I stared at the lottery ticket all morning, it had gotten ashy from the dust it gathered during the week, untouched. In the bin sat several scrunched up pieces of paper, each of them containing a few different number combinations, none of which I felt confident enough to use. I wondered why I got it in the first place. At first, I thought it’d be a lucky week, my lucky week, which turned into a lucky Friday with every piece of paper that landed in the trash. It was 8 o’clock. I knew that because the alarm had rung exactly 12 times since I woke up. I looked at the lottery ticket once more but gave up halfway. I figured I could just think about it during the day, perhaps a lucky charm would give me some insight into the secret behind the lottery and I’d feel it, right before the draw took place. So, I put it in my jacket’s inner pocket and left for work. The street was livelier than usual, perhaps it was the sun we hadn’t seen in a couple of days, announcing itself as the lucky break I wished for, although I was convinced it was because it was a Friday, everyone loves Fridays. Just in front of me, a mime pretended to be stuck on a box, pretty convincingly too. I wondered how you discover you have such a talent. At the end of the block, a crowd formed around a young girl singing. I couldn’t quite make out what she was singing because of the crowd’s roar but the melody somewhat resembled The Turtles’ classic Happy Together . The first customers started to flood the stores along the streets, half of which had big red leaflets advertising their “50% off” deals. *** The sun shone on the building’s marble façade, almost quintessentially so, drying away the layer of rain that had laid there the previous night. People in suits funnelled into the building. You could always tell apart the staff from the customers by the smile on their faces, for staff had that hopefully-I-can-leave-an-hour-early smile that brought them to work early on a Friday morning, whereas customers showed no emotion, sometimes letting off little tics of annoyance and hastiness. A funny observation, I thou--. “Hey, Jacob!” A cheerful voice interrupted my train of thought. I turned around. “Oh, hey, Charlotte.” She was wearing her burgundy tight-cut dress that morning, I like that dress. “Early too, huh ?” “Can’t help it, it’s a Friday.” I laughed, she giggled back. We walked through the broad hallway, greeting everyone with a slight nod as we moved past them. I thought that might increase my chances, in hopes that if the balance of good and evil was perfectly even, luck would befall me that day. “You going up too?” Charlotte asked. “Yeah, 20th floor.” “I guess we’re saving the elevator a round trip today then.” “Meetings straight away, is it?” “That obvious, huh ?” She laughed. Charlotte squirmed in place, twisting the tip of her hairs around her fingers into curls as the platform rose from the ground floor -- nervousness for her meetings, I assumed. The elevator radio had finally started working again, blasting away with the best elevator music one could ask for, occasionally stopping to run the important announcements of the day--mostly company propaganda reminding us of how lucky we were to spend our days at the office. And just like that, on a beautiful, sunny Friday, everything just works again, all I needed now was those dammed numbers. The doors opened at the apex of some jazz song, likely by Louis Armstrong or Ray Charles, I should probably know the difference, maybe I’ll get around to it, with a piñacolada on my left hand by a beach in the Bahamas once I win that lottery, sipping from one of those swirly straws as the waves crash in tune with the song--. An arm appeared from behind as we left the elevator, forcing me out of my own thoughts. I didn’t even need to turn my head to know who it was. “Hey, Chris,” I said as I struggled to unwrap the deathtrap around my neck. “Jacob, my man!” He yelled, louder than he should’ve. He looked over my shoulder, “Charlotte! Beautiful as ever in that red dress,” he said just as loud. “It’s burgundy,” I pointed out but was blissfully ignored. “Alright Charlie-boo, I’m gonna take this one now,” He locked me under his cologne-full armpit and pulled me away, “come on, man, when are you gonna hit that?” “Hit wha--” “Charlotte, man, if she was anymore over you, she’d be sitting on your lap.” “Shut up.” He spun me around and we faced Charlotte, probably dislocating some of my neck vertebrae. “Just look at her.” He whispered. She was still standing by the elevator, looking around before she spotted us. She probably thought we looked like creeps and I can’t blame her. She looked cute, but I’d already established that so I didn’t really know what he wanted me to be seeing. He stared at my confused face before finally speaking. “Alright, see the way she plays around with her hair? Or the way she smiles at you like you’re some kind of unicorn? Or maybe how she laughs at every dumb thing your say or do? Those are all signs, man.” I smiled back at her and gave one of those I-will-probably-see-you-around-the-office waves. “I think I’d see it if there were any signs,” I told Chris. “Whatever, man, just tryna help you score here.” “How about you help me score something else?” I proposed. His eyes lit up, clearly waiting for something else, “I like where you’re going with this.” I took the lottery ticket out of my jacket pocket, now clearly worn out, with its corners slightly bent, probably a sign I should use it as soon as possible. “What numbers will get me to win this?” “You’re no fun,” he sighed. “Whatever. So?” “So what?” He asked, clearly oblivious of what I’d asked him. “The numbers, which ones?” “I must’ve forgotten to take my fortune cookie costume out, dammit!” He teased. “Whatever, I’ll just win without you.” “You do you, man. Just don’t forget me when you’re rich, eh?” He laughed, “gotta go now, give Charlotte a smooch for me, will ya?” “Yeah, yeah, see you around.” We walked together for a short second before parting ways. Chris had an office, a synonym of when people work for you, which basically meant that he’d probably be able to leave just in time to enjoy his Friday, no doubt teasing me for staying late in the process. I walked exactly 32 steps to get to my cubicle, a relevant detail considering it was 1 less than the usual, probably a result of a lucky day like this one. The desk was just as boring, though, same old Victorian computer, mouse, keyboard, plastic plant, a mountain of papers (no doubt gently laid down by my generous boss) and several sticky notes hanging from the monitor. I let out an exasperated sigh and started flipping through the papers, hoping one of them would contain the secret key to riches. *** The crimson afternoon sun decorated the cubicle in warm tones, its splendour only slightly dimmed by the bright office lights. I glanced resentfully at the flurry of emails on the computer screen, one of those things that can either take a few minutes or a few millennia, wondering how sick I’d need to look if I wanted to get out earlier. A soft knock bounced around the thin walls of the cubicle, startling me. Charlotte’s head popped up on the side. “Sorry,” she said, in a voice even softer, “didn’t mean to.” “That’s fine, I was looking for an excuse not to think about it anyway. You done for the day, are you?” “Yeah, just finished, you?” “Yeah.” “Okay then.” At the far end of the office, Chris flailed his arms around, trying to get my attention. Once he got it, he started kissing his hand, passionately, awkwardly even and then pointed at Charlotte before resuming the make-out session with his hand. Charlotte turned around to leave and the light started flickering above me. Once I looked back, Chris was already gone. I glanced at the computer screen once again, then at the flickering light in the ceiling, it was doing so 2 times, maybe 3, yes, 3 times a second, I wondered if it meant something, maybe some weird kind of morse code. I looked one last time at the email inbox before it became clear that I couldn’t work like that, it was clearly fate for it to flicker like that, or maybe I just didn’t want to. “Tell you what,” I told her just before she left, “wanna grab something to eat? What time is it anyway?” Flustered, she looked at her right hand looking for a watch, before falling back to her left once she realized, “6-6 o’clock.” “Exactly, about time we grab a bite, what do you say?” “Y-yeah, of course.” The sun had set even further when we left the building but the streets were no less lively than when we got in. We barely walked before going into the convenience store on the other side of the street. I walked alongside Charlotte, a double-bacon sandwich on my left hand and barbecue-flavoured chips on my right, as she patrolled the aisles looking for something to eat. “What are your plans for tonight?” She asked, the uncertainty in her voice made it seem as though she’d been thinking about that question for a while. “Shi-sorry-crap, I completely forgot about it!” I took the lottery ticket out once again, it was now folded in half, its corners white. She laughed. “What’s the time?” She exaggerated her motion, making sure I saw she’d taken the right arm this time around, “6:40,” she said. “Dammit. I’ll meet you at the till.” I said before storming off. I could hear her laughing behind me, masked in between the sound of chips bags being crushed. It didn’t take long to get to the till, I’m sure it didn’t, although it certainly felt as though the tore had gotten bigger since we got in. I put the worn ticket on the counter, “Could you give me a pen, please? I’d like to fill this in.” The cashier looked at the clock above the door, it marked 6.42 p.m, then looked at me as if I were a madman. She was a brash-looking woman in her forties, maybe fifties, I couldn’t tell, Margaret was her name according to the name tag on her uniform, clearly too tired to have any sense of urgency. She began scrambling behind the desk for a pen, slowly, very slowly. A few seconds went by, maybe minutes, at that point it felt just the same. A hand approached my field of vision, Charlotte’s hand, holding a blue pen with a daisy on top stuck together by a small spring. “Any ideas?” I asked Charlotte. She raised her shoulders, “I don’t know, just put the first numbers that pop up in your head.” I looked at the clock one last time, there were but a few seconds left. I began scribbling on the ticket, numbers that if anyone asked me, I wouldn’t be able to say where they came from, but they did. I took one last glance at it before handing it to the cashier, it read 8-12-50-20-32-3-6 . Margaret, I hope she wouldn’t mind for me to address her that way, put the ticket onto the machine and began tapping on a computer screen much better than the one in my cubicle. I looked at the clock, unwillingly tapping my finger against the counter, it was past 6:45 p.m, just by a few seconds, the limit to enter the draw, but Margaret didn’t look too phased. “Don’t worry, it’s ahead by a minute.” She said in a single, uninterested, tone. I grabbed Charlotte’s left hand. Her watch showed just past 6:44 p.m. That’s it, if any signs had shown me how and when to deposit the ticket, that was the one that proved to me I’d just entered the draw with the lucky numbers. I could feel the smile widen on my face, I’m sure I looked like an idiot, soon-to-be a rich idiot. The till beeped and a receipt came out, it was official. We walked along with the energetic crowd before turning onto a quieter alley. We sat down to enjoy our food, for me, the last piece of food that wasn’t caviar. “So,” she said before taking her first bite, “any plans?” “I’ll probably spend the night writing my resignation letter and picking a new limousine.” She laughed, “And what is it gonna look like, the limousine?” “Black, obviously, everyone has a black one. Maybe I should get a white one too, I’ll add it to the list.” “Got space for one more in that limousine of yours?” I nodded up and down as I chewed my bacon-filled sandwich. She kept looking at me, inquisitively. I wondered if she was expecting me to add something more, or maybe an entirely different answer. The all-encompassing ringtone of the church bell, albeit muddied by the sound of street chatter, started to announce the time once we got up from the small bench we’d installed ourselves on. As we resumed our walk through the busy streets, the sun now completely gone from the skyline, the theme song of the lottery caught our attention. It came from a small tech store displaying a few TV screens, all of which had the same program on. “So,” Charlotte started, softly, “do you want to celebrate your win somewhere afterwards?” I didn’t answer even though I heard every word for my eyes were glued to the TV screen. The draw lady, whatever her name was, wore a blue dress with white vertical stripes, one I hadn’t seen before. I wondered if someone like her could just get a new dress every time, and whether or not I’d be able to do so as well. Small numbered balls bumped against each other as the lady turned the transparent wheel. A broad smile escaped my poker face as the number 32 ball fell from the wheel, I could already see the black and white limousines parked by my new mansion. But then, one by one, as the balls fell onto the display plate, the smile on my face diminished until it was no more. In the end, the 32 ball was the only one that corresponded to what I’d predicted. “Next time, eh?” Charlotte said, cheerfully. I wondered if I’d misread any of the signs given to me, or if there were no signs at all in the first place. I wondered if the perfect conditions I’d encountered that day would replicate themselves at some point and if I’d be bold enough to try again once they did-- Charlotte got closer, “Oh you...” She said before glueing her lips against mine. It took a few seconds for me to realize what had happened, and a few seconds longer to understand how we’d gotten there-- and even then I wouldn’t be able to say how. My stomach flourished, I hadn’t felt that in a long while. She took a step back. Her face looked brighter than usual, prettier than usual. I glanced behind there, at the TV screens, the result of the draw still lingered on them. I wondered why, even though I’d lost, despite what I thought were obvious signs, I still felt like I’d won. “Tell you what, how about that celebration?” I said.


