The story is made up. Any similarities with real events, persons and/or beings are coincidental. ***** ### **Prologue** ***** It was, in the player's considered opinion, quite the experience. There's hunting *game* and there's *The Hunting Game*, and the latter was incomparable. He had scored 82 so far. A new record, he was sure. He still had a week to fully establish the high score to virtually unreachable levels. He would become a legend in the Hunting Scene. Still, you shouldn't celebrate a scalp before it was cut, so he had carefully checked his next target's habits. This one was a bodyguard in what was called a syndicate by some of the locals. Some kind of criminal organisation. He did not really care. What he did care about was that the man in question was armed and dangerous. This would be quite a challenge. The game's difficulty had started quite low. Those firemen, construction workers and the like, were much too easy. The only problems they caused were by attracting the attention from the authorities. Luckily, the game moved him to a new city after each few kills. He didn't recall that feature being there. The devs must have gotten complaints about the police being overpowered and put in a corrected mission structure in that last update. The targets quickly moved to harder ones, like gang members. People who led more violent lives, more alert, more trained and dangerous. There was his target, he really should stop daydreaming. He checked his knife, cutting a small branch with its edge. Excellent. The bodyguard had just finished the routine checking of his car for trackers and explosives. The player quickly walked up to the car, cut the throat, and walked on. By now he knew by feel whether some extra action was required to complete the kill. Eighty-three. He relaxed as he walked up to his own car. Quite satisfying. He frowned when he received the next target briefing. Another bodyguard? True, killing those only went so smooth thanks to his skill, but he'd expect the game to select a higher level enemy by now. What the hell did *presidential* mean? He read on, wondering again why the game used paper for the briefings. Even the natives used portable electronics by now. Weapon of choice: a *ricin pellet*? He could see that he had some more research to do. ***** ### **Illegal Game** ***** Sleeth had celebrated its promotion with a good, long sleep in its comfortable nest. It had expended all its energy in reaching the Slothainian ideal state of a completely emptied mind, to better let in the dreams. Sleeth was about to start on its second helping of me-doree leaves, the mild narcotic its species used for exactly that purpose, when the room signalled the arrival of a priority call. The leaves were well on their way to Sleeth's mouth, neatly impaled on one of its claws. It kept them ascending slowly as it briefly considered ignoring the call. The lighting turned an alarming shade of lilac. The Slothain sighed a long, deep, sigh. He had disabled autorun scripts for normal messages, which meant that... “Sleeths.” this was a message from the central office. “Sleeths, Contact has received a tip that a new species is being exploited at this very moment,” the captain still extended her s', “apparently, the chief caught it while browsing the new live stream channels.” Sleeth was not aware that the chief was into such things, “at first, it seemed like one of those new virtual reality game streams, but rumours have been going around that you can strike out the *virtual* part in that description, as it were. You are hereby tasked with investigating *The Hunting Game*. By virtue of the authority vested in me as Representative of the Office of the Triumvirate, you are granted Class One privileges, to be used exclusively for investigating and judging all actors involved.” Class One meant no restrictions. It also meant a full, personal report to the entire Triumvirate. How tiresome. “I know we are interrupting your holiday, Sleeths, but this cannot wait. When you see the recording of one of the streams, you will understand.” Sleeths jaws gaped in a lazy yawn as it signalled for the room to display the attached video. The wall sprang to life, a mass of foliage curtained to display the moving images. Sleeth silently watched the bipedal alien preparing and using its knife to efficiently slice into its victim. If this was the real deal, then it was, indeed, very serious. This sort of thing tends to spoil first contact, and that did not even mention that this was obviously murder. It looked like the perpetrators would verily deserve their punishment for interrupting Sleeth's rest when it found them. Another huge yawn as it looked at the moss that had grown on its fur. First, though, Sleeth would need to visit the barber. After a thorough grooming of its long fur, Sleeth felt it and its fur could handle just about anything the galaxy would throw at it. It was time to leave for the local Contact branch for a fresh outfit. This would be the first opportunity to use whatever The Triumvirate's Research and Engineering gave to Contact came up with for a Class One. Good. It would save it from expending any more energy than strictly necessary. The cab, basically, looked like a clothes rack on wheels, instead of coats, there was a first class Contact agent dangling from the bar, firmly holding on, using the claws on all fours. Sleeth swung outwards when the cab took a turn, keeping its nose firmly pointed forwards. Unlike many of its compatriots, Sleeth loved to feel the strong breeze blowing through its fur. Sleeth imagined it to be quite an undignified sight, which may have had something to do with the others' professed dislike of windy conditions. The other advantage of this cab was that it could easily snake through the busy traffic, which contained a wide assortment of vehicles to accommodate the different species of The Triumvirate. From the little bowl-shaped carts for Itsumboes here, right up to a huge mobile aquarium for a Kujillian zooming past at break-fin speed. The cab easily evaded all to arrive well on time for its appointment at the lab. Sleeth crossed over to the branch favoured by most arboreal species, letting it rise majestically to the building's 26th floor before entering. It was, so Sleeth thought, a fine day to rest. Or would be, if there didn't happen to be a job which needed doing. The team of Meercians was excited when he entered the meeting room. Meercians are almost always excited, moving on all fours, tails straight up in the air and chattering with their characteristic energy. Something to do with being small and growing up in a predator rich environment. One head raised itself, “hey Sleeth, come over!” He blinked, looked around, then crossed over to hang nearby, head at the level of those of the gang. “So you're the one being sent to handle that nasty hunting business.” “It's for real, then?” “Yesyes, definitely not VR, too flavourful for that.” Many an experienced peruser of VR could distinguish a created world, or that of a game, from that of a recording of a real physical environment. Computer generated VR in The Triumvirate was good, the best known amongst the different known intelligences, in fact. It still was far from perfect, with its flaws obvious for most those who could sense. Sleeth itself got too nauseous with both to tell the difference. Of course, those hyperactive black-eyed, short furred, long nosed, little beasts got to enjoy it all, regardless of how artificial it was. They even enjoyed the more abstract stuff. “Absolutely horrible!” another one of the Meercians barked. Naturally, their sympathies would lie with the prey. “It's got to be stopped, and it's got to be stopped yesterday.” They all barked their agreements, and even Sleeth nodded at that. “Any clues to where?” “We got a good view of the star-scape from most streams.” “And?” “We have a star system,” “Hit me.” “It's close to the Empire,” one of the gang directed the meeting room to display a map of their common border, “over there,” she pointed to the purple mark. Sleeth considered, silently, for a while, “you know what that means don't you?” The mob looked confused, until Sleeth clarified, “everything related to this is now classified to an *even-if-you-need-to-know-you-won't*.” It silenced the protests before they even started, “not even the Triumvirates get to hear about this until my official report.” Sleeth would need to move fast before the Empire claimed this new species' world 'for their protection'. “I won't depend on them not knowing about it until it's too late, but...” it pierced the team with a sharp glance, “... we, most certainly, should not help the Empire find out before.” This new species' location meant that they would either have to get on track to be incorporated into The Triumvirate or gobbled up by the Empire. Sleeth intended to make sure they would get the time to have a say in whichever outcome they got. On top of that, it needed to tiptoe around that new touchy foreign minister of theirs. It would not be the first, nor the last, war sparked by the fight over a species' future. This job was getting more interesting by the minute. Sleeth glanced at the excited faces. Oh dear. “I will also require,” it put it delicately, “that this entire research team,” meaning every single last one of these gossipers, “will join me in the expedition to prepare for this species' first contact.” That should keep them silent for long enough. Big, stunned, eyes answered this pronouncement. Great, now Sleeth would have to endure their hyperactivity. Sleeth considered the message it would leave behind. The disappearance of one The Triumvirate's foremost research and development teams might cause some consternation. Sleeth'd better make it clear that they were not kidnapped, or such. “Record, please,” the room sprang to life, “captain, Sorry to be borrowing team thirteen. I promise to return all of them in one peace,” Sleeth displayed one of its slow smiles, “most of them, anyway.” That should do the trick. “Send message.” ***** The were in orbit around the natives' star. Sleeth's new personal team had done an admirable job in outfitting the expedition with their gadgets and taping together an excellent experimental hull with the latest in battle analysers, cannons and launch tubes. During the preparations they had all moved to one of the “abandoned” wharves, despite them being a public secret. Security was top-notch and they could easily be mistaken for yet another one of the many “black” research projects. Hidden in plain sight. Sleeth had also taken along some of that excellent security. No point in leaving behind the risk for accidental leaks. The team had also monitored the comments on the hunting streams. It seemed that word of the reality of those streams had gone out, though the consensus seemed to be that they were mise-en-scènes. Sleeth had made sure to have those rumors reinforced before they left. The star was fairly unremarkable. The admiral he had grabbed along still had not lost his air of disapproval, though Sleeth suspected his Ursian bellows were more out of habit by now. The admiral had always performed his job perfectly before, but he seemed genuinely interested by now. “What are the locals like?” The gang answered, “barely space faring. They seem to be using radio waves for much of their communications.” “Messy radio waves.” “Omnidirectional.” “Wasteful,” Sleeth commented. “Tell them, not us,” answered the admiral. “I'd better not,” Sleeth examined an image of the home world, “in all our experience with newly contacted species,” rotating it to study the social map, “Contact has yet to find one that doesn't get touchy at comments on how they're running things.” “There,” one from the mob pointed at the continent, “the latest streams seem to originate from there.” “How do you know?” A curious admiral. “Day-night patterns, local architecture, comparing them to those messy broadcasts of theirs.” “Doesn't really matter,” Sleeth ordered, “find the relay station they're likely to be using.” Aye's answered it from different directions. That gang had taken a fancy to some of the sailors' language, though they skipped most of the formalities. It took a while, but they found it, and something else. “A fleet, are you sure?” “Eleven ships, yes. We have visual confirmation.” “What!” the admiral, “are you crazy?” “Don't worry,” the Meercian winked, “we put a bit of special sauce in the drone's stealth systems.” “Almost bumped into them, they did,” chuckled another, “luckily the AI wasn't taking a nap at the time.” A third one added, “they're frigates.” The admiral