Xanadu
“Love you, Sierra,” my dad smiled as I climbed out of his truck. A trapper keeper perched in my arms, I stumbled out of the lifted Ford F-250, almost tripping as my purple Converse hit the sidewalk. I looked up at him and waved, trying not to cringe. As he pulled away, I looked left and right, dreadfully checking to see who had watched that. To my relief, nobody seemed to have noticed. When I got inside the school, I shoved my trapper keeper in my locker and headed straight for the restroom. Upon entering, I inspected the zit on my right cheek. “Ugh…” I sighed, rubbing my finger over it. “I popped it this morning… Why doesn’t it look any different?” I could’ve tried to hide it with makeup, but I never wore any. I hated makeup. Why wake up an hour early just to look a little prettier. I wasn’t getting any attention from guys anyway. That said, my face was very plain. I had shoulder-length, light brown hair, and the complexion you’d expect from never putting any products on my skin. I usually wore a T-shirt and skinny jeans; today, my T-shirt was grey. I didn’t usually paint my nails, and when I did, it was always something simple. I wasn’t into dressing to impress. The only thing about me I found pretty were my eyes. They were vibrantly green. The only times I’d ever been complimented were on my eyes. But, of course, my nerdy glasses had to sit right in front of them. I sighed and left the bathroom. “Dammit!” an all-too-familiar voice resounded as a boy slammed into me, almost knocking me to the ground. “Sierra!” he whipped around. “I’m so sorry! I—” he froze for a second, swiftly looking at me and then back to where he’d been running. “You’re good,” I rubbed my arm, which I’m pretty sure was bruising. “I’m all right.” “Okay! Again, sorry!” he yelled as he turned and darted off down the hallway, disappearing into another hall. I knew where he was going: by Ingrid’s locker. Ingrid was the school bitch. She was a preppy blonde with a horrible personality and a body that made up for it. She’s the kind of girl I refer to as a casket: beautiful on the outside, and rotten underneath. But Spencer didn’t see her that way. He was spellbound by the fact that she looked like a model, and wouldn’t accept the fact that she didn’t want him. It drove me crazy…Maybe if I woke up two hours before school and tried to look perfect, he’d give me that sort of attention… but… nah. It just wasn’t who I was. I got my notebook and a pen from my locker and walked to my first class: chemistry. I hated chemistry. It was confusing, served no purpose in my life, and the teacher, Dr. Mahoney, was an inconsiderate jerk. Most of the class, he spent berating us for being zoomers, and when he wasn’t doing that, he was making no sense while “teaching”. It was obvious that no one was following his lessons, but he’d never repeat anything or make it simpler to understand; if we didn’t get it, it was our problem, not his. He didn’t really seem to understand the “teach” part in his job title. The only student he liked in the class was Woodrow, a senior who’d taken chemistry the last three years in a row. He wasn’t retaking the class cause he was bad at it; in fact, he was the opposite: totally brilliant. Because our small school didn’t have the funding, staff, or population to afford advanced chemistry classes, we just had the basic class, but Woodrow took it all three years cause he was so passionate about it, and they basically let him do whatever he wanted during the lesson. I’m pretty sure he even had after-school access to the classroom, because Dr. Mahoney liked him. Sometimes, when Dr. Mahoney wasn’t teaching, he would stand over him and watch what he was doing, always seeming really intrigued. As for me, I couldn’t tell what it was that he was working on, but it usually looked pretty elaborate. He was in the doctor’s good graces for more than just his aptitude, too; Woodrow was just as crude as Dr. Mahoney, which was another reason they clicked so well. I sat down, glancing over at Spencer. He looked a little sweaty from his brisk dash to catch Ingrid walking by her locker for five seconds. He had fluffy brown hair and warm brown eyes. Today he wore a pair of jeans, with a plain white shirt, a denim jacket, and sneakers. He was simple, like me. He was currently twirling a pen around in his left hand, resting his cheek into his right fist as he boredly stared at the front of the classroom. The class had only twenty students in it, ranging from every grade. See, the town of Pawnee was puny, and for that reason, there was only one high school, which all the town’s adolescents attended. Pawnee High School itself had only around two hundred and fifty students. Pretty much everybody knew each other, for that reason. And so, when a student hadn’t attended class in a while, it was obvious. Speaking of which: Mekhi. Mekhi was a stoner that barely managed to coast through freshman, sophomore, and junior year. He was now a senior, and whether or not he’d graduate was anyone’s guess. Most of his friends called him “Ma-guy” as a fraternal spinoff of his name, and others just knew him as their dealer. He missed so much class, it was almost as if he weren’t a student here. Usually, he’d come strolling inside, reeking of weed with red eyes. He’d been absent the last two days of class, and most of us figured that by today, a Wednesday, he probably just planned on missing the whole week. But we were wrong. Just before Dr. Mahoney shut the door to the classroom, Mekhi appeared in the window.“Mekhi,” Dr. Mahoney scoffed, “you’re here.” He didn’t say anything, just nodding. He walked by Dr. Mahoney and over to his chair. He looked noticeably different. Today, he didn’t smell like marijuana, and his eyes weren’t red. They looked almost… purplish. He had no expression on his face as he calmly sat down in the back of the classroom. Woodrow was studying him carefully, as was Dr. Mahoney. “Well, Mekhi?” Dr. Mahoney antagonized. “No stupid excuse for why you missed class the last two days? You figure I’m just so used to it that I’m not going to say anything?” He shrugged. “I don’t have an excuse.” All of us were taken aback by this. Mekhi tended to respond to correction by chuckling like everything was fine, then he’d blow off everything authorities had to say like he was immune to the consequences. But today, he was completely emotionless. “Is that so?” even Dr. Mahoney seemed confused. “Well, if that’s the case, then I suppose we’ll proceed with class. Open your textbooks to page one-eleven so we can continue our discussion on the properties of bromine.” I usually spent the class fighting sleep or gazing at Spencer, wishing he’d turn back and look at me, which he never did. But today, my eyes were glued to Mekhi. This was the longest I’d seen him go without smiling. He was silent. I’d never seen him silent in my almost two years at the school. Though he wasn’t interrupting the class for once, he didn’t seem to be paying attention either. He was just… staring. Almost at nothing, like he was in a trance. When the class was dismissed, I watched him exit without saying a word. Everybody was visibly surprised by this. I thought that maybe I’d say something to Spencer about it, but he was already gone, off to his next class. I sighed and scooped up my notebook in my hands before walking slowly to my next class. “Spencer…” I sighed. I just… wished