Iulia et Piscis

Ego fabulam vobis narro. Fabula Iuli est et parvae filiae Iuli. nomen parvae filiae Iuli Iulia est. Iulia fortissima est, sed quoque stultissima est. 

Olim, Iulia ad periculosus mare iit. Magnum piscem videt. Ecce! Piscis magnus et pulcher est. Sed magnus piscis quoque ferox et periculosus est. 

Iulia prope piscem ambulat. Piscis vehementer grundit. Non in aqua iacet, sed in terra iacet.

Iulia “Eheu! Hercle!” dicit. 

“Hic piscis non in aqua est! Nonne hic piscis non laetus est!”

Iulia pisci pervenit. Subito Iulia salit.

Ιυλια “οιμοι! ἡ ψαρι με λαμβάνει!” λεγει.

Ιυλια φεύγει. Ιυλια φόβεται. 

“ἡ ψαρι με ἀπόλλυμει!”

Ιυλια φεύγει και “οιμοι! ἡ ψαρι κακός και πονηρός εστι!” λεγει.

Ιυλιυς, ὁ πατήρ, ακουει και βλεπει ὁ ψοφος Ιυλιην  λαμβάνω

“Ἐλθε!”

“Ναι! ἡ ψαρι με ἀπόλλυμει!”

“Μη ψροντις! Εγω δευρει!”

Ιυλιυσ ἡ ψαρι ἀπόλλυμει.   

Ευγε!

Manifest Destiny Narrative

    8/16/2022: Happy Birthday to Me!

    That fateful night, my friends and I massacred the natives. I don’t care what they say; we committed straight genocide, and I feel very guilty. I don’t really know why we did it, anyway. Sure, there’d been some attacks from the Pequots, and they’d deserved what was coming at them, but a looting and murder would’ve been enough to scare them. But no, we raided an entire Pequot fort and killed hundreds of them, warriors, elderly, women, and children alike. Their bodies almost covered all of the land inside of their walls. 

        That night, we’d made an alliance with the Narragansett and the Mohegan tribes, other Indian tribes nearby. We slithered through a hole in the fortress’ walls, and opened fire. Someone later thought to use a torch to set fire to the little huts, and the entire village burned. Only five of the Pequot survived, I heard. 

        At the town meeting, we discussed doing the same kind of attacks on other Indian forts. The vast majority agreed, but I couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry. Those who hadn’t died had been enslaved, and this felt like a difficult future for some who’d been innocent. But, you know what they say. The innocent are in the same boat as the criminals, as long as they’re the same group of people. Everyone is responsible for the actions of those in their community. Your brother commit a crime? Your whole household is responsible. And so on and so forth. 

        It was a real bad economic decision to mass murder the Pequots, too. We’d been trading European cloth for wampum (a sort of bead made out of a shell which can be used for trade) and furs. I know, we had plenty of trade between us and other native tribes, but it’s good to have economic and trade connections to people all over. The Pequots were really prominent, so it was a smart move to befriend them and trade with them. But, to convince the other Indians, we told them by taking out the Pequots it’d help them to become more prominent themselves, so we didn’t lose much. 

        The whole massacre has made Captain Mason a real important figure in our colony. He’d already been important enough to lead the whole massacring, but he’s on a different level now. Women regard him as savior and hero, seeing as he led a movement to end a tradition of offenses against Connecticut women. Men regard him as some omnipotent god who can do well in combat and do no wrong anywhere else. I respect him, but there was something sinister about his enthusiasm in killing so many Pequot warriors. You know, most people don’t call them the Pequot, just the Indians or natives. Maybe savages. Most people probably don’t respect them enough to call them by name.

        That’s really all I have to say. I know it isn’t might manly to be journaling about my feelings and anxieties and whatnot, but it’s truly comforting. I wish massacring will never exist in the future.

‘The Outsiders’ Letter to Johnny – With Teacher’s Comments

Submit your letter from Ponyboy to Johnny here. 

