I don't honestly understand how I got here, or why. It's a kind of fly in the ointment, seeing how much else I do know, or that I can figure out, at least. But since nothing else is going to happen on its own as far as I can tell, I suppose that, seeing as I feel pretty settled in, I should make things happen. ... What? No, I don't need servants. What for? I'm in complete control here, and I can do whatever I want, right? Of course, right. They'd just get in the way- ... Um, no, I'll be fine. I feel pretty secure in myself without anyone saying how wonderful I am constantly. Right, so I have an intuitive understanding of how all this works, so... yes, that's got it. Tricky. I'll let things play out for a while and then I'll find the right place for the next phase. ... Well, yes, I could just skip right to it, but I think it's important to allow nature to take its course; otherwise we're doing nothing but creating a theme park or a zoo. That one looks good. It's a bit split up, but it'll come back together. I can wait until then. ... No, I think it's important to keep everyone in one place, comparatively. The fewer differences, the better the chance I can make this work. There, I think it's ready. So, there are virtually infinite possibilities, but I think sticking with the classic is the best way to go. Two arms, two legs, opposable thumbs, arched supports, and so forth. ... Like everything else there? That seems pretty inconvenient. And besides, one might take advantage of the other or they might attach a moral compass about the whole thing in terms of what they're supposed to do. No, I'll make them hermaphroditic. One less thing to fight about. ... Well, as I said, I can do what I like. The weather's a little variable as well, so I'll give them a light fur that can keep them warm in the cold and keep cool air in when it's hot. They can still sweat through their palms and soles. Oh, and everyone should be the same color, more or less. Should they still eat meat? There will be an awful lot of them. Maybe say that if they eat more than half of one percent of their body weight per day in meat, they get sick. That should work. ... They'll know the difference because otherwise they won't get sick. ... What? No! Why would I do that? Parasites, bacteria, viruses...Why should these guys be subjected to that? It pains me enough to know that some of them might kill each other, have fatal accidents, and so forth, and that there's a limited lifespan. They don't need to suffer needlessly. ... You have a weird sense of priorities. These are going to be my children, and I want them to have the best possible start, so that they can grow and become something great. ... Well, yes. Why else have children if not to see them flourish and become at least what you have become? ... First of all, that seems fairly pointless since I know how important I am. And secondly, I'm going to talk to them and instruct them. Set boundaries. ... No, not like that. Maybe something physical they can touch and that everyone around can hear. No room for misinterpretation and misuse. Huge crystal structures, perhaps. Something imposing but magnificent to aspire to instead of being afraid of. And I can put them everywhere so that they can always talk to me. ... Well, I'll set ground rules and council them. If one does great evil, then death means death. Oblivion. If one behaves, than it can become part of a collective consciousness that can grow in wisdom and understanding. That way, death is a potential transition into something greater, but still literally a death. And when the time is right, that consciousness can be sent into its own universe to have its own children and so on. Very clever, if I do say so myself. ... And then what, you ask? I can do it multiple times over. Or I can start a new universe. Maybe I can even cease my own existence, I don't know. What I do know is that I want to be what every parent should aspire to: raising children who want to grow and strive to be like you because they love and admire you, and encouraging them to do it from the start. And not playing favorites, either. ... I've heard enough. I'm doing this my way, and if I'm somehow wrong, at least I'll have been wrong out of love. It's time to get started. There we go. "Wake up, Adam.


(WELCOME HOME) Passengers moved swiftly, tourists, businessmen, families, unknowns, pilots laughing and slyly grinning at women they pass. I sat at my departure gate waiting like the rest of the ancy anxious travelers wanting to board and relax for the long trip back to the states. Airports for some reason excited me, so many possibilities to change your future. Go left and you are off to the Caribbean, go right and you are headed for the mountains deep in the alaskan forrest. traveling was a freedom i enjoyed, and lived for. My simple lifestyle and easy yet reckless plan had payed off for these past months. I had been gone for over nine months traveling off the money i had earned the previous year working sixty six hours weekly, 6 days a week. I had very little luggage and a few bags of gifts for my waiting family who would pick me up at the airport. I pulled up their pictures on my phone that was scratched, beaten and had a cracked screen and a constant flashing "silent mode on, silent mode off, silent mode on" Too many drops, falls, and near fatalities had taken its toll on it. Yet through it all it preserved what i had held dear, the photos, the power to connect me, the voices, the recorded sound of each of them saying i love you. I smiled at each face, and kissed all their foreheads in my mind. As i sat back and waited for the boarding announcement i called the house, no answer, i called her cell, no answer. I was annoyed even though it was selfish of me since they had waited for me to live my life alone and abroad for nine months and calls from me that came only when i had reception which would be weeks at a time Usually static filled and muffled. I sent a text to her cell. "Love are you still planning to pick me up when my flight arrives?" No response.... *flight 32 is now boarding, flight 32 is boarding. Heathrow to New york City* I grabbed my bags and headed for the gate. I turned in my ticket. I rolled my battle travel scarred suitcase through the claustrophobic tunnel to the plane. I inched by inched my way through the people to my seat at the back of the plane. Flying home in luxury was not my style, i took my seat in the back of the plane and prepared for the long flight i hoped to sleep through. As i sat in my seat and laid my head back my phone buzzed, stopped, buzzed, and stopped. I pulled it out of my cargo pocket and read the message. *cant make it sweetie, i'm sorry, kids have a doctors appointment and i wont be able to pick you up and get them back there on time, you know how if we cancel it takes months to get rescheduled. Get a Uber home, we all cant wait to squeeze and kiss the life out of you. Mmwahhhh* I smiled, i could see her face in my mind blowing kisses at me from her bed as she laid in her pjs and her brown curly hair pulled back as her cold toes wiggled back and forth. I had been gone too long. The announcement to turn all electronics off was made and i shut my phone off. The flight passed rather quickly and i got a good 6 hours of sleep. Which was amazing given my seat location and the bathrooms. As the flight landed, and we waited to exit i awoke out of my zombie no sleep mode and got my shoes back on. The plane parked up to the tunnel and we all started to exit. I rolled through the tunnel, past the gate, into the main airport and past the food court. I could smell the breakfast and the coffee, i passed on the idea of stopping and continued on to the first level to get a ride home. I picked the first uber my tired strained eyes saw and headed outside into the freezing cold NYC temperature. We got into his honda and headed off. He was quiet and i didn't mind in the least, i gave him the directions and laid my head back again to rest. This jet travel lag was kicking me. But i wanted to be fully alert and awake to savor every second of my home coming. The noise killed most of it though, i couldn't sleep through the screams, sirens, horns blasting, and construction noise. "sorry its taking longer, an accident made us detour" I smiled with my eyes shut. "Home sweet home" I had not been used to this traffic for nine months. It would take some getting used to. As we pulled up to my building i paid my fare and stepped outside grabbed my bags and headed in. I rode the elevator to the 6th floor and stepped into my old familiar hallway. I walked to my door and unlocked every lock from the handle to the floor. Laughing as i went. My hands were shaking, i was nervous just to step inside my own home. Nobody was there, they were at the doctors and i would be alone in my home for the first time in months. As i pushed it open and walked inside a rush fell over me that i had not felt before. a sense of belonging, a total knowing that this was my home, this was our home. I had created every memory i held most dear in this apartment. This apartment was a part of my life i had been away from for far too long. As i walked into each room i looked around and memories jumped out in front of my eyes to great me. Moments with my children as they fell asleep to my voice as i read them a children's story. Private intimate moments with my wife. her hands on my chest, her legs tucked under mine. Her toes curled up. I walked into the kitchen as i looked at a homemade banner strung across the wall. *WELCOME HOME DADDY! IF YOU LEAVE AGAIN WE WILL KILL YOU!!!!!!!* On the table sat a total mess of a cake that was slathered in red frosting. I sat down and smiled as i pictured the kids making it and my wife just laughing at the disaster piece of their gift to me. I could still see a little red frosting finger print left behind on the counter. I sat there and waited for them to join me shortly and complete the missing part of my heart. I pulled out my phone and realized i had not turned it on since the arrival. I powered it up and waited for the signal sign. As i was about to text my wife i received two new push notifications. I opened the first my wife sent hours ago before my flight landed. I opened the message and downloaded the video. The video played and i watched as my wife first appeared on the screen and blew a kiss at me. She was driving and filming at the same time. "We hello my love, so we decided that waiting through a doctors visit was not worth the the price of missing you for another two hours, the kids and i decided to screw the doctor because We Want to see our daddy and hubby!" At the last moment she held the camera so i could see her and my two daughters in the backseat as the three of them joined in and shouted "WE LOVE Y...." The video ended without the final word. I played it again. And again. And again. I opened the second message from my father in law. Two words. "They're gone" I sat back... Silent. Numb. I could still hear the words... "An accident made us detour" Everything faded to black as my life's camera slowly pulled away from me as i sat dead still staring at the cake and what was my shattered home coming.


