There are a lot of contests for youths that are constituted by our President.Among them,the competition called "Young Reader" has become a sample of my vibrant memories.In fact,in 2022 for the first time I got to participate in the republican stage of this contest. I was left in 4th in the regional stage because of the lack of my experience.After this catastrophic lose of hope for winning,my craving for the reward has died.You may ask,who was the impetus for my constancy of attempts,then I would answer "that's my mom and my dad,they were the motivation themselves" I used to be just televiewer of this contest only, while the winners were gathered in front of the main stage I used to hear my mums words "when I will be able to see my daughter in the group of these intelligent young people?Will I see my daughter holding the main reward,waving the key of an automobile?"As I am a pupil of the russian school,where all the subjects are taught in Russian,I was strictly against to my participation in this contest as if  the sky was going to fall down to the ground. But my mother's request taught me not to lose myself, our national values, literature,not to forget my mother tongue. The terms of the competition were much more difficult, I hesitated too much when i was speaking in public for preparation of the contest. It was too challenging me. How many sleepless nights,cartoonless and phoneless days have I experienced...When I prioritized my perfect participation I dreamed a lot about: discussing difficult topics with the most quick-witted readers from the different parts of my country, creating a group on a Telegram Messenger, and building a brief conversation with them.The most interesting part was the  poetry challenge. I was in 4th in terms of the participants. Until this round I skimmed the whole book that was being presented to first participants.I felt that I should read this book as much as I can in order to answer to the questions of judges,but anyway the feeling of low memory-esteem left no way for me.I clearly remember that the participant  called Shahriyor asked me to lend the book. I felt the powerful fire inside. Soon realized that that's called jealousy.Somehow more powerful river ran and engulfed the flame, and gave back my sense of humanity to myself. Then I gave the book to Shahriyor. I began to turn the book "Little star" of Abdulla Oripov over and over until i was called to the main stage ...Just a minute before leaving the waiting room suddenly I came across the short poem.It was about a pen. I read it just once. On the stage I was required to choose any random number on the screen with random poems behind. This is unbelievable but... overriskingly,I chose the number 13 against the beliefs that it's an unlucky number.The 4 lines of the poem behind the number were the ones that I read 5 minutes ago!!!I was amazed!!!For the whole preparation year for this contest I read this poem only once,and plus once,there,in waiting room.I was confident in describing this poem to judges,as ideas were fresh in my mind.Fortunately,I got the highest score in this part of the challenges.While leaving the stage I was completely convinced that Allah is seeing all my efforts and will not leave them without reward.But at first,I speculate,I was examined in terms of humanity.When I agreed to lend that book,i passed the exam. I could control my jealousy and put the tolerance and humanity as my priorities.From that moment,I started to take actions accepting them as if they are exams that Allah is giving.What if I had not lent the book?!I would not achieve the highest score and stage overall.Thank God,I am receiving the fruits of my hard efforts.Shortly,that competition taught me a life lesson.

A Story of Greed Unfolding in Every Home.

TW: The following piece documents true events of sexual assault. Please refrain from reading if personally triggering. Disclaimer: The following events have been disclosed with adults and mental health professionals, and the author is not a danger to herself currently. The record does not need to be reported to a guidance counselor, and no concern for the author is necessary. Thank you. :) I washed my sheets by myself for the first time that night. My blood and his cum splattered the center in horrific modern art. Mama never taught me how to get that out of fabric. It was two weeks after my 15th birthday. I'd say I lost my innocence that afternoon, but the bruises had stained my body for months. Every week he wanted more. And the day I'd been dreading had arrived. His ribs pressed against mine. Our sticky skin stuck together. His hands on me. In me. The right on my mouth. The left clutching my throat. He took my muffled screams as moans. Signs to go faster, signs to go harder. As my thighs stained red, he smiled. I used to love his smile. My cries awoke the city that night until his message lit up my phone. “I'm sorry about today. I love you.” followed by a heart a brighter red than the lines grasping my wrists. I weakly smiled. He loves me. He said he was sorry the first time he choked me too. Sorry the first time he recorded my body. Sorry the first time he kissed another girl. Words of forgiveness had tumbled out of my mouth a million times until they were all I knew. I thought monsters were invisible strangers that sneak into your house when you least expect it. He was my best friend. And, as he often reminded me, it had been almost 3 years since the day he asked me to the movies during 7th grade recess. At the very least, I owed him my body. Besides, he was sorry. Right? It took months of purple legs and ringing ears to break me. Sleepless nights and empty bottles holding the bear he bought me for valentines day when we were 12. I've always wondered why I can't scream in my nightmares. Why my voice slips away when the darkness falls. I finally understood that day as the word “no” danced out of my mouth as gently as the tears on my cheeks. I've showered a thousand times since, but I can't seem to get clean. He touched me in the shower too. Touched me in the kitchen. Touched me in our childhood park. On the roof of our high school. But nothing beat the day he touched me in my bed. He left me for his blonde