“But Aaron, just exactly how cold DOES it get in the center of your heart?” Well Rhonda, in order to begin to understand, our story will begin in Alaska during the coldest blizzard of the century. It was 10:00 PM when Jim and Kennedy were trekking through the snow. “Kennedy?” Jim remarked. Jim looked back and Kennedy was frozen in a block of ice. Kennedy’s Iris looked like the hottest sun, and in fact was one. It was 19.7 billion degrees. Inside the sun was a black hole, which went to -19.7 billion degrees. The black hole was convulsing with electricity, like violent thunderstorm. Enter, Aaron. It was 12:30 AM when it started storming outside. His mother was watching TV, and brother playing games. But he wanted to go outside. So he did. With no shirt and a longboard, Aaron went out in the rain. As he journeyed down the street with arms open embracing the cold breeze of the rain down chest and body, he looked up in hopes of catching a glimpse of a lightning bolt. He took refuge under a gazebo as he watched the sky bounce around with electricity. The biggest bolt he ever saw crackled into the ground, causing him to scream instantly. Enter, Carey. Carey was a newborn baby, born during the coldest day of 1979. As she left the womb she was screaming, while her mother was crying as well. The husband was absent, lost in his thoughts. “What will I do now that have a daughter? All I’ve ever known was life without one. I guess I’ll have to embrace the unknown.” He thought. The doctor brought Carey out into his arms. “Sir, we’re sorry but Carey has a rare disease and isn’t going to make it.” The darkness in the center of the husband’s eyes grew to nearly the size of his whole eye, as every thought he had converged into a whirlwind. Enter, Marina and Dave. It was a cold day in Toronto when a tornado was forming outside. “Marina, this is looking pretty bad outside” Dave said. “I know Dave, but we will make it home I promise.” Marina remarked back. They were driving down highway 95 on their way home. The roads were covered in black ice, but Marina had on 4 wheel drive and was being careful. The tornado was taking shape, and was in sight through the window. As scared as Dave was, he was mesmerized by it. “Marina, I think I’m going to go outside and watch the tornado.” Dave said. “Dave you can’t, we need to get home before it’s too late!” But it WAS too late. The look in Dave’s eye was unstoppable. He LIVED for rare moments in existence like this, that were once in a lifetime heart pounding opportunities. He demanded Marina put on the brakes, and in her love for Dave she agreed. As he stepped out of the car, she couldn’t believe what she did. Dave started walking towards the tornado. Marina was losing it mentally. Every thought of what could happen to Dave crossed her mind, and she passed out. Enter, Clarissa. It was 4:00 PM and she just woke up from a daze while in an after school math program. To be continued (maybe)...


On a seemingly average winter day, Jolyne, known in the workplace as the apathetic new recruit, was staying late at her job at Blueworks Incorporated. Her job as an accountant was as thrilling as it sounds but at least it paid her bills. A job so tedious where she sat a computer all day wasn’t really her style anyway. She’d rather be exploring the world in a private jet with a pet tiger and a surplus of the finest champagne. But here she was, clacking away at the keyboard in her deserted office building. She sighed with relief as she typed in the final report of the day and stood up to stretch. For the first time in hours, she looked out her window and was shocked to see mountains of snow crowding the building. This had to be the worst blizzard to hit her town in decades and she didn’t even know it was happening! “Great,” she thought to herself. “Being forced to stay at this crappy job for longer is exactly what I needed.” Just as Jolyne was reaching for the phone on her desk, the entire building went dark and all electronics powered down. She mumbled curses and slammed the phone down. “Could this get any worse?” she thought. After taking a few deep breaths, she began to plan what she should do next. She went to the exit and tried shoving the door but the packed snow wouldn’t budge. She tried the windows and second exit but her efforts were futile. The entire building was frozen shut. At this moment, Jolyne felt panic arise within but she was able to drown this out by making a plan. “Stay calm, Jolyne.” she thought. “A panic attack wouldn’t be a helpful response to this situation so stay calm. I can’t be the only one left in the entire building, right? I should look for someone else.” She grabbed the emergency flashlight from under her desk and set out to explore the building. Despite working there for two weeks, she hadn’t been given a tour of the entire office. If she was being completely honest, she knew little about what the company actually did. All she had to do was keep a record of the amount of money that was being spent. As she walked through the unfamiliar and confusing hallways, a shiver ran down her spine. This part of the building felt like an old hospital that reeked of bleach. Peering into the darkness, a large door with a warning sign loomed at the end of the hallway. The closer she got to the door, the sign on the door became legible. Painted in black was the message “Reap what you sow. When you look for trouble, you will find it.” Jolyne froze in puzzlement. “What the hell does this mean?” she thought. She had already been skeptical of Blueworks but this was just weird. “Why would someone paint such a creepy message in an office building?” After staring for a few moments, Jolyne gulped and pushed down her fear. She knew that she had to get out of the building and there could be something useful behind the door. She extended her arm and placed a finger on the doorknob. A light tingling sensation flowed through her hand as she placed her entire hand around the handle. Before she could react, the numbness turned to a sharp pain that crawled up her arm and across her body. She yelped and yanked at her arm but her fingers seemed to be glued down. The pain rippled through her abdomen and she let out one final scream of desperation before she went unconscious. After an undetermined amount of time, Jolyne woke up in a daze. Her head felt like it was going to burst and she tried to place her hand on her forehead but she realized her wrists were chained to the ground. Panic struck her heart as she made futile attempts to free herself from the shackles. She looked up and had never been more confused or terrified. The room was lit by candles and the architecture mimicked the gloomy and gothic architecture of 15th century Europe. “W-where am I?” she said aloud. A looming figure crawled from the shadows. “Who’s there? Show yourself!” Jolyne cried. The figure took off the hood shielding its eyes and two red orbs stared directly at Jolyne. “I am not a monster,” growled the silhouette. “I’m not...” it trailed off. “I am, I am... what am I? I am... a chronicler of sorts yes, yes that sounds right. I write these events down for my master and you are next in line.” The features of the beast were indistinct but Jolyne made out a terrifying grin plastered across its face. “Now tell me,” it continued. “What is your name? I must know, you see, I write these events down for my master.” Silent tears streamed down Jolyne’s cheeks as the creature crawled nearer. “Be not afraid,” it hummed through a smile. “I’ll tell you my name if you promise to tell me yours. I’m Doppio. See it’s not difficult. What’s your name? I must write these events down for my master.” Jolyne knew she had no other choice but to speak. “Jo...” the figure glared patiently. “Go on,” it mumbled. Jolyne gulped. “I’m Jolyne Cujoh,” she said with fear. Doppio smiled menacingly. “Excellent!” Doppio giggled. “Diavolo will be pleased. I write these events down for my master, you see. It makes him so happy.” At that moment Jolyne felt an itch from below her skin as if her organs were being prodded and poked. The itch grew to a stabbing sensation and she writhed in pain. Doppio let out a hysterical laugh. “Oh Jolyne what a curious one you are. Diavolo will be here soon to sing for you and he will be so pleased. Won’t it be lovely to hear a song written just for you? And I’m sure you will feel so much better after opening up your mind, and your flesh if we’re speaking literally haha!" Jolyne cried out as she felt her skin begin to tear. Thousands of needles appeared from under her skin and stabbed her flesh from the inside out. She couldn’t understand how she had ended up in such a bizarre situation because of a blizzard. The last thing she heard before losing consciousness once again was Doppio’s laughter and a deep voice humming her name. Jolyne heard a faint voice calling her name. As she became aware of her surroundings, she quickly sat up in terror. She looked around. She was back in the office building sitting in her cubicle. “What the... what just happened? Was it all a dream?” She shuddered. “Despite how real it felt, it must have been.” “Jolyne!” a deep voice shouted. “Why are you sleeping on the job? You know our company policy strictly forbids that.” Jolyne turned to face her boss in shock. “I- I’m so sorry boss. This will not happen again.” She looked down. “Now Jolyne, we have a new recruit and I’m assigning you to teach him the ropes of this company,” said the boss. Jolyne looked up again. Sure enough, next to her boss was a young man with neatly braided pink hair. He seemed timid but happy to be there. To Jolyne, he almost seemed familiar, but she couldn’t figure out why. “I trust that you will teach him everything he needs to know here at Blueworks,” the boss continued. “I’ll leave you to it, Ms. Cujoh.” The boss turned and walked back to his office in a determined manner. Jolyne let all the fear from her nightmare wash away and she looked towards the young man. “H-hello nice to meet you uh, Ms. Cujoh.” He smiled nervously. “Please call me Jolyne. Ms. Cujoh feels too formal for me. I suppose I should give you a quick tour of the office.” She grabbed a clipboard and stood up. The boy turned to the window and gasped. “Oh look it’s snowing! I haven’t seen weather like this in years, isn't it beautiful?” Jolyne turned and shrugged. “I prefer the warm summer months. Now let's get going, follow me.” Jolyne turned towards the hallway and the boy followed close behind. “By the way,” she said. “I never got your name.” A glint of red flashed across the boy’s eyes. “Oh of course,” he said with a gentle smile. “My name is Doppio.”