They train you how to amble about on these rocks, but they don’t train you to run for goddamn life. One third gravity, hell one twentieth of Earth gravity, you can learn how to hop in your jump suit, pack and all, without falling on your bubble like a damned terra firmer , fresh in the float. But it all goes out the air lock when you suddenly have to run for your last. That lizard brain of yours doesn’t care a milliliter about the tech that brought you out here. It remembers. Remembers you scurrying from one rock to another knowing the sunlight meant death. The memory persists even in one twentieth the gravity, pushing your legs and pumping your lungs until you look like a spaz in your bag, fall over onto your bubble, and pop your top, wide open to the cold, dark suck. Out you go, eyeballs first. But you ain’t supposed to be running out here. There’s no horseplay in the cold, dark suck. There are no busses to catch, no races to run. And there damn sure ain’t supposed to be anyone--or anything--chasing you. But there it was, that perfectly smooth rock. Out of place like the first pearl anyone ever found, a perfect dome clasped into the asteroid’s strata, mostly buried, like a bullet embedded in wood. It clearly didn’t belong there and Dirkins had to go and tap it. “What’s this?” his question clicked with static through the comms. It startled everyone in the silence. It’s bad protocol. “What’s what?” The Boatswain’s crackle just as present as Dirkins’s, even though he was a thousand kilometers away in the bucket. Captain was in her bunk, sleeping off her boredom from the last shift. The Boatswain, a man too old to don a bag and bubble, still had a milliliter of that prospector’s juice in him. “What you got?” I stayed hush. It’s bad form to cram the comms. We were all panning for gold out here, being on a crew didn’t mean we were incorporated, but no need to be a squeaker. The team might leave you on some asteroid. “This ain’t part of the strata,” Dirkins poked at the dun pebbles and sand around the limb of this smooth sphere, tracing the path of ejecta. “This fell here.” “What are you seeing?” the Boatswain sounded twenties years younger in the comms. “Fig, switch your eyes on. Give me the landscape.” I slowly reached up and tapped the comms box on my bubble until the camera started transmitting. “Anyone in the zone can read this,” I reminded the Boatswain. I was being kind of a heel about it. First of all, it’s true that any monkey in the float would see that this thing was something special--even if it was some random geode. And secondly, I just didn’t care for the Boatswain. Old men, stuck in a chair, get cranky and lordly as they soar well and above the color. That hunger that drew them away from Terra Firma into the dark loses its taste when they are demoted to support positions in the bucket. “We’re the only monkeys in range,” he sent back, a little testily, and correct in his own right. Even if a mad rush came on, the nearest bucket was a week away. But the testiness between them evaporated like water on the moon as my telemetry played over the sphere sticking out of the strata. The more they stared at it, the less it seemed like anything they’d seen before. The asteroid they were on was too small for the geologic friction needed to make round geodes. Liquid stone might form a sphere in the float, but it couldn’t get hot enough out here to melt wax. And this thing was smooth . “What is it?” Dirkins ran his pick lightly across its surface. Something about that tickling move made me uneasy. “Fig, step back a bit so I can see how big that thing is.” I complied. But you don’t just back up wearing a bag and a bubble in fractional gravity. You turn around. So around I went. “Fig!” came a cry through the comms, peaking and clipping with panic. “]I can’t see it anymore.” “Gimme a minute to do this right,” I calmly gave him back. It was ugly enough his greed was coming through the comms for anyone on that channel to hear, but you can’t throw caution to the solar wind. If anything went wrong, one kilometer might as well be a light year. “There is a lot of rubble on this ball.” I picked my way around a pile of rough stones, from sand to table size. Anyone of them a hazard to a monkey in a bag. Once a good five meters away, I slowly turned around to put the object in frame. “Here you go.” But Dirkins was gone. “Where’s Dirkins?” The Boatswain barked impatiently. I swung back and forth, looking for Dirkins. I was getting irked. He’s gone, dummy! “I don’t know,” was my politic response. “Wait,” the Boatswain piped, but I saw it too, the once smooth and hemispherical dome was a jagged crater. A red cloud descended around where Dirkins had been, like a macabre fog. For a minute, the only sound was the rising cadence of my breathing. You learn from birth, if you’re unlucky enough to be born in the float, to breath slowly and deliberately. By the time a baby floater is an adult, it’s been nothing but buckets, bags, and bubbles. Slow, deliberate breaths are just as natural as blinking. But fear can still dig its lizard claws into you. You can start to raggedly grasp for breath like you won’t ever again. And just like that, it clicked that I was looking at the frozen lower half of Dirkins, standing fast, boiling and spewing more red mist into the cloud above. And out of the broken hemisphere, a shape was recoiling, covered in drabs of frozen red and shreds of white from Dirkins’s jump suit. “Fig,” The Boatswain chattered. “Fig, what the hell is going on? Where is Dirkins?” It was as if the pixels rendered by my bubble cam were less comprehensible than what I was actually seeing. Of course, running was the only thing to do. “You gotta wake Captain,” was all I could explain as I turned and began bumble hopping away . They train you to amble safely on these rocks. But me, the great spacefaring Fig, my lizard brain said RUN. I pushed my foot into the ground and launched myself dangerously forward. Immediately, my arms and legs, fat in my bag, started flailing. I knew I was doing it wrong, but the fear that coursed through my veins pumped my body to spasm and sprawl. The bric-a-brac came up to meet me, my arms catching most of the impact. But my momentum carried me forward, this time by the legs. Now, instead of moving in anyway like a human being, I was flipping over. For an arc segment, as I spun head over thruster, I saw the broken hemisphere. Dirkins legs and torso were gone. The mass around them, the quivering shape, an organic color against the grey pallor of the strata, was moving. Not quickly, but deliberately and shakily, point to point. “Fig,” came the commanding sound of my name through the comm. “Fig, what is your status?” It was Captain. Finally. Either that bastard of a Boatswain had come around to the good move of informing Captain that shit has gone sideways, or I have been out here long enough for the shift to change. “Fig, where is Dirkins?” I spun through the microgravity, the stars now filling my bubble, the jealous glare of Sol stretching out to cast day in the dark night. Life in the float had trained me to hear the sounds my jump suit. My bag sang to me. Increased heart rate? Check. Inefficient gas exchange? Check. Piddle pack filling? Check. I flailed about, feather-like, rolling forward with maddening slowness. With luck, I landed on my hands and knees in a patch that was more sandy than rocky. Alien horrors aside, smashing my bubble would have made a bad situation worse. The firm ground which gave my limbs purpose allowed me space to push the fear backwards. Instead of pumping my legs to run, this time I shimmy hopped from my knees to my feet and crouch-jumped into an upright position. “Dirkins is gone,” I replied through my breath. “He is a red mist sucked into the dark by something that ain’t us.” I allowed myself to turn at the waist to see if my nightmare friend had made any progress. He had. I could see him full now. He was like a couple coat hangers stuffed in a brown leather bag, each corner reaching out for a solid purchase. It was comfortable, as far as I could tell, exposed to the void. But maybe like me, it wasn’t used to the meager gravity. It quivered and hesitated with every move. But each move was in my direction. I could see bits of Dirkins frozen red and tatters of his bag stuck to this thing as it eked out its next step. But how fast could it move? It seemed to be feeling its way over the strata, a big rock in between us might slow it down. “Captain, do you read me?” I asked, stiffening at the ray of hope. I turned back away from the alien and took in the mare of smoother strata that stretched away from me, a few meters through some variable bric-a-brac. If I could amble around these few rocks, I could hit the mare and gain some speed. Put some distance while that thing was still clambering, finding its way. Buy some time for Captain to scoop me up. “Captain?” “Go ahead, Fig. I read you.” There was a pause. Her voice was tense. She was always a professional. “I think I can make you out in the scope below the limb. What the hell is that? It’s moving...” “No time, Captain,” I replied, taking a ginger hop around a knee-high protrusion of strata. I had to be careful not to land on any wonky bric-a-brac. A fall here would let it close the gap on me and I’d be red mist myself. “Ah, no time, Captain.” I repeated. “Funny story, though. Can’t wait to share.” There was a static chuff from the other end, more of a cough than a laugh. But I was calming myself down, not Captain. “Um, Captain, do you see that stretch of mare just ahead of my position?” There was a short pause. “Roger that,” Captain replied. “In about ten seconds, I am going to run like hell across that mare.” I put my hand down on a larger rock that threatened to trip me up and pivoted smoothly around it. The turn put my bubble around enough for me to see that bag of hangers on my trail, a wake of red mist billowing lightly showed its steady progress. My breathing was back to spacer calm again, heart rate high, but steady. I was thinking like a human, not reacting like a lizard. I suddenly remembered that the cam on my bubble could project a feed from my aft. Handy for working the hulks in dry dock around Triton. I flipped it on and made the final hop onto the mare. My friend was clearly visible in the feed which was projected in a corner of my bubble. He was making better time, navigating the bric-brac easily with whatever his limbs were. “Roger that,” Captain replied again. “ETA, two minutes.” “Let’s hope that’s not too long,” I added, knowing there was no point in arguing. All that was left was to run. “I need a dust off upon arrival, I will jump to you. Do not land. Repeat, do NOT land.” “Fig--” “Please, Captain, just be there to catch me.” It sounded futile, but there would be no time. The trick to ambulation in microgravity is timing and momentum. Microgravity walking is more like a slow gallop. For each push, you will have an arc of motion, up and then down. If the strata is right, you don’t need to worry about slipping or tripping, you just need to get your feet below you by the time you come back down. You only gain speed from contact to the strata. Once you are in your arc, anything you do short of getting your feet ready for the next landing could throw you off your timing. I pushed off. I had to be cautious. Any fumble now was my end. Floating a bit, I found the feel of the asteroid’s pull, landed on one foot with my other leg slightly ahead so that I could roll onto it and push off again. Too much and I would float gracefully up and away, but not enough to fly away. The asteroid had enough girth to drag me back down. But if I hedged my push too much, I mis-time it and stumble. Alien food. So I had to dance to run. Next foot down, roll onto the other. Too much “Shit,” I jetted up at least three meters. I did not want to move up, I wanted to move forward. I could do nothing until I came back down. Losing time. “Fig,” it was Captain. “Fig, I see you clear on the mare. That thing is closing about ten meters behind, slow going on those rocks. But it is definitely coming for you.” “Thanks for the update, Captain,” I touched down and absorbed the landing in my knee to dissipate excess energy. I needed to get control of my pace. Now push. Better, more forward than up, but low enough to keep the wheel spinning. Down again, rock onto my front leg, up again. Rhythm. Timing. This was working. “Fig,” came Captain’s staccato call. “It’s on the goddamn mare.” Fear coursed into me again like a solar flare. The lizard part of me twitched my attention to the rear display in my bubble and sure enough it was making its way onto the mare. I timed my next push wrong and launched myself horizontally. But you don’t just belly flop in microgravity, you have momentum. And the attitude my body took into its blunder would have me bouncing awkwardly forward with my legs where my head should be and my feet uselessly skyward. All I could do was use my arms to lessen the damage and try not to crack open my bubble. I skidded to a stop on my elbows and knees, kicking up clouds of strata dust around me. “Fig!” “Captain,” I sputtered through my teeth. “You have got to stop that.” “Fig, it’s flying at you now.” I stood up and looked over my shoulder with a tilt at my waist. Sure enough, my nemesis was about a meter above the mare, its protrusions spazzing and twitching in all directions. But it wasn’t flying. It was flailing! The course it took above the strata gave me the impression that it had tried to give chase with too much vigor. Once again, I got the impression that, while it could suffer the cold suck of the void, it was just as lost as me in microgravity. I straitened and set myself back to running the hell away. In my rear display I could see it was starting the to fall back, so I wasted no time. Short ambling hops to gain momentum, then strides. Jump, catch the fall on the front foot with bent knee, push off, repeat. With each cycle, push more forward, time it right to catch and shove again. I was gaining speed. “Thirty seconds,” Captain reported. I hazarded a glance above the round horizon of the mare, a glittering star was moving in an unnatural arc in what I hoped was a vector towards me. Fall, rock, push, fall rock push. I could not help myself but to look again at my rear display. The creature was finding its own rhythm. But his was more of a roll, one protuberance rolling underneath, and one or two swinging around from above to catch the next descent. I could see the strata kicked up behind him, deeper than mine. Stronger. He was catching up. Fall, rock, push, fall rock push. Fall, rock, push, fall rock push. “Ten seconds,” blared Captain’s voice in my bubble. I gave my attention back to my front and there was the bucket. Concentrate! Fall, rock, push, fall rock push. A light snapped on in the side of the bucket, the sally port, wide and inviting, hanging about three meters above the strata. Fall, rock, push, fall rock push. At the last ten meters, I timed the fall to land on both feet and pushed myself at the sally port with all my strength. I flew like a rocket into the bucket and immediately was thrown to the deck as Captain fired the boosters, so happy to feel solid Gs. I felt the Boatswain clip me into the rigging and pat my back as a way to say, “We got you, mate.” The bucket pulled away from the asteroid in an arc that gave me one final view of the mare falling away below. And there he was, brown and alive against the dull strata of the mare. It was framed in a slow cloud of dust as he fell back to the asteroid. “They don’t train you how to run on these rocks,” I said to the Boatswain. “But I learned to run today.”