Restaurant The Phenomenal View "Are we almost there?" Tom wearily pushed aside a branch. We had been walking around the forest for a few hours. It was our last destination. "I hope it's worth it," I muttered to myself. Tom had been in a bad mood all day. The journey had been long. I knew he wouldn't admit it, but he was homesick. And I understood it. We had been traveling for six months and not all destinations had been worth it. I'm just more of a traveler than he is, by now that was clear. I straightened up, pulled on the strap of my backpack and walked on. Tom rumbled behind me in his bag. "I checked the map again." I sighed. "We are almost there. We have followed all the steps. Let's go through for half an hour, okay?" I stopped to catch his eye. "If we don't find it, we'll go back." Tom nodded. He folded the map back up, but didn't put it away. We walked on, he kept the map in his hand. My watch indicated that it was half past three. If we walked too long, we wouldn't be back at the car before dark. We had been seduced by the travel stories. A bright spot in the middle of the forest, it sounded so beautiful. After hours of walking you would arrive at a lake. A lake where all the animals from the forest came together peacefully. A lake that immediately took you into an unreal feeling. As if you stepped into a fairytale. I definitely wanted to be the first one to photograph the location. That's why I brought Tom, he was the photographer. I took care of the beautiful locations and the texts. The only footage that existed of the location was some drawings of missing travelers. A few descriptions. I did not understand why there were no photos. What I did know is that this would change today. In good spirits I stepped on quickly. We were going to take the picture. Suddenly I felt Tom standing still behind me. Irritated, I turned around. I expected him to be looking at the map again, but he was staring at something to his right. His eyes were narrowed and his mouth hung slightly open. Slowly I walked back and stood beside him. 'What is it?' I followed his gaze. // Newspaper article: Restaurant The Phenomenal View Tom and Anna. They would return last week, only they have announced that they will extend their trip. Anna has contacted her family through short messages and let them know what Restaurant The Phenomenal View looks like and that they are safe. A quote: "Tom and I are happy here and have decided to extend our trip." The traveling couple's families and fans were looking forward to their return home. Their grief and disbelief can be felt. "We expected them to come home on Monday. They never arrive later than discussed, so we were all very worried. Fortunately we heard three days later that they were safe, but we regret that we no longer can listen to all the adventures." So Anna's father spoke. // It was phenomenal. I stared at the huge lake in front of me. Twilight had started around us. Tom and I automatically walked to the only light we saw. There were large letters at the top of the building: The Phenomenal View. We walked over the strip of sand. Tom carefully opened the door. "Welcome, Tom and Anna!" A woman with a purple flower in her hair came running up. Her arms were spread, a warm welcome. "We've been waiting for you for dinner. Come on in, put your bag aside." Her red dress swung around her as she turned and indicated the filled table. We heard all kinds of languages mixed together. In disbelief, we walked to the filled table. The smells of dishes from all over the world came to me. One by one, the guests at the table looked at us. Each with a smile on their face. I quickly looked at Tom to see if he had seen it.


July 15th, 1821 Oh how the sun was shining! Everything its light touched was illuminated in a cast of gold and silver. The blue sky stretched endlessly over the scattered cottages which made up the quaint little town of Newbay. Newbay was a small little town nestled in the middle of a large thick forest. Almost everyone in the town knew each other, and everyone lived harmoniously and happily. Each working to better himself, and help his neighbors. “C’mon Sarah!” Austin Harrington, a handsome young man yelled as his eyes sparkled with joy. His auburn hair glowing like fire in the late afternoon sun. “Austin!” A laughing young woman with bright blue eyes said as she walked up to Austin. Sarah Obrien, was beautiful today, her caramel hair falling in spirals down the back of her butter yellow frock. Austin smiled, his green eyes reflecting the colours of the trees around them. And taking her soft hand in his, the two walked side by side “Where are we going?” Sarah asked joyously as she brushed a stray string of her hair off of her freckled face. Austin looked up into the azure sky and smiled. Sarah tilted her head curiously and awaited his response. “Do you remember the first time I kissed you?” Austin asked, his lips spreading into a smile across his face. Sarah let her face fill with happiness as she remembered that wonderful moment. The feeling of his soft lips pressed against hers, his warm breath against her face, his strong arms wrapping her up in his warm embrace. Yes, she remembered, almost too well. Sarah nodded, letting the joyous sounds of the forest envelope them. The sound of the mid summer breeze blowing through the boughs of the trees. The mockingbirds’ happy chatter as they fluttered just above them. “Yes, I remember, and I always will.” Sarah said; still her hand in his as they continued to walk through the forest. How enchanting that day was, everything was perfect. How the sunrays sifted through the overhanging leaves, and fell onto the forest floor in intricate designs and shapes was beautiful. The two continued to walk, passing through thickets and little clear patches of forest. The sights and sounds of the wood transporting them to pure a land of pure bliss. Then, as suddenly as they had started walking, Austin came abruptly to a stop. “What’s wrong Austin?” Sarah said, slight concern flashing across her face. Though she reassured herself that nothing could be that bad as to ruin their perfect day. A smile spread across Austin’s handsome face as he turned to her. “Close your eyes.” He said barely above a whisper, mischief glittering in his bright green eyes. Sarah laughed softly, and let her eyelids fall over eyes, thrusting her into darkness. Though, she could still feel the warm sunshine on her face. Sarah felt Austin slip his hand into hers, and with a tug; led her forward. Sarah could still feel the bumps of stones under her shoes, and sometimes worried she would trip. “Almost there.” Austin said, his strong hands leading her on through her temporary world of darkness. “Almost where?” Sarah asked her eyebrows down pointing in curiosity. “You’ll see.” Was all Austin replied, pure joy hidden behind his not-so secretive response. “Ahh, here we are! Now, when I tell you; open your eyes.” Austin said, gripping Sarah’s hand, and leading her a few steps farther he stopped her once more. Sarah smiled, feeling his hand slip out of hers; and awaiting what would happen next, bit her bottom lip. Austin stepped away from Sarah, and stood looking at her standing in the clearing. Her yellow dress fluttering gracefully in the summer breeze, her caramel hair brushed carelessly over her shoulder. How enchanting his soon- to be bride looked. Then, walking up to her, Austin bent his head down and kissed her. Time seemed to stop, slowing everything down around them to a blur. The wind was no more than a far distant ocean wave, the birds; no louder than a kittens soft purr. “You can open your eyes now.” Austin whispered; pulling away from her. Sarah’s eyes fluttered open moments later, and then widened in surprise. “You found it!” Sarah exclaimed, a wave of tender joy escaped her heart. It swept in a warm flood up her arteries, like the fire of a million stars. Then, breaking into a run; Sarah ran up underneath an enormous oak tree. That spouted from the ground like a fountain. “Of course I found it! How could I ever forget?” Austin said catching up to her. The two stood silent for a couple hours, or maybe seconds. They could not tell. “I remember when we came here together,” Sarah said her eyes glazed in wistful memory, “you told me you loved me, and we carved our names into this tree.” Sarah turned to Austin who shook his head smiling. “And, the carving is still here.” Austin walked up closer to the great tree. And, in the middle of the rough bark sat a crude carving of a heart; bearing two names and a date. Austin Harrington and Sarah Obrien April 23rd, 1820 The two laughed, remembering their first moments of their life together, that would forever be illuminated in the bark of this tree; and carved in their hearts. Austin sighed contentedly, and turned to Sarah. He took her hand in his. They stood facing each other hand in hand, while the great vibrant life they were now touching so closely filled their hearts and eyes, and left them faint. They stood there, spirit-hushed, ecstatic. And from that moment on, they would get married but a day later. Raise a large, prosperous family, and live happily ever after. July 15th, 1981 “Alright kids, gather ‘round.” A tall middle aged man said as he gathered his children on a big grassy clearing; the only shade provided by a huge oak tree that towered above them. “Hey, Franklin quite messing with Annie.” The man intervened as two of his children began to quarrel. “Now, do you all know why I have gathered us here?” He asked looking his wife who was standing beside him, and all of his children in the eye. “No daddy.” Was the answer his children gave back to him. And with a smile, he began to tell a tale. “Long ago, my Great, Great Grandpa Austin, bought these fifty acres of land,” The man gestured to the land around him, “for he was to be married very soon, to a pretty little lady who went by the name of Sarah. She was my Great, Great Grandma. Anyway, he bought this land and came here with Sarah, and they carved their names into the bark of this tree.” Surprised gasps came from the little group, as they all rushed up to the tree; each trying to see the carving. One by one, the children were lifted up and got to touch carving. After everyone had gotten a chance to see the marking, their father addressed them again. “Now, your ma and I have decided that to farther honor your Great, Great, Great Grandpa and Grandma’s memory, we are to build a tree house in this here tree!” Cheers and shouts came from the little group as they set to work, building the little tree house. ~~~~ Two weeks later... “I now present to you, the Harrington family tree house!” The father shouted as he made room for all eight of his children to climb up the sturdy ladder that he had built, so that they could reach the tree house. The house, was nestled safely among the strongest, thickest branches of the tree. Its structure woven around the trunk, so that it would sway with the tree if a storm came. “This was a wonderful idea, Dan.” Dan’s wife said as she stood beside him; the two watching their children race around the safe, sturdy tree house. Dan put his arm around the back of his wife, and pulled her close to him. “It felt, right Mary. To honor them this way.” Dan smiled wistfully, how he loved his family. He wanted to make sure their life was perfect; he wanted to make sure they had nothing to fear, he wanted them to know he loved them. Mary looked up at him, and smiled. Author's note: Thank you to all who read this! Please be brutally honest about what you like and don't like! I am planning on adding more at some future time! I hope you enjoyed it!;)


