A BETTER UNDERSTANDING
BY VICTORIA SANDERS
"ITS NOT OKAY.DOMESTIC ABUSE AGAINST MEN"
*DISCLAIMER: IN THIS ARTICLE I AM MAINLY TALKING ABOUT HETEROSEXUAL RELATIONSHIPS. IF YOU WOULD LIKE A FOLLOW UP ON THE SAME TOPIC INVOLVING THIS ISSUE IN THE LGBT+ COMMUNITY PLEASE COMMENT. THANK YOU*
The idea for this article struck me recently while I was scrolling on Instagram and I saw a post of some men. In the post are screenshots of tweets from many men who posted pictures of themselves being domestically abused. WARNING GRAPHIC MATERIAL:
https://instagram.com/p/BbXjVzDl_Xb/
I was so shocked when I saw this and most of them said that didn’t report because they knew no one would care or they would come off as weak. That’s when I started thinking is that’s really how men feel when things like that happened so I decided to do a survey and see if that was true. I asked some guys I know (10-15) this question, “What would you do the person you are in a relationship hits you?”.The first response I got from the majority of them was “what kind of hit was it”, which wasn't would I expected, but I understood because I get that sometimes people playfully fight. So then I told them that it was a genuine hard hit, very aggressive. Again to my surprise almost all of them had the same response,”What was the situation?What did I do?Did I say/ do something stupid”? I was flabbergasted. I'm thinking in my head, why should it matter no should be allowed to put there your hands on you I an aggressive matter anyway, but I moved on and answered their question. I told them “you didn't do anything bad, they just snapped and hit you”, right then and there-there faces changed. “I don’t really know”. That was the overall response. They didn't know what to do. I told them that first things first leave them they shouldn't be laying a hand on you, and then I said to report it. Many of the guys said no to that idea and said it's probably fine and they would just stay in the relationship because it probably would even hurt, and laughed it off. That's when I said but how would it make you feel emotionally to have someone you think loves you to snap at you and want to cause you physical harm. They all looked at me wide-eyed that's when I said: “exactly it has to hurt you”. That when the survey and discussion with them ended.
BY VICTORIA SANDERS
"ITS NOT OKAY.DOMESTIC ABUSE AGAINST MEN"
*DISCLAIMER: IN THIS ARTICLE I AM MAINLY TALKING ABOUT HETEROSEXUAL RELATIONSHIPS. IF YOU WOULD LIKE A FOLLOW UP ON THE SAME TOPIC INVOLVING THIS ISSUE IN THE LGBT+ COMMUNITY PLEASE COMMENT. THANK YOU*
The idea for this article struck me recently while I was scrolling on Instagram and I saw a post of some men. In the post are screenshots of tweets from many men who posted pictures of themselves being domestically abused. WARNING GRAPHIC MATERIAL:
https://instagram.com/p/BbXjVzDl_Xb/
I was so shocked when I saw this and most of them said that didn’t report because they knew no one would care or they would come off as weak. That’s when I started thinking is that’s really how men feel when things like that happened so I decided to do a survey and see if that was true. I asked some guys I know (10-15) this question, “What would you do the person you are in a relationship hits you?”.The first response I got from the majority of them was “what kind of hit was it”, which wasn't would I expected, but I understood because I get that sometimes people playfully fight. So then I told them that it was a genuine hard hit, very aggressive. Again to my surprise almost all of them had the same response,”What was the situation?What did I do?Did I say/ do something stupid”? I was flabbergasted. I'm thinking in my head, why should it matter no should be allowed to put there your hands on you I an aggressive matter anyway, but I moved on and answered their question. I told them “you didn't do anything bad, they just snapped and hit you”, right then and there-there faces changed. “I don’t really know”. That was the overall response. They didn't know what to do. I told them that first things first leave them they shouldn't be laying a hand on you, and then I said to report it. Many of the guys said no to that idea and said it's probably fine and they would just stay in the relationship because it probably would even hurt, and laughed it off. That's when I said but how would it make you feel emotionally to have someone you think loves you to snap at you and want to cause you physical harm. They all looked at me wide-eyed that's when I said: “exactly it has to hurt you”. That when the survey and discussion with them ended.
