s hands for support, stood a middle aged couple, their dark hair just beginning to abandon its color and turn a light gray. Neither of their faces was free from tears, and as I glanced between them and James, something clicked.

For in the doorway, standing with tears of joy streaking down their faces—

Stood my parents.

Rhea was in their arms before the news sunk in. James crossed the floor to me, pulling me up and leading me over to them—sensing that I needed the guidance. As I embraced my family, something tugged at my heart. James had been true to his word; he had —indeed —brought freedom home.

It was raining...believe it or not.

Pictures by Jadeniski

I love you.

The large family in the corner had at least six kids, maybe seven. Most of the passengers glared at the squawks of the youngest, but Lana Sanchez wasn’t one of them.

In fact, she barely noticed the discord of the Smith family at all, despite their inability to keep quiet. More important to her was the nerve-wracking sensation coursing through her blood, making her unable to sit still. While she was stranded in this airport, disease raged through the body of her father. It could be her last chance to say goodbye, and the snowstorms that iced the planes throughout the northern United States were relentless. Why had she waited until the last second to make things right?

“’Scuse me.”

Lana stopped tugging at the end of her dark braid and looked down towards the sound of the small voice from below her.

“You’re stepping on my crayon.” A pair of dark eyes peeked from between her legs where there was, in fact, a white crayon wedged between her sneaker and suitcase. Lana moved her foot from off the round wax object and watched the little girl wiggle out from beneath the seat.

“Thanks.” She sat on the ground, holding the crayon to her chest. When she made no move to leave, Lana glanced toward the corner—guessing that this was where the girl’s family was sitting.

“Is that your little brother over there crying?” she asked. The small girl began peeling the wrapping off the crayon in little strips.

“Yup,” she didn’t look up. “Momma says that’s a ‘trumble. But that’s not the real word.” Pushing a strand of hair off her face unceremoniously, she continued matter-of-fact. “The real word is tantrum. There’s a ‘tan’ at the beginning. Tantrum.”

"Tantrum, trum, trumble. Tantrum, trum, trumble.

“Oh?” Lana’s thoughts were momentarily distracted as she studied this small spirit. “You’re really smart to know what the real word is.”

“Really?” Her face grew somber. “Momma and me usually do flashcards, but since Daddy left she’s been too busy.”

“That’s too bad.” Lana sunk to the ground next to her new friend and stuck out her hand. “My name’s Lana. What’s yours?”

“Lilly. It’s a flower, did you know that?” She jabbered on for a few seconds, taking Lana’s hand in her small, sticky fingers for only a moment before going back to her crayon.“ Before Daddy left with his shiny shoes he said that I needed to stay blooming.” Her dark eyes lit up. “He was always funny like that. I miss his joking.”

Lana smiled slightly, surprised at the insight pouring from one so young. “I miss my dad a lot too.”

Lilly cocked her head. “Is that why you’re goin’ on the plane—to see your dad?” Lana could only nod as Lilly continued. “I won’t see my daddy for another year, so you’re lucky. Say I love you to him when you get there, ‘kay? Daddies like that a lot.”

“Lilly?” A frantic call reached them from the corner. “Lilly where are you?”

“Oops, that’s momma. She’s not gonna be happy.” Lilly stood, her small form barely tall enough to see over the uncomfortable chairs of the airport. “Thanks for giving me my crayon back.”

Lana only managed a slight “You’re welcome” before Lillian Smith slipped back to the corner, where she gave up her wrapper less white crayon to soothe her screaming little brother. How she calmed her equally frantic mother, Lana never found out, as the family began boarding their plane not long afterward.

She had no problem sitting still after that, and the stares of passerby didn’t bother her. The floor was actually much more comfortable than the seats, she thought, and after sitting on it with Lilly, she didn’t want to leave.

Her flight left eventually, just like she knew that it would. All through the night, she planned on what she might say to her father when the time came. Would he understand that despite all their angry words and disagreements, he still meant the world to her?

And when she reached his room the next day without anything planned and her mind utterly blank, she thought of a little girl sitting in an airport—waiting for a father that might never come home.