My old leather belt I wake up another day to hear my rattling alarm, it's an absolutely dreadful ringing. Everytime i hear the abominable sound I cover both of my ears with my pillow. When I finally get the energy to wake up and move to the bathroom, I brush my teeth and stare into the mirror. Wondering why I’m why I’m still here, why I even try anymore. Nothing seems worth it anymore. I take a completely cold shower because I can't afford hot water at the moment. I’ve been laid off from my Nine to five job, working down at a supermarket making Eight fifty an hour. I could barely survive off of that cash, But now it's gone. I have no money, Every cent I had went towards the cheapest liquor i could find. Just so I could feed my crippling addiction. I go to the cabinet around eight thirty in the morning, I then proceed to take anywhere from two to three shots. The only way I can make it through the day is those shots. I’m done living like that. I want away from that life, I want to be better. But I simply can't. I have one shot left. I take my final drink and head for my bedroom. I went into my closet to find my belt, it was an old belt that my father wore when he was still alive. I held that belt in my hands and cried, more tears than ever before. I took that belt into my living room, and set it down on my old, worn out couch. I reached over my small dining table to grab a chair. The same dining table given to me from my sister, She had no use for it when she moved out of her studio apartment in California. She made it big with some guy she mooches off of. She’s always had it easy in life. I take that chair into the living room, and place it directly underneath a ceiling fan that was lousily installed by the maintenance crew. I then decided what I would do. I looped my fathers leather, worn out belt around my neck. I put the belt into a loop on the fan, while standing on top of my barstool. I stared into space and cried. I closed my eyes and said. “Dad, i’m finally coming to see you..” The chair wobbled out from underneath me. I feel as the belt tightens and clogs my airway. I realized what was happening. I didn't want this. I could be better. As that thought crossed my mind. I hear the chair hit the floor with a loud thump. Breaking my glass that I used for liquor. I began to panic, I didn't want to die yet, I was screaming but nothing would come out, I choked on my words and began to fall black. This is it, that would be my end; Hanging from my ceiling fan. Just as I accepted my fate, I heard a shout from my apartment door. I choked and gurgled trying to scream for them. The woman slowly opened the door, and with a loud scream. She ran over to me and threw the chair underneath me. She forced my lifeless, completely wasted body up to the chair. She then stood on it and released the belt from my red, bruising throat. I blacked out for a good thirty seconds or so, She had 911 on the way and was trying everything she could to save me. As I started to cut in and out of reality, She sat next to me and cried. She hugged my lifeless body, As I floated away. I felt as my soul, my spirit. My life, Leave my body. I was dead.


The button stood like an unhammered nail, a flourish of red amongst the blues and grays of the sleek console; an itchy mosquito bite unscratched. I looked around the cabin for a clue--some diagram or schematic that would, even tangentially, give me an excuse to push the button--but all I found was interlocking machinery patterning the walls, flush and smooth, a seamless mosaic of maddeningly unlabeled blinking lights and dimensionally-conflicting optical illusions that made my legs wobbly. I wanted to sit, but, lacking anything even remotely resembling a chair, I didn’t. It wasn’t supposed to be complicated, this temporary manning of the ship, and, to be fair, it wasn’t. Complicated. In theory. In practice, however, I needed to push the button. That was--I mean, that was it. The odds of getting a favourable outcome were slim, I knew, but what if it was a chair-button? What if I could sit at the controls of this spaceship like an adult while Captain Sleepyhead got his eight-to-ten hours of shuteye instead of pacing back and forth wildly wearing an anguished mask of indecision before slumping to the ground in a pile of jittery exhaustion? Or what if it was a button that *didn’t* immediately jettison me unprotected into the dark reaches of space, instead opening an unseen door behind which hid a fully-stocked kitchenette complete with overflowing jugs of crisp, hydrating lemonade? Wouldn’t I feel foolish if, instead of blowing up us up from the inside, the button only provided the gentle, breezy comfort of some much-needed air-conditioning? As I hovered over the button and pondered these, to me, increasingly plausible scenarios, the video-screen descended and dimmed all the cabin lights with its gravitas, leaving me to sweat silently in the crackle of flickering disconnect evident on the screen. ‘*yzzrt przzk zik kzuttin*’ My reflection flashed back at me in the interstitial moments of black between choppy almost-images before resolving into footage of me proper, leering at the camera with that smirk I use when I’m really trying to get under someone’s skin. Man--that is irritating. ‘*yzour pruzz ze bzuttin*’ I don’t look too happy on the screen. Oh, I’m smiling, in a way, but I know how it feels under that nasty grin--I’ve never made that face when I’m feeling, say, generous. Or compassionate. Or, you know, good. And I’m clearly saying something about the button, but beyond the static and interference obscuring whatever nuances the words contain, I must also necessarily decipher what’s coming out of the screen with a codex of my own idiosyncrasies. *You press the button*, question mark? *You pressed the button*, past tense? *You press the button*, command? He wants me to suffer, that me up there, but how far have I thought this through? I want me to stop looking at me like that, but I want me to push the button, don’t I? What happened to me up there that put me in that position? What if I wait it out--the captain will wake up eventually, right? Right? ‘*yzou prezkl the buttonzk*’ It wasn’t supposed to be complicated, this temporary manning of the ship, and, to be fair, it wasn’t. I would just wait. I would totally just wait and not press the button; I would stare back into my unforgiving eyes with confidence and not read too much into my subtle shifts in body language and demeanour and wait.


“I was relaxing on the sofa when she called. When I picked up, she asked me if I would make it to the party that night. I gave a generic excuse about needing to get sleep for an early morning at work the next day. Maybe I said I wasn’t feeling well. I don’t remember, but Jackie said something in response before the line cut out. It was the last time I spoke to her-” I paused before adding, “It didn’t seem unusual for the phone to give out like that. I would have called back if I had thought something might have happened.” “I knew I sounded pathetic justifying myself like that, but I was so nervous up on the stand that I couldn’t stop to think about the words I was saying before they poured out of me. I felt I was witnessing a child pull at a loose string on a knit sweater. With each tug, there was a little less of me. I felt after only a few seconds that the damage was irreparable. It was that quick. Each question I was asked pulled on a loose thread. Please state your name for the record. Tug. What was your relation to Ms. Jackie Issacson? Tug. What was your relation to Mr. Leonard Bentson? Tug. Were you aware that Ms. Issacson had the predisposition to commit financial identity fraud, extortion, and distribution of nonconsensual pornography? Tug.” “It all made a little more sense when, years later in therapy, I was told that certain events can trigger psychotic episodes in individuals, even those without any previous mental health conditions,” I closed my eyes and pretended to yawn. I was ready to change the conversation to something else. My throat was tight and my mind was congested. “And when you talked to her again, what did she say?” you asked. “She said she had done it for me,” I answered. “That’s terrible, babe. Come here, let me hold you,” you said as you pulled me into your chest. I could smell the coffee on you still. Your skin was sticky against my face. I recalled when we first started seeing each other in the fall: I would wait at the store until your shift ended and we would go back to my apartment to spend hours kissing on my sofa. Your body always tasted of salt then. You would always offer to shower and I told you I liked you better with the smell of life on you. You would apologize for spills and spots on your clothes and I told you it wouldn’t matter if we took them off. Now lying with my head burrowed into your body surrounded by the smell of life, and dried sweat, I wondered why you hadn’t showered after work today as you usually did. I was going to ask why, but sleep filled me before the words slipped from my lips. You left a note on the counter the next morning: Thanks for sharing with me last night about your ex-friend. That must have been a very tough situation for you to go through. It got me thinking it might be a good idea to invest in some more security on our computers. Maybe we can do some research together tonight. See you then. -Caleb I felt alone in the world for the next few hours. It was all-encompassing loneliness that is not demanding. I didn’t feel lacking as if I needed to be connected to the outside world, I was simply very conscious that I was not. It was a feeling that can only be brought on by the absence of any obligations and any company. I’d felt it many times before. I filled the tea kettle and turned the stove on, but when the water boiled I turned the flame off and decided to go back to bed instead. As I lay on top of the covers, I began thinking about your note, Caleb, and decided to write one in response: You really missed the point. I am not afraid of being out of control or losing my identity. Control is not something you can find once you lose it. I have lost it and there is no getting it back. Leo had lost control and pushed me down under him. Leo had forced himself in between my lips. Jackie had lost control and stolen bank account information from Leo’s desktop. And I lost control of myself on the stand. It wasn’t about home security, or computer security, or even Jackie. It was about the lawyer pulling on the string of a sweater. It was the questioning on the stand. It was about the answers that I couldn't refuse to give. It was about how I felt everything all the time as everyone does until I was nothing anymore. It was about the tugging that turned my life into lines on pages in a file in a box in a building. It was about people turning my life into sentences about legal actions and sentencing. Your note was a tug on a string of a sweater I no longer wear. I’m naked now, Caleb. Or better yet I have no body any longer. My attacker is no longer an attacker because I am no longer a victim. I am no longer anything. I can’t research identity theft protection plans with you tonight because there is no identity for me to guard. The tugging has taken the last substance from my existence this morning. I hate lawyers and I hate computers. Always and forever, I wasn't sure how to sign it. I figured I would decide on something catchy, but never did. I walked back into the kitchen and considered making something for breakfast. I touched my fingers to my lips. They were chapped and cracked. My lower lip burned in a spot I knew must be bleeding. Now I have blood, sweat, and saliva on my lips and nothing left to say.


