Leaves

Leaves
She was so stunning it hurt to look at her. The woman had wavy black hair that complimented her pale skin. Dark green eyes gracefully crinkled when she smiled. I looked up at her smiling back as she took my small hand and laid it flat on top of hers. In her other hand she held a small flower seed; she set the seed in my hand. I giggled the seed tickled my palm where it laid. Slowly roots grew from the seed wrapping around my hand, wrist, and arm. I watched in wonder and horror as a delicate green stem rose from the seed and leaves like wings appeared along with a white bud. I let out a squeak of amazement as the bud opened into a beautiful white flower. The woman smiled at me: glowing with proudness." The plants will always love you.” she said. Suddenly it's dark; the wind whips fiercely and the woman looks up and screams.
I wake up covered in sweat; I always wake up when she screams. I've been having this same dream for months and d I can't figure out what it means. I look at my clock, 5:01. Letting out a big breathe I stand and look in the mirror. My hair is straight unlike the woman's hair in my dream, but it's the same shade of dark black. Our eyes are the same shade of green too along with our pale completion. I've never met the woman except for in my dreams but I feel a deep dread that she's not with me.
I get dressed and head downstairs to the kitchen. Greta isn't up yet which I'm glad for. It's not that I don't like Greta, I love her, but I enjoy the beginning of my mornings alone. Greta's my guardian, she once told me that she was a close friend of my mother; but that's pretty much all she's ever said about her. Greta looks nothing like me, so she's almost never mistaken for my biological mother. She's tall and skinny, yes I am skinny but I've got curves where Greta has next to none. I'm also almost a foot shorter than Greta at my 5.2 height. Greta’s hair is bleach blonde and she’s very tan. Her bright, blue, knowing eyes are nowhere near my dark green shade. Not only are our features different but our personalities are totally different as well.
Even in her late forties Greta is friendly and outgoing. She's also adventurous something I've never even dared trying to be. I've always been the shy, quiet type who stayed on the safe side. There's been many times when I’ve had to talk Greta out of trying a daring stunt that could only have a bad outcome. I'm sure that once I move on to college Greta is going to try skydiving or drag racing down a mountain or something like that. I've always worried about Greta and the dangerous stunts she's sure to pull off without my supervision. Don't get me wrong Greta is an adult; she's very wise when it comes to my safety and the safety of other children/teenagers. But when it comes to her and other adults Greta is as reckless as a seven year old boy who loves to play with explosives and lighters. I slowly take out the cereal and milk to fix my breakfast. The TV drones on about something going on someplace in the world; I don't really pay attention to it as I eat. Instead I think about my dream. Why did the seed just grow in my hand? Who was the woman? Why did she scream?
I'm trying to think up answers to my questions when Greta walks in. “Hi Green. How's it going?" she asks in her usual cheery voice. I finish chewing my spoon full of cereal and answer.
“I was just thinking about a dream I've been having." Greta reaches for the cereal and looks at me quizzically I usually don't talk about my dreams.
“What happened in it?" Greta lazily pours milk into her bowl full of cereal. I listen to the snap, crackle, pop of it as I think about whether I want to tell her all about it or just brush it off. What could it hurt? I decide to only tell her about the woman. As I describe the woman's features Greta frowns a pose that doesn’t accrue on her face regularly. “At the end she screams; she always screams." For no particular reason I feel like crying for the woman.
Greta looks at me analyzing the information I just gave her. When she finally tries talking all that comes out is a squeak. I watch as Greta takes a deep breath and clears her throat “I know who the woman is in your dreams." Her voice rises at the end of the sentence adding to the sadness in her face. My ears ring in excitement. I know I should be comforting Greta but I really want to know who the woman is.
“Who?" I ask. Greta looks as if she's about to cry. “Are you OK?"
“The woman," Greta clears her throat again,” is your mother."
My spoon clatters to the floor. “My who?" a lone tear runs down Greta’s cheek as she sits by me; wrapping her arms around my small frame.
“Your mother."
Tears start rolling down my cheeks. “I-I don't understand."
“You must be dreaming memories of your mother." I'm suddenly alarmed.
“Th-that’s impossible.” Greta looks at my tearstained face,
“Why, why is it impossible?” There’s a sudden iciness that’s in Greta’s voice that surprises me. I avert my gaze from hers and stare into space. I feel awkward explaining about a dream with my mother in it; especially when Greta’s voice turned that icy.
“In the dream she places a seed in my hand and it grows into a flower. Except instead of the seed growing in the ground it grows around my hand. When the seed finishes growing she looks at me and says ‘The plants will always love you.”
When I confess to Greta the rest of my dream she seems alarmed. Why would she be alarmed? The dream was probably a mix of real memories and a crazy imagination. Right? I mean how could I grow a seed in my hand? Impossible!
“So the seed,” Greta gulps, “grew around your hand?” I look suspiciously at her.
“It was just a dream Greta no need to get all spooky about it.” Greta’s eyes are empty but ablaze in some type of emotionless anger. Her eyes scare me I have never seen Greta’s eyes without a single ounce of love in them. They seemed so empty; just an angry pit set ablaze with an artificial fire. The only thing there was her unusual anger.
“Green just tell me. The seed just grew in your hand; no soil, no dirt, no nothing? Just your bare skin and a seed?” I look at the spectacle Greta has become; an emotionless statue that talks. Her once tan skin is as pale as marble; her once loving face a blank canvas.
