It was the winter of 2000; I was in my hometown of Anchorage. On this evening, I was relaxing on the couch. Planning on watching another re-run of Seinfeld before turning in for the night. It is worth mentioning that my girlfriend, at the time, happened to be an Alaskan native. She had recently put the kids to bed and was taking a shower. My girlfriend's sister was visiting our home. She was staying in the downstairs spare bedroom. She was in town due to having some medical checkups scheduled for the following week at ANMC. We lived in a subdivision off Arctic Blvd that bordered Chester creek. This area called Midtown; it's not too far from downtown Anchorage. I suppose the time was around 10 or 11 PM; the moon was full that January night. I remember looking out the front room window. Seeing the rooftops of the neighboring houses sharply silhouetted in the glow. My dog lazily snoozed on the floor next to the couch. Eventually, my eyes also started to get heavy. This was due to the background noise of the television. Mixing with the quiet white noise of the shower had a calming effect. The baseboard heater quietly clicked and popped. Wrapping me in relaxing warmth; I soon dozed off. Suddenly I was awoken by a sharp, jolting burst of sound. My eyes immediately snapped open in shock. This tone ripped thru the tranquility of the peaceful night with gravelly croaking. There was no mistaking that sound, especially during the winter months in Alaska. This was the sound of the Raven. I remember thinking, why the hell is a raven making a racket at this time of the night!? I barely had time to finish that thought. When I heard the bedroom door fly open and then the sound of hurrying footsteps. I look up in time to see my girlfriend. Quickly putting on her robe as she runs to each kid's bedroom, anxiously checking on them. I sat up on the couch, still dazed from my interrupted sleep. Trying to get my head around what exactly I was seeing and hearing and why all the commotion. I glanced over to the TV and saw static across the screen; the time on the DVD player displayed 3:00 AM in green light. The dog was up and alert; the hackles stood tall down its back. Suddenly, the sister quickly comes up the stairs. She had a genuine look of wide-eyed concern and alarm deeply etched on her face. Once my girlfriend made sure the kids were safe and asleep, she worriedly looked out each window. For what I had no idea until she stopped dead in her tracks at the window in front of me. What's wrong??... What's wrong?? The sister kept fearfully whispering to herself. Slowly wringing her nightshirt in her hands. Timidly shuffling across the floor towards the living room window next to her sister. I couldn't understand why both the sisters and the dog were having such an intense reaction. The scene was surreal; I found myself in a confused daze as I stood up and approached the window myself. There was the culprit perched on the handrail of our deck. I have always known Ravens to be large birds; yet, this bird seemed utterly massive this close. The bird was so black that its feathers took on a deep purplish hue in the moonlight glow. Its large round inky black eyes assessed each of us individually. It intelligently, eyeing us up and down as it sharply cut its head from side to side. It yet seemed to take a greater interest in the sisters. This bird carried an intense, still, and heavy presence. It showed absolutely no fear of the humans that stood before it. It methodically stretched out its neck and opened its beak wide. A few seconds of silence passed until it made a sound I had never heard from a Raven before or after this bizarre night. The mournful cry it made reminded me of the wail of a small infant. The raven slowly weaved its head in a low figure-eight pattern as it made this continuous cry. The moment that sound filled the night air, a cold chill prickled down my neck and across my back. I was filled with a sense of loneliness I had never felt before. I quickly glanced over at the sisters. They were tightly clinging to each other. Knuckles white, with teary eyes keenly locked on the bird's bizarre display. I immediately thought that I was witnessing something I was not meant to see. I was very much an interloper in a personal exchange. Once the bird finished this almost ritual-like behavior. It quietly eyed both the women for a few more moments before leaping off into the night. An item lay where the bird once perched on the railing. Curiosity getting the best of me. Mixed with the desperate need to escape the strange and awkward atmosphere that overcame the room. I heaved open the half-frozen sliding door to enter the deck to retrieve the item. The weather outside being bitterly cold. I instantly regretted my decision as my body went into an immediate shiver. The skin on my face was tightening while my ears and nose burned painfully. The snow squeaked loudly beneath my bare feet as I gingerly approached the item. The mystery gift left behind soon became clear. A small bundle of needles from a spruce tree lay on the barren rail. Clearly, the women were both shaken to their core that night. A quiet melancholy soon followed and lingered heavily on the sisters. Continuing thru the following days after the bird's departure. The reason why was unknown to each of us. Yet, I had a strong gut feeling that it was not my place to talk about what we each saw. A few days passed. Once I got off work, the three of us decided to take the dog for a walk on a community trail not far behind our subdivision. Heavy cloud cover filled the sky over Anchorage that evening. Large snowflakes slowly fell. The walk was mainly dark. Except for the occasional light pole that sparsely dotted the trail. Washing the path in a fluorescent glow. The sounds of 6 PM city traffic droned in the background. We talked among ourselves when we heard a man's low weak cry for help in the darkness ahead. We immediately stopped and listed. The dog's ears snapped forward, head pointing slightly off the trail. A long whimper-like growl emitted from the animal's core, followed by a concerned huff. Once more, we hear a weak, agonized voice call out, pleading for God’s intervention. The cry drifted thru the snow-laden spruce trees that lined the trail. I glance down and notice a footpath in the snow leading thru the woodland in the directions of the cries. I hand the dog’s leash to the sisters and tell them to stay put. Both women sharply plead for me not to go as I continue into the murk to investigate. As I weave my way thru the tiny trail, my feet bust thru the upper crust of snow, and I sink to thigh depth. I continue to slog my way forward; before long, I come to a clearing in the trail. In the darkness, I can make out the silhouette of a lone tent. I call out as I approach the tent, only to be met with silence. When I am closer, I notice a battered tarp draped over the tent shell haphazardly. An inch of snow lay on the tarp, and the cheap tent bows under the weight. The unzipped tent entrance gave the appearance of a gaping black mouth in the gloom. I strain to look inside and call out a sharp hello?! Not a sound or any movement came from the tent. My concentration was suddenly broken. Irritated and worried calls from the sisters rang out demanding for me comeback. Before making my way back to the main trail, I investigated the campsite. Piles of trash littered the area in dark mounds. I made out some of what appeared to be scattered empty food containers. White trash bags ripped open full of miscellaneous used clothing. Broken children's toys lay beside empty beer and alcohol containers. Piles of empty aerosols labeled canned air peaked thru the snow. Frozen clothing remained hanging from the hacked-up trees that surrounded the site. A deep low sobbing drifted from behind me down the trail from where I came. The women again loudly shouted for my return with urgency. I quickly as possible made my way back to the sisters. They both pointed to the direction from where the cry came from. The focus was down the wide main trail that eventually opened into an empty city park named the valley of the moon. We called out as we cautiously searched the entire park. The only response was the muffled noise of a city in the winter. We made our way to a metal-roofed pavilion. Underneath the structure sat a few graffitied weather-beaten wooden picnic tables. This area was the only spot in the park not covered in snow. We decided at this point that it would be best to call APD and inform them of everything. We did precisely that, APD arrived, performed a search, and found nothing. Being late, we now started for home. We were making our way thru the playground. Passing a tall rocket-shaped jungle gym, when the sister gave a sharp, loud gasp. We glanced over to see she was looking upwards. The city lights reflected a deep red hue on the heavy snow-laden clouds. Revealing a large black silhouette of a raven who sat silently perched. We all felt the familiar heaviness of its gaze. My stomach tightened as we continued forward. Lowering our faces from the pelting snow while picking up our pace in our walk home, Two days later, the morning came for the sister to leave. We were getting ready to drop her off at the airport when my home phone rang. My girlfriend answers the phone. I was loading the sister's bags into the truck when I heard loud shouting and screams coming from the house. I soon found both women crying hysterically for their nephew. Alfred was a quiet boy who grew into an even quieter young man. He was raised in a village in southeast Alaska by his grandparents and aunties. Alfred became heavily addicted to alcohol. So much so his family sent him to Anchorage in hopes of treatment. Unfortunately, the treatment never took hold after many attempts. Eventually, he found himself homeless on the streets of Anchorage. He was ashamed of his situation and refused to return home, ignoring his family's pleas to return. He steadily continued to sink deeper into his addiction. Alfred became a living ghost in the urban landscape. He survived living hand to mouth by panhandling and stealing. Being afraid to sleep at the local homeless shelters at night. Alfred preferred to sleep where he could. One cold night he closed his eyes and never opened them again. The Spenard community patrol found his frozen body early the following day. The police report stated Alfreds' body was found in a fetal position. The man was lying on top of a picnic table underneath the pavilion at the valley of the moon park. When found, it was also mentioned that his body was covered in spruce boughs in a desperate attempt to stay warm. The night Alfred died was the very night we received our visit and gift from the mysterious Raven. Unbeknown to us, three days after Alfred’s death, we heard the sad cries for help in the park. The same park where he died. I had often wondered, looking back. If the Raven kept silent watch over him that bitterly cold night when he passed away. Maybe Alfred was able to catch a glimpse of its dark silhouette in the yellow moonlight, high on up its perch. Perhaps he also felt the heavy gaze upon him during his final moments. We will never know. I like to tell myself the bird was there, and Alfred found comfort in the gaze, knowing he was not alone. He would have a companion during his final walk thru the dark wilderness, to his eternal journey home... The sisters and their family never once referred to this mysterious bird as Raven. They called it by its original ancient name. The name given to it by their people in myths and legends centuries ago. The sacred name of Y'eil.


