You were living life like she never existed. Like she was only a fragment of your imagination. You acted like you never knew her. Like she didn’t matter to you. All because you thought she didn’t. You wanted to move on. You needed to. “What are you staring at?” Your girlfriend asks you as you looked towards the mountains. “Nothing, babe. The mountains are just pretty, that’s all. But it doesn’t compare to you.” That was true. Your girlfriend is stunning. But you miss her. She, who always occupies your thoughts. You wonder where she is and how she’s doing. But you can’t tell that to Brooke. “Come on, Aster. Let's go. I have my shift and yours is in 30.” You walk with her to McDonalds, where she works. She pulls your hand, dragging you there. She takes her place behind the counter, and you get in line to order. You order your favorite double cheeseburger with fries and iced caramel latte. When you finish eating, you go over to Brooke, give her a small kiss, and leave to go to Starbucks. You finish your shift and meet with your friends for a night of binge-watching 13 Reasons why, chosen by none other than Brooke. You hate it, but you will do anything to please her and make her happy. But, on the way to her house, you notice something. You notice someone staring at you, someone you recognize. You see your ex, Destiny Hale. She’s wearing glasses and smiling at you from across the street. Next to her is someone else you recognize. She points to you and whispers something to Destiny, who nods. You shake your head, thinking you imagined the whole thing and that it was a mirage. After all, it was summer. You look again to where you imagined Destiny and the other girl. When you don’t see them again, you shrug and keep walking. The next day, you are tired. You stayed up past three am with Brooks and the others, and now you have to work the morning shift. Everyone’s going to be coming in and they need you to work. You get dressed and hop in your car. You walk inside Starbucks when you notice them again. Destiny and that other one. Then it hits you. Estelle Meyner, the richest person in all Kossland. What is she doing here? And with Destiny? You ponder. Once again you shake your head to clear your thoughts and once again they’re gone. You see Destiny again and again throughout the week, but every time it’s only for a few seconds. Sometimes she’s with Estelle, but sometime’s she’s alone. You keep ignoring it as a figment of your imagination. Until today. You’re walking from McDonald's to Starbucks like you always do, and there she is. You shake your head and blink, expecting her to disappear like she always seems to do. But she doesn’t. She’s still there. You thought she was dead but there she is, right in front of you on the street, smiling at you. “Destiny?” You utter, just loud enough for her to hear you. “Yes, Aster. It’s me.” You stare at her in complete disbelief. “But I thought you died over a year ago!” Congratulations, you have succeeded to angering her. A dumb decision on your part to say that. “Did Brooke think so?” She says. “What does Brooke have to do with this?” You’re confused. She repeats herself, slow and loud. “Did. Brooke. Think. SO?!” “Well, yes.” “Did she say so first?” Why is she bringing my girlfriend into the conversation? You think. “Umm. Ya.” “That’s the problem solved then. You never have your own thoughts, only follow Brooke around like a little puppy dog.” Her voice was sounded strained and was coated with sarcasm. “Don’t get me wrong, Aster. Brooke is a lovely girl and I’m a hard girl. They kicked me out of Ameil but then I helped Estelle who you must have seen with me. Here I am, alive and with sight, getting my degree in psychology at Havensheild university.” She throws all her accomplishments at you because she knows that you care. She knows that if you didn’t care a bit about her, you would have ignored her and gone for your shift. Which you are late for as she points out just then. You go, but invite her for some coffee, which she readily accepts. “The coffee in Keimel doesn’t taste as good as the coffee here. How have I been surviving?” She comments as you get her favorite coffee. “No idea,” you grumble to which she shoots you an annoyed look. You watch her sit down at a table and forget your other customers. One of them calls you, snapping you back to reality. “Can I get a pumpkin spiced latte?” You finish your shift and rush out. Instead of going back to McDonald's or to someone’s house, you go to Destiny’s parent’s house. They let you in and answer all your questions with more politeness than you’ve ever seen from them. You find that Destiny got surgery after saving Estelle Meyner’s life. She is, in fact, studying at Havensheild and she is very much alive. You notice some truth in Destiny’s words about you following Brooke. She is an amazing person; you admit to yourself as you leave and head home. She always has the best opinions and always kind to everyone. Well, not always Destiny. Brooke was originally a rebound girl after you broke up with Destiny. But it stuck. Since your junior year of high school until now, five years later and the summer before she goes away to college. Havensheild, just like Destiny, but for interior design. Something she’s always wanted to do. So, she’s always been slightly jealous of Destiny. “Which explains the rumor about death,” you mumble to yourself. That night as you lay in bed, you think about the two girls. You know that you still care about Destiny. And Brooke. Two of the best people on the face of this earth. You don’t know what to do. If you tell Brooke that Destiny is here and not a zombie, she will go borderline mad. Okay, maybe she’s more than just jealous. What happened between those two? You recall that they were friends up till seventh grade and were practically attached at the hip. Always talking, laughing, and giggling. Why do they hate each other now? Focus: Brooke “Aster, who or what are you looking for?” You say as you notice your boyfriend’s eyes constantly scanning everything. “Destiny.” He mumbles under his breath, probably thinking you wouldn’t notice it. “She’s dead, Aster. Move on.” You say, your annoyance building up. “Ya, but I was kinds hoping she wasn’t, and that she decided to come back. I miss how we used to hang out.” He replies. You take him by the shoulders and turn him to face you. “Stop being delusional. Come on, let’s go!” You’re confused. He hadn’t so much as brought up her name for four years at least. Why did he care so much now? Was she really back?! Could it be possible she survived these whole 14 months? You do some snooping around once Aster left. You go to Starbucks first, since you know that Destiny loved that place and ask a cashier if he saw Destiny at all recently. When he didn’t know who she was, you decide that he must be new in town and had come only within the last 14 months. Else he would know her. Everyone in Ameil did. Discouraged, you visit the three hotels in town and ask the receptionists if anyone with her description had come recently. At the last one, there was a ‘yes’. It was a fancy hotel, far more expensive than a blind beggar would have been able to afford. Or even her parents, if she asked them for money. You visit her room under the guise of her best friend paying a visit. But then you discover then she’s not there. Your mind’s made up that Destiny must not be there, but you check one more place. Just her parent’s house. If anyone knew if she was in town, it would be them. They deny knowing if she was there or not, but her mother’s eyes keep sparking, the way yours does when you talk about Aster. This piques your interest and your resolve and determination to find her grows stronger. You look all over town before you glance at the sky while answering a phone call, a habit of yours. You instantly remember that she liked to visit the mountain every time she could, under the pretext that her sight would return, a silly girlish hope of hers. You jump in your car and head there. But something stops you just before you reach the edge of town. Destiny never did anything to you. She was an amazing person, but she got your boyfriend before you did, even when she knew that you liked him back in eighth grade. She never wanted to talk about boys, because she couldn’t see how cute they were. But, you remember, you were the one to leave her. As soon as she and Aster weren’t a thing, you went to him and comforted him. Actually, it was even before that. You truly left her that day in freshman year when she asked you to tell her what was on the board in the classroom. Your mind started racing. She was already allowed to bring her laptop to class since she needed to record her notes. She was already allowed to have extra time to complete her exams and someone to write them for her. She had ears, wasn’t that good enough for her? There were people who were blind and deaf. Did she not realize that? She had so much, you thought, and yet she asks for my help. She never even helped me, you lied to yourself. You instantly went to sit somewhere else, but she notices and well, you’ve hated her since. Yet, you don’t go forward. It would prove your fears right, that he still loves her. Then what would you do? If she was really there, would you have to convince him it was only a dream and if she’s not, that it was his imagination? You have noticed how he listens to everything you say, but this would take it too far. You may hate her, but you can’t hurt her. You still decide to go see. And Lo-and-behold! There she is, your old friend and boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend, Destiny Hale. She’s there with someone you don’t recognize at first but then realizes that it’s Estelle Meyner, the richest person in Kossland. They seem to be in a deep conversation so you decide not