best friend 26 days later. Said I cried too much. It was the day before our 3 year anniversary, and my room was littered with gifts for him. The next day my broken body lay on the cold bathroom tile. My hands turned white, clutching my orange bottles of antidepressants and sleep medication. As 42 pills slid down my throat, I closed my eyes and, for the first time in weeks, his smile didn't appear in the darkness. I awoke in the cold hospital bed to the IV's piercing my veins. By the time I escaped the psych ward another month later, I was more broken than before. I whispered the story for the first time one night. Mama sat silent for a moment before asking what I was wearing. Said she warned me this was gonna happen if my shoulders saw the world. Dad said maybe if I had paid more attention to Jesus and less to boys, I wouldn't be blubbering. I told my friend that weekend. By the arrival of Monday, the whole school knew. Whispers paved my paths down the halls. One boy claimed he heard I had hit my head and had amnesia. Said that's why I was making up crazy stories. Another girl said I lied for attention. “She probably liked it.” Even those who believed me could never understand. Until I met the curly haired girl who whispered “he touched me too” in the bathroom. I always thought monsters hunted from under the bed. Not on it.

She needs to trust me. I'm telling the truth. “Wait!” I shout, as I follow my friend -well, we were friends 1 minute ago- who barged out the door. She continues to ignore me, acting as if i'm not desperately trying to get her attention so we can sort things out. I walk faster in the school halls, letting my feet go after her. She needs to understand that I wasn't lying. Everything I told her was and still is true. Besides, she just finished telling me 2 minutes ago how much she hates the other girl, and now she believes her and not me? I take another big step forward and grab her shoulder, trying to stop her from walking away from the problem. She wrenches her arm away from me. “I didn't lie,” I tell her, my hands fumbling with my lunchbox but my eyes searching her face. “I wouldn't do that.” “I don't believe you, I believe her,” my friend says. I'm getting the hint that we aren't friends anymore. It's messed up how just a few minutes ago, we were. “You have to understand that I wouldn't lie about that and especially not to you,” I say quickly, rushing what I have to say so she doesn't decide to simply leave. “She would confess if she did talk bad about me like you said,” she responds, her fierce eyes piercing into mine. “But I never said she was talking bad about you. I said I heard her talking with the other girl and that she always talks about you.” I look behind me to make sure no one else can overhear our conversation. “You don't have to believe me if you want but i'm telling the truth-” “I can tell when she's lying. And she wasn't,” she says, hatred and envy clear in her voice. I want to tell her that she's making a mistake. I want her to know that I would never lie to her. I care about her like good friends are supposed to. I want to go back to how our friendship was less than 5 minutes ago. But I can't. But why doesn't she trust me? Before I get the chance to say something, she speaks up. “I'm leaving.” Her tone is plain, dry and dismissive. I stutter, all alone, as I watch her walk away from me, not even bothering to say goodbye. Yesterday she texted me and wrote that she loves me, in the way that friends do, of course. I wonder if she feels the same way I do when we text, smiling nonstop, overwhelmed with joy that she actually cares about me, And filled with warmth as I fully realize that we are truly good friends. Now today, I feel the total opposite of that. I feel empty and cold inside, sad yet angry at the same time, trying to figure out who's fault this is. I sigh, forcing myself to hold back my tears. I shift my mood and head to the other room, acting as if everything is normal and I didn't just lose someone I deeply care about. When I arrive home, I decide to text her, careful of my choice of words: “Hey u don't have to believe me but I hope yk that I was telling the truth. I wouldn't ever lie to u, cuz I actually care. I'm always here whenever u want to talk tho. Bye and see u tmr ig” Holding my breath, I rethink whether it was worth sending that. I know her well enough that whenever she's angry at someone, nothing good is going their way. I want to unsend it, the rush of uncertainty I'm getting is too much. What if she's laughing at my text right now, showing everyone and thinking of how much of a pathetic fool i'm acting like now? It's too late to go back though. Days, weeks even, pass by and still, no reply. I know for sure, she saw the text but I try to make myself believe that maybe she didn't see it. Maybe she forgot to answer back., or she's sleeping, or her phone died? It's becoming less and less likely though, as time goes by. I'm still holding on tightly to the thread of hope that we can become friends again. But it seems to me as if she doesn't care the slightest and has already moved on, as I watch her sit with a girl she once told me she hates with all her soul. I feel as though she needs me more than she thinks and she'll soon realize. But once again, I find myself questioning if it's really the other way around. Frequently, the good and precious memories we have made together, flood my head. I wonder how she's feeling right now, about all of this between her and I. Us hugging, texting, talking, laughing until our stomachs hurt. I wonder if it will ever be like that again, and if it could, will she let it, will she give our friendship another chance? It's her choice since I know very well that I'd run straight back to her the moment she allows it. It's always on and off with everyone i've ever met, I wonder when it will just stay on. It doesn't seem like too much to ask. I wonder when she'll come back to me, back in my life and we can be friends again, true friends since I never seem to be able to find or keep those. But for now, during our time apart that I'm not quite sure how long it will last or if it will ever even end... She needs to trust me. I'm telling the truth.

