Body Shaming Needs to Stop 

By: Teagan Davis 

        Do you think the perfect body exists? If you think about it, there is no ideal body weight or body image that you have to follow or look like. Even knowing that, companies and magazines make us feel as if we need to. Many people suffer throughout their lives, hoping and changing themselves in unhealthy ways just to be what the world wants everyone to be. The ways people change themselves can lead to underlying health issues. Plus, body shaming cases skyrocket in every age; the most common age is among school students.Us. 

What is body shaming? Body shaming is making fun of anyone's features; they may be weight, height, facial features, body hair, teeth, style, along with many others. Though it may not sound like a big deal to the world, it really is. According to WCNC, 94% of high school girls and 64% of high school boys have been body shamed. For example, a young girl named Emily Candelario knows just how bad the sting is being body shamed. Emily said she has been criticized  about her weight, body hair, and even her clothes. Emily even stated, “It’s happened my whole life!” Many people have said they related to her story a little too well. To finish her story, Emily’s family member stated to her, “Don’t let yourself get too fat or your husband won’t like the way you look anymore.” 

        Body shaming happens all around the world, not just in the USA. In South Korea, body shaming is a big matter, especially in the world of K-Pop (Korean Pop). Many young minors in the K-pop world experience being pressured into having an extremely small and unhealthy figure; they have to do this just to keep themselves in the K-pop community. For example, a K-pop star  named Momo Hirai, a 22 year-old girl,  had to lose 15 pounds in one week just to  keep herself in her music group. Her diet to do this consisted of an ice cube each day for a week. As this harsh diet continued, Momo had many moments on stage of feeling light-headed as if she was about to pass out.  This might not sound bad, but if you really think about it, she is just drinking water for a full week. Momo even had a fear that one ice cube would make her too big. 

        Another example, IU, a 29 year-old girl and soloist in K-pop, was on a diet of an Apple, two sweet potatoes, and a protein shake to finish off. IU was on this diet to reach the goal of losing 11 pounds in the same time period, a week. Not only were many fans worried about her health, this also caused her to open up about many eating disorders and body dysmorphia. These diets cause many eating disorders and health issues across the K-pop industry; these are young adults, and many of them have killed themselves from these industries and diets. A K-pop artist named Sulli, just 25 years old, committed suicide on October 14th, 2019 four days after National Mental Health Day. Sulli was known as being outspoken and was loved by a very large community, but many toxic fans still attacked her. It may not seem she was thinking about suicide, but her smile blocked many thoughts. The cause for Sulli’s death was said to be from her severe depression she’d been battling for many years. 

        Why is body shaming so common? This society has managed to point out many people's insecurities. Due to insecurities; the world believes it’s okay to continue body shaming since it is said to be a “joke.” But why would this be so horrible? Selah House has said, “Some people simply don’t take time to consider their words, or how it might affect another person.” This really shows how our generation doesn’t care, or think, before they speak on someone else’s behalf. 

        According to Psych Central, in the 2000’s, 97% of women hated their bodies. That’s mainly since many people in this world have been criticized for being too skinny or too fat. This connects to how many people believe they have to have the “perfect” body image or body weight. 

        Stopping body shaming may be hard, but there are many ways to help.  For example, if you or somebody you may know seems to be suffering from body shaming, stand up for them. Words may not sound like a lot, but they can make big changes to many people. If you can’t stand up, help them get a therapist or get yourself a therapist if needed. Keeping it bottled up will make it ten times worse; talking to someone who understands will help you feel heard and get some weight off your shoulders. If you struggle with body image, try to accept yourself for who you are. If you don’t do that, eating disorders and body dysmorphia will form, and maybe worse. One step at a time to help will change the world one bit at a time. 

        It’s important to acknowledge that body shaming exists and know how to help stop it. Not only knowing that, but to know the shocking factors of it happening to students like us should really make you step up and help more. School should be a safe place for us, so please help and beware of the side effects and symptoms; take the steps to stop body shaming as soon as possible. But why? Think about it this way, this society knows how many body shaming cases there have been. Imagine a world where everybody is confident in themselves, no negative thoughts run by their minds about what they wear, or what they look like. Society would be so much better if a part of our minds wasn’t focusing on wishing you looked like somebody you aren’t.

         “Throw the ball!”

“Throw the ball!”

        The day was a normal Sunday, the entire neighborhood playing ball, and I was the first baseman. The sun was blazing down on us, and our brown skin was shining. Daddy was blown away by my excellence at ball, and Mama, like always, was nowhere to be seen. 

“Throw the ball,” I shouted as I stood on the dirt first base with my worn out glove on. I ran without a single thought in my mind, retrieving the ball and getting back in time to return to first base, and I did just that. 

        “Ruby, you're out!” I shouted at Ruby, and I was clearly right; Ruby was out. 

        “Nuh Uh!” Ruby shouted right back at me, “I am safe!” Ruby demanded. 

        Just like that, Ruby got away with her way, and the neighborhood returned to their homes. No one had to travel far; we were all clustered together at all times. You know what was far away for us? Our schools, and due to segregation, there was nothing I could do about it. There was nothing any of the kids on my block could do about it. 

- - - - -

“Pamela, now listen, Annette is not clueless,” Dr. Broyard announced to Annette's mother in an unprofessional way without care on how to present this to a woman of color. “She scored very well on the board of education test. So well, in fact, that she outdid most of the first graders throughout the entire district.” 

A chuckle of laughter came out of Pamela as she asked Dr.Broyard, “My Annette?” 

- - - - -

Stens Grocery Store was closer to us than the school, but I have no complaints about that. Daddy took me every Sunday after playing ball to get a cola and a bag of my favorite potato chips. We walked down the gray cement pavement sidewalk, and I skipped every time, bouncing around excitedly for my pre-packaged snack. Mrs.Sten knew my family and I very well, and we were her first customers when she moved the store to our street. 

“Look at you, Annette,” Mrs.Sten said in her warmhearted welcoming voice. “You must have grown since last Sunday because I hardly could see you over the counter before.”

I walked down the aisles, and Daddy followed right behind me, because everywhere I go, he always does, and I liked it that way. Daddy grabbed my usual yellow bag of potato chips off the shelf. Mrs.Sten was right about me getting taller, but I didn’t get that much taller. We walked near the back towards the refrigerators, which were making their usual buzzing and static noises and grabbed my coca cola. The satisfying closing noise of the refrigerator was one of my favorite parts. After paying in One Dollar bills and coins we had said goodbye to Mrs.Sten for the week. The sun was pink, the clouds were fading, and the temperature had dropped rapidly; this was our signal that Mama should have been home be home. 

        “Well I have some news,” Mama introduced at the table during our family dinner that same Sunday night. 

I continued eating, not bothering to listen because often the news is just “Grown Folk Business.” My plate was bigger than my face tonight. There was corn and mashed potatoes with some sort of brown tender meat. Dinners after Mama goes food shopping were always the best. 

“Annette, dear, this has something to do with you as well,” Mama declared in a unifying voice.

Daddy and I both didn’t know whether we should be intrigued with what she had to say or frightened. I placed down my fork that had a mixture of corn and mashed potatoes ready to be eaten. Oh no, I thought.

“You scored over the top on your board of education exam, so well you out cherried the other first graders in the district!” Mama announced with only enthusiasm in her voice. 

“Oh,well, now isn't that just fantastic, Annette,” Daddy commented proudly of me, “This sounds like an extra chips and cola extravaganza for you!” 

“Really, Daddy! Extra chips with extra cola?” 

“You know it, Mrs.Sten will be stoked to hear the news.”

“But I'm not done, your high score on the exam allows you to attend the all-white School!” Mama had said with more enthusiasm in her voice than before.

“The all-white school? Who said she's going? Honey, you understand how dangerous that is?” Daddy answered with less enthusiasm than before and far more anger than ever. His mood changed quicker than the temperature from morning to sunset. 

“Yes, I understand that, but you have to understand this school will be bigger and better than the school that she is attending now.”  Mama began raising her voice at Daddy, disagreeing with his thoughts. 

        This is now a grown folk business topic. I should have a say in this because the business is about me! 

        I am no fool and know better than to interrupt them, so I pick up my fork again and continue eating as Mama and Daddy continue to argue tonight's Sunday dinner topic. 

This was far more than just a Sunday Dinner topic, because this was also a Monday breakfast topic. I had already gotten ready for my school day, including dressing myself, brushing my teeth, and washing my face. I headed down our narrow and cluttered hallway to get to the table for breakfast. 