I love my family beyond anything else in the whole world, but I’ve always wondered why my grandma never got married. She was pregnant with my mother while she was dating my grandpa a few decades ago, and he had proposed to her many times since then, but she always said no. He loved her very much so he decided to stay with her and help with the baby anyway. My mom got older, and my grandpa decided to marry someone else. He moved near our house with his beautiful bride, Elise, but he never abandoned my grandma. Elise knew how much he loved my grandma, but she also knew that even though their relationship was over, they still had a child together. She was kind and understanding about their complicated situation, and she managed to welcome my grandma into their family. Soon she became best friends with my grandma and they have stayed that way ever since. One day, as we were walking home from school, I asked my grandmother why she never wanted to get married. “Who told you I didn’t want to get married?” she let out a little laugh, then added, “Let me tell you a story, love bug.” “A love story?” “Maybe,” she said dreamily. She bought me an ice cream and we sat down on a bench under the most magnificent cherry tree. The sun looked down on her wrinkled face and big, soft eyes. Her silky white hair was glowing in the sunshine and her thin lips were slowly moving as I was listening to her sweet voice. “It might be hard for you to imagine this, buttercup, but I was your age once. I wasn’t pretty like you, but I was just pretty enough to be asked out by this crazy boy from my high school. We didn’t have any classes together, and I’d only talked to him once on my way to school. He wasn’t very handsome, his ears were huge and you could see his crocked teeth every time he smiled. But there was something with his eyes, I don’t know what it was, but I always felt this wave of reassurance and safety. But I didn’t say yes,” she paused. “What did you say?” “I said no, because I thought I was better than him. And trust me, buttercup, I couldn’t have been more wrong. Anyway, he didn’t give up, and we became friends. We went to school together, hung out after classes, went to dates together. I knew he liked me, but I kept treating him as a friend. In four years he had told me so many times that he had feelings for me and I had turned him down again and again, until he started seeing someone. That was the moment I realized I wanted to be with him. I felt angry at myself for not seeing it earlier. I have liked this boy from the moment we met, and I didn’t even know it. I knew it was too late but I still went over to tell him how I felt, because a part of me still hoped he would choose me, but he didn’t. He told me he was sorry, and that he wants to continue being friends after we finish high school. And that was the last time we ever talked to each other. High school ended and so did our friendship. I focused on university, and he got married. I haven’t heard from him since he had asked me to come to the wedding, but I was too embarrassed to go. I have always wondered what would have happened if I had said yes the first time he had asked me to be his girlfriend or whether or not it would have made a difference if I had gone to the wedding. And I have never gotten over that little boy who turned my life around and then broke my heart without me realizing that I even gave it to him. Funny like that, love bug, when you love someone, even if you’ve never even kissed them, you don’t stop loving them. You just wish them happiness and go on with your life.” “Wow, grandma... I had no idea. And what happened when you started dating grandpa?” “Oh, I loved your grandpa. I still do. But I couldn’t marry him when I kept wishing I was marrying someone else instead. That wouldn’t have been fair to anyone. But I’m glad he has found someone good.” “What was his name?” I asked her. “George Timothey,” she whispered, but I could hear perfectly. I opened my mouth in disbelief. That was my classmate’s grandfather, but I didn’t say anything. We went home, and I kept thinking about the story. I called Marc, my classmate and one of my best friends, and I told him everything. At the end, I told him the name. “Are you serious? Wait, why did you tell me all this?” “I wanted you to know. Do you think your grandfather still remembers my grandma?” I was afraid to hear the answer. “I know he does,” he said quietly. “He got diagnosed with schizophrenia five years ago. He didn’t remember who grandma was and he kept calling her Julie. Now I know why.” “Why didn’t you say anything? How is he doing now?” “He’s better. The doctor says he’s recovering slowly. Thank God.” “I’m glad. I’m sorry I’ve never asked you about him.” “It’s fine,” he said. “Anyway, grandma couldn’t take care of him by herself, so he sent him to live with us, and she didn’t live much longer after that.” “God... I’m sorry. I didn’t want to upset you.” “You didn’t. I know why you told me, and maybe you two can come over tomorrow after school. Hopefully, he will remember her.” The following day, I didn’t tell my grandma where we were going or who was the boy walking with us. For all she new, he was just a colleague. Marc had warned me that his grandfather might not remember her, but at least my grandma would get to see him again. We walked in and Marc told us to wait in the living room. My grandma had stopped asking what we were planning and was simply looking at the bookshelf. She dropped the book she was holding when she saw George walk in after Marc. His ears were really huge, but not as huge as his smile had been. “Julie,” he said softly. “It’s really you.” My grandma was crying as he went in for a hug. She told me later that in that moment, she thought she had completely lost her mind. They looked at each other as if they were still teenagers, and they finally kissed. After almost a lifetime, they had had their magical moment. Their age didn’t matter a bit. Marc and I looked at each other and burst out laughing. We helped them sit down on the couch, and me and Marc left them alone for a while. His dark eyes were glowing and he was very excited. “It was unbelievable! He REMEMBERED her! And he was so happy! I am so happy! I love you, Anne.” Our eyes met and before I knew it, I kissed him. We went back inside and found my grandma and Marc’s grandpa laughing so hard, they might as well have been little kids. We stayed there until midnight and while they were talking about everything they had missed for the last half century, George realized that talking to my grandma was improving his memory. He was telling her stories and jokes and he couldn’t believe that was him. We came over everyday for the next few months. One December evening, after dinner, George asked my grandma to walk with him in the garden. It was freezing cold, when suddenly, Marc’s grandpa sits down on his knee in the snow and asks my grandma to turn around. She was so unbelievably happy she almost fell off her feet. “Julie Moore, I never should have stopped fighting for you. I don’t have a time machine to change the past, but you are here now and I’m not letting you go again. Will you do me the honor of marrying this old man?” “YES!!” she cried as she was helping him get up. “Let’s get you inside, old man” Both of our families got together to celebrate them. In the end, my grandma was right: when you love someone, nothing can make you stop loving them. And when you belong together, not even the Universe can keep you apart.


...Any who found this. I know not why you are here. Perhaps it is chance, or perhaps you followed the same signal we did. If you are reading this... ***Illegible*** ...Our response was the same. When the signal reached us from across the stars, we went. This was not the first such message we had received, protocols were in place and we followed them. It was the year 4,257, by our standard, when this particular signal was detected. Like always it wasn't a communication to the cosmos. It was the species' first attempts at communicating among themselves. Even so it was an indication of intelligent life; our ships were launched. Each time we detected a civilization, we were hopeful. Optimistic that we were not alone in the void of space. Unfortunately, we have always been disappointed. The signals, electromagnetic waves, travel slowly through space. When such signals reach our sensors they are millions of years old, if not older. Still, we have respond to every signal thus far. The first ones we couldn't hunt down. Our receptor technology advanced faster than our spacefaring. History has told us we tried to respond, but received no answer. It wasn't until the year 2,874 that we had reliable space travel and not until 3,752 that we had faster than... ***Illegible. Tablet broken, proceeding to next section.*** ...We made no neighbors. All we found were broken worlds devoid of life. Some wracked by war, others famine, many pestilence. Desolate world after desolate world filled with the bones or carapaces of its former inhabitants. Only fading signs left of the once glorious civilizations that were built there. This led the signals we received to take on a rather morbid epithet. We called them Wails. Which leads to me. Who I am is not important. I am the captain of the ship that followed the Wail here. To a small world in a small galaxy. It is my responsibility to leave this memoriam. As we have left them on so many other worlds. A sign that life once flourished here, and that it still does in another part of the cosmos. Our scientists say this world was once green and blue. That life, carbon based, thrived here. The dominant species was a group of bipedal primates. They called themselves Humans. Their world, wracked by pollution, eventually gave out. It had almost happened to us. We were too late to save them. They were a noble species. Studies indicate strong familial bonds as well as robust communities. They were just beginning to leave their planet... ***Illegible*** ...So we leave this marker. Carved into element number 22, atomic weight 47.867, on this world it is called titanium. The most robust material we could mine from its geography. This record, written in our language, and as many of theirs as we can translate is left for others who might come here; as we have. You are not alone. This universe holds more than death. You are not alone. Coordinates to our... ***Illegible. Tablet broken.*** *Note: This tablet was recovered on an uninhabitable world orbiting a small yellow star in a spiral galaxy on the edge of Sector 215-648-329. The tablet was recovered in pieces. This was recreated with the pieces found. No other portions or whole tablets located. Location of the tablets creator not found. No other signs of life or civilization were found on this world. This remains the only sign of interstellar life outside of our own species.


