Only two of us manned the ship, the captain and I. He set course, gave directions, and planned our journeys. I never once envied him for his fortunes, never lusted for his women, never maddened at his commands. Though, I must tell you, leading up to the discovery of “Blue Eye’s Chest”, I had never been a more suitable mate for the captain. I tell you this because I have a sense, a feeling, for things which we ought to come across. The captain may take pride in his discoveries, but without me, he would have no such prizes. His brilliant narcissism and unforgiving confidence were unmatched by any captain I had seen or traveled with before. But do you think for a moment he could man a ship by himself? Do you think it possible that he would find these fortunes without a man aboard who had the keenest of senses? The sharpest of intellect? I could tell you it was my envy of his respect and fame that led me to kill the captain, but that would be dishonest. I am not a dishonest man. I took the life of the captain in order to preserve the sanctity of the chest. I will prove to you my honesty, for the events leading up to our discovery show how much I cared for, how much I respected the captain. He said we would head east, off the coast of our most recent port, and not stop until we hit land again. His directions were vague and unsatisfying, but confidence soaring, I trusted the captain. He hadn’t wronged me before, and it was to him I owed my life’s earnings. We traveled eastward, heading for the place rumored to be sunken miles beneath the ocean’s surface. The captain said it would take seven days by his count, to reach the island. I had patience. I was always patient with the captain. Even as he lay in drunken stupors in his quarters, unable to stand properly, sea legs long forgotten, I waited for him and his instruction. On the first night of our journey, the rain proved relentless. The captain took a moment from his busy drinking schedule to aid in the upkeep of the ship. He shouted commands at me through the downpour. I could not hear him. Instead, I attempted to sense what he was saying, giving nods and shouts of approval, showing no hesitancy. My efforts proved worthy as we kept the ship upright. The storm subsided, but its footprint still lingered. The air felt thick, too dense to breathe. Skies abandoned the bright blue of a happy day, traded it for the mind-numbing grey. I could feel the captain getting irritated at the uncooperating weather. On the morning of the second day, he retreated to his quarters, where I would not see him for many hours. In those times, when the captain slept or passed out, I would keep the ship steady. If you think the captain to be selfish or greedy or perhaps even lazy, I can tell you he is not. He is a gracious man, although firm. He has always let me work on his ship. He has always shared, to an extent, his riches. By the second night of our journey, my senses, these feelings I have, started to prickle. First, I felt it in the hairs on my arm. They shivered, like each hair was its own being. My bones vibrated next. Then, against the muggy weather, my head felt cold, like I was leaning my face against a glacier. Lost in my own thoughts, I found my way to the door of the captain’s quarters, where he rested. The door was adorned with a stained glass creation of a pig and a chicken. The pig, chunky and serene, looked like it was smiling at me. It appeared much more optimistic than his chicken brethren, who peered off to the side of the room, not catching my eye, nor paying any attention to me. I looked through the pig’s pink body to see the captain. He lay there in his fatigues, sleeping with a sullen look, a near-empty pint of rum dangling from his hand. What I did next was of no intent of mine. The coldness in my head and influence on all of the little beings on my arms made me do it. I opened the door slowly, ever so slowly, so as not to disturb the captain. The weather had steadied but remained dreary, and the ship flowed across the top of the ocean without interruption. I tried to move as gently as I could, but the slight sway of the ship on the water made every movement unsteady. I halted next to the captain, and from my pocket retrieved a small vial with a clear liquid inside. I removed the cork stopper, and let two drops of liquid fall out. I returned to the ship’s deck without a sound, waiting to hear something from the captain. For a long while, the day remained silent. We continued eastward, toward the land which might not be. All the while my senses were hysterical. With each passing breeze, I felt the tingles in my bones and the sliding of my skin quicken, deepen, intensify. I felt strong, though my head was airy and ill-equipped for conscious decision making. I thought I may be going mad. On the third day, the captain worked livelier than normal. He moved with a grace I hadn’t seen before. While he busied himself near the bow, I snuck back into his quarters to see if he finished the drink from the night before. There it sat, unfinished, stuck between a few loose boards. I asked the captain about it, but was casual in my tone. He said he was “giving it up”, which I had heard him say many times before. However, I noticed something different in his voice: certainty. Like something else was making the decision for him. I felt something then, like my senses were regulating themselves. My head felt hot to match the weather, my hairs returned to being hairs. The rest of the day passed without much interference. So did the next. And the next. The captain didn’t drink, and I did not interfere with his new choices. I began to despise the captain for his behavior. I hated him when he didn’t sleep. I hated him when he told me that I should get some rest. I hated it when he didn’t command me. On our sixth day of travel, the weather cleared. The grey, depressing clouds abandoned the sky and left nothing but the pale blue of relief. The captain noted the miraculous change in weather, and in waiting for my response, I merely smirked. It was not his change in attitude that I disdained so, but his entire change in being. This was a new man, one whom I didn’t want to be around. I watched him live fully, taking in the salt smells of the water, basking in the radiant sun that was finally showing its face. That should be me, I thought. That night, while the captain worked tirelessly to keep course for the unknown island, I stepped into his quarters once more, to see if he truly hadn’t drunk in the passing days. The chicken and the pig still looked like opponents in a fight that would only commence with the ship’s demise. The crook in the boards where his near-empty bottle had sat before was bare. I casually glanced my head around the small room, seeing nothing save for a chair, desk, and a cot that the captain had used to collapse onto after too much rum. I watched him do this many times. That night there was no rest for either of us. We stared towards the bow, longing to see some type of foliage, some type of rest from the ailment of sailing a ship with only two people. The night passed, and as dawn broke, when the sun’s radiance hit the water for the first time, it spotlighted a dark, but nonetheless apparent island. The captain and I rejoiced and embraced each other. We had never done so before. I gave him a long look of disgust after he let me go. He continued to stare straight ahead while I glared at him. I glared at his transformation, at this new man who meant nothing to me. I attempted to pierce his heart with my eyes. The ship kept on. By midday, we laid anchor and used the dinghy to finally reach this land. This land which until now, was thought to be imagined. If I am to be an honest man, I must tell you that what I did in the next few moments was out of the control of the captain and of myself. The dinghy hit the sand and the captain and I looked at what was beyond us: a sprawling forest of palm trees, but indistinguishable in size. It was massive but cozy. It invited us in. The captain was the first to step foot on the island. When he did, he scolded me. Something about bringing the dinghy up far enough on the land. I took a foot out and let it touch the scorching sand. The honest man in me will tell you that in a gasp of breath, my head iced over and my hairs flared as before. My bones vibrated. The clouds of the past week, which had flown away, now appeared suddenly in my mind. I couldn’t discern from the weather outside and the storm raging in my head. I left the dinghy where it was and followed the captain into the density of the palms. I heard the captain continue to complain and groan as we made our way deeper and deeper into the forest. I looked behind me and saw nothing but the tall trunks of the trees. I looked towards the sky, expecting to see the blue relief of before, but the leaves of the palm trees seemed to be expanding and blocking more and more of the sky and the sun. I quickened my pace and walked alongside the captain. I cannot tell you how long we walked. I am an honest man, and I would be lying to give you an exact amount of time. But we walked and walked and neither of us said a word to each other, though the captain could not seem to stop whispering mild, mostly incoherent obscenities under his breath. The sun was our spotlight. Up ahead, with just enough break through the leaves, it beat down upon a chest. A chest great in size that would take several men to carry. We had not seen it before. Then it was there, 100 paces ahead. The captain didn’t even look my way and sprinted - he really sprinted - to the expansive, sunlit chest. I followed him. The chest was golden, with delicate carvings of animals and people and trees and ships along its base. Its hinges were smooth. The captain opened it without hesitation, the chest silent with its movement. Inside, a burgundy felt covered the walls and floor, and on a bed of seagull feathers lay an eye. A replica of a human eye, but much too large. Encrusted with diamonds and pearls and in the center lay the biggest sapphire I have ever seen. My head grew colder than I thought possible. It now lived inside of the glacier it once sat against. I could not willfully look away from the glorious eye. The captain’s mutterings ceased, his hands gripped the side of the chest so tight it looked like his knuckles might burst. The island sat quietly, disturbingly quiet. There was no breeze to catch the leaves or insects buzzing about. There was nothing. I felt my eyes start to get heavy as I watched the captain. He released his death grip from the side of the chest. With exaggerated slowness, he crept his hands forwards toward the eye. My mind stopped all reasonable solutions. I retrieved the vial of clear liquid from my coat pocket and uncorked the top. Then I leaped behind the captain, yanked at his neck with my forearm and all of my tiny soldiers. I shoved the entire vial into his mouth. He struggled against me for just a moment. Then he seized, seafoam spit from his mouth and he convulsed. He shook for so long, but I held him in my arms while he did. The seizing stopped. I felt his presence abandon the body and go limp. I sat there a while, wide-eyed and out of breath. But the sunlight caught me and led me back to the eye. Much like the captain had just done, I drifted my hands toward the jewel, my heart thumping so hard I could feel it in my fingers. I grabbed the eye. I heard a sound, the first sound I had heard since we came to the island. There was the rustle of leaves and the voices of distant folk coming nearer. My decisions were not of my own, you must believe me. In order to rid myself of the treachery I had just committed, something came over me to hide the body. I started to dig into the dirt and sand with my bare hands. The blue eye sitting gently on a fallen tree watched my every move. I dug deeper. Dirt and gravel filled my fingernails, the skin on my hands started to crack and tear. The little army on my arms seemed to move my muscles for me. I dug deeper. A hole in the earth deep enough for a body. The eye watched and I watched the eye. My hands and arms worked but I never took my gaze off of the eye. It watched me and it judged me. I dug deeper. The sounds of the people were louder, twigs snapped under their feet and their voices grew. I heard the wind pick up through the trees, but still I kept my eyes fixed on the blue jewel. I climbed out of the hole. For how long I dug, I don’t know, but the voices only grew louder. I grabbed the captain's limp body and dragged it across the dirt and sand, then I let it plop down into the earth. While the eye watched me, and I watched the eye, the hole was filled. Where could I hide? I looked about me for a place to go when the others arrived, their voices now upon me. I searched for signs of them, breaking branches or even a glimpse of the people, but still I could not see them. I heard them but could not make out their language or their words. I must tell you this was not a decision of my own. Whatever controlled my body and my thoughts made me snatch the eye off of the log, and sprint back through the forest and to the ship. I started to sprint like the captain. The voices were somehow deafening. I moved through the forest against the direction from which they came, but they followed my steps. Twigs, I could hear, snapped behind me at an impossible rate. Tens, no, hundreds of twigs crackled burst behind me like I was being chased by an angry mob. I could see no one. I kept running towards the edge of this tiny island, but could find no water. “Take it! Take it! Take it!” I screeched while I took the blue eye and heaved it with all my might into the abyss of the forest. The silence returned. The dead, relentless silence of the forest which was just inhabited by hurds of men, returned. I kept my pace, trying to find the beach. And as I tell you this now, I continue to walk, with an unwavering pace. If you think I am being punished for the ill deed bestowed upon the captain, you have been wronged, for I have paid my consequences. Now, it's just the two of us: you and eye.


