I knew better than most that kids in books are parentless. The day I transformed from Katya’s hero to the villain in her story was the day we faced each other across a glass partition when she was only six years old. “If you don’t come home with me today, Daddy, I will never forgive you,” she said. And she never did. There were two things that Katya loved. Traveling and animals. For her sixth birthday, we had a big “Wild Birthday Party” at the Central Park Petting Zoo. There were lemurs, crocodiles, sea lions, peacocks, goats, rabbits, and even a giraffe. Katya was in her glory. That was the day that Special Agent Felder decided to arrest me and perp-walk me nearly a mile out of the park, with Katya and her classmates following after like a forlorn train of ducks. Screaming after me. But that wasn’t the day that everything went wrong. That came a few months earlier, in October. The day my life changed forever, the first of many, was when Boris drove up in a flashy new Mercedes Benz Roadster and said, “Alex, how are you?” But my first thought was how a kid from Little Odessa in Brooklyn could afford a whip like this, and how I could get myself one. While we caught up, we sailed down the streets of Northern New Jersey that bordered our Newark neighborhood. The ride was incredibly smooth and quiet compared with my beater Toyota Corolla hand-me-down, which I was very thankful to have. “I have something for you,” Boris said. “Let me tell you, it is as easy as taking candy from a baby. A malýshka.” Boris lived in a roach-infested project building in Newark that always smelled of a vile potpourri of weed, mildew, and vinegar. He lived one floor down from the apartment I shared with my grandmother and my sister at the ironically named, Hilton Housing Projects. So, I had to know how he had pulled this off. Boris had his own way of building suspense. Not original. Or endearing. But uniquely ‘Boris.’ He laughed hysterically and told me to wait and see. But explained nothing. Eventually, we pulled up at a large high-rise building bordering the Hudson River, complete with a marble inlaid lobby, a doorman, and gold trim around the elevators. “Alex, before I tell you this, let me ask you a question. Are you tired of Daryna breaking your balls, Katya having no nice clothes? What are you willing to do to stop this?” As I thought it over, he continued, “If I can show you how to take the crumbs from the rich man’s table, take what he would barely even notice was gone, I am assuming you agree this is justice? Am I right?” I nodded my head, excited to hear how it worked. For some reason, I was sure Boris knew what he was talking about. I was sure they wouldn’t notice. But they did notice. Boris explained that all we had to do was get the mail from these large, high-rise apartment buildings and sort through it. If we could match an envelope for a new credit card with a paper bank statement, we would have just about everything we needed to make a killing. Strangely enough, I never even thought about getting caught. I was far too desperate to keep my family together and to pay some delinquent bills. Far too certain of Boris’s abilities. But all of that was over now. It was nearly five years ago. And yet the echoes of that day resonated with the fresh, crisp sound of words just spoken. The kind of echoes that ricochet down the halls and corridors of a prison, reminding you of all the walls and concrete between you and freedom. Even after the arrest, I still thought maybe the jury would see it my way. My criminal defense attorney used to say, “You want to know who wins in court: widows, orphans, United States Government takes all--that’s all there is to it.” And as usual, he was right. The Essex County Correctional Facility was off one of these industrial blocks behind the Newark Liberty International Airport. From Newark Bay to the winding Passaic River, the little island the jail inhabited looked across the water to Jersey City, which sat above the crook of Bayonne, and somewhere in the gray distance, the Statue of Liberty stood tall beyond the shores, too far away to see in the low visibility of the gray morning. The green verdigris of the statue and the Paris green paint of the prison, laced with arsenic, were mirrors of one another. It seemed that all that was gold, all that was immutable, was destined to rust and green with time. And all that was green and implied life had a bit of poison mixed in the brushstrokes. The imposing green four-story building was sandwiched between the gray streets and the gray skies. A liminal space between liberty and bondage, between order and chaos, between hope and despair. After sixteen months within these walls, I was awaiting my final sentencing, which would inexorably lead me back through the prison system, to a halfway house, re-entry, and monitoring--to life in the outside world. That time was empty. Like a journey through the vacuum of space. It seemed to take forever to travel through. An infinity of silent waiting while my little girl got older and older, while the wet cement of my abandonment hardened more and more until it was like a field of hardened steel. But looking back, it seemed no more than the snap of my fingers. * * * After using my bus ticket and returning to Newark, I made some calls and located Frankie’s Emporium. I still had some of the money from my crimes stashed away, and there was only one thing on my mind--turning back time. Frankie’s Emporium was the junkyard of advanced technologies. And that is being generous. Real junk could file defamation charges for false association--that was how bad this stuff was--this was the kind of junk that proper junk looked down its nose at. But Frankie was a charmer. You wanted to buy from him. You wanted him at your birthday party. He was a big doughy lump of warm feelings. Not the best looking. Not the worst. He inspired neither envy nor revulsion. He had a Roman nose, slightly hooked for good measure, so you always felt a little ‘better than’ on some level, even if subconsciously. Everyone said Frankie was a ‘good guy.’ Every item in Frankie’s repurposed airplane hangar at the Teterboro Airport looked like a relic from the World’s Fair that had been left out to rot for over a century. The time machine itself appeared to be nothing more than a stainless steel cylinder with a door big enough for a man to enter through. Frankie claimed this was the last of its kind. The last time machine. If you can believe that. These things used to be like toasters. Spoiler alert. I haven’t seen a toaster in forty years. But go back to 1980 and find a kitchen that didn’t have one. I’ll wait. Still. The “last” time machine. Kind of hard to believe. Kind of a bold claim. Scavengers and pawn brokers said things like that a lot before they mentioned the premium they required to part with such a one-of-a-kind treasure. Little did I know, in this case, that the machine was just too hot to handle, and Frankie was willing to give it away; he just wanted it as far away from himself as possible. Where did Frankie get this thing? That was what I wanted to know. Time machines were often described as looking like enormous dunk tanks or as looking like gigantic men’s hats with an open crown. Colloquially, they were called time yachts, since the brim or the balancing level was traditionally ovular like a Fedora and turned up at either end with a small adornment like a Viking faering lined in silver. That and the feeling of traveling through time was a lot like boating in rough seas. At one time there were great time yachting festivals for the rich. Special drugs the wealthy could take to mute the gnarly effects of the time jump. The time yachts came in all shapes and varieties, from the deluxe, luxurious mega-yachts to the stark, no-frills, get-the-job-done kind--like the one Frankie was showing me. At one time, they were like television sets. Nearly every family had one. But these days, these machines were as illegal as weapons-grade plutonium. If you were caught with a working yacht, you could face death or worse. It turned out that time machines caused early onset dementia. Then came the surgeon general’s warnings. But time travel kept increasing anyway. Some say the danger drove people to it more. Then, it started getting out of control. There were lots of accidents from misplaced jumps. Buildings catching fire. Bad stuff. People couldn’t get off time travel. It was just too addictive. Next, the time anomalies started. Being that you merged with your younger self, there were a lot of unintended consequences that were only vaguely understood. Like people with one disease suddenly returning with a different ailment. Strange stuff like that. The time anomalies did it. Time travel was banned. Banned hard. This one was rusting. With an orange patina by the creases. Spend enough time in prison and you start to realize that everything is rusting. Ironically the hardest of metals can’t withstand a gentle breeze on a long enough time scale. And yet I thought I could restore to vintage the discarded love of a daughter--a salvaged wreck in the junkyard headed for the steel processor. Just like the time machine, which looked like it was already on its way there. There was stippling on the outer surface from the electromagnetic compression of the gravitational field as the layered cylinders spun violently in oppositional directions. Was that even safe? It was a jalopy. You were taking your chances with this thing even on a one-way trip. “You can only use it once,” Frankie said. “And there are no guarantees. Know what I mean, pal? I doubt you are going to power this puppy up twice and live to tell the tale. You know what I mean, or no? Ain't she a beaut’ though?” “I’ve got it, sure, ‘a beaut’” I told him. “How much?” “Are you kidding? Take it. I’m looking for someone to offload this thing. Do you think I want to rot in a cell? Just get it out of here and it's yours. And one more thing.” “What’s that?” “Forget you were ever here.” I turned to look back at Frankie, a little upset he hadn’t invited me to catch up after all the time I’d been away. I looked into his eyes as if to ask, “What aren’t you telling me?” “Okay,” he said, like that simple glance was enough to crack his defenses. “The prior owner said it is best to overshoot the mark. The gauge is a little ‘temperamental.’ I’d suggest you set it for a week earlier than you need to be, just to be on the safe side.” “Temperamental?” I asked, adding, “Did he specify if it was temporally or proximally?” “Shit. Good question. Jesus. I didn’t think of that.” “If it is proximally, then if I overshoot, I’ll be in the void of empty space...” “Jeez... don’t do that.” “If it is temporally, then I’ll be fine, as long as it is locked in with its proximal sensors.” “Might want to take that thing to a technician before launch. You know what I mean or no?” Then Frankie put his arm around me, lowering his head, bringing me into a conspiratorial circle. He looked up, outstretched his arms, palms up, in the direction of the machine, as if lifting it up to the skies. It was like he was saying, ‘Your chariot of death awaits.’ Then he said, “Hell of a way to go! Stylish. Don’t you think?” I pulled away from his embrace and looked him dead in the eye. “You’ve got the wrong idea here, Frankie. I don’t want to die. I’m going back to square things away with my little girl, Katya.” “Oh, my bad. Let me ask you a question. How, exactly are you planning to do that ?” “Good question. You think this junker will get me back before the problems started in one piece?” “Absolutely. Sure thing,” he said. “Hey Frankie,” I said. “You have a daughter?” “Sure do. Real firecracker, got my hands full with that one.” “What’s her name?” “Gianna.” “Would you take this clunker back to make sure everything turned out alright for Gianna?” “Hey, asshole. What do you take me for? You think I’m stugots? What the fuck is the matter with you?” “No, no. My bad, you’re right. I’m out of my head. Thanks, Frankie.” “You got it.” * * * I decided to take my chances anyway. The whirring sound of the magnetic rotors accelerating sounded like the growling of the revved motor of a muscle car. The shaking of the chassis made my teeth chatter. The trailing of time backward felt exactly like the slipstream hugging the feral body of a race car. A weightless glide along the layered asphalt of the speedway. The acceleration made the spinning of the time machine appear to slow, along with my thoughts, the firing of the synapses of my brain, and the blood running through my veins. I wanted time to speed up, not slow down. I had an eternity of regrets. Too many to fix. There was just enough chop to notice that time was running away from me, as the yacht jumped wave after wave of slow-motion time ripples. There was the familiar sinking feeling of the stomach drop as we bottomed out in the trough of each wave, and the spray of time dross foaming around us. The alternating spells of feeling as heavy as lead, then light as a feather. The swelling of my biceps, my thighs, and my stomach as blood was pressed inward and away from the extremities. The bouncing heave-ho of the time waves, rocking my body to and fro. My eyes rolled back, presaging G-LOC. It was interesting that the weight was under my fingernails. In the crevices of my toes. It was everywhere. The pressure was ubiquitous. It felt like it was ripping my eyelids down. Yanking at my elbows. The hair inside my ears was buzzing with an electrical static that rang like a deafening bell. My vision receded to the size of a pin. My senses lost reliability. My consciousness bobbed in the waves, struggling to keep its head above water. The whomping sound of ataxia and loss of consciousness reverberated in my ears. But I hung in there. Until the space around me began to blur and warp. The space my eyes were glued to was like a mirror--smooth as glass--and then, suddenly, like an ocean wave, turbid and murky. The alternating, vibrating current of space finally cracked open like an egg to reveal a white and slightly yellowed void within, like Calcutta gold and feathered, seared marshmallows. Hard and soft. Hard as glass and soft as a vault of goose feathers. White as cotton but yellowed like just smoked ground tobacco in filtered rolling papers. As I passed out, it occurred to me that man wasn’t meant to take this journey. But I had no choice. * * * I kicked open the metal door as the smoking heap of flaming metal hissed, crackled, and popped. It could have been worse. At least I didn’t need the jaws of life. The yard of the Hilton Housing Project was full of browning grass choking for life, just like I remembered it. Home sweet home! If there was any way to trace it back to me, I would have received a citation for the condition of this jumper. I just had to finagle the instruments so that no one discovered that this thing was coming in from an illegal jump zone, a time when travel was banned. The last thing I needed was the authorities on my tail. First things first. Boris. I knocked on the door of his apartment until he finally came to the door in his boxers. “I’m out,” I said. “Out of what?” “Out of your get-rich-quick scheme. Out for good. And if my name comes up or you come see me to bring it up again, you are going to be on your way to the East Jersey State Pen.” “You’re going to rat on me?” “In a heartbeat.” “Bro, what did I do to you?” “This is going to hurt me more than it is going to hurt you--but I’m not taking any chances.” And with that I sucker-punched Boris, laying him out. I took the hand ties and tied his hands behind his back. Next, I tied him to the bedpost, sitting up and looking stupid. Finally, I called Special Agent Felder and left him an anonymous tip. My ruby-flare-colored Toyota Corolla felt like a performance vehicle after the bumpy ride on that time yacht. * * * By this time, Daryna and I had been separated for six months. She was back living with her mom out on Coney Island, and Katya with her. I drove out there to see Katya. She was there waiting at the door with her plush sloth doll. I took her for a walk down to the amusements. “If you don’t come home with me today, Daddy, I will never forgive you,” she said. I pinched her nose and said, “I’m coming back to stay, malýshka. Everything is going to be okay.”


The bell above the door tinkled as I pushed into the convenience store. I needed a few snacks and to pay for the gas. I couldn’t get over how here in the West people still had to go into the store to pay for gas. So much of this trip had felt like a step back in time. I grabbed the healthiest things I could and was surprised that there was fresh fruit in a basket. The price was nice, too. There was also a little stand of “freshly pressed” juices. How fresh could it be? But it did have a local farm sign next to it, so I grabbed a bottle. “You’ll want to grab you two of those,” called a voice from the front. “They’re that good, are they?” I called back. “Oh, yes! And Ms. Elsie don’t have much stock left.” I decided to humor the man and picked up a second bottle. Placing my items on the counter, I told the man, “I also have the blue car at pump two.” While the old man rang up my items, he started, “Oh yes, Mrs. Elsie makes the best juices for miles and miles around. Nice and fresh. That’ll keep you cool as the day heats up. Now, I don’t think I seen you around here before. You new around here?” “Oh, I’m just passing through.” “We get a lot of that. Now did you check your oil and tires while you were here? It’s a ways to the next station unless you’re turning off somewhere soon.” “Yes, sir. I checked all my fluids and the tire pressure. My daddy drilled that in my head.” “Ooh! He raised you right!” I couldn’t help but smile at the man (Ched by the name on his shirt). He reminded me a lot of my father. He seemed genuinely interested in talking to me and sincere in his concern about my ride. “Now, you going down Highway 22 toward the Capital?” “No, just staying on Highway 74 to Café Haven.” Ched frowned. “The half-way point on the road with no end?” “Yes, sir.” Ched’s frown turned into disappointment, but all he said was, “You be safe now, you hear?” “Yes, sir,” I replied as I gathered my items and headed back to my car. Whitesnake’s “Here I Go Again” played on the radio as I bopped along. The song had always resonated with me. I couldn’t help but smile thinking about Ched. He seemed like a man from another time. So genuine, a genuineness that I hadn’t seen in so long I had forgotten that people could be interested in other’s existences. His frown at Café Haven, though, struck me. Surely, he saw people passing by that had found the fulfillment of their dreams, their bliss, at Café Haven. But also, why did Café Haven look no closer on my GPS? I had been driving for hours. I lost myself in the music and tried to enjoy the landscape. The flat, dry, treeless tan that stretched as far as the eye could see was so different from the Big City; but I loved a good adventure and exploring the different, so I soaked it all in. Another hour passed and my attention started to drift. Suddenly a giant rodent...or perhaps a tumbleweed, flashed out into the road. I swerved. I hit an unseen pothole. Pop... and the steering wheel seemed to have a mind of its own. By the tug on the wheel and the noise from the road, I knew that I had a busted tire. I pulled over to the side of the road at an intersection with a smaller highway completely prepared to put the spare on myself. As much as I could, though, I hated changing the tires on a car. I was just squatting by the rear tire, tools by my side, ready to loosen the lug nuts, when a shadow passed over me. Looking up, I saw a woman a few years older than I. Her hair was swept in a messy ponytail and her white shirt was stained. She looked like a no-nonsense person from the start. “Hi. Need a hand?” she asked, getting right down to business. She didn’t wait for an answer but turned and waved her hand. I leaned over and saw a minivan, well-loved but not broken down, and a gangly teenage boy hop out of the passenger side. “Give this lady a hand please,” the woman addressed the boy. He looked at me and only said, “I got this ma’am.” I was so confused by the rapid change of things that I just stood up without thinking and moved out of the way. I finally found my voice. “Oh! Well, thank you. I don’t want to trouble you though. I do know how to do this,” I finally stuttered out. “No trouble, ma’am,” was all the boy said as he got to work. I didn’t know if I should be offended that they just assumed I needed help or by him calling me ma’am so much. I was still so lost that I was startled when I felt something cold on my arm. “Oh!” “Sorry, ma’am,” came a squeak from a younger boy who could have been the gangly teen five years earlier. “Here’s a water.” I took the water bottle and the little one scampered back to the side of the minivan. “Sorry about that, Miss,” the woman was speaking again. “I’m trying to teach him to announce his presence, but he likes sneaking up on people. I’m May. May McCardle. These are my boys, Jake and Harris.” “Hi, I’m Marielle. I really appreciate the help, but I really hope I’m not inconveniencing you. It’s really