The fire crackled, releasing embers into the air. The breeze was biting, but mother and daughter didn’t notice as they huddled close together. The daughter, a seven-year-old, dark-haired with black eyes, like that of an eagle, huddled even closer to her mother. Her mother wrapped her even tighter. A fly could not survive, had it gotten in their middle. “The mosquitos are biting, mom”, the child complained, looking up to her mother. “I’m sorry, sweetie. It will soon be over, don’t worry”, the mother crooned, stroking her daughter’s back. “I don’t know why we had to come on this trip anyway. We could have gone anywhere else, literally, but we had to come to the woods! THE WOODS! Who still does that anyway?!”, the child exclaimed, rolling her eyes at the absurdity. Her mother smiled. Teenagers, she thought, always so dramatic. “Well, your Dad, apparently”, she paused, “what if I read you a story? That’d be entertaining, and we could pass the time that way” Her daughter looked at her mom like she had grown two heads, “First, no story is entertaining, EVER, and second, I’m not a kid anymore. I don’t want to hear a story!”, she said the last part with utter disbelief. It was like she couldn’t believe her mom still taught her a kid that liked stories. The child’s mother smiled, “Fine, since you’re all grown up, how about I tell you about a Legacy?” “A legacy. What is that? Like a really old way of saying story?” Her mother chuckled, “No, I’m talking about a legacy of one of our greatest ancestors. My great-aunt” Her daughter rolled her eyes, sighed heavily, like she had just been tasked to carry the weight of the world, “Sure, why not. It’s not like I have much to do around here”, she replied, looking dejected. “Okay, but I’m actually not going to tell you. I’m going to read it you”, the mother said. She stood up, to take the book in which the Legacy was written. The little girl looked even more chagrined at the thought of a reading. Her mother came back beside her, holding an old, very frail-looking book. Her shoulders dropped, “Great”, she muttered sarcastically. *** I have done mother’s bidding for long enough I will do no more. I have done so much for her, I do not remember what it is like to do for me. I do not know if it is my responsibility I fulfill. I do not know if it is respect I give. I do not know if it is obligation I delegate. I do not know if I am just a pawn. I do not know anymore. And perhaps, it is her Legacy I build. I do not know. What I know is, I will do it no more. What I will do now, Is write my own Legacy. After all, it is said, What is written down shall come to pass. So, I shall write my own down, And it shall come to pass. This is my Legacy. My Legacy is of three parts. The first I want. The second I love. The third I long for. All these I pray for, Every night, after the last of my candle flickers out, I pray for. The first; that which I want, Is Love. Love is many things. It has been called different names. For the believers; it is a light. For the subjects; it is a god. For the broken; it is a curse. For the autonomous; it is a choice. For the non -believers; it is a myth. Love, a small word, Yet a thousand names. For me, it is a want. I have never had it. As such, I do not know what to call it. All it has ever been to me, is a want. Now either be it a light or a curse, I want it. I want to feel it. I want to feel it in my heart. I want to feel its light, hence, a believer. I want to feel its power, subject to its sovereignty. I want to feel its poison, and know it is a curse indeed. I want to make the choice, if I could. I want to know its truth, for I do not believe it is a myth. This way, I could give it a name. I want love. I want that feeling of belonging to another. And another belonging to me. I want the companionship, the warmth. The laughter, the burdens. The healing that can only be found in a lover’s touch. The conversations, gathering with friends. The knowledge of knowing you are loved. I want to feel this love. And tell of it to my children. And the children born of them. *** The second; of which I love, Is Passion. In this, lies my art; Poetry, in which I bleed. Music, in which I heal. Dance, in which I come alive. Photography, in which I picture. Movie, in which I create. These are all I have passion for. These are all that represent me. These are all that lives in me. These are all I love. These are my art. These are the moon and stars to me. These things, I dream of, I dream of living them, I dream of a world where all I know is them I dream of a place where time exists only for them. I dream of a time when all I would do is live them. And it is of them, I wish to tell to my children. And the children born of them. *** The third; to which I long for, Is Freedom. It is of this I wish, For that weightless feeling that I think of when I see a bird. I do not speak of freedom to do as I wish, as most of my age mates do, I speak of freedom to be. Freedom to realize, know, and therefore, love myself. Freedom to look in the mirror, and recognize myself. Freedom to be. I speak of freedom to wake up, Drink my coffee; because that is what I wish to do, Play loud music; because I feel like it, and no one is around, Write poetry, because I want to convey the lightness in my heart onto paper. And then after I have written till I have cramps in my hand, I want the freedom to do what I wish, Even after a day of doing what I wish. That is the freedom I speak of. The freedom that absolves me of the responsibility I never seem to put down. The freedom that allows me the chance to think of myself, and not bloody others. The freedom that gives no thought to what society deems girls ought to do. The freedom that is locked out, far away from the world, in a little corner of a haven. The freedom that just lets me be. The freedom that gives me peace, Because, in this freedom, I do all that I love. It’s all I do. And in this freedom, I find peace. It is of this freedom I wish to tell my children, And the children born of them. At the center of these all, I write. Though it may seem a waste, but, I write of that which I want. I write of that which I love. I write of that which I long for. I write of them all, So that they can be done. I write them, So they we may write them as wishes. So that they may be told as stories, And that they may be read of as my Legacy. To the children to be born, Even light years away. This is my Legacy. *** The mother flipped the book shut. The fire, having reduced to smoke, now polluted the air. There was silence, as mother and daughter sat, each basking in the aftermath of the reading. And then, “Wow, that has to be the longest poem I have ever heard”, the daughter exclaimed. There was a sparkle in her eyes, one that had not been there before the reading. “Yeah? Well, that’s what I thought too, the first time I read it”, her mother replied. “But, wow, that was so...”, the little girl paused, searching for the word to use. “Powerful”, her mother supplied. “Yes. Yes, powerful. Her legacy was so....”, at a loss for words again, the little girl trailed off, “wow”, she ended on a breath. As her mother stood up, meaning to put the book back, her necklace dangled. Recognition lit in her daughter’s eyes, “Is that what you wear on your necklace?”, she asked, leaning forward to touch the pendant attached to the necklace lying around her mother’s neck. Her mother looked down, “Yes. It is her Legacy”, she traced the pendant. It was a dreamcatcher, but not like any other. On the dreamcatcher, the attachments were neither feathers nor beads. Instead, they were, the symbol of a heart, a half-moon with a star resting in its curve, a bird in flight, all woven and then attached to the hoop. And at the center of this hoop, a pen was woven. She pointed to each one after the other, “This is her want, her love and her longing”, she said, respectively, “and at the center of it all, she writes” The little girl looked awestruck, “Wow.” “She was the first ever writer in our family. Which was why she dedicating that last part to her writing, it was a very big part of her and she had to honor it”, the mother said, “You see, writing was sort of considered a waste of time during her time. She was the first to break that cycle. And ever since then, there has always been a writer in each generation. I’m mine. Your sister is hers. There have always been musicians, photographers, dancers, movie directors or producers too. Your Aunt is a dancer, as you know. You have always felt connected whenever you’re recording, haven’t you?”, her mother asked, a knowing light in her eyes. “Yes. I’ve never known why I always felt that way whenever I was singing. Like.......” “Like you were born to sing”, her mother completed. “It is her Legacy; to break grounds, to love, be passionate and be free”, the daughter said. “Damn good Legacy, if you ask me.”


