7 A.M December 21st, 2010. Time 7:00 am I wake up with you in my arms and lay there silently as you dream the peaceful dreams that matched the calm state of your face. The way the sun shines on your skin and makes you almost as bright as the winters first snow. I breathe slowly, not to disrupt your sweet dreams. I love you. December 22nd, 2010 Time 7:00 am You stir to my fingers brushing your hair, softly, just like one would through a child's. You open your beautiful green eyes to start the beginning of your new adventure. Our fingers interlocked, the spaces filled perfectly. I couldn't ask for a better feeling. I love you. December 23rd, 2010 Time 7:00 am The scent of warm hot chocolate fills the room. Your favorite. A smile spreads across your face, the smile that tells me you feel what I feel. Breakfast in bed was my early gift to you. A gift I could give you for the rest of our lives. I love you. December 24th, 2010 Time 7:00 am The excitement of our first Christmas together excites you. I hold you close, feeling the warmth and comfort of your body against mine. A small kiss makes everything perfect. You make me feel complete. I love you. December 25th, 2010 Time 7:00 am You wake me up with a warm kiss on the lips. Merry Christmas my love, our very first holiday together. You're as excited as a child. That makes me smile. I give you your gift, it's small, but I know you'll love it. You open it and immediately know the answer. I love you. December 26th, 2010 Time 7:00 am The ring sits perfectly on your finger. I stroke the top of your hand and kiss your shoulder. You have to work soon but I don't want to wake you from your slumber. I don't want you to leave. I never do. I love you. December 27th, 2010 Time 7:00 am You're restlessly tossing and turning. I do my best to keep the blankets over you. I lean over and put my arm across you and place my body against yours. You settle. I worry. I love you. December 28th, 2010 Time 7:00 am I wake up to the sound of you softly crying. The tears roll off your cheek, I pull you into me and you rest your head on my chest and quietly sob. The darkness has engulfed you again. I won't let it hurt you anymore. I love you. December 29th, 2010 Time 7:00 am You're awake before me. Staring at the ceiling, caressing my hand softly. I kiss your cheek softly and you give me a warm smile. I see the pain in your eyes. It shatters my soul with every second I look at you. You have to leave for work soon. I want you to stay with me. I love you. December 30th, 2010 Time 7:00 am Your breath on my neck wakes me up. You look like you've been crying for hours. I hold you close and listen to your soft rhythmic breathing fill my ears. I'm afraid. I love you December 31st, 2010 Time 7:00 am New Years Eve, you tell me that you don't want to get out of bed today. The darkness is getting worse. You take your medication and lay back in bed. I bring you tea and some scrambled eggs, just the way you like them. You only eat half then stare blankly at the television. I take your plate to the kitchen and wash it. When I come back in to the bedroom you're playing with your ring. You tell me that you love me and that you're gonna be okay. I know better. I love you. January 1st, 2010 Time 7:00 am You've become pale, the dark circles under your eyes tell me that you are awake when I'm sleeping. You're eyes are bloodshot from all the crying. It kills me to see you in pain. I love you. January 2nd, 2010 Time 7:00 am No smile. You look at me and I know that you're fighting it. The darkness is stronger this time. I'll get you help, I promise. I love you. January 3rd, 2010 Time 7:00 am You take the new dosage doctor gave you. You've lost interest in everything. Your kisses are soft but have a chill to them. The warmth is gone. The sun in your soul is surrounded by a darkness that is darker than the midnight sky. I hope this dosage helps. I love you. January 4th, 2010 Time 7:00 am I try to wake you up but you don't stir. The room is silent. The pain in my chest is excruciating. I shake you and your pill bottles hit the floor. I fall to the floor. There is nothing I can do but cry. I dial 9-1-1 but I can't speak, I cry so hard that I lose my breath with every sob. The sobs are loud. The ambulance gets here and they put you on a stretcher. I follow holding your hand tightly. It's so cold. D.O.A. I love you.. January 5th, 2010 Time 7:00 am The bed feels empty with you gone. I cried all night. The tears are stained on my pillow case. Your scent fills my nose and I cry. I could have saved you. I'm empty without you. I read the note I found yesterday over and over. I'm so sorry baby. I can't take it anymore. I love you so much and I will always be with you. My sobs grow more intense. I miss you.. I love you.. January 6th, 2010 Time 7:00 am I had a dream about you. You looked so happy, so free. You're wings matched your brightness. Seeing your smile made me feel good that you are no longer in pain. I love you.. January 7th, 2010 Time 7:00 am Your funeral is today. I cry as I think of how you are no longer with me. It tears me apart. I feel like part of me has been crushed by a steam roller. I made my side of the bed and got dressed. I love you.. January 8th, 2010 Time 7:00 am Yesterday was hard. Seeing you lay almost as peaceful as you did when you slept broke my heart even more. You had an aura of serenity around you. Your skin glowed like it did when the sun hit you just right. I miss you so much. I love you.. January 9th, 2010 Time 7:00 am I made your favorite hot chocolate and scrambled eggs. I'm coming to visit your grave for breakfast. Even though you aren't here, I will still bring you your favorite things to wake up to. Even though I know you won't be waking up this time. I love you.. January 10th,2010 Time 7:00 am I stayed at your grave for three hours. I poured the hot chocolate on the soil above you and dug a small hole to bury the eggs in. I hope you enjoyed them like you always did when you were still here. I cried when I got home, I hurt so bad. I miss you more than anything.. I love you.. January 11th, 2010 Time 7:00 am Happy 2nd anniversary my love. I miss you. I love you. January 12th, 2010 Time 7:00 am It's getting too hard to sleep in our bed. I slept on the couch in the living room last night with one of your t-shirts. It smelled just like your favorite perfume from the mall. I held it just like I would have held you. I love you.. January 13th, 2010 Time 7:00 am Your mother called me to make sure I was okay. She's so hurt. The pain in her voice was so much to bear. We miss and love you.. January 14th, 2010 Time 7:00 am I'm going crazy without you.. I miss you.. I love you.. January 15th, 2010 Time 7:00 am I visited your grave again yesterday. I hope you liked the flowers. They were the kind I got you on your birthday in August. Remember how happy you were? I love you.. January 16th, 2010 Time 7:00 am I can't stand being without you anymore.. I love you.. January 17th, 2010 Time 7:00 am I visited you yesterday. I just laid by your head stone and imagined that it was our bed and that you were actually in it. Our nice warm bed, with your warm smooth body laying right by mine. It was a nice thing to think about. I love you.. January 18th, 2010 Time 7:00 am I'm scared, but I can't take this pain anymore. I don't know about anything anymore. All I know is that I need you. I can't live with out you. There's a loud snap that fills my ears then a bright light. I see you approaching me, you look as beautiful as ever. Our fingers interlock and you kiss me. I feel no pain, no heartbreak. Just the love that I've felt since I fell in love with you. I'm home now and I'm happy. I love you.


I cradle my drink, or at least the analogue of it. I haven't really been able to 'drink' anything in the traditional sense for the past three thousand years, but that's why I come here. They map you at the door and simulate your memetic concept of a relaxant. To me everyone is a humanoid, drinking some sort of liquid. To the guy on the other side of the bar everyone might be an energy-cloud, absorbing plasma from a central node. Apparently they tailor the experience based on the composition of your nervous system, which most sentient beings have in one form or other. It's a good system; we can all still get wasted together, without having to deal with culture shock. I'm here to meet a man named Bezerk. Not his real name, but the closest thing to it I can understand. A slim man steps up to me; he seems nervous, almost trembling. From what I know of the Garlorkians, this probably means he's a roiling ball of plasma, anxious and destructive to carbon based life forms, but I'm safe - another benefit of a sim-bar. He sits next to me nonchalantly, but his twitching lip belies plasmoid flares bursting across his nest-space. "Garlin?" he whispers, without breaking his forward gaze. I return the favour, looking forward as I take a long draught of something that tastes like a beer I first tried when the Earth still circled the sun. I let the moment hang before muttering, "Garlin is dead, but what he fought for isn't." The slender man's tremors subside imperceptibly, he knows he's on safe ground now. "But a dead man can't see a vision made real, so why bring the vision about." I turn to him, and drawl, "when a man dies for a vision, it is for the eyes of others, and must be seen" with as much enthusiasm as I can muster. For Bezerk this might be a thrilling risk, for me it's just a day job. He licks his lips nervously, and turns to me. "So you're the guy?" he says, dripping with disdain. "Probably," I retort, "if I get the job done I am, if not then we're both dead, so what does it matter?" "You've got the transport vehicle ready?" he asks, seemingly calmed by my callous attitude to death. "It's in Port, meet me at docking bay three-oh-delta, in six turns" I reply. He takes all this in his stride, "OK, I'll emit a frequency at 12hz so you can identify me, and then we can load up," he shoots back. He's obviously used to giving orders.


