The Gods hated Jared. In the grand scheme of the universe, they saw fit to curse him. “Why? Why me?” Jared would despair, time and time again. Perhaps he unknowingly offended a descendant. Maybe they hated the sound of his voice. He could have stepped on the wrong worm. Not that Jared goes around purposely stepping on worms. We all know how the ground turns into a minefield after a hard rain. Despite one's best step, things just happen. Things just kept happening to Jared. Unfortunate things. Despite his best efforts, Jared's luck was running out. Jared had often wondered if he even had any to begin with. He never thought of himself as the superstitious type. He was a practical, feet on the ground, head forward kind of man. After these last several months, Jared found himself wishing on every star, pinching salt over his shoulder, and carrying around a rabbit's foot that he had once been gifted, and surprisingly, had not thrown out. All in the hope that his luck would change for the better. He even bought himself Lucky Bamboo and a Maneri Neko, a lucky cat statue. He later found out, they are only lucky if you've been gifted them by someone else. So he gifted the plant and the statue to his boss... ex-boss's... six-year-old daughter. The one he accidentally backed into with his car. It was this incident that sent Jared down the slippery slide of unlucky happenstances. “Quit your moping, will you? Positivity only today!” Susan's voice was laced with stern optimism. Positivity, that was a hard concept for Jared. “You should've just left me at your house. I'll only bring you down.” Whatever optimism Jared may have held had long turned into hard pessimism. “Hush now. My home is your home for as long as you want or need it.” Susan sighed while putting the car in park. Want it and need it, he did. He was grateful for Susan and the warm safety she provided but it wasn't his home. Jared pondered the thought if he ever actually had one, a home. He could’ve had one, but that went up in flames. “It's been so long since I felt any desire or motivation for anything. So I'll have no negativity, not when I'm feeling lucky.” Her motherly warm brown eyes gave him a warning. She wasn't his mother, but in her opinion, she was as good as. Having grown up the best friend to her son, Jared had been there when Cole got married then moved away, and when her husband died. He saw Susan’s spark for life diminish over time. Which is why he couldn't help but feel like he was taking advantage of a lonely old lady. He had no money for food, no money for rent, nothing at all to give. It's not like he hasn't tried, but it's hard to move forward with a black mark casted on him. By the Gods and his ex-boss. The diminishing spark flourished brightly as Susan bounced in step toward the building. He nodded with a small smile as he followed her into the casino. His life was Murphy's law. Being in a casino was the last place for him to be. For Susan, he would stay. He just hoped her luck was better than his. Smoke drifted and danced to spinning bells and blaring sirens. Chimes rang out as fortunes were won. Groans and curses could be heard as fortunes were lost. The familiar scent of cigars and cigarettes perfumed the air as Susan trotted along the recently forgotten path. Each step further into the folds of the casino, memories flowed in. The joyful rush of her weekly visits faded when her husband died. Granted, she no longer had much joy for anything in her life. For two years, happiness faded as her loneliness grew. When she found out that her son's best friend's home laid in a pile of ash it turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Although her funds weren't exactly unlimited, she at least had some. She was feeling lucky. In that luck, she hoped to pay back in kind what he gave to her. Jared followed Susan as she obviously knew where she was going. In no time she had gotten them set up in the bingo hall in front of a couple of screens. Jared felt this was a waste of time and money. Even if he managed to win something, it wouldn't change the circumstances in his life. Each day, there was always something to make him miserable. The most recent misery was his former landlords blaming him for the fire. It wasn't his fault the dryer went up in smoke. Still, Susan had taken him in and asked for nothing. He gave back where he could but he owed her. Accompanying her through rounds of bingo was the least he could do. “I haven't done this since my Bill was alive.” A distant sadness etched across her face, memories of her husband. She gently pushed them to the back of her mind so as to not get caught up in the longing and sorrow of missing him. Today was not about sadness. Jared never saw the point of bingo, even as a child in school. He thought it boring, monotonous. However, for Susan, he’d try his best to at least enjoy himself. The screen held four playing boards that he found difficult to maintain with hundreds of boxes filled with random numbers. Letters and numbers flashed across the screen, one after the other. A woman’s flat voice droned on, “B 13, B 13.” No sooner she’d announce one, a new call would come out. “N 39... N 39... I 22... I 22...” He barely had one board checked before the next number came rolling across the screen. “How can you keep up,” he groaned in frustration. “Just click the auto-fill,” Susan informed him like it was an obvious fact. Round after round, he’d watch the numbers fill in. Four filled boxes--up, diagonal, across but never a fifth box--signifying a bingo. Susan had a few wins here or there. Considering what she spent to play, she’d only break even. Not enough to have a windfall to send Jared's way. “I need a break!” Jared told Susan. Tired of sitting and almost winning. Always so close, always falling short. A year ago the “Almost” would not have bothered him. But the days of slips and falls, scrapes and bruises, how his shoes always found the deepest puddle had left him sensitive. “Go, I’ll keep an eye on your screen,” Susan understood. Not everyone had the patience for bingo. She knew some of the best things were worth waiting for. Jared walked the halls of the casino but was in his own world. He did his best to not feel sorry for himself but he wasn’t doing a very good job at it. When he was a child, his grandma always said, “Everything happens for a reason.” He just couldn't see it. The reason. But he could see the result. His ex-boss's daughter, who was left to her own devices, ducked behind his car while he was backing. As a result, he lost his job. It wasn’t his fault that no one was looking after her, but his boss didn’t care. A clogged dryer vent caused the home he was renting to burn down. To make matters worse his landlords decided to sue him for negligence. Susan was a blessing, but he felt that too would blow up in smoke. Head sunk in pity as he walked, Jared didn't see the woman with flaming red hair bumping into him. “Sorry,” he muttered first, thinking he was the one that walked into her. She kept walking without a glance back. Jared's eyes returned to the ground, to continue sulking when he noticed a thick white envelope on the ground. Shock ripped through him as his thumb ran across dozens and dozens of one-hundred-dollar bills. His feet pivoted to look for the woman with the flaming red hair. In the distance, he thought he saw billows of red turning a corner. He took off after her and hoped his balance wouldn't falter. “Excuse me!” he called out after her. He managed to shorten the distance between them, but she didn't notice him trailing after her. “Miss!” he called again, closer than before. She turned to him with inquisitive eyes. “You dropped this,” Jared informed her, handing out the filled envelope. “So I did.” She hesitated a moment before reaching for it. She stared incredulously at him, her hand on the envelope, the envelope in his. “It's all there,” he insisted while fighting the urge to fidget. He wanted to remove his hand but he wanted to make sure the envelope wouldn't drop. She slowly blinked as realization dawned her face. “I'm sure it is. I'd be lost without it. Thank you...” her voice tapered, brows raised, almost waiting for him. “Jared,” he blurted, assuming his name is what she was wanting. “Jared, my lucky charm,” she smiled before walking away. Lucky charm. “Yeah right,” he chuckled. He went back to Susan in the bingo hall and chose to not waste another thought on what happened. He found Susan with a happy smile and tears in her eyes. Before he could ask she told him, “Cole just called, I'm going to be a grandmother.” Her happiness shined bright like a beacon in the dark of night. This is what Susan was needing and he knew it. “Also, while you were away we both won a few bingos!” She handed him a few vouchers, and found himself shocked at the amount. Of course, he wasn't surprised at all to find out he won while he was away. He took the bad luck with him. “It's all yours,” she insisted as he tried to hand back the vouchers. “Susan, no. I can't,” he told her but she wouldn't have it. “Please, let me help you,” Susan tried to protest. “You have been, but this, I won’t take from you. Use this money to go visit your first grandchild,” Jared insisted. He wouldn't accept this from her. It wasn't right. He couldn't ask any more of her than for a place to sleep. She would argue with him on this, but she'd do that later. “We'll table this for now. Let's play a little more. Anything won, You. Will. Keep.” She huffed in defiance. He nodded. He knew it was best not to argue with her. In the back of the hall the woman with the flaming red hair watched with interest and growing irritation laced with anger. She flitted back through the door, shifting herself to her home realm. “Your scheme failed.” The God of Circumstance was pleased her attempts to cause good fortune for Jared had failed. Granted her expertise didn't lie in fortune, but in luck rather. She let her fury for the circumstances the God created for Jared flow through her. “I wouldn't need to scheme if you hadn't felt the need to impede his luck and fortune!” She hated the way he felt the need to control the circumstances of people. Even though as the God of Circumstance, he could, she didn't think it right for him to mess with luck and fortune. Luck is random. Luck is being in the right place at the right moment. It doesn't differentiate and doesn't decide who is deserving or not. The Lady looked at her mate, the God of Fortune, with equal anger. A finger pointed in his direction, “You let him do this!” For months she had heard Jared's pleas. She couldn't understand why her God of Fortune would do nothing to intervene. Her mate gulped. He didn't want his Lady angry with him. “Perhaps it's time to find another to change the circumstances of others.” The mated pair looked at the God responsible for all interactions, all occurrences, and the indirect fate for so many. “Jared can hold out for a while longer. There are still many he is connected to who need their circumstances changed.” The God was adamant that the misfortunes of Jared were for the greater good. “That little Girl was sick. Her parents didn't notice and wouldn't have taken her in to be seen. Because of the accident, she had a full work up and they caught it. She will do great things when she grows up. His landlords? They were scamming their renters. Thanks to the fire, an investigation is being conducted. Their scheming will come to an end!” The God of Circumstance explained his justification for Jared’s unfortunate-not so happen-happenstances. “Find another! You always do!” Her arms crossed in defiance. He stared back unwavering. Not liking the fury of energy between his Lady and his friend, the God of Fortune stepped in front of her. “How about we settle this with a game? If my Lady wins, you leave Jared alone and allow her to make him lucky. If she loses, she won't interfere in your circumstances for the next decade.” He felt a brief jab of pain as his Lady smacked him on the arm. She didn't like this bet. She wanted to spread her luck to whoever, whenever. "Fine!” the other God agreed. “What game?” he asked, realizing he should have clarified that first. "Heads or tails!" the God of Fortune yelled as he flipped the small gold coin in the air. She did her best to suppress a smile. She was Lady Luck after all. Jared had long been ready to call it a day. He hoped bingo with Susan wouldn’t become a frequent trip. A loud ringing pierced his consciousness as Jared had zoned out. “Jared! You won,” Susan ecstatically brought Jared's attention to focus. “Winner” flashed in big bold letters across the screen. He looked at the boards. There were no down, across, or diagonally filled boxes that signified a bingo. “Oooh! That's lucky. You got a clover,” Susan explained. Four squares in the top left, top right, bottom left, and bottom right flickered and spun. Lucky, he thought. He hasn't been lucky in so long. He waited, expecting the shoe to drop. That his winning was a mistake. He expected to be tackled at the door to be prevented from leaving with the amount he won. It wasn't until the next day when he heard his previous landlords were being arrested for fraud that maybe... just maybe his luck was changing.


