Milk Run Somedays, I really enjoy these so-called ‘Milk Runs’ to the Mars colonies. A Ten-hour flight there and back with an overnight layover at one of the luxury hotels under the dome. Easy peasy job; even a cadet could do it in their sleep. I made my run, delivered the twenty-four tons of cargo at the spaceport, and had a nice dinner at the little café overlooking the city. Life was good. The Martian government was doing a great job building more domed cities to make it feel more pleasant now like Earth used to be before overcrowding became a problem. I had to laugh; I love those commercials that say, “getaway for the weekend, only twelve hours away and enjoy a leisurely weekend under the dome, and have a picnic under a real tree with real birds flying overhead and a freshwater swimming pool, and water parks.” Ah, what a beautiful view they show on the news vid feed. Hell, it makes me want to move here permanently. I just finished my morning breakfast, and the space weather news was saying something about an apparent macro-sized proton star that may be moving through our solar system this week. Ugh, I love it when they say ‘May Be’ or ‘quite possibly could.’ It usually means they are not sure what they are seeing, just wanting to add some drama to space travel. Add a little excitement for the newbies, lol. Well, it’s time to get going. Maybe if I get lucky, I can get some cargo to pick up to return home with and have a nice payday. People back home love to buy Mars Made items. I must admit that most of the Mars Made artwork is pretty awesome. Being here on Mars seems to bring out the creative side in others. I was lucky to pick up ten tons of ore to take back home, and four tons of Mars Made clothing and manufacturing goods. Heck, I might make more on the return trip. Yes, I might be fortunate indeed. Back on the ship now, doing all the preflight checks. I see a flashing message from the spaceport. I tap the screen to read the news. “New Message from Jezero Spaceport to all outgoing ships: Be ADVISED: Some minor gravitational anomalies have been detected by our survey satellites between Mars and the asteroid belt. BE ADVISED:” Ok, so I need to make a slight gravitational adjustment for the flight home--no big deal. Thirty minutes later, I get another message: “BE ADVISED: Phobos orbit has been altered by the gravitational anomaly. Advise course correction by twelve degrees positive and three degrees negative on the Z axis for flights to Earth. BE ADVISED:” Ok, Done, let’s go already. I want to get home while I’m still young, you know. I make the adjustments, and I get the green light to go from Jezero spaceport. Alright then, let’s go home, I said into the microphone. A voice said through the comm set, “CREST21, you are cleared for takeoff. Good Luck and Good Flying. Jezero Spaceport out.” About time, I muttered to myself. Jeez, three hours sitting and waiting for them to clear me to go home. Jeez! Launch. I never get tired of that sudden jolt of raw power during a launch. I switch the display to the rear camera view. Watching the city getting smaller and smaller, and then the planet’s curvature getting smaller. What a view. So far, so good. No problems. I might take a nap; I still have ten hours of flight to go. I check all my instrumentation. Everything looks good. The flight plan looks good. Right on course for Houston One spaceport. I check once more for gravitational drift. Everything is in the ‘green.’ I’m good to go. I head to the galley and grab a bite and a cup of coffee. I wake up suddenly, and the screen is filled with the image of the Earth. I am confused. Did I fall asleep the entire ten hours? Suddenly alarms start going off, warning me of incorrect approach angle and descent speed. I quickly made the adjustments needed. I listen to the comm set. Funny, I don’t hear anything. I switch to Lunar one base signal. Nothing. I tried New Delphi, but nothing. Ok, now I’m starting to get worried. If I can’t get my radio working, I can’t land. I did a scan on all emergency transponders. Nothing. What the hell is going on? Did something fry my radio while I was out? I look for my coffee cup. Where the hell is it? I noticed a blinking light on my navigational system. I touched it to open the navigational computer. The computer said: A course correction was adjusted due to a micro-singularity explosion caused by a collision with a macro brown dwarf star. A possible temporal discontinuity may be experienced. Do what?? I had to rerun it three times, just to be precise. Ok, now what am I going to do? I sat there for a few moments, letting all this information sink in. Computer, what is the current Earth time? The computer replied, “Based on ship time or solar earth time?” Say what? Now I am confused. “Computer, is there a difference between ship time and Solar Earth time?” The computer answered, “Yes. There are five hundred years, three months, and eleven days difference.” I sat up, leaning forward to the computer, and asked, “Which is behind?” but I already knew the answer. The computer answered, “Earth solar time is earlier than ship time by five hundred years.” The computer stated, “According to Space Travel Law established over three hundred years ago, ship time, you are not allowed to land on Earth or make contact with anyone from Earth. You are ordered to impose a self-destruct protocol to prevent any timeline contamination or paradoxical event. Self-destruct procedure is clearly outlined in the event of a temporal displacement. The self-destruct protocol has been initialized. Please press---” Computer off! I shouted. What the hell! I thought. I will not blow myself up today or any day if I can help. Damn it! Not happening. I lean forward and say, “Computer, is there anywhere on Earth I can land and live without affecting the timeline? The computer quickly responded, “Inside a volcano would not affect the timeline. However, it is doubtful you would survive.” Dammit, computer, I don’t want to die! I want to live! Is there any other alternative to this scenario? The computer promptly responded, “Recreate the event, and reversing your flight plan should place you within your former timeline.” Well, you’re no help, computer. No way I can recreate a micro singularity collision with a macro-sized brown dwarf star! Computer, are there any other alternatives to this scenario? The computer replied, “Working, working, working, working.” The computer answered, “You have enough food, air, and fuel to travel up to four-point eight light years in any direction. However, there are no known habitable planets within your life support range”. “Computer, that is so NOT helpful.” The computer responded, “This is why Self-destruct protocol is required.” Computer, can I ignore that protocol? The computer responded, “Yes, you can ignore it; however, I cannot. Once you begin your descent, I will initiate a self-destruct.” My mind was racing now. I damn sure didn’t want to die, and the sound of drifting through space till I die did not sound appealing either. There had to be a way out of this scenario. I get up from the command console and head to the galley. As I head down the corridor, I think this will probably be my last supper. I might as well enjoy it. I ordered a steak with a loaded baked potato and a glass of red wine for my last meal. As I’m eating, my mind drifts. I know it’s not an authentic steak from a cow, it’s not a real potato dug up from the dirt, and I know it’s not a real glass of wine made from pressed grapes. It’s all synthesized from a computer program using power from the engines. Eating this food got me thinking. The early terra-formers had problems with food supplies. They didn’t have the fuel or space to carry perishable foods, and that’s how the food replicators came to be, and then the synthesizers became the standard on all space-capable ships. Granted, a synthesized part wasn’t as reliable as a manufactured part, but still, they were good enough to get a job done. That’s it! All I need to do is replicate the circuit boards and modules that contain the self-destruct protocols and replace them in the main computer. HA! I had a plan! I started pouring over all the manuals for the ship’s main computer interface. I bet I read every day for almost a month till I found a loophole. The self-destruct protocol was in one module in the navigational array system. Just one! Upon further reading, I found the new protocol module could be replaced by the previous version, which the synthesizer could replicate by an override command. However, there was one tiny catch. It would have to be done under a complete system shutdown to replace that module. Full system shutdown! No power, no life support, no lights, nothing. The estimated time for replacement, and complete reboot, is three hours. Three hours in the dark, no heat, no circulating air. No lights. No Air. No Heat. Ok, now, how can I do this faster? What all do I need to ensure I can get this done and land? I need a self-sustaining portable light, air to breathe, and a quicker way to replace that module. I frantically searched the upgrade and replacement manuals and found I could replicate the entire board and remove and reinstall it in less than three minutes. My GOD, I had it! I could do this! Ok, today is the day. I replicated everything I felt I would need to replace one little module. I sat down at the central console and initiated a complete system shutdown. The computer went through all the system checks for a shutdown, and I turned on my lights and got my screwdriver bits ready to remove the system board. Complete system shut down. Man, it was strange not hearing the hum of the ship engines and air circulation. Within five minutes, I had the board replaced. I reached over and turned off the light unit I had made. My God, it was beautiful! The Earth was glowing with its own radiance. Almost no city lights on the planet. No clutter of satellites in orbit. It was peaceful, serene, and beautiful. I sat there for about ten minutes, gazing at the planet and burning that image into my mind. Ok, time to go. I got to find a new place to live. I pressed the system start button. Praying everything came back up correctly. After five minutes, the computer came on. It was running through all its diagnostics and full system status. Then came the question of the full engine start sequence. YES, I thought, omg, yes. Yes, computer, full engine start, please. Thank God! I can feel the engines powering up! The navigational computer is showing no destination entered. I click on manual flight mode. The computer speaks and says, “Automatic navigational control has been turned off. Navigational beacons can not be found. Would you like assistance with manual descent?” “yes, please,” I respond. “Computer, can you give an approximate date based upon historical data for the planet below?”