It had always been thus. The old sign hung upon the mortician’s door had been placed there so long ago that its weathered edges were rounded entirely and the lettering on its front needed constant darkening with soot and ash to keep it legible. The wind whipped through Graydon’s Gorge at an almost relentless pace and the townsfolk were happier for its protection. Tales around these parts say that Graydon himself was the first to set up shop at the mouth of the gorge and folks around here think that mighty peculiar, as it isn’t often that a mortician sets up on a vacant piece of land with no one to need his particular services. The story goes that Graydon’s Gorge, and the river running through it, is home to one of the richest veins of silver this county has ever known. The problem was, Graydon had no desire or skill to mine that vein and so he put an out an ad. At first, he was discrete, not wanting to attract the wrong element. His ads were typical of boomtown advertisements and only the most desperate of people would inquire. It was a hard sell because Graydon’s only condition was that you arrived with a family. It didn’t specify the size of the family, and it didn’t define what a family was, Graydon’s condition was that you come and you bring love with you. For his end of the bargain, he promised that love would endure until the end of days. Sappy sentiment if you ask me but it weren’t no ballyhoo and I’m the living proof. The first to bite was a man named Reginald, a slight and nobby feller who arrived double-riding on a tired horse with a jackaroo named Jeb. Jeb was a quiet feller but Reg was downright loquacious, and so that’s what Graydon had called him. Jeb agreed that it sounded a bit more than Reginald, and Reg himself took it as a compliment. And so, Loquacious and Jeb broke ground on what would become this here inn. At Graydon’s request, they called it the Bone Orchard. “That’s a lil grim, boss,” Jeb observed. “Trust me,” Graydon said with a wink and a nod. Building the Bone Orchard was no easy feat, what with materials needing to be brought in from the coast, a nearly hundred-mile journey but one that brought Connie and Dale and young Ditmus and Betty. They were builders, you see and they came to Grayden’s Gorge with materials and skill and soon the Bone Orchard was up and running. Within no time at all, the town had begun to fill up. Loquacious and Dale had become fast friends. They and Jeb would spend hours reading the California prayer book and bending at the elbow, gambling their troubles away for that was all they had to offer and filling the space with bumblebee whisky. There were nearly a dozen folks now living in prosperity at the mouth of Graydon’s Gorge but not a single one mined that vein. Junie, Bridey, and shy young Pip showed up, entering the Gorge in all their finery. They were all pretty girls and their smiles were practiced, patient, and persuasive except for Pip who hadn’t yet gotten the hang of it. They had come from Archerton in the east where they had practiced the oldest profession. At least two of them had. “Mine is older,” Graydon replied with a smile, all at once wicked and welcoming. Within a week Junie, Bridey, and Pip had a place of their own. Dale and Ditmas, Jeb and Zachariah... oh yes, Zachariah was the butcher’s boy. They arrived sometime the previous winter, blown into the Gorge quite by chance during a storm. He and Pip hit it off famously. Within a year they had built themselves their own lil home and not long after the squeals and squalls of Baby, that's what they called their sweet lil girl, were bouncing off the walls, echoing down the canyon and back again. Not long after, a school was built and Esther came to teach there. So many children now ran the streets of Graydon’s Gorge that it was simply overrun. No one batted an eyelash when that orphanage next town over had burned down and all those kids needed a place to stay. They’d never needed a teacher before, but now they did and Esther had come. Her journey wasn’t easy as she’d traveled a long hard road, but she arrived just when they needed her most. The orphans, the painted ladies, the butcher, the builders, and Graydon himself all prospered at the mouth of the Gorge, and still no one had mined that vein. Loquacious had often said that their fortune had been made when they decided to build a life here. Jeb always doubled the notion, gently taking his hand. They were all rich in friends he’d say, and not a single soul would disagree. Baby grew up and grew old among the friends the fire had sent their way. More children were born and more arrived, as did their parents and grandparents. All manner of families arrived, families grew, and everyone prospered just as Graydon had promised. If anyone questioned he would nod and smile and, “Trust me,” was all he’d say. Old Nellie sat now upon the Bone Orchard’s porch in her well worn rocker. Her husband, Shad would bring her a cup of hot tea, three times a day. He always perched a wedge of lemon on its rim. She knitted lambs wool into all manner of clothes which she gave away freely, just as Morton, the shepherd had given her the wool for spinning. The dry grass of the desert seemed to suit Morton’s small herd just fine. It was never too large, but never so small that old Nellie couldn’t provide whatever was needed whenever the occasion arose. Every once in a while they’d lose one to the coydogs which would sneak into town after twilight. But every so often they would find a litter of pups and take those in, train them up, and then the town had its own patrol of pugnacious lil beasts that would snarl and bark and howl whenever an outsider came too close. Their warnings would echo down the length of Graydon’s Gorge and back again. The sun rose fiery one morning, glowing oranges and reds as it came angrily over the horizon. The waves of heat rose from the sands as if they would catch fire all of a sudden and consume the town whole. Shad came a-knockin’ on Graydon’s door. Shad knew everything that was happening, day or night and he did not fear the angry early morning heat for the years spent shoveling coal on the railroad. There was that sound again. “Do you hear it, Gray?” The old man asked. “I hear it.” Graydon’s jaw set firmly. Shad took a step back. For all his long years at the mouth of the gorge, he had never seen Graydon’s smile wane. But here it was like a new moon all dark, the light was gone. The tapping echoed through the gorge and the rafters of their homes shook as if the gods were raining thunder down upon them. The coydogs were baying and the sheep were bleating and Jeb came to stand at Graydon’s side, his sidearm ready for use. “Been keeping it ready, boss” Jeb said matter-of-factly. “Should I see to it?” “They’ve found the vein,” Graydon replied. “Bring all hands and the cook.” “Everyone?” Jeb was stunned. “Every last one.” Graydon straightened his tie and walked off towards the mouth of the gorge, the dogs now falling into step behind him. The three men worked in the light of an oil lantern, hoping the shadows of the deep gorge would soon give way to light. Foolishness, they’d a been roasted alive. The dogs grew quiet, but the rumbles of the deep-throated growls seemed to run with the river’s waters as Graydon reached the small camp’s perimeter. The first one to notice him cast his pan aside and casually grabbed the handle of his pick menacingly. “Mornin’,” He said, startling his companions into a defensive formation on either side of him. “Mornin’ to you,” Graydon replied, his expression none too pleased. “This is my Gorge. It’s my river. That’s my silver.” The three men looked from one to the other and then began to laugh, the leader at their front now taking a step forward. “You know, I think there’s enough for all of us.” “There certainly is, but you’ve come as thieves in the night and so... you’ve got no claim.” There was regret in his voice. The dogs had circled around to Graydon’s front, and now their hackles were up as they crouched low to the ground, teeth bared, ready to attack. “You’re going to sick your dogs on us?” The leader sounded wary but still confident. “No need,” Graydon said, looking to the left and then to the right. They were all there, Loquacious and Jeb, Old Nellie and strong dependable Ditmas. Shad had come and so had Bridey and Junie and Baby too. The orphans were all there and even kindhearted Esther. They whipped past him in a nimbus of outrage, their spectral hands outstretched like eagles’ talons and bobcats’ claws. They rent the miners’ flesh and sent their blood drifting in little red clouds down the gently rolling waters of the river. They ground their bones to dust upon its rocky bed. Their tools fell down deep into the water where they succumbed to time and the elements. The angry spirits of Graydon’s Gorge surveyed the damage. They were lucky. The miners had not yet disturbed the ancient silver vein. For good measure, they sent the baying dogs down the river and back again. When they were certain there were no others the crowd slowly dispersed, each of them drifting back to their eternity and forgetting all about the men who’d have destroyed everything they had paid so dearly to build. “Sad business,” Jeb said, falling in beside Graydon as he strolled back to the mortuary. “We’ll be fine. Trust me,” Graydon said, his smile had returned. He dipped his fingers into a small pot that dangled from a nail beneath the old worn sign, emerging with a gob of oily soot and ash which he rubbed into the letters of the sign. It had always been thus.