Content Warning: This story takes place in a gentlemen's club and the co-main character is an exotic dancer. Raven: Back again, huh? James: Yep. Raven: Do you actually like it here? James: Um...yeah, I guess so. Raven: Why? James: Why not? Raven: This place is a dump. James: You work here! Raven: Yeah, well, it’s still a dump. James: Um, ok. If you say so. Pause Raven: Do you have a girlfriend? James: No. Pause I don’t. Raven: When was the last time you did? James: Why do you want to know? Raven: Look, I’m just trying to make conversation. As you might’ve noticed, no one else is here and I’m bored out of my mind. James: Is it always this dead during the week? Raven: Pretty much. Strip club patronage isn’t what it used to be. James: Then why even open up? Why don’t you guys just open on the weekends? Raven: Because every once in a while a high roller will come through and spend a few grand. I guess it happens often enough for us to stay open during the week. James: Oh. I see. Pause Wow, lucky them. Raven: Lucky them? James: To have that kind of money to spend and it’s no big deal. Raven: Pshh, these guys are anything but lucky. James: What do you mean? Raven: I mean most of them are unhappily married and miserable. That’s why they come here. To quickly spice up their lives, even if it’s just for a couple hours. James: Wow, that’s really sad. Raven: What about you? James: What about me? Raven: Are you miserable? James: I don’t know. Pause Maybe. Pause But unfortunately I don’t have the kind of money those guys do to spice things up. Raven: Ugh, stop talking. James: Why? Raven: You’re better than...this. James: Pshh. Raven: What? James: How do you know I’m better? Raven: Because you're the only guy who ever comes in here who treats us with any respect and has decent manners. James: Oh. Wow. Pause Thank you. Raven: Don’t mention it. Pause Do you want a dance? James: Yeah, I’ll take a dance. Raven: Let’s go. *** Ten minutes later James: Wow, thank you for that. Raven: Just doing my job. Pause So, you never answered my question? James: What question? Raven: When was the last time you had a girlfriend? James: A long time ago. Raven: How long? James: I guess it’s been about nine years. Raven: Nine years?! James: Yep. Raven: Why? James: I don’t know. Raven: Yes, you do. James: I don’t know that I want to talk about this. Raven: Oh, come on. Humor a bored, frustrated stripper. Pleeeeeeeeeese! James: Well... Pause I thought I was going to be with her forever. Pause And it didn’t work out that way. Pause And I had never felt pain like that before. Pause And I don’t want to ever again. Pause That’s pretty much it. Raven: You’d rather be alone for the rest of your life? James: Well, I mean, I didn’t plan it to be this way. But it’s just become what it’s become. I’m used to it. Raven: Well, I think that’s really sad. James: Why? Raven: Because now you’re just going through your life like a robot! James: That’s not very nice. And how do you know how I go through life? Raven: I’m sorry, but what do you do when you’re not, you know, here? James: I work. Raven: Ok, what do you do when you’re not here OR at work? James: Well... Pause I read. Pause I watch movies. Pause Once in a while I do a little writing. Pause I watch a lot of sports. Pause I play some online poker. Pause I guess that’s about it. Raven: How exciting. James: Gee, thanks. Raven: And how do you feel? James: What do you mean ’how do I feel?’ Raven: Deep down inside, how do you feel? James: Honestly? Raven: Honestly. James: Dead. And empty. Raven: I thought so. I just didn’t think you’d admit it. James: Hahaha. Raven: Don’t you want a wife, kids, a dog, a house-that kind of thing? James: Sure, I guess. Pause Don’t you? Raven: My third marriage ended last year. James: Oh. I’m sorry. Raven: Don’t be. He was an awful person. Just my type. James: Why’s that? Raven: I don’t know. James: Yes, you do. Raven: Hahaha. Pause It’s a tough cycle to break. Pause That’s how my dad was. Pause And my uncles. Pause And my older brothers. Pause And as a result, that’s how all my boyfriends and husbands have turned out to be. James: You could...try to break the cycle. Raven: That’s much easier said than done. James: Yeah, I know. Pause So, what do you do when you’re, you know, not here? Raven: I have three kids. I don’t have time for much else. James: You do? Raven: Are you surprised? James: I just didn’t know. Raven: Strippers are people with lives, too, you know. James: I know. Pause It’s just not something I’ve ever really thought about. Raven: Few do. James: What do you do with your kids? Raven: Everything. Run them around to practices, go to the library, go to movies here and there, go out to eat occasionally if it’s in the budget. Pause Why are you looking at me like that? James: You sound like a really good mom. Raven: Thanks, I am. James: Maybe they’ll break the cycle. And if they do, it will be because of you. How you raised them. Raven: Maybe. James: Maybe I could join you sometime? Raven: For what? Raven: All the stuff you just said. Practices and the library and out to eat and movies. Raven: You're sweet, but no. James: Why? Raven: You don’t want my life. Pause And you really don’t want to ever have to deal with one of my ex-husbands. James: Why’s that? Raven: Just trust me when I say he’d make your life a living hell. James: Oh come on, how bad could it be? Raven: Really bad. James: Really bad? Raven: Really really really bad. James: Oh. Well...ok. Raven: Why don’t you just hop on one of those dating sites. That’s what everyone does these days. James Yeah, I know a lot of people who have met that way. Raven: Me too. James: Maybe I will. Raven: You should. Pause Well, there’s one of my regulars. I didn’t know if he’d show up tonight or not, but he did. James: He comes here a lot? Raven: Just about every week. James: Oh. Ok. Raven: He’ll probably keep me pretty occupied for the rest of the night, but it was nice talking to you. James: You too. Raven: Don’t come back here. James: Haha. Raven: I’m serious. James: We’ll see. Raven: Enjoy the rest of your night. James: You too. Raven: That’s not gonna happen, but thanks. See ya. James: See ya *** Three weeks later Raven: I thought I told you to never come here again. James: Oh, sorry. Pause I guess old habits die hard sometimes. Raven: You need to work on that. James: Yeah, I probably do. Raven: So, have you been on any of those dating sites? James: Actually, I have. Raven: Well, yay! How’s it been going? James It’s going ok. I’ve had a couple decent dates. None of them have amounted to anything yet, but we’ll see. Raven: It’s not going to take long. James: How do you know? Raven: I just know. Pause So, how are you feeling, you know, deep down inside? James: Well... Pause A lot better. Thanks to you. Raven: I do what I can. Pause So...want a dance? James: Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do. Raven: Well...let’s go!


Have you ever felt like you're losing your mind? Actually worried about going insane? I have. Recently, at least. For the last two weeks I've been having these dreams. Nightmares, really. I think. They always start the same. Or do they? I'm on my way to work, running late but stopping by my favorite café on the corner, regardless. There is a long line - there always is. They have the best coffee in town so of course it's immensely popular among the nine to five zombies in the morning. Like me. As I stand in line, a little anxious because of the time and the vast row of people ahead of me that keeps moving yet I don't seem to get any closer to the front, I notice a hooded figure. It's a mild and sunny day so the black rain coat stands out like a coffee stain on a white shirt. I look down on my shirt and realize there actually is a coffee stain there. How did that happen? I took it fresh out of my closet this morning and surely there hadn't been a stain there then. Still puzzling over this I look up again, my eyes automatically going back to that hooded figure. He's still in exactly the same position: right hand stretched out to open the door, left foot slightly hovering above the ground. How odd. My brain is trying to make sense of the information provided by my eyes but it's failing completely. I look around. Surely someone else must have noticed this - but everyone is only staring at me. Some look shocked, some look worried, some are pointing at my chest. With a growing sense of irritation and confusion I look down at the stain on my shirt again. It's grown considerably in size and I realize it's not coffee at all ... it's blood. I wake with a start. I'm drenched in sweat and tangled up in my sheets. I sit up on my bed, eyes closed, willing my heart to stop pounding. It works, for the most part, and I shake my head at the ridiculousness of having such a strong physical reaction to a weird little dream that I can't even remember anymore. Something about coffee stains. I check my alarm clock: 8.30 am. Completely shocked that I seem to have slept through my alarm, I jump out of bed. I hurry through my morning routine, get dressed quickly and grab my keys and my phone. I see a message from Claire, asking if we're still on for today. That stops me in my tracks. Claire and I have made plans to go to the lake on Saturday. But today is Thursday. Right? I check the date on my phone: Saturday the 16th. I stand in my hallway, unmoving, left hand clenched to a fist around my keys. I try to recollect this past week but no matter how many times I go through it I always end up at today being Thursday. I wait a couple more minutes, or possibly an eternity, before I slowly put down my keys again. Somewhat shaken, I sit down on the nearest chair, a bar stool in my kitchen. I open my friend's message again and type my reply. Yeah, sure thing. Smiley face. I need coffee. Maybe something to eat. But I don't move. I just sit here, in my kitchen, trying to make sense of things. But after a while I just give up. It's futile so I might just as well get ready for the day trip with Claire. I exchange my business outfit for something a little more casual, pack my swimming gear and some provisions - just in time before a short message lets me know that Claire is waiting outside in her convertible. It's a gorgeous day and the nice summer breeze quickly releases some of the tension left from this morning. Claire is in a chatty mood today. She just started a new job and seems really excited about it. So the two hours it takes to get to the trailhead parking lot go by blissfully fast. From there it's a nice one and a half hour walk to the lake. It's a bit of a steep climb at first but once you get through the dense forest the trail levels off and you have an amazing view of the surrounding landscape. There are two small lakes along the trail. We walk past the first one and head straight to our favorite spot by the larger of the two lakes. It's a bit secluded, tucked away in a cute little bay, surrounded by a few pine trees. Here, even though there are quite a few people out and about, enjoying the summer weather, it feels like we are the only people for miles and miles. To cool off from the hike we decide to prioritize the crystal clear, cold water over lunch and hop in from a perfectly located rock. Being fed by a river straight up from the mountains, the coldness of the lake takes me by surprise every single time. It's both a little unnerving and exhilarating at the same time. The sting lessens after a little while and we do our usual swimming exercise: butterfly our way to the middle of the lake and then breast swim back to where we started. It's a fair distance and by the time we get back to the shore both Claire and I are famished. We devour the food we brought and as soon as we're done we lie back on the enormous blanket feeling the best kind of exhausted, with a full stomach and the sun tickling our faces. I drift off with a silly grin on my face - this is the good life. I wake slowly and roll over onto my side. I risk a quick peek at my alarm clock: it's almost 7 am; the alarm will go off in a few minutes. Nevertheless I close my eyes again, trying to remember as many details of the dream I just had as possible. A perfect day at the lake. I smile at the image of Claire failing miserably at not getting her food all over the blanket. It had been such a vivid dream. I can't wait to finally go to the lake again. The weather has been rather miserable lately which is why we had to postpone our first hike and swim adventure of the year a bunch of times. I look out of the window: the sky is a gloomy grey and it looks suspiciously like rain. Again. Oh well, can't be helped. I turn off the alarm and head to the shower. The nice, warm water reminds me of that dream again - ironically enough. For a second I contemplate switching to cold water ... But that idea is quickly abandoned and instead I turn up the hot water a little more. I get out of the shower and get dressed. I'll use the early start to the day to stop by my favorite café on my way to work. They are always ridiculously busy in the morning and I usually don't have the time to grab breakfast - a large coffee, sugar, no milk, and a ham and cheese croissant - there. I can already feel my stomach rumble at the thought of that. So I put on my black rain coat and get going. It's just a short walk but the cold wind and the relentless rain make me hunch over and hurry to the café as fast as possible. Just as I am about to open the door to the café - jacket already open to get out my wallet in eager anticipation of a delicious breakfast - I hear a loud noise, almost like a gunshot. I freeze for a second, noticing a sharp pain in my chest. Everything feels like slow motion all of a sudden. I look down and see a bright red stain forming on my white shirt. Small at first but growing larger by the second. I feel dizzy and I think I'm about to collapse ... And I wake up with a start.