She took her small friend’s advice.

“I love you daddy.”

He squeezed her hand.

"I love you too sweetheart."

When I was little my daddy taught me to love music. I used to fall asleep to a chorus of “I am a child of God” and wake up to “Popcorn Popping.” My Dad loves Janice Kapp Perry and we had C.D.s full of music that taught me all about how I was a daughter of God. Heavenly Father said that “the song of the righteous is a prayer unto [him]”. He knew that his little girl would need someone to teach her how to sing and develop her musical talents.

When I was little, my daddy called me princess. It was one of his favorite nicknames for me, and I remember that it always made me feel special. Heavenly Father knew that he needed someone that would teach his little girl about who she was. He needed her to know that she was royalty, and that she had a responsibility that came with that.

When I was little, my daddy read me books. I still remember him pointing to the pictures and not saying those words, so that I could fill them in, even though I couldn’t read yet. Sometimes I still sneak into my parent’s bedroom with my scriptures, and if I’m lucky…Dad won’t be quite asleep yet, and I can talk him into reading me a chapter of the Book of Mormon. There’s something about listening to my dad read the scriptures, almost like my Heavenly Father is speaking through him. Heavenly Father blessed his little girl with books to read, but he needed someone to help her because she wasn’t able to read them herself.

When I was little, my daddy taught me how to love. Every time that my dad talks about his family, I can hear in his voice and see in his eyes just how much he loves us. It is such a great example to me as to what I want in my family someday. Heavenly Father needed to have someone who could show his little girl how to love. He needed someone to teach her to appreciate all the people in her life.

When I was little, my daddy prayed with me. We would kneel on our prayer rug and say our prayers together as a family. It was in this setting that I learned to talk with God. Heavenly Father knew that he needed someone to teach his little girl how to talk to him. He needed to know that this person was going to set a good example, and lead his little girl up the right path.

When I was little, my daddy gave me blessings. There have been many times throughout my life when I have been sick, or scared, or even just nervous about an important test. Some of my most treasured memories have been of receiving blessings from my Dad. I’m so grateful that he has kept himself worthy to hold the priesthood and give that gift to his family. Heavenly Father knew that his little girl would need someone with the authority to give her a blessing. He wanted to make sure that she would be taken care of spiritually, and that someone would be able to do his will and give her a special gift from him.

When I was little, my daddy carried me on his shoulders. Sometimes I couldn’t see above the crowd, I was so little. Dad would hoist me onto his shoulders so that I could see above the commotion, but he always told me to hold on tight. In life today, I don’t always see everything clearly. With all the chaos in the world, at school, and among my peers, listening to my dad helps me to see above all the disorder of the world and take a step back. Heavenly Father knew that his little girl would need someone to help her see the truth through the shadows. He knew that he needed someone to teach his little girl that everything would be okay as long as she had faith in him.

When I was little, my daddy loved me. Heavenly Father knew that he needed someone to love his little girl. He needed someone special, who would teach her the gospel because he loved her; who would be a good example because he loved her; who would honor his covenants and be the very best that he could be because he loved this little girl.

And so, Heavenly Father found someone who could do all these things for his little girl. Someone who could teach her to love music, who could show her her individual worth, and read her books. Someone who could love her mother and family, pray with her, and give her blessings. Someone who could help her see above her circumstances.

Heavenly Father gave his little girl a great gift.

He gave her a father; and she couldn’t be any more grateful.

“You have freckles. I never noticed before.” Sam adjusted the strap across his shoulder and pulled out a newspaper, flinging it up to the front door across from him.

Julie tugged at her oversize sweater, glancing around anxiously at the mansions surrounding them. When she had signed up to do the paper route, she hadn’t expected to be in such a high-class neighborhood. “Yeah, so what? Why are you so interested all of a sudden?”

“I’m not.”

Her eyes narrowed, remembering the teasing that had gone on the night before. “Is it because of what happened at Jamie’s.”

