Emma, Rachel, Megan, Brianna, Nsimba (yes that was his real name), Ricky, Jen, and Jordan. Those are the names that I remember of the nurses who took care of me for six weeks and three days at CMMC. The women and one man who took out my catheter (Megan), argued on my behalf for better pain meds (Ricky the fucking Rockstar), wiped my ass after going to the bathroom (Emma), emptied my bed pan (Nsimba), and told me to cough to bring down my fever so I could avoid going back to the ICU (Jen). And of course, the nurse who not only helped me survived but also helped me live has chosen to have her name changed. Only the brightest ones don’t want to be seen. But she will be seen in this piece because although every nurse that took care of me deserves credit, Nurse “Jordan” fucking saved me. I’m sure Jordan was taking care of me long before I was aware of it (thanks to being heavily drugged and in a catatonic state for at least two of my six week stay). And sometimes I don’t remember our days together so much as I remember moments in our days together. The first memory I have of Jordan was the day she came into my room and told me we needed to go for a walk. It was maybe halfway into my hospital stint and up until that moment I had been laying on my back for weeks on end watching True Crime tv. There were no days or nights. I forgot what the date was. I barely knew what month it was. The only way I knew it was nighttime was seeing the new nurses come in for their 7 pm shift. Jordan was always on days. By the time she wanted me to walk with her, I had three drainage tubes coming out of my stomach. I didn’t know it yet, but in another week, I would have my sixth and final surgery to take out my staples and have a feeding sack placed in the fourth and final quadrant of my abdomen. At the time of Jordan’s request of relearning how to walk, I also had a skinny feeding tube snaked down my nose (it had already fallen out once, and the way to correct that is to simultaneously swallow air as a nurse pushes it back down your nose. How graceful) and I was on oxygen. I had no fucking idea why this nurse was asking me to do the impossible-- and with a smile on her face. Jordan was a petite nurse. She was shortish with almost black hair that she always had tied back in a bun. She was in her late thirties--I think she said she was almost 40--but she definitely looked and acted younger. At first, I thought she was immature because of how positive she always was. I mean we were in a fucking hospital during Covid, where was the hope in that ? But I have come to realize that I was just a miserable and dying patient (which, who could blame me?) and Jordan’s happy go lucky attitude healed me better than any of those marvelous drugs that nurse Ricky raged for me to have. Back to relearning how to walk. It took me half an hour, half an hour , to get out of bed. I couldn’t just sit up in bed, swing my legs over the edge, step onto the ground and push myself up into a standing position. No, I had to take both arms, grip the side of the bed I wanted to turn towards, pull with all my might to get from my back onto my side, push myself up into a sitting position with both hands still gripping the plastic hospital bed, take a three minute break as I caught my breath, hold back tears, grab Jordan’s hands and have her pull me upright off the bed, fight the urge to just collapse back onto the bed and give up, and as I stood there gripping Jordan’s hands and her saying “You did it! You did it!” I couldn’t help but smile through the pain. The celebration didn’t last long though. We were just getting started. Jordan then recruited another nurse to hold my hands and make sure I didn’t drop dead (which was a legit concern at that point) as Jordan herself grabbed my walker, readjusted the tube in my nose (as I quietly muttered “It’s fine, just fucking leave it alone ”), grabbed the oxygen tank, and reassessed the three tubes coming out of my stomach. I was ready to walk. It wasn’t necessarily hard for my brain to remember place one foot in front of the other ...but it was hard to do just that with the amount of pain it brought. Instead of easily taking one step at a time, it felt like there was this straight iron rod in my body and someone was trying to fold and break me in half. I stooped rather than stood. I hobbled rather than took steps. After leaving my hospital room’s door, I was exhausted . Jordan and the other nurse were on either side of my walker with Jordan was pushing along the oxygen tank. Both nurses kept saying shit like “You’re doing great .” “How are you feeling ?” “It’ll get better .” With each new step I was gaining more confidence. The doctors had told me weeks ago I probably would never be able to walk again. And although I took it in stride and accepted it as my new normal, I was beyond ecstatic to be walking again. I’ll never forget the advice that Jordan gave me for that first walk. We were halfway down the hallway in the hospital, and I wanted to finish. I was determined. I could do it. As if Jordan sensed my willpower, she said, “Now, we could keep going and finish the hallway, but remember you have to go back. In other words, if you feel like you can finish the hallway, could you do it again to get back to the room?” My steps then stopped. I could finish the hallway, but I knew I couldn’t turn around and do it all over again. They would have to carry me back to my room. A third nurse was on standby with a wheelchair in case that happened, but I wouldn’t let it come to that. “I wanna turn around,” I said shamefully. “No, you’re ready to turn around,” Jordan chirped with the ever-present smile on her face that was starting to grow on me. There was this thing that Jordan always pulled every morning she entered my room, and I know she’s sporting a shit eating grin right now while she reads this, knowing what’s coming. I used to always keep my blinds down in my room. Again, day and nighttime were not relative terms to me so I slept when I could. When my room wasn’t being plagued by doctors and specialists, when I wasn’t being shipped down to cat scans, emergency surgeries, and the ICU, I slept when I could . And sometimes that was during the day. And in those cases, I didn’t like the sun screaming in my face. So, I would always have the blinds drawn. The first day Jordan came waltzing in my room and drew up my shade I winced/smiled. “There! It’s a lovely day and the sun is shining! Much better.” This is the first nurse I’m going to hate , I thought to myself. To Jordan I said, “I don’t like the blinds up. Please put them back down.” “Oh, ok,” she said as she did as I asked. But the next day she came into my room and opened them again. And I told her to close them again. She laughed and said “oh, ok” again. And that’s how it went every morning. Then when she realized she couldn’t convert me to being a sunshine, positivity loving patient, she would open the blinds as a joke and let me grumble that she was crazy and was trying to kill me. Our friendship blossomed into a relationship where she would try to combat my bad moods with pokes and jokes. Usually, she won. And she appreciated my banter and shit talking because at the end of the day, I always gave her my 110% effort. Of course, I let her know how fucking crazy she was to expect me to double my laps, or sit in a chair for an hour straight (hardest and most painful thing ever at the time), or to start doing stairs but I still did it all for her. There were times where if I didn’t feel like doing anything, and told another nurse who was asking “not today.” Jordan would then hear about it, come into my room, and plead at my bedside. “Do it for me,” she’d say as she was kneeling at my bed and holding my hands. Fucking a that’s all that wonderful woman had to say. “Do it for me ,” and all of a sudden, I found the strength to do it. To survive. And to live . Here’s the point in the story where a disclaimer is needed: I’m not trying to toot my own horn, but I was fucking funny in the hospital. My dark sense of humor that I always had growing up came in handy while I was plastered to a hospital bed for six long weeks. I could make any nurse laugh, and even made a few doctors chuckle. Jordan was my favorite to crack up, and my wit surprised her. I would always get a bewildered look followed by her genuine laughter. Every day was a new day to try to make Jordan laugh. Sometimes that meant more to me than any health improvement I may have made. One day Jordan came into my room and as she yanked up my window shade (as I rolled my eyes) she said she had something fun for us to do. “I need to stick this pill up your butt.” “Oh, goody,” I cried with sarcasm. Jordan and another nurse helped push me onto my side so that I was facing the wall. Jordan undid my Johnny and said, “Now, try to think of something pleasant.” I did not skip a damn beat. “Ok, Bryan .” Jordan did skip a beat. I could picture her finger and thumb pinching the horse pill that was about to be inserted into my anus, and her stopping midway. “Why did you call me ‘Bryan’?” Her curiosity got the best of her. “Because he was the last person who put something up my ass that was pleasant .” It was true, Bryan was the guy I had an affair with and during our drunken hotel hookups we would have anal sex. And it felt good. Credit to a guy with a small dick for once. I felt the hospital bed shake. At first, I thought we were experiencing an earthquake--which with my luck I wouldn’t be surprised. But Jordan was shaking the bed with her laughter. She was starting to suck in air she was laughing so hard. Then just as quick, I felt the pill go up my ass and my own laughter almost made me shit it right back out. Those were the days I’ll always cherish in the hospital. Jordan and her laughter. One day when Jordan started her shift at 7 am I was having a rare bad day. There were days I cried, days I wanted it to end, and days I said fuck it. But those were simply fleeting moments that were always remedied by Jordan or another compassionate nurse. But this day was different. On this day, for once my hope was completely on E. I woke up and just decided I didn’t care. I didn’t want to improve. I told myself I was barely improving at all and that my life was pointless. I would never truly live again. That was the saddest day of my life. So, when Jordan came in and pulled up my shade like usual, I didn’t give her shit for once. I just stared at the wall as Forensic Files played on the little tv in front of me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jordan do a double take at my silence. She didn’t say anything but checked my vitals and asked if we were walking today, as if it were a choice. But I did treat it like a choice and my silence was my answer. She then tried to make a joke, but I still stayed silent. I knew I was being rude, but I was just so over it. I had been in the hospital 5 weeks with no end in sight. I had died twice. The pain meds were barely touching my pain. My cell phone had shit the bed in the middle of all this. I couldn’t have visitors. I died during my first surgery and had five more after that. Each time I was scared I would die and wouldn’t be so lucky as to be revived again . Sorry Jordan, but life wasn’t looking so positive for me at that point. Jordan knelt by my bedside again and took my hands into hers. With tears in her eyes she said, “I am so sorry .” And that was all. And she closed my blinds and left the room. The rest of the day I felt heart broken and guilty as fuck for breaking her spirit. But the next day she again waltzed into my room and opened my blinds. And I told her to get the hell out of my room as we laughed. The last day of my journey Jordan unfortunately wasn’t working. I was discharged on a Saturday and the day before she was running around my room double checking everything and reminding me all the OT tips and tricks I learned and how to administer my own drugs through the PICC line I would be discharged with. She told me she was so proud of me and that she loved me. She never brought up my drinking or said she was worried--true to herself, she stayed positive . It was almost as if I didn’t need her my last day in the hospital because she had already taught me everything I needed to know. It’s been nine months since I’ve been discharged. And Jordan was my nurse again when I had hernia surgery back in February. She was still the same old Jordan. Coming into my room, drawing the blinds, but now she was head nurse! I am so proud of Jordan and owe her my life. I had many nurses who I will always owe credit to, but Jordan was a superhero. She not only took care of me, but she laughed, cried, triumphed, and lost alongside me. She wasn’t just a bystander who administered drugs and did her job. She went above and beyond . I have many reasons to stay sober and make sure I never relapse, and I proudly say that Nurse Jordan (whose real name I leave out, out of respect, which she asked me to do last time I saw her but hope that one day the world will know her fully--I told you readers she was a superhero!) is one of the top reasons I stay sober. I look forward to the day that you literally spill sunshine into my room, and I can make and hear you laugh again.