he’d notice me, you know? He was so much like me. He was my motivation, really. Sometimes, I’d feel so ashamed that I wasn’t dressed up like Ingrid or the other girls at my school. I’d feel like such a loser for not putting on makeup in the morning, like that made me a kid. But then I’d see Spencer, just… doing his own thing. When everybody was watching. He was so himself, and he was totally okay with that. He wasn’t scared to be him, even though he wasn’t popular. It inspired me. I wished I could be as self-confident as him. I wished I could be as happy with myself as he was, as comfortable in my own skin. But, at the very least, seeing him exist meant that it was possible, and most of the time, that was enough for me. That said, he did tend to make a fool of himself chasing Ingrid around. It was obvious she didn’t like him, and he just didn’t get the clue. It drove me crazy to watch. He was such a sweet, genuine guy, and all she did was hurt his feelings. She didn’t deserve his attention, and also, it was so embarrassing to see him waste his time like that. He knew better, and I could never figure out why he was so crazy about her… especially when I was there. Why couldn’t he put even a fraction of that effort into me? He and I were friends, but… that was really it. He never really sought me out, unless on an occasional whim, and we’d only seen each other outside of school twice. I wished so badly that he’d finally give up on her and realize that I cared about him ever since we met in eighth grade, but he was oblivious to everything. Oblivious to my love, and oblivious to Ingrid’s absence of it. By lunchtime, a good half of the school was talking about Mekhi. I thought it was strange, but I didn’t care about it that much. I found my usual table by myself and examined today’s lunch: some type of beef and vegetable stew, with a roll and a side of cauliflower.I hate cauliflower. I ignored it as I stirred the stew around with my spoon. I looked up and studied the lunchroom. The usual cliques were eating together. Ingrid was wearing a beachy white blouse that contrasted her sunkissed skin, and a short, colorful skirt. I couldn’t doubt Spencer for being in love with her… She was… a lot prettier than me. I rolled my eyes and looked over at Spencer. He was sitting with his three best friends, and they were laughing about something. Then I gazed at Woodrow, another loner like me; he was already finished eating and writing something down in a notebook. Unlike me, he never seemed bothered by the absence of people around him. Then I found Mekhi sitting with a group of buddies he usually sat with, and they seemed to be interested in whatever he was telling them. “Why… do I always end up sitting by myself.” It was one of the first times I’d heard my voice that day. I didn’t hear it much. I didn’t have much to say. “Maybe… Maybe, if I would just go walk over to Spencer and sit there with him and his friends, I’d have fun. What do I have to lose…?” But I just couldn’t do it. I knew I couldn’t do it. I could never do it. I rolled my eyes and began eating my meal in silence. Like usual, my mind drifted off to daydreams about Spencer. I remembered last year at homecoming when my dad convinced me—or, really, forced me—to go. It was the first time I’d ever worn makeup… Spencer saw me and he was astonished. We hung out the whole night. I really thought we’d made a connection that night. But… for some reason, we just didn’t talk again after that. The whole summer, I sat by my phone, wanting so badly to see it vibrate with a text from him, but… nope. I mean, it’s not like he asked for my number to begin with, anyway… He got it from me in our biology class because we were doing a group project and needed to keep in touch over the weekend on how everybody was doing with their part of the assignment. After lunch, I went to my least favorite class: health. Health was just PE but with boring, sleep-invoking lessons on the weeks we were inside. This week was an inside week, so I didn’t have to change into gym clothes. The class began as boring as usual: Mr. Sloan talked about something lame and uninteresting, which today happened to be heartrates before and during exercise, and I fought drowsiness after having just eaten. But then he switched things up. “Now, you’re going to try reading each other’s heartrate, so everybody find a partner.” I rolled my eyes. Spencer had already buddied up with his friend Matt, and I didn’t even bother picking someone. I knew that like usual, I’d just find the last person who didn’t get picked like me. Today, it was Mekhi. He didn’t even seem to have noticed what was happening. He was just sitting there in his chair, in a trance. I sat next to him. “Hey… So, uh, who’s going first.” “To do what?” “We have to feel for each other’s heartrates,” I explained awkwardly. “Like, before an exercise. And then exercise for two minutes and do it again.” He sat up casually. His usual movements, like scratching at his scruffy blonde beard, or needlessly adjusting his snapback, were all missing today. The only time he moved was when doing something he had to do. Otherwise, he was as still as a statue. “Stick out your arm,” he said plainly. I did, and he pressed his thumb into my wrist. His fingers were cold and my hand tensed, which made me even more uncomfortable, hoping he didn’t think I was anxious about him touching me or something. He counted off every heartbeat for one minute. “One hundred and four,” he spoke, before writing it down. I couldn’t believe how out of the ordinary he was acting. Even with me, I was surprised he wasn’t making weird jokes the whole time and screwing up the count over and over again.“One hundred and four?” Mr. Sloan asked, curving his neck to read the paper. “That’s kinda’ high.” I sulked back awkwardly. It was probably high because of how uncomfortable I was. I started to blush and replied, “Oh… Didn’t know.” Now he started to glare at me. “Yeah, you did. Average resting heartrate for healthy adults: sixty to one hundred beats per minute. I just reminded the class that before we started the exercise,” he tried to make it less humiliating by smiling, but it wasn’t working. “Yeah…” He walked away. “Just, let me read yours,” I touched his arm, which was as cold as his fingers. “Dammit…” I whispered, feeling embarrassment sweep over me as I felt nothing. “Where… Where is it, dammit…” I moved my fingers around, hoping he didn’t notice. My hand started sweating and that made it even more embarrassing. Finally, I just kept my fingers in one spot and made it up. He wouldn’t know the difference. I waited for a minute and said “Seventy-four.” He didn’t reply. I wrote it down. “Okay, now we have to try exercising and doing it. So, uh, I guess you go first.” He stood up and calmly did jumping jacks for two minutes. Every second of it was staggering to me. He was acting so damn bizarre. Think of your class clown in high school, the guy that never shuts his mouth. The guy that’s always late, and always has an awful but hilarious, half-assed excuse as to why. The guy that’s ironically likeable, despite how annoying he is. That was Mekhi. And today, he was indistinguishable from Woodrow. When he was finished, he sat down. I tried to measure his heartrate but couldn’t find it, of course, so I wrote something random down. Then I winced at the idea of having to do it myself. I