4. C.

Her world was a blur, though she knew better. She knew better than to let the swirling colors get the best of her.

She navigated the seasons, though she could not make them hers. She communicated with stars to make sure they all aligned.

She sat down at a student desk on the last day of school. She hadn't been my student that year--I knew her from the year before.

"How was your school year?" I asked her, oblivious to the oblivion she had willingly wandered.

"It was good..."she trailed off, thinking. Then, slurred, speedily, "The start of the year didn't go so well because I got into some drugs and I knew better but the kids I was with kept saying I could feel better but I knew better but they kept saying that so I did some and my grades weren't so great this first semester and my head was so messed up and I know I messed up. I know I messed up."

We looked at each other for a moment. I breathed for both of us. "Second semester went better?"

"Yeah," she said, looking directly in my eyes. "I'm clean. I'm going to become a CNA. I'm going to go on a mission and help people." She paused. "I made mistakes," she mumbled. "I knew better."

I did my best to convince her that communicating her current clarity could help others not blur their world. I told her the seasons were hers; she navigated them well. I told her the stars would all align if she remembered.

3. Matron Magnet: Contributor--T.

Old women have a penchant for making me very, very uncomfortable. And I am a teenage girl who lacks bladder control. And, yes, these two statements are completely related.

Two stories prove this point. They both end with senior citizens in the buff, so read on!

My family and closest friends take pride in making me pee my pants. They take it as a token of their hilarity. Road trips are the perfect opportunity to earn that accolade, and I have never gone on a road trip without going in my pants.

I clearly hadn't considered the obvious repercussions of wearing gray sweatpants on that fateful California car trip. As was to be expected, my sister made me laugh shortly after we embarked on our family vacation, and, naturally, I peed. The pee mark was pronounced against the light gray of the sweats, yet, cruelly, none of my kin were willing to climb atop our car to access the luggage carrier that contained a change of clothes.

So I did it.

With a pee mark as menacing as a sloth's smile, I climbed on top of my family's SUV, waving the banner of my weak bladder for the world to see. If memory serves me well, I even paused there for a moment, taking the opportunity to savor the feel of the breeze against the dampened cotton. Or maybe not.

I descended the car and hurried to the gas station bathroom. I reached for the handle, my eyes closed in embarrassment. Turning the handle, I could smell the sweet scent of relief intermingled with lemon air freshener and cheap hand soap. I took a step in, opened my eyes, and, "AHHHHH!"

A half-naked old woman smiled up at me from her humble squat on the john. "Oh, dear," she said. She was remarkably calm. "I'll need just a moment."

I changed in the car. I didn't need to go to the bathroom anymore, anyway.

~~~

As previously mentioned, my bladder has given me at least two opportunities to meet scantily-clad old women.

One day while at physical therapy for an injured knee, I suddenly needed to use the restroom. When nature calls, delay is dangerous. Therefore, I promptly answered the urge. I hobbled into the bathroom as quickly as my knee would allow and, "AHHHH!" An old lady stood in the center of the room, completely nude. Since then, I have never been the same.

2. My Sister's Eyes--Contributor: Mckenna

The monster snarled, its ten rows of teeth mere inches from my face.

My sister laughed. "It has stinky breath," she giggled. Her laughter is a songbird and her smile is the dawn.

I thrust my sword through the monster's soft, lardaceous belly, and it began to teeter lifelessly. I saw that the weighty mass was on the verge of falling and flattening my sister, so, heroically, I tackled her out of its fall line.

"Ouch, Kenna. That hurt," she whined, rubbing her elbow. So much for gratitude. "Ooooh," she said, suddenly distracted. "There's a fairy! She wants us to follow her to her magical castle!"

She laughed and bounced off toward our playset, the castle. I followed her to the castle. I always follow her lead. I like the way she sees the world.

~~~

I was eleven years old when I first saw my sister. I stood at my mom's hospital bed, not quite sure what to think. This purple, wrinkled creature hadn't even figured out I existed.

Now we fight bad guys, catch fairies, and battle monsters.

Her laughter is a songbird and her smile is the dawn.

1. L.

She woke up at 3 a.m. again. The alarm of her mother’s calm always shook her awake in the wake of her father’s shouting. Now those shouts were echoes, but she lay with the stars in her eyes wide open, looking out at the stars in the stars in the stars in the twinkling sky, reminding her that fiery inferno is quite pretty from a distance, or that she is so small, or that shouting makes the stars blink in confusion, or that tears and stars are really just the same, after all.

She slept for two black and white hours with the stars and her tears sparkling. She awoke to a gray shadow world, three minutes before her alarm would have sounded. She brushed her hair, she brushed her teeth and subconsciously enjoyed the relief that the freshness brought, and she didn’t eat breakfast, completing all these tasks without thinking, just because this is what she did every sparkling gray morning.

Her walk to school was an equally rote task, though her mind was spinning with thoughts that were too nebulous to be physically manifested by a grammatical sentence.

hatred isn’t hatred when it was love in the past present future are an all-encompassing hatred isn’t real when it is hot yelling down my calm mother’s calm she said we would leave but he’ll have nothing not to hate when we’re gone

She didn’t know she thought these thoughts, but they were in her mind, swirling. She thought nothing of time as she stepped into class, fifteen minutes late. It wasn’t until her eyes focused on her teacher at the front of the room and her classmates at their desks that minutes mattered.

“Am I late?” she asked, timidly.

The teacher glanced at the clock, rolled her eyes, and muttered, “What kind of question is that? I don't want to hear any excuses. Sit down and get to work."

~~~

When she arrived home that afternoon, her father had left. For years he had shouted fire through her mother's tranquility. For years he had bemoaned her and her mother's worthlessness, berating them like dogs. For years her mother had promised they would leave. Today, he left, and that burned worst of all.

The Project

We are billions of lives, billions of lights, with billions of stories begging to be told.

It is my task, through this blog, to collect people's stories and turn them into works of art. All of my stories will be based on the real experiences of individuals I meet, but I will take creative license as I write.

So far, I have only a few stories. Within four years I hope to have one thousand.