Kevin Patrick Kenealy's Blog

Lacking the motivation to write...

Not only have I had writer's block lately, but I have lacked the motivation to write. I'm not sure why this is. It couldn't have come at...

How to write a blog

I started posting on this blog during COVID when we were all locked in our homes, and it forced us to be more introspective. But the truth is, I had a semi-successful blog well before this one.

This was me back in 2020 when I started this blog.

I created a site called TheWritersBlockParty through Blogger in 2011 as a mission to cure writer's block and recruited some of my writing buddies to contribute. I posted on all things writing and pop culture on that site right through 2018. You can still find it here. It has its fair share of comments on there, which I'm fairly proud of.

Back in the day, I also contributed to my friend Eric and Rob's pop culture blog Primary Ignition through WordPress, which appears to have been taken down.

I was the editor-in-chief of Pounce Online, Eastern Illinois University's magazine, in college. It has since been discontinued, but it served as a spot to feature human interest and pop culture stories that the Daily Eastern News was not able to print within its eight to twelve pages.

Anyway, I know Internet users have evolved to want to see more videos or photos in their feeds, but I have always been partial to the written word. I miss the days of MySpace over Facebook, where you could post long blog entries, and people would comment. Alas, gone are the long blog entries and like buttons and hearts have taken their place.

That doesn't mean that there isn't still a place for blogging. As a writer, I need to stay fresh in my craft. Sharing my work with an audience is half of why I write. Readers are as essential in this process as I am.

So, how do you write a blog? There are days when I try to figure that out. In fact, if you look at the time stamps on my posts, you may notice there are days when I publish regularly, and there are posts that are spread months apart. That doesn't mean that I'm not writing or editing. I'm just not doing so on this platform.

I think there are some main things you want to consider when blogging.

1) What are you going to blog about?

*As a teacher and a writer, I mostly blog about those fields. That's what I know, and that's what I feel that I can give back to the world. Further, an audience will come to my site expecting to see posts in those areas. However, I may write about sports, travel, or pop culture at times too. I realize this goes off my main topics, but at the end of the day, writing is writing.

2) How much time do you want to dedicate to your site?

*Some people's blogs serve as their main source of income; thus, they must keep them up almost daily. During COVID, I did this for months. But while raising two young boys, teaching, and writing books, it's hard to put in the work here. Something has to give. So, if I can post on this site here and there, I'm fine with it. 

3) How are you going to promote your site?

*Again, this kind of goes with my second point. How seriously are you going to take your site? As an author, it's almost compulsory that I have a website. I have a business card with this site on it. I have a professional website name with a Facebook fan page that links to my articles. But as far as worrying about meta tags, boosting them on Google Search Engines, hiring someone to look at my SEO, or researching more ways to boost traffic on my own? I don't have that kind of time. Yes, there is money to be made out there. Read the right books or articles on how to do this. Find blogs that are successful and try to copy what they're doing. But first, decide what's important to you in a blog.

4) What platform are you going to use?

*I've used Blogger, WordPress, Google Sites, and Wix. Out of all of them, I am most content with Wix. I feel that it gives you the most interactivity and options and is easy enough to use so that even the most tech-illiterate wouldn't have many problems setting it up. Feel free to shop around and look into the other ones above or research more platforms, but I have used Wix for my author site for years now, and I have no complaints.

5) How will you interact with your audience?

*There are options to turn off insensitive comments, for example. You'll get emails from people asking if you want them to guest blog or if you want them to review your site for SEO, etc., for a fee. Be careful of these potentially spammy messages. When you get honest comments on your posts, do your best to reply. It shows that you care about your readers. Monetizing blogs is something that could become lucrative, but adding too many ads could also turn readers away. Decide how you would want to juggle this.

I hope that this has been helpful. Even though I don't write here as frequently as I used to, I always enjoy it when I post, and I appreciate it even more when I share it with you. It is always my hope that you get something out of what I write.

It has been a wild ride

A little over two years ago, I published Neighborhood Watch, and since then my life has never been the same.

Here's my table set up at Printers Row Lit Fest in Chicago.

It is the first novel that I can really say that I was proud of when I released it. I worked tirelessly for over two years waking up early writing just before I would head out to work or my kids would wake. Somehow, I completed graduate school in that time as well.

I don't know how I did it. There were times that I wanted to quit, especially when my editor painstakingly made me redraft this and that and even rework an entire ending! But after it was all done, it was worth it.

Positive reviews started to pour in. I remember nearly crying with joy when I read the glowing Kirkus review, which made it in their magazine publication. They called it, "Superb characters headline this chilling, slow-burn crime tale." The book currently has 4.5-star rating on Amazon with 183 reviews.

That summer of 2002 marked the beginning of my book tour. As a self-published author, I had to learn how to market on the fly. I emailed librarians at various local libraries, asking if they wanted copies or if they were interested in having a guest speaker. I reached out to local high schools saying that I grew up in the area and wanted to know if they would like a copy for their shelves. I applied for book awards and contests and joined blog tours and Goodreads Giveaways. I did my best to maintain my Facebook Fan Page and grow membership.

What was most unexpected of that summer, however, was when I got into my first bookstore. Thanks to a connection through my editor and because of the strong reviews, the now closed Forest Park's Centuries and Sleuths stocked a handful of my books. I'll never forget going there for the first time and seeing my book in their window. I had always dreamed of walking by a bookstore and seeing my book on one of the shelves, but in their window? That was pretty cool.

The store's owner, Augie, was a terrific fellow, and he loved supporting the surrounding community and his authors. It was a wonderful feeling when I got to host a signing there and meet new people who had an interest in my writing. I recall selling a copy to a teenager, the very type of person that I would teach. Seeing that girl walk out of the store with my book tucked under her arm meant the world to me.

Somehow getting into that store led to me getting into others. Not long after I was in there, Andersons in Downers Grove accepted me, where I proceeded to have yet another signing later that summer. Following that, I got into The Book Dragon in the UK! I discovered this up-and-coming indie bookstore was searching for self-published authors, and I had to fill out a form for them to be accepted. They read my credentials and reviews and bought copies of my books to fill their store in Stockton-on-Tees, England. Hopefully, one day I'll make it across the pond! Lastly, I got into Barbara's in Orland Square Mall. So, what started with dreaming to get into one, turned out to getting into four. That was something I never even imagined.

But that summer and fall was truly special. I held author talks at Chicago Ridge Library, Orland Park Library, Crete Library, Centuries and Sleuths Bookstore, Andersons Bookshop, and even Orland Park’s Burger 21. In addition, I held a virtual talk with Eastern Illinois University author alums, appeared on a couple of podcasts, and was a guest on a virtual book club. There may be more, but I can’t remember all of them!

