Arrogant

"He's such a prick."
"Yeah, no kidding, who does he think he is anyway?"
"Hey girls, what are you talking about?"
Brittany's two friends looked up at her with scowls as she approached with her lunch. Fortunately for her, the scowls were not directed at her.
"The next 'big thing'," Bridget said using air quotes and rolling her eyes.
"Have you heard about this guy Brady Rodgers?" Tiffany asked.
Brittany shook her head of straight, long blonde hair as she sat down and picked up her fork.
"He's oh so famous," Bridget exclaimed, leaning forward and batting her eyelashes in mock admiration, letting her red curls fall over her green eyes.
Brittany just shrugged and forked a piece of broccoli from her salad.
"He was on some reality show the half of the world without a brain watches," dark-haired Tiffany explained more helpfully. "Apparently he just launched his debut album and is breaking sales records for a new artist."
"He shouldn't even count as a new artist," Bridget protested as she picked at he French fries. "Technically, he's been performing for like six months now."
"Oh aren't you the fan," Tiffany teased as she took a bit of a raw carrot, and then in the midst of her chewing, "You been following him since day one, huh?"
"Eww, no, gross," Bridget insisted, perhaps a bit too quickly.
Brittany smiled just a little at that. "Oh come on," she said calmly, "he can't be that bad."
"Oh yes he is!" the other two insisted in unison.
...

A Bad Day

This morning I took a cold shower before eating my least favorite breakfast of apple cinnamon pop-tarts. I rode the bus to work and noticed a stain on my suit. When I was getting off the bus, the latch on my brief case broke and all my papers fell out. When I got to work, my boss called me into his office to tell me he could not give me a Christmas bonus this year. The computer program I needed to enter data wouldn't work, so I had to find another computer to use. I ate lunch alone in the cafeteria. I spilled milk on my pants and had to go into the bathroom to clean it up as best as I could. When I went back to work, people kept interrupting me. I had to work late to make up for the time I lost. I missed the bus I planned to take and had to walk an extra half mile to catch another one. When I got home, I noticed that a hinge on my door was coming loose. I had to look up what bus would take me to the store so I could buy a screwdriver so I could fix the hinge on my door. After I got back from the store, I reheated leftovers for dinner, and tried to watch TV, but the reception from my antenna was bad and I could barely see the picture. After I finished eating, I decided to read a rather dry book about succeeding in an office instead. I had no pets to feed, no wife to talk to, and no children to play with. I had no hot water, limited options for entertainment, and my fridge was not fully stocked. I went to bed under a pile of blankets because I don't turn my heater on above 60 degrees. I fell asleep thinking about how I would wake up the next day and do this all over again. There was a smile on my face.

Two months ago, I had no shower, or any water, at all. I did not know what I was going to eat for breakfast each day, or if I would be able to eat at all. I had no money to pay for bus fair, and no job I would take the bus to. I carried all my belongings in a backpack, and business papers were not among them. I had no income, yet alone thoughts of a Christmas bonus. I owned no computer and barely even knew how to use one. Lunch was the same as breakfast: uncertain. I did not have the option of sitting in a peaceful, quite corner of a heated cafeteria, enjoying my hot lunch. I had no suit to get stained or to spill milk on. I had no co-workers to stop by and ask me how I was doing and offer to help. I did not have the option to stay late at the office, finishing up work and enjoying the warmth of the building. I did not have money to pay for any bus ride home, all I could do was wander for miles and miles, or try to find a warm place to sleep for the night. Most nights, I could find dinner at a soup kitchen, but there was no door of my own to fix, no TV of my own to watch, and no books to read. My bed was a box spring mattress with one blanket the nights I slept at the shelter, and a park bench with a blanket of newspapers the nights I did not. Every night, I went to bed with a frown and a tear, dreading to wake up the next day and do it all over again. Every day back then was a bad day. Today, on the other hand, was a very, very good day.

All I Want

People run after so many things in life: love, career, fitness. Me, all I want is pancakes: light, buttery, fluffy, and covered in syrup. Most scoff at me when I tell them that my goal in life is to have pancakes for breakfast at least four days a week, but you try to make the effort to do that yourself and see who's scoffing then. For the past year, I have never once gone more than two days without eating pancakes.

Pancakes remind me of home, and of my mommy. She makes the best buttermilk pancakes. She would put real blueberries in them, too. I usually settle for blueberry syrup, which isn't nearly as good, but still gets the job done. Most days I do make the pancakes myself, just like my mommy taught me, but going to a breakfast place like Village Inn or Denny's is acceptable, as long as you go for breakfast time.

When I eat pancakes, I feel years younger. I don't care about boys or shopping. I just care about being happy, and pancakes make me happy. Other people tell me it's stupid. They tease me a lot. But I don't really care because I have my pancakes. Yum!

Maybe someday, I'll "grow up." Maybe I'll have a great job where I make a real difference in society and make lots of money. Maybe I'll find a nice boy and fall in love and raise a family of my own. One thing I know for sure: if I ever have a daughter, I will teach her how to make pancakes, and all my children will always have their stomachs full of light, fluffy, buttery goodness, covered in maple syrup. Sure, I'll teach them to read and write and do arithmetic, too, but above all, I want them to be as happy as I am right now, and for that, there's really only one thing they'll need: pancakes.

The Other Side

When I look at her, it breaks my heart, knowing how much I care for her and how little she cares for me. She appreciates me, I know. Well, maybe not me, but at at least all I have to give her. What makes me saddest of all was that she might have even grown to love me, had she not met the one she truly loves.

I am not a young man, but that doesn't mean I no longer have feelings. We speak very little of our past, but I was in love, truly in love, once upon a time. I know what it feels like and looks like and sounds like. What I have for her is different, and what she has for me is no where close. My first and only true love was taken from me two decades ago, but that's a tale for another time.

Oh, if only she could have us both! I know in my heart that they would be happy together, at least for a little while, but she did marry me for my money after all. Would she grow to despise him if he took all this away from her and gave her only his heart? Would it be so wrong if I kept her on like this and turned a blind eye to whatever affairs may come? Though it is not love we have for one another, it is still a kind of comfort, at least for me. Am I so selfish to not want to part with her?

And yet, somehow, deep inside, I do care for her and know she cannot be happy like this. Do I care enough to let her free? I'm lonely. She was a companion to me in my loneliness for a short while, and though her touch comforts me still, I know she feels distant and lost. Is the only way to not lose her entirely to give her up?

Surely I can find another like her. To me, she is not unique. To him, she is. I know what love is: a person who might seem ordinary to anyone else is extraordinary to you. That's the way they see one another. I can sense their passion, no matter how hard they try to hide it. I am not a fool, though they think me to be.

Am I just being selfish? If I know all this, why does it still pain me so to let her go? I should be glad to be rid of her, to let her go on her way, to the one who truly loves her, to have for myself another chance to find a love like the fleeting love I once felt. Why do I hesitate? Am I so self-serving?

