‘One final unselfish act’ The following is an official transcript recovered from the ‘black box’ of downed flight 217. After being told that a terrorist cell had placed a deadly airborne plague agent in the climate control system of the plane, the pilot and copilot agonized over what to do. After they elected to reveal the horrible truth to the passengers, the captain waxed philosophic for some time over the speaker system. His calming words of wisdom offer a glimpse into the state of mind of the dedicated crew and passengers of the doomed flight. Far beyond that, it reveals genuine proof of one last unselfish act by everyone involved in the horrible tragedy. Pilot and crew remarks are in quotations. Internal FAA notations or clarifications made regarding specific circumstances are listed in parentheses. (The pilot Paul Reardon addressing the entire plane over the PA system) “Ladies and gentlemen. Welcome aboard flight 217 with nonstop service from Boston to Atlanta. We ask that you pay attention to the safety demonstration by the flight attendants and keep your seats buckled at all times. Exceptions being for using the lavatory or when we have the seatbelt sign turned off. We are currently cruising at an altitude of 37 thousand feet and our air travel time today is expected to be three hours and 35 minutes. At the moment it is partially cloudy and 86 degrees Fahrenheit in Atlanta. As always, we thank you for flying with us.” (Over the course of the next 37 minutes, the pilot and copilot (Matt Dobbs) discuss the routine flight operations among themselves. Those basic details about air speed, elevation, fuel consumption and other aviation related things have been omitted here because they bear no relevance to the official FAA investigation. Around 38 minutes into the flight, Captain Reardon received an urgent call over the radio. The details of which, lead to the premature demise of all 147 souls aboard. “Flight 217, this is air traffic control. I have a priority one message for the captain’s ears only. Do you read me?“ (The captain responded that he was listening privately after the Copilot removed his headset in full compliance with the controller’s privacy request) “Please hold for Earl Greenberg of the CDC.” “This is David Earl Greenberg. Am I speaking with Paul H. Reardon, the captain of flight 217 from Boston to Atlanta?” (The pilot answered in affirmative) “There’s no easy way to say this, Captain. I’m sorry to have to report to you that the FBI and Department of Homeland Security are here with me. They’ve officially verified that an embedded terrorist sleeper cell has infiltrated security sections inside Logan International Airport. Under intense interrogation the suspects admitted releasing an extremely virulent, very weaponized strain of neurotoxin into the climate system of your airplane. Incubation is less than 8 hours and there is no treatment for this airborne virus. I repeat. We have no vaccine or cure. (The pilot can be heard uttering “Oh my God!” over his headset at the declaration.) This biological weapon is highly contagious and 100% fatal. Every man, woman and child on that plane will be dead within 36 hours. That is a fact. I’m deeply sorry.” (Captain Reardon interrupts) “Is this some kind of sick joke? There must be a mistake here. I feel fine. (Then he addresses the copilot) You feel ok don’t you, Matt? As soon as we land, we can have the CDC or NSA test the air in the plane for whatever it is you think...” (The caller cuts him off) “You can’t land that plane. There is no antidote or vaccine. It’s incredibly contagious and absolutely fatal. I know you served in the Air Force, Captain. I’m calling on your years of training and distinguished service to do the right thing for all involved. No one on that plane must survive. There will be a terrible epidemic if anyone does. Millions will die. Atlanta was the chosen target because our offices would be overrun and incapacitated. This weaponized strain infects every person who comes in contact with it. Then they were planning to release the same neurotoxin-laced virus in every other major U.S. city to set off a biological pandemic. To save millions of American lives, I implore you. You must crash the plane and sacrifice everyone aboard including yourself. There can be no survivors.” (There was ‘dead air’ for nearly thirty seconds as Captain Reardon took in the devastating news. Matt Dobbs expressed grave concern at the somber tone of the one-sided conversation. He demanded to know what was going on. The Captain appeared to be hesitant to reveal what he’d just been told. It was a horrific thing to learn. Eventually Reardon did inform Dobbs of what was said. Both men were in shock.) “Captain, can I depend on you to do the right thing here for the sake of the country?” (When there wasn’t an immediate agreement from him, the conversation took on a darker direction.) “Reardon, listen. The President of the United States has authorized the Air Force to shoot you down if necessary in the interest of public safety. We are all hoping to avoid that. There would probably be eyewitnesses and an official inquiry. If you steer your plane into lake Allatoona, just north of the Atlanta airport, it can be written off by the FAA as a tragic accident. We don’t need to create a huge panic about these individuals having a deadly biological weapon on American soil. We must contain the situation. If you crash the plane, millions of others will avoid this agonizing death. You can also spare everyone aboard the horrible fever by crashing the plane while everyone is still asymptomatic. It’s a matter of weighing the lives of those on the plane versus hundreds of thousands, or possibly millions.” (The Captain again expressed disbelief and asked for an official confirmation from another source. He demanded to hear it from the lips of an individual authorized to speak on matters of National Security. The microphone was handed over to authenticate the agonizing scenario.) “This is Richard A. Farnsworth, director of Homeland Security. I’m sorry Captain but the news is true. My colleague here from the CDC can advise you of the technical details but based on what I’ve seen, this thing you’ve been infected with is a nightmare. It makes Ebola look like a case of the sniffles. Whether you crash the plane or land somewhere, you and everyone else aboard will be dead in less than two days. The difference is that, if you all die in the crash, no one on the ground will be infected and die. The president has already scrambled fighter jets to shoot you down. They are in route as we speak. He doesn’t want to risk you or the copilot trying to be heroes but I’ve asked him for the favor. He agreed to allow you a few minutes to accept this horrible fate and die in the unselfish service of others. Over the next few minutes, both men went through the universal stages of doubt, anger, grief, bargaining, and then finally acceptance. Just five minutes earlier, both men had been completely dedicated to full safety of all passengers and crew arriving at their destination. Now they were being asked to deliberately murder almost 150 innocent lives. It was beyond surreal. “This is not a drill, captain. The suspects have confessed. The runway tube has tested positive for particulate residue of the deadly virus. The ground crew who emptied the lavatory tanks for your plane this morning are already dying in CDC isolation. Make peace with your maker and do what needs to be done for the greater good.” Reardon and Dobbs had a marathon ethics discussion over what to do. Both men went through waves of anger and prolonged sadness. The air traffic controller instructed them to alter their flight path slightly to take the plane over the massive North Georgia lake. Despite their shock and bitter misgivings, they did as they were directed. They were also advised to not tell any of the crew or passengers but that didn’t sit as well with Captain Reardon. He told the copilot that the people deserved to know what was coming, even if it brought them deep fear and misery. It would also allow them to make peace with what was happening and understand that their deaths served a purpose. More importantly; their sacrifices as tragic as they were, would save others. First he had the depressing but necessary duty of informing and preparing the crew. “Attention. I need all available crew members to report to the cockpit for an important ‘Tulsa’ briefing.” (His wording was ‘airline speak’ for an emergency situation that the crew recognized. Once they entered the pilot’s area they could be heard expressing apprehension and fear over the ‘panic code’. They knew enough to worry but they weren’t prepared for what the pilot was about to tell them. Honestly, how could anyone be? They were all consummate airline professionals; and while aircraft crashes are always a possibility, this was a very different story. The plane itself had no operational issues. The pilots were lucid and highly capable; and yet they were told they were all going to die in just a few minutes. The crew went through the same five stages of grief and anger. The natural human impulse was to deny what they were told or fight against it. They all desperately wanted to live but the somber facts and necessary path was clear. Once they’d composed themselves, they returned back to the cabin to complete their very courageous flight. At this point, the pilot made the toughest announcement of his life. “Ladies and gentlemen. My name is Paul Reardon. Your copilot is Matt Dobbs. I want to thank each an every one of you for making this journey with us. What I’m about to tell you is incredibly painful and difficult to express but I feel you all deserve to know the truth. I say that because as terrible as it is, I would want to know if I was seated out there across the aisle from you. About 45 minutes ago I was informed by the CDC and Department of Homeland Security that our plane had been sabotaged by terrorists. Some form of deadly neurotoxin virus was placed in the air conditioning system of this plane. I’ve been on the radio with the CDC and Homeland Security. What we’ve been exposed to is both highly contagious and incurable. I’ve been given the option of deliberately crashing this plane, or we will be shot down to prevent causing an epidemic on the ground that will potentially kill millions. I am so sorry, Ladies and gentlemen. I know that no one here was prepared to die but... we must accept this fate to save others. I’ve been assured that our deaths will save millions. I’d rather face death with each of you, than be shot out of the sky. I wish there was any other choice. I wanted to give every single person here a few minutes to pray or just meditate. Please forgive me for what I’m about to do. Prepare to die.” (Cellphone video recovered from the wreckage recorded the reaction to the Captain’s gut-wrenching speech. Understandably, there was fear, panic, chaos, and denial for the next few moments. The people wept and cried but unlike an unexpected crash, they had a brief period to overcome their lamentations. As if on queue, two F-17’s arrived and were visible outside the windows. The moment arrived as the plane rapidly approached the proposed destination for the planned crash. The insinuation was clear to Dobbs and Reardon. If they didn’t take the plane down, it would be immediately shot down. Faced with that ‘choice’, the pilot did what was requested. The last transmission was by Mr. Dobbs. He announced that they were going down. Simultaneously, the crew and passengers recited ‘The Lord’s prayer’ or other sacred mantras. According to recovered black box data, the crash occurred at 11:43 EST. All lives were lost. The FAA, FBI, Department of Homeland Security, and other federal agencies worked to investigate the circumstances of the crash. At the time, no one knew why Captain Reardon and his copilot deliberately diverted and crashed their jet. Only later did the startling details of the diabolical plot to deceive the pilots come to light. A real terrorist network installed sophisticated jamming equipment into the plane’s communication system. The purpose was to make it appear as if the pilot was talking to actual air traffic controllers and government agents. The plan all along was to deceive the innocent crew members into downing the plane and taking their lives. After capitalizing on a few of these sophisticated attacks, they planned to claim responsibility for them and strike terror into the heart of the country. Once the pilot diverted the flight plan and failed to explain his actions to real air traffic controllers monitoring their flight progress, it triggered civil defense fighter jets. They were scrambled to escort the unresponsive, suspicious acting commercial airline back to its regular trajectory. It was an ingenious and successful plan to hack the air traffic communications grid but the courageous victims had no way of knowing it was a sadistic hoax. In the end, they gave their lives for a noble cause they believed in. Their reluctant martyrdom was a final unselfish act.