Johnny – it’s been a month since you left. When I think back to everything that happened, my chest feels heavy and I go quiet.  I like writing to you, ‘cause it really helps. 

Now that I think about it, I really never thanked you for saving my life that night. I guess with everything that happened after that, with the court trials and repeating a grade n’ all, I forgot how you saved me. It was real tuff of you to stand up for us like that, no matter what happened. I know it’s hard to get over killing someone, but it really wasn’t your fault. Good use of slang term “tuff.”

Sometimes, I just wish  that you were here. Sometimes, it’s real tough to get along without you. Two-Bit just isn’t the same. He’s still the lazy joker from before, but he looks different. Sadder. I know how he feels. Soda understands, but sometimes Darry just doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get that without you two, it feels like a part of me is missing. Good observations.

When I go to sleep every night, and get thinking, I get real mad at you. Mad at the world, I think. Why’d the Soc’s have to jump us like that? Why’d we leave that cigarette lit? Why’d you have to go back in there for the kids? You told me to save myself, but you stayed to save the kid. I wish I could go back in time and get you out of there. I wish I could go back in time and fix everything. I hate you sometimes, Johnny. I hate that you were such a hero you died saving the kids. I hate that you died saving the kids. I hate that you died.

We’re ready to let go now. 

One of the strengths here is the details but also the subtleties of your thinking: getting mad at J. and then the world, etc is a very human reaction.

The writing here, as usual, is beautifully constructed

Disaster Scene: Tsunami – With Teacher’s Comments

Tyler shrieks with excitement. His smile is so large, I can see the back of his throat, pink and convulsing. His  uvula bounces as he releases another guttural, inhumanly yelp. Another wave comes, bigger than the last, crashing upon my back as I stand between the wave and my 3-year-old cousin. The frothy water sprays over my head and plunks onto Tyler’s small head. He waves his arms, smiling to reveal his red red gums. I smile at him and open my mouth to-

A huge wave attacks me. Far bigger than expected, it shoves me to the ground. The pleasant water and friendly waves become my enemy, as I kick and flail. I try to feel the sand beneath my  feet, to launch off of to grasp a breath of air, but I feel no gritty, ridged substance there. The lack of solid ground takes me by surprise, and I fall forward, nothing in my way to stop my perpetual front flip as the waves push me further down under. 

A hand meets mine, but I shake it off, pushing and kicking to the surface. Suddenly, I remember Tyler. He’s three! He can’t swim! In a panic, I open my eyes and mouth, searching wildly for Tyler, my Ty, my mother’s favorite nephew, my aunt’s baby. I change direction, heading to the bottom of the wave, where I last felt those tiny fingers seize my hand, fighting for his life. Bubbles escape my lips, and I’m asphyxiating now, because Tyler is somewhere down there, and he needs help because he’s only 3 and why can’t I feel the ground. With my eyes open, I can see sandy, murky water, but nothing else. My eyes sting, and I squeeze them shut.

Another wave crashes into me. My spine throbs, and I’m somersaulting away, away from Tyler who’s only three. The waves are great and formidable, and sends me spiraling forward until I collapse-

A tree? My head rams into a branch, and the salt water invades the wound on my forehead. I cling onto the branch, hoisting myself higher and higher, climbing the tree as much as possible in the push of the waves, until I feel-

Air. Precious air. I push and pull and climb and- 

Wowza. My first gulp of air takes me by surprise, because the wind is howling and knocks my head back in another person. I’m crying and shaking, but I survey what I can see, what with my blood streaming into my eyes, and see only the grey sky and several trees dotting the raging water below the tree. The tree is trembling in the wind, and I hang onto it desperately, but I know I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I saved only myself. 

I jump off the tree, into the turning waters, which I see are higher than the houses around the tree. My hands scrape against the bark I was clutching, and turn my hands into a bloody, shredded mess, but I can hardly feel it, having collided with an enormous rock at the base of the tree. My head bounces against the rock, but even though my head is spinning, I know my arm took the brunt of the impact. I raise my arm, and my shoulder pops back into place. I feel a splitting pain in my lower arm, which is definitely broken. 

