Exhausted (Steve)

I woke up in the middle of the night feeling downright drained. Caitlin slept soundly next to me and seemed to involuntarily search for me. Her emotional state declined rapidly with each day that passed. I could see it on her arms, hear it in her music, and just overall feel this lingering numbness in the air. No, Caitlin. I don't want one of your students to find you half dead from an overdose. You mean too much to me for that.

Deciding to further research the rescue wife phenomenon, I found that self-injury actually has little connection with the phenomenon. Declining health, however, had a definite connection. I looked down at Caitlin's slight frame. She can't afford to lose any weight. Her face was even more pale than it usually is. I pulled out my phone to leave a message for Farkas.

Sorry for the awkward time, but I need to unload. 

To my surprise, he replied.

No problem. I can't sleep myself. What do you need?

I told him the whole story, or at least what I could muster with a keyboard and predictor app.

Caitlin isn't doing very well. She lost a lot of weight and is very lethargic. She's been cutting more and deeper. I need help. I didn't go into detail about how she nearly passed out from blood loss from self-injury alone.

I understand. Anna's been in low states before, but nothing like what you describe. Go take a break and fight some monsters to clear your head.

Let's face it. Armor is one of the most awkward things ever to get on and off, but the feeling is so worth it. I had a full diamond set that one of the AP Mining students gave to me for slaying the dragon. Being a hero has its perks.

I went outside, sword in hand. The chill of the night air seemed to welcome me. I spotted a zombie and my body knew the rest of the steps. Every breath and swing of my sword cleansed my soul, like a kind of music that cannot be heard, but felt. The tune to World's End Dancehall played through my mind. I danced a terrible kind of stumbling dance through my combat, but I could tell it was graceful in its own right. The weight of the armor allowed me to feel every step.

Other people fought alongside me, though not with me. They varied greatly in age. I found a creeper, kicked off a tree to charge, and took it out in one hit. About three kids asked if they could take the spoils for themselves. I consented. Seeing their happy faces brought joy to my heart. I realized that Carmen, Caitlin's clarinet student, was among them. She twirled her sword and continued fighting alongside her friends.

When my energy ran out, I collapsed near a tree, caught my breath, and realized that I had been gone for three hours. I made my way home thinking of Caitlin. She usually slept soundly next to me, but when I so much as shifted, she stirred looking for me. Knowing that she was probably awake looking for me, a wave of guilt washed over me. Thank you, Farkas, for that terrible advice. I feel even worse now!

Caitlin was still asleep, but was tossing and turning. When I got back in, she found my side as if she knew it all her life. Her feeling safe meant the world to me as she rarely ever has the opportunity to feel safe. I, however, could not sleep for the life of me. Caitlin always found a way to sleep. If she could do nothing else on a particular day, she slept. I had no such luxury. Sometimes, it feels like my body propels me into a variety of situations.

The next morning, my head throbbed with pain. It felt like something was striking the inside of my skull with a pickaxe. A plate of bacon and eggs was in front of me, but I couldn't bring myself to eat. I picked at the eggs and spit them out because I couldn't taste them over the pain in my head.
          "I thought you liked bacon and eggs." Caitlin looked confused, hurt even, as she said this. Since my device was being repaired and customized to better suit my needs, I did not have it on me. I had to teach beginning band today. The instruments were held up due to shipping delays (AAAAA!!!!), so I'd take it as an opportunity for my students and I to get to know each other. "You should stay home if you feel sick. I'll take care of you." she said again. I just had a headache. I held my head in my hands and Caitlin finally figured out my problem. She gave me a stalk of nether wart to chew on, which I bit into reluctantly seeing that it was oozing some kind of red-colored secretion. It tasted like a mixture of cough syrup, aspirin, and burnt toast; I almost spit the secretions out. I managed to force everything down my throat with Caitlin's careful encouragement. She rubbed my back during the entire thing. (I'm not sure why, but it felt nice. Her small hands are magic.) When my headache subsided, I ate my bacon and eggs slowly. It was cold, but still good.

The meeting was boring and useless to the fine arts department. It was mostly about how to boost test scores. How about boosting morale? Mindcrack needs some of that. Mindcrack was not meant to be a hardcore academic school and it will never succeed at being so. If parents want that kind of school, they should send their children elsewhere. This is a place where you learn things like compassion and self-awareness, but it's not like that's important. Right? I'm trying to allow students escape that in my band program.

Speaking of the band program, my twelve newest students came through the door. They took their seats. Alex looked excited to start her sixth grade career at Mindcrack Initiate Training Academy. The others looked nervous. Adrian took his seat behind Alex. The others took their places. When Kaito came in, he took his place at the end. I brought out my notes and pointed at the students with my baton to indicate when it was their turn to speak.

Caitlyn-6th Grade-Flute-Is doing cross country and has three Siamese cats.
Nathalie-7th Grade-Flute-Fluent in French and a friend of Alex.

Kiyoshi-6th Grade-Clarinet-Is on a club parkour team.
Stephen-8th Grade-Clarinet-Is on the Mindcrack Middle School parkour team.
Zoie-7th Grade-Clarinet-Is on both a club and the school parkour team.

Felix-6th Grade-Alto Sax-Once killed three creepers with a single arrow.
Aisha-6th Grade-Alto Sax-Hates meatballs and knows how to string a bow.

