Fiction 2025

The sun rises. I reach my hand towards the window to catch it. It's a mirage, there is no window and my hand is sucked in, my body following after it. I see myself, I'm floating in empty space. Now I'm on a date at a restaurant, it never went anywhere with the man, but the food was delicious. I wish I could make something like that. A spark of light flashes, and a flame ignites. Inside the flame, I dream of owning a restaurant just like that one. Now I'm back at my office job, I always hated this job. I'm gonna quit soon. Maybe not tomorrow, or next week, or even in the year, but one day I'll quit. What was I supposed to do after quitting? I can't seem to remember. The light dwindles ever so slightly. Now I'm on a rooftop, with my best friend and we’re arguing over something. What was it again? I try to remember but can’t. She turns her back and begins walking away; I reach out– my hand desperate to catch her.  She continues into the darkness and I lose sight of her. The flame has dissipated entirely now, there's nothing left. I'm home now.  

Where it’s dark, there is no sun, just emptiness outside.  

There are no buildings, as if life itself had run out of road and all that remains is my apartment. The TV plays something nonsensical, it doesn’t matter thought - it's just there to keep the room  from getting too quiet. Tomorrow I’ll go to work, just like everyday. What was I saving up for again? A repulsive smell wafts its way into my nose, like rotten eggs. I approach the stove, the walls around my apartment fall around me, revealing nothing but dead space outside. I inch ever so closer to the stove, the smell is stronger now. The apartment continues to fall apart. like blood leaking out of an open wound everything continues to leak out of existence. Now I remember, I was to open a restaurant. The owner of a restaurant ought to  know how to cook. There is nothing but me and the stove. I switch it on. A spark of light flashes, small at first, it grows larger and larger consuming everything around it. It's hot… It's so very hot.  

Now I'm sitting in front of a window, the night sky stares back at me. It hurts, I don't want to see the sun rise today.

 

The phone rings, the rising sun reflects light into my eyes. I wince – taking it as a sign to get up, I roll myself off my bed. I can feel sweat on my forehead, I must have been having one hell of a dream. An old friend once told me that the rising sun is a reminder that we're alive. I wish I could think like her, that a new day is a new chance to better ourselves. To me a new day is just another pain in the ass. I wonder what Dawn’s up to nowadays.  Speaking of pains in the ass, the phone is still ringing.  I pick it up and can already hear the yelling before it reached my ears.

“Zoey, where the hell are you?” Shit, he seems really pissed this time. I make an attempt at a good excuse.  

“Sorry, did I forget to send in a notice? I came down with something real nasty and-”

“Weren't you sick just last week? Christ Zoey, you know what? It doesn't matter because I'm calling to let you know the company is letting you go”

“Fucks sake Ron, over a few no shows?”

“It's everything! Your performance is less than subpar, the days you do show up, your late. There's always something with you, and we’re sick of it.”

“Fine whatever, like I cared about this shitty job anyways.” I can hear him try and speak but I hang up. I sink down into a sitting position, it's true I didn't really care about the job, just some shitty call center. In the corner of my eye I notice the pile of mail stacked on my desk, with nothing better to do I make my way towards my desk. I push aside junk, wrappers, cans, an old drawing notebook. I begin opening the mail. As if things couldn't get worse the first thing is a rent due notice, I roll my eyes and set it aside. I shuffle through various envelopes, scams, coupons, magazines I forgot to unsubscribe.  Then something catches my eye.

“Healing Hope?” I didn't recognize the name, a quick google search and I found out it was a hospital. What business could they possibly have with me? My mind races a bit, maybe a family member is sick. I anxiously open it. Shocked would be an understatement to how what I found made me feel.

Its been such a long time. Why the hell would I be listed as her emergency contact?

“Zoe! Are you listening?” I snapped back into the world. I was on the way to the hospital.

“Yeah I heard you, I'll think about it, alright?” My mother was calling me about another  potential job she found for me. This one the motherload of shitty jobs. A white collar office job at a real ‘professional place’.

“Enough thinking about it, I've been waiting for you to figure things out but it's like you've just given up.” Approaching the hospital, and growing tired of the subject I attempt to end the conversation.

“Look i'm really busy, can we discuss this another time?”

“Whatever Zoe, I love you.”

“Yeah, bye.” I hang up the phone and right on cue I look up to see the Healing Hope hospital sign. Standing at the peak of my nerves, I steel myself and enter the hospital.

“How can I help you today ma’am? 
    “Is there a Dawn Ito here?” The receptionist clicks away at her keyboard. The clicking stops and she makes a face I can only describe as sorrowful.

“Am I correct in assuming your Zoey Parker?” I nod my head, a nurse comes out and leads me to room numbered 143.

“She's just beyond this door Ms, if you need anything there's a buzzer in the room”

I attempt to thank the nurse but she hurries off. Unusual to say the least. I turn back to the door; she's just beyond here huh? I think back, how many years has it been? For some reason despite all the time, she still listed me as an emergency contact. I heard the injury was bad but there were no details in the mail. I wrap my hand around the handle of the door, taking a deep breath to calm my nerves. I open the door.  

 

 

“I'll have the usual please!” I couldn't help but scoff a little at  the idea that Dawn comes here so much that she has a usual.  “What?”

“The usual?”

“Yeah, I get breakfast here when I can! Bacon, sausage, and eggs. Coffee too.”

“Isn't this supposed to be a late graduation celebration, don't you want something special?”

“Why would I? What if I get something and it's not as good as the usual?  I would  have wasted the trip!”  

“Sure.” I turn my attention towards the waiter. “I'll have the pancakes please.” He takes our menus and makes his way towards the kitchen.

“Graduation… What's next for you?”

“Me? Probably work.I’m not interested in anything particular college has to offer.” I say, looking out the window. It’s a half truth. There's nothing profitable I'm interested in.

“You're not gonna do art school?” I knew it'd come up sooner or later

“Please, are you serious? All that money just to be paid shit, no thanks.”