“Yes. Greta you’re scaring me.” My hands are shaking and Greta knowing my state still looks emotionless no pity. But pity isn’t even what I’m really looking for. No. I’m looking for the tons of love that used to be hidden in every crease of her skin. It used to be in her hands, the set of her mouth, the way she held herself, the way she looked at you while you were talking. Now all that is there is a blank face. There’s nothing there but the void of her eyes.
“No!” Greta yells. I jump at how animated her voice sounds; how forced.
“What? What is it Greta?” Greta starts mumbling.
“They said it wouldn’t happen. Your DNA is the same, you’re not different. They told me the tests didn’t alter you like the rest.”
“Greta!” I yell. “What are you talking about?” Greta stares off into space and whispers.
“Different.” Then still in her animated voice she says, “You have to leave Green. You have to leave now. I can’t help you anymore. This is beyond me. You remember the money hidden under the third floor board in the living room? Get it, keep it. Take my car. You have to go to Orlando, Florida. There will be people at a shop called Different. They will be able to help you there. I don’t want you to come back here. Ever. I never want to see you again Green. Do you understand?”
Tears prick my eyes. ”Greta! I-I can’t just leave! I’m only sixteen. I need supervision. You can’t just get rid of me, I’m not a pest. I’m your daughter; you’ve taken care of me since mom died.” I yell.
“You’re different Green no one can hurt you. No one will call you off you’re too dangerous. Too different.” I’ve decided, I hate the word different now.
“Greta.” I whisper.
“Leave Green!” she yells.
I slowly stand and walk to the living room when all I really want to do is curl up into a ball and cry. I will the tears not to fall not in front of Greta. I’ve always wondered what a broken heart feels like; well I know now. It feels like thousands of little metal daggers dug through your chest and tour your heart into thousands of little pieces. It feels like you’ll never be able to love again, like you’ll never be able to trust. It feels like there’s a pit where your heart used to be and blood pumping through your veins only from your brains broken will to want to live.
I kneel and stick my fingers under the floor board. I move them back and forth searching for the money roll Greta had told me she was keeping as a hidden stash. A single tear hits the floor. Suck it up Green you can’t let her see that she hurt you. My hand finds the cash roll and I shove it in my pocket. I get up from the floor and gasp; broken hearts aren’t just a mental/emotional hurt they’re physical too the pain sinks into the marrow of your bones and courses through your blood. I walk to my room and grab the duffel that’s hanging on my door. I walk to my dresser and stuff clothes in it along with essentials.
I almost walk out of my bedroom but I remember the bracelet my mother gave me when I was small. I walk to my desk and grab the emerald green reminder of her. I think of the dream I had of her. She was so beautiful, I miss her. My mother has been an ache in my heart for a long time. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, losing your mother isn’t exactly a heartbreak it’s a physical longing. It’s like a magnet is inside you is pulling you towards something that no longer exists.
I walk down the stairs thinking of how just a while ago I was thinking about how glad I was that Greta wasn’t up yet. As I walk towards the door I can’t bring myself to look at Greta. But as I close the door behind me I hear Greta sniff and whisper
“That was for her own good.”
I climb into the car and throw my duffel into the back seat. Why is Greta making me leave? I let the tears overflow and roll down my cheeks in a waterfall of brokenhearted sorrow as I drive onto the road. Orlando, Florida? We live in Chicago, Illinois! I turn on the GPS and make it start giving me directions to Orlando. “Turn Right.” Its voice is practically as animated as Greta’s was only minutes before.
The GPS lulls me into an almost zombie like state. I’m not really even thinking just listening to the GPS, taking turns, stopping at stop signs and lights, and watching for pedestrians. I turn on the radio even though at the moment music is one of the things I hate the most. Anything I’ve ever liked is something I hate right now. Eventually the radio pulls me out of my sad, animated state. I turn into a store’s parking lot without really noticing that’s what I’m doing. I pull out a fifty from the cash roll and put it in my duffel. Walking into the store I find someone who directs me to the seeds. You aren’t really doing this. I scoff to myself but pick up a packet of yellow flowers anyway. I pay for them and some chips too then walk outside. A slight breeze ruffles my hair and I shiver in anxiety. Am I really doing this?
My hands shake as I slowly rip the top off the flower seed packet. I feel crazy, “I-I’m really going to try this.” A small giggle escapes my mouth the hilariousness of it dawns on me. I pull out a seed and stop smiling when I feel the familiar tingle from my dreams appears. I stare at the seed and slowly set it in my palm and take a deep breathe. A small squeak grows up my throat and out my mouth interrupting the silence of my car.
I watch the seed grow. The roots wrap around my hand, arm, and wrist. I want to scream in terror. I start to reach for the roots to tear them off my arm but instead my arm freezes in mid reach I’m frozen in an excited terror. How is this happening? I must be delusional, I must be crazy. This doesn’t happen in real life. Does it? I stare at the flower no assurance will convince me this is really happening.