Adrian-7th Grade-Trumpet-Did not choose clarinet because he doesn't want to be compared to his mom.
Alex-6th Grade-Trumpet-Sang on national TV yesterday. (Girl's got guts.)
Jiro-6th Grade-Trumpet-Does not want to be a sushi chef.

Adrienne-6th Grade-Trombone-Went to the extreme hills once and found an emerald.
Kaito-6th Grade-Euphonium-Enjoys making onigiri and going to his social club.

I followed the Twitter feed regarding Caitlin's television appearance and found these gems:

OnYourMark: hey smol bean!!!!!!!!!!!! *string of random emoticons that make absolutely no sense* #ClarinetCaitlin (Leave it to Mark to insert a complete non-sequitur.)

LandonLakesButter: She's a real person, not some figurehead. Stop bashing her over the head with your words and maybe she'll take your input. #ClarinetCaitlin #angry #hypocrisy #why #stupid #disability

TheRealAlisha: If you have nothing better to do than harass my sister, someone who is NOT ACTIVELY HARMING ANYONE, then your lives are pretty sad. #ClarinetCaitlin #stop #harassment

MinecraftTimes: We will shut down the feed if you guys do not take your discussion elsewhere. They are disrupting the program.

They eventually shut down the feed because no one contributed anything relevant to the discussion and nearly everyone just insisted on throwing verbal rocks at Caitlin (and her students, which is kind of unfair) for a variety of reasons. Nathan's director even went as far as to tell her that she should die. Bad example much? I can't believe that students are stuck with that sorry excuse of a "teacher".

Love and Hate (Landon)

Landon LaCoste is the name of a murderer, a high school student who turned on his classmates. It is the name of a loner, the one who supposedly could not understand anything in class. Such is the name of the boy life subjected to degradation on a regular basis, who had to hide his homework in his shoes and have trash dumped on his head nearly every one of his days at Havencraft High School.

It is my name. It is my curse to bear.

I have decided against changing my name because it was never mine in the first place. My parents chose it and I have to deal with it. Along with that came the associations I built upon it. When I stood before the cameras, I had no defense except for a wink and walking collectedly to my sentence. I projected confidence knowing I could die later in the week.

Because my parents pleaded for my life and liberty, I got off way lighter than I should have. I filled in for Caitlin to get Alice ready for next year. Alice looked uneasy in my presence. I was lucky to be in this place, to be able to add something better to my name as well as practice a passion.
          "Let's start with some long tones," I suggested, trying to get Alice to do something other than sit there and fidget with her horn. She raised her horn to face without a word. I had heard about Alice before. Her hands were covered with cracks and bruises, likely from working. She had a certain heaviness about her soul, the kind that comes with unrecognized heroism. Alice pulled out something she wanted to work on from her method book. I corrected a few of her errors and mostly worked with her on confidence. However, something still sounded off in the music. It sounded robotic, flat.

It is interesting how students' emotional states and, thus, musical tendencies, fluctuate in response to their leaders suffering. Alex kept her sound in the back of her throat rather than projecting it forward. This lent her songs a darker, richer timbre. She still had high spirits, but I could tell she was troubled. It is girls like these who are dismissed as "airheads". However, the extra air helps her stay afloat in ties of trouble. Alice's music became flat, detached, and uninteresting. I stopped her and suggested that we work on a slow minor piece. She thought, picked something, and played it. It was still uninteresting. Frustrated, I told Alice to put her horn down.
          "Am I playing well, Mr. LaCoste?" She asked genuinely, not seeking affirmation in the slightest. She actually seemed to search for criticism.
         "You're just making notes. They are correct notes, but not music. Work on your articulations and dynamics."
         "Okay." She played through the piece again, sounding markedly better. However, it sounded hollow, as if there were no soul to it. It would have to do for now. I dismissed her and decided to go for a walk.

Though I wield no weapon, I am trained in unarmed combat. I got into a skirmish with a creeper, throwing kicks and punches as well as dodging. I kept my eye on my target, dancing through each move as if I were fluid. The flow of movements released everything. I continued with finding targets, beating them into a pulp, and harvesting whatever spoils I happened to want at the moment. I felt a movement coming up behind me and I whirled around with another punch.

