Pete’s eyes opened as the van skidded to a halt. Beads of sweat ran down his face, and off his chin, falling onto the corrugated steel floor with soft taps that were inaudible over the roaring of the crowd.  He heard the countdown and readied himself. Lowered his visor. Checked his weapon. The van doors were thrown open and the intense sunlight blinded him momentarily. The throngs of human bodies were hazy and ill-defined through the cheap plexiglass visor protecting his face.  He hopped and the armored car sped away, the white letters denoting a SWAT van faded into the distance. The crowd’s roar, piercing and dull at the same time, made his ears ring. What had started as a peaceful protest had turned into a civilian occupation, and somehow, he was now standing in front of an angry mob, rioting and looting the city for no other reason than politics. Pete hated politics.

He faced the mob, resisting every urge to run for his life, placing the riot shield in front of him and standing tall. Rocks and beer bottles bounced off of the plastic shield as violent protestors flung everything within reach at the line of policemen. The officers looked at each other fearfully. The mob was advancing quickly. Within seconds they would be overwhelmed. The shouts and yells hurt his head. He scanned the crowd, overwhelmed by the anger and rage on the faces of the protesters. Their red shirts sporting political slogans made the mob seem like one huge scarlet blob of violence and wrath. Suddenly, he started. What was that glimmer? He looked back through the advancing crowd, and he saw it again. The metal reflected the sun into his eyes, making him see spots. What is that? He shielded his eyes, squinted and saw it. The pistol, held at eye level, the protester staring back at him, expressionless. Instinct and self-preservation kicked in. He raised the rifle and fired.

The academy had taught him to fire tear gas straight up into the air, to avoid bodily injury, but he had forgotten his training and aimed right at the chest of his assailant. The shot rang out and black powder stung his nose. The crowd’s angry roar quickly disintegrated to screams of terror as the mob scattered, fleeing, turning corners and ducking behind cover. As the police officers advanced, pushing the braver dissidents back, Pete tripped. He looked down as he stumbled and found himself staring into the eyes of a protester, her red shirt turning a deep crimson. She lay on the street; arms outstretched, with a silver camera in her hand. The recording light was still flashing.

Bells ring in the background as the warmth begins to melt away.  Chords of the bell tower form, one after the other, as my body reawakens in the darkness. Goosebumps form as a shiver shoots down my spine. I flinch, realizing the horrible source of the noise. Rolling over, my head pounds as purple and green stars form on the insides of my eyelids. The relentless clanging taunts me, growing louder and louder until it is all I can hear or see. I try to open my eyes that seem to be glued shut.  Using what seems to be all the strength I can summon, I force myself to sit in a somewhat upright position. I inch toward the noise, but my body gives in to the fatigue as I fall back down. I absorb the comfort of the soft ground as my muscles return to their gelatin state. Ten more minutes, five even; that’s all I need.

My mind begins to stir as my ears drown out the echoing chimes… Suddenly, I sit up in horror, my chest pounding as I realize where I am. What day is it? Reaching over, I grab the white object in front of me to check the time. Only three minutes have passed, the alarm was still going off. I slouch over; a sigh of relief escapes my breath. Oh, how I hated that bell tower alarm. I stumble out of bed, my feet landing on the floor with two loud thumps. Waiting for the dizziness to pass, I walk to the window, finding the pieces of floor that have yet to be covered in personal belongings. I breathe in slowly, taking in the fresh air from the morning rain. The crisp oxygen spills into my lungs, and a sudden burst of energy forms in reply. I open my eyes, and I see the sun rising from the buildings across Queen Anne’s, twinkling, and beckoning me to start a new day.

She wore a loose cover, deep blues and teals bleeding together all the way down to the tops of her feet, curling around the back of her neck and dripping down her sides to pool in the small of her back. Her left hand gripped her right hip and the other twisted the halter top knot at the base of neck, her head turned away towards the woods as though it could not bear to look over the water.

“I can’t do this,” Lyn said.

“Now or never,” Chloe answered, hand light between Lyn’s shoulders. They stood in the screened-in porch at the back of Chloe’s house. The shade made the bright backyard a world away, the girl in blue by the swimming pool a picture on a TV screen.  In the dark, Lyn seemed to wait in the seconds before someone pressed ‘play’ for the next scene.

“I pick never,” Lyn said.

“Too bad, because there’s no way she didn’t see you pulling in the driveway and now she knows we’re watching her like creeps.” Chloe’s hand fell away, but she didn’t start forward. She stared at Lyn, prompting her to move, but she shook her head, and nodded toward the pool.