For a writer and lover of literature, you really are in seventh heaven at these events. You get to talk about your book, meet with people who love to read, answer questions about the writing process, and network with other authors. At the Burger 21 event, there was a woman sitting there before I even set up. She clutched her copy close to her chest and said that she was my biggest fan. I hadn’t been used to having ‘fans’ or anything like that, so all of that was a new experience for me. I happily signed her copies and answered her questions. Sometimes, when people asked questions, I didn’t know how to answer them. They would bring up things I didn’t think of in my writing.

Meeting fellow authors is one of my favorite and humbling experiences of these ventures. I always try to pick their brains and see what goes into their writing processes, what they’re thinking in their works, etc. I make an effort to buy one of their works because I like to give support to my fellow writers, even if they are books outside my genre. I remember at the Andersons’ signing, I met these very creative children’s book authors. My one son loves one of the children’s stories about perseverance and never giving up. I told them I could never write those types of books because I could never fit entire story ideas in so few pages, and they said they could never write so many pages. We ended up buying each other’s books.

Fast forward two years, and I just wrapped up publishing the sequel to Neighborhood Watch, which is entitled Neighborhood Watched. The story picks up where the antagonist, Sue Ellen, has her eyes set on taking back her old beloved town of Ridgeport, but the people that put her in jail will do anything they can to make sure that doesn’t happen.

This past year hasn’t been as busy as that summer, but I still did some amazing things. I attended Printers’ Row Lit Fest, which had always been on my radar. It was like the theme park of all book fairs with several vendors, authors, and thousands of people passing through. I made some good connections there and sold a decent number of books. Being outside in the city and taking in all the literary landscape is reason enough for me to go again next year. Further, I talked to an award-winning author there for hours. We exchanged books and emails and keep in touch.

Then not long after that, a Downers Grove Library representative emailed me asking me to join their library fair. Since I have a book in their circulation, I suppose they wanted me to be part of it. I sat there for an entire Saturday and talked with a wonderful prize-winning author, who used to be an educator as well. A girl right out of college asked me for advice on making it in the writing world, and I gave her the best words of wisdom I could, “Keep at it. There is no straight path to this.”

Finally, the Printers’ Row Lit Fest opened a door for the event I am working today at Thornton Distillery Co. Someone I met there emailed me asking if I wanted to be part of the Midwest Lit Fest, and I of course said I would.

So, there you have it. This came out to be a much longer post than I thought it would, and I could have written even a much longer one. This whole run has been one wild ride. Who knows where it will end up next?

 

My dream about The Office....

I had a strange dream in which I was a character on The Office, and we were rehearsing a lost episode that would air as a reunion show. The episode's title was "The Meeting." It was a simple concept: for the entire twenty minutes, we would be held up in the conference room in another pointless meeting.

Photo taken from Google Images.

Steve Carrell came out after reading the script and asked, "Are you sure you guys want to do this one?" He shook his head. I interjected, "There is a lot here. We just have to be ourselves. We got the goof-off (pointing at Jim, who smiled), the suck-up, pointing at Dwight (who furrowed his brow), the one who is always annoyed, pointing at Angela (who rolled her eyes in disgust), and the easygoing receptionist (pointing at Pam, who smiled along with Jim).

"Yeah, so what are you?" Michael asked.

"I just go with the flow."

"Alright!"

"Steve, I really don't think this is something the people will want," Paul Lieberstein (Toby) said in his monotone voice.

"Why don't you go suck a duck, Toby."

Pam stifled a laugh; Michael shut the conference door in his face, sat at the head of the table, and drummed his fingers, waiting for someone to start.

Jim swiveled toward me in his chair.

"So, I heard you outsold Dwight last month. Keep up the good work," he said with a thumbs up.

Dwight narrowed his eyes at me but turned his attention towards his age-old prankster.

"Hey! He doesn't even work here."

Jim pursed his lips and pointed at me.

"Do you want to field this one?"

Dwight looked at me quizzically.

"I've been working here for five years," I said as quietly as possible. Dwight leaned in close but couldn't hear a word I said. Pam and Jim nodded. The camera panned to Creed in the corner, who looked as confused as ever. Stanley looked up from his crossword and huffed.

"What did he say? What did he say!?"

I repeated in a whisper, "I've worked here for five years."

Michael leaned in and nodded this time.

Dwight had moved his entire body over the conference room table to try to hear what I said, causing Angela to throw her hands up and yell his name. She stormed off and started to head out of the room, but Michael shut the door.

"Um, you're not going anywhere. Nothing out there is as important as what's going on in here."

Angela sighed, gritted her teeth, and headed back to her seat.

As Dwight began crawling toward me, Michael interjected.

"Dwight! Dwight! Dwight! That's enough!"

"But, Michael!"

Michael gave him a face that twisted like a prune, and Dwight, all of a sudden, looked like a defeated dog and retreated toward his chair.

So, anyway, that's about where I am. Some of what I typed there was directly from the dream, and some I made up. I thought it was too cool not to share. How do you think this episode should continue?

Reflecting on teaching the 23-24 school year

At the end of every school year, I always take time to reflect on what went well and what I need to improve on for next year. With tomorrow being our last day, this is as good of a time as any to do just that.

This is me starting a journalism club meeting last year in our library.

I will head over to see my seniors walk across the stage in about forty-five minutes. Last night, before I went to bed, I thought about how I had to let go of so many students who became part of my extended family over the years. Tonight will most likely be the last time I see this generation of family, and yes, I will probably get goosebumps over this bittersweet moment. 

At a certain point in your teaching career, you must accept that you must let your babies go into the world. I did everything I could to make those students better readers, writers, and communicators, and I can only hope that I equipped them with the tools they need to succeed.

With all of that being said, let's look at what went well this year.

The Good

1. I feel that the more I teach, the better I get at building rapport with students. My students seemed to feel comfortable and, on the whole, enjoyed my classes. This can't be said for everyone, as not everyone will click with every teacher, but I feel that I did a pretty good job making students feel welcome in my room B111. 

2. The discussions students had during Socratic Seminars were nothing shy of amazing. I learned from them, and they overall seemed to learn from each other. I especially liked it when we held a mock trial where students had to defend whether Antigone was guilty or innocent. The winning side got a prize, in which I bought the winning team donuts, specialty pens with quirky lawyer sayings (such as "You Got Served") and Warrior Gold that could be used to buy items from our school store.

3. Feedback from the surveys from my AP Literature students was overwhelmingly positive. They said they felt prepared for the AP test because of all the writing I had them do throughout the year and that they liked all the extensive comments and help I gave them.

4. The journalism website was updated more frequently and with more variety. I switched the curriculum to more project-based instruction, and students worked diligently to produce a story every few weeks.

5. Speaking of journalism, we won the IHSA state journalism competition for the first time ever. That was quite a proud moment!

6. I taught sophomores for the first time, and while I was apprehensive about it, they were such a fantastic class. They never complained, worked hard, and were all-around respectful. We had interesting discussions about our books, and I feel that I really connected with them.

