“Get out of my house! I’m sick of you sittin’ on your ass all day!”

I looked up at the reflection of my father from where I was leaning over the bathroom sink. Even through the mirror’s hazy image, I could tell my father was drunk. And Anthony Anders was not one of those happy, funny drunks. He was a mad drunk, and from the look of it, right now he was a raging mad drunk.

I grabbed a washcloth from the rack hanging above the toilet and dried my face. Cautiously, I watched my father as he guarded the doorway of the bathroom. I tossed the rag aside as I mentally prepared myself for what would come next, and then slowly, calmly, turned around.

“Yes sir.” My voice sounded calm and in control, but inside I was shaking with fury. I tried to walk past him, but just as I had suspected, his giant hand reached out and his fingers wrapped around my neck. I stopped. I met his eyes, my face remaining emotionless. I heard something like a growl come from deep within his throat, and a second later, I was being shoved back into the wall, his grip even tighter on my neck. And that was when it happened.

I snapped. Rage rippled through me, and my hands, which were in tight fists at my sides, felt as if they were on fire. After three months of dealing with my foster father’s drunken fits of unjustified accusations and unpredictable physical attacks, I finally lashed back. With all my strength, I broke out of his grasp and shoved him into the doorframe. I heard something crack. I wasn’t sure if it was him or the door, and I didn’t really care.

I had gone too far to go back. He looked at me with wide, scared eyes. I finally had the upper hand on this sad excuse of a man who so reminded me so much of the same man who had accused and abused me for so many years of my life. I leaned back to strike him. There was no doubt that I could easily kill the man. I was buff, and he was a rail. But I couldn’t do it. I lowered my hand and looked at the floor, ashamed of how easily I had lost control.

“You’re weak, boy. Weak!” He spat the words in my face. I looked him in the eyes, my anger returning. “You’re turning out to be just like your mother. Poor Rachel couldn’t hurt a fly. Too bad the only time she ever had a backbone was when she took his blows to save you. Do you ever have nightmares, Jesse? Does she haunt your dreams, reminding you? Remind you that you’re the reason that she’s dead?” He slid to the floor laughing as he watched shame wash over my face. Then shame turned to anger, anger towards this monster crawling at my feet.

And then I killed him.


I ran out of the apartment building, blinded by the sun shining in my eyes. I stumbled down the stairs in a panic. I looked around frantically for any sign of anyone who might be standing around. No one was there. I could still feel his sticky blood on my hands. I had killed my foster father, and now I was scared. I fumbled for my cell phone deep inside my pocket. But who would I call? Taevia. I would call Taevia.

It rang twice before picking up to voicemail. I was so scared that I didn’t say a word until long after the beep. “Tae? It’s me. God, Tae. I’m in so much trouble.” I was crying by now. “Please. Just call me. Please?”

I hung up the phone. While only a few minutes before, there had been no one on the street, now it seemed as if people were everywhere. And they were all staring, staring, staring.

“Don’t look at me!” I screamed at them, my voice cracking. I could feel the veins popping of my neck. I was a wreck of emotion, and I didn’t know what to do with myself.

“Jesse?” I spun around to face the soft, angelic voice that always startled me even though it was silent as a whisper.

“Taevia. Oh God, Tae. I killed him. I killed him!” I was back to crying again, a slobbering mess. Taevia’s eyes grew wide with God-knows-what. Panic? Shock? Confusion? She walked towards me, and I ran to her for her warm embrace. She held out her arms to me, and when I felt sure that I could feel the warmth of her skin on mine, she was gone. Disappeared. Everyone had disappeared.

“What the hell is going on?” I screamed. Then Taevia was there again. But this time, she wasn’t holding out her arms to me for an embrace. She was lying in the street. Dead. Gun shot to the head. Pistol in her hand. I looked up at the buildings towering over me and saw a familiar glint of glass shimmering in the sunlight.

“I am an invisible man,” I whispered to the camera. I knew they could hear me through the built in microphone in my shirt collar. I walked over to Taevia’s lifeless body and picked up the gun. The gun was real. I was sure of that. I lifted the gun.


Jesse Fields
17 year old boy was volunteered for a technological experiment called VEEFOW (Video Electronic Experiment For Our World). Jesse was put into a purely fantasy world make up entirely of video screens and unbelievable realistic robots. Unfortunately, something went very wrong yesterday about mid-morning when the computer visuals and robotics programs glitched. These events caused Jesse Fields to commit suicide. Jesse was a hero and will forever be remembered as a brother of science.