Out on Diaz’s front porch, a group of neighbors gathered. Mr. Diaz immediately stepped outside with his wife. Now it was three couples outside and a young man; the Diaz’s, the Marshall’s, the Brady’s, and their neighbor, Mr. Ray, a young widow.

Mrs. Marshall was huddled up to her husband, still weeping. Mr. Marshall sighed and held her close to comfort her. He then said, “The cops still can’t find her. What about your son, Gabriel?” He addressed the question to Mr. Diaz.

“Nope,” Diaz simply answered. He and his wife felt their hearts sink a bit as Diaz admitted.

“It’s him,” the old Mr. Brady exclaimed. His wife and the group hushed him. “No! I know it’s him, that bastard over there!” He glared at the dark house across the street. “He took our kids!”

Mrs. Marshall wailed. Mr. Marshall hugged her tightly. “Don’t say that! The cops already searched his place, and let me tell you, I rather believe my daughter is out there lost somewhere than thinking he has her.”

“Adam,” Brady said to Mr. Marshall, “but the cops haven’t found your daughter at all in the streets. He has them and he knows damn well what happened to them. We can’t trust the cops they’re protecting him.”

“Well, what should we do if we can’t trust them?” Mr. Ray asked.

“Isn’t obvious..? We should go over there and know the truth.”

Ray asked again, “But how?”

“We go over there and ‘question’ him…”

“Then I’ll go.” Ray said.

“I’ll go too,” Mrs. Marshall abruptly spoke. Everyone turned to her.

“Sweety, are you sure?” Mr. Marshall asked her.

“Yes,” she said, wiping her tears. “Cops can’t find her. There’s nowhere else she might be. I just want the truth.”

“Then we’ll go.” Mr. Marshall said

“You are all insane,” Mrs. Brady said. She turned to her husband, staring at him menacingly. “Especially you! What you all are saying is that you’re going to come up to a man, who we don’t know is innocent or not, and interrogate him. I won’t have any part of that.”

Diaz took his wife aside and asked her, “Do you wan to go?”

“N-No,” she said to him. “I can’t do that, like Mrs. Brady said we don’t know if he’s innocent or not.”

“Leslie, our son’s been gone for two days already. We need to do something; we need to find out where he is.”

“I can’t…Go if you want, but I’m staying here.”

“Alright,” said Mr. Brady. “Let’s meet at his lawn in ten minuets.” Everyone nodded and the group separated.

***

Cole Blackmore was in his kitchen, his plain white shirt dirty with dust and strange yellow stains. He wiped the sweat off his brow with his stocky left hand. His narrow eyes fixed on the unfinished cabinets and sink. He removed his gloves and went to the refrigerator to get something to drink. He brought out a cold bottle of water and chugged it down. A great rejuvenating sensation that came over him as he swallowed the water. He sighed with relief and moved to the hall, walking toward a door at the very end.

In Cole’s room was a desk and computer, a large bed, a dresser with a TV sitting on top of it, and at the far end of the room, next to the bed by the window was a drawing table with a lamp shining down on it. Cole went to the table and immediately began drawing, he was working on a comic. He started out with one picture then boxes and even more pictures inside those boxes. He sketched in a few characters. Working like a machine, Cole moved his pencil as if he was highlighting lines that were already on the paper. He smiled as he finished up the page.

It was a silly comic, of small cartooney characters in an awkward situation. Cole chuckled a bit as he followed the pictures and thought of the next scene in his head. Then suddenly, his eyes moved off the sketch and he stopped smiling. He looked back at his opened door, into the hallway. He had heard a strange creak, coming from his kitchen. It sounded like the back door had been opened.

Cole got up from his seat and walked to the kitchen. He noticed that the back door was indeed open. A strong breeze of fresh and cool air blew into the house. Who could’ve opened it? Cole pondered for a second then went up to the door. He checked the knob to see if it was loose. It worked just fine. Cole was confused, but he shrugged it off. Before closing the door, he took in a deep breath of the great summer scent. A half-smile grew on his face, and then he closed the door and went back into his room.

Back in his room, Cole stood by the doorway, looking around. He sat down to his drawing table, and before he could pick up his pencil, he felt the cold sharp shock of a wire wrapped around his neck from behind. Cole struggled. He wanted to shout for help, but the wire was cutting off his vocals. Blood was trapped in his head, making his ear, face, and even eyes turn deep red. His windpipe was being crushed as the wire became tighter and the force behind it pulled him out of his chair, and tried to drag Cole out of the room. Cole threw his elbow at the person behind him so hard that the stranger had to release him. Cole dropped to his knees and coughed, gasping for air. He looked over his shoulder and saw the man he knew as Mr. Ray holding his stomach and moaning on the floor. He picked up the young man and shoved him to the wall. Cole punched Ray in the face. Blood spurted out of Ray’s nose.