Baton Rouge rapper NBA Youngboy is currently being investigated by federal agent's following his previous arrest. The rapper was previously released on bail after officers found several guns, thousands in cash, and even drug's at his music video shoot. It has been said that the item's collected at his video shoot did not belong to him.

My mother clung to my small palm as if her life depended on it while staring up at my father, who was screaming furiously, shaking his clenched fists in front of him. “You never do anything right!” he yelled. As my mother backed up shakily, she ran right into the dining table, bringing me along with her in a fierce crash. I stared doe-eyed at my father then back at my mother. Why is daddy so mad at mommy? His screams became louder and his movements more forceful as he thrust his hand forward towards my mother's throat. Terrified, I let go of my mother's hand, running towards the bedroom. I pulled the covers over my head and wrapped my arms over my shaking legs, rocking myself back and forth. Tears began streaming down my face, but I was too afraid to make any noise. “Please stop!” I heard my mother's frail voice yell out. Slap! The crack of skin against skin echoed through the walls. That was when I heard my mother call out for me. I froze, my body still shielded under the blanket. “Help me!” I heard her scream again. I started to cry even harder, yet my body remained paralyzed at the corner of the bed. Her incessant cries for my help could be heard through the breaking glass and clinking furniture. After what seemed several hours, the chaos in the other room subsided. I stayed put even though it started to feel humid under the blanket and I was breathing in hot air. I knew my mother entered the room when I felt the bed dip. Whimpers racketed from her body. I peeked out of the covers and crawled over to her side, obediently. She looked down at me, a tear spilling from her eye. “Why didn't you do anything,” she says in her mother tongue. I cast my eyes downward and shrug. I had nothing to say to her. It was true: why hadn't I done anything? I could hear my father still yelling. He was crying along with his violent outbursts. That always confused me. He never apologized. It was never his wrongdoing. He was the one inflicting the bruises that painted my mother's body, yet he cried. It made me wonder if it was because he was hurting too. That was the day I felt true powerlessness. As a young child I didn't know what that meant, but fear controlled me when my body refused to move from its place. I was distraught over the daunting question my mother had asked me. I could have yelled for him to stop. I could have called someone for help. I could have stopped him. The last thought haunted me. And it made me wonder if it was my fault. Surely, my mother wouldn't ask me that if there was truly nothing I could've done. My father should've been the bad guy. But I was the biggest let down— to myself. I was a bystander in my own home. I wanted more than anything to protect my mother. But I was still afraid, which meant I was useless. I was angry. Not only with my father, but with myself the most. Reflecting back on this day as a young adult, I realize that so much was out of my control. The systemic, abusive struggle between my parents was not something I could have alleviated or fixed. Yet, to this day, I still seek the answer to a question I fully understand provides me with no refuge, no reward: was there anything I could've done?

