The Bookshelf in the Forest

  Is this the end? All I’ve ever known and all I’ve ever loved. All gone in the blink of an eye. We whispered in assembly when we were meant to be paying attention. I watched people filter in, tentatively waiting to catch a glimpse of whoever I had a crush on in the moment. I would become mesmerized by the speeches that tugged my heartstrings so forcefully that I thought I might begin to cry. I wanted to know how to replicate the speeches that made me swell up with anger so much that I wanted to cry and yell and laugh and smile with glee. We sang each other happy birthday and created inside jokes that confused and concerned those unwilling ears who heard our laughter. We said we’d fight each other, but we loved each other far too much to lay so much as a finger on one another. We’d complain about the food, far too lazy to make something ourselves. We’d pile up our plates and somehow finish it all just in the nick of time. I’d watch the boys yell at each other over a little game on ...

      Blood poured out of her gut, onto the floor and into his hands and into his veins.       "No, no, a thousand times no," he said his hand bleeding into mine. Tears rushed down his face as he screamed and yelled into oblivion. But what was I to do?      Beverly sat on the ground by the sink, propped up against the wall. Looking back, I wish I could've told him the truth; it wasn't his fault. Her life had been set up for her to die, as had his. 

       I let it flow through my hands. It was a shimmering, nearly transparent gold, with streaks of blues, greens, and purples throughout it. It glimmered in the sunlight, casting the colors onto my hand. I held it upwards to let the colors cast themselves on my face, purples dancing in my eyes. I put it on the table beside me and let it roll, however, it became caught in a divot in the wood. I watched it for some time, and couldn’t help but wonder how it had never broken before. With the amount of times I had dropped it, you would’ve expected the glass to break into a billion pieces. Yet it never had. Not even the slightest dent or bruise upon it. I grabbed a book, opened the page, and then put the object to my eye. The words were magnified and distorted, the oddness of this little round piece of glass filled me with wonder. Yet it was a simple thing, merely a child’s toy. Yet I adored it more than I could ever love anything, or anyone, else.

       The water rushed along my legs, my feet buried in the sand. I could occasionally feel the fish brushing up against my ankles, trying to figure out what I was. The water was cold, as it always was in the mornings. I looked down and rummaged my hands through the sand beneath me, trying to find some rock. I did this every morning; tried to find a rock, and just admired it for some time. Today’s rock was one of my favorites; a shimmery grey that looked lavender when wet. It glistened in the sunlight, and was perfectly round, and fit nicely in the palm of my hand. As the sunrise faded into day, I would hoist myself onto the dock. I wouldn’t stand as I did in the water before; I would sit and just listen to the world. Listen to the sounds of the songbirds looking for worms, the sounds of the waves hitting the dock, the mosquitos, and bees that whizzed past my ears. I would look into the water and see the fish swimming around, the sea plants swaying in the waves, and...

      I had never expected the woods to be this frightening, especially in the daytime. In the night I don't have to worry about seeing corpses hanging on the trees; blood dripping onto the moss below. At night, I sleep so hard I don't hear them screaming. The screaming is gone by the morning, they've run out of energy and air.     My hands tremble as I pluck raspberries from the bush. When I'm done plucking, my hands are covered in blood, and not just from the thorns pricking me. I oftentimes wash the berries so long that they completely break. Whenever this happens, I have to go back out and go through the whole agonizing process all over again.     I really shouldn't be scared anymore. I mean, it is my doing. Plus, there's not much else to do when you live in the middle of the woods, many miles from anyone else. My father was the first I killed. Then, people came through and knocked on my door to ask about the body, and I'm sure you know what happen...

John Jones had married Lucille thinking she could get his little family off of the ground. Instead, Lucille abused the children, spent all of her money before John and she married, bringing the family down further. She refused to sell her jewelry or clothing to help the family, and she would beat the children if they didn’t sell enough cookies each day. She would take away their food and sometimes make them sleep outside at night, even in the winter. John tried to stop her at first, but she manipulated him well, and John ended up being just as cruel as she was.  Lucille had met John three years after the war, he was in rough shape, and had hardly any money; so she decided to step in. She thought they’d care for her, thank her for all of her help. But the family did not, so she just harmed them all, three at a time. Although Hansel and Gretel were constantly filled with fear, they comforted each other. Lucille had a habit of beating Gretel, tearing her down. Hansel would d...