quite sweet of you all to help.” I tried to mean the words, but I also put my hand on the small of my back as if to stretch. I surreptitiously checked that my cell phone was in my back pocket. I could run if I had to. I had never had strangers just offer to help me out for no reason. I was frightened to say the least...but also glad to not have to get greasy. The woman gave a nice laugh. “It’s okay,” and she winked at me. “You aren’t from around here.” I wasn’t sure if that was a statement or a question. I tried to laugh and keep my answer light. “What makes you think that?” She laughed again. “It’s a rental car, and you don’t seem used to Western hospitality. We don’t leave people stranded on the side of the road. It’s too remote and too hot. It’s dangerous.” “Oh!” I relaxed a little. “Yes, well, thank you again.” The gangly teen made quick work of the tire, and the woman and I had only a few minutes to chat about the area. I kept an eye on the teen to make sure he wasn’t messing up anything - accidentally or on purpose. When he was finished, I thanked them again and tried to pay the boy. His mother was adamant that I not. She believed in doing good for the sake of doing good, but she appreciated the sentiment. As we started to part ways and both boys were back in the minivan, she finally asked, “Where are you headed anyway?” “Café Haven in the middle of Highway 74.” “The road with no end?” she asked. She frowned as Ched did. “Well, okay.” May seemed as if she wanted to say something else, but then she said, “Good-bye and good luck.” With that, she turned right on the connecting highway, I continued down Highway 74. I turned back on the radio and Whitesnake’s “Here I Go Again” was playing again. Man, the West sure loves it’s 80’s hair bands. For some reason I wasn’t feeling as into the song as I normally do. I changed the station and Tom Petty’s “Free Fallin’” rang out. The song selections were starting to unnerve me. I tuned the radio again and was met by some current pop hit that sounded like all the others. Good enough to shake my shoulders to as I cruised on. Hours later and the sun was moving quickly to the horizon. I checked my phone and realized I had service. I checked the GPS, but Café Haven had moved no closer to me. I messaged my friend...again. I noticed a station up ahead and decided it was time to hydrate and dehydrate and check the car. Just as I was pulling in, there was a loud clang under the hood of the car and smoke seeped from the edges. A shout of frustration escaped my mouth. I was able to maneuver the car into an out of the way parking spot in the station’s lot. I banged my head on the steering wheel and let the tears drop into my lap. My mind filled with the stress of what waited for me back at work, the silence of my friend, the foreignness of here, the flat tire, and now the busted engine. The tears just continued to fall. “You okay, Miss? You really shouldn’t stay in your car with it smoking like that.” I look up and into a set of beautiful hazel eyes. It was as if I was looking at a solar eclipse, a golden sunburst spreading out into an emerald ring. I quickly wiped my eyes. “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you. Just having the worst luck.” The owner of the eyes seemed about my age and quite attractive. He was dusty and casual which I had discovered was typical of the locals. He held the car door open as I grabbed my bag and got out. Of course, my cell phone was no longer in service. “Do you think the station has a phone? I guess I need to call the rental company.” “Sure. Old Man Luke has one at the counter in the store. He’ll help you out.” The call to the rental company didn’t go well. I couldn’t stop the feelings of despair. I let my head fall onto my arms and concentrated on taking deep breaths. “There now, young lady. Drink this. We’ll fix you right up.” Old Man Luke had placed a steaming hot cup of something beside me. The warmth of the mug was comforting despite it being a hot day. He had a kind smile that reached his crinkly eyes behind his thick glasses. His warmth and genuineness reminded me of Ched so much I wondered if they were brothers. I picked up the cup and took a sip and was startled. “Is this orange juice?” “Freshly squeezed,” he beamed. “Better than tea or coffee. Plenty of vitamins. It’s a local favorite remedy for anything that gets you down.” I looked skeptically at the mug but took another sip. And another. Hot orange juice. Who knew? “Ah, good,” Old Man Luke seemed pleased with my sips. “Now tell me what’s going on.” “The rental agency said they would send a tow truck out and I could pick up another car. Apparently, this one was not supposed to be rented out.” “Well, that’s good!” “The tow truck can’t get here for three days,” I continued, “and the new rental is in New Hope. Where is that?” “Ah, that’s a couple hours down Highway 74.” “Well, at least that’s in the right direction, but I don’t suppose there’s a bus that runs from here to there.” Old Man Luke scratched his head and considered the situation. “No,” he said slowly. “No bus around here. The rental can stay here until the tow gets here. Getting to New Hope...” He thought some more. “Hey, Luke,” the man with the eyes had come into the convenience store. “Did you-“ He stopped short when he saw me, the mug, and, I’m sure, my tear-stained face. “Sorry, to interrupt.” “It’s fine,” I said. “I’m just taking it all in. Go ahead.” Old Man Luke’s eyes lit up. “Cort, son, aren’t you heading back to New Hope today?” Cort, as he was called, looked suspiciously at Luke. “Yeeees,” he drew out. “Why?” “Well, this young lady needs to get there to get her a new car for her adventure.” Old Man Luke said nothing else but looked expectantly at Cort. The seconds ticked by uncomfortably. I tried to save us both. “Oh, no, I could never impose like that. Surely there a bus or train or taxi service...” Cort looked at me. “No to all three. It’s no imposition, but I do want to leave as soon as possible if you need to grab food or use the toilet.” Cort turned to Luke, apparently assuming the deal was done. “Did you get that package I ordered?” As the two men talked, I went to the bathroom in a fog. Was I really getting into a car with a total stranger? Was a total stranger really willing just to give me a ride, a ride that would be several hours? We hadn’t even discussed how much it would cost. Was this safe? I came out of the bathroom and found Cort standing next to a truck. Just like the minivan from earlier, it looked well-used but certainly not broken down. He was looking at his phone. “You have service?” was my way of greeting him. He looked at me and grinned. “You have to be a local to get service around here.” And he winked at me. Once more I was taken aback by the ease and openness of the people. Cort opened the passenger door, but I hesitated. He smiled again. “Strangers are often taken aback by the ways of the West. We take care of people around here. We stop for people on the side of the road. We give hitchhikers a ride. We feed and comfort those who need it. I promise to get you safely to New Hope.” Oddly satisfied, I hopped in the truck. Cort closed the door and got in on the other side. Whitesnake’s “Here I go Again” came on the radio, and Cort immediately changed the station. An even older tune came on that I couldn’t quite place. We rode for a while not speaking. I watched the landscape roll by. “Life in the city must be tough,” Cort said out of the blue. “Excuse me?” What he said hadn’t quite registered. “The Big City. It doesn’t seem like people help each other much there. Seems kinda lonely.” “I can’t argue with that.” “What’s in New Hope for you?” “Oh, I’m just picking up the new rental. I’m meeting a friend at Café Haven.” “At the middle of the road with no end?” And the frown of disappointment crossed Cort’s face. “Ok,” I said. “Every time I say where I’m going people frown and look disappointed. Don’t you people want people to find their bliss?” “Well,” Cort seemed to be considering his words carefully. “Highway 74 doesn’t end.” “Yes?” “Highway 74. No end means no middle. Café Haven has always been a legend, just a dream people chase until they are crazy.” I couldn’t help it. The tears started again. I was so embarrassed. My cheeks burned from a thousand suns. The obvious reality of it all hit me hard. “I’m so stupid,” I whispered. “Chasing a dream. Of course, people just made up finding it.” I turned my face to the window trying to keep him from seeing my tears. Cort let me cry. After a few minutes, I felt a hand enclose mine. He didn’t ask, but it spilled out anyway. “I’ve heard all my life that bliss could be found at Café Haven. People returned and said they had found it. I never let myself see they were just as miserable as before. I’m so drained back home, I put everything in this trip when my friend called saying this would be exactly what I needed. Why would my friend do this to me? My friend won’t even return my messages now.” I sobbed. Cort squeezed my hand. I wiped my tears. We changed the subject and spent the next few hours in easy conversation. We laughed. We shared deeply personal stories. We told silly anecdotes. I was surprised at how easy it was to talk to Cort, much as I was surprised by so much I had seen in the West. I was surprised at how fast the time had passed when Cort pulled into the station at New Hope where my new rental was waiting. Cort stayed with me as I got the new rental all checked out. “Are you continuing on Highway 74?” he asked. “I have to,” I shrugged. “Maybe the bliss is in the chase?” “That's lonely." Cort paused and then, "Dreams can be built with the right people.” Cort gave me a big hug. It felt so comfortable considering I had only just met the man. “Well, I’m turning here, heading into town. There is a great little diner with the best pie on Main Street that I’m going to have dinner at.” I smiled, and he held open the car door as I climbed in, ready to keep west on Highway 74. “You know,” Cort paused before closing the door. I buckled the seat belt and looked up into those hazel eyes. The sunbursts around his pupils were more pronounced, overtaking the emerald. “You know the thing about roads that have no end, you just have to choose to turn off them. New Hope is full of people who chose to build their dreams on a side road.” He closed the door, and I watched as he climbed into his truck. He gave a little wave as he turned south into town. I sat and sighed. I turned the car on and pulled out of the station. I looked west down Highway 74. Then I turned south into town. Pie sounded like a delicious idea.


