Lupita watches as the snowflakes fall and cover the ground. She was watching the flakes fall from the doorway of a shelter she had found. It wasn’t much, but it would allow her to get out of the weather. It was an old guard shelter that was no longer used. It had a small stables attaché to it for horses and there was still some hay in it that was good. The shelter wasn’t very big, but had enough room to hold four people. It had a hand pump for water and a wood stove for cooking. The fire place was big enough to warm the shelter.

Alien

Joann stood as well and came over to my bedside, “You haven’t eaten for about a week, so I don’t know what the doctor wants to do, but it’ll be at least a day before you’re on real food again. Do you want me to get you a Popsicle?”

“That would be nice. Did anyone find my backpack?”

“It’s in one of the cupboards, would you like it?”

“Please?”

She went over to the cupboards on the wall and fished around until she had my backpack in her hands, and brought it over to my bed. “Do you want cherry or orange?”

“Cherry please.”

What happens after a transformation? Esme lives in New York and works as a journalist. She has a secret, one she thought she'd left behind in England. Then she comes across a strange case. A child who suffers from a condition that effects the way their body reacts to hormones. Slowly he is transforming from male to female. A condition so rare it has only one other confirmed case. Esme.

One young man with a long sandy hair, a medium build, and fine facial features stood apart from the other security personnel, and it wasn’t because he was nearest to Erina.

Nor was it the easy manner in which he conversed with her, standing casually as though he was chatting to an old friend…an old friend that looked less than pleased to see him.

It certainly wasn’t his slightly unkempt appearance, the tad bedraggled way he wore his suit, or his tie hanging loosely from his neck.

No.

So my mind was concentrating on the driving and not on what Carol was talking to Em about. Until I heard Em brightly tell Carol.

“Daddy’s taking Mummy dancing on Saturday, and I’m going too. So is Gramps and Grandma.”

Vanilla Sky Part 1 by Bailey Summers

One of the only real femme things is my face…I’m a strawberry blonde so kind of baby faced and I keep my hair long…but the rest of me is…I’m five ten, one seventy almost and got too much size…too much shoulder from working as a contractors helper for my step dad.

I hate my body.

And not really looking like a girl gave people plenty of ammo at school to make my life hell. Pushed, shoved, kicked from behind…spit on. Getting yelled at and accosted by the preachy kids, prank calls, online torture…then the last straw was getting jumped by a crowd of kids…I was lucky some good Samaritan had showed up with a baseball bat. But the teachers didn’t do a thing with the stuff in school and the cops with the swarming attack…

Yeah well why wasn’t I pulled out of school?

Christmas is upon the girls. A change in schedule has got the girls on a chaotic run as they try to deliver their gifts.

A Second Chance

By Dawn Natelle

This took a while, and I think I may need a break after this one. So don’t go looking for a story a day for a while: Dawn

SATURDAY, May 21, 2016

I have a love/hate relationship with my yearbook.
On page forty eight of the Sentinel High School yearbook, in big bold letters, beneath my senior picture, it says: Monica Preston: Most likely to Succeed.

I tried to take my 'grounding' with grace. I tried to think of myself not as a prisoner of my hotel – which seemed to be crawling with security people... I wasn't sure whether they were from our corporate parent, the local authorities or the hotel's management, none of whom I presumed, would want a violent tragedy associated with their brands. I tried to pretend we were 'ultra-VIPs', so important that the world came to us and we merely 'held court'. That was how I tried to frame this, to keep myself from going stir crazy. It wasn't terribly effective.