looked suitably impressed, but his expression changed, “it seems,” he looked very disappointed, “that we're going to need reinforcements if we want to catch them.” “Do we?” Sleeth disagreed. The admirals eyes widened at that. “Any markings?” the question was directed to the research gang, the answer was prompt, “just the streamers' branding.” An incredulous “you can see those?” from the admiral got answered by a, “mentioned almost bumping into them, didn't I?” “Didn't think you meant it literally.” Good Ursian, that admiral. He took the Meercians' non-military lack of discipline in stride. Which still left the problem of dealing with that little fleet. “Admiral, you forget what sort of beings we're dealing with here, hence ...” The admiral started a scary grin at that. “You are authorised to include *lethal* force in the options for dealing with them.” A very scary grin. The mob of Meercians all stopped chattering and retreated a step. The admiral turned to Sleeth, “so it's time to take out the experimentals. You said you great faith in overkill?” This resulted in a bridge full of excited Meercians. It was not often that they got to directly experience the results of their work. The chattering increased as they found that they could not deny a certain nervousness, now that their own lives depended on their marvels working properly. “Launch.” They all felt the recoil from the launches. “Move us in.” Not much else to do, after all. “If the drones could bump into those ships,” again that feeling of almost taking a jump backwards, “without them noticing, let's test how close we can get.” Some more recoil. “Prepare for boarding, Sergeant,” at one of the screens. Another smooth interruption of the ship's acceleration. “though I suspect,” and another, “that the preparation may be,” and another, “superfluous,” he got answering grins all around as those launches kept their pace. The Triumvirate could, as of yet, not mass produce those specially stealthed torpedoes. When they could, they would shift the power balance in their corner of the galaxy for a while. A short while, Sleeth suspected as he studied that cloud moving on the display, the competition likely had something equally nasty in the works to balance things out. Preparing for boarding was, indeed, superfluous for those ships. The base itself surrendered immediately. When it was secured the research mob joined Sleeth to get a good look inside. They chattered quietly as they examined the cabins, each with a being seemingly kept unconscious. “Report.” “We've been monitoring these beings' mind activity.” “And?” “The minds in there are not native to those bodies.” “Explain.” “The minds are all from the same species. These bodies are not.” “You mean?” “They have swapped minds with the locals for their sick games.” The admiral asked, “how is that possible?” “We haven't got a clue.” He looked horrified, “can't you swap them back?” “Nope.” Sleeth interjected, “they're not likely to thank us if we did,” he looked cheerful. One from the gang agreed, “as far as the natives are concerned, these are all criminals of the worst kind.” Much better to leave them as is. “Take them all,” Sleeth looked around, “they'll have to build new lives.” As for the minds swapped down to the planet ... who cared? ***** ### **Epilogue** ***** Well, that went worse than expected. He didn't even get a chance to implement the planning for this new target. Somehow, his searches in the library must have triggered an alarm. There was a team of grim natives in his room now. Did they have to be so rough? Those kicks were really unnecessary, and that gun against his head really hurt! Ah, well. At least he had his high score to celebrate. Any minute now, the game would return him to his own body. *Any* minute now... ***** Illegal Game, by Hana Aianhanma, March 2019. This work is licensed under a .


The first week of camp was an eventful one. Each day was packed with activities--things like swimming, hiking, volley ball--and always ended with some major event. We’d had a barn dance that first Friday night. Charlie let me borrow one of her flannels and a pair of ripped jeans, though the latter was too tight, and the former too large. She matched me in blue and called us blueberries, something only she found very funny. By week’s end, it felt like far more time had passed. I couldn’t believe the difference between the girl who first step foot onto those grounds and the girl I was now. I was a regular. I knew the songs. I knew the staff--and they knew me! I knew that the shower in the back corner was your best bet for hot water and was usually available right before dinner, but *never* after. I knew that the brown food trays didn’t clean well, for whatever reason, and that if you wanted any chance at getting chocolate milk, you either had to get to breakfast early or hope Christoff was in the kitchen that day. Both Marcy and my mother were right: this place had quickly become home. Charlie, of course, was a huge reason for this. That girl knew each and every inner working of Burntwood, like she’d designed it herself. The way she moved through it was so smooth and fluid, the entire place molding around her existence as though created just for her. I’d learn new things just by watching, my admiration for her growing each day. She was already the best friend I’d ever had, and that made me feel guilty. I tried not to show it when she slipped the bracelet she wove onto my wrist just below Lily’s. The blue and white strings kissed the very edge of the scar across my palm. Weekends at Burntwood were typically less structured, with plenty of down time to do as you pleased. Some caught up on sleep, while most hung out in Hemlock playing ping-pong or simply lounging on the sofas. If we were really lucky, one of the life guards would volunteer some of their time off to guard the main docks for an hour. Charlie, however, had different plans for us that Saturday. “It’s not that far,” she said, dragging one of the kayaks off the rack. We were going to visit her Auntie Meryl across the lake to help prepare for tonight’s big event. With Charlie, I could never tell when something was actually allowed or when she was evoking her Lovel privilege. I kept an eye out for staff as we carried the kayak to the water. “Just so you know, my aunt can be a little weird,” Charlie informed me. “But she’s great, I promise. She can do anything. She helped me get over my fear of heights. Oh! I bet she can help you with your hand!” The pain had gone down but it still felt rather uncomfortable, all blistered and hard, and stuck to the wrap. I winced as we lifted a second kayak and nearly collapsed under its weight. I was exhausted, having hardly slept in days. More than once, Charlie had woken me in the middle of the night, shaking me from outside my bunk and telling me to roll back onto my stomach. When I’d finally protested, she asked me if I trusted her. And I did. So I listened. We carried the other kayak to the water and lowered it in with a splash. I stepped into one gingerly. I wasn’t particularly thrilled with how wet the seat was, or with the spider by my feet. I wanted to stab it with my oar but it wouldn’t fit. Charlie pushed me out into the water and then hopped into hers like it was nothing. “Thanks for coming with me, Red Paw,” she said as she propelled herself out with her oar. I hated the nickname but was too happy to have one to say anything. “Last year, we made it rainbow. You should’ve seen it! It went all the way over the Valley. I think this time we’re doing thunder. It’s gonna be fun!” Before I could say anything, she added, “Also, don’t tell my mom where we went, okay?” I didn’t like the idea of lying to Marcy, nor could I have ignored her. She’d been rewrapping my hand every day and would often approach me in the Dining Hall to ask how I was doing. Between tonight’s big event and how quickly my palm oozed through each bandage, I would certainly be seeing her later. Which wasn’t good, because I was a terrible liar. Charlie and I paddled across the calm water of Starry Lake on what was a perfect summer day. The sun was just the right amount of hot, without a cloud in the sky to interfere. I’d never kayaked before, and though my tired arms left me trailing in Charlie’s wake, it was probably my favorite camp activity thus far. I would’ve had no problem cruising all the way to Canada, and was disappointed when we’d soon reached the other side of the lake. Meryl’s home sat on the very edge of the water, with just a few panels of wood protruding out for a dock. Though five of her seven children had already aged out of Burntwood, Meryl Lovel was still heavily involved in what went on there. Her daughter, Celia, was just a year shy of joining us Wood Lily girls but had remained one of Charlie’s best friends. Until I showed up. She’d still wander off to Celia’s table sometimes at dinner, which made me jealous. But I knew I was being stupid. The house itself told you everything you needed to know about Meryl, with far too many dream catchers, wind chimes, and statues littered around the outside. The sidings were painted two different shades of purple, and, more jarring, had pink columns, dirty and chipped. When Meryl opened the back door to greet us, I instantly remembered having seen her my first day. She was wearing the same oversized crescent-moon necklace I saw her wearing that night. “Oh just leave the boats there--yes, right there is fine. Charlotte, sweetie, how are you? And who is this?” She cocked her head to one side and was beaming at me from atop the steps, her little huffs of breath matching the shakiness of her hands. She moved in short jerks, like she’d just had several cups of coffee. Or something stronger. I stepped forward to shake the hand she was rubbing close to her chest. “I’m Maddie. Nice to meet you.” She squeezed the tips of my fingers and faltered at the sight of the gauze. “*You’re* the girl,” she gasped. “Madeline Goodwin? Oh, dear, I was so sorry to hear about what happened.” I feared, once more, that this was a reference to my sister, and was relieved when she said, “Come. I have something that’ll help with that.” Charlie flashed me a knowing smirk as we followed her inside. I couldn’t say I was quite so sure just yet. The back door led straight into a vast kitchen, with many cabinets high and low surrounding a center island, and windows lining the back wall for a perfect view of the water. “The kids should be back soon,” Meryl said, gesturing for us to take a seat at the old wooden table in the corner. “I sent them in town to pick up a few things for tonight. I’m low on chamomile. And garlic, of all things!” She disappeared into the pantry where we could hear her rummaging through drawers. I took the time to survey the rest of the house. There were several large plants hanging about in places you wouldn’t normally expect to see them; archaic artifacts resting atop shelves between dusty books; and weird paintings of unknown creatures scattered throughout the entirety of the first floor, which was small, but open. I could see more dreamcatchers out on the front porch through the far window of the conjoined living room. Meryl reappeared in a flash and placed a small vial onto the table before me. The liquid inside looked like ink. “Now, don’t drink that or--well, just don’t. But. Put a little bit each night on the wound and it’ll be gone before you know it. Bay leaves. Use them all the time. No scars! You may need a little extra--July can be...tricky. But you’ll thank me later!” I stared at the vial hesitantly but Charlie slid it closer before I could say anything. Meryl grinned and sprung off toward the island to check on the massive pot that was cooking on the burner. There was a half-chopped carrot sitting beside it, something we must have interrupted. She picked up the knife and continued chopping. “Are you excited for the Awakening, Madeline?” I squirmed and repositioned myself, wishing she would pay less attention to me. “I am,” I lied. Truthfully, I wasn’t entirely sure what was happening that night, just that it was something they did every summer to mark the end of the first week, and that it was especially important for new campers such as myself. Charlie wouldn’t reveal much else, which made me anxious. She’d assured me that it was merely a way to create fair teams for games and events, and served as a way to get campers of all ages to mingle. Just another one of Burntwood’s silly traditions, she said. She was Team Fire, whatever that was. Silly or not, I was hoping to be the same. “You seem like an Earth girl, if you ask me,” Meryl began. “Very