I'll live no longer on my knees.

Crying down to my maligned heart,

I promise you—

I've rid myself of thieves.

“Will she be okay?” Boss swore as he pulled on his boots. His hair was disheveled and his face still lined from sleep.

“I really don't know, Boss. She’s hurt bad.” Mitch paced, distraught.

“Round ’em up for a meeting. You know where.”

Mitch momentarily looked stricken, but nodded solemnly.

“Now.” Boss made a “shoo” motion with his hands and Mitch jogged away, flashlight in hand.

The bunkhouses cleared out quickly. Loud complaints in various languages filled the night air. Mitch led the confused ranch hands to the pens.

There, a badly beaten man was sitting on the rail. Boss had a hand on the man’s shoulder and was speaking to him closely and quietly. At first glance, one may have thought he was tending to the man’s wounds, however closer observation revealed that Boss was seething with a barely controlled rage and disgust.

After Mitch was sure all the hands were present, Boss turned to face the crowd. He kept his hand on the scruff of the beaten man’s neck, not unlike the way he would hold a venomous snake.

“Gentleman, I'm about to demonstrate our policy regarding certain inappropriate behavior here on the ranch. Because many of you are seasonal workers and have not been here that long, I thought it only fair to explain a couple of things.”

Boss spat on the ground and continued.

“We don't give verbal warnings. We don't write you up. We do not have a probationary review to place you on. What we do have is a zero-tolerance policy for beating or raping a woman or child. We find out you have committed this type of crime here on the ranch, this is how we address the issue— ”

Without hesitation, Boss pulled a gun from his jacket and promptly shot the man in the upper torso. The man fell backward into one of the hog pens. At once, the huge animals descended on him. His gurgling screams rose and eventually fell as he was savagely torn apart. The crowd of ranch hands collectively gasped. Some crossed themselves. A few vomited.

Boss cleared his throat, “If you have any questions regarding this policy demonstration, now is your chance to ask. Otherwise, I bid you gentleman a good evening. I will see you at daybreak, hopefully well-rested and ready for an honest day's work. Thank you for your time and attention to this important matter.”

The frightened men quickly dispersed. No one said a word as they each tried to process what they had just witnessed.

When morning came, there was no trace of last night's meeting in or near the hog pens.

In a burst of mephitic vapors, she encompasses to fill the blackness of the room

She circles about until she decides to finally land, settling heavy on my chest

In fear and disgust, I taste the bitter bite of my own blood as I'm put to the test

Enthralled in the battle, I seek freedom - and though I'm awake, I look with unseeing eyes in the darkness of night

While only the sound of my fear and her crude laughter denote the unreality of my plight

Cynthia Calder, 10.04.24

I was born on a sinking island under a waning moon. They shrouded me in galaxies and fed me broken stars. I was woven into constellations and named after love.

My fate was etched into the universe and written by the night.

And although I sometimes wish I had remained in the nebulae to be cradled and embraced forever by the moon, I know I am not just another star in the sky.

I am exactly where I’m meant to be; besides, I can always look up and feel the comforts of home.

My parents had me in their early 20s—not too young, but young enough. I once asked my mother if I had been unwanted. "No," she replied. "I wished for you for a long time." She thought she'd never become a mother, but she did—four more times.

I was born first, and the eldest children are the experiments—especially daughters. We're the role models; our job is to teach and guide our siblings through life.

I don’t mind being in charge—sure, sometimes I get called bossy, which I pretend to hate but secretly love. It reminds me of Kristy from Ann M. Martin's The Babysitters Club. Kristy is the head bitch in charge—and like her, I relish it.

Life was simple back then. I have an enormous family and was always surrounded by love. When I say huge, I'm not exaggerating—both my mom and dad have eight siblings, and as a result, I have countless aunts, uncles, and dozens upon dozens of cousins.

When I wasn’t with one side of the family, I was with the other, playing, laughing, and annoying each other, as close family does. We were so close we didn’t consider ourselves "just cousins." We were siblings, and we still are. Some bonds never break, no matter the passage of time.

We go this way.

Cause that's, the way,

The river runs.

Cause I like the fast water,

The don't waste your gas water,

The kick up your feet

And pick at your ass water.

A fast boat's a fun boat

And that's always true.

But lighting don't steer easy.

More hope than get the hang of.

So I like a slow boat,

An easy to row boat.

A get along fine,

Long as I got the time boat.

I had to stop caring.

I had to take a step back.

I had to stop thinking.

I had to stop being.

It was a sort of change.

A sort of death.

I had to stop caring.

I had to stop loving.

I had to stop being.

I had to change everything.

It was a sort of death.

A sort of birth.

I had to stop loving.

I had to stop caring.

I had to stop being.

I had to stop everything.

It was a sort of birth.

A sort of death.

I’m not who I was.

I had to stop being.

I had to stop loving.

I had to stop growing.

It was a sort of death.

A sort of life.

When you look in the mirror, what do you see? Do you take the time to really look at yourself? To spend a meaningful moment with yourself?

What do you see?

Is it beauty, success, greatness—a future best-selling novelist? Or do you see a monster: unhappy, fearful, a failure? Perhaps a procrastinator, a fraud, a “fatty” undeserving of love and praise, or something else. Maybe it’s a bit of everything.

Maybe you see nothing at all.

And when I say look, I mean peering through those dazed pupils deep into your soul, having an unspoken conversation with yourself. A head check. A state of the YOU-nion with your subconscious.

Be honest. What do you see?

---

I rarely look at myself, but when I do, I see a...

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