Cherry had always an extraordinary imagination. No other homo sapiens could have a vision like him, his friends believed. He could have talked with his cat JoJo. It was like he could sense and comprehend, the enunciation and intimate convictions of all incarnate things. What a miracle child! A generous, introverted, clever, young man was born to a middle-class south Korean family and got a name, ‘Kim Choi-Joon’. The lengthy name had to adjust in the city of dream, and he momentarily rendered it cherry. Cherry’s father had the ambition to make him a judicious, skilled gentleman. So, he had accumulated wealth as more as he could and sent his child out of the home country to the dream country, New York City. Cherry always had fantasy dreams. He used to recollect them after waking up and make it into stories out of them. What smart sounds! He had constituted his fantasy sphere bigger than the universe that he adored to stay in it all the time. The fictional realm had everything that he had not in real life. Trees with multiple wheels, racing each other, big, scary dinosaurs establishing food in their kitchen for their families and chilling, living a normal life like human families. His world was overflowing with reconciliation. The visions became more authentic when he grew up. It primarily centred on the real-life of individuals who had a distressed life, in his fantasy world they would be liberated from those difficulties. But his life was not permitted to go through that fantasy world. Because he needed to live that life in real. And his life was differing from all of those things. Troubled. His timid psyche always stayed in the fantasy world. But he had the one largest problem he sought to release from. When somebody chatted to him, he could think of all the retorts he wanted to but when he talked, everything switched. His sentiments blocked him to say the proper words and he used to come to an end up with things to answer what he should on behalf of it. This is how he was in real life, clogged like an ant. Life never runs on your chosen track. That was for every people and for him too. His imaginations got heavy on him when he grew older, and decided to write this whole imaginary world, so anyone else could also enjoys that world. He decided to become a writer, but his father wanted him to be an engineer. What a tragedy! Like it said before life never runs on your chosen track. He arrived at New York and got admission to NYU. Although New York was his fantasy city as it was for every writer who chose to publish their books. Now he had to write everything and just to publish. But that was not straightforward. A complete day at university and after finishing off it, he had to work part-time at café to comply with his expenses for living. Life was stuck in between the struggle of satisfying his parents dream. And his dreams were laying off somewhere in the dust. one day he roused up in the middle of the night with a dream. He did not emphasis on the dream because he had a nervousness on his head he considered. That day when his father phoned him to converse, he decisively revealed that he wanted to write a novel after his last year’s graduation complete. Although his father had known the behaviours of his writing. His father assumed that there would be no future for him in writing as it was not his era’s subject and he should focus on education because that would let him be a real man in their society. The writing was scrap, he believed. Poor imagination! Cherry was angry at a point and wanted to engage in battle for his freedom. But could not. at the time he sensed how his parents laboured to make his life better and the sentiments transpired again and made him halt to answer everything he wanted to. Those grubby emotions! Days chucked like and his impatience got higher on to write that daydream world, but he had no time for anything. When he travelled from the metro, he never got a seat because the other locals used to chill on it every time. When there was some little space, every time he could not call for them to have it. How introverted! He had no guts to talk with any strangers because it was the last thing he could not imagine. The answer to people. Every time he imagined having people’s reaction to being delighted or normal, but they would not, sometimes they had spoken with anger, egos and attitude. Which he was never ready to feel it. So, he ceased talking to people who he could not imagine responses. His friends at university used him for assignments and for money and he let them do it because he could not withstand them by revealing no matter what. The actual world was the merciless thing he could not control himself. Life was uneasy, uncontrolled and felt stopped. But he prayed every day in the hope of an inspiring sunray who could change his life. How believable! One day when he was working at café, a woman, perhaps a fairy from heaven entered the café. Her perfect beauty and long, nourished, strawberry smelled hair and her exotic manners of expression, everything attracted cherry’s eyes. He never realized it was happening to a real world. He slipped into his fantasy world. But it was happening in real life. He sensed it when the lady requested him for a milkshake. He had a mask on his face so, she could not see him. She was busy talking to her friends. She was an Asian too, perhaps a Korean or maybe a Japanese. Could be anyone. But beautiful. He did not speak to her as much. But he was busy imagine her in a fairy tale. When she left, cherry saw her till she disappeared. He felt something unusual first time ever that day, he wanted to talk to her, but he could not. how penniless! He was in his own world, feeling of her, talking to her and hanging out. After concluding his shift, he reached home and snatched a pen and paper to write something on. He penned about her. He wrote a story about him and her that how they both get to know each other and fall in love. How loving! He realized that he would never meet her again in real life so, he authored every prospect he would like to be live in with her. He tallied the conflict as his real-life issue that he could not confess anything to people or speak. In the story, he wrote that he loved her so much but could not declare because she was married before and her marriage was on the edge of divorce. She asked him to help her in that vicious time. He did help him, but he wanted to hold her hand for the whole life, but he could not. how miserable! But he had the subsequent intensity strength that day. He laid every dread aside that day. He penned that his heart was speaking inside but he had to turn it from the outside. And he did. How fantastic! He finally hoarded all his courage and professed to the fairy from heaven and the love of his life. And she accepted it with a warm heart and kissed him. And the story closed with a happy ending. The man who could never speak and always chose that ‘if my heart could speak’, and finally he won the battle against all and said it. He gave the title to the story ‘if my heart could speak’. A desire that instead of himself, what if his heart could speak but he had to be a courageous man to speak on behalf of his feeling. And he did in his story. How heroic! He completed the story and felt the moment of joy he never had before. He promptly grabbed his laptop and wrote down everything. His story was well structured, filled with emotions and inspirational. He remembered the short story competition from the university. He sent his story to it. He never grasped that, unexpected his imaginations would want to be written on a piece of paper. This adjustment made him feel so inspired. He was happy to write for the first time. And It did not take a lot of time. He always wanted an extra, perfect time for his novel, but he realized the day that he could write damn speedy with wonderful deciding of words. Now he was ready to write everything he imagined without any delay. Finally, the happy days were coming back, and his prayer was heard in heaven. The next few days went so well. He attended university in the morning then the café shifts in the evening and he wrote his dreamy novel at night and then proceeded to sleep. After that time, he was happy as heaven and now he could speak to people instead of letting his heart speak on behalf of him. He never greeted the woman of his dreamy world again from that day. But After some more days, she emerged. How pleasant! That time when she entered the café, he fixated on her again with new inventiveness and believed as she knew him and had talked with her a lot because he did in his envision story. He eliminated his mask from the face with all brave and stuck his eyes in her eyes. For a second when she observed him, she was amazed by his aspects. And the way he stared her, she felt like she recognized him from years. She forgot the conversation with her friend as she was drowned in his eyes. She ordered the milkshake. She felt nervous as he was glaring her beauty with all his respected eyes. What a romantic view! The last time cherry could not disregard those moments. And now this time the girl could not forget the moments. Cherry desired to talk but again he felt that if my heart could speak. Oh! Come on cherry! The girl left the café but in the end, he glanced at the man’s eyes again. She was in love. her eyes could speak. How charming! Cherry could not sleep that night. Now his fancies were fluctuating into reality. The story really helped him altering his life to a positivity. After a few days, later cherry went to a party with friends. His all-university friends were congregated there. Now he was capable of the intersection with anyone because at least he could voice from his own now. He was not that longstanding cherry anymore. He saw that girl. She was so stunning yet in shadowy lights. Everyone was twirling. Cherry finally definite to the conversation to her. He alleged ‘how beautiful she is! I should talk to her. That day she was glaring me as she desired to talk. This time I am not going to expect that if my heart could speak because he is afraid. So, my buddy Mr. dumb heart, you let your self some rest and let me do some action. Ok, so I will start a smooth conversation and ask her to dance. That would be a great move. I hope she would accept it if she would like me too. And definitely, she would derive.’ He slashed the throng and went a bit nearby. But what he saw, made him stop there. She was chuckling with integrity with someone holding her back. They were dancing. She was so happy with that man. The man holding her so close to her body. It made cherry’s every imagination let go off. He trod back. He left the venue as soon as possible. How heartbreaking! When cherry was going back, she saw him. The girl saw him. How spectacular! The next day cherry was working at café regrettably. His imaginations took the dejected mode to reflect on the girl. He could think of the ingenious, but the miserable story, a boy meets a girl. Boy falls in love. Girl feels that too. The boy tries to talk to her, but she was taken. The boy feels hopeless and the story ends.’ How terrible! The girl entered the café at that time. She was alone. She came directly towards him. Cherry perceived her. He sensed again that innermost feeling. But he annoyed to keep himself busy. She ordered the milkshake again. He kept busy making it. No one tried to talk. Girl jammed her eyes in his, but he did not lookup. “Are you a student at NYU?” she finally said biting her lips. The boy stopped working. He thought ‘oh no, she is trying to talk. I do not want to. She is someone’s girlfriend. It would be very embarrassing if she would know that I starred her like that. I should not talk. But if not then it will be stupid, wait, I should. But should I ask her that he has a boyfriend?’ “yes, are you too?” he asked, whacking his appearance behind the mask. “um, yeah, humanities.” She answered, supposing some more from the boy. Her talked look intended. “yeah good.” He said but not more. He wanted to ask her about that day but desired the last time that if his heart could speak. “I saw you that day at the party at the university. You left early?” she asked. ‘oh no, she noticed me. That is why she knew where I study. And now if she knows everything about me, damn I would tell her nothing about myself. But what should I say about why I left the party because it was because of her?’ “yeah, I was feeling sick. So, I left.” He said really fast without observing at her, screening himself busy in work. “oh, ok.” She stopped. She needed to talk something but looked like she was thinking. ‘if my heart could speak’. “by the way congratulations. I liked it the most.” She spoke. “what? I mean what are you talking about?” he asked and stuck his eyes to her. He thought ‘what is she talking about? Did she think I’m someone else’s? maybe my mask, she did not recognize me.’ “oh! I mean your story. You won the competition. That was an amazing story about that boy and the girl, truly inspirational. It made me feel that I really should talk by myself instead of feeling that ‘if my heart could speak’.” She said. ‘what? Nooo... way, when did it happen? Wait, I won the competition never knew that. She read my story and hope she does not know that it was written about her, about us. No way what is going on?’ and suddenly his thoughts stopped. His heart stopped talking. Because he hunted to talk now. “thank you so much. I just abstract something like that and engraved it down.” He smirked, detaching his mask. The girl leered back to his face and glared his eyes. The atmosphere reformed into a fling. “well, I had sent one for the competition but maybe your one was natural and with great potentials.” She said to his eyes. “oh! Well, I had no idea this would happen, it was just written for some familiar one.” He said without intellectual anything. “who? Your girlfriend?” she asked. “oh! No, no, I don’t have a girlfriend, it was just inscribed for a fantasy friend.” He lied. “ok, great.” She said and took the milkshake from the counter where he replaced. “um, so, you wrote any kind of stories like that for any familiar one?” he asked without hesitating. “yeah, for an imaginary boyfriend, as I don’t have one in real life.” She grinned and observed at his eyes again. “ok.” He sneered and looked into her eyes. The eyes were matched, hints were switched. “well, you know you said that every time that if your heart could speak, but it really does. Your heart speaks through your eyes.” She said and left the counter. Cherry could not express anything, this time neither he nor his heart. Because both were stunned from, as both were approached by a girl and her heart. That day cherry finally converted the one who used to speak with everyone instead pleading ‘if my heart could speak’. He cultivated his communication with the girl of her imagination and now the real one. Both started to hang out. And became the lovers. As cherry’s imaginative story who won the competition and made him the good writer got him the girl and the respect towards his parents. After that, his parents were happy and desired him to choose the pathway he wanted. He wrote a novel and published it. It was inspired by his life that how not every time you should approach that, ‘if my heart could speak’ because it is afraid at some corners. So, you should speak of yourself because it does not help you every time. And at the end, he married the love of his life who was not an imagination now but real life.