“You know how they make you read Greek tragedies in school and it’s always people doing these great terrible things and then the gods ruin their life for breaking their sacred laws? It’s never like that in real life, is it?” Lyn spoke too quickly, voice cracking. Chloe turned, looking at her with faint surprise.

“Lyn, are you okay?” Chloe asked, the first time anyone had asked her that since she’d been to court.

“It’s the little rules that you have to follow,” she continued. “Those are the ones that mess you up. Use your words, stop and think, look both ways—“

“Don’t text while driving? Because that’s a pretty big rule. I figured you would know that by now.” Chloe sounded angry, but Lyn couldn’t spare a glance at her face; she was too busy watching the girl in blue’s hand drop from her neck to her chest, falter there, and then jerk back to tug the knot undone.

The cover slid forward faster than she could catch it and she had to grab the cloth at her stomach. The move unbalanced her and her feet, tangled in the slack cover, took panicked little steps—typical Harper, Lyn thought—until she let the cover fall altogether and picked one long foot at a time from the pile. She turned to pick it up, and Lyn sucked in her breath so sharply it whistled against her teeth.

Harper quickly folded the cloth back around her waist, but the sight covered up was burned as deeply into Lyn’s mind as it was in Harper’s skin : something a surly, deep rose, a crack across her right hip that seemed to spill her insides.

“Don’t say a word,” Chloe said under her breath, hand appearing again at Lyn’s elbow and digging the nails into the back of her arm, just briefly. “Don’t you dare make her feel bad about it too.”

Who do you think I am? is on the tip of Lyn’s tongue, but she jerked her arm from Chloe’s grasp and walked into the sun, readying her apology instead.

A mile and a half to go. Each step feeling increasingly heavier than the last. By now, my breathing was so dense I felt like my lungs would never forgive me.

Squish. Thud. Squish. Thud. Each time the shoe on my right foot hit the cool pavement it sounded like wet sponge being squeezed. As much as I hated myself for running through that puddle, I could not help but find some calmness in the rhythm.

Derrick Smalls was still ahead, but not by far. Images of the race last year surged through my head. We had been neck-in-neck throughout the entire race, and as we neared the final half mile we both dedicated our last drops of adrenaline to accelerating to the finish. He was taller than I was, and more lean. His leg span exceeded mine, and although I was quick, I could not cover the same distance in the same amount of time. He won by two seconds.

This was my chance to redeem myself.

I ran the back of my hand across my forehead. The sweat dripping down my face was starting to trickle onto my eyelids. I could hardly distinguish the colorful blurs of people standing on either side of the path. They might have been cheering, but I heard no sound coming from them.

Squish. Thud. Squish. Thud.

The checkered banner in the distance was growing larger. With less than half a mile to go, I gave one last push. I was not sure if I was running or flying. My feet were moving so rapidly I could barely feel the ground below. Derrick Smalls was directly to my left now and I could hear his panting. I needed to beat him. I needed to prove myself.

And then it happened.

I heard a rippling thump and saw a flash of color fall to the ground next to me. Derrick was down. Derrick was down. He was done. The finish line was just a couple yards away. If I kept going, I would not only take first, but I would beat Derrick’s record time. I would be the ultimate victor.

At last, the cheers from the crowd rushed into my ears. They knew what I knew.

I bent down and reached out my hand.

She beckons to me from the podium with an expectant smile. I fight my feet to walk up on stage, one step at a time, careful to prevent catastrophe. My head detaches, hovering behind a mist of sheer terror as I avoid the eyes of the crowd before me. This is it; the culmination of twelve years of hard work, late nights, and pure dedication, and I know I’m about to blow it.

My mental checklist flashes as I finally take my place at the podium. Note cards, check. Smile, check. Brain… I guess I’ll find that later. I face my audience: four hundred of my fellow graduates and all of their families and friends waiting to hear what I have to say.

I can’t do this. The gymnasium warps as my tingling fingers reach out in dizzied panic. My stomach is in my throat, my heart slams to a halt, and I crash to the stage.

Nobody moves. I lay on the floor in the crumpled mess of my white graduation gown for an eternity as all those people stare. My principal stretches her hand toward me with a quizzical expression. I should probably get up now.

A laugh escapes my lips as I shuffle to my feet, not yet glancing at my anxious audience. The worst has actually happened. I’m still alive, I’m breathing, and someone took the lead out of my shoes. I perch behind the podium and face the throng below. All eyes are on me and for the first time in my eighteen years I don’t panic.

I can do this.

Boom! The two electric swords slam into each other. Leonardo follows up with a kick that sends Salvatore to the ground.

“You’re not going to get me that easy!” Salvatore rolls over as a lightning trail barely misses his widow’s peak.

