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The Princess and The Bounty Hunter “Man, the front gates! Do not allow them in!” The queen's voice echoed across the throne room, strong and unwavering in the face of danger. Raiders invading her kingdom and she was doing everything she could to stop them. The queen turned her head to the court physician, “Fetch me, my granddaughter.” The physician bowed and set off to find the eight-year-old princess. Soon after the physician left the throne room doors burst open, in came a knight holding his side, his hand covered in blood telling the others in the room he had been injured. “They’ve breached the gate, your highness,” he said. The queen grabbed her sword as the physician and the princess entered the room. The girl ran to her grandmother hugging her around the legs. The queen pulled the princess off and crouched to her level. “Isabell, I need you to leave with Lino,” The physician. “I don’t wanna leave you!” She cried. “You have to, you are the only heir left, protecting you is all that matters. Lino take her!” the queen explained. Lino grabbed the girl pulling her from her grandmother. The princess screamed and thrashed in his grip as she was pulled from the room. Outside, in the courtyard, fire consumed. Pieces of the castle would have to be rebuilt if the enemy intended on staying. The young princess watched in horror as the enemy cut through their soldiers. The blood making pools in the yard, like a puddle caused by the rain. She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t, her eyes followed the movements of the fighting and the trickle of blood. Lino pushed the girl to the stables; they would need a horse to get away quickly. Reaching the stables, Lino worked quickly to saddle a horse, leaving the princess standing safely by the horse. Neither expected a man to walk in. He was covered in blood, none of it his. His eyes were dark, an evil glint in them. He stopped in front of the girl. Slowly pulling out his blade, he smiled. The princess couldn’t scream, she wanted too, but when she opened her mouth, nothing came out. Luckily, Lino was quick to block the man’s blade from cutting through the girl. “Don’t look princess!” Lino warned. Despite his warning, she watched the men fight. The sound of their blade crashing ringing in her ears. It was when Lino’s blade finally went through the man that the scream finally erupted from her throat. “I told you not to Look!” Lino said, before lifting her on to the horse. He climbed on after her and rode as quickly as they could through the gates, avoiding any enemies in their way. They made it through the gates and left the castle to burn. 10 years later

Isabell walked through the door of the small hut she and Lino have been living in for 7 years. It’d been ten years since raiders stole her kingdom, enslaved her people, and killed her grandmother. She longed for revenge. She set the basket of vegetables she got from the market on the small wooden table. “Thank you, Izzy,” Lino said. They couldn’t use her real name, couldn’t take the chance of someone finding out she was the lost princess. If anyone were to find out and expose them the same people who stole her kingdom would come for her. “There’s a bounty hunter in town,” she told Lino casually. Lino sighed looking up from the pot resetting over the fire that he was making stew in. “We’ve been over this.” “It’s been ten years; we’ve waited long enough!” she replied. “Lino…” “ENOUGH!” Lino screamed. Isabell sat shocked that he had raised his voice at her. Once the shock wore off, her eyes became narrow as she glared at the older man. “You can’t talk to me like that.” she said, her voice firm, sounding much like her grandmother. Lino walked over the lost princess, his eyes sharp, he got close to her face. “Make no mistake, you are not a princess anymore,” he spat. Isabell didn’t reply, she looked away from Lino glaring at the wooden wall beside her. Lino turned around to tend to the stew once again, he turned his head when he heard the door slam. The princess had fled the hut. Isabell sat at a small table in the corner of the tavern, a mug of ale sat in front of her untouched. She mainly only ordered it so the owner wouldn’t kick her out. Her eyes watched the man located across the room, the bounty hunter. The bounty hunter had broad shoulders and was obviously built, his shoulder length hair was the color of dirt, and he had a scar, on the right side of his face, running from his forehead, across his eye and ending at his cheek. He was drinking his ale from a mug the same as hers, but he had a pitcher sat on his table for refills. He was receiving his payment for whatever bounty he had collected and handed over. As if sensing her eyes on him the hunt snapped his head in her direction. Isabell quickly looked away hoping he didn’t see her watching him. Her hopes were dashed, however, when a mug was slammed onto the table in front of her, making her jump in her seat. “You’ve been staring at me since I walked in.” his gruff voice rang out. Isabell met his eyes. One eye was a dark brown but the eye that had the scar was gray and clouded over. Isabell wondered if he could see out of that eye or not. “What do you want?” He asked pulling a chair from the table to sit in while chugging what was left in his mug. Isabell proceeds to stare at him for a minute. “I might have a job for you.” She replied. “Might?” Isabell nodded. “And what might this job be?” He questioned. “I wanna take the throne.” She said smugly. The hunter barked out a boisterous laugh, causing several heads to turn in their direction. “You wouldn’t make it within five feet of the castle walls.” His laughing died down. He took her mug and drank from it. “That’s why I need help.” She said, He smiles. “Sorry little girl, that’s not my type of job” He drank the rest of the ale and left the tavern without another word. “I’m not a little girl.” She pouted. She stayed in the tavern for a little longer before deciding to head back to her home on the outskirts of town. When she made it back to the hut, she knew something was wrong, the door was ajar, and the windows were smashed. Isabell ran into the hut to find Lino on the floor, his throat slit and his eyes wide open. The blood had leaked into a puddle around him. Isabell felt the tears run down her cheeks as she looked at the body. She couldn’t look away. She fell to her knees, a hand coming up to cover her mouth as she sobbed.