to interrupt them but quietly get out of your car and eavesdrop on them. You can’t hear everything they say but can make yours, Aster’s and his friend, Tyler’s names in the conversation. You keep trying to listen to them, when they abruptly get up and notice you. “Booke? What are you doing here?” You stumble over your words and start twirling your hair. Your cheeks turn red and you wish that you had never tried to eavesdrop. Destiny and Estelle move closer to you are that only heightens your embarrassment. “She’s Brooke, Aster’s girlfriend, right?” Destiny nods to Estelle. “I came here to see if you were here. I just came and was about to come over and say hi,” You lie. “No, that’s not what you did. You’re lying, Brooke,” Destiny says You’re shocked. How would she have known? Only your close friends and family knew that your eyes move around every time you lied. But there was no way for Destiny to know that because she never saw that. “No, I’m not lying. It’s the truth.” She just shakes her head sadly. “There, again. Your voice becomes just slightly more high- pitched when you lie. Now, I’m not saying that you did anything wrong. Maybe just listen to our conversation, but you probably did that because of Aster. You wanted to see if I was alive, didn’t you? You wanted to prove your fears wrong that I was here.” “I’d better go,” Estelle says. “I have to head back to Keimel tonight for an important meeting and you know how long it takes to get to Everton. Bye, D” Estelle waves to her and goes away. “Can you come with me, maybe?” You ask Destiny. “Sure.” The two of you get into your car and you drive mindlessly. “Where are we going?” Destiny asks you. “Nowhere. This is just a lot to process at once.” “I shouldn’t be here.” She says. “This is for you and Aster to do together. The two of you should decide what to do about me, now that you know I never died.” “Ok, I’ll drop you off where ever you want me to. But first, how are you friends with Estelle Meyner?! And how are you able to see?” She tells you the entire story. “Wait, a minute. You. Go. To Havensheild?!” You ask. “Umm, ya. Is that a bad thing?” “No, no at all.” You drop her off at her hotel and immediately call Aster to meet you at your house. Focus: Aster “Soo Destiny’s not dead.” Brooke starts the conversation. “Wait, you accept that?” You stutter in disbelief. “I did some searching of my own and now I know. How she saved Estelle Meyner and how she’s studying at Havensheild.” She says looking down. You lift her head up to find her eyes red. “Baby, what’s wrong?” You ask, brushing the hair from her face. “It’s just that I made some poor decisions as a teen and those decisions reflected on the people I love most, like you and Destiny. I know now that you still love her. I know now that for every time you cried and I helped, there was internal crying years later. Just like Newton’s third law, if you want it in science terms instead. I know now that Destiny did nothing wrong to me and I was wrong to her.” She puts her head down again and silent tears stream across her face. “Brooke, you healed me in a way no one else ever could. Because of that, I no longer love her and I love you instead. Just like the third law of physics, in you want it in scientific terms.” She lets out a half sob, half-laugh. You know that you lied. You know that you want to be with Destiny, to wrap her in your arms, and to protect her from anything. And she would protect you back. “You’re lying. Aster I love you too much to see you hurt. Go, go to Destiny. She deserves someone like you after how much she’s done. And you deserve her. Someone with her kindness and wit. Strength and humor. If you ever come to love me, I will be waiting. I’ve spent all my life pining for you, and I won’t be able to get anyone else. But forget about me and go get the girl you want before she believes that you’ve truly moved on. I have haunted your brain for six years. It will be hard for me to move on, but I can if I know that you’re happy.” You shed some tears as well and give her one big hug. “Brooke,” You say. “You’ve known Tyler for years, as long as D has.” She laughs and says bye. You leave and head over to.... Wait, you don’t know where. Taking out your phone, “Hi Destiny. Could you meet me at the mountain?” She agrees and you both go there. It’s almost midnight now and the two of you are tired but go anyway. “I’m sorry, Destiny. Truly, I am.” You say. “Sorry for what?” “For leaving you all those years ago. I never really wanted to, but I knew I couldn’t live with trying all my life. I was heartbroken for months and I guess I still am, unless you’d take me back.” “Woah, whoa, what about Brooke?” “She’s the one who asked me to leave her and come to you.” She grabs your hand and pulls you to the top. Still clutching your hand, she sits down and motions for you to do the same. You sit down and you automatically relax. She then let’s go of your hand and turns to face you. Your heart is beating oddly fast and you fear what she’ll say. “I never helped you or did anything to you. Why am I so special and important to you?” Your eyes widen. You can’t fathom why she said that. Doesn’t she know how she saved you after your brother and mother died? Doesn’t she know that because she could never see your expressions, she always made you happy? Doesn’t she know how you could always be yourself around her and she made you want to be better than yourself? How doesn’t she know that she is the most amazing girl on the planet? You tell her all this and she cries. “Don’t cry, what happened?” You ask, rubbing her back. “I thought no one could ever love an ex blind person like me.” “Well, guess what?” You laugh. “I do.” She half sobs, half laughs and leans into you. You can feel the smile spreading across your face as you stand up with her and walk down.


“Sixty-four years, huh?” Alice said with a weak smile. Her gaze slowly drifted over to her left where a young man sat. A heavy silence hung in the air as she waited for a reply. “Silas? Are you there?” A few moments passed and panic had begun to creep into her voice. “I’m here, my heart.” Silas replied in a soft tone. He had to gather himself. It had been a long battle but the cancer that had ravaged her body took her sight and her mobility was now about to take its ultimate toll. The life of his beloved. Alice just smiled when she heard his voice as if there wasn’t a care in the world. “Aren’t you afraid?” He asked shakily. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye, how could he be? They had been through so much together, “I suppose, for an immortal, it might seem-” Alice was cut off by a series of violent coughs. Silas took her hand and tightly shut his eyes. He couldn’t stand to watch her life slip away. He wanted to run. For thousands of years, he managed to not make any real connections to avoid this very event. Yet here he was, a spectator in the final act of his love’s life. Finally the coughing settled down. “ -It might seem strange. But as long as I have you by my side, I am not scared of dying. Thanks to you, I had a wonderful life.” Silas opened his eyes and stared at her in disbelief. The soft rhythm of her heart played on the monitors on the other side of her bed. Alice sighed softly. “I’m afraid of leaving you though. You just won’t take care of yourself if I’m not around.” She chuckled and lightly squeezed his hand. Silas just shook his head and smiled, typical Alice. Trying to make everything seem okay. He brushed her long silver hair out of her face and smiled. “I’ll be okay, I promise.” His voice cracked. It was the first lie he had ever told her. He just looked into her eyes and let the time pass. Finally it was broken when Alice yawned. She looked as if she was struggling to stay awake. The doctors had told him that this was a sign of her final moments. “Just don’t... Don’t forget about me, okay?” Alice said. It was just like when they ran away together. Her only fear was to just fade away. Her mother had always been wrapped up in the chaos of her life after Alice’s father passed. It was actually because of this chaos that Silas was brought into Alice’s life. “To forget about you would be like forgetting the Sun.” Silas said as a thick sorrow entered his voice. “You have always been too cheesy.” She said with a weak laugh. She closed her eyes and Silas could feel his heart drop. He wasn’t ready yet. She couldn’t go. “Ali-” he choked. He couldn’t even manage to say her name. His throat felt like it was full of stones as he tried to say it just one last time. Silas tried to yell but nothing came out as he opened his mouth. Only the deafening sound of the monitor’s slow and unsteady beeping filled his mind. He wanted to struggle against this fate that would condemn him to this pain. He wanted to join her in the afterlife that had long since been out of reach. His grip tightened as these thoughts rushed through his head. “ ‘Do you think your life is something that can be so easily tossed away’” Alice mumbled as she weakly opened her eyes . They were the words he spoke to her the night that she tried to kill herself. The same night that he revealed who- what- he was. His arms fell to his sides in defeat. Even in the state she was in, she knew him too well. “I am just gonna close my eyes for a bit, can you sing me to sleep like you used to...?” “Okay, my heart.” Silas said quietly. “Be here when I wake up?” Alice asked breathlessly. “Of course.” Silas lightly kissed her forehead. He wanted to say goodbye, but couldn't find the words. Instead when he opened his mouth he began to sing in a language that has long since faded to time. His song was cut short by the monitor’s flat-line. He felt the room grow cold as the sound seemed to echo into his very core. “Goodbye, Alice Graham.” He choked out through a torrent of tears.


