MAX, 19, sits alone on a rooftop with his acoustic guitar.  He slowly strums the chords to The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot by Brand New.  VALENTINE, also 19, climbs to the rooftop and sits next to him. He stops.

Oh please, Sir, get me out of here now. Dr. S., I want out. I promise this won’t happen again, I promise. This was the last time and I’m all better and I’m happy I swear I just want to go out again and breathe air and I’m suffocating and I need air I need air.

I stand on the edge of the altar, holding his hands as the bell tower chimes twelve in the background. When the tolling stops, so does everything else. The people in the pews are frozen stiff, and the entire church has come to a standstill.

“Mr. Seymour, how does the jury find the defendant?” The room was quiet and tense. Nobody moved except for the man standing up to tell my fate. I didn’t need to hear it. I already knew what he was going to say, what was going through his mind.

It was a warm and sunny day. The sun shone down brightly across the grass. To anyone else, it would have seemed like a perfect fall day, but to Sophia, it was one of the worst moments of her life.

Ah was in my beautiful peaceful, African land,

Until someone white came n’ grabbed my hands,

They chained me up n’ put me in a new new land,

Where there was people like me who had dark black hands,

When the day of the trial came, David put on his best suit. It had been a gift from his mother when he started law school. She had shown him a chart with the mortality rates of government lawyers, but he had assuaged her fears by assuring her that he was only interning until he could get a job with one of the big firms.

I awake to the quiet electronic beeping interrupting a dream. I gaze down and look at my watch. The sun captures the cracked line under the teal band where my tan skin stops. I rise and stumble into a big t-shirt, the shoulder drooping low, my dad’s. I step onto the cool grass, soft beneath me. Our bare feet on the ground run, our soles feeling purpose.

How does this lonely crow happen upon the beauty of a dove entwined?

She is tethered at the hip to the gray dove who encircles far out of sight,

an array of feathers black and white caress the ground leaving an imprint,

as the two flutter by each other, the only exchange are long glances of what if?

I remember when they came in.

The sound of the boots as they walked up the steps,

the whole building shook.

We heard a loud banging on your door,

over and over and over again.

The audience squirmed in their seats, excited whispers floating through the air like dandelion fluff on a summer breeze, speculating about her talent. They leaned forward in their chairs, eagerly waiting for her to start.

Stages of heartbreak were simple, said his therapist. Shock. Pain. Anger. Depression. Upward change. Reconstruction. And finally acceptance.

“... Dear Queen Penelope, would you grant me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage?”

All around us is death. It's there when we walk on the grass, crushing the plants beneath us, or when we get that phone call that someone we know has passed away. Maybe it's the suicide prevention posters up in the hall. Anyhow, it's everywhere. And yet somehow, we can never be prepared for it.

Once upon a time, there was a young priestess gifted with magical powers by the god of knowledge. She lived in a small village of worshippers, who she led routinely in the daily sacrifices. No girl was more dedicated to her god than she.

I have seen horrible things.

I have seen things

you can not imagine.

Train cars pulling up,

one hundred people

in each car.

the overtures

surge over my

limbs graze the

wood

A police officer, GREG, stands in front of JANE and VINCENT. Jane, around 19, sits in a onsie and a bun. VINCENT sits in sweat pants and a tee-shirt, his hair is slightly styled and he’s wearing square glasses.

GREG

Trespassing, vandalizing-

VINCENT

That wasn’t us.

GREG

I didn’t ask. Whatever, just call your lawyer already.

You can’t stop time with a kiss because what if he doesn’t kiss you back

You can’t read in silence because there is so much terror in turning that next page

You can’t escape time with music because it will never be loud enough

You can’t release time because there’s no room to breathe

As he began his commute across the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge, he couldn’t help but feel, for the first time, that this was all pointless.