"May God have mercy on our souls" Were the last written words of Jeremiah Watts. "There is an approaching storm!" The ethereal voiced preacher said over the static filled radio. "Something the likes the world has ever known! You all that can hear my voice, you better repent!" His voice crackled with intensity as the rain outside the car continued to beat against the car, as if were trying to get at the occupant inside. The man did his best to stay on the road. He hadn't seen another car in miles, and he wasn't concerned with seeing one. He had other, more pressing matters on his mind. "Please God, forgive me." The man in the driver's seat whispered softly. He drove for a few moments before deciding to stop the car. He closed his eyes and said a quiet prayer to himself in an attempt to calm his wrecked nerves. When the prayer didn't work he opened his eyes turned his attention to his bible laying in the passenger seat. As he reached for it he took care not to pay attention to the barrel of a shotgun sticking out from the passenger's side well. Or the vague smell of sulfur that emanated from it. As he grabbed his bible he opened it and began reading, until the sound of thunder made him jump and drop the bible at his feet. He began to weep at that moment. "God, why?" He sobbed, "Why? Why have you made me carry this burden?" He cried into his hands. "They weren't, right, Lord. I just..." The preacher's hollow, forlorn voice crackled through the car radio again, causing the man to pause momentarily in his suffering. "You know you have sinned. You all have!" The preacher said before pausing. The rain outside coming down so hard that the man could not see out any of the car windows. "When the almighty makes his return, he will wipe all the filth from the land! But before he comes, before he comes, a wicked evil will appear, In fact, I would say it has already appeared. Which is why, the storm is approaching." The man looked up from his hands and stared into his own bloodshot eyes. The man he saw before him was not the man he saw just 48 hours ago in a laboratory bathroom. That man was a confident man, a man who thought he knew the world and everything in it. But after last night. He became the broken, hollow shell of a man he is now. Part of him believed he was still sane, so much so that he decided to park the car in this downfall. But the greater part of him knew, that something, fundamentally deep down on a base level, he was no longer sane. The rain and thunder outside the car picked up, so much so that the man turned up the volume on the car radio to hear the preacher. The man quickly jerked his hand back from the radio as if it were a viper when he began to hear the preacher's gravely voice laughing. "But you know what you have done. I'm not talking to those in my flow before me. No, I'm talking to the ones out there. The ones out in the godforsaken world. They know not what will befall you! Repent! Or your damned souls will forever burn in the lake of fire!" Even over the preacher and the rain, the man sitting in the driver's seat, began to hear the sound of scratching coming his backseat. When he slowly turned to look, he saw nothing, but he knew there was nothing in the backseat. Tiny sobs began to leak from the man, like a rusted pipe. He knew the scratching sounds were coming from "behind" the backseat. He knew something was in the trunk. "Why." The man sobbed. "Why have you placed this...this, curse upon me lord? Why?" the man said as he began to beat the steering wheel in frustration. The static of the radio and the intense sound of the rain began to drown out his own thoughts. He took a glance over at the shotgun, took a deep breath and grabbed it by the barrel. He felt the warm metal against his palm as he pulled it out. He opened his car door to the pouring rain, and slowly walked toward the trunk, not caring that he was getting soaked to the bone. As he reached the trunk, he could hear the sound of scratching even over the sound of rain all around him. As he reached for the handle of the trunk, he mentally prepared himself for what he knew he was going to see. As he opened the trunk, the man sobbed again as the body of a woman in a lab coat with a gunshot wound to her stomach laid there. Next to the woman was a silver case the size of a small shipping box. On the box and on the woman's lab coat were the letters A.R.C. The woman's lifeless eyes stared upward at the man in confused agony. "It made me do it!" The man screamed as he raised his shotgun "It got into my head and it made me do it! It got into you too!" He pointed the shotgun at the woman in the trunk and stood there for a few moments, letting the rain completely soak his body. His finger hovered inches away from the trigger. His mind flashed back to the moment he used this gun before. He remembers the flash, the recoil of the gun, and the being in front of him being hit But when he ran over to whatever it was to finish it off, to his horror, the was woman lying there, looking up at him with those sorrowful eyes. "I don't even know, what I am seeing anymore." The man said in a shaky voice. "I know, what I saw, and it wasn't....it wasn't you. It wasn't you! That thing got into my head, you knew it got in yours too!" The man lowered the shotgun, as his will began to drain from him. "Lord forgive me" He said in a pitiful voice, as he closed the trunk on the rain soaked woman. The man slowly headed back to the drivers seat and he sat back down, completely soaking the seat. The radio just continued to spew static the entire time as he reached over and opened the glove department box. Many papers spewed out and covered the seat and the floor, but he picked up a single sheet, grabbed a pen, and began to write: "My name, is Jeremiah Watts, this note is for anyone that find it. The woman in the trunk of the car was a colleague of mine. If the police find this first, and I pray you do, you will be able to piece together the scene. Yes, I shot the woman, Helena Goe, in a fit of insanity. I cannot tell you what I saw when I pulled the trigger, killing her. I know I didn't see a woman, it was something beyond the horrors. Something truly and utterly so imposturous, that you would dismiss this entire, note, as the ramblings of a mad man. So I will live on with what I have seen, and I will live with what I have done. The container next to the woman should be put into a highly secured vault. It is with the utmost importance that this is achieved and once this happens, call this number 418-267-0978." As he continued to write, he began to feel the dread he felt a few moments ago began to melt away. With each word, he felt the weight of the world gradually lessen from his soul, as he felt as if this were penance for killing his co-worker. When he was finished writing, he placed the note right in the seat next to him and laid the shotgun across the backseat. He started up the car again and began to drive, this time in silence. While on the road, a passerby noticed a car was involved in a car accident. The car crashed sideways into a pole and was completely wrapped around it. Knowing that if anyone was in that crash they would surely be dead, the citizen called the police and they arrived on the scene. The two officers that arrived accessed the scene as the fire department began to use the jaws of life on the car in an attempt to unwrap it from around the pole and help tow it away. One officer was already on the scene as the other pulled up. "This is a rough one." One officer said joining the other officer watching the scene. "Yeah, a real rough one, How fast do you think he was going?" The other officer asked "Hmm. Probably 75, or more." He replied. "Yeah, I was thinkin the same." He said, he took a look over at the officer before continuing, "You know they found a body in the trunk, she was completely mangled. As well as a damaged shotgun." "The two related?" "More than likely since she had a hole the size of a cantaloupe where her midsection should have been." "Where's the driver?" "That poor guy." The officer said taking off his hat and brushing his short hair before replacing it. The sun overhead began to hide behind a few incoming clouds casting an ominous shadow over the scene as the two officers watched as the firefighters continued to work. "He was found a few feet away. Clearly he died on the spot due to his landing. It wasn't a particularly good one." "Ah." The officer replied "That's not even the crazy part. There was this note found in this bible not too far from here." The officer pulled out the note and handed it to the officer. "The bible was soaking wet along with the guy, but as you can see, there ain't a reason why he would be wet." "He was wet?" "Like soaked to the bone. Even the car showed signs of water damage." "What? How?" The officer asked "Don't know. Read the note." His eyes scanned the entire thing as he mouthed the last words: "May God have mercy on our souls." "Spooky ain't it?" The other officer said "You really want to raise some hairs, turn it over." As the officer did, he noticed there was a second note on the back, this one was written in a state of madness. Words were scrawled in a writing that the officer struggled to read. When he did, he looked confused. The note read as follows: P.S: The container in the trunk of the car must be thrown in the nearest incinerator, preferably at its highest setting. I was going to do it myself, but it prevents me. Since it has, been inside and it knows me, but its sleeping now. And im doing this. Throw the container into the hottest fires you can find. If you come across this container, and it is damaged in, even the slightest way, then I truly pray for us, You will know when you are near it, the weather patterns around will be completely erratic like extreme rai The letter stops abruptly. "What in the world? What container is he talking about?" The officer asked "That's the thing. We don't know what he is talking about. We are still looking for the thing and- "Hey! I think I found it!" One of the firefighters called out. He was in the field a few feet from the crash. He reached down and picked up what appeared to be a shiny object. As he approached the officers he held it out to the officer that was already on the scene. "Here you go sir. We found it." As the officer held the damaged container in his hands, the one thing he took note of was the damaged letters A and R. Where the C would have been was a long, jagged gash, exposing the inside of the container, which was empty. "What do you think was inside it?" The officer holding the note asked "I don't know." The officer said turning over the container in his hands. "But for some reason I have this feeling of..I don't know...dread? Like something being wrong, but you cant figure it out? I get that feeling when I hold this thing. Here wanna hold it?" The officer said, holding it out to the other officer "Nah, I'll pass on that one. Uh, look. I'll go and check out the two bodies so i can make a better report, and uh, you okay there?" The officer noticed his colleague wasn't paying attention to him, but was staring intently at the container in his hands. "You should put that thing in the car or something. "Yeah, I'll do that." The officer said as they both separated. As the officer put the container in the backseat of his car, he took notice of the city skyline in the distance. He noticed a great storm was rolling in. And something deep inside him felt something he had never felt before. A simple, but primal fear of the coming storm.


"That's how you get near boiling water dumped over your head." My beautiful wife said as I wrapped my arms around her from behind. She had been fiddling with the coffee pot when I snuck up on her. "You take such good care of me." "I expect you to finish the basement today." I'd been putting off the last bits of sheet rock for weeks. We finally had our perfect home and I was still slacking off. She poured a cup of coffee and handed it off to me and then got started on her own. I'd grown accustomed to her having providence over much of the house. She was 10 years my junior, but she ran a tight ship. One of the things I adored about her is she would call me on my BS. "Sam stop leaving your socks on the floor, Sam put the toilet seat down." Living alone for your 20's leaves bad habits deeply engrained. She turned to me with a smirk on her face. " I'll shower, you get to work!" "As you wish." Quoting one of the greatest movies of all times. I want to complain about having to work on household improvements on my time off from work, but my heart wouldn't be in it. In fact I'm thrilled that my wife encourages me to not lay around and read all day. The sheet rock went faster than I had anticipated. A few screws, a bit of mudding and our basement no longer looked like a dungeon. Just as I had capped the bucket of mud I heard feet rushing down the stairs. I looked up to see my wife in all her naked glory running full boar at me. She jumped at the last second, into my arms almost toppling me over. She was planting kisses all over my face doing her best to smother me. "We did it! We freaking did it!" Her joy was infectious. In between giggles I asked " What did we do? Finish the basement? I know, I'm here." "No you big dumb idiot! We did it!" She had been waving something in my face that I had been all too distracted to see. I craned my neck back to try to get a lock on the stick she was waving around haphazardly. Shock took over my limps. I couldn't figure out if I needed to collapse or drop her. Luckily she had a death grip on me so she wouldn't be falling out of my arms. "Hold the phone! Are you telling me you're pregnant?" She bore holes into me with her eyes before attempting to once again end me with a make out session. " Yes!Yes!Yes!Yes! Finally! Do you have any idea how many of these damn tests I've been taking?" "I didn't even know we had them." "Of course you didn't. I take out the bathroom trash every time I use one." She finally extended her legs to floor and with a final kiss on the lips she turned away from me. "It's finally happening. I'm going to be a mother." The lights flickered and her voice took on a low growl. She ever so slowly turned back around. The timely flicker of the lights made it seem like she was skipping portions of the turn. After ending her turn and staring straight at me she opened her mouth to speak. "Beep!" "Beep!" "Beep!" "Beep!" I opened my eyes and I was once again in bed alone. I lay there feeling the depths of my love for my wife and my unborn child. Knowing that they weren't real. Just something my brain created to pass the time. In the early dawn light, I could recall our wedding, our first kiss, and signing the paperwork for our house. Now all that was left of her was a seemly bottomless pit left in the center of my chest.