Infinite. That word means more to you than you could have ever possibly known. How long has it been? Can you even remember? Years? Millennia? Eons? Does it even matter anymore? Time has long since lost meaning, hasn’t it? I thought so... Floating out in the abyss for as long as you have... It isn’t very conducive to retaining a stable sense of something so - Pointless. The same could be said for your mind, I’d gather. How long ago did it break? Ah, there I go bringing up time again. Sorry. I know it’s been difficult. To have everyone you’ve ever loved... Everything you’ve ever known... Taken from you. And leave you left with nothing but time. Enough time to forget. Though I know you didn’t want to. Of course not. That’s what you held on to so tightly for so long out here. Those memories. They were the only things that kept you sane. Well- As sane as you could possibly remain. I guess it did end the way it was predicted, huh? War. Violence. Is it just human nature? To destroy? To me, the truth seems evident. You saw the consequences. It’s gone now. Everything is... Gone. Except you. Just. You. Do you regret it? You don’t need to answer. I know. It’s a curse, isn’t it? Yes. Yes, it is. I wish I could be sorry for you. But, such is the nature of all things. To end. All it takes - Is time. As we speak, the last remaining stars in the universe are dying. Have you noticed? I’m sure you have. Those tiny lights in the endless void. Your last remaining solace. Burning out. Maybe consumed by black holes. Soon everything will be gone. And only they will remain. And you. The universe is a tomb. Wouldn’t you agree? You are floating amongst the dimly burning embers of a dead cosmos. Soon to be ashes. What will you do then? What can you do? Ask yourself that. You already know the answer. Nothing. How does it feel? Is that something you’re even capable of anymore? Not that it matters... Only a few stars left now. It won’t be long. Do you want me to stay with you? When it ends? I’ll take your silence as a yes. This is a rare opportunity. And you will be the only one to witness it. The heat death of the universe. I always hoped it’d go out with a bang... Not a... whimper. And then, there was one. Are you ready? Can you ever be? I guess we have no choice but to find out. Sooner, rather than later. It’s fading. This... This is it, huh? Si c'est le destin, laisse-le se réaliser. There it goes. It’s... over. I will truly miss it. Dearly. I know you will too. Y’know... Maybe missing so deeply is the price we pay for loving so much. Still floating out here? It’s been a long time in the dark, hasn’t it? Millions of years, believe it or not. Have you noticed the pull yet? No? Calm your mind and sense it. It’s been pulling you for a while now. Stop looking around. You’ll never be able to see it. They’re called black holes for a reason, y’know. Don’t panic. Rejoice. This could be your out! Isn’t that what you wanted? I’m tired, friend. Just surrender to the pull. How do I know that this will finally be the thing that ends it? Well... I don’t. I am just hopeful. And I cannot rest until my work is done. Immortality... You didn’t think that one through, did you? I know you didn’t. Nobody in your position would. At least I’m here with you now. For the ending to your story. Hopeful ending, yes, I know. Did you feel that? You just crossed the final border, my friend. The event horizon. A one way ticket. Down you go... Spacetime is incredibly warped down here. Do you feel the squeeze? The singularity approaches. And so, it begins. The beginning of your end. I will stay with you. I promise. As you stretch. And stretch. And stretch. And stretch. Compressed now, my friend. Into that one single point. Infinitely massive. Infinitely dense. Infinitely small. I... I can’t feel you anymore. Did it work? It- It must have. I can finally rest. And let the universe slumber. Goodbye, my friend. Rest well.


The door says they’re closed. Am I at the right place? You’re at the right place. Just open the door. I’m in the back. Paul opened the door a crack and peeked in. Warmth, the smell of baked bread, and a few small drifts of conversation seeped out. It was enough for him to open the door all the way. Most of the tables were empty, a few were unbussed. But the hostess was still at her post, staring down at her podium, her bright and busy phone screen reflected in her glasses. She looked up at him languidly. “Uh, I’m sorry. I’m not sure if I’m in the right place.” he said. “Paul?” she asked. “Um, yes. I-” “All the way to the back.” she interrupted. Then returned her face to her screen. She seemed very young, looked almost too young to even have a job. But the way she’d spoken to him. Not rude, exactly, or disgusted. But with disinterest. With a boredom that takes most people forty or fifty years to earn. He tried to make himself smaller as he walked past her. With his eyes to the very back wall, he made his way around the empty tables. He only saw one other table with someone seated. A woman who looked about 50 was absently gazing at the wine menu. Then, while he was watching, another younger woman backed out from under the table. Her short red dress left nothing to the imagination, if only there were anyone else around to take a peek. She sat down abruptly across from her partner, who leered at her with a smirk. She hastily wiped her mouth with a napkin, scanning the room as she did so. Paul locked eyes with her for a brief, embarrassing second, then they both looked away. Paul continued through the restaurant. In another moment he heard a voice. “Paul!” It was Evelynn. She was, indeed, at the very back. She stood up and waved, smiling. The lighting was all very dim, but he could still make out her silver, form-fitting dress. Like eveningwear in a beauty pageant, he thought, but not so self-conscious. She looked relaxed. Charming. Seeing her made him unclench his jaw and relax his shoulders. When he had just about closed the distance between them, she lunged forward and hugged him. He thought it felt like more of a trust-fall, the way he almost had to catch her. They both laughed. She kissed his cheek, then told him to please have a seat. She was still smiling. “You look amazing,” Paul said. He took a quick glance at his polo shirt and slacks, then added “I feel so underdressed.” “No, don’t be silly.” Evelynn said. She reached across the table and took his hand lightly in hers. She looked into his eyes with an intensity he didn’t recognize. After a few seconds he had to look away. “So I wasn’t wrong about them being closed,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at the nearly empty dining room. “Oh. no. You’re right. They close at 11. But my friend is the chef. She lets me sneak in sometimes. Especially if I’m bringing a date.” She gave him a wink. She hadn’t let go of his hand. “So, is this a date?” he asked. “I thought so,” she said, still smiling. “You don’t? “No, I mean, I wanted it to be. I was excited when you texted. But I was surprised. I hadn’t heard from you for a while. I thought maybe things were just too awkward.” She gave his hand an encouraging squeeze. “Well, we can talk about all of that while we eat. Are you hungry?” He had been so nervous in the hours leading up to their dinner that he hadn’t actually stopped to consider that he’d be required to eat anything when he got there. But seeing Evelynn again, how sincerely happy she seemed to see him, had put him at ease. His stomach growled. “Sure.” he said, trying to sound relaxed, “I could take a look at a menu.” “Ah, sorry! One of the rules we have to follow as secret guests of the chef is that we eat whatever she brings us. Sometimes it's extra portions. Sometimes it’s a new dish she’s experimenting with. But it’s always...always amazing.” Evelynn said. She grinned an almost mischievous grin, and asked him if he had any debilitating food allergies. He said no. As if summoned by their conversation, the chef emerged from the steel double doors of the kitchen like a card shark bursting into an old western saloon. When her eyes had adjusted to the dim lighting of the dining room, she spotted the pair at their table and marched over. Paul thought she looked like a cartoon version of a chef. With a stained hand towel draped over her shoulder and a few locks of brown hair spilling from her exaggerated chef’s hat. She was all smiles as she approached the table. “Hey babe.” she said to Evelyn cooley. Evelyn stood up to give her a long hug and a kiss on the cheek. Paul stood and offered his hand. “I’m a hugger, Petey.” the chef said, slapping his hand away. She pulled him in for a quick but very tight squeeze. “It’s Paul,” said Paul, without making eye contact. “You guys ready for something new and exciting tonight?” the chef said, ignoring him. “It’s something new I’ve been playing with. I got it going in the back right now. It’s just about ready. Don’t fill up on bread, ok?” she said. She gave Paul a wink, then swooped back toward the kitchen, disappearing again behind the giant double doors. Paul scanned the table for bread. There was none. “What did she say her name was?” Paul asked once he was sure she was gone. “She didn’t.” Evelyn said. “It’s Katy.” “She reminds me of my Uncle Chuck.” he said. “How did you two meet?” “Oh, we go all the way back. We grew up on the same street. She’s pretty much my big sister. She’s in ninety percent of the photos from my childhood.” Evelyn stared nostalgically past Paul for a moment before taking his hand on the table again. “But enough about her. How have you been?” she asked. “I’m ok.” he said. His eyes were fixed on his hand in hers, her thumb gently stroking the back of his hand. He had to break out of his trance to continue. “ Mostly just working around my dad’s shop. I’ve run it a couple whole days this week, while he was out getting parts and meeting some people for the car show.” “Car show?” Evelyn said.. “Yeah, every year one of the local radio stations has a car show, and my dad likes to be really involved in it with networking and all that. It always brings in a lot of business.” “Which radio station?” “I’m not sure.” “Isn’t that something you should find out if you’re gonna help run the place?” she said. That question tensed him up a little, but her sincere smile disarmed him almost in the same instant. He didn’t remember her being so charming before. Maybe it was all this dim, romantic ambiance, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken to someone so effortlessly beautiful. He was about to tell her so when a commotion from somewhere behind him broke the spell. The two women that Paul had passed on the way in were yelling at each other now, and in what sounded like two separate languages. The younger woman Paul had caught crawling out from under the table was yelling in Spanish as she pummeled the older woman with her purse. The older woman was shouting incoherently and laughing in what sounded like drunken English as she held up her arms against the blows. There was also a very small dog on the floor yipping frantically and making exaggerated lunges at the older woman before withdrawing. In a moment two waiters appeared from the shadows and restrained the younger woman, leading her off around the corner. Her dog followed. The older woman, still laughing, collapsed in her chair and lit a cigarette. She caught sight of Paul staring at her. She spread her legs and shouted hoarsely “See anything you like?” Paul whipped back around, red-faced. Evelyn laughed. “That lady’s always here when