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I laced my fingers together, propped them behind my head, and fell back onto the bed of the pickup truck. The dirty but soft blankets balled up near the cab made for a suitable pillow. Only one deep exhale had left my lips before a blanket found its way over my frame and the heat of another body sidled up next to me. We lay there, two brothers finding comfort in each other’s warmth, for an indeterminate amount of time. As if following a strict tradition, our eyes trained upon the sky and never faltered. Occasionally, a forearm with a pointed finger would come into my field of vision as my brother drew my attention to a shooting star, a constellation, an airplane rocketing into the distance. A large overhead cloud slowly drifted by, blocking our field of vision for but a moment. My brother broke the silence, his voice low and dry, raspy from misuse. “She would have really enjoyed tonight. Just look how many stars are out.” His arm gestured the expanse of the galaxy set before us. I

Time is a funny thing. In some circumstances it can be quick and fleeting and in others, a second can last a year. And, when you have none of it to spare, it can feel like both at the same time. Tick. 00:05. My eyes strain to see through the darkness, they linger on the soft illumination of a dull red glow. A number. A number that counts down the moments of sentience remaining. In the unending shadows that surround me, I cannot help but to see: the rolling hills of a place nearly forgotten, the blushing faces of children who I held close to my heart, the leather-bound book with its yellowed pages and moth-eaten flyleaf that sat perched atop the cherry bookcase in our den. Tock. 00:04. My ears stress to hear a sound; anything but this incessant ticking. This ticking that seems to grow louder with each breath. In the otherwise hush of the empty room, I cannot help but to hear: the static of the radio as we tried to tune to a station in the back country, the screech of your

My palms are sweating and I hastily wipe them on the denim of the jeans that have grown too tight with the passing of time. I can feel my throat closing gradually until it’s too painful to force myself to swallow the fear that rises up from my chest. I brush the bangs of my shaggy cut to the side and can feel perspiration dampening my brow. It’s now or never, but how the hell am I supposed to go through with this? Just the thought of the last few months brings a wave of mixed emotions to the forefront. There were the blissful moments of pure, unadulterated joy. The moments of uncontrollable laughter and the breathlessness that followed it. The euphoric rush from staying up through the night in each other’s arms, if not just to see the golden rays of the sun basked across our naked skin before our eyes closed and we fell out of a fervent embrace into placid dreams. As rapidly as these memories appear in my mind’s eye, they just as quickly become overshadowed by the suffocation of

What a beautiful day for a match. The sun shines through darkening clouds that hold the threat of rain, but the pitch remains dry. I lace my boots tightly, don my jersey with a big number “9” emblazoned upon my back, and slip my mouth guard into place. The first 40 minutes lapse without precipitation, but as the second half gets started, the sky breaks and the droplets plunge down with force. Our team has played hard so far, but trail closely behind. The second half progresses in the same fashion – each ruck is a battle, each scrum a fight for possession. Each side manages to score a try. Time is running low but we don’t have much distance to cover. Just one try separates us from the win we have worked so hard for. The referee starts the cadence. “Crouch.” The pack gets low and sets up. “Bind.” They tighten their form and prepare to engage. “Set.” The front lines interlock and I roll the ball in. As our hooker pedals the ball to the back of the pack, I ring around, prepared to

The two students sit awkwardly in the teacher’s office trying to look at anything but each other. The student on the left clasps her hands together, then lays her palms flat on her legs, then sits on them. The other student has their eyes fixated on the second hand of the clock as if staring at it will make time move quicker. The teacher leans back in his chair, stretches out his arms with his palms up, and says, “I take it you two know why you are here?” Two heads sheepishly nod in acknowledgement. The teacher sighs and leans forward, resting his elbow on his desk. “It’s okay, you can relax, you’re not in trouble.” The two student’s heads turn in his direction, the one on the right with their eyebrow cocked. “Believe it or not, I was your age once. While it was some time ago, I can remember what it was like.” The students look at him incredulously but also with relief. “But,” he said, lifting a single finger into the air, “you need to make me a promise. I need you to accept

I woke up today knowing it would be the second hardest day of my adult life. The most painful memory being the day I lost my cousin, Fae. Our adventuring party was facing off against Chuth, an adult green dragon. Today I would be returning to finish what we previously could not. As I prepared for the journey, I could not shake the image of the dragon’s talons grasping Fae and dragging her through the wall of flames before us, disappearing into its opaqueness. When the wall dropped, her small body lay crumpled in its enormous shadow. In some ways, I also held onto this memory as it fueled my anger and my rage and gave me purpose in this quest to suppress Tiamat. Today, I come to this challenge more prepared. In my trials, while I have become more scarred, I have also gained new friends and adventuring companions, and am ignited with a new determination. In the time that has passed, I have focused energy in learning new skills, combining my long-honed fighting prowess and what little