got up and started the jumping jacks. It felt like everyone was watching me. When I was done, he put his finger on my wrist. I waited in the uncomfortable silence as he read my pulse. When he jotted it down, we both sat down and waited for everyone else to be finished. The uncomfortable silence only grew as neither of us said anything to one another. “Sierra.” Even after an awkward silence, this surprised me. I don’t think he ever made conversation with me in my life until that moment. “Yeah?” “Why are you so uncomfortable?” I swallowed, totally caught off-guard. “Uh… I…” “I’m not trying to embarrass you. I’m just curious what’s making you feel that way.” Now I was speechless. Who was this person? Because it wasn’t Mekhi. “Listen, Sierra. I can help you. With your awkwardness.” “What… are you talking about?” “I have something in my car. It’s called Xanadu. It will take all your awkwardness away.” I was feeling a plethora of emotions. First and foremost, I was still dumbfounded by the way he was acting. Secondly, I was confused. Was he trying to sell me a drug? And also, it was almost funny, if that were the case. It was weird in general that he was talking to me, but would he really try to sell me something? “I don’t do drugs.” “Why?” I didn’t have an answer. “Drugs are bad,” he made air quotations and spoke with a fake sternness. “They rot your brain.” He looked deep into my eyes. “But, so does fear. And inhibitions. And awkwardness. So, it comes down to what you’d rather: have a ‘fully functional’, ‘healthy’ brain that won’t let you enjoy yourself, or use something that, maybe in the long run, is harmful, but will make everything—I mean everything, Sierra—better. Would you rather live longer, and in pain? Or shorter, but without pain?” This was all far too much for me to think about in the moment. I scooted back and said, “Really, Mekhi, it’s okay. I don’t need any drugs.” I expected him to look disappointed, but he didn’t. In fact, his expression was still blank. He didn’t say anything after that. I sat there for a while, mulling over what he’d said. When class got out for the day, I waited out front for my dad to pick me up. It was hot outside with summer approaching, and I began to feel beads of sweat collecting on my forehead. “I hate sweating…” I grumbled. “Where are you, Dad?” I looked at the row of cars, but his unmissable silver F-250 was nowhere to be seen. “Hey, Sierra,” I melted when I heard his voice. “Waiting for your dad?” “Yeah,” I replied, turning around and facing Spencer. “Hi, Spencer.” Of course, he started talking to me right when I started sweating. I thought about wiping the sweat away, but then it’d be obvious I was sweating. Or, was it more obvious if I didn’t? I just wiped it off my forehead and hoped he didn’t care. “I’m so sorry about bumping into you in the hall earlier!” he scratched his head, his fingers seeming to disappear into his fluffy brown hair, his gaze pointed to the floor. “That was a total accident.” “I know, I know,” I nodded. “It’s fine. Where… where were you in such a hurry to get to, anyway?” I knew the answer. But I wanted to hear what he’d say. “Oh, uh,” he started to blush, “I thought I was going to be late for class.” “We have first period together,” I started to smile. “Chemistry? In the opposite direction you were running?” He froze up. “Okay. Everybody knows anyway. Just trying to catch a glimpse of Ingrid before class.” “You were running that fast? To do that?” “I… I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I’m a mess, huh,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “A helpless, lovesick dork.” “Like I’m not…” I smiled at him. “Wait, huh? You’re into somebody?” he cut his eyes in interest. “No! No, uh, I meant, like, I’m also a mess!” “Nuh-uh! I know what you meant! Who is it?” he excitedly inquired. I stepped back nervously, asserting, “Absolutely none of your business.” “Come on!” he smiled endearingly. “Tell me! I won’t tell anyone.” “No, Spencer… really. Just forget it.” He clicked his tongue, then sighed, “All right, whatever.” He was so confusing. He never hit me up, and he’d almost never approach me, but when he did, he always talked to me like we were best friends. It confused me to my wit’s end. “Hey, so, Mekhi today…” he changed the subject. “Yeah,” I nodded, “that was really weird.” “What the hell was up with that? And did you notice what happened after lunch?” “Huh? No, what happened?” “All his buddies came into my algebra two class acting the same exact way he was all day.” “Oh my god…” I whispered. “He must’ve gotten them on it.” “On what?” “He tried to tell me about some drug… He was asking if I wanted to try it.” His eyes widened. “For real? What the hell?” “He called it Xanadu. He was telling me about how it’d make me feel a lot better about life or something. And when I turned him down, he just stopped talking.” “Creepy.” “For real.” “Oh, hey, my mom’s here,” he noticed. “But, uh, I’ll talk to you later, Sierra,” he shot me a quick smile, and my heart fluttered at the sight of it. “Bye, Spencer,” I waved. “Talk to me later, huh… Later this month?” I thought as he walked off. No surprise, my night was boring and uneventful. I fell asleep around ten o’clock, too bored to stay awake any longer. The following morning, I expected to engage in my usual routine: fifteen minutes before we had to leave, I’d wake up and throw on a shirt and skinny jeans—pretty much nothing else ever, and my purple Converse, which were my only pair of school shoes. I’d brush my teeth and hair, put on some deodorant, and that was it for me, really. Then I’d always end up feeling convicted about not putting on any beauty products—or, you know, not owning them in general—and then I’d just kind of stare at myself in the mirror and sigh. But for whatever reason, being ugly and unnoticeable was still preferable to me than dressing up. It just didn’t feel like me, to try and look like Ingrid. My drive to school would consist of my dad playing classic country music, usually Hank and sometimes Johnny Cash, and I’d just sit in the passenger seat and stare at the trees outside on the drive and dread school that day. The only thing that calmed me down was my dad’s voice. He loved to sing along, and he sounded great. Then when we’d get to school, I’d get out, and without fail, he’d tell me he loved me. I loved him too. A lot. But I was just too embarrassed to say it for some reason. He didn’t take it personally. I knew he knew that I loved him. He’d drive off, and then I was on my own again to survive another day of my sophomore year. That was the way it usually went. But not today. My dad had woken up at four in the morning throwing up. I heard him walking through the hall and got up to make sure he was okay. I spent the morning nursing him and making him breakfast. He had a high fever and decided—or, more was prompted by me, really—to take a sick day off work. I told him I’d find a ride to school. Not sure what I was thinking, though. It wasn’t like I had anybody’s number. Except… Spencer’s. My heart was racing as I pulled up his contact. When I got to our message log, the last thing we’d talked about was the project from a year ago. I slowly typed the message, reading it and erasing it over and over again. Did he even live close by? Was I like, making his mom drive out of the way? I was so apprehensive, but I knew my dad needed