7. I took on the challenge of being the ASL (American Sign Language) Coach. What this means is that I assisted the virtual sign language teacher with inputting grades, classroom management, and tech issues. However, I took it upon myself to teach the class for the first month while the program came to fruition. I knew minimal signs, but I worked hard to research lessons and learn as much as possible to deliver content to the students. They were very grateful and receptive. Additionally, I built a strong bond with them in that month that only continued throughout the year.

8. I gave a lot of assignments, but I always tried to keep the class lighthearted. I never saw the point in giving busy work, but I made sure that what I gave helped students grow in learning. I always allowed students to revise their writing because, as a writer, I believe in the strength of the revision process. Student writing only improved throughout the year through this.

9. I always bumped students' fists at the door and said hi, no matter my mood or how tired I was. Students come in with all kinds of issues, and something as simple as that can go a long way.

10. The bell ringers at class really helped to jumpstart class and get students on task. They incited thought and worked wonders for classroom management. They also led seamlessly into a transitions for discussion or the next assignment.

The Bad (What Needs Improvement)

1. I just talked with a student who will be taking journalism next year, and I told her that we really need to do a better job of taking photos. Our photo organization process is garbage. Photos don't have credits, students aren't taking pictures, and we need a better job of uploading them.

2. I need to do a better job of communicating with parents about all students. My son's preschool teachers were terrific. They would send us updates on their progress through an app, and then, at the end of the year, they would put together a booklet with pictures that showed what they accomplished that year. How wonderful is that? I made one or two positive phone calls home this year, and they did make a huge difference, but I need to find time to fit more of that into my schedule.

3. I have to plan my time more wisely. On average, I spend five to six hours every weekend grading, planning, or doing something related to the job. Sometimes, I would go back to work and feel that I never stopped working, depending on how much I had to do that week. That has to stop.

4. Speaking of time management, I would really love to go paperless. I realize I will still have to print some copies, but I don't want to even think about how much time I spent at those dinosaur copiers that I wanted to beat with a sledgehammer.

5. I have to do a better job tracking data. I'll sort of give myself a pass here since we just started a new data system this year, but I need to do a stronger job of seeing where students are so that I can meet their needs throughout the year.

6. I want to do a better job with my Journalism Club. While we did win State, our enrollment numbers were a little smaller than I would have liked. We did have a steady roster, but not as large as I would have hoped. I need to utilize my veterans to recruit for next year.

7. I'm going to teach more units in journalism. While it was a fun experiment to turn the class into more like a club atmosphere where students mostly focus on the website, stories and photos did not improve as significantly as I would have liked. I need to build in more mini-lessons throughout.

8. I'd like to see what I can do to connect the learning to more real-world applications. Whether this means field trip opportunities, reaching out to local community projects, etc., I think it's important for students to see that what we are doing does mean something in a larger context. 

9. I want to focus more on absences and tardies. While I did call home as much as I could about this, I probably did not do enough to try to intervene and see what I could do here. Granted, I can only do so much on my part, but I have to notice these issues more.

10. I have to reflect more often. While it is all well and good that I reflect at the end of the year, I should do it more throughout. This will help me to adapt and improve continuously when and where needed.

Well, another year has passed. What's that quote from Ferris Bueller's Day Off? Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.

Kevin Patrick Kenealy is the author of the recent book Neighborhood Watch. The sequel Neighborhood Watched is coming soon. To check out Neighborhood Watch, visit Amazon here or check it out at Andersons Bookshop in Downers Grove, Barbara's in Orland Square Mall, or The Book Dragon in Stockton-on-Tees, United Kingdom.

Goodbye my seniors

Seniors, 

I always get emotional around this time of year because it feels like we have grown together so much, and then I have to let you loose upon the world.

Here is a picture of some of my wonderful seniors. My only regret is that I couldn't fit in all of my senior class! I have been at Crete-Monee High School for ten years, and this will be the ninth time I am sending seniors off to their brighter futures. So, when I tell you that it's bittersweet, it is. We've spent a lot of time in this classroom. We watched the seasons change, and with it, I watched you improve your skills and mature. I will miss your unique personalities, vibrant discussions, and good hearts.

I will look back on your desks, even years from now, and remember where you sit. A moment may return to my mind, and I may draw a smile. I can only hope that you make a better life for yourself as you leave the doors of Crete-Monee.

You all have the potential for great things. I have seen it. I watched how strong your writing and reading skills have improved, how some of you have somehow managed to carry a full course load while juggling out-of-school responsibilities. I watched how you can better communicate with your peers, and how your capacity for respect will make you stand out in a world where respect is not cherished as much as it should be.

Yes, I may be holding back tears on graduation day as I see you all get your diplomas because I know that you will not be just walking across a stage, but you will be walking on to the next great big stage of your life. You did it. You are ready, and I couldn't be happier with all of you. Thank you for the last year.

Your teacher,

Mr. Kenealy

I graduated high school 20 years ago...

By Kevin Patrick KenealyThis is my seniors' last week of high school. As such, I have reflected on my time in high school as this year marks my twentieth anniversary of graduating from H.L. Richards in 2004. In fact, the picture you see below is one I gave to my job's yearbook advisor so she could add it to the teacher's 'throwback session' of the book. Students thought I looked the same now as I did then. What a compliment! 

Anyway, I got to thinking of everything that has changed between '04 and today, and man, it's like watching Back to the Future. I compiled a list of the differences between then and now. 

This is my senior high school yearbook photo, circa 2004. Sorry that it's so grainy!

2004

-Students didn't have cell phones in class

-The only social media platforms were AOL Instant Messenger and MySpace (My AOL screen name was "HippieDude16." Tell me one person who doesn't go back and laugh at their screen names. I dare you. 

-People still read newspapers. My dad would read the paper daily over his morning coffee, and when he was done, I'd borrow it. 

-Amazon wasn't famous yet, so people went SHOPPING at physical stores. Speaking of stores, places still open were Toys "R" Us, Sears, K-Mart, Blockbuster, Radioshack, KB Toys, Old Country Buffet, Sharper Image, Borders, etc. This also includes more malls that were open! 

-Kids went outside to play. Without cellphones and such, my high school friends and I were always outside doing things. 

-Google wasn't as popular as it is now. AskJeeves was around, but we still relied more on our mental capacities. We had to remember how to get places and phone numbers and how to add, subtract, and multiply. 

-School and mass shootings weren't as big then. There was 9/11, of course, and Columbine years earlier, but things didn't really pick up until a few years later. 

-The absence of AI and tech in the classroom made cheating harder for students. 

-I'm sure there is more, but I can't think of what they are now. 

Yes, that was just twenty years ago. As these seniors leave high school, what will the world look like in the next twenty years? I'm scared of what it will look like. Does that mean I'm just out of touch? Maybe. Or is it that the world is getting too inhumane? Are we losing touch with each other? I know as you get older, we all miss the 'good old days,' and I'm sure those who graduated in their respective eras will say the same things, but I think days before all this technology (ironic, isn't it? I'm typing this on my blog and delivering it to you) made life simpler and more connected with each other. 