A beautifully delicate stem sprouts from the roots; green like my name. Gorgeous leaves peel away from the stem spreading in an amazing dance of growth. A bud raises from the stem a stunning yellow bud. A tear rolls down my cheek; I’m a freak! No regular person can do this. I’ll never be accepted now. I’ll probably end up under some scientists’ tools as they operate on me to see why I’m so weird. In sad wonder I watch the small bud open as petals spread back stretching their yellow selves. One petal appears then another one and another until the bud is gone and instead there’s a striking yellow flower.
“What am I?” I ask the air shakily. I sink into the seat in pure deflation. I feel like an outcast. I’ve always felt like an outcast though. Haven’t I? I’ve always known there’s been something different about me; always. I want to laugh and cry at the same time. I stare at the gentle flower in my hand; it’s a curse. Is all I can really think about the flower.
I feel a prickle on my hand and stare in amazement as the flower’s roots slowly unwrap themselves from my arm. They hang limply from my hand now. Yet the flower still looks healthy and beautiful. I carefully pick up the flower, roots and all, and cup it in both my hands. I think about throwing it out the car window but I can’t bring myself to do it. The flower feels like part of me now. I set it on my dash and let it wind its roots through the car’s vent.
I stare at the flower for what seems like hours. Now where should I go? Will the people at Different accept me for what I am? Can I trust what Greta said about the people there? Yes. No. I gulp; the memory of Greta still hurts. Even if I have some type of special power, that doesn’t fix my broken heart. I reach for my keys and turn on the car. Orlando here I come.


Days pass along with buildings, fields, and forests. I’ve only stopped for gas so far and I’m pretty sure that the last time I ate was at Greta’s. I don’t understand why I haven’t passed out from dehydration or starvation or even sleep deprivation. I have a feeling that I’m not totally immortal because I do feel faint from the lack of what my body needs. The flower on my dash seems healthier than what I am now. Maybe the flower’s immortal and that’s why it just grew in my hand. I laugh at the thought; wishful thinking.
Before I know it I’m in Orlando trying to find the Different, where Greta told me to go. I find that even after days of peaceful thinking my heart is still broken; the memory of Greta still hurts. She cold heartedly pushed me away. I shake my head. I can’t be thinking of Greta right now; I need to find Different. They may be able to help me there. As much as I don’t want to admit it to myself I do need help. I haven’t eaten, drank, or slept in days I think if I don’t get help soon I’m going to die.
I bight down on my tongue hard when I see the sign. I can’t help but feel like I’m walking into my end. Or even my beginning. I have mixed feelings about the neon lit Different sign. I make an illegal U-turn and turn a sharp corner into the parking lot. Multiple cars honk at me and I smile. I’ve never made a daring move like that before. I stare at Different. It reminds me of one of my favorite coffee shops in Chicago. A sign on the front door reads open but the inside is dark. A free Wi-Fi sign is hanging on the door which is covered with a purple and black cloth canopy. I’m afraid and excited. What’s going to happen? Will they let me in? Will they believe me? Will they hurt me? Will they take care of me? Will they call me a freak? Thousands of one sentence thoughts run through my head and I reach for the door handle by some type of force. I take a deep breath, it’s now or never. I look at the flower on my dash. I wish I was that beautiful. I’m envious of that little flower. It doesn’t have any worries. It doesn’t even die; I haven’t put it in soil or watered it since it grew in my hand. “The immortal flower.” I below in a deep rumble and then laugh at myself. I’m trying to hold off going into Different.
I grab the seeds and put them in my pocket; I may need them. My hands are shaking as I look at Different once more. I warily step out of the car and shove my hand in my back pocket. This is a habit for me shoving my hand in my back pocket I do it a lot especially when I’m nervous. I start taking forced, shaky, hesitant steps toward Different. I stare at my feet the whole way there. When I get to the door I put my hand on the cold metal handle and pull.
I take my first clumsy step into different. As I walk in the back of the door hits my heel and I stumble two more steps to regain my balance. I look up to find that my arrival has stopped everyone’s discussions and that they are now staring at me. I gulp in the conditioned air and study everyone. The first thing I notice is that they all have tattoos running up their right or left arm. I recoil; maybe this is the wrong place. A lot of people with tattoos don’t even look like people who would get tattoos. Don’t get me wrong there are plenty of civilized, sweet people who get tattoos; but most of them are strong with big biceps. I guess that I’m just stereotypical.
I walk towards the girl at the counter despite the silent stares. The girl is a little frightening with her flaming red hair, nose ring, and the loads of eyeliner showing off her gray eyes. Her tattoos depict storm clouds and lightning. The girl looks as if she’s annoyed that I’m in the same room as her. Nice service, I think. I have to suppress a laughs as I walk towards her but I can’t keep from smiling. I bight my lip when I get to the girl, still trying to hold back a giggle.
“Can I help you.” The girl snaps and I almost giggle again.
“Is this Different?” Even I can hear the tired note in my voice. I’ve been trying to hold back sleep for a long time now but I’m finally deflating. The girl eyes me warily.
“Yeah, why?” I perk up. Maybe I will get help.
“Gr-someone sent me here. Said you could help me.” I feel eyes on my back.
“What’s your problem.” The girl’s alert now. She looks at me thoughtfully. Tears come to my eyes. My voice cracks,
“I don’t know.” The girl looks at me with pity as my body shakes with unseen tears.
“It’s OK honey we’ll take care of you.” I’m surprised by the note of sorrow in her voice. “Zach come here!” she yells and looks back at me. “What’s your name honey?” she asks. It seems weird to me hearing the word ‘honey’ come out of the mouth of a girl with a nose ring and tons of eyeliner.