Here, the powerful are now weak. Here, the rich are now poor. In Hell, you do what you always dreaded doing most: A criminal is an officer, a money-manager tends to the fields, and so on. Some people don’t suffer much from these changes. For example, those who used to be chefs are now servers. No big problem, right? Well, my career lead me to take a different path than most take here in the afterlife: A path that lead me to be on the Supreme Council of Torturers... I was never a nice person before I died, but I did a good job. I helped people for a living, but that doesn’t mean I was never a complete and total jerk. You see, since the age of 17 I have had but one job: To be a demonslayer. On Earth I would protect the innocent from the dark spirits that haunted them. Since I died, I’ve discovered that everyone has their own personal demon, each of which grows more and more powerful when their humans make bad decisions. When I was still alive I carried with me the Sword of Counterpunishment, a divine weapon designed to kill the evil. Each and every day I would fight the worst of the demons to death until the time when I won the fight and went back home to abuse my family. You do remember what I said about being a bad person, yes? Exactly. Now you understand. I was always disappointed by my ill-performing children and my resentful wife, so much so that I took it to the next level. That, readers, was how I got my ticket to Hell. Now I live in the metropolis of Hell, a dystopian city buried far under the ground, with fire, demons, and absolutely nobody who enjoys their jobs. My office is on the -47th floor of Satan’s Tower, and to be perfectly frank it is quite luxurious. I have numerous computers, my own personal coffee machine, and (thank goodness) pens that take practically an eternity to run out. My job is both simple and complicated. For the most part, it revolves around designing demons for the people of Earth, which should ideally be very talented at convincing their humans to make bad decisions. While the premise is simple, though, this office job is very hard to do, and even worse, it lasts 26 hours a day. I also hold a seat on the Supreme Council of Torturers, a group of nine high-ranking demons like me who dedicate their afterlives to making Hell, well, feel like Hell. My job is to design the demons, one guy causes natural disasters... You get it. Every day is a nightmare as I need to make the decisions about how to treat people worst. One particular day, though, was worse than all the rest. I clicked the Pen of Counterpunishment over and over as I stared at my computer screen. You see, I only need to design people’s demons after they commit their first sin, usually at age one or two. And this kid wasn’t any different-- but there was something about her that I just couldn’t shake. The freckles, the shoulder-length light brown hair, the big hazel eyes with the little green specks... This girl looked exactly like my young daughter on Earth. “Cynthia...” I whispered, feeling a wave of regret over everything I had done to her back when I was still alive. I instantly had a flashback to when I was beating her that one time, and I told her to let her daddy do what he needed to... And she whispered “You aren’t... You aren’t my daddy”. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t design a demon for her, even though I knew I’d be tortured if I didn’t. She was so kind, so beautiful, so pure... How could I put her through such pain again? How? I sat there for a good half hour and closed my eyes, thinking about when she said I wasn’t her father, but I continued to beat her some more... After she said that, after I was told to make a demon for her... Neither of us opened our eyes ever again after those incidents.


June 4, 2024 8:02 AM ARE ACTORS STEPHANIE SMITH AND CASEY REYNOLDS NOW DATING? Twenty-three-year-old actress Stephanie Smith is rumored to be dating her co-star, 30-year-old Steven Reynolds, from their new hit movie, It Takes Two to Tango. Which would be sweet except that Steven Reynolds is currently married to 30-year-old Casey Reynolds, a high-end real estate agent. Celebrity Insider has included exclusive photos from a recent night, in which Reynolds is shown to be trying to sneak out of Smith's condo in the middle of the night. June 4, 2024 11:07 AM STEVEN REYNOLDS' REPRESENTATIVE SAYS HE WAS HELPING A FRIEND A representative for Steven Reynolds, Jim O'Connell, has just gotten in touch with Celebrity Insider to inform us that Reynolds was at actress Stephanie Smith’s condo to help her with a personal issue. However, when we pushed further to inquire what the issue was, O'Connell said that he didn't want to violate her privacy. However, O'Connell indicated that Reynolds is happily married and would never cheat on his wife, Casey Reynolds. June 4, 2024 3:59 PM ACTOR'S WIFE DEVASTATED ABOUT VISIT BETWEEN HER HUSBAND AND CO-STAR Celebrity Insider has received word from an anonymous friend of Casey Reynolds’ that Casey is devastated after learning about Steven Reynolds's visit to actress Stephanie Smith's Condo late at night. “He never told her he went to her condo that night. She's completely inconsolable right now,” the friend said. June 5, 2024 1:25 PM STEPHANIE SMITH THOUGHT STEVEN REYNOLDS WAS SEPARATED A source says that 23-year-old Stephanie Smith, actress of such movies as It Takes Two to Tango and Girls Just Wanna Have Fun, has told friends that 30-year-old Steven Reynolds told her he was separated. The source says, “Stephanie would have never gotten together with Steven if she knew he wasn't truly separated and intent on seeking a divorce. She feels humiliated.” June 6, 2024 10:05 AM ACTOR’S WIFE DEBATING ON WHETHER TO STAY OR SEPARATE Casey Reynolds has been debating whether or not to reconcile with her husband, actor Steven Reynolds. Two days ago, we broke the exclusive that Reynolds was seen leaving 23-year-old actress, Stephanie Smith’s, apartment in the middle of the night. Our sources say Casey Reynolds is unsure of whether she wants to work things out with her husband or separate, as there's a prenup in place. They have no kids. June 6, 2024 4:05 PM ACTOR STOCKS UP ON WINE IN CASUAL OUTFIT We caught up to Steven Reynolds at a grocery store in Malibu, but he was unwilling to talk to us. Reynolds had more than a few wine bottles, among other food items, in his store cart. Looks like Reynolds may be on his way to drown out his sorrows over his apparent affair with actress Stephanie Smith, as his wife is still contemplating whether to try to work things out or separate from him, according to our sources. Reynolds is seen here wearing sunglasses, shorts, a plain blue T-shirt, and Birkenstocks, trying to go for the casual look, but we know he must be sweating inside over the affair. June 8th, 2024 9:25 AM ACTORS SMITH AND REYNOLDS AFFAIR BEGAN WHILE FILMING MOVIE Twenty-three-year-old Stephanie Smith admits that affair with 30-year-old Steven Reynolds had been going on almost the entire time they were filming It Takes Two to Tango, which took four months to film. A friend of Smith's says that Reynolds pursued her and was incredibly charming, buying her flowers, taking her to dinner after they were done shooting for the day, and always complimenting her. “He didn't act like he was married and never mentioned his wife. Stephanie only found out he was married when his wife showed up to set, but even then he managed to convince her that they were separated. He's a snake and Stephanie wants nothing to do with him anymore,” the friend told us. We reached out to Reynolds’ representative for comment, but haven't received any word back. June 9th, 2024 4:25 PM SMITH RUMOURED TO BE PREGNANT AND SOURCE SAYS REYNOLDS IS THE FATHER Allegedly, 23-three-year-old Stephanie Smith is pregnant, according to an anonymous source. She found out she was pregnant the night Reynolds went to visit her at her condo, which Celebrity Insider had brought the exclusive. Since she said she had only been seeing Steven Reynolds at the time, she knows the baby is his. Another source says, Reynolds doesn't want the baby because he realizes he wants to reconcile with his wife. If Smith has this kid, Reynolds' wife will probably never reconcile with him. Too bad Reynolds can’t act his way out of this. July 1st, 2024 10:25 PM STEVEN REYNOLDS CONFIRMED FATHER OF STEPHANIE SMITH BABY. WIFE SET ON DIVORCE If you've been following along, actors Stephanie Smith and Steven Reynolds have been having an affair ever since they were filming It Takes Two to Tango. Well, our sources inside say DNA tests have confirmed that Reynolds is the father of Smith's little one to come. Now that the test has revealed that Reynolds is definitely the father, Reynold's wife is intent on divorce. “She can't stand being married to him knowing that he's cheated - and now has a kid on the way with someone else,” a friend of hers told us, who wishes to remain anonymous. “She now knows it's over with him and she's 100 percent done with him.” September 5, 2024 11:15 AM SOURCE SAYS STEPHANIE SMITH HAVING BABY BOY Our source says that Smith is having a baby boy - and she’s thrilled. “She always knew she wanted kids, but didn’t think it would be this soon. She’s so happy to be having a little son - and she looks forward to co-parenting [with Reynolds],” the source said. January 18, 2025 7:05 AM ACTRESS STEPHANIE SMITH GIVES BIRTH TO HEALTHY BABY BOY Approximately seven months ago, Celebrity Insider provided breaking news that Stephanie Smith and Steven Reynolds were involved in an affair. Now, Smith has given birth to baby boy Smith approximately at 2 am this morning at Cedars Sinai Hospital. Hospital sources say Smith’s mother was in the delivery room and helped to keep Smith calm as she delivered her baby boy. There were no complications and the sources say the birth was standard. Smith and Reynolds’ representatives say that they are dedicated to raising their boy in a loving environment and plan on sharing 50/50 custody once their baby boy no longer needs to breastfeed. January 20th, 2025 1:05 PM SAY HELLO TO COREY REYNOLDS-SMITH Actors Stephanie Smith and Steven Reynolds have welcomed their healthy baby boy, Corey Reynolds-Smith into the world. Even though their baby boy was a result of an affair, both parents are ecstatic to co-parent and show Corey the world. As to the name, a friend of Reynolds says they both liked the name and figured they would decide on a two-yes, one-no system. “They really want to co-parent well and make sure Corey grows up in a stable environment,” the friend said. Welcome to the world Corey! October 27, 2025 3:40 PM STEVEN REYNOLDS AND WIFE ARE OFFICIALLY DIVORCED Thirty-one-year-old actor Steven Reynolds and his wife, Casey Reynolds, are now officially divorced. You may remember the saga of his affair between now twenty-four-year-old actress, Stephanie Smith, which resulted in the birth of their baby boy in January. According to sources, Reynolds felt awful for what he did and agreed to almost everything his now ex-wife asked for, although they had a prenup. ”He really wishes he could go back and make different choices,” a friend of Reynolds' said. “He's absolutely dedicated to raising his son with Stephanie, though.” November 10, 2025 12:20 PM ACTRESS STEPHANIE SMITH NOT INTERESTED IN DATING, ONLY FOCUSED ON SON Actress Stephanie Smith is focused on taking care of her son, Corey, stating she does not want to date until he’s of school age, according to an article from the November issue of People Magazine. From the article, she said: “I’ve had enough of dating for a while. Although I’m disappointed with how things ended romantically with Steven [Reynolds] and me, I don’t know where I’d be without Corey. Although it was a long, hard road mentally and emotionally to get here, I wouldn’t trade anything for Corey. He’s the light of my life.”