The first time she recalled seeing him was when she had just managed to dodge a rain storm that was passing through her small town as she made her way to work that morning. He was already inside the small cafe and, if she recalled correctly, he had a coffee as he enjoyed a black book that bore no title on the front. She had only happened to notice him because the cafe was nearly empty already except for a couple in their own world off to the side and a lonesome barista who was busy in the back. As she had entered, she also took notice of him because he had been the only one to take notice of her enough to put his book down casually and smirk as he picked up his coffee. His smile seemed to welcome her in. What made her recall now and had made her never forgotten since then, was when their gaze met, it was a feeling that haunted her to the very core and to this day she still couldn’t shake. A feeling that she would consider similar to having an electric current running through your whole body as if to resuscitate one back from near death. Quickly, she hesitantly averted her eyes to the register and motioned for the barista who happily came to grab her simple coffee order. Only to wait out the storm, she slowly enjoyed her coffee and peered out the large window near the entrance. Her back was to the strange man and yet, still she felt as if someone was watching her every move which in turn caused her to feel even more awkward. The storm lasted just long enough for her to finish her cup of joe, thankfully in her own mind she thought. As she had made her exit, from the corner of her eye she noticed his head slowly turned to watch her every move as she continued down the sidewalk to make it to work in a timely manner. This had happened just three days ago. She swore to never forget that face. Now, here he was again, but this time at her office. Her boss was introducing him to the whole department where she had worked for the last five years. He was to be working with the business for the next foreseeable future. As he greeted the department, he made direct eye contact with her as he smiled warmly. The damned electric currents were back yet again. They ran through her chest making it hard to focus as she tried brushing it off by looking down at her desk and taking a deep breath in. How could she not even meet his gaze as the rest of the office welcomed him so enthusiastically with ease? The rest of her co-workers were smitten (that much she could tell by the dreamy stares and sighs from the other women) and in definite awe of the newbie so she was sure the smile had not been directed directly to her. This was just ridiculous; the feelings in her chest and how he could just make her so “weak at the knees” and not to mention, flustered to not even be able to look him in the eyes. Throughout her life, she had never had this issue. As her father always told her, she must show her true strength by looking everyone straight in the eyes as she or they spoke. This man was making that very difficult already and he just started today. She wasn’t sure why she kept feeling this way deep within her being, nor had she ever experienced anything like this before in her life. A part of her was sure it was just a gut-feeling that one got when they met someone they knew was probably going to be nothing but trouble for them and just for everyone else in general. Maybe fate and her consciousness was trying to warn her to be weary of this particular new man, especially if he DID have the nerve to even try something with a very multi-talented person such as herself. Her father had made sure she knew how to handle herself very well with the numerous self-defense classes. Deep in her gut, she at least knew she had to be very careful of him; no matter what. It was late when she finally got to pack up her things to go home. With a promotion on the line, she had promised her boss to stay late to finish up the last of some important paperwork. A co-worker of hers was to leave soon, so to her delight, her boss had acknowledged her hard work and had offered it to her as long as she proved herself in the next coming months. It was dark and lonely out in the parking garage as she made her way to her car. As she walked, she felt her hair start to rise slowly as goosebumps rose up on the skin at the back of her neck. She peeped over her shoulder as she continued faster to see the very last person she wanted to see standing next to the elevators. He watched her as she was walking away and pulled a cigarette out. As he lit it, he smirked and leaned against the wall, watching her as she continued. She felt even more flustered and just focused on getting to her car quickly without any confrontation. Feeling her face turn red, she opened her car and got in swiftly. All she wanted was to get out of there from his predatory stare and dark dementor. As she started her car, she scolded herself to not look back at him because he was definitely not the last person she wanted to see tonight, especially with the previous sightings she had experienced with him already. She left the parking garage quickly. As she turned out of view, she peered in the rearview to see the dark figure turned towards her direction as if he knew she had to look just once more. For the rest of the night, she knew she would hate herself for it. The next morning showed the day to be a gloomy one, but this was not going to stop her from getting the much needed thing that she craved mentally. Her jogging. They had always seemed to help her clear her mind of all the mess she would gather in it from time to time. As she parked, she noticed another car off to the side. For a moment, she thought it to be abandoned because she knew this park well. It was her favorite due to how secluded it was early in the mornings and she never saw anyone else. Maybe it was the grounds keeper or perhaps it had been abandoned. She shrugged the thought of it off and stretched to loosen her limbs. The park was about a mile long with most of the running track going through the woods and by a small pond that had a lovely gazebo next to it. She grabbed her small bag and was off. About halfway through, she came to the view of the small pond. She froze abruptly. Across the pond, on the other side, a dark figure walked slowly. Her heart throbbed as she realized who it was. How could this be? Yes, it was understanding of the second time being by pure coincidence, but this is the fourth time in the course of just a week that they were in the same spot at the exact same time. Now she knew he had to be following her. No, worse, stalking her somehow. How else would he have known she comes here out of all places? She sat down to catch her breath and think more clearly before jumping to conclusions she didn’t have evidence of. Wait. That remote car in the lot? He had to have gotten here first, so he couldn’t have followed her, she realized dumbly. Really, she didn’t even have a problem with him. Not that she could think of one. It was just that feeling. The same she was feeling now as he drew closer and closer. It felt as if lightning bolts were coursing through her body, making it hard to even breathe. Part of her felt this thrill from it. It made her feel something she had never felt, but also alien to her as she didn’t know what it could be nor why she was feeling it towards him. Now that she was thinking clearer, she knew she had to find out. The stranger was now just a ways from her. He slowed to a stop as he saw her sitting there. He pulled an earbud out from his ear and half smiled. On the other hand, she was fixated on him. Maybe she was scowling or looking a bit too stern, but at this point, she didn’t care. She wanted answers. Her voice came out much shakier than she thought it would be, “What are you staring at?! Why is it that we keep ending up in the same place as one another? Is it just me to notice or?” He smiled as he looked down at his feet while taking his earbuds out. His voice came out cool and made her feel like butter as he spoke, “Honestly, I was thinking the same, but to answer your first question, I’ve come to the conclusion that you must be an angel or something to be this beautiful and smart.” “Excuse me?”, she scowled. “What are you trying to achieve by complimenting me?” He got closer and smirked at her, causing her heart to thump so loud she felt as if it was going to jump out her chest any moment. “Nothing really, but if it makes you smile then that’s worth something.” She scooted over to the end of the bench so he could sit on the other end. Her heart was pounding so loud now that she was sure he heard it as he sat down. Taking a deep breath, she replied calmly, “Hmm, yea compliments only get so far with me..especially coming from a complete stranger who happens to be everywhere I go nowadays. Are you sure you’re not following me?“ “Oh I wish I was. I just love to be alone when I jog and this happened to be the first suggested spot to try first. I saw no one so I decided to try it. If anything, you seem to be following me, miss.” He cracked a crooked smile and looked out at the pond. She shifted and sighed a sigh of relief. “Well judging by that sigh, you seem to have gotten a load off your back, but that is the least of your worries now.” He looked at her again, but his expression had immediately changed that caused her to her heart to sped up even more than it already was beating. “Sorry, what was that you had just said?” She stood up and looked at him gravely. “Oh I am sure you heard me. I hate to see your pretty face look so scared, but I know who you really are and your real father has been looking for you for a long time. You made it difficult to track you, but I am the best at what I do and your father has paid me quite handsomely to find you and retrieve you to deliver you safely and sound back to him. He wants to raise you to take over his kingdom when he steps down, ya know. That’s quite something to just walk away from.” Her blood started to boil as she grimaced at him. Her guts had been right all along and now, everything her real father had tried to prevent from happening was now falling into place. “A kingdom full of drugs and blackmail? Yeah, no thanks. I’m not going anywhere with you. I’ve dealt with your kind hunting me my whole life and I’m not going to let someone like you to ruin what good I’ve worked for.” Instantaneously, she lunged towards him, pinning him to the ground. He struggled under her weight as she promptly stuck him with a syringe filled with a mysterious green liquid. His movements slowed as the drugs took effect instantly. When he will wake, like the rest who came for her, he won’t remember much of anything. His memory of her would be wiped clean, thanks to her father’s beautiful green concoction. Before his disappearance, he had left it to her as a gift along with the formula on how to make more of it. Now she had to uproot her life yet again. Her blood father would never stop unless she exposed him or killed him. Neither of which sounded easy or pleasant. She would probably have to go dark again and get in touch with her father’s old friends. Yet she knew one thing as she left the dark stranger’s body in the woods as she made her way to her car, you can never hide from your past. "Well here we go again."


You can’t skip stones on the sea. You can sometimes skip stones on a river, if it’s a deep, calm one in which the currents run deep. Lakes and ponds are the ideal skipping surfaces: mostly calm, like mirrors on a windless day. The sea never stops churning. Any stone you try to toss at it is immediately lapped into its depths. Perhaps anything else would upset the natural order. Every stone was shaped by the sea and for it to assert dominance over its maker, even for a few skips, would be an anomaly. Perhaps it would cause a ripple effect of a grander scale and physicists everywhere would have a field day as our cosmos- every so slightly- shifted itself. Whoever skips the first stone shapes the universe. She threw a stone at the sea. It sunk, as was to be expected- so had every rock before it. And yet, she thought, just because no-one has done it before doesn’t mean it cannot be done. Would the shape of the universe-shattering stone matter? In which direction would the world adjust itself if, let’s say, a more rectangular one skimmed the surface? When this stone tears at the fabric of reality, our current world will be turned into one where she has found purpose. She threw the stone, and it sunk. A few solemn steps later she found a round, pink-and-grey pebble. It would free her of the ever-bearing weight of her own mortality and understanding that while life was short, it would be the longest thing she would surely ever experience. The black rock next to it would give her the courage to see that her bruised heart was, once again, timidly perched on a cliffside. Both stones sank. They were too heavy, she knew. The waves rolled in a cycle of lower, higher, and lower again- yet they were unpredictable. Sometimes the lower waves of one round would be higher than the higher waves of the next. A song that never changes in rhythm and never repeats in melody. This stone would skip across every beating heart and remind them of empathy. The next would make a young tree bear fruit for the first time. The next would make a butterfly on the other side of the globe flap its wings, which in turn would cause a hurricane. She was glad to see the last one fall. How would she know she was the first one to skip a stone, if she did? Just because she had never seen a stone skip on the sea didn’t mean it had never been done before. Perhaps her own attempts were being sabotaged by someone, somewhere, throwing rocks at waves and wishing for a world without mosquitoes. Perhaps they had already shaped this universe, years or seconds ago. She threw one last stone, not knowing what it would do. It skimmed the surface daintily, skipping from the head of a wave onto another before it disappeared for good. The universe shifted. She never found out how.


