A Mind Spread Out On The Ground

I was nineteen the first time Cole Whitfield broke me. Not with cruelty. With a single word. Why. Not did you — why. Like the answer was already settled and he just wanted the story to make sense. I told him the truth anyway. He said nothing that mattered. So I picked up my bag, walked out of his apartment, and decided that a man who trusted a rumor over two years of me wasn’t worth a correction. I spent the next two years becoming someone I actually liked. New city. Graduate program. A published paper with my name on it. I was done with Cole Whitfield in every way a person can be done. Then I walked into Seminar Room 114 and he was sitting right there, gray eyes already on the door, like some part of him knew. I sat down. I opened my notebook. I did not look up. Here’s the thing about studying how people form beliefs: you understand exactly why he believed it. That doesn’t mean you forgive it. That doesn’t mean two years of silence disappear because he’s learned how to look at you like he’s sorry. He wants a conversation. I want my degree. But the campus is small, the seminar table is round, and the boy who broke my heart at nineteen is doing everything right at twenty-one — and I’m starting to understand that composed isn’t the same thing as healed. I hate that I still know the exact sound of his voice.

He caught hold of her leg and yanked backwards. She hung on and flailed both legs, kicking him in the head, the face. He fought to hold her legs down. Sweat lathered her hands. They slipped from the post. He yanked again. She rolled over to face him and punched with both fists. Her right fist caught him in the eye. He growled in pain, then threw himself on top of her, pinning her arms and legs. She screamed.She strained to free herself, lunged up to bite him. He jerked backwards. They slid down one stair. She tried to scream again. He slapped a palm over her mouth, his breath hot on her face.She fought him until they had tumbled down every stair. By the time they reached the bottom, every ligament burned. She stared at him wide-eyed, gasping for breath between his bruising fingers.She trembled violently, longed to run again but knew it would do no good. He stood at a good seven inches taller and outweighed her by at least fifty pounds. She didn't stand a chance.All she could do now was placate him. Do what he wanted... no matter what it was!

3:00 a.m. Insomnia gnawed at my nerves like a rusted saw, grinding back and forth mercilessly. On a whim that I couldn't explain, I opened a radio app called "Echoes from Below." The interface was simple and bare. Black background, blue text. No ads, no host introduction. Just a single audio waveform, slowly buffering on the screen. The shape of the waveform felt wrong. It didn't look like soundwaves at all. More like rows of sharp, interlocking teeth. A pop-up window appeared in the center of the screen. [Listening Guidelines] The letters glowed blue, carrying an unsettling eeriness. [This station's signal may extend into dreams. If you hear the broadcast while dreaming, firmly believe that you are awake.]

How would you define your worth? My name is Cassey Timmerhaus, a seventeen year- old noble daughter, whose goal is to find my worth and guarantee my own happiness. In worth comes opportunities, in opportunities comes wealth, in wealth comes love, in love comes happiness, and in happiness, I can die blissfully. But the path to self- realization was harder than I presumed. The unfathomable range of emotions, the twisted justice to prove yourself righteous, the betrayals, the sinful encounters and the fight for the honorable seat, are things I never expected but had to experience. "To honor your family is the noblest thing. How could you fail in such a task as easy as breathing?" I faced countless humiliation and disgrace; degraded by the people I call family. "I am sorry, but how could we dare tarnish a lady's hand by making her work for us, mere commoners? Surely she wasn't casted away to be like this. For a noble like her, it would be better to starve than sweat her palms." The rejections from those who once respected me ruined my valued trust. She once said that in this endless pit of woes, thy love shall save me. But, I doubt that. Even if I have love, will I be able to make it last? Will I be able to make him stay? Will I ever be worth of such fortune, when I am just a grass?

Pain and anger buried deep can turn even the most innocent of creatures to a monster souring the earth. Numbing so deep that emotions once easy to cling to the heart, realy exist anymore. Humanity they say, is not not taught but is inbuilt. What if you've lost your humane side, gone so deep, that you feel like it never really existed? Leaving you with a nothing but emptiness and despair buried deep inside your soul? Lucien Edrei Karmicheal, a man with looks that does not match his age at all. A recluse he was, forbidding himself from interacting with neither clan— His species, and worse the humans. They were so weak and everything Lucien couldn't bring himself to tolerate. He was sophisticated and acted with a dash of elegance. After years of abiding by his imposed rule and isolation, a night of enjoying a walk alone changes it all. Can he endure to let go and see things differently, in a new light? Or would old grudges and hatred burn his empty soul till all that is left is just absolute nothingness? When two worlds collide, there is bound to be collateral damage.

At a dinner party, my genius painter of a husband, Henry Shepherd, used his hands, hands insured for millions, to shell crabs for his young assistant, Tamara Lee. This was all to coax her into eating a few bites when she claimed she had no appetite. Meanwhile, I drank myself into a bloody mess, trying to secure investments for him. When I asked him to hand me some antacids, he refused without even looking up. “These hands are for painting. Use your own.” For ten years, he couldn’t even be bothered to change the way he treated me. That night, as I sobered up in the cold wind, I asked my lawyer to draft a divorce agreement. "Henry, in this vast, chaotic world, our paths end here," I said inwardly