I paddle as best I can, keeping my head high above tossing and turning waves, and look around. I know I could never forgive myself without trying to save Tyler. He’s only three. He’s only three! 

I start crying, and try to keep swimming, but I know I’m far, far away from Tyler now, and the tsunami has taken the rest of my family. I throw myself on the rock, sobbing, and the people in the tree pull me back up. I scream and fight, but I screwed up my leg in the jump, too, and I can’t move it. I fall unconscious.

Wow. This is very dramatic indeed. The use of detail is exceptional, and you manage to maintain the suspense and sense of danger throughout the entire scene. Well done. 

‘Chains’ Book POV

The way this girl carried herself was different. She walked with an almost undetectable confidence. Sure, she was trembling. Sure, her eyes were just sort of welling up with tears, but there was something unmovable within her. I can’t describe it, really. She was like a rock in the middle of a raging ocean, and the water pounds, and the rock is drowned, but it emerges, unbreakable. I shivered. 

Francis forced her onto the stocks. The iron began to sizzle, and I felt a sense of dread. I am seasoned in my profession, but I always feel a pull in my chest. When my Ma passed, I felt like I was going to die because my chest tightened in the same way, and I started praying, praying to God that this was just a dream and not reality, praying that I wasn’t going to die cause Ma wasn’t dead, and yeah I’d seen her lying in her casket but she couldn’t be dead because who would be there on those nights when I felt shame, shame in what I did? 

My Ma always told me that those slaves and shameful criminals got what was coming to them, but I always felt like God wouldn’t want me to do what I do because I’ve seen people cry. I’ve seen people break down in sobs and wail for their babies. My job’s a hard one. I don’t know if I can pull through this time. 

Sometimes when I feel the pull in my chest it feels like I can’t breathe, and it feels like I’m in a box even though I’m outside. And I can’t, I can’t, and I’m breathing but I can’t breathe, and then it stops. I brand the girl with an “I”, an I for Idiot, for Insolence, for I-Can’t-Do-This-Anymore-I-Feel-Sinful-With-The-Blood-And-Tears-Of-A-Child-On-My-Hands, I-Feel-Dirty, and she’s crying, and I want to tell her.

But I can’t.

The Snowman

Opal cast a glance outside her window early that morning. White! She rushed to the bathroom window. White! Excitedly, Opal wriggled down the stairs and plopped down in front of the fax machine. 

“Good morning everyone. I regret to inform you that unfortunately, our school day is canceled due to the heavy snow. Stay safe!” 

Unable to hold it any longer, Opal squealed with joy and thumped back upstairs. 

A groggy Mr. Dupont in a cliché blue robe holding a Best Mom Ever mug exited the kitchen, scaring Opal off her feet. 

“Jeez Louise, Dad!” Mr. Dupont’s face broke into a grin. 

“Sledding so early, Opal?” Opal ignored him and ran to her room to change. 

First, she dragged on some baggy snow pants. She struggled for a few minutes with the straps, and suffered the same difficulty with her still-wet mittens. After shaking the residue snow flurries off her boots, Opal pulled on a coat and fleece hat. 

She scampered again down the stairs, sweating and panting already from the exertion, she tumbled out the door and landed smack in the snow. 

“Ouchie,” she pouted, dusting her face of ice. 

Moments later, Opal had stumbled to the steep slope at the end of the block. Children were already there, frolicking and laughing heartily as they played with friends. 

“Not me,” she thought, a little sadly. Her only friend had moved months before, and there was still an ache of loneliness in Opal’s heart. She stared, then shook the thought away. 

