Marcus moved closer to the edge of the window to get a better look at the red-headed woman under the black Fedora sitting in the back of the small cafe. There was something about the red-headed lady's smile that caught Marcus's attention as he passed the cafe window of the train station. The painted Christmas decorations and frost across the front window hinder his viewpoint. The possibility of the woman being Anya seemed beyond his dreams. He last saw her the night he boarded the train to be sent overseas one snowy night just like this back at the beginning of WW2. He observed the lady as she poured the tea into the blue China teacup. She daintily dropped three sugar cubes into her tea, adding one at a time, stirring and tasting the tea after each cube. He cautiously viewed the teacup ceremony from a distance as his heart began to beat in anticipation. He realized no two women would prepare tea in the same manner. "It has to be Anya, It must be Anya," he said to himself as he pulled his red plaid scarf tighter about his neck still standing outside in the temperatures that made frost gather on his gray beard. After adjusting his black trench coat tighter around his slender waist, he opened the door to the cafe and limped in with his cane. A soft chime rang out above his head that summoned the other diners to look in his direction. A blast of wind and snow followed in behind him as he opened the door only to leave a wet trail about his black boots. "Please, take a seat. I'll take your order in a minute," said the waitress from behind the counter. Marcus limped to the lunch counter by the back door, looking for a seat. He dusted the snowflakes from his shoulders on to the floor as he removed his coat and scarf. Off from his right side of the wall, a soft voice said, "Excuse, me sir. You are welcome to sit with me in my booth. I notice there are no more tables, please join me." Turning to face the direction of the familiar woman's voice behind him, "My dear madam, I will be delighted. My name is-My name is Fa-, Franklin Marcus Cagney, at your service." His voice hesitated when he looked directly into her big brown eyes as he removed his hat, bowing his head to her. "I am Mrs. Anya Cervantes-Estrada. Please sit. Would you care for some hot tea?" Her smile was unmistakable, down to the delicate dimples in her cheeks. Along with red and gray ringlets about her face that laid intertwined along the bottom edge of her Fedora. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Cervantes-Estrada." "Please call me Anya, my mother always use to say, 'Anya, there are no strangers in this world only friendships waiting to be made.'" "Then you must call me Marcus. I see you have two cups, are you waiting for anyone?" "I always order a second cup, for destiny may bring a friend when one least expects it. A new friend like you this evening. However, I am waiting for my grandson, Alexander Marcus, and his family to pick me up. I always spend the holidays with them at Christmas. I am looking forward to having a white Christmas. Will you be spending the holidays with your family here too?" "No, there is just me. I came here to give a testimony for a friend at his church. He is a pastor in a small town outside of Salem. His name is Arthur March; we were in the army together. He was the one who told me about being saved. I'd have to say he is the closest person I have to a family. He will be picking me up at about 8." "You look cold, take a sip of your tea. Would you care for some cream or sugar?" "Can I get you anything else, sir," the waitress interrupted. "Just this tea thank you." He said before taking a long sip of tea, he looked into Anya's eyes and said, "It must be wonderful to have a family where you can spend your holidays together." "My dear, in my eighty-seven years, I have learned one valuable lesson about family; That is, you have to work at making a family. Marcus, for many people, a family will be blood relatives. Yet for others, a family is made of good friends you must collect and nurture. Much like tending a garden." "My grandmother Lupe always told me that too. She raised me after my parents were killed in a car accident when I was about thirteen. I have to say that is when I stopped believing in God. I was in and out of reform schools for a few years until I joined the army. I never did anything to hurt anyone, but I did enough to be put in reform school." "It must have been hard on you Marcus losing your parents like that, so suddenly at such a young age. Did you have any girlfriends?" "Well, to tell you the truth, you reminded me of a girl I once knew when I was about nineteen. Her name was Anya Maria Cervantes, that's whom you reminded me of when I saw you earlier from the outside window. She wore a black Fedora just like yours. I gave it to her on her sixteenth birthday before I was shipped overseas. She had the most beautiful red hair I have ever seen in my whole life. Her eyes were big and brown like yours too. Before I came in, I thought you were her." "What happened to her?"Anya leaned forward to listen as Marcus' voice dropped to a whisper. "Are you sure I'm not bothering too much with my tale?" "Please, Marcus tell me what happened to your Anya?" At that moment, she reached over and took Marcus by the hand as his tears welt up in his eyes. He was thankful that their booth was in the back of the cafe, it was in the dark no one could see his face cringe in despair except for her. "I did a terrible thing to her. I told her we were going to be married before I left. However, I left for overseas before we could get married. Being eighteen, I felt relieved about not having the burden of a new wife. About that time, Arthur March came into my life, and he shared his faith with me, and I realized I loved Anya. A month later, I received a letter from her telling me she was pregnant. I wrote her back telling her I loved her, and we would marry as soon as I could return. She never responded after that first letter, even though I kept writing once a week. By the time I came back, six months later, due to a leg injury, she had moved away. No one would tell me where she went. I looked for her for years, and I still don't know what happened to her or our baby." He put his head down on the table to keep from crying in front of her. "Marcus, my boy, it was the war years. In life, we all do things that hurt other people. Sometimes we do things with the best intentions, not knowing how much we will hurt the ones we love. I have my regrets too, son." She strokes his hair in a motherly fashion to comfort him. Sitting back up and wiping his eyes with a napkin, he says, "My mother and grandmother use to do that. It's been a long time since I have felt so loved. The funny thing is I feel like I know you. Like I said before, you remind me of my beloved Anya." "You said you were here to give a testimonial. Can you share the topic?" Again, she reached over to take his hand; he gave no rebuttal to the friendly gesture. "Who would have thought, that my topic would be How God Changed my Life. He brought Anya into my life. She was such a good person and I pray that someday I will find her again. I believe I will find them both someday." "Marcus, I need you to listen to me. Today we are both blessed with faith beyond our dreams. I need to tell you something. I am Anya's grandmother. I am the one who never gave her your letters. Her father made me promise; it was the only way he would support us. It is because of that promise Anya did not have to give her baby away for adoption. I beg you to forgive me, my son. This hat I am wearing is the same one you gave Anya. She made me promise before she died a few years ago that I must come here every Christmas with this hat and wait for you to return. You see, she never gave up on you returning, but her father sent her away to live with me when he found out about her pregnancy. We had a good life, I will tell you more someday." Marcus' eyes glazed over as he looked at the red-headed woman sitting across from him. He took both of her hands in his as he said, "There is nothing to forgive. You took care of my family all these years. Also, you are telling me she never gave up on me. She always loved me? Our baby, what happened to our baby?" At that moment, the chime above the door rang, a man about thirty walked in with a woman and two young twin girls with red hair and two sets of big dimples. They waved to Anya and headed over to her usual table.


