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His mother's words were gospel to him, and the more he mulled over them, the more he was convinced he had to confront Rowena, even if it meant ending her life. As fate would have it, Rowena was being pushed out by the doctor, clamoring for me to take the baby. The others recoiled from the lifeless infant, desperate for it to be someone else's problem. Not me, though. I had faced that horror in a previous life; the shock of a stillborn had already scarred me once. 'But why should I?' I pondered. I confronted Rowena, "Why should I be the one to take your child?"

Evonne hadn't left the country? Then what about my parents and the rest of my family? If they were still in the country, how could they not have seen the livestream? How could they not have saved me? I ignored the nearby Bruce and desperately crawled on the ground, looking for my phone. I used my broken finger to open the photo of Hashford that Evonne had sent me. I zoomed in, then zoomed in again. It was then that I clearly saw the buildings in the picture.

She felt sixteen again, barefoot in that shelter, a paper bead bracelet on her wrist, and a secret in her chest that she thought would kill her if spoken aloud. Then she saw Marla’s smile in her mind. And River’s hands building bookshelves. And her own feet walking into a world she was told she’d never survive. She breathed in. And began. “There was a night I thought would be my last,” she said. “A night where I left a hotel room, pregnant, invisible, and convinced no one would ever care. But here’s the thing about brokenness. It doesn’t mean you’re done. It means you’re in process.

Too much fire and not enough air. She sat in her study, lights dim, the rain still tapping against the old glass. Before her lay a blank leather-bound book. She dipped the pen in ink, then paused. She wrote: For my son. “The world you inherit is broken. You are not born to fix it. You are born to survive it. This is not a cradle song. This is a manual of war.” She titled the first page: THE BOOK OF BLOOD She stopped. Closed her eyes. Listened to the wind.

I feel like a failure as a man, and now I am starting to feel like a failure as a Marine. Guess that once again, I have something that I have to prove. I need to prove to every single one of these men that I am Clayton Jackson, the man with a disability, not Clayton Jackson, the man with a broken heart. But somehow, having a broken heart does feel like a disability now. This is something that I am going to have to prove and not keep trying to say. So the minute I step out of this Humvee, I leave my broken heart behind. I leave my broken heart behind in that abandoned building. In a way, I can say that I left it there the moment that I saw her again. Maybe she is the one that will get me thro

A ferocious roar filled his ears, seemed to fill up the whole world, and he could feel the vibrations as the panther gave chase. As he started down the stairs, he tried to kick the door closed behind him but he also didn’t want to pause even for a second, and he didn’t think his kick was forceful enough to get the door closed all the way. He picked up his speed, nearly tumbling down the stairs, sure that he could feel the breath of the animal on his neck. He raced to the closest bookshelf, full of hardback volumes by Stephen King. Hoping to buy himself a little more time, he grabbed one of the thicker books—Bag of Bones—and hurled it toward the stairs just as the panther came into the librar

A memory of Jericho suddenly flashed to her mind. -Flashback- "No matter what happens, I will always be here for you," Jericho said while smiling. "I will always be the guy you can come to whenever you have a problem. Someone who would drop everything he's doing just to come to you. I promise you that you will never be alone in this world." -End of Flashback- ------- Patricia woke up after a few hours and the first thing she did was break everything she touched inside her room. She destroyed her clothes, her bed, her bags and shoes, and every single piece of furniture around her. She screamed until there's no voice to scream with anymore.

A line from a poem whose title seemed fuzzy in his head. Without pausing to mull over what to do next, Thaddeus turned and ran. With one swift movement, he barged into one of the dumpsters and nearly spilled out its contents. He would stand and run, unapologetic, but it was a little too late, Mathew and Mark were nearly all over him. Rounding one of the trash lumps, he squeezed himself through the gate entrance of what used to be an old bar. He kept sprinting as fast as his legs could carry him, the sweat dripping off him as he tried to restrain his fear was cold, it took all his energy to draw air into his lungs, trying to get as far away from where the other boys could reach him.

I woke to a heartbeat that was not my own. I kept getting flashbacks of the events from the night before, perhaps, that could be the reason why sleep had abandoned me. The room was quiet, filled only with the soft breathing of the other girls. The words of the traveller from the night before continued to ring in my head, and somewhere inside the territory, Alpha Xander was awake, I could still feel him, so much, I didn’t notice someone had walked in.

I got it open and got in. Finding shelter: check! My body was shivering, and it was hard to move. I was freezing. A quick look around the room revealed some old fishing tools and - as by some miracle - petroleum and a box of matches. I grabbed the box. Thank God, I thought with a smile. Tree matches left and even though the petroleum was almost all gone, I was used to less back home. There was no fireplace, but a broken iron cauldron. I grabbed anything that could burn, threw it in the cauldron, and lit a fire. The flames were hot and welcoming. I smiled.