**<Iteration 6>** Meta-humans are an oddity. See, like most meta-species, the meta-humans live for the length of an entire universe. Unfortunately, they’ve also been a pesky bunch. As other creatures began inhabiting their respective physical forms, then reincarnating into newer random ones, the meta-humans rebelled; they wanted to choose where to reincarnate into. This was the first time the meta-squared’s had to intervene in over six iterations, and after 120 rounds of discussion, 144 global pandemics, and 603 world wars, they came to an agreement: metas could choose, but had to follow 3 rules: 1.Only travel forward 2.Never interact with yourself 3.Don’t kill all of humanity Most of the metas did just fine following these rules, at least for the first five iterations. But this time, they did something different -- they started to form groups. First there were the maximalists, metas that made it their mission to maximize any sort of quantity, be it happiness, wealth, or suffering. In each life, they became actors, CEOs, and despots, then exploited their fame to sustain success in future lives. This group held strong at 60,000 members but was starting to show cracks on account of a few risky soiree’s that destabilized humanity for the majority of the twentieth millennia. Then, there were the immortalists, metas who went through life trying to lead humanity across a steady path towards immortality. For most of their reincarnations, they lived purely banal lives. But, at critical points in time, they worked in concert to ensure the survival of the human race. Their best recruiter last time around was a fellow named A who inhabited Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr., and Terrnamus Skymander, then capped it all off with simultaneous nuclear peace treaties across three hundred different planets. Finally, there were the artists, a truly sick lot who used their lives to create exquisite, often grotesque, meta-portraits. Within the artists, there was an even larger subdivision between brutalists, romanticists, modernists, and traditionalists, each trying to develop photos, film, or time sculptures through the interactions of billions of humans across their entire civilizations. However, if an artist found that her portrait was intersecting with that of another artist, she would go to great lengths to ensure her rival reached a timely demise. These are the only crimes of passion recognized as legal by the international meta-court. We’d dealt with similar divisions before with the Pangea incident, but this had us more worried. Then, the maximalists started to directly break the rules. Within two meta-days, the maximalists won -- transforming the universe into a sea of gold plated planets, civilizations full of human sacrifice, and barren wastelands that can only be accurately described as Hell. Once more, we started negotiations. But, this time, we were effectively helpless. Within a span of 3 yottas, the maximalists became meta-squared’s, the immortalists stayed meta, and the artists... well they just stayed put. This is the first story of many about the meta-infinity but, I warn you, this journal only gets worse. **</Iteration 6>** **..


Cooking is an art. This is a very underrated statement, and many people can’t seem to fully appreciate that fact. I indulge in cooking from time to time as a hobby, and a rather passionate one at that. My busy work-life grants me little time to do what I love so, when I do get that precious time, I cook like there’s no tomorrow. It is a meticulous process, but in the end; the exploding taste buds and each individual flavor blending in perfect synchrony, almost like the instruments in an orchestra, create a paradise...no, heaven in my mouth; and that gives me enough reason to do what I do the way I do it. Tonight is a special one. I’ll be spending the evening making one of my all-time favorite dishes; the chicken sausage pasta; with a side of steak. And, I thought I’ll walk you through it. Obviously, the first thing to do is to collect the required ingredients. I consider myself to be a man of purity. Everything I touch, eat, even the air I breathe; is and has to be pure. It is following this reason that the source for my ingredients is local produce; my local produce. I have a farm where I grow everything I require not too far from the city; I think of it as my personal supermarket. This farm provides me with everything, with the exception of meat. Another one of my hobbies is hunting; it takes me back to our roots and almost humbles me; looking at how far we’ve come since the time of hunters and gatherers. After a trip to the farm, it’s time to get the meat. This is one of the more elaborate steps in the cooking process. It usually takes around 4-5 days. First, I pick my target. The selection process involves a lot of factors; a lot of them depend on the dish I’ll be making and also the consistency of the finished product. Then, I capture my meat source when it’s in solitude; away from all its brethren. First, I corner it into a tight space, then; I lock eyes with it. As my prey slowly starts to lose its grip on reality, becoming a shell of what it once was, a confused being; I make my move, usually with the help of a sack. What follows is an hour or two of undisturbed, concentrated “surgery”. It is a bit out of place calling it that, yes, but; given the amount of effort I put into getting the meat that I’ll be using in the final process, I think it’s fair to label it as such. The slaughterhouse serves as the operation theatre, I; the doctor, and actually, the tools remain pretty much the same. The first step is to cut out the flesh. The realization that there’s no savior, that this is the end; and their eyes slowly filling with fear while frantically moving around in search of that last non-existent ray of hope as the cold, metallic scalpel makes contact with their skin excites me; it...entices me. Something stirs inside, and there’s this unknown rush I get; it’s a high and it’s beautiful. Given that I’ve been pursuing this hobby for about five years, I’ve been only recently been able to make these cuts on them without having to experience that shrill, high-pitched noise we call screams. It’s amazing how we hear their voices all around us every day and yet they become demonic the moment they’re under slight discomfort. Now, once the cuts have been made, I weigh up the required amount, wash it thoroughly, and keep it aside. The prey has been made as if transparent, each and every organ on display; much to my delight. Listening closely, you realize that each organ beats, or moves in perfect sync, my personal orchestra; with me as the conductor. Watching their life slowly leave their body with every organ, every piece of flesh removed is another sight that gives me the same high as before. I guess you could say cooking’s my drug. This is the standard procedure for the torso. When it comes to the thighs and/or head, I resort to something more...quick. To get meat from the legs, I resort to the Maguro Bōchō, a long, highly specialized sword used by the Japanese to fillet tuna. I’d say it serves the same purpose here, a clean-cut, in one swoop. If they’ve managed to survive all this, I put them out of their misery. My meat cleaver is a perfect fit for this job. Like the traditional Guillotine, the last thing my prey sees is metal being brought down on them. Even in their final moments, some of them try to wriggle themselves out of this pickle by pleading with their eyes. Futile, but it always manages to get a laugh out of me. Then, I glance over to get a final look at their still-beating heart, mirroring their rolling head, and both slowly coming to stop simultaneously. And now, it’s time to fuel my passion with the fire within me. In the kitchen, I become a different person. I usually put on some music in the background, usually Mozart or Beethoven and it transports me to another world. Time goes by and each and every step of the recipe is executed with perfection, precision, passion, and patience. The cooking utensils dance on the food, just as puppets would, and I become the puppeteer. The flame does its job as it should, giving a layer of light brown on the meat. The floor loses its friction, becoming smooth as marble as I glide through the kitchen piecing together the final part of the puzzle. And just like that, I’ve created yet another masterpiece. Ah! That’s the doorbell, my guests have arrived, just on time. I’m having a few friends over for dinner. You know, since they’re here, I might as well stock up for my next trip to the farm...


Those days when there was still magic,it all started with a thick greenish air with blue specks. I dropped the box I was holding and admired this great sight. Soon I was tempted to touch it,feel it, withhold it. Then I decided to pass the through the green air,and I entered and was vaporized into time,1992,all in the attic. I stood tall,staring at another me,suckling a breast and cooing in the comfort of warm arms that was not my present mother's. My face tightened in confusion. That was the 'baby' me I was sure,I could contrast images from photos. But why was I in strange arms?who really put birth to me?or nursed me? I left that year 3rd January 1992 when I was just one month old to my present year 2004 where I was twelve. I stumbled out of the thick greenish gas,and met our usual black attic,with the wooden box down on the floor. I pushed the door open,I was devastated. "Mom!who is my real mom?" Mrs McCall shuddered at my question. She let go of her needle and gave me a look that meant more of 'how did you get to find out?'And she finally asked. "Honey,what prompted...I mean how did you get to know this?" "There!"I stretched out my index finger towards the attic. The two couples gave themselves a devastating look. "Darling you didn't shut the portal?" That was all Mrs McCall could say. "I did,I was sure..."Mr McCall began, before smacking his forehead with his right palm in a bid to have forgotten something."...or maybe not". Mrs McCall signed. I began my relentless questions."What happened?to them,to me,to us! Why did they give me out?when did they do this?are they still alive?!" Mrs McCall stood up from the cushion,she was visibly disturbed. "Honey..." "If you don't want to talk about it,I should find out for myself!" I ran out of the sitting room. Mom and dad followed me to the attic,bit before they could make it pass the wooden door, I was gone...gone into 1992. ... I still saw the same thing,but I was sleeping this time...I meant another me,in a cot. There wasn't any clue to my urging questions here. I had to frontier,a bit frontier. My bare feet stepped into 27th December 1992,when the 'baby' me was still around twelve months. I,saw with me the same parents, laughing around a filled table putting on the robe of Santa Claus celebrating Christmas. I left again,using the gaseous magical portal to 3rd January 1993. I met me, standing with a smiling face before a chocolate cake,and in my small palm was a small pen knife. Above the cake had 'two' inscribed on it and the immediate sorroundings around me had them decorated with balloons and colourful nylons. Guess it was my birthday. And so I went,from 16th Febuary to 8th June. Then 22nd July before I finally met my present Mom and dad in a serious conversation with the previous Mom and Dad in a small room. That was the 1st of August,1993. My previous parents were in tears and pleaded with the foster ones,to take me and raise me as their own. "We are witches and wizards". I could hear the mother from my standing behind the door."Our magic sorcery are too strong for the baby. They are not good for the baby. They will kill the baby..." "Okay,stop your tears now Mrs Mikaelson..." "Mikaelson..." I whispered to my self."My mother's name is Mikaelson. "...we'll take him as our own,we will take proper care of him". "Please don't let him know his roots". This Mrs Mikaelson started again." Or else he will become what he is...a werewolf!" "Wait...what?!" "Should in case you need any direction while we are gone,you can always open a portal to this time to ask us..." I vanished.5th of August 1993,I met the corpses of my old parents. They died with their eyes open and with bite marks. They had their bodies wrapped in a white linen,which had been doubled up umpteen times but the blood from the massive bite marks still drenched them,and stained the floor.I wept. But there was a problem,I couldn't get back to my present year 2004 after visiting so many dates. I was to follow them back in order so as to trace my year. I was trapped in time. I started feeling uneasy and I had a sudden runny nose. My heard was turning and my vision doubled and blurred out. I had a severe headache and I thought I saw drops of blood drip down from my nostrils. When I reached for my handkerchief,my claws were long and sharp. I screamed and threw myself on the floor. Turning my neck swiftly to the wall mirror nearby,I met a sabre toothed wolf-human head. My two eye balls changed their black colour to that of green. My ear pinna grew to an extensively large extent and it's edge was pointed. Altough saliva escaped and dripped slowly from lips,I couldn't control it owing to my abnormal longer canines.I was very afraid of who I was,I was horrible. Then I started hearing distant conversation,very low and slow. I focused attention. "... the kid will get out of our hands..." "...can our magic hold him?..." "...I don't think so,the best magic ever for him was the spell the Mikaelsons casted on him which is to be broken the very seconds he finds his roots..." "... ain't there an alternative...? From a simple guess,those were my present parents conversing,perhaps about me. I could hear them right from 1993! With my two fingers out,I seized this moment and stirred up a time portal for that particular year. My big feet stepped into the dark attic,and my glowing eyes met Mr. and Mrs McCall. They were horrified with my new look,I could see that too. Mrs McCall retreated and reached for a wooden baton, held it above herself in a bid to attack. Mr McCall just stood still and looked on stealthily with agap lips,before clenching his fingers into a fist and taking his stance. I tried a brief roar. My new nature made me to breath too noisily and to see the digestive and the respiratory systems of this couple from my gloating position. Then I flashed my large canines at them,and gave a mischievous smile. "You were saying...?" And with a speed of sound,I ripped their throat into shrrds.