Gaust looked me up and down inquisitively. “Is that stick supposed to protect you?” He chortled. I put my hand across my back and felt Ithilus’ cold steel. I felt his spirit leap out towards me like a flame, yearning for a fight. The spirit of my ancestors inside me yearned to fight too, but it was a time for temperance. “It is meant to kill.” I shot back at him. He didn’t seem shaken, but continued on nonetheless, flanked by his Kearne lapdogs. They looked down on me from the steeds as I stood beside mine, fixing him with a saddle. I watched him continue down the line, barking orders at my companions, testing my restraint. Behind him followed a stream of others from the castle that I had not seen for a long time. House Dunkan lead the pack on their war bears. The towering beasts lumbered with each step, panting heavily. It was Dunkan custom to tame them from youth and ride them into old age. They travelled to far Scandinavia in order to find the most fierce and territorial bears in all of Europe. They had an incredible bond with these animals, along with an undying loyalty. The grey mane of their leader Roy billowed in the wind as he rode his black grizzled war-bear up to meet me. His red eyes flashed in the night, matched by the red of his bear. His snout was full with scars, and one of his eyes was completely white, blind from a puncture wound. “Roy!” I shouted. “Do you think we are invading France? This is a fool’s errand by Cailan to deal with a few hunters!” “Hah! Always the joker, Rathiel. Have you not heard the news?” He grew more downcast and tempered his tone as he approached. “Those few who were hit on patrol didn’t make it. Well, one did, but he is with Lazarus in recovery.” A warm feeling mixed with sorrow hit me squarely in my chest. To have lost any vampire to a mortal was something that had not happened in recen memory. Usually the dread we struck into the hearts of humans was enough to keep them at bay. But the one survivor gave me hope that this new threat could be overcome. Perhaps Lazarus would be able to tell me more about his condition once we returned. I looked around cautiously to see if anyone had heard. Luckily, the rest of Houses Duncan, Ulmer, Alnwick & Kearne were off fraternizing near the castle gate. “Truly a terrible loss.” I began solemnly. “But that is the entire point of this hunting party. I still feel the King has gone too far in his pursuit of justice. We stand at about fifty strong, for some duine”? My sudden use of the ancient tongue left a slight look of surprise across his brow. “Ah, yes... But regular men they are not, my friend. To kill not just one, but two of our kind, is something that is worth looking into. This is the rare occasion I am with Cailan despite his...” He took on a hushed tone, looking around quickly. “Paranoid delusions.” Unfortunately, I agreed with him. I made sure Ithilus was fastened tightly on my back, and with a quick nod towards Roy, I jumped up on Raven. The black leather saddle welcomed me, hugging my body after so much use. I pulled the reins shortly and urged Raven towards the rest of the group.  Not a minute had passed before the booming voice of Gaust cut across the small-talk that had erupted amongst the Houses. “LISTEN.” Everyone immediately stopped talking and turned to pay attention to the General. “I am sure most of you have been informed as to why you are needed here today. The humans to the south have made their move against us. They attacked Craven’s patrol a few days ago.” He spat on the ground. “Two of our men are dead. Lazarus cannot bring them back.” There were a few gasps among the crowd that were quickly stifled. “They were weak. To die to humans is a complete dishonour. But we cannot allow such transgression to continue to stain the name of the King. The other clans will see this development as an opportunity to attack.” A murmur of agreement rang out amongst the crowd. Gaust paused suddenly, as his nostrils flared, and his eyes narrowed. There was a sudden cry from atop the battlements. “ARRGH, Git off me!” A voice that was not one of our own. There was a wisp of smoke, and the body of a human was flung towards us. He hit the ground with a thud, which surely resulted in several broken bones. “Tch. Imbecile.” A rumbling voice came from the shadows nearest the castle gate. There was a vampire with a blue twinge to his skin, cloaked in all black peasants clothing. “This is one of their scouts, I’ve been watching him for an hour now on orders from Roderick.” Said the mysterious figure. None of Roderick’s agents names were ever revealed officially, so they couldn’t be tied back to us in their operations. He quickly leaped from the shadows and flashed a blade at the human’s throat. “Should kill you...” A warm fizzling sound came from the man’s chaps, he looked absolutely terrified. The agent looked towards Gaust. “There were no others with him, I made sure of it.” Gaust nodded. "Take him to Roderick then." His murderous smile reappeared, pushing the corners of his mouth to inhuman proportions. The spy screamed. “Bravo!” One of the Lieutenants from House Ulmer roared. Muted approval and nods came from the crowd once again. Vampires weren’t much for celebration. “Now...” Gaust carried on, as if nothing had happened. “By the grace of Absalom, we should arrive unnoticed.” Absalom was a Vampire deity, the King of Kings. To invoke his name was to bring a blessing upon our hunting party. “It need not be said, but for the more dull-headed of you I will do so.” He nodded towards the Ulmers, who shouted their displeasure. “We will go to the hamlet nearest the ambush location, in Swansea. The journey is a few days by human measure, but much quicker for us.” He gathered his reins in his hands. “I will not be joining you, King Cailan has only tasked me with directing you... unfortunately.” He looked the closest to sadness I had ever seen, which given the context, was disconcerting. “Go to the village marked on this scroll.” He handed it to the Kearnes, who took it with glee. “You will find them there. Find out where their base of operations is, then destroy it. Do not kill anyone until you know where they come from. These rats have been highly organized, and the Spymaster suspects some involvement from the English Royals. We must know how deep this goes.” The Kearnes moved forward. Cian spoke. “You heard the General!” He shouted with the most incredibly high-pitched and nasally voice that made several of us recoil. “We’re in charge here. Follow the Kearne caravan through the southern gate.” The party lined up as they were told. House Wren took our places at the rear. I nodded at Micah and Layla. Silas and the others came in behind us in formation. The Kearne bannerman shouted and we urged our mounts forward, pressing on into the darkness with no guarantee of return.


###Intro We’ve known for decades that The War on Drugs was not turning out positive results, reguardless, it continued. Did we ever consider the possibility that we could lose this war? Finally, we have. The war is over and mankind is on the losing side. They called it an epidemic. Everyone was hooked or knew someone else that was. People stopped hiding their addict friends and families from one another and started offering actual support instead of minimum term sentences. Too little, Too late. Flacca, or bath salts as some might refer to it; a rocky looking white substance that completely swept the nation. It’s effects were instantaneous but short lived. The effected would hallucinate, experience euphoria and completely lose themselves in the drug. Reports of cannibalism were scarce at best. Probably just some loser who took too much, started seeing shit and went bonkers. Most however, enjoyed the effects. When Zacca came around it was big news. It wasn’t just the underground. Wealthy teens in overprivileged suburban neighborhoods, homeless junkies in alleyways and high rollers alike all awaited the hyped release. Police did what they could to stop it. No one knew, or knows where it came from. Right on time. Just as promised. Zacca Landed.. *“-first reports came from Florida, and experts say had they gotten a handle on it sooner-* *“-potent drug almost virus like in the way it spreads from person to person. Do not consume the drug and stay far from anyone who has. The effects have been devastating. The CDC knows very little, and the information they do have, they’re not releasing to the public. What we do know is this; those Induced are are out of their minds. They don’t feel pain and can’t be stopped without lethal force. They are dangerous, with cannibalistic like tendencies, the only weapons they use being tooth and nail.”* *“Densely populated areas like New York City and Chicago are in absolute chaos, the phenomena seemingly unstoppable with no end in site, the body count? In the thousands and climbing. Stay away, stay safe. Think rural, until this gets rectified, you need to take your life and your safety into your own han-* Meanwhile.. ****** Carlos hated the Wilson’s house in particularly. It wasn’t the amount of work he had to do; acres of grass to be kept trimmed and bright green. A menagerie of topiaries ranging from obscure cubes to adorable animals to shape and prune. The garden that ran the perimeter of the esteemed colonial mansion that Carlos found excessive for a family of 4, which needed careful maintenance and attentive weeding. No, Carlos never minded the work. It was that fucking bitch MILF and her wretched, whining children. Her only redeeming quality was the way her perfectly doctored tits bounced and swayed when she came huffing across the lawn to chastise him as if he were a child, and of course, watching her walk away was always doubly as satisfying. Today he hadn’t heard boo from the Wilsons and Carlos was not going to question this. He was in the front lawn when it happened, his truck open on the side of the street. Headphones on full blast so he could hear his edgy tunes over the motor of the leaf blower. A tugging at the back of his baggy white shirt.. Devon, the youngest. But- “What the fuck!?” He jumped away, but not before the child’s teeth sank into the side of his torso. “SHIT!” He backhanded the gray skinned child sending the toddler reeling to the ground. “AhhHhh!!” Carlos screamed like a little girl when he looked at his side, blood pouring out of the tiny child’s teeth marks. Devon was crawling now, crawling towards Carlos using his small fingers to pull himself across the freshly mowed lawn. “AHHHHhhhh!!” Carlos shrieked again, throwing the head phones off and chucking the leaf blower at the kids head. “Aahhh!!” The kid still came at him, slowly. The leaf blower sputtered out, allowing Carlos to hear the sounds around him. The daughter Lacey, a typically tight little nubile teen with an ass like her Mum was stumbling across the yard towards him. “Aaah!” He ran to the truck, digging through his pockets for the keys. “It’s a fuckin’ zombie! Shit! Foh real dog! I just-!” He looked at his oozing side. “I just got bit by a fuckin’ ZOMBIE!! C’MON MANN!! Aaahhh shiiiiit!” Lacey and Devon advanced, Carlos gave up on his keys and jumped in the back of the truck. He grabbed a pair of shears, opening them and aiming at Lacey’s chest. “I’m sorry lady!” He speared her right between her tits, black blood spurted out and sprayed Carlos in the face, staining his shirt. “Aaahhh!!” His little girl shrieks continued, attracting the attention of the neighbors whom at first came out to stop Carlos’ assault on the poor children but soon realized the dire situation. Lacy didn’t stop, the pair of giant scissors sticking straight from her front, black, lifeless blood oozing from her ripped skin, hands grasping at the air, reaching for the gardener. This was it. Carlos was a goner. He frantically searched the bed of his truck for more tools he could use defend himself. Rake, hoe.. chainsaw? Classic. As he reached for it a smile crept across his face and his pace slowed. So pretty.. has the chainsaw always been so brightly colored?.. Carlos started laughing. “It’s going to be alright..” the chainsaw coo’d, it’s silky smooth voice encompassing Carlos fully. And it was, wasn’t it.. damn, Carlos had never felt so good before. So good, he didn’t mind sharing the truck with Lacy anymore. She was a messy eater, but Carlos *really* didn’t mind.


