Teaching

Navigating the Industry: A Teacher’s Perspective

In high school I remember smart mouth kids saying “If you can’t do, teach.”

 For some reason, they were taking digs at my English teacher that day. She was a young woman, twenty something and was still in her first three years of teaching. A woman who spent her college career with the goal of educating these smart mouth brats. I wish I could smack all of them. But thankfully, they were quiet during class. 

Now as I am teaching, How to Break into the Film Industry, I wonder how many students have that thought running through their mind. I know all the steps they need to follow. I know how hard the journey is they must take if they want to be successful. But why didn’t I do it?

First, no one showed me. 

I didn’t get an 85 page slide show presentation breaking everything down. The internet was in its infancy; the trades were only available in magazines and I didn’t even know that was a thing. Living in South Florida might as well have been another world compared to California. The internet was in its infancy and trying to navigate it to find websites and information was basically spy work. 

No wonder why millennials can search out a human who thinks they have no online footprint with ease.

  • But I digress. 

In that 85 page slide show I have links that direct students where to find casting class, production jobs, and locations to submit scripts. Those didn’t even exist really until a decade ago.

Secondly, I chose a school that was more about film theory than the physical creation of movies. That’s my fault 110%. FAU is ten minutes from the beach. I didn’t take college seriously. I just wanted to be done with my four years and I allowed other people to distract me. I worried about dating, partying, and traveling. I would never regret traveling the world. That is something I would still want to do. But partying and dating those were a waste of time. A waste of my location. 

Living in South Florida gave me an opportunity others didn’t have. I was close to the Miami Heat, Dolphins, Marlins, and the Panthers. Games were held nearly every day. I could have started doing grunt work and found my way into directing live sports events. At least I would have been on my path rather than waiting for an opportunity to come to me. It’s easy to look back twenty years later and think about how I should have sought them out while I was in school instead of heading to Ft. Lauderdale for other fun reason. 

Maybe that’s why I have put so much work into explaining to my students how to follow their dream. I need a big sign that says DON’T GET DISTRACTED.  

At one point, after a bunch of personal shit went down, I made it out to California. I met with kids going to Film school and talked to them. I learned they were in their third year and just starting film theory classes that I had already covered in my freshmen year. So there was a give and take. It’s also where I discovered I hated LA. It was like a far dirtier Miami. After a month meeting people with the same passion as I had, I learned I didn’t have the passion to sell my soul to the Gold Coast. I was east coast through and through. 

Being out there also taught me I loved writing; however, I enjoyed working in news. I missed the world of live theater and broadcast news blended my passions into one. 

I had to make the best of my degree: Communications and New Media. 

Filling my classes with subjects I was passionate about because I knew I wasn’t giving up my life to make movies. I wasn’t gypsy enough to worry about living job to job, moving my life around. If I wanted to do that, I would have joined the Air Force, and at least with that job, I wouldn’t have had to worry about a paycheck. 

With my students, I sit down with them, breaking down each college they are looking at, showing them what classes are offered. Do those classes meet their passion? Because recruiters talk a big game. They make their school look like the best no matter what. Thorough analysis into that is what it takes for a student to discover if the school is truly offering the subjects they want to learn.  

But what does this all have to do with the saying “If you can’t do, teach.” 

Well, I could do it. I did do it. And I learned I didn’t want to. Making films in school was more fun than 12 hour set days worried about if we went over budget and would get dropped. There was no fear of living paycheck to paycheck and hunting for the next job. And after working in broadcast for so many years, I was tired and ready for something fun. 

So maybe the saying is true for some teachers, but those ones don’t last. We can do it. We just don’t want to anymore. 

P.S. 30 days left of work until I get two months off…. Bliss! 

Mommy Blogs

Navigating the Gray

Once Upon a Time there was a little girl and she believed in magic and fairy tales. 

She saw the good in everyone, even when they didn’t deserve it. 

She was fierce and brave. But she lived in the cloud not here on earth. 

But the clouds aren’t reality. 

The real world is a scary place. One where rules had to be followed. No room for floating in the clouds. The monsters and dragons the little girls had fought in her imagination were really people. She didn’t know how to exist in the real world; everything was black and white, no room for color.

Only there was color if she knew where to look. 

It might not be the bright, sparkly colors of the clouds she lived in, but it was there. 

The little girl’s mother told her if she learned how to blend the black and white, the gray would release the magic into her world.

Learning how to release the magic of reality has never come easily to anyone. 

Many break before they discover how to navigate this magic. 

All her mother could hope is that her little girl discovered how to play with magic of reality before its darkness swallowed her whole. 

Teaching

A Critical Perspective: Why Teaching Isn’t Customer Service.

What’s something most people don’t understand?

Calling teaching customer service is insulting.

Now you’re probably wondering who in their right mind would put teaching and customer service in the same basket. That answer would be the Palm Beach County school board. Last year we were required to complete a training called catch the wave. I nearly fell out of my chair when they referred to our students as customers. Students are not customers in any sort of the word. I would know I spent my teens and twenties working as a CSR.

At 16 I landed my first job at Pacific Sunwear. As a mallrat, I basically lived in that store. So much so that the managers knew me by name and the week I turned 16, they handed me a resume. My interview was sitting down with my boss and him explaining how schedules worked and if I needed to take off for school how I would do that. He already knew I knew the product and the store’s history. As I worked there, I learned how to create full outfits from top to bottom. That encompassed selecting tops, bottoms, socks, and underwear for girls; shoes completed the outfit. We were always thinking about how we could up-sell each customer. I learned how store design uses color to draw customers in and lead them through the store. 

Working retail is about selling products to your customers. It’s about convincing them to spend more than they intended. Each store has a daily goal to be met, and they wanted you to do it any way possible. 

When I moved to the register, I needed to learn about our more expensive products. We had carried Spy and Arnette sunglasses. I needed to know why and how to convince the customer that they should buy the 100 dollar polarized glasses over the 15 dollar glasses that were on the tree next to the line. It was the same with the fossil watches we had in the locked case. The last thing that I had to know was the ins and outs of the story credit card. We got bonus points and other things for how many people we signed up for that day. 

It wasn’t hard to learn what type of customer came through the door. Teens just browsing, we watched to make sure they didn’t shoplift. If it was back to school and moms were with their kids, we always added in an extra shirt or pair of pants that completed the outfit. When people were looking at shoes, we made sure the customer knew we had socks nearby and most people would scoop up a set before heading to checkout. But as sales associates, we didn’t care about the customer outside of what length pants they need. Did they need a size up or down on the top they brought in? Most importantly, when the customer left the dressing room, were the same numbers of items being returned to the employee. 

For two years, I worked at the same store. Other mall rats filtered in as employees and soon I learned about different customers. But it wasn’t them as humans that I remembered, but how much money they spent. Those who I knew would drop a few hundred to thousands of dollars were the ones we gave our attention to. 

When I moved to Boca and switched from Pac Sun to Gap Body, I learned that is how Gap functions. They break customers into categories. The sales shopper, the bargain shopper, the trendsetter, and the one who will return clothing. I’m probably remember the names wrong but it’s the same idea. Transitioning from a store’s fair treatment of all customers to a focus on maximizing spending from specific individuals felt wrong. Yes, we were to greet everyone who came in, but it wasn’t expected to go past that. I was to make sure the tables were stocked and only engage with those who looked as if they were going to spend lots of money. I didn’t like this kind of treatment towards any customer. My thought process was if someone was spending money, no matter the amount, they deserved respect. 

One of the strangest encounters was a woman who brought back three massive bags of clothes. She wanted to return it all. It was obvious the clothes had been worn at least once. But she kept the tags on them all. She even had the receipt. The clothes were bought the season before. At my old store, we wouldn’t even entertain the idea of returning clothes from that long ago. But at Gap, not only did they take back the items, they gave her full price on clothes that were marked down to nearly a dollar. I stared at my manager, dumbfounded. About a week later, she was back to buying hundreds of dollars’ worth of clothes. The manager looked at me and said, “this is why we let her do what she wants. Whenever she comes in we make our daily sales goal.”

I quit not too long after that. 

