My people fear the forest. Why? I don’t know. No one in the village or in my family has ever told me why. All they say is “do not venture past the forest’s edge,” or “your fate will meet you if you traverse the forest’s domain.” Sometimes they simply say “you will die if you dare enter the forest; do not go in.” Naturally, one would be skeptical. Why shouldn’t I enter the forest? What on earth could be in there? The forest seemed friendly enough. Birds could be heard happily singing in the branches; sometimes a little rabbit could be seen poking out of the brush; deer sometimes fed on the outer rows of trees. I pondered these things as I gazed into the beautiful forest. Thousands upon thousands of trees grew there; bushes grew and flowers flourished; animals of many, many species took refuge there. What was so dangerous about it? No one really knew what was so dangerous about it, but legend had it a pond of liquid diamond laid in the center of the forest. That alone made people think menacing, supernatural beings lurked there. A charming whistle floated on the breeze. It came from the forest! My curiosity piqued; I squinted to see the forest’s edge clearer. All I saw was a gorgeous doe silently eating berries. Her ears flicked up as the whistle sounded again. She lifted her head and looked at me. Something grasped my attention. Entranced, I walked closer and closer to the forest. The doe’s emerald eyes seemed to read my mind and pull me in. Leaves crunched under my bare feet. I looked down. I was in the forest. I looked up--the doe was gone. Nothing happened to me. I chuckled to myself. So, it was all a myth. There was nothing to fear in the forest. I walked further. The worst that happened to me was a small splinter that stuck in my heel. I pulled it out easily and continued walking. Deer stared at me and birds greeted me with sweet melodies. Rabbits and squirrels looked at me, astonished. Sleep began to overcome me; I knew not how long I had been walking. My heel ached, and I wanted to rest. I leaned against the trunk of a strong oak and settled in amongst its fallen leaves. The edges of my eyelids longed to meet each other; they became heavier as sleep enveloped me. Sweet, calm darkness swallowed me. ••••• The summer breeze brushed past my sundress as I walked down the lane. Pebbles stuck between my toes and to the bottom of my feet. My hands were folded behind my back and my hair fluttered in the breath of the wind as I walked along, lost in thought. I heard the hunter’s dogs barking in the distance and the trample of dozens of horse hooves; it was the shouts of the hunters themselves that shattered my daydreams like glass. They always shouted when they rode home--like the group of overgrown hooligans they were--but this time, it was different. The shouts weren’t those of joy and a successful hunt. Alarm seized my body and I felt numb as I heard the name they were shouting. Lorcán. My heart dropped into my stomach. Emotion pumped adrenaline into my bloodstream. I began running as fast as I could. Fear constricted my lungs and throat, making it difficult to breathe. I tripped over a large rock and tumbled heels-over-head into the brush. Dazed, I picked myself up and continued running. It was at least five minutes until I came in sight of the village. I heard wails and mourning as I approached. The scene unfolded before my eyes: A ring of hunters stood around a deerskin cot. Woebegone women covered their faces with their hands and rocked on their knees; cries leaked through their fingers and rang in my ears. I saw my father leaning on his staff, looking sorrowfully at the cot. His eyes were becoming red, and I could see tears building and trickling down his face. He looked up. I locked eyes with him. I didn’t need him to say anything. I knew it was Lorcán. I knew he was dead. My father held his hand towards me. He wanted me to come. Fire bubbled up in my soul. Lorcán was the only one who could comfort me--but Lorcán was gone now. The fire rushed into my legs and burned my body and mind. There was nothing I could do now except run. Run from the dread. Run from my family. Run from the village. Run from the pain. Sharp wind pricked my face as I ran. My legs ached and my head spun. The pounding of my feet against the hard ground hurt my head. Before I knew it, I stood before the forest. The very same forest my people feared--had feared for generations. I didn’t care anymore. I wanted to disappear. I darted into the forest and ran farther. A large root missed my attention. I felt something snag my foot and pull me down. The last thing I saw was a rock--searing pain filled my head, and then- Everything went black. ••••• Gold, creamy light shone on the ceiling. Something wet trickled down my forehead. I opened my eyes. A girl was standing beside me. Her big emerald eyes seemed familiar to me; her skin was fair as white lilies. Brown freckles were scattered along her slim cheekbones. Long, fine, fawn-colored hair flowed over her shoulders and down her back. She was dressed in simple doeskins--however, none of these things seemed out of the ordinary until I noticed her ears. They were placed where ears were usually placed on a human, but they were soft doe’s ears. The girl smiled at me. How are you feeling, Little One? My heart skipped a beat. The girl hadn’t moved her mouth at all, but her delicate voice rang in my head like sweet bells. Who are you? I thought back to her. I am Inerys, a simple doe-girl. I saw you in danger, so I rescued you. Her thin eyebrows furrowed as she looked at me. I sense you are troubled. What has chased you into the Starlight Realm? The pain of Lorcán’s death rushed back. I looked away as my eyes welled up with tears. I lost part of myself, I replied shakily. The one you call Lorcán? Yes. We were preparing to be wed. He was my best friend. There’s no sense in living now that he’s gone. Inerys wiped my forehead soothingly with a soft, wet rag. Do not despair, dearest. You feel sore over your recent loss, but do not quit. Your wounds will be healed soon--your head was quite injured after your fall. Good things are in store for you, if you wait. I wondered what Inerys meant. I didn’t wonder for long, though. Inerys gave me food that seemed to dissolve my physical pain and help me sleep. I didn’t know how many days I spent with Inerys, but they passed like a dream. She told me of many wonderful things in her world. She chronicled the adventures of the deer-beings, the tricks of the fox-folk, the arts of the rabbit-people, and many others. After many moons, Inerys finally told me the Legend of the Diamond Pond. I sat up eagerly on my cot as she told me the tale. Long, long ago, began Inerys in her soft, magical voice. Artemis, the Mother of the Animal-Peoples, created the Starlight Realm. We are her children; Artemis created us because she was sick of human folly. Artemis promised the Animal-Peoples’ safety by laying a curse on any outsiders who entered. The only law the Animal-Peoples had to follow was this: Never touch the Diamond Pond. Naturally, humans would be quick to break this law, but the divine ancestry of the Animal-Peoples keeps their thoughts unstained; not one of our kind had ever laid a finger on the liquid diamond of the pond. Artemis told us that those who touched it would see their future, but would suffer their worst fear. A shiver ran down my spine when Inerys finished her story. Can you take me to see the Diamond Pond? I inquired. Inerys sat back in her rocking chair and thought. I do not know, Little One, she said slowly. Your human nature will make it very dangerous. Please, I implored. I promise I won’t touch it. Very well, Inerys consented dubiously. Remember what will happen if you touch it. The next day, Inerys and I set out. She turned into her native doe form and let me ride her soft back. We walked for a few hours. I noticed that the chirping of the birds slowly died away until there was silence. I no longer saw rabbit and squirrel beings scuttling around; sneaky fox folk were nowhere to be seen; every now and then, I saw a silent deer-person wandering around. The forest became darker and darker as Inerys and I walked on. The only sound I heard was that of Inerys’ hooves. I became tired of watching the forest trailing by us and looked down. Inerys’ shoulder blades and muscles rippled under her hide as she walked. I drifted off into memories of Lorcán as I rocked to the rhythm of Inerys’ steps. Little One, look up, I heard her say. When I looked up, my eyes were met by a crystal white light. It was the purest light I had ever seen. Inerys walked closer, and the Diamond Pond came into view. It was about ten yards in diameter; the perfectly circular shore was littered with sand-like diamonds.. A beam of moonlight shone on the pond. The liquid diamond filtered the light into rainbows that bounced around in the pond. I slid off of Inerys’ back and walked towards the shore. I could hardly believe my eyes. The diamond light drew me in. I felt the diamonds under my feet. I looked back at Inerys. Do not touch the water, she said. You know not what will happen. I looked at the water. A vision of Lorcán flashed across the surface. He was riding towards the forest! Why did I see him in the Diamond Pond? What if the water was the way I could return? I looked back at Inerys. I saw panic in her eyes. Thank you, Inerys, I said. I love you. I’ll miss you, but I’ll always remember you. I ran back and hugged her neck. I dashed back to the shore before she could morph and catch me. I fell to my knees and reached forward, touching the surface of the diamond water. My hand felt as if I was holding it to ice. I drew my hand back from the cold, but two hands reached out of the water and grabbed my ankles. I shrieked in surprise. The hands dragged me into the water. I tried to cling onto the shore, but the diamonds filtered through my fingers. My head went under, and I couldn’t see anything. Fear, excitement, sadness, anger, pain--every emotion and physical feeling I had experienced flashed through my body and soul. Everything seemed to tie itself into a knot and climax. I couldn’t feel anything. I was dead. ••••• “Kaorí! Kaorí, wake up!” Familiar voices surrounded me. Someone snatched me up and held me against them. “Kaorí, my darling, please, wake!” I thought I was dreaming--it was Lorcán’s voice! I opened my eyes. I saw Lorcán’s panic-stricken expression. When he saw my eyes were open, he cried with joy and kissed me. His warm breath blew over my face and neck as he caressed me. I laughed--I don’t know why. It felt like the only thing I could do at the moment. “Lorcán, Lorcán, you’re alive!” I said, wrapping my arms around his neck and meeting his lips with mine. “Dear, I was never dead! It was you who almost died!” “What? But I saw you--you were lying on a cot. People were crying and wailing. I ran into the forest and saw the most wonderful things.” “Kaorí, it doesn’t matter now. We’re both here. I want you to tell me about your adventure when we get home. You look spent and exhausted. Come rest with me.” Lorcán lifted me up onto his horse’s back and jumped up behind me. I looked back. A doe stood in the shadows of the forest’s edge. Her emerald eyes met my brown ones. I lifted my hand and waved. The doe bowed her head. Have a safe journey, Little One. The doe disappeared into the woods. “Who’re you waving to?” Lorcán asked. “A friend I met in the forest,” I replied. Lorcán turned and peered into the dense forest. “I don’t see anyone.” “She’s there,” I said. “On the edge of the forest.” I watched the distance between us and the forest increase. An odd feeling crawled into my head. “Lorcán?” I said, alarmed. “Lorcán, what is happening?” Everything around me began to fade away. I tried to cling on to pieces of Lorcán, but nothing helped. I screamed his name, trying to find my way around the darkness. ••••• Someone held me down. I was flinging my arms and legs, trying to get free. “Lorcán!” I screamed. “Lorcán!” My screams echoed in my head. Where was he? He was just by my side! “Kaorí! Be still!” Someone’s voice broke through the black chaoticness. “Kaorí, he’s gone! I’m sorry!” I knew it was my father’s voice. He held me down and tried to calm me. “Where’s Lorcán? And Inerys? Where are they?” “Lorcán is dead,” he replied softly. “Who is Inerys?” I grew still under the calm of despair. Lorcán was gone. Inerys was probably gone as well--or never existed. I remembered her comforting words. Good things are in store for you, if you wait. Lorcán was gone now, but I had to keep living. My love for him would never die. He would wait for me in the Diamond Pond.