Hurricane? Pandemic? When is it going to end? I can never get a break. This maddening situation is endless and it is crucial that I find a way out. It all started with the weather. On September 1st 2019, winds of destruction and waters of abduction invaded my beautiful princess known as Grand Bahama. It was the worst hurricane she has ever seen. We've heard her cries and her screams. She was in ruins. She was screaming agony. 90% of her was in ruins yet she was strong through it all. We, her servants, felt her pain. Our homes and our life has been destroyed yet through it all we stood firm through the midst. We had to stay strong for her. We owed it to her to stay positive and optimistic about the future. However, there was someone who was falling apart inside. Someone she trusted so much to name them her “most trusted servant” and that was me. It felt as my concrete walls were just gaining so much cracks. ‘We are destroyed and we will never be fixed' was the only thought that was going through my mind. Depression and Anxiety were my best friends during that dismal time. I saw no light at the end of the tunnel. I don't even remember having sunny days yet the princess stayed vibrant through it all. While she had sunshine, I had dark clouds but I couldn't show her. I had to be strong for her and only her. I was eaten alive within myself. Anxiety and Depression always made me feel worst and I admired them for it. I welcomed them with open arms all the time just to feel loved by something other than the princess. As the princess got stronger, I continued to get weaker. Anxiety and Depression stayed by my side reminding me that everything was futile and I would soon depart from this world. Depression told me that I was ready to leave while Anxiety made me fear what would happen. They would bicker for hours leaving me more baffled as the days went by. Three months passed, Anxiety and Depression left me for a few days. Before they left, they warned me that Hope and Faith would try slither into my life and manipulate my mind. In a split second, Hope and Faith appeared but the words of Anxiety and Depression kept lurking. I gradually opened up to Hope and Faith. They fed me with words of encouragement. I refused to grasp on to positivity because I was holding on to my past with Anxiety and Depression. Hope and Faith fought with me until I accepted them. When I accepted them, my mind instantly transformed. I gained new beliefs and morals. I shone with light. Anxiety and Depression ridiculed me. Taunted me. Scorned me. My life became new again. The princess was gradually becoming herself again. Life was impeccable until he came. He appeared like an illusion. He appeared out of thin air. His name was Covid. His followers called him “a mysterious virus” because he was quiet yet so dangerous he could be deadly. He captured every country in the world. He was conniving that it was almost sick. We knew exactly what he came for: the princess. She had been through so much and nobody cared. We cared. We loved her. I loved her. We tried to save the princess but it was too late. His symptoms were already masked within her. He used her to attack us one by one. We couldn't save her! The rest of us had to save ourselves. It was unaware whether we would ever see our beautiful princess again. We stocked up on food and was locked away for almost a year. I was alone once again. I pushed away Faith and Hope. They couldn't help me. They promised me a life after being locked away for so long I was helpless and useless. Alone in my chambers where I waited, anxiously waiting to be released back into the outside world. Waited to be reunited with the princess. Waited to eat dinner with her, go on the beach and just be with her. Just waited. I was alone. I entered my own thoughts and just lingered there as the days went by. No one loved me. No one called or checked on me. I felt lonely. No one was there for me until my true friends returned. I begged Anxiety and Depression for forgiveness. I listened to the lies of Hope and Faith. I screamed and begged for them to take me back. Hope and Faith gave me this fake reality to look forward to. I couldn't handle being alone. I needed to escape. I shrieked for nights laying on the floor begging to be released from this prison. Anxiety helped me to succumb to elevated breathing, blurry vision and frequent chest pains. I rocked back and forth for nights. I laid on the floor for hours. The walls were constantly closing in on me. I was not safe there. My head was dangerous. Thoughts of ending it all seemed like the only escape to this misery Was this how I was going to die? Inside forever?

