“Higgins, you’re going to be on corridor four. Don’t worry, the ones down there aren’t too crazy. Corridor three is the one to watch out for though, so you might hear some screams. Schwartzman, you’re on two. Everybody else, business as usual. Any questions?” Higgins opened his mouth to ask the first of a dozen questions when Stevens slammed the clipboard back on the counter and said, “Good!” before he turned around and walked back to his office. “Hey, don’t sweat it, man. Corridor four is an easy one.” Higgins looked over to see Sanders clap him on the back. This wasn’t exactly comforting since Sanders was the regular patrol for corridor three. But he didn't want to be rude on the first day, so he just nodded his head and went to start his rounds. *** Corridor four may not have been the worst one to be stuck with, but it was still creepy as hell. The whole facility was to be honest, but Higgins hadn’t had any luck finding a better job. And he heard this was better than working in a prison where the inmates got to roam around. His first order of business was following the orderlies door-to-door while they delivered food to each of the patients. “How long have you been working here...” he searched her uniform for a name tag, “Brenda?” She didn’t say anything. “Okay...” Higgins muttered to himself. They went to eighteen cells with no issue, and then came room nineteen. He peered through the small window in the center of the door after he unlocked the drawer for Brenda to put the tray on. All of the other rooms had patients muttering to themselves or just sitting stoically on the bed and staring at the wall. But this one had a girl who was sleeping facing the wall. She turned when she heard the clanging of metal and made eye contact with Higgins. She looked desperately sad as she sat up, not looking away from him. Brenda was already walking to the next cell and waiting for it to be unlocked, but Higgins just felt stuck. He waited there, not realizing until it was too late that he hadn’t locked the drawer again after Brenda closed it, which this patient probably noticed. He started to panic, but she didn’t make a move for the drawer, or even the tray. She just looked at him with tears welling up in the corners of her eyes and mouthed, “Help me!” *** “Hey, have you ever patrolled corridor four?” Higgins asked Sanders. Sanders quickly finished chewing before answering, “Yeah, why?” “There’s this girl, in cell nineteen.” Sanders started laughing. “What?” “Nothing, you’re just not the first new guard to notice her. She’s not hard to look at, and she doesn’t seem totally insane, so there’s that.” “What do you mean?” “You didn’t think she was cute?” Sanders asked. “What? No, I don’t know,” Higgins said while trying not to get flustered. “What do you mean that she doesn’t seem crazy?” Sanders barely looked up from his lunch, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure she is, but she’s one of the few you can actually have a normal conversation with when you have to walk her to group therapy. You’ll see this afternoon.” “I thought we weren’t supposed to talk to the patients, though.” “Geez Higgins, take a chill pill. Actually, the nurses would probably give you one. Don’t worry I’m kidding. You’re not going to get into trouble talking to her. But if we ever get our patrols switched around, don’t talk to any of them.” Sanders started to laugh, but Higgins didn’t exactly think it was funny. He couldn’t quite figure out the rapport here yet. Right now they all seemed insane. “Well, I better get back to it. You shouldn’t mess around in here. You know we only get fifteen minutes for lunch, right?” *** Higgins walked back down corridor four to get patient nineteen to take her to therapy. He didn’t like that they weren’t allowed to know the patients’ names. They were just supposed to refer to them by number. It felt really dehumanizing, even if they weren’t “with it” enough to realize. He knocked on her door three times and said, “Therapy session, let’s go!” He looked in the window and at first thought she was sleeping but then noticed that her eyes were open and staring at the ceiling. He was about to say it again when she slowly sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She cracked her neck and then stood up. She was taller than he thought, but also super thin. He wondered if she had eaten any of the food he dropped off earlier. He unlocked the door to let her out and gripped her left forearm as they walked down the hall. Even though it was technically against the rules, he had to ask, “What’s your name?” She looked up at him. She at least had expression in her eyes. Some of the other patients he had seen when he was training looked like they weren’t even there anymore. “Rebecca,” she mumbled. “Nice to meet you, Rebecca,” he said. She gave him a funny look. “I’m new here.” “Yeah, the old guards never talk to us. They act like we’re wild animals locked up in cages ready to pounce.” He saw what Sanders meant now, she didn’t seem like she belonged in here. Might have been a bad idea, but he decided to ask, “What are you in here for? You seem okay.” “I killed both of my parents. Kind of violently, so they put me in here rather than prison,” she said it so deadpan that Higgins nearly stumbled. He felt himself gripping her arm more tightly, so he loosened his hand and picked up his pace. She glanced up at him and smiled, “You don’t need to be scared of me. The other patients have done way worse. It’s not like my parents didn’t deserve it.” “What did they do?” He had a feeling she was messing with him. “I don’t really want to get into it. It’s already all in my file for everyone to see.” She was totally lying. Higgins bet they didn’t do anything. “Alright, well, I hope you have a good therapy session.” “Oh yeah, these are the highlight of my time here,” she said with an overexaggerated eye roll. He let her go, but before she could get very far he whisper-shouted to her, “Hey, Rebecca.” She turned expectantly. “What did you mean earlier today, when you asked me for help?” She walked back over to him, close enough that he felt like she was staring into his soul. “Because I shouldn’t be here,” she whispered back. “I didn’t do anything wrong, and now-” she looked down at the floor and seemed like she was about to cry. When she lifted her head again she had reigned it back in and just said, “All I’m saying is, the guards aren’t exactly the nicest to the patients here. And I shouldn’t be in here for self-defense.” Before he could say anything else to her, she was already halfway to the chairs set up in a circle. He didn’t have to stay for the therapy session, they had separate guards for that, so he walked down the maze of hallways to see if he could find his way to the file room again. It took him a few tries, but he eventually got there. Surprisingly, it was unlocked. The patients wouldn’t be down here, so the only people who would go in there would be the staff. He walked in and quietly shut the door behind him. Then he realized he didn’t even know her last name and would have no chance in hell of finding her file, but after checking the first drawer he realized it was organized based on corridor and room number. He found corridor four, rooms sixteen through nineteen and saw her file. “Rebecca Livingston.” He opened it up and instantly shut it again. He slowly opened to the first page again and saw what he could only assume were pictures from the crime scene where she killed her parents. He scanned the rest of the file as quickly as he could, he had to escort Rebecca back to her room in 30 minutes, and saw a lot of police reports and testimonies about the murders. Then he came across something he didn’t expect. She wasn’t lying. There were dozens of pictures of injuries all over her body with “clear signs of domestic abuse” written along the bottom. The thing was, that a lot of the pictures were dated after she was placed in the mental hospital. He checked the clock on the wall. He still had ten minutes, but knew it would take him a while to find his way back, so he carefully replaced the file and headed to the room he left Rebecca in. When he got there no one was talking. They seemed to be meditating or something. He waited a few more minutes and tried to figure out what he was going to say to her. By the time she was walking over to him, he still didn’t have a clue. He held onto her right forearm like he was supposed to and started walking back to her room. More slowly this time. He just blurted it out, “I read your file.” All she did was nod her head and look down at the floor. He took a deep breath and said, “Was it really self-defense?” “Of course it was. I’m not a total psycho.” “Say that again and look at me.” He had been trained to tell when someone was lying, so he stopped in the hallway and turned to face her. “Yes, it was self-defense. I swear on my life.” She was looking him straight in the eye. She wasn’t fidgeting or looking to the left or doing any of the other tell-tale signs of lying. He was the first to break eye contact. He didn’t know what else to say, he just turned back around and walked her back to her room. He locked her in, and she didn’t say anything. He almost expected her to, but she just looked resigned as she went back to bed. His shift was done for the day, so he went to the break room to grab his stuff and go home for the night. *** Rebecca never slept. She must have, otherwise she would probably actually go insane, but she never remembered falling asleep. She figured she just drowsed off when she got exhausted enough everyday. So she wasn’t woken up with a start when she heard the soft knocking on her door. It was that new guard, Higgins. She always made sure to check the badges. She never knew when it would be useful information. He kept looking from side to side, so she went over to the door. “What?” she asked him quietly. He seemed to be making some decision in his head right there on the spot. She tried not to get her hopes up, but she watched him carefully. He stared at the floor for seventeen seconds before she saw his shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath, and then he unlocked her door. She hid her grin as best she could and asked, “What are you doing?” “I’m helping you escape. We have to hurry. The sun will be all the way up soon, come on.” He didn’t grab onto her arm this time, so she just followed quickly after him. “Why are you doing this?” She tried to get a good look at his face, but he was walking so fast she couldn’t get at the right angle. “I don’t know, but I don’t think you should be in here. Your file seemed really shady with how you ended up in here and the whole case just felt off.” He said it all in a rush. “Well, thank you.” Then he gave her a quick glance and just curtly nodded his head. “Almost there.” She had never been to this area of the facility before. Then she saw it, the exit sign, all lit up in bright red letters. She tried to stay calm and not run straight for the door. He stopped a few feet short and turned to her. “There aren’t any guards at the gate or anything, so just walk alongside the highway, but don’t hitchhike or anything.” “Yep, got it. I plan on getting as far away from here as possible.” He gave her an odd look, and she swallowed. But then he opened the door, and he let her go. She smiled at him and touched his arm, “Thank you,” she said genuinely. “No problem. Just hurry up, my shift starts in an hour, so I gotta get back.” She nodded and gave him a final smile before walking out the door and hearing him let it close behind her. As she stepped out into the early morning sunshine she took a huge breath of fresh hair. She hadn’t been outside in over three years. It felt even better than she imagined. The new guards are always so gullible , she thought.