. The computer replied, “Working. The estimated date for North America based upon archived data is circa eighteen eighty-two, March twenty-first.” Wow, just after the civil war. So, I need to find a place with fresh water, not close to people, not too cold, and not too hot. It has to be pretty secluded, with plenty of wildlife. Jeez, I wish now I had more attention in history classes. “Computer, where can I land that has few people, close to a freshwater lake, not too cold in winter, and not too hot in summer, fairly secluded, with ample wild like for hunting for food?” The computer responded with, “Working. Several hundred Pacific islands are uninhabited, with plenty of freshwater lakes and abundant aquatic life. New Zealand would be an ideal location meeting all your requirements.” From what I recalled, New Zealand was an excellent vacation place, but too many mountains. I didn’t want to live like a hermit. I decided to do my own manual search, starting near what I knew to be Texas. As I zoomed in around the Texas coast, the Lake Charles area in Louisiana was looking better and better. Moving closer, I found a place near a decent-sized lake near the center of Texas, but not too close to Dallas. I wanted to avoid the railways. I had the computer overlay the current metropolitan areas of Texas with the visual map of Texas on the screen. I found a place that would be reasonably secluded for the next three hundred years. I had the computer do a complete background search on the location. I just smiled when I read the report. The area was supposedly ‘haunted’ by spirits, according to the local Indian legends. Perfect. It looks like I found my new home. I was going to live near what would become a state park some three hundred years in the future. As I made my descent, I saw a lot of beautiful land. Lakes, rivers, cliffsides, lots of woodlands, and lots of open farmlands. This would be perfect. The nearest settlements were a reasonable distance away by horse, over a day’s ride in all directions. Perfect. I found a clearing close to a small river with cliffsides nearby. I had the computer check for future settlements, and the computer found none. So, I landed. My first night was amazing. Clear skies, clean, fresh air. Almost intoxicating. I saw lots of wildlife near the river at night. Yes, this was a good site. After a week, I decided it was time to find a way to hide my ship. Too bad I didn’t spend the extra credits to buy a cloak. I never thought I would need one. I wasn’t dealing with the different militant factions, I didn’t sell contraband goods, and I wasn’t a pirate. Now I need to hide my ship. Man, this was turning out to be more complicated than I expected. I had three choices. One, just dig in and get it done. Two, just walk away and leave no trace, or three, move to some mountain area, and live like a hermit. The following week, I spent my time looking at options for housing, where to build it, and how to hide the ship. I didn’t want to dismantle my ship, just in case I might need to get away for some reason. I had the computer search the database to see if there was a way to build a droid to help with the heavy lifting. The computer found four options. Man, this was getting out of hand. I had the computer build two droids, two loaders, and one excavator. I had decided to make my house on top of the cliffside out of stone and wood. Build a stairway to the river, then halfway down the cliffside, to the left of the house, excavate room for a hanger for the ship. The hanger was the primary task at hand. It took almost a month to excavate the hanger and transport the rock to the top of the cliff for the house. I had to make two more droids for that. Once the hanger was up to specifications, I moved the ship inside and had the droids seal the entrance. It was now only accessible by the stairway and hidden by a holographic doorway. The droids worked day and night building the hanger and then the house. By mid-summer, everything was finished. I hid the loaders, the excavator, and three of the four droids in the ship’s cargo bay. I finally decided to see what all I had in the cargo bay. When I opened one of the crates for the ore, I just had to laugh. Gold. Gold ore. Somehow, whatever happened to send me back in time, turned the ore into gold. Now, it looks like I don’t have to worry about anything. Now I can buy five hundred acres of this land and not even have to worry about it. Hell, I might even buy the whole state. Hahahaha. Oh well, so much for maintaining the timeline. Life is good.


This is a **work of fiction**. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental \ The music was blasting, my ears were ringing already, and I was only at the bar. My musketeers had asked me to fetch them some drinks while they evaluated the state of the dancefloor and looked for potential dance partners. It was too early for me to party; I felt like shite, I could still smell Anne’s perfume in my sheets and in my pillow. I couldn’t bring myself to wash them, maybe yearning for her touch was my way of beating some sense into my own head. That woman had been in my life since I was 7 years old, and now, in every moment of the day, I always felt like there was something missing, no matter where I went and no matter what I drank. The waitress came back with 4 rum and colas, throwing me out of melancholy lane for the moment. I tapped my card, collected the glasses and snuck a peek at those beautiful green eyes of hers as I mouthed thank you, they seemed to beam with their own light. Back on the dancefloor, we were doing a poor job at balancing our drinks in one of our hands while dancing like proper dorks: flapping our arms like birds, doing the robot; the whole shebang. I loved the fact that we were happy to chill for once; when we were in our early years of university, it was all about women and it got boring quite quickly for me. We must have looked ridiculous together since we are extremely different. Raf stood at 2 meters tall, slim, with wild curly brown hair breaking free from underneath a stylish hat, and a huge nose. Loui was looking careless lately: he had left his black hair to grow out of control, almost reaching shoulder length, thick glasses framed his pale white face. He didn’t visit the gym that much anymore; you could tell he was ripped, but we had all seen him in better shape. Richard was out hunting tonight, he wore a stylish white shirt over some jeans and when he raised his hands to dance you could see the hypertrophy struggling to break the bonds of that expensive shirt, tattoos sneaking off to his forearms from the sleeves. I stood between Richard and Loui, my dirty blond hair was barely combed through and I was wearing a shirt that did a good job at hiding how much I had stopped taking care of myself lately. Richard was the first one to spot them: the blonde was hard to miss. She was probably under 25, and she was wearing a dark red dress that was too short for my taste, ending just a few centimetres from her bottom. She was petite, slim and slender, but the dress stuck to her like a second skin, shifting over her as she danced. It was mesmerising, I had to admit. The dark red tones of her dress matched her lip colour and contrasted with her porcelain skin. She was wearing a heavy layer of makeup that probably took a few hours to put together. I could still hear Anne’s voice: *‘If you want me with a proper face on, either shut up or fuck off. Would you darling?’* The dress reflected some of the dancefloor lights and made that golden hair of hers even more obvious. She was sipping on a cosmopolitan and talking with her group of five friends. I could already see ‘The Womaniser’ thinking about a plan of approach. Richard was an open book to most of us. We had known each other since we were in our early teens. Raf pointed towards Richard, as he moved towards the group of young women. He smiled; ‘Classic Richard’ screaming out as body language to those that could read it. Patience is a virtue and I was not in a hurry to turn this guys night out into whatever it was that Richard had on his mind. I had recently started to drink a lot faster, and hence, I was running dry, so I went to get another one for myself. Alcohol was starting to numb my previous melancholic state of mind and I felt like indulging myself. From the bar, I asked the green-eyed bartender for a whiskey double. She briefly made a recommendation of a brand they were carrying. I was happy to humour her, she nodded as she went for the bottle. From the bar, I could clearly see Richard perform his mating ritual moves nearby the group of girls, casually approaching. Not casually enough. Their faces went from amusement to annoyance to amusement again as he realised that he had been caught and went full dork mode again. ‘Your friend better stay away from Chloe, she is too much for him to deal with.’ I barely caught the last words over the loud music. I turned to see an attractive woman around 30, wearing a very light layer of makeup over dark caramel skin and what looked like pale brown eyes, yellow maybe, I couldn’t tell with all of the lights. Her lips were a shade darker than her skin. She wore a very simple black dress that clung to her shoulders by a single strap around her right shoulder, almost touching one of the two silver loops hanging from her ears. She was of medium build and looked like she hadn’t been skipping gym lately. Her expression was a mixture of contempt and irritation. ‘How do you know that I’m with that dork, lady?’ I smiled as saw Raf and Loui join Richard in what it seemed to be a native American rain dance. ‘Cause you’ve been laying everyone low with those 60s moves and we’ve been laughing at you for the entire night!’ She wasn’t quite smiling. ‘I don’t see the problem on making a bunch of, if I may say, very lovely women laugh at us. Do you?’ I offered her my most innocent smile. ‘Ha! Cheeky!’ It seemed that comment caught her by surprise, as her stern face lit up momentarily. ‘So, you’re with Chloe the cheerleaders, I take.’ I asked pointing at Chloe and her red dress. ‘It’s more of a hen party actually. She’s is getting married.’ *‘Jack, STOP it. Get up, please.’* I somehow managed to smile through the flashback of my brief, failed attempt at marriage. ‘Pleased to meet you, mother hen.’ I replied playfully, extending my hand. ‘Oh, would you sod off?’ She slapped my hand away, looking irritated, after a brief pause she turned her back on me. ‘Pardon me miss, I meant no offence, I was simply jesting.’ She looked away, without bothering to answer. I got the message loud and clear. My drink got here, I signalled the waitress to come close. ‘I’ve been a proper jerk to that lady I’m afraid! Whatever she’s having, get her another, and charge it here.’ She nodded and loaded the contactless payment platform with the proper amount. Whatever I ordered for her was cheap. I collected my drink and gave it a sip. ‘Holy moly miss! That’s some proper whiskey, thanks for the recommendation.’ I smiled at her. She smiled right back and made an ‘I know a thing or two’ gesture. I shook her hand and went back to the dancefloor, quickly setting my unfortunate encounter aside. It was only 1 am, I had plenty of time to have fun. ‘Somebody got rejected by an Indian goddess.’ Loui shouted at my ear. ‘She was already angry to begin with! She cannot take a mild joke...If you talk with her, whatever you do, do not call her mother hen.’ I said. ‘Hahaha, you can be such a twat sometimes Jack.’ He replied while smiling. We talked about the girl group for a few minutes, got the remaining musketeers up to speed. I grabbed Richard, who was looking a bit grim after discovering that his mark was already taken and invited him to join me for a legendary waltz. After we were done and we were all laughing at the poor show we were putting on, someone tapped me on my shoulder. I turned to see Mother-Hen, holding an empty glass and looking less angry than before. ‘My friend told me that you love nicknames.’ Loui shouted through the music, sharp as ever. ‘You can call me Daddy Rooster!’ the subtle Richard strikes again. ‘I see you’re all clowns!’ she replied. ‘Yup!’ we shouted in unison. That got her to laugh and she got closer to me so that I could hear her better through the blasting speakers. ‘May I return the favour?’ She raised her empty glass. ‘You may.’ I was short for words. I didn’t know where this was going, this woman was still feeling a bit off, and I wanted to be a bit cautious. ‘Tell her to get me a rum.’ Loui wasn’t done being an idiot. As we headed towards the bar, it got quieter and quieter. We could finally speak in a normal tone of voice. ‘Sorry, I overreacted before.’ She looked forward, trying to find a spot to order. ‘Don’t worry about it, you’re not the first nor the last lady I piss off by running my mouth off.’ She was walking in front of me; I got a brief look of the back of her dress, which was open just before reaching her lumbar back, showing a discrete tattoo in black ink between her shoulder blades. Her skin tone made it really hard to see clearly. We saw a spot in the middle of the bar and we headed towards it to order. ‘What are you having?’ she asked. ‘They have a lovely single malt here, the bartender will know what I’m referring to. Tell her no ice.’ I turned around and placed my elbows on the bar. 'My my, a bit young to take your stuff straight aren’t you?’ She playfully stated, her tone change was sudden and it seemed out of character. ‘Just old enough to appreciate my liquor bare.’ If she was game, so was I, god knows I could use some company. There was something wrong with this lady though, I could feel it, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. She nodded as she spoke to the waitress and swiped her card. She had a single ring on her right hand’s middle finger, a silver band and a black stone. Classy. Our drinks got here and we gently knocked our glasses together. ‘So I take that to keep things civil I’m going to have to call you by your name.’ I said, while taking a small sip, it was lovely. ‘My name’s a bit long, you can call me Shiva.’ She said, funny enough, an Indian goddess after all. Shiva was the male God of destruction, I could faintly remember. ‘Nice to meet you Shiva.’ We shook hands. ‘I’m Jack. So, how is it that you ended up in charge of the girl scouts over there?’ She smiled. ‘I’m their boss...’ Her face turned grim again. ‘I really didn’t want to come here.’ ‘How so?’ I could relate. ‘Oh you know they are just in the whole celebration mood. They want to drink till they’re fuzzy enough to not give a fuck and then go to this strip club down the road.’ I knew the place, it was one of my recent haunts, something that I wasn’t about to admit. ‘They’ve hired a boy toy for a private party.’ I did not know they had male strippers. ‘They just want to enjoy the view as he shakes his junk all around the place.’ She was clearly nervous about this last part, which made me wonder why. Her thumb kept turning her ring around her middle finger. ‘Well, if you are looking for an alternative, you are in luck! My friend Richard there happens to be a fantastic dancer.’ I said. ‘Is that the discrete one?’ She smiled. ‘That’s his surname, yes’ Her smile grew wider. ‘Yea I bet he wouldn’t mind.’ She kept turning the ring on her right hand around. ‘You two could have your own number.’ ‘Ha! It’s a work in progress. We don’t get much practise I’m afraid. I can barely dance while I’m sober so we only get the chance while we’re out!’ I replied. ‘It sounds like that’s not very often.’ Her expression turned neutral again. ‘Do you come here much? I haven’t seen you around.’ ‘No, I‘ve been a bit of a shut-in lately, but it’s good to go out with the gang again.’ I pointed at them. Raf seemed to take this as an invitation, as he decided to approach us. He faced Shiva, greeted her by taking his hat off, with his other hand, he took my glass and chugged my drink in one swift gulp. I closed my eyes, raised my eyebrows, gently shook my head and sighed with a profoundly sad expression. You don’t do that to a nice whiskey. I could have slapped him, except, not really, because he was too bloody tall. He smiled as he flicked me off and went back to the dancefloor. ‘Well... that’s one way not to drink whiskey.’ She said. ‘Yes indeed, but I’m not ever going to teach that twat how to drink for pleasure rather than numbness.’ I waved at the waitress, pointed to the glass as I mouthed another one. ‘Please, let me get this for you.’ She said. The waitress was pouring the whiskey into the measuring cup. ‘Under no circumstance lady. You’ve already bought me one.’ I held my card on my hand. ‘But your friend drank it! You didn’t get to have anything...’ Her tone turned melodic and playful again. She got closer to me. ‘Let me get this for you. Please. I probably make more than you do anyway.’ She said as she held my hand back with hers. I’ve always had a short fuse, and I’ve always been very aware of this fact. It has always gotten me into trouble. Even my mom was never able to understand how I could ignite so easily when I was being looked down upon. ‘How patronising of you!’ I tried to hide the fact that my blood was boiling under my skin with a very poorly faked smile and a mockery of her playful tone. I removed her hand from mine with more firmness than I meant to, as I signalled the waitress to ignore her. ‘Oh please don’t take it the wrong way!’ She replied sung with that bloody tone again, it was driving me insane. ‘I must be 10 years older than you! Just let me get you that drink!’ She said, putting her hand again on mine so that I couldn’t swipe the card. ‘Seriously Shiva, piss off, I don’t want you to pay for my booze.’ At that point, I was the one wanting to slap hands away. ‘Oh come on... Did the baby get offended?’ She got uncomfortably closer and she playfully grabbed my cheek. ‘Don’t be like my kid!’ My patience came to a sudden end. ‘Yeah, I bet you don’t need anymore else that just wants you out of their life.’ The slap made the heads of everyone in this side of the bar turn. There was a jolt of pain under my left eye. When I opened my eyes I saw her face lit with a fury that I did not expect. She drew her hand back again, her upper lip was drawn upwards and I could see her teeth showing. She hit me again, on the same side with her open hand. She was going for the third hit. I grabbed her wrist, gently but firmly. ‘Whatever the hell you got going on, love, you should really get some help... You obviously need it.’ I said. I let go of her hand, as I gently pushed her back, picked up my whiskey, drank it like Raf did, placed the glass down and headed for the exit of the club. She didn’t say anything, she just stood there. I only caught a brief glimpse of her face before I turned, a weird mixture of anger and embarrassment. My friends had been watching, they had seen what happened and they were coming to meet me. ‘What in the world did you say to that woman? It looked like you were about to have a little moment there. I blink and I see her properly slapping you.’ Richard looked worried. ‘You okay?’ ‘Yea, of course, I’m okay. It’s not like I’ve never got slapped before. To be honest I don’t usually mind getting roughed up.’ I joked while trying to make this less serious than it seemed. ‘We’re not taking you out ever again. You never keep your mouth shut.’ Raf said, barely standing. ‘Now we’re going to have to hit another club!’ I smiled, and a jolt of pain went through my right cheek again. She had some wrist power for sure. I put my hand on my face to find that it was sticky. ‘What the hell?’ I thought out loud. ‘Jack, you’re bleeding.’ Loui said. ‘Let me have a look at you...’ I tilted my head back so that we could shine some of the lights from outside the club. ‘How did she even draw blood?’ I wondered. ‘I don’t know but you have a nasty ass cut on your face mate. Maybe two? I can’t quite tell.’ He grabbed my face and made it face the light. ‘We’re going to have to get you stitched up to avoid this from scarring. This looks deep...’ ‘Oh my god there they are!’ We four turned our heads. Shiva and Chloe were out of the club, apparently looking for us. They approached us with urgency. ‘Coming for strike three?’ I said while they were approaching. ‘You crazy cow! You managed to cut me!’ ‘I know...’ She said after arriving, panting, a fine layer of sweat on her forehead. She paused for a moment and looked at her hands, which were bloody. ‘It was the ring. I’m so sorry I lost it there I...’ She didn’t finish the sentence, she looked down and her gaze fixed on her hands. ‘Apologies not accepted, now kindly piss off.’ I replied. ‘No, wait! I’m really sorry, may I please have a look? I’m a doctor.’ She insisted. ‘No, you may not. Seriously, leave me alone before I call the coppers.’ I was not impressed by her sudden remorse. ‘Look, the sooner you get that stitched up, the lesser chance you have of it actually scarring. I live in that block.’ She pointed at the building directly opposite to us. ‘I’ve got the necessary stuff to patch you up in the next 10 minutes. I’m a surgeon so I know what I’m doing. You can call the police afterwards if you want, call them now if you want. Just... let me fix this.’ *‘Please Anne, just... let me fix this.’* I looked at Loui, he was almost done with the fifth year of his medicine grad. He didn’t say anything, which meant that he somewhat agreed with what she said. ‘How much has she had to drink?’ I asked Chloe, she had just observed the encounter, silently standing behind her boss all this time. ‘She doesn’t drink at all.’ Chloe looked at us worried, and then to Shiva. ‘She did come back with two drinks from the bar once, but we checked. You know? Cause we like... we thought we had finally gotten her to grab a proper drink but no... they were both sodas.’ That was the first time I invited a woman to a flipping soda in a club. ‘Seriously, you should let her stitch you up. You can’t even imagine what she does to faces on a daily basis.’ Said Chloe. ‘I think I might have a slight clue.’ I pointed at my open wound. ‘So I take you’re less of a doctor and more of a plastic surgeon.’ said Loui, he was aiming for neurosurgery, elitism was something that just came in the package. ‘Yes, I’m a plastic surgeon.’ Shiva barely looked at him to respond before turning to me. ‘Just please let me help. Please?’ Her yellow eyes stared right into mine. \ We walked into the lobby in complete silence, we hadn’t spoken since we left Chloe and the musketeers waiting downstairs. We got into the elevator and we both turned and stared at the door. The elevator went up to the twentieth floor, the last one, it wasn’t a short ride. It was the only apartment on that floor, must have cost a fortune. She pushed her keys into keyhole and swung the heavy duty door open. I didn’t break the silence as I didn’t want to wake up some kids in the middle of the night with a bloody face. She turned the lights on, the lounge turned bright. The ceiling was quite high for an apartment, it was about 3 meters high and it had white walls with dark brown furniture, the floor was pale marble, it looked a bit like a futuristic palace. There was a single corridor making the way into the apartment. A single empty three shelved shoe rack marked the start of the no shoe zone. She took her heels off and placed them there, leaving her purse hanging inside the closet. Everything was in an immaculate state. ‘Could you take your shoes off please?’ She said. ‘Yes of course.’ I bent over to undo the laces on my trainers. A few drops of blood fell on the marble floor. They looked like how the dress looked on Chloe’s skin. ‘Ugh, I’ve...’ I said struggling to find my words. She turned around and she looked where I was pointing at. ‘Oh don’t worry about it, I’ll clean it later. Come to the bathroom, I got my first aid kit there.’ She looked nervous, but emotionless, cold, like a bonfire that’s just been smothered by a bucket of water. She moved into the apartment turning lights on as she reached the switches. I followed her after I had neatly placed my shoes on the rack next to hers. The corridor was long, I passed two rooms on my right hand, one of them had punk rock posters pasted on the door, Sum 41 and Green Day. I smiled, those were from my generation. The second room had a figure of a moon hanging from the knob and was open. I peeked in, and the walls were blue, a single cradle was in the corner that was visible from the door, and there seemed to be a mattress on the floor, which looked slightly out of place. ‘Jack?’ I heard her call my name. I hurried to the source of her voice, I passed two corridors to each side, I kept going straight and arrived at a huge, professional kitchen, the fridge was huge, and the induction cooker looked completely unused or very well kept, there was a high dining table in the middle of the room, with high stools, which reminded me of the ones from the club. At the furthest side, there was a baby chair. There was a half open bottle of wine on the middle of the table, and a dirty glass right next to it. I thought Chloe said she didn’t drink. A few dishes were piled up next to the sink, it had a faint food smell like the kitchen hadn’t been aired in a while. There were a few boxes from what seemed to be takeout piled in the trash and there were a few family pictures hung on the walls. Nice place. ‘Shiva, where are you? I’ve gotten lost in this small apartment of yours.’ I whispered into the corridor. She came from the corridor to the right carrying a little bag. ‘Oh, you found the kitchen, that works better than the bathroom. Sit on that chair would you?’ She hurried me back in, grabbing a stool and sitting next to me. She took the contents of the bag out, and methodically placed them on the counter. ‘This might sting.’ She cleaned the wound with some transparent liquid from a small bottle and some cotton. ‘It does sting like the devil.’ ‘Do you want to sit on the baby chair?’ She gave me a Mona Lisa smile. ‘Yes please.’ I could take a joke, even in this weird situation. She didn’t reply, her smile grew a bit wider before she started to study my cheek, she seemed worried. She gently tilted my head to the side and asked me to hold the position as she got way too close to my face; her rounded nose was close enough to be burrowing into my beard; her yellow eyes, centimetres from mine, not aware of my gaze; her chest was pressed against my arm. She seemed to be a lot more comfortable with this than I was. While trying not to think that this was the closest I had been with a woman that I hadn’t paid to strip for me in some time, I focused on one of the pictures hung on the wall. Shiva was wearing a full piece swimming suit, she was hugging a pale, blond, muscular man, they were on the beach and she was pregnant. ‘I’m so sorry Jack... I’ve done a good number on you, there are two cuts, almost parallel to each other.’ A few tears fell from her face into my beard. ‘Oh god, I’m sorry, I must look like a proper nut-job at the moment.’ She wiped the tears from my face and from hers with the back of her arm. ‘No worries...’ This was beyond awkward, I was still somewhat angry at this woman and I wasn’t quite sure that I had made the right decision following her there. She continued cleaning the wound, the cotton was turning reddish as she methodically and carefully pressed it against the cuts. ‘Okay, I’m going to need you to stay still. This is some very fine material and I don’t want it to snap.’ She grabbed the hook with something that looked like tweezers, the thread was barely visible to me. She spread my face with her fingers, now behind a silicone glove and she put the stitches down one by one. I decided to keep my pretty mouth shut and looked at the picture again. I noticed that there was a small boy climbing on her husband’s leg, holding onto his waist with both hands and wrapping his legs around him to push himself up, he had curly dark hair and his skin was a very light shade of brown. It was a lovely family picture. ‘Okay, we’re halfway through, you still there with me?’ She said. ‘Yea, just admiring your little monkey, he seems to have excellent taste in music. How old is he now?’ I pointed at the picture. ‘He’s seven.’ Shiva said, completely emotionless, focused on her work. ‘Pretty young to listen to Punk Rock isn’t him?’ I realised that was none of my business after those words came out of my mouth. ‘That’s his dad’s fault.’ She quickly stated, less neutral than she wanted to sound. ‘Sorry, I was thinking out loud. It’s no concern of mine.’ I did not want her to snap again. I pictured her choking me with the thread, very plausible indeed. ‘Don’t apologise, please... I’m almost done here.’ She tied another knot, but at the end, she dropped the tweezers, which ricocheted off the floor and went under the sink counter. ‘FUCK’ She shouted. ‘Shh!’ I tightened my whole body and pushed my open palms down in a “be quiet” gesture. ‘Jesus Christ, you’re going to wake your whole family.’ I was in no hurry to experience how wonderful it might be to explain this situation to her husband. ‘Shit, those things are slippery. I don’t have another pair, we’re going to have to get them from down there...’ ‘Seriously don’t worry about it, I’ll get the rest done at the hospital. God knows what’s down there, I don’t want to get the cut infected...’ This was getting weirder and weirder and I just wanted out of the house. This had been a really bad idea. ‘You’re right, I think Jonh keeps another pair in his nightstand.’ ‘No no, do not wake your husband up please.’ I pleaded anxiously. ‘He’s not here.’ She said in a neutral calmed tone. ‘Now shut it and wait till I’m back!’ A few minutes later I heard a loud noise. ‘Shiva?’ I whispered loudly into the corridor again. ‘I’m okay, I just fell down, wait there.’ I’ve never been the waiting kind, I headed to the source of the noise, to the left of the kitchen, and I saw her sitting on her side, in the dark, facing the door, patting her right thigh and looking in pain. I turned the lights on as I entered the room. ‘How did you fall?’ I offered my hand, she grabbed it and pulled herself up. ‘I must have tripped on something. Let’s get back to the kitchen.’ She seemed to want to get out of that room rather quickly, she was tight, nervous. I thought it was because of the fall, but then I actually looked at the room. I had not noticed the state it was in until that point. There were bottles everywhere, she had tripped on one of them for sure. There was no mattress on the bed, it must have been the one that I saw in the room with the cradle. The blinds were shut and there were two ashtrays sitting on one side of the bed, completely full of cigarette butts, everything else on them was glasses and mugs, some of them overflowing wish ash and more cigarettes. As I noticed this, the smell of home hit me: stale tobacco, marihuana, closed room and the sour-sweet smell from the dried alcohol in the bottles. The pictures in the room were taken off the walls and turned around and there were piles of books on both sides of the bed frame. ‘Seriously please, let’s get out of here, I got Jonh’s first aid kit right here.’ She waved the little purse in front of my eyes, capturing my attention. It was the same way a mother would wave some candy in front of their kids while saying ‘look what I got here’. By this time, Iw as already used to her forcefully playful and cheerful tone. Before she left, she opened the windows. We left the room without speaking at all, as she left, she closed the door behind her. I sat down in my stool, rested my hands on my lap, and she started working on me again. We remained in silence for a few minutes, this allowed me to unpack the night a bit. I thought about my own demons, and how much they might look like hers. She looked calm and serene while she dug into my skin with that hook. By the few last stitches, I was no longer angry. ‘He left with the kids right?’ I said as I looked her in the eye. ‘Yes.’ She tied another stitch and wiped her first tear away. \ If you've reached this far, thank you for taking the time to have a read. I really appreciate any feedback. English isn't my first language, so if I've gotten anything wrong: do let me know. Once again, thanks.