“Green-Green Lee.” I say shakily.
“Well that’s a peculiar name. I’m Sarah.” She says cheerily and yells again, “Zach, get your butt over here.” Suddenly a boy that doesn’t look that much older than my age is standing by me.
“What? He asks breathlessly and wipes his hands on his jeans. I notice that he has a western accent.
“We have a new one.” Sarah looks at me. It seems as if he just notices me. Zach looks at me as he talks.
“A new one.” Zach says this as if he’s awed by my presence, “that hasn’t happened in a while.” A blush rises to my cheeks.
“I’m Green.” I say cursing my blush that appears oh so often when I’m talking to boys.
“Green.” He repeats, “What can she do?” Sarah seems annoyed by his question.
“As you may know she does talk. Ask her cause I sure don’t now. She was practically bursting in tears when she got here. Poor thing.” I think about adding in that I can also hear and that talking about me when I am right in front of you doesn’t help anything either but I decide that would be rude. My blush turns to a deep red and I can practically feel the heat rising off my cheeks. ”Look I’ve got to get back to work so you guys talk. Zach you’re going to need to do some damage control.”
I study Zach while he talks to Sarah. His eyes are dark brown reminding me of my favorite chocolate. They aren’t the type of brown most people have though where you can’t tell their pupil from their iris; no, you can tell exactly where his pupil ends and his chocolaty iris starts. His brown hair is shaggy; sticking up in places where his curls can’t be contained. He has the works of a body builder too. Well defined muscles and a golden tan, he doesn’t have broad shoulders though which gives him a gentler look. Right now he’s wearing a white t-shirt and cargo shorts with white Pumas that are mud stained. His arm caries pictures of the elements, fire, water, ice, and earth. The pictures wind across his biceps in a spiral. Zach, probably feeling my eyes studying, him turns his gaze back on me. I’m glad my blush is gone.
“Well I guess we should get going then.” He grabs my hand and leads me towards a door. My hand tingles where he’s touching it. It’s weird how even when your heart is broken you can feel it skip a beat.
“So Green, what can you do?” Zach asks. I love his voice its deep but not to the point of unbelievably gravely. But it’s not high either; it’s still got a low tone to it. We’re in a room full of row after row of books along with people sitting at tables reading them. I smile it must be a library. I’ve spent a lot of my time in libraries I’ve always been a book lover. I’ve liked the fact that in books you can escape to another world and leave the real behind.
Zach leads me towards a table and waves at a woman with a glasses who’s putting up books. She waves back at him while the book she was holding stays suspended in air. I gape at her. So I’m not the only one with special powers! They will accept me. I feel like jumping for joy. I’m not the only one like this! Zach stops at a table for two and I sit down across from him.
“I can’t really explain what it is but I can show you.” Zach sits his elbows on the table and crosses his fingers laying his chin on top of them. He looks cute and innocent when he does that. Another piece of my heart shatters into more thousands of pieces.
I grab the pack of seeds from my back pocket and set them on the table. Zach stares at me quizzically; a couple of people of stopped reading their books to watch us. I take out a single brown seed and roll it into my palm. “OK.” The tingling sensation starts at where the seed lays and spreads through my hand, up to my arm. I close my eyes and take a deep breathe; when I feel the tiny pricks of the roots coming out of the seed I open my eyes. I’ve only grown a seed once before so I’m not sure if there’s technique in it or not. But closing my eyes seems to help me from thinking of how freakish it is that I can really grow a seed in my hand.
The roots elongate and wrap around my hand, then my wrist, then my arm. Zack gasps. The small delicate stem pops out of the seed green and healthy. It grows as the leaves spread out their veiny wings. The bud pops out yellow and beautiful in a premature way that only flowers can hold. Then my favorite part, the petals spread, golden papers slowly spreading apart in their dance of life. I smile at Zach’s bewildered expression; he gapes at the golden flower that is now fully grown in less than a minute. Zach stares at the flower for a while.
‘Wow I’ve never seen that before.” I smile proudly at my bright flower; it’s so beautiful, so lively.
“Watch.” I whisper. Zach stares at the flower as its roots slowly release their grips on my hand. I cup the flower in both my hands to make sure it doesn’t suddenly fall. I can’t figure out how I do it though. How do I grow the seed? How do I direct it to release its grip? I was only thinking about how the flower released its grip when I felt the roots start loosening. “Open your hands.” I direct Zach. He looks reluctant; moving his gaze between me and the flower. I wonder what he’s thinking. Does he not trust me? Does he think the little flower is going to suck his life source out? Does he think I’m creepy because a just grew the flower in my hand? I decide to make a joke about his reluctance. It’s usually my main weapon when I’m embarrassed. “Scared of a little flower Zach?” I ask taunting.
Zach shakes his head, smiling, and holds out his right hand; palm up. I carefully set the flower in his hand. My fingertips brush the inside of his hand and Zach shivers. I frown; he probably thinks you’re a dangerous freak. Zach flinches when the roots start to wrap around his hand and arm. ”Wow.” Zach says and touches the flower, “Can you kill them?” I flinch, what is he talking about who’s them?
“What?” I ask.