quiet, but strong.” The sound of her knife against the cutting board filled the gaps between her words. “I would know. I’m an Earth girl. An Earth girl raising three Fires, three Ice, and one Air!” She looked up and laughed, light reflecting off the knife she was wielding. I did my best to laugh along with her. You really had to pay attention around Meryl. She did this strange thing where she’d weave in and out of conversations. She could start by talking to you and then wind up speaking to the air, or to herself, only to snap back to you again. “We’re very stubborn though, let me tell you,” she continued, flailing the knife as she spoke. “Us Earthies? We’ll hold onto things for life. I can sense a little bit of that in you, Madeline.” “Mom picks them randomly,” Charlie blurted. Meryl’s face dropped. “Of course she does.” The sudden snap of her next chop startled me. I watched her scoop the carrot slices into her hand and throw them into the pot, where they thunked and sizzled. We were then blessed with silence, albeit awkward, before being saved by the noisy return of her children, who came crashing in like a wave just minutes later, with grocery bags on their arms. Gwyn, the oldest child, led the pack, the others tailing behind her, each paired up in their own discussion with a different sibling. Six girls and one boy. It was interesting seeing the combination of features they shared, some with the same eyes but different nose, or the same nose but different hair. Poor Christian. Not only was he the lone boy, he was also the youngest. He and Celia were in back waiting for their turn in line as Gwyn collected all the bags. She moved like a machine, swiftly unpacking and putting things where they belonged. She waved a jar of minced garlic at Meryl who gasped and took it with delight, before taking Gwyn by the face and pulling her in for a big, motherly kiss. “My beautiful ice queen!” Gwyn, in her twenties, gave a half-hearted smile and continued putting the groceries away, instructing her siblings to do the same. She really was quite beautiful, looking more like Marcy than her own mother, her brown hair braided around her head in the very same way, connecting in back down a long ponytail. Her demeanor, on the other hand, was far different, her resting expression one of discontent. When everything was put away, she snapped her fingers and tapped the island to indicate to the others not to go anywhere. Celia and Christian groaned and she shot them a nasty look. When she turned back, our eyes met and she quickly fixed her face. “Everyone, this is Madeline,” Meryl announced, just now remembering I was there. Her smile barely reached above the pot she was now stirring. “This is her first time at Burntwood so...today is a big day for her.” The whole family lit up amid a collective gasp. “What do you think you’ll be?” asked Faye, the middle child. She had the roundest face of the bunch, and her hair was dyed bright red. Meryl looked like she wanted to answer for me but changed her mind. “I’m not sure,” I replied. “I’m still kind of learning how everything works.” Faye stuck out her bottom lip like she was looking at a puppy, despite only being a few years older than me. She approached the table and said, “Don’t worry, we’ll teach you everything you need to know. Come on.” She took my arm and brought me to the island, Charlie happily following along behind us. Faye talked my ear off about this stew her mother makes every year before the Awakening, and explained the purpose of each individual herb and spice that was cooked inside it. It sounded crazy and would’ve been too much to take in even had she not spoken as fast as she did. But it was a fun atmosphere to be part of nonetheless. I hadn’t had anything like it since before Lily’s chemo. I’d forgotten how much I missed the noise. I stood happily among the chaos: Meryl, Gwyn, and Margot chatting as they fed the stew; Liv, Faye, and Ellie struggling to chop something I couldn’t quite identify; Celia, Charlie, and I pulling leaves off a plant and shrieking every time Charlie pretended she was going to eat one; and little Christian running scraps to the trash and trying his best to look busy. Out of nowhere, a chorus of singing began and soon our voices rang loud throughout the kitchen. I was very glad in that moment that I’d learned some of the camp songs, each as annoyingly catchy as the next and almost always about some poor animal’s demise. We sang a few of them in what would have been my favorite moment of the summer to that point, had it ended there. “What was the one that Dad always used to sing to us?” Faye suddenly asked. I felt the air get sucked out of the room. The older few made a face that the younger were too oblivious to notice. Gwyn cleared her throat. “The Three Little Rascals,” she said. “Dad loved that one.” Faye shook her head. “No, no. It was...oh shoot, what was it? Something about a wolf.” Celia squeaked and started singing. “*‘The lonely wolf hides in the bark, its spirits calling in the dark, it waits for you to light the spark, so don’t go wandering in the park!’*” She sang it a second time, and a third, repeating the same lyrics, only faster, loudly emphasizing each word of the final line. Gwyn’s displeasure was less subtle, but she seemed at a loss. I could see her peak over at her mother from the corners of her eyes. Meryl was just standing there. “*The lonely wolf hides in the bark, its spirits calling in the dark, it waits for you to--*” “Crawling!” Christian shouted. Celia stopped. “It’s ‘spirits *crawling* in the dark’.” “No it’s not! It’s *calling* in the dark! Why would the spirits be crawling, Christian?” “Why would they be calling, they don’t want you to know they’re there, stupid!” “Alright, enough!” Gwyn cried, swiftly getting in between them. “Thank you for all your help. Now go upstairs and get changed. Go!” They sauntered off and stomped up the stairs, their muffled whispers getting swallowed up by their bedroom door. Meryl was silent, lost somewhere in a thought. Gwyn returned with a pale face and faltered a bit when she asked Celia to slide her the pile of leaves. Each of us got right back to work, the sound of Liv’s chopping and the simmering pot the only things filling the air. The girls were darting their eyes back and forth at one another while their mother continued to spin her ladle. Meryl’s mouth twitched a bit, as though bits of her thoughts were escaping her body. “Where’d she learn that one?” she eventually muttered. Everyone’s eyes fell. The room moved more slowly. “I sang it to her once,” said Gwyn. “She asked where it came from, so...” The sound of the knife against the table boomed with each chop, feeling more like the ticking of a bomb. We waited for Meryl’s response but got none. Gwyn remained on the far side, struggling to keep her composure. “So what’s been your favorite event at Burntwood so far?” Margot said to me, tucking her dark hair behind her ears. Her nails were painted purple. “The dance was fun,” I replied softly. It still didn’t feel appropriate to speak. Something clearly wasn’t right. Margot nodded and turned to Meryl. “What about you, Mom? What’s your favorite camp event?” The room shifted their attention to Meryl, who lifted the ladle and took a sip. She grimaced and shook her head, her face slowly swelling with anger. She then threw the ladle across the room. Drops of stew hit me in the face. “You see what you did!” she cried. “It’s spoiled!” She glared directly at Gwyn and pointed her finger. “This is your fault. The *one* thing Shereen asks me to do. The one thing!” She put a hand to her forehead and wailed an exaggerated groan. “We can fix it, Mom,” Faye assured her. “Oh, honestly, Faye, just shut the fuck up, for once. Please? Can you do that for me?” Tears welled in Faye’s eyes as she nodded and faded back against the wall. Celia and Christian had reappeared in the doorway, cowering in their new yellow and red outfits. I was too afraid to keep watching. I stared down at my feet where more specks of stew had been splattered. “*We can fix it*,” Meryl mocked. “No, *I* can fix it.” She huffed and continued on mumbling under her breath. I could hear her rummaging through drawers and cabinets, tossing other unknown contents into the pot. I finally looked up when she snapped her fingers and said, “Line up. Everyone.” No one wanted to move. It was Margot who broke the ice. She stepped up and flinched when Meryl simply placed her hand on her back. “Go ahead,” Meryl instructed with a nod toward the pot. Margot leaned her face forward, and spit in it. Meryl lifted her hand and waved for the next person. I watched in awe as the other girls approached one by one, each spitting into the pot without a word. Christian hung back. “Me too, Mom?” Meryl signaled him forward and he rather happily spit into the pot. She smiled weakly at him and then turned to me. “Maddie, c’mon dear.” I felt sick. I absolutely did not want to do this, nor did I have any idea why it was being done. Yet I complied, crawling to the other side of the island where an agitated Meryl was beckoning for me to move faster. I wanted nothing more than to get out of there. I hopped up against the table and spit quick, nearly hitting my chin against the pot as I hurried down. Before I could get away, a hand gripped my shoulder. “Again. That wasn’t enough.” I’d never felt more disgusting. I glanced at Charlie but she was staring down at the floor. The blank look on her face made me feel worse. I turned back and got up higher on my toes, preparing a thick pool of spit in my mouth and letting it fall slowly into the stew so that Meryl could be sure of its existence. She thanked me with a pat on the back and then shot another glare at Gwyn, the only one yet to contribute. No words were needed. Gwyn reluctantly approached, stopping just shy of where Meryl wanted her and getting pulled closer, their noses nearly touching. Gwyn shuddered, unable to meet her mother’s gaze. “Go on,” said Meryl. She was blocking the way but wouldn’t move. Gwyn had to lean past her, practically sticking her face inside the pot. The moment the saliva broke from her lips, Meryl grabbed her by the braid and held on tight, looking more furious than ever. “No, Mom, please!” Gwyn shrieked, writhing in her mother’s grasp. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to!” Meryl ignored her. “Margot, dear, get me the blue candle.” Margot hesitated, distracted by Gwyn’s sobbing. Gwyn looked over at us, as though pleading for help. But no one said a word. “Margot!” Meryl snapped. Margot dashed across the room and reached up for one of the high cabinets, where many multi-colored jars sat neatly packed, three rows deep. Still flustered by her sister’s cries, she retrieved the royal blue, only to be corrected. “No, the light blue.” Margot jumped and returned to the cabinet. Gwyn caught herself as Meryl gave repeated tugs to keep her under control, tears streaking down her cheeks as she helplessly watched Margot swap the candles. “Light it,” said Meryl. Margot nodded and found matches inside the drawer. A weight was building in my chest as she struggled to light the match, nearly fumbling it before finally getting the candle lit. She stumbled back a safe distance and stood all alone at the end of the table, staring anxiously at the flame. Meryl shoved her free hand into the drawer for a large pair of scissors, raising it to Gwyn’s braid and, in several crunchy snips, cutting off a thick, lengthy piece. The remaining stub fell limp to its side. Meryl let go of Gwyn with a shove and placed the severed braid inside the candle jar, watching it burn and melt into the wax. Gwyn continued to whimper, standing motionless just inches from her mother, tears still falling onto the floor, snot oozing out her nose. Her soul was seeping through her puffy, red eyes. Meryl paid no mind. She closed her eyes and inhaled the smokey remains of her daughter’s hair, taking big breaths and releasing them slowly out her nose. The rest of us held our breath. When she finished, she returned to the stew with a new ladle, lifting herself another large scoop. My body was numb, fearing what may happen if she had still been dissatisfied. After a crisp slurp, she swished her tongue around the inside of her mouth and gave it a few more clicks, staring through the wall ahead of her. She then nodded and gave the pot a casual stir. “The Offering,” she said, glancing over at Margot. “That’s my favorite camp event.” She smiled to herself and carried on like nothing had happened, humming “The Lonely Wolf” as she stirred. “Alright!” she suddenly declared.