Sitting amongst the dusty chairs and tables, sits a man, the mysterious man who lived at the top of a tower, bells clanging at every hour, in the middle of a congested city. This building was the tallest building, and no one dared enter it, as the stories from years, decades and centuries ago filled the walls and whispered horrors which made the light dim in one’s eyes, follow their back as they went home, lock their windows and doors, hide under the covers, and never, never and ever emerge again. Again Again Again Dear camarade , I will tell you this from the beginning of the month. A month that holds the depths of a New Year's resolution and the beacon of light that can change someone’s life completely. And here I write trying to muster an idea from the scraps of rubbish that litter my brain into something worth fighting for and trying, for just a month. The month which could change many. I will try to walk.. Walk..out the door of this hellhole. The place that I have called home for years and years, that much time has passed that I haven’t been able to count. So here I look at my little clock and write I will , by the end of the month, walk out and see the people who have forgotten my existence, over the past 47 years, 3 months, 19 hours, 23 minutes, 32 seconds..33 seconds...34 seconds... Dear camarade , I begin to try. Today, I stood up from my chair. Surprise, isn’t it? I stood up from my chair and decided that it would be a good idea to look outside the window. A window which I hadn’t looked at for a long time. The draping heavy velveteen curtains screeched and swished as my hands meagrely brushed against them and pulled them aside. Blinding light bombarded the room as I had just managed to open up a sliver, and colour, colour had exploded. My eyes grew bleary at the light. So bright. My eyes cried their tears. For what I don’t know, maybe because of the sudden light which I had banished from this room for the last few years. Maybe the sight of seeing something other than the drab monotone colours of the night. Which had not a candle in sight. And maybe, just being able to see..something. Dear camarade , I try. Again . I opened the sliver further. Now, it was open a foot wide. And my eyes hurt. But I looked and saw a blue sky. I had read in several books where philosophers found the sky to be “mesmerising” and “crystal clear as the dew upon the grass' '. But, nothing could be compared to what I saw then. A clear sky. In simple words, a haven unbound and free, with the wind revelling and dancing amongst the stars and the moons. And the chorus of birds filled the air. The tower remained silent, not a cheep at all, but an almighty clang, as noon struck and I turned around, sat down, and began writing. Dear camarade , I try. Again. There is no gap in the window. Now, there is just a pane of glass that separates the outside air and the inside air. A thin layer of sand. And I hope in a day or two, the pane of sand can be removed and I can open it and breathe in the air that I can only dream of. But, for now, as I write with ink that shall soon run out, till I shall retrieve some more, I sit here afraid. But of what, I don’t know. Is it the light or the isolation that I have been with for the last few years? Because of that, now, me and loneliness go hand in hand. Friends who have won a war together and shall now suffer the loss and pain of the fallen soldiers. But today, I shall not render upon that. Today I will tell you why people are so scared of this tower. Scared is a harsh word for this case. But to elucidate this matter, I shall retain the word “scared”. This tower, the clock tower is dark, gloomy and horrifyingly sad. It was once painted black and gold, yet the mere misery of the town had made it torn a despondent ash black. With this information, you can clearly understand that the town was “scared” due to the looks of the towering tower. But, unlike the outside. I had managed to keep everything out of clutter, yet the dust did not prevail as it set every single day. Dear camarade , I do not try again. Before you presume anything, let me explain. It has been several boring and painstaking number of days now since the window was opened. And now it stays open. I like to look out of it and see the wonderful sky, but never and ever do I look down to see the townsfolk who must wonder why the window stayed open all day and all night. But, I am tired of my dearest camarade. I am tired and I feel as though death is near, yet I feel the strength of the world in my bones. The person I had been honed into was withering by the months. At least I am grateful that I still have time to relax and think about my life. I write to you as I lay in my bed. I think nothing. Dear camarade , I do not try again. You know I can walk. But the descent of the stairs tires me. It tires me so much that my bones ache and I am too tired to do the journey. Saying the word journey makes it seem to be long. No matter how much you may mock me, I persist and say that it is a long journey. It is 6518 steps, precisely. Tell me that is a small number! You can’t. Since you’re 6 feet below the ground. I had counted them the very day I had entered this “place”. The day I came back to this city, battered and bruised, the images of a red sea full of metal - playing on repeat - again and again and again. I shall never forget that day - and definitely not that memory. Dear camarade , I try. Again. Laugh at me all you wish. Call me a coward. Know that I am glaring at you - viciously. I am laughing as I write this. It has been a long time since I laughed my old friend. But I can still imagine you walking out your grave and calling me a damn coward for doing such actions. And I relish this laugh. And as I said at the beginning of this entry. I try again. So today, holding that laugh deep into my heart and soul and brain, I picked up my walking stick and took the first step down the stairs and walked 147 steps. Now once again you are laughing at me. But mind that I am an old man now - at the age of 63..having been 63 years for a long time...I forgot my birthday. I forgot my name - but I still remember yours old friend. Vice Admiral Benbow Dear camarade , I tri ed . Again. It has been days since I last talked to you - though it was for a reason. I have been going down those steps with leaps and bounds. First, 268 steps. Then, 562 steps After, 1379 steps And very soon..I reached the bottom stop - where I heaved a sigh and straightened my old back - and went back up. Cowardice took the better of me. I am sorry. Dear camarade , I try. Again. For the last time. On the last day of this month. Sweet January. And I know you are not surprised as you know that I never give up without another try. So now I write, telling you about how I conquered. And here is how it went my friend. My legs now brittle with age, limped and crinkled down the steps and into the awakening courtyard. Someone had tended to these gardens as I had left them and had made them flush with bleeding hearts, peonies, hydrangeas and smiling daisies. And outside that courtyard is a mass of people. Both young and old, girl and boy. Everyone. They gaze at me with smiling eyes. And I go to them with my medals pinned to my chest. And no one forgot. My mind no longer holds the grief that had been infecting my brain for so long. It was a long-long time And from this moment onwards, I shall live with the country which I fought for, no longer alone. Starting with 1 second...2 seconds..3 seconds....until the bitter end - where I meet with you once again. Yours Sincerely Admiral Veris Callaghan. War Veteran.


“Hah!” I huffed as I pinned my arch-nemesis to the ground, “I finally caught you, Echo! Are you ready to admit your defeat yet, or must I pause time to pummel you to a pulp?!” Echo’s facial expression was completely hidden by zir mask, but I could feel zir fury radiating from zem. Ze spat, “No! I will never admit defeat from the likes of you, Mirage! Let me go, before you feel my true wrath!” “You tried to show me your true wrath before and it didn't work!" I scoffed in response, before giving zem a gentle kick. "How disappointing! You should have given more of a fight. I love a challenge, and the citizens love a good fight, isn't that right?!" Echo and I looked over to the crowd that had been forming. They all broke out cheering for me and jeering at zem. This only pissed zem off more. "Fine! In that case, I will rip you apart from limb to limb!" Shadowy tendrils spawned from their trench coat and attempted to push me off. I was not having any of that, though. Instead, I heroically paused time and began absolutely pummeling zir face. One punch, two punches, red punch, blue punch, and then unpause time and uppercut! The mask ze wore flung off and revealed a very familiar face. To anybody else, we would look completely alike. We both stopped as the crowd went completely silent. Aw, shit. I done fucked up. I had to think of some stupid excuse so the Agency doesn't decide to terminate us, and fast. "Oh my god!" I suddenly gasped at my confused-looking nemesis. "You... you're me?!" "Yes, I am you!" Echo shouted, quickly getting the idea. "I am you from... from an alternate universe! I am here to stop you from your heroic path!" "You will never stop me from being a hero, me from an alternate universe! Now that you're distracted, I have to bring you to prison!" "You will never imprison me, the great supervillain Echo-" I paused time again and immediately pulled out my Agency-provided teleportation device. I tossed zem and zir mask on the device, and once they were gone, I unpaused and looked back at the cheering crowd. "So long, civilians!" I shouted, "Remember, crimes are bad and you will face the same treatment if you do them!" I stepped on the teleportation device, pressed the button that would make it teleport itself as well, and promptly left the scene. It brought me to Hilltop Park, one of the safe places for superheroes and supervillains to drop their act and be themselves. It was locked to the civilians via huge fences so that our stupid little act wouldn't get caught. Echo was already waiting for me, fiddling with zir mask and sitting on a bench. "Was it really necessary to unmask me?" ze teased. "I didn't fucking mean to!" I responded with the same lightheartedness. I sat next to them and continued, "We fixed it, though. The civilians don't suspect anything." "Whatever you say, Mirage. Improv is still super hard." "Yeah, well, that's what happens when you're a performer. You gotta do a bit of improv when things go wrong." "Doesn't make it any damn easier!" Ze lightly punched my arm. "You're the one who told everyone you're from an alternate universe!" I teased and punched zem right back. "Wouldn't long-lost twins have been better, and I don't know, more accurate?" "Yeah, but hear me out: I just wanted to see if they would fucking believe that dumb shit." I scoffed as I said, "The civilians would believe anything we say, so I guess the alternate universe bullshit is funnier and way more complicated than the truth." I held out a fist to Echo as I chirped, "Twinzies forever?" "Twinzies forever," ze confirmed and fist-bumped me, "Even if you're the most annoying sibling I could ever ask for." "I'm older than you, so shut up.