“Plants.” Zach looks at me thoughtfully. My first thought is, why would you want to kill something so beautiful? My second is, that would be useful. I stare at Zach in bewilderment for a couple of seconds; still wondering why anyone would want to kill something as beautiful as this. But then I come to my senses; it would be useful.
I stare at the flower telling it I need it to die. I will the flower to die. In my mind I tell it that I don’t want it to die but I do need it to die. The plant answers my request willingly the leaves shrivel up and the flower’s stem turns brown swaying to the side. The beautiful flower turns into an ugly light brown and the delicate petals’ ends curl up. Suddenly my arm jerks. I can’t just let the flower die because I want it to. Something in the back of my mind tells me I can bring it back to life if I want to. ‘Breathe on it’ a childlike voice sings in my head. Breathe on it? I wonder, but my hands are already moving. I cup my hands over Zach’s; hiding the dead flower. Zach stares at me something in his eyes, maybe question? Zach’s arms are taught in anticipation. “Relax.” I say in my most soothing voice I can muster “I’m not going to do anything to you.” Zach’s arms loosen a little at that but they’re still tensed; as if he’s ready for me to make a wrong move.
I put my lips to our cupped hands and blow inside the cocoon we made for the flower. I take my hands away from his and notice he’s still staring at me. Our eyes meet and we look away; both blushing. “Look.” I say sheepishly.
The flower once brown and wilted is now beautiful and full of life. “Amazing.” Zach says but I notice that he’s looking at me when he says it and not the flower.
“Isn’t it.” I agree; staring at the flower. Zach looks at me eyes bright,
“Well you’re defiantly one of us.” Us?
“Who’s us?” I ask; confused. Zach laughs,
“Everyone here you can tell most of us by our tattoos.” He looks at my bare arms and I cross them across my chest and yawn. Zach averts his gaze from my arms to my face. “Man you’re deathly pale. Are you OK?” I almost laugh people always think I’m sick because of my extremely pale skin.
“No, I’m fine. I’m always pale like this.” Zach stares at me; not assured.
“OK then.” He stands. “I guess I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.” I stand up too; but I suddenly regret it. The world spins around me and everything becomes blurry; a bit of red there, a stripe of brown there. I lose my balance trying to keep up with the swaying, spinning world. I feel a sharp pain slash across my head as my head bashes against something hard. And something wet runs down my neck; blood. I hear someone shout but the words come out in a jumbled mess, “Gr-eer ooo k?” Then blackness.


It feels like I’m swimming through black jelly when I wake up from unconsciousness. I’m not exactly sure of my surroundings right now. Where am I? I know I’m in a bed, but where is the bed at? Everything’s so blurry. “Green are you awake?” I recognize Zach’s western accent. I look around waiting for my vision to clear; when it does I see Zack standing by me.
“Where am I?” The bright fluorescent lights overhead sting my eyes worsening my headache. I touch the slash where I hit my head; it stings.
“The clinic; you fainted.” He sounds worried.
“Oh.” Hmmmmm, Why did I faint?
“Green?”
“Yes.”
“When was the last time you ate?” I think for a couple seconds; when was the last time I ate?
“Ummmm, a couple days ago when I left Chicago.” Zach frowns.
“When was the last time you slept?” Oh no.
“A couple days ago when I left.” Zach sighs and in that moment he looks a lot older than before. In that moment Zach looked like the weight of the world had been laid on his shoulders and that he was finally tired of letting it stay there. I feel like crying for Zach right now; because what I saw in his eyes was something I’ve always seen in my own eyes for as long as I can remember. Zach’s eyes had loss in them; they had the kind of loss hidden in them that only people who really know what it’s like can find.
“Green why haven’t you ate or slept for so long.” I don’t want to tell Zach about Greta; I defiantly don’t want to tell him about my dreams. I’m pretty sure that if I try to explain anymore upsetting things I’m going to burst into tears. I don’t want to tell Zach that my heart’s broken or that I wouldn’t really care if I die. I don’t even want to tell him that I don’t really trust him with my feelings right now. I don’t want to tell Zach about a lot of things right now; but right now what I want doesn’t matter right now. Does it?
“I was upset after I grew the seed,” Alright that was the truth,” and I lost my appetite. I just kind of turned into a zombie on my drive here. I wasn’t thinking about my needs; I was thinking about Orlando.” Also the truth; but to be honest with myself that wasn’t all of the reason. I didn’t want to stop; driving was my distraction, if I stopped driving I was afraid I wouldn’t start again. I was afraid that if I didn’t have a distraction I would just curl up in a ball and let my insides tear apart. I thought that if I stopped my heart would explode into thousands of sharp knives. I was afraid of the pain that was sure to catch up with me soon. To be truthful; I still am. Zach looks at me for a long time and just stares; I feel like he’s examining my soul; trying to find where my heart is so he can break into shards. I shiver but look into Zach’s eyes; trying to convince myself he isn’t here to hurt me. I flinch when I see his eyes his eyes are warm, and cold. A part of his eyes is welcoming me in; trying to comfort me. But another part is screaming destroy, tear apart. I wonder what my eyes look like right now. Heartless. Probably cold and tired. They might have some infinite sadness in them too; along with the scared part of me too. That’s the part that’s screaming for me to run right now. That little voice in my head that says ’don’t trust’.