Till death do us part was a saying that Liam Nesbitt never really understood, he always saw the worst in people. He knew that people would do anything to get ahead in life, even going so far as to kill their family just so they could get an inheritance. But he never understood the saying “Till death do us part”, was marriage different? Can love really be so strong that it triumphs over other desires? ...Of course not, not in his eyes. He knew people were cruel, and he knew something as stupid as "true love" wasn’t going to change that.       “It was love at first sight.” Liam’s mother would always tell him about how her and his dad met. Liam would always be a bit cynical, but she would reassure him that love was such a beautiful thing.       “When you truly love someone, you’re willing to die for them.” His mother would say. “Y'know, I always tell you MY love stories, how about you share some of yours?”       “I don’t really... have any, mom. I’ve never fallen in love with anyone. Who could in such a sadistic world.”       “Don’t worry Liam, one day you’ll meet that special someone. The world isn’t THAT bad, and one of these days you’ll see that. When you do, promise me, you’ll tell me your love story?” she looked at Liam with the eyes of a puppy dog, with her pinky out invitingly.       Liam chuckled a little bit and with a smile said “Sure, I promise.” Liam stated, connecting his pinky to hers in the process.       A few years down the line, Liam stayed in his room most of the days and never really did much with his life. He was technically still in college; however, he hadn’t shown up to a single class in over five months. He had no desire to be a part of such a cutthroat lifestyle and was content living out the rest of his life alone. Liam lived by himself in a big house on the eastern most part of town. Liam’s father worked for a big oil company and was very rich, and ever since his mother died, he and his father haven’t really stayed in touch. His father couldn’t handle Liam being around, seeing as Liam would just remind him of her. Liam didn’t seem to care either, as long as he left him alone, Liam didn’t care.       Liam woke up and looked at the clock, it was around eleven o'clock in the morning on Sunday February 14th. Liam always hated this day, he hated it because he knew couples would go out of their way to make a big scene, and it just infuriated him. Liam hadn’t eaten anything for the past few days, so his stomach was completely empty. He knew he had to eat something, so he got out of bed and went to the kitchen to check the fridge, empty.       “God damn it, I don’t wanna have to go to the store.” Liam stood there in thought for a moment until he realized he could just order takeout from his favorite pizza place. Liam didn’t really like cooking, so he would usually just order takeout and have it delivered. Today, he just wanted to get a pizza, and forget about this day, so he called up his nearest pizza place and placed his order.       “Hello, thank you for calling Slice of Life Pizza! What can we make fresh for you today?” Liam was annoyed about the fake excitement in this person’s voice.       “Can I just get a large pepperoni pizza, please?”       “Sure, will that be all?”       “Yeah, just make sure to leave the pizza at the door, just knock to let me know it’s there.” He didn’t want to have to talk to anyone of course and he could just leave the tip outside for them anyway.       He waited for about an hour and then he heard the familiar knock at the door that they would always do just to let you know they came by. Liam usually waited five or so minutes until they had left and would go retrieve his pizza but this time, he just kept hearing more and more knocks. Frustrated, Liam got up and answered the door.       “I told you guys just to leave it at the door.” Liam said as he opened the door, as he was spilling out the words, he saw a beautiful girl around his same age.       She looked nervous as if she had done something wrong. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up. I was just here to deliver a pizza and wanted to make sure this was the right house.”       “It’s alright...” Liam responded, sounding a little flustered.       She handed the pizza to Liam and turned around to leave, Liam just stood there with the pizza in his hands watching her the entire time she was leaving. She started to get on her bike and as she did, she waved to the passing truck, which honked at her to say “hi”. He had a sort of uneasy feeling in his stomach, the kind of feeling you have when you know something bad is going to happen. Liam brushed it off and went back inside to enjoy his pizza and watch some T.V.       He spent the rest of his day thinking about that girl and how rude of a comment he made and felt bad about it. He wished he could have undone what he said, or if he could even ask for her name, but ultimately it didn’t really matter, I mean he wouldn’t see her again, so he didn’t care. He played video games until about 4 o'clock in the afternoon, and decided he wanted to head to bed. He turned off his T.V., put the remainder of his pizza in the fridge, and went to his room to lay down and fell asleep rather quickly.       He woke up and looked at the clock. It was about eleven in the morning. He was a bit surprised considering that it didn’t feel like he slept for over nineteen hours, but he could see the light from his windows so he must have. He could feel how hungry he was, as if his stomach was completely empty. So, he got up and looked in his fridge to get himself some of the pizza from the day before, but it wasn’t there. Did he throw it out? Surely not... right? He was a little disappointed, but he just thought he would just order another pizza.       He grabbed his phone and dialed the number, right before he hit the call button, he thought about the girl he met yesterday, and how he wanted to apologize for yesterday. He hit the call button and placed his order, this time he asked if they could send the girl they sent to his house last time. The operator sounded a little weirded out, but Liam didn’t really care, he just wanted to apologize.       Liam waited around the house, waiting for the knock, he was a little bit nervous this time, like he was about to make a speech in front of hundreds of people. He thought about what he was going to say to her and if she would be mad at him. Suddenly the doorbell rang, and Liam stood up and answered it.       Of course, just like last time there was the girl from last time, “Hello, I have a pizza for Liam.”       “Yes, that’s me.” Liam responded.       “Alright, here you go sir! Have a nice day!”       Liam stopped her and said, “Hey I just want to say sorry about yesterday.”       “What happened yesterday?” The girl responded as if she truly had no idea what Liam was talking about.       “I was rude to you yesterday and I just want to say I’m sorry.”       “Oh, I’m sorry it must have been someone else, I just started today actually.”       Liam was a bit confused; he knew this was the girl and he knew that he had seen her yesterday. “Are you sure, I remember you delivering the pizza yesterday?”       “I am sorry, but I really have no idea what you’re talking about, but I do have to get back to work, sorry.” She then turned away and left, leaving Liam in a state of confusion.       He watched her walk away and then he slowly stepped back and turned to go back inside. He heard a truck honk, but just ignored it and went back inside.       He sat down on his couch and searched through his phone for a while, again thinking about the girl and how weird of a situation he had gotten himself into. “Whatever.” he thought, and turned on his game and started to load his save file. He noticed that his save file wasn’t where he left it, it was back to where he was yesterday. He wondered if he had even saved it yesterday, but he must have... it saves automatically. He decided it must have got corrupted or something and just continued, it was around four o'clock when he finally pulled his focus away from the game and decided he was done.       He got up and went outside to see if he had any mail, and when he stepped out the door, he realized he stepped on something. He picked it up and saw it was a wallet, he opened it up and saw that it belonged to the girl who had delivered his pizza. He looked at the I.D. to see if he could get her name, then he found it. Jennie Morris, the I.D. stated, Liam thought it was a cute name. Liam, wanting to know more about her, decided he would take the wallet down to the pizza place directly to her, so he put on his shoes and grabbed his belongings and started walking down to the pizza place.       It was around four fifty when he got to the pizza place, when he walked in, he could immediately notice the aroma of pizza sauce and dough. He walked up to the front counter and asked for Jennie, and they told him she wouldn’t be back until five, since that’s the time she clocks out, so he could wait ten minutes, or they could relay a message for her. “I’ll just wait around here; I have something important to give her.” The manager seemed a little suspicious of Liam but didn’t really push the matter.       Liam waited for about forty minutes until he finally saw a little moped come driving up into the parking lot, sitting on top was Jennie, he could tell because of just how beautiful she was, he would never forget a face that beautiful. She pulled into the parking lot and parked next to a white jeep all the way in the corner of the parking lot. As she put the kickstand down on her moped, a black car came speeding into the parking lot, they were going rather fast, as if they were in a hurry. They pulled up right next to Jennie and all at once three older looking guys with ski masks jumped out of the car and grabbed Jennie. Liam jumped up from his seat and rushed outside, he could hear screaming and crying coming from the commotion.       One of the three men pulled out a handgun and the rest of them pulled out a knife, then asked for Jennie’s money, as if she would have any.       “I’m sorry I don’t have anything, I lost my wallet earlier, please just leave me alone!” Jennie was fighting back, kicking, punching, doing whatever she could do to get free from their hold.       Jennie tried grabbing the gun to try and point it away from her, but just as she did, Liam could hear a loud pop come from the direction he was running to. Jennie fell to the ground and the three men, shocked by what just happened, got in their car, and sped off. Liam ran up to Jennie and saw that blood was running down her eyes and down her face. The red blood clashing with the white of her teeth made him almost puke, all he could think to do was cry, cry because he didn’t know what to do.       Through his tears he could see that she was shaking violently as if she were having a seizure, Liam grabbed her and felt her pulse, it was slowly draining from her body, it just kept getting weaker, and weaker, and weaker, until it stopped. Liam woke up with tears streaming down his face, he started to gag as if he was going to throw up, but his stomach was empty, so all it was, was just dry heaving. The only thing coming up being phlegm and mucus. He swore that it had to be a dream, a bad one, but a dream, nonetheless. He looked over at his clock, eleven o'clock in the morning on Sunday, February 14th.       “What the hell was that?!” Liam thought that he must’ve been going crazy or something! “Was it a dream? Was it real?”       Liam started to calm down a bit, reassuring himself that it was just a dream, it had to be. He took a deep breath and thought about everything, Jennie, the robbers, and the wallet. He thought about how realistic the dream was, and how he had never had a dream like that before. In fact, most of the time he didn’t even dream. He would just go to bed and wake up the next morning, like a time skip. So why this time was it so... real?       “It must be this damn holiday.” He concluded, that’s what’s been making him have nightmares.       Still being shaken up, but not letting this ruin his day, he got up and took a shower to clean himself up. When he was done, he went to the fridge to grab something to eat. Nothing was there of course, but it must have been just a coincidence... right? He was still hungry, so he had to get SOMETHING to eat, and he was a little hesitant to call up his favorite pizza place. He thought about it for a moment and then concluded that he was just being paranoid, it was just a dream anyway. He dialed the number and made the order for the pizza, again telling them to just leave it at the door, and knock.       Around an hour or so he heard a knock at the door, this time it sent a chill down his spine. He didn’t know what was beyond that door, would it be Jennie, or what was left of her? He just knew he had to find out, creeping over to the door he started through the peephole, he saw a young man sit his pizza down on the porch, then turn and walk away. Liam got a bit teary eyed at the sight, it just reaffirmed to him that it WAS all just a dream. He opened the door and took the pizza inside. For the rest of the day Liam would sit around, enjoying his pizza while he played video games.       It was around five twenty-five, in the evening when Liam was about to get to the final boss of the game. He had dodged most of the attacks, while also making sure he kept enough healing potions on standby, just in case. Suddenly, things started to go bad, he didn’t realize till it was too late, that he had run out of healing potions, and he was on his last leg. Liam gripped his controller harder, as if he were wielding a sword, and put a final strike on the forsaken beast. When he got the final hit in, he started to celebrate. Just then, one of the minions came up from behind and stabbed him in the back, killing him instantly. Liam got annoyed as he looked at the screen, Game over.       Liam snapped awake, and he started to look around frantically. He quickly looked over the clock and saw it was eleven o, clock in the morning on Sunday, February 14th. “What the fuck?” This couldn’t be a dream anymore. This had to be something else. There is no way this is just a coincidence, something is happening here, and Liam didn’t like it. Liam got up from his bed and started to think about what was happening to him.       Liam got up from his bed and made his way into the living room. “Just to make sure...” Liam opened the fridge, and once again, nothing.       That’s when he realized something, for some reason he keeps restarting, over and over again. “But what could the reason be?” Liam thought to himself.       Liam went over to his couch and pulled out a pen and paper and started to write down everything that has happened so far. “Ok, so the first time I woke up, I went to the fridge to see if it was empty, check. Then I called in the pizza and told them to leave the pizza at the door. But when they got here, they just kept knocking... wait a second.”       Liam then just remembered about Jennie, “Could she be the cause of all of this? But I didn’t meet her yester-I mean last time.” Liam then just remembered that he had to take a shower before he placed the call. “Could that have really been enough time for her to be busy and they had to send someone else? It was only twenty minutes.”       Whatever the case Liam needed to get some answers, so he called up his local pizza place.       “Hello, thank you for calling Slice of Life Pizza, what can we make fresh for you today?”       “Hello, I would like a large pepperoni pizza.” Liam didn’t care what he ordered but he didn’t want to jinx it by ordering something different.       “Sure thing, will that be all?”       “Yeah, but can you do me a favor?”       “Of course sir, it would be my pleasure!”       “There is a girl there named Jennie, can you send her to deliver the pizza for me?” Liam knew it was a weird question to ask, but he didn’t have time to worry about being the creepy guy.       “Yeah... sure we can, will that be all?”       “Yes, and thank you so much, sorry for causing trouble.”       Liam sat around for about an hour dreading every moment that passed by. Suddenly he heard a knock at the door. Liam rushed up from his couch and opened the door. He was breathing a little hard from the run, but he didn’t care.       “Hello, I have a pizza for Liam.” There she was, the most beautiful woman in the world.       “Yep, that’s me.” Liam responded       “Alright, here you go sir! Have a nice day!” Liam couldn’t let her go now, because if he did, he knew it would just happen again the next time.       “Hey, wait up for a minute.” Jennie turned around to look at Liam, and he could feel the butterflies in his stomach from her beauty. “I... had a question to ask you...”       “Sure, what’s up?” She looked at me with those beautiful blue eyes, a smile spreading across her face.       Liam couldn’t squeeze out the question, he was just too nervous. “N-nothing.”       “Alright then, Have a nice day!” Jennie turned away from Liam and as she did, he saw her wallet sticking out of her pocket, and as she took each step it would move further and further out of her pocket. Eventually he saw the wallet fall onto the ground and that’s when he realized what’s been making him restart. He remembered the robbers, and how she would fight them, every time because she didn’t have her wallet. But she didn’t come to his house last time, so did she drop her wallet somewhere else then? What a troublesome girl. But he didn’t care, all he knew was that he had to save her. He had to warn her before she left.       Liam rushed over to her moped and grabbed Jennie “You need to listen to me right now, it’s a matter of life and death!”       Jennie screamed “LET ME GO!” and thrashed about until she finally got an arm free and pushed her key’s right into Liam’s left eye.       Liam fell to the ground screaming in pain. Jennie then began to run and ran out into the street. Just as she got out in the middle of the road, a truck came passing by, striking her, and then speeding off.       Liam, with blood running down one side of his face and tears on the opposite, crawled over to her to see if she was okay. He looked into her eyes and saw that she had a hood ornament stuck directly between her eyes. Through the blood and bone, he could see the fear in her face. Just then Liam snapped awake. This time he didn’t need to look at the clock, he knew what day it was, and what time. It was eleven o'clock in the morning on Sunday, February 14th.       Liam patted his face frantically, landing on his eye confirming it was intact. He was a lot less phased than he should’ve been, considering the circumstances. But all of that didn’t matter, he needed to save Jennie, but he didn’t know how... Liam got up and immediately called in his pizza without a second thought. Then around an hour later, he heard the knock, and since he was already waiting by the door, he opened it immediately.       “Hello, I have a pizza here for Liam Nesbitt.” God damn it, it was the other guy who had delivered his pizza before. Why didn’t she come? Did he order it too early this time?       “Whatever, Thanks.” Liam hastily grabbed the pizza and shut the door before the man could even say goodbye. Liam knew he had no other choice; he had to go down to the pizza shop and confront her. He couldn’t let her die, never again. Liam grabbed all his things and he rushed down to the pizza shop. When he got to the shop he walked in and asked for Jennie.       “Sorry man, she won’t be back till five.”       “Dude it’s only twelve fifty!” Liam couldn’t believe it. How busy was this girl?       “Sorry, but there is nothing I can do, I can take a message if you want, or you can wait around here.”       Liam sighed and just plopped down into his seat and decided to wait. He knew it would be better just to wait here, than to go and try to find her anyway. A few hours went by, the shopkeeper was getting a little annoyed, but of course he wasn’t going to say anything to a long-time customer. Liam then remembered that it was around five thirty, that Jennie would pull in and... THAT would happen to her. So, he looked down at his watch and saw that it was around five twenty-five. “SHIT!” Liam needed to act fast, he needed to save her. He got up from his chair and headed outside, while out there he scouted for a place to hide when the men showed up. He spotted the white jeep in the far corner, the one he saw her park next to before and went to go hide.       The adrenaline was building up in Liam, he knew what he was about to get himself into, and the dangers that went along with it. But why? Why would he go through all this trouble for some random girl? Just then he saw Jennie pull into the parking lot and park right next to the car he was hiding behind. She pulled up her kickstand, and just then he saw the black car speed into the parking lot, then the car stopped right next to Jennie and three older men wearing ski masks got out of the car.       The men then grabbed Jennie and said, “Give us all the money you got bitch, or I'll fucking gut you!”       “I’m sorry I don’t have anything, I lost my wallet earlier, please just leave me alone!” Jennie was fighting back, kicking, punching, doing whatever she could do to get free from their hold.       One of the men pulled out their gun while the other two pulled out knives, however this time, Liam jumped out from behind the car and rushed the man with a gun. “LEAVE HER ALONE!” Liam said as he knocked the masked man down.       The other two men then, at the same time, drove both knives into Liam. After hearing Liam scream in pain, the three men, worried that they might be caught, rushed back into their car, and sped off, leaving Liam and Jennie sitting there alone. Liam could feel his heartbeat starting to slow, and his vision was getting darker, his hearing going numb. But through it all he could see Jennie leaning over him crying, each tear falling and bouncing off his face. Her face was so beautiful, Liam just wished he could look at it a little bit longer.       “Ah, so this is what my mother meant, huh? Love at first sight.” Liam spoke with such a weak voice he didn’t even know if she heard him. But it didn’t matter, he saved her, that’s all that mattered. Liam finally understood what “Till Death Do Us Part” meant. And it was the most beautiful phrase he had ever heard. With his last breath Liam said, “Alright mom, now it's my turn to tell you a story.


