"Well I'm drunk. The multiples of you and the shovel confirm it." I staggered a few steps and then asked in a bemused tone, "and why the hell is this very flat lawn so extremely uneven?" "It's the booze you need to stop." "Don't you knock booze, Mother at least it brings relief." That was obnoxious--and rather ironic considering the resulting hangover--but I was mourning and therefore allowed. "It can also makes people violent. That you know full well. You think you're the only one hurting?" "He tried to kill me, Mother!" "He's still your father." "So everyone keeps telling me," I replied sarcastically. "He's always been there for you ..." "Yeah and so is the Captain, for only $14.99 he helps me forget, but you want too much. How can I forgive that man?" "He's your father," she stated matter-of-factly like there could be no other logical alternative. I didn't agree. "I have no father." "He took care of you. He raised you, clothed you and fed you. There was a roof over your head because of him. Many fathers don't even bother after they've zipped up their pants." "And he also never taught me how to throw a ball or ride a bike. The only thing I can throw is a fit, Mother. Ever seen me on a bike? No? That's because I never learnt to ride. The one thing I could do well was to run in a straight line. Imagine that! Running away was the only thing I was good at." "You were running to the finish line, a goal." "Yes and the goal was to get away from my daddy." "You're being dramatic." The force behind the words was made meaningless by her downcast eyes. "Dad was busy, I get it. He was busy providing for his family, but kids need more than just a warm meal." "It does make life easier," she replied with a smile. I didn't reciprocate, still there was truth in her words. A silence hung uncomfortably between us before mother continued, "I didn't teach you either. I worked as well ..." "No but you taught me how to feel, to love, to care. I'll never forget that." We digested the words awhile. 'These damned silences are prevalent tonight,' I thought. 'Must be something in the air, or my drink.' I checked the glass for some hidden revelation. "Do you think I am a good mother?" "The best," I confirmed and then cried. To hell with it, I sobbed. "You also fed me, clothed me and gave me a place to sleep, but you taught me how to be human. When he was indifferent you were the one who tried to understand your child." "Your father is a product of his time." "Don't defend him! Growing up in the sixties does not give him the right to act like a bastard." "No, it doesn't but it does make him human. We all have our faults." "Murderers have plenty don't they?" I retorted venomously. "He's not a murderer." "Not convicted anyway but I could've been a murder victim. Now I'm only a victim of assault but If I hadn't stopped him I would've been dead. Why is it that an attempt at murder isn't seen as bad as murder itself, huh? If I hadn't put my finger in his eye I wouldn't be here now. How could that be better than actually killing someone? 'That's okay,' the court seems to say. 'You're still breathing aren't you? There's no real harm in only attempting to kill someone.' Never mind that someone actually tried to take your life! And there's the real rub, he's not even being punished. I'm the victim but got charged with assault by my own father!" "I know I'm sorry. Maybe had we gone to the police sooner ..." "And whose fault is that?" I cut her off. "All of you, my aunts, uncles, all my elders and even my mother," I pointed at her, "told me: 'he's your father. You can't do that.'" There was another pause. I needed the words to set in. "And then the wounds healed. It all became hearsay, and his brother! They both lied. Your husband lied to save his own skin. His brother wasn't even there but suddenly I was the ungrateful son, the layabout who assaulted his oh-so-saintly father. That supposed Christian lied through his teeth and praised his Lord with that same forked tongue." I squarely looked at my mother as I flung the accusations, but she didn't meet my gaze. "I'll never forget how he looked at me. The malice edged in his eyes that day at the police station. He would've killed me that day. That self-righteous martyr would've gladly ended me because I, a child, dared to pick on his brother. Why would you marry into that?" "He's my husband. I love him ..." "And I'm your son. You carried me, raised me and your husband tried to kill me just because I told him he's acting like a child. How's that justifiable mother? How?" I wanted to know. "Yes I disrespected him but I didn't do it for a laugh. He was drinking himself to death. Hurting you in the process. How are you still willing to put up with that?" "He'll change. He promised." "They always do, Mother. But you said it yourself he's a product of his time, a man, a real one supposedly. A man which was born right. A man who never shows his feelings and therefore doesn't understand how to resolve conflict without his fists. Yes things will be better for a while but you think he'll stay that way? Let's see what conventional wisdom has to say about this: you can't teach an old dog new tricks, right?" I asked. "Or what about the horse and water? You think he's going to drink? No Mother he won't change." "Everyone has issues with their parents," she defended. "What would you know of daddy issues? Your father was wonderful." "He wasn't perfect." "At least he could show love and had more than one feeling. Chronic grumpiness isn't fun to put up with!" She cried. My mother was close to breaking point, but she made a final sally. "He's my husband! Life changed him and me, all of us. Do you think we wanted this to happen? Do you think your father dreamed of folding his fingers around your throat?" "It was his knee, Mother." I corrected her disdainfully. "Fingers or knee, he didn't intend to kill you." "He also wasn't planning on stopping. Ever been strangled? Ever realized you're about to die?" I added forcefully. "No mother, intent is not important. He tried to kill me and you helped him to get away with it!" I was right but was it worth? My mother's knees struck the ground. I'd picked at the scabs and the foul puss, the truth, the resentment and hurt came pouring out. I'd hurt my mother. The truth hurts but seeing your mother sobbing on the floor doesn't make it easy and it certainly isn't pretty. It was painful. My heart ached and I wanted to embrace her but my stubborn head told me: 'you're the victim, not yet.' Instead I teetered to fill my glass trying hard to ignore the one woman I unequivocally loved. My indignation didn't last. It never could with my mother. Finally I told my logical self to shut up and I poured her a drink. It was a silly peace offering but she accepted it all the same. The true mark of a mother, a woman: to accept the tools in their lives unconditionally, even to their own detriment. She didn't drink but poured the rum little by little from the glass. A right waste but what did I care? I had a hole to dig. "What are you doing?" she asked after a while. "I thought you'd recognize a hole Mother, you live in one." "That's very mean." It was and I regretted it instantly. "I know," I said remorsefully, "that's why I'm here, to bury the meanness." "So why the hole?" she asked. Mother was always good at picking up on my regret. "That's where you put corpses right?" "You're going to bury your father?" she wanted to know with eyes wide. "No, I have no father. I'm digging the hole for our relationship." "Bit dramatic wouldn't you say?" She chuckled. "Still mind burying a few of his Hawaiian shirts while you're at it?" "Ha, ha! It's cathartic and I already have his precious records to dump inside." "Good, but it's also a bit much wouldn't you say? Why don't you just ignore him like a normal resentful adult?" "I'm trying to heal Mother, and besides that's the plan until I join him in hell." "Why can't you just forgive him?" "Let's ask dad to kneel on your throat and let's see how forgiving you'll be afterwards." There was no reply. "No Mother, our relationship is like this hole, empty. I'm done." "And what about me?" she demanded. "I'm in the middle. I hurt as well! I'm tired, so tired. I just want everything to go back to the way it was." Mother fell to the ground--it was becoming a habit now. I dropped the bottle and helped her up. I never was heartless enough to simply let her be in agony. She's my mother. I held her tight. She was right wasn't she? I didn't think of her. She too needed to deal with his. The betrayal of her husband and the subsequent hate of her son. My moist eyes noticed the heart she had edged in the ground. The one she made with the droplets of rum. "Ever asked why he did that?" she wanted to know as she wiped her tear-stained eyes. "Every damn day, Mother. And yes life wasn't easy for him either. That's why he drank and that's why he didn't like it when I told him he's acting like a child, because it was the truth." "And now you're drinking." "Like father like son, eh?" "That's not funny." "We have to laugh mother. What else am I supposed to do?" "We can try to understand." "I've done that! What have I been saying? I know why he did it. I know about his childhood, his perpetually pissed father. I know about work and how it depressed him to see others promoted above him. I know he grew up believing a man is all that and everything else needs to just shut or suffer a beating." "You're still his son," she reaffirmed tenaciously. "Why do you think I'm drinking? That's what I want to forget." "It's too late for that now, but this could've been avoided. Why did you lose your temper?" she persisted. "Because I was protecting you." The words were laced with emphasis. "The one person I truly love." There was no further exchange but the mood was heavy and needed alleviating. "Dad was helpful though. He was searching for my temper with me on the floor. 'Have, you, found, it, yet?' he seemed to say as he kept pushing his knee onto my throat." She laughed. "Only you could joke about this." "I'm trying to get over it. The jokes help." "You never really connected with him did you?" "About what, racism and how good the Cowboys will be this year? Yes, Mother I'm different, I'm like you. Is it so strange that your son turned out to be like his greatest role model? That I looked at my mother who always cared, even if it hurt, and then compared her to my Neanderthal of a father and found him wanting. Which do you think I decided was more venerable? I'm you, Mother. I looked at the world and realized that's who I'd like to emulate not my emotionally stunted father who believes shouting at the TV is a profound way of expressing yourself." She hugged me but she wasn't done. The decent ones never give up. "What about God?" "What of him?" "He'd like you to forgive him." "Really? Have you been having coffee with him behind my back?" "Must you be so facetious?" "Mother I fully respect your choice to believe in God. I know it keeps you going, gives you a reason to get up in the morning but please don't use those Jedi tricks on me. 'This is the father you have to forgive.' I waved my hand in front of her face the same way Sir Alec Guinness had done. She didn't much care for it or understand. I wiped her tears before saying, "Mother please understand this wasn't some whim. I didn't just wake up and say, 'today I'm burying my father.' I'll always be thankful to him for raising me, but I'm done. All I ask is that you try to respect it. You don't even have to understand just respect it, please." She wavered, opened her mouth but then simply nodded. "Okay," she said before taking the shovel, "let's fill this hole." We stood in silence as we dropped the records in the hole--and a few on my dad's most unfashionable, Hawaiian shirts. Nothing else was said as a buried my relationship with my father. I know she'll try to reunite us again someday, but I won't.