“No. What is your problem today?” He looked over at her, squinting as the sunlight blinded him, peeking over the mountains. He shrugged and kept looking at her. “I just…I like them.”

Julie jammed her hands up under her arms, wishing she had brought gloves. “I don’t. They make no sense.”

“Why?” He threw another paper, sending it directly at the foot of the door.

“I live in Alaska; there is no sun.”

“What does that have to do with freckles?” Sam knew she was smart enough to know that freckles didn’t have to come from the sun. She was just arguing for the sake of it.

“Nevermind; you don’t get it.”

They lapsed into silence. At five o’clock in Anchorage, barely anyone was awake—and for good reason. Even though it was nearly April, Sam still saw his breath rise in clouds of mist. He could only imagine how Julie felt, with only her sweater and jeans.

“Julie?”

“Hmm?” Like him, her mind had drifted elsewhere. He wondered selfishly for a moment if her thoughts had stayed focused on him. But no; why would they?

“What’s your middle name?”

“What is this, Julianna Taylor: Life Story?”

“You guessed it, Fredword.”

She laughed, despite herself. “What the heck? Where’d you come up with Fredword, Einestine?”

“Einsteine? I call you Fredword and all you can come up with is Einst—OUCH!”

“Ooops, sorry.”

“Geez woman, you hit hard.” He rubbed his shoulder where her fist had connected. She was stronger than she looked.

“Sorry man, I didn’t mean to hurt you or anything.” He figured he probably deserved that, after pulling the woman card.

“Okay, now you’re being mean. The only way I can respond to this is the silent treatment.” Grinning slightly, he moved a couple paces forward.

“But Saaam…”

He threw another paper. They were getting toward the end of their route.

“Sam?” She caught up to him, tugging on his bag full of papers. “Sam! Guess what?”

When he felt his cell phone ringing, he nearly burst out laughing. It was perfect. Digging it out of his pocket, he pushed the green button. “What?”

“Ha, you talked.” He shook his head at her, gesturing to his phone. She glared, pulling up short.

“No, of course not Sheryl. Why would I be with anyone.” He listened as his sister rattled on, only half listening. He was too busy watching Julie’s retreating form as she trudged a mile back toward her house.

“Hey sis, I gotta go. I’ll call you later, ‘kay?” He snapped his phone shut and threw the last three papers, screwing up his nearly perfect record of doorstep delivery. Oh well, he’d only missed them by a few feet.

“Julie, wait up.” He took off down the street running, surprised at how out of shape the winter had made him.

“Julie I—"

“Shut-up Sam.”

She ignored him the rest of the way home, only glancing over once to check that he was still there.

“Bye Julie,” he walked her to the door of the white gate that lined her apartment building, “see you tomorrow?”

She nodded, slipping into the building without a word.

He smiled as he walked home. She was so stubborn. It was nice to see a girl stand up for herself for once.

She might have been stubborn, but that didn’t stop Julie from watching him as he walked away, staying at the window until his tall form was no longer visible against the light of the rising sun.

***

I sit beside her bed and wince as the bout of coughing shakes through her body. It sounds like they are ripping her apart from the inside. Short chestnut hair obscures her tattered face, and I knew that I should brush it away. I should be able to make that simple motion—show her I love her.

But I can’t. My hands refuse to move except to curl into fists. The hospital smells sterile, like alcohol. It's sort of an empty smell, like my heart. Not that I shouldn’t be in agony. After all, it is my fault that she's here, attached to at least 20 machines in a hospital 3 hours from home. My hands grip the wooden edges of the chair, and I sense, rather than see, the nurse enter to check her oxygen level.

Anna was slipping away, just as my little sister had. The night of the crash, God had taken my little sister Melanie. For once in my life, I don’t blame him, because the blame is entirely mine.

The nurse leaves and I try to talk. But it's too soon. So instead, I think about what I’d say to her if I could.

Please, don’t go.

Somewhere along the line, my thoughts turn to prayer—something I haven’t done in a long time.

Don’t take Anna.

My knees find the floor. I plead— my heart full of words that lips can’t understand.

If you have to take someone, take me.

Please.