I come in. I don’t know what her deal is.” she said. “I think the other girl with the dog was going down on her under the table when I came in.” Paul said. Evelyn spit water into her hand upon hearing this, and tried her best to choke down the rest. “What??” she said. They both started to laugh. But the situation reminded Paul of why he’d been so anxious about this meeting. “There was something I wanted to talk to you about.” he said. But that train of thought was interrupted by a metal cart crashing its way through the giant steel doors of the kitchen. Katy had brought the food. She wheeled up to their tableside, and placed a plate before each of them. Then she began: “Good evening! Tonight, I'd like to introduce you to one of my special new dishes, a true culinary delight hailing from the vibrant coasts of Vietnam: 'Vietnamese Stuffed Squid with Ground Pork,' a dish that encapsulates the essence of Southeast Asian cuisine with a touch of sophistication.” She winked at Paul again, then continued, as Evelyn took out her phone and began recording. “At the heart of this creation is fresh, tender young squid, meticulously cleaned, and prepared to become the vessel for our sumptuous stuffing. The stuffing, a harmonious blend of finely ground pork and succulent chopped shrimp, is the soul of this dish. It's enriched with delicate glass noodles and wood ear mushrooms, adding a unique texture and earthiness.” Laughter from Evelyn. Katy continued the next part in an exaggerated French accent. “We infuse ze pork mixture with a symphony of flavors - garlic, ginger, and a selection of fresh herbs, creating layers of aroma and taste. Zis mixture is carefully stuffed into each squid, ensuring every bite is a perfect balance of seafood and seasoned pork. “For ze final touch, we slice ze squid into elegant rings, revealing ze intricate layers of ze stuffing. It's a visual and gastronomic spectacle. Served alongside a bed of fluffy, steamed rice, zis dish is not just a meal; oh no no, it's a journey through texture, taste, and ze culinary artistry of Vietnam.” Evelyn put her phone away. The drunk woman across the room stood and applauded. Katy bowed with a flourish. “Cool, thanks, bye.” Evelyn said. Katy leaned in and kissed her cheek, then leaned over to Paul and said “Don’t be jealous sport, she’s not my type.” She jabbed him lightly with a knowing elbow, then retreated back into the kitchen once more. She left the cart by their table. On it were placed a candle and a bottle of wine. Paul had heard a few words he was not prepared for. Mainly tender, young and squid. He wasn’t sure about this at all. Evelyn, on the other hand, was already elbow deep in it. “Oh my god.” she said. “This is sooo good.” Well, she had invited him. He’d come all this way. There was no turning back now. He speared a stuffed squid ring with his fork, steeled himself, and ate it all in a bite. “Holy shit that’s good.” he said. And he meant it. It was amazing. They ate a moment in silence. A waiter emerged from the shadows and opened the bottle of wine, poured a glass for each of them, then receded back into the shadows once more. But after the silence got a little too oppressive, Paul once again felt the niggling urge to address the recent awkwardness between them. “Evelyn,” he began, “this is so nice. Really. Thank you so much for inviting me. But...” Evelyn reached out and took his hand. “I know what you’re going to say.” she said. “You want to talk about Halloween. That’s fine. We can talk about it now.” “Oh, good. I’m so glad. I’ve just been feeling like, if you knew my side of it, it wouldn’t be so bad.” She gave his hand another encouraging squeeze. “I’m listening.” she said. Paul looked down at the table as he began. “Ok. I’m trying to think of where to begin. I remember I was at Nate’s party. And I was super nervous because I knew you were gonna be there too. So I started drinking a little more than I normally would. And you know, the more I drank, the more excited I was to see you and tell you that I liked you and maybe ask you out. But as the night went on, you know, I never spotted you. I asked around if anyone had seen you, but nobody had. I know I texted you some pretty angry stuff, and I apologize for that. I just get angry when I drink, and I know that’s something I need to work on. So then, I went into Nate’s parents’ bathroom to puke, and when I came out, the lights were off, and there was a girl dressed as a banana on the bed. Only her...peels were down, and she only had a bra on her top. And I asked her, hey, are you ok?, and she just kinda laid there, and it was dark and her face was painted or something. So I got closer to her and asked her again if she was ok, and she smelled kinda fruity, it was nice, and she looked over at me, and I thought she was kinda smiling at me, and I was very drunk, so I kissed her. And she didn’t really kiss me back, but she didn’t stop me either, so...” “So you fucked me.” Evellyn said calmly, still holding his hand. “I didn’t know it was you, Evelyn, I swear! Not until almost the very end.” “The end.” she said. “When you came inside me.” Paul was crying now. And hyperventilating. “Did I?” he asked. “Oh man, I don’t know, I don’t remember. I didn’t have a condom or anything.” “I know,” she said. “But I swear Evelyn, I swear, I don’t have any diseases or anything. I’m clean. I promise.” “I know,” she said. Still as cool as a marble statue. The drunk woman punctuated his teary confession by screaming “Call me a cab, Enrique! I pissed all over your good chair. Add it to my tab!” Evelyn chuckled a little at the sudden outburst, but kept looking at Paul. Paul had pulled his hand back and sat with his head lowered in his hands, elbows resting on the table. The drunk woman shambled loudly around the corner, and was gone, leaving only a thin trail of smoke behind her. The couple sat in silence. Then Paul looked suddenly at Evelyn with a feeble terror in his face. “Did you, I mean...were you on birth control?” he said weakly. “I wasn’t.” she said. “I mean, you would’ve told me, if you’d gotten pregnant or something, right?” “Maybe that would’ve been the courteous thing to do. I guess I don’t really know, Paul. I hadn’t been raped before.” She spoke without a hint of malice, or even sarcasm. The word raped seemed to loosen Paul’s bowels like a kick to the stomach. In his panic, he could taste the adrenaline burning the back of his throat. He felt dizzy, like he might pass out. Was that what he’d done? Had he raped her? The thought disgusted him. He wasn’t a rapist. They’d been drinking. He was drunk. She misunderstood. It was a misunderstanding. He wasn’t some monster. He’d had feelings for her. They’d kissed. He hadn’t hit her or subdued her or covered her mouth or anything. Evelyn reached across the table and took both his hands in hers. “Look at me Paul,” she said firmly. She squeezed his hands. “Paul, you’re ok. I need you to breathe.” His eyes finally caught hers, and she held eye contact with him. “In and out, Paul,” she said. “Calm down. Good. Have a drink.” Paul took his wine glass and brought it to his lips with a trembling hand. He drained it. Evelyn reached for the bottle and refilled it. He drank it all down again. “To answer your question,” she said after a moment, “yes, I did get pregnant.” The wine was working on Paul now, so instead of vomiting from sheer panic all over himself, he simply slumped down in his chair. Evelyn’s composure told him she was telling the truth. Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes. “I don’t understand.” he said. You don’t look pregnant.” “I’m not anymore, Paul. I took care of it.” “Oh Jesus.” he said, planting his face in his hands. “Are you ok? Did it hurt? Can I, I don’t know, can I pay you back? My parents have money. Oh, please,” he said, perhaps considering his parents for the first time, “Oh, please don’t tell them. I can pay you. Whatever you want. Just tell me. Please.” Evelyn squeezed his hand. “You don’t owe me any money. I didn’t pay for it.” “Who did?” he asked. “Nobody, Paul. Abortions are illegal in Texas, silly. There was nowhere I could go. I don’t have the resources to get halfway across the country. And I couldn’t ask my super religious parents to spot me this one time for me to get scooped out.” She spoke as though she were telling some amusing anecdote at a bar. The calm detachment that had comforted him before was now starting to unsettle him. “So one night Katy brought over a bottle of vodka, and we looked up videos on how to get rid of a pregnancy. And honestly, it really didn’t take us long to find them.” So,” Paul said, connecting the dots deliberatively, “you and Katy, you did it yourselves?” “Yes,” she said. “And you’re sure it worked? I mean, it came out? How did you get it out?” The giant steel doors opened flamboyantly. Katy appeared again, carrying a silver waiter’s tray. “One second, Paul. It looks like it’s time for dessert.” Evelyn said, watching Katy approach. Paul was dumbstruck. “Are you kidding?” he said, raising his voice. “I never kid about dessert.” Katy said with a wink. She laid the tray between them. “Evelyn, please! Just tell me. Are you sure it's taken care of? Did you see it come out?” Paul screamed. “Woah, calm down there, chief.” Katy said. “This is a nice establishment.” Evelyn looked at Paul in a way that, for the first time that evening, betrayed an emotion. But which emotion? Fear? Disgust? No. He wasn’t sure. Everything was happening all at once, and he was drunk from the wine. She spoke at last. “I know it came out, Paul, because I held it in my own two hands. And it looked exactly like I was terrified that it was going to look. It was tiny. And it was the heaviest thing I’ve ever held in my life.” Katy stood silently by her side, placing an arm firmly around her shoulder, still wearing her ridiculous chef’s hat. Paul sat in stunned silence. He couldn’t look at either of them. “You’re wondering,” Evelyn said at last, “what I did with it. Aren’t you?” “No, I mean, I’m...what?” Paul said. “You wanna know what she did with it?” Katy said. She lifted the lid from the silver tray. All three of them stared intently at it. There was no desert. Only a slip of paper. It was a bill. “A gentleman always reaches for the bill, Paul.” Katy said. Hand trembling, he reached for the slip of paper and scanned it. Two entries for the Vietnamese Squid w/Pork. But the second entry had some substitutions. \- 1/2 pork \- SUB foot \- SUB foot \- SUB hand \- SUB hand \- SUB head \- SUB embcl crd \- SUB heart \- SUB bld clot Paul read it. Then he read it again. His face went white. “This is a joke.” he said. Evelyn withdrew her hand. “Is it?” she asked. “You didn’t really. Who would do something fucked up like that?” He looked at Katy. He noticed the small splotches of blood on her apron for the first time. It could be pork blood, right? “I get it.” he said. “You’re mad at me, and you’re fucking with me to feel better.” Evelyn sat motionless, staring as cooly as ever. She said nothing. “This is insane. This is why you invited me here? Some revenge on the poor fat loser who can’t get any pussy unless it’s some dumb drunk bitch?” “Hey.” Katy interrupted. “Watch your mouth. I said this was a nice establishment.” “Just tell me the truth and I’ll go.” Paul said. For all his bluster, he hadn’t regained any color. Katy reached down and grabbed the bill, folded it neatly in half twice, and stuck it in Paul’s shirt pocket. “You can take care of that up front with Enrique, boss.” she said. “And make sure to give him this, and he’ll give you a discount.” Katy produced a small slip of paper from her apron pocket and slipped it in the pocket behind the check. Paul abruptly pulled it out to see what it was. It was a small polaroid photo of a bloody hand holding a red blob about four inches long. The room was dark, but squinting at it, Paul thought he could just make out a small pair of eyes. He threw it and the bill on the ground in disgust. “You’re both fucking crazy.” he shouted. At that moment, two waiters emerged from the shadows. Each placed a firm hand on Paul’s shoulder. “Right this way, sir.” said the one on the left. “I’m afraid we’re closed.” “No way. Not until they tell me the truth!” Paul shouted into the waiter’s face. The men each grabbed him by an arm and began to pull him away. Paul screamed and cursed and fought them until eventually they all receded into the shadows again. Evelyn and Katy watched until he was gone. The moment paul could no longer be heard, Evelyn sunk down into her chair and cried. “I know, babe.” Katy said. She knelt down beside the chair and drew Evelyn into an embrace. Evelyn wept loudly. Katy gently rubbed her back, like another would a sick child. Another waiter appeared by the tableside and moved to refill her glass of wine. Katy gently waved him away.


