The Rocks by Cody Roecker

A flash fiction piece I wrote for my Creative Writing: Fiction Class. I hope y'all get something out of it, this means a lot to me.

Cody :)

The Rocks

At the birth of every child, there is a woman who bears gifts. She looks to be kind, her brown hair so dark that it seems black from far away. Her eyes are inviting, drawing you into a warm hug full of love. Her hands look frail, wrinkles covering their entirety. Her body is small, appearing to float, as if she is barely even there. She gives each child a basket forged from the hearts of the dead. The dead’s empty souls are given a purpose once again. Those baskets all hold a small pebble inside, or sometimes a rock, or occasionally even a small stone. And that is the beginning.

           As the children grow up, the woman visits them frequently. She meets some of them daily, and others she visits once a month. To some it feels like she’ll never leave, and others wonder if she ever actually existed in the first place. When she visits she presents more gifts, more pebbles, more rocks, more stones. Depending on the day, a child could expect two small pebbles and a stone, and on others just a rock.

           It started out as a game the children would go back and forth and play.

“I hope she visits me today. She hasn’t brought me a gift in months!” A young boy said once.

“I have too many gifts. I don’t know if I can carry anymore.” An even younger girl had replied.

“Way to brag. You’re so special because you have more rocks than me!”

She slammed her face into her hands, “That’s not what I was saying…”

“Doesn’t matter.” His expression was cold and serious, yet still there was a light in his eyes.

“I hope you get more gifts today. I think you deserve it.” And she was sincere.

“I do deserve it! I’ve been good at home, and I’m doing well in school and everything is good. But there’s always the gifts that are missing. Why would she give one gift if she didn’t want to continue showering me with gifts?”

“I don’t know, I really don’t know.”

“ Maybe it’s because I keep throwing my rocks. Maybe she doesn’t think I like her gifts… But I really do. It’s just, the rocks compel me to toss them across ponds, and into streets and over rainbows.” The boy paused for a second, eyeing the girls basket.

“Do you even throw your rocks?” The boy asked her.

“No, I can’t. They’re stuck.”

“Let me try.” And the boy tried. Unsuccessfully he tried taking one of her rocks, but the girl was right: it did not move, did not even budge. “No wonder it looks like you have so many rocks! You never throw any of them out!”

As the children are young, they can throw the rocks away without a care. The rocks don’t mean anything to most children. But some can’t get rid of the rocks even if they want to. The girl was one of the few that couldn’t. And that weighed on her. Weighed as much as many children’s baskets put together.

The boy’s basket was nearly empty, as devoid of rocks as his skin was devoid of color. His pale skin contrasted the girls black skin just as their baskets were opposites of one another. Her basket was filled to the brim with rocks and stones and pebbles that filled all the empty space in-between.

           “Why does she always get all the rocks?” The schoolchildren would say.

           “She isn’t better than any of us, and yet she has all these stones… I think the Woman takes pity on her. Because she isn’t good enough. And she’s trying to make her feel like she belongs.”

           “She is finding rocks and putting them in her by herself to make her look better than us.”

           “At least my rocks are better than hers. Quality over quantity, am I right?”

The words kept coming, again and again and again and again. She tried not to let it get to her, but it did. Her words were heavy, her basket making it impossible for her to move. The pebbles came with the words, just as fast, just as quick. They piled more, more, more. Until the day that they stopped.

On that fateful day, rocks stopped coming and something miraculous happened. The Woman appeared and started taking out her rocks, her stones and her pebbles. Took them all away. Made her capable of moving again.

           She played with the other children, throwing rocks without much care in the world. Rocks flew like bullets across the yards of the children she befriended. She felt free, like she was flying high on a kite, above the world, among the clouds.

           But that feeling of freedom wouldn’t last long. That light as a feather flight that took place when the rocks left, it wouldn’t stay. She wouldn’t be able to soar in the sky, instead she was banished to the ground, never to move again. This was because weeks after the emptying of the rocks… she lost her father. A boulder replaced all those stones the Woman had taken away. The basket fell on top of her and she couldn’t breathe.

She couldn’t move.

She couldn’t do anything.

All she wanted to do was to dance around and throw rocks with the other children, and she would never be able to again. She couldn’t. She would never be able to.

At least she never thought she would. It didn’t seem plausible at the time.