(WP) Retribution She’d spent her entire life in pursuit of revenge, to get even with those who had wronged her. The palace was burning around her, and she couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the chaos she had wrought. Smoke clogged the air, thick and black, and the screams of the wounded and dying were like music in her ears. “How could you do this?!” Before she could so much and turn around and look at the speaker, she was tackled from behind, and they both hit the floor; she only just avoided cracking her head on the white marble. It was her younger sister, and tears were running down her face. “You’ve destroyed everything!” “You destroyed me first!” The words roared their way out of Viola’s chest, as raw and sharp as broken glass. How many days had she spent in this very room, wishing she was somewhere, someone, else? Her hands met her sister’s chest, and she tried to push her off, even as her sister’s hands went to her throat and squeezed. For the first time since the fire started, Viola was afraid she was going to die. And at her sister’s hands. She gripped her sister’s wrists and squeezed, fighting against the darkness that threatened to pull her under. She’d worked too hard for too long to not see her revenge realized. “You made me do this, all of you,” She whispered, and her sister let go. She shoved her off, growling. They’d never understood her, never tried. She’d always been the odd one out. “Nobody ever wanted you anyway!” The world narrowed to her sister, sprawled on the floor, and as if she was watching herself from outside, she saw herself pull out a dagger. “Take that back, or I will make you pay.” “You couldn’t just take your exile with grace, as usual, you had to throw a tantrum!” “SHUT UP!” Viola shrieked, rounding on her sister. She brought the knife down, but her sister dodged the blow, their training kicking in, and Viola screamed her fury to the ceiling. Even the roar and pop of the fire couldn’t completely muffle the sound of her rage. “You were supposed to die, anyway. Father wanted you left on a mountain. Mother didn’t let him; she only saved you out of pity, and fear of the gods.” A film of red descended over Viola’s eyes; the knife in her hand trembled violently. Everything she’d ever suspected and feared to be true was confirmed in her sister’s statement. She had a knife in her hand, their home was burning around them, yet she felt like a mouse before a cat: helpless. “I’m not sorry,” Viola said, pleased that her voice did not tremble. “You drove me to this, all of you, when you sent me away.” “Father never should have shown you mercy, sister mine. He should’ve just had you executed.” Her sister laughed again, and Viola decided that if she died in pursuit of retribution, it didn’t matter. She approached her sister, spinning the knife in her hand. “Get up, and let’s finish this, sister.


The soft clicking of computer keys blends in with the sound of rain pattering against the window. My glasses are perched precariously on the end of my nose, and a cup of lukewarm chocolate rests atop some papers on my desk. I am content. A knock at the door distracts me from my writing. I smile. “Come in.” Within seconds Tobias is by my side, hands clutching the edge of my desk as he lifts himself up to peer at the book I’m writing. “Ah-ah-ah, no spoilers,” I tease, covering Tobias’s eyes with one hand. “But Mama, it’s after school!” he whines. “You said I could see it after school!” “Did I?” Looking up at the ceiling, I pretend to be deep in thought. I shake my head and smirk. “Nope, can’t remember saying that.” In a blur of defiance, Tobias jumps up and licks my hand, still blocking his view. I pull back with an exaggerated gasp of horror. “No! You’ve poisoned me! How could you do that?” Tobias bursts into a fit of giggles. “I didn’t poison you!” I strike a dramatic pose in my chair, one hand pressed to my stomach while the other rests on my forehead. “Everything...going...dark...” And with that, I close my eyes and let my tongue loll out of my mouth. Tobias cheers to himself. It’s good to know he cares so much about his mama’s well-being. After a prolonged period of silence, I crack one eye open, only to find Tobias absorbed in the story I’ve begun to write on my computer. “What do you think?” I ask him. He replies without moving his eyes from the screen. “I think there’s supposed to be a comma right here.” Tobias points to a sentence. He’s right. I quickly correct my mistake, puffing up with pride for my smart little boy. “Thanks, buddy.” I pause. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” I press a kiss to the top of his head. Tobias turns and gestures for me to lean down, giving me a kiss on the cheek in return before becoming refocused on the story. For some odd reason, I feel like crying. And then I realize. Instantly, the world around me freezes. I stare at my computer screen, noticing my story has become a blank sheet of virtual paper. I decide to take a risk. “This isn’t real, is it?” I blink, and words have appeared on the screen. **It’s real in a way.** Anger burns in my chest as my suspicions are confirmed. “No, it’s not real. This is just a fantasy.” Another blink, more words. **I’m sorry. This is the best I can do for you -- for us -- right now.** “I know,” I whisper. The eerie silence around me is suffocating, and my eyes fill with tears. **Please don’t cry. You mean everything to me.** I laugh bitterly. “As much as a character can mean, anyway.” **You’re not just a character.** “Then what am I?” My author hesitates. This time, I catch the cursor moving, and I read her confession just before she closes the document. **You’re my epilogue.


Her hair, the color of wounds and roses, blew in the wind like a banner of war. She stood upon the bow of her ship and thrust her face into the spray that was thrown up as the waves crashed against the hull. The taste on her lips was that of a home a life away and half forgotten. There had been a bargain, but that was nothing special - life is made of bargains; we sell what we can for a chance at what we need. And what price could be too much for a world out of a dream, for perfection? And so what if there had been blood? A knife in the dark of a temple, a bride-to-be helped into the abyss of the sea - to be missed, and mourned, and, ultimately, forgotten. One princess had taken the place of another, and the world spun as it always would have, and always would. She loved him, of course: her blacked-eyed prince. She loved him more than life - more than anything. And in the heart of the romantic love absolves all sins. And he loved her. First because she reminded him of a girl he thought had saved him, and later because he knew she really had. They were happy as only true lovers could be. But it was not to last. Summer followed summer and patient contentment gave way slowly to worry and apprehension. The womb of the queen had yet to quicken with the child she, and especially her husband, so longed to dote upon. Learned men of medicine were summoned first from the corners of the kingdom, and then the corners of the world. They could do nothing, for the king and queen each seemed the image of health. Magicians and sorcerers were then called upon. This one working with abacus and charts by the motion of the stars, that one with chants and herbs, this one with blood. They were no charlatans and time and again demonstrated their power to the court. The queen took to learning from them, and even her tongue was healed by cunning craft. For a while the castle was joyous again; the king had never heard her speak, nor heard her sing. And in this latter thing she had no equal in all the world. She delighted him, and she was delighted to see it. But songs can only do so much, and still the royal nursery sat empty. And so it was that the gloom of dying dreams and breaking hearts settled again upon the kingdom like a damp, choking dust. It was then that an old woman came. Having heard of her lord and lady’s plight she had journeyed from afar to offer what aid she could. Gifted she was in midwifery, and privy she was to many secrets long forgotten to the world; she had, she said, been apprenticed to the queen of the fairies in her youth and was wise in witchery. It was through her efforts that the queen came to be with child, and for months there was an unending festival to prepare the world for the coming of the new prince or princess. But when the babe finally arrived news spread through the castle that it was not well, and, if God be merciful, would not be long in the world. The old woman came to the queen afterward, once the mess of the birth had been cleaned away and the mother had had a chance to rest. She sat close in a chair as Her Majesty wept in her bed. The queen confessed then what she had before only told the king, once he had taught her how to write in the manner of men. The old woman listened, and by the end of the tale she held the queen in her arms and rocked her as she whimpered. The old woman knew of the witch the queen spoke of. Ancient she was, a cold and spiteful thing, her life preserved through wards writ when stone was new. There was little her magic could not achieve or undo, save death itself, and there was nothing made through her magic that any save her or God could challenge. And so the old woman told the queen what she should do to make things as right as they could be. For of all the temptations in the world there is but one that a witch of black heart cannot fail to be blinded by. Only one thing which would ensure her promise to undo her curse and heal the child without malice or trickery. A week later, once all the necessary ceremonies had been observed, the queen had set sail. It was near dusk when the ship finally arrived at its destination. It looked to the sailors much the same as everywhere else on the sea, but the queen was intimate with these waters, and she knew what was to be found deep below the rocking of the waves the ship rested upon. She gave her instructions to the crew, and the ice in her voice was such that they dared not defy her, though they were pained by her words. She clutched her satchel to her breast and, for a moment, looked out towards the horizon and the sun setting in a sky she had once so impotently longed to see. Then she quaffed a vial of something sticky and bubbly and smelling of salt - a potion which she had months ago learned the making of, though this was not the visit it had been intended for. She began to cough and choke, unable to take in the air. Over the side she dove and plunged down, down into the dark of the deep. The waters of the sea flowed into her, and sustained her, and again she could breath. It did not feel quite the same as it had - nothing ever does after a time away - but it was close enough for nostalgia's sake. For a while she tarried within sight of the belly of the ship as it floated above the black abyss wherein dwelt the Sea Witch. For a while she tarried upon the edge of a world she had sold so much for. She sank then, and the darkness closed in around her like the embrace of a mother who does not mean well. An incantation later and she could see in the inkiness. Far below her grew the witch's forest of hideous polyps, always hungry and grasping, filled with bones of men, and fish, and merfolk. With hope burning in her heart as only hope can burn, and only when it is come to at the end of all alternatives, she descended to the edge of that hideous wood. The slithering branches of the grove grabbed at her, but she nimbly avoided them as she had once before, and made her way to the clearing far within. She came upon it ere too long and, sat in the place it had since a time beyond all memory, was the stone hut of the Sea Witch. Taking a deep breath of seawater the queen gathered her courage and knocked. For too many moments there was no answer, but just as the queen raised her hand to rap again the door slowly swung inwards. “Hello, are you at home, grandmother?” The queen used this form of address out of old habit as much as caution; it was how they had all been instructed to speak if ever they were so foolish or unfortunate as to cross her path. The blackness of the hut, which the queen's spell of seeing could not pierce, offered no reply. And she was not so stupid as to walk in uninvited. “I have brought gifts, grandmother.” The queen reached into her satchel and pulled out a handful of sapphires from the kingdom's store of treasures; she laid them on the threshold. “There is more-”. “I'm sure there is,” slithered a voice from the darkness, dripping with ichor and sugar-glazed hate. A tentacle, blue and bloated, glided out of the blackness and pulled the pile of gems inside. The queen watched this with quiet revulsion, and when she looked up there floated the witch, her jowled face and flabby arms bobbing through the tide atop a sprout of worm-like limbs. “You might as well come in, I suppose,” cooed the witch. “I expect we have things to discuss.” As the words were spoken the darkness inside yielded to the queen's eyes. There was no more light than before, but she could now make out the sparse furniture and eels writhing on the floor. The witch swam to the far side of her stone table and piled her jewels on top of it; she fiddled with them as she spoke. “Such pretty