Hours later she still sat in the hut, her back against the wall by the door, her tears had dried long ago and all that was left was a blank stare. She didn’t know what to do with herself, Lino had always been there. Her last moment with him was a fight, at this revelation, the anger came. She slowly stood up, grabbed her cloak and the satchel she used when gathering berries. She grabbed a torch and lit before throwing it on the ground in front of her and leaving the hut to burn. She found the hunter at the stable by the inn he was staying in. “I already told you,” He started, “I’m not helping.” “I’m not asking this time.” She said firmly. The hunter looked at her, something changed, when he first saw her there was an innocence resting in her green eyes, it wasn’t there anymore. “What’s your name?” He asked. “Isabell.” She replied, she knew if she wanted his help, she had to be honest even at the risk of her life. The bounty hunter smirked, “like the lost princess.” It was a statement not a question, Isabell answered anyway. “Exactly like.” “You’re her.” Isabell smiled; he picked it up quicker than she thought he would. “And what's to stop me from collecting the bounty on your head?” He asked. “I can pay you triple what they’re asking, once I take the throne back.” She watched him as he continued to tend to his horse getting ready for his next journey. When he was finished preparing, he led his horse out of the stables and hopped on. Isabell looked down when she realized he wasn’t going to help her. She was surprised when a large, calloused hand popped into her line of view. “Come on princess.” He spoke. She smiled, taking his hand and allowing him to pull her onto the horse behind him. “I’m Gareth, by the way.” “Nice to meet you Gareth.” They had been riding for over a week, the longest they’ve stopped was to buy a horse in a small village they came across, so they didn’t have to share. The Princess’s body was sore, she wasn’t used to riding a horse for so long. Her thighs ached and her lower back pulsed with pain. She didn’t complain, however, they had a lot to do before taking the throne. First and foremost, they had to find people willing to fight with them, those still loyal to the original royal family. They rode in silence; Gareth didn’t talk unless he had to and Isabell was fine with it. She didn’t know what she’d say if he wanted to talk. She was still reeling from losing Lino and didn’t feel like talking anyways. She found it hard to rest the rare time they did stop, every time she closed her eyes, she could see Lino’s body, bloody images flashing through her mind. “We’ll stop here.” Gareth’s rough voice broke her out of her thoughts. It would be getting dark soon and Gareth thought they needed the rest, mainly the princess. There were dark circles forming under her eyes. She looked around, they were in the middle of the forest, they had stopped in a small clearing. Gareth thought they should travel off the road to avoid any unnecessary contact, she agreed. As she looked around,

