*Trigger warning: Suicide* Silver sat next to Blue in the early morning light, one of his wings curled around Blue’s tiny body as they watched the sunrise. Blue’s eyes were wide and fascinated; due to his time with the scientists, this was his first sunrise. The corners of Silver’s mouth twitched up into a slight, rare smile at the wondrous expressions on the smaller angel’s face. He should have felt the pure joy of seeing the skies sooner, Silver thought quietly. The pure ones like Blue deserved to see the sky and enjoy the vast expanse of the heavens above. It was the failed dark creatures like Silver himself that deserved to be here, skulking around the earth. The scientists had given the wrong creatures the freedoms; the truer angels should be flying, not the assassins. Silver glanced at Blue’s right wing; the feathers were growing back from the regular clippings and soon the primaries would be long enough to fly. Silver could imagine the look on Blue’s face the day he finally was able to fly...he could feel the happiness even now. Maybe in a week, they could...Silver lost his train of thought and was startled as Blue’s head settled on his shoulder. Blue still looked fascinated with the sun, but as the vibrant colors faded to the now cyan sky, Silver felt a calmness in Blue that he had never seen before. Silver himself was never calm, if he were he would have instead assumed he had been drugged. Instead, he often sat still with deadly laziness that one might see in a tiger or a leopard. Silver was like a coiled snake, still but ready to move with a quick deadly accuracy. Not now...he wasn’t calm exactly, but he was less on edge than he should, less on edge than the norm. Until he heard the faint sound of fluttering wings that quickly began to grow in loudness. “Blue!” he whispered quickly, breaking the spell. Silver yanked his wing back in, nearly knocking over Blue in the process. Blue, as confused as he was, still followed Silver up off the ground and under the cover of the nearby pines. As Silver yanked Blue down to the ground underneath one of the larger trees. Silver felt guilty as he saw the pinpricks of blood dotting Blue’s hand where he had fallen on the sharp needles, but this was far better than the alternative. He spread his dark-colored wings over Blue’s pale cyan ones, covering the bright splash of color. That would have been a dead giveaway against the dusty brown earth. They lay perfectly still there for about 30 minutes since Silver insisted on waiting till the noise had been gone for at least five minutes. “I think it’s safe Sil,” Blue whispered. Silver begrudgingly agreed and folded in his wings after a swift shake-off of the dirt that had been rubbed into his feathers when he had taken cover under the tree. Blue’s light-colored wings, however, stayed the dusty brown even when he tried to shake them out. Silver’s heart twinged sadly, remembering another pair of small brown wings. It had been a different time, and Silver had been a different angel then. Now, all that was left of Hope was gone and he remained. “Silver?” questioned Blue sounding a bit worried. Silver realized was staring and looked away. “It’s nothing,” he answered, trying to sound reassuring. It wasn’t a convincing ruse, but Blue, who always believed what people said, believed him and chirped an “Okey!”. Silver forced a tight grin and Blue beamed back, guilt stabbing Silver in the chest. He hated lying to Blue...but was that really true? He had been doing it for so long, since they met really, so could he truly say that he hated it? Could he really say that he had regretted it? No, he admitted to himself, as wrong as this was he couldn’t regret it. He had felt sorry for his innocent target but he had never felt remorse for what he was doing, not really. It didn’t matter though, not now. It was time for his final lie. “Hey Blue?” Silver called out. “Yeah?” chirped out the reply. Blue would have no idea what was coming. “I have to go back home.” He wasn’t taking Blue to where he lived. But Blue wouldn’t know any better. The chipper angel’s face fell and Silver quickly backpedaled. “You should come with me,” he added, hating himself with every word. Blue’s face brightened up immediately. The small creature wouldn’t know that he would be trapped when they arrived. He wouldn’t know that Silver would be taking him back to the labs and a lifetime behind bars and glass panes. He wouldn’t understand the pure guilt Silver was feeling; he would only remember that he had trusted Silver...and been let down. “Let’s go then!” said Silver with a forced grin plastered onto his face. It had never been this hard before to hunt his targets. A flash of the blade, a thump of his wing and it was over. He would collect evidence, usually a wedding ring or other jewelry, and leave and never look back. He wasn’t even killing Blue, so why was it so hard? He was just another target in the end. Silver shook his head vigorously, clearing his more unhelpful thoughts. As much as he tried to keep people out of his head, being trapped in there alone with his thoughts was almost worse. It was a different sort of poison, one’s own mind. He glanced over at Blue who had gotten distracted chasing a bright orange monarch butterfly. Blue’s mind was one of the few, Silver thought, that had escaped tainting. Blue was 19 years old and still innocent as a 5-year-old, if not more so. Silver, however, was 21 and his mind was beyond further taint; being an assassin-and being in the real world-did that to you. Silver called Blue over and squatted down, beckoning for the smaller angel to get on his back. Since Silver was the only one who knew how to fly, he would have to get them to the warehouse with the other assassins; it was the place Silver had gotten the assignment and so the place he was to report back to. Silver stood up and with a few sprinting steps launched himself into the air. Flapping hard to pull himself and the tiny barely noticeable weight of Blue into the sky, Silver tried his best not to knock Blue off of his back. As they reached a cruising height, Blue nestled his face into Silver’s neck and held on even tighter. Silver, of course, didn’t show emotion but since Blue couldn’t see, he indulged himself in a real smile. This was where Blue was meant to be. ...but instead, he was being taken back to a lab. The moment was poisoned now. And Silver wiped the smile off of his now expressionless features. About half an hour later, they could see the warehouse; a giant rectangular metal building that looked like, you guessed it, a warehouse. “You actually live there?” Blue asked, sounding incredulous. “Yep,” lied Silver convincingly, “Home sweet home.” They landed in the very front of the building and Blue slipped off of Silver’s back. Silver nodded at the two guards (Levi and Rio) and walked inside, Blue following closely behind. For the sake of appearances, Silver stiffened his wings, raising them up and slightly out in a dominant position. He was beta here and he needed to re-enforce that since he had been gone. This simple display of Silver’s kept most of the other angelic assassins at bay and, more importantly, kept them from messing with Blue. Although Silver realized, he was the biggest threat to Blue’s safety now. “We’re almost there,” he told the small angel, who looked extremely excited. As they neared the end of the halls, Silver quickened his pace and Blue had to take swift hopping steps to keep up. The sooner they got to the end of the hall, the less time Silver would have to lose his crumbling resolve. They arrived at the end of the corridor and Silver gave a pointed glance to the messenger who had been waiting by the heavy steel door. The messenger, Luca, nodded curtly and scrambled off to inform the scientists of their subject’s arrival. Then it was just the pair of them, Blue and Silver. Silver typed in the code keeping the heavy steel door closed and stepped back as it swung outwards. It creaked as it opened, hinges complaining bitterly from years of little use. The area in front of the only two cells was dim. The doors of the cells were open and Silver led Blue into the cage. There was a bed on the left side and a small bucket in the corner that served as a bathroom, but that was the only furnishing the bare room had to offer. Blue looked confused, but Silver thought he’d be understanding soon. It was time; Silver had to go. “I’m so sorry Blue...” he whispered hoarsely. Silver hesitated then kissed Blue’s cheek. He turned away then, leaving Blue’s wide eyes and fluttering wings behind. He was leaving it all behind and he was sorry but this was his job. As Silver walked away, wings at a slight droop, the cell doors slammed shut behind him. “Silver!” Blue shouted desperately, and Silver heard a louder fluttering of wings. Not the usual happy flutters that Blue made, but an awful, hopeless rustling as Blue’s wings hit the bars and ricocheted off of them. Through tears, the first in over ten years, pricked at his eyes, Silver didn’t look back. He couldn’t; if he looked back he would see the betrayal in Blue’s eyes and have to face the reality of what he had done. Instead, he kept walking until he was out of the building and took to the evening sky. Silver flew and flew and flew, numbing his pain in the freezing night air. He flew until he reached the lake where they had watched the sunrise together. It had just been this morning and it was too late now. He slumped down onto a rock, letting his wings droop and brush the ground. He looked up; the sun was gone now and things could not be the same. It was too late to fix it. Silver was numb inside as he watched the moonlit lake. He pulled his dagger out of its sheath, watching the shadows play over the icy blade. He rested it over his wrist and gave an experimental quirk of his hand. A drop of shimmering silver blood oozed out and slid down his wrist. He hadn’t been there for Blue the way he should have been. Silver lifted the blade and brought it directly over the pulsing artery. He had failed him and now he was gone. He brought the cold steel down to his wrist. Without Blue, there was nothing now. “From dust, we came, and to dust, we shall return,” muttered Silver and he pressed down the blade.