I feel the future is going to be kind of like that movie Wall-E. AI is going to have such an influence on our lives that we're going to forget how to do basic functions. Jobs will be lost because of things we previously could do, and AI will now replace them. It sounds so sci-fi, but where else could we go from here? I didn't mean for this post to be such a Debbie Downer, but like that line from The Shawshank Redemption, "The world just went and got itself up in a big damn hurry." 

Anyway, it's not all bad. In those twenty years, I traveled to forty-eight of the fifty states and multiple countries, obtained a journalism degree, a high school English degree, and an English Lit masters. I found my calling as an English teacher, and I have been teaching for ten years at the same school where I love being. I enjoy seeing each generation of kids grow up and move on to bigger and better things. I have published multiple books and tried staying close to my friends and family. Most importantly, I married the love of my life, and we have two wonderful boys. God is good! So, while the world may have changed, it doesn't mean our attitude about it and those around us has to. It is sad that those simpler times are gone and will never return. Yet that doesn't mean we still can't graduate with the times and still live a simple life. 

Kevin Patrick Kenealy is the author of the recent book Neighborhood Watch. The sequel Neighborhood Watched is coming soon. To check out Neighborhood Watch, visit Amazon here or check it out at Andersons Bookshop in Downers Grove, Barbara's in Orland Square Mall, or The Book Dragon in Stockton-on-Tees, United Kingdom.

What's coming next for this writer...

By Kevin Patrick Kenealy

As a kid growing up, I remember going to the store and reaching for the next Goosebumps book. I ran my hand over the amazing cover design and the bumps on the title and thought about how I couldn't wait to get home and run my fingers through the pages. 

This is me standing outside Centuries & Sleuths bookstore where my book was displayed in their window.

By third grade, I was writing my own imitation Goosebumps horror stories with titles like "The Day the Halloween Decorations Came to Life" and "Tenth Planet" and distributing them around the classroom. Kids couldn't wait to get their paws on them and see what I would come up with next. "Tenth Planet" actually won me a Young Author's award, sending me down to Illinois State University for a writers' conference. I got a free signed book there, and the author gave a talk. It was pretty cool for an aspiring fifth-grader writer.

As I got older, I would love perusing any book aisle in Anystore, USA. I'd think of how lucky these select few authors were being able to regularly display their works to the world. I mean, every one of Stephen King's books was a bestseller. Every one! I imagined one of my books in these stores. I told myself that this would happen one day. I didn't know how, but it would. 

And then, in the summer of 2022, it did. I worked tirelessly on Neighborhood Watch, a mystery thriller story about a town gone wrong. It's a perfect Chicago suburb that's hiding a dirty little secret. The writing and editing process took me nearly three years. Nearly three years of waking up at four a.m. before teaching, taking care of my kids, going to graduate school, and then doing it all over again. I think back to that and wonder how I did it. But at the end of it all, it paid off. Review houses applauded the final product. Kirkus Reviews, perhaps the most well-respected and honest critique in the self-publishing industry, rated it four stars and wrote, "Superb characters headline this chilling, slow-burn crime tale." Readers Favorite followed it up with a five-star rating and commented "Thoroughly enjoyable with just the right amount of suspense." 

Currently, the book has 187 reviews on Amazon with a 4.5-star average rating. The critical reviews, matched with sending emails to bookstores and just the right amount of luck, finally landed me into a bookstore, Centuries & Sleuths in Forest Park, which sadly closed down this past year. I was grinning ear to ear to go into a store and see my book not only there, but displayed in the window! But that wasn't all. Within a few months, my book appeared in Anderson's in Downers Grove, Barbara's in Orland Square Mall, and The Book Dragon in the United Kingdom. I went International! 

2022 was looking good. But sales plummeted since that year. I couldn't get into any more stores, and things looked tough. In the meantime, I worked even harder on a sequel, Neighborhood Watched. I must say, I think it's even better than the first one. So far, three reviewers from Readers Favorite have given it five stars. And it's currently being reviewed by Reedsy and Kirkus. 

I'm never satisfied. So, while what I achieved a couple of years ago was great, I want to be even better. Only time will tell. If you are interested in buying Neighborhood Watch, it is available on Amazon or in one of the bookstores listed above. he he boothe stores listed above.

The Year of the Cicada: A Terrifying Short Story

By Kevin Patrick KenealyJenny Hammond’s worst fear was when cicada season came around, so when she scrolled through Google News and saw that their 17-year cycle was due this spring, she nearly dropped her phone. Jenny had tried to suppress her memory of that summer in 2012 when a swarm of cicadas flew from a tree and landed in her hair. She was on her first date with her then crush, Todd Caulfield, and she believed her screaming and crying scared him away for a second date. She found dead cicadas in her hair three showers later. 

They're coming for you...

Jenny’s husband, Mike, walked out of the bathroom and found her pouring a glass of wine. 

  “You alright, honey? It’s still morning.”

  “Mike, remember when I told you that I had a fear of cicadas?”

  “Um, yeah, sure.”

  “Well, they’re back. This summer.”

  Mike laughed and waved his hand, disregarding her irrational fear. Jenny dipped her eyebrows and turned away. 

  “Honey. It’s no big deal. It’s a bug. Just a bug.”

  “Just a bug? They’re everywhere, Mike. You can’t walk on the sidewalk without seeing one.”

  “They’re gone in like six weeks. It’s nothing to worry about.”

  “Well, I’ll be staying in for those six weeks.”

  “So, you’re going to spend your summer break from teaching sitting on the couch, drinking wine?”

  “Yes. Do you have a problem with that?”

  Mike chuckled but quickly stifled his laugh as his wife threw him a disgusted look. He made a mental note not to bring up cicadas anymore. As Mike shuffled into the kitchen to make breakfast, Jenny flipped on the TV only to find a news report on the upcoming cicada season.

  “Well, this is going to be the year of the cicada,” reported TV anchor Robert Robertson. Video footage of cicadas clinging to tree trunks flashed as he spoke, and Jenny made a mad dash for the bathroom. Mike could hear her dry heaving. 

  “Are you okay in there?”

  When she came out with her temple covered in sweat, Jenny threw him that disgusted look again. Mike opened his mouth to say something but thought better of it. 

  Mike decided it was a good time to excuse himself and lay out his Scotts fertilizer that he had been procrastinating. It was time for the Two Step-Weed Control. By the time May rolled around, those dandelions had sprouted up, and boy, did he hate picking those. Jenny thought they were just as pretty as any of the flowers they had, but he begged to differ. As he opened the garage and dumped the bag into the spreader, he noticed he wasn’t the only one doing yard work today. The Johnsons across the street had their yard service out, and Barry next door was spraying for weeds. 

  “Seems like we get more weeds every year, doesn’t it, Barry?” Mike asked. 

  “Got that right. I feel like I’ve already gone through a half bottle of Roundup here and just started,” Barry said. 