I felt something behind me. I stopped, looked around, and proceeded. However, I felt it getting closer. I braced myself to throw a punch only to hear the someone cry out.
          "Don't hurt me!" He had a messy crop of black hair and was shielding his face. I had noticed that he was shorter than me, by about six inches or so.
          "Why shouldn't I?" Over the last few days, I had endured a lot. I've had people throw rotten food and yell insults at me because of something that happened nearly six years ago. Some lady tried to kill me because of the Havencraft shooting. Was she a Havencraft student at the time? No. Was she the parent of a Havencraft student? No. She had no ties whatsoever with Havencraft, so I don't know why she tried to rip my head off. I couldn't take any chances with this guy either lest he try to do the same. It seems that I can't go one day without people assaulting me or at least trying to.
          "I don't mean any harm! I honestly don't." He held his hands up to signify that he meant no harm. However, I noted the dagger at his side. The startled gaze suggested that I had caught him off guard. He looked genuinely scared. I relaxed in posture, but still remained suspicious.
          "Who are you?" Whoever he was, he didn't really look human. He didn't look like a villager. I suspected that he had Ender blood running through his veins.
          "I...I'm Phillip. Phillip Evans. I was looking for Everan."
          "Who is Everan?" What did I just walk into?
          "My boyfriend. He's the best guy ever. I don't think you should try to punch him in the face, though. You look unsettled. I hope you're not a homophobe!" His face turned cold and glasslike.
          "I'm not. I just didn't expect you to cross my path."
          "That I get a lot." Phillip paused. "What's your name? You never introduced yourself." I braced myself to let that curse slip past my lips. 
          "Landon LaCoste."
          "You say that like it's a bad thing." Phillip looked up at me with innocent concern.
          "If you knew what my name was associated with, you'd think the same. By the way, what does this Everan look like? What's he doing here?"
          "He went to fulfill a task of some sort. I don't know why we ended up...where is this?"
          "You're in Minecraft. This is a plains biome. I'll help you." He handed me a description of Everan Thenath. Noting the dark circles under his eyes, I suggested he rest with me at my house.
          "But...Everan could be dead...or worse." Tears started to roll down Phillip's cheeks and then his whimpers turned into full on sobbing. Having never loved, I wanted him to have a chance.
          "It's okay. I saw a guy who fits your description doing some dance-like moves in combat. He was at these coordinates." His spirits lifted and we parted ways. At first, I felt good having done something good for someone who didn't know my history. However, a sinking feeling overtook me. I would need to return to the hatred of tomorrow, to scrubbing dried rotten food out of my hair and the smell of burning corpses haunting my mind. 

Never Enough (Caitlin)

All right. It's time for another fitting. Arlene helped me into my dress, something she was probably used to doing. She handed me my cane and allowed me to support myself before she laced it up. The fit was looser than I had remembered it. All the stress of the recent events had probably caused my weight to drop from 90 to 85 pounds. Andrew had told me that I needed to eat more. However, that did not help on the days I couldn't even bring myself to lift a fork.

The shoes fit like a dream and the veil cascaded in layers of fine, almost transparent tulle and fell at my fingertips. A diadem of pearls complimented it well. The dress itself looked like I was wearing a gentle breeze, the kind that cools you off on a hot day. It cascaded in the same translucent layers and the bodice, studded with just the right amount of pearls and rhinestones, still fit reasonably well. No one was at the fitting, just me. I looked in the mirror and the woman staring back at me was but a stranger.

How could I possibly be her with that radiant smile and almost perfect posture? It would be her walking down the aisle and not me. Instead of flowers, I ordered crystalline decorations. I loved flowers and I had to compromise on that for my health. As a little girl, I had always envisioned myself making my way towards my hero surrounded by the lushest blooms. Gracefully descending a flight of stairs in a long dress (or any attire, really) was not an option either.

Arlene must have noticed the tears in my eyes because she handed me a tissue and sat beside me. I told her how I felt.
          "I understand."
          "Really?"
          "Well, not from my own experience, but a lot of brides with disabilities feel the way you do when they have to sacrifice beauty for accessibility. I've been in this industry for thirty years now." That still didn't quell the sting I felt. I never asked for much as a child, even in my dreams. The only thing I wanted was flowers and now I can't have them. It is rare that I make selfish wishes, but, when I do, they are a big deal to me. "I would have wanted you to have all the flowers in the world if you could, so I'll switch out the pearl headpiece for any headpiece and other accessories your heart desires absolutely free. She helped me back into my original outfit.

I passed through the headpiece displays. Though undoubtedly beautiful, most of them were too ostentatious for me. Others I looked at with a pragmatic rather than romantic eye. That could impale me if I had a seizure. If I needed IV meds, wearing gloves and/or bracelets would impede access to my veins. Those EMTs cannot lose any time! Why was I still thinking about medical stuff? I settled on a fabric flower circlet with pearls in the center of each flower. It matched the details on my dress.

I made my way towards my neurologist's after wiping my tears. Dr. Chen has a talent for having high spirits and a light heart, even in the most trying circumstances. However, she has a mind as sharp and quick as an enchanted diamond sword. She stood before me with her usual smile and gliding gait and asked me a question that was simple enough.
          "How are you?" I wanted to say I was doing well, but that couldn't be further from the truth. I gave my usual response hoping to move on from this as quickly as possible. "Well, I have some good news, some neutral news, some bad news. I'll give you the good news first." I needed a ray of hope and Dr. Chen knew how to find them. It was her specialty.
          "What is it?"
          "Your meds seem to be doing their job, so there's no need for adjusting dosages or adding anything. Everything looks stable at this point. Oh, and one of my other patients wants your autograph." I signed a notebook with a little note that read: "I hope you find happiness." She took it and stored it somewhere. "Now, for the neutral news. You're due for another EEG in about two weeks." I didn't really like being deprived of sleep, but what must be done must be done. These tests were just a nuisance to me, nothing more.
          "And now for the bad news?" I braced myself for this the best I could. I found my fingers tapping out a scale on my lap.
          "Your epilepsy isn't the result of your brain injury. It's genetic." She pulled up a monitor and showed me my DNA. "This is the mutation that's causing it, the SCN8A mutation. The gene controls sodium channels." She proceeded to lecture on the function of said gene in some technical language I'm pretty sure only doctors can understand. "And it can pass onto your children should you have any. You should tell Steve about it."

I don't remember anything after that except for feeling nauseous and like the world was swirling around me. I couldn't breathe or do much of anything in that moment but flail helplessly in a sea of anxiety. Somehow, I had lost nothing in that moment, but experienced the most grief I ever had. How did this day know how to prey on my heart's deepest desires? I didn't remember anything after that because I was probably unconscious.