Taylor took a deep breath, taking in the scent of the Seattle rain before entering the busy city building. Her heels clicked on the tile floor heading toward the elevator to clock in for the day at the Spa-Tacular Corporation. When the elevator doors slid open, the sound of keyboards ticking away amplified by the northwest rain tapping the windows flooded her senses. Taylor sat at her desk and used her front facing camera on her phone to adjust her red lipstick and smooth out her tight brown pony tail. Once satisfied, she straighten her desk out perfectly then logged on to her computer to check her emails. The sound of a nasally and high pitched female voice broke her concentration, “Hey girl. I got your coffee.” Kayleigh, her greatest friend, always came in clutch with the important things. Taylor said, “Oh, my god it’s like you know me or something.” They giggled and sipped the seasonal brew with glee. “So, did you finish the membership drive packet design for Aimee this weekend?” Kayleigh rolled her eyes and clucked her tongue. “Yeah, totally ruined my plans. I was supposed to go to a house party with one of Drake’s cousins.” Kayleigh said excitedly. “But whatever boss lady wants, she gets.” She rolled her eyes. Taylor gasped, clutching her metaphorical pearls. “Drake? You mean...he made your hotline bling?” Kayleigh smiled proudly, “Yes! Well, his cousin but that is pretty close to the same thing. I am almost a Hollywood femme fatale.” “Uhg.” Taylor slumped. “I can’t believe she ruined that for you.” She huffed. “Well, I’m pretty sure it’s my turn next. Good thing my life is boring so there’s nothing for her to ruin.” “Yeah, I heard.” Kayleigh sipped her coffee, “Gotta make new aromatherapy protocols just for them to stick with the same ol’ one?” She raised her brow. Taylor rolled her eyes.“It’s almost like she tests us, to see how much time we’ll waste before we snap.” She too took a sip from her coffee before continuing. “Like when we had to get everyone those stupid background links that ended up stealing everyone’s identity? Very organized. Very mindful. Very demure.” Taylor dramatically recanted the memory, both of them laughing as they began to focus on the day's work. They worked in tandem. Even taking breaks and sipping the same flavored latte and laughing at the same office insider jokes in emails. Corporate life suited them well with their similarly styled three piece, feminine blazer suits and tall stiletto heels. Their aesthetically styled accessories made them social media ready at any point and at any time. Their synchronized work was interrupted by the raspy voice of an older woman in the large office behind them. “No, no, NO. This is all wrong! I told you I wanted the franchisees to commit to a one year contract with THIS vendor, not this one! Now we’ll have to pay double what we budgeted!” The poor assistant stumbled over her words, her perfectly curled blonde hair bouncing along her quivering shoulders as she cried. “Amie please, I have your note right here that says you wanted to have the franchisees commit to this vendor. See?” Aimee’s voice deepened with disapproval. “Don’t patronize me, Jessica. I gave you very clear instructions and your inability to be organized your own problem.” “Please, Aimee, if you just look at the last email you sent me...” Jessica pleaded. “Get out.” Aimee said, tossing back the contract receipt in her direction. “Clear your desk. You’re fired.” The rest of the floor became silent as Jessica sniffed and sobbed out of the building, holding her box of belongings, dropping a few pieces of office supplies on her way out. Kayleigh side eyed Taylor and said, referring to the spontaneous new job opening, “You’re not thinking about going for it, are you?” Taylor tilted her head to the side, her unblinking eyes unamused at Kayleigh’s dig. “I mean it’s open to everyone. So, anyone can go for it, right?” Kayleigh huffed. “Right, but I have seniority so that kind of takes you out of the picture.” She shrugged. “I don't want to be mean, bestie. Just looking out for your feelings, that's all.” She gave a condescending smile to her. Taylor tapped her fingers on her desk in a singsong way before replying, “I would hate to see your ambitions...squashed because you shot too high from your ego.” Kayleigh rolled her eyes. “Ok, we’ll see. May the best baddie win.” “You’re on.” With a whip of their hair they went straight back to work with determination unbeknownst to them before. Feverishly, they worked to organize each and every aspect of the office in hopes to be called for a task by the great and powerful Aimee Harrington. She was the CEO of the entire corporation and being in her circle meant everything. After a while, the door to her office propped open. Taylor eyed Kayleigh for a moment. She could see that she was distracted responding to client issues. Slowly and with stealth, Taylor stood from her desk and began walking down the hall with quick and nervous steps. Kayleigh propped up the minute she heard Taylor’s stuttering steps. She stood with determined force, making her way to Taylor until they stepped in time together. “What are you doing?” She bit in a hushed voice. “I am just seeing if Aimee needs anything.” Taylor lifted her head high, unbothered by Kayleigh’s persistence. “No. You don’t need to put yourself out there when you aren’t even on the board, Taylor.” Kayleigh lashed with her acrylic tipped venomous words. “Well, your seniority doesn’t mean much when there’s been two assistants hired while you were already here. Sounds like you aren’t on the board.” Taylor lashed back. They quickened their steps to the point of near jogging. Aimee appeared at the door. She was on her cell phone yelling at the vendor that Jessica had signed the contract with. As she argued, she slowly pushed the door closed leaving the two tandem contestants standing still and without resolve. Taylor spun to face Kayleigh, anger doing its best to show on her freshly botoxed face. “You distracted me-a!” She whined. “Well you tried to trip me!” Kayleigh spat back. “What? I did not!” Taylor contested. “Then why does my shoe have a scuff!” Kayleigh pointed down to her scuffed red heel. Taylor crossed her arms and said with venom, “Because, you bought them at Ross. ” Kayleigh gasped, her mouth agape at the audacity. “You. Take. That. Back. ” She demanded. “No.” Taylor said pointedly. Kayleigh pointed a freshly manicured finger at her, “How dare you insult my style. I thought we were friends, Taytay?” Taylor uncrossed her arms and sighed, “You’re right. That was too far.” “Thank you for respecting my boundaries.” Kayleigh said. Taylor put a hand on her shoulder and said, “Of course, what are friends for?” The door opened once more and they both fought to be the first in Aimee’s wake. The CEO strutted through the door, ring adorned hand clutched the phone saying, “Listen Scott, this contract is an hour old, you can either void it, or I’ll tell every franchisee to discontinue their independent services with you. Do you understand?” She hung up the phone without waiting for an answer. She was tall and athletically slender, her skin bronzed from years of tanning bed use. She narrowed her eyes and asked, “Can I help you, ladies?” Stuttering, Taylor said, “We just wanted to let you know we were available if you needed anything.” Kayleigh glared at her. “Hm.” Aimee tapped her chin. “Well, I guess I do have a position open now don’t I? Very astute ladies.” “I can send that email to the right vendor if you need me to, Aimee.” Kayleigh blurted, Taylor fuming with a competitive edge. “No, no I will take care of that. Why don’t one of you find the compliance report for the PNW franchisee locations and find out who needs a 'long vacation'.” They both stood awaiting more instruction when Amie motioned, “Well, go on, I haven’t got all day.” They fought for the last word as they blurted, “Of course; yes; right away.” As they hurried back to their desks, Taylor scrunched her nose and said, “Well, you heard her. She wants me to run compliance. Better luck next time, bestie.” “Pfft.” Kayleigh retorted. “She clearly asked me . Your delusions are cute though, boo.” When Kayleigh began typing in the report portal, Taylor said passively, “You’re right. I guess...” She sighed. “Let me know if you need any help.” “Aw.” Kayleigh smiled. “You are doing the right thing. It’s a lot of pressure in this position. I would hate to see you stressed out.” “Way to girl boss.” Taylor stood from her desk and asked. “Coffee?” “If you act it, live it, love it, then you get it. So yeah, in my mind, I am already the executive assistant.” Kayleigh explained. “And yes, always yes to coffee.” Taylor walked to the coffee station, licking the paper cup before pouring the coffee. An idea struck her as she strutted back to their desks. Kayleigh was vehemently typing away when Taylor stepped then ‘tripped’ over the power cord to the computer, slamming the coffee cup next to her. Kayleigh slapped her monitor and pushed the power button to the computer. “What did you do?” She fumed. “Oh shoot,” Taylor stuck out her lower lip in fake concern. “I don’t know what happened.” She shrugged. “Don’t worry. I’ll finish that report for you.” She wiped the spilled coffee off her hands and added, “What are friends for?” Kayleigh nodded her head, angry and impressed. ‘Ok. That’s how you want to play? You’re on.” Kayleigh had waited for Taylor to use the restroom when she quickly used Taylor’s work station to send a chat to the entire floor that said, “Hey, do you have Monistat? I’m about to call 911 to put out the fire-crotch over here!” She clicked send and the entire floor began to mutter and laugh. As Taylor walked by, everyone looked in her direction and everything went still. Jessica had come back to pick up the rest of her things and whispered to Taylor, “Hey, I got this for you. You’re so brave for sending it through the whole employee chat, though.” She sniffled. “What are you talking about?” Taylor asked, taking the cardboard tube of medicine. “The message you sent. About needing Monistat.” Jessica explained. Taylor dropped the medicine on the ground and screamed. “Are you serious?” The floor broke its stare and went back to work. Jessica asked, “So, you don’t need it then?” “Uhg!” Taylor moaned, “No! Jessica. I don’t need the fucking Monistat.” “Ok. I mean. It’s ok if you did. It happens.” Said Jessica, unphased by Taylor’s sudden mood change. “Oh, my god. This is why you were fired.” Taylor stomped away, leaving Jessica to clean out the rest of her belongings. Taylor and Kayleigh went full speed ahead and unleashed ravenous revenge on one another. Screens were flipped, keyboards were unplugged, the backs of their chairs loosened to the point they fell upon sitting, legs up turned and dangling. Aimee had come around the corner and asked, “So, how is the report coming?” Taylor said, “Don’t worry, I have it all taken care of. I contacted the franchisees in an email with a list of providers that are out of compliance.” “I went ahead and deactivated their employee profiles.” Kayleigh chimed. “What?” Taylor asked. “Aimee said they needed a ‘long vacation.’ So I took away their ability to be booked until they become current.” Kayleigh explained, smirking at Taylor. “Well, look at you going above and beyond, Kayla.” Aimee said. “It’s Kayleigh.” Kayleigh corrected. Aimee dismissed the correction and said, “Now. I need one of you to head to my office in about an hour. I need help deciding which location to shut down.” “Are their sales numbers not up to par?” Taylor asked. Aimee chuckled. “Ha! No. The employees keep complaining about raises so I am going to remove the headache.” “Slay, girl!” Kayleigh snapped her fingers and Aimee simply stared before heading back to her office. Taylor stamped her foot and said, “Oh, my god. Kayleigh, you are such a kiss ass! ‘Slay’ seriously?” “What?” Kayleigh retorted. “You are literally kissing her ass as much as me. Either way, I am obviously getting the position.” Taylor narrowed her eyes and flipped her ponytail. “Whatever, bitch. When it comes down to it, we’ll see who eats up this meeting.” As the minutes ticked by, Kayleigh sighed and excused herself to use the restroom. Turning her head, Taylor could see Aimee through the office door typing away at her computer. Taylor opened her desk drawer where small necessities had piled up. Lip balm, blush, contour, some pens, eye drops, and a small hair brush and mirror. She took out some of the supply and touched up her aesthetic features. Their time was beginning to run out as the hour ticked by. Both of them organized their portfolios and straightened their appearance. Kayleigh had sipped her coffee before saying, “Well, guess it’s time to see who’s the better girl boss.” She spun on her heel and walked ahead, Taylor followed closely behind. Shutting the door behind them, they sat in black chairs in front of Aimee’s glass desk. Aimee continued her emails before turning her attention back to the ladies. “So. I understand that you are both interested in the executive assistant position. My one requirement is that you must be available whenever I need you, do whatever I say, and bring my coffee to me at exactly 8:15am with exactly two sugars, one cream, and so help me if you use the blonde roast...Pike’s Place beans only .” Kayleigh shifted in her seat and said, “Yes. Yes of course.” Her stomach audibly groaned. “Is everything alright, Katie?” Aimee asked. “Um.” Kayleigh muttered as she clutched her stomach. “I’m ok. And, it’s...” Another loud gurgling sound echoed in the office. Taylor whispered to her, “Hey, are you ok? You don’t look good.” Kayleigh began to sweat as she stood, “I’m sorry.” She walked to the door, stiff backed and locked at the knees. “My stomach...” Flatulence escaped her as she opened the door and she began to jog to the restroom. She yelped as she made it, shoving another woman out of the bathroom and locked the door, sink turned on and fan switched to hide the embarrassing sounds. Taylor turned her head back to Aimee who sat crossing her arms and said, “Poor thing. Must have eaten something bad.” The perfect amount of sympathy etched in her voice. “Don’t play dumb, Taylor.” Aimee said. “What do you mean?” Taylor adjusted her coat and sat straighter. “What did you use? Laxative? Prune Juice? Come on, spill it.” Aimee demanded. Taylor looked at the floor and admitted, “Eye drops. I...I used eye drops.” “What a nasty, horrible thing to do to your teammate.” Aimee lectured. “That is a total violation of what we stand for. We are supposed to be a family.” Aimee said, glaring down at Taylor. Taylor’s cheeks reddened. “I know. This position means a lot to me and I would do anything to get it.” Aimee tapped her finger in the crook of her arm and said, “Everything you did, the lengths you went to, it’s everything I need in an assistant.” Taylor smiled big until she continued, “Besides, I need someone who is going to throw everything out the window to get these memberships sold. Your friend doesn’t have what it takes...and she’s too smart.” Confused, Taylor tilted her head and asked, “Too smart?” Aimee tapped a stack of papers on the desk before handing them to her. “Sign the dotted line and the position is yours.” Taylor hesitated and looked toward her old desk. Kayleigh was at her station packing some things up before heading out, toilet paper stuck on her heel. When she finished signing, she handed the papers back to Aimee. She double checked the work and said, “Good. Now, the next order of business...” “Hold on.” Taylor interjected. “What did you mean by Kayleigh being too smart for the position?” Aimee sighed and explained, “Look, your friend has brains. She can solve problems and will probably own her own company one day. I don’t need that kind of competition. I want a brain-dead tiktok-girl who will do whatever I say when I say it. That’s you. Also,” She continued, “that one uses an Android phone.” She made a disgusted face and muttered, “I hadn’t realized I hired a criminal.” She tsked. The look of dread painted on Taylor’s face. “I want to turn down the position.” Taylor muttered. “Ha!” Aimee spat. “Not a chance. You already signed the dotted line. Now, go get me another coffee. I’m empty.” Taylor sighed and clarified, “Right, two sugars, one cream?” With offense Aimee retorted, “What? Who told you that? I want a vanilla latte with two Splenda sprinkled on top. And a cookie. Now go on, I need more caffeine before I meet with this new franchisee.” Taylor said meekly, “Of course.” While she stood in the elevator to grab the coffee, Taylor texted Kayleigh. To apologize or complain whichever came first. The reply said, “ERROR. UNABLE TO SEND.” She checked her facebook and not only was she no longer friends with Kayleigh, the photos of their weekends were being deleted and untagged. Instagram was the same. Even their shared pins on Pinterest were removed. Taylor wiped the moisture from her cheek. The price of getting everything meant she lost it all too. And that really sucked.


Every year, people have the nerve to ask me why I hate the summertime. If it were any of their business, I’d tell them the whole idea is depressing. It’s sweaty, it’s lonely, and there’s nothing to do. Not to mention that it’s when all the bugs come out, I’m allergic to bee stings, and sunscreen can kiss my ass. I decide to forgo wearing a bathing suit to the pool party because the water’s too cold, I’m having bad cramps, or I just don’t feel like swimming, depending on who asks. I wear a long sleeved body suit and shorts, but the sun still fries my skin like it’s been coated in butter and heat rash lines my ankles at their first exposure to light. I sit under a tree hugging my knees to my chest and scoffed at the girls in cheap plastic flip-flops. I wince at the flimsy triangle bikinis that look like they could fall off at any moment, and sheer beach covers that cover almost nothing. I thought of the marks they would leave at the end of the day from tan lines and chaffing. It reminds me of those jelly bracelets we all wore in fourth grade that ate at our wrists and pulled out our arm hair, now abandoned along with butterfly hair clips and chunky necklaces. I regret my choice of clothes only once, and only a tiny bit, at one moment during the party. I go sprinting down the hall of a house that isn’t mine, my clothes and hair sticking to my skin with sweat. I nearly run into a wall when I come across two doors at the end of a corridor behind the kitchen. After a split second descision, I open the one to the right, and disappear into a face full of clothes that smell like him: his cologne, his shampoo, the detergent he uses for his sensitive skin. My fingers itch to take something in my hand and sniff it, but I resist and hold my breath as footsteps start and stop in front of my hiding place. I silently cuss to myself as I resolve not to breathe, even if it means my passing out. “Talk to Nell! You can’t keep hiding forever, Cait .” I shudder at the difference at the sound of my name and hers. It’s like he wants emphasis on who he’s defending here. He’s never been one for making a scene. “Yeah that didn’t flipping occur to me at all!” She snaps. I wince at the sound of her trying to hide her profanity. “You don’t say? Talk to her. Teddy, you were with her. You were alone with her. Tell me what the eff happened or I--” “Keep your voice down. This isn’t like you.” “No, it isn’t like me at all. She makes me crazy. She makes me so effing crazy and I used to want her so bad. Why couldn’t you have smacked me across the face and told me she was like this?” “Woah woah woah, I didn’t know this was going to happen.” “But you promised me she was different,” Cait sobs. “You set me up!” “This is insane. I did not set you up for failure and you don’t get to accuse me of that when things don’t go your way. I love you as my friend, but this is getting too much.” I let out a few shaky breaths from my hiding spot, the scent of his cologne filling the air around me. It is my only solace as my heart is about to rip itself out of my chest. The more I try to keep it quiet, the louder it is my head. I decide to close my eyes and think of him in the hopes that my memories of the past week will help me remain calm. I fill my head with the sound of his voice cooing softly in my ears, walking next to him during long hikes, the stories we told while eating marshmallows around the fire. I can still feel my heart pounding in my ears from when he crawled into my sleeping bag on that particularly cold night, his face in my neck as he told me he loved me, my skin on fire as he kissed me. But most of all, I remember my hands on his molten gold skin, gripping and scratching at his back like he was too far away from me and I needed him closer. I thought of those delicate, almond shaped eyes filled with determination and want. “I’m the only one on the trip who knew about you guys.” His voice was now a whisper muffled through the thick closet door. I have to risk pressing my forehead against it in order to hear everything. “I know her too and I wanted to be there for her so that is what I did. What did you want me to do, interrogate her about why she didn’t live up to your unrealistic expectations?” “You told me we were on the same page! I can’t believe this, was that conversation even about me or did you just say that to mislead me?” “I said nothing like that! I told you to talk to her about your relationship. It’s not my fault she broke up with you instead.” “You are such an asshole.” Caitlin hisses. “Because, actually, the stories you tell influence how other people act. I chose to act based on what you told me and I accepted it as a fact. Now I’ve burned my only bridge, wasted all of this effort, and lost my only shot with Nell all because you told me something that wasn’t true.” “You might as well be speaking mandarin to me right now because you are making zero sense. Was I supposed to wear a mic every time I spoke to her?” I squeeze my eyes shut as a lump begins to form in my throat. For a moment, I feel the urge to burst out of here and scream in her face that I hate her or that I’m sorry and she was right all along. But I keep the door closed tight. I can’t be tempted to look at her or engage with her anymore. “You lied to me,” Caitlin insists on this, again and again both out loud and under her breath. She lets out a few pathetic sniffs as the slow thumping of her footsteps away fill the echo of the house. I push the door open slightly, enough to see her arms crossed, red hair flowing but tattered at the edges, distressed, like she is. “I never lied to you, she broke up with you--” he stops mid-rant and buries his face in his hands, like he knows it isn’t worth it. I’m still trapped here as he shakes his head and begins to follow her. The rest of the group is calling out that it’s time to sing happy birthday to Bridget. I wait a few seconds before stepping out, but the hinges creak loud enough to get his attention. I wince as he meets my eye. “You heard--” “Yeah, all of it. So that’s what she thinks of me.” “I guess it is.” He whispers but his tone is tired, loud and clear. “Why didn’t you say anything?” I open my mouth but hesitate and struggle to get words out. “I...I don’t know.” “You like the smell of my clothes that much?” “...yes, but that isn’t why I hid there.” He chuckles softly. “Borrow whatever you want. Just return it eventually, okay?” I nod, and find myself scratching my cheek as it tingles from embarrassment. I follow him in silence back to the outside, squinting at the hangs in light as I mumble out “Happy Birthday” with the rest of the group. Bridget squeals as she blows out the candles and her friends bombard her with hugs. I bite my lip and clap for her, and get icing all over my chin on my first bite of cake. I barely notice him approach me until wipes it off with his thumb, lingering so that I feel him close to me. I guess we’re official now, I think, as I feel thirty pairs of eyes piercing my skin. But I let myself smile and allow the heat to melt me so that I fit perfectly into his arms as they wrap around my waist. His face finds its way to my neck where it belongs, and I sigh in content. My face tingles with either excitement or the beginnings of a burn because of the sunscreen I didn’t wear. Maybe I can grow to like the summer after all, but sunblock can still very much kiss my ass.