  Mike shook his head, laughed, and spread the fertilizer evenly along his green lawn. It was coming in full and lush from the constant rain. He felt like he left his Illinois home and moved to Ireland. 

  “Damn weeds,” Mike said with a shake of his head. 

  Their oak tree gave him some relief from the late May heat. It seemed to get hotter every year. He remembered when they had springs and longer, harsher winters with more snow. Their biggest snowstorm this year was a five-inch blast meteorologists had originally forecasted at twelve. That’s how the last few years have been going, though. Tame winters, shorter springs, hotter summers. 

  When Mike finished spreading the front and back lawns, he got a bottle of Weed N’ Feed and began killing every dandelion he saw. He felt like Clint Eastwood or something. 

  “Say your prayers, vile weed.”

  Jenny tiptoed out on the porch, scanning the premises for cicadas. She had a bottle of Gatorade in her hand. 

  “You don’t see any of ’em out yet, do ya?”

  “No, I didn’t see any of them out. Not to worry.”

  Jenny exhaled and then walked off the front porch toward her husband. 

  “Thought you might be thirsty.”

  “Thanks,” he said, wiping his brow. 

  Jenny scanned the yard and noticed the Weed N’ Feed in his right hand. 

  “Mike, you don’t even have gloves on, and you’re spraying that stuff?”

  “Yeah? So? It’s got a wand. I’m careful.”

  “You know those chemicals can cause cancer. Uncle Ted swore that’s how he got it.”

  “Uncle Ted had dementia, honey.”

  “That may be. But he said that before it set in.”

  Mike unscrewed the orange Gatorade cap and took a good swig of the Cool Blue flavor. 

  “Just be careful, is all.”

  “I am.”

  Jenny crossed her arms and glanced around the neighborhood, noticing how the neighbors were busy with yard work, too. 

  “How much longer are you gonna be? I was thinking we could have some lunch.”

  “I’ll be done soon, okay?”

  Jenny smiled and maneuvered her way back inside. Mike smiled and shook his head. 

  “Hey, thanks for the Gatorade!”

  “Welcome!”

  Mike continued cursing under his breath at the vile weeds and sprayed the Weed N’ Feed freely around all lawn areas. He watched the lawn service across the street, and Barry did the same. Mike wondered if they had wives pestering them about safety. But then again, he had a wife who brought him Gatorade because it was hot out. He couldn’t complain. 

  Jenny had chicken salad sandwiches with a side of cottage cheese and fruit prepared for the two of them when he walked in all sweaty a half-hour later. A couple of fruit flies hovered around the bananas in the kitchen island’s red bowl, and Jenny attempted to smack them dead. 

  “Can’t catch these things!” Smack! Another one slipped through her fingers and hovered around the bowl. Mike meanwhile smacked his lips at the sight of his lunch. 

  “They’re only little flies. A fly never hurt anyone. Now, come on. Let’s eat.”

  “I want you to pour some bleach down the drains for the flies, Mike.”

  “Sure, will, do.”

  Jenny frowned as she missed another one and then turned her frown at Mike for starting in on his lunch instead of finding the bleach. 

  “What now? Can’t I eat first?”

  “Fine. I’ll do it,” Jenny said with a heavy sigh. 

  By the time Jenny poured the bleach, Mike had finished his sandwich and moved on to his side dishes. As much as it irritated Jenny, she loved how her husband could be so satisfied from eating one of her sandwiches, and she appreciated his hard work around the house. Jenny threw an arm around him in a half hug and then sat down next to Mike, who patted her hand. 

  “Looks like you enjoyed it,” Jenny said, grinning. 

  He nodded through a large bite of cottage cheese, and Jenny laughed. 

  “Sorry. I should have waited for you.”

  “Well, yeah. It would have been nice, but you were hungry. I get it.”

  Mike smiled, and the two of them turned to watch their neighbor finish spraying fertilizer on his backyard. A housefly flew overhead and onto Jenny’s plate. 

  “Shoo! Get out of here, you stupid fly!”

  Mike grabbed a paper towel wad from the center of the table and cornered it on the kitchen window. He smashed the fly against the pane, making a loud thud just as Jenny took the first bite of her sandwich. 

  “Got it!”

  “Great. You’re my hero.”

  Mike kissed his wife on the forehead, tossed the fly away in its paper towel coffin, and finished his lunch. 

  About an hour after lunch, storm clouds gathered, and rain pounded the concrete and soaked the fertilized grass. The sky lit up, and thunder crashed every few minutes. Mike and Jenny relaxed on the couch watching a rom-com on Netflix but fell asleep halfway as they cuddled next to one another. The two woke up to the orange glow of the evening sun filtering through their windows. Mike rubbed his eyes and saw that his phone read 7 p.m. 

  “Wow. We slept for almost four hours,” Mike said, smiling at his wife. 

  “Yeah. It felt wonderful, didn’t it?”

  “Indeed it did.”

  Mike let out another yawn and looked around the house to see what he was going to do next. 

  “Want to eat dinner?”

  “Sure. What do you want?”

  “Don’t know. I don’t feel much like cooking. How about we just eat that frozen pizza and maybe share a bottle of wine tonight?”

  Jenny smiled at Mike and nodded in agreement. 

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Mike walked to the kitchen window as Jenny got the pizza going. 

  “Looks like it dried up in a hurry. The patio table looks dry enough to eat on. Want to eat out there tonight? Seems nice out.”

  “Sure, baby. As long as there aren’t any cicadas,” Jenny said. 

  “There aren’t any cicadas yet. There weren’t any this morning.”

  Jenny white-knuckled the bottle of Riesling as she stepped outside, not entirely believing her husband, but once she didn’t see or hear a single Cicada, she breathed a sigh of relief. The two shared their comfort dinner on the deck that night in peace, watching the lightning bugs and listening to the sound of the occasional grasshopper. Meanwhile, the cicadas were ripe for their coming-out party. 

  Mike saw them first. As the couple stepped outside the house that following Sunday morning for church, Mike almost stepped on a cicada shell and then noticed another and another. There must have been ten of them scattered on their front porch. Then, by the time they stepped off the porch, Jenny noticed one, too, except she stepped on the shell. She screamed like a schoolgirl, jumped out of Mike’s grasp, and flew back to the front door. 

  “I...I can’t go to church today, Mike.”

  “Oh, come on. It’s one little bug.”

  “I can’t go.”

  “Jenny…”

  “I. Can’t. Go!”

  Mike sighed, but he knew he could not convince his wife, who now had a flat cicada shell tattooed on the bottom of her loafers. 

  “Fine. I’ll go. But praying would help you get over this. That’s for sure.”

  Jenny knew he was right but shook her head anyway. She couldn’t face the world right now. Mike unlocked the door to let her in, kissed her goodbye, and headed to St. Thomas. Jenny waved to her husband through the screen door and immediately ran through the house, checking that all the windows and doors were closed. She threw her loafers out and took a shower for good measure. She knew that she had to overcome her fear one day, but figured it didn’t have to be this day. Maybe it didn’t even have to be this year. She’d prefer that the buggers came up every year in small numbers than in swarms every thirteen and seventeen. It was like they were just waiting all those years just to torture her again. 

