Nobody was safe from the sun. Today was no exception. It shot rays of heat down to the small town of Brinaville. In a small shop full of sweating customers, it melted a fresh scoop of strawberry ice cream almost immediately as it touched the cone. A red stream dripped down Cliffords glove. He tried his hardest to lick it up, but the ice cream only redirected down his chin and into his shirt. “No refunds,” the cashier muffled behind his mask, pointing to the sign on the wall behind him. “Really? But, you saw what happened,” argued Clifford. The cashier stood with his finger pointing to the sign, his eyes glaring at him from behind his worn goggles. “Next,” he said, shrugging Clifford away with a glance. Clifford walked out of the shop. A cloud of dust blew by, covering every piece of exposed cone in his hand. Clifford lowered his head, crushing the cone in his hand and throwing it to the ground. He had traveled far for this, only to have it end up covered in dust, just like everything else. “Hey! No littering!” Shouted a small voice. A very angry little girl ran up to him, two women standing on either side of her. Based on her height she looked no older than 11. Her mask was green with a pattern of ducks on it. She wore a vest that looked like it was from an old costume shop, with a worn badge on it that he could barely make out as the word: SHERIFF. “Are you going to just stand there or pick this up?” she snapped. She stood toe to toe with him, looking up with a sharp stare. “Sorry, ma’am.” Clifford dusted off the cone and picked up the pieces, throwing them in a nearby trash can while the girl and the two women followed him closely. “I’m going to guess that you’re new here, so you won’t get arrested this time. But if you plan on staying in my town then you better keep it clean, got it?” She pointed a finger up at him, her hand resting on her belt. A broken water gun was stuffed in the holster. “Got it.” Said Clifford. “This...is your town?” “Yes sir, it is. I’m Sheriff Brina, you can call me Sheriff Brina. Welcome to Brinaville.” He couldn’t see her face, but can tell that she was smiling behind her mask, very pleased with the name of her town. She held out her hand, and he shook it politely. "Nice to meet you, Sheriff. I'm Cliff." “May I ask what brings you here?” “Ice cream. I came here for ice cream.” “That’s it?” She laughed. “Yeah. That’s it,” he said. The end of his sentence trailing off in almost a whisper. The sheriff noticed the dry ice cream on his glove and glanced at the cone in the trash can. “I’m guessing the first scoop didn’t work out?” “No ma’am, it didn’t. The sun ate it before I could, and I’m afraid I have no more coins for another. So I’ll have to get going.” “Sorry about that. We have plenty of jobs around here if you want to earn more and get another scoop. Ms. Loretta at the salon could use a hand if you’re good with scissors. I’m sure she’ll throw in a haircut, which it looks like you could use.” Clifford ran a hand over his greasy hair. He hadn’t seen his reflection in a long time and forgot how long it had become. “Or, if--judging by your age--you’re an educated man, the kids at the school can always use more teachers. We can’t find many books in good condition anymore. And not many people come through here who remember the knowledge of the old world. Would be nice to teach them more than just colors and the names of animals.” Clifford remembered being a kid and having his nose deep in a textbook while his mother tried her hardest to teach him math. “No, Cliff. Try again. You have 7 and a half apples. I give you 5 and a half. How many do you have now?” His poor mom would buy so many apples to help him learn. But, they would all go bad before he could figure out the correct answer. He used to stress out so much about homework, what he was wearing to school, whether his haircut was cool or not, what he’d grow up to be... and at night he complained if it was too hot or too cold. His mom would always oblige his every need. She was a good mom. Now it was hot every moment of every day. And he ate whatever was there. You’d be lucky if you got your hands on an apple, depending which part of the world you’re in. He thought about the sheriff’s proposition, glancing around at the town. The people looked happy enough. There were only a handful who looked like they were his age. “Who makes the ice cream?” he asked. “Oh, that’d be Ms. Belle and her cow, Ms. Blue. She makes that ice cream from scratch. But since there’s only one cow in town, she only makes a new batch every few months or so.” “Does she need an extra hand?” “I can ask, if you’re interested,” she giggled. “You really like ice cream, huh?” “Yeah.” Clifford spent the next few months working with Ms. Belle to keep the barn clean and the animals fed. She let him keep his horse in the barn, next to Blue, so long as Clifford promised to do at least one lesson a week at the school for the kids. He agreed. The kids all loved Clifford. They loved his funny little stories of the old world. Stories about motion pictures, snacks, air conditioning, pools, theme parks, and grocery stores full of food. He told them about his school, and played games with them just like the ones he grew up playing. He watched as the mothers and fathers of the kids would pick them up from school. He thought about his own mom again. One of the fondest memories he had of her was years ago when they were camping in an old cave. Cliff was crying, saying he was tired of camping and wanted to go home. His mom said, “Cliff, I’m sorry, but this is how it’s going to be from now on. I know it’s hard. I know it’s different. But, I promise you that you’ll find something about the world to love again.” “What do you love about it?” he asked. “Ice cream,” he remembers her saying with a blank stare. “I want to have just one last scoop of strawberry ice cream again before I die. In a cone. Wouldn’t that be nice?” He remembers her staring blankly at her hand as she talked about it, as if she was picturing herself holding the cone. A tear ran down her cheek. He rubbed it from her cheek and gave her a hug. “I promise I’ll find some ice cream for you, mom.” At the time it felt like an easy promise to fulfill. At the time he was still optimistic that one day things would return back to normal. Schools and ice cream shops would open again. The fires will stop, the air will be clean again, and the government will rebuild the cities and restock the shelves of the grocery stores. But he’d find out soon enough that there was no vaccine or government powerful enough to right this wrong. And so he hugged his mom will full confidence in his promise. “Thanks, kiddo,” she said with a smile, hugging him back. She never got her ice cream. It was cooler today in Brinaville. Clifford was going about his usual day, tending to the cow and the other animals. Ms. Belle called him inside. “Everything alright, Ms. Belle?” “Everything’s fine, Cliff. I just wanted to see if you could taste this for me and let me know if it’s alright to send out to the shop?” She held out a cone with two scoops of strawberry ice cream in it. He paused, ,waiting for the sun to strike it down like a bad dream. But it didn’t. He patted his chest pocket where a picture peeked out. He closed his eyes as he reached out, grabbing the cone and feeling it in his hands. Ms. Belle couldn’t see his face under the mask, but could tell that he was smiling. She put her hand on his shoulder and gave him a hug.


The sail to Stetguttot Heath was the longest I had ever been at sea. It took close to three weeks chasing the variable westerly winds from the southern tip of the Archipelago to its northern reaches. My new, permanent lodgings onboard Alessia’s boat proved invaluable. My own space, and an actual bed, however small, made the journey pass with relative ease. Still, I couldn’t help but feel relief when we finally spotted the landmass of Stetguttot Heath emerging from the oceans ahead. The islands in the north of the Archipelago tended to be larger than those in the south, and Stetguttot Heath was no exception. A series of hills like the points of a crown rose from the ocean. Tufts of uneven wild grass littered the steep banks, broken by pockets of white stone. As we got closer, I could see more apexes rising in the distance, and further back the tallest hills crested even higher. The entire island was a series of peaks and troughs rolling across the land. We began circling the island, looking for a safe place to land the boat; the steep banks and rocky waters proving too dangerous a place to moor. Then, on the south-east corner, we spotted a small wooden harbour. Three high wooden jetties jutted out from the shoreline into the sea. Next to one, another vessel bobbed waywardly in the choppy waters. The third jetty was stunted, its second half having collapsed into the ocean. Broken stalks rose from the water, bent at odd angles, supporting nothing but air. The other jetties looked little safer. As the tide rolled through, they swayed with the current, the joints of the columns creaking, small gaps appearing between bindings. We delicately slid up to one of the jetties, being careful not to bump it too hard in case we should send it toppling into the ocean. As we stepped off the boat, the planks creaked beneath us, letting out a panged ache with each step. “Any last advice for dealing with people here?” I asked Alessia, as she stepped up behind me. “Tell them that they can’t build jetties for shit,” she said, staring down at the ocean between the cracks in the planks. “Yeah. I learned that one too,” I replied, my voice flat. “Beyond that? Your guess is as good as mine. I knew how to get here, nothing else.” We took slow steps up the slip until our feet met firm land. A small stone causeway had been built, creating a level surface between the two hills that rose in all other directions. Some twenty metres’ climb up the hill to our right, we could see a large building tucked into the hillside. “Go see who we can find?” I suggested. Alessia shrugged, but nodded for me to lead the way. The wooden structure was probably thirty or so metres across. It was made of plain-brown planks mounted vertically on end, with a steep, sharp pointed roof. On the broad side I could see two small windows seemingly placed at semi-random, their heights not quite aligning. Approaching the building, we found a sign nailed to the door. It was perhaps only fourty centimeters across, and written in simple black font. “Harbour Office. All visitors must report.” I turned to Alessia and raised my eyebrows. “Guess we’d better report then,” she said wryly, reaching past me and knocking on the door. “Come in,” came a dry voice from the other side. Inside, the room was dark and gloomy. Lightless shadows crept across old desks and lopsided shelves laden with books. A few weak lanterns did their best to fight off some of the gloom, but their reach seemed to only cover a quarter of the space, giving colour to select parts of the building. At the far end, we could see three office workers sitting in a circle - two men and one woman. They leaned back in their chairs, their feet propped up on the tables. As we stepped inside, their eyes turned to us, but they didn't stand. "Hello, how can we help. Are you registering a ship?" "Yes," Alessia replied. "We've moored up at the jetti outside." "Excellent," one of the men replied. He stood up with an odd excitement, and began flicking through books on a desk next to him until he found the right one. He turned the pages and settled on a blank page. "What's the ship type?" he asked, while rummaging through the drawers in his desk. "B-Class trading vessel" The man produced a pen and held it up triumphantly before taking down information from Alessia regarding the ship. “And what's the purpose of your visit?" "Well, we were hoping to find out about someone who lives here, or at least did." The eyebrows of the woman still sitting suddenly raised. "Oh, I can probably help you there. We keep records of birth and education here. What's the name?" "Sannaz Lytta" She looked up and to the right. "Don't recognize the name. But we can have a look through the records. They're organized by year. Do you know how old they are... were...?" "No idea, I'm afraid. Adult. Not old enough to stop being active. So... older than twenty, but less than sixty." I winced, fearing how unhelpful I was being. The woman let out a small, sharp cackle. "Not much to work with," she looked over to the shelves of books to her right, "but we'll find them." She walked over and grabbed five thick ledgers off the shelves. "Halifax, get off your backside and help." The last of the workers still sitting rose and walked over as the woman placed the books down on a table under one of the lanterns. "Everyone grab a book and start searching." While the mission of finding the record was bound to be laborious, I was shocked how easy it was to find out more about our target on Stetguttot Heath. Back on Tima Voreef we had had to complete an errand and even then blackmail our way to simply see a record in a book. Yet here, the people couldn't have been more willing to help, almost relieved for a long but arduous task that at least broke up the monotony of doing nothing. Inside the books were a series of columns, each row representing the an islander.. I read the columns at the top. *Name, Section of Birth, TBU, Section of TBU, Occupation at 25, Section at 25, Occupation at 35, Section at 35...