THEIR STORY’S

SIX SIDES OF FICTION

BY
IAN DJOKARSO
 Contents
PREFACE

CHAPTER 1 DANGERS IN THE DARK

CHAPTER 2 LOST IN THE STARLIGHT

CHAPTER 3 LITTLE MARY

CHAPTER 4 VALHOLL

CHAPTER 5 CROSSROADS

CHAPTER 6 YOU & I

Preface
 1- DANGERS IN THE DARK

When I was young I didn’t like the dark.

The dark was scary. The dark held all the things unknown to mankind.
Anything could be creeping and crawling in the dark, like unseen brothers and sisters
hiding behind doorways trying to scare you, or unseen monsters, quietly waiting under
beds for a foot to brush by.
That is why I always made sure to sleep under a blanket, covering my whole body like
I was in a cocoon because I thought the monsters couldn't see me and snatch me if I
did.
But then one day an older “friend” of mine told me the monsters do see you when
you’re under the blankets, “that they're just playing with their food”. “They could eat
you or take you whenever they wanted to, they just didn't for whatever reason”
I didn’t know what to do after I found this out. I was obviously still skeptical
because I did this every night for many years and nothing happened to me, I must’ve
been doing something right. So I wondered if my monsters ever got hungry. Or if they
were even there in the first place. Even though I did not take my older friend's words
to heart they still lingered in the back of my mind. Maybe he was right all along. So, I
thought and thought, scouring my little brain to find a solution to my problem. Even if
they weren’t really there, the thought of if they were, always overcame me. The
solution I came to was to sleep with a nightlight. The monster couldn’t live in a room
with light “They’d die there” I thought. I didn't understand why or how (maybe
because it was too hot. It was always cold in my room). So ever since that day, I
started sleeping with a nightlight on. I did this until I was 10, that’s when I stopped
believing in magical monsters in the dark and found out my “friend” was a real
asshole, so I stopped talking to him.
Later in life, I learned that the dark was where you told scary stories. I did not like
scary stories. Especially when they were good ones. The bad ones didn’t affect me,
they didn't make me feel anything because they didn't feel real. But the good ones
made me think, think so hard that when I went to sleep my thoughts became real, and
I started feeling like I was young again and scared of monsters. The stories that got me
the most were of killer dolls and shambling corpses.
They attacked me in my dreams, and I barely dreamt, only happening when I
thought too hard about something or when I was really tired.
I was an imaginative child growing up. After watching or hearing something that I
found scary my mind would wander and place myself in that situation. I always
dreaded going to sleep after those times because I knew what awaited me when I
closed my eyes and drifted off.
Good scary stories always made me think too hard, a good example being that:
My father and I would sometimes play games together. He had just got this new one,
and it was about shambling corpses but I did not know that at the time. It started off
with a girl and her father. It was his birthday so she got him a watch and later fell
asleep on his lap because it was late. Her slumber did not last long and her father
seemingly was missing, so she wandered her house looking for him. She would find
him, hastefully closing a glass door, and as soon as he saw her began to ask her if she
was alright.
Seconds later the glass door would shatter and in the house thrashed a man that surely
wasn't alive.
The father begged him not to take a step closer to him but the man did so the father
shot him twice.
I do not think I had seen something like that before. And don't think I fully understood
what was happening. But I did understand it enough to care, to feel what they were
feeling and when the girl was in the back of her father's truck, crawling around the
backseats I felt like I was her. I was scared like she was even though I did know it was
all fake. So I went into our bedroom to hide, but I was greeted by darkness and vividly
remember crying and my mother hosting me up and consoling me. I was young,
maybe 7, maybe 8 years old at the time. This memory would never leave me, even this
long into my life I still remember how I felt.
 2- LOST IN THE STARLIGHT

A solar storm is a disturbance on the Sun, which can emanate outward across the
heliosphere, affecting the entire Solar System, including Earth and its magnetosphere,
and is the cause of space weather in the short-term with long-term patterns
comprising space climate