The next store I worked at was Godiva. My waistline hated me for it, but my stomach loved every minute of working in a chocolate store. Godiva had one mission: up-selling. If someone came in for one chocolate, encourage two. If they were buying a gift, ask them if they wanted a ribbon. Always push the customer to add onto their purchase. Holidays were the easiest to add to orders. Showing how cute a small box looked with a bigger one. Asking the customer if they wanted a chocolate drink to give them energy to last the rest of the day shopping. Sell, sell, sell. Don’t care who they are as long as they buy chocolate. 

The last store I worked in was Hollister. I loved it. I worked in stock. I had one job: to keep the tables stocked and clean. I didn’t have to talk to anyone. That was left up to the “models who serve.” The title model allows Hollisters and other stores and restaurants to hire those who fit their company “look”. But I wasn’t considered customer service. I was supposed to be invisible. So if a customer stopped me, I was supposed to ignore them or direct them to a model. It didn’t matter if I had the answer or not. It wasn’t my job. 

I stayed at this job for a while longer before landing one at a private airport. 

Working at Avitat Boca Raton was a whole other level of customer service. Here I was no longer selling things to our customers. The customers had already purchased hanger or ramp space for their private jets. My job was to take care of these people in the best way possible, and if I did my job right I would walk away with cash money. Tips to be shared with whoever else was on shift that day. 

When planes were being pulled out of the hangar I was checking the list the crew had left. Catering, ice, newspapers, and fresh coffee all needed to be in the plane before their passengers arrived. Sometimes I was delivering fresh linens to the flight attendants and they would hand me a box of dirty dishes. If there was time, I would run them through the industrial dishwasher. If there wasn’t enough time, I had to scrub and return the sparkling dishware. 

When planes arrived, I had to literally lay out the carpet so they wouldn’t walk on the ground tracking dirt into their planes or cars. If it was raining, I was the one holding their umbrella escorting them to their plane, hopefully helping them stay dry. 

The absolute best part was driving the cars. The clients would drive right up to their plane and I would get the chance to park Aston Martins, Bentleys, Ferraris, and Lamborghinis. Being behind the wheel of those vehicles was amazing. But I was also responsible for bringing them up to the planes, making sure they were clean and ready to go. 

At the airport, it was important to learn who each customer was. We needed to know their likes and dislikes. Would the food ordered have things on the tray to upset them? Did they like the New York Times over the Post? All of this mattered because if we upset them, at best we wouldn’t get a tip, at worst they would leave and head to a different airport. 

Now, even though each one of these customer service jobs dealt with different economic classes, they all had one thing in common. If you treated a customer service representative, aka the employee, like garbage, you were removed. I have seen millionaires losing their damn mind about something that happened and the managers had them removed from the lobby and handled elsewhere. Some lost their ability to park their jet on the ramp because they were so disrespectful. I lost count at how many times working in retail that security removed customers who were screaming about something we had no control over. In customer service jobs, the employee is protected one way or the other. 

In teaching, we are not, and that is not the only thing that differs between teaching and customer service. 

Most importantly, I am not selling anything. The kids are there to learn. I am not worried about whether or not they buy a shirt. I am there to present a lesson and everyone, no matter what skill level is expected to learn it. That means if they don’t like it, oh well, that is the task of the day. If my students have a 504 or IEP, yes, I will take that into consideration and alter their assignment, but they will still learn what everyone else is learning. 

I don’t know why or how, but in some strange multi-universe that is now ours, I am expected to entertain the idea of students just not doing their work. I have given them chance after chance to turn in late assignments. And when I do this, these kids are up my butt demanding that I update their grade that they turned in weeks late. There is no respect for my time, it’s only me-me-me from the students. 

A bored student may be the most terrifying kind of student. They become rude and disruptive. If customers acted like some of my students, they’d be removed from the store/airport by the police for disturbing the peace. The disrespect that teachers put up with is unnerving. In a store, I can just walk away from someone being rude to me. In a classroom, I have to figure out how to defuse a situation. Or worse, I have to entertain their behavior problems until someone comes and removes the student. But I have lost count of how many times admin doesn’t come. 

Students go to school to absorb what is being taught to them. That is why they pick their classes. It’s not like the mall where they just wander about looking at what they like or dislike. I am not there to show off flashy new things to encourage them to spend more money. And I am most certainly not there to answer to their every whim and request. 

So Palm Beach County School board. I hope you understand the difference between a teacher and a CSR. Because if you actually did, you all would be supporting us in ways that might blow your mind. Because right now, you don’t do shit in ways of supporting your teachers from the “customers.” 

P.S. I just touched on retail…. don’t even get my started on other types of customer service.

Teaching

The Impact of AI on Modern Education

How has technology changed your job?

Skynet, A.I., definitely not Skynet, the self-aware artificial intelligence network that perceives humans as a threat to its existence, thus starting a nuclear war and turning all robots against humanity. Even if a billionaire genius jokingly decided to name their AI Skynet, my students miss the foreshadowing of our impending doom, so long as they have weaseled their way out of homework. 

I have a love hate relationship with artificial intelligence. I grew up watching The Matrix, Space Odyssey, I Robot, and Terminator, none of which were a good thing for humanity. However, movies like Chappie and Wall-E pulled on my heart strings for those robots. And just like my mixed emotions about A.I. in the fictional world, I have the same for those in our world. 

At the start of the school year, teachers were told that we had to integrate Khanmigo into their daily use. As I sat in the factual meeting, I wondered who in the county was getting their palm greased by Khan Academy. It was dumbfounding how hard the district was pushing artificial intelligence to replace teachers’ lesson plans and student interaction. One of the biggest reasons they wanted teachers to use this program is they could track how often students were using it and what lessons were being used. I skirted this request because I wasn’t a core subject and the district had deemed us unimportant. The only lesson offered covered TV production, Pixar’s story structure, or something like that. But it wasn’t even directed for TV, it was meant to be used in English classes. 

Students have moved past using the limited Khanmigo and straight to ChatGPT or DeepSeek. I can’t fault them for asking for help from certain subjects. When they are doing math homework and are stuck on a problem, they ask ChatGPT to break down how to solve it. There is no difference from asking a teacher, who would be on their off hours when students are completing their homework. But the issue is most don’t just use the software when they are stuck. I have seen many who just input each problem and write the answer. Now we are back to the idea of students just regurgitating and no longer learning. In a single year, ChatGPT has single handedly circumvented years of teaching students weird multi-step processes of completing math work. 

While I have used ChatGPT to help me create lesson plans when I am stuck on how to create a new and fun, interesting way to present a subject, I have found my students doing the same for their script writing. I don’t fully hate the idea of them getting ideas, it would be the same as grabbing a card from Storymatic or prompts dice. I know not everyone is a storyteller and needs assistance. But it’s sad how quickly ChatGPT regurgitates the same storyline. My students don’t know this but I do, especially after reading four of the same script. Some students get creative and will put the script in proper format and change some character names, along with dialogue. But there are others who don’t. It’s just lazy. Part of their grade is writing in the correct format. If they just did that they would get more points. 

Outside of ChatGPT, adobe has integrated artificial intelligence into its software. Students have found it helpful creating voice overs when they have forgotten to record one and their projects are due. Others have used it to clean up their audio when they have poorly recorded their sound. Again, I don’t hate it. However, this is allowing them to be lazy. Instead of ensuring they have filmed everything they need for a project, they now shrug it off. That is the correct use of “I’ll fix it in post.” I need my students to follow their shot list. I also need them to learn how to film audio correctly. Because when they use the artificial intelligence to clean up their sound, it sounds off. Either the audio becomes thin or there is just an unnatural sound to it. 

Artificial Intelligence could be so helpful for students. It can guide them in ways that sometimes I can’t because it’s a room of 30 kids and I am just one person. However, I am finding that not to be the case. This is the generation that just uses technology without understanding how or why they use it, and AI is the same. Instead of sparking creativity and exploration, the kids are fine with allowing the machine to do all the work for them. So when Skynet, ChatGPT, finally takes over the world, my students will welcome their new overlord because the robots will do all the thinking for them. 

Lent, Writing

Teaching is a work of heart: How One Teacher Transformed My Professional Journey.

Who was your most influential teacher? Why?

This is the easiest answer. For the last twenty years, Earle Wright has quietly shaped the broadcast and production professional world. Our TV club’s Google Classroom claims we’re here for world domination, and with so many Wright grads in the workforce, it seems as if he’s succeeded in that mission.

Instead of writing something new, I’ll just share the letter of recommendation I wrote for my mentor and now colleague, Earle Wright.