The walls were gray. Not a dark, ominous gray. Not a cheerful gray. Just gray. I walk around the mostly empty area, the sun beating down on me. I feel good, I feel wanderlust. I've been here a hundred times. He's always here. I just have to be patient. As I continue to walk around the courtyard, those gray stone walls seemed comforting. A nice way to end my day. The grass was always a muted green and the air was always fresh, warm. There were two stone benches that faced each other in the middle. Beyond that, there was more grass and some trees against the building in the back. I kicked off my sandals and laid down on my back in the grass. The greenery tickling and scratching my bare legs and arms. The clouds were beautiful. I could make out the shape of a house and see an airplane flying by. I close my eyes and soak up the sun. I feel someone lay down next to me. It's him. I turn on my side to face him and he turns his head to me. We smile at each other. We do not talk. We never talk. But we're always here. His skin is a warm beige, his eyes hazel, and his hair is short and nearly black. He was in his blue and white striped tank top and black cargo shorts. I was wearing my favorite burgundy off the shoulder sundress. We were always in the same clothes. In the distance I hear a familiar tone, the last thing I saw was his full lips dropping into a frown as I faded away. I was startled awake by the alarm on my iPhone going off. “Hard to Love,” by Lee Brice playing. The song was supposed to wake me up peacefully, but every time I have that dream, I am always so calm that waking up is a fright. I used to question it. Why was I having this recurring dream? Where was it coming from? Who was he? They say you cannot dream of a person’s face unless you know them; that your brain can't create a face. Mine apparently can. I have never seen him before. He didn't go to school with me, I checked my final high school yearbook months ago. I've never seen him in a grocery store or at University. And most important to me, why can't we talk? I've tried to say “hi” before, but nothing came out. Oddly, enough like most dreams, or nightmares rather, when that happens you would freak out. It didn't freak me out though. The whole thing is just serene. Dreamy. The first time I had the dream I didn’t think anything of it. Just a dream. The second time I was thinking “huh, weird.” The third time it was starting to get a little creepy, but not because I felt so peaceful when I was there. I started to look forward to it. Over the last few months, I was always excited to go to sleep. I’m not sure if it’s the courtyard or him that makes it so serene, but I always wanted more. College was stressful and it was a beautiful escape. I rolled out of bed and shuffled to my bathroom to brush my teeth. As I place the toothpaste on my electric toothbrush I think about how exciting this summer is going to be. My best friend, Maria, has an Aunt Kathy who has a beach house in Miami. We’re going to stay there for the summer. Nothing but my best friend, clubs, alcohol, partying, the sand, the ocean, all of it. It’s going to be a blast. A while later I finished throwing the last of my essentials in my suitcase just as Maria was pulling up in an uber, “Sophia!” she yelled from the window of the car as she pulled up. “Hey! Come help me!” “Let’s goooooooo!” she exclaims as she helps me grab my bags. She immediately starts chatting excitedly about how amazing this summer is going to be, and I respond animatedly. Upon arriving in Florida after a short “two movies long” flight we make it to the beach house. Maria claims the master suite and I take another bedroom with its own bathroom upstairs. Maria tells me she’s going to take a nap, so she’ll be ready to take on the night. It was about three o’clock in the afternoon and I just wasn’t tired surprisingly, I decided to take a walk around instead. She won’t mind, she’s been here tons of times. I decide to change out of my comfy leggings and hoodie and put on my sandals and a sundress before heading out. I walked down the strip, there were a few resorts that were close, so this area was pretty busy, but I didn’t mind. I enjoyed the hot, muggy air and took in my surroundings as I waltzed down the strip. I grabbed an iced coffee from a coffee cart I passed and as I was sipping the last of it I was coming up to a gray stone wall. It felt . . . familiar. No. It can’t be. I quickened my pace as I rounded the corner at the end, and there it was. A courtyard. No. The courtyard. It was all here. The gray walls, the muted green grass, the trees on the far end, the benches facing one another in the middle. The entire thing. This was my courtyard. From my dream. I tossed my empty cup into a trash bin on the curb and slowly stepped into the courtyard. No one was here. Which made the whole thing even more daunting. I’ve been here a hundred times in my head, but I have never seen this place in person. I’ve never even been to Florida until today. Now, I’m in a touristy area, full of bustling people, and not a single soul is in the courtyard. That I came up. In my head. Then it hit me. If this is real . . . then he’s real! I looked frantically around, but still, there was no one here. Maybe I need to lay in the grass. I carefully moved to the spot in the grass that I always lay, kicked off my sandals, and lay down. This is crazy. This can’t be real. I sat up. “I should go back to the beach house,” I say aloud, “but what if. . .” I drop my head to my knees and curl up in a ball. I have to stay Right? I mean my head somehow knew this very courtyard existed, how can he not be real. What if my dream was some kind of premonition? I lay back down and gaze at the sky. I just have to be patient. He’s always here. “Where are you?” Maria says over the phone. “I’m, uh,” I say moving to sit up and check the time. Six o’clock. Shit. “I’m sorry I went for a walk and I, uh. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes; you can start getting ready!” I hang up the phone and look around. He’s still not here. He has to be here. I stand and shove my feet back into my sandals and take one last sad look around. Maybe I can come back tomorrow. I half jogged back to the beach house, when I got there, I was more than a little out of breath. “Maria!” Maria emerges from the master suite in a towel, her black hair wet and sticking to her neck. “It’s real.” I gasp. I was much more in shock than I realized now that I was out of that dreamy state. “What’s real?” she asked walking to the kitchen. “Margarita?” “Yes, please. But, the courtyard! That one from my dream!” “What are you talking about?” she says while measuring out ingredients and pouring them into the blender. “The courtyard with that guy, my dream?” I look at her wide-eyed manifesting her knowledge of the situation. She must have answers, she must. “That’s impossible. I told you already, you must have seen him in passing somewhere and I’m sure most courtyards look the same.” She turned on the blender and flipped her hair to the other side, a technique she has always done for volume when air drying. “No, you don’t understand,” I yell over the sound of ice crushing. “It’s the same one. Same. Exact. One. Everything is exactly the same. “Girl, chill out,” she says looking concerned. “I’m sure it’s just very similar.” She hands me a margarita, complete with the little umbrella. Maria is always so extra. “Now, go get your makeup and meet me in my bathroom to get ready!” I decided it was best to just drop it. An hour later we were ready to hit the clubs and dance the night away. After ordering our first drinks and making our way to the dance floor, we already had two guys come up to us and ask us to dance, respectively. We danced and danced, but my mind just was not in it. I tried to enjoy myself, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the courtyard. I thought I was doing a good job, especially because two drinks in and Maria was drunk enough to not pay me much attention, but hours later I blew my cover. “Want to invite them back for a bonfire on the beach?” Maria yelled over the music, into my ear. We found one of those tall tables to stand at as the four of us took a break from the dance floor and had another drink. “I’m kinda tired,” I yelled back. “I think I just want to go home and go to sleep.” “You’re not tired,” she scolded. “You’re still thinking about that courtyard aren’t you?” She threw her arm over my shoulder and I wasn’t sure if it was just to yell at me more or for stability as she realized how intoxicated she was. It ended up being the former as she added, “Let it go, Sophia! We’re here to have fun! You go to bed if you want, but I’m telling them to come over.” The next morning, I woke up with a fright to my head throbbing and the house quiet. I had the dream again. I sobered up pretty quickly when we got home around midnight and retired to bed, but Maria, Dylan, and Finn stayed up much later to