I watched a video of Alex's dance showcase. Not only did Alex dance beautifully, she did so in a way that made her look like another dancer. Marked by maturity and poise, she made music with her body. Every step and turn flowed into the next with ease. Clearly on her last leg, Alice slept to me. The world is weird that way. The best and the worst moments of two peoples' lives can take place at the same time when neither knows the other well.
Not only that, but the good and the bad are intertwined like different-colored fibers of a rope. Lisette got doxxed by Avenge Havencraft just for speaking about the Mindcrack suicide crisis--and this was before she implied that they were the ones who tried to kill me with a needle cookie. As a celebrity, I try not to stir controversy over any given topic because that can get me killed or doxxed. However, as a teacher, I'm still going to stick to my convictions and say if something is right or wrong because that's what my students deserve. If nothing else, I can teach my students how to do the right thing in the face of adversity--and that's better than any music.
Alice's hand began to feel cold against mine. I tried saying a few things to her, but she didn't respond. If she was dying, at least she was dying peacefully. She groaned; I adjusted her pillow. Alice blinked, her eyes full of tears. I heard that this was normal when people die, but this all seemed so surreal. Sunlight streamed in from the window while the monitors ran. The footage of Alex played as she danced the ensemble number. I saw a blood stain spreading on Alex's slipper as Alice's breathing rate increased.
Even though it became apparent that someone had slipped glass into her slipper, Alex danced and showed no trace of pain on her face. Alice breathed normally and her breathing became slower and slower as the tempo of the music increased. Having had a part in both these girls' lives was the highest honor and privilege I could have ever received. Though they are different in many ways, they are alike in dignity in resilience.
Alice's skin turned blue. Alex left a clear trail of blood as she moved across the stage. She collapsed in an older girl's arms as I noticed something peculiar about Alice's breathing.
The telltale "death rattle" was as clear as the toll of a bell. Each breath sounded more labored than the last. I took this moment to say something to Alice, something I should have said more often.
"I know I say it all the time, but I love you." Alice's breathing slowed even more. Life was a battle for her and I aided in her fight. Still, it hurt to see her like this, worse than any other pain.
Alice's breathing tapered off getting quieter and quieter, slower and slower. Her last breath was barely perceptible. When I withdrew, it all seemed so surreal. The sun shined as it always did. I looked down at my phone to discover that Landon got two gigs: a presentation at Mineplex High School and an opportunity to perform at an ice show. He was already preparing for the latter.
But why am I not angry at his selfishness? The nurses covered Alice's head and wheeled her body to the morgue. I should be angry. I should be livid. But I'm not. As a nurse approached me, I felt a cramp and an all too familiar slimy sensation. I excused myself to use the restroom. If anyone knew about my condition, it'd be all over the news and exploited for TV ratings. The blood soaked all the way through my pants. How am I going to explain this? And why am I even thinking this when my child just died before my eyes?
I don't know what I'll tell Landon. I mean, springing two serious issues on someone at once normally doesn't bode well for the listener.
Sunday, July 30, 2017
Saturday, July 29, 2017
The Showcase (Alex)
The showcase is today.
No one else is doing vocals and dance, at least not to my knowledge. Elizabeth and I are doing solos and we're doing three ensemble numbers: one with the pre-pointe class, one with the pointe class, and one with all of us. The older girls are all so talented, especially Natasha Lebedev. When we joined the pointe class for practice, I always wanted to watch Natasha. I hope she's soloing. If anyone deserves to solo, it's her.
I don't even know why I'm soloing. I'm not long and graceful. I've put on some weight and I'm on the taller end. Maybe I shouldn't have had that sweetroll; I can already feel it sticking to my sides. I sprayed my hair again and got my carrot on a stick ready. I hope I don't break the pig's back. I had my tea with only enough honey to prime my vocal cords for the vocal showcase.
After getting off the pig's back, I made my way to the dressing room. I felt the extra weight on my frame. Every lump on my body showed under the leotard. I felt disgusting. I didn't have the lean lines the audience expected. No wonder pointe was hard for me. How was I supposed to support all of this weight on my toes? I hid my gut under my tutu and retouched my hair.