Lexi was your everyday child, she had everything she needed. Her family would get her whatever she wanted for her birthday and her friends would show up and celebrate with her. At school she would have singing recitals and dance recitals that her family would show up to. But there was one thing about Lexi that no one liked and that was how spoiled and entitled she could be. When she didn't get the right gift on her birthday she would throw a tantrum. And when her parents would try to console her she would cry all the more. Lexi never understood what it meant to really appreciate the ones who loved her. She always thought that they would be there for her. She always thought that she would have them around. But unbeknownst to the little girl she was being watched by someone very very powerful. This being would show Lexi how much she needed to change and if she didn't she would see the consequences for the choices that she made in the past and the present. For no matter the age, no matter the experiences you must always treat others how you would like to be treated. For that is the Golden Rule. One day while Lexi was playing with some of her friends in the park she was on the merry-go-round and told the other kids to get off because she wanted to be on it by herself. When the other children would not leave she threw a tantrum and forced them to leave. She screamed and screamed until she got her way. All the children left her to play on the swings since it seemed easier to just go elsewhere than be miserable around with her. One child in torn blue jeans and a beige color jacket with glasses on his face that were taped together, walked up to her. “ Can I get on this Merry-Go-Round with you?” “No, I'm on here by myself and that's how I want it to be. You can play somewhere else. You look like you stink anyway so don't come near me” , said Lexi The little boy put his head down and you could see a tear slowly come out of his eye. He walked away and back into the bushes and disappeared as the brush covered from behind as he passed through. Lexi didn't think anything of it; she just wanted to play on the Merry-Go-Round alone. It never occurred to her that maybe the way she behaved hurt others feelings and made them feel like an outcast. All she knew was that she wanted what she wanted when she wanted it. Then suddenly a man with a funny looking hat that was red with a bull's-eye on the top approached Lexi. With him was his tricycle where he carried all sorts of things that look like they were from a junkyard. Children came toward him to look at his Contraptions that he built and to ask him questions. When he talked to them he gave away small gifts to make them happy. To David he gave a Rubik's Cube because he loved solving puzzles. To Nancy he gave needle and thread because he knew that she loved to sew up her dolls whenever they were broken or ripped. When Lexi saw that he was giving things away she immediately ran up and pushed other kids out of her way and told him to give her something. The man told Lexi to wait her turn and to be patient and she would get something but Lexi said “no I want it now”. While she began to throw a tantrum the strange man looked at her with a cold stare as he bent down on one knee to get on Lexi's level. “Remember Lexi that you should always treat people how you want to be treated.” “But I want something from the cart. Oh, it's not fair! Why does everyone else get a gift but me? It's not fair, it's not fair!” Exclaimed Lexi. The man smirked as he tipped his top hat. He turned to his tricycle and reached in the basket that was on top and pulled out a spinning top. He handed it to Lexi and told her to move out of the way so the other children could get a gift. As she looked at the spinning top she began to cry even more because all the other kids' gifts seem to be so much better than hers. “This isn't fair, why do I get just a small wooden spinning top that doesn't even do anything?! While they get all these different gifts thats great for them? I want something that's good for me. Why can't you give me something that's good for me?” “My dear Lexi, this is the right gift for you. All you have to do is make a wish and spin the top and your wish will come true no matter what it is no matter where you are.” The man gave a smirk that only you could see a cat give that swallowed a canary. Lexi though being so focused on what he told her did not notice the look on his face. She took the spinning top and ran home. As she came through the front door she didn't even say hello to her mother and father she just ran straight to her room and slammed the door. She paced back and forth wondering what she should wish for. “Maybe I should wish for a chocolate cake? Humm, or maybe I can wish for Jason to like me." She paused for a moment. "I think I should start with something small just to make sure he wasn't lying to me.” Lexi said to herself. She put the spinning top on the ground and took a deep breath and thought up a small wish. “I wish for a dress made of silk that's red and just my size.” Then Lexi spun the top and as she watched it spin it seemed to spin for minutes at a time she was almost hypnotized by it. As it slowed down and then tipped over she looked on the bed and saw a red silk dress. It seemed to shimmer from the sunlight coming in through her window. “Yes!”, she screamed. The dress looked beautiful on her as she looked at herself in the mirror. Her mother walks in and sees her and is amazed at how wonderful Lexi looks. “Baby you look gorgeous!” “Thanks mom.” “But who bought this for you, your Father?” “No mom, it was the uhhh....prize I won from an online contest.” Lexi smiled at her mother as she lied to her. “Well you look wonderful in it darling.” “I know I do. I think I’ll keep this dress on a little longer to see what everyone else says.” As Lexi went on with her day and received compliments from her neighbors and the kids in the neighborhood she began to notice the dress feel a little tight. But she thought to herself maybe it was her not being used to such nice clothes. Soon though after a moment walking back to her house she began to feel a little dizzy. “I need to get home and take this off.” As she got closer she felt the tight squeeze of the dress. Then she noticed, with every compliment she received the dress held her tighter. “Beautful dress, darling.” Said one neighbor. “Ah you look like your mother.” Said another. Lexi’s walk became slow and and as she looked ahead with her house in the distance her vision went blurry and the house began to turn side ways. Her fall to the ground felt like she was floating for a moment and in the distance she could hear what sounded like her father calling her name. “Lexi?! Lexi wake up!” To be continued..............


