Motionless Crowd Read online

  "Don't tell Ellie." I said abruptly, interrupting such a good moment.

  "She deserves to know!" Sarah shouted.

  "No. It'd only hurt her more."

  "Weren't you the one who said, 'It's not the pain I'm going to cause it's the memories I'll leave behind,' did you even mean that?!" She roughly grabbed me by my arms and shook me. Lilah became scared at the sight of her mother being so....angry.

  "Y-you really don't know how to treat a patient." I winced with every shake.

  "I...I'm sorry." She let go of me and turned towards Lilah, "Ellie's had-"

  "A hard life, I know. Does it look like I don't know that?" I looked at my hands, "The doctor says I have four weeks max." Sarah's eyes dropped. She gave me another hug.

  "This world is cruel." She said tearing up. I gave her my phone. The list shined in her eyes.

  "Almost done," I rubbed my bald head, "Just a few left." I laid my head back down as Lilah poked at my head. Soon my eyes closed itself. My vision darkened. My eyes slowly let themselves open, and everyone was gone.

  I slowly sat up, and my body screeched as I came into a sitting position. My air sucked out of me. I breathed heavily, 'Already?' I thought to myself. I pressed the emergency button as a sting struck my head.

  Seconds passed as nurses rushed into the room. My vision began to become a blur. I blacked out. This time I didn't wake up. My vision was black, nothing else.

  My ears twitched as I heard the door open. A familiar voice resonated throughout the room. The smell of coffee shoved itself up my nose. Sarah betrayed me. The girl I've been avoiding, the girl I've been protecting from this very moment, was now sitting beside by my dying body.

  "You...idiot. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you." She rested her head on my chest, "You should have told me! You should have told me! You should have told me!" Her tears soaked through the hospital clothes, hitting my chest. My heart cried out with each falling drop. I could feel my own tears screaming to come out, but my brain convinced my body to conserve the little energy I had left.

  My body began to fade. My heartbeat slowed. My brain was turning everything off. Ellie put her lips to my ear, "From the moment I met you, I knew you were the one who would love me, hurt me, and always look after me. You've caused so much pain, but in the end...there's no way I could hate you." I could feel her hand run up my face, to my cheek as the last bit of strength left my body, "Ted, I've always-"

  Love

  By Marwa Ibrahim

  It’s love

  the number one source of sorrow.

  It will make you forget the beauty of tomorrow.

  It’s love,

  It will surely turn you insane.

  or perhaps melt you into pain.

  It will make you cry at night

  Won't let you dance in the rain.

  The purpose of love

  Is what you'll never gain

  Love is a thinker with a false brain.

  In the end,

  it will leave your heart plain.

  as if it was never

  Love.

  Stuck

  By Levi Archer

  Do you ever feel like you’re drowning?

  Like you’re constantly being pushed

  and pulled against this unseen force,

  carelessly flung around in it’s

  unforgiving grip while you scream

  and cry to be freed.

  But, it holds tight - squeezing harder than ever before.

  It laughs,

  taunting and mocking you

  until you arrive at that familiar numb that’s become

  too much like an old friend that you no longer wish to see.

  It’s hard.

  Hard to breathe or think straight

  with this unknown thing

  constantly taking you back,

  suffocating you until you give in.

  You want to flee,

  want to run away as quickly as you can.

  But you can’t.

  It’s your life.

  Your body is doing this to you.

  Making you fear things that aren’t meant

  to be feared.

  You don’t understand,

  don’t know why this is happening to you,

  don’t know what you did to deserve this,

  this thing that refuses to let you be.

  It’s eating you up,

  killing your insides.

  No one really gets it.

  No one really understands.

  So,

  you’re stuck

  The Purple Children

  By Lorryn Scott

  (Winner of Columbia Heights Sister Cities Competition – Essays)

  Two little towns have sat next to each other for many past years. One of the color blue and the other red. While blue was strong, beautiful, and full of wealthy, happy people, red was quite the opposite. They were poor, forgotten and sad. Red could look across the lines drawn and see the people of all ages enjoying each other’s company. They never had to worry about conflict among themselves, or having days where no one could even afford to eat.

  The only real conflict blue had was with red. These feelings went back far; old generations had passed the hate onto their children, those children to their own, and so on. Red was not allowed to enter blue territories, for the fear of bringing grime and crime. Red was lower than blue, and it had to stay that way.

  Well, that’s what blue hoped for. Eventually little bundles of violet showed up. Blue was outraged, and kept all the little purple ones in the red town, because it was of course, all red’s fault. Blue parents hid these children in the shadows, afraid of change.

  Soon the new generation of purple grew up. They were strong and powerful. They wanted the change they deserved. Looking back on how red had tried before, it had all been violent, with blue retaliations. The purple children learned from this, and agreed to never use armed force, or really any force for that matter.