You don’t see it, do you? The way you have a tendency to tilt your head towards the sun when you walk outside or how to rest your chin on the palm when you think. You don’t see how your hair hangs just over your eyes and makes you look tough and adorable at the same time. You don’t see how you can light up a room with your smile or how you wrinkle your nose right before you laugh or how your lips form a perfect little O when you mouth I love you from across the room. You never could see the way your eyes and face glow when I walk in or how you would hold my hand when you stretched it made my stomach twist in excitement. I never told you that I loved the way you would steal kisses and hug me tighter than anyone had before. It gives me actual chills when you do. Still till this day. I miss you worse on your bad days when you weren’t yourself than on the days I actually didn’t see you. I never got the chance to tell you that the freckles on your shoulders are a perfect scattered mess or that you could make me smile just by looking at me sideways. And that I needed you to get through the day. I never made you aware of the way you would absentmindedly trace circles around my knuckles when you were thinking. Or that, despite my screams and giggles, I loved when you tickle me to make me smile. I never got the opportunity to tell you that your eyes dazzle when you’re excited about something. I never mentioned how your lips were shaped perfectly to fit mine or that your hand is just the right size for mine so when we lock fingers it felt like a puzzle piece. There’s so much more I wish you knew but it’s too late. So I hope you knew that none of our silences were awkward and I melted when you smiled. The way that you love when we just hang out at the house and watch our favorite show. The way you appreciate the little things I do for you. The way I catch you staring at me and smiling. When I would have panic attacks and you remind me that I was enough. The way you know when I’m upset and you try to help me figure out a solution. The way that I was your only one. When you let me take pictures of us and you even you’re super shy about it because you know how much it means to me to keep those memories alive. We can play games together without getting too competitive and actually enjoy each other’s company. How you care about what I’m insecure about even if it is a little inconvenient for you. How you’re making a house our home and letting us grow together. Letting me learn how to be a good girlfriend without knowing from previous relationships. How patient you are with me when I get insecure with us because of what I’ve been through. How you help me out with food when I’m low on funds because of the bills. How you listen to my problems when I have trouble at home or work. When you want me to ride with you even for the smallest things. How you brag about what we do and how much you have with me to your family and friends. How you are not ashamed to be with me. Love how your family makes me feel like I’ve been a part of y’all’s family for years. How you appreciate every part of my body and make me feel good about myself even if I disagree. How we grew so fast together in under a year. How much we’ve accomplished together in such little time. How you make me feel like we’ve been in love for years. How you don’t get mad when I spill my drinks on your carpet. How you let me play your games without getting mad. The way you look at me when I’m not looking, and my family sees how much you love me. I love when you don’t get annoyed when I ask if you still love me fifty times a day. I love that we can joke around with each other without hurting each other’s feelings. When you offer to help me cook and clean since we both work. How you’ve become my best friend and that I am yours (no matter how much you tell me my brother is) How you don’t get annoyed with my random questions How you don’t get annoyed with all the memes I send you saying how much I miss you I love when you give me a big hug when you see me because it proves you miss me How excited you get when you come home from work to see me in the living room waiting for you I love that you wouldn’t anything come between us even my own brother. I love that you gave me a chance despite who I am. How you remind me how beautiful you think I am when my boss is mean to me How protective you are over me How thoughtful your Christmas gift is (even though I’m not sure what it is when I’m writing this) I love that you don’t get annoyed at how emotional I get I love that I can tell you anything without it being repeated I love that I can trust you with all my heart I love that I can tell how much I am in love with you without having to worry you’re taking it for granted I love how you take care of me when I had too much to drink without any complaints I hope you know that I will love you always and forever. I guess it’s better late than never.


The following is a story about addiction. Sometimes it feels like you have a gnome on your shoulder making all the bad decisions for you.  We sat in a circle facing each other in the community room on a Saturday. A man with a shaggy beard stood up. "Hi everyone. My name is David and I have a gnome on my shoulder." "Hi David." "The gnome is the one who likes my beard long," began David. The group chuckled. Everyone knew gnomes didn't like you cutting your hair. They need long hair so they can hide. David finished his story by explaining how he has going to put burs in his beard to help drive the gnome away. Though everyone congratulated him on his unique idea, I was not impressed. Gnomes are smart, you can't keep them away with a couple burs in your beard. A lady dressed in pink stood up and spoke in an exaggerated formal manner. "Hello everyone, my name is Elizabeth. I had a dinner party the other night and cooked up an exquisite sea cod in a semillon sauvignon blanc sauce, but my gnome insisted I drink the whole bottle." Elizabeth looked above and put a gloved hand to her forehead in a dramatic sigh. The group comforted her, but not me. Everyone should know that gnomes get bored easily. You cannot expect them to sit quietly at a dinner party without causing mischief. The next man to stand up said he came close to catching his gnome the other day. His gnome fell off his shoulder when he was gardening. I've had something like that happen to me before and distinctly remember the moment of shock as I saw the gnome for the first time. He had always been on my shoulder and I could not imagine a life without him. The gnome, however, woke from its nap and casually climbed up my leg to once again sit on my shoulder. A man with very small glasses now had everyone's attention. He was writing frantically on a white board what we knew about gnomes and how we could outsmart them. For some time I thought I could outsmart my gnome, but he was always two steps in front. There were good days and bad, but the gnome was always there. Perhaps that was why I hesitated when my gnome fell off my shoulder. Another man was fighting for the groups attention with talk of a medicine that would drive the gnomes away. A third man pulled out nets he said could catch gnomes. One of the group members suggested they bait the gnomes to their traps, but could not think of what they eat. I watched the chaos before me and tried to retreat into my mind as I ignored the growing noise. Every Saturday people come up with the most ridiculous ways to get rid of their gnomes. Sure medicine could work, but you're going to have a hard time trying to trick the gnome into taking it. Even catching a gnome with a net could work, but what would you do when you catch it? You could try leaving your gnome somewhere but you'll miss its nagging voice and soon go back to where you left it. There is, however, one way that works and its more simple than the rest. You run. That's what I did the last time my gnome fell off my shoulder. I ran until my legs burned, then I ran some more. I ran towards a new life without a gnome on my shoulder and began discarding my unwanted memories of my past. After some time I got a stitch. I couldn't run forever. Eventually my gnome would wake up and stroll casually to me. Huffing and puffing, I ran on with no direction in mind. There was nowhere I could go where the gnome wouldn't find me. I think it's because they begin to think the way you do, living on your shoulder. I tried constructing mental images of my new life without my gnome, but I couldn't shake the feeling that he would come back. Nor could I imagine what a normal life would be like. Without a gnome on my shoulder making snide remarks at the absurdity of life, I'm no longer mocking it, but joining it. My run had dropped to a jog. I would not be able to relate to those who have never had a gnome on their shoulder. Not that I would find anyone who would believe me when I said I used to have a gnome on my shoulder. One that made bad decisions for me. Everyone who has not experienced the madness a gnome brings into your life, would think I'm crazy. My jog had slowed to a walk. I circled the block a few times then went home. I wasn't sure whether it was my conscious choice, or the gnome calling me through a spell. That day, I walked past this community center, several times actually, and noticed a drawing of a gnome at the door. That was a some time ago and I'd been coming here each Saturday since. Though I'm doubtful of the strange ways to catch gnomes this mismatch group comes up with, it is a comfort to see others who knows what it is like to have a gnome on your shoulder. I looked to the women dressed in pink, then at the bearded man. There was no one person gnomes liked. It could be anyone. And so, I listen to what they have to say, hoping one day they'll discover the miracle cure.  \*\*\*  The room opposite was booked by the groups' gnomes. They too sat in a circle frantically drawing on whiteboards. They were not, however, coming up with ways to leave their human, but rather ways to keep them coming back. They wrote lists and lists of ideas. They're crafty little bugger, gnomes.