Your flesh. The thing that holds us together. It is the story of yourself. It is the lines of your finger, you hold their stories. The words that you have, I seek. The courage you put out, I crave. It is how you thrive with others, I desire. But the layers of my flesh have grown thick, making it unimaginable to reach others. It is the matte tone of my shadowed skin that has letters within its wrinkles. The thousands of words throughout my body, hope to arise in the air. Your words defy gravity, while mine sprout and dissolve. These little buds are dying in stacks. The other flowers I have seen, have magnificent detail, all within its colors. The luminous, pristine petals that radiate light, offer beauty to others. While I am a drying bud, just waiting for the water to set me alive. The cool touch of something so light. The water is the life that purifies us. As others absorb these streams, I sit there and watch as it crashes against me. I would rather stay in the shadows of the great oceans. These waves are made by the fields of wildflowers. These are the unique voices that help the buds bloom. The sea of thoughts provide all the others with their growth. I, the dehydrated, am stuck within the white stained desert. A single flower stranded. I try my best to survive but rays of light dry me out. And I start to crumble within the heat. As I cannot hold on to my shape any longer, I turn to a little brown pile of ash. I have lots of these piles all over my flesh. They are the little doubts of myself that trail my body. My nose holds them dear as they shield my eyes. But I have evolved to use them as guidance. With the bits of my nature, I was able to grow these dots into my own creation. It does not power with water like the rest, but able to live on its own. It functions off of my power, my belief. It is built on my motivations. I can construct huge mountains. Through little bumps that line my skin, nature is able to leak throughout the hills. All the tiny pieces of glazed string come together to create crowds of people. I now have all these voice screaming. They all want to be heard. All their own thoughts. All their imperfections. They're human. I herd these populations, preparing them for the wild. The growing groups fill me. They build until I can barely contain myself. The pushing pressure is grinding trenches into me. The cracks of my desert are now huge valleys. My extending growth is peeling me open. As my layers slowly break away. My flesh stretches out, trying to keep my words in. As my thinner layer sticks to me, tiny holes break open, and few amounts of words fall out. These words surprise me. They surprise others. They soak up the air becoming balloons. The idea pops and my words linger above our heads. My letters are drizzling into peoples minds. I impacted them, I created a reaction. The mist of my words is joined by the rivers of the others. Condensation coats everyone as we stir waves, exchanging thoughts. A waterfall of words splash up upon my mind and my body shivers with a numbness. I know I created this new sea. A new map of unsearched territory. A question that expands the people's understanding of their own thoughts. The drops of words sink into my flesh. I absorb the knowledge. My flesh is hydrated. My body thirsts for more information. Bruises are being healed. These words give me strength. Cuts in my skin are being pulled back together, by the stories that created them. I am healing. The scars they leave within my flesh, hold the most letters. If only I could get my flesh to form the right words. The stories could have the power to sway minds. I can hit people with my own words. As I grow, so do my words. I let them go purposely now. I can create clouds without fear. I have grown to water others. Let the other dried blossoms take in some of the moisture. My skins punctures leak, becoming the spout of water for the others. Whenever I spill, I get the overwhelming feeling of peace. I create my own ideas. I have the ability to share them with others. I let my flesh peel open and bring emotion to others. I am hit with the fact that I affect others. I have a part in this world. The greatness my words can achieve, lift me. I am the creator of storms. The trickle of rain is taken over by the tsunami on its way. I can make things fall from the sky. I can water tons of flowers. As our flowers lay there, soaking, you question my scars. What has happened? Why are you like this? Are you okay? My water inside is shaken, for I have so much to say. My flesh has the potential to become great weights of art, but I don't want to be a burden to you. But you say it's fine. Through your words, I can feel the stillness of your sea, of your safe presence. I sense your shadow warming me. My blanket of coldness is melting. I drip away, until I have no barrier. I pour myself out. And my skin falls off. My voice. My words are free. This is my poem.


“The sun’s shining and my balls are fucking itchy,” Lenslo said. “What makes this day any different from the God’s damn rest of ‘em?” El-Dot turned its head and barked just once. “Don’t play games with me, El-Dot. Use your voice like a good boy.” “Master, I find this entire situation very perturbing,” El-Dot said, turning his head almost entirely sideways. “What makes today different?” “Absolutely nothing. We stand here in the middle of nowhere, doing fucking nothing. Everything I went through, all of that bloody pain and suffering. For this. For solitude.” “For peace though, Lenslo. And survival.” “I don’t think my fucking loneliness has been worth any of this. I fucked up bad, El-Dot. I have to fix this. Come on, let’s go back. Let’s restore order. My life for all of theirs.” “If that is what you desire, Master.” Lenslo turned West and from the middle of a dusty wasteland started walking back to where it all began. * The sun was fucking harsh and too God’s damn hot. Why on Earth he had thought that walking halfway across Australia through the sunlight hours was a good idea was anyone’s guess. “El-Dot?” Lenslo sighed. “Yes, Master?” El-Dot asked effortlessly. The heat did not matter to this fucking robot. “Where are we in this endless desert?” “At our current pace we are six hundred hours from the Eastern edge of the Red Centre.” “Six hundred? Fuck me blind. I’m gonna die out here, El-Dot.” “You’re welcome to ride, Master.” El-Dot wiggled his hind quarters. “Hey, El-Dot. Fuck you. I will not ride you.” “Using alternate methods of transport would get us to our destination in four hundred hours. It is not a judgement of your abilities, but a helpful proposal.” “Still, El-Dot,” Lenslo grunted. “I’ll fucking walk.” * Jesus fucking Christ, kangaroos. A million of them if there was one. A great big roaming herd, bounding across literally out of nowhere. Lenslo froze and just watched as twilight dwindled and the majestic creatures made their way from one horizon to the next. “That brings a tear to my eye, El-Dot.” “It is rather impressive that so many have survived and thrived out here, Master.” “Never thought I’d see the day. El-Dot, get me a straggler.” El-Dot bounded off gleefully, chasing down a stray kangaroo. It took one down like a lion mauling a zebra and they tangled until El-Dot snapped its neck in its mechanised jaws. It dragged the limp animal back to Lenslo and dropped it at its feet. “As you requested, Master.” “Start a fire, El-Dot. It’s time to have ourselves a feast.” * “Six hundred hours,” Lenslo laughed, thrusting his hands into the air as he collapsed to his knees in red sand. “Six hundred fucking hours, El-Dot.” “We made it in five hundred and eighty six hours, Master,” El-Dot said, ever so casually. “Fuck me, I don’t rightly care. We’re so close now I can taste it. This beautiful red sand is gonna lead us home.” “Home is thousands of kilometres South-East, Master.” “Argh, damn it, El-Dot, I meant home in a figurative sense. Home to people. Home away from all of this fucking emptiness.” “Of course, Master. Your destination is now forty two hours away.” Lenslo slowly rose from the dirt without even bothering to dust himself off. It was just another layer to his filth. He put one foot in front of the other and trudged onwards. Home sweet mother fucking home, just days away. * “Master, are you alright?” El-Dot inquired, pushing against Lenslo’s leg as he staggered ever onwards. “Huh?” Lenso stammered. “You’re collapsing, Master.” Lenslo fell to his knees and collapsed forwards, draping over El-Dot’s back as it quickly moved in front of him. A tube snaked out of El-Dot’s torso and forced into Lenslo’s mouth. Clean, fresh water filled Lenslo’s mouth and he greedily swallowed it down. He hadn’t suffered from low hydration throughout their journey, but wow did water taste good. Something else had made Lenslo collapse, and he had no idea what the fuck it was. All he felt was an overpowering lack of energy, and this when he was just hours away. He tried to lift himself up and take his own weight. Instead he slid sideways and slammed into the sand. Everything was heavy, so damn heavy. He slid into the dark. * “Wake up, Lenslo.” “Who the fuck?” Lenslo said sleepily, opening his eyes to blinding light. Someone was holding his head off the ground, pressing his cheeks in. “Who do you think? Didn’t you come all this way to see me?” Lenslo blinked and the faint outline of a man resolved in the harsh light. “Me?” “You’ve almost got it.” “Olsen?” “There you go. That didn’t take you long.” “How? Where are we?” Lenslo tried to work out how the hell he was looking into the face of his clone. “You don’t remember? You walked all the way out here to see me and you’ve forgotten.” “I was trying to do something. No idea what the fuck that was.” “Is that true?” Olsen asked, ratcheting up the pressure on Lenslo’s skull. “Or are you just messing with me so that you can flip the advantage?” “Fucking ouch!” Lenslo cried. “Let me go, ya bastard.” “Tell me what you’re doing back here, Lenslo. Or I’ll crush your skull.” “I have no idea, Olsen. Now get the fuck off me.” He shoved upwards, hoping to break his head free, but met only strong resistance. “El-Dot, why are you here?” Olsen asked. “Master?” El-Dot asked. “Should I tell Olsen your goal?” “Fucked if I know,” Lenslo growled. “I don’t have any clue what we’re doing back here. I swore to never return.” “That is not permission, Master. Please clarify.” “Tell me why I’m here.” “You returned in order to restore humanity. You want to undo your actions.” “Oh fuck,” Lenslo said, remembering everything he intended to do as Olsen slammed his head into the ground. “I don’t think so, Lenslo,” Olsen said, pounding Lenslo’s head until he lost consciousness. * *Lenslo coughed, hacking up blood and spitting it into the red sand. “Almost there, Pup,” he groaned, “Just a few more moments and we’ll be healed.” Pup barked happily and nuzzled Lenslo’s leg. Lenslo wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then grasped the football-sized glowing emerald gem atop the concrete pedestal with both hands. They stood at the bottom of a crater impact site that was nearly fifty metres deep. “Is this really what you want, Lenslo?” Olsen asked, staring into the gem from the other side of the pedestal. “You’ll throw away everyone in order to live?” Lenslo ignored his clone. Who did he think he was to question his creator? His job was simply to protect this sacred site in case the ritual wasn’t a complete success. Not that there was any doubt in his mind that he would succeed. The sun reached its apex as Lenslo leaned over the gem and let blood trickle from his mouth and splash on its surface. “By and by. Dust to Dust,” he recited. “I lend you my core to satisfy your lust. Take what is ours and make it yours. Give me the strength and vitality to see through the years-” “Stop,” Olsen demanded and pointed a gun at Lenslo’s head. Now, where on Earth had he found that? “Don’t do this, Olsen,” Lenso seethed. “I created you for this purpose. I have given you life and I will give you eternity. Lower the gun.” Oslen fired, grazing Lenslo’s cheek and drawing a line of blood. “I will not allow this,” he yelled and shot Lenslo in the leg. Lenslo screamed in unbridled agony, leaning his full weight into the gem. “You fuckhead. How dare you. Fuck that smarts.” “Step away from the gemstone or I’ll aim for something more vital.” Lenslo couldn’t step away, but he slid to the ground and lost contact with the gem. Black spots peppered his vision and he could feel his veins throbbing. Olsen stepped around as he put his back to the pedestal and stretched out his leg, forcing his palm against the wound. Olsen kept the gun aimed at Lenslo’s chest, but he didn’t fire the killing shot. “Why?” Lenslo cried. “Why would you throw away immortality?” “It isn’t up to you to decide the fate of all human life. I will not let you. Abandon your plans, Lenslo.” “What right do you think you, a clone, has to make decisions about who lives and dies. You’re a construct.” “I never chose to live. But I can choose not to take away life.” “You’ll come to see things differently as you start to die.” “I don’t think so. We are not Gods.”