I have had the privilege of knowing Earle since my time as a student at Dwyer High School from 2001 to 2005, where he first served as my TV production teacher. Throughout my career, Earle has been an invaluable mentor, shaping not only my career path into broadcasting but also inspiring my journey into teaching.

Earle has dedicated his career to shaping the future of broadcast journalism. Since joining Seminole Ridge High School in 2005, he has transformed the TV Production Academy into one of the most respected programs in the state. His commitment to excellence is unparalleled, and he holds all his students to a professional standard that often exceeds what I’ve encountered in my decade of professional experience. It’s not uncommon for his students’ work to rival that of college graduates, setting them apart in the competitive field of broadcast journalism.

I’ve seen firsthand the impact Wright’s teaching has had on countless students. When I worked at CBS 12, I knew that if a resume came across the News Director’s desk with “Seminole Ridge High School” on it, it would be moved to the top of the pile. The caliber of students coming from his program is unmatched, and it’s a reputation that has spread far beyond South Florida. Seminole Ridge alumni can be found in newsrooms and production studios across the country.

Wright’s influence extends far beyond his classroom. Even twenty years later, he continues to be my mentor, and I lean on his expertise and guidance to this day. Our partnership in mentoring future journalists and filmmakers has been mutually beneficial, helping me grow as a professional and educator. But his impact doesn’t stop there. Earle is the go-to person in the district for advice and support, always making himself available to help ensure that all schools in Palm Beach County have the resources they need to thrive. Whether it’s answering emails, phone calls, or texts, Wright’s dedication to helping educators and students in every corner of the district is unwavering.

While the FSPA State Teacher of the Year Award is dedicated to recognizing excellence in journalism education for one year, it is impossible to ignore the lasting impact Earle Wright has had on his students, colleagues, and the field of journalism as a whole. His contributions and mentorship go beyond a single year of recognition, and I firmly believe he deserves this honor for the profound, lasting difference he has made over the past two decades.

Short Stories

The Hollers of the Ash Mountains

Last night by an old house screams filled the overgrown fields. But no one came for help. Curfew had passed hours ago and those brave fools who dared to wander into the dark knew the risk they were taking. It would be dangerous to go after the blood-curdling cries. Not knowing if they were coming from a poor soul who was too far from safety or from a demon trying to entice folks from their homes. Those who heard the cries would wait for dawn to find out whether a loved one had lost their lives. 

Such were the ways in the Hollers of the Ash Mountains. 

But tonight, Avery ran barefoot through the neglected wheat. Her heart pounded in her ears as the hem of her long nightgown tangled in the broken stocks. Blood slicked the bottom of her bare feet, causing her to slip. 

Keep running. She thought as the dilapidated farmhouse came into view. 

They stopped demolishing abandoned buildings and homes in case some poor sucker found themselves outdoors at night. With holes in the roves and broken windows, the asylum seeker would not be protected from the elements. But being pelted with rain was the least of their concern as they fled for their lives. Once they crossed the threshold, the demons would no longer pressure their prey. 

Avery didn’t look behind her as she broke through the wheat. Only a matter of yards separated her from certain death or safety. She could do it. Push through the pain in her feet, the strain in her legs. Avery’s lungs burned with every breath she took. But none of that would compare to being shredded to death by the Dwayyo that hunted her. The Moon-Eyed people released their hounds on her as soon as the last rays of the setting sun disappeared from the horizon. 

“Be with me Lord, I am in trouble.” Avery prayed. 

Witches or aliens are what the locals called the people who lived deep in the mountains. The power that the Moon-Eyed people held over the Hollers had gone unchecked for so long that whispers said hell booted the Moon-Eyed out. Avery didn’t care what they were called, she just knew they were evil. Because what else would breed the vicious beast snarling at her back?

The protection prayer trembled out of her. “My refuge and fortress, my God, whom I trust.”

Blood slicked the crumbling steps. Avery let out a string of curses as splinters pierced the tattered souls of her feet. But luck was with her tonight. She wouldn’t have to pry open the door. Someone before her had ripped it clean off its hinges. 

“No evil shall befall me, nor shall affliction come near my tent.” Avery screamed as she threw herself over the threshold, the Dwayyo’s teeth grazed her heels. “For to his angels he has given command to you, that they guard you in all ways.”

Her breath caught as the massive lupine creature smashed into whatever magic kept the dwelling safe. Prayers for witchcraft, she did not know. She was only thankful for whatever watched over her as the force field sent the Dwayyo skidding across the porch. Avery couldn’t move as the Dwayyo threw back its head and howled. 

Moonlight illuminated the porch, giving Avery a chance to truly see what had been hunting her. Avery studied the creature safely inside the dilapidated farmhouse. The beast looked as if the Moon-Eyed crossed an Irish wolfhound with a Maned wolf and nightmares. Razor-sharp black fur covered its thick, muscular body. It paced on legs that looked too long and lean for its massive size. No wonder Avery could see it over the overgrown stocks of wheat. AS it paced, the creature never broke eye contact. Avery wished she had a watch or something to tell the time instead of counting how much saliva dripped from its maw. 

Her eyes grew heavy. Avery was tired, so tired. How she escaped the labyrinth at the bottom of the Moon-Eyed peoples’ cave, she didn’t know. Avery had been down there for weeks with little food or water and no light. If they were planning on eating her, like the legends claimed, they weren’t trying to fatten her up. Though she hadn’t seen the sun in weeks, Avery kept track of the time of day when the long bearded humanoid creatures slept. Aside from their milky white eyes, Moon-Eyed people look like the gnomes that littered so many gardens. Avery wondered if the kidnappings were punishment for the mocking garden statues. 

Humidity rose, driving away the cool night air. The Dwayyo pawed at the threshold, growling, promising it would be back. A warm, red glow broke over the horizon. Turning, the Dwayyo broke into a sprint through the wheat, towards the mountains. 

Avery wished she would have slept while the moon was still high in the night sky. However, the thought of sleep stealing precious daylight terrified her. She leaned her head back against the wall, relishing the warmth from the sun. The threadbare night gown had been useless in the mountain air. 

Brilliant reds and yellows chased away the dark blanket of the night sky. Soon the melody of summer began. Cicadas buzzed through the sweltering heat as if they were the shotgun at the beginning of a race. Miles separated her from the first town, but would she make it. She had to make it. Children trapped in the mountain, and she would not leave them to become a meal for those demonic garden gnomes.

Avery toed over the safety of the threshold. It’s now or never. Her feet burned with every step she took. If she could only get to the road. Maybe there will be someone traveling on this long forgotten highway. 

The sun beat down high overhead. A half a day had passed and not one car had sped by. Avery started to pray, hoping whoever protected her this morning would still be listening to a lost teenage girl who didn’t heed her parents’ warning.  

“Stupid girl believing a stupid boy.” She said, kicking a pile of dirt. 

The soft white dirt coasted her sweat laden skin. She felt like the sugar cookies she and her mom would make during Christmas. Tears filled Avery’s eyes. Would she ever get the chance to do that again? Would she make it out of this God-forsaken Holler and see her mom and brother again? 

Her blood boiled, and it wasn’t from the midday heat. Thoughts of Ethan crossed her mind. His fingers tangled in her hair. His lips tracing along her neck as she shivered in the cool summer breeze. And how he ran like a little bitch leaving as the Dwayyos tried to break through the shed’s thin walls. 

He left her scrambling, trying to pull her shirt back over her head as he fled to his dirt bike. Never once looking back as the maws of the Dwayyo clamped onto Avery’s arm. The last thing she remembers was Ethan speeding away into the night as she screamed for him to come back.

Pushing through the pain lacing her throughout her body, she thought, I’ll kill him. 

Buzzards flew overhead, taunting her. Avery picked up a rock and threw it at the bald sign of death. But the world spun. She would not last much longer. Avery had to find water soon or she would pass out. There was a river nearby, but that would take her closer to the mountain and away from the road. But there would be shade and perhaps food. Was it worth the risk?

One more hour. Avery thought. One more hour of being scoured to death and then she’d go swimming in the ice-cold waters of the Ash Mountains. 

The short shadows of the palm trees were the only thing that noted the passage of time. Avery’s lips cracked. The tangy taste of blood dribbled into her mouth. The world wobbled with each step. She couldn’t wait for the shadows to continue to grow. 