I always thought myself a good man, a kind man, a noble man. I treat others fairly both in business and in my personal life. Perhaps I am just angry, angry that she said the vows without really meaning them. Well, she meant them at the time, but I have no doubt that she wishes now that she had never said them. And, now, knowing their hearts to be so pure, it is only I who have the power to let them be together.

Is that what this is about? Is it all about the power? Is it only my need to feel vital that is keeping them apart? I would like to think better of myself, but maybe it is so. I'd like to tell myself that I keep them apart for their own good, that no matter how much they love each other now, it will only lead to pain. I know that pain all too well, but death took my love from me and nothing else. I could never imagine leaving one I truly loved of my own free will.

If I could say I truly loved her, that could be my reason to holding on so dearly. But on the other hand, if I truly loved her, wouldn't I want her to be with the one who could truly make her happy?

All this talk of selfishness and love and pity and poverty is meaningless. All that really matters is that I do what I know to be right. And that is the problem; I do not know what to be right. I have never broken any vow that I can think of. Even if I break my vows to her out of regard for her own well-being, does that make it right?

I am a soul tormented. They see love, and I see it so clearly in them. Yet which is greater, the love they feel to one another, or the promise she and I made? If I were ready to depart this world, I would gladly free her of her bondage, but I am not ready. I am healthy and strong, no matter what others may think, and I know I have decades ahead of me still. Would she be willing to wait that long for him? Would he wait that long for her?

They could never have children if I make her wait like that. She would be far too old by the time they could wed. I can't think about that anyway. It is far too morbid for me to think of what might happen after I die. I need to focus on now, on my own life, and on hers. She is my wife, after all, I am to put her needs above my own. Does that mean breaking my vows for her sake? I do not know.

It would all be so simple if I weren't such an honorable man, or she weren't such an honorable lady, or he weren't so loyal. There would be no trouble if we did not care about causing trouble. But we all care too much, and that's the heart of it all.

Every night I pray that I might see a way to do what is right and best for us all, but I do not think it is possible. Perhaps the only way is for me to disappear. Perhaps not die, I still am not ready for that, but to appear to be dead. A trip from which I never return... how long would she wait for me before she would feel it was okay to move on. Would she wait forever? Would I be doing more harm than good?

I am tired of thinking about it. I am not as young as I used to be, and I need to go to bed. Maybe if I die tonight, it would be a blessing after all. I do not want it, but it would be better for her. Is this what a marriage not built on love is always like?

On Love

She married him when she was 27, having given up on any hope of finding a love of her own. He was kind and gentle and, above all else, the richest man ever to show an interest in her. She figured that if she couldn't have love, money was the next best thing. He wasn't even that old, only 30 years her senior. All this was before she met me.

How I wish he had brought her home first. How I wish I had been allowed to see her before their return from their honeymoon. If only he hadn't been so insistent, perhaps we would have found one another. But even then, would she have left all he could give her in order to be with me? Considering how I have to still the look in her eyes that says she contemplates doing that very thing even now, I think the answer must be yes.

How no one could have loved her before, I will never understand. She is the most beautiful, pure-hearted woman I have ever met. Of course, I am around fellow wait staff and the rich and snobby all day, but still. Her smile melts my heart, and thinking that she cannot be mine boils my blood.

I knew the moment I saw her that I would love her, even before I knew her name. At first I had hoped beyond hope that she was some secret, long-lost daughter; though I knew the master to be marrying a woman half his age, I could not but hope that this was not she. As I grew to knew her and saw the looks of hopeful despair she gave me, I hated her for a moment. I hated her for marrying him before we had a chance to meet. I hated her for meeting me at all. I too had all but given up on love, but at least I had not done something so foolish as marrying one I knew I could never love, only for his money.

But my anger lasted only briefly. Her husband was away often on business, and with me as the head tender of the house, we had many opportunities to speak. She was an artist of sorts, and I noticed how much more intense her paintings became as we spent time together. Before, she had been mediocre at best. As we talked and laughed and cried together, I saw the emotions come out in her work. We never confessed to our feelings for one another, at least not for the longest time. In word, we were only friends, for the longest time.

The day I saw the painting was when that changed. Not just another painting, THE painting. It was the most beautiful but tragic thing I had ever seen. She must not have realized I was standing there watching her strokes because when I said, "That's beautiful," she turned in surprise. Her brush stroke swept across the canvas, destroying a piece of the beauty I had been admiring. She burst into tears, but I could tell she was not angry at me. "It can never be beautiful," she sobbed. I could think of nothing to do but step forward and place my hand on her shoulder and whisper, "It has always been beautiful, and always will be." She knew I was no longer talking about her painting.

After that day, things got very awkward. It was more than just words we exchanged in that moment, but kisses as well. She had spun around and kissed me passionately, forgetting both her painting and her husband. After what seemed both forever and not nearly long enough, I pushed her away. Before I could think of what to say, she said it for me. "We can't do this."

And so it stood. "We can't do this." She was married. Legally bound to a man who ought to be her father. Who ought to be walking her down the aisle and giving her away to me. In another lifetime, in a more just world... What broke my heart was that I made her even sadder than she had ever been before. If she had been able to live her whole life truly believing it was the best life she could have, at least she could have been happy, but now she knew there was something better.

What could I do? I contemplated leaving, but she would still know I existed. I contemplated killing myself, but I feared she would only follow me into the darkness. I contemplated killing her husband, but I was too noble to steal her from him, yet alone to steal his life. The best idea I could come up with was to find some way to make him leave her, but why would he ever do that? She was perfect. And besides, I could never do that on my own; I would need her help, and separating her from her husband was the one thing I could never bring myself to discuss with her, either before or after our moment.

In time, we forced ourselves to forget our encounter, or at least to push it to the back of our minds. In time, we grew cordial again, went back to being friends. Her husband never even noticed, probably never even realized we were as friendly as we were. It would have been so easy to have a true affair, to embrace again, and do more. He would never know the difference, I suspected. The only fear was that another of the staff would tell him, but clearly no one had told him what had happened thus far, and I had my own private quarters, being head of the household keeping. We would be completely alone and no one would know.

It would be so easy, and yet it would be wrong. We both knew it. Both of us were duty bound. Both were honorable and true. The very values that held us together and drew us to one another were the only thing keeping us apart. Neither of us would ever truly love ourselves or the other if we gave up on those principals, but as long as we held to them, we could never truly love each other either.

So my best bet seemed to be to make her stop loving me. I still spoke to her, was friendly and kind, so that she would not realized anything was wrong, but I said little things that I knew she would not like, tiny things that I knew her well enough to see would get on her nerves. I also left many things unsaid. No matter how beautiful her paintings were, I never commented on them again.

I don't know if it worked, but she seems to have lost at least some interest. She no longer asks me the hard, deep questions, no longer wants to know more about my past or my family. She doesn't smile as brightly at me, though the smile is not completely lost. I see now that maybe I could find another, one who is not attached to someone, especially the man I serve.

I sometimes wish I served a less faithful and noble man. If he would just cheat on her it would be so easy. I have thought before of hiring a new maid, beautiful and young, just to tempt him. But we already have other attractive women in the house, though none as beautiful as she. Of course, if he weren't so faithful and good, she never would have consented to marry him and we still would never have met. Why couldn't she plan ahead, marry a scoundrel just in case she were still to meet the man of her dreams? Simple. As I said before, our values drew us together and our values keep us apart. She would not marry and I would not serve any less than the dutiful husband and man that prevents us from being together.