“But it's what you love doing right? Why not give it a shot at least. I saw on Google you don't even have to go to college, you can freelance.”

“I can't afford a risk like freelance.” Unlike Dawn, who has folks who’ll pay for school.  That’s a privilege I don't have, though I'd never say that to her face. I guess a part of me is jealous in that regard, everything is so simple for her, dream big and then chase those dreams. But something like that has never felt possible for someone like me. A part of me feels guilty, like one day these feelings will just pop out of me at the wrong time, and then things will never be the same between her and I.  “What about you?”

“Think I’ll get a business degree. then one day I can own a restaurant like this.” The waiter comes with our food, setting the food on the table Dawn looks as happy as can be. Of course she’ll be fine after graduation, she's a dream chaser after all.

 

A figure laid in bed alone. She was looking out the window. She was covered head to toe in bandages, the small cracks I could see through were almost sickening to look at.I was hard pressed to find anything even slightly resembling the Dawn I knew.   I walked in slowly.

“Dawn?” I take a seat next to her, Dawn shifted her head to look towards me, her mouth and eyes the only things not bandaged shut. She smiled and her eyes lit up..

“Wow Zoe, I didn’t think you'd actually show.” Her voice was raspy,  

“Of course I’d show. I know it's been a while but getting a hospital invite is alarming.” I pause for a second to let it all set in. I didn't get a report of what happened, so I couldn’t expect what I was seeing in front of me. “What happened Dawn?”

“You're gonna laugh… It was some sort of gas leak.” That's all she had to say, my minds able to fill in the rest of what happened. With injuries like that she must've been in there when…

“Christ, couldn't you smell it or something?”

“I was so tired that day Zoe, I don't remember much. I remember a flash, next thing I knew I was here.” A gas leak, it must've been at her restaurant.

“Is the restaurant okay?” She gives me a blank look, as if the question was asked in a language she didn't understand. As if she just then processed the question she began laughing.

“It was at my house Zoey, there is no restaurant.” She read the confusion on my face and elaborated. “That night… I thought a lot about what you said, decided I wanted to take a shot at life with my own two hands. That restaurant I dreamed of having… I wanted it to be my own, no one else's.” She looks down at her own body and chickles a bit. “looks like that dream went and kicked the bucket…”

I think back to the night she was talking about, the last time we ever hung out. She had just graduated college. We had gotten into an argument. She tried to suggest art school to me again, all the while she planned to open a restaurant on a loan from her father. Of course I was jealous, and finally I snapped. I started saying those things I always feared I’d say, and it quickly snowballed into something I couldn't control. Our relationship deteriorated after that. I broke something that in my mind could never come back together.I hoped  time would fix things, but we never really talked after that. And now to find out that she never opened took that loan, never opened that restaurant because of what I said, it made me sick. Guilt and shame joined all the jealousy and regret I had bottled up inside me all these years.

“Oh Dawn…” Almost at a complete loss of words.  I take a good look at her, “Are you in any pain?” The question feels stupid, like a sick joke, but Dawns answer surprised me

“Strangely not at all… I'm hopped up on so many different drugs, I'm basically more drug than human.” She laughs at her joke. I smiled. Upon closer inspection I notice all the different fluids going through her. It looks uncomfortable but I know they the only thing making keeping her alive at the moment.

“Modern medicine huh.”

“You know it.” The room falls silent. “Tell me a story Zoe.”

“What?” Her out of nowhere questions startled me.

“We haven't talked in so long. What have you been up to? What do you do for work?”

I start with recent events, how I got fired. But move on to why it wasn't that big of a deal. Job hunting is nothing new to me, I'll do any sort of odd job, just not with a lot of enjoyment.  

She tells me about her job, the one she got with her business degree. Some soulless cubicle office she hated. The more we talked the more it felt like back in the day when we were in school.  The conversation shifted to personal stuff, jokes. We were actually having fun. Eventually she asked if I still draw.  I went quiet for a second before telling her no. And then what I've always told her– that art is not a practical career. So I eventually gave it up.

“But you still LOVE it right? The least you could do is try.” It was obvious by her eyes that the question was genuine.

“Its not about whether I love it or not, it's about what's practical, and in practicality I'd never see a dime. I don’t have the luxury to chase dreams.”

“You always say that.” Sensing old wounds opening up I decide not to pursue the topic further.

“Its getting late Dawn, I'll be back tomorrow. Focus on getting yourself right, the sooner you're better the sooner we don't have to talk in such a depressing place.” She smiles

“You’ll really come tomorrow?”

“ It's a promise.”

 

Days pass, sometimes we talk about university, some days about the present. Each day more liquids drip into her.The doctors tell me it's not looking good. Her life wasn't in immediate danger, with the right equipment, and a caretaker she could still live somewhat peacefully- but she’d never be whole again. Today she had a special request.

“I'm telling you I haven't touched sketchbook in years”

“Cmon dont give me that, I’ve heard its like riding a bike –you never truly forget”

“We’ll see about that” I tell her.

It's quiet for a while, she looks out the window while begin to draw.

“Something interesting out there?”

“Not particularly.” She answers without taking her eye off the window. I'd almost consider it her natural position, it's how I always found her in the morning. She shifted her body to face me, moving her gaze from the window to me.

“Hey dont move I’m not finished yet”

“You know I could have bought that restaurant four years ago.” my hand stops. I look up from the journal/  Although most of her face is covered, I sense an expression.  One I've never seen before.  She is lost in reflection. “I made the money working in that dead end office a few months back. But I got cold feet Zoe.  I rationalized it in my head, told myself I should be on the safer side and raise more funds..” She sighs, “I always thought I’d buy it when I was ready, but the truth is I was never going to be ready. I probably would've worked that job until the day I dropped dead.”

“That just means the first thing you have to do once you're out is finally buy it.” I lie, knowing she would never be able to do anything independent again. I neede her to have something to look forward to. Maybe It didn't need to be a lie, maybe I could help her.  