In the distant year 2059, humanity became space-varying, colonizing planets and
living amongst the stars. Shuttle 2.0.0.1, was a cargo ship traveling from Mars to
Earth on a routine supply deposit of minerals and precious metals that were collected
from the red planet. This mischien
“Your name’s Anny right? I had a quick question about your research. What did you
find down there that’s so important that you need to go back to earth? Is it Martion
related? God, I hope it’s Martian related”
“We don’t know yet” Anny bluntly responded.
“Get the hint, the kid doesn't want to talk to you, Reese. She doesn’t want to hear
about your Martian conspiracy theories”
“Aren’t you supposed to be in the manteness bay, Hal?” Carol asked, chiming in
“Ship seems fine to me? Hey Shepard, she’s flying okay right!”
“As okay as always” Shepard overlayed on the intercom
“I am curious tho, what did they find in those mines?”
“Just some old fossils. We couldn't identify them on Mars so we’re gonna take them
back to Earth for further research”
“So it could be Martio–”
“Don’t start, Reese.”
“Just because I’m interested in alien life doesn’t mean you have to shut me down
when I bring it up”
Maybe you can tell her in the morning, but it’s getting late. you all should be getting
some rest, I know I will be, we’ve got a long week ahead of us” Shepard overlays
“He’s right, pack it up you two, she needs her sleep” Carol ordered
As they slept in their perfectly conditioned pods. The sun’s plasma boils
 3 - LITTLE MARY

On my little sister’s sixth birthday, our mother got her a doll named Little Mary. Little
Mary wore blue overalls, had blood-red hair, a stitched-on smile, and saw-through
buttoned-up eyes. Little Mary was small, but despite her stature, I was always
unsettled by her.
My sister and I always agreed on things. I was a year older than her, but we would
rarely bicker, as most siblings do. Although we shared the same favorite foods,
cartoons, and family members, Mary divided us.
I never trusted her, but she loved her.
What unsettled me most about Mary was that she would stare. Every chance she got to
stare, she did. Like at the dinner table while I was enjoying my meal, when I was
playing outside in our garden, or on family visits to our grandparents. She was always
watching me.
Mary was like a child that a mother left at a door. No other doll before or since
replicated what Mary made me feel. That was because I knew where all the other dolls
came from. But I never knew Mary’s past before she invaded my home.
I did not want to feel this way. I knew she was just a doll, but I never confronted her
because of the small chance that maybe she wasn’t.
I thought she was like a stray cat no one wanted, and our mother came across her at
a yard sale and thought my sister would like her, which she did. Maybe they sold her
off because she unsettled them, too.
My mother would sometimes leave me home alone when she or my little sister needed
something from the store and I didn’t want to go with them. My mother trusted me
when I was home alone. I knew not to play with fire or mess with anything toxic that
could kill me.
One day, while my mother and sister were off to the store, they had forgotten to
bring Little Mary, who always travelled everywhere with my sister.
They left her at home with me. When I realised I wasn’t home alone, I ran into my
room and locked the door, only leaving when a faint feeling of curiosity came over
me, wanting to know what she was up to. She was sitting in front of the TV, watching
the news in a rocking chair meant for my grandfather when he would visit.
Not wanting her to notice me spying on her, I crept back into my room and sought
solace in sleep, far away from the waking world.
When I slept, I rarely dreamt, but when I did, they were vivid and felt real, like I
was really doing those fantastical things and living in those imaginary situations.
In pleasant dreams where I could fly, mimicking the heroes I saw on television, or on
peaceful adventures in magical forests without any scary creatures, only the nice ones.
But in the nightmares, I felt weak. Whatever was against me always won because I
couldn’t fight back or escape. It didn’t matter how far I ran.
I woke up from my slumber with a headache, and as I sat up to get out of bed, I saw
Mary sitting at the end of the bed, staring at me. I jumped, my eyes widened, and I let
out a small shriek as I saw her. When I blinked, she was gone. My room was darker
than usual, and as I looked around, I noticed that the door was smaller. It was a
slightly bigger doggy door, and it had replaced the bigger one. I sprung out of bed and
walked over to it. I pushed the door open, and it creaked like it was very old, then I
crawled into it. It was like crawling through a glass tunnel, and on the other side of the
glass were hundreds of fireflies lighting the darkness. The firefly tunnel led me to a
forest, where the trees were covered in fireflies of varying colors. I saw a small table
and stools set up with teapots and glasses atop it. I sat in one of the small chairs and
looked around. When I looked back at the chair opposite me, I saw Mary.
“Care for some tea?” she innocently asked me
“Where am I? How can you speak?” I wondered out loud.
“We are where you feel most comfortable. I can only speak when we’re here. I
invited you because I wanted to ask you something very important to me.”
She paused before asking me“Why do you hate me?”
“Hate you? I don’t hate you.”
“Then why don’t you ever play with me as your sister does?”
“You stare at me too much, and only girls play with girls' dolls.”
“ I’m sorry if that unsettles you. I cannot help it. I cannot express myself in the
waking world as I can here”
“You should drink your tea before it gets cold. Don’t worry it isn’t too hot, it’s just
warm enough.”
I took a sip and right away I knew she was right. The tea was perfectly warm and
tasted of strawberry’s
“Your sister is lovely, by the way, I hope that we get to know each other more as time
goes on.”
“I could say the same thing about you.”
“There is something I have always wanted to know. Where did my mother find you?”
“She found me at a yard sale. The family before yours sold me off because I
frightened one of their children. I was afraid that would happen again with you. I
didn’t understand why the child was afraid of me. Maybe it was because of the same
reason you were.”
“I like it here. It’s quaint and quiet, not like my former home. I hope I’ll be able to
stay for as long as. I hope that when you wake you understand that I have no ill will
toward you and that I mean you no harm. I’m sorry that I made you believe so, those
were not my intentions.”
“I’ve enjoyed our little chat, but I think your time here is up. I just heard mothers car
park in the driveway.”
“Goodbye then”
She waved, and I crawled back through the door.
I got out of bed and went to see Mary, still sitting in my grandfather’s chair watching
TV.
“Do you like tv?”
“Yes, I mostly watch the news. I know you don’t much like the news,” I said,
mimicking the way I thought she would sound.
My mother opened the front door and my little sister ran into the house and hugged
Little Mary. While my sister hugged her, Mary looked back at me with her buttoned
eyes and stitched smile, and I smiled.
On a visit to my mother’s house, now an adult, after we finished reminiscing about
the old days, I searched through the dusty boxes that filled our attic and found
something that I hadn’t seen since I left.
Mary
I asked my mother if I could take her home with me
“Of course, Cara can have that old thing. I bet she’d like it,” my mother answered.
I sat Mary in the passenger seat and put on her seatbelt for her.
“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”
Mary nodded, and we rode home.
 4- VALLHÖL