He crashed loudly while she danced around him. He was clumsy, connecting with everything as he moved. She was delicate and agile as she remained strikingly beautiful. Her touch could destroy much more than his brute strength, but when people saw them both, it was he they feared. She was admired, and it upset him to be the bad guy. She was sly and snaky in every way, and he got the blame for each of them. It was his job to be loud and brash, but the thought didn’t make it any easier for him. He acted as her bodyguard; the one who scared away intruders. To make people think only once about approaching, if they dared to. She didn’t need the assistance, but it was his role in life. He was there to be scary and noisy, whilst she lit up people’s eyes in amazement. He watched her dance. Her body electrified everything, spreading light to corners and shadows long since forgotten. He felt as though he should be jealous of her. He could see why people fell in love with her, it was just he was given the bad hand. As he watched her move he could feel rage building up inside of him. Her moves were eloquent, gracefully choreographed and self-taught over the years. She had perfected every one of her moves, created every streak for the purpose of luring people’s eyes. To make them fall in love with something they could never reach. He felt himself getting riled up as he thought of his own clumsiness, alongside hers. How silly and infantile he must look. How crazy and destructive people must see him. He felt the anger bubbling up inside him, and as if on cue to match his boiling point, she winked at him. He threw himself around as hard as he could. When he got angry, this was how he dealt with it. He hit every part of his body that he could, as hard as he could. Thumping and crashing around, punching, kicking and flailing everywhere to create as much noise as he could. He was trying so hard to hit something with the amount of force that would quell his anger. He could not hit her, but he could not stand being her shadow either. Finally he hit the final blow of his explosion. He steadied himself to get air back into him, as she danced past him quietly, moving onwards. “Wow, Thunder. You’re doing great tonight!” She flashed again, making streaks through the sky as she moved above the city. Thunder watched her moving away, losing interest, and his energy as he felt his efforts were futile. He would always be her shadow, and it was his job to set up the atmosphere for that show off Lightning. For the rest of the storm, he hit feebly, creating noise, but very minimal sound as he carried on watching her. Maybe one day he could become the show, but for now he was the stage.


There is always someone who gets picked on in life. When I was at school it was Jeremy Longbottom. He was a mountain of a guy, ginger hair and freckles. His teeth stuck out way beyond his lip and consequently he couldn’t pronounce his ‘L’s so if you asked him to say ‘lovely lollies’ he would end up saying ‘wovely wallies’...much to the amusement of all the kids gathered around, who found it extremely funny no matter how many times we made him say it. We were all so unfair to him. But we were just all kids. Jeremy Longbottom had another problem that led to him being laughed at...he was crossed eyed! “Who you looking at Jez?” they would say to him “If you’re talking to me, it’s rude not to make eye contact!” much more laughter.... “I am wooking at you” he would say and a chorus of “I am wooking at you” could be heard coming from just about everyone in the classroom, but then... “SIT DOWN EVERYONE!” yelled Mr. Johnson our teacher “and SHUT YOUR MOUTHS ALL OF YOU” Everyone scurried to find their seat, get out their books and sit as if they were a bunch of ‘nerdy do-gooders’ which most of them weren’t! Mr Johnson continued to shout “Now what were you all laughing at?” (He knew exactly what they were laughing at; it wasn’t the first time it had happened) Nobody spoke. “Ok then - would you like to tell me what the class was laughing at Jeremy?” Jeremy sat very still in his seat, his huge frame spilling out on either side. He looked at the teacher sheepishly (well half looked as one eye looked at Mr. Johnson and the other one at the boy sitting next to him) and answered “Ummm Wincon told a joke and we were all waffing at it Sir”. Mr Johnson didn’t believe a word of it but there wasn’t much he could do about that so he told them all to read their passage and keep their mouths shut! No matter how much Jeremy got picked on, laughed at or generally disrespected, he never told on anyone. In a way it didn’t seem to worry him that much, and quite often he even joined in with the laughter. Jeremy’s mother Mrs Josie Longbottom never knew the full extent of how much her son got picked on at school. When she asked him as he walked in the door if he had had a good day, the answer was always “Yeah Great day Mum, rearry wuvly”. She did wonder why her son never really brought anyone home to hang out but when she quizzed him he always told her that he liked his own company best, him and his dog ‘Wag’. And of course Jeremy had his hobby, the one that no one but his mum and dad knew about. There was something else that none knew about too and that was the appointments that Jeremy went to each day after school with his mother - speech therapy. He knew that if he could only get rid of the problem he had with his letters it would hopefully make life a lot easier. “Righty-o Jeremy we are working really hard at this but you need to get your teeth straightened to help even more. How about it Mrs Longbottom - you need to get Jeremy braces to pull his teeth back and that will make a big difference”. “Oh dear me” she replied “I hadn’t really thought about braces. Of course we must. I’ll ring up when I get home”. Jeremy may have sounded dumb at school just because he had a speech problem and he may have looked as if he wasn’t the smartest kid on the block because of his problem eyes, but the truth be known, Jeremy was a very clever young man. He excelled in his science and computing class but because the rest of the class messed around so much they didn’t notice just how smart Jeremy was. At the end of the year awards night, the students were told who would be getting an award ahead of the night, and this year, because Jeremy knew he needed good marks in his last year, he was collecting the science, IT and English awards. (Every other year he had pretended to be dumb - he didn’t want to be a ‘show off’ he told his mum). There was a boy in his class that he knew was pretty smart too, Raymond, and he was collecting the Maths and History awards. He was never shy about letting the other kids know just how good he was too! He was a good looking guy so didn’t get picked on for anything. Life at school was easy for him. “Hey Jeza” one of the kids called out to him “How are you getting three awards? Have you paid someone?” and the rest of them laughed. They weren’t malicious, just dumb really, and maybe at times just horrible! “I guess I’ve put the effort in this year” he replied shyly “Just in time for moving on eh?” said another one flicking through his comic. It was the last year of high school for this class and in a way Jeremy knew that he would miss them. Despite the name calling and being laughed at all the time, they were quite funny, mostly at his expense but they did let him join in some things. When they got their basketball stuck behind the backboard they would ask Jeremy to jump up and hit it out, which he did - they would kindly let him have a few shots at the ring. He enjoyed shooting the ball up towards the ring but when he didn’t even hit the ring someone always said “you need to go with your right eye Jez or you’ll never get it in!” They didn’t know that Jeremy was booked in for an eye operation sometime next year that he was hoping would fix his eyes permanently! He glanced up at the basketball ring thinking ‘three pointers here we come!’ They also let him be the ‘end of the rope guy’ when they had school sports and it was the novelty games, like ‘tug of war’... The team with Jeremy on the end of the rope always won, he was so heavy and strong! Of course he was patted on the back and ‘high fived’ after they won but that didn’t last long! One morning after the awards had been announced, Jeremy walked into his classroom to hear one of the boys yelling out “here comes Einstein” most of the class chuckled except the few who said “who’s that?” Jeremy was both embarrassed and a little bit pleased at the name they had given to him. “Einstein” he said out loud “Who would ever have thought?” So for the next few weeks he was called ‘Einstein’. There was no more ‘Dumbo’ or ‘football eyes’ (One at home and one away) or ‘Wongbottom’ and he didn’t mind. He was aware he was nowhere near an Einstein but Jeremy knew, deep down that he would do well in life. He was happiest in the garage fixing up computers, clock radios, fans, light fitting and just about anything electrical that most people didn’t have a clue about, or couldn’t be bothered to find out! He didn’t charge much money as most of his customers were friends of his parents but he made enough pocket money to keep him going. In the break between finishing high school and starting university to do an electronics degree he gave all of his savings to his mother and this went towards his eye operation. It was scheduled for six months’ time, so between now and then they worked together to get as much ‘repair’ work as possible for Jeremy to do so they could pay for the operation. University was totally different than high school had been for Jeremy. The students were more mature in many ways so the name calling and personal jokes ceased. Some of the others called him ‘big guy’ and ‘ginger nut’ but Jeremy didn’t mind that - lots of the class had nick names. He looked around the room one day and realised that if you had something ‘different’ about you and stood out a little, it didn’t matter. There was one guy in a class who had dreadlocks down to his waist, a lizard tattooed down the length of his nose and a ’fedora’ on his head and everyone loved him! When Jeremy had his braces put on people were more interested in why he was doing that at his age rather than his speech impediment or strange looking eye. “My Gran has teeth like you Jeremy, she doesn’t care that we all call her ‘Bucky’ - it’s no big deal but she is ninety now!” said one guy. “Well” said Jeremy to himself, I’m only young and I wouldn’t care if it was just my teeth that needed fixing up- but I’m not telling the girl of my dreams one day that I really ‘Wuv her’!!” It took a long time for the braces to ‘settle’. Jeremy had a lot of trouble eating without pain and there was so much he wasn’t able to eat that he could before. After a few weeks when the discomfort had gone his mum told him “I think I’ll get myself some braces, ones that really hurt me, look