* I glanced right, the last column no more than a centimeter across, a tiny "Section at 75" scrawled in the margins. In the book I was reviewing those final few columns were always empty. But all too often, so were earlier ones. Given the years I was looking at, everyone here should be in their forties by now, but way too often only the first two columns were filled out. Whether the blanks were from a mismanagement of records or life I couldn’t be sure. I had gone through maybe twenty pages of names when suddenly one of the men raised his finger to the air. "Found him." The woman leant over and inspected his work. "That's the right record alright. He's thirty-seven, from Section F." She spun the book around and pushed it towards Alessia and I. We both leaned over to the read the first few columns. Sannaz Lytta, F, 17, F, Digger, F, Digger, F. "I assume Section F is a location?" I asked. The woman nodded. "There are fourteen sections across the island. F is pretty far from here, north-western tip, but you can walk there over a day or two across the hills." "What's TBU," I asked. "Test for Better Undertaking," the woman replied. "Everyone at age fifteen takes a test to determine their skill levels. Both general intelligence and knowledge of certain areas like engineering, medicine. Key skills. From there we determine what career people should have." "So one test when you're fifteen and you decide who becomes a doctor and who goes into manual labour?" I asked through gritted teeth that hid my pensiveness. "Yes," the woman replied. "There's a committee in Section C that work at designing the test, revising it over the years to make it the best it can be. Ensuring it has the right variation - not too easy, not too hard" I looked down at the ledger. "And a score of 17?" "Bad. Real bad." The woman shook her head, snickering slightly. "Your guy's a moron. Probably why he was assigned to be a digger." "A digger?" Alessia asked. "Yeah. They dig," the woman said, tilting her head forward. "There's a bunch of mines in Section F. Diggers do the initial brute work of clearing out new routes so the miners can come along and pick out the copper." I looked up to Alessia. The man who had left Stetguttot Heath, had the money to hire an army from Tima Voreef, and then left to murder Deer Drum had spent twenty years underground clearing out tunnels. The background seemed so benign that I couldn't make sense of it. I had expected a scorned island leader, a guerilla fighter, and instead found someone whose own island deemed them an idiot and sent them to a life of digging. Alessia looked back at me with a small shake of her head before turning back to the woman. "We know Sannaz left here. He ended up attacking an entire island, virtually wiping them out. But you have no idea who he is, no idea what may have led to him doing that?" The woman's neck craned back and her eyes widened. "Honestly, with a score of 17 I find it remarkable he would ever have been able to leave. Probably wouldn't have realized you can't breathe underwater, walked right into the sea and drowned." She turned to the other two workers, and they let out a chuckle on cue. "Are there any other records on this man? We need to find him," Alessia said. "No other records. Only thing I can think of is to head to Section F and ask around. See if anyone there knows anything." Alessia looked around the room. "Two day trek you reckon?" The woman nodded. "We can pack some stuff from the boat, a few provisions," Alessia said, turning to me. "Up for a small camping trip?" "After three weeks on a boat, a few days on land sounds delightful." “Oh, I’ll make a sailor of you one day, Ferdinand. But, meanwhile, let’s get packing.


After helping to clear the mine had physically exhausted me and discovering the true nature of the test had left me mentally spent, I fell asleep by the fire. The night air was chilly, but the warmth from the flames, my own body heat, and the sheer exhaustion meant I slept quite comfortably through till morning in the open air. I didn’t wake till the sun had risen, and I was brought around by a gentle kick to my thigh. “Wake up, sleepyhead,” came an aggressively chirpy voice. I opened my eyes to Alessia standing next to me, smirking. A loud yawn contorted my face, as the sun’s rays pierced my cracking eyelids. “What’s the plan?” I said, lifting myself off my back. “Well, unlike you, I’ve been up for a few hours already. I spoke to a few guys, spent a bit of our money, and got us some ropes, mining explosives, and lanterns.” She paused. I could see her watching my face, waiting for my tired eyes to process what she said. “You ever been abseiling?” “What?” “Abseiling? You know. Like climbing, but... downwards?” “You pretty much know my life story at this point,” I said, blinking myself to consciousness. “What part of that do you think involved abseiling?” “Yeah. I thought that’d be the case. New experience for us both.” She reached out a hand, I took it and she pulled me to a standing position. “So we’re going down into the caves then?” I said, as Alessia began leading me through the town. “Seems a bit coincidental there was a random explosion where Sannaz was just before he left.” “True.” “Seems more likely he saw something and didn’t want anyone else finding it, so he covers his tracks.” “And you think there’s something down there?” “I wanna see what he saw. Yeah.” Alessia said, turning to me. “Sound like a plan?” “Sounds good,” I said nodding. Suddenly, an old part of the conversation caught up with me. I stopped. “Wait, did you say we’re taking mining explosives?” “They said part of the caves collapsed after the explosion. Might be a few blockages down there. Gotta clear them somehow.” Alessia shrugged her shoulders. “You want to get past rubble... caused by an explosion... by using an explosion?” I spoke slowly, hoping the idiocy of the plan would come through. “Look. I’m not gonna use it unless we have to, okay? You bury the charges in the rocks and it clears a path through without disturbing the rest.” “That work?” “That’s what they recommended to me anyway. It’s what they’re doing at the mine entrance now that there’s no more people trapped in the rubble.” I sighed. “We use it as a last resort, okay?” “Agreed.” We walked through and out the other side of the town. Quickly the ground turned from grey dust to healthland. Spindly wild grass broke through the compact earth as rubbery shrubs did their best to get high enough to steal the sunlight. We walked straight across the uneven, but hard ground, as a stiff breeze blew. In the distance, I could make out a man and a woman standing in the middle of the open land, various ropes and other gear strapped to them. Next to them was Cameron. As we approached, Cameron called out. “The ground’s solid here, and there are some good rocks for anchor points. But they don’t wanna risk going any further out.” “How far is the sinkhole?” Alessia asked as we arrived. “About thirty metres that way,” Cameron said, pointing behind him. Over his shoulder I could see the ground begin to descend. Thick cracks appeared in the earth, growing wider as the surface sloped down, until I could see the great void in the earth. “Is that ground going to hold us?” I asked, my eyes glued to the black drop. “Almost certainly not,” Alessia replied with a disconcerting grin. I turned to face her as she shoved a small belt into my hands. “That’s why we have these.” I watched as Alessia began tying the harness around herself, looping one knot at the side, and another by her front as a portion of the rope went through her legs. I was slowly piecing together the structure as she finished and looked over to me. “How long have you been on my boat now? How can you still not tie a good knot?” She walked over and undid my own attempts and started rewrapping the belt around me, looping it between my thighs, before tying it in a secure knot by my left hip. “You need something that’s going to hold you in place, firmly.” She gave one last fierce pull on the fabric and the belt tightened around me, clasping against my abdomen. “How’s that? Too tight?” “A little actually,” I wheezed. “Good. Tight enough then.” She walked over and picked up the end of a long piece of rope and handed it to me. I followed the long coil with my eyes. It wound round in a circle on the floor before trailing off to a large rock, a good metre high, where the man and woman were anchoring it in place. With the rope secure around the rock, the woman walked over to me and started pulling the rope through the belt. “You ever done this before?” she asked. “No...” “Okay. Well. It’ll feel weird. But hold on, keep a good grip, you’ll be fine.” She continued relaying specifics to me as the long coil slowly snaked through me. With almost all the rope now on the other side of the harness, she bent down and picked up a small stone, looping the very end of the line around it. She took several delicate paces out towards the drop, watching the ground beneath her for any sign of danger. Then, convinced she was close enough, she hurled the rock through the air. It bounced a few times, before it reached the edge, and plunged into the earth below. The rope shot down with it, the great snaked path unravelling as it fell to the bottom of the chasm. Eventually the line ran out of slack, and it pulled taut against my belt. I watched as the man threw the rock with Alessia’s line down in a repeat. Alessia turned to me. “You ready?” “Ready as I’ll ever be.” She walked over and picked up a satchel from the ground and passed it to me, before she picked up a heavy backpack for herself. Cameron stepped forward. “Hey, that’s mine.” “Rucksack is easier to carry down there.” “What about my book?” Cameron protested, his arms stretched to the side. “You’ll get it back as soon we’re done. I promise,” Alessia paused, watching Cameron’s face remain unmoved. “I want to make sure you’re still here when we return.” Cameron huffed. “If you lose that book down there-” “Not gonna happen,” Alessia grinned. She looked down at her line, holding it one hand as she leaned back, feeling it hold her weight. “We’ll tug on the rope when we need lifting back up. By the end of the day.” Cameron pouted. “Fine. No book, and you can stay down there though.” Alessia and I turned and slowly started heading towards the sinkhole. It wasn’t long before I could feel the ground begin to slide downwards as cracks began to appear in the ground. I watched as thin hairlines grew into centimeter wide black streaks, grass roots poking out the sides. A few paces more, and my body began to instinctually slow down as the ground became spongy beneath my footsteps. I looked over to Alessia. She was tentatively placing one foot in front of the other, taking a small age to transfer her weight across. “It’ll be easier on all fours,” I said. “Spread the weight.” Alessia nodded, and we both sunk to our knees, stretching out our bodies in front of us and crawling along with as many points of contact to the ground as possible. The grass was springy to the touch, the weeds gripping around my fingers with each crawl forward. I stopped as the whole ground shifted, lurching forward. I could feel my body rotate a few degrees, the angle down to the chasm in front now steeper. I took one more creep forward and I heard the inevitable rolling of dirt. “Hold on!” I called out. The ground beneath