FIGHT OR FLIGHT

By Eliška-Anna Schneider

When life gets too overwhelming, our instincts make us react. They give us two options: it's either fight or flight. Henry always chose the latter.

As of today, Henry was fifty-seven. Wow, he thought, fifty-seven years of boredom and insignificance. His whole family was stood around the kitchen table, clapping hysterically. They had sung a slightly off-key Happy Birthday, and watched Henry blow out the few candles that had been messily stuck into a premade cake, with a big, wonky Congratulations! on it. No one commented on the fact that those few candles seemed to knock all air out of Henry's lungs. He was getting old, everyone could see, but no one dared to say anything about it.

What exactly the cake was congratulating him for, Henry didn't know. Congratulations for not forgetting to feed the cat this morning? Congratulations for successfully completing another boring year of your life? Congratulations for being one year closer to death? He came to the conclusion that it had probably been the last cake available at the nearby gas station, and therefore Brenda, Henry's wife, had been forced to buy it. It held no deeper meaning. Hardly anything Brenda did ever had any meaning to it whatsoever. She was just simple-minded like that.

Henry and Brenda had been together for thirty-two years. Neither of them had ever been particularly happy together, but when twenty-four-year-old Brenda told her parents she was pregnant, they had practically forced marriage onto the young pair. Now, getting a divorce just seemed like way too much paperwork, and the two of them had gotten used to the other person always being there. That's what it was and always had been. A fake sense of security. Having someone to come home to.

Henry often found himself considering running away. Getting away from his boring job, obnoxious children, shallow wife, curious friends. Henry had never been one to fight for anything. He had been running away from his problems his entire life, quietly hoping they would solve themselves over time. They never did. Ever. But why not try running away one final time, what harm could that do? Who would care?

But as much as he wanted to, he couldn't just up and leave. There had always been something holding him back.

Whether that something was his newborn daugter, Brenda being pregnant for the second time, having to help his two children with schoolwork, a leaking tap, the cat throwing up on the living room carpet, he just couldn't leave.

And just as Kate and Mike were leaving, going back to their respective partners, something struck Henry. And no, it was not a heart attack. He had finally come to realize that none of those things that had previously been holding him back were valid anymore. Both of his children were adult, livig their own lives, and his wife was content with spending her days with their cat.

And so, when Henry's clothes disappeared, along with Henry himself, no one really mentioned it. The last thing anyone ever heard from henry, was a single sentence written on a postcard with an image of one of the Caribbean islands: Fight or flight.

Judger
Sofia Smith

Subway. The terror of being alone got to me- again. I rested my eyes on a teenage girl. I looked at her with disgust and road the drift of judging.

Look at her. She looked like one of those Greek combinations of a man and an animal.  A face of a rat, body of a man. Except she looked even worse.

Her head was tilted the wrong way. I could smell the stink coming from her mouth and body. I looked at her clothes from top to bottom and shook my head. This girl has no style.

 Her hair looked like a bird’s nest. She tried to have a messy bun, though. Her accessories were put on wrong. She tried to be classy, though. Her mouth literally looked like a horse’s butt. But she wanted to be pretty for once, though. I would kill to destroy that outfit. It was NOT matching and the bleached colors on the shirt looked like they were mixed into one color. But she didn’t want to look depressed for once, though. I could see the makeup on all her zits, there was a lot of them. But she wanted to hide her imperfections, though.  And those scars. Those bruised and scares surrounding her body like a mime field. Those scars resemble her misery and sadness, though. And those bruises were a mime field. As one was touched more pain and disaster was made into a big mess of destruction.

I looked down to her shoes. They were pink. Again not matching... I shook my head again. This time I’ve noticed a signature.

I looked away from my reflection. I laughed with a tone of sarcasm and said: ‘Every time..’ and repeated it once more with a little more seriousness.

The signature on that ugly pink shoe was the name I hated the most in the world- mine. 

HOW TREVOR WAS EATEN

by Greta Vrabcová

There is a Sprinkles cupcake machine which gets you a cupcake by your choice any time of the day. All you have to do is to touch the icon on the screen and choose the flavour you want. This is a story about Trevor, who’s icon wasn’t uploaded properly.

It was July 1st. One of the warm nights, so common for Washington D.C at this time of the year, and a group of hungry friends was going home after a party they all enjoyed very much. They stopped as soon as the corners of their eyes noticed the neon lights saying Cupcake ATM.