The droplets of rain made me feel big, but not gigantic. As crisp as a day can get, the room--plain and clean--grounds me. My focused eyes are processing the world, leaving my mind behind. *Tap. Tap. Tap*. My feet don’t tap. It was the counselor’s. Him and his large feet that I can see from underneath the desk. “I have to let you know, although you already know from our past meetings, if you have any intentions to hurt yourself or others I’ll be forced by law to tell your parents guardians. Anything otherwise, by HIPAA confidentiality, I cannot tell even your parents of what you tell me.” I nod. “So why didn’t you schedule with the therapist, from Swedish Hospital, here at school?” *I’m not financially challenged*, “My parents have the money to pay for a therapist, unlike the people who use the school resource,” He laughs, “That's a crude way of putting it, but your situation is peculiar since you don’t want to tell your parent. But, you know,... look, I want you to know that no one would judge you for getting help.” When I didn’t respond, he cleared his throat, “why do you think you need therapy?” I paused, “well.” I search my memory, but all I can think of are the sirens, “I feel dead,” I wanted to laugh. Laugh it off like a sick joke, but it died at the pit of my stomach and all I could come up with was an eerily petite, picture worthy smile. He raises an eyebrow, “can you be more specific?” but in a kind way, not threatening or confronting; soft like the little picture of a peninsula reflected off a lake, making it look a lot like a penis with odd ridges, hanging behind his head. “It’s like someone reached in, and pulled out my throat,” I responded, and he nodded as if he expected it. “Do you feel suffocated?” “Yes.” “That’s a common feeling among your peers,” he said. “I doubt it,” I smiled, but it wasn’t much of a smile. He then proceeded to give me a round of statistics. “I see,” I said, but my mouth was on a line. The bell rang soon, and I told him I needed to go to first period. He gave me a late slip, and told me we need weekly meetings. I only nodded. Through the hallways, *your face haunts mine as I walk through, and I don’t want to escape you. Sometimes, that’s the only place where I can see you*. The teacher nods when I walk through, seeing the pink late slip through my fingers. *At night, I rub my eyes,* *Teary and calloused,* *I hope tomorrow when I look up, it’ll be more than a blur,* My hands shook as I wrote, looking up to see the stare of a teacher, “what are you doing-” I crumpled it up, and pushed it into my backpack, but she didn’t relent. Her eyes went to my bag, and instead of telling her it was just a piece of paper, I handed it to her. “Oh,” she looked at the simple poem, then looked up sternly, “come to my office after school. We have to talk about your commitment to my class.” I nodded, my throat dry, “okay.” Lunch came too soon; my stomach wasn’t grumbling. I stared up at the spot where I'd eat lunch with my friends, and saw a few familiar heads pop up, but instead of going over there, I headed up the other staircase, when no one’s looking, into the janitor’s closet where the stairs to the roof led. There is no more yellow tape, *it disappeared in a day, a week of announcements, just like you*. But when my eyes focus on the sky above, I can still remember the smile, petite and picture worthy. *For a good while they had a suspicion: I pushed you down, but my feet were planted firmly on the pavement.* Rhythmic taps of feet on the ladder rang, and I turned around fully expecting you, but the janitor came up, and he wasn’t smiling at me anymore. “You are not allowed to be up here, please leave.” “Okay,” I nodded, but my voice wasn’t apologetic, just a mutter. He probably didn’t hear. “I won’t tell on you, but you can’t do this anymore.” He said. His voice broke, and for a moment I thought something was wrong with him. Voice breaking for something simple, like an opera play where people sing, but when you’re young, always mistake for a shrill cry. I looked down at my feet as I passed him. When I get back to the hallways, *I can still see your peachy face, but they’ve forgotten in a year’s time. When I go back to our middle school the teachers no longer hang up your prized watercolor paintings, only your trophy is left in Mrs. Gelard’s room*. The hallways, clean and empty, like lunch never happened. *Shit*. I ran to the science wing. The teacher wrote me up as soon as I walked in, and I had to head to the counselor’s office. “Again?” Mr. R, the front desk man asked, looking down at the slip, “same reason? Didn’t your counselor tell you to set an alarm before each class?” I shrugged, diverted my eyes. “Once more, and we will be forced to contact your parents.” My eyes met his quickly, holding the gaze, “okay.” This was my protest, unapologetically, my standing, and he only sighed and sent me back. *This was my Rosa Parks... Not caring for anything. I’m done with pretending.* My mother would have told me to explain myself. To be presentable even if it cost me my well being. I shook my head and walked myself back. Stupid. I walked to class, trying to imagine the last time I heard from you, but my legs felt like they were put in place by my mother, and my mind could only seem to search for the numbers above each door. I thought I was past this, but maybe it’s a matter of my feet that are now grounded, and my fixed vision. I opened my classroom door, seeing the hate through my teacher’s eyes. Hate is a strong word, I’ve learned, but my teacher walks over and I can see the animalistic snarl. Her teeth are showing, as she tells me to sit in the back. I try to understand how she can have 100 bad days, for all the days she’s been in school. After class, she calls me over. The lid over a small box of grievances is slowly lifted within me, but I breathe in, and push it down, far beneath me. As a soldier would, I looked at her, erasing all signs of emotional distress from my facial muscles. I followed the strict regime my mom herself would be proud of, looking at the direction of the teacher’s face. “Are you going to take your education seriously?” She asked sternly, and I almost wished she had glasses so there’d be a boundary, a glass wall between because she doesn’t know what touched me before. She stays, with those piercing blue eyes. She isn’t a new teacher. *I’m supposed to say yes*, “yes,” I respond. My stomach knots up, and I stare at the whiteboard behind her instead of her eyes. A little fear tells me she can tell I’m not staring in her eyes. “Then get to class on time, and stop sleeping in my class.” I nodded. She didn’t ask how I was feeling. I didn’t ask how she was feeling either. I’m fair this way. I used to feel like a good person that way. Now, it doesn’t quite have the same charm it used to. I feel old, and the rage shakes my bones. As I walk home from school, I no longer come up with excuses, and my mother opens her mouth to scold, but closes it--wordless. “Are you done?” “Done with what?” I sucked in a breath. “Are you done with acting like you don’t care?” She glared at me, “is this still about Lisa?” “No, why would it be about her, it has been a year,” I snapped. She snapped back, “you better put your act back together, do you want to be flipping hamburger buns when you grow older? I didn’t come all the way from China for you to act like this!” I rolled my eyes, “go back to China then.” “Am I a bad mother?” She asked, and I know this never ends well. “No. I’m just not a good daughter.” I sighed. “AM I A BAD MOTHER?!” She asked again. I growled, “NO, I ToLD YOU, I’M a bad-URGH YOU’RE NOT EVEN LISTENING TO ME,” “AM I A BAD MOTHER for you to be acting like such-” “I’m not talking to you until tomorrow. We’re not doing this. You’re not even listening to me,” I huff, and head upstairs. She tries to follow, but must have agreed because she didn’t make it up the stairs. I try to release my breath as I shut the world off with my bedroom door, but I hear no hysterical crying. It’s stuck in my throat, and it’s not about the failed expectations or my mother’s screaming. “I’m sick of being sad,” I lay on my bed, and put my head on the pillows, hoping for a bad dream. But, even I realized after a year or two, if love was enough you’d be here while I hang--loose, and cold. And written behind the homework was apologetic for all the times I failed to be.