Sylvia stared at the door listening to the trickling of water running beyond it. It had been so long since the two had the chance to relax, had the chance to not be running. She felt there was no way that the night would end badly, she believed in her heart. Her heart was what brought her here to this point, and she had always trusted it. “I wonder if he realizes that he shares the same powers as Abigail, myself and his brother.” Sylvia murmured to herself as she looked out over the night sky, the moon full in the blanket of the night as it illuminated the bedroom. The water soon stopped and her eyes quickly looked away and out the window into the glistening night sky. Rustling could be heard as the curtain slid across the bar, the opening and closing of the towel closet. Wet footsteps were heard making their way to the door against the linoleum and soon the handle began to turn. A shiver went up her spine as she knew who was behind the door. She shifted before he opened the door, turning her back to him. Avery stepped out into their room, towel in hand rustling his dirty blonde hair shaking loose water droplets everywhere. The gunshot on his shoulder noticeably healed. He glanced over at her as he unzipped his backpack that was on a nearby desk, “oh... Sylvia sorry I should’ve put more on.” he commented only wearing loose fitting jeans. Sylvia didn’t turn around, she could clearly see him in the window, a small smile pursed over her lips, “No, you are quite alright.” she whispered, slipping a crossed leg off the bed, toes touching down onto the floor. “I don’t mind, I’ve seen you in less after all.” Sylvia sneered as she stood from the bed. Avery blushed lightly as he turned his gaze to the floor, “yeah...heh that is true.” his voice was soft. Sylvia crossed the room to Avery, her gentle touch caressed his shoulder as she walked around to face him. She pressed her index finger to his chin and tilted his head up to look into his eyes, “Are you feeling better,” she asked with a small frown. “Yeah it’s fine now, all thanks to you.” his towel dropped from his hand as he placed it over hers. She looked down at the floor blushing a little. Avery took his other hand pressing it lightly to her chin tilting her head back up to look at him. "Avery?" she said blushing, looking deeply into his sea-green eyes. Avery shook his head lightly, "shh." escaped his lips before he leaned in with pursed lips as they pressed against hers giving them the first kiss they had ever shared. Another shiver shot up her spine as his lips met hers, and his hand cupped her cheek. She gently pressed back against Avery’s lips, slipping into his arms. Sylvia’s hands slid down his shoulder to rest on his chest, her legs getting weak. *Was this really happening*, raced through her mind, *was this what I’ve been waiting for*. The boy she had protected for so long, the boy she had known for all these years, was standing here kissing her. She mentally shook the word boy from her vocabulary of him. *No, he was a man now. I no longer have to protect him. He is here to protect me*. The thoughts foreign to her. Avery felt her hands move and her body slipping closer as her knees grew weak. His hands moved from her face and down around her waist holding her up. His kiss lasted a moment longer before he pulled back looking at her soft face. A few strands of hair fell across her eyes and with a free hand he slid them behind her ear. “Sylvia I...” he began to whisper looking at her unopened eyes. Sylvia reached a finger up and pressed it to his lips, “Please. Let me enjoy this for a moment longer.” she said resting her hand on his shoulder and soon her head on his bare chest. “Just....a little longer,” she whispered out breathless, her mind still trying to get a grasp of all these emotions. Her heart was a flutter, like hummingbird wings. Avery wrapped his arm around her shoulders the other still around her waist gently swaying back and forth as he held her. His thumb brushing up and down on her shoulder, he leaned his head down kissing the top of hers. Sylvia pulled her head back looking up at Avery into his deep aquamarine eyes, “Avery...” Sylvia started a quiver in her voice, “I...I lo...” Sylvia was cut short as Avery gently kissed her lips, placing his hand on her face brushing his thumb over her crimsoning cheeks. “I love you.” he said as he pulled back in a whisper against her lips before kissing her once again. Her legs grew weaker, almost collapsing; those three words struck her deep. Her emotions flaring even higher, her mind began to race with question. *Was that what I really wanted to say? Is that what I’ve been feeling all this time?* She pulled back again just staring into his eyes as she leaned into his hand placing hers atop his. Her lips opened, her voice lost for a moment. “Avery I...I love you too” And she leaned up on her tiptoes kissing his lips before retreating back a little from his grasp. Her strength came back as she began to accept everything. Avery took both of Sylvia’s hands into his, looking down at them, then back up to her eyes. “So does this mean I get to protect you now?” he asked rhetorically a smirk across his lips. Avery’s fingers laced between Sylvia’s interlocking them, noticing her grip tighten back. Her face grew less red, the same smirk coming across her lips, “Just because I love you, doesn’t mean you are stronger than me.” Sylvia pushed back against his hands lifting them up at the same time to shoulder height and slamming him into the nearest wall, “I’d say I am still the one protecting you.” She calmly quipped as she looked up into his eyes, “Unless you can prove me wrong.” before leaning up and kissing him roughly. She felt his lips grin under hers and she pulled back slightly, “What’s so...” Before she could finish her sentence Avery spun them around pressing her now against the wall grinning down at her, “check.” he responded leaning down and kissing her neck softly. He slid their hands down to her waist keeping her pinned as she did to him, “and now checkmate.” he whispered across her neck with each kiss. Sylvia’s eyes shut and she almost melted with each kiss Avery placed along her neck, one hand slipping out of his grasp and lacing through his still damp hair. “Not...fair.” She breathed out almost trying to catch her breath. The waves of emotion rushed over her, not something she was used to. “You fight dirty Avery.” And she tugged lightly on his hair pulling him up to look her in the eyes. Avery tried to hide the devilish grin on his lips, “all is fair in love and war beautiful.” he quipped, noticing a shade of pink gracing her cheeks. “Let’s call it a draw for now,” he said before wrapping his hand around her waist, lifting her and walking over to the bed. He turned around and fell back on the bed with her on top of him. “For now let’s go to bed.” he said gleefully while looking up at her. Sylvia’s cheeks felt like they were burning, “I’m not that easy Avery.” She said quickly as she placed her hand on his chest pushing up from him. She wasn’t sure if she was jumping to conclusions, but she wasn’t ready for that. She loved him but she was still new to all this. She remained silent looking down at him glancing at his lips occasionally, not noticing a frown. “What?” She asked plainly. “I don’t mean like that,” Avery smiled looking into her eyes. He could see the hesitation, he pulled her closer, her hand slipping off his chest resting beside him. “I want to be close to you.” He whispered to her as her head rested on his chest she looked up at him. Avery leaned down and kissed her forehead. Sylvia smiled softly, closing her eyes as she lay there in his arms. She knew deep down that he would protect her now, and she felt safe for once. She always had to be strong for the both of them, and now she knew there was nothing to worry about. She wrapped her arm tighter around Avery getting as close as she could, “I love you.” she whispered into his chest slowly falling asleep. Avery slid his hand up brushing hair from her face as he watched her fall asleep. “I love you too,” he whispered to her.