the rest. If only I had just gotten my damn license. I didn’t even have a permit. Finally, I just typed the message and hit send. “Hey, Spencer! So, my dad is really sick this morning, and I’m hoping that maybe your mom could give me a ride to school? If it’s not too far out of the way.” I gasped in horror as I realized I didn’t mention who I was, like I was assuming he knew! I was so embarrassed. We hadn’t texted in a year, and I was acting like he should know whose number this was. I was cringing as I waited for a response. To my surprise, he replied only two minutes later. “Hey, Sierra! No problem. What’s your address?” I was bewildered. He actually had my number saved in his phone. When he got to my house, I hopped in the small car. He was sitting up front with his mom, and his little sister, who I’m guessing was around thirteen, was in the backseat. She didn’t look very enthused and was busy typing away on her phone with earbuds in. He and his mom made small talk with me, but it was a pretty awkward drive, and I attribute that mostly to myself, because I didn’t know what to say. It was the first time I’d met anyone else in his family. We dropped his sister off first. When we got to school, I stepped out of the car and wondered whether or not I should wait for him. I decided I would. For the very first time, walking into school with Spencer, it almost felt like we had a real relationship. Like I wasn’t just an acquaintance to him. However, my mind quickly shifted to something else. “Spencer…” I whispered. “Do you… see that?” “Yeah…” he replied. “What the hell…?” A good quarter of the school was walking around emotionlessly, just like Mekhi. They were standing around out front, conversing quietly, with no emotion in their voices. Those that were acting normal seemed to notice the strange behavior too. But the biggest enigma was their appearance: they all had this purplish skin under their eyes, and their irises carried flecks of purple, too. Almost like the blood around and in their eyes was turning violet somehow. It was no different inside. Students walked around the campus, fishing through their lockers, exiting bathrooms, holding the door open for teachers like any other day… and the rest were apathetic and silent. I’d never heard the school so quiet, except for one day when my dad was late to pick me up, and I took a walk through the hallways by myself. When we got into chemistry, almost everyone except for me, Spencer, and Woodrow, were acting strange. Dr. Mahoney even seemed to notice, but he taught the lesson as if everything were normal. “Xanadu…” I recalled the name. “It’s spreading like wildfire…” What struck me as the strangest was that so many people had taken the drug before school. The only drug students usually smoked before class was weed, but potent drugs like this were saved for after hours. It was only a matter of time before all of them were rounded up and drug tested, but sure enough, Xanadu had captivated them all, enough that they apparently couldn’t wait. Mekhi sat in the back of the room with a ghostly complacency, not appearing to be listening to the lesson. He was catatonic. I didn’t focus for much of that class. When class was dismissed, I thought about approaching Spencer, but I didn’t want to make things weird between us; we’d already talked more today than usual, and I didn’t want him to get sick of me. But when I noticed he looked sad, I couldn’t help but walk over to him. “Hey, Spencer,” I reached him, innocuously asking, “that sure was a weird class, huh?” “Yeah…” he nodded. His mind was clearly somewhere else. I felt like asking him if everything was okay, but I didn’t want to pry. “Well, I’ll catch you later, Sierra,” he walked off abruptly. When lunchtime came around, I was baffled by how many students were on Xanadu. It seemed like almost half the school was using it now. Were people trying it between classes? I couldn’t believe my eyes. I’d never seen so many people on drugs at once. And at a school, of all places. I couldn’t believe none of them were afraid of getting caught. As I waited in the lunch line, I couldn’t help but ponder just how unsettlingly bizarre Xanadu was. The way it was spreading so fast was unlike anything I’d ever seen before, and the number of people who were trying it, people that never did that sort of thing—I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. And why were none of them scared of getting caught? And why did it make them behave so strangely, like robots? What was even the point of taking a drug like that, a drug that makes you act braindead? I never came up with an answer as I sat by myself and ruminated. At seventh period that day, in my philosophy class, I was shocked yet again: Spencer was sitting with Ingrid. Ingrid’s eyes were glossy and carried a hue of violet in them, and Spencer was quiet beside her mostly as he waited for the class to start, but sometimes he’d whisper something to her, and she’d whisper back. “What the fuck is going on?” I questioned. Everything that had happened in the last two days made completely no sense. Mekhi being stoic, the whole school trying a new drug overnight, everybody using it at school without even considering the consequences, and now Ingrid was sitting with Spencer? It felt like I was in another dimension. “Good afternoon, class,” Mrs. Roux began. Today was Thursday: discussion day. Every Thursday, we’d forego a lesson, and instead, all as a class give our opinion on a certain topic. Some days, it was more of an open dialogue, and other days, it was more of a debate. At times, it got to be an argument, but she’d interject when that happened. It was almost always a controversial topic, but at the very least, a complicated one to answer. “Today, we’ll be discussing the question,” she introduced as she wrote it on the whiteboard, “what is the point of life?” “Dear god,” I thought to myself. “I’ve got enough on my mind right now. I don’t know what the point of life is.” “Mekhi,” she smiled curiously at him, “we’ll start with you. You seem to be acting quite different lately. Perhaps you’ve had a recent epiphany that relates to this topic. So why don’t you share with us your interpretation of the point of life, please.” He stood up, then faced her and answered, “There isn’t one.” That was all he said. With that, he sat down. She looked disappointed. “You’re not going to elaborate any further?” “There’s no reason to. Life is a blinding light to sensitive eyes. And instead of shutting our eyes to it, we try to make sense of what we’re seeing. It’s asinine. The point of life is that there is no point—only your interpretation of it all matters. There are only two components of a conscious existence: what we experience, and how we react to it, and it’s through those reactions that we ‘live’. That said, while I wouldn’t call it the point of life, most people just want to feel content. But the key to reaching true contentment isn’t happiness, or fulfillment, or any other positive emotion—the key to contentment is to feel nothing at all,” he calmly expressed, Mrs. Roux’s eyes centering onto him. “The problem with wanting to only feel happiness is that happiness is necessitated by sorrow. The capability to feel happiness requires the capability to feel sorrow; one can’t exist without the other. And both are inevitable, thus, sadness is inevitable. But that’s not the case