us gave way. A large chunk of earth a good few metres across snapped beneath me. I watched as it accelerated away, turning as it fell into the darkness below. The rope snared against the more solid ground, and I swung back. I held on tight to the cable by my stomach, as the belt wrapped around my constricted abdomen, yanking me back towards the wall. I stretched out my feet as they landed and my body bounced against the soft clay side of the cave. “You all right?” I called out. A light flickered on, as a lantern and Alessia’s face came into view. “I’m good. Bit bruised, but good.” “What now?” I asked. “Keep heading down. I’ll try and stay level with you so you can see the light.” I nodded as I began slowly loosening my grip on the rope, allowing it to pass through the belt as we descended deeper into the hole. Above me, the small sliver of light was beginning to fade, the circular halo shrinking with each passing metre. As I looked down, the light of the lantern began to reach the bottom of the sinkhole. Piles of soil and debris covered the stone ground. There was a noise too, one almost silenced by the creaking of the rope as it passed through the belt, but it was there. A trickle, the noise of water. I looked over, and saw a small stream running along the bottom of the cave. My feet touched the ground and I took a deep breath - part relief, and part the relaxation of the belt no longer gripping so tightly around my stomach. Untying the harness I inspected our surroundings. It was a wide section of cave that thinned out in either direction, following the stream. “We sure this guy was ever even here? Could just be a random bit of cave?” I asked. “True,” Alessia said with a hum. She took a few steps, treading over the stream. “Best bet we’ve got though.” “So which way do you want to head?” I said, feeling my own voice echo back against me. “Downstream,” Alessia nodded. “Upstream takes us back towards where the mines are, makes sense he would’ve come from that way. And then headed *that* way,” she said, pointing towards the thinning passageway to my left. I followed her lead as we left the thin ring of natural daylight behind and plunged fully underground. Memories of Ringatoy Shires came back to me. I had spent over a week without daylight underground with Kit. Even though the conditions were very different - the rubble of the library replaced with natural underground mazes - that sensation of the Earth surrounding you, pressing in on you from all sides, remained. I wondered for a moment if Kit had ever returned down to the library, or if she had stayed above ground, spinning clients into credits down at the market. I hoped she was doing okay. Then I remembered Kit falling. The brief moment when I thought she had died, holding her still body, already in place in a cavernous tomb. I had nearly lost a treasured companion that day. I looked at Alessia trudging her way in front of me. I would not let that happen again. I struck a couple of paces to get closer to Alessia, my feet slipping slightly against the moist rock. “You okay there?” Alessia chuckled, turning her head slightly. “Yeah. Not used to clambering through caves, I guess.” I looked at Alessia’s slow, but assured footing as she hopped between bits of flatter stone. “You seem... fine down here?” “I wouldn’t say fine,” Alessia said, a hint of hesitancy to her voice. “But I’ve been in enough caves to not be worried, if that makes sense.” “Why have you been in so many caves?” I asked, trying to concentrate on where my feet were. Alessia laughed. “Strange upbringing I guess.” My mouth opened to respond. But I decided to leave prying any further for another day. As we went deeper, the air became stiffer, as though it was stuck to the walls of the cave. However, it remained cool, the water bringing with it an icy touch from wherever its source may be, and so each step became a frosty lick of stagnant air, each inhalation feeling frigid and damp. We’d been walking for the better part of an hour, the cave weaving side to side as it cut the path of least resistance through the soft rock. However, the path looked like it was thinning out, and I became all too aware of memories from the library, of passing through gaps no wider than my shoulders dreading the idea of having to turn back. “How much further you want to continue?” I asked. “Figure we may as well keep going further yet. Still think this is our best hope. There’s a water in the rucksack if your thirsty,” she said, pointing to her own back. “I’m fine. Just trying to make sure we don’t get trapped down here,” I said, trying to force a laugh. “You ever going to give that bag back to Cameron?” “Yeah. Gotta stay true to my word right? Besides, seems like sharing that book around may help a bit?” “Might give the kids of Section F a better chance of passing it.” “Until they change the test again, yeah.” Alessia said, failing to reciprocate my jovial tone. “What do you mean?” “The test is about ranking right? Too many people get that book, too many people do well on the test, then it becomes meaningless. Test’s only useful as long as people fail it.” “I guess,” I replied, turning my attention to the ceiling that was now encroaching beneath head height. I crouched slightly as we snuck along the tunnel in single file. “I’m not sure how much further we can keep heading along like this. Getting a bit narrow.” “Bit further,” Alessia said, pushing round a sharp bend to the right. “Follow it to the end.” I followed apprehensively as the walls began to brush against me, the odd jagged side of cave butting against me like an errand elbow in a crowd. With each step the rivulet kept digging deeper and deeper into the hillside, forcing its way through increasingly solid rock. Soon the cave was not much wider than the water itself, and every other foot was directly into the puddle, the small splash so loud in the dank depths of the mountain that it threatened to deafen us. As we descended, the path became more violent, turning as soon as it found a rock too tough to be moved. We turned another sharp bend to the right, then another to the left. The ceiling was now low enough that Alessia was ducking too, crouching as she pinched through the cavern, her hand held out to the wall for balance against the uneven ground. One more twist to the right, and I breathed a sigh of relief as the route widened out. Quickly it disappeared from our heads and arms, and within just a few metres it ballooned out into a wide open space. I took a couple of paces away from the stream and noticed that the ground beneath me wasn’t clay or rock. It was concrete. Something man-made. I tapped it with my shoe, feeling the familiar sensation of that thud-like noise. Some five metres away a great crack ran across the ground, the floor the other side pushed up and buckled toward the ceiling, torn apart by some great force. In the distance, I could see a column, great steel beams bent and snapped apart like a twig. Then, looking further back still, rotated slightly, maybe some five degrees off-balance, I could see a large metal door. A thick bar ran across its centre, waiting to be pushed. I instinctively walked towards it. \ Next chapter published 7th October.


Little Ina Little Ina has been in an orphanage trying to get adopted for over 25 fortnights. She was finally going to get adopted before the pandemic struck. No one was allowed to leave their houses and there was unrest in society during the pandemic. Ina was devastated because she just wanted someone to love her, to make her feel like she belonged, unlike how she felt for so long. Ina was for so long neglected at the orphanage after her parents died. She was short with warm skin, and chocolate eyes, and hair braided down her back. She had a long thin scar running down her face from when her head slammed against the seat when her parent's car crashed. She had just been an infant. Maybe two or three at the time. She was so young when it happened it seems like a distant memory. She had always gotten teased at the orphanage. She cried herself to sleep every night feeling as though there was no one to love her. When the pandemic struck; no one knew what was happening. She got teased worse, and the adults didn't help. No one could go outside and everyone found it as an opportunity to target the weakest person. They'd play pranks and bully her until one day when they took it too far. They snuck into her room and cut off her hair. She woke up to a shorn head and startled, ran out crying. She passed people who were pointing and laughing in her face. She turned away and ran into the bathroom. She looked in the mirror as tears rolled down her face. A strong presence radiated around her. She felt soft hands wrap around her and pull her face up. She smiled a true smile. "Mom!" And then the ghost of a touch as the presence was whisked away; torn from her. "Mom!" she cried. "Don't leave me!" But it was too late. She turned and saw herself standing in the mirror with red puffy eyes, swollen cheeks, and tears streaming down her face. She turned as two girls walked in and pushed her into a stall door. She hit her head and crumpled to the ground. The last thing she heard was their laughter ringing in her ears. She woke up with a bump on her head. She looked at herself and couldn't see anything valuable. Why would anyone want her? She looked at her short hair and ran her fingers through it. She despised her hair now. She heard all the mocking and laughter in her head and it drove her to the point of insanity. She sheared her hair shorter, into a neat bob. She ran out of the bathroom so she could get to her room. All around her people laughed and pointed, or shoved her into walls. By the end of the night, her body was covered in bruises. She wished there was someone out there to care for her, but the honest truth was that there is nobody out there who could ever love her. She gave up hope that she would ever be adopted. She started slinking around the orphanage with a glum look on her depressed face. Nothing could make her smile anymore. Years later the pandemic passed and no one wanted her. She was still getting teased daily. One day she had had enough. At lunch one day a girl got in her face and started teasing her. Ina got tears in her eyes but wiped them off. "Awe, is baby gonna cry?" the girl taunted. Ina had had enough of the bullying and jumped on the girl. They rolled around and got in a brawl. Ina got some good punches in. Later she had a swollen face and black eye but it was worth it. Ina had a new aura. People respected her. Until she got into trouble for giving that "poor" girl a black eye. Now whenever people would come to adopt, they would stay away from her like she had the plague. No one wanted her, or ever would. She didn't sleep and she did not eat anything. She would stay in her room and avoid the other kids in fear of harassment. No one would befriend her after the accident and that girl became a sort of a celebrity as the innocent victim of the vicious girl who got attacked for no reason. News spread, even outside the small orphanage, and out of the very small urban town. She knew she made a mistake, but why should she get punished? It was only out of self-defense. After that day whenever she looked at herself in any mirror, all she saw was a monster. Someone who couldn't be trusted, and could not be loved. After all: who could love a monster? She wasn't even sure what she was and all the negative voices in her head were telling her to just stop trying. It is not like she'll ever get adopted. She tried and tried, but could not silence the voices. She miserably thought that if she died, so would the voices, and the laughter, and the taunts. At least no one could hurt her if she was dead. But that wouldn't do her any good and it is too soon. Also, what would her mother think? She could see her mother. She slammed her head against a wall. What was she thinking? She couldn't end her life! She walked back to the orphanage one last time as a couple was looking for someone to add to their family. Someone to love! She ran up to them, but they chose the girl who she had earlier punched. The girl who had made her life miserable. The girl who was going to belong and be loved. Why couldn't she be that girl? With the pandemic, she never got adopted and even after the pandemic, she didn't get adopted. So she finally learned the truth: No one wanted her, and no one ever would.