When I came out of that state, I couldn't recognize anything as familiar. Where in the world was I? I had no energy to fight, though. I heard someone tell me to go to sleep, an order I gladly obliged to. This person sat on the edge of the bed and let me sleep. I had no idea why everything was so bright and cold, but, being too tired to care, I let sleep wash away the cares.

The End spread out before me as it had before, its chilly air and sparse landscape peppered with void holes. Instinctively, I felt for my cane. I had no such device. Daring to venture out further, I looked around at memorable spots such as the obsidian chip Alisha used to slice off the tattoo-like birthmark every sister of ours has. It looks like a black and purple rose with a leaf on the right side and it appears on the base of the neck. The mark is about two pixels long. It started to reappear on my skin, but it retained the jagged edge from her crude incision.

I saw the spires the Ender Dragon once flew around, glad that Steve had slayed that awful thing. Oh, Steve. Could I be better to you...or at least not useless? I heard faint chords playing in the distance more akin to resultant tones. There, I saw a hooded figure. Just as it showed its face, I slowly opened my eyes and regained my memory. This was the neurology office, judging by the "I Love Brains" poster hanging on the wall.
         "Are you ready?" A voice came. It seemed vaguely familiar. "It's Landon LaCoste."
         "Yes." We exited together. Where was Steve? As if to answer my internal question, Landon told me he was working with some middle school students on embouchure after their director basically abandoned them. Yep. Classic Steve that is, always stepping in and saving people from stuff whether it's dragons or fracking high notes.

I am never getting enough of that guy.

What They Thought (Steve)

Apologies in advance for 

Apparently, the press was eating up my time in the psych ward. I was bombarded with questions I longed to answer, but couldn't. I missed the heat of the sun, the chill of a mineshaft's air, and the weight of a sword in my hand. I didn't like the tacky feeling in my mouth (antidepressant side effects), but at least I could soar with the music! It's honestly a small price to pay. The coming school year would be a good one. I was especially looking forward to meeting Kaito.

We were getting the instruments set up for trying. I had a large bottle of sanitation spray handy. The reeds were nice and soaked. Cane gathering is rather fun in Minecraft. The Minecraft Symphony Orchestra uses a variety of reed materials. Whether to start beginners on spruce or sugar cane is a popular debate. Sugar cane does not leave residue if it is treated properly by squeezing out the juice, soaking it, and re-drying it. Pieces that are too sweet can be eaten or made into sugar. Caitlin bakes cookies with this sugar. They are far superior to the village bakery's cookies and, thus, more effective in motivating students (and me).

Speaking of Caitlin, I found her with at least fifty self-inflicted cuts on each arm yesterday. They were rather deep too as there was blood dripping on the floor. The sight made me sick with worry, but it is a sight I knew all the same called the "rescue wife phenomenon" (which can also apply to husbands, but it mainly happens to females because of tradition and whatnot). I "researched" (read: asked around meeting interesting people) this hoping to better understand Caitlin's perspective. The phenomenon is incidents of depression in these so-called "rescue spouses" due to feeling useless. It occurs mostly in quiet, altruistic, and sensitive types who have been abused for long periods of time.

I opened the bento box she packed for me. It was diamond blue with a creeper on the lid. Thinly sliced strips of teriyaki chicken and an assortment of vegetables were in one box. Apple wedges with tiny sword skewers were in another; they were likely a hint to not get my fingers sticky. They were juicy, sweet and crisp with a hint of lemon juice. I rummaged around for a fork in the box and, instead, I found chopsticks. Really? You have got to be kidding me. I ended up stabbing the chicken with a chopstick to eat it. Setting up an instrument booth is harder work than it sounds like it is. The sales associates were given a primer on what to expect. I just let the students try the instruments for themselves to see what works best. I don't pressure them into picking things they don't want to play because study without desire, especially of an instrument, makes it not worth doing at all.

Since the students wouldn't arrive for another 500 ticks, I decided to check my Twitter. I had so many follower notifications alone that the notification box wouldn't display the number. Surprisingly, none of them looked like spam bots. Mental Health in Minecraft mentioned me in one of their posts about  how pressure to "be the hero" can damage one's psyche. They linked to the article. Mark (@OnYourMark) sent me some weird memes and then said "Help my friend (@SteveDoesTrumpet) come back!" Caitlin's Twitter was filled with psychology and music-related stuff as usual. Some of it was in French, so I couldn't understand it. She posted a quote and tagged me a day ago. ("You can cry and still be a hero.")

A multitude of people gave me death threats because Alice found me. They said I was "selfish" for "letting" my seventh grader (at the time) find me. Well, since I was unconscious, I couldn't control who found me. In fact, I didn't think anyone would have found me in time. Alice should have a crack at the camera for her heroism. All I did was kill a dragon. She saved my life by doing the right thing when no one else had the guts to do it. So many people are true heroes in their own right; why is everyone wasting their time on me? Not wanting to dwell on the matter, I turned my attention to another thing that grabbed my attention.