Where to begin my story? It seems like that everything crumbled within a month. I lost my job. I lost my wife. I lost my house. I lost my friend. I met my wife when I was twenty years old when I was in my first year in engineering. My God. I still remember when she entered the class. She was on crutches with her school back on her back, and holding a binder in her hands. It was love at first sight for me. Not for her though. I had to courtship her for maybe weeks, months...but then we became soulmates. My wife, Sonia, came up to me today, just out of the blue, told me that it was over. She mentioned that the problem was not me, it was her. That famous line ‘’it’s not you, it’s me!’’. When I tried to make her talk, to give me more details, she would not divulge more explanations. Briefly, she just told me that she met this guy from her work place and that they are in love. Ten years of marriage, no kids though, but were preparing that phase of our lives, and she tells me she loves someone else. She did not provide me with any details on what I did not do or what I did do... A week later, my boss comes up to me, and announces me that the company is resizing. One third of the staff was to be let go and I was part of that group of employees that will be laid off. I had been working for the same company since my graduation. It was heart tearing feeling. I had tears in my eyes and I did my best to hide them till I was out in the parking lot beside my car. I was standing with my personal belongings in a box. Looking one more time to the prestigious building where I worked and managed many projects. I made some great friends here. All this gone in a flash... Talking about great friends, one of them, from my job, became one of my best buddies. When you have the same passion, working for the same company, towards same career goals, it forges a tight bond. My friend Cedrick was a civil engineer. We worked on lot of assignments together. After my wife, he was the one I would confine the most. After we both lost our jobs, Cedrick had been chatting on a dating site with this woman from Panama for a year. He told me that this was a sign. He went to visit her for a month, six months ago. He told me he was in love and he was into her. This was a perfect time to go visit her. He mentioned that doing a minor in Spanish when he was in University did not go to waste. He has a job interview at an engineering firm the day after he lands in Panama. If all goes well, he intends to extend his stay. That woman she met, she is beautiful and she seems a person with a good heart. I am happy for him but I lost Sonia and now Cedrick. The house that Sonia and I bought some years back, is now on sale. I did not want to sale the house, but she wants her share of the house by selling it. She wants nothing to do with me. I understand that we are in the process of divorcing and she wants to settle everything and start her new life with her new beau. I am still trying to grasp what did I do wrong to deserve this. I am guessing that within a few days or weeks, the house sale will be finalized. I will get half of the money from it. That half, might not be enough to buy myself a new house. The housing market is soaring and our salaries are not increasing at the same rate. I do have some savings but most of them are locked in in my pension funds. And, currently, I am with no work... Almost a month later, since Sonia told me she was leaving me, and I am jobless, friendless, with no woman in my life, and feel powerless with less financial stability. As I am doing some cleaning in the house, I stumble on a binder regarding a class I took as an elective in finance. Well, it was more about a class about cryptocurrency. I learned a lot from professor Dick Van James. I would call him Dr. James. This guy was the person that was able to Micky Mouse it so I can understand the world of the cryptocurrency. I got a fever about Bitcoin but did not invest that much as the price of one Bitcoin was close to $62,000. During this one class, Dr. James told us to come to class with our personal laptops so we can setup an account on a reliable and safe exchange. Moreover, suggested to order a physical wallet. He showed us on how to invest in Bitcoin. How deposit from your bank account to the exchange, on how to withdraw when ready to cash out, on how to send the funds to our wallets so that we don’t trust all the time the exchange’s website security, and on how to send back from our wallets to the exchange. This class, changed my life in a good way because I remember the professor saying that you can either do day trading which requires lot of time, patience and knowledge of the crypto markets, or let it go, and come back check your total assets accumulated over time. There were a few low-cost cryptos out there. One of them was called SafeMoon. SafeMoon came out if I remember correctly in March 2021. I bought some of it. The price of one SafeMoon coin was back then $0.000001279. This was purchased in mid-April 2021. I withdrew the money then from the exchange and kept it on my external physical wallet. Now, the million-dollar question is, how much is it worth? Today, in 2031, I see that Bitcoin is at a million bucks. My God! How come I did no check this before. I think I had bought maybe 0.02 of a Bitcoin back then. That is still a good 20k! Not bad. Safemoon, I invested back in 2021. Let me Google that now. Is this possible? The coin is at $1.00 and I bought for 10 million coins! Hallelujah!!! My God! There is a God! I am keeping my mouth shut. Let me wait for the divorce to be finalized. I bought this crypto even before I met Sonia. And she is the one leaving me today. If she comes after me, I will be ready with a ferocious financial lawyer. The month started like I was in hell, and it ended me being on the moon. A safe moon...