The Captain was far away. Sailing between the stars was, when it came down to it, mostly a tedious and repetitive affair. Out here in the uncharted territories, his crew hadn’t encountered anything notable in months. Staring idly out the port at the twinkling stars, it had been a long day of nothing. This reverie was broken by the navigator on watch. “Captain?” she said. “Yes, Jenks?” he replied, taking a breath to centre himself as if resurfacing from a dream. “Long-range scanners are picking up something... strange, Sir.” “Define ‘strange’, Ms. Jenks,” as the edge of the Captain’s mouth started to twitch. “Well, Sir,” she ventured tentatively, “something’s out there.” “‘Something’, Ms. Jenks,” the Captain twitted her now, “Asteroid? Alien civilization? Pirates?” He was smiling now as he warmed up to the idea that something interesting might happen for the first time in too long. “No, Sir. It’s a solid, but porous. Very low mass readings. I can’t get a handle on it.” The Captain turned to the helmsman, a wiry man with creases at the eyes and a completely shaven head. “Care for a detour, Mr. Calverts?” “Aye to that, and about damn time, skipper,” Calverts replied. “Alright,” he suppressed the chortle, turning back to Jenks, “Where are we going?” He could see her across the bridge, concentrating on her displays with a furrowed brow. “33,000km - we should be there in a few minutes. If we pitch 11 points up, negative 25 points yaw that should bring us on a rough heading.” “Lock that in, please Mr Calverts.” “Aye Captain, pitch 11, yaw negative 25 locked.” “Get us close enough for visual range if you can, but try not to scratch the paint.” “Aye-aye Sir” Calverts grinned back. Jenks piped in with, “12 minutes to rendezvous, Sir.” He acknowledged. After so long in the abyss, these few moments felt like a lifetime in anticipation. He started to fidget before slipping out of his chair quietly. “I’m going to grab a coffee from the mess. Back in a tick.” He could have asked the ship’s messenger on duty to get the coffee - but he needed something to do. A few moments later he re-emerged on the bridge cup in hand, and imbibed the strong but delicate brew. “We should be within visual range now, Captain,” Jenks said with a strange catch in her voice. “Thank you. Helm, engage reverse thrusters to zero delta V.” “Reverse thrusters, aye Sir,” Calverts replied, as the inertial dampeners kicked in to cover the sharp deceleration. “Coming to zero delta... now.” “45.8 km away,” Jenks chipped in, and with a smile to Calverts added, “Great job, Joe.” The Captain stood and walked to the forward port, with what he thought was his most purposeful yet calm air. He focused on breathing and tried to slow the thunderous beating inside his chest. He looked into the black for a moment, but saw only his reflection in the glass. He got closer to the armoured port and squinted out, frowning slightly. “I’m not seeing it,” he said after a few heartbeats, before turning his head over his shoulder. There, on the bridge, the entire crew was assembled. They wore stupid grins, and even stupider hats. Party poppers exploded streamers across the equipment. “Gotcha” beamed Jenks, holding a cake in front of her. 'Happy Birthday', it said in a scrawling script. There was nothing to do but laugh - he’d been got. Good. Embarrassed, proud and if he was honest, a little misty about the eyes, he scrubbed his face with his hands and started walking back to the fold with a sheepish look. How did they even know? A few steps later, the distinctive 'ping-pong' of the proximity warning cut their laughter short.


“When you find yourself clutched in the talons of a spiteful god, the way I see it you’ve got two choices. On the one hand, you could moan about it to anyone who’ll listen. And on the other hand, you can get on with your life. Now, look. Am I saying it’s right that our crops failed again this year due to the blood rains? Certainly. Our lord is as wise in delivering the blood rains as he is wrathful against those who question the blood rains. *Acceptance.* That’s the real lesson here. Picture a predator hunting its prey. The prey is caught and dragged to the ground, the predator’s jaws tightening. It spends its last moments kicking and screaming. This is the way of animals, the natural way of things. But we are *not* animals. We need to talk about Sally Mayfeeld, Ancel’s little girl. We all saw that she got swooped up by that huge serpent-headed bat. And I know we’ve all had time to reflect on what happened that morning. Sorry, Ancel. I know it was just a few days ago. But it needs to be said. Anways, Sally got swooped up. And did she make a spectacle of herself! All the kicking and screaming. Like an animal! Such a ruckus. It must have been most of the morning. I know because I was outside painting the church fence. Looks nice, doesn’t it? That bat got so darned tired, it dropped Sally right onto the grain mill and broke it. She died before that during the, erm, that is. I mean to say... during the eye gouging. Well, I don’t need to tell you. We were all standing around watching, waiting for it to finally be done with so we can get on with our morning. At one point, near the end, she clutched Mrs. Pelter’s coat, begging for help. As though Mrs. Pelter would defy the will of our great and terrible destroyer. I’m sorry you had to go through that, Mrs. Pelter. Ancel, I believe you owe Mrs. Pelter a new coat. Her old one is totally ruined with Sally’s blood. What’s that? Ah, yes. New shoes as well. I’m sure if Sally were here she’d apologize for ruining everyone’s morning. Since, that’s not possible... No, Ancel. Since that’s not possible, perhaps Ancel could bring some cakes next week. That would be nice. Ancel. Ancel, please sob more quietly. I’m can’t bring back to life every loved one ripped violently away from us. I’d never get anything done. And besides, without consequences, life has no meaning. Our blessed tormentor wouldn’t just murder and abduct the lifeless corpse of another of our children before our eyes unless it was meant to teach us *something.* And that something is acceptance. Some of you may think I’ve been too harsh on Sally. So, I’d like to conclude her memorial service with a reading from the *Third Book of Loath*: *‘Meaning cannot be found in this life or the next, least of all by someone as nonthreatening and forgettable as you. When your final heirs gasp their final breaths in some few, short generations, will your meaning be revealed?’* Thank you for attending the midnight memorial service for Sally Mayfeeld. I hope when you think back on her memory, you will remember to calculate the monetary value of the damage caused by her demise so we can properly hold Ancel accountable. The service is now over. The last 10 people to leave the building will submit to a brief yet painful blood draining.