I wrote this story for u/throwthisoneintrash, and for anyone else who wants to read it now that I'm posting it here. The story exchange was great fun btw. Highly recommend joining the Discord server. Constraints: 1) Story must contain a diamond. **2) Magic is used.** 3) A character goes on an adventure. 4) There is a plot twist in the story. **5) Use the word “rescue”.** **6) The ending is wholesome.** **The Witch’s Daughter** Two steps away from Mrs Alder’s front door, Carla whispered, “If she turns you into a newt, I won't rescue you.” I scoffed. “Mrs Alder can't do anything to me. I've got my evil-eye charm and lucky rabbit’s foot.” “Your *brother's* lucky rabbit’s foot.” “Shh!” Everyone knew Emily’s mother was a witch. She lived right at the edge of the woods and brewed potions. That was enough proof for us. If Emily had been anyone else’s little sister or childhood friend, she might have just been quiet and neat and shy. But she was the witch’s daughter and so she was a freak, stuck-up and stubborn. But Emily remained herself. No matter what jabs and taunts came her way, she always smiled kindly and kept silent. Had I been closer to some of the other children, I might have joined them in teasing her. But my best friend Carla was sure that Emily knew magic and she wanted to see it for herself. Eventually, one day after school, Emily gave in. Flowers sprouted beneath her hand in all kinds of wonderful colors. I gasped in amazement, already reaching out to pluck them. But Emily stopped me. "Just let them grow," she said. "That's all they want." It didn’t matter to me. I wanted a flower crown. But Carla shook her head and I understood. Keeping Emily happy was more important, if it meant she would show us more magic later. I took a deep breath. "Okay. But we're friends now, right? You'll play with us?" Emily looked thoughtful, then smiled. "Yes, I'll show you more magic." Carla and I cheered. From then on, we played together every day after school. Emily didn't have her own dolls, but she could make little clay figures from the soil and set them walking back and forth. After a while, she even created little weather spots: a sunny day in the middle of a rainstorm, a patch of snow. Then one day Carla decided she wanted to play a ball game. Emily conjured one easily enough. “What should we play?” I asked. Carla grinned. “Monkey, of course!” We decided that Emily would be the monkey for the first round. She would stand in the middle and try to catch the ball as Carla and I tossed it back and forth. Maybe Carla had known how Emily was never very good at sports. Unfortunately, Emily also had magic on her side. “Okay!” Emily grinned, clutching the ball. “Now you can be the Monkey.” Carla trudged into position, scowling. I knew I had to get the ball back to her soon or she would sulk for days afterwards. I threw it as hard as I could. Unfortunately, I threw it too hard. The ball sailed over their heads and crashed into the window of Mrs Hendricks’ house. Mrs Hendricks came stomping out. “Who did this!?” Before I could say anything, Carla pointed at Emily. “It was her!” she yelled. “She broke the window with her magic powers!” Mrs Hendricks scowled at Emily. “Young lady, what do you have to say for yourself?” Emily stared, eyes wide, and I thought she would use her magic. But she only bowed her head meekly. “I’m really sorry,” she whispered. Mrs Hendricks grabbed her arm. “We’re going to find your mother and you’re going to tell her just what you’ve done.” “But-” I said just as Carla pulled me away. “What are you doing?!” I hissed at her. “Just let her take the blame,” Carla said. “Unless you really want Mrs Hendricks to complain to your mom.” I might have preferred to deal with an angry Mrs Hendricks and an angry Mom instead of a witch. Maybe Emily felt the same way. But I didn’t want to be grounded either. So I let Carla talk me into keeping quiet. The next day, it snowed like I’d never seen before. School was canceled. Carla decided it was the perfect time to build a snowman. “We should get Emily too,” I said. Maybe she could make it come to life. “No,” my mom said. “Emily’s grounded. She broke Mrs Hendricks’ window yesterday.” “Um...” I hesitated, then decided to press on. “It was me, actually.” I explained what happened. Mom frowned. I looked out regretfully at the snow. “Am I grounded now?” “Just go own up to them first, Lucy,” she said. “I’ll decide on your punishment when you get back.” I put on my coat and scarf without prompting for once. I had to hide my evil-eye charm and rabbit’s foot somewhere, after all. Now, armed with my talismans, I knocked on the door. Emily’s mother opened it. She really didn’t look like a witch, I thought. More like an aunt who liked baking. “Can Emily come out to play?” I asked. “Oh no, dears,” she said. “I’m keeping her inside after what she did yesterday.” “That was me, Mrs Alder,” I said. “I was the one who threw the ball.” She blinked. “Well, why didn’t you say so? Emily! Your friends are here to see you.” Emily bounded to the door. “Does this mean I can go to Lucy’s house today?” “Fine,” Mrs Alder said. “Just be home in time for dinner.” We raced back to my house. Just as we were putting the finishing touches on our snowman, my mom stepped out. “I’ve decided on your punishment, Lucy,” she said. “You’re grounded.” I sighed and headed inside. “Not you two,” my mom said from behind me. “You can stay outside if you want.” “We’ll keep her company,” Carla said. “Playing with dolls sounds more fun anyway,” Emily said. “You brought your own dolls?” my mom asked. A noise made me look down. Several ice figurines hurried along beside me. “Yeah,” Emily said. “I guess I did.


1st draft of a short story I finished writing recently. Let me know your opinions. Thank you. \ Joe drove into the rest area at the base of the mountain feeling a bit drowsy, yawning loudly and at once stretching in theatrical displays of lethargy to his wife, Kaylee, who was sitting next to him. At the curt behest of his wife, who showed not the slightest measure of sympathy for those boisterous sounds that he made, Joe resignedly parked the car away from the other vehicles. “We’re here,” he said, with a tiredness in his voice as he looked up at the summit hidden under the exhaled white, frosty breath of the frozen air. His wife sat silently next to him. As if she had made a covenant with herself, she looked the other way seeking instead the attention of her own frigid reflection through which she observed the icy landscape, the snow falling ever gently on to the cold glass. She suddenly began with a silent rustle in preparation of the forthcoming hike. She gathered the whole of her gear: boots, backpack, fanny pack, jacket, pants, mittens for her small hands. Her movements were aggressive, noisy, made in such an angry spirit that she tossed things into her backpack and shoved them as deep as the bottom would allow for a thing to reach; she even felt herself challenged by an innocent zipper of her impermeable jacket that stubbornly refused to zip and close. “Damn it! C’mon you stupid thing!” she quietly exclaimed to it, still unable to get it to move, pinching it harder between her fingers and pulling it with greater force inasmuch as the little metal zipper seemed destined to be torn off completely against its will. “Can I help?” Joe offered. “No... I got it,” she replied coldly as she struggled, but soon thereafter the zipper yielded finally and relief had come to her face with the zipper now drawn up to her neck, yet she did not appear entirely freed from her sudden agitation. Joe ignored his wife’s rejection and looked out through the windshield up at a calm sky of gray clouds. The sun appeared stifled, dormant even, and, for as long as it remained behind that thick haze of the clouds, as a faded, yellow smudge that was weak enough in radiance to look at directly without much damage to the eyes. Joe was thin, and despite his slender form, he was not at all athletic. He already felt the altitude exerting its influence in the difficulty there was to breathe when he first arrived at the park. He had not gone a few steps on the first trail that his head began to feel light and disorientated, but he never disclosed these ailments to Kaylee whom he found, on looking up from his staggered step, mustering on a few meters ahead of him with a red tinge on her cheeks, and her little back muscles exposed and glistening under the frosty sun. The symptoms would grow worse for Joe and they had to stop their advance more often, very much to the disappointment of his wife, and owing to these difficulties therefore decided to quit the hike prematurely and failed to reach the end. This was always the result at each trail that they had visited from that to the current path, each a failure to reach the summit. The trail now before him was a redemption of some kind for him, as he looked at the peak just out there amid the white mist. “Will you get ready already? We’re wasting time.” Kaylee said, tearing him away from the peacefulness of the mountain. Joe quickly grabbed his things for the hike along with his wallet when a wrinkled, little old paper fell from it, and he reached for the slip with great regret for its fall, anxious about retrieving it from the dark abyss between the armrest and the driver seat in which more things are lost than all the mountains that the human spirit ever had the courage to scale. There was nothing of particular importance on it as it was mostly empty in fact except for a heart that had been cartoonishly rendered on it by Kaylee. It was a small gift he vouched to forever keep that she gave to him one night as recompense for abiding yet another long night of intense study during her days as a law student. “Alright, let’s go,” she said to him, bringing the straps of her backpack over her shoulders like a military man throwing the immense weight of his equipment on his back. “This time, we have to reach the top, please. We can’t keep quitting in the middle of it.” “I won’t stop,” he replied, “I’ll try not to stop, for anything.” “You promise we’ll keep going until we reach the end? You keep saying you will, but you never do, and I have to do it alone or not at all in the end.” “I promise.” The trailhead began where a sign was put to mark the beginning that read “Deer Mountain trail.” “There it is,” Kaylee said, marking out the long, dirt path ahead of them that disappeared rather sneakily around a bend. Joe found it a bit of a charming curiosity in his wife that she was as steadfast as yet she possessed no survival instinct; she had no sense of orientation as he knew on the basis of past experience that she would not be able to find her way back to the origin point despite that the trail only went in two directions, forward and backward. Unlike Joe, her big, astute eyes often overlooked the many markings of a forest that can guide a fellow traveler and lead him to his destination even when the forest seems vast, dark, unnavigable for its many possible paths that can lead a hiker astray to frustrating dead ends. She’d often look back whenever the trail vanished before her at Joe to consult with his inner compass for directions, and he relished the smile on her face when he pointed to her the direction in which they ought to continue. Some time later, not half-way up the mountain, it began