Andrzej of Sparta stared into the heart of the fire, silently smoldering in his rage. Four other men sat around the same fire, staying quiet and avoiding his gaze. Just above the crackle and hiss of the fire, laughter and chatter from the woman’s camp floated in on the wind. Every man around the fire but Andrzej turned toward the source.

“Laughter in the shadow of Mr. Olympus,” said the farmer, who Zeus left with an inhumanly ravenous grandson, “that woman runs an interesting camp.”

“Aye,” said the sailor avenging his sister’s suicide after Zeus left her in heartbreak, “tomorrow we face a god, some of us won’t return home.”

“Maybe,” said the actor, his betrothed taken by Zeus the night they were to be wed, “it would be good to share a laugh.”

“And maybe a good cup of wine and a bit of beef,” added the cook whose scarred face came from one of Zeus’s bastards, “why don’t we join them? Our aim is the same and there is strength in numbers—”

“Then leave,” Andrzej barked, his eyes cutting down the men about the circle, “if you want to frolic and dance like women, go.”

Each man turned to face Andrzej. Each man sunk in on themselves after meeting his gaze.

Women, Andrzej spat the thought. Women, he cursed to himself.

Women. Women have been a barb in his side for as long as he could remember. His mother, she was too weak to protect him from his crippled father’s rages. His wife, she was too weak-willed to satisfy him. The old woman, she was the reason he was out of this journey, surrounded by boys playing at soldier and more useless women following in his wake. The old woman with her crafty words. How could he have believed his simple ugly cow of a wife could ever catch the eye of a god? He gritted his teeth at the memory of her witchery.

More chatter drifted on the breeze from the woman’s camp. That woman was the most irritating of them all. Originally, he set out from Sparta to kill Zeus alone but other men, also wronged by Zeus, latched on to him. He did not slow nor wait from them, cutting what could have been an army to a select stubborn few. The hangers-on were no more than inconveniences but until the woman showed up.

Kassopedia was nothing special to look at, just a small brown lump of a woman. Andrzej was passing through a village when she appeared in front of him, lead by the rumors of those that would challenge Zeus. The woman stood before him, demanding a place in his party to avenge her rape at Zeus’s hand. Twice he refused her. Twice she refused him. The third time he said nothing but instead gave her a taste of his hand. Kassopedia took it as he expected but the glare she shot at him from the ground gave him pause. After he dealt with Zeus, he would deal with her. He would make sure no woman would challenge him like that again.

The fire went out in a huff. Shook out of his brooding, Andrzej glared around the dead fire. He sat alone now, all the others had crawled off to sleep. With a growl, Andrzej pulled his cloak against the cold and stomped off to his bedroll.

In the daylight, Mt. Olympus loomed larger than life over Andrzej and his four companions, the top hidden by clouds. Nevertheless, Andrzej stood on a nearby hill, his armored chest puffed out in challenge.

“Zeus” he roared, “Zeus.”

There was no answer.

“Zeus”

Andrzej’s four companions shifted from foot to foot, eyes locked on the hidden mountaintop.

“Zeus,” Andrzej yelled, “come and face me.”

“Zeus,” roared a voice beside him.

Andrzej snapped to face the little brown Kassopedia.

“Woman,” Andrzej roared, shooting a sharp look at the four men behind him. He froze when he saw a hundred women gathered just behind them.

“Woman,” he roared again, “did you bring all these fools here? Did you do this?”

“No,” she spoke through gritted teeth, “justice brought us here.”

“You will only get in my way and die. Begone.”

“You begone,” Kassopedia poked Andrzej in the chest, “you are in our way. Do you even know what we’re up against?”

“I am up against Zeus,” Andrzej spat.

“Yes, we are up against Zeus,” Kassopedia inched closer to Andrzej, “Zeus is a god. He’s not something you can just stab. He’s you, he’s me, he’s the Allfather.”

“If he can lay with a woman, he can die like a man.”

“You know nothing,” Kassopedia shook her head.

“And how do you intend to get your revenge, with your words?”

“You know only one way,” Kassopedia looked past Andrzej’s fist and shield into Andrzej’s eyes, “and it blinds you to any other method.”

“Say what you will,” Andrzej brought his face inches from Kassopedia, “my way gets things done.”