“Maybe I just want you to try a little harder,” Leonardo responds.

The ground begins to shake as a dark cloud appears above the young men. Lightning paints the sky magenta and electric blue. Several bolts of energy appear from the sky.

“Your wish has been granted.” Salvatore laughs as Leonardo falls to the ground screaming in pain. The lightning knocks him back into a puddle created by the storm. “At least put up a fight, Leonardo!”

Leonardo recites the lines of the ability he learned before they began training. “Caeruleus Vires!” A blue beam of lightning ejects from his sword towards Salvatore’s chest.

“When did you learn…?” As Salvatore attempts to dodge the blast, Leonardo’s strongest attack nearly obliterates his left shoulder. “I’m ending this now!” With his one good arm, Salvatore points his sword towards the heavens and begins reciting as he gathers energy. In a desperate move, Leonardo aims his weapon at Salvatore. Despite the fact that the last blast could’ve been fatal, Salvatore clenches his burned hands around his sword handle and absorbs energy. “I’ll be picking your ashes from the ground Leonardo. This was fun while it lasted.”

The two brothers release their attacks.

“Puniceus Vires!” shouts Salvatore.

“Caeruleus Vires!” screams Leonardo.

The two bolts of lightning, one crimson red, the other cerulean blue, rip through the sky towards each other. The destructive beams embrace one another as their creators struggle to sustain their life. Momentarily, the crimson bolt gains the upper hand and envelops the other beam. In an effort to subdue the crimson threat, Leonardo screams “Potestas!” and the cerulean beam edges towards Salvatore.

“You know Leonardo, if you hadn’t nearly blown off my darn shoulder this battle would be over by now.”

“You’re right Sal. If I hadn’t missed my mark then you wouldn’t still be standing,” Leonardo responds.

Salvatore interrupts. “That’s what happens when you attempt to use a new ability without practice! One day we will be fighting that extraterrestrial threat out there and I don’t need any surprises from them or you! You could’ve killed yourself doing that initial blast!”

“But I didn’t.” Leonardo smirks.

Salvatore’s eyes narrow. “I sure hope you learn one of these days.” He places his damaged arm on the handle of his blade. With what little strength he has left, he unleashes a small rush of energy. “Potestas Atratus!” The sky darkens. Countless bolts of black and white lightning fill the surrounding area.

“Brother, they have arrived!” Leonardo’s face becomes troubled.

The two warriors stop their attacks and gaze at a wormhole appearing far over the horizon. The area becomes calm as lightning returns to the sky. Fearing for the worst, the two battered warriors make their way back home.

The war has begun.

Driveway. Sarah sits in her car, the engine off, her eyes fixed on a spot of chipped paint on the old garage door in front of her. She had turned the key in the ignition a few moments back, but her hand still rests there, grasping the ridged and familiar piece of metal as her mind travels, miles away.

Inside, she could just make out the outline of Sam tucked back behind the curtain as she pulled up. Thinking himself invisible, he stares out at her, watching, wondering how this will all play out, wishing it didn’t have to.

With a sudden jerk of her head and a sigh so deep it seems all of the oxygen inside the car has moved to her lungs, she refocuses. She removes the key from the slot, still keeping it in her now white-knuckled grip. A long exhale. Before she can change her mind, she heads toward the house.

She twists the handle to the front door, jiggling it just a little to make it open, just as she’s always had to do. Sam has rearranged himself in the armchair, a magazine spread on his knees, trying his best to look casual. In the dim light of dusk coming through the window Sarah can just barely make out the wrinkle of worry across his forehead.

“You’re home late,” he remarks, his eyes still fixed to the same line of his magazine.

“Had a lot to do today.” She trains her eyes on the lawn out front, unkempt and speckled with brown after an unseasonably dry summer.

An unidentifiable rage begins to build in Sam’s chest, but he refuses to yield to it.

Controlling his voice, he adds, “And yesterday.” The amount of spite that still manages its way out surprises even him, and he regrets his tone.

“Yeah. Well.” Her eyes lower as she gathers herself, searching for words that could possibly make this easier. He shifts a shaking hand to turn the page, the crinkle reverberating off the walls and in her head, and she wonders if she should reconsider. But then she thinks of all she’s given up, thinks of her daughter’s beautiful wedding and the failed counseling sessions and suddenly gains her resolve.

Quietly, as if not to scare him, she reaches into her bag, and lays a packet of papers on the coffee table face down. She slides it in front of him. Slowly straightening, her eyes filling but her mouth set, she makes out barely a whisper. “I’m sorry.” Then she turns to go, leaving a worn silver key on the table as she leaves.