to drizzle on them as they began to hear the small patter of falling rain droplets against their shoulders, near the ear. “It might get muddy, and dangerous if we keep climbing, don’t you think?” Joe said. “It’s nothing, c’mon! Don’t stop.” In addition to the gentle beginning of the rain, the road began to vanish under a slight haze. The fog was encroaching more on the mountain with the passing of each minute, like some sinister specter come to haunt the hikers. Through the white mist, each branch and each rock and each hill took on the form of a silhouette without any distinguishing feature to speak of. Each object as seen through the haze was a dark outline, fuzzy like television static. Even the people themselves looked identical under the cloak of the mist as everyone took on the same fundamental form, indistinguishable from man to man, from woman to woman, except when it was from man to woman as the former had a noticeably larger build than the latter, and it was under these ghostly conditions that Joe saw someone sitting on a boulder some feet away from the trail. The couple pressed on, but Joe was in sufficient proximity to the stranger to notice that he had a face which was similar to his own, except for a large burly beard that hung well below the neck. His eyes were hidden under the lip of his hat and were impossible to see what with a shadow cast from the same hat over his face. He had stopped to eat, and to do it alone. His eyes were on the trail, yet there was an absent quality in them. As he might have seemed like an apparition to Joe, they might have been viewed as figments by him as they aroused no notice from him as he ate. “So, have you started your IT courses yet?” Kaylee asked. “Not yet, I haven’t.” “Then when?” “Soon. I’ll start them as soon as we return.” “You keep saying you will, but you never do.” “I will, okay? I will. Please, don’t start.” Kaylee stopped; she dug her heel into the ground and pivoted quickly. “Joe, you know the plan! We’ve gone over it many times. We have to earn this much,” she mimed an amount, “so that we can live our best lives while we are still relatively young! Don’t you want that?” “I do, babycakes, I never said that I don’t, but -- ” “Well? Or do you want to grow old and feeble and never enjoy what you could have enjoyed while you were young?” “I said I do already, okay? I’ll get started when we get back, I told you. I can’t do it right this minute, now can I? So, can we just keep going?” Scoffing, “Fine...” she replied. When a thousand feet more of mountain had been climbed, Joe requested for them to take a small rest. (name) released her backpack from her shoulders and it fell to the ground in a way that made the gravity on Earth seem stronger than it is usually. Joe was aware of the pain in her shoulders, and the tremble in her legs, the same symptoms that Joe exhibited in his own physique, but also there in a peculiar aspect of her expression he witnessed the firm reticence to complain of her deficiencies, fully formed on her brow, on her stiffened nose and expanding nostrils attempting to catch the faintest air to bring to her panting lungs. She hydrated, she ate small portions of her trail mix, she had done whatever to regain the strength that she perhaps knew had been permanently lost to the commitment that the hike demanded. Joe always admired that she was blindly aware of her limits that when he knew that she could feel herself reaching them, they were only another corner to go around, or another hill to climb, another river to cross. Where an insurmountable barrier to anyone, a red cape dangled over the eyes of a bull. “Do you think we are almost to the top?” she asked him. “Not likely, and what’s more, it’s getting harder to see what’s in front of me with this fog. It’s thicker now than before.” “Don’t tell me you want to turn back.” “I didn’t say that...” “You don’t have to.” On that last word was the moment when the stranger from before began to appear behind them, emerging silently from the mist but for the soft crunch of the ground beneath him as he walked. He continued without a word, as if seeking quick passage to avoid being caught in the middle of their quarrel. This time, Joe was more convinced than before that the stranger was stranger still for the resemblance that he bore to himself. As rapidly and as silently as he arrived, he passed through. His presence came like a shadow, or a kind ghost wandering the mountain. His footsteps eventually faded into the natural cacophony of wind, the rustle of leaves, and gravel and likewise rocks crushed by that heavy tread that belonged to him. “I’m only suggesting that it may get more dangerous as we go. We can hardly see the road below, down there in the valley. A short while ago I was able to see the cars drive by, but now I can’t.” “You always make excuses. Always.” “It’s not an excuse, (wife). I’m just concerned.” “You said we would reach the end.” “I said I would try.” “Well, you aren’t trying hard enough. Damn it, you’re so lazy! What is wrong with you? Why don’t you have any ambition? You’re constantly quitting. You’re so unwilling to make the sacrifice, even for me.” “I don’t know! I don’t know! Maybe it’s because I don’t give a damn about anything, or because the world is one big shitty place and I just can’t fathom doing anything in it. What’s the point? I don’t know, and I really don’t want to talk about it now. Can we go back? Seriously, please?” “You go back. I’m going to keep going.” On that the conversation ended. Kaylee tossed the backpack on her back and continued to hike the trail. The idea of her walking alone so high up, on a narrow path when the ground had recently become wet created a series of terrifying images in his mind, all of which depicted her fall or some other serious injury, and the guilt they produced sprung him into motion. He beckoned her to wait as he ran to her even as she had gained a great distance on him in such a short period of time. Some few hundred feet higher, Kaylee stopped when the path had suddenly ceased to continue. Joe had reached his wife and he too stopped and noticed that the path had disappeared behind them both. “Did we go the wrong way?” She again asked him. “I don’t know. It’s possible. I was getting tired again anyway, so let’s rest.” She sighed, and wove her arms together, and she nodded her head, “we’ll never get to the top at this rate. We should just turn back.” “Now you want to turn back?” “I feel like I’m dragging you up there.” “You’re not dragging me -- “ “Yes, I am.” “No, you’re not,” he replied. “Yes, I am. I feel like I drag you all the time, like your IT courses that we paid for. I’ve always felt that I was the one pulling us forward, the mule pulling the cart. You haven’t even found a job yet.” “I’ve started looking.” “Yeah, a month ago. You’ve sent, what, ten applications in that time?” “Twelve...” “Whatever. We aren’t on track to achieve anything we have set out to do, together. I’m the only one giving a shit.” Joe found nothing in his repertoire of prepared speeches that were not prolonged apologies that offered to her thin rays of weak hope which she believed emanated from the promise of something more, so he found it difficult to say anything. He was not deaf to her exasperations of him as he had committed every accusation leveled against him of indifference to memory, and he stood there to listen to them again, and again invoking inevitably the same ponderous weight of guilt that has become an indispensable aspect of their spats, and so, he thought, that he will continue to hear them evermore, again and again, ad infinitum as he gazed into the future somehow showing in the thick foliage of the trees overhead, a cycle that alas culminates only in a self-loathing for which he had no means to end without offering up his mind and body like a bloody heart to the altar of the cruel world that begat him. “I know. I hear you...” “Well, then, tell me why? Why is it so hard to get you to move?” He shrugged his shoulders, and did not respond. There was a brief silence between them. Only the trees spoke of anything when their leaves were ruffled by a wind. “Well, can you get us back to the trail?” “You still want to continue?” “Sure. Why not? Let’s see how far we get, I’ll be happy with that if we can’t get to the top.” “Alright. I think I remember the landscape enough to guide us back. Follow me.” More than half an hour later, the two of them eventually began to notice more areas where the vegetation had been cleared for the trail, and before long the path outlined itself for them and they knew where to steer themselves. In that instant, the vicissitudes of circumstance aligned so that a hole in the clouds serendipitously formed and a sun ray bathed them in an intense white light. They looked up - their skin was lit to a warm touch - and they went to a point a few steps away where they determined the sun was most intense. There was nothing special, nothing to distinguish this little piece of dirt from another little piece of trodden dirt elsewhere since or to come. The rocks were the same as were the branches dangling from the walls of trees, and the shrubbery was no less dry in some areas of where they stood than in other areas. Yet, to there they were drawn by a more clear view of the open green valley and all things revealed therein illuminated by liberated sunbeams. The fog had cleared away mostly and they could see the tiny cars down below driving by without hearing the sound of their engines or the whoosh of their passing as they cut through wind. Joe and Kaylee both looked out at the other mountains from their location, and Joe wondered at the view. She stood by silently next to him, and there the two of them stood in silence. “As difficult as it is, views like these are worth it,” he then said to Kaylee, “this is what I always hope to find when we go on hikes, did you know? This. Nothing else.” “It is beautiful up here, but I like that feeling when you’ve reached the end. It’s satisfying, don’t you think so?” she replied. “I’m sure it is... but I’m happy here...” She smiled at him and returned to silence. To Joe, life seemed rather simple at that altitude. Without the noise and the preoccupations born of the world below, life consisted of very little else that was possible to fathom. Health, love, peace, nature are some of the things indispensable that came to his mind. Just above, Joe saw the stranger walking up the mountain, disappearing just over the edge of the hill where even the whole Earthly firmament disappeared behind the green and rocky surface. They must be close to the top he thought, or at least that was the hope that grew in him when he witnessed the stranger vanish over the cliff. “Hey, if we walk a little more, we might reach the end soon.” “Alright, let’s go!” Footsteps approached the end of the trail until they reached a small tomb a few meters ahead with an epitaph that read “My Eternal Love lies here.” A cartoonish heart stamped to it, fluttering as if preparing for flight. “Hey there,” said the stranger to the stone, “This mountain ain’t so bad now.” He sat down next to the stone. “I have some good news. I finally got my IT certificate, and I have an interview soon. Thought I would share that with you today.” He looked at the sun rising up and an orange diamond glistened on his cold cheek.