“Why haven’t you slept?” I study the planes of Zach’s face instead of answering. His face is still round like mine showing hints of still being a teenager. But somehow the placement of his eyebrows and the curves of his mouth make him look like he’s in his late twenties. “Green?” Zach asks. I look back into his eyes; they ask the same question. Why haven’t I slept? I try to keep my voice from cracking.
“I couldn’t handle the dreams anymore. Zach,” I try to make my voice sound careful, I don’t want to make him mad, “you don’t understand what it’s like for me right now. You may think you can help; but you can’t. No one can help me right now I have to fix myself. I don’t trust you right now either, you scare me. I can see in your eyes that you’ve been through pain. I can see that you’re trying to be comforting right now, but I see that you want to destroy too. I’m not sure what but I see it. I understand that that you’re under a lot of pressure right now too; but if you keep asking me questions I’m going to crack. And me cracking is something I’m sure neither of us wants to see.” I stare into Zach’s eyes; his face contorts to a look of surprise. He gulps and gazes at me in shock for a couple seconds. I think that after a little while he understands what I mean. Zach’s gaze softens,
“What’s in your dream that scares you so much?” he asks. I gape at him for a few seconds, why does it matter?
“I dream of my mother, she was so beautiful,” Zach flinches when I say ‘was’, “she’s so happy in the beginning of the dream, in the end she always screams in terror. I think it’s before she died.” I feel a tear run down my cheek and I fight the urge to brush it away. I start to shake. I’ve never wanted to admit to myself that my dream was about my mother dying. People have told me that they found me at the scene of her death. I was supposedly curled up in a ball under a tree shaking with blood spattered all over my clothes. A shiver runs down my spine. Zach looks like the pain has increased double time for him. I look at my toe; it seems like the most interesting thing in the world right now. I painted it ivory green a week ago, my own personal joke about my name. Zach takes my hand in between his and whispers,
“I’m sorry I asked that. It didn’t know it would be that upsetting.” I can truly feel the regret coursing out of Zach’s body. I can see it in his face. My hand tingles. I shiver again I hate thinking about my mother’s death because I still feel like she’s alive even after all these years.
“You have to eat Green; and you have to sleep too. Not taking care of yourself isn’t going to help anyone.” Another piece of my heart cracks. Why does he care about me? No one else does. Zach studies my face thoughtfully, “How old are you?” How old am I? What kind of question is that? Why does it even matter?
“Sixteen.” I say. Zack frowns and nods.
“Where’s your guardian?” I flinch; funny how a question can hurt. I recoil from his question; I know that answering that question is going to hurt. I take a deep breathe; answer.
“I told h-her,” another piece of my heart shatters by mere mention of ‘her’,” about how I dreamt about growing a seed in my hand and she-she…. She kicked me out.” Tears roll uncontrollably down my cheeks. I shiver violently and grab my sides. I feel thousands of tiny pieces of heart shattering. I canyon of physical and mental pain weaves its way down my chest; wrapping around the void where my heart used to be. I double over in pain; tears soak the bed sheets I’m lying on. Zach grabs hold of me as I gasp for air. I’m glad for the small touch; it helps me not totally fall apart. Once my fit of heartbroken pain is over I look at Zach. I feel exhausted and defeated; I let my body sink into Zach’s protective arm. His eyes are hard but I ignore that. I don’t have enough left in me to feel self-conscious of my crying fit. I’m not even worried about my tearstained shirt, puffy eyes, or ratty hair.
“I understand you don’t have to explain anymore.” There’s hurt in Zach’s voice, an unexplained sorrow behind hid words. “Well let’s go get some food. I’m sure you’re hungry.” I jump at the cheerful change in Zach’s voice; he’s trying to change the subject. Zach’s arm returns to his side as I swing my legs over the side of the bed. I slowly set each foot on the ground and wobbly stand. I feel faint and the world suddenly tilts; it seems like it’s been doing a lot of that lately. ”Whoa there.” Zach drapes his arm around my side securing me in place.
My whole body tingles, I wish it would stop. Why does Zach have this effect on me? I feel heat rising to my cheeks; I hope he doesn’t see me blushing. I take a deep breath and try to find my inner ear. When I know for sure that I have my balance I say “OK” Zach unwraps his arm from my waist and I stay standing. Zach makes a motion that tells me to follow as he starts walking out of the room. I step carefully and most of my attention is on my feet. We end up in the coffee shop part of Different. I let out a sigh of pleasure. I haven’t fallen yet. The sweet smells of food and coffee grains hits my nose and I hear my stomach rumble. It’s painful. Zach turns towards me and I hide my grimace of pain.
“You find our seats and I’ll grab the food. Do sandwiches sound good to you?” I stare at him thinking that that has to be one of the most ridiculous questions on earth, I’m starving!
“Any food sounds great to me right now.” I flash him a sideways smile and turn to examine the tables. I almost laugh. The shops almost completely empty accept for two people in the back.
I sit at the table nearest to me; it’s coincidently set for two. I look out the window. It’s already dark and I wonder what time it is. I watch the cars pass by. Do they know about this world? Where people aren’t what they seem? Do they ever consider that there may be people who have special abilities like me?
Zach walks to the table I picked balancing plates of sandwiches and Styrofoam cups. My stomach growls again, just the sight of food makes me feel faint again. Zach smiles and sets the plates on the table along with the drinks. “My personal favorites; ham and cheese with Pepsi.”