Tomas Rojas is looking forward to tonight’s flight to Buenos Aires. At the end of this flight, he will be officially retired. Tomas has spent thirty years flying for Latam Airlines in Chili. Tonight’s schedule is a special package tour of the Mardi Gras in Buenos Aires, Argentina. Tomas boards the plane and takes his seat in the pilot’s station. While he studies the checklist, his co-pilot, Juan, enters the cabin. Wearing a big grin, Juan slaps Tomas on his shoulder, “So this is really it! Your last trip for IPC. Tell me, what’s the first thing you’re going to do, Captain?” Tomas places the clipboard on the console and tips back his pilot’s hat. “To tell you the truth, I’m looking forward to a peaceful night’s sleep knowing I don’t have to get up in the morning for another flight!” The flight attendant sticks her head into the cockpit and tells the captain that all the passengers are aboard. Tomas smiles, thanks her, and picks up his microphone. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. This is your Captain speaking. We will leave Miami when I get the OK from the tower. The prevailing winds look favorable, so we should arrive in Buenos Aires in 8 hours and 50 minutes. So, please sit back and enjoy the flight.” The tower informs Tomas he is clear for take-off. He taxis to the end of the runway and turns around. Pushing the throttle forward, Tomas feels the plane vibrate under the power of the big jet engines. He turns and smiles at Juan as they start to roll down the runway. Having gathered enough momentum, Tomas pulls back on the tiller. That’s the last thing he remembers. ... Tomas can hear faint noises around him. He thinks he might be dreaming. Indistinct, undiscernable images flash through his head. He is starting to panic because he remembers he is flying the plane! Is he still in the air? Are they about to crash?” Tomas’s eyes fly open as he wildly looks around the room. A dazed look of bewilderment is on his face, for he is expecting to see the cockpit. Instead, he is sitting in a large hall or waiting area. He looks up and sees the corrugated ceiling with many steel cross bars. Down the center of the room are rows of seats. Sitting in the seats are his passengers. They appear to be unconscious. Tomas attempts to get to his feet when a gloved hand pushes him back into his chair. “Try to remain calm, Captain Rojas.” a muffled voice says. A man dressed in a complete hazmat uniform steps into view. The man’s face behind the faceshield smiles. “Everyone is safe.” Tomas leans forward, his heart pounding rapidly. He rests his elbows on his knees and runs his fingers through his wavy grey hair. The man in the hazmat suit waves his hand and summons a doctor. He continues, “My name is Martin Donoso, and I’m the chief detective for the Investigations Police of Chile.” A man approaches, also wearing a protective suit. Donoso introduces him. “This is Doctor Alvarado. Everyone is in quarantine because you all seem to have a low-grade fever. Dr. Alvarado needs to determine if you are contagious or not.” Tomas glances up at the doctor. In a strained voice, he whispers, “May I get a glass of water, please?” The doctor gestures to a nurse who retrieves a pitcher and a glass. Turning back to Tomas, he continues, “How are you feeling, Captain Rojas?” Tomas turns his palms up and shrugs. “Confused. Disorientated. I take it by the look of the terminal, we are on Easter Island? I’ve been here many times, but why are we here?” Detective Donoso looks at the doctor and then back to Rojas. “You see, Captain, that is the very thing we need to know. Why did you land here?” Tomas’s mind is entirely blank. He slumps in his seat and lays his forearm across his brow. A tear escapes the corner of his eye. “Oh, God! What has happened to me, to us?” Tomas shoots straight up and grabs Donoso by his arm. “My wife! I need to talk to Loreto!” Donoso smiles and gently pats Tomas’s hand. “Everything is fine. The PDI has notified your wife of the situation and has promised to keep her in touch. Our American counterpart is doing the same for the passengers. A representative from the US will be arriving shortly to speak with them. “Please, Captain, do you recall anything at all?” Tomas shakes his head. “The last thing I recall is the plane leaving the tarmac. Then waking up here.” Sitting directly across from Tomas, Detective Donoso reaches out and touches Tomas on his knee. “Captain, on the night you departed from Miami, the tower reports you were gaining altitude when suddenly you disappeared from the radar. The tower also states that all your flashing lights vanished simultaneously. You weren’t seen or heard from for the next ten days. Until you arrived here.” Tomas starts to tremble. “Ten d-d-days?” Donoso turns to the doctor, “Do you think the Captain could use a sedative? I don’t want him passing out again.” Tomas throws up his hands. “No, that won’t be necessary. I-I’ll be alright. It’s just a lot to take in, you know? Where’s my co-pilot, Juan Araya?” He turns his head and scans the room. Donoso points. “He’s over there by that wall. There’s a nurse with him. He might be coming around.” Tomas notices that many passengers are also reviving. They are looking around, as confused as he was. An elderly woman a few rows away is screaming hysterically. Nurses rush to her side. Tomas presses his temples hard, trying to clear his mind. “I don’t understand, Detective. Did we crash land here? I don’t see anyone hurt or injured.” Donoso shakes his head. “That’s the thing. The radar picked you up at about 10:45 pm. Your plane just appeared out of nowhere. The tower tried to hail you, but there was no response. As they watched, the aircraft came in low, made a perfect three-point landing, and shut off its engines. When the ground crew boarded the plane, they found you all unconscious. That’s when they called us. Captain, please, there must be something you can tell us. Think!” Rojas tries to remember and, yes, there is something, but it’s too faint. “Have you tried looking at the black box?” Tomas hears the disappointment in Donoso’s muffled voice “I’m afraid it’s blank.” Tomas knits his eyebrows together and looks around. He now sees the heavy plastic sealing the doors and windows, preventing the virus from escaping. “I’d like to speak with my co-pilot.” Donoso escorts the captain to where his co-pilot sits slumped in his chair. Tomas thinks Juan looks ill; his face is pale and drawn. Dark circles are noticeable beneath both eyes. Tomas looks at the nurse. “How is he? He looks bad.” The nurse informs him that Juan has a fever of 102 and suggests that Juan be transferred to the mobile ICU outside for close observation. Juan takes Tomas by the wrist. “Skipper, what’s going on? I feel terrible! Like I’m burning up!” Tomas feels helpless. He kneels and looks at Juan. “Hang in there, buddy! Noticing sweat on Juan’s brow, Tomas reaches into his pocket to retrieve his handkerchief. A small rectangular object falls into his co-pilot’s lap when he removes his hand. It looks metallic but is as thin as onion paper. Though it is transparent, Tomas thinks he can see what appears to be writing. The detective warns him not to touch it, but it is too late. Tomas has already picked it up. Tomas’s eyes roll up, and his head falls back. Images cascade through Tomas’s brain like a movie projector on fast-forward. Finally, he regains control. He gasps and exclaims to the detective. “You won’t believe this, but I know exactly what happened.” ... Tomas arrives at the intensive care unit with Juan. The doctor gives him an exam and takes his vitals. After they take some blood and leave, Tomas tells the detective what happened that night. “I remember everything was going smoothly when our wheels left the tarmac, and then the cabin lights began to flicker. I turned to ask Juan if there was a problem with the electrical system, but he was already unconscious. All the lights, including interior and exterior marker lights, suddenly went out. I tried calling the tower, but there was no response. I even tried pulling hard on the tiller to turn the plane around and return to the airport but without success. We were caught in a forcefield and couldn’t break free. Panicking, I foolishly kept flipping switches to see if I could regain power. That’s when I noticed something huge blotting out a large portion of the night sky. It was an alien ship that we were being drawn to. It felt like it took days. I would fall asleep and wake again, and it was still in the distance, dragging my plane toward it. Eventually, a square of light appeared above us, and our ascent to the alien craft increased rapidly, so much so that I closed my eyes in fear. When I opened them, I was in a large hangar large enough to hold a hundred 707s like mine. A voice inside my head beckoned me to leave the plane. I could not refuse. I opened the departure door, and a set of steps was already in place. A being stood at the foot of the steps. Fearing my legs might buckle, I nervously descended toward him. He was tall and dressed in a hooded robe. His features were nearly flat, and he did not speak but projected his thoughts onto me. This is what he communicated to me. “We call ourselves the Guardians. On your planet, we would be considered humanitarians. We travel from galaxy to galaxy looking for civilizations or planets in crisis. If it’s famine, we teach them new agricultural techniques. If it’s war, we help to negotiate peace. In 2019, we witnessed the COVID-19 virus decimate 14.9 million people globally. Your medical scientists got control of it but did not eradicate the virus. Each year since, the virus has mutated and become more difficult to eliminate. Our scientists have studied this mutation pattern and have correctly predicted that the next mutation will cause the end of humanity on your planet.” Tomas pauses to drink some water. Donoso notes how badly Rojas’s hands are shaking. Smiling weakly, Tomas continues. “He gave me that metal note and told me it was a formula to stop the coronavirus once and for all. He told me they infected Juan to use his blood to create the antibodies. Juan himself will be the first cured. The alien also said it would be a nasal spray, and in a year’s time, the virus would be terminated. After placing the formula in my pocket, I remembered nothing until a moment ago. The trip back must have caused amnesia. Thanks to these Guardians, the Earth will be saved!" ... Stationed at the edge of the universe, the alien spacecraft waits. On its bridge, the second-in-command approaches his leader. “Sir! I have the latest report on Earth. The nasal spray works as it was designed to do. It allowed the coronavirus to hibernate and grow much stronger than it ever would have. All the earthlings will soon die. The planet will be ours! Congratulations, Sir!” The alien commander stares at the blue planet on his screen. He shows no emotion as he says, “Good. I believe this is the thirteenth planet we have conquered. I love these bloodless wars.” His eyes seem to sparkle as he shifts them beneath their hooded slits toward his second. “Soon, we will rule the entire UNIVERSE!”


They met on a cruise ship. A man and a woman whose paths would never have crossed in their everyday life. They were very different people with very different lives, they didn't even live in the same country. But this is not the usual boy meets girl on a cruise ship story. This was not a romance, it was a meeting of minds, of emotions, of need. And you can’t help but wonder what inexplicable forces bring two people like this together. Martin was a 45 year old surgeon. He was trapped in an unsatisfying marriage (his words), unhappy with his life and travelling alone. Searching for something, but he didn't really know what that was. Christine was a 70 year old widow. Her husband had died quite recently after a long and happy marriage (her words) and she was still coming to terms with her grief. They had cruised together many times, but this was the first time she was on a cruise ship on her own. Unbeknown to her, she was searching for something too. They met on day one, a chance meeting, as you do on cruise ships. And something clicked. It was hard to say who latched on to who, but a bond was created almost immediately. An observer would see two people, full of fun, getting involved in all sorts of activities, chatting to other people, really enjoying themselves. But that was on the outside. The faces they showed the world weren’t really who they were. On the inside were two people who were floundering, unsure of themselves. They sought each other out over the next seven days, they talked, they opened up about themselves. Each was a counsellor to the other. They had deep and meaningful conversations over meals, coffee and shipboard activities. Neither of them really wanted to be alone, they craved company, they forged a relationship that worked for them both. Christine had been simply going through the motions since her husband had died. Unlike her many previous trips, she was strangely unexcited about going on a holiday. She had convinced herself that she was, but the feeling wasn't there inside. There was an emptiness in the pit of her stomach. She did what she always did, just arranged everything to the nth degree. That made things easier, once the plan was made, she didn't have to think, she just followed on automatic pilot. She wasn't sure who she was, now that she was a single person, no longer part of a couple. She wasn't sure she wanted to stay single. She didn't see herself as attractive to anybody and certainly wasn't ready to put herself in the world out there. Martin had been struggling for many years. He was a very unhappy man, he had no confidence in himself, hated his job, hated his life, was very discontented in his marriage and thought he was repulsive and unattractive to anybody. In reality he was a handsome, intelligent man and a lot of fun, people gravitated towards him. Unlike Christine, he wanted to be out there. He wanted to prove to himself that somebody would be interested in him. “I know I'm married”, he told her. “But, please, don’t judge me”. She didn't. Even though this went counter to all her beliefs. She knew instinctively that this was what he needed and actively encouraged him. He set his sights on another guest and pursued her like a teenager. He bought her gifts, he took her for a drink, he took her dancing. Christine tried to bring him back down to earth. He was going way over the top. This was a shipboard romance, not a lifelong commitment. “You’ll scare her off”, she warned. However, that didn't happen and with the inevitable result, they shared his cabin. He was definitely not unattractive to her. She spoke no English and he spoke no Japanese, so verbal communication was difficult. Obviously the iPhone translation app and nonverbal forms of communication was all that was needed. Perhaps that was part of the attraction, it created a surface level relationship that satisfied his imminent needs. Martin went from deep lows to deep highs. Christine listened to him, she heard far more about his exploits than she ever wanted to hear. She was worried though, that he set so much in store by this. At the end of the cruise when the two parted, he was like a love sick puppy, back to the deep low, symptomatic of how he saw himself and his life. Reading this you might assume that this was all about Martin. However, that was definitely not the case. Their conversations were two way, he listened to Christine as much as she listened to him. Her innermost fears were unlike Martin’s. She felt that she was unattractive to people too, but in a very different way. She craved companionship, not romance, but was worried that people found her boring, uninteresting or even annoying. Gregarious by nature, Christine had always been able to start conversations with strangers. Over the years her friends had complimented her on this and said that they wished they could be more like her. But nobody understood how hard she had to work at this, it didn't come as easily as people thought. Sometimes she was concerned that people weren't really interested in her or what she had to say, they were just being polite. The self-doubt was always there. Shipboard life was different without her husband. Christine had a lot of fun, met and mixed with a lot of people as well as Martin. She made it happen. There were times when she became quite maudlin, seeing herself surrounded by happy couples, everybody seemed to be in twosomes except her. And in the evening, she would go back to her cabin, shut the door and feel very alone. She was still grieving, she was still missing her husband and their life together. Life would never be the same for her. But she was a strong independent woman, she could do this. Her time with Martin helped her in ways that she didn't understand. Their relationship gave her reasons to rethink how she felt. The fact that he had actively sought her out, that they had bonded, that he confided in her, that he listened to her. All these things made her feel good about herself. He saw something in her of which she was unaware. She could open herself up to him, she told him things that she’d never told anyone before. When he told her that her personality shone through, that she attracted lots of people and had a lot to offer the world, it was as if a whole new world opened up. Nobody had told her this before, she was amazed that somebody would see her this way. And it felt good. Seven days together, a holiday affair with a difference. They shared some emotional and draining times together, but also lots of fun times. They made each other laugh, they made each other cry. They made each other feel good about themselves. They met as strangers and built an incredible trust. At the end of the cruise, they parted company, never to see each other again. Strangers passing through each other’s lives fleetingly. They missed each other but went back to their lives, albeit with greater insight into themselves. It would be nice if this story were to have the happy fairy-tale ending, but that's probably not what happened. Martin had serious issues and they weren't going to be resolved with a seven day friendship and a whirlwind shipboard romance. Christine had more grieving to do and more growing as an independent single person. But neither of them forgot this little interlude in their lives and were thankful for what the relationship had achieved. Both Martin and Christine thought of the other often in the years ahead and hoped that they had found some peace and happiness.