While domestic abuse is highly encouraged to be reported if the victims are women that is not the same case when the victims are men. It is common for men to be told to suck it up or “be a man” about it and shove it off despite the fact that 2in 5 men I victims of domestic abuse. I think the issue starts from a young age when girls are told to “never let a man put his hands on you”, and boys are told,” never put your hands on a woman, no matter what”. Those are both great rules to live by but I think they both little boys and girls should be taught them together something kinda like,"Never put your hands on anyone and never let anyone lay a hand in you”. I feel like that's a good base to stop the stigma of men who are being abused being seen as weak. Next, i think we have to put an end to all this toxic hypermasculine crap. It causes so much emotional damage and is doing way more bad than good for the people that think they are helping someone.
Honestly, this isn't an issue that can be fixed with one article but like to think that I'm doing a small part by putting this out there.For women reading this just a quick reminder that ‘cute and crazy’ thing isn't cute and it's not okay to hit anyone,& to the men reading this if you related to any of the things in here is a link that I think can offer some help:
(http://www.thehotline.org/2014/07/22/men-can-be-victims-of-abuse-too/)
STAY SAFE
Honestly, this isn't an issue that can be fixed with one article but like to think that I'm doing a small part by putting this out there.For women reading this just a quick reminder that ‘cute and crazy’ thing isn't cute and it's not okay to hit anyone,& to the men reading this if you related to any of the things in here is a link that I think can offer some help:
(http://www.thehotline.org/2014/07/22/men-can-be-victims-of-abuse-too/)
STAY SAFE
A CHANGE IN CLIMATE
KELLIE MONZON CRUZ
"PICTURE THIS"
Instagram is filled with marvelous pictures from around the world; lively people, charming places, delicious food, and so much more. On Instagram people are inspired to post “Instagram worthy” things which usually include beautiful backgrounds, and many places are actually known to be “Instagram worthy.” Nature is a basic go-to for these types of pictures, but it may be starting to affect the environments visited to capture these images.
When nature is visited solely for the purpose of “Instagram worthy” pictures it can often affect the area. Places are littered and are often destroyed just to get the perfect picture. Rules, in many instances, are broken which are put in place to keep not only visitors’ safe, but also life already there.
KELLIE MONZON CRUZ
"PICTURE THIS"
Instagram is filled with marvelous pictures from around the world; lively people, charming places, delicious food, and so much more. On Instagram people are inspired to post “Instagram worthy” things which usually include beautiful backgrounds, and many places are actually known to be “Instagram worthy.” Nature is a basic go-to for these types of pictures, but it may be starting to affect the environments visited to capture these images.
When nature is visited solely for the purpose of “Instagram worthy” pictures it can often affect the area. Places are littered and are often destroyed just to get the perfect picture. Rules, in many instances, are broken which are put in place to keep not only visitors’ safe, but also life already there.
It is completely fine to visit cool and exciting places you’ve seen online but it is a different thing when rules and organism are completely ignored and disregarded. Go on, take your picture, but be respectful of your surroundings and actually follow the rules. Cleaning up after yourself is good as well; littering and constantly stepping over boundaries doesn’t help with keeping these “Instagram worthy” places in shape. Protecting these areas will allow for more marvelous pictures to be posted and many more memories to be captured.
MEET A TIGER
BY ANNNA LIPPY
"Kicking It Off with Clay"
With only two losses in their winning season, our Tucker Tigers advance to the fourth round of playoffs! One week ago, the team reminded everyone how capable they are of making a comeback. This past Friday, we met with Allatoona for the first time. At halftime, we were down by 6, but, by the end of the game, we led by 8. Whatever the coaches say during halftime really makes the magic happen. If you missed this Friday’s game, a set of critical plays flipped the game around. Tyler Hughey returned the kickoff opening the second half of play. Twelve minutes later, Trevon Flowers blocked the punt return right as the 3rd quarter started. That play set the Tigers on track for the semifinals. Hoping for a speedy recovery for Josh Vann who was injured in the game Friday.
The coaches and players worked tirelessly over the summer to keep the winning tradition alive by training harder, running faster, and pushing their limits further than ever before. The Friday night football games have become a bonding experience for the whole community. Alumni, family members, students/ staff, and other community members come to watch and cheer our boys to victory!
Through this article series, I want to help those of you who follow and support the Tucker sports teams to have a more personal connection to who you're cheering for. In the spirit of the football playoffs, I think it's fitting to kick this column off with an interview featuring a fan favorite and a good friend of mine, Clay Dodson. Clay is a senior this year and has been a critical player in our football program.