Milly had been my pet for fourteen years. The day she died was when a part of me died too, another little piece of my heart. She was given to me at eight weeks of age, a tiny soft bundle of fluff. From the minute I held her, she clung to me as if her life depended on it, and in a way it did, and mine on hers. “Mrs Wilson, this is our way of saying sorry for your loss. We know how lonely you will be without Mr Wilson, so we thought a puppy would keep you company”, and all the girls from the gymnastics club that I taught at, stood on my front door step, some crying, and handed me Milly. She did help with the loneliness. I had lots of friends, but at night time when they were lying next to their partners in bed, comfortable and warm, I lay on my side of the bed, feeling alone - awake for a lot of the night. I used to say that if I had a dog, it would not be allowed to sleep on the bed (mainly because I knew Ben would never allow it) He would to say to me “They’ve been digging and getting into all sorts of stuff in the garden and you want that on our bedspread? No way!”. We didn’t get a dog when Ben was alive anyway. We were always busy with our work, I sometimes worked at the weekend and he travelled with his job - it wasn’t fair if we couldn’t walk a dog each day, and I certainly wouldn’t want to leave it with just anyone, if we weren’t around. My sister Vanessa had a dog she rescued from the dog pound. She was lively but with a sweet nature, but looking of her, you would think she was mean and tough. Her head was square and rather large, she had a solid body and big teeth, but when you got to know her, you realised she was just a soft marshmallow. My nieces and nephews adored her and played rough and tumble all the time, and the dog was much more fearful of the kids than them of her. When Vanessa’s family went away on their last holiday, she asked if I would come and just feed Lila before work for two mornings. Her friend was coming to stay at the house but couldn’t come for two days after they left. “The neighbour will walk her both mornings, and then pop in during the day, so could you just feed her first thing and give her some love?” she asked almost running out of the door before I could say anything! It was an easy task as we lived just down the road from my sister. I was greeted at 7am by a big softie, licking my face and wanting me to play. “Sorry Lila, I’m just here to feed you and give you a few pats”, which I did, wiping my slobbery face on my sleeve. And even after that, I realised then that I couldn’t wait to have a dog of my own. Ben got really sick, and for a long time he needed a lot of care. So it was never the right time for us to get a puppy or even a fully grown dog. “When you get well, we will get a dog Ben” I would tell him, “We’ll take it to the park every day and when we go away together, the dog comes too”. But for the time being I put the idea right out of my head. It was enough dealing with work, a home and a very ill husband. The first time Ben was in remission, he was so weak that it took weeks before he had regained his strength, but then thankfully Ben could walk again without needing to rest and catch his breath. Then the big C came back again, taking us all by surprise as he didn’t seem to have any signs or symptoms that anything was wrong. He was a fighter though , and fought hard to not let the insidious disease beat him. Once again he went into remission, and we went away as much as we could. We knew that our time together was probably limited so made the most of weekend trips to out of the way places, offering the peace and solitude that was much needed for Ben and myself. Ultimately, we both knew after trying intermittently, and after so much chemotherapy, that children weren’t going to happen for us. It was tough staying positive knowing we would be childless, and it would only ever be just us, but our main aim was just to keep Ben alive. He died peacefully one night the week after the cancer had returned, and this time it had spread throughout his body. It was both unexpected and yet not a total surprise. I knew that Ben would have wanted to go quickly rather than to hang on, and unselfishly, for my sake. I was of course beyond sad. The gentle and loving man I had married was gone. I had no children to look at and think ‘You’ve got your dad’s eyes or Ben would have loved seeing how clever his son or daughter had turned out to be’ but I tried to tell myself that I was lucky to have wonderful memories, which was true, although sometimes that didn’t seem enough. Milly became my best friend. I could never imagine how much comfort a little fluffy dog would bring to someone. On a cold and rainy night, we would snuggle up together on the couch and keep each other warm. I would to say to her most mornings when she jumped off the bed to go outside, ‘your dad would never have allowed this you know!’ It’s funny how you talk to your dog as if they are human beings, even though you know you won’t ever get an answer. Maybe them not talking back was a good thing, especially when asking for an opinion on how you looked! “Oh, I really need to colour my hair” I would tell Milly and she would just stare at me or run off. One evening when I had come home from work a bit later than usual, and walked up to my front door, I noticed that it was slightly ajar. I didn’t feel in the least worried that someone was inside as the catch was dodgy, and I had been meaning to have it fixed for quite a while. Sometimes when you shut it behind you, it didn’t catch on the latch, but if you walked off, not looking behind, how did you know? I was annoyed at myself for leaving it this long and not having fixed it, and then pushed it open. Millie didn’t run to the door to greet me like usual. In fact, as I walked through to the kitchen, I realised she wasn’t even in the house. I went to every room calling her name. I began to feel extremely worried. I frantically ran to my neighbour and banged on her door. As she opened it, I quickly asked if she had seen Millie at all during the day but the answer was ‘no’. “Get in my car” she said to me “and we’ll have a drive around”. She was nowhere to be found. I came home and rang everyone I knew who lived in the area and asked them all if they had seen her, but the answer was the same. ‘Please come back Milly’ I prayed feeling very upset at the thought that she could have been run over, or just lost and lonely out there. My sister came over and brought me some dinner. “I can’t eat Jo, let’s go out again and drive around. She has to be somewhere.” By 11pm I was exhausted. There was no sign of her. I finally went to bed well after 2am with a banger of a headache, knowing I wouldn’t sleep, and crying into one of her little blankets. Once upon a time I would never have believed that a dog could make so much difference to my life, and give me so much happiness. She filled a void, greeting me whenever I came home with a furiously wagging tail and a few quick licks on my hand - letting me know how much she had missed me. It was never ‘dinner for one’, it was ‘dinner for one and titbits for the other’. Even having a little dog curled up like a foetus on the end of my bed, made me feel brave, and gave me comfort. (And sometimes plenty of sand on the quilt cover!) I didn’t just want Milly back; I needed her back. It had been two days since Milly disappeared. I was lost without her. I went to work and came home, then changed my clothes and went walking around the area, scanning the same places and calling her name. Nothing. On the third days after she disappeared, I had a phone call. “Hello Fiona speaking” I answered. It was from an elderly gentleman who lived about twenty kilometres from my house. “Hello Fiona. Do you own, or have you lost a little dog called Milly?” he asked me. “Oh no, are you kidding me? Is it really Milly? A poodle X?” “Oh ‘m not sure about that love. All I know is that she is brown and fluffy and has a name tag with Milly written on it, and of course this phone number.” “Yes, she’s mine. Thank you, thank you. I’ll come and get her now.” He gave me his address and I set off, crying with relief and feeling a mixture of excitement and disbelief at the thought of getting Milly back. When I found his house, he told me how he had come outside at 6am to pick up his newspaper, it was raining and cold. As he bent down, he saw a little bedraggled dog in his front garden, quite close to him. Slowly and quietly, he walked up to her and coaxed her into his arms. He said that Milly had snuggled in and fallen asleep very quickly, so he walked next door to his neighbours to get some of their dog’s biscuits for when she woke up. Fiona was not only very grateful to the stranger but felt that the emptiness she had without her dog was no longer with her. She felt complete again. As soon as they neared their house in Fiona’s car, Milly began to move from one side of the back seat to the other in excitement. Her tail wagged as if it was on the top number on a speed dial. She knew that she was home and had a couple of barks as if saying “I’m back.” “I don’t think she will run off like that again” Fiona told her sister over the phone “She is following me like a shadow - and I love it!” Fiona couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing at the vets. Since Milly had been back home with her, she seemed so content, loved playing throw the soft toy and bring it back, for what seemed like hours on end and standing patiently for Fiona to give a few morsels of each meal she had! It had been at least a couple of months or more since she got lost and in that period of time, Milly had seemed just like her normal self. One morning Milly didn’t eat her breakfast, and wandered around the house slowly with her head down as if she had been told off and was in trouble. “What’s wrong little one?” Fiona asked her. “Have you gone off the lamb and veg? Fuss pot!” But even changing the flavour of the meat roll didn’t make any difference. That same day, in the evening after Fiona changed the food in the dog’s bowl, she didn’t come to even sniff it, and was still there the next morning. “I think I should take you to see the vet” Fiona said to a lifeless little dog lying in her basket. As she walked into the old building, Milly in her arms, Fiona had a strange feeling in her chest, stressful. She felt even more uneasy when the vet, after examining Milly, said “I think we’ll need blood tests.” So here she was, the next day, sitting in the vet’s room waiting for the results from the blood test. Her constant companion lay lifeless in her arms. Fiona looked down at her into the dark brown eyes, sad and quite lifeless. She couldn’t help herself, tears welled up in her own eyes at the thought of losing Millie. The vet’s words echoed in her head as if they were coming from a place far away, slightly muffled, not clear. “What did you just say?” she asked “I’m so sorry Fiona, Milly doesn’t have long. She has a very aggressive blood cancer and it’s too far gone already.” “But she was perfectly alright a couple of months ago. I even took her when I went hiking two weeks ago, she was ok. Are you sure? Have you mixed up her results with another dogs?” Fiona was crying now. “Fiona, look at her, she can hardly lift her head off your arm. It’s the type of cancer that doesn’t show up until it’s almost too late”. “Almost, so she can get better?” she asked the vet wiping her eyes with a tissue. “No Fiona. It’s too late. I am so sorry”. She looked down at her friend, and love of her life. Her dull eyes were looking at Fiona with love, but she hardly moved. The warmth of her soft tummy was spreading through Fiona’s body and she stroked the soft brown fur, tears fell on it. “What shall I do?” she asked, wanting someone else to make the decision. “There would be no point in taking Milly home - she won’t improve. Why don’t you spend as much time as you would like with her here, and then we can put her out of her misery, kindly and lovingly.” Fiona felt numb. ‘I must be dreaming, and I’ll wake up soon and Milly will be clambering over me on my bed. Please let me be dreaming. I don’t think I can do this...not again’ she thought fearfully. She doesn’t know how long she sat with Milly but Fiona turned when she heard the door open, and a kindly voice told her “We are ready when you are Fiona. It’s the kindest thing we can do.” Fiona kissed the head of her beautiful dog and let the vet nurse take her out of her arms. She remembers seeing Milly turning her eyes towards her as she left the room, and felt as if she was saying to her “I know you don’t want to.” She doesn’t know how long she sat in her car crying her eyes out - not wanting to go home to an empty house. The staff from the surgery all came out after locking up and the nurse knocked on her window, which she wound down. As she handed Fiona the little pink collar and silver letter M that had hung from it, she said “Millie went very peacefully. She didn’t move. I will ring you in a day or two and you can pick up the urn Fiona. Can I ring someone for you?” “No thank you.” Said Fiona clasping the collar in her hand. “I’ll ring my sister now and she will stay at my place with me tonight. Did she just close her eyes and go to sleep?” Fiona needed to know how peaceful Millie felt. It mattered to her. “Yes, so peaceful.” Fiona’s sister came over, with some dinner and they sat together eating in silence. Fiona felt quite sick with her headache but needed something to eat. It did help slightly. “I don’t know what I shall do now without her Jo.” Her sister didn’t say too much. There was no point in saying “You will get over it in time, or one day you can get another puppy, or it’s very raw now but will get better, honestly.” None of those were what Fiona wanted or needed to hear, so all she said was “It’s so sad Fi and will take a while, but I’m here for you, whenever you need me.” “Thank you, Jo. Goodnight.” As Fiona slumped on her bed, she slid her hand under her pillow and placed the collar there. She imagined that she was cuddling her little dog and a warm in her heart, and at peace. It became a ritual. Each night Fiona would put the little collar with the M letter hanging from it under her pillow, and each time she went for a walk, she would take the collar out and put it into the pocket of whatever she was wearing. If she didn’t have a pocket then she just held it tight. That way it was as if Milly was always with her doing the two things that they both loved. Sleeping on the end of the bed, and going for a walk. It was a special bond that could never be broken. It had helped Fiona cope with the loss of her beloved Ben - now this habit, or ritual was helping her cope with the loss of Milly. Humans or animals. The love might be different but a loss is just that. It’s something that takes a tiny piece of your heart, each time.


