I pull out the sketch pen's cylindrical cap with the force of my teeth, and check their names off the list. It doesn't feel complete though, like this's just been a prologue to the horror I wanted to pen in actuality, inked with agony. "Emma Callaway," I read out my own cursive handwriting sprawled all over the creased paper in red ink.

"She didn't really go to jail, so it wasn't anything brutal. George, on the other hand, is suffering bad. Poor guy would turn pale just at the sight of bubbling water," I chuckle in merriment.

"And Arch..." I place a kiss on the paper, forming a fuchsia lip impression near his name, over the dotted i. I can't possibly go too hard on him. He's already on a mission to make his life a living hell, while I just contributed my bit to that. You know, walk up to the boys dorm in a hiked up denim skirt, flirt a little, get your hands on eerie looking tablets, report those tablets to authorities... just another day in my life.

How would I ever know he'd never wanted to be Captain, that he's as much of a hypocritical junkie who's now caught between life, death and his ever glowing fame. So much on his mind apart from his very recent heartbreak, of course. I wouldn't be surprised if the words, 'I love you Emma, please come back' are engraved on his tombstone. I, for one, plan to include a minor joke about it in my speech at the funeral. Although, if I manage to sneak some contraband in, I can't guarantee what'd actually spill out of my mouth.

Just a joint maybe. A joint. Weed. "Oh crap!" I mumble, rushing out and almost slipping on my own socks, to the kitchen to fill up a vessel with tap water. I had almost forgotten about it. I take the kettle shaped vessel out to my window sill and carefully pour water over the leaves, watching the soil soak, or rather snitch what she knows is rightfully hers. I took the liberty of naming the plant, Cruella DeVil.

My nostrils flare up as the skunk fragrance spreads throughout the room, reminding me it is nearing its flowering stage. I never knew gardening could be such a great hobby until someone told me, it is possible to grow your own marijuana. I converse with Cruella for a bit, having read the benefits of same in a book once, and gaze upon it proudly before leaving it be in the morning sunlight.

Later in the morning, I roam around the house, compromising with the long stretched weekend. If it were two months ago, I would be curing an ugly hangover in my bathroom right now, and probably listening to the equally terrible sounds of George puking in his, because he can't get through with it alone. Looks like times have changed since then.

I switch between various channels on the television, waiting for something good to pop up, until stuck watching Die hard at last. Except my attention doesn't hold up on the screen for too long. My gaze gets diverted to the house next door, where someone dressed in a hazmat suit is standing in the balcony and tearing up a scream every two seconds. I try to drown it out, but it seems to be matching it's tempo with my television.

Agitated but mostly curious, I switch off the TV and protrude over to the neighbouring house, which seems to welcome me with its wide open wooden gate. I look around for a while, admiring the beige exterior of the house that gives it a rustic feel, and enter through the sliding glass windows on the eastern side of the bungalow. A quick scan of the living room reveals that it looks almost too tidy, almost like it is on display in an IKEA store.

I can't decide if to go upstairs, but ultimately do so when another scream practically shakes the teal ceramic vase on the kitchen island. There's only two rooms in the vicinity, the door of one half cracked open, a face shield holding it ajar. I toss it on the side, and am immediately greeted by an alien like person, fiddling with a net trap and doing a weird take won do routine in his room. Rapping my knuckles against the door makes the guy jump across to the other end of the room. "Hey," I wave at him, barely holding in a laugh.

He initially eyes me warily, but seems to recognise when a cigarette slips off the pocket of my T-shirt. It's almost the same moment for me that I connect the blush on his cheeks to the spectacled guy in my environmental sciences class. Jake.

Leaving the confusion aside, there's a wave of relief spreading over his reddened face. "Mia!" he shouts out loud.

"You," I reply, not amused in the least bit. I remember him mentioning it at Daniel's, that he is moving in the neighbourhood, so it isn't much of a surprise. I just forgot about it, that's all.

"Good you're here. I need your help with this bee in my room that just won't leave. I have tried everything, but the darn thing refuses to budge," He complains like a seven year old. I sigh in amusement and walk inside, eyeing the buzzing bee who is in the mood of pulling his leg.

It soon lands on my arm, making Jake shriek in horror. "Should I help you? Please, don't harm it," he tries to muster up courage over what's plain cower on his face.

"No need," I signal him to stand where he is, while I take a quick trip to his closet, pulling out a bottle of deodorant from one of the shelves. I give it a little whirl before popping the cap open and generously spraying, what seems to be the wet dog fragrance around the room.

The creature leaves in a whirl, leaving a trail of its buzzing sound behind. I turn around to look at Jake, who seems utterly confused about what happened. "Problem solved," I cheer and pat him on the shoulder before leaving the room. "So, should I pretend I was never here and quietly leave or wait downstairs while you remove this third world gear and join me?"