The machine was brand new and all the cupcakes were excitedly waiting behind the screen in the specialized cupcake space to get picked. They all went through the tiring photoshoots and were now only waiting for the moment somebody touches their icon on the screen, takes them out and eats them. Trevor was no different. He was made of the best combination of cream and dough and none of the other cupcakes could doubt he tasted the best.  All smiley, Trevor was listening to the steps of the group getting close.

Suddenly he heard the coins falling into the machine followed by a girly voice: ‘‘Which one should I go for?‘‘ Trevor shook in excitement, this was his moment.

‘‘How many are there?‘‘ he heard a young guy saying.

The girl started counting ‘’28, 29...and then, um, this one is probably not there or old because its icon is not uploaded, it says...‘‘

Trevor got worried. He was the 30th icon. The girl tapped on Eric – a strawberry-filled chocolate cupcake that tasted nothing special, and stepped aside from the ATM. Trevor tried not to lose his mind, there was still plenty of time until midnight when the cupcakes are considered old and thrown away...but neither of the next customers chose him.

He got desperate. What if everybody will be picking icons with perfect quality pictures and none of them will risk tapping on the unknown one? Nobody even glimpsed on Trevor’s icon for hours and hours and as the midnight was closer and closer, he was in his box quietly crying while others got replaced by new ones.

When suddenly there appeared a couple at 11.53 PM. Two people, newly in love. Young and happy. Holding hands they stepped at the ATM.

Trevor was no longer hopeful. He knew his time's about to come and that he will soon be thrown away into the garbage can.

‘‘So which one are you getting, Sally?‘‘ said the guy and put his money inside.

‘‘Oh, I only have cash for one, looks we‘ll have to share it.‘‘ he said smiling cheekily. ‘‘I’ll pick it!‘‘ said Sally with excitement in her eyes, from both, the cupcake and the love she was feeling.

Trevor looked down. Reconciled with his fate, he felt one more of his tiny tears fall on the bottom of the paper box.

Sally swiped through all of the pages and still could not decide, then something cought her eye. “What's wrong with this one?”

It was 11.55 PM now. Trevor perked up anyway. Was he finally going to be saved?

“The icon is missing. There's nothing” said Rob and Sally looked him right in the eye.

‘‘Babe, you are not gonna press that icon, are you?‘‘ he smiled desperately.

He loved how messed up she was. Whenever there was a risk, she would take it and was never scared of what will it bring, she loved the unexpected. Sally kissed him on the cheek and pressed Trevor’s icon with her soft finger. Rob sighed, expecting nothing will happen, except for his 5 dollars dissapearing to the depths of the machine. Suddenly, there was a noise and a little pink door opened. Trevor was there, the happiest he ever was. Sally smiled widely. Opened the box and together they ate the best tasting cupcake the whole world has ever seen.

You only have one life, don’t stand back and don’t get stuck living the stereotypes. Take as many risks as possible, they can end up being the best choices you will ever make.

THE DAY MY FINGER ALMOST DIED

by Isabella Smith

One day, I was sitting in a classroom. It was school, fourth hour- arts. Now i know, it shouldn't be dangerous, but I tend to make things dangerous for me. So anyway as the bell hit our ears, I took out all tools that were necessary, for the hour. I dunno water paint, paper, scissors, glue, pencils, color pencils and stuff like that. So i take the paper, color it out, take the other paper and the glue to glue the two papers to each other. But the glue lid got stuck. I needed that glue. Now i think, Bella you idiot, why couldn't you just borrow it from someone else, but my mind wasn't able to make that decision at the time… So i took the scissors and tried to open it with force. Suddenly my vision faded to black and white, i think, and the only color I saw was red, splashing all over my table, clothes and my poor unglued drawing. So i casually get up, holding my finger tight and walk over to a person standing closest to me. I whisper, My finger is bleeding really bad. And as soon as I said that I realized, that it is actually happening. My sight that was renewed with a new ,,pic,, from the brain every three seconds now fully functioned. I started panicking and wobbled around till I got to the sink. I must of looked ridiculous, lol. Still didn't feel any pain and was still kind of out of it, as I watch the red stream roam thru the flesh, ripping it even more away from the bone, than it already was. I was emberaced. The teacher was comforting me, which felt even weirder that the whole thing and the children, actually, I’m pretty sure they just got back to their seats and just ignored me. Accept the girls sitting next to me, my sister, my best friend and a couple more people. I leaned on the sink, filling it with blood, I started feeling nauseas. As more blood rolled in, I told myself that if I wash it away it won't be there. So i pouring water on the blood and when I saw it didn’t work, my anxiety rises and I think I threw up. Well I washed it away and got a napkin, put it on my wound and sat down. I gained cautiousness as the pain started pulsing in my thom. My teacher asked me if I want to go home, but my laziness overpowered my weakness. So I said no and left. I was camouflaged with the walls a couple more hours, but eventually I got some color.
I hoped that there wouldn't be a scar on that finger, but when I look at it now, I visualize a fun (though painful) experience.