"Tommy, how are you doing tonight?" John doesn't have time to put on his shirt so he covers his chest with his arms. Tommy walks closer dripping water on the ground. The fire that John built is crackling while burning his plumage; a small pile of feathers is next to him. John moves it under his body with his leg. "Not much, just decided to go out for a swim. What are you doing?" Tommy sits on the ground next to him. "I thought it was a lovely night to built a fire," John replies. "That's true." Tommy reaches to the ground and picks up a feather. "Are you roasting a turkey?" "No, it must've fallen from a bird earlier." John notices one of his feathers is sticking out from his armpit. John scratches to keep it hidden. "It doesn't look like a feather from any bird in the area." Tommy hands it to John to take. John adjusts his arm and grabs it. He fakes an inspection. "I don't know anything about bird. All I know is that I hate when the chirp outside my window in the morning and wake me up," John says. "I love birdwatching. There isn't much else to do around here." "In that case, you are probably excited about seeing a new bird." John hands the feather back. "It looks like it came from a tropical bird. They tend have to have brighter feathers whereas the species native to here tend to have more subdued colors." "Maybe its the light from the campfire?" John cringes. Bright feathers are a symbol of youth and vitality in his species. Their skin doesn't wrinkle and inspecting plumage is the primary means to determine age. "No way, this thing is bright green for sure. It looks like it came from a parrot." "Oh no, does that mean we have to be on the look-out for pirates?" John sweats. Why won't Tommy just leave. "Very funny, but I doubt pirates go to the middle of the forest." "Maybe the parrot just migrated. I hear they adore crackers." "Migration." Tommy sets the feather down and shakes his head. "I had a talk with Diane today about the lasting environmental impacts of the Mieran invasion. We don't really have any information so it was mostly speculation, but parrots weren't migratory birds. If they did migrate and they migrated here, that could be a sign of larger issues." "Maybe it escaped from a pet store. Don't you and Diane have a pet cat?" John tries to change the subject desperately. "Deb ran away last week. Diane is pissed about it," Tommy says. "Oh, that sucks. Maybe the cat is nearby." John suppresses his smile "I doubt it. That cat has probably been killed by a wolf or something. Even if I did it find it. Diane would still be mad at me." "Why would she be mad at you?" "I don't know. She and I have just been drifting apart and arguing a lot more recently." Tommy looks at John. "You've always been a good man. Can I tell you a secret?" "Sure." John says as he scratches his chest where his nipples should be. "I've started having an affair with Lindsay." Tommy looks at the fire. "I know I'm trash. I was at her place before I started swimming tonight." "Oh, that's not good. How does Lindsay feel about this?" John laughs at how small Tommy's secret is. "Lindsay and Diane have never gotten along so I'm sure Lindsay enjoys that she is torturing Diane, and Diane will probably be even more angry that I cheated on her with Lindsay." "I really don't know what to say." "It's fine. I just need someone to listen." Tommy looks at the night. "When Diane and I first started dating, I always felt good about myself around her. Now, I just feel like a failure. Lindsay makes me feel better." "What do you mean?" "Diane is incredibly smart, and she makes me feel like an idiot sometimes. She is also very particular and organized. Lindsay isn't a slob, but she understands that messes happen." Tommy starts to cry. "Who I am kidding. I am just making excuses for my own shitty behavior." "Don't say that." John rubs Tommy's shoulder. Tommy looks over at him. He jumps back in shock. "Where are your nipples dude?" John looks down. "It's not what it looks like." John holds his hands up to defuse the situation. "Are those green feathers under your armpit?" Tommy spots the feathers that John was hiding. "Oh my god, you are the parrot. Are you a spy for the Mierans?" "No, I love humanity and hate the Mierans." "I don't believe you," Tommy walks away. Without thinking, John runs over and grabs Tommy's neck. Tommy begins to struggle, but John is much stronger than he. Within a few seconds, he's dead. John weeps over his body. He hasn't killed anyone since he was free of Mieran influence, but his safety comes first. And he will ensure that he stays safe.


Yoonki got a call from his friend one late afternoon. It was only a few days till Christmas and Yoonki knew that Jaemin should be busy with his bakery. "Hey. What's up?" Yoonki asked. "I need your help again. It's really important." "Is it about your mom again?" "No. It's about my bakery." "Why do you need a detective for a bakery?" "It's REALLY important. Can you just come over? Right now!" "Alright. Whatever. I was in the middle of watching that new drama "Find Me" so this had better be good." "You watch the Please series?! I love that series!" "It is an amazing series. I just hope that season two comes out before I finish season one." "I heard there are gonna be, like, six to eight seasons so good luck trying not to end up on a cliff hanger." "Whatever. I'm heading over now." Thirty minutes later, Yoonki pulled up to his friends bakery and stepped out of the cab. He thanked the driver and paid him before heading inside the closed shop. He found his friend pacing in the kitchen. "What was so urgent that I had to come over here?" "Someone broke into my shop last night!" "How do you know? I don't see any broken glass or anything else that would indicate that there had been a break in." "Something's missing and it's really important. I can't have my Christmas party without them! It just won't be the same!" "What are you missing?" "It's a secret ingredient. I can't tell you but it's for my Yaksik. I can't make my Yaksik without them!!" "Just get a different kind of nut or buy more or something." "It's not nuts that I'm missing. It's something more important. And, I've tried buying more. Every time I buy more, they're gone by the next day!" "How am I supposed to help you if there's nothing to work with?" "I'm sorry. You're supposed to be the detective. Can't you look around and find fingerprints or something?" "That takes special equipment." "Use your equipment then!" "I would if I had it! You hurried me out the door so I didn't bring anything!" "You're still a detective. Isn't there something you can do?" "I'll take a look at your locks and any opening that people could use to get in but I can't guarantee anything." "Thanks." Yoonki started to look at all of the doors and windows in the bakery. He couldn't find a single scratch or anything else that would signify a break-in. "Did you find anything?" "No. Whoever stole your "secret ingredient" must've stolen it during the day." " How would they be able to do that with all the people around?" "I don't know. I'm sure they would find a way if your "secret ingredient" is as special as you say it is." "What are you gonna do now?" "I don't have anything to do tomorrow so I'll hang out at you're place for the day and see if I can find anything. Tell yours workers to also keep an eye on things." "Okay. I'll see you tomorrow." Yoonki started to walk out but stopped. "And, don't buy any more of your "secret ingredient" for now." "Okay, but, please hurry, then. The Christmas party is in a little more than a week and I can't have the party without my Yaksik!" "Got it." Yoonki headed out. The next day, Yoonki dressed an an outfit that he found comfortable but stylish enough to go out in. He wore black jeans, a white T-shirt that was slightly big on him, a green jacket, black combat boots and a black hat that he put on backwards. The outfit looked pretty Christmas-y if you added his dark red hard into the mixture. Black like the night, green like a Christmas tree, red like the decorations on the house, white like the fallling snow, it all fit perfectly and Yoonki was very satisfied with it. He headed to the bakery with his computer at eight in the morning and he kept an eye on things all day. He never saw single suspicious person or act. No one ever caught his eye. After the day was over, Yoonki headed over to talk to Jaemin about the next plan that he had come up with while sitting there all day. "Did anyone spot anything suspicious?" Yoonki asked. "No. Nothing suspicious." "I have another plan then." "What is it?" "Buy your "secret ingredient" and leave it where you always do tonight. We'll see if anyone comes tomorrow. Maybe they have something that tells them whether or not you've restocked." The next day Yoonki headed back with a new outfit. He still wore black jeans (A different pair of course) but, from there, it changed. He had a red sweater on that had long enough arms that he could have sweater paws if he wanted. He had a black, satin, suit coat over that. He accessorized with a black belt and black converse. It seemed like an unlikely outfit but it looked a lot better than he thought it would. He nodded at himself in the mirror before heading out for another, tiring day at the bakery. Once again, the whole day, he didn't see a single suspicious thing. He was getting annoyed because he had better things to be doing. He came up with one last plan and, at the end of the day, he relayed the plan to Jaemin. "I brought a camera today. We're gonna put it up tonight and find out, once and for all, who's stealing your "secret ingredient." Yoonki set up the camera and Jaemin restocked the shelf once more. They both left the shop in hopes that they would really catch the culprit this time. The next day, Yoonki picked an outfit, hoping it would be his last outfit for the bakery. Yoonki wore black, dress pants with a black and white striped shirt. He put a large, red, suit coat over that and wore black dress shoes too. He looked at himself and then shook his head. The outfit was missing something. After contemplating it for a good while he walked to his closet and pulled out a black fedora. He set it on his head an looked in the mirror. He nodded and lightly smiled before heading out. When he got to the store, Jaemin was already excitedly waiting inside for him. Yoonki went to grab the camera and then went through the footage quietly while Jaemin tried to lean over the table to see. After a few minutes Yoonki's expression changed to a look of shock and then he laughed. "You won't believe this!" Yoonki said. Jaemin stood up and walked around the table to peer at the camera and see what Yoonki was laughing at. The video showed a raccoon climbing through his chimney and opening his fireplace from the inside. The raccoon then went straight to the shelf and grabbed the jar of Persimmons. The raccoon ate all of them, threw the trash away, put the jar back and then climbed back out through the chimney. Jaemin didn't want to laugh but he had to admit that it was a very strange sight. "What am I going to do now?" "I've heard that raccoons don't like strange sounds. Maybe you can play music at night?" "I think that would be a waste of electricity." "You could spray peppermint oil up the chimney and around that room. I've read the raccoons have a great sense of smell and peppermint is a smell that really bothers them." "I don't want my bakery to smell like peppermint!" "Well then ... get a lock for your fireplace or something! I don't know! My work here is done. I'm leaving." "Thanks for your help. I'll just get a lock." "Your welcome. Don't call me again until Christmas is over." And that's how Yoonki saved Christmas and stopped the "Secret Ingredient Thief" (Kind of)