There was a rather long discourse on Caitlin's personality; a disability representation blogger said she was "too humble" and asked "Why isn't she the hero herself?" Several people followed in assent with things like "She perpetuates the "disability angel" stereotype". Others said her humility was a symptom of depression. That was only marginally true. Even in her happiest states, she still blushed at a compliment and preferred the shadow of the background over the glare of the spotlight. Caitlin is one of those people who is more comfortable playing second trumpet than first. Landon (@LandonLakesButter) told them "Stop. Let her be who she is. It's hypocrisy to tell other people how to act when you are unwilling to conform yourselves. #why". That tweet was enough to make me pause. How did Caitlin turn her former tormentor into another ally? She seemed to have a talent for that. Alisha (@TheRealAlisha) chimed in with "You will never find anyone as trusting or as kind. Hang in there, sister. @ClarinetteCaitlin".

I said, with the help of a predictor app that "learns my language", so to speak the following:

"Humility is a virtue I deeply respect. If you don't like it, that's not Caitlin's problem. It's yours."

After that, I proceeded to get every student outfitted with their instrument. With most, I had a keen sense of who would play what; some others I had no idea about.

(A/N: Do I get bonus points for the Hamilton reference?)

Proving Them Wrong (Caitlin)

Aside from Mark using my valve oil without permission and using my clarinet cork grease as lip balm, I'd say it was a pretty good rehearsal. We got through sightreading Tokyo Teddy Bear without crashing and burning. I packed up my horn and headed towards to the Minecraft Symphony Orchestra concert. We were playing some contemporary pieces that composers likely invent as musical torture devices for said concert. My altissimo register is not my strength--and those pieces required lots of it.

So, I guess it's off to abuse my new reed. I changed it out before taking off because it mysteriously broke in my case. I didn't really like the way the new one felt on my lips, but I had to deal with it all the same. A few minor adjustments to my embouchure should make everything work. Such is the life of a performer, always changing things on the fly, finding out what works and what doesn't.
           "Hey, where's Steve?"
           "He needs an early night."
           "Knowing Steve, he'll probably be running naked and directionless through the woods screaming like a banshee and not sleeping." I tried not to laugh because my inhaler was running low. Leave it to Mark to come up with the most ridiculous things! Yes, Steve did frequently run through the woods directionless. He did so, however, fully clothed and not screaming unless necessary. He did not seem to have any desire to do that, though. After changing clothes in a nearby restaurant, we continued while attracting many stares.

We stopped in the room, taking out our instruments and parting to our different sections. I, however, felt this odd buzzing sensation in my head, like someone was incessantly texting my brain on vibrate. As annoying as it was, I kept on playing my scales. Eventually, after scales, I stopped to tell Sylvia about my predicament.
           "You should listen to your body. Don't play if you feel like you can't."
           "It's fine. My head just feels like a vibrating cell phone. I'll get used to it." After running through our music, I started smelling something odd in the air. It's probably creepers off in the distance or witch circles brewing poison.

The next thing I knew, I was on the ground and my vision was slowly coming into focus. Who were these people? Why was I on the ground? After rubbing my eyes, I could see clearly again. Oh. I popped back into my seat and continued the rest of the piece.
            "I don't think you should play. You just...." Had a seizure, I know. It happens, but I won't let a silly thing like that impede my playing.
            "It's fine. It's happened before." But I didn't want it to happen onstage. The last thing I wanted was to ruin the performance for everyone by faceplanting into a music stand. A sick feeling crept up on me; I put down my water and inhaled sharply. Maybe I shouldn't play. "You know, you're right. I don't feel well."

Well, it wasn't my misfiring brain that was making me sick. I didn't eat anything besides half a piece of bread today. I was still scoping out venues. One was absolutely beautiful, but the terrain would make me fall on my face. Another was an open field. That meant I had nowhere to hide from the noise. The lack of bathrooms was an issue as well. Here I am planning for what should be the happiest day of my life and I can't even pick a setting.

Rumor had spread that Steve ran off to some random bakeries to order various cakes to assemble on site. That could be disastrous for a myriad of reasons. For one, they could all crumble or not match. At least he was supporting small businesses with this course of action. Steve, so thoughtful, so kind. How could he have been attracted to me in the first place? Thinking of all the times he rescued me from various situations, I looked back at my own actions. I've been nothing but a burden on his shoulders and, now that he truly needed me, I didn't face his dragon the way he faced mine. Instead, I was a coward, hiding from it instead of fighting.

A news broadcast earlier that day featured interviews with my students. Nathan called me "the most understanding and compassionate teacher a student can have." He was probably saying that to improve my image. Alice's mother told me that I gave my students false hope. Alice got into the Minecraft Youth Orchestra symphonic band. I gave her tips on how to practice and she used them. She played Hitorinbo Envy for the recital, a song I thought fit her.

Alex sang 2.75 and Pon Pon Pon. She wrote the English lyrics herself by looking at the subtitles. The two sides of her personality showed through her songs. Alex loves to have fun, but not as much as she loves the spotlight. She pursues it with a tenacity most people don't think her to have and conducts herself with an assured confidence that even the Mindcrack High School Choir lacked. The people who smile without question are often looked down upon as unintelligent, which Alex has disproved on a regular basis through her ability to perform.

Nathan played a classical horn piece, something slow and lyrical as opposed to Carmen who gravitated towards fast and technical pieces. It's her first year and Carmen already knows how to double tongue and play almost all of her major scales. Nathan speaks logically, yet he does not do so to coerce or intimidate others. He clarifies, condenses, and comforts with his sound mind. It is frequently that Nathan acts as a mediator and a teacher when I step out of the room. As easy as it is to forget people like him, that should not be done.