The wound on my head begins throbbing again, and I can taste the salt in my mouth from the blood.

"Jason."

I look up, unbelieving. She can’t be awake; the doctor said that she wouldn’t wake up. "Jason, pray for me." Her hazel eyes meet mine, pleading. A thick lump rises in my throat.

"Anna," her name is less than a whisper on my lips. "I am."

She only nods, barely moving her head. I take her hand, and feel her consciousness slowly drifting away again. "I love you," she whispers.

Strength doesn't fill me. I don't have an overwhelming urge to stand. But something about this amazing women gives me the power to sit up a little straighter. My hands find hers and I hold on.

My voice cracks, and the prayer that escaps my mouth is by no means beautiful. I stutter and stop for a moment. Hours seemed to slip by and my voice finally grows hoarse.

By two o'clock the words enter back into my heart because no matter how hard I try, I can't speak. Darkness floods into the room, but the prayer never stops. Anna's lips twitch into a smile. Her dreams look peaceful, and I sigh, letting my head rest on the side of the bed, drifting slowly to sleep.

***

The dark night erupts around me in a flash of light. I throw my hands up and my head snaps back. Then, it's over. I hear little Mel in the back seat crying. For a moment, my eyes refuse to accept what I am seeing. They cloud, blurring the world.

I climb into the back seat, pulling my little sister's head into my lap. Her hand stretches up to mine, and I grasp it tightly. I stroke her hair, and watch as she leaves, returning to a happier place than this.

I awake as the men in white came to take Anna away. They tell me she has to go into surgery for any chance of survival. My eyes are heavy with tears that refuse to come. They wheel her across the room and out the door. I watch as her fingers slip through mine.

"Son," One of the men looks down at me. "It's time you go see a doctor too."

"I'm fine," my voice is flat, and my head pounds. The dried blood there feels matted.

He narrows his eyes. "I'm taking you to my office anyway."

I sigh, then follow him down the hallway.

When we reach his office, he points to a chair.

"Sit."

I sit down, running my fingers through my hair out of habit and wince immediately.

He notices, and comes over, lightly touching the black section of dried blood. My naturally light brown hair is filled with dirt, coloring it black.

The next hour is agonizing. My head stings as he cleans and stitches up the gash just above my ear. But eventually my eyes go blurry with exhaustion, and I'm forced to close them.

Two days later, I wake up.

***

The shades of gray around me are confusing. I look around, trying to figure out where I am, but things around me remain the same.

I rub my eyes. There's no difference.

"Jason?" My mom's voice comes from the right side of my bed. I see one of the shadows move, but am unable to focus on it.

So instead I listen to her tear strained voice.

"You're awake," she cries. "Oh David, come here. Jason's awake."

My dad's heavy footsteps come from down the hallway. I look through the door of my bedroom where another gray shadow has appeared.

He comes over beside my mother, next to my bed.

"Mom?" My voice is raspy. It hasn't been used in a while. "What happened to me?"

"You've been in and out of sleep for days. And—"

"Jason." My dad interrupted. "Can you see your mother?"

I stretch out my hand, touching where I guess my mom's face is. My fingertips rest on her cheek.

"No dad." My shoulders shake, but no tears escape from my sightless eyes. "I can't."

***

The doctors were right when they told my parents that I was blind. The combination of the accident, shock, and sleep deprivation has thrown me into an area of gray.

But mostly it was the accident. They’d said something about damaging my brain.

To me, it wasn’t as big a deal as they made it out to be. I may be blind, but Anna was lying comatose in the hospital. Maybe it just hasn't sunk in yet.

The one time I tried to go see her, they wouldn’t let me in. Her parents had specifically asked for my name to be removed from the visitors list. But from what I've heard, they're not pressing charges.

It isn't untill I hear their message on the answering machine that I understand why.

We've heard about Jason, and we're sorry to hear it. However, he has to realize that his actions effect other people, and as of right now, we aren't allowing him to visit Anna. Tell him that we love him, and this isn't permanant. We'll talk soon.