“I told you no one was going to be wearing team costumes!” Oliver whispered harshly to Kerry as the five teens walked into the big building where the competition is going to take place. They all looked at the other teams of five that had on the matching colored T-shirts while they had on elf costumes. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” Anna said when she looked at each team either wearing blue T-shirts or red or any other color. The other teams that were each standing behind their own kitchen island was now staring at the new team that walked in dressed as elves. Giggles began to fill the room then. As if Kerry’s chocolate brown skin tone could not already hide the fact that she was blushing so hard, she scooped a bunch of hair from either side of her face to hide her cheeks. How could she have made such a mistake? “We-we still got this guys.” She said turning around so that her back was to the other contestants and she was facing her four good friends. “It doesn’t matter what we’re wearing. All that matters is that we make the meanest; biggest cookie the whole of Idaho falls has ever seen!” She smiled her wide smile at them and even though Anna wanted to cry of embarrassment and Freddy could feel his elf tights riding up with every step he took and the other three were almost as red faced as Anna, they still nodded and mumbled ‘You’re right.’ at Kerry. Kerry clapped her hands together and the five of them made their way to the one and only vacant kitchen island. 8:45am. They still had a whole fifteen minutes to wait before the competition would begin. Now that the initial shock of a group actually dressing up as elves was over, the other teams seemed to have forgotten and started talking among themselves. “Okay guys.” Kerry began saying. “Do you all remember what to do?” Kerry had always been a huge fan of cooking shows and ‘Big Time Bake: Holiday Special’ was her absolute dream show. Last year the task was to bake a very moist chocolate cookie and this year the task was to bake the biggest cookie ever. When she found out about the competition last month she immediately persuaded her four best friends; Oliver, Anna, Freddy and Cassie to be her teammates. “Hold on, when it’s time for getting the ingredients I’m gonna get the uh...” Cassie trailed off as she placed one hand under her chin and started thinking hard about what her part in the ingredient snatching was. Kerry rolled her eyes. “You’ll grab the baking soda,ground ginger and baking powder.” She reminded her. “Oliver you’re collecting the flour, dark brown sugar and granulated sugar. Anna, cinnamon and butter, Freddy salt and nutmeg and I’ll get the chocolate chips and cocoa butter. Guys this is really important cause once those first five minutes are up, we can’t get any other ingredients.” Kerry could already picture the award she would win when the competition was over. She imagined placing it on the desk in her room but Oliver said they should all take turns on who should have the trophy. “But I thought I was getting the flour and ginger.” Cassie asked confused. Kerry felt like she was growing faint. Maybe bringing Cassie along was a mistake. “No Cas.” She said trying to keep her voice in check so she wouldn’t come off as though she were stressed even though she clearly was. “Remember your duty is to get baking powder, baking soda and ginger.” She said the two ingredients slowly. Like if she said it any faster it would jumble up in Cassie’s brain. “Morning contestants!” A deep voice came from the front of the huge kitchen making everyone look forward. It was George Reed. A very famous baker and the host of Big Time Bake. After him came floods of men and women holding huge cameras up and recording everything that was taking place. The teams applauded him as he looked from right to left at all of them. When he finally got to the last team which was Kerry’s team, his eyes popped open just a fraction but he quickly regained himself from his brief shock of seeing their costumes. Anna’s face was now as red as her elf dress and her blue eyes stared down at the floor. “Welcome to this years annual Big time bake off Christmas special, teams.” They all applauded. “I’m George Reed and today we have six teams with us.” Some of the camera men recorded each team as George Reed called out ‘the red team, the blue team, the green team.’ When he finally got to the last group he hesitated before saying; “The elf team!” Kerry, Oliver, Freddy, Anna and Cassie waved awkwardly at the camera which seemed to linger on them before shifting back on George. “Okay teams, We have a special guest today. She is the owner of her own five star bakery and has published several cook books. Introducing Miss Carla Adler!” More applause filled the room as a woman of about five foot two walked in from the door on the right and stood beside George. Both of them looked like polar opposites as George was tall, lean and as pale as a ghost while Carla was short, plump and darker than he was. She said a short greeting to the teams but now Kerry wasn’t paying any attention. She couldn’t wait to get started. “Can I get an hour on the clock?” George asked and the huge circular digital clock that hung behind him and Carla on the wall read; 1:00:00. Excited chatter filled the room as Carla and George began to count down from ten. Once they got to one, everyone ran as fast as they could into the store that had automatic doors that just opened up. Oliver was the first to get back to their station followed by Anna. Freddy was next and Kerry followed. When the five minutes were almost up Cassie wasn’t back yet. The automatic doors were beginning to slowly close when finally Cassie came out just in time almost tripping over twice. Oliver and Anna started on the dry ingredients. Since they aimed at making the biggest cookie the whole world had ever dreamed of, they used a lot of flour, ginger, cinnamon nutmeg and cocoa in a huge bowl. Anna handled mixing the butter with fresh ginger and brown sugar. Cassie lines the baking pans with parchment while Kerry heats the oven. The clock doesn’t stop for anyone and when it’s thirty minutes left the dough for the cookie is ready and they need to shape it. “Stop eating the dough Freddy!” Anna says. “I’m sorry it tastes amazing.” Freddy says. “Let’s shape it in the baking pan.” Oliver suggests. They all work together to shape the dough into a round shape and when they’re done they have only twenty minutes left. “We have to bake it now!” Kerry says after sprinkling the huge flat brown circle that is the cookie with granulated sugar. She rushes and drops it into the oven feeling a hundred times better that now their master piece is baking in the oven. “Five minutes left teams!” George’s voice comes. “Uhhh Guys?” Anna says uncertainly. She’s standing in front of the oven looking in at the baking cookie. Everyone gathers around her and stares in horror at the terrible sight inside the oven. “Why does it look like bread?!” Freddy asks. Kerry opened the oven and took out the baking pan bringing the monstrous cookie out into the open. She can hear Carla talking about their cookie gone wrong but she doesn’t pay attention to it as she tries to think about what could have gone wrong. Why was the cookie rising? She poked at it and it deflated. “I think I know what happened.” Oliver says. He hands Kerry a container of yeast that was beside the baking soda. All eyes turned to Cassie who’s eyes were wide open. Her hands flew up to her mouth but she couldn’t utter a coherent sentence. “I’m s-so sorry. I don’t- I didn’t- I thought.” Kerry couldn’t help but cry. This was going terribly wrong. After all the weeks of practice this awful ugly brown half risen half deflated cookie is what they show for all their hard work. “Don’t cry Kerry.” Anna said wrapping her arms around her. “We did our best. And honestly this was a lot more fun than I thought it was going to be.” “Three minutes left teams!” “Yeah Kerry.” Freddy started. “We’re dressed as elves plus we have these ridiculous bell things on our shoes. I still don’t know how you got me to wear this.” He stuck out his right foot and jiggled it making Kerry giggle. Who would have thought Freddy with the black leather jackets, greasy sleek black hair and boots would be dressed as an elf wearing shoes that had bells attached to them. “This isn’t something I’m gonna forget in a long time.” Oliver added. Kerry smiled, looked around at her friends. She was so busy taking this whole thing so seriously that she missed out on the best part which is having fun with her friends. “You guys are right.” She said finally. “This was really fun.” George and Carla begin to count down from ten and Kerry, Oliver, Anna, Freddy and Cassie huddle together in a group hug. “Okay teams step away from your cookies!” The judges start from the right, talking to the teams as they taste their cookies. The other teams cookies look great. They are big and flat and different flavors and scents fill the room. George and Carla finally make their way over to the elf team. The Camera man zooms in on the weird cookie so that everyone who is watching live will get a good look it. “Elf team what do we have here?” Carla asks. “This is a chewy chocolate ginger bread cookie.” Oliver informs her. “Well.” George says taking another look at it. “It’s huge.” Is the only nice thing he can say about the cookie. The judges break pieces from the giant cookie and chew it. When they’re done they head back to the front of the room to decide who the winners are. They are back a few minutes later. “Thank you teams. This has been a very amazing competition. We loved all your cookies. You all showed great technique. But it is without a doubt that we give the award to the team who has really wowed us today with their cookie.” He pauses for a dramatic effect before saying. “The green team!” ***** “You know, these participatory badges aren’t all that bad.” Anna says as they head back into the van that will take them home wearing shiny badges on their chests. “Yeah at least now we don’t have to worry about sharing the award.” Cassie says. They nod in agreement. “We should do this again next year.” Kerry suggests. “No way!” The four of them chorus.