“Aahhhhhhhh!” Mr. Brady came up from behind Cole, screaming and holding up a nine iron golf club. He swung at Blackmore. Cole jumped out of the way. The club hit Mr. Ray in the side of his rib cage. Ray collapsed and hit the ground, moaning.

Cole took the nine iron out of the old man’s grip, easily. He shoved Mr. Brady back and swung at the incoming Mr. Marshall. He hit Marshall at the side of his face. Marshall’s left ear rang. A buzzing pain filled his head, worse than any kind of agonizing migraine. Marshall rubbed his face and screamed, a bruise began to swell. He became dizzy, his vision became blurry. Cole went up to Ray and bashed the club into his face. The hard smack echoed throughout the hose. Cole hit Ray again. More blood left the man’s face. Cole repeatedly bashed in Ray’s head until the skull finally cracked. Still, Cole kept hitting, frenzied.

Diaz grabbed the powerful Blackmore, putting him in a full nelson wrapping both of his arms under his opponent’s and locked his hands behind his neck. Blackmore struggled, but Diaz held on tight. Finally Mrs. Marshall came. She hit the man over the head with a frying pan. There was some blood that dripped off the top of Blackmore’s head. Cole was knocked out cold.

***

“Ngh…Uhggg….” Cole awoke, moaning in pain. His head was pounding. His vision came back to him. Brady, Diaz, and the Marshalls stood around him.

“Where are they?” Brady asked Blackmore in a calm voice.

“Wh-who?” Blackmore said confused.

“You know who!” Brady smacked him across the face.

Cole flinched, his head jerked to the side as the powerful force of Brady’s palm swatted his cheek. The others cringed, hearing the sound of flesh being hit by hard flesh. Cole took a deep breath. His cheek turned red, burning with irritation. “I… don’t know… who you’re talkin’ about!”

“Where are they?!” Brady smacked him again. Cole didn’t answer. But Brady continued to ask; Cole continued top stay quiet, taking the blows to the face.

“Where are they?” Smack! “Where are they?” Smack! “Where are they?” Smack! Diaz finally came up and pulled the furious Brady away from the man.

Cole started to laugh, maniacally. It was as if he were enjoying the events taking place to him. He raised his head and laughed harder. The others stared at him, quiet and astounded. Even after all those brutal hits, before and now, Cole found something so amusing he had to laugh, and the intruders only wondered what it could’ve been that made him laugh so hard. They all thought Cole was truly something else, something sinister, their eyes wide as they stared at the mad man.

Diaz shoved Brady out of the way, walking up to Cole, while asking, “What are you laughing at?”

Cole calmed himself then said, trying hard not to laugh. “Ha ha he he he…..Ya’ll-ya’ll really are crazy, aren’t ya’ll? I don’t even know why you’re here. It’s just crazy, because – I always thought it was my loosing it, but here…I see we are all meant to live in this neighborhood. Ha ha ha ha!”

“No!” Diaz exclaimed. “We’re not like you, you’re a murderer, we just want our kids back, and you know where they are!”

“I don’t know where your kids are at! You’re some ignorant fools. I would never touch any kids.”

“Liar!” Shouted Brady wanting to attack Cole, struggling from Mr. Marshall and the Mrs.

Diaz took out a pocket knife. The blade popped out of the handle, gleaming in the dim light. He showed it to Cole. Cole just chuckled, showing no fear. “What,” he said, “you gonna hurt me with that thing? You think you’re so powerful now, because I have nothing to defend myself and tied up to this chair? You’ve got nothing.”

The blade sank into Cole’s side. A sharp pain surged throughout his body. Cole cried out in pain. Diaz pulled the knife out and stabbed the man once more. Another yelp escaped Cole’s lips.

“You’re gonna tell me the truth,” said Diaz. “Everything I ask, you’re gonna answer. Got that?” He drove the blade in deeper into Blackmore’s flesh to the hilt.

***

Back at the Diazs’ house, the phone rang. Mrs. Diaz answered it. Mrs. Brady was at the window, watching Blackmore’s house from across the street.

“Hello,” said Mrs. Diaz, holding the phone between her shoulder and ear, while she held the mug of hot coffee in her hands.