“Once I'm out huh…” she goes back to looking out the window.  I catch her reflection, her eyes are wet. “I think that's the problem Zoey, I spent every day looking towards tomorrow. Told myself my life would finally be where I want it to be after X amount of time.” She pauses. “I guess what I'm trying to say is life doesn't wait for you. We had a great time this week, huh? Why didn't we do it sooner? With the way I am now, I don't think the tomorrow I've always waited for will come. It feels like I ran out of road”

“Don't say that Dawn, you're not out of road. You'll get out of here, who knows; in ten year maybe technology will advance and you-”

“But until then, I wouldn't really be living would I? I'd just be here… existing. Once again telling myself to wait until blank happens” Her eye is trained solely into the horizon outside. “And what about you? I've heard your conversations with the nurse. You'd just throw away your personal life to watch over me? Neither of us would be living.”

I open my mouth in an attempt to rebuttal what she said but I’m cut short by my phone ringing.  Shit, I was supposed to have dinner with my mom, she said she has a “promising” job prospect.

“Dawn I gotta get going, we will finish this when I come back tomorrow. I can also finish this drawing.” I gather my things.

“Thanks for coming Zoey, you know you really are my best friend.” Words from the bottom of her heart.

“Anytime Dawn.” I leave the room before taking one last glance of her laying there, looking out that window.

“She what?” Anger, sadness, and grief swelled up in me all at once.

“It was her wish, she said she couldn't stand it a moment longer.”

Dawn pulled the plug on herself last night. It was an hour or two after I left. Her last words being “ I don't wish to see the sun rise today.” It probably didn't mean much to the doctors, but to me I knew her stupid quote all too well. I collected her things–there really wasn't much. The window catches my eye.  You really could see the sun rise from here.

I begin the walk home.  After putting everything away I feel the need to go out. I find myself in the same bar I always end up at after losing a job. I drink more than usual until everything becomes a haze and it’s time to go home. I stumble my way back to my apartment and collapse in my bed. And close my eyes.

But until then, I wouldn't really be living would I? I'd just be here… existing.

I have a job interview today. Its the one my mom was able to fish out. Not like I really care about it though, same shit different ycompanu.  I put my jacket on and right as Im about to step out the door something I see the spiral drawing pad from Dawn's room. I had set it on my desk the day I came back from the hospital.  I turn the page to the unfinished image. Its been bugging me to leave it like that.  I turn the door knob to leave…

I guess what i'm trying to say is life doesn't wait for you

Damnit Dawn…I turn around, taking my coat off.  To hell with that job anyways. I begin drawing.  Even though she isn't right in front of me, I know I could finish it off from memory.  My hand traces out the picture in my mind. I capture the window she stared at, and her face. I draw and draw until finally. Finished.

“Huh, would you look at that… Guess it really is like riding a bike.” I turn the page and find a note on the back of the paper:

The worst thing you could ever do is not try,

The sun will rise tomorrow, what will you do?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Train of Thought

I found myself standing in a sea of people, trying to keep a bouquet of flowers protected. I caught an occasional whiff of the sweetness that wafted from the velvet pedals, ever so slightly easing the strain of anxiety that coiled around my stomach. A loud whistle reverberated throughout the station, and I struggled to take in a breath. My nerves screamed for me to turn around and head to my empty home, but I have an obligation to uphold.

Finding my way onto the train with trembling hands, I removed my gloves and jacket, placing them alongside my other belongings on the table that extended from the wall. I settled into my seat, frowning at the empty space to my side, as it was cold and void. A sudden jolt of movement defibrillated me from imagining my sister filling the seat next to mine.

I had previously declined the train ticket from my parents, because it was a declaration of attendance—an acknowledgement of something I couldn’t bring myself to accept. The weight of grief on my chest and longing that swelled in my eyes was something I’d never felt before. I wish it had stayed that way.

When I received news of the accident, I could barely understand the sudden weight of my limbs and rank from my underarms as everything I owned became buried under summits of used tissues. Still, here in this cabin, I could barely mull the thought of Lily being dead in my mind.

I gritted my teeth. The stamped ticket mockingly sat next to the flowers; the sight felt like an insult. Trying to avoid the sting of emotions, I closed my eyes and suddenly I was back in our neighborhood bookshop. The subtle scent of old novels filled the air and sunlight radiated through the tall windows. Lily and I were nuzzled in the alcove window, surrounded by stacks of our favorite pastimes.

“What about this one?” she asked, holding up a worn book. “This one is my favorite!”  

Her words were overexaggerated as she read aloud, and we were transported to a world of kings and queens. The soft rustle of pages turning was the only measure of time we had. She suddenly mocked the voice of a character with a booming tone and we both burst into a fit of laughter.

“Lily, that was terrible,” with my head thrown back, a tear born from laughter rolled past my ear.

“Wait, Poppy, you haven’t heard what his wife sounds like!” she said.

As the light began to fade, we shrunk closer together. Our giggles reverberated throughout the nook, telling our own stories as these moments with Lily were ones that I wished I could freeze in time. This bookstore became our sanctuary and the place our minds could wander away to places of magic and talking animals—a memory I hold close, even in the darkest of times.

“What do you think this one is about?” I asked.

I held up a book that was stolen from the base of a tower of books, causing an avalanche of literature to spill. Lily giggled and ran her fingers over the novel’s spine, eyes wide.

“Pride and Prejudice,” Lily struggled with pronunciation, but nevertheless, “This will be mine,” she announced.

“That’s our last copy,” a bookstore librarian whispered to us.

Lily pulled the book to her chest, caging it with her arms.

“Dibs!” she said.

We burst into a fit of laughter.

“No matter what happens or how old we get, I’ll love you, always,” Lily said, holding taking my hand.

“Always,”

Lost outline, Picture

The train cart, nearly empty, came to a slow. The overcast of clouds made the air dense and cold, and dread settled in the pit of my stomach; I wasn’t looking forward to the rest of the ride. There was still some time before I had to face my family, dressed in black. I tried to pay no mind as people boarded, shuffling their luggage through the various isles.