Sam and Mia stood in the middle of the living room. They were both silent. Mia’s arms had been crossed since she walked in and Sam looked around the room for a distraction - anything that would allow him to not have to look Mia in the eyes. “The plants are dead.” “Yes, Sam. They’ve been dead for a while.” Sam gently rubbed one of the dried-up leaves and watched as it crumbled between his fingers. The debris fell to the floor, some of it even got on his socks, but he didn’t care. When did he ever care about anything? Not for a while, that’s for sure. At least not according to his sister. “C’mon, let's go get you into the shower. You reek right now,” Mia said, trying to guide him towards the bathroom. “No, I really am not in the mood,” Sam retorted as he brushed her hand off of his shoulder. Sam was very annoyed at Mia for showing up unannounced and proudly wore a look of discomfort on his face for her being there. “Does it matter if you’re in the mood if you smell that badly?” she responded. Sam was silent. Sam’s living room stood dark and musty as if the fresh air had failed to find its entrance into the house for so long that it just gave up. The houseplants were dead, but it smelled like possibly something else had died too, though Mia had quickly decided that she would not explore the source. She was dressed in dark attire. An all-black dress was hugged tightly to her figure and fell just below her knees. Her heels, purse, the sunglasses that hung from the top opening of her dress, and her sunhat all matched. She stood out like a sore thumb in front of Sam, who wore sweatpants that seemed just a little too large around the waist as they sagged ever so slightly. He wore a wrinkled shirt that was most likely one of the causes of the many smells floating around in his house - it was either that or possibly his socks, or both, Mia thought to herself. Mia stood there waiting for Sam to respond to her, but he was not going to. “You missed the funeral. I know you knew it was today,” Mia continued. Sam could hear the sadness in her voice. “Why does that matter,” he responded. But before he even had a chance to finish his sentence, Mia quickly jabbed back at him, “ Because she was our mom... I mean, is our mom.” Sam, still silent, hung his head a little lower. “I just couldn’t be there,” he said quietly as if he was just speaking to himself. “People were expecting you, Sam. The whole family. Do you know how many times I had to explain to people that I didn’t know why you hadn’t shown up yet?” Mia went on, “It was embarrassing.” Sam's eyes began to swell with tears. He looked away to hide them from Mia, but this only made her more frustrated with him. “Look at me!” Mia demanded. Sam quickly turned to face his sister, showing her, with an angry expression, that the tears he had been trying to hide were now running down his face. “What, Mia? What do you want me to say?” he said in a loud, angry tone, “Do you want me to apologize for not showing up? For not being as strong and put-together as my big sister?” Mia was taken aback, she didn’t know how to respond and her usual know-it-all attitude had quickly left her being. Sam continued on, “I don’t know what you want from me - showing up here like you own the place. This is my house! And you just walk in here and expect me to just flip a switch and be strong like I hadn’t been crying my brains out for the last two weeks. She wasn’t supposed to go out like that. I didn’t even get to say goodbye. I didn’t even get to... apologize,” the last few words barely left his mouth and were hardly comprehensible as he began to sob. He dropped to the floor and sat there, crying into his hands. Mia got down with him. “Sam... Look. I’m sorry.” she said apologetically as she gently rubbed his back, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you two were fighting.” Sam, between his sobs, let out, “She’ll never know... how sorry I am.” Mia’s eyes began to tear up as well. They sat there in silence once more, but now, Mia was comforting Sam. A few moments had passed and then Sam broke the silence. “I’m sorry, Mia,” he said to her quietly. “I’m sorry, too,” she said back. Mia pulled herself up off of the floor of Sam’s living room and extended her hand out to Sam. He looked at it for a second, debating whether or not to take it. He felt comfortable where he was at - like this is what he deserved - where he belonged. Mia, however, did not pull away. “Please take my hand, Sam,” she said. She thought to herself that if he would just take her hand, then maybe she would be able to help him. Sam reluctantly took it, and she pulled him up off of the floor. Mia looked Sam in the eyes as if she wanted her point to be very clear, “You want to show her you’re sorry? You need to honor her. This is not what she would have wanted, you know that, right? For you to just sit here and waste way - this is not it.” Sam let off a small nod. Mia continued, “Honor her, Sam. Clean yourself up, go take a shower, and we might still have time to make the last half of the reception. Be the person she knew that you were, even through your fight with her.” Sam stood there, thinking. “Sam...” Mia pleaded. “Okay... I’ll go,” Sam finally agreed. Mia smiled softly, “Good. I will wait for you. We can go there together.” He walked down the hall and into his bedroom. After a few moments, Mia could hear the sound of the shower starting and the water running through the pipes in the walls. She made her way over to his couch and sat there, looking around his dirty living room. Mia couldn’t let it remain in such disarray, so she got up and started to pick up a few things. A few minutes later, after the sound of the shower had stopped and Sam had got dressed in a much nicer outfit, he walked back out to the living room. Mia had just finished doing a quick tidying up of the place. She reached over the couch to the curtains that were covering up the window and swung them open. The bright light finally made its way into the house, lighting up the room and shining right into Sam’s eyes, making him squint. Mia looked at Sam and smiled. “You look much better,” Mia said. Sam responded with the slightest of grins, “Thank you. I feel much better.”


Police Detective Montes made his way over to the older gentleman in the back of the populate bar, sitting at a booth with a dim bulb. Montes carefully approached the down-trotted fellow. “Is this seat taken?” Montes sternly asked as he sat down anyways, not waiting for an answer, but simply asked to act “polite” “What do you want,” said the older man, with a grizzly deep voice. The bass in his voice made it almost inaudible to understand what he said. “I’m just here to get some wisdom. I work with the NYPD...” Montes trailed off as the cocking of the hammer on a handgun clicked loud enough to be heard by the detective. From his analysis, it likely was below the table. “I don’t want to talk to any dirty pig, especially in my drinking hole,” he blurted out, in a low-stern tone. “I am not here to arrest you. We have you on the deactivated suspect list. I am here because I need information about how the ‘life’ was”. “Are you turning?” “No, oh God no, I’m still a cop...” said Montes as he quickly scrambled to find a way to lighten the mood, “... a pig. Still a pig.” The stern face began to give way to a smirk of amusement, as the older man re-positioned himself, placing the pistol in his lap. “Now you are seeing from my perspective” chuckled the man. Grinning himself, Montes slowly began to relax as he could detect the tension in the booth dissipate. Feeling a chance to engage more in conversation, Montes asked, “So why do they call you Sunny?” Sadden by that name, Sunny shuttered slightly, looking down into his half drunk glass of Whiskey. The rugged looking man seemed to be staring at this glass for a minute in pure silence. Only the ambiance of the bar music and patrons filled the space. Suddenly, Sunny knocked back the rest of the Whiskey. He did not wince, looked over to his left, and nodded at the bar tender. She acknowledged the subtle nod. The woman turned around, taking the Johnny Walker off the shelf, and pouring a full glass of the liquor into a water stained glass. She came out from the bar, strolled over and replaced the empty glass of Sunny’s with the newly poured one. Again, a slight nod of acknowledgement from Sunny is all that was said between the two. The loud booming voice thundered the booth as Sunny spoke. “They called me Sunny, because of how bright the muzzle flash was from my gun.” “Oh, that makes sense,” agreed Montes eagerly, finally having Sunny loosen his jaw. Almost with a new found excitement, Sunny leaned in, placing his pistol carefully on the table. “This is the beaut’ here. I modified the muzzle to allow for more of the flash to show. I had to make my mark more intimidating than the others. You know, no one takes orders and gives respect to some soft Nancy, but if I can back what I am saying, then people are more inclined to listen. ” Montes quickly pulled out his notepad, and began to furiously write down the wisdom Sunny freely bestowed. In a startled gesture, Sunny grumbled, “What the hell do you think you are doing.” Noticing the NYPD Detective had not heard him, Sunny swiped the notepad from the detective, quickly skimming through the page. Increasingly growing upset with every note read, Sunny threw the notepad to another nearby booth. In a disgruntled tone, Montes commented, “what did you do that for?” “YOU ARE GOING UNDERCOVER! Why would you waste your life and morality for that!” “It's part of my assignment, and honestly, I am a little excited. I get to see the ‘life’ from the inside, while doing some good for the city as well, putting bad guys behind bars.” “Listen, there is no such thing as good or bad in the ‘life’. There is no choice either. If you are asked to do something, it is yes, not no. No gets you killed. No is what makes your tongue become a necktie that you wear to your own funeral. No is what makes them cut your balls off, and hang them on your mother’s door knob. NO MAKES SUNNY COME TO YOUR....” exclaimed Sunny, as he cut himself off. A sudden onset of silence between the bar’s patrons occurred as everyone witnessed Sunny leaned over the table, pistol pointed at Montes. Sunny snapped back from his flashback. He quickly took note of what had happened, and where his gun was pointed. He slowly sat back down in the booth, putting his pistol back into his jacket. Montes sat there in shock, with the starry eyed excitement he walked in with, completely gone at the monster that was known as Sunny Valdez came out. He saw a man in that moment completely become hell incarnate. The destruction and desolation at his hand’s screamed from his eyes. Drinking half of the fresh glass of Johnny Walker, Sunny closed his eyes, breathed slowly, and seemed to relax again. His fiery eyes seemed to subside to the medicine of the drink. Everyone seemed to go back to their own conversations as the apparent violence to ensue was stifled by Mr. Walker’s concoction. In a sense of relief from the fiery flare of a flashback, Sunny asked, “Kid, let me tell you something. Do you have someone you love? You have a girl?” “Yes, we have been together for five years.” “You married her yet?” “No, not yet.” “Can you live your life without her?” “No,” Montes muddled. “Do you have kids?” “Two kids.” “This is what you ‘ought to do. Go marry your girl, love her. Go hug your kids, tell them you love them, and don’t let go. Go back to your precinct, and turn down the assignment. Walk the beat, work cases, stay at the desk, I don’t care, but do not, I say, do not work undercover in the life. It's not worth it, life is too short for trading your family for the excitement of your curiosity.” Sunny said. He pushed himself up from the booth, downing the other half of whiskey on his way up. Sunny pulled out a hundred dollar bill from his jacket, and placed it under the glass for the bartender. He turned to glance at the state of the detective. Seeing the discouraged looking Montes making eye contact back in terror of what was said. This made Sunny feel compelled to ease the burden of Montes. Sunny let out a sigh, and began to utter his parting wisdom to Montes. “I went undercover thirty years ago. I lost everything I loved, and took everything people loved. I started on the right side, but the life, for whatever reason, turns everything wicked, no matter the intentions. There are some things you can learn to let go and forget, and other things that I don’t even think God can forgive.” With a reassuring hand on Montes’ shoulder, Sunny continued, “I don’t want that for anyone, not even my worst enemy. Please kid, choose wisely, and learn from my mistakes.”