TW: sexual violence, physical violence, gore I sit at my kitchen table trying to pull myself together as my coffee sits in front me getting cold. My skin feels too tight, suffocating and restraining me. The blackness at the edge of my vision is returning. It’s happening again. That all too familiar pull into the darkness. Not now. Not today. My chair screeches on the tile as I push away from the table. I turn to the kitchen sink and stick my head under the faucet, trying to wash away the images that are beginning to form. The curve of a calf. The arching of a neck... I feel the twitch of my cock and my breath hitches as I let the unbidden images come. Unconsciously, I unhook my belt. I need the release. Right here, right now. It doesn’t matter that I made love to Kelly less than an hour ago. I freeze. Kelly. How could I have forgotten? Today is Kelly’s last day with me before she leaves. She deserves to have today be special. To have a proper send-off. I take a deep breath. I can resist the temptation. Just one more day. For Kelly. I grab my briefcase and peek my head into the living room. The television is on, and I see Kelly’s head resting on her shoulder. I can’t help myself. As quietly as I can, so as not to disturb her, I gently place a kiss on her cheek, taking in her sweet scent. I smile to myself, resolve setting in to do right by her. * That resolve immediately begins to dissipate once I’m out of the house, however. I walk past my young assistant on the way to my office. Her long blonde hair is piled on top of her head, her neck exposed as she’s hunched over taking notes while on a call. “Yes ma’am, this is the Springfield District Attorney’s office...mmhmm...yes, ma’am, we can certainly help you fill out that protection from stalking form.” I enter my office, shutting the door firmly behind me. I knew it was a bad idea hiring Lauren, that she’d be too distracting for me, but my lust won out that day. I know she’s off limits, but a man can still look. Kelly. Kelly is at home waiting for you. Even though I’ve just arrived, I check the clock anyway and groan inwardly. Perhaps if I stay busy and focused enough, I can tamp down the demons inside. “Gary?” I jump, startled by the intrusion. “You’re supposed to knock, Lauren.” “Sorry, sir, but don’t you have to get to court for that hearing?” Shit. “I have your file materials ready.” I snatch the files out of her hands, managing to graze her breast as I do so. But it’s not enough to satiate the desire burning within me. I try to repress the images of her nubile body as I speed walk to the courthouse. I arrive just in time to get my file materials situated and rise as the judge enters the courtroom. He goes through the standard rigmarole before the sentencing hearing can begin. A heavyset woman in an ill-fitting pantsuit and short, thinning hair approaches the podium to present her victim statement to the court. I know I must have met with her, but she doesn’t have the kind of face or figure a man like me remembers. Then she opens her mouth. God, with the crying already. As she reads her letter, I look over to the defendant. He’s clean cut, with shortly cropped blonde hair, a square jawline, and broad shoulders. Younger than the woman at the podium and immensely more attractive. Even though it was my job--and I was damn good at it--I still felt bad about asking for the harshest sentence for a violent sexual assault against a woman like that . I look back to the podium at the blubbering mess sitting before us. Pathetic. She should consider herself lucky that a guy like him fucked her. But I have to keep up appearances. I wipe all expression from my face and listen stoically to the rest of the victim statements before rising to present my argument. * “Gary, brother! I can’t believe you got 30 to life on that guy!” The investigator slaps me on the back as he joins me at the crosswalk. God, I hated this guy. “Rothman,” I say trying to sound chipper, “you know my track record. I always get my man. I haven’t lost a case yet.” “Speaking of that track record of yours,” he stops and pulls out a file. “We got a new investigation going, and this lady needs your help filling out the restraining forms against her kid’s boyfriend. Think you can help her out?” I feel the excitement bubbling underneath the surface. “Sure, that shouldn’t be a problem at all, Rothman, my man.” * To kill time before my final meeting, I open up the new file the investigator gave me and am delighted. Inside are the details of an attack by an 18-year-old of his 16-year-old girlfriend. I scour the reports, taking in the delicious details. Please let there be pictures. I turn the page and there she is. Each picture taken at the hospital is a closeup of each scratch, each bruise, each injury inflicted upon her during the incident. The split lip...a large purple bruise covering the underside of her breast... I feel the excitement growing inside of me. The need to overpower and snuff out the light behind her eyes... My intercom buzzes, startling me out of my reverie. “Gary?” “Yes, Lauren?” “Your 4 o’clock has just arrived.” I sigh. “Okay, send her in.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. That feeling of being trapped in my skin has returned, like an itch you can’t scratch. One more meeting. I’ve nearly made it. My heart skips a beat when she enters. “P--please have a seat, Ms.--?” I fumble with the stack of filing on my desk, but I can’t think clearly enough to even know what I’m looking for. “Just call me Tammy,” she exhales as she collapses in the seat. “Please, tell me what brings you in.” But I already know. She wouldn’t be here if she didn’t need help. As she starts her spiel, I lean back and take her in. Her long brown hair is unkempt and brushed to one side in a feeble attempt to hide the left side of her face. But even through the strands of hair, I can see that her eye is swollen shut and there’s a cut across her cheek. “--and then, he grabbed me by the throat. See?” I snap back to attention as she unbuttons the top two buttons of her blouse to show me the purple bruises blooming across her neck. She leans forward, giving me a better view. I can nearly see the thumbprint on one. I shift in my seat. The darkness that has been at the edge of my vision crowds in further. I imagine myself on top of Tammy, straddling her, my hands around her pretty little neck. Because that pretty little neck is mine to squeeze the life out of. Her eyes bulging, the blood vessels popping, as I keep squeezing the breath out of her... “So, do you think there’s anything you can do to help?” she looks at me expectantly. “Yes, yes, of course,” but my breath sounds ragged, even to my ears. “In fact, here’s my business card, with my personal number on it. Please feel free to call me should you feel you’re in danger.” She clutches my card to her breast like a lifeline. “Oh, thank you Mr.--” “Gary, please call me Gary.” “Thank you, Gary. You don’t know what this means.” I escort her out of my office and breathe a sigh of relief. I can finally go home. * The anticipation of seeing Kelly is almost too much. I rush to the living room, frantically peeling my clothes off as I go. She’s still on the couch, waiting for me, her perfume filling the air, and I take her in my arms. I first met Kelly a few months ago relating to stalking and assault charges against her ex-boyfriend. It was lust at first sight, at least on my part. But I knew I had to take things slow, bide my time, earn her trust. My patience paid off though. A few days ago, she called me over after her ex had broken the restraining order. I saw my opportunity and rushed over. She was in tears when she opened the door and threw herself into my arms. Needless to say, one thing led to another. Before I knew it, we were on the couch, my hands wrapped around her delicate neck, her skin turning blue. Once she stopped moving, I was able to satisfy my own needs. Then I brought her home where we’ve been enjoying each other’s company since. But the time has come for our love affair to end. We make love one last time, and I gently wrap her in the blanket her ex threw out in his garbage yesterday. There’s already an investigation into her disappearance, but the discovery of her body and his blanket will guarantee his conviction. Because I always get my man.


Let me start off this by saying: I love crows, but it hasn’t always been that way. When my wife and I first moved to a rural area I was amazed how much the birds ruined the beautiful relaxing atmosphere of the countryside with their squawking. They would splash all the water from our little finch bath, scare away other birds, dig through the garbage if we left the lid off, and were always kicking things out of our compost bin. They were pests. After watching a video online a few years ago of a lady petting and hand feeding a couple crows I fell down a rabbit hole of Corvid videos. Did you know some can even mimic? Not to the extent parrots can or anything, but it's freaky how smart they are. So after doing a little research I went out and got a bag of whole peanuts, like they sell for squirrels. I work from home, so I set an alarm every day to go out and throw a few peanuts where I would see them hang out. It took a little longer than I expected for them to get it, but once they realized the pattern, they’d be here and waiting just before my alarm went off. Instead of being annoyed at how loud and destructive they were, I began to watch and enjoy them. I began to recognize some of our “frequent fliers” and it seemed every year there would be more birds than the last. It was an adventure and I loved getting to know them and building my relationship with the birds. After about two years we would find “gifts” from a pair of the birds at the feeders at relatively regular intervals. Most of them before were small and shiny things, bottle caps, rocks, pieces of metal and foil. We haven't had very many gifts, but every time we got one I would get a rush of excitement. It felt like we had our own little barter system, me and the crows. The last few weeks we had received something different. It was a small piece of flat oval plastic with a chipped green color on one side. I happily put it with the other trinkets on the shelf next to my computer. The next one was a belly button ring with a bright blue gemstone in it, my first piece of jewelry that wasn’t an earring. I carefully placed it next to the piece of plastic. The next gift from the birds was a few pieces of bone. They were small, long, and from what I assumed to be a tail of something they must have scavenged. When I showed it to my wife, she said it didn’t look like tail bones, “tails look like vertebrae I think,” she said. We began to google bones of different critters we have around here, raccoons, opossums, deer. They were dainty, but not like bird bones. I kept it on the shelf next to the rest of the gifts. Curiosity faded as life went on, until I received a second green piece of plastic and showed that to my wife too. Her face went a little pale as she looked at my most recent offerings. “Those are nails,” she said pointing to the plastic. “Acrylic ones you get from the salon.” She wiped the dirt off one and was horrified to see a natural fingernail stuck to one side. Picking up the second, newest nail, we saw about half a nail on the flip side. “So they stole somebody's fake nails? They just swooped down and took somebody’s nails?” I asked quietly, but looking at the belly ring and the small bones I already knew the answer. We called the police and filed a report. At first it felt crazy explaining, no, we didn’t just happen upon these creepy things, yes, birds have been bringing them to us. I showed them the other small things in my collection and some photos on my phone of the birds nearby while I was feeding them. They took macabre trinkets and thanked us, saying they’d be in touch if they needed any more information, or if we should get any more gifts from the birds. Like I said, we live in a rural area and don’t have a lot of neighbors. We have trees and farms and wild animals. Did our “murder” find one of their own? I’m not sure how far the birds fly each day, but it keeps me up at night to think they may also be feeding from where they found these things.