Thorir, the Wardog; son of King Einar and brother to Halldór The Hammer, was the
newly crowned king of Heimaey, a village on an isle of Iceland. His father; King
Einar met his end when an arrow flew into his throat. His killer was a man named
Fredrik; the son of King Eric; who ruled a kingdom in Sweden. Fredrik was an
explorer who was on a journey to find new land and trade routes when he drifted to
the isle. He and his forty men quickly set up camp once they discovered the new land,
patiently awaiting to explore it once sunrise came. As they slept, patrollers saw the
foreigner's camp and mistook their flags and banners as Dannish. When sunrise fell
upon the land the Swedes were attacked and swiftly defeated. The few men that
slipped away from the bloodshed, including Fredrik, retreated back to their boats and
sailed back to Sweden. Tho the raiders defeated the so-called invaders they had lost
their king to a rough arrow. With his last breath, while gargling his own blood he
reminded both his sons of the oath they had vowed when they were young. “Thou
must avenge me or forever live in shame, disgraced and tarnished” uttered King Einar
before he fell

Tomorrow, as the day shifted to dusk, the newly crowned King Thorir informed his
brother of his plan to defend their home
“I have sent scouts all across the aisle. When the Danes return to gut us we will strike
them shrouded in mist.”
“After all these years, now is when they find us. They took our old home and now
they wish to take this one. When they arrive we will treat them like we treated their
farms and villages in Denmark. Bathed with Danish blood and burned to ash”
“What shall we do with fathers killer? I can break his bones and you may have his
head” Haldor credulity suggested