Opal got to work at the top of the hill. She piled snow into a mound, a ball, a massive boulder of ice and slush. After wiping the sweat from her brow, Opal began working once again, this time rolling snow into a smaller ball, though it was still as big as a basketball. Finally, she rolled a small ball, no bigger than her head, and stacked up the spheres. 1, 2, 3. Opal counted them, and smiled a little. 

By now, a crowd of small children had huddled together, watching her. 

“That’s the biggest snowman I’ve seen in my entire life!” they shouted. 

Opal then stripped off her own scarf and gloves, but not after sticking on some smooth rocks for the snowman’s coal eyes, mouth, and buttons. Opal grabbed a carrot from the generous hands of another, and stuck it in the middle of the smallest ball of the structure. Opal stepped back with triumph. A massive, towering thing of snow stared back down at her. Opal tilted her head slightly, measuring the snowman mentally. 

“If I’m 5’ 3’’, she thought, “that thing is for sure at least 7 feet tall.” 

Before she could take pride in her work of art, however, a looming shadow approached the bunch. Robin Sizzle, the neighborhood jester, swaggered over to Opal, hulking over her by a head. 

“Hey shortie, a snowman? How lame can you get?” 

Robin knocked a handful of snow from the snowman’s torso. 

“Leave, Robin. You’re dangerously affecting the average IQ of this area.”

“No you,”

Robin cracked up at his own joke while Opal looked on with annoyance. 

Opal whacked Robin playfully in the shoulder. He shoved Opal hard. 

“Whatcha gonna do about it, huh?”

Though Robin was giant in stature, he was still a 10-year-old, 3 years younger than Opal.

“I can offer you hot chocolate.”

“Bribes? They don’t work on me.””

“You know my mom makes some pretty great hot chocolate.”

“I don’t “do” hot chocolate. Only losers do.”

“Come on.”

Robin finally gave in, and Opal made a new friend.

Sahara

Bree rubbed the sand from her eyes. She squinted, then her eyes widened as she approached a glittering pool just meters away. Bree stumbled to the water as quickly as she could, and eventually she ended up just a step away. Bree extended her hand, calloused and dirty, peeling from burns, and crouched, gasping in anticipation of relief, but flinched when her hand only touched more scorching desert. Pain seared through Bree’s arm, and she looked on in horror as her skin seemed to shrivel up. She drew back her hand and lay onto the ground, ignoring the extreme stinging sensations on her legs. It would be better just to die. Her glorious solace and only chance of survival  had only been a mirage. Bree trembled, then screamed.

She woke up with a start. Bree shook her head. Though she knew she was safe inside her home, she couldn’t help but imagine the world just a wall away. Mother always said she had a marvelous imagination. Bree was starting to regret that. Bree sat up and stretched, then looked out the window and immediately cringed. More sand. Dust winds threw themselves against the window pane, creating a rat-a-tat rhythm which never stopped, beating all figures continuously. Endlessly. Bree shook her head and swallowed, shuddering at the reminder of her nightmare. She walked over to her sink and splashed water on her face, which was etched in a grimace. Then, Bree walked over to her calendar, marking off another day. 

For a year now, the last bits of water in the reserves had dried up, and much of the land had become void of life, empty desert. Slowly, the citizens of the planet Earth began dying, of thirst, and even heat stroke, hunger, and suffocation. There was no longer anything out there. Walking out of a sheltered home, one might see death, and hunger, but most of all, a vast emptiness. This drove most to madness before the pain. As the notable President of the Republic of Ireland, Bree’s mother Devin had led them out of the chaos of the city, to the country, which was calm and relatively unaffected by the situation outside. Except for goggles around their eyes and protective layers of scarves and clothing, Bree’s family, the McCallister trifecta, could roam freely outside in a golf-cart to the market. Every day, the family was deeply grateful for their resources, but still, they kept to themselves. Bree was deeply suspicious of her mother. Did she think as a government official, she could neglect the needs of the people of Ireland? Bree started noticing a look of disdain on Dev’s face as she shut the door to a person at the door, covering her mouth and turning away.