she saw a boulder, she assumed that’s what caused Gareth to stop here. The boulder would provide cover for their backs while they rest. They both got off their horses and tied them to a nearby tree. Isabell rubbed her lower back to try and soothe the ache, Gareth noticed but didn’t say anything, instead he started to gather firewood. Isabell stared into the fire; it was dark now. Gareth took the time to use a whetstone to sharpen his sword and various daggers. He’d occasionally glance up at the princess before returning to sharpening his weapons. “You should rest.” He spoke. Isabell looked at him from across the fire, the light dancing in her green eyes. “I’m not tired.” She replied. He nodded in acknowledgement, although they both knew it wasn’t true. They sat in silence for a while, the only sound was of metal scraping against stone. Isabell watches the movement, her eyes following the glinting metal. “How’d you get that scar?” she asked. She pointed her hand at her face as a gesture to the scar on his. He stopped what he was doing to look at her. He sighed, setting the dagger he was sharpening down. “I was working a job,” He started. “It was a small farming village; they had a beast eating all their livestock.” She saw his shoulders tense a little, clearly this wasn’t something he talked about very often or ever. “It was a wolf the size of a bear,” he continued, Isabell stared intensely. She was very interested in this story. “It got a hit in before I did.” He finished, not going into detail. Isabell nodded; she’d like more detail, but it was clear he wasn’t going to say more. “We’re running out of coin,” he said. “We’ll stop at the next village, see if they got a job for me.” She nodded in response, laying down. The fatigue was catching up with her, she closed her eyes, hoping she could get a little bit of sleep before being woken by a nightmare. Gareth watched, her black hair falling into her face as she rolled onto her side, the fire casting shadows across the pale skin of her face. Gareth started putting his weapons away, keeping them close, just in case. He laid himself down as well, one arm behind his head the other resting on his stomach as he stared at the starry sky.

I’m sorry I’m sorry I wasn't who you wanted. You wanted a boy, but I was born a girl. A girl who disappointed you because I quit playing the violin. I didn’t enjoy it and when I told you I'd rather do art. you said the violin was art. I was frustrated when you said that, it wasn’t the art I wanted to do. I started apologizing for little things after that. I’m sorry for not calling, I’m sorry for being sick. I was sorry for the way I felt about you. I was sorry for being a girl and sorry wasn’t more like my sister, your favorite. I was sorry for being your daughter and I was for you being my father. I was sorry for you never really knowing who I was or what I liked. I was sorry you didn’t try. I felt sorry for you.

Lost I remember getting the call. I was sitting on my bed at the time coloring in my art prompt book. It was after eleven o’clock, and my phone ringing cut through the music I was playing. It was my sister. My eyebrow furrowed, she never called this late, so I instantly knew something was wrong. Her voice cut through my curiosity. “You and Luke need to get ready, I’m on my way to you.” This sentence worried me even more and I could tell she had been crying. Why would she be coming to us, so I asked her. Her reply caused an immediate physical pain to bloom in my chest. “I just got off the phone with the hospital. They don’t know if mom’s gonna make it through the night.” I replied with a small “Okay.” And then went to my brother’s room to get him up. We both quickly got dressed and waited by the front door for my sister to arrive. Meanwhile the pain in my chest stayed steady. When arriving at the hospital we rushed to the ICU, where my mom was located. She was intubated at the time, so she wasn’t awake. I found myself wonder if she knew what was going on, if she knew we were there, if she could hear us talking to her. We sat there for hours, we said encouraging words to her, not knowing if she could hear but trying anything to keep her alive. We prayed, we none of us pray very often. There was a time where everything settled, mom’s vitals were steady, not as high as the doctors would have liked, but steady. I went to the cabinet that was in the corner of the

room. The nurses had put my mom’s stuff in there. I grabbed the book she had been reading, it was the 3rd book in a trilogy. I opened it up and began to read to her, even though I had no idea what was going on in the book. My brother sat across from me, each of us holding her hands. My sister had stepped outside to smoke a cigarette. It was then things took a turn. My mom’s heart rate shot up quickly, and my brother pulled me out of the room as the doctor rushed. I didn’t understand what was happening at first because I had never seen someone crash before. My sister walked in at this moment, her eyes growing wide. “She’s crashing,” my brother explained. Hearing it out loud is what caused me to break. The tears rolled down my cheeks and my siblings too. My brother pulled both my sister and me into hug as the doctors started CPR. “Don’t look,” he told us in a broken whisper, holding us tightly. All three of us were sobbing at this point. I think we all knew that she wasn’t going to pull through, not this time. We stayed like that until the doctors called it. Before this I didn’t know death could cause such a physical pain. Everyone always talked about the mental pain but not the physical. I feel this pain every day since she died. I think about her every day. I learn something new about the grief every day and how to cope with it. I’m learning how to go on without her as much as it pains me. I know that I am making her proud though. She never wanted us to dwell on her death. She always said, “When I die throw a party and celebrate me as I was.” And although we didn’t throw a party, I know she’d be proud of what we’re doing and how we’re functioning without her.