One week later and one of Thorris's scouts delivered the news that the invaders had
returned and had set up a settlement out in the western forests. The party was smaller
this time, from what the scout was able to count, there were only 20 men in the camp.
Thorir ordered 20 of his men and fellow Berzerkers; an elite pack of 8 men to raid the
settlement tomorrow at the crack of dawn. As the darkness fell, Thorir visited the
village's local witch, where he sought further knowledge of his attackers. The village
witch; Helga the spell speaker, was heralded as a spawn of the Vanir; gods associated
with fertility, wisdom, and foresight. Some say she speaks directly to the Norns who
spin fate herself. Helga was a young fair-skinned maiden who had long white hair, and
though she was gifted with foresight, she was cursed with blindness.
The witch spoke to no one in the village but Thorir, tho she was not his maiden, only
leaving her hut to gather herbs in the forests.
Thorir stepped foot in her hut. He greeted her and asked if he could speak with her
“Why have you come? What do you wish to speak of my king?”
Thorir nodded. “I have come to seek your wisdom and to make use of your gift. Do
your eyes tell you anything?
“Yes, your shepherd leads his sheep in their hunt”
There was a short and sudden pauze
“How have you been sleeping? Do your dreams still haunt you?”
Thorir heasatenly nodded
“You worry very much, my king. You need not hide your fears from me. That does not
make you less of a king”
“Will I have my vengence?” Thorir sternly asked
“I see men’s fates, not their future”

Before Thorir could continue, his brother, Halldór, disturbed them. “Thorir, the ritual
is beginning. Fenrir calls to us, Brother”. Thorir and Halldór left the village with their
fellow Berzerkers on horseback to a birch grove miles away. A cloud of smoke rose
from the shadowy birch grove. Sparks flew into the night sky, and burning wood
crackled and popped as the flame grew ever taller.
“Hear me Ódinn, Allfather of the Gods. Sons of Fenrir, break free from your man
flesh. Bring the storm of Ódinn to those who challenge us” invoked a nearly naked
war priest in old Norse, to the pack of 8 wolves disguised as men. The dogs bashed
their weapons against their shields, imitating the sound of war drums while they
performed a war dance. Circling the bonfire, they drop to their knees. “Bring the
wrath of the All-father with you. Together we will rage in the battlefields of corpses.
The Father of War commands us to transform. Brothers, Berserkers, become your
rage. We will fight to Valhöll!!”.
The pack of twenty wear wolf and bearskins on their shoulders and backs with varying
degrees of nakedness. Some are bare-chested, covering their genitals, and others are
fully naked. They work themselves into a mythical Berzerker trance— some howl into
the moon, frothing from the mouth and bellowing like the dogs they are, others’ eyes
rolled into the back of their skull, as they shouted into the heavens.

In the vail of the night, the pack headed toward the “Danish” campsite. As the gray,
oppressive dawn fell, Thorir and the Berserkers prowled silently through the tall misty
grass field, surrounded by thick trees. With the bearskins and wolfskins covering their
backs and their heads, they truly looked like a pack of animals. They moved steadily
toward their target in a formation that was tight and fluid. Thorir spotted his first prey;
a young man standing just outside the camp eating a plate of meat.
Thorir slowly rose from the tall grass and stared into the young boy's eyes
“They’re here! The wolves are here” he screamed in Swedish, turning his back and
running toward the camp. Thorir threw his axe and hit him in the spine, the boy lett
out a small shriek before fell onto the cold grass.
“To Vallhöl!!” Roared Thorir and the Berzerkers thunderously as they charged into the
camp. Thorir retrieved his axe from the boy’s bleeding corpse, blocking two oncoming
arrows with his shield.

The Berzerkers massacred the camp, but King Einar's killer was not among the dead.
Suddenly, out of the surrounding trees came fifty soldiers bows in hand.
“Ready, Draw, FIRE!” yelled the captain of the assault. They rained a sea of arrows on
the Northmen, killing many and wounding many more. The surviving men were put
down, like wounded dogs, at the end of the massacre, only two were left standing.
Thorir was overwhelmed by their numbers and fell to a blade in the liver. And while
Haldor fought with courage he would fall as well, by his own father's killer, who slit
his throat. The Swedes left the forest of corpses and headed further into the aisle. Tho
most of the Northmen had died in battle, Thorir was not yet among the dead. The
blade may have taken his liver, but his heart was still beating. He awoke and found his
brother's corpse. Whilst he held on to him, his screams of agony pierced the heavens
as a tear fell from his eye