BY ANNNA LIPPY
"Kicking It Off with Clay"
With only two losses in their winning season, our Tucker Tigers advance to the fourth round of playoffs! One week ago, the team reminded everyone how capable they are of making a comeback. This past Friday, we met with Allatoona for the first time. At halftime, we were down by 6, but, by the end of the game, we led by 8. Whatever the coaches say during halftime really makes the magic happen. If you missed this Friday’s game, a set of critical plays flipped the game around. Tyler Hughey returned the kickoff opening the second half of play. Twelve minutes later, Trevon Flowers blocked the punt return right as the 3rd quarter started. That play set the Tigers on track for the semifinals. Hoping for a speedy recovery for Josh Vann who was injured in the game Friday.
The coaches and players worked tirelessly over the summer to keep the winning tradition alive by training harder, running faster, and pushing their limits further than ever before. The Friday night football games have become a bonding experience for the whole community. Alumni, family members, students/ staff, and other community members come to watch and cheer our boys to victory!
Through this article series, I want to help those of you who follow and support the Tucker sports teams to have a more personal connection to who you're cheering for. In the spirit of the football playoffs, I think it's fitting to kick this column off with an interview featuring a fan favorite and a good friend of mine, Clay Dodson. Clay is a senior this year and has been a critical player in our football program.
How long have you been playing football?
-“11 years”
What position(s) do you play?
-“ Wide Receiver and Defensive Back”
Did something specific make you fall in love with football? If so, what was it?
-“My dad always made me watch College Football on Saturdays, which made me want to get out there and play.”
What kind of obstacles, if any, has football imposed in your life?
- “Football has been nothing but great to me. The sport has brought great opportunities to travel, go visit colleges, and play with/against some great players.”
Have you ever been badly injured during a game?
-“No”
What kind of future do you see for yourself? Is football a part of it?
-“I hope to play football just like my father. He played a West Georgia.”
If you weren’t playing football, what do you think you’d be doing instead?
- “Playing baseball full time.”
How has playing football for so many years impacted your life?
- “It has taught me to become a man.”
Do you have any pregame rituals?
- “Walk around in my pads and listen to music and pray.”
What song(s) get you game ready?
- Rockstar - Post Malone
- What They Want - Russ
-Slippery - Migos
Where do you typically go out to eat after you win?
- “The fanciest restaurant I know… Waffle House.”
-“11 years”
What position(s) do you play?
-“ Wide Receiver and Defensive Back”
Did something specific make you fall in love with football? If so, what was it?
-“My dad always made me watch College Football on Saturdays, which made me want to get out there and play.”
What kind of obstacles, if any, has football imposed in your life?
- “Football has been nothing but great to me. The sport has brought great opportunities to travel, go visit colleges, and play with/against some great players.”
Have you ever been badly injured during a game?
-“No”
What kind of future do you see for yourself? Is football a part of it?
-“I hope to play football just like my father. He played a West Georgia.”
If you weren’t playing football, what do you think you’d be doing instead?
- “Playing baseball full time.”
How has playing football for so many years impacted your life?
- “It has taught me to become a man.”
Do you have any pregame rituals?
- “Walk around in my pads and listen to music and pray.”
What song(s) get you game ready?
- Rockstar - Post Malone
- What They Want - Russ
-Slippery - Migos
Where do you typically go out to eat after you win?
- “The fanciest restaurant I know… Waffle House.”
FEATURED SHORT STORY
BY LUCIA COSBY
Cherry Cough Syrup
Shoe clad feet slammed against the foliage-littered terrain below. Hands balled into tight fists, knuckles white from the pressure. His breath came out in white puffs that dragged behind, each step made the weight in his chest heavier. He didn’t know where he was or where he was going, he just knew. The trees around him seemed to turn blue and black as if they were painted. The sky above was dark, accented with bright white stars that shimmered and gleamed, reflecting off the mocha brown eyes that he had plastered in his memory.
The boy, clad in a black sweater, grey jeans, and a pair of floral vans halted. A clearing in front of him with one large oak tree, whose branches seemed to stretch and reach for the sky, held a treehouse made of old dark wood, a single window standing in the front. Mars’ feet seemed to carry him to the tree, making his way up the splintered ladder, pushing open the hatched door. Stepping into the house, the walls were littered with words, words like “TERRIFIED” and “PETRIFIED” were carved into the old wood. A boy in the corner with faded red hair and mocha eyes (and C major lips and tiger-growl teeth) looks at him.