I lift my head from under the cool waves only to hear that Dave is still - still - laughing about the tumble I took (that oaf). The day’s been just peachy, all soft winds that perfectly rivaled the monsters we’re riding, clouds painted in the sky in milky swirls. I reckon it’d all be swell if only I had better company: in all of Australia, Dave’s gotta be just the worst bugger around (the fall wasn’t that funny.) I got to Cairns quite a while ago and still can’t go a full day on the water without a spill off the board. I’ve gotten better, for sure, but there’s always the one at least. My mates say that it’s bad bone structure, that the cushy North American weather made me weak. I’ve yet to bother telling them that I grew up in Montreal, where the weather was many things and “cushy” was rarely one of them. Well, some other day. Even under the surf I can hear the blonde’s warbly voice when he calls “get up here, you bludger!” I oblige, only because it’s the smart thing to do. Not because Dave told me to do it. Dave can get pissed (and will, if the blue cooler sitting idle on the shore is anything to go by.) I come up for air and see the violet board floating jauntily away. I’m there in two long strokes, much to the disappointment of my surfing mate. Tosser. We’ve been at it for the majority of the day, and even though my skin is pruning and the waves are getting restless all I feel is bliss. This, right here, is the life. After another tumble on my part and one of Dave’s too (which I doubt I’ll ever shut up about, you should have seen the way his arms windmilled before he fell in. Serves him right) we emerge from the water. I’ll never admit it, but every time I walk away from the waves I imagine I’m in a music video for “Take It Back”. Terrible habit, especially considering the Buffet-love is Dave’s doing. That and it always subconsciously makes me walk slower. Liv always makes fun of me for that, which I assume is what she’s going to do today as well. “Hurry up o’er here before ya get pulled back in, ya Yankee!” What did I say, huh? I’m not even Ameri- nevermind, then. Liv is my favourite person, period. Long hazel hair perpetually sunkissed, light freckles, and dancing eyes. Biggest Aussie I’ve ever met. When I first met her, that brilliant March morning, she came right up and shook my hand so hard I thought my bones would pop and spoke with the thickest accent I’d ever heard. She listens to Rolf Harris, says things like “no wucka’s”, calls Cairns “way out in the woop woop”, and once wrestled an alligator. When she told me that she owned a kangaroo, I whole-heartedly believed her. Hey now, you would too. She was the only good thing about that day, I know that now. She had been in Canada to visit her cousin Al and had been booked for a flight that left two days before. Maybe Montreal wanted to send me one last parting gift to make up for the crap hand it had dealt me because her flight ended up getting delayed. “Freak storm” is what they told her, I believe. That's how she ended up taking the same plane as me, and when we got off at the airport she stumbled upon me at my absolute lowest: eyes red-rimmed and nose leaking like a faucet, seeking out my luggage on the belt with the same feverish energy that a mother might look for her lost kid in a Walmart. I might as well have had “Hapless And Hopeless” tattooed onto my forehead in papyrus. That, or “Just Got Fired From A Job That Brought Me Stress And Not Much Else And Then Realized That I Wasn’t Truly In Love With My Boyfriend, So It Was Almost A Relief When He Told Me That He’d Been Banging My Sister For Weeks, But Also Not Really.” Both work, I’d say. Now’s not the time to dwell. Life goes on, you either walk with it or get trampled as it rolls on by. She reached out for me then, and she does the same now as she hands me a towel. I can’t help it; I decide to test out a phrase I heard from Dave’s brother last week (still can’t tell what’s an actual Aussie-saying and when Matt’s just yanking my chain). “Liv, what’s the John Dory?” It’s tense for a moment, Liv narrowing her eyes, me sweating from exertion and fear-of-having-just-said-something-terribly-offensive, Dave stumbling outta the water. Then her face breaks out into its natural grin as she says “not too much mate, just hopin’ to bum a stubby off this yobbo’s cooler before the piss up tonight. Oi, you’re comin’ to that?” Dave looks offended and sputters at the comment and I feel euphoric. I wrap the towel closer ‘round my bathers and start walking with them back to town. Hours later, I find myself standing in almost the same spot, peering over Matt’s shoulder into the grill. It takes everything, and I mean everything in me to not comment on the fact that he is, quite literally, throwing shrimp on the barbie... I can’t do it, I really can’t. I open my mouth and find a grill fork haphazardly stabbing the air right in front of my shoulder. Even in his slightly frilly peach apron Matt still looks menacing as all hell when he mutters “put a sock in it.” I heed his advice and make my way towards the water. It’s a brilliant party (or “piss up” as seemingly only Liv says): everyone is right drunk and a bout of karaoke has already begun on the edge of the surf (no one has a karaoke machine, by the way, so it’s more drunkards swaying and humming than authentic Japanese interactive entertainment. Same difference at parties like these.) I’ve had a load of prawn and am on my third coldie when Matt and Liv amble over. “So, how long’s it been now?” I don’t need context to answer his question. “Two years, seven months, three days.” They ask the question about once every two months, so as much as I try to not keep count of the time they’re on it. Liv whistles and Matt pats my back affectionately. “Long time to be down under, I reckon.” He’s right, it’s certainly not a small amount of time, especially when I’m so far away from... Well... Home? I look to my left in time to watch Liv pop a shrimp into her mouth with one hand and uncap a bottle of brew with the other. To my right Matt is looking slightly perturbed by the action, his hand still draped on my shoulder. I don’t need to look behind me to know what’s happening: Sienna and Arie and their kids are making sandcastles, Leo from the dealership in town and Matilda from the surf shop are fiddling with the grill and pretending that they haven't been crazily in love with each other since they were teens, a drongo is undoubtedly trying to get a group together to surf the now-black waves, and Dave is trying to start a sing-a-long of “Mañana” (to no avail). It’s been two years, seven months, and three days since I landed in Australia. It was going to be a two-week vacation, a time to relax and get my life back on track. Get away from endless work, my cheating ex and lying sister, the push and shove pace of the city. Find a spot in the world that my emptiness hadn’t touched. I met Liv on that first day, Matt and Dave on the third, and everyone else in the weeks that followed. I got a job down at Leo’s on my fifteenth day, started my first novel only a week after that. Couch surfed for a few weeks ‘til I made some cash, then moved into a little place with walls I’m repainting in patterns that rival the Cairns’ clouds and a patio out front that lights up at night from the moon beams cast down on it. I cancelled my flight back on my eighth day, and in two years, seven months, and three days I have yet to look back. I smile. “Not too long.” Matt’s palm gives my shoulder a quick squeeze before lowering to the sand, and Liv dives into another tale about her time in the Bush. Laughter flows all around as we sit under the night’s blanket of stars. This is the life.


The world I lived in before was hard, but in a different way. Rushing to find the next coffee shop to fuel my belly with the next double latte and danish. Climbing the ladder at my job while kicking it down for those who were climbing behind me. Not giving up my seat to the poor old lady on the subway because I found it easier to respond to emails while sitting. It was cut-throat out there in the big city and I loved it. Not much room to wait for the next bus or worry about someone else's feelings. That was the life I had built and I got there by being, well, a dick. The thing that still surprises me the most to this day is how quickly it was taken from me. I still don't quite understand it. I had worked so hard to bring value to my name; a reputation. To have a PDF file of success attached to myself that gave me some strong sense of meaning and it was gone in a split second, and then.. nothing. Now I wasn't really one to be religious or anything. I mean, I was raised Catholic and went to church here and there, but never really considered identifying as religious. Reincarnation on the other hand, I had just assumed was some poppycock, Buddhist belief that gave hippies and hitchhikers a pass to smoke copious amounts of marijuana and take LSD on a Wednesday night, but I now stand corrected. I don't remember stepping out on the street that day. I must've been in a rush, or late. I don't try and dwell on it now, but I know that I was buried in my own self importance to notice that Civic coming straight at me. A fucking Honda Civic. Why couldn't it have been a Porsche or a Lambo? I would've felt better about that, but whatever, its over now. The next thing I remember is waking up in a tree. My hands small and hairy, feet gangly and bony, and my ass had a tail, fluffy and long that seemed to have a mind of its own. Twitchy and sporadic like, I examined myself in disbelief. I came back as a squirrel. A goddamn squirrel. I immediately started scrounging. It was my first direct instinct. I couldn't understand why, but I needed to move and move fast. As I peeked through the leaves in the tree I was in, I saw a giant drop a piece of hotdog bun on the ground. I bolted down the side of the tree, amazed at how agile and quick I was. I hit the sidewalk and started dodging through legs and shoes that looked like buildings and skyscrapers. I was almost at my yeasty destination when a pair of heels the size of a three story house came crashing down an inch away from me almost impaling my tiny body. As I tucked and rolled out of the way, I noticed another squirrel had beat me. He glanced at me and said, "Too late dick! Get your head in the game!" Whatever, I hate mustard anyways. I decided my best bet was to hit the nearest park. The trek was quite treacherous, but I made it. As soon as I got there, it was a hell of a shock. A battleground of squirrels, pigeons, mice, rabbits, and ducks. All fighting for the same thing; food. I had to learn and learn fast. I hit garbage bins, plastic bags, trees, tall grass, even the river banks. I climbed into other squirrels nests and stole stashes, and fought those pigeon bastards for seeds, ducks for bread. By the end of the day I was beat and the only thing I had recovered was a measly old sunflower seed I found underneath a bird bath. I decided I needed somewhere to sleep and started looking for a tree. My goal was to get high enough that I could enjoy my sunflower seed in peace. So I started searching. The first tree I focused on was a colossal oak tree directly in the middle of a clear patch in the park. As I made my way up it, I quickly understood that I wasn't the first one to have this idea. "Hey! Get the hell out of here! Are you new!?" "Find your own spot bud, this ones taken." "Listen pal, if you think there's room here you're mistaken." Every inch of that tree was being used and abused by many hairy bodies. That's when I heard a familiar voice call out to me. "Hey hotdog! Come here for a minute!" It was the bun thief. The guy who stole my hotdog bun while I was busy not dying. I swallowed my pride and made my way up. He was sitting comfortably at the very end of a long branch that seemed very far out of reach from anyone else. Very tactical. I admired that. "Don't be shy man come here. I've got some of that bun left for you if you want it." I sat beside him and he handed me a healthy chunk of bread. "I'm Terry. Sorry about earlier eh? First come first serve am I right? What's your name? How did you end up here?" "My name is Adam." I said reluctantly. "And I don't really know! I remember stepping out onto the street and the last thing I saw was a car coming straight for me." "A car eh!?" he exclaimed, as if I had one a prize. "I fell off my balcony piss drunk while celebrating a big sale I had made for myself. And Donny down there got stabbed and mugged by some kid outside of Starbucks." he looked at me devilish like and whispered "Watch this." He looked down and yelled, "Hey Pumpkin Spice!" and an angry voice yelled back. "Fuck off Terry!" Laughing he looked back at me and said "See? We've all died or been killed someway or another. You're lucky yours was quick! I've heard some real horror stories. So what were you? Wall-street? A shady Lawyer? I was in real estate and fucked over a lot of good people." I told him I was Wall-Street and he laughed and said "You poor sack! You were probably worth millions!" We continued on through the night talking and munching our hotdog bun. He told me how everyone around us was damned to this life because of what we were and what we did. Whether it be stealing from the rich or the poor. We were all selfish bastards only looking out for ourselves, and now we're forced to do it everyday. Bickering over the tiniest morsels of food. I fight and argue everyday with my snot-nosed hairy and feathered friends over tree buds, flowers, seeds, nuts, and bread and finally have confidently come out on top. I've made a pretty good life for myself out here in the park. I've got a big tree to call home and a reputation that will scare even the hawks. And now that I reflect it makes sense. It is basically the same life I was living except instead of a paycheque its acorns, and instead of lattes its puddles, and instead of coworkers, its coyotes. A cursed life brought by the results of our former. Don't be a selfish squirrel folks, because you may very well come back as one.