“William Franke Elementary school is much bigger and better than the school she's going to now, and you know that!” Mama yelled loud enough for our nosy neighbors to hear. 

“The schools for black and white children are known to be Separate but Equal. You heard governor Davis,” Daddy argued back.

“Yes, and I also heard governor Davis when he said he'd go to jail before he allowed a black child in a white school,” Mama added with more pain than anger in her voice.

I sat quietly and ate my breakfast, which that morning was buttered toast with milk. This toast was burnt blacker than my black crayon, but I still was going to continue eating. I thought about how it would feel to attend an all-white school; most importantly who was taking me to school this present morning because I well knew that it would not be the both of them. I have heard Mama and Daddy fight and argue before, but this was something different. 

Daddy went straight to work, no goodbye kisses to me or Mama. Work was the place Daddy could just get away and clear his mind. He worked at Palmers General Auto Sales, and that wasn’t too far from home. It was actually closer than my school is. With Daddy being at work, that leaves just Mama and I taking our long and tiring walk up to my Elementary school.

“Annette, I hope you know that this fighting has nothing to do with you. It’s all between me and your Daddy. This is not your fault,” Mama asserted while squeezing my hand tightly as we walked to school.

        But Mama, this is my fault and it has everything in the world to do with me. I stayed quiet and didn't say anything though. I never said no to mama, I just knew better. 

        “Annette, this opportunity is beyond incredible. You could get the education that me and your father never got taught,” she had continued.

        “Mama. Why is Daddy so upset with you?” 

        “Well, baby, Daddy is just afraid for your safety if we let you attend this all-white school. There are lots of people in this world who won’t like what you would be doing.”

As I sat in my lukewarm almost cold bath I thought about what Mama said; Daddy is just afraid for your safety replayed in my head like a record on Saturday morning cleaning. 

        He fears my safety but from who? My current teacher, Mrs.King, is a kind and warm teacher who always encourages me to try my best. I am sure there are teachers like her at an all-white school. After all, Mama is always ranting on and on about how the school will be bigger and better. This may not have anything to do with me or may not be my fault, but I wish I could have a say in this. Surely my say would be on Mama's side.

        After my bath I got ready to catch some z’s in bed. My pajamas were soft and cozy, and my bed was freshly made. I lied awake, waiting for Mama and Daddy to come give me a nighttime kiss before bed; as I waited, I did my nightly prayers for god like Mama always said. Soon after I was done, a third of me was already asleep; Mama came in and laid her glossy lips on my left cheek. Next, Daddy came in and laid his crisp lips on my right, but it was not together. 

 

“I am sure my little Annette will do you proud,” Mama had said to the white male who went by the name of Dr.Broyard. “Oh here comes my husband, Darryl,” She continued in a high-pitched, proud voice as Daddy came from his Saturday morning shift. He was on his way up the stairs as Mama pulled him into their conversation.

Daddy and Dr.Broyard shook hands firmly and smiled; I could tell Daddy’s wasn’t true though because he just does not like the white people except Mrs.Sten, and he believes they do not like us either. 

“Glad to meet you, Mr.Maynard,” Dr.Broyard said to Daddy before fully introducing himself. 

Mama then pulled me from playing with the dead flower in the pot on the porch. As she wrapped her arm around me I knew to smile, and I always did what Mama wanted.

“Is this the little girl who is so smart?”  Dr. Broyard had asked, knowing the most palpable answer would be yes. 

“Yes I am,” I said proudly.

“Well aren’t you just the cutest thing, Annette; Mrs.Maynard, I really do need to know soon if you are allowing Ruby to integrate an Elementary School here in New Orleans, but take your time; I hope to hear from you shortly.” 

“Alright, have a nice night,” Mama said with an incredible right cheek to left cheek smile. Soon after that Dr.Broyard fled the scene of our home. 

“Come on, Darryl, please let our baby girl take this opportunity,” Mama said, begging once again as we all followed each other inside.

I had left immediately to go play in our hardly fenced in backyard because this was a situation I was not a part of.  I pushed my dolly on the swing while waiting for my turn. My dolly was a beautiful brown skinned doll who I cherished and always had since I was born. Her name was Annmarie because my name was Annette, but I think hers is prettier. 

        “No, Pamela, I have said this once and I will say it again. Do you think any of these white people like Dr.Broyard really care about her? They're just doing it for publicity! The mayor didn’t want them to take the test, so what makes you think he will allow Annette or any of those children to integrate any of those schools?” Daddy responded viciously at mama. 

“There were hundreds of those kids who didn’t get this opportunity who are dying for it, Darryl. I get it, Annette will be in danger, but you know what? The other little girls coming along with her will be too. That's just how it works. I would have wished to have this opportunity as a child, and you know damn well you would too. So let our little girl take this opportunity, and stop being bent out of shape,” I heard Mama yell through the thin walls we have in our home. 

I was not going to miss this; I took my dolly and walked back inside before getting my turn on the swing. Mama was on the verge of tears, and Daddy's face was full of guilt. I never had known this was that important to Mama. It had not been that important to me either until now. 

“I want to go,” I had said as my voice was trembling. “I want to go to the big school.”

I woke up the next morning to four large white men and Dr.Broyard in my living room; Mama and Daddy were there as well, but I was yet again unaware of what was going on. I was going to pretend to mind my own business in the kitchen, but Mama had gestured for me to come sit with her in the living room on the sofa. This is no longer a grown folk business. 

“Everyone here is for your daughter to integrate, and not against. I, J. Skelly Wright, will not stop until your kind has the right and same education as my kind. You have been assigned to William Franke Elementary School.  Don’t worry, another girl you may know by Ruby Bridges will also be integrating with Annette,” one of the four white men, who I now knew was Skelly Wright, said in a passionate way. 

“Thank you very much, and I want all of you to know that my family and I are incredibly grateful and honored for this opportunity you have given to us,” Mama said, once again on the verge of tears, but this time they were happy tears.

“What are you going to do on behalf of my daughter's safety? I hope you all are aware not everyone of your kind will agree with you,” Daddy said, questioning the men. 

“Darryl is it?” Skelly Wright questioned the name of Daddy. “We have united as a team, and we are going to make sure that your daughter and all of the other girls are safe as well. These three men right here work for the NAACP and will escort your daughter to school and back every morning and afternoon.” 

“What about me? I have plans on walking with Annette to and from school as much as I can,” Mama asked. She sounded like Daddy except I think she feared her safety. 

“You will be escorted with us too, and say Darryl would like to come, the same will be done for him.” 

Soon enough the questions and answers were coming to an end. I had never been more bored in my life, but there was a part of me that wanted to stay present for the conversation. I had not said anything, but that changed when Skelly Wright directed his attention to me.

“Annette, I want you to know that you’re changing history,” he announced.

The room stayed quiet after his remark, like a moment of silence for mourning the death of someone. This was a death, and this was the death of “Separate but Equal” in schools in the South. 

“Annette! Have you gotten into your bath yet? It’s going to get cold,” Mama shouted. 

I could tell she was just on the edge of her chair because tomorrow was the big day. Mama re-flat ironed my hair, and the smell of the burning hair grease was lingering throughout the house still. I was still making water works from all the times Mama had hit the back of the hot comb to my neck. Since Mama had so much to do, Daddy was making dinner tonight, and cooking sure wasn’t his specialty. The smell of the hair grease combining with whatever was boiling in the cooking pot was horrendous. 

“Yes mama!” I exclaimed, knowing I was not telling the truth. Oh God, forgive me. I was looking at myself in the mirror. What if the other kids don’t like me, I thought to myself. I could not stop thinking about what Daddy had remarked to Skelly Wright.  I hope you all are aware not everyone of your kind will agree with you.

I slowly dipped one leg of mine into the now lukewarm bath water, and then the second leg. Mama was right. The water is turning cold. I thought about the next day, and the next day only. I was scared, but a tiny part of the fright disappeared whenever I thought about how Ruby was also going to be by my side. Will she be going in the automobile with Mama and I? Will the other kids like us? Why won’t they like us? Even though Mama told me not to worry about any of this, I still chose to. 

I scrubbed the disintegrating soap bar against my washcloth. I slowly lathered my entire body from head to toe in soap, using my washcloth. I splashed my body with water and let the soap run off of me until it reached the water still sitting in the bath. I repeated the process once more than usual; after all, the next day was a big day, my big day, our big day. 