A young girl settled herself in the seat adjacent from mine. It seemed as though she was the last person to board the cart, so movement from the train didn’t trail too far.

Turning my face to the book that laid in my lap, its spine was worn from numerous readings. Pride and Prejudice had been Lily’s favorite. I never understood her love for the story. My fingers lightly traced its face. It was a novel she never let me touch, but I now carried it as an ode to her memory. Pulling my wrist up, I wiped my damp cheeks.

A shiver tickled its way down my spine and out of the corner of my eye, I caught the gaze of the girl. I watched her play with the hem of her shirt with furrowed brows, as if debating whether or not to speak. She had been staring.

Heat rose to my cheeks, and I moved to look out of the rain-smeared window. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to imagine myself alone again. My mind raced as I feared the girl would say something.

I lost my sister.

The word looped in my head; lost—a lie. Lily wasn’t lost. When someone is lost, they can be found. I cannot find my sister. I didn’t misplace or forget about her.

She’s dead.

An overwhelming tsunami of thoughts waterboard my mind and I started to suffocate.

“That book looks well-loved,”

Opening my eyes, I met the gaze of the baby-faced girl and she showed a warm smile. She couldn’t have been older than ten or eleven.

“Pride and Prejudice is my favorite story,” she said.

There was a silence that hung in the air, and now I was the one debating whether or not to speak. After some time, I uncurled my fingers from the book, breaking it away from my heart.

“It was my sister’s, too,” I said, voice cracking.

I refused to swipe away the tear that rolled from my eye, and I think she understood what I was feeling because she slid from her seat and sat directly across from mine. The flowers slightly obstructed her view and she decided to move to my side. Her deep blue eyes explored the book I held as if it were an ancient relic. I tightened my grip, feeling protective over the book.

“My name is Via,” she beamed, “What’s yours?”

“Poppy,”

I was taken back by the interaction as this little girl seemed incredibly and easily trusting. She tilted her head, trying to get a better look before her eyes met mine. My eyebrows jumped.

“One day I’ll find my Mr. Darcy,” Via said, smugly. “Have you found yours, Poppy?”

I wasn’t expecting the question and I couldn’t help but ponder. There was no “Mr. Darcy”, only my family—only Lily. We did everything together and Lily believed that we were only meant for each other. She believed that we were soulmates. I broke this declaration when I moved to university. She wanted to stay, and I couldn’t.

After sharing our lives together, then months of us growing apart, I never wanted to be closer.

Her car hydroplaned during a storm and forced a tree into the side of vehicle breaking any connection I’d have with my sister again. There was no fault in place, forcing a pit of unfairness to burn in my chest.

I tried ridding the thoughts by shaking my head, and I pulled Lily’s book earnestly closer to my heart in a means to distract myself.

“No,” I said.

Via tilted her head, studying me with curious eyes that seemed far older than the rest of her.

"My mom says Mr. Darcy’s not real," she said with a little shrug. "But I think she’s wrong. There are good people like him, right? People who mess up, but still really care about you?"

Her question hung in the air, and I found myself nodding slowly, though I wasn’t entirely sure I believed it myself.

"Maybe," I said softly. "Sometimes people show they care in ways we don’t understand right away, but it doesn’t mean they don’t love us."

Via smiled at that, her fingers absently tracing the petals of the bouquet resting in front of us. "Do you think your sister had a Mr. Darcy?"

The question hit me harder than I expected. Lily never needed a Mr. Darcy, I thought. She had her books, her dreams, her stubborn belief that life could be a love story if you let it. And she had me—for a time, at least.

"I think she found love in other ways," I replied, my voice trembling. "She felt like she didn’t need to find her story in someone else,"

Via seemed satisfied with my answer. She settled back against the seat, her legs swinging slightly as though she couldn’t quite sit still. Shifting in her seat, her curious eyes darting between me and the book I held so protectively. She seemed to sense the weight of the moment but was too young to leave her questions unspoken.

"Do you think your sister would let me have it?" she asked, her voice hopeful.

My breath caught. I tightened my grip on the book, pressing its worn cover closer to my chest. For a moment, I didn’t know how to answer. The truth felt too heavy for a child, but I couldn’t lie—not about Lily.

"She . . . can’t say," I said softly, my voice breaking. I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced myself to meet Via’s gaze. "She’s not here anymore,"

The words hung in the air like a storm cloud, and Via’s expression shifted. Her bright eyes dimmed, and she hesitated before speaking again.

"Oh, I’m sorry,"

I nodded, not trusting my voice, and turned my attention back to the book. I ran my fingers along the frayed edges of the pages, focusing on the texture to ground myself.

"She loved this book," I said after a long pause, my voice barely above a whisper. "And she would’ve loved you, too. You remind me of her—curious, kind, and full of stories,"

Via giggled and looked away with a sheepish smile, trying to stay humble.

"I think stories are the best kind of love. You can carry them anywhere," She pointed to the book in my lap, "Like that one! It’s kind of like she’s still here, isn’t it?"

Via reached out, her small hand brushing against my arm. It was a simple gesture, but it carried a surprising amount of comfort.

"I think she’s still with you. In the book, and in here."

She pointed to my chest, her expression earnest. Her words brought a fresh wave of tears to my eyes, but this time, they didn’t sting as much. There was something healing in the way she said it, like a truth I’d forgotten how to believe.

I looked down at the book, its spine cracked and its pages worn from Lily’s constant touch. The scent of her perfume still lingered faintly, mingling with the musty smell of old paper.

"Yeah," I whispered, "it is."

The train jerked slightly, and the scenery outside blurred as we passed through a tunnel. I felt a weight settle on my arm and realized Via had leaned her head against me. Her trust was startling, but it reminded me of the way Lily used to lean on me in the dusty bookstore. The memory brought a bittersweet ache to my chest.

"Do you think she’d like me?" Via asked, her voice muffled against my sleeve.