“Look, whatever you think you saw,” Lord Reuben Edstatson says as we step close to each other. “I know what I saw, Lord Edstatson” I whisper back as we join our left hands loosely and circle each other. “I saw you and Mr. Woodrey in the drawing room off the hall...” I pause as the dance takes us further away from each other and I spin with the lady next to me. I can remember very clearly the moment I opened the door to what I thought would be an empty room, wanting a break from the crowd in the ballroom, to find it already occupied by two respectable young men. At least, I thought them respectable, though they might not be considered as such if anyone knew what they had been doing. We come back together and he takes my right hand in his left. We take a few hopping steps forward. “Must we speak of this now , Miss Hadnall?” he asks, as we take the same few hopping steps back, then repeat. “I think so.” I step around to face him and we join our other hands. “You cannot run away from the conversation this way.” We twirl together to the right, our steps in time with the upbeat music. “Perhaps I simply have nothing to say on the topic,” he says, and we switch to spin in the other direction. “So long as you do not plan to tell anyone, that is.” I don’t frown at him -- someone might notice -- but it is a near thing. “And perhaps I am not satisfied with that,” I say, as we move close before coming apart again, letting go of each other completely. We step forward in the same direction, over a foot of distance between us, and I join hands to circle with the gentleman of the pair next to us while he circles with the lady. We return to each other to circle once, then circle with the other couple again. When we come back together the second time, I ask, “What is Mr. Woodrey to you, exactly?” We each take two steps to the right, then two to the left, so that we end up, each time, as far away from each other as our joined hands will allow, which is still close enough to speak quietly. “We are... good friends,” he says. We continue to move from side to side. “Was that the first time, then?” His jaw tics, but he doesn’t say anything before the dance brings us apart again. I join with a circle of three other ladies, our left hands resting atop one another in the middle as we circle together, our partners circling around us in the opposite direction. After two full rotations, Lord Edsatson takes one of my hands again, and we transition back into our spot with a few hopping steps. “No,” he says, right before he twirls me, and it takes me a moment to realize that he is answering my question from before. It was not the first time. But if it was not the first -- the only -- time, then what does that mean? What could it possibly mean? “Why?” I ask, as he switches his right hand into my right and takes my left hand in his, so that our arms are crossed over each other in front of us. We begin to walk in a large circle. “That is none of your concern,” he says. I suppose that is true. I simply cannot understand what would have led two respectable young men from good families, one a lord and the other the younger brother of one, to participate in such ignoble activities as I caught them engaging in when I entered the drawing room. I do not agree to his statement, but I do him the grace of not pursuing the line of questioning further. “What of your future wife, then?” I inquire. Lord Edstatson is one of the most sought-after potential husbands of the season. My mother has been pushing me to try to gain his attention, in fact -- she will be delighted about us sharing this dance, and will likely not stop talking about it for days, though I am sure he only agreed to it to have the chance to ask me to keep quiet. Even with his title and prestige, his prospects would be greatly diminished if word spread about his actions behind closed doors. “When I take a wife...” he bites out, not sounding even the slightest bit happy with the prospect. We complete our circle and he switches our hands again so they are no longer crossed, bringing me in front of him. He steps forward as I step backward, and we begin to circle another pair as they circle us. “My wife will provide me with an heir, and be provided finances and freedom in return. My private affairs will not concern her.” “You desire a marriage of convenience, then?” He only replies with a quick, “I do,” as we each take one step back, releasing our hands. I curtsy and he bows, and the dance is over. I have more which I wish to say, to ask, but I know that now is not a good time. It would not do to chase after my dance partner as he retreats, after all. I step off the dance floor to take a break against the wall as the pairs for the next dance line up on the dancefloor. Across the room, I see Lord Edstatson move to stand next to Mr. Leopold Woodrey. They are known to be good friends, and there is nothing unusual about gentlemen passing time together between dances at these events, but I cannot help but observe their every gesture in light of what I have discovered about them. I wonder how long they have been... doing such things, and without even a hint of a rumor. I would know, because Mother always keeps up on all of the society gossip, and there is no way she would have missed a rumor like this. She would have told me, and would not have pushed me to get Lord Edstatson’s attention if such things were even suspected. Though, thinking of my Mother and plans for me gives me an idea of my own. A way to perhaps be satisfied with the outcome of this season, considering this newfound information. I wait until a few dances have passed and I have danced with a few other potential suitors before I make my way over to the refreshment table, where Lord Edstatson and Mr. Woodrey happen to be standing. “Good evening,” I murmur, curtsying shallowly to both of them. They both return the greeting, though Mr. Woodrey is watching me wearily. “Do not worry, Mr. Woodrey, I will keep your secret. Though I do have an... idea, I would like you to consider.” “So, you are blackmailing us?” Mr. Woodrey asks sharply, though quietly. I shake my head. “No, of course not. My silence is not contingent on your acceptance. My request is this: Lord Edstatson will court me, and after a reasonable amount of time has passed, he will propose to me, and we will marry.” Both men frown at me, though Mr. Woodrey’s is deeper. “I have no interest in having any kind of... romantic attachments to my spouse. I believe I explained that to you,” Lord Edstatson says slowly. “Nor do I. I wish from marriage what you described for your future wife: financial stability and freedom. And the status that comes with your position, of course. I do not want a husband who will expect me to be devoted to him, or who will desire to know my whereabouts and pastimes every minute of the day. And besides, I already know your secret, so you will not need to attempt to hide it from me. And if we are wed, you will never need to worry about me spreading rumors about you, for it would affect me as well. So, what do you say?” Lord Edstatson looks at Mr. Woodrey, and they seem to hold a whole conversation in a matter of seconds, without ever speaking a single word. Eventually, Mr. Woodrey gives a subtle nod. Lord Edstatson turns back to meet my eye. “Very well, Miss Adelaide Hadnall. I shall call upon you in the morning.” I nod, then take a pastry and walk away, unable to keep a small smile off my face. It would be a joy to marry a man whose interests I know lie elsewhere.


With a jerk of the body, he awakes. Standing up quickly while shaking off a feeling of something crawling over. He tries to look at what that was feeling was but cannot. Putting his hands to his eyes he rubs away a strange ink. Panicking now he rubs more and more as he begins to blink. Fear begins to creep in as he still sees darkness. Letting a moment pass his eyes begin to adjust. He was not blind, just the lands are covered in a vast darkness with no stars above for direction and no moon to follow. Just a faint glow coming off the horizon and a brighter glow coming down at his feet. Looking down he sees a lantern illuminating the ground that is covered in stone faces. Each with a look of nothingness to it. Confused by this he takes the lantern holding it out to look around. All over he sees more stone faces everywhere making up lands. His gaze stops. There is another lantern shining onto others laying on the stone faces. Each one next to a lantern of their own. *Others*, he wonders as a woman awakes. She sits up rubbing away the ink off her eyes. This gives sight to a blonde hair man holding a lantern shining light around them. She tries to speak but nothing is understood. They both speak, trying to get something, anything to be understood. Nothing, so they just stare at each other wondering when others begin to wake. A large man stands up slowly wiping at his eyes. Standing confused as to where he is or who he is. Looking down he sees a lantern by his feet and picks it up as another man, slimmer with hair of white, awakes nearby. He stands screaming in terror giving a shock to the others. Rubbing away the ink on his eyes, he stares at the others. Wondering who and why they are here when from the edge of the lanterns light, a hungry lion emerges. Eyes glowing red, fur of white, and front limbs larger than normal with massive human like claws, the lion steps forward unleashing a terrifying roar that intimates the others. All move away quickly while staring back, too afraid to do anything else. The lion takes this advantage as it pounces onto the skinny man. Slashing with its large human hand like claw cutting the man’s bare chest in several places. Blood spills out as the man tries to defend himself. The woman yells in terror as the large man trips while trying to step back kicking away a piece of the stone faces. The blonde man picks it seeing its more of a big shard with a pointed end. *A weapon yes*, he thinks while looking at the lion attacking the skinny man. Raising the shard in his fist, he lets out a booming yell encouraging the others to look for a shard. Now, each with a shard of their own, they attack the lion. The large man charges at the lion colliding with his shoulder slamming into its side knocking the lion onto its back as the man is sent flying the opposite way. This allows the skinny man to roll away stopping onto some loose stone faces. He pulls out a shard of his own while taking a breather to recover as the woman goes to stab the lion. Seeing a glow coming off the shard as it is coming down, the lion rolls onto its feet avoiding the stab. It slashes out with its large finger like claws cutting the woman’s arm. This causes her to fall back grabbing at the wound. The blonde man runs in front of the lion trying to get its attention away from the woman. It works, the lion sees him and leaps for an attack as the man jumps to the side barely avoiding the attack. The large man gets up and runs at the lion trying to stab its side when the lion turns to face him. They both stop and stare at each other as the skinny man joins the fight. He goes behind the lion as it is staring and stabs the hind leg. A roaring yell is let out from the lion’s pain causing the others to cover their ears from its deafening cry. The lion tries to step forward but falls to the ground from its torn limb. The large and blonde men both jump at the opportunity stabbing at the lion’s head killing it after several blows. All four now stand over the lion looking at this unusual beast wondering what it is. The woman holding her bloody arm begins to speak but the others look at her confused when the large man begins to cut the lion apart with his shard. The rest look at him a little confused but soon join in. Taking what they can from the corpse they set off heading for the glow on the horizon. A long walk with them dreading what else may be hiding in the dark jumping at each sound they pass. Upon reaching the glow they see it is a large collection of lanterns similar to the ones they picked up piled high rising several stories up pushing back the dark. They stop and stare at it as other people begin emerging from around it.