People keep telling me there are monsters here now. We can’t see them without help and they never stop coming. Dozens of blue-hued faces prowl through parks and skip down streets. We want to catch them all but they never stop coming. We aren’t scared of them because we’re real brave and we aren’t afraid of things we cannot see. There are monsters all over Edmonton and Toronto and Vancouver. There are monsters all over Ankara and Istanbul, and they hide inside tanks and dance on the barrels of guns as they shoot metal fire into the sky like shooting stars trying to escape our cities to the cold dark of space. They killed 294 of us, and their blood sticks to the bottom of our shoes as we stalk a Zubat hovering above a flaming car, flapping its thin leather wings against the tide of our indifference before turning from us into a darkening alley. There are monsters all over London and Lisbon and Prague. There are monsters all over St. Anthony and Baltimore, and they hide inside minds and dance on the hood of a police cruiser struck by a vehicle turned metal missile driven by a young man trying to capture a Pidgey. The police officers have a good chuckle while cameras are rolling and decide not to shoot the man because he isn’t black like the other young men whose names we can’t remember because there are just too many names to remember. Our heads are filled with the names of invisible monsters now. There are monsters all over Canada and Europe and Africa. There is a monster in America and it hides behind the orange teeth of a future leader and dances across our borders like a whirling, shapeless shadow coiling around the grinning incisors of a Gengar. And a man who wears darkness and leaks shadow tells us he has no time to hunt monsters. He is building a wall to keep monsters out. We believe him because sometimes we’re not real brave and we don’t want to be afraid and we won’t be with a wall between us and them. The man smiles and the Gengar smiles and we remember that monsters can smile too. People keep telling me there are monsters here now. We can’t see them without help and they never stop coming. We aren’t scared of them because we aren’t afraid of things we choose not to see. People keep telling me there are monsters here now, but there were always monsters here.


Emmet was thirteen when he had a brush with death. Ever since then, the wind felt colder against his dark skin, like there was frost in his bones. At times, he put on his leather jacket and laid under the star filled sky, wondering why he wasn't the same person as before. Was there nothing he could do to purge the frozen blood beneath his skin? Tonight, the stars sparkled more brightly than they had before. He laid on a hill in the lush grass under the dark blue sky. His home was a fair ways from the city, and you could only see the light from the moon and stars. The dark tree line wrapped around him and his red brick house. He tucked his arm under his head and stared into the night, with his thoughts wandering back to that night he nearly drowned as a kid. He didn’t feel sorry for himself or dwell on it simply because it was the only traumatic incident he experienced. Instead, he contemplated why it triggered a constant buzz in his bones. He contemplated why he felt distanced from everything at this point, as if he was never completely one with life again. The world was always gray. The world seemed to rain or snow or feel many moons away when everybody else saw a bright sun. confused because he never felt sad, he just felt like he was looking for something unconsciously. He brooded over what that could be but was never able to find the answer. Emmet wasn’t depressed or sad but he felt like there was music in the distance he couldn’t pin-point or a word on the tip of his tongue he just couldn’t remember. There was something humming in his bones and in the back of his mind that was never satisfied, even though Emmet was completely satisfied with his life. If anything, life and breath seemed sweeter after nearly dying. At that thought, a smile crept over Emmet’s mouth. The quiet moments created serenity within him. The quiet moments reminded him how grateful he was to have such a peaceful home and family. “Mom said dinner’s ready,” his aunt called. “Coming,” Emmet said, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath. After Emmet and his mother and brother moved away from their house in the middle of the city, he realized why his family valued their house on the hill, surrounded by trees and moonlight. *** Emmet removed his brown jacket, placing it on the coat-rack. With his uncle stoking the fire and the oven running, it was almost too hot inside. But the scent of oven roasted chicken and potatoes distracted him. The warmth and aromatic herbs beckoned him to the table where everybody else was already sitting or placing tableware. His mother, Rosalie, just set down the chicken and sat with her hands clasped. He quickly sat and closed his eyes as she said a small prayer. All he could think about was ‘that’s where grandma used to sit and say the prayer for meal.’ Family and tradition was important to his mother, and while Emmet appreciated his mother’s dedication, it made him sad to see his grandmother’s place at the table replaced. That’s when the hole in his heart opened up again. But, with each passing day, it closed up a little faster and he could think up his grandmother’s face in his thoughts without excusing himself. “Do the constellations look pretty, Emmet?” Aunt Kiera asked, dishing up potatoes for her daughter. “I guess,” he said half-heartedly. “I don’t imagine the stars connecting like that; i just like the way the sky looks at night as a whole. Honestly., i was just distracting myself from that fact i forgot to practice violin today.” “You are getting lazy about that,” his grandfather grunted. Emmet shook his head. Should've known better. Grandpa was a devoted musician back in the day. The living room had nearly become a show room for his record collection, many of which, he had collected with his grandmother when they were young. Somehow, the world had since changed with the absence of one person. Though everyone at the dinner table conversed with each other like nothing was difference, they were also cautious. Deviating away from anything that could relate to her life. Emmet felt the complete opposite. He wanted to talk about his grandmother and remember who she was. He looked up to her kind, thoughtful character and emulated her almost more than his own mom. Emmet shoved his food in quickly in an attempt to escape from the smiling, melancholy faces. He missed his grandmother, but he didn’t want that to discourage his ability to remember and talk about her. So, once he finished and explained (lied) about a late music lesson, he grabbed his coat and left. Outside, Emmet began to shiver while walking on the wide road away from his new home. He blew into his hands and could see his breath like white smoke. Then, he shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to forget that the frosty air was seeping deep into his body, reaching his already chilled bones. He thought about the frost reaching his heart and if someone’s heart could really freeze over. He wanted to believe that and wanted it to happen when he experienced grief for the first time. Truly, his life had been a serene, flowing river until he nearly drowned in raging rapids and saw death only a month later. But Emmet soon felt okay with the sadness. Because he knew that grief would pass over him in time. Emmet would be okay, he believed, because he felt his heart was working right if he felt sad. “Don’t be sad because they died, be happy because they lived,” his mother told him. From that moment on, his perspective changed. And he allowed himself to grieve, but he also allowed himself to be grateful for her time. But at her funeral, he could still feel her spirit with him. As if she was singing to him from heaven. It sounded like the wind blowing through the trees as he walked down the road. A forest on either side of him, and the path lit by the bluish hue of the moon. *** Swiftly, Emmet climbed over the tall cemetery fence and walked to his grandmother’s gravestone. Under a big oaktree, her name was inscribed on the concrete grave: Lydia Roslyn Posh. “I’m still trying my hardest, just like you told me,” he murmured to himself. His mother once said, “we will all be folklore in the end.” But his grandmother was more than that, she was someone that made him feel proud of himself. He once thought she was mocking him because she said, “I will not love you because you are smart, I do not love you because you are handsome. Honestly, you are average in most means. But because you have a golden heart, you are someone I've always needed. There is nothing more painful than not having someone in your life that loves you unconditionally.” Then, he clutched the golden locket around his neck. It had a picture of his mother and grandmother inside. Nothing could change his mind that there was anyone who could make a bigger impact on him. Because those words were just a few of the phrases that kept his head up. *** On his way back to the cemetery gate, he noticed something white under a large tree. It was fabric fluttering in the wind. But that's when he noticed a body curled up in the fabric. His heart stammered. There was nothing more eerie than stumbling across a still body. Let alone a still body in a cemetery at night. But he couldn't pull himself away; what if they were alive and needed help? He walked slowly, the leaves crunching beneath his feat, and the humming in his bones growing. The body was drained of color; nearly translucent in a white dress. The chill inside him deepened; it began singing throughout his whole body. His legs felt weak as water and his hands shook. Her body was completely still, with the wind moving her pale hair. He hoped she was still alive, yet he couldn't touch her without getting fingerprints on the body. But her bony arms and legs said otherwise. The blue tones of her nails and toes made him wonder if she froze to death. That's when he noticed a red line on her neck. He bent over to get a closer look, his cold breath grazing her cheek, and noticed a bloody gash across her neck. Was she killed? Then a sound escaped her lips and he fell back, crawling away from her. A healthy tone spread over her whole body and he could see her rib cage moving, drawing in air. His body trembled and his head spun. But he watched as she pushed herself up. He stared, stuttering to find words, and breathing heavier than before. The gaping wound around her neck sewed itself together and her blue lips turned pink. She gasped for air, clutching her heart. Then, set her red eyes on him. He scrambled to his feet, looking the gaunt girl over. "You were dead!" "You think I don't know that!" She chided. He pointed at her arm. From wrist to elbow, her bones showed clean. No blood or loose skin. "What happened!" He gaped. She narrowed her eyes and grabbed his arm, pulling him over with unexpected strength. Her nails dug into his skin. "You're a necromancer!" She proclaimed. His heart leapt. He pulled away from her, rubbing the skin where she grabbed him. "What...I...You..." "Behind your ear," she said, tapping that exact place on herself. "There’s