Page 6

My eyes scan the spacious cafe, noticing the whispering faces eyeing me with disapproval. Even here, my favorite refuge, I’m rejected . I smooth out my Chanel suit and straighten, summoning the last shreds of dignity.

“My apologies, ladies and gentlemen. Enjoy your lunch.” I incline my head and march out of the cafe, ramrod straight, as I was taught at that dreadful Miss Cutter’s School.

Despite the bustling streets and the noisy honking cars, I’ve never felt so utterly alone. Tears shake my body as I attempt to stem the flow with the useless handkerchief. I can never show my face in Distro Bistro again—even if I could afford it!

Total despair consumes me, but it’s lost in a sea of blank faces.

I might as well be invisible. Despite my expensive clothes and streaming tears, it means nothing.

Nothing I do matters; the only result is more pain.

The few passersby who notice me recoil as if I carry some horrible disease that might be catching.

I hate them; I hate them all—the interviewers, James, Michael, my mother, and my father.

They’ve all abandoned me. But worst of all, I hate myself for letting things get to this point, for being so weak and so easily manipulated.

And they hate me too—it’d be better if I wasn’t here.

It makes sense. All that remains for me is a harsh life on the streets.

I’d rather die.

So that’s exactly what I’ll do.

Driven by hopelessness and seething resentment, I march toward the Brooklyn Bridge.

I make quick time, or at least it feels quick, with my mind consumed by frantic thoughts.

Wondering how they’ll react when they hear the news.

They’ll probably be glad to be rid of me.

My mother never wanted me in the first place.

She couldn’t wait to get rid of me. My father. .. will he even notice?

A twisted excitement blooms inside me. Maybe he’ll attend my funeral, seeing his daughter for the first time. He’ll cry over my broken, beautiful body, filled with regret for ignoring me all these years. He could’ve stopped this; they both could’ve. I hope it haunts them forever.

Tourists fill the pedestrian walkway of the bridge, snapping pictures with smiling faces. I envy them. But they give me an idea—a last farewell social media post. I pose as the cold wind whips through my long wavy hair, my expression sad. It looks poignant, with a stunning background.

I title the post “ Farewell .”

My courage wavers, staring out at the dark, churning waters of the East River below.

I grip the railings, the cold metal biting into my palms, grounding me in this moment.

Only my trembling fear and climbable railing bar my path.

I contemplate the finality of this act, what all led me to this moment.

I imagine the plummet, the sensation of failing , the wind rushing over my body, through my hair, a final caress before peaceful nothingness.

The thought is both terrifying and strangely comforting.

I place my foot against the railing. The assembled tourists gasp and point toward the way I came, some scream.

Panic quickens my pulse, and I turn in disbelief that so many would react so quickly.

But it’s not me they’re reacting to. In the distance, a towering figure barrels down the bridge at an incredible speed.

The sight of the armored titan fills me with absolute dread as I open my mouth to scream, but nothing comes out.

The alien, the one I saw on the internet. It’s here!

Shots ring out across Brooklyn Bridge, somewhere distant behind the charging alien.

It turns with a smooth motion, returning glowing blue bursts of destruction.

Pandemonium breaks out, as tourists scream and cars skid, horns blaring.

A cop car bursts into flames, before it’s turned into molten blue slop , far in the distance.

My heart thunders in my chest as I scramble onto the ground, wondering what insanity possessed me to choose death.

Dying is fucking terrifying! I want to live and get the hell away from this madness!

Crawling on the dirty walkway, I hear the panicked screams of those nearby heightening.

I glance over my shoulder to see the titan standing over me.

It blocks out the dim sun, its sheer enormity eclipsing me with petrifying fear.

It wears its frightening ashen armor with bits of glowing red, as if crafted from an active volcano.

“Wow, wow, wow. Wait, a second!” I hold up placating hands, scooting along the ground to escape.

The monstrous alien tilts its enormous, terrifying mask as if inspecting me. I doubt he’s admiring my beautiful Chanel suit!

“ Iok tau ja ailliek’rak kis .” The voice resembles a man's, if that man was as big and broad as a mountain.

Scary wisps of red mist leak from the titan’s mask near the slanted black eye slots. Frantic terror grips my heart as the alien lifts its right arm, the wrist armor glows with ominous, hazy blue.

“No, No! I don’t want to die!” I scream as an azure blast crashes into me.

Darkness consumes me.