at all the weight you’ve lost!” In his mid-season break from Uni Jeremy was booked in for his eye operation. He told some of the guys he had become friends with that he wouldn’t be around for a while because he was having his eye ‘fixed’, would be away for a few weeks. “So” said one of his friends “you’ll be able to see quite clearly some of the girls that I’ve been pointing out to you!” “What? Oh yeah, funny” said Jeremy thinking that it sounded alright to him!” The operation went well. Of course Jeremy couldn’t see what his eye looked like for three days and then he wouldn’t feel the full benefit of the surgery for quite a few weeks. The bandage was tightly wrapped over his eye and around his head. He was told that the operation was successful as far as the surgeon was concerned but the test would be when it was tested! Day three came and Jeremy’s mother stood in front of him with a hand held mirror. “Do you have to have a mirror right in front of my face Mum?” “Oh Jeremy, how long have we waited for this, for your eye to be straight? Of course I do. The Doctor unwound the white strip from around his head and Jeremy sat up straight - the last bit came away and he stared into the mirror...... “Amazing” was all he could say. He looked at his mum and she was crying. After they arrived home Mrs. Longbottom checked out her diary to see when the braces came out of Jeremy’s mouth. “Only two month love and your braces are due to come off and then it will be intensive speech therapy. I’ll have myself a new son!” When his braces came off it was hard to believe it was the same person. Instead of what seemed like huge teeth hanging out to dry, in their place were straight, white teeth. It seemed to change Jeremy’s face, and beaming at his mother as they sat having a celebratory coffee together she thought ‘I never thought the day would come when I could call my son handsome!’ Jeremy was in his second year of university now - a ‘straight A’ student but still quiet about his achievements. He had made a few good friends and was enjoying life. He had eyes that looked in the same direction, straight teeth, weight loss (he still had ginger hair but it was in vogue now) and the ‘crowning stroke’ came on his mother’s birthday. The family of three had gone for a meal to celebrate. They came home for cake and coffee and were all sitting at the dining room table when Jeremy spoke “Mum I would just like to say that I hope you’ve had a great day, you’ve always been a terrific mum to me...Happy Birthday and I Love You” Mrs. Longbottom just stared. For as long as she could remember her little and then bigger boy had told her “I wuv you” but today.... Even Mr Longbottom was touched, saying “Son I’m proud of you. Say something else” “I LOVE LOVELY LUCIOUS LOLLIES” Jeremy shouted. He sailed through his degree, passing of course, and being asked to consider doing his Masters. It was no surprise to anyone that Jeremy didn’t have to apply for jobs - people heard he was available and put their offers on the table! Life had turned around three hundred and sixty degrees since he left high school. The position he took was with a large, well one of the largest around, IT companies. It had offices all around the world, London, Singapore, Japan, Australia to name a few. Jeremy had a job title that needed a really long badge to go on and he got one! Along with his own state of the art office and a very substantial salary!! It had taken a lot of what seemed like punishment as a child, determination and grit as a teenager (and some cosmetic and therapeutic intervention along the way too) to get to this stage of Jeremy’s life, but as he continually thought, it was worth it. He had his first big corporate function after being at his new job for only three months. He was the lead speaker and a lot rested on him to do his firm proud!! “I have every faith in you Jeremy otherwise I wouldn’t be taking this chance - you know some of the names of the people coming to this don’t you?” his boss said to him. “Unfortunately I do” Jeremy thought to himself. He needn’t have worried! It was a huge success. There had been a few guest speakers throughout the evening and at the end of the night Jeremy was standing in a group with his peers discussing the evening, having a well-deserved drink and relaxing now that it was all over. “Well done Jeremy” his boss, tall and confident, the president of a large conglomerate group patted him on the back “You were well prepared and the presentation was what I was hoping to see and hear” and he walked off smiling. Out of the corner of his eye Jeremy could see a male figure walking towards him ‘I know him from somewhere’ he though as the man walked up to him and stood face to face. “That was outstanding Jez, or should I say Einstein?’ “Raymond” Jeremy shouted, delighted in seeing him. “Less of the Einstein - have you met some of the brain boxes in this room?” “I have met quite a few of them Jez my friend and let me tell you, you belong up there with them. Einstein is suitable for you, believe me”. Then the group they were standing in joined in with calling Jeremy Einstein, laughing and drinking, until Jeremy and Raymond decided that they needed to sit somewhere a bit quieter to catch up with the vacant years between them. As they were walking towards a table Raymond jokingly turned to his old school friend and said “Say lovely lollies Jez”.


I think about the Carters every day, but most of all on Saturdays. Those are the only days when the boy with giant glasses doesn’t careen past on his bike, laden with numerous copies of the Sherman County Journal and struggling to stay upright. Mr. Carter used to read that paper every weeknight while Mrs. Carter prepared dinner, and every Sunday morning while she scrambled eggs. Sometimes Mr. Carter would mutter about “that stupid goddamned war” or “that good-for-nothing Johnson,” but mostly he kept his opinions to himself. I think he just wanted to learn what he could about Timmy, and the papers seemed the best way to do that. Timmy’s no longer overseas, but I think it’s even harder to learn anything about him now than it was before. All I know is that on Saturday nights, regardless of the weather, he sets an umbrella at the base of the Carters’ mailbox. For some reason, no one ever took it down after the accident. The accident, of course, occurred on a Saturday. An ordinary autumnal night in these parts, when rain cascaded from the heavens as though the angels were already crying over deaths that had yet to occur. Then again, maybe they could predict the future; it’s not like I know that much about angels. I do know, however, that Mrs. Carter used to call Timmy an angel. Back when he was a baby, she would rock his swaddled body in her arms and coo like the doves that sat in the evergreens. “Forever and ever,” she would say, “you are my angel.” And she believed, I'm sure, that nothing would ever change that. Not when Timmy got his first F in school, and not when she found a pack of cigarettes in his desk drawer. Not even when he went off to Vietnam. When he returned, he couldn’t hide his internal scars any more than he could those marring his face. Sometimes he would sit on the couch for hours, frozen like an ice cube and with eyes as glassy as window panes. Other times, he struggled to complete even the simplest of tasks, as if the war had stolen not only his heart but also his mind. Finally, after a year of nothing changing, Mr. and Mrs. Carter intervened. But while Mr. Carter worked hard to get Timmy a job, Timmy spent his earnings on alcohol and quit after two months. And when Mrs. Carter whispered to Timmy that he was still her angel, he shouted back that she was wrong, that he was now just her killer. Until one Saturday night, with a face redder than a radish, Mr. Carter told Timmy that fine, he was a killer, but no one could do anything to change it so he’d better just get over it. After all, he himself had fought in The Great War, hadn’t he? He’d even survived the Battle of the Bulge, the deadliest battle for Americans, despite losing two fingers to frostbite and most of the men in his unit, and hadn’t he gotten over it? Hadn’t he managed to get married, have a son, and find a job within six months of coming home, not to mention keeping that job for the next twenty years? Timmy nodded but said nothing. Mr. Carter had repeated this refrain for months, and it never inspired Timmy to do anything other than nod, with his shoulders slumped and his gaze fixed at the floor. But this time when Mrs. Carter shuffled toward Timmy, arms open and head cocked to the side, instead of retreating to his bedroom like usual, where he would sit on the windowsill and flick his folding knife open and closed until his fingers rubbed raw, letting Jimi Hendrix drown out his mutterings, Timmy dashed off and into the night. Mr. Carter snatched the car keys from the hook by the back door and yelled at Mrs. Carter to hurry. She raced out behind him, leaving her purse on the kitchen counter. Neither grabbed an umbrella. Mr. Carter’s Lincoln Continental roared to life and bolted out of the garage. Rain spilled from above, each droplet gripped by the wind and catapulted sideways. More bulleted down on the roof. Water surged through the street as if it were the world’s biggest Slip ‘N Slide. Seconds, minutes, hours ticked by on the cuckoo clock hanging in the living room. The one that Timmy used to sit in front of as a child and gaze at with youthful wonder, waiting impatiently for the bird to emerge and sing a little song. After the war though, he merely stared at it. When the Continental neared the driveway hours later, its windshield wipers whooshed to clear the rain. But clear it they could not--at least not well enough for Mr. Carter to see the oncoming truck, swerving across the road and with no headlights on. Mr. Carter wrenched the wheel at the last moment but the tires couldn’t grip. He rammed straight into the truck. Metal grated metal like two lawnmowers devouring each other, and Mrs. Carter launched out of her seat and smashed through the windshield. Only the pavement could stop her soaring body. When the ambulance came, the EMTs lifted Mrs. Carter up off the pavement. They checked on Mr. Carter, still slumped in his seat, but took their time extracting him. Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Carter ever returned. But Timmy did, later that night and every Saturday since. Like I said, he comes to leave an umbrella by the mailbox. And although I don’t know where he gets them, I don’t much care. In some small way, those rain protectors justify my existence. You see, Mr. and Mrs. Carter built me brick by brick, room by room, and where I once contained war mutterings and newspaper riffling, omelet smells and “angel” coos, now I stand empty. Like Timmy, I know that Mr. and Mrs. Carter will never return, so like Mr. and Mrs. Carter, I can only wait for Timmy.