“Mars! MARS!!!!”
Mars shot up, blinking the sleep from his eyes rapidly. His sister yelled from downstairs, he groaned in return; “What?!” He yelled back, rubbing his eyes. “Mars get up! You’re gonna be late for school!” Mars immediately groaned in annoyance, standing from his bed. He pulled on a pair of jeans and his favorite olive green sweater, pulling on his black vans. He grabbed his backpack and walked downstairs, not bothering to try with his hair. His sister, Jaden, smiled at him as they left the house.
Mars was a very odd character. He didn’t really talk in social situations or have that many friends, well, he didn’t really have ANY friends. He was classified as the freak, weirdo, idiot, and more at his school. Mars Wolfe was short, standing at five foot eight inches with curly brown hair and chocolatey brown eyes. He had tan skin, framed with small, darker colored freckles that lined his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He was very kept to himself and quiet, not bothering to speak to other students, teachers, or anyone, with the exception of his sister and his mother, and of course, his best friend, Fynn.
Walking into the building he was immediately met with large crowds of students, loud yelling, and more, the typical morning in all High Schools. Mars weaved through the groups and lines of students, making his way to the first period as the bell rang. He sat in his designated seat, immediately toning out the loud talking of other students as they walked in, as he wasn’t one for conversation, especially with those who taunted and made fun of him for having what everyone called an “imaginary friend”, when really, to Mars, that friend was real. But nobody ever believed him, and always thought he was crazy, which yes, it did, but it wasn’t true.
School passed quick, and Mars had left the school building and had found his way to his treehouse. Sitting in the small tree house he sat close beside his friend, Fynn. “How do you feel?” Fynn asked Mars thought for a minute. He didn't really know, he took the pocket knife Fynn had in his hand, flicking out the blade and pressing it into the wood. “Terrified?” Fynn said, confused. “Scared, very scared.” Mars replied, Fynn’s gaze turned to one of concern; “Why?” Fynn’s bright mocha eyes were clouded with worry for his friend, listening closely as he replied. “I don't know. Just am.” He breathed, wiping the wood shavings off the blade and onto his pants, closing the knife and handing it back to his friend. He shifted a bit in his spot, his phone buzzed in his pocket. “Hello?” He said as he picked it up.
“Mars you have an appointment with Dr. Oliver in 30 minutes, come on home please.”
It was his mother. Mars sighed, looking to Fynn. “Okay, mom. Be there soon.” He recoiled then hung up. “I gotta go, Fynn. I have an appointment with Dr. Oliver.” He said, looking at his best friend sadly. “Oh. I don’t like Dr. Oliver. I’ll walk you home.” He said, standing and helping Mars from one of the mats they had put in the treehouse a few weeks ago.
The two friends walked down the street towards Mars’ home and up the steps to the front door. “I’ll see you later, bye Mars,” Fynn said with a sad smile, turning and walking away. Mars waved goodbye and walked into the home, spotting his mother immediately. “Hi, mom.” He said as he walked into the kitchen. His mother was clad in a light pink sweater with khaki pants on, a pair of boots and a necklace that hung just above her chest. Mars’ mother was very pretty, with her long dirty blonde hair and brown eyes, he had to admit, but her looks on Mars weren't very pretty.
“Ah Mars come on, go get in the car.” She said, rushing him out the door as she followed behind. Mars climbed into the passenger seat, shutting the door and buckling his seatbelt. His mother following in suite. As they pulled out of the driveway there was no sign of Fynn on the sidewalk or watching from the side of the road. It was weird, to Mars, how his friend just disappeared sometimes. But whenever he wasn't around, Mars always remembered the one thing he'd always tell him; “You never know when you're gonna need it.” was his response to the everlasting question of why Fynn carried around a lighter. He didn't smoke. He didn't do anything with it, just carried it around everywhere he went.