the mark of a necromancer. A raven skull." Emmet rubbed the place behind his ear, noticing that the chill had left his body. It was replaced by an eager glow of warmth. "And what's that," he said, pointing at the cat skull tattoo on her arm. She placed her hand over it. "Nothing." "Nah, you gotta tell me what that means. Because all of this makes no sense!" "Of course it does. And something tells me you aren't that full of questions anyway," she said. Truly, she was right. He didn't feel overwhelmed, though he tried drumming up questions. Within himself, he felt alarmed but aware of the situation. Which, worried him more. "I am not a necromancer," he scowled. "Sure." The girl began to storm away, and Emmet immediately hurried after her. "You can't walk away after all that," he said. "We have no business together. You don't believe me and who am I to force you. So, go your own way." "Wait," he said, "you were dead right?" "No, I was sleeping. Of course I was dead. Dead and left to rot in a cemetery," she argued. "Someone didn't even have the heart to put me under six feet." "I'm sorry about that," Emmet sighed. She turned on the spot, sticking a finger in his face. "What are you sorry for, huh?" "No, I just meant "sorry" with sympathy," he said, and she trailed away. "Where are you going?" He asked, wondering what a dead girl could want. And wondering what would happen if she ran into anyone that knew she had died. "Well, doing what any smart undead person would do, go hunting." His stomach dropped. "And...what does that mean?" "I am not truly alive, and the only way I can remain undead is to feast on life's blood. But it's wrong to do so, obviously," she explained. "So, I'll eat animal blood. Human blood is needed, but I can't bring myself to do that." Emmet felt squeamish. Suddenly, his head was filled with dreadful thoughts about bringing this girl to life. But how did he do it? What had he done and what does this mean? Who is she and how can she survive? "My mom's a nurse and is working in a blood donation center. I can get in and steal some for you," he said it without recognizing his voice. Why are you getting yourself into this Emmet , he thought. Leave it alone, he thought. But of course, she turned around and looked relieved. "Oh! Thank you!" *** After sneaking in just before closing hours, he snagged a few bags of blood and gave it to the dead girl behind the center. He turned away after watching her drink it like water. After she finished, he looked at her blood stained lips. One drop of blood trickled down her chin. “Are you any better,” he said, watching as more color filled her face. The dark circles under her eyes lessened a bit, and where her skin was almost translucent, a peachy hue covered her veins. “Much better.” she said and held out her hand. “Thank you. Thank you for believing me and faking a blood donation to steal blood for me.” He took her hand and said, “i’m Emmet by the way.” “Christina Parks,” and she shook his hand. “I’m afraid this won’t be the last time i need blood, but it will be the last time you get it for me. You don’t need to feel like you must help me.” Emmet took another bag of blood from his jacket and handed it to her. “Here, this is for next time.” She gasped. “No really. It will only make me want it more.” she pushed his hand away. “I need to get used to animal blood for now. Besides, don’t you think the patients need it more than i do? I mean, they are alive.” “How do you know all of this. I mean, the needing blood and everything?” he asked. But Christina looked down, her platinum bangs covering her eyes. “That’s a long story...” she saw he was about to speak and cut him off, “I’m allowed to keep some things to myself.” “Well, we should probably go. We’ll get in trouble if they find us back here,” Emmet said. They left the shadows behind the center and started towards the city. Emmet checked his watch and saw that all of this had happened within an hour. His family didn’t expect him back for another hour, so he could help her to a hotel or wherever she used to live. “Do you know where you’re going from here,” he asked. “Like, are you going back home?” “I lived with my roommate...but I can’t go back there.” she said. At that, she remained silent for a while. “How do you plan to...live or...function,” he stammered, trying not to offend her. “Like any other human. But without cooking my meat,” she smirked. “Blood doesn’t taste coppery anymore. It tastes sweet and irresistible. Like the best dessert you’ve ever tasted. It envelopes your senses. Blood is miraculous after death.” “Interesting,” was the only word he could spit out. He rubbed his wrists, right where his veins were, hoping she didn’t want anymore blood for now. “And it smells good too,” she said, like a child opening presents on Christmas for the first time. She spoke with amazement and wonderment. “Blood smells like delectable cherries or chocolate cake or chocolate covered berries. Or perhaps, it smells like that because that’s what i loved most when i was alive.” “I’m sorry,” he said. “Does your family know about your death? Can you go back to live with them?” “I know they must be looking for me. It was a few days ago, but the cold weather served my body well at least. What killed my roomate killed me. Seeing as you’re the first person to find me, I can probably see them again and...but I can’t explain what happened.” Emmet opened his mouth to speak but kept quiet. Some things you don’t have to share. And this was a sensitive and traumatic matter. He didn’t want to press her bruises. *** They both stopped, dead in their tracks. Christina touched a finger to her lips and Emmet didn’t need to be told twice to be quiet. From amidst the dark tree line, a figure emerged. Emmet could smell its grotesque odor from there. Decaying flesh. He saw it emerge, disfigured and purified, limping from the woods with a rattling breath. “Come on,” he said, tugging on Christina’s arm. But she didn’t budge. With brute strength, she didn’t even waver. “No,” she said, “it's for me.” The decayed figure and Christina bolted towards each other. She swung her legs around the creature’s neck and threw it down. Emmet watched, stunned as she bit the creature’s head clean off. She grimaced, wiping her face, trying to rid herself of the taste. Still, Emmet was unable to say a word. His legs felt weak again and his heart hammered like a drum in his chest. “What was that,” he cried in a forced whisper. Christina swallowed, realizing she couldn't keep her secrets anymore. "That was a gift sent here for me. The underworld wants me back."


It came quickly, and it only lasted a moment or two. The last moments of my life. I couldn't quite remember how I died, all I remember is the dark. The void. The emptiness. The memories I had were a bit foggy, all I remember was a tall and disfigured creature standing over me. It was the last thing I saw. The last moment I had. I woke up with a gasp. My neck ached from the snap back to reality, and it felt almost unnatural to be in a physical form again. At least I thought. I started to wiggle around. Arms, legs, everything seemed to be there. I was dressed in all white. My head was shaved, and two wires were attached to the side of it, leading up to the wall behind me. In front of me was what looked like to be a large, curved glass shield. It was like a pod of some sort. Across from me I could see many more pods like mine, all lined up on the wall, at least a hundred of them, each containing someone else. The room was clean. Shiny. Each wall was made completely of metal, without a spot of rust in sight. I tried to move around, but both my arms and legs were bolted to the bod. Panicked, the shield started to rise and I was released. I removed the wires from my head and stepped down. *Is this...heaven?* I knew for sure I had just died. I had never considered myself religious but this was the only possible explanation. So this is where I would be spending the rest of eternity. I looked around to see if I could meet my creator. At the end of the room was a door, unlocked and wide open. Naturally I walked through, and the lights started to get dimmer as I went down the narrow hallway, dragging my fingers along the wall and feeling the smoothness of the metal. Then the lights started to flicker, and I heard whispers. I saw shadows. My vision went dark and I saw the moment of my death again, much clearer this time. I saw the creature- it looked to be more normal than what I originally saw. Its arms and legs were thin. It looked malnourished. Its face looked like melted candle wax. Human. That's right. That's what it was. Human. Just barely meeting the requirements to be called that. I said the word again, this time aloud. Human. The word appeared in my head almost out of nowhere. Human. Yes, that's what I was too. The human held some sort of small device with a flashing light at the end, sparks flying out from the end. The human raised it, and that's when it ended. The hallway. That's right. I'm in the hallway. Eventually the hallway ended and I turned to find a massive room filled with strange and grotesque machines. Faint laughter, that sounded almost insane and sadistic, was echoing throughout the chamber. My heart skipped a beat and I held my breath as I saw the end of the room. There was a body, like mine, hanging upside down from a machine. Below it seemed to be a pool of thick liquid releasing smoke. But- it was missing an arm. And a leg. Its face had no features. It seemed to be half-formed flesh. The creature with the sadistic laugh turned around, and I saw it. It was the human. Same thin limbs, same candle wax face. It spoke in a very high pitch and garbled voice. *"My child! Yes, oh my child! You've awakened!"* Child? What was it talking about? *"You're safe, I was so worried."* It came closer to me. *"My dear creation, my dear assembly of flesh and bone."* I was confused. Was he...God? The human had a haunting grin on its face. *"It's wonderful to have you here, my child. But I'm afraid you must go and join your brothers and sisters..."* The human walked over to me and placed its hand on my cheek. I was shaking and felt paralyzed. *"You are my proudest creation. Oh, but what a shame you must go back! A cat only has nine lives, you know. Like the cat, you must realize that each of your lives, no matter how many, is a treasure."* "Who are you?" *"Who am I? You forgot me? Call me father, my child. All of you are my children. And all of you must return to the world within the pod"* "Wha-I don't understand!" The human took out the device I had seen in my vision and pressed it into my shoulder. With a shock of electricity, everything went black. I woke up in the pod again. My arms and legs were bound. The wires were back on my head. And the glass shield was slowly lowering. I saw the human laughing maniacally as he watched me enter into my sleep again. I felt like I was leaving my body. I felt light headed. And then, everything stopped. \~ I came out crying and wailing as the doctor picked me up. I shook my little arms and legs as I could her murmurs around the hospital room. The doctor put me in the hands of a woman who I could only assume was my mother, with a kind face and a warm smile. She was beautiful, and she stared at me with utter joy. "Welcome to the world.