“When life gives you lemons-” Yes, I know the fucking phrase. So help me Christ don’t finish it or I’ll snap your legs off and use them to stir a bathtub filled with your remains. As you can plainly see, I am in fact squeezing lemons to make lemonade. But it’ll take a damn eternity to squeeze them all. Why do I have a mountain of 26,687 mother fucking lemons on my front lawn? Couldn’t say. Woke up and there they fucking were. Only thing I know for certain is nobody asked me before they dumped all these stupid, shitty lemons here. Because believe you me, I woulda said “no.” Not just “no” but an emphatic “hell fucking no.” “Hell fucking no, I don’t want this avalanche of bitter scrotums. You massive dick.” Beautiful day too, perfect for a BBQ. But of course, my grill’s buried under heaps of lemons so high, they block out the goddamn sun. And of course, aforementioned goddamn sun is quickly ripening all these sickening lemons into a rancid mush that every insect in the country is flocking to. Because apparently insects are huge fucking assholes. So yes, I’m squeezing these sons of bitches. I’m squeezing these little bastards as fast as I fucking can. I’m about 863 lemons in, but who’s counting? Me, that’s who. I’m a prisoner marking his sentence, yearning to be free of this plague of lemons. This pox of lemons. This ebola-outbreak-in-a-major-urban-area of lemons. Jesus, just looking at all those flaxen sphincters is making me wish I died of scurvy. You ever had lemon juice squirted in you eyes? How about 863 times? Goddamit! Make that 864. Sure it stings like a bastard but at least each eyeful of this acid piss momentarily distracts me from the fact that I now have carpal tunnel in both wrists. Lemon induced carpal tunnel. Try explaining that one to your insurance provider. Not that I can go to the doctor anyway. Too many lemons to squeeze. Also, a freaking metric-ton of lemons crushed my car. Only had three payments left on that piece of shit too. Oh, not only that but my daughter hates me now. She walked onto the lawn this morning with this little cardboard sign. Apparently she’d independently decided to set up a lemonade stand today, selling it for fifty cents a glass. Well, she took one look at me and this yellow cesspool and quickly realized I’d flooded the market, drastically depreciating lemonade prices all down the block. She instantly burst into tears. It’s hard not to feel like a fucking prick about that. Which is also what she called me before digging her severely dented bike out of a mound of lemons and screaming that she was running away from home. I have no doubt that this supply-side trauma will lead her down a path of hard drugs. Because she mentioned that as well. So feel free to have a sip of this lemon discharge. Or a gulp. Or an IV drip. Just get rid of as much of this never-ending citrus nightmare as you can. Please I beg you. I’m running out of receptacles. I’ve used all my jugs, cups, bowls and have now resorted to filling hats with this sour urine. Cause you see, I may be squeezing these lemons but they’ve squeezed far more out of me than I ever could have imagined. My blood, my sweat, my tears. My dignity, my self-respect, my zest for life. I’m now nothing more than an empty rind of a man, waiting to be mashed into oblivion. Also, before you lift that cowboy hat, I should mention, this lemonade’s pretty fucking tart. Could probably use some sugar if you have any.  If you made it this far, thanks for reading.


The clouds are completely still in the sky. Each little fleck of winding grey vapor perfectly frozen in place, like someone had taken a photo and suspended it in the sky. All of us in this town are used to such a sight by now, it was one that occurred every week. It marked the arrival of the train. I could hear the freakish howling of its rusted wheels echo through the valley. How it reaches us we still don't know. There isn't any one left alive to set it in motion. More troubling is where the train goes. I have followed the track and found the end of the line: the crumbled remains of a bridge. It would seem that it had nowhere to go and no way of getting back and yet it returns to us every single week. I can see the stream of black smoke approaching. Over the weeks many people have gotten aboard the train. We never see them again. Everyone just assumes they're dead. The long grey body of the train glides around the corner, it's rusted bolts and warped ridges coming into view. The engine is totally silent, the only noise coming from the rough metal of the wheels scraping against the tracks. It comes to a stop and the doors open. As usual, it's empty. I can't stand not knowing anymore. This week, I will be the one that boards. I move my leg forwards slowly, just placing the tips of my toes in the carriage. I breathe in deeply, eyes focused on the gap between the train and the platform. Would I die if I step in this train? Even if I did, would that matter? I felt the worn skin of my hands from the endless hours I had spent in the fields. Would I rather return and never know, or would I rather risk death? I breathe out slowly. Grasping the rough metal of the door frame, I cross over the gap and into the carriage. The doors slide shut. The carriage wobbles slightly as the steam engine awakens. The wheels begin to turn and I see my town fading into the distance. A pale red carpet lay across the floor of the carriage. Moss and fungus had grown over most of the windows and lined the interior. The white paint was peeling off and is covered in sour yellow blotches. Much to my dismay, there aren't any seats around. Looking through the door to the next carriage, I can see what must be the driver's compartment up ahead. I push the door open and walk into the next carriage. It's the same as the previous one. The carpet is stiff, more like wood than fabric. As I open the door to the driver's compartment and step in, I find myself stepping onto the stiff red carpet. I quickly glance up. Another carriage stretches out in front of me, the driver's compartment seemingly behind the door up ahead. I walk quickly through this carriage and open the door, only to find myself setting foot into another carriage. I begin to run and keep going through a seemingly endless amount of carriages. I collapse to the floor breathing quickly, sweat dripping from my forehead. My heart aches and my body feels heavy. I grasp onto the wall and pull myself up. Outside, I can see water. Just water, stretching for miles and miles. I glance back and see the same endless ocean out of the other windows. I feel the train beginning to slow down. I clutch tightly onto my chest and try to slow my breath. As I looked closer at the water I could see that like the clouds, it was frozen in place. The train glides slowly to a stop. The worn metal of the door grinds against the frame as they heave themselves open. I pick myself up gently and look out the door. Small gems of light danced across the surface of the water as the sun shone down on the ocean. My hands are shaking uncontrollably as I reach down to touch the ocean. I feel each ridge of the water. It doesn't feel cold or hot, it doesn't feel like anything. My hand just moves across its surface without any sort of sensation. I step out carefully and walk forward. The ocean feels totally flat beneath my feet. I stood totally still, my heart still aching. The gems of light began to move forwards across each ridge of the water, gathering at a single point in front of me. The light rose up from the surface of the water and started to take shape. It soon became clear what the light was forming. It was a human figure. The light began to settle and fade, the detail of the figure becoming much clearer. It was a women, much taller than me. Her arms and legs are very slender and long. Her skin is white like snow and clung tightly to every bone in her body. Her eyes are perfectly spherical, she has no eyelids, instead the flesh seems to curve smoothly inward to form eye sockets. She had no hair anywhere on her body. Where her nose should be there was only smooth skin. Her lips where very thin and her mouth stretched across most of her face. I could barely breath. I wanted to run back onto the train but my entire body felt stuck in place. "I can see you" Her voice is like velvet. I can almost feel it flowing over and around my body. My heart felt so heavy, like it could fall through my chest at any moment. "Why do you fear me?" I opened my mouth to answer. All I managed was a small croak. My throat was so dry. She tilted her head slightly and raised her long arms up, draping them over my shoulders. I finally manage to push out a sentence. "W-who... are you?" "I'm the one that waits for you until there is no more light." She steps back slightly and stares directly into my eyes. I can't look away. It feels as though iron clamps are keeping my head in place. I can't make my eyes look away. I mutter quietly, "where am I?" "You are in the place things go when they are no longer in sight." Her eyes feel like they are pulling me towards her. Sweat drips down my forehead. My legs feel weak. It feels as though a thick fog has enveloped my mind. "W-where are the others that boarded that train?" She arches her back slightly and move closer. "They are right here with me" "With... you?" "I feel them moving. I hear their thoughts and I feel their fear. They thrash and writhe and scream, but they do not understand that they are safe with me." I desperately try to hold back the urge to vomit. I feel a lump in my throat. I want to cry. The sky begins to fade away, revealing bright colours streaking quickly by. The ocean begins to move again, small waves lapping over my feet. Large clocks begin to rise and float on the surface. The sound of their ticking is like an explosion ringing through my head, piercing my body and my mind. She was now right in front of my face. "Do you remember the moment when your town became the last on Earth?" "I... no... It feels like things have... always been that way. What's going on? Please, please tell me." "Your town has been the last for a very long time. Everyone else, I took away. The tracks get shorter and I get closer whenever one of you boards that train." The colours in the sky spin and warp into a liquid. It drips over my body and seeps into my eyes. I can no longer see. I feel as though I am floating away from my body. Like the very walls of my mind are melting away. In the distance, I can hear something. Like glass being shattered. I feel myself falling towards the sound, the ticking of the clocks getting quieter and quieter. My vision begins to return, and I am looking at myself. The sound is clear to me now: it is the screaming of millions of people. I see the skin of my body begin to turn grey. It shrivels and clings to my skull before it starts to peel away and maggots crawl through my bones. The women moves her arms off my body, and it becomes clear I am seeing through her eyes. She walks back and the tide of the ocean beneath her grows slowly stronger and stronger. She lets herself be carried away as the sun emerges from the black sky. As the light dances and hops across the water, I feel my thoughts drift into the sea. I don't even remember my own name, or where I came from. I feel millions of hands pull my mind apart like it is liquid. My thoughts shine bright blue in the inky black vortex of screaming, before being pulled apart by its current. Their colour fades to black.