Where do you see yourself standing in the future, they ask? To them, I say, What are we doing to make a future? Everyone is caught up wondering what the future will look like, but have you ever stopped for a minute to think about what is being done in the present? If calling today a gift is why we call it the present and yesterday changes to history, what becomes of tomorrow? We live in a world of constant fear, wondering if we will live to see the light of tomorrow. No, not you. You aren't born into the families who are left to suffer the pain of corrupt politicians who fled from justice and let their country slip into the hands of terrorism and destruction. You aren't one of those who are forced to choose between family and freedom because here you are lavishly enjoying the presence of both. You don't have to beg on the streets to feed your family for just one meal. You aren't forced to eat dirt or leaves just to stay alive. All you have to do is drive to the nearest fast food venue and casually eat a meal worth someone's monthly income after sleepless nights and fatiguing days. You don't have to watch your daughters being raped by militants or sold as sex slaves. You don't have to watch your sons being murdered in cold blood right in front of your eyes or see their bodies amputated to gain sympathy on the streets for the sake of money. Have you ever really thought about how someone who grew up living in an unstable, life-threatening, always on the run, financially weak household would feel if he or she could live your lifestyle for just one day? For them, it would be a miracle sent from God. Ask them what you see in the future and then ask yourself the same question, will we continue like this until we reach the end? You are the ones who are delusional. The big promises and sanguine words to bring revolutionary change are just ways of claiming power, an old tactic to create illusionary pictures in people's minds. This is what is happening, and you expect me to be hopeful for the future? For so long, we've worried about climate change, and I realize it's still there. How can we help Earth? We can do this by halting the pollution that harms air quality, oceans, groundwater, and soils. We can do this by protecting creation - protecting the forests and natural wildlife populations. The vandalism of Earth is everyone's business, and we need to preserve our ecosystems. Money is manmade, creation is God-given, life is sacred. Our environment determines our social evolution; our social development determines our biological evolution. The need to develop a loving and kind environment that supports populations enables our brains to develop in healthy ways, promoting our empathy, logic, self-control, and ability to be a member of a socially complex species has never been more urgent. Nature has programmed us to nurture for a good reason. Without the richness of the forests, we'd all be broke. We need their leaves to stay, for their roots to hold firm the very ground we walk. Yet this relationship with the trees is so much more than need. For in the company of trees, embedded into the ecology is the soul's coziness, a sense of home, a pure sense of loving joy, instead of sudden changes that could easily be undone, developed methods in every arena that produced a better, more ethical, more wholesome result with each cycle. Whether it was education or medical care, industrial processes, or agriculture, every system was designed to become less polluting and give better results yearly. I've been waiting for, praying for, some kind of top-down change, but now I know it won't happen that way. We're fooling ourselves if we think it will. We'll be watching some stupid reality show or playing computer games the moment the Earth goes past the tipping point and into an unstoppable greenhouse effect. We'll still be frightened by the news and placating ourselves with chemical-laden junk food in pretty boxes, wrapped in plastic, of course. We'll still be chasing that lifestyle we've been groomed for from childhood to crave, that life equals consumption, success equals consumption. We'll admire a system with no more morals than "rich is good," and you can do "whatever you can get away with" to accumulate more money than you can ever spend - while others starve. With no change, we'll continue to sacrifice our own children to the "daycare" system and then feel stressed when our damaged kids "act out." We won't even stop to dwell on the fact that our minors' number one cause of death is suicide - yes, children killing themselves. And for the record, that means our culture - the one we accept so passively - killed them. I can't live with that, not anymore, and if you're being honest with yourself instead of swallowing the "I don't care," "I'm too busy to care" party line, then you'll know you can't either. Changing the world was never going to be a task for one person or one type of mind; we are born different for a reason. The creative minds dreamed up new possibilities, new futures, new technologies. The technological minds made many of the dreams and visions into realities. Humanity put a man on the moon in 1969, makes computers tiny enough to go in a pocket, and has mapped the human genome. Still, we can't think of more than two flawed and extremist political systems to run the world? Why don't we fight hard to stop starvation and inequity? Why don't we innovate? Why don't we think? We have everything to gain, our planet to save. Why do we perpetually stagnate on the issues that really matter? There's an inner angel in us all, and finding it was the key to fixing our global mess. Change is always a leap of faith, and it takes an iron will combined with a heart of pure love to do it. Life can only be understood backward, but it must be lived forward. We can't expect to live in a future with new advanced high-tech innovations, flying cars, or robots when we have real crises to deal with in the present. The future is now. The future is us and how we chose to write it. Everyone has their own story of how they want to see the future, but mine is live the present to get a glimpse of how you would like to see your future growth. The time is now. Because once upon a time, I believed in a hopeful future. Don't let Earth slip into doom. Don't waste a day, spend each wisely.


This story is about a man from the future going back in time and trying to get a job. **A Man From The Future** A man is sent back in time, and is set to work a job as a receptionist. His job is to accept calls, and book appointments for the business owner to work. She, the business owner, says she will pay him $12.50 an hour. For 8 hours of work, that’s $100. The man, having been well educated in the future, is curious about how the business works, and whether he is being paid fairly. He asks, "how many appointments will I be setting a day?" The business owner replies, "about one an hour, on average. And it will take you about 15 minutes to book each one." "And, what will I do with the other 45 minutes?" He asks, wanting to make the most of his time. "You will wait at your desk, and make sure you do not miss any calls," she responds. "Why don’t I make calls to others, and try to book them when I’m not on the phone?" The man asks. "Because you might miss an incoming call while you are on the phone with someone else." She responds. "What if someone calls in while I am already talking to someone else who has called in?" The man then asks. "You will call them back, but hopefully that does not happen too often. If it does, we will hire another person to answer the phones alongside you." The business owner responds. The man can tell she is frustrated by his line of questioning. Her tone suggests that his questions are so simple that he should already know the answers. He decides to change to a different line of questioning. He is still curious about whether his pay is fair, but he has concluded that the $12.50 must cover the opportunity cost of waiting for most of the day at his desk. The man asks, "do appointments always turn up?" "Almost always, yes," the business owner replies. "And, how much money does the company make from each booked appointment?" The owner smiles, "we make $125 for every appointment, and I always do 8 appointments, that’s $1000 a day," she says, sounding very proud. The man frowns, then asks, "and you are busy all day taking those appointments?" The owner nods. "Yes. While I’m in appointments, I cannot take calls." The man nods at this, "that makes sense," he says, and the owner smiles again. The man then asks another question. "Before you hired me, did you have another person setting appointments?" The owner nods. "Yes. She is the salesperson now at a different company. She worked as a receptionist for 2 years, and now she makes $10 an hour, plus $20 for every appointment that she sets for them. She left in order to make more money." The man frowns again. "And, before you had any employees, how many appointments could you do in a day?" The owner cocks her head and thinks, "Well, I was only doing about half the appointments. I missed most of the calls coming in, and then I had to call people back and leave a voicemail. Sometimes they never called back, or I had to call them a few times to get them to set an appointment and come in to see me." The man nodded. "So, if you are charging $125 per appointment, and are able to do twice as many appointments because of me answering the phone... Why are you only paying me one tenth of the value of the appointments I set?" The woman is shocked. "Well, I am the one actually doing the procedure, that’s why," she says indignantly. The man from the future is confused. "But, you would not be able to do half of the procedures if I wasn’t answering the phone. The company would make $500 less dollars a day if I wasn’t doing this job. So why am I only being paid $100 a day, when you make $1000?" The business owner is angry now. "If I wasn’t doing the procedures, the company would make $0 dollars, that’s why!" She says, her voice is raised now. The man scratches his head, trying to understand. Then he says, "if you were working alone you’d be making $500 a day. With us working together we’d be making $500 more. Why don’t I get half of that? It wouldn’t happen without me." The business owner is shaking her head. "You aren’t using any skills. You are just answering phone calls and setting appointments. I went to school for years to do these procedures." The man nods. "Yes, that is why you are making the $500 for the appointments you can work on your own. You're hiring me because you wanted to make more money right?" The owner nods, "yes of course I'm hiring you to make more money. But I'd be working twice as hard for that extra $500 if I had to give you half of it." The mans brow is furrowed in concentration, "You said, it takes you half the day and a lot of calling to get even half the customers you get when I’m answering the phone." "Yeah, but that work is easy to do." The owner says, becoming increasingly irate. The man from the future does not think he will get the job anymore, but he continues, curious to understand the past. He says, "Yes, answering phones is less work than doing the procedure, but our time is very valuable, it is the only thing we can’t get back. You aren’t just paying me to answer the phones, you are paying me* not* to do anything else with my time *except* for answering the phones. I could do a lot with that time, so I should be compensated accordingly. You have said the company makes an additional $500 a day due to my time." The business owner stands up. "It is not going to happen *due* to you at all. I am not hiring you! You think you should be paid..." she pauses a moment, dividing $125 by 2... then she continues, "$62.5 an hour to answer phones!" The man shakes his head. "Well, without me, you will have to go back to only making $500 a day, and still working 8 hours a day. You’d be working twice as hard for that $250, but you’d be making less money too. Without me you make $62.50." "No, I’ll just hire someone who will work for $12.50. I have lots of applications from people. Now get out!" And the man from the future left. He realized that there must be many people from the past who do not value their time. He wonders how that happened.