Hallotweenys’ Tale Spin Shelbi sat entranced at the Dragon Fly, as it flew near and far below Destinies ear. Shelbie's eyes were then drawn to the Manor House window. Evening was fast approaching and the sky was brooding; the chill in the air fighting for dominance against the hearth fire, the hearth wasn’t winning. Shelbie's thoughts once more were drawn to Destinies ear, why did the Dragon Fly stay there as if on a leash? There are just so many places to explore Shelbi reasoned? If only I can get her attention, over here Shelbi waved, over here, but DF just flew and returned where she once was, as if she was lured by a spell. Over here, oh n-o-o-o, oh no yikes... What is this? Shimmer dust? Shelbi tumbled and tumbled all at once falling in what? Legs over legs over legs she swirled. What is this? Acho-o, a-a-a-c-h-o- , Oh! What kind of shimmer dust is this? It’s making me sneeze, a-a-a-c-h-o-o as she tumbled into the...dustpan rolling and rolling end for end. This is just not right! Wait! Where am I going? Shelbis’ teeth chattered, and where did that brisk wind come from, b-r-r-r that b-r-e-e-z-z-e, I’m s-o-o-o chilly b-r-r-r. Shelbi was thrown into the cold October evening, oh the wind was brisk. All Hallows Eve would soon be upon us she knew, but why did she get thrown out into the cold, don’t big spiders come to the door Halloween... so why would they do this to me, this must have been a mistake. Destiny, she tried to scream, but the wind silenced her cries. She hadn’t done anything that she knew of that would warrant being thrown out into the cold so why? Why? Where will I go what will become of me, I’m going to freeze out here, as her teeth began to chatter. Gg-r-r-r- it’s freezing out here. How will I ever make it through the night, let alone winter b-r-r... wait a minute what’s that? Snap! Followed by another snap, now what? What could possibly be wrong now? Wait a minute is that you Bartholomew you slumber hungry bear. What are you doing fumbling around here, aren’t you supposed to be sleeping? You just about stepped on me, please be careful, though it might have been the most humane thing she thought as her skinny legs shook. Sorry Shelbi I didn’t even see you, I can hardly see...my eyelids feel so heavy he spoke within a huge yawn. Aren’t spiders supposed to be stashed away somewhere by now. What are you mumbling about now Shelbi? I thought you had a nice place to live with Destiny at the Manor House, what happened? He yawned again mixed with a low growl, followed by a fur faced smirk. I think I ate too much, burp. Shelbi fought back the tears that she knew would only end in teeny weeny icicles. Oh Bartholomew, wait, please, let me stay in your fur till spring, I’m so cold. Stop! Wait Bartholomew her words floated off into the descending twilight. Bartholomew simply shrugged, spotted his nearby cave and he was gone. Bears have a one track mind she thought, just wait till spring; he can find his own berries. Ok she thought, think positive thoughts. Un huh, yup, positive thoughts... Shelbi is that you, what are you doing outside? I was visiting with Bartholomew singing him a sleeping melody, and no he didn’t need it. He mumbled something about you out in the cold. Then off he went counting the days till he could gorge himself on blueberries. They’re his favorite berry you know. Tenley isn’t it way past your slumber, Shelbi said? Aren’t moths supposed to be in a cocoon by now, Shelbi chattered some more. I could ask you the same thing, said Tenley, I missed my cocoon time, and we’re both going to freeze. Shelbi we both have to find shelter quickly. Can you move your legs Shelbi? Barely, Shelbi chattered, what do you need me to do? Speaking of barely, look Bartholomew’s lost some fur on that twig he snapped over here. Can you see it Shelbi, can you make it over here? I think so; she spoke in nothing more than a whisper. Just snuggle into Bartholomew's’ fur Shelbi. I’ll try for you Tenley; you’re the best friend I’ve ever had. We’ll make it Shelbi; I’ll flap my wings to protect you from the wind. What will save you from the cold wind Tenley? Shelbi, I’m starting to feel a warm breeze I think. How is that even possible, and thank you s-o-o much Tenley. You’re so welcome Shelbi, we need to stick together. Didn’t you see him Shelbi? See who Tenley? I’m shaking so hard everything is a blur. Coconut just ran past us in frenzied gallop, you know how warm that stag is. You are right about that Tenley? When you’re warmer Shelbi do you think you could spin a web? I’ll try Tenley! Wow this is awesome, I can actually move. As Shelbi busily worked on the web Tenley dusted her web with the scales from her wings. Tenley I couldn’t make my cocoon earlier but now no problem. It’s like it’s a sign, Shelbi. Shelbi just stared into twilight’s eve, just as a huge snow flake landed over their cocoon. We now have a roof Tenley spoke in utter amazement. This is amazing, oh! Look how it glitters Tenley, Shelbi spoke with hope in her words, the most hope she had in a while, and we just might make it. Hurry up Tenley before the cocoon freezes and you’re locked outside. I’m coming, don’t worry, I think we’re going to make it. If I must be completely honest I didn’t think this would work, but I’m really glad it did. We made it Tenley; it’s amazing what can happen when we work together. Everything pointed to us being mortal enemies. Yes it looked really dark before the light shone. Enemies just haven’t learned to love...Tenley just be careful of some other Spidey's, they aren’t as loving as we are, and that’s the truth! Don’t worry Shelbi I didn’t live this long to help you by trusting every one, trust is earned. Tenley, Shelbi yawned, it is so comfy in Bartholomew's fur in this cocoon, I guess Bartholomew was a help after all. Its funny how things work out for the good when all seems bad, I guess it just takes a little faith. I think we’ve been friends too long you’re starting to sound like me. Tenley did I ever tell you about DF? That’s a spell if I’ve ever seen one. DF will only fly to and fro from Destinies ear. It’s probably just an earring Shelbi? Or an evil witch put a spell on her, Shelbi taunted. Tell you what Shelbi, if we get a Chinook we’ll check it out before spring ok Shelbi? Ah Shelbi? Ok sleep my long legged friend we’ll talk in the spring. Miracles still happen right... she mused as she thought about what the future would hold... Shelbi and Tenley were off in search of new adventure, although only within their dreams. The magical realms, where adventure and creativity speak the same language! Out of the frosted snowflake they heard Tenley, Shelbi are you in there? As the echo became increasing clear snap.....the Tale Spin begins... Author Deborah Nielsen


There were whispers in the rain that day, mixing with the smells of fuel, salt spray, and exhaust on the flight deck. I was walking among my Marines as we waited, grey clouds mingled slowly overhead. Bulldog dropships were idling, finishing their preflight checks a few dozen meters away, and in the distance the coast of CON 7 loomed. This was to be the last of it, but there were rumors among the strike group. Rumors with no thread of truth I could find, but somehow persisted. “EQUIPMENT CHECKS! I swear to God if somebody’s suit or chute fails, I will have your ass after you bury yourself in the dirt.” There were some laughs, but I could tell their minds were somewhere else, and they knew I knew. “Sir what’s the good word?” a Corporal asked. “About?” I answered, watching the Bulldog’s marshallers, waiting for them to signal us to board. The Corporal continued undeterred, “Some new tech sir, everyone’s talking about it. No one’s seen it. Word is, the Splints are *scared*.” I remember I was about to tell him that the Splints had every reason to be scared, without some shiny new toy on the field. They had URE Marines to worry about, but then the signal came, “NINTH COMPANY!! LOAD UP!!” Minutes later we were strapped in, buckets on, and breaking deck as the Bulldogs launched and accelerated for the coast. Flying low over the water, the heads-up display on my visor pinged. A time to go clock started counting down as we approached our drop point. An INSC strong hold that was coordinating resistance fighters fleeing East into the highlands. We were to drop on top of it, secure it, and retransmit any actionable intel back to the strike group. If we managed to take and hold it. “ONE MINUTE!” The ramp dropped and I check that my rifle’s charge pack was secure before latching the weapon to my suit. Green status lights from my Marines lit up on my visor. Here we go. “THIRTY SECONDS!” I clenched my teeth and waited for the order. Eyes focused on the open door less than two meters away. The drop master gave me a thumbs up, smiled, and waved me forward. He was happy, there wasn’t any anti-aircraft fire today. Five seconds. The drop master flashed a green light in my face and pointed out the door. I didn’t have to think. I just leapt and my suit acted. Immediately stabilizing in the high-speed slipstream, before deploying its airbrakes. Broadcasting my position to the rest of them as I fell. Our objective was marked and stood apart from the terrain, half-buried in the dirt to conceal its profile. My chute deployed at 150 meters along with the last of the airbrakes when the first shots came up to meet us. Only small arms, the landing was smooth. Once I was sure all my boots were upright on the dirt, we went to work. *Fast.* Within fifteen minutes we had the small base secured with no friendlies killed, and only a handful wounded. I finished sending the encrypted transmission back to higher when I was called back up to the surface. “Captain, we’ve been made. Coming from the North, and lots of them!” I looked across the flat terrain and increased the visor magnification to its maximum. The private wasn’t lying. There were dozens of light vehicles, filled with infantry heading our way. “Spread out and dig in, I’ll make the call,” I switched off our local comm net and called for air support as the company scrambled to get into what little cover there was. I felt relief when the acknowledgement came back, confirming that fast movers were being re-tasked from the South. They came overhead and tipped in from thousands of meters above. I waited to see the weapons release, but it never happened. Confused, I watched our saviors break off, streaking back the way they had come. I remember sitting up to watch the Splints close the distance. Then the Earth shook, knocking me on my ass. The shockwave passed over as I lay on the steps down into the base, before struggling to my feet. Dust and dirt hung in the air. “All clear sir. The Splints are...gone.” The data had been transmitted, our mission was complete, and we were going to live. Sitting up, I popped the seal on my helmet and stared at the red dirt caked on my boots, breathing deep. My name is Captain Mafferty and that was my last drop of the Unification.