Warning: This story mentions but does not describe sexual and physical violence. I had of course heard of Him. Like every boy in the world, I imagined myself being Him as I played games of adventures and quests. I remember one time when the local boys and I were out in the fields playing the Second Labor I had been chosen to be Him. With a broken branch as a stand in for His club I would swing with as much might as my young body could muster. Smashing death blows into the imaginary hydra, while leaving very real welts on the flesh of my companions. As the son of the king I had responsibilities others my age did not. Such as ensuring I not only understood restraint but that I demonstrated it. So when my father had learned of my carelessness he set out to teach me a lesson. “As the future king,” he told me. “You must restrain yourself. It is of utmost importance. The health of our domain relies upon it. When a ruler lashes out a merciless beating on his subjects their moral falls. Not only that but all sense of morals, ethics, and order falls away.” His voice was stern and hard, yet he spoke with a quiet and calm tone. Although I knew my father was furious with me he held his anger back. Always the living example of his teachings. Even when my fathers honor was called into question he always restrained himself, ensuring his emotions were under his control, rather than the other way around. “With power, my son, one must control themselves. When kings and rulers let their emotions control them, rather than being the one in control, Chaos rules all. Wars break out, famine falls upon the land. Rivers, lakes, and all fresh water turns to dust. The hard won Order the Gods fought for during the Titanomachy would be but nothing else than in vain.” That is why I knew the story told to me of my fathers death was nothing but lies. Not once had he ever been known to let his emotions take control of him. Nor had he ever been known to deny a person in need. I remember years after his lesson on restraint, he and I had been out grazing our herd when we came upon a starving man. He was clearly not of our land, nor the neighboring realms, for his garments were of an unknown fabric, design and fashion. Although clearly light and flexible, it seemed to be durable. To my amazement, his garb was covered in beautiful images of unknown creatures. As the stranger walked it looked as if the beasts moved along his body dancing amongst themselves. He wore the strangest looking chiton I had ever seen. Rather than being free flowing around the legs, it had been sown so that each leg was wrapped in the smooth cloth separately. Later, when I asked my father what they were, he called them “trousers”. A funny word for an even sillier looking garment. Not only was his garments strange and bizarre, he spoke a language I had never heard before in my life, nor since. It sounded like the sing-song of some fabulous bird. It was to my great surprise that my father not only knew the language but could in fact speak a few words. He was, he told me, better at understanding it than speaking it. Had it not been for the man's strange outfit, or his barbaric speech he would still have stood out like a sore limb. His hair was like that of a beautiful women's, long and straight, and black as a raven’s feathers. His eyes, although peaceful, looked hard lived. His skin reminded me of a cured hide, and was darkened by the sun. In the strange man's sing-song language my father and he spoke briefly. Although I did not understand what was being said, I could tell the man had asked my father for one of our goats as he had pointed to the flock grazing around us. As the man pointed with one hand, his other moved to clinch his stomach. A sign I instantly understood as the man being hungry. Without hesitation, or another word exchanged my father turned to our herd and strode to the nearest goat. Kneeling to the side of the goat, my father placed a firm and gentle arm around the goat's body, reassuring it that he was safe. Then in a fluid and powerful stroke, my father drew his dagger across the goats throat. Spilling its blood to the earth, my father stood and gave praise to the Gods, and gave to the stranger the now dead goat. “Who was that father?” I asked as we returned from the grazing field later that day. “I do not know my child, a stranger to our land in need of vittles.” “Where is he from? I’ve never seen a man like him before.” “A land far from here boy, where Helios rises to drive his fiery chariot across the sky.” “Is he a God?” “No, he is mortal like us all Hylas. Just a man far from home. Now, do you understand why I gave him our most prized goat when he clearly could have either hunted for his own food, or worse, killed the two of us and taken what he wanted?” Shocked by my fathers question I simply shook my head in my ignorance. “Because,” my father paused, and with arms stretched out, gesturing to our large flock grazing all around. “We have plenty, and he had not but what he wore. The loss of a single goat will do little to hurt us, but will save that man's life. No matter the cost to our own wealth, if we can save the life of a single person then it is our duty to sacrifice what we can to do so. Even if that person has the means to do it themselves. We can always get another goat, bull, horse, or whatever it may be, but a man's life can never be returned from the grip of Hades. Do you understand me?” Not fully understanding, I simply nodded my head saying “I think so”. With a rare smile my father patted me on the shoulder and said, “that’s alright, think on it.” And think on it I did. For the rest of that day's journey back home was silent other than the natural world around us. I pondered what my father had told me the entire way back. Although I had planned on asking my father on our arrival home about what he had meant, there had been no time. As the king he had urgent stately business to attend to on our return, and I, as the prince, was tasked with ensuring the flock’s safe return to the pastor. Other than in passing, I would never speak to my father again. The life of a king is a busy one and leaves little time for family matters. The only reason I had been with him taking the flock out to graze, was because I was turning sixteen that year and was to take on the role of head herder of the flock. As the king and my father, it was his responsibility to show me the proper way. He had told me “to be a good king one must know how to lead all under their protection.” The reason I am telling you all of this is to show you why it is of great urgency that I escape. My father was murdered, and I am the murderer's captive. You are the only one that can save me, and take me far away to a place He can never find me. The stories told about Him are all lies, Heracles is no hero of man. *** It was the eve of my sixteenth birthday when my fathers murderer came to Dryopis. A storm had gathered over the city the hours leading up to when Heracles arrived, bringing with him his lies and deceit of my fathers death. Boldly declaring in front of the entire court of Dryopis that “King Theiodamas is dead, and he died by my hands.” At the great uproar of Heracles' proclamation to my fathers murder, the senate demanded an explanation. With a simple wave of Heracles’ deadly hand, the entire senate fell silent, frightened that the murderous son of Zeus would turn on them. “Unwilling to part with a simple calf so that I may feed myself and stave off starvation, Theiodamas showed himself to be a dishonorable man and an unjust king.” Thinking he would be believed, Heracles told a bold face lie to the people who knew my father better than even I, his own son. In a chorus the senate bombarded Heracles with ridicule and justice, calling him a murderer. In a fit of rage the killer declared war on our entire people stating he would “return to conquer and lay waste to all Dryopians, all but you. “Son of Theiodamas, your beauty has encapsulated me, and for my prize I will have you. By right of conquest you will be mine to do with what I please, forever and always.” The wicked smile that fell upon the so-called hero revealed a darkness only hinted at in the stories as a wicked and tragic curse. It was no curse but rather a horrible reality. Heracles is a murdering psychopath and within the week he had returned with a ravaging army to conquer Dryopis. Decimating the army I had come to know as friends and future citizens to protect as their King. My world had come to an end all at the hands of my childhood hero, and soon to be rapist. “In the name of my Father, Zeus the Almighty I declare rights of conquest upon this land and its people.” Heracles declared to the surrendering senate. “By His laws I have the right to slay any living descendant of Dryopian blood, and I will. That is unless you give up your prince to me, to have forever as mine to do as I see fit.” In protest I pleaded “do not do this, do not give into this murderers demands! He slayed your king, your sons, your brothers! His men are ravaging our city and our women do not give in. I beg of you!” Alas my words fell on deaf ears, and the cowards stepped aside as Heracles waded towards me, and as if I were nothing but a babe, picked me up and strung me across his shoulders. Although I pounded my fists into his back, and kicked my knees deep into his face with all of my might, the attacks were like an insect bite to him. I do not think he even noticed that I struggled and screamed my protests at the world. He simply strode through the wreckage of my home to his war tent, where he forced himself unto me. I do not recall much of the following days, weeks or even months. It was as if I was living in a fog. What I do recall is that it was during these early days with him that I promised myself I would bring ruin to Heracles. I began training relentlessly under my captor's tutelage so that one day I could turn his warrior skills on him, and bring an end to the tyrannical life of Heracles. Seeing that I had begun to take to his lessons, Heracles’ savage nightly assaults started to decrease to the point that they only occurred when he became angered. Not only at me, but whenever his rage was enacted. Which for a man as vile and controlled by their emotions and whims as Heracles, it is more frequent than not. He even began to treat me with what I imagine he believes to be tinder love. Caressing my hair as he cages me in his unmovable strength. Whispering poems of beautiful words, and feelings that would sweep anyone off their feet, yet they act only to fuel the flame of hatred within me. However I knew that to survive I had to hide my loathing abhorrence for him, and so I played along. Returning each touch, and word with my own. Soon enough I found myself unable to truly hate the man who killed my father and assaulted me regularly, for I had begun to fall in love with Heracles. The days of my capture stretched into weeks, and the weeks into months, until word had made its way to Heracles and myself, that the greatest fleet of adventurers and heroes had begun to gather. So Heracles and I traveled to Iolcus where we joined the crew of the ship Argo. Once we arrived in Iolcus we met the greatest heroes of our time. Orpheus, the greatest poet and bard I have ever heard in my life. It is said he can coax the trees with his lyre. He even claims to be able to bring Hades himself to tears, “if only I had the opportunity”, he is keen to say. I hope he never does. Iolas, Heracles' younger cousin was there too, and for the first time in I do not know how long, Heracles paid little attention to me. However the reprieve would not last long, for as soon as the Argonauts, the name given to the crew, set out, Heracles came to me nightly. For a month now we have been questing, searching for the legendary Golden Fleece with Jason, a young nobleman of about my own age. He is eager to prove his worth to the other, older and capable heroes of living legend. He is a kind enough leader, if not a little foolish. Although I truly do wish him success in his quest, I can no longer bear being with Heracles. I am sworn by blood, and oath to slay my fathers murderer, and the man who defiled me. The man who I now love with all my being. My heart tears and my soul screams out in anguish. I can neither slay nor lay with him any longer. I must escape him, I must be rid of Heracles the Triumphant, the Hero, the Murderer. The Rapist. *** “That is why I ask of you, please take me under your waters so that Heracles may never find me. I will do whatever you ask of me.” I ask the Naiad of Pegae. She looks at me with her majestic lake green eyes. There is a depth to them that pulls at me, at my soul as if it were calling me to it. For the first time since the news of my fathers murder I feel at peace, driving me further to push her to answer my request. “Please, Heracles is out hunting, he will be back looking for me at any moment. This is our only chance. My only chance. I beg of you, please take me with you.” “Your story has touched my heart, and I believe I have fallen in love with you mortal. Yes, I think I will take you with me.” She says with the voice of a murmuring spring, and the smile of a hungery eel. “You are so very beautiful, I would hate to lose you to a creature such as Him.” A feeling of dread falls over me the instant her smile changes from that of a beautiful maiden, to a hungry predator. Before I am able to distance myself from the shore of her spring, she captures me in her grip. Her preternatural strength thwarting my escape the naiad pulls me under the deep water. As the icy water enshrouds me in its dark depths, a final thought of regret runs through my mind. I do not want to die. With enough air in my lungs for a single word I scream my last mortal word. “Heracles!”