The Television. The Television is gone. I could have sworn it was here just a few minutes ago. (Make sense of it) It's weirdly uncomfortable without the TV set. It doesn't feel right, nothing has felt right lately. Like as I stand here, I feel that funny feeling when you believe you've been there, done that before. Do you ever get That? (Sit down. Make it stop) We're not used to sitting in silence like this; for this long. It's agonising. (Do something) There's nothing to do now the television is missing, except to stare at the once occupied space in which the Television filled with sound and light and life that spanned the room. Now, a barren, cold enclosure with archaic yet universally familiar wallpaper that lays loose on the walls and folds or tears sporadically. It's rustic and homely though, ripe with sentiment and rich domestic attitudes about it. It seems perfect But it isn't the same now without enthusiasm. The television usually does that. It filled the silence with sound, giving us something to listen to if not each other. It used to fill the darkness with light, providing an excuse to pay attention to anything at all. It makes a great conversation starter, our source of anticipation, passion and liveliness but what now? (Say something. She's waiting) I looked to where she's sitting...She isn't here either. Much like our TV set, Zapped from existence before I could ever get the chance to say goodbye. (Find her) I sometimes forget that she's gone. I'd like to believe she's just outside, watering the plants or, in our bedroom reading a book to give any excuse for her absence except for what is true. At Least there's an explanation for that. But this? The sudden disappearance of our television is wildly uncanny and unpredictable in such a way that unsettles me. (Remind yourself) We used to gather around to watch the cricket, I'm not sure she enjoyed it. As much as I did at least but the company was what mattered the most to both of us. We'd watch the firework display when the clock struck 12 on new years eve. Or when the queen would deliver her speech on Christmas day. (You're alone) It dawns on me every time I remember, she must live in the clouds, always watching down on me. I bet she'll be so disappointed. I'm like a Lost, lonely lab rat in an experiment to find exactly "what would happen if we took everything away from it, one by one until it had nothing left" maybe that would explain why on earth the television has left me so suddenly too. To prove them right. But I have nothing now. When will the experiment end? Does it end? Am I just as disposable as our TV? And, "Why me?" My voice echoed through the room. It startled me a bit. I haven't heard my own voice in a while. I haven't had a reason to speak. I have no one to speak to so all of my thoughts and feelings remain, bottled up inside my head, often clashing or escaping me. I don't remember much nowadays either, almost as if my brain has exiled all of my memories for the only thing that matters to me. (Bring her back) We created so many memories together, for What? I can't remember most of them for the life of me and she, herself, is now just a memory. My only memory. The only thing to support the notion that I have a history. The very miniscule idea that I've had a life outside the present. Outside of this cursed room...


CW: death, gore, illness The man in my room was dressed like an alien. He had a white plastic suit, like a packaged fish from the town over the hill. I couldn’t see his face behind a dark visor, but when he spoke his voice was fluent in muffled smiles. It was comforting in a way, like burying your face in pillows when you’re tired. I wish I could see his face, I hadn’t seen anyone's face in weeks. Not since I got sick. I was playing with my baby sister outside the village about two weeks ago. Running around near an old hollow tree. We were playing pretend- she was the princess and I the brave prince. An evil vampire bat had captured her, hiding her in the tree for me to rescue. I fought through the guards, smacking them with a stick I found, and broke into his foreboding tower. My little sister was crying. She had a little red mark on her hand, so we went home. When we walked through the door, Mom was the first to identify the bite. A bat must’ve got her when we were playing. It wasn’t big and there wasn’t much blood, but the fear in Momma’s eyes frightened me. “What bit you?” She asked. My little sister wiped tears from her eyes, “A mean old bat! I didn’t mean to touch him, but he looked so cute hanging there. I didn’t know he’d bite me!” “You need to be more careful, sweetheart.” Mother wiped the wound clean with water, then poured some smelly bubbles onto a piece of cloth. My sister flinched as Momma pressed the cloth to the wound, “This is why I told you never to play by that tree! Honestly, it’s like you never listen to me!” She was looking at my sister, but talking to me. “Momma, the tree is hollow! It’s the perfect evil tower!” She sighed, “I know.” Two days later my little sister had a fever. A day later my Momma had a fever too. Another day passed and I had one. I quietly wished Dad was here to take care of us, but he left a long time ago. The village elders tried to take care of us, but as more and more people fell sick they stopped letting people visit each other. It was a week into the sickness that men in white suits came to help us. They separated us, putting us into little makeshift rooms on comfy beds. They’d poke and prod, check our temperature, and feed us. They’d never take the suits off though. “Can I see my Momma? Is my sister alright?” I asked. The man had been working at a nearby table. The vials of blood and urine clicked against one another as he hesitated, “No, son.” “Why not?” The Covered Man set the vials down, turning towards me, “Because they’re very sick right now and need to rest. You need rest too.” He placed a covered hand on my forehead as he spoke. “But I’m feeling better today! Can’t I just say hey?” He sighed sadly, “No, son. Not yet. Not until you’re all better.” I hadn’t moved during the conversation, I hadn’t moved in a long time, “How long will that be?” His face was hidden, but his voice shook, “I-I’m not sure, son. Soon though. Soon-” My breath was rattled, shaky, and wet, “You keep calling me son. Are you-?” “It’s an expression used in America, where I’m from.” I felt my eyes grow wide. Imaginations of Dad being behind the visor dissipating. My chest beat with excitement, “America?! I’ve always wanted to go to America!” “Oh yeah?” “Yeah. My little sister wants to go too, but Momma said it was too far away.” “Did she now?” He took my hand and squeezed slightly. “Yeah-” I felt something warm on my cheek, sliding across it like a wet slug, “I’ve always wanted to try a hot dog...” The Covered Man chuckled, “Oh yeah? Hmmm . I think I have an idea. Hold on for a minute.” I smiled and nodded as he left the little room. His footsteps disappeared down a corridor of moans and crying. Someone was in the room next to me, shuffling around and mumbling to themselves. They were new here. My previous neighbor had left a few days ago. I called out weakly to him, “It’ll be okay! They’re really nice here. You’ll be better in no time!” An old, gruff voice echoed back to me, shaking, “Yes-Yeah! Yeah, little man, we’ll be okay.” I could feel the tears in his voice. The loneliness. The shock. His words spoke comfort but his voice betrayed a deep despair. Before I could ask the old man his name, the Covered Man stepped back into the room carrying a plate with weird bread on it. There was a log of meat in between, covered in ketchup and mustard. A hotdog?! “A hotdog?!” I whispered, breathlessly. My chest hurt. He brought it to me, “Yeah! I had one of my colleagues deliver it from my ‘special stash.’” Sitting down next to me, the Covered Man broke off a piece of the hotdog and held it to my mouth, “Go on. Take small bites.” It tasted exactly as I imagined. I chewed it slowly. The ketchup was full of vinegar, blending well with the mustard and the mysterious meat of the hotdog. The bread was like a little cup holding all sorts of flavors. Happy tears slid down my cheeks. Thick. Sluggish. I took another bite. Chewing deliberately. It hurt to swallow. The Covered Man was silent as he fed me, finally pulling out a white towel and rubbing my cheeks carefully. When he pulled back, the towel was coated in red liquid. He tossed it into a yellow bag with symbols across it. “You need to...You need to take one to my sister... She’d love that.” I sighed, “ I wish I wasn’t so mean to her all the time.” I took a deep, shaky breath. When I coughed, my entire body hurt. Globs of coagulated something splashed across my chin and lips. “I wish I had...I really wish I had listened to Momma about that tree-” The Covered Man’s chest rattled, “Y-yeah, son. I’ll make sure to do that.” I could feel his eyes on me, safe behind the visor. “Can’t I go see them?” I asked. It’s so hot ... “I-I can’t-” The Covered Man was crying now, struggling to speak. “Hey, don’t cry .We’ll be okay.” I reached out to him. He took my little hand in both of his and squeezed. “Yes, son. You’ll be okay.” His voice spoke of comfort. Companionship. Of hot dogs and freedom. Of playing with my little sister far away from the tree. Of my Momma watching us run around, rarely joining us but it was always better when she did. I imagined Dad coming back home from wherever he’d gone. He would smile and give me the biggest bear hug. He’d tell me how proud he was knowing that I helped Momma take care of my sister. I closed my eyes, using so much strength to open them again. The Covered Man was still there, looking down at me. I reached towards his face, towards his mask. He recoiled and I stopped. “Sorry. I-I didn’t mean to scare you.” He hesitated for a long time, taking deep breaths. After a while, he took one big breath, exhaling slowly. The Covered Man took my hand, cautiously leaning down towards it and pressing it against his cheek. I felt his mask; cold, hard, and old. I couldn’t help but smile. “You know, Doctor, you don’t need to be with every person when they pass.” A woman in white coverings was scolding the man. He placed the now limp hand, so small, so young, against the boy’s chest. “All he wanted was to see his sister and mother again.” The woman peaked around the Doctor’s shoulder at the still warm corpse of the boy. He was patient two. The second patient to contract the illness. “Did you tell him what happened?” “No.” The Doctor shook his head, “I didn’t.” They stared at the boy in silence for a while. He was no older than ten. The hemorrhagic fever had destroyed his face. Blood bubbled from his ears, eyes, nose, mouth, and everywhere else you could imagine. Finally, the woman broke the quiet, “You shouldn’t let patients touch you, Doctor. This disease spreads through touch and we can’t risk losing our team leader.” “I know, I know.” The Doctor took a deep breath, “But all he wanted was a connection. He didn’t want to suffer alone.” He paused, “You know what his last request was?” The woman placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, “What?” “He wanted a hot dog.” They sat in silence. She spoke, “He was smiling when he passed.” “I know.” There were three wooden crosses next to a hollow tree. One for the Mother, the Sister, and finally for me.