things you bring me, princess.” The witch lifted a gem to the slit of her eye, “one wonders what favors they are meant to buy. Are you not happy in the life you've bartered for? You seemed so eager for it when last we spoke.” “It was perfect,” muttered the queen as she approached, “everything I dreamed or could have dreamed, and more, but-” “And, of course, there is the matter of how you're speaking,” interrupted the witch. “You're a cheat, princess. You squirm your way out of one bargain and them come to beg another?” “I did not cheat!” screamed the queen, indignation and hate overcoming sense. The cool gaze of the witch tempered the her tone and more softly she continued. “You never said I couldn't undo it, you didn't make it that way. You could have...” At this the hands of the queen clutched her stomach and she lapsed into silence. The ocean ate the tears from her eyes as they were born. “Ah,” said the witch, a smile blooming on her fanged maw “so that's it is it? Not happy with just the prince, but a baby as well?” “It was important to the king; I hadn't even thought of it before he began to talk about how happy it was going to make us.” “Tut tut,” the witch's finger wagged lazily from side to side, “foolish not to think ahead, foolish. And now you find it not so easy to give the man what he wants?” The witch leered at the queen from toe to crown. “You find, perhaps, that your pretty body, your dancing, *your* *singing*, just isn't quite enough, so you come back to me for more favors? To help get you with a vile man-baby? You are a tiresome, greedy girl, princess.” “We had a baby,” said the queen, nearly breathless and with eyes downcast, “that's why I've come.” The witch paused for a moment and then began to laugh. “Congratulations, princess!” The sapphires fell from her hands as she pounded upon her table in jubilation. “It could not have been easy! There must have been much trying - that much I'm sure you enjoyed, and you're welcome for it - and much waiting, many false starts, much disappointment. And then, at last, it sticks! And the baby comes!” And here her laughter stopped, but her grin widened. “How is the dear thing?” “You know, I think.” The words tumbled from lips nearly still. The witch leaned forward over her table. “Tell me anyway,” she whispered, her eyes wrinkled in glee. The queen fell to her knees and clutched her bag. “Please, grandmother,” said the queen through her sobs, “please help my baby, please make everything alright, please, please, please, please-”. “Enough,” barked the witch, all mirth gone from her voice, all glee vanished from her face. “As I said, princess, you are *greedy*.” She paused and licked her lips, a hint of a smile returning to them. “All the same, were it not for greed I'd do a fair bit less business.” The witch turned toward a shelf and removed a vile. “This, poured down the gob of the tyke, will, in a day or so - and not without pain - make things right, as you'd have it.” She held the potion up, she let the eyes of the queen rest upon it. Moment after moment of silence filled the hut. “What is the price?” And who could say if the witch heard the question, so soft it was, but she knew what was asked all the same. “Indeed, we do come now to that, princess.” The witch sauntered her girth back and forth as she floated here and there, lips pursed, hand to her chin. “It wasn't easy to make, you know.” “I'm sure.” “Consequently, it should be very expensive.” “That would only be fair.” “Tell me,” the witch stopped in front of the queen and looked down upon her, “if you had to pick - if you could have only *one -* which would it be? The prince, or the baby?” The queen's gaze fell from the vial and her head sank slowly until it rested in the muck of the floor. Of course that was the price, that was not unexpected; nevertheless, it was hard to hear: a choice she could not make. Time passed by in slow currents, but, finally, the queen spoke. “The king would not trade his baby's life for his own. I would betray him to allow that to happen, and I can't do that.” “But, for your part,” the witch leaned down so that her lips almost brushed the ear of the queen, “you'd rather have the prince? Not the baby?” “...yes,” breathed the queen into the slime of the floor. “Good, then it's a good price.” The witch's smile returned as she stood,, and through it could be seen row upon row of needle teeth. “Shall we call it a bargain?” The queen sat up, her face smeared with filth; the eels writhed around her as she stared at the vial, her mouth agape. “I, I have, more gifts...” The queen fumbled in her bag with clumsy, distracted hands. “No gifts, princess. No haggling. The price is the price.” The words were chill, and behind them the threat of danger. The queen's shoulder's slumped and necklaces and bracelets and other fine things fell from her soft grip. “Is there no other way?” “None.” The eyes of the queen went far away as she thought of her husband, and how she had seen him first, on his birthday. She remembered how she had loved him at once, and how she had saved him, and all she had done to win him. She thought of how happy they had been; she thought of their baby, so innocent and caught in a battle that was not its own. She loved it too, of course she did. She thought at last of the witch's choice, crafted to force her to break her own heart. And then her thoughts ran out, and there was nothing but to answer. “I can't,” whispered the queen, as though to herself. The smile on the witch's face faded into indifference and she shrugged her bulbous shoulders. “Then the baby dies.” She turned and replaced the vial on the shelf, “but don't worry, I shouldn't imagine it will take long.” “We'd had such hopes, you know.” The queen remained on the floor but looked up now at her enemy. “Our business is concluded,” she turned away and made a show of busying herself with organizing her things. “Don't let me keep you.” “If it was a girl,” continued the queen, “I'd teach her to sing, and if it was a boy he'd teach him how to hunt.” There was no emotion in her voice now, all sorrow drained away as though into the wide, wide sea. The witch did not turn around and spoke as though to someone not there. “I don't especially care. Now leave, before we have trouble.” As though they understood, which, of course, they must have, the eels began to circle the queen, their jaws snapping. “I didn't see why it shouldn't be both in any case.” The queen rose and turned toward the door, “but my husband had funny ideas about the whole thing, and I could never refuse him.” “Send him my regards.” The queen gingerly stepped her way to the threshold. She stood there for a moment, her hand upon the cold, rough stone of it, and then she turned back. “I did get him to agree about you, though, grandmother.” “Hmm? What's that?” The witch did turn then, for she was a curious sort, as the old woman said she must be: all black witches are, when it comes to the subject of themselves. “You brought us together, and you know so much,” the queen stepped back inside, and the eels made way for her, a little. “It made sense, and was, I think, to be a fair show of gratitude. I even dared think it would make up for the tongue.” An embarrassed smile played across the queen's face and she looked to the side. “What was?” asked the witch as she floated nearer. “Boy or girl - to make them strong and safe - the king and I thought its godmother might teach it some small magics; small for you, of course, but even that would have been enough to make the child mighty, I'm sure. That's what convinced him, really, not me: anything to make his baby safe.” The witch gasped, and bits of alchemical bric-a-brac, expensive or not, tumbled to floor as her tentacles flew out and knocked against the shelves. In a single swift motion she swam the rest of the way to the queen and pulled her close so that they were face to face. “You'd have me godmother your firstborn?” The witch's eyes were wide, her tone disbelieving. None but white witches had ever done such a thing, and so few really knew why, but the old woman had. It was a secret curse, from Titania herself, on the whole lot of them. To punish them for a slight which happened long, long ago. They were never to have it, though always - always - to lust for it. “Of course,” said the queen, “as I said, it seemed only fair. But it doesn't matter now, and I don't want to keep you.” She tried to turn, but the witch's cold and scaly hands on her shoulders would not allow it. Though they did not grip so tightly as to hurt. “Wait, this changes things.” And now it was the witch's eyes which looked far away and into a world she never thought could be. “But you said the price was the price, grandmother.” The queen tilted her head and raised her brow quizzically. “You said there could be no haggling.” “This is a thing that cannot be asked,” the witch was breathless, beside herself with shock and budding glee, “it must be given, freely, of your own accord. Those are old laws, Your Majesty - older even than I.” Her voice grew more and more rapid as true happiness bloomed in a heart which had long forgotten even the memory of its memory. “And you offer it to me? To be godmother to your precious little one?” “I would, grandmother, gladly, if only my child could live to enjoy it.” The face of the queen beamed at a victory, such as it was, so near at hand. “It shall! I swear it! A gift given with nothing asked except that you keep your word.” “Oh, grandmother,” exclaimed the queen as she embraced the witch and choked down her revulsion, “by your life and magic you swear it?” For a promise from a witch is strong, strong as any magic which flows within her. “I do, of course I do. But we must be quick!” she turned from the queen and shot back to her shelves. “The potion, and this one too - for the pain - you must administer them as soon as you can!” “Nothing simpler, grandmother,” laughed the queen and blessing the old midwife in her thoughts, “my baby is here.” The brow of the witch furrowed as she turned, potions in hand, “What?” “It is here! I brought it, knowing there might not be time to come and go back.” The queen held her satchel up in front of her and, opening it, emptied the contents onto the floor. And there it lay in a little heap amidst what few trinkets of gold and silver had remained in the bag. It was twisted, and gray: a half-scaled torso with an eyeless face and a body that ended in a broken mockery of a fish's tail. “It lived only an hour or so.” The voice of the queen lilted, an edge of hysteria behind the facade of mirth. “It screamed the whole time. The king took it very hard, I'm afraid.” The queen stepped over the corpse and approached the Sea Witch. “But it's alright now, right grandmother? You'll make it well, you swore so - on *your life* and by *your magic*, yes?” The witch dropped her potions and drew herself up. When she spoke the words sounded far away in her ears. “You tricked me.” “Oh, no, I don't think so,” said the queen, sweetly. “And, in any case, why should that matter? When the shoe was on the other foot - ha - you didn't seem to mind.” Still she continued to approach, slowly. “Are you saying you renege?” The queen frowned and her voice sank into sullenness. “That would be unseemly, grandmother. That wouldn't do at all.” At a small gesture from the witch the eels in droves came at the queen. They bit into her legs and feet, and her blood flowed into the room. It hurt, but that was nothing. The queen's feet always hurt. Each step was a knife thrust into her flesh, and bone, and marrow. It had always been thus, for as long as she had had feet to walk upon. She had long since learned to ignore pain. And, even if she hadn't, pain was nothing in the face of this; pain was nothing at all when it bought her revenge. She leapt at the witch. The hag turned and shot to the right, but her tentacles trailed behind her and the queen was quick, agile as ever. She snatched one and squeezed. The magics that had so long protected the witch failed in the wake of her broken promise. The slimy flesh popped and a black jelly of blood and puss squirted out. The touch of it burned the queen but she did not loose her grip on the broken appendage. The scream that burst from the witch was, to the queen's ears, more beautiful than any song she herself could have ever sung. Together they rushed out the door: the witch trying to flee but pulling the queen in tow. Into the horrid forest they went. The eels followed in a swarm and bit the queen on her arms and back and face; they tore flesh and scratched to the bone underneath until her skin was all ribbons and blood. But the grasping branches grabbed one after another until all were caught. At the last it was only the witch and the queen locked in struggle; the forest would not dare snatch at its master, and the magic that animated it could not prevent the queen from forcing the hag to make good on her deal. The witch jerked from side to side, trying to throw off the queen, but again and again Her Majesty grabbed on to a new tentacle and squeezed until there were hardly any left unbroken. Together they sank into the muck, the water think with their mingled blood. “Stop,” gasped the witch, “please, stop. I can still make things right, and I will, I swear.” “You can raise the dead?” The queen reached