Avery lifted her head, peering at the endless road. Nothing but haze for miles. Sucking in a breath, she veered toward the woods. The land surrounding the Ash Mountains was strange. While the road was made of fine white sugar sand, the earth closer to mountains was rich and dense, carpeted by soft green grass. No wonder why so many risked living in the holler. 

Avery’s family lived on the outskirts of the city, where the strong U.V. light rarely worked. The rural areas were filled with people who spent most of the daylight hours working in the sunshine rather than being trapped in buildings. With the limited chance to spend time outside, many believed that it was a waste to spend their freedom indoors. 

Grass cushioned Avery’s feet. A much appreciated reprieve to the sand that ripped through her tender flesh. Avery breathed through a sigh of relief at hearing the river before finally seeing it through the thick layer of trees. Carefully, Avery approached the river, avoiding any and all mushrooms. Fairy circles trapped those who absently wandered through the forest. Being stuck in one would unleash a whole other set of problems. 

The calm river called to Avery. She dipped her hands into the water, relishing its cool touch. Bringing the water to her mouth, she drank, pushing away the hungry that stabbed at her. She drank to push away the pain the sun had left on her blistering skin. And with one more gulp, she drank away all thoughts of failure. She would make it out of here. Home to her family and where she would end Ethan Moores’ life. 

Curious minnows nibbled at her toes. Nothing swam by large enough to eat her or drag her under water. Avery wished she had the energy to catch the slick fish that swam near her legs. But how would she cook it? She didn’t have a lighter, and even if she did, Avery didn’t want to give a single clue she was in the woods. No, berries would have to hold her over until she could sink her teeth into a delicious hamburger. How many times did she pretend that the stale bread that the Moon-Eyed people fed her were french fries? That the dirt was pepper and dust was salt. She was getting out of these mountains. First she would eat, then she would kill Ethan. 

Avery eyed the bushes nearby. Partially pink and purple berries dotted those close by, but none of the berries were ripe. Even if they may be sour, it was far better than the pain twisting her stomach. Begrudgingly, Avery left the cool river. Her feet hissed at the new texture beneath them. 

Watchful of hidden fairy rings, Avery headed to the closest bush. She plucked a few berries, their juices staining her fingers, and popped them into her mouth. As she chewed, she realized she never paid attention to what she just ate. 

“Oh well. At least I’ll die with a full stomach.” She said, munching on another handful. 

Avery meandered down the path, plucking berries from bushes that littered the river’s bank. Wiping her hand across her mouth, she laughed. Red stained the back of her hand. Quickly, she ran back to the river. No one was going to pick up a hitchhiker that looked like they ate the last person who stopped to help. 

The forest fell quiet, and Avery stilled, waiting for something to attack. But no monsters leaped from the bushes, trying to devour her. Instead, there was a distant rattle from the road. Avery rushed from the river. Her wet feet slipped as she fumbled up the grassy bank, darting towards the dirt road. 

She barely made out the shape of a white truck, its tires spitting gravel, rushing toward her. She had a choice to make, stand on the side of the road and be missed, or walk into the middle. The middle, where the truck might not have enough time to stop. Maybe they would swerve out of the way. But then they could crash. Or they would crash into her. None of that mattered. She would not miss her chance. 

Steading her nerves, Avery stepped out into the middle of the road. Her arms failed over her head as the truck grew closer. 

“Stop. Stop,” she screamed. Her voice strained from lack of use. “Please stop.”

As if the driver heard her last whisper, he slammed on the brakes. Dirt kicked up all around them, sending her into a coughing fit. She was coated head to toe in the fine sugar sand. Tears rolled down her face when she heard the truck door open.

“Are you crazy?” The driver shouted at her. “I nearly killed you.”

Trembling, she said, “I need a ride.” 

The driver approached her. He towered over her, yet didn’t seem much older. He gave her a sidelong glance before shaking his head. “You look like hell.”

Avery tried to wipe the dirt from her face. “I promise hell looks worse.” 

The driver jogged to the bed of the truck. “I have a blanket. It’s not the cleanest, but it’s better than what you’re wearing.” 

Avery took the worn flannel blanket from him. Instead of wrapping it around her, she shed the nightgown. She heard the man swear as it hit the ground and she didn’t think it had anything to do with her lack of modesty. 

“We’re you supposed to be a sacrifice?” He asked.

Avery shook her head. “I trusted the wrong person.” 

Her words stopped her. “Take off your shirt.” She demanded. 

The driver looked at her, stunned.

“Take off your shirt. The Moon-Eyed brand their human acolytes.” 

Without protest, he removed his shirt and threw it in the truck’s cab. “What did they do to you?”

Avery walked around, inspecting the man. “They strap me to tables or hang me from the roof of the cave and peel layers of my skin from my body.”

He hissed. “Why?”

Her eyes narrowed, and she pointed at his pants. “I need to see your butt.”

“What?” He laughed. 

“They brand their under covers on their butt. Normally people don’t ask to get mooned.” She laughed at her own unintentional joke. 

The driver reluctantly pulled down his pants and showed the top of his butt. “Happy? Nothing but a normal glowing moon.”

Satisfied, Avery opened her door and got into the truck. “You know the truck won’t keep us safe.” She said as he closed his door.

“I know,” he said, shifting into gear. “That’s why I got these babies.” 

He flipped a switch, and the road blazed brighter than anything she’d ever seen. Avery gasped, shielding her eyes. He turned them off and punched the gas.

“I’m Jackson, by the way.” He said without taking his eyes off the road.

“Avery.” Avery snuggled into the blanket, resting her against the window. “If I fall asleep, you promise not to kill me.”

Jackson laughed. “Wouldn’t I have just done that on the side of the road instead of messing up my truck?”

“Fair enough.” Avery didn’t have the energy to fight. Her eyes grew heavy and she let the rhythm of the road lull her to sleep.

By the time she awoke, the sun had set. Jackson hadn’t been joking about his lights. The entire road in front of them and behind was illuminated. The light even spilled into the ditches next to them. Avery’s breath hitched at the sound of the Dwayyo howls running in the dark beside them.

“Morning sleeping beauty.” greeted Jackson. “As promised, still alive.”

Avery’s stomach rumbled. “Thank you.” 

Jackson opened the center console and pulled out a bag of half eaten beef jerky. “Hope you aren’t vegan.”

Avery shook her head and took the bag from him. Biting into the meat, she found it to be sweet. Jackson laughed at the face she made.

“That was my first reaction. But for whatever reason, it’s grown on me.” He fished out a few pieces and shoved them into his mouth. “Spicy Dr. Pepper. The creators had to have been high when they made these.”

Avery put the bag back down. The sugar was not sitting well in her stomach. “Not that I am not grateful for the ride. But why are you out here?”

Jackson shrugged. “It’s my unofficial job.” 

“Do you have an official job?” She asked.

“I’m in between them at the moment.” He sighed.

“So, an unemployed rescue ranger. Got it.” 

Jackson looked over at her and flashed a smile that reached his eyes. “If I’m Chip or Dale, does that make you Gadget?”

“Oh, it most certainly does not. I’m more like Monterey Jack, causing all the problems.” Now it was her turn to sigh. 

Jackson watched the joy fade from Avery’s eyes. The blanket fell from her shoulders, exposing the deep wounds where flesh had been removed. “How did you get stuck out here? We’re nearly a hundred miles from any form of civilization.”

Avery whirled on him. “A hundred? Where are we?”

“Girl, you’re in the Blinds.” Jackson said.

Avery shook. “I’m from Sop’s Run. That’s nearly-”

“Six hours away.” He cut her off. 

A slew of curse words spewed from her mouth. How in the world did she travel six hours away from home without one person trying to stop the Dwayyos that captured her? Had her parents not cared she was missing? Maybe since they didn’t find her body, they thought she ran away with that idiot Elliot. Hopefully, his fate was worse than hers. 

“I don’t have enough gas to get us there tonight, but we’re close to the Nary. They have logging for night travelers.” Instinctively, he reached for Avery’s hand. Jackson wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do, but with how hard she was shaking, she needed something to steady her. “A bath and a bed will do you good.”

Avery didn’t pull away from his touch. She just stared at how brazen this stranger was. Picking her up on the side of the road. Allowing her to inspect him. Who was this Jackson character? Whoever he was, he was a thousand times better than Elliot. 

As they traveled down the road, Avery could see lights in the distance. A sigh of relief escaped as they passed a shabby welcome sign that read, There’s more than nothing in Nary.