Driveway. She can hear him calling to her to wait as she sped off, but she does not stop.

Inside, Sam sits back down. He flips the paper over. Though there are many words, he can read only one: Divorce.

Although it was a time of peace throughout the land, there was still much turmoil to be settled. It seemed so recently that the taste of blood was still in the air. The men of these times fought not only for themselves, but they also fought to drown out the unyielding cries for blood coming from their dormant swords.

The once proud samurais were now filled with a new type of pride. Rather than fight to defend the motherland like they had previously done years ago, these men turned to each other for the same satisfaction that they received from The Great War three years ago. Murder and marauding was no longer a necessity; now it had become a sport.

Two men stood calmly in the moonlight. The gentle wind whistled as it breezed between the stalks in the bamboo forest. Rai-shin stood rooted like a tree on the left while Lee wavered uneasily on the right.

“There is no need in proceeding. Drop your weapon and we can end this senseless bloodshed between us,” said Rai-shin. Lee’s only response was a straightforward rush across the battleground. With his blade still sheathed, Rai-shin ducked below the lateral attack. With a quick sweep, Lee was knocked off of his feet.

Rai-shin leaped backward to place distance between him and his opponent. Time seemed to crawl as he analyzed his opponent. The eyes of his adversary had grown dark. His opponent’s breath had changed to a heavy pant. Based on that fact alone, he could tell that Lee’s heart rate was increasing. Whatever adrenaline had been pumping through his blood stream had surely increased his reaction time. Rather than hold the sword with grace and respect, Lee’s knuckles turned white and his wrists cracked as he clenched the hilt. The last thing Rai-shin managed to notice was that Lee stepped forward in a low manner starting with his left foot. From the countless battles he and Lee fought together, Rai-shin knew that his opponent’s attacks always began with his dominant right leg.

Lee’s strike started down low close to the ground and ran vertical up to the sky. At this point Rai-shin unsheathed his sword at an angle to parry the blow. This was the first time our hero had shown his sword to any opponent since the war three years ago. “Your Ryu Shou Sen was weak. The Lee I know to pays much closer attention to his sword techniques during battle.” Lee’s eyes grew colder as they focused on his opponent.

Lee was determined to end the battle with one final blow. Rai-shin quickly flipped his sword around so the cutting edge faced away from his opponent. Saving Lee became his number one priority. The sword seemed to crash down in a silver flash as it reflected the full moon. It came down on Lee’s thumb. The impact was strong enough to break his thumb. The pain was paralyzing. “I have spared your life,” said Rai-shin solemnly. “However, with your injury, you won’t be able to to hold a sword properly for the rest of your life.” Rai-shin left his opponent writhing in the bamboo forest as he walked off just as the sun began to rise.

It’s dark. The darkness scares me.

This was the first thing I noticed as I opened my eyes. A few seconds, maybe minutes, have passed since then, and I am slowly recovering from the shock. My brain begins to function rationally, which allows me to think through what just happened.

Well, to be honest, there isn’t much information to process. I might have woken up from a deep slumber, found myself in the dark alone and could barely move, even to this point. That’s about it. As for the reason why, I do not know. My memory of everything before the sleep had been washed away.

But perhaps the reason is not important at all. What’s most important is to get myself out of here as soon as possible.

I try to move my arms again. It works this time, but I can only stretch out in a certain area. When my arms try to reach farther, something solid blocks them.

There are walls around me, probably merely one or two inches from where I stand. Great, at least the walls are not moving inwards. I am lucky.

The hell I am! I am trapped in the middle of nowhere. Maybe temporarily, or maybe forever.

The word “forever” reverberates in my head and brings all the fear back, like tiny little creatures crawling up and down my body. I start to struggle, attempting to cast the negative emotions away, yet in the end I fail and am swallowed by despair.

Just when I’m about to give up, something comes to my attention: the floor is shaking. Not only that, but it seems like the walls, the ceiling—the whole room is moving back and forth. While I know the sudden movement was caused by me as I hit and kicked the walls, I also realize that there is still hope. Since the room is easily affected by my movement, it must be somewhat light and perhaps breakable. Also, based on the way the room swings, I believe it might be hung on something, maybe a shaft, a stick or…a tree!

That’s right! The memory’s coming back! I know this. It is the moment I have been anticipating for a long, long time.

I use all my strength to push the walls in opposite directions, causing a gap big enough for me to pass through. Finally, there is no need to fear because a brand new life awaits me in the azure sky.

I take one step, one more and another. Then I jump, spread my wings and fly toward the sun—

“Mommy, look! There’s a fairy!”

“Don’t be silly, sweetheart. It’s a butterfly, a beautiful one.”