I was painfully aware of the judgmental eyes fixed on my rotund features. I danced well enough, but the only thing I felt was the jiggling of fat as I landed my jumps. My weight is technically healthy, but it's not enough to be healthy. I need to be beautiful. I need to impress the audience. I need to grow up. Elizabeth is a natural. Why can't I have her perfect golden locks and slender limbs? I have the build of an iron golem in a tutu, but with fat instead of muscle.
I sat through Elizabeth's solo. Her extension was flawless. I could only dream of having her turnout. The sleek, sophisticated costume showcased her perfect body. Her perfect body. The one I could never have. After taking her bow, I made my way onstage and got into position.
The music started and I realized something: I didn't need to look the part. I just needed to play the part. I imagined my old vocal teacher's voice belting out the high notes as I pirouetted like never before. My foot felt odd...like something was stabbing me. I ignored it. Natasha must hate the fact that she has to share the stage with someone like me. I'm as awkward and unballetic as it gets. Why am I soloing? I shouldn't have even set foot on a dance floor.
During the mass number, the stabbing pain returned full force, but I didn't wince. Natasha leapt gracefully in front of me. I tried to do the same, but I collapsed. The last thing I remembered from that dance was Natasha asking if I was okay.
No one else is doing vocals and dance, at least not to my knowledge. Elizabeth and I are doing solos and we're doing three ensemble numbers: one with the pre-pointe class, one with the pointe class, and one with all of us. The older girls are all so talented, especially Natasha Lebedev. When we joined the pointe class for practice, I always wanted to watch Natasha. I hope she's soloing. If anyone deserves to solo, it's her.
I don't even know why I'm soloing. I'm not long and graceful. I've put on some weight and I'm on the taller end. Maybe I shouldn't have had that sweetroll; I can already feel it sticking to my sides. I sprayed my hair again and got my carrot on a stick ready. I hope I don't break the pig's back. I had my tea with only enough honey to prime my vocal cords for the vocal showcase.
After getting off the pig's back, I made my way to the dressing room. I felt the extra weight on my frame. Every lump on my body showed under the leotard. I felt disgusting. I didn't have the lean lines the audience expected. No wonder pointe was hard for me. How was I supposed to support all of this weight on my toes? I hid my gut under my tutu and retouched my hair.
I was painfully aware of the judgmental eyes fixed on my rotund features. I danced well enough, but the only thing I felt was the jiggling of fat as I landed my jumps. My weight is technically healthy, but it's not enough to be healthy. I need to be beautiful. I need to impress the audience. I need to grow up. Elizabeth is a natural. Why can't I have her perfect golden locks and slender limbs? I have the build of an iron golem in a tutu, but with fat instead of muscle.
I sat through Elizabeth's solo. Her extension was flawless. I could only dream of having her turnout. The sleek, sophisticated costume showcased her perfect body. Her perfect body. The one I could never have. After taking her bow, I made my way onstage and got into position.
The music started and I realized something: I didn't need to look the part. I just needed to play the part. I imagined my old vocal teacher's voice belting out the high notes as I pirouetted like never before. My foot felt odd...like something was stabbing me. I ignored it. Natasha must hate the fact that she has to share the stage with someone like me. I'm as awkward and unballetic as it gets. Why am I soloing? I shouldn't have even set foot on a dance floor.
During the mass number, the stabbing pain returned full force, but I didn't wince. Natasha leapt gracefully in front of me. I tried to do the same, but I collapsed. The last thing I remembered from that dance was Natasha asking if I was okay.
Friday, July 14, 2017
The Weight of the Universe (Landon)
Steve and I sat in a waiting room awaiting the oncologist's news. From what I heard, even the most aggressive treatment regimens weren't helping. Alice's condition declined more and more as each day passed. She didn't want to eat or drink lately, much less engage in conversation. She sleeps most of the time and, though neither of us can really do anything, we kept showing up.
Steve's hand moved towards mine. Saying he looked anxious was an understatement. His eyes darted around as if he were waiting for someone to stab him in the back. A panic attack was imminent. All I could do was sit here and wait for everything to hit the fan. When was the nurse coming back? It's 1:00 AM. We're both tired. I have a presentation gig to start, five videos to work on, and a documentary idea to pitch. I peered at an outdated magazine. It was all celebrity gossip. I felt my stomach growl. How long did I go without eating? My head throbbed. I made my way to the vending machine, but Steve stopped me saying that I needed to wait.
"Why though?"
"Because Alice needs us."
