Whatever it is, I said, the point is moot because as long as I am on these pills, I can't make contact to ask.Derek ... snapped, Then you need to stop taking the pills.Love to. If I could. But after what happened last night, they're giving me urine tests now.Ugh. That's harsh. Simon went quiet, then snapped his fingers.Hey, I've got an idea. It's kinda gross, but what if you take the pills, crush them and mix them with your, you know, urine.Derek stared at him.What?You did pass chem last year, didn't you?Simon flipped him the finger. Okay, genius, what's your idea?I'll think about it. ...***Here, Derek whispered, pressing an empty Mason jar into my hand. He'd pulled me aside after class and we were now standing at the base of the boy's staircase. Take this up to your room and hide it.It's a ... jar.He grunted, exasperated that I was so dense I failed to see the critical importance of hiding an empty Mason jar in my room.It's for your urine.My what?He rolled his eyes, a growl-like sound sliding through his teeth ashe leaned down, closer to my ear. Urine. Pee. Whatever. For the testing.I lifted the jar to eye level. I think they'll give me somethingsmaller....You took your meds today, right? he whispered.I nodded.Then use this jar to save it.Save . . . ?Your urine. If you give them some of today's tomorrow, it'll seem like you're still taking your meds.You want me to . . . dole it out? Into specimen jars?Got a better idea?Um, no, but ... I lifted the jar and stared into it.Oh, for God's sake. Save your piss. Don't save your piss. It's all the same to me.Simon peeked around the corner, brows lifted. I was going to ask what you guys were doing, but hearing that, I think I'll pass.
Kelley Armstrong
As a writer, It’s an elation to see my own words in print, to float them out there for all the world to read and to learn that some of the world actually does read them. Of their own free will! It warms the heart. However, I have learnt that in spite of frequent and sound advice, the world has not become a noticeably more peaceful kingdom. Folly abounds, incompetence, wrath, crime, nonsense prevails, thieves multiply, power corrupts. And my bones creak in the morning. Still, spectacular things go on in the sky; forms and colors and movements, cloud shapes and sunscapes so awesome I ought to end everyday standing on a rooftop and clapping and calling for more. Slowly I learn bits of what there is to see and then forget and learn again. And learn too that mortality is the stuff of life; learn how soon the young get old, how short a while is for ever. It’s sad to stand on the hill and, one by one, see the lights go out around you; sad to know the paper has begun turning yellow before the pencil gets to the bottom of the page, to realize there won’t be time enough to get it all done – the chores, the cooking, the sitting on the porch to watch the birds dart at dusk, the major work. But there’s something reassuring too in understanding that death is nature’s, life’s, God’s way of letting us know that we are never meant to save the world single-handedly, to keep the sun aloft and the old globe spinning. What we’re meant to do, I hope, is fill some small and temporary slot, to give off a little light for a little while and then lie down. I’m comfortable with that, with the notion of being a small voice yapping away in a small planet. One of many voices, neither the wisest, nor the best, but mine and fairly close to as good as I can make it.
Manasa Rao