Thorir rode back to Heimaey and saw that the whole village had been lit ablaze, all
except for the witch’s hut. Thorir walked through the fire and to the hut. Helga greeted
him with a nefarious smile.
“A lone wolf returns from the hunt”
“My village burns and you still stand, how is that?”
“It is foolish to play with a witch. To remind you of the oath you have broken. Your
father's killer lives and has taken your kin from you. You have failed your village,
your family, and every warrior that you led on this day.
“Do not taunt me, spell speaker. Hold your tung or I may leave your den with it. As
long as I live, each breath he takes may be his last”
“You threaten me, my puppy? You may have my tung and my life. That will not
change your fate—my tarnished dog. You will die in shame, without honor, and
vengeance for your kin.”
“I was your slave when you first brought me here, remember? Unlike the others I did
not die in the winters, I never ran, and you kept me because you saw use in my sight.
I’ve waited for this day to come since I arrived here. Now you feel the same pain you
once caused me”
“You spit lies out of thy tainted tongue. I will have my vengenceWhere have they
gone?” Thorir sternly asked
“You may try” she said laughing maniacally

A loud shriek came from the witches' hut. Thorir stubbled outside, his blade dripping
blood, and his soul consumed with vengeance. He left his burning home and wandered
across the land constantly muttering to himself “I will avenge you, father, I will
avenge you, brother, and I will kill you, filthy Swede”. He did this until he dropped to
the floor in execution. In his dream, he is back the village that is no more. He wanders
his home in better days as a specter, unseen by his people. He entered his home and
found his room empty. He went to his brother's chambers and saw him laying in his
bed.
“Brother?”
“Will you travel the seas, just to defy your fate? Men who fight against their fate never
succeed”
“I must avenge you and Father. He must die”
“He will not. Not by your hands”
“The witch lies. My life is a guarantee that he dies”
“”
“You are not my brother, you are but a ghost that wears his flesh.”
Thorir awoke from his slumber drenched in sweat, his mission unchanged, and his
conditions strengthened.
The wandering finally stopped as he found what he was looking for. Just of the rocky
coast was a wooden dock where three small ships sat waiting for him, left there from
when they first arrived. Thorir took a ship and sailed the northern sea to his old home
of Norway. Once he reached the Northern land, he traveled to Sweden. He continued
to wander and wander through forests and planes alike until he slaughtered patrolling
guardsmen in the night, disemboweling them, leaving a blade in their necks. The
people of the land called him the dire wolf.
Thorir lived in a secluded small camp overlooking the kingdom. At night Thorir
would often be haunted by dead spirits who reminded him of his fate as tarnished.
This night he was once again visited by the spirit of his brother
“I need no more advice from you, ghost”
“All this
“Do not do this, it is not worth your life”
There is nothing left for me with the living. I will kill this man, and then I will die in
honour, but the sword, not of sickness or old age”

“Thau took my kindred from me, thau burn my home and kidnap my peoaple.”
“Thau attack us with warning, murded my fathers men, killed inocennts only to see
me. There is no room to forgive thou of thou sins. At first light thou will be hung and
that will be be the end of it”

Thorir wandered across England

 5 - CROSSROADS

The year was 1983, in Compton California.

