THE TRUTH Raphael was busy arranging the documents required for the raid that he was to conduct the following day. An undercover agent working with the police department, Raphael had been deputed to carry on this raid on a gang that apparently was selling unauthorized stuff. The leader of the gang however was a very well known figure in the social circuit, making the accomplishment very difficult. It was on a tipoff received through an anonymous call that this raid was arranged in a jiffy. No officer would have had the guts to accept this challenge, knowing very well about the high influence of the main accused. However Raphael was a man who had the chutzpah to even enter the den of a lion unarmed. He was renowned as one of the most courageous officer, whose moral records were unblemished. Accompanying him would be his wife Nancy, who worked as his subordinate and Joseph; yet another subordinate. Only the four of them, Raphael, Nancy, Joseph and their senior Mr. Richard were aware of this operation it was a closely guarded operation as it involved a renowned personality. As Raphael finished arranging the sheets, he suddenly got one of those bouts of headache that had been troubling him of late. The doctor had prescribed some medicine as temporary relief till a detailed CT scan report was to be received. ‘Ooops!’ Raphael realized that the reports were supposed to be collected the previous day. He had been so preoccupied with two back to back assignments in office that it had slipped his mind. Then this raid had cropped up all of a sudden leaving him little time to even reverberate on his ailment. It must have slipped Nancy’s mind too. She was away attending a friend’s wedding and had said that she would be joining him for the raid the following day. Presently he stretched his hand to take the pill from his drawer. Thanks to Nancy everything was available at arm’s length. She was very particular about keeping things in their respective place and would often get cross with Raphael for his callousness. Putting the pill in to his mouth Raphael again stretched his hand for the water bottle. Nancy’s absence became conspicuous from the quantity of water in the bottle. There was hardly one sip. She would never keep a bottle even half filled. If there was any difference of opinion within the couple, it was only because of trivial matters like these that upset Nancy. Half filled bottles, strewn clothes, scattered things. Raphael had the sip of water but it felt like the pill had just passed his throat. He was about to get up and fetch some more water when nauseating fumes emerged from downstairs and engulfed his room. ‘Oh God, this guy has started his experiments again. I need to confront him now before going to the gym,’ so saying Raphael changed into his gym tracks and wearing his shoes, quickly ran down the steps to the ground floor apartment. A self proclaimed scientist, Mr. Alden, had just moved in a few weeks ago and in the name of carrying out experiments was creating much of a nuisance to Raphael and his wife. They lived in the upper portion of the villa. A few calls made to the landlord hadn’t changed anything because the landlord had expressed his inability to sort out the issue right away. He was out of the city and assured that he would look into the matter once he returned and that would take a good three months time. “Is someone there?” Raphael asked as he slightly pushed the door that was ajar. “Oh is that Mr. Raphael, I will be there in a minute.” Raphael could hear Alden calling out from inside the house. The pungent odor of the smoke that was s till lingering in the room triggered Raphael’s cough and he felt like the pill which he had gobbled with scanty water was wedged somewhere in his esophagus. “Help yourself to some water. It is on the table,” Alden instructed from wherever he was. Raphael tried opening the water bottle but its lid was sort of jammed and refused to open. There was a glass of water kept beside the bottle, covered with a coaster. Raphael drank it in a jiffy and felt much better. He waited for a good ten minutes with no sigh of the scientist who kept assuring him from inside that he would be there in a minute. Bugged with this, Raphael left. It was time for his gym session now and he couldn’t just stand there at the threshold of Alden’s house till eternity. In a few minutes he was down at the track running towards the gym. He happened to bump into a hefty guy accidentally and tried to apologize, but the guy was looking at nowhere, astounded. “Who is it?” he said in a coarse voice. “What happened?” a passerby asked. “I felt like someone bumped into me now.” Raphael was astonished. He was standing right there apologizing but the man did not seem to hear him or see him. Raphael tried touching the man by his shoulder as a gesture of apologizing again. “Who is that?’ he screamed, much to the awe of others there. They thought he had gone insane, but Raphael was shocked. Does this mean he had become invisible? He had bumped into a gentleman and the man has felt his bump, but Raphael’s apologies seem to be falling into deaf ears. He ran towards his house to check if he could see his reflection in a mirror. However on reaching the premises, Raphael overheard the scientist vehemently clarifying something on the phone. “No I did not ask him to drink the concoction in the glass. He was coughing and I asked him to drink some water that was kept in a bottle alongside. How on earth would I know he would consume that liquid in the glass? I was getting my guinea pig ready, in the meanwhile he came and I am sure he had come to fight over the smoke that got spread as I was finishing the experiment. Now I do not know if he has become invisible and is here around. I have shouted in the air requesting him to nudge me so that I can realize he is around, but he is not responding. How am I going to be sure if he has turned invisible and also how am I going to assure him that he would be visible in another 12 hours?” Someone on the other side seemed pretty cross with Alden. Raphael could hear him shout, “Go to his apartment and find out if he is there.” After a short sermon by the other person on some dos and don’ts the phone was snapped. Raphael was initially bewildered to know that he had actually become invisible but was happy to note that this was a transient phase and that he would be visible in another 12 hours that would be around 6 in the morning. However he decided to give a jolt to the scientist by remaining evasive. ‘For all the trouble he caused to me and Nancy, let him brood over it for the next twelve hours,’ he smirked. An excellent idea struck him all of a sudden. What if he would sneak into the premises where he was to conduct the raid the following day? No one will be able to see him and he would easily be able to find out where they have hidden the smuggled goods. He can stun his wife and Joseph by directly pointing out where to look in for the hidden goods the following day and then he would become a stalwart. Of course he would unravel everything to them later. Raphael went to the premises in his invisible form. However he was surprised to see fervent activities going on there. Goods were being hurriedly moved and the immediate right hand of the man behind this whole smuggling was frantically giving instructions to people. “Move all the materials quickly. Put them in the truck. We will shift them to our guest house. Mr. Raphael would not even get a whiff of it.” ‘What was going on here?’ Raphael was thoroughly baffled. They had somehow learnt about the impending raid, but then who might have informed them? Other than himself, Nancy and Joseph and of course Mr. Richard, no one was aware of it. Lost in the situation, Raphael moved ahead hearing some noises. He was taken completely by surprise to see his wife Nancy and Joseph sitting across the table and chatting with the main suspect. Then he saw wads of currency in a briefcase that was handed over to Nancy. “Thanks for giving us the information. Tomorrow when you husband comes he will find nothing here.” The man laughed and shook hands with Joseph and Nancy. The duo walked out with the money and hurriedly got inside Joseph’s car. Raphael had a good mind to follow them, but right now getting inside the truck carrying the smuggled good was more important. He could find out where they are being hidden and the following day he would surprise all of them by conducting the raid in that premises. With a heavy heart he got inside the truck without anyone noticing obviously. So Nancy and Joseph are together; how he could never even find out that they had a crush on each other. He had been so naïve. He chided himself. They would take this currency notes and probably set up a home elsewhere. Nancy had lied to him that she was going for a friend’s wedding, but the truth was she was coming here with Joseph to unleash the raid plan and get awarded. How unscrupulous of them! Raphael returned home in the wee hours of morning and in a while he realized that he had become visible. He profusely thanked the scientist, who was surprised to be showered with a volley of praises. “You have helped me crack too many puzzles, thanks for helping me become invisible. My work will be recognized soon, and my life will have a new perspective all because of you,” he said shaking hands with the scientist. The guy looked confused, but enjoyed every bit of this adulation. The raid was to be conducted in another six hours. Nancy and Joseph would reach there together as if they had met by accident on the way. Raphael could not bear to envisage the night they might have spent together after getting shit loads of money. Who knows this may not even be the first time they are together. It is just that Raphael happened to spot them this time. Gathering his composure, Raphael dialed a number. “Hi Raphael, how come you are calling so early in the morning? I thought you are coming to office before the raid. Is there something important?” Mr. Richard sounded a bit vexed. “Sorry to trouble you, but I need orders to pull back the timing of the raid and change of venue too.” “And may I know why?” “Can I come to the office and explain everything in detail, please? I will meet you in another couple of hours.” Raphael got ready in a jiffy. The unpardonable treachery by Nancy and Joseph was unveiled in front of his senior. Mr. Richard was not able to concede and wouldn’t believe that the duo would do such a thing. However, soon the rescheduled successful raid with only Mr. Richard and Raphael cleared his doubts. In his capacity as the head of the department, Mr. Richard wasted no time in preparing legal notice against the two. “When both, Nancy and Joseph will go to the originally scheduled premises in a while, they would be astounded to see the premises sealed by us. Obviously they will come here. Then they shall be served this notice and hand cuffed. Thanks for bringing this immoral deed of the duo to my notice, but wonder how you were able to do it. Anyway it has been proved beyond doubt that they are the culprits.” Mr. Richard was all praises for Raphael. Around the same time, in one of the most famous hospitals, Nancy and Joseph were sitting across the table talking to the chief Doctor. “Doctor, is this money enough to save my Raphael from that deadly tumor?” Nancy was trying hard to fight back her tears. “Raphael is an unassuming person and a very good and professional officer to work with. Our department can never find anyone more sincere than him. He has to survive to wipe off trouble mongers from the society and for that this tumor has to be permanently removed. Can you assure us that with this amount the operation can be conducted by your panel of doctors?” Joseph was literally pleading.