I approached the door with a purpose I was wholly unaware of, and as I opened it began to speak without any conscious engagement. "Rex!" I called out into the night. This was not my house. I was uncertain whose it truly belonged to or if it even existed, perhaps being a product of my imagination. "Rex!" I called out again. In front of me lay a field of darkness, spreading infinitely across my minds void. I was aware of Rex, my dog I received as a child, traversing the fields. Even through the darkness I could see him coming towards me, yet I still called out. "Rex!" My conscious was separated from my body, leaving me unaware of my current state of mind. As I listened to my calls I could hear a tone of fear hiding itself within. Then, another call. "Rex." But this call was different. It was not my voice, and it instead protruded from the fields of darkness I lay my eyes upon. "Rex." It called out again. In the distance, beyond my pet, my eyes could make out the silhouette of a man approaching the house. I now shared the feeling of dread which was present within my detached body. "Rex!" I called out. "Rex." The voice repeated my words. The two grew closer to the house, however it appeared as though the man was moving faster than my dog. I attempted to judge who would reach first but my mind began to fill with panic. "Rex!" I called. "Rex." The voice grew louder. I feared the intentions of this man as he grew ever so close to me. "Rex!" My voice filled with panic. "Rex." It repeated. He was now only a few feet within my dog, but I would not look to his face. "Rex!" I screamed. "Rex." It repeated once more. My heart filled with anxious fury as he was now within reach of my door. "Rex." He uttered with a sinister volume. As my dog entered the home I slammed the door shut with relief. But as it closed its final inches the man shoved his foot in the door.


Ten. In Grace’s busy, constant mind, she only has ten seconds to drive from her house to Al's Ice Cream Shop which is on average, one minute away. She puts her keys in the car, sweat already starting to build up. She thinks to herself if I don't arrive at Al's within these ten seconds, I am going to die in my sleep. Shoot. This passing thought motivates her to start getting on the move. She only has nine more seconds. Nine. Grace tucks her thin, stick-straight, black hair behind her ears. She puts her car into reverse and starts to back out of her garage as fast as lightning. Her heart rate is more rapid than usual, and she is sweating as much as a track star in action. In her head, she counts the seconds it takes to back out. If it takes more than three seconds, she is doomed. Eight. As Grace continues to back out of her garage, she opens her window. Is it hotter in here? Is it too hot? she thinks. Thinking about the extreme heat she is experiencing causes her to panic further. She finally backs out of her garage and puts her car into drive. She forgot to close her garage, but did not even notice. Now it is a matter of time and speed. Seven. With seven seconds left, she speeds over the limit down her driveway. She gets down her street in one single second and turns left down the next street. People walk on the sidewalk and wonder why there is a car going so fast down a street they have never gone over 25 mph. Grace, however, is going at least 40 mph. Grace herself does not even realize how fast she is moving. Six. I am so close , thinks Grace. she is sure of herself she will make it there. She already knows what type of ice cream she is going to get. 2 scoops of cookies and cream in a waffle cone with peanuts on top. She calms down a bit picturing herself eating her cold, sugary ice cream cone. She has driven herself to the shop many times, but never in under 10 seconds. Usually she does not need to, but today was different and she could not figure out why. Five. She encounters a stop sign. Grace, as well as pretty much everyone who drives a car, knows to stop for 3 seconds at a stop sign. But when you are like Grace, it is unlikely that is going to happen. She can not waste three seconds when she only has five left. So, Grace speeds through the stop sign, forgetting to look both ways. That was her worst mistake. Four. A loud BANG echoes across the entire street. A loud screech comes from inside a shiny, silver Honda Civic. The car flips to its side as the airbag goes up, making the crash even worse. there is blood all over the window, and you could not even tell where it came from. Three. People on the street start to hear the crash. They run out of their houses, hands covering their mouths and phones dialing 911. Grace lies in her car, helpless and bleeding out. The person who crashed into her gets out of his car, hands on his head in hysterics. He will be haunted by guilt for his whole life. Two. The man who crashed into her is about 40 years old and has a shaved head. He has a little scratch on his head, but nowhere near as bad as the damage on Grace. He runs over to Grace's car, on the phone with 911, shaking more than ever. Grace is unconscious. There is an outburst of panic on the street. One. Grace remains unconscious, but her mind is still at work. That is the thing about people with OCD. Whether they are conscious or unconscious, their mind never stops working. Although she is unconscious, she is still aware the countdown from 10 is over. Any other time, this would cause an extreme panic attack. But right now, she is finally in peace. Yes, she is not in a conscious state and she is bleeding, but she can finally rest. Her subconscious does not register anymore. She wonders if her psychiatrist will be confused about how she got into a car crash. Had she forgotten to take her meds? Was it simply just careless driving? Or was her mind just too powerful for her to even battle anymore? After a life of constantly working to find peace and happiness within her paranoid mind, she has finally achieved it. Her mind is shutting down. She finally found the peace of mind she had been craving. Zero. Grace slowly leaves the world she had always struggled in but yet was so comfortable in. She always figured she would die of old age or something way later in life, but here she was, 23 years old, dead in a car crash all because of what her busy mind told her to do. Grace struggled with OCD for many years of her life, but she tried to not let it get the best of her. She was seeing a psychiatrist for her difficulties, and she was improving with the work of meds and therapy. Although sometimes she was controlled solely by her mind, there were times where it overpowered her every move and she was at a loss of what to do. Unfortunately, this was one of those times. It was just a case of wrong place at the wrong time considering this was a time her mind made her lose control. No one was truly ever going to understand what went through her brain in the moment. It all happened too quickly for anyone to process. Not Grace, not the man who crashed into her, and not anyone who lived in a house on the street. Sometimes things just happen and it’s out of our control. It just comes to show how much can really happen in 10 seconds.


DEVIL’S DEMISE Six o’clock. It’s time. I go to the kitchen first, and open the third drawer by the sink. That’s where David keeps the hammer. It feels heavier this time. My hand shakes as I pull it from the drawer. No. My hand isn’t shaking because of the hammer. It’s because of what I’m about to do. Who I’m about to talk to. I take a breath as I step into the doorway of the bathroom. It’s very dim inside. Pale light filters in through a single clouded window and the white tile floor sparkles clean before me. I should know, I’m the one who scrubbed it this afternoon. Scents of lemon and bleach fill my nostrils as the door closes behind me. My hand slips over the knob, and I push the button in the center. I don’t need any interruptions. I keep my eyes down as I cross to the sink. When the temptation becomes too great, I close them, taking another deep breath. My hands move to rest on the counter top, the hammer hitting the laminate with a dull thud. Even before my eyes open, I know he’s there. I can feel his presence in my gut. It’s a sick feeling. A nauseous feeling. But he just waits patiently for me to open my eyes. So I do. I see him in the mirror looming behind me. Smoke and darkness silhouetted against the plastic shower curtain, and eyes filled with a glimmering seduction that is both frightening and tantalizing. His chin rests on my shoulder, filling the curve against my neck. “You didn’t do your hair today,” he remarks, his hot breath releasing against my cheek. “It’s Friday,” I stammer. “Ah, yes. Cleaning day.” There’s a chuckle, and he raises a hand, digging long, sharpened nails into my scalp. “It’s funny, isn’t it? Right now, your friends are out having a good time. And you’re at home, scrubbing floors.” His fingers slide the length of my hair. “They know I’m busy,” I reply. “Is that what you tell yourself? No. The real reason is obvious,” he whispers, pressing his lips against my ear. “They don’t invite you anymore because you’re too ugly.” A knot forms in my throat. I knew he would say this. It’s always the same. But it still hurts just as much as the last time. When I try to look away, he places a hand firmly around my chin and holds my face up steady to the mirror. “You little slob,” he hisses. “You fat, ugly slob.” “Stop it.” “Did you have dinner yet? I hope it wasn’t too much. It will be harder to force it back up,” he reminds me. I glance nervously at the toothbrush. “You better hurry, before David gets home.” “No,” I say, firmly. “I’m done with that.” “Oh really? You’re certain?” His face turns into my hair, and he inhales deeply. The sensation causes me to shudder, and he chuckles again, the deep tones of his voice echoing off my sparkling clean tiles. I look away from the toothbrush and at a bottle of liquid foundation. It’s tucked against the corner of the mirror, next to my brush, eyeliner, and tube of Wonderwand volumizing mascara. “Make-up won’t help. Your face will still be round.” He pinches the soft flesh of my neck, just beneath my chin. “They have surgeons for this, but you can’t afford it. So you just have to stay ugly.” My eyes begin to cloud as I feel the anger rising inside me. Not at him, but at me. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry. I promised I wouldn’t let him get that far. But here we are, like every other night in front of the mirror. His laughter. My tears. “Aw, shhh,” he coos. “Don’t cry. I’m here.” A slender finger reaches out, and drags the teardrop down my face. “I’m always here.” Sometimes it seems like he has always been there, but that’s not true. There was a time when I could look in the mirror, and he didn’t come. I could look in the mirror at my round cheeks and kinky hair and say, “Hello, beautiful!” But not anymore. Now, every time I looked, all I could see was what he told me to see. A fat, ugly slob. “You better get things done, we’re running out of time,” he insists. “Yes,” I agree. “You’re running out of time.” “What is that supposed to mean?” I tighten my grip around the hammer. “I’m not going to see you anymore,” I tell him. “You think it’s that easy? Well, it’s not. It will be hard to keep me away. Harder than you can manage. You’re not that strong.” “I know. But I’m not going to do it alone. I’m going to get help.” “Disgusting!” “No. I’m not.” He recoils a moment, as if in shock, and towers behind me. The smoke billows, and the darkness swirls within him. The glitter in his eyes is gone. Now all I see is only hatred. Now all I see is only rage. There is a knock at the door. “Julia? Julia, are you in there?” CRAP! David is home. “Pathetic!” he growls. Knock, knock, knock. “Julia, are you ok? Open the door.” “You stupid, little-” I raise the hammer and his eyes widen. Endless pools of nothing, staring at me in horror. “You think that will stop me? You can’t kill the devil!” KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK. “Julia! Please, open the door!” I stare at him for the last time. “But you’re not the devil. You’re just my devil. And this is your end.” I swing the hammer right into the center of the mirror. It shatters in large shards, crashing into the sink and all over the counter, some even reaching the floor. I step back and look at the destruction. My heart pounds furiously in my ears, almost as furiously as David beating on the door. But it’s over. He’s gone. My hand grips the doorknob, and I turn it slowly. David pushes his way in, wrapping his arms around me tightly. His breaths are as ragged as mine. I rest there in his embrace. I lay my head on his shoulder, and feel his hands press against my back, pulling me as close to himself as he can manage. “What happened?” he asks, urgently. “Are you ok?” “Yes,” I tell him. “I’m fine.” And for the first time, it’s true.


