Category: Creative Nonfiction

And yet I still haven’t visited France. First obtaining a visa was a tedious bureaucratic process with a high chance of refusal. When the visa was no longer necessary, the flights were too expensive, so I decided to wait, traveling to countries that were more accessible. When finally a low-coast airline announced a new flight to Paris, I got the tickets, but the war broke out a month before my travel date. You can guess what is the first thing I dream of doing after the nightmare is over.

I tell my mother it was a random act of violence, not a targeted hate crime. I tell her the story I’d told the police officers while I laid in the hospital bed. We’d all agreed that I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

There was a loud noise, someone dropping a chair or something and I was prepared to leap to action. The stapler in my hand became my weapon and my body jumped, preparing to push these small children behind me. Why is this the world we live in?

Zeus’ father Cronus ruled the Titans until Zeus overthrew him. My great-grandfather’s father ruled his farm in Poland until a bull killed him, leaving my great-grandfather to step in at eight years old.

We’re not on steady ground all the time, nor should we be.

The waiting room of the Mercedes dealership is next level. Everything sparkles. They’ve got expensive yet free coffee. They’ve got fresh, colourful donuts. The magazines are organized and choreographed with perfect detail. Maybe, I’m just a little too excited to be inside. We’ve spent lots of time in gas stations and convenience stores, but this feels like a treat. I eat two more donuts. Salted caramel, and something with a shitload of sprinkles.