Trigger Warning: This story references female mutilation. Olivette sat and listened to her mother tell the stories. The bondo devils would come and they would celebrate, Folami would say. They would come, with their long robes adorned with strips of many colored-fabrics, and the black-wood masks atop their heads, increasing their height by at least a foot. They would dance in the dirt roads, the bondo devils, shrieking and wailing their song, as the villagers pranced behind them, joyous and exuberant. Her mother would tell her the stories and she would smile, but it was a bleak slash that crossed her face and rendered it dark. As Folami spoke, she gestured and pointed with her hands. “When the devils come, there will be revelry in the streets. The men will want you, and your sisters will be jealous. We will eat for many days, and our bellies will be full.” Sometimes her mother would weave her tales in front of the big black pot while she cooked the stew, the steam floating in front of her face. It drifted before her like a smoky screen, obscuring her mother’s eyes and making them impossible to read. Olivette imagined that her mother’s eyes were filled with the same trepidation that the stories aroused in her. Her mother shared the stories with a tone that was alternatively grim yet hopeful, but Olivette feared her tales. As her mother recounted the traditions, Olivette’s stomach clenched in fear. She would nod as appropriate when Folami spoke, but inside, her heart pounded dread in her chest, much like the old drums that would beat in time of war. Late at night, in the quiet of the hut, when everyone was asleep, Olivette would lie awake, watching the final embers of the dying fire cast shadows on the walls. Her mother had said the bondo devils would dance in the streets, but Olivette saw their spirits lurking in the shadows, their long, ominous forms beckoning to her. “Olivette...” They would chant in the crackle and hiss of the fire, and no matter what her mother had said about joy and elation, she knew that these spirits of the bondo were evil. Her days were spent in preparation. Her mother and her aunts went to the woods to prepare the ceremonial hut. They gathered the necessary herbs and prepared them accordingly. They taught Olivette the differences between the herbs, and the purpose of each. And they sang. They sang the songs that would call the devils, and they were merry. But Olivette did not share their happiness; rather, she held a solemn fear. She remembered Aminata, her older sister, who had bled when the devils came for her. Aminata had screamed and screamed. For days she had been covered in a sheath of her own sweat and tears, but despite the heat, she shivered with cold. In those few moments when she did not scream, she muttered her words and shook both with pain and fear. One day, she extended a weak and shaky hand to Olivette. “ The devils...will come...for you, too, Olivette. Then you...will know ,” Aminata told her sister in a hoarse whisper. The light in her eyes was diminishing, and her skin held no color other than the pallid green of sickness. Her mother, her aunts, and her grandmother had said the prayers, and the bondo devils had come. “This will pass, and we will rejoice.” But it did not pass. The bleeding did not stop, and eventually Aminata spoke no more. Folami cried, but Olivette’s aunts comforted their sister. Sometimes the devils took their daughters, they told her mother. Sometimes the sin was too great. When the bondo came again, they took Aminata’s body; because her spirit was unsettled, her body could not stay in the compound. They buried her in the brush, far beyond the walls of the compound enclosure. At night, in the quiet of the hut, Olivette was sure she saw her dead sister. She lurked in the shadows with the devils, and she called to Olivette. “Olivette, it is time...” In her bed of straw and brush, Olivette trembled under her goat skin covering. Her sister knew of Olivette’s sin, and wanted Olivette to join her. But the dark world her sister inhabited with the devils frightened her. “ Join us, Olivette... ” Olivette clapped her hands over her ears, shut her eyes, and wished the spirits to leave. Folami went to the market and with great care, gathered the ingredients for the feast. There would be dried fish, goat, ground nut, and kola nut. Her mother and her aunts began the cook, and for two days the air carried the aroma of ground nut stew and palm oil. Folami and her sisters argued over how best to prepare the fish; the fish would be offered to the devils. Olivette stole a kola, split it open and pulled the nuts from the shell. She would leave the nuts for the bondo so that perhaps they would stay away. But when night fell, the plate of nuts that she laid by the fire remained untouched. In the long shadows cast upon the walls, the haphazard shape of Aminata flittered about, the dark silhouette of her head thrown back in laughter. The devils danced with her, their darkened shapes bobbing up and down. “ Olivette, it is not the nuts he wants ...” Olivette trembled in fear. Her mother and sisters and grandmother argued over what instrument to use. One of her mother’s sisters had a piece of onyx with a shiny black tip, the same that was used on Aminata. But Folami was superstitious and refused. To use the same instrument on one daughter that was used on the other, the first, would bring anger to the devils. Instead, Folami found an old, rusted blade. She went to the river and washed the blade; near her, two men urinated into the water. Olivette no longer slept at night. Her mother had said the devils would come during the day, to bring jubilation, but instead, Olivette was plagued by their suggestion. Their spirits hid in the shadows, Aminata among them, and they whispered to her incessantly about the nature of her sin. At night, the silhouettes reached for Olivette, and she would scream, but her mother would tell her to quiet her sleep. When at last the day came and the preparations were done, the handmaidens of the devils appeared first. They wore white dresses, and their dark skin was made light with white chalk. Like ghosts, they escorted the devils. They came for Olivette. She screamed and struggled and fought. But her mother and her aunts and her grandmother betrayed her; they helped the handmaidens take her to the hut. Inside, they laid her on the jute rug, and handmaidens sat on the floor on either side of her. They grabbed her legs and pulled them apart. Olivette jerked and twisted, but her mother and her aunts held her down by her midriff. On an old rock was the blade and near that, a small fire burned. Her grandmother placed the blade in the fire, and then positioned herself between her granddaughter’s legs, where her vagina was exposed and spread to reveal the sin of her womanhood. As her grandmother prepared to make the first cut, Olivette heard the song of the bondo devils outside the hut. They cried and wailed their song, and Olivette knew she heard her sister’s voice among them. “He’s coming for you, Olivette...you’ll be with him soon ...” “Please!” Olivette screeched. “Please! I am sorry for my sin! I am sorry for it! I will be chaste! I will be good! ” But her pleas were drowned out by the chants, the songs, and the catcalls of the devils outside. And after her grandmother was done, after she had cut and cut and cut and the sin of her organ was removed, she sewed the wound closed. Then the women celebrated. Olivette was unconscious, passed out from the pain. She did not hear when her mother, her aunts and her grandmother declared her a woman. Now that she was pure, as was the tradition, they asked the devils to spare her. But hours later, when Olivette came to in the darkened hut, she shuddered and shivered from fever, from shock, from loss of blood. In the weak glow of the fire, she saw the shadows waiting, felt the cold hand of death caress her cheek, and she knew the devils had come for her.


The Epistle of Paul to the Present Church Chapter 1 1. Paul, a servant of Jesus Christ, called to be an apostle by the will of God and separated according to the effective working of His power amongst the Gentiles 2. scattered throughout the world, to bear witness of the grace and love of the Father revealed in Jesus Christ, His Son, 3. To the present Church, beloved by God and called into fellowship with Him and each other for the eternal purpose of the Kingdom of God, 4. made known by the Spirit of knowledge and revelation to His people, who stand according to His grace. 5. Greetings, in the Name of my Lord, Jesus Christ. 6. I thank God for each remembrance of you, fondly considering your place in the heart of the Father, 7. knowing that you are precious in His sight, in attitude, word, and deed, always striving for the furtherance of His kingdom on the Earth. 8. Though it was my intention to teach and preach among you to the continued benefit of both you and me, it seems the Lord had plans for me, not of any private revelation. 9. For what I have faced in this life, I did so for the sake of the Gospel and not for any personal gain, whether of gold and silver or of reputation. 10. I have learned to be satisfied with what comes from the Hand of God in either of these. 11. Thus, I faced my certain demise with bold faith and trust in the Lord to do what He deems to be profitable for His Church. 12. For this reason, my preaching must find listening ears only by the reading of my words. My voice, made bold by the confidence I have in the leading of the Spirit, though willing, has been made silent by the elevation of my service into the Temple, not made by hands. 13. Therefore, I bow my knees to the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, from Whom all saints are so named. I 14. n the Presence of God, I speak of you, both day and night, that He may provide for you the accoutrements of your warfare for the souls of those outside, 15. that you may fight the good fight in the midst of the difficulties brought on you by the unbelief of those in the same present authority, 16. who do not care to know the way of righteousness and peace, preferring their choices that lead to strife and heartache, as it has been from the beginning. Chapter 2 1. And you also have been found wanting in this; that you let your heart be given over to double-mindedness concerning the things of this world. 2. Have you not seen the sorrow that comes from pursuing these things that are openly destructive to your faith and purpose? 3. Has it not been enough to turn your eyes away from the attractive things of Man that tarnish in the light of day? 4. This observation I share with a heart made heavy by the surety of the end, known from the beginning by our Lord and revealed to us through the revelations to the prophets and apostles 5. and made known to you through their writings; that the things you gather into your storehouse are the wild gourds of the flesh that brings death to the pot and not the delights of the Spirit which are well known by those who walk in the Spirit. 6. Know this, that the Flour which will give life to the pot is Jesus Christ, which restoration Elisha, the son of Shaphat could attest, 7. that there is no other who can provide such life. 8. Without the Kernal of the Seed, ground into flour through the sufferings which were ordained from the beginning by the Father, the death remains. 9. In like fashion; it is we who have the penalty of death upon us without the same Flour being mixed in because we also have pursued the double-mindedness of the world. 10. I hear reports of multiplications of salvations amongst you all. 11. Can it be true that you seek your identity apart from the risen Christ? 12. Who, then, died for you? Who suffered the indignities of the Cross and rose triumphantly for you? 13. Are you not named by the Lord of the Universe and claimed as His? 14. Walk, then, in wisdom, and move a distance from the futility of the carnal mind. Know, assuredly, that life is found only from one Source, and He is enough. 15. Let your mind be on heavenly things and renounce the earthy things of the flesh, in which is no chance of life. Chapter 3 1. Husbands, endeavour to love and serve your own wives as Christ does the Church. 2. Fulfill the promises you made at the altar, knowing that your Lord has fulfilled all His promises and His altar, 3. when the Church was birthed out of the side of the crucified Lord, just as Eve was out of the side of Adam. 4. Wives, respect your husbands as the servants of the Lord, given to you by the will of God. 5. Supply support for them as partners in life, serving the Lord together, with gladness, rejoicing in the fruits of your union in the children and the children’s children. 6. Children, hear the words of your parents and obey, that they are saved from the sorrow of a wayward child. 7. You are not the future of the Church but are now active members in your own right, called to serve the Lord of Glory as we all are. 8. Finally, Saints of God, be strong in the Lord. The enemy presses upon you with his worldly wisdom, which leads to the precipice. 9. Seek not for how close you can get, but flee its very locations, wherever they may be found. Eschew all that pertains to his drawing us to him. 10. Pursue godliness without dilution, seeking the will of Him who loves you with everlasting love. 11. Stand apart that your garments do not pick up the smoke of the coming conflagration. 12. The eternal life of your loved one is in the balance for they also seek an example of Christlikeness in a world of bad examples. Be their light. Chapter 4 1. Though I remain in the environs of Heaven, I think of you often, pleading with my Lord, 2. Who has replaced my faith with blessed sight. 3. I pray for you that you accomplish the tasks laid upon you by the Spirit of God. I pray that you love each other with the mind of Christ. 4. I pray you walk in the righteousness of God, providing light to those who live in darkness. 5. Some of you will come to me soon. The ones left behind still have the burden of ordination on you to do the will of the Lord. 6. I cannot come to you, but my prayers penetrate the chasm. 7. Until then, peace be to you and grace, in the Name of God the Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. I have you in my heart. Amen