I've said all there is to say. My thoughts only run in circles now. She knows I love her, no matter how convincing my act may be, and I know she still loves me, no matter how convincing hers. The only thing to do is to suffer unless, perhaps by some miracle, fate may bring us together still. I lost faith before, as did she, but I refuse to give up entirely again. Will love find a way? I cannot say. All I can say on love is that if you haven't found it yet, don't settle for less. You never know what may happen, and if you settle, fate can be a cruel mistress.

Magic

When I was a young girl, thousands of years ago, I used to believe in magic. I used to look at the world around me in awe and wonder, all the beautiful things, and think there must be some force behind them. I used to look at the stars and wonder what they could possibly be but magic dust. But science ruined all that for me. Everything has an explanation, and everything is known. Even the most common simple people of the day know that stars aren't magic. There is no magic anywhere.

I used to live next door to a boy who I thought was magical. He was beautiful and pure like no other child I had ever known. Somewhere in the back of my head, I thought he was going to be the one to save the world. He died when he was 17.

When I was young, I used to dream of a perfect world, where no one suffered or died. I've seen too many in agony and had to bury too many of my friends to believe that's even possible.

The life I've led has been an agony, not a blessing, not magical. I just want to end it, but I can't. There is no magic in that. If I had known this was all the "magic" there was, I never would have taken it. To live "happily ever after" is a lie. It's all just "ever after" for me. Ever after my prince was taken from me. Ever after the toad stayed a toad. Ever after the pumpkin was baked into a pie and the sword from the stone rusted away into nothingness. I've seen more of that "magic" than I ever wish to see. I would have never taken this deal if I had known this was the way it would be.

Some might say I've lived to see wonders some could never dream of. When I was a hundred or even two hundred years old, I might have felt that way, but not now. All the things that were wonders then are simple things now. Humanity progresses, but there is no wonder in it. It's just natural. What would be magical would be if we didn't keep learning new things, and yet still make the same old mistakes.

Some people think that there were dragons around when I was born. There were never dragons, and even if there had been, they would not have been magical. I can create a small lizard that breaths out fire myself. I have all the time in the world to figure it out. It does not impress me.

Music, dance, art, they are all meaningless. Magical to some, but not to me. I understand why you think of them as you do. I used to, too, once upon a time. Those days are long gone. Buried a hundred times, as I myself should have been. If anyone ever offers you magic, turn them away. Run as fast as you can. Dive off the nearest cliff if you have to. Magic is worthless. It's something everyone thinks they want, but can never truly have.

I've had my magic, and I'm done with it. I just want it all to be done. I don't even have any wisdom to impart. My years of study have been in vane. I've learned nothing that shouldn't already be obvious. Everything is known already. There is no magic.

Famous

I will never be famous. But it is my pleasure to help others rise to fame. They are smart, talented, funny, kind; and I help them get the love and respect they deserve. I am a publicist, and a good one too. I help them rise to be the stars they should be. They are the stars and they deserve it. They deserve it. They deserve it...

Oh crap, who am I kidding? I know the kinds of people from whom I work. Everything you ever thought to be wrong with stars? Yeah, it's true. Every day I deal with the most inept people it's ever been my displeasure to know. Sure, they have to be talented at something to make it this far, but for most, their talent is just being load and obnoxious. That's how they get heard. Or maybe daddy was a star and bought their stardom with his billions of dollars. Whatever the case may be, these people are the most ungrateful, selfish, and stupid people I have ever met.

Sure, maybe once upon a time, there as real talent in the world. I can't imagine that people like Frank Sinatra or John Wayne ever acted like this. Maybe there are even some "good" people out there today who have risen to stardom. I can think of dozens that must be better than the lot I've put in with. At least, I hope for the sake of all the other publicists that they are.

I guess my problem is that I am too good at what I do. None of my clients really deserve stardom. In all honesty, that's probably why they come to me to begin with. I can make just about anyone into a star, except myself. I just don't have the quality it takes to stand in the starlight. Call it talent or class or bitchiness. Whatever it is, I don't have it, but they do, and I know how to draw it out so much that no one even notices what's really there... which at best is nothing and at worst is a wretched human being.

Maybe I'm just jaded, watching all these other undeserving slobs rise to power while I work my butt of covering up their mistakes. Every single one I work for is not even a tenth of the angel they seem to be. Maybe all the others that don't work under me really are the same... if their publicists are even half as good as I am.

I don't know what makes them all such whiny brats. The upbringing, I guess. Most of them have celebrity parents, or at least friends. They weaseled their way into stardom. Not a one of them earned it. Not like me. I earned this miserable job all by myself.

I used to think I would do great things with my life. Before I got this job, I thought this would be doing "great things with my life." Boy was I wrong. I hate getting up every morning, but I get paid well and there is no one better than me. I can take any negative comment made by one of my nitwits and spin it into something positive. That is, if a negative comment from them even gets out to begin with. Any dumb or insensitive thing one of them says to the public is a failure on my part. I tolerate very few failures. In fact, if you consider how often the idiots open their mouths and how often something inappropriate actually gets out, my success rate is about 99.999%.

In all fairness though, they really aren't that bad. They have good hearts, after all. They don't complain too much when I encourage them to publicly support charities. Some of them are even willing to show up at the charity events themselves. Mostly it's because they want the publicity (which, let's be honest, is obviously why I have them do it to begin with), but at least it's a start. Maybe there is hope after all.

I should have been the famous one, though, if only I were good at something other than making other people look good. If I had just one other talent, I could be my own publicist and be the most well-liked celebrity in the world. I wouldn't need a sane person to tell me not to say this or do that. I have common sense, so I would already know these things. Sometimes I just want to scream at my clients, "why don't you already know these things?"

But that's not fair. Maybe they really don't. Maybe that's just what happens when you come from a celebrity home. Sigh. Oh well. One of them is screaming for me so I'd better go. I wonder what mess they need me to help them out of this time.

Gone

Nothing ever seems to last.

When I was young, I used to love the snow. Every white flake that fell was the hope of a day off school, a day spent making snowmen and snow angels and sipping hot cocoa in front of the fake fireplace. When I was really young, I didn't even realize it was fake.

Now that I am grown, I dread the winter. I hate having to shovel the snow from my driveway, and I hate it even more when the snow melts and leaves pools of mud and sludge behind. Most of all, though, I had that now when I try to sit in front of the fake fireplace sipping hot cocoa, I'm reminded of how things used to be.

Nothing ever lasts. I know I was happy once, I just can't remember how everything got so messed up. When I was young, I had my parents and my brother and sister to keep me company. When I was in high school, I had boyfriends from time to time and close girlfriends that would chat with me for hours about nothing and everything. What happened to all those people?

My family lives a thousand miles away now, and my best friend from high school is dead. All my other friends are scattered. I haven't talked to them in years. Most people would just make new friends, but I've seen enough people come and go that I don't know what the point is. All that's left behind is a pool of sludge.