  She thought of the easy-going day she and Mike shared yesterday and how she hated how one little bug could ruin that today. 

  Meanwhile, at St. Thomas, Pastor John took to the pulpit to make his sermon. Mike enjoyed Pastor John’s sermons and always felt spiritually refreshed after hearing them. They were primarily positive, New Testament-based messages, but he talked about the end of times today. 

  “My friends, every culture predicts when the world will end. The Mayans said it would end in 2012. They were, of course, wrong. A man named Harold Camping predicted several dates for the Apocalypse, changing it from May 21, 2011, to Oct. 21, 2011, based upon his incorrect math taken from Biblical events. Religious leader William Miller said that the end of the world would occur with the second coming of Jesus Christ in 1843. Well, it’s 2024, and we’re still alive and kicking. Jesus tells us in Matthew 25:13, ‘Therefore keep watch because you do not know the day or the hour.’ 

  The end of the world is foreshadowed first for us actually in Genesis when God destroys the world with the great flood because people had grown too sinful. The book of Timothy tells us, ‘In the last days, there will come times of difficulty. For people will be lovers of self, lovers of money, proud, arrogant, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, heartless, unappeasable, slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not loving good, treacherous, reckless, swollen with conceit, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God, having the appearance of godliness, but denying its power.’

    Have we reached such a sinful world? Are we in the end times? We don’t know. But what we do know is that attendance at churches everywhere is declining. Churches everywhere are closing. Churches everywhere are struggling to recruit new members. This all occurs while plagues seen in our recent history have hit society: the desert locusts that have torn apart large portions of Africa, dangerous hail storms that have caused devastation to our crops, and the power outage we had earlier this summer that left large portions of residents in the dark for a week or longer. If any of these plagues sound familiar, it’s because all you have to do is turn to the book of Exodus to remember the ten plagues that God used to torture Pharoah and the Egyptians until he let the Jews go. The UN estimated that the locust swarm in Africa can threaten up to ten percent of the world population. In Exodus it tells us, ‘They covered the face of the whole land so that the land was darkened, and they ate all the plants in the land and all the fruit of the trees that the hail had left. Not a green thing remained, neither tree nor plant of the field, through all the land of Egypt.’ Strangely enough, the hail storms came before the locusts in the news, even if they appeared in different locations. 

  Now, I won’t predict when the world will end, but I do look to the good book for guidance. Revelation 9:3-10 mentions locusts again, ‘Then from the smoke came locusts on the earth, and they were given power like the power of scorpions of the earth. They were told not to harm the grass of the earth or any green plant or any tree, but only those people who do not have the seal of God on their foreheads. They were allowed to torment them for five months but not to kill them, and their torment was like the torment of a scorpion when it stings someone.’ The locust famine in Africa has been occurring for roughly four months. It’s a strange timeline, wouldn’t you say? We know not the time nor the hour. But when Christ does return, he will take the righteous, for the righteous will triumph over the wicked. There are signs out there, not just in nature, but in our human nature of changing times. We must urge people to stay close to God now more than ever. Is God trying to tell us something with these plagues? Probably. Is it the end of times? I don’t know. But I would want to be prepared if it were. Grace, mercy, and peace to God our Father. Amen.” 

  Mike crossed himself and felt a pang in his stomach following the sermon. He had wondered if they were at the end of times, and now, after listening to the pastor’s sermon, he was almost sure of it. 

  When Mike came home, he noticed about double the amount of cicada shells littered around the sidewalk since he left. He tiptoed around the brown carcasses and carefully entered the house without letting a live cicada buzz through the door. The last thing he wanted was for Jenny to see one in her sanctuary. 

  “Jenny! Where are you, hon?” 

  “Jen?”

  When Mike opened the door to their bedroom, he found his wife sound asleep at 12:30 in the afternoon. He closed the door behind him and tiptoed down the squeaky staircase as he had over the cicada shells. 

  “She’s gotta get over it,” he said, shaking his head. 

  Mike threw on the White Sox game and grabbed a beer from the fridge. The only thing that could distract him from Pastor John’s doomsday sermon was America’s pastime. His White Sox had struggled every year the last few years, but he was a die-hard, and die-hards stick with their team through thick and thin. 

  As the game wore on, Mike still noticed no sign of Jenny, but what he had noticed was the incessant cicada buzzing that only seemed to get louder with each inning. He took a swig of beer and turned off the TV sound altogether. Mike didn’t want to compete with the cicadas and risk waking Jen. He already had the sound up to level twenty, the highest level he felt comfortable with someone sleeping in the house. But the cicadas definitely sounded louder than a level twenty. If he had to guess, they would be a level fifty now in terms of TV noise. 

  Eloy Jimenez doubled for the Sox, and Mike nodded approvingly while finishing beer number two. He usually didn’t go past two, but he had tomorrow off, and that whole end-of-the-world sermon kind of freaked him out. As he passed the living room to get a beer, he stopped and looked out the back window toward their patio table - the very same one they had the quiet dinner on last night. The cicadas had littered the deck. It was impossible to tell there was even a deck there. The brown shells and ill-flying buggers tripped over each other, entirely covering the red wooden boards. 

  Mike suspended his empty beer bottle in his hand. He remembered the last 17-year cicada season, but it wasn’t like this. It wasn’t like this at all. He dumped the bottle in the recycle bin and reached for two beers instead of one. 

  “It feels like a double fisting kinda night.”

  The buzzing persisted, reaching such a crescendo that Jenny finally waltzed down the stairs. But she didn’t look relieved from the sleep. Her eyes were beat red, and she looked like she had seen death. 

  “Mike. It’s so loud out there.”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  Jenny helped herself to another bottle of Riesling and watched the rest of the game with her husband. She didn’t even like sports, but she watched anyway to take her mind off the many winged warriors outside. By the game’s end, Jenny had downed the entire bottle, and Mike had crushed three more beers. 

  They needed to sleep with earplugs that night, but it was the copious amount of alcohol that allowed them to forget about it. 

  Jenny awoke to what sounded like someone chopping down a tree. She tossed a strand of hair out of her face, threw the covers over to Mike’s side, and made a bolt for their window facing the street. Their oak was indeed being cut down, but not by public works officials. Jenny squinted through the bright morning sun and cupped her mouth at seeing hundreds of cicadas chopping away at each branch and limb. Leaves fell in piles on the grass underneath, and the infestation had decimated the flower bed surrounding their mailbox. Jenny rubbed her eyes, thinking she must be sleeping, but upon hearing the crack of another branch, she shook Mike awake. 

  “Mike...you have to come to the window. Come, quick!”

  “Huh? What? What time is it?”

  “Never mind that! Come to the window!”