Time to Blume Are you there God? It’s me, Manolo. Ever since we moved to America Mama is not the same. Sure she looks the same. She has the same dark hair pulled into a ponytail and the same hands that make my favorite dish, Gallo Pinto, but she is not the same Mama. God, I need your help to get my Mama back. We left our farm in Nicaragua before the first rays of sun one December morning. Mama led the way carrying my little sister Ana. Mama wanted to leave before Ana woke up. Before the crying and whining. We were lucky she was sleeping. We tiptoed past the banana tree heavy with green fruit. If Ana saw bananas she would scream and then hold her breath until mama broke down and gave her a green unripe banana. Afterwards she would pat her tummy and cry. Up in the trees woodpeckers tapped tree trunks and spotted birds chirped. I waved goodbye to the monkeys pinching bugs off each other’s backs, cleaning up for their day. I understood the monkeys and the birds, without speaking a word. Mama told me we were going to a place called Wisconsin and I would have to learn some new things for my new life there. I would have to learn English, no more Spanish. I would get to see my Abuela. Mama said we were leaving and going to America for a better life. What better life did she want? I wondered as I looked at my best friends and the rising sun, a sliver of beetroot in the sky. Dear God, please come quick Mama is a puddle of tears. I don’t know what to do. Every morning in Wisconsin Abuela turns on all the lights to wake us up. The house is cold and the sky is the color of Mama’s bean pot. This world is silent, no sounds of birds and no chattering of monkeys. I miss my animal friends. When I was on the farm in Nicaragua I always had a few chickens and piggies to keep me company. When I was on the farm Mama would scatter maize for the chickens on the patio and sing every morning. When I went to school I played marbles with my best friend Antonio. Abuela has a job cleaning houses. She said that the houses are tall like the colonial houses in Granada, but not painted in happy colors; yellow or orange like in Nicaragua. These houses have second floors and so many bedrooms. These houses have big TV’s and machines that wash the clothes and the dishes and even a little round machine like a stack of dinner plates that cut the grass. And now that we are here Mama has to clean the big houses too. Everything in Abuela’s house is crammed so tight. Couches crowd the walls and a table is piled high with envelopes. Abuela says those are her bills. Abuela uses the word “dollars.” She says “dollars” is a very important word in English, maybe the most important. I don’t know what “ dollars” are but they must be special because Abuela is always talking about them. Is this the English Mama was talking about learning? I wasn’t sure about learning this new word or any other words in this new language. English did not make Abuela happy. I was not interested in learning this new language. Dear God,Can you send us some “dollars” to make Abuela and Mama happy. Abuela has so many bills to pay and she needs help. At school I sit in the back of the third grade classroom. I can see tracks of braids running down a girl’s back and a boy's short hair sticking up like the coxcomb of a rooster. I watch Edward pull faces behind the teacher’s back. I notice Esther with hair the color of straw sneaking looks at me with her eyes the color of ocean water. I look away, in a trance, watching the snow swirling outside. I fold my cold fingers into the sleeves of my sweatshirt to stay warm. Mrs.Meyer, our teacher, is drawing a corazon on the white board. “Who can tell me what Valentine’s Day is?” she said. I sink into my seat hoping she doesn’t call on me, but Mrs. Meyer stretches her neck long and calls my name. “Manolo, Do...You...Know...What...This... Is...?” My face heats up and sweat beads pop up on my forehead. Thirty pairs of eyes are burning me. Everyone is waiting for me to speak. I know what a corazon is, I know Dia de San Valentín, but I don’t know how to say it, not in English. Dear God, I’m having a hard time at school. I don’t think I will be able to stay here. Do you think I can come back to Nicaragua? I think the teacher and the kids think I’m stupid, but I know the anwer I just can’t say it. How can I learn English so I can make friends at my new school? After dinner I play with Ana. I give her a little squeeze and she bites me and leaves teeth marks on my arm.I push her away. I try not to cry but the tears come anyway. Ana winds up like a crazy chicken. She yells and stomps her feet and before we know it she is like a hurricane whipping through the living room. Abuela is trying to scoop up the bills that are crashing onto the floor. Mama is chasing Ana and rescuing a tipping lamp. I don’t know if I should cover my eyes or my ears. When Mama catches Ana, Ana belts out a scream and stiffens her body like a rocket. Mama’s eyes are wet with tears too. I look at everyone in the room. I don’t think this is a better life. I am worried about Ana and Abuela, the bills and the dollars, but most of all I feel stupid because I cannot say Corazon in English. Mama puts Ana to bed and then she tucks me under Abuela’s fluffy quilt. Mama asks me how my day was at school. I tell her about the corazon and she says it’s time for me to learn English. The next day Mama takes me to the community center. All the kids are playing. Some are throwing a ball while standing in a circle in the Activity Room. I want to play too, but a worker lady leads me and Mama up to a different room with a computer screen and a box of Legos. “Por favor Sientate” the lady said. I am surprised to hear Spanish from a face that doesn’t look like mine. Inside the computer there is another woman. She speaks Spanish too. “Hola, Voy a enseñarte Ingles. I’m going to teach you English.” I dump all the Legos onto the table. This is my second time playing with Legos. They are new to me. Back in Nicaragua I only played with marbles. I click the bricks together and make boats and houses. Using Legos with the teacher on the computer, I learn about colors and the words above and below and in the middle. I still want to go downstairs to play in the Activity Room in the circle, but I think I will be okay here. I am learning English and I think very soon I will be in the middle of two lands, two cultures and two languages. Dear God, I miss my old home so much. I miss the color of the sunrise and all the animals. Do you think you can take care of everything for me? I think I’ll stay here a while. I think I’m going to be just fine.


“One day, men will no longer have nipples.” “Why do you say that?” “Because male nipples are not evolutionarily necessary.” The hypothesis was put forth by Michael for the benefit of Jake, his friend. Dressed in immaculate suits, they were sitting in Jake's BMW drinking a coffee in the parking lot of a midtown coffee shop. They had been talking about sex and women, young specimens of which they were observing walking in and out of the coffee shop. It was a hot summer afternoon, and the ladies dressed lightly. Michael continued to expound his views on the sexual body: “I don’t understand the appeal of sex. It’s a sweaty, smelly act. The sexual organs are repulsive. Nothing shows that humans are animals better than sex. And the way two people become delusional about each other when they fall in love! I can’t stand that; the day before they were just some average Joe and some dumb cow, and the day after their magical conversion to love they are suddenly the king and queen of the universe. Talk about delusion.” “That’s your subjective view,” said Jake, “you can feel whatever way you want about it, but the fact is, sexuality is what potentiates the species. Without it, we go extinct in fifty years. So, the value of sex and of love is objective.” They were on a coffee break from work. They both worked in the downtown high rise of Stanford, an accounting giant. They were both single and in their mid-twenties, so of course they would talk about women. Jake was known to be a player. He changed girlfriends often; he dressed meticulously; he went on expensive vacations. In short, he spent the bulk of his energy and earnings in attracting women. Many women, not one. Michael was nothing of the sort. He had two sisters, so maybe that’s why women didn’t exert on him that charm that springs from mystery. How exactly was his relationship with his sisters, no one knew, but he certainly gave out a mild misogynistic vibe. At any rate, Michael did not try to impress women, though he could have. He had the same high-earning job as Jake, and he was as good in the looks department too. Jake opened to Michael about his romantic conquests because Michael didn’t get envious. Jake, to demonstrate his emotional sovereignty, told his stories with ironic detachment - he would describe victories as though they were not a big deal, and he would describe breakups as planned or at least expected on his part. Really, Jake’s stories were spiked with quite a dose of pessimism, and not much passion. And really, Jake also made up a lot of stuff, both to add to the bitter note, which Michael relished, and to embellish his accomplishments. They were corporate workers after all; embellishing one’s resume was a matter of common practice and unanimous suspension of disbelief. All things considered, it was hard to figure out whether Michael or Jake disliked women more. Michael however went more radical. He had been a regular on an incel forum on the deep web. That weekend, he was to stumble upon a post by a user named The\_Archangel that would change his life. At first the post read like another rant about the sexual degeneracy of the West. It lamented the devastating effects of the sexual revolution and pined for the days when a man had to marry to get access to a woman’s body. The post differed from the usual fare of the forum in that it ended in a big take on what religious tradition had to say on the question of sexual morality. It talked about how every human body is a temple of God, not to be defiled by carnal passion. It talked about Saint Augustine’s struggle with lust. It mentioned the saint’s famous Libertine’s Prayer: “Lord, make me chaste, but not yet.” Michael had never read a single piece of theology and was surprised that a major saint, a Doctor of the Church, would be a self-admitted former sex addict. Furthermore, he also found that he had not a few points of agreement with the religious revulsions towards sex, at least as they were described in the post. He downloaded Saint Augustine’s confessions and several other books of theology The\_Archangel recommended in his post. He searched for his references to see if they are true. The quoted text was indeed found, but he had to read around it to understand the context. On that first night he spent some twenty minutes on reading Confessions. “What a strange world!” thought Michael, “These old school dudes held some ridiculous beliefs, but in their own twisted way they were spot on with so many social issues. The way they talk about sexuality, it’s as though they had a Tinder account!” But that was not the end of it. Over the next week, he would read a little every night, and that little would expand gradually until he started reading theology every day, in the office and at home. He was addicted and curious to understand the worldview, though he often got bored and impatient with the whole God talk. His feelings about religious ideas of sex grew ambivalent. He appreciated the need for a strict moral code. He recalled watching his mother and his older sister live through romantic catastrophes, and he thought that in a more conservative world these things would never have happened. They would have been spared the emotional devastation they suffered. On the other hand, he was really bothered by what he saw as a tyrannical encroachment on individual freedoms, by the idea that the church should get involved into someone’s personal life. He was also bothered by how big of a deal they made of sex and everything else, and all those threats and fears of divine judgment and perdition. The more he read, the more his ambivalence turned into anger. “These religious people are a joke!” Michael said to Jake at another coffee run, “The hypocrisy is staggering! People hook up because they have uncontrollable animal urges and people get married to establish a social standing. That’s it, for the most part. Yet you talk to a priest and all he talks about is sin and punishment, totally disconnected from the real world.” “Yeah,” agreed Jake, “I don’t see how my relationship with this new girl Deborah has anything to do with holiness. Or heaven, or hell.” Michael started getting into arguments with The\_Archangel on new forum posts. Michael’s stance was that religion was not the answer to modern licentiousness because it could only cure it with deranged magical beliefs, which