Robert Jackson leaned against his 1974 Ford Maverick smoking a cigarette, while he
aimlessly stared into the pitch-black starless sky. A half-drunken beer bottle was
sitting on top of the dark blue car, which Robert had bought from the gas station a
short walk away. In his left palm was a crunched-up burger wrapper from the
InAndOut across the road. The roads were empty, the air chilly, and his surroundings
were deafly quiet. Robert could hear his ears ringing a lot clearer, but that didn’t stop
him from enjoying the moment. There weren’t many times like this in Robert’s life.
He was used to the loud and hectic life he lived, but at this moment, he enjoyed the
quiet.
Compton had been Robert’s home for all 33 years of his life. He’d seen all it had to
over by the time he was 18. He stayed there throughout almost all of his young life,
only getting the chance to see the greater parts of California a handful of times. Robert
was a dreamer, even through the difficult times he faced growing up in an area of
rampid gang activity, and with few opportunities he still saw that there was light, even
in the darkness. He was set on getting his family out of their constraints and out of
Compton, to newer, greener pasters.
Robert Jackson sold weed as his side hustle. He didn’t sell a lot. It could’ve been a
lucrative business if he wanted it to be one. But Robert was scared that if it got too big
one day he’d get caught. He had a wife and a young daughter at home who were
clueless about his escapades and if he got caught they’d find out in the worst way.
When he isn’t selling marijuana he spends his days cutting hair to earn his legal cash.
And as he smoked the night away, basking in the cold air, a homeless man stumbled
by. Robert could smell him even before he walked past. He smelled like garbage and
whiskey, two smells that were probably related somehow. As the homeless man
walked passed Robert he stopped and turned his head as if he knew him.
“Hey, I know you, you sling that grass, don’t you?”
“I don’t have anything on me right now, and how you even know that, I don’t know
you?”
“But I know you. I don't wanna buy, I just wanted to know. What you doing all the
way out here anyway?”
“I could ask you the same thing”
“Well, just going out for some air, you know. Say, since I know you sell grass, I know
somebody that knows somebody that can get ahold of that rock. He from Maimi,
what’d you say?”
“Fuck do I look like selling crack? I ain't going to jail cause you told me you can get
me crack”
“You dont need to sell it, I can do it at first, we’ll split the profit 50/50”
Robert dropped his cigarette and stomped it out. He pushed past the man and opened
the car door
The homeless man had a smile on his face the whole time he was talking. Only now
that smile quickly disappeared and he put on a serious face
“I promise on my life I could make us rich. If the cops cach me I want talk I swear. All
a man needs in this live is money, you and me both know that.
“You stay safe out here, have a good night”
The smile was back
“That a yes”
Robert sped off and went home
“Meet me here in a week. 2, no 3 am, you understand” the man said frantically
Robert ignored him and drove off
He parked his car in his small driveway and carefully opened the front door. His wife
Mary was fast asleep, it had just turned 3 a.m Robert took slow and methodical steps
to their bedroom where Mary lay unaware of his presence.
The next day Robert awoke to the smell of hot coffee on the bedside table and the
sound of pan frying.

“Where were you last night? You sure came home late”
Before she could continue grilling Robert they heard two knocks on the door

“I’ll get it”

There was no one at the door, but there was something left in front of it. A small
brown bag with a letter taped to it. “FOR ROBERT JACKSON”
Their daughter Juilia was still fast asleep in her
 6- YOU & I