But at least her mother was still around. They talked about the rocks in their lives. She found out that her mother had just as many rocks as her at one point in her life. It was the curse of people like her, of that thing anyone like her had. They found a sense of warmth in the knowledge that they shared this hardship, in all its forms. Together they went to someone, to talk about the rocks in both of their lives. And even though the rocks stayed, they got a little lighter. They were able to be moved, a shared weight on the backs of a mother and daughter. And honestly, the talking made it easier, some of the rocks were replaced with feathers, memories of those stones that plagued their lives- but so much lighter.

And that’s why I’m here today, standing in front of you. Instead of hanging off the edge of a rooftop in the middle of Brooklyn. I’m here. I no longer want to know how it feels to fly in the air, and I no longer crave the crash at the end of it. Well sometimes, I do. I still have my rock filled days. In fact, most of them are rock filled. But no matter how full my basket gets, how many rocks I collect… at least I know I am not alone, and I will never be. No matter how lonely I feel, how empty my heart is, how terrible the rocks in my life make me feel, I know. I will never be alone. And sometimes that is enough.

Poetry of sorts, I guess.

I think the hardest thing for me
is being vulnerable
when it's so much easier
to pretend
to create false realities
to act as if
everything
is
okay

Sometimes things are simple
they make sense and flow naturally.
But other times,
struggles pile up
difficulty upon difficulty
manifesting into a monster
of depression
and anxiety
and horrors
that burrow into your brain
planting their seeds of doubt
until they've grown a forest
of insecurities.

~

I wish it wasn't hard for me to smile,
to breathe without worry
to be happy.
But it is, most the time.
It doesn't matter how
privileged I was growing up
or all the opportunities I've received
that doesn't account for the
depression, anxiety, and molestation I've faced
Appearances don't equal reality
not always at least
And it's hard to tell the truth from impressions
because rarely do the two match up.

I feel bad for those that
judge before getting to know a person
that believe the worst
in everyone
And while I'm guilty of those things too
Humanity at it's heart
is good
a chaotic good
but good all the same.

And as much as I complain
I love humans
I love what they represent
And as hard as life is sometimes
Now is one of those moments
when I believe that
life is beautiful
and I love people
And think they're lovely
and way better than we often credit them for.

Love is love is love is love
why not spread a little more of it?

~

Today marks nine years since you were a part of my life
And I couldn't be happier to say that
I am free from the chains you put on me
Finally
I can breathe once again.

I don't think of you daily anymore
Instead fleeting moments of memories
that plague me, rotting the little happiness I possess

I'm glad you're out of my life.

I'm finally learning to trust again because of it.

- this is recovery

Untitled (Raw and Unedited)

This emptiness is killing me
carving me out like
A pumpkin right before Halloween.
Scraping my insides out
and throwing them away
without any regard
to how they felt
to what they meant
to who I was because of them

It feels like a part of me
was taken away
and I wish I knew how
or what I could do to
get them back. To
make myself
whole again.

I try to gather my
thoughts and bundle them into
something
something more
something, palpable
yet I consistently come up short
Empty.

Something is missing
And I wish I knew what
Because that'd be easier, right?
The knowledge of why
is so much easier to fix
if you know what it is
that you're trying to replace.

But maybe I'm not missing anything
and it's all in my head
maybe, this is who I am
This is how I have to live
and this is what I will be
Forever.

Maybe emptiness is eternal.
But maybe it's not really that bad
Maybe it's bearable
Maybe
Maybe
Maybe

Maybe I'll survive
But God does it hurt
It hurts
It numbs
It's painful
It echoes
It feels like a pinball going off
hitting everything.
Hitting
Everything.

Sometime emptiness comes from the lack of feeling...
But the worst of emptiness comes from feeling too much.

Untitled - Cody Roecker

The pressure inside of my head is building up like sedimentary rock getting stronger as it pushes itself into the layer before it. Like the rock, my head is filled with many facets of pain that aren’t all visible on the surface.

On the outside, you have my smiling face, my enamoring giggle, my sad eyes that illuminate and draw people in.

    On the inside you have the realities of the world. You have the beautiful nightmare, the corrupt swirls of something that looks beautiful, but has a hole in the center, a black hole, that sucks every last thing up into it.

    On the outside you have my fuzzy exterior, my chubby cheeks, my thick body, my larger-than-life personality.

    On the inside you would be able to see how I feel about all of that… That I hate it all. I love the comfort I provide others, but do I love myself?