"We're not even seeing her. We're waiting for the oncologist to give us at least a scrap of information."
"So we need to be here." I could sense the impatience in his voice.
"Why do I need to be here? Why do either of us need to be here? The oncologist can just send a text or an E-mail."
"But we need to be here. For Alice."
"Maybe you do, but I. Certainly. Don't." I stormed out. It's been a while since I've felt this angry. I just wanted the world to burn and feel my wrath. Why did Alice have to have cancer? Why did I even consider a relationship with Steve? Why are any of us even here? It's like we're some sadistic teenage girl's playthings, all part of some ill thought-out fanfiction.
Pro tip: When scoping out hospital food, go for something simple, preferably something that isn't dripping with sauce. I picked up a few roast beef sandwiches and some Dr. Pepper. They were dry, but I was okay with that. I needed fuel. The thing with helpful types is that they'll bear the weight of the world for you, but will expect you the bear the weight of the universe in return.
Wait, no. What was I thinking? I splashed my face with water and tried to leave the building when someone stopped me.
"Who are you?" I turned around ready to fight.
"I'm Suk-ja Park. I'm the hospital counselor. Are you here with anyone?" This woman is good. "Yes. I'm here with my boyfriend, Steve. I'm sure you've seen his face before." She nodded as if this was normal and took me back the waiting room.
"And you are here with Alice?"
"Yes."
"Would you like to speak privately first?"
"Sure." She directed me to her office.
After talking some more, it turned out that many other people feel the way I do. I wasn't alone in this. She took Steve aside and left me. The oncologist arrived and asked where he was.
"He's with the counselor."
"Which one?"
"Suk-ja Park."
"Well, I have good news and bad news."
"Tell me the bad first." I took in a shaky breath and braced myself.
"Alice is entering the final weeks of her life." I kept my hand over my mouth. It was the only thing preventing me from bursting onto tears right then and there.
"And...the good news?" I can't be crying. Not now. Not here. I need to be strong.
"Her misery will end soon. We can move her to a hospice facility or we can keep her here. The hospice facility is more comfortable and is better equipped to handle situations like yours." After taking a fact sheet about hospice care, Steve came back and practically ran to my side.
"So what is it?" I relayed the information to him.
"The oncologist said Alice is entering the final weeks of her life." I wiped a stray tear from my eye. "I don't know what we're going to do." Burying my face in Steve's shirt, I wept profusely. He put an arm around me and, at that point, I knew why we we decided to fight this battle.
Steve's hand moved towards mine. Saying he looked anxious was an understatement. His eyes darted around as if he were waiting for someone to stab him in the back. A panic attack was imminent. All I could do was sit here and wait for everything to hit the fan. When was the nurse coming back? It's 1:00 AM. We're both tired. I have a presentation gig to start, five videos to work on, and a documentary idea to pitch. I peered at an outdated magazine. It was all celebrity gossip. I felt my stomach growl. How long did I go without eating? My head throbbed. I made my way to the vending machine, but Steve stopped me saying that I needed to wait.
"Why though?"
"Because Alice needs us."
"We're not even seeing her. We're waiting for the oncologist to give us at least a scrap of information."
"So we need to be here." I could sense the impatience in his voice.
"Why do I need to be here? Why do either of us need to be here? The oncologist can just send a text or an E-mail."
"But we need to be here. For Alice."
"Maybe you do, but I. Certainly. Don't." I stormed out. It's been a while since I've felt this angry. I just wanted the world to burn and feel my wrath. Why did Alice have to have cancer? Why did I even consider a relationship with Steve? Why are any of us even here? It's like we're some sadistic teenage girl's playthings, all part of some ill thought-out fanfiction.
Pro tip: When scoping out hospital food, go for something simple, preferably something that isn't dripping with sauce. I picked up a few roast beef sandwiches and some Dr. Pepper. They were dry, but I was okay with that. I needed fuel. The thing with helpful types is that they'll bear the weight of the world for you, but will expect you the bear the weight of the universe in return.
Wait, no. What was I thinking? I splashed my face with water and tried to leave the building when someone stopped me.
"Who are you?" I turned around ready to fight.
"I'm Suk-ja Park. I'm the hospital counselor. Are you here with anyone?" This woman is good. "Yes. I'm here with my boyfriend, Steve. I'm sure you've seen his face before." She nodded as if this was normal and took me back the waiting room.