Our work was experimental. It had yielded results unexpected to even its biggest proponents. But I wasn’t fully convinced it would apply to everything. Nevertheless, we had the funding and resources available to find out. It was a hard sell trying to get a team together. It always was. Ventures like these defined sacrifice. Sure, we’d be able to send our results back, but there was no returning for us. Not to a world we'd be familiar with anyway. Missions like these definitely attracted a certain kind of mind. Curious, but troubled. Brave enough to embark on the journey but lonely enough to survive it. We were commissioned to see if the underlying secrets of the universe could be revealed in the same way we eventually understood tubular flow. I had been sat watching recordings of concert pianists playing music to different animals. It always amazed me how music managed to ignite emotions in creatures who lacked the capacity to express their own feelings as we might. We share no means of communication with them, but can somehow still connect through harmony. It made me wonder whether there might have been a link between the work our colleagues we’re doing in M theory and this pensive afternoon thought. Our friends had been correct in their assumption of one dimensional vibrating ‘strings’ being the fundamental substance of the universe. And these strings have been whispering the secrets of our skies since the beginning of time. The closing symphony of all that ever was, and all that ever will be, baked into the fabric of the universe itself, and all we had to do was listen. Quantum computing had allowed us to decode the messages within nature's song on a larger scale initially with the wind. Listening to the collisions of the atoms in a chaotic environment revealed patterns more beautiful than we could have ever hoped to comprehend on our own. Most of the work was done for us, we just had to point the machines in the right direction. Our work became a revolution. Suddenly, the whole world took notice. What could this mean? How else could this be applied? Maybe there is nothing that can’t be understood. It’s funny, despite this in my opinion being a very optimistic (and quite frankly unfounded) assessment of our work, people we’re still thinking that there’s a chance we could finally create a unified theory of everything. To truly understand all there is to know about the space in which everything resides. The big organisations were fighting tooth and nail with their respective governments to be the ones to fund the project, as if money and power mean anything once the language of the universe becomes fluent to all. Nevertheless, after an arduous few years, a plan was in place. A team selected. And a vessel's door ready to be closed for what might be the final time. In approximately 2 hours we would take our first steps towards HR6819, the closest black hole to earth. We would attempt to record the gentle hum of colliding particles and their counterparts at the event horizon. We would listen to the drumbeat of the gravitational waves echoing out from the black holes heart, and see if amidst all the chaos, the orchestra was in fact playing a specific song. Our team consisted of physicists, engineers, and the requisite male and female psychologists. Some people naturally find it easier to open up to one gender over another, and it's important to have both options on board. Our ship's door closes and we lift off up through the atmosphere. It's a strange feeling looking down at a planet, knowing it will only ever exist like this in your memories from this day on. Once we break the threshold of our planet's gravity, our course is set for HR6819, and the journey begins. I mentioned earlier that these missions tend to attract a certain kind of person. This one was no expectation, nor am I. A few months into the trip and we’d started to dive past the surface level masquerades for our crewmates. I’d taken a particular interest in a lady called Marie. A little older than I, but not by much. Maybe in her early 40’s. Most of us had brought some sort of sentimental curio with us, but Marie’s was the only that lingered in my mind. It was a small slip of paper with the word “Juga” written on in faded ink. It would be a while before she told me what this meant, and subsequently, what it meant to her. Our ship’s design had highlighted a rather peculiar question for us all to consider. It was fitted with 8 separate deployable pods. One for each passenger. We had enough fuel for the return journey... that wasn’t the issue. The issue was whether you would want to go back. Somehow the prospect of returning to a planet you’ve intentionally left behind can be a little too daunting when you understand how long it takes. We had all been assigned individual resources, and we were all given the option of venturing off further into the unknown once our work was complete. We could go in pairs, on our own, in groups, or all stay aboard the main vessel and return back to our planet's distant future together. The importance was simply that we had the choice. It was practically unheard of for anyone to not come back, but somehow having the option there helped to keep people calm. A few sessions in with the psychologist and we had started talking about my life and relationships back on Earth. Why I’d left them behind and how I managed to do this. I explained that although I could still feel the tension of the link from my heart, that the rope was not tethered to anyone anymore. It was merely drifting in an endless sea looking for something to anchor down on to. The feeling was not reciprocated and the reasons we’re my doing. It was this feeling that allowed me to embark on the journey. It was something that had plagued me for years and it became apparent at some point that it wasn’t going away. The timeline of our inception was brandished in my mind. Such pivotal moments meaningless to an observer burnt into my very being. This was scar tissue I normally hid from others, but every now and then I would run my finger along its coarse spine to feel its pain and remember its cause. To see her in a fleeting world where we were still in love. But that world is gone, alive only in my memories and conversations of what once was. At some point I remember stepping out of one of my sessions to see Marie hunched over in a corner. As I approached to see what was wrong she simply got up and walked past me into the psychologists room. We eventually spoke about that evening. She told me she’d overheard my meeting and became overwhelmed with her own issues. She had never truly opened up to either of the psychologists but we stayed up all night talking. Marie was a widow, her late husband Rasmus had died 4 years prior to our trip in a skiing accident. They had met in school and dated on and off during their late teens and early twenties. She described their situation as both having an appreciation of the other's autonomous life. They were in love, truly, but managed to focus on their own individual aspirations in their youth. Once they had settled down in careers they had a more typical relationship dynamic. Both adventurous and passionate, sharing interests and exploring some separately. Rasmus was really into his extreme sports. Marie would join him on hikes, and climbs, but didn’t much care for skiing. One day Rasmus’ group was caught in an avalanche. His body found and recovered, taken immediately to intensive care. He was comatosed, and the doctors told Marie that he would never recover. She was faced with a choice. To keep him on life support, or to resign his soul to the fate we all succumb to one day. Years passed where she worked from his bedside. Praying that one day a sign of life would appear. She told me that being alone is better than being sat by your lover and feeling lonely. And here she was. Alone. On her first date with Rasmus he took her to Valaste, Estonia’s highest waterfall standing at roughly 30m. She was a foreign student at the time and couldn’t speak a word when they met. As they sat there at the top watching the murky waters cascade over the edge in a fury, he handed her a slip of paper. Juga, it means waterfall. After what felt like a lifetime, we had finally made it to HR6819. We would stay in a Geostationary Transfer Orbit around the black hole and send our data back to Earth. The time would come for us to decide whether we would stay for the return journey, or make use of the deployable pods long before we received any word back about the success or failure of our efforts. A meeting was held where we would all discuss our thoughts on the topic. I sat next to Marie. I’d silently hoped throughout our conversations that she would accompany me back to Earth. I’m not saying we were in love or anything so fantastical, just that she was the first person I’d felt truly comfortable with in a long time. The psychologists started off the conversation. I remember noticing a glance they shared that seemed to linger in the air like a feather sidestepping its descent to the ground. They alluded to the fact that the years of sharing in our troubles had taken a hefty toll on them. In due course they would explain that they had decided they would take their pods and go off in search of... well, they weren’t quite sure. To them, they had concluded that both paths would take them on a journey into the unknown. At least this way, it felt like they were moving forwards. The psychologists had played such a pivotal role in allowing us to feel less trapped aboard this ship. They had affected some of us more than others. Marie was seemingly ambivalent. I’d gone off to my room to get away from the panicked squabbling. Marie entered and sat beside me on the bed. I’ll never forget what she said to me. She laid her head across my body and I closed my eyes. I could feel my heartbeat rise in speed and forcefulness. I wished so strongly for it to stop in case the pounding of my internal metronome caused her to leave. I remember holding my breath so as not to disturb her with the repeating tide of my chest. But she didn’t. My feelings towards her all but spelled out in the rhythmic orchestration of my body. It was only at that moment I’d realised them for myself. We returned back to the group as the psychologists were preparing to leave. I could still hear her last words ringing in my ears. As the three pods eventually ejected into the vastness of space I remember looking out, rooted to the ground beneath my feet, wishing nothing more than to be aboard one of them myself.