Dinner surprisingly was not as bad as I thought it would be. As we said in our prayers, we had a meal on our table, and that was all that mattered. Speaking of prayers, I prayed longer than usual that night before bed. Mama always taught me that God will and always can protect me. I begged and asked him to protect every bone in my body from any one who intentionally tries to harm me. When I finished I still could not fall asleep. I stared at the ceiling of my small bedroom and layed there, letting boredom get the best of me.

My bedroom door had creaked open. I rushed to my side and pulled my bedsheets over my head. Adrenaline rushed through my body because Mama would give me a scolding if she ever caught me up this late. I heard slow footsteps move closer and closer until they reached the edge of my bed. 

“Annette, baby, are you awake?” 

I now knew the footsteps belonged to Mama by the pitch of her voice.

“Yes,” I had answered in fear to Mama's question. I could not lie to Mama, especially after praying.

“Did you pray yet? Your Daddy and I wanted to join you in your prayer tonight,” Mama continued.

I now knew the footsteps not just belonged to Mama but also to Daddy.

“Yes, but I want to do it with you,” I answered. 

        Mama, Daddy, and I all said a nightly prayer together as a family. I was surprised that Mama didn’t make a remark about how I was up too late, but instead we held hands in a circle-like shape. Our eyes were shut, but every few words said I’d peek. We asked God for protection and luck. I had a feeling that tonight's prayer was specifically directed towards me. 

        As they both walked towards the door of my room, Mama reminded me of how she loved me and would never let anyone or anything lay a single hand on me. Daddy had said I was brave and reminded me of how I was doing the right thing. I couldn’t tell if what he said was true or fake, like when he met Dr. Broyard. Either way their words flowed from one ear to the other like music, and they vibrated back and forth until I fell asleep. 

The sunrise happened, and immediately I knew it was the day. Mama had brought me a new dress. The arms were puffy and compacted on the end. It was such a beautiful pink mixed with a tint of red, and the sleeves and the collar were lined with pearly white fabric. The ruffle skirt's hemline reached just above my knees. I wore my church socks, which now had a yellowish tint to them because of the washing machine. Along with my socks I wore my black buckle strapped church shoes. In order to top off my outfit I added an off-white cardigan to make the entire outfit better. 

        I heard chit chat coming from down the hallway. I thought Daddy had stayed home from work, but it was Mama's neighborhood gossip friends. My church shoes went click clack as they touched the oak hardwood floors of the hallway. Sitting on the counter, the hot comb was burning, and a new pale pink bow was lying, waiting for me. Oh no, not this again! Why does Mama always flat iron my hair just to twist it again? On the stove Mama was making hotcakes. I loved hotcakes with a nice cold glass of milk. While Mama was making breakfast I was playing with Mrs.Thompson's newborn baby.

        “Annette, don’t forget to answer any teacher up at that school with ‘yes mam’ when they speak to you,” Mama informed me.

        “Okay, Mama.” I answered. 

        Through the window I could see three automobiles drive up near the curve of our house. That must be the men from NAACP to come pick up Mama and I. Instead I saw four large men approach our front door, and I knew that they were not the men from the NAACP. I hoped that whoever it was could wait for me to eat my hotcakes. When Mama heard the knock on the door she put on a huge smile and immediately went to open it.

        “Good Mornin’, Mrs.Maynard. I am here to pick up you and Annette. We should get a move on now, because after all we have to pick up Ruby,” the white man stated. 

        “Good Morning to you too, but I was told that the men from the NAACP would pick up Annette and I. That also wasn’t supposed to happen until about another 15 minutes. Annette hasn’t had time to eat her breakfast yet.” Mama had informed the white man.

        “You're being escorted by U.S Marshals today, ma’am. We need to leave now. You will understand why when we arrive at William Franke Elementary School,” The white man from the U.S Marshals declared.

        “Come on, Annette, we must leave now.” I thought about my hotcakes that were going to make my morning fantastic. 

        I saw Ruby from down the road sitting on the porch with her Mama. I questioned if they knew about the change from the NAACP. Ruby looked like she got to eat her breakfast. 

        The automobile sat two of the white men up front, Mama and I, with two seats left, one for Ruby and one for her Mama. As the automobile drove off the other two exact replicas followed right behind. Once we reached Ruby's home the Marshals got out of the automobile. I was shocked to see that Ruby’s Mama was even more surprised by the presence of the Marshalls over the NAACP than Mama. 

        While on the way to the new school I looked out the window to see my old school friends. I felt guilty and heavy hearted. I’d make a small wave-like gesture whenever we made eye contact. I remembered when that was Mama and I, but that wouldn’t be us anymore. The guilt was slowly disappearing when I remembered that Skelly Wright and Mama said that I was opening doors for other little kids like me. 

        There were police officers guiding cars in and out of our neighborhood. I had never seen them do that before. I watched as they moved the striped black and white traffic barricades in and off the path to different streets. 

        “Wait till’ I open the door till’ you get out. We’ll get behind you. The two men in the front car will walk in front of you. We’ll all go in together,” the man in the front had said to us. “Stay between the four of us, and do not look back. No matter what happens, don’t make any form of contact with the crowd,” the man continued. 

        Ruby and I looked at each other, and we both were frightened. Who will this crowd be? I thought to myself. And why can’t we look? There were policemen chasing the white folks in the crowd. Once Mama stepped one foot out of that car behind the white man her face was nothing I've seen before. I looked at the crowd, but now I wished I had not. It was tempting to look back, but the image of the white woman with a blue checkered print dress with a white head scarf. 

        “Two, four, six, eight! We don't want to integrate,” I heard a woman start, and about every person in that crowd followed.

        While the people chanted, they waved their hands in fists. There were people holding signs with remarks such as “Whites Only!” There was one thing I noticed about the crowd; there were whites only. I squeezed my Mama’s hand in one, and then I squeezed Ruby's hand in the other. 

        “Move! Get out of the way!” one of the two men in front of us declared.

        My eyes watched and wandered side to side to see the crowd. I watched them continue their chant directed towards Ruby and I. As we approached the steps, two sheriffs from the state of Louisiana stopped us. 

        “Hold on right there fellas, we cannot let you enter; the governor of our great state denied your access,” one of the men stated.

        “Excuse me, sir, but the President of the United States says we can,” one of the marshals from the car declared powerfully. 

        “STOP! Take her back to the colored school,” an angry protester from the riot yelled once we began our way up the steps.

        I looked above me, and I saw the all-brick school that had black framed windows. The ceilings weren’t damaged, the windows had no missing glass from bricks thrown into them, and it was not one, but two stories. This was our school. Once I had looked down and forward I could only see white children being grabbed by their parents to leave the school. There were tons leaving, but I just hoped there were enough kids left to be my friends.

        “I will not be silenced! Until you take those little negros out of my little Johnny’s school he will no longer be attending William Franke Elementary School!” a white woman declared as she grabbed her son. Right after they both joined the crowd and began to chant along, “Two, four, six, eight! We don’t want to integrate!”  I now knew that I was the cause for them leaving, but why? 

        Step by step we walked up the gray cement step. Once the first set of Marshalls reached the big black front doors they opened them, and like a domino effect, Mama, Ruby, Ruby’s Mama, and I all followed them. We entered to see a huge hallway. There was a massive all-wood grandfather clock laying on top of the what seemed to be 100% oak wood floorings. There were hundreds of rooms; their doors had little windows and everything. I could not believe my eyes, because this felt like a dream. 

        “Excuse me, you must follow me to my office,” a woman dressed in a fancy velvet pantsuit explained.  

        While we walked to her office, I could see teachers gasping and gossiping about the presence of Ruby and I. “I can’t believe they’re sending that little Negro here!” I heard a teacher whisper.

        “You listen here, You do as told; we are going to leave now and calm the crowd. We will meet you in the front doors of the school. If there is a situation where we are not there, do not leave, you must just wait,” the marshals ordered Ruby and I. “Now you two will exit exactly as we came in, let's roll,” he continued. 

        I waved to Mama, and she looked back to blow me kisses. Ruby whispered, “Bye, Mama,” but just loud enough for me to hear. We followed the white lady to her office without making a peep. It wouldn’t be noticeable over all the parents grabbing their children out of the school and yelling at the teachers. The teachers were even grabbing their stuff and exiting the school. I continued to question why they were upset over my presence until I remembered Daddy saying to Skelly Wright, “I hope you all are aware not everyone of your kind will agree with you.”

        “You sit here, and you here. I don’t want you to touch anything or leave this room until the bell rings,” she had informed Ruby and I. 

        “Yes, Ma’am,” Ruby and I said in perfect sync. 