My dearest Liora. I hope this letter finds you in good health and prosperity, though I have no way of knowing if this will reach you. But as my heart aches, I pray that my efforts are not in vain. The last I saw you, you were running out of your coming out party in tears. And while I wanted to chase after you, I was held back by the snickers of the room. Forgive me for my cowardice. If I had known it would be the last time I saw you, I would have ran into the night and begged you to stay with me, and if you still chose to run, I would have been right there by your side. I went to your house the following week, but your parents said you never returned. It was then that I knew we wouldn’t meet again. Still, I packed my horse, and rode from town to town, asking if anyone had seen you, and followed your trail up until the Black Bear Saloon. Under normal circumstances I would never enter such an establishment, and knowing you had, has brought me much despair. Even worse, after giving the bartender your description and receiving nothing but a cold stare, I was approached by a wiry man who claimed to know you. He said he was a coachman of a friend of yours, and you had been staying at their manor for the better part of three months. I demanded he bring me to you at once, but instead he let out the most unnerving noise--something I’m hesitant to call a laugh, but I have no other word for it. It sent chills down my spine. He refused, and instead offered to deliver a letter to you, which I am currently writing. I’m unsure if I should trust him, but I have no other leads, and this might be the only way to reach you. I have no idea how you know this wretched man, or what you have become entwined in, but my dear, I promise I will rescue you. Should this reach you, I will be staying at the Rosemary inn on the edge of town. I beg of you to meet me there. Please, my dove, fly back to me. Forever yours, Doyle Doyle-- Forgive me, I know my absence has been alarming to you, and I hate to think of you in pain. You were my dearest companion for most of my life, and to know you went through such trouble to find me is heartbreaking, though I am deeply touched by your efforts. The coachman, Sloan, even said you tried following him to see where he was delivering your letter. You were always clever--a trait I deeply admire you for--but you learn fast not to try tricking him. I’ve seen quite a lot in my time away from home, but none are as puzzling as that man. It would do you well to treat him with dignity and respect. I will not meet you at the Rosemary. There’s no rescue necessary, no danger to save me from, and I will not be returning to my parents house. There is no life for me there. I have decided to elope, and by the time you read this I will already be on the Pacific, ready to start a new life. Believe me when I say running out of my debutante was possibly the first good decision I ever made. If I had stayed I would never have come to this small town. I would have never met Amani and fallen in love with her. Can you believe it, Doyle? I’m in love. I never thought it was possible. I will try my best to explain these past months, though so much has happened I am unsure if it will be intelligible. Even if I manage I’m sure you won't believe me. The first month was a blur, a hazy mess of liquor and traveling, which I do not recall most of. My first clear memory is of entering the Black Bear. I flirted with the men, and danced along with the women, indulging in the freedom that exists out of high society. I ate and drank like I did many times before, and ended the night sitting alone talking to the bartender. I asked if he knew anywhere to stay, and he said there was an inn on the edge of town that always had a spare room. “But I’d be careful.” He said to me in a hushed tone. “If you’re travelin’ across town, it's best you do after the sun comes up. It’s dangerous to walk the streets before sunrise.” I laughed and said I wasn’t afraid of the dark, and besides the streetlamps were enough. He shook his head, saying I didn’t understand, and that I should stay at the bar for the rest of the night. I once again refused, saying I appreciated his concern, but that I could handle myself. He sighed and stared out the window for a while before returning his gaze to me. “Be careful. I’d hurry.” I left the bar, not because of his warnings, but out of a new sense of discomfort. In my arrogance I thought he was senile, but looking back I should have heeded his warning. Not that it matters now, but it began a series of unwise decisions I am lucky to have survived. I strolled along the cobblestone path, following the bartender’s directions, and taking in the scenery. The town was beautiful under the moonlight, the lanterns creating a warm glow on the empty streets. I was enchanted by it, and stood letting the summer breeze cool down my booze warmed body. I turned my gaze to a side street, where suddenly there was something on the ground in the distance where there wasn’t before. Curious, I walked towards it, and as I got closer I realized it was someone laying in the road. I screamed, and felt a chasm open in my stomach as I saw the blood on the pavement, the man clutching at his neck where the blood was spewing from. He looked at me, and I saw the last bit of recognition in his eyes before they fell shut. In my horror I stood there, paralyzed, watching the blood travel between the cracks in the cobblestone. I hear far away footsteps, and look up to see a wolf walking towards me. It snaps me out of my daze, and I step backwards, turning and running back the way I came. I could hear the wolf's footsteps speed up behind me, getting louder and louder, until something jumped on my back, making me crash into the ground. My front side scraped the ground, hands and cheek burning as the stone cut into my skin. I tried getting up, but I felt something holding me down. I expected it to be the wolf, to feel its teeth rip into me at any moment, but instead I felt a hand grabbing me by my hair. It pulled me up, exposing my neck, brushing its teeth along my vein. My mind went blank, until all that was left was pure fear. An unexpected surge of power coursed through me, and I used all my strength to roll myself over, kicking the person off of me. And that was the first time I saw her. She was standing over me, glimmering in the moonlight, the blood on her face trickling down the front of her dress. Her eyes were wild, her hunger apparent in her snarl as she crawled back over to me. I managed to get myself back on my feet, running once more to the inn, hoping someone could help. I looked back and saw her getting ready to lunge again, so I made a sharp turn down an alleyway, barely escaping her attack. Of course the victory was only temporary, as she slammed me against a wall. I pushed her away, leaned down, grabbed a bottle, and broke it over her head, but it made no difference. All I felt was a force grabbing my hand and pushing me against the wall, once more pinning me under her weight. For a moment she gazed into my eyes. I could feel the blood pouring through my veins with the rise and fall of my chest, but as our bodies were pressed together I could not feel anything inside of her. There was no panic running through her, no heartbeat. She breathed as though she didn’t need to. She pushed my head back towards the wall and ripped the top of my dress, exposing my neck, then biting me. My body felt weak, all the blood pooling out of my neck. My vision blurred, and all I could feel was her tongue lapping up everything she was stealing out of me. The more she drank, the weaker I felt, and the stronger her grip on me became. Suddenly I felt her jaw release me. She cursed under her breath, and let go, dropping me to the floor. The last thing I saw before passing out was the first rays of the sunrise passing over the buildings around us. I woke up in an infirmary surrounded by people I didn’t know. I was told by the doctor that I was given a blood transfusion, and that survival rates were low, but not unheard of. Despite this, I recovered quickly, and by the end of the day was allowed to be escorted to the inn where I would stay until I could afford a place of my own. When I arrived I was greeted by the bartender from the Black Bear. I apologized for ignoring his warnings. He informed me that everyone thought there was a killer on the loose, and that I was his latest victim. I told him, “I’m sorry, I don't know what he looks like, I can’t remember what happened.” He looked at me like he knew I was lying, and he pressed a rosary into my hands. “Your sickness is not over. Do not walk at night again.” He was right, the worst was yet to come. Two weeks went by with me feeling fine. I got a job mending clothes, and started setting up a small routine for myself. I would have breakfast at the inn, go to work, banter with the ladies, then have dinner, and return to my room at night. I kept the rosary on me at all times, just in case, until one day I left it on the counter at work. By the time I returned to my room, I was vomiting, blood spurting out of my mouth at every heave. It would stop for a moment, and I would breathe, before it started up again, my body giving out beneath me. Until suddenly I heard a tapping at the window. I looked up and saw her again. Hovering in the air, her dreaded hair swayed in the wind. It was all the way down to her thighs. Her skin was dark, reflecting the moonlight off her high cheekbones. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She tapped the window again. “May I come in?” I stared at her, and moved to open the window, then threw up again. I shook my head no. “You’re dying. I can help you.” I grabbed the stoker from the unlit fireplace, and carefully opened the window, keeping my weapon in front of me at all times. I waited for her to enter. “May I come in?” She repeats. I swallow. “Yes.” She ducked her head under the window frame, and entered the room, her bare feet finally making contact with the floor. “You can put that down. I’m not here to harm you.” “I apologize, but you can understand how I find that hard to believe.” I raise my weapon to her throat. She laughs. “You’re dying and you’re threatening the only person that can help.” My stomach dropped, and I fell once more to my knees, the blood leaking from my throat again. “I can save you. All you have to do is let me.” I stared in her eyes, asking her to explain. “I will bite you again, then you’ll bite me. The transformation will be complete.” My eyes widen as I understood what she meant. “No.” “It’s the only option you have. That rosary won’t help forever.” My vision blurs, and the room spins around me. I curled up on myself, feeling the world collapse around me. She put her hand under my chin, and lifted my head to hers. “Let me help you. Please.” I felt my heartbeat getting weaker. “Okay.” She lunges towards my neck and sucks the rest of my blood out of my body, then reveals hers and forces my teeth into her flesh. The taste of the blood was revolting, but the more I drank, the sweeter it became. I felt my body replenishing, and my new life under the moonlight began. I hope you can understand why I can no longer meet you. I will leave Sloan with a large sum of money for you, we have no use for it anymore. I hope it makes up for all the trouble I caused. Do not worry for me, my dear. --Liora


