#18: Unread

Things used to be easier when letters were sent physically. Sure, it would take longer, and there might be the off chance it wasn’t delivered.

But at the same time, you wouldn’t know if they had left your message unread.

Somehow, the little red notification under every message I send is more painful the longer it goes on.

Will everything I send you remain unread?

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#17: Calculated

It should have been easy.

Calculate all the variables, all the things that could go wrong during their daring escape. Calculate when the guards would be patrolling that area of the museum. Calculate how many minutes it would take for them to disarm the security system for the modern arts wing, how long it would take to lift the protective covering, also with its own added security, and then lift the painting before anyone got suspicious.

It should have been easy to calculate all that. From the time the heist began to the time she would be staring at the priceless painting in her secret lair should have been under 45 minutes.

But then, as she was playing the distraction, in case anyone did come around asking questions, she ran into him.

There was no way she could have calculated how the slope of his jaw could have ruined their entire plan, nor how his need to help her find the ancient Egypt exibit (the farthest from the modern art wing) would have saved the plan as the words bumbled their way out of her mouth.

Yes, the painting looked nice next to all of her other stolen artifacts, but if she had calculated a little better, she might have reached the answer to the entire equation.

His phone number.

#16: The New Guy

The new guy wipes his hands on his pants to get rid of the sweat that coats his palms. He stares up at the faded sign above the doorway, takes a deep breath and jumps right in.

He was hired to make things better for the company, and just from what he’s seen, they need it.

“You must be the new guy,” the receptionist says before he can introduce himself properly. “They’re already waiting for you.”

He goes through the door that she points toward and finds several older men in suits staring at him as he enters, their faces drawn and old and tired.

“Welcome in.” One of the older guys droned, not looking excited to have new blood at all. “You’ve got a lot to prove.”

Whatever needed to be done, he would do it. He was the new guy after all.

#15: My Bag is Packed

My bag is packed.

It’s sitting by the door,

waiting to be swept away,

Whenever I feel

that you and I are no longer compatible.

So say something,

Do something,

To make me believe

That I can stop running.

Give me a reason to make a home

In you,

And unpack my baggage for good.

#14: My Diary

When I open my diary from five years ago, it’s hard to believe that I lived that life and that that person was me.

Five years ago, I thought I was happy, I thought I was whole, but I laugh now at how wrong I was. I laugh at how much growing I still had to do.

How much growing I still have to do.

Five years ago, I was barely an adult, floating through my life with all the dreams in my head propelling me up into the clouds, and my feet not on the ground. Five years ago, I was just out of a relationship that is my worst relationship to date, and looking back now, I am so relieved.

Five years ago, I was a coward, ready to do and be whatever anyone wanted me to be. I would rather have been one to fit in and go with the flow.

Not anymore.

Now, I’m standing tall, becoming my own person, and making waves.

Hello World!

#13: Looks Like A Baby

The archeologist wiped the sweat from her forehead and returned to brushing the dirt from the skull in the dirt. She had pitched her project to find one of the congregations of the last known races to quit reproducing and all die of old age in the Rangu desert, and so far her findings had been correct.

So far, all of the remains they had found were all over the age of fifty, riddled with arthritis and osteoporosis and age. She was about to make the biggest discovery of her career, her name in all of the journals and research studies on this race of elderly people.

“Miss Areon!” One of her assistants called out from another quadrant of the dig, “We’ve found something!”

It had to be something interesting if they were calling her over. As the head of the dig, they were instructed to call her with anything even remotely interesting. She stood over the assistant as he carefully brushed the dirt away from the tiny skull, to reveal tiny shoulders.

“Were the Maricai known to have dwarf features?” her assistant asked. “Because it looks like a baby.”

She shook her head, her mind reeling with the possibilities. How could she have been so wrong?

“It is a baby,” She answered, grumbling internally about how wrong she had been. “See how the skull hasn’t fully formed into one yet?” She asked, pointing out the feature on the tiny skull.

Now she knew she had a choice to make. Continue with the dig, or give up and search somewhere else for the Maricai people.

“Keep digging,” She instructed the rest of them. These people, whoever they were, had a story to tell too.

 

#12: Time Is Running Out

10

She stared at the clock, willing it to slow down.

9

She held her breath, waiting with anticipation and fear.

8

How had it already come so soon?

7

She thought she had more time.

6

It was already here?!

5

How had time slipped through her fingers do easily?

4

She tried to breathe but her heart was heavy in her chest.

3

Before it had been easier, but it was HERE!

2

What was she supposed to do?

1

She couldn’t do anything.

0

Time had run out.