Kassopedia opened then closed her mouth without a word.

Lightning struck the ground just a few feet away, close enough to fill Andrzej nostrils with the stench of burnt ozone and stand every hair on his body on end. The thunderclap that followed blew him away.

Something more than a man stood in the landing zone of the lightning bolt. He stood a clear head and shoulders above any man present. His toga hid just enough of his strong defined body to be modest. Though he bore the dignified chiseled face and white hair of advanced age, his skin glowed with living energy.

“Hello, Luv,” the god flashed a hungry grin at Kassopedia, “come to see me for another round?”

“Zeus,” Kassopedia pointed a finger at him, “You are no god, not one worthy of any praise, you are but a monster.”

Zeus’s smirk stayed on his face but it lost all its mirth.

“Watch your mouth, girl,” Zeus took one slow step toward Kassopedia, “you challenge the natural order of things, you challenge what is good and right.”

Kassopedia called Zeus’s step with a step of her own.

“Your order may be considered natural but it is not right.”

“You are one woman against a god,” Zeus stood over her, “what is the weight of your accusations?”

A javelin whistled past Kassopedia’s ear and into Zeus’s chest, bouncing off and spinning to the ground.

Andrzej charged in its wake. Sinking low, he drove his shield into Zeus. With one finger, Zeus halted all Andrzej’s momentum. In vain, Andrzej drove his feet into the earth but his shield held fixed in place.

Zeus poked his head over Andrzej’s shield.

“Who are you?”

“I am Andrzej of Sparta,” Andrzej took a breath and pushed into the shield.

“Andrzej of Sparta, “ Zeus switched hands to better see Andrzej, “what is your quarrel with me?”

“You took my wife,” Andrzej grit his teeth, “you took her from me.”

There was silence as Zeus looked off into the distance. After a long moment, he turned back to Andrzej.

“I don’t remember that,” Zeus said.

Andrzej roared, pushing more weight into his shield.

“Zeus,” Kassopedia yelled. Zeus and Andrzej turned to face her.

She stood to her full height, finger pointed at Zeus.

“You, deemed god of humanity, you who whispers justice and mercy into the ear of mighty rulers where was your justice when you robbed me? Where was your mercy for a mortal woman faced with your overwhelming power?”

Though Andrzej drew his gladius, Zeus furrowed his brow at Kassopedia.

“You the father of all, over sky and earth, am I not your daughter?” Kassopedia matched Zeus’s glare with one of her own, “You wear the title of All-Father but you are unworthy of it.”

“Aye,” a thing balding women clutching a suckling babe, stood with Kassopedia, “you leave me with one of your sons, who drinks the very life from my body. You who spin the skies to bring the rains, where is my provision?”

“You inspire laws that seal marriage as a contract, binding and secure,” a woman held up her wedding clothes in her shaking fist, “yet you shattered my marriage for your own pleasure.”

“In the cool of the night you came to me for warmth,” said a young man supported by two women, his eyes on the ground, “but you left me cold in the light of the day where your laws deem me unnatural.”

One by one, two by two, three by three, the women and men of Kassopedia’s camp spoke, yelled, or screamed the wrongs Zeus had done to them.

Andrzej fell an inch toward Zeus. He shook himself alert and shifted, slamming his shield into Zeus’s face. The blow cut the god’s lip and blackened his eye but Zeus turned not from Kassopedia. Andrzej roared, jabbing his gladius into Zeus’ stomach. Zeus groaned with pain, spat a glob of shimmering blood on the ground, and finally took notice of Andrzej.

“Enough of you,” Zeus knocked Andrzej away with a flick of his wrist.

The blow shook Andrzej to the bone; his teeth clattered against themselves and his hands went slack. He landed in a pile yards away.

Yards away, the crowd chucked their accusations at Zeus. Zeus fell to his knees, clutching at his chest and head.

“Enough,” Zeus raised his hand to the sky, “you dare do anything but worship?”

In a flash of light and crackling of electricity, Zeus held a thunderbolt in his outstretched hand.

“I am the Sky-Father. You are but my children.”