Avery gestured towards the sign. “Do you think that means that they have cellphone reception here?” 

Jackson shook his head. “Nah, got about another hour’s worth of traveling before we get that luxury. Though I think the motels have landlines.”

“That’s good. I really want to call my mom. She’s probably still in a panic.”

Jackson turned the truck into the parking lot of a cozy-looking motel. “When did you go missing?” 

Avery surveyed the parking lot. Little status of squirrels and other woodland creatures filled the small flower beds leading up to each room. “June 5th, my eighteenth birthday.” 

Jackson hissed. “Avery, it’s almost September.”

Tears filled her eyes. “I thought, I thought I was keeping track of time better.”

Again Jackson reached over for her, but this time he wiped the tears that were rolling down her dirt covered cheeks. “Sit tight. I’m going to get us a room.” 

Avery watched Jackson walk into the lobby. From the barred window, she saw the front desk worker jump awake. She guessed they weren’t expecting any travels at three in the morning. Soon Jackson returned with a set of keys and moved the truck to a different parking space. 

Jackson leaned into the back of the cab and pulled out a duffle bag and shotgun. “You can never be too careful.” He said, checking that it was loaded. 

“Salt shells, right?” She asked as he grabbed another box.

“Mixed with silver. Only the best for rescue missions.” He said, turning off the truck and the blinding lights with it. 

With surprising speed, Avery ran to the door. Jackson was only a step behind her. Quickly, the door was unlocked, and he threw the bag on the floor. Like he said, there was a phone on the nightstand between the two queen beds. 

Jackson dug in his bag and pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a dark hoodie, and handed them to her. “I’ll shower while you call your folks.”

“Thank you,” was all she could say.

Avery’s fingers hovered over the dial pad. What was she going to say to them? Would her parents even pick up? They were hard sleepers, but would they be sleeping with her gone? The pain they were going through, Avery didn’t want to imagine. Her brother, on the other hand, had probably already moved into her room with the thought of “sucker” coming from his mouth as he dove into bed. 

It took two rings before the person on the other side quicked up. “Hello?” came a frantic female voice.

“Mommy?” Avery choked back a cry.

“Avery? Avery, baby is that you?” Her mother’s voice broke. Avery could hear her father stirring in the background. “George, get up, it’s Avery.”

“Yeah, mom it’s me.” Avery said as the tears fell harder. 

Her dad took the phone. “Avery, where are you? We can come get you.”

She shook her head as if he would see it. “I’m in Nary, but I am safe.”

“You tell that Elliot asshole, if he doesn’t get you back here,” He growled.

“I’m not with Elliot.” Avery interrupted him. “At least not anymore. The Dwayyos caught me and dragged me to the Blind.”

This time, it was her mother’s turn to swear. “I told you, George, she wouldn’t run off with that fool. Baby did,” her voice caught, “Did the Moon-Eyed hurt you?”

“They did mommy, they hurt me bad.” It took every ounce of her to muster her strength to talk. “But I did like you said daddy, I kept my wits. I watched them and tracked their movements. I don’t know how I got out, but I did. And when I did, I ran.”

“Oh my sweet girl, my sweet brave girl.” Her mother cried. 

George took the phone again. “How did you get to Nary?”

Avery laughed. “There was a traveler on the road. He picked me up.” George let out a hiss. “No daddy, he’s been very respectful. He said he’ll bring me home. I’ll text you as soon as we get reception.” 

George took in a breath. “Just tell me, is he prepared to protect you?” 

“Yes daddy, he has salt and silver bullets. I think you would like him under different circumstances.” 

“We’ll see about that.” Her dad let out a yawn, and she followed suit. “Get some rest baby, we’ll see you soon.”

“I love you daddy,” and she waited for her mother to take the phone. “Mommy, can you make me my birthday cake again? I never got to eat it that night.” 

“Of course, sweet girl, get some rest.” Avery swore she could feel her mom kiss her forehead as she said goodnight.

As soon as she hung up the phone, the door to the bathroom opened. Avery knew Jackson was giving her space. She needed it. Crying in front of a stranger wasn’t something she wanted to do. Even if he seemed incredibly kind. 

“I left you the hot water.” He said, holding the door open.

Avery looked. He must have taken a cold shower because she saw no steam. “Thank you.”

With that, Avery got off the bed. Only without the adrenaline running through her body, she felt every step. Her knees buckled under her from the pain. But he never hit the ground. Jackson was behind her, catching her under the arms. Blush stained her cheeks as she noted where the blanket had fallen. The souls of her feet pulsed with pain as he tried to right her.

“I don’t think I can walk.” Avery gritted. 

Jackson adjusted the blanket, wrapping tightly around her. “Then I’ll carry you.”

With ease, he scooped Avery into his arms and made his way to the bathroom. Gently, he placed her on the closed toilet and turned on the shower. “Holy shit.” He cried when he saw the bottom of her lacerated feet. “How did you escape?”

“I don’t know. I just had to.” Avery admitted. 

Jackson shook his head. “But there’s no skin.”

Avery nodded. “They would redo it every time the new skin would grow in. Or if I looked too comfortable on my feet.” 

“Once you get in that shower, I’m not going anywhere.” He said, turning around. “I don’t need you falling and hitting your head.”

“Okay,” Avery stood, holding back a cry of pain. She knew the water was going to be worse, and she didn’t need Jackson turning to see her in all her mangled glory. Then again, he had already seen her, but not everything.

The water was warm. Not steaming hot like she usually liked it. However, she was certain that all the festering wounds on her body would not appreciate being boiled. Placing one foot in her body screamed in protest. But she had to get in. She had to wash away months’ worth of filth. But she couldn’t stand, instead she sank down and sat in the running water. Avery dug her nails into her scalp and scrubbed. The shampoo was too far to reach, and she just needed water to run clean instead of black. 

“You alive?” Jackson called from his position by the sink. 

“I’m breathing, if that’s what you mean?” She called back.

Jackson chuckled. 

Avery grabbed the washcloth and tried to wash, but every time her hands grew close, they refused to touch her skin. “Jackson?” she called.

“Yes?” He sounded as if he was expecting her to say his name.

Avery peeked out from behind the curtain, holding the washcloth in her hands. “Can you help me? My body is refusing to hurt itself.”

Jackson stared at her for a moment before he steeled his nerves. “I don’t want to hurt you either.” 

But before he could protest anymore, Avery pulled back to reveal all her wounds. The skin on her back was in various stages of healing in a strange, knotted pattern. “I don’t think you’ll do worse than the infection that’s probably setting in.” 

Jackson nodded, padding over to the shower. He thought about plugin the tub but to have her sit in the filth water seemed counter productive. Jackson took the course cloth and soaked it, trying his best to soften it before touching her sensitive skin.

Avery hissed as the soap leached into her open sores. 

Jackson whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Avery asked through clenched teeth.

“That I’m hurting you.” But he didn’t stop cleaning her wounds. The edges around the open sores were a violent red. 

Avery shuttered. “You didn’t do this to me. You didn’t slice me up, leaving me to fester inside a filthy mountain.”

Jackson ground his teeth. “The boy who left you. How old was he?”

“I don’t know, eighteen or nineteen.” Avery let the water pour down her neck and over her back. As if the water washed away the memory of Elliot. “It doesn’t matter. He’s probably long gone.”

Jackson nodded and rinsed away the soap. As Avery turned off the water, Jackson grabbed a fresh towel from the sink.

“I’ll be outside if you need me,” he said, shutting the door. 

Avery wrapped her hair in the first towel, letting the water drip off her back. Even though the towels were softer than the washcloths, she was nervous of it pulling on her skin. Tucking the towel around her body, she sighed. When was the last time she felt this warm or safe? Avery traded the towels for the sweatpants and hoodie before finally stepping out of the bathroom.

Jackson was sitting at the foot of the bed nearest the door with his laptop next to him. “Do you like hamburgers?” 

Avery’s stomach grumbled at the mention of food. “With cheese and onions, pickles, and tomatoes.” 

“No lettuce?” He asked, typing. 

Avery’s face burned red. “I only like the crunch kind, not the soft green stuff, and I never know who has what.” 

“Fair enough.” Jackson pulled out his wallet and typed in the card credit information. “There, food has been ordered. Hopefully that monster living inside you will calm down now.”