Alice fiddled with the latch on her Coach key chain as she sat at her desk waiting for the phone to ring. Why she even bothered, was a whole other story. Of course no one was calling, it was 7 a.m. Everyone knew the corporate big wigs didn't roll out of their martini, steak and hooker fueled hangovers to lug their girth to work until at least 9 a.m. Plus, it was a Friday morning and everyone knew that Thursday nights were the new Saturdays. Still, she had to be there. She was the low girl on the totem pole in the sleek, shiny New Vision offices. Morning phone duty rotated once a month among the youngest assistants and even though she had some age on her colleagues, she was new at this job, having bounced around from temp agencies to sugar daddies throughout her twenties. Yawning loudly (because really, who was listening), she drained the last of her coffee. Last night was epic she thought, but having recently crested over the hill from 29 into 30 it was getting harder and harder to bounce back like she had in her younger years. Eyeing the empty coffee cup, her gaze wandered beyond her cubicle towards her manager's office and then down the hallway where the EVP of human resources enjoyed his pristine corner office digs. For once, she was not lusting after his river view. The break room was situated at the end of that hallway and she desperately craved another cup of coffee. Could she leave her post for no more than five minutes to brew some Green Mountain in the Keurig? It wasn't her grande-nonfat soy latte, but it would do the trick. Toying with the idea while absentmindedly twirling her frosted locks she attempted to distract herself from her exhaustion but it was too overwhelming. Glossing over the stacks of invoices waiting to be entered into a spreadsheet, she ignored the angel on her shoulder; that had morphed into the voice of her obnoxiously chipper millennial manager stressing just how important morning phone duty is. “The markets are open across the globe at all hours; it is pivotal that someone is there to field calls and direct any messages to the EVP as soon as possible...Your role, though small, keeps the company going…blah, blah, blah.” Looking at the devil and praying to the caffeine Gods she sprinted down the hallway. When she returned ten minutes later, having not anticipated a lack of non dairy milk products, she was already pondering her plans for that evening. It was only when she grabbed her phone to jump on Instagram that she noticed the red message light blinking aggressively on the master phone at her desk. She barely noticed as the coffee dripped over the invoices and down the edge of the table.

This year has brought with it a string of firsts for me. I got my very own first car, thank you mum and dad, and I'm in my first pandemic( well at least the first one I'm old enough to understand). I also experienced my first heartbreak. I know what you're thinking; “She's only 20, what does she know about love?” But please hear me out. I had it all planned out. My college sweetheart,Tanaka, and I were going to graduate, get married and move back to Zimbabwe to start our family. Did I mention we were going to have two beautiful girls, Mayamiko and Tariro? In retrospect, I may have gotten ahead of myself but hey a girl can dream! We dated for about a year and some months. I think it's safe to say he was my first love. I won't bore you with the details of how we met and magically fell in love, we were at the same college and eventually became friends turned lovers. Like most relationships, we had our ups and downs but we were happy for the most part . Our university is small so basically everyone knows everyone's business. Most knew of our relationship but many did not approve. Of course this was discouraging but it brought us closer together. I mean it was us against the world right? Now to introduce you to every girlfriend's nightmare, his female best friend. I may not speak for all girlfriends out there but I definitely speak for many. He had a female best friend who I will call Jessica. Jessica and Tanaka were in the same class. They had been best friends even before I knew Tanaka. Like any good friend she was always there when he needed her support, a little too much actually if you ask me. She was friendly and polite to me and I to her but if I'm to be honest I never really liked her. I couldn't help but feel she was a little too close for comfort, but she was just being the doting best friend right? Now back to my love story for lack of a better name really. About 10 months into the relationship I went to Russia for a three month student exchange programme. It was one of the most exciting and challenging experiences of my life yet! Between me trying to settle into a new environment and the different time zones communication between Tanaka and I dwindled. Daily phone calls turned into daily text messages that turned into weekly text messages at most. We grew apart in the three months I was away. When I came back we tried to pick up from where we had left off. Of course with us now together in the same place our relationship improved but things did not go back to the way they were before. Shortly after I came back from Russia schools were closed and we all went home because of the coronavirus. I have to admit I was a little relieved to be getting some time off school. I thought it would be our chance to patch things up without the pressures of school. Boy was I wrong! For one we started online school which is busier and a lot less fun than it sounds. We did try to text and call as much as possible but the conversations were often brief and perfunctory. His birthday was coming up in the next three weeks and this time I was going to go all out. I figured maybe a grand gesture would help reassure him that I still cared about him and I wanted us to work things out. Being in quarantine meant there wasn't much I could do so I decided to draw him a large portrait of his favourite picture of us. After all my drawing skills are quite good, if I do say so myself. The portrait was coming along great until one afternoon while I was working on it I received a call from Tanaka. “Hey there!” I answered excitedly. “ Hi,I have something I'd like to tell you.”Tanaka said. “ Jessica and I are now dating. I didn't want you to find out from someone else.” I immediately hung up and switched off my phone. I just sat and stared at the unfinished portrait for what felt like an eternity. So many thoughts raced through my mind. When did they start dating? Were they secretly in love the whole time? I felt so betrayed. It was in this moment I realised my heart was broken. I wish I could say I am completely over how things turned out but I'd be lying. Of course some days are better than others but I'll just have to take it one day at a time. More often than not I find myself daydreaming about what used to be. I still have many unanswered questions that sometimes keep me up late at night. I must say I have a new found understanding of Alicia Keys' ‘Try Sleeping With A Broken Heart'. I always thought it was a beautiful song but now it goes deeper, it echoes the sentiments of my heart. I never finished the portrait, I don't think I ever will. I have decided to look at Tanaka and I's story the way I look at the portrait. Though unfinished it still is beautiful.

