Lattes and Murders

21557532_10210178347961952_1736647627170701057_nThe abrupt scream of the steaming wand makes me jump and spin towards the door. Staring at the empty coffee shop in front of me, I curl my hands into fists, annoyed at my own anxiety.

“Sorry man,” the barista says.

I turn, offering him a half hearted smile. “Don’t worry about it. Just a bit jumpy, I guess.”

The barista, a tall man with tattoos covering both arms, shrugs. “Makes sense. What, with all these murders. Did you hear about the last one?”

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Chauffeur.

picsCorn. Wheat? Not cotton. Dead grass probably. Max groans and leans back, dropping her head on the back of the seat. Her eyes slide closed and she pictures the car moving forward, pushing air off its track, pulling the dead grass along with it, causing dust and pebbles to jump under the tires. Mason sits next to her, having taken the long drive as an opportunity for a nap. His heavy breathing mixes with the sound of the tires on asphalt. Max closes her eyes tighter, wanting the playlist in the air around her to turn off. She wishes there was a pause button. Or a skip.

Finally, she sits up and unzips the pre-packed backpack. She digs through it in search for headphones and unsurprisingly, finds nothing. Headphones are a distraction. They compromise your hearing, therefore making you unprepared for an attack. Max rolls her eyes and sits back, tucking her legs under her. She taps on the window in a random beat, biting on the inside of her cheek. Continue reading

Fight or Flight?

blog1“Max! Max! Ms. Burnsky said we have a meeting. Do you think someone is coming to meet us?” I yelled, throwing open the door to our small bedroom. Max was laying on her back, hands crossed over her stomach, staring at the ceiling. She looked like she was waiting for death. It was freaky. I poked at her. “Max…”

“Leave me alone, Ash. I’m tired.”

“But, Max… Ms. Bur-”

“I don’t care what she said.”

“What if someone wants to meet us?”

“No one wants to meet us, Ash. No one ever does.” Continue reading