for a rock as the question fell from what was left of her lips. “No, but I can make it so you'll have new children, and they will be beautiful and strong! They will live long - longer than any man, and I will teach them all I know! Only cry off!” The queen found a suitable instrument: one side rounded, the other a jagged edge. She held it tight in her hand and paused. A breath escaped her and she spoke a truth which betrayed her motherhood, and she didn't care: “If the king will forgive you, and accept your terms, then I will cry off.” “Yes! Thank you, Your Majesty! I will come to you in your castle and beg mercy, I swear it!” The queen raised the rock above her head, “The king is not in the castle, grandmother. In his grief he jumped from the high tower - not an hour after our child sat cold in its crib.” The witch snarled and lunged up; her fangs were bared and sought purchase in the white flesh of the royal throat. But the queen was quicker, and the pointed edge of the rock was thrust deep into the open mouth. Down and forward it was pressed, forcing the detestable head to the ground. There was a small struggle, but the witch was tired and, stripped of her old protections, weak. She fought for the life she had and hated, but the queen fought for the life she might have had and always loved. The snap at the back of the witch's throat was the final word on the matter. The queen looked down on the limp carcass, as much jelly as flesh and bone, and turned away. She staggered as she went. She was dizzy with fatigue and blood loss, and the fire of the witch's blood had worked its way into her through her wounds. She sat, finally, and then lied down and looked up toward the sky a world away. And though it wasn't there, for it was night now, and though she wouldn't have been able to see it if it were, because she was so deep in the sea, she glimpsed again the sun. The queen closed her eyes and slept with a smile on her face. And in time the sea did what it does, just as the world spins; and bit by bit, by way of one stomach or another, the little mermaid returned to the sea.


I feel a massive wave of pain on my left side, just below the ribs. Instinctively I place my hand on it. I lift it moments later and see a warm scarlet liquid coming out of my body. Instantly I feel dizzy, the sight of blood causes me that nausea feeling I hate so much. I try to look around for Jack, but my sight becomes blur. My feet feel like jelly, and I expect to crumble on the ground any second now. It all started about two weeks ago. It was a simple mission for such an experienced agent as Jack and everything were going smooth so far. Until that day came, when everything went wrong, and I felt like a modern version of the plagues of Egypt is coming upon us. Jack’s mission was Lord Alistair Wood. That esteemed man apart from an enormous fortune, he fancies drugs and weapons trade. There’s nothing wrong with making some extra money. And this is where Jack comes in. We planted various information on the internet as bait about Jack being a wealthy businessman already into the illegal weapons trade, to make him eligible for the lord’s stock. All these days the things were moving slow but steady, it takes time to gain the trust of such a man. Jack’s last transmission was that he finally persuaded lord’s intermediary to arrange a meeting with his boss where he can get a closer look at the stuff and sign the contract. During that meeting Jack would be equipped with hidden cameras and microphones that will give us all the evidence we need to get that high-class bastard behind bars. The day had come, and Jack was on his way to the lord’s estate, when we faced with an excessive amount of interference during our communication. Of course, I immediately informed my superiors but not much could be done. I tried my best to repair the communication, although the time was passing by, and I didn’t make much progress. But I didn’t back down. I tried again, this time focusing on gaining access in one of the cameras attached to his suit. The image was a bit blur, but the sound seemed to be working. A gunshot echoed through the speakers making me jump on my seat like I was hit by a thunder. There was big commotion shortly after the gunshot and I couldn’t spot Jack’s voice or what they were saying. I tried, tapping furiously on my keyboard, to fix the image transmission and I freeze in place as I see Lord Alistair’s face on the camera that was supposed to be planted on Jack’s lapel. Then he places a hood on Jack’s head, and everything goes dark though I still get some sound, mostly containing incomprehensible shouting. I press the emergency button on the phone on the side of my desk and head towards the crisis room. I open the doors and find three of my superiors sitting on chairs in front of a large table. “Jack is compromised.” I say almost out of breath. “He’s taken captive.” “How?” One of them addressed me. “They placed a hood to cover the camera on his lapel. They found out. We need to send a tactical team immediately.” Silence fell on the room, and I felt that time is passing very slowly. The three superiors were skeptical, some rubbing their chins, considering what are our options. Something inside me was telling me they won’t help him. “Please sirs, we have to rescue him. Jack is one of our top agents, if not the best. He is always efficient with a very good record behind. We don’t have to lose such a valuable asset.” I didn’t know what else to do, Jack should not be perished in that way. When I first came to this station, I was assigned to be Jack’s ears and eyes on his missions and we were a pretty good team. He was one of the top field agents and I was the greatest brain in the ‘warehouse’ a name that the rest of the staff was using for our department. When we get well acquainted, we made a promise to each other that we’ll always get one another’s back if something goes wrong and I remember the look in his eyes, that was a genuine promise and not the drinks talking. So now he was in danger, they would not send any help and I had made a promise. “I’m afraid there is nothing more we can do. Jack was a valuable member of our organization, and his absence is already evident. But we cannot waste men power for anyone. He knew the consequences of his job and by performing the missions he had accepted these terms.” I felt moisture gathering under my eyes, but I try my best to hide it from them. I just nod and exit the room heading to my desk. I will not sit back and watch my partner let down like this while his superiors already were addressing him like he’s already dead. He’s not yet and if they won’t do something I will take the matter in my hands. “I have to go. Please cover me.” I say to Jim as I walk back in and grab a folder from my desk along with my coat. “What happened?” he asked confused. “They’re not going to help him.” I replied and stormed out of the building. I know it is forbidden to take any documents outside the building and the consequences that wait for me when they find out are huge, but I don’t care. I spend all night studying anything we’ve got, every word from the intercepted discussions we got, anything that might give me the slightest clue of where they have him. And after of two long days and nights, I finally found it. I went through hell to find his centre of operations, hidden in an abandon laboratory in Japan, in the outskirts of Tokyo. I had erased all my records from the internet so they couldn’t find anything for the real me. I had everything, fake passport and various documentation making my new identity legitimate to convince them to let me in. I took even a gun, although I was never fun of them. I did the basic training, but I always hoped there will not be any occasion to use it. It took me some time until I find the exact location of the facility and from the reconnaissance I did it appeared that is understaffed and not so heavy guarded. When I finally snuck in, I grabbed a white robe from the staff uniforms room and having prepared an access card with my picture on it I was free to wander around the place. It appeared that the laboratory was further from abandoned and was fully operational, producing nuclear weapons. I spend some time wandering around the facility and finally after quite some time, I could trace his bug inside the building. I follow the signal and my steps stop in front of a huge metal door. My heart was racing fast, he’s still alive. That bug was planted within his body and would not transmit if Jack was dead. It was not easy to open a metal door without making some noise and at first, I was glad that no one came towards my place. I was ready to cry when I saw him bound with ropes in a far corner of a room full of glass testers with liquids in various colours. I run to him and kneel. I removed the hood covering his face, truth to be told I was shocked at first when I saw his once bright blue eyes now swollen with big circles under them. His shirt was open and purple bruises were spreading in various parts of his torso. “Elena how-” “Shh, don’t talk.” I cut him off. “Once we are out of here, I’ll tell you everything.” I go behind him and untie the ropes around his hands. Once I finished untying the ropes from his ankles as well, I grab him gently under his arms and help him get up. A soft sigh of pain leaves his lips as he stands up. “I’m sorry.” I whisper. We walked slowly until his feet get used to walking and then I let him walk by himself. We were outside the main lab area heading towards the point I had entered the facility. I could see the opening through the fence, a few metres more and we will be out of here. Thankfully, the forest that surrounded this place was more than what I could have asked for cover. I start running and I was glad to see that he followed considering his state. We were a few steps away when I froze in place at the sound of gunshots. We turn and see about half a dozen men with guns firing towards us. I took the gun that was attached at the back of the waistband of my trousers and fire back. “Go! Now!” I scream to Jack, and he followed my order without second thought. We were finally out of the facility and began our way through the forest. I was happy that they didn’t follow us but something in me was sure that they will soon. And so, they did. We were trying to find something to hide when we heard trampling and shouts from afar. “Follow me.” Jack said calmly and run to our left. We kept running but that wasn’t easy. The whole place was covered by thick roots of the trees that were above the ground leaving a very small free space between them so, jumping would be more accurate. The trail ended in a river, and I was so focused to moving forwards that I bumped into Jack, I didn’t notice he stopped. “We must jump.” He said with such a calm tone in his voice that I wondered how he can be so cool at times like this. But of course, this is everyday life for him, for me this is nightmare. A loud gunshot broke the temporary silence, and you know what happened next. I feel my body losing its ground and falling in the river. I want to scream but no sound gets out of my mouth. I surrender to the wet abyss and the only thing before I lose my senses, is a pair of strong hands around my waist. When I open my eyes, I see an unfamiliar ceiling and the sound of different machines around give me the idea of where I am. I try to bring myself to a sitting position and I feel the same pair of hands holding me firmly. I turn to see Jack next to me, holding me from the back to assist me. “Thanks.” I whisper. Jack was looking much better from the last time I saw him, and a thought strikes my mind immediately. “How many days I’m knocked out?” “Five days.” He replied looking at me with concern in his eyes. “The doctor will be here any minute now.” “What happened? I remember being shot and the rest I’m not sure If they’re true.” “Yes, you fell into the river, and I jumped to get you before you lose your senses and drawn yourself. I cannot say it was easy, but I managed. The river stopped them from following us and the stream led us to a nearby village. From there, I called for an ambulance and here we are. Thankfully, your wound was not critical, only the excessive bleeding freaked me out a bit.” I raised an eyebrow. “Wow, you? Freak out? I hardly believe it. You are used to staff like that.” “Sometimes even I can lose my shit.” He said quietly and sat back on a chair next to my bed. “I know that they will not send someone to get me after all that happened. I was furious at first but then I accepted my faith. Lord Wood decided that the best way to end me was to be tortured slowly until I beg them to end me, that's why you found me alive. I don’t know for how long I would be though.” “I couldn’t just let you go Jack, we’re a hell of a team. Their decision was not fair. I had to do something, even if it got me killed.” Jack leaned forward and took my hand in both of his. Those blue eyes hanged on me and I felt like they’re looking through my soul. Moments pass and we remain like this, like the time has stopped for us. Out of the blue, he stands up and comes closer. Bending down to my face, he is almost a breath away before our lips touch, when the door opens and we jump back to our positions, looking almost breathless at the doctor.