Argu had never been overly fond of public taverns. They were crowded, noisy things that made him anxious; he felt spying eyes were always watching him from hidden corners. Strangers came and went in places like these, some eating, others drinking and a few unconscious with their heads to the tables in front of them. Argu shuddered and looked down at his drink, hands cupped around the mug of steaming Yerith brew. Yerith soothed his stomach but always came out piping hot, leaving Argu to stare at it as the steam slowly receded into the cup. He had only finished his first sip when a man, lanky and draped in red capes, approached his booth, and sat in the seat across him. “Argu,” the man said with a voice thinner than his physique. It took him a moment to sit down, adjusting his long legs to the interior underneath the table. “Gurnik,” Argu said, extending a six fingered hand to the thin man. They shook and Argu sipped his drink, the steam stinging his eyes. “How are things?” “Fine, I suppose,” said Gurnik. He blinked with those sunken beetle-like eyes, eyelids almost invisible. “Busy as always. I’ve barely any time for myself anymore. And you?” “They’re okay,” said Argu with a shrug. He glanced around the tavern, stared at a fat blue creature with four legs as it passed them by, then hunched over his drink again, hood covering his craned neck. “Why’d you choose to meet here? I thought officers like you don’t leave your sacred temples?” He admired Gurnik’s attire; officer vest with the signature red cape of the High Consular pinned to his shoulder with a golden brooch. Could get a few peppits for that Argu thought. “With the right words and a handful of silver, you’d be surprised how far you can get.” Argu grunted and stirred his drink with his finger, licking the green liquid with a tongue so purple, it looked as if it were bleeding. Gurnik had met plenty of people who belonged to the Ptesh race, most of them hailing from kingdoms forged in magic and castles constructed of darker things. Argu had been deemed an outcast, born a hunchback in a society that considered stature and height to be a quality of royalty. Being the shortest of his race, standing at 5’ even, Argu hadn’t stood a chance in his royal family. Gurnik knew his story and pitied the man only a little. Since then, Argu had taken to the streets of Pallamo Market, making the ten-mile long trading center his own. The outsider was now a proud and wealthy dealer; a snake in the trade and manufacturing of amphetamines. “Run out of your supply, ‘ave you?” Argu said with his scrunched face and thick voice. Gurnik’s beetles blinked and he nodded. “Yes,” he said, locking his bony hands together. “I’ve come for more.” “Powerful stuff, ain’t it?” Argu chuckled. “More than ya bargained for?” “Nevermind that. Name your price.” Argu smiled as he reached into the knapsack slung around his shoulder. ___________________________________________ The streets of Pallamo Market were as crowded as they were every day. Thousands of patrons shuffled along in the streets; trading, smoking and dragging along animals of foreign nature. On a good day, it was almost impossible to hear your own thoughts, let alone what someone would say when speaking to you. Delivery drones hovered overhead, bronze-colored things with five legs whirring as they picked up baskets and shipped them across the market. Pungent was the scent of fried meat and sour clothing; it stuck to everything. Within the waves of strangers is where the ranger walked. Not a ranger; more so a figment that passed through the crowd quieter the blink of an eye. Shrouded in deep citrine hood and cloak, he stepped lightly, almost floated through the street. He didn’t speak, head bowed like the monks from the eastern lands of Hoo’jed. Here he drew no extra attention; no suspicion. Here, he was safe. ___________________________________________ “What do your people call this again?” Gurnik questioned. He held a clear container in his hand, no bigger than a peppit of silver. Within the transparent circle sat a collection of small turquoise crystals, jutting in all directions as they stacked atop one another. Even in the low light of the tavern, they glimmered with an unwavering luminescence. “My people?” Argu questioned with a cocked brow and a tang of viciousness. Gurnik recalled the banishment and acted quickly. “I meant what do you call it in your native tongue?” “I call it Eckogili morthillious .” “The Butterfly?” Gurnik questioned, clearing his throat. Something in the tavern’s air made his throat tickle. Maybe it’s the withdrawal, he thought. “The Velvet Butterfly,” Argu corrected. “And that’s twenty peppits from ya.” Gurnik nodded and drew out a handful of silver coins from his pocket. Counting them silently, he organized them into two stacks of ten and slid them across the table. Argu smiled and grabbed the coins a stack at a time, his purple tongue streaking across his lips as he tossed them into his bag. ___________________________________________ The man in the cloak focused his glare on the Reju Tavern to his left. A plume of smoke came from each of the three chimneys on its roof, the shafts dented and fading in color. Patrons came and went, entering with smiles and stumbling out with drool-covered lips. The man closed his eyes and took in a deep breath of air, stroking the weapon strapped to his hip with his thumb. He walked silently to the bar, shoving two Turgish folk out of the way. With one swift kick, the door came clean off the hinges and clattered to the floor. The entire bar fell silent, even the music coming to a halt. All eyes peered to him, but he didn’t mind. He glared as his vision shifted from his left to the right. There. In the corner closest to the music stand. He stepped over the door and paced slowly down the walk. As he passed other booths by, those who sat inside them began to breathe easier, speaking in hushed voices. “Argu Porosh,” the man said in a low voice. He placed his hand on the shoulder of the hunchback sitting in the booth, a tall and much more skinny man sitting across from him. Argu had a look of villainy upon his face. Gurnik watched him reach for his belt, as if grasping for some weapon invisible to their sight. “I think it’s time you and I had a talk.” “We’ll talk later,” Argu said with a lick of his purple tongue. “I’m with a customer right now.” “Exactly the reason we must talk.” “I’m busy, dammit. Come back later, laiugna .” The man grasped Argu’s shoulder harder and leaned in closer. Gurnik could see part of his face; stern mouth and a faint beard on his lower jaw. “Now...” the man said with a threaten somewhere in his voice. Argu snarled and swung his left arm behind his head. The man grabbed it by the wrist and yanked him out of the booth. “Hold your breath,” the man said as he scooped Argu up by the neck, holding him tightly. Pulling out a small metal device, the cloaked man shot Gurnik one final glare before clicking a button and vanishing in a cloud of violet smoke. Those eyes... bright hazel flecked with green. Beautiful eyes but the irises reflected something... evil. ___________________________________________ About three miles on the outskirts of Pallamo Market, just over the crest of the tallest southern dune, a lone spacecraft idled in the silence around it. Humming gently, it rocked back and forth, like an anchored ship floating in a harbor. The gusts of air coming from the lower ventilation chambers kicked sand into small coils before sending them in all kinds of directions. The cockpit consisted of two seats and a large glass dome protecting it from above. Its dark red and bronze paintjob glimmered in the sunlight, sending reflective beams into the sand a foot below the vehicle’s underbelly. The spacecraft began to whir, a high beeping sound coming from its control board. As it did, a cloud of purple smoke appeared and with it, the man and Argu Porosh struggling for breath. The man let Argu go, tossing him to the warm sand below their feet. “You have some talking to do, Porosh,” the hooded man said. Argu choked and coughed, taking in deep swallows of air. His hood had come off, revealing his balding scalp and horned forehead. “I don’t even know who you are, ranger!” Argu said, sitting up with his hands to the sky, trying to block the sun from his vision. Silence befell the two before the man threw his hood back onto his shoulders. He seemed a soldier, some mercenary that had long since betrayed his commands and fled his post without resignation. Gauntlets covered his arms; the one on his left glowing with multi-colored lights and switches, wires running up his arm and vanishing under his cloak. The one on his right was crafted of tight brown leather and black stitching. A heavy belt filled with canisters and makeshift gadgetry hung tightly around his waist, suspending his faded pants, putting his dark boots on display. A pair of goggles rested in his sand-dusted hair. “Marlet Goddard?” Argu wondered before giving a small chuckle. “Of all people, Marlet Goddard dares to abduct me? State your business, peasant-son.” “Just Goddard, thank you,” said Goddard. He winced and licked his dry lips. “You’ve been off the grid for a while, Argu. Took me long enough to find you.” “Then how’d you do it?” “There are those who are willing to pay if not take a beating for information. Either way, I received what I needed.” Argu grunted and kicked at the sand. “Why the sudden interest if you were capable of tracking me down before?” “When the greed board calls, someone’s got to answer.” “What business has a greed board tracking me, Goddard?” “It’s about the Velvet Butterfly.” Argu rolled his eyes and laughed. Goddard’s face never shifted. “And what problem have you with my product?” “It’s not just the product. It’s you as well. The prize on your head is bountiful. I don’t think you realize how much you’ve impacted Lekmek with your... operation . I must say, you’ve made quite a name for yourself here at Pallamo. How does she treat you?” “Like a whore on a Klibday at the end of shift, mug of Yerith in hand whilst behind her.” Goddard laughed at this. “Whatever the case, you’re to come with me. That prize is mine to fetch.” “That so?” Argu questioned. Out of his cloak, he unsheathed a long sword from its scabbard, curved at the end with a polished bronze handle. “Those are Common Lance colors you’re sporting on that craft of yours. How would they feel about one of their own picking up bounties from a greed board?” “It’s not mine. I... borrowed it.” Goddard looked at the vehicle with detest then back to Argu, the hunchback laughing from his gut. “Like I’ve never ‘eard that one before. Even for the theft of a Common Lance speeder, there must be a high price on your head by now, too. You’ve got a lot at risk coming here, Goddard.” “I like to think that Lady Fortune’s on my side. At when she’s looking for a mount for the night.” “Will this be one of those nights?” Argu wondered, eyeing the sword on Goddard’s hip. “We’ll have to let her decide,” Goddard said. He drew his sword, a wicked long thing that became thin at the end, almost invisible to naked eye. The crossguard was forged of twisted steel, like barbs in a berry thicket. His gloved hands gripped the golden handle with tight fists. “So be it,” Argu said, laughing with his purple tongue out as he lunged forward. Goddard stepped back, extending his sword. The blades collided, sending shocks down both of their arms. Argu growled and lashed out again, poking at Goddard in violent juts. Goddard was faster, deflecting Argu’s moves almost as soon as they were made. Quickly, Goddard stepped back as Argu took another swing, but instead of parrying, he swung his sword downward, the end of his blade cleaving through Argu’s tough and fleshy wrist. The hunchback cried and grasped his arm at the stump as his bleeding hand fell to the sand, the granules soaking up the blood like sponges, turning it a sickly black color. Argu grunted and stood up, cursing in odd tongues as he found his footing. Goddard glared when the alien charged after him horns first. As the sharp points came closer, Goddard dropped to one knee and threw his sword from right to left, digging it into Argu’s leg. Screaming, the alien went tumbling to the ground, falling face first into the sand with a hard thud. Rolling over, he clutched where his hip met his leg, or rather where it used to. A dark blue river of blood came out of the wound that left his leg hanging to his hip by only a thread of tendons and skin, his fingers dark and shaking. Argu’s eyes were welded shut as he cursed obscenities into the dirt. Goddard sheathed his sword and walked to him, slowly leaving deep imprints in the sand. “You bastard!” Argu said with a cough. “How am I to walk again?” “You won’t,” Goddard said. “You won’t be doing too much after I’m through here.” Argu had a look of despair on his face, certainly, but that wasn’t all. Some sort of understanding lingered in his eyes. “Circle of life, I guess,” said Argu. “I can understand ‘at.” Goddard nodded and reached past his cloak, down to his right thigh. What came out made Argu’s pink eyes grow wide. “Where did you get that, Goddard?” Argu wondered with dying curiosity. Within Goddard’s right hand balanced a pistol, large and forged from bronze metals. Two wicked pieces of steel were welded to the front by the barrel, the curved pieces extending an extra half foot past the weapon. The handle was wrapped in tight leather, the entirety of the gun seeming to accustom to Goddard’s grip perfectly with its curved handle and dark shading. Argu couldn’t help but stare down the three dark barrels as they stared back. “It’s been centuries...” “I’m aware,” Goddard said, pulling back the hammer with his thumb. It made a satisfying click, leaving Goddard to refrain from smiling. “Gods, when did you get it back?” Goddard cocked his head, a little bit of the smile creeping into the corner of his mouth. “What makes you think I ever got it taken from me?” Goddard questioned. He fired a shot and Argu knew no more. The laser beam, red and glowing, went directly through Argu’s forehead, piercing through his skull and exiting through the back, embedding itself in the sand. Goddard let out a breath. Looting the body was easy but getting it to the ship was harder; for what Argu lacked in brains, he made up for in weight. He took a swig of water from his flagon and sat in the sand, watching the corpse lay in the hot sun. When he got up to haul it into the passenger seat, a twitch came from the body. Goddard jumped back as Argu began to convulse. The hole in his head began to bleed, dark blue liquid flowing out of the wound as a long cord came slinking out of it. Goddard stared in admiration as the cord slithered down Argu’s nose and past his mouth. The dark liquid simmered in the sun and left Goddard staring at a red snake. Another twitch from the body and with it, another snake came sliding out of Argu’s skull, this one a light shade of blue. The serpents slid down Argu’s face and towards his neck. Noticing each other, they stared for a moment. Goddard watched as the red struck at the blue, biting it a few inches below its jaw. The blue coiled back around and bit the red snake on its tail. They fumbled about, tangled in each other’s grasp. Once they were free, they stared at each other for a long time, eyes unblinking and heads craned. Kill him Goddard thought, unsure of who he was cheering on, though he seemed to favor the red snake more. Suddenly, the snakes embraced, nudging their faces against the other’s neck. They coiled together, wrapping around each other until they looked to make one giant serpent. Together, they slid from Argu’s body and dove headfirst into the sand. Goddard watched silently as their tails disappeared into the ground. “Curious thing,” Goddard said with a shrug. He stood and threw Argu’s body into the cockpit and sealed it shut. With a final look at the ground outside, Goddard lifted the ship into the air and rocketed through the mountainous cascades of the desert planet known as Lekmek, the frightened behind him and the dead by his side.