* * “Wake up, Lenslo.” Warm water splashed over Lenslo’s face and he groggily came awake. Olsen was crouched before him and his hands were tied behind his back around some solid object. “The fuck, Olsen?” “I brought you the rest of the way, Lenslo,” Olsen said, looking around the enormous crater around them. “It was the least I could do for drugging you out there.” Lenslo realised that he was tied to the pedestal that had once held the gemstone. The pedestal that had been part of the ritual that had set everything into motion. “Why am I tied up, Olsen?” “You came to undo everything. I cannot allow that to happen.” Lenso burst into laughter. “What did I tell you? I said that you would come to see things differently. That at one point you would be the one to defend everything that happened.” “Well, you were right, Lenslo. I will not let you undo this. You will not take my life away.” “What life? What do you have out here, but fuck all? What’s the point of going on if we’re destined to be alone. At least if people return we’ll have someone to talk to before we die.” “I won’t let you do this,” Olsen said, tapping the barrel of a gun against his temple. “I said it last time and you changed my mind. This time I won’t be swayed. Goodbye, brother.” He placed the gun against Lenslo’s forehead and pulled the trigger. Click. * *“Okay, brother, I won’t do this,” Lenso said. “You’re lying,” Olsen recognised, keeping a safe distance with the gun aimed at Lenslo’s chest, his hands shaking from what he had done. “I’m not. Now help me patch this wound before I bleed out. If I’m going to die from this I don’t want to do it so close to my failure.” Olsen slowly lowered the gun and then tucked it into the back of his waistband. He rushed forward and knelt near Lenslo’s legs. He reached forward tentatively towards the outpouring blood with shaky hands. Lenslo reached forward in a flash and dragged Olsen towards him. He slammed his head into the pedestal once, twice, three times and then threw his unconscious body to the ground. As quickly as he could he tore a strip of cloth from the bottom of his shirt and tied it around his leg. He knew nothing about gunshot wounds, but was sure that it would do nothing for him. All he could do was complete the ritual and hope that with immortality came healing. Using the pedestal he pulled himself to his feet and placed his hands back onto the emerald gem. Time to finish before Olsen rose and got in his way again.* * Lenslo cackled as the gun failed to fire. Olsen turned the gun in his hands to inspect it as Lenslo slid a blade down the length of his sleeve and used it to slice through his bindings. Olsen really should have done a thorough job of searching him for weapons and checking that his own still worked after all these years. As the ropes fell away Lenslo slammed the blade into the side of Olsen’s neck and powered him sideways into the ground. Blood burbled and pooled around his hand as Olsen drowned. “You really shouldn’t have stood in my way, Olsen.” Olsen tried to speak, but only made wet sucking sounds. “Shh, don’t talk. Just accept your fate.” He had never intended to kill Olsen, but he was the sacrifice he needed to make to bring humanity back. Getting to his feet he looked at the pedestal for the first time and screamed an avalanche of obscenities. The gemstone, the key to everything, was gone. “El-Dot, do you have any idea where Olsen hid the fucking gemstone?” “It is gone, Master,” El-Dot said. “He destroyed it two days after you departed.” Lenslo turned and shot scorching hot daggers at his companion. “He fucking what? Why the hell didn’t you tell me this at any of the one billion opportunities we’ve had since then?” “You never asked, Master.” If El-Dot could shrug its dog-like shoulders, that would have been the time. “I didn’t think I would need to ask something so fucking obvious. You should have told me before I walked all the way here and killed the only other living soul on this God’s forsaken planet to achieve my goals.” Cackling laughter bubbled up out of Olsen’s mouth. “What the fuck?” Lenslo cried as Olsen moved like a liquid, standing up and pressing the barrel of the gun against the side of Lenslo’s head. “This seems oddly familiar, doesn’t it?” * *Cackling laughter bubbled up out of Olsen’s mouth. “What the fuck?” Lenslo cried as Olsen stood up and pressed the barrel of the gun against the side of Lenslo’s head. “Step away from the gemstone, or I put a bullet through your head.”* * “Take it easy, Olsen,” Lenslo said, turning to face Olsen and putting the barrel against the centre of his forehead. “We both know that your gun won’t fire. Put it down and let's talk about this. Man to man.” “Man?” Olsen asked uncertainly. “I was never a man and you ceased to be one when you gave yourself immortality.” “Fine, let’s talk clone to fucking monster. Better?” Olsen lowered the gun and took a step back to stay out of his reach. “What you are trying to do is not okay, Lenslo.” “I’m fixing my mistake. I never should have wiped out humanity just to live. You know that. You fucking argued that exact point before I did it and I didn’t God damn listen.” “I was right then...” Lenslo threw his arms up in disgust. “And I’m right now.” “You can’t be both, asshole,” Lenslo argued. “I can because I’m a subject of your misdeeds and I hate it,” Olsen roared. “You gave me life and made me a fucking bodyguard to the altar of humanity’s destruction. I watched as you used whatever that gemstone was to kill every living being and I will not watch you attempt to play God again. It is not your right to give, as it was not your right to take away.” “But, I’m-” “No, shut up and listen! You played your cards and you won the grand prize. You got the immortality that you wanted. You even dragged me along and made me suffer through this pitiful existence. Now, sixteen hundred years later you change your mind and you march back here expecting that you can just flick a switch and put things right. No. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. I will not abide your Machiavellian tactics. You, Lenslo, are not the man who gets to decide.” “And you are?” Lenso screamed. “Who the fuck are you to stand in my way? To destroy the one true chance humanity had.” “I did what needed to be done,” Olsen said. “I obeyed your orders and guarded the site, but in the immediate aftermath I knew that I couldn’t allow you to wield that unjustified power again. So yes, I destroyed your precious gemstone because if you didn’t know I’m the side of you that instantly regretted your actions.” “You’re playing at being a God yourself, fuckwad. If you had just left that gem alone all of this could have been put back to normal.” “All of this and none of it. The Earth cannot handle people just reappearing.” Lenslo screamed and pointed a finger at Olsen. “I will not spend another day in this endless bullshit. Where the fuck is my gemstone?” “I destroyed it. Wasn’t that clear?” “You can’t lie to me, Olsen. I know all of your tells. Now, where the fuck is it?” * *“Olsen,” Lenslo said, holding his hands down with his palms showing. “Come on, Olsen. You don’t want to kill your mirror. Don’t you want your new life to last more than a few decades?” “That is irrelevant, Lenslo,” Olsen said, waving the gun side to side to get Lenslo away from the pedestal. “What matters here and now is that you are not a God. You cannot abandon humanity just to give yourself a future. Die with dignity.” “I fucking won’t. I made this happen. I will see it through.” “How? I can stand here all day. You on the other hand look a little worse for wear.” “You’re going to give me a chance,” Lenslo grinned. “Belvedova.” Olsen froze in place, all of his muscles going rigid, not even his eyelids fluttered. “You see, Olsen. I was smart enough to build several failsafes into you. Now stand there and watch as I save us.” Lenslo hobbled back to the pedestal and grabbed the gemstone with both hands. “By and by. Dust to Dust. I lend you my core to satisfy your lust. Take what is ours and...”* * Olsen waved his hands around the crater, taking in all of their surroundings. “It’s all around us,” he said. “I exploded it into a million pieces.” “You fucking moron!” Lenslo yelled, stepping towards Olsen and laying him out with a solid punch to the jaw. “How could you?” He bent down and picked up the gun that fell out of Olsen’s hand. He pointed it at Olsen’s chest and screamed as he pulled the trigger over and over. It was the first time he had ever held a gun, let alone tried to kill someone. Every time the gun failed to fire. He dropped the gun as he collapsed to his knees and started to cry. He had come and he had failed. Humanity would never return. He would have to live forever with that guilt. “I’m sorry, Lenslo,” Olsen said, standing up and dusting himself off. “This is why Man should never play God.” * *Lenslo stepped back from the pedestal, raising his hands from the gemstone. He had done it. He had played God and oh boy did it feel good. Somewhere out there, far from this Red Centre people would be dropping like flies. Here in the middle of the crater he felt strong. His leg was limbering up and he could breathe a little clearer. He turned to face Olsen and smiled. “You, my little pet project are going to stay right here, within shouting distance of this crater at all times. You will guard the pedestal from anyone who might have survived this ritual. I doubt anyone will come, but regardless you’ll stand over this until you die. Blessingdona.” Olsen could not move and he also couldn’t do anything other than fall into line. When Lenslo finally relinquished his hold over his clone it wouldn’t do anything other than follow his orders. “Take care, Olsen,” Lenso said. “You’re one of only two men left alive on this miserable planet. Belvedova.” Lenslo walked past Olsen, patting him on the shoulder as he went to leave the crater. He turned his head from the pedestal. He would never look back.* * “What do you want me to say?” Lenslo asked. “I was fucking wrong. Now, if there’s any part of you that wants to do some good, come with me. Help me find another crater. There must be other gemstones out there somewhere. I can fix the Earth. I can make it okay for billions of people to return. Fuck, Olsen, this cannot be how this ends.” “Why don’t you just force me to follow you?” Olsen asked. “Use your code words to alter my behaviour.” “I don’t want to do that. I want you to decide to do the right thing. Just like I wish I had done back then. I was a fool and for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” “What happened to you out there, Lenslo?” Olsen asked, crouching just out of reach of Lenslo’s legs. “How did you suddenly change after sixteen hundred years alone?” “I... I just woke the fuck up,” Lenslo laughed. “I thought I could just wander back here and set things right. God I’m an idiot.” “You’re just a man who stumbled upon a power that was beyond his belief. I don’t think anyone could judge you for what you wanted to attain. There might have been a better way to do it, however. I’m sorry it had to end this way.” “It’s not over, brother. I know that I’ll find a way to put things right. Are you coming with me?” “No. I’ll leave this up to you and El-Dot. If it’s alright with you I’d like to go out there and give this life thing a chance.” “Olsen, there is nothing I would like better. Go and have yourself a merry old life, Blessingdona.” “Thank you, Lenslo. Good luck out there.” Lenso waved goodbye as one last time he walked towards the edge of the crater. “Come on, El-Dot. Let’s find us another gemstone and fix this fucking Earth.