The women had immediately left the office. There was a huge dark, wooden desk with a real telephone. There was even an ENIAC. On her desk sat her name tag, Principal Johnson. There was a round clock sitting above her desk, tik tok tik tok. I watched the clock until I heard Ruby ask a question.

“Annette, are you scared?”

“Yes. Very,” I answered, being nothing but honest. 

“Me too,” Ruby commented.

Every once in a while I’d look out the door to still see teachers and parents fussing. Teachers made remarks such as, “I better not be teaching that little negro,” and the parents argued with remarks such as just taking there children out of the school. One specific parent in particular I remembered from the crowd I saw out the window speaking to Principal Johnson.

“I will not let my Johny attend school, walking around here learning the same stuff as him!” the mother yelled. “Now you better do something about it, or I'll take my child somewhere else for school!” the mother continued.

        Ruby and I did nothing but sit there all day. We ate our lunch and even used the non-colored washroom after. We also took naps, but at my old school we stopped doing naptime because they claimed it was for babies. Ruby and I continued to make small talk throughout the day until the bell finally rang.

“Today was very easy!” I said to Ruby, laughing as we both knew we just sat there all day and ate our lunch.

“Yes, easier than ever, but I do hope we can learn tomorrow,” she replied.

“Yeah, me too, and eat lunch in the cafeteria, but do you think your parents will let you come back?” I asked her.

“Yes, why wouldn’t they?” she questioned.

“No reason, I was just asking.” 

We walked out of the room carrying our school bags along with our lunch bags. As we walked down the hallway we could see the same men from the morning waiting for us. The only thing different was our Mama’s were nowhere to be seen.

“Girls, remember, do not look back. Walk forward and don't say, look, or stare at anyone in the crowd, okay? Let's get a move on,” the marshal reminded us. 

As they opened the door the crowd was bigger than before. There were more signs, more cops, and more upset white people. 

“Two, four, six, eight! We don’t want to integrate!”

“Take those little negros back to there schools!”

“No coloreds here!”

All Ruby and I could hear were offensive remarks directed to no one but us. Why are they so upset to share their education with us? 

The next day the same marshal men picked Ruby and I up. On the drive to William Franke Elementary School they once again went over how we were supposed to exit the automobile. Something felt different about the marshals that second day. I couldn't seem to tell what it was, though. They were wearing the same big boots with the same navy blue uniform with a gold badge, but something still felt different. They escorted us out of the automobile and past the crowd the same way.  What could it be? 

The crowd grew larger since yesterday. I could see spat on my shoes that belonged to a white man in the crowd. I could see the same lady who started the chant yesterday here again. There were plenty of new faces, but I was drawn to the man wearing what seemed to be a similar dressy outfit as the marshals escorting me. Once we walked in there was a woman smiling, waiting with Principal Johnson, who had no emotions to see us. 

“Hello, Annette and Ruby, I will be your teacher for this school year. I am Mrs. Henry!” the woman said, stoked to see us. “And nice to meet you Mrs. Maynard and Mrs.Bridges,” the woman continued. 

Mrs. Henry grabbed each of our hands in each one of hers. Her shoes made a clicking sound every step of the way, and it was louder than the marshals’ shoes. I looked back and smiled at Mama; Mrs.Henry may have looked like everyone in the crowd, but she sure acted differently.

*****

Mrs. Henry was all it took to make Ruby and I feel welcomed to William Franke Elementary School. The three of us never missed a single day of school that year because we knew we needed each other. The three of us ate lunch together because Ruby and I were still separated from the other children. Day by day our class grew in size because the white parents finally saw Ruby and I the way Mrs. Henry saw Ruby and I. We were truly just children eager to learn the same as their kids, just a different color representing us. Day by day the protest was getting smaller. Once the grass was greener and the flowers were blooming we could walk up the steps without hearing, “Two, Four, Six, Eight! We don’t want to integrate!” 

        When the trees had leaves and the snow was long gone our class reached eighteen students. They didn’t welcome us at first, and we tended to feel excluded in many situations, but Mrs.Henry fought for us the way J. Skelly did, and the way the marshals did, and the way my Mama did. We were able to play outside for recess with the other students, eat lunch with the other students, and most importantly learn with the other students. All because they finally started to see us the way we wanted to be seen.

-Edwina J.

 Chapter 1 

Petrograd, January 1916.

        A blazing inferno burned across the sky as the sun dipped below the horizon, taking with it the little warmth it provided. The scarlet sky signaled the end of the workday as workers, their backs bent and their faces painted with exhaustion, shuffled out of the factories like mindless puppets of the devil himself. Many of them circled their spindly arms around their bodies in an attempt to keep warm as icy winds rushed along the streets of Petrograd.

In the endless march of the factory workers trying to get to their homes, it was easy to miss the boy standing rigidly still in the middle of the blinding white snow, his horrified gaze focused on an unassuming point on the ground, the place where his father was murdered eleven years ago by cold-blooded Cossacks. But what do I care? Humans were absurd creatures, mourning the dead even after many years had passed. But I craved the boy’s pain, for it gave me the pleasure I so desired. I was his demon; his pain and sorrow; his fears and anger. He couldn’t see me as I was, but his subconscious knew I was there.

With a hungry smile playing on my lips, I fervently reached out to touch the temple of his head, eager to feel the rush of power as I felt his anger wash over me. My fingers brushed the cold flesh of his head; shock hit me in the face like bricks, and then his memories started flashing across my eyes.

✧ ✧ ✧

        Petrograd was still named St. Petersburg back then. Kirill was only seven at the time, not old enough to understand, but old enough to remember.

        A man held Kirill’s small hand gently but firmly in his fingers. I could feel the waves of anxiety lifting off of the man as he stared at his son. Kirill had his father’s bright gold-flecked green eyes, but they had been dimmed over time with the responsibilities stacked upon his shoulders at such a tender age. His father had honey-brown skin and dirty blond hair that was tangled and looked like it hadn’t been tended to in days. I suddenly realized that Kirill had his mother’s dark hair and warm ivory-coloured skin. How had I not noticed that before? I shook that thought away and turned my attention back to the scene playing in front of me. 

        Kirill was trying to peek around the thick curtain of people all around him. I looked up and saw the people shuffling forward slowly. It was not a swarm of brain-dead, puppet-like people that I was so used to seeing; instead, these people looked like they had life inside of them. They marched forward; many of them held banners that screamed, “Long Live the Tsar!” and “Victory to the Motherland!” The crowd of people chanted about their respect and adoration for the Tsar, which I thought was so ironic considering their lives and how they were basically slaves to the rich.

         The people slowed down; they were not more than forty arshins from the Winter Palace. The structural wonder stood before us in all its royal, glittering beauty. The snow had a way of illuminating the structure further, which only made it more breathtaking to look at. 

        The only thing that was separating us from the palace was the bridge over the Tarakanovskii Canal, which, I remembered, marked the border of the city here. I frowned at the Winter Palace apprehensively. Something was not right about it. I squinted at the structure, and after a second of not understanding what I was seeing, my stomach jolted with an unpleasant feeling. Are those Russian soldiers and Cossacks lined up along the palace wall? Something moved in my peripheral view. I turned my attention back to Kirill.

        "Papa," he yanked on his father's sleeve in an attempt to get his attention, "Where are we going?"

        His father’s kindly eyes landed on his son; they were painted with exhaustion and a wild glimmer of hope. His eyes crinkled with a faint smile. Even a fool could see the love and pride for his son that radiated off him.

        “Kirill, my dear miracle,” his father said fondly, “we are going to go see our dear Tsar-Batyushev to deliver a letter to him telling him about our problems. Father Gapon leads us to the Tsar's home so we can tell him about our problems ourselves. He is not aware of them, but surely if we tell him about them, he will do something,”

        Kirill’s green eyes shone with curiosity and… was that hope in his eyes? He opened his mouth to ask another question, but he was interrupted by the dry crack of many rifle shots. BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

        His father’s face shot up, confusion clouding his features as his head darted from side to side, trying to figure out what was going on. I looked around too, panic welling in my stomach, as I tried to understand why people were dropping left and right. I spied ahead to the front of the crowd where the priest was; Father Gapon? Was that his name? Father Gapon looked panicked, and fear was etched across his face.

        “What are you doing? How dare you fire upon the portrait of the Tsar?” The priest bellowed at the soldiers who were shooting at us. Of course, that had no effect on those blood-thirsty monsters in any way. In the panic of the crowd, I spotted a little boy who didn’t look much older than ten years of age. He was carrying a church lantern and tried to keep a tight grip on it as he struggled against the flow of the crowd; people continued to drop second by second. His eyes suddenly widened as he dropped to his knees. Shocked, I noticed his clothes becoming redder by the second. He struggled to his feet, pressing hard against his wound. I could see the sparkle of tears in his eyes as he stood up, but another bullet caught him in the torso, and he crumpled like a sack of potatoes. The church lantern crashed against the ground and shattered.