I smiled despite myself, imagining Lily’s wide grin and quick wit. "She’d love you," I said. "She’d probably try to convince you to act out the characters with her. She loved making stories come alive."

Via giggled, the sound light and unburdened.

"I’d do it! I’d be Elizabeth Bennet. And you would be Mr. Darcy!"

"She would’ve liked that.” I laughed softly, the sound feeling foreign but welcome.  

The train began to slow again, the huffing of the engine lowering as the station came into view. Via sat up and looked out the window, her face lighting up.

"This is my stop," she said. "Thanks for talking to me."

She hopped down from the seat, leaving behind a faint warmth where her head had rested. Before she disappeared through the train doors, she turned back and waved, her smile as bright as Lily’s was.

I waved back, the words, "thank you" caught in my throat.

As the train pulled away, I opened Lily’s book. The pages were crinkled from water damage and the edges chewed from moths. My hand trembled as I turned to the last page, knowing this is where she wrote all her notes. The words written there, in her familiar looping script, felt like a warm kiss to my fractured heart:

"You don’t need a Mr. Darcy. You’ll have me. Always."

I closed the book and held it tightly, tears streaming freely now. For the first time since Lily’s accident, I felt something other than the weight of loss. It wasn’t quite peace, but it was close. It was love. It was her.

“Always,” I whispered. 

It was going to rain, Lin thought. She would get wet before the school bus arrived. She hadn’t expected it to rain. An umbrella! Oh, if only she had ordered an umbrella. That would have helped her outfit. But she hadn’t ordered one online. So, she was stuck with a white crop top and wide shorts in the rain. Her mother had one back in the apartment, but it was already three days old. Lin pulled out her phone. She was going order the umbrella. All the ones she saw on the POLY app were marked down by 50% for the Fall sale. Same marked down price as every season, it seemed to Lin. She found a cute one that was totally white. It would arrive at her school between 8:00 AM – 3:00 PM. Her mom couldn’t afford the “same hour” shipping and delivery that other families could afford. She knew her mother did her best, though. Her dad had died three years ago from a delivery accident, so it fell on her mom to pay for the POLY subscription with her lower paying job.  

When the rain started to pour, Lin was left to just stand there, on the side of the road. Her crop top was thin enough that the rain made it see through. Lin turned her backpack around to cover her chest. Lin thought about how the other kids could afford the thicker tops. The tops that would wick water away, or the tops which would completely repel water. Those were the best. The ones with whatever chemicals it was that did that, she wished she could buy tops like that every day. But her mother could only afford the cheaper polyester clothes and items that weren’t marked down as much on POLY app on top of the subscription. Lin had arguments with her mom about that, which she never won. It wasn’t possible to win against an adult. This was what Lin knew too well from all the arguing and the shaming. When the school bus finally arrived, she ran aboard it.

“A front backpack, huh? Don’t see those every day,” the bus driver said.  

Lin tried to notice something new about the driver. She was wearing blue cargo pants with a basic black hoodie. She had seen the driver wear them already. The driver wore nothing on her head. Then Lin saw something. The bus driver was wearing mismatching socks.

“That’s an interesting way to wear socks,” Lin said.

“Thanks. Now go take your seat,” the bus driver said.

As she walked down the bus alley, a couple of other kids shared the same comment as the bus driver. Lin hated that her backpack was the thing they noticed. She had got new EVA shoes that morning along with an elastane, black and white scrunchy that she had in her hair, but everyone was just seeing the way she was wearing her five-day-old backpack. No one had commented on it before, but of course, somehow, it was getting all the attention.  

Lin reached the very back of the bus and sat down next to her best friend Robby. Robby was seventeen, a year older than Lin, and only a month away from the adulthood.

“Hey Lin! I like the—” Robby started.

“Don’t say anything about the backpack! What else is there? Hm? Look real hard, Robby!” Lin said.

“I, uhhh… I’m sorry, I’m drawing a blank here. What are you wearing that’s new today?”

Lin punched Robby in the shoulder. It was the worst question a person could ask. The absolute worst.  

“Oww, that really hurt! I can’t see what’s new on you, okay?” Robby said.

“On my feet. Look at my feet! Do you see what’s there? Jennifer Wally shoes! The same typa shoes she wore up the shirt mountain in Chile! Remember that?” Lin said.

“I’m sorry. I think they look nice. But don’t hit me again, you hit me right where they drew blood for my MNP concentration test.”

“Oh right, forgot you were getting that done this weekend. Sorry. Your necklace looks nice too. How’d that testing go?”

“It went pretty good, I guess. I had the same Micro and Nano plastic concentration in my blood as last month. They told me I should try and get it down, but that’s not new. They actually gave this necklace to me after the testing was done. Doctor said I should get used to wearing one around for when I get my MNP concentration necklace next month.”

“So you have to wear that every day going forward?”

“I do, yeah.”

“That’s shitty.”

Robby agreed with Lin, and the two continued to chat until the school bus stopped for the next kid. Lin and Robby immediately stopped talking and looked out the window. This kid’s name was Jeremy, Lin knew. He wore… mostly blue on Friday before the weekend. When Lin looked out the window, she saw that he was wearing all black. Perhaps it was a graphic shirt? This kid liked to come in with weird things like that. She knew Jeremy didn’t buy from the POLY app like most other kids at school. She heard him stomp up the steps and stop halfway for the bus driver to comment on his clothes.  

“That’s an interesting graphic, kid. Get in,” the bus driver said.

Yes! Lin got it right! He was wearing a graphic shirt just like she guessed.

“Knew Jeremy was going to be wearing a graphic shirt,” she whispered to Robby.

“Shhh! I know you know you’re not supposed to talk until it’s done! Do you want to get the shaming again?” Robby shushed back.

Lin punched Robby in the spot where he got blood drawn, again. His face lit up like he was going to yell but just stomped his foot against the ground instead.

Lin looked over the seats again to try and hear what Jeremy would say.

“What are you wearing that’s new today?” Jeremy said to the bus driver.