The answer to unhappy marriages I sat there in a particular somber mood. I had to admit I was comfortably installed in the club saloon of British Airways waiting for the Barbados flight announcement. My wife had recently died under what the police thought might be suspicious circumstances. All this interest in her death was due to the fact she was a well known London socialite. She came from an extremely wealthy Texas farming family. The family had found sizable oil deposits on their lands. After several weeks of tedious investigation they finally abandoned the case through lack of evidence. It had been a trying time that left me suffering from a short depression followed by moody attitudes. Still a few days in Barbados might put to bed all moods and suspicions, also the polices’ extended dark shadow disturbing my life. Ah! The announcement, gate 15. As is often the case the call to gate was just call a little early for immediate boarding I took a seat mumbling about I could have stayed a few more comfortable minutes seated in the airline’s club The man seated next to me must have heard my mumblings, he said. “What did you say?” “I was just moaning about being called to early from the club’s privilege of traveling first class.” With that remark I turned and looked at my fellow passenger. He had a jovial face with a deep scar under his left eye. It gave him a rakish look as though he had been in a fencing duel. His slick dark black hair was swept back from his forehead. Woman must have thought him a distinguished individual. He extended his hand in a sign of friendship. “I know what you mean, I have experienced that annoyance a few times. My name is Clive Summerfield.” I replied by introducing myself. “Richard Davenport.“ “Just a minute aren’t you the Davenport the papers were talking about two weeks ago? There was a scandal about your wife’s death. “Yes, that's me. I am off to the sun of the Caribbean with its warm waters and golden sands to forget the whole ordeal. “For your wife, please accept my condolences. If you don’t mind me asking. Where are you staying?” “The Sandy Lane, and you?” “I used to stay there but at present I am a bit down on my luck so it’s the Coral Reef. They gave me a discount as I stayed there three weeks ago.” “I have experienced that life is often a question of luck. One never knows how the cards will fall. I think a little holiday might lift your spirits.” Richard replied. “Well it isn’t exactly a holiday. I represent an American Company that has just invented a revolutionary type of tooth-brush. It has a revolving head driven by a small battery driven motor inserted in its handle. I could show you one.” He started looking in his bag. At that moment the first class passengers were called. As I stood up I saw him looking at me from his bended position as he turned towards me. I noticed his eyes reflecting such a wilful look as if to say what a pity you seem a decent sort and I was starting to enjoy your company. In a moment of extending my friendship I said “Why don’t you come and have a drink with me tomorrow at the Sandy Lane at say, 6 o’clock.” “Love to, have a pleasant flight.” After a relaxing night I went for an early morning swim. The Sandy Lane is truly the epitome of luxury. The gardens down to the beach were full of delicate and interesting flowers sending off their perfumes in the early morning air. At six my guest walked into the bar. I had not appreciated that he was tall. A powerful looking man with an athletic build. Once he saw me his face light up with an engaging smile. He came forward with an outstretched hand. “I see you have taken a little sun, be careful it can be treacherous to our fair English skin. We shook hands. For a minute he stood back to look across the terrace at the flower beds leading to the beach. He then turned to me and said. “It is a truly beautiful place.” We ordered two gins and tonic and went out on the terrace. I raised a toast. “To the Caribbean, isles of pleasure where worries of yesterday are forgotten. May I call Clive and you call me Richard.” “With pleasure. Richard, you don’t appear to be a man with many worries?” “”I might say the same for you.” Clive replied. “What lucks in the heart of men is difficult to see. I have job worries and marriage problems. To change the subject I read a scandalous press story about you. In some way might have been involved in your wife’s death.” “Let’s talk about another subject if you don’t mind. I came here to forget about all the rumors stirred up in the press. At the airport you told me something about a tooth-brushes?” “Yes, I almost forgot I brought you an example. Clive pulled out of his inside breast pocket the famous rotating tooth-brush and handed it over to me. As he did so he said. “It is a company my father-in-law invested in.” “Its certainly a pleasant object to handle.” I pressed the starter bottom, the bristles started rotating. I could increase the speed, change the angel of the head. “Definitely an ingenious invention.” “Please accept it as a gift. It is a step down for me to be involved with a tooth-brush company. Until recently I had a most interesting publishing company. It’s a long story but I had to close it. The company was heading, in the not too distant future, for bankruptcy as it needed an influx of funds that were promised but never delivered. “Tell me a bit more about the publishing company.” The reason why I got interested in publishing was that I studied English literature at Oxford. When leaving the university my first job was with the publishing house of Harding and Harding. I spent twelve happy years with them. During that time I got married to an ambitious American woman, the only child of a wealthy Texan family. My wife pushed me into creating my own publishing company helped by her father’s financial fortune. The company lasted fifteen years with moderate success relying on occasional loans from my father-in- law. During this period both my wife’s parents died leaving my wife a sizable fortune. She sold most of the inherited assets in America and appointed a New York fund manager to invest the resulting cash. She told me she was no longer interested in supporting my publishing business. She had become a highly sought after member of various charities. I decided to close the company rather than face an uncertain future without the possibility of the family’s financial support when needed. You can imagine our marriage is not in a happy state of affairs. I looked for a job that consisted of traveling that would keep me away from home. My father in law had introduced me to a company he had an investment in that wanted someone to represent them in Central and South America.” “To me it seems odd that your wife lost interest in supporting your business.” “Oh! I think there are probably many reasons. One is that she has definitely fallen out of love with me and is probably having affairs with a younger man. She also claims I don’t pay enough attention to her as I am always at work or reading books. Tell me about yourself.” “I am a partner in a prestigious city law firm. Incidentally I was also at Oxford, but probably a few years before you. Before we started swapping Oxford colleges names and university stories. I will complete the story of my home life by saying we don’t have any children which in our marriage has been a very sore point. Several eminent doctors are of the opinion that my wife could not bear children. And you?” “Yes, one boy. We are not on very good terms with him after my wife and I had a violent quarrel with him some years ago. I believe he is living in Solo and has taken up an acting career. We see him occasionally when he is out of funds. His mother deals with that “It’s funny we both went to Oxford and married wealthy women that over the years seemed to have caused us more unhappiness than happiness. But perhaps I am speaking for myself. To be fair in the early years of our marriage we had moments of great happiness”. “Before you make us depressed let’s have some dinner.” Maybe it was the moonlit night, or an excellent wine I had ordered, or Clive’s wife’s problems but for some strange reason I felt the need to confide in him. I learnt forward over the dinning table and in a soft voice said. “I did kill my wife, they just could not find any evidence of how I did it. The moment I said it I regretted it. I had only just met the man, he might go to the police or blackmail me. Clive stopped eating while I could feel him searching for a way to reply. There was glint in his eyes showing me an idea was forming in his head. At this point he too leaned forward and said. “How brilliant, how did you do it?” “With a clever use of a special poison. Why do you ask? Surely you are not thinking you could do the same thing?” “Frankly, I have been vaguely contemplating the possibility of trying to kill her. Tell me, are you willing to give me the poison’s reference. “ “Yes, under certain conditions. Firstly, you appoint me as your lawyer and that any conversations between us will then be protected under law by the clients/lawyers relationship. Secondly, today is the 10th of October, on the same day a year from now we agree to meet here in the bar, at six. You pay for dinner this time.” I called for writing materials and drew up a short agreement for Clive to appoint me as his lawyer. He signed and agreed to a meeting one year later. I gave him the South American reference of the poison that left on tract in the human body after two hours. When I said good night to Clive in a slightly drunken state, we even embraced each other on parting. That night before I fell asleep I thought how strange this chance meeting with Clive Summerfield had turned out. A couple of men engage in a casual airport conversation both unhappily married to wealthy women, one had already devised a perfect murder the other might be putting his foot down on the same course. It must have been eight months later that I read in The Times obituaries about the tragic riding accident of a wealthy American socialite Catherine Summerfield. I immediately booked the Sandy Lane for October 9th. I was looking forward to seeing Clive. Over dinner on the night of the 10th I toasted with an excellent bottle of wine the death of our wives by committing perfect murders. I then suggested we disclose how this was achieved, I said I would start. “Finding the poison took me over a year. Once found I spent some time planning how I was going to administer it. My wife was very partial to Turkish delights which she kept in a box of her glove compartment in her car. When I saw that the box had only three left I inject one with the poison and waited. The waiting was nerve racking. It took three weeks before I received a call from the police that my wife had been found dead in her car. Why I was involved in a possible murder investigation? Unknown to me she had called a friend after parking her car. Apparently the friend did not pick up but she left a message saying she did not feel well and could she come for her. I think my husband. At that point the line went dead. With her remark, “I think my husband,” made the police suspicious that there might have been foul play as she had left me her large fortune. Also it was well known our marriage was on the rocks. The poison had work like a charm as she was found 4 hours after the time of her death. There was one Turkish delight left in the box. The police opened an investigation as there were many rumors of lovers and unkind speculation about me. They finally closed the case as there was a complete lack of evidence to suggest foul play. She was finally pronounced dead from a massive heart attack. The perfect murder. Before Clive embarked on his story I noticed he was in a pensive mood contemplating the perfect murder that always has the risk of being discovered. He awoke for his thoughts and related his story. I contacted your reference for the poison. Like you I had to devise a plan of how to administer it. Our property in the south of England has stables as my wife was an avid horse woman. She has two riding crops, one she always takes with her when riding. It is a work of art given to her by her father. The top of the handle screws off to allow a few drams of whiskey to be drunk while out riding. I mixed the poison with the whiskey and waited. It must have been two weeks later when my wife came back from a trip to America in a foul mood. To calm off she went to the stables to take out her favorite horse. The stable boy advised against it as her horse had not been exercised for a few days. My wife paid no notice of the stable boy’s remarks, and took the horse and her beloved crop. I got a call telling me there had been a tragic riding accident. When I got to the scene a doctor present was already signing her death certificate as a riding accident from a broken neck and serious head damages. Later that day the stable boy gave me her crop. When I opened it I found the whiskey had not been touched.” “Clive, it could have been the perfect murder but luck was on your side. I suggest we make our reunion a yearly date.” “Richard, an excellent idea. Next time you pay.” David Nutt December 2023


I dream of bright lights, a town to live without my shadow. Digging in the fiber of the streets and the passersby; Penetrating a future with dark brown hair and dark brown eyes. Her breasts smother my scarred breaths. Scraping lips and she tastes like summer blood. It'll pass and I'll never be the same. Looking for people in a crowd. Tearing skin and watching my past decay in hours. Bathing in the filth, just to be born in my own eyes. Entangling with the hurt I found in the beginning. Staying away, leaving my parted loneliness in her mouth. Orgasmsing in the ways that make my mother and father something I forget. Nobody loves themselves, so how could they love me? And I writhe in ‘comfort’, just to feel. Provoking searing glares because the numbness is like dry blood jarred underneath my nails. My life encapsulates a warm goodbye. Running to nothing to find myself.