English 1010 might have been a very boring course for a physics major if not for an exceptional instructor named Raymond Walker. He was determined to make it interesting for all of his students. The Composition I class that he taught was generally about writing a variety of essays. He wanted to take it further than that. He hoped it would be a challenge. “This is an opportunity for extra credit,” he told them during the first week. “I’ll add points to your final grade if you do it. Just write a short story. The only requirement is that it is 1,000 to 3,000 words and that it is written by no one else but you.” He explained that an A would be ten extra points, a B would be five extra points, and a C would be three extra points. Anything else would not be eligible for extra credit. “Your short stories, if you decide to try to write one, will be due two weeks before the final exam,” he said. For student Benjamin Jones this seemed to be a chance to improve what otherwise might be a low grade. He was only taking the course because Motlow State Community College required it. In two years he planned to transfer to Tennessee Technological University and complete a degree in physics. Math and science were the subjects in which he always excelled, not English. By the first week of December, he had completed his short story but with doubt that it would be good enough for extra points. He titled it “Autumn under the Maples” because it was under the maple trees on the campus that he frequently studied on pleasant fall afternoons. The short story was mainly autobiographical. It contained numerous misspelled words and grammatical errors, but its content was worthy of ten extra points on his final grade. The short story was better than anything Walker had read since he had started teaching at the small community college. It was so good that he decided to make a copy of it and keep it. He marked a C at the top of the first page and returned it to Benjamin when he handed back the papers to the other students. Benjamin was discouraged because he had spent a lot of time writing it. Nevertheless, he had received the kind of grade he was expecting. He promptly wadded the short story and threw it into a wastebasket before he left the classroom. It was the last time he would attempt to write anything like it again. The short story remained in Walker’s filing cabinet for a year. However, the instructor did not forget about it. He bravely took it out and read it again. He thought the ideas in the short story were fantastic. With some work, it could be developed into a novel, Walker decided. He spent the next two years expanding it into a 90,000-word manuscript. He sent a query to three literary agents and the third one said he wanted to read it. Within four weeks, he signed a contract with a large agency in New York. In the following month, four major publishers bid on the novel. It was sold to one of them and he received a generous advance. Meanwhile, Benjamin did not make it to Tennessee Tech after finishing at the community college. Instead, he was struck by an automobile while trying to cross Jackson Street in nearby Tullahoma. He was walking to the post office when a drunk driver steered into the wrong lane and hit him. An ambulance carried him to Harton Hospital and then he was airlifted by helicopter to Vanderbilt Hospital in Nashville. After two weeks in its trauma unit, he was told by his doctors there was a possibility that he might never walk again. After months of physical therapy, he was able to slowly walk with a cane. “I’ve never been happier!” Walker told his pretty wife on the day he married her two years after his novel was published. He had renamed it In the Shadow of Autumn Maples and changed the name of the main character to Benjamin Adams, and the book quickly climbed to the top ten lists of The New York Times and USA Today . Raymond Walker was the guest on many television shows and toured the country promoting the sales of his book. “I’m already one of the most famous authors in the world,” he told her. “We can go anywhere! We can do anything!” They moved to Los Angeles after the book was turned into a movie. And Walker never attempted to write anything again. He did not have to. A small disability check and Medicare did little to help Benjamin. He was handicapped and poor, and his wife, after a few years of marriage, divorced him and took their two children with her. He did not see them again. He smoked too much and he drank too much, and he was addicted to his pain medication. He had already given up on his dream to be a physicist. He had never imagined that life could be so unhappy for him. “I’m miserable,” he said to no one, because there was no one there to listen to him. It was quite a life for Walker. He did not have to teach; he did not have to grade tests; he did not have students in the room who did not want to be there. He looked good. He felt good. He and his wife had three children. His children were all attractive and smart. He had a large home with a swimming pool in a desirable neighborhood. He drove a Porsche 911. His friends were celebrities. He was tanned, but obese, and still had his dark hair. “What more could I want?” he said to everyone who listened to him. There was nothing for him to do, he was bored, so that in October he and his family went to Paris for two months. He toured the city, his wife shopped, and their children stayed with their tutor in the hotel. All of them learned to speak French, and they ate at the finest restaurants. He was particularly pleased when he saw his novel, In the Shadow of Autumn Maples by Raymond Walker, in the bookstores in Paris. His wife never wore the same clothes twice, she did not have to, and his children were quiet and mannerly and never unruly. While Walker and his family were in Europe, fire destroyed Benjamin’s house. The wires of an old space heater had short-circuited while he was asleep. Suddenly he had almost nothing left, and there was nowhere for him to live. He bought a used tent in a Goodwill store and camped with other homeless people under an Interstate 24 overpass. While the traffic droned overhead, he dreamed about the life he once thought he could have. It was difficult for him to understand why he did not have a good-paying job and why his wife and children were no longer with him. He was twenty-five years old and sleeping on a rug laid across the hard pavement. Benjamin died within another year. He was sleeping under the interstate overpass on a very cold night in January. Many of the homeless people had left for one of the town’s warm shelters. He stayed. Benjamin was frozen when he was found the next morning. On his face were the same eyeglasses he had been wearing when he was a student in Raymond Walker’s English 1010 class. He wore a coat that he had found in a dumpster. He was covered with an old army blanket that he had been given by another homeless person. His clothes were the same clothes that he had been wearing since his house burned down. The shoes on his feet were old and worn out. His slim body was placed in a cardboard coffin. Three people went to his funeral. They were all homeless people that he had met. His ex-wife refused to go, and she would not tell anyone how his children could be contacted. Benjamin died with less than ten dollars in his wallet. He certainly would not be remembered as the physicist he wanted to be or the author of the ideas in a short story that got the attention of the publishing industry. If someone had mentioned Benjamin Jones to his Composition I instructor, he would say he was not able to recall his name or remember his face. It seemed that Benjamin had somehow been dealt a bad hand of cards to play in the unfair game of life. He was buried in the very back of Tullahoma’s Evergreen Cemetery, the same graveyard where author Stephen Crane was buried almost 125 years before. Benjamin had not been dead long when Walker was driving east on Interstate 110 in Los Angeles and a drunk driver suddenly switched lanes and struck his car. Some of the witnesses thought he had stopped breathing before an ambulance arrived there. It took him to the emergency room at a nearby hospital, Good Samaritan, and he remained there for almost two weeks. His doctors told him there was a possibility that he might never walk again. He had months of physical therapy ahead of him. Eventually he could walk slowly with a cane. By then, bookstores were almost giving away In the Shadow of Autumn Maples by Raymond Walker. Its movie was shown only occasionally on television, usually in the middle of the night. He was no longer the successful author that he had wanted to be, and his wife divorced him and took their children with her. She took most of his money also. He was smoking too much and drinking too much, and he was addicted to his pain medication. He fell asleep with a cigarette in his hand while sitting in his living room at two o’clock in the morning. It ignited the curtains behind the couch and fire quickly spread throughout the house. Three fire engines arrived, but they were too late. The fire destroyed most of his home, and he had not paid its insurance premiums for months. Walker realized it was time to get out of Los Angeles. He had enough cash to buy a bus ticket, $448, back to Tullahoma with the idea that Motlow State Community College might hire him again. He was drunk when he went for an interview with the dean of the school of liberal arts, and the dean knew it. There was no way they were going to allow a drunken one-time author to teach their classes. “I’m miserable,” he said to no one, because there was no one there to listen to him now. He had come from Los Angeles without a jacket, and with winter coming on soon, he used the last money he had left to buy a coat, a tent, and a sleeping bag at Goodwill. He left there wearing the coat with the tent and sleeping bag strapped to his back. Walker did not know where to go. He met other homeless people who led him to a camp under an overpass under Interstate 24. He stayed there until January, when the temperatures remained below ten degrees for several days. Walker died in his sleeping bag under his tent, but nobody knew when he died. His body was then thin and frozen. No one really knew anything about him. They didn’t know that he had an ex-wife and children in California so they could not be contacted and come to the funeral. His withered body was placed in a cardboard coffin. One person was at the graveyard to say good-bye, a lean unidentified bespectacled homeless person. Workers in the grounds crew at the cemetery volunteered to be pallbearers. A priest from Saint Paul the Apostle Catholic Church agreed to come to say a prayer. He was buried in the back of Evergreen Cemetery, not far from where author Stephen Crane was buried in 1900, and not far from the grave of another homeless man, whose ideas for a short story for a while interested readers around the world.