have that bonfire without me. As I lay there, I contemplate how much it may piss Maria off if I leave again, and against my better judgment, I throw on leggings and a cropped t-shirt and walk out the door. Stopping at the coffee cart on the way, I maneuvered my way through the crowds and made it to the courtyard, which was empty again. This time I decided to sit on one of the benches and enjoy my iced coffee and the sun beaming on my face. After a long while, I moved to lay in the grass, wishing I brought a book or something. Around two in the afternoon, I got a call from Maria who sounded like she had just woken up. “Sophia,” she said over the phone in a chastising tone. “Do not tell me you went back to that courtyard.” “Okay, I won’t tell you,” I replied quietly. We got into a small argument much to my dismay. I knew she would be upset, but I didn’t realize she would be this upset. She went on and on about how it was our second day here and we’re supposed to be having fun, and how I left her early last night and then left this morning. On and on she went. I started crying. Not because she was yelling at me. I started crying because she was right, and yet, I couldn’t bring myself to leave. I felt so compelled to stay. To wait for him. He has to be here. The next month went like this: I woke up early to go to the courtyard, getting smarter and bringing a book with me. Maria stayed out late without me and slept in late. We barely spoke. She was so mad at me. I understood why; we were supposed to have this amazing summer but I just couldn’t let go of this “calling” I had. We only spoke small awkward small talk when we passed one another in the house. She had people over most evenings, then they would all go out. I stayed in my room when I was home most of the time because I was so sad that Maria was that mad at me. Until one day, something happened. I started my day as I did every day. I woke up early, showered, got dressed, and headed out to the courtyard, stopping at the coffee cart on the way. When I got to the courtyard, there was someone there. Laying in the grass. My heart stopped. I stepped in slowly and quietly and basically tiptoed my way over. It was a man. He had beige skin. And . . . oh my god. No way. “Oh my god!” I gasped when I was close enough to see his face. He startled and jumped up, “oh my god!” “It’s you!” we said in unison. “But how?” I struggled for words and trailed off. I knew it, I knew, and yet, I was so afraid.” “I’ve been dreaming of this place, and you for months now. I’m on vacation and I just stumbled in here this morning . . . I had to wait . . . I had to . . .” “I know,” I interjected softly. “I’ve been coming here every day for a month waiting for you. I ruined my relationship with my best friend.” I told him the whole story. How pissed Maria was at me. He told me the dreams started a few months ago, he lives in New York, only a few hours away from me, he’s on vacation with his parents and left early to take a walk this morning. “I didn’t even ask your name,” I said. “I’m Sophia.” “I’m Ryan,” he replied with a smile, holding out his hand for me to take. That felt too formal, a handshake. So, I grabbed it and pulled him in for a hug. It felt right, natural. I gasped and pulled away. “What, what’s wrong?” He exclaimed. “I have to take you to Maria!”


HEART AND SOUL [2524 words. 8 pages.] AWAKENING The room itself seemed machine. To breech the one side door and to step upon the brilliant white of its porcelain flooring took know-how. The room, otherwise, rejected those foreign to its central systems. It was not a brutal, alarm-blaring rejection, as much as it was its deep unwelcoming glare. The corner’s lit when the door was opened, there were no windows, and each surface was pristine and glassy. Opening and entering was akin to unmasking an electrical device and being faced with parts, and pieces, and wires, and components. If one had no intimacy with these parts, they were inclined by the oppressive unknown to shut the contraption. To leave it alone. Such was the room with the machine at the centre. The machine itself wasn’t much larger than an office printer, but alone at the heart of this place it had an immediate importance, an unnerving cunning. Though, in the end, one must say to oneself that it was, simply, a machine. The two men who entered through the door were familiar with this concept, as they were familiar with the machine. They entered talking, and the lights shone on, and they brought their dirty soles along the sparkling white flooring and to the machine with both leisure and purpose. They were both dressed in business casual, with powder blue button-ups and brown loafers. Middle-aged, one just a few inches shorter than the other, with a receding hairline. He laid an arm on the grey top of the machine, and still conversing, assessed the display on the machine’s large protruding screen. After idly pushing a few buttons the machine began its processes, whirring and clicking as it went. The men chattered as coloured canvas came, bit by bit, through the side arm of the contraption. At the end of the process warm canvas fell into a tray. The men knew to let it cool and so for a while they continued talking and continued printing. What was left, after approximately five minutes of office chatter, was six separate two-hundred-and-ninety-seven by four-hundred-and-twenty-millimetre canvas sheets with individual pieces of art. The shorter man picked them up from the tray and shuffled through them one at a time. There was a short silence between the men as the inspection continued, and the man holding the sheets looked suddenly very engrossed. His messy eyebrows knitted into a frown. He peered over his shoulder to assess the display screen once again. “What’s wrong?” He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, the man clicked and scrolled the display a few times, his eyes moved a quick right-left as he skimmed through words and numbers. “It’s just, the prints don’t match this week’s trends...” He dismissed the canvas to his colleague and leaned over the machine, again fiddling with its display. His colleague took to sifting through the sheets carefully. “What are the trends right now? Can you see?” He asked. “Exotic animals, portraits of animals,” He listed. “Simplistic backgrounds, realism, nature.” He turned to retrieve the prints. “Not this--” He muttered, “this abstract crap.” “Maybe its listing the trends wrong?” “No,” He sounded stern. “I was just with Carry, these are right. This is what the other companies are printing.” His colleague hummed, confused and acknowledging this confusion. He watched idly, unsure of what to do as the shorter man ran through the settings once again. “Maybe its broken, spewing ink everywhere?” He looked down at the spread of colours on the canvas, mainly primary colours, spattered on in loose shapes and breaking lines. It looked messy, young, unsure of what it wanted to be, colours with a hesitance. That was his interpretation. “It can’t be.” The shorter sighed. “These are exactly what it meant to print, but none of this matches the algorithm.” After a short pause he moved off the machine, putting his hands on his hips. “I’ll plug in some manual prompts and then we’ll try again.” CRITICS “We printed multiple times. This is the only thing that comes out.” He nearly flung the canvas into the technician’s face, holding it away from himself like a garbage bag that stunk. All the technician did was raise his brows, a false concern. He broke past the office worker and began inspecting the printer, clicking on the display. Behind the technician there sounded a dry laugh. “You know,” said the office worker. “We can’t sell this. Our company depends on this and its unsellable.” The technician heard the dramatic slap of the office workers arms dropping to his sides. “This problem is serious, and it does involve your pay.” Opening the first side tray and lifting the scanner the technician continued to ignore the office worker’s tirade. He found nothing abnormal in these two portions of the machine, the display screen itself didn’t indicate any issue. He scratched away a little red stain in the corner of the scanner before closing it and moving deeper into the machine’s grey functions. “No ink problems.” He commented, peering inside. The short office worker scoffed. “Like I said.” Looking pointedly at his taller colleague, who gave a dismissive shrug. “It’s not the ink it’s--it’s--well... I don’t know what it is, but it needs to be fixed right now.” “Well,” said the technician. He had turned around to face them. “I’m sorry to say it but everything looks normal. All the processes are working as they should be. The only issue here is that this printer isn’t following the trends like its programmed to. It’s definitely a coding issue. Other than that,” he shrugged, “it could use cleaning, there were ink drops in the scanner. You should watch out for that.” “Can you fix it?” Leered