"I can't believe you're making me go!" I exaggerated. Tyler looked at me annoyed, "You're the one who agreed to this blind date, Kyra!" I sunk into the couch, how could I have been so stupid? At first, I didn't think much of it, I've been on blind dates all the time! So of course I agreed to this one. None of them ever ended well, they all had their separate flaws; Slurping, chewing with their mouth open, and the worst of all: Country music. "Kyra you said yes and that means you're going!" Tyler grabbed my hand and before I knew it I was being shoved into an uber. Tyler reached for the seatbelt and clicked mine in for me. "Have fun on your date!" He patted me on my head and closed the door, leaving me inside the uber with no choice but to go on the date. Tyler tapped on the driver's window, the driver rolled it down. Tyler took out his phone and showed an address and the driver nodded and rolled the window back up. Of course, he wasn't going to tell me about where we were going. I sighed and the car took off. This was going to be a long 2 hours ahead of me. I looked around for a man that matched Tyler's description, "tall, brown hair, intense stare, leather jacket." Very descriptive of him. I looked back down at my phone as I leaned against the movie theatre entrance wall. I was scrolling through memes on Instagram when it was interrupted by a notification from an unknown number. I clicked on it to expand the message, Hi is this Kyra? Really? Who else could it be? I sighed as I typed my response on the keyboard of my cracked phone screen. Yes, it is, who is this? Send. A typing bubble appeared and it changed into a message: It's your blind date, are you at the theatre already? I'm at the concessions booth with our tickets. Of course, he was inside, what was I thinking looking for him outside of the building? I sighed as I turned around and entered the building. The lobby of the MegaJolena theatre was always a sight for sore eyes, but not mine. Just looking at the gold outlining decoration along with the doorway just reminds me how disgusting colored rocks are and the quartz flooring just annoys me with all the scratches on it. Oh and the worst of all, the chandelier. Who even came up with chandeliers? Like, come on, a hanging arrangement of diamond killing shards? It was a waste of diamonds and the only good thing about them was that you can use the shards to cut pieces of steak. I sighed as I walked over to the concessions bar looking for a lonely boy with two tickets. I looked everywhere and my heart almost did a reboot when something touched my shoulders. I jumped and turned around at the speed of light. It was a boy my age with big round glasses. His hair was brown and hung over his hairline with a fluff look on it. His attire was a completely different story, literally. A slick black leather jacket with dark blue jeans that traveled all the way down to his black Nike shoes. “Hey you’re Kyra right?” my face was still in shock. “Yeah, how’d you know?” He smiled as he showed me his phone, it was a picture of me staring at the camera intensely, it was the picture Tyler had taken a few days ago. “Oh.” He chuckled, “You’re even wearing the same clothes as the you in the picture!” I smirked, I’m glad he noticed. “Yeah, haven’t changed since.” finally, this was the perfect red flag to tell him that I was no ordinary girl. Normally, my blind dates would excuse themselves and leave the date after I said something like this but this guy was different, he was completely unfazed. “Well I got our tickets,” he said as he handed me one of the two that were in his hands. I faked a smile for him as I accepted the ticket. I bet he was going to make me watch some stupid Disney romance film like come on, what's so good about an orphan with no parents that falls in love with a sexist no good of a man, never made sense to me. I looked down at the ticket to see what we were watching. To my surprise it wasn’t a princess film, instead, it was a horror film that came out a few days ago. This boy got game! “Like I would ever make you watch an orphan movie.” My face lit up, how did this boy know what I was thinking? I didn’t care though, as long as I wasn’t paying for the tickets. It was a win-win situation. We walked into theatre 5 and shuffled into our seats right before the movie started. Little did I know, the boy I was sharing my popcorn with was going to change my life forever, and not in the way you think, he and I were going to go to a mental hospital after the incident at the supermarket, but let's focus on what is happening right now and why this boy is getting escorted by the police out of the MegaJolena Theatre. I was watching from the side as I saw him being forced into the back of the cop's car. He chuckled and smiled at me relieving his dimples. I couldn’t help but smile back at him. The cop slammed the door shut but the door swung right back opened, he had blocked it with his leg. The boy stood up as cops rushed over to force him back into the car. “Hey! Kyra! Don’t forget to visit me!” He shouted at the top of his lungs. I chuckled. There was something different about this boy, and not the fact that he was in the back of a cop's car, it was something different. It had definitely taken me by surprise. This boy... I need to see him again.


Oh! it is absurd to have a hard and fast rule about what one should read and what one shouldn’t. More than half of modern culture depends on what one shouldn’t read - Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest, 1895 I opened his pages and sniffed, basking in the smell of his yellowed leaves. He smelled like home or a rusty old cabin on a mountain or woods surrounding a lake in the middle of a hot summer day. My fingers, covered in dirt, caressed the ink covered pages and beautiful words that echoed in my head as I read the stories inside. I laughed in delight as I discovered the wit and tales he held in his heart. his name was The Importance of Being Earnest and Other Works by Oscar Wilde. A mouthful to say the least, but despite his long name, he was quick and clever. Yellow highlighter in hand, I marked his pages, making note of words he spoke that intrigued or amused me. On the inside in fading pencil is my mother’s name in cursive. Lying on the couch, I shout to my mom asking if she’d read it. She couldn’t remember, but she might have. Perhaps in college or high school she held on to it and then placed it in the bookshelf and left it forgotten for the next twenty or so years. Despite being surrounded by many other books, he seemed lonely as I pulled his out and examined him. A brown colored photograph of the author and several companions graced the cover, covered in a thin coat of dust that I blew off quickly. Earnest seemed to stare up at me as I gripped him in my hands, staring back down at him, as if we were competing to see who would blink first. He was the victor of the battle, but it was I who held his protectively as I wandered the house, delving deeper into his pages every minute. I’d met a cousin of his before, and that cousin was why I introduced myself to this noble Lord. His cousin was a film version of the play, and he had amused me greatly. When I saw this Lord’s title I knew I must introduce myself. “Ever since I first looked upon your wonderful and incomparable beauty, I have dared to love you wildly, passionately, devotedly, hopelessly.” I told him as I admired the words that stemmed out from his spine, my fingers following each line, tracing the tattoos left upon his skin by the ink. He quickly replied to my remark and surprised me. “I don’t think that you should tell me that you love me wildly, passionately, devotedly, hopelessly. Hopelessly doesn’t seem to make much sense, does it?” With a grin, I took him by the spine and whisked him off to the kitchen, where I grabbed turkey and bread and proceeded in making myself a sandwich. I knew at that moment we were meant for each others, that we appreciated humour that was well crafted and filled with wit. After a few minutes, I decided to propose, hoping to celebrate with a cold Dr. Pepper. Again, he surprised me. “Of course. Why, we have been engaged for the last three months.” I raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Worn out by your entire ignorance of my existence, I determined to end the matter one way or the other, and after a long struggle with myself I accepted you under this dear old tree here. The next day I bought this little ring in your name, and this is the little bangle with the true lover’s knot I promised you always to wear.” He then informed me that he had broken off our engagement, because “it would hardly have been a really serious engagement if it hadn’t been broken off at least once. But I forgave you before the week was out.” And so our life together began, and I introduced his to my family, who was greatly amused by his during Thanksgiving dinner. “Relations are simply a tedious pack of people, who haven’t got the remotest knowledge of how to live, nor the smallest instinct about when to die.” The table erupted in laughter at his commentary, and then descended into loud discussions of politics, school, and work. *** The rest is silence - William Shakespeare, Hamlet, 1599 It had been several years since our engagement, and he and I are still close. I picked him up and read and spoke to him on occasion, but at times I felt as though we were drifting apart, as if he’d become some book I simply placed on my nightstand and occasionally glanced at, flipping through his pages and reading a section before putting him down again. Sometimes I felt like he was still speaking to me, trying to grab my attention as I focused on other books. That was when I met Hamlet. He was shiny and new, with no other name written inside except for my own. He and I stayed up late, sitting on my bed with a bowl of popcorn and a Dr. Pepper, his black cover resting in my lap as I stared intently into his pages, my thumb holding my place as I popped another bite into my mouth before carefully turning the page to uncover the secrets inside. He was my very own Prince Charming of Denmark, speaking sweet words to me as I eagerly listened, taking them in and listening to his gentle voice soothing me. “Doubt thou the stars are fire / Doubt that the sun doth move / Doubt truth to be a liar / But never doubt I love”, he said, speaking promises into my ear. He was dark and mysterious, the ideal bad boy of my existence. His presence was alluring in a way that captivated my imagination and fascinated me in ways that Earnest could not. He was romantic yet enveloped by darkness with his black leather-like cover, like the void of the night sky. The silver words that spelled out his name shone like stars against this endless night sky. He was moody and restless, yet I loved him still, refusing to give up on my precious prince. His voice lulled me to sleep every night, the rhythm of his words like a lullaby to my ears, rocking me back and forth as he sang to me. His voice had the same feeling of black velvet on the skin, soft and dark at the same time, yet comforting in the cold winters as I wrapped it around me, drinking warm cocoa and reading in my bed as grey clouds cover the sky, blocking out the light of day, making time seem irrelevant to me. We stayed this way for a year or so, watching David Tennant on screen with a skull in his hand, reciting those words that Shakespeare had written so diligently in years before. At times though, as I held him by my side, I’d glance across the room and see Earnest watching, sadly, that same lonely look upon him as I had noticed those many years ago in the bookshelf, surrounded and yet alone. I felt a pang of guilt in my heart before returning to Hamlet, his words spoken quietly yet with a fierceness that was only possible coming from him. For a while, all was well, yet he began speaking harsh words to me. He did nothing harmful, but his words held so much power in them that I was harmed indeed. “ Let me be cruel, not