He was a young boy sent on a missionary work somewhere in West Africa. On getting to the village where he was supposed to start his mission work as a missionary, he met a man who told him with an angry tone, "Do you not know missionaries are killed here? How could you not ask questions? You are too young to die. "The one who sent me said, I am with you even in the ends of the earth and will never leave me or forsake me," He responded." He happily started his mission work, walking through bushes and forest visiting homes and people at farm. He managed to have his cellphone charged one day with a solar panel as there was no electricity and put a call through to a friend who asked where he was. After explaining the nature of the mission ground, his friends mocked hell out of him. Same day, an aunt called to know where he was, on describing the place. The aunt called him a bush man. But, he was never depressed by their words, he was so determined to make a difference and bring a lasting change in that part of Africa. An arrangement was made for a small hall where his convert can gather for fellowships and he was there cleaning and dusting the chairs and floor when a huge big snake came out from where only God knows to attack him. He smiled at the serpent and rushed for a bottle of anointing oil which he pour on the snake with a roar of Holy Ghost fire from his spirit. The serpent took to its heels never to turn back. He continued with his cleaning as he awaits the arrival of his converts. One another occasion right in the fellowship center this time he was not alone. One of his converts was with him arranging the center for a Wednesday fellowship, when they noticed a huge Python sitting at the altar area of the fellowship. The young preacher knowing what to do stood still while his convert was running around the venue looking for weapons to kill the serpent. Coming back with a big stick meant for killing the snake, he was shocked to see the young missionary talking to the serpent in a loud angry voice standing akimbo, “If I ever see you in this arena again, that will be the extinction of you and your kind in this city.” The Python uncoiled and moved away in a speed as that of the speed of light. They continued their fellowship as they celibate victory over the powers stopping the church in that part of West Africa. Little did he know the battle just began! Another day in the night hours while the missionary was about sleeping, he felt like checking out the compound one more time as i felt someone just walked into the compound that has a big fence around it. As he opened his door hold an oil lantern in the other hand as there was no electricity in the city, there was standing with head up, mouth wide open and eyes red blooded ready to strike, a big cobra as black as the devil himself. The young missionary never bulged in fear. A voice came out of him, in a language not English and not his native language. It was the Heavenly Language. "Baaataasha katakata Baaataasha", He tongued as he ran after the Cobra bare hands ready to tear the serpent apart if caught. The Cobra sensing a higher power took to its heels again as the young missionary chased, speaking a language only heaven recognize. This happened repeatedly for several nights. The entire village began to speak against this young missionary as it seems his prayers and doggedness is raking havoc in their kingdom. Often times, he was openly attacked on the account his trying to change their custom and take away traditions passed to them by their fathers. On one occasion while he was dressing up to leave for an outreach, their lies a green snake this time wrapped on his door post with eyes shining in rage. It appears the language the missionary speaks as a weapon to fight these mystical snake comes out automatically as he don’t have to think before he finds himself raining fire and brimstones on any creature or being that attacks him. Of goes the heavenly language again, this time in Capital letters, “ZAAAPAKATA KUUTA KUTAA KUUTA KUTAA.” The mystical snake coiled around and vanished from the door post. Another night while he was praying he saw a big snake but this one has four legs yet was a snake. With his eyes closed communing with God, speaking in heavily in the heavenly tongues, he commanded for its death. Getting to the fellowship center that morning for early morning meeting their lies the Leviathan he saw while praying lying dead. The mysterious serpent is killed not with guns and knife but with the knees. A young boy empowered by divinity attempted death engaged the serpent in a fight and recused a city for His God. The creature that kills missionaries in that part of Africa has been killed. Now the church is matching on and the gates of hell never to prevail. The city where missionaries die mysteriously now a save place. Electricity brought to the city. The people living in darkness have seen a great light. The Serpent is dead. It was said, the other missionary’s sent to that part of West Africa with no electricity and a good source of water supply died as a result of attack from mysterious being no one could tell. But the survivor could now tell as he is alive to tell of it. It was a Leviathan killing men sent on a mission to rescue this heathen city. The leviathan happens to be ancestral gods of this city and has kept them in the dark for ages ready to fight and kill anyone who attempts to bring light to that part of West Africa. But it is written, “We overcome by the blood of the Lamb and by the words of our testimonies.”


It was the middle of the night and I thought it was a good idea after the eighth bottle of whiskey. A few of my friends were over, seven to be exact. We all were boozing for quite some time when one of my good friends shouted in the way an overly excited drunk would shout “Lets play some Russian Roulette.” this suggestion was when I was on my third bottle of whiskey and it was just touching 10' o clock. I was tipsy but I had my wits about me and told him to simmer down or what a decent drunk would say “Shut the fuck up.” to such an atrocious idea like that. He sat down and drank deeply from his glass, looking up at me he said “I am sorry, I guess I am just a little drunk.” giving me a weak smile. I smiled back at him. The usual drunken talks came alive after this incident and the discussion was upon death. “Death is the final frontier.” said one of my friends. “Death is the end. We must live life to the fullest.” said another. Yet another said, “Death is the end of one life and the start of another.” “Death is the journey to the after life.” “Death is the end.” “Death is the start.” So many opinions but only one common link. It was a grim idea. I was on my fifth bottle of whiskey when I gave my opinion. “Death is a sad thing.” There was silence for a minute and each of my friends looked up at me, concern clearly written on their faces. I smiled at them and slowly stood up, my legs were a little shaky but I stood my ground. I raised my glass and looked at each of them “Death is a sad thing. Not for the one who died but for the one who was left to mourn. All of you have lost someone, near and dear to you. To you I raise you my glass. They are in a better place and you will soon be with them too.” I smiled and gulped down my drink. All of their faces were ashen and I started laughing. “Not right now, calm down.” their laugh seemed forced. The drinking continued. I walked towards my old record player and looked down at it. I pulled out an old vinyl, one of my favorites. “Astrud Gilberto - Light my fire.” I fired up the record player and the sound of her voice filled the room. It shook the glasses on the showcase as though they too were enjoying the rhythm of her voice. The room was filled with the smell of booze, laughter and Astruds beautiful voice. The alcohol must have been getting to me because the room started to spin and the color strangely started becoming golden. I couldn’t hear the sounds. I sat down on my chair and started to drink. I couldn’t hear the ice clinking on my glass, I couldn’t hear the sound of the whiskey being poured, I couldn’t hear the drunken laughs of my friends. I started to get angry and drank even more. I saw the smiles on my friends faces and I felt a white hot anger come over me. I stood up and threw my glass at the wall. The shattering of the glass followed by me shouting “What are you all fucking laughing at!” I couldn’t even hear that. I knew what I said but my voice was not audible to me. I fell back into my chair and saw the faces of my friends, unsmiling. It was 11:30. I walked to the kitchen and picked up another glass and sat back down. I poured myself a drink. I was on my seventh bottle. I knew this happened before, this was not the first time. I remembered a time when I did this, it was a year ago. My little darling, Sarah, she was only seven. She was wearing that pretty frock I got her for her birthday and that tiara, she was pretending to be a princess. She always smiled at everyone and everything. Such a sweet and innocent girl. Why did I have to fight with her mother that day? Why? Why did I have to drink? Why? Why did I get angry? Why? Why did my little girl have to die? Why? Why did she have to die by my hands? Why?WHY?WHY?WHY? My mind started to spiral down into this chasm. It was dark and scary. I was alone. My wife called me a murderer. I wasn’t, I wasn’t a killer. I would never hurt little Sarah. She kept screaming at me, she kept calling me a murderer. I wasn’t a murderer. I was just drunk. The tears started to roll down my face, I missed my daughter the most today. It was 11:55. I was on my eight bottle now. I smiled. In another 5 minutes it would be my daughters birthday. 7/7/1998. That was her birthday. See, I still remember. I am a good father. I was also a good husband but then she left me. Sarah’s mother. What was her name again? It was 11:58. I rose from my chair and almost fell down. I didn’t realize that I had a lot to drink. I looked at my friends and told them “My mates, my friends. We have gone through a lot together. We have got each others backs. We have seen the best years of our lives as well as the worst years of our lives. As you all know I have recently lost my beloved little girl, Sarah. I miss her terribly. Her mother on the other hand, can go fuck herself. She probably is at this point...” I laughed. My friends did not. “Anyway, one of you had said that you would like to play Russian Roulette. Right now it seems like a good idea. So, lets do it.” I walked to my bedroom door and went over to my study. I pulled a drawer and got out two guns. I looked for my ammunition box and took that along with me as well. I stood in the center of the room and loaded the guns. They were magnum revolvers with a container that could hold seven bullets. I loaded one completely and the other with one bullet. I spun the chamber. I looked at my friends and said “Now, all of you sit in a circle.” They obliged. I smirked and thought to myself “Everyone listens to a guy with a gun.” “I have a fully loaded gun here with me and I will give you this gun.” I said as I motioned to the revolver with only one bullet. “You each will spin the chamber and try to shoot me. If you don’t, I shoot you. If I die, you all will win. If you all die, then I win.” None of them spoke but their eyes betrayed them. They were fearful. What cowards I thought. I gave the revolver to the person to my right. For the life of me I couldn’t remember his name. I pointed my gun at him and said “Start.” He spun the chamber and cocked the gun, his hands started to shake as he pointed his gun at me. He pulled the trigger. It was empty. “Ahh too bad. Pass the gun along.” I couldn’t remember the next persons name either. I kept my gun pointed at him and said “Go on.” He too spun the chamber. He started to point the gun at me but then put it down. “You are being insane...” I shot him. The blood was everywhere and all I said was “Next.” None of them moved for the gun. They really must not want to win. I shot the first guy. His body too hit the floor. The blood intertwined with the other. I looked at this colorful picture for a second and felt a sudden pang of guilt followed by a maniacal pleasure. Am I killer? “Next.” They all scrambled for the gun this time. The guy with the blue shirt took it. He spun the chamber and pointed the gun at me. He pulled the trigger. It was empty. I shot him. My friends started to freak out. “A change of rules. if you don’t kill me you die.” I pointed my gun at the guy with the ponytail hair. “Your turn.” He took the gun, the tears were streaming down his face, it was pathetic. “Get on with it.” He pointed the gun. It was empty too. *bang* another one bites the dust. I started to laugh a little and pointed my gun to the next guy. “Only four of you left. You guys don’t want to win do you?” He took the gun and spun the chamber. Suddenly the guy on my left got up and went for the door. He didn’t get far. I shook my head and said “Why does he always cheat? cheating isn’t fun.” I look back and motioned him to continue the game. He wasn’t lucky either. Now there were only two of my good old buddies left. “I really have to say that this is the most fun I have had in a long time. You guys are losing but that’s all part of the game. Still, a chance exists. Give it a shot.” I started to laugh hysterically. This guy had the bluest eyes I knew, but now it was stained with red. ‘Probably because of the drinking’ thought I. He spun the chamber and pointed the gun at me. It was empty. I shot and the wonderful blood red color started to flow. Now it was down to my last friend. “You are the only hope. You have one bullet and so do I. Why not make it fun and lets both spin the chamber? Yes, that would be a good idea.” I spun the chamber and pointed the gun at him, smiling that stupid grin. He too did the same, not smiling though. “On the count of three.” “One...” His hands started to shake, mine were rock steady. “Two..” Sweat was pouring out of him, I was calm and steady. “Three...” The last thing I remembered was the sound of a gunshot and then darkness. I did not feel pain, I actually did not feel anything. I was simply at rest, I supposed this was where you would go after you die. A place so dark and quiet that nothing but the tranquil sound of silence seemed to ebb into your soul. This was suddenly shattered when I heard “Daddy....