“Did you see that?” “Let’s see,” the director said, drawing out the long ‘ee’ vowel. “An anomalous source of gravity outside a galaxy with no perceptible source... Hm. I’d say you hit another patch of dark matter.” Dr. Cassius Langdon twisted his mouth slightly, cogitating. “Considering observations over the past three months, there’s been a noticeable uptick in the gravity in these specified areas.” “Uptick? You mean there's a density of matter that's unaccountable?” “Well, yes, but I don't know if it's something unaccounted for.” “Then you're questioning whether it's preexisting or not.” Langdon ignored the tacit dismissals. “Possibly. On the other hand, the amount of matter is too thin to be quantified as an extragalactic dust cloud for example, but,” and he zoomed in on the depth of field, “we've detected ionization which indicates a high-energy collision, an outgassing of sorts, in this case a stream of hadrons slamming into a cloud of mostly hydrogen gas that’s only getting bigger as we speak.” “And still no proof of an energy source, even if whatever's responsible could be hiding somewhere behind it.” “The cloud isn’t dense enough to hide anything that massive, despite the noticeable elevation in gravity.” The director looked circumspect, still facing the image. “Then where do you suppose this outgassing came from? It doesn’t seem to make any sense if you ask me.” “It doesn’t if we rely on conventional logic. Now, check this out,” he said, scrolling to five inserts containing images inside and outside of the Milky Way. “The same phenomenon is happening in these isolated examples. All time-lapsed for your convenience.” The images looked the same, but the gravitometric data changed. “The registry's increasing alright. Interesting. How much extra mass can amount for that kind of change without some identifiable source?” “That's what I've been trying to figure out.” “Yet, you say that something similar is happening in all these disparate areas.” “According to analysis, there seems to be a connection. This region here,” Langdon pointed to one of the inserts, “is clearly within bounds of our galaxy, and it would make sense to attribute the leakage to an undetected attractor. After all, anything could be hidden in the dust lanes along the galactic plane, not to mention the hundreds of billions of stellar objects, yet all analysis claims this phenomena is completely isolated. Nothing detected within several parsecs of this quadrant could help explain the rising mass we’ve been seeing.” “So, what you’re telling me is that all this quantum output is coming from nowhere essentially.” “What evidence do we have to the contrary?” The director’s expression remained impassive, but there was a mark of hesitancy. Langdon took note. “It doesn't mean we'll never find a plausible answer. What do you suggest?” Langdon closed his eyes, praying to himself his career wasn’t hinging on a crackpot theory that could be explained faster than he could hold on to his job. “I collaborated my readings with some of the crewmen, and drawing upon our initial guesswork,” he said as the director glanced disapprovingly at the rest of the staff in the room, “there’s a strong chance--and there’s no certifiable evidence apart from theory for the moment--that the leakage stems from a possible rift in space itself.” “And so, it bleeds into our universe, as if if I poked a water balloon with an awl.” “That’s my conclusion...pro tem, of course.” “From where?” The director flicked his shoulders Langdon lightly shrugged. “I wouldn't know. From another universe, perhaps?” “The question, though, is why? Wouldn’t universes be self-contained?” “Not necessarily. Imagine one so over-viscous with matter, by osmosis, it begins to unload all its excesses into the next available vacuum.” He languidly put his hands up. “It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense until you’ve burned through so many possibilities within the realm of known physics, that you’re left with what’s lying around in the lunatic binge.” “It would be the bottom of the barrel for sure. That is if there are other universes.” “You’re right. I won’t belabor the point, but for now we'll leave that option on the table until further evaluation. Chances are against it anyway,” he said, gently tipping his head to the side, then in sotto, “But I hope not...” “Rather extraneous. This hairbrained theory of yours might not sit well with the scientific communities.” “New ideas never do--” Langdon saw the way the director was knitting his brow. “By the way, am I on thin ice for this?” The director made a fleeting smirk. “It depends on how long you wanna skate.” And with that quip he left in a frustrated huff. With his reputation on tentative grounds, he tried to reassure himself and mulled, Then if I’m right, at least that’ll put dark matter in the bag! The following day, Langdon was called into the administrator’s office. When he ambled in, he was met with the director, along with a video chat filled with the likes of the Astronomical Society as well as a few municipal bureaucrats spread across the back wall. What they all had in common was that they were facing Langdon from their respective screens. The looks on each face were plaintive at best. Reluctantly, he sat himself down at the behest of the Director’s wave of the hand. “Apparently,” began the Director, “we’ve got a few guests interested in a few of your findings.” “I can certainly see that.” Langdon knew what he was in for but remained steadfast in his convictions despite the Director's smugness. “Well, Mr. Langdon,” an elderly member of the council for the astronomical society barked, “if we aren’t here to be entertained by the idea of two separate universes crashing into one another in a drunken incident, perhaps we can get down to business.” “Well, sir, in this scenario, alcohol may not be the culprit.” “Funny. So, you claim you have a tawdry explanation behind all this, especially when it attempts to explain dark matter?” Landon kept his professional mien, despite hiding a tiresome sigh. “Look. Every region studied over extended periods of time showed a steady rise in subatomic particles affecting the local gravity. The gravitometers detected the change on every instance, the invisibility of which can account for most of what we perceive as dark matter.” He briefly craned his head up and noticed the rows of electronically transmitted faces glowering at him, a whole wall of them. “Some of these changes can be attributable to larger influences, namely galactic clusters and black holes within close proximity. The remaining cases, however, were clearly absent of environing tidal forces, and appeared to be growing on their own--something like parthenogenesis, but on a cosmic scale; that or someone left the faucet running. Is all this matter coming from nowhere? Yes and no. Yes, it seems matter is spontaneously generating without any visible means. But another, rather contradictory, answer sheds light on the theory I’ve been postulating--” “Which involves a second universe,” the council member inferred with a shade of scoffing. From this moment onward, Langdon accepted rejection and even termination if the Astronomical Society was too reluctant to accept his theories even tangentially. He was open to criticism if it were based on sound research rather than censure. “They could have been adjacent to one another, relatively speaking. One universe is overloaded while ours is stuck on the throes of entropy, having expended its capacity for stellar formation though constant inflation. The other universe notices the contrast, and through osmosis, dumps its excesses on us.” “If that’s the case,” said a feminine voice, “when does the leakage stop?” “Good question. I have no idea. Until we’re osmotically satisfied.” “Director,” she continued, “I’d like to see Langdon’s models right away.” “Granted! All the files containing his step-by-step procedures are readily accessible for just such an occasion.” The records were transferred instantly. Within minutes, another cosmologist addressed Langdon, but he seemed hesitant in the number of pauses in his sentences. “From...the information provided...and I don’t see any way you could have cheated the results,” he skipped a breath, “it would mean, if I’m not mistaken, that...both universes would be in the process of merging, maybe even cannibalizing one another.” “As if we’re in the process of gradually being smothered,” another who shared the research added. Langdon thought it over for a second. “Not necessarily. The bleeding could be a constant process, and not just in our universe, but many others. In fact, there could be a host of universes, a multiverse if you will, where if one swells beyond its means to produce matter, another denser universe fills in the vacuum. It’s all postulation, but--” “Such