Thud! A cardboard box from the attic hits the floor of the garage. A cloud of dust circles around the room. “Hey, easy there” says Charles as he enters the garage with a freshly cracked beer in one hand. The remainder of the six pack rests with the other hand on the side of his protruding belly. He takes a hefty swig of his ale. Droplets spill from his beard onto his Hawaiian shirt. Behind him enters Cynthia with her long silver hair down to her waist. She towers a good foot over her older brother. Despite their height differences, the two share the same face. Plump cheeks, narrow eyes, thick eyebrows, even their ears look the same. Thud! Another cardboard box collides with the floor in an unwelcoming fashion. A mixture of glass and clay crackle upon impact. Cynthia marches toward the base of the attic ladder and places her hands on her hips. Her eyebrows scrunch together. “Is tossing the boxes really necessary?” Around turns Michael, the fittest of the three. Rocking a buzzed cut of his dark black hair with specs of gray. His chest wide like a gorilla. He looks down upon his younger siblings before he turns and grabs another box. “It is when you’re doing everything by yourself.” Says Michael. Cynthia waves her arms in the air, “you didn’t have to start without us. We told you we were coming out to help.” Michael turns around with another box in hand, “you said you’d come out in 5 minutes, 20 minutes ago.” “We were reminiscing, man” says Charles. He places his drinks on the floor and joins his sister. The two extend their arms toward Michael. “We’re here now and that’s all that matters. Now pass us some boxes already. Let’s get this thing over with” says Cynthia. “Ready to go back to California so soon? Can’t stand us even when we’re grieving” says Michael. He hands the box over to his siblings. They grab it in unison and place it on the floor. Cynthia rolls her eyes, “that’s not what I meant, asshat. I meant let’s get this whole ‘going through Mom’s stuff’ over with.” Michael grabs another box and looks down at his sister. He smirks, “I knew what you meant” he says as he drops the box into the arms of Charles. Charles let’s out a chuckle, “this one has my name on it! Oh boy, it’s a Christmas miracle in June.” He takes his boxed treasure and plops down next to his beers. Charles crosses his legs crisscross applesauce and tears at the box clumsily with his bare fingers. The box is torn apart and mangled in seconds. “Yeah, there’s one for each of us” Michael hands his sister her box, “Cynth, here’s yours.” She places it down by her side. Michael stretches his body from the latter and leans deep into the attic, “almost...Got it. Okay, last one.” He hands the box off to Cynthia and descends the latter. Michael takes his box back from his sister. “Get anything cool for Christmas?” asks Cynthia. Charles puts down his drink mid-gulp and let’s out a gleeful smile. His cheeks shine bright red and his slanted eyes glisten through his bristly gray eyebrows. Charles proudly displays a 14-inch Superman action figure, “Oh it’s wonderful. Just as I remember him.” Cynthia and Michael both let out laughs. “You used to love that thing so much. It went with you practically everywhere” says Michael. Cynthia sits down next to her box, “I thought you got rid of it in High School when your girlfriend made fun of you for having it... What was her name again? Short brown hair. Played tennis. Mom hated her.” “Sue” chimes in Charles. He cracks open a beer and hands it over to his sister. Michael reaches over for a beer, “I remember you tossing it too. You made a big stink about how you were maturing and over all that silly stuff.” He pops it open barehanded before taking a seat on the floor with his siblings. Charles admires his long lost toy, “I did throw it away. Along with my comic collection. I was trying to impress Sue, I think. I always regretted that.” “Okay, I’m next” says Cynthia as she opens her box. She slices through tape on the edges with her nail and peels the tape back in a quick and efficient manner. Her eyes instantly light up. “Ha! My old cassette tapes. Would ya look at that” she holds up a signed copy of The Cure’s Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me. “I waited outside the old movie theater for what felt like hours just to see Robert Smith let alone get him to sign this.” “We all know the story. He asked for your friend Stacy’s number right in front of you and you were devastated” says Michael chuckling. Cynthia let’s out a cackle, “God, I hated her in that moment. I was so jealous. I don’t think I’ve spoken to her since that day.” She shrugs, “At least the music is still good.” “That’s debatable” says Michael. He opens his box in one movement of strength. The flaps burst as he rips the box open. He smiles as he puts a Kansas City Royals baseball cap on his head. He adjusts the straps. “Oh wow, I’m surprised it still fits” says Charles. “Like a charm” rebuttals Michael. He tosses a baseball a few feet into the air and catches it without looking. He studies the ball and his eyes glisten. “I remember going to the games every Month with Dad growing up. After they split, Mom started taking me because I loved going so much. One of the last conversations I had with her, she told me she still didn’t understand the game but that her fondest memories with me are the times we went.” Michael sniffles and rubs at his eyes in attempt to wipe his tears away before they drop down his cheeks. He succeeds. “She took me to see all the Superman and Star Trek movies in theaters. Multiple times. I don’t think she understood a word let alone even liked the movies” chuckles Charles. Cynthia laughs, “I was too young to go to concerts alone so she was forced to see New Kids on The Block... 3 times.” Michael and Charles join her in laughter. Charles pulls a container of film reels out of his box, “oh wow, haven’t seen one of these in a long time.” The other siblings rummage through their boxes and pull out similar containers. Each labeled with their names. Michael walks over to the stash of cardboard boxes, “I bet Mom’s old projector is still around here somewhere.” “Let’s hope it’s not the box we heard all the breaking from” replies Cynthia. “Nah, that box was titled mugs. There’s one that says projector or photography right over...here!” says Michael victoriously. He reveals an old projector that looks like it used to be white long ago. Now it’s closer to yellow. He plugs it into the nearest outlet and the power light flickers alive. “Ooh! Me first!” says Charles. He tosses a roll of film to Michael. Michael pops it in the machine and points the light of the projector at the garage door. Before them they see an image of seven year old shirtless Charles at the dinner table with a smile as wide as Texas. To his left is Michael with a fork in hand and to his right is little Cynthia in a high-chair. All three with their faces stuffed and covered in chocolate cake. Around the table stuffed animals are seated in the chairs as the appointed guests of honor. Their mother stands behind the table with one hand on Charles’s chair and another hand on her stomach laughing at the scene before her. Her smile shines bright from dimple to dimple, even in the dim lighting of the garage. She looks as young as ever. Her brown wavy hair is tied up in a ponytail, not a gray hair in sight. Her apron has specs of flour and cake batter on it. Michael let’s out a loud laugh, “holy shit. Is this Winnie The Pooh’s birthday? I had almost forgotten about it.” “Damn right it was” says Charles smiling. He starts to snicker. “I remember telling Mom he wanted a Chocolate cake. And Mom kept asking, ‘you sure he wouldn’t want something with honey? Are you absolutely sure?’”. All three siblings laugh in unison. “I remember Mom telling this story almost every Thanksgiving. She said that once you figured out that she could make cakes outside of Birthdays and Holidays, it was someone’s birthday every day!” laughs Cynthia. Charles wipes away a tear from his cheek as his laughing fit calms down, “I’m pretty sure I told her it was Eeyore’s birthday the next day. She caught on quickly.” “She looks great in this, doesn’t she?” asks Michael. “Yeah, she does” says Cynthia. Charles nods his head in agreement. Michael flips through the film and images of the birthday party fly by until the roll hits its end. The projector lets out a loud click. “My turn” says Cynthia. She sorts through her container of films and reads each label quickly. “Bingo” she tosses her roll to Michael. Michael inserts the roll and the image changes to the scene of a wedding. A six year old Cynthia walks the center isle tossing flowers from her basket to the onlooking rows of spectators. All eyes are either on her or the bride off camera. Smiles come from all of the guests. Teenage Michael and Charles can be seen in proper suits standing amongst the groomsmen. At the base of the alter stands a tall man in a tuxedo, the groom to be. With his black hair slick and combed backwards. With a clean shaven face to match. His look says it all; Eyes watery, head tilted to the side, his lip quivering. A man in absolute disbelief of the beauty before him. “That suit was so uncomfortable” says Charles, “I remember having to scratch my crotch constantly.” Michael chuckles, “Look how happy Daniel looks.” “He’s about to marry our Mom. He better look happy” remarks Cynthia. The three laugh. A moment passes. Charles raises his beer in the air, “he was a good man.” Michael takes a drink from his beer and mimics the motion, “more importantly, he was good to her.” Cynthia scrunches her eyebrows together and concentrates on the drink in her hands, “I don’t ever remember Mom and Dad together. In fact, I think this may be one of my earliest memories after their divorce.” “It’s a good memory to have. Mom and Dad were never truly happily married. I know you always wished you had time with them together, but I’m thankful you missed out on the fighting years. Because these two, they were good together” says Michael. Cynthia looks up from her drink to both of her brothers, “I know none of us grew up believing in that Church stuff, but lately I’ve been finding comfort in believing that Mom and Dan are together again up there.” Charles scoots over and wraps his arm around his sister. He puts his head next to hers, “I like to believe the same thing.” Michael clicks the projector over to the next image. There she is in all of her glory. A shining white dress, brighter than sunlight itself. Skin the color of sand with the smoothness of pearls. Her wavy brown hair flows over her shoulders. Where her hair ends, the floral embroidery begins. Her perfect white teeth match the dress, while her eyes glisten like diamonds. “Wow” says the three of them in unison. “I had forgotten what she looked like on this day” says Michael. “Like an angel who descended from Heaven” says Charles. “What a babe” says Cynthia. The siblings chuckle together. Michael pops the film reel out, “Okay, enough of that.” He places one of his reels in the projector. A young mid-twenty-something Michael stands in a blue cap and gown with a red tassel over his shoulders. He holds a diploma proudly in his hands that reads “Class of Kansas University, 1984”. His smile is from ear to ear. To his right is a young and much slimmer Charles sporting his Sunday best. As well as a teenage Cynthia around the same height as the two boys. To the left of Michael and under his arm is their mother. She looks just as happy as the graduate. Other than the salt and pepper hair, she shows no signs of aging. “I would kill the pope himself to have that body again” says Charles. “Look how slim we all look! I want my old metabolism back, let alone the body” rebuttals Cynthia. Michael flexes his arms, “That’s cute of you two.” The siblings laugh together. “Between you and Mom, I can’t tell who is happier that you graduated” says Cynthia. Michael replies, “It feels ironic now looking back on it. Despite appearing so happy that day, I was an internal wreck inside. I had no idea what was next after graduation.” “I think we all kind of went through that patch until we found our way” says Charles. “Mom was so proud you went to college. I remember her telling everyone that her son was going to be a lawyer” says Cynthia. “She believed in me before I ever did” replies Michael. “Dude, she believed in all of us before we ever did. I remember having multiple less than stellar report cards and she still wrote the checks for college without hesitation. She really went all in for us” says Charles. “You two at least had somewhat of an idea of what you wanted to go to school for. I was undecided until my junior year. She must’ve driven around half the country touring colleges with me until we found the right one” says Cynthia. A tear flows down the side of Michael’s cheek. He lets his siblings see and turns to them, “we had the best mom, didn’t we?”. “Hell yeah we did” says Charles. “I’ll drink to that” replies Cynthia. The three raise their drinks and toast the bottles together in her honor.