Another. Of course. What was it again? Whiskey. Any particular brand? Couldn’t care less, top shelf, well, all those shelves in between. Just grab whatever’s in reach. As you like. --------\- Excuse me? Another. Of the “whatever’s in reach”, I presume? Hey, you remembered! How about that. Well it’s not my first day on the job. Here you go. Hey! Don’t run off, how long you been working here? A while, at this point. How long is a “while”? Enough time that I probably should have quit a while ago. Well hold on a second now. If you’ve been working here a while now, and you should’ve quit a while ago, by that reasoning you should’ve quit on your first day. Thank you for the correction. I have to get back to work, more customers. Yeah, alright. Just watch your word choice from now on, don’t want to make a mistake like that again or you’ll just end up looking silly. I’ll keep that in mind. ------------ Hey! Another. At this rate, you’re going to clear me out of whatever’s in reach. Yeah, and then you’ll have to go slightly out of your way to be able to reach drinks for other customers. I imagine that’ll end up being quite the burden. You should tell me now whether this is going to be a frequent occurrence, cause in that case I’ll make sure to order more of whatever’s in reach. I don’t expect it to be, but you never know. Yeah, you really don’t. You should try it, it’s definitely the best whiskey you have here. Have a glass with me. I’m working. Does that matter? I suppose it does. Come on, the place is hardly full. Most have moved on already. Sure, but there are some I need to serve still. Fine, suit yourself. Go off and work. I will. ------\- Another! Should I just go ahead and leave the whole bottle in your reach then? Seems like it’ll save me some of the hassle. I’m not saying that isn’t a great idea in theory, but I like it better this way. Bartender, bar patron, good service. There’s a certain romance to it that I can’t put my finger on. It’s a classic, it’s simple. No uncertainty, no questions, nothing. It’s just the way the world works. I can’t really explain it. But whatever it is, it would definitely be ruined\* by you just putting the bottle within my reach, blatantly and woefully disrespecting the natural order of things. Funny, I’d never considered bars to be natural at all. I bet there’s plenty of things you’ve yet to consider. Are they all as ridiculous as natural bars? Only the good ones. Right. I’ll tell you about some, if you’d like. There are people waiting for drinks. Well damn, you better take care of that quick! Yeah, I better. ------------------ Another, right here! This is a rough place to be drunk alone. This is a perfect place to be drunk alone! Do you have a way to get home later? Oh, I’ll think I’ll manage. Wouldn’t have a drop if I didn’t. Here you go then. Thanks for just giving me whatever was in reach. Real classy of you. Thanks for expecting me to go out of my way, real demanding of you. As punishment for lazy service, you have to do a shot with me. There are other people in this bar. None of whom you’ve wronged like me! There are people waiting for drinks. Then you’d better take it quickly, you have work to do. Fine. Woh wait, hang on! We have to toast to something! What even would we toast to? How about...to right now? To this moment? You want to toast to the moment when we are toasting? Yeah, it seems oddly appropriate. Maybe to you. To right here and now! To right here and now. ---------------------------- Last call. Another? Do you even have to ask? Apparently not. Make it a double. Double it is. Thanks much! Time to close your tab. Sit down with me, have one drink before you have to close up. I have to... No you don’t. There’s only one table left in here, and they’ve already paid. There’s no use in you being unable to relax just because their drunken conversation is going on too long. You’re persistent. In a good way? In a persistent way. Good, I aim to be tautological whenever possible. Fine, one drink. It was a long shift, I might as well. Wonderful! I highly recommend whatever’s in reach. Somehow I thought you would. I think I’ll take you up on that offer. Somehow I thought you would. So, what’s your story? Just someone who likes a drink and some company. Not much company, you’re here alone. I’m not alone. No I guess you’re not. So what’s your story then? Already told it. I work here. There’s no more than that? How boring. Pretty much. Well since your story is so boring, let’s play a game. What game? What am I thinking of right now? Haven’t a clue. Well guess, otherwise it’s no fun. Whiskey. Nope! Guess I lost. Don’t be annoying, guess again. How you’re going to get home. Not even close! Guess again. This could go on for a while. Especially if you keep sucking. Your boyfriend. Don’t have one. How about a hint? How about a better guess? Your pet poodle. Existentialism. Whatever witty response you’re going to use next. This really isn’t your game. I wasn’t the one who suggested we play it. Oh well, I guess we should just talk about something else then. Well that’s not fair, you have to tell me what you were thinking of. Since when was that part of the rules? I assumed it was a rule from the beginning. You also assumed I was thinking about whiskey and my pet poodle. So you’re not going to tell me? No, probably not. I need more whiskey for this if I’m going to keep losing games. How convenient, losers have to take a shot. And look at that, it’s in reach. Me too please! You’ve done a decent job on this bottle. Why thank you. I might as well close your tab while I’m here. Yeah so I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. What about it? I noticed around 3 drinks in that I sort of forgot my wallet. Of course you did. Hey, to be fair it would never have been a problem if you’d remembered to card me. I would’ve noticed I didn’t have it long before ever ordering my first drink. Looks like it’s actually your fault. I don’t think it works like that. Besides, you looked 21. I’m actually 19. Fuck. 19 plus 4 years. You enjoy fucking with me, don’t you? I hope I will. As forward as that was, unfortunately that isn’t an accepted form of payment here. Don’t worry, that wasn’t how I planned on paying. And how is that? Do you like music? No I hate it. How are you paying? You hate music?! How does that even happen? I love music. I also love getting paid for drinks. Ok good. For a second there, I thought you were beyond hope. For a second there, I thought you were intentionally trying to change the subject. How many drinks was it? Half of whatever was in reach. You had some. Slightly less than half of whatever was in reach. Have a little more and then we can try and work out a deal. If every customer did this, I’d be drunk twenty minutes into my shift. If every customer did this, you’d like your job. Pass whatever’s in reach. My pleasure. Thanks. Fill me up while you’re at it. You can’t even pay for what you’ve already had. I told you we’d work out a deal over another drink. Can’t do that if I have an empty glass, now can we? Pour it yourself then. Terrible service in this place. Yeah well we don’t get paid well. So what kind of music do you like? Weren’t we supposed to be working out a deal? Fine, if you’re going to be all nagging about it. So how are you planning on paying? How about I give you the world? I don’t know what that means. What’s not to get? You gave me drinks, I’ll give you the world. What would I do with the world? Well, that’s up to you now isn’t it? I guess it would be. How do you even have the world to give? Oh I won it off of a guy a while back. I’m not much of a gambler, but he sure was. He bet the world? In a game of poker. Poor guy, never would’ve guessed I had pocket Aces. Gave me an quick three of a kind once the turn came. What’d he have? After the river, you mean? Pair of 4’s. Risky bet for a couple of 4’s. If you bet the world, you’ve gotta be ready to lose it. Was he ready? Fuck if I know, he was quite drunk. Alright, well how he’d get the world in the first place then? He mentioned it at some point. Rambling on the whole game, hand after hand he went on about the whole thing. I would’ve left the table if it weren’t for the cards being completely in my favor that night. I was sweeping the table for hours, sucking everyone dry until he was the last one, not a chip left to call his own. Why didn’t he just walk at that point? Cause he still had something left to bet. A gambling man, through and through, and who was I not to take that bet? You didn’t answer my question. Why he didn’t walk? How did he get the world? According to him, he won it in some sort of contest. I’ve never seen a contest with the world as a prize before. And that’s probably why you’re not the one with the world. Another drink? My turn for a double. So what was the contest? Oh it wasn’t anything grand or daring. Just a small contest amongst friends from the sounds of it. Something about a few bottles of bourbon and the last one still conscious. And the world was up as a prize for the winner? Each person put something into the pot to enter the contest. One guy put in $20, another offered to do a free tattoo on the winner. And someone put the world into the pot? Yup, and she ended up passing out about 4 shots in. Hence why she didn’t win, I assume. According to the gambler, she was never much of a drinker. So why’d she enter the contest? Apparently the contest was her idea to begin with. Seems like a bad idea for her to have. How so? Well, starting a drinking contest when you know you’re a lightweight seems pretty silly, let alone throwing the world into the pot. She must’ve known she couldn’t win. What’s winning got to do with it? Winning the prize, usually. But more importantly in her case, not losing the world. She wasn’t too careful with it. You’re exaggerating. It’s not like losing a contest is the end of the world or anything. Right. Anyhow, the gambling man was still casually sipping his drink while everyone else was out on the floor. If they were all passed out, how could anyone know who had actually won? Easy, he just told them the next morning. They were all terribly hungover, of course. What if he lied? Why would he do that? I would think that’s rather obvious. I disagree, and I wouldn’t know about whether he lied or not. She believed him without question. That’s how he ended up with the world, that is until I beat him with that three of a kind. Of course you did. Wanna pour me another? Wanna pour it yourself? The bottle’s right by you. I told you, that’s just not the way the world works. Who are we to go against it? You seem like the only person that potentially could if you wanted to. Just pour my drink already. As you wish. That was quite the heavy pour. I have more questions. I may have more answers. How did she get the world then? How did who? The one who lost it to the gambler. How am I supposed to know? It sounded like the gambler was quite the talker. Oh he was, but he never mentioned how she came by the world. Was there anything else he told you? Well sure, he brought up all sorts of random things Anything else about the world? He told me the story of the first one who had the world. Do tell. Or we could play another game! You could guess how the first person got the world. I’d rather not. You’re really not much fun. Fine. She made a deal with the devil for it. Hah, wrong! She was born with it. She was special. Couldn’t be more wrong! She bought it. She lied and stole and cheated and killed for it. WRONG! You’re enjoying this too much. Is it wrong to have a good time? Pass me the bottle. Fill mine while you’re at it. Fine. Guess again! I give up. You win the game. Just tell me. You lost! How sad for me. Losers have to take a shot. If I take this shot, will you tell me what the answer was? Probably. There. Now, tell me. The answer is...she found it! She found it. Yup! Where? How would I know? You’re the one telling the story. Well I never asked the gambler. She just came across it one day. How fortunate for her. Yeah, until she sold it years later. Why’d she sell it? In exchange for a good or service, I’d imagine. Helpful. And apparently the man who bought it died not too long after. From what? Someone cut his throat open. Not surprising. How is that not surprising?! He was killed for the world. Why would someone kill for the world? You wouldn’t? I already have it. I suppose you do. Sad thing is, the killer just ended up losing it a few weeks later. How’d he lose it? How anyone loses something. He forget where he left it. Of course he did. Anyway, you want it? Want what? The world, what else? I don’t know, can I pay rent with it? Don’t know, never tried. Well, how do you pay rent then? A check, usually. How silly of me. You’re weird, you know that? I’m not even sure what to say at this point. See? Weird. Alright, tell me this then. Tell you what? You have the world. What the hell are doing here? What do you mean “here”? You come in here, you sit at the bar alone. You ask for whatever is in reach, and you spend all night trying to talk to me. Why are you here? Where else would I be? I don’t have an answer to that. Well, there’s your answer then! Let’s play a game. Oh, now you want to play games! We never finished our older game. I never got a turn. Which game? What am I thinking of right now? I love that game! What’s your answer? How many guesses do I get? Three. You’re thinking of...whiskey! That was my guess, and no. Darn. Two more. Your...boyfriend. Don’t have one. Final guess. Shit. Umm...excuses to get out of this conversation? Wrong. Thank god. Here’s your shot. What? A girl once told me losers have to take a shot. A girl was right. Last shot of the bottle. I knew you’d lose. You trying to get me drunk? I’m trying to get you drunker. It’s working. One more game? We’re out of alcohol. And that was the only thing in reach. We’re fucked! There are other things to bet. What’d you have in mind? If I win, you have to let me walk you home. What a terrible thought. And what if I win? I forgive your tab. You don’t want the world? Is it a bet or not? Alright fine, it’s a bet! You choose the game. You didn’t have a game in mind already? Hadn’t thought that far ahead. Well neither had I! Alright, I’ve thought of one. What is it? A simple game. I’m ready. What do I have to do? On the count of three... Yes? We leave the world behind. Are you crazy? How would we even do that? Simple. You set it down on the bar, and we walk away. Someone will take it. Bar is empty silly. How will we determine a winner? This time, we’re a team. We will win or lose together. A team... Are you ready or not? I’m ready.