unnatural / I will speak daggers to his, but use none,” I overheard him as I entered the room, before he began insulting me, yelling “Get thee to a nunnery. Go, farewell. Or, if thou wilt needs marry, marry a fool, for wise men know well enough what monsters you make of them.” Crying, I ran from him, grabbing my dear Earnest from the nightstand and running towards the bathroom. Shutting the door I turned on the water and stepped into it, lying back in the bathtub as I allowed the water to rise until it covered my face, leaving me in the silence except for the sound of the waterfall coming from the pipe, crashing into the water already in the tub. There, I was safe, away from my Hamlet, and at rest. “Good-night, ladies; good-night, sweet ladies; good-night, good-night,” I whispered, bringing my head above the water for a moment. Over the sound of the waterfall I could hear another familiar voice. “Now cracks a noble heart. Good-night, sweet prince / And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.” *** The truth is rarely pure and never simple. Modern life would be very tedious if it were either, and modern literature a complete impossibility - Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest, 1895 I held Earnest to me tightly, staring out the window into the empty street and quiet fall colors that covered the grass, orange and brown and red. He had grown jealous of Hamlet and I, and yet he had remained patiently with me, his pages always there to be turned and to provide me with whatever I needed. I felt a pang of guilt at how I had used him without caring for him in return. I had betrayed him and grown to love another. My fingers returned to the brown photograph on his cover, blankets wrapped around me like some eskimo in the Arctic. I bit my lip, accidentally drawing blood, tasting the copper tang in my mouth. Earnest was silent, staring back up at me with a blank face, emotionless and tired. As if all had been lost and there was no way to return to the way we had been before. His pages felt cool to the touch now, no longer bringing the warmth I had felt. I had not returned that devotion that had been so present in the beginning, and the way he sat on the bed, turned away from me, the cover shut and blocking me out, I could tell the damage I had done just by looking. Sighing, I carried him outside, towards the swimming pool where I sat by the edge of the deep end, dipping my toes in the cool blue water, opening him to my eyes and reading what I had read so many times before, but this time, it felt so different. I didn’t deserve to read those lines, to touch those pages printed with ink that marked every word he spoke to me. Earnest spoke differently to me than Hamlet had, although during our time together I’d felt that the prince had truly cared for me. Yet he didn’t give me that same warmth and laughter my true love had so often provided me. He was witty and yet when I needed any comfort, he held me in his arms, gently wrapping those soft yellow pages around me, caressing my skin as I listened to his words. There was comfort in those words, unlike the cold harsh speech Hamlet would use against me at times. Yet Earnest was never unkind, too cruel or demanding. He was sweet. I stood, holding him to my chest, sighing quietly as I listened to the laughter of children in the backyard behind ours. They were probably having friends over, judging by the level of noise coming from it. As I turned to go back inside my home, I tripped, skinning my knee as he fell from my hands, away from me, into the deep end of the pool. I knelt by the edge, leaning forward to retrieve him, but he was already sinking into the depths of the dark lonely pool. I cried out his name one last time, before remembering something he had said so many years ago. “The good ended happily, and the bad unhappily. That is what fiction means.” My eyes had been opened, though I was not asleep, and I saw my reality as it should be.


Lucas and Harper agreed on exactly one thing. Though they didn't know each other, and were currently refusing to speak to each other, and disagreed about everything else, they both agreed Isabella was an idiot. It was showing in their subtle head shakes and the not so well hidden eye rolls. The three of them were handcuffed together at the McCarren Park Greenmarket (a greenmarket is just a farmer's market, in New York, they need to give a special name to everything). It was a three body problem. They could escape if they agreed on which way to run. But that would be difficult, as Harper believed passionately in liberal causes, and Lucas believed in conservative values. They would have found a way to disagree on the direction to run. The other person I mentioned, Isabella? No one knew what she believed in or in which direction she would run. Years from now, Lucas and Harper might end up married if they happen to meet each other. But at this stage in their life, they clung to the idea that their specific political beliefs could get them what they wanted out of life. Lucas and Harper agreed about one other thing. Transcript of Officer Delgado’s bodycam footage Officer D.: Are you young people doing ok? Do you need any water? Harper : Fuck off, you fascist. Lucas: Fuck off, you nazi. Isabella: I’m ok. But I have a facial booked at 1pm. I need to leave before then? Isabella raised the pitch at the end of her sentences, turning every statement into a question. Many beauty influencers on Instagram do that. Harper flung back her hair and looked at Isabella with disgust “Why should you get preferential treatment? You were not working to improve the treatment of the underprivileged people of this city.” “What do you mean?” Harper stared at Isabella, fairly certain she had a Latino background, and became more specific about the underprivileged. “The treatment of African Americans.” “Yo. My best friend Donna is African American.” Isabella didn't like Harper, because Harper had smacked her in the face, accidentally, with a protest sign about ten minutes ago. Harper and Isabella had been arrested because Lucas had notified the police of an assault in progress. Lucas was arrested as well, after Harper told the police what he was up to in the park, counter-protesting. Lucas watched the cat fight with contempt. Being a misogynist at heart (or more deep down, afraid of not being in control if he had a girlfriend he really liked), he might have mocked Harper and Isabella. However, Rule #3 of the '7 Methods to Startup Success in 6 Months' said, outside of high performance automobiles, women direct 90 percent of the world's purchasing power. Those who intended to become billionaires should keep an open mind. He would watch and learn. Harper's gaze shifted to Lucas. “How about you, dickhead? Do you think she should be allowed to leave early?” “She broke the law. I believe lawbreakers should be punished.” “You’re just saying that because she’s latino,” she sneered. “Why were you counter protesting, anyway?” “We need to protect our American Freedoms.” “By stopping a public housing protest?” she said. “And dude. Freedom? You are in handcuffs.” “What about freedom of religion?” “Are you religious?” Lucas stopped talking. In fact, although they identified with opposing political beliefs, they both wanted the same thing. A world different from the one we live in. The world of a lifetime of boring jobs, 3% annual pay raises, tax forms, and regular medical checkups. Let's divert from this story, to pizza. Once you serve young people who believe they have opposing political views good pizza and drinks, they might actually find they really don't have many major differences. So, a couple of years ago, some of their leaders figured out a new way to raise the emotional stakes to something approaching the tenor of the Russia-Ukraine War. By moving the goalposts of what is considered a human life by a few months, people who previously had agreed about almost everything now shouted at each other about murdering babies. Their leaders rejoiced at the fact that this would guarantee they would never agree about anything else for a very long time to come. “Freedom?” Harper scoffed. “What about the freedom for women to have an abortion?!” Thankfully for this story, Officer Delgado was paying attention and jumped in. “I thought today’s protest was about public housing. Can you two agree to disagree about everything else right now?” His gaze laid heavy on Lucas. Lucas’s body was trembling visibly in anticipation of giving birth to well rehearsed arguments about the evils of abortion. Delgado had seen this before. Whatever Lucas said would not be the last word. The format of these arguments had been put in place a decade before, a theatrical back and forth of well honed rhetoric, that about five minutes later, would end with them both calling each other members of a famous 1940s German political party. Lucas, feeling the obligation of bro-code (even with a policeman who grew up in Queens) stayed silent. They were young and passionate (or stubborn and opinionated) and they both made a list of talking points for later. It isn’t until someone is over 50 that they realize the futility of arguing about social justice, or about American values and the principles of the founding fathers. People of that age knew, if things have been this unfair for themselves up until now their entire life, it's bound to be unfair for someone someplace no matter how many OpEds are written and protest marches are marched. And the values of the Founding Fathers? Back in 1776, people were definitely arguing and disagreeing about everything as much as they do now, probably more, since their clothes were full of fleas, and they drank ale from morning to night to dull the pain of unresolved dental problems. Since there was no one over 50 in this group, the political arguments weren’t going to be resolved today. He might look old, but Officer Delgado was just 34 (a decade of being called to intervene in domestic disputes made him feel like 50). Delgado fidgeted with his bodycam. He wished he could turn it off, especially since they didn’t allow him to play Taylor Swift songs anymore (that stopped the Gen-Z kids from uploading him to YouTube and making him look stupid.) “You know you shouldn’t be protesting public housing policy at a farmer's market?” he asked Harper. “I disagree. And I was protesting for social justice, I don’t know what he was doing.” “Counter-protesting,” Lucas said. “What about me?" Isabella asked. "I was just taking video for my Instagram channel when her sign smacked me in the face.” Isabella flung her water bottle at Harper, missing her and hitting Delgado in the face with high elevation Jamaican spring water. “This job is funking bullshit,” Delgado exclaimed, after wiping his face. “Ha! You swore,” Harper said, laughing. “I said funking.” “You said funking bullshit.” “Fuck you.” Delgado was reaching the end of his tether detaining these three. He had been continually heckled by the young people of Williamsburg as they passed by. He was still waiting for the precinct to decide what to do. Delgado’s objective each day was simple: not getting written up by Sargeant Brown. Having these young people leave now seemed to be a safer path to the desired outcome. Transcript of Officer Delgado’s bodycam footage: Officer D.: “What do you think about the New York Police Department?” Lucas: [Undecipherable] Harper : [Undecipherable] Isabella: [Undecipherable] The transcriber couldn’t make out all the curse words. All three of those detained shouted insults at Delgado all together at the same time. That was exactly what Delgado wanted. “The police department has decided to let you go today,” he said. When he pulled out the key to the handcuffs and started unlocking them, they stayed quiet. He told them they were free to go. When they were a few feet away, they started cursing again. Delgado recorded it all. Abusive citizens helped the police look good in any courtroom (in case this came up later because of TikTok or whatever). Harper, Isabella, and Lucas ran off together. Their brief moment of camaraderie was about to be broken when Isabella asked, “Do you want to try huitlacoche quesadillas? There’s a place here.” Harper thought passing up the chance to learn about a Latin American cultural tradition would be insulting to Isabella. Lucas couldn’t find anything un-American about Quesadillas and he was hungry. Isabella paid. At first, they refused to let her pick up the tab, but when Harper heard about Isabella's 200k followers on Instagram, and Lucas about the six figures she was earning from product placements, they changed their mind. At the end of lunch, they both gave her their socials.