Oliver threw his scarf around his neck, stepped off the train and walked along the platform at Boston’s South Station. He was surrounded by other holiday travelers pulling large suitcases, sporting heavy, overstuffed backpacks and pushing strollers with travel-weary children. He entered the grand concourse of the train station and scanned the expansive space. Even without the festive decorations in place, he admired this building for its artistic and majestic character deriving, in part at least, from its high ceilings, ornate chandeliers and expansive marble floors. He found Jessica standing next to a display table perusing the latest paperbacks at the Barnes and Noble shop. She looked up as he approached and carelessly tossed the current John Grisham onto the pile of books. Oliver let his suitcase come to rest and dropped his shoulder bag to extend his arms for a welcome-home hug. Oliver squeezed hard around her back and lifted her off her feet. “I’m back,” he said. “I’ve missed you so much!” “Me, too,” Jess said. “What are we doing first? Drop your bags? Drinks? Shopping?” “Yes.” Jess adjusted his long tartan scarf. “You look great! Love the shoes. Can’t wait to hear all about the New York City boys whose hearts you’ve been breaking.” She hefted his shoulder bag onto her small frame and started walking to the exit. “Sorry to disappoint but my adventures in love will only take until the Uber arrives.” “Slim pickings in New York?” Jess asked. “I don’t know. To be honest, I haven’t even been trying. I threw myself into work when Jake and I split.” “Okay, let’s argue about that over drinks. I’ll tell you how stubborn you were and you’ll tell me how immature he was and then we’ll order another round.” “But, we can’t wallow in it too long because I have a busy, holiday-themed itinerary for you. We have a lot to fit in before you venture out to the suburbs to face the family Christmas gathering.” She exaggerated the drudgery of a family gathering with well-executed sarcasm. “It’s not the gathering that’s the problem. It’s the feeling that my entire family, including our twelve year old, deaf Shi-Tsu, loved Jake more than me. When I get there, I’m setting a timer on my watch to see how long it takes before I hear his name mentioned.” “Only you could screw up a relationship with Mr. February from the 2022 First Responders Calendar.” They stood outside waiting for the Uber. “So, about this holiday itinerary you’ve arranged,” Oliver lifted his hands in supplication. “Are you really going to make me do those awful, common activities that everyone does at Christmas?” “First of all,” she said, playfully poking his chest with her finger, “everyone loves skating on the Frog Pond. Next, The Nutcracker is a classic. And, most importantly, you promised me.” “Fine. Drop the bags, get a drink, then shopping. In that order.” # Jake’s phone buzzed as he exited the gym in his workout shorts and tank top oblivious to the chilly December air. The text read, Am I picking up? He responded, No gonna run late. See you there. He shook his head. After working a twenty-four hour shift to help cover for a friend at Engine Company 37, he really wanted to stay in tonight. After showering, Jake arrived at McGrath’s Pub only ten minutes late. He felt like a new man after following his daily ritual: clean shaven, hair combed, comfy jeans and a tee-shirt. “Hey, sorry I’m late,” he said to the guy at the table wearing an irritated expression. “Those cats don’t get themselves down outta the trees.” He smiled and pulled out his chair. “How did you know this was my usual table? That’s amazing.” The pub flaunted a lot of wood. Wooden tables with wooden chairs. The bar was stained wood. Signs made of wood and imprinted with Irish phrases like Slainte . The wall behind the bar was littered with back-bar mirrors advertising various brands of beer, whiskey and rum as well as a collection of object d’arts selected by the bartenders because of some sentimental connection. Strands of colored lights illuminated the kitschy artifacts. “Hey, Jake,” said the server. She looked at the other guy. “Steven, right? I remember you from last time.” She wore a necklace of tree garland and a Santa Claus pin that flashed. A Santa hat completed her ensemble. “Yeah, hi. Thanks,” Steven said. “The usual, please, Erin.” And, to Steven, “Again, I’m sorry. I was moving kinda slow at the gym.” “It’s okay. I just feel funny sitting here surrounded by all this law enforcing, fire fighting, life-saving testosterone.” Steven gestured around the room as if Jake was not aware of his surroundings. “Jake, what’s good, my man?” A man patted his shoulder as he passed by the table. “No one here cares that you’re gay, Steven. Relax.” From far across the room, “Yo, Jake!” Jake gave a quick wave to some distant fan. Steven looked around in disbelief. “How often do you come here? Everyone knows you.” “I like my routine. These guys are my friends. Sorry, and the women, too. Are you jealous? I wouldn’t blame you. I mean, some of these guys are pretty hot. But, they’re all straight so you don't have too much to worry about.” Jake’s chuckle did little to alleviate the tension present in Steven’s face. “Well, I wanted to talk to you but doing it here is strange.” Steven leaned in closer. “It’s like we’re on your turf. I feel a little off balance.” “Being here is like wearing comfy pajamas. It’s my ‘go to’ place. See that Charlie Brown-ish Christmas tree in the corner? It’s there every year with the same decorations, blinking and flashing its tacky little heart out. And those ceramic stocking hangers behind the bar - the N - O - E and L. By tomorrow, Erin will have switched it around to L-E-O-N just to piss off the bartender.” “That’s what I wanted to talk about,” Steven said. “About the Christmas decorations?” Erin returned with two tall beers. “Your Santa stopped blinking,” Jake pointed to her chest. Steven threw his hands up. “That! That, right there. Everything has to be just the way it's always been. You don’t like change.” Jake shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. “What?” “You’re stuck, Jake. You aren’t growing. You’re not changing. You just go to work, go to the gym, see the same people, do the same things. Day in and day out. It’s like you are perpetually twenty-three. You’ve lived here your whole life. Shit, I mean, you’ve had one job since high school.” “You think I’m stuck?” Steven put his hands up to pause the conversation. “I wanted to ask you if you wanted to take our relationship to the next level. Are you ready for that?” “The next level? What does that even mean? Like, move in together?” “Well, yeah, that could be part of it.” Jake saw Erin coming toward them carrying his bacon burger and well-done fries. He remained silent while she placed the dinners on the table. Jake raised his eyebrows and gave her a ‘ it’s one of those conversations’ faces. She returned a wink. “Honestly, Steven, I kinda like where I am. I have my own place, a good job and lots of friends. I don’t wanna rock the boat, you know?” Jake peeked under his bun to inspect the toppings. “Nice! Paco remembered to skip the onions.” “Your life can’t stay the same forever. I’m ready to take the next step. If we don’t grow, we die. I’ll be right back. I gotta piss.” Steven stood and threw his napkin on the chair. “ Whether you want it or not, life is going to kick you in the nuts one of these days.” He strolled toward the bathroom. Jake bit into his burger, indifferent to Steven’s mood and to the beefy juices drenching his fingers and palms. Erin appeared out of nowhere and plopped into Steven’s chair. Jake looked up at her and smiled to indicate his satisfaction with the burger. Erin looked around before speaking. “What are you doing with that guy? He’s so...not you.” Jake shrugged. “I’m keeping it casual. You know me...I like my routine.” “Well, we are all in agreement,” Erin said. “We? All?” Erin motioned for him to look over her shoulder. His fan across the bar and the woman standing with him were both shaking their heads in disapproval. He gave a quizzical look. “He’s not Oliver,” she said. “Enjoy your burger.” She stood as Steven returned to claim his seat. She told Steven, “He’s all yours.” Jake dropped his burger, wiped his hands and face with a napkin that disintegrated immediately. His appetite disappeared when he realized the napkin might as well be a metaphor for his life. # After leaving Symphony Hall, Oliver and Jess decided to walk the short distance from there to her apartment. “You work too much. You’re avoiding people. There’s gotta be thousands of respectable guys in the city that you could hit up.” Jess took quick, graceful steps in her heels with her shoulders hunched and her chin buried in her scarf. “I’m trying to make a name for myself. I can’t succeed in journalism unless I put my time in. To be the next Anna Quindlen or Barbara Kingsolver, I have to make sacrifices.” She laughed. “Of course, you’d give examples of two women you admire. Maybe shoot for something more realistic. The Pulitzer Prize will always be there waiting; your soulmate may not be so patient.” Turning the corner, Oliver and Jess walked along the tree-lined street leading to her apartment. Classic three-story brick row homes with ornate white trim around the windows occupied both sides of the street. The white-lit trees, wreath-adorned doors and evergreen garlands along the fences would have created a fairy tale atmosphere if it were not for the flashing reds and whites from the fire and rescue vehicles parked askew in the street. “Are they at your apartment?” Oliver asked. They quickened their steps to investigate. Oliver and Jess stood at a distance behind a first responder who was bent over the gurney to secure their patient to the apparatus. “Mrs. Thorndike! Hey, I’m her upstairs neighbor. Is she okay? What happened?” The paramedic looked over his shoulder and said, “She’s okay. Low blood sugar but -.” Oliver recognized Jake’s voice before he saw his face. Jake froze for a moment, turned back to his patient then back to Oliver. Still looking in Oliver’s eyes, he called out to his colleague. “Let’s get her in the box.” Behind Jake, the gurney and its patient wheeled away leaving the three of them looking at each other. “Hey, Jake,” Oliver said. “Okay, this is awkward,” Jess said. “I’ll just go check on Mrs. Thorndike’s chihuahua.” “Hi, Oliver. When did you get into Boston?” “A few days ago. I’m just killing time with Jess until my family’s Christmas thing. I figured you’d still be on the job.” Oliver did not mean for the remark to be hurtful, although it was Jake’s relentless pursuit of the status quo that precipitated their breakup. He regretted saying that as it left his lips. “Sorry, that’s not what I meant. I meant, I’m glad you’re still here and doing what you love.” “Yeah, it’s good. Listen, I’ve gotta get Mrs. Thorndike rolling.” “I’m here for a few more days. Let’s get together. Same number?” Oliver sheepishly realized that he just transmitted the fact that he never deleted Jake’s number. # Looking at his phone’s screen, Jake paced back and forth in his kitchen, which only allowed three paces either way. He attempted to will a text message from Oliver to magically appear on his phone. He thought of Oliver and the rush of adrenaline that heated his veins when he saw him last night. His only thought of Steven was that he spoke the truth the other day. Steven was right about Jake’s life being in a permanent stasis. If he called Oliver, it could change everything. He could not have Oliver and his current life; they were incompatible. He dreadfully feared the upheaval associated with a new life of commitment. Butterflies danced and fluttered and trembled in his stomach just thinking about such turmoil in his life. No, it wasn’t the anxiety and uncertainty. It was just thinking about Oliver that caused his heart to race and his head to spin. “Screw it,” he said. He swiped up to unlock his phone and opened his contacts. His phone came to life before he found Oliver’s number. Buzzz . Buzzz . Buzzz . No name appeared on the screen. In Jake’s phone, Oliver was listed as