Aliens on the Mend I did not grow up in Roswell, NM. I was not enticed by the alien aura that permeates the atmosphere of this fine town. I am a guy who needs visual evidence to support any theories or special scientific mumbo-jumbo. Many years ago, I bought a few remote, parcels of land throughout Chaves County. My hook was farming. Farming peppers (hot, and I mean hot like ghost peppers). Sounds strange, but I had this sixth sense that peppers would become popular in the coming age with all this “culinary finessed” eating. So, I moved my hulky self to this semi-arid, rugged territory. My name is Dan. I am generally a loner except for a few docile sheep on my farm. I do have three hired hands who help me tend to the fields. Their names are Chad, Michel, and Diego. Together, we are a motley crew. We have become good friends over the years. I consider myself an optimistic fellow, but I still have lingering doubts about my ability to farm these delicacies. This hot weather can really take its toll on a person, especially when you are farming in it for 12-14 hours per day. As I said, I am a hulking guy, very plain appearance with no distinguishing scars or features. Nothing a girl would find all that appealing; but I do have one marking, a tattoo, (a tatty zapper) on my forearm which I questioned at the time why I got it. It is a plain cross with the words below it ‘ Jesus saves .’ I was raised in a small town with a single community church. I am not a spiritual, religious person. My tattoo came from an endorphin-ridden high from a church revival one evening on the outskirts of Roswell. My three amigos persuaded me to come one night to feel the power of God. I guess I must have felt His power once the tattoo artist began penetrating a rapid-fire needle into my arm! Ouch and ouch! It hurt for several days thereafter. Chad, Michel, and Diego got the same tattoo claiming they were filled with the Spirit. They wanted me to share in the experience. Summer days in the pepper fields are wickedly hot. I wiped my dripping forehead with my exposed tattooed arm. I noticed how the tattoo seem to jump out of me from the moistened colors. I was taken aback, but proceeded with my collection of the ripe peppers. In my weakness I popped a few of the unripen gems. My head was spinning and I felt unsteady. When I looked at the horizon, I saw strange shapes which quickly disappeared and then reappeared; the cyclical flicker made me nauseous. Nothing seemed to happen except that my tatty zapper throbbed. I iced it down and then fell fast asleep not waking until the sun was popping over the horizon the next day. Another sultry day out in the pepper fields with my three workers. The sun was incredibly more intense today than yesterday. The harvest was in session and we had to gather scores of peppers for transport to the drying operations. My comrades were feeling queasy expressing a desire to suspend the harvest. They too had been munching on a few of the peppers. I realized at that moment I had to incentivize their labor or I would be stuck out in the fields on my own. I blurted out big things would come. I had not thought out that promise carefully before I said it. We gathered for a late meal break; the sun dipped below the horizon casting an eerie reddish-purple haze. Our arms began to pulse with pain. Feverish, sweaty, hallucinating, a flash of blinding light encircled us. Before I could close my eyes, our bodies were paralyzed and prone like wood boards. My body seemed to dematerialize right before my eyes; the others were vanishing before me too. Just before I lost visual contact, I saw my friends become a cloud of energized particles. Then shazam; then poof! We awoke finding ourselves sprawled out on a cold stone floor. Neither one of us knew where we were. After pinching each other we knew that our dream experience was the same. It was much more than that. From nowhere, a dozen armed men carrying unusual hardware motioned us to get up and follow them. No words were spoken. We knew what they meant. They led us into a stately decorated room. It appeared to be a royal or presidential meeting room. A gong sounded several times. From behind a massive doorway, a man entered dressed in royal regalia, opulent with diamonds, rubies, gold bracelets and crown, silken vestments, silver slippers. Oh boy, we are certainly in a predicament! The guards motioned us to kneel before this figure. Of course, it made no sense to resist because I did not want to be the first to experience the devices they readied for discharge. Then, the figure spoke. “Welcome to my kingdom! This is the world of Bylonia. We are the Bylons, a people of great fortitude, great technological advancement, great power, great beauty...” And on and on he went about greatness. He said, “I am the Royal Potentate, Neezer of the Bylon people.” Ok, so far so good I thought to myself. Neezer then began a lengthy three-hour explanation as to why we were here; but, for the sake of brevity here is the gist of it: Neezer had been searching the galaxies far and wide for a sign; he was not really sure what that sign was, but when he found it, he knew it must be the one. Sure enough, we were that sign powered by an aura that was created from a mixture of our chemical sweat, the hot peppers, the blaring hot sun, and our tattoos. When his astrologists saw the luminescent aura from Earth, they notified the potentate. He ordered them to activate a dematerialization transport to extricate us from earth. And shazam! Then Poof! Here we kneel before some royally garbed lunatic. Neezer said we were hand-picked from the universe because of the aura we showed through the space and time continuum. The thought of going home seemed remote or impossible. So, we figured we would do what we had to do...which was survive! Remember, I did promise my guys big things would happen. I did not say what, however. “You are a sign from the heavens,” Neezer said finishing his discourse. After some time, we acclimated into their lifestyle; however, Chad, Michel and Diego cautioned me of the eternal ramifications if we persisted in these pagan practices. We had to subtly refrain. I realized they were telling me this because I was naïve and not spiritual. So, we met in secret to pray and ask God for guidance through this ordeal. There came a day when Neezer was beside himself. He had a dream. None of his astrologers, sorcerers, or magicians could even tell him about the dream. Failing was under penalty of death. Neezer was infuriated so he ordered them to be executed anyway. To my horror, Chad, Michel, Diego, and myself were part of that group. So, the four of us feverishly prayed to God in private. During the night, God gave me a vision; He gave me wisdom to interpret Neezer’s dream. I hastily went to the executioner pleading with him to let me speak to Neezer. I said to Neezer, “no person can explain your dream, but there is a God who reveals mysteries. He has given me the ability to share it with you. In your dream your Majesty, you saw a large statute-humungous, regal in appearance. It had a head made of pure gold; arms and chest made of silver, a torso of bronze, legs of iron and feet made of a mixture of iron and clay. As you watched a magnificent rock was hewn by the God who revealed this mystery to me. The rock struck the feet of the statute and all of it, was shattered to pieces becoming dust. The wind swept it away. The rock changed into a huge mountain filling the entire planet.” I added, “Now, this is what it means. The God of heaven has given your power and might over the all the people and beasts of the land. Everything is under your rule. Neezer, You are the head of gold. But after you another kingdom will come, inferior to yours; a third, the bronze will rule and finally a fourth kingdom, strong like iron which crushes everything. But, as a mixture, its people will not remain united. During those times the God of heaven will crush all kingdoms and setup a kingdom that will endure forever...this is the meaning of the rock hewn not from human hands, but from God Himself. Hearing this Neezer said, “Dan, Your God is a God of gods and Lord of lords for allowing you to reveal this mystery to me.” Neezer was impressed. There was no fear now that Neezer seemed to accept our God and His power. Well, never trust a potentate at his word. I think the dream of the statute was still in his head. He had the people construct an image of gold 90 feet tall and 9 feet wide outside the city! We could not figure out what it was, but it resembled a bust of his head! It was frightening! Neezer summoned everyone to attend the dedication of his statute. I hid. Then an announcement was made that at the sound of music all would fall prostrate on the ground to pay homage to the statute. Violators of this decree would be thrown into the nuclear accelerator. The atoms of their bodies would be smashed to oblivion. When I heard this, I stayed out of sight. Unfortunately for Chad, Michel and Diego they were caught red-handed by those jealous of their positions as outsiders. They saw the trio defy Neezer’s decree refusing to fall prostrate and worship the image. The royal guards brought them before Neezer. He said, “I will give you one more chance. When the music plays bow down or else you will feel my wrath in the accelerator!” Chad responded, “Not on your life Neezer! We will not do it even if our God does not save us! We will not worship your god.” Neezer looked like he was going to explode he was so angry. He ordered that the accelerator be set to obliterate at maximum intensity. The guards tied and tossed Chad, Michel, and Diego into the accelerator, but the guards were zapped into oblivion themselves. Then Neezer approached the entrance to the nuclear contraption. He was incredulous. He exclaimed, “look I see four men walking around in there unharmed and unbound. The fourth looks like a god.” He shouted, “Chad, Michel and Diego come out from there!” So, Chad, Michel, and Diego came out of accelerator unscathed. Not a mark or defect upon them. Neezer exclaimed, “Praise to their God who sent his angel to rescue his servants! They were willing to sacrifice themselves in defiance of me and not their own God. Because of this, I decree that anyone who says anything against their God will be chopped up into pieces. No other god can save in this way.” One would think that after all that had happened to the Potentate, he would have understood that our God was the God he should serve. For the next year, Neezer still acted tyrannically to his people. As I had warned him, he was driven off into the wild sections of the planet. Finally, Neezer accepted our Most High God. Witnessing this did a number on my heart and soul. I pondered all that had happened. Neezer lived a short time after his sojourn in the wilderness. Nonetheless, he could not impart his new faith to his son, Shazz who reigned after his death. Shazz was defiant, wanting to make a name for himself. He defiled any remembrance of the Most High God. He forced his people to praise the gods of gold, silver, bronze, iron, stone, wood. Anything that would make his kingdom wealthy and powerful was worshipped. During a celebratory banquet, a disembodied hand mysteriously appeared writing a message on the wall of the royal banquet hall. The banquet guests were deeply frightened especially Shazz. He summoned the magicians, astrologers, and sorcerers but no one could tell him what the words meant. A wife of Shazz urged him to have me brought to interpret the message. I was not exactly thrilled to do this, but I knew with God at my side ‘all things were possible. I told him the truth about how his father, Neezer accepted the Most High God, near the end of his days. “You, Shazz, with your cronies and party friends