When I heard Aunt Maisie’s warble on the voice-mail I groaned. Although she and Uncle Leland are no-fuss visitors, the type who’d welcome a cheese sandwich at my kitchen table, I suspected they had an agenda behind their impromptu visit in late spring. They’re good friends with Genevieve’s family. I wanted an excuse for a knock-down belly-busting barbecue. I was in the mood to coax a T-bone steak to perfection on my shiny new thousand-dollar deluxe grill enthroned on the deck that I had lovingly refurbished most of the past year while Genevieve was working long hours at the city hospital. I wanted to bask in the admiration of friends and neighbors for completing the big deck/barbecue project. Instead, my aunt and uncle just wanted to hang out in the breakfast nook. Whatever. “The Crown Vic blew a gasket this past winter and we had to junk it,” Uncle Leland said, accepting with a sigh the mug of tea I handed him. “Hoo-eee, it’s an uncommon delight to be riding in luxury again.” I wished Genevieve was here to help carry my end of the conversation while I sliced and buttered. “Musta been a rough winter,” I said, “getting to and from work by dogsled.” Leland was a bookkeeper and Maisie worked part-time for the municipality. They also did odd jobs like Christmas shift at the post office and selling fishing worms to summer vacationers. They laughed appreciatively. “Good ole Pete, you haven’t lost your sense of humor here in the big city.” Leland looks like a garden gnome dressed like an accountant. He has that spry, mischievous aura and bulbous features. Maisie has apple cheeks, an unexpectedly sharp nose, and a mop of yellow-gray hair. Looking at them, you’d never guess they’d lost their only son to meningitis two decades ago. “We saved a passel of money, is what,” Maisie said. “And I lost ten pounds, toning my muscles as I tromped through waist-high snowbanks.” She patted her thighs proudly. “You know how he loves to drive, but not so much in winner,” she said, dropping the T in “winter” and thus making the harsh season into a positive. Typical Maisie. “You don’t realize how much you pay Royal Dutch every week until you decide to quit driving a gas guzzler,” Leland said. Yes, the company has rebranded to Shell, but these two keep calling it “Royal Dutch.” “We’re doing our bit to save the environment,” Maisie said, accepting the sandwich plate. She glanced at the clutter I had to push aside as I set down her plate. “What, is Genevieve away for a bit?” “Ye-es,” I said carefully. “We’re...” I thrust a plate at Leland, who took one glimpse at my desperate face and helped man-to-man with a digression on the price of cheese. “So, you saved up for a car?” I asked once we were safely past the topic of Genevieve. “Or is that a rental you drove up in?” Leland’s eyes shifted to Maisie and back to me. “Started to... but then I realized we had a chance to double our money!” He grinned. “Ever hear of N.F.Ts?” I blinked. In between rebuilding the deck and trying to placate Genevieve, I’d been researching NFTs, eventually concluding I didn’t feel comfortable jumping on a bandwagon whose name I could barely pronounce. (Come on, when’s the last time you heard “fungible” used in a conversation?) “So you got into NFTs...,” I said, “whose idea was that ?” I’d decided to stir up this lovey-dovey pair. The best defense is a good offense. If the family sent them here to talk to me about Genevieve--perhaps to advise me to take her back--I would instead get Maisie and Leland quarreling. Nothing like questions of money to provoke a squabble, right? Their spats were legendary in the family, with not much crockery surviving from their wedding set. Maisie chuckled. “Well, he started it... but, okay, I kept feeding it. I cut out articles for him... found a book. We might live in the boondocks of upper Maine, but we stay up to date.” “So, what priceless artwork did you buy the NFTs for?” I said. “Not some pixelated gorilla, I hope.” Leland nudged Maisie. “See, Pete knows all about ‘em. I told you he would.” He winked. “Sounds like you’ve been dipping into the alternative markets, too.” I shrugged; I play my cards close to the chest whenever I can. Something else that used to drive Genevieve nuts. “Problem is, the wiffy,” Maisie said. “Wi-Fi,” I corrected her gently (as nephews have to do). “Rhymes with hi-fi and tie-dye.” “You know what she means,” Leland said, loyally. “The WiFi’s pretty slow out there, and liable to interruptions. We know our limitations, so we went to the city to find a financial advisor.” “Joe and Betty’s girl was getting married,” Maisie said, “so we caught a ride with them--they were glad to share the driving,” After a digression about Joe’s cataracts and Betty’s breast and the wedding, Maisie said, “We stopped at the first place we saw that offered NTFs.” “NFTs,” I corrected. She waved this away and they sailed merrily along with the story, scarcely missing a beat. “It was an NFT on a painting by... who’s that guy?” Leland said. “You see his work everywhere...” “Oh-oh-oh-tip of my tongue! He does gorgeous work, gorgeous ,” Maisie said. “You know the Christmas cards we send out?” “Ah, Thomas Kinkade.” I recalled the pink and yellow hues of a saccharin Christmas. On the plus side, Kinkade was extremely popular so that meant high demand. I seemed to recall he had died... which would also work in Leland’s favor. Moreover, there was some scandal attached to the artist... that would also make the NFTs more valuable. But on the negative side, Kinkade was extremely prolific--the NFTs issued for his kitsch would be a dime a dozen. With all the swings and roundabouts of volatile prices, I figured Leland would pretty much break even. Leland nudged Maisie. “You see how polite this nephew of ours is?” he said to her and she murmured agreement. “I can see it in your eyes, Pete. You know the market for NFTs turned real soft... “Soft as a moldy peach,” I said, “especially for over-exposed artists like Kinkade, whose pictures are printed on every coffee cup and roll of toilet paper this side of the Appalachians.” Maisie looked like she’d been slapped. I suspected I’d never receive another Kinkade card. For a fleeting moment, I recalled Genevieve’s face the time--the one time--I dared comment on her choice of tableware. Her tastes, like my aunt’s, ran to the cozy and sentimental. I’d told Genevieve that I preferred not to eat my sardines on toast in the middle of a flower bed of lilies and forget-me-nots... and started nuclear winter. Why had things blown up for Genevieve and me? I studied Leland’s profile. He didn’t share Maisie’s style. Any reference to their décor was self-deprecating. Somehow they’d been able to negotiate a truce, these two. Maisie picked up her cup and said, “Would Genevieve be able to say hi if we drove by the city hospital, do you think?” “No way,” I said. “They’re too busy to spit.” Maisie was veering toward the subject of Genevieve and me. “Don’t tell me you lost your shirt on the NFTs,” I said, figuring I could keep distracting them by asking about their lives. The worst they could say was, “Mind your own beeswax.” But Leland had no false pride. “Ten cents on the dollar,” he said. “Ouch!” “Yep. So much for buying a new set of wheels.” Leland ran his fingers through his few strands of gray hair. I stared at him. I would never have admitted getting fleeced, not even with family. It seemed unmanly. Genevieve would have kicked me to the curb. Or would she? There was Maisie, placing her hand over Leland’s knuckles like she was wrapping her palm around a golden scepter. “The radio people came around to innerview him. My Lele here became a local celebrity.” She beamed. “They ran the piece a few times.” “And the worm business picked up,” Leland said. “Folks kept dropping by to ask if they could see my famous painting. And they’d buy a cup or two of worms.” “But the publicity meant we got targeted by identity thieves,” Maisie said. She dropped her voice ominously. “The nerve of some people!” “The scum!” I said. “But the joke was on them,” Maisie said. “I’ll say!” Leland crowed. “We hadn’t a cent left to steal.” His expression darkened. “Boy, did I feel like a fool. Seems like the whole country knows...” “Well, so what?” she said. “Isn’t this what they mean by radical honesty? People learned from your experience. Takes a brave man to offer himself up like a life lesson.” I sighed in commiseration. This spring I was voted the worst-dressed teacher at the school. Genevieve had left me and I still hadn’t figured out the washing machine. “Yes, it takes guts to face the public,” I said. “Wish I could charge tuition fees at the School of Hard Knocks,” Leland said. “See? He even made it funny,” she said. He bristled. “Funny? It sure wasn’t funny...” “Oh, Lele, you didn’t mean it to be funny but, in a way, it was.” I nodded. “That’s the best kind of funny.” “And then there was that heckler,” he said. “She wasn’t a heckler,” Maisie said. “Sure seemed like one to me.” Leland gave a shudder as if remembering the encounter. “She was from out of town; you could tell by how fast she talked and how odd she looked. No sir, she was no Mainer.” “You say ‘odd’ like she had two heads,” Maisie said teasingly. “She had something up her nose--” Maisie hooted. “You say it like she had a cucumber stuck up her nose!” This caused a gale of hilarity while I sat blankly, waiting to hear about Leland’s brief career on the lecture circuit. From the description Maisie wheezed, I realized it was a small diamond nose piercing the “odd” stranger had. I made a mental note to wear my nose ring the next time I see them. I’ll help broaden their horizons: that’s what a good nephew does. “So she heckled you,” I said. “Then what?” “She challenged this and that, things I’d done, answers I’d received from authorities.” He polished his big-lensed glasses, which had fogged up when he’d been rolling with mirth. “I had all the paperwork, right there.” “Oh yes, he’s a real bloodhound,” she said. “Used to be a forensic accountant,” he said. “That gal thought she was going to take him down--but he turned it right around.” Maisie made a motion like she was steering a bus. “The library asked me to give my talk again,” he said. “There’s big interest in ID theft out here.” “We checked out some of the other library lectures,” Maisie said. “Lele, I said, let’s try that yoga class. He’s been having high blood pressure, what with the broken-down car, the worthless NFTs, and then getting his identity stolen.” “And don’t forget the septic tank problem,” Leland interjected. She patted his hand. “Any other man would be a puddle of stress hormone...” “Yeah, and she kept going on about yoga...” He smirked. “What choice did I have?” “High blood pressure--the silent killer!” she said. “Our doctor gave him some meds but also said, exercise and meditation.” “The problem with yoga class is,” he said gravely, “I sometimes fart.” She blithely ignored this. “It’s been very helpful. We do it every day now.” “So... your library lecture was a bust, but you discovered meditation and improved your health,” I said. “With all the swings and roundabouts, you came out about even.” I reflected... maybe I should try yoga. Genevieve was always saying I was too impatient and stressed. I pictured my aunt and uncle stretched out on yoga mats, possibly laughing too hard to get up from the “half lord of the fishes” pose. “Oh, no, the lecture wasn’t a bust,” Maisie said. “The chief librarian’s sister from New York was visiting,” Leland said. “Works for a big publishing house. She was the heckler,” he clarified. “She came to my next talk--” “The back-by-popular-demand version,” Maisie said, grinning. “Came up and talked to us afterward. Said she knew an agent who needed this kind of book, ‘What To Do When You Lose Your Shirt.’ She asked Lele to make an outline.” “An outline?” I replenished tea all around and collected the sandwich plates. I sneaked a glance at the stove clock. There was still time to call Genevieve and invite her over. She loved--loves, I guess--Maisie and Leland. She calls them the real deal, salt of the earth, and the family she never had. Yes, we were officially broken up, but I still had a box of Genevieve’s books. I could say Maisie and Leland were asking about her and by the way, I’d found some books. “Come on over and listen to their latest escapade,” I’d say. “The agent said if I provided enough detail they’d write the book for me,” he said. “I looked them right in the eye and said, ‘thanks, but I’ll take care of that myself.’” Maisie leaned closer to me. “Pete, a little bird told me you resigned from teaching recently. That’s good news for us--we’re hoping you can help us out.” I choked on my tea. I pictured telling Genevieve I had landed a freelance assignment. This was sort of in my area: English literature. And I wouldn’t have to deal with overcrowded classrooms and belligerent students. Moreover, it might be good to hang out with a couple of experts. Experts on marriage. I could use a few pointers. They were obviously used to dealing with the swings and roundabouts and coming out together. THE END


Katie went on her first date today. I’m not upset. I mean, you have to expect someone to date again after a relationship ends. It’s been a whole year; I’m surprised she even waited that long. That doesn’t mean I liked it, though. I followed them to the restaurant. I wasn’t trying to be creepy or anything; I just wanted to see what he was like. Not that she’d even notice I was there. Oh, what I’d give for her to notice me again. His hair is the same color as mine, but he’s a little taller. Got a nice beard, too. I think I heard her call him Mark. He had a pretty classy suit on, and he made her laugh. More than once. But, it’s okay; she’s allowed to date other people. In fact, I want her to. I don’t want her to stay alone just because of what happened last year. Last year. I remember that night as if it were yesterday. The stars twinkled brightly as I hung up the phone, started my little black sedan, and pulled out of my driveway that cold December night. The scarf she’d given me was wrapped around my neck and the ring I was going to give her was tucked away safely in my pocket. But, oh, how quickly life can change. Anyways, she had on the green dress she wore to our first date around three years ago. Her red hair flowed down her back like a waterfall reflecting the waning sunlight, and her green eyes shone like emeralds every time she laughed at his corny jokes. The same way she used to laugh at mine. But, instead of a quip or a riddle, the last words I would ever say to her composed a lie. I’d give anything to change that. I sunk down into an empty chair across the room and watched her over Mark’s shoulder. Usually I would think that’d be a creepy thing to do, but I don’t really care anymore. Katie seemed happy. She smiled a lot, almost too much. But I could just be jealous. Just once she glanced in my direction, and my heart seemed to flutter into a rhythm again for the first time in a year. But, soon enough, that familiar glazed look settled over her eyes, and I was painfully reminded of the fact that I didn’t exist in her world anymore. They sat and talked for maybe half an hour after they finished eating. She seemed tired, and it looked like he offered to walk her home. I followed them at a pretty safe distance; it just didn’t feel right for me to get too close. I heard her say my name, although I didn’t hear why. She was bound to bring me up eventually, though; we were together for two whole years. Snow began to fall as they disappeared around the corner of her street. I didn’t have a coat, but I wasn’t cold. The snowflakes seemed to drift right through me and nestle into where my footprints should have been. But it didn’t bother me. Nothing does anymore. I stopped living the night I lost her. My heart ceased to beat and time moved on without me. Katie was no longer mine, and nothing else mattered to me anymore. The pair paused at the bottom of the stairs leading up to her door. I half expected him to lean in for a kiss, but instead he placed his hands on her shoulders and spoke to her softly. I moved a couple steps closer, and I heard her speak for the first time since that night. “I had a lovely evening, Mark,” she whispered as she swiped at the tears brimming in her eyes, “but I’m just not ready yet.” Mark gave her a reassuring smile. His voice was oddly comforting, even to me. “I understand, and I’ll be here when you are.” He squeezed her shoulder and we watched him disappear into the night. Katie mounted the steps to her doorway and paused as sobs suddenly caught in her throat. She leaned heavily against the metal railing and covered her mouth with her gloved hand as tears streamed down her cheeks. I dashed forward from the shadows and leapt up the first two steps before I realized what I was doing. Shivering and sobbing silently, Katie slumped back against her screen door and slid to the ground, clutching her necklace in her fingers. Her gaze passed right through me as I caught a glimpse of the pendant in her palm. On a silver chain around her neck hung the diamond ring I’d intended for her finger. I froze as a shiver rattled up my spine, and an icy feeling I wasn’t used to anymore stole into my chest and gripped my heart. I was so caught up in my own misery that I had forgotten something very important: I loved Katie, but Katie loved me, too. Only one heart beat between the two of us. Only one pair of lungs heaved in and out with each sob, and only one set of fingers grasped the ring suspended round her neck. But two people died that night, one year ago, in the wreckage of a small, black sedan. I told her I’d see her in a bit. I never thought it’d be the last thing I’d say to her. I don’t know what happened after the accident. I don’t know who called my parents, who told Katie, who gave her the ring. They did something I wasn’t able to. But there I stood, on Katie’s front porch, surrounded by snow but not covered by it, as the woman I killed with my death wept on the ground before me. Katie drew her knees up and huddled against her screen door, sobbing into her gloves as snowflakes salted her navy-blue coat. I crouched beside her as the flurries fell through me and raised a transparent hand to her cheek, knowing that, should I try to touch her, she’d only slip through my fingers one last time. If I was capable of tears, we’d have filled an ocean as I settled down beside her in the doorway. Her breathing seemed to slow down now, and she wiped her eyes with the thumbs of her gloves. She peered down at the ring in her fingers, turning it over reverently in her hands. “Oh, my darling,” I whispered soundlessly, “I know you can’t hear me.” I turned and faced her, crossing my legs in front of me and gazed intently into the vibrant green eyes that couldn’t meet my own. “But, if you could, this is what I’d say to you. “I told you that night that I’d see you in a bit. If I’d known those would be my last words, I’d have chosen them more carefully. “I’d have told you that I love you with all of my heart and that every minute closer to slipping that ring on your finger was the best minute of my life. I’d have told you that you are the most beautiful woman that I’ve ever seen. I was only allowed two years with you, and it wasn’t enough for me. But every second with you was one more than I deserved, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.” Katie leaned her head against the door and gazed pensively past me. I tried to remind myself that she wasn’t really listening. “But,” I continued anyway, “I didn’t. I didn’t get to say any of that.” I straightened my back and squared my shoulders. “So, I’ll say it now. “Katie, I love you with all of my heart. Every minute closer to slipping that ring on your finger was the best minute of my life, and you are the most beautiful woman that I’ve ever seen.” A sob caught in my throat, catching me by surprise. If I didn’t know better, I could’ve sworn that tears began to brim in my eyes. “We only got two years.” My voice cracked. “And it wasn’t enough.” Katie sucked in a deep breath, cutting off my contemplation. She swiped her hands over her eyes and, tucking the necklace back into her jacket, swayed to her feet. I stood up as the screen door swung open, passing through me and reminding me that I wasn’t really there. Sniffling, she pulled out her keys and bent over the lock. I stepped aside and started down the staircase, waiting to hear the door open behind me. It didn’t. I turned around, and Katie was staring at me. Well, I thought she was. Her eyes quivered as they searched the empty space in front of them, convincing me that she still couldn’t see me. But then she spoke. “If you can hear me,” Katie begged of the night sky, “then know this, my darling.” A solitary tear trickled down her cheek. “I’ve always loved you, and I always will.” With these words, Katie turned around and disappeared through the doorway. I stood on the stair for what seemed like years. The snow ceased to fall, and the silence of a winter night settled in around me. She left me with just eight words. But they were enough. And for a moment, just one moment, I could’ve sworn I felt my heart beat again.