PART 1
In my younger years, I had always wondered what it would be like to be in love.
Wantingto feel those alleged butterflies in my stomach, wanting to care and connect
with someone I knew well enough to be in love with them. I didn’t chase chased love,
but I did want it.
If you’d ask my early middle school self, who was often highly skeptical of its
existence, especially at that stage of life, he’d tell you he wasn’t searching and he
didn’t really care.
I had crushes at that time, but who didn’t, it was an unavoidable part of school life
we all went through. Besides, I rarely interacted with them. The only times I did, were
for school projects and the yearly school get-together, which I never liked. Depending
on the severity of my feelings our chemistry varied. Sometimes it’d be awkward and
weird; other times, it’d be smooth sailing. Nothing really became of most of them in
the end. Some blossomed into good friendships and others went away like fleeting
feelings. It was a part of life and it came and went like most school friends do. Except
sometimes they don’t just go away, and they linger in your heart like a small flame
ready to be relit.
I had just moved schools, going from my old elementary school 20 minutes away
from home to a middle school I had to take the bus to get to. Never in my life had I
taken the bus to go to school. My mom always dropped me off on her way to work, or
sometimes I’d even walk there on my own if she had to leave extra early. This was the
biggest piece of independence I had gotten in my short life. It was a long ride to the
school and I was all by myself beside a bunch of strangers. I’d be leaving my friends,
and the family I had at the old school to chart new waters, like the little adventurer I
was. It was there, in my new school in a crowded class full of newly introduced
characters that I met someone who at the time I didn’t think anything of. She was a
girl. She was a year older than me, granet most people were, I was the youngest in
most of my classes. She had well-kept brown curly hair, wore glasses, had glossy
brown eyes, and was just a few centimeters taller than I was. When she would, she
also had a nice smile and a cute laugh. But at that time I didn’t notice those things
about her. As my time at that school increased I would start to notice them, but at first,
she was just another kid in a classroom filled to the brim with thirty-nine others.
Before I knew it, the school year had ended and I had plenty of stories to tell of my
time. It was a loud, yet fun first year. Academically I was holding strong and I made a
few new friends along the way. It was a short list, but a list of new people nonetheless.
She wasn’t on that list, not then. I knew her and she knew me, nothing more. She told
me her name was Hailee when we first had to work together on a school project. I
knew her name and she knew mine, but that was all I really knew about her and that
was all she really knew about me. She was a mystery I didn’t care to uncover anything
about, as it wasn’t a thought that crossed my mind at that time, and I think she felt the
same way.
My second year felt like a blur. My fog-coated memories can’t think of anything
major ever occurring. Our class was a lot smaller and thus less crowded in comparison
to the first. I think the school board saw how well that worked for us and decided to
make the change. Some familiar faces from my first year returned, like my three
newly made friends: Noah, Xavier, and Jen. Hailee was there too, and she still
remembered me after our long summer break was over. Even with the familiars the
class was ⅔ filled with kids I knew as well as Hailee, maybe less even. Because of
that, there were fewer people to talk to. I wasn’t someone who was eager to make new
friends. That’s what made moving schools so hard. I stuck to older friend groups I had
known for years, rarely letting new people in. I remained a mystery to most of my
classmates. Not shy anymore, or unconfident, just hesitant, preferring the known to
the unknown.
My second year was when Hailee and I first started talking. That’s why I still even
remember it. It had first started because some friends of mine had become friends of
hers. We became acquainted with each other then. Not enough to where I would have
called her a genuine friend but enough to say that I knew a few extra things about her
and was comfortable enough to talk to her when we had some free time in class. She
liked movies and TV, had similar music tastes as I did, and was a talented artist. She
could only draw faces, which I teased her about slightly. But when she put her all into
a drawing it would look beautifully lifelike, if that's what she wanted it to be. She
could only draw one thing but no one would question its quality.
As the days passed, and soon turned to months our bond grew closer and closer.
Enough for me to say that we were friends, good friends even. She’d make me laugh
with her banter, and I’d make her laugh by being stupid, 'cause I wasn't that funny
then. Our relationship stood strong and it was as healthy as it could’ve been, but I felt
a longing, a longing that would grow on and on until I couldn’t ignore it anymore.
Something in me wanted more, it wanted to delve deeper.
By then her features had been noticed, and our similar interests added fuel to the
fire. Whether or not I felt something for her was out of the question. I did, and I spent
our third year in the same class all the while doing school things trying to decipher
this feeling. It couldn’t have been love, I was too young to even experience it, I
thought. So we stayed good friends and the longing for more kept nagging on. I
wanted to speak to her about it but the right moment never arose. Sometimes I’d see
her and my stomach would start to tingle and I would try my hardest not to look bad in
front of her. Feeling this need to sound like I knew how to articulate myself, (which I
wasn’t very good at). I couldn’t make one mistake around her, having to set my best
foot forward. Sometimes I did, but the times I didn’t felt were stuck in my head. At
home while I wasn’t doing anything, she was in the back of my mind like a catchy
Melody you can’t seem to forget, no matter how hard you try. When we would text I
was anxious for her to respond. I wanted her to like me, and now not just as a friend.
I was eager, uncharacteristically eager. Usually, I never cared what people thought of
me, only when they were close friends did their opinions really matter. We were close
friends but I longed for more and I didn’t know why. I’d never felt this way for any of
my previous crushes so what made this different? The thought that maybe it was love
was entirely blocked out. It couldn't have been that, not at my age. Usually, I wouldn’t
interact with my crushes, for fear of embarrassing myself for one and lack of
motivation second. This wasn’t the first person I had met who’d shared my interests
and this sure wasn’t the first girl I found cute, so why? I asked myself, what made this
different?