if you’re numb.” She seemed deeply enthused, if not somewhat concerned. “I’m reading a sort of Buddhist vibe from you, Mekhi, with your belief of giving up desire for internal peace. How intriguing. I don’t mean to offend you, and I hope by saying this that I’m not forming a barrier, but I never would have guessed that you had such a nuanced outlook on life. I’m impressed.” And neither would I. My mouth was hanging open in disbelief. Last week, in the very same class, he’d responded to the discussion question “Is love, by its very design, meant to be monogamous, or is that an unfair standard to which society holds relationships” with “I don’t know what you said but sex is great.” And now he was saying… that. “Let’s hear more,” she urged. “How can we, as humans, emotional creatures by design, ever hope to achieve pure numbness? Because it almost seems that you’ve done that.” “Xanadu,” he responded. “One must find Xanadu.” “Xanadu?” she inquired. “But doesn’t Xanadu refer to a realm of pure ecstasy? Of idyllic bliss? How is numbness the same?” “Idyllic bliss is a false hope, a human construct. There is no such thing as pure, unadulterated, unending joy, because joy can only be felt in contrast to sorrow. Joy without sorrow amounts to nothing—numbness. So numbness is the true Xanadu.” “How does one find Xanadu?” He was silent for a moment. “I could tell you. But I don’t know if that would be appropriate.”She clearly didn’t expect that answer. “We’ll… talk about this later, Mekhi. I’m very interested in what you have to say. What about you, Woodrow? What do you believe the meaning of life is?” He stood up. He adjusted his glasses. He had neat, orderly, short black hair, and hazel eyes. He was taller than most of us, standing at six feet tall and one inch, and he always dressed up for school as if it were a formal occasion. I didn’t think it made him look weird, though; it made him look intimidating to me. Maybe to us, school was a joke, or an inconvenience. But to him, it was his first step into the professional and successful life he was bound to live. Every time I was around him, I felt that I was in the presence of a genius. “The meaning of life is inherently subjective. Every individual has their own understanding of it. As there is no benchmark character, there is also no benchmark purpose to life. Whether or not there is a reason for existence is contingent on your own beliefs. As for me, I believe that there are forces at play in this world that science alone cannot explain, and their deliberate nature would suggest that there is a ‘reason’ or ‘intention’ behind life. So, I would venture to say that individuals do have purposes for living. But I do not believe the purpose of life is the same for me as it is for you. Otherwise, would we not all be made to seek the same thing? But every soul has different desires, and different disinclinations. One soul’s desire is another soul’s disinclination. Every human experiences life in the boundaries of their own phaneron, so attempting to develop some cookie-cutter justification for existence is as senseless as it is fruitless. With all that said, I’ll expound upon my own extrapolation: I personally believe there is a hierarchy of purpose in place. I believe there are those whose purpose is influential and monumental, and there are those whose purpose is to exist solely so that another more important person may embark on whatever path the forces of the world have designated them to walk.” She was silent for a moment, digesting what he’d said. I was completely lost. At this point, I was hardly even listening anymore. This was all way too much for me right now. “So… you believe that some people exist solely to participate in experiences that prepare other, more valuable people, to achieve their higher purpose?” “Precisely,” he nodded. “But who, or what, decides whose purpose is important, and whose purpose is just to assist others in fulfilling their own?” “I couldn’t say,” he answered. “This isn’t my own idea, but merely an observation I’ve made. Consider the fact that while some people—few, I might add—have gone down in history for their remarkable contributions to mankind, many others simply perished without even a name to remember them by. Forgotten in the pages of history, forever. It’s unlikely to assume that all of those people failed to achieve their purpose; rather, their purpose simply wasn’t as great. I think it’s infinitely more probable that we humans simply tend to misunderstand the relevance of our purpose than the notion that so many of us are incapable of achieving it altogether—Occam’s razor,” he smiled slightly. “Fair enough,” she nodded. “And these ‘forces of the world’ that you refer to… Are they religious in nature? Or are they ambiguous, abstract?” “That, also, I don’t know,” he admitted. “But evidence of these omnipotent forces is manifest in everything we study. I do not believe that science disproves paranormalities; contrarily, I believe it strongly points to them. Take, for instance, the theory of special relativity. This states, in laymen’s terms, that a tangible object can never reach the speed of light. ssentially, as an object increases in speed, its mass also increases. And while this change is nanoscopic at a conventional speed, if an object were to approach the speed of light, this increase in mass—which, again, is a result of an increase in speed—results in the object moving slower. Or, at least, not fast enough to achieve light speed. So, said plainly, the reason an object can never reach light speed is because it is going fast. It’s paradoxical and strange, but one must really consider how and why a force such as this is in place. It is as if something has designed objects to never reach the speed of light. And do forces as mysterious and inexorable as this also govern other phenomena that we attribute to religion, and chance? Do these forces govern love, and death? Do they govern the meaning of existence? Who knows. But regardless, there is abundant evidence of deliberate forces in our universe that govern our way of life, and whether or not it’s a grand design or an abstract reality, it’s reality all the same.” “And that brings me to my point about the purpose of life—in a world with rules as uncanny and deliberate as that, is it really so hard to believe that some of us exist only to further the purpose of others? Light is designated to move at light speed, and you and I, despite all our spacefaring desires, are not. Perhaps then Thomas Edison was designated to be credited as the inventor of the lightbulb, and the likes of Humphrey Davey, and Alessandro Volta, and Joseph Swan were meant to merely serve as contributors to his grander destiny, lucky to even exist as footnotes in the annals of human history. Perhaps some of us in this room will die for no apparent reason whatsoever, and others will live long and meaningful lives, producing offspring that will go on to carry our legacies for generations to come. Perhaps some of us will even end up in our own textbooks as subjects of discussion. And none of it will have been a matter of succeeding or failing to accomplish our ostensibly grand purpose, whatever that may be, but instead an ordained result of some incalculable determination already codified in our being here to begin with.” She was silent. She slowly shook her head. “Woodrow… I see that you’ve