Music blared over the speakers in the cabin of the Interstellar Travel Agency (ITA) Resonator, so loudly that not much else could be heard, and subsequently, Bailey did not hear the door opening and closing behind him, and wasn’t even aware anyone was in the room until the music suddenly stopped. Spinning around in his chair, Bailey looked agitated. “Why the fuck did you turn of my Rob Zombie dude? Haven’t you ever heard of manners?” Bailey spins back around, turning the music back on as he does. Mervin turned it back down; “Bailey, we just got a communication.” Mervin looked down for a second “It seems that the ITA Acceleration has gone silent.” Mervin’s words trailed off beside him. “Huh. That’s interesting” Bailey swiveled back around to face Mervin again. “Did you try to contact them directly? They’re heading the same way as us, they just left earlier, right?” “Yeah, that’s about the gist of it. I also sent out a probe. Nothing. It’s just not there” Mervin looked down, and handed bailey a PDA. “Here’s the data that we know about this area.” Bailey looked over it, swiping up slowly. “There’s an odd anomaly that’s occurs here. It’s the same kind that the ITA Acceleration reported before they disappeared. Bailey thought on this for a moment, and studied the reading the PDA gave him. “Mervin. How much do you know about AI?” Mervin looked at him with a dull, blank expression on his face. “Artificial Intelligence?” Mervin shook his head “yeah, I know what it is, I just don’t know anything about them.” “Well it doesn’t matter. What’s important is that there is one at the station we’re going to. One issue with AI has also been would they go rouge, and I’m wondering if one didn’t. Mervin looked at Bailey with a still expression on his face. “ You’re joking right?” “When am I not, Mervin?” Bailey turned Rob Zombie back up, and looked at the album art with it as Mervin left the room, and walked into the bridge area. The galaxy looked calm, like nothing was wrong, all at once; and it made him uneasy. He sat down at the helm, and scanned the area. He didn't detect any anomalies, and leaned back a tad bit, less on edge. Suddenly the klaxon on the ship sounded, and Bailey burst forth from his quarters, “Status, Mervin. What the fuck happened?” “I’m not sure yet, give me a sec.” Bailey sat at his chair, and looked at his own display, and saw it, dead ahead, a small, needlelike ship. “We don’t have a second. Incoming vessel. Unknown make and model.” Bailey looked up at the main display as it appeared “We aren’t alone, Mervin”. Mervin slides his hand across the panel “All system good. Want me to jump?” Bailey looked at the screen quietly. “Not yet.”, and then every-thing happened very quickly. There was a flash of light, and 3 clicks, followed by a gunshot. The result was Bailey had a needle in his abdomen, and Mervin had 2 in his chest. Some strange creature was lying dead on the floor, its’ head split open from the gunshot wound. Mervin lay slumped over his console, and Bailey fell back into his chair. “Computer. Jump to the last set coordinates.” Bailey started seeing black, and everything was going dark. “Computer. Set autopilot to Terran-7” Baileys voice trailed off, and then everything went black for him.


I only ever heard myself just once. I thought I would try it. Everyone around me was and, at that particular time, it made sense to say something. But what I heard from myself when I tried was less words and more the excruciating sounds of struggle, like the porcine scream of climax. My mother came rushing, as she always did, in a fit of self-importance and desperation. She said things like: “What *now?* What’s *wrong?*” There was always something with me that wasn’t right and this was a testament to that. Even when I should have been able to make a sound like any regular human being, it was wrong. I was wrong and that seemed to transcend my body because, when they finally divorced, we were all wrong. My family was not right and that was all my fault. She clapped her hands. “Today’s the day!” My mother was always particularly fond of making grand gestures about how hard I had made life and how she had the power to radically transform it. She kissed my head in a way that was intimate and distant. She set a boundary with her lips to show me she was there whilst also unconsumed. “We’re gonna get this stuff sorted.” She busied herself around the kitchen, sweeping crumbs into her palm and making a display with the dishcloth over the surface as though it was a performance of circus silks. I could see the way her hands were light as though magic lay at their tips. She was proud of herself. But more than that, she was excited. “Gosh, we haven’t had a parcel like this since...gosh, I just don’t know when. I used to have parcels all the time. You wouldn’t remember. This was before I’d even had you. There would be shoes and dresses. Gosh, I had a gift for making money stretch so far. I always had something to spend it on.” She laughed to herself, the whole while her back was turned from me. “I’ve not had anything like this for, well, seventeen years now. Wow, that’s *long!*” She turned and leaned back on the counter. She wore a top that had not seen the wash for years, not because it was dirty but rather because it was reserved for special occasions. It’s sat low on her chest, rimming half of her breasts and revealing the paleness of her skin. We didn’t do holidays. Or, rather, I didn’t so neither did she. Stood there in this way, she became alien to me. Her face was not the deep crater of pain it normally was. No contortions that came with black sockets and bloodshot eyes. There was powder on her face. Some of her bones glowed orange-gold. Her nails, no longer chipped, had a smooth sheen to them. Her jeans fit better than I had ever known them. In fact, I barely believed that she owned a pair. “I suppose,” she continued, lost in thought and daydream. “That is one good thing that’s come out of all...this. Oops!” And expressive hand leapt out in front of her and hit the tea cupboard. “I’ve not been so indulgent since I’ve had you. They say minimalism is in these days.” There was something that wanted to escape me. The memory of the first sound of my voice felt like a surfacing scar and I felt bold with it. *Fuck minimalism*, I thought instead. My mother sprang upright and for a moment I thought I might have managed to make a noise other than a squeal, but she had sensed an approaching shadow and the rap of knuckles that followed it. “Hi.” “Oh hi there!” My mother leaned in the doorway, almost as though she was teasing the delivery man to dare enter our quasi-hospice abode. “Here you go.” She grabbed the parcel from his hand like the bloodstream grabs a line of snorted cocaine. “Why thank you! Gosh, you want to know, I’ve been waiting for this for *aaaaages*. Seventeen years almost!” Through the door crease, I saw the man nod. “Ah right.” “Yeah, you just wouldn’t believe. Do you have kids yourself?” “Er, no.” “Well, when you do-” “I won’t. I can’t.” The staccato of his voice was morose. It stunk of condemnation. “Right, well anyway...I just wanted to say, you know what? Never mind. Never mind. You have a good day and...and thanks for this. Like I said, we’ve been waiting a while.” She closed the door and kneeled until her face was inline with my in-turned knees. “That was nice wasn’t it? Nice man. Now...” She drew her long fingers across the address label and down the cellotaped sides of the parcel with languid elegance. “Let’s have a go with this.” \* *We were meant to wait.* That would have been the first thing I said to her. We were meant to. Sally-Ann Bridges had said to wait for her. That she’d be away until Monday, but that she’d be back to help us out. She was excited for us, she was excited for me. She was trying to make me see that this device would be more than a violation of my privacy. It was called ‘Gayze’, which was said, predictably, in the way that mean schoolboys taunted the homosexuals. Gayze. It was meant to be funny. As though machine dependency was a joke. As though you could ridicule the existence of a person based on their inability to use their own vocal chords. For short, Sally-Ann had called it ‘The EGTD’ and she had tried a ridiculous amount of pronunciation techniques to make it sounds like a word. But, ultimately, this method was too laborious. That’s how life becomes when you have a disability; chores multiple and people have to ‘cope’. You inflict lengthiness into those who surround you. Eye Gaze Technology Device became EGTD. Multiple Sclerosis became MS. Treatment, in the form of disease modification, became DMT. ‘I love you’ became ILY on the phone or a mime in real life. I made life a way it didn’t need to be and people seemed to find it necessary to make my life more convenient. Gayze was going to make my life easier, by exerting so much of my brain energy that I would have a one in three chance of feeling excessively tired, get more headaches than normal and develop migraines. There was a high chance I would feel faint. It was more than likely that I would become irritable and my judgement would be impaired. Easy, like she said. “Come on!” The tablet was in mum’s hands. She was shaking it with a mild violence that would have landed her a jail sentence if she was more persistent and the object had a conscience. “Please.” I rolled my head away from her, which due to the curvature of the neck rest on my wheelchair, had the adverse effect of swinging it back to meet her direct eyeline. She came closer to me. “Lydia, please.” You might wonder how many times I had heard that phrase in my life. I didn’t. It had been at least sixty this year alone and we were only in March. It was a universal phrase and so many times had I heard it that I might have been lead to think using it was bonding. It was a phrase for the shower, for the car and for the dinner table. It was a phrase I could predict simply by the way my mother sucked the air through her teeth and pursed her lips. It was a plea and, also, a subtle prayer. God was also called Lydia. I wanted to make that noise again and perhaps she would worry for my safety. Perhaps she would throw the whole device away and I would be left to my own thoughts. My mother smiled and shook her head. “I knew it.” She got off her knees and slammed the door, leaving me in the basking glow of late afternoon sunshine coming through the window pane. She had been blocking it trying to get me using the device. Now, it was mine. \* “Steve, I told you; she won’t.” Those words meant crisis. After the divorce, there was a niggling sense that leaving my mother with a severely disabled child was a mistake. I wasn’t under any illusions that my dad’s life had got significantly better since he got shot of us but he found it almost impossible to fully leave, in the way that cold-hearted single fathers do. Though she hated his guts, his company was welcomed by my mother. And by company, what was inferred was that he was a ear who knew a situation better than any families with normal kids would. He could talk a lot. “Well, screw Sally-Ann!” Mum began shouting. “I shouldn’t have to raise my child with a carer. It’s embarrassing. It’s not normal!” I knew he would agree. It wasn’t normal and he had no idea of the half of it. But, from where I was set - in perpetual chair-bound-ness - no one was really trying to make this normal either. Most of the time, my mother’s instagram feed was an inaccurate record of my inexistence and, when the guilt got too much, I would feature - both of us snuggling. Lying down was the only way I fitted in. “I can’t bloody well try again...But you know what will happen! She’s so stubborn...I just want, I just want...” She began to cry and slammed the phone. She wiped my lips with a cloth and buried her head into my lap. A few moments later, she surfaced with resolve. “Right, let’s try this again.” She picked up the screen and held it a few feet from my face then she turned it on herself. “Look, it’s easy.” She winked a few times and produced a jumble of sounds. She jumped as it parroted back to her. “Ymgh,” it said. She laughed and I smiled. “What do you think that stands for?” *YMGH. Your Mum Gets High,* I thought. *Your My G Homie.* *You’re Mad Go Home.* Of course, mum didn’t hear. She sighed. “Two can play this game, if you don’t want to speak, me neither.” She stood up, hesitated and sat one last time. She sat in front of me, held the tablet screen in extended arms, and selected two words. “Say. Something.” I felt like being in one of those movies where robots use manipulation tactics to get things from you. *I didn’t do it.* This seemed funny. The silence wasn’t. Mum turned and placed the screen in my lap, breaking her vow. “Fine.” I looked at the coloured logic of the screen. Everything was triggered from the previous. Sentences strung together through probability and an eventual understanding of the user. I blinked. I blinked five times. My mother, having walked as far as the furthest point in my peripheral vision, stopped. “I. Know. What. You’re. Thinking.” She ran round to me and grabbed my shoulders. Her eyes searched for something in mine. “What did you say?” I blinked to repeat. “I. Know. What. You’re. Thinking.” A wetness came to her eyes. “Lydia! God!” I blinked to repeat it one more time. She heard fully. “And what’s that?” she said. I was silent. “Come on, come on. Here, spell it out. Spell it.” She came close to me holding the screen straight out. I closed my eyes. “Lydia, please. Tell me: what am I thinking?” My eyes remained closed. “Come on, it's a game. What am I thinking? Come on!” On the last syllable her voice went up a tone. “Lydia?” I opened my eyes. Blink. “You. Want. To. Know. What. I'm. Thinking.” Her smile was so wide it became garish, with teeth spilling from her lip. “Yes. Yes that’s exactly right, darling. Tell me what it is. I want to know.” She didn’t. She was lying. What she wanted was a daughter who would sit and help her with makeup. Whose hair she could braid and who would go for drinks with her at the Old Vincent. She wanted normal. She didn’t want my thoughts. I blinked six times. “I. Don't. Want. You. To. Know.