  Instead, they peacefully would protest against blue. They would enter their town, with arms up, calmly asking for a chance. They were half blue. This was their town too. For years this went on, and purple eventually was allowed to be on both sides. Schools were mixed with blue and violet, or red and violet. What was significant, was that this was slowly bringing the change they wanted. There were more and more kids of the purple color. Red and blue would cross towns to be with their loved ones, and no one would stop them.

  Blue realized was that it was much easier to share the wealth. No one had to fear the safety of their lives due to the conflict of the other color. When green and yellow, and any other color they could think of, became apart of the new, large town, they welcomed them with open arms, no longer afraid of new colors. No more worries of death and war. No more fear of poverty. They all were living together in their community, with peace and prosperity. And they were happy.

  All We Want is Peace

  By Kira Greenfield

  Ferguson - The justice system is failing us,

  it is as broken as the hearts of the communities who have lost

  friends, family and neighbors, in cold blood.

  “Hands up! Don’t shoot!”

  If all lives matter, then we wouldn’t need to tell the world that black lives matter.

  All we want is peace.

  Central African Republic- The smell of my dying village burns my nostrils

  the hospital down the street used to stink of antiseptics but now,

  it reeks of death.

  All we want is peace. *Tout ce que nous voulons, ce est la paix.

  Sierra Leone-* (Hawa) I was eight years old when they forced a gun into my hands.

  The cold metal bit into my skin

  and in that moment I made a promise to myself and my dead family; I would never use it to kill.

  All we want is peace.

  Nigeria- Civilians flee, tripping over bodies of people who w
ere killed like insects.

  When the rebels come, the streets turn scarlet red and the air is filled

  with the ringing sound of gunfire

  and the stench of burning flesh.

  “I don’t know if any of my family is alive.”

  All we want is peace. * Gbogbo awọn ti a fẹ ni alafia.

  All I want is to belong in a peaceful world where one persons success is a success for all, we can become prosperous with each other's love.

  * All we want is peace.

  Cam Baker

  By Patrick Vazquez

  I regret everything. I was part of something monstrous. There is no going back. My name is Cam Baker, and I’m going to tell you the story of the deterioration of my entire life.

  I was born 1954 in Moscow, Russia. My parents died when I was young, and I don’t remember much about them. I jumped from foster home to foster home. I was given the name Sergei, since no one knew my real name. I was a tough kid, and a really troubled one too. I always got into fights as a kid, and I always chased after girls; that’s what I was used to. My foster parents weren’t the best influence on me. They were drug dealers on the east side of Moscow, which has always been considered the bad part of the city. When I was 12, they died in a gang shootout where they had been selling to one of the gangs. I was left alone once again. A secret agency heard about this unfortunate event and offered me help. They took me in and gave me food and clothes, which was good enough for me. I remember this pretty lady came into the room where I was staying and explained what they wanted me to do for them.

  “Hello, Sergei. Are you doing okay?” She asked with a warm voice.

  “Yes.” I lowered my head, blushing.

  “I’m sorry to hear about your parents.” She put her hand in between mine.

  “They weren’t my parents.” I looked up at her with a blank face.

  “No, I mean your real parents.” She said.

  I looked at her in confusion.

  “What?” I stood up and backed away from this suddenly strange lady.

  “Sergei, I know all about you. I’ve been looking for you since you were a baby. My name is Nika Kabinov, I’m with the KGB.”

  I stayed silent.

  “Do you know it?” she asked.

  “No.” My chin dug into my chest and I closed my eyes.

  “That’s what I thought. We are a secret agency that has been created to retrieve intelligence on the Americans.” She stood, tall and menacing.

  My head darted up. “What does that have to do with me?”

  “I was getting to that. Given your certain situation, you have nowhere to go, yes?

  I nodded ever so slightly.

  “I have not come to interrogate you Sergei. I have come to offer you a job.”

  I glared at her, perplexed.

  “I assure you, it is much better than going to another foster home where the same things will happen to you.”

  Her calm and charming voice made me accept the offer right away.

  My training throughout the years was rigorous. I would sleep two to four hours every night and got limited food. This was to “prepare” me for desperate situations. I learned many forms of martial arts: Taekwondo, Sambo, Judo, and bits and pieces of other forms. They taught me to rid myself of my Russian accent and to sound American. It was especially difficult since I spoke very little English in the first place. But once I was literate and fluent in English, the four other languages they taught me were much easier. I was trained to memorize every piece of American weaponry in existence, and to learn to use them flawlessly. I attended daily sessions of mission briefing, as the mission they prepared me for was quite in depth. The mission was for me to live undercover in America as a “stock broker” on Wall Street. We got the position from our connections and other undercover agents stationed in New York. My alias was “Cam Baker,” a charming and luxurious man looking to conquer the stock market. Little did they know I was there to conquer their country.

  I arrived at the age of 24. My appearance was to stay the same throughout my entire stay. I was to have slicked back hair, fancy suits, and an overall charming and friendly demeanor. My first thought was that America was full of snobs and dumb people who buy everything in sight. It made me sick the first couple days, being so close to the enemy. I constantly had to remind myself that I could not hurt the annoying lady who took thirty minutes in the telephone booth; for that matter, I couldn’t hurt anyone. My workplace was adequate. I had my own assistant that answered to my every demand, and that was glorious. I met a couple of coworkers, who weren’t so bad for Americans. But none of them had the title of comrade, not yet.