Carmen, on the other hand, is vigorous and persistent. On one occasion, I have hinted that she would not be able to learn a certain piece in time for the recital. In turn, she proved me wrong and it ended up being the better of her two individual songs. I saw an article titled "Eight Year Old Clarinetist Reaches New Musical Heights Despite Visual Impairment" regarding Carmen. People like her attract attention from the press. Despite this, however, Carmen never loses sight of her true talent and is always on the lookout for more challenges to tackle.

I packed my clarinet away and headed home. When I got home, Steve woke up. Feeling guilty about disturbing his sleep, I slipped into a nightgown and laid my head on a pillow. In response, he took me in close and held me tightly. I got the feeling that he knew I wouldn't sleep well tonight. The gesture brought tears to my eyes. Gently wiping them away, he wrapped me in the blankets and continued to hold me.

My sisters, especially Alisha, mocked me for believing in true love. "Rescue yourself because no one will," she often said. " I was told that I could never be liked, let alone loved.  I planted the crane in Steve's hand and he returned to me better than the man he was before. I almost reached over for a sword to leave marks in my flesh, but I decided against it. I turned in towards my lover and fell asleep knowing that I had proven a myriad of people wrong.

Defending Men (Jordan)

This fic contains rape/non-con. Proceed with caution and an open mind.

Let's go back about 11 years or so. I was 15 years old at the time; my 16th birthday would follow soon after. Felicia, a friend at the time, looked revolted at the sight of Alex. I told her I didn't want to do anything too serious, but she kept pushing it. She told me I was a horrible boyfriend even though I told her I had no intentions of wanting a romantic relationship. The whole thing started off harmlessly enough. We went to dinners dressed in fancy clothing, ate chocolate, and exchanged a few kisses that never gratified me. However, it made her happy, so I continued. Things never really escalated from that point. Felicia was still the straight A student from a conservative family. I was still the edgy "bad boy" who didn't really care for the academic.

That all changed when I told Felicia how I really felt. Felicia led me into an empty restroom. She aggressively ripped--and I do mean ripped--my clothes off. This newfound aggressiveness stunned me to the point I couldn't react. After chasing me (for a while because I did track), she cornered me and started kicking me. As soon as I gained my bearings, I tried to fight back. However, the ballet she did made her agile and strong to the point I didn't stand a chance. The rest of the events were a blur (maybe because I was probably about to lose consciousness), but I do remember her accusing me of taking advantage of her when it was the other way around.

The rest of the year was rough for me. I had to be homeschooled because of what happened in that restroom. My "bad boy" persona made the whole thing more believable, but that's not really who I was. I had ten other siblings and I was the seventh child. My family had enough to eat and that's because I got the least. I was unable to do heavy physical labor, but I wasn't exactly weak either. My dream was to run track in high school, but that dream was quickly ended because my legs felt like they were in splints when I ran. My left hand does the same thing. My parents often told me "Jordan, if you weren't born so early, you would have been a fine specimen of a young man." It would have been fine if I had a sign that I wasn't a joke. They refused to admit that my problem even exists because they kept saying "You can do anything as long as you set your mind to it." I suppose they meant well, but it stung all the same. I could never get a mile time under 600 ticks or squat any kind of weight. Most of the time, I went home and cried in my room because I felt like a failure.

Tonight, I felt the judgment of my family and all my siblings (Anne, Kamber, Derek, Carson, George, Spencer, Marlee, Brice [a girl], Elliot, and Gerad in that order). Anne took Zinnia and Marlee to the other side of the table. We live in a small town, but not too small, so word of incidents like these spreads like wildfire.

          "I was the one who was taken advantage of, not Fel." I tried to defend my position. "She ripped off my clothes."

          "But a male can't do that to a female," Kamber chimed in. "It's impossible."

          "How do you know? Were you in a similar situation?" 

          "Well, I just know. My intuition tells me."

          "A girl did that to you? Wow, Jordan. You achieved a whole new level of weakness." My mother said this jokingly. An onslaught of similar comments in both French and English followed from nearly everyone else except for Marlee, Brice, Elliot, and Gerad. The latter two were too young to understand what had gone on while the former two actually believed me. Anne, however, shushed them. 

          "You know what? You guys will never understand or even try." Feeling tears about to burst through the wall I had worked to hard to build, I ran into my room ashamed that I really was so weak. Be a man, they said. But what does that mean? I am sick of being dismissed and told that I am wrong. Crying in frustration, I threw a pillow and punched it until I collapsed exhausted and in tears. I didn't bother with pushing myself to finish what little I ate.

The next day, I was taken to court. The building's tall ceiling supported by quartz pillars had a draft that I believe was specifically made to freeze the truth out of you. Fel was obviously dressed for the occasion in a black, tight-fitting blazer, round-collared blouse, and pleated midi skirt. Shooting daggers from her eyes, she did not see Jordan. She saw what I was accused of. I gave a cool nod in return and smirked although my soul burned with humiliation. When my attorney attested on my behalf, he demanded to see security footage. However, since there was none, I had to complete 200 hours of community service for a crime I never committed in the first place. There were no witnesses aside from someone who heard the incident from outside the door who said that the screams sounded like they were from a girl. Well, thank you. I sometimes sang alto in choir due to the lack of actual altos.