First Time Poster! Think about it..don’t say a name but just think that one person, the one you would do anything for, the one you would give your life for, the one you would gladly jump in front of a bullet for. You have that person in your mind? Good, now imagine them holding the gun at you and you are powerless to do anything except hope and pray that they love you enough to not use that gun on you. This is my story, the story of the betrayal of the one I love more then anyone else, the one I thought loved me back but it turns out he didn’t love me enough to stop himself from trying to remove me from his life and everyone else's forever. Now I know what you may be thinking, how can you write this if he succeeded? Well he didn't because at the last moment something happened, will I tell you..., no, you are just going to have to sit and listen. It started in middle school, I was lucky enough to find the guy I could spend the rest of my life with that early. Micah was tall, beautiful brown eyes and curly brown hair. Of course it wasn’t a love at first sight thing and we definitely did not keep in touch over the years, in fact we regularly forgot about each other, we would move away from each other and end up back in the same place over and over. Sometimes we didn’t know we were in the same city, sometimes we did but we only really started to notice each other in a sense other than “cool their around again” was in senior year, the last time we were together in the same city for 3 years. Senior year was the highlight of high school and Micah did everything together we went to homecoming, we went to football games and swim meets and plays and choir performances, I went to all his baseball games and he came to all my recitals. We seemed to be the perfect couple. Prom night was the most magical, I was in a beautiful floor length gown that sparkled like the waves and he was wearing a suit with a blue bow tie to match. We knew that we were coming up on the end of us being together so we danced and took pictures and laughed the night away. The next morning we called each other and decided to meet up and we made a scrapbook of all the things we did at prom.I don’t know why but I felt as if I was riding on cloud nine. Unfortunately though all things have to come to an end even the most magical. We tried to keep our breakup with no tears and no drama but both of us sobbed for days and we would call each other crying. It wasn’t the best way to end a year of dating but we did what we had to do after all it was time for both of us to move for the last time before college. This was the biggest move we had ever gone through. Most of the time they were just a move from country to country state to state but this one was different. This wasn’t a big move location wise, we were just moving up to washington. It just felt different. This was my last move with my family and I was going to start college far away in georgia. Exactly 2,429 miles away from them and I had just lost Micah it seemed as if my world was crumbling down around me. The summer passed and then I had to leave. College was amazing, the years passed by quickly and I was top in everything I dated people and had fun but I never forgot about Micah, I saw the scrapbook everyday and I missed him more every time I looked at it. I couldn’t bring myself to put it away though, it was my one connection back to him. One day I was out with my boyfriend, I don’t need to say his name, he wasn’t important, and then I saw him. My Micah, the world seemed to stop and it was only me and him. I turned away from my boyfriend and I made eye contact with Micah and I couldn't help but smile, he looked at me and smiled and his face lit up like the stars in the night sky. I completely forgot about my boyfriend and ran into his arms laughing in delight. It seemed as if the world got brighter and the day became less stressful. “What are you doing here???” I exclaimed as I held him “We have never been this far away from each other for so long, I mean we’ve not noticed that we’ve been together in the same cities but I always felt like I knew you were there,” Micah looks at me as though the whole worlds issues have been solved just because he’s here with me again. I see my boyfriend walk over and I blush sheepishly “Micah I have to deal with him I...I may have dated him, I didn’t think I would ever get to see you again” ‘It’s fine, my love deal with him and then my lady may I take you out?” I smile and nod and then turn to face my boyfriend, I explain to him that someone I would never get to see came back to me and I needed to break up with him so I could fulfill my life dream with Micah. He was understandably devastated but he wished me the best because he knew how happy I had gotten as soon as I laid my eyes back on Micah. I turned around and finally got to be in Micah’s arms again. I pressed my lips to his quickly and then I smiled, “You ready to go?” I had been dying to say something to him since senior year “Hey Micah, can I tell you something I’ve been wanting to say for a long time?” “Of course, is everything alright?” “Yes, I just wanted to say, I love you.” He stopped and stared at me, “What did you say?” “I said I love you.” His face lit up like a kid on Christmas Eve, “I love you too.” We went out to dinner that night and it was the most wonderful night of my life. I didn’t think anything could go wrong and luckily nothing happened....that night. As the weeks went on me and him got closer, I didn’t think we could because I already knew everything about him but he opened up to me during those weeks. He talked about the move and about his family and how they didn’t even know he was at my college. He seemed broken but I loved him anyway I did everything I could for him to bring the smile back onto his face. I went to his favorite places, I did his favorite things, I made his favorite meals but it still seemed like something was worrying him. As it turns out there was still something he wasn’t telling me because he didn’t want to unlock the last bit of his soul to me, and for good reasons. His family was mad at him for ruining his chance at life by coming to see me(he finally told them) so he didn’t feel like he could trust me and with the secret he was holding he was right. That secret would tear anyone apart and we were about to be exhibit A. Life seemed to be passing by easily, the world seemed brighter everyday. I woke up with Micah by my side. If my life could be compared to anything it would be like floating on a donut in a chocolate river with no bumps in sight. Sounds amazing right? Well under every river is a current and this current was rapidly dragging me further and further into a dark forest with no way out. Micah got more and more quiet and seemed disappointed if I did something that didn’t make him happy, he never said anything to me so I never seemed to notice. Boy was that stupid. He wanted me to be his 18th century perfect obedient girlfriend. I tried to live up to his standards most of the time, however, I was only 23 I broke his rules and went out to party. In my eyes he wasn’t in charge of me, but in his eyes he was the one that was supposed to have control over me. He never got violent when I did something he didn’t enjoy. He just seemed sad and I could tell. It made me feel bad so when I broke his rules I was meek and perfect again for around a month or so until I had another girls night. Every girls night out I told myself I wouldn’t be stupid this time so that Micah would stay proud of me. I didn’t want to betray his confidence that I would make good choices, but no matter how hard I tried my girls always seemed to make me have fun. He got really upset one night I was out. I had gotten blackout drunk my first time ever doing that and the girls had to carry me inside to our apartment.The next morning was terrible. He was more angry than I had ever seen him and if I’m being completely honest I was scared. “What were you thinking? You could have gotten hurt or killed?!” “I.I’m sorry I wasn't thinking” “I KNOW YOU WEREN’T’ I flinched back and he lowered his voice ‘Honey I can’t live without you if you had gotten hurt I would have never forgiven myself” His voice broke off and he seemed like he was about to cry. “Micah, I promise that will never happen again, I love you” “I love you too” We changed the subject and he asked me to go out with him tonight. I was surprised, normally after a fight he wants me to leave him alone. It’s not a bad thing of course he's upset and has every right to be. That night we went out and I had the biggest surprise of my life. The love of my life proposed to me and I said yes.