Kaitlyn stared at the coffee maker as it crackled faintly, filling the glass pot with the sweet life giving brew at an excruciating slow pace. She looked down at her phone to scroll through Instagram to distract her from the seemingly glacial progress but not even cat pictures or sunrises from some far away beach could keep her from glancing at the pot every three seconds. And speaking of cats she could hear her kitty yowling and scratching at the backdoor, ready to come in from a night on the prowl. “Oh my gosh Sunny stop, I’m coming,” Kaitlyn yelled as she shuffled through the living room to let in the howling ball of impatient fluff. No sooner had the door cracked opened a streak of yellow and orange lightening ran through the living room. Groaning, she followed the cat back towards her bedroom knowing there was only one reason he would run to her room instead of the kitchen for breakfast, he had brought something in. Kaitlyn stopped into the bathroom to grab a plastic bag out from underneath the sink, avoiding the mirror as she went. She was still in the clothes she had slept in, an XL shirt she was given at the gym she attended once and a pair of cotton shorts with a hole in the pocket, and hadn’t even thought about brushing her hair or teeth yet. Just as she had suspected, Sunny was hunched over something giving it a sniff when she had walked into the bedroom armed with her cleaning spray and baggy. “Ok mighty hunter, let’s see what you drug in this time,” she said sticking one foot under the cat’s stomach and moving him away from his catch to get a look. In the three years that she had owned him, he had brought home everything from paper sacks to mysteriously stolen socks to dead lizards, but he always laid them down on the rug right in front of her bed. Today was a completely new catch however, a bat. Kaitlyn squatted down with the bag over her entire hand, looking away with her eyes sealed shut as she attempted to scoop up little body. Her fingers closed around the fuzzy body and a little squeal escaped her lips that echoed out around the room. No, not an echo she realized as she felt movement beneath her fingers. *Oh shit, it’s alive,* she realized in a panic. Kaitlyn pulled the baggie away from the squeaking bat and Sunny rushed back in to investigate. She pulled the cat away from the animal, moving quickly out of the room and slamming the door shut behind her. Dropping the cat down in the kitchen to dig through the cabinets and pantry for something to put the bat in while she figured out where to take him. Giving into the realization that there weren’t any shoe boxes anywhere in the house, because really who keeps those things, she plunged a knife down through a Tupperware lid to make air holes for a transport box. After grabbing her least favorite kitchen towel from the drawer and distracting the cat with a scoop of food, she snuck back down the hallway. The high pitched squeaking had stopped from behind the door. Kaitlyn grimaced as she pulled the door open, afraid she was about to have to act as a coroner instead of a paramedic after all. But it turns out the bat wasn’t dead all, in fact it wasn’t a bat all at anymore. A man was now kneeling on her area rug groaning battered, his hair matted with sweat and his hands covered in lacerations. Her fingers started to turn white around the Tupperware container still clutched in her hand. Kaitlyn let out the breath she was holding as she fought the urge to throw the ruined plastic at him and run out the door behind her as the realization that the strange guy on her floor was seriously hurting. “Are you ok?” she finally managed, accidentally shouting at the poor man to try and drown out the sound of her own heart hammering in her ears. Well man wasn’t exactly accurate. Vampires had been out in the public eye for about five years but they still weren’t common to come across. They didn’t hang out in the Dollar General or anything. Kaitlyn took a steadying breath “I heal quickly,” the man assured me as he rose to his knees, his dark hair still hanging down into his pale face. “Should I call someone or can I give you a ride somewhere I guess?” She asked looking down at herself in her bare feet and oversized shirt. “You’ll just need to let me change....Or probably a cab would be best?” “The sun is already up and I’m not going to fit into that any longer,” the vampire said pointing at the makeshift transport in her hands. Kaitlyn looked down at the forgotten container with a blush and tossed it into a chair on top of the not-quite-dirty clothes pile. “So what I’m just supposed to let you hang out until sundown?” Kaitlyn asked as she followed him down the hallway and towards the living room. He poked his head around the corner cautiously before easing into the room silently to pull the curtains tight across the window. Even in the low light Kaitlyn could see he was already free of most of his injuries as he moved around the room. “It would be appreciated,” he said as he sat down on the couch, his movements as graceful as a falling feather. “Besides it seems like the least you could offer since if it wasn’t for your feline friend I wouldn’t be in your house at all.” “Yeah, true... That leads into my next question. How are you in my house? Don’t vampires have to be invited in?” She said sitting down in the armchair across the room, folding her legs underneath her feeling like a newborn giraffe in her movements now compared to his unnerving elegance. “Oh your cat-“he started to explain. “Sunny.” “Right, Sunny here is considered a resident of this dwelling and therefore has the authority to grant me entrance.” “That seems like a hell of a loophole...Kaitlyn said reaching behind her to pull a blanket off the back of the decorative armchair to cover up with, pulling the fabric all the way up to her neck. “You don’t have to worry, I am not going to harm you,” the vampire assured her from across the darkened room. “What? Oh no I wasn’t worried about that,” she said, heat flooding her cheeks as she realized what her pulling the blanket up so far much have looked like. “I wasn’t pulling it up over my neck because I thought you were going to attack me or anything! I watched all of the vampire coverage on the news and know you guys don’t really even drink that much blood. I’m just still in my pjs and felt a little self-conscious is all.” “So you didn’t think I was going attack you, you just thought I might be a pervert?” he clarified, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. “Yes...Wait, no! I mean....”Kaitlyn bit down on her lip to try to get herself to stop talking. “Are you sure you can’t head out sooner?” “I don’t exactly have my car even if the sun wasn’t already up,” he said with a shrug. “Right,” Kaitlyn agree quietly as she pulled out her phone to check what time the sun would be setting on her weather app, hoping the forecast would suddenly call for rain. With a high of 89 and not a cloud in sight her hopes of getting rid of her guest early were officially dashed, it was going to be a sunny day. “I’m Nathaniel,” the vampire offered apologetically from across the room. Even though he had been literally drug into the house against his will, Kaitlyn could feel that he knew he was inconveniencing her. “I’m Kaitlyn,” she returned sliding her phone back into her pocket. “I’m going to get changed real fast but feel free to look through the movies or I think I have some board games if you are interested.” “Thank you very much. Do you mind if I get something to drink from the kitchen?” He asked, standing so swiftly he had actually done it between her blinking. “Sure, as long as it’s not my cat,” she said back, watching him wide eyed as she rose from her seat too and backed up down the hallway. The locked clicked in place behind her as she leaned against the door and hoped that Nathaniel’s hearing wasn’t good enough to pick it up. She felt obligated to be a good hostess since she felt so guilty that her cat had hurt him but she wasn’t willing to put her comfort completely aside to do so. Especially since she was already giving up a whole day off of pretending she was going to get up and clean to entertain him. When we reemerged from her room, hair tamed, jeans on, and teeth brushed she found Nathaniel still standing in the kitchen with two cups of coffee already poured. A familiar comfort flooded her body at the sight of the steaming mugs, starting her coffee maker seemed like something she had done yesterday rather than an hour ago. She collected her cup and came to stand over near where he was hanging out looking down at the puzzle on her dining room table, sensing that was what he was most interested in doing. *Well, there are worse ways to spend a day I suppose.


I had barely been home for 10 minutes before my phone started ringing. “God dammit...” I breathed out. It had been a long day at work. I'm sure most people can relate. I fished for my phone in my pocket for a few agitated seconds before I withdrew it to see who could possibly want something from me now that I was outside of work hours. “Oh..” I said sadly and almost apologetically as I saw the name “Nate” blinking on my phone screen. He was a good friend. And he always answered my call. I was obligated to answer. “Hey.” I said more enthusiastically than I felt. “What's up?” “Hey brotha” He said in a smooth drawn out voice. “What are you up to?” “Just got home from work. Was about to sit down for the first time today.” I said trying to imply that I was not up for anything adventurous. “You down for an ass whooping in smash?” he asked almost condescendingly. Now, while I do love time to myself and to disconnect from the world, I always appreciated a challenge. When Nate refers to “Smash” he means super smash bros. We both love to play and I’ve never once considered myself a superior player to him. Which is why he irritated the hell out of me sometimes. I love to win. I love to improve. And I love the fight it takes to become better than other people. I love facing them down especially when the odds are against you and coming out on top. If you know what I’m talking about, then you also know how maddening it is when someone is talking smack. The simple question Nate had asked me made something stir in my belly. I felt simple defiance and hunger for competition rile up inside me. The longing thoughts I had for my bed started to fade into the background and different priorities had started to set in. “When you gonna be here?” Is all I asked, a little too tired to put much effort into my retort. We hung up a minute later after a little more bantering and he was over in less than 20 minutes. Barely enough time for me to shower and get out of my work clothes. But when he arrived I was ready and the fight was on. Nate and I might have been pretty closely matched but he was just a head better than me. A step faster. A move ahead. Always just a little better. It infuriated me. But it was also exhilarating. While I couldn't recall a single detail of those games, I remember reveling in the challenge of fighting my friend again and again. Each time seemingly doing better than the last but as I stepped up my game, he matched me. Always. By the end of the night I was seeing him out the door frustrated as hell with barely a game or two under my belt after the dozens that we played. But regardless, I was still smiling as I waved to him while he left my driveway. I walked to my room and laid down in my bed staring at the ceiling. I thought back on the games and how much fun I had. I tried to think of the previous games I had with him and how I could improve on my playing. But all I could think about was the stupid trash talking between matches. The stupid jokes we made and the small talk we had to pass the time in between. I could remember nothing about the matches except the good time I was having with my friend. Maybe it wasn’t the competition I was living for. I looked at the time and decided it was time to go to sleep. I closed my eyes still mad as hell about losing, but I couldn't wipe the smile off of my face for the life of me.