I breathe in the cold night air and close my eyes. For a second I consider just walking away. Then I brace myself, step out of the shadows and onto the field. No sense in delaying the inevitable. The stands are empty, there is not a soul in sight. "We don't have to do this, you know," I yell out, loud enough for my voice to carry into the far corners of the stadium. "You could just walk away." A few moments go by without anything happening. I already hope that she won't show when I hear her footsteps behind me. I slowly turn around, showing my empty hands. She stops just a few meters away from me, ready to pounce. I look her up and down, she’s a skinny thing, dressed all in black, a long knife already unsheathed and in her right hand. She exudes purpose and determination. I’m guessing my chances of changing her mind are slim to none, you don’t put on this kind of outfit if you’re coming to talk. But you’ll never know unless you try. I smile. I try to put some warmth into my voice. “Hello, kid.” She takes another step towards me, I don’t flinch. I keep my shoulders down, my posture relaxed. I look at her as if we were meeting in a cafe for a chat instead of a baseball field in the middle of the night for a dance of death. “I’ve got to give respect where it’s due, I can’t have been easy to find.” A few more steps, then she hesitates. “Where’s your blade?” she asks. “Didn’t bring one,” I answer. “Liar!” she hisses. I shrug. “Suppose I can’t blame you for not believing me, given my reputation.” She says nothing, but she isn’t advancing either. Maybe I’m fooling myself, but I can see a hint of uncertainty in her eyes, so I keep talking. “Look at me.” I say, “really look at me. Do I look like the man you’ve heard of? I didn’t come here to fight you. I...” I sighed, “I want to make peace.” “You don’t deserve peace.” Her voice is raspy and harsh, full of barely suppressed hate. Whatever made her come for me, I’m beginning to think it's personal. Taking a second look at her, her face does seem vaguely familiar. “You’re right, I don’t deserve shit, but life ain’t fair. So here’s me hoping that I don’t get what’s coming to me.” Suddenly, her eyes turn back to steel. I’m still trying to figure out what I did wrong, but she is already dashing towards me. “Wait” I scream. “Just wait.” Her knife comes at me in a flash of steel, changes direction wickedly fast as her feint turns into an actual blow. I barely manage to spin out of the way, push her past me and get some distance back between us. I can see blood on her blade. When I put my hand to my side, it comes back sticky and warm. Guess I don’t dodge as fast as I used to anymore. “Listen to me, just listen to me” I yell, “I get it, or maybe I don’t. I did something bad, something to someone close to you. You grew up angry and I was the demon you saw in your nightmares. Am I in the right ballpark?” I was hoping I had hit a nerve. At least she wasn’t coming right back at me again. “This didn’t turn out as you expected, did it?” my hand was shaking, I pressed it into my side to keep it still. “Look, I know what you’re thinking. You’re not gonna let me get inside your head, gonna just push through it. But trust me, it ain’t worth it.” The pain from the cut to my side was beginning to register now. “I’m your first kill, ain’t I? I’m your last test, to see if you’ve got the balls for the job. I know you think this is what you want, but it ain’t. All that shit people say about a dark path. The things your teachers told you are just excuses for the weak... you know... it’s not an excuse, it’s real. You do this and you’ll be cursed. They’ll own you and by the time you realize that they do, you’ll be so far gone you won’t even care or know anything else.” I shut up for a second, wondering what else I could possibly say. So, we just stand quietly across from each other, puffs of condensation wafting away in the cold air. “You did come unarmed,” she finally says. I nod, hoping against all odds. “The man I’ve come for never abandoned his blade.” I had been lying about that, there was a stiletto strapped to my forearm, but I didn’t see how divulging that would be particularly helpful right now. I pretend to wipe some of the blood off my hand, a casual gesture, hiding a little sleight of hand to unlatch the stiletto sheath. If she came at me again I could lower my arm and the blade would drop straight into my hand. I had been honest about everything else though. I did not want this for her or me, she deserved better. But I wasn’t about to get stuck like a pig by some nameless novice either. For an instant, I could see her mind on a knife's edge, ready to fall either way. Life or death. Her anger, as well as her doubt, were written across her face, plain as could be. We linger for a few more seconds, then her fighting stance relaxes. She rams her blade back into its sheath, spits at my feet, turns around, and slowly walks away. Relief washes over me. I sit down on the field, watch her leave, and wait a few more minutes for good measure, giving her all the time in the world to disappear. Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, the cut on my side begins to sting something fierce. I have no idea how I managed to talk her down. Maybe she had just considered me too pathetic to be her first kill or she was smarter than she looked and had figured I wasn’t as defenseless as I seemed. Some insane part of me hopes I got through to her though, that she would use the skills she had used to find me and just disappear from the face of the earth. Either way, it was time to get moving. Get stitched up, get my essentials, and disappear. I wasn’t going to wait around for her to change her mind.


This is my first story here, and its kinda long but I hope you guys enjoy it. Its about a dispassionate high school senior's last days in school. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ I sat down with my friends. The room around me was bustling with the sounds of youth. I could hear it so clearly, it was as if it were next to me. In fact, it was next to me. My friend Cassidy spoke with her gaggle cheerleader friends, about the end of the school year. “Four years fly by so fast, bitch”, the flamboyant boy spoke in such a way that seemed so artificial. As if his personality was man made, carefully placed together to create an image that matched who he thought he was. In the end though, his tone of voice and mannerisms could only be described as fake, and even a blind man could see through it. I thought that it was pointless, this game of hiding and rejecting who you are only plays to hurt yourself in the end. You begin to lose sight of who you are, and thirty years later your wife tells you that she doesn't know who you are anymore, and you realize that you don't either. But I suppose to some degree we all put on our facade, and that divorce was inevitable. As humans we compensate. A woman who lacks confidence in her beauty wears makeup. A man afraid of his sexuality, bitterly attacks homosexuals. A person afraid to appear dumb, learns large words to make himself sound smart. I suppose I am just as much of a liar as everyone else in the world, and so I am in no real position to judge. I scanned the room of students eating their lunch, and thought to myself. Two more weeks and I will no longer have to deal with this dreaded place. For four years, I played the game of youth. For four years I was an outcast, and when I finally decided that I wanted to change. I was out of time. Maybe this was a lesson, I was not meant to be a part of the in-crowd. I took solace in that thought. It helped me feel as if I had spent my time these past years correctly. “Oh my god, my gown doesn’t fit me.” said one of the jubilant nobodies. Her chipper voice broke my train of thought.“Bitch, How? Your Figure is great!” Once again the gay boy used his signature phrase. I rolled my eyes at their pointless conversation, but then began to wonder what truly was “pointless”. In a moment, I had returned to deep, and likely pointless, thought. As I continued to scan the room before me, my eye was caught by a girl. Her skin appeared to be soft and white, like virgin snow. Despite me, having never witnessed virgin snow at first hand, she was how I imagined it. Her hair was black, straight and short but flowed freely back and forth as she moved. She spoke to the group at her table, and laughed in gay youth. When she laughed two dimples appeared in her cheeks. Her name was Summer though, I doubted she knew my name. She had first caught my eye, three months ago. Shortly before spring break, our school held an every fifteen minutes event. Which is to discourage young students from drinking and driving. It was funny to me that the school only condoned singular illegal actions, but heaven forbid you perform two at once. It was almost as if the school itself was telling all students, “It’s okay to drink underage. It’s okay to drive underage. Just don’t drink and drive underage.” I suppose it was similar to how schools taught sex ed rather than abstinence. Regardless, I was tasked to be a photographer for the event. Well, I was the third choice for photographer. Initially it was the photography teacher and my friend Michael, but when they realized that they needed another hand, they asked me to help. I only joined because I learned that I was allowed to skip my classes for the day. I was going from table to table taking photos of the students preparing for the event. I had always felt that the position of a photographer was perfect for me. The outsider looking in, only capturing moments of the lives of others. Never truly a part of the moment, simply a means to prove that the moment existed. In some way, I was the most important part of life. If an event happens and no one witnesses it, then how can anyone confirm that it happened at all? I am the witness, I am the proof of existence. Or at least I told myself that. As I moved around the room, she entered. Apparently she was one of the makeup artists for the event, She was there to make it look like the students had just been in a car crash. I was taking photos of a group that was across the room from the entrance. I had only noticed her arrival when she walked past me to speak to someone at the table. I looked back into my camera after taking a photo, and noticed a beautiful girl. When I looked up, she was gone. I turned around and there she was. I pulled the camera to my face, and snapped a photo as she reached towards a