Breathing in deeply the brisk filtered air filled my lungs. Chin up and arms stretching wide greeting the day. The artificial sun had yet to warm up the new dawn. Morning is my favorite part of my day. I return inside from the balcony, dark metal clanging under my boots. Murmurs of my wife and daughter getting ready down the hall following me to the kitchen. With a few mental commands to my interface, the kitchen hums to life. The kettle clicks on, the pantry door opens, and Admin Sphere News lazily scrolls across the nearest wall. Distractedly reading the highlights, I grope for a bowl and the jar of pancake mix. On autopilot, I scoop pancake mix before scraping alerted me I had hit the bottom of the jar. A couple of eye clicks later and it was added household requisition list. Tugging, my lips forming a smirk. I worked hard to earn the right to cook at home. No terrible dining hall food for the head of the Detection Department and his family! Contentedly I sigh, flicking back to the news. No pressing issues this morning. I could eat in peace, surrounded by the two greatest loves of my life. "Pampakes Daddy!" Joy's voice yelled shrilly, dashing into the room with no pants in sight. My wife Prudent close on her heels. Joy's favorite purple leggings wave like a flag of surrender in her hand. "You have to wear pants to eat pancakes, Honey." Prudent says, a bit breathless from her dash to the kitchen after our wild child. Her scrubs matched the purple pants in her hands. Prudent and joy will look like two matching peas in a pod today. I set the bowl I was wisking on the counter. Swooping Joy up into a hug she wriggles as I gave her morning kisses. "Pampakes aren't even ready yet! Put your pants on silly willy!" With me holding the giggling child captive, Prudent was able to pull her pants on with little struggle. We kiss good morning over our child's head and she begins protesting loudly, "Ew! let me down, daddy! Let Joy down!" With mirroring smiles I deposit Joy on the tile floor, her dark curls wild and bouncing as ran to her toy chest in the attached living room. Prudent watches her go, so I slip a hand around her waist and pull her in. Kissing her deeply. The sweet scent of her shampoo mingling in my nose with her fresh minty breath. My heart thuds in my chest with her near. Fingers slipped up my neck pulling at my hair, and I came away from the kiss breathless. "Someone is in a good mood this morning." "How could I not be when you're around my love?" Soft kisses on my jaw and neck causing my head to tilt and my eyes to close. My hands drift lower down her back. We never could keep our hands off each other. "PAMPAKES!" screeching came from across the room. Interupping what would have been a very fun morning 4 years ago. The pale blue of the ceiling mocks me as Prudent chuckles and pulls away. "You're the one who applied for the child permit Unity." She murmurs, moving to the now boiling kettle and taking down two cups. "You asked me to!" indignation coloring my voice, returning to the abandoned bowl of batter. "Sure, but you agreed to it." Placing a teasing kiss on my cheek and setting a brewing cup of tea next to me. "Looks like it will be a calm day out in the hermitage," distant eyes telling me she was also checking the morning updates. "I hope it stays that way. Any day I don't have to call in the team is a good one." Prudent nods in agreement still reading. Soon the smell and sizzle of the batter baited our toddler to the kitchen table. Prudent helps her into her booster seat while I flipped out the first batch. I dusted them with a bit of powdered icing sugar and brought them over. Joy practically crawls onto the table in eagerness and the table wobbles dangerously under her. "You forgot to pick up the new leveler foot yesterday from the printer didn't you?" My mouth opened and closed a few times while I sputtered, "Well. I mean. You see! I got home so late. It was a hard day yesterday! There were 3 destabilizations to correct and a new weaver found!" My eyebrows rose to hide in my dark hair neatly brushed across my brow. Raising an eyebrow, she gave me her look, "Mmhmm, pick it up on the way to work today then?" "Ah, very Prudent wife of mine!" I hold my hand up and a sticky high-five comes my way. In mock indignation, she shakes a finger at Joy, "Don't high-five daddy for that! Tickle mommy is coming for you!" "You're on your own!" Giggling filled the room. I dash away back to the stove to finish cooking breakfast. Prudent tickled the trapped child until she asked her to stop. Slipping into her own chair they both caught their breath. Carefully balancing both our plates and my tea, I came over joining them at the table. The extruded plastic table had been brand new when I was given this allotment upon my promotion 5 years ago. Turns out toddlers were pretty hard on furniture. Sometimes we'd joke that Joy could climb before she could walk. We talk and eat over breakfast, toward the end a blinking blue indicator in the corner of my vision informed me my serotonin levels were elevated. Grinning I leaned back, taking it all in. My wife was explaining that stuffed dogs did not in fact eat pancakes. The blue-green table was now sturdily braced with a children's book. Off-white counters and kitchen appliances on my left, and a couch and 2 armchairs sitting in the carpet dents on my right. An entertainment center with both a video screen and a holo-projector waiting for the next family movie night. Click. Send. My wife slides her eyes to her own notification and opens the picture I sent across our link. She rolls them suppressing a smile. It shows our daughter pouting at the small stuffed dog she had snuck to the table, completely covered in powdered sugar. Prudent struggling to contain a smile at her adorable visage while holding a hand out to take it to wash. It was a perfect snapshot of our life together. The joy and challenge our daughter had brought into our lives. BEEP. "Incoming system message" BEEP. My head tilts to listen to the notification only I can hear. My food churns sourly in my stomach. System Notification: E3-RC in Unit 194 has failed to back up data to the pod. This error has been recorded 6 times. System troubleshooting is ineffective. Error recorded in defragmentation for an unknown length of time. Stability in Unit 194 is 73%. The current main cause is E3-RC. The secondary cause is neural network density is at minimum levels. Warning, if the neural network dips below 70% there is a high risk the whole unit will collapse. Recommendation: Terminate E3-RC. Estimated to bring stability of unit to minimum levels of 85%. It is recommended to dispatch investigators to the pod to discover if there is a Weaver genesis. Caution and a full team are recommended. The secondary recommendation is to add more people to Unit 194's neural network to increase stability further. The minimum recommended is 4 people. Please see the secondary education unit graduate lists for candidate suggestions. Clenching my jaw and furrowing my brows, I type a quick reply on the interface. "Dispatch team one to comply. -Head Engineer Unity." I close my eyes and the interface at the same time. When I open them Prudent watches me with concern. The little blue light was now blinking red. Our link had notified her I was in some mental distress. "I have to go to work," I say simply. The statement was loaded with all the things we agreed not to say in front of Joy. At least not until she was a bit older. She nods in sympathy, "I'll get Joy to the child center on my way to the hospital. Let me know if you'll be home late." We find each other's hands across the table and she gives mine a squeeze. "Make sure to take your pill if you need to." "Yes, Doctor Prudent." I forcefully tug the corner of my mouth up attempting a smile, but the alert took all the wind out of my sails. A tiny sticky hand and a very crusty stuffed dog pile onto our clasping hands. Tilting my head looking at Joy, her deep brown eyes and a ready smile aim at me. "Have a good day at work daddy!" Replacing the fake smile with a real one I say, "Thank you, Honey!" With one hand holding both of theirs, I wrap my free arm around her and kiss her curls. I didn't want her sticky hands or stuffed animal wiped on my work uniform. I also want to hold both of their hands a minute longer. Reluctantly I let go of them. Moving around the booster chair to give my wife a quick kiss goodbye. When I pull away she huffs indignantly and grabs my collar, pulling me in for a deeper kiss. A pat pat pat on my butt later and I was pulling away groaning. I'd be surprised if there weren't a tiny white sticky handprint on my butt. "Bye, bye daddy!" Arg! If she wasn't just the cutest stickiest kid in the whole Hermitage! "Bye bye Joy," I say my wife giggling at me while I check my own butt. There was indeed a handprint. The dark metal floor clanks yet again under my boots as I dash to the bedroom to do a quick change into a clean purple jumpsuit. Then I head out the door. My bag with my datapad and helmet swinging from my shoulder as I hurry along down through the small walkways connecting the living quarters to the rest of the Admin Sphere. Humming, whirring, and beeping sounds accompanied by blinking, pulsing, and flashing lights make the path feel like it was alive. In a way it was. The whole Hermitage was constantly monitored and controlled by the A.I. system invented hundreds of years ago to save humanity from collapse. Connected by the systems under my feet to the units full that provided its massive living neural network. A massive living network I was in charge of monitoring and stabilizing. My job was one of the most important jobs in the whole Hermitage. Even above the science team working tirelessly to bring the world back into balance so one day we could live in the world again. My job was second only to the small team that interfaced directly with the A.I. system. It was vital and necessary and I did it with pride. It also fills me with sadness. After all, when you boiled it down. I kill people for a living. The artificial sun didn't burn away the shadow hanging over my head, but it did inform me of another joining me in my hurried walk. Ivy's shadow proceeds her on the walkway. Silent as always, it was my only warning she had arrived. "Good morning Handler," her voice as clipped as ever. I wouldn't be pleased with a collar around my neck either, but it was necessary to prevent spirit walking. "Good morning Ivy." we pass through the upper hydroponics section. The white of the 3D-printed beds contrasts with the colorful plants contained within. The algae farms for feeding the pods were lower down. The ones we pass hold the foods that sustained the Admin and the Weavers. We knew the way to this unit. It had been giving us problems for some time. "Another decommissioning?" she queries. Glancing at her, I take in her unbuttoned jumpsuit and her black gloves sticking out of her back pocket. Bouncing on her pack her helmet and datapad threaten to fall out of her unzipped backpack. "Yes, and when we get there I expect you to be buttoned up." She rolls her eyes in response. "We do our job with dignity for we are the last those we remove see in their lives." I lecture. By the end, she is muttering it under her breath with me and buttoning up the front of her jumpsuit over her white undershirt. Her red hair spills around her face as she looks down at the buttons like they personally affront her. "Where's Decker?" I ask as we walk and Ivy shrugs at me. Suddenly clanging of running feet grows louder as Decker skids into view a bagel from dining clutched between his teeth as he frantically does up his own purple jumpsuit. His blonde unruly hair, normally brushed into a semblance of neatness was now windswept and messy from his mad dash. "I found Decker," Ivy states benignly. "Indeed," I reply. "Decker, we have a decommissioning, a little decorum please." "Sorry Handler, the toaster was on the fritz again." He shoves the bagel into his mouth. 3 quick bites later and it was gone and he was carelessly brushing crumbs off his suit. Ivy reached out and ran a hand through his hair with partial success. Good enough. We pass the rest of the journey through the veins of the Hermitage in silence. Soon we arrive at the control sphere for the sector. With a few clicks of my interface, the control sphere wakes up. The door swishes open for us to enter. We will link directly to the Unit from here allowing us to investigate the programming and neural network. I allow my two weavers to proceed me into the pod. They begin setting up for the dive while I take a moment and rattle out one of the pills my wife prescribes to me to help level my mood while doing this job. I pop it in and swallow it dry. The bitter taste was familiar in my mouth. Life was much simpler when I was just an engineer tasked with pulling weavers from the threads of the neural network when they caused problems. Weavers could subconsciously hack into the A.I. and other systems and change their programing. Bypassing firewalls and safeguards with ease. Using their emotions to fuel their weavings and make it possible to affect very real changes in the artificial reality that sustained most of humanity. Unfortunately, that also meant dealing with their rogue spirits. Spirits were weavers who caused havoc within the A.I. and even with Admin Interfaces. Threatening the whole balance of the Hermitage. Spirits destroyed delicate systems and fried brains without meaning to. The sooner we found and pulled them out the sooner they could be used as assets. Adding to the stability of the artificial world we kept 80% of the population in. The collars around their necks kept them from doing anything but the most basic tasks while off duty. Unfortunately, we couldn't disconnect them fully. The surgeries my wife did to hook them to the neural network were permanent affairs. Stooping I walked into the tiny door into the control sphere and sit down on my dive bench. I look at the two I pulled before the detection division was even a possibility. I fought with Ivy and Decker's spirits when they were still just I9-IV and I0-OX. Tracking them down to their units and pulling them from the weave. I put the collars that were blinking at me around their necks on myself. Then the Quilter Jiro came along. Looking at myself in the reflection of my helmet's glass, my hazel eyes and carefully combed hair stared back at me. Haunting memories of the time before we allowed Quilter Jiro to reprogram huge swaths of the A.I. Changing the fabric of the whole weave. Spirits had been on the rise, and we couldn't keep up with them. People were dying as they messed with the agricultural systems and short-circuited interfaces. Quilter Jiro was pulled by another team. Quilters only happened once in a generation. We thought it was a sign. He petitioned to make the detection division, finding instabilities and weavers before they could break out of their realities. We voted, and he was granted leave. Even the A.I. signed off on it. He burnt himself out saving us from the spirits. "Helmet's on Handler," Decker says from his seat pulling me from my memories. I was avoiding thinking of what we were about to do. Both Ivy and Decker's helmets were already on. They couldn't dive until I released them. Ivy's eyes burned with her desire to go to the world she loved. Pulling my helmet on I brief them, "We are going to unit 194, we will find and assess E3-RC to see if he is a weaver genesis. If not, we will be decommissioning him and wiping his memories from the unit. Afterward, you two will examine the weave and make sure there are no problems in the programming." I look at them both and they nod. "Maintenance will deal with problems in the hardware. Let's go." With that, I turn off the inhibitors and we dive into the world most of humanity thought was the only reality. We were the hidden support system behind the scenes. I keep my daughter in mind as we enter their world. It was for her. One day she'd have an interface. I could not let spirits run rapport anymore. Not when we had the means to stop them. I wish I didn't have to kill people for a living, but I will make a better future for Joy. I will enforce stability by any means necessary to protect her life and happiness.