It all began one snowy December afternoon. Jason Fox was at his house arguing with his mother. “I am not a kid! I am eighteen!” Exclaimed Jason. “Your behavior is very childish! Go to your room!” Sophie (Jason’s mom) exclaimed. “Yes ma’am,” Jason said sarcastically and stomped to his room. Ethan was in an alleyway, making a phone call that would change the rest of his life. “Ethan, I want you to break into that car at the Fox families’ house, and sabotage the lock mechanism and the engine function,” Maverick (a criminal in jail) whispered into the phone he had hidden in his jail cell, “Remember if you don’t do what I say, your parents will get it!” “ On my way there now, Maverick!” Ethan replied into the phone boldly, (but feeling so nervous and upset on the inside that he had to do this, since he would never want to hurt anybody). Ethan headed over to Jason’s house and sabotaged the lock mechanism and the engine of the Fox family’s car. Jason got in his car on his way to the coffee shop for his date with Harmony (his girlfriend). He was driving over the train tracks when all of a sudden, his car stalled. The barriers on the train track went down and the train was almost there. “Oh no, oh no! I can’t believe this!” Jason thought as he tried to open his doors. “I knew the lock was acting funny earlier! What am I going to do?” He thought to himself as he realized the doors were not going to budge. He picked up the wrench that was in the back seat and started banging on the windows, but they wouldn’t break, since, after all, they were bulletproof. The train started blowing its whistle trying to stop. It couldn’t stop fast enough and was heading straight for him! Ethan was sitting behind a bush watching this, unsure if he could go through with this. “I can't just watch him die! I can't believe this, but I am going to go save him!” Ethan thought to himself. Ethan ran to the car with a metal pole in his hands and started banging on the window. After what felt like forever, he banged a hole in the window, and the glass shattered everywhere. He pulled Jason out of the car, through the window, and out of the way right as the train hit Jason’s car! Jason sat on the ground beside the tracks, but far enough that he couldn’t get hurt. Ethan was wearing a hoodie and a bandana across the bottom part of his face so that Jason couldn’t see more than his eyes. “A-r--re you o-o-ok?” Ethan asked with a terrified expression in his eyes, and his voice trembling as he thought about how much worse this could have been. “Yes, thanks to you though! If you hadn’t shown up, I would have died!” Jason exclaimed. “Y-y-your welcome!” Ethan replied nervously hoping that Jason wouldn’t ask any questions. “What’s your name?” Jason asked him. “Uhm....” Ethan was still in too much shock to give a proper answer, so he decided to just run, “I gotta run!” Ethan replied as he started to run away. “Come back!” Jason yelled as he began to run after him. Ethan ran as fast as he could but eventually got cornered by Jason in an alley. “Why are you running? You just saved my life! I am not going to get you in trouble. Please just tell me your name and take off the hoodie!” Jason shouted at him. “I...I... can’t tell you! I am already going to be in enough trouble for helping you if...finds out!” Ethan said leaving the blank in the sentence. “Just let me through! I don’t want to hurt you!” He exclaimed while pulling out a sharp knife. Jason’s phone started ringing. “Turn it off, don’t answer it or I will use this!” Ethan exclaimed pointing the knife at Jason threateningly. “Ok, ok!” Jason exclaimed as he declined Harmony’s call. “Now, promise me that you will not call the police, let me pass, and I will put the knife away,” Ethan replied sternly still grasping the knife tightly. “I-I promise!” Jason replied stepping back. Ethan put the knife away and ran past Jason into the dense fog that had enveloped the city. Jason went and stared at what used to be his car and shivered. “That could have been me! I could have been wrecked along with the car! I need to find this guy and repay him for helping me!” Jason thought to himself. Ten minutes later, when Jason arrived home, he explained what had happened to him. Harmony had been sitting with Amy (Jason’s sister) trying to figure out what had happened to him. “Jason! I was so worried about you! I could not find you anywhere and I started hacking camera footage (since she was a detective) throughout the city with Harmony!” Amy exclaimed as she hugged Jason. “I am fine thanks to that guy in the hoodie, I just wish I knew who he is,” Jason said thoughtfully. “Jason! We were literally about to have our first date! No more almost dying! Ok?!” Harmony exclaimed as she hugged him. “OK Harmony, I’ll try!” Jason replied jokingly as he hugged her, unaware of the fact that he would be in another similar situation soon. “I am just going to run to the restroom,” Harmony said. When she got to the restroom, she called the police and told them the area where Ethan was. This was not good... Ethan was running through the different alleyways trying to find a place to spend the night when he heard the police sirens. He ran as fast as he possibly could and went inside a broken-down mansion that was abandoned. “I can’t believe he called the police after all that! I saved his life! I could have let him die, but no, I had to save him! He stabbed me in the back!” Ethan shouted into the lonely old house. The mice scampered around, frightened by Ethan’s shouting. He started planning his revenge with an icy-cold heart full of hurt and sadness. He was already extremely hurt by Maverick. When Ethan was 8 years old, his parents went missing, and Maverick had found him. Maverick raised him and then (when Ethan was 15) told him that he had kidnapped his parents and the only way he could ever see them again was if he worked for him. Ethan was 18 now and still trying to save his parents. He had never felt so betrayed. Even now, he had risked his parents’ lives to save Jason and then Jason had gone and called the police on him after he had promised he wouldn’t! It was not right! This world was never fair or nice, so why should he be? Harmony came out of the restroom and tried to convince Jason not to go look for the guy who saved him (since she thought he would be in jail by the time Jason went out), but Jason wouldn’t listen. He went out into the night to search for the guy who saved him. He searched alleyway after alleyway until he came upon a broken-down mansion in the woods. Jason opened the creaky door and walked into a huge cobweb. The huge mansion was eerily silent. It appeared as if no one had been in there for years. However, Ethan was peeking out from inside one of the closets with a knife in his hand waiting for just the right moment. Jason walked around the house climbing up the stairs as the stairs creaked. The creaking of the stairs sounded almost like they were warning him to leave. Upstairs there were four bedrooms all broken down and dilapidated. Ethan had gotten out of the closet and was sneaking around behind Jason as quietly as possible. Each creek of the stairs from Jason sounded so loud to the silence that was otherwise super thick. Jason entered into one of the rooms and just then Ethan jumped out with the knife. Ethan had Jason cornered and had a knife in his hand! “I should never have saved you in the first place! You stabbed me in the back and called the police!” Ethan exclaimed with a dangerous glint of rage and anger in his eyes while pointing the knife at Jason. Jason stood there in the corner confused, scared, and unsure what to do next. “What are you talking about?!” Jason exclaimed very confused, “I never called the police.” “Sure, you didn’t. Then why were they there ten minutes after you left!” Ethan exclaimed back, shifting the knife around in his hand. He stood there staring at Jason with rage burning in his eyes. Jason stood there staring blankly at Ethan with his face as pale as a sheet. “Well? I am waiting! Where is your brilliant explanation, or your excuses?” Ethan ranted as he folded his arms and stuck the knife it in his pocket while waiting for an explanation. Jason didn’t want to let Ethan get away again and certainly didn’t want to get stabbed, so, not knowing what better to do (since he had become very impatient and scared) he rushed at Ethan and tried to take away the knife. Jason knocked Ethan down to the ground. They were rolling around on the floor fighting over the knife. “Give it to me!” Jason shouted losing his breath. “Never! I need it!” Ethan shouted back. While they rolled around Jason had finally gotten the knife in his hand, but at the same time (since Jason was on top of Ethan), the knife stuck deep into Ethan’s shoulder. “WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?! I HAD THE KNIFE THE WHOLE TIME AND DIDN’T STAB YOU!” Ethan exclaimed through clenched teeth, trying not to look wimpy. “I-i-it was an accident! Ahhhh... what do I do?!” Jason exclaimed as he ran over and stared at the knife uneasily. “DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH ME!” Ethan exclaimed as he held the knife that was in his shoulder. He wasn’t going to pull it out since he knew better. Jason grabbed his phone and was about to call 911. “Don’t call the police! They will take me to jail since you broke your promise and called the cops!” Ethan shouted at Jason. “How many times do I have to tell you? I never called the cops!” Jason exclaimed while thinking. “Uhm... who do I call? I got it! My mom is a detective, she will know what to do!” Jason exclaimed as he phoned her. While he was calling her, he grabbed a dusty first aid kit and took out some alcohol wipes. “This is going to burn a lot, but that knife of yours looks very rusty, and that cut is deep!” Jason said as he rubbed the alcohol wipes on the wound. “AHHHH,” Ethan screamed. Jason’s mom didn’t answer the phone, so Jason called his sister Amy instead. Amy answered the phone. “Amy, I-I-I messed up big time and need you and Harmony to come help now! I was impatient and...knife...blood...help...mansion!” Was all Amy could hear over the phone as she and Harmony