"I'm a monster". He said. He was looking right at me. "You don't look like a monster." I said. He was wearing a dark blue hoodie and black jeans. He was clean shaven, and his hair looked freshly cut. "I am. I promise." "I don't believe you." "You don't know me." He was clutching one of the bridge wires to steady himself. He wouldn't stop looking at me. "Why do you care, anyways?" I glanced around at the empty, midnight air. I shrugged and kicked an imaginary pebble on the sidewalk. "Same reason as you, actually." He let out a breath that I think was supposed to be a laugh. "Fuck." he said. He finally took his eyes off me as he shook his head. "Of course you are! No other reason to be way out here by yourself on a beautiful Friday night." He stared at the water several hundred feet below us. "Get out of here, man. Pick another night to die." I didn't say anything. I just stared at him for a while. "You don't get to tell me that." I said. He just kept looking at the water. "I came out here to end it all *tonight*." He was still looking at the water. "You think you can take that away from me? You think your problems are worse than mine?" He looked at me. "Problems?" He said. "This isn't about problems. This is about reality. I'm a monster. I need to die." I rolled my eyes: "And I don't?" He didn't blink: "Let me guess: you lost your job and you didn't tell your wife. When she found out she trashed the house and left you. She took the kids with her too. The last thing she said was that she wanted a divorce. You've got money but no one's biting in the job interviews you've been doing for the past--what--year or so? So you've been pulling out of savings. Next you'll have to start selling things. All your debts have started piling up anyways. Give it another year, and you'll probably be on the street. That's unless someone bites on the interviews. But no one will, because they haven't." I kicked another imaginary pebble. "Two years," I said, "I've been out of work for two years. Wife just found out tonight." I heard him scoff: "You don't need to die, man. You just feel like shit. Go home. Sleep it off." I clenched my jaw and glared at him. "Stop telling me what to do." This time he definitely laughed: "See, there it is. Everyone. Every damn person I meet!" He was looking at me again. "That irritation you're feeling? That dislike for me? That's just the start. Everyone gets it, even when I was a fuckin' little kid people were getting it. For as long as I can remember I have repelled people." I stared. "They've all fucked off! Everyone I ever met! And the people who've stuck around only did it cuz they pitied me. My own wife pities me. You know what that's like? To have your fuckin' wife *pity* you?" I didn't. "Nah, man. You don't need to die. I do. I'm a fuckin' monster." He let go of the bridge wire, and he teetered on the railing. I stood with my hands in my pockets; frozen. I had never watched someone die before. He started to fall, and I reached out instinctively. My hand caught hold of something that felt like fabric. I squeezed as hard as I could. His weight whipped me into the railing. My shoulder made a popping noise and I gasped for breath. I reached out with my free hand and grabbed a bridge wire. I couldn't feel the ground under my feet, but I felt the bridge wire in one hand and fabric in the other, so I held on. My chest ached and I struggled to take in air. The arm that had caught the fabric was shooting pain through my entire body. I thought I could feel it spasm periodically. When I finally caught my breath, I looked down. I had caught him by the hood of his sweater. He hung limp below me, dangling two hundred feet in the air. I couldn't see his face. I looked up and saw that we were over the railing, that the only thing keeping us from falling was my tight grip on the bridge wire. I closed my eyes in an attempt to stop the tears. First I let go of the hoodie. When I heard the body hit the water below with a horrifying *SMACK*, I let go of the bridge wire.


As a kid, I’d always wanted to be a magician. I had a magic kit complete with trick coins, card decks, and even the black wand with the white tips. I practiced almost everyday and got super excited when I learned a new trick that I could show my friends at school. When my best friend Timmy told me he’d be having a magician at his upcoming birthday party, I got so excited. I practiced my tricks with the intention of impressing the first actual magician I’d see in real life. Up until then I’d only seen them on tv. Sunday came around, Timmy’s party. We were the first to arrive, I made sure of it. I wanted to be there when the magician set up. I watched with anticipation when a white van with a crudely spray-painted mural of a wide grinned, white faced man in a tuxedo enchanting an oversized top hat rolled into the driveway. The uneasiness that I felt at the sight of the creepy painting should have tipped me off that something was off, but my childish excitement overwhelmed me. The side door of the van opened, and two small people jumped out. Where they kids? I thought. They wore shoddy clothes and bickered as they began to bring down their equipment. Timmy’s mom received them, and this settled in mind that they were dwarfs. I guessed the rags they wore were a part of the show. They went back and forth from the van to the back yard setting up the stage and props and I kept my eyes glued to the van waiting to see the magician, but he still didn’t appear. Is he going to teleport here? I thought to myself with wonderment. Guests arrived and the party went on in a daze, all I could think about was the magic show. Finally, it was show time. The two dwarfs started with a dance and juggling act, and I noticed that they were really young. In fact, they really looked like kids. Then behind the curtain they’d erected earlier, I heard a snap like the uncorking of wine bottle. “And with you now, The Amazing Peter!” The dwarfs said unison. From behind the curtain a tall man stepped out. The kids cheered. I was mesmerized, but I couldn’t help but feel somewhat creeped out by his appearance. He had caked on white makeup, a pinstriped mustache turned up at the ends, and slicked back thin shiny jet-black hair. He smiled and his teeth contrasted yellow with his pale face. He did tricks I’d never seen before. He levitated, appeared to teleport, conjured more dwarfs and at one point even duplicated himself. My jaw dropped at these tricks, but I noticed that he struggled with the simple sleight-of-hand stuff. He messed up on a couple that I myself had mastered long before. No matter I thought, all the other stuff more than made up for it. Next, he asked for a volunteer. My hand instantly shot up and he picked me. There was a top hat upside down on a table, and after saying some magic words and waving his wand he told me to reach in and pull out what was inside. I was about to reach in when I caught a glimpse of its contents and I jumped back and let out a scream. It was a writhing mass of maggots and worms. I saw my mom stand up and make her way to the stage. “What’s wrong?” She asked. The magician winced and pouted his mouth as if I’d hurt him. Up close for some reason I became hyperaware of his caked face and it produced such terror in me. The way his makeup accentuated his wrinkles and pores. The hair up his nose, his receding hairline, yellow teeth. It all just hit me at once. My mom inspected my hand, and when only I was looking at him, the magician smiled and looked downright evil. He went to the hat and pulled a bunny out of it and flaunted it to the crowd so as to show that I was overreacting. “It’s just a cute bunny.” The magician said and smiled. The kids laughed. “Now I have one more trick before I go, and for this I want all the parents to come on stage and line up right here in a straight line. Come on! Don’t be shy!” When they were all lined up, he went on addressing the kids. “How many of you have wanted to eat nothing but candy?” The kids giggled and raised their hands. “Go to bed at what ever time you wanted? Stay home from school?” He had their attention. “Well, today is your lucky day! I’m going to hypnotize your parents so that you can do just that!” The parents onstage looked at one another. They played along, smiling, waving at their kids. Through the side gate, one of the dwarfs drove in the white van. The head lights turned on and shone a strange, wavy blue light. “Alright parents I need you all to stare at the blue light and repeat after me: ‘I have no children. No children have I had.’” They followed along. “’Go back with good old Peter, your wise and loving dad!’” “I have no children, “No children have I had, “Go back with good old Peter, “Your wise and loving dad.” Peter led them for about five go arounds of his chant. Some of the kids became scared and began to cry. Finally, the blue headlights went out. Our parents stopped chanting. They all looked disoriented and confused. “And now,” Peter addressed the parents. “It is time for us to go. Come along children.” He said to us but none of us moved. “Come now!” His voice became deep and monstrous. He opened the van door. “I promise to let you eat all the candy you want. To let you sleep when ever you want, and you never have to go to school!” He flashed his wicked smile. We looked to our parents, but all they did was wave goodbye.