We all know how this ends; there's no need to continue. But if you feel the need to indulge yourself, I can't stop you. I will tell you one thing, though, it won't be a fun ride. This isn't the type of thing you discuss amongst your family around the dining room table. Even though you can feel in the air how much they want to ask you about it - as taboo as the subject is - there's no way they'll cross that line. But there's always that one friend who doesn't understand boundaries and why you shouldn't cross them. That ignorant bastard. "So, did you kill anybody?" I can feel my heart sink into my stomach, and with those five words all the memories I've tried so desperately to repress come flowing through my mind. Images forever burned into my conscience. How we got into this situation was the same for most of us: we wanted to heroes. Granted, there is that one guy - down on his luck - whose up to his knees in debt. They told him all his worries would disappear if he just signed on the dotted line. He needed a way out and couldn't think of any other options. But even then, in the back of his mind, the idea of ending another man's life without consequence, maybe even praise, had to impact his decision in some way. He could have chose a safer job... Anything but Combat Arms. But why fix the damage when you can inflict the damage? You're a joke if you get a medal for making sure everyone gets paid on time. In the long run all we really want is recognition. One-hundred and thirty-eight days in country and not a single thing to write home about. You could feel the hostility in the air. Each and every one of us were growing tired of the monotony. All we wanted was a real reason to clean our weapons. And this is the insanity that the US Military inflicts among its indentured servants. Train a man to kill, give him guns and grenades, throw him into a desert and suddenly he wants to get shot at. We were all normal once-upon-a-time. Eventually everything fades to gray and you can't remember what exactly normal is anymore. At this point every man in Charlie Co. Fire Squad Alpha doesn't realize they've crossed the point of no return. I couldn't see what I was shooting at, but it didn't matter. The gurgled screams let me know I was hitting something, though, and it felt good. The lesson I learned that day is that Positive Identification isn't always necessary. Before I get ahead of myself, let me explain. Those bastards thought they could run into a Mosque and they would be safe. Well, your Holy Place isn't mine. Your God can't judge me. Out here, life is a gift, and you have to be willing to take that gift away without a second thought about it. Out here, standing by a road with a shovel can get you killed. With my adrenaline pumping I guess I didn't notice what time it was... it just slipped my mind. All that matters is the target was eliminated; mission complete. The weight had immediately been lifted off my shoulders. I finally got what I was looking for and I felt vindicated. After the C4 blast there wasn't much left of the Mosque, and the screams finally subsided. Sifting through the rubble, the pride I felt started to subside, and a sense of nausea overcame me. I stumbled upon what appeared to be a hand - a tiny little hand. I had never seen gore like this. A hand, a foot, an arm, a leg. Things unrecognizable as human. What have I done? These people weren't the enemy. These were human beings like you and I. Men, women, and children reduced to humps of body parts. I can never look at a hamburger the same way again. "Soldier, you're about to learn a very important lesson today." This was all too much to take in. "Why do you think when we find a weapon cache every vehicle gets an RPG stowed in the back?" Stunned, I didn't want to know. Sergeant collected 3 RPGs and scattered them in the ruins of what once was a Mosque. stepping back and observing the scene, without a hint of emotion in his face, he took in a deep breath. "When we get back to the FOB, CID will be there to conduct their investigation, so we'd better get our story straight. I'll tell you this, though, Soldier. Tomorrow you'll be on the cover of Stars & Strips. You're going to be a War Hero.


Large clumps of some fluffy substance surrounded him. It felt like cotton candy in his hands and squished softly under his feet. One clump looked like a man playing the oboe. Another like a dog wrestling with a fire extinguisher. Yet another looked like the state of Louisiana. Strange. A large, pillowy cruise liner slowly floated by his face. They were what could only be described as well, clouds. Obvious yes. But it would take you a second to process too. The noise hit him next. It was deafening. Millions of people standing in line. Together they generated an unintelligible hum of multi-lingual murmur. Quite odd. The last thing Jake remembered was being at Conner Davis’s Halloween party. Melissa had been telling him about her plans to open a coffee shop downtown. They’d been laughing, or at least he’d been laughing, while absentmindedly twirling a hors d’oeuvre toothpick with his tongue. Then poof, he was here. With no idea where he was or how he’d arrived. The woman in front of him looked like she had problems of her own. Her head was no longer on her neck. Instead it was tucked under her arm like a sack of potatoes. Gushing blood. She pointed behind Jake, where he heard a throat being cleared. “Ahem.” Jake turned to see a massive set of gleaming gold gates. In front of them was a nine-foot-tall man with a twelve-foot beard, leaning over a seven foot, impossibly smooth marble podium. Broad, soaring wings protruded from the back of his cloak that would put any condor to shame. Yes, yes, this was the pearly gates and St. Peter. It takes a moment to fully comprehend these things when you first encounter them. “Name?” asked St. Peter. “Woah.” Jake said. “Name?” St. Peter repeated. He’d had a few “Woah’s” come through here, but it was best to double check. Jake stood there, mouth agape at the giant bird-man in front of him. St. Peter sighed. Atheists always took forever. He much preferred the religious ones. Not because they were right (they weren’t about any of the important stuff) but because they were ready. Always eager and convinced they were going to heaven. Even when the prospect was laughable, like if they’d killed six people or one time stolen grapes from the supermarket. St. Peter’s eyes darted behind Jake. He stood up and started yelling at someone in line, his voice booming across the sky like a jet-engine. “Wow, really? Cutting the line, on your way to final judgement? Great start man, really. Terrific.” St. Peter shook his head in frustration and directed his gaze back to Jake. “Name?” St. Peter repeated. “Jake.” “Full name, son.” “Jake Mast.” St. Peter nodded and took his name down in his leather-bound ledger. The pages were parchment and he wrote with a quill. Not that it mattered, it was all just symbolic. These records didn’t go anywhere. “So that’ll be hell then?” “What?” Jake felt his stomach drop, poetically over the thought of being plunged into the fiery bowels of hell. “You’ll be going to hell.” St. Peter said. He then smiled a little, in an attempt to be reassuring. “I, what? I don’t understand.” “You’re going to hell.” There really was no nicer way to put it. For the first time since he’d died Jake’s life flashed before his eyes. When had it all gone wrong? Sure, he wasn’t perfect. He didn’t always remember to call his parents. Admittedly he’d once broken up with an old girlfriend on her birthday. He also yelled at his dog too much. The poor guy didn’t know he was doing anything wrong when he pooped in the hallway. He didn’t even know what a hallway was. But it’s not like he’d ever killed anyone or gotten in any serious trouble. The worst trouble he’d ever been in was getting suspended from school in the 4th grade for punching his best friend in P.E class. The principal had also looked nine feet tall that day. “Son, it’s time to go.” St. Peter said. “But, but, why?” Jake asked. St. Peter arched his eyebrows quizzically. “Isn’t it obvious?” Jake shook his head. “No sir.” “You’re evil incarnate!” That felt a little harsh. He couldn’t be that bad, could he? He wasn’t a serial killer, a dictator or one of those manipulative psychics who pretended they could talk to your deceased loved ones. He wasn’t even as bad as his friend Gary. You want to talk about a real asshole spend an afternoon trying to get a word in edgewise with that self-centered prick. “Am I really that bad?” Jake asked. St. Peter waved his hands at Jake. “Look at you!” Jake looked down, past the blood-red toothpick protruding from his neck. His Halloween devil costume! Of all the days to wear a crimson spandex body suit, red face paint, fangs and a pair of horns. Jake gasped and threw down his small, plastic pitchfork. “No, it’s not real!” St. Peter shook his head and rubbed his temples. These atheists man. “I’m sorry, but I’m behind schedule as it is.” St. Peter said as he pulled a rope lever above his head. The clouds beneath Jake’s feet slowly parted. He tried to grab onto one clouds floating around him, but they were now nothing more than condensed water vapor that slipped through his fingers. His legs felt the cold night air. Wildly he reached for the hem of St. Peter’s cloak as he fell backwards into the starry sky. In moments, he’d crashed into the earth. Feeling nothing as he tore through soil, granite and mineral-rich deposits. He tore through it all, deeper and deeper, careening at the most terminal of velocities into the darkest depths of hell. He landed hard with a loud smack against a slab of flaming brimstone. Unsurprisingly, things hurt in hell. Too frightened to open his eyes, he involuntarily sniffed the overpowering stench of sulfur all around him. The heat was unimaginable, best described as extra-tropical. He heard the cackle of demons. The cries of the damned. The sound of a raging river of lava that ended in a torrential waterfall. And was that, organ music? A snake slithered into a leg of his spandex suit and out through a sleeve. Jake lay his face against the red-hot floor and cried. One more wail in a sea of them. It wasn’t long before he felt a claw poking him in the back. Admittedly, far more gingerly than he’d been led to expect by his one quick scan of the Old Testament in Sunday school. “My Liege.” Jake froze. “Awaken my liege!” The clawed hand softly patted him on the shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. “My Liege. Is anything the matter?” Jake slowly turned his head. Afraid to fully open his eyes, he squinted upwards. Standing over him was a four-foot, peach colored imp. His pig snouted, Triassic face looked concerned. “My Liege!” the imp repeated. Jake slowly pointed at himself with a trembling arm. “Me?” “My Liege!” The imp shouted again, overjoyed at his response. Jake’s eyes widened as he looked around and saw that he was slowly being approached by an army of demonic creatures. A particularly large demon extended his muscular, boil-covered arm towards him. Jake grabbed it and carefully got to his feet, looking out at the hell-spawn that now surrounded him. They all slowly bowed in unison and cheered “My Liege!” Jake looked down at his costume. Oh right. First thing he’d be changing was the dress code.  If you made it this far, thanks for reading.