“Mrs. Diaz,” said a man on the other end of the line. His voice was scruffy and deep. “This is the chief of police. I wanted you to know that we found your son and the others’ children as well.”

“Oh! Really?” said Mrs. Diaz with a hopeful smile growing on her face. Mrs. Brady heard her and saw the expression on her face. She walked over to the younger woman.

“Where are they?” Diaz asked the man.

“I hate to tell you this ma’am, but we have your son in custody and the Brady’s grandson.”

Mrs. Diaz’s smile dropped to a frown. “What? Why?”

“Mrs. Diaz, your son and the Brady’s grandson were trying to flee to Mexico. They killed the Marshall’s daughter.”

Mrs. Diaz gasped. She was so shocked, she couldn’t breathe. The mug fell from her hand and crashed to the floor. There was a brief moment of silence.

“What’s wrong?” Mrs. Brady asked.

Mrs. Diaz said nothing.

“I’m really sorry,” said the chief of police, and hung up.

Mrs. Brady pulled the phone away from Mrs. Diaz. “Hello,” she said through the phone. All she got was the annoying tone of the phone. She turned to Mrs. Diaz and asked, “Angela, what is it? Who called? What’s wrong with you? What happened?”

Mrs. Diaz didn’t reply. She was still in shock. A small tear fell from her cheek. Soon, she dropped to her knees and burst into tears. Mrs. Brady just watched confused. Then something hit Diaz. She almost had forgotten the others at Blackmore’s house. She quickly got up and ran out the door. She moved as fast as she could. Her heart was pounding. She stormed through the front door, bumping into Mr. Marshall.

“Angela,” said Mr. Marshall, “what are you doing here?” He saw that her face was pale and cold. Her eyes were wide and full of fear. “What’s wrong?”

“Adam!” Mrs. Diaz exclaimed. “Where’s my husband?” She looked down and noticed Mr. Marshall’s stocky hands were covered in blood. She looked back up at him. “What did y’all do?”

“We did what he had to do to find out the truth.”

Mrs. Diaz shook her head. She pushed the man away and ran down the hall to the open room. There was Cole, lifeless, still tied to the chair. His whole body was drenched in blood. There were so many slashes and cuts all over him. He had been carved. Mrs. Diaz screamed. “No!”

Mr. Diaz walked up to her. He was also wet with blood from head to toe. “It’s okay, Babe, we got him,” he said. “Our kids can rest in peace.”

Mrs. Diaz fell to her knees, wailing, hysterically like a child having a tantrum. “It wasn’t him! It wasn’t him! Not him! Why? Oh God, why? Oh my God! Oh God!”

Diaz kneeled next to her. “Babe, what’s wrong?”

“Gabriel,” she said, her voice was hoarse, trying to catch her breath. “It wasn’t him . . . he didn’t do anything. Our son and the Brady’s kid, the cops found them.”

Diaz gasped. He wrapped his arms around Mrs. Diaz. Tears ran from his eyes as he realized what he had done. He didn’t dare try to look at Cole’s corpse. All the others had heard. They couldn’t believe it. What had they done? It churned their stomachs.

The last bit of blood dripped off of Cole’s forehead and into the puddle of crimson on the floor.

-John Fernandez

In the hills of the olden country, there stood a village not far from the summit of Clown hill. Here were people whose beliefs were quite odd and weird. They were taught not to believe in luck but only think of things as coincidence. It was said that life was just a parable of randomness and nothing good or bad is bad or good at all.

In this village there stood a family of great troubles and confusion. The man and his wife had six children. The man worked as a farmer as his wife stayed home and took care of house chores and the children. Although, it seemed as if they were living as average people, they were up to their noses in debt.

Seeing that they were constantly barrowing money from neighbors and seeking for more, the village had a secret meeting in order to converse about the issue of the couple. The decision that they came to was to make the whole household work, including the children. Each of them would work off the family’s debt that was brought upon by the couple’s desire to live a normal life.

Many years later, when all the children were grown up, the youngest of the six came to the end of his family’s debt. His family didn’t owe anyone anything anymore and he was welcome to live as freely as his grandparents did, but he didn’t know how. All he knew was to serve people without pay and live with them until he was able to move to someone else’s home. Confused as he was, he set off on a mission to find his calling.