Eva frantically rummaged through her blue leather tote. They’ve got to be in here somewhere, she thought, as she pulled out old CVS receipts, gum wrappers, an extra phone charger, hair pins, unused Kleenex, notepads, pens, everything she seemingly needed to hold her life together, except the one thing she desperately sought. Why couldn’t she find her sleeping pills? There had to be some left. She only took them once or twice a month, max. Those were the nights that she knew if she didn’t take something, she’d be sitting in front of the TV watching some 1940s Barbara Stanwyck melodrama when the first hints of daylight began peeking through the blinds. Tonight, would be one of those nights. To make matters worse, even if she was able to find “The Strange Loves of Martha Ivers” or “Stella Dallas” among her streaming subscriptions, nothing could drown out her next-door neighbor, Mr. Sonny Man, firing his gun to bring in the New Year. Besides Eva could never not watch the Times Square ball drop. It’s how she and Russell had spent the last three years of his life. Of course, those years were spent doing a lot of other things, as well; doctors’ visits, chemo, radiation, hospital stays. But even as he played tug of war with cancer, Russell always seemed to summon enough strength to sit on the couch with his wife and watch the ball drop on New Year’s Eve. Last year, she begged Russell to go to bed. “You’re worn out,” she’d told him. “No, no, no. I’m okay,” he insisted. “This is our tradition. This is what we do.” So Eva dressed him in his fleece pajamas, covered him with two blankets and sat next to him. She could feel all the bones in his hand as she held it, and she knew that this would be the last New Year’s Eve they would ever spend together. Russell had played football in college and had kept himself in “good shape, somewhat,” he used to say. Eva met him at a car wash. She was vacuuming the floor on the driver’s side of her Toyota when she heard a deep voice say, “Don’t forget the back.” Eva stood up to see this huge, bearded man with a shiny bald head smiling at her. “Don’t forget to kiss my ass,” she replied. “Somebody must have got up early and ate your corn flakes,” Russell shot back. “That’s how much you know, I don’t even eat corn flakes,” she said, trying to stifle a smile. “Well, what do you eat? I need to know before I ask you out to dinner.” That’s how their romance began. Eva fought it every step of the way. Who could blame her? Ernest Andrew Fulmore had shredded her heart and scattered the pieces to the wind. “I have nothing left,” she would tell the friends who tried to set her up on blind dates. They should know this already, she thought. They were there. The destruction of Eva LaVonne Durant’s heart was witnessed by 250 of her and Andrew’s closest family members and friends, her pastor Rev. Abernathy, Mrs. Lampkin, the church organist, six bridesmaids, one maid of honor and six groomsmen. Fifteen minutes before she was to become Mrs. Fulmore, Andrew, the man who wooed her for a year, called the church clerk’s office and left a voicemail message. “I’m so incredibly sorry. Please, tell Eva that I cannot marry her today. Please, let her know that it’s not her. It’s me. It’s all me.” Miss Mary Atkins, the church clerk, just happened to be in her office, picking up some of the extra wedding programs, when she saw the voicemail light. The sequence of the events that followed went like this. Miss Mary, who tried her best to not look like somebody just died, walked downstairs to the women’s dressing room and asked to speak to Eva’s mother in the hallway. “What the hell?” Elaine Durant shrieked, forgetting that she was in God’s house. Hearing her mother, Eva ran into the hallway. When she saw the look on her mother’s face, she knew. She collapsed on the floor, screaming. Her bridesmaids came running. Miss Martha informed Rev. Abernathy, who then made the announcement to the guests. Eva didn’t leave her apartment for a month. She’d already taken a two-week vacation for her honeymoon. She tacked on two more weeks of sick leave as authorized by her doctor. Maybe a month would be enough time for the office gossipers to get all the whispering out of their systems. Two years later, there was still talk, especially when a new person was hired and gossip extraordinaire Nadine could be heard whispering, “Yeah, that’s the girl that got left at the altar” as they walked past. Eva brushed it off, like dandruff. Her life consisted of working as a middle school administrator Monday through Friday, and attending church on Sunday, with a stop at the car wash one Saturday a month. She was a 32-year-old woman who had no interest in men nor love. Occasionally, she might entertain accepting a date from one of the guys, her friend, Sasha tried to set her up with. Then, she thought about Andrew and all the humiliation and pain. “It aint worth the risk,” she’d tell Sasha. “Eva, you can’t spend the rest of your life afraid of getting hurt again,” Sasha would say. “Not me. Love don’t live here anymore,” Eva replied. “I don’t want to hurt your friend.” Why she entertained Russell’s initial flirtations at the car wash, she did not know. Yes, she did. She liked their banter. Russell proved to be a worthy verbal foil. Whatever she threw it at him, he could toss it right back. She was much more attracted to that, than she was to his tattooed biceps. However, nothing beat his broad dimpled smile. Still, it took her a month of phone conversations before she agreed to go out with him, and it was three more months before they had sex. Two months later, Russell proposed and two months after that, they were married by a judge at the city-county building. The first year, they spent New Year’s Eve among the throngs in Times Square. It was 30 degrees and Eva had left her gloves on the train. She shoved her hands in Russell’s coat pocket and despite being among thousands of people, it seemed like they were the only two people who existed. “That’s something I’ve always wanted to do,” Russell said as they snuggled in bed back at the hotel. The following year, Russell and Eva hosted a New Year’s Eve party. Eva had spent all day preparing appetizers and desserts, and making sure her champagne flutes were spotless. “Looks like you and love have moved back in together,” Sasha said to Eva that evening, while helping her in the kitchen. Eva smiled. As her guests counted down to midnight, she looked at her husband and whispered a simple prayer, “Thank you, God.” Now, Eva had no words left for God. It was the first New Year’s Eve since Russell’s death and all she wanted was sleep. She could hear the TV in the background, as she searched. Eva always slept with it on, but she couldn’t bear to see the ball drop without him. She knew she had some sleeping pills somewhere. There weren’t any in her tote bag, nor any in the medicine cabinet. Eva began looking on top of the book case next to her bed. There was nothing between the lamp and the alarm clock. She looked at her bottle of blood pressure medicine and wondered what would happen if she took five or six or all of them at one time. She’d probably die. She didn’t want to die. She just wanted to sleep. Dejected, Eva sat on the edge of her bed and looked down at the floor. There it was, the edge of a tiny pack containing two purple pills sticking out from beneath the book case. “Thank you, God.” She downed both pills with one sip of water, got under the covers and began clicking through channels as she waited for them to kick in. Twenty minutes passed. Her eyelids began to get heavy. Five minutes later, as she drifted off, she heard “10, 9, 8, 7 ..."