Through all his thoughts, they arrived at the offices, Mars stepping from the car. His mother called him over; “I have to go to a work party, so I’ll be home late, you can walk. Love you.” Was all she said before she pulled away. Mars just shrugged and walked into the building and to Dr. Oli’s office. “Good afternoon, Mars, how are you?” He asked as Mars sat on the plush couch in front of him. The room they say it was dull, a small room with dark grey walls, a few sad-looking paintings scattered about, and a bowl of candy on the coffee table in front of him. “Fine.” Was all Mars replied with, choosing not to go into detail? Dr. Oli looked at Mars, “How're things at home? School?” He asked, readying his pen to write. “Fine as always. Mom doesn't get it still, schools the same, it's all normal.” He shrugged, there really was no difference at home or at school currently. “Good, good. How about Fynn?” He asked, knowing it was a sensitive topic, but he needed to ask. “Fynn’s good, he still always carries around a lighter, and whenever I asked he replies with the same thing.” He said, remembering the feeling of the lighter in his hand, light blue and grey, that's how he described it.
“Mhm..Mars, you're aware that Fynn isn’t a real person, correct?” After those words, Mars’ stared up at the man with anger in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Dr. Oliver. But Fynn is real. He’s not a figment of my imagination. He’s not just some picture in my head. Fynn is a real person. You’ve never met him. So don’t tell me he’s not real.” He growled, voice low and angered. “I’m sorry, Mars, I’m sorry.” The psychiatric doctor sighed, rubbing his temples anxiously. Mars just sat back, arms crossed over his chest, just wanting to leave the office. The office always had the same linoleum floors, the same white walls, and the same awful imitation cinnamon smell. It never ceased to disturb Mars.
Walking along the sidewalk of the small town road, few cars passed by, maybe three or four before it would go quiet again. Red, orange, yellow, brown. The leaves under his van clad feet, the olive green sweater he had on blocking out the chilly autumn winds. Coming to an intersection, Mars turned, not to another street, not to cross the road, but into the trees beyond. The trees around him were bare, not a single leaf was left. As he walked, the sound of engines and wheels against asphalt muted, the sky turning a bright pinkish orange as in the distance the sun began to set.
His hands tucked silently in his pockets, the large oaks around him seemed to be painted multiple shades of grey, the leaf-covered earth dark purple. Everything around him was growing darker as if the world was being shut in. Mars stopped, looking up. The tree house stood right before him, not a sound coming from inside, not even a single bird song coming from the great tree. As if the world had muted itself when he took a step closer, the leaves beneath his shoe didn’t make the loud crunch, the wind that usually whipped the trees wasn’t present.
Climbing up the splintered ladder, he pushed on the hatch, the lock coming loose and popping open. Pulling himself up, he shut the door behind him, turning to see his friend, the lighter in hand, a small flame just above. “Hi.” Was all his friend said as Mars sat in front of him, fingers tracing over the smooth and natural lines of the wood. “How was your meeting with Dr. Oliver?” Fynn finished, causing the silence around them to snap. “It was fine..but he still says you’re not real..” He whispered, his eyes finding the word he’d carved not long ago. “But I am real. You know that...right?” Fynn asked, his voice quiet and full of an emotion Mars couldn’t detect. Mars hesitated with his answer because he knew what he was thinking was something he never wanted to admit, though his lips seemed to force it out. “I don’t know.” No stutter, no tone of regret in his suddenly steady voice.
And as if a switch was flicked, Fynn was to his feet, anger, and unbelief in his eyes. “I’m right here,” Fynn screamed as if Mars was feet away. Mars stood, hands in fists, brown eyes on the wood floor beneath them. “You’re not real..” He breathed, voice quiet, broken. Suddenly a loud clap echoed through the clearing, Mars’ eyes widened, the stinging sensation in his left cheek made his gaze focus on the man in front of him. Fynn felt immediate regret, his eyes wide and upset. “Mars I’m sor-” Was all he could get out before Mars escaped the tree house.
“You’re not real!!” Mars screamed as Fynn followed him into the clearing, trying to stop him. “Mars I’m right here! I’m right in front of you!” Fynn yelled back, Mars just gripped the sides of his head tightly, tears stinging his eyes, staining trails on his cheeks. “No! Go away!!” He yelled, backing away. Fynn seemed to yell a reply, but Mars didn’t hear it, he turned and ran, as fast as his legs would take him.
