Ouch, That Actually Hurt

Something under the ground struggles to escape from the confines of dirt, cement, and foliage. It threatens the normalcy of all who reside there. It's the fault; the two tectonic plates teeming with tension. Scientists said it would collapse at some point, but why now? Why terrorize the innocents now? What could that force possibly gain by disrupting everything now?

The potent power of the seismic energy is too much. The ground gurgles, as if rinsing its mouth of all the filth. Or maybe it growls. Delicate daisies sway back and forth, dancing to the beat of terror. Inside every home, dishware clink clink clink against each other, as if alerting the families inside. At the corner of a friendly street, in front of a small house, slivers of old bark grip the ground as the earth trembles and shakes. Its trunk cracks and dozens of leaves fall like water droplets to the ground––but the roots remain incredibly intact. 

***

"Sometimes you have to go back to your roots, Carol," Jake replied softly, wanting to touch her arm, "and my roots are in Brooksworth." 

She scoffed and turned away. She was not going accept the fact that her fiancee was set on moving away. And what choice did she have but to follow him when she could? She wondered if it was because he was trying to postpone the wedding more than they already had. Doesn't he love her enough? More than his supposed "roots?"

He thought about telling her that his roots are tangled with Amalia––and someone else––and he needed to straighten them out. But he didn't, because he was too scared. He was always too scared.

***

I grip the whiteboard marker tightly as I write the sight words on the board. The scent of fresh, new markers overpowers my nose, inducing a familiar sensation. It reminds me of when I was in kindergarten, and now I'm on the other side of the desk, and there's nothing familiar about that. Even though the twenty-eight students are small and seem sweet, I am about ninety-seven percent sure they are out to get me. The middle schoolers in the classes I taught before never giggled at me or gazed at the freshly sharpened pencils. There's no way they're just that innocent. 

***

"Mommy, I'm scared," the little girl cried, while scrambling to stay on her feet. A dozen dolls she took pride in arranging crashed into an avalanche. Within seconds, the girl's mother was scooping up the child in her arms. The mother didn't say anything assuring. What could she say when she was scared out of her mind too? The girl had no choice but to watch as her precious photos shattered and her bookcase crumbled. The ground would not stay still, and she was surprised this phenomenon was actually possible. There was nothing she could do but watch as her entire world literally fell apart, and she wondered who was going to help her and her mother fix it.

***

I remember when Amalia's mother, Mrs. Vega, planted unsightly cacti in front of her bedroom window because she kept sneaking out to see me. The sneaking out didn't stop, it just meant we had to be more careful with how we got her out. I did take a few cactus needles for her. 

Mrs. Vega didn't like me because she thought my family was selfish and pompous. Now, I didn't disagree with her there, but she believed in the 'apple not falling far from the tree.' That was my problem with her. Although, I think that's why sometimes I couldn't figure out if Amalia actually cared about me or she was just with me to piss off her mom. In the end, I didn't care. I loved Amalia, I was just happy to be with her. 

Anyways, the row of cacti on the side of the house is how I recognized her home after all these years. I can't believe they're still there. I silently hope she still lives here as I walk up the familiar driveway. I may just be walking into a trap, walking straight to Mrs. Vega, which is not ideal. She'd probably hit me with the chancla.