Not my story: A Mother’s Love I remember my heart racing, I could hear it pounding in my ears as I ran, trying to make it home on time. My siblings weren’t in a rush like I was, they knew I’d do it for them. Knew that I’d do their chores so none of us got beat. The stress of being the protector I knew well, and the fear of the man who signed my birth certificate coming home before I was done cleaning was a daily dread. Every day I’d run home from school, praying that I got there in time to finish not only my chores but my siblings as well. I hated seeing any of them get hurt. I’d rather take the beating myself than hear their cries floating up the stairs into my room. Although, nothing was never enough for him; he’d find something to use as an excuse to punish us. “Why aren’t the dishes done!” We just finished eating dinner. “Why haven’t you done your homework!” I haven’t had time; the cleaning took up my whole day. “Where are your siblings.” I don’t know, I’m not their mother. I don’t answer though. I stand there like a solider getting yelled at by their commander. I can hear his belt coming off, the clinking of the metal buckle hitting the floor. I let my mind wander to another place, a place without pain. Years later as I was sitting in the hospital room after giving birth to my son, I knew I would never be like my parents were. I looked down at the babe in my arms. His eyes looking into mine, I knew there and then I would do everything in my power to protect him, to give him everything I never had. I would be the

best damn mother I could be, even if that meant I had to work three jobs. He would be strong, and smart, and independent, but still kind and caring. Looking into that baby’s eyes I knew his life would be nothing like mine.

Things I lost I lost a sock in the wash, a sock with neon pink and orange stripes. I don’t know what to do with the other now, do I throw it away? Use it in some kind of crafting project? What else have I lost? My old barbie mp3 player from when I was eight, that I later found out my sister had hidden it from me and forgot where she put it. A pair of ladybug earrings, colored pencils I'd use in my littlest pet shop coloring book. My red solo cup full of soda at a Fourth of July cookout, A JCPenney ring with a flower design while swimming, a pair of heart shaped sunglasses that fit perfectly over my regular glasses, all these things are material items, all can be replaced. The biggest thing I've lost cannot be replaced, my mom. I’ve lost the person who gave me life, the person who got me where I am. My mother made me who I am today, I lost the ability to think that she’d always be there, I lost the belief that she was invincible. I lost the person who helped me put perspective on the bad things and taught me everything I know about family. I may have lost my mom, but my nephew gained his very own guardian angel.

My Inner Demon Demon: Whatcha ya doin? Me: Writing. Demon: What are you writing? Me: I don’t know yet Demon: ha, ha, ha, ha Me: why are you laughing? Demon: Because you’re not good enough. Me: Leave me alone. Demon: You’ll never become an author. You’re even struggling to write this assignment. Me: Why do you do this? Demon: Because you know it’s true. You procrastinate too much. Me: I do not! Demon: You do. There’s no point in you writing. Me: Yes, there is. Writing helps me reduce stress, anxiety and my depression. Demon: Then why do you get writer’s block so often, hmm? It's because you know your writing is no good. Me: My writing is good. Writer's block happens to everyone, it doesn’t mean that the writing is bad.

Why I Write I’ve always enjoyed reading. Using books to escape reality is my specialty, and as I gotten older, writing became another escape. It started simple, coming up with stories in my head. Writing a short story in 5th grade, I found I enjoyed coming up with detailed characters and plot lines. Then I discovered I enjoyed writing poetry in high school. We had to make a poetry journal as a final project for the unit. I enjoyed compiling all my works into one place. My writing journey has been a roller coaster, more often than not I have writers block or just don’t feel motivated to write anything. Finding ways to combat that has been crazy. Looking up videos and tips online, trying them and seeing what works and what doesn’t. Despite all that my love for writing has never faltered. I make up tons of stories in my head still and use those for inspiration. While some may see writing as a hassle, I see its potential. The potential to make me more than I am, to give me more than I have. For me writing isn’t just another hobby, it’s my way of expressing myself, and allowing others to see parts of me they wouldn’t see otherwise. Writing is more than just putting words on a blank page. Writing is putting pieces of yourself into each work you make. Letting your emotions guide you to the end. This is what writing means to me.