The trees around him were black, the leaves underneath him twisting and turning black blue-purple. Everything was changing, the taste in his mouth was metallic, strong, pungent. The pounding of his sneaker-clad feet coming in contact with cement was loud in his ears, the street lights that brought illumination to the streets was too bright. He ran into his home, straight to his room, where he locked the door and curled on the floor. Crying, screaming, ignoring the world as it twisted and spun in an unnatural way around him. It didn’t matter to him anymore.
He woke up, ears ringing, throat stinging. The house was quiet, the ache in his back making him groan. He’d fallen asleep on the floor when he calmed from his madness. Regret and sorrow flooded his body as he realized what he’d done and what he’d said to his friend. He looked to his window, rain poured down outside, the sky gloomy and sad. He got up, leaving the safety of his home, walking to the clearing once again. “Fynn! I’m sorry..!” He yelled weakly, his throat fighting in his voice. There was no reply, no warm hug, nothing. He began to sob again, hands shaking as the rain-drenched his clothing. “Fynn, please! Come back! I-I’m sorry!” He screamed to the sky, but he didn’t look up anymore because the rain stung his eyes. Still, not a voice, not a sound. He made his way into the treehouse, in the middle of the wood floor was the lighter. He sat down, picking up the small item. The words he’d always answer with when Mars asked why Fynn had it rung in his ears as a memory, “You never know when you’re gonna need it.” The flame flickered before him, moving as he held it against the words carved into the wood, watching as it scorched and burned, soon catching the flame. Mars didn’t move, he didn’t scream, didn’t cry, he sat, watching the flame grow, spread, burn.
The funeral was quiet, no sound other than the soft cries of loved ones. The soft words of remembrance ringing through quietly as a family member finished speaking, sitting back down. And as the man before them said, “Would anyone else like to say a few words?” A boy with faded red hair, mocha eyes (and C major lips and tiger-growl teeth) stands up.
The End.
BY LUCIA COSBY
Cherry Cough Syrup
Shoe clad feet slammed against the foliage-littered terrain below. Hands balled into tight fists, knuckles white from the pressure. His breath came out in white puffs that dragged behind, each step made the weight in his chest heavier. He didn’t know where he was or where he was going, he just knew. The trees around him seemed to turn blue and black as if they were painted. The sky above was dark, accented with bright white stars that shimmered and gleamed, reflecting off the mocha brown eyes that he had plastered in his memory.
The boy, clad in a black sweater, grey jeans, and a pair of floral vans halted. A clearing in front of him with one large oak tree, whose branches seemed to stretch and reach for the sky, held a treehouse made of old dark wood, a single window standing in the front. Mars’ feet seemed to carry him to the tree, making his way up the splintered ladder, pushing open the hatched door. Stepping into the house, the walls were littered with words, words like “TERRIFIED” and “PETRIFIED” were carved into the old wood. A boy in the corner with faded red hair and mocha eyes (and C major lips and tiger-growl teeth) looks at him.
“Mars! MARS!!!!”
Mars shot up, blinking the sleep from his eyes rapidly. His sister yelled from downstairs, he groaned in return; “What?!” He yelled back, rubbing his eyes. “Mars get up! You’re gonna be late for school!” Mars immediately groaned in annoyance, standing from his bed. He pulled on a pair of jeans and his favorite olive green sweater, pulling on his black vans. He grabbed his backpack and walked downstairs, not bothering to try with his hair. His sister, Jaden, smiled at him as they left the house.
Mars was a very odd character. He didn’t really talk in social situations or have that many friends, well, he didn’t really have ANY friends. He was classified as the freak, weirdo, idiot, and more at his school. Mars Wolfe was short, standing at five foot eight inches with curly brown hair and chocolatey brown eyes. He had tan skin, framed with small, darker colored freckles that lined his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He was very kept to himself and quiet, not bothering to speak to other students, teachers, or anyone, with the exception of his sister and his mother, and of course, his best friend, Fynn.
Walking into the building he was immediately met with large crowds of students, loud yelling, and more, the typical morning in all High Schools. Mars weaved through the groups and lines of students, making his way to the first period as the bell rang. He sat in his designated seat, immediately toning out the loud talking of other students as they walked in, as he wasn’t one for conversation, especially with those who taunted and made fun of him for having what everyone called an “imaginary friend”, when really, to Mars, that friend was real. But nobody ever believed him, and always thought he was crazy, which yes, it did, but it wasn’t true.