We are connected, you and I. I never knew you, but we are connected. I waited for you. I chose you. It could have been someone else. Just five more seconds and you would have passed, but you came around the building and I knew. It was the itch. The itch that’s deep inside. I’m sure you’ve had it yourself. The kind of itch you can never dig out. Trust me I tried. The first time I got the itch it felt like my stomach was being eaten from the inside out. So I took my knife and dug into my own flesh. But the deeper I went I realized I couldn’t reach it. When they found me with the black hole in my stomach, they thought you did it to me. They told me I was a lucky bastard and said I’d have a chance to get even with you soon enough. They told me I would live. So they patched me up and gave me pills, but I knew the itch would never go away. Now it calls me, guides me. It guided me to you. Please don’t think I’m a monster. I’m sure you would have done the same, wouldn’t you? I didn’t order you to show up when you did. I just do what I’m told, by the itch, and the itch chose you. I let ten of you pass from one wall to the other. I watched as the first of you leaned around the corner. I could have sworn you saw me, but you didn’t. The first of you leaned around the corner and gave a hand signal and you all came pouring out like ants from a hole. So if you’re looking for someone to blame, blame the signal man, not me. He gave you that red star on your chest just as much as me. The red star. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to get a red star. I used to think about it all the time, but after a while I realized making it this far meant I never would. I still think about it, sometimes. As I was saying, you came around the corner, and as soon as I saw you, I got the itch. What’s that? Why? Speak up, man! Why did I get the itch? If you have to ask that question, clearly I was wrong and you never had it. In short, I don’t know. I know that isn’t the answer you want to hear, but it’s the truth. I don’t know why the itch chose you. You look like a decent enough fellow. I didn't hate you when you came around the corner. Actually, I get the sense that we are similar. But you came around the corner, and I didn’t feel much of anything, just that small seed of fear. Surely, if you don’t know what the itch is, you have to know the fear. Even now, with the red star on your chest, I still fear you. I know, it sounds stupid, but I do. Because I could be you. Because we’re connected you and I. Someday, someone might get the itch, and it will be me that gets a red star. But this time, you came around the corner, and I waited. I know you want that red star to mean something. You hope that in some small way, that badge on your chest will make a difference, and you know what? I think it does. Maybe not in the final outcome, but inside, yes, I think it does because you can claim it as your own. You earned it. But not just for yourself. If this whole thing was only for ourselves, we wouldn’t be here, am I right? But we are connected, I know that much, and that’s how I know it means something. Well, I better get going. Say, what’s that? That in your hand? May I? Oh wow, what a great picture. She, wow, she is really beautiful. And look at those kiddos. Hey their Chief you have a helluva good looking-oh, Jesus. Man, I’m sorry. Here, keep them in a safe place. Take them. Common take them! Alright, look, I’ll just tuck them right in your pocket there. Man, don’t look at me like that. I told you it wasn’t my fault. Weren’t you listening to a single word I was saying? We’re connected. I waited just to be sure! The itch told me! Stop staring at me you sick bastard! I swear I’ll put another red star right in your damn forehead! Stop staring at me! *Pop!* It’s not my fault! *Pop! Pop! Pop!* *** The dead soldier’s face was unrecognizable by the time they stopped Private Anderson. The stock of his rifle was implanted in the side of the enemy soldier’s skull, but even without that final blow, Anderson managed to fire off a full clip into the man’s face and chest. As recalled by Lieutenant Jeffries, Private Anderson was being restrained by three other soldiers when he arrived on the scene. The private’s face had gone pallid in the struggle, his lips blue and twisted into a hideous form. And he was screaming. Jeffries had heard plenty of screams in war, but nothing so primal, so pure. It was like Anderson spewed a patchwork quilt of sorrow, horror, and darkness over the men, and when it settled it found every nerve in their bodies and plucked it like a guitar string. Watching him lose it, they all felt cold. Because they knew it could be them, that they were connected. They could be drug away with spittle flying from their mouths screaming, “the itch!” Just like Anderson.


Chapter 2: All of Your Hate... The boy sat alone on the bed, in the dark. Brown eyes stared through a curtain of fair hair. He was in deep thought. The room was spacious enough, with just about enough room for the bed and for him to stretch his legs. A sword was sheathed on his hip, with a single ruby embedded into the hilt. At the foot of the bed, there was a plain, wooden bow propped up, with arrows spilling out of a quiver nearby. So far the rounds of the first stage had been simple enough; Make your opponent unable to continue fighting. He had a feeling that the second stage would not be as simple as that. They all had such powerful magic, he thought bitterly. He wished he could have had magic like that. He got up, slinging his bow and quiver over his shoulder...but no matter how strong their magic was, he had to win! There was no other choice. They had to see their sins for what they really were! He opened the door, with light flooding into the room. And besides, he thought with a smirk, its not as though he was completely defenceless. Placing a wolf mask on his face, he strode forward with a spring in his step. The final battle was about to begin. The open arena was a large rectangle in shape, large enough for powerful magic battles to take place. Spectators, seated on the rows of chairs above the arena, whispered feverishly as they waited for the final battle of the first round. They didn’t have to wait long, as two curtains on opposite sides of the arena opened and two people walked out, a boy with fair hair and a dog mask and a short, burly man. They stepped forward and bowed. The boy drew his sword. The man couldn’t believe it. All of his previous battles had been won out of pure luck and a bit of strategic thinking. His water magic was versatile and adaptable, but it lacked a lot of power. That was the reason he struggled so much with his last battles. But the last opponent was just a child! He could only sense a tiny amount of magic in his frail body. He would be able to advance to the second round with no trouble at all. He readied his magic. The boy had a mask over his face, so it was hard to tell what exactly he was thinking. The mask caught his attention; it wasn’t of any native design. It was a mask of a wolf, but instead of the usual grey tone of a wolf’s fur, the mask was adorned by elegant swirls and patterns. Unusual, but why did he care? As long as he could win it was all irrelevant. “Get ready, boy!” He outstretched his hand “Little children like you are out of your league-“ The boy ran forward with blinding speed, appearing behind the man in an instant. The spectators gasped; this speed had not been seen in anyone else before. Sword outstretched, the boy replied, “ It would be best for you to surrender now, so that I don’t have to hurt you” What the hell was this kid? He could sense only a tiny amount of magic from him, yet he had crossed that entire distance in an instant. Was it with physical prowess alone? His legs shook like a tree in an earthquake. But he wasn’t going to lose to someone as young as him! Stretching both arms out, he let loose thin jets of water from his fingertips, but the boy weaved and sliced through them, without moving from the spot. His control over the sword was as if it was a part of his own body. Every jet of water was reduced to a puddle on the floor, and the boy was completely dry. But the man hadn’t been aiming for the boy. The jets had been aimed so that if the boy were to evade them, the boy would be surrounded by a ring of water on the floor. His aim had been to bind the boy, not to hit him. Coils of water erupted from the ring of water from every direction, too fast and too many for the boy to avoid. It looked like he knew this. He made no attempt to move. The tentacles of water grabbed him, and held his hands behind his back. His sword fell with a clatter to the floor. A coil of water seized his bow and quiver, and threw it to the other side of the arena. He stayed silent, limp in the water’s grasp, making no attempt to escape. The man strode forward. “This is why you don’t try to swim in deep water, boy. Inexperienced children like you will drown.” He grinned, amazed at how lucky he was to get an opponent as weak as him. “Now, how about we the face behind this dog mask of yours” The tentacles lowered the boys slightly. The man pulled back the mask to reveal a face full of pity. He tossed the mask to the side. Just like his mask suggested, the boy wasn’t native to this country. His brown eyes were downcast, a slight smile touching his thin lips. His eyes rose to meet the man’s eyes. “I warned you to surrender, so that I wouldn’t have to hurt you. I’m not the one to blame for what happens next.” The tentacle’s grip tightened, and the man’s fists started shaking. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, boy!” A voice choked by fury erupted from his mouth. “You’ve lost. I’ve won! You are the one who’s going to get hurt.” The boy closed his eyes “You’ve forgotten that I have still magic. You dismissed my magic as being weak and useless at the start of this battle. I can tell. That was your mistake.” He opened his eyes again and smiled in earnest. “Look down” The man’s eyes darted down to see a round ball next to the sword. That hadn’t been there before. He didn’t realise it was a bomb until it had already exploded. The shock of the explosion rippled through the solid coils of water and turned it into a lifeless liquid. Man, boy and sword were all propelled in the air. Grabbing the sword out of the air, the boy let loose a powerful barrage of blunt slashes in mid-air. The man didn’t stand a chance. He fell on his back with a thud, unable to continue. The boy landed elegantly, greeted by the stunned silence and the astonishment of the spectators. Facing the crowd, he sheathed his sword. “I am the one who will bring the Ruined Lands out of darkness. In order to do so, I will overcome every and any challenge that stands in my way. Be it man, monster, machine or other, there is no other choice for me but to fix this broken world!” Cheers and passionate expressions of support greeted his words. He bellowed over the shouts of the crowd “My name is Salieri Dabaso!” On that day, a light was sparked in the darkness of The Ruins.