Lin’s eyes widened. Is she going to get the shaming? Has that ever happened to a bus driver before? Lin covered her mouth with a hand to hide her insidious little smile.

“Come on, look at my feet kid!” the bus driver yelled.

“Ohhh… your left sock is white. That’s nice…” Jeremy said.

Lin watched in anticipation as Jeremy stepped up the rest of the stairs and turned down the bus alley. Lin scrunched her eyes to try and figure out whatever the thing was on his shirt. As he moved down the alley, the kids made similar comments to the one the bus driver made. It was an interesting graphic. It was a bright green skull that was at the center of his chest. Lin knew she wouldn’t see it again until school got out, so she tried to remember the image of it in her head. A bright green skull. A bright green skull. It was locked in. When Jeremy sat down, the conversation resumed.  

“How many people have asked the bus driver that same question?” Lin said.

“I think Jeremy makes five, I think. I don’t know. I know there are a few others who get on before me, so it could be more. I don’t think anyone keeps track of that except you,” Robby said.

“Robby, you’re supposed to keep track of how many times someone asks ‘what’s new.’ You’re older than me, and you’re almost an adult. You’re supposed to keep track of that stuff. And if they ask it enough times, then you gotta shame them! You can’t let anyone get away with wearing the same shit over and over again! You have to realize that already!”  

“I do, but Lin, that’s the bus driver. She’s an adult, and we’re still just kids. And besides, I just hate the way it makes me feel. I don’t like starting the shaming, and I don’t like seeing the persons’ faces. They get all contorted and gross when it happens. Remember when you got the shaming last week for not wearing anything new? You made that same face. I wasn’t right in front of you when it happened, but I could see your face. You must have the bruises still, it was like—”

“That wasn’t my fault! My mom forgot to pay for the POLY subscription, so I didn’t have any new clothes to wear! You got that? It wasn’t like I forgot or anything, so it’s different!”

“I get that, but you were crying when it happened to you.”

“I know.”

Annoyed at their conversation, Lin unlocked her phone to check when her umbrella would arrive at the school. The app opened with a loud ripping sound, like the unwrapping of a gift. When she checked her order, she saw two things that made her giggle to herself. One: the order would arrive in one minute. And two: her mother had placed an order for a tight cropped hoodie that would arrive with the umbrella. Lin bounced up and down on the old bus chair and showed the order to Robby. He told her he was impressed that her delivery would arrive on the bus. Even with the same hour delivery, he had to wait until he got off the bus before he got what he ordered. It was a lucky convenience that not many people got to experience. Lin looked out the back window to see where the drone would come from. Behind the bus, hovering further back in the line of five cars, there was the drone. The thing was about as big as a car, and from a distance, it looked a little bit like a motorcycle. As it got closer by passing over the line of cars, it was clear to see that it wasn’t a cycle by any means. Where the wheels might be, there were large circular fans that buzzed the tune of swarm. At the front of the drone, where the windshield glass might be for a motorcycle, a display screen with text on it came into Lin’s view. It read, “Lin’s Order.” As it approached the bus, the drone’s buzz grew louder, and suddenly and aggressively maneuvered to the side window Lin sat at. On the side of the drone, there was a small circular canon chamber used for delivering the package. The display screen turned toward the window and read, “Prepare For Order Please.” Lin Shoved the window down and made a diamond with her fingers like she was about ready to catch a football. The package shot out of the drone and Lin caught it perfectly. She stuck her head out the window and blew the drone a kiss. On the drone’s display screen, a pair of red digital lips appeared. The swarm buzz got louder again; the drone vanished upward out of sight. Lin tore open the package and removed the tight cropped hoodie and umbrella.  

“Switch seats with me. I wanna get out of this soaked tee,” Lin said.

“I’ll cover for you,” Robby said.  

Lin pulled off her shirt and threw it out the window. It was useless to keep under the hoodie. She pulled the hoodie over and put her hands in the pockets. It was white, and the graphic on the front of it was of the shirt mountain that Jennifer Wally climbed. Yes! It went perfectly with her shoes. No one would dare to think that her five-day-old backpack was the star of her outfit. But, on both arms of the hoodie, there were some strange red circles that didn’t seem to go with the rest of the design.  

“Smell it,” Robby said.  

It smelt like chemicals mostly, with a soft hint of blood.  

“Oh, you got a bloody one? I read about that earlier. In one of the warehouses nearby, some people got sucked into a polyester yarn machine or whatever. Or I think there was a fight, something like that. I remember a few people died though. You’re lucky, you got one of the more unique ones. You could probably hang onto it for at least a week without worrying about the shaming,” Robby said.  

As Robby said those words, the bus stopped for another kid. Everyone quieted down again. Lin didn’t look out the window to see who it was or what they were wearing. The new white umbrella she had was about the length of a baton, and it weighed a little bit like one too. The grip on it was meaty. She sniffed the hoodie arm again, this time deeper. The chemicals would keep the rain away, the umbrella was just the cherry on top of it all. It was a sublime feeling that Lin enjoyed every time she got a new clothing item.  

“I’m really sorry, but what’s new about your outfit exactly?” Lin heard the kid up front ask.

That energy in her carried her to her feet. She shoved past Robby and stepped into the bus alley. Everyone looked at Lin. She felt their eyes all over her hoodie and umbrella. The heat from it all was intense. She wouldn’t back down from it. She pointed at the bus driver with her umbrella with a grin across her face.  

“Shame!” she yelled.

“Shame!” she yelled.

“Shame!” she yelled, again.

Someone else in a nearby bus seat stood up and pointed at the bus driver as well.

“Shame!” they yelled.  

Lin mobilized the whole bus. As she stepped past the bus seats, more and more kids rose up with her. As she pressed onward, the voices behind continued to chant. What sounded like two kids, became four kids, then seven kids, then ten kids, all stomping forward with Lin at the front. Lin could even hear the kid at the front who was still halfway up the steps chanting with them. The shaming had begun.