Everything was so beautiful to me one, well, many times. The first time I went to daycare, the first time I had a pet, the first time I kissed a boy, the first time I fell in love. The thing about the first time is that it can never happen again. All those moments were beautiful, like the first drop of snow falling from the heavens, but they can't last forever. The moments build up over time but then slowly, one by one, they melt away.

The problem with kids today is they don't even seem to savor the moments they have. They don't realize that when they turn into me one day, those moments will be all they have. I know the moments cause me pain, but I wouldn't even know what beauty was, or be able to occasionally hope to find it again, if I didn't have those moments.

Last week we had the first big snowfall of the year and a little boy, maybe 13 or 14 years old, came to my door asking if he could shovel my driveway. I just stared at him for a moment and then said, "Absolutely not. That's my job. You go and play."

I'm sure he thought I was being very rude, just continuing on my status as the grumpy old woman who lives down the road. He didn't understand that I was doing him a favor. Worrying and fretting about cleaning things up is the work of adults. Children need to enjoy life while they still can because they don't realize it, but all too soon it will be melted away. Gone.

I'm not really a depressed person. I had a nice house and I'm on the third pet dog of my lifetime. I take pleasure in the work I do, and I have nice acquaintances, and even go on a date from time to time, but nothing will ever be like things used to be. I've graduated from snowflakes to mud puddles. They aren't pretty, but they're what I've got and I learn to deal with them and make the most of things. Maybe someday those will be gone too, and what will take their place? Nothing? Is that really better than mud? I don't think so. Even mud can be sculpted into something, if not beautiful, then at least interesting. You just have to try hard enough, and do what you can before it's gone.

Simple

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess who lived in a castle in a far off land. She was engaged to be married to a handsome prince, but a simple servant in the castle was secretly madly in love with her. One day, just weeks before the wedding, the servant could take it no more. He went to the apothecary and bought some poison for killing weeds, but slipped it into the prince's drink intending to kill the prince instead. As the prince and princess prepared to eat dinner together that night, the servant waited expectantly, anxious to sweep in and comfort the princess in the moment of sorrow. What he did not count on, however, was the prince offering his own drink to the princess. The servant's eyes widened in horror as he watched the prince offer the goblet across the table to his beloved. Just as her lips were about to touch its gold brim, the servant jumped out from his hiding place and shouted at them to halt. The prince turned in surprise, pulling the cup away from the lips of his betrothed. The servant hastily explained that he had seen a cloaked man sneaking out of the cellar where the wine was stored and feared that what the princess was about to drink was poisoned. The prince eyed the servant suspiciously as he told this tale and then asked why the servant come sooner to warn the prince and princess, or wait for someone to come get the wine from the cellar and warn them, if this was the case? Thinking quickly, the servant explained that he followed the cloaked man out to the castle gates and did not realize what he might have done until he watched him exit the castle and slip a small vial into his pocket. The prince still seemed skeptical, but the princess was in tears at this point, wondering how much of the wine may have been contaminated. The prince suggested that they test the wine out on the very servant who had warned them about it. The servant was about to protest when the princess shook her head and suggested they try it out on some mice instead. When they did so, much to the servant's surprise, no harm came to the mice. The prince laughed at the servant, drained the rest of the wine glass, and walked away. The princess, still too shaken to eat, thanked the servant meekly, and wandered back to her chambers for the night. The next morning, a great commotion spread about the castle. The prince who was set to marry the princess in just a few weeks was found dead in his chambers with a butcher's knife in his chest. The princess immediately jumped upon the story of the cloaked figure the servant had told, and insisted that whoever had tried to poison the wine had failed and resorted to a more gruesome method instead. The servant upheld his story, and a search was made throughout all the land for a bandit fitting the description the servant had given. The princess, meanwhile, wailed in grief night and day until one day, a suspect was found and brought before her father, the king. The suspect was very suspicious looking and everyone was sure he had done the terrible deed, especially the servant who had made up the whole thing. And so, the evildoer was locked away in the dungeon to await an execution three days hence. The princess, in her grief, went down to speak to the man who she believed had murdered her beloved, begging to know why he had done what he did, and only receiving back insistence that he hadn't. She cried and pleaded with him long into the night, and he could think of no way to respond but to explain to her exactly what he was and what he did and what he had been doing the night her beloved was murdered. Slowly, she came to believe him, whether because she was exhausted or because his words actually made sense, but by morning, she was convinced this man was guilty of nothing. She even went so far as to insist that her father set him free, but he told her it would look very unkingly of him to do such a thing after the man had been convicted. The servant heard of this and sought out the princess to try to comfort her, but she would have none of it. The servant, after all, was the one who had convinced her that this terrible man needed to die. And then it dawned on her, the servant had lied. The man in the dungeon was not the one who had killed her prince, the servant standing before her had. She was so shocked she spouted the accusation at him immediately and he was so shocked he jumped upon her and began to strangle her. Just as she started to lose consciousness, he suddenly realized what he was doing to the woman he loved. He released her and fled, but did not get far before the palace guards caught him. The next day, the one before the other man was to be killed, the servant stood trial before the king. The princess, who had recovered from the lack of oxygen the servant had forced upon her the day before, was even more insistent now that she had been with the false criminal, and so the king decided to overturn his previous verdict as long as there was another man to hang in the former murderer's place. And so it came to pass that the servant was marched down to the dungeon to take the place of the man he had accused just days ago. As they traded places, the former killer leaned in and whispered something in the servants ear. The servant lit up in rage and jumped toward the mysterious man, but the man just laughed to himself as the guards pulled the servant away. The servant sat alone in his cell awaiting the next day, which would be his last, and knowing he could do nothing. In spite of what the man he had made up just whispered to him, there was nothing he could do now, except... The servant called for the guard and put in a final request: a glass of wine, the very specific wine that the prince and princess had for dinner the night the prince was murdered. The guard laughed in his face. The guard just laughed at him. Prisoners would not be granted such a request ever. Besides, that wine was being held by the princess specifically in honor of her fallen prince. The servant, knowing he was defeated, resigned himself to the gallows, where he was hanged and died the very next day. The princess, meanwhile, spent more and more time with the mystery man who had been cleared of her prince's murder. In time, she came to love this man even more than she had loved her prince, until, finally, she decided she must marry this man, simple as he was, and be happy with him forever. And so they were wed, and on their wedding night, the princess revealed a very special bottle of wine: the wine she had not yet tasted with her former, now dead, beloved. She poured a glass for her new husband and one for herself, and after offering a short and sincere toast, drank from her glass and immediately fell dead. Her new husband allowed himself only a moment of true emotion, and then immediately threw his wine glass against the wall and called for the guards. His show of distress was so convincing, no one suspected him at all, for he was a master deceiver, prepared now to take over the kingdom. He was so convincing, the servant himself had not even realized until the end that he really had seen this devious man in the castle the day the prince fell dead. The servant had inadvertently stopped this monster of a man for a while by adding just the right poison needed to counter act the poison this man himself had added to the wine, but the villain knew he would not have to wait forever to get what he wanted. And it, in fact, was even better this way, for not only did he get to murder the prince and princess as he had intended, but he also had the kingdom for himself. It was a good day to be him, and all the better because a foolish servant had fallen for a beautiful princess and tried to murder the man she once loved.