Bree couldn’t help thinking this was hypocritical and just wrong. After all, her mother and many other leaders had sworn to help the people, but what were they doing? Staying at home, with their own sources of water, not talking or meeting anyone to give guidance? Bree noticed her mom disappearing for hours at a time. What was she doing? Bree didn’t ask.

The first week into the McCallisters’ self-isolation was dreary. She once saw an adorable kitten licking itself outside. Bree had slinked outside, scooped up the kitten, scooping up the kitten, and played with it for hours. When Bree’s mother found out, she was furious. 

“BreeAnn McCallister! What is the meaning of this?”

“I’m bored, ma’am! You keep me inside all the time. I must see the world! I’ll die of boredom before I die in the outside world. This isolation is positively useless. Useless!” 

Bree stroked the cat. 

“This is for your own good. The cat most likely carries disease.”

“Disease, schmeez! You’re just afraid you’ll get rabies. You just care about yourself! Just like how you’re not helping anyone but yourself during this famine!”

Dev laughed. 

“Famine. That’s a funny way to put it.”

She began to walk away, but first snatched the cat from Bree. 

“Hey! The cat will die of thirst! You murderer!” 

Bree stomped away and slammed the door, leaving a confused and angry mother.

After an awkward dinner, Bree’s parents had sat her at the table and condescendingly explained the importance of manners. The audacity! Bree didn’t see much politesse in homicide. Afterwards, they told her to be careful, because of the dangers outside. As if she didn’t know that! She just wasn’t about to let some cats suffocate in a dust storm. Her vision blurred.

Weeks later, Bree had seen another girl sitting on the front stoop. She had been making a sandwich, then stopped slicing a loaf of bread when pounding began on the door. The girl had been as thin as a stick. Bree could see her ribs through her tank-top. Bree started to turn, remembering the sharp words of her mother. She knew there was risk in helping a stranger, but Bree simply couldn’t help it, especially when the girl began to whimper then sob fat tears, snot streaming down her face. Bree tsk-tsked; how stupid! The girl seemed eager to dehydrate herself. However, Bree forced a loud sigh. Her conscience was giving in. As she reached over to undo the lock, she reasoned that it was the right thing to do. Bree told herself she’d just do it this once. Just this once. Then, she’d be obedient for the rest of her life. She’d let the girl eat some stuff, get to know her, and convince Mom and Dad to let her stay. It was for the good of humanity. Besides, the girl was her age! She just felt some sort of connection. A kindred spirit, perhaps. 

Casually, Bree opened the door. The girl stopped sniffing and stood abruptly. 

“Well, hello-”

Before Bree could finish her sentence, the girl moved toward the doorway. Her eyes glittered with malice. She shoved Bree out the door into the howling winds and abrasive sand, stepping into the cave and shutting the door (and locking it). She offered a little smirk as Bree shrieked and punched at the door, then the girl rushed to the kitchen. Bree watched with tears in her eyes as the girl inhaled a slice after slice of bread. Bree coughed as the dust blew into her eyes, nose, and mouth. She choked and stumbled into the sand. Finally, Bree’s father walked in with his work computer. He looked up suddenly and stared at the strange girl spewing crumbs from her mouth as she tried to back away. Later, Bree found out that the girl had gotten to a whole loaf of bread and a pitcher of water by the time Bree’s father had broken her neck. After all, she’d been eating the food he’d worked hard to earn! But, by then, the sandstorms had confused Bree and left her stranded in the middle of a vast desert.

Every time she blinked, new colorful spots collected beneath her eyelids. She stumbled forward and landed hard on her knees. Bree groaned. How long had she been walking? Was it just minutes? Hours, maybe? Or possibly days? She’d lost track of the Sun’s position in the sky, and she couldn’t look at it anyway. It made her face feel like it was on fire. Bree was sure she was the luckiest person in the world having a full stomach in these conditions. Where was she? Far away from home? That much was true. Everything else was a haze, like a dream. Bree wasn’t sure a dream could leave her skin raw and eyes bloodshot, infected. What Bree did know was this: She had as much chance of making it home or even alive in these fortunate premises as in Antarctica with nothing. Which was a very low chance indeed.