desecrated the Most High God by your worship and praise of wood and metal. The written words, ‘Mene, Tekel, Purpe’ mean God has numbered your reign and will bring it to end. You have been weighed on the scales of justice. Your kingdom will be divided and given to the Purpians and Madmen (enemies to the Bylon empire.) I thought I was a dead man. I guess it really did not matter because Shazz was assassinated by the Purpians the next day. Shazz was replaced by Ardius, a Madman, who like the rulers before thought he was god’s gift to the empire. He was in fact making himself a god. I promoted my exceptional gifts and qualities so Ardius took note of me. As is the case with foreigners in a foreign land, the natives took umbrage of Ardius’ favoritism towards me. They conspired against me by persuading Ardius to issue a decree that everyone must pray to him or be thrown into the pit of the most ravenous beast in the Purpian empire, the zillaraptor. Who is he to tell me when and to whom I should pray after all these years on this forsaken planet!? And, what is a zillaraptor anyway? Well, I would not stand for that. So, in my persistent stubbornness I got down on my knees and prayed to the Most High God. I was immediately arrested and tossed into the pit. I protested saying, “O Ardius am I not worthy of a trial?” Ardius would only respond by saying, “May your God, whom you serve continuously and faithfully rescue you from the mouths of the zillaraptors.” I prayed through the night. Terror filled me when I saw that a zillaraptor was a voracious huge alien/man eater with dagger-like fangs, an elongated tongue with suction cups. It was reptilian-like with scales and parts like an alien dragon? Ardius that night could not sleep so he went to the pit. He called out to me nervously, “Dan, Dan has your Most High God been able to rescue from the zillaraptors? I answered him, “My God sent an angel to shut the mouths of the zillaraptors because He found me innocent. Your Royal Potentate, I have not done any wrong against you.” Ardius was thrilled and gave orders to lift me out of the pit. I had no wounds, not even a scratch. Ardius gave orders that the whistleblowers take my place into the pit. There was so much wailing and gnashing of teeth. Ardius was in awe of my survival he restored my standing in the kingdom. He continued his reign through the years with loyalty to the Most High God. During that time, however, I was troubled with more dreams of impending doom. I shared these with Chad, Michel and Diego. I told them I saw the coming in the clouds of the Most High. I saw a vision of angel who said the people will continue to delight in their transgressions. They will continue to be an abomination before the Most High God until a tabernacle of the Most High God is established, one that will live forever and ever! I emphatically tried to tell the alien people of their impending doom! I tried to get them to listen, to believe in the One who is greater than the universe. From my mouth I blurted, “ Jesus saves .” Listen and know what He has done for you! How much you are loved by Him! Chad, Michel and Diego also bellowed out, “ Jesus saves .” Our alien cohorts emphatically began to profess “ Jesus saves .” One by one they began to accept Him as their God. I could see them mended by His mercy and grace. And then I was jolted by an amazing discovery of my own! My heart was mending too. Jesus does save! A chorus from the heavenly realm praised God singing: “Worthy is the Lamb, who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and strength and honor and glory and praise!” (Rev 5:12 NIV). Then shazam! Then Poof! Brusquely, I stood up. I looked around and saw the fields of peppers before me. I scanned the horizon searching for the vestiges of what I had just experienced. Nothing but peppers as far as I could see. Then one by one my coworkers popped up like large sunflowers. They looked as bewildered as I was. It was very apparent to me what my dreams were. I motioned for all us to gather. Each of us realized we shared the same experience; we understood what it all meant. We looked at our tatty zappers and knew the reason for this experience. That day forward we humbled ourselves before the Lord. We established a church in my pepper fields to preach the Gospel to those in Chavez County and beyond... beyond the reaches of time and space! All are welcome, especially aliens stopping in for a visit at the Fellowship of the Universe Church in Christ the Lord. Acknowledgement: Reedsy.com


A family sat at a round kitchen table awaiting their meals to be served by the servants. This family was neither rich nor poor and consisted of four members; a father, a mother, a son, and a daughter who've been birthed recently. "How's school been?" the mother said to the son. The son replied with pleasure and tried to please his father with his accomplishments but the father simply looked passed his son, to the wall which had a new portrait that the servants had hung about almost a year and a half ago. The portrait was of the family in their best attire as the background was a dark hue which made it appear sinister. "What's wrong?" the mother asked. There was a brief silence and then father mutter "nothing" without ever breaking eye contact from the painting. He knew something was off with that portrait, but he didn't have an explanation why. Maybe, from where he was sitting at made the painting distorted he assumed but, he will always reject that idea since it would always look wrong, despite where he stood or what angle he gazed on it. The servants came out of the kitchen with a silver dome over the food. Once they set it down before each member, they began to show the food they've requested. Before they could eat, they first had to eat this pill that was issued to them from so long ago. Each member swallowed the pill and began their meal except for the father who only stared at the pill with bewildered eyes. "Aren't you going to take the pill papa." the son asked after he swallowed his pill. What exactly do we need this pill for? He wondered. "Silly father, you know you have to take the pill in order to keep living right?" Oh yeah that's right but... when exactly did I start taking these pills? And how come, my pill is a different color then everybody else's pill? The son sighed and got up from his chair. He walked towards the father. Why are we taking these pills for anyways? How come, nobody here ever questioned its purpose. Will something terrible happen if I don't eat it before the hand Strikes twelve? What will happen, then... will anything happen? The son picked up his father's pills and began to put it near his mouth, but the father grabbed his son's arms with a strong force and pushed it away from him. "I don't want to eat it!" the father yelled. Everybody was in shock. " father you need this pill or else you will become miserable." The father looked around the kitchen table to see his wife's upset face as she cradled the now crying toddler. Out of guilt, he took the pill from his sons hand and observed it. " it's for your own good." The mother responded. The pill inches closer to the father lips, but the closer it got the more anguish he became. He put the pill in his mouth and the mother and son's response became relieved. "Was that so hard father?" the son says. The father locked his eyes with his son for the first time and the son can see the rage that laid within him. He spat his pill out towards his son's face. "I don't want to eat this pill! I must know what will happen!" the son picks up the pill hastily and battles his father onto the floor. "You must!" he screams. The father fought back even though his son was more powerful than he was. He tilted his head towards the portrait and realized the painting became more distorted every passing second, which gave the father the strength to overpower his son. He ran towards the portrait and began to laugh hysterically as the painting presumed to show a twisted hallucinogenic scene that can only be found in someone's worst nightmares. The second hand on the clock began to tick louder when it started itching closer to twelve, but this didn't bother the father's curiosity and his pleas for rationality. A sudden silence fell over the family when The old fashioned clock rang, which the father knew he was free and he looked back to his son who was on the marble floor. The son wiped his now bloody lip and says in a soft and concerned voice, " we were only trying to protect you." And in that instant the father knew the deed he committed. His son became transparent and the father extended his hand out to the son for the first time where he has shown sincerity but the connection their newly found bound was short lived when the son vanished. The father looked at his wife who was covering her mouth as her other hand held the toddler who was screaming. The father went towards the wife and grabbed the child before she fell on the floor. "This hurts so much," she cried. "Why couldn't you have taken the pill." she slowly grown transpicuous. " Because, I had to see the truth." The wife's eyes widen in fear then she closes them, so she doesn't have to show the pain and disappointment she felt at that moment. She vanished into thin air when her tears began to fall from her chin. The father cradled the baby who was in a small thin blue blanket and turned back to the portrait which was now only a plain folded piece of paper that is taped loosely on the white wall. He walked somewhat slowly towards it because he was terrified to see it but, at the same time he was eager. After he hesitated to take his last step, he traced his index finger behind the paper and set his thumb on the paper and peeled off the paper off the wall slowly. Once it was off the wall he examined the folded paper and started to open it until he saw what it contained inside; There were words that seemed to have been written hurriedly on a Typewriter. He read the contents of that letter and when he read that last sentence his jaw dropped open as his hands began to tremble. "No...this can't be." tears began to flow out his eyes. He looked down to his arms to realize his precious daughter was no longer there and shortly a strong throbbing sensation in his head began to deteriorate the way he's perceived things. One moment he would see them huddled around laughing, and the next moment he would see himself alone in that depressing room. He was going mad, and he knew that. He at first hit his head with the palm of his hands but he kept on remembering so he then resorted to banging his head against the wall but all that did was with a worsen the splitting headache. He fell onto his side and presumed the unwanted memories but, he saw that there was something he didn't notice in the room. Where the kitchen was supposed to be was replaced by a somewhat large porcelain bowl located in the middle of the room that was under white fluorescent lights. He pushed himself up and began to stumble towards it but he kept on falling out of revelation and fear. He instead began to crawl as memories of the accident flooded his head.the sounds of screeching tires was the only thing that kept him from passing out from the horror he felt. He reached to the bowl and found thousands of those pills in the bowl. With shaky hands, he managed to pick a singular pill and examined its vibrant turquoise color. He began to put the pill near his mouth but stopped when it touched his lips. I've already seen what I longed for but now I am thinking should I eat it. If I don't eat this pill I would only be stuck here in this desolate place stuck with my thoughts. But... if I do eat this pill I will be reunited with my family and be loved by them but I will always know that deep inside that they are not real.