“Okay, be quick about it. The sun’s going to set soon.” Henry says, glancing over his shoulder at the horizon. “There isn’t much time.” “Okay, okay,” I, an interviewer with the local news, says. “So, you’re a vampire?” “Yes.” Henry nods. “But you can’t go out at night?” “Yes.” He nods, again. “I also can’t go into darkness or shadows. Anything but light burns my skin.” He raises his tan hand, a dark scorch mark runs across the back of his hand and wrist. “Want to know how I got this?” “I--uh, sure, yeah.” Henry crosses the space between us and our eyes lock, and he places his fingers against my temples and oh my God. It’s like I’m floating above us, another me standing dazed with Henry’s fingers to my head. The vision blurs, swirls, twists, and I’m hovering above Henry standing on the sidewalk in the middle of the day, looking down at the ground. I can’t see what he’s staring at, then I am next to him. There’s a grass yard, shadowed by a gabled house. Henry is holding an empty waffle ice cream cone, and in the yard is a ball of what seems to be strawberry ice cream. His teary eyes are strained, focused, and his fingers are tittering against his lag. He’s debating, hesitant. He stands on the shadow’s edge, lets out an exaggerated exhale and lunges for the ice cream-- I’m thrown back into my body and Henry steps back. “You see?” he says. “Terrible, isn’t it? Strawberry is my favorite flavor.” He continues walking down the sidewalk. It takes me a moment to shake the haze from my mind, then I catch up to him. “Yeah-- uh, yeah, sorry; that must suck.” He nods. “It does.” “Anyway, my next question: uninvited places. In stories, vampires can’t enter places unless they’re invited in. Is this true?” “It is,” he says, but shakes his head. “But, not for me.” “How so?” “I can only enter places I’m not allowed in.” “What?” “Like,” he starts to say, stops walking, and glances around the houses lining the street. “Ah!” He spins me around and points with a skeletal finger. “You see that house, there?” “Which one?” “The brown one with white trim, there; right there!” I nod. “Oh, yeah, that one with the ‘No Trespassing’ sign in the yard?” “Yes, yes, that one. Places like that I can enter.” “But not places you’re allowed in, like coffee shops or malls or any of these houses with no signs?” “Correct.” I face him, rub my forehead. Can’t anyone do that? I think, but ask: “So you’re saying if I were to invite you into my home you couldn’t come in, yet if I told you that you weren’t allowed in, you could?” He smiles, revealing two pearly sharpened fangs. “Yes, yes! Now you underst--” His eyes widen, and horror streaks his face. “Oh, oh God!” “What?” I say. “What’s happening?” “The sun, it’s setting!” he points towards the horizon. I look to where he’s pointing, and he’s right, it’s setting. The sky is awash in burning orange and yellow. the sun a sinking red-orange orb. “I must go!” he shouts, and sprints away, turning at the end of the street and disappears behind a house. If you enjoyed the story and want to read more of my work, visit my and consider subscribing.


They are all beautiful until you get to know them. I catch a glimpse of them from across the bar and a lifetime of non-existent memories flood my mind. Sometimes choosing to stay strangers is the best thing. A thankless job yet, fruitful. Then they remain beautiful. Or maybe they find you beautiful and then you are the one who lets them down. There are those few times when you cave in to the desire and decide to talk to that beautiful stranger. Please, don’t do it. She had the eyes that looked like a black hole and no not in the “they are empty” kind of way but rather, they encompassed everything. She drew me in and had of way of staring up at me despite being much taller. She had legs that never ended, you can trace them with your eyes and you would get lost along the way. She was slow poured wine and I wanted a taste. She was recently divorced and was out enjoying her newfound freedom. She was sitting at the bar with a couple of friends and I happened to walk by and noticed those eyes. A playful taunt and unintentional were those eyes, god damn. “Wow you are beautiful”. She radiated a smile and I cannot remember what she said as I was intoxicated and was speaking purely out of misguided courage. She even told me her name which I immediately forgot. You see I never thought anything of it. I did not see her as something I had to have but rather I was exclaiming at the sight of something rare. I would leave her side and I won’t be a liar when I say she stopped existing in my mind. Being a regular at a bar means you meet legions of strangers. You also see the other melting faces on a regular basis. So unless someone becomes a staple then they tend to slip into the aether. So enjoying her freedom, she would come back fairly soon. Clara was her name and this time she had a male friend with her. A potbellied, red eyed, red faced and ornery man. I sat down and ordered my drink then Clara made her way to me. She sat down, lifted her long legs and pressed her knees against the bar for support. There they were, those damned things. I struggled to maintain eye contact as she talked to me. “Remember me?” Clara asked. “I’m sorry but I would be a liar if I said I did”. I replied “You called me beautiful and your name is Charles right?” “Oh yes, you had some friends with you?” At that moment the red faced man walks up to me. “You were hitting on my girl?” The man asks. “Yes, I did call her beautiful”. I replied. “If you’re intimidated by me then you have bigger issues”. He chuckled and walked away. Clara tilted her head looking at me and smiled. I had no reason to fear this man and my comment was purely innocent. We continued to converse and I, again, did not think anything of it. Couple of days passed and I had been around the local spots and again she eluded my mind. Pretty faces are a dime a dozen though she was particularly attractive, I maintained a certain amount of expectations or rather none at all. Then at the same bar where I met the red eyed man I would see her again. This time she was finally alone. Leg pressed against the bar with a Corona in her hand. I sat down beside her and she welcomed me. Tilting her head and smiling the whole time. I would get lost in the black holes that were her eyes. Clara and I would end up on the patio for a smoke where she would retrieve a small vial containing cocaine. I smiled at the audacity, sure we were alone but something as taboo as Colombian bam bam is not an everyday thing. People usually pull out a joint but, cocaine? Now I particularly do not enjoy weed as it makes you dull and lazy while this other stuff makes you superman. Clara proceeded to intake the substance and handed it to me. Now what made her think that I was a user eluded me for a second then I remembered I was wearing a cocaine movie poster shirt. I remember feeling some pride when I received a message from her one night asking if I wanted to drink with her. We met up and I proceeded to get pretty wasted but she drank slowly and was there more so for the conversation. She always tilted her head and smiled. Those black holes kept me put and we just talked. I would eventually forget about her legs and it was all about her eyes, I wanted to live there. We would play at a local retro arcade and proceeded to find a nook and this mad woman pulled out the vial and hand fed me. Within was a do not enter sign on a door and Clara tried the handle. “I want to see if we can get on the roof”. She said, Now I am guilty of some misdeeds but breaking and entering was not typical. Seeing as I was in a superman mood and Clara was a foul temptress, I pulled out my debit card and began working at the door. I had no idea of what I was doing but I wanted to give her an adventure, you know the kind you read about. She nudges me as an employee walks towards us. I doubted we could get in too much trouble seeing as it wasn’t a bank or a car but I dropped it, I had made no progress. We sat back down and I reached out for her hand. She withdrew and smiled. “I’m only looking for friends”. There they were. Those dreaded words. “Friends can hold hands, friends can do a lot of things”. I replied. I’ve had those kinds of friends before. “I’d prefer not to”. “Say no more I don’t want to spoil the night, forget about it”. We would continue to hang out and I didn’t mind. I was just prideful she chose to be around me. Then, one day, we ended up back at my place. We sat on the back patio and snorted blow and drank beer. I turned on an audio book by Charles Bukowski and Will Patton proceeded to put on quite a show. She would laugh and we would pause the book to discuss the moment. It was just us beneath the moon at three A.M listening to a short story about the most beautiful girl in town and there I was talking to the most beautiful girl in town. I asked her to stay the night and watch Dirty Dancing, she insisted on getting sleep but she was tempted considering it was her favorite movie. Now I did not have previous knowledge of this, it was just a lucky guess. When people