‘We now present the execution of Dexter Maron, convicted of murdering two victims; Maria Schiano and Helen Liston. The sentence will be carried out via electric chair in 10 minutes. Please stand by.’ Maron, pressed up against the bars of his tiny window to hear the announcement, slumped back down onto his bed. So this was it. Five years of appeals, desperate pleas to avoid the ultimate punishment, had failed. In approximately 10 minutes and oh, 30 seconds or so, he’d be dead. Gone. Out of this world, and into what lay beyond. Assuming there was anything there. He had been thinking about that a lot lately, whether there was something on the other side. He’d had a lot of time to think, after all; there isn’t much to do in a cell not much larger than your average garden shed which contains only a toilet, a sink, and a bed. He’d had even more time to think recently. He hadn’t slept in going on 80 hours. Hard to sleep when your death is so close. Back to the topic at hand. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted an afterlife. On the one hand, permanent nothingness seemed a little depressing; he wanted to have something else after these 10 minutes and... actually more like 9 minutes now. But on the other hand, sinners were supposed to be punished, weren’t they? Maron wasn’t entirely sure, he’d never paid much attention in church. But he definitely remembered that bad people went to hell. And there was no doubt he was a bad person. All you had to do was listen to the announcements to work that out. Two murders, of two innocent women. That’s about as sinful as it gets. He was the worst of the worst, the scum of the earth. Only people like that kill others. And yet he had done exactly that. 6 years, 4 months and 26 days ago he had shot Schiano in the chest, Liston in the stomach, raided their shop and left them bleeding on the floor to die a long and agonising death. Originally he had justified his actions. His family would starve if he didn’t get food. The women were going to call the police, they had to be stopped. It wasn’t his fault, he was just in a bad situation. But he’d stopped doing that now. What was the point? Maybe he’d been unlucky. Maybe if he’d been born into a better family, maybe if he hadn’t lost his job, maybe if the American government gave a shit about the poor people littered across the American Midwest who struggle to feed their families and keep their loved ones alive. But however much blame he could spread around other people, the majority of the blame had to fall on him. He, after all, had pulled the trigger. He had loaded the gun and walked into the roadside shop knowing there was a good chance that he would be leaving corpses behind. And yet he still went through with it. For his own benefit, he had stolen away two people’s lives. It was only fair that he was sitting here, 5 minutes from his own demise. Ironically, the government gave you a small amount of freedom when it came to your death, after keeping you locked up and away from society for years and years. He had been allowed to choose his final meal (lasagne; Italian food had always been his favourite), he’d been permitted to see any relatives he felt like in the days before his death (although only Mum bothered coming anymore, the rest of his family had given up on him); hell, he was even allowed to choose between lethal injection and the electric chair for his method of death (he chose the chair; needles had always creeped him out). Giving prisoners a small amount of freedom a few hours before their demise didn’t really matter, he guessed. There wasn’t much they could do now. ‘One minute before the execution of Dexter Maron...’ Maron didn’t even bother listening this time, he knew what it was going to say. The guards would be here any minute; in fact, he could hear them marching along the cold, hard concrete floor of the cell block. A key turned in the cell door and light streamed into the room. Guards dragged him upright and pulled him along with them on their journey to the chair. Maron spotted the sun through a distant window; the last time he would see it, he presumed. That made him sad. Sadder than the idea of dying really, the knowledge that he would never see nature again. The beauty of the outside world would forever be denied to him now, the rivers, the trees, the birds, never to be seen again. Wind would never again brush his face, rain- his train of thought was cut off as the guards stopped. Maron looked down, and saw it. There it was. The chair. Dark and metallic, designed to send volts coursing through his veins and remove him from the world. The guards strapped him into it; he didn’t bother resisting. He could see the executioner through a window. According to the guards who had taunted him the day before, he went by the name of Jon Stukel. Was he ready? Could he accept that in mere seconds he would be met by the cold embrace of death? Realistically, the answer was no. He wanted to be free again, he wanted to escape this prison and experience life anew! Finally, as the first volts of electricity ran through him, he began to struggle to escape. But he knew it was too late. He strained against the straps, but then the switch was flicked. Excruciating pain coursed through him. Then blackness. Jon Stukel flicked the switch and watched Maron squirm in anguish before slumping down, dead. Another piece of shit, removed from the earth. He smiled, dusted off his hands, and walked out.


This is chapter 39 of a book I am writing titled "Sengoku." The book is based off real life warlords from Sengoku era Japan. In this chapter, the famous monk Kennyo is desperate for revenge against big-time warlord Nobunaga Oda, and kidnaps the four main female characters of the book: Sakura, Misa, Kaiyo, and Yukari. Please enjoy the chapter and let me know if you have any feedback! The eleven men stood in front of their horses, their hands on their weapons, ready for anything. Oda on one side, Uesugi-Takeda on the other. Nearly five feet separated the two groups, though they were working together. Several monks stood in front of them, silent. Finally, a jingling sound could be heard coming closer. “Finally.” Nobunaga said. “About time,” Ieyasu remarked. Kennyo walked to the middle of the small clearing and waved his hand behind him, gesturing for the men behind him to do something. What that something was was bringing out Sakura, Misa, and Yukari. “Get your gross hands off of us!” Yukari complained. “Misa,” Kenshin said as he was about to rush forward, but a large hand stopped him. “Wait,” Shingen said, “we can’t act too fast. We don’t know what he’ll do.” Kenshin reluctantly stayed put. “Tie them to the tree,” Kennyo ordered. They were then roughly tied to a large tree by the outskirts of the clearing. The men were somewhat relieved until they noticed it. Hideyoshi spoke first. “Where’s Kaiyo?” Kennyo looked over at the girls, confused. There should have been four of them, not three. He looked back just in time to see a final girl being dragged out from behind the treeline, this time much more forcefully. “Master,” one monk said, “we tried to get information from this one.” “What?” Kennyo asked. “She wouldn’t talk, Master Kennyo.” They pushed her to the ground in front of him onto her knees. If looks could kill, then Kennyo would have been obliterated. He walked a little closer to her, seemingly unphased. “So this is the woman warlord in training.” He reached out toward her ever so slightly. “Leave her alone!” Hideyoshi was about ready to explode with anger. “Careful, lad,” Masamune warned quietly. Kennyo straightened himself and turned towards Nobunaga. “These are the women that are important to you, yes?” Nobunaga said nothing. He simply stared, livid. “I heard they’re your ‘lucky charms.’ It would seem that they have bad luck for themselves, though.” “Get to the point, Kennyo.” Nobunaga said, feeling more impatient than was humanly possible. “What is it that you want?” “I want your head to roll.” “Well you’re not getting that!” Sakura yelled. “This man is a tyrant, and yet you defend him?” Kennyo asked. “He’s no tyrant,” she said. “At least he didn’t kidnap four women for no reason,” Yukari remarked. “Your head will be the one to roll for taking Misa,” Kenshin said through gritted teeth. “Even the God of War cares for these women?” a monk said. “Nobunaga must have cursed them!” said another. Kennyo silenced them with a look. “Kennyo, you have the power to stop this,” Shingen said. “Just let them go. They’ve done nothing wrong.” Kennyo turned to Nobunaga. “Die, Nobunaga, and I will let them go.” “He’ll never bend to you, Kennyo,” Misa said, her hand twitching. “You can’t win this fight.” Kennyo frowned. Misa looked over to the angry warlords and noticed something odd. Just as she was about to speak up, Sasuke appeared behind Kaiyo and cut her restraints. She grabbed Kennyo’s staff and swung it out underneath him, causing him to trip over. She then got up and began running to the girls, but several monks stood in her way. Sasuke walked up beside her and they shared a nod. Kaiyo ran and slid underneath one, pushing his leg up and causing him to fall to the ground face first. As Sasuke disarmed two other monks, Kaiyo swiped her leg out and tripped one. They continued running toward the girls, but five more came. They stopped and looked back at Kennyo who was being helped back up. “I should have known better than to stand near a woman being trained by the Devil King’s men.” “Your first mistake was underestimating a woman,” Yukari said. Kaiyo finally spoke, turning to the girls. “Are you girls alright? Did they do anything to you?” “We’re fine, Kaiyo,” Sakura said. “But what about you?” “I’m perfectly fine. Those idiots really need to work on their interrogation skills.” This did not reassure anyone. Hideyoshi grew more irate by the second. “How dare you lay your hands on her?! I’ll-” “Hideyoshi, calm yourself,” Mitsuhide said quietly. “We must get to them first.” Kaiyo turned to Kennyo. “Let them go, and I won't beat you to a bloody pulp.” “Such language from a woman!” a monk said. “No wonder the Devil King wants her.” “I bet the others are the same!” “Enough chatter,” Nobunaga declared. “Kaiyo. Bring the girls to us.” “On it, my lord. Sasuke, cover me.” Sasuke nodded. “Kaiyo...” Sakura was clearly worried. Kaiyo looked over at her and winked. Kaiyo began running, sliding underneath monks and kicking them away when they wouldn’t budge. Sasuke protected her from those attempting to attack from behind. Two monks grabbed Kaiyo from either side, but Sasuke was quick to kick one away, giving her the opportunity to throw the other to the ground. They quickly reached the girls and Kaiyo cut the rope holding them with a sword she had stolen along the way. She hugged the three girls tight before turning back to the group of monks she and Sasuke had just run through. “Get them,” Kennyo commanded. “Do your worst!” Kaiyo yelled, pointing the sword at them. “I can take you all on myself!” “With all due respect, Kaiyo,” Misa said, “no you can’t.” “Gee, thanks, Misa.” The monks brandished their swords and they stepped closer and closer. Kaiyo decided it was better not to count how many added themselves to the group just then. “Okay, yeah, you’re probably right. We should