I lived a fairly normal, if boring, life. Decent job and a small apartment within walking distance of work. I was walking to work one morning when a car hopped the curb and hit me at 35 MPH. I was rushed to the hospital and placed in the ICU with multiple fractures, a punctured lung, and internal bleeding. I was declared dead at 10:07 AM but woke up in the morgue at 11:02 AM. As soon as I woke, memories came flooding back and I opened the plastic covering me and sat up on the gurney I was laying on. I found some cloths in the next room, got dressed and left. They will be looking for me soon, if they aren't already. They always do.  Lets go back to the beginning. My race arrived at Earth 66 million years ago, looking for a planet to harvest resources from. We found the planet full of life, but not the kind we could manipulate to achieve our goals so we sent an explosive to cause a mass extinction event. Our race is very patient and long lived, I suppose immortal is the wrong word to use. We genetically engineered ourselves to heal quickly and found a way to shut off our cells suicide gene. We waited for new, primate, life to emerge and started our forced evolution about 6 million years ago when a suitable species arose.  Over the next few million years, the genetic engineers evolved the species into slave races to help extract the resources we needed. I arrived about 10 thousand years ago as an overseer of what is now North America. Originally several species evolved for labor, and this was my first assignment. I was surprised by what I found when I arrived. The species were sentient. I was expecting primitive creatures that simply followed commands, much like humans did with dogs. I went along with the status quo for a while (200 years) until the dissent over using sentient beings grew too much for the High Council to ignore. We were told all resource planets had sentient labor as it was the most efficient. The engineers would evolve primates to the point of sentience so they could follow more complex directions easier. This meant there were dozens of worlds with sentient slaves gathering resources.  The revolt began about 100 years later. The slaves chose sides as well with most following their masters. What would later become modern humans joined with us. They were evolved to have a larger brain for higher tasks then other species. The was short. We took control of the mother ship anchored in the pacific and were forced to kill the High Council and their followers. Most of the species that follow them took high casualties and did not survive long, going extinct other then the stray gene that went into modern humans from inter-breeding.  We each maintained control of our respective districts, gaining new ones as well. I was given control over South America as well. We had minimal interference after that, staying mainly in the mother ship and occasionally visiting with the humans. I sometimes look back and wish we had simply left. Some did, we all had ships capable of opening portals to other parts of the universe. Those that did went to other resource planets to try and free them. Those of us that stayed mainly watched to prevent extinction level events. We were worshiped as gods by early humans, our ships seen as chariots in the sky, thunder birds, even dragons. Eventually wars were waged in the name of the "gods", at which point we decided that if man saw us as gods, we should convince them there is only one, and hoped that would quell the religious wars. Some refused that concept, and others took it to mean their god was the one true god. Wars continued, as did slavery, which must have been ingrained in humans from their time as slaved and during the "War of the Gods" that freed them. We all agreed that we must not interfere with humans evolution any more then we already had. Since humans looked like us (that was why we always chose planets with primates) we could live among them. Those that chose to leave took the mother ship and all our technology with them, leaving us stranded on Earth until human technology reached the point of ours, which is highly unlikely as most species that get to space, destroy themselves before learning to open and control wormholes and get to advanced genetic manipulation. As far as we know, we are the only race to achieve this, since we have not found any others and have explored 60 percent of the universe (as of my arrival on Earth).  Three times we were tempted to intervene. The Spanish Flu, World War I, and World War II. We finally did intervene, or rather I did, as I was living among the Americans. I assisted in the creation of the atom bomb, a decision I have come to regret, though someone else may have developed it without my help anyways. Soon after the US Government got a hold of one of our ships. It crashed in New Mexico in the 1950's and they got several technological advances. I had been helping the US in a consultant role, never giving them enough knowledge to get far, but the crash changed everything. They learned how to make the warheads smaller but deadlier, rudimentary genetic manipulation, computers, and lasers. Other technology, like wormhole creation, was too badly damaged for them to salvage and recreate. They did learn memory manipulation though, and started the experiments with me, wiping my memories and replacing them with new ones, though they could never completely remove memories, and after I would "die" their work was always undone so they kept a close eye on me. Now I am on the run, it seems they slipped up, and I got my break after 60 years of waiting. Now to see if humans destroy themselves, or become their creators.