raced to the car and started driving there. Jason sat there in shock at all that had happened. Ethan’s shoulder was bleeding badly and had begun to hurt even worse. “What are we going to do? If you don’t mind me interrupting your peaceful relaxation time, I have a knife in my shoulder and am bleeding a lot! I kind of need your help, and kind of judging how this is all your fault maybe you should get over here and help me!” Ethan shouted at Jason. “Sure, it is partly my fault, but not fully my fault! You are the one who jumped out of nowhere with the knife in the first place!” Jason shouted back. “If you hadn’t called the cops, I wouldn’t have brought out the knife in the first place!” Ethan exclaimed. “But that’s just it! I never called the cops! The only ones who know about what happened are my sister and my girlfriend,” Jason exclaimed back. “Maybe it was one of them, I don't know, and don’t think so! But it wasn’t me!” “I guess I believe you. Now please if you don’t mind, I could use some of that gauze in the first aid kit for my shoulder,” Ethan said as calmly as anyone possibly could while having a knife stuck in their shoulder. Jason took the gauze and pressed it tightly on the wound. Ethan flinched in pain. “I guess I should be saying thank you for helping me with my wound since you could have just left me here,” Ethan said thoughtfully as he clenched his teeth due to the pain. “It is kind of my fault that you have a knife in your shoulder in the first place. I came here to thank you for saving my life and ended up hurting yours! How ironic! How is your shoulder feeling now?” “About as good as a shoulder that has a knife in it can feel!” Ethan said sarcastically. Just then, Amy and Harmony arrived. “I’ll wait in the car, I don’t like blood,” Harmony said to Amy. Amy ran inside with a stitching kit. “Are you going to fix him yourself?” Jason asked Amy full of disbelief. “Yes, I learned with Mom how to deal with situations like these,” Amy replied as she opened the kit. “How old are you?” Ethan asked judgingly. “I am 16, and if you have a problem with that let me know. But if you don’t want to end up in jail or dead from blood loss, I am your best and only option,” Amy replied boldly. “YOU ARE ONLY SIXTEEN! I am eighteen, and would never trust myself, how am I supposed to trust you?” Ethan exclaimed. “For one, I am not you, so you don’t have to worry about anything. Second, I am your best option, so let’s hurry up and get this over with. I have no pain medication, so this is going to hurt... a lot,” Amy said boldly as she grasped the knife. She then pulled out the knife. “AHHHHHHHHHhhhh!” Ethan screamed in pain as the knife was removed. Amy had to take off Ethan’s hoodie and t-shirt. Amy then used the kit and stitched up Ethan’s wound fast. Ethan lay there in indescribable pain as he tried to be brave but couldn’t take the pain anymore. “You are going to be ok, come with us to our house where we can help you get some food, water, and a soft bed to sleep on,” Jason said to Ethan. Amy and Jason helped Ethan up. Ethan went with Jason, Amy, and Harmony back to their house. They gave him soup to eat and water to drink (since he was so skinny and in desperate need of food). Amy and Jason told their mom that Ethan was a friend from school, and never told her about his wound. Nobody ever figured out who had called the police. Ethan and Jason went on to become good friends. Amy and Ethan went on to possibly become more than friends. They all decided that they would help Ethan find his parents and put an end to Maverick and his plots. But, for now, Ethan just needed a soft bed, some nice sheets, and a good night’s sleep.


Sarah wasn’t sure when she had become such a big worrier. She had always been cautious, but as she approached 30 she had to push herself harder to do anything outside of her comfort zone. It was much easier to stay home and work in the small backyard garden of her townhouse or delve into one of her many crochet projects than to put to herself out there. Sure, she went to parties and events, but not without a million doubts and hesitations running through her head first. She was usually emotionally exhausted before she even left the house. A paralegal in a family law firm, Sarah spent most of her days doing research in the secluded law library or sitting at her computer compiling information on one of the many adoption, divorce or child custody cases she worked on. She was privy to her clients’ most agonizing and their most joyful moments. In her line of work, one person’s happiness was often at the expense of someone else’s misery. Decisions had consequences, and somebody always got hurt. Outside of work, she had a few friends she met through yoga classes, some college girls she saw occasionally, and then there was Jamie, who she had known since childhood. Her best friend was everything she wasn’t - adventurous, social and confident. At least that’s how Sarah saw her. She leaned back in her kitchen chair, took a sip of coffee and opened the newspaper. There was that ad she’d been seeing every day, the one that seemed to challenge her. Get your scuba diving certification and explore the fantastic world of beauty and mystery that’s just below the water’s surface. It was one of those things that sounded both heavenly and terrifying at the same time. She could picture the peacefulness of gliding through the water weightless, the only sound her own breathing as she explored a vibrant new world. But she felt queasy at the idea of taking those first steps. What if she felt claustrophobic or panicked? Could she drown or get bitten by a shark? She wasn’t sure what to think. Maybe she would mention it to Jamie. They always talked about doing something new and different together, but it never happened. Maybe this time, they would finally take the leap. *** “Fasten your seatbelts and put your seats back in their upright position as the captain prepares for landing,” Jamie said into the microphone. She watched as rows of heads looked up from their phones and kindles at the sound of her voice. “We’ll be on the ground in 15 minutes.” She walked up and down the aisles, collecting used cups and napkins, reminding people to stow their carry-ons and making sure the cabin was ready for the descent into Baltimore, which was home for her. She thought of the leftover vegetable chili she had in the fridge, the TV shows she had recorded to binge during her three days off and, most of all, her comfortable bed. Even though Jamie travelled around the country, she didn’t feel like an adventurous person. She worked in a small and confined space, with a predictable and repetitious routine. She was responsible for keeping her passengers comfortable and safe as they flew through the atmosphere at up to 550 miles per hour. It sounded remarkable, but in truth her job wasn’t rocket science. She tended to fly to the same five or six cities, and she was usually back in time for dinner or the evening news. While the faces of the passengers changed every day, she encountered the same personalities on every flight - the flirtatious businessman, the needy older couple, the high-strung mom travelling with her kids. And that inevitability brought a comfort and security to her days that made Jamie feel content. On her days off she spent hours at the ceramics studio. Molding clay gave her the same focused feeling as being in flight. It was her passion and her therapy. She also savored spending time with her best friend Sarah. She loved hearing stories about Sarah’s law firm, a far cry from the tightly regulated world of the fuselage. She knew that Sarah admired her, but the truth was, Sarah was the one who deserved admiration. They were both guarded, but she was more open to change. Sarah was always suggesting they take exotic trips or dance lessons or volunteer to work with children in need, but Jamie could never make the commitment. She made excuses about her busy work schedule to hide her own fear and insecurity of trying something new. *** Sarah opened the paper the next morning as she sipped coffee before work, and there was that ad again. “ Get your Scuba Diving Certification in four weekend sessions and then sign up for one of our amazing trips, where you can dive, take photos and experience a once-in-a-lifetime underwater adventure. ” It was insane to think she would consider doing something like this. Last fall she had talked about taking dance lessons and the summer before she had looked into volunteering to work with disabled children, but she never followed through. She was having dinner with Jamie tonight. She vowed she would learn more about this scuba school and talk to her friend about it before she lost her nerve. *** Jamie stayed in bed until almost 10:00 Thursday morning. She normally got up early, but she was feeling down today and didn’t even want to go to the ceramics studio. She had looked forward to these three days off. She couldn’t wait to get home last night. But somehow the house felt too quiet, and she found herself longing to be back on the plane listening to the comforting buzz of conversation around her. Yesterday, a nice older man had told her all about his visit with his grandkids - and she had helped a mom settle her infant who had cried all through take off. She often thought of the people she met on her flights, but she was sure they never thought of her after they left the plane. The idea made her feel small and lonely. She dragged herself out of bed to run a few errands, and later she was meeting Sarah at their favorite Italian restaurant. That was something to look forward to. *** Sarah arrived at the restaurant a few minutes early to be sure she could grab their favorite back booth. During her down time at work, she had researched the scuba place, and printed out schedules and descriptions. She wanted Jamie to know she was serious this time - that she was ready to sign on the dotted line as long as her friend was up for it as well. She was ready to do something outside of her comfort zone ... wasn’t she? She waved when she saw Jamie headed toward the table. She noticed her friend looked tired, her eyes puffy and her hair not