DESPAIR

By Tea Sofia Zybartas

She was sitting on her bed silently crying into her palms. You could see the emptiness in her eyes –

almost as if they couldn’t see the amazing world that was in front of them. She was trying not to

breathe loudly so she wouldn’t wake up other women sleeping in the same room with her. She was

cold, her lips were sore from the freezing weather outside and her clothes weren’t warm enough to

make her fall asleep comfortably. Her whole body hurt from working all day. She was tired, desperate

to sleep. She would always think about her future; just an imagination. Almost as if there was no

future for her. Her past - the vague memories in her mind that didn’t make any sense. Her memories

were almost like they didn’t exist – just a simple blur in her brain, washed out completely. She

suddenly stopped crying, there was no help for her she thought. She wanted to die. That was the only

solution. She was just another helpless Jew, a person that didn’t at that time count as a living soul – a

time where she was treated like a worthless thing. That time was to be called nineteen-forty- three.

A DENTIST

By Isabella Smith

My heart was beating faster than a rabbit runs. I was ready to die. My feet were going crazy while my hands were occupied by doing something on the phone. That kept me from a nervous breakdown. Which I still had, but only inside, where no one could see it nor judge it.

I sat there, blindly looking into my phone. Typing like a madman I looked up to see the rest of the patients, surprised to spot them looking right back at me. My typing was too loud and everyone was interrupted by the vibrating sounds coming from underneath my fingers. Once I turned the sound off, they all went back to the thing, that kept them calm, even though it was obvious that they were in the same situation like me.

As she called my name, my heart stopped. Everyone in the waiting room surged and cursed me silently when I stepped into the office. My vision was fading but the bright light that the monster that dares to call itself a human being shined  inconsiderately into my face made me see again. The chair is always comfy, I’ll give them that, but the tools next to it are just other monsters trying to find a way to hurt you and an excuse for hurting you with hurting you even more. I tried to have happy thoughts, but as soon as the metallic taste hit my tongue, I realized that that is that and that no more happy thoughts were needed. I was fine and with a smirk on my mouth I left the office.

At the end of the day, we all have a phobia of dentists, but we also all know, that they are just trying to help, so next time you go to a dentist, show him or her some love and bring them a chocolate or something.

Also, I started writing this, when I was waiting for my turn and finished it in the car on my way back. I go through these two stages every time. Weird.

AND MAYBE

by E-A Schneider

And maybe there was silence, and maybe there was a breathy little whisper of ‘Just like you,’ in response to ‘This sunset’s beautiful;’ and maybe it didn’t matter at all, and maybe it mattered more than it should’ve; and maybe their hands brushing lightly against each other was an accident, and the way their fingers were now interlocked didn’t mean a thing, because people hold hands platonically all the time. They knew, though, they knew that all the little touches and glances held far too much meaning to be put into words.

So there was silence, and the sun had gone down completely now, leaving the little mess of tangled fingers and touching thighs that could be the start of something big and beautiful, in complete darkness. They had each other, though, and the light behind their eyes was enough to keep them safe, to keep them sane, and honest--enough to help them find their way home. Home was here--in the very arms of the other, in their smile, in the sound of their breathing, and the way their eyelashes rested atop their cheekbones lightly as they slept; and maybe home had become an intangible thing--a feeling, the feeling they got only when with one another.

And wasn’t that dangerous, putting so much trust into one single person? Extremely, but they’d promised not to hurt each other, but deep down they knew that keeping this up would be close to impossible. Right now, though, in the pitch black part of the world, where they were invisible even when holding hands, that didn’t phase them. They’d try their hardest, and that was a promise they both knew they could keep forever.

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