Drawing Together By Paul Crehan “Do you think things work out for the best?” “Sorry?” she said, removing an earbud and turning his way. “People say that,” he continued, “but I wonder if it’s true. Maybe it’s just some comforting thing we tell ourselves.” If he were hitting on her, this was the weirdest hitting-on she’d ever encountered. But maybe he wasn’t talking to her, but to someone in his ear? Unless--was he crazy and talking to himself? He turned to look at her directly. He looked...benign--but crazy people often did. He was waiting patiently for her to answer. She didn’t have any answer and wouldn’t have given one if she did. In fact, she wanted to get away from this guy. What a strange-o. He continued. “Because, maybe things just resolve. Or not ‘resolve,’ but just end up being . And they’re neither good nor bad. They just are , and we decide to characterize them as good or bad. Or, good and bad. That could be. But they’re not anything until we decide they’re something.” He looked back at the painting. She thought, well, he’s a strange-o, but a thoughtful one. She didn’t pick up menacing . Still, she wanted to get away from him. She was in no mood for any conversation, let alone something all existential or whatever. But how to make this clear to him, politely? “In other words,” he continued--and Damnit , she thought, she had missed her moment to move on!--“they work out for the best because we want them to. Or need them to. In other words, this breathing life we’re born into is indifferent to our presence. It’s not here to work for us or against us.” “I’m sorry,” she suddenly said, holding up the earbud she had taken out of her ear, “I have to listen to this lecture for class.” She gave him a friendly smile and, putting the earbud back into her ear, moved away, to the next painting on the wall. Was he going to follow her? He wouldn’t follow her, would he? He followed. “Okay,” he said, “I understand. I’m just saying, I think, it’s no wonder we feel so deeply alone.” Suddenly, his eyes widened and he cleared his throat, because it occurred to him, finally, how he might be coming across to this woman, this stranger. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Sometimes a painting--or whatever--just stares right back at you. And it’s a lot .” She wasn’t listening to a lecture for class. There was no class. She wasn’t a student. She was listening to a mixtape she’d made of her favorite arias. It was her soundtrack for her visits to this museum. She looked at this guy carefully. He wasn’t crazy; or at least not super -crazy. He wasn’t drunk. Or high. But he was shaken. That painting had shaken him. Which was interesting, because she herself didn’t think much of it at all. What was it about that painting that had gotten to this guy? He was reaching out for help. That’s what he was doing. That’s all he was doing. He wouldn’t have engaged with her had he not needed to. But he needed to. She could have been anybody. A guy. He hadn’t been interested in flirting with her--the usual thing she got here. The downside of coming to the museum. Alone. But wait. Why didn’t he want to flirt with her? Irrationally--and she would have acknowledged herself as behaving so--had present circumstances allowed her time to reflect--she felt insulted by this. Who was this guy to not want to chat her up? To not be interested in her? She was pretty. She was hot. He wasn’t ugly--he was, in fact, attractive; but still, she’d be doing him a favor by showing interest--not the other way around. But she said, because she was kind, and he did have this need to connect: “Well, I mean, what is it about that painting that gets to you?” In an instant, she realized that she’d better make her question rhetorical, and not interrogative like this, and therefore showing personal interest. She quickly added, “That would be the question to ask yourself.” She gave him another kind smile and, putting her earbud back in her ear, moved away. She gave the painting at which she now stopped a brief glance and moved to the next. Please, don’t follow. Please, don’t follow. “It’s the hands,” the man said, “the monk’s hands. You can see ‘giving up’ in them. You see--just in the hands--more than in anything else--disillusionment.” He hadn’t followed her to this next painting. He had remained where he was. She heard his words through the soaring notes of Un bel di . His thing about the hands was interesting. You could see disillusionment in the hands ? She had barely looked at the hands. In any case, they hadn’t registered with her. In fact, the entire painting hadn’t really landed with her--and here was this guy so terribly moved by it; so much so, that he had to talk to someone about it. Curious now, but reluctant to move back toward this guy, she nevertheless did just that. He had hooked her with the disillusioned hands. She stood in front of the painting and looked at the monk’s hands. This guy, this weird guy, was right. The hands told the story. Or, that wasn’t the way to put it, really. Maybe it was that they summed-up the story. They...what was that word?--for a part representing the whole?--a word she had learned in rhetoric class at Uni--whatever. She couldn’t remember it. Nonetheless, he was right. Those hands spoke. And to make the point super-clear, the monk’s lips were pressed together tight. That was interesting. Why these choices? she wondered. The hands clearly doing all the talking? “You’re right about the hands,” she said. “They do the talking.” “They do the talking,” he repeated, nodding. He liked the way she had put that. She saw that he liked the way she had put that. Maybe he’d want to really look at her now. Reframe how he saw her. Not just as a stranger to reach out to because he didn’t want to be alone with the thoughts in his head. “I guess the artist,” she continued, “really wants to make that point, because look how tightly pressed the monk’s lips are. He’s holding something in. Or back.” “A howl, I think,” the man said. “Something Vesuvial.” She liked Vesuvial. “Vesuvial,” she said. “Yes.” “What do you think happened to that monk to make him this way?” he asked. “Or, I mean, what happened to the artist?” “He got rocked,” she said. “Rocked. Yes.” “Some terrible, maybe unimaginable, loss. Something that didn’t make sense. Something that God, his God, wouldn’t allow--and yet did. And now, he’s disillusioned.” “Crisis of faith,” the man said. “Loss of it,” she said. “I mean, I think he’s past the crisis point. This, now, is all about the end result. This is what loss looks like. This is a portrait of loss .” The man took this in. She watched him taking it in and appreciated that he was doing so. He was making her feel good. It’s not that it was rare that people took her seriously, but it was...well, it was rare. What if she dressed differently? Didn’t make so much of an effort to show off her figure? “Yes,” he said at last. “You’re right. That’s what this is. Loss. The title is Fra Domenico . But it might as well be Loss .” He fell silent as he studied the painting. Should she say something else? “And now,” the man suddenly said, “he questions all his beliefs and choices. He believed things. Why did he believe them? I think there’s some anger and bitterness--in those lips.” He looked at her, to see if she might agree. She turned from the painting to look at him. Something in his voice. The ‘he’ was all about him. This guy was ‘he,’ not the monk. “Well,” she said, turning back to the painting, “I mean.” She paused, because what to say? She herself didn’t see any anger and bitterness in those lips. Not that it wasn’t there. She just didn’t see it. So, maybe he was seeing what was in him to see. She changed the subject. “I mean,” she repeated, “you know what? This is loss, to be sure , but I don’t see giving up. Like he’s throwing in the towel. Like he’ll never get up off that bench. Those hands are strong. Those hands--that’s a lifetime of hard labor. He’s used to hard work. Not afraid of hard work.” “That’s true,” the man said. She turned back to him. “He can get a grip. You know? I see that in him.” But did she see that? Or did she just want to see that--in this guy? Or, most probably, she was just being her kind self--trying to help this guy feel better about himself; and about life, in general. Of course, maybe it could be two things. She was being her kind self, trying to help someone, encourage someone, and she also did want to see strength in this guy. That he was strong. Not a wimp. Troubled. But a man. And maybe she really did see strength in him. For real. “I see what you mean,” the man said, eyes laser-sharp on the portrait. “But. You know? He’s not looking at his own strength. I mean, see how he’s looking over his hands. I mean, not at them, but at something else--outside of the frame? Something that maybe is heading for him?” A good point, she thought. The monk was looking over, looking past, his hands. In other words, his strength. His strength wasn’t in mind. He was looking at something only he could see. He was alone with what he saw; with what he was taking in. It dominated him. In this moment, it dominated him. “Well,” she said, “I mean, maybe it is something heading for him, but couldn’t it be something heading away from him?” “Or away from him!” the man exclaimed: he was that excited by her thought. This made her feel good. She turned and smiled at him. She had no idea why the heading away business should excite him like this, but she was glad that it did. He was tall, she realized. Six-two, perhaps? And he was attractive. Not handsome, no. But attractive. And a definite kind of person. Not run-of-the-mill. Cut from something a little different from most people. He observed. He thought. Observed carefully. Patiently. Without ego getting in the way. If he asks me for coffee or whatever, I’ll go, she thought. She said, “Maybe we’re supposed to see what he does not--that he’s got the strength he needs. It’s a part of him. Whatever he’s lost, or whatever’s coming, he’s still got the strength to deal with...the rest of his life.” The man nodded. “I mean,” he said, “yes. You really could make that point.” He turned and looked at her. She was making him feel good; like, not a total loser. He wanted to talk to her more. He wondered if that were in the realm of possibility. To just get a coffee, maybe? But she was really pretty; too pretty for him. She had to have a boyfriend. No ring, he saw. But certainly she had a boyfriend. “You know,” she said, “we could dip into the cafeteria. Get a coffee. Take the picture with us--as it were. Sit down, you know?” He truly could not believe what he was hearing. In fact, he looked around the gallery. Was this a prank? Was there a camera crew? But no. It was just the two of them. And that was odd. Where was everybody else? “I would love that,” he said. “Yes.” “Good,” she said. “I’m Holly, by the way.” She stuck out her hand, half-humorously. “Dan,” he said, taking it, fully earnest. “I’m Dan.” They will be married for fifty-two years before Holly succumbs to her cancer, dying with Dan’s hands pressed hard to the sides of her head as he says to her, his voice strangled by grief, Stay, my darling. Stay...