run. Now.” The monks descended. “Run!” The girls bolted for the warlords across the clearing. Sakura reached them first. Yukari fell, however, and a monk was nearly on top of her, ready to strike down. Sasuke kicked him out of the way and grabbed her. The girls finally reached the warlords, and they stood protectively in front of them. “We told you that you couldn’t win, Kennyo,” Yukari said, shaking her head. “You should’ve listened.” The men readied themselves for battle. Mitsuhide handed Kaiyo her sword. She tied it to her side, where it belonged. Unsheathing her sword, she looked at the monks before her and thought for a moment. Hideyoshi and Mitsuhide were already in front, ready to protect her. Kaiyo looked back to the girls, hiding behind Nobunaga, Kenshin, and Sasuke. She called out to the men. “Lord Nobunaga, Kenshin, Sasuke, take the girls and get out of here! Ieyasu, Mitsunari, Yuki, I want you to follow them until you’re all somewhere safe. Masamune, Mitsuhide, Hideyoshi, after Kennyo with me!” Kaiyo jumped out from behind Hideyoshi and Mitsuhide and ran past several distracted monks after Kennyo. “You heard her, men,” Shingen said with a smile. “Let’s go.” “I do not take orders from a woman,” Kenshin said. “Oh no you don’t,” Misa said. “Get on your damn horse now! We’re going.” She pushed the astonished man up to his white steed and went to climb on by herself. Kenshin quickly regained himself and helped her up. Nobunaga called to the Oda warlords from atop his horse with Sakura. “Hideyoshi, Mitsuhide, Masamune, protect Kaiyo with your lives.” The three nodded and jumped into battle with Shingen and Yoshimoto. Kaiyo bobbed and weaved in and out of the battle, hardly using her sword. She did not want to take more lives. Mitsuhide and Hideyoshi were as close to her as they could get without drawing too many monks in her direction. Shingen and Yoshimoto danced along the clearing, taking down many of the untrained monks without killing them. Rendering them unconscious was all that was necessary. Kennyo saw the pointlessness of staying near the battle. “Master Kennyo, please escape!” “We will protect you!” “Your sacrifice is appreciated, my brethren,” Kennyo said. “It will not be in vain.” Kennyo turned and began running away from the battle. “No! Get back here!” Kaiyo sheathed her sword and began running after him. “Kaiyo, no!” Hideyoshi yelled. “Lass!” Kaiyo ignored them. She ran as fast as her legs could carry her through the forest after Kennyo. It didn’t take long for her to get close. Other than Sakura, she was the fastest runner. As she caught up with Kennyo, they entered a small clearing with a cliff to one side and a small rocky hill adjacent to their running path. “Kennyo!” He turned to look at her. Then, as if her voice had moved the earth, rocks began tumbling down the hill. Rocks big enough to crush a person. Kaiyo froze as she looked up. Then she was tumbling backward. Something had pushed her out of the way. She lay on the ground underneath that something breathing heavily, and it took a minute to realize what it was. ...Kennyo? She looked over at the fallen rocks that had nearly sent her off the cliffside. Then she looked up and her eyes met his. They were tired, but held a kindness to them that she didn’t think would be there. He sighed and slowly moved to stand, holding his hand out to her. She hesitated. He waited patiently for her to take it and she allowed him to help her up. Kaiyo stared at Kennyo in astonishment before realizing her name was being called. She turned at the sound and took a step in that direction. She slowly looked back, however and contemplated. Here he was, on a silver platter for her to capture, just looking at her. And yet... “Kaiyo!” “Lass!” Kaiyo shook her head and began running in the direction of the forest where her friends were fighting. She stopped at the edge of the clearing and looked back one last time. Kennyo just stood there. She bowed to him and ran in the opposite direction. Kaiyo didn’t run as fast this time. She was tired. She reached the clearing finally and saw that there were very few monks left standing. The rest had run or were unconscious. She began running towards Mitsuhide, who had been the closest to her, when she felt someone push her over. She tumbled on the ground once more and struggled to get up. A very large monk, taller and bulkier than any of the warlords, grabbed her by the neck and raised her into the air. The warlords struggled with their opponents. “No, Kaiyo!” Hideyoshi was the only one to call out her name before the monk raised a knife high into the air. “For Master Kennyo!” Kaiyo gasped as he plunged the knife into her abdomen. The warlord’s eyes all grew wide and their jaws dropped. Masamune was quick to kick the monk away. Kaiyo fell to the forest floor with a heavy thud . Mitsuhide was there in an instant to pick her up. “Mitsuhide-” “Don’t talk now,” he hushed. He began running towards the horses near the opposite end of the clearing. “Masamune!” Masamune kicked the monk away one last time before running back. Some of the monks began leaving the clearing as the warlords rushed back to the horses. “Here,” Shingen said, holding his arms out to take Kaiyo so Mitsuhide could climb onto his horse. Masamune was the second to mount. “Masamune, ride ahead and set up an infirmary tent.” Masamune nodded to Mitsuhide and raced out of the forest. Mitsuhide took Kaiyo back in his arms. “Go,” Shingen said, taking out his sword again as more monks came after them. “We’ll hold them off.” Hideyoshi was still engaged in battle against two monks and could hardly even look back to the receding figure of Mitsuhide carrying Kaiyo on horseback. Shingen reentered the battle next to Yoshimoto. Mitsuhide was riding as fast as he could until he heard Kaiyo crying aloud. “Mitsuhide... stop...” He slowed down ever so slightly, thinking the fast riding was hurting her worse. “It’s alright, Kaiyo.” “Mitsuhide... make it stop...” It was then that he realized she was holding the hilt of his sword. It took everything in him to not shed tears in that moment. “I know it hurts, Little Mouse, but Ieyasu will make it better. Everything’s going to be okay, I promise.” Kaiyo continued breathing heavily in his arms and nodded. Back at the temporary camp, Misa’s hand was twitching horribly. She could barely hold it. “Misa, your hand...” Sakura pointed out. “What is it?” “It’s Kaiyo,” she said, tears in her eyes. “She’s hurt bad.” Just then, Masamune rode into the base and quickly dismounted. “Get a medical tent ready right away.” He turned to Nobunaga. “Kaiyo’s been stabbed.” Ieyasu immediately got to work ordering the soldiers to prepare for her. After a short while, Mitsuhide finally rode in with an unconscious Kaiyo. He dismounted in one smooth motion and followed Ieyasu immediately. “Kaiyo, no...” Sakura and Misa were already crying, fearing the worst. Yukari followed them until they entered the tent and ordered the other soldiers to leave. Ieyasu took apart Kaiyo’s torn clothes and got to work. He and Mitsuhide worked quickly to stop the bleeding and dress the wound. It was all they could do. Once Ieyasu had wrapped Kaiyo up in bandages, Mitsuhide laid her down on the infirmary bed and pulled a blanket over her. “That's all we can do right now,” Ieyasu said. “Now we wait.” Mitsuhide’s expression was unreadable, but Ieyasu knew he was worried. He had trained her day after day to become what she was. And yet, they knew nothing could have prevented this. Ieyasu left the tent, knowing Mitsuhide needed some time alone with her. Mitsuhide sat there watching her breathe for a few minutes until she stirred. He gasped and placed a hand on her cheek, turning her to face him. “Kaiyo?” “Mitsuhide...” She was weak and trying her best to breathe deeply. “It’s alright, Kaiyo. You’re safe now.” “And... and the girls?” “They’re safe, too.” Kaiyo nodded weakly. “Mitsuhide... am I... going to die?” Mitsuhide’s shoulders slumped. He had not prepared himself for such an outcome or a question about it. He did not want to lie to her. “I... I do not know.” Tears streamed down Kaiyo’s face. “Please... take care of the girls. Make sure... they’re happy and safe. And be nice to Hideyoshi... he worries about you.” Each word she spoke felt like a stab through the heart for Mitsuhide. “And tell Lord Nobunaga... that I’m sorry I failed.” “You did not fail, Kaiyo. You saved the girls. You did not fail.” Kaiyo’s breathing slowed. “Kaiyo... there is something I must tell you.” Mitsuhide looked away, attempting to prepare himself. “What... is it?” “I lo-” He stopped short when he noticed her eyes were closed. He lowered his head, resting his forehead against hers gently. “I love you.”


As the cold air hit my lungs I once again began to question my decision to move from San Diego to Chicago. It was seventy today in California yet today it's a balmy twelve degrees here. I wrapped my scarf around my neck and stepped out quickly to find something to eat for lunch. The savory smoke of the grill made my stomach growl and pulled me in like a bird-dog to the queue at the food vendor cart. As I stood huddled in the cold with the others I kept my hands deep in my pockets and stomped my feet to keep warm. The overhang of the skyscraper provided shelter from the wind but nothing more. When it was my turn to order, the man eyed me cautiously and looked around quickly, as if he was in trouble and I was a cop. He had to be at least 80, his face a tough leather football under a knitted cap pulled low over his eyes, and let's not talk about his teeth. He gestured for me to step in closer, as if to tell me a secret. "You look like a smart kid," he said in a thick accent, "Bruno's special today? Only five dollars." I nodded. He reached into a heated compartment and handed me a sandwich wrapped in foil. "Trust me, you won't regret it," he said, flashing his unmentionable teeth. Ten minutes later back in my cubicle, I took a bite of the sandwich. It was good, some sort of ham with cheese and sauerkraut. Each bite better than the last. Wow. And then it started. At first I thought I ate too fast; I felt dizzy and closed my eyes as the room began to spin. In the next instant my vision went blurry. I removed my glasses to rub my eyes and now could see perfectly without my glasses, everything was in sharp focus. *Now this is getting strange* I felt a tightness in my chest and oddly my shirt sleeves felt tight on my arms. *Gotta get to the bathroom now* In the hall I ran into Christine, my office crush. She’s way out of my league, won't even give me the time of day. But surprisingly her eyes widened and she stopped to talk to me. "Wow...say, have you been working out?" she said, touching her hair. "Not really... well maybe a little," I stammered as I rushed down the hall. "Sorry, I'm late for a meeting" I said. "Let's go have coffee sometime," she called after me as I rushed into the bathroom. I did a double-take as I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. This had to be a prank, it made no sense. In the bathroom mirror my reflection was now that of Hollywood actor Ryan Reynolds. I looked closely at the mirror, surely a hidden camera, some sort of elaborate prank, but no, it was me. Quite a remarkable sandwich, Bruno was right.