"And you are here with Alice?"
"Yes."
"Would you like to speak privately first?"
"Sure." She directed me to her office.
After talking some more, it turned out that many other people feel the way I do. I wasn't alone in this. She took Steve aside and left me. The oncologist arrived and asked where he was.
"He's with the counselor."
"Which one?"
"Suk-ja Park."
"Well, I have good news and bad news."
"Tell me the bad first." I took in a shaky breath and braced myself.
"Alice is entering the final weeks of her life." I kept my hand over my mouth. It was the only thing preventing me from bursting onto tears right then and there.
"And...the good news?" I can't be crying. Not now. Not here. I need to be strong.
"Her misery will end soon. We can move her to a hospice facility or we can keep her here. The hospice facility is more comfortable and is better equipped to handle situations like yours." After taking a fact sheet about hospice care, Steve came back and practically ran to my side.
"So what is it?" I relayed the information to him.
"The oncologist said Alice is entering the final weeks of her life." I wiped a stray tear from my eye. "I don't know what we're going to do." Burying my face in Steve's shirt, I wept profusely. He put an arm around me and, at that point, I knew why we we decided to fight this battle.
Saturday, July 8, 2017
Stealth Killer (Jordan)
"...So, is Brittany entering any competitions?"
"No, but she's performing at the showcase."
"I saw what she's performing to. Her dance teacher picked the worst choreography. Elizabeth would have been a better fit for her routine." Pretending not to hear, I diverted my attention to the list of diamond engraving tools. I needed a new laser to make diamond swords since mine either won't turn on or keeps adjusting itself to random power settings.
The two dance moms kept yapping on about how their daughters were superior to the others while I bought my laser with Bitcoin. Speaking of Bitcoin, Alex made enough money to buy a T shirt. She also made headway on her academic work and is already up to doing pre-algebra. I use a program that treats learning math like a game and, with that game, Alex learns more math than she ever can in a classroom. Not only that, she can be trusted to straighten out her own sword, something not many of her peers can do.
Speaking of her peers, Alex made some new friends from her pre-pointe class: Daria Sadovskaya, Cadence Laskas, and Hanako Kuranaga. Daria was pulled out of Mindcrack because of the recent suicide crisis while Hanako was forced to remain in the school despite her wishes to not attend. Cadence attends Snapcraft Middle School. The four of them like exchanging tips and talking about their experiences in dance and life in general.
I saw another Desert Tribune report on how MNN (Minecraft News Network) threatened to dox a Mindcrack student for talking about the Mindcrack suicide crisis on her YouTube and Twitter. The Tweets she was doxxed over were the following:
Let's remember that the #MindcrackClassOfNever included kids who didn't live to blow out their 13th birthday candles.
The #MindcrackClassofNever should not be forgotten. Suicide is a common problem and the fact that no one seems to care is very disturbing.
MNN publicly released information about her home address, class schedule, and cell phone number after she refused to apologize for her Tweets. She claimed that "everyone wants [her] to do the right thing, so that's what [she] did."
So there you have it. MNN doxxed this teen for talking about her school's problems, not because she said anything disrespectful, but because she happened to say something on the wrong day: March 20th. She was accused of hijacking a day dedicated to remembering the victims of the Havencraft High School massacre. After some criticism, she responded with this:
I said nothing about Havencraft nor did I imply that it was less tragic of an event than the Mindcrack suicide crisis.
Get your heads out of the ground. Societal pressure is a stealth killer and we all know it.
Just as I finished reading the report and the bulk of the pre-pointe class came walking through the door, I heard some moms make catty comments about Alex. While I understand that girls her age can be cruel, they can't possibly be any worse than dance moms.
"You know that girl with red hair? She really needs to lose weight."
"Alex?"
"If this were my ballet studio, that beached whale would be out in a heartbeat."
"Well, I know how to help her shed a few pounds" That's it. Make all the digs you want at me. Call me odd. Call me antisocial. Go so far as to call me a misanthropist, but my daughter is off limits.
"I'm not having my daughter develop an eating disorder just so she can please some lowlife like you." I pretended to turn my phone off to activate a recording feature. She's given me a lot of flack Alex, mostly about things she cannot control. From calling her natural red hair 'unprofessional' to suggesting that she get plastic surgery, she obviously has some kind of beef with herself and feels the need to take it out on a young girl.