School passed quick, and Mars had left the school building and had found his way to his treehouse. Sitting in the small tree house he sat close beside his friend, Fynn. “How do you feel?” Fynn asked Mars thought for a minute. He didn't really know, he took the pocket knife Fynn had in his hand, flicking out the blade and pressing it into the wood. “Terrified?” Fynn said, confused. “Scared, very scared.” Mars replied, Fynn’s gaze turned to one of concern; “Why?” Fynn’s bright mocha eyes were clouded with worry for his friend, listening closely as he replied. “I don't know. Just am.” He breathed, wiping the wood shavings off the blade and onto his pants, closing the knife and handing it back to his friend. He shifted a bit in his spot, his phone buzzed in his pocket. “Hello?” He said as he picked it up.
“Mars you have an appointment with Dr. Oliver in 30 minutes, come on home please.”
It was his mother. Mars sighed, looking to Fynn. “Okay, mom. Be there soon.” He recoiled then hung up. “I gotta go, Fynn. I have an appointment with Dr. Oliver.” He said, looking at his best friend sadly. “Oh. I don’t like Dr. Oliver. I’ll walk you home.” He said, standing and helping Mars from one of the mats they had put in the treehouse a few weeks ago.
The two friends walked down the street towards Mars’ home and up the steps to the front door. “I’ll see you later, bye Mars,” Fynn said with a sad smile, turning and walking away. Mars waved goodbye and walked into the home, spotting his mother immediately. “Hi, mom.” He said as he walked into the kitchen. His mother was clad in a light pink sweater with khaki pants on, a pair of boots and a necklace that hung just above her chest. Mars’ mother was very pretty, with her long dirty blonde hair and brown eyes, he had to admit, but her looks on Mars weren't very pretty.
“Ah Mars come on, go get in the car.” She said, rushing him out the door as she followed behind. Mars climbed into the passenger seat, shutting the door and buckling his seatbelt. His mother following in suite. As they pulled out of the driveway there was no sign of Fynn on the sidewalk or watching from the side of the road. It was weird, to Mars, how his friend just disappeared sometimes. But whenever he wasn't around, Mars always remembered the one thing he'd always tell him; “You never know when you're gonna need it.” was his response to the everlasting question of why Fynn carried around a lighter. He didn't smoke. He didn't do anything with it, just carried it around everywhere he went.
Through all his thoughts, they arrived at the offices, Mars stepping from the car. His mother called him over; “I have to go to a work party, so I’ll be home late, you can walk. Love you.” Was all she said before she pulled away. Mars just shrugged and walked into the building and to Dr. Oli’s office. “Good afternoon, Mars, how are you?” He asked as Mars sat on the plush couch in front of him. The room they say it was dull, a small room with dark grey walls, a few sad-looking paintings scattered about, and a bowl of candy on the coffee table in front of him. “Fine.” Was all Mars replied with, choosing not to go into detail? Dr. Oli looked at Mars, “How're things at home? School?” He asked, readying his pen to write. “Fine as always. Mom doesn't get it still, schools the same, it's all normal.” He shrugged, there really was no difference at home or at school currently. “Good, good. How about Fynn?” He asked, knowing it was a sensitive topic, but he needed to ask. “Fynn’s good, he still always carries around a lighter, and whenever I asked he replies with the same thing.” He said, remembering the feeling of the lighter in his hand, light blue and grey, that's how he described it.
“Mhm..Mars, you're aware that Fynn isn’t a real person, correct?” After those words, Mars’ stared up at the man with anger in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Dr. Oliver. But Fynn is real. He’s not a figment of my imagination. He’s not just some picture in my head. Fynn is a real person. You’ve never met him. So don’t tell me he’s not real.” He growled, voice low and angered. “I’m sorry, Mars, I’m sorry.” The psychiatric doctor sighed, rubbing his temples anxiously. Mars just sat back, arms crossed over his chest, just wanting to leave the office. The office always had the same linoleum floors, the same white walls, and the same awful imitation cinnamon smell. It never ceased to disturb Mars.
Walking along the sidewalk of the small town road, few cars passed by, maybe three or four before it would go quiet again. Red, orange, yellow, brown. The leaves under his van clad feet, the olive green sweater he had on blocking out the chilly autumn winds. Coming to an intersection, Mars turned, not to another street, not to cross the road, but into the trees beyond. The trees around him were bare, not a single leaf was left. As he walked, the sound of engines and wheels against asphalt muted, the sky turning a bright pinkish orange as in the distance the sun began to set.