“You think he went crazy?” Most of our staff was gathered outside his door. “My god I’ve never smelled anything like this before in my life!” “Do we kick it in?” “Well there really isn’t any other way to get in, is there?” “I mean seriously. There’s gotta be a body in there or something.” “I feel like we should ask the guy one more time.” “Well it hasn’t gotten us very far yet. I bet he’s asleep.” “What do we do once we’re in?” “We take care of whatever that smell is. I hope it’s just some old food.” “Just kick the damn door in.” The crusty old door collapsed with a thud. The entire group shouldered their way in to see the mess they assumed had been made. As soon as we entered however, we were stopped dead in our tracks by the utter stench that reaked throughout the area. The man on the bed stirred awake. He turned to us and rested one elbow on his sheets, while the other arm lay limp at his side as he spoke. “Hey everybody. Where did Mary go?” He spoke in a lethargic manner due to his recent awakening. “Where did Mary go?” He looked around the room casually. “And where’s my only cigarette?” Annoyed by the lack of response, he employed a sarcastic tone. “Please think for me, I can’t bear to.” He layed back down and stared at the ceiling. He seemed unaffected by the fact that there were a dozen strangers in his room. A few more filtered in and began to search the suite for the cause of the odor. “I’ll just lie here for awhile. Wet myself. Wet my bed.” he continued to antagonize. “I’ve readied it all for her you know? Clean sheets, incense, and lots of fluffy pillows. Now soiled.” He had sat up straight now, with his legs out to the end of the bed. He stretched his back, and then he looked back at us again. “Hey, where’s my cigarette?” As we began to understand the severity of the situation we encircled him, but he still sat there unphased, as if nothing were the matter. He noticed the rest of the group that had been scouring his room, looking for any signs of life or death, and so he shouted out “Did you check the bathroom? The bathtub? She sleeps there sometimes.” He looked back at us and lowered his voice as he mockingly said “Water cleanses you know? Washes dirt away... makes new.” He began to seize in a fit of laughter. Our staff manager grabbed him by the collar of his white tee, and said “What did you do? What is all of this?” He simply continued to laugh. He tried to straighten his face as he said “Maybe she... maybe she... maybe she...” Another fit of laughter struck him rapidly. In the other room, there was a shriek. “What’s so funny?” the manager probed.


My neighbors are aliens. No, not the foreigners from Mexico or Germany but from somewhere else. Somewhere that we've never been. The Gordon family moved in next door in my junior year of college. I think I was twenty-three then. Tommy and I went over to see if we could lend a hand. That was the first time that I met Carla. Being fresh off of a break-up I didn.t believe in love at first sight until that very moment. She was a natural beauty with thick auburn hair, mesmerizing eyes and a laugh that was contagious. As we unloaded the U-Haul truck, I got the feeling that she could and would work circles around me. This being a big college town I was happy to see that the kids were all around my own age. We lived a short ten-minute drive from the gates of the state university and Saturday night was an important event in tiger-town. I worked up the courage to invite Carla out to the game on Saturday night and the pregame foodfest that we call tailgating. I had open seating with my school I.D. to allow us to sit in the student section. I liked to get to the game early to enjoy the tailgating that I thought was the best part of the evening. I was attracted to Carla because of her big brown "cow eyes". I had never seen anybody with such beautiful eyes. She was twenty-one years old, smart and funny. When I went to pick her up on Saturday, I noticed that the whole family had the same beautiful large eyes. I chalked it up to genetics and we went to join the tailgaters for the game. As we walked around the tailgating area, we sampled some of the best Cajun food that Louisiana had to offer, and it was all free. I asked her about Orius where she was from. I just thought it was some small mid=western town. She said I will tell you all about where I came from but not tonight. Tonight, I am an adopted Louisiana girl having the time of my life. I said you know we can do this every Saturday. She said that would be great. I was so excited about our standing date that I felt like the luckiest guy in the world. At halftime we made our way to our seats in the middle of the purple and gold jerseys of the student section and cheered our tigers to a decisive victory. It was a great first date. The next morning while I was trying to sleep in Tommy banged on my door. He said he was going next door to shoot some hoops and asked me if I wanted to play. No thanks I said I'm sleeping in but maybe later on around five we can start a new game. I told him to give Carla a hug for me and that I would see them later. Now Tommy who was twenty-one and in his prime was very good at basketball. He came back in a couple of hours banged on my door again, "Richard wake up, we have to talk." What I said, noticing how worn out he looked. He said "I'm pretty good at basketball, right? I always practiced and in high school they called me champ. Yes, Tommy I said, thinking his ego needed stroking, you're the best. Then he told me how Lisa, Carlas little sister, had just whooped his butt at basketball. I just laughed. No, no Tommy said! She really did outdo me today and I think she was holding back too. You know what I think Tommy, I need coffee that's what I think. Let's go down and get some coffee and a slice of pie. Mom will get her feelings hurt if we don't cut into that pie. This year flew by and before I knew it finals were right around the corner. As I stayed up cramming for my biology final Carla came over to bring me a plate of food. I took a break to eat. I couldn't help but realize how much our love had grown. Then she sat on the sofa, and I laid my head on her lap and closed my eyes. She stroked my head and said that maybe I was stressing too much. She might be right I thought. Maybe my retention problem was just a fatigue problem. I asked her to wake me in an hour. When I woke, I picked up my notes and began to read and study. Much to my surprise I seemed to have a photographic memory. I needed to test this suspicion so I grabbed a magazine and read a random article. Carla said your memory will never fail you again. It's a gift from me to you. How did you do that? I asked her. It's magic she said, and a magician never tells her secrets. She said I have another de stressor. I said that sounds good to me and I can be done studying right now. She said read your notes over just one last time and I will meet you upstairs. Before too long Carla came in and sat on a chair that I had on the side of the bed. She asked me to sit up and stare into her eyes and no matter what just keep looking into her eyes. O.K. I said because I was always going to keep an open mind but admittedly thought that this seemed odd. Just when I blinked I felt a currant run through my entire body. It entered through my eyes and traveled down and exited through the soles of my feet. It was like having sex without even touching each other. I lay there shaking. Carla said now we can do it your way. I said I don't think I can right now. Then it just fell out of my mouth. Will you marry me? Take your finals and then we will talk about it she said. I'm going home. You get some sleep and don't forget to set your alarm clock. I love you too she said. I finished the semester with my highest-grade point ever. Having aced all of my tests I decided to take the summer semester off. Carla and I both wanted to plan a trip and just enjoy the time we had together. We were upstairs one day planning our vacation when Mom and Dad told us to come downstairs to the dining room table. They said they had something for me. It's a gift Mom said. Dad said it is for all your hard work. I opened the small box and it was a wallet with my initials embossed on it. I told them thanks and I really appreciate it and I would treasure it forever. Mom laughed out loud and said "Richard, whenever someone gives you a wallet you should always look under the flap. O.K. I said and I looked and found a check. Five Thousand dollars I said. This is too much, I can't take this much money. Dad said it is not up for discussion. So, I just said thank you and gave them hugs. The next week Carla and I packed our bags and flew to Ireland. We were struck by the beauty of this enchanted place. Lush green hills with castles on top. There were pubs that we enjoyed immensely. I carried the ring in my pocket everywhere we went looking for