box of makeup on the table before her. I looked down at the photo I had taken, and she rushed over to me “Oh, How did it turn out?” she placed her arm on my shoulder, and slightly pulled me down so that she could see the photo. I was taken completely off guard. “I-it turned out alright. I think?” my face instantly turned red. For a moment I thought that I might die. She took her hand off my shoulder, and I felt as if I could breathe again. She smiled, flashing her dimples at me, and said, “It looks pretty good. I see why they hired you.” She turned away from me and returned to the makeup table. I turned back to the rest of the students, and continued with my work. Occasionally, her dimples would flash back into my mind, and I would begin to long to see them. I would take photos of her, simply to sneak a look, and occasionally she would show me her dimples. As I thought back to that day three months ago, something caught my eye and pulled me out of my daydream. A waving hand. As I snapped back into reality I realized that the waving hand was hers. I was completely flustered once again. I thought that the best way to recover from being caught staring was to pretend as if I was not. I jerked my head back slightly, and began to wave reluctantly, pretending as if I didn't know she had caught me staring. We flashed smiles at each other, and returned our attention to our respective groups. My face began to boil in embarrassment, but I was relieved of this feeling of dread when the lunch bell rang. I rushed to class, and began to put the whole ordeal behind me. The next morning I woke up to my 6:00 AM alarm. I fumbled with my phone to try to turn off the loud ringing and after a minute or so I succeeded. I promptly threw my phone across the room. I slowly pulled myself up and began to get ready for the day. I left the room to brush my teeth and when I returned I felt the need to check the time. I walked around my room looking for the phone I had thrown earlier. I picked it up off the floor and turned it on. It read 6:08 AM and beneath the time, there was a notification from Instagram “xoSunflowerox sent you a message at 12:08 Am”. I opened the message and saw that it was from Summer, *“Hey! Sorry, I thought you were looking at me during lunch yesterday. That’s why I waved*.” I was dumbfounded and began to think to myself. How did she know my Instagram? She texted me at midnight, she must have been thinking about me. Yeah she probably was thinking about me. Thinking about how creepy I was. I continued down that chain of thought for a couple of minutes before I realized that I should probably respond. *“Na it’s alright, I was just lost in thought thinking about graduation.”* I thought that I would stick to my cover and play dumb. I sat down on my bed and several minutes later she responded *“Oh yeah that’s right! You’re graduating soon. I’m going to miss seeing your cute face around campus”.* I fell off of my bed. Was this really Summer? This had to have been some kind of elaborate prank. I double checked the account and it was undoubtedly her‘s. My mind flashed through possible responses that I could make. I climbed back onto my bed and in my best attempt to sound cool I typed. “*Yeah I kinda blows because you’re pretty easy on the eyes yourself.”* After I pressed send, I reread the message, and fell off of my bed once again, cringing at myself. In pure desperation I turned off my phone entirely, and continued to get ready for school. When I exited the front door of my house I came to the conclusion that I was being pranked. As I walked to school I began to think about who would hold such an elaborate prank on me. Luckily I didn’t know many people so my list of potential pranksters was short. The issue that I had faced was that within my short list there was no one that I was aware of, who had a friendly relationship with Summer. I reached into my pocket for my phone to check the time. I turned it back on, and the first thing I saw was a notification from Summer “xoSunflowerox has sent you a photo” I reassured myself that this was it. Now the prankster would reveal himself and we would both have a good laugh. I opened the message and it was a photo of her. The orange morning sun lit her white skin turning it golden, and the light showed the intricacy of her beautifully brown eyes. However beyond the highlights of the image were the dark little patches of shadows where her dimples were. There was a graphic in cute pastel colors that read “Thank you”. I half tripped when I saw her photo. I thought that even the most untalented photographer could make masterpieces with her as a subject. She’d be perfect for me. As I looked more closely at the photo I realized that she was at school and I was not. I looked at the time on my phone and it read 7:03 AM. Classes started at 7:20 and I still had a 20 minute walk ahead of me. I threw my phone into my pocket, not responding to Summer, and ran towards the school. My first class of the day was calculus two, I had barely made it in time before the late bell, and took a seat beside my friend Peter. After the teacher performed her opening lesson, and we were all working independently, I began to confide in Peter the events of my morning. “It’s definitely a prank.” He said callously, “There is no way that a beautiful girl like her would ever take interest in you” “Right!” I agreed, “But I wonder who it is.” Then, in contrast to his last statement, Peter said, “But if it is genuine, and you approach it as if it isn't, you could really be blowing your chance with a beautiful girl.” “You suck, don't give me hope like that.” I had only shortly played around with the idea that Summer's advances towards me were real, but I simply couldn’t believe it. No girl had ever been so forward with me, and so why would one be now?“Well, I mean. If it is a prank, and you fall head first for her, yes, you look like an idiot. But only for like two weeks. The real question is can you live with yourself if it's genuine and you blow your opportunity.” I buried my head into my arms in search of hopeless respite. He made a solid point. By accepting her advances, I had more to gain than to lose. All that was at stake was my pride, and I really didn’t have much of that to begin with. “Why are you acting like I have a chance?” I asked. “Because, Ollie, at the end of the day, I’ll be here to help you out whether it's a prank or whether it's not. I mean regardless, it’ll be entertaining for me.” “You’re a shit friend.” This was our relationship. I had never felt like Peter was particularly rooting for me, but I also never felt as if he was ever really rooting against me. It was like he was just around to watch and see what would happen. Maybe that’s why Peter was such a good photographer. I smirked at him and began to return to my work. As hard as I tried however, I could not get the image of the golden sun hitting her face out of my head. I kept thinking about Peter’s reasoning more and more. Then I began thinking about why I was thinking about Peter’s reasoning. I finally concluded that it was because I wanted him to be right. I wanted it to be real. I wanted Summer. During Lunch, I didn’t sit with Cassidy, the summer sun was not too harsh today, and so I sat alone outside in the quad, and drafted my response. *Hey sorry for the late response, your photo made me speechless... and late for class.* I thought about the message, concluding that it was just playful enough that it could work in my first step on trying to woo her. A figure appeared before me, but before I looked up to see who it was, I sent the message. I then heard a phone chime and looked up. There she was, as if on queue, a light breeze blew her hair slightly to her right. “So here you are? You weren’t with your usual crowd. You hiding from me?” She smiled playfully. I couldn’t believe it. Her brash approach towards me threw me off completely. I wondered if she had even considered my feelings in all of this. Did she not realize that with her beauty, she could give a man a heart attack? After a moment of silence, I realized that she was waiting for me to respond. “W-well, I can only behold your beauty once a day or I think I’ll, I’ll MELLLLTTT” I began to slide down the bench I was sitting on, towards the floor. She lightly laughed and covered her mouth as she did so. I wished that she hadn’t so that I could see her beautiful smile, but the gesture was attractive in its own way. Before I hit the ground, I pulled myself up and sat back down. “Well that makes things a lot harder, now doesn't it?” she said, while taking a seat next to me. She was so close that our elbows slightly touched. I wondered if this girl had known what she was doing. I wondered if she was planning on killing me. “I suppose that just means that we should spend the whole day together.” Her cheeks were rosy. I awkwardly chuckled to myself to try and gain my composition. Then I was caught by the thought that this was genuine. No girl could laugh at my pathetic attempts at humor if she didn’t like me. No girl would be able to fight the natural cringe of my cheesy remarks if she didn’t like me. I was expecting to wake up at any second but I never opened my eyes. After our small bit of banter, we sat in silence for a moment. The silence wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t comfortable either. She was sitting beside me with her legs pressed together and her hands resting on her knees. There was a sense of tension as if both of us were waiting for the other to make a move. It was like two cats had locked eyes and were preparing for their showdown. When I thought to make the first move, I had realized that I knew virtually nothing about this girl. As my mind scrambled to find something of value to say, I decided to choose my default student question and asked her about her classes. She told me, “AP U.S. History, Psychology, AP literature, and precalculus.” Initially, I thought that she might be smart but her class lineup proved it to me beyond a reasonable doubt. I found myself a little intimidated. “What major are you planning to take in college?” I thought for a moment and said, “Political Science. For a while, I thought about Astrophysics, but the only money to be made there, is in the best of the best. And my calculus grade shows me that I am not in that margin.” “Political Science and Calculus, huh. Those are two very different fields.” There was a moment of silence, then she said, “ You should help me study for