“A father is strong enough to protect, to guide, to love,” Kassopedia strode forward, “that is what makes him lovely. You lost our love when you neglected your laws, neglected your self proclaimed position, neglected the children you claim”

“Silence,” Zeus took a deep breath, “it matters not whether you worship from love or fear, it only matters that you worship.”

With a thunderous roar, Zeus loosed his thunderbolt at Kassopedia.

Andrzej’s eyes widened as an old woman, the same that put him on the journey, stepped from an unknowable place in the crowd, and pushed Kassopedia aside. In the wake of a flash and a boom, a fair, matronly woman of the utmost poise, grace, and power stood in a flowing gown that made her both exceedingly alluring and yet exceedingly modest.

“Hera?” Zeus and Kassopedia said together.

“Hera?” Kassopedia’s crowd repeated.

“Hera? Andrzej asked, limping back to the crowd.

Hera stood over Zeus, her face a mix of loving concern and hateful contempt. Zeus fell to his knees before his wife. The goddess turned her cold eyes from Zeus to fix them on  Kassopedia.

“My husband has been humbled,” she waved them away, “this is done.”

There were a few moments of silence then the crowd erupted in protest. Hera narrowed her eyes. Kassopedia stood before the other mortals.

“We are here for justice,” Kassopedia stomped, “we will not be denied.”

“We are gods,” Hera snorted, “we deny what we wish. I have what I wanted. Athena, Ares.”

To Hera’s left, a statue of a young woman wearing the robes of a senator over a breastplate rose from the ground. She wore the plumed helm of a general and held a shield in her left hand. Quick, the skin took on an olive flesh color, the robes became cloth, and the helm and breastplate became silver. Shield up, Athena stepped between her mother and the mortals. To Hera’s right, a man erupted from the earth, clad in dark, sharp armor from head to toe, and wielding two fearsome blades. Magma dripping from his shoulders, Ares took a menacing step toward Kassopedia’s group.

Hera scooped up her husband.

“Athena, Ares, see the mortals away from our home. I will take care of your father.”

In a flash, Hera and Zeus were gone, leaving the humans with the war gods.

Athena placed a hand on her brother’s shoulder to hold him and strode toward Kassopedia alone. Everyone else retreated in the face of the approaching goddess but Kassopedia stepped forward to meet her.

“Tell me your name,” asked Athena

“I am Kassopedia of Athens,” Kassopedia answered

“Kassopedia, you have done a great service for womankind and thus mankind, not only have you shown your strength to the All-Father,” Athena clasped Kassopedia’s shoulder, “but to all those who have suffered or benefited from his hand.”

Kassopedia slapped Athena’s hand away.

“Save your pretty words, goddess,” Kassopedia jabbed a finger at Athena’s face, “you know nothing of our pain.”

Athena took Kassopedia’s hand in hers, “I have my own story to tell. I don’t know your pain but I have mine.”

“Then wipe it all away, make it right,” Kassopedia screamed, “Use your power. Are you not the goddess of war?”

“No.”

Kassopedia slapped Athena.

“You are the goddess of law and justice, do something.”

“And if I did so, where would that leave you?” Athena motioned past Kassopedia, “where would it leave them?”

“Free!”

“Weak. Weak enough for another to take advantage of,” Athena placed a hand on her chest, “weak enough for me to take advantage of.”

“But, you would never, you are the goddess of law and justice.”

“Don’t forget, I am also the goddess of wisdom and I am wise enough to know that law. I know it can be bent and how to bend it.”

Kassopedia sunk in on herself. Athena lifted Kassopedia’s chin and offered her an olive.

“Eat,” the goddess said, “for it will give you wisdom, to light the fire of courage in the heart of others.”

“Why?” Kassopedia sunk to her knees, “Is there any relief?”

“Yes,” Athena offered the olive, “it is you and it will be them. Don’t look for heroes or gods. Look to yourself. Please take this, not just for your sake, not just for theirs, but for mine as well.”

Kassopedia looked up at Athena, sighed, and took the olive. She swallowed it, shivering as it went down. After a moment of bowing her head, Kassopedia spoke.

“Thank you, goddess.”

“No,” Athena placed a hand on Kassopedia’s shoulder, “thank you.”

Yards away, Andrzej watched the women embrace, fuming at his uncertainty.