Juno lived a peaceful life. One where she grew up helping her parents at their bakery. She knew her way around the small village like the back of her hand. Juno always had big plans for herself, becoming a knight or even a guard for the prince. When she was younger, she liked to pretend a stick was her sword, and she had to fight to save her family. While her parents believed this was just an act of her overactive imagination, they supported her in whatever she would strive for. As time moved on, that dream of hers began to walk away once she started to grow up. Juno focused on helping her family out in every way she could. By the time she was 14, Juno's older brother, Lukas, had opened his bookstore. There, she began spending her time, reading stories about brave warriors saving the princess from towers guarded by dragons that always ended in a true love's kiss. Juno never believed in those, she was old enough to know that never really happens. However, she still had daydreams here and there, wondering what her life would be like if she was a brave warrior. People throughout the village always talked about the person who would become their hero, Killian. He had been chosen personally by the prince to face the darkness that has haunted the village of Windcrest for centuries. Nobody knows what this "darkness" really is, but everyone knows that it is an honor to be handpicked to fight. Unfortunately, for these brave knights, none have ever come back. So, after months of their hero having been away on their quest, the village's nobles decided to declare the valiant Killian dead. The rest of the town prepares for the next selection, the only time the royal family enters the village. On the day of the selection, everyone gathers in the town's center to greet the royal family. While the king and queen usually have the power, they leave selection days to their only son, Prince Amir, as their way of preparing him for when it's his turn to take the throne. The townspeople all stand in a bunched-up crowd, moving to the side when the prince starts to walk in their direction, looking for the next chosen one, analyzing each and every option. Everyone eagerly awaits his choice, the choice that would change someone's life. Amir starts walking towards Juno, staring straight at her. Just as he walks up to her, Juno starts to move to the side before Amir raises his hand for her to stop. He gestures for her to follow. The cluster of people moves to make a straight path to the center circle of the gathering. Juno doesn't want to believe she's going to have to fight at 18 years old. "Name?" Amir demandingly questioned. Hesitantly, Juno responded, "Juno Belmont. My name is Juno." "Everyone, Juno Belmont is your new hero!" Amir had made the announcement Juno had a hard time believing the crowd. And with that statement, came the loud roar of cheers and applause. To Juno, it was deafening. Amir turned back to Juno, "Two days. You will gather your belongings together and an escort will be at your residence to pick you up. Then, you will start your training." He immediately walked away, leaving her standing in shock as the town came up to congratulate her. Juno heads home and goes straight to the table where her family greets her. Her mother is the first to approach her, embracing her in a warm hug. After releasing her, she speaks up. "Oh sweetie, I'm so happy for you. This is what you've wanted since you were a kid!" "Come on Juney, you should be ecstatic right now," her brother pats her on the head. "I bet you're just overwhelmed by the amazing news, right?" her father jokes. "Yeah. Just overwhelmed. I'm really happy," she lies. Yes, she's dreamed of being the hero in the story since she was just a little girl. But right now, Juno isn't sure whether to be excited or terrified. "I'm going to head upstairs to pack my things." "Alright, little warrior," her father shows the biggest smile Juno has ever seen. "My little girl is going to be a hero!" They may all sound happy, but Juno can tell they are all worried for her. Two days have passed. Juno waits on the porch with her bags. As the carriage arrives, her family all give her their goodbyes. She watches her brother start to cry as she leaves and watches the house disappear as the carriage pulls away. She is still conflicted about what she should be feeling at this moment. She knows this quest isn't like how the storybooks always told them. Ever since before she or her parents or even her great-grandparents were born, no one has ever come home from this quest. She arrives at the training temple. Juno exits the carriage, staring at her new home in a daze. Is this all one big nightmare, Juno asks herself, no, it can't be. She walks towards the front of the grand building, brushing her hand on the holly bushes at the entryway. Juno begins to worry about what she's getting herself into. She is greeted by Prince Amir once again. "Hello, Juno, was it? Glad to see you again. I'm only here to get you familiar with the people you will be spending the next few months with. These are your trainers," he motions to the three people standing very seriously in front of us, "We have Gwyn, Leon, and Robin. These three will be your guide and teach you everything you need to know to be fully prepared for battle. I hope you enjoy your stay--it won't be an easy one. Now, that's all I had to say. I shall be taking my leave now. I wish you the best Juno." Juno or the trainers weren't able to even get a single word out before Amir left the temple. Now, Juno has been training for months nonstop. Following a strict schedule, it's hard for her to get a moment of peace. Her trainers push her to the edge. Every day, she wakes up before sunrise, has a meditation session, goes to breakfast, trains, eats lunch, trains some more, then dinner, hot springs, and finally can get some sleep. Her training has almost made her a soldier, ready for battle at any given time. "Juno!" Leon calls for her to come to the dining hall. Just like any soldier would, she approaches Leon and the other trainers front and center. "Yes, sir?" "You've been doing well in your training." "Thank you, sir." "I am so proud of--" "Enough with the small talk, Leon," Robin cuts in. "Yes, you have been doing well. But we have some not-so-great news for you." Worried, Juno asks, "What is it, sir?" Gwyn looks at the ground as she speaks, "The village has been threatened." Gwyn and Leon have always been the nicer trainers of the three. "What do you mean?" Juno says confused. Leon makes sure he's the one to break the news. "It's time. We need to start getting you ready to head out. We have taught you all that we can. And now your home needs you more than ever." Juno is shocked but doesn't show it. "I'm ready," she states calmly. "Thank you for training me." "It was our pleasure. You leave tomorrow. We will have a bag of supplies prepared for you in the morning," for the first time, Robin looks heartbroken, "Please, do everything you can to get back." "I will. I should go rest up before tomorrow." To Juno's surprise, all three of her trainers pull her in for a hug. They're scared, and Juno knows that. But, for some reason, she isn't. She was telling the truth when she said she was ready. Morning comes, and so does Amir with a carriage. After being given her supplies and saying goodbye to her trainers, Juno enters the carriage. The whole ride is silent. They make one stop to allow Juno to say goodbye to her family. Her mother, her father, and Lukas all give her big hugs while crying. They make her promise to come home. She enters the carriage once more while continuously saying her goodbyes. As they drive through the town, everyone who lives there comes out to wish her good luck and farewell. They reach the entrance to the forest. "This is as far as the carriage goes." That was the first thing Amir had said since they met that morning. Unexpectedly, Prince Amir also hugs Juno. "Do your best." The carriage heads back towards the village as Juno begins her trek into the forest. Nothing much happens in her first couple of weeks, besides hunting and running into spiderwebs. Juno has no idea where she's supposed to go, or what she's supposed to be looking for, not like anyone else knew either, though. She goes through the same routine each day; wake up, hunt, cook, walk, set up camp. One night, she sets up camp next to a cove. The following morning, during the middle of the third week, she wakes up to the sunlight dancing on the pond, how it sparkles while she listens to the birds chirp. She feels peaceful at this cove. She decides to take a bit of an easy day and goes for a swim. After taking off her armor, she walks into the water. The initial touch makes her jump a bit. Once she is fully in the pond, she tries to swim around so the water isn't so cold. She takes a moment to just float a bit while taking in the nature around her. She gets out of the water and gets ready to walk through the forest again. After more solitude hours of walking around, the night starts to surround the forest, filling it with darkness. Juno lights a torch and begins to look for a place to rest. However, a fog that Juno hasn't seen since she got to the forest covers the ground and makes it hard for her to see. She sees the figure of someone up until a strong wind blows her torch out. Dropping her bag, Juno pulls out her sword preparing herself for a fight. "Who are you?!" No response. "Whoever is out there, I'm not afraid!" The dark figure charges toward her with his sword. Juno puts hers up in defense and uses it to push him away. Panicked, she loses sight of him and begins to slowly turn in a circle to find him. He shoots straight for her again. This time, scraping her ankle, but Juno fights through the pain and charged forward to strike. After using her leg to push herself forward, she made a hurt gasp but still tried to fight. The figure blocks and pushes his sword against hers. He pulls his sword away before striking down, aiming for her legs. Juno notices and jumps over. She runs behind a tree to try and get a leverage point, her heart pounding throughout her whole body. He tries to strike the side of the tree until Juno leans to the other side and thrust her sword toward him. After making contact, the figure tries to lean out of the way, but he wasn't fast enough, and Juno's blade slashed his side. He lets out a pained grunt. She leans over to the other side to attack again, but her opponent lunges forward and his weapon left a deep cut on the side of her arm. The figure lunges closer to her to try and draw her away from her only defense. She leaps backward, beginning to lose her focus. Everything from her training starts to blur together. Her opponent continues to lunge forward. Hoping to catch him off guard, Juno decides to reach forward after diving back. Now, she has created a gap between them. "I'm going to ask you one more time! Who are you?" Before getting any sort of answer, the figure dashes forward, but not to strike Juno with his sword. The figure reaches his leg out aiming for Juno's feet to knock her off her balance. After falling to the ground, the figure goes to kick her sword away from her. With his blade pointed right at Juno's neck and his foot on her chest, he reveals his name, "Call me Gareth." Juno tries to reach for her sword but has no success. The pressure is released from her chest and the figure who calls himself Gareth is nowhere to be found. Juno forces herself up and limps over to her bag. She tries to find where Leon put the bandages. When she does, she struggles to wrap both her arm and ankle. After that, she doesn't bother to set up camp and just uses her bag as a pillow. The sun shined directly on Juno's face, waking her. As she moved, she felt sore, forgetting about her injuries from the night before. She quickly, but carefully, swapped out her bandages and left to find something to eat. She tried to make sense of the previous night's events. Gareth, she kept repeating his name in her head, Is he the darkness from all the stories? What did he want from me? Why did he let me live? That last question bothered her. She knew the only way to figure that answer out, was to ask Gareth himself. After eating, she left to try and see if she could find his footprints. For the most part, they were faded, but she could still see fragments of them. She followed them to the best of her ability. Night fell and she had gone off track. The footprints are impossible to see now. As she began to look for a place to rest, she stopped dead. There was light not too far from her. Puzzled, she continued to follow the flames like a moth. This must be where Gareth ran off to, she believed. While many would be frightened, Juno was not. With each new step, she felt braver and stronger and kept pushing toward the tower. With each new step, Juno wanted to walk faster. With each