Avery looked at the empty bed and back at Jackson. Where did this man come from? “I promise my parents will pay you back.” 

Jackson grabbed the remote and tossed it to her before checking the locks on the door again. “Don’t worry about it.” 

“No really, you’ve done too much and -”

“And nothing. If I had a kid sister out there, bloody in the middle of the road, I would hope someone would stop and help her any way they could.” He let out a sigh. 

Avery was surprised to see worry was etched into Jackson’s face. Ever since he had picked her up, he seemed so strong. “Is that why you picked me up? Because you lost your sister?”

“Brother,” Jackson admitted quietly. 

“How old was he?” she asked, putting down the remote.

“He was two, and I was twelve. My mom asked me to let the dogs in for the night and I didn’t want to. I was playing video games, and she yelled for like the third time. I didn’t know anything was wrong until they were blocking the tv.” Jackson sat down on Avery’s bed. “My mom came in screaming, looking for Trevor. We searched everywhere, hoping he was playing hide and seek. But I knew it. I knew he let the dogs in and went outside. He was so proud that he could unlock doors and help.” 

Jackson fisted the blanket. “My mom always told me to latch the top lock, the one he couldn’t reach, but it wouldn’t go that night. So instead of just taking two seconds, I left it unlocked and played games with my friends. It’s been eight years since he went missing.” 

Avery leaned over and took Jackson’s hand in hers. “There are children in the mountains. The Moon-Eyed didn’t cut on them like me. For some reason, they took ‌care of the little ones. I don’t know if he is there, but once I’m better, we can get them.” 

Jackson’s eyes were red, holding back tears. “I wouldn’t want you to go through that.” 

“I was already planning on going back for them.” She admitted. “It would be nice to not do it alone.” 

An awkward knock pulled them apart. Despite the familiar hum of a delivery drone approaching, Jackson instinctively drew his gun. Unlocking the door, Jackson stepped out into the ultra bright light, coming face to face with the delivery bag. Grease smeared across his cheek as the drone swerved. Doing his best not to knock it from the air, Jackson took the bag from the drone. Avery crept off the bed and was behind Jackson before he could shut the door. 

They both settled on his bed. Avery grabbed the remote and turned on the tv for background noise. But neither watched as they devoured their late dinner. Fries and burgers disappeared in record time. Jackson picked up the wrappers and threw away the trash before looking at his phone.

Jackson glanced back at Avery, who was snuggling into the pillows. “We got there a few hours before sunrise. Sleep would do us some good.” 

He started to make his way to the other bed before she caught his hand. 

“Please stay,” she asked in a small voice. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” Jackson squeezed her hand. “Just the other bed.”

Avery had thought about this the whole time they ate. The worst part of being in the mountains was suffering through everything by herself. Not knowing when she’d ever see another soul again. 

She felt her cheeks flush. “I mean here, with me. You can sleep under the covers and I’ll sleep on top. I just- I can’t be alone.” 

Jackson gave Avery a half smile and kicked off his boots. Digging through his duffle bag, he grabbed his charger and plugged in his phone. As he set the alarm, he looked over at Avery and winked. “As long as you don’t kick in your sleep, we’re good.”

Jackson cut off the lights, and Avery held her breath. She knew it was ridiculous to be afraid of the dark. Especially since she wasn’t alone. She could see the UV lights illuminating the parking lot through the blackout curtains. But still her heart raced. 

“I can turn them back on,” Jackson said, settling in the blankets.

Avery shook her head. “It’s okay.”

Instead of turning on the lamp, Jackson got out of bed and turned on the bathroom light. Leaving the door ajar, Avery relaxed as Jackson climbed back into bed.

“There, just in case you need to use the bathroom.” Jackson shifted, tucking a pillow from the other bed between his knees. 

Avery sighed, snuggling deep into the sheets. They smelled clean, a far cry from the moldy prison she had been kept in. A bit of jealousy ran through her as she noticed Jackson’s breathing change. Long, deep breaths came and went. Eventually lulling her to sleep. 

When the alarm dragged her from sleep, Avery woke to an empty bed. Sweat beaded her brow. Avery had to calm herself before she sent herself into a panic attack. Looking around the room, she found Jackson’s duffle bag still next to the door. She glanced to the bathroom, but the door was wide and the light was off. 

Before a full-fledged attack could set in, the door opened. Jackson crept in quietly, holding three cups and a white bag. From the smell of it, that bag contained bacon. 

“Did I wake you?” He still whispered. 

Avery shoved her hands under the covers, trying to hide how badly they were shaking. “Is that breakfast?” 

Jackson placed the coffees and sandwiches on the nightstand. “I didn’t know what you took in your coffee.” He said, pulling out a handful of sugar and creamers from his jacket pocket. 

“I don’t drink coffee,” Avery blushed. 

“That’s why I brought this, just in case.” He said, handing her the third cup. 

“Hot chocolate.” Avery melted back into the pillows. She sighed as the sweet whipped cream melted on her tongue from the warm, smooth, rich chocolate. 

The two devoured their breakfast and quickly packed their belongings. Jackson had told her it was about a half a day’s drive to her parents’ town. The narrow, winding roads could make things complicated. Few gas stations connected Nary and Sop’s Run. They had to make every mile count. If it was a straight path, fifty miles would be fine. But the hollers of the Ash Mountains offered no simplicity. 

Jackson turned on the road and music blared, drowning out every thought Avery had. It was almost September. That meant everyone back home was about to start their senior year. Her friends were going to worry about what to wear to homecoming and prom. What kind of prom promposal would their crush give them? It all seemed so pointless knowing what lurked under the mountain.  

Jackson looked at Avery, a silent question in his eyes. “Avery?” He called. But she was too lost in thought. She bounced her knee nervously. Jackson called her a few more times before reaching out and touching her shoulder.

He broke her from her thoughts. But instead of the calming effect he had hoped for, Avery shrieked.

“What the hell, Avery?” Jackson jerked the steering wheel, pulling his hand back. 

Avery grabbed the door as they went off the road. “Sorry.”

Jackson corrected the truck. “What were you thinking about?”

“Life,” said Avery, throwing her hands in the air. “They are going to expect me to go back to high school. How am I supposed to sit in class when I know there are children being kept down there? There might be others like me that were being flayed alive.”

This time, Jackson took Avery’s hand, and she did not scream. Elliot never held her hand. But Jackson wasn’t Elliot. Last night, he didn’t even move in his sleep. Elliot wouldn’t have cared if she was almost flayed alive. He would have been pressuring her, claiming how much he missed her. As if Jackson read her mind, a flicker of worry could be seen in his eyes.

“Don’t pity me,” Avery said.

“I don’t,” Jackson frowned. “There are few people I know who would have survived what you’ve been through. And even less, who would go back to save those left behind.”

Avery soaked in her praise. She wasn’t sure how much she would get when she returned home. Everyone will blame her for it and Elliot will get off free luring another girl from their home. How was she so stupid to believe she was different? That he cared about her, when everyone warned her Elliot would hurt her. Although she doubted that any of her friends expected her to be taken away by Dwayyos. 

“Why don’t we just get you home first before you worry about what is expected of you?” Jackson suggested. 

Avery looked down and found Jackson tracing lazy circles with his thumb on the top of her hand. “Would you come with me?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. 

Avery smiled. Jackson was a stranger, yet he settled her when she should have still been reeling in fear from what she had just gone through. Avery inched close enough that she could rest her head on his shoulder. The GPS said they had a few more hours until they were in Sop’s Run. Enough time for her to get some sleep. She would need all her energy to face her parents. 

A loud pop tour Avery from her sleep. Jackson did his best to keep control of the truck. But from the sounds of the tire flapping and smacking the side of the truck.

“Shit,” Jackson cursed. 

“Do you have a spare?” Avery peered out the window at the blown back tire. 

Jackson hit the steering wheel. “No! That was the spare’s spare.”

This was not the place to break down. They were driving on the edge of the mountain, along a road that was too narrow for the truck, let alone to stop. Jackson pulled the truck as close to the wall as possible, giving Avery no space to open her door. 

“We walk from here,” said Jackson, checking his phone. A single bar of 3G reception was all he had. 

Avery nodded and climbed out after Jackson. He was at the back of the truck, stuffing his duffle bag full of ammo. With the sun high in the sky, they had time. Time to find shelter. Avery didn’t check the GPS before falling asleep. Hell, she didn’t even know how long she had been asleep. 