as white holes.” “That’s definitely a possibility.” “Then why haven’t we detected any?” the chairman of the society said. “Do you know how much energy something like that would produce?” “It could be that they’re too small or they’re facing away from our point of view. The same applies to active cores of galaxies.” The Director swiveled around in his chair and faced away from Langdon into a profile silhouetted against the giant screen. He added addressing the others, “I'll tell you what. What if I tell you we'll give this another shot. Let’s say a month. If we keep finding the results comporting with Langdon’s findings, which seem to be consistent with our current records, it’ll be a safe bet to continue funding this little vanity project. If not, we pull the plug...and work on something worthwhile.” He fanned out his hands and slowly turned towards Langdon as if placing the burden of proof on him. The committee murmured assent. “Good. You hear that, Langdon? One month. Langdon's eyes darted around the room in nervous tension and nodded. “Yes. That will suffice.” That evening, Langdon was reviewing the days notes when his cell phone chimed out a tune. He glanced over and saw an unrecognizable number. Wondering who was calling him so late, he tapped the “receive” button. It better not have been solicitors, be brooded. “Dr. Cassius Langdon?” “Speaking.” Who else other than someone work-related would address him by his professional formality. “I don’t think we officially introduced ourselves.” The female voice was oddly familiar. “My name is Dr. Denise Spirou from the Astronomical Society. We briefly exchanged a few words today during the meeting with the Director.” Langdon’s eyes popped open. Composing himself, he said, “The pleasure’s mine. What brings you here at this hour?” He felt himself shiver; thankful no one was present at the kitchen table to witness it. “I received your number from the Director himself just as you left. It wasn’t very professional for me to ask, but I needed to speak with you on a matter of urgency.” Langdon froze in place. “First of all, I want to apologize for the reproof you went through today. During the past few years, we’ve been under constant pressure to avoid subjects considered too far-fetched. I’m sure you can relate.” “Well, it’s been a problem. Our government has been dead set on facts--” “We know. But there’s a more pressing matter at hand. We were corroborating data from several observatories, and by chance, we ran across a random patch of sky that was a dead ringer for dark matter.” “What did you find?” Langdon heard a soft hitter on the other end of the line. “In regard to the salient universe theory, we found something that may have verified your claim. Now, keep in mind it’s the first time we’ve seen something like this, plus, it's an image that's still up for further review.” “So, you just went ahead and finished my job.” “Research is shared, my friend. The object in question was radiating a torrent of energy, everything from ‘a’ to ‘z’ along the electromagnetic spectrum, far more than any event horizon. It stood out like a squeaky wheel, which is how we discovered it.” “Wouldn’t we have discovered something like that already?” “Like you said about active galaxies being edgewise, it was facing eighty degrees away from our plane, and we saw the secondary effects, as faint as they were. There was a hint of bow shock collecting the inner edge of the plume, yet there was no stream coming from the other end, only in one direction. In addition, that jet must have been going so fast, it outpaced the clouds of matter left in its wake.” “You’re kidding!” “Dr. Langdon, I think we found your white hole.” He was stunned, yet skeptical. “That’s too good to be true...but--but there’s one problem with that.” “Please explain.” “There doesn’t seem to be anything like that in the smaller regions where plumes of hadrons have been appearing; no bow shock, no lensing, nothing.” A period of silence followed with the hum of the laptop standing out. He glanced at a ludicrous article on his laptop reporting on numerous hauntings across the world. Rubbish, he said to himself, yet he contemplated his own predicament. “So, there’s a chance this salience uses more than one avenue of outflow?” she said, breaking the silence. “I was just going over it before you called. According to the latest analysis of one particular region within our galaxy, it seems atomic and subatomic matter have been spontaneously generating as if being squeezed out from somewhere else like a sponge.” “And you just came across this fact now?” “Yep. And the quanta appear to immediately fuse into matter upon entering our universe as if it’s being squeezed from a place so dense that the kinetic energy within prevents any form of coalescence. “If you so happen to be correct, that means another universe is literally merging with ours! That would amount to a full-blown cosmic cataclysm. I don’t think it bodes well for our future.” “Interesting,” said the director, propping his chin and slowly swiveling his chair side to side. “So, it seems the universe is now bursting at the seams.” He splayed his hands in a show of irony. “It might be a while before we’re affected. Things in space take a while to travel those vast distances.” “I’m not sure now,” Langdon added with a pensive calm. “We’re seeing this everywhere...whether as violent ejections from while holes or interdimensional bleed-through. It could be enveloping the Earth as far as we know.” “I didn’t see any of your observations aimed at our own planet.” “They don’t need to be.” “Don’t you think you’re taking this cosmic drama a little too personally, especially since everything’s on paper at the moment?” “Unfortunately, the models indicate otherwise. Our region within known space has become a dumping ground for dark matter, more like untold transfers of mass. In the long run, it will definitely show a promising future for a star-forming universe rather than having it simply burn out, but as far as we’re concerned, there’s a high likelihood that we’ll be incinerated in this act of rebirth.” Before he could answer the Director, a sudden chill spread throughout his body, and he became limp. The Director jumped from his desk over to Langdon who was leaning over the side of his chair buttressed only by the armrest. “Dr. Langdon, are you alright?” There was no response. “Cassius? Can you hear me?” The words trailed off in a dreamlike echo. Then a voice came, louder than any other in the room. It was unfamiliar and emerged from nowhere as the mysterious leakage in space had done. The resonance soothed his body and emotions--and his soul. He understood the words with flawless perfection, but he swore that they were not relayed to him in any syntactic sense. We are the tides...the tides of ages past...and cycles to come...seeping from world to world...We...we have survived...we will survive...No elements can kill us...stardust is our fodder... The words made no sense to Langdon. Attempting to communicate, he was abruptly cut off. Listen, mortal! We can help you. No tide can be undone, but your world is imperiled...you are feeble...we are not. However, you can become us...to live with us...to reign with us...to become a tide... The realization dawned upon Langdon. These tides, as they call themselves, must have escaped into the current universe, seeping in through the rifts in the cosmos, but it was an impossibility for any matter to pass through in atomic form. They had to have been creatures of energy, perhaps quanta, and from what was said, it was apparent they overan all the universes they fell into. We cannot reverse our course through the ages...we roam by chance...but we can save you from the fate of our worlds colliding... He woke up in a hospital bed. The cardio-pulse bleeped in the background and he was presently alone. A nurse walked in and patted the side of his bed relieved he was conscious again. He needed to recuperate before he could ask questions, despite his astonishment at what just happened to him. The television above was on and he lifted his head to see what it was. A news channel prattled on about a series of disturbances reported from individuals across the nation. Grabbing the remote, he was moments from switching it off when the correspondent said, "...and still no word on who or what these mysterious hauntings called 'tides' were that eyewitnesses reported. Experts say there's an outbreak of schizophrenia, but others remain skeptical, claiming identical information provided by each person was not a coincidence..." and on she went. Langdon froze in horror. It all made sense. Humanity was being warned that their time was short, and that the only thing that could be done was to listen to this sepulchral message. He also wondered if humanity would listen.