"The latter. And while we are at it, should I keep the clothing under this on?" He attempts to joke around.

"Sure, ripping clothes off is a very important part of foreplay."

The colour of his face wears off, while I snort a laugh at the lack lustre on his SPFed skin. "I would apologise, but you brought it upon yourself."

"Yeah, I know," he sheepishly admits. "I'll be down in a minute, make yourself at home."

"Definitely," I shoot a thumbs up and saunter down the stairs in my flip flops. I take a walk around the living room until Jake comes in, dressed in an unusual shade of green— olive green I guess, and khakhi capris. I look at him, and he unconsciously starts tugging at the hem of his shirt.

"You're cute," I wink at him and take a seat on the leather couch. He sits across me, resting his arms on the floral embroidered cushions. As he checks his shirt for armpit stains, I notice a slight gash on his left cheek, and flicker my eyes to see if I am indeed correct.

"What?" He asks in a haste, turning on his side to hide the bruise.

"Did you get in a fight?" I ask, amused at the mere thought.

He scoffs in response. "Yeah, I am not one of those guys."

"Then what is it?" I mutter out loud. I am not a big fan of his habit of beating around the bushes.

"I just fell off my bed, that's all," he denies me a satisfiable response. "Anyways, I wanted to talk to you about that Environmental Sciences project."

"What happened, did you not get those glasses?" I squirm at the thought, the same way I did when we were asked to exchange partners, and when there was barely a week less left to submission to top it off. We discussed most details on phone, his groggy voice often putting me to sleep. I am not complaining, though.

"No, and calm down," he grins, while I only sigh in relief. "I was just saying, it's ready for viewing."

"It is?" I squeal in excitement. "Can we watch it now?"

"Sure, let me bring the equipment," he chuckles at my enthusiasm. I'm aware I'm nit the most expressive of persons, but I can't help the anticipation when it comes to this assignment. I have been working on this project for nearly six months, and it's been one of the few things in my life that hasn't morphed into sheer disappointed as yet.

He brings forth the translucent aqua tank, and I help him place it on the coffee table in the middle of the room. It's astonishing how he is unfazed by the little creatures trapped within this glass, but when out in the open, it's like watching a kid struggle to paddle in water. Although, don't we all do the same? Keep our fears enclosed, so that they don't come haunting us. The thought leaves just as quickly as it comes, and I continue to observe as he connects the wires to the glasses and tests it himself.

"Does it work?" I shoot him down with questions, until he gives me a word, any word for goodness sakes.

"Why don't you try for yourself?" He offers, and I rush as quick as humanly possible towards the pair of goggles sitting on the table, putting them on in a haste. Nothing happens, though.

"It isn't working," my voice cracks. "I put so much effort into this, why isn't it working?"

"Did you switch it on?" He casually remarks. I now realise that there is a small push button etched on the frame of the glasses. I take a deep breath before turning it on, only to shut my eyes immediately after.

My heart pounds as I slowly open my pupils to be greeted by the beautiful world we have created. The tank illuminates, spreading an electrified sparkle across the dark wallpaper of our eyes. Long stems of grass rustle as the glimmers of light rise above, swarming in a joyous fashion. The insects put up a deceiving look of a crackling lustre, hiding the unnecessary truth under the sheets of dusk.

"What do you think of it?" Jake mumbles, sounding equally taken aback by the scenery in front of him.

"It's so beautiful, that it almost hurts," I pour my feelings out as the fireflies scape across the infinity of the enclosed tank.

"Beautiful, that's all you got? This is way beyond some pleasantry adjective. We have created life. I can't even wrap my mind around the fact that we have witnessed these creatures take their first breath."

I cannot see Jake, but somehow the stunted expressions on his face translate in front of mine. The table beneath us begins to wobble a little bit, bringing a huge smile to my face. I inch closer to him and put my hand over his shaky arm, feeling the goosebumps on them. "I love this," I whisper, gazing at the miniature ecosystem we have made possible over the past months. The contrast of how someone so defunct has managed to spark life into another being, doesn't go by me.

"When you watch life flourish in front of you, it makes you aware of the energies circling within yourself," Jake adds, as if reading my mind. Letting the words bleed into the explosion of feelings enraptured in my body, I acknowledge how in this moment, now... I'm fine.

I am not bursting with short lived happiness or devastated because of my seemingly shaken circumstances, but simply assured that I can get through this day. Just fine.

Another glance at him, but this time around I find he's already watching me, something too mysterious floating in his eyes for me to decode. Flushed, for a reason I can't pin point, I tear my gaze away quickly.

We are immersed in the fascination of the fireflies when a screeching sound comes aboard as an interruption. Both of us simultaneously remove our goggles and Jake groans in frustration as the doorbell rings again. He strolls towards the door and looks through the peephole, pausing for a while before opening it to whoever it is on the other side. He doesn't let if fling wide open and immediately steps outside, preventing the person to cross the line of the porch.