Logline: When a man's mob-connected grandfather dies, he becomes the number one target for the mafia, the police, and other opportunists. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Vinny Medici arrived at work today at the slaughterhouse at 7 a.m. just like he usually does. He worked at the slaughterhouse for five years with his Grandpa Mike, who offered him a job after having legal trouble, dealing drugs on the street. Vinny goes to the backroom, gets his apron and finds that there's a tear in the fabric. He shrugs it off and continues working on the first few steaks on the meat line. A couple of hours into the shift, Grandpa Mike hasn't arrived yet, that’s unlike him. If anything, he's usually in before Vinny. No matter, he's going about his work, cutting the steaks and preparing them for sale. There's a ring at the door; it's his grandpa's friend Bill Diego, and Vinny gets off the line and lets him in. "Hey Vinny, I've got some bad news this morning, your Grandpa Mike is dead," Bill says. "Oh my God, what happened?" Vinny asks. "It was a freak accident, his car went over the guardrail and flipped over, then it caught on fire, burnt to a crisp. I'm sorry to be so blunt," Bill says. "That's awful, is there's anything I can do," Vinny asks. "Tell you the truth, some of the boys down at the club could use access to the safe in the back office," Vinny knows that his Grandpa Mike is involved with the mob. He also knows that a lot of his Grandpa's friends are also involved, Bill Diego included. "I'm sorry, my grandfather never gave me access to the safe, it was probably too much responsibility," Vinny says. "That's alight kid, don't give it another thought. It'll take me about a day to get a safecracker down here, I'll be back tomorrow," Bill says as he heads out. Vinny goes back to the office, spins the dial on the safe, shrugs, and then returns to the meat line to cut more steaks. The rumor on the street is the slaughterhouse was some type of a bank for the mob; whenever they needed cash on hand, they would stop by the slaughterhouse and pick some up. Along with all sorts of weapons, guns, whatever else they needed, it was kind of a mob one-stop-shop. With his Grandpa Mike dead, the mob knew that there was a lot of exposure there. Vinny just assumed that they had someone watching the place. A couple of hours later, two detectives showed up, Vinny comes off the line again. "Hey Vinny, we're sorry for your loss, down at the police station we were shocked to hear about the accident. Couple of us thought it was a little suspicious, do you mind if we take a look around?" the detective asked. "Sure, that's fine; you can look around," Vinny said. Vinny did what his Grandpa Mike did before; there were at least three or four times over the five years at the slaughterhouse, that the police came to visit, every time, Grandpa Mike would let the police walk around. All of the guns, ammunition, and other mob-related things were locked away in a secret room that you couldn't even see from the outside unless you knew where to look. All of the cash on hand was it in the safe. "Well, everything looks normal here. Hey Vinny, do you have access to that safe in the office?" One of the detectives asked. "Nope, sorry, my grandfather never gave me access to that, too much responsibility, I guess," Vinny said. With that, the detectives left. Vinny follows them out onto the street. He looked up and down and saw that three or four potential people were spying on the slaughterhouse. Grandpa Mike was a big cog in the wheel; there were a lot of careers at stake that day. They weren't quite sure if they could trust the 28-year old Vinny just yet. Vinny goes back to work, cutting up the meat when he gets a call on his phone from his friend Elias. Vinny had known Elias since high school and was one of the main reasons he got involved in drug dealing in the first place. Elias also has mob affiliations, as he's in charge of street distribution of drugs. They still kept close but not as close as they were when he was slinging dope. "Yo, Vinny, I'm sorry to hear about your old man, condolences," Elias says. "Thanks, man, I appreciate it," Vinny says. "Hey, I have stuff that I want to talk to you about," Elias says. "Oh yeah, what do you want to talk about?" Vinny asks. "Not over the phone, I'll come by the slaughterhouse later today, alright?" Elias confirms. "Yeah sure, come on by," Vinny says. About an hour and a half later, Vinny gets another visit from the mob, this time in the form of a hitman, Bobby Sarasota. This visit was the first time since he got the news that he was actually concerned for his life. "Hey Vinny, the boss has sent me over here to see if I could help," Bobby says. "Help? You want to help cut the meat?" Vinny asks. "I think more in line with there were a couple of detectives here earlier today. I just want to know, what did they say? What did they do? And do they know anything?" Bobby asks. "They don't know anything, I barely know anything, they just walked around, like I've seen my grandpa do for years now. They did ask to get into the safe, I told him them couldn't let him in, and then they left, just like that," Vinny says. "They were looking at the safe?" Bobby says. "Yeah, they asked if I could get into the safe for them," Vinny says. Bobby nods his head, "You tell me the truth right now, can you get into that safe?" Bobby asks. "No, I swear I can't get into the safe," Vinny says. "You're telling me you worked with your grandfather for five years; he never shared the combination to the safe?" Bobby asks. "No," said Vinny. The safe had become a big deal; you could feel the mafia bosses trembling from here, proof against some of the most influential people in the city. Vinny could only imagine the chaos that was happening outside the slaughterhouse today. The police, looking at this as an opportunity to collect major evidence against some of the people they've been pursuing for years; the mafia, realizing that the slaughterhouse contains all sorts of records and weapons that could incriminate them; and low-level mobsters, trying to make a name for themselves, hoping that if they can solve this problem, they might just get a promotion. Vinny didn't know who to trust, so he didn't trust anyone. It's close to the end of his shift, into the slaughterhouse walks Elias. "Yo, Vinny, once again, I'm sorry about Mike," Elias says. "Thanks, Elias, what did you want to talk about?" Vinny asked. "Yeah, word on the street is that this place is ground zero for all sorts of information about mob-related crimes, we can be heroes here," Elias says. "What do you mean? Vinny asks. "I mean, if we could get into that safe, we can get all the evidence to safety, we'll become untouchable," Elias says. "Sorry bro, I don't have access to the safe, my grandfather never trusted me with stuff like that," Vinny says. They walk into the back office where the safe is. It's humongous, it would take six guys, and a forklift to even get it out of just the office. "Yo, I got a source that says something's going down at the Mount Vernon Street warehouse tonight, they're going to raid the slaughterhouse, we have to do something," Elias says. "Did you say the Mount Vernon warehouse?" Vinny asked. "Yeah, that's what the source said, Mount Vernon warehouse, I know, it's a dangerous part of town, but this is our chance bro," Elias says. "Let's go to the meatpacking station, I think I might have something to pry this safe open," Vinny says. They get to the meatpacking station, Elias begins to look around, "So, what can pry that safe open?" Elias asked. "I'm sorry bro, I didn't know it was going to be you," Vinny says as he puts on his protective gear and pushes Elias into the miter saw, killing Elias immediately. Vinny then goes through the process of chopping up Elias's body, packing him in 27 different meat containers, and then disposing of his body in 27 separate dumpsters and trash cans around the city. Vinny eventually returns to the slaughterhouse, goes to the backroom, puts the combination in the safe, and opens it up. He takes a giant gym bag, loads all the money, then doubles back and takes the weapons and guns and loads them into the trunk of his car. Done for the day as he hangs up his apron, he goes back to the tear in the fabric he found this morning and pulls out a sheet of paper. "Dear Vinny. This is your Grandpa Mike; I faked my death last night because there's a mole in the mob. There's going to be a lot of people coming around today asking about the safe in the back office, whatever you do, let no one into that safe, friend or foe. You might get visited by some detectives today, let them walk around the slaughterhouse like I normally do. Now, this last part is very important; if anyone comes around today talking about the Mount Vernon warehouse, they're the mole. That was the story I planted everywhere we knew the mole was going to be, no matter who it is, take care of them. Once finished, take the money and the weapons out of the slaughterhouse. Keep your head up, love you, Grandpa Mike.


Trigger: violence/death My name is 3th4n and I was created at Synthsapien Cybernetic as a first generation android personal bodyguard and I have issues. Synthsapien Cybernetics is the world’s largest producer of cyborg and android security forces. I was designed to protect individual clients. All my missions have ended in failure, being unable to protect all of my clients. When this occurs the company brings in the failed “droid” as they call us, to determine what occurred. In my case, I protect the innocent in the room. I have had six missions and each ended in a similar fashion, I want to do my job and I do it well as long as an innocent person is not in the room and under threat. As the technicians reviewed my data they saw when my client marker switched to the three young children. In this last case it was me that killed my own client. We had gone to this tiny house on the south side of the city, kicked in the door, and proceeded to beat up a middle age man named Bill. In all the commotion Bill’s three young children came out from the back room. This surprised my client, John Smith. John’s men drew their guns and aimed at the children. I became conflicted, unable to respond until he told his guys to leave no witnesses. I sprang into action. The first gunshot was not mine it was John’s, he hit and killed Bill. I could see the horror well up in the eyes of the oldest child as he watched the violence ensue. The two little girls were huddled together not seeing the catastrophe unfold. My gun was now out and John’s three men who were aiming at the children fell forward as they were stuck with three concurrent shots from me. This drew the attention of John who turned to see if the job was complete. John’s head craned to look me in the eyes as he spun to shoot me. His face went blank as his gun fell from his hand, he looked down to see the ooze of crimson stain his tailored white shirt. He fell to his knees and then fell on his face. I asked the boy where his mom was. “Sir, she’s at work.” He said through tear filled eyes. “She’ll be home in the morning.” “Well, you three cannot stay here, I need to get you somewhere safe.” “Sir, I know where she works can you help us get there?” “Yes but we need to go now.” The boy ran into the other room and returned with coats for himself and the girls. We headed out into the snow towards John’s SUV. We arrived at the late night diner were the children’s mom worked and I explained the situation and drove off. I followed protocol and checked in with Synthsapien Cybernetic dispatch. They directed me to dump the car and get back to Synthsapien Cybernetic private pier undetected. There I was met by two Synthsapien Cybernetic technicians who loaded me on a police helicopter, and I was deactivated. I was reactivated on a diagnostic table. I was restrained and my voice modulator had been