“Andrzej of Sparta,” Ares walked up to Andrzej, “That took stones; not many mortals would have charged Zeus as you did.”

“How do you know my name?”

“A woman came to my temple and offered everything she had for me to kill you.”

“She offered everything?” Andrzej turned to face Ares,  “Have you come to answer her prayer?”

“Why would I do that? I took her and sent her away.” Ares snorted, “I serve no whores.”

Andrzej roared, driving his gladius into Are’s neck. Before his blade touched the ground, Andrzej hung in the air by his neck.

“You dare strike me?” Ares roared, “you think you can challenge the god of violence in a fight? You…”

Andrzej kicked at the air as the life bled from him. As he struggled for air, he felt his joy, love, sorrow, his emotions melt from his body, leaving nothing but bitter rage.

Andrzej woke up to a dark starless sky. Growling, he kicked off the cloak covering him. The gods, the crowd, his companions, and Kassopedia were all gone.

Andrzej growled to himself. He roared at the mountain. He roared at the sky.

When he received no challenge, Andrezj scooped up his helmet, his shield, and a new gladius of ugly black iron before starting his trek back to Sparta.

Alone.

Ever since I’ve read J.R.R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings, I wanted to read fantasy with not only a Blackface but a Black spirit. There are more Black fantasy stories out there but the word can use one more.

I have planned the rest of the novel to the end and only need to write the last ⅓ to ¼ of the story, the third act. Then a week or two from the story before the first round of edits.

Benjamin L Goins Biography
Toward the end of August 2019, I had been commissioned to write a biography for the first Black person elected to a city-wide office.

I’m in the middle of collecting information based on newspaper articles. I’ve written some words on some of the parts of his life.

African Folklore Novel

Ever since I’ve read J.R.R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings, I wanted to read fantasy with not only a Black face but a Black spirit. There are more Black fantasy stories out there but the word can use one more.

I have planned the rest of the novel to the end and only need to write the last ⅓ to ¼ of the story, the third act. Then a week or two from the story before the first round of edits.

Benjamin L Goins Biography

Toward the end of August 2019, I had been commissioned to write a biography for the first Black person elected to a city-wide office.

I’m in the middle of collecting information based on newspaper articles. I’ve written some words on some of the parts of his life.

Gorillaz Album Tier List

 

Intro
The Gorillaz are a British virtual band created by Damon Albarn and artist Jamie Hewlett in 1998. The band consists of four members: Stuart “2-D” Pot, Noodle, Russel Hobbs, and Murdoc Niccals.

I remember when I first encountered the Gorillaz…it was a bit traumatic.
That year I decided to try living with my father. He, my stepmother, stepsister, and I lived with my step-grandparents in a house built in the 1800’s. There’s a six-foot organ built into the wall, the house has a tunnel connecting into the nearby church, the stairs creaked, it was full of antiques collected by eccentric rich people, a silhouette of a witch landed outside my bedroom window; the house is creepy is all I’m saying.

I was in the kitchen watching Toonami when the video for Clint Eastwood came on. Set in a graveyard during a thunderstorm with the verses spit by a ghost possessing the drummer; it’s spooky stuff. And like most spooky things, it intrigued me.

“I’m not happy; I’m feeling glad. I’ve got sunshine in a bag.
I’m useless but not for long; the future is coming on.”

Stuck in the middle of a divorce, in a new city, surrounded by strangers, I didn’t connect with the message of self-empowerment and feelings of anger prominent in hip-hop at the time. The Gorillaz were melancholy, pathetic, and vulnerable. I was melancholy, pathetic, and vulnerable. Between the Black character Russell Hobbs and the rap of Del the Funky Homosapien, the Gorillaz felt Black enough to be for me.

From then the Gorillaz stood at the top of my favorite music. I’ve listened and am listening to all their stuff. Here’s my tier list of that discography.

Flawed Experiments
These albums are more respected than enjoyed with the understanding that the work done on these albums often contributes to the strength of the whole discography. These albums deviate from the “norm” of the Gorillaz. These albums feature some missing piece or variance in the structure that’s detrimental to the listening experience.

The Fall
Favorite Song: Bobby in Phoenix
This album was made on an iPad and it shows; a bit of the Gorillaz soul gets lost in the new technology.