new step, everything she had feared, went away. Juno had just walked through the garden entrance where she dropped her supplies, not even taking notice of the bushes of lemon balm and purple hyacinth flowers in the center fountain. She started up the endless stairs, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. She's ready to end this forever. Juno reaches the top of the stairs, to the rooftop, where Gareth sits alone on a bench. His sword is laying right next to his hand. She tries to sneak up on him when he reaches for his sword and turns to face Juno. She is shocked by how quickly he had reacted. As they face each other, Juno asks him about what's been bothering her. "Why did you let me live last night?" Gareth moves away from the bench and signals Juno to do the same as well. "It wouldn't be an enjoyable fight for you if we are stuck by the bench." Gareth doesn't seem very entertained as he says this. The two go back and forth on the roof. Juno strikes straight for the chest every time. She's determined to save her home, just like in her imagination as a child. She's so filled with anger at this being who's plagued Windcrest for ages. This naïve girl doesn't even have a speck of fear inside of her. Gareth, on the other hand, is not aiming to kill, going for her legs and arms, and purposely intending to miss slightly just to cut. It takes Juno a while to notice this. Finally, she tries to go on the defense and attempts to get her enemy in a position where she can talk with him. With her sword pushing against his, making no room for him to drive it away, she lets out just one word, "Why?" "I'm not sure I understand," Gareth doesn't try to continue the fight. "What are you? You've been threatening my home for generations. So, why?" "You wouldn't understand yet." "Fighter after fighter, have been selected and trained and sent away. Then, after Killian was defeated, it became my turn, all of the weight was given to me, I trained for months, I left my family, and now I'm risking my life for someone who is very precise with his sword, but only wants to leave a cut.) Why do you keep attacking the village? You know, this could end. You could come back with me. You could live in Windcrest. You could have a peaceful life. You could--" "No, I can't. That's not what I'm here for." "What do you mean?! Of course, you can." Gareth pushed his sword back. He initiated the fight to start again. Still aiming for her sides but with more force. Juno remained on the defense. With each block, saying something that could maybe convince this strange being. Her mind is racing with ideas, she needs something, anything to make him stop. After Gareth has given her repetitive shots to her legs, Juno started to lose her balance. One more strike had sent her to the ground. She dropped her sword and couldn't reach for it. With a final strike, Gareth sent his sword through Juno's chest. Not an attack that would kill her immediately, but still a painful one. He didn't even look at her as he made his attack. He pulls the sword out and tosses it to the side before kneeling to her. "Is it over?" the hero asks quietly? She formed a river with her tears. "Yeah, it's over," the villain picks them up and walks a couple of floors down before he carries them to a bed, "You were amazing, and I'm so, so very proud of you. Of everything you've done. It was unfair of them to pin you against me-- you had no chance of winning. But none of it is your fault. They always send you guys too young. I've fought countless people who were all just like you. I never wanted to fight them, just like I never wanted to fight you. That's just what fate has planned for me, I guess." The hero begins to fade away from consciousness. The villain reaches for their hand, "Rest easy, young one. I'm sorry you had to go through this. You were the best warrior I've faced. I want you to be calm when you go." The hero is finally at peace as they die. "Why must you send me such great people?" He looks up at the sky through a window. He goes to another room where he craves a sign that says "Juno, the nicest warrior." Gareth goes down to the garden and picks some flowers before walking back up to the room again. He picks up the hero once more and brings her down to the side of the tower where he walks past the grave of every other hero he's faced. He stops at an open one where he gently places Juno and covers her with dirt. He places the flowers on top and sits in front of the grave. "I'm so sorry." He spends a moment with her as he begins to cry. For the next year, he dreads the next knight he will come to face him. Each lonely day, he starts the morning by picking flowers from his garden and leaving a few on each grave. He sits by himself as he mourns each one. Gareth told Juno the truth when he said he was not here to live a life of peace. No, this living death is only here to help people leave peacefully and at ease. He's there to help them reach "the better place." He's never liked his job, but he knows why it's so crucial he has it. For now, he just waits for the next one. Where he will repeat the same painful process over again.


“Whoa! That was close. Try again!” Clayton laughed gleefully as he encouraged his brother. Meanwhile, in the kitchen, their dad was busy making his homemade tomato sauce. It was his favorite part of harvesting bushels of tomatoes from the garden. His wife helped him harvest, chop and prepare, but the patient work of boiling and simmering rested with him. He savored it. His biggest pot was happily bubbling away over a low flame. It was filled with a nose tantalizing combination of tomatoes, garlic, onions, and olive oil. The sauce would slowly reduce and thicken with patience and time. He puttered about the kitchen while he waited, tidying and organizing. Clayton, his middle child of 10 years, came in. “Hey Dad, can I have a taste?” “Sure,” Dad dipped a spoon into the sauce and turned to his son. “Wait,” he paused, scrutinizing his face, “what happened to your forehead?” Clayton smacked his hand to his forehead quickly and gave his dad a hasty, guilty look before slurping the spoon and fleeing the kitchen. “Sauce tastes good!” He yelled over his shoulder as he disappeared. Dad returned to his pot, slowly stirring while he thought. Clayton had a red dot on his forehead, which was definitely not there earlier. There was no obvious reason for a cut or mark like that. Usually Clayton’s shenanigans resulted in scrapes or bruises. He lifted the spoon to his lips to give the sauce a taste. Not ready yet, he thought. Later, Jacob came into the kitchen. At 14, his oldest son was as tall as him. Without a word he opened the refrigerator to get a drink. “Hey Jacob, what happened to your brother's forehead?” Dad asked. Jacob paused briefly. When he turned, he casually replied, “What do you mean?” “He has a red dot on his forehead. It looks like blood, but he ran away before I could look at it. What’s he been up to?” “Did he say he was hurt?” Jacob asked, while taking a sip of his seltzer. “No, he didn’t seem hurt.” Jacob shrugged. He glanced into the sauce pot, gave his dad a thumbs up and left the kitchen. The sauce was reducing nicely. Every time he returned to stir it, the bubbles formed a little slower in the thickening liquid. Just as they always do. Dad knew there was a reason for Clayton’s most recent injury. He was also certain Jacob knew what happened. They were clearly up to something that required concealment. He would get to the bottom of it. He always did. While the sauce continued to do its delicious work on the stove, Dad went about some other chores around the house. As he walked by the patio doors he saw his boys on the deck, leaning towards each other conspiratorially. This was worth watching. Jacob was talking. Clayton looked up at him with rapt attention and clear admiration. Finally, Jacob pressed a single finger into the red dot on Jacob’s forward, playfully pushing his head. He laughed and ruffled his little brother’s hair before turning to walk back inside. He saw his dad standing behind the glass doors and had the briefest pause in his stride. A look of surprise and worry flashed across his face before his step continued. He gave his dad a smile and a wave on the way to the couch. There was definitely more to this story, Dad thought. Later, returning to his sauce, Dad gave it some slow stirs and a few thoughtful tastes. It was thickening. All it needed was some of his secret additions. He gathered the bottles of fish sauce, worcestershire sauce and soy sauce to create the infusion of salt and umami that made his tomato sauce better than anything he could buy at the store. As he estimated his pours with a tilted head and critical eye, his 6-year-old daughter skipped into the kitchen. He smiled at her. She was playing make-believe as she often did, fully capable of entertaining herself with any combination of toys or sticks or silverware or french fries. In her imagination, anything could become a character in her stories. As he let the last dollop of soy sauce fall into the measuring cup, he gave his daughter a second, curious look. “What are you playing with Molly?” he asked. “This is Jillian. And this is Dipper. They are trying to be fliers but they keep fighting about how to fly.” As she spoke she held up her current story characters. “Where did you get those?” Dad frowned. Seeing his expression, Molly’s face mirrored his concern, “Jacob and Clayton were playing with them,” she said seriously, “I only took 2, they have the rest.” Dad put his hand out with a raised eye-brow. Molly put 2 sharp darts into his hand, then skipped out of the kitchen to find her next makeshift playmates. Dad looked down at the darts with a clear realization, a little anger, and a lot of worry. Before addressing this, he needed to finish his sauce. He poured in his special mixture and stirred it slowly. The dark flavors flowed deliciously into the crevices and folds of the now perfectly thickened sauce. He took another spoonful and put it to his lips. It’s ready. With the sauce covered and waiting, Dad picked up the darts and went to find his boys. Having taken a moment to pause, he felt more ready to address his mischievous offspring. This was actually perfect timing, he smiled to himself. Jacob saw his dad walk through the living room with two darts in his hand. He didn’t stop or talk to him. He just walked through. Uneasiness stirred in Jacob’s chest. Clayton looked up from his legos as his dad entered his bedroom. “Come with me,” his dad said. Clayton glanced at the darts in his hand and followed without a word. With Clayton in tow, Dad returned to the living room to find Jacob listening intently to Molly. They both stopped talking when he entered the room. Molly put her hands to her mouth to hide whatever look crossed her face and backed away. “Boys. What happened to Jacob’s forehead?” Dad asked as he put the darts down on the coffee table. Neither child offered an immediate response. “Noone got hurt,” Jacob said defensively. “Hurt doing what?” Dad insisted. Clayton met Jacob’s eyes and they both resigned to the inevitable. “I was the dart board Dad,” Clayton said. “We found your dart board set in the closet and I held the dart board while Jacob tried to hit the bullseye!” Clayton’s naive excitement about their game could not be diminished, even by the look on his dad’s face. Dad considered his boys carefully. So many admonishments, rebukes, reprimands and chides flowed through his head. They were all fueled by the fear of his son losing an eye. His boys waited quietly, unsure what the steady gaze of their father could mean. Clayton finally realized something was wrong. Jacob knew he was in trouble and just wondered how much. When Dad finally spoke, it was directed at Jacob. He picked up the darts and said, “This was a bad idea, and you knew it.” Jacob lowered his eyes and said nothing. Dad continued, “The sauce is ready. You will help me with the canning. You will do it without moaning or avoiding. You will teach your brother and sister how to do it. And I will supervise.” Jacob hated the canning process, but he loved his dad’s tomato sauce, and he loved his dad. He sullenly followed his dad into the kitchen to accept his consequence, without complaining. Molly and Clayton looked at each other, then quickly followed to be a part of it, just as they had when Jacob had dramatically revealed the dart board set from their dad’s closet. Dad sipped his wine while he watched his children work together. He smiled. He also hated the canning process, but he loved his sauce, and he loved his children. His wife walked in and quickly observed an uncommon scene. “How’d you pull this off?” she asked. Dad filled a second glass with wine and handed it to her. He shrugged and clinked her glass in celebratory cheers. Sauce and parenting, successfully managed for another day.


