The Human Being never existed.
The Human Being is a complex computer program.
The Human Being is actually a Martian in disguise.
The Human Being is a lie, a hoax.

The government is covering it up,
Lying to us,
Protecting us.
Regardless, the Human Being never existed.

It crash landed on Tri-Alpha 1,
One of three nearby planetoids,
And stumbled out of its metal box,
All pink and yellow and brown,
Just like the cartoons said.

When asked for comment it claimed Tri-Alpha 1 for Earth
And for the Human Beings
And said it would nuke any who got in its way.

This could have been quite strange and scary,
Except that the Trians had never heard of Earth
Or nukes, which on Tri-Alpha is a type of sugary breakfast oatmeal,
But they had heard of the Human Being,
And everyone knows the Human Being never existed.

The Republican-Whig-Beebop-Triphop Conglomerate that is the Trian Government,
Quickly put it down to a drama student who’d had too much Sensurian ale.
The Human Being never existed.

Except, of course, it had.
Far within the confines of the Beebop Science Department,
The hairy creature was poked and prodded and pickled and preserved.

The Human Being never existed on Tri-Alpha 1,
But Jarred Hyuemahn is coming soon to an express shopway near you.

Finals, studying, cramming.
My hand scratches more and more notes into the tiny margins of the page.
The clock turns to 1 AM, but I’m not done. I have to pass. I have to stay awake-

The alarm blares out 6:30.
Shower, get dressed, make myself somewhat presentable.
All in machine-like precision.

Period 2, my sweaty palms are wiped against my skirt, my leg shakes beneath the table.
Textbook passages flit across my mind as I stare at the first question.
And then it happens. I know the answer to the first problem. And to the second. And to the third.

I smile. It is the last day before a much-needed summer break.
Sign yearbook, pose for picture, repeat.
Life is good.

One day into break my mom comes past my room while on the phone. “We’ll see you in a week. Yeah, the girls really excited too.”
Confusion, then annoyance, then anger.
She forgot to tell me we’re going to see my grandparents. Again.

I later try to explain that we’re already seeing them for two weeks in August. Why go now?
She felt pressured, coerced, intimidated by my grandparents.
Don’t give in to peer pressure, Mother.

Summer continues.
Cousins, aunts, and uncles to see.
No time for friends or social interaction other than small talk and forced smiles.

I complain.
My sister calls me pathetic, mean, and selfish for wanting any time to myself.
I walk away.

Later, I turn to my mom. “Please can be go home?”
“Don’t be rude, sweetheart.
“Besides, we’ve got places to go and people to see.”

I really wanted to take some summer classes, get ahead in my education.
To my family, the concept is unknown, foreign, and queer.
It’s better I sit and not talk.

One week later, I beg my mom to take us home.
“Honey, they’re your family. You should be closer to them.
“Besides, we’ve got places to go and people to see.”

The summer continues much the same way.
I smile, I laugh, I nod at all the right times.
But inside I am miserable. I would much rather be at home reading by the creek.

And now that I am home I must bid you adieu,
For I have places to go and people to see.

Left, right,
straight, left,
right, left.

All are ways to go, but which is the way?

Running up and down among the maze,
constantly looking for a way out.

I will not find one,
that I know,
but still I look, frantically seeking an exit.

Right, left,
right, straight,
left, right.

I’m back to where  started,
no closer to finding an answer than in the beginning.

I begin to panic,
the walls seem to be caving in on me.

I push against them,
I pound I scream,
but still they move,
threatening to forever keep me between their cool, impersonal solid forms.

But the walls stop only seconds before I am trapped forever,
and they separate.

I take a moment to catch my breath,
and they appear,
many reflections of myself,
all eager to share their differing opinions.

Left!
No, right!
Take that way!
Take the other way!

But I cannot move,
frozen in time and mind,
decisions weighing down upon my soul.

Who do I listen to?
Who is my foe?
Who is my friend?

I clasp my hands to my ears,
but their deafening cries do not cease.

I scream, I yell, I try to thrash at them,
but they only laugh at my efforts.

Finally I give up, I’m done,
and only then am I free to move.

I slump down against a wall,
defeated in every way.

And then the most miraculous thing happens:
silence descends around me.

I look up to see them smile as one,
and disappear into the milky late of the maze.

Confused and cautious, I stand up,
wondering what will be thrown at me now.

But I hear nothing,
not a sound.

No walls move,
no reflections appear,
and all is still.

I hesitantly put one foot in front of the other,
and only now,
with my mind clear and my thoughts calm,
do I successfully navigate the maze.

A young child hands his struggling teacher the pen she was reaching for.
A sister gives her stressed brother quiet time when he is reviewing for a big exam.
A little girl whose parents are getting a divorce offers the bed she’s slept in since she became a “big girl” to her exhausted father.

All of these are acts of kindness,
of generosity,
whether small or major,
more likely than not to go unacknowledged.

They represent the good in people,
while they are still young and innocent in heart,
years before they may be corrupted by this ever-changing world.

In the eyes of a child they are nothing,
simply the right thing to do,
and to the eyes of many they are every-day occurrences,
but to me they are miracles.

Small miracles, perhaps, but miracles nonetheless.
In a world full of hate and darkness,
full of pain and sadness,
I believe any small action or thought of joy and selflessness
even without knowing it,
is to be rejoiced.

And sometimes it is,
not with great celebration or fanfare of course,
but will a small, knowing smile teasing at the corner of a mouth,
threatening to get loose.

But more often than not,
these small acts of kindness go unnoticed,
doomed to forever haunt the backs of minds and memories,
always lurking beneath the surface of your conscience.

But time goes on.
And the world will go on forgetting these little acts of generosity,
as children grow up,
and leave forever behind the world of Never Never Land.

To write is to breathe.

It is part of who I am,
essential for me to live.

Words bend to my will,
and I bend to theirs.

The pen is my sword,
and the paper my shield.

It shields my thoughts, my pain, my joy,
and never will you penetrate that shield.

Your words can never hurt me,
but mine can hurt you.

For you see my words are immortal,
destined to live forever, even long after their master is gone,
and can cause you more pain than you could ever know.

But your words, no they shall not last,
your mocking will last only a fleeting moment,
your laughs and jeers a second in the master map of time.

You and I will die, oh yes,
our bodies will decay beneath the ground,
but part of me will be forever immortal.

Can you say the same?

Old leaves fly,
rattling together like bones of the dead.

The wind whispers to us,
the past, the present, the future,
but no matter how hard we strain,
we cannot hear.

The bare trees wave with the whispers,
their leaves flying, always flying,
never to return to the soft comfort of their mother branches.

The flowers die,
wilting away into nothingness,
their spring songs of youth and prosperity silenced.

The sun sets,
promising not to return for many moons,
leaving us in perpetual darkness.

The birds leave,
their cries echoing in the empty world,
“Gone is the world we know and love,
new adventures do we seek!”

And all we have left,
is the old leaves,
rattling together like bones of the dead.

A worthier opponent I had never met.

He slowly advanced.
I held my ground.

We started each other down,
each trying to guess the other’s next move.

He suddenly feinted right,
but I pushed him back.

All time had stopped.
Was he alright? Had I gone too far?

He slowly pushed himself  back up,
and I could breathe again.

He stared.
I stared.
He stared.
I stared.

The world was at a stand-still.

But then it happened.
He rushed forward, trying to catch me be surprise.

And he didn’t stop, as he had previously.

I grabbed at a nearby weapon,
a stick larger than my opponent.

I swung with all I could.
He was lifted up into the air and carried many yards away.
And…

…He was no more.

Farewell, Mr. Bug,
you were a worthy opponent.