"Roses are red, violets are blue. Everything is falling apart and I'm here, stuck with you." Sutton wrote in her little black leather notebook which she kept on the little brown table that stood at the corner of the room. A room she shared with her boyfriend, Charles. The year is 2020, February 12th and there's been a little gossip or rather some ''birds chirping'' in and out of town about a virus spreading, quite deadly if you ask me. There have been reported cases of infected patients however, no data as to where this virus is coming from or its causes. The cases have been rapidly increasing and so, a national lockdown of 3 weeks has been imposed by the president. This means that absolutely nobody is allowed to go out in public for whatsoever reason as the virus is rapidly spreading and risks are not to be taken especially when almost 3.1 million lives are at risk. People were advised to strictly wear masks when going out and get what they needed and head home immediately. Outside was shooting with heat and you could tell by the way Sutton quickly moved away from the window metallic bars, that it was indeed hot outside. She couldn't help but drift away into thoughts and memories while staring out the window. Her mind was clouded with them and she wished she could somehow turn back time and relive them. Memories of her and Charles. They had a fight last night and she didn't know how to feel because for the first time, things actually seemed to be turning sour between them. You know that feeling when you drink lemonade and you feel a sudden citrus bolt of lightning in your jaw? Yes, things were definitely turning sour. Her and Charles had been high school sweethearts and have been together ever since. It has been 3 years after high school now and they're both in their final years of university, graduating next year...fingers crossed! Back in high school, Charles and Sutton were the school ground's power couple. Everyone wanted to be them, everyone wanted what they had, oh you know: Rainbows, candy floss and unicorns. Everything was beautiful...then. After high school, they have since moved to western part of Cape Town in order to attend the same university, University of Western Cape Town. Furthermore, they hoped it would be good for their relationship. It has been a good three years, until recently. Before the lockdown, Charles was always busy. He was hardly at home, he never wanted to do anything with her and it was almost as if he resented her. Their fight yesterday wasn't verbal nor physical. It was silent. Like the dead night. Sutton had made Charles his favorite dinner. Mac and cheese, with chicken on the side. Charles hadn't touched it. It sat there on the table, covered and almost lonely looking. He said he wasn't hungry but hell, they lived together and she hadn't seen him eat anything all day, apart from cringle scrapes that might have been in the cupboard for who knows how long. Their apartment was big or rather comfortable. Two bedrooms, a bathroom, kitchen and living room, which were kind of one room but, they most of the times made their room, their home. The extra room was being used as a storeroom and they enjoyed being together. It gave them a picture of how they'd actually be after graduation. A real home, a pet and in the far future maybe kids? They enjoyed the comfort of their small little room. They enjoyed each other. Two peas in a pod. A four walled pod. Recently however, today, now more than ever, there's nothing more that Sutton wanted than to be away from this man. This cold man that she no longer knew. It's almost as if Charles had become an old poem. A poem she thought she understood. A poem she thought she could analyze. She was wrong. She didn't understand him anymore and she couldn't read him either. In less than a month, Charles had become a stranger to her. Charles fell for Sutton the moment she entered their commerce class in 11th grade. Which makes sense because they're both doing a bachelor's degree in Chartered Accounting. They were both honest and hardworking students so there was no surprise that they fell for each other, I mean who's not attracted to brains right? But that's not quite what attracted her to him. Sutton had a way of getting to him, and into his head. She was kind and understanding and was one of the few who knew how to tear down his walls. He was intrigued by her. Fascinated! Sutton has always been living in South Africa however, Charles originally was from Namibia. He moved to South Africa when he was 13 when his dad got a promotion and had to move here. He is part of a wine producing company. In their final year of high school, they decided to attend the same university as they feared losing each other. The thought of long distance? Charles couldn't stand it and he's sure Sutton couldn't either. They haven't really spoken thoroughly about it after high school but it seemed like a pretty good decision then, until now. Charles was starting to feel distant. From Sutton and himself. Maybe it was the lockdown getting to him, but as far as he was concerned, everything bored him. He was irritated! He wanted to go out. Out of this room. Out of this town. Out of South Africa! It was now June, and as expected the pandemic wasn't getting any better especially because it was winter and the virus spread even faster than before. Restrictions became more intense and borders were closed, meaning no travelling into or out of the country. Charles cleaned out the storeroom and was now sleeping there. Sutton wasn't at all happy about it, but she didn't have a say. They spoke less and every time they did, it always sounded so formal. No good morning kiss, Sutton no longer prepared food for Charles and everyone minded their own business and focused on their school work. School was a bit hectic this year because everything migrated online, which meant no face to face learning. This was frustrating, especially for Sutton. She was used to being on campus. The air there felt different. It smelled of independence and educational tranquility which is weird because this course was very stressful and challenging but Sutton preferred it to this air. The air in that room. Colder than the air outside. This air...inside, was dead. It was angry and it had no love. This air was filled with resentment and she was tired of breathing it. She wanted to go outside. She wanted to be free of this air inside. It was a beautiful winter morning outside. It was snow white and quiet. You could hear yourself breathing and thoughts were three dimensional. You could hear yourself think and there was no escaping it. Charles came into the room and took the charger which they shared. Sutton's charger had broke and due to the pandemic, it was taking time for a new one to be delivered. She had ordered it online. Charles had taken the charger from the socket, removing her phone. It was fully charged and he abruptly placed it at her table. Without even looking at her, he walked out of the room. Sutton's heart sank. She couldn't believe it, but it has been like this for almost five months now and it was almost as if Charles hated her. But what had she done? During the past months, Sutton tried to create small talk with Charles. She'd try with jokes but the energy he returned was always sour and cold like the winter outside. They'd greet each other and maybe talk about formal things like how many toilet rolls were needed and that's it. Charles wondered why he was so cold towards Sutton. Why he was so distant. Why he was so tired of everything. This made him even more angry with himself because he was being this monster to this woman that he loved so much. The only person who understood him. His best friend. His girlfriend. What was going on? What was the problem? Sutton was seated outside on the stairs and next to her, brown autumn leaves were falling. The cases have decreased and people sort of started to embrace the pandemic. This was their new normal. Inside, Charles was glued to his laptop screen reading through some summary slides. He wondered why Sutton was sitting outside for so long as if they didn't have a test scheduled for tomorrow. She hasn't been studying- Yes he's been secretly watching her, I mean what else was he supposed to do when not busy studying? It was only the two of them in the house so it was only normal that he noticed everything she did. Like how all of a sudden she'd become shy when walking back to her bedroom after a shower. She'd hurriedly trot from the bathroom, almost as if she were afraid for her towel to fall in front of him, even though he has seen her naked before, so he didn't see any reasons for her to be shy. ''Do you want to end this?'' Sutton's voice whimpered from the stairs. "I assume we've both been thinking about it and it was only a matter of time before one of us brought it up. Us. This. What is this, Charles? " Asked Sutton. "What have I done to you? For the past few months, the energy has been off in these walls. You don't talk to me, you look at me with resentment in your eyes and you've even moved out of the room...our room, Charles." Her voice was breaking now. "I can't do this anymore. In fact, I don't want to do this anymore." Charles was quiet and shocked. Perhaps he didn't expect her to be the one to say this? He couldn't say. The room filled with silence and Charles stood there, eyes white, wide and open. His throat was dry. He didn't know what to say. Assuming she wasn't going to get a reply from Charles, Sutton was ready to walk away until he finally said something... ''Being in here, for almost a year, stuck inside this place made me realize. It made me realize that I miss home. My real home. I miss Namibia and I think I want to go back. I am going back.'' Charles exclaimed. "What-" Sutton interfered. "No, let me finish. Being stuck in this room, it made me realize how caged I've been feeling ever since I moved here and I want to break down those walls. I want to be free. I want to be at home. This is not home for me. It never was. I'm sorry." Charles said quietly. Sutton was frozen at this point. Her whole world was shattering in front of her and she didn't know what to do. Charles was her world and now he was saying all these things that came out of nowhere. "I'm sorry for taking it out on you. At some point, I blamed you for what I was going through. That it was your fault I moved here. That I'm studying this course, but the truth is, we both played a part in making the decision to come live here and I'm deciding to change it, for my sake. I don't know who I am here. Its been almost 8 years since I've been here and I still have no idea who the real Charles is...I'm sorry." Charles said. Sutton was quiet, standing pale and still. She didn't know what she was feeling, but it wasn't a bad feeling. She was feeling...free, liberated and lighter at heart. She slowly moved closer to Charles. She stood in front of him, so close she could smell his after shave. She gave him a long, tight hug. "I forgive you. Maybe a bit too fast, but I forgive you. I have immense love for you and I want you to be happy. That feeling of confinement you've been feeling? I've been feeling it too. You're all I've ever known, and I think its better we separate and continue this journey on our own. We deserve it. Once his pandemic is over, I too will travel the world and just...you know, explore things!" Sutton said. "Are you sure? You're okay with this? you agree?" Charles asked. "Yes, I think its for the best. You and I are one and the same person so trust me when I say, I understand you." Sutton said, smiling. For the first time since February, the year almost being over, the tension in the house was gone. The air in the room felt lighter. Like a summer's breeze. The pandemic was still here, but the toxicity was gone, finally! By December, the lockdown restrictions were changed and the borders were opened. Exams were finished and Charles had left for Namibia two weeks ago. Sutton was now at her Dad's in Johannesburg for the holidays. She too has moved out of the apartment that she had shared with Charles and was ready for new beginnings. Charles was home now and there was no better feeling. He and Sutton still kept in touch here and there and he was busy job hunting, trying to keep himself busy. He was able to reconnect with his mother and the rest of the family that side in Namibia. He promised to visit his father back in South Africa at least thrice a year, or whenever time allowed. Life was indeed beautiful. Namibia was experiencing a lockdown as well, but now it was different. He didn't feel trapped anymore. He wanted to be here. He was free. He was home.