        Horror pressed around me, making me feel almost suffocated. I faintly saw Father Gapon turning towards the crowd and yelling at them to lie down on the ground. I turned to Kirill, panicked at the thought of something happening to him and his father. I half-heartedly shook that thought away as soon as it reached my mind, but I couldn’t deny the horror surrounding me. I spotted Kirill. His eyes were shocked and brimming with tears as his father tried to shield him from stray bullets. 

        “Papochka!” Kirill wailed, “Can we… Can we go home?” His breath hitched with horror; he didn’t seem to understand the chaos going on around him. I saw the look of utter concentration and terror on his father’s face; something unfamiliar started welling up inside me. It wasn’t anger, nor was it sorrow. It was something much deeper, much stronger. At first, I couldn’t put my finger on it, and then I realized what it was. 

        Fear.

        Kirill didn’t see it, and neither did his father, but I did. I saw the bullet spiral out of the soldier’s weapon almost as if in slow motion. It cut through the air like a sharp knife through soft butter; I could almost hear the bullet whistle as it passed near me and embedded itself into Kirill’s father’s chest. I stopped breathing. His father crumpled to his knees, his hand covering his chest.

        Kirill’s tear-streaked face broke out in bewilderment and terror, “Papochka? Papochka!! Get up! We have to get to Mama!” He shook his father’s shoulder harder, “Papochka?”

        I felt his dad gritting his teeth. Then, slowly, he raised his head. “Kirill? Go home, find your Mama and keep her safe, my dear miracle.”

        "Nyet Papa!" he yanked on his father's sleeve again, "You must come with me. Come on, Mitya and Mama will be waiting."

        His father wrenched Kirill’s hand away. “Kiryushen’ka,” his father said, using the affectionate form of Kirill’s name in Russian, “I will come home later, da? Just go home, my love. You know the way, everything will be okay.” He lied as he reached out with shaking fingers and wrapped his arms around Kirill’s neck in a tender embrace.

        "Promise?" Kirill was trembling now.

        “Promise.” His father lied with the swiftness of a fox.

        Kirill started backing away slowly. His father looked at him sorrowfully and said, “Tell Masha that I love her. Mityen’ka too. And I love you, my dear miracle.” My blood ran cold as ice. He had used Kirill’s mother’s and brother’s tender forms of their names. This was not going to turn out well.

        Kirill's face was red and blotchy by now, but maybe a small part of him sensed his dad’s lies. I didn’t have the heart to read his feelings. “I love you too, Papochka. I…please be back home soon,” the little boy pleaded with his dying father.

        “Da.” His father lied, his lips glistening with blood.

        Then Kirill turned around and started running, leaving the massacre of hundreds behind him. I looked back; his father had collapsed on the ground. Unmoving. Unbreathing. A corpse. 

        I turned back and saw Kirill running far, far away to his home, a place considered safe only in name. But something had changed. There was a shadow following him now, dark and constant, mimicking his every move. Not that anyone could see it, but I did; I knew what it was. His pain and sorrow, his fears and anger. I was his demon, and his father’s end had been my beginning.

✧ ✧ ✧

        I jerked my hands away from Kirill’s face as if it had shocked me, and it had, in a way. His face was blood red with tears; sorrow lined his features. I felt sorry for him. No! Demons don't feel sorry for others, I reminded myself angrily, It's for the weak, and the weak only.  I reached up to my face and tried to wipe away the sadness and confusion from my mind as I furiously scrubbed my cheeks, trying to remove any trace of my shocked tears.

        Kirill’s emotions this time were so much different from what usually went through his mind. I was used to his anger and concern, maybe even good-natured joy, though that seldom happened. This time, however, his emotions were much more jagged, with sharp edges. His pain had razor-like claws that scratched at you with the ferocity of a savage animal. His sorrow had venomous fangs that tried to inject its poison into your body. It attacked you and sat precariously still as it waited patiently to feel your pain.

        I shuddered involuntarily as I felt the power of his emotions course through my body. It usually gives me an indescribable sense of gratification, but this time, it just felt… wrong. His pain felt lousy and awful, like a magician’s cheap trick.

        The sky was starting to turn black, and the streets were beginning to quiet down as the last of the workers reached their homes. Kirill wiped away his tears and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a few flowers; they didn’t look as lively, and their color was drained, but they still looked beautiful in a strange manner. Kirill looked at the flowers in his hand and then slowly set the flowers down on the snow.

        “I’m sorry, Papa,” he whispered. His voice broke, and another tear slipped down his face. Any other time I would’ve scoffed at human lunacy, but… this time I didn’t.

        “What would you say if you saw me now? Papochka?” Kirill sighed and stood up. His brother was probably starting to get worried. He looked around one last time at the dying sky, then started towards home.

Chapter 2

        Kirill pushed open the door of the little shack he called home. As he pushed it open, Dmitri, Kirill’s little brother, jumped up with the alertness of a hunting falcon.

        “Kirill!” he exclaimed, relief coating his words like honey, “Thank God, you are alright! I was starting to get worried.”

        "Mitya, you don't have to worry about me, you know that, right?" Kirill shook his head as he sat down on one of the tiny cots pushed to the corner of the room.

        Mitya chewed on his lip. The dim light cast by the darkening sky lit up his honey-brown skin with a ghostly hue. It illuminated his tangled dirty blonde hair like the Tsar’s palace lighting up at night. He was only seventeen, younger by two years. Nevertheless, heavy bags, similar to his brother’s, hung under his brown eyes.

        “I know, but I just thought that maybe you had been taken in for questioning, or…” He didn’t finish the sentence. We all knew what he would have said, though. Arrested for treason and executed.

        Kirill was quiet, and then he spoke, “I know, brother, I know.”

        "Igor was taken in today." Mitya joined Kirill on the cot, "Those guards said it was because he was a traitor to the motherland." I frowned. Igor? Wasn’t that Mitya’s friend?

        Kirill’s head shot up, “Igor? Nyet…It can’t be…”

        Mitya nodded his head dejectedly, “If they don’t execute him soon, he is going to be sent to the workcamps to never be heard of again. I…” He sniffed, not completing his thought.

        Kirill patted him on the back and said, “I’m really sorry.” 

        Mitya shrugged. “I just really… I wish our lives were fair,” he said wistfully. Then suddenly, he shook his head. “Is Katya coming tonight? I thought she said she was?”

        Kirill’s ears perked up. “I am pretty sure she was going to come.” 

        Despite the bleak talk just minutes before, I swallowed hard and suppressed a hysterical giggle from escaping my mouth. Despite all his troubles, the boy was smitten with the girl. As if on cue, two sharp knocks echoed on the other side of the door. Mitya reached out and opened the door. A girl stood on the other side of the door. Her head was covered with a shawl, and she stumbled into the small hut. She pushed the door closed behind her and shook off the little snow that was on top of the shawl.

        She took the cloth off of her head, revealing long brown hair tied in a neat braid. She set the cloth down gingerly on top of the rickety chair that stood off to the side. Ekaterina was a sluzhanka at a lord’s house here in Petrograd. It was her usual routine to snag something from the food pantry and sneak it to us. Her kindness confused me immensely. If she didn’t bring the food to us, she could have so much more for herself, especially during the winter months. And to top it off, she sneaked out, risking a whipping in the process if she was ever caught, and hiked out here, just so two boys wouldn’t starve to death. Why risk her mortality at all? Humans are ludicrous, I thought, completely baffled.

        “I am sorry that I am late. Lord Yusupov had some of his friends over for a drink.”

        Kirill shook his head. “It’s alright, Katya. Are you fine?”

        “Yeah, it’s just really cold. It’s snowing outside,” she said, matter of factly, as she sat down on the chair, “I managed to get some apples from the pantry today. I am sure those noble aristocrats won’t notice a couple of measly apples being gone from their pantry,” she said, scorn lining her words like rose thorns. She rummaged around in her shawl and took out three blood-red apples. Mitya snatched an apple out of her hands like a hungry animal, and Kirill followed.