What Love Is

I knew he loved me; deep in my heart I just knew it. He was always kind and affectionate and thought of me above himself. That's why it hurt so bad when he did what he did.

I never even saw it coming, but in retrospect, I should have. Leading up to it, he had seemed a little less happy and a little more distant than usual. But considering how happy and open he usually is, it just seemed a little more, well, frankly, a little more normal. I don't want to sound mean-spirited, but sometimes he was just a little too much for me. I was almost glad he had backed off a little, until I discovered the real reason for it.

I hated her from the moment I saw her. Even apart from the fact that I first saw her in his arms, I could tell she was a vial creature. At first, I was sure that she had tricked him somehow. There is no way he would knowingly do what I saw them doing. But after a few minutes I knew there could be no doubt. He immediately let go of her, pushed her aside even, once he realized I was there watching, but it was too late, the damage was done.

I suppose in some sense, I never truly loved him, but he was so good to me. How could I let that go? If he hadn't betrayed me like he did, we would have been together forever.

-------------

I loved her so much, some days so badly it physically hurt, but what hurt most of all was knowing that she would never love me. She tried, put on a good show, but every time she tried to say the words I could tell they were forced and awkward. The problem was, I was good to her, probably the best man she'd ever been with, and she couldn't bring herself to let that go over a silly little thing like not actually loving me.

The problem really was, she was too good herself. Even if she had realized there were plenty of other good men out there, she had committed to being with me, and would never betray that unless something terrible happened. And so, something terrible had to happen.

Natalie was a coworker. She was single, decently smart, and attractive enough to make it believable. At first, she wanted nothing to do with it, said I should just talk to the woman I loved, make her understand my feelings and what I knew of hers, or just give her more time for the love to bloom, but I knew these things would never work. Somehow, I just knew. Eventually, I convinced Natalie to go along with my plan.

When she saw us, she was more hurt than she had probably ever been in her life, but I knew it was for her own good. I saw men all around me every day that I knew she would love more than me. Heck, I had even introduced her to a few of them myself, but I knew she was too good to leave me for someone I had caused her to meet, until now at least. Now the whole world was open to her. I loved her so much, and I had wished with all my heart for such a long time that she would love me, but since she can't, I want her to find someone she can love.

-------------

When I saw the tears in her eyes, I knew she really loved him, even if he didn't think she did, even if she didn't know it herself. No one can cry like that and not feel something for the person they're crying over. If she really didn't love him, part of her would be relieved at this gracious out, but maybe she really doesn't get it.

Our show was so obvious I was almost surprised she even fell for it. I've been held by men who cared for me and held by men who don't, but James not only wasn't attracted to me, it was so obvious he was attracted to someone else, someone he knew was watching. He kept glancing at her, but she didn't even notice. He had such a hard time kissing me, I wasn't even sure he could go through with it.

Even though they love each other and should be together, they'll get over it, they'll both find someone else. But why should they? The problem they have is that they don't feel love the same way. They both love each other, but one is a uproar of passion and one is a gentle whisper. Their problem is that the shout was drowning out the whisper to point where the whisper itself didn't even know it was there.

I want to say something, now that I've seen, now that I really understand, but I promised I wouldn't. Even as I look at James, I know he'd hate me if I did, and he still wouldn't realize just how much she loves him, because she doesn't even realize it herself. Maybe in time they'll come to really understand like only an outsider can. Maybe not.

I've played my part in this vial deed, and vial it has been. I never should have stepped onto this stage, but what's done is done. Maybe one day they'll understand what love really is, but for now, all I can hope for is that they'll be happier than they were before.

Faith

I close my eyes and can't see anything, but somehow I know it's still there.

When I fall, I don't know if you'll catch me, but I know you'll help me get back up.

You've always believed in something, whether you admit it or not. Even if you say you don't believe in anything, that is your faith: faith that there is nothing more.
When you were little, you probably believed in Santa or the tooth fairy or the Easter bunny. Maybe you still do... maybe you still believe in the joy and anticipation and comfort those things bring, and maybe to you that makes them worth believing in, even if your brain tells you there is nothing there.

She used to believe, but then she stopped. It wasn't really a choice she made, it just happened. Now she'd like to choose to believe again, but she's not sure that she can.

Is God just a way to explain what we don't understand? Is God really that far beyond our grasp? Is He more than a concept or a dream or, for some, a nightmare?

He knows they exist. But how can they know of him?

"Now faith is being sure of what we hope for, and certain of what we do not see." (Hebrews 11:1)

If I'm not always sure, can I still have faith? What is faith if there isn't doubt to go up against it?

Though faith may be focused on what we cannot see, it need not, even should not, be without evidence. I believe because of what I have seen and heard and thought about and experienced. Evidence does not defeat faith. Faith loves evidence, but faith will never have proof, for then it becomes fact.

If you have been there for me every time in the past, does that mean you will be there for me in the future? My faith, based on the evidence, says you will, but that cannot be proven until the future has come and gone.

She does not know what faith is. She does not know what hope is. She does not know what love is. She fears she is alone.

Faith can be optimistic, pessimistic, realistic. Faith can be all you have, or faith can mean nothing at all. Faith can be pursued and strengthened, but not forced. Faith is sometimes logical and sometimes illogical. Sometimes it makes sense, and sometimes it doesn't. Faith is like life. Faith is life.

How would we be different if we didn't have faith? Would we make assumptions about the future at all?

What do you believe?