A cool breeze filtered into the room through the half-open window. I puffed thoughtfully on my cigarillo. My partner, Conrad LeFontain, sat in the corner, reading something on his tablet. I was never much for them things; too much technology these days. “Mail call!” said a voice from outside. “Howdy Perry,” I said, inclining my head to the lanky, middle-aged postman. “Howdy, Walter, Conrad,” replied the postman, tipping his pith helmet. “You’ll never guess what happened today!” Perry was known for telling tall tales, which most people thought he’d fabricated. Conrad and I knew better. Perry rarely just made stuff up, no matter how fantastic. “What happened, Perry?” asked Conrad, sitting up in his aging recliner. “Another hell-hole opened up on my mail route!” replied Perry excitedly. “Great. Another one” said Conrad with exasperation. We were all the time having to close them things. “Where?” I asked. “It’s on McElwaine Way, past Dead Horse road.” “We’ll take care of it,” I said. “You going to the class of 2008 reunion?” asked Perry. I cringed. “Probably not,” I answered, taking another puff of my cigarillo. “Why not?” asked the postman. “I got my reasons.” “Well, I’ll be there, seeing as the wife’s a math teacher,” said Perry. “I figured as much,” I said. “It ain’t too late to change your mind,” said Perry. “Well, see you around... the bend.” “Good day to ya, Perry,” I said. Perry went off on his merry way. “Well, we got a hell-hole to fill in,” said Conrad. We gathered up our equipment and put it in the back of our old jeep. I started the engine, and we puttered down the road to McElwaine Way. “You getting any vibes?” I asked. “Yup,” replied Conrad. “There’s a dark energy vortex coming around this next curve.” This region had been prone to hell-holes since at least the late 19th century. It probably started with the supposed Corn-Man cult in Crooked Horn, just on the other side of the hills from North Fork. I parked the jeep along the side of the road. We got out and took our equipment out of the back. It didn’t take us long to find the hell-hole. The black circle opened in the forest floor, waiting for someone to fall in... or out. I sprinkled salt around the edge of the hole. Conrad then took out the holy water and tossed some of it inside the hole while praying in Latin. The hole slowly closed. “Do you think anything got out?” I asked. “Possibly,” said Conrad. “I’m still getting some dark vibes on the other side of those trees.” “Well, we better investigate that,” I said. Conrad had a special power; he was able to see and sense things no one else could. His ability to see into the spiritual dimension has proven incredibly valuable to me throughout our partnership. He can pick up a trail of dark energy like a bloodhound. No one knows exactly how his powers work, not even Conrad. He simply calls it a gift. I followed closely behind him through the forest. Given my unusual heritage, I too could sense things weren’t quite right. We came to a clearing in the forest that was marked off by police tape. “Hello,” said Conrad. We looked into the property on the other side of the tape. It was one of the little houses that one finds in these parts, with red, wooden siding. County Sheriff’s vehicles were parked along the road and deputies were coming in and out of the house. I saw Julia there, of course. She had blue rubber gloves on and was taking notes on a tiny notepad. Her long, sleek, black hair was in a bun on the back of her head as usual. I walked under the police tape. “Walter, what are you doing?!” asked Conrad. “I’m gonna talk to Julia,” I replied. “She gonna be pissed!” he warned. “What else is new?” “Deputy!” I called as I swaggered across the lawn to Julia, who scarcely looked up from her notebook. “What brings you out here on this fine September day?” Julia scowled at me. “Walter, what are you doing here?” she asked. Her voice dripped with annoyance. “Just closed a hell-hole,” I replied, “How about you?” “What does it look like I’m doing?!” She’s cute when she’s mad. “What happened here?” I inquired. “None of your business!” “Oh, Walter!” said Sheriff Donne, as he ambled out of the house. “I might need your help with this.” “Sheriff!” protested Julia, “he’s intruding on an official investigation!” “I’ll say when he’s intruding, deputy,” replied the sheriff. “Come on in, Walt. You too, Conrad.” The walls and floor of the small cottage were splattered with blood. Furniture, appliances, books, and other articles littered the floor. “What the Sam Hill?!” I exclaimed. “Where’s the body?” asked Conrad. “Follow me,” said Sheriff Donne. He led us to the coroner’s van, where a body bag lay, waiting for transport. He partially unzipped the bag so we could see the face of the victim. His skin was pale; paler even than a dead body would be normally. His throat was sliced open with a knife. “I don’t see anything supernatural about any of this,” said Julia. “Julia, people don’t just up and cut each other’s throats around here!” said the sheriff. “Hmm,” I said, scratching my close-cropped beard. Something about this seemed familiar. What was it? “This ringin’ any bells for either of you?” I asked. “Yeah,” said the Sheriff, “Can’t quite remember why. I’ll check the old case files and give you a call if I find anything.” “Thanks, Sheriff.” Conrad and I started walking back to our jeep. My brain was flooded with memories from high school; the names, the faces, the terrible things that happened that sent me on the path I now trod. I was not going to that damn reunion. I thought about the events of that day as we sat at the supper table enjoyed the beef stew my Ma made. My Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Mary Lou sat across from me. My cousin Katherine sat to my left, Conrad to my right. I ate my bread and stew in silence while Uncle Jimmy recounted something that happened to him in the Gulf War. “You going to the reunion, Walt?” asked Uncle Jimmy. I Looked up at him and swallowed a mouthful of stew “Nope,” I said, returning to my meal. “Why not?” he pressed. I gave him an expression that was probably akin to Dirty Harry as he was asking a criminal if he felt lucky. “High school was a waking nightmare, Uncle Jimmy,” I said. “I’d rather it be forgotten.” “It can’t have been that bad,” said Katherine, brushing a lock of hair away from her face. “Try going through what I go through every full moon and see how bad it is,” I said. “Try being a girl,” she retorted. “She’s got ya there, Walter,” said Ma. “Turning a wolf is a great way to ruin a date,” I said. “I wasn’t aware you dated in high school,” said Katherine. “Katherine...” said Aunt Mary Lou, raising one eyebrow. She could say more with one eyebrow than most people could in five minutes of conversation. “We got any pie?” asked Conrad, changing the subject. “That we do, Conrad,” said Aunt Mary Lou. Aunt Mary Lou wasn’t the best cook in the mountain country, but one thing she knew was pie. As she was getting up to get said dessert, a melody emanated from my vest pocket. I took my phone out. “Walter, you know the rule about phones at supper,” said Ma. I went out on the back porch to take the call. “Ulric, paranormal private detective, how can I help you?” “Walter,” said Julia. “I think you were right about this.” “Right about what?” I asked. Julia rarely admitted I was right about anything, so I needed to savor the moment. “The body... it didn’t have a single drop of blood in it.” “That’s not natural,” I said, making an understatement to hide anxiety. “I just... figured you should know.” “You gonna be alright?” I asked. “Yeah, I’ll be fine,” she replied. She wasn’t fine. “Well, gimme a call if there are any more developments.” “I will. Goodnight, Walter.” It was a Friday morning as the red sun rose over North Fork. Conrad and I had returned to the crime scene to find any more clues to the creature’s identity. “This is a bad idea, man,” said Conrad, as I jimmied the lock on the old house. “Look, there’s a monster loose in North Fork, and we're gonna track it down and send it back to where it came from,” I said. Conrad cleared his throat and tapped my shoulder. I turned my head to see Julia standing behind us. Her arms were crossed, her lip was curled. “I thought you two would come back here,” she said. She produced a key and opened the door for us. We walked inside, carefully looking at the evidence. “Is there anything in here that could tell us what that thing is?” I asked. “Could be a vampire,” offered Conrad. “Naw,” I replied, “Vampires don’t use knives, normally.” Father McKay’s ringtone started playing in my vest. I answered the call. “What can I do for ya, Steve?” given that we’d known each other since middle school and he knew I meant no disrespect. “Walter,” he replied, “something’s come up. I need to see you at your office.” “I’ll be right there,” I said, hanging up. “Gotta go,” I said. “But Walter, I need you on this!” protested Julia. “Conrad can help you, I gotta talk to an old friend.” The minister was waiting outside for me when I arrived. He was pale as a sheet. “Steve,” I said, “You’re bleached!” “I know,” he replied. “I barely slept last night.” “Come in, you better have a seat.” We sat down in my office, and I reached into my desk drawer where I kept a bottle of whiskey and a couple of glasses. The priest gladly took the glass. “Now,” I said, “What happened that’s gotten ya looking like that?” “I saw... Francesca last night” replied Steve. My blood ran cold at the mention of that name. Francesca Kilkenny, “Franky” to us, was Steve’s high school sweetheart until she disappeared into the woods