200 total hours of picking up trash, weeding wheat fields, moving furniture, etc. later, I was free. However, I didn't feel particularly liberated. I avoided empty restrooms for the longest time after that. I started treating myself like dirt. I started mining little pieces of coal to distract myself. After even more community service (Thank you, suggestion box.), Fel told me she would abandon the baby as soon as s/he was born. Okay. I shrugged and moved on with my life, thinking both of us could be absolved of this situation until the baby was actually born. It was a girl who I thought resembled me.

I don't know what compelled me, but when I held her, I felt connected in this strange, irrational way. Babies never really interested me before, but this one did. She opened her eyes, a brilliant, steely diamond blue. Who could abandon this little thing? She slept in my arms so peacefully. Enough with "the baby". This girl needs a name. I found a book of names and began reading it.

Melissa? No. Too popular girl. 

Katherine? No. Too aggressive. Plus I was bullied by a Katherine.

Anna? No. Too common. It's too close to Anne too.

Lina? No. Just no. I don't even know why.

Margaret? No. That's my mother's name. 

Skylar? Eh... It's a step in the right direction.

Nicole? No.  

Felicia? NO NO NO NO. How did I notice that in the first place?

After looking at a thousand more names, I found "Alex." It just seemed right, like it was her name. However, it needed more. Alexandra seemed too severe while Alexa was too mediocre. Just Alex seemed...faceless. This girl needs to be known. Alexandria was perfect. I looked at the clock and realized that I spent an hour on naming Alexandria. I wanted her to have the world. But who was I to rob her of the joy of taking it for herself? 

Another court visit followed soon afterwards. It was a rather intense custody battle despite the fact that Fel didn't want Alexandria in the first place. Her parents and mine were both bent on Fel keeping Alexandria. However, I knew she would just leave that precious little human being in a ditch to slowly wither and die. I fought with all my might to keep this little girl, my little girl. I had no idea how to warm a bottle or change a diaper, but I would learn. I would do everything in my power to ensure her happiness--and I meant everything. Fel went into the biological processes of birthing a baby. No, Fel. It's more than that. You have to invest your sweat, blood, and tears into Alexandria. I cared enough to give her a name, at least. I pulled poisonous weeds from wheat farms for 10 hours straight just to give, not only myself, but my child chance. Even if I could give her nothing else, I gave her a name, an identity. 

Eventually, I won because I delivered my testimony in such a way that I won the judge's heart and because I proved that I was the victim by pointing out that Fel made that blazer out of my old jacket. Victorious, I took Alexandria from Fel's arms and walked out of the courthouse a new man, a father. A week later, it was my 16th birthday. I held her in my arms, knowing I was in it for good. I was in it for the birthday cakes, the hugs, and the utterings of "I love you, Daddy". I was in it for the graduations, school plays, enthusiastic belting of Disney songs, and sports games. Even more important, I was in it for the tears when she tripped and fell on her face, the agonizing minutes sitting in a corner, the failed tests, social issues, and, well, everything that could happen to my girl. 

And how did my experience as a teenage father go from there? Horribly. And it was not Alexandria's fault. A store clerk thought I was a kidnapper and aggressively interrogated me when I was just buying baby formula! Sheesh. Even if no one said anything, they were staring. My grades were plummeting because I was tired all the time from sleeping maybe 800 ticks a night total. No one in my family helped either, except for my dad, Jérôme, when he was home from a business trip. During that short year, I learned a lot of things such as how to console a baby while listening to my parents
drone on about biology or how to combine tummy time with studying English. I saw my baby's eyes become more green as time progressed. 

I checked the calendar. One year had passed. One year. Alex's eyes were a vibrant emerald green and she developed the most infectious laugh. That got me through the days when I was harassed for just trying my best to raise this miracle of a human being. When she was happy, I felt like I had done something right for once. Alex didn't care about my problem or that she didn't have a mother. All she wanted was another arrowroot cookie. I gladly obliged since the batch I had made was cooling. The ones at the store were hard as diamonds and tasted like stone. There was no way Alex was eating those!

Months blurred into years. Alex loved dance classes, especially tap. She would flap and slap day long if she could. The dance teacher was picky and temperamental, fussing over minutia. However, that never really bothered Alex. She just smiled and tapped on. However, no child is perfect. Alex had this tendency of  getting into things and breaking out of the house. She needs a lot of attention and affection, but gladly returns it. That sweetness goes sour if she feels ignored. I eventually gave up trying to confine her the house and just let her wander wherever until it's 18600.

Alex grew into a talented, agreeable young lady and I evolved from a scared, confused single father to someone experienced in such a thing. Right now, as she gave me a hug, I remembered everything I had done to assist her in reaching this point. She curled up next to me in a rainbow-colored pajama set and she drifted off already eager to start another day with her bright smile. It is said that the name Alexandria means "defending men" and my Alex does that. She knows how to fight for others as well as herself. I taught her how to defend others as soon as she learned how to defend herself.

I Survived (Steve)

It was time for group therapy and the reporters (Seriously, who let those guys in?) took flashing pictures of me for about the tenth time today. The nurses managed to shoo them out after a while. Everyone looked better, honestly. Andras, however, was trying to keep himself in his seat. He looked like he defeated ten creepers in one hit. After running around the room for about ten laps, he sat down eagerly and then quietly took a pill. This would be my last session. Now, it was just me, Andras, and two other new people. Andras and I had become great friends in this time. He spoke for me when I couldn't and I did the same for him. Speaking of speaking, I got my device and I'm excited to try it.