If anyone ever found out Queen Eleanor had clandestine meetings with a whore, much of the kingdom would be scandalized. There were those, however, who would understand, especially fellow females. And while she could have sent her maid to obtain the necessary information, Eleanor felt it imperative to go herself so no detail would be missed. On the day she married Edward and became queen, her own vow flowed beneath the marriage words: Eleanor would never become pregnant, would never carry a child in her womb destined to be forced by the whims of men and their kingdom games. Now she breathed a sigh of relief during her visit to the chamber pot and was again thankful in her heart for Nicola, an unlikely ally--the most well-known, respected woman in the brothel. Nicola, who gave her the concoction and who instructed her how to fill her body with it nightly to repel Edward’s efforts to create an heir. Eleanor paused for a moment in front of the window, relishing the fact that, for the next few days, she would not be required to respond to Edward’s touch when the lights were extinguished. She had once again escaped motherhood and with just a bit more time, Nicola promised to provide a more permanent solution. She turned when her faithful maid, Linota, rushed into the room, the maid’s expression pained. “Milady, your brother is here and wishes to speak with you.” Eleanor’s heart clenched. “Send him in.” Her brother, Morcant, liked to catch her off guard. Time spent with him was never pleasant. Morcant strode into the room, his usual smug smile in place. A young woman trailed behind him, her eyes downcast. Morcant’s sharp eyes swept the room and narrowed as they came to rest on his sister. “Leave us, Linota,” he commanded. The maid hurried from the room, casting an apologetic glance at Eleanor. “I’ve come to check on you, sister. I’ve not yet heard word of you being in the way to provide Edward an heir.” Eleanor straightened her shoulders. “Things have not progressed as quickly as we had hoped, Morcant. But it has not been very long. I myself am not worried, and Edward has not spoken of it.” Eleanor's face was calm, but she trembled inside, questioning once again how long her temporary solution would hold. Morcant crossed the room, his face tempestuous, and grabbed Eleanor by her upper arm. She didn’t allow herself to flinch. “I hear otherwise, Eleanor. That if you have your way, there will never be a baby.” He tightened his grip, and now Eleanor could not help her face from contorting. “That will not work, Eleanor. I will not allow you to create dissension in the alliance between Edward and me because of your petty woman ways.” “I cannot imagine where you heard such things, Morcant.” “Your daftness is very unbecoming, Eleanor. You forget I meet with whores also.” His smile grew. “They are always happy to see me coming.” Morcant released her arm. “And, as you can imagine, they reveal more to royalty than just their bodies, hoping for some special favors from the throne. There is a particularly young, tasty one residing there now, and she was foolish enough to disclose what she had overheard about the Queen. ” Heat flared in Eleanor’s chest. “And what does Agnes think of your dalliances?” “Don’t be silly. Agnes, as most women, does not think at all, or very little. She is only preoccupied with keeping her seat beside me. You would do well to emulate Agnes.” He gestured to the young woman standing behind him, who still had not raised her eyes. “I’ll check back soon, Eleanor. In the meantime, I’m leaving Ursula here with you.” Morcant took a lock of the girl’s hair in his hand; he tugged it lightly, but Ursula remained motionless. “I can only spare her for a short time, though. She’ll be keeping a close eye on you, ensuring you are no longer defiling yourself with a whore’s amalgam to deprive Edward of his heir. If things haven’t changed by the time I return, I’ll inform Edward and he might choose to take more. . .aggressive measures.” “I have Linota as my maid.” “Not anymore. I’ve dismissed Linota. I spoke with Edward and relayed my concerns about her. She strikes me as one too opinionated to wait on the queen. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must get some rest. I’ll dine with the king in the morning, and then I owe my new friend in town another visit tomorrow before I journey home. Should I pass along your regards to Nicola while I’m there?” Morcant winked as he left the room, and Eleanor shuddered. She thought briefly of giving up, having a baby. It was exhausting: stuffing herself with the mixture (imagining herself to be much like the fat birds that lay on the feast table ), enduring the long nights when Edward was amorous, and waiting, hoping Nicola’s gift had worked once again. But then she thought of Edward, his sweaty odor, his meaty breath, and her required submission to it all. Her resolve strengthened again. The compulsion to protect a child who would never be born hummed through her. When the door closed behind Eleanor's brother, Ursula stared at it for several moments. She surprised Eleanor then by stepping forward and holding out her hand. “A note from Nicola.” Eleanor remained still. “And why should I trust you, my brother’s little spy?” Ursula continued to hold out her hand. “I want nothing more than to distance myself from your brother. Permanently, if at all possible.” She reached up to pull the fabric of her dress away from her neck, revealing a series of dark bruises. Her gaze remained fixed on Eleanor. Eleanor’s face softened. She took the note and skimmed it. She would meet Nicola under the cover of nightfall. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Eleanor was struck once again by Nicola’s stateliness as the woman moved in softly rustling skirts toward her. Authority wrapped itself around each of her words. “I apologize for the loose mouth of my girl. They are often silly and attention-seeking when they are young. She will change as she ages. The doctor is attending to her injuries now.” “Morcant?” “He is a sniveling, power-hungry, cowardly man. But also a dangerous one. I have a proposition that will help us both.” Nicola held out a small parcel. “Have the girl, Ursula, visit the kitchen tomorrow morning before the food and drink are carried out to your brother. Four drops will be sufficient.” Eleanor looked at the offering. “It seems a drastic step.” She lowered her head. “ I’m sorry. I know you must think me pampered, spoiled, and cowardly as well.” Nicola shook her head. “We are all under someone in this kingdom. At least your husband is only a customary king, using the pawns that have always existed to maintain control. Morcant, however, is something very different. The diabolical lurks in him. I have seen it. My girls have felt it. Again and again.” There was a flash in Eleanor’s mind as thoughts collided like fireflies. “You always planned to ask me this.” “I knew it was always a possibility. We cannot carry out the plan in the brothel. The pain your brother has caused there is too well known, and suspicions would be aroused.” Nicola’s smile emerged. “When your maid goes to the kitchen, have her bring back peeled onions to your room. Use them to prolong your tears. Your mourning period for your brother will be up to you. Edward will not call you in, out of respect for the dead. I promise to help you again, Queen Eleanor, when the feasibility of that period passes. And do not forget my oath of a more permanent solution.” She handed Eleanor the parcel. The Queen reached out to grasp Nicola’s hand for a moment before she could turn away. Then she hurried through the blackest night to hide the parcel until morning when she could repay Nicola for the gifts she had provided. For although circumstances saddled her with the title of whore, to Eleanor, Nicola is nature’s sister, and a Lady. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- In the morning, soon after the sun yawns and stretches its beams into the sky, soon after the cries ring out through the castle and the apothecary is called too late, Eleanor inhales the sharp scent of onion and smiles.


I turned on the tv one morning, hoping to see something good on TV. As soon as I changed the channel, I saw my classmate Sabrina making an announcement. “Good morning, people of L.A!!!! I am inviting you all from my school to join me at my house for a party! I know it has been a tough year for all of us, and now is your time to sit back and relax! Join me at eight, and text me to tell me you will be there! If I don’t hear from you, I will text you! I want you ALL to come. Nobody is allowed to miss it!” “Excuse me, weirdo, I am trying to report the news. Can I have that back?” “In a second, David. As I was saying, be there! I love you L.A!!!” “For those of you going to the party, no red cups, or drugs,” David said. “This is the weirdest news channel ever.” My mom said. I nodded my head in agreement. “Are you going?” Mom asked. “No, I will probably just study for finals.” “Honey, I think you should go. Maybe you can make some new friends.” “I’m not much of a party person, mom.” “When I was your age, I would go to all the parties. That’s where I met your father, we are high school sweethearts.” “I know, you told me a million times.” “I won’t make you go, but it would make me happy if you did.” I looked at my mom, who looked hopeful that I agreed to go. “Wouldn’t you rather have me study?” “We wouldn’t be having this conversation if I wanted you to study.” “Fine Mom, I will go. But if I feel uncomfortable I am leaving.” “Deal.” Mom said. I pulled out my phone and texted Sabrina to tell her that I was going, but only for a little while because I hate parties. She laughed and told me that I would be there longer. I parked my car on the street and saw a mansion appear before my eyes. The house was beautiful. The house consisted mostly of glass, and all the walls were white. It was so bright that you can see someone's face very clearly. I began to feel insecure, but I kept an open mind. “Rose, you’re here! I thought you would be studying or something.” “I was planning to,” I admitted. “Trust me, you will have a good time.” I looked around awkwardly and looked down at the floor. “Oh honey, don’t be nervous. Go dance to the music!” I knew that I was a good dancer, I danced my whole life. I didn’t want to be cocky though, I wanted to stay as far away from the spotlight as possible. I was only here to make my mom happy. I saw the people dancing and it made me cringe. They were stiff as hell, and I knew I could do better. Suddenly, the song Save the Last Dance For Me came on by Michel Buble, and I couldn’t help myself from dancing. I danced freely with all the dance moves I learned from my experience in dance class, that I didn’t realize everyone was cheering me on. They all clapped and I kept going. I didn’t want to stop dancing, as I was becoming popular from something I was good at. People began talking to each other saying things like, “I didn’t know she can dance!” Or “Wow, she is amazing!” I began to do some twirls, and then the moonwalk. People took out their phones to record, and I felt like I was famous. I saw Sabrina smiling on the side of the room, and nodded her head in the reassurance that she wanted me to keep exciting the crowd. I started singing along with the song, and someone turned the music off so they would be able to hear my voice solo. It turns out they loved it, I guess singing in the shower paid off. When I finished, they begged me to keep going, but the energy I had left my body and I was out of breath. I told them I needed a break and promised them I wouldn't go anywhere. People scrambled to get me a drink, others offered to give me a massage. It felt good to be cared about, and I convinced myself that parties weren’t as bad as I thought they were. “What song can I put on for you, Rose.” The DJ said. I thought for a minute, and then I turned to the people. “What song do you want me to dance to!” I yelled. They all screamed the song, I can’t remember to forget you, By Shakira. That was one of my favorite songs! I got on stage and mimicked the way Shakira dances and they loved it. Some even tried to follow what I was doing, and I was having the best time of my life. Many of them stuck their bellies out as I did a belly dance, and it was funny to see them try and attempt it. They pleaded for me to sing, and told me my voice was beautiful. I sang along with the song and danced the night away. At the end of the night, many of them begged to exchange phone numbers with me, I gave my contact to anyone that wanted it. I went up to Sabrina who was in the kitchen all by herself. “Thank you, Sabrina. I had a really fun night, and it wouldn’t be possible without you.” Sabrina nodded her head and wiped her tired eyes. She rested her head in her hand as she looked at the mess the people made. I looked at the mess, and back at her. It felt wrong to leave her like that. “Hey Sabrina, I can help you clean this.” “Don’t worry, I will take care of it. You did enough for one night, go rest.” “I don’t usually like being the center of attention, I apologize for stealing the show.” “Don’t apologize. The only reason I bothered inviting everyone is that nobody wanted to go to my house before. They think I am a loser. You made them want to come here, thank you for that.” “I feel bad leaving you like this, so I don’t care if you never invite me again. I am helping you clean.” I walked over to the cans and began to pick them up one by one. I looked over at Sabrina who passed out on the kitchen counter and figured she would feel relieved if she woke up and everything was clean. When I was done cleaning, I left my number on the counter and went home. Sometimes doing things that are out of your comfort zone can have a big impact on your life, and this was certainly the best day of my life.