are not worth it, while his counterpart insisted that Michael is misinterpreting theological context because he was not properly trained in the discipline. “What a moron,” thought Michael, “I don’t even know who this Archangel dude is. For all I know, he could be a fourteen-year-old beating it off five times a day in his mom’s basement, and here I am arguing with him and upsetting my life. He clearly doesn’t know the first thing about how the sex game works.” His last polemic with Archangel was on Friday, throughout the workday, and it upset him to a point where he needed to blow off some steam. Jake suggested they hit a nightclub that night. “You need to get off Reddit, bro, or whatever it is you are on,” said Jake, “and join the real world. You come with me and we will do some hands-on research on the game. How’s that?” Michael normally hated nightclubs, but he went that night out of spite for The\_Archangel. He wanted to go out and observe what he knew happens in every nightclub: a general, drunken, and open struggle for mating partners. A Darwinian battle of all against all. Sometime past midnight Jake and Michael were quite drunk and standing at a bar of a packed nightclub. Jake worked restlessly to attract women to come and talk to them. His efforts eventually yielded two pretty girls, both slim and tall, one wearing shorts and another one a short white dress. The first talked to Jake, the second with Michael. “You look a little grumpy,” the girl said to Michael. Her name was Monica. Michael saw that the girl was beautiful. She had long legs and a curvy body, and her long hair spilled in rich curls down her smooth, shiny dress. Her smile made her face gleam, especially her eyes and her mouth. She smelled so nice, too. In response to her comment, Michael forced a smile, which wasn’t so hard. They introduced themselves to each other and did a few rounds of small talk. When Monica asked about what he thought about the club, Michael said that it was okay, but he didn’t really like clubs. He said that clubs are for people without social skills; they keep them too dark and too loud to communicate, so the only thing left to do is to get wasted and whore out. Monica said that he was maybe being too harsh, but Michael pushed on. He picked out people in the crowd and mocked their drunken, horny attics. Monica was amused. She said she didn’t go out often but liked coming out to clubs to dance with her girlfriends. “And I like the attention from the boys, but only if I like them,” she said, “But I think your opinions are funny. I can see where you are coming from. You are right, there is so many guys in here who are ridiculous! I can tell you some crazy stories about how they hit on me.” “There is no harm in that, I guess. I mean, you liking to have fun,” said Michael. “If I could meet a girl like you every time I go to a club, I would definitely come out more often, too.” Michael bought another round of drinks, then another. They danced together. They forgot where Jake went with the other girl. By two o’clock, they were making out in the washroom. By three o’clock they were in Michael’s downtown condo. The sex was amazing. All that anger built up on the online forum, all the resentment and rebellion Michael felt against Church fathers and all prigs in general, all of that became pent-up energy that he released while making love to Monica. He felt like a rebel, like he was giving a big-middle finger to all of them. And he felt like Monica was the only one who understood his feelings, the only one on his side against an unfeeling, idiotic world. He had never felt like that before.


The Reincarnation of an Endangered Species A series of strident ‘Shut-Ups’ echoed through the valley, and the gaggle of conversation amidst the attending delegates slumped into a murmuring buzz, before petering out into silence. It was the final day and the final hour before the summer break in the Parliament of Fouls . Yes, it was time for the Queen’s centennial Speech of the Year 1621. This was a special occasion that commemorated the anniversary of the first ‘landing’ of the indigenous Mauritian Pigeon Foul; an event that has been celebrated every century over the past twenty-six million years. From her cosy nest on a high ledge, Ms. Lutwidge, the reigning Queen, cleared her throat of the remnants of a frog and addressed her avian congregation. They numbered a mere two hundred or so, scattered on the sides of a narrow Mauritian valley that sloped gently down to the tempestuous waves of the Indian ocean. The Queen was an imposing figure, who for the past sixty years had waddled and flapped and pecked her way, back and forth, across her domain of Mauritius. ‘Waddled’ because she looked and walked like a duck; ‘pecked’ because she had the scratch-and-feed similarities of a chicken; and ‘flapped’ because, try as she could, her short wings failed to support a lift-off. She was also an unbridled windbag who loved the sound of her own voice, a rare hybrid of a cluck and a quack. These avian characteristics blended into the formation of a royal personage which, through a quirk of natural history and gross over-feeding, ballooned out into a three-foot-tall waddlingpeckerflapper. While Ms. Lutwidge was not exactly ‘dumb’, she was plain dopey; having inherited that trait from her ancestors who welcomed hungry Dutch and Portuguese sailors with, tragically, short-lived enthusiasm. It was but natural for these European colonizers to name the clumsy, gullible bird ‘Duedo’, abbreviated to ‘Dodo’--an emphatic synonym for ‘stupid’. It is a word that has outlived the original dodo creature, having gained traction five hundred years later to describe individuals in political leadership with a penchant for double-speak. Ms. Lutwidge was the queen of her diminishing flock not only by her overbearing size but also by virtue of being clairvoyant. She had a knack for looking over her shoulder and catching glimpses of the future with prophetic accuracy. “I have had a premonition” she announced to her murmuring audience, “and it’s not good news. This is the Last Speech of the 17th century, for we are faced with extinction. For the past one hundred years, we have been ravaged by guttural pirates and colonizers roasting us with ‘yo-ho-hoes and bottles of rum’. We have suffered the cyclones, the deforestation of our paradise; and the dogs, pigs, and rats that accompanied these invaders have devastated our nesting grounds. Yes, my people, our noble and rare species will end this year in 1661, the year that will forever be chronicled as the Year of the Pfftt.” A slightly hysterical murmuring swept the crowd, with eyes glazed in fear and necks bobbing up and down like periscopes. “However, I sense a change, a change full of promise,” said the Queen reassuringly. “That, like the phoenix we shall rise again transformed. But the seeds of a new generation must be sown now. With the pinnacle of glory in 2021. However, I can’t tell what genetic traits and DNA will characterize the new generation; only the séance will reveal all.” The squawking amongst the fouls rippled through the valley, gathering momentum; enlivened with an air of expectancy of a bright future. “Let the séance begin,” trilled the Queen, standing tall on her tippy toes. The squawking hysteria rose to a crescendo and split the heavens, unleashing billowing clouds of red haze, streaked with lightning bolts, as the earth fissured and split with thunderous booms. The bottom fell out of the valley as the fouls scattered and waddled up to higher ground. Fire and brimstone erupted like geysers from the giant crevice in the valley floor. And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, the hiss and gurgle of steam poured forth as if the Earth in thick fast pants was wheezing. And disgorged a mighty cauldron with a thunderous burp. “The Vision is invoked... the Vision of Kubla,” shrieked the Queen. And the chant of ‘ Kubla! Kubla! resonated and bounced back and forth across the valley. Shafts of fire blazed forth and burst into stars of scorching sulfur that blanketed the surrounding terrain beyond the Valley. So fearful were these omens of dread that the sailors, rats, dogs, and pigs stampeded towards the anchored ships for safety. In the gripping silence that followed, the chant of Kubla! Kubla! was amplified into an ancestral voice prophesying destruction... and rebirth. Like a phoenix from the ashes, the mighty cauldron rose above the flaming crater in the alley. Fear pulsated through the legions of the fouls, as the cauldron bubbled and spewed out great tendrils of writhing, scaly skin, gleaming like scummy wet leather. Exultation turned to despair. The fouls gabbled in fearful realization. “The cauldron is the Sign. Our goose is well and truly cooked.” “No!” snapped the Queen with a thunderous squawk. “This is the day of rebirth. We shall evolve and be born again with good Karma. And we shall rule the world in countries across the continents and hemispheres. That is the oracle that I have seen and heard. Prepare for the séance!” As the crowd lapsed into a hopeful silence, the Queen spread her tiny wings, and intoned, “Abracadabra! Answer our prayers, O enchanters of the Underworld.” With a loud bang that stunned the audience of fouls, the bubbling cauldron lifted into the air and froze, in suspended vibrancy. Three gigantic puffs of cloudy mist ballooned from the cauldron and dissipated, revealing three cackling Gorgons from Scotland. In unison, they shrieked and warbled in rhyming verse. Fair is foul, and foul is fair. Who doth call us from our Scottish lair? Is that you, playful Willy? Bard Boy! Or is that Macbeth, a ghostly killjoy? By the pricking of my thumbs Who doth this way squawks and comes? You’re not Willy, who might you be? Ohho! a waddling dodo, fiddle-de-dee! “It is I, Queen Lutwidge of the dodo clan,” said the fluffed-up windbag. “And we are on the edge of extinction unless you can save us, sothatfuturegenerationsofourspecieswillnotvaporize.” Following which Her Royal Highness visibly relaxed and popped a prolonged methanic toot. “Ayy, she let wan go!” cackled the hags. “So prophetic!” Awright! Choose the magic word and repeat it thrice. For with that magic word, we will add the spice. Hocus-Pocus! Jabberwocky! Gobbledygook! Pick the word to let you off the hook. “I’ll go with ‘Jabberwocky’, it sounds so wacky. So human,” said the Queen. She turned her beak to look over her shoulder, into the future. “Ahh! I see a whiffling and burbling human shape from the year 1871. And it is created by a dodo. A Lutwidge Dodgson. I feel we are related.” Your wish is granted, in a trice Ms. Wacky Coming up! One king-size Jabberwocky. Grab the tentacles, sisters, and pull its thatch. Arrh! The jaws that bite, the claws that scratch. He is worse than the frumious Bandersnatch. And they hefted the Jabberwocky out of the cauldron and gift-wrapped it for the Queen. And all the dodos cheered as the Queen snuggled up to her newfound love and they went galumphing off. Extract from an op-ed in The Scotsman , dated November 4 th ,2021: COP Summit adds to global warming. Scientists and climate change proponents have warned that the greatest danger to planet Earth is stifling hot air, and governments are adding to it at the Conference of Parties (COP) at Glasgow. There are 20,000 attendees including leaders from over two hundred countries, at the world’s biggest gob fest. That is a colossal tonnage of hot blasts for a full fortnight adding to global warming. Activists have described the event as the DoDo-Nothing Jabber-Jabber (DDNJJ) jamboree. To get to the source of DDNJJ, ancestry genealogists and anthropologists have teamed up and conducted extensive research on the origin of this human trait that afflicts global leaders and have come to an intriguing conclusion. The report suggests that DDNJJ can be traced to a mysterious occurrence on the island of Mauritius in 1621. The report details eyewitness accounts of the unusual union of a mythical jabbering creature with an oversized quacking chicken. These creatures were thought to be extinct, or at worse, hallucinations of sozzled brains. However, the signs are unmistakable. Scientists now accept the theory that over the past four hundred years, the union might have spawned generations of creatures that have morphed into look-alike specimens of homo sapiens. A humanized trait of these evolved creatures is the propensity to persistently jabber in falsehoods--a predicted phenomenon of COP21 in Glasgow. In a quacking outburst, Queen Lutwidge VIII, flamboyant in her feathers, accompanied by her royal consort Jeremy Jab-Jab Wocky (unvaccinated), told The Scotsman columnist. “We’ve seen it in the past COPs, and it will happen again here in Glasgow. These conferences have a single agenda: Jabber-jabber, pledge, forget; eat, drink and be merry. Wealthy nations make no profits in tackling climate change. As always, we must protect what we’re doing wrong.”