    On the outside you have my facade, of a perfect, happy life.

    On the inside you have the effects of depression, presenting itself in the form of a tumor, growing ever so slightly, and every time we cut a little bit off, or we think it’s finally going away, it grows, stronger, bigger, more protruding into my everyday life. I cannot escape it, no matter how much I try.

    But anymore, I cannot tell what is on the inside and what is on the outside, the two parts of my existence have begun to bleed into one, and I am fearful of what it could mean. I am afraid of what could happen to me. I am frightened.

Well, I'm writing.

So, I'm one of those people that is lucky to write maybe 250-500 words a day, if I even write at all. So, when I talk about goals it probably won't be in word count. I might have an idea of where I would like to be, but most likely I will reach something with scenes.

As of now, I have about 15 chapters outlined of a project I'm working on.

My goal for January is to have 3 of those chapters drafted. If I can do more than that, great! But my goal is 3 of the chapters.

I'm really enjoying what I'm writing so far, though I think it's missing some sort of spark. But I think I'll find it.

I would like to have 10000+ words in the novel by the end of January, but I'm not even sure what I have right now to be honest. When I'm drafting this post (January 12th) I have somewhere between 1500-2000 words, but that's totally an estimate. My outline is 3200 words long, so at least there's that.

I really love this story, and I'm excited to see where it takes me. Starting in February I'm going to be doing a little update on my writing. A series entitled:

Cody Writes A Novel!

And each week I'll keep you updated on an estimated word count, my goals for that week (how much I want to write... whether it be scene wise or chapter wise. ) and maybe a line or two from that weeks writing.

I hope y'all are interested in this because I sure do love to write.

Thank you for listening... Love you all,

Cody Roecker

An Ode to Molasses

Well, I felt like writing and used Molasses to inspire three pretty different things:

I hope you enjoy them:


Everything was dark, sticky, and slowed me down. I struggled to move forward, but I pressed on despite the hardship I was facing. Covered. I was covered in thick brown goo, that reminded me of something I used to eat when I was a child... but I couldn't quite place it. At least, not yet. But I continued swimming through it, moving slowly yet carefully, making each step count. Sweat dripped off of my body, landing in the unfortunate mess I had to move through. I can do this I thought. Moving like this depleted my energy but I had to continue. I had to make it through. I had to overcome this hurdle, I needed to break out of this molasses-covered journey I was on. Even if for a moment. So I could escape this drowning feeling that filled me to the brim. I needed to so my tears would dry. I needed to so I could feel clean. So I could finally feel peace once again.

Mary told me that I needed to be stronger and that I needed to be more
Observant. She said I needed to pay attention to the quarrels of
Lovers because I had no lover of myself and to her, I needed one to
Ascend into happily ever after. And so I went out and
Searched for sweet love, something that could bring me
Some sense of serenity. However, I found it within myself to
Enjoy the life I had even if I couldn't find that  love. That realization led me to a
Stairway to a place where I felt the love of a thousand suns splash onto my skin. And it was beautiful.

Sickeningly sweet with serendipity it sings
Every echo of the elegant eagle's wings
She saw sinister strings in said song
Swinging into sweltering sorrow
Allison's anger ate away at
Laziness and longing that lead
O'er the orchards of oranges
Moving meticulously through the moor, making the music more melodic.

Monsters In The Light by Cody Roecker (A play!)

Well, I asked on twitter and you guys asked me to post this play all at once...

So without further ado...

I present my pride and joy...

A script entitled "Monsters in the Light"

I really hope you all enjoy and that you leave some thoughts in the comments! :)

Love y'all!

~ Cody Roecker @ Roecker Reviews <3

Monsters In The Light

By Cody Roecker

Dramatis Personae

ATLAS is a fifth grader, who goes to church every Sunday and is completely content in life.

VIOLET is a fifth grader whose mother is on her deathbed and has been for years, her childhood has been shattered.

MRS. BEAUSOLIEL is a forty year old woman who gives the children an assignment to draw a monster.

lights up on the teacher's side of the classroom

MRS B: (narrating) One day I told my class that we would all be drawing monsters. I told them I wanted them to draw whatever came to mind when they heard the word 'monster'. I told them that I didn't want them talking to their neighbors because I didn't want others to influence their drawings. I was very curious to see what the students had drawn and come up with. I had done this for many years now and I always enjoyed seeing what these kids could think up. Some could draw so some of the monsters were actually scary! Some couldn't, but that kept it interesting. After everything I had seen, and after all my years of teaching, nothing could have ever prepared me for this.

lights up on kids side of classroom

ATLAS: I drew a monster with three eyes, four arms, and furry purple hair! He's scary, don't you think?