I appreciate it when an artist experiments with new directions and technology. Without experimentation, there cannot be novel content; all good art is experimentation.

That being said, I feel the loss of the rap features. I float through the album until I reach Bobby in Phoenix and even then it doesn’t hold me for long.

Some experiments fail but what’s important is what’s gleaned from them. Though I don’t really like the album I appreciate that it allowed an artist I’m a fan of to try, grow, and learn some things. I’d rather have an artist try new things than keep reheating and serving the old stuff; I have the old stuff, I don’t need more of the old stuff.

HUMANZ
Favorite Song: Sex Murder Party
I’m really hard on this album and that is, at times, unfair. I’ve said this album feels like a Gorillaz Pandora playlist and that’s reductive.

The album definitely contains all the elements of the Gorillaz but fails to bring them into a cohesive whole. The problem is the interludes and length. This is the longest Gorillaz album with twenty-six tracks(twenty without the interludes) and comes to an hour and nine minutes (an hour and eight without the interludes). It makes sense to put interludes to break up the length but that comes at the cost of the flow present in other Gorillaz albums. On repeat listens, it’s really hard to just let the album play.

Despite my harsh criticism, I like a lot of the songs from this album: Halfway to the Halfway House, Sex Murder Party, Submission, Out of Body, She’s My Collar, Momentz, and Hallelujah Money. It’s the other side of The Fall; here the elements are all there, just not well put together.

The Work
These albums are the “work” of an artist finding their sound. These albums aren’t as polished as The Consumable but work better than “The Flawed Experiments”

D-Sides
Favorite Song: Hong Kong
Every time I think of this album, I think it comes earlier in the Gorillaz discography.

This album suffers the same way Plastic Beach does; Demon Days came first. Demon Days perfects the recipe, Plastic Beach reproduces the recipe and D-Sides experiments with the recipe.

The tracks People and Don’t Get Lost in Heaven point directly to Demon Days. Del the Funky Homosapien comes back in Rockit. This album reaches back into the Gorillaz discography to really figure out what is the Gorillaz. This album pushes the Gorillaz elements to the limits to play with exactly how they work.

My absolute favorite Gorillaz song, Hong Kong. Like Fire Coming Out of the Monkey’s Head, Hong Kong paints a narrative but where Fire Coming Out of the Monkey’s Head narrates a broad myth story, Hong Kong feels extremely specific. It’s as if narrating the exact weekend in Hong Kong that inspired Albarn. I take inspiration from Hong Kong whenever I write settings.

Hong Kong wasn’t originally conceived as a Gorillaz; it was intended to be produced under Albarn’s name which explains the out of the box feel of this album.

Gorillaz
Favorite Song: Clint Eastwood

The first album is a classic and repeat listens reveal core Gorillaz aspects.
It’s like looking at old pictures and recognizing yourself. I track the use of hip-hop and rap features. Lonely melancholic sound. The mix of electronic, hip-hop, and rock elements. This is the genesis.

That’s why it sits over HUMANZ and The Fall. This is the beginning; it may be imperfect but that’s because the Gorillaz are still taking shape in this album.

In truth, it should be in a tier above this one by itself. The album features some cool things that haven’t made it back like Latin Simone (Que Pasa Contigo). You find things that fit with the Gorillaz but were shaved off as the sound took shape.

Like all first albums should, all the other albums revolve around it.

The Consumable
These are the polished albums. No longer is there a search for identity; these declare who, what, why, and how the Gorillaz exist. These albums are probably the easiest to share. Songs in the albums in this tier could end up in a movie or commercial.

The Now Now
Favorite Song: Humility

The Now Now came at the right time; I had spent time working on myself and looked forward to a new lease on life. With the backstory of the album being the (temporary) removal of the manipulative Murdoc and rising confidence of 2-D, this album found me right where I was much like Gorillaz did back in middle school.

Here was a hopeful, confident sound that still held onto the melancholy of the Gorillaz; like an acceptance of the pain and a look toward what is working.

We still have classic Gorillaz-ism like a song featuring a rapper about consumable art in Hollywood. It’s nice to see not only a recovery after HUMANZ but to see evolution; the Gorillaz saw not only the pain but also the joy of life.