Aphrodite, goddess of lust, lov and beauty, the very image of a blonde model, sat on the dais of Olympus. She was anxiously chewing on her thumbnail, staring down at the Earth below her, "That...stupid... internet. How could it say Athena's fairer than me? HOW DARE... AND 2 DAYS BEFORE MY HOLIDAY" Athena, goddess of war an intelligence, sporting a crew cut, digicamo, and heads-up-display, was smirking nearby. As gods gained power from the adoration of their followers and interest in their domain, the poll, combined with the tech-flaunting in some recent wars, had given her a boost, and she was literally outshining Aphrodite next to her. "Oh please, Aphrodite... you can't fight the ebb and flow of time. War always wins out over peace, and greater gods eventually consume the identity of lesser gods. It's only a matter of time until your power becomes mine." With this, Athena walked off, laughing haughtily. After she was gone, Aphrodite screamed out at the top of her voice, "CUUUPPIIDDDDD!!!" Shortly thereafter, her smaller son appeared, looking exhausted, "It's shortly before Valentine's day... what's so urgent you'd stop our most important time of year?" "This...poll... why would I, the goddess of beauty, love, and lust, lose out in a contest of fairness, to that... butch.... erarrggg... regardless. Let's cheat the system. I need you to shoot the entire Earth with an arrow. Direct it's love at me." "Mom... my power is a splinter of your power. Even you don't have the power to pull that off, what makes you think I would? And if we have to expend our power to get worship your way, it's just going to be diminishing returns. You'll drain yourself dry." "What about boosting the levels of lust again? Is there any way I can get any hotter?" Cupid shook his head, "Sorry, but your looks are an amalgam of all the hottest stars. There's really no way to get you to instigate more lust in individuals. You can raise it on an individual level by playing into fetishes, but that'd just turn you off to people who don't have the fetish. I'm sorry, but you're at max capacity." Aphrodite sighed, "How.... how did this happen? There's got to be something more. How could Athena pass me? I even tried to reduce her power when that poll started by getting all those tech workers fired." "I mainly just handle love at first glance, and you've got game, mom. I really don't know. I'm probably not the best to ask. Mind if I get back to work?" "Sure hun, thanks for the time." Cupid nodded and flew off, leaving Aphrodite to stew. Who to ask? Ask Athena what her secret is? No. Athena was too combative, she'd just take the opportunity to increase her power over her. There was her ex, Hephaestus... he was smart, so he'd probably have an answer. But... no... she had burned that bridge long ago. With her own dalliances. It had been forever since she had actually descended in person to the mortal realm, mostly relying on Cupid and Hermes to keep her up to date. So, she took a step from the dais, disappearing on her step down, appearing in the finish to that step in downtown Seattle. As always, her fashion instantly matched the time period, though she was a little surprised that gone were the robes and flowing garments of the past, and instead she was in some tight denim pants, and a short cotton top with a few strategically placed holes. The earrings were familiar, though. She had to test, though if she still had it. She walked up to a guy, and pointed at him, "You! Meet me in a nearby hotel for the night of your life!" The guy looked taken aback, "Ma'am, I have a husband who I am completely devoted to! And you simply aren't my type!" With that, he leaned over and kissed the guy next to him. The guy's husband looked back at her, "Get lost, Karen. This guy's mine." Aphrodite was taken aback. Being turned down wasn't a thing that happened to her often. To be fair, he was gay and she was plenty aware of gay men not being interested in her, for example, there were the Spartans (Oh, dear herself, were they gay.) But she should have picked up on it sooner. Her power *was* slipping. And what was that he called her? A Karen? Her line of thought was interrupted with a short balding guy in a suit tapped her on the shoulder, "Excuse me, ma'am, you're lovely, and I was wondering if I could get your number." It was a common occurrence for men to randomly flirt with her, "Oh, I'm the number 1 goddess of love." He blinked, "I mean your phone number." "Oh, I don't have a cell phone." She'd heard about that, never got involved. They didn't seem all that romantic, but if it was a part of modern human flirting, she'd have to learn, "...but I could think of a reason you might buy me one." One dalliance, hotel room, and one night stand later, she had her first, courtesy of a more-than-grateful businessman. If this was part of standard human flirting practices nowadays, she would have to understand it.


TW: Eating disorders, Mental illness You’re cool, everyone says you are with your skate board and your CDG Converse and that Pulp Fiction hoodie. You aren’t like every other basic person. You own your style and everyone knows it. You skate into the village, a rout taken nearly daily, keeping to the flat paths and gentle curbs, your cloudy brain is easily ignored. When you arrive you are breathless and heart working over time, but you brush it off as normal. The co-op is busy, full of afternoon shoppers but you’ve got to get them. You nearly ran out. Grabbing a sugar free monster you weave to the checkout - making it to the packs of gum. The life savers that are packs of gum. Taking four packs you go to pay, handing over the money with slightly trembling hands - ugh the black coffee. You make your way out - open the can to ingest more caffeine and wait. Your friends turn the corner and you smile. You hug. Enjoy the feeling of how thin you feel in your friend’s arms. They don’t tend to notice shedding of weight -you’ve always been thin, it’s natural. You get a head rush when you begin to walk, but you’ve perfected of the art of walking it off, making it unnoticeable to the others. ‘chips?’ one asks ‘ate at home’ you reply ‘ but you guys get them, I don’t mind’ They agree to get some chips. You chat about school and people you don’t like, people you find funny and what music is good. You don’t care. All you want is to tell them it. You need to say it. But you can’t. Never has a secret wanted to come out so bad but is held on to so tight. ‘teach me how to skate?’ One asks ‘ it looks cool’ ‘sure’ I said ‘ keeps you fit as well’ That was odd, it slipped out so easy, you need to be more careful - no talk of weight or keeping fit, people might wonder. ‘you can use my old board if you like’ you suggested ‘ I can drop it round tomorrow’ We parted. You began the skate home, you are wobbly - too wobbly. Slipping off on to your feet was no problem, just a bit of a piss take. When you are empty it happen often. You walk the rest of the way home at rapid speed - enough to get your heart rate up. At home, your mum asked if you need dinner. ‘no we got chips’ a simple reply. Mum looks worried. Your clothes are getting baggier and you face is pale, she notices how much water you drink and coffee you consume. You push her concerned looks out of you mind and begin to undress once you make it to your room. Avoid mirrors. Don’t look down. In and out as quick as you can. The rules of showering. Once you’re clean you step on to the scales. A balloon of joy fills you. You’ve lost more than usual. That extra skate did it. You update you weight tracking app and see your BMI fall, another smile creeps along your face. You enter the food you ate today into your diary. Under 500 cals - your daily goal and more happiness. These endorphins consume you for only a small amount of time. You get into bed in pain, feel your stomach yearning for something - you drink to shut it up and take a laxative for good measure to get any food out so you’ll be lighter in the morning. You haven’t relived yourself in days, you’re constantly constipated as you intestines are never used and heavily abused. Sleeping with three blankets is the only way you keep warm. You think of what you’ll have to eat tomorrow as you try and drift off. Planning how you’re able to avoid dinner by dropping that skate board round, planning on what exercise you can do when and thinking of strategies to relive hunger. You cry. This is your life. Pain, hunger, loneliness. All to control that number on the scale, to have the perfect body - when deep down you know that it will never happen. You know this cycle of pain will just make you see yourself in a worse and worse way and you’ll never be satisfied with that number. You wonder what it is like to not think of food 24/7, you wonder what it’s like to be happy, you wonder what it’s like to be full.