in the usual perfect bun she wore even when she wasn’t scheduled to work. Maybe it wasn’t the right day to talk about scuba lessons, or maybe it was the perfect day. ‘Hey girlfriend,” Sarah said as her friend approached. “Hey Sarah,” Jamie said, sliding easily into her side of the bench seat. “You okay?” Sarah eyed her friend. “Yeah, I’m just tired today. I’m not sure why.” “Maybe it’s the jetlag from travelling to Las Vegas and Denver this week. You flew across the country three times while I barely left my desk.” Their favorite waiter Tony came over and they ordered two glasses of merlot and the fried calamari appetizer they always shared. They would munch on that for a while, and then each order their favorite pasta entree. Jamie usually told Sarah stories about her trips, or the passengers she met that week, but she wasn’t in the mood. “I was in both those places, but I never saw the outside of the airport.” “Maybe not this week, but remember last week you went to that amazing new restaurant in Miami with the crew?” “It is fun to explore the places we fly to sometimes, but Sarah, my job is not as exciting as you make it out to be. Most of my days are just spent walking up and down the aisles of the plane, pouring drinks and distributing snacks. It’s my passengers who have the exciting life. I’m just helping them get to their destinations.” “That doesn’t sound much different from my job,” Sarah said. Jamie looked up at her friend, just as Tony brought over their wine. She thanked him and wrapped her fingers around the stem of her glass. “Okay, what in the world are you talking about?” “Maybe you’re just helping people as they go from one place to another, but so am I. You think my job is so important, but I spend most of the day sitting at my desk filling out papers so other people can move on with their lives. I’m living through them, following their ups and downs, but not really experiencing any of it myself. Jamie took a long sip of her wine. “But you have a graduate degree,” she finally said. “You’re incredibly smart and you work around other smart people. I help serve coffee and tea.” “And I help serve papers,” Sarah laughed. “I really like my job, and I’m good at it, but it’s not like I’m changing the world.” “Sorry to interrupt,” Tony said, putting a platter down between them. “I have your favorite, and I made sure they were extra crispy.” He winked and walked away. Jamie laughed. “We’re both really good at our jobs, but we’re also both creatures of habit.” Sarah picked up a fried ring of calamari and popped it in her mouth. “I know, but these are so good.” Jamie nodded in agreement. “Definitely, but we both need something new in our lives.” “I agree” Sarah said. “But I always worry about what could go wrong. It’s so much safer not to risk trying something new.” “And for me, it’s just familiar routines. That’s what I like about being a flight attendant. Every flight has the same tightly controlled protocols. But sometimes when I get home, I don’t know how to enjoy having free time. I seek out the same regulated life I have at work, and that’s not good.” “Maybe that’s why we never actually do any of the things we talk about,” Sarah said. “We’re each depending on the other one to say yes, but instead we both make excuses.” “I think you’re right, but what do we do about it?” “Well,” Sarah said, pulling the papers out of her handbag. “I was thinking we could do this.” “Scuba diving? You must be out of your mind. I think we need to start with something small,” Jamie said, her head still shaking as she scanned the sheets. No, I think we need to start with something big,” Sarah said. “And I can promise you, I’m more terrified than you are, but I think I’m ready to do this.” Jamie read through the sheet. “Okay, it sounds like they walk you through every step, and you practice in a swimming pool, so that’s not too bad.” “They’re not going to throw you into the ocean the first time,” Sarah said. “And when you finish, you don’t have to take one of their suggested trips unless you’re ready.” “But if we get our certifications, we really should take one of their trips. I could use my travel discounts, and we can go someplace really amazing.” “Sounds terrifying - and perfect,” Sarah said. “Which part?” Jamie asked. “All of it,” Sarah admitted. “The idea of signing up, the idea of putting a mask on my face and breathing under water, and definitely the idea of doing it in the ocean.” “So why do you want to do it then?” Jamie asked, leaning in toward her friend. “Because if I don’t, and things just go on the way they are now, I’m going to look back one day and wish I had. I’m going to be sorry I let the worry get in the way of making the most of my life. What about you? Why do you want to do it? “Hey, I haven’t said I want to yet,” Jamie said, but she looked much happier than she had just a few minutes earlier. “I guess I’m tired of feeling like my whole life is about watching other people have experiences and living my life through them. Sometimes when they share stories or photos with me, in that moment I feel so energized, but the feeling doesn’t last because I’m not the one taking the risk and putting myself out there.” “So, you’re saying you do want to sign up for scuba lessons, or at least a part of you does?” “Is this crazy?” “Yes, no -- I have no idea. But it could be fun, and whatever happens, whether we make it through the course or not, it will give us our own stories to tell.” “Okay, let’s go for it. If we can start next month, I’ll have time to adjust my schedule to make sure I’m off on Saturdays. I’m always accommodating the other crew members. I’m sure they’ll be happy to do the same for me.” “Okay, then, we’re really doing this. I’ll send you the form, and we can sign up tonight when we get home,” Sarah said. “Good idea, by tomorrow I’ll probably change my mind.” “Then definitely tonight, and we’ll still have a few weeks to get prepared.” The girls clinked glasses and made a silent promise to each other. They were going to try something new together and it was going to be fine, maybe even great. “So,” Tony interrupted, “What can I get you ladies for your main course this evening. Will it be the usual?” “No, not tonight,” Sarah said. “Can you give us a few minutes to review the menu” “But before you go, can you tell us about the specials for this evening?” Jamie asked. Tony nodded, his eyes shining. “So, we’re finally going to switch things up? That’s good. He handed them a sheet with the daily specials. “They’re all amazing, so whatever you pick, you can be sure you made a good choice.” “I guess even Tony knows you have to try something new every once in a while,” Sarah said. “Yes, I think so,” Jamie agreed. “He knows us better than I realized.” Both girls studied the menu in search of something they’d never tried before. It was a small change, but a step in the right direction.


It is 4:00 AM. I am with my demons. Because sometimes that is what you have to do. You have to lie next to it. The hurt, the heartache. Breathe it in like a lover’s perfume. Taste it like a kiss and touch it like making love. Alone, in your empty bedroom as the rain taps the window, and the yellow streetlights flicker. Alone in your tiny apartment. Among your coffee mugs and paper plates. In the crooked pictures that hang sadly on the water stained wall. In your couch-less living room with the faded blue shag carpet. Contemplation. Rolling around with the uncomfortable and scratchy things that happened to you. The shame. The guilt. The things left unsaid.... It is 4:30 AM. I cried. And my tears tapped the pillow, until they became a flood. Alone in my tiny apartment with the yellow streetlights flickering. Among my coffee mugs and paper plates. I felt the sadness wander in through the uneven hallway, towards my empty bedroom. I felt it fill the spaces between moments and breaths. I felt it overwhelm me. And then, it quietly left through the window, as I opened it to let in the smell of a new rainy morning. I’ve been told to stay away from lonely places, because they can be fresh-made bullshit, because sometimes it can be an opinion or a thought you believe to be true, when in reality, it is not. It is not the truth at all. And in these singular regions of thought, I find clarity. I dissect the emotions and feelings. I carve them away from the reasons of heartache and hurt. Peel back the layers to find the soul, the places where my demons hide. It’s an intimate process, much like foreplay, that the truth and purpose of my pain is found. Meditation. I find peace in prayer and introspection. I never stop. No matter how dark and claustrophobic things become, I keep my faith. In the early morning grey haze, when I am restless and weeping, in my reverie and rumination, the demons are met as old lovers. The sheets are pulled off the corners of the bed, it is raw, the tears come, the feelings can then be felt, the uncomfortable and scratchy things are then acknowledged, and like a secret affair, the demons slip away into the morning light and I am left alone. Naked. And at peace. There are universes that live in black holes-not galaxies-but universes. Some expand and contract, while others permit time travel. Some universes lie on top of the other like teenagers in lust. And there are those universes that come and go as they please. And my favorites are those that collide and intertwine like they cannot exist without the other. I think of universes like rattlesnakes that uncurl, geometric and precise. The Fibonacci sequence unraveling. A woman’s legs uncrossing. It’s all math, science, and our pathetic attempts at making sense of it all. On one planet in one galaxy in one universe of infinite universes we try to make ourselves so important, the most important infinitesimal speck of all the other insignificant specks. We are stardust and imperfect fractions. And it is okay to not fully understand oneself, as long as we continue to unfurl and grow. A budding rose in spring. God is in the rain that lightly comes down outside. The mischief is in the details, the numbers, and the sequences. I sip my morning coffee and ponder this, as I figure out what to wear.