She needed money and she needed it very badly. She lived alone, with no parents to tell her what to do. She was free. But nothing in life is free. All things come at a cost, even freedom itself. ~~~~~~~~~~ In a world like this, it was normal to see a fourteen-year-old kid like her living by themselves. The leaders of her city tried to make fair laws, but they couldn’t. This city had way too much crime. They couldn’t even get parents to take care of their children anymore. So here she was, struggling for money so she could pay for her house. She fished for a living. There was a marketplace right beside her house that she sold the fish at. But it wasn’t enough. She only sold my fish for four dollars apiece. If she charged too much, people wouldn’t buy them. But if she didn’t charge enough, she wouldn’t be able to pay for her house. She had just come back from fishing by the docks that she lived near. Living by the docks gave her a good place to fish, and it was interesting enough to see what kind of people came in and out of this city. When she was done fishing, she put all the fish in a bag and went to the marketplace to sell them. Nobody was coming to her booth. She wondered why. She usually had plenty of customers because she sold her fish for the lowest price in town. Instead, everyone was crowded around someone else’s booth. She went over there to see what was going on. That's when she saw the sign. The sign was flashy and electric. She looked at it and realized that they were selling their fish for three dollars apiece. She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t keep her price the same, or she wouldn’t get any customers. But if she lowered the price, she wouldn’t have enough money to live off of. She pushed her way through the crowd and walked up to the man selling the fish. “Um, hello, excuse me,” she said. “I make a living at this market. I use the money to afford my house. Would you mind me asking you to put your price back to the way it was?” The man glared at her. “Look, I don’t care if you’re poor. I won’t change my price. It’s not like I need the money anyway, but it’s always nice to have extra,” he said. She was offended by those words. She wasn’t poor, she was just struggling, that’s all. She took a step closer. “What did you say?” she asked, enraged. “You heard me. Now get away from my shop you penniless beggar.” She couldn’t take it anymore. She lunged at him with all her might. The man moved out of the way in time, but unfortunately, his booth couldn’t. She tackled the booth, knocking it over and destroying the sign. The man was practically growling at her. She could almost see steam coming out of his ears. The crowd backed away and went to the other side of the marketplace. The man looked at her. “You will pay for that,” he said, looking at her like she was an annoying bug. She did not want to pay for it, but her conscience got the better of her. She knew that it was mostly her fault that the booth was destroyed, so she was the one responsible for paying for it. “How much does all the stuff I broke cost?” “Seven hundred dollars in total,” the man said, with an evil smirk on his face. “You better pay for it, unless you want me to call that cop over there,” he said, pointing to a black-haired cop across the street. She couldn’t believe that she broke seven hundred dollars worth of stuff. That was almost all the money she had, if she paid him, she would only have a few dollars left! “I’ll be right back,” she said to the man. She was going to her house to grab the money. She walked down the streets to her house. When she got there, she took out the key and unlocked the door. Then she went underneath her kitchen sink and took out a clear plastic jar with all of her savings in it. She poured all of the money on the floor and counted it up. She only had a total of seven hundred dollars and eighty-nine cents. She took the seven hundred dollars and stuffed it in her pocket. She walked out of the door and locked it. As she walked towards the marketplace, she thought to herself about what she was going to do. She had no idea. There was no way she could outsell that guy and she couldn’t think of anything else she could do for a living. When she made it to the marketplace, she looked around for the man. When she found him, she approached him. She took the crumpled bills out of her pocket and handed them to him. He snatched them out of her hand and started to count them. She saw the look in his eyes. This man appeared to be searching for a missing dollar so he could get her arrested. After counting the bills, and double-checking, he realized that she had given him every single dollar of the money she owed. He scowled at her, mad that she hadn’t given him a reason to be mad. She walked away, going back to her house. Her monthly payment for the house was due in four days and she had no idea how she was going to get the money. She didn’t eat dinner that night because she had nothing left to eat except for fish. Ironically enough, she fished for a living, but she was actually allergic to eating them. As night fell, she watched TV on her small sofa. She laid down on the sofa and drifted off to sleep. When she woke up, it was early morning. She got off of the sofa and walked into the kitchen, looking for breakfast. That’s when she remembered that she didn’t have any more food. Not feeling like changing her clothes, she put a jacket on and walked outside, wearing the same clothes she wore the day before. She didn’t know what to do and did not feel like fishing, so she decided to go to town. The town wasn’t too far away from the docks where she lived. As she walked towards the city, she turned around and saw a boat coming. She walked to the docks, curious about who was in it. When the boat stopped at the shore, a man with spiky brown hair came out. He was wearing a black suit and tie with dress pants. He had golden-yellow eyes that glimmered brightly. This man had a mixed skin color and he looked like a businessman. He got off the boat, holding a suitcase in his left hand. The man noticed her looking at him. He looked at her and she turned around, pretending that she wasn’t watching him. The man got off the boat and went in the direction of the town. She continued going to the town too. When she arrived, she saw many people and buildings. The city was filled with houses and shops. It also had two libraries and a bank. She walked around the city, saying hi to people and exploring. She went inside stores and window-shopped, wishing that she could actually afford something in there. Eventually, she stumbled upon the bank. The man with spiky hair was in there, talking to the accountant. She couldn’t make out what they were talking about, but then the accountant opened a trapdoor underneath him. He went down a ladder and underneath the bank. When he came back up, he was holding a large wad of cash. She wished she had that much money. He handed the cash to the spiky-haired man. The man walked out of the bank with the cash. That’s when she knew what she was going to do. She was going to try to rob the bank. Whenever she had crazy ideas like that, her conscience usually stopped her, but this time she did not feel bad. What was the point of feeling bad for taking someone’s money when they didn’t need it anyway? The money in that bank belonged to people who already had enough money. They probably didn’t even need it anyway. People like her, people who were struggling would make better use of all that money. She would’ve worn a mask, but she did not have one and could not afford one. She didn’t have a weapon either. She had a plan though. She would rob them during shift change. When the bank switched workers, she would attack. In her town, crime was everywhere. This bank had hardly any security at all because they couldn’t find trustworthy people. They were afraid that if they hired any other people, the workers themselves would rob the bank. They were probably right too. She stood at the side of the bank, waiting for the guards to walk out. When they did, she put her right hand in her pocket and walked in. The only one in there was the accountant. “Put your hands up or I’ll shoot,” she said, pretending to have a gun in her pocket. The accountant immediately put his hands in the air. “Now go through the trapdoor and grab as much money as possible.” “What trapdoor?” he asked nervously. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Now hurry up and get the money.” The man went through the trapdoor and came back up with his arms full of cash. She collected it all and tried to walk out of the bank. She was stopped by a security guard. She walked right into him. When she looked up and saw him staring at her, she knew that she had messed up. “Just where do you think you’re going?” he asked her. She knew that there was no good excuse and wondered what she should say. She shrugged her shoulders. She knew that she couldn’t make a run for it. The security guard was blocking the only exit. The security guard blocked the way, while the accountant called the police. “Who are you?” the security guard asked her. She knew there was no use lying so she told him the truth. “I’m Valeera Monnete,” she said. She seemed to have been standing there forever before the cops arrived. Valeera didn’t know what to do, she was going to be arrested. There was nothing she could do. Eventually, the cops arrived. The one who arrested her was the black-haired cop from earlier. He went behind Valeera and put her in handcuffs. He told her that she was going to be in prison for seven years. Valeera wished she could stand trial, but in that city, there were no trustworthy judges. He took her to the police car and drove to the jail. When they made it there, he took Valeera to her cell. It was very small, dirty, and hot. There were also bugs and rats scurrying around. The people in the other cells looked at her as if they were going to eat her alive. There was only one cell left, and it was right beside her’s. All the other ninety-nine cells were taken. There were two other jails in town, but they were filled with prisoners. Valeera was trapped in a cell with no way out, or at least she thought she was. She sat in her jail cell. The other prisoners were all looking at her, probably wondering what a kid like her was doing in jail. Valeera sat in there for a while, bored out of her mind. Eventually, she saw something odd. It looked like a boy about her age, and he appeared to be almost transparent! Valeera thought her mind was just playing tricks on her, so she ignored him. That is, until he started to talk to her. “What are you doing here?” he asked. At this point, Valeera was getting pretty freaked out. She had many questions. Who was this boy? Why was he transparent? What did he want with her? “Who are you? And why are you transparent?” she asked him. Valeera didn’t ask the last question because she wanted to figure out that answer herself. “I’m Baxter and I dunno why I’m transparent. I just woke up like that one day.” “Why are you here?” she asked Baxter. The other prisoners were looking at her. They probably thought she was crazy, but she didn’t care about their opinions. “I used to be a prisoner here, at least until I woke up like this. I was in jail for stealing. I was hungry and didn’t have anything to eat, so I tried to steal food from a store.” Valeera immediately felt bad for him after hearing his story. After all, it was something she could relate to. “Sorry to hear that. If you’re free now, why don’t you just leave?” “I stay in this place to help people like you. I also wanna find a body because I wanna live like a normal person again. I can go through walls and float. Not everyone can even see me.” When he said this, she figured out what happened to him. He must’ve somehow died in this jail, probably just passed away in his sleep. Baxter was a ghost. “I”m trying to help people, and maybe someday I’ll find a person nice enough to give me their body,” he said. Valeera was a little creeped out by this, but she needed his help to get out. “Hey Baxter, can you still pick up stuff?” “Yeah.” “So, I guess you can just help me by getting the key and letting me out,” she said. Baxter nodded. Valeera saw him float away. Five minutes later, he was back with the key. He unlocked the door with a click. Valeera looked around, trying to see if any other prisoners noticed her cell door open. They were all looking the other way. Except for one. “She’s escaping!” he shouted. She took off running. Valeera bolted away and she heard the alarm sound. They were after her. The prison guards had almost caught up with her. She turned a corner and hid there with Baxter beside her. “Now that I helped you get out, will you give me your body?” “I can’t give you my body, I need it.” “Pleeease,” Baxter begged. “I’m sorry, I can’t.” “Pleeease,” he said again. Baxter’s voice got deeper when he said please the second time. Really deeper. It almost sounded.... demonic. Baxter lunged at her and her mind went blank. Baxter was inside of her now.