“No, I refuse. I simply refuse.” Gregoria said as she paced her bedroom. “I have absolutely no desire to write down what it is I am grateful for. How on earth am I supposed to know how to do that?” “Sweetheart, please. Come sit down.” Gregoria’s mother patted the soft quilt she had stitched together for her the previous Christmas. Mother hoped that patting the quilt might give Gregoria some clue as to where to start to be grateful. When Gregoria had opened the present, she had squealed and squirmed, wrapping the quilt around her and running around the house screaming, “I’m Quilt Girl! I’m Quilt Girl!” Mother had no idea what Gregoria meant by that, but she knew her daughter had an insatiable penchant for make-believe. Even if she didn’t fully understand it now, she knew she would someday. Gregoria hadn’t budged. “Gregoria, sweetie, please. Come sit next to me.” Gregoria huffed, puffing her perfectly horizontal bangs up from her forehead. They fell back down to her face as she crossed the room with her arms likewise. She plopped down next to her mother on the quilt, stroking the blanket with her left hand while her right was still twisted across her middle. It was a habit of hers whenever she was nervous. Mother glanced down to notice but made no mention of it as she rearranged the wispy strands of Gregoria’s chestnut hair across her forehead. “There. That’s better.” Gregoria didn’t move nor did she respond. Mother began rubbing her back in slow, gentle circles. “Sweetheart, is there something on your mind?” Another vertical puff of air. Mother thought to say something, but she stopped herself. “Yes, Mother, there is.” “Would you like to tell me about it?” Mother asked very carefully. Suddenly, a groan erupted from Gregoria. “But I already have!” Gregoria fell back onto her bed with her arms down by her sides. Her small fingers simultaneously traced the stitching of her favorite quilt. Mother arranged herself properly before lying down next to Gregoria. Turning her head innocently to the right, Mother said, “Have you? Oh sweetheart, would you mind telling me again? To make sure I have all the details.” Gregoria huffed. “Yes, very well, fine,” she said, turning onto her left side to face her mother. “At school yesterday, Mrs. Thomas gave us an assignment.” Mother replied encouragingly. “Go on.” “She gave us an assignment to write something we’re grateful for in a journal every day for the rest of the semester.” Inside, Mother was saying-- Well, that sounds like a lovely idea. I’ve always liked Mrs. Thomas. Outside, Mother simply said, “And how did that make you feel?” “Terrible! Awful! It was a terrible, awful day!” Gregoria yelped as she jumped up perpendicular on the bed. Mother was still lying down on her back. Together, their bodies made the shape of a T. Gregoria could feel the shape and yelled, “Yes, exactly! T for Terrible!” Mother reached up for Gregoria’s hand. “Sweetheart, come back down here with me. I need a bit of a rest.” Gregoria complied. She always did. How could she not when her mother was the sweetest, most beautiful mother on the whole planet. She lay back down next to her mother. “Alright. That’s better. Isn’t it?” Gregoria nodded. “Now, tell me why it was such a terrible, awful day.” Gregoria took a deep breath in, but this time, she only lightly blew out an exhale onto her bangs. Mother could sense Gregoria was calming down. “Well, I love Mrs. Thomas. You know that. She’s been my pen pal this schoolyear.” Mother nodded. “She’s really the greatest, but this assignment...it just doesn’t make any sense!” “Why not, sweetheart?” “Oh Mother, can’t you see? It doesn’t make any sense because how am I supposed to even know what that is?” “What what is, dear?” “What grateful is.” Gregoria whispered her reply to her mother with a special emphasis on grateful . Mother responded with a whisper in kind. “Do you understand what grateful means, sweetheart?” Still whispering, but almost as a scream Gregoria replied, “Of course I do! Any baby knows that.” “Well, I don’t know about that, dear. Perhaps if the baby was a genius of some sort--” “Oh, Mother! Stop being silly! Of course! Even babies know what grateful means!” “Oh? Please dear, tell me more. I didn’t realize. You know I love learning new things.” Gregoria snuggled into her mother’s body until their noses were nearly touching. She dropped her whisper-scream back down to an actual whisper. “Grateful means...” The truth is, Gregoria didn’t know what grateful meant. As soon as the last bell rang the day before at school, Gregoria sprinted to the library to check The Dictionary. With only seven minutes to spare before her bus left, Gregoria knew she had to be quick. Luckily, she was a speed reader. In fact, Gregoria was only four years old, but she had entered kindergarten a year early and was already reading at a first-grade level. Gregoria furiously flipped through the pages of The Dictionary until she got to the G’s. Carefully dividing the G section into smaller and smaller parts--a trick her granddad had taught her on the phone book--Gregoria quickly landed on the right page. Running her finger down the lefthand column just like Granddad had taught her, Gregoria’s finger suddenly got caught on the edge of the paper. Confused, she started the whole process again. She counted the letter tabs on the right edge of the dictionary one by one until she found G. Then, she sliced the section into smaller and smaller pieces until she knew she had the dictionary open flat to the right page. Finally, she took her pointer finger and slowly ran it down the left side of the page, but again, it was caught on the fine edge of the paper. This time, she managed to give herself a small paper cut. She couldn’t see the blood, but she could taste it as she put her finger in her mouth. “Rats.” Gregoria said to herself. “I don’t understand. It should be here.” Carefully feeling around the ragged edges of the bottom left corner of The Dictionary page, Gregoria suddenly realized that where the word grateful was meant to be, it no longer was. “Why would someone steal the word grateful ?” Gregoria puzzled. She was highly protective of words, and she could not imagine someone destroying something as precious as The Dictionary. “Animals,” she said under her breath. Tuning back in to the ticking of her watch, she realized that it had been five minutes and forty-nine seconds since the last bell had rung. Placing The Dictionary back on the shelf, she slung her bookbag across her body and strode out of the library. She would have run--indeed, she really needed to--but she didn’t want to seem suspicious. She hadn’t been the one to tear the word grateful out of The Dictionary, but she didn’t want Ms. Frumm the librarian to suspect that she had. After skipping onto the school bus, Gregoria continued to puzzle the whole way home. That night, under the covers, she cracked open Mother’s copy of The Dictionary. Repeating the same procedure she had performed earlier at school, Gregoria nearly cried out in the dark when she felt the same ripped edge on the bottom left corner of the page of GR-. “How can this be?” She whisper-screamed to herself under the covers. “I simply don’t understand!” Gregoria recalled these events as she stalled for time. How could she answer Mother’s question when she had no idea what grateful meant? She hadn’t been able to look it up in The Dictionary, so how was she to know? She let her thoughts tumble and swirl for a moment. Gregoria knew Mother wouldn’t press or interrupt. She was incredibly patient--just another reason why she was the best mother in the world. After several minutes of silence, Mother finally spoke up. “Can I tell you something I’m grateful for?” Gregoria nodded, full of relief. Mother wrapped her arms around Gregoria. “I am grateful for you, my sweetheart.” “Me? But why?” Mother laughed softly. “Well, because you are so precious to me.” Gregoria at least knew what precious meant. She had learned it reading one of her geology books. She was an avid collector of rocks and gemstones. “But why does me being precious to you make you grateful for me?” “Well, think about your precious gemstones.” Gregoria closed her eyes to visualize her favorite one of all--Fool’s Gold. “Ok. I’m visualizing.” “Good.” Mother replied, rubbing small circles again on Gregoria’s back. “Keep your focus on your Fool’s Good and think about how it makes you feel. When you open the special box you keep it in, when you pick it up and feel its sparkly edges--how do you feel?” “Happy, excited, grateful--Hey! Wait a minute, how did I know to say grateful? I don’t even know the definition.” “Oh sweetheart, I think you do.” Gregoria wrinkled her nose in her signature way when she didn’t understand something. Mother continued rubbing her back. “No, I don’t! I tried to look it up in two different Dictionaries and in both the definition was ripped out!” “Oh?” There was a short pause as Mother started to spell a word out on Gregoria’s back--a trick that always calmed her down. Gregoria could feel the gentle pull and tug of her mother’s glossy fingernail against the thick flannel of her nightgown. She knew what she was spelling. “Mother, I know how to spell grateful .” “I know you do sweetheart, and you also know how to define it.” “No, I don’t! Aren’t you listening? I couldn’t look it up in The Dictionary because it wasn’t there.” “But dear, when you were just talking about your Fool’s Gold, you used the word grateful to describe how it makes you feel.” Gregoria stammered. “Yes, but but--it’s because you tricked me!” “Oh sweetheart! You know I would never do that. You are my most precious gemstone.” Mother squeezed Gregoria into a hug. Gregoria willingly acquiesced. Back down to a whisper, Mother said into Gregoria’s ear, “Sweetheart, what is it that’s troubling you?” “I’m sad, Mother. Someone ripped the word grateful out of The Dictionary. How could they do that?” “My sweet girl. I think it’s time I told you a story about your Granddad.” “Why? What does Granddad have to do with this?” “It’ll be easier for me if I can tell you the story. Are you up for it?” Gregoria nodded. “A long time ago, Granddad was in a war.” Gregoria was shocked. Granddad was the sweetest man she knew. She couldn’t imagine him killing anyone, and as far as she knew, that’s what people did in wars. “He was in a war?” “Yes, dear.” “Please tell me he didn’t kill anyone.” “Oh no, dear. Quite the opposite. He was a doctor. He helped saved people’s lives.” Gregoria let out a deep exhale. “Oh, thank goodness.” “Yes, he was a bit of a hero, in fact.” “Where was the war?” “It was a long way away, over five oceans, or just one, depending on which way you go.” Gregoria traced letters on her mother’s arm to think. “So, it was in Asia?” “Yes, dear! Exactly.” “Was this the Vietnam War or the Korean War?” “The Korean War.” “Oh, that was a bad one.” “Yes, dear. All wars are.” “Wait a minute...” Gregoria’s early memories started flooding back to her. Vague shapes and muffled sounds flashing across a screen as she sat upright in Granddad’s lap, her body relaxed against his broad chest. “When I was a baby, Granddad would sit with me and watch tv. I remember hearing helicopter blades and a lot of funny names like ‘Radar’ and ‘Klinger.’ There was one name that was repeated a lot...oh, what was it?” Gregoria tapped her chin. “I’ll give you a hint. It’s the name of a bird.” “Hawkeye!” “Yes, dear. That show is called M*A*S*H*. It stands for--” “Mobile Army Surgical Hospital! I know. I remember Granddad spelling it out for me.” “Did you enjoy watching that show with him?” “I did. I loved it!” “Would you say you are grateful for it?” “I suppose so, but Mother, I still don’t understand what grateful means.” “Well, why don’t I finish telling you the story about Granddad then?” Gregoria snuggled in close again to her mother. “Yes, please. I love talking about him.” “Me too, sweetheart. Now, where was I? Ah yes, Granddad was a doctor in the Korean War.” “Just like Hawkeye?” “Just like Hawkeye.” “So, he didn’t kill anyone?” “No, dear. He didn’t. As a doctor, his mission was to save as many people as possible, no matter who they were.” “Granddad really was the best, wasn’t he, Mother?” “Yes, dear. He really was.” “Well, go on. Keep telling me about him. What does he have to do with the word grateful in The Dictionary?” “Well dear, the thing is, even though Granddad didn’t kill anyone during the war, that didn’t mean he didn’t see people die.” Gregoria gasped, and her eyes began to well with tears. “Shh, sweetheart it’s alright. It happens, you know. There were times, unfortunately, when Granddad was trying to save someone’s life, but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t do it.” “But why? I don’t understand. Was he not a very good doctor?” Mother laughed softly. “No, dear. In fact, he was one of the very best, but sometimes, no matter how good the doctor is, he just can’t save his patient.” A swollen tear slid out from under Gregoria’s long eyelashes. Mother rubbed her back gently. “Shh. It’s alright dear. I’m here.” Gregoria snuggled in even closer. “Ok, please continue, Mother. I’m alright.” “Are you sure, dear?” Gregoria nodded. “Alright, well, Granddad was an excellent doctor, and he saved many people’s lives. As I said, though, he unfortunately also lost some lives that he was trying to save. That weighed heavily on his heart, and for a time, it made life difficult for him--especially after he came back home. Eventually, though, something lightened his heart, and that something was me. The day my mother realized she was pregnant was the day Granddad said he came back to life. He felt so grateful that they were bringing new life into the world.” Gregoria nodded. No tears this time. She knew the story she was about to hear was sad, but she had never known Grandmother, and so she didn’t feel sad. Mother hadn’t really known Grandmother either, but it still made her sad. She wiped a tear out from under her long lashes and continued. “Unfortunately, the day I came into the world was also the day my mother left it. A coup de grâce . Granddad told me that was why he named me Grace. He said, ‘Today, I have a daughter, a precious gem to give to this world. I have lost my Gretel, but gratefully she left me with Grace.’ Gregoria sniffed. She may have never known Grandmother, but she still missed Granddad terribly. “Wait, you said gratefully . Is that the same as grateful ?” “Yes, dear. Essentially, it is.” “What does that mean, essentially ?” “Hmm. Essentially means that they are nearly the same thing.” “Ok, so in this case, what does it mean? Does it mean that Granddad was grateful for you?” “Yes, dear, exactly.” “Ok, I think I’m beginning to understand what grateful means.” “Yes, I think so too.” “But, wait, what does that have to do with the missing entries in The Dictionary?” “Ah yes. Shall I finish my story?” “Yes, please.” “Alright, well, after I was born, Granddad couldn’t go to the hospital anymore to work because he had to stay home and take care of me. He had a few patients from before he went to Korea that were loyal to him and came to him for house calls, but unfortunately, that didn’t give him enough income to take care of us both. So, Granddad got creative. He picked up some work editing dictionaries before they went to print. It was work he could do from home and work that he enjoyed. He had always been an avid reader, as you know.” “Yes, his favorite book was The Dictionary--Wait a minute!” “Yes, dear?” “He used to read me The Dictionary when I was a baby!” “Yes, dear, he did.” “But I never remember him reading the definition for grateful .” “Well, sweetheart, that’s because he didn’t.” “But why, it seems he had a lot to be grateful for.” Mother smiled. “And why is that dear?” “Well, because he never killed anyone, because he made it home alive from a terrible war, and because he had you and me.” “Those are all very good reasons to be grateful, I suppose.” “So why didn’t he ever read the definition then? Was he the one who ripped it out of The Dictionary?” “Yes, dear. He was.” Gregoria jumped up. “But why! That makes no sense! Why wouldn’t he want to remind himself of the definition?” “Well dear, why do you think?” Gregoria continued jumping as she pondered. Her jumps slowed to small hops and eventually to nearly undetectable bounces on the balls of her feet. She sat back down on her quilt. “Because he already knew what it felt like to be grateful.” Mother sat up and pressed her forehead gently into Gregoria’s so their noses touched. She whispered. “Exactly, sweetheart. That’s exactly right. Do you think you understand know the definition of grateful now?” “Yes, Mother,” Gregoria whispered back. “And I know how to complete Mrs. Thomas’ assignment.” “Good girl. My sweet, precious gemstone, Gregoria. I am so grateful for you.” Gregoria smiled. “Me too, Mother. Indeed, I have much to be grateful for.”


A great man once said, “if you claim to know everything about Quantum Physics, then you know nothing about Quantum Physics.” I remember as a kid I was sitting in the driveway outside my house after my father had driven off to work. The car was leaking oil and left a little puddle where the car was parked not five minutes before. It was the summer holidays and the sun was beaming down. I was only six, but by that age, my fascination with numbers was beginning to become apparent. I was counting the numbers of drops the leaking car made back to the oil slick. When a glistening spectrum of rainbow colours in the oil slick caught my eye. I remember being mesmerised by the colours and what could have been causing it. It wasn't until I was ten that I figured out that the thickness of the oil is similar to the wavelength of visible light. Different colours of light have different wavelengths. Depending on the exact thickness of the oil some colours don't reflect back due to destructive interference and some do reflect back due to constructive interference, so some colours are reflected strongly and others are not reflected, so the oil appears coloured. As the thickness varies different colours are reflected, so the colour appears to change. The teachers knew I was different. But they never encouraged me. They were scared of me because I was smarter than them. This became a pattern throughout my school years. Teachers were either intimidated by me or they flat out hated me. It didn't help that I would constantly point out inconsistencies in their math, or completely disprove a theory they had been working on their entire professional lives. We all had our heroes growing up and mine was Richard Feynman. Even though he had died two years before I was born. I felt like I knew him. I remember the first time I saw the Feynman Diagrams. To some people, they might seem random or chaotic. But where there is chaotic randomness, there is a pattern. It jumped out at me, as soon as I saw them. The probable nature of a particle didn't matter anymore. Have you ever looked at the vines that travel up walls and wonder how they know to hold on? Defying the laws of gravity, by just holding on, to get the best position for survival. What gives plants a sense of survival. Most will say evolution. But for me, evolution is just a fancy word for a very long time. If after a very long time a plant develops the means to protect itself. Then it learned to protect itself, over time. That's a level of intelligence only attributed to sentient beings. I always asked the questions that never got asked. Only to find no one had the Answers. This fascination with the deeper, underlying mysteries of reality, led me on a journey to find the true meaning of life. Like how the remnants of dead stars reverberate around our bodies. You could, in fact, say that the dead stars are our ancestors. And like with everything else in nature, they die and become reborn again in another form. I was reading a recent paper on the nature of light and the wave-particle duality of photons When something jumped out at me. What if the wave that carries the photon, carries the information of the particle and can become the particle whenever it needs to. What if the wave carries with it, the whole history of that particle, past, future and present. That way it appears to be in more than one place at a time. It soon became perfectly clear to me that the atoms that make up everything in nature are conscious. I was on the brink of the most amazing scientific discovery in the history of mankind. So I thought. It was when I was in my lab. I was testing a theory. I heard of a group of scientists that were struggling with the mechanics of teleportation. They could send the information from one location to the next, but they couldn't make the object rematerialise. So to help read the infinite states of data and rearrange the information, I built my own special kind of quantum computer. It was the only working Quantum computer, known only by me to exist. It helped revolutionise my thinking. It allowed me to put my theories into real practice. I had figured out a way to use it to read the information that made up a wave-particle. And what I discovered in the infinite stream of data was that the wave carried its past, present and future state. That meant, along with my Quantum computer I was able to build a machine to teleport an object from one place to another. I was all set to go, to make history. To bring the world to a better state of being. I had acquired a live subject for testing my theory. A small macaque. He was a lively little monkey who would do anything for a banana. Everything was set up to go. I turned on the machine. The monkey dematerialised as I had hoped. But it was when it was being transmitted from one pod to the next I noticed my Quantum computer not only scrambling the data that made up the monkey. It was loading data unrelated to the monkey also. The process was slow but once it finished the door to the pod opened. As the smoke began to clear to my absolute delight the monkey came running out of the pod. But it wasn't the same monkey. It looked like a younger version of what I had put in the machine. The machine managed to read the past data of the monkey and teleported a past version of itself. It was truly an astonishing mishap. But what happened to the original version. I edged myself closer to the pod as the smoke cleared I cautiously looked inside. Brushing aside the last of the smoke. I was horrified to see another monkey in the pod. It was on the floor clearly in distress. It appeared to be deformed. But on closer inspection parts of his body was in different stages of decay. Limbs weren't fully formed or they had formed and died. I picked him up and brought him over to the table and laid him down. It began to howl. It seemed to be in immense pain. So I decided to put it out of its misery. As I administered a strong sedative to the monkey. The pod that the monkey had appeared in, started back up. But this time it was drawing a lot more power, from some unknown place. As the machine surged to the point it was glowing my Quantum computer started recording data being sent from the pod. An endless stream of data filled my computer screen. At first, it appeared random, but then words began jumping out at me. Something was communicating with me, something was talking to me. As I put the words together they seemed incoherent. But amongst the rabble was a message. WE KNOW, YOU SEE THE EYES DOES SEE, THE EYES DOES SEE. WE ARE THE MIND WE, WE ARE THE SOUL, SOUL, SOUL. IMPERFECT, IMPERFECT, YOU ARE THE IMPERFECT. WE HAVE CREATED AND NOW WE DESTROY. As the words destroy repeated itself the surge in energy shortcutted all my equipment blowing out the power to the lab. It was about a week after the accident. I was sitting at home when I got a message on my phone. It was from a close astronomer friend of mine. It was an urgent message to fly to California to NASA’s Optical Communications Telescope Laboratory. As I read over the rest of the message my heart began to race. As I read the last sentence the blood drained from my body. “Space, as we know it appears to have stopped expanding and planets in the night's sky are starting to disappear.” As I Packed my bag the words destroy repeated itself over and over again in my head. I never believed in God. But now I think I pissed him off. I certainly pissed something off.