After that, I don’t leave the house. My mom is relieved that I'm finally awake, and my dad seems to be content to wallow in misery. The cause of his misery, of course, is me—again.

Everyone is hurting because of me: Dad, Mom, Anna. Little Mel is the worst of them all.

My little sister is to be put to rest in the little cemetery that we passed every day on our way to school. We had both loved that graveyard—it's beautiful in the fall. But I can't think of Mel without thinking of Anna. My Anna. Sometimes I think that she understands me better than my parents.

From the first day in tenth grade, she's seen straight through me.

"Could I sit here?"

I look up, planning on an awkward conversation about the dangers of sitting next to the local juvinile deliquent, but the girl was already sitting, nose buried in a book.

"Thanks."

The silence stretches through most of the lunch period, but I don't think she notices. I find myself watching her hazel eyes flash across the page. How can she even read that fast, anyway?

"You know I can see you watching me, right?"

I glance away and clear my throat. Was I really stupid enough to get caught staring? Wow. Okay, so now my only option was to talk to her and make up for it.

"So...what are you reading?"

She glances up, "Twilight."

I nearly choke, glancing down at the book in her hands. "Seriously?"

She laughs, shaking her head. "No."

"But then, why—" I trail off.

She finishes my thought for me. "—does the book cover say Twilight?"

I nod and she smiles.

"It's Harry Potter, but I put on the Twilight cover so that...certain people don't bug me, if you know what I mean." She glances over at a table full of guys three tables away. It's only then that I realize that she's pretty. It's not so obvious in her as it is in some girls, but it's there.

Ovbiously my lack of a response has made her uncomfortable, because she's got this funny half-smile on her face.

"Oh," My voice cracks, and I wince. So much for my bad-boy image. "So why'd you come sit by me then, if you're concerned about stuff like that?"

"You're different," she says. "I can tell you've got manners, though you try to hide it under that scowl."

I don't answer,and she goes back to her book.

But that smile stays on her face, like she knows that she's won.

She hasn't smiled in two days.

The surgery had gone as expected. What wasn't expected was her not waking up. She's in a coma now, her body rejecting almost all stimulation.

That was two lives that I've practically taken. My father's grief and my mother’s tears rest heavily on my shoulders. Paying with my eyesight isn't enough. I should have died.

It should have been me.

***

"But you've always wanted a dog." I hear mom pacing. Ever since the funeral, she'd been obsessively attending to my every need—even the imaginary ones. It bugs me, but I guess it's how she copes. I can't deprive her of that.

But really, this time she's gone too far.

"No, I don't want a dog." I conjure up what I think is a glare and aim it at the tail that is wagging somewhere in the corner. Why she's brought it home, I don't know. It must have cost so much, being a service dog and all. It's ridiculous. I can't do anything but walk him, and technically, he'd be walking me.

"And you could go back to school up at the college, just like before." She's come and sat down next to me on the bed.

"Why?" I try not to snap, but it comes out that way anyway. "What's the point?"

Her voice hardens. "The point is Jason Andrew Green," I feel her glare, "That you stop living in the dark reality that you've created to torture yourself. Go live your life. It's a gift that you've been given, and you're wasting it."

Wrong, I think to myself. Just as Mom spends all her time now caring for me, I spend all my time deep within the guilt laden recesses of my mind. I think of it as coping, dealing with the problem. Definitely not a waste of time.

Dad says it's survivor's guilt. No way. Anna's still alive, so technically we've both survived. Though I do admit that part of my sorrow is for my sister, and that hurt will never go away.

But who is my dad to talk? If anyone has survivor’s guilt, it's him. He spens his time looking at dusty photo albums. Trying to keep himself together by living in the memories of Melanie that are long gone. At least I live in the present—sort of.

My dad walkes past the door, the family photo album under his arm. "We're keeping the dog, Jason." His voice is firm and it says it all—no arguing.

"His name is Dioge," my mom says as she leaves. She sounds dsappointed. She probably thinks that I don't like the dog.