I don't particularly like to write but I've been told it's something I'm good at, and I'd like to get more involved with it. Anyways, here's something I wrote a few days ago at about 2AM. I proof read it once and didn't really take the time to give it my 100% but I still think it's worth sharing with you guys! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I remember when I first laid my eyes upon her. Come to think of it, it really isn’t all that hard not to. She had the vibrant emerald colored eyes of a treasure filled ocean, a smile that would be considered the eighth wonder of the world by most, the attitude of a Queen and the beauty of a shooting star that would send goose pumps shooting up your neck. She was powerful. Just looking at her she would carry your heart away like the strongest ocean current, and fill you with more energy than five thousand suns could produce in a billion years. Being in her presence felt almost ‘other worldly’. As if she was specifically built to make any man who was around her feel as if she were made of gold. I had never felt so ‘out-of-touch’ with reality when I was with her. I remember her cute little laughs that had her face scrunched up with her eyes swelled shut from the sheer amount of tears they themselves gave life to. The kind that would captivate an entire audience to laugh along with her no matter the situation. She was just like that. She could turn anyone's mood around in a heartbeat. It didn’t matter how upset you were about something, it was like a law of some sorts. A law of an emotional type of physics. It just happened, and nobody knew why. Not even me. There was so many ways she could go about doing it that I can’t pinpoint exactly what it was. The way she moved, the way she carried herself. That was enough to make anyone feel safe. It can’t help but remind me about those every so often times I came home from work, completely miserable. I would walk through the front door and set my keys on the counter and she would automatically know something was wrong, as if she had that instinct. She would just want me to hold her in my arms while she asked me about my day. She’d ask about everything. The drive on in, my lunch, my boss, everything. Never once would she talk about herself or her own day. Her entire focus was on me and my own. She never put herself above anybody else. I could come home, pissed off at the world and within mere minutes we would be sitting there on the couch, arms clenched so tightly around one another you would think we were living magnets, laughing. Just laughing. Tears of happiness and joy would flow out of each other's eyes without knowing the reason behind it. That was so strange having a mood so negative dissolve within seconds and putting itself together in ways I’ve never felt before. She was magical, and despite all of that..sometimes I didn’t let it happen. I can’t understand why. No matter how much I think about it, no matter how many times my mind runs in circles in the middle of the night, I just can’t understand it. Sometimes, I would get home earlier than she would. I would go straight to bed and pretend to be asleep, well knowing she would be home in just a handful of minutes. I would just lay there in bed, still as a statue. I could hear her come into the door with a moment of silence, as if she was searching for me. She would walk through the kitchen, the living room and finally, into the bedroom. I could feel her scrunch up next to me every night and I would feel her warm, always minty fresh breath fill my ear, my heart, and my soul with those three simple words yet so complex words, “I love you.”. And then.. she would just sit. She would sit there with the light on and just stare. She would stare for five -- sometimes ten minutes. I could tell she was hoping I would ‘wake up’, just so she could talk to me. Just so she could ask me about everything and anything. Just to hear my voice. But I didn’t. I never did, and I don’t know why. I would just let her stare in a stabbing painful silence. My heart would thump more intense with each beat, almost as if was trying to tell me, “What are you doing? You love this girl, remember?” Maybe I was tired, maybe I was stressed. Maybe I just didn’t want to. After what felt like centuries, she would kiss me on the cheek, turn out the light, and go to sleep.The ironic part was that afterwards, I couldn't. I would lay there, wondering why I didn’t take five minutes out of my day just to tell her how much I love her. Yet, I would do it time and time again. I used to wake up to the smell of fresh bacon and eggs tickling it’s way up my nose and floating down my throat. Just as I would open my eyes, I would get attacked with a relentless aerial assault of her soft kisses. My eyes, cheeks, nose, chin, neck, everything would be bombarded by her lips. She knew that I was a grouch in the morning. However, I can’t recall a single time where I wasn’t the happiest man in the world to be waking up to her kissing assaults, her symphonies in the shower, or her mouth watering breakfasts. It’s a completely different feeling now. I wake up now drenched in sweat, eyes burning, with an alarm clock ringing in my ear letting me know that the nightmare still isn’t over yet. It never will be. Not for me. That night is burned into my eyes with the fire racing down my throat and the sulfur pumping through my veins. She had always been the one to cash that paycheck and selflessly spend most of it on me. A new watch, shoes, cell phone cases, video games, you name it. I was the selfish one. I would find a reason to buy myself whatever it is that I didn’t need instead of bothering to get her a box of chocolates or a nice necklace, just to show how much I loved and cared for her. I hadn’t gotten her flowers in months. Now here I am, laying them upon her casket with every memory we ever had together smashing into my chest like a tsunami made up of pain and sorrow. I remember when I first laid my eyes upon her.


Gabby followed her sister, Samantha, and her latest boyfriend to the door and as they were leaving, she said, "Thanks for everything. We absolutely could not have done this without your help. I'll text you soon with the date and time for the cookout." "Thanks, sis. I still owe you. I wouldn't be here today if it wasn't for you!" The last of the family and friends had gone home and now, they were all alone, just the two of them, and they could not be happier. "I have to pinch myself Gabe, I can't believe we are homeowners. No more trips to the laundry mat and no more lugging the groceries up a bunch of steps." They finally had a bit of free time to sit down in their new eat in kitchen and enjoy a nice cup of coffee and a piece of apple pie. So many had volunteered, uncoerced, and had been so generous with their time. From packing to unpacking, loading to unloading, they had plenty of help and they were planning on inviting every one of them over for a cookout in a couple of weeks. Gabby looked over the top of her coffee mug and said to Gabe, "Do you mind if I go to the antique store tomorrow and see if I can find a plant stand? While you and dad were out getting some supplies from the hardware store yesterday, mom and I took a trip to that Greenhouse that's just down the road. You would not believe that place. They have some really nice house plants and I think they will add a nice touch to our living room." "That's a great idea, Gabby. While you are there, see if they have a nice wooden table and chairs to replace this one. We did promise your sister we would return it when we had something to replace it." "Sure, although I don't believe Samantha really ever wanted to get this table back". They both laughed. Gabe and Gabby sure loved each other even though they could not have been any more different in their likes and their dislikes. Gabe preferred the traditional church hymns while Gabby preferred the sweeping and uplifting worship music of Phil Wickham and Chris Tomlin. Gabby beamed with joy when they would receive an invitation to a friends' wedding. Gabe? Well he would pretend to be excited too while secretly conniving a way to get out of going. On date night, Gabe's eyes would scan the restaurant menu for the weekly special while Gabby was all about seafood. Gabby would opt for a nice glass of Savignon Blanc. Gabe? He would opt for a water. They both loved dessert though so the server would bring a nice slice of key lime pie and a couple of forks. The vast differences touched every area of life. Even the grocery shopping! They loved fruit ... grapes, oranges, tangerines, bananas, strawberries, blueberries. And then there were apples! While the other fruits were pretty much limited to one variety for the most part, apples had a wide variety to choose from. Gala, Red Delicious, Macintosh, Granny Smith, Cortland, Idared, to name a few ... and the granddaddy of them all ... Honeycrisp. Galas were what Gabe liked to buy. They were just the right size, sweet, aromatic and best of all, a good apple for the money. Gabby? She wanted Honeycrisp and nothing but Honeycrisp. Sure, Gabe liked them too. The Honeycrisp apple was very sweet and very aromatic and of course, had a nice crispness to it. But Geesh, they were huge, and they were heavy, and they were priced way higher per pound than the other varieties. He could get eight Galas for the same price as two Honeycrisps. But that was what Gabby liked and when she gave him a list for the store and apples were on it, well, as much as it pained him to do so, that's what he got. Well, truth be told, the one time he came home with Galas instead of Honeycrisp to save a few dollars, Gabby grabbed the keys, the apples and the receipt and off she went. "Sweetie, I'm sorry, I'll take them back!" .. but it was too late. He was waiting for her when she returned. "Gabe, I don't consider myself to be selfish but I don't think it's too much to ask to get the apple I love, even if it's a little bit pricier than the others. By the way, I didn't have any cash with me so I put the $8.46 difference on the credit card." Gabe knew better than to say what he was thinking. So, he just said, "That's fine sweetie, I wish you would have let me take them back". "I'm sorry too for acting like I did. By the time I got to the store, I was feeling pretty bad". "Well then, let's celebrate. Hand me one of those apples, please!" It wasn't too long after they had moved in that money started to get tight. His job paid well but the overtime he was accustomed to was stopped because the company was having a bit of a financial crisis. Gabby worked two part time jobs which paid more than minimum wage, but not much more. First, there were a couple of little things. The water heater sprung a leak, so it needed replaced. And not too long after that, the built in microwave quit working. Then there was the root canal. The dental insurance unfortunately only covered a part of that cost. The big hit though came when the transmission in the truck went out. Gabby came home to find Gabe sitting in the dark and staring out the window. "Gabe honey, is there something wrong?" "Yeah, I did something today I never thought I would do. I feel so guilty. I try telling myself I am better than that. But I can't kick this guilt". All his life, he had been honest. There was that time, for instance, he got his graded paper back and was surprised to see he got an A. Looking at the marked-up paper, he realized the teacher had not done the match correctly, that the grade should have been a C. When the bell rang, he waited until everyone left the room and once, they had, he told the teacher what had happened. "Well sweetie, whatever it is, I can confirm you ARE better than that. You'll feel better once you confess. So, tell me sweetie, what did you do that's bothering you so much?" Gabe loved Gabby and how kind and considerate she was. "Okay, you know you gave me a list for the grocery store. You also know as well as I do that things are pretty tough right now. When I got to the produce section to get the apples you had wanted, I .. Oh geesh, I can't believe I did this. I put the Honeycrisp apples on the scale and when it asked for the code, I looked around to make sure no one was looking and then I put in the code for Galas." "Hmm ... just a second, I will be right back. I need to use the bathroom." Once out of earshot, she did her best to suppress the laughter. She knew her husband and she did know he was better than that. "Okay sweetie, here's what we are going to do. First of all, you need to thank God for forgiving your shortcomings. And after that, we're going right back to the grocery store, and we are going to buy a bunch of groceries and take them to the Food Bank." Gabe looked at her and finally, he felt the burden of guilt lift from his shoulders, and it felt good. "Okay honey, that's a great plan. Now let's have a couple apples."