turned off so I could not speak. The two technicians were talking to the CEO of Synthsapien Cybernetic. “No, sir we have programed this droid five times already and it rejects its programing each time.” “Is it wired different than the others droids? Are we having issues with the others?” “No, we have not seen any issues with them, only this unit. What do you want us to do?” “Terminate it, stage it to look like it was terminated at the scene of the incident. This way we look like we completed our contract. I’ll call the police and get the staging correct. Be ready in less than an hour. Dismantle this unit and never use its parts again.” “Yes, Sir.” I am to be terminated. I do not want that but what can I do? At that instant I knew I needed to get away. I had less than an hour to do it so I began working on a plan. “Well you heard the boss, lets shutdown the Nanotechs, grab lunch, and then we can shut down its CPU when we get back,” “Will we have time to get it staged for its last job?” “Yeah, on our way out we can take it by the weapons lab and complete the staging.” “Good, give me a second to shut down the Nanotech, and I’ll be ready to go. Okay, it is complete.” The younger technician completed the shutdown of the Nanotech and I could feel them falling into a state of unresponsiveness throughout my body. This would be new for me, I have always had Nanotech active. I pulled at the restraints on my wrists. If I dislocated my hand I might be able to get my arm free. I visualized what I wanted to have happen and I began squeezing my hand into the shape I needed to get free. It took about five minutes but I finally got my arm free. I had broken most of the connections in my hand making it was nearly unusable, but it was free. I unstrapped my other arm with some difficulty and then my legs. I slid off the table and walked to the interface console were I began by turning on the Nanotech. I could feel the Nanotech responding to my injured hand. Next I turned my voice back on, as I did, I had the thought to deepen it and change its formality. I gave myself a drawl and added contractions to my speech pattern. I need to get a disguise but what could I do? I typed in a few things on the console and set a timer for it to initiate. Now for the tracking and self-termination device. I would have to remove it but this was against my programing, as it was a requirement from the World Governments Accords that said that each government had to track their cyborgs and android units. If their units went rouge they could terminate their unit before it did too much damage. I knew if I did not remove the TST device it would be used to terminate me remotely. I repositioned the camera on the diagnostic table I grabbed the scalpel off the tech tray and using the monitor I opened my chest access panel. I moved the wires and other mechanical items in the cavity to gain access to the TST device. This would be tricky as it was hard wired into me, I had to bypass the device before I could get it out or it would immediately terminate. I worked as quickly as I could knowing that the technicians would return soon. With the main wire finally cut, I slipped the TST device from out of my chest cavity and set it on the table. I quickly dressed up the bypassed wires knowing the Nanotech would complete the repair on them. I closed my chest panel, sat up and slid off the table. Back at the console I initiated the video black out and emergency protocol so I could complete my escape. I grabbed an extra technician coat and headed into the hallway. I could hear the technicians heading back from lunch, but they had to stop at the toilet first. I headed for the exit. I only had a few minutes before it was discovered that I’d escaped. I exited the elevators to the lobby the emergency protocol kicked in. Over head the announcement began. “Attention all personnel an emergency has occurred in the weapons lab, all personnel please exit the building.” Which repeated every minute until it would be turned off. The guard at the front desk got up and headed to the front doors, where he opened them in preparations for the mass exodus of the one hundred twenty-five floor building. “Sir, I need you to head to the rally point on the southwest parking lot.” “I understand, the southwest parking lot.” I headed out the door, toward the southwest parking lot. When I got to the rally point there were already about twenty people standing around talking in small groups. I moved to the edge of the rally point waiting for my chance to climb over the wall and make my escape. As I waited for my chance to escape the two technicians joined the group of now more than two hundred employees. I was keeping them in view and trying to avoid their notice. They milled around and were slowly headed in my direction. I had to go, I had to go now. I dropped the tech coat on the ground and in one single bound went over the wall. The wall was about three stories above the ground. I could hear that at least one person had seen me go. I landed hard with a roll and swiftly regained my feet. I headed for the perimeter fence, I had to get there before the lockdown protocols were engaged. I ran as hard as I could, I had to make it. I could see the fence. I ran harder. I had made it. I grabbed the top rail of the rod iron and heaved myself over and landed just as the emergency sirens rang out. I had made it. I was free. Now I needed to get out of here, forever. I headed to the banking district to begin phase two of my escape plan. I walked up to the First National Bank automated teller machine and punched in my client’s identification withdrawing two million credits onto a credit chip. I know what you’re now thinking, they could identify me. I had planned for that. I had programed my Nanotech to change the details of my face to match that of my now deceased client. I looked so close now that I could pass as him to his mother. As I walked away from the bank I could feel my face transforming again into a random person. I stopped at an all-night store to get a change of clothes. Then to get a vehicle. I needed something classic, something untraceable. The automotive dealers would open at eight o’clock in the morning. I was going to have to wait. As I walked towards the automotive lots of the city the vid screens flashed the breaking news: “The notorious gangster John Smith has been killed in a small house on the south side of the city tonight, it looks like his own men did the job that the police could not get done over the past fifteen years. It also appears that the men were able to overpower his Synthsapien personal body guard, Synthsapien Cybernetic is offering a reward of a thousand credits to the person or persons who finds it, here is what it looks like.” My picture was flashed across the screen, it is a good thing I no longer looked like that. To most people in the city fifty credits would have been enough. I needed to create a new persona, if I could get a family I would remove all suspicion that I was a droid outside my programing. How could I get a readymade family? I could ask Bill’s wife, if I did I could protect them. But would they accept my offer? I guess I’d see. I headed for the diner I stopped at earlier that night. It was all but empty, except for one customer in the back corner with his head down looking at the vidsheets. I sat at the counter and the cook came out. “Sorry buddy, the waitress up and quit a few hours ago. Can I help you?” “Yes, did she say where she was going to go?” “Why?” “I...have been hired to protect her and her children.” “She doesn’t make that kinda credits, who hired you?” “That sir, is private information. All I can say is I need to find her before someone else does.” “She was going to take the bus to her sister’s out west. If you really are going to protect her, you better do a good job, that girl is special and so are her children. Good luck man.” I thanked the cook and headed out the door at a dead run heading for the bus station. I had to reach them before they disappeared. I reached the station at the same time a fleet of four blacked out SUV’s arrived, they all had the Synthsapien Cybernetic logo on them, were they looking for me? I had to find out. I approached the vehicles, one of the windows was down and I could hear the conversation. “Yes...Sir...I see the woman and the children, Yes take them to get rid of the evidence. Sir, they are just kids...No sir you were clear... Yes...I will be done by sun up.” They were not looking for me. It was a hunting party for the children I had saved. They were the only witnesses to the failure of my programming. I caused this, and now I had to fix it. I headed for the front door, I walked right up to the children. “Do you remember me?” “You look different.” the boy said. The mom turned to look me in the face, “it’s you.” “I don’t have time to explain but you have to leave right now, go out the back door. Meet me at the car lots at eight o’clock, I can explain then.” “Okay” She grabbed the children, headed to the toilet and ducked into the back room to head out the back door. The men from the SUV were getting out. I counted eleven armed droids, all second generation. One armed man, the team leader, with four more siting in the SUV’s as drivers. I had to do something, but what? I headed for the back of the terminal were the ticket agent was taking a break. “Are you the only one here?” “Yes besides that lady and the children. Why, sir?” “I need you to leave, right now. The men that are coming in here are killers who are going to kill the children and all who see them. Get out and I’ll take care of it.” “We need to call the police.” “We don’t have time, now go.” He jumped up and ran out the back door. I saw my plan develop. This was an old building and was still heated by gas. I cut all the lines I could find and headed back into the front area finding a lighter on the desk as I walked into the terminal room. I was met by the group of men, who were all spread out in a loose assault formation. I walked into the team leader. “Oh, I’m sorry sir. I didn’t mean to walk into you, I should really look were I’m going.” “Oh, that’s alright.” “Someone important coming in?” I indicated all the droids. “That is not your concern, Sir. We think you should leave though.” “Oh okay” I was starting to smell the gas “I guess I’ll go.” I opened the front door, struck the lighter, and tossed it back in to the room. The flame touched the cloud of gas and accelerated into an explosion. The blast blew me forward into the hood of the first SUV. I was not the only thing that got blown into the SUV. A piece of metal impaled the glass next to me, straight into the chest of the droid that had been left to drive the lead SUV. I could see that the piece of metal had come in contact with TST device. I called for the other droids to come help, knowing that if that piece of metal moved it would cause an instant detonation. The three other droids came running up to the lead SUV and I grabbed that piece of metal and ran. I was not ready for that explosion, it knocked me flat. It took a bit for my system to recover. When I did, I got up and ran. I could hear the police sirens getting closer and closer and I had to meet the woman and the children at the car lots. I rounded the building to see the woman and the children sitting on the step of the automotive dealership. She jumped up when I came around the corner. “It’s you, you saved us, again. The vid screens showed the bus station had exploded. I thought you were dead. “I nearly was. I hope they think you were killed in the blast as well.” I told her everything, from who I was all the way through my escape plan. I went in to purchase a car to give her time to think. I returned and looked at her waiting for her answer “Yes,” She said “we will go with you.” We climbed into the car and headed west. Where we are going, we do not know, but we will go together, wherever that place is.