I flop back on the couch, hanging my arm over the edge. There's scuffling in the corner, and after a few minutes, I hear the patter of footsteps on the wooden floor. Something soft and wet licks my hand. The corners of my lips twitch, almost a smile.

"Hey boy." I whisper, rubbing the golden retriever's ears. His tail thumps the ground, and I smile again.

The school hallway is empty, except for the sound of my footsteps. I look around slowly, than continue down the hall—this time backwards. I bounce as I walk, and hold the note I'm delivering to Mr. Walters tightly to my chest.

Don't ask me why I'm this crazy; it's just how I am. Everyone does weird things.

Well—at least I do.

Woof, Woof

Was that a do—? My back hits something solid. I half turn, surprised to find two startling blue eyes next to mine.

"Sorry!" I grin and jump away from him, picking up the book I dropped. "Didn't mean to run into you."

He doesn't respond, but I hardly notice. What I do notice is the golden colored dog sitting at his feet.

"I'm Charlie," I say. Noticing the schedule in his hands, I tilt my head up to see his face.

See, I'm not that short, but this guy is tall. I mean, really tall.

"Are you new here?" I ask.

"Sort of." As he finally speaks, I noticed that there's something weird in the way his eyes focus on a spot on the wall, just above my head.

"Oh." I bounce up and down on the balls of my feet. "Can I help you find your next class?"

"Could you just tell me what it is?" He holds out a schedule. I take it, less confused now that I realize what the dog is for. I can even see the vest wrapped around the dog's torso. Red block letters run along it, spelling SERVICE DOG.

"You have Calc 2 upstairs with Professer Niltow. I can show you if you want." I wince at the poor word choice, but stick to my offer.

"No," he snaps. "I'm fine." Almost as an afterthought he adds, "Thanks."

"No problem." I smile and stop him as he starts walking away. "Sorry, but I didn't catch your name."

He turns back toward my voice. After a moment he replies. "Jason."

I watch him walk up the stairs. His pace is normal, even hurried. When he disappears, I walk away.

The next three periods I catch myself constantly thinking about the blind boy—and his golden dog.

I find a place before my parents know that I'm gone. Don't ask me why, I'm just tired. Tired of Dad's endless trip down memory lane; tired of Mom’s crying. I swear he sits in front of the fire for hours every day, flipping through old scrapbooks from when Mel was little. I wince. It hurts to even think her name.

That’s probably the reason why Mom cries so often. She can’t forget her daughter, and every memory that comes with Melanie in it makes her unhappy. I just can't live with it anymore. So I left them a note, and snuck out just after dinner.

I know that I'm not crazy. I didn't move out after high school because it was cheeper. I was headed to the college twenty minutes away. I had my motorcycle, my degree figured out, and my eyesight.

Life used to be so good.

Being blind means that I have to completely depend on Dioge. In case you hadn't guessed, people don't take you seriously when you're 20, even under normal circumstances.

Finally, after sleeping a few nights on a park bench, I find someone willing to take me in—Jonny, a boy that Anna used to know.

We were sort of friends, back before the crash. For some reason, his roommate just moved out and he has an open room in his apartment, and said that I could stay there as long as I paid half the rent.

I guess I'd better go find a job.

I haven't seen Jason since sophomore year. He and I were never good friends in high school. It was probably something to do with me being the nerd of the school, you know. Apparently he moved out of his parents house after the crash.

I don't blame him. With his little sister gone, it must be hard staying at home.

But what I do blame him for is that accident.

It's never been a secret that Jason's got problems. I told Anna from the beginning that he was a juvinile delinquent; she should've stayed away from him.

But would she listen? No, she took him on as her project. She told me not to bug her, that by the end of it, he would be an upstanding citizen.

She didn't plan on falling in love, that I know for a fact. And where has it gotten her?

He hasn't gone to see Anna in that hospital once. Not like me. It's nearing the one month mark, and she's still in a coma.

They say two months is the generally the point of no return. You really can't have a full recovery after that much time.

She only has four weeks left.

When my parents cal me, they're frantic. It's my dad who finally changes the subject from my departure.

"The doctor wants to see you, son."