I thought he was the first person who could see me, but he was just the first person to speak about me with any authority. Told me he knew what I wanted more than I knew myself. He made me feel like a girl in a rock song, sugar turning to something poison. He loved to be the thing that poisoned me. He always said that. I told myself I wanted to be a good friend, but really I would have done anything for a boy to like me. When I looked outside of myself I knew that I was valid and worthy and good. I got straight A's and I was the newspaper editor and I was a cheerleader and I had enough friends that I wasn't totally alone. But I craved. Everything was happening to anybody but me and I was born with this big dumb body five sizes too big and if I could have skinned myself like a carrot I would have. There was not an inch of myself that I did not hate, did not want to hack off piece by piece until I was a bloody mess with a heartbeat humming a Taylor Swift song. By the 8th or 9th grade I realized everyone was sick of hearing me call myself fat and so I stopped. I did not give the feeling a language and kept it deep in a hollow inside myself. Would walk past a mirror and pinch my skin—arm, face, elbow, hand, it didn't matter—and wish it would be gone. Fall asleep at night trying to put my face on a skinny girl's body. Night after night I could never make the image make sense. I would have to start over, shave off piece by piece until I got a version of myself I could live with. Wonder how many pounds it would take to do that, and always assume it must be a thousand. Feel trapped in this stupid flesh that I never even signed up to inhabit. Never ask to borrow my friends' clothes, because it will not fit, and then I will die. So when a boy with black hair and brown eyes and a smile like it knew my secrets wanted to touch my heaving earthquake body how could I ever say no to that? It did not matter if he would leave me waiting for hours or if he would pick fights or sometimes call me things like a dumb slut stupid whore just it admit you know you are one. Because sometimes he would press his forehead against mine and trace his fingers against every inch of me. I want you so bad he would whisper with his hands full of my skin and for a moment, gasping, I would believe him.

He said to me, “I don't know why anyone wouldn't love you”. It wasn't a question. The old man wasn't asking about past loves. He simply stated it. Out of the blue. As I wrapped the blood pressure cuff around his forearm because his upper arm was too fat. It caught me off guard. And he noticed the tilt in my head and squint in my eyes as the words passed through my ears. How does one respond to that. Especially here, at work, in the hospital. Was he being inappropriate or just trying to be nice? Whichever he was, it left me with a pit in my stomach. “I don't know why anyone wouldn't love you”. We hadn't spoke of my love life. Maybe he noticed there was no ring on my finger. How could he know of a love I loved but did not love me back? He didn't. He didn't know there was someone he was speaking about when he said those words to me. A few moments passed, and as I took off the blood pressure cuff I had a response. “I guess I haven't met the right person yet”. It was a better response than “I don't know”. And I thought it would be satisfying to the old man. Just enough thought to entertain him, but not enough to continue this conversation. An art I have mastered. But to my dismay, he continued on. “So you are picky?” Now I was beginning to think this was dancing on the lines of inappropriate. So I told myself I would give him one more answer then this conversation would be over and I would leave. I have never let a man know me enough to truly love me, though he may have thought he did. He was in love with the mask I so carefully crafted. Until time wore down its corners and it began peeling away. He realized that in fact it was not me he was in love with at all. These thoughts never left. But as I left the old man's room, I fluffed his pillow one more time, turned down the lights, looked him in the eyes gave him a smile and said, “I'll be back to check on you in an hour.” Then pulled the curtain and shut the door behind me.