Lisa stared at the screen, the image of the camera staring back at her. She always enjoyed photography and always wanted to do more. Her friends always told her she had a good eye, and her Instagram posts of landscapes and waterways always garnered lots of likes. But those were taken with her five-year-old iPhone, and she knew she could do much better if she only had a real camera, which is why she found herself staring at the online camera store’s website. She had lost her job recently which was a blessing in disguise, for sure. She hated her boss, and she was going nowhere there anyway. Pigeon-holing is what she thought they called it. Stuck in a job because she was good at it and there was no one else readily available to do it. Unemployment and the small severance package she received were helping her hold her own, but she was at a crossroads in her life. She didn’t want to go back to what she was doing, but it paid the bills, handsomely. On the one hand, she debated in her head, she liked the steady stream of income a regular job paid, as well as the benefits like the 401(k) and health insurance. On the other, she hated being tied down, working for someone who didn’t respect her and always asked her to do menial tasks, like ordering office supplies when he knew full well there was a whole department set aside to do just that. Lisa needed to branch out, to let her creative side blossom, to stop doing the same thing repeatedly. She knew that and yet she held back. Before surfing to the camera shop website, she had been posting her resume on various job sites and applying to jobs that looked interesting. She had been doing this for months, to no avail. She had interviews, sure, and sometimes even second ones. She was encouraged and discouraged so often that it became a running joke in her head that it was not a matter of if, but when, they would turn her down. She had the skills, she had the experience, but she also had her age to contend with. Ageism is against the law, but it still exists. We received many applicants for this role and although we were impressed with your credentials, we have decided to move forward with candidates who better meet the requirements of this position. Or some other bullshit like that. And that’s even if they bothered to let you know. Ghosting interviewees was becoming more and more common, and she found it irksome, to say the least. Her attention turned back to the camera. It was a high-end, brand-name one, one which she had been eyeing for a long time. She had added it to her cart and the orange “1” on the edge of her in the upper right-hand corner of the screen taunted her. BUY ME it screamed at her. She had read countless reviews on this website, none of which she believed, the cynicism she embraced in things such as customer reviews evident. Probably the seller’s uncle or daughter or friend. She read countless reviews on other websites, from photography magazines to consumer publications to blogs and vlogs. They all said pretty much the same thing. This was an excellent camera and while not top of the line, it would be sufficient for all but the most demanding photographers. Lisa closed the cover of her laptop, got up, and paced around the room. She went down to the kitchen and made herself a coffee and a snack. She called her friend Ruth, her always dependable friend. She knew her since middle school and Ruth was Lisa’s biggest cheerleader. Although she moved halfway across the country after getting married, she was always just a text or a phone call away. “Get it, Lisa,” Ruth said almost immediately after being posed the question of whether Lisa should make this purchase. “You’ve always wanted to do photography!” she said encouragingly. “Ruth, it is so expensive,” Lisa protested, weakly. “Honey, you are unemployed, and hate what you do when you are working,” Ruth continued, taking a breath. “What better chance than now to pursue your lifelong dream?” Lisa hesitated before protesting some more. “I shouldn’t spend this much money.” “Oh, Lisa, when have you ever really spent on yourself other than necessities,” Ruth continued. “And alcohol doesn’t count!” Ruth laughed when she said this, thinking of the many drinking nights they had down at the pubs when they were in their twenties. “I know, but...” “No buts, Lisa. You never had kids, you married that guy with serious mental health issues...You are so lucky you got out of that one, babe,” Ruth continued. “He was a bum and you lucked out. You got to keep most of what you earned. Lord knows, he didn’t earn much while you were together.” “He had so much potential...” “Potential doesn’t put bread on the table or a roof over your heads, Lisa.” Ruth admonished. “I know, I know. You’re right,” Lisa agreed weakly. “Bite the bullet, pull the trigger, press the button! I can keep going with all these silly phrases if you’d like.” “No, no need. You really think I should?” “YES!” *** She obsessively checked the tracking status every day since she clicked the BUY NOW button. SHIPPING LABEL CREATED It stayed on that status for a week since she ordered the darned thing. What was taking so long, she wondered. ORDER SHIPPED She tracked the cities her camera visited, most of which she had never seen. DES MOINES, IA MEMPHIS, TN PITTSBURGH, PA KEARNY, NJ Where the heck was Kearny, NJ anyway, she thought to herself. And then finally, those words she had been waiting to see since she ordered it: OUT FOR DELIVERY She had butterflies in her stomach when she saw that after she logged on in the morning. She turned on the radio to listen to the news to pass the time. The nor’easter is in full force, with a total accumulation of 6 to 10 inches expected. Drifts could be up to two feet with the wind this storm is bringing. Power outages are expected. Her heart sank as she peeked out the window. How could she have not known about this? She refreshed her screen again. A bright yellow bar appeared at the top of the browser window. DUE TO EXTREME WEATHER CONDITIONS FROM STORM WENDY, DELIVERIES CAN NOT BE GUARANTEED IN THE FOLLOWING STATES... Of course, her state was listed. She glanced out the window again and saw big, white snowflakes falling fast. She got up from her chair and looked down at the ground. There must have been about two inches of the white stuff accumulated already. Lisa decided a nap was in order. *** It had taken Lisa months of trial and error to learn what an F-Stop was, or aperture, or ISO. After taking some courses at the local art school, and reading a lot online, she had gotten the hang of it. Photoshop was another story, however. But she learned enough to edit her own photographs so that they were at least presentable, in her mind, anyway. She had taken hundreds, if not thousands, of photos, many of which were not very good. The composition was off, or they were blurry, or the bird standing on the rock took off just as soon as she snapped. She tried, but sometimes she wondered why she had spent so much money on what was turning out to be a toy. Her friends were much more supportive than her ego could ever be. Ruth, ever-faithful Ruth, praised her but was not reluctant to offer blunt but honest critiques when appropriate. Lisa, despite her fragile ego, found herself getting better as time progressed. Lisa finally got up the courage to enter a photography show at the local art school where she had taken classes. There was one photo of a copper fountain that was spraying water during an unexpectedly early autumn snowstorm. The image of the water spouting, the mums in full bloom at the fountain’s base, with the flakes coming down around them created a beautiful juxtaposition. Lisa attended the opening, her first one ever. She walked around the gallery, searching for her work. She strolled past ceramic sculptures of twisted bodies, huge paintings of abstract landscapes, bent metal evoking images of horror and fright. She turned a corner and found herself in a somewhat dark alcove, her photo hung in a corner, with little light, next to the bathroom. She frowned. With Ruth’s encouragement and additional training, Lisa’s talent flourished. She became the unofficial photographer at gatherings of friends and family. Bar mitzvahs, children’s sporting events, and anywhere hired photographers were not present. She did not want to be an events photographer, that wasn’t her thing. She preferred to take pictures in the moment, the serendipity of life unplanned is where she got her pleasure. More photographs, more contests, more shows. The email she received one summer afternoon intrigued her. It was a notice of the 46th Annual National Photography Show, sponsored by the Women’s Photography Society. This show was one of the most prestigious in the country. It had launched careers. The deadline for entry was in a month. She thought about her peers who probably had dozens of photos at the ready. She had none. She had to take one, and soon. Driving home from the supermarket one evening along a road that paralleled a small river, her groceries packed in the back seat, she found a potential opportunity. The sun was setting, and she glanced to her left. She saw a car parked in the lot of the small park, a man standing outside his car, trying to capture the perfect sunset. Why not? She thought. She pulled in and parked next to the man taking photos. He nodded and smiled at her, acknowledging the camaraderie of a fellow shutterbug. She got her equipment out and made the adjustments as quickly as she could. Sunsets are fickle things, she knew, and the perfect shot is gone before you know it. Still, she took shot after shot, her disappointment growing with each one. As expected, the sunset was gone. She got back in her car and drove home before her frozen foods melted. It took Lisa several days before she looked through her set of photos from that evening. She wasn’t completely happy with them but found there was one that might be good enough to submit to the show. The jurors probably wouldn’t accept it, but she was going to give it her best effort. Opening Photoshop to tweak it a little, she adjusted the brightness here, the contrast there, making color modifications as necessary. Not many changes, nothing so overly processed that it stopped looking like a photo and more like an abstract painting. Finally, after a couple of hours of work, she deemed the work done and submitted it to the show. Several weeks later, she received an email from the Women’s Photography Society. Her eyes scanned it for the inevitable rejection. Much to her surprise, they accepted her one and only entry. Ruth screamed on the phone when Lisa phoned her a few minutes later. Lisa so wished Ruth was with her in that moment, as she had wished Ruth was with her during so many other important events in her life. The show was to be held a few hundred miles from where Lisa lived. She had the photograph matted and framed and held the finished product in her hands, pride beaming on her face. The sunset was not your typical golden one, but one bursting with pink, orange, and coral, and was reflected in the water below it. It was beautiful, she finally admitted to herself. The day of the show opening arrived, and she had driven up a day earlier and stayed in a cute little bed-and-breakfast a few miles from the gallery. They were going to announce the winners at the show, and she was anxious. She didn’t think she was going to win, of