Mobius’ Freeway written by, M Price Whenever someone insists on a name for me, I use Dennis, my brother's. So yeah, call me that, if you want. I hear it and want to turn my head to look for the impossible. Used to, anyway. Now I simply compress the conscious moment as hard as I can into the fleeting nostalgia, then hold on to it for however many dwindling milliseconds still possible. Tessa disapproves. But everyone left in this world is disturbed somehow. Get by your way and leave me to mine. We’re well into our second loop along this coast-to-coast patchwork of leftover interstates and connective roads. Took us around five years to complete the first trip. For thousands of miles, the sometimes varied, yet overall prevailing collective tag of Everlasting Freeway , bears down on our consciousness. These words are typically painted in white or red - though sometimes black - and mixed with crushed glass to make them reflective. Everywhere, they stain dilapidated overpasses, rusty, unhinged truck-trailers and even the crumbly asphalt beneath us. Only when we dare to step off the path, to enter an abandoned building, shopping-center, or the more traditional wild, are we relieved of the standard visual torments of our collective plight. It’s particularly dangerous to do so on this stretch we currently travel, where overall, the paths available to us are fewer and narrower. The near ethereal crucible of the Mobius strip, so to speak. Our family entered this former office building to rest only a few hours ago. Now, with the building surrounded, we're all split up, searching for unguarded exits. The voices of cocky, trigger-happy militiamen ring out. We don't take their arrogance as opportunity to relax. Skilled and disciplined members among them, count on such folly. I enter a cluttered, box filled room, then creep steadily over to the window at its back corner. A drab, thigh-high glass table scatters waves of shadow amidst the orange, evening sunlight, itself filtered through lace-curtain. My gloved fingertips slide across its filth-spotted surface as I slow, reluctant to continue approach. I lean forward to look outside, then halt with a flinch. Red mold dust from beneath the table’s seemingly benign gray layer gouges away from beneath my glove. It swirls upward in a cloud, threatening my lungs in the now, and sanity in the future - as it did to Dennis. I jerk away, burying my face into arm and shoulder. An explosion concusses the room. The window I'd intended to press my face against, shatters inward. If not for the toxic dust we've all grown to fear, I'd be damaged. Perhaps blinded. I fumble to remove the tainted glove - rush to get my mask on. So much for the respite. Tessa's son Danny, 11, runs into the office to hug me. "Uncle Daniel, are y--" "How many times do I have to tell you? Just call me Dennis." He whines, "But yesterday you said, don't call you by your real name." "What?" Tessa arrives, placing a hand on his gaunt, cheek. "Let it be, Danny. Granny found an exit, in the room where we saw the refrigerator. The bad guys are almost here, so go. We'll be right there." His drippy nose sniffs. Tears fall. He quickly wipes them aside and spins away to obey. They spatter my hand. "Stop confusing him!" "I-- Wait." "Enough! Dan died protecting you two. Alright? During the dust storm, you gave Danny your mask to follow through." she says, shaking me by my arms. "I don't fault you! OK? But now you're-- Do you know what this is like for a boy his age? Get it together Dennis!" Enemy voices grow louder. We race to the exit. Mom smiles sadly at me from the gap in the wall she and Danny stand within. I hug Mom, squeeze Tessa's hand and kiss the top of Danny's head through his uneven, bedhead of an afro. Then I walk around, grunt and press hard to slide the refrigerator and cover their exit. "Dennis!" Was that even one millisecond? "Hurry!" I yell, tearing the stove from the wall. The sound of gas and their scuffling scramble comfort me. Minutes later, the enemy appears. I can barely keep myself conscious having breathed all this gas. The lighter grinds and clicks, but doesn't light, and I'm apprehended. *** My head's killing me. "How am I supposed to believe you aren't militia?" "See this patch that says U.N.? See how you’re alive and unbound? That's how. We chased those clowns off." says Captain Ortega. "Now who are you? You have no I.D." Hope? My family! "Was I out long?" "Half hour. Answer the question." "Daniel-- err, Dennis Folsom." I say, taking in another inspection of the camp. "Please, my family, I have to find them quickly. They're still out there!" "Good thing you didn't frag us all to pieces then, huh?" she says. "Which way?" I'm loopy while we jog back inside the office break room, nearly fall over several times. Three of us push the refrigerator. It jolts and screeches a few feet, then tips over with a slamming clang. I don’t know how I moved it by myself. I struggle to balance during our jog through the rounded walls of the tunnel. My outstretched, stiff arms point from front to back and my feet drag and kick gravel along with us. It rattles and scrapes with excessive noise within the confined space. We move into a wetter area. I lose my footing and fall onto my hands and elbows. "Jennings! Take point! This idiot's gonna get us killed." "Yes ma'am!" I roll from my belly to sit up against the curved surface. I'm Dennis. I can't lose track of that again. This has got to be hell for Tessa. I don't remember inhaling the red dust, but I must have that day. Tessa all but said I did. I'm Dennis, not Daniel. I'm-- crazy? Ortega helps me up. "Get your shit together, man. For your family!" she says, then stuffs a few bullet-clips into my pockets, forces a cold pistol into my hands and runs ahead. The sound of gunfire echoes through the tunnel, from outside. I sprint, hunched over, arms parallel behind me to catch up, my waking agility having returned with the pump of excessive adrenaline. I exit to see my family pinned down by the militia, in a ragged, lumpy, overgrown parking lot. The militia, in turn, is pinned down by Captain Ortega’s squad, behind a low concrete barrier. Amidst the chaos, I chance the fifty-meter dash to my unarmed loved ones. Though I manage to keep balance and follow through, I'm nicked on the shoulder. "Daddy!" screams Danny. The firefight lasts more than an hour. I do my best to be helpful, but also preserve ammo. The peacekeeping troops fight valiantly, tearing the militia down to quite few. But in the end, under cover of darkness, we all retreat. We to the west, the U.N. peace-keeping force to the east and the militia to the south. At the road, we load our meager supplies onto the solar-paneled, battery powered jeep, then flee into the ever darkening, moonless night. Mom drives, steadily, at about 5 miles an hour - albeit with constant twists through rubble, potholes and abandoned vehicles. The dim, night-vision-geared headlights don’t allow for faster travel, but they’re bright enough to make plain to us, many an Everlasting Freeway sign along the way. Tessa tapes gauze to the bloody, shallow gouge on my shoulder. Danny, curled up beneath my good arm, sleeps. "Sorry." I say. "At least for now, I’m fine. I'm me." Tess nods. We share a brief kiss. "I love you." she says. "Keep trying. We need you at your strongest." ******


“It’ll only hurt for a second. Really! See that picture?” I turned to look and said “Where?” That’s when the nurse jabbed me. “Oowww” was the only thing I could think to say. But her skilled hands made the procedure so quick that it really didn’t hurt at all. I instinctively went to rub my arm and she stopped me. “First things first” she said with an accent that could only come from the West Indies, and she had a small bandage over the puncture. Then she sat back in the examination chair, crossed her arms and looked at me with an expression of haughtiness. “I told you it wouldn’t hurt.” “You said it would hurt for a second.” She turned her eyes to the side in thought. “Oh yeah, I did. Oh well, it still didn’t hurt, right?” I had to admit, it didn’t hurt at all. But I wouldn’t tell her that, especially as she made my twenty five years seem old next to her. I just rubbed my arm and pouted. Nurse Cahill had rolled her chair to the counter where my record lay. She picked it up and opened it. “Ok Mr. Nunce, you’re done here” she said as she made a few notes. “Oh, uh, ok. Ummm, yeah, see you next time I guess.” “Oh, no, this is the only shot you need. You’re completely done.” Her lilting voice coming out of a face that looks more like she just got out of school than been through med school did not sit well, but she was the nurse. “Ok, then thanks.” I stood up a little too quickly and became dizzy. I reached for something to hold on to when the nurse reached for me. “Careful Mr. Nunce. The shot can make you dizzy. Sit down for a second, please.” “Yeah, sure” I said as I regained my seat. “I think it was just because I got up too fast. I”ll be alright.” “Even so, I want you to sit in the recovery area for ten minutes. You don’t want to be driving right now. After ten minutes I’ll come check on you and if you’re fine I’ll let you leave, ok?” She felt his forehead and his cheeks while she talked. Such small hands. They were so tender and warm, like a mother’s hands. The look of her made her talents as a nurse seem weird, like he was getting this attention from his baby sister. Any minute she’ll say “Look at that” while pointing at his shirt. And when he looks down she’ll flip his nose. “Ok, but then I have to go.” “Why, what’s the rush? You don’t like me?” “I do, I mean I have a date. That’s why I’m here now, to get this over with so that I have plenty of time to get ready.” “Ooooh, ok” she said. “She must be pretty special then. Don’t worry, I’ll have you out of here pretty quick.” She pulled back the curtain hiding us from the rest of the pharmacy and pointed to a few chairs not far from the med-booth. They were against the wall near the pharmacy counter. I got up, slowly this time, and took a few steps. The moment I was out of the booth the curtain closed behind me. All of that motherly attention ended right there and then. I sighed, and made my way to the seats. Sitting down, I realized I was directly next to the condom aisle. Like I needed these ideas in my head right now. Actually, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to have a few back-ups. Something to think about while I’m sitting here. But I have to be subtle, I guess. After I give Jerry the ring I guess anything could happen. She might decide to jump me right there. With her parents there and everything. I hope the restaurant is ok with that. I had to laugh at that, which got the attention of the clerk and a lady two aisles over who peeked up like a meerkat to see what was happening. “Sorry, I was thinking of a joke” I said to them both. The lady snorted her nose and went back to browsing the antacids. The clerk smiled at me and gave me a thumbs up. I sheepishly looked down at my lap to hide my embarrassment. And