Good Day, Wow wee has time just flown by. This summer I spent my time re-writing my manuscript for the editors. My book Viktor, Into the Light will be out sometime in the summer of 2020 and I am delighted to share this exciting moment in my life with you. I am just thrilled that my dream is on the precipice of coming true! Publishing one of my books and having it made into a real book is so exciting for me.I have waited 40 years for this moment in my life and now it is finally happening for me! This is just wonderful! The whole experience of writing Viktor has been quite magical and inspirational. Since 2014 I have written 5 books, with Viktor being my first for publication. I hope you all have something exciting going on in your lives that just brings you pure joy! Have a wonderful time dancing through life. Look for my book; it will make a great gift for someone you love. Thank you for your time! God Bless, Julie Ann

“Why didn't you run away?” the interviewer sat with her hands placed together in front of her as she waited for the response. “I wanted to, so badly. I honestly never left because financially I was to scared to be on my own. For me, if I had ran away I would have cut all ties to them. So financially it was my only choice. Then I turned 18 and started to work. At that time I was told to help with paying bills and slowly they were placed on me entirely. I was pretty much coaxed into staying for as long as I did.” she nodded and continued her question “When did you decide to leave?” “Actually, all the way up to now they've stayed with me. 4 years ago I bought my house and they moved in behind me. Since our childhood we've made peace with how we were raised and the things we've been through. I don't hold any resentment and we live peacefully now. I'm mostly on the road so I rarely see them but when I do we have quality family time.” the blonde smiled “That's very sweet of you, I'm happy you were able to find your peace. Romantically, is that something that has happened in your life?” Melanie laughed “I was wondering when that question was going to come up. My love life has actually been getting better. There's some ups and downs but over all quite interesting.” a shocked look graced the interviewers face “Please do tell. We're all quite interested in hearing about your adventures.” Melanie gave a small smile and nodded. “It's not much, I've only had two past relationships they ended pretty quickly because we could never see emotionally eye to eye. There was one that wanted to much from me, and there was one that wanted very little. In the end, I ended with neither. Then when I had made peace with living alone and just focusing on my career, he showed up.” “I see, so are we allowed to meet the one who has melted the Ice Princess' heart?” “I've never understood how that nickname came to be. I would love to out my relationship, but that needs to be discussed by us. For right now there's no hurry.” “Aww, well I wish you two all the best and we're actually coming to a close but one last question tell us how was it that you two met? We understand not being able to tell us who he is but how about a how?” Melanie let out another laugh and conceded “Okay, okay, I'll give a short detail how we met.” She adjusted herself more comfortably. Smiling back at her interviewer she thought back to the moment that she met him. “A year ago today actually. I was out of the country doing a series of projects. At that time I was working on a series and a movie. I had a meeting with the producers, I believe it was during the day. that I had to visit before going back to the hotel. I walked in and there's people running around and just busy with their work. So as I was walking in he was walking out and we bumped into each other. Of course I recognized him but he obviously didn't know me. At least that's what I thought. We excuse ourselves and went our way. Well the Producer that wanted to work with me had introduced me to the ‘actors'.” She paused and looked behind the interviewer. He was standing there, with a smile on his face as he reminisced the day they met, the day that had ignited the love that he feels towards Melanie. She smiled and looked back at the person in front of her. “They walk in and there walks in the one person I would never have thought to work with ever, at least in this lifetime.” Melanie looks back towards him standing on the sidelines with a smile still adorning his face “That day I met the man who would show me how to love.”

Granddad, your style. Your style is more complex than anyone knows. I cannot explain your outfits. I gazed at a few old pictures, from the last fifty years. And your style, your outfits are the only challenge. Who has a more complex style than you? Granddad, how do these pictures stay together? How do you keep all of them? How do they remain in the old grocery bags you put them in so many years ago? Did your mother expect for you to take me in all those years ago? Caring more about me then you did about your own life. Or the number of suits you gave away and threw out to accommodate for the space I needed? The pairs of leather and snake skinned boots you departed with, at the last minute? Did she see how much of an impact I made on your life? On your style? Granddad, did she see how wide you opened the door for me to walk in all those years ago? Did she see the jeans you wore, the knit sweater you graced, and the macaroni bracelet you wore to keep me happy? Did she see how much of an impact I made on your life? On your style? *** In the room staring at you. You fastened your watch around your wrist. You spritzed your cologne on yourself, the rain and forest like scent drifted in the air. You are now ready to go stepping. I stood in the doorway, my tiny figure getting lost with the giant furniture. I rested on the cold doorknob, in my light pink pajamas and a pink silk bonnet on my hair to match. After giving me a simple kiss on the cheek, you rushed out of the door. The hurt in my eyes as you left; time wasn't yet comprehensible, the two to three hours you were gone felt like a lifetime. I watched you through the living room window. As you stepped into the car, you gazed up at me and watched the single tear roll down my cheek. That night was the last Sunday you went out stepping. *** Three picture stared back at me. The first was from 1970, you dressed in pressed black slacks, a crisp white dress shirt with a black cardigan on top. Your necklace peeking through, your watch and ring shining. You smiled into the camera. Your sister next to you smiling as well. The second was from 2008. You dressed in slightly worn jeans, a new sweater, and your new felt shoes. Your watch face still shined, but the band was worn out. You smiled down at me, as I smiled up at you. I sat on my tricycle, riding in circles. You sat on the steps, watching me, laughing and giggling at my happiness. The third, 2016. I stood next to you. I wore my brand new white dress and my brand new cream shoes. A pearl necklace adorned my neck with matching earrings. You stood next to me. You wore an old, worn tee shirt and jeans with a small hole at the bottom of the left leg. Your watch sat dully on your wrist. You smiled down at me, as I smiled at the camera.

