Sandcastles are for Children

Thin fingers trailed the smooth surface but the pebbles stayed in place. Her hard work had paid off. Hours of love had gone into her castle. It started out as a muddy lump of sand and evolved into a gorgeous structure by the guidance of her heart.

In those hours, she learned the meaning of love.

The sand flowed and pulsated beneath her fingers, responsive to her will, but it also knew how to tickle her fingers and give them a gentle nudge in the right direction. To the kids recklessly thrashing around her, she knew the relationship did not look balanced. She knew she looked like a fool. They saw the nicks in the sand as flaws. But she didn't care. Because she knew better. She leaned in and gave the hardy sand a dry peck. Her masterpiece. Her time, effort, and most importantly, love.

The shuffle of approaching feet drew her from her trance. The bare, aging feet of her parents planted themselves firmly in her view, shamelessly crushing her masterpiece beneath them.

The girl cried out in horror and pain.

"Sandcastles are for children," they said.

"You can always make a new one," they said.

"There's better ones out there," they said.

"That one was no good, anyway," they said.

"You're too young to understand."

They gripped the hand of their adult daughter and pulled her away from love.

"You have us," they said.

"You don't need anything else, because we love you."

I Have a Twin

I have a twin. 

My twin is my best friend. She is always there to support me and comes to me when I need her. She is very beautiful and confident, but I know she must get lonely when I’m not there. When I gaze into the mirror, she’s always there with me, complimenting my weight and my smile with arm flexes and a smile of her own. She’s the me I want to be and talks my ear off about string theory, quantum theory, and dimensional travel. 

I’d like to visit her one day. I mean, at least I’d planned to. Before I could, my stupid brother broke my mirror. For him, that’s seven years bad luck, but for me it’s different. That mirror was special. We had years and years of experiences there. 

Now, with my new mirror, it’s not the same. When I look in, it’s me that looks back. A fat, unhappy girl with a lopsided grin and no aspirations. Not my beautiful sister. Not my quirky, scientific twin. 

She’s gone. Gone forever. 

My family calls me crazy, but I know. In another dimension, I have a twin. 

Just not here.

The Color of a Criminal

Sweat sopped from his pale skin, which shone like iridescent glass. He eased his disease-ridden body from his upholstered throne and raised a crooked, bony finger, pointing at the faint outline of a man across from him. "You are evil, yes. So... your skin must be dark!"

The man looked at the older gentleman, his eyes falling on the pen poised in the gentleman's hand, ink dripping onto the paper. He looked down as his bronze skin materialized. "Isn't that a poor description of a villain?" he asked.

"Don't tell me how to do my job!" the old man wretched, falling back into his chair as he scribbled away at his manuscript. "Everyone knows dark skin and eyes are evil!" Globs of sweat mixed with the ink, creating the author's story like witchcraft on the paper.