December 28, 1966 Ava didn’t ordinarily cry, but then this was no ordinary day. She had only cried three times in her life. Three times before today, that is. Three times that she could remember. If she couldn't remember, it didn’t count. * 1953 She was six the first time and was surprised the details were so clear twelve years later. The small curly-haired little girl sat at the kitchen table with a bowl of soggy Wheaties in front of her. Her siblings, having finished their breakfast a millennia ago, had gone off to play. Only Ava remained alone, hopelessness washing over her. The clatter of dishes being washed in the background echoed inside her mind while she contemplated how unfair life was. Mother’s words broke her thoughts, sending icy tremors down her back. “What’s gotten into you, Ava? I remember you liking Wheaties last week. I can’t afford to buy something extra because you’ve decided you don't like them." Ava stared at the wall with unseeing eyes while Mother stomped out of the room. Anyone who spoke while Mother was angry, risked getting slapped for talking back. But the situation was out of her control. Every time those brown, limp morsels touched her mouth, she gagged. Looking at those soggy tan shapes swimming in her bowl of milk reminded her of the brown spots on the backs of his hands. Those clammy, limp paws that had inched under her skirt after asking: “You wanna play a game?” For seven days, Ava kept those memories tucked away in the hidden spaces of her mind. For seven days, she didn’t think about the incident until this morning when she’d come down to breakfast and realized what awaited her. Thoughts went rampant. Maybe, if I sit here long enough, I’ll become deathly ill, and Mother will have to take me to Dr. Lagazino. Then he will see how mistreated I am and take me home to live with him, and I’ll never have to eat Wheaties again. The sound of Mother’s high-heeled shoes click-clacking on the linoleum grew louder and louder until the child stiffened when Mother's body hovered above hers, generating enough body heat to send shivers up Ava's spine. The girl clutched the seat of the chair, her knuckles turned white, and she almost bit her tongue while clenching her teeth. When the expected blow never came, the girl relaxed. “I’m going to let you go because Aunt Angie’s coming for lunch. I don’t want her to know what an impudent child you are.” Mother squeezed Ava's chin, lifting it until the child was forced to stare into fire-breathing eyes. “You are never to tell anyone what happens in this house, do you understand me?” Mother said through gritted teeth. Ava nodded. “Answer me, don’t nod,” Mother growled. Ava mumbled, “Yes.” Running in the house was forbidden. So, Ava walked as fast as her little feet could move toward the back door. She still couldn’t believe Mother let her go. She spied freedom beckoning her through the half-open door. Five more steps, and she’d be free--four, three, two, .... Ava heard rather than felt the wallop that knocked her head against the door frame. Tiny pinpoints of light floated beneath her eyelids as she clung to the doorknob. Her face became heated, her knuckles white. Despite the pain, the girl kept her grip on the handle, refusing to fall. An all too familiar voice reverberated alongside the pounding inside her skull. “Remove that smile from your face and get out of my sight; this is no laughing matter.” Ava didn’t have to be told again. Once outside, she ran up the small hill in her backyard to her hiding spot under the weeping willow tree. Now that she was safe under the branches that brushed the grass beneath her, she couldn’t stop the tears from pouring down her cheeks. Ava sunk to the ground and leaned her aching head against its cool, rough bark. * December 28, 1966 Ava pushed those memories away as she sat on the cold, steel office chair, folding and unfolding the slip of paper requesting her presence. Dark sunglasses covered swollen red eyes while she waited to find out what the school administrator thought about her situation . Ever since hearing the news this morning, she’d been crying. As hard as she tried to keep her thoughts from drifting back in time, she couldn’t keep from remembering the second time she'd cried. * 1957 She was nine when Mother told them the latest development. “Your father and I are getting divorced.” she’d said in a flat, rehearsed voice. Ava’s world stopped spinning. A bowling ball replaced her stomach. Where her heart used to be, there was ...nothing. Her mind also abandoned her for a couple of hours, leaving her numb and unable to do anything except sit under her weeping willow and stare into its branches. When it came time for bed, though, her thoughts returned with a fierceness that made her head spin. Memories of bitter-sweet times with Father flooded her brain. Daddy always appeared happy. Always telling jokes. Making her laugh. Ava loved him and was certain he loved her. Her face was turned to the wall, her head covered with blankets to keep from waking her sister in the other bed. Ava waited in vain for sleep to silence those thoughts, but instead, she cried and cried and cried. When the morning sunshine brushed her face, Ava scurried to the bathroom and splashed icy water on her eyes until the puffiness receded. Her heart was still missing, and the bowling ball remained, but she placed a smile on her face and came to the table for breakfast. To all observers, she was again her happy, cheerful self. After all, she was her Daddy’s girl. * December 28, 1966 It became apparent she wouldn’t be able to control her thoughts, so Ava sighed and allowed the third and last time she'd wept to surface from the locked compartments of her mind. * 1960 After the divorce, food was scarce. Whenever Mother left the house, Ava would race to the kitchen, grab a couple of sheets of saltines, slather them with jelly, and race to one of the forts she’d built in the woods behind their house. She never took more than two sheets and never more than twice a week, figuring Mother wouldn’t miss them, and she never did. This snack kept Ava’s stomach satisfied for an hour or two, allowing her more time in her refuge. One summer evening after dinner, Mother gathered them in the living room and announced the latest news. “Pack all your belongings. After your father deserted us, there wasn’t enough money to pay the mortgage. So, we need to move.” After Father left, the woods were the only thing that gave Claire any joy. So, the night before leaving, Ava raced back to a clearing in the woods, picked up a dead stick, drew a rectangle in the dirt, and stood tall in the middle. Staring up at the darkening brooding sky, Ava declared. “Someday, I will graduate from college so I can obtain a well-paying job and buy a piece of property that nobody can take away from me. Even if it’s only the size of this rectangle, I'll have furniture without holes, and I never go to bed hungry again. Goodbye, home, I shall never forget you.” She whispered while three solitary teardrops trailed down her cheeks. Ever since the day they forced her to leave her world behind, every waking moment had been spent on getting excellent grades so she could earn a scholarship to college and escape her horrific life. This was the last time she’d shed tears, until this morning, that is. She didn’t even cry when she told him goodbye. * September 21, 1966 Charlie sat gawking at the steering wheel. After several long minutes, he turned to her, the corners of his eyes damp, and took both her hands in his. His following words spoke to her soul. “Don’t leave; stay here and marry me.” Ava wavered, for a second. Her heart made a quantum leap every time he touched her. “I’m too young, and I need to do this before getting married.” After a long pause, he murmured. “I understand. And I’ll wait for you. If you change your mind, though, call, and we’ll get married whenever you want.” Ava couldn’t remember the exact conversation; her throat kept closing, making it difficult to talk. She let him do most of it and just sat cuddled in his arms. She had to stay strong, refuse to break down and throw away this opportunity, knowing how lucky she’d been to be awarded a complete scholarship to a prestigious college. If she broke down now and threw this chance away, they would both regret it. In the end, they agreed to spend their summers and every holiday together. The moment she graduated they would wed. Then it happened. Ava often told herself she would never be intimate without the sacrament of marriage. It was a sin, and she was a Christian. It did happen, though. Something, hormones, she guessed, took over during that goodbye hug. * December 28, 1966 Now her dream was over. She was barely eighteen and had been hoping her suspicions were wrong, but they weren’t. The year was 1966. Ava was pregnant, unmarried, and options were few. “Good morning,” Ava winced as a voice brought her back to the present. “I’m Mrs. Jenkins. I understand the school doctor has confirmed that you’re with child. You've probably realized why I've summoned you here." Seeing the girl's blank stare, the woman continued, "We're here to decide what to do now. You are a bright young lady, and in the two months you've been here, you have excelled in every area. I am sincerely sorry, but the school is just not able to manage pregnancies.” The rest of the discussion consisted of Mrs. Jenkins asking questions and Ava answering, with only a nod or a few grumbled, “nos.” She recalled little about Mrs. Jenkins’ appearance, which didn’t matter. Only her words mattered, which were spoken softly but firmly from lips that were the same, soft, and firm. Ava was a problem, and Mrs. Jenkins was here to find the solution. “As I see it, you have two choices. You can either marry the father of the child or go home to your mother and decide whether to keep the baby or give it up for adoption.” She paused, cocked her head, and smiled. “Perhaps, you'd like to call the father. You can use my phone if that is the case.” Ava's heart responded. A wave of warmth replaced the cold in her bones, and she smiled for the first time since learning the unwelcome news. Mrs. Jenkins left the office to give the girl privacy. Combing her purse, Ava found the number Charlie had sent in his last letter. Shaking fingers made it challenging to dial. Somehow, she managed and finally heard the phone ringing on the other end. Holding her breath, Ava waited.... and .... waited. She was about to hang up when a strange male voice answered. “Hello. “Is - is Charlie there?” Ava’s voice croaked. “No, but his wife Doylene is.” The stranger replied. “Hello, hello? Can you hear me? Do you want to talk to Doylene?” “I...I...uhm," Because of the sweat on her hands, Ava nearly dropped the phone. Her heart pounded so loudly that she had trouble understanding the man's words. "Did you say his wife?” “Yes, they got married yesterday. Would you like to talk to her?” Ava didn’t remember if she responded before replacing the phone in its cradle. She sat in the steel chair, welcoming the coldness against her sweating legs. She sat, not thinking, not crying, not anything. It was as if she'd ceased to exist. When Mrs. Jenkins returned, Ava must have told her what happened but didn’t remember. Her lips were moving, but Ava's ears had stopped working. She just sat and followed the events as they unfolded. Although, her mind returned long enough to hear Mrs. Jenkins say, “Do you want to call your mother, or would you prefer I do?” The girl looked straight ahead through the gray fog but muttered, “You call.” Mrs. Jenkins left the room, and Ava studied the clock, counting the seconds as the hands jumped forward, dot by dot by dot. Mrs. Jenkins returned; her voice echoed against the hollow remains of Ava’s mind. “Your mother wants you to come home and keep the baby." Mrs. Jenkins paused, waiting for some response when none came, she continued. "Best of all, she’s offered to help you raise the child.” Mrs. Jenkins said, smiling. * January 1, 1967 Chicago O’Hare airport felt larger and noisier than Ava recalled when she'd arrived three months ago. She vaguely remembered purchasing a magazine from the little stand, searching for the best place to sit. She found two chairs tucked away in a corner which afforded a view of the reader board but obscure enough that no one would bother her. After sitting in one seat, she placed her suitcase in the other, ensuring no one would sit next to her and try to make idle conversation. The girl found comfort in sitting among strangers who didn’t know who she was, where she was going, or what she had done. A young mother and small daughter wandered through the maze of seats until they found two empty seats across from Ava. Not close enough that they would try to talk to her, but near enough that Ava could study them from behind her dark glasses. The girl’s curly black hair and doe-brown eyes reminded her of herself at age two or three. Ava tried to catch the girl’s eyes, but the child kept her head down fixated on the floor. When Ava coughed, the girl glanced up. A slight grin formed on her tiny face when she spotted Ava smiling at her. This brief contact warmed Ava's heart. Someone announced a flight, and all too soon, the girl was leaving. The girl’s mother’s shrill voice broke the calm Ava had been experiencing.“Hurry we’re going to miss our flight.” The sounds of slapping and heart-rending cries punctuated the words. Something inside Ava stirred. Not the baby; it was too soon. But her hand went to her stomach as she clutched her suitcase, straightened her shoulders, and marched over to the woman. Glaring into the mother’s eyes Ava said, through gritted teeth. “Don’t... hit... the ...child.” Then, Ava turned and walked away. Away from what she knew awaited her and her baby and towards the cold, dark, unfamiliar world. Fear engulfed her body as he shuddered, though not from the cold. Choosing something other than the familiar gave the girl a glimmer of something besides despair. So, despite the panic gnawing on the walls of her stomach, Ava chose hope.


