“Peter! Peter! What Are You Doing? Peter, What’S Wrong?”

I walk down the stairs, surprised by the sight of all my family in my living room. Instantly, I'm wondering what's going on. Usually, no one is up at this time. I see everyone sitting down, and my dog Murphy laying there right in the middle of them all. I stare at my mom and I see the sadness in her face, but she's staying strong.

“Yeah, my dad told me there was going to be a funeral. I’ll tell you about it later. Go help Eliza.”

I hadn't been walking long when I heard rustling behind me. “Wyren! It’s me, your mother! Are you all right?” My mother’s soft, gentle voice was music to my ears.

“No my mom’s a doctor she is the one who will bring me to the hospital!” I screamed with anger in my voice. I was scared angry and nervous at the same time.

Home alone, I open the door and find myself staring into an inimical pair of eyes. I’d spent two and a half years longing for this face off. Every move, every word had been practiced in front of a mirror and scraped to perfection. But in that moment, my throat faulted and my words tied themselves to the insides of my cheeks. The stranger I had once called my father handed me an envelope filled with beaten bills, too closely resembling his intentions, and ordered me to give them to my mother. Turning around, he recovered the keys sitting next to a pack of cigarettes in his left pocket, and walked away. I never knew silence to be so loud. Chasing after his shrinking shadow, I threw the envelope at his feet. Despite losing out on what would be a month’s worth of rent, I never in my life had felt more secure.

Slivers of sunlight shine through the blinds and into my eyes as I wake up. After I fully wake up, I observe my pink and purple bedroom walls, unaware that I will never again view them with such carelessness. Sluggishly, I saunter through the hallway, towards the bathroom, but I pause as I hear my mom sobbing in a tone I have never heard before. Although I have never heard this tone before, I detect the sorrow in her cry. Deep down, I know exactly why she cries: my dad has left. I slowly step into her bedroom and the words, “It’s true”, are written plainly on her tear drenched face.

As I approached the door, the loud sound of tears from behind the door grew onto me. I tried to reach for the door, but hesitance and uncertainty began to run through my body. For a moment, I stopped and took a deep breath that echoed into the dark, silent hall to prepare myself for what may lay behind the door. I waited. I slowly turned the knob and the door was now free. There lay my mother with her eyes slammed shut and the innocent, pure smirk that had always rested across her face before she passed away. A year later, I heard my name being screeched through the walls of my bedroom. My heart sank a million miles into my stomach, and I tried to pretend I didn’t hear my name being called. A few seconds later, my name was being squealed again

“I heard you got married; my mom told me. I’m sorry I missed the wedding.”

The Transformers series at its very roots are action movies, subsequently being burdened by the tropes of the hyper masculine genre. One of these tropes revolves around the “heroes” of the script, with the protagonists of these films serving their role as a point of projection for the audience they wish to appeal to, which predominantly tend to be young heterosexual, Caucasian men. As these films are not character driven, with most characters simply providing a loose backdrop for the true point of the films-gore, and unbridled violence- the main characters tend to have certain personality traits that are easy to project on. Movies, such as the Matrix and Die Hard, are emblematic of this trope with their main characters having absolutely little

Surprisingly, her strangled and dying voice managed to travel that far. I snapped my head to the door which lay open, I guess I forgot to close it last night, which I was very exhausted from, just thinking about it made the feeling creep back inside me. Pushing the warm covers off me which took some strength because I am not a morning person in the slightest bit, although my mother needs attention. Slapping my feet against the hard wood floor and dragging my hand across the wood banister not caring about the thundering noise that echoed through the house from the impact, I came to my mother's side awaiting for her directions. She is the only one that I look at with my other eyes, my coloured eyes. The eyes that have caring, sensitivity, and hope in them, no one else sees them, I find them too valuable for a stranger's soul, to easy to

“Come on! Let’s get going!” Catherine was already out the door, heading to my car. I followed her, planning to stop her, because I still did not feel very confident in my own driving. However, all the girls were already in my brand new mercedes, looking at me expectantly. I opened the door to the front seat, and felt my stomach drop. Something bad was going to come of this. I ignored the feeling, though, and took my seat. Fifteen minutes into the drive, everything was going fine. We had found a parking spot, and I was pulling into it. Suddenly, I heard a door open.

It was January 2nd, 2016, about 3:30 p.m. I was in the living room, doodling. But in an instant, my mom get’s a phone call, the one we’ve always dreaded. “Mija, I need to go to the hospital.” Those words only allowed an infinity of questions to burst. “Who?’ “What?” and “Why?!” Those last questions were too big to keep to myself. “What?! Why?!” The hesitation on her face only caused the worst of my imagination to take over. “It’s your grandpa.” Those words, extinguished the only good in my day. “I, I’m not sure what happened, but I know something is not right.” At that point, I panicked. “Don’t say anything to your sister, then we’ll have to deal with her too.” After that, things were a blurr. She went dashing out the door, only having her phone with

I rushed downstairs to see my mom standing in front of the glass door looking into our back yard. "How did you get him out?", She asked not looking at me. "It was physically impossible to open the front door.", She stated turning around sitting her coffee

“I can’t believe it,” she declared. He shrugged. “No not the Director. My mom knew your wife. My dad did…things with your wife.”

“Alright, see you tomorrow,” I said opening the door and getting out. I walked around to her side and opened her door for her so she could go to the driver’s side. She didn’t say anything as she walked over, got in, and closed the door. The Mustang roared to life, backed out of the driveway, and slowly rolled away. I waited until she turned the corner of my street until I went inside. Luckily she only lived a few streets down, if she would have had to pass the woods again, I know she would have spent the night at my house. I walked I and my parents were sitting on the couch watching TV. They saw the concerned demeanor on my face