His hands tucked silently in his pockets, the large oaks around him seemed to be painted multiple shades of grey, the leaf-covered earth dark purple. Everything around him was growing darker as if the world was being shut in. Mars stopped, looking up. The tree house stood right before him, not a sound coming from inside, not even a single bird song coming from the great tree. As if the world had muted itself when he took a step closer, the leaves beneath his shoe didn’t make the loud crunch, the wind that usually whipped the trees wasn’t present.
Climbing up the splintered ladder, he pushed on the hatch, the lock coming loose and popping open. Pulling himself up, he shut the door behind him, turning to see his friend, the lighter in hand, a small flame just above. “Hi.” Was all his friend said as Mars sat in front of him, fingers tracing over the smooth and natural lines of the wood. “How was your meeting with Dr. Oliver?” Fynn finished, causing the silence around them to snap. “It was fine..but he still says you’re not real..” He whispered, his eyes finding the word he’d carved not long ago. “But I am real. You know that...right?” Fynn asked, his voice quiet and full of an emotion Mars couldn’t detect. Mars hesitated with his answer because he knew what he was thinking was something he never wanted to admit, though his lips seemed to force it out. “I don’t know.” No stutter, no tone of regret in his suddenly steady voice.
And as if a switch was flicked, Fynn was to his feet, anger, and unbelief in his eyes. “I’m right here,” Fynn screamed as if Mars was feet away. Mars stood, hands in fists, brown eyes on the wood floor beneath them. “You’re not real..” He breathed, voice quiet, broken. Suddenly a loud clap echoed through the clearing, Mars’ eyes widened, the stinging sensation in his left cheek made his gaze focus on the man in front of him. Fynn felt immediate regret, his eyes wide and upset. “Mars I’m sor-” Was all he could get out before Mars escaped the tree house.
“You’re not real!!” Mars screamed as Fynn followed him into the clearing, trying to stop him. “Mars I’m right here! I’m right in front of you!” Fynn yelled back, Mars just gripped the sides of his head tightly, tears stinging his eyes, staining trails on his cheeks. “No! Go away!!” He yelled, backing away. Fynn seemed to yell a reply, but Mars didn’t hear it, he turned and ran, as fast as his legs would take him.
The trees around him were black, the leaves underneath him twisting and turning black blue-purple. Everything was changing, the taste in his mouth was metallic, strong, pungent. The pounding of his sneaker-clad feet coming in contact with cement was loud in his ears, the street lights that brought illumination to the streets was too bright. He ran into his home, straight to his room, where he locked the door and curled on the floor. Crying, screaming, ignoring the world as it twisted and spun in an unnatural way around him. It didn’t matter to him anymore.
He woke up, ears ringing, throat stinging. The house was quiet, the ache in his back making him groan. He’d fallen asleep on the floor when he calmed from his madness. Regret and sorrow flooded his body as he realized what he’d done and what he’d said to his friend. He looked to his window, rain poured down outside, the sky gloomy and sad. He got up, leaving the safety of his home, walking to the clearing once again. “Fynn! I’m sorry..!” He yelled weakly, his throat fighting in his voice. There was no reply, no warm hug, nothing. He began to sob again, hands shaking as the rain-drenched his clothing. “Fynn, please! Come back! I-I’m sorry!” He screamed to the sky, but he didn’t look up anymore because the rain stung his eyes. Still, not a voice, not a sound. He made his way into the treehouse, in the middle of the wood floor was the lighter. He sat down, picking up the small item. The words he’d always answer with when Mars asked why Fynn had it rung in his ears as a memory, “You never know when you’re gonna need it.” The flame flickered before him, moving as he held it against the words carved into the wood, watching as it scorched and burned, soon catching the flame. Mars didn’t move, he didn’t scream, didn’t cry, he sat, watching the flame grow, spread, burn.
The funeral was quiet, no sound other than the soft cries of loved ones. The soft words of remembrance ringing through quietly as a family member finished speaking, sitting back down. And as the man before them said, “Would anyone else like to say a few words?” A boy with faded red hair, mocha eyes (and C major lips and tiger-growl teeth) stands up.
The End.
Thanks for reading this months issue of COLLAGE. We hoped you enjoyed it