In Another Life

Weary and tired, the man treks home from another long day of work.
He forces a smile as his daughter runs to meet him, and holds the look of contentment for his wife standing in the doorway.
He opens the door to his dark and lonely apartment, flips on the light switch, and tosses his keys onto the table.
The smell of meatloaf fills the air. His wife is a decent cook, even when she cooks things that aren't his favorites. They are trying to instill a love of good home cooking in their daughter. Otherwise, he's not even sure why she still enjoys making this dish.
He goes to the freezer and pulls out one of the dozen TV dinners stored there. He glances at it and notices it is meatloaf. Not one of his favorites, he's not even sure why he bought. Maybe it was because she used to love to make it.
They sit at the table together, the happy little family. His wife looks exhausted. He wonders if she's as worn out as she is. Considering how hard she works all day, he knows it isn't fair to think this, but he can't help but think that she isn't as pretty as she used to be.
He turns on the TV and sits at the couch with his dinner and a beer in hand. He is just in time for a women's shampoo commercial. The woman on the screen has long, flowing strands of gold running down her back, not unlike the woman he could have married, if he had chosen to.
They read their daughter a story, tuck her in, and collapse into their own bed exhausted. After a few seconds, he turns to his wife, but realizes she is already snoring, sound asleep. It's okay, he thinks, I wasn't really in the mood tonight anyway.
He crawls into bed alone after reading a bit of Newsweek. He looks around the bedroom for a moment before flicking off the light. It's so empty, and so dull.
As he drifts off to sleep, he realizes he has no one to talk to anymore. All he really wants is someone with whom to share his hopes and dreams, but he no longer has any such a person, and most of his hopes and dreams are gone by now anyway.
Another day dawns, bright and cheery, more cheery than it has a right to.
The man meets his wife and daughter for breakfast. His smile is a little more genuine now as the smell of eggs and bacon reach his nose, and his wife has managed to clean herself up rather nicely, too. Still, he remembers with some nostalgia how they used to clean themselves up together.
The man pours himself a bowl of cereal, flicks on the morning news and opens the morning newspaper. He eats his cheerios and sips his coffee. That was one thing she never liked was coffee. If nothing else, at least he gets to drink it as much as he wants now, which most days is probably more than he should.
After breakfast and quick kisses for his wife and daughter, he rushes off to work, trying to make himself eager for another hard day at the office. At least the pay is good. He needs that to support his family.
He gets in his car and drives to work. At least he can find some enjoyment in what he does for a living, which he'd better considering how little he gets paid, but that's the trade off you have to make. At least he doesn't have a wife and family he needs to support on his marginal paycheck.
His boss greets him grumpily and tells him to get to work.
His boss greets him with an empty smile. The man knows that the man he takes orders from is lonely, too.
The morning is long, lunch is brief, and the afternoon is even longer. As usual, no one seems to appreciate him, and he simply submits to what his superiors tell him to do. He can't wait to get home, even that makes him feel less empty than he does here.
He wishes he could spend more time at work than he already does. At least then he wouldn't be alone. Even though he doesn't get along perfectly with everyone he works with, having someone there to argue with is better than having no one at all.
Weary and tired, the man treks home from another long day of work.
He forces a smile as his daughter runs to meet him, and holds the look of contentment for his wife standing in the doorway.
He opens the door to his dark and lonely apartment, flips on the light switch, and tosses his keys onto the table.
They sit and eat. It's lasagna this time. The mans mood brightens. Lasagna is one of his favorites, even if his wife isn't as good at making it as his mother used to be.
He decides to order in Chinese tonight and watch a movie. It's a western, staring Clint Eastwood, one of his favorites.
After dinner, his daughter wants to play a game with him. He is content enough as he sits there playing Memory with her. Even if he doesn't feel as close to his wife as he used to, at least he gets to help with the raising of this beautiful little girl.
As he watches the television, memories come rushing back and he can barely keep a tear from falling down his face. He didn't realize it before, but this was the very first western he ever watched with her. She was never as big of a fan of westerns as he was, but she feigned a deep interest in this one, just to make him happy. How he missed her.
It's not until it's bedtime for his daughter that he realizes that it's a Friday night. When is the last time he's done something special with his wife on a Friday night?
It's not until the movie is over that he realizes it's a Friday night. When is the last time he's gone out on a Friday night?
"Honey," he says after they close the door on the daughter drifting off to sleep. "We should do something tonight."
He really feels like he should do something tonight.
"Oh don't be silly," she says. "We have to say and watch our daughter."
There's no reason why he shouldn't go out tonight. He stands up and turns off the TV.
"We don't have to go out," he protests. "We could just stay here, have a quiet little evening."
He walks to the closet and gets his jacket.
She sighs and rubs her forehead. "I'm sorry, sweetie," she says, "but I'm much too tired for one of your 'quiet little evenings' tonight. Maybe another time."
He grabs his keys and opens the front door.
He frowns. "You're always too tired," he says. "I just want to spend more time with you, to be close again."
He locks the door behind him.
She frowns and shakes her head. "I know," she says, "just not tonight. Why don't you call up some of your friends and see if they'll meet you at that old bar you used to go to if you really want to do something."
He walks down the steps to the lot where he keeps his jeep.
Strangely hurt and upset, he says a bit louder than intended, "Well maybe I will." With that he marches off to the garage and jumps into the minivan.
And then he speeds away.
He's not sure what draws him to the bar he chooses, maybe it's because this is where they first met.
He walks in and looks around, not much has changed in the year or so since he was last here.
He does see one thing different, though, a pretty blonde girl sitting in a corner booth.
He stares for a while until she looks up at him. Embarrassed, he has no choice but to walk over.
"I'm sorry," he says as he approaches, "you just looked so much like a woman I once knew, from a distance."
"I'm sorry," he says as he approaches, "you look strangely like my wife from a distance."
She smiles up at him. "Why don't you have a seat and tell me about her," she suggests.
"So are you married?" she asks rather bluntly.
"So you're married," she says, stating the obvious.
Nervous he glances around at the other bar patrons and says, "No."
Starting to feel uncomfortable he toys with his wedding band and says, "Yes. Seven years. We have a four year old daughter."
"So this woman you thought I was, you were never... serious with her?"
"So why are you hear talking to a woman who looks like your wife instead of home with your wife and child?"
He's feeling rather embarrassed now, but strangely moved to be open.
"I was serious with her," he confesses. "I could have married her, but I didn't."
"I just don't feel like it's home there anymore."
"Why not?"
"I didn't have enough to offer her. I was scared. I wasn't ready for that big of a commitment."
"She doesn't offer me what I want anymore. I'm scared we're losing each other. It all just seems like such a big commitment."
He pauses, still not sure why he feels compelled to be so open for his woman he just sat down across from.
"Well, it is a big commitment," she replied matter-of-factly.
He says nothing.
"Why are you here?" she asks.
"I don't know," he answers, honestly.
"What are you looking for?" she pushes.
He looks up into her eyes. They are even the same color as those of the woman he once loved so dearly and now he fears he has lost forever. He says, "Something better than what I have."
She glances up at the ceiling as if thinking for a few seconds and then looks back at him and asks, "Something better, or just something different?"
The question takes him off guard, and he doesn't know what to say.
"Are you happy with your family, or at least with your little girl?" she asks.
"Are you happy with your work, what you do when you aren't mopping around bars?" she asks.
"Yes," he answers, a bit shocked at the question, but also more surprised at his answer than he should have been.
"Then why do you want something different?" she asked.
He stopped to think for a moment. "I want more," he said quietly, ashamed and feeling greedy.
She shrugged and then smiled sweetly. "Who doesn't?" she asked.
And then it hit him: this woman was exactly what he had been looking for.
Not sure how to proceed, he just sat there staring at her until she said, "Let me buy you a drink."
Hit by the sudden realization that this could be his second chance, he blurted, "Let me buy you a drink."
"O-okay," he stammered nervously.
"Fine," she said with a confident nod.
"Rum and coke," he said.
"Rum and coke," she said.
"That's my favorite drink."
She came back with the drinks and sat down.
He came back with the drinks and sat down.
"What do you think is going to happen tonight?" she asked.
"Nothing is going to happen," he said quickly. "I'm married."
He couldn't help but smile. "I have no idea," he said.
"You're only sitting here at all because I reminded you of her," she said.
"And you're not her," he agreed sadly with her unspoken thought.
"Do you wish I was?" she asked.
He took a sip of his drink and then said, "I don't know."
"Yes, of course you do," she replied, and she took a sip of her own drink, waiting for his response.
"I used to love her so much," he confessed, "but now it's just a memory."
She leaned back and folded her arms across her chest. "You shouldn't be here right now," she said as if she understood it all. "You should be with her."
"I can always be with her," he protested quickly, surprising himself. "Well, at least in the same room with her. That's about all being with her means anymore."
"I can never be with her," he protested quickly, disheartening himself. "I blew my one chance. Plus, I don't even know where she is anymore."
"I think you could fix that if you really wanted to," she noted.
"What are you saying?" he protested, starting to feel angry. "You don't even know me."
She shrugged. "I think I know enough," she said.
He felt his frustration rising now. He had thought this woman had really understood, but now she pretended to understand too much. "I think I should go now," he said.
"No, not yet," she protested. "Not quite yet." And she reached across the table and touched his arm.
With that one touch, all his anger faded. It was just what her touch used to feel like, so long ago.
"After you leave here tonight," she said, "what are you going to do?"
"I don't know," he answered, awestruck at her beauty all over again.
"Here," she said, as she slid around the booth to sit next to him, "I think I can help you figure it out."
And she kissed him softly on the cheek.
And she kissed him long and hard on the lips.
Started even by the brief contact, he jumped up and stared at her in horror.
Started but pleased by the passion of her embrace, he slowly pulled away.
He realized in an instant that this woman was not her.
"I need to get home to my wife," he exclaimed.
"I need to find her," he said almost in a whisper.
The woman smiled. "I know," she said.
The man rushed home.
He practically ran into his bedroom.
He ran to his address book.
She was still awake.
Her old number was still in it.
How he hoped that she would talk to him.
How he hoped that she would answer the phone.
"Hello, baby," he said.
He waited forever as the phone rang and then a tired but familiar voice said, "Hello?"
She looked up at him and he saw tears in her eyes.
"It's me," he said simply, hoping she would know.
"Where have you been?" she asked.
"Why are you calling me?" she asked.
"It doesn't matter," he said. "I need to be with you now."
"I've been such a fool all these years," he said. "Can I see you tonight?"
She started to cry.
She opened her arms and got up from the bed. "I'm so sorry I've been so cranky and distant," she sobbed.
"I'm sorry," she said, "but I don't think that's going to work."
"No, no," he protested. "I've taken you for granted." He welcomed her into his embrace.
"Why not?" he asked.
She cried against his shoulder. "I love you," she sobbed.
"It's been eight years," she said, sounding tired. "What made you decide to call me up again now?"
"I love you, too," he whispered into her ear.
"I realized I never stopped loving you," he replied.
She pulled back just enough to bring her lips up to his.
There was silence on the other end of the line for what seemed like an eternity.
They stayed wrapped in that warm embrace for what may have seemed an eternity.
Finally, he said, "I want to get back what we used to have."
She was quiet for another moment and then she said softly, "I'd like that, too."
"Can we meet tomorrow then?" he asked. "Around ten, for coffee?"
"Come on, he said, pulling on her hand, let's go to bed and in the morning I can make you a nice fresh pot of coffee."
She sighed heavily.
She practically giggled.
"You know I hate coffee."
"I guess we're just going to have to get to know each other all over again," he said.
She thought for a moment and then said softly, "Okay."
And with a click, he turned out the lights, smiled, and went to bed with his wife.
And with a click, he hung up the phone, smiled, and went to bed dreaming of the woman who might still one day be his wife.