BreeAnn McCallister traveled all over the world. She didn’t know it just yet, but she ended up in France, Belgium, and even Kazakhstan on some occasions. The land all looked the same. Bree pinched herself to keep herself from going crazy, sporting scratch marks and red scars on her arms for the rest of her life. When she walked into Finland, she recognized a small rodent: A capybara. Bree certainly thought it strange, but she could have used all the distraction she could get.
“You’re my only friend.” she told him constantly. Bree mourned when that capybara was bitten by a rattlesnake. Bree imagined it was in a better place now; she was special that way.

After Bree had been stumbling around alone for what she was positive was an eternity, she found a spot to rest in under a lone cactus one night. She screamed silently as she mistakenly stepped on a rock. Along with her allergy-ridden eyes and painful skin, Bree’d acquired an impaled foot from a low thorn bush. Not only was she plagued with infirmities, she was shaken by the violence she’d seen between a pair of stragglers in the desert. They’d fought for water. Fought to the death. Bree saw more examples of this along the way. She quaked at the memory of a cruel man drinking his dead child’s blood.  Bree shivered when she thought of how the capybara had lurched when he was bitten. Bree quickly checked the ground for snake burrows, then finally settled down. Her eyes came to a close. She had anything but a dreamless night. 

Bree woke up in a dark cell. She twisted and tried to get up, but she found that her arms and legs were bound with chains to grates. Bree screamed for help until her throat hurt, and she coughed blood. 

“It’s no use. You’re going to kill yourself.”

Bree spun around, knocking her head on the cell wall. At once, she realized she was gagged. 

“We don’t usually take such extreme measures on children. You’re a bit of a special case.”

The faceless woman took off Bree’s chains and gag. Bree spit at the ground. Her mouth tasted like bile. 

“You, you meanie!” 

Bree lunged at the woman, who calmly stepped aside. The woman evaded Bree’s hands searching for a throat to strangle. The woman moved quickly, and pinned Bree’s arm behind her back within seconds.

“Next time, try not to be so sloppy. I can break your arm now.” she said coolly. 

“Why are you doing this to me? I’ve never met you before.” Bree growled, teeth bared. 

The woman dug her nails into Bree’s shoulder. 

“Let’s just say we have a problem with snooty politicians. Especially the stuck-up imbecilic McCallisters hogging the food.”

“They’re not hogging the food! We’re not, I mean. We heard of the lost water and did what anyone would do.”

“You obviously don’t know of your own family’s methods then, do you? Dev McCallister is a danger to our Republic. She’s caused enough tyranny. When she spent all the government’s funds on useless things, she used smooth talking and bribes to avoid getting impeached. Isn’t it strange that when the world happens to go through this, she just disappears?” the woman spoke sarcastically with an edge. 

“It’s a coincidence.” 

Even as Bree said this, she thought of the countless lives taken by her father on a claim of self-defense and Bree’s protection. Bree did know about these “unusual” methods. Only now did they truly seem wrong.

“Okay, that doesn’t even come close to an explanation as to why I’m locked up here. I’m just a kid.”

The woman’s shadow seemed to turn to Bree. She wasn’t sure. Her head was spinning.

“It might not seem like it, but we did just save your life. Anyhow, you’re one of us now.”

“You don’t have the right to force me to stay. You’re no different from my parents. You must be hogging tons of food here.”

“We didn’t know who you were and still took you in. We keep to ourselves except for helping those in need. There are bad people out there who would take advantage of the resources here. All your needs will be accounted for. Just eat, sleep, and shut up, for once.”

“I still don’t know your name.”

The woman swallowed. “BreeAnn McCallister. The first, that is. Your father’s baby sister. When he was 16, I was born. You’re 7?”