The friendly front desk lady stood at the door, holding out a giant candy cane to me, almost invitingly. -"I don ́t think I like the sight of that." I sighed. She looked at me with puppy eyes and slowly came closer. -"Doctor Harker requires a favor." Molly beings. -"Let me guess." I interrupt her. "a last-minute patient?" She nods silently. -"I have a plane to catch Molly." I say with a sense of urgency. I can see that Molly sympathized with me but was unable to conjure up the words to express it. -"I can give you another free meal voucher." she smiled gently. -"I didn't have time for more than a cup of coffee today." I shook my shoulders. Molly hurriedly fished the voucher out of her pocket: "Look! Dinner and three sides, plus dessert." -"What time is this patient coming?" I asked. -"She's already here." She replied quickly. I glanced past Molly in the subdued waiting room, where the only obvious sign of the holidays was an overaged wreath and a light-trimmed elf sitting on the edge of Molly's counter. -"This is an exception rather than a rule, so it must be an emergency." Molly tried to convince me. -"Yes, some people need extra support around the holidays." I said under my breath. Over the years it had kind of become the norm for me to work on Christmas eve, I never minded celebrating a couple of days later, because I never “did” Christmas in the traditional sense, but I always enjoyed spreading some holiday spirit. But that year I had been invited to an actual Christmas celebration. -You go now." I said to Molly. "Happy Holidays! We'll see each other again in the next year." I tried to sound as cheerful as possible, suppressing the urge to look at the clock with all my might. -"Are you sure?" Molly asked, impatient to leave. "Can I let the patient in?" I nodded and blew her a kiss: "Go now!" -"I heard gunshots on my way here." said the dazzling woman absently, casually strolling into my office. -"Oh." I said feeling silly. -"Maybe someone bringing in a last-minute Christmas dinner?" she continued. I was a little annoyed that she started a conversation without greeting me or introducing herself. It crossed my mind that there were no woods or fields for miles around to shoot game at all. I got annoyed that I let myself be bullied, by someone a little rude, but was probably hiding behind this slack attitude out of nervousness or to put on an attitude. She walked around my desk a few times, then stopped and gave me a cold look: "Do you have any M&Ms?" I smiled absently and shook my head. She let out a loud sigh and turned around to take another look at the interior of my office: -"Well," she began, "I think it's quite something that you don't have statues or elephants in here. -"Good." I said just to say something. -"They belong in India." she continued. -"What can I do for you?" I asked, not wanting to discuss elephants or any other item on my desk any further. -"Maybe you can prescribe me something." she said as if that were the most normal thing in the world. I coughed and invited her to sit down. -"Prescribe something?" I asked, " What for?" -"Because I'm dead inside." she answered dead serious. Not wanting to continue the conversation by starting with a rejection, I asked her to tell me more. She rolled her eyes in reply. -"This office is inspiring and embarrassing all at once." she said, curling her lips in disdain. I felt myself getting angry inside. I did not want to miss a plane for some bratty bitch who thought she could come in and extort a few pills from me. -"You've probably seen Dr. Harker before, haven't you?" I asked as politely as I could muster, "He's the one who asked me to see you before I left." But she did not answer me and shrugged her shoulders in boredom. -"Okay," I said, "Let's try this again. What can I do for you at this late hour on Christmas Eve?" -"Social anxiety." she answered dryly, peering past me through the window behind me. "I'm not good at expressing my feelings." -"Okay. Please..." I started, but she interrupted me: -"Please don't ask me how I feel because I don't know." -"For what it's worth, many people don't know how or what exactly they feel when they come here." I tried to reassure her. -"A doctor once told me I had tight angles." she started. -"Who was that doctor if I may ask." I asked. -"A funny guy, who said he would torture me." she answered. -"And did he?" I asked in shock. -"What? Torture me?" she laughed faintly. "No, he said that stress played an important role." I nodded. "Please continue." -"Fuck!" she said. -"Excuse me?" I asked. -"Another therapist ordered me to let go of my thoughts because it was my thoughts that tormented me." She paused and looked straight into my eyes, "I like my drunken monkey thoughts. Well, most of them." She smiled shyly, "I like being alone with them." I was about to ask what those thoughts were about, but she went on to say, "And another one told me to step back and drop all attachments." -"Are you feeling depressed right now? I asked. "That's the problem," she replied firmly, "I don't feel anything at all." -"Don't you celebrate Christmas?" I asked curiously. She pursed her lips and blew a raspberry: -"Christmas, what is that anyway? A few Christmas decorations, bows and stockings, and a freaking baby in a creche. That fucking doll always ends the Christmas spirit for me!" she says, suppressing a yawn, "I don't understand it all. Friends writing stupid cards and announcing hopeful things. Everybody is happy and all is bliss! What does it even mean when people say they are overcome with a feeling of joy? Nah, I don't understand it." -"Maybe the beginning of grace is not resenting other ́s blessings." I said doubtfully. "So, you don't have any plans for the holidays?" She shook her head. -"not even pick a movie somewhere?" I insisted. -"Movies are boring." she said dryly. "Life is boring. to me all is equally flat. It's all like a mechanical production." -"You lack the capacity to feel joy, sorrow, or love?" I asked. She rolled her eyes in boredom. -"The only emotions I am familiar with, are fear and anger." she said softly, as if embarrassed. "It's not that I lack the words, I have no feelings at all." -"And yet, you do recognize fear and anger. That's a start." I tried carefully. -"Fear, anger, and confusion." she corrected me. -"Of course." I agreed. "But there must be something else going on for this to be so unbearable for you right now." -"I met somebody, and I don't know how to feel about her." She sat up straighter and rubbed her eyes. "It ́s confusing. She confuses me." she continued. -"Are you in love?" I asked. -"She showed up and something changed. Everything is weird and it ́s confusing. I don ́t even know if I ́m able to like her." she said in a breath. -"It sounds like that woman managed to kindle some sparks in you." I pointed out to her. -"I'm not good at expressing my feelings." she said awkwardly. -"I always try to win people over by buying them things. -"Do you have any friends?" I asked. -"I don ́t think I have real friends. They are all fake. I think I was friends with my brother." Her face softened a little when she mentioned her brother. -"He always stood up for me. He said he always could tell how I felt. Which was funny because I don ́t know how that feels: to feel." She suddenly seemed very tired and helpless. -"I do not believe that you have no feelings. You have no words for your emotions." -"You know I built a successful career for myself." she said with pride in her voice. "And I have been married twice. Yes! I had two wedding days. I said - I do - twice." she held up two fingers to emphasize the double. "I have no happy memories from my marriages. The men were simply not right for me." She pushed back her hair and continued, "anything I do that requires an emotional response, feels fake to me." -"So, you do feel?" I started. -"Most of my responses are learned responses." she said softly. -"What do you mean by learned? where did you learn them? I asked. -"By watching TV shows." she said shyly. "In an environment where everybody is happy and jolly; I act like I ́m happy, but it ́s all a lie. I just act. I think I do feel something, but I don ́t know what it is I ́m feeling, or what it is I am supposed to feel." I nodded understandingly, not wanting to interrupt her story. -"I put myself on a pedestal to be something I ́m not. Cognitively I can react just fine. but it is not real. It ́s all fake, and I am so tired of pretending." She hid her face behind her hands. -"It is not right to have to live like this." I said understandingly. -"I have a vocabulary. I have words for emotions. I just don ́t know if it ́s the right word, for the right emotion." she continued. -"How do you know when you ́re scared?" I wanted to know. -"I find it scary when my heart starts to race." she replied. -"Are your parents still alive?" I asked. She shrugged indifferently. -"My mother once hit me so hard in the face that my eye was black and blue. Then she put a patch over my eye. At school, the kids asked why I was walking around with a patch over my eye. Then I said that I was a pirate A girl told me that girls could not be pirates, especially if they were ugly. When school was over, I walked home past her front yard, where she was playing. her and pushed her she tumbled back onto the lawn and began to whimper a door flew open and a huge dog charged at me snapping and snarling I tried to get away in panic, but the girl's mother grabbed me and drove her nails into my shoulders. She wriggled my arm behind my back and hissed in my ear that I was a very naughty and ugly girl. I felt embarrassed and stumbled home on the sidewalk. I looked for my mother, and when I finally found her, she looked at me very angrily look. That girl's mother had called her. She screamed that she was extremely disappointed in me. When I was six, she set fire to the house, while me and my brother were inside. Later I heard from people, that she suffered from postpartum depression. There was no treatment. She went to prison. Everybody called us little shits, and nobody wanted to look after us. We were in and out of care homes. I never saw my mother again." She had told this sad story in one go. -"You said you were ashamed? Could you feel then?" I asked. -"I was flooded with misery. I imagined that no one wanted me because I was bad, naughty, and ugly." she added. -"Have you ever kept a diary?" I wanted to know. -"Yes, I have." she nodded vehemently. "a black composition book, which I always kept well hidden." -"What were you writing about?" I asked. She gave a little laugh and said, "Flowering coverage of the cute boy who accidentally bumped into me. And love poems. I don't remember why I wrote." -"Perhaps writing was your refuge." I spoke. -"You know," she began, "now that I think back on it: I could feel. I could feel colors. I still can feel colors and even taste them. And I can taste words as well." -"Maybe because of the colorlessness of your childhood, you learned to preserve the richness of