You won’t often be able to get me to admit it, but I know that I’m an asshole. I know that I will probably never be able to really change, but at least I have some level of self awareness, right? I like to think that’s why at least some people are willing to put up with me. It’s not like I haven’t tried to be better. I’ve gone to seminars, tried therapy, all sorts of things. None of it really sticks. Sure, I’ve managed to calm down over the years and grow into the sort of person who can manage his own behavior to some extent, but that’s about it. It’s never been easy. I’m always just trying to maintain a poorly built façade that starts to crumble the moment I let down my guard. Underneath it all, I’m just an asshole by default. If you want to see me at my worst though, all you have to do is put me behind the wheel of a vehicle. Frankly, I’ve been told frequently by my wife, and most anyone I’ve driven anywhere, that I’m the worst kind of driver. They aren’t wrong. I cut people off, drive way too fast, and hurl obscenities out of open windows with reckless abandon. I may not have been in any more accidents than the average person, but I deny that the road is much safer when I’m not on it. I’m not proud of my behavior in any sense of the word, but that doesn’t mean I can change it either. It’s like something just comes over me, and all the worst parts of myself float their way up to the surface. I’m not exactly capable of being fully rational in the moment. I’d never drive anywhere if I could. This ugly side of myself has gotten me into trouble on the road so many times that I hardly even keep track. It’s not like I can change that part of me, so I just usually try not to think about it. Lately though, it’s been... harder than usual. That’s why I’m writing this all down, you see. I can’t really talk about it with anyone, so I thought putting pen to paper might help me get over this. You see... something happened. Something bad. \_\_\_ It started much like any other time: with some moron pulling some shit that pissed me off. This asshole just whips out of a residential street onto the main road without even stopping; in the middle of the night no less. I had to swerve to avoid plowing into the side of him. That by itself was more than enough to set me off, but the timing made things even worse. My wife had just finished laying into me about something or other, and I had decided to go to the bar to cool off. I was already as irritable as nitroglycerin and primed to detonate, and then this guy came along and started tossing sparks at me. Things were not going to end well. A better person would have simply let it go. I, on the other hand, decided to escalate things. So I started to follow the guy, disregarding all the legal trouble I could get myself into by doing so. None of the consequences really mattered to me at the time. This guy was now public enemy number one, and I wasn’t going to let him get away scot-free. I wanted him to feel threatened. I wanted to give him a piece of my mind, and maybe only one fist to the jaw if he was lucky. The fact that he was driving a brand new Escalade, while I was stuck behind the wheel of my old, beaten up Ford, only added fuel to the fire. Like I said: Asshole. As time went on, the Escalade made several turns. Some of them started to seem random, and once they even looped around several blocks. I was certain that they had noticed me and knew I was following them. It was exactly what I wanted. Let em squirm. Let em piss themselves thinking that some psycho murderer is following them or something. I wanted them afraid. Hell, I was getting off on it. I was so focused on the back of their vehicle, so caught up in my own sick power-trip, that I didn’t notice that they had led me to the outskirts of town. Not until we entered the woods. The confusion I felt from this broke me out of my stupor. I glanced about, my eyes taking in the dark forest that spread out around for miles, and the lights of civilization rapidly receding into nothingness behind me. I had expected my prey to run away scared, maybe even call the police, but why drive out here? Didn’t they know that there wasn’t anyone around out here for miles? By the time I looked back towards the Escalade, it had already disappeared out of sight. Confusion quickly turned into unease. How could I have lost them on a deserted stretch of road? There wasn’t any sort of turn-off for another 10 miles, at least. There was nowhere to go! I sped up. Maybe they were around that slight curve just ahead? I didn’t realize what had happened until I saw the high-beams switch on in my rearview mirror. They must have pulled off the road somewhere without me noticing and waited for me to pass. My unease deepened, only about half a step away from fear. I didn’t like this, being followed. Suddenly, I didn’t feel so powerful anymore. Then the Escalade sped up, ramming itself into the back of my old, beat-up truck. Shocked, I struggled with the wheel, just barely managing to keep from flying off of the road and wrapping my vehicle around a tree. My heart beat faster than a hummingbird’s wings. I didn’t think and just slammed the gas pedal as far down as it would go. The three beers I’d had earlier in the night darkened the front of my pants. I was too scared to pay my sodden crotch any mind though, as I was too focused on getting away. Needless to say, driving a truck that could barely push 70 on a good day, I had absolutely no chance. All it took was one more hit to send me careening off of the road. I screamed at the top of my lungs as my truck went into a roll, and I was battered repeatedly on all sides by unyielding metal. The impact of my vehicle inevitably slamming into a tree knocked more than just the air out of me. I felt several of my bones snapping as the cab of the truck crumpled in on me. I nearly passed out from shock alone. My consciousness nearly drifted away, but the pain dragged me back to awareness. I had hit my head, and most definitely suffered a concussion, but the crash hadn’t killed me. At least not outright, anyway. Looking back on it now, the roll had likely slowed down the momentum of the vehicle enough to keep it from crushing me completely when it hit the tree. It was simply luck, more luck that I deserved really. The blood from a cut on my head dripped upward, forming a small puddle on the misshapen roof of the cab. I tried to move, but was met with only pain. I was pinned to my seat, the crumpled metal of my vehicle holding me in place, suspended upside-down. Even if I could have freed myself, I could tell it wouldn’t do me much good. It felt like I had more broken bones than intact ones at this point, and even crawling didn’t seem like it would be possible. I groaned, the act of doing so causing me even more pain. I could barely hear the sound of approaching footsteps over the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my own ears, but it was still enough to give me the burst of adrenaline I needed to focus my attention. I glanced about as best I could. I wasn’t able to see much from where I hung from the wreckage, but I was able to catch sight of the idling Escalade out of the corner of my eye. I had a guess who the approaching footsteps might belong to, and I certainly wasn’t happy about it. I struggled wildly through the pain to try and loosen myself, but it was no use. I was helpless. A face appeared in one of the broken windows. It was the face of a young man, no older than somewhere in his twenties. He had this disheveled, panicked look to him, staring wildly at me and panting heavily. His face was unwashed and unshaven, as if he had been sleeping on the street for some time. I didn’t look at his appearance much more than that though, as my attention was soon focused on what he held aloft: a large, bloody knife. Why was it bloody? He hadn’t used it on me yet. “You...” he said, his voice hoarse and dry, “How in the fuck did you *know*?” I had no idea what he was talking about. It didn’t look like he was going to give me the chance either, as he raised the knife up higher. He looked like he was aiming to stab it directly into my eye. I let out a weak squeak, my best attempt at screaming for help. Something unexpected happened then. The light of a flashlight suddenly lit the young man up from behind, startling the both of us. “Hey!” a gruff voice called out. “What in the hell is going on here?” The young man whipped around, still brandishing the knife in his hand. He hesitated for a brief fraction of a second before dashing off in the direction of the voice, letting out a shrill, wild cry as he went. Two gunshots shortly rang out in succession, cutting short the young man’s voice. Relief flooded through me as I heard the muffled thud of the young man’s body hitting the ground. My adrenaline faded away and I slipped into unconsciousness, long before I could make out any of the features of the flashlight-toting silhouette approaching the wreckage of my truck. \_\_\_ By the time I came to in the hospital a few weeks later, everything had already been resolved, and the story was the talk of the town. They’d identified the young man as a drifter who was wanted in several states for various charges including murder, kidnapping, assault, and many other, more unsavory crimes. Turns out, he had actually just attacked a family in town, killing the mother and father of the family, kidnapping their teenage daughter, and driving off in the family’s stolen vehicle. The girl was actually found in the backseat of the Escalade; drugged, tied up, but thankfully otherwise unharmed. In my case, I was very lucky. A Conservation Police officer had happened to be in the area investigating reports of a pack a wolves, when he heard the commotion of my car being run off the road and came to investigate. If he hadn’t arrived when he did, I most certainly wouldn’t be here right now. Turns out, I was being heralded as something of a hero. No one quite knew how I’d figured out that something was off, but it was clear that, if not for my “quick thinking”, that poor girl would have met a fate even worse than her parents. She even came by the hospital to thank me personally, grateful tears in her eyes. I could barely stomach it all. I was so sick with guilt, but I’m still too ashamed to tell anyone the truth. My wounds are now mostly healed, and the permanent damage is minimal. Everyone knows what happened, and I’m treated well wherever I go. Even my relationship with my wife has improved. She told me that she never knew I was so brave. That she was proud of me. It hurt to hear that. I know I don’t deserve it. Any of it. I’m not any kind of hero. I’m just a worthless asshole.


# Happy Weekend, serialists! Welcome to Serial Saturday... ish! \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ ***New here?*** If you’re brand new to and thinking about participating in Serial Saturday, welcome! Feel free to dip your toes in by writing for this challenge or any others we have! \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ # This week it’s all about Genre Challenges Welcome to the off season, folks! For the next two weeks we’re going to be embracing a bit of a challenge: As an exercise in the name of fun and games shenanigans, we’re writing for an opposite of our usual genres this month. What does that mean for you, especially if you haven't been writing for Ser Sat? No sweat, just choose a genre you don't usually write in *(your choice, just pick something that's new to you).* I am going to assign a simple prompt as an idea to address. You *do not* have to use the exact phrase but as readers it should be clear to us that it’s incorporated in your story in some way. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ **YOUR ASSIGNED ELEMENTS:** A genre you don't usually write in *(your choice, just pick something that's new to you),* and **“If looks could kill” /** **/ A timepiece** \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ If you wrote about movers and shakers last season, maybe this time you’re writing about powerless by-standers. If you wrote about spies or subterfuge, maybe this time you’re writing about utopian idealism. If you wrote about magic and battles, maybe it’s time for a by-the-book operation. If it was all about murder investigations for you last time, try out romance or coming of age. If you wrote about internal struggles of the heart last time, consider political drama. If you just finished a serious story, consider a comedy, like a tall tale or satire. There’s a boatload of genres and subgenres of fiction out there to explore and it can be a difficult decision to land on what someone “should” write as an opposite of their last genre, so take some time to go over a and think about what would be a challenge for *you.* \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ **This challenge is open to anyone and everyone, not just those with a current serial. Jump right in, folks, the water is just fine!** **\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*** **You have until \*next\* Saturday, 12/5, to submit and comment on everyone else's stories here. Make sure to check back on this thread periodically to lay some sweet, sweet crit down on those who don't have any yet!** \*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\* # Top picks from last week’s assignment, New World Order: **Fan favorite with the most votes:** /u/Kammerice, for a perfect wrap-up for the expertly written hardboiled noir we’ve enjoyed this whole season. This week the **Smoking Hot Challenge Sash** goes to an author that nailed the spirit of the assignment: /u/LitCityBlues, with an ending that reinforced the theme with great characterization and tone that addressed the brief with all the right notes. And two honorable mentions: /u/ChineseArtist, with a story we can’t wait to follow in the next season, and not just because we’re all in it. =P And /u/Ryter99, never failing to put a smile on our faces with the antics of the unflappable Sir Jamsen and his trusty assistant. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ **The Rules:** * In the comments below submit a story that is between **500 - 850** words in your own original universe. * Submissions are limited to ***one*** submission from each author per week. * **Each author should comment on at least 2 other stories** during the course of the week. * That comment must include ***at least one*** **detail** about what the author has done well. * Authors who successfully finish a serial lasting longer than 8 installments will be featured with a modpost recognizing their completion and a flair banner on the sub. * Authors are eligible for this highlight post only if they have followed the 2 feedback comments per thread rule. *Yes, we will check*. * While content rules are more lax here at /r/ShortStories, we’re going to roll with the loose guidelines of "vaguely ***family friendly***" being the rule of thumb for now. If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, feel free to modmail! * Saturdays we will be hosting a Serials Campfire on the main voice lounge. Join us to read your story aloud, hear other stories, and share your own thoughts on serial writing! We start on Saturdays at 9AM CST. **Don’t worry about being late, just join!** There’s a *Super Serial* role on the Discord server, so make sure you grab that so you’re notified of all Serial Saturday related news! **Join the** **to chat with prompters, authors, and readers!** Have you seen the? No? Oh boy! Here's the current cycle's challenge schedule.