Now that I had my device, I had to learn how to use it. Unfortunately, I have to use this annoying "level system" in which I had to regurgitate stuff in order to move up a level to earn more buttons. One gets sick of only asking for water and completing nonsense tasks just to prove one's self worthy of basic communication. Forget about using complex musical terms. Some of them aren't even in the packs! How am I supposed to teach my students how to paradiddle like this?

Ugh...
 
We exchanged hugs and farewells. Even those who did not know me bombarded me with embraces. A bittersweet feeling drifted around me, bitter in that I was leaving, and sweet in that I got most of my old self back and I can finally communicate properly! The anti-anxiety medication seemed to be working, but it feels like there are weights on my legs. I missed my band's last concert and didn't even realize that my birthday had passed.

Oh, well. At least I wasn't dead, thanks to the person who saved me. I wonder what they have inside that others don't. Andras came to me and said something I will never forget.
          "Thank you." He paused and bowed. "Your Majesty." Whoa there, Andras! I looked down at myself wondering how I could even resemble a king. I mean, jeans and a T shirt don't exactly scream "regal".  The Minecraftian monarchy has long been dissolved and we basically had no government except for the police and the schools. Considering our history with the Eight Minecraftian Wars and the countless little skirmishes that broke out, reinstating the monarchy was a bad idea. Even so, I could never be any sort of political figure. The power would get to my head and I'd destroy Minecraft like all the other previous kings have.

I guess I made the news again. Unflattering photos of me were plastered all over the television screen. Seriously, I did not consent to that! No one would consent to that! Speaking of consent, I said "No" to doing this stupid "communication levels" system and they still made me do it. They told me to "state an adequate reason" for refusing their system. As if being pitied and told I wasn't worthy of what I see as a basic sapient species (I changed from 'human' because it reinforces that other species who have similar capacities to humans should not be treated as such.) wasn't a valid enough reason!

What would Caitlin think of the new me? Surely she loves my true self as much as she loved my heroic persona. There is no better feeling than when she leans on me and falls asleep. Oddly enough, I feel safer like that. It could be the effect of just weight and warmth, but a heated, weighted blanket would not have nearly the same effect. I missed the way she curled up next to me. That was a reminder that it should be me. It should be me helping her up steps that lacked handrails, calling 911 when she stopped breathing, and telling reporters that use flash photography to stop. Many people could do a better job, but it should be me. I don't know why, but I know it should be me.

Caitlin came in through the door. The increased spread in her gait told me she was tired from walking the long distance to the hospital. I took in the familiar flush on her End stone skin, the way she pulled her black waist-length hair into an utterly baffling side braid, and her eyes. She had eyes that, at the same, conveyed complete innocence, yet held knowledge of all the world's hardships. We embraced right then and there in the hallway and left.

The scent of the outside air and the heat of the sun welcomed me with open arms. I swear orchestral swells were going in my head at that moment. I've played some of those. I felt Caitlin's hand squeeze mine. She smiled up at me reassuringly. The utter joy she had just in seeing me was enough to make me think: Why did I even try to die in the first place?

She told me about how Alice found me in my office unconscious and slumped over my desk (How did I not fall off?). So it was Alice. I thought it was Caitlin, but no. It was Alice. Had I attempted the day before, I probably would have been dead. I wondered how other seventh graders would have reacted in similar situations. They would probably scream or panic. Alice, however, is clearly more developed in character than even some of the teachers. She did what she had to do. I worried, however, about the effect this would have on her. Alice has a steel trap for a brain with regard to specific events of her life. Add her tendency towards analysis of these events and those events will come back to haunt her for the rest of her life.

What baffles me is that Alice's mother uses her chronic pain as an excuse to justify emotionally abusing Alice. Alice confessed this to me on a particularly bad day. She worried that I would back her mother up. I saw no reason to. My father developed chronic pain and, even when it was unbearable, he still made some effort to display some iota of compassion. It bothered me that I could never ease it, but his life was a reminder to me to be kind to others, even in my worst moments.

Caitlin needed to sit down. Though I was not tired myself, I sat with her. The labored breathing that followed worried me. Her hands were shaking, definitely too much to use an inhaler properly. Overall, she looked racked with anxiety. She shifted and looked up at me as if to ask me for a hug. Gladly, I obliged. She got to a point where she could use it properly. After that, she got up and we continued. Even if I could never get the old Steve back, I could find pieces of him and use them when it is convenient.

Alex ran up and greeted me. Despite her endless energy, she had a calming effect on others that I couldn't really place. I missed that. She had three others by her side. Alice I knew because she was in band. A boy on forearm crutches wearing shorts, a rather nondescript T shirt, and a cat backpack approached me with a dopey smile. He looked familiar, like I've seen him before. He re-introduced himself as Nathan Takeda. Now, I recognized him! I subbed for his band. The director has a reputation for driving her students into depression with her quixotic standards. Nathan, however, seems to be immune to those effects.

A dark-skinned girl who couldn't have been more than eight greeted me. I could see the fire in her eyes. Carmen Proctor, she was. Judging by the case, which looked comically large at her side, she played clarinet.
          "Are you coming to the recital? Come on!" The rest of us tried to keep up with her. I started missing my old self less and less.