"It's not an 'eating disorder'. It's called maintaining the figure expected of a ballerina. No company is going to want some blubber mass on their stage." How do you know that Alex's ultimate goal as a dancer is to dance in a company? She could very well be a singer, instrumentalist, teacher, or even caregiver if she so desires. I took another glance at her shirt, which had #AvengeHavencraft written across her rather wide chest. She questioned me about why I was studying her shirt, but she said that "any decent person would avenge the 91 students that died that day" and stalked off with Elizabeth at her side.
If she is so interested in avenging the 91 students who died in an anomaly event, then why is she so intent on sending a stealth killer after my daughter?
"No, but she's performing at the showcase."
"I saw what she's performing to. Her dance teacher picked the worst choreography. Elizabeth would have been a better fit for her routine." Pretending not to hear, I diverted my attention to the list of diamond engraving tools. I needed a new laser to make diamond swords since mine either won't turn on or keeps adjusting itself to random power settings.
The two dance moms kept yapping on about how their daughters were superior to the others while I bought my laser with Bitcoin. Speaking of Bitcoin, Alex made enough money to buy a T shirt. She also made headway on her academic work and is already up to doing pre-algebra. I use a program that treats learning math like a game and, with that game, Alex learns more math than she ever can in a classroom. Not only that, she can be trusted to straighten out her own sword, something not many of her peers can do.
Speaking of her peers, Alex made some new friends from her pre-pointe class: Daria Sadovskaya, Cadence Laskas, and Hanako Kuranaga. Daria was pulled out of Mindcrack because of the recent suicide crisis while Hanako was forced to remain in the school despite her wishes to not attend. Cadence attends Snapcraft Middle School. The four of them like exchanging tips and talking about their experiences in dance and life in general.
I saw another Desert Tribune report on how MNN (Minecraft News Network) threatened to dox a Mindcrack student for talking about the Mindcrack suicide crisis on her YouTube and Twitter. The Tweets she was doxxed over were the following:
Let's remember that the #MindcrackClassOfNever included kids who didn't live to blow out their 13th birthday candles.
The #MindcrackClassofNever should not be forgotten. Suicide is a common problem and the fact that no one seems to care is very disturbing.
MNN publicly released information about her home address, class schedule, and cell phone number after she refused to apologize for her Tweets. She claimed that "everyone wants [her] to do the right thing, so that's what [she] did."
So there you have it. MNN doxxed this teen for talking about her school's problems, not because she said anything disrespectful, but because she happened to say something on the wrong day: March 20th. She was accused of hijacking a day dedicated to remembering the victims of the Havencraft High School massacre. After some criticism, she responded with this:
I said nothing about Havencraft nor did I imply that it was less tragic of an event than the Mindcrack suicide crisis.
Get your heads out of the ground. Societal pressure is a stealth killer and we all know it.
Just as I finished reading the report and the bulk of the pre-pointe class came walking through the door, I heard some moms make catty comments about Alex. While I understand that girls her age can be cruel, they can't possibly be any worse than dance moms.
"You know that girl with red hair? She really needs to lose weight."
"Alex?"
"If this were my ballet studio, that beached whale would be out in a heartbeat."
"Well, I know how to help her shed a few pounds" That's it. Make all the digs you want at me. Call me odd. Call me antisocial. Go so far as to call me a misanthropist, but my daughter is off limits.
"I'm not having my daughter develop an eating disorder just so she can please some lowlife like you." I pretended to turn my phone off to activate a recording feature. She's given me a lot of flack Alex, mostly about things she cannot control. From calling her natural red hair 'unprofessional' to suggesting that she get plastic surgery, she obviously has some kind of beef with herself and feels the need to take it out on a young girl.
"It's not an 'eating disorder'. It's called maintaining the figure expected of a ballerina. No company is going to want some blubber mass on their stage." How do you know that Alex's ultimate goal as a dancer is to dance in a company? She could very well be a singer, instrumentalist, teacher, or even caregiver if she so desires. I took another glance at her shirt, which had #AvengeHavencraft written across her rather wide chest. She questioned me about why I was studying her shirt, but she said that "any decent person would avenge the 91 students that died that day" and stalked off with Elizabeth at her side.
If she is so interested in avenging the 91 students who died in an anomaly event, then why is she so intent on sending a stealth killer after my daughter?
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