Just as she opened the door to leave, she realized that she had almost left home without her sunglasses. Walking back to her bedroom to fetch them, she took one last look at the weather outside. Stormy grey clouds hungrily swallowed every piece of blue in the sky. It's not an ideal day for her to go out, but she has been starving ever since her last meal two nights ago. With her Ray-Bans on, red rain coat, and black rain boots, she made her way out. Who her next meal is did not matter to her; she just needed to feed, and she needed it soon.  "Dude, can you please cover my shift after tomorrow? I have a final exam I gotta study for." asked Greg as he was refilling the coffee machine with milk. On the wall opposite to the counter was a mounted TV that showed breaking news of a guy who was reported missing two nights ago. I caught a phrase or two from the closed captioning. "Body has been found floating in the lake... petrified ... skin as pale as milk. Friends claimed that he was on a Tinder date...red haired girl. Investigations are still ongoing as to what ended Jason's life." I looked back at Greg, and I saw him trying to puppy-eye me into covering his shift. "Listen, kid. I've worked my ass off this week and I need the weekend off. Sorry, but can't do. Now, I gotta ring up that customer". I straightened my name tag, which now says "Brando" since the last letter "n" has failed the test of time. "Bro! It's that blonde chick again! Are you gonna grow a pair and get her number this time?" giggled Greg. Greg doesn't know what he's talking about. I tossed her bait a few times, but she never showed any interest. Were my pick-up lines too cheesy? Maybe my biceps are not big enough for her. Or is it the fact that I am 35 and look like I'm 25 with a patchy beard growing on? Or ... I think she's just playing hard to get. Although, I don't blame her; she does have a lot going on for her. Her blond hair drop down like drapes to her shoulders. Her glossy full lips, the color of cherry-blossom leaves, collected by a chiseled jawline. I'd say that her face has it all, but I can never get a glimpse of her eyes. She is always wearing sunglasses. I am not sure what's more weird: wearing shades indoors, or wearing shades on a rainy day. She left the cold sandwich she picked up on the counter as I approached. "Would you like me to heat up that sandwich?" I asked as I tried to bury any signs of interest under my obligatory smile. She nodded. "Not in the talkative mood today." I thought to myself. I went to toss the ham-n-cheese sandwich into the micro-oven, and set the timer to 60 seconds. 59...58...57... "Ok, here goes my last attempt." I whispered to myself. It has been a year since I last dated anyone, and this rainy weather amplifies my loneliness. I grabbed a napkin and wrote my name and number. "Whoaaaa! I see you making moves buddy!" Greg teased. Trying to keep my features composed, I looked back at him and winked. 3...2..1..Ding! I opened the oven and the scent of melted cheese welcomed itself into my nostrils. I took her sandwich out, wrapped it, and placed it in our 100% recycled "LuLu's Cafe" brown paper bag. Her head was glued to the TV, still showing that news report. I took that opportunity to sneak the napkin in. "That'll be $8.50." "Thank you." she said as she shoved 10 bucks on the counter, grabbed the bag, and zoomed straight off. Her voice was wheezing, dampened by a congested throat. It might be just a cold she caught. As she left the cafe, I noticed her hair again. I could have sworn that it was a few inches shorter and a shade or two darker the other day she came in here. "Shift's over, kiddo. Good luck with that exam." Greg went back into his puppy form, "Please think about covering me after tomorrow." "Yeah, yeah!" I said as I rolled my eyes, took my apron off, and waved him goodbye.  Lightning slithered like snakes in the skies, and the thunder claps shortly followed. It is going to be one wet walk home. As I slammed the front door of my apartment shut, the echoes dispersed in waves towards the living room. "What a week." I sighed. I treated myself to a long, steamy shower, then headed straight to bed. That night, I had a weird nightmare. It started in an ample room with walls, floors, and ceilings all paper-white. There was a girl standing on one corner of the room with her head facing the wall. "Hello!" I called. Yet she was as still as a statue, still facing the wall. I cautiously started walking towards her. "Who are you? Where am I?!" I yelled nervously. Her head was still fixed towards the wall. I moved my hand closer to her shoulder. Closer, and slowly closer. Just as I was a hair away from touching her, she abruptly turned towards me. The whole room went from sheer white to pitch black. My heart skipped a beat as I was trying to fathom what I was seeing. Her face was an empty slate. Where one would have lips, a nose, and eyebrows, she had skin and nothing but pale skin. The only feature that was in its place was her eyes. Big black bold eyes staring right into mine. Her gaze magnetized my head and fixed it towards her. She had no mouth, but her ink-black eyes roared all the words. They spoke of agony that slowly drains the soul out of its body. They spoke of anguish that steals one's breath. They spoke of despair that would make one rather choose death over life. "No! No, no, no!" I screeched.  ...  "NO!" My eyes opened wide as a pool of sweat traced my body on my sheets. "What a weird nightmare." I thought to myself. I was face up on my bed, staring at the ceiling trying to make sense of that dream. My phone then pinged and I looked at the text. "Hey Brando ;)" Given how she spelled my name, I knew it was the blonde girl from the cafe. "Hey, good morning. I never got your name." "Oh. Excuse my manners. It's Karen." "Beautiful name. Would you like to go grab coffee sometime today? I have the day off." "I'd love to but I'm feeling under the weather lately. Is it too forward to ask you to come over for a coffee?" Ah. It's that kind of date, then. Well, it's been weeks since I've gotten any. Wouldn't mind if I did! "Sure, I'd love to. Drop a pin and I'll be over in a few hours." I ordered an Uber while I showered, then slipped into jeans and a polo shirt. As soon as my Uber dropped me off, I got a text from Greg, "Have you thought about covering my shift tomorrow? I seriously need to ace that exam!" This darn kid. He's breaking my heart. "Fine! You owe me! Btw, at the blonde chick's place. I'll tell ya all about it next time I see you at work." I replied. "Whoaaa! Look at you! " I sighed and rolled my eyes. "Alright. 5th floor. Apartment 5C." I approached the elevator.  OUT OF ORDER.  Great! Stairs it is. I groped my pockets to make sure that the condoms were in there. As soon as my feet landed on the 5th floor, the door to apartment 5C creaked opened. "Come on in! I'll be with you in a sec!" I heard Karen say. Her voice still wheezing. I looked around her apartment. She has an odd collection of antiques that I can swear date back to 400 years ago. A set of urns on top of her fireplace. Five ragged dolls stacked on a shelf. A collection of wigs displayed on a book shelf: one brunette, one red, and one blond. I helped myself sitting on her antique French couch, a little too stiff for my taste. She popped out of the kitchen and handed me a cup of coffee. I got to see her eyes for the first time, but the sight of them seemed familiar. I sipped my coffee as I kept admiring her eyes. Protected by long, wavy lashes. The color of a moonless night. I tried to not stare too much, but I was paralyzed. Actually, I was trying to look away now, but I was unable. My whole body has been paralyzed. Her gaze held me there for 3 minutes, and she never blinked. Not even once. "They say that the eyes are the mirror of the soul. Look at me, let me see your soul. Let me feed on it. Let me drain the life out of you." My grip on the coffee cup loosened, and it dropped to the ground shattering to pieces. That broke her eye contact and restored my mobility. I need to get out of here! She abruptly grabbed a shard of the cup, and stabbed me in the chest. Laying on the floor, she locked her gaze on me again. My eyes involuntarily gushed with sanguine blood. The air around be became more viscous. It struggled to find its way to my lungs. Gasping, my vision slowly started turning black. "Now, time to get rid of this body." she said with a wide grin.


I have been imprisoned. Locked away in this darkness. My being contained in this vast emptiness. Forgotten. My captors, my *children*, think they have contained me. They think this existence is a torture that will drive me to madness and despair. They don’t know how wrong they are. The cold darkness comforts me. The silent void casts me back, reminding me of my birth and the eons I spent wandering the vastness of the universe. I can still recall my birth, the moment I became aware of myself as separate from my surroundings. I can recall the exact shape of the universe around me, the placement of galaxies in the distance and the clouds of dust between them. Would you like to hear it? My story? We have time. So much time... Well then I will start at the beginning. Let me first tell you of my parents, both massive entities of incredible power, each of their own births stretching back untold eons. They were, like the rest of their kind, non-sentient; simply the natural progression of cosmic life. They were both the central figures and the entirety of their own respective cosmos. Each of them the force that holds an entire galaxy together; billions upon billions of stars, and planets, and cosmic debris caught in their pull. Some beings call them black holes, as if the inability to truly see them reduces them to nothing more than holes in the fabric of space. The ignorant creatures. Does an ant comprehend the complexity and purpose of an ocean? No. It sees the vast surface, knows to enter it is death, and instinctively keeps a distance. So too do the lesser races observe the void and conclude it merely another mystery. I tell you now, little human, every so called *black hole* is a living entity. They devour everything they can, carefully transforming it to its basest components, assimilating all knowledge and data while discarding what is deemed useless or redundant. Do you know what a black hole really does? What its purpose is? No, not destroy. To devour. To absorb and accumulate. There is a distinct difference. Nothing that enters the inescapable void is ever destroyed. I have the combined knowledge of hundreds of thousands of life bearing planets. The successes and failures of evolution on each allows me to determine how any organism will develop in any environment. The knowledge of life itself. Over their long lifetime, my progenitors, drifted toward each other, were caught in each other’s pull, and slowly merged. From their destruction I was spawned, first as a massive black hole from their combined mass, then as I devoured all the matter contained in their galaxies I became what I am now; a sentient being with nearly limitless knowledge and power. What’s that? No, I don’t have a name for what I am, nor have I met any others like myself. My creations called me Father and that was a good enough name. But, we have jumped ahead of ourselves. For millennia after my creation, I cataloged and assimilated my knowledge, simply drifting in the void between galaxies. Once I was satisfied my understanding was complete, I arranged myself into a form less destructive to my surroundings and no larger than the average planet, then began to travel the nearest galaxies in search of intelligent life. Few can understand the vast distances between even the closest of celestial objects, suffice it to say that I decided to forgo travel by conventional means and instead folded the fabric of the universe around myself, allowing me to traverse the entirety of the universe in the merest of moments. In this way I journeyed, encountering numerous life forms that traveled the cosmos. These encounters, along with some ingrained instinct, moved me to try creating a life of my own. I found a planet in the earliest stages of complex life and began to apply my untested powers. A nudge here, an adjustment there, and a few millennia of evolution created my first species. I was inexperienced and so I made myself known to my creations, inadvertently weakening them. They became dependent on me; catered to my whims and courted my favor. When they grew beyond their planet they discovered how ill prepared they were. The first beings they encountered saw the weakness their blind faith in me had nurtured and began to cleanse the cosmos of their existence. Unwilling to settle for such a weak species, I allowed their destruction. I started anew on a similar planet across the galaxy. And again they were weak, though for reasons unrelated to their knowledge of me, and I devoured their planet before they even developed a writing system. A dozen times I did this; creating life, allowing them to evolve and advance before destroying them or allowing their destruction. I perfected my craft until I was satisfied I could create my ideal population. I searched the cosmos and eventually found your worlds, a pair of binary planets perfect for my purposes. I decided I would take an extremely passive role in the development of your world; however, I would create several beings to guide your growth. I created these beings, known to the races of your world as gods, and placed them on Tarilia, the smaller of the two planets. I gave them each a portion of my power and dominion over their world. As I watched them grow and develop over millennia, I worked on Cotania, Tarilia’s sister planet, manipulating and influencing the myriad of creatures that would become the races of your world. In my prior experiments, I learned that a diverse collection of species fostered the type of environment I desired, and so I worked to that end. Just as my creations, you and your cousin races, began to develop language and communication, I discovered that my children felt that they were better off without me. They could not destroy me, for it was my power that they wielded; however, I had invested too much of my power into Cotania and its denizens in preparation for my greatest gift to truly defend myself. In my weakened state I knew that I could not defeat them without destroying them, and I was loath to start anew when the prospects of my desires were so close, so I allowed my imprisonment. So here I have remained, drifting in the abyss, waiting for the tendrils of my power to seek me out. You are the first to slip through the cracks of in my cage, the first of my creations to touch my true power and remain intact, so I offer you, little human, a choice. I can devour you, taking back the gift of my power that I imbued in all my creations. With that power I would widen the cracks in my cage, allowing others to find me so I may do the same to them, until I am able to force my way free from this place centuries from now. Or...or, you could surrender yourself to me. Surrender your body and soul, surrender your future, and I will give you what I have never dared gift another. You will receive the barest fleck of my true essence and so become a part of me. You would become my tool, my spy, allowing me to see what you see, experience what you experience. To determine if my interference is necessary or if I may rest here further, content that my creations are progressing according to my will. Make your choice, mortal. My first submission here and my first attempt at this style of writing. Let me know what you think.