Lin reached the front of the bus. The bus driver held up her hands to cover her face. She did not want to be seen, nor hit in her face. Lin raised the umbrella in one hand and began to beat the driver over and over with it. The chant of the kids continued to grow as Lin felt the umbrella break and contort each time she swung against the driver’s back. Lin could barely hear the cars honking behind the bus. When the umbrella was completely broken, to the point where only the handle remained, Lin tossed it out the bus door. She panted from the exhaustion she caused herself. Warm sweat on her head rolled over her nose and dropped to the ground. The shaming was over. The kids all returned to their seats on the bus, and so did Lin.

She sat down next to Robby. She felt like a happy customer. She unlocked her phone and opened the POLY app again. She went to her orders and found the umbrella. She wanted to give it a good rating.  

It was the spring of 2016 when I first arrived in Tokyo, Japan. I was 17 years old then.

My parents were from China and never thought I would study abroad. So when I first told them that, they were surprised. But where to? If I went to America I was worried that I’d be shot in the street one day. Canada? Australia? Europe? Sounds expensive, since my family was only middle class at most. Korea is cheap, but Koreans are rude; besides I hate K-pop culture. And thus, all I had left was Japan.  
    I went to this local in-city international high school in Suginami Ward, Tokyo. Although it was called “international”, there were not many foreigners on campus. In my class, there was only me as a foreigner. Japanese people call foreigners “gaijin”, as a common slang, meaning “outsiders” literally. And this drove me more nervous with their seemingly no-so-inclusive culture. I mean, if you look at America, they have people from all around the world: black, white, brown, gray, pink, yellow, whatever. The same goes for most Western countries. But in East Asia it was different. Chinese are different though because they would kiss foreigners’ asses like some kind of protected animal species but superior. Anyway, on the first day when the teacher led me to the lectern in front of the whole class, I could feel the blood coming up to my face, burning, and sweat in my sticky palm.  
    “Good day everyone, my name is Haishen. I came from China.” Briefly, I introduced myself trying to speak the most authentic Japanese I could, hoping there wasn’t an accent. At least it did not sound like an accent to me, but I did not know how others heard it. I tried to keep it minimalist like the old Chinese political idiom: if you do more you make more mistakes; if you do less you make fewer mistakes.

No applauses. No reactions. Nothing. 
    “Great. Please be seated at that empty desk there next to the window,” said the teacher.

First class, English; Second class, Math; Third class, Japanese history … I couldn’t remember much of what was taught. All I could remember was that full of Japanese accent English (I am not sure if that could be even called English), the ways to say mathematical symbols like “plus” or “times” in Japanese, and that history teacher’s bald head with scarce thin hair surrounded on sides. Seriously, why couldn’t you just shave it all? The only thing I felt relieved about was that the teachers did not ask many questions; they simply kept talking about their stuff non-stop. Bunches of students in the class, separated into a few groups, brought their chairs together chatting with each other, while some boys even sat at desks. No one cared to have a conversation with me, not even one came nearby, so I just sat there and observed them and sometimes read the textbooks.  
    I glanced outside the window from time to time during classes, contemplating that one-week travel with my friends to Japan 2 years ago during summer vacation. I was only 14 back then. On that trip, I saw this fascinating dream-like world that I had never touched. The metropolis in downtown Tokyo, with thousands of skyscrapers which I overlooked on Tokyo Tower and Skytree, and not far away I could even see Mount Fuji. But I missed more about the serenity in the villages of Kyoto and the traditional architecture. On the highway, I looked outside the car window and glanced down at the scattered houses nestled here and there among the mountains; I made up my mind: this is what I am gonna live in the future. At night, we had a nice spa in the natural hot spring in our hotel room's backyard. It was a great time.

Everything had changed, though, and I still could not figure out why. Japan was still the same Japan, Tokyo was still the same Tokyo. Now, I was still at the same place. I could even stay as long as I could, and go wherever I wanted. I mean, I could take a day off on the weekend to travel around the city, climb Mount Fuji; or even spend the whole weekend visiting Kyoto and soaking in the hot spring all day. But I didn’t. As I said, it did not feel the same.  

Meanwhile, I found their Math and English classes were extremely easy. They were still teaching linear equations and basic tenses (both of which I mastered in 6th grade at elementary). So when the teachers asked like “who knows the answer of this question”, I immediately knew the answer in my heart, while the class remained utterly silent for a long while. I never answered or made any reaction, though, but watched others either tryhard thinking or just sitting there like morons. After a long while of waiting with no one knowing the answer, the teachers finally told the answers themselves; but was there any disappointment to them? I had no idea.

I noticed this one girl who sat behind me in the left corner of the classroom (my seat was the second last room on the left), about 5’3’’ with long and thick straight black hair to her waist, wearing silver metal frame glasses, reading this book in a black cover with a few monochrome flowers. I couldn’t really see her face since it was mostly covered by the book. She had been reading the same book ever since the first break, and she was still reading it now. 
    “What are you reading?” 
    “Pardon?” She put the book down, and I saw her face. She had a relatively small heart-shaped face, not one that profoundly gorgeous type, but somehow cute and delicate.  
    “The book you’re reading. Any interesting?” 
    “I quite like it.” 
    “What is it about?” 
    “A girl carrying an egg, looking for her mother.” 
    “Sounds boring.” 
    “It’s not!” 
    Perhaps noticing that was too loud and emotional, she suddenly covered her face in the book. We both had a brief laugh about that. 
    “What is your name?” I hated to ask in every sentence to get one response. 
    “Sayaka. Sakaya Mizuzono. And you are Hai…Shin?”  
    “Quite close. Actually it’s Haishen, but hey, you are close, that’s not bad.” Actually I was quite surprised she even remembered my name. I guarantee if I asked anyone else in the classroom right now nobody could tell.