Terrible Person

"What makes you a terrible person?" Ashley wondered as she looked out the window at the shiny red car pulling out of the driveway for the last time.
For the last eighteen years, she had simply tolerated him, and now that she had as good as told him so, and had to watch in agony as he left her, she wondered if maybe she had come to love him after all.
"I never wanted to be a part of his life to begin with," she though, "it just happened... because it had to. He needed me so much more than I ever needed him."
Ashley sighed and turned away. He was gone now, likely never to return, no matter what she might say to him to try to make him come back. Did she even want him to come back? All these years, she had been just waiting, longing to be free, and now she was. This was what she wanted, to be alone. But then why did it hurt more now than it ever had when he was around?
They had come such a long way in eighteen years. At the beginning he had just been a frustration. She had never been able to understand what he was trying to tell her and instead tried to focus on how cute he was, something she never found endearing to begin with. By the end, they could actually have intelligent conversations, and it was almost as if he really did have something to offer her. But then she went and ruined it all by kicking him out. Well, not kicking him out exactly, but by telling him that she was ready to see him go, to move on to another stage of her life.
It was the worst thing she could have ever said, even if it was the truth. She really was a terrible person. How could you tell someone you had devoted eighteen years of your life to at least pretending to love that you were ready to see them go? Only the lowest of the low would say such a thing.
She allowed another tear to slide down her face as she collapsed onto the couch and stared at the flat screen TV he had bought her for her birthday earlier this year. She had wondered at the time if the gift was underhanded, indicating that she cared more about watching the TV than she did about spending time with him, but it didn't take long for her to decide that wasn't the case. As frustrating as he could be, there wasn't a cruel bone in his body. Quite surprising considering she seemed to be made of nothing but cruelty, but maybe things just happen that way sometimes, fate puts together a cruel person and a kind person so the cruel could learn from the kind.
But what had she learned from him? Absolutely nothing. All these years, he had loved her unconditionally, and what had she done? Tolerated him. She had made time for him, sure. Any relationship requires that you spend at least some time with the other person in it. But really, she had put minimal effort into the whole thing. It was no wonder he had seemed as anxious to go as she had thought she was to see him leave.
He had always loved her, but for the past few years, it hadn't been the same as before. He had started to grow distant, spending late nights out with his friends, forcing her to wait up wondering if he was going to get drunk and force her to bail him out of jail. But she always ended up giving up on the worrying. He was a good man. He would never do something crazy and inappropriate. He was faithful to his ideals, whatever they were and wherever he had gotten them.
She let out a sigh and closed her eyes as she remembered the first time they had come face to face. She was worn out, exhausted, and she had to admit, he had been beautiful. At first, she had no regrets, but that soon changed after she was reminded that he was a total pain, needing constant attention and reassurances of her affection. "Why hadn't I just given him up when she had the chance?" she often wondered late at night when he would scream at her for no apparent reason. But yet, occasionally, there were times, like right now, when she almost thought she loved him...
Her reminiscing was interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell. She gasped as she opened her eyes. For once, she didn't mind the silence was being broken. The truth washed over her as she realized that she hoped with all her being that it would be him standing at the door.
She jumped up, ran to the window, and when she saw his car returned to the driveway a smile washed over her face. She didn't take the time to comprehend that love really was the thing filling her with joy. She rushed to the door and threw it open.
There he was, standing there with his long legs, broad shoulders, and perfect brown eyes. He opened his mouth, but didn't know what to say. "I... I..." he stuttered.
She let the tears flow freely now. There was no point in hiding it any longer. She had been denying it to herself for eighteen years, but it was useless now. She loved him. She knew it, and she wanted him to know it. "I'm so sorry, baby," she blurted out. "I love you, I really do. I take it all back. Come here, just give me a hug."
He seemed to hesitate at first, but then he allowed himself a tiny smile and a lonely tear trickled down his face. He let himself be swept up into her open arms. "I love you, too, Mom," he whispered, just loud enough that she could hear him.
And so Ashley held her son, forgetting everything else, even trying to forget what a terrible person she had been, letting the realization that the last eighteen years had truly been wonderful and not a waste sweep over her.