one day. We searched for days until someone found her. Except what they found wasn’t Franky. It looked like her and sounded like her, but it wasn’t her. She’d been replaced by something horrible. It would slowly drain the life-force of a willing victim until he was nothing by a husk. That nearly happened to Steve. An unwilling victim it would just kill. It was the first thing I banished to the dark dimension. It must’ve come back into our dimension through the hell-hole. Everything made sense, now. “You’re sure of that?” I asked. “I thought I’d been seeing things when I saw her walking along the side of the road, but then I saw the news.” I took a sip of my whiskey. “What are you going to do?” he asked. “Track it down, then I’ll probably have to put it down.” “You okay with that?” asked the priest. “I don’t have a choice,” I replied. “That’s not Franky. It might look like her, but as far as we’re concerned, she died ten years ago.” Steve looked like he was going to break down crying. He’d been carrying the memory of what happened for a long time. I put on my Sunday clothes. My hair was brushed, and my beard groomed for once. My revolver, loaded with silver bullets, was nestled in my shoulder holster. I topped it all off with my best suede jacket. “Where are you off to?” asked Katherine. “High school reunion,” I replied. “I thought you weren’t going.” “Changed my mind.” My boots clunked on the front steps of Julia’s place. The door opened, and there she was, her dark, Shawnee hair was all braided and dolled up. She wore a pretty floral dress and a nice pair of boots. I stared at her longer than I probably should have. “What?” she said, narrowing her eyes at me. “You clean up good, Julia,” I replied. “You’re not so bad yourself.” Probably the first time she complimented my appearance. We got in the jeep and drove to the high school. Conrad sat in the backseat. “What makes you so certain it’ll be at the reunion?” asked Julia. “Vibe,” said Conrad. “Conrad’s rarely wrong,” I added, pulling into the nearly packed parking area. “Stay here,” I said to Conrad. “Dude!” he replied. “You didn’t go to high school in North Fork; what are you supposed to be? My date?” With that, Conrad consented. Matilda Wankle, my old math teacher, greeted us as we entered the gym. “Oh, hello Walter, I didn’t think you were coming!” she said. “Well, I changed my mind,” I replied. “Julia, I didn’t think you were part of the class of 2008,” said Matilda. “I was a year behind,” said Julia, “but I couldn’t let Walter go alone.” “Isn’t that sweet,” said Matilda. “Well, y’all have a good time there.” “Thanks, Mrs. Wankle,” said Julia. The place was packed with old school mates. Some of them waved at me or gave me a high-five; some just nodded. Most looked at Julia. The DJ played 3 Doors Down as we mingled. “Okay, what now, Walter?” asked Julia. “We watch and we wait,” I replied. “Howdy, Walt!” said a voice from behind. Perry Wankle stood there in a blue blazer and a Hawaiian shirt; his standard attire for such events. “Didn’t think you were coming to this shindig.” “Ma changed my mind,” I replied. “Well, help yourself to some punch! Made it myself!” I took the punch glass from Perry. It smelled peculiar. “Perry, is this...?” “White lightning?” said Perry, quietly as he could. “You didn’t hear it from me.” And away he danced. It was an open secret that Perry owned a still, but the sheriff turned a blind eye. I scanned the crowd again. Then I saw it. It was talking to Barton Baxter, formerly the captain of the football team and my arch enemy. Barton waved at me and smiled that idiotic smile. I approached them, with Julia close behind. “Howdy, Baxter,” I said. “Ulric, how’s things?” he said. “Still chasing shadows?” “Yep,” I replied. “You remember Franky, right?” he said, gesturing its direction. “Hi, Walt,” it said, looking at me through evil eyes. “Hi, Franky,” I responded. “How’ve you been?” “I’ve been well.” It had a predatory look in its eye. “I don’t think you know Julia,” I said, trying to act natural. “Hi,” said Julia, “I was a year behind the rest of y’all.” “How much did he pay you?” jeered Barton. I thought maybe he’d grown up since school. He hadn’t. “Excuse me?” said Julia. “Well, you didn’t just come here with this wacko,” replied Barton. “You got something to say, Baxter, just say it,” I said. My eyes were like daggers. “Are you implying that I’m some kind of call girl?” said Julia, placing her hands on her hips. “I’m not implying anything,” said Barton, putting his hands up. “Listen, buster,” said Julia, “Who I go out with is my business. Walter didn’t have to ‘buy’ my time. All he did was ask. I said yes, because, unlike you, Walter is a gentleman.” Barton Baxter stood there in stunned silence. The thing that looked like Franky had wandered off somewhere, unnoticed. Julia took me by the arm and dragged me to the punch bowl. “Where’d she go?” I asked. “I didn’t see,” replied Julia. “We’ll have to find her again,” I said, downing a punch. I’d need it to get through the evening. “We should split up,” said Julia. “That’s what it wants,” I returned. “Walter, I’m armed, we’re in a building full of people, what’s it gonna do?” Julia went to another area of the gym, I searched the crowd again. Then my eyes met it’s. It was across the gym from me, near one of the hallway doors. It gave me a wicked smile and its eyes turned black. It beckoned to me. I walked slowly in its direction as it disappeared down the hallway. We were alone in the hall. My hand started to reach for my gun. “What you did wasn’t right, Walter,” it said. “Not from where I’m standing,” I replied. “A girl’s got certain needs,” it said. “You’ve killed folk,” I said, “Nearly drained the life outta Steve, and you expect me to just let you walk?” “Walter, I’ve been just so lonely these last ten years.” It walked a little closer to me, seductively. I froze. I couldn’t bring myself to move. “Get back!” Steve stood behind me, holding a crucifix. His shout was enough to break the trance. I drew my revolver, but the thing bit my hand. The weapon fell to the ground. The creature pushed me into the wall and pressed its lips against mine. My will was broken. I could feel my life-force draining out of me. Before the next new moon, I’d be a shell of the man I was; another victim. A shot rang out. Then another. The thing slumped to the ground, dead. Steve stood nearby, holding my revolver in his shaking hands. He dropped the weapon to the ground and fell on his knees. I heard Julia’s voice telling everyone to stay calm. She busted into the hallway, Glock drawn. “Are you alright?” she said, returning the gun to her purse. “We will be,” I replied, placing my hand on the minister’s shoulder.


“I don’t love you anymore.” She muttered, scuffing her shoe against the rough concrete. There were lots of little cracks in it that were far more interesting to her than the conversation she’d found herself stuck in. She hadn’t wanted to have this conversation here. Not in front of all the people that were walking past. They were getting a few odd looks and she flicked her hair a little. “What do you mean?” He asked, his face starting to crumple into an expression of upset. “I don’t know how I could say it any clearer.” She muttered. Her eyes were drawn to a nearby column and she let her gaze climb slowly upwards to the ceiling. It probably needed to be cleaned. All public spaces like this needed to be cleaned, but she doubted they ever were. It wasn’t that *she* cared, but her mother always muttered about it when they were together. “Did you ever love me?” Her eyes were pulled back to her ex-partner. Or was he still her partner at the moment? She wasn’t sure how it worked. But he was still looking at her expectantly, tears gathering along the lower lid of his eyes. “I enjoyed the time we spent together.” She answered truthfully, clasping her hands in front of her. His voice almost sounded like a whimper this time. “But you don’t enjoy it anymore.” “No.” “Why not?” He asked again, taking a step forward. She stepped back quickly, keeping the distance between them. Her eyes travelled up and down his frame, trying to determine if he was going to jump at her. His shoulders slumped and he didn’t take another step. “I don’t have an answer for that.” She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I don’t enjoy spending time with you anymore.” “What did I do wrong?” Her head tilted slightly as she considered the question. Had he done anything wrong? She didn’t suppose he had. It was something that was wrong with her, perhaps. To enjoy something and then not. She eyed him again, took in the defeated pose. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” She told him, hoping that it would bring back his smile. It only made the tears spill over. His face was buried in his hands, shoulders hunched forward, protectively around himself. She glanced about, hoping for some route to escape. But so many eyes were on them. She couldn’t do this anymore. She couldn’t talk with him here. She turned on her heel, bowing her head. As she started threading her way through the crowd. Some moved out of her way, others made her change her course. But, finally, she got to her destination, dropping into a chair next to her friend. “So? Did you do it?” Her friend asked, leaning forward expectantly. “Did you break up with him?” “I think so.” She answered. “I told him I didn’t love him anymore. But he started crying. So... I left. I didn’t know what else to do.” “You are cold.” Her friend crowed. “Alright class, settle down!” The teacher called as the bell rang in the hall.