I called the nurse weird, while I’m sitting here laughing at myself like a crazy person. It’s time to focus on tonight. Ok, run the checklist. Ring? Check. Reservations? Check. Did I tell my roommates I might be coming home with company? I pulled out my phone and checked the text messages. Wait, who’s Molly, and how’d she get my number? Oh right, this is Chuck’s girlfriend and he needed to use my phone after his died. Why is she still using my number though? That’s the last thing Jerry should see if she gets a hold of my phone. Oh wait, focus, did I? Yes, here it is. Chuck sent me a thumbs up emoji while Peter sent, what is this? Some sort of gif. I clicked on it and heard the sharp snap of a whip. Ughhh, really? He’s still going on about me being whipped. Anyway, they both got the message and..what the...? The sound of the crash was sudden and caught me off-guard. It came from the front, through the front door. I jumped from my seat, not knowing if I should run or take cover. That’s when it hit me, and everything went black... “Hey” Who was that? “Hey”. “You ready?” Huh? Who was this guy? “Ready for what?” “For what’s next.” Of course I was. I was going to propose to my girlfriend. But who was this guy? “Yeah, I just have to take care of something first.” “No wait...” “It’ll only hurt for a second. Really! See that picture?” I turned to look and said “Where?” That’s when the nurse jabbed me. “Oowww” was the only thing I could think to say. But her skilled hands made the procedure so quick that it really didn’t hurt at all. I instinctively went to rub my arm and she stopped me. “First things first” she said with an accent that could only come from the West Indies, and she had a small bandage over the puncture. Then she sat back in the examination chair, crossed her arms and looked at me with an expression of haughtiness. “I told you it wouldn’t hurt.” “You said it would hurt for a second.” She turned her eyes to the side in thought. “Oh yeah, I did. Oh well, it still didn’t hurt, right?” I had to admit, it didn’t hurt at all. But I wouldn’t tell her that, especially as she made my twenty five years seem old next to her. I just rubbed my arm and pouted. Nurse Cahill had rolled her chair to the counter where my record lay. She picked it up and opened it. “Ok Mr. Nunce, you’re done here” she said as she made a few notes. “Oh, uh, ok. Ummm, yeah, see you next time I guess.” “Oh, no, this is the only shot you need. You’re completely done.” Her lilting voice coming out of a face that looks more like she just got out of school than been through med school did not sit well, but she was the nurse. “Ok, then thanks.” I stood up a little too quickly and became dizzy. I reached for something to hold on to when the nurse reached for me. “Careful Mr. Nunce. The shot can make you dizzy. Sit down for a second, please.” “Yeah, sure” I said as I regained my seat. “I think it was just because I got up too fast. I”ll be alright.” “Even so, I want you to sit in the recovery area for ten minutes. You don’t want to be driving right now. After ten minutes I’ll come check on you and if you’re fine I’ll let you leave, ok?” She felt his forehead and his cheeks while she talked. Such small hands. They were so tender and warm, like a mother’s hands. The look of her made her talents as a nurse seem weird, like he was getting this attention from his baby sister. Any minute she’ll say “Look at that” while pointing at his shirt. And when he looks down she’ll flip his nose. “Ok, but then I have to go.” “Why, what’s the rush? You don’t like me?” “I do, I mean I have a date. That’s why I’m here now, to get this over with so that I have plenty of time to get ready.” “Ooooh, ok” she said. “She must be pretty special then. Don’t worry, I’ll have you out of here pretty quick.” She pulled back the curtain hiding us from view and pointed to a few chairs not far from the med-booth. They were against the wall near the pharmacy counter. I got up, slowly this time, and took a few steps. The moment I was out of the booth the curtain closed behind me. All of that motherly attention ended right there and then. I sighed, and made my way to the seats. Sitting down, I realized I was directly next to the condom aisle, again. Like I needed these ideas in my head right now. Actually, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to have a few back-ups. Something to think about while I’m sitting here. But I have to be subtle, I guess. After I give Jerry the ring I guess anything could happen. She might decide to jump me right there. With her parents right there video taping the whole thing. I gave them a heads up so they know what to expect. I just hope they can keep a secret. I laughed, not really knowing why but the impulse was there. I caught the attention of the clerk and a lady two aisles over who peeked up like a meerkat to see what was happening. “Sorry, I was thinking of something” I said to them both. The lady snorted her nose and went back to browsing the antacids. The clerk smiled at me and gave me a thumbs up. I sheepishly looked down at my lap to hide my embarrassment. And I called the nurse weird, while I’m sitting here laughing at myself like a crazy person. It’s time to focus on tonight. Ok, run the checklist. Ring? Check. Reservations? Check. Did I tell my roommates I might be coming home with company? I pulled out my phone and checked the text messages. Oh look, it’s Molly, Chuck’s girlfriend. Why is she still using my number though? That’s the last thing Jerry should see if she gets a hold of my phone. Oh wait, focus, did I tell them? Yes, here it is. Chuck sent me a thumbs up emoji while Peter sent, what is this?. I heard the sharp snap of a whip when I clicked on his message. Ughhh, really? He’s still going on about me being whipped. Anyway, they both got the message and..what the...? The sound of the crash was sudden and caught me off-guard. It came from the front, through the front door. I jumped from my seat, knowing I should take cover. That’s when it hit me, and everything went black... “You ready now?” That guy again. “Look, I don’t know what you want but I have an important date coming up and I don’t need you bothering me right now, Ok?” “That’s just it. You no longer have that date. You’ve passed.” “Passed what?” “Passed on. No longer part of the world. Moved onto the next plane of existence. Deceased. Dead.” That caught me by surprise. I didn’t feel different, so how could I be dead. “You’re kidding, right? This is just a prank. Wait, where’s the camera?” “It’s not a prank. Sorry.” I thought about that for a second. Something didn’t make sense. And who was this guy? “Ok look, a car lost control and crashed through the front door. DO you remember hearing the crash?” “Uh, yeah.” “The car hit the cosmetics shelves and just happened to send a jar straight at you. I think it was concealer. Anyway, its aim was true, and it smacked you right in the temple.” “Wait, I was on the other side of the store, way in the back.” “I know, right?” “No, not right. I was way in the back!” “A million-to-one shot. It happens.” “No no no, you just wait a minute! I’m supposed to meet my girlfriend later so that I can propose. This can’t happen now!” “Propose, really? Wow, this has got to suck.” “Screw you! I need to take care of something then I’m off.” “No, wait...” “It’ll only hurt for a second. Really! See that picture?” “Yeah, yeah, yeah, just do it. I have to go.” Her skilled hands made the procedure so quick that it really didn’t hurt at all. I instinctively went to rub my arm, but instead said “Oww.” “First things first” she said with an accent that could only come from the West Indies, and she had a small bandage over the puncture. Then she sat back in the examination chair, crossed her arms and looked at me with an expression of haughtiness. “I told you it...” “...wouldn’t hurt, yeah, yeah, yeah. I have to go now.” Nurse Cahill had rolled her chair to the counter where my record lay. She picked it up and opened it. “Ok Mr. Nunce, you’re done here” she said as she made a few notes. “Ok, then thanks.” I was about to stand up but stopped. If I did, something would happen that would keep me here. Just play it cool. “Mr. Nunce, I want you to sit in the recovery area for ten minutes. The vaccine can make some people dizzy and I want to make sure you’re ok to drive before I let you go, ok?” Dammit. “Ok, but then I have to go. And it’s not because I don’t like you. I have a date. That’s why I’m here now, to get this over with so that I have plenty of time to get ready. So where are the seats?” “Ooooh, ok” she said. “She must be pretty special then. Don’t worry, I’ll have you out of here pretty quick.” She pulled back the curtain hiding us from view and pointed to a few chairs not far from the med-booth, against the wall near the pharmacy counter. I sat down on one, the same one, and remembered the condoms. Yes, I should definitely get some. There was something I had to do first. Oh yeah, laugh out loud. But what if I didn’t? Would anything change? Would the woman browsing the antacids even notice me? Would I care? I laughed at that and tried to catch myself but it was too late. There’s the snort. Oh, and the thumbs up. Cool, now all that’s left is the check list. Ring? Check. Reservations? Check. Did I tell my roommates I might be coming home with company? I pulled out my phone and checked the text messages. Chuck’s girlfriend, check. Sharp snap of a whip? Check. Wait, what’s about to...? The sound of the crash was sudden and caught me off-guard. It came from the front, through the front door. I jumped from my seat, not knowing if I should run or take cover. That’s when it hit me, and everything went black... “Hey, you’re back!” This guy again. “Can you please stop interrupting my evening. Can’t you see I need to go? All I want is to marry the love of my life but you keep bringing me back here. Is this funny to you?” “No, it isn’t” “Then let me be! I have a future to plan.” “That’s done. You’re dead. I can’t change that.” “But all I have to do is...” “No, don’t do that again!” “But...” “What you’re doing is re-living your final moment. It won’t send you back to her. It’ll just keep repeating and repeating, your own little private hell, and try as you might to change the outcome, it won’t happen. Ever.” This gave me pause. I didn’t want to believe this person, but I couldn’t deny that every time I went back I still wound up here, in the darkness. Futility began to creep it’s way into my consciousness, as did the sadness of loss. I was, we were, going to be so happy. “Jerry...” “She’ll be fine.” “Without me?” The first time the voice paused. At last, It showed that it didn’t know everything. “I’m sorry for your loss, really, honest and truly. But we have to go, or you could get stuck here.” A pause, then “You ok?” With a quieter voice I answered, “No.” “Will you come?” “Yes.” Great. It’s this way.” “Ok.” I sighed, heavily. All the good times I would miss. And Jerry. Who would look after her? “C’mon, it’s this way.” “Ok, just let me take care of something.” “No, wait...”