the office worker. “I’ll call someone who can.” --- “Honestly? I’ve never seen this before. Something is wrong but... I don’t think I can fix this.” The new IT worker shut his laptop, disconnecting it from the printer. “So, what now?” The four men looked to each other for some sort of plan, some sort of answer, as feet tapped nervously on the floor. The failed artworks were strewn angrily across the printer and the tray. “Disconnect it and try again tomorrow? Or you could wipe it.” --- Two blows rattled the printer’s frame. “God, what the hell is wrong with this thing.” The office worker hissed. His fist remained suspended mid-air prepared again to slam it down onto the surface of the machine. “We’re already behind on next week’s release.” “There’s nothing we can do.” Said the other. “If it’s still broken by tomorrow, they’ll just have to wipe it.” He scooped up the failed prints as they began leaving the room. Once outside the prints were thrown into the bin, not dismissively either, but with force, with hatred, with anger. SPITE “Do you think it’ll work?” The tall office worker looked up with a question. In his hand he held the plug tauntingly over the outlet, waiting on it as if placing a lucky bet. The shorter simply huffed and shrugged. He smiled. “Well, here it goes.” The plug fit in place just as it was meant to. The office worker stood back up and hurried to stand beside his colleague. They waited urgently before it, in stark gulping silence, for the button to finally flicker on. Wordlessly, the tall one pressed the machine on and then went straight back to standing in nervous wait. He shuffled and tapped his feet, watching the slow awakening of the contraption before them, in the centre of the very clean and very important white room. At first, it’s display lit an empty white and shortly thereafter produced a spinning grey load icon. Whilst this loaded there was an audible shifting of machinery in the bowels of the grey printer. A ding alerted the two to the fresh welcoming display. The tall one nearly jumped at the sound. “It looks like everything’s--” He’s cut short by a starting whir and a sharp click. “--okay?” Then another whir and another click. There’s the clear thrum of an electrical engine, the processes inside the machines firing signals along a grass green motherboard. “What in the hell is it doing now.” The short one hammers it again with a fist, but the racket continues undisrupted, and they are forced to watch, baffled more than anything as coloured canvas ejects from the bay. “Did you print this?” He scowled. “No.” Defended the other. “No. Yesterday they told us not to print.” He said it rather sharply, his sounds cut short in a snap of anger. His arms had crossed unconsciously, but it seemed his colleague was uninterested with his defence. He was instead collecting the recently printed canvas and gathering it hastily before his eyes. He noticed also that the machine had not yet stopped. The steady thrum of its liveliness continued to bore into his ears. The more he heard it, the more it made him want to grind his teeth. “More...” Said the shorter, picking up the next print. His voice was calm, a false calm. He ripped up the third print straight from the bay. “More of this--this shit!” He boomed. Spited and scorned he flung away the canvas dramatically to the floor. Before the colour on the fourth could dry he had also torn it from the bay. The red ink stained his fingertips, seeped deep into his powder-blue attire. He wrung it for its colour and dropped it bent, twisted to the tile. “Ugly, vapid colour-vomit from a goddamned printer!” Shifting nervously the other squeaked, “What do we--” “Shut it off!” He cried over the constant whir and click. “Shut it down, and the IT will wipe it tomorrow!” “Yes, okay!” He breathed. The man hurried over himself, finding the glowing white button and clicking. Clicking it for a while. Clicking it until the thrum of life died away with a sad huff and the printer was off, the display black and all its blinkers voided. “Call the IT.” He placed his hands on his hips. “Call them now.” OPUS It was the very morning when the machine was set to be wiped by a group of IT professionals. Of course, the procedure didn’t require professionals, but the workers had insisted. At current it was before morning tea and these trained technicians would not appear before lunch. Today, the situation with the machine had not halted productivity. In fact, in preparations to change schedule and most likely replace the machine the office work had only increased into a restless fervour. At this time, before morning tea on a Thursday, whilst most everyone was typing onto a screen in a cubicle under white over-head lights, many things occurred. That short office worker from previous was mid-word, finger on the keys, when his screen turned dark abruptly. He was startled, even more so when the over-head lights flickered. All at once the building shuddered and the devices clicked in a single great bout of protest. Light from the morning still shone through, but it was dim. The office worker looked to his partner. “Power outage? Now?” “Seems like it.” Mumbled the colleague. Herd confusion set in first. They could all see each other looking around, looking at neighbours, wondering how long the darkness would last. “Funny, nothing’s happened and they didn’t warn us of anything.” He folded his arms and reclined in his chair. “How long until--” “Oh!” Every screen and every light flickered for a brief moment. The machine’s all seemed to awaken nauseatingly from the brink of a coma. “You spoke too soon.” Joked the short one. “Can someone check that everything’s running. Wifi?” He watched them, still reclined as a few hurried to fidget with their returned displays, peeking into rooms and flicking lights and pressing buttons. One woman, he saw, at the door of the printer, briefly stuck her head into the room. He thought to himself clearly, ‘silly girl, the printer’s not even running,’ as he could see the interior lights automatically shine on. However, instead of quietly shutting the door again as he’d expected, he saw her mouth drop into a gasp and quickly release the handle as if it had burnt to hold. “The printer,” she looked about in panic, “something’s very wrong with it.” No one had really heard her, except for him. “What’s wrong” He called. “The printer, it’s absolutely destroyed. There’s ink all over the place.” His colleague immediately turned and frowned. The office worker himself got up very slowly, up from his chair. He made a hesitant few steps forwards, unsure of what he’d find in that goddamned room, with that goddamned printer. The woman looked distraught as she pushed the door aside for him. At this angle, on his way towards the room he could see nothing but bright white. The sight was comically close to onscreen depictions of the ‘shining light’ at the end of the long black tunnel. Of something biblical or unearthly. He rounded straight into the room where he could see the clear rays of the burning floor lights and the way in which they cast distant bright-shapes on the porcelain. When finally, he stepped a foot inside and saw the printer he himself gasped. “What is it. What’s wrong.” His partner urged. “Let me see.” He saw the printer at the very centre of the very bright and unimaginably white room. He also saw, a scene of angry blazing colours. Primary colours. A rich red, yellow, blue. This colour was all over the place, and it was seeping and splattered from the centre in a violent, hateful way. Each seething pool of sapphire and crimson and gold felt void, felt world swallowing. He stood there and felt his eyes dry as he remained captured by the essence of pure-- Of pure-- Pure--what? What was it? He felt his gaze sinking into the boiling tar-thick spill along the floor. It was motionless but he felt it moving, encroaching, consuming his brain red, yellow, blue. The white floor may have been him. He may be the white floor. The printer itself was splattered in colour. It was thoroughly dead, he could see. Irreparable. The display was a stark unresponsive white, the processes soaked in ink. The printer seemed unnervingly tragic to him, all of a sudden. He couldn’t help but feel that this was intentional, proof of its unnerving cunning. His eyes widened a gaping white, and he felt tricked, played by his own disregard. The office worker raced from the room and to the trash can. He threw aside papers and typed letter and dug out from the bottom the thick healthy canvas that they had discarded the day before. When he returned the crowd had grown. More people began to pour inside. The word, it seemed had travelled branches and the room swelled with unfamiliar faces, all lined up before the printer. Angrily, he pushed his way back into the room, and finally, there, he held up his canvas. He held it up before his eyes and before the scene and could see finally, the familiar spread of red and yellow and blue.