  “It’s Cameron, right?” I turned around in front of the tall building, looking down at a short, but quite beautiful woman.

  “Yes, how did you know?” I stayed focused on speaking in my American accent.

  “They gave me a description of you this morning. It’s nice to meet you, Sir. I’m Mila Jarvus. They sent me down to show you around.” She lifted her chin as if to look taller.

  “Okay, thanks.” The first couple minutes of the tour were silent, until we got into the elevator.

  “So uh, Mila…is that a Russian name?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Yeah I think so. I doubt my parents thought about that when they named me. I think they just liked the name. I’m pretty sure I don’t have an ounce of Russian in me.” Her head looked straight at the elevator doors while answering my question.

  “It is a beautiful name.” I said, turning my head to the elevator doors.

  I could see how her head turned towards me in the shiny reflection of the doors as she quietly said, “Thank you.”

  The building was an open and busy area with frantic Americans screaming curse words and angrily persuading people to buy their stock. She took me upstairs to a much calmer area where I met my boss. James Conner was an intense human being, but he stood no match for a Russian. I immediately began to have tension with this man, as he leaned in to shake my hand.

  “So you’re the companies new Vice President huh?” He asked with a crooked look on his face.

  “Yes sir.” I responded, trying not to burn through him with my penetrating glare.

  “Well okay. Take Mila here and she’ll show you to your office.” He sat down in his desk and continued reading the papers sprawled across his desk.

  That was it. No polite banter, no small talk, just straight to business. I realized this was going to be easier than I thought. Mila showed me to my big office with a view of the street below.

  “I’ll let you get acquainted with your office, Mr. Baker.” Mila said while shutting the door.

  I didn’t have to do any work because the agency would take care of that; I was free to relax until further orders. That was my undercover agent life. Occasionally talking with people and acting like I was hard at work. All that training was essentially for nothing, because it didn’t seem like I was doing much of anything there. The one good part was talking to the beautiful American, Mila. We developed a fondness for each other early on. We would meet after work for “fun nightly encounters,” which became more and more frequent over time. But then one night the fun stopped.

  Looking straight into my eyes, Mila stopped to tell me something.

  “I know who you really are.” My heart stopped. I didn’t know whether to hear her out or reach for the gun in my nightstand and shoot her where she stood.

  “Wh..What are you talking about?” I chuckled nervously.

  “You’re the KGB agent they sent me to compromise.” She stood up away from the bed.

  “They sent you?” I stood up with the urge reach for that gun.

  “I’m a CIA agent Cam. But I’m not here to kill you. I’m here to tell you who you really are. So if I were you, I wouldn’t reach for that gun in your drawer. You’re going to want to hear this.”

  She reached for her work briefcase and took out a single folder.

  “You’
re not Russian at all, Cameron. You’re American.”

  My urge to kill her turned into confusion.

  She handed me a report stating that two former CIA agents, Gwendolyn and Arlo Kent, were gunned down by unidentified KGB agents while being transported from Seattle to Los Angeles. The operator and the two agents were killed, but their two-year-old child was mysteriously missing and presumed dead. The CIA found out years later that the child was taken by the Russians, and they sent a search party to retrieve the child, but without success.

  It’s all clear now. The one memory I have of my parents is a single boat. I instantly knew this was the truth. How could they do this, how could I do this? How could I work for the agency that tore my life apart and left me alone? That is why, when I finish writing this, I will come after you, the agency that swore to protect me. And most of all, I’ll be coming after you, my beloved Soviet Union.

  Augustus

  By Ashley Roberts

  The tears that escaped his eyes didn’t feel free. The pain grasped his insides and caused more tears to appear. Tear after tear, his chest grew tighter. The pitter-patter of the rain against the window didn’t make it any better. "Even the sky feels my pain..." He whispered to himself. He wondered if his wife felt his pain... Turning his head to the left, he prayed she was asleep.

  Quietly getting out of bed, he stared at her. Her chest rose for a second before resting. He watched this happen 16 more times before he had the courage to leave their bedroom. It seemed as if the rain was indoors. For a moment, it was all he could hear, besides the creaking beneath his bare feet. When he reached the end of the hall, his tears became excessive. His heart stopped when he touched the door with the palm of his hand. "I'm so sorry." He cried, grabbing the door knob. His sweaty palm caused the knob to wiggle and sigh. Instantly, he stopped moving to hear his wife. The sound of his anguish did not escape his lips, but the tears remained. After 45 seconds of silence, he decided to wait another six minutes before walking away from the bedroom door that belonged to his dead son.

  Quietly, he sobbed his way into the bathroom. "I'm so sorry Augustus. Please forgive me." He cried. "I didn't mean to leave you alone." He fell to his knees and pulled at his hair.