(Inspired by the Twilight Zone story "Cradle of Darkness" and Alfred Bester's short story "The Men Who Murdered Muhammad") I am glad this still works. Using this laptop for the first time in five years, and probably also for the last time, as there are likely no ways of reloading the battery for many more decades. Not to mention that I won't be there anyway. Many people asked what happens if we kill Baby Hitler. I did it. I killed Baby Hitler. I wish I didn't. Dear God, I wish I didn't! You might have heard of those studies about quantum mechanics. Sending information into the past. Altering the past. I did it. I sent something very specific into the past. Baby Hitler has died. Or not. It is too complicated. In one possible past, Baby Hitler was killed. In one possible past, we don't exist because history afterwards went different. Or rather because time there is just written now. There it still is the 19th century now. If you can read this, you are from the 21st century. It is 20 April 1894 here. It is exactly five years now since it happened. I still can connect to my old work. I don't know why or how. Somehow I still can send those messages into the future. Or what was the future. I don't know if it will collapse. I don't know if it will still exist and my reality exists as a new probability. There are many great things happening, the same as were in your timeline. I don't know what will change here. I don't know what the future will be like. I still exist on the original timeline. But I also exist here. I don't know how this is even possible. It should not be. Am I myself there? Will I be myself there when I die here? Will I disappear here and just be there again one day? I don't know. I can only give you a small history of how I did it. There is really not much else to talk about. But I am afraid that what I did might actually change something else. It was 18 March 2024. It should be around 18 March 2029 now in your timeline. So, shortly after the President was elected in 2024 - by the way, hopefully hereby I can send congratulations from here again about the re-election in 2028! I mean, he was re-elected, I hope? "Bring the joy again!", as the slogan went! - but I digress. So shortly afterwards I had finished this experiment to send inforamtion into the past. I tried specific time persiods, just small amounts of information, but continued experimenting for weeks. The thing was, while I was able to see the information going there, nothing seemed to have changed in the future. Days seemed to fly by as I was experimenting. Really, stuff that felt like it took a few minutes actually took an hour or two sometimes. Once I even went to a doctor to have my time perception checked, but he didn't find anything. Silly me! So at that day, 18 March 2024, an accident happened. I still don't know what happened. Well, it went horribly right, I guess. I sent some folders back in time to Hitler's birthday, to Vienna. I sent the information back on where he was born, what he will become, etc. - just trying to see if the past will change. If someone will at least report about those strange informations after the fact. But I somehow traveled with them into the past. I decided that, as I was now stranded there, I would take the opportunity to change the past myself. Of course, everyone was talking about my strange clothes, and after I got a bag for my laptop from a dumpster I had to actually hire somewhere for badly paid work, cash, to afford a ride to Braunau. Luckily cleaning shoes and feeding horses is something people were willing to pay for. At least after giving me a beating or two for not also applying shoe cream to the shoes. So with my bag with this laptop and the folder with newspaper articles I went to Braunau in a "Fiaker", a horse carriage. I went there and killed Baby Hitler. Gettting to the address at night, just entering through the window when nobody was looking. Doing it. Leaving. And of course, if you kill a baby, people don't look very favorable at you. There was a big investigation. The strange guy in town was noticed easily - what with all the modern clothing I had. So I got arrested because just that made me suspicious. Then the evidence was found, the newspapers. After inspecting my bag, I was allowed to keep what is inside. Well, "keep" in the sense that it was locked away. That is, it was locked away until after the trial. They used symbolism. Five years after the birth of my victim I should die. I was locked away. Last night, I received my bag with the newspapers and the laptop. Guards are watching me right now. I convinced them that this is a typewriter, self-made, with a lamp. I convinced them that sometimes I just write my thoughts on it even without paper. I don't know how I pulled it off. But I can use it now. Just for a few more minutes. The few time I had broke my heart. Nothing seems to have changed. And then I understood that this is a parallel timeline. I did not change what happened originally but I created a new future that yet is to be made. Did I always create new futures when sending information into the past? Was it too insignificant, and only this time it branched off? I don't know. I really don't. I don't have much time left. My execution starts in a few minutes. I don't know why I still can connect to the internet. It should not be. But it seems to connect me ten years ago? It is 2019 there. It should be 2029. I don't know. I came up with a theory about thermodynamics. How they influence parallel timelimes. But I don't have enough time left to write it down. I must almost go. But if that theory is true, then your future is evaporating as my future comes into existence. I don't know what will be in September 1956 when the timelines overlap. Or if it will go on like this forever. Or if your timeline is normal and only my laptop connects to the past for that reason. I also don't know what will be when I must send this now, time is up.


(WP) Tithes to the Dead King Doran was named The Ghost King for the way he’d turned the tides of the war. The spirits, enraged at their death, had tried to storm the castle and possess all of the humans inside. But Doran negotiated for peace, with but one law. “When a spirit walks the land of the living, bring not pain nor plague, only gifts.” It turned out, though, that the dead were often rather imaginative with their gifts. They started out simply at first: a loaf of bread, the last fruit of the harvest, a few spare coins, a bolt of cloth. But then the offerings they gave only grew in magnitude, given to them by emissaries both alive, dead, and somewhere in between: precious stones that shone like bright eyes, heaping chests of treasures, collections of bones adorned with finery, even in death. King Doran’s bride, Queen Jazira, accepted all of the offerings at his side, but she wondered privately if this was too much, even for peace with the restless and the dead. After all, they were royal; they had no need of such pageantry. But she knew how much it had cost her husband, to barter for this tentative peace. She knew that nightmares from the war still haunted him; more than once, she’d awoken to his screams, full of agony, his face cold and clammy with sweat. The bodies of his battalion had been taken by the ghosts, vessels for his enemies, and he could do nothing but watch while his men slaughtered each other. Wraiths, revenants, the undead, all were summoned from the other side of the void, and blood had flowed freely on both sides of the war. It had felt like the longest two decades of Jazira’s life; she’d been sent to Doran’s court as a child, brought up in the ways of her fiancée’s land. They’d married on the eve of her seventeenth birthday, and the day after their wedding, her king announced that he would be making an effort to live in peace with the spirits, on the condition that both armies agreed to a surrender. And that mattered now more than ever; unconsciously, she put a hand on her stomach, trying not to show her nerves. Her husband smiled at her, squeezing her hand, and she relaxed somewhat. He’d been fighting for peace even before his father had died and he’d inherited the crown, and at long last, it was finally happening. “It pleases the crown that we have reached an agreement,” Doran said, his voice booming in the cavernous throne room. “Is there anything you would ask of us, other than our most sincere apologies for the bloodshed?” His inquiry was answered by a series of quiet whispers, in a language that Jazira couldn’t understand. “We wish to continue making our offerings to you, if you’re amenable to it,” Someone said in the crowd. “What will we give you in return? Let it not be said that King Doran is a greedy monarch.” “You’ve already given us peace, Your Majesty. How could we possibly ask for more?” Relief doused the rest of Jazira’s worries, and she was glad that her heir would live in a world where spirits, the undead, and the living coexisted in peace.


