Write Eye full magazine 2021

The cake had to be lit again during a dismal fall evening, with leaves brown like pennies clumped in piles all over drenched blades of grass. Rue made a wish the instant before blowing out the light, a wish that would be repeated every day from that point on. stepped into the car. He, himself, let out a downpour that Rue’s parents endured throughout the entire hour-long trip back home. Once the family finally returned, Rue’s mother ran into the kitchen to find a glass jar and handed it to Rue. “Let’s play a little game,” she spoke in her usual calm, steady voice, touching her hand with Rue’s shoulder. “Every time something bothers you, or makes you feel regretful -- meaning you wish it had never happened -- you can put a penny in this jar. Then, once you’re old like me, you can look back at your jar and see how little those tiny mistakes really cost you.” She smiled at Rue, and Rue responded with a nod, pretending to care. “I’ve been doing this since I was your age, too. See?” She gestured toward a glass jar on the table, holding one dollar and twenty-seven cents total. His mom continued her speech, but Rue couldn’t remember what she said; he was too preoccupied at the time with figuring out where he would find enough pennies for the coming years. adjust back to the dull environment of his apartment room. He had been blankly staring at the jar of pennies on the table beside him for so long that he nearly forgot about the ghost in front of him, who was now becoming impatient. Its explosive voice had a more threatening tone than last time, causing Rue to tremble slightly as it spoke. The stormy weather didn’t cease once Rue It took some time before Rue was able to

Or I’m getting out.

The wind outside matched the pace of Rue’s heartbeat, and Rue could hear the ever so familiar sound of the pitter-patter of raindrops from outside. There was going to be no more wasting of wishes, not this time; sixty seconds to skim through a couple memories would be enough.

Got forty-five left, Don’t forget!

And so Rue began to skim, now racing through his mind to uncover the rustiest of pennies to throw away before they cemented in place. Memories of all sorts of things came up, each quickly shoved away within seconds by the next.

Bursting into an auditorium as ten-year-old hands launched caps into the air, or spilling bright fuchsia paint over a recently purchased laptop, or arrogantly boasting about an awfully composed poem, or nearly missing a flight due to oversleeping and traffic,

Thirty seconds!

or letting that ball descend into the deep woods, woods that produced several bee stings on his body, a body that now held captive a so-called painter,

Twenty-five!

a painter who couldn’t even paint a jar without throwing his hands in the air, who now stood pointlessly in the corner of the room, with no point other than to stand there, hopelessly

I get you need time, that jar’s got ten dimes; but quicken the pace, no time to waste!

Rue felt like he was in AP English Language and Composition class all over again.

One minute is all, then no time to stall. Say something, now!