About the Author
Alister Flik grew up in a fundamentalist Christian home in the Midwest with a healthy variety of crazy available to her, and her middle child syndrome hardly affects her at all anymore. At 18, she moved to the West Coast, got a tattoo, and now lives happily as a quirky theist amidst the Portland heathens she so dearly loves. Her idols are Joan of Arc (crazy or not), Flannery O'Connor, and Daria. Her favorite superhero is the perfect superhuman combination of Joan of Arc, Flannery O'Connor, and Daria dressed in a cape, armor, boots, and armed with wit and a pen. She is currently looking for someone to illustrate this into a comic book.
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Someone Upstairs Part 1
I run away from the teachers.  They aren't there, and I run up the stairs.  Not allowed upstairs, they say, but someone is up there.  Up there.  A window up there.  

I can see down.  I see out to the cars and playground and kids run and teachers chase.  That is where the bus brings me.  Why the bus?  Do all buses bring kids to the same place?  I can see them line up, yellow black line.  Line up, take kids, take kids, go.  I can see kids line up to the line.  I can watch them and they can't watch me.  I am God now.  But someone is upstairs to watch God.  To watch me watch the window.  The door.  

There is a door behind me and he whispers from the turn handle.  I hear his voice like the key to me through the hole.  Through me to the hole.  What he is saying?  What is he saying?  He should not be there.  Someone is in there.  Not allowed upstairs.  Not behind that door.  I hear him.  I hear him walk.  He whispers through the door and I hear his steps up the stairs.  I can't see out the window anymore.  I can't see.  He is coming up the stairs.

A teacher finds me.  Why am I here?  Where is the window?  I was looking out there.  I point, but they don't understand.  Who is back there?  Behind the door.  Someone is back there?  Someone is back there.  The teacher is not answering.  To the window and the buses.  Why is that my bus?  The teacher answers, but it does not seem right.  That is my bus.  It is time to go?  She asks me why am I here?  I can see down there.  Look.  Down there the kids the buses down there.  She take my hand.  Time we go.

The bus brings me to school.  I am yelling at other kids.  Other kids are yelling.  It is funny that I am scared.  The teachers are not laughing.  They take my arm and talk to me.  I am laughing at their yelling and my yelling.  I don't hear the teachers.  It is time to play?

It is time to play.  This toy phone?  Broken.  How much it cost?  Cost is important.  It cost a lot.  I know, who pay for it?  Teacher is listening.  Does she hear him on the phone?  I hear him.  I am yelling at him on the phone.  She asks why I am angry.  I am angry?  I yell at police on the broken phone.  Do they want to come here?  Do they want to come hear?  They can't hear him.  I am yelling.  I drop phone.  Don't break it.  Don't break it, it is cost important.  What it is broken for?

Why I am angry?  He is in there and angry.  In the phone.  He is talking.  She can hear him?  She is listening to me, asking questions to me.  I am playing.  It is time to play.

It is time to recess.  I will see the window, up the stairs.  She is there stopping me.  I ask to see the window.  She will come with me.  I am allowed upstairs.  I can see the same trees and ground.  I can see the same up here as God.  But she is here too.  I ask her questions.  She is not cost important.  Answers are cost important.  Hard to find and understand.  She answers my questions, but I ask about the door.  Behind the door.  Who is there?

She says no one.  But I say he is there.  I hear him.  She stops answering questions.  It is time to go to recess.

I ride the bike and race.  I build the road and ride the race.  She is watching me ask questions.  We are down the window and she watches me ride my race.  I turn the handle and turn the bike.  I turn.  She watches me turn the bike and me.  I hurt.  It hurts.  Where it hurts?  My hand hurts.  I fell somewhere.  Earlier I fell and feel it on my hand.  I hold my wrist and watch my hand hurt.  She asks me.  She asks what is wrong.  I fell.  I hear her ask me.  I see her ask me.

I am done riding.  It is time to play on the tire swing.  I see other kids do.  Now I try.  She follows and asks to push.  No.  I try and sit.  The mouth of the circle tire swallows my feet.  Do they go there?  Is this right?  How it works?  How I do it?  She says yes, but it will swallow my feet?  How it works?  Yes.  She touching tire to push.  No.  I will get hurt?  I hold my wrist and see my hand hurt.  He whispering in there.  It hurt.  I see it hurt and whisper out.  I feel the mouth tire move.  

No!  I will get hurt?  No pushing.  My hand holds the mouth tire open.  I will get hurt?  She holds my hand holding the mouth.  She says no, she won't let it hurt.  She hold my hand.  I will not hurt?

"I do not think, therefore I am a mustache."
-Sartre *Nausea*
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