Bree nodded yes, confused.

“That was my age when he waltzed off. He was as much an idiot then as he is now. I hope he’s sorry.”

Dev McCallister waltzed into the kitchen where her husband Ray was quietly eating a ham sandwich. 

“Is something the matter, Honey Bunny?”

Honey Bunny shrugged and kept chewing.

Dev slid into a chair at the kitchen table.

“If this is about Bree, I don’t know what to tell you. She’s gone, and gone for a year. Just because it’s her birthday doesn’t mean you should get distracted. It’s time to move on. We all had to make sacrifices for the greater good, Pookie Bear.”

Ray sighed, and nodded. His wife was right. It was time to move on. Bree had probably been long dead by now, though it was not like Dev had ever made any attempts to contact her.

Someone burst through the door with a kick. Bree approached her parents.

“Bree? Is that you?” 

Ray scrambled to his feet.

“Yes.”

Dev launched herself forward and hugged Bree. 

“We’re so glad you’re okay! We were worried!”

“If you’d really been so worried, why didn’t you attempt to find me? You weren’t worried, you were relieved there wasn’t another mouth to feed. I’ve been gone for 4 months, and in that time, I’ve learned the truth. You are not a good person. In fact, you’re a danger to humanity. I don’t like how you’re not doing your role in society. You aren’t doing your job as president! You are being selfish, and mean, an’ I don’t like you. I’m going to live with my aunt.”

Bree’s voice cracked. She felt lightheaded. Maybe she should sit down. She couldn’t speak right. 

“What she’s trying to say is I think it would be better for a certain Dev McCallister to not exist anymore. You’re not needed.” 

BreeAnn the First (more commonly known as Annie) stepped in from outside along with a huge throng of people.

“Annie,” Ray murmured breathlessly. “You wouldn’t. How could you?”

“Well, you stole my college tuition money for a ring, let my boyfriend get run over, and married this woman. I can, and will. I don’t think it’s right for anyone to overlook the needs of Ireland.” Annie said quietly.

Bree leapt in front of her parents, arms spread. 

“Wait! Are you implying that you’re going to kill my parents? We never agreed to murder them! You’re acting just like them!”

“Um, you are such a softie. That’s why I never told you. I am not like them. They didn’t help the helpless. Unlike me, who is ridding the world of people we could do without.”
“Just because they’ve done some bad things in life doesn’t mean you can ignore their rights. They overlooked people they thought were below them’s rights. So, yeah, you’re acting exactly like them.”

Everything became a blur…

Bree was gently shaken awake by her mother. Bree smiled, and hugged her ripped capybara stuffie closer. 

“Bree, we’re going to take Annie and her mommy back home. They’re going early because Uncle Earl said he’d be back at their home by supper. Aunt Melinda wants a hug. Do you want to come with?”

“Yeah! I’m not done playing with Annie yet. Can I go on the plane with them and see Uncle Earl?”

“Hm. There won’t be a plane ride today. The virus, remember?”

“Aww. The virus ruins everything!”

Bree sat up, furrowed her brow, and folded her arms.

“Yes. I suppose a drought is that much better?”

Bree groaned.

“You weren’t supposed to know about our make-believe world! That’s what made it a secret! Did Annie tell Aunt Melinda?”

“Well, we had to find out somehow. All those stories were hard to keep up with. Daddy wanted to know why Annie stopped playing with him. You know, maybe you should grow up a little more before you play those games with Annie again. A 13-year-old’s taste may be a bit… mature.”

Bree harrumphed. 

Her mother continued.

“I must say, you have quite the imagination, though. I’d never would have used cardboard for desert. Or have been able to magic my stay-at-home mom into a president. It might have been a little too elaborate for me to transform a pandemic into a period of dryness. I honestly cannot imagine the plains of Kansas as anything else. Anyway, let’s go.”

Bree decided she loved having a wild imagination. She winked at the capybara, who winked back.