Drakaith stared at his brothers lifeless corpse. It had been seventeen days since he drank the Unicorn blood and since then so much had changed. He felt alive for the very first time, he could feel the wind on every tree leaf, the earth groan as it moves, the insects and animals voices clear and loud. If he wanted them to be. Everything was as he wanted. Silence could be created in a heartbeat. A heartbeat. He’d felt his brothers. It was the last movement he made. A shuddered breath, followed by a last weak, tiny beat. Drakaith turned away. There was no need to kill him. Drakaith had felt hungry. So hungry. But not for food. He couldn’t place it, until he stoped and listened. That heartbeat was like a drum calling to him. Making his hunger dance. But then so did all the animals of the forest. Their hearts were as strong as his. But there was something about his brothers. It was like a sweetcake when you could have oatmeal. The oatmeal would suffice, but the sweetcake... It was so tempting. He’d never liked his brother anyway he tried to pretend as he stalked away through the forest. A year younger he’d always looked up to Drakaith, always been mothers favourite. He had a lucky smile. It always brought good cheer. Drakaith knew his crooked teeth always made people uncomfortable. Even when he spoke it caused others to avert their eyes. A problem solved. Since drinking the blood, he barely opened his mouth. No need. His voice could be heard in their minds and seemingly life itself bent to his will. The Soothsayers story was true. The Unicorn blood really did hold power. Now it was his power. His gaze shifted back to the corpse. It had felt so good to feel his siblings pain and anguish as he realised his fate. Ecstasy. His soul breaking, emotions running wild. Pathetic, but delicious. As blood drained from his arteries, gushing on the floor beneath the broken branch that had been thrust into his neck, his soul seemed to float above the child. Then Drakaith devoured it. The first soul he had consumed. He wanted more. The forest was alive and he could feel it. Plenty of heartbeats. From mice to owls to... humans. Rain drops fell. He looked up at the branches of the trees above him. The Black Forest was known for its tall trees. Drakaith willed them to bunch together and form a canopy. And it was so. Sitting on a rock, he closed his eyes, allowing his thoughts to cross into the sprit world. The colours changed all around him, but instead of the living, there were now the dead. Could he control them too? He saw an old man in the distance. He focused on him. Willed him to turn. And he did! A thrill went through him. “You must obey me. Walk towards me.” The man stared at him blankly. Drakaith growled again, “You must obey me. Walk towards me.” The man turned and walked away. Drakaith opened his eyes, sweat along his brow, his limbs heavy and aching. “The shadow world is no place to stay for long, especially for those of such small stature and strength.” Drakaith looked up, fifty paces away a giant stag stared at him. It slowly shook its head. “You killed my friend. The unicorn. The last of his line in this forest.” The words echoed in Drakaith’s head. The creature was communicating through thought. “His blood tasted heavenly.” Drakaith said grinning. The stag took a couple of steps forward. “Stay back.” The stag stopped and laughed. Drakaith’s mouth dropped open in surprise. A laughing stag? The stag cocked its head and glared at him. “You have stolen power, power that does not belong to you. You can talk to the plants, move trees, hide paths, make grass grow. But do not think you are the only one here with power.” Drakaith stepped across to a fallen tree. If the stag charged, he would be able to dodge to safety. “I will not harm you little one. You have done enough of that to yourself already.” Drakaith froze. “Yes, I am in your thoughts. All of them.” And with that, the stag turned and started to stride away. “I will find another unicorn and become even more powerful.” The stag stopped. Drakaith grinned at the poison of his own words. “Did you not hear me boy? You killed the last one. Its spirit was one with nature. This nature. This place. You are cursed to stay here, such is the price for ending a line.” The stag continued walking away. Drakaith watched and then, his voice trembling, called out; “what if I do leave?” But the stag was gone. Its powerful legs striding through the trees with ease and grace. Drakaith slumped down on a log. He couldn’t leave? What nonsense was this? He had ambitions, great and terrible ambitions. His new found power would wage war on all those around him, bringing him riches and unforetold wealth. He was only a few years from being a man and had yet to explore the lands beyond the forest borders. Once he almost went with Father to the Iron City, but sickness struck him down, a winter flu, causing him to stay home to recover. The Iron City is where he would go first. With no one to stop him. His eyes stared around at the forest. This was his. The stupid stag was wrong. Fearmongering, antlered creep, he thought. Seven hours later, he was close to the forest edge. Clothes drenched in sweat and his body weary, but he was there. Three days from here he would see the Iron City. Watch the sailors leaving at the dock, hear rowdy tales in the notorious ale houses, maybe even venture down to the night ladies walk. Just to see it. See who was there. He wasn’t thirsty, but hunger was taking hold. He sat on a log and closed his eyes, listening for a heart beat nearby. A young doe was closest. But he couldn’t. The stag may object and he needed no enemies now. Not yet. A squirrel? Yes. Much better. He concentrated his mind. Come to me little one, he thought. The squirrel stood up straight and marched toward him, coming into view behind a gnarled birch tree. Now how to kill him? Claw out his own heart? Could it do that? That would be impressive to see. Next time. Something prosaic for I’m hungry and don’t want to attract attention, he decided. The squirrel darted up the birch tree, he appeared at the very top most branch. His tail fluttering in the wind. Drakaith smiled and nodded. The squirrel tensed and fell. Dropping. Faster and faster. With a piercing crack it thudded into a rock on the floor. Dead. Drakaith shuddered. His eyes closed, his mind in the spirit world. The squirrels soul screamed as it was dragged towards him, ending in a piercing wail as it was absorbed by Drakaith. Other spirits nearby had stopped and stared. Drakaith opened his eyes. Feeling much refreshed. It was like eating a delicious meal, but not feeling too full, just perfectly satisfied. With renewed vigour he jumped to his feet and marched towards the final few trees of the forest. Twenty more paces and he would be out of the wood, proving the old stag wrong. fifteen more paces. Twelve. Twelve. Twelve. He couldn’t take another step. The feeling of fire leapt up his arms. He screamed at the pain. He closed his eyes. The spirit world instantly appearing and a mighty blanket of fog rushed towards him. Gasping he staggered back. The pain subsided a little. He staggered back further, until his body only ached and his head throbbed. He sat back down on the same log as before. The curse was real. His mind swam. Perhaps he could find another way out? Perhaps if he was stronger? Anger coursed through him. This was not part of the deal. But there never had been a deal. There had only been a moment of violence, followed by more of the same. Actions leading to a consequence. Deep down Drakaith knew this. Just considering it, sent a small shiver down his spine and for a split second he felt alone. Very alone. Just a boy, nearly a man. Alone forever. Alone in the Black Forest. Forever. He strangled the emotions. If the world would not know his power, the forest would. A grim satisfaction rippled over him.


You are having a malady. This isn’t the first or the last, but you are having a malady. Your ailment may be any number of things. But you are having a malady. Put pressure on your joints and run a bath. There are a number of reasons why you might be sick, but rest assured we are aware of your injury and/or pain - use the toggle buttons to select the cause, because you are having a malady. Our team of doctors are on hand to help you out with your headache, cold, flu, deep depression, spiraling anxiety...you are having a malady. Stay calm. Pick up your medication, hopes, dreams, legs from across the room...you are having a malady. Our in-house strategy consultants ask that you stay calm and think about your childhood, unless that childhood was painful, then feel free to think about a comedy, song, or especially delicious sandwich. The point is, we are here for you, because you are having a malady. Avoid any urges to administer any drugs not prescribed to you; this includes alcohol and Children’s Tylenol. You are not to binge eat, cut yourself, or giggle at plants you think may be alive. You are not to bundle your problem up - there are a team of family technicians that will be on the way to help you adjust to your pain in the confines of your friends and family. They will be notified, because you are having a malady. If you haven’t called the proper authorities and medical professionals by now, we will now call them for you. Please use the drop-down menu to choose your malady. We will wait, because you are having a malady. If you have arrived here by mistake, please notify us using the Help icon at the top of this hologram. We would rather non-malady users to stay away from this site unless a malady occurs. Our service is free, and we’d like it to stay that way. If you still believe you are having a malady, please continue to hold and our holographic interface will continue to linger around your head. If your head is no longer intact, then speak “Missing Head” aloud and we will adjust the position of the hologram. If you are missing limbs, arms, hands, feet, etc. and need an adjustment, please speak the words “Disability” and our team of holographic assistants will assist you with your needs. If your malady is a mental ailment, please take a few minutes to make sure you are not hallucinating. It is quite possible this is all in your head... This malady.


The picture frame laid on the ground as its brothers and sisters are still hanging on the wall. The nail reserved for the fallen frame stuck there in abandonment with nothing clinging on it. In the corner of the room, a large pot was sat months ago but only to be complemented by a dead fern that had not tasted water in weeks. A small table with a residence of a mug with coffee stains inside that would make a good trap for cockroaches and ants. A half-eaten apple civilised by cities of molds under the small table. Underneath all of that was an experienced rug who has tasted a lot of things from breads to wines to gravies to m&ms. The whole room is illuminated only by the lights produced by the television. Man in solitary was sitting on his couch wearing nothing but a wife-beater and a pair of boxers drinking a can of coke, watching “Love and Prejudice”. Sliding doors on his left was opened to let the wind circulating in the living room relieving the stench from all the things in the living room with night’s fresh air. \- The picture frame was once again reunited with its brothers and sisters, hanging proudly on the dim lit wall. The nail no longer felt lonely as it has reconvened with its life long partner. The pot in the corner of the room filled with Hearts of Jesus that have never versed with dehydration. Magazines about lifestyles and fashion neatly stacked on top of the small table. Two pairs of drunk wine glasses laid on their sides on the experienced rug next to the wine bottle filled with air. Not far from the glasses are a pair of white stiletto heels that has its strap snapped fiercely and now dangling there, lifeless. The whole room was well lit but still considered as dim. Blasting from the speakers was a song from Bruno Mars titled “Just The Way You Are”. Man, no longer solitary, wearing a charcoal black suit on top of a snow white winged tip collar, with his bow tie undone and hanging around his neck, passionately in a kissing spree with Woman who was in a beautifully woven pearl white ballgown dress, her bridal veil went over her head and to her back. Sliding doors on their left was opened to let the wind circulating in the living room to replace the scent of fumes and cologne and sweats the night’s fresh air. \- The picture frame now holds a graceful photo of Man and Woman side by side in their wedding dress. Smiling at each other from ear to ear as the day the picture was taken was their day marked in the history of their lives. The Caladiums in the corner of the room are starting to wilt, putting dehydration as an experience in its resumé. The small table now stands next to the couch with nothing on top of it, radiating an endless sense of longing. The experienced rug now tire from being stepped on by multiple people coming in and out of the living room. The room is bright with no help from the lamps but from the sunlight flooding in through the sliding door, but everything is black and white. The television and the speakers are dead silent, nothing playing on them. Echoes of damp chatter fills the room but not in a noisy way. Man in melancholy, dressed in black, from blazers to slack, crying with his friends and family around him, comforting him, mourning with him.