just the right time to pop the question. On the last night of our trip when we returned to our room, I got down on one knee to ask her once again. This time with the ring in my hand, I thought it was very romantic. Carlas' answer was unexpected. She said Richard I love you, but I can't marry you. She said I have to tell you and it's not easy for me either. So, I picked myself up and just listened to her. Maybe it was only a case of cold feet. Have you ever heard that youth is wasted on the young? she began. Sure, I said. She continued. well, where I come from it is not. Orius is not a small town in Somewhere, USA. It is a planet located two galaxies away. There we are born old and age backwards. We get younger. When we reach zero days we are simply gone. Are you telling me that Lisa is your older sister, I asked. Yes, she said, Lisa is older, but she is not my sister. She is a best friend, and you Richard are the love of my life and also my best friend. Trust my judgement here Richard. In twenty years, I will be just a baby, but you will have a happy and full life ahead. And when twenty years has gone by, do not be sad for me. Think back and remember the time and love we shared and know that I lived a very long and happy life. We will be moving at the end of the month. I leave you with a heavy heart she said. I will tell you that the gifts that I have given you will always be yours to keep, along with one other gift that you don't know about yet. It's a surprise from me to you. I happen to know that you will soon find love again. When that happens give her my ring. Just one more thing when you have that little baby, do me a favor and name her Carla. the end


Derrick Martin’s shoes clicked rhythmically down the stairs of the Park Street subway entrance in downtown Boston. He knew every step, every brick out of place in every wall, he viewed the imperfections as checkpoints; this place was an extension of the office that had become his true home. He was later than usual. Hours earlier he had discreetly glanced at his watch as his clients mulled over details that didn’t need to be mulled over. He would have stopped them if he wasn’t being paid so handsomely in six-minute increments. He usually left the office around eight-thirty. Today, he reached his subway stop at ten-fifteen. He was starving, but the Dunkin Donuts that was usually bustling with customers had pulled its gates shut. In fact, the whole station seemed incredibly quiet. There were only two or three other people in sight at the other end of the underground terminal. The footsteps of his Italian Faragamo shoes echoed through the underground terminal. The grit on the tile floor sounded like sandpaper as his feet swept to a stop. His train wasn’t due for four minute so he decided to sit on the worn wooden bench facing the tracks. The streets and subways of Boston were much neater than those of New York, Chicago, and definitely LA. This was one of the reasons Derrick had decided on Boston when he uprooted his family from the home they had loved in rural North Carolina. It was simple, the money was better in the bigger city. He felt he was wasting his Ivy League law degree on the petty cases he’d been working on at his father’s firm. He felt out of place at his Yale reunions. “But, we’re happy here, the kids are happy here,” she had said. He checked his watch. He loved checking his watch because it reminded him how much he had paid for it, which in turn reminded him how successful he was. Ten-seventeen, two more minutes. He wondered if the racket coming down the stairwell only seemed loud because the subway stop was so quiet. The old shoes coming down the stairs squeaked with every other step. A ragged looking man appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Don’t come this way. Don’t come this way. Derrick thought. The homeless man looked left, towards the long, dark tunnel where the train would soon appear, and right, towards Derrick. He began to shuffle towards Derrick. Derrick pulled out his iPhone and began to scroll through emails he knew he had already read. Fires he had already put out. He pulled his briefcase closer. He could feel the man looking at him. Giving in, he looked up and found the man standing directly in front of him. “Look, I don’t have any money, okay? I’m sorry. Move along.” Derrick attempted to sweep the man’s existence away with the brushing motion of his right hand. He looked back down at his emails. “Well how’s a man with no money got his ass sitting in an Armani suit?” The homeless man countered, showing a victorious grin with only a spattering of teeth. Derrick had to forfeit a smirk, it was kind of clever. “What makes you think this suit is Armani?” It was, but Derrick was curious. “What makes you think I didn’t used to own one, son?” The man quickly countered, and Derrick felt his heartbeat quicken. “I’m sorry, it’s not that...never mind. I didn’t mean to assume. Here, I think I have some change.” The man wasn’t moving. “Now Why’d you go and do that?” He asked. His patchy beard moved with the contours of his face. Bits of dried food were visible. Derrick was annoyed now. He stopped digging for change. “Why did I do what?” “Y’Got all tense when I was just tryin’na make a joke.” He began to move towards the bench, he was going to sit down. He smelled like the sewer. Derrick quickly thought of the day in the gun shop when he decided he didn’t really need a gun in Boston and walked out empty handed. “I didn’t mean to get tense. Don’t sit. I’m just trying to get home, alright?” Derrick tried to hide the nervousness in his voice and thought he had done a pretty good job. He pulled his briefcase against his side. The man laughed. “Boy, you must not be from around here.” He continued to laugh as he pushed up from the bench. He walked closely alongside the tracks away from Derrick. He was singing now. A song Derrick had never heard. Why was he so fucking happy? Derrick felt at ease as the man’s singing became more and more distant. Just then, more noise came from the long staircase the first man had come from. These footsteps were lighter, softer. “Julian! Where in the hell’d you get off to now?” It was a woman’s voice. Raspy. She was smiling as she turned the corner, as if life was some kind of joke. Her teeth were yellow, rotting. She looked much like the first man, who Derrick now realized was the Julian she was after. She was filthy, her hair was matted. The lining was falling out of the bottom corner of her stained winter coat. As she approached Derrick, he once again wrapped his arm over his briefcase. She didn’t even look in his direction. Julian was what she was after. Derrick wished the train would hurry. “Baby, come back!” She yelled after him. Julian was still singing, happy as ever. She caught up with him, wrapped her arm around his waist and began to sing along with him. Their song filled the terminal. The lights of the train began to illuminate the tunnel. Derrick checked his watch, ten-nineteen, right on time. His hair fluttered as the train pushed a wall of air into the open expanse of the terminal, he fixed it right away. The brakes screeched loudly as the long train came to a stop. Derrick got on and chose a window seat. He sat down making sure he didn’t touch the railings or the handles on the seats, no need to waste Purel. He put his briefcase on the chair next to him so that no one would sit there, even though the car was practically empty. As the train began to pull away from the Park Street stop, Derrick looked back at Julian and the woman. There they were, still singing, blissful ignorance Derrick thought. Derrick walked up to his house, his black Lexus was just where he had left it in the driveway, such a beautiful car, he thought. He wouldn’t dare drive it into the city and risk having it stolen or vandalized. He punched his randomly generated six-digit code into the panel on the door. He always scoffed at people who used their kids’ birthdays for passwords and codes. Derrick walked into the quiet, breathtaking complex he called home. He left his shoes neatly by the door. The kitchen was immaculate, almost untouched. The state-of-the-art stainless steel appliances were more for decoration now than anything. He grabbed the cold styrofoam take-out container from the top shelf of the fridge and walked upstairs. He passed his son’s room on the right, and then his daughter’s on the left, their bed frames sat in the darkness. He entered his room, and turned on his mounted plasma television. He didn’t care what was on, he needed the company. He sat at the foot of his bed and put the takeout on the floor in front of him. He sunk slowly into the custom-made, specialty fit, king-size bed he had ordered when they moved in. As he began unbuttoning his tailored dress shirt, he smirked at the idea that Julian and his filthy girlfriend would never know such luxuries.