By the time I stepped outside, the leaves were on fire, and I stopped in my tracks. I was confused. There were people in the neighborhood who were still going on their daily morning jogs, and walks, and cars driving by on the road. I closed my eyes, and counted to three, but when I opened them back up, it’s like the fire got even bigger. I thought to myself, not again. What was happening? My eyes were deceiving me, and I felt trapped in my own mind. I heard the front door open, looked back and it was my older brother leaving to go to work. I turned back around, and I didn’t see the fire anymore, but I could still feel the heat coming from it. My brother told me bye, hopped in his car, and drove away. It was a brisk Saturday, and I decided to get up early to get some fresh air. I haven’t been able to sleep lately. My nightmares were turning into night terrors, and I couldn’t shake this feeling of dread. As I began to walk, I got deep into my thoughts, and it felt like everything around me was a part of my imagination. It was fall. The leaves were turning colors, and the moon was taking over the sky. My mother owned a healing shop in the city where people who needed healing, and protection would go to her for help, and guidance. I didn’t realize how far I had walked, until I came upon the street my grandmother lives on. I shrugged and told myself why not and walked into her neighborhood. I haven’t told anybody about my dreams, or visions I have been seeing, because I knew it sounded crazy, and didn’t want my mother and grandmother to worry. My phone began to ring, and the caller ID was my grandmother. What a coincidence. When I answered, she said she left the back gate open for me and then hung up the phone. How does she do that? I never knew. I always thought it was just an intuition thing, I have that feeling too. I finally made it to her house, and the dread I had suddenly went away. Grandmothers do bring comfort. I opened the gate to the backyard and saw my grandmother watering her flowers. She had a very pretty garden, and always kept it up. I never saw a plant or flower loose its life. We greeted each other, and I helped her water the rest of the garden. Before I could say anything, she asked me how I’d been sleeping lately, and I didn’t lie. I told her the truth about my nightmares and the hallucinations I’ve been having while asleep and awake. She asked me how long this has been going on and I told her three months. My grandmother then grabbed my hand and rushed me inside. We went into her office, which was filled with books, journals, incense, sage, jewelry boxes, stones, and crystals, and I sat down on the couch near the window. I looked outside, and it really was a beautiful day. My grandmother had her glasses on, and was picking out books from her bookcase, handing me each one to put on her desk. Once she was done, she placed her hand on my forehead and began to pray. It wasn’t strange for her to do that. Prayer was something we did in my family every day, all day. There was never a bad time to pray. She closed the office door and began to sage the room. My family and I were deep into spirituality and were always aware of the company we kept around our souls and in our home. For that reason, my mother never allowed me to bring home just anybody because she said some people have demons in them, but don’t know it, and next thing you know there is a bad spirit wandering in our house, looking for its next vessel. Both my mother and grandmother had red brick clay at the front and back doors of the house for protection from evil spirits and negative energy. My body began to tingle, and I felt tense, as my grandmother was still cleansing the room. I closed my eyes and counted to five, and I started to hear voices. When I opened my eyes, there was a candle floating in the middle of the room. The sort of candle you find at the front altar in a church. It wasn’t lit, but the voices were coming from inside of it. I got up from the couch and walked to the middle of the room and looked inside the candle. There were three tiny creatures dressed in white robes, dancing around in a circle humming to a hymn. I smiled and then they abruptly stopped, and slowly turned to look at me. My smile turned into a frown, and one by one each creature disappeared, and the candle ignited with fire, blowing up in my face. I panicked and called for my grandmother, who I didn’t see in the room anymore, but I wasn’t scared. I started to feel that sense of dread again and became light headed. I walked back over to the couch, laid down and fell asleep. When I woke up, my mother, grandmother, and brother were all in the room looking at me. My grandmother was looking through one of her books, my mother was stirring a cup of tea, and my brother was shaving down a red brick over a pot. My grandmother asked me what I had saw, and I told her what happened, and the reoccurrence of fire in my visions. My mother handed me the cup of tea, kissed me on the check, and told me that everything was going to be okay. Honestly, I just wanted to know what was going on. “Oneiromancy”, Grandma Sadie said, while she sat back in the chair at her desk. “I’m sorry, what?”, Niani, replied back, removing the tea cup away from her mouth. “Hoodoo”, Sarah, Niani’s mom declared. I looked at my brother to see if he was hearing what I was hearing. “It’s real”, Nasir, my brother said to me. I was mind boggled to say the least. I have heard my grandmother and mother talk about it, but I didn’t know they were affirmed believers who participated in it. As I finished my tea, and sat up on the couch, my grandmother told me that we all have gifts, and that it’s up to us to decide if want to embrace it or not. Oneiromancy is one of the several forms of divination in hoodoo, which meant the interpretation of dreams in order to foretell the future. My mother said my gift is being a seer. She said my brother went through this phase too when he was my age, but that my visions are stronger, and hold more power. My grandmother told me that the time has come for her to start training me to control my visions and to use my dreams to help people. I wasn’t opposed to it; I was actually excited. I finally felt like I had a purpose in life; a reason to live. Nasir began to tell me that dad had the same gift but was killed because of it. No one likes people who have special gifts, because they see them as a threat to normal ideologies. My grandmother told me that there are people who want to steal our magic and have always gone after our family, to either lock them up in a mental institution or kill them, taking their souls. I wasn’t asking many questions because they were answering them before I could even think about it. Boo Hag is who they told me we had to be aware of. Boo Hag is an evil spirit who torments the living, while also sending other demons to take possession of those who are weak and vulnerable. However, before my mother could finish telling me about our family secrets, we all became overwhelmed with dread and heartache. We quickly went into the living room and turned on the television, and that’s when we saw it. There was an explosion in the downtown area at a church, during a youth service program, killing three small children, who were performing a dance ritual in their white robes. My heart dropped and I fainted. I was in the kitchen, the sink was running water, and there was a bowl on the dining room table spinning. It began to spin faster, spurring fire, and then the water cut off. Signs. I took a deep breath in and a deep breath out. I looked around the room, which was getting smaller each second, and a crystal appeared in the fire. I grabbed the crystal and woke up. I was in the car. My brother was driving, my mother was in the front seat, and my grandmother was next to me holding my hand. My grandmother demanded that I tell her everything I just saw. She told me to listen to my heart, and I told Nasir to drive to the library in town. “What did you pull out of your vision?”, Sarah asked. I opened my hand and it was the crystal that was in my dream in the bowl of fire. When we pulled up in front of the library, there were police cars, fire trucks, and an ambulance in the parking lot. We got out the car, and there was smoke coming from the building. The police were trying to keep people back, and there were firemen carrying people from out of the building. My grandmother told me to go to the front line and tell the firemen where to look. I went up to the front of the line, and told one of the police to tell the firefighters to go down in the basement, near the windows that are shaped like bowls, because there is a pregnant mother stuck down there and she cant get out, but there is still time left to save her. The cop looked at me like I was crazy, but I pleaded. He rolled his eyes at me and turned his head. I grabbed the cops hand with a tight grip, and looked at him deep in his eyes, showing him what would happen to him if he didn’t help me save the pregnant woman. I let go of his hand, he stumbled back, and ran to the nearest fireman to tell him about the woman stuck in the basement. The fireman looked at me, grabbed his partner, and then they went inside. Five minutes later they came out with the pregnant woman, she was unharmed and still breathing. Seconds later the library collapsed. I walked away from the front line, and went back to my family, who hugged me. I looked at my grandmother, and she told me that I had the gift of seeing, and showing, but the showing could become a dangerous thing if I let it take control over me. I liked the showing. Just to think that this day ended how it did because of leaves on fire.