VIOLET: He looks like Randall and Sully from Monsters Inc! He's not scary he's cute!

ATLAS: No he's not! He's terrifying! monster noise

VIOLET: Whatever you say. To me he looks huggable and lovable. If I saw him one day, I would talk to him and ask him to be my friend. Sully was nice, so why can't this guy be kind too?

ATLAS: Well.. He eats kids like us! He could never become our friend. He's so scary because he eats kids!

VIOLET: Sully always scared kids until  he realized that they had hearts and lives to. He was a nice monster because he changed his ways, so your monster can too!

ATLAS: My monster’s name is Rhysanderous! He's also part dinosaur. They cannot be tamed, they are all evil carnivorous beasts. Would you trust him?

VIOLET: No.. but he can be better. Not everyone who looks evil is actually evil.. They may look horrible but could be super kind if treated right. You should always give everyone a chance, at least one chance.

ATLAS: Whatever you say.. I don't agree but there is no point arguing with you. If you aren't scared of Rhysanderous, then what did you draw?

VIOLET: I drew... I don't want to say... You'll think it's stupid.

ATLAS: No I won't, I'm sure it's not stupid.

VIOLET: Promise?

ATLAS: Pinky Swear.

The Kids link pinkies

VIOLET: shows the other kid her drawing of a beautiful angel.

ATLAS: snickers That is NOT scary.

VIOLET: You promised you wouldn't say it was stupid!

ATLAS: I'm sorry. I didn't meant to laugh...but why would you think an angel is scary? Angels are the kindest beings ever! My Dad is my angel. He always takes care of me when I am sick. He is the best angel of them all! We learned about angels in my church service. That's how I know my Dad is an angel. I learned about Gabriel and all of the other wonderful angels that help God perform miracles! There is nothing scary about angels!

VIOLET: That's where you are wrong! Angels are the scariest of them all!

ATLAS: Why would you say that? Don't you go to church?

VIOLET: I used to, with my mom, but then we stopped going because she got sick and sicker and now she is too sick to go. I even prayed to God to send angels down to heal my mom. But the angels were never sent. My mom is still sick, and she continues to get sicker. Why won't God send the angels down for my mom? Is she not as good as Mary was?

ATLAS: I was always told that things happen for a reason. God may disguise a good thing with something that looks bad. Your mom may be sick, but maybe it's saving her from something worse. She will get better if you continue to pray!

VIOLET: How can you say that?!? My mom is dying! She has been like this for over a year now! How can you say that there is something worse than death? Why would you say that? (begins to sniffle)

ATLAS: I am so sorry. I didn't mean to make you upset, I was trying to encourage you. Our bible verse last week said  "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11. He has the plans for your life, and for your moms, and it will all be okay in the end.

VIOLET: But what if she dies? I will never be okay if she dies. I love her so much and I don't think I could live without her. She is my favorite person.

ATLAS: If she dies, then that is what God had intended to happen. Even if it doesn't seem okay now, it will be. At least, that is what our pastor always tells us.

VIOLET: I can't believe you would say such a thing! My mom will not die! Not because of God and his angels! I refuse to be told that if my mom dies it's because  he WANTED my mother to die.

ATLAS: That's not what I said.. I was just...

VIOLET: STOP TALKING!

ATLAS: I'm sorry.

VIOLET: *beat* So am I, I didn't mean to yell. I just love my mom and I don't want to think about her dying.

ATLAS: Would you like to change the topic?

VIOLET: Yes please. Thank you.  

ATLAS: Can you tell me why you chose to draw an angel, so I can try to understand?

VIOLET: Yeah! Where do I even begin? Give me a second.. Hmm.. Okay. The angel. This is going back to when I went to church. One day in Sunday School I learned about Satan and how he became who he was. And well, I learned about how he has another name, Lucifer, and how he used to be God's most trusted angel, but then he started doing horrible things. He wanted to be above God and rule on his throne. Because of this he was brought down to the realm of the dead. He used to be the most TRUSTED angel of all, and he betrayed that trust so quickly.

beat

Anyone can betray anyone. What's worse is now he can disguise himself as anybody or anything he wants to. He can look like the nicest person and ruin our lives by persuading us to do horrible and bad things.

sighs

That is why I drew an angel, because nobody would expect a monster to hide in the light.