Hello everyone, first post! I have an assignment for my Dutch class. This is just 1/4th of the assignment which was: "Write a story using one the following subjects" Hope you enjoy, it's for a first that one of my own stories hits me so much.   Day 1856 Dear Diary, the farmer is busy with his crops again. He has moved me to a new spot, it is nice here. I’m next to a field of cows and calves. I question how fun it would be to run with them, with our legs in the grass underneath the hot sun. Enjoying the day and at the end resting after running in the field. But unfortunately enough, I’m a scarecrow, I’m stuck on the place that was chosen for me.  Day 1912 Dear Diary, crows are weird animals, aren’t they? Black like the midnight sky and annoying like a headache. There are a lot of crows on the field lately, luckily I am here to save the farmer’s crops from the crows.  Day 1959 Dear Diary, every time I observe the birds there appear to be more. They’re coming closer to me. I let out a shout of anger but they show no reaction, not even a step back. They don’t hear me. But I must go on, I can not let the farmer’s crops get ruined by these birds!  Day 1981 Dear Diary, I have been writing to you for nineteen thousand eighty-one days straight. I am still waiting on the day that you write a reply back to me. Maybe this is just a waste of time, maybe I should focus on my work and not on a diary.  Day 2020 Dear Diary, the farmer has had enough of me and my behaviour. I couldn’t do anything about it, the birds only got closer on their own. I tried to stop them, but the only thing they did was whistle and sing at me. I am sitting in a shed, not longer near the crops. No longer near the cows and the calves in the field and no longer under the warm summer sun.  Day 2091 Dear Diary, the farmer has got rid of me. There came a man with a pickup he took me. For those few seconds I was happy to lay in the bed of the pickup under the summer sun. Then we came at a place with no cows and calves, many crows and no summer sun. He threw me in the garden, his house blocking the summer sun. Because of the foliage and buildings you could not see the blue sky and the fields. There are only more crows.  Day 2093 Dear Diary, this is probably the last time that I will be writing to you. The last few days I’ve only become more loose. Yesterday I lost my arm to the man. I was getting recycled as firewood in the summer. What a shame.  Day 2094 Goodbye Diary, yesterday my last leg. I will soon be as hot as the summer sun whom which I loved so much. Hopefully it will go well for the cows and calves in the fields, hopefully I may shine on the cows and calves just like the summer sun. In the hope that they may graze in the green fields in which I first stood next to. Goodbye.. Diary..


C: "Ok, so you're God? "  G: "Yup"  C: "God-God?"  G: "Exactly"  Clark was annoyed. Past Clark had made a promise. And today's Clark had not followed up on it and nevertheless came to Susan's party. In fact, he was more than fed up with the guys who pretended to be celebrities. Einstein, Napoleon and the overweight male Monroe. And now God. Naturally.  C: "Glad to meet you, I hope you don't mind" (\*1)  G: "No problem. Glad to meet you too."  God shrugged and looked Clark directly into his eyes. He was sitting on a large black leather couch that someone with no sense for Feng Shui or at least Common Sense had placed in the middle of the room. Apart from the straw hat and the interested look, there was nothing unusual about him. Jeans, t-shirt, three-day beard. Well, he thought he was God, but that was to be accepted as a given. Nobody is perfect.  C: "No offense, but I always imagined something different when I thought of God."  Clark did not feel at ease. There was something about this madman. But if he had to deal with someone like that again, at least he wanted to have some fun.  C: "It's really very sunny here, good that you have your hat with you."  G: "I hear that a lot"  God replied with a slight sigh and slowly looked down at himself. Once at the bottom, the disappointment on his face seemed to be gone and he looked at Clark with his benevolent smile.  G: “However, this makes it much easier to have a conversation. Hardly anyone gets out a meaningful word when he sees the face of an old man with a beard in the clouds that suddenly starts to speak. And I prefer not to mention the last attempt to emerge as a burning bush. Did you know that getting sprayed with a fire extinguisher is very unpleasant? And they always say the classics never die... ”.  The jibe regarding his hat was completely ignored by God.  C: "OK, that even makes sense," Clark had to admit.  C: "But what do you do if someone doesn't think you are actually God and wants proof?"  G: "I do the same as you do when an ant stands in front of you, waves its antennae and is firmly convinced that you are also an ant"  C: "Step on it?"  G: "I'm currently trying to be a nice God, so i think ignoring it would be a better solution."  C: "Touché" This guy was really hard to come by. But Clark didn't want to give up that quickly.  C: "If you are God, then you also know what the meaning of life is and why there is a world and everything"  G: "Sure"  C: "Tell me"  G: "You will be disappointed."  C: "I assumed as much, but I'm still kinda excited to know"  G: "You will be very disappointed."  C: "Would not be a big change for me..."  G: "OK, as you wish. ... ...  The world is the playground that I built for myself "  C: "You couldn't think of anything better?"  G: "Oh, I've tried a lot. But that's the most exciting thing so far. Once I was dead for a few million years. That was also exciting. At least the preparations for it.  C: "Really? how was that?"  G: "Imagine the time before you were born"  C: "OK, I shouldn't have asked. ... But back to the real question. All this because the dear gentleman needs a playground? "  G: "What would you do with eternity?"  C: “How about a world in which nobody suffers and everyone is happy? "  G: "Typical beginner's mistake. There is nothing more boring. Nobody there does anything. And nobody is really happy there either. This is a lot better. The romantic stories alone can fill aeons. Do you remember how your relationship with Susan started? Do you remember how it ended?"  C: "How do you know Susan?"  G: "God and so on? And if you remember... This is her party. We are at her house, you know"  Clark let out a big sigh..  C: "\*sigh\*... Ok . So God likes schmaltz... Whatever... But boy meets girl has to get boring at some point.”  G: "There is also girl meets girl, boy meets boy, boy shoots girl, boy stabs boy, girl poisons boy, boy writes book. Girl sings song and lots more. And thats just the beginning. After all, there are more species in this world. Not to mention other worlds. There have already been space battles in which the bitter opponents hurl entire solar systems at each other as weapons. And I was right in the middle. "  C: "And all the beings that die for you and your entertainment? "  G: "They lived and are now they are dead"  C: "So no perpetual reward or punishment for a good or bad life?"  G: "You hardly remember last Friday's breakfast. What do you want with eternity?  I remember your life. That has to be enough."  G: "Why are you looking so upset? Don't despair. Do you really believe all this stuff? I'm just a mad man with a straw hat telling people dark stories about God.  Do not worry. Just have a nice evening."  C: "I hate these guys," Clark thought, and was resolved never to go to one of Susan's parties again.  G: “Too bad, everyone is too busy with themselves to ask the right questions. And if they do they don't want to hear the answers anyways. ”  God said mostly to himself and to no one in particular.  (\*1) This is an alteration on the original text which is in german and the sentence refered to the fact that in german there are two levels of courtesy depending on how familiar you are and clark used the very familiar level dispite the fact that talking to God would have warranted a more courtesy level of addressing. But God aparently did not mind.