  Mike rolled out of bed like a sloth out of a tree, but he woke up after seeing the cicadas devour the old oak. 

  “What the?!” Mike started, flabbergasted. 

  “See?!”

  “They’re not supposed to do that... that’s what locusts do, and even then….”

  “Well? They are! What do we do, Mike?”

  Mike stood there for a second, scratching his head. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. As they feasted, it appeared the buzzing grew louder. 

  “I’ll call Orkin...tell them there’s an emergency. I don’t know who else to contact for this.”

  “Okay.”

  Mike dialed the local Orkin number he had stored in his phone (they used their service a couple of years prior when they had mice), but a voicemail greeted him on the other end. 

  “If you are calling about the local cicada infestation, please be aware that Orkin is currently in communities trying to eradicate them with necessary chemical treatment. If you need to, you can deter them by spraying water at them or protecting your trees or gardens with foil and barrier tape or netting. If you are calling for any other reason, please leave a message, and we will be sure to get back to you promptly.”

  Before Mike could hang up, the mighty oak that stood there for years came crashing into the middle of the road, nearly hitting a coming car. The cicadas swarmed what was left of the tree and flew onto the car’s windshield. The driver performed a quick three-point turn and drove away in a hurry. 

  Jenny’s eyes shifted from the nightmare on their street to across the block to notice an Orkin truck spraying smoke in the air, much like mosquito trucks do on summer nights. As the white truck left the block and the smoke cleared, it didn’t seem to have much effect, as neighbors’ trees underwent the same painful death as their oak. Leaves flew like confetti as the cicadas turned summer trees into their naked counterparts. 

  “What is going on, Mike? Mike?”

  Mike recalled the sermon yesterday. The last time the world made sense was also the first time he realized it was going to hell. Now, he was living it.

  “Um, maybe the news can tell us something about what’s happening,” he said. 

  He grabbed his laptop and searched “cicadas” in Google News. Several articles from several news and blog channels had already popped up with headlines such as “Cicadas turned locusts devour America,” “The end of the world is here,” and “What happened to the cicada?”

  Mike clicked on that last one. He wasn’t interested in reading about the cicadas destroying America. Mike already could see that for himself. He needed to know why and if there was anything he could do about it. 

  He found a piece by a reporter in the Washington Post. He interviewed a member of the CDC, local pest control experts, an entomologist, and a local politician in Africa dealing with the locust issue. He said their behavior is changing due to climatic changes brought on by human involvement. The entomologist said that it isn’t unusual for insects to adapt to the environment and can even inbreed. “Grasshoppers can inbreed with their mistaken cousin the locust, for example,” he was quoted as saying. The pest control expert pointed to their new behavioral change as increased fertilizer use and climate change since the last seventeen-year cycle. 

  “Cicadas are meant to help trees by dying and releasing many nutrients back into the soil. But now they are acting more like locusts. We aren’t sure why, but we understand that the amount of fertilizer used in the US has tripled since the last cicada season, according to our records.”

  The only comfort Mike found in the story was that they said the cicadas should be dead in four to six weeks if their cycle stays the same. He thought the whole fertilizer and climate change thing might be a little far-fetched, but he also thought it might be as good an idea as any. He had never seen anything like this. 

  Mike handed the story over to Jenny, who nodded with conviction. She seemed to take the ideas much more seriously than her husband. 

   “I told you!”

  “Told me what?”

  “I told you not to use that fertilizer!” 

  “How was I to know I would help create a massive cicada plague?”

  Jenny breathed out and hid her face in her hands. 

  “I just can’t do this, Mike. This is more than my worst nightmares. I could never have even dreamed this.”

  “Yeah, I know. I don’t think I could have either.” 

  He pulled his wife close and squeezed her in a bear hug. 

  Jenny released from his grasp and continued to scroll down the stories. She saw articles about cicadas destroying crops, acres of forestland chewed up, and even car crashes due to swarms of cicadas blocking visibility. 

 “They’re all over. We can’t go out. We’re stuck in here.”

  “Looks that way.”

  “Mike?”

  “Uh-huh?”

  “Are all the windows sealed up?”

  “I believe so, but they wouldn’t come in here anyway. From the looks of things, they only want plant life and whatnot.”

  Jenny nodded with a hint of relief. 

  “So, we just hoard up here until they die next month?”

  “Well, some of us will probably still have to go to work. But you, Ms. Teacher, sure.”

  “Can’t you call off Mike?”

  “For the month?”

  Jenny bit her nails as she stared toward the window once more. Mike drew the curtain. 

  “Listen. Listen to me,” Mike said, giving her a light shake. 

  “It’s going to be okay. These devil bugs won’t be around forever; they’re not lions, tigers, or bears. I’ll get to work.”

  Jenny begged her husband not to go to work the following day. She was on her knees with her hands at his feet. Mike rolled his eyes, dropped his briefcase, and removed his cell phone from his front pocket. 

  “Hello? Hi Sara. Yeah, I won’t be in today. Jenny’s under the weather, and I must be here to care for her.”

  “Alright. Alright, yes, I know. Thanks, Sara.”

  Jenny breathed a sigh of relief, rose to her feet, and threw her arms around her husband in a loving embrace. 

  “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” she exclaimed between kissing him on each cheek. 

  “You know that I can’t do this every day? I’ll have to go back tomorrow.”

  Jenny nodded through a thin smile. She didn’t want to think about tomorrow. She didn’t like to be left alone in a house surrounded by mutated superbugs. Mike loosened his tie and sat on the bed next to her. 

 “So, what do you want to do today?”

  “Well, we could nap, eat a nice lunch, then watch a movie, and…”

  “You know Jenny, you can’t hide from the outside world forever.”

  “I know that Mike. But I can hide from it until those things are gone.”

  The sun had just risen, and they had already heard the caterwauling chirps from just outside their window. Within a half-hour, the chirps would be even louder. 

  “I can’t take it anymore! Do we still have ear muffs around here?” Jenny asked. 

  “I think they’re in the coat closet downstairs. That’s where they’d be if we still had them.”

  Jenny jumped off the bed and ran downstairs, covering her ears as she went. Mike fell backward on the bed, still in his work clothes. He stared up at the fan, thinking how it imitated the cicada wings. 

  So this is the beginning of PTSD - I’m turning into Charlie Sheen looking at fans like in Apocalypse Now.

  Mike heard the close of the coat closet, but what he heard next was the type of scream reserved for teen girls in B-rated horror flicks. Now Mike rushed downstairs to find his wife frozen outside the coat closet, staring out at the back window on the deck. Mike’s jaw dropped as the cicadas covered the window - cicadas who appeared to be looking for a way in. 

  The window vibrated, making a bass tone off their wings and chirps. It was Mike’s turn to hold his wife in a loving embrace, but she just pushed him away and made a run for the basement. Mike stole one more unbelieving look at the back window and followed her. The young couple walked around in circles in their unfinished basement. Jenny threw her hands behind her head as if she had just finished running a 5K. Then, they both plopped on an old rug and sighed. 