        As they bit into their food, Katya resumed her hot-headed complaining. “If the Tsar’s stupid war has taught anything to those stuffy nobles, it’s value. I’ve been working there for years. Those ignoramus idiots have thrown food away before just because they didn’t think it ‘looked bright enough.’ They listed Pa’s in the conscription list because the food he cooked didn’t have enough salt in it. Ma was distraught…”

        Katya continued her angry complaints, but I stopped listening. I knew her father had been conscripted and had fought in numerous battles in the Russo-Japanese War. He had come home several years ago with a hand and a leg missing from the knee down. Katya and her mother had been grief-stricken and became bitter against the aristocracy.

        I looked over at Kirill and saw the crease between his eyebrows deepening by the second. I reached out and touched his shoulder lightly. Power flowed through my fingers, into my hand, and up my arm. 

        Power. It was such a simple thing. How did anyone not crave it?

        As the feeling of strength and pleasure flowed through me, almost bringing me to an unnatural high, I guiltily withdrew my hand. After what happened at the square today, it almost felt wrong to take advantage of his emotions like that. I looked over at him. His face was scrunched up in anger and maybe a little bit of what seemed like fear.

        Katya took the last bite of her apple; some of the juice dribbled down her chin. “I should get going,” she muttered, her anger still evident.

        “Are you going to be alright?” Kirill asked.

        “Da,” Katya replied with a sullen look on her face, “It’s back to the nobles’ lands. Of course, I am fine.” With that disdainful remark, she wrapped her shawl around her shoulders again and started towards the door, but not before one last warning. “Be careful, boys. I have heard Lord Yusupov talk about assassinating the Mad Monk, Rasputin. I am worried about Russia. I fear her future might not be a happy one.”

-Dona B.

 Chapter 9

        I was floating happily above a sunlit meadow. Children frolicked in the early morning dew. The air was fresh, like the smell after a heavy rain. I was jubilant in this peaceful place. In an instant, the ground began to shake restlessly. I was tossed into the air as the earth was torn up beneath my bare feet. A massive sinkhole opened up in the ground. I grasped the dirt at the edges, tugging wildly. I strained to not let myself plunge into the monster that was eating the exquisite meadow up. With a final jerk, I was thrown into the death pit. The hole, satisfied with its last kill, closed its wide jaws. I was descending at a rapid speed. The fall would shatter all my bones; this, I was positive of. I thrashed helplessly around, hollering for anyone. 

        I screamed into the morning mist as I sat bolt upright. The ground was still shaking ferociously. That's not possible. I thought, deceiving myself. I’m not dreaming anymore. 

        Near hysteria, I jumped to my feet, teetering slightly. In the near distance I could see hundreds, if not thousands of armed riders on horseback. All looked fit, their jaws rigid in concentration.  They poured expeditiously out from the mountain crags. The men possessed weapons almost my size. Bow and arrows glinted like fangs in the rays of light. Freshly polished swords bounced vivaciously at their sides. 

        Though the morning was young and I had yet to eat breakfast, my stomach flipped inside out at the sight I saw. These riders were not ordinary riders, for they bore the crest of my previous home, Mongol Empire Warriors. A blue flag dangled morbidly in the air, fluctuating back and forth. The men were focused, their faces blank sheets. The occasional snap of a whip caused a whinny of shock and pain from a horse. Other than that, they journeyed in a gigantic group. A sea of black. Black like death. They were a death sea. Devastation and loss followed them everywhere they went. Moving so swiftly, you could only tell they had been there by the number of bodies on the ground. 

        They look ready for battle, I thought in mere confusion. The only city near here for miles is… I did not allow myself to think the last word as realization doused me in icy water. My subconscious spoke it so softly that it sent an echo tumbling and whirling through my veins. Kievan Rus. 

        I was sinking into the ground, the earth swallowing me up. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. I was a stone statue, carved and stiff. Hate and anger coursed savagely through my veins. These were my people, I thought with repulsion. Finding my feet, I took a painful step forward to get a better view. I was concealed for the most part. Camouflaged with the shrubbery, I dared to peek over the spiky leaves. Just as I brought my head up, someone turned to me. One of the riders on the edge. His black eyes were pieces of coal, gleaming meanly. Just as he dissipated around the bend of a valley wall, his eyes met mine. His face turned to shock, recognition, then fear. The encounter sent beads of sweat stumbling across my forehead. 

        The soldiers had almost all gone by now. At the tail end came four heaving men stuttering up the hot, sandy ground, carrying what seemed to be a bed. Chiseled gold captivated my vision as I hadn’t seen something so rich or alluring in months. The detailed portraits carved into the soft metal were far beyond my vision reach. Red curtains stretched exquisitely across two delicate windows on either side. The red was not as deep or gruesome as blood, but an appealing sunset color. The curtains parted to reveal a man, lounging his eyes half closed. He seemed to be either relaxed, or dazed. His round abdomen informed me that he had more than enough to eat. His sophisticated robes were flecked with royal colors and lined with gold. He shifted loftily, his beady eyes fixated on some imaginary montage far in the distance. This man was not just any man, but Odegi Khan himself. I pivoted to look away from this abhorrent creature who just happened to be His Majesty. 

        Abruptly, I snapped out of my haze of entice and hate. Kalyna. In her mind, she had a few weeks left. A few weeks to either save her city or prepare for near-certain death.

         I ran a few yards before stopping. I would never make it in time. I pictured my arrival scene: the walls being stormed, terrified children running for their lives. Artem and Kalyna dead on the ground, life seeping out of them.  I shook my head to clear my hazy thoughts. I had a reason to come here. I had a reason to keep fighting for my life or others. My inspiration was being lugged around in a golden chariot right before my eyes. Odegi Khan nearly destroyed me. I was the only one who could build myself up again. At least enough to fight for what I know is right. 

        My tangled, ebony hair bounced around my elbows as I picked up my pace. I ran for myself, for my family, and for Kalyna. It was a freeing sensation with the wind in my hair and my feet pounding out a rhythm. I just ran and ran because in a way, it was my duty. Kalyna and Artem had kept me alive for the past week, bringing me food, clothes, and water. I owed them that much and more. 

        It was only when I came tearing around a bend that my elation faded. Unmistakable screams of alarm echoed through Kievan Rus. Was I too late? 

Chapter 10

        Something was amiss. I could feel it in my bones when Artem never showed up to walk me to the forest as he did on normal days. I tore down the steep slope to the market, searching fiercely for him. I strolled up to a man at a stand. 

        “Do you know Artem? He’s sixteen years of age, tall…?” 

        “No clue,” the man spoke roughly. “Sorry Miss.” Just before sunhigh, I gave up. Trudging back to my home, I suddenly spotted him standing very still near the edge of the forest. I broke into a run, relieved he was alright. 

        “Artem!” I called out. My voice rang around the tall evergreens. There was no answer. I could still see him standing there, his head cocked as though listening to something. Everything was silent. There was nothing to hear. I opened my mouth to speak again when he put his finger to his lips. Creeping across the dewy grass, I slithered up to stand beside him.  

        “What is going on?” I asked slightly alarmed. 

        “Can you hear that?” His voice was tight and stiff. 

        “No…” 

        “Exactly,” he answered faintly. “The forest is too quiet.” I was quiet for a moment, listening. He was right. None of the usual chitters or squawks could be heard. Just an eerie silence that made me uneasy. I swallowed hard, pushing away the feeling of dread that creeped up my spine. 

        “I’m sure it’s nothing,” I responded reassuringly. 

        “It’s definitely something, Kalyna. I know these woods better than anyone.” His aquamarine eyes mystified me as the intensity of his gaze grew. 

        An echoing bang startled me, and I looked up, confused. What was that? Artem grabbed my hand brusquely and led me to a meadow near my house. Now I was able to see where the sound was coming from. Something was banging on our beloved limestone wall that surrounded the city. Not just one person, but many. Castle guards ran frantically around like blind hens. 

        “Who’s there?” Someone shouted up against the wall. I spotted a thick crack running along the wall like a viper. I was frozen to the spot, beyond terrified but unable to take my eyes off the scene. By now people came rushing out of their homes, scrambling hectically to get a view. In an instant the crack grew wider and longer. It wrapped around the wall, transforming it. The viper opened its jaws.  The limestone burst, and a tidal wave of stone came crashing down over the guards. Standing there, a triumphant look on their faces, were Mongol Empire warriors. 

        Their general stood poised on a majestic black stallion in the front. His face twisted into a nasty smile as he uttered the words, “Mongol Warriors, attack!” Thousands of riders dressed in heavy black suits spilled into the field. I felt someone tugging at my arm. Artem broke into a run, dragging me with him. We dove into the secure bushes at the edge of the forest and collapsed. I was terrified beyond words. Our small, greatly weakened armies didn’t stand a chance next to them. 