Crash

He had heard it said that when you are about to die, your life flashes before your eyes. Fragments of your past come before you and dance like long forgotten dreams, taunting you as you remember all the things you will miss about living. He saw and felt none of this, however. All he saw was the future: the mountain straight ahead of him. All he felt was alone, or at least, almost alone.

He could feel the heat from the fire rising closer to him. He wasn't sure what would make the plane's engine just explode like that, but it apparently was possible. He wondered if anyone who found the wreckage would be able to figure it out. With a sigh he simply shook his head. If he had learned one thing from this whole ordeal, it was that things often did not make any sense.

He glanced over at the pilot seat, to the unconscious man sitting beside him. The passenger almost felt sorry for that man. "The one thing that all binds us together is death," he thought, "and this man will never get to experience what that really feels like. He will just open his eyes in a few moments and be somewhere else, and who knows if he will ever really understand what happened."

As for the passenger himself, he knew exactly what was about to happen, and was sure that the act of it happening would not make him forget. He stared ahead again, at the tree topped mountain which was even more rapidly approaching. He knew enough about airplanes that if he really wanted to, he might be able to make some attempt to save them, but he knew, deep in his heart, that all that would do was delay the inevitable. He was going to die no matter what he did, and not just sometime in the future, he was going to die today, in the next few moments.

The man did not want to waste those moments trying to save himself. He wanted to savor them, not by dwelling on the past or on what the future could have been, but on the present, on this very moment. It really was a beautiful view. He had been in airplanes many times before, but never had he felt so high and yet so low. He felt like he could reach out and touch the trees, and yet they seemed a million miles away.

"Oh well," he thought with a slight smile, "I'll be right in the thick of them soon enough," and he almost, almost laughed to himself.

As his smile continued to grow he closed his eyes, breathed in the smoke from the burning engine, which was strangely relaxing, and waited for what was to come. He was not afraid. He knew what was coming. After all, his entire life had led him to this moment, this beautiful, perfect, regret-free moment.

And now, the memories tried to come, but he blocked them out. He didn't want them to come. He had had his entire life to think about them. He didn't want to waste more time on them now. He folded his hands over his chest, let the rest of his body to go limp, and waited for the crash that he knew was to come any second.

On Target

We work at the same store, in the same job of cashier, just lanes apart, and yet we are so different.

As for me, I do my job: nothing more and nothing less. I am the model employee. You, on the other hand, are something I hate. You are a dreamer.

I see you during the lulls in the crowds, sighing and staring up at the ceiling, seeming like you want to be somewhere else. Well, I want to be somewhere else too, but you don't see me just standing there thinking about it. I do my job. Sometimes you're so lost in your thoughts you don't even notice a customer standing there impatiently waiting to be rung up. It's a wonder you haven't been fired yet.

And it's a good thing you aren't fired. Barely managing to get a high school diploma and dropping out of community college after two weeks doesn't get a person very far. I don't even know what you think you'd do, but you think there is something else you'd rather be doing. How do you think that's even possible? How are you going to make a difference, change the world, do something exciting if you couldn't even stick around for community college. Sure, high school is enough for some people, but those people have no right to be dreamers.

Sometimes you even feel compelled to share your fantasies with me, as if I care. I guess I'm just a pretty face to look at while you drone on, because you can't possibly think I believe in you. Surely you can tell my smile is forced and notice when I wince in pain at the sound of your optimistic voice. Half the time I don't even know what the hell you're talking about, speaking of cures for this and hope for these people and preserving that. Why do you even bother? Someone might solve these problems or accomplish these feats, but I'd bet my life it isn't going to be you. No matter how much time you spend dreaming, you aren't going to spending any time becoming anything. In fact, the more time you spend dreaming, the less time you have to even do anything remotely related to accomplishing the things you say you are going to.

If I cared about you even remotely, I'd tell you to be more like me. Focused on the day to day and on doing your freaking job. Stop fooling yourself and just live with what's been given to you. If you could do more, fine, but you can't. You are incapable of being any more that a simple check out girl and a hopeless, senseless dreamer. If I cared enough, I would tell you these things, but I don't. The most I might ever do is tell you to leave me the heck alone.

I suppose I don't even tell you that because you're the closest thing I have to a friend, even though you do annoy the crap out of me. Even though I can't wait to go home every day and get away from you, I still don't want you to think I'm a bitch, which I'm sure you would if I told you what I really think, even though you're much too pure-minded to actually use such a word. If nothing else your day-dreaming ineptitude makes me look better. I'm sure you'll never get a raise. I've already gotten two in the seven years I've been working here.

Now don't get me wrong, I have a few dreams myself, but I don't clutter the work day with them, and I don't make them unattainable. Owning a pet that doesn't annoy the crap out of me: that's one of my dreams. Working at a higher class establishment than the crap hole that currently employees us, maybe something like a JC Penny, that's another dream, something I might actually accomplish if I work on my people skills a little. But come to think of it, it's not really worth it. You really don't have to be that polite to work these check out lines. People who come here are basically trash anyway. Maybe that's why they keep you on: you fit in with the crowds.

So go ahead, keep on dreaming, and see if I care. One day you'll realize what a fool you'll being. And when your poor little heart that longs for something more but can't get your brain to do anything about it finally gives way, I'll go to you're funeral and I'll laugh a sad laugh because in spite of all of this, I know that you could have at least a slightly better life than you do now if you'd just stop dreaming about a much better life that will never come to be.

Success

Emilia blinked once, twice, and then a third time, just to make sure she was really seeing what she thought she was seeing. Once her little eyes and tiny five-year-old hands confirmed it to be true, she let out a squeal of happiness and her short, blond girls began to merrily bounce up and down. Her lips spread into a smile of glee and she clapped her palms together in joy. It may not have seemed like much to anyone else, but to this girl, to this blissful, mesmerized girl, it was her life's first major success.

"Mommie, mommie, come see," the little girl cried out, rushing to the desk where her light-haired mother sat, pouring over legal briefs. "Come see what I did."

"Not now sweetie," the woman responded, shooing her away with the pen she held in her left hand, not even bothering to glance away from her work. "Mommy is busy."

The small, round girl opened her mouth to protest, but stopped before any words could escape. Even for one so young, she knew when she wasn't wanted, and this particular little girl got this particular feeling around her mother all too often. She stuck out her lip in a pouty manner she knew her mother wouldn't see and turned and walked away.

"Just give mommy a few more minutes," the woman mumbled.

But her daughter was already gone, silvery tears sliding silently down her cheeks as she crept into her large but lonely bedroom. All the joy in the world meant nothing to this poor little rich girl if her mother didn't care to share it with her.