Sylvia pushed her cart down the frozen food aisle. She was looking for the same pizza that she bought last week. Some frozen pizzas were better than others and this one had that rare combination of crisp yet chewy crust. She turned her head a fraction to study the pizzas to the left and caught a glimpse of an older woman. Sylvia didn't want to stare but she thought she recognized her. Where had she seen her before? Try as she might, she couldn't come up with an answer. The frozen pizza was in a stack to her right. Sylvia added it to her cart and proceeded to the paper aisle. She added toilet paper and paper towels to her cart before turning to go to the checkout. Sylvia managed to contain her surprise when she noticed the same older lady. Surreptitiously, she examined the woman. She didn't have a shopping cart or even one of those baskets that you use to carry purchases. This was very odd, but Sylvia didn't have time to worry about an elderly woman. Grocery shopping finished, Sylvia drove to the gas station. She filled the tank and went inside to pay, but was distracted by an older woman studying the snack selection. This time Sylvia allowed herself to stare and commit the woman's appearance to memory. The lady had short, curly hair; much like Sylvia's except her hair was gray. Sylvia's hair was a rich auburn. She was the same height as Sylvia and even wore the same style shoes. Sylvia loved her clogs and evidently, the woman found them to be comfortable as well. She also wore jeans, similar to Sylvia's and a red hoodie. "We could be twins, except for the age difference," Sylvia told herself. She thought about introducing herself but she still needed to go to the bank. Besides, Sylvia was an introvert and was nervous around other people. The bank was less crowded than usual and Sylvia found herself talking to the teller without waiting in line. She made a deposit and turned to leave, glancing at the line that had formed behind her. Another coincidence! The elderly lady was in line. "Very odd, but she must be eighty years old and harmless," Sylvia reassured herself. She didn't think about the lady once she was home. The next day, Sylvia met a friend at the movie theater. They were seeing a popular romantic comedy and the line was rather long. "Do we have time to get some popcorn and a drink?" Sylvia's friend, Tammy asked. "Sure, that line isn't as long," Sylvia lead the way to the refreshment stand. She could see the customers behind her in the overhead mirror and gasped. The older lady she saw yesterday was standing behind her friend. "I said, what will you have? If you don't know step aside and let me serve the customers behind you." The teenager behind the counter was getting frustrated. Sylvia hurried to order popcorn and a bottle of water. Sylvia took her order and paid then stepped to the side while Tammy ordered popcorn and cola. Sylvia spent the next minute looking at the woman that she saw so many times the day before. The lady wore a red sweater, identical to Sylvia's and the same pair of clogs. "Lots of people like to wear red." Sylvia didn't realize that she said it out loud until Tammy replied. "What are you talking about? Who likes to wear red?" Tammy was wearing a blue silk shirt. "Nothing, I was just talking to myself. I think the movie is about to start." Sylvia avoided discussing the matter, by marching into the theater. Sylvia and Tammy sat in the back and enjoyed the movie. They waited until the lights came on at the end to file out with the rest of the audience. "She came to the same movie," Sylvia said once they were in the lobby. She noticed the lady sitting towards the front, waiting to exit. "Who came to the same movie? Don't tell me that you were just talking to yourself; I know there is more to the story." Tammy insisted. Sylvia explained, "There is an older lady that came to the movie." "Really," Tammy was full of sarcasm. Sylvia gave Tammy the details, "I saw her three times yesterday. First I saw her at the grocery store, but I didn't see her buy anything. Then I saw her at the gas station but I didn't see her buy gas. Finally, I saw her at the bank." "Did you stay so you could see what she purchased at the store? Were you watching so you knew how much gas she bought?" Tammy cross-examined. Sylvia answered honestly, "No, I didn't wait around to see what she bought. I had my errands of my own, and I didn't have time to watch her." "Sylvia, the lady probably lives in this neighborhood. Yesterday, she probably had to go to the store, get gas, and go to the bank just like the rest of us. Today she went to see a popular movie, just like hundreds of others. The theater was full. Lots of people came to this movie. You need to get out more!" Tammy gave Sylvia a perfectly logical explanation. Sylvia looked around for the lady. She wanted to know if Tammy thought she looked familiar but the woman was nowhere in sight. "You're right. I thought she looked familiar but that's probably because she lives near me. She likely shops at the same places." Having made her point, Tammy talked about the movie. "It was good, wasn't it? I read that it got five stars out of five." Sylvia agreed and added," I think the leading man should get an Oscar. Let's see another movie next week." Sylvia woke the next morning thinking about Tammy's advice. She did need to get out more often. As a copywriter, she usually worked from home so her social interaction was limited. "Today, I'll get a hammer and nail so I can hang a picture in the hallway. When I asked if I need any help, I'll make an effort to talk to the salesperson. " As predicted a salesman asked Sylvia if she needed help as soon as she walked into the hardware store. "He's got a gun!" A loud shout interrupted Sylvia's conversation. The salesclerk grabbed Sophia and threw her to the floor, landing on top of her. Sylvia was able to see the shooter when she looked from under the clerk's arm. The shooter was waving his gun hand frantically then pointed the gun towards Sylvia. Suddenly, a lady dashed towards the shooter and tackled him. Sylvia recognized the woman because she had committed her appearance to memory. It was the older woman that she had seen around town. The gun went off. Customers screamed. The older lady started bleeding from her shoulder. Sirens filled the air. The police came and the shooter was arrested. An ambulance took the heroic woman away. Paramedics urged Sylvia and the salesclerk to go to the hospital, just to be certain that they were alright. When Sylvia was released she looked for the salesman. "The man that you arrived with? He's been taken to have his wrist x-rayed. Why don't you read a magazine while you wait." The nurse pointed to a stack of magazines that were crumpled and torn. "Is it alright if I visit the lady who was shot in the shoulder?" Sylvia asked. "She's been taken to the second floor." The nurse pointed to the elevators. The antiseptic smell on the second floor was comparable to every hospital that Sylvia had ever visited. She wasn't sure if they would let her visit the older lady because she wasn't family and she didn't even know her name. However, the nurse at the desk gave Sylvia the room number without hesitation. "Hello," Sylvia timidly approached the woman in the hospital bed. "I want to thank you for saving my life. The gunman was aiming at me when you intervened." "Well. . . I was saving my own life and the life of my children." The lady replied. "What?" Sylvia approached the bed. "Stop! Don't come any closer." Sylvia stopped mid-stride and gave the woman a puzzled look. "You haven't figured it out, so I'll explain. I am you or you are me when I was younger." Now Sylvia was puzzled. "How can that be?" She couldn't think of anything else to ask. "Four nights ago I dreamt that I was shot. I was young as if it were fifty-five years ago. My husband left the house to get coffee and I stepped outside to wave as he backed out of the driveway. I looked around and our neighborhood looked different. The trees were smaller and the neighbors' cars were models that were made fifty or sixty years ago. I was going to call my husband but I looked at the date on my phone before I dialed. The year was fifty-five years off. Then I remembered my dream. The house where I used to live was just a few blocks away so I walked over. I thought about knocking on the door and warning you of the danger, but I realized that you, the younger me, would not believe me. I followed you around that day. The strange thing is that I was able to walk fast enough to keep up with you, even though you were driving and I was walking." "I thought you were following me!" Sylvia was so happy to know that she wasn't imagining the older woman stalking her that she didn't even question the reason. "I am you, only older. Come close enough to look at my eyes, but don't touch me. I don't know what would happen if we touched each other and I don't want to take that chance." The older woman opened her eyes wide so Sylvia could get a good look at the color. Sylvia gasped, the woman's eyes were just like hers. They both had eyes that were an unusual shade of dark blue. Then the woman uncovered her left foot. She had an identical scar on her big toe. Sylvia had cut herself when she just a year old and a ragged remained. "I found myself back in my own time when I walked out of the bank. The next day, I was back in your time so I followed you to the movie. I left the theater and found myself in my time. It has been very confusing, but there was nothing I could do. Today, the same thing happened. I walked out of my house and it was fifty-five years ago. I followed you to the hardware store and saw the crazed shooter. I rushed him and he put a bullet in my shoulder." "That's what you meant when you said that you were saving yourself. You also mentioned children; when will I get married and who will be my husband?" Sylvia wasn't ready to believe everything her older self told her. "Let me say this when the salesman asks you for a date you should say yes. Now you should go see if he broke his wrist when he threw you both to the floor." The salesman was just coming into the lobby when Sophia returned to the emergency room. A wide smile split his face when he saw Sylvia. "It was just a sprain," he held up his bandaged wrist. "The doctors told me that you were fine. Did I hurt you when I threw you to the floor?" "I don't even have a scratch. I've just been waiting to hear if you were hurt." "Let me introduce myself. My name is Christopher and I think we should go out for lunch to celebrate our close brush with disaster." "That would be wonderful, but first let me check on the woman who saved our lives." Christopher gave her a puzzled look, "I don't know what you're talking about." "I mean the lady who moved the shooter's arm and got shot in the process," Sylvia explained. "I don't remember a woman moving the shooter's arm. I thought he tripped and the shot went wild, but I was distracted at the time. Is this woman here in the hospital? Lead the way so I can thank her," Christopher said. When they arrived on the second floor the same nurse was at the information desk. "I don't know what you're talking about and I would never let you visit a patient unless you are a relative or close friend. You don't even know her name so you can't be very close." "How many gunshot wounds do you get in a day. The lady was here because she had a bullet in her shoulder." Sylvia marched to the woman's room and threw open the door. Christopher and the nurse hurried to follow. The room was empty. "She was here, I spoke to her for over half an hour," Sylvia insisted. "Please leave or I will have to call security," The nurse told Sylvia. "Let's get some lunch," Christopher reached for Sylvia's hand. "This morning has to have rattled both of our nerves. I think some food will help us see things more clearly." Sylvia read everything she could about the incident in the next few days. Eyewitness accounts reported that a crazed shoot came into the hardware store waving a gun. Fortunately for all those inside, he tripped before he could get off a shot. Sylvia pushed the incident to the back of her mind. Christopher took her to lunch again and asked her to go dancing the next Saturday. He was charming and handsome, naturally, Sylvia accepted the date.