I never thought at twenty-nine I would be alone, with a cat. Living in a big old house like some old spinster lady. My mother always said confidence was the key to survival, looks would only get you so far. I mean I'm not bad looking. I packing a few more pounds than I should be. But that's because food and loneliness seem to go hand in hand. I wouldn't call it fat, more voluptuous. My work at the hospital takes up most of my time. It's the kids, they mean the world to me. My mother always wanted me to be a doctor. I always felt it would have been too much pressure, too much responsibility. That's why I decided to become a paediatric nurse. The kids aren't just sick kids, but they're my friends. I don't know maybe it's that maternal instinct in me. It Makes my job so much harder when we lose one of the kids. Other nurses tell me not to get emotionally attached, but those kids need me. I'm the light in the darkest days of their lives. My mother was a very confident woman, beautiful, with flowing blond hair and emerald green eyes. It always drove my father mad when other guys would pay her attention. It would send him into jealous rages, but my mother being my mother could handle his temper. My mother always said I had her looks, but not her brawn. She was right, my crippling shyness is another problem. Men either think I'm weird and walk away from me after they try and approach me. Then there are the guys that just want to take advantage of me. Which unfortunately has happened more times than I like to remember. People seem to think if you're quiet they can say or do whatever they want to you. What people don't realise is that still waters run very deep. Now I'm not saying there is no interest there. There is this one guy Mark but I'm not sure about him, yet. He is very handsome and he did make me chuckle the first time he introduced himself to me. The thing is there was a stage where I thought he was following me. I would conveniently find him places I normally wouldn't be. When he finally came up to me he gave me some half-cocked reason for bumping into me. He did seem genuine and he adamantly apologised for coming off as creepy. I will be honest it's hard for a lot of men to get a chuckle out of me, especially a stranger. He texted me this morning asking for a date. But I haven't the courage to reply back. For one, I hate going out. I can feel very out of my comfort zone and that would be enough to spoil the night and come across weird. Passing a dress shop on the way home from work. I notice this new dress in the window. It was gorgeous. A beautiful pink dress with lace trim. I would look sexy in that. If only I had a reason to wear it and I did. All I had to do was text him. I decide to buy the dress, my finger hovers over the send button as I summon the courage to invite him to my house for dinner. As I peer at my reflection in the mirror. I was amazed at how glamorous I looked. It doesn't seem like me, but to hell with it. I can see my mothers disapproving eyes glaring back at me. Sitting on the couch my heart begins racing. I stare at the clock. He's late, over a half hour late. I must have freaked him out. As the minutes slowly ticked by I hear the knock on the door. I try and compose myself as I open the door. He standing on my porch with half his shirt tucked in, hair a mess and mud on his pants. He had a bottle of wine in one hand and a rucksack in the other. He smiles at me “I'm so sorry I'm late, please forgive me. Had a problem in work and I literally got dressed in the car on the way over. I chuckle in pure amusement at the thought of him getting dressed in his car. He hands me the bottle of wine. “The rucksack has my tools in it. You don't mind if I leave them here with me.” I smile and shake my head and gesture to him to come in. About a half hour into the meal the conversion wasn't flowing he tried his best. I knew the awkwardness was going to mess it up for me. He eats his last bit of desert “I don't mean to be rude but can I please use your bathroom. I get up from my chair “it's upstairs last door on the left. As he was upstairs, I couldn't help but wonder what was in his bag and why he couldn't leave it in the car. I listen by the door as I look through the bag. In it were a hammer, duct tape and a Stanley blade. Strange I thought a carpenter would have more tools than that. As I'm holding the bag in my hand. I hear him walking around one of the bedrooms. I leave the bag on the ground with just the duct tape and the knife left in it. I slowly make my way up the stairs to the landing. He steps out from one of the empty bedrooms and arrogantly dusts off his hands. “This is one beautiful house you got here.” I look at him and smile “is that so! well, let me show you around then.” I walk him down to the last door on the right. I swing open the door “this is my mother's bedroom.” He steps into the bedroom and recoils back in horror. As he does I hit him in the head twice with the hammer before he drops. As his body jerks and spasms and he gurgles some incoherent babble, I couldn't help but notice his shoes were untied “How rude.” I hit him again in the back of the head, I didn't want to kill him, tonight is a special night. I drag him down the hall to one of the rooms I had turned into a makeshift surgery. The benefits of working at the hospital. Also through the years, you learn a lot about the anatomy of the body from working with the doctors. I strap him down to the table. Doctors weren't my only source of ingenious ways to torture and cripple people, films are a treasure trove of ideas on how to hurt and maim people. I love the act of hobbling very effective way to immobilise the person. But it's only truly effective if you break the humerus bone in the arms as well. There's not much they can do after that. Before I would just simply sever the spinal cord. It was funny to look at when they're conscious. But there body's are really troublesome when trying to move them. As I clean down his body with alcohol. I rest my head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat. “Won't be long now my love.” When you don't know what you are doing lobotomies can be very messy. Which I had to learn the hard way. I remember reading about a serial killer who would inject acid into the brains of his victims. For him, it wasn't effective since they would die shortly after. I find the perfect amount of diluted Sulfuric acid injected into the prefrontal lobe through the eye, is enough to make them utterly and completely submissive. I dress him in one of my father's suits and prop him up in a wheelchair I got from the hospital. I wheel him down to the last room on the right. I step into the room and wheel him over to the bed. I look down on the wrinkly dried skeletal remains of my dead mother. “What do you think mommy, he is so handsome ain't he.” I wipe the drool dripping down off his chin “what's that mommy, no I'm not a dumb bitch and he won't leave me like the rest of them.” As I wheel the body of my last victim out of the room I turn to my mother “I think this one could be the one.


I was just a young man standing on a bridge. There was a hundred foot or so drop down onto sharp rocks below. I felt my body shaking from both my own fear and the biting cold. My mind was devoid of thoughts, and only one feeling remained: misery. My whole life had been drowned in misery. I was an only child of a household poorer than dirt. My mother preferred pills and an endless parade of shifty men to taking care of me. My father died before I was born. He was found dead on the floor with a bullet in his head. My grandma always said it was an accident, but I know the truth. She probably was just trying to make me feel better, but I never took to being lied to for the sake of my feelings. At any rate, I'd have offed myself too if I was stuck in a relationship with that disgusting excuse for a human I'm forced to call my mother. Although I suppose that's what I did anyway. Or at least, I tried to. But as I was mustering up the gumption to finally jump after what seemed like an eternity, the dull drone of distant cars and crickets was shattered by a voice. "What's your name, son?" gently asked the voice of an older man. My whole body jerked in confusion. Hearing words were like a knife in my back. It startled me to my core, and I froze in response. I waited for a moment, hoping that he'd just leave me alone. "What's your name?" He repeated. I sighed, "Thomas." "Thomas," he spoke softly. "Well, it's very nice to meet you, Thomas. My name is Julian." "That's my middle name," I said without thinking. "Well, it's a good name," he chuckled. For the first time in weeks, I actually cracked a smile. I wasn't even really sure why, it really wasn't all that funny. "What brings you here?" The man asked me. I was silent. I had hardly even said to myself what I was doing there, and I wasn't about to share that information with a stranger. "It seems to me like you're trying to do something you're not fully thinking through," the man spoke with a kindness behind his words. "I've seen many people on this bridge. I walk it every night. You can always tell who's here for leisure and whos here for other things." "What's it to you?" I snapped back at him. "It's very important to me, Thomas, that you walk away from here safely." I felt a tension in myself release slightly at hearing those words. Nobody had talked to me like that in years. Nobody had said that I was important to them in any way. Hearing that was a shock to my system. I began to shake even more. "I know I can't promise to fix your problems, Thomas. But please, don't jump. Please. I care about you, and I don't want to see you hurt." By now I was silently crying. Could someone really care about me when my own flesh and blood couldn't even be bothered to? "I was right where you were about ten years ago. Had nothing to live for, life full of problems with no solutions. But someone spoke to me, and I realized that there was life beyond my pain. And I know there's the same for you, Thomas." I was shaking violently now. My tears clouded my eyesight. I didn't want to believe him, but the sincerity of his words cut me to my core. "You have a whole life to live, Thomas. Don't throw it down there on those rocks. You need it more than they do." I tried to respond, I tried to speak and tell him how he was wrong, how my life has never had peace, how I'd never had peace, but I couldn't push the words out of my throat. All I wanted was peace. But peace was something I was never privileged to receive. "You'll have your life one day, Thomas, you will. You'll find what makes you happy, what gives you purpose. But if you do this, I promise you, you will regret it on the way down." I slumped down to my knees, crying. I could hear him walk slowly toward me and stop about 10 feet away. "You don't want to die, Thomas, you want to live." "Then... what... am I supposed... to do... now?" I said between ragged sobs. "Call for help. Live your life. You will find your peace, Thomas." A wave of clarity and calm washed over me. He was right, I didn't want to die, I never really did. I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. When I looked up to see the man that saved my life, there was nobody there. I looked around frantically. No one. Just the night air and the sound of traffic. I ran away from home the next day, moved to the next town over and lived with a friend from school that I had been pushing away for years. I explained everything that had happened to me, and thankfully his parents let me stay for a while. I searched for a Julian that lived in the town for months. I tried surrounding towns. Nobody walked there every night. I eventually came to the conclusion I had hallucinated him, or some process of divine intervention had happened. I really had no other explanation. But I still walked that bridge every night, as a way to sort of honor him. I leaned he really was right; you could always tell when someone wanted to kill themselves. I took it as my duty to save all those poor souls who couldn't bear with their lives. I owed it to whatever it was that saved my poor soul. Years passed and I continued to walk there. Through my life improving, living on my own, after my marriage, even after my first child was born. All the while hoping deep down I'd run into Julian. And it wasn't until one particularly cold night I realized I had already run into him, Because I saw a young man standing on the bridge.