Megan Diedericks
“Mom, is ‘war’ good?”
Nova nearly choked—did the question have to come this early in the morning?
“Depends on which war.”
The answer clearly wasn’t accepted within Celeste’s whirring thought-processor.
“Why?”
“I have to write an essay about our war against Earth. Is it still going?”
Nova opened a portal—the gateway led to the frontal window of the spaceship. Celeste observed her mother set up the telescope.
“See that? That’s Earth.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Because it’s without Humans.”
Celeste’s magnified sight made her jump backwards.
“But I just saw one!”
“Really? Well, let’s hope they do better this time.”
Megan Diedericks is a very normal writer (probably not a vampire) whose latest book, The Coffin Chronicles, is about vampires.
I can grow grass in the middle of a drought and, as my father liked to joke, sell said grass to people with allergic rhinitis (which was just a fancy way to say ‘hay fever’.)
It started when I was ten; it was an accidental discovery. Inside a pot she had me and my younger brother decorate with sloppy strokes of stiff paintbrushes, my mother planted white roses she bought from the local nursery.
My parents struggled with our lawn that year, but at least the roses made the drab, dusty brown terrain look less like a graveyard—or perhaps more like one (I suppose that is a matter of perspective.)
I was outside one day, buzzing with bees and literally stopping to smell the roses, when a thorn pricked me. My blood fell like a raindrop into the dirt, and naturally—being an over-dramatic child—I ran to my mother, sobbing.
The following day there was a patch of the thickest, greenest grass you could ever imagine. I do not suppose I need to spell out the reason.
I am an adult now, and I have moved into my parents’ old place. I forgot how it was. I forgot how I hung up missing posters for our dog as a teenager, knowing very well where I had bled old Spot dry. The garden keeps demanding more. My brother is visiting tomorrow, and I doubt he will see the likes of his own backyard again.
Frequently Asked Questions:
What is hatred?
➔ This is a loaded (there are many answers) question—one we’ve received fairly often recently. Hatred can be defined as the opposite of love (see addendum 6 for love’s definition.) Hatred isn’t the same as disliking (addendum 8) another—it’s when you grit your iron teeth, and wish to make scrap metal of them.
Why is hatred experienced?
➔ By now, you’re aware that we humans feel the need to have rational explanations for everything. A common diagnosis is jealousy (addendum 5.) Another is that you don’t understand the being, who they are, or their actions—hence, hatred is your natural instinct. However, as you also might know, not everything has a reason—hatred can fall beneath that umbrella (if confused, see addendum 4 for ‘Explanation of Metaphors’.)
How to dispose of hatred?
➔ According to the psychology department, to rid yourself of hatred, you have to understand why you feel it. Look at what is being done that infuriates you (see addendum 7 for more on anger.) Once you’ve pinpointed the reason, lead with empathy (addendum 2) and kindness (addendum 1.) It’s something most beings, humans definitely included, struggle with. Blood instead of walls has been shed because of hatred.
What if hatred doesn’t leave?
➔ Distance yourself from what evokes your hatred. If you find that difficult, because most are drawn to hatred, speak to your supervisor (unless they’re the reason; we can’t afford more incidents.)
For further guidance, please contact your assigned human therapist.