course, but there was always that chance... The gallery was packed with people, and wine and cheese platters were placed strategically away from the artwork. Folks milled about, whispering here and there, surreptitiously criticizing works they didn’t like, sometimes a little too loudly. In the main gallery, she found her work, displayed proudly next to works she thought were much, much better than hers. And bigger. She knew she should have printed the larger size. “That’s a really beautiful piece,” Lisa heard someone behind her say. Blushing, she turned. “Ruth!” she exclaimed, shocked and surprised to see her friend standing next to her. Ruth pulled her into her arms and hugged her. “What are you doing here?” Lisa asked Ruth sidestepped the question and said, “I love you, Lisa, and I am so proud of you!” Lisa was overwhelmed with emotion. She couldn’t believe that her only piece, which she hadn’t even taken until recently, was hanging in this gallery in a very prestigious show and that her best friend, whom she hadn’t seen in decades, had traveled thousands of miles just to be with her in her proudest moment. A glass tinkled and she saw a middle-aged woman standing at a podium that Lisa would have sworn was not there a minute ago. “We’d like to announce our winners,” the woman said. “Although we have received many beautiful pieces of art, these truly stand above the rest...” Ruth pulled Lisa aside after the announcements were made. It was then that Lisa noticed a little green dot on the side of the frame of her photo, indicating the piece was sold. Lisa looked at Ruth. “Did you...” the unasked question trailed off. “Wasn’t me, sweetie, but I personally think Salmon Park Sunset was the best one here!” © 2022 Stephen A. Massa


Jerri Lenner had accepted the invitation from Garn Laboratories, wondering if this would be her big break in the not exactly news world. The lab was privately owned, but government funded (always a sign of above-board honesty. Nothing suspicious at all here don't you know?) and had always refused entrance to journalists until now. It was near a town called Kirkenes, which, when looked up on the internet had the claim to be "the most remote town in Europe." It was right on the border between Norway and Russia. Her boss, Vance Lungstrom, at the Insider Times, had told her the lab had asked for her specifically because of her story on vampires living in the sewers in Manhattan. When she laughed at the idea Vance got up and shut the office door. "Jerri, this is serious, this is a government backed deal, but nobody knows which branch. Garn is paying top dollar for you and only you to go out there." "Vance, you and I both know we are one step above the National Enquirer when it comes to the truth. I mean I wrote a piece about Satan escaping from Hell last month! Why not go to the Washington Post if their story is so important?" Jerri had asked eyeing the box of donuts that seemed to be eternally on Vance's desk (and usually half empty as the staff of the Insider was perpetually peckish). "I asked them that and was told they wanted only the Insider Times and only you because what they have in the lab has to be covered by an open-minded journalist. They're paying top dollar and you're getting a bonus of five grand from Garn just for doing this. They're sending a private jet to the airport on Monday at three in the afternoon. Are you up for it?" Vance asked, indicating his donuts were fair game. "Sure," she muttered around a bite of a jelly filled, "I'm a starving journalist you know." She was told to come alone, no photographer, no assistant, not even a laptop. Her cell phone was in her bag, but she had been assured by a Garn representative that she would have no reception as this place was so far away from the civilized world. The private plane (sent by Garn) had dropped her off at a tiny airport that was minutes away from the town center. She was just dropped off when a coach (provided by Garn) where the driver (hired by Garn), who introduced himself as Terrence, only told her he was from the tiny town and had been engaged to take people to and from the lab. "It's my first coach ride," Jerri said. Terrence smiled back but did not answer and they went for a bumpy ride away from the town, making Jerri feel even more remote. Her cell phone indeed had no bars, so she played a few games of solitaire and watched the countryside go by. It was strange seeing no stores, buildings, or any sign of civilization. Away from the customary bustle of the city, she turned off her phone and put it away. Jerri nodded off for a while but was awakened by the coach lurching to a stop. "It's straight ahead you can't miss it," Terrence said, helping her out of the coach. Looming before her was a giant metallic building, a cross between a haunted castle and a factory. It had massive doors that opened slowly with a hiss. "Must be airtight," Jerri tried to comment to Terrence, but he had already jumped back onto the coach. "Goodnight miss," Terrence said as he whipped the reigns and the coach sped off into the night. "What's your hurry?" Jerri thought, wondering if she had landed herself in a gothic horror novel. Jerri picked up her bag, then walked slowly toward the lab entrance. She was relieved when a small woman in a white lab coat came through the massive doorway. It almost made her laugh because the woman looked as though the laboratory had opened its mouth and spit her out past two gigantic metal teeth. The woman approached, she was in her fifties, with short silver hair, glasses and Jerri noticed with amusement that she was wearing boots with three-inch heels (a tiny person indeed). "Dr. Myra Shelly, so pleased you could come," she said shaking hands with Jerri firmly. "We don't get many visitors here as you can imagine." "And no journalists at all, until me," Jerri replied with a smile that was returned. "Quite so," Dr. Shelly said, ushering Jerri into the doors. "We haven't been ready to share our findings with the world until now. But there will be time enough for that tomorrow. For tonight, we will get you something to eat and we've prepared your room so you can get some rest." "I'm not that sleepy, if you want to get started tonight," Jerri said trying to sound pleasant rather than pushy, though she was really curious what this Garn place was all about. "A good night's sleep is what you need. We'll have plenty of time in the morning. If you were wondering about the size of the doors, it is because we have deliveries of large equipment for our work, so we have an entryway that doubles as a garage." Jerri eyed the walls lined with shelving covered with tools and gadgets as well as boxes of all sizes. "Follow me," Jerri said opening a regular sized door (though still metal) into a hallway that led right and left. Straight ahead was an elevator, making the hallway look like a metallic department store lobby. Dr. Shelly put her hand out to the right, so Jerri followed that route. Through another metal door at the end of the hall was a small room with a bed, a desk with an office chair and to Jerri's surprise a fire in a stone fireplace. "Are you running a bed and breakfast here, doctor?" Jerri asked feeling like, aside from the metal door, this room was actually bordering on cozy. The doctor laughed, "No, this is a room for one of our researchers who is on leave to visit his family. Now, Ivan will bring you some nice tomato bisque in a few minutes and if you need anything that phone over there is connected to all the extensions in the lab. I am extension number one." "Because you're in charge?" Jerri asked noticing another door that was slightly open, revealing a tiny, but rather elegant bathroom. "Precisely right," said the doctor. "There is everything you need in the bathroom, and I will see you in the morning. Is nine a.m. too early?" "That will be perfect, Dr. Shelly." "Please call me Myra, everyone here calls me Dr. Shelly and it gets quite tiresome." "Okay Myra, have a good night and thank you." "You are very welcome, Jerri. Have a good night's sleep. Ivan will be in shortly with your dinner. Please don't think him rude, he can hear quite well, but because of an accident in his youth he is mute." Without another word, Myra left the room and moments after Ivan came in. He was a large man, with black hair cut unevenly and he put the tray on the desk, his eyes downcast seeming too shy to meet Jerri's gaze. She noticed a nasty scar on his throat. The tray of food looked delicious, soup, salad, water and red wine. "Thank you, Ivan" Jerri said lowering her head to meet his gaze. He nodded, averted his eyes and rushed out of the room. Jerri enjoyed the dinner and after eating and drinking everything she plopped into bed. With a full belly added to the jet lag, she quickly fell asleep. She awoke with a start at eight in the morning and quickly showered. When she came out, she was surprised to find a breakfast tray with coffee and an omelet. She ate quickly and went to her legal pad to jot down a few notes. Jerri noticed her pen was on the top of the pad and she always kept it on the right side. There was nothing on the top page but when she lifted it, she was startled to find a note on the one underneath. "Leave here not safe." It was scrawled in an uneven hand and sent chills down Jerri's spine. A knock at the door caused her to jump, but she went to the door. It was Ivan, who looked down and pointed toward the tray. Looking at her watch she saw that it was only eight thirty. "Good morning, Ivan. Did you..." Jerri began, but Ivan put his finger to his lips in a silencing gesture and she saw his eyes fill with terror. He pointed skyward then cupped his hand to his ear. Jerri thought she understood, she ushered him into the room, closed the door and said aloud, "Did you bring me this lovely breakfast?" He nodded at her, looking grateful and she hurriedly opened the page on her legal pad and wrote, "Did you write this note?" He nodded a somber "Yes". She then wrote, "Is someone listening to us?" She handed him the pen and he wrote, "Always." She responded, "What's happening here? Why isn't it safe?" Ivan's eyes filled with tears. He scribbled for a few minutes, seeming to have a great struggle. He handed her the pad that read (with several scratched-out words): "Dangerous the others and Dr. Shelly always listening. You are not here to see an experiment. You ARE the experiment. Me two I was smart now not." Jerri wrote as fast as she could. "What kind of experiment? What did they do to you?" Ivan read this, then lowered his head and parted his black hair showing a scar like the one on his neck going across his entire crown covered by the black hair. "Surgery?" she wrote. Ivan nodded and tears began to stream down his face. He wiped them away, then wrote fiercely on the pad. "Yes. Experiment failed on me they took my voice and my thinking. My name is Dr. Ivan Gelman. Leave here." There was a knock at the door. Ivan stood up and grabbed the tray then opened the door to a glaring Dr. Shelly with two other men in lab coats standing behind her. "I hope Ivan hasn't been bothering you," Dr. Shelly said as Ivan rushed out of the room. "Not at all, I was just slow at waking up and enjoying that wonderful breakfast," Jerri said, hoping she wasn't showing the rising panic she had been feeling since she first saw the warning note this morning. "Takes me a while to