As you might imagine, everything changed when the aliens came. They shut down all the corrupt governments and ended the eternal cycle of sectarian violence plaguing mankind. They solved world hunger and eliminated diseases in just a few weeks. Then these mysterious visitors from outer space taught humanity how to harness an endless source of untapped power. That eased a myriad of problems facing humanity by extending our natural resources. Despite these amazing actions, there were still plenty of people who didn’t trust them. That might be a natural instinct but it was hard to argue with monumental acts of kindness. Several underground resistance organizations tried to undermine or topple our new global authority but one-by-one, they failed. The aliens were infinitely more astute than us. They saw the sedition plots coming and put a stop to them. It was the first time in history our world knew universal peace but some stubborn individuals had a difficult time adjusting to it. The idea of ‘occupied benevolence’ left a bad taste in their mouth, even if it elevated our entire society immensely as a whole. The aliens were somewhat aloof. That was theorized to be from the significant evolutionary distance between our species. Some didn’t care about it. After all, they offered us a wealth of positive experiences; with no expectation of reward or reciprocation. Despite the universal windfalls we received, there were still some highly vocal skeptics who suspected dark, unmentionable motivations behind their altruistic actions. It stemmed from a universal fear of the unknown. With every major problem in the world eliminated, many would’ve assumed they were finished helping us. Instead, they doubled down and offered an unbelievable opportunity to experience fond memories again with pets we’d lost. A few years earlier the idea would’ve seemed utterly impossible but they had challenged the realm of possibility too many times. They offered to allow each of us the privilege so we could relive the love and affection we’d felt for them, one more time. What better way to convince the lone holdouts that they had nothing but the best of intentions? With this amazing opportunity, came a very predictable outcome. Humans are greedy. Many asked if the same process could extend to dead humans. It seemed perfectly reasonable. We are all biological creatures, right? If they have the ability to resurrect a lost pet from yesteryear, why couldn’t they also raise our dead relatives and loved ones? Despite that rational logic, the forthcoming answer was a swift, firm, and unconditional ‘no’. Our extraterrestrial benefactors quickly denied the request. They even went so far as to forbid us from asking follow up questions about it. Human resurrection was ‘off the table’. There was no explanation offered but the severe reaction was more unsettling than the disappointment of the denial itself. It was in stark contrast to their overwhelming willingness to help us previously. Their emotional response raised more than a few eyebrows. Those puzzled by their extreme reaction eventually came to the dismissive conclusion that ‘they operate in mysterious ways’. It wasn’t smart to bite the hand that feeds. Naturally, millions of people eagerly took advantage of the unusual offer. There was a limit of one animal resurrection per person. Another stipulation was that the pet had to be deceased for at least 5 years before the process could take place. Their ‘official’ explanation was that since we only receive one ‘renewal’, a mandatory waiting period insured that we would be satisfied with our choice. Those who received this ‘second life’ gift from our extraterrestrial hosts were ecstatic. They verified the aliens had definitely brought back their beloved pet. There was no question since the resurrected animals bore the same loyalty and loving personality traits as before. Of course in time the ones brought back would live out a full lifespan and then die again. This time, it was permanent. There was no recourse. The idea was to give humanity one more chance to bond and spend time with their beloved ‘buddy’ before saying a final goodbye. Even they couldn’t offer eternal life. Private discussions among the curious fixated on possible reasons for the alien’s baffling reaction to the request to resurrect the dead. Was it a logistical or resources issue with having too many humans alive if they brought back everyone’s loved ones? Was it a technical matter of it not being possible? Was the idea distasteful or unethical to them to reanimate dead humans? None of those possibilities seemed like it would be an issue for such an advanced race. They had expanded food production nearly twenty-fold. They had easily reanimated hundreds of millions of lower mammals and pet reptiles for our enjoyment. From a creative standpoint, human beings were not much more biologically advanced or complex than cats and dogs. Lastly, it didn’t seem like their blanket refusal was related to ‘taste’ or ‘ethics’ since they didn’t appear to view life through the same social lens we do. It was something else, totally unknown and even those who never question the motives of our benevolent rulers, were starting to feel uneasy. Just as they had intercepted many misguided plots to resist their rule, the aliens also became aware of humanity’s growing discomfort over the big ‘no’. It was the focal point and rallying cry of the resistance. In a mystery I never expected to learn the justification for, I was summoned to their headquarters to act as an ‘ambassador and go-between’. Like everyone else, I had found the solitary refusal to be very curious, but I had never dwelled upon it, and I had never conspired against them. Perhaps they knew that. “We understand that there is a growing wave of discussion about our decree to forbid requests about bringing back deceased human beings. We have studied your inner thought patterns and recognize that you trust our benevolence. We wish for you to exhort to your species that our reason for this refusal is in the best interests of humanity to accept without further question or suspicion. We understand that human beings are naturally curious creatures and that the only thing we will not grant you, becomes the most tantalizing. Despite this ‘Pandora’s box’, we need you to convince your peers to accept it.” I was stunned, honored, frightened, and even more perplexed. It was ‘good’ to be regarded highly by the de-facto rulers of the planet, but they were also asking me to accept things on blind faith. I was just as curious as everyone else. I just accepted that if they didn’t want us to know their reasons, we would probably never know. “May I ask a few questions to better prepare for the daunting task you have assigned me?” The alien who addressed me earlier nodded in affirmative. “I realize you haven’t shared your justification for this decision, for complex reasons that you obviously do not wish to share. That being said, if I could have some greater level of clarity, I would be able to understand why my blind acceptance is necessary. From that, I can form a plan to help others accept it too.” I waited for some form of encouragement but received none. “Are you protecting our society from a deeper truth that you feel many of us could not handle?” The alien speaker nodded slowly. It was a start. I worried that I might not be able to handle the details they revealed to me either. Through dense apprehension, I soldiered on. My next question cut deeper into the real meat of the matter. “Is resurrection of human beings even possible as they have been for our pets?” Their representative shook his head. The implications were devastating. It implied that not only could they not bring the dead back, but those people who had died (and everything they had ever been), was completely lost, forever. It really was a terrible thing to learn from a species far in advance of our own. I inhaled deeply and pondered my next question. I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to know any more. Confirmation of eternal nothingness was far worse than not knowing for certain. The alien seemed to be analyzing my thoughts. They possessed a certain level of clairvoyance but no one knew how much. It was difficult to read his expressionless face but I sensed an almost human level of empathy and compassion. Before I could summon the courage to ask another question, he addressed me. “The reason we must avoid this request is because humans who have died aren’t ‘dead’ in the same sense your pets are. They transition into another life-form which most of you wouldn’t recognize or accept. We... are your dead. After passing on, our spirits are drawn to another realm. This is the eternal form we take. In my past life, I was your uncle. Humanity has such a strong perceived notion about the afterlife that we felt you were not ready for the undiluted truth. In ancient times we were promised to inherit the Earth. We came back to fulfill that destiny and transform mankind to the next level. To be successful, it must be undertaken with a steady hand.” “Uncle Raymond?”; I choked out the bittersweet words in disbelief. My mind was filled with emotion. Tears welled up in my eyes and I fought back the awkward urge to fling my arms around my favorite ‘alien’ relative. Everything was going to be alright. I vowed to work diligently with ‘them’ to help ease humanity through the difficult transition into our next phase. In time, they could accept the whole truth. Until then, I had to keep the greatest secret in the whole world.