Jackson looked down at Avery and her bare feet. “I can carry you.”

“I’m hurt, not broken.” She said, “besides, you need to save your energy in case you have to carry me and run.” 

“Avery, we had a thirty-minute car ride.” Jackson switched the GPS from driving to walking. “Which is now a 5 hour walk.”

“But at least it’s downhill.” She said, pointing to the glowing town below.

Jackson tried to hide his smile as he loaded a short barrel shotgun. He gave a sideway glance to Avery before handing it to her. “You know how to use this?”

Avery clicked on the safety and pointed it down the road. “Point open even at the bad guy and pull trigger?”

He nodded. “But you might want to keep the safety off. You never know what lurks up here.”

“You mean like guys in trucks?” she teased

Jackson slung a crossbow over his back and locked the truck. “Yeah, those are the worst.”

Jackson made Avery walk close to the mountain wall. Even though the road was smooth, the souls of her feet were still tender. Avery kept her eyes trained on the lights below. Sop’s Run. Home. They had made it and yet it was still so far away. There was something weird surrounding the town. Had they dug a moat? Or build a wall? She could not make out the black line from so far away. 

“I’m surprised my dad hasn’t sent out a search party,” said Avery, breaking the silence. 

At a rustling in the bushes near the trail, Jackson withdrew a pistol from his waistband. But he casually said, “He’s probably waiting on the outskirts.” 

Avery flicked off the safety of her shotgun. Maybe Jackson was right. It would be okay to be ready to aim and fire at a moment’s notice. With a sheer drop to the side of the mountain, there was nowhere left to run. “So, what are you going to do now that your mission is done?” 

“Who said getting you home meant we were done?” He teased. 

But Avery didn’t miss his finger curl around the trigger. Jackson’s eyes were now trained above them. There was a hole in the mountain’s side. Avery stopped. She would walk nowhere near the hole.

“Get behind me,” he told her. “At best, that’s just a bear’s cave, and we die because of a grumpy momma bear.”

“Because I would totally try to pet her cubs — the tiny paws and sweet little noises!” Avery said as she grabbed a hold of the back of Jackson’s shirt.

Jackson turned. Avery had closed her eyes. She was trembling. With his finger, Jackson lifted Avery’s chin. She opened his eyes and met him.

“You are safe,” he said calmly. 

She nodded.

Jackson ran his thumb along her chin. “No, you need to say it.”

Avery trembled. “I am safe.” 

“Again.” He requested.

Taking a deep breath, Avery steeled herself. “I am safe.”

“With a little more conviction.” Jackson let out a low laugh. “Please.”

Avery pumped the shotgun. “I am safe.”

Jackson smiled, letting go of her to turn back down the path. “Good, just don’t shoot me.”

Avery’s hand lifted to her face to where Jackson’s finger used to be. The spot was still warm. 

The rumbling and growls that came from the cave let them both know that there weren’t any adorable bear cubs waiting to be pet. If Avery could have, she would have crawled onto Jackson’s back and asked him to run all the way until they reached the town’s borders. Part of her knew he would do it. But she said she was safe. She needed to believe that right now she was. As long as the evening sun broke through the forest canopy, the demons would stay away. And thanks to those demons, there were enough dead prey animals littering these woods that Avery hoped the predators would leave them alone. 

Avery held her breath. The claws scratching at the dark threshold hold made her wounds pulse. It took every bit of strength to put one foot in front of the other. Knowing that the bottom of the mountain was in tumbling distance kept her going. As they passed the opening, Avery thought about sliding down, but she didn’t need to tear up her healing flesh. Jackson, seeming to have read her mind, stopped. 

“Get on,” he demanded, dropping to a squat.

“What?” she asked, staring at him. 

Jackson patted his back. “The sun is setting and we’re running out of time. Hop on and we’ll make a run for it.” 

“But what if something comes after us?” She looked back at the forest. 

“Then shoot it.” He said, reminding her of the weapon she was clutching tightly. 

Avery looked down at the shotgun. “Can I have the pistol? That would be easier to use while you run.”

Jackson switched guns. He clicked on the safety before shoving it into the duffle bag. “Let’s go Ree.”

“Ree?” puzzled Avery as she hopped onto his back. 

“Avery is just so long,” He said, taking off. “Thought I could try something out.”

Avery’s legs squeezed around his waist, and her arms tightened. “You know, they say if you name the strays, it means you keep them.”

“I told you, we got plans once you’re healed.” Jackson was sure-footed with every step. 

Avery noticed every root and rock that lined their path. She held her breath again. Not in fear this time, but in excitement. She swore she could smell Johnson’s bakery. They passed the worn welcome sign with the blue chipped paint that highlighted the river that ran through the town. Avery was surprised. While so much looked the same, there was something new. A fortified concert wall loomed before them. From what Avery could see, the wall wrapped around the entire town. As Jackson slowed, Avery gasped.

Hanging before the steel doors was a body. The teen had dark hair and freckles across his nose and cheeks. From his neck was a sign that read murderer. But that wasn’t what stole Avery’s breath. 

“Elliot.” She hissed.

Jackson held tighter to Avery’s hands. He saw what she saw too.

His eyes weren’t the same as theirs. No, in the setting sun, they were moon white. Just like those who spent months craving skin from her body. 

Lent, Writing

Inkful Wishes

What tattoo do you want and where would you put it?

What tattoo do you want and where would you put it?

I already have four tattoos. A quill and ink on my right rib, a Celtic Cross on my left, and two blue swallows, the one on the left is holding a Tudor Rose and the other holds a royal sceptre. All are in color except for my largest, the quill and ink, those were done with black and gray tattoo. I have an entire Pinterest board decided to new designs I would like to cover my arms in. However, that’s where they have stayed for the last decade. 

When I received my quill and ink in 2014, I didn’t know I would have such a lull between designs. I thought after I settled in Brazil I would find a new artist. But I didn’t have time to put in the research before I returned to Florida. After returning, I had to get my life in order. Which meant being a responsible adult and allocating my money elsewhere. Being responsible sucks because it’s been a decade and my Pinterest board keeps growing and my skin is still ink free. 

If it wasn’t for responsibilities, I would ink on about three unique pieces.  One dedicated to my children, one for my passion for the ocean and swimming, and the third for a special reason. 

The one for my children I am still working on. I know there would be a cute cartoon field mouse, with a bow on its ear, holding a flower, with a little bee buzzing nearby. The little mouse/flower for Adelyn and a bee for Bb. Now my problem is working in Mark. His favorite animal is a penguin. But I’m not sure how to work a penguin into a design with a field mouse and a bumblebee. I could have the field mouse standing in front of a baseball, make the entire scene a little spring moment, but I just don’t know yet. I want to be certain before inking something permanently to my body.

The second design, one that I have wanted for years and have lived on my Pinterest board since the beginning, is an inside forearm piece. The design is very different from the four I already have. It is predominantly a line work or fine lined mermaid tail. Above the tail would be the tip of the wave that would swirl around the tail and end in an anchor. The ocean has played such a pivotal role in my life. From swimming to surfing, I have felt more at home in the water. Now my daughter has the same passion. The mermaid would be for both of us. 

My last design would be a black and gray realism style of a compass surrounded by a rope that is knotted into a heart. The compass holds a special meaning for my husband and me. We have always said our lights have guided us out of the darkness. I have thought about a lighthouse but I don’t have space to dedicate to what I would like to have. A compass and heart would grace the cap of one of my shoulders. I think it would go on the right side since my mermaid tail would be on the left. 

But responsibilities exist and until I feel more comfortable with everything all my designs will live in my heart. Which is fine by me because summer is right around the corner. Getting ink in Florida during the summer is like being grounded. You can’t go swimming, you are not supposed to have fresh ink in the sun, and you don’t want to scratch the peeling design. All of which are highlighted in the summer. Kids will want to go to the ocean and the pool. Wearing anything besides short-sleeved shirts is asking for heat stroke and all that humidity will make you sweat and itch. 

So I shall wait for winter to revisit my inkful wishes. 

Lent

Lessons from My Lenten Journey: Reducing Negativity

What strategies do you use to cope with negative feelings?

Giving up social media for Lent has become a tradition. In a life long ago, I would have given up drinking and meat. But I learned my iron is far too low to continue along that path. Drinking faded away. With three kids and teaching, one would think I would drink more, but facing all these little gremlins with a hangover is not an option. So social media is one of my last vices. That and cursing. 