“Mmmmmmm.” I mumble as my mouth waters, “Looks delicious. Can we eat now?” I say with just a little too much vigor. Zack laughs and gives me a smile.
“Dig in.”
I greedily attack my sandwich; only setting it down when my throat and mouth are parched so much I can’t swallow. Zach watches me with a half-smile. I swallow another bight and look at him, “What?”
“You look like you’re enjoying your food.” I look at his plate; he hasn’t even started yet. I blush and he grins widely. “Don’t let me stop you I’m not the one who hasn’t eaten in days.” I smile, and think about how I could last that long without food. I’m a food girl I ate all the time at home. Home. Tears prick my eyes; I don’t have a home anymore. Greta made sure of that. Greta. I close my eyes to keep the tears from over flowing. When I open them back up Zach’s staring at me softly; “Sorry I didn’t think that would upset you. It was rude.” I smile at him; he’s so careful with my feelings.
“No you didn’t do anything I was just thinking about something.” I decide to change the subject, “Sorry, I guess I didn’t notice how hungry I was until I started eating.
“Don’t apologize to me apologize to your stomach.” Zach laughs and takes a bite out of his sandwich. I do the same. This time I let myself enjoy the delicious flavors, my eyes widen, how can a sandwich taste this good.
“This is delicious.” I say mouth, mouth watering with sheer pleasure.
“I know, right?” Zach says through a mouth full of sandwich. “I don’t know how Ricky does it.”
“Who’s Ricky?” I ask after finishing another bite of my delicious sandwich. Zach smiles,
“Our beloved chef.” He looks proud.
“You overestimate me.” A man steps out from the kitchen door. “I am merely a man who puts things inside bread.” The man, Ricky, smiles showing off white teeth. The skin under his brown eyes crinkles. Ricky looks like an Italian with his brown hair and tan skin. A towel hangs over one of his slim shoulders, he’s skinny and probably in his late twenties. Tattoos run down his left arm they look like some type of symbols. His white t-shirt is splattered with sauces and grease; it reminds me of my t-shirts which are always splattered with paint or brownie batter. My mouth waters at the thought of brownies, their favorite food. I think right now I could eat a whole pan. Zach puts a serious look on his face,
“You underestimate your magical cooking powers.” He laughs.
“It’s true this is amazing.” I say, and take another bite of sandwich. Ricky flushes,
“Thank you.” He turns to Zach. “You haven’t introduced me to this beautiful young lady.” Ricky smiles, his voice raises a little at the end of the sentence like he’s asking a question. I blush; not many people tell me I’m beautiful to my face.
“This is Green she’s new.” I’m getting tired of the word new. It seems like of heard it a hundred times today.
‘New,” Ricky repeats, I have to hold back a smile and end up bighting my lip, “What do you do?” he asks me. It seems like I’ve been asked that question a lot lately.
“She’s got a green thumb.” Zach says even though Ricky was asking me. Ricky raises his eyebrows in question.
“I can grow plants more… quickly than most.”
“Interesting.” Ricky says. He studies me for a second, I feel like he’s picking through my brain for something. I scrunch my eyebrows together in confusion. I feel. . . . odd.
‘It’s amazing’’ Zach says, “She’ll have to show you some time.”
“Yes she will.” I blush, what? Why am I blushing? I have that weird feeling that someone’s picking through my head again. Confusion knits into my eyebrows. Zach raises his eyebrows at Ricky who’s still staring at me.
“Stop.” Says forcefully and Ricky breaks from his staring session. He blushes as he looks at me,
“Sorry.” Ricky takes our now finished plates of food and cups, taking them back into the kitchen. I look at Zach,
“What was that about?” I ask in a whisper so Ricky won’t here.
“Ricky can….. control and read emotions. He has a hard time telling when he is and isn’t doing it; so he sometimes goes through someone’s brain and gives them an emotion without noticing. He’s been trying to control it for a while and he gets embarrassed when someone has to call him out.” Ricky was controlling my emotions? But he seems so nice. I decide to forget about it, for Ricky’s sake. I yawn. Fatigue swallows me whole and my eyes feel like cinder blocks. It’s an effort to open them after every time I blink. “I think it’s about time I show you your room. You look tired.” I flash Zach a grateful look. As I follow Zach towards a metal door I look back towards the kitchen,
“Night Ricky!” I say to show him that h’s forgiven. I don’t want him to feel bad.

Zach leads me down a hallway filled with white doors each one marked with a number. Some of the doors sport signs that say things like, ‘What makes you different makes you beautiful’ or ‘I’m different and you are?’ Zach looks turns to me, “This is the sleeping quarters.” He opens a door marked with an eleven “This ones yours. Sarah already has it set up.” I look into the room white walls reflect the light on the ceiling. It’s rather small with a window that the bed sits under on the far wall and a dresser on the back wall. A black nightstand sits by the bed, keys and a lamp lay on it. Two doors stand opposite of each other on the walls. “Your keys are on the nightstand.” Zach walks into the hallway, “I’m in room twelve across from. Knock if you need anything.”