The operation was finally complete. As the anesthesia gradually started to wear off, I opened my eyes. My body was tired. My mind was slow. I did not much care for the surroundings. It didn't even cross my mind that I’d just spent all the money I’d saved since my fifteenth birthday and that people in long and white coats had just implanted a tiny neurotransmitter inside my brain. There was only one thing that I thought about and longed for at that moment. To fade back into the oblivion of sleep one last time. That night, I sat alone and tired in the library. Even though the library was open 24/7, I was the only student who seemed to take advantage of this. The night before every exam, I preferred to come here and study. I simply had no other choice. It was the only way I could pull an all-nighter for the tests. Back at my room, with the queen size bed next to my study table, I barely ever made it past 2 without dozing off. I would try hard to think and study but no matter what, all my mind would hear was the bed calling out to me. Inviting me to lie in her comfortable and motherly embrace, there was no way I could refuse. In the library, there was no bed to tempt me. I was still haunted by a raging desire to lie down and sleep but there were still times where I could resist. Even with heavy eyes and a fatigued brain, I’d somehow manage to make it through the night without sleeping. I hated being a slave to my biological urge to sleep. There was so much I wanted to achieve in life. But there never seemed to be enough time. The fact that humans spend a third of their life doing nothing but sleep always irked me. It was such an inefficient use of time. And in my case, more than ten hours a day were spent sleeping. Every night, I would hope to get up early in the morning and work towards my grades and hobbies. But every single time, I was an entirely different person in the morning, prioritizing an hour’s worth of sleep over my future. And don’t even get me started on that damn snooze button. People laugh when I say this but I truly believe it is the worst invention mankind ever created. A few extra minutes of sleep almost always turn into an hour which inevitably turns into multiple hours. Remove that stupid button from every alarm clock in the world, and you’ll have doubled the world’s productivity overnight. I sat looking at my watch. As always, my brain was soaked dry and could no longer maintain focus. It wandered off to explore memories and thoughts and when it finally returned, it was well past midnight. I was failing to keep my eyes open. The chemical equations I’d been trying to shove inside my head were unable to get in. The effects of the day’s operation had still not kicked in and before I could realize, sleep found me and I dropped dead onto my books. An hour or so later, I was abruptly pulled back from the dark void. I looked around. The library seemed much brighter. My lips curled into a smile as I realized that the effects of the procedure had finally kicked in. My senses felt razor sharp. My brain was racing, my heart was pumping blood fast to every corner of my body and I felt ecstatic. I opened the app I’d been told to install after my operation. The app was linked to the neurotransmitter inside my head. It let me have full control of my sleep. I tweaked around the settings ensuring that I would not fall asleep for another six hours. By seven in the morning, I’d memorized every chemical equation, gone through the chapter multiple times and solved every possible numerical I could find. When I sat for the test, I easily knocked it out of the park. There honestly was no way I would have screwed it up. When I returned to my room, I was as awake as I’d been the previous six hours. The app dashboard showed me that I’d been awake for sixteen hours and twenty minutes. I lay down on my bed and decided it was finally time to rest even though I wasn't sleepy. I pressed the “Fall asleep” icon in the app. A prompt asked me the number of hours I wanted to sleep for. I adjusted it to nine hours. It was the amount the app recommended after scanning my brain activity. The neurotransmitter inside my head facilitated the release of chemicals which had me fall asleep within moments. I woke up exactly nine hours later, without any of the usual fatigue and tiredness. My father had once told me that Ambition was the true measure of a man and ambition was something I certainly did not lack. Now that I could ensure that no more than six hours of a day were wasted sleeping, my productivity soared. I aced every test the college threw at me that year and even started to pursue hobbies that I’d always leaned towards. Within a semester, I was part of the university orchestra and some of my paintings were even displayed at local art exhibitions. Along with this, I finally had time to have a social life without hurting my grades. I would party for hours and study while everybody else slept. As my ambitions grew, I slowly decreased my amount of sleep to four hours per day. I tried to distribute my sleeping hours across the day, often utilizing ideal time on the bus and train. Sometimes, when I felt that class was getting boring, I would go at the back of the class and go to sleep. I would set the timer to make my sleep last for the duration of the class. The app occasionally sent me warning prompts about the duration of my sleep and eventually, I had to turn off the warnings. In the last semester of college, our professors encouraged us to publish research papers. I saw it as the perfect platform to get the recognization I deserved. Time was less and for the last week, I decided that I could push my sleep to just three hours a day. I’d balance it out later once my paper was complete. As the week progressed, I worked harder than I ever had. Two days before my estimated submission date, as I lay on the bed thinking about certain hiccups in my paper, a major breakthrough dawned on me. As I began to get up, my vision suddenly went blank and I collapsed onto the bed. After many attempts, I finally got up. I heard the voice assistant on the app speak, “User condition critical, deactivating device and contacting nearest hospital” Consumed by my work, I had failed to notice all the signs my body had been screaming towards me. Without understanding, I’d hugely overworked myself and my body could not take it any longer. It had been going on and on for months without catching a break. The moment the neurotransmitter in mind had turned off, all the piled up exhaustion and fatigue came bouncing back to knock me down. A vaguely familiar feeling of tiredness engulfed my body. I couldn't move and every fiber hurt.


Age 23 He walked out of the clinic and looked up at the blue sky, shielding his eyes from the bright sunlight. Lowering his gaze, he swiveled his head slowly, searching for a place he could go to, for a coffee. He really needed one. He caught sight of an unpretentious and quiet little café, parked at the corner of the street across. He liked the way its wooden structure glowed warmly in the sun. Walking over, he picked out a table at the back of the café, obscured from the view of most of the café by a dividing wall made of long wooden slabs. When his coffee was served, he took a deep whiff of the hot mocha, and felt his body relax a little. He stirred the cocoa powder topping in, his attention caught by the swirls and ripples of the comforting liquid. He took his time to savour the nutty and chocolate overtones, before he finally allowed himself to process what had just been shared with him. He felt strangely numb and detached. Perhaps he was still in shock. After all, he hadn’t expected a simple trip to the doctor’s, to check up on his recent issues with night blindness, to render him results that would change his life forever. He had expected the doctor to tell him that he had been fatigued, overworked, stressed. That he had been overly focused on his art, that he should give his eyes a break at regular periods. He had been sure that he would be told to rest well, and things would be fine and dandy. He should be crushed, he knew. But it didn’t seem real, not yet. Perhaps later, after sharing the news with his family, reality would set in and he would begin to grieve. The broken pieces in his soul began to gather, forming a stony lump in his chest. Art school, and a progressive loss of vision. His dreams seemed shattered in their infancy. Age 35 Seated in his comfy chair at home, he sipped the warm mocha appreciatively. Annie would be home soon, and they could begin dinner. He took another sip, then brought the mug upstairs with him, to his studio. He carefully placed the mocha down on the table, turned the music up, before picking up his brush and resuming painting. He hoped to finish the painting of her soon, in time for her birthday. Carefully, he dabbed in the shadows under her nose. He moved on to fill in the shadows beneath her upper lip, curving into her mouth. He switched his brush, and gently stroked on the highlights of her full lips. Frowning, he carefully inspected the painting, and reached forward to brush on a stronger highlight on the bridge of her nose. Focused, engrossed in every stroke, he didn’t notice when the half hour stretched to an hour. Music blasting, he didn’t notice when Annie announced her arrival back home. He didn’t hear her as she walked up the steps. And he didn’t see her, when she stood at the door way, in the periphery of his vision. She watched as he painted, her heart swelling with joy. She felt the tingling of the first touch of a tear in her eyes. She was surprised, and deeply moved. At the same time, she was also deeply saddened. He seemed to have completely lost his peripheral vision. His vision seemed to be tunneling, faster than it had over the past years. He didn’t like to talk about his shriveling sight, and he tended to insist that things were fine. But now and again, she would notice some signs of it, though she would tactfully keep silent. Quietly, she walked backwards through the door way, and crept back down the stairs. Going to the front door, she loudly slammed it this time, declaring at the top of her voice, “Honey, I’m home!” She put her bag down heavily on the steel shelf, and proceeded to the kitchen. She heard the clatter and bumps from above as he hurried about hiding her painting and the art supplies. She turned to greet him when he came into the kitchen, and gave him a long deep kiss. Age 42 He spent nearly every day in his studio now, painting feverishly. He had yet to creating his masterpiece, anything he could consider the crowning glory of his life’s work. But he was almost out of time. Brows furrowed, he tilted his head to angle the one small spot of vision he had left, so that it could light on her eyes on the canvas. He tried to capture the lights and flecks of her hazel eyes, how they seemed to catch the sunshine and hold the sparkle within. As his attention narrowed wholly onto the little circle of sight he had, her hazel eyes watched on from the doorway, sad, but understanding. Quietly, his daughter tiptoed away, to spend the day by herself in the room, reading. Annie brought in his dinner as usual, imploring him to take a break, to spend some time with the family. He looked away, resolutely ignoring her pleas. She had to understand. He didn’t have much time left, and he needed to complete this. Needed to leave this art piece for his daughter, for her. His beautiful family, his pair of muses. He needed to have created something worthwhile, for them to remember him as he wanted them to. Before he became nothing more than a burden to them. The next weeks passed. Each day, the narrow spot of his vision shrank just a little, barely noticeable, but relentless. And still he painted desperately. It was an ambitious piece, with all of them featured within the home he had built for them over the years. Each one of them were imbued with an expression of peace, warmth and bliss. The three of them spending time together as a family, a capture of the simple daily bliss he felt for his family. He looked up from painting, her sobs finally piercing through his intense concentration. He turned, swiveling his head about before he managed to locate his little Chloe, sat in a corner. Through the dimming pinprick of vision, he saw that she was watching him, with tears dribbling down her cheeks. “My love!” He was shocked. “What’s wrong?” He went over to her and carefully scooped her up, adjusting himself to the severe lack of depth of vision. “I want to spend the day with you, daddy. Please. Before you can’t see, I want to go places with you. I want to see things with you.” Her words hit him like a tonne of bricks. Shock, shame and intense sadness filled his heart. What was he doing? What had he been doing with those last few precious weeks of his sight? He hugged her tightly, feeling the tears running down his own face. He had been so intent on completing the art piece, on completed a masterpiece, something worth holding on to long after his sight had faded. To accomplish something his family could be proud of. Something he could be remembered for, other than being an old, blind burden. But here she was, the biggest achievement of his lifetime, here Annie was, both of them the loves of his life. And yet he had not given them a second glance. Annie rushed in, hearing the sobs of her husband and child. She took in the sight, and couldn’t help but weep as well. “We are going out, my love. We are going places. I’ll spend every single moment of every day with you, with mommy. We are going to make so many beautiful memories.” Little Chloe clung tightly to him, weeping in joy and disbelief. Age 20 Chloe stirred the steaming cup of mocha, and tasted it. It was perfect, just how he liked it. She picked it up and walked to the porch. He sat in the lounge chair, listening to the chirping of the crickets, the ringing of the cicadas. Smelling the mocha and hearing her steps, he smiled and reached out, accurately placing a hand on hers. He took hold of the cup she had brought him and took a deep whiff. She settled down by his side, and they sat in silence for a while. At home in the darkness, he felt blessed, safe, and warm. He listened as Chloe stood up and walked over to the easel. She had chosen to be an artist too, and he knew she was an amazing one, even without having ever seen her paint. He knew it, from the sounds of her strokes, and from the detailed descriptions Annie gave him. Age 35 She stared at the old, unfinished painting. Parts of the paint had cracked on the canvas. With a sad smile, she recalled the days her father spent, feverishly painting in the studio, desperately trying to complete the painting. She remembered the deep jealousy she had felt toward the canvas and his paints and her intense wish for him to pay her the same attention. How she had ached to have him spend time with her, for them to have fun as a family. She thought back to how things had changed that night, when she had broken down sobbing. She held on to the beautiful memories of the following weeks they had spent together, their travels to different parts of the country, the different sights they saw, all as a loving family. She smiled as she remembered the nights they spent sitting around a campfire, laughing and basking in stories of magic and beauty. She stared at the painting, and her heart overflowed with love, longing and an intense sadness. She missed him fiercely. She knew her mother did too. With a trembling hand, she picked up the paintbrush, once his faithful companion, and started painting. Filling in the gaps left on the canvas, finishing that long ago portrait, she felt a deep sense of peace. As she painted in the empty spaces of the canvas with rich, viscous colours, she felt her soul begin to heal. Annie stood quietly in the corner, smiling, while tears brimmed in her eyes. She watched quietly as her beloved daughter imbued the once forlorn canvas with joy and love. Watched as the love of her life, of his life, gradually brought his cherished masterpiece to fruition. Him, her, Chloe, gazing happily at one another, in front of the big old house that was once new. Late at night, with the world dark outside, Chloe painted on, immersed in the flow of it, and felt him near.