College life has been interesting for me. I’d taken college prep classes in high school but they really hadn’t prepared me for the rigors of the university workload. My freshman year was filled with relentless study and requisite class attendance to take it all in. There really wasn’t time for anything else. Once I’d met some mandatory credit requirements of my major, I had a little space to breathe. It was in the middle of my sophomore year that l considered joining a fraternity. There are a lot of them to choose from on campus but I didn’t know how I felt about the idea. I‘m not from a ‘silver spoon’ family. Most of the fraternities seem like glorified social clubs for rich people but you quickly learn that being a member has certain privileges. Both the faculty and other students treat you differently once you join and work your way up the ladder. It’s some measure of artificial respect that (as a socially awkward twenty year old) I could use to my advantage. Like anything else, you have to pick the one that best suits you and hope you are accepted. Word gets around that you tried out and were rejected from certain houses; and that affects how the others view you. I didn’t want to waste my time trying to pledge the really exclusive ones. I didn’t have the money or ‘class’ to have much of a chance with them. The only problem was that the ones I had a realistic chance of being accepted in, were ones I didn’t have any interest in joining. It was like the quote attributed to Will Rogers. “I wouldn’t be a member of any club that would have me.” I observed members from all the campus fraternities, hoping for insight into which one I might fit into. That really wasn’t much help. I was put off by what I saw in those guys. To put it plainly, they were jerks. I didn’t want to suck up to people I didn’t even like. Weeks passed and I started to give up on the idea. It just didn’t appeal to me anymore. I even entertained the idea of starting my own campus support group for nerd students who were not in any fraternity or sorority. It seemed like a clever way around the hazing and sucking up that I wanted to avoid like the plague. I figured there were other outcasts like me who felt the same. That night, I had a crazy dream. At least I assume it must have been crazy. Many of the details faded after I woke up but I was stuck with a very odd detail. “Neptune’s penis is a trident-shaped missile.”; a voice said. To be honest, it was about the only thing from the experience I retained, and that was purely due to it being such a bizarre thing. I didn’t have any idea what it meant or what might’ve inspired it. It was a completely random sentence my mind made up. I grinned briefly about the strangeness of it, and then it quickly faded away. To be perfectly honest, the whole thing might’ve been lost forever, had it not been for an incredibly bizarre coincidence. One that came about a couple weeks later. I was at a party. I didn’t realize it but a couple members of the most prestigious fraternity on campus were also in attendance. I hadn’t even considered pledging to them. Their members were from millionaire families and political dynasties. It was way too blue for my blood. One of them asked if I’d ever considered pledging their organization. It was embarrassing but I admitted that I hadn’t. To my surprise, they expressed sincere interest in me. I didn’t even think they knew who I was. According to them, I had been on their radar for some time. It was all very strange. In just a matter of a few minutes, I found myself at the most exclusive frat house on campus, talking with senior members as if I had some chance of being accepted. They were notorious for turning down varsity team players and academic marvels because their families were not wealthy or ‘connected’ enough. Frankly I knew I didn’t stand a chance at being let in and wondered why they were wasting their time on me. It was an exercise in futility. Still, when opportunity like that knocks, you generally answer, even if you are convinced they are at the wrong house. They assured me that I possessed several admirable qualities that overshadowed my academic and social status but I couldn’t imagine what they might be at the time. My pledge sponsors led me through a heavily guarded hallway and down a maze of corridors until I came to a golden door with a sliding security panel in the middle of it. My sponsor assured me that very few people had ever been that deep into the building. They were going to ask me for a pass phrase at the checkpoint. If they liked my answer, I would be permitted through the door and welcomed into the Alpha Omega house. I gotta tell you, I was incredibly nervous. It was very intimidating. I wasn’t prepared for the ‘cloak and dagger’ secret society stuff. My mind raced. What was the pass phrase? I had no idea. Any second, the sliding door would open and I’d be put to the test. My mind raced. If there was an actual answer, I didn’t have a clue but if it was all a test of how I performed under theoretical pressure, I would just offer up something and hope it suited the doorman. My pledge sponsor stood behind me. I stepped toward the secret door and raised my hand to lightly rap on it. My mind raced. What would I say? I still had no idea but hesitancy was never going to look good to the deciding parties. They were surely looking for decisive men. My thoughts were still blank. Apprehension grew. I had initiated the process with no prepared statement for the Alpha Omega guardian on the other side. Surely that would look worse than just standing there. Inside I was screaming while trying to maintain an outward demeanor of calm. I wasn’t sure if my facade was convincing or not. The door slid open. A voice from the other side said: “Humble pledge to the great house of Alpha Omega: What is the passphrase?” “Neptune’s penis is a trident-shaped missile.”; I spoke as clearly as I could muster without hesitation. There was a pregnant pause and dead silence from the other side of the door. I stood there motionless and just looked at the closed sliding panel. I didn’t dare turn around to gauge the expression of my pledge sponsor. I immediately regretted uttering that ridiculous statement for such a solemn occasion but It was the only thing I could come up with at the moment. Fortunately I heard muffled chuckling on the other side of the gateway. Then laughter. Then my sponsor directly behind me laughed. It seemed like a good sign. I heard the sound of a sliding bolt being retracted. The door opened. I was in. As the newest member of the fraternity, I was sworn to absolute secrecy about the identities of the members and our activities. I’d love to share numerous things but to remain a member in good standing, I must abstain. I don’t know if there is an absolute wrong answer to the passphrase question, but if you are able to make the gatekeeper laugh, I believe you are a shoe-in. That’s a trait they really value. Good luck future pledges to Alpha Omega.


Today the world was blanketed in snow. I had nothing to do and nowhere to go. But when those plow trucks pushed the snow out of my parking spot, I decided to make a quick run to Shop n Stop. There was a lot of things up on the shelves. Breads and fruits and Keebler elves. I was so hungry, my stomach let out a big bellow, when one of the workers let out a lackluster "hello". My heart sank deeply into my mottled chest. This cashier did not look very happy to see me. I was 42, with a short blond bob haircut and wearing a pair of Lululemons I borrowed from my daughter. My booty was perfectly sculpted, and my teeth perfectly structured because my husband is a dentist. Anyone would be happy to see me. I am a housewife, one of the most prestigious of all careers. While this little asshole put groceries in bags. It is time. I will Karen the little asshole, and he will regret not celebrating my arrival by offering me his internal organs as a bakery sample. "Where's your manager?" I demanded. "Huh?" said the Little Asshole. "Get your manager, the floors are not shiny enough. I cannot shop here if the floor isn't shiny." "Uh okay." he said. His neck was small and slender, and I wanted to wrap my hidden tentacles around it and play it like a flute. It was my God given right as a Karen. "Yes, may I help you?" said the manager. She was small, like an egg from a platypus ass. Her hair was red, and according to cliché, this meant that she had an attitude as fiery as her locks. "Your employee threw my baby down the cereal aisle and I cannot find it. I need my baby because I get more money if I file my taxes with a dependent. I cannot buy groceries if my baby is stuck in a cereal box." "Aaron? Why did you do that? We cannot have babies in our cereal boxes because our profit margin will suck and Corporate will make us sell our organs to maintain our minimum wage jobs!" The manager said. I liked her. She agreed with me. "You can't be serious?" the Little Asshole said. So all three of us set out to find my baby in the cereal aisle, even though there was no baby. My thighs sounded like a round of applause down the desolate aisles, and it was then I knew that God, Jesus, Obama, Trump and Biden were with me. I used to see them all of the time when I breastfed my oldest daughter Rebecca, and they gave me advice like "Whoever smelt it dealt it" and "Call JG Wentworth, 877 cash now!" My husband was never brave enough to give me advice, because happy wife, happy life is a fundamental physical property of the universe. But those tall men did. "This is the cereal aisle. I have Instagram on my Iphone, so everyone's nipples will harden when I find this missing child of yours." said the red head. Machiavellian, me likes. The Little Asshole kept sighing and then I wondered who was actually working the store because these two morons were the only ones I saw in here. "Clench your buttocks, lest the dust from the cereal boxes irritate your digestive track. Then, our floors will be REALLY dirty, tee-hee" And so, the three of us walked down the cereal eye ull when suddenly, all of the harsh overhead lights turned off and a voice said "....you are the chosen ones....." To be continued....