He set foot off to one village that was not far from his own, but found nothing. All the work was already occupied by the people there and no one from at village needed any help. So he continued his journey, but found nothing but happy people with average lives. Until one day he found a young woman about his own age and found out that her father, the head of the household, had fallen ill and was looking for someone to continue his work duties so that he might recover and gain back his strength. So being a young man of good deeds he decided to help the bed-ridden man and his family. As the weeks passed the old man seemed to get worse and worse and his family knew his death is sure to come soon. Even the old man even knew that he would die soon.

The young man sat one great afternoon and thought to himself that average wasn’t average anymore. For some reason he realized that average was just figure of speech and nothing more. As he sat and thought he heard a scream from the house of the old man. Quickly without taking so much as a breath, he jetted toward the scream to see what the matter was. He saw the young woman sitting on the floor next to the corpse that was once her father. He picked her up from the ground and sat her on a chair, then ran back to where the corpse was lying. He examined the old man and didn’t know what to do. He tried everything that he had ever known about helping people, but nothing worked. The old man was dead!

He rushed back to the young woman and sat by her side. He held her and comforted her as much as he could. He looked down at her hands and saw a folded-up piece of paper and gently took it away.

The letter read:

“Dear Daughter of mine,
I leave you with all I have in hope that you will prosper from it. The young man that you brought home is a keeper and I highly approve of him to be your husband. His will to do all that I ask of him is an honor and a characteristic of a true man. He has brought this family good luck and wealth beyond my own. Take care of him and he will do the same to you. My daughter, I leave in good hands and I will forever be with you.
Love,
Your Father”

After reading the letter he sat back in the chair and was confused. He never heard of this term, “ luck” or why the old man even brought him up in the letter. Shocked about the death of the old man and his last words and blessing, he got up and walked outside leaving the letter on the chair. The young woman picked up the letter and shortly ran after him.

She asked, “Why did you leave? Is there something wrong? Tell me. Talk to me. Do something.”

He answered with, “What is luck, and how am I a blessing? All my life I have been doing what I have been told and know it’s different. What is this, some sort of coincidence, that life has bestowed upon me? I’m so confused. “ He fell to his knees and hugged the young woman by her legs.

She replied with tears running down her eyes and a saddened voice, “You poor man. It was not fate, nor coincidence that brought us together, it was my family’s luck that it gave you to use. You see, in the past my father would carry this leaf around but no one knew what it was. He used to keep it close to him and say that the things in his life are good because of my lucky charm. No one knew what he was talking about. Everyone thought he was just pulling their leg and keeping his secret to himself. But the truth is, that leaf was his source of happiness. The only true reason why he fell ill was because of the leaf. It had turned into powder and vanished. Only, I found another on just like it and met you on the same day.”

She pulled it out of her pocket and gave it to the young man. He looked at her strangely and then looked down to see what was in his hand. It had four small leaves, and it looked as if each one was a heart. He looked back up at her and said, “Is this really what made us? Is this the true reason why I am here instead of coincidence?”

She looked and him and simply said, “Yes.”

And it was said from that day on that their family was blessed with luck and richness, all because of a mystical leaf; a four leaf clover.

-Eddie Gonzales

In a far off land, a small cottage stood on a cliff. An old woman, leaning on a cane, limped out, because she heard some rustling from the forest. That was when she saw a tall and mysterious man, stepping out from the bushes and trees. He was dressed in all black. Black iron boots, baggy black jeans, black iron gauntlets, a loose black shirt, and a long black cloak that swayed in the wind. He had on black tinted shades over his eyes. There was a scar on his left eye, flowing from the bottom of his forehead down to his cheek. His hair was short and black as well. In his arms was a young woman. Her white dress was stained with blood on the stomach and breast. Her long golden hair shinned in the light of the falling sun ahead of her and the man carrying her.

“Are you Cybil the witch?” the man in black asked.

The old woman nodded. “Yes,” she answered, “And who, may I ask, are you?”

“I am Anthony, and this,” he looked down at the woman in his arms, “is Sonia, she has been fatally injured…And I know you can help her…”

“Well, if her injury was fatal then there is nothing I can do.”

“Please!” Anthony’s voice grew deeper and cold. “Help her! You must have some kind of spell to raise her back from the dead.” He did not beg, he sounded more like he was ordering Cybil. Still, deep down he was very sad, but he never showed it.

Cybil approached Anthony and Sonia. She took a good look at the maiden. Then she said, “She is very beautiful, she reminds me of my daughter…I will help you, but you must do something for…”

“What?” Anthony asked.