  “That’s not normal, Mike. There have been a lot of disasters in this world. I haven’t seen anything like that.”

  “I know.”

  Mike grew pensive and turned inward, thinking of the sermon once more. 

  “What’s wrong? What are you thinking about?”

  At first, he shook his head and stared at the old rug. He played with the frayed tips and held her hand. But after about a minute, he delved into the gist of Pastor John’s sermon. 

  “What he said surprised me then, but now it scares me. It scares me on a whole new level. I just wasn’t trying to show it. I needed to stay strong for you.”

  Jenny tightened her grip on her husband’s hand. 

  “It’s okay to be scared. I was scared of the things before they turned into this.”

  “I know, but….”

  “But?”

  “You hear that?”

  “The buzzing? Yeah, I still hear it.”

  Mike shushed his wife and strained his eyes around the basement. There wasn’t much light down there, but their eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. From the top of the stairs, Mike spotted a lone cicada flying haphazardly down the steps. And then another, and another. His eyes bulged, and then he grabbed Jenny’s hand over to the basement’s egress window. 

  “We need to move. Now!”

  “What? I’m not going out there!”

  “Well, it’s either go out there or stay in here with them. Look!”

  Mike pointed toward the stairs, where about a dozen people were already congregating. Jenny shot up like an amateur rocket and made a mad dash toward an escape. 

  “Never thought we’d be using this,” Mike said. 

  Jenny looked at Mike and then turned once more toward the stairs. More filtered down into the basement. They were starting to make their way toward them now. 

  “Look, you go first. I’ll give you a boost.”

  “How will you get out?”

  “I’m a pretty good climber. I can handle my own.”

  Jenny hesitated but then nodded. 

  “Okay, be careful.”

  Jenny’s foot slipped over Mike’s right hand on the first try. The buzzing downstairs echoed off the walls now. 

  “Come on! Concentrate! You can do this!”

  Jenny steadied herself, and Mike pushed with everything he had. She unlocked the latch and pushed herself through to a cicada-free patch outside. She paused to look in and saw the superbugs congregating around her husband. 

  “Okay! Hurry up, Mike!”

  Mike jumped to grab the window ledge, and his sweaty fingers missed. His ankle twisted, and he swore in pain. 

  “Mike! Come on!”

  That’s when he got his first couple of bug bites. They were sharp, like the sting of an angry hornet. 

  He swatted at them and winced at the pain in his right leg, but he jumped again. Jenny held her breath, and as he jumped, she tried to reach her hand down the window to pull him up, but she was just too far out of reach. This time, though, Mike held onto the ledge. All he had to do now was hoist himself up. 

  A few more cicadas bit him, and a couple more snapped at his sore ankle. He tried kicking at them. More cicadas filled the basement, and their cry was deafening now. He could no longer hear Jenny, and with each sting, it was getting harder to feel anything. The mutant bugs swarmed him like bees disturbed from their hive. Jenny picked up stones and began throwing them every which way at the cicadas, but that only made some of them fly Jenny’s way. She swatted at them the best she could and shouted down at her husband, who was now dangling on the window with a few fingers on his right hand. 

  More bugs continued to pursue Jenny as the rest stayed back to take down Mike. Like the tree, they fed on him limb by limb until each finger fell from the ledge onto the concrete basement floor. The cicadas surrounded Mike as he screamed out in agony. Their chirping chorus began to drown out his cries as they continued to eat his flesh and throw skin around like pieces of lunch meat. Jenny broke down for a second with tears until she got stung. But with the chorus of cicadas following, she ran back into the house, grabbed the car keys, and jumped into the Ford Escape so fast she felt like she was on fire. The engine stalled for a second as the bugs attacked her windows. She threw on the wipers and backed out of the driveway with such anger and fury she felt like she could kill anyone at any moment. 

  As Jenny drove down her once peaceful neighborhood, she gasped at the number of trees fallen, the flower beds eaten, the grass pulled up, and even the windows in the houses broken in. She sped through the twenty miles an hour subdivision and onto the main street, only to encounter a traffic jam. Jenny had enough. She turned off to the side of the road and found the highway. In the rearview mirror, thousands upon thousands of the buggers filled the sky. They had taken over. Another traffic jam slowed things down on the highway, so she floored it and rode the shoulder until she got pulled over by a highway cop some five miles in. 

  “I just lost my husband to those...those things,” she cried. “I need to get out of here.”

  The cop let her go but said she had to return to the main road. She did, for a second, then turned again for the shoulder. When another cop followed her, she didn’t stop this time. She was not going to stop until she ran out of gas. She would just assume go to jail. Maybe there she would be safe. Perhaps there she could forget about her old life. 

My thought process on the first day of school

My classroom just before the first day of school, circa 2018.

I will meet all my students today. One hundred and forty teenagers, of which I only know a handful of them. That means I must find a way to memorize over a hundred names as quickly as possible, or I'll get a roll of the eye or a sigh.

Although I've been teaching for nine years, I still want to be my best that first day. You want to make a good first impression, you want to set a positive tone, and you want to learn the names as quickly as possible. When those new kids walk in, it will feel weird not seeing my students from last year not fill their old seats. But I know they are off to bigger and better things, whether they chose college, the workforce, the military, or just moved up a grade for the lowerclassman.

Each school year brings its own set of ups and downs. I like to think that my students become my extended family, even after they're gone. We go through so much in a year, and I hope that my influence helps them for the better. Some of my fondest moments have happened right there in classroom B111.

There will be plenty of moments I will be stressed this year, but for as many stressful ones, there will be ones that I will be filled with joy. I also need to breathe because I can only do so much. I can only give so much. I can only learn names so fast.

I have so many students that I wonder what they're doing now. I've had some that have come back and visited me with a smile plastered on their faces, giving me the good news of their successful times in college or their budding careers.

Like every year, I'll get all kinds of students this year with a whole host of personalities, backgrounds, learning levels, behaviors, and needs. What they all have in common is that they are teenagers. They are human beings. And if I treat them as human beings, they will see me.

People don't ask for much, really. They want respect. They want to be treated like they matter because they do. We all do. Yet, somewhere after childhood, we lose sight of that. To see how people should treat each other, see how children interact. Rediscover your innocence.

Anyway, I realize this has been somewhat of a tangent post, but these are the things that I am pushing to the front of my mind as I go into school today because if I am not mentally strong, I cannot get these kids ready for their future. Forget about learning their names. I'll never even be able to teach them.

To search for Kevin Patrick Kenealy’s latest thriller, Neighborhood Watch, peruse either Centuries & Sleuths Bookstore in Forest Park, Barbara’s Bookstore in Orland Square Mall, Anderson’s Bookshop in Downers Grove, or The Book Dragon in Stockton-on-Tees, England. You can also buy direct from my website here: https://www.kevinpatrickkenealy.com/author