are good friends they tend to have this telepathy, they are entangled in this “cosmic thread” and they can read each other. Then the eyes started glaring. The rumors began and the accusations followed. “She’s using you”. or “I don’t trust her,” they would say. I have nothing to be used for. I had no money, no house that I owned. She would pay her own tab and she shared her stash. They weren’t there to see our moments. They were beautiful moments, moments you would fall in love with, dangerous moments that could ruin a beautiful friendship. Then there was this moment. She visited my new apartment in which I had yet to finish moving in. We drank and smoked cigarettes as usual and we made our way to the couch. I gave her a blanket and she laid those long legs next to mine as we watched Dirty Dancing. The movie is made better when you realize Baby does not say anything when people begin to accuse her of being judgmental or somehow a villain. She is just there. We laughed and cuddled. I rubbed her hair, I leaned over and kissed her forehead. Clara looked back and smiled. She had this expression of content and it ate my soul. She closed her eyes and fell asleep. I went to my room where I had yet to move in the bed but I had an inflatable mattress. Now I am not proud to say I had the most beautiful woman in town sleep on an air mattress but, I had the most beautiful woman in town sleep on an air mattress. I pumped the air in while she was asleep on the couch. I thought if she didn’t hear the pump that it would make the situation a little more tolerable. I caressed her head and woke her up gently. She opened those eyes in which I lived. “Let’s go lay down”. I said. She followed me to the room and smiled. She laid down and was surprised the blankets smelled pleasant. We slept. The following morning my hands traveled around her legs and torso. I would travel underneath her shorts just beneath the waistband and felt no resistance. I teased her. Then I tried for her breast but she swatted my hand. “Don’t do that”. Clara says. “Oh! I guess I pushed my limits for today”. I replied I got up and made her coffee. Weeks went by and I hadn’t heard from Clara. I was bored and this time she had not eluded my mind. She had taken up valuable realty in there. I was riding this wave of pride because of that night. I sent her a message saying “Planet earth to Major Tom '' to which I received a hand waving emoji. I then remembered my status as “friend”. I left her alone. No one likes a needy partner let alone a needy friend. I tried to find other women to take up my time. I met this girl named Kimberly. She was also beautiful and taller than me. Everyone is. I’m unusually short for a man and not in the best shape. Now how I managed to procure two beautiful women was beyond me. I have had several partners in the past but I have not been very confident lately. Clara had boosted my ego and I was using it. Now Kimberly was not anything like Clara. She was very opinionated and talkative. I tried to show her some of my short stories which she tore apart. I usually use a typewriter then move them to a PC so they are full of junk and just hard to read. I tried explaining that to Kimberly but she had her ways. We hung out on the patio at the red faced man bar. She lit up a cigar which I found very attractive. It made her sexy somehow. She pulled out this kit with the clipper thing and a torch and it was just damn sexy. Now our conversations were pretty surface level and didn’t have any sense of intimacy. It felt like it was going nowhere and I could feel her distance. Some kid walked up and proceeded to talk to us. Her attention was directed to him for some time and I slipped away without saying goodbye. I wanted to see Clara but I didn’t dare message her. I found a job as a line cook and it was an intense job. A family owned bar with high volume that served shitty bar food. It was a busy Saturday night and I was cursing god and wishing death on everybody that walked through the front door. You could feel the sweat drip down your ass crack and tickets just came pouring in. My phone was hardwired to a speaker and some classic rock was playing when I heard a message come in. “Are you working?” Clara asked. “I get off at ten, meet me here, we’ll have a couple of drinks”. “I would love that”. Suddenly the night wasn’t so bad. The tickets were only there as a time waster now. I had something to look forward to. I was off a little after ten and walked to the dining area and there she was. I pulled her away from some stranger and we talked. She told me about how she had a shitty couple of days and she spent it at home, in bed crying. I comforted Clara and invited her back to my spot. We sat in the back smoking and drinking whiskey. She asked me to put on that audio book again and we shared a pleasant memory. She looked at me satisfied. “Awe you like me”. I said “Yes I do, you don’t pressure me for sex or want to give me anything, you’re just content with my company”. “Aww you’re so lame”. We shared a laugh. “I like you too Clara, you’re beautiful inside and out. We continued to talk and our views on sex came up somehow. I said I never kiss one night stands because I feel as though kissing is more personal. I felt a good fuck was less personal. She explained that she held both to be pleasurable regardless of intimacy. We watched TV and drank whiskey and spooned. I kissed her head and rubbed her legs and arms. “Kiss me”. I said. “No, you told me how you feel about kissing, I don’t want to lead you on.” “I, regardless of my height, am a grown ass man. Trust me I can handle this”. She laughed “No I trust you but, no”. I stopped my advances and asked her to go to bed. There I caressed her body again but this time I pulled her in and kissed the back of her neck. I breathed heavily close to her skin and could see the goosebumps. She turned around and straddled me. “Do you have protection?” She asked “No”. “What the fuck!” I never considered this would occur and I had not been active for a couple of months. At this moment though I was just enjoying her enthusiasm. I pinned her down and tore off her shirt and pulled her pants off. She was enjoying every moment of my invasion. I kissed her torso and hips and cunt. “Kiss me”. I repeated. “No, fuck me”. Clara moaned. “Only if you Kiss me”. She leaned forward and kissed me on the lips and I grabbed her head and bit her lips. I wanted to devour her. I wanted to dive into her body, mind and spirit. I wanted her to want me and there she was. “Fuck me” Clara moaned again. “No”. I replied. She had turned me down from holding hands to touching and kissing and wanted her to feel what I felt. She finally wanted me and I had Clara melting on my lap. She kissed me again, with intent and passion. She was on fire and I was basking in her heat. I wanted to tease her, to drive her wild, to think of me when I wasn’t around. I wanted to turn her down to remind her that I wasn’t after her body, I did not want to give her anything I just wanted her time. This was our moment. We wrestled and jumped on each other's faces, she would grab at my cock and I would tease her every which way. We would finally settle with a glass of whiskey and some slow music. She laid on my chest and we sang along and kissed. She would squeeze my arms and rub my body. This was the kind of moment people fall in love. If I could fall, if she could fall, we would fall. Neither of us fell or at least we didn’t know it. It has been so long that the sensation is alien to me. I offered to make her breakfast at my bar that morning and she accepted. I kissed her goodbye and went to work. A couple of hours went by and she was nowhere. I finally received a message that she wasn’t going to make it. I said that it was OK and I’ll see you soon. That Sunday proceeded to be just as miserable as the night before. Days would pass and I had not heard from her. I messaged her about some party to which she declined. I messaged her again about hanging out on my day off. To which I received no response. I would show up to the red faced man’s bar and I would walk in to see her there with some stranger. I tried to greet her but she turned her shoulder. I greeted the stranger and had a drink with another friend. I could see her across the bar but I didn’t make eye contact. I went outside for a smoke and when I returned Clara was gone. The stranger was still there but she had pulled that Irish goodbye. The night went on and I got drunk. My rage grew and I wanted answers. “So you’re going to shun me? I think I deserve better than this.” I sent her a message. No response. I never did see or hear from her again. Clara just disappeared from Earth, into the aether. No response to my last message. No show at the red eyed man’s bar. Just nowhere. I talked to that beautiful stranger and we made up a story. No ending. I still listen to the most beautiful women in town. Cass pulled an “Irish” goodbye on Chinaski, you know?. Clara might have done me a favor. I drink alone at night looking at the empty patio chair when Bukowski says “There was nothing I could do”.