This story may be sensitive to anyone who has suffered a miscarriage. I remember it like it was yesterday, the future I almost had. It’s nothing compared to the future that lies in front of me, but I still mourn it. I stare at myself in the mirror, a woman ready to conquer the world, and my mind flashes to the events that led me to this moment. It was the middle of January, my senior year in high school. At home, in the bathroom, I anxiously stare at the thin, white, plastic strip, waiting to see whether or not a pink stripe will appear. A plethora of thoughts and fears race through my mind, and even with the few silver linings that come up, this is not something that I wanted or expected. “What if I am pregnant?” I think to myself. “Sure, I’m eighteen years old, but Tony is married! He would never want or be able to raise a baby with me! Also, how will I tell my mother? She doesn’t know about my relationship with him, and she would flip out if she found out that her only daughter is sleeping with a married man and she’s having his baby.” My mom knows Tony but doesn’t know about the depths of our relationship. My professional relationship with him began when I was sixteen years old. I applied for a job at a new cafe that opened in town because I wanted to earn my own money. My mother is a single parent, and I have always admired all that she’s done to take care of me, but since I became old enough to work, I wanted to help ease the financial burden on her. Tony owns the cafe, and when he interviewed me, he offered me the position almost right away. I worked with him for two years, and over the last year we’ve become really close. He even offered me a way to make extra money as babysitter to his three-year-old daughter when he and his wife wanted to go out, so I took him up on it. His wife even loved me, and I’m feeling that betrayal a lot more heavily now than I ever did. One night, we were closing the cafe together, alone, and one thing led to another. That was three months ago. And now here we are, my whole future dependent on a six-dollar piece of plastic. I wait for what feels like an hour but is actually only a few minutes, and finally time is up. I stare in disbelief. I’m pregnant. I’m going to have a married man’s baby. This can’t be real. You play, you pay, girlfriend. My thoughts are snarky and not very helpful, but they’re right. This is my fault, but it’s also his. How do I tell him? Do I tell him? Or do I just go at this alone and hope for the best? I suppose I can give it up for adoption, because if I have a baby at eighteen, there goes all hopes of college. Oh no, college!! I was supposed to start Ithaca College in the fall. I was going to pick my courses over the summer, and I was going to live on campus and finally do something that no one in my family has ever accomplished. And now that’s all gone, because I can’t live on campus with a newborn. Geez, what have I done? As much as I admired all that my mother has done in raising a child on her own, I never wanted her life. Yet here I am, following in her steps. The only difference: the man she had sex with wasn’t married. Good going Grace, you idiot. My thoughts really need to shut up. Standing in the bathroom, I feel my heart rate increase, my hands start trembling, and my breathing becomes labored. “So, this is what a panic attack feels like.” I think to myself. I need to stop dwelling on this and take action, before I let the panic paralyze me. What should I do first? Tell my mom? Tell Tony? Buy another pregnancy test to confirm the results of this one? I can have another test done, but I don’t have to buy one. I’ll go to Planned Parenthood and have them check me out. Now I have a plan, I just need to put it into action. “Maybe the test was a false positive and things will actually be ok.” I pray to myself. I pick up the offending piece of plastic and the box it came in, rush downstairs, and bury them deep into the garbage can so no one will see them. Then I head out the door and walk the five blocks to my town’s Planned Parenthood. My mom won’t be home for at least an hour and a half, so I have time to do this. Less than an hour later, I walked back into my house. According to the doctor at Planned Parenthood, I am pregnant, about six or seven weeks. My due date will be somewhere between August and September, but I have to go back in a couple weeks to have the date narrowed down. I go into the kitchen and start cooking dinner for my mother and me: fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans. That seems like a comforting meal, which is what I need today. While I’m preparing the food, my heart sinks and my body goes numb. My mother is going to be livid. Tony will probably never speak to me again, or he’ll try to convince me to get rid of the baby. The life I had wanted for myself is no longer a possibility, and that thought is devastating. As I place the first pieces of chicken into the frying pan, I hear my mom walk through the door. She heads into the kitchen, greeting me with “Mmmm, something smells good.” and we chat about her day while I set the table and finish cooking. After we sit down and start eating, I decide that I’m not going to tell anyone about the baby yet. I’m barely two months pregnant, and I probably won’t show until I’m closer to five or six months, being chubby does have its perks. I take a bite of my chicken and silently pray that I don’t experience any morning sickness, otherwise everyone will know I’m pregnant. I stare at the beautiful lavender dress I’m wearing. It hides my expanding belly with its frilly layers, and I’m thankful that I’m still able to hide my baby bump. Time has flown by so quickly; I can’t believe that tonight is prom night. I’m even more surprised at how easy this pregnancy has been on me these last twelve weeks. Other than excessive fatigue, some weight gain, and the occasional swelling, there really hasn’t been any evidence to tip anyone off that I’m almost five months pregnant. I never even dealt with morning sickness. I’ve always been chubby, so my weight gain could easily be explained away as stress from senior year. I twirl in front of the mirror and watch as the skirt of my dress floats around me. With my hair professionally done in a half-updo with springy curls, my makeup making me look like a movie star, and my perfectly poofy dress accessorized with my modest heels, I am ready for tonight. I know I’ll probably be bare foot by the end of the night, but that’s ok. I’ll keep the shoes on for my entrance, pictures, and when I leave. The rest of the night I’ll be barefoot and pregnant. The wording of that makes me giggle to myself, even though this is no laughing matter. I hear a knock at the door, and I know it’s my date. I asked Trey, one of my best male friends, to come with me to prom. Since he’s a year younger than me, and most of his friends are seniors, I figured this would be a great way for all of us to go to prom together. I walk downstairs to open the door, being extra mindful of my heels and how easy it would be for me to trip and break my neck. I make it safely to the landing and open the door. He’s standing in front of me, extremely handsome in his tux and holding a beautiful light pink tulip corsage to go with my dress. My mother takes some pictures of us together and sends us on our way. Senior prom was everything I hoped it would be, with the exception of having Trey as my date instead of Tony. Since I found out I was pregnant, I reduced my communication with Tony to only work-related topics, and he didn’t seem to mind. He still doesn’t know that I’m pregnant, so I guess that’s all I need to know about how he feels about me. I shouldn’t be wishing that he was here with me at prom, so I’m not going to dwell on that tonight. It’s my prom, I’m here with a wonderful friend, and we look stunning. I’m going to forget about married men, babies, and ruined futures for one night and enjoy myself. The food was delicious. The music was perfect. We danced most of the night. I was right about my shoes, they came off once we started the group dances. All of our friends were there and we laughed so much during the group dances, especially the electric slide, because Trey kept turning left when he should have been going right. I couldn’t have asked for a better prom. When Trey and I decided we wanted to leave, I put my shoes back on, my swollen feet protesting against the straps. We stepped outside the venue into the night air and headed towards the concrete steps that lead to the parking lot. He offered me his arm, but I told him to go ahead and start the car and I’ll meet him there. I know I’m going to be slow going down the steps, so I don’t want him to have to wait. And this way, I’ll be able to jump into the car and take my shoes off again as soon as I get inside. Trey got a few steps ahead of me as I began to descend the stairs. I don’t know what triggered the next set of events. Maybe I was tired from all the dancing, or I was unaware of how unsteady I was with my swollen feet in heels, or the pregnancy made me lose my equilibrium, but my right foot twisted under me until I felt a painful pressure on my ankle. I tried to catch myself on the wall of concrete that runs up the side of the steps like a rail, but I couldn’t get a strong enough grip to keep myself from falling. I leaned too far to the right, then I tried to correct my balance but I overcorrected with my left foot and missed the step. My left foot kept going down the staircase as my right foot bent underneath me. I fell down the remaining steps, hitting what felt like every part of my body, and landed at the bottom on my left side. I couldn’t move due to the pain, but I heard Trey yelling my name, and screaming for someone to call an ambulance. The last thing I remembered thinking was “I shouldn’t have put my shoes back on.” Then everything went dark. I woke up in a hospital bed, my mom sitting at my side, a look of relief on her face, and some other expression. Anger? Disappointment? Is she mad that I fell down some stairs and hurt myself.? “What happened?” I asked, because it was the only thing I could think of to say that would help me determine her mood, and find out how badly I’m injured. I must be drugged up because I don’t feel a lot of pain, but my ankle is in a cast, my head feels foggy, and there’s an uncomfortable feeling in my lower abdomen. “Well,” my mother starts off, and I know this tone. She’s about to tell me something that made her angry. That tone is usually followed by me being grounded, so I wait for the bomb to drop. “You fell down the stairs last night at your prom, you broke your ankle, you have a concussion, you broke a rib, and you lost the baby you’ve been carrying for the last five months . The baby that you never told me about. The doctors weren’t aware of it either, until it was too late. If they had known sooner, they might have been able to save it.” Oh, shit. She knows about the baby. Wait, I lost the baby? A spectrum of emotions run through me, and I don’t know which one is dominant because they all seem to be equal in intensity. Fear, grief, pain (both internal and external), guilt, and...is that...relief? Relief that I’m not pregnant? Wow, I am a horrible person. I was looking forward to meeting my baby, but now that will never happen. The future I was planning, the innocent life I was excited to meet, all gone. I am equal parts devastated and relieved, and the part of me that feels relief has increased my self loathing exponentially. Even more so than when I found out that I was pregnant with a married man’s baby. A lump rises in my throat as tears fill my eyes and start streaming down my cheeks. “I’m so sorry mom. I didn’t know how to tell you, or anyone, about the baby. I was planning to tell you after I graduated, because I didn’t want you to think that having this baby meant that I wouldn’t finish high school.” “But what about college?” she asked. As an afterthought, she added “And who is the father? Is it Trey?” “I know I wouldn’t be able to attend college in the fall, but I was planning to start community college next spring, get a job, and work on my degree while taking care of the baby. It would be hard, I know, but I was prepared to do it.” I intentionally ignored the question about who the father is, because I really did not want to get into that. “ I guess it doesn’t matter now.” I say, and let the grief wash over me as I mourn the future with the baby that I already love and will never get to meet. Here I stand now, six years after that dreadful time, staring at the woman I’ve become. I remember how the doctor informed me that my baby was a girl, and when I fell down the stairs at prom, my stomach was hit with such force that it caused the placenta to rupture, and she died in the womb. Since no one knew about the baby when I arrived at the hospital, and since I was unconscious, the doctors didn’t know that she should have been their first priority. By the time they realized I was pregnant, it was too late. They aborted the lifeless baby while I was unconscious and they were attending to my other injuries. I decided to name her Adrianna Marie, and gave her my last name. Even though she’ll never be around to carry it, my baby will never have Tony’s last name attached to hers. He found out about my accident since I was unable to work for six weeks. Incidentally, he found out about the baby and one day he made a comment about how he’s “glad I’m not having it anymore”. That was when I decided to end our relationship, my employment with him, and my desire to ever sleep with a married man again. I didn’t follow my original plan to attend Ithaca College, but I did go to college. I got my four year degree, got into law school, and am finally graduating. In the mirror, I adjust my cap, zip up my gown, and head out to meet up with my fellow graduates to take our seats. During the commencement speech, I think about the future that I almost had. A future that I wasn’t expecting, but would have happily accepted. My little girl would be almost six years old now, and even though I’m sure I wouldn’t have gone to law school, I know that my life would have been full of accomplishments and love. I hear the Dean call my name, and I walk across the stage to receive my degree. As I grab the piece of paper and walk to the other side of the stage, I think to myself “Adrianna, this is for you baby girl. I hope you’re proud of your mama.” and I look out into the crowd, catching a glimpse of my mother’s smiling face...pride glimmering in her eyes.