The machinery of the oilrig ground on innocently, unaware of what lay in wait. Colored clouds nearly hid the setting sun. Suddenly, a towering fire rose up, eclipsing the dim rays of the sun and illuminating the towering structure. The rig afire. Workers were paralyzed for a moment, like deer caught in the oncoming lights of a car. Then, for most, the survival instinct kicked in and they screamed and ran. Other workers just stared in mute disbelief. The scene was utter chaos. The fire scorched the sky and began to spread on the metal construct, blocking escape routes from the rig. Charred, burning men staggered around on the platform. Some workers unhurt by the blaze rolled the victims on the ground to out the fire on their clothes; others tried to smother the flames licking their fellow workers. Those still trapped screamed and ran, mad with fear. In desperation, some workers braved the high fall and jumped on some trucks parked near the rig. Some landed on their targets, others on the ground; either way, the impact was bone-shattering and in some cases, nearly fatal. By nightfall, fire trucks and ambulances arrived to tend to the hurt and rescue the trapped. A new problem materialized. The fire engines’ ladders and hoses weren’t long enough to reach the conflagration. The state was growing dire - there were no fatalities yet, but if a solution weren’t found soon, that would change. By this time, relatives of the workers had arrived, tearfully comforting those who had escaped the blaze or screaming the names of sons, husbands, nephews and cousins still trapped high on the oil rig, saying tearful goodbyes. Night drew on, but the towering fire rebellious, lit up the scene like mid-day and seen for miles. Eventually, mercifully, rescue came. Hose extensions were found and firemen perched on the trucks’ ladders spread foam and water on the inferno and the platform nearest those trapped, bringing the fire to bay. Then a helicopter arrived. Unable to land on the still ablaze rig, it hovered above the trapped workers and, dropping a rescue line, was able to hoist the workers to safety. Amazingly, despite the intensity of the blaze, all souls on the rig were saved. But the drama had one more after taste. Firefighters fought hours to extinguish the blaze and it was days before the charred skeleton of the rig was cool enough for investigators to find the cause of the explosion. The rig was due for several electrical upgrades, which were never done. The fire may have been ignited by a spark from faulty wiring, but the true cause was negligence; company executives in their plush offices chose to save on expenses rather than make improvements to save their workers’ lives. Dollars before souls. When the truth came out, heads rolled, bosses were fired and new people were brought in. But in the end, was anything accomplished? All the workers and their families could do is hope their experience falls not by the wayside.


Hello, this is my first story and I am not a native English speaker so my story may have some grammatical flaws. Hope you'll like it.  Mr. Jones had a few days' holiday, so he was very happy and decided to go on a trip. He was thought to himself: “I enjoy traveling a lot but I dont like to go alone, I always like to go on a trip with my best friends. He immediately remembered his old mother, she was living in a countryside far away from this city and Mr. Jones loved his mother, He had not seen her since two months ago, and she always came to see him, and never let him to visit her. So he thought what a great surprise it would be! He started packing his clothes and everything he thought he may need. He did a total checkup for his car to ensure that everything was working the way they should be, then he got on the road to get out of the city. When he was out of the city, he caught in the traffic jam as there were a lot of cars on the road and everybody wanted to go on a trip to the countryside. He moved slowly with the traffic, but finally he found out that the road was closed because there was a bicycle racing going on. After sometime, he stopped at the roadside. Mr. Jones came to realize he didn't had any choice but to wait and enjoy the scenery until the road is open. At last, the race ended. After three hours of driving, Mr. Jones finally arrived to the countryside. It was dark, and he was tired. While he got out his car and went to his mother’s house, He knocked at the door, no one answered it, and he noticed there was no lights on in the house as he was thought to himself “My mother would never leave the house after dark, so where could she be?” a voice came from a few houses next to his mother’s, it was a young boy, “Hello Sir, are you looking for Ms. Elizabeth?” the boy politely asked him, and Mr. Jones replied: “Hi there, yes I am his son, I came to visit her, do you know where she is?” the boy said “Yes, she said she is going to the city by bus, to visit her son!” Mr. Jones said “Thank you” to the boy. He went to the house next door, he knocked the door, it was Ms. Peterson house, who was friend of his mother since when Mr. Jones was a little boy, she opened the door, surprised and really happy to see him, she invited him in, as Ms. Peterson was making some tea, Mr. Jones called his mother on her cell phone to tell her the where he put his spare key for his apartment so she could spend the night at Mr. Jones apartment, and he would head back to the city in the early morning after spending the night at their old house, but she told him that she was already on her way back to the countryside and the door keeper has already told her he was on his way to visit her, She insisted that he stay at the Ms. Peterson’s till she’s back. As Mr. Jones drank his tea, wondering why his mother was in such a rush to get back and why she insisted to spent the night at Ms. Peterson's house, he went on asking Ms. Peterson to give the keys of his mother’s house, he had spent his whole childhood there and he really missed the house cause his mother was always the one visiting him so he didn't came and see the house for few years now! As Ms. Peterson had the keys to feed the fish. So he took the keys and happily with a childish joy walked towards his mother house, he opened the door only to find out the house was in a really bad shape! Furniture was really old, he went on looking inside the house to find refrigerator wasn’t working properly! He was really surprised! As he has always said to his mother: “let me know if there is anything you need” and she has always replied “I am fine I have everything I need” so now it was making sense why she didn’t wanted him to visit her and she was the only one always visiting him, so he went on looking around and checking all the house to find out all her needs that she didn’t told him about, the TV was really old and the screen had really bold line all over it! as he looked around, he took note of everything, and after he was done, he took out his phone and called the big store that he was always buying stuff from, he gave them his membership code and ordered everything on the list, they told him the order will arrive in the morning, so he sat there and tried to get some sleep. It was morning, a beautiful morning, he woke up as someone knocked the door, he opened the door and the truck was there with all the orders! He asked neighbors for help as they loved his mother, Ms. Elizabeth, Mr. Jones mother, was kind and she had helped everyone in the past, so everyone was more than happy to help her! Some repaired the house, the broken window, the door and etc. some ladies helped cleaning the house, and some men helped to carry newly bought stuff to the house, it was perfect! New stove, oven, TV, sofa, carpet, curtains and many, many new stuff. As the neighbors were leaving the house Mr. Jones mother arrived, she didn’t knew what was happening, but she felt anxious when she saw Mr. Jones at the porch of her house, she was thinking to herself: “how am I going to explain him the situation, that I didn’t wanted to bother him with my problems”, as she was delighted to see him she walked towards him and hugged him saying: “My boy I am so happy to see you!” Mr. Jones kissed her forehead and said “I love you Mother and I missed you too, and here I wish you will like this” and he opened the door of the house and invited her in, she was speechless so happy, she began to cry and hugged Mr. Jones saying “My darling, I didn’t wanted to bother you, some of my old stuff was still working” and Mr. Jones replied “You have done more than what was in your power for me, now it’s my turn to take care of you”.