The birth of a life changing novel was concieved three days before Christmas. It was 12 in the morning. I was snacking on a pack of saltine crackers with a side of fruit punch. I turned the tv on, and switched it to Youtube. I decided to watch my favorite Youtuber (at the time) Logan Paul. It was around the time he made why the current year was the best year of his life. Who knew the guy who'd screw his life up the next week would change mine forever? Not me of course. I don't regret liking him though. If I hadn't watched his video I would have never thought to write my book. Continue it actually. I remember the exact words that made me start putting my dreams onto a document. “ I bought my first six million dollar house at the age of 22.” It might not have been those words exactly, but it was something like that. I thought to myself, “ If he's 22 and a millionare, why can't I be 15 and a millionare?” There were plenty of kids my age making almost a million dollars a year. Here I was sitting on the couch watching someone live their dream. Why couldn't I do the same? So it began. I opened my laptop, and made a new document named 12 Hours. It wasn't just him that motivated me, it was the future I saw for myself. I saw my book becoming a bestseller and even a movie. I saw myself going to countless meet and greets and accepting awards. I would even go in the mirror, dress up and practice what I would say if I ever went on the Ellen show. I knew this book would change my life. That's why I finished it in four months. Know that I was also in school. I'd finish all my work early so I could have time to write my book. I even had to change the title of the document tempotarily because people kept asking what I was doing. At the time I wanted it to be secret. I wanted people to know I had written a book oncr it got big. Like New York Times big. Anyways, once I finished my book, I felt like a new person. I no longer felt like a girl. I felt like a woman. I had no knowledge about the literary world, so I had to do my research. I found out that I needed a literary agent. Being that my favorite author is James Dashner, I thought to email his old agent. He did email me back ...months later. Fortunately it wasn't bad news. It wasn't great news either. He simply stated that he wasn't lookkng to represent my genre right now. That was probably the most exciting news of my life. He didn't say my book was bad. I knew my book must be something if James Dashner's ex-agent didn't say my book was bad. I then did some more research. I learned that going through a publishong company meant you didn't get all your money. I was immediately repulsed. That's when I discovered self-publishing. I also found out there were pro's and con's. Pro's, I got all my money. Con's I would have to market my book myself and I wouldn't become a best seller. To be a New York Times bestseller, you'd have to sell 9,000 copies the first week it went public. I knew there was no way I could do that. So I decided to start looking for publishing companies that would publish your book without a literary agent. As time went on I suddenly got a letter in the mail from a publishong company in Pittsburgh. I thought to myself, “ How does a publishing company in Pittsburgh know about my book?” After I read the letter I figured out that they found my book on some list when I had it copyrighted. I ended up looking up the company. I didn't see good reviews. I did email them. I hadn't promised them anything. I simply asked them about what they could offer me. They never emailed me back. Maybe a couple days later I found a self publishing company an hour from me. Long story short we emailed back and forth because I made a tiny mistake (don't email your manuscript with one email and follow up with another). I'm still waiting to hear back. By this point I had grown impatient. I needed my book to be published. I wanted to be known for my work. I also needed money. So I started a Go Fund Me page. I still haven't gotten any donations, but maybe it's a sign. Maybe I don't need money to get myself out there. I just need a device and the Google Docs app. Then it hit me. Why stop at one book? I decided to make 12 Hours a series. But that wasn't enough. I needed to expand my horizon. I needed to be known for more than writing scifi books. I decided to dip into the world of romance. The cheesiest and most romantic movie I could think of was Twilight. What was more cheesy than Vampire romamce? I probably wrote about seven chapters until I realized romance wasn't my thing. I decided to creep into the world of horror. I am absolutley in love with the book I'm writing. Am I still stuck in a rut? Yes. No one said it would be easy.