*(2062, eight years after the Last Great War)*  The artificial rain pelted against the windshield of the car. Street sign light was warped and played with by the water droplets, casting strange and hypnotic patterns across the faces of passers-by. A tall grey brick apartment building stood, only dwarfed by new corporate skyscrapers in the center of the city. The skyline was jagged and dangerous, radio towers and hovercars populated the world above as the world below harbored the lost souls of the city. But just above the sprinklers poking out of the sides of hovering zeppelins, was dust and intolerable heat. Heath sat in the driver’s seat, a term that had become just a remnant of an age past and somewhat forgotten. The car landed across the street from the “Summerset Apartments”, located in the upper east side Manhatten, though it used to be a nice neighborhood, it was a now well-established hub for prostitution. He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, flattening it on the dashboard, the words “Come back for a Kiss” where the word kiss was a pink lipstick mark, he smiled. A letter from a personal escort he had employed many times before, Chelsea Sing, a woman who deserved more credit than she got. He climbed out of the car and swiped his ID-Band across the face of a parking meter. The rain had not halted yet, it still had another twenty-two minutes before the Zeppelin would move to the next section of New York. He pulled out a respiratory mask and secured it to his stubble ridden chin and stalked across the neon-lit street. The building was grey, years of ash of burning countryside had built up on the once-white bricks. Everything below the cloudline was this way. It was a factor of life every one dealt with, everyone wore a respirator or risked lung disease. Every establishment had fans at their entrance to blow away the dust, but that was mostly unnecessary if a zeppelin was pouring rain. The muddy streets were slick beneath his feet, he dodged two cars that drove past, the raindrops reminded of a snare drum. The lobby was skinny and cluttered, an older Chinese woman sat smoking an opium pipe at the reception desk. She wore a deep red kimono riddled with holes revealing her wrinkly and sunspot riddled body beneath. A white cat laid on the counter purring softly, its eyes closed and head resting in its paws. Heath patted the cat and nodded to the woman as she sat half asleep staring out into the street He hummed a sweet tune to which he had forgotten the name. The ambient sound of muffled moaning and gasping was heard throughout the hallways. A sound that one comes accustomed to if you frequent these establishments. Taking the elevator to the hundred and sixteenth floor, it reeked of sex and cigarettes, the smell forced Heath to pull out this own and light up. The smoke caught the sepia tone light above as the soft hum of machinery joined with the subtle jazz music following him up. The elevator doors opened, he was greeted with a beautiful painting of a Rubenesque woman sitting on a silk couch. He felt butterflies rise in his stomach. He made his way down the long hallway, to the last doorway on his left. He stopped, pulled out the paper, and smiled again. He knocked in a short rhythmic pattern reminiscent of “In The Mood”. There was a brief silence 2 before the door slid open revealing a beautifully thin woman, her hair pinned into a bob, below a curvy line of pink lipstick set pursed in mild annoyance, before drifting into a soft delight. “You’re late,” Chelsea said as she turned around and headed back into her apartment, her robe barely covering her body. “There wasn’t a time on the note.” he jested. He hung his wet hat and overcoat on a rack by the door. The apartment was spacious for where it was, as she had a pretty stable income. Directly across the living space, littered with belts, sashes and articles of various lacy underwear, stood a balcony where one could look across the city. He has spent many hours watching life below while operating zeppelins, but it all felt different here, with her. With her. She tiptoed around the room, picking up various instruments and clothing before flinging them into a chest by a music box. Chelsea tapped a few buttons on the box before it whirred to life, a soft white screen lit up, showing a plethora of old-age music. She had, for as long as he had known her, played jazz while relaxing. Her robe drifted off as she glided behind a changing curtain. He caught a glimpse of a tan waist before her shadow was projected onto the translucent screen. The shadow, puppeted by a woman Heath had grown very weak for, began to change into a light pink nightgown. Heath situated himself on a couch, watching her change as the music began to drift to his ears. He closed his eyes and let his mind wander back to his youth, a time before the war. He remembered his old classics professor, who had taught him everything he knew about music and art. His fingers danced on his lap, mimicking piano keys, keeping in time with the music as it sped up and slowed down in all the perfect ways, creating a story without words of a time where life was about living and not working. He opened his eyes as he began to tear up. He saw Chelsea, arm resting on the music box watching him with tender eyes. “Do you miss it?” she asked, already knowing the answer. Heath got up and crossed to her, picked up two glasses, and poured them both whiskey. She accepted and sat down on the couch. She patted it for him to sit with her, but he turned to the balcony instead, looking over the cityscape. The whiskey in his glass swirled as he brought it to his lips. “It used to be so beautiful, before the war.” He watched as the zeppelin had started its route to the next neighborhood. The rain stopped, it would be back within the hour, never on schedule. He tapped his cigarette into a green glass ashtray. “I wish I could’ve seen it from this view before the ash and heat.” She sipped her drink, gazing out the french doors. They remained closed when the rain stopped the ash started. “It was a sight to behold. Did you know that the Empire State Building was once the tallest building in the world?” He looked for it, the once glorious staple of New York was now overshadowed by at least ten other new age architecture. Flying buttresses were strung between buildings like cobwebs in an attic, positioned so they can remain upright. He thought “If I pluck on out the rest would fall like dominos”, the idea was moderately appealing, a new start for an old city. She placed her glass on the music box before switching over to a smoother song. She glided over to him, wrapping her thin arms around him and swaying. She closed her eyes and just listened to him rambling about early twentieth-century architecture and art. Her mind began to play with the idea of a simple life with him in an apartment back in the nineteen-twenties. She began to cry. Heath turned around, knowing what she was thinking, he stopped talking and pulled her away. He knew she wanted a life with him, and he with her. But with her work, she never could, and with his mechanic job, he could never make the money to leave the city, though the countryside was worse, covered in radiation and pockmarked with craters. Everything west until California is in ruin, and everything in the city is dingy and dark. Her tears ran down her face, smearing her mascara. Heath brought her in, embracing her. Forcing from his mind the thought that he’d have to leave soon, or risk her boss finding out about them. She remembered her life before she was an escort, she was a young woman with no care in the world, only seeing the future before all that was cast away by foreign wars brought to domestic soil, forcing her to seek employment anywhere she could. She came to an old Chinese woman who owned a small escort business, signing away her life, cutting her off from any prospect of love or new life. But if she had never done this she would have not met Heath. They swayed in sync with the music, as the rain started once again. The patter of droplets on the glass played with the saxophone and piano. He heard Chelsea quietly whimper, he hugged her tighter, as she rested her head on his shoulder. Her tears flowed down his sleeve, staining it with a sadness you could never wash out. She looked up at him as if he had called her name, she reached with her fingers, found his chin, and brought his mouth towards hers. The stubble scratched her cheeks but she didn’t mind. She pulled back after a long while and looked into his eyes. She could see his feelings for her in those dark blue eyes, she saw a longing for a life with her. She wanted it so bad. But she could never do it. Her contract took away her right to leave. A hovercar passed by the window, its lights illuminating the room, casting shadows across them both. In it, a person with their own problems needs and wants. “Everyone,” she thought, “has a life don’t they.”. Seeing the car just pass by, without a care in the world made her yearn to do the same, to leave this all. She had thought of this before, and perhaps it was true, but none of that mattered if he wasn’t with her. She brought her head back to his shoulder. She began to sway again with him, knowing he had to leave soon. She closed her eyes, and so did he. The music played with their hearts, thumping in time with one another. Life could be better with her. Life could be better with him. Life could be better.