Also, a Gorillaz “Summer” album rounds out their catalog nicely.

Plastic Beach
Favorite Song: On Melancholy Hill

Plastic Beach is Demon Days with a bigger budget.

Though outwardly each album follows its own theme, inwardly they both have the same skeleton. They’re very close in length with similar start with Intros that clock in at just over a minute, feature a song about the inauthentic rap/music/art industry (Feel Good Inc./Superfast Jellyfish as the sixth song followed by an immaterial song (El Manana/Empire Ants), both have a song built around a two-word phrase; cut Pirate Jet from Plastic Beach and both albums end on a song of hopeful yet melancholic ambiguity with soulful vocals. If Demon Days is Albarn mastering the Gorillaz feel and sound then Plastic Beach is putting that mastery toward a concept.

Plastic Beach jostles with Demon Days for the same place and though Plastic Beach does everything much more professionally; we already have Demon Days.

One is an anomaly and two is a pattern; Plastic Beach proves that Demon Days was not a fluke but true mastery.

Perfect Tier
Demon Days
Favorite Song: Demon Days

This is the Gorillaz magnum opus.
This is the album that defines what Gorillaz is as a sound, feeling, experience, etc.

Everything in this album comes together to make a whole greater than the sum of its part. The songs are organized to flow into one another, changing tone, vocal styles and feel without jarring the listener. I still miss the transition from Don’t Get Lost in Heaven to Demon Days. From the Last Living Soul to the Demon Days, from the lone voice of Albarn to the London Community Gospel Choir; it brings the listener on a difficult but upward journey from isolation to hope.

And that’s one thing I appreciated about the Gorillaz. The music met me in a gray place and through slow empathy brought me to an upward journey. As of this writing, the Gorillaz are preparing for the release of their newest album, Song Machine. The Gorillaz show that there is comfort in confronting the real feelings of sadness, there’s hope in things that are gray over black-and-white. That cultural exchange still exists in this polarized world. That you’re not alone in feeling lonely.

They’re a great band, give them a listen.

Timothy really, really, really wanted to change places with another kid.

He couldn’t sleep listening to all the fighting at night nor could he play listening to all the silence during the day. In the beginning, he tried making his parents happy. He would tell them jokes, he would show them his acrobatics, he would hug and he would kiss them but his parents would only smile with their mouths, pat his head and turn away. Frustrated, he began to break things; he stuck a slice of bologna in the DVD player, he pulled all the books from the bookshelves, he threw one of his heavy trucks at the window in his room. All these efforts earned him were timeouts and spankings; the fighting and silence continued.

Defeated, Timothy did nothing but mope. All his food tasted like mashed potatoes and every game with other kids or that he made up himself frustrated him with too many rules. He saw no difference in the firetruck or the army man or the building blocks; they were all just lumps of plastic. There was nothing he wanted to do so he did that. Noticing the nothing he did, Timothy’s parents fought all the harder and he did more nothing..

Timothy really, really, really wanted to change places with another kid.

Before long, Timothy’s birthday came. His parents threw a party and invited all the family, hoping to hide the growing rift. The guests were too loud, the gifts were boring, and the cake tasted like mashed potatoes. Timothy tugged at first his dad’s then his mom’s pant leg, begging them to let him go back to his room. His father encouraged him toward his new toys while his mother offered him another slice of cake; neither let him leave the party. After throwing away his third slice of cake, he wandered back toward the mountain of his new toys. His eyes passed over the chunks of plastic and the collections of wires to find a teddy bear hidden nestled amongst the junk. It was old; one of its ears were torn, it was lumpy but its eyes, like opals, were new and shiny.

Timothy stared into those eyes and felt a spark jump from the bear to him. The spark bounced around his head, slid down his back, and settled in the deep dark place inside him. In that instant, something ignited and a small ember trickled into life. That little ember spread warmth through Timothy and as it spread through his body, a smile spread across his face. He picked up the teddy bear, drawn closer into the eyes.

“Timbo,” Timothy’s dad stood behind him, “what you got there?”

Timothy showed him the bear. His father scrunched up his face.

“Who gave you that old thing?”

Timothy shielded the bear from his father. His dad put on a quick smile and ruffled Timothy’s hair.