Hello, my name is Aiden Mayer. I'm not entirely sure how well this post will work and where this stuff ends up. Blame it on my age. Never mind that; I suppose you'll come to know me soon. My life started unraveling on a mild spring morning. I was in my office working as an assistant physicist at Ametherom Institute of Technology, my Alma Mater. You may have never heard of the city I called home, which would come as no surprise. Ametherom was a quaint, bustling seaside city on the eastern coast of my small but prosperous Island Nation of Igadi. It rose up around the mouth of the Bay of Basir and was divided by the river Manu into the northern densely-packed City Centre and the southern cobblestone streets of Old Town. Ametherom had the heart of a proper city. The streets and buildings sprung up organically around the bay and the river, feeling as natural as the marshes and trees interspersed within and surrounding it. Three large iron bridges crossed over the river connecting the streets of City Centre to Old Town. Beneath the central and most ornate bridge ran a slender white footbridge uniting two halves of a large pedestrian's circle. The circle was paved with a mandala of white and pastel stones and nearly always bustling with street vendors, food stalls, and performers. A city built for community and connection. I love my little city. The older I grow, the more I wish I could visit once again. Unfortunately, I do not believe that is a possibility. I spent my whole life in Ametherom, from the day I was left at an orphanage until the day I was ripped from my comfortable reality and thrust into a war that ravaged everything that made me human. Ametherom was my home--my family. I miss its comfort. I, like most orphans, was raised in a private boarding school. I fit in fine with the other kids with whom I shared dorm rooms and classes. I made it through to graduation with high marks and got accepted into Ametherom Institute of Technology, where, upon graduating, I took a physicist position. This, as you may recall, is where my story really starts. **Broheim McIntosh** Being a researcher conjures the mental image of white lab coats and bubbling beakers, but I am chagrined to say my position wasn't so glamorous. Most of my days were spent poring over abstracts and hacking together lines of code and equations in the modest-sized office I shared with my research partner and long-time friend, Broheim. The morning my world broke started so innocuously, as every other dull, typical day previously had. Bro swung around the door five minutes late, his unruly orange hair bouncing as he ushered in a box of doughnuts. "I got you an eclair, Aiden!" he said melodiously with a bright smile. "Thanks Bro, my favourite!" I chuckled. "Hey, have you checked out the new pub on 11th street yet?" I asked as he dramatically plopped into his chair with a quick spin. "Next month is Cass and my anniversary, and I figured--" "A pub, Aiden? Com'on, this is your third year together. Take her somewhere nice and pop the question already! You do know you aren't getting any younger, right?" he prodded. "Alright then, Mum, sheesh." I rolled my eyes. "And to answer your question, yes. I happened to have met a lovely lass there two nights ago and from what I remember it was a cosy little pub. Not much of an amber selection though..." "Well you know Cass doesn't like going out to fancy places. I'll call them ahead, see if they do flowers." "You're a right lady-killer, eh? Any-who, how are we coming on Project 1183?" "Glad you asked, Mr. McIntosh!" I beamed, "Come and have a look at this." Broheim shot me a quizzical look as he brushed crumbs from his shirt and rolled his chair next to mine to peer at my monitor. "So, I was going over a few results last night, when I stumbled upon this. I think this sheds some light on that photon dilemma, eh?" I grinned unabashedly at my own joke. He didn't say a word as he stared into the black and white text. "Crazy, innit?" I laughed, "Are you at a loss for words, my man?" My laughter faltered and fell as I watched his eyes transfixed to the screen, blank and distant. "Are you OK, mate?" Bro's body stiffened as he fell hard to the floor. I jumped back in shock before crouching down. I carefully grabbed his shoulders. "Bro?" He began to convulse and thrash; his eyes were still distant and blank. "Somebody help!!" I screamed as I raced to my phone, pounding in the emergency line. My stomach dropped as I was greeted with a disconnected signal. I dashed into the hallway, screaming for help and trying doors to my colleagues' offices, but no one answered. For some reason, every door was locked. I started pounding on Professor Mark Stevens' door, yelling that Broheim needed help and the lines were down, pleading for him to answer. I heard a door slam behind me and whipped around to see four stately men carrying a stretcher, dressed in white scrubs and masks. My brief shock at their timely arrival was overwhelmed by relief. "Are you paramedics?" No response. I jogged down the hallway to our office just as they loaded Bro up and started for the exit. "Which hospital are you taking him to?" Not a single one of them acknowledged me, let alone my inquiry. "Hello?!" I followed them out the front doors, still asking them frantic questions, which they still ignored. They loaded Bro up in a white box van that looked like an ambulance without the lights. Tires squealed as they peeled out down the road. I was able to catch the letters "AMM" stencilled in black on the side of the vehicle. Then it careened out of sight. I rushed back inside to confront my boss, and as I burst through the front door, I stopped dead in my tracks and glanced about. Jeananne, who had returned to the front desk, narrowed her eyes at me as she held the phone to her ear as if to say, "quiet down." My other colleagues seemed unfazed. Their doors that were locked tight moments ago now stood open, and the nonchalant discussions I so frequently heard murmur through the walls had resumed. I slowly walked down the hall to Professor Stevens' office, my mouth no doubt agape as I struggled to process this strange event. I rapped sharply upon his door. His voice called "Come in" and shook me out of my shocked trance. I pulled the door closed behind me a bit too hard. "With all due respect, Professor...What the hell? Where were you?! I was calling for help! The phones are down, I couldn't call the emergency services, and you wouldn't even answer your door! Who the hell knows who came and got Broheim! They looked like doctors but they gave me a bad feeling. And--" "Call down, Aiden--take a deep breath and have a seat." I grabbed my composure and calmed my breathing into a steady rhythm. "Start from the top, now...What happened?" "I was going over our progress on 1183 and suddenly Broheim had some sort of seizure. He's been taken away into a van or ambulance. I called for you but--" "Aiden, first of all, who is Broheim?" "Is this some sort of joke, sir? He's my office mate, we started here the same week." "I am positive we have never had a Broheim working here. Also, from what I can recall, due to your outstanding performance you have been entitled to a private office for two years now." My face and chest went cold as a particular type of knot tied up my throat. With barely a croak, I uttered, "Is...Are you playing a joke?" "No Aiden... Are you feeling alright? I know Project 1183 is pretty intense, maybe you need a vacation, that's all." "This isn't funny!" blood flushed my face as I rose to my feet. "Sit back down, Aiden. There is no need to get worked up." I glared at him as I sank back into my seat. "If anyone else had come in swinging like you did just now, I would terminate them on the spot for blatant disrespect. I've known you since you enrolled here at the university and I have seen your exemplary work. I don't want to let you go, but I need you to calm down and get help with whatever...this is." He motioned his hand as if to encompass all of me. I swallowed my protest and pride and cast my eyes to my feet. "Aiden, take this." His tone had softened. I looked up as he passed me a weighty, off-white business card. "Doctor Walsh and I worked together for a number of years. I can certainly attest to her excellence." I examined the elegant golden script embossed into the card. Dr. Alexis Walsh, Psy. Ph.D. "A shrink?" I looked up incredulously. "I would highly recommend you speak with her before returning to work. You are to be placed on paid leave for the next two weeks. Take some time to rest and reset, Aiden." I retreated inward as I walked out of his office. The whispers of my colleagues swirled around as if I was underwater. I walked to my office to gather my things and nearly fell to the floor when I saw that my desk was standing alone. Everything that graced Broheim's cluttered desk and shelves--and the furniture itself--was gone. How did they cover this up so quickly? More importantly...