“When my daughter was a young lady, she was taken from me by a group of soldiers, taken to one of their camps not far off from here. And they raped her.” Cybil’s throat became dry with sorrow, her bottom lip quivered, and her eyes grew glassy. She struggled with her sentences. “She gave birth to several soldiers. Once they were done with her…and her beauty faded, they killed her…I wanted to save her…but as you can see, I was unable to do anything.” Cybil sobbed for a little while, then took a moment to calm down. “I want the peace my daughter deserves, I want the satisfaction in knowing that those men who defiled her suffered for their deeds!”

“Very well,” Anthony said. “Where is their camp?”

Cybil pointed at the sunset and far off was a small piece of land where there were green and black clouds of smoke rising to the sky. Anthony took Sonia into the cottage, laid her on a bed, then went off to the camp.

A few hours passed. Night had fallen on the camp of the soldiers. They started a bonfire. Most of the men were out, around the fire, drinking, while the rest were guarding the camp. There were four guards at the front gate. Two in the watch towers, separate from each other, and the other two standing behind the mighty doors of the entrance. They all heard a strange noise at the doors. It sounded like scratching, like a metallic and loud shearing sound. The two guards on the towers turned on the search lights. But before they could even get a quick glimpse of what was the cause of the noise, something snatched them up from the towers and tore them apart.

Suddenly, the gates crashed open, hitting the two guards standing behind them and killing them both. The many other soldiers heard this and readied their rifles. They rushed to the entrance. They saw Anthony standing there, the strange metallic sound was heard from behind him. The soldiers aimed and fired their weapons. Bullets came flying at Anthony. Yet, he just stood there, not flinching even once, like a statue. The bullets stopped. The soldiers were filled with fear when they saw Anthony still standing. They also saw what was making the noise. Several rusty barbed wires, moving snake-like on their own, lashed out at the soldiers. Some of the men were torn to pieces; others were crushed in a cocoon of wires until they were nothing but a puddle of blood and chunks of flesh, broken bone and armor. As for the few that survived, they tried to escape, but Anthony slammed a fist into the ground. The earth rumbled and a wave of black stakes popped out of the ground, impaling those that remained. Anthony’s onslaught and the screams of the soldiers echoed through the night.

Cybil sat outside, in her rocking chair, under the stars. She was smoking her pipe when she saw Anthony come out from the darkness of the forest. “So…you’ve taken care of those damn soldiers,” she said.

“Yes,” said Anthony. “Now, will you help her?”

Cybil grabbed her cane and stood up. She went in the cottage, Anthony followed. The old witch went up to a bookshelf, searching for a book of the hundreds that stood in the shelf. “Here it is,” Cybil said as she pulled out the book and opened it. “This is the spell that will restore life to Sonia, but it is momentary and she will have to pass again.”

“That is the only spell you have for her?” Anthony asked.

“Sadly, it is. If she was dying or terribly ill then I might find something other than this, but she is gone, Anthony, and no spell in this world can bring back the dead.”

“I don’t care if it is for a brief moment! I want to see Sonia again.”

“Very well,” Cybil sighed. She felt sorry for Anthony. She wished there was some other spell, but there was nothing else. “Bring her outside.”

Anthony nodded. He went to the room where Sonia was. Gently he picked her up from the bed, and followed Cybil outside.

Cybil took up some stones; with them she formed a circle. She told Anthony to lay her in the middle of the stones, he carefully did so. The witch stretched out her hands and a blue fire formed around Sonia. Cybil then took out a pouch of herbs and threw them in the flames, chanting strange words that all sounded like gibberish to Anthony’s ears. He stood by, watching the dancing flames sway and crack. A flash of light came from Sonia’s body. The fire roared and grew into a large, violent inferno. Anthony looked at Cybil, concerned, he approached the burning cyclone. Cybil stopped him and went back to chanting. She waved her hands out in front of her. The flames calmed and suddenly vanished.

There was Sonia, floating in mid-air. A radiant light pulsated around her body. Her eyes opened. They were blue as the deep sea. The blood on her dress disappeared. Anthony slowly walked up to her. Sonia stared down at him and smiled. “Forgive me,” he said. “I couldn’t protect you.”

In a gentle and innocent voice, Sonia spoke, “Of course, I forgive you, and that is why I’m also glad to see you again. I know you, Anthony, I know how many hated you and abused you, and you never knew love until we met. Now that I am gone, there is no one to give you that love, and so I am a scar that aches in your heart. I am stopping you from fulfilling your purpose in life. Forgive me, but I don’t want you to bare my sorrowful love in your soul anymore. I want to free from these binds, so that we both can be happy.”