“Found something you like, Timbo? Something that makes you happy?”

Timothy nodded.

“Well,” Timothy’s father smiled bigger, “that’s good, real good.”

Timothy followed his dad back to the party, bear in arm.

Everything was different. The other gifts took shape and color before his eyes, his uncle’s jokes were ticklish, the cake was moist and sweet, and even his great aunt’s perfume was tolerable. His parents’s met in the corner and watched their son return. They held each other and smiled as Timothy showed his bear to his family; they even let him have a third, well sixth piece of cake. That night and several nights afterwards, Timothy sleep soundly; his bear was tucked in his arm and no yelling came from his parent’s room.

Timothy really, really, really liked being himself.

Timothy was playing with his trucks, his teddy bear watching him from his bed, when his mom peeked around the door frame.

“Timothy,” she said from behind the frame, “can you come to the living room?”

Timothy bounced down the hallway after his mom. His face lit up upon seeing his dad sitting on the far side of the couch. Timothy’s dad flashed Timothy a smile before turning away. Timothy’s mother sat on the far side of the couch and patted the space between her and his father. Timothy leaped into the gap between them.

“Timothy” his mom grabbed his hand, “there’s something your father and I want to tell you.”

His dad opened his mouth, closed it, and turned away again.

“Timothy,” his mom took a breath, “your father and I have decided to get a…divorce.”

Timothy looked form his mom to his dad. His father was in tears.

“It means your mother and I…we…won’t be married anymore, Timbo.”

Timothy looked back to his mother with wide eyes.

“Your father means,” his mom squeezed his hand, “he and I won’t be living together anymore but nothing’s going to change for you—”

Timothy heard nothing about joint custody or how both his parents both love him over the snuffing of the warming flame deep within him. He felt the cold void rushed up and through his body. His hearing dulled until everything sounded in thumps. His eyesight lost all brightness of color. His saliva tasted of mush and the air smelled empty. He felt only the echo of him shaking the grips of the his parents and running to his room.

Timothy really, really, really wanted to change places with another kid.

Timothy laid on the floor, watching his ceiling fan rotate. His silence and the lock on the door kept his parents away. Too far past crying, Timothy let his head fall to the side. He stared but his eyes were caught by a glint from the corner. It was the opal eyes of his teddy bear. Timothy pushed himself up and met eyes with the bear.

He felt a sparks jump like off a clash of blades within his body. Timothy crawled over to the bear, the warmth spreading further through his body the shorter the distance between them. On his knees, he edged his face closer and closer to the bear. He felt a roaring flame, almost smothering in its dark warm womb heat. Timothy paused, for but a moment, before jumping to be eye to eye with the teddy bear and letting the heat consume him.

It all went dark.

Timothy woke up to see himself looking at his hands and the top of his head. He struggled to move and he felt nothing; not his muscles straining, not his skin, not even his eyelids.

“Yes, yes,” Timothy heard his voice say, “I’m out. I’m out.”

Timothy watched himself rise, fall, then rise again to stand on wobbly legs. Timothy watched his body turn and swing at him, knocking him on his side. He felt none of it, neither the slap nor his head bouncing off his floor.

“Stupid bear,” Timothy heard his mouth say before his body crumbled to his knees.

“Timothy?” Timothy’s mother called, “do you want dinner?”

“Dinner!” Timothy watched his own eyes light up, “Food! Coming.”

Timothy watched his body stumble to out the door. Timothy heard a series of thuds then heard his father scream his name. A moment later he heard his mother add a screech.

Timothy tried screaming and yelling and thrashing about but he made no sound. His mouth was but a sewn thread and his muscles were plastic fluff. He was a teddy bear now and no matter how hard a teddy bear tries, no one hears it.

But they do carry it. Timothy watched his own funeral from his mother’s arms. His parents, grief-stricken by their son’s fall down the stairs, found consolation in each other. From the mantle over the fireplace, Timothy watched his parents’ love blossom from their shared lonely grief. At first he tried to contact them but as the days gave way to months and the months gave way to years, Timothy waited. He waited for his mother’s belly to bulge, he waited for small hands to reach up for him. Timothy waited and waited.

Timothy really, really, really wanted to changes places with another kid.