my precalculus final!” She dug into her backpack and pulled out a worksheet and showed me her progress. I was taken aback, for a moment I suspected that all she wanted was a math tutor. But the plot seemed too convoluted to be true. A third of the paper was complete, and the majority of the answered questions were wrong. I thought to myself that regardless of whether or not this would score me points with her, this girl needed major help. I grimaced wryly at her and said, “Oh man, we're definitely going to need a table...” I stood up and she watched me for a moment, before following suit. We began walking towards the library. As we approached she grabbed my arm and stopped me “Umm actually, can we not go to the library?” I thought that maybe her boyfriend was the librarian’s aide, but then I remembered that the librarian’s aide was a girl. Maybe she was a lesbian? I broke my strange train of thought and made a questioning expression towards her and she said, “It’s just I owe two books, and the librarian has been hunting me down.” I instantly understood how she felt, the librarian terrified me. Before I found myself in Cassidy’s clique, I often stayed in the library during lunch. I would watch the librarian hunt down rowdy students. Once, when I was studying alone, listening to music, my headphones unplugged when I reached for my backpack and the music played out loud. Before I could turn it off, she stood before me menacingly. Her gaze pierced my soul, and she kicked me out of the library. She half dragged me out, because my body was too afraid to move. As shivers ran down my spine I said, “Okay, lets go to the photography room then.” It was once my personal safe haven, but I hadn’t gone in a while so it wasn't the first place that I had planned to go. We walked toward the photography room. As I opened the door, I shouted “Hello! How are you!” There were three people in the room as we entered. The teacher, Mr Cardenas greeted me, and I walked towards my desk, and Summer sat down next to me. Summer questioned my strange greeting and I explained, “During fourth period, I hold the door open and greet everyone as they come to class. It started back when I was the teacher’s aide for the class.” She nodded like she understood. Peter walked over towards me, and patted me on the back as we walked past me. My face began to feel like it was on fire, and I had wished that he wouldn't make such obvious gestures towards me. For the rest of the lunch period, we quietly worked through the problems on the worksheet. We worked closely, trying to share my small desk, which was already limited in space due to a computer monitor. Occasionally our heads would bump into each other, and I would feel her soft hair brush against my face. We came across a question that was so utterly incorrect that I questioned to myself if she had even taken the class. “You have to erase all of this.” I said. “What? I’m sure that there is something salvageable here.” she responded. “Yeah, no. This one is so wrong, I can’t even begin to find where you went wrong.” She pouted at me, but I didn’t understand why she was upset. This was math. Numbers are cold and uncaring, and they love to express how incorrect you truly are. “I guess I really am dumb.” the brightness of her face dulled, and I couldn't understand why. I spoke coldly, “You’re not dumb for making mistakes in math. Even the greatest mathematicians, make mistakes. Would you tell Albert Einstein that he was an idiot for discovering relativity earlier? Or Newton for not realizing that it was gravity that brought things towards the earth? If making a mistake means you’re dumb then everyone is an idiot.” There was a still silence, not even the other people in the classroom spoke. Summer looked at me, her cheeks were red. I couldn't tell if it was rage, or embarrassment but I could tell that it wasn't good. I was frustrated in myself, I had a bad habit of speaking in an abrasive way, and it was obvious now, that my lack of social skills were backfiring. I might as well have just told her that she was an idiot for thinking that she was an idiot. I had to apologize. I began , “I-I...” “I’m sorry.” She finished my line for me and threw me for a loop. “I guess, I just don’t really believe in myself.” She looked down, and the light from her face faded even more. I only longed to see that light again. “Yeah, well. We’re following the path of intellectual titans. People that can only be described as perfect and the fact that you can begin to understand any of this is proof enough that you have a right to stand beside them.” She nodded and I assumed that she understood that I was trying to compliment her. She smiled at me, flashing her dimples. I had succeeded, but I couldn't help but feel guilty. I had dragged her through the mud only to clean her off afterward. I wished that I didn't have to do that. Why did I have to be like a sour patch kid? First sour then sweet. Why couldn’t I just be sweet? While I sat there thinking to myself, I hadn’t noticed that the lunch bell had rang. “Well, Mr. Tutor. Will you walk me to class? It’s precalculus so I might just skip.” I was pulled back into the dream that was, being in her presence. She began to put her things back into her bag and stand up. How could she just change the atmosphere on a dime. A moment ago I was flustered that I had borderline insulted her, but now it was as if all was well in the world once again. I felt that this might be an opportunity for me to make a cheeky remark and so I said, “It might be best that you just skip, and have me teach you.” She smiled at me and said, “I might just take you up on that offer.” Her response made my heart skip a beat. She made her way out of the classroom, and I followed her, leaving my things in the classroom. It wasn't fair, I could have sworn that I had the upper hand, but her beauty was too much. She was cheating in this game of banter. We began to walk down the hall together. “Wow, how can you be so bad at math? Do you pay attention in class?” I joked. But then I instantly regretted the words that escaped my mouth. Hadn't I just told her that it was okay to not be good at math? “I’m more of a reader than a math person, you dick.” She playfully pushed me to the side. She seemed to have picked up on my playful tone, and responded accordingly/ I moved back to her side and retorted, “Good, then you can read your math textbook.” I chuckled at my own joke and we walked in comfortable silence to her class. When we reached her class, we stood outside for a moment. This was it. Every moment, every sly remark, had led to this moment. “Uh, you know. I really recommend that you need a tutor for math” I used my hand to pull my hair back and attempted to avoid eye contact, “so could I have your number?” “I’m not sure Oliver” my heart broke. It had all been for naught but before I could respond she said, “Because apparently I’m just no good with numbers.” This girl was something else. Did she not know she could give a man a heart attack? She pulled a piece of paper out of her backpack, wrote her number and handed it to me. “I hope that you could solve this problem without my help.” She smiled at me showing her dimples, and I smiled back. She turned and walked into her class, but the smile on my face would not go away. I ran back to the photography classroom, and when I entered, Peter, Michael and the Photography teacher were waiting for me. I dramatically raised my hand holding the piece of paper, and we cheered.


"The Struggle Knows Not the Logic of Morals" *** Walid sat at a table across from Mahmud. All Mahmud did was look at him, shaking his head. None of Walid’s apologies worked. He woke up with sweat gluing his shirt to his skin. Walid's sleeping wife stirred, but soon returned to her steady breathing. He swung out of bed and walked out to the lawn, listening to helicopters in the distance. He was tired of the sound. The steady beat of an American machine gun started up, hitting a note inside his chest. Either someone was standing up to them, or they were shooting at shadows. Walid lit a cigarette and shivered as cold Baghdadi air leaked into his blood. The Samarra Mosque had been bombed earlier that morning, and though he still felt anger, he wasn’t certain what to do about it. “Walid, they’re coming!” Salaam yelled. Walid turned. His mind lingered on last night's dream. Smoke from late morning fires thickened the air and blurred the street. They had just set up a checkpoint, and he wasn’t certain if Salaam was joking. “Minoo?” “The Americans,” Salaam yelled as he climbed into his car. “Wayeen?" “The bridge to Azamiya.” Salaam started his car. No way, thought Walid. He had promised last night to get at least one. “Get back out, they are at least five daqa'iq away,” Walid said. He tried to stop his voice from quivering. Normally, he would've done exactly what Salaam was doing. They were parked on the side of a small road that was regularly used by people who tried to avoid the main street's traffic. Taking a deep breath, Walid pulled out his handgun and pointed it at the first car that came down the potholed street. He hoped it would stop; he knew he wasn’t going to shoot. “Identification. Where are you from?” Walid asked the driver. “What is this, police checkpoint?” the man asked, scrutinizing Walid with a look of disdain as he handed over his ID. Walid looked at the man, surprised that he had obeyed him so easily. “Us?” he looked back at his group and felt more powerful. “We ask the questions here. Where are you from?” Walid asked. The ID checked out. “Hurriya, azizi, you?” Walid smiled. One of their own. “We are only looking for Sunnis, drive on.” The driver hesitated, looking at Walid, Salaam, and their entourage before swallowing his words and driving on. Walid pointed his gun at the next car driving by. “Walid, they’re getting close,” Salaam said. Walid tried to slow his breathing down. The car squeaked to a halt. “Identification, please. Where are you coming from; where are you going?” asked Walid. “Where are your uniforms?” the driver asked back. Walid pointed the gun at the driver’s asymmetrical, beady eyes and large nose. “No questions, just answer.” “Azamiya. I’m going to the market.” Walid’s heart jumped. This was his moment to act, to prove Mahmud wrong. Walid felt queasy. He was not certain if this was right. He turned to Salaam and the rest of his group, and they came at the car. “You are Sunni, sah?” The man’s eyes darted to the other men, and