“Don’t say that,” Anthony interrupted. “I gave you what I believe I never had, I gave you what people thought never existed, I gave you my heart! So please, don’t tell me you no longer love me.”

“I love you! And I will always love you. But it is your love for me, and the anger and rage for my death, that is destroying you. I need you to get over me. I want you to be free and happy. Farewell, my love.”

Sonia disintegrated into many particles of holy light that fell and faded. Anthony brought his head down, depressed. Cybil wanted to say something, but she thought it was best to leave the man alone. There was a long pause of silence, as though the world had stopped. Minutes later, the sun peaked from the horizon. Anthony picked up his head and walked away.

“Where are you going,” Cybil asked.

Anthony stopped. He said, “To go and fulfill my purpose. This world has lived in sinful bliss for far too long. I must put a stop to this, and do it the only way I know how.”

“How,” asked the witch.

“By sending the world into oblivion. I will destroy it all.” Anthony walked away.

-John Fernandez

Then I woke up to a deathly silence. I attempted to move but my ankles were in shackles mounted to a flat operation table, my wrists tied with belts, and I was entirely incapable of moving. I felt as if I had been injected with a serum to numb my entire body. I eagerly gasped for air, like a fish out of water. The scent of chrysanthemum filled my nose. Where am I? How did I get here? Who did this to me? A million questions were running through my mind but all I was worried about was how I was going to get out of that place. My heart raced, but I thought I could play possum up until I found myself in a situation where I could escape this cruel joke. I was someone’s joke, a puppet, being used against myself, but not for long; I was positive I would be okay.

I tried to open my eyes. Maybe it was all a nightmare, but I was blind-folded with a scarf. I still remember the print, it had black roses and a blood red shimmer. I moved my head in different ways trying to remove the scarf. I began to get frustrated, then I heard clicking that grew louder and closer. Click…click, the sound pattern was familiar, who ever was coming toward me was a woman wearing a chunky boot, more than likely patent leather due to the new fall trend. They were probably quite stylish, but the click became a subtle shuffle. Clank! Something fell on the floor.  I jumped, hoping maybe they didn’t see me, or possibly thought it might have been a fidget while I was sleeping.

“AGGHHH,” the grunts seemed manly. I was confused and uncomfortable, I was sure I heard Marc Jacobs chunky boots. My head jerked back as the kidnapper yanked the funeral scarf off of my head.  I was not looking forward to opening my eyes to see someone I’m sure I would be capable of killing at that moment. My rage was caged up.

A deep voice mumbled in my ear, “You know who I am, if you would like a reminder open up your eyes.”

His hot breath warmed my neck to a slight sweat. I wanted to burst out in anger and cry for help, but it was no use. I had no idea where I was or who held me captive and treated me as an experiment. My confidence slowly transformed into feeling grief and defeat. I had nothing to lose; I began to think it wouldn’t be a bad idea if I went ahead and opened my eyes.

My vision was so blurry; I could barely make out my location. Then a woman dressed as the most fashionable nurse I had ever seen asked, “Would you care for a mirror ma’am?” I replied with great sense of relief yet quite curious as to why I might want a mirror. As she brought me the mirror, I checked to see if my fashion sense was up to par. She was wearing the patent leather boots I imagined earlier. I grabbed the mirror and was about to place it in front of my face to check things out when a doctor, Dr. Melvin Mann, appeared beside my hospital bed.

“Ma’am, I would like to follow your surgery with a stay here at the hospital until you are completely healed. Would it suit you to transfer you to a larger room for a more pleasant time here at the hospital?”

I was quite confused with the conversation floating about but I tried to play along as best as possible.

“I greatly appreciate your hospitality Dr. Mann,” I began,” But if I could I would like a few minutes to myself for now!”

I patiently waited for Dr. Mann to exit the room. I was anxious to discover my situation. As the door shut, I rapidly reached for the mirror. What I saw… What I saw I didn’t recognize. I had a face lift as well as nose job. Who was I now?

American women are not immune to the fact that our individuality comes with a complimentary eraser and extra colored pencils to adjust any part of our appearance that we don’t agree with. I am not speaking of the unfortunate people who need such procedures, like accident victims with deformities, but the people who choose to change themselves due to their low self-esteem and self-consciousness of being a woman. Sometimes they are desperate enough to rearrange every gift they were given, and then are not capable of really seeing their distinct personality in their appearance. This common antidote to cure any feature to a person’s appearance should be a crime. These procedures blind people to their own uniqueness–the natural beauty that everyone is born with.

-Gelena Rodriguez