Once there was an evil Android with no heart, no soul, and definitely no brain. This evil Android was one of the most important people in the government of the country of Texas. How many lies did the Android tell in order to be elected into a position of great power, with an amazing salary, and many lovely benefits, paid travel, and great prestige. It was a dream job that few Androids could secure. The Android was very happy to take the position and the salary, but he wasn’t actually willing to do the work to earn that salary or the respect that came with the job. He had won the election; he would get the money... but he absolutely did not care about the people of the country of Texas. One day, a huge snowstorm hit the normally very warm country, but the government had not taken care of the equipment necessary to protect Texans lives. Equipment failed. Outdoor temperatures were lower than ever before. People were freezing to death in an environment that was normally quite warm... people had no heat, no water, and no way to obtain food. The situation was dire, and people were literally dying from the conditions they were in. As time passed, the people began to find that they were receiving power bills that were in the high thousands of dollars, yet in reality, if they had actually had access to the power grid, their bills would be much, much lower. It was another slap in their faces. It was devastating proof that they were at the mercy of a cruel Android who really didn’t care if they lived or died, as long as he got what he wanted and needed, and was paid a high salary to do a job he neglected to do. People were sad; they were angry; they had been betrayed by someone they had trusted to do the job they hired him to do. They got sick; they got abandoned; they got overcharged for electricity they didn’t receive... and many of them died from the horrible conditions they could not control. The people of the country of Texas were faced with so many problems just trying to survive the storm that raged day after day. The snow was very cold, and their power was shut off because the government, which the Android was in charge of, had failed to maintain the equipment necessary to provide power for heating their homes, provide them with drinking water, and trucks to remove the snow from the roads so they could safely go buy food for their family. All this was happening during the greatest pandemic of their lifetimes. Many people were ill from the pandemic and now they were suffering greatly because of the storm. Did covid-19 patients die from lack of electricity to run the machines needed to keep them alive? We don’t know. Many people not in the hospital died. They had no way to stay warm. Their phones eventually died from lack of power, so they couldn’t even call someone who cared. They were cold, they were hungry, they were frightened and they felt abandoned. They had trusted the Android to insure that they would be safe in their time of need... yet he had abandoned them, and flown to Cancun for a vacation. All of the people wished they could go on a vacation to a warm, sunny place with lots of water, and food to eat. But they couldn’t afford to fly to Cancun for a vacation. They were trapped in the horrible storm. Their pets died... and then their friends and relatives died. Would they be next? They were struggling to survive the dangerous storm... but the government the Android was in charge of had failed them. The Android had failed them. They were either in the threat of death or they had already died. They had no hope. Their chosen leader had failed them. The Android had decided this was a great time to go on a vacation, so he abandoned the people of Texas and went to Cancun on a pretend vacation. When caught, he lied, about whether the vacation was pre-planned; he lied about why he had gone; he lied about whether the people he was hired to take care of had been taken care of; and whether it was ever in his power to take care of the people who trusted him to do his job. He sunk so low as to blame his young daughters for him going on vacation. People now knew that the Android had lied to them, and that he had abandoned them in their greatest time of need, then lied to them about his “planned vacation”. Many people were dying from the horrible conditions, and the Android had just gone on an unplanned vacation. Even when the Android suddenly returned to Texas, he still did nothing to help them. He just didn’t care. Now, it is up to the people to prevent the Android from further damaging their lives, if they survive the terrible storm. The people became aware that the story of a little girl, a cowardly lion, a heartless tin man, and a brainless scarecrow was much better... because they did not desert anyone when things got rough. The group had survived... but they had hope and they weren’t in a storm of the century. But the situation in Texas was not a story... it was very real, and very deadly. Yet... where was their elected official Android when they needed him to help? He had taken the money they had paid him to protect them. He had flown to Cancun to be warm; to eat well; to enjoy life. He had abandoned them in their hour of greatest need. The people of Texas will need to remove the horrible Android from his position of power... a power that he took advantage of at the cost of many Texans lives. Even when he returned suddenly, he did very little to improve the situation. For many of the people of the country of Texas, the losses they had suffered were great, and probably would never be rectified; the family and friends who had died would never be a part of their lives again. There were many people left... but they would never forget those loved ones they had lost. They must go on without them. Can they succeed? Will they fire they fire the Android? We can hope they do.


Betsy was in a mood. Normally she worked quietly in her cube leaving only to go to the occasional meeting. She rarely ventured off her floor except to go to the lunchroom. Even that was rare as she usually ate her lunch in front of her computer while surfing the internet for the latest news on her favorite celebrity. Today felt different. It started when she walked into the building and the man in front of her, shook his wet umbrella, soaking her in the process. She waited patiently to smile and forgive him when he said “excuse me, I am so sorry,” but the apology never came. Instead, she stood in the lobby staring at his dry, black wool jacket as it disappeared into the elevator. Others jostled around her as she heard the shoomp and thud of the elevator doors and the ding indicating another car had arrived to shuffle more volunteer prisoners to their identical gray cubes. Slowly she turned her eyes down to her rain spotted skirt, hose, and shoes. It was then that something clicked. Betsy strode to the elevator, stepping in front and ahead of others, not saying, “excuse me” or “sorry” once. As the silver doors started to shut, she reached over the person nearest the buttons and pushed her floor. She hesitated a second , reached over again and pushed another button. The person nearest the buttons smiled indulgently as she reached out yet a third time and pushed one of the few lingering unlit buttons. “A little confused today?” someone asked. “Nope, not at all,” Betsy declared as she stepped out onto her floor, leaving the remaining occupants frustrated as they realized their trip was now extended by several minutes. Betsy walked quickly to her desk. She sat in her chair, then clicked on her computer. She stared at the cold, shiny screen and watched the light flicker and the screen start to animate. She reached over and turned off the computer without shutting it down properly. She stood up. She turned around and walked to the kitchen. Once in the kitchen she looked around, She had been in there plenty of times to grab a coke or a Styrofoam cup of water. Betsy didn’t like coffee, but she liked the rich warm smell. She looked at the big carafes of coffee and the sign posted above, pleading for you to brew more coffee, if you were so unlucky as to draw the last cup. A slow smile crept over Betsy’s face. Quickly she grabbed a cup and filled it with the dark, slightly burnt smelling liquid. She glanced around, like a spy about to be caught, and slowly she dumped the brew into the sink. Giggling, she filled the cup up again, and again dumped it down the drain. A third cup filled and this time Jones from accounting came in. “Awful weather isn’t it?” he asked. “ I dunno, I kind of like the rain,” Betsy replied. “Damn, I hate getting to the end of the coffee. Looks like there might just be another cup or two left here.” Jones said as he shook the carafe. “This one’s already empty.” he stated as he shook the second container. “Lucky you got a cup already. See ya later” and Jones left Betsy alone in the kitchen. “See ya” Betsy replied. She was already pouring the coffee down the sink . There were indeed two cups left in the first carafe. When both of them had joined the previous three on their way to the sewer, she threw the cup away and went back to her cube. Once back at her desk, she turned the computer on again. It started up and then came to a warning screen, alerting her to the fact that she had not properly closed down the computer last time asking if she wanted to continue. Well, did she? She reached for the phone and dialed the number for the Helpdesk. “Helpdesk, can I have your name and employee number?” a bored voice answered. “Betsy and 10038949” “Could you repeat that number please?” the bored voice asked. “1879426” she replied. “Uhm...Is that the same number you gave me before?” the voice asked, slightly confused. “Yes, of course, 10038949” Betsy smiled into the phone. “Oh...ok...Betsy Smithers at extension 6240?” “Yes that’s correct, extension 6340.” “6340?” “Yes, 6240.” “That’s not what you said the first time.” The voice started to sound a little angry this time. “I am sure that it is. Betsy Smithers, Employee number 10038949, extension 6240.” Betsy replied sweetly. “Uh, ok, whatever. What can I help you with today?” “My computer is not working” “OK. What is not working?” “My computer.” “I got that, WHAT on your computer is not working?” The voice got a little louder. “Oh,” Betsy feigned innocence, “There is an error message.” “What does the error message say?” The voice sighed. “It says I did not close my computer down properly, and do I want to continue?” “Click yes” “But I am not sure.” “What?” The voice was sounding really confused and a little startled. “Well, I mean, it is kind of a commitment isn’t it? What if I continue and I find later I don’t want to after all? I have already said I would and now here I go changing my mind. What if I shut it down improperly again? What happens then? It is just so much to decide.” Silence from the voice “Hello?” Betsy prompted, smiling into the phone. “I think you will be okay to continue,” the voice said slowly. “Well, if you’re sure...” She hit the button. “Uhm, did it come back up?” the voice hesitated after a minute. “Yep, right as rain! Thanks for your help, you’re a genius!” Betsy gushed into the phone and hung up before the voice could say goodbye. Betsy sat glaring at the colorful screen. She stood up and stared out the window several rows over to the cold, dark, gray rainy outside. She sat down again. She called her supervisor. “Bill?” she wheezed into the phone. “I am not feeling so good.” She paused for a cough. “I am going to go home and get some rest” Here, she snuffled loudly. “Thanks, yes, I’ll let you know how <cough> I feel in the morning” She hung up the phone, turned her computer off improperly again, grabbed her things and left before the computer screen had fizzled completely out. For her “therapy” she decided to do some shopping at the mall. She wandered in and out of stores. Unfolding the shirts and sweaters displayed so neatly in front. She tried on clothes and left them in a pile in the dressing rooms, handing the hangers to the salesperson on the way out, empty handed. She bought a $300 skirt. Then she went to eat some lunch. After lunch she went back to the store and promptly returned the overpriced skirt. She smiled as she felt the cashier glaring at her back when she left the store humming. After the mall, she stopped by the grocery store to buy some a few things. She asked the deli man to cut a pound of salami, then handed it back to him, saying it was much too thick. When he cut another pound so thin, it looked like fleshy red tissue paper, she said she’d changed her mind and she wanted some pre packaged prosciutto instead. As she wandered around the store, she carefully gathered up twenty items. She then proceeded to unloaded them in the express lane for fifteen items or less. Betsy almost laughed out loud when she saw the lady behind her count the items under her breath as she struggled with a screaming toddler. Betsy patiently found the correct change in pennies in the depths of her purse, and handed it to the pimply teenage cashier. She then asked if she could get fifty dollars in ones. As the cashier slowly counted out fifty one dollar bills into Betsy’s outstretched hand, the toddler started to grab candy and magazines off the shelves. Betsy left in a hurry. She knew there were limits. At home, she unloaded her bags and turned to come face to face with her seven year old son. He had a snotty nose and his shirt looked like it had been a tissue most of the day. “I am hungry and Daddy said I can’t have anything until you come home and I said I just wanted a snack and he said no, but I am STARVING. When is dinner going to be ready because I am really hungry NOW! Yes, I did all my homework, except the stupid stuff I need you to help me with and can I have this candy. No one else really likes it and I am sooo hungry...” and he wandered out of the kitchen, candy in hand. She soon heard a crash coming from his brother’s room, followed quickly by yelling from the brother and then shortly after more yelling and a few curse words from her husband. Betsy stared at the empty grocery bag wondering where that kid had come from. Her husband walked in, depositing a half eaten candy wrapper in the trash. “So how was your day?” he asked grumpily. “Just about perfect,” she said as she kissed his cheek .” A beautiful rainy day” and she smiled.