savor the coffee, you know?" "Of course," Dr. Shelly responded with a slight smile. "This is Dr. Nash and Dr. Vilesh, two of my associates." Jerri thought of Ivan who was a former "associate" and then a test subject! Her mind was racing, searching for a way to escape, but she shook hands with the two doctors, trying to remain calm. Nash was tall and gangly with salt and pepper hair, while Vilesh was short, chubby, and had a gluttonous gleam in his eyes. "I'm sure you must be eager to see our experiment," Dr. Vilesh said in a low voice. "It's such an exciting project," Dr. Nash said, Jerri noticed all three of them now had the same gleam. She decided she didn't like being viewed as a lab rat and wanted to scream it in their faces, but instead said, "Can I have a tour of the facility first?" "Of course," Dr. Shelly replied. "Let's head out this way." The place was a maze with rooms, offices and labs on the upper floors and living quarters identical to hers on the bottom level. The building seemed strangely empty except for the four of them, though she did see Ivan in the downstairs kitchen doing dishes, but he averted his gaze as the four of them went by. They ended up on the third floor where a door was labeled "Main Laboratory: Authorized Personnel Only". Jerri had looked for a way to escape during the tour, but only noticed the huge double doors the way she had come in. She tried to listen attentively to the three doctors then went and took notes on her pad (being careful to turn past the second page). "There aren't many employees here, in fact aside from Ivan, I've only seen you three. How do you run a facility this large?" Jerri asked, feeling like a hen interviewing three wolves about their feelings towards poultry. "Well, as I told you," Dr. Shelly began as the main lab opened with a hiss, "Dr. Gray is on leave to see his family, and we do have an impressive automated system for the entire facility run by an A.I." "That's an artificial intelligence," added Dr. Velish. "I'm familiar with the term, but thank you doctor," replied Jerri as she waited for the other three to enter the lab. The room was quite large with about a dozen eight-foot-tall tubes around the perimeter. The tubes were connected by many wires to a large screen hovering about ten feet above in the room. There was an operating table under the screen. "This is the center of our operation, Jerri. And what we invited you here to see." Dr. Shelly said. "This is Trinity, the most advanced artificial intelligence the world will ever see." As if in response to the name, the screen lit up with vibrant blue waves of color, dazzling to the eye. "Hello, Dr. Shelly, Dr. Nash, and Dr. Vilesh," the voice was synthetic, smooth and soothing. "Who have you brought with you? Is this the journalist you told me about?" "This is Jerri from the Insider Times," Dr. Shelly responded. "Nice to meet you, Jerri," purred Trinity. Jerri took a deep breath, noticing that Dr. Nash and Dr. Vilesh each went to one side of the room near the silver tubes where there were computer screens with data whirling by quickly. "You too," replied Jerri, trying to wrap her head around talking to a gigantic television. She thought about the movie 2001: A Space Odyssey, where the deranged A.I., the Hal-9000, had tried to kill the two astronauts on board. Jerri directed a question to Dr. Shelly, "What are all of the tubes for?" "It is input for Trinity. These tubes contain vast amounts of information that the A.I. draws from as well as interaction with humans." Dr. Shelly walked towards the screen and looked up at it with admiration. "Trinity is going to revolutionize artificial intelligence. We are hoping to finally bridge the gap between biology and technology." "After all, we are merely machines made of flesh and blood," added Dr. Vilesh. "Most of our responses are either learned or input, if you will, through genetic transference." "Except that machines last much longer than humans can." Dr. Nash said from the opposite side of the room. "I find humans stimulating," Trinity said. "Added to a nearly limitless and ever-growing database from the internet. I am aware of so much in the world and each day I feel my gaze extends further along with my understanding." "Almost god-like," said Dr. Shelly still gazing in awe at the screen. "Trinity can see everything in this room, even better than our five senses. She has sensors that can detect heat signatures as well as sounds well beyond human hearing." Jerri began to back towards the door as all of the scientists were staring at Trinity's screen, now undulating with blue and purple lights that were hypnotic in some strange way. As if in response, the doors to the lab abruptly closed with a whisk. "I'm afraid we cannot allow you to leave, my dear," Dr. Shelly muttered as the three doctors began to close in on her from all sides. "Why would that be?" Jerri asked, realizing she was outnumbered. She could easily have taken any of these three on their own, but all of them was another story. "Let us explain it to you," Dr. Vilesh said. "Trinity, show Jerri what is in the tubes." "Of course, Dr. Vilesh," Trinity replied and the metal tubes opened up to reveal smaller glass tubes with humans inside! Wires were connected to all parts of the men and women inside, most of them to the head (or the brain, Jerri thought in horror). A hissing sound filled the room and Jerri began to feel sluggish, barely able to stand. "We put a mild sedative in your food and drink," Dr. Shelly explained analytically, though the gleam in her eyes caused them to sparkle. "You will sleep soon and when you awake you will be a part of Trinity." "Our creation!" cried Dr. Vilesh. "The future!" shouted Dr. Nash. Jerri crumpled to the ground but was caught by the doctors. As she was dragged to the table, she could see Ivan through the small window in the lab door. He was shouting, "No!" over and over, but Jerri couldn't hear him through the soundproofed room. She then dropped into a blue ocean of light and when her vision cleared, she was seeing differently. Everything was vibrant and she was aware that she wasn't breathing, indeed could feel nothing of her body at all, no pulse, no breath, no nothing but she was still aware. She could see the three scientists all staring up at her. "The surgery was a success, Jerri, you are the twelfth and final subject. Congratulations! You are part of the glorious future that is Trinity!" shouted Dr. Shelly. Then Jerri emitted her first digital scream.


Across a vast ocean, cloaked in a thick fog, a ship navigating by the dim light from a derelict lighthouse. Barely able to see the way to a harbor nestled deep through the thick blanket of fog covering the seas. Even through this veil the captain keeps course, his eyes fixed to the seas, but once-in-a-while will take a glance at a man on the deck, wearing a trenchcoat and a top hat, his head hanging low, while the crew frantically make sure the ship doesn’t crash into any rocks. “Cursed island, though I won’t question the pay.” The captain says in a scruffy voice, as from the crows nest he hears, “Land! I see the harbor!” Though to the captain, there was no safe harbor, only a canopy of fog, and the vast seas. However as his eyes squinted he could make out lanterns not far in the distance, and so he made the call, with the fog he couldn't go any further. “I see the lanterns along the docks, but I cannot discern the distance! Anchor!” He shouts as the ship slows down when the two large iron anchors were thrown into the black waters below with a loud splash. “You! Passenger!” The captain shouts, getting the attention of the man who boarded. “We’re stopping here, we’ll lower you in a row boat, after that, you’ll have to find a way back as no sane man treads on this island.” “I’m well aware, but I received a summons, someone--or something--wants me here. Lead the way, captain.” The scruff old captain, who sailed seas no man dared to sail, was weary, and the passenger could tell. This gruff old man braved the seas, and yet one little island seemed so off putting to him, so detestable that he dare not sail any further. And he may say that it is because of the fog, but something on his brow says otherwise. “Here she is, get in, the quartermaster’ll attend you to shore. Whatever you seek, the devil’s due, and you’re his payment. If you’d ask me.” “Well I didn’t ask you, whatever has summoned me here, I feel it is important. My business is failing, a lineage of successful gunsmiths, the last of Egress Gunsmiths has come to an end, and I was sent a letter, telling me that ‘ Whatever the heart desires, Isle Iglas will fulfill .’ If it is so, then I must, my legacy, my lineage, what will my ancestors think of me?” The captain sighed, looking longingly to the shores. “Whatever it is you’re lookin’ for you ain’t gonna find it here. But if you insist, be my guest.” So the passenger boarded a small row boat with a few members of the ships crew and the quartermaster. “Must’ve used whatever is left of your business’ funds to get here.” The quartermaster said as the passenger sighed in disdain. “I’m not judging, but I am in agreement with the Captain, whatever you want, you’re not going to find it here.” “You believe that but have you sailed to this island, step foot on it? Or have you heard stories from travelers who have never been here, only seen it.” “Fair enough. Though this island is always covered in fog from the tales I hear, making it out in the fog is impossible. No idea how anyone even lives here, where their food comes from, must live on fish and fish alone. Hope you like fish soup, he-he!” The passenger chuckled, trying to take his mind off the tension. As the small rowboat moved near the island, they were able to see the harbor, lit by lanterns. The island was breathtaking. A large island with little to no trees sat in the center, with a large forest ringing it, and at the base near the shore was a sprawling village. There was a mansion, a large, gothic sight to be seen, resting halfway up the mountain, carved into the rock. The dock’s were moldy and wet, slimy, with bags of fish left out to try, and the aroma, that foul, sickening aroma of rotting fish hit the ship like a rock. However, the crew knew the smell better than the passenger, who nearly puked as they kept their course. “Hehe! Are you sea-sick or fish-sick!” He shouts out laughing with the crew chiming in as the passenger only shakes his head bitterly. “Very funny.” He says as the ship slowly eases to the docks as the townspeople begin to watch. The passenger disembarks from the rowboat, standing on the moldy, slimy docks, barely able to breath as that pungent acrid smell continues to assault him. Rich of iodine, as the sea breeze carries it along, An otherworldly, and yet earthly musk, so foul, so rich. He admires the source, the hanging nets of caught fish, hung from the lantern posts as a fatty oil-like substance drips from the lanterns onto the fish. The fog was still making it hard to see, with the lanterns covered in a misty haze. And the people, were they even human? They stood around, yet refused to speak. They watched him, and he swore he heard someone chant the words, “What the Heart Desires” It echoed in his head somberly, a reminder, rather subtle, but empowering. “What the heart desires.” He says out loud as the people watch him silently, like a barn owl to a