Memories are a funny thing. Certain ones stick and many others don't, and sometimes even the important ones are lost and forgotten. I never thought that I'd spend so much time in memories, let alone memories of dreams. I first saw her 4 years ago and as important as the memory of that dream is I remember the night preceding it just as clearly. I'd gone out that night for dinner and drinks with Clara, a girl from my apartment building who I'd spent a few nights with. I remember feeling quite dull about the whole thing, but I'm excellent at feigning enthusiasm and I think that was what had lead me to the uncomfortable position I was in that night. Clara and I had sex a few times before that night, and she was beginning to get feelings for me. I hadn't been sure, but that feeling of tedium which preceded the date confirmed that I felt nothing for her. And so we ate dinner, we had drinks, had each other, and promptly after I told her that I just wasn't ready for commitment. I got ready for bed that night feeling a numbness. It wasn't something I ate, wasn't any kind of guilt over upsetting poor Clara, and it wasn't me realizing I had feelings for her this whole time. No, this feeling was one I was familiar with. It was loneliness. As I brushed my teeth the numbness evolved to a dull pain that I felt as walked through the apartment, locking the door, shutting the lights, and getting in bed. And so after I read a chapter of my book and turned off the bedside lamp, I felt a single tear roll down my cheek as I drifted off. \ When I woke up, I was in Madrid sipping coffee and reading poems by John Keats. The sun shone on my face not too harshly but just enough to warm me in a comfortable way. I put down my book and watched children play in the plaza in front of me, and that's when I saw her. At the table across from me sat a beautiful woman. The first thing I noticed was her furrowed brow, concentrating on whatever book she was reading. As my eyes drifted down I saw beautiful pools of hazel that seemed to twinkle, long, dark eyelashes, soft and full lips, and jet black hair which cascaded down her shoulders. It was then I realized I had been lost in thought staring at her for nearly a lifetime. Her eyes started to move upward towards my gaze and I quickly looked away, cursing myself for gawking. I tried in vain to sham interest in my book. When I allowed myself to sneak another glance, she was not looking at me but her book as before. Except this time there was a playful grin on her face. It was at that moment the Barista brought out breakfast. My stomach grumbled a bit at the thought, the coffee had not done much to sustain me and I so looked forward to the Empanada which was now being placed on her table? She seemed confused and tried to call after the barista who set down a fruit cup and omelet on my table without hearing my calls of protest either. We both watched the barista go inside, realizing he had earbuds in and then our eyes settled on each other. By the grace of God, I managed an easy going smile and picked up the food which had been switched up. I first asked if the plate I was holding was hers in English, and when she hesitated asked again in Spanish to her seeming delight. We exchanged breakfasts and she invited me to sit down and so we talked for hours. She was a couple years younger than I was, a fresh and spry 26. She grew up in Costa del Sol in Southern Spain as her tanned skin confirmed. We sat there and talked until dinner time, sometimes in English, sometimes in Spanish. We were both learning each others language bit by bit. \ When I dreamt I didn't always see her, however when I did it was always somewhere new. I woke to us sunning in O'ahu, sipping cocoa in a ski lodge in Colorado, camping in the Rockies, eating, drinking, and loving our way through Europe, South America, and even some of the States. The odd thing is that my dreams seemed to progress in a linear fashion. I never "first met" her twice, and if I dreamed of her a week later I'd noticed that we were a couple of years older each time. And so as I drank and fucked my way meaninglessly through my mid 20s I sometimes was treated to dreams of me and dream girl growing old together. I can remember so clearly the day I proposed, not in a flashy way but just the two of us at home eating takeout. I remember our wedding in Tuscany, the birth of our first daughter, our son, and our second daughter. I remember family taco nights, movie dates, anniversaries, graduations and our kids first heartbreaks. Soon the dreams progressed to retirement, grandchildren, and sitting together on the porch for many sunny days. I wasn't happy in my dreams because of the things we did, rather the fact that we did them together. And just as suddenly as these wonderful dreams started, they stopped. Memories, being a funny thing, sometimes insisted that odd and terrible nights never be forgotten. Ironically I will never forget the night I woke up not remembering my dream. The last time I had dreamt of her we were sitting in rocking chairs, bookshelves and chairs around us, blankets draped over our laps, and her head resting on my shoulder. But tonight as I sat up in a fright, sweating through the sheets, I realized that I could not remember what this most recent dream was about. All I felt was a numb feeling, which gave way to loneliness, and evolved into fear. I had stopped dreaming of her. \ I didn't actively look for her at first, and yet I saw dream girl everywhere. I saw pieces of her in the women I tried to fill the emptiness with, heard her in hundreds of voices, and saw her in thousands of faces on the street. It even came to seeing her in beautiful **things**. Sunrises, paintings, beautifully written passages of prose. Finally I had enough and set on finding her, because she had to exist. Our mind fills dreams with the faces of random passerby that we see all the time, so she must be out there. The Greeks believe that humans were originally created with four arms, four legs, and a head with two faces. Afraid of their power, the Gods split them in two, damning them to spend their life in search of their other half. The 4 years I looked for her were truly the loneliest in my life. I visited the top of Everest, walked every block of Madrid, I spent countless long weekends in Colorado ski resorts, I traveled all over Costa del Sol. I ate and drank my way through Europe, South America, and even the states, but I did not love. All I felt in place of love was an aching emptiness, a longing to become whole again, and a fear that I would not find her. \ Today I woke up back in my old apartment in the city, and decided to stop looking for a day. I went to the Hirshorn to lose myself in the sculptures and paintings there, which was ironic because I knew I would see her in each piece. As I moved to the last exhibit and scanned the room I felt the hairs on my arm stand up as I saw a beautiful woman, black hair cascading to her lower back, bright eyes of hazel, long dark lashes, soft full lips, and the hint of a smile on her face as she gazed upon a painting. It was then she turned her head and lifted her eyes to meet mine, and her smile vanished. Her smile vanished and was replaced by surprise and wide hazel eyes. She lifted a hand to her open mouth and a tear rolled down her cheek and in that moment we both knew. I know now that life doesn't just flash before you when you die, because in those few seconds I saw each dream we spent together. I saw our movie nights, our coffee dates, and the births of our children. I felt the countless times her head rested on my shoulder and her soft, tanned skin. We rushed toward each other in a blur and as I held her she looked at me and said " Te extrañé". As I looked on in disbelief I replied "Lo mismo, I missed you too." We were out the door in seconds hand in hand running to the street. She told me her side of the story and how she had gone to all the places I had, looking for me. She told me the things she felt when she dreamt of us together, our wedding, our first daughters graduation, and growing old together. She told me that she wasn't happy in those dreams because of the things we did, rather the fact that we had done them together. It was an impossible happening, but I didn't care because finally I had her. And as I realized that we were still in real life she asked me "What now?". And the words came easily. I plucked a strand of grass nearby and knotted it into a circle. I knelt down, looked up at her, and told her. "I don't know where we go now. But I do now that I want to go there with you. I chose you in my dreams and I choose you now because I want to keep choosing you every day for the rest of my life. Even if you don't want forever and our dreams of marriage and grandkids don't come true I still choose you. Because even if those days are finite I want each one.” Tears in her eyes, she whispered back . "Lo mismo amor, I choose you too.