    I met Sayaka again in the same day at the school building rooftop during lunch break, while she was sitting there alone against the wall, eating alone with this tiny azure bento box. There was only her, and me. Before that I usually had my lunch in the classroom, but I could not stand people chatting all around me anymore, and thus I sought a quiet place to enjoy my meal; I discovered the rooftop one day when I was wandering around the campus, and found this Erewhon that no one frequented. This had become my favorite place ever since. Sometimes,  I would skip classes (mostly English and Math), chill alone here, read Agatha’s “And Then There Were None”, and smoke some Seven Stars cigarettes. I missed Chinese cigarettes though; all they had here were blended and they smoked like grocery-packed instant white rice mixed with tons of Indian masala. Man, I should have brought some from China; it was one in a million things I still in favor of my homeland. Nevertheless, never did I think I would see her on rooftop.

“Can I sit here?”

She nodded. So I sat down on the ground, 3 feet next to her, and took out a bento meal I bought this morn at grocery. I looked at her bento box: two sliced omelet rolls mixed with green onion, white rice, a few sliced’n fried wiener sausages, and seaweed salad with white sesame seeds on top. What a variety of options for such a little box. Mine, on the other hand, was a beef rice bento mixed with sliced onions. I never had omelet rolls before; all I knew the ways to cook an egg was either fry or boil it. So I could not help but watch those golden omelet rolls and wonder how one could make eggs like cinnamon rolls. She seemed to notice my sight and in a second our eyes met. 
    “Want some?” 
    “If you don’t mind.” 
    So I picked one with my chopsticks and put the whole egg roll in my mouth. It was sweet, to my surprise, and had a little creamy taste, accompanied by the aroma of green onions.  
    “I made these.” 
    “Nice cooking,” said I while chewing, “I am just a little curious. Why don’t you eat in the class though? All of the others, gather around and eat lunch together. Don’t you have friends of any sort? It perhaps shouldn’t be me to say though, no offence.” 
    “Probably the same reason as yours.” 
    “Mine?” 
    “Do you hate them?” 
    I contemplated for a while, and said: “Maybe not. I don’t like how people only converse with people alike, never attempting to get out of their comfort zone. But square one, I don’t hold grudges with them. I just mind my own business and so do they.” 
    “People are hypocrites; most people are,” said she, and ate the rest of the seaweed salad all at once, “They pretend to be nice at first, but once you get closer you will find all they think about are themselves.” 
    “Isn’t that our nature?” 
    “Maybe,“ said she, “You know that dean teacher, Miss Hashimoto?” 
    “Yeah, the one who always gives speeches in the schoolyard. What about her?” 
    “She is the biggest hypocrite, always gives big talks. Talking about how we should create an equal environment for all students and international ones, after all, we have more foreign students than other Japanese schools. She always shows off how many awards she got in “promoting cross-cultural school environment”, or this event, that meeting she attends. But what are we now? There has been this peculiar atmosphere here ever since the first day I got into this school. Japanese students only play with Japanese students; and foreign students, by the country they are from, form many small circles and only hang out with people from the same country.” 
    The class bell, meaning the start of the first class in the afternoon, rang suddenly, while we were still talking. We did not go back. Instead, I took out a Seven Stars and lit up. 
    “Can I bum one?” 
    So I passed a cigarette and lit up for her. 
    We leaned on the fence and beheld students in the schoolyard down there rushing into school buildings.  
    “Look at us. Two bad students skipping classes and smoking cigarettes.”  
    “How about we elope together? Get out of this dreadful place and go somewhere else. Any place.”

We took the Marunouchi Line, past Shinjuku City, heading east towards downtown Tokyo; we had a few walks around the city, and then took the Yamanote Line finally arriving at Ueno Park. Our school uniforms were conspicuous on the subway on Tuesday afternoon. Finally, we stopped at a little bar on a narrow residential street nearby. There were only two other customers, a bald skinny old man in a suit and a chubby middle-aged man in a suit. And the bartender was cleaning glasses; they always were. Naturally, you would not expect many people in a bar at this time. I had some Barcadi while she ordered a grapefruit cocktail.  
    “First round is on me,” said I, “thanks for the egg rolls.” 
    A round later I ordered old-fashioned and she ordered gin ‘n’ tonic. We then kept trying some cocktails that we had never tasted before or liquor brands that we had never heard of. Some were surprisingly good, but a few of them tasted funny; nonetheless, it was the best afternoon I ever had since I came to Japan. Of course, I could not remember how many drinks we had that day. I myself was a heavyweight drinker, perhaps genetically inherited from my father - when I was a kid he always took me to dinner with his business clients, drank tons of hard liquors, and even drove back home after. Anyway, I could already tell she had too much by her apple-red face after like four rounds, and said we should call it today. But she kept saying she was fine and insisting on another round, so I said no more. 
    “Can you stay with me for tonight?”

There was no reason for me to turn off. So, at night, we went to Sayaka’s place; in fact, I kinda dragged her there since she could hardly stand straight. People cast some weird looks at us on the subway.

She had rented this studio in an apartment complex in Nakano Ward, Tokyo. Her room was pretty and tidy, and pretty much fit my image of a girl’s room (I have never been to any other girls’ room before so I could not comment on this). The bed sheet was mint blue with tiny white heart patterns; the curtain was light blue; the desk and chairs were ivory; and there was a full-length mirror by the desk. On the wide windowsill, there were a few rag dolls. We did not take showers or nothing. She fell into sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, while my head snuggled in her D-cup (I assume) bosom, which was kinda huge for such a petite body. I never really dwelled on a girl’s size but thought D was probably the best, which was big enough but not too big; now I probably could say D was my favorite; it was kinda like the question of whether chicken or egg came first. 
    That night I had a peculiar dream. I dreamed I was walking down downtown Shibuya City, Tokyo alone with crowds coming back and forth. I asked a pedestrian about directions yet she ignored me as if he did not hear or see me. And it happened again when I asked the second, the third, the fourth. So I screamed, and all I heard was echoes between the skyscrapers. And all the people faded out, and then Sayaka appeared all out of the disappearing crowds. We held each other until there were none.