put a lot of thought into this. While I can’t say I agree with you, I can say I’m excited to see what you become one day.” He simply nodded, then sat back down. “Well, with that said, Sierra,” my eyes widened in their sockets. She picked me to talk after that? Seriously? “What is your perception of the meaning of life?” “I…” I stammered, getting to my feet and standing there like an idiot. “I don’t know… Love, maybe.” Woodrow looked appalled. “Love, Sierra?” Mrs. Roux tilted her head in interest with a kind smile. “What exactly do you mean?” “It’s… you know… the strongest feeling in the world. You can love somebody that isn’t even alive anymore. And love can make you do crazy things. So it’s probably the point. I think it’s the most important thing in the universe.” Woodrow raised his hand. Mrs. Roux allowed him to speak. “Does ‘important’—which, in this case, is only derived from societal interpretation—equal universal meaning? And does it really matter what you or I consider to be important, anyhow? What about our observations of reality suggest that love truly matters at all?” “Wha… What…?” I replied hopelessly. “What I think he’s trying to say,” Mrs. Roux dumbed it down for me, “is that you stated that you think love is the purpose of life because it’s, in your opinion, the most important thing in the world. But, in the long run—and I don’t mean this offensively, but just to elucidate Woodrow’s point—does it really matter what Sierra Hunt considers to be important? In the grand scheme of things, Sierra? And even if most of the human race considers love to be important, which it does, does that mean that it becomes the purpose of life? Because if humans changed their mind tomorrow that love wasn’t important anymore, what, then, would be the purpose of life?” I was out to lunch. I just sat down. “Aww, Sierra,” she sighed, “I didn’t mean to—” “You didn’t ‘form a barrier’,” I cringed at even saying her inoffensive catchphrase. “I just can tell that I’m not at all experienced enough to be talking about this.” “Sierra, we’ve all lived life! And that makes us all experienced to answer this.” “Whatever,” I shrugged. Needless to say, by the time I got out of that class, the only thing I was thinking about was my headache. I didn’t even bother to watch Spencer walk out of the classroom with Ingrid. Good for him. She’d finally talk to him on drugs. Wasn’t much of an accomplishment, but if that’s what made him happy, then so be it. I went to my locker and hoped I could just feel a sense of normalcy after that class, but when I inevitably noticed everybody tripping on Xanadu again, I started to feel restless. It didn’t even feel like I was on Earth anymore. Everything was getting so complicated and bizarre, in just a matter of days. “Sierra,” Ingrid’s voice shocked me and pulled me out of my trance. She sounded completely different. There was no sass in her tone, or a condescending smirk on her face. She was staring at me plainly. “Are you confused?” “That’s a vague question.” “I can see it in your eyes, Sierra. You look troubled. Lost.” “What in the holy mother of god is happening?” I thought desperately. “Ingrid… Look… I don’t know why you’re talking to me, but… I’m fine. Okay?” She was silent for a moment, as if carefully considering a response. “Are you on Xanadu?” She nodded. “Why at school? Aren’t you scared you’ll get caught?” “I took it last night,” she explained. “But it doesn’t end. Xanadu isn’t just a high. It’s a revelation. It’s a never-ending state of being.” “What…?” I whispered. “Ingrid, are you even listening to yourself…?” “If you ever want to come here with me, let me know. You’re a very emotional girl, Sierra. And emotions hurt.” She turned and walked away. I’d never been so flabbergasted. What the hell was happening here? That wasn’t Ingrid talking. And neither was that Mekhi earlier. They were both the same now. Like both of them were possessed by something. By the same thing. Then a horrible idea came to my mind. I shivered with dread as I remembered that Spencer had been sitting with Ingrid. He was acting like himself, but she just offered me the drug of all people. Did she offer it to him, too? For some reason, I felt almost like crying as I considered the possibility. I was running through the halls in no time, my emotions taking over my body completely. I got to his eighth period class, but he was already inside. “Dammit…!” I rested my head against the door. I stepped back, and anxiously walked to my last class of the day. The entire class, my heart was racing. I didn’t want that beautiful human being to become soulless like Mekhi, and Ingrid… I was so scared he was going to take the drug. He was my inspiration. He was my reason for trying to overcome my self-doubt. He was my proof that there must be a way to be okay with being myself. He was my muse in life… whether he knew it or not.“No… No…” I assured myself. “He’s Spencer. Spencer doesn’t conform… He’ll never do that drug, even if Ingrid is telling him to.” But he was so deceived by her. He was her slave, committing his all to her for nonexistent acknowledgement. It started to dawn on me how independent I’d always considered Spencer to be—was he independent? Or was he… oblivious? Was he himself because he didn’t care what anybody else thought, or was he just himself… because he couldn’t pull off being somebody else? I’d never had thoughts like this before. And I didn’t like it at all. Looking back, I missed just being awkward at school, and being ignored, and spending all my time wishing that Spencer would talk to me. That sucked, but it wasn’t this… longing. This sinister feeling that something horrible was happening. And the feeling that I might lose Spencer forever. And that Spencer maybe wasn’t who I thought he was at all. And I was banking everything on nothing. I started to feel nauseous, shoving the thoughts away in a desperate attempt to feel better.When class got out, I sprinted to Spencer’s class, but it had already been released. “Dammit!” I huffed, changing my direction to the school parking lot. I got outside just in time. I found him walking into the student parking lot, Ingrid at his side.“Spencer!” I called, running over to him. “Hey, Spencer!” He looked over at me, seeming embarrassed. “Hey, Sierra,” he waved, but his nervous expression betrayed the innocent gesture. “What are you doing?” I asked. “I… Uh…” “He’s finding peace,” Ingrid assured. “He’s resting his weary, worn-out soul.” “What the fuck are you even talking about, dude?” I stared at her. “And, Spencer…! You can’t… do this!” I felt tears pour from my eyes unexpectedly, to the point it was blinding my vision. “Sierra!” he gasped. “Are you okay?” “No!” I yelled. “I’m not okay at all! I’m so confused, and scared, and… you… you’re my rock, Spencer… You are. Whether you realize that or not.” I couldn’t believe I was saying all of this. I never thought I’d tell him. But here I was, pouring it all out to him, and Ingrid just watched lifelessly, like a ghost. “You know why I never wear makeup? Because I don’t want to! But I feel like I have to! You know? And I feel like I should wear trendy clothes, like Ingrid, and get my nails done, and wear perfume, but—that isn’t me! And I try so hard to accept that, but it’s so difficult… And then I see you,” my stinging eyes peered through my glasses, meeting his soft, blurry brown. “I see you dressing in