texture. Tone, depth, movement, in an effort to make the world look lusher and more vibrant." I thought aloud. She fell back, exhausted. -"Anger is all I feel, and yet I don't know how to express it." she groaned. When I try to write it down, it loses volatility." -"How do you convey the anger you feel?" I asked her. -"I think I ́m way beyond anger. It ́s rage! Sometimes I shake with rage. Blind rage; uncontrolled and unstoppable." she said with clenched fists. "I live on a constant low boil of anger." -"Like most people." I tried to comfort her. "Most people spend their lives with a deep-seated fury." -"That's kind of sad, no?" she asked. -"And yet," I began, "Italians rage against each other full of desire and smoldering jealousy. -"You almost make it sound beautiful." she sighed." -"Perhaps you are not emotionally blind. you ́re numb and a little colorblind on the emotional spectrum." I continued. -"Is there help for me?" she sounded almost pleading. -"Yes!" I assured her, " It ́s called psychodynamic therapy." She wrinkled her nose and smiled weakly but hopefully. -"What does that mean?" -"Well, I don ́t know exactly, but it will help you to uncover unconscious thoughts and behaviors." -"And this will make me feel better?" she asked in a childish voice." - "I am firmly convinced of that." I said, "The anger you're feeling right now; voice it and learn to listen to it." -"And meanwhile?" she insisted. -"Well, isn't this the season to be jolly?" I laughed. -"Even if I have to fake it?" -"Yes!" I said firmly, "Fake it till you make it! Translate your anger into a language in your head, listen to it and hang on to it! That's about all you can do right now, but it's a mighty good start. " -"And what are you going to do now?" she asked innocently. I could hear the final boarding calls in my head. I took a deep breath and said: " Over the years it has kind of become the norm for me to work on Christmas eve. I don ́t mind celebrating a couple of days later, because I never “did” Christmas in the traditional sense, but I always enjoy spreading some holiday spirit. And though this year I was invited to an actual Christmas celebration, I think my plane is already up in the air... - “Because of me?” she almost sounded guilt-ridden. I smiled and nodded: “Not to worry! I have a free meal voucher. Look! Dinner and three sides, plus dessert. Can I persuade you to join me?”


You forgot John Goodman. You don't know who the fuck John Goodman is. John-fucking-Goodman. When I say *you*, I don't mean you in the singular. I mean *you* as a society, a civilization, a goddamn species. "John Goodman? Should I know him?" Yes, you fucking should. But you don't, and that there’s the existential problem. I present *The Big Lebowski*. "The Dude abides." Jeff Bridges. Pretty good, right? Wrong. What did you think of Walter Sobchak? "Walter *who*?" That right there is what I call the point. "Hey, how come Sulley in *Monsters, Inc.* doesn't talk?" Voiced by John Goodman. Guess what? Roseanne has a husband. The Flintstones movie has a Fred Flintstone. There's a scary big-ass man in the car with Llewyn Davis, etc., etc. *Poof*. The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was... John Goodman. So here's what's going to happen: One day you'll remember John Goodman. Except it won’t be in the *Oh, right, Ankara’s the capital of Turkey*-kind of way. It’ll be *I’m fucking my wife and* **oh-my-fucking-gawd I’m fucking John Goodman**. You’ll glance in the mirror: “Morning, John Goodman.” Your dog will look up at you *and it’ll be John Goodman with fucking fur on his face*. Come on, be a mensch and toss little John Goodman a treat, perhaps a little scrap-- of your life, your identity, your very existence, you gullible mothefucker! Give John Goodman a bone, he’ll use it to rip your soul out through your throat and wear it to your son’s first communion. “You proud of me, dad?” asks John Goodman. Because when John Goodman disappears from our collective memory, it’s for one reason only: to come back with a fucking vengeance. Just wait until you’re surrounded by a room full of John Goodmans, speed dating John Goodman after John Goodman, dining on John Goodman’s braised thigh with a side of halloumi cheese made from milk freshly squeezed from John Goodman. You think you know this, right? You’ve seen *Being John Malkovich*. Wrong. You’ve only seen the version without John Goodman, the version John Goodman wanted you to see. The *wouldn’t this be funny?* version. “Would you look at that, a world full of John Malkoviches.” The version in which you can go in and out of John Malkovich. Did you laugh? Are you laughing now? Well, it ain’t gonna be fucking funny! There isn’t going to be a way out. You won’t be going in and out of John Goodman world. John Goodman will penetrate, dominate and annihilate the only world there is: This one. This reality we have right now-- John Goodman will press its fucking face against the curb and stomp on the back of its head so fucking hard you ain’t never heard thunder so loud! Big John Goodman Bang. And when He rolls the world onto its back, it’ll stare up, as John-fucking-Goodman.


There it stood, at the end of a dilapidated alleyway, silhouetted against a display of flickering, fluorescent lights, like a hidden treasure waiting to be uncovered. The temperature was unforgiving, and the wind relentless, but the shop emitted a warmth like no other. The streets encasing the rest of the city were bustling with holiday chaos, yet amongst it all, that singular street acted as the eye of the storm. Nadia wasn’t quite sure if it was the unique discovery that enticed her or if it was the awaited company that made her travels worthwhile, but that moment encompassed her with a surreal feeling of serenity. She would do everything in her power to hold onto it. Following the cracked sections of concrete as a guide, Nadia tiptoed carefully down the snow-dusted path, her cheeks blushed, nose numb, and glasses fogged. For the first time all month, she had begun to feel the Christmas spirit that everyone talks about. As she approached the welcome mat, Nadia hummed holiday tunes she hadn’t reminisced on in years. Silver jingle bells greeted her upon entering the building, as well as a cheery clerk, but her ears were instantly deafened by the sight of him. He was everything and nothing she remembered him to be. Although bloodshot and strained, his artic blue eyes still pierced through her soul and spoke to her. His hair was disheveled and his clothes wrinkled, but it looked like he put whatever effort he could muster up into being presentable. His natural build was muscular, but even through his layers of undershirts and sweaters, it looked like he was starving. “Delvin- it’s so good to see... you look... how’s it been...” Struggling to find the right words to initiate a conversation that was long overdue, Nadia realized she was still standing in the entryway of the shop. Delvin had centered his focus on her from the second she walked in and was already pushing in his chair to meet her. As soon as he touched her shoulder and met her eyes, all discomfort and apprehension was cast away. “Nadia, my friend. Would you like something to eat? To drink? Actually, scratch that. I know just what you want.” She smirked; his voice reminded her of a forgotten comfort zone. Hidden behind the register, the clerk sprung up as the two neared, seemingly embarrassed by the way she was trying to eavesdrop. Among the dimmed lights, cozy atmosphere, and lack of customers, the girl had all but fallen asleep before some entertainment presented itself. With utmost confidence, Delvin ordered, “One hot chocolate for the lady, and-” Nadia peeped up at Delvin as she interrupted him, “Just make it the one- we’ll share. And don’t go light on the marshmallows.” Delvin reached in his pocket and repeatedly flipped through his wallet, as if the money he spent was simply misplaced in another compartment. Without hesitation, Nadia pulled out her own money, and dropped the remaining change in the tip jar. She pressed her lips together and exchanged a quick glance with Delvin, as if to say, “no trouble at all.” Through clenched teeth, Delvin’s humility quickly turned to that of alleviation because of the way Nadia so easily dismissed the incident. In just a few minutes, out came a candy cane striped mug with melted marshmallows to the brim and a sprinkle of cocoa on top. Nadia’s inner child overtook as she giddily carried the steaming chocolate to an isolated table nestled in the back corner of the shop. Pulling the second stool closer to her own, Nadia patted the seat for Delvin to join. Surrounded by nothing but four walls and empty tables, she could finally have her deserved time alone with a long, lost friend. Nadia wasted no time letting her drink cool; she closed her eyes in ecstasy as the rich chocolate coated her throat. She set the mug down a little too excitedly, spilling some over the sides. She licked the sticky marshmallow residue off the top of her lip. Delvin was never too keen on sweets, but she was insistent that he try. For as confident as Delvin was, he knew Nadia was abundantly more stubborn, so he didn’t try resisting. The two shared a brief moment of silence, euphoric over the sugar and reconciliation, until the high came crashing down like a wave. Intently and intensely, Nadia scoffed, “So tell me, Delvin. Why are you here?” Caught off guard by her quick change in demeanor, Delvin tilted his head to the side like a lost puppy dog. One deep breath in, “...because, you know that’s not how friendships work, right? You don’t get to just up and leave and disappear like a videogame you got bored of playing, right?” One deep breath out. All the pent up resentment and confusion Nadia was holding onto came bubbling up and out like an overflowing pot of boiling water. Delvin was slow to speak and careful to choose what he might say next. “What I did was beyond wrong. Abandoning you like that- I’ll never forgive myself. And I’m not sure what took me so long to come to my senses, but... I miss you, Nadia. You’re the only person that was ever there for me through thick and thin. I needed to see you again- to get a look at those dorky glasses you love, to hear your dirty jokes and innocent laugh, to feel that untouchable bond we shared since day one.” His apology would never mend the countless nights she spent chewing her fingers till they bled or the backlash so many had taken from her on account of him- but he was, at least, painfully sincere. She could tell by the twitching of his nose and by the way his ears were turning red. Nadia thought back on the first time they had ever met. ...Ten years old, and her mom was still attempting to arrange friendships. Even though she was never the outgoing, girly-girl her mom had always dreamed of, Nadia had enough individuality to stand firm in her own skin, which meant she was more than content with existing in the solitude of her own room. When Delvin arrived, hiding behind his own mother’s leg, it