Mark’s Drawing Sam W. Joseph March 10, 2022 The old man sat in his rocking chair staring at the television set, but not seeing it. He was unaware of the story being portrayed, as his mind was on other things. He noticed that happening more and more lately. Much of his time was spent thinking about past events. Good times, bad times, in between times. He often thought about his son Mark. He had been a good son and for the most part was a delight to have around. That is, until August 1970, when Mark came home one day and announced that he had enlisted in the Navy. They had had a big argument about it and the old man’s wife had taken Mark’s side. “He’s a grown man,” she said emphatically as she tugged on a strand of her hair. Her husband knew she did that when she was nervous. “At least we could have talked about it before he signed the papers. Viet Nam is a dangerous place and service people are getting injured and killed there every day.” “Dad, we’re talking about freedom and liberty. Those commies are looking to knock over every country in Southeast Asia. First thing you know they’ll be on our doorstep. We can’t let that happen. I just don’t feel right about other guys going over there and defending our American right to freedom and liberty and me sitting at home doing nothing,” Mark said with exasperation. “Yeah, well I raised you. Your Mom suckled you. Your country didn’t do that. Your allegiance is to this family first. I didn’t raise you to go off and get killed in some god forsaken place. Besides those Viet Cong ain’t done nothing to me.” At that time, a large segment of the American population agreed with him. There were a number of protests in cities across the country. College students were staging sit-ins and marching in the streets. American servicemen were being disrespected in their own country. Mark persisted and soon the day came for him to leave for boot camp. His Mother shed tears over his leaving and his Dad hardly said a word to him. Finally he spoke up. “Do you need anything. Do you have enough money?” “No, I’m good.” “Let us know if you need anything.” “Do you need a ride to the bus station?” He was scheduled to catch the noon Greyhound to Great Lakes Naval Station in Michigan. “No, Buddy ‘s going to stop by and take me.” “Is Cindy going to the station with you?” his Mom asked, referring to his girlfriend since high school. Everyone figured they would eventually get hitched. “No, we talked about it last night. She’s not going to the station. She’s staying at home. She’s rather upset with me. She doesn’t like my enlisting anymore than you do, but she said she’d wait for me to come back. She said she’d like to come and visit once-in-awhile, if that’s okay with you.” “Why should we mind. She’s a lovely girl and we like her a great deal. She’s welcome anytime, ” his Mom replied. His Dad looked at the wall and pointing to an empty frame, he said, “What about that sketch you’re doing of the family. Are you going to finish it while you’re gone?” he asked, his brow furrowed. “Nah, I’ll do that when I get back.” “I guess I can put up with people asking about that empty frame. I sure thought that picture would be ready by now. It’s kind of like having people asking a pregnant woman in her ninth month over and over again, when she’s going to have her baby. Okay, I’ll leave it right there until you get back. I’m not taking it down.” “I’ll finish it. I promise.” A horn honked out in the driveway. “That’s Buddy, I’ve got to go.” Mark hugged his parents, picked up his bag and was out the door. They followed him and watched as he jumped into the old Ford pickup and exchanged jibes with his friend. The truck started down the road and they waved to him until he was out of sight. Both were crying and they hugged each other, knowing now it was just them. It was the last time they would ever see him. “Are you coming in?” she asked; her shoulders drooping a little more than usual. “No, I think I’ll sit out on the porch for a bit,” he said as he sat in the old rocking chair, taking out his Meerschaum pipe and filling it with his favorite aromatic tobacco before lighting it. As he enjoyed the aroma of the pipe smoke, he could also detect the delectable swell of honeysuckle in the air. He looked out over the cornfield with stalks swaying in the breeze, their lush ears of corn showing off their lovely tassels of yellow, amber and brown. “Harvest won’t be the same this year without Mark,” he thought slowly scratching his cheek. He looked up at the beautiful blue, cloudless, Colorado sky and sighed as he wondered, “What the hell is this world coming to. You spend twenty years raising a son to live a full life and contribute to this world and the next thing you know he’s going off to war in some part of the world you’ve never heard of before.” He shrugged and suddenly, felt very tired. He tamped the burnt tobacco out of his pipe, thumping it against his palm and watched the warm ashes drift to the ground. He put the pipe in his jacket pocket and went inside. His wife was preparing supper and he noticed that she had absent- mindedly prepared the table for three people. He reminded her that Mark wouldn’t be there. She said, “I know that. Mark’s girlfriend Cindy is coming over to have supper with us. She’s off to school in New York City tomorrow and wanted to spend her last night here with us. ___________________________________ Six months later the two of them were sitting on the couch of their living room with its flowered wall paper and patterned rug, each crying softly. The Naval officer had just left after delivering the news that Mark had been killed during an explosion in a gun turret of the ship on which he was serving, the USS Reagan. Mark and other gunnery mates on his team had died instantly. ____________________________________ Returning to the present, the old man gathered his wits and decided he’d better tidy up, because his case worker was due for her weekly visit. He looked forward to it. With Mark and his wife now gone over twenty years and Cindy busy doing whatever she was doing these days, it was kind of lonely, just him and the TV. His wife Mary had left him shortly after Mark died. Her heart just broke. Cindy still stayed in touch with him after all these years but not as often as she would have liked. She remained unmarried living with the memory of her one true love, Mark. The case worker was a very friendly young woman, brown hair falling about her shoulders, blue eyed, carefully plucked eyebrows, and medium height. She wore a sleeveless blue blouse, tucked into well- fitting Levis and the latest model Saucony walking shoes. She was very good at what she did and he liked her. “Hello,” she said, as she surveyed the room. It was essentially the same as when his wife had died, twenty years earlier. He managed to keep it maintained to some degree of semblance as his meticulous wife had for so many years, but failed in many ways. She would not have approved of his efforts. They chatted for about a half hour and then the case worker prepared lunch for them. It was the best he had had since she was there the week before. After cleaning up the dishes, she asked if she could do anything more for him, as she looked around the room. She gazed at the empty frame on the wall, as she did on all her visits and asked, “Are you ever going to take that frame down?” “No, I’m leaving it up there and before you ask ‘Why?’, I’ll tell you. It reminds me of one of the stupidest mistakes I ever made. My son went off to war and his last remembrance of me was that I was angry with him. I just wish I could have one more conversation with him to tell him how much I love him. “I can understand that. We all have regrets.” With that she departed, saying, “I will see you next week”. __________________________ She arrived punctually the following week and knocked on the door. She was surprised when Cindy appeared at the door. “Oh, hi, I’m Mr. Johnson’s case worker, Judy Johannson. Can I come in.” “Yes, but I’m afraid he’s not here. He died three days ago.” “I’m so sorry to hear that he passed away. He was such a nice man. Is there anything I can do to help?” “No, I don’t think so. He had made most of the arrangements in advance so as not to bother anyone. Everything seems to be in order. I’m just tidying up a few things” They chatted for awhile longer and as Judy was standing up to leave her eyes once again turned to the empty picture frame. To her amazement, there was a beautifully done sketch of the Johnson family filling the frame. It was done with a larger profile of Mark looking down at the family from the sky. It was marvelous, and it left Judy breathless. “Where did this come from?” she asked. “I did it. Mr. Johnson never seemed to understand. He always told people that I was in New York City going to college, when actually I was at the New York Academy of Art studying for a degree in fine arts. I have a studio now in town. I was doing this sketch for Mr. Johnson to give to him as a surprise. Unfortunately, he died before I could give it to him. I thought it would be appropriate to put it in the frame. I believe Mark would have liked that. “That’s such a wonderful gesture,” Judy said. A tear ran down her cheek, as she stared at the art work. As they exited the house, she looked up at the beautiful, blue, cloudless, Colorado sky and said to Cindy, “Somehow, I feel that all three of them are up there looking down at us and nodding their heads in approval.” Driving down the road to her next appointment, Judy thought about all that she had experienced over the last six years since taking the job and the many people she had met. Every day seemed to present some new, unusual experience and what a day this had been.