two emojis in sequence: a tornado next to a red heart. # Oliver, phone to his ear, stood in judgment of the half-size, imitation, pre-lit Christmas tree as Jess hung Hallmark ornaments from its sparsely covered limbs. Mrs. Thorndike’s chihuahua supervised the work from the sofa, offering his critique with an occasional bark or a shake of the head accompanied by the tinkle of his jingle bell collar. “He’s not answering. I told you. He’s afraid of -.” Oliver stopped. “Oh, hey, Jake.” There were intermittent pauses in Oliver’s speech as he waited for Jake to reply. “I thought we could get some drinks.” There was a pause. “Well,” Oliver looked at Jess, “tonight maybe not. Jess and I have -.” He watched Jess flailing her arms from across the room. “...wait a sec.” He muted the phone. “What?” “Bring him to The Nutcracker tonight. He can have my ticket,” Jess whispered. “I was only going because you wanted to go,” he reminded her in an exasperated angry whisper. “Won’t it be easier to not have to talk the whole time?” Oliver nodded in understanding. “Tonight’s good. I have tickets to The Nutcracker and Jess,” he looked back at her to see her fake coughing and giving her best miming performance at vomiting. “Jess isn’t feeling great.” Longer pause than last time. “Great, meet me at Will Call at seven.” # Oliver and Jake held flutes of champagne as they walked through the grand lobby of the Opera House. The walls were covered with crimson silk and 18th century murals filled the space between round marble columns. Grand chandeliers hung from the ornately sculptured ceilings leading to the curved staircase at the end of the cavernous hall. The staircase split into two around a central circular landing. Oliver started his climb on the left side of the central railing while Jake chose the right. Jake stopped, inconveniencing and displeasing a delicate Brahmin woman as he turned around, and followed Oliver up the left side. They made their way, side by side, to the Left Center Dress Circle seats which offered not only a smidge of privacy but also a spectacular, unobstructed view. “I’ve never seen The Nutcracker ,” Oliver said. “Jess was making me go because she thought I was too elitist to attend something so... cliché , I guess.” He sipped from his flute. “You guess? She knows you better than anybody. I come every year. I’ll see it again with my mom and sis next week.” “Oh, shit. I’m sorry, you should’ve said something. We could have done something else.” “No, this is fine, really. I’m comfortable doing something familiar.” Jake looked around the overly-decorated theater. “But, you knew that already.” Oliver held his glass up higher and moved it toward Jake. “Here’s to being wicked stuck up,” he offered. Jake met Oliver’s flute with his own and, with a clink , he said, “Here’s to being too afraid to grow up.” The room darkened and the crisp musical notes of the Overture filled the air. # Jake absorbed the lush, expressive music of Tchaikovsy not only through his ears but also through the subtle vibrations that rippled through the theater's floor and seats. As he watched the fairy tale unfold, Jake experienced Clara’s sadness over her broken gift. He wondered if Clara still loved the gift as much as before it had been damaged. Despite his initial avoidance, Oliver surprised himself with his rapt attention and genuine enjoyment. He imagined himself as the Nutcracker: safe high up on the shelf, a distinguished icon looking down at the world. He remained out of reach from the harm of others, unwilling to be vulnerable and unworthy of being loved. They reflected on what they had lost by not taking a chance with each other. The magic of the story, combined with the visual and musical experience, conveyed vital messages to them about the directions their lives had taken. Jake, too afraid of change and loss, stifled his growth and evolution. He realized that he was surviving, but not living. Oliver had abandoned any chance of receiving love and affection, thinking it could be replaced by respect and status. Separately, they were imperfect but, when combined, each contained the antidote for the other’s defects, creating a flawless union of souls. These realizations sparked an intense desire for action. As the final note played, Oliver and Jake stood with the rest of the theater-goers to deliver the well-deserved standing ovation. As the clapping subsided, Jake turned to Oliver with tears in his eyes. Oliver returned his gaze, put his hands on either side of Jake’s cheeks and leaned in closer. With their lips just inches away, they closed their eyes. The soft, champagne-infused kiss tasted like tart apple; its efferessence transformed into electricity that flowed through their bodies. Eyes closed and still hovering in front of Oliver’s moist lips, Jake said, “I need to tell you something. I’m not afraid of change when I’m with you. You’re my prince, just waiting to come to life and show me a fairy tale world.” Oliver replied, “I didn’t come to life until I met you. You make me feel like the prince I’ve always wanted to be.” They kissed again.


“Come, Ylotli! We’re going to be late and miss the whole thing!” “Yes, yes. I’m coming.” Ylotli sighed, laying down her bronze stylus. She closed the lid on the wax tablet and moved it out of the sun. Don’t want it melting and erasing my hard work... There was a skip in Cualli’s step as they reached the terrace of the administrative pyramid. They were on its upper levels, allowing a clear view of the great city of Tlanexnan. Stone edifices jutted from the jungle canopy, towering over the green sea. People poured out of every visible temple, palace and pyramid, all converging on the sacred shrine to the east. She could see them in the squares far below, marching like ants along the jungle roads. Ylotli groaned at the long staircase leading to the jungle floor. Caulli took the steps two at a time. By the Night he’s practically dancing with glee. “Stop that.” She snapped, resisting the urge to yank him by his plaited braid. “Don’t tell me you actually believe this nonsense.” “Believe?” Caulli asked. “What’s there to believe? We know Mazacotl will appear before us. It is written.” “Bah!” Ylotli scoffed. “Ancient stories written by priests to keep us in fear of the gods. Probably an ancestor of that quack, Iccauhtli...” “Don’t you believe in the gods?” Caulli asked. Did she? Once, maybe. She existed, so something must have created the world and all within. But... she’d seen too much of life and too little of divinity for her faith to survive. Where were the gods when the jungle floor flooded? When the enemy was at the gates or the plague decimated a village? Where were they when her son-- No, she’d never seen the gods. But she had seen faulty dams and priests offering the gods’ forgiveness in exchange for a few coins. “I believe the gods exist, but I don’t believe they care about our rituals and platitudes. They certainly don’t care about our coin.” she muttered. “They made us and moved on, as uninterested in their children as a soldier in a whore’s get.” Caulli gasped, looking around. They were alone, thank the Night. That was sloppy. While Ylotli’s opinions weren’t a secret, voicing them like this in public was close to heresy. She may not share the priests’ beliefs, but she didn’t want to end up on the Bloody Altars because of a loose tongue. They reached the jungle floor and walked a few steps in silence. By now their sweaty robes clung to their backs, insects buzzing around their heads. They passed a group of farmers, clay still on their ands and feet, before Caulli turned to her. “So what do you think will happen today?” “Probably nothing.” Ylotli shrugged. “Maybe it’ll rain or something.” “Isn’t the rain a sign from the gods?” “You predict rain enough times...” she left the rest unsaid. “The Bloodstone tablet prophesizes that on this day the Sungod will rest his gaze. Rain clouds covering his great eye,” Caulli pointed towards the sun, “will fulfill that task well enough.” Ylotli cocked an eye at the clear sky then back at Caulli. Not so much as a puffy white cloud marred the perfect blue above the green canopy. “I still think it’ll happen.” Caulli huffed. Ylotli had read of the ‘Sungod’s Respite’, as the Bloodstone tablet called it. Utter rubbish, in her opinion. What use has Mazacotl, the great Sungod, of rest? What a... mortal concept to entertain, thinking that a god needed rest. The Respite was rumored to take place once every two hundred and thirty one years. Long enough that only sparse writings survived to describe it. Whatever the event, their records all agreed that it preceded a period of religious fervor. A dark time of bloody sacrifices and eating the hearts of heretics. What could possibly be dramatic enough to inspire belief? Clearly something must take place for all their records to actually agree on something. It was the one thing that gave Ylotli pause. Soon they joined the stream of humanity pouring out of Tlanexnan and into the surrounding jungle. The time for talking heresy was over. They spent the next hour of their trip discussing the the week’s events. There was farmland to redistribute after the flood, trade shipments to approve and a new temple to be consecrated. And coal to be distributed to the forges, of course. The day grew warmer as they walked, the great orb of the sun climbing higher and shining brighter. The way it glared down at them, radiating power and heat, Ylotli could almost believe it was the eye of some giant being. Ylotli huffed as she trudged, eager to reach the shade of the jungle surrounding the holy hill. The tide of bodies broke on the tree line and slowed to a drizzle as they entered the canopy. The trees were thick, choked with brush and vines and moss, effectively preventing them from seeing more than a few feet to either side. Her feet sank into the mud of the jungle floor, launching clouds of gnats into the air. Though they couldn’t see them, Ylotli heard the rustling leaves and snapping branches of a thousand pilgrims passing through the brush. They reached a clearing and rested on a fallen trunk, sipping water from Caulli’s water skin. “Night, I forgot how far the Sunhill is.” Caulli gasped. Ylotli wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and squinted at the sun. It’s almost like its punishing me for my heresy. “At least the company’s good.” She said, elbowing him in the ribs. “I wonder w-- oh, Night, no. Not him.” A low rumble came from the woods moments before a giant metal cauldron on a cart lumbered into the clearing. It was burned black, with religious scenes painted in bright colors. Six acolytes, dressed in robes of orange, pulled the heavy cart to the middle of the clearing and fell to the mud, heaving and gasping for air. “Tired already?” Iccauhtli, High Priest of Mazacotl, strolled from the woods. His robes were the same orange as his acolytes’ but of better cut and pierced with gold ornaments and bone fetishes. “Your physical exhaustion is merely an external sign of a weak inner faith. Remind me to assign you more prayer time when we’re back.” The acolytes mumbled something that sounded like agreement. The old geezer took it in stride, sturdy cane testing the ground as he walked. His gaze fell on Ylotli and Caulli as he rounded the cauldron. “Ylotli! How’s my favorite heretic? I’m surprised you’d bother making the trip.” “Blessed one!” Caulli dropped to the dirt, one hand covering his eyes and the other reaching for the priest’s robes. His lips moved, muttering silent prayers. “Iccauhtli,” Ylotli said, not getting up. “I thought the plague took you.” I was hoping, anyway. “Nonsense,” he said cheerfully, letting his robes touch Caulli’s outstretched hand as he joined Ylotli on the log. Caulli kissed the robes and wiped them on his forehead before standing once more. “Mazacotl protected me, of course, as one of his chosen faithful.” “I’m sure.” She muttered. “Is that also the reason you’re having this... monstrosity pulled to the Sunhill?” Iccauhtli shrugged. “People are bound to be in a giving mood after today’s spectacle. And temples cost money. No sense wasting a good