The Plunge By: Danielle Zielinski “Enu, enu, enu. Whoooop! Arrr, arr, arr, arrr.” The standard car alarm music blared through its fifteenth cycle. “People have gotten so good at ignoring them I find it amazing anyone still uses car alarms anymore,” I thought to myself as I dangled from the bungie cord. It was cold and I wished I had worn that sweater afterall. I fingered the party hat that miraculously was still on my head after my plunge from the fourteenth floor and mentally went over how exactly I had wound up here. The morning started out warm and seasonably spring like. I had made my typical resolution to leave the house. “Today would be the day,” I told Sprinkles, my cat. She looked back up at me from her perch on the sill, her big yellow eyes seeming to say, “yeah, I’ve heard that one before.” I have been diagnosed with something called agoraphobia. It’s a fancy Latin word for ‘fear of leaving the house’. I know it sounds silly and trivial for ‘normal’ people. “It’s easy,” they tell me. “Just grab the handle of the door, open it, and walk out.” But every time I try to do just that something stops me. I know something horrible will happen to me if I go out there. I don’t know what, but something will. Like hundreds of mornings before I woke up, watched the news with my cup of coffee, made mental notes of everything horrible that had happened over night to other people who had chosen to leave their houses, got showered and dressed, went down stairs, put on my shoes, grabbed my purse, thought about grabbing a sweatshirt, decided not to grab a sweatshirt, and paused with my hand on the door handle for forty-five minutes trying to work up the courage to turn it and walk out the door. I was just about to chicken out and go have lunch just like every other day but for the sound of the doorbell. Its ring managed to pull me from my nervous thoughts about the many different ways I would die today if I went out that door. I could see through the window that it was an Amazon delivery person. Without thinking I turned the handle, pulled the door open, and stepped outside. Just like that, in one millisecond, I was through the door and standing on my front stoop with a package in my hands. The only thought in my mind was, “wow, I didn’t know my house had yellow siding.” I looked down at the brown box with the Amazon smiley face arrow logo on it and wondered what I had ordered. My eyes inadvertently searched for clues on the outside of the box until I realized that the address label actually read: Clara Jones, 1530 St. Augustine Ln. The address was for the house across the street. I stood there weighing my options. Number one: I could do nothing. I could return to the safety of my home and either leave the package on the front step or take it inside and keep it. My moral compass pointed to no. Number two: I could try and find a phone number on the package and call the lady across the street to come over and pick up her package. Drat, there wasn’t one. Number three: I could take a deep breath, walk across the street, ring her doorbell, and just hand her the package. Number three it was. I inhaled deeply and steeled myself for the task ahead. Walking across the street would bring me farther from my home than I had traveled in five years. “Here we go,” I thought. “It all starts with one step. Come on right foot,” I chided myself. “Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot,” I chanted all the way across the street and up the crumbling front steps of the house that was a mirror image of mine. “Don’t look back,” I told myself as I rang the doorbell. I knew if I looked back at my house I would drop the package and run back across the street, slam the door, and burrow under the covers of my bed and never come out again. “Please don’t answer, please don’t be home,” I chanted into the growing silence. I started to put the package down on the front stoop when to my horror Clara Jones answered the door. She was about six feet tall, slender, medium skin tone, dark hair, athletic, and gorgeous. I was instantly intimidated. Her dark brown eyes met mine and her eyebrows raised in the unspoken question, “who are you and why are you on my doorstep?” My mouth suddenly lost the ability to form words so instead I raised the box for her to see. “Delivered to me by mistake,” fell out of my mouth. She took in the address label and a note of recognition lit up her face as she translated my fragment of a sentence. “Hey thanks,” she said. “Not many people would take the time to bring this over.” Most normal people would say ‘you’re welcome’ about here. But I just stared blankly back at her. “Do you, uh, wanna come in? I know most of the neighbors, but I haven’t seen you before. Did you just move in?” I remained frozen, staring at her like a deer about to be hit by a car. “Talk you idiot,” my brain screamed. “This is it; this is your chance; what you’ve been waiting for! Take the plunge, move your feet, go inside and meet your neighbor,” a drill sergeant inside my head screamed at me. “I, uh, I’ve been here for five years now. I just don’t get out much,” I stammered as she was getting the ‘weirded out closing the door now face’. “Oh! You must work from home.” “Uh, yeah,” I spit out, “Just like data entry really boring stuff really.” “Really,” She mocked my overuse of the word in a friendly way. I had never been teased in a friendly way before and I think she registered the fear on my face as I braced for a helping of negative verbal ridicule reminiscent of my awkward high school days. “Well, lemme give you the grand tour,” she said, instantly warming to a friendly, nurturing tone and sweeping me in the door with her arm. “Obviously, you know my name now from the box. I’ve been here about seven years and I love the neighborhood. Don’t you, well you must, you said you’ve been here five years. Everyone is so friendly, aren’t they,” she happily prattled on. I was secretly relieved that she was suffering from a bout of verbal diarrhea right now. It was all I could do to keep taking deep, calming breaths while I followed her through her home. This was too much! Not only had I left the house for the first time in five years, but I was also in the process of making a new friend, I think. “And here’s the half bath down here. Is that how your house is inside too? I feel like our houses are similar in style, aren’t they?” “Yes,” I interjected. “Hey, I’m getting the hang of this,” I thought, “this is easy. All I have to do is follow her and interject a word here or there to let her know I’m still listening”. “Oh, and here’s Buster,” she motioned at a large furry puddle of drool with teeth. Buster proved to be friendly and joined us for the remainder of the house tour and for drinks on the patio afterward. I sipped my Margareta- the first alcoholic drink I had ever had in my entire life and enjoyed the feel of sunshine unimpeded by window glass on my skin. The friendly chatter and companionship of another human being did much to calm my anxiety. The glassful of depressant didn’t hurt either. I was just about at the point of truly enjoying myself when Clara threatened to expand my comfort bubble once more today. “So, I do have to pop into the office for a couple minutes today. I hate to leave though; we’re having so much fun. I feel like I’ve known you my whole life, you’re so easy to talk to. You must get that a lot.” All I could squeeze in was a nod here. “Would you want to come with me?” The question hung in the air, but she didn’t wait for me to answer it. Before I could retreat she was putting on a pair of high healed stilettos and sweeping me into her bright red Mini-Cooper S. I mentally breathed into a paper bag as we raced off toward the city- a place that guaranteed certain death if I entered its limits. “Isn’t it gorgeous,” exclaimed Clara as she neared a parking garage. To my surprise, she was right. The sky was bright blue, the buildings were a deep black against the sun and they seemed to go up, up, up forever. There were intricate fountains spraying bright blue chemically treated water for overfed green pigeons to bathe in. It certainly wasn’t the tranquil, quiet fields of Iowa that I grew up in, but I could appreciate the strange beauty of it. There was an energy to it- a pulsing of life. You knew you were never alone in the city and it was bizarrely calming. The next several hours went by in a blur. Clara took me up to the fourteenth floor and introduced me to her entire marketing, advertising, and public relations team who welcomed me with open arms. Somehow, I wound up trying my hand at web-based content writing and was so good at it Clara offered me a job right then and there. Promptly at five P.M. the computers turned off, the DJ turned on, catering showed up, drinks flowed. I looked down and realized that I was dancing to music and somehow glow sticks had shown up in my hands. At midnight Clara and I were peer pressure chanted into bunging jumping off the fourteenth-floor roof because Floyd- Sarah’s friends’, husbands’, roommates’, cousin was in the bungie jumping business and had rigged the whole thing up pro bono. He sent us sailing safely over the edge and then promptly passed out from too much of, well, everything and no one else either knew how to bring us back up or was sober enough to remember that we were there. The next morning instead of watching the news, Clara and I made the news as the Channel 9 traffic copter found us still dangling there at six A.M.


“Have you ever seen a pig's tit before?” The farmer whispered in my ear. His hot breath filling my canal as his coarse mustache tickled my cartilage. I leaned away from him, unsure of how to respond. I had not seen a pig's tit before and if it was anything like a woman's, I'm sure it would be a treat. But I had just met this man and his question unsettled me. I wasn't sure I wanted to look at any kind of tit with him, let alone a pig's. I proceeded cautiously. “Are they big?” I asked him. “The biggest.” he responded. “And the nipples?” “Exquisite.” This was not going to be easy. We were locked in a mental chess match and it was clear the man was practiced. He was proud of his pig's tits and if they were anything like how he described, it would be hard to blame him. Even so, it was getting late. I simply didn't have time for this. “Listen Mister, I'm sure your pig's tits are great, and I'd really like to look at them sometime, but I should be going.” He looked at me with vacant eyes, his mouth slightly ajar. I was beginning to think I had deeply offended him when suddenly, he leaned close, and unleashed his secret weapon. “I'll. let. you. milk. them.” He said slowly, making sure I drank in every word. He can't be serious, I thought. No self-respecting farmer would let a perfect stranger touch his animals' tits, not to mention a pig's. Yet there he was, staring at me in anticipation, panting silently, eyes wet with excitement. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little excited too. These weren't just any ordinary tits, they were milkin' tits. The kind of tits you only hear about in stories. As I wondered if he'd let me taste the milk, I felt a hand grip me firmly by the arm and yank me backwards. “It's time to go Billy, didn't you hear me calling you?” Ms. Palanski began pulling me towards the school bus. “But Ms. Palanski, the farmer said-” “What farmer?” I turned back only to see an empty field. The farmer had vanished. I stayed silent while she escorted me onto the bus, my fellow classmates staring as I searched for an open seat. They have no idea, I thought. No idea how close I came to milking some tits. The bus roared to life and slowly started down the farm's dirt driveway. I watched the barn get smaller and smaller through a cloud of dust, wondering if I'd ever come back. Wondering if the tits would still be there when I did.


In a town south of the border the day sun shined heavily. From a main road, I pull into a rather gracious parking lot accommodating a restaurant that seems vaguely familiar. It was as if it had taken inspiration from old American diners but still looked distinctly contemporary in its surroundings with its fading, chipped and blue paint. As I go to reverse into a space, another car pulls into it before I can. This happens another time before I resign to a tightly fitting and difficult to leave spot, snug in the corner of the packed lot. Getting out I see an older but not quite elderly man on a column or statue of some sort, along the far side of the lot. His skin looked battered by the heavy sun. I noticed he was already staring at me so I looked away. As I walked across the brittle and burning pavement and through the chipped blue doors I knew, or rather felt, his gaze follow the entire way. Walking up to the counter I ask the man across it if they have anything good for breakfast. He points to an item on the menu on the wall, tells me what its called and I agree that it seems suitable to eat for breakfast. Three vultures walked in. Their beady eyes cut and slice through my mind as mine met the one in the middle. In a getup starkly dark and purplish in hue, macabre in nature, you would expect looks to draw from the patrons of the establishment. Yet the people here have apparently decidedly settled on ignoring their offending existence. Slender and sharp, they waltz towards the opposite end of the counters. Feeling a lump in my throat and sudden curiosity in the man atop the pole I leave to the outside while my food is being made, only to find him unchanged. Staring, not at me this time, or anything I can discern, but at something. As I stare, a long white cloth falls from atop the pole. Seeing this, I decide my curiosity is too much and walk over to the odd sight, feeling drawn in from its surreal appearance. As I get close a dollar falls from the sky. I grab it, confused, and accept it. Closer again, a dollar from atop. Drawn now towards the cloth, I move toward it. Picking it up, it almost felt like silk, but rougher and somehow still impeccably white. I notice now a looking down, a path, beaten and dusty. A circle around the column, and smaller, sculpted stones around it in the ground. Holding the cloth I take a step forward, and another, and once more. As I work around the column, I peer from behind when suddenly my body petrifies under the long beady stare of three vultures. From under the shadow cast by the walls of the restaurant all three now concentrated their stare towards me. A reddish, piercing stare, seething either hatred or starved titillation... I resumed moving. Dollars fell from atop as I did, a battered hand at times flashing in sight. I took them all. Around the next bend again I met their gaze. They seem to have taken a step out. I keep walking. Again and again as I revolve around, beady eyes meet mine, moving closer and closer while my wallet grows thicker and thicker. The birds were a dozen spaces across the lot when I began to wonder, what if I run out of space in my wallet? Tears of sweat exhausted from my forehead under the blistering explosions of a celestial goliath hundreds of millions of parking lots away. The harpies were now several spaces away when I suddenly started to notice more clearly their features. Their teeth now jutted out behind their thin papyrus lips, splintered and jagged. Their feathers seemed to perk up and out like coursing adrenaline to an animal’s hairs. Their eyes did not move, nor did they twitch or stagnate, falter or break, as if a string was held taught between I and their dilated pupils. I kept moving. I stopped and wondered. Then, I wondered again. And alas, I wondered once more before I began to move again. I turned around the bend once more before realizing I couldn’t. The stench hit me first. It reeked of a millennia of decomposition and death. My nose stung and my eyes cried of pain. Gripped by an imposing and overwhelming force my chin lifted and eyes pulled toward a terrifying image branded into my mind. The vultures basked in front of me, larger now than id ever believed to be physically possible. There was no sunlight. Their grotesque and horrifying visage looked down upon me as I would imagine a hawk to a field mouse. I felt my wallet pull from my hands and held onto it as the force ripped the flesh from my already battered fingers. A vortex of sharp, violetish feathers consumed my reality and launched me into a world of disarray and darkness, consuming me until there was only nothing left. Opening my eyes I see light. In front of me is a restaurant. Three girls sit on a plume decorated bench by its side, minding their own business. A strange man sits atop a lonesome art installation, a column of some sort, yelling quasi religious and partly delirious phrases in a different language. I remember I had ordered breakfast. It should be done by now. I check my wallet, it seems okay. The sun was shining.