he nodded uncertainly. “But I am a good man, I work with Shiites, azizi you must not ...” Walid opened the car door and pulled the man by his shirt. “No, please, I have a family. What are you doing?” Salaam opened his trunk, and they stuffed the man in. When the man gave Walid another look, Walid felt like crying. They all jumped in their vehicle and drove away. Walid looked behind to see an American Humvee slow down near the man's car. Two soldiers nervously approached it, guns out, like it was a car bomb. “They think it’s a seeyara mufakhakha!” Walid forced out a laugh. The rest of them laughed with him. They drove a little ways to Salaam’s place. They pulled the man out of the trunk and dragged him into the house. On the living room floor, the man got on his feet and started to beg. Walid tried to stand as tall and steady as he could. He could feel the eyes of his group on him. He fought the urge to shit. He hated the man for not making this easy. “Please, why are you doing this?” Walid stepped forward, his hands shaking, sweating. “You think you can destroy our mosques and murder our women, and not expect us to fight back?” “No, no, I have never done anything. I don’t know anyone who does that. These are Arabs from other ...” Walid stepped forward, steadied his hands, and shot the man through his face. The sound jolted everyone, including Walid. The man crumpled to the ground. Walid realized he had been hoping the gun would jam. A pool of blood spread. He told the group to clean up and dump the body near a Sunni neighborhood. They stared at him in silence. He decided it was awe. A good night’s rest was all he wanted, but his wife was giving him that look again. “What is it?” Walid asked. He'd been scared of killing again, so he found other things to do. Many Sunnis lived in Hurriya. He took his group and forced the Sunnis to leave. Walid and his men managed to collect taxes from some of the people, or take some of their possessions. His wife pulled out a poster that had his picture on it. Wanted, for 500,000 dinar. He was shocked; first that he would be on a wanted poster, then that he would be worth so little. “Where did you find this?” “At the market. I tore some down, but then there were police everywhere.” He smiled; he loved that his wife would do that when she saw his poster. Other women would have just run away. He kissed her and caressed her smooth skin. She turned her head away. Walid followed her eyes to the door. There was no one there. His stomach churned. Would the police knock his door down at any moment? “Is dinner ready?” he asked. She didn’t reply and walked into the kitchen. *** That night, after they had made love, she stared at the ceiling in a way that let him know that he needed to say something. “It will be zian, honey, don’t worry about it.” Walid, of course, hadn’t stopped thinking about being caught for what he'd done. He felt small, foolish. “You have one son and another on the way, in sha Allah. What will we do without you? Think about it, Walid?” He wanted to slap her, but she was right; he had to think about his family. He could not get arrested. He knew what happened in those prisons; sometimes people never returned. His family would most certainly starve. In the end, she was concerned with him turning out like Mahmud. “I will,” he said to calm his wife down. “But what will you do now? Your face is everywhere and people need money.” He looked around their room; the house had been theirs since they married. They recently bought a new heater, but the cracks in the wall were still growing. “You could live with your relatives in Karbala until things got quiet again.” “Walid! Don’t become like your brother, you are not him.” “Sukti,” he hissed, angry that she would dare to say such a thing. “I will take care of this.” Mahmud would have known what to do. Walid had fought with him after their father was killed in a missile attack during the invasion. But Walid could never stay angry with his brother for long. Mahmud had always been the one people in the neighborhood looked to for guidance. After the invasion, Mahmud had told everyone to wait and see what the Americans were going to do. He always thought about some greater good that Walid couldn’t see. Walid walked into the kitchen, put on a coat, and stepped outside. Winter was giving way to spring, but the air still bit. He could hear the helicopters again, and, in the distance, some shooting. He lit a cigarette, sucking in the smoke to warm his insides. “Mahmud, Mahmud, Mahmud,” he muttered. He missed him. It was Mahmud who, when Al-Sadr rose against the Americans, decided to fight. “We cannot lie down like dogs.” Walid had followed his big brother to Karbala, and they fought against the Americans. Mahmud fought without fear, firing clip after clip at the occupiers. Sitting in a dilapidated house, they found themselves overwhelmed as the Americans returned fire. Walid hugged the ground, his stomach churning. He remembered the disappointed look Mahmud flashed him, a look that he'd given Walid throughout his life whenever Walid had acted too weak. Mahmud was shooting from a break in a wall when Walid, who was looking for a way to get out of the house, heard a grinding splat. He looked over to see Mahmud, half his head gone, falling to the ground. Walid remembered lying on the floor of that house in Karbala and thinking about how to escape. He hid as the Americans came through. He crawled away when night fell. He came back to Baghdad and everyone thought he'd been a brave warrior. People stood in awe of him, of Mahmud. He didn’t tell them how wrong they were. Instead, he lied about how many people he'd killed. Only he knew that man in Salaam’s living room had been the first. That man’s face was still etched in his brain. Walid finished his cigarette and threw it into the street. He walked back inside the house. *** The next day Walid awoke to his cell phone ringing. “Yes?” “Walid, your pictures, they are everywhere. Abdullah was stopped at a checkpoint today, and they asked if he knew who you were. I think you should lay low right now.” Walid felt his stomach acting up. He wondered what would happen if he did lay low. Would the police forget him and chase someone else? No, he was being a small man again. It was his time to stand up. “We will not hide; we are protecting our neighborhood. Have the police done that for us?” He fought to keep his voice from cracking, from showing Salaam his fear. “No,” Salaam said. “Of course not. Drive here now, we’re going to settle this once and for all.” He reached for his gun, but remembered that it was in the bedroom. He had the urge to drink, to stop his trembling. He hung up and put on his clothes. It felt like someone else was doing it for him. He checked his handgun, tucked it into his pants, and grabbed the wanted poster. His wife was cooking breakfast, and he rushed out when she called him. He did not want to stop, but she called him again. He poked his head back through the door. “I will be back in a few hours.” Salaam pulled up in his car, and Walid jumped in. “Where to?” “The police center, where else?” Salaam stared at him. “But...” “Are you deaf? Drive!” Salaam put the car into drive, but didn’t press the accelerator. “Are you mutaeqed about this?” “Yes. Stop being a coward and drive. You have your gun, right?” “Yes, but the police center?” Salaam’s voice threatened to kill the bravery he had mustered. “You never fought against the Americans. Are you a dog?” Walid asked. “No.” “Then drive. When we get there, I will go inside and you will stay with the car. All right?” Salaam drove the car without another word. Walid fingered his handgun and remembered what his father had told him: that no one was scared of an AK, since everyone owned one, but handguns reminded people of Saddam’s secret police. Five minutes later, they stopped in front of the police station, and Walid hopped out of the car. It was a large cement building with massive steps leading inside. The guard at the front door stood silent as Walid walked past him to the shiny main lobby. Walid rubbed the wanted poster folded in his pocket before realizing that he was sweating too much. He wished he'd asked Salaam to come with him so there would be someone beside him. He would not be able to fight all these policemen. A large poster with his face grabbed his attention. He couldn’t stay in the lobby for much longer. Walid saw signs for the police chief’s office. It was down a long hallway to the left. He touched his gun and started walking. His hands trembled. He felt like he did after he shot that man in Salaam’s living room. He stopped at the door with the police commissioner’s name printed in English and Arabic. He leaned against the wall and looked up and down the hallway. No one seemed to have noticed him. From inside the room, he could hear a man yelling on the phone in a gruff voice. Walid thought about Mahmud; he thought about his family. He knocked and squeezed his trembling hands together. “Enter!” The voice sounded large. Walid pulled out his gun with one hand and his poster with the other. He stepped into the room. “What can I do for you?” the chubby, bald, man asked, hesitating when he saw the gun in Walid’s hand. Walid placed the wanted poster on his desk. “You’re looking for me?” The police chief glanced down at the image, and recognition crept up on his face. “I...” Walid felt his nerves calm as the man stuttered, unable to finish a single sentence. He went around the desk and grabbed the policeman by his collar. He was fat, but compliant. Walid pulled him out to the hallway, over to the lobby. “On your knees.” The man fell down and started to cry. Everyone was looking at him, but even the guards with their AKs didn’t move. “I am Walid, the man on this poster.” He pointed at the poster on the wall. “I am not here for anyone else but this man.” He looked around when he said it. He felt invincible, and the trembling stopped. The overweight policeman continued to whimper, rocking himself like a child. Walid pointed, shot; the man fell. He looked the guards in the eye, and they turned away. Outside, he lit a cigarette. He absorbed the nicotine hit and sauntered over to the car where Salaam sat, staring at him. “Drive.” He didn’t say another word to Salaam. When they got to his house, he nodded and walked in. His wife warmed up his breakfast, and he ate it, not speaking to her either, but keeping his eyes on Mahmud and the first man he shot, both standing behind her.