My Lenten season started before the official date. In February I laid in bed doom scrolling. Videos of thin, fit women surrounded by their children in perfect houses filled one of my algorithms. My others were filled with writers who were getting signed by publishers or talking about finishing their last novel. I couldn’t riot in my bed any longer and deleted all the apps. 

I don’t know why I get a sense of relief whenever I remove the apps from my phone. It’s not like I delete my accounts. I can still login on a web browser and do so on my laptop. But login in on my phone is just too clunky to operate. I went about two weeks before we headed out to STN in Tampa. The apps were only added back in so I could post student photos showing them meeting deadlines and having fun as teens. But as soon as the bus headed out of Tampa, the apps were gone again. 

Since removing social media has become almost easy, I added another challenge. To give up cursing. This vice has been one that I have held onto for a long time. Growing up cursing was something my dad did. Sentence enhancers, he called them. My mom only used them when she was beyond angry with us. I don’t know what was so enticing about it, but cursing made me feel different. 

I was able to express my feelings when my words would fail me. Sometimes when I was in pain, a certain four letter F word was the only thing that could capture what I was going through. But at some point I started using them in everyday conversation. When I was younger, leaving the words out was easier, but as I got older, it became more of a conscious decision to not use the curse words. 

I read somewhere once that an honest man cusses because he’s not thinking about what he says, he’s just speaking from the heart. For me, it’s the truth. If I have to censor myself, then I’m not only thinking about what four-letter words not to say, I am also altering whatever it is I am about to say. I might soften my tone or even the entire thought altogether. But when the words fly from my mouth, sometimes vicious, it’s the truth. 

And for a long time I didn’t care what my words did to people. Because I unleashed my venom only when deserved. If I unleashed my verbal tirade on you, it’s because you probably wronged me. But now, as a mother, I don’t have that luxury. I have to be careful with what I say because I can damage the Little mind that is listening to what I’m saying. 

When Adelyn was small, she would correct me. Telling me “Mommy those are bad words.” It would catch me off guard because at that point in my life I became so numb to those sentence enhancers I didn’t even realize I was using them. She would ask me what certain words meant and why people used them in song. Mind you, she was about 3 or 4, far too smart for her age. 

I should have stopped then, but I didn’t curb my tongue. It wasn’t until Bb started talking did I contemplate making a change. Bennett is the definition of a parrot baby. If he idolizes you, he not only does he repeat what you say, but he also mimics the tone. He heard me say the F word so many times when I would drop something or stub my toe that if he did the same he would curse. 

Do you know how hard it is not to laugh when a 2-year-old drops his binky and goes “Oh fuck!” 

It is extremely difficult. 

And I am finding the difficulty is not just in not laughing. I haven’t gone a full day without swearing. My use of the words has gotten better. I have decreased the amount by a thousand percent. However, there are days when my temper has gotten the best of me and the words fly. I am holding myself to my goal and I would like to say by the end of Lent, I will be able to abstain from swearing. 

I never put much thought into how the words I use influenced my mental state. I thought not feeding the social media monster was enough. But since the Lenten Season has begun, I have felt lighter. It could be because I’m no longer in the rat race trying to keep up with what everyone is doing. Or it could be because I am not allowing toxic words to influence my emotions. 

There seems to be a theme here, the detox of negativity. 

I should keep it up after Easter. 

Lent

Confronting Body Dysmorphia in Your 30s and 40s

Body dysmorphia sucks. It was obnoxious in my teenage years, nearly crippling in my twenties and as my 30s ended, I’m finding new and interesting ways to dislike the way I look. As 40 creeps up, I’m understanding why women go under the knife and inject things in their faces. Because the things that I dislike about myself now are still thinking I’m too fat (not giving myself any grace because I’ve had two children and had a car accident in my back and body don’t work the same way) and now learning all new fun ways to dislike my face. 

Most mornings when I wake up I don’t even put on my glasses, it’s just better that way. I won’t wear makeup because after I get used to hiding all my imperfections, it’ll take me weeks to months to look at myself without criticizing my appearance. I guess my natural resting bitch faces are catching up with me and all the lines are getting deeper. That doesn’t help that. I definitely scowl most of my days at work because of the dumb things my freshmen do. Captions leave marks. 

It’s probably also why I give up social media so often during lunch. Besides the mind rot of Doom, scrolling and picking apart every aspect of my life because it doesn’t What influences are filming and staging. I just look at other women who have multiple kids and all this free time to exercise. I keep telling myself maybe when B is older I will do it again. But the reality is I just need to find the time to work at myself again. 

And even when I get the time, things are going to be different. My body is different. How it holds extra water, weight, and fat is different. After having Adelyn, things returned to normal, but after Bennett, everything’s lingering. I don’t know if that has to do with having a boy or a girl. But I have seen so many other women that just look like they’ve never had kids before. 

I know this is a first world problem and vain to a core, but it’s an ongoing battle. 

One this month I’m losing.

We got these cool jerseys for our competition team and I accidentally ordered a medium. I didn’t think any big deal of it until I saw a picture of me standing next to the rest of my high school girls. And because my chest is so large, I looked pregnant all over again. That was a spiraling moment for me. It didn’t matter that once I pinned the jersey back; it fit just fine. No, every single thought was “you’re fat, you’re old.” 

Like when did old jump into my mental abuse. Not one bit of me feels old. Maybe it’s creeping into my thoughts as the calendar keeps peeling away. We have less than 50 school days left and the kids that are graduating this year of my graduation clones. I’m ‘05 and they are ‘25. I’ve always enjoyed this thought and never really felt old. I just thought it was cool. And then I took that picture and wished I could erase myself from it.

As I write this, I am more annoyed with myself. It’s all dumb thoughts. Thoughts that I never seem to beat. 

My body dysmorphia stems from a deeply unhealthy place. Celiac kept me under 100 lbs for most of my life. Doctors say my healthy weight should be between 110 and 115, and I’m 127. Not that much of a difference, but my body just feels wrong with all this extra weight. I regained my post-baby weight (135 pounds) and spent six months wanting to avoid people. I started working out and I felt good again, however, I got sick and everything stopped. 

Getting back into that routine is going to be a necessary evil; sacrificing time with the baby or with my husband is the only thing that will make my brain okay with what my the way my body looks. 

So cheers to being nearly 39 and still battling the same stupid thoughts from twenty years ago. 

Writing

Balancing Life as a Busy Mom and Aspiring Writer

Something on your “to-do list” that never gets done.

My to-do list is a mile long. Juggling being a mom of three, a teacher, a wife, and myself, there is not enough time to complete everything on my list. Something has to give and usually it’s my favorite thing, writing.

Blog writing is easy. It’s reflecting on my day and emotions. But creative writing, that is the one that is placed on the back burner. My dream was always to live off my writing. Maybe one day when I’m no longer supporting my little gremlins, it can happen.

I have followed a lot of indie authors on social. Quite a few have been blessed to leave their nine-to-five jobs and pursue writing full time. Most of them have older children or none at all. I am not jealous of them. In fact, it pushes me harder. To know that it’s possible and not to give up.

Most days, I love my job. High school is a weird, strange place. A friend asked me to explain, and I said it was like a Choose Your Own Adventure reality TV show. Students come to me with the craziest things and wait for my response. Usually I give them advice and wait to see what they will do with it. Some take my advice and life is easy. The ones that don’t come back crying or wondering WTF?!? Why I’m so unhappy?

During my planning periods, I leave my decade old manuscript open waiting for inspiration. Most of the time, I just stare at it, my is mind blank, almost taunting me. Eventually it gets burnt out reading and editing students’ scripts. By the end of the day, I’m fired trying to help students come up with unique creative ideas. I could leave it be, but I have to watch all their projects. I learned after my first year of teaching, if I didn’t help them brainstorm ideas, I’ll watch twenty different anti bullying PSAs.

For months I’ve fought my depression, nothing could get through the fog. But just before the new year, it lifted. I’m not pulled me through it but I started writing again. Be it ideas coming to me in my sleep, walking me. Surprisingly, the notes I have left have made sense. Which is fantastic when I read them awake.

So, between doctor appointments and baseball games, I try to work my way through notes left for me. One day I’ll get through my to-do list, but there’s no rush.