ATLAS: I... I don't know what to say. My Dad would never be like that... (beat) I know that story but I never thought about it that way. I knew all of that, but not under that light. I guess, I just believe that I will never give in to that temptation.

VIOLET: That's what you don't understand! He can trick you! He's smart! He deceives! He will disguise himself as an angel, one not yet fallen, and he will ruin your life!

ATLAS: I will never believe that! Never! God is too strong to allow Satan to win. He will never win as long as God is on my side. His love never fails, never gives up, never runs out on me!

VIOLET: You just aren't listening... (raises hand) Mrs. B? Can I be moved to a new seat? He was making fun of my drawing!

ATLAS: I was not!

VIOLET: He was! He laughed!

ATLAS: No I didn't!

VIOLET: Yes you did!

ATLAS: No!

VIOLET: Yes!

This turns into a fight, where they begin to get physical when the teacher finally gets up and hurries over

MRS B: ENOUGH! Calm down you two! Why are you fighting? You know you shouldn't hit anyone!

simultaneously speaking

VIOLET: He laughed at my monster and then told me that God wanted my Mother to die!

ATLAS: She said that my drawing wasn't scary and that Satan was going to ruin my life!

MRS B: ONE AT A TIME.. please. Ladies first.

VIOLET: Thank you. The drawing wasn't scary..

TEACHER: Now, that is not okay. (picks up the paper) Now that is plenty scary! Tell Atlas you're sorry.

VIOLET:  I'm sorry...

ATLAS: I forgive you.... I guess.

*Mrs B shifts her attention to Violet*

VIOLET: Anyways, I was afraid to show him my drawing, because I knew he would laugh at me, and then he pinky swore and then I told him and he laughed! And then we started talking about angels and why I drew one and he told me that things happen for a reason and blah blah blah.. He said that if my mother died, it was because she was supposed to die! I don't want my mommy to die! (sobs)

MRS B: It's okay sweetheart, everything will be okay. (shifts to Kid 1) You should not have said that mister! Just because you go to church does not give you the right to tell her what God is going to do! You should never tell someone that their mother is going to die! No matter what you believe that is NOT okay! Apologize!

ATLAS humphs

MRS B: NOW!

ATLAS: I am sorry that I said your Mom was going to die because of God thinking it was the right time!... Can I tell my side of the story now?

MRS B: resigned Yes, go ahead.

ATLAS:  She told me that Satan was a fallen angel, which I already knew, but that there was no escaping him because he disguises himself as a perfect nightmare. We would never know that he was there because he looks so perfect, as perfect as an angel. Because of that, she said I couldn't escape him. She said that Satan was going to ruin my life and make me do bad things!

MRS B: Violet, did you say that?

VIOLET: Yes, Mrs B

MRS B: That is unacceptable! You need to apologize to him immediately! That kind of talk is unacceptable in this classroom.

VIOLET: BUT..

MRS B: Don't argue with me, Violet, or I will have to send you to the principal’s office for disruption of class.

VIOLET: FINE! I am sorry.

ATLAS: I accept your apology

MRS B: Is everything good now?

the Kids shake their heads yes

MRS B: Okay. I'm trusting you guys to get along for the rest of class. I have papers to grade, and I would very much appreciate it if I didn’t have to get up again, okay?

KIDS: Yes, Mrs B.

MRS B: Thank you.

TEACHER walks back her desk

ATLAS: I am sorry I got so mad at you.

VIOLET: So am I. You are allowed to believe what you want. I'm sorry that it is different than what I believe.

ATLAS: That's alright, we all have different opinions and that's okay. As long as we don't rub our opinions in others faces, it doesn't matter. That's what my Dad always says.

VIOLET: Sorry about that...

ATLAS: It's alright.

VIOLET: Can we still be friends?

ATLAS: Yeah! Of course! Can you tell me more about your angel?

VIOLET: Well, I drew him so he looks completely nice and pretty. He has flawless wings, and a yellow halo around his head. His face is completely perfect. I want him to look as perfect as possible. I drew him at my house and my Mom said he put up a nice facade. I'm not sure what that word means exactly, but I think it means a fake smile type thing.

ATLAS: That's super interesting. Can you draw me a copy so I can show my mom?