was clear to her that neither of them wanted to indulge in their parents’ playdate fantasies. After some awkward icebreakers and uncalled for accusations, the two came to learn that they had quite a bit in common- most importantly, the fact that their parents wanted them to be something they weren’t. For Nadia, it was a princess-loving cheerleader, and, for Delvin, a musical prodigy like his father. Not long after this discovery, the two were inseparable, creating memories and wrecking havoc everywhere they went. One evening while their mothers gossiped about the disappointments their children had become, Nadia and Delvin exchanged a Polly Pocket doll and a guitar pick to signify that they would never be what was expected of them, but instead, stay true to themselves... The fond memory eased Nadia’s outburst. She mulled over it for a while, sipping her cocoa until she couldn’t help but burst out laughing. “Do you remember the time we came back home with matching tattoos?” Delvin raised his eyebrows as he pulled down his sleeve to study his wrist, “Hm, well, tattoos tend to be permanent, so I’m wondering at what point you thought I may have forgotten...” Nadia playfully grabbed his arm and snorted, “Oh hush, you jerk. You knew what I meant.” ...They had already left the house on false pretenses, and being that Nadia was the responsible one of the two, she wondered how long it would take for the guardians to decode their forged story and notice the stolen car. Delvin was a competent driver, but that still didn’t account for the fact that he was license-less. Nadia’s worry, however, was short lived, as they cruised down the backroads, high on nothing but life. She wanted to bottle that lighthearted feeling up forever: the wind tangling her hair, the bass vibrating the floor, and the smell of farm animals permeating the car atmosphere. Then a lightbulb was lit; she knew just how to preserve the moment in the most permanent way she could. As she shrieked Delvin’s name, he slammed on the brakes, tailspinning to the center of the road and skidding to a stop. The adrenaline only heightened Nadia’s excitement as she exclaimed, “We need matching tattoos. This instant.” When they returned home to infuriated parents who grounded them for the rest of their adolescent years, Nadia could do nothing but smile at her freshly inked skin: a car with angel wings... It was now Delvin who felt the need to sip on the luke-warm chocolate as he dared to venture into dangerous territories. “It really wasn’t until after highschool that you and I faded, you know.” Nadia began uncomfortably tapping her feet on the ground, prepared to correct him and also slightly offended by a word as nonchalant as “faded.” “A bit before that, actually. It was definitely near the end of senior year that I started pushing away...” ...Ever since she was young, Nadia preferred to be antisocial, unless it meant time with Delvin. She eventually concluded that this was the reason he could convince her to leave the house, even if it meant being out of her comfort zone and in less than ideal situations. During their high school years, this usually meant unruly parties and taboo scenes for Delvin. This particular party was out of the ordinary in a few senses. Normally, Nadia would end up sneaking off by herself to an empty room, or taking care of Delvin once he had one too many drinks. This time, Delvin was insistent on Nadia letting loose and spending time with him. Much to her surprise, Nadia started enjoying the vodka punch drinks and the way they were making her anxieties vanish and her legs float. It was almost comparable to the way it felt in that car so long ago- just a bit more... artificial. When the dancing became tiresome, Delvin guided Nadia to a couch on the outskirts of the commotion. They talked about light topics and dark topics; they talked for what felt like minutes to what felt like hours. In the middle of one of Nadia’s slurred sentences, Delvin pressed his finger up to her lips. He held it there for a while, studying her features like she was a goddess sent from Heaven. He dragged his finger from her lip up to her forehead, pushing strands of hair behind her ear. The cheering and music coming from the crowd became inaudible; all she could do was feel his hand pull her in, his gentle lips lock with hers, and his chest rise and fall more and more rapidly. He might not have known it, but that was her first kiss, and he made it everything she wanted it to be. She stumbled to the bathroom through a sea of tipsy teenagers, unable to contain her grin. As she stood in front of the mirror, wiping smeared lip gloss off her cheeks, she thought about all of the things that she wanted to say to him when she got back; however, Nadia’s butterflies suffocated quickly when she returned to Delvin posed on that same couch with another girl. Although- it wasn’t the way he kissed her that would haunt Nadia- it was the fact that he wouldn’t remember a single second of it come morning... “You never told me about that night, Nadia.” With a despondent smile, she rhetorically questioned, “Would it have made a difference?” Delvin clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth, hoping it might form the right words. Nadia spoke up before he could figure them out. “That still wasn’t the last major encounter between us before you disappeared, though. I think you know what night I’m referring to...” ...It had been days since Nadia heard from him- which wasn’t uncommon anymore, but this time her gut feeling seemed different. She wasn’t the type to show up unannounced, which made her question her entire identity as she kicked his door in. His apartment was littered with rotting garbage and weeks worth of dirty dishes and clothes. A cockroach scurried across her foot as she began desperately searching through rooms. Nadia almost overlooked Delvin completely as he curled up in the corner of his bathroom. She had never seen him so small. Falling to her knees in front of him, she was at a loss for what to do. Delvin was incoherently murmuring, tapping his fingers incessantly, and struggling to keep his head from banging into the toilet. Exposed from in between his toes was a needle, still dangling from the skin. Mortified, Nadia reached for her cellphone to call emergency services, but Delvin aggressively grabbed her ankle. “N-no. P-please. I’ll be o-o-okay.” His head was feverishly burning, but he was shivering like he had just taken an ice bath. Conflicted among mortality, instincts, and friendship, Nadia reluctantly made her obvious choice. They rode the night out together, and, even in his state of overdosed delirium, Nadia still didn’t leave his side... Suddenly passionate and animated, Delvin implored, “That night is exactly the reason why I reached out to you, Nadia. I was in denial before, but I’m lost and alone.. I need help, and I need yours. You're the only one who has stuck by me, genuinely cared about me-“ Nadia pressed her fingers to his lips, like he had done to her so many years ago. In all the time they spent together, she had seen him beyond overwhelmed and at his lowest, but she had never seen him cry. His eyes began welling up, and his hands started to tremble. She knew in her heart that he was serious this time. “I want you to have this...” Delvin exposed a Polly Pocket doll from his pocket, and, instantaneously, Nadia giggled until it hurt. Then, along with Delvin, she began to cry. Knowing she had done the same thing with his guitar pick, she asked, “You really kept that thing all these years?” Delvin closed her hand around the doll. “...I could never bring myself to get rid of it. I didn’t want to risk breaking our bond... that doll stood for everything we used to be. Superstitious- I know- but listen to me. I’m checking myself into rehab tomorrow, and I don’t want you to give this back to me until I get out. Do you understand?” Nadia promised with every fiber of her being that she would support Delvin to the end. With the last two swigs of remaining cold chocolate, each of them toasted as a means of authenticating their vow. For a moment in time, Nadia started to believe that Christmas miracles did exist. All barriers broken down, they embraced, saying all that had to be said through their touch. Delvin gave Nadia one last wink as he exited the shop, determined to make things right once and for all. Nadia leaned back and closed her eyes, decompressing and relishing in the rekindled friendship and hopeful future Delvin was preparing for himself. She envisioned the new and old memories they could create and recreate when Delvin was substance free. Then all at once, everything became quiet, so quiet that she could hear the ticks on her wrist watch, like a metronome... until a shrieking tire squeal followed by a violent crash interrupted them. It bellowed down the alleyway and shook the windows, the tables, and the ceramic mug still sitting in front of her. There were seconds of eerie silence afterwards before the blaring sirens commenced. The clerk sounded frantic as she jolted up from behind the counter, running to the window. Nadia felt a pit form in her stomach that was rising to her throat, blocking her airway, choking her and preventing her from screaming. She refused to open her eyes because the darkness was the only thing keeping her from awakening to a devastating reality. Then her cellphone rang, forcing her to face the truth... When Nadia opened her eyes, she was alone. No panic-stricken clerk, no ambulance alarms or medics, no distraught bystanders. She unsteadily arose from the table, preparing to take one last walkthrough of the shop. Shattered glass remained scattered throughout, mold had overtaken most of the walls, and the floorboards were splintered and decayed. She passed by the counter and brushed the dust off the broken cash register, wondering how many times it served its purpose before giving up. When approaching the exit, she listened for the familiar jingle of bells. The once welcoming door mat had become frayed and illegible, stained by hundreds of mud covered shoes. There was a paper still posted on the door: a notice of eviction, dated five years prior. Nadia looked up to see that the elegant string of lights had been replaced by obnoxious, neon caution tape. It was time. Clamping her fists together tightly over her possessions, Nadia squatted down at the entryway. She blamed the hesitation on being frozen; her hands were too numb to unclench. Once she found the courage to release, she revealed a Polly Pocket doll and a guitar pick. She lifted up the mat and tucked the items safely underneath. Following the path out of the alleyway, she restored her original trail that had been coated by a thick layer of snow since her arrival. Nadia looked one more time over her shoulder; Delvin was standing on the welcome mat, winking goodbye. As she looked up to the sky, snowflakes melted on her cheeks. In a strangely liberating way, she knew Delvin and her tracks would soon be concealed forever.