opportunity.” Ylotli scoffed. “They’ll be so angry when nothing happens, they’ll cook you in that cauldron.” Iccauhtli laughed. Caulli gasped. “How I love a challenge. Truly, Ylotli, converting you will be the pinnacle of my religious career.” It was Ylotli’s turn to laugh. “Arranging your funeral will be the pinnacle of my administrative one.” Caulli sputtered, turning from one to the other in horror. “It’s all right, my boy.” Iccauhtli said, “We grew up together. I know Ylotli is devout, just in her own ways.” “You take that back!” After a few more minutes, the acolytes were rested enough that they were able to resume their journey. The ground soon began sloping upwards, gently at first but growing steeper. Iccauhtli walked with Ylotli and Caulli at the front, in case his acolytes dropped the cauldron. Despite the pace and slope, Iccauhtli and Ylotli somehow bickered the whole way. By mid-afternoon they were closing on the peak. “Blessed one,” Caulli said in a pause between insults, “what sort of miracle are you expecting to see?” “The Bloodstone tablet tells us we will witness the Sungod’s Respite. That in a blood-red light, Mazacotl will rest his eyes for a few minutes.” “Is that why you had that cauldron repainted?” Ylotli asked, pointing over her shoulder at the struggling acolytes. “That giant red eye wasn’t there during the harvest ritual.” “Have to keep up with the times.” He shrugged. “Yes, but still,” Caulli pressed, “what form will the god’s miracle take? Will he cover the sky with clouds so he can rest his eye?” Iccauhtli stared at him like he’d just sprung another head. “Cover th--” he turned between Caulli and Ylotli, “Is the boy daft?” “I--“ “Covering the sky’s no feat worthy of a god. No, he will move the moon in front of his eye, blotting out the light so he can rest without us staring at him the whole time.” Caulli’s jaw dropped, bobbing his head as he muttered more prayers. “It’s called an eclipse,” Ylotli said, “and there’s nothing divine about it.” “Divine enough for some.” Iccauhtli chuckled. “Tell you what, Iccauhtli, if I see any sign divinity today, I’ll buy you a jug of wine.” Caulli’s jaw dropped again. The jungles surrounding Tlanexnan were too warm and humid for grape vines. Wine was a rare delicacy, imported from the far north. A whole jug was more than Ylotli’s wages for a month. “Deal. If you win, I’ll never push my doctrine on you again.” They clasped hands, sealing the bargain. They walked a few steps in silence before Ylotli asked. “I thought your religion prevented you from drinking.” “Considering the fact that I’m converting you, I’m sure Mazacotl will forgive me this one time.” She scoffed again but didn’t press the issue. It wasn’t her problem how the priest dealt with his religious restrictions. As far as she was concerned, she just won her peace and quiet from Iccauhtli’s sect. The rest of the journey passed by uneventfully. They crested the hill just as the sun was beginning to dip from its zenith. The top of the hill was mostly bare of vegetation and the only structure was a small, weather-worn shrine. To say the hill was crowded was an understatement. Everybody and their brother’s come to bear witness. Ylotli thought. Every available stone was a seat, every log a bench. They were only able to move through by virtue of Iccauhtli’s chanted prayers and the heavy cauldron that wouldn’t be stopped. They pushed to a small area around the shrine and made themselves comfortable. Well, as comfortable as the circumstances allowed. Iccauhtli chanted prayers to the crowd as they waited, entreating them to toss their coin in his cauldron. Some coins rattled in, but not enough to justify carrying the behemoth all the way up here. Ylotli felt bad for the acolytes. The sun’s heat was waning and a light breeze picked up, carrying the last notes of Iccauhtli’s chant. It was about this time when Ylotli’s patience was at an end. “So where’s this miracle you promised priest?” “Have faith, Ylotli. The Sungod will no disappoint.” “Faith?” she spat, “All I’ve seen is you chanting for coin with nothing to show for it. At least at the end of today you’ll never pester me aga--“ The light began to dim. A murmur swept the crowd as every face turned to the sun. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, something began covering the sun from the bottom and top, like... eyelids? The light turned red, casting the world in a bloody aura as more and more of the sun was covered. People fell to their knees, foreheads pressed to the dirt as they chanted and muttered. Children cried and distant animals howled. Ylotli turned in the ruby light and noticed she was the only one still standing. But she couldn’t move. Her eyes were fixed on the giant orb in the sky. In minutes it was covered, the bloody light vanishing and leaving the world in darkness. There was a moment of silence before the prayers picked up again, growing in pitch and intensity. Ylotli stood in the darkness, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. She really did try, but her mind couldn’t comprehend it. She just stared at where, minutes before, the sun was shining brightly. The darkness didn’t last long, and a red dot appeared in the sky. It widened as the flaps slowly peeled back, flooding the world in blood-red light. She kept staring at the sun, slowly growing back to its normal size as the light resumed its regular hue. Her mind was numb. There was no way to explain what she’d just witnessed. The sun... blinked. Mazacotl was real! The new light was greeted with the pinging of metal. Metal? It was coins, striking the inside of Iccauhtli’s cauldron. Earlier she’d made fun of him for bringing the massive thing, now Ylotli was beginning to think it wasn’t going to be enough. As the sun returned to normal, and the people’s prayers reached a whirlwind’s pitch, Ylotli’s only thought was that she owed Iccauhtli a jug of wine.


You enter the house, moving through the corridors of dust and shadows, finding a small study lined with ancient bookshelves. A few pieces of paper lay scattered on a rickety wooden desk, they are crinkled in a way that would suggest they were soaked in water and dried at some point. One piece of paper has the slightest speckle of blood on the right-hand corner. A shattered jade bracelet and dried four leafed clovers sit in a horseshoe beside the paper, bite marks are indented into the metal of the shoe. The papers are covered in rough handwriting which is littered with words that have been crossed out but are still intelligible. If you were to find the right order of the papers and read them, it would read like so: A Journal on Lunch Luck By Jonathan Kallem As a student at Dullmere Academy I am (almost) legally able to submit this paper to the United Investigation Front. So do not fear being scammed! I am sure you all know what it feels like to be out of luck, weighed down by the inevitable truth that tomorrow is going to bring new situations. bad situations? horrible situations? events flood of unfortunate events that sprinkle your day with misery. I too have experienced this overwhelming tide of unfairness! But fear not, for I have written this journal in the hope of putting an end to our, your, the world’s misery. Interested? Why wouldn’t you be? It is now time to venture forth into my experiments, I will not stop until I find a way to end bad luck. Forever. ... Please work Day one: Four leafed clover. After spending six hours on the hill outside Dullmere Academy I have found a grand total of no four leafed clovers... Luckily My dear friend Envera Gullerhan managed to find two within the first hour and has kindly allowed me to use them for my experiment. I spent over thirteen hours fishing in the river every day for a week with the four leafed clovers about my person. Sadly, only a toad fish bothered to pull on my rod and that was on the Wednesday. From this I can conclude that unless one is looking for a toad fish for some ungodly reason , the four leafed clover is not in fact a way to change your luck. Next week I plan on taking a trip to my local crystal store to buy some testing jade, once again I will be fishing in the same river in hope of a noticeable change in luck. Week two: Jade Bracelets in pieces. Pieces of jade I bought five jade bracelets to test. When I took them out of the packet, I found that they had bashed together and all broken. Anyway, it was another useless experiment. The river yielded a boot, or at least I thought it was a boot, a mass of algae covered leather rotting in a browned river that had already passed through the city could really be anything. The jade was another failure, giving no extra luck my fishing efforts . I only managed to fish up algae? Catch algae? Ah nevermind all this! The jade brought nothing to my rod by algae, see not so hard was it? , this begs the question of whether the four leafed clover was doing some good. The best way to test this will be a test at the end without any lucky objects. Week three: Lucky pendants I have been informed that any item can become lucky if the barer believes it to be, from small charms to a sock. This helps with the fact that my fellow students will not lend me their lucky objects after what happened with the jade bracelets, because they find them to be such a necessity that they can not bare to be parted with them. So, I have used a stuffed frog (A plush toy, not a dead frog... is that too much info?) in the place of a pendant that is already being used. After placing it hilariously? comfortably? safely? snugly on my hat I commenced with the experiment. I have decided to split this already because I have had such luck on the first day alone! On the first day: Quite a large Bass actually jumped out of the murky waters and landed in my lap, managing to pull my hat off as it swung past ! . this happened on two occasions that day and already the stuffed frog is proving to give more luck than the jade and the clover combined! Which leaves me in high hopes for the conclusion of this journal and the rest of a bass filled week. The second day sadly put an end to this part of this journal, this section of the experiments? The second day marked the unfortunate end of this experiment and the stuffed frog. Another bass jumped from the water and grabbed the frog! It pulled my favorite toy, it, the frog into the depths ! . I am very extremely disappointed in this end to the week. Fourth week four: Horseshoes This week’s writing is even rougher than the others yet without any crossed-out words. The ink appears smeared from water. I acquired a horseshoe from the local blacksmith. It burned red hot as I took it into my house, so I decided to leave it on the grass rather than near my books. I sat by the stream with my rod in the water when again my experiments were cut short. A large creature came out of the water and dragged me in. I struggled and managed to get free from its horrible grasp, but it took this journal down with it, so I had no choice but to dive in and retrieve it. This week has truly shown that the horseshoe is not lucky unless your idea of luck is being drowned by a mystical sea creature from the murky depths of hell itself. Conclusion: I seemed to have lied when I said that I will not rest until I bring an end to my bad luck, our bad luck. For I have not found any way to be lucky and I am tired. I am tired of fish taking my frog, I am tired of finding broken jade scattered around my house and I am tired of finding algae in my clothes. I have not been able to find any objects that are lucky, While this has not been a long experiment, and is much shorter than I had hoped, but I have been called away to go home? Focus on my schoolwork? I... I have officially been given another much more extremely important experiment by the United Investigation Front itself ! . Surely you see how this is more important, one day I may finish this journal but until then, goodbye faithful reader who longs for luck . Best of luck in continuing my investigations for yourself. If you publish anything expanding on this I require full credit! Credit for my work would be appreciated. The tired - Johnathan Kallem