"And?"

“Come with us to his office Jason; he said that he might be able to help you see again. He’s looked at your case extensively.”

“No thanks,” I say curtly. The doctors said before that it wasn’t fixable—end of story.

I hang up.

All that I can do is dream. There's a few voices, but other than that...it's blank. But I've been missing one voice, and as a result, my dreams bring it back to me. But I still miss him.

The list of names seems to float through one ear and out the other, and I notice Mrs. C glaring at us beneath her blue lined glasses, pairing us up with partners for our project.

“Lucy Harris, Naomi Crandle…”

My last name is McCarthy, and she doesn’t read my name until near the end.

“Anna McCarthy and Jason Green.” Somehow she manages to blow a two inch bubble in her gum before continuing with something less than enthusiasm. Not even the teachers have grown up at this high school.

My eyes flicker across the room to study Jason. I gasp slightly when his eyes met mine. But an instant later, his eyes are unfocused again, and he slumps farther down into his enormous sweater.

This dream is unlike any that I've had before. I recognise what is happening; it's a memory of mine. However, this isn't the Jason I remember and more than anything, I want to know what's up.

I don’t look at him again until we meet up with our partners the next hour, after lunch. All through my turkey sandwich, I think about the last time we talked, at the lunch table last week.

“Hey,” he leans up against the table just as the bell rings. 

In my dream, he's avoiding my eyes. There's a service dog sitting at his feet.

“Hi Jason.” I stuff the rest of the sandwich in my mouth. We aren’t supposed to have food in class.

He laughs. “Turkey?”

“Yeah,” I say after swallowing. “Um, if you don’t mind me asking…how did you know?”

My memories are morphing, turning into something that never happened. But for some odd reason, I feel a sense of truth. What is happening to me?

He smiled again. “Dioge’s freaking out. He loves turkey.” Sure enough, the golden retriever sits on the floor excitedly, his tail thumping the floor with a mild wallop.

“Oh.”

The silence isn’t uncomfortable, and it gives me a chance opportunity to study his face.

The memory is returning again, and I understand why it changed. This is my memory of Jason and I in high school—how we used to be. In this dream, I'm the same. I haven't changed. But this is the new Jason. He's different—colder.

 If I was being honest, I would say that he reminded me of me. He wouldn’t be described as attractive, necessarily, but there was something in his eyes and smile that radiated trust. I’d be willing to bet he used to have a witty sense of humor.

Not that you saw it often. The two smiles that he’d let cross his face this period were abnormal. He’d smiled more in the last five minutes than I’d seen for the weeks he’d been in school.

My heart pounds through my chest, and the expanse of white around me stretches for a moment. It's true that Jason didn't used to smile often, but when he smiled, it captured the entire world.

“So,” he begins, “Shakespeare—”

“Can we do Henry V?” I blurt. Blushing, I try to explain. “It’s just that the speech that he gives to his men is amazing.”

“What speech?” Jason asks, his thick eyebrows knitting together.

“You don’t know?” I ask, surprised. It's only one of the most popular speeches of all time.

He shakes his head. “Oh, it’s amazing.” I exclaim. “King Henry was leading his people,the English army, against the French, and they were outnumbered at least 10 to 1. He knew that there was no way they would win unless they had the right spirit.” As I explain, my hands came up to talk with me, adding emphasis to my explanation. “So he gave a speech—an incredible speech. He basically says that years from now, people who see the soldiers’ scars will wish that they had been there. That together, they were a band of brothers.

“It really did happen, except we don’t know what was actually said. So Shakespeare gave it words and added meaning to it. Those poor men were all in it together, and it went from being impossible to probable.”

I don’t know if I should admit to it, but my next words seem to slip out of my mouth. “Whenever I hear it actually acted out, I can’t help but cry.”

He pauses for a moment, then speaks. “I think that one will be perfect.”

There is one thing that I have learned from this dream, and it breaks my heart.

Jason's blind.

And he's hurting.

And though I can't be with him, I hope he feels me. I hope he remembers what it is that he's fighting for.