        A resounding crash came from what was my church. The refined walls crumpled beneath the weight of a giant boulder. Gold goblets made an appearance among the dust and rubble. The stained glass windows broke into trillions of shards. 

        I fearlessly darted out of the bushes. Ignoring Artem’s calls, I grasped a piece of smooth glass and held it close to my heart. They were not just targeting our people, but our cultural history as well. The symbolic cross that rose high into the sky was now a dented disarray. A thought hit me like a ton of limestone. My father’s out there! My father was vulnerable out there, lost of any protection. He was a mouse in a field with a hawk. A mouse with a sword and arrows, but a mouse nonetheless. 

        “Artem!” I practically screamed. “My family’s back there!” 

        “I know! Listen,” His voice dropped to an uncannily calm tone. “I have to go help fight. I don’t have a choice. Get your family out of here, but most importantly, you stay safe. I can’t lose you.” He spoke tenderly, and my insides melted at his caring words. 

        “Please stay here,” I begged softly. 

        “You know I can’t. If we make it out of this alive, I’ll be waiting for you.” 

        “I can help you! I can fight!” 

        “I can’t ever do that. I’m sorry.” Just before he rose he gave my hand a small squeeze. His eyes crinkled into a small smile filled with pain and remorse. I closed my eyes and held onto his hand, his fingers twined with mine. Finally he rose and began to walk away. I watched him as he walked into the peril of the battlefield, praying he would make it out alive. 

        The sprint home was treacherous. I kept to the side, merely watching as arrows shot through the sky. Blood pooled in small puddles on the ground, and a sickening odor hung in the air. Artem and my father couldn’t be seen as they were lost in the commotion of the battlefield. 

         I willed my feet forward and rounded the bend to my cottage. Suddenly, my heart stopped. The place where I had grown up, the place where most of my memories, happy or sad, had been made, was now a blazing inferno. My little house was a crumbling shell of its former self. Wooden beams were hollowed, falling to the ground beneath the flames. The blanket my mother had made me for my fifth birthday was slowly turning into a smoking, smoldering pile of ash. The once-sturdy structure full of life and happiness was dead, never to speak again. I fell to my knees, heat radiating off from the conflagration stinging my eyes. Tears of pain and loss poured thickly down my face. Bits of ash flecked the sky and meandered down to settle on my clothes. 

        Through my tears, a colorful figure floated toward me. I blinked until my sight-line was clear again. 

        “Anastasia,” I murmured softly. My little sister looked ragged, her eyes gray in despair and hopelessness. She did not cry, did not make a single sound as she gently grabbed my hand to pull me up. She began to walk shakily behind our devastated house. My mother sat, hunched over on the cool forest floor. I immediately strode over to hug her. 

        “We were so worried about you!” Her voice was hushed and full of tears. 

        “I’m sorry…I didn’t know…” I broke off abruptly. Any excuse or apology would be utterly meaningless at this point. 

        “No one did,” she stated, not referring to the same thing I was. We sat in forlorn grief for an eternity. Not one sound was heard, not one movement made. I cautiously stood up. 

        “Where are you going?” My mother’s tone was dangerously low. 

        “To help win this battle,” I looked directly into her demoralized eyes, sending her a soundless message. She briefly opened her mouth and then shut it again, understanding the responsibility I held myself to. 

        “Be safe.” 

Bodies littered the ground, their glazed eyes staring into the unknown. Grass was torn up, soaking the flowers in spilt blood. The trees were charred around the bases, their limbs swaying hazardously. Fire arrows. Oftentimes in battles, warriors would light their arrows on fire to double the peril of their enemies. 

        Why keep fighting? I asked myself. What’s the point of wanting so much? All my life, I was comfortable. I had a bed, a warm house, and food. Sure, there were times after a meal when I yearned for more Pampushky, or when I argued with my mother about more time in the field at night. After all, I’m only human. Never have I had such burning ambitions to become a legend, someone people talk about for years after their death. That's not the case for some people. I thought sadly, staring at a broken body. 

        This man’s arms were held up in a last attempt of self defense. His eyes were wild with fear, knowing he was never to see the light of day again. Worst of all was the arrow stuck through his heart. It was a mark, a souvenir of what had so cruelly ended his life. This truly was humanity at its worst. 

        The swoosh of an arrow cut through the air menacingly. It stuck to a warrior’s chest on the  opposite side of the field. Bewildered, I glanced up to see who had fired the arrow. Artem. The amiable boy I knew was replaced with a machine, bent on demolishing his enemies. The bright light in his eyes was now a dim, mortally focused one. He fell back behind the lines of older soldiers, and I took my chance. I tore up to him, the sodden dirt sticking to my bare feet. 

        “Kalyna!” His tone was full of precarious shock and anger. “You can’t be here!” The words I spoke were deathly serious. 

        “Artem, you don’t understand, I have to be here. If something were to happen to you or my father, I couldn’t live with myself knowing I had just stood by to watch.” My declaration seemed to stun him because he took a small step back. 

        “Why do you have to be so difficult?” His tone wasn’t angry but fragile and broken. Reluctantly, he reached up and pulled a spare bow and arrow out of his quiver. He carefully placed it in my trembling hands. The wood was polished and sleek. Browns and black blended together, making a pleasant shade. In a way it was the only beautiful thing about the battlefield, the first ray of sunlight in a storm. 

        “Thank you,” I replied gravely, knowing this weapon was a death-saver and a death-maker. I pulled the arrow into its place. I stretched the string back and let go. My arrow soared across the gray sky and found its target, embedded in an opposing soldier's heart. 

        When you kill a human being, one of your own kind, you can’t go back. For the rest of your life you have to live with the guilt of taking another's life to save your own. 

        The man’s blood spewed immediately out and spilled down his uniform. He gasped a quick breath, foam bubbling at his lips. He swayed, bleeding all his life out before collapsing to the ground with an echoing thud. My mind raced, and my thoughts were dazed and confused. I had killed him! There was no hesitation in my mind at the time. I had just cold-heartedly put him to death. He was the enemy. I tried to justify my actions, but nothing made it right. 

        I began to sweat furiously. My stomach bubbled noxiously. There was no way I could go on with this. I have to. For my people, city, and most importantly, my family. They had to be avenged. Taking a steadying breath, I leaned against a ginkgo tree. My head was clearer than before, my lungs open. I ran farther away from the line of trees, right into the heat of the battle. 

        I caught sight of Artem’s wavy, golden hair. He was fighting hard for his life, his face red. Still no sign of my father, I flung arrow after arrow into the battle; my aim was truly impeccable. I flew down rows upon rows of soldiers, wounded, dead, or struggling. The battle was a whirlwind, and somehow I managed to stay alive. Surprised eyes were on me at all times. A girl in battle was unheard of. After every predator I killed, every full-grown man, the warrior's eyes still taunted me. Arrows were aimed toward me, trying desperately to knock me out of the game. I ducked and dodged, trying hard to make it look easy. 

        After what seemed like hours, I finally caught sight of my father. He was battling a big warrior on a peal-white horse. The man was big, built up of muscle. Despite his size, he dodged blows from my father’s sword as if it were second-hand knowledge. It was only then when my father caught sight of me. 

        “Kalyna!” he bellowed furiously, his mouth twitching in panic. His moment of distraction cost him. The warrior slashed violently towards my father. He glanced back just as the sword crashed down into his armor. He was knocked off his horse to the ground, unscathed by the sword but wheezing from the force of the fall. Consternation seized his face as he stared up at the towering shadow that stood over him. A sword was pointed directly at his heart. The jagged blade could easily tear him to shreds in one quick flash. However, the man seemed to be enjoying stalling my father’s demise.

         I slipped silently, coming in closer to him every second. Compared to some of the colossal men on all sides of me, I was merely a mouse in a field full of elephants. I crept cautiously, dodging behind a lone horse when I needed to. My father was trembling heavily, his eyes closed and his lips moving in a soundless prayer. He was coated in sweat, and blood dotted his forehead. I could shoot an arrow at him, but he was laden with thick armor.  Without stopping to think, I jumped out from my crouch behind a random body and screamed. The man’s head turned towards me. A mixture of confusion and anger ran wild in his wide eyes. His sword turned upon me; I gathered an arrow ready for release when he went limp. The fierce light in his eyes had darkened to an impassive one. I looked up, startled to see Artem sitting on his stallion, a sword clasped in his hand. He jumped swiftly down from his horse, a perturbed look on his face. 