“Night Zach.” I watch him close my door behind him as he walks to his room. I explore the doors in my room, a closet and a bathroom. I decide to go get my bag after sitting on my bed for a couple minutes. I walk slowly down the halls not wanting to attract attention towards myself. I hear rock music leaking out from under a door as I inch my way towards the coffee shop. When I finally get to the door and walk into the shop I see Ricky sitting on the counter.
“Hi. What are you still doing out here?” I ask. Ricky looks up startled and then smiles at me,
“I was thinking about baking some cookies.” He smiles and I feel like giggling. I never thought I would hear thought come out of a guy’s mouth. “What are you doing out here?” he asks slightly tilting his head.
“I’m going to get my stuff out of my car.” I say pointing towards the door.
“Oh, OK. I’ll make sure not to lock up until you come back.”
“Thanks.” I walk outside into the stuffy summer air. My car is still in the same spot I unlock it and grab my duffel. I check the flower which has grown into the vents of my car, It’s as beautiful as ever. I touch one of its roots which decide to wrap around my finger. I laugh; I think my flower has a cuddly personality. I want to take it with me but I’m not sure how to get it unwrapped from my car vents. I cup the flower in my hands hoping that it will unravel itself from my car. The flower slowly withdraws its roots from my car and I smile proud of my new trick. The roots straighten out almost as if the flower’s stretching from a long nap. Slowly the roots seek their way towards my hand; I don’t resist. Once the flower is wrapped around my hand and I grab the duffel from the seat and sling it over my shoulder.
As I walk inside Ricky looks at my hand; or rather the flower that has grown around my hand. “Beautiful.” he says and I smile proud of my beautiful flower. I’m glad I didn’t throw it out my car window. “Night.” I tell Ricky again as I walk into the hallway. In my room I sit the duffel on the ground and my flower on the nightstand, plucking the keys away so they wouldn’t get caught in the roots. I set my clothes in the dresser drawers and throw on boxer shorts and a tank top. I go to the bathroom to set my stuff around the sink and look at my reflection. I gasp; dark circles rest under my eyes like bruises and my face is still puffy from crying. I pull my hair back and braid it. I look like a wreck. I walk back to my room and fall onto my bed. Sleep comes instantly.










The dream starts the same as always; my mother laughs as the flower grows in my hand and I laugh too. For some reason I want to savor this moment between us. I feel like moments like these won’t come often with my mother anymore; that feeling scares me. Suddenly the sky darkens and the wind whips fiercely blowing her hair everywhere and she screams. My mother screams the most terrifying, blood curling scream, high with hysteria. She grabs me and wraps her arms around my body protectively. A man appears dressed in black. Sunglasses hide his eyes and his hair is tipped in gray; light flecks in the black. The sight of him frightens me and I don’t know why. “Now Delilah.” The man laughs, “You’re scaring the child.” I turn into my mother’s embrace burying my face into her stomach. My mother backs away from the man.
“Leave us.” She says voice high with fear, “You have no use for us.”
“Oh but we do. You see your daughter is very special. Her powers are extraordinary. I’m sure you know this.”
“No.” my mother backs away from the man, “No.” I look around the protection of my mother’s arms and see the man grab for me. My mother backs away just in time. He misses by an inch. My mother’s hair twists and turns in the wind forming a black abyss.
“Give me the girl,” the man says hostilely, I shiver, “or there will be consequences.”
“No,” my mother whispers barely audible, “You took Daniel you will not take her.” The man takes something out of his pocket, a gun. “No!” she screams but is cut off mid word by the shot. My mother crumples in my arms. I turn to the man but he’s gone. I kneel by my mother’s unconscious body; scarlet blood covers her chest. I place my hands on her face and scream.


Someone is shaking me awake. I swallow and wince my throat is sore. I open my eyes and look around my room; Zach sits beside me on my bed a worried look on his face. I feel something wet rolls down my cheek; a tear. “You were screaming.” He absently brushes a piece of my hair away from my face. “It sounded like something terrible had happened and I ran into your room. You were screaming in your sleep. Thrashing around like someone was trying to kill you.” I gulp,
“The dream was different this time,” I’m shaking, horrible trembles quake through my body. I close my eyes. “There was a man there and he killed her. He killed my mother right in front of me. He wanted me but he took her.” I wipe my eyes and hold back the tears that are drowning me on the inside. I don’t want to me Zach’s gaze. I’m afraid he will tell me it’s just a dream when I know that it’s real. My dreams are my memories. Memories that I’ve hidden away and are now coming back to haunt me; coming to destroy every trace of normal I’ve developed.
I finally get the guts to look at Zach, some burst of courage I guess. His brown eyes are filled with emotion. Pity maybe? Understanding? Anger? I flinch, there’s defiantly anger in those eyes. I look away, embarrassed about spilling my emotions everywhere. I need to be stronger, I shouldn’t have even explained about the useless dreams anyway. “I’m sorry.” I say, voice quiet. Zach takes my chin in between his thumb and forefinger and turns my gaze back to him.
“Don’t be sorry it’s not your fault. You can tell me anything, that’s what I’m here for; to help you.” His face has softened and his eyes are more welcoming. I stare at him for a while, assessing him, can I trust him? “OK then,” Zach stands and claps his hands together, “We should get started.” I look at him questioningly. “It’s twelve o’clock already; you need to meet everyone.” I swallow. I hate meeting new people. And ‘meet everyone’ are not two words that go together well with me.