Live Action Role Playing, known to some as LARPing, is a misunderstood sport. Some of this has to do with the fact that it’s played by those who look like they’ve been pulled right out of a fantasy book but it can also quickly become a lifelong passion. Each year, groups from all over the East Coast travel to the heart of the North Carolina to partake in the midsummer LARPing tournament where hundreds of teams compete in a 30 acre arena to claim the title of Champion. Usually, only the bravest win, but this year the ruthlessness of one team dominated all others. Though they were new to the community, they were bold and cunningly aggressive. After narrowly escaping ambush set by this group, Steve, Arnold, and George ran for the woods but, being one of the last two teams standing, they knew they wouldn’t be allowed to hide for long. They scaled a steep slope and hid behind a large rock formation known as Kings Rock. Breathing heavily as they braced themselves against the backside of the cool stone, Steve and Arnold nervously surveyed their surroundings. A soft wind blew and the pines danced around them, their rhythmic motion producing a hypnotic ambiance. Neither dared to risk peeking around the rock to see if the enemy was near. George looked at the trees. “How the hell did they get the drop on us?” panted Steve. “I don’t know!” said Arnold. They kept a heavy hand on their crafted weapons made from PVC pipe. Every LARPer took pride in their weapon, tailoring it to their strengths and wrapping the “dangerous” parts in foam and duct tape. Arnold wielded a spear because he was nimble. Steve used a bow because he was the sneakiest of group. George wielded a sword for its simplicity and because it felt familiar. “What do we do now?” Arnold squeaked. “How would I know!?” hissed Steve, “They still have five people. The odds of us winning are slim to none.” It was times like these where George found himself useful. Being an average build with unkempt hair, brown eyes, and pale skin; he was nothing impressive to look at. In fact, it was easy for him to blend into any group. He was shy, spoke softly, and his opinions rarely carried weight. However, when times were tough, the group expected him to point them in the right direction. “We are still in this fight,” he said and pointed down the slope, “We have the high ground. That’s huge.” When his friends saw this, their eyes lit up. “You’re right!” said Steve, “Okay then, I will get on top of Kings Rock and you guys draw them up the hill. Once they are in range, I will pop up and start picking them off.” It was a simple plan but it was all they were able to come up with before they heard the other team rustling though the woods below. Steve quickly scaled the rock, leaving Arnold and George looking at each other, still wondering what to do. “What now, George?” asked Arnold. Having already served his purpose, George felt his confidence wane. Arnold saw this and sighed. “We’ll draw them to opposite sides of the rock and hope for the best, I guess.” George wanted to say that it would be better to stick together and fight as pair but, before he could say anything, Arnold was off executing his plan. George watched him go. His heart racing at the thought of having to fight alone. It made his feet feel like they made of concrete. He started to run to his position but his foot caught on a root, throwing him forward into the rock wall. THWACK! The world around him faded to black and wind moving through the trees was the last thing he heard before his mind slipped away into darkness. When he awoke, he lay in the shade of a large willow atop a lonely hill in the middle of vast open plain. He blinked but immediately felt like his head was caught in a vice grip. “Ugh,” he moaned and went to rub his forehead but was surprised to fell that his hands were thick and calloused. He wobbled to his feet, standing a whole foot taller than he used to be, with a muscular frame that filled out his chain mail armor. “What the...” “Whoa there, Sir George. Not so fast.” A man came from around the tree wearing the same red and gold tabard George wore over his armor. “Where am I?” The man cocked his head and stared for a moment. “That pack of goblins must’ve hit yer head harder than I thought.” “Goblins?” “Yes, Sir George, goblins. A whole pack of them you slew. Nasty little buggers be terrorizing an entire town until you dealt with them.” After a round of questioning, George found out that he was known across the land as Sir George the Bold and made a living traveling the country on horseback, slaying monsters and evildoers in the name of the King. The man before him was Turner, his loyal squire. “Come now, Sir George. We must be on our way.” “Where are we going?” “Hobbsboro, of course. If we leave now, we can make it there by sundown. Now, if you please, the last time we were caught on the road after dark, we got ambushed by wolves and I almost lost a leg!” George mounted his horse, Bill, and they traveled north along a single trail that cut through the grassy plain. Though he had never ridden a horse, George found that knightly skills came naturally to him; like his muscles instinctively knew what to do. They arrived at Hobbsboro before sundown and once word spread that Sir George the Bold was in town, people flocked from every household to catch a glimpse of him. Soon, the mayor came out to greet them. “Sir George the Bold!” he shouted, “I see the King still sends his best.” George looked around at the gathering crowd. The accumulation of their watchful eyes gave him a nervous chill. So many prying eyes! What do they want from me? George figured that if this was his new reality, he would have to start acting the part; just like he did while LARPing. “Yes. Only the best for those in need.” The mayor led them to the Inn where he ensured they were fed and their horses properly taken care of. While George slurped down a hearty helping of beef stew and devoured a loaf of fresh bread, the mayor explained that his daughter had been kidnapped and was being held for ransom by a band of thieves. “If I pay them, the citizenry here will starve this coming winter but if they aren’t paid by the full moon, they’ll murder my sweet Amelia!” he said. It was only after he said this that George realized the dangerous task at hand. His confidence waned. The mayor saw this and frowned. George’s heart sank. Here was a man who admired him as the greatest knight in all the Kingdom. The courageous Sir George who single-handedly slew twenty thieves to rescue a peasant’s wife and now, here he was, shaking in his boots. He took a long look at the mayor and knew he had a responsibility to do something. “I will rescue your daughter,” he said, “That, I promise.” The mayor gave a mighty cheer and then told him everything he knew about the thieves. “Their camp is a two days ride from here, nestled in the middle of Duskwood. A fierce and ruthless bunch they are if they chose to live in that awful place but surely they are still no match for Sir George the Bold!” Come morning, George and Turner mounted up and rode out of town. People lined up and watched them go, cheering as they passed. George couldn’t help but smile. He felt larger than life, that what he was doing meant something. They were counting on him and he would deliver. They traveled east for half a day along a dirt path that led into a dark forest. At the entrance, Bill stopped suddenly, snorted, and stamped his feet. Turner’s horse did the same. “Something is spooking them,” said Turner. George did not like the look on his squire’s face and the thought of a faceless threat stalking him in the shadows almost made him abandon his quest; but the thought of letting down so many good people steeled his heart. “Forward,” he commanded and Bill obeyed. They traveled for many hours and, as the deepening shadows indicated night was closing in, they came across a small cottage. When they neared, an old woman limped out to meet them. “Hello there!” she cried, “It is not every day I see people come this way. Please, grace an old woman with your company and I will make you a proper supper.” Turner took one look at the eerie cottage and shuddered. George heard the word supper and his stomach growled. “We would be honored,” he said. The woman led them into her house and while George spoke of his travels, she prepared them a whole feast. Soon, her long wooden table was set with roast chicken, baked golden potatoes, and all colors of fresh fruits. As soon as she declared it ready, the group dug in without hesitation. After stuffing himself silly, George plopped down on a rickety chair, and was fast asleep. He awoke some time later to the touch of a leathery hand on his shoulder. After blinking the sleep from his eyes, he saw a silhouette standing before him. In the near complete darkness of the cottage, it looked like the old woman but her figure was now crooked and bent over, with long fingers that protruded from her ragged cloak. A dark hood covered her face and she spoke with a voice that made George’s skin crawl. “Your soul is not of this world.” George tried to reach for his sword but his body did not move. “Do not be afraid. Though I am known as the Witch of the Wood, I will not harm you.” George relaxed and found that he could speak. “If you know where I come from then can you tell me how to get home?” “You were sent here to learn something that your soul has forgotten.” “What have I forgotten?” “In order to return to your time, you must remember.” “Remember what!?” “You must...” A deep sleep weighed heavily upon him. “...remember.” In the morning, he awoke to find himself, his squire, and their horses in a small, grassy clearing with the cottage was nowhere in sight. After a very confused conversation, they decided to continue on with their quest, following the forest path for hours until Bill suddenly stopped, snorted, and stamped his hooves. “Forward!” George commanded but Turner rode up beside him and whispered, “We are being hunted.” “What!?” A large reptilian beast leapt from a nearby tree with its sharp talons and fangs drawn. Bill quickly leapt out of the way as the creature zipped through the middle of the group, disappearing back into the forest. “It’s a reptilid!” shouted Turner, “To Arms! To Arms!” The reptilid reappeared further down the path. Its serpentine body compressing back onto it’s sinuous, swept back legs as it poised to pounce. Its forked tongue flicked while it glared with large unblinking eyes. “Your sword, Sir George!” Turner cried, “Draw your sword!” George’s sword flashed out of its sheath but the beast saw how it trembled in his hand. It hissed, leapt off its hind legs, and charged. George stared at the reptilid, too fear-stricken to move. It lunged forward with its claws extended but before it could slay them both, Bill reared up and kicked the beast back. Unprepared for the sudden movement, George fell from the saddle and hit the ground, hard. The reptilid hissed and attacked again but Bill held it back with a flurry of vicious kicks. George looked up at his horse in awe. Such bravery! He got back to his feet and breathed deep. Bill brayed excitedly. George held his sword tight with both hands and moved it to the ready. Giving a savage battle cry, he charged forward and, with one mighty stroke, severed the beast’s head from its body. The reptilid’s body fell to the ground in a quivering heap, muddying the ground with spurts of thick blood. “Well struck!” cried Turner. George smiled, wiped his sword clean on his trousers, and slid it back into the leather sheath at his hip. “Let us continue on our quest!” he shouted. He then patted Bill and leaned in close. “Thanks for showing me how to be brave,” he whispered. Bill neighed and stamped its left hoof triumphantly. George mounted up and they continued along the trail for a few hours until they came across the thieves’ encampment. When they saw him approach, five thieves quickly assembled in front of the camp with their weapons drawn. “Well, Well, Well,” said their leader, “If it isn’t the King’s lackey sent to rescue another poor damsel in distress.” A nervous chill crept up George’s spine. Turner stood close by, watching closely. He knew the next thing out of his masters’ mouth had to be brave or else risk emboldening the enemy. George eyed the thieves. There are five of them and only one of me! He wished to gallop to safety but then he thought of what the Witch of the Wood had said. Remember what your soul has forgotten. George straightened himself and in a commanding voice shouted, “I am Sir George the Bold! You will either give up the mayor’s daughter or I will slay you in the King’s name!” Visibly shaken but not deterred, the thieves stood shoulder to shoulder and gripped their weapons tight. “Very well,” George boomed, “Forward!” Bill reared back, kicked its front hooves, and charged forward. George glared, his sword pointed directly at the leader. Seeing this heroic display, the thieves scattered and ran for their lives. The battle was over before it even began. “Huzzah!” Turner shouted, “Well done!” He rode up beside his master and gave a look of respect unlike any he gave before. The two of them then found the mayor’s daughter and freed her from her bonds. “Oh thank you, Sir George,” she said, “Never had I seen such bravery!” George smiled as she kissed him on the cheek. He opened his mouth to say something but, the world around him faded from view until he was but a singular conscience in a black void. When he awoke, he was back at Kings Rock, with his aching head atop a rough pile of leaves. “Help! Help!” Arnold cried nearby. George was on his feet in an instant and rushed to his friend’s aid. Arnold stood alone at the top of the slope, keeping three enemy combatants at a distance with his long spear but was quickly losing ground. Further down, two bodies lay motionless, holding rubber arrows at their chests. A myriad of other arrows were scattered around them. “Help!” George charged. When the enemy saw him coming, he raised his sword and shouted, “I am Sir George the Bold! Surrender or I will slay you where you stand!” The sheer confidence in his voice made the other team freeze, allowing Steve to take one of them out with a single thrust of his spear. George charged in and took care of the rest, his sword moving gracefully from one combatant to the next until they both lay motionless at his feet. George had just won his team the championship round. “Where did that come from?” Arnold cried. “That was amazing!” Steve said as he got down from his perch. After everyone consolidated back at home base, George’s team was called in front hundreds of others to receive the championship trophy. Everyone cheered as George held the trophy high for all to see. “All hail, Sir George the Bold,” they cried, “May he never forget the courage he showed here today!”