        “Don’t ever make me save you again.” 

        “You didn’t have to,” I murmured, relieved to know that he was here with me, okay. 

        “I did.” 

        “I owe you my life and so much more,” I whispered shakily. His only response was a small smile that lit up the whole field. A moan from the ground cut off my brief oblivion. Tato, I thought. I dropped to my knees to examine my father more closely. His uniform had been torn off near his ribcage, revealing a dark red wound. The sword did get him. I glanced up to Artem who knelt above me. 

        “Help me carry him to the trees!” I grabbed my father’s shoulders, slick with blood. Thankfully, the majority of the fighting had moved on to the far side of the field. We neared the edge of the forest, and I rested my father’s head down on the spiky grass. At that very moment, a rogue arrow came hurtling towards us. 

        “Artem!” I screamed in fear. The arrow sunk smoothly into his flesh. He let out a cry of pain.  

        What am I going to do? That was the first thought that flashed brightly in my mind. I was torn between helping Artem and my father. Neither one was the better choice. Hysteria seized me like a vice, and I bent over to stop the waves of it coming. A distant call made me look defeatedly up.  A small figure, coming closer, was waving enthusiastically. Saran. Thank the stars. I bounded up toward her and practically tackled her in a hug. This girl risked everything for me and my city. She traveled for months by herself just to find us. I have never been more grateful to anybody. She seemed to understand my silently transmitted message, for she followed me to the place where Artem and my father lay. 

        “I know what to do.” She spoke calmly, her voice controlled. She bent over my father to examine him. I scooched over to Artem, who had fainted with the pain. As soon as I reached for the arrow that still protruded from his leg, his eyes flew open. 

        “It’s okay.” I tried to speak gently, but my voice trembled, and tears poured down my cheeks. “It’s going to hurt for just a second.” I sniffled and gathered up my strength. Clenching the arrow between my hands, I mentally counted to three and tugged. 

        A tidal wave of blood followed the release of the arrow. Artem shouted out in pain, and I squeezed his hand for support. Blood was still rushing evenly out of his wound and pooled on the ground. I needed something to stop the bleeding, fast. I desperately searched the ground near me for anything. My eyes stopped on the hem of my dress. The fabric was thin from the wear of the battle. I grasped it and tore a piece just big enough to cover Artem’s wound. I carefully wrapped it around his leg and secured it with two sticks. My makeshift tourniquet would have to do for now. 

        For the first time, Artem seemed aware of the happenings around him. He blinked, dazed and struggled upright to a sitting position. His face contorted with pain as he tried to move his leg. 

        “Don’t,” I commanded harshly. His chest rose and fell for a few seconds before speaking. 

        “I guess we’re even now.” He chuckled, trying to make light of the situation. I didn’t even smile at his attempt at a joke. 

        “There.” Saran spoke the word so delicately. I turned to face her. 

        “Will he be alright?” 

        “I believe so,” she responded, sounding exhausted. “I’ve bandaged the wound to stop the bleeding. That's the most I can do right now.” 

        “Thank you.” I replied, sharing a smile with her. “Where did you find a bandage?” 

        “From that magnolia tree over there. It’s a kind that's meant to grow giant leaves.” She pointed to a tree a couple yards away. Why didn’t I think of that?  “My mother showed me all the natural resources to use in case I ever got hurt. I never knew they’d come in handy,” she continued. 

        “Thank you,” I said again. I searched for more adequate words to show my gratitude. Without her, either Artem or my father would probably be dead by now.

         I rose and brushed off the dirt that was now stamped into my knees. I walked out of the clearing to get a better view of the battle. The fresh air cleared my head, and I was glad to be rid of the putrid odor of blood. I was looking down into the battlefield. Just mere minutes ago, it had been filled with soldiers. I was puzzled and befuddled. Where could such a large number of soldiers have gone? As if on cue, I suddenly noticed a man limping toward me. He was short and round with a gash in his leg. I was immediately on guard. 

        “Miss…?” he called out uncertainly. I relaxed when I saw he was wearing the Kievan Rus armor. “I come with terrible news.” Like I need more of that today. I rolled my eyes grumpily and sighed. Might as well hear what he has to say. “The Mongol Empire-they stormed the palace. The Emperor is in captivity.” He paused to catch a breath. I let the news sink in. “There is no choice but to retreat. We are too weak. It’s over.” 

        "What do you mean?” My blood raced as fear took over. 

        “They are taking our people captive. They’re forcing them out by the point of a sword. Take your family and friends and get out of here before it’s too late!” He spoke with chilling urgency that was etched across his face too. 

        “Okay. Thank you.” With that, I was off. I took off towards my demolished home, where my mother and Anastasia were patiently waiting for my return. I flew to the back of the pile of ash that was my house. They were still there. My mother’s caramel hair was disordered, and her eyes had black circles rimming them. A glimmer of hope shone in her eyes in my presence. 

        “Hurry!” I called in a low voice. I relayed the details about everything that happened up to this point to them on the way. They listened carefully, their eyes round. 

        Back in the clearing, I was beyond relieved to see my father sitting up and talking to Saran. When he caught sight of me, his eyes mingled with pride, joy, and disbelief. I strode up to him and hugged him fiercely, being cautious about his injury. 

        “I have never been more proud, impressed, and scared,” he whispered lovingly. I simply hugged him harder. After a few moments, I straightened up and explained for the second time what the strange man had told me. 

        “We have to go right now,” I warned them. 

        “Okay.” It greatly surprised me when my mother spoke first. Her fearful aura had been replaced by a new, courageous one. 

        “But Tato,” Anastasia began, “can you walk?” 

        “We’ll get his horse,” my mother suggested.  We were ready in a split second, ready to venture out of our only home to face the unknown. Saran and Artem, of course, were coming with us. With Artem leaning in between me and my mother for support, we crept down past the battlefield. Successfully, we made it just to the edge of the fragmented city gate. Artem fell still. 

        “Come on.” I willed him forward. 

        “No,” he whispered plainly. 

        “What do you mean, no?” I asked, bewildered. 

        “I mean, I can’t make the rest of the journey. I’ll only be a weight, dragging you all down.”

        “No you won’t. You’re coming,” I replied with an air of stubbornness. Artem leaned against the remainder of the wall and grabbed my hands. 

        “Do you think I want to leave you?” he asked, and tears pricked in my eyes. “I’m only trying to do what’s best.” 

        “But that’s not what’s best!” I argued. I leaned in closer to him, only to see the pain of choosing in his eyes. 

        “Please trust me.” 

        “I do.” I breathed. For a long moment we stood there, oblivious to anything else but each other. I stared into Artem’s brilliant green eyes. I longed for him to stay close to me. I couldn’t possibly let him into the fatal clutches of Odegi Khan. 

        “Please,” I finally begged. I knew all my efforts would be futile. He didn’t say anything in response but kept staring into my eyes, a look of sorrow upon his face. 

        “Kalyna! They’re coming!” Anastasia’s squeaky voice surprised me. Indeed she was right. Three Mongol warriors were appearing at the crest of the hill. Artem turned back to me. 

        “Please just do me a favor. Stay safe and alive. It would be so much easier for me to leave knowing you’ll be safe.” Words failed me as a dagger of anguish stabbed my heart. I nodded. 

        “I’ll probably never see you again.” These were the only words I managed to choke out. 

        “I know,” he stated plainly. “Just know I’ll never forget you. I’ll always be thinking about you. Maybe one day we’ll meet again.” There were no words to say, so I fell silent.

        Just as the riders began to charge down the hill, Artem wrapped me in a hug. His arms circled around me, making me feel safe despite everything happening. Artem broke away just as the riders came into view very near to us. He nudged me out of the city gate and gave me one last smile. I knew this was the last time I would see him. The world was vast, and I would have no way to locate him. A part of me screamed to stay with him until the very end. But my family needed me. Saran needed me. 

        “Kalyna!” said an urgent whisper. Anastasia again. I jogged to catch up with my family. 

        We began our long journey into the great unknown. I didn’t want to look back into the pain of the past. However, I knew Artem would be there. 

        We walked and walked, only stopping to rest at night. We walked away from the pain and despair we left behind. We walked towards a new future. We walked in hopes of finding a land where we could finally be at peace and prosper there.

         In every step I walked, I kept my final promise to Artem. In every step I took, I hoped with all my heart he was safe like we were. The Mongol Empire had split us up into a fragmented, torn, devastated group. Their icy talons had clawed us, leaving a deep wound. Now wounds can heal, but scars will remain forever. 

-Emily W.