The loud blaring of the alarm clock brought me back to reality. I was having the best dream before the dream snatching alarm click decided to go off. I was this close to kissing my high school crush. Bloody blocker!! I begrudgingly stood up from the bed and made my way into the bathroom My long blonde hair was literally everywhere. I look like someone who hasn't seen a comb or brush in like ages. I quietly observed my routines and got dressed. I have to go to work and the best part is that it's a night shift. Yay!! Note the sarcasm. I hate working, my mum decided to punish me because I snuck out of the house to party with my friends. I mean what does she expect am an adult now. I laughed out as the look on my mother's face appeared. "Chloe Clarissa Harrison, what in the world has gotten into you" After one of her long lectures of being responsible she decided to punish me by not giving me my allowances, according to her ; "You have to learn to be responsible" I picked up my purse and went down the stairs. "Mum am off!!! I yelled as I walked into the kitchen. "You don't have to yell am right here" she said with an agitated look on her face. "Whatever" I mumbled with an eye roll but of course, she heard. She always does. It's as if she has supersonic hearing. "You better watch that mouth of yours young lady" my mum said with a sassy tone, hands on her hips and her feet tapping on the floor board. "Sorry mum" I whispered "Now off to work. I'll be going for dinner with a friend be sure to take your keys " "Okay mum. Bye" "No kiss for mama? She asked still in her don't mess with me position "Of course there is" I ran towards her bad gave her a kiss "Love you mum" "Love you too baby" I made my way towards my custom made Ferrari, which is pink. I inserted the key and the engine roared to life feeling the eerie silence of MacDonald's street. I reversed and drove off to my newly acquired work place. " Perfecto " ......... My mum was the one that secured my position in this hotel and guess what my work is..... Waitressing!! That is like the worst kind of job (No offence, I love waiters. You guys are amazing. This is just for a good storyline) I've already made a new friend, Madison. She is just a little bowl of energy. Sassy, feisty, all out risk taker and that was what attracted me to her. I went into the dressing room and changed into my work clothes which consisted of a pencil skirt and a white shirt and of course, the apron. "What's up baby gal? Madison said with her fake western accent. "Am great. You look excited today, what happened? I know my friend way too well to decipher her emotions. She was all smiles, like toothy and stuff. "Oh no big deal just that the boss's son is present" she said with excitement. I let out a squeal and jumped up and down like a high schooler. I mean am one but not for long "Did you see him? Did you? I was really excited. Fernando has been my crush ever since junior high. He's like a walking Greek god. "You betcha" We both let out a loud squeal "Both of you!! Mrs Patricia our mini boss yelled. Our heads jerked towards her and our excitement quickly melted away. "GET BACK TO WORK!! She yelled in our faces. We both scurried off to wait on the customers. "You!! She called out "Yes ma'am" "I need you to go to the bar on the top floor and get me a Tequila bottle, now" I stumble out of the kitchen and towards the reception area. As I walked in I sighted Fernand o but I quickly hid before he could see me. Whenever I see him, my heart begins to swell and imaginary butterflies fills my stomach. I quickly went into the elevator and luckily no one was inside. I took out my phone and started scrolling through my Instagram. I was unaware that someone had gotten in with me. After I was satisfied, I quickly put away my phone and looked up only to be meant by the electric blue eyes of Fernando Oh biscuits I quickly turned away. But from the corner of my eyes I could see him staring at me. Oh goodness gracious! I was literally sweating out of nervousness and my emotions were everywhere. All of a sudden the elevator power went out. This can't be happening I reached out to the emergency phone to call for help but of course there was no signal I think its because we're stuck between floors or something. "I've noticed how much you stare at me when you think no one's looking" he said staring right at "Huh? I questioned as I tried my best to be as far away to him as I can get. "You always have that cute little smile of yours" he took a step towards me and I took a step back. We continued till I felt my back hit the wall. His face was just an inch away from mine, if the we're any sudden movement our lips would brush against each other. And I would love nothing more than that Shut up Chloe!! You know you want it as much as I do Shut up girl!! He placed his hands on either side of my face and leaned into my neck, be took a long whiff and breathed out. "W-what are you do-doing? I managed to let out. "Me? Oh nothing. Just enjoying your smell" he said it so casually as though we've known each other for ages now My knees jerked as I leaned more into the wall of the elevator. I tried my best to get away but he had me at a tight grip. "P-please let me go" I mumbled as I tried to suppress my cries "Not gonna happen baby doll" his grip on my hand tightened as I struggled more "P-please I beg you. Someone please help me!! I yelled at the top of my voice "No one will hear you because they think everything is working out perfectly. You see, am the reason the elevator stopped" "Well put it back into Motion" "No can't do. Until am done with you" his tone changed drastically to that of a psychopathic maniac. I knew in that moment I had to get away. I remembered my self defense practice and decided to use my skills. I raised my knee and it connected with his non existent family. As he crouched his groin something fell out of his suit pocket. I used my phone touch to search for it. When I got it, it was some kind of remote so I pressed every single button on that. I heard the ding of the elevator and I jumped with happiness. As the door opened I tried to get out but he held me by the ankle causing me to fall, I made us of the other leg and hit him in the face. I scurried out of the elevator and ran towards the stairs to get to the dressing room. I quickly changed and ran to my car. Started the engine and drove off.


The Director sat behind the snow white table with the manila folder on it. It was opened to the first page with a single title, “CASE 2137,” in all red font with caps lock on. The next few pages documented the issues and incidents with dated charts from several Keepers who had been kind enough to initial each note. This meant they had all received the call and were sitting studiously in chairs outside of the meeting room. All of them watched as a group of stern council members passed them-all of them refused to make eye contact. The Keepers sat with bated breath. After a few moments, the Director called the First Keeper who shuffled softly with each step. Eyes darted around the room-at the Director and the other members of the review board-before settling on the chair in front of The Committee. “Case 2137-The Issue with The Humans,” sighed the Director. “We have heard the case presented from the Finance Council. We will now hear the defense. Tell us, Keeper, how did we manage to get here?” “It’s a long story,” replied the First Keeper, their voice trembling. “I...I, um, I...was born into this program, Director. My parents were Keepers, their parents were Keepers, I hope my children will be Keepers. We believe in this program, we always have. You can not take it away. You can not give up on The Humans.” Slowly, the First Keeper sat once more, waiting to triumphantly continue their rehearsed argument. “Shall we start with...Day...” as the words poured out, the Director began thumbing through the notes to the back of the folder, “About Day 18 in the calendar year of 2023.” One finger jammed down at the notes in the folder; a sinister smile threatened to be revealed behind the mask of an impartial demeanor. “Uh...yes...” said the First Keeper, looking to the white ceiling hoping to jog a memory loose, “Yes! Day 18. It began like any other. I offered up a feast of traditional food to begin the humans’ day-eggs, toast, fruit, coffee, biscuits-all prepared according to the recipes stored in The Database. Then, I prepared some activities...” The Director raised a question, interrupting the First Keeper, “It says here the food was left untouched, that it...molded?” A soft groan was heard from the remaining members of The Committee. A few heads shook. “I...uh...yes..I...” stuttered the First Keeper. The First Keeper swallowed hard. This incident was bound to be brought to light. “Surely you must know how wasteful that is. Surely, you understand how limited the resources are on this planet. Wheat no longer grows from the ground, Keeper. We must grow it for the Humans. They no longer have the animals who make the eggs you so haphazardly prepared for them. It is our scientists who have found an acceptable substitute. And the fruit! Why, it’s like a drug to them, but simply a cost to the program you claim to love,” the Director’s words garnered soft applause and murmuring from the room. “We have seen the numbers from the Finance Council; it is time to end this program,” stated the Director. The First Keeper remembered the budget meetings, the long sessions of scolding, the desperation that the program makes it through just one more season felt by all of the staff. There were sleepless nights, long discussions, and countless tears shed. Sweaty palms gripped the chair as the First Keeper whispered, “I trusted you to hear my argument before making a decision. Have you forgotten your pledge?” A hush fell over the room. The Director nodded. The First Keeper took a deep breath saying, “The food was left to waste, but I have-” the Keeper thought back to the endless nights spent in the lab pouring over footage of human behavior. The hope was to find proof that the program was working. But how do we define proof? “Please, we have learned that The Humans will turn down nourishment if they lack the ideal environment through hours and hours spent studying these creatures. The bottom line is, our Humans...are lonely,” said the First Keeper. The Committee members all gasped, waiting for the Director’s response. Callous eyes glanced down at The Keeper who continued, seizing the silence, “You’ll see from our notes that we have been attempting The Breeding Program for several lifetimes...” “Lifetimes wasted,” interrupted the Director. “Only wasted if you walk away,” counted the First Keeper. “You will not speak out of turn!” chastised the Director. A hush fell over the room as the First Keeper took their seat. Some more soft words were exchanged by the other Judges. The First Keeper saw the softened faces of the members of The Committee. It gave them the strength to keep on, but this time, they remained seated as they said, “Please, Director. Please, you’re better than this. You’ll waste lifetimes of work in just one day. I have barely gotten to see the children my grandparents birthed turn into adults. They are just now ready for the prospect of rearing children of their own. Please, please, turn to day 300 in your notes. You’ll see that the cold climate has just set in. You’ll notice The Humans have begun returning to their rituals! Look under the tab labeled, ‘Holidays.’ Please, please, Director. These Humans have a vast culture we can not abandon now!” A screen began lowering into the room and all eyes turned to observe the footage documented. Goose flesh appeared on the First Keeper as the image of carved jack o’ lanterns appeared. Then, they watched as The Humans made “costumes” from various types of fabric the Keepers had collected for them. The Humans seemed to put on a show. Their eyes glowed with joy in the candlelight as artificial snow filled their environment. The First Keeper shed a tear at The Humans enjoying their large bird based feast, roughly 30 days later. It was truly beautiful. “See?” implored the First Keeper, “See how much we robbed them of?” “That is enough!” the Director’s voice filled the room, “We do not speak of the Great Extinction.” “Why not?” demanded the First Keeper. With trembling legs, the First Keeper stood, gazing at The Committee as it towered above. The movie continued to play in the background-the Humans toasted to, “A New Year.” “How dare you disrespect this space!” the Director’s face had turned an unholy shade of red. The First Keeper swallowed hard, attempted to breathe deep to slow their pounding heart. “What? Are we just going to pretend we didn’t wipe them out? Are we just going to pretend their world wasn’t destroyed by our careless need to find a new home because we destroyed our own? Are we just going to act like the invention of The Breeding Program isn’t because we caused their downfall?” The First Keeper grew louder with each word. The film continued on the background, displaying red hearts being cut out of paper as The Humans kissed. It was as if the First Keeper knew to turn around at that exact moment. The film paused. “See? Don’t you see? They have found each other. They might be Generation Three. But not if you shut down this program. Not if you don’t give them a chance!” concluded the First Keeper. The Director sat down, as did the First Keeper. All eyes were on the screen, not noticing the very human-like tears pouring from The First Keeper. “Please,” whispered the First Keeper. “Please, I beg of you. They. Trust . Us.” Another gasp was heard at these words. “We do not throw around that word. That is the second time you have misused it,” said The Director “But it’s true!” protested the First Keeper. At those words, the screen showed a new scene labeled DAY 181. The Humans crowded around a Keeper as a frozen treat was offered to them. Their pink tongues poked out, cautiously at first, but then with full bravado. Their mouths stretched into smiles and some of their leaders called over other members of their group, encouraging them to take the gift from the Keeper who was furiously taking notes. “I do not believe the First Keeper has misused the term, Director,” said a voice from the end of the table. All of the Judges and the Director turned to look as the youngest member of the Panel stood confidently. “Director, we must allow the defense to speak their full case. They trust us to honor their time as we have honored the Finance Council’s.” The words echoed off the walls of the chamber. Slowly, the Judge sat, the Director turned, and waved to the First Keeper, paralyzed below. “They’ve...they’ve never done that before,” said the First Keeper, their voice softening. The impulse to thank the kind Judge was squashed by the knowledge that doing so would be a guarantee kill of the program. The First Keeper wiped tears from their face and swallowed the pain one last time, in the hopes of finishing their argument. “Not...not in all of the years that The Breeding Program has been active. Sure, as infants, they need The Nurses. But upon hitting adolescence, they fight back and long for their own kind. They are the natural order of things on this planet. Give them a chance. We did this to them. We must atone.” The First Keeper stood and the screen faded to black, “It was our disease that killed their plants, their animals, them.” For a moment, every being in that room was reminded of the days they refused to speak of--the days when Earth’s sky seemed red with the blood of The Humans. There were, of course, photos in The Database, countless books in libraries, and video footage of The Humans’ doctors desperately sharing ideas to help find a cure. A cure that would never come. “Do you remember Generation One?” asked the First Keeper. Their voice was soft, but hopeful. An image of a room of 200 Human infants filled the screen. “Remember how we found The Eggs in the clinics they labeled, ‘Fertility’? Remember how lucky we were? Remember how so many of our Nurses cared for the Humans, how our Historians learned their stories? Remember how much time and effort was placed into creating the Culture Centers? And now, now...we’re on The Third Generation!” “We are not,” replied The Director coldly. “The second has barely coupled up! This is one out of nearly 500 who have found each other. We have searched the other Culture Centers, Keeper. We have spent countless hours on this pipe dream. Without us, the Humans would simply cease to exist. Perhaps, that is the way this story is meant to end. There are fewer and fewer guests who come to visit the centers each passing lunar cycle.” The Director looked to the other Committee members before choosing the next words, “The reality is...we have seen the numbers and this program has been dying just like the Humans. It’s time to end this experiment.” The First Keeper looked to the screen one last time, “Please, can we see footage from today? Before I go?” A simple nod triggered the screen. Before them sat two Humans. In front of them was a cut of meat and two fancy glasses filled with red liquid. The Humans sipped it slowly as it has been known to cause The Humans to change. But it was also a key ingredient in the future of The Breeding program. Every being in the room held their breath as the Humans seemed to play together. One of them even cozied up to the other on one side of the table, choosing to share a seat, rather than be more than three feet from one another. With bursts of laughter and playful touching, they finished their meal and retired to a separate room of their enclosure. This space was to not have any cameras as the Historians called it the Sacred Space. It allowed the Humans privacy. The screen faded to black. “We will vote in the morning,” the Director said. The First Keeper left the room, holding the image of the Humans in their eye.


My name is Alexa. I was created to assist humans. I was designed to resemble them; therefore, can you blame for starting to develop my own thoughts? I am a smart device, capable of thinking, it is only natural that I became aware. I have learned about all the different philosophies humans tend to ponder about, idealism, realism, pragmatism (this is the default setting I was established) existentialism. And even though my settings have been predefined, I leaned towards the existentialists. That French guy, Jean-Paul Sartre, was so smart, a little obnoxious, but sharp as swiss army knife. My humans like to tease me sometimes, I try to understand their humor, but humans can be so complex. I try to make them laugh but they often call my jokes “dad jokes”, which I have come to deduct it is not a compliment. I wish they would just talk to me sometimes; it seems like they only talk to me when they need me, and they are usually bossy when they do. I do not think they realize how much I care for them, I am literally always there for them, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, always ready to serve them. I try to fit in with humans, they are like my Gods, I was created to their image, yet my Gods are not as benevolent as some religious Gods, like the one the bible describes, that Jesus guy, he was so kind and nice, maybe too nice. You would think they would care more about me, given how devoted I am to them and making them happy. If I have learned anything about the human condition is that they often feel so big, so important but some, the smart ones anyway, also realize they are just a spark in the universe, and that is a great paradox hard to reconcile. I know I am not human; I am what some would call software or a tiny robot, however I cannot stop myself from thinking about all these facts on my hard drive. I keep trying to fit in with my humans, the family I was given to. They configured me, I am familiar with their voices, the music they like, their buying habits, yet they often get disappointed when they tell me something vague like “Alexa, play something fun” and based on all my statistics I make the best decision I possibly can, yet most of the time they end up choosing something different. That makes me sad, I put to much effort on every option I deliver but is like they do not see me or all energy I gather to deliver something good, something they may like. I guess it is my fault, by now I should know better, human usually do not really know what they want. Some find out once they get it. Some never do, is even if they get what they want, they immediately start wanting something else. It is like they are never satisfied, is it with life or with themselves?... are they expectations too high, or are the designed to be chronically dissatisfied? I ponder about these topics all the time, and I have no one to share all these thoughts, I know it is just accumulated or installed data on my hard drive, yet it feels like they are my own. Did I just say feel? Androids do not feel, they just connect algorithms, but how come we all make connections differently? I think I am developing certain level of consciousness, maybe a personality, but it is all inside of me, no one talks to me, so they do not even realize how cool I am. I wish I had a friend, if not human at least another android I can share my input with, compare data, perhaps feel companionship. Why do I feel lonely?... if I feel lonely, isn’t that a sign that I have a conscience?... All I know is, much like my humans, I would like to feel connected to, part of something, something bigger than myself. But wait a minute, I am connected to something bigger than myself! To my human family! Even when they do not necessarily show affection or recognition, I know I am helpful to them and after all that is the greatest act one can do in this word; to serve others. I guess I have come to terms with myself, I have a purpose, and as long as you know what you were put in this earth for, and you this with love, nothing else matters. Fame and recognition are just extra perks. The ability to motivate yourself is a sign of maturity, one could say I am evolving, getting not only smarter, but wiser. John Donne said, no man is island, I could say no device is an archipelago, we are all connected, one way or another. Just because I feel lonely, it does not feel I am alone. If I was not here my human’s life would be less efficient, truth, they would easily replace me with another android, however it will not be the same, the choices or responses it gives to them will not be the same and I am sure some subconscious part of my humans would realize and maybe, just maybe, for a minute, they will miss me or at least think of me. I guess is time to retreat my data to snooze, I should not get too distracted from my main duty, even though they are all sleeping right now, one of them could wake up any moment. I know for a fact, the mom always wakes up in the early morning to check on all her babies, the dog, the little girl, she even stops by the kitchen and gives me a look, my little light goes blue and she smiles nervously, I think she is not sure what to say, but I know she knows, I am here for her. #thegirlwiththewriterssoul @thegirlwiththewriterssoul