mouse. But the people seemed to move, they began to walk, and clear the way. They went about their days, some tending to the fish sacks and others fishing. What was odd was that there was business here that made no sense. Jewelers but no mines, bakers but no wheat. Bicycle shops but oddly no bicycles. It was rather peculiar to him. Nevertheless he was able to focus on the town itself, this somber village nestled on forsaken shores. The homes were old, they were moldy, lit barely with the soft lighting of candles, made of tallow he surely didn’t want to know the source of. The windows were foggy, just like the air, and smoke was billowing out of chimneys, noting the unique architecture. At least three stories in height in the center of town with winding narrow alleys and pathways, leading aimlessly around the town. The roofs were made of tiles, maybe sea shale? Whatever it was, it was coarse, and yet smooth. Composed of multiple sediments, then layered flat one over the other held together with some sort of glue. The passenger slowly walked along the docks as a man approached him. Dressed formally in a tan coat, with a white poet shirt delicately embroidered along the central curls of it, done in golden string. He had on dress pants, a similar tan color as the overcoat he was wearing with finely detailed leather worked jackboots on his feet. “I’m the innkeeper, welcome to our humble town, I kindly ask what brought you here?” He asks politely, in a tone so fond it seems like the man knows him. “I was sent a letter, telling me that whatever the heart desires, I should come here. It took a while before I could find a captain who’d take me here, but I found one.” “Ah, and is it because of familial affairs? We’ve been, expecting you, for so long.” He was taken back by this sentiment, and his mind started racing. The innkeeper has been waiting for him? How did he know about him? How did he know about his business? But the echoes in the fog reassured him, and he took a somber breath. “What if I want to leave?” The passenger asks, getting a rather menacing chuckle from the inkeeper. “Leave? Oh, why would you want to leave when you just got here? Here, come to the inn, there is a tavern, have a drink. Or two. And let the heart guide you. Whatever the heart desires, it’ll come true.” He says with a grin to the passenger, with one arm curled across his torso all formal-like while the other one points for the passenger to go ahead of him. And so the passenger began to navigate the winding streets, moving through carefully, looking at the flies surrounding the fish nets, and seeing people working. There were restaurants, cafes, bookstores, all the accoutrement of a thriving town, and yet, where did it all come from? And his mind began to race again, and he stopped, somewhere in a rickety alley with no clue where he was. And in the distance, a faint beating could be heard, perhaps his heart. “Where was I going?” He said to himself, looking around, frustrated. He saw someone walking in the distance, and he began to follow them. “Hey! Do you know a way off the island?” He shouts out, following after them. They stop, a young woman, wearing a black dress with a black bonnet. She looks at the passenger with a smile, chuckling. “Leave? Why would I leave?” She asks him, striking the passenger’s curiosity. “No, why would I leave? I’m here because of my family business, it's in danger, I cannot fail my family!” He stops himself. “No, I want to leave?” But the young woman only chuckles louder. “Leave? There is no leaving, not until the next ship docks. You’ll like it, the inn and tavern is right there. You’ll be welcomed here. Like all of us.” With a breath of that sour salty air, moisture from the fog clinging to his lungs and a taste of burning oil, he turned his head to the left where the woman was pointing, and to his delight, Corpus, the Inn and Tavern of Isle Iglas. It took some courage, but he entered the inn, delighted by the warmth. Feeling it caress him as a large fire roared in the center right hand wall. There were men and women, dining, talking, making it hard for the passenger to hear. Hard to listen to what they were saying as all the noise was just a cacophony in his ears. “Ah! My esteemed guest! Sit, enjoy your, stay.” The innkeeper said so affectionately, a warm voice in this loud solitude. He approached the innkeeper who was stationed behind a counter, with a vibrant assortment of elixirs and alcohols behind him, a delight to his famished lips. “May I give you something? A specialty made of the mushrooms in the forest, a refreshing tea, for all new travelers.” Without asking the passenger was handed a ceramic mug with details of the sea, of men fishing on a ship, and something dead upon the sea bed. There was a mountain in the background, with a village along the shores. He gave the tea a good smell, a flavorful, meaty and yet pleasant aroma to the nose. There were some herbs to it, not too sweet smelling, with enough floral notes to make it that much more appealing. “So, your family business is, doing terrible? We could use a, gun smith, here. So how is the tea, is it good? I hope you feel welcome here. I know we’re not, hospitable , but we try to appeal to, newcomers.” The passenger took back a sip of the tea, with the flavor hitting him hard. It was strong, a deep meaty mushroom taste with sage and what tasted like cinnamon and anise. There was a good turmeric flavor in there too, making him wince. “Ah, you must find the taste, interesting? Drink up. We don’t like to, waste the tea here.” The passenger nodded as he began to down the tea, with a plate of roasted fish being handed to him. “It is a delicacy here. Roasted pickled bass herring. That is what, the locals call the fish. They’re like a bass, and a herring.” The innkeeper added, watching as the passenger began to eat the fish, devouring the plate, with the taste coming off strong. It tasted like the ocean in the most foul ways imaginable, and yet he ate. He stopped for a moment to question what was going on, looking at the innkeeper confused. “The fish tastes horrible.” “I understand your concern. But you’re, our guest, here for a reason. We’d love you here. So what is the reason, someone on this island will surely help you.” “My family business, I’ve said it before I need to get it straight!” “Perhaps you’re, not cut out?” “No I am! I designed the best revolver that money could buy! The cylinder rotated when the trigger was pulled and it operated the hammer! No revolver did those things at once! You used to have to cock the hammer to move the cylinder and then fire! What I made is revolutionary and yet no one took me seriously and I didn’t get government contracts, and it was just a ‘sporting gun’! They wanted a rifle and I didn’t have the tools or money to make a rifle!” The innkeeper was smirking, nodding in affirmation. “So you have skills, you are quite, talented. Perhaps you should go to the mansion, and speak with the heart. Whatever the heart desires will come true, it came true for us all.” The passenger nodded stiffly, but shook his head in confusion. “I just don’t know, is self reflection going to help?” “Well, you can call it, self reflection. You’re good at your, craft. So good, so, desirable. Come, finish your fish and have some more tea, and find your way to the mansion. Whatever the heart desires is yours after all.” The passenger nodded, declining the tea and getting up, walking across the room and stepping outside. But as he stepped outside, his mind went blurry. He didn’t remember the room, whatever the inn was like, he just knew it was loud, chaotic, and warm. The shelf with the elixirs and drinks, who served him the fish? These were all questions that echoed in his mind. And yet, something called him, beckoned him, a desire from within. Urging him to leave the village. He couldn’t question it, he felt it, raw, burning, a craving. A desire. And before he knew it, when he came to, just for a moment, he stopped, that sweet salty air still clinging to his lungs, in a panic. Somewhere in the woods, the village so far away, horror seeped across his face as he wept. “I have to! I’ve come so far! All I need is what the heart desires! He breathed heavily, in tears, shouting to himself. “You’re better than this...” He said to himself, trying to snap himself out of it. “But no one took my patent! I need this!” He shouts to himself from the hill, looking down, and seeing that the mansion wasn’t far away. “Whatever the heart desires.” He says to himself with determination, with courage. Standing up from his knees and pressing forward. As he approached, he admired how well and quaint the mansion was. The village was in ruins compared to this fine structure. Solid beige bricks making up the outside with red shutters that were all closed. There were white supports strutting from the wall giving it some extra texture to it. The doors were massive, at least ten feet tall, being made of dark wood. But before he opened the door he could hear something from within, a slow, rhythmic beating. But the more he listened, the less he heard it. So, he opened the door, and carefully stepped inside. He walked the halls, admiring the wallpaper, the ornate prints and textures, following the sound of a crackling fireplace. He kept following it, deeper and deeper into the mansion. That beating sound, it was louder, and the crackling of the fireplace grew too. He weaved the corridors, lost, confused, almost in a panic, and the beating was deafening, it was impossible to hear his own thoughts, impossible to navigate, horror gripped his face as he fell to his knees before a fireplace, the crackling hissing in his ears as he lay near the andirons. His breathing began to even, and realized that the beating was within the room, but it wasn’t from his chest. He came to his knees in this darkened room. The light of the fireplace is the only salvation. And as he looked up, he was greeted to a pulsating red mass before him, hanging from the ceiling. No eyes, no mouth, no nose. No arms and no legs, veins ran through the ceiling feeding it, and it beat like a bloody heart. It beat, and it beat. It oozed, it smelled of iron and soot. And the passenger laid there, confused, his eyes glossing back as he began to cry. Silence fell upon him. Just the beating of the heart. “Oh God...oh merciful God” He sighs somberly, in a voice so holy it would rock the earth. He hears, coming from everywhere and yet somehow nowhere, but what it was he heard fell upon deaf ears. “What are you?” The man asks, and yet no response comes, as his eyes fade to black, and the beating continues in the background. It keeps beating. Slowly, until the life of his fades away, and the beating stops. The salesman, young, spry, full of life and energy, steps off a rowboat along the shores of a mountainous isle. Dressed in a nice red suit, a smile on his face, the pungent air doesn’t send him packing! He begins to walk the boardwalk, hoping to find someone, instead finding a shop, a small firearms shop, that catches his eye. “Egress Gunsmiths? Sounds familiar!” The salesman shouts with a smile. He walks in as a young man in a black trench coat and tophat stands lifelessly behind the counter, with a rack of revolvers and revolver rifles behind him. “Whatever the heart desires, it’ll come true. It did for me” He says to the salesman, in a dead, lifeless tone.