I turn suspicious of his actions, but waver it off when laughter sounds are heard beyond from where he's slung. He comes back in after a minute or so, a very foreign seriousness etched across his face.

"Got company?" I tease, mostly because I am curious to know about it.

"No, just a pestering classmate who wants notes," he shrugs.

I nod in response, not giving too much thought about the brevity of his statement or the previously absent lines over his forehead . My gaze shifts back to the tank and my eyes gleam, memorising the surreal experience. If it was possible, I would never take my eyes off this wondrous sight to face the real world. "You can take it to your house if you want to," Jake notices my fixation on the tank.

I shake my head in response. "I am a tad bit too reckless." A truthful admission.

"As you wish. I will bring it to class on Thursday," he says, lifting it off the table.

While he is gone, I leave for my abode to take care of a chore awaiting me since yesterday. It's noon now and the gravel beneath my feet is burning short of inducing smoke, but the spring breeze compensates for the heat. I hear Jake approaching the gates in those brown buckle sandals of his, probably wondering about my sudden exit. "If I would have done the whole leaving ritual, you wouldn't be here, watching me walk away," I explain and almost hear him snicker. So cute.

***

I fall asleep once back from Jake's, realising only when I wake up to a dark room. My first instinct is to sprint to the switch board, but I assume it's useless when I find the street lights barely flickering and then dying down to nothing. Of course, the power must have gone out again. It has been a problem lately, but it usually happens during daytime, when my demons can't creep back up on my spine. I take in my twisted fate and the eerie darkness around, my stomach lurching with every passing second.

I try to set a tone of calm by walking around the room and taking periodical sips of water, but half of it is spilled on the floor as my hands can't stay still. Instinct takes me to my emergency dial, but I stop myself before giving in. They might've been brought down to dirt, but I have tasted it. My weakness today will become their future strength and that's something I can't let happen, not unless... unless she shows up.

Phone in sweaty palms, I simply scourge through the contacts, landing on the one seeming safest. Two rings and he picks up. "Hey."

"Mia?"

"Yeah, that's me." I whisper, the words coming out rattled inspite of me trying to maintain some kind of composure.

"You don't sound good. Everything alright?"

Is it? I can't straighten my spine, my teeth are chattering, I threw splashes of cold water on my face yet everything seems to be convulsing around me. I attempt an answer, anything so I can assure myself I can sail away without damage.

"I wonder why the lights are out all of a sudden," he says.

I can't do this. I need them. Cell phone thrown on the couch, I let the monster inside lead.

I stomp across to the storeroom across the kitchen, pulling out the small box stacked beyond a couple suitcases. My fingers are freezing cold, struggling to open the lid. It's empty. It looks as good as new, like there never was anything in there. Panic flashes, forcing me to imagine every worst possibility there is. My hands begin to roughly grab and check each and every, tiny to the largest of boxes stacked up there, but to no avail.

I let out a muffled scream, scrambling away to my bedroom, while my eyes are on a constant search for the transparent packets. I search for them like my life depends on their existence, and it does.

I push open the bathroom door, shuffling apart everything in front of me as my cravings begin to blow up. I take a soap in my hand and begin to cut it in half, just in case. My palms are now a mixture of wet and soapy, and everything I pick up is slipping through. I inadvertently rub my eyes, regretting it just as they burn like a couple soft boiled eggs set on fire. "Fuck" I yell, tugging at my hair whilst my eyes begin to water and turn to a terrifying shade of red. I drop down to the hardwood floor, my head hung low and my breaths turning harsh.

I try to recollect a hack I'd read to save my drowning spirits. I remember reading an article... eating helps you. Unable to walk anymore, I crawl over to my closet and let my hands aimlessly search for the chocolate bar stuffed in a corner. I feel my fingers grasp onto a glazed material and pull it down to the floor. I try to keep my eyes from shutting themselves while I weakly tear open the bar. A small bite in and I chew it as fast as I can, feeling as though  will starve to death.

As I shove it down my throat, my gaze lands upon tiny powdery particles on the floor. I look closely, taking a hint of their smell. My finger nails picks up on the white substance before I lick on it, a familiar fuzziness forming on my tongue while I do so. Relief washes over me, and I let out a breath I was choking on.

But this isn't enough, it was as good as nothing. I densely scan the floor in search for more, but nothing comes to my sight. I scream yet again; the feelings of fear now replaced by an emptiness I haven't known since I was sixteen, and devoid of pennies for a joint.

I don't remember much after that, except for a sudden irrepressible urge I felt in my arms and legs to move convulsively. It felt uncontrollable until a flash of light greeted me, making me hyper aware of the few people gathered around to hold me in place. I couldn't understand what was happening still, but everyone seemed to repeat a certain word. Seizure.