“Draerin, why don’t we ever say anything?” Chandric asked, glancing between his mate at the bar and the table where two elves sat drinking wine while their human friends socialized over a meal. The tavern was not overly crowded but there was enough that the two dwarves felt comfortable talking at the bar without being overheard. Talking in their native tongue was another way to keep their words from traveling too far. Draerin stared at the head on his ale for a bit, lost in the way the firelight glistened off the head as it slowly rippled from the force of Chandric’s mug being set down. Not a full slam but enough force to cause a few waves. “It’s your first time being outside, isn’t it?” he said after a bit. Glancing at the table that held Chandric’s ire, Draerin continued on. “It is a bit different being told about it back in the caverns than having it shoved in your face. Is that the problem?” Chandric stroked his beard idly, fiddling with the braid that held the charms which named his clan. Giving it an irritated tug he reached for his mug again and took a gulp. “How can they not notice?” Draerin drained half his mug before answering. “An elf may only live twice as long as us, but that is ten to twenty of their lives.” He answered once the mug was upon the wood once more. “It can be easy to forget that. Some of their wizards live longer but they are still, on average, a fleeting race.” “But even so, how they are treated by them, why can’t they see?” “The elves have a gentle hand.” Draerin says after another shallower sip. “They have had time to refine their influence on humans. And it may be that humans unconsciously find the relationship acceptable.” “Really? To be treated like pets. Bred and groomed with traits that their *patrons* find pleasing is acceptable?” Chandric slams his mug down at this, causing the little bit of ale left to slosh wildly about. Were it fuller there would be a mess upon the bar but thankfully he knows better than to waste ale. There is a burst of laughter from the the elves’ table. Some of the humans are focused on one of their member who is shrinking in on themselves a bit. A sheepish grin spreads across their face as they shrug and one of their friends slaps their back in a friendly manner. Draerin shakes his head. “Even after all these years I still have trouble at times telling them apart. Especially if they don’t have hair on their faces.” Turning back to his mate he returns to the subject at hand. “It was much more obvious in the beginning. And more of the humans objected to the treatment. You still get some of that sentiment in the free states but the elves distanced themselves from the humans for a short time, well short for them, and then tried again.” Chandric grumbles under his breath something that Draerin ignored before moving on. “They returned with a different approach: The current form of Patronage. They are more focused on letting the humans have a more fulfilled life than they are on forcing them to be what the elves want. Sure there are gladiatorial circuits and various martial tourneys but they also foster their various wards to create fashion, art, and sundry other areas. Some Patrons even go out with various groups to explore. I have seen some politicking among the various elven families but generally they do not force any human to do something they don’t want.” “But they breed them like horses for the best lineages!” interrupts Draerin, grasping his mug with white knuckles to keep on the bar and not swinging it around for emphasis. Chandric shakes his head and takes a measured sip. “Not quite, lad. They do try to influence pairings by introducing humans they think would make good offspring, but they do no force them. There are some among the human nobility that do such things and every now and then that bleeds over into Patronage states but it is not something from the elves. Like I said, they have become more patient and sure they may try creating circumstances that will lead to a coupling but they do not force it.” The human and elf table of interest is now focused on another of their member. This one is holding up a scroll. Whether it is something they found or something one of them wrote the tavern is too noisy for either dwarf to pick up on. “It is not perfect. I do not even say it is something I approve of but the elves do not force and they do not even try stopping any of their Wards’ families from leaving, though the economics of that may be something to discuss another time and with someone else but it is a system that both the elves and humans seem to be comfortable with. There are the free states, though I hear the elves name them the feral states,” A harrumph is added here, “and it has cut down on strife between the kingdoms. We say nothing and do not interfere due to the debt our people owe the Elves but it can difficult at times. It colors our reactions on personal levels yet you can not let that go further than that. If you can’t keep the Covenant, you will have to return to the caves for a while to meditate on it before you can return topside. You do not want to be the one responsible for destroying the balance. Can you keep it in, even while seeing the small things done that the humans overlook or ignore?” Draerin focuses on the younger dwarf intensely, awaiting a reply. It is a long moment of neither dwarf drinking before finally Chandric dips his head. “I just didn’t think it would stand out so much to me but aye, nothing shall be done or said by me to disrupt the balance.” Solemnly he brings up his ale as they both touch mugs and take a long gulp.


We're friends, him and I. Well, more like enemies, close enemies. I guess I got so used to him that I became close, he was always someone I could depend on. There were others, but it was his voice that was the loudest. Every day I heard his voice, his toxic familiar voice. I heard the others too, whispering. He drowned them out. He was the devil on my shoulder screaming into my ear. He yelled doubt into my mind. I was within his grasp he claws dug into me day in and day out. *"He doesn't care about you"*. He would scream into my ear. I could feel his hot breath and his sickly saliva dripping onto my shoulder. I closed my eyes. I stopped asking him to go away a long time ago. It never worked. "*He's using you*." He shouted inflicting doubt and anxiety on me. His aim was to uproot my efforts of happiness. He wanted me to himself and I was a slave to his wishes. When I tried relationships he always stood in the way selfishly keeping me loyal to him. And I pushed the others away because of it because I listened to him. "*He will just end up hurting you anyways*." A tear slid down my face as I started to believe him. "He's right." I told myself. "*Like the others*.." His voice lowered with seriousness and I felt him slide from one shoulder to the other. His talons grazing my throat. I sniffed. He knew me so well, he knew just what to say to get to me. And I believed him every time. Yet he was always right. It didn't matter where I was, whether it was work, school, my own home, it was all his, it was another place to rule me. But when I felt lonely he was there. He was there to keep me company. If I didn't hear his voice in my head who else did I have. Soon he got me into drugs. I never looked back. I would buy a gram and listen to him while I cut lines. "*There you go*." He would say sweetly. It was the only time I could be with him in peace. He would run his fingers down my arm, comb my hair with his fingers and whisper into my ear. "*Doesn't that feel good, darling. Why don't you take some more*," And I would obey. It was the only time I felt accepted....loved. Because he was right, the others would just hurt me anyways. I could depend on him though. I found myself doing those lovely white lines every day so that I could enjoy him. It was all a ploy and I knew, but didn't care. He isolated me from the world, but it was okay, the world just hurt me anyways. I would close my eyes and listen to him. Without my daily hit I got to be angry. I would miss him, he would return to his old self, the one screaming vile things until I took another hit. I would smile in euphoria and see him across from me. He would smile back and his normally intimidating looks would no longer have an affect on me. I would get close to him and talk. "It feels so good when I'm with you." I would say smiling. "*I know,*" he replied and he held my face stroking my chin and lips. He got closer to me and spoke in a low voice. "*Another line...for me.*" He urged me sweetly kissing my neck "I've done enough." I murmured closing my eyes feeling our closeness. "*Oh, baby, you'll feel so much better.*" he said kissing my forehead. It felt so good being with him, being high, it was intoxicating. No longer did I feel alone like my miserable self when I begged others for attention. I ran my finger up his arm and felt him. I wanted him, I wanted to be closer to him, I wanted to please him. "Ok." I grabbed the plastic bag and my credit card. I felt like I entered anther world. I got closer to him, he got closer to me. Everything faded into oblivion. All the bullshit was gone. It was just us and before I knew it our lips were touching and I felt.....nothing. All the pain, all the sadness, all the hopelessness-everything he used to remind me every day of was forgotten. I heard no voices, not even his. I was at peace. And it was the first and last time I kissed Death.