old jeans and tennis shoes, and just acting like your dorky self. I see you never giving up on Ingrid, even when everybody tells you it’s not gonna’ work. I see all your little quirks, how you run through the halls to see her walk by her locker in the morning, and how you snort when you laugh really hard with your friends at lunch. I see you never conforming to the standard, just being Spencer. And it makes me confident. Confident that one day, I can be like that too… So… you can’t go to Xanadu… and not be Spencer anymore.” I was trembling. He looked down slowly. “I… I think… that you got it wrong, Sierra. I’m… not very content with myself at all.”The words crushed me. I stood there in voiceless agony. “I don’t understand,” Ingrid soothingly addressed. “Why do you want to hold onto this pain, Sierra? Why won’t you let it be? Move on from the limitations of emotions.” “Come on, Sierra…” Spencer tried to smile. “Come on. Let’s do it. It’s fast, and then you stop feeling pain. Forever.” I was so broken, I couldn’t fight them. “…Okay, Spencer…” We walked off to her SUV, a spotlessly white Lexus RX 350. We climbed inside and shut the doors. Her windows were tinted, and she parked far from the school in the shade. I could smell her perfume as she leaned over and opened the glovebox. She pulled out a plastic bag full of something that didn’t look like it was from Earth. Inside the bag was a pile of shimmering violet dust. It was almost glowing. There wasn’t a lot of it inside, but I was guessing she didn’t need much, because she pinched a very small amount with her delicate fingers and took it out of the bag. “Who first?” she inquired. I was swarmed with that feeling you get when you do something wrong. Something really bad. And you’re terrified, and you wonder “Am I going to get away with this? Is this going to change my life forever?” “I’ll go first,” Spencer was almost shaking with nervousness. “Okay. Lean your head back,” she instructed. “Huh…?” “Xanadu enters through your eyes.” I was starting to lose it. This couldn’t be my very last moment with Spencer. With the real Spencer, anyway. I watched hopelessly as he obeyed. With his head cocked back, he stared at the ceiling of the vehicle. Her fingers hovered above those loving, warm brown irises. My heart exploded in my chest, freeing me from my silence. “Spencer!” I cried. “Please, don’t do this!” “Sierra…” he assured, still looking up. “Please… I need this… I can’t feel so broken anymore…” “Broken…?” I choked out, tears dousing my face. “I… I didn’t think you were broken…” “Why—why wasn’t I allowed to be in pain to you, Sierra?” he looked at me. “I don’t get it. Like, you’re offended that I’m sad, and that I feel pain like everybody else. Who’d you think I was, huh?” I couldn’t say anything. “I’m crushed. I’m tired of feeling like I can’t have love. Tired of being ignored by everybody.” “Ignored by everybody…? But, you have friends… and a family that loves you…” “Yeah…” he looked down. “I know. But… still. I can’t be who I want to be. Popular, important… you know…? I’ll never be that. And it’s painful. It’s painful that I can’t be important to people. It’s painful that I can’t get a girlfriend.” “You could! You always could! I was always here! You were important to me, Spencer! And you still are! But you—you just ignored me!” “Sierra,” he looked astonished. “I—I never knew.” “Yeah, I know! Because you’re an oblivious idiot! It was so obvious that I love you, and you never did anything about it! You don’t even care, do you?! You… You just want Ingrid… The sexy, popular girl… Forget girls like me, right? The girls that don’t like to dress up and look pretty. Yeah, we’re not worth it.” I was silent. He shook his head. “Ingrid… do it.” He looked up. She held her fingers over his eyes. I felt like I was going to puke as I pushed the car door open and slammed it shut, walking away into the parking lot. I tried not to cry as I hustled to the restroom. When I reached a stall, I curled up on the seat, and before I knew it, I was bawling. I knew he was gone. Finally, after my aunt had texted me twice and called me three times, I worked up the strength to tell her where I was and that I was coming. I felt bad that she had come to pick me up for my dad and I’d kept her waiting. The rest of that day was a blur to me. She interrogated me on the ride home, asking if everything was okay, and I just told her it was boy trouble. She understood and tried to give me advice, but none of it applied. She didn’t understand. He was dead now. When I got inside, my father was overcome with relief. He told me over and over again that he’d thought something had happened to me, but I told him I was just being emotional and lost track of time. I told him not to worry about it right now and to get some rest, because he needed it if he wanted to get better. Most of that night, I spent on autopilot. Everything I’d always lived by was false, and that realization left me feeling nothing short of despair. Spencer was gone. Love couldn’t be the meaning of life, either, could it? So what did it matter anyway? Did it matter? Apparently, the only thing that mattered in life were forces. Ambiguous forces, with strict policies that we have no choice but to live by. At least, that’s what Woodrow thought. And he was a lot smarter than me. I cried myself to sleep that night, unable to comprehend that Spencer had really given in to Xanadu. That he was emotionless now. All I could think about was when he bumped into me on Wednesday, the life and vibrance in his eyes and voice. Undoubtedly, it was all gone now.Forever. Because Xanadu is a never-ending state of being. The next day at school, I dreaded even getting out of the truck. My dad told me goodbye and that he loved me, and I muttered that I loved him too, but I doubt he even heard me considering how quietly I said it. When I got to first-period chemistry, I couldn’t even face Spencer. Seeing the flecks of violet in his eyes… his catatonic gaze… was incomprehensibly excruciating. Besides Woodrow, I think I was the only one in the class that wasn’t drugged.I couldn’t think straight all of that class. My brain was plagued with what had become of Spencer, and of Pawnee High School. It was overwhelming. It was horrible. I felt so sick…When class got out, I went straight to the front of the school and called my dad. I told him that I thought I’d caught his sickness, and that I needed to come home. He told me he’d be right there. My day at home was awful. I tried to distract myself with TV, but it did nothing to get my mind off what was going on. I started to consider that maybe I should talk with my dad about it. And then… I started to consider something else. How much pain I was in. How much pain I’d always been in. And all… from emotions. It was there, at that moment in my living room, that I had my epiphany: what were emotions good for? What was the reason to hold onto them? What was the importance? It didn’t really matter in the slightest, did it? Wouldn’t it all be so much easier if I felt nothing at all? It felt like the entire Earth were melting and falling around me like rain, and I was left staring at whatever nothingness remained. Everything I’d ever thought about life was proved wrong, in a matter of just three days. It was just too much. I didn’t want this anymore. The pain of emotions. They were all gone. The whole school. It