Only with hindsight can one really begin to unpack much of the pain and damage already done. I once read or seen somewhere that all parents screw their children up a bit. Maybe it’s true. Maybe it’s not. All family dynamics are uniquely individual. And never would I adhere to a blanket statement. But I must admit, I always found it amusing. Perhaps, I’m a believer in that statement personally.

The flight from Newark Liberty International Airport to LAX is about six hours. I always struggle to sleep on planes. My good friend Rashawn will be in his assigned seat, seatbelt on, fast asleep before the cabin door has even closed. I'd stare at his sleeping face, envious of this superpower. For me, sleep on planes comes in broken fragments, scattered and ever elusive.

The tavern was crowded, like every other Friday night. Bartenders making their rounds, dishing out plates of soaked hot wings, beers, and other finger foods to large parties. The roar of countless conversations happening hovered over the place. The gentlemen, with loosened ties, rolled up shirt sleeves and sweaty foreheads. The ladies, their hair in worry-free buns, cursing like sailors and embracing it. In the back of the establishment was a private party, it was in celebration of one Humbert Dumphy.

The date was marked on my calendar two months ago.

"Put it on your calendar now," Uncle Axle said. "I don't want to hear that you forgot. Be at my place at 7am sharp."

Daniel came home early to surprise the kids with new board games for family game night. God bless his heart, he’s been trying to keep smiles on their faces ever since the world seemingly paused. He’s always been a great father. Always willing to try anything to keep them laughing.

On the sands of a beach, lived a quiet elderly man. He had built himself a small shack that was far away from tourists and beach-goers. He never disturbed anyone, and mostly kept to himself. He had a bald head and a large grey beard that was twisted into a braid at the bottom.

“Are you the manager?”

“Yes. Thank you for coming, my name is Jeffery.” Jeffery extends for a handshake.

The handshake is ignored. “What seems to be the problem here?”

“If you follow me, I’ll show you.”

Name: Max Johnson

Grade: 4th.

Homework Assignment: Introduce yourself to your new teacher Ms. Bennett and your new classmates. (Be prepared to share this in class.)

"Can you hurry up and get dressed, we're going to be late. My uncle hates when family's late for dinner." She left, slamming the door close.

She was wearing her favorite black dress, the strapless one with the thigh-high slit; the one that makes her feel like the fourth member of Destiny's Child. Tonight she's wearing the red-bottom heels too. It's a fitting occasion: the world is ending.

Ever since childhood, I've had trouble making friends. They would get one look at my "demonic eye", as they called it, and proceed to mock me mercilessly. They teased me, bullied me and verbally assaulted me. My social life suffered because of my appearance, or so I began to internalize.

Of the things that could go wrong while crocheting, opening a portal had seemed like a low probability. Just as I was beginning to get the hang of this new pattern my Abuela taught me. God rest her soul. It was a quilt I was going to give to my best friend Erica for her upcoming 23rd birthday. But when life gives you lemons, you can refuse if you choose to. I never understood that lemonade analogy. I despise over-sweetened drinks.

What is StoryADay? It was created by Julie Duffy in 2010. Basically it’s an accountability challenge to start AND finish a story (whatever length) every single day in the month of May. A little after midnight a writing prompt is emailed to all the subscribers. Each daily prompt is created by a published author or writer. And the topics vary widely.

I witnessed a car accident.

It happened in the turning lane of a mall. On my way with a friend to pick up a customized birthday cake from a bakery. The driver in front of me in a white Chevy Equinox LT, their left signal on to turn. Straight ahead, on the opposite side of traffic a black BMW coming straight ahead with speed. The driver in front of me takes the left turn.

After the second vibration I knew it wasn't a text message. My phone was ringing. I struggled the phone out of my pocket. It was my father. He knows I'm working, I thought. I answered.

"Your Grandmother passed away," he said.

It was ten days before Thanksgiving.