I didn’t know
And before I could try to find out, it had come to the end of this chapter in our life.
Our middle school years had come and gone like passing seasons, and we’d be going
off to high school.
Her parents had made up their minds long before this moment, and mine as well.
It’s just their choices didn’t align with each other. She’d be off to a school closer to
her and I’d be off to the school where all the other middle schoolers in my area went. I
was sad that I wouldn't be able to see much of her again, but it wasn’t like she’d
moved away to some far unreachable place and I’d lost her number forever. It was still
saved on my phone, and we still talked. In the back of my mind while we had those
chats I wanted to tell her and ask if she felt anything for me like I did for her. She
didn’t show it, but maybe she was just scared to tell me. I sure was at the beginning.
So I wondered when I could ask her. It couldn't be over the phone, it had to be in
person, somehow I thought that would make it easier. The moment needed weight. It
was too important to me to be left to text. I wanted to see her face, I wanted to hear
her response firsthand, and I hoped that our feelings aligned.
And as luck would have it, I would have the chance to ask. The school I was going
to had been overflown with kids trying to get in. My parents and I went as early as we
could've gone and still, the campus was filled with parents and future students that
were there long before us. I went home frustrated and somber that day. There was a
chance I could see my old friends again, all of them made it through by a hair, and
now I had to go somewhere else. That choice wasn’t mine to make. It wasn’t I choice I
thought ever had to be made. Everyone went there, and because of that, there were
bound to be some people who were left out. It just happened to be me this time. It took
my parents (mainly my dad) a few days to find a school that had enough space for me.
There were plenty of good schools left that had room but most were too far away,
needing that I woke up at an ungodly time to even make it in time for class. The
school I ended up enrolling in was far from my home, but not too far. It was a smaller
place, relative to schools, in which only about 500 students could fit in before it
exploded. When me and my dad were on the way to make it official I recognized the
area a little. Only landmarks, like a place called Ramon’s car dealership and a cathlic
church. Hailee had told me she lived somewhere near them. She told me the exact
road, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember it. Even if I did it’d be hard to place
the exact spot. As soon as I connected the dots I let out a small shriek in my father's
car. He asked me if I was okay, “Yea, just figured something out is all”. I tried to act
normal on the outside but my mind was taken over by both excitement and disbelief.
We’d been classmates for three years running, and now there was a chance for it to be
our fourth year together.
September 2 was the first day of high school. I remember waking up early, before
my parents, and showering the sleepiness away. For the first time in my life, I did my
hair, making sure it looked presentable. It wasn’t just the first day of school, it was the
first time her and I would see each other since the first day of summer vacation. She
was excited to see me and I was more than excited to see her. I had

“Does this mean you like me?”

“Do you feel the same way?”

“I like you, but not in the way you like me.”

When she left I finally knew why I felt more for her than I did for my other crushes.
It was want. And she came at the right time. I never wanted the others that came
before, I didn’t care then. I didn’t believe I could love someone at that age. But now I
felt like I could, thus I wanted it.
I wanted her.
I felt like she could be my missing half, but now she was gone and I was sure I’d
never see her again, at least not in a world as big as this one

Does that mean you like me?

“Do you?”

“Not like how you like me”

“Really?”

“I’m Sorry…”

PART 2
Five long years later

I grew up an only child. I was shy, and unconfident and grew a habit of talking to
myself because I was shy, unconfident, and an only child. I kept myself company in a
way. My parents were always there but I never could speak to them about what I
wanted to talk about. I still was able to make friends aside my shyness, great friends
even. They stuck with me like glue sticks to paper and the thought that they could go
always haunted me. To say I was happy being an only child wouldn't be the whole
truth. I was content, but I always wondered if I had siblings would I still talk to myself
to fill the void connection. That was what I was searching for, connection and
understanding.

I’d just turned 22 that year. My birthday is in December, and right after it, comes
Christmas. Because of that, I’d get two presents around the same time that month. At
least my younger self would, those were the good days when times were simple.
Life was fine for me. I was still young and still trying to understand how to be an
adult. I worked a dead-end job at a tech firm that I didn’t like, but the money was
good, so I reluctantly stayed. On the side, I was an amateur painter, who sold his art to
friends and family members who couldn’t afford a Bob Ross piece so they settled for
mine. For Christmas, I planned a trip to the Netherlands.

Moments like that really make you see how small the world really is

“Have you been here long?”

“It’s gonna be 4 years in a month. I don’t know if you think that's that long”
“It kinda is. Did you pick up the language fast, I know the people here talk a little
weird”
“Hoe gaat het met je?”
“Goed, met jou? I know a little bit?”
“I’m glad. People here like to talk”
N
“Hey”
“How’ve you been?”
“Fine.”
“I probably should’ve thought this out more”
“Are you really sorry?
“I don’t want to ruin things just because of a feeling you don’t share”
“I hope we can still be friends, You and I”

“Yea I’d like that”