VIOLET: Of course! I love sharing my artwork with other people! I hope your mom likes it!

Kids walk out as Lights down on the children's part of the classroom

MRS B: narrating By the end of the class the girl had drawn the boy a copy of the angel. When he walked into his house he saw his favorite person in the world, his father. He had always looked up to his father and admired him immensely. He was a strong man, and the boy always wanted to be like him when he grew up. What he saw his father do was a different story. He walked in on his father screaming and yelling at his mother unspeakable words and slurs. His Father turned when he heard the boy close the door. He apologized to his son, but it was too late, the angelic facade the boy had once believed, had shattered. It revealed the flawed, broken man underneath. The boy ran to his room in tears. His perfect angel was no longer. It broke the boy's heart into a million little pieces.

Lights up on the children's part of the classroom

Kids walk back in

MRS B: Good afternoon children! We are working on poetry today just like we have been for the past few days. If you have any questions you can ask me, but you are free to work on your own otherwise. Teacher sits at her desk

VIOLET: Hey Atlas, What did your mom think?

ATLAS: I don't want to talk about it.

VIOLET: Did something bad happen?

ATLAS: I said I didn't want to talk about it!

MRS B: narrating Being a teacher I overheard this conversation. I wasn't sure what had happened, and the students weren't likely to share the details with me, but I could tell that something had changed in that little boy.

VIOLET: Fine. I just wanted to know what she thought of my angel!

ATLAS: I know. I didn't get to show it to her, I'll show it to her tonight. I apologize for snapping at you.

MRS B: narrating The boy went home and had quickly forgotten the mistake his father had made. He was eager to show his parents the angel that the girl had drawn. When he walked in the door, he witnessed his father yelling at his mother once again. The facade, by now, was fully lifted. The boy thought he could forgive his father like God tells him to, but after two times, he knew that the people that act the best in the light, can actually be the worst when behind closed doors.

beat

MRS B: narrating Each night he went home the yelling got worse, and louder, and soon enough they didn't even stop when he walked in. He would walk to his room and shut the door and weep.

beat

MRS B: So now that you guys have your monsters all finished, I want you to write me something that expresses why you drew what you did. As we have been practicing poetry lately, I would prefer a poem.

KIDS: Okay!

MRS B: Get writing! I believe in you all, and I cannot wait to see what you come up with! I will collect it at the end of class.

VIOLET: Hi, Atlas, did you ever get to show your mom my--

ATLAS: No. Here it is. She wouldn’t want to see it anyways.

VIOLET: But- I-

ATLAS: TAKE IT

VIOLET: Why, Atlas? What did I do?

ATLAS: You did nothing, Violet, you did nothing.

VIOLET: What happened?

ATLAS: I don’t want to talk about it, V. Please drop it.

VIOLET: But Atlas…

ATLAS: Please drop it. forcefully

VIOLET: Fine.

MRS B: narrating  I asked the children to write poems, and what I received from them the next day I never expected. I knew that Violet’s poem would be sad, but I would have never thought Atlas’s poem would be what it was. The poem was titled Monster.

ATLAS comes out to read his poem

ATLAS:

Yesterday, When I was younger

We were asked to draw a monster

So I drew a creature

With three eyes, four arms, and furry hair

My friend next to me

She drew an angel

I didn't understand

We were taught that monsters

Were just fictional stories

Used to spark fear

Into the hearts of little children

An angel just didn't match that description

If I was asked to draw a monster today

I would not draw what I did back then

I would draw anxiety, depression

and all the real monsters of the world

I would draw an angel

Because the worst of monsters

Disguise themselves as

Everything we could ever wish for

The real monsters are right in front of us

They hide in plain sight

Because nobody would expect a monster

To hide in the light

ATLAS returns to his seat

MRS B: narrating His poem broke my heart. The girl showed him the cruelties of the world that he had once been oblivious of. He went from thinking of a monster as something furry and angry, to an angel, something of perfection. The girl was to blame.

beat

MRS B: narrating  It took me many months to realize that it was not the girl's fault that this  facade of a perfect life had fallen. We got a phone call a little while after I received the poem. I swear I could hear that little boys heart shatter from a million miles away. He had admired his father so much because to him, his father was perfect, someone he strived to be like. But he learned his father was deeply flawed and he grew up because of it. I learned from this young boy that the real monsters... the real monsters hide in the light.

Fade to black