Age 4: Anna ran beneath the dreamy, dangling branches of her favorite tree she affectionately called Willa. She loved jumping up to try to grab the willows as the wind blew them around. The sound of her giggles echoed across the prairie grasses surrounding the tree, and the birds happily chirped back at her. Anna had been visiting this tree from the time she could walk. Nearly every day her mom would sit on the back porch and watch her wander down the hill, disappearing beneath the willows. Anna treated the tree like it was her favorite pet, gently talking to it, petting its branches and leaves. After tiring herself out from trying to catch the swaying limbs, she would lean her little body against the big trunk where there was a perfect notch for her. She would close her eyes, listening to the breeze passing through, and her imagination would take her to magical places filled with adventures, transporting her from her simple childhood to a land of dreams. Today, as she sat there with Willa, she rode a unicorn named Bluebell across the sky, lightly floating among the pillowy clouds. Bluebell’s sparkling mane tickled her neck as they danced on the endless blue horizon. They sang a song about rainbows and princesses, Anna belting the words out from her spot beneath the tree, so engrossed in her whimsical world that she forgot about the real world around her. Her mom smiled from the deck as she listened to her daughter sing loudly and confidently. Anna finished her song and opened her eyes, turning to give WIlla a hug as if thanking her for the beautiful escape today. Age 15: Anna carried her backpack heavily on her back. As she ducked under Willa’s branches she let her bag fall to the ground as she sat against the strong, reassuring body of her favorite tree. She didn’t even stop to say hi to her mom when she got off the bus, she came straight here. Sometimes Willa could comfort her more than the people around her. Today was one of those days. School sucked. Her friends sucked. Her parents sucked. Life sucked. She sat there hugging her knees thinking about the embarrassment of the day. At lunch her friends talked her into going over to Dylan, the boy who everyone secretly and not-so-secretly wanted to date. She sat behind him in math class one semester so he actually did know her name, and she swore he would occasionally smile at her in the hallway. She was feeling confident in her cute skirt and jean jacket today, so she bravely left the comfort of her friends and walked toward him. As she got closer, his eyes met hers and she lifted up her hand to give him a cute wave. Her hand got caught on her purse that was draped across her body, dumping everything out for all the world to see. She stood there mortified as she saw tampons scatter across the lunch room floor including one that landed right next to Dylan’s shoe. She quickly picked them up and ran out the doors, watching her friends and the rest of the school laugh at her as she passed them. She felt her stomach churn as she relived the horrifying day. Wanting to escape, she did the only thing she could think to do. She leaned back against Willa, closing her eyes, listening to the willow branches flutter, the breeze gently caressing her face. The sensation was so peaceful her mind was immediately carried to an enchanting place. She was in an art gallery surrounded by giant canvases adorned with explosively colorful, lively paintings that were the result of her brilliant mind. She stood tall in the middle of the room, center of attention, dressed in a glamorous red silk dress, her hair pulled tightly back in a chignon. Her soul felt full of fiery passion and confidence as she modestly celebrated her own artwork. Admirers greeted her with the trepidation of approaching a celebrity, but she received them with kindness and poise leaving them dazzled by her eloquence. There was no one, no criticism, no rejection that could dull her inner glow, instead it was quite the opposite. Her beautiful bright light from within her radiated to all those around her, illuminating them with joy. As the 15-year-old Anna basked in the warmth of the self-confidence she had cultivated with the help of Willa, she gently opened her eyes, taking in her current place and time. She patted her hands down her body, hoping to be wearing that silk dress, but instead feeling the rough jean jacket. She wasn’t disappointed though. Someday that would be her. She wrapped her arms around Willa, placing her cheek against the cool bark before heading back to her house. Age 35: Anna pushed away the branches of the willow tree so she could find her way toward the trunk, carrying her bag of art supplies over her shoulder. She was desperate for inspiration, feeling so deep in a creative lull she thought she should give up on this crazy dream. Five years ago she got a big break when one of her paintings snuck into the background of a TV show that was being filmed across the city. People found out her name and she commissioned pieces left and right for over three years. That wave had passed, and now she was back to teaching art at a community college. Her parents still lived in the same house, so when she came by to check on them she always spent time with Willa knowing everything in life was escapable under the whimsical branches of her friend. She smiled as she saw the worn out patch of bark from years of sitting in the same spot, daydreaming. She sat down, feeling the familiarity of it, running her hands through the dirt around her legs, ruts from where she had done this so many times before. She dug out her paints and brushes, laying her blank canvas on her lap hoping time with Willa would stir her creative spirit. She watched the branches dance with the wind, closing her eyes as she allowed her body to sway like the willows, floating her into a different world. It was always somewhere unexpected, and today she was opening the patio doors of her seaside bungalow in Italy, smelling the salty Mediterranean air as the sunshine warmed her face. She walked back into her bedroom there, putting her favorite summer hat on. It was the perfect accompaniment to her lovely blue and white floral dress that fit her body just so. She put her purse on her shoulder as she slipped on her sunny yellow shoes and headed out the door. She strolled down the cobblestone streets with no plans except to do the things she loved. She opened the door to her favorite cafe, smiling as the bells jingled to greet her. Maria handed her a croissant and cafe au lait with the familiarity of having this same interaction millions of times before. They warmly chatted about life for a few minutes before another customer arrived. Anna sipped her favorite drink as she left the cafe, roaming the streets, entranced by the pastel colors of each building she passed. She found her favorite bench right by the harbor and savored her croissant as she stared at the beautiful blue sky, speckled with gorgeous white clouds. She thrived on slow living, finding joy in simplicity, fully at peace with her croissant, perfect coffee, and dear friends. Her hands gripped her paintbrush as she opened her eyes, still tasting the flaky pastry in her mouth. She could easily feel the direction she was supposed to take with her art, and she affectionately patted one of WIlla’s low branches as she started painting the perfectly imperfect lines of a cobblestone street. Age 103: Anna’s wooden cane swept back the bright green willows so she could enter the sacred space of her oldest friend. It took some convincing, but her family had eventually agreed to fly her from Italy to this small town in Georgia they had never been to. Anna had been there hundreds of times of course, but her family’s connection to this town ended with her stories of her life beneath the willows. To her grown kids and grandkids, her tales about Willa seemed like fables from an active imagination, but that was just because they were too young to experience the magic of this willow tree before they moved overseas many years ago. Now, as she slowly lowered her fragile body into the nook made specially for her, she knew she was right where she was supposed to be, everything felt exactly as she imagined it would. She let a handful of dirt fall through her fingers, rubbed the bark of her dear companion, and listened as the willows whispered with the wind. As the gentle breeze caressed her face, she closed her eyes, feeling the enchantment swirl through her body. She was lifted onto a cloud, looking over all the things she loved, pieces of her life dotted throughout the world below. She watched a newly married couple hang a painting of Italian cobblestone above their fireplace, smiling at each other with love in their eyes. Her granddaughter Nadia pulled a red silk dress from her closet, holding it up to her petite body. Anna saw a snapshot of herself wearing that dress when she was younger in the corner of Nadia’s mirror. Nadia picked up the picture, holding it next to her heart as if feeling her grandmother watching her in this moment. She saw her family walking down her favorite cobblestone streets outside their villa. The kids played in the piazza as they savored the croissants Maria’s grandson made them from the cafe they all visited every day. As she let the joy of watching her family live the most beautiful life flow through her body, she felt someone take her hand. She looked over and her husband was smiling at her like the first time they met. She had been waiting for this moment for ten years. A tear gently fell down her cheek as she leaned her head on his shoulder, cupping his hand in hers, feeling at home. “Thank you, Willa,” Anna said, filled with gratitude realizing that this was her final adventure, only this time she gets to stay here in this magic forever.


Man was walking and saw a beautiful spot that he chose for a garden. "this is the spot I will make my garden" he said " I don't wish to be a garden" said the Soil. "As you can see, man has been here before and promised me he would tend to me. Those men failed and I grew thorns. Rocks came to the surface where there were none before. Weeds took over and now I cannot grow what I used to. They took all the good and left all the bad. I do not want to be a garden." " Do not worry Soil, you have such beautiful fruit inside those thorns. I will remove those thorns and rocks and I will tend to you with my own two hands. I will show you that we can work together to make such a lovely garden place. You will see. Trust me" the Man said. Soil was hesitant. Others had made promises before. However, Man was persistent in showing Soil how he could tend a garden. Each day Man brought water to the soil. He lovingly removed thorns that had grown and the rocks at the surface. Soil grew to trust Man and the thorns were easier to remove and the rocks began to roll away. He talked to Soil about how lovely a garden would be and planted seeds with his words. Soil began to grow rich with the time and attention from Man. Soil began to bear fruit and a garden was made. Man was very happy with his labors in the garden and the sweet fruit it produced. Soil was happy that the fruit pleased the man and all the care that Man took to tend the garden and all the fruit Soil provided. All was well. This would be where a fairy tale would end with the Man and Soil enjoying the care they each needed, bearing the fruit of the time and attention they each received. However, this is not a fairy tale. Time goes by as it does and Man continues to come to the garden for his fruit. One day Soil says to Man "Man, it has been very hot and dry and I need water to continue to produce the fruit you love so much. Please bring me water." "Is it my fault it has not rained?" asked Man " It is hot and dry. I am tired and I do not want to bring water out here for you. If you want water, speak to the clouds to bring water. I am not responsible for your water" Soil said nothing. Man took his fruit and left Soil thirsty. The days continued to be hot and dry, the clouds gave no water and neither did Man. However, he did come to the garden each day for his fruit. "This fruit is not as good as it used to be" complained Man one day "It is smaller and more sour. Why is your fruit going bad?" " I need water for good fruit. I asked you to bring some but you said that you would not. Also, look at the corners of the garden, there are new thorns growing. Please take the thorns away and bring water. It will make the fruit as good as you remember" promised Soil "It is not my job to give you water!" Man shouted " I am hot and tired and I have better things to do than make sure you have water. How dare you grow thorns! I will not remove these. If they are in the garden, then you allowed it to grow. I will take my fruit and I will go." Man took the fruit and went away complaining of the small fruit and its sour taste. Seeds fell from his mouth onto the garden and thorns grew where they landed. Much time passes before Man returned for fruit. The fruit was not as sweet as it used to be and harder to harvest. Man was angry at Soil. Soil did not know its place! Soil was here to give the man fruit, not complain. Not to take time or attention. Man had many better things to do and could not tend to the garden. Soil should be doing that to make sure the fruit is good for him. More time passes and the next time Man comes to the garden thorns have taken over, planted from his harsh words and neglect. Weeds and rocks choked what little fruit was left. "What is this?" cried Man. " It is all I have. I asked for water to make good fruit but you were too busy. I asked to have the thorns removed but you planted more with your words. Rocks have came back to the surface without your attention to remove them." "This is no garden fit for me!" yelled Man. "I am here to take my fruit. What you choose to do with your weeds and thorns is your problem and not mine to solve. You have put these rocks here to make it difficult for me. All I want is my fruit." "This fruit is not for you" replied Soil "Oh yes it is" cried man " I planted it. I came here for it. It is mine" Kicking at a rock that did not move. "I will have what I am owed" "You are owed nothing" screamed Soil. "You will only harvest what you planted. Here are your thorns, rocks and weeds, but you will have no fruit!" "You cannot do this to me. I am Man." growled Man. Man reaches his hand out to take the fruit that he did not plant. The thorns that his words had planted shift their thorns to keep his hand away. Man does not care and continues to curse Soil and its ingratitude. Longer grow the thorns and new thorns grow before Mans eyes. Blood begins to weep from the wounds the thorns make to keep his undeserving hands away. "You will have no more fruit from this garden" says Soil. "you have reaped what you have sown and will have no more. Go and leave this place. I will produce for you no more. This place will return to what it was before. You are no longer welcome here. Angry Man jumps and shouts and only more thorns grow. Seeing this Man decided to change his words. "Please, I would like some fruit from my garden" he begs. "No" replied Soil. "This is no longer a garden. The fruit that is left is mine and no one else shall have it." "This is unfair" whined Man" I loved the garden." "Not enough to give it water, or to roll away the rocks and remove the thorns." reasoned Soil "That was you who grew the thorns" replied Man "It was you who planted them" said Soil "Now please leave and no not come here again. There is no fruit for you, only thorns. Do not bother me again" Man leaves telling all who pass how terrible Soil has treated him. He tells how Soil grew thorns and refused him fruit, forgetting all the times Soil asked to be tended. "Soil is wild" and "look what Soil did to my hand" he cried to all who would listen. Some took pity on Man. "How could Soil do such a thing" they asked and shook their heads. Soil took pity on Itself. "How could Man be so cruel?" it asked. "How could hands that once helped now hurt so much" and more thorns grew to cover the much smaller and sour fruit. This is where we part ways with Man and Soil.