was only a matter of time before it was the whole town. And I didn’t want to be the only one sane enough to be appalled by what was left. Thoughts like “What will my dad think?” popped up in my mind, and they hurt to think about. They hurt. They made me sad, and sorry, and hurt. Emotions hurt. I wanted to stop feeling them. I was done resisting. I took out my phone. “Spencer. I’m tired of feeling pain. Get me Xanadu please.” He responded instantly. “What time?” It felt so strange to negotiate the time my soul would be euthanized. “Some time tonight, when my dad’s asleep. He’s been sick lately. I think he’ll be in bed around ten o’clock. How about eleven? I’ll meet you in front of my house, or whoever you can get to come here with it.” “I’ll be there.” I thought about how excited that text would have made me three days ago. Now, it didn’t feel like much. It was weird. I was in so much emotional distress that I was starting to actually go numb already. The rest of the afternoon, I couldn’t really talk with my dad. Even speaking with him made me almost tear up. I wanted so badly not to hurt him. But I couldn’t feel this anymore. There was no reason to feel this anymore. My dad went to bed around nine o’clock, and sure enough, at eleven o’clock on the dot, I saw headlights in my driveway. I stepped outside to find Spencer sitting in the passenger seat of Ingrid’s SUV. I walked over to the vehicle without saying a word. I climbed in the back, and they pulled off, driving down the road and parking by the woods. Spencer turned around and looked at me. “Are you ready to rest, Sierra?” “Sure…” I sighed. It was so disturbing to see or hear Spencer like this. And to think I’d be the same way in just a couple minutes. But he was right. Ingrid was right, and even Mekhi was. What was the point of emotion? He pulled a spec of Xanadu out of the plastic bag in his hand. I studied it curiously, wondering what the hell it was, and where it came from. It shimmered like the stars in the sky. “Lean your head back,” he instructed. I leaned my head back. Then, I froze. I started to feel this incredible urge to hold Spencer. Kind of life what someone feels when somebody dies in their arms. They know that they’re dead, but they hold them a little longer. I’m not sure why humans do it. But it’s exactly what I felt as I saw him there. I just wanted to hold him for a moment, maybe like that was me parting with him, and myself, even. I reached over and touched his face. And all I felt was ice. I gasped as my hand lurched back. “Spencer!” I uttered. “Why are you… so cold?!” He didn’t say a thing. “Calm down, Sierra. Stop all of this. Your brain must be exhausted. It’s time to rest.” “No…!” I trembled. “You… You feel… dead.” And everything clicked at that moment. It all made sense to me. Perfect sense. That’s what emotions were: the difference between life and death. Emotions made us alive. They weren’t a reason for existence—they were existence! That was the reason for them! And it was a domino effect of understanding. There needed to be sadness, because without sadness, there couldn’t be happiness! Happiness would then be nothing, numbness. So to be alive, I had to feel happiness, and sadness too. And that was okay. “All along…” I stared at him. “I bet my life… and soul… on you. And that was my mistake right there. I thought life was about having you… but it isn’t. At all! I don’t… I don’t know what life is about! But that’s for me to decide! All I know is, it’s definitely not Xanadu, because that’s not life at all!” “You’re saying things that don’t make sense,” Spencer tried to console me. “Without Xanadu, all you’ll feel is pain—that’s hardly a life to live.” “No, that’s not true! I’ll feel pain, sure—but I’ll feel other things too!” I proclaimed through my tears. “I’ll feel laughter! And relief! And joy! I’ll feel, Spencer! And that’s the only life to live!” I shoved it out of his hands and it scattered on the floor of the vehicle. “I don’t need Xanadu! I don’t want to be dead! I want to be alive! I don’t need to know why I’m here yet! I have my whole life to figure that out! But I know one thing. Numbness isn’t the solution to living, Spencer. It’s giving up on life entirely.” “Don’t leave, Sierra. You’re making a mistake.” “A mistake? Funny you’re telling me that… when you’re dead. You two made the mistake.” I got out of the car, shutting the door behind me and not looking back. They drove away moments later. I walked back to the house, came inside, knelt at the side of my dad’s bed, and hugged him. “Dad… Sorry to wake you up,” I whispered, and he peeked at me through sleepy eyes. “I just, uh—well, I wanted to tell you that I love you, Dad. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that before… I’m so sorry.” “Aww, Sierra,” he soothed, weakly sitting up and tenderly rubbing my head. “I understand. You’re sixteen! You’re growing up, and—” “There isn’t any excuse,” I insisted. “I love you, Dad. And I won’t hesitate to tell you ever again. I won’t hesitate to do anything again…” I thought to myself. “I’m alive. And emotions make me alive. And there’s a reason I am who I am; Xanadu was evil, and it didn’t want me to be me, so there must be a good reason. And so, I’ll never be ashamed of that either.” I took a long, deep breath. “Sierra, I don’t want to get you sick.” “I know, Dad,” I smiled. “Sorry, I’ll let you get back to sleep. We should do something tomorrow, if you’re feeling up to it. Or maybe we could just watch a movie at home.” “That sounds great,” he nodded. When I left the room, I walked back to my bedroom and sat on the floor. Don’t get me wrong, I was still hurting. It broke my heart that Spencer was gone. It disturbed me that I almost betrayed my dad and left him behind, selfishly seeking an escape. I hated to think that so many innocent lives were taken by that drug. But, at the same time, for the first time in my life, I found peace. I felt like me. And I was happy to be me. That Monday, I was petrified to find the school almost empty. Police began an investigation, and what they found unnerves me to this day. One hundred and ninety-four students, dead. All of unknown causes. Ingrid? Dead. Mekhi? Dead. Spencer…? Dead. All of them had died the same way: lying peacefully on the ground, as if they’d died in their sleep. I still don’t know what Xanadu was. I don’t know where it came from. I don’t know how it spread so fast. I don’t know why all of those under its influence seemed to be a hivemind, like they were all the same person in different bodies. I… don’t know how it made corpses move, and speak. But I felt Spencer’s face with my own fingers. He was dead long before Monday. It’s terrible what happened. I don’t know why it had to occur, and I’m still searching for the meaning of it, or whether there is one at all. Sometimes, I can’t help but shudder to consider how that experience helped me progress as a person… In other words, Woodrow’s theorem held true. All those lives were lost, and I came out better, like somehow I had a grander purpose, and theirs was to take Xanadu and make me into me. But whether or not that’s what really happened, I can’t deny I’m the woman I am today because of it. And though it hurts, I’m gonna’ go on living. Because as long as you refuse to feel nothing, you’re not done living. Credit: D.D. Howard Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance.