I wrote this on a whim, but after rereading a few days later I genuinely enjoyed it, so I thought I'd share, enjoy (hopefully)  \*Ulp\* As my tongue retracted I'm sure the insect was already dead, at least mentally. Being a lizard is pretty great, I climb things, I eat things, I sleep on things, a little rinse here, a little rinse there, and time and time again each step is repeated. What some would call a never-ending cycle, I call my life. My current humble abode, also known as my nest, is currently made in the small opening of a rock just over yonder. Although I'm a bit embarrassed to admit it, I tend to collect shiny things without even noticing, which has resulted in *quite* the stash in my nest. Not that I mind though, I'm actually quite fond of shiny things, which I guess is why I've been collecting them without thinking about it. If another of my kind saw the glittering pile where I sleep, I wonder what they'd say? Would they be disturbed? Would they want some of it? All of it? Ha! Like I'd part with my treasures! Anyway, today I've managed to eat two big fluffy bugs, seven small thin ones, Oh! And I found a big gray bug taking a drink too! It was so juicy I thought I was gonna melt! mmmmm.... Now that I've eaten enough for today though, I plan to head back to my nest, sleep for a bit, maybe practice my hobby for a bit, and then inevitably head back out to look for more food, as one does when living through their life cycle. A roaring sound above, which upon looking up I could see a flock of four-legged feathery friends, their white feathers annoyingly reflecting the sun's light into my eyes. With each flying in the direction of my nest, I could feel myself start salivating at happy thoughts...mmmmm...I bet they'd taste good, hopefully, they land soon and I can get them on my way back. I wish I had wings. I've seen plenty of other creatures with wings, I've eaten plenty too. If I had wings, not only would the amount of time I spend hunting be reduced, but I'd also be able to hunt other creatures of the air! Oh so exciting! Just imagining the wind on my scales cooling off my whole body as I munch on the delicious meat of one of my four-legged feathery friends above, oh how fantastic a thought! If only...but alas, I am stuck on the ground, the creatures above forever taunting my inability to reach them, sometimes it's very infuriating, but today the feeling of anger was mild at best. Step step step step. Soon I'd be back at the nest, sadly I hadn't seen the feathery creatures from before, no tasty treats for me, how sad. On the horizon, the sun floated just above, sure to sink into it at any moment, but taking it's time to freefall as it pleased, it was a lovely sight, painting the surrounding rocks and boulders in a nice warm orange. What's this? Some insects are in my nest! How exi-! ...................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................... They're...they're taking my treasures...the two-legged ones are loading up my shinies into their trinkets and taking them away! They think that just because they've tamed those silly hairy long four-legged bugs that they're strong enough to take my precious collection?! UNACCEPTABLE. Opening my mouth wide, I took in a large gulp of air, letting it churn in my stomach, all the while my mouth released a loud hissing noise, alerting the tiny insects of my presence, but it didn't matter, even as they panicked, ran, or took cover, I would let NONE of these foul micro-creatures leave unpunished! Air fully churned, I regurgitated it back out in a hail of poisonous gas that covered most of the rock my nest was made into, no doubt filling my nest as well, none of the bugs would survive, good. As I waited for the gas a clear I watched for any signs of life, even well after it had fully dissipated. Nothing had survived. Great, now some of my treasures would be warped by the acidic nature of my gas! Waaaaah, woe is me! Not to mention that now I have to go gather what those vermin scattered about, as well as eat their corpses, which although don't taste very good after blasting them, it would be an insult to nature to not eat what's still edible. So yeah, being a lizard is pretty great, but sometimes it can be a bit of a hassle.


Trastevere, Rome, bustled with life as another day gave way to another night. The lights on the Ponte Sisto Bridge reflected in the Tiber River below, bringing to mind romance and vitality. For Cassidy, it had all been intoxicating upon arrival, but now it was all as bland and familiar as home. She was spending a year teaching English as a second language, and had happily settled in Rome. As she was weaving her way home from dinner one evening, she saw him: Paul, her brother, who had gone missing fifteen years ago. She brushed it off, noting how, in the months and years following his disappearance, she often imagined she saw him on every street corner, saw his smile or his eyes on every stranger’s face, heard his laugh in the corridors of every building. They locked eyes, and he maintained contact just a beat too long before looking away and vanishing into the throng of tourists. Early the next morning, after espresso and cornetti, Cassidy sat by the fountain in the Piazza di Santa Maria, enjoying the early-morning streets, still asleep, the empty cobbles echoing with the solemn church bells ringing out hour by hour through the centuries. That’s when he emerged again. He caught her eye and paused. “Buongiorno,” Cassidy called out. He said nothing. “Do you speak English? Lei parla l’inglese?” “Si. Parlo l’inglese.” “Okay. So let’s,” “Perche? Why should we, if you speak Italian?” “Are you Paul Carson?” Cassidy said. The man started. He laughed to himself, then sat on the edge of a step on the fountain. Clasping his hands together between his knees, he observed the edifice of the old church, and said, “How did you find me?” “I wasn’t looking for you. I stopped years ago. Everyone thinks you died, you know,” Cassidy said. “That was the game plan. It’s strange, speaking English. I haven’t in a long time. It’s like trying to fit into an old pair of trousers. You should be able to, and you recognize it as your own, and yet...it’s not quite right.” “I can’t speak Italian well enough to grill you like I need to,” Cassidy said. “I know, I know,” Paul held up his hands. “So, what the hell, Paul? What happened?” “First, my name isn’t Paul. Okay? Paul Carson is dead.” “I refuse to call you Paolo.” “It’s Giovanni. Giovanni Giancarlo.” “Good Lord, that’s pretentious,” Cassidy muttered. “You know who I am, don’t you?” “Of course I do. Cass. I’d recognize you anywhere,” Paul said, with a tenderness that would have made Cassidy want to hug him if the urge to slap him wasn’t so strong. “I don’t even know what to say to you right now. I mean--do you know how heartbroken we all were?” “In your case, I’m surprised,” Paul chuckled. “I thought you hated me.” “Yeah, sure, in the usual way a girl hates her older brother. It’s nothing real . I wanted you to stop being such a lazy, cocky asshole, that’s all. I didn’t want you to get hurt --and I certainly never wanted you to die .” Paul was in college when he disappeared. He was an active member of the Georgetown scene, then one spring break he disappeared. Hide nor hair was ever found of him, and friends, family, and strangers took sides among those who thought he was out there somewhere and those who thought, if he was ever found again, it would be as a corpse. His mother refused to relinquish hope, while his father preferred to face what he called “cold, hard facts.” The problem was, very few cold, hard facts existed in Paul’s case. Everything was hazy, uncertain. His friends last saw him down by the Potomac waterfront, drunkenly serenading people at the Key Bridge Boathouse. They left him there for some reason, and never saw him again. People walking by the boathouse said he tried to climb into a kayak, but they restrained him and put him in a taxi. Allegedly he gave an address that turned out to be his ex-boyfriend’s. Later, certain of Paul’s possessions were found at the ex’s apartment: the tie he was last seen wearing; a few textbooks; and, damningly, a blood-stained shirt, which DNA tests confirmed belonged to Paul. Cassie joined her father and many people in assigning blame to Freddy, the ex, who maintained his innocence, insisting the bloody t-shirt was a result of chafed nipples. “He’s a marathon runner! Half his shirts are bloody. You should see the state of his socks.” Freddy was not convicted, with much of the community citing his wealth and his family’s political connections as the reason for this, rather than the reasonable doubt standard. “It’s hard for family members of a murder victim to see reason,” someone said, trying to be helpful. Maybe so, Cassie thought, but how could someone be put away for murder when no body was ever found? Circumstantial evidence couldn’t--and shouldn’t--land someone in the electric chair. Several years later, Freddy sat for the Virginia Bar and was denied admission for failing to disclose this brush with the law. Law students across the country rolled their eyes, scoffing at how he thought he could get away with that. “If I have to report a damned speeding ticket, you have to report a murder charge,” one Maryland Bar candidate commented. Freddy later took his life, and people stopped talking about him. As a result, people stopped talking about Paul, too. Years passed, Cassidy grew up, attended college in California, then took a teach abroad opportunity in Italy. The apparent death of her brother caused an irreparable rift in her parents’ relationship, and their marriage ended. Away from the ghosts that lurked throughout DC, in their home, on the metro, and all across the National Mall, Cassidy came to terms with the past and moved on with her life. Then, suddenly, Paul appeared on the ancient cobbled streets of Rome. “You know people think Freddy killed you,” Cassidy said. “Freddy helped me escape. He’s a good friend.” “He killed himself.” Paul paled, but recovered quickly, a smile returning to his face. “No, he didn’t.” “He swallowed a bullet in his parents’ basement.” “That’s what he wants you to think.” “Jesus, Paul. They found his body, okay? They buried him. He didn’t vanish. You ruined a lot of lives, you know that? And for what? A clean break? What, you were too chicken to live the life you wanted and be judged for it?” “Keep your voice down, will ya?” Paul snapped. The siblings sat quietly for a moment, each fuming with private thoughts as they watched pigeons scour the cobbles for snacks. “It isn’t what you think,” Paul said. “I didn’t just get bored one day and leave.” “In Freddy’s testimony, he said you were always whining about how you wanted to disappear.” “I didn’t know you were such a big fan of Freddy’s.” “I’m not. I spent the last fifteen years thinking he murdered you. I was horrible to him whenever we ran into one another, and then I see you here, healthy as can be, and I think of the fact that people hounded that poor guy for no reason, apparently, and now he’s six feet under and still tarnished for a crime he, evidently, did not commit.” “Right, Cass, now if you would just step down from your soapbox and let me speak, you would see I didn’t have a choice.” “How’s that?” A beggar holding a child appeared at their side, out of nowhere as they always seemed to do, and smiled at them, hand outstretched, waiting for money. Cassidy had learned to ignore them in the last year, though she still felt badly when a small child was involved; Paul, however, who had clearly had much more experience, snapped at her, “ Basta, ehi? Vada via, adesso! ” The woman wandered away, and Paul turned back to his sister, shaking his head and muttering, “ porca puttana. ” Cassidy raised her eyebrows at his foul language. She crossed one leg over the other and cocked her head, waiting for Paul’s explanation. He cleared his throat and looked down at his weather-worn leather shoes as he scratched the palm of his hand, a nervous gesture Cassidy recognized from long-ago. "I was stupid back then, okay?” “Only back then?” Cassidy said. “Hey, come on.” “Sorry. Couldn’t help myself. Carry on.” “I thought I was smart and all,” Paul laughed mirthlessly, glancing over his shoulder as if afraid they were being watched. “The summer after junior year, I interned on the Hill. I never had any political ambitions myself, but I wanted to work behind the scenes. I dunno, something like chief of staff, you know? So, anyway, that summer I made friends with some sketchy characters.” “I’d say most characters on Capitol Hill are sketchy,” Cassidy interjected. “Can you save the snark, please?” “The more uncomfortable I am, the snarkier I become. It can’t be helped.” “Suffice it to say, I got in over my head. I thought I was doing something, I dunno, something impressive . Something exciting. I lead this secret life, and I made some money. That’s when I started going out with Freddy,” Paul paused on the name of his ex. “Was Freddy one of these sketchy characters?” “No, no, of course not. Freddy’s an angel, he would never--” Paul shook his head. He glanced over his shoulder again, biting his lip, scratching at his palm. “My relationship with Freddy was the light. My side-job with the fellas on the Hill was the darkness. I did end up telling Freddy about it, after a few months. It was around Thanksgiving when I finally told him what all I was involved in.” “What, exactly, were you involved in?” Cassidy asked. “Drug trafficking, to put it simply,” Paul said. “Before I knew it, I was caught up in a web of organized crime. The kind of shit that’s meant to be glamorous on TV and in John Grisham novels. I finally got scared and realized what I mess I was making of my life. I stopped cooperating with the guys, hoping it would all just go away. But, see, that’s just further proof that I was a naïve idiot. That stuff doesn’t just go away . You can’t ghost organized crime factions.” “I would imagine not,” Cassidy muttered, trying to wrap her mind around the insanity spewing from her brother’s mouth. Part of her wondered if he had just taken too many drugs himself and imagined this whole thing, but his demeanor was genuine. His confidence had vanished, his eyes were far away with remembrances of his past. Guilt, remorse, and a bit of fear came through in his voice. Paul continued, “They started threatening me, but I wasn’t having it. I’d never dealt with people like that before. Of course, I guess normal people would be frightened into compliance--it’s people who are used to those dealings who would call a bluff. But, you know what I was like. King of the world. Spoiled and unprepared,” Paul cleared his throat. He took a deep breath, waiting for a group of people to pass by before he continued, “So, they started threatening to harm Freddy. They found where he lived, sent me pictures indicating as much. Well, I couldn’t let them do that, but I didn’t want anything to do with them anymore, either. I was trapped. So the only option was to do what I should have done before I got involved with them anyway.” “Vanish into thin air?” “No, are you really that stupid?” Paul snapped. “I went to the feds. Told ‘em all about it. Haven’t you heard of the Witness Protection Program?” Cassidy nodded slowly, considering this revelation as a pigeon landed on the step between her brother and herself. The Witness Protection Program. Of course. “And Freddy? I mean, you said you told him. Did he know you were going to turn yourself in? Did he know you were going to disappear?” “Yes and yes. He and I broke up around Christmas. I could tell it was eating him alive, knowing what I was involved with, and I hated it. I promised I would get out of it, but he didn’t see how that was possible. We stayed friends, and I confided in him about everything. We would meet up at his apartment and talk about it. That was dumb, too. I put him right in the path of danger--” “There was nothing suspect about his death,” Cassidy said, surprised at the warmth in her voice. “Maybe not. But he still wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t put him through all that,” Paul said, laughing bitterly. Cassidy couldn’t think of anything to say. She wiped the sweat from her forehead and moved her hair from one shoulder to the other, trying to combat the brutal Italian sun. “So, that’s it,” Paul said. “Spirited away under the cover of night. New life, new identity. I always thought I’d go back one day, after enough time had passed. But, I don’t know. Maybe it would be too painful.” “Are you allowed to go back?” Cassidy asked. “You’re not breaking the law right now, are you? Telling me all this stuff?” “No. I don’t work for the CIA. It’s not like that. I can go back to my old life whenever I want,” Paul shrugged. “Sounds so easy, doesn’t it?” “Do you ever miss it?” “A little. I’ve missed you, and mom and dad. How are they?” “Divorced,” Cassidy said. “But okay, individually.” Paul nodded, his brow knit together as he considered this news. “What happened with Freddy?” Paul asked, his voice childlike in its sadness. “How much do you know?” Cassidy stammered. “Nothing,” Paul said. “I was told not to look anything up. No internet presence, no reading the papers regarding my supposed demise, nothing. I haven’t--seeing you is the first time I’ve had any contact with my old life since I left.” “Well,” Cassidy sighed. She cleared her throat and shifted her seat. “As I said, everyone assumed you were dead. Foul play seemed likely, and they found stuff at Freddy’s apartment.” “What kind of stuff?” “Oh, just some things. Textbooks, the tie you were wearing the night you vanished, a bloody t-shirt...that’s what got him in trouble, that t-shirt.” “Bloody t-shirt?” “He said it was from chafed nipples.” “He was right,” Paul said. “I guess no one believed him.” “I don’t know if no one believed him. But I didn’t. Dad didn’t. Mom never gave up thinking you were still alive somewhere.” “See, never doubt a mother,” Paul shook his finger. “Mothers always know, somehow. It’s like they’re endowed with magic powers when their children are born.” “Anyway, he wasn’t convicted. Looking back with a cooler head, of course he wasn’t. It was sort of absurd that he was ever arrested anyway, considering they never actually found a body.” “Good old American justice system,” Paul said. “When did he--you know.” “Oh, three, four years after you disappeared?” Cassidy said. She explained the Virginia Bar’s refusal of Freddy’s application on the grounds of withheld information. That, in addition to years of speculation around the city, had ruined him. Paul hung his head. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. He let out a short, self-deprecating laugh and said, “I don’t know what I’m getting so upset for. We were only together for a few months.” “You don’t have to apologize for being upset. The whole situation’s a mess.” “That’s true. Poor Freddy. How anyone could think that man would be capable of murder is--he was a lovely man. I wish you could have gotten to know him. I wish he’d never gotten tangled up in my mess. Or, really, I guess I wish I’d never been so stupid in the first place.” “No use regretting, I guess,” Cassidy said. She patted her brother’s back. It was odd, how natural it felt to comfort him, when for all intents and purposes he was a stranger. “Do you think you’ll ever come home?” “I am home,” Paul said, a sad, resigned smile on his lips as he glanced around the Piazza di Santa Maria, coming to life now as the church bells struck 10:00. “There are worse places to hide away, I suppose.” “ Certo ,” Cassidy said, offering her brother a friendly smile, which he returned. “How long are you here?” Paul asked. “Until Christmas,” Cassidy said. “I’d like to see you again. If that’d be okay,” Paul said. “Yeah. I think I’d like that, too,” Cassidy said. She wondered about Paul’s life here in Italy, whether he ever had a boyfriend, or any friends at all. Perhaps it was easier to live out his life in solitude, so as not to draw anyone into his complicated situation, or perhaps he simply never spoke about his past. Maybe, to him, Paul Carson really was a different person, and he was someone else. From his expression, she assumed he had never quite gotten the events of fifteen years prior off of his chest before. There was something of serenity and relief in his face, but also pain. “I won’t tell anyone,” Cassidy said, leaning in and holding her brother’s gaze so he knew she was serious. He was safe, until he chose to come home. He smiled and nodded his thanks. Cassidy rose to her feet, noting the time and the fact that she had yet to create lesson plans for the week. Paul rose as well. “Good to meet you, Giovanni,” Cassidy held out her hand. “ Piacere ,” Paul shook it. The siblings smiled at each other, letting the secrets of the past marinate between them. Cassidy gave Paul her phone number and address and walked away from him, following the cobbles back to the top of Via Garibaldi, to face another day in this strange, foreign world.


I cast my line into the endless ocean on a boiling June day. Within seconds I felt a giant pull, and I hauled harder than I ever had. I thought my line would snap--but then the water parted, and out of its deep blue curtain came the most beautiful man I had ever seen, dangling and bleeding from my hook through his lip. I dragged him onto the plywood dock, extracted the hook from him, and wiped away the blood. He stared at me with the eyes of a child, such innocence and grace and beauty, and gave me the faintest smile. He had dark hair and black eyes and soft cheeks. His translucently-pale skin bulged from his perfect musculature, and he looked at me in a way that no one ever had. I tried to ask him what his name was, where he had come from, how he hadn’t drowned, where his family was--he had no answer. All he could do was smile and look at me. I told him my name was John, although I wasn’t sure he understood, and after a few minutes I decided that I had to take care of him until he was healed from whatever had happened to him under the ocean’s surface. I took him to my tiny apartment, tucked him into my bed, and made him a bowl of soup from the only food I had in the fridge. I sat down gently with the soup and tried to give it to him, but he seemed to not know what to do with it. I would have to feed him--I dipped the spoon into the steaming soup. He opened his mouth as I brought the spoon to it, but instead of accepting it, he spoke one word, and one word only, in a raspy voice like cat’s claws on sandpaper: “Puke.” Then he closed his mouth tight, and would accept no food or drink, or say anything but the word puke, again and again, until the word started to turn my stomach and I asked him to stop. In response, the man from the depths reached out and held my arm, firmly, with a tenderness that changed the temperature of my entire body, and he looked me in my eyes with a stare that communicated all things. He took me in his arms and kissed me so deeply that I thought I was going to go insane. I was annoyed that I was so easy to win over and upset that a man could make me melt without speaking a single word to me aside from one I hated. It had just been so *long*. I made love for the first time in four years, and then I asked the undersea man what his name was as we lay tangled together in the billowing clouds of my ivory sheets. He turned to me, smiling that innocent, soft smile, and said to me, “Puke, John.” I asked him, trying to be playful, if Puke was his name, but he shook his head forcefully and pointed to me. Before I knew it he gently slipped his fingers into my mouth and down my throat. I don’t know why I did, but I did what he asked all over my ivory sheets, and in the middle of the contents of my stomach sat a lump of pure, polished gold, glistening in the afternoon sun that streamed in through my window. He picked it up, handed it to me, and smiled again. My eyes grew as wide as dinner plates and I stared at the fortune I had just coughed up, and without even thinking I kissed him again. I couldn’t help myself. There was no explaining it. He had just known. He had known everything I needed and everything I wanted without me saying anything. He was sent by God. I went to the bathroom to clean myself up and to cry a little bit, happily, over my life *finally* improving. I looked at myself in the mirror, at my blonde hair, my olive skin, my green eyes-- and for the first time in a long time I told myself that I was beautiful and meant it. When I came back all of my vomit was gone from the sheets. I thanked him for cleaning up, and he smiled at me from the bed and beckoned me to come to him. The next few days were nothing but happiness in my one-bedroom, 500 square foot apartment. The underwater man and I made love every chance we could get, and he helped me vomit up so much gold that it filled my tiny apartment with glimmering piles of wealth. I felt like a king. He always cleaned up while I went to the bathroom to wipe my mouth, so thoroughly that everything was spotless. We slept together in my single bed every night and he held me like a treasure. He still never ate, but I took this as some sort of sea-sickness that would go away in time. I asked him his name hundreds of times and never received a response, but as the days went on he became more and more lively and strong-looking, and he began speaking to me--first in singular words, then in full sentences. His voice was low and smooth and it rolled from him like thunder across the plains. He spoke of things he loved--sunsets, and houses, and children’s laughter. He thanked me for rescuing him from the sea. He told me he didn’t remember how he got there, under the water that it was gone from his mind. All it took was one look from his eyes that I now noticed were a bit green in the right light, and I believed him. I felt like my mind was becoming a little bit slower--but I guess that’s how you feel when you’re in love. One night as we laid together in the freshly-cleaned bed, he rolled over to me and looked at me and said-- “I love you.” I’m embarrassed to say that I began crying immediately. I said it back after my emotional outburst was over in my small, silly-sounding voice, and the next day I sold our gold and the dingy old apartment that had housed me for eight unhappy years. The undersea man and I bought a beautiful home across from the ocean together, and we moved in in the span of a day. It’s not like either of us had many possessions to relocate. He turned to me as we slept together in our new four-poster bed that night, and I turned to him, and he said again to me-- “Puke.” Even though I didn’t want to ruin the new bed, I knew better than to disregard his council on this particular matter. I opened my mouth, and into my throat went his fingers, and I let my stomach turn inside out for him. When I was finished and gasping I looked in the middle of my bile. There sat the most beautiful baby boy I had ever seen, with the undersea man’s eyes and his cheeks, and my smile and my tiny pointed ears. “Is he... ours?” “Yes.” “Did you put him there like the gold?” “No, John. He was there all along, just like the gold. He was always yours, and he was always mine.” I couldn’t respond, or question further how this had happened, or do anything but scoop up the baby and cradle him close and kiss his soft little forehead. It didn’t matter that I was a man, didn’t matter that this was impossible. My child was in my arms and my lover was at my side and the only thing in my mind, the only thing in my heart, was love. I was so overcome with love--for him, for my home, for this new baby, that coherent thoughts couldn’t penetrate the warmth and the affection that I felt for everything around me. I spent my next days in a haze, and when he asked me to puke again I did and I gained a beautiful baby girl. It had been two weeks since I pulled the undersea man from the ocean and now I spent my days in such a euphoria that I felt I could barely think. No matter the time of day, I was either making love, tending to my beautiful children, or looking out at my view of the ocean--I was never thinking. Only loving. One day I told him we were running out of money, and without another word he induced me to vomit up another massive chunk of gold. I looked at him, my face flushed, my mind struggling to express itself with words, and just told him, “You are my everything.” “No, John. You are.” He smiled, this time a little differently than normal--I couldn’t figure out why. Even just that four-word sentence had been mentally draining, so clouded was my mind with love and admiration for the man from the waves. I cleaned up quick, wanting to return to him as soon as I could. When I returned from the bathroom I saw him, bent over, his bumpy spine stretching the skin of his back. He made a sound like algae being fed through broken glass. I crept closer. His face was pressed deep into the sheets, and he sucked up my vomit with his mouth with frightening speed and desire. His eyes were animal and predatory, glassy and unthinking. His veins bulged through his olive skin as he fed, and I could see thousands of branching networks of deep-green, pumping and flowing and filling almost audibly, like the inner workings of a giant mosquito. He looked up at me, wiped his mouth, and smiled. I ran from him, went to the bathroom, locked the door, and looked at myself in the mirror for the first time in weeks. My blonde hair had turned black, my olive skin to a translucent white that every vein peeked through. My eyes were black and soulless and I realized that my brain was not sluggish because of love. I was being drained. Before I could blink the door flew open and he was behind me, and then his hand was down my throat, and he grabbed both my hands with one of his and held them behind my back with inhuman strength. He bent me over the bathtub with his fingers in my mouth, and then he pushed them all the way down and drained everything from me, vomit and children and gold and music and color, what I realized now was everything my body could or would ever make in my lifetime. I tried to resist at first, but I had so little fight. I was so far gone already. When it was all over I stared blankly at the squirming bathtub beneath me, filled with everything of value my body would have ever produced, squeezed from me like a wet sponge being twisted. I was nothing but a husk, my thoughts an impenetrable mist. Then his strong arms picked me up, still holding my hands behind my back. He carried me out the front door of the beautiful house we had once shared, across the wind-swept beach, and walked until the sea gently lapped his bare feet. I looked up at him. His hair was a beautiful burnished blonde now, and his eyes green as a cat’s. His once-translucent skin had become a beautiful olive. I had to admit he was beautiful, even more so than I had once been. He gave me that same little smile that I had loved so much, and for a second I thought he might apologize, or save me, or reverse everything he had taken. Instead he rocked me in his arms like a newborn, and at the peak of the third rock he released his grip and threw me. I flew high in the air, hung at the top of the arc for a fragile moment, and then plunged into the cold and salty water. The ocean inhaled me, and I knew I was home. I watched from underneath as he walked away, tanned and strong and beautiful, without any feeling at all. I searched my mind for thoughts, feelings, cares--there was nothing there, my mind a dark and empty ocean to mirror the one I had been thrown into. All I was was gone now, drained into the bathtub. I turned from the shore and swam away into the icy surf, my beady black eyes scanning the dark blue depths, forgetting everything I once was and ever could have been.


The Portendorfers packed the car with their clothes, a dog bed, a giant bag of dog food, a baby stroller, grandma’s wheelchair, beach toys for the other two children, a big beach umbrella, and matching beach chairs. As expected, the whole paraphernalia didn’t fit in the trunk, so Mr. Portendorfer tied some of it to the roof of the car. The family, including the dog, squeezed into the vehicle and left their suburban home for the beach. Well into the trip, one of the chairs became loose and fell off the car. That was when the Portendorfers were all singing together, so they didn’t hear a thing. Lucky for the chair, the impact made it roll all the way to the side of the road before getting hit by any car. It stayed there for a while, folded as it had been packed. Its aluminum frame had suffered a few dents and the nylon seat was torn. But it was all in one piece. When the dust settled, the chair stretched its four legs and started walking in the direction the car had gone. Its frame was so badly bent, the only way it could move forward was by limping sideways like a crab. While passing by a small village at the foot of a mountain, the walking beach chair was mostly ignored, except for an old man who started shooting at it with a rifle. The chair continued its journey; the bullet holes actually made it easier to move against the wind. Night fell, but it was still bright with the moon, and the headlights. Later, black clouds covered the moon, and the rain fell hard on the forest, drowning the sounds of crickets and cicadas. Sometimes the chair stumbled on a rock or a ditch, but it was important to keep its balance: flipping on its back meant never being able to stand up again. The Portendorfers arrived at the beach house. While unloading the car, Mrs. Portendorfer noticed that one of the beach chairs was missing, and asked her husband to drive back and try to find it. But Mr. Portendorfer didn’t think that a cheap old beach chair was worth his trouble, especially at this time of night, and with all the rain. As the Portendorfers slept, the chair dragged itself through the storm. A river that ran parallel to the road began to overflow, so the chair let itself be pushed by the waters for the last stretch of the trip. When it arrived at the beach house, the sun was shining and the Portendorfers were eating breakfast. When the family came out, they found the missing chair on the grass, all twisted and crooked, covered with mud and weeds. The other chairs had gathered around it, to hear its story. Grandma's wheelchair moved on its own to join the group. I wish I could say that the family was ecstatic to see their loyal beach chair back, that the children jumped with happiness, that their parents had tears in their eyes, that they all got together and washed it, fixed it, and took it to the beach with them. Yes, I wish I could say that.


System note: The following is translated into a language the reader is familiar with. The choice of words may sometimes sound unusual or simple. This results from the fact that some of the original languages of these texts haven't been spoken for millions of your solar circumnavigations. Most of the species don't exist anymore. The records are still preserved to document historical events. # Krex loves her bar. It is a small building, rarely visited, not much money to get, but the visitors are usually happy to find a shelter this far outside the inhabited systems. Most visitors are miners, traveling through the asteroid belts, the cargo bays full of ores, who want to relax one or two days before returning to the core. Of course, usually she's serving lizards here, mostly her own kind of Agamas, often geckos too. Once an iguana visited this place, but their planets are on the other side of the galaxy, so they rarely travel to this part of space. But recently, this new species visits her bar, too. They joined the galactic civilization just recently, causing trouble wherever they show up. Their furry bodies are like an insult to Krex’s eyes, but they are ambitious and bring good money. At least most of the time. Sometimes they enjoy to cause as much damage as possible, and sometimes Krex doesn't even know what they're doing, like today. Three of them are already there, laughing and drinking when suddenly, the door bursts open. "Careful there", Krex shouts, but freezes the next moment. A fourth just enters, the pupils narrow, the whiskers twitching. The laser weapon on her hip is mandatory, they all carry one. But Krex has never seen one of them actually use these weapons, they usually prefer close combat. One of the others shouts, "Hensutu!" Was it a word in their language, or a name, maybe? The newcomer puts her ears on, pushes out her claws and hisses while turning towards the one who shouted. The other one pushes her claws out, too, digs them into table and floor - probably to enhance her grip - and jumps out of her chair and across the table, approaching the newcomer quickly. Everything looks like a fight is about to start, until she puts her hands on the newcomer's shoulders and lowers her head. Only now does Krex notice that the new one's ears have risen again and are opened towards the other one. "Sister. It's been a while", the newcomer says, lowering her head too, pushing their foreheads together with a growl. "May I introduce you to my sons? We're celebrating their adulthood! Please, join us!" The newcomer nods, then pushes the other one - her sister? - aside to step towards the bar, towards Krex who observes them nervously. "Do you serve some kind of milk?" "I... Yes, sure. Do you want plain milk or something special?" "Rum and milk, 50/50 in that order." Krex thinks for a moment, then she puts a Glass on the bar. "Are you kidding me?" Before Krex really understands what's going on, the glass is thrown aside, falling towards the ground and breaking into a thousand pieces. "What are we going to do with a single glass? We're four!" "Oh... Of course. I'm sorry." She puts a large jug on the counter and reaches for the milk, just to be grabbed on her wrist by the guest. Nervously, she looks at the twitching tail of her guest, knowing that this can be a terrible sign. "When you're trying to anger me, you're doing a good job. What did I say about the order?" Krex freezes, thinking for a moment. Then she nods and nervously reaches for the rum, watching her customer carefully, prepared to stop in case something else is wrong. "50/50 you said?" The fur-covered head nods slowly, and so Krex starts to pour the rum into the jug. Next she fills it up with milk, relaxing when she notices the satisfied nodding of her customer. "See? You aren't as stupid as you look. This probably won't be the last one, you know where we are." With these words, the furry hand grabs the jug and the strange woman turns around. Events like this, demonstrating how aggressive this species can seem, frequently happen around the galaxy, wherever these creatures show up. And somewhere already sits a council of scaled participants and discusses how to deal with them. # "What, you want to be captain? All right, come here if you dare!" Hensutu just returned from her trip to the bar. One of her nephews chose to join her crew, but during their very first meeting with their captain, he challenged him. Sauksez is used to it. A kitten, just grown up, who wants to prove themselves, usually starts at the head of the pack. And so, he fought off almost every new crew member on the first day. He actually likes it because this way he can prove regularly that he isn't captain for nothing. And this one, too, will soon have figured out his place. The fight doesn't last long. They rarely do, and over the last few years the result has always been the same: Sauksez stays the ship's captain and the new one submits to him. He'll search and challenge other crew members soon, until, in a few days, his position aboard the ship is settled. Sauksez turns towards Hensutu. "Why exactly did you bring this one here?" "He’s from my sister, the one from the same litter as me. She asked me for it when I met her in a bar." "I was afraid you picked up a stray. Not that I would have refused him then, he's a strong fighter. But you’ve proven yourself, so a relative of yours is particularly welcome." "Thank you", Hensutu replies while bowing down to her captain. He dislikes to compliment, so this was worth a lot for her. Or did he only acknowledge the litter they had together? Whatever it is, Hensutu just feels more valuable because of it. Then she turns around to go to the cantina. Her nephew would find his way alone from here, and she had an appointment. As usual, when both are aboard, she eats lunch with her daughter Zeanah. But today isn't usual. Of course, they meet and sit down for lunch, but as they sit, talk and eat, they are interrupted again and again by young men who try to flirt with Zeanah and show off in front of her. At some point - the fourth or fifth just left - Hensutu stands up and shouts: "The next one trying to mate with my daughter while we eat will have to collect his teeth from the floor!" A young man stops a few steps away, indecisive, looking back and forth between the two. Hensutus growl tells him that she's serious, so he turns around and leaves. She sighs. "First day?" "The third, actually", Zeanah responds shyly. "So there are only seven days left. But overall, the first time as far as I know?" Her daughter nods. "You really should try to set some boundaries. Otherwise, they will never leave you alone." "I'll try." "And next time, please warn me in time. It’s annoying enough when I’m in heat myself, but if I ever have to watch them behave like that to you again, I’m probably gonna kill someone." # "We really need to do something", an iguana demands. "They're terrorizing our people wherever we meet them!" "What's the problem?" One of the eel-people asks. Most fishes haven't even seen a cat yet, their habitats are just too different, and they rarely have a reason to contact each other. "The problem is their attitude. They're proud, arrogant and selfish. They act as if everything's their property, and what they don't like they damage. It's a wonder that so few people died yet." "Are their claws poisonous or something? I've heard stories about a scratch from them developing into a deadly disease in multiple cases." "Although they are very clean, they usually do not care about cleaning their claws. These cases you’ve heard of were probably infections with unknown bacteria." "Clean, you say? They *smell* terribly", a serpent comments. "Would you please stop bothering us with your opinion? We're talking about facts, and they *do* spend a lot of time cleaning their fur." "I'd suggest sending them an offer. If they calm down around other species, following common rules of politeness, they're free to go. If they continue to treat other races like shit, then we must restrict their access to our facilities. Anyone against it?" Nobody reacts. "Then it's settled. I’ll contact their diplomats. Any other topics?" # Hensutu doesn't like the idea of visiting her daughter. It's the seventh day of her being in heat, she most likely is with a man right now. But she is the best diplomat they have, and the situation demands her attention. When reaching for the door, she hears something. Yes, Zeanah is with a man right now, so Hensutu waits patiently for their noises to stop. And then a little longer. Finally, she pushes the button. Usually, a bell would announce her request to enter, but the system was set to make an exception for her, the door opens right away. She steps in, surprising both, Zeanah and her partner. "Mom!" "Hey. I see, you met your cousin." "My what?" "Not now. You're required on the bridge, it's urgent." With these words, Hensutu turns around and leaves the room again. "My cousin...?" Zeanah asks the man she was cuddling with moments ago, who looks just as surprised as she felt. He hesitates a moment, but then nods slowly. She shakes her head, jumps out of the bed and gets dressed. "You'll find your way out, I assume." That wasn't a question, she rushes out without waiting for a response. "What's up?" she asks as soon as she closed up to her mother. "Your skills are required. The scaled ones gave us an ultimatum, and we need your help to negotiate the terms." "An ultimatum? But why?" "Seems like our habits aren't very popular among them." Zeanah nods while trying to keep up with her mother. "Did you at least get your heat under control?" "Yes, but... My cousin! And you're requesting a heads-up from *me*?" "Don't worry, it's not as rare for our people as you might think. And you're far enough away so that there are no problems." "Did you, you know...?" "No, but a few of my siblings. It's really no big deal." Around the next corner, Zenah finally finds herself on the bridge. At first, she stops, looking around where to go next, but the captain clearly shows her to come closer. She follows his order and steps in front of a giant screen. From there, the diplomat of the scaled ones watches her attentively. "Greetings. I am Zeanah, this ship's diplomat. How can we help you?" "Simple. Your people need to behave better." "What are you talking about?" "I am Grat, from the Gecko Conglomerate", the lizard starts to speak. "And I'm contacting you with an urgent matter. We're receiving reports from all over the galaxy about cats being rude, destroying other peoples properties, fighting with each and everyone about nothing. Thus far we had two dozen deaths among the lizards, and at least one fish-ship reported a torpedo fired at them. We want to solve this peacefully, but each of our previous attempts has been ignored or ridiculed. If your people can’t offer a solution, we have to come up with a punishment for your kind." "That sounds reasonable", Zeanah responds. "I hope you do understand that I can't speak for my entire species in this case. We'll need to contact our council to establish a ruleset that will stop these unpleasant incidents. Something that's enforceable against every cat out there." "Of course we do. Please keep us informed about every step towards progress. I'm delivering a frequency for direct communication, and I'll permit you personally to contact us without any obstacles. Zeanah was your name?" "Correct, Zeanah from the silverfur-tribe. Thank you." As soon as the connection is closed, she turns towards the captain. "I’m sorry, but this matter concerns our entire race, we must return to Nekkai immediately!" "You're sorry? It’s a diplomatic incident of interstellar magnitude. You're in charge of the ship!" Sauksez responds, steps aside and gestures towards the captain's seat. "Are you serious?" "Do I look like I'm joking?" Zeanah looks across the room to her mother in search for help, but Hensutu nods, smiling. "The rules are unmistakable. In case of a diplomatic incident, the highest diplomat aboard temporarily replaces the captain. Congratulations, you’re the commanding officer." Zeanah puffs out her chest and tightens her shoulders, steps forward and sits down on the captain’s chair. All eyes are focused on her. "Set a course to Nekkai. And send them a summary of the situation", she commands. A strange sense of satisfaction fills her when everyone around her immediately begins to work to follow her instructions. # Zeanah had already seen the negotiations threatened when she had to interrupt them shortly before conclusion. But the negotiating partners agreed that the birth of her Children was more important, even in this situation. The next day she was already back to continue the negotiations, and after a total of seven months, they are finally concluded. Now she's sitting there beside the bed - some would probably call it a box, but for some reason, kitten have always preferred this design against every other option - and watches her children sleeping in peace. Lost in thought, she reaches into the box and caresses the head of one of her children. Of course, this idyll could not last forever. Annoyed by the sound, she grabs her personal communicator and looks at the display. Grat. She immediately accepts the connection. "Hey, Grat. How can I..." the connection is interrupted right away. One of her ears goes flat. What did just happen? She tries to establish a new connection to her scaled friend, but the device doesn't reach him. She shakes her head, twitches with her shoulders and put's the device aside. Then she turns back towards her kitten. One of them just woke up from the sounds. She carefully grabs it, lifts it out of the box and cuddles it gently. # "Are you kidding me?" the communication system asks. The geckos just received a chat request from a cat's ship and responded right away. They were in peace after all. "Beg you pardon?" The lizard at the comms asks confused. "You're trying to dictate us how to behave?" the cat on the other end asks. "Who do you think we are?" "I'm sorry, but I have no idea what you're talking about." "We just got the order. Stay calm, don't do anything that could provoke, play along? Who do you think you are?" The lizard looks back at his captain - the diplomat Grat, who just finished the negotiations with the cat's diplomat. "What should I do?" "Try to calm them down. They’re obviously upset, probably a misunderstanding." He nods, turning comms back online. "I am sorry for this, but it's probably not as you thought. We negotiated..." "Not as we thought? Are you calling us stupid? You're trying to command us around!" "Commander", another lizard interrupts. "They're charging something." "Something?" "The instruments can't make sense of it. It's just energy building up." "Shields are up?" "Of course." "Give them a warning shot. We're not fooling around, they need to understand that." "Done." The com system lights up again. "Are you stupid? Can't you even aim straight?" "Boost the shields. Whatever they're doing, we'll just defend and try to calm them down!" "I can't." "What?" "Shields already are at 115%. That's 5 percent above boost level. 120%. 125%! And raising!" "Contact Zeanah! Maybe she can stop this and explain what's going on." "Contacting." "Commander! I don't know how, but... 175%!" The communication system establishes a connection. "Hey, Grat. How can I..." Then, every system shuts down, all lights turn off while the shrill whir of an overloaded generator is heard. The next moment, light around Grat seems to shine while the system continues to overload, and with the silence of deep space, his ship explodes - every life on board is wiped out. # "Captains log. Tamesis, captain of the lantern's fleet. It's been three months since the war started. Whenever the lizards tried to contact them, they were blown up in a matter of seconds. Millions died. We still didn't figure out how they're doing that, but our ships are seemingly not affected. It took us some time to figure out that they don't use shield technology. It seems like a miracle that they managed to conquer space without it. Today we're approaching planet Nekkai, the fifth planet of their home system. We'll finally end this disaster. Log end." "Captain?" Tamesis flaps his fins to turn towards the speaking officer. "Yes?" "We're ready." "Well, then fire, please. Make it end." The officer pushes a button. On their screen, a view of the planet is shown. After a moment, a tiny, harmless looking, shiny ball reaches its atmosphere. As soon as it touches it, a destructive wave of fire runs around the globe, but the tiny light continues its way. A bright light is visible at the location it hit the surface. Red lines start to cover the planet, fractures in the ground, lava raising, and after a while, not more than a minute, a silent explosion rips the planet apart. "Captain? There are still ships of them around." "Let them be. We just destroyed their home world. If they want to fight, we'll destroy them. If they choose to die in peace, who are we to refuse it?" -- A few days later, the lizards establish a connection. "What do you want?" Tamesis asks uninterested. "A huge fragment of Nekkai is heading towards the third planet of their system!" "And?" "There are lizards on that planet!" "Are they intelligent? Do they have some signs of culture or civilization?" "Not yet, they're wild animals. But..." "We can't interfere to protect any amphibian across the universe. We have to defeat the remaining cats!" "But these are different!" "They're huge and stupid, aren't they? I just checked our scanners. Calm down, the universe will survive losing one of your variations." # Hensutu hugged her daughter tight, trying to calm her down, to stop the tears flowing. "It's alright. We're still here." "But so many have died! Millions!" Zeanah replies sobbing. "I know. Let's never forget them. We'll hide. We'll rebuild somewhere else." "What about my children?" "I'm sure we'll find a sun for them to enjoy. A small system at the border of the galaxy to settle down. They'll be fine, I promise." # And so, the third planet of the system got hit by an asteroid. The lizards living there were eradicated, the fish didn't care and, after time passed, the planet developed a new species that would become intelligent enough to join the galactic alliance. Nobody noticed the millions of fragments, carrying genetic samples of this horrible species, spreading it across the system, the entire galaxy. By the time the third planet had recovered from the impact, dozens of planets had already been discovered on which four-legged beasts had developed, with velvet paws and deadly claws and teeth. Where the remaining ships of the cats have disappeared, however, could never be found out.


“Can I get you anything?” the interviewer asked, putting on a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. “Something to drink, perhaps?” “No, thank you. I’m fine.” John answered. “Alright, shall we begin then?” John nodded, pulled the blanket draped over his back tighter around his body. “So when did you first notice the fire?” “Uh, it was around 2:30 in the morning.” “And you were in the house at the time?” “Yes.” “As was your wife, correct?” “Yes,” John answered, shifting in his seat. “Do you know when I’ll be able to see her?” “Tell me,” the interviewer continued, “Where were you when you noticed the fire?” John glanced around the hospital room. He watched as doctors walked past, clipboards in hand. He wanted to see his wife but knew that he needed to finish answering the questions first. “Um, I was downstairs. I was watching the stock market news for the next morning. I don’t sleep well. I usually leave the bed if I start tossing and turning too much; so that I don’t wake Scarlett.” “Right,” the interviewer wrote something on a notepad. “And your wife?” John stared blankly at the interviewer. Did he not just hear him? “She was in bed.” “On the second floor?” “Yes.” “And the fire, where did it start?” “I first saw smoke coming from the garage,” John answered, thinking back to the incident that felt almost like a distant memory at this point. “It filled the kitchen and by the time I had entered to refill my cup of coffee it was so thick you couldn’t see your hands in front of your face.” “Is this when you called 911?” The interviewer gazed into John’s eyes. Determined to see what laid behind those windows. “No.” “Why not?” “I wanted to make sure Scar was safe.” John held back emotions. He felt tested by this man for some reason. As if he didn’t believe him. “Where’s my wife? I’d like to see her now.” John moved to get up out of his seat. “Please,” the interviewer said, holding a hand out towards John. “I have only a few more questions.” “And then I can see my wife?” The interviewer didn’t answer. Rather, he tilted his head and made a stronger gesture towards the chair, insisting that John take a seat. John did and the interview continued. “What happened next?” the interviewer asked. “Well, once I saw the smoke filling the kitchen everything else happened pretty quickly.” John thought back through the foggy haze that cluttered his mind. Why was it so hard to remember what happened only hours before? “When did you first see the fire?” “When I went up the stairs to the bedroom.” John squeezed his body with the blanket. “It had eaten through the floor of the guest room. It’s right above the garage.” “Where did you go next?” “I’m sorry,” John interrupted. “Am I in trouble or something? Cause--” “Of course not, Mr. Harper. We just want to understand what happened that night.” “Last night.” “Right,” The interviewer flashed John a forgive-me smile. “Please, continue. Where did you go next?” “I,” John paused, thought hard. “I went into the bedroom to wake Scarlett.” “Who was still asleep?” “Yes.” “You’re sure?” “Yes. Why would I not be sure?” John asked a fire sparked in his words. “Just doing my due diligence, Mr. Harper. After you entered the bedroom, you woke your wife?” “Yes.” “And was there any fire in the room at that point?” “No.” “Are you positive?” John thought. He pictured the room. Him standing over Scarlett, shaking her from her slumber. The room was dark. No sign of fire. “Positive. I woke her and pulled her out of bed. Then we ran out of the house. That’s it. Now can I see--” “When you came down the stairs, did you notice whether the fire had spread?” John eyed the interviewer. What was he getting at? “No.” “Think,” the interviewer prodded. “You must have noticed that by the time you came to the stairs that the entire stairwell was engulfed. That the first floor had almost entirely been consumed in the flames. Where did you go next?” “I just told you,” John said, nervous to give so much confidence behind his own words. “We ran down the stairs and out the front door. Ask Scarlett. She’d tell you the same thing.” “Do you remember get--” “Did you ask her yet?” John interrupted. “Where is she now? I’d like to see her.” “Mr. Harper, please--” “ Now!” John’s patience had been tried. He rose from his seat, letting the blanket fall from his shoulders, and moved to the door. “Mr. Harper, please,” the interviewer called from behind. John ignored him. “Donovan,” the interviewer said and a man appeared in the doorway. He was a big, muscular man wearing scrubs like the rest of the hospital staff. “What’s this all about?” John asked, his feet frozen in place. “We just need to ask a few more questions if you don’t mind Mr. Harper.” “Do I have a choice?” John asked, eyes darting back and forth between Donavan and the interviewer. “Of course you do,” the interviewer answered. “We have but a few more questions to go over.” John paused for a moment. Then turned around and sat back down in the chair, leaving the blanket on the floor. “Thank you, Mr. Harper.” the interviewer said and continued. “You said you came down the stairs with your wife and fled through the front door, correct?” “That is correct.” “Then you called the police?” “No.” “Why not?” “The neighbor across the street was already out. She met with us and said she had already called.” “Mrs.,” he paused and flipped through a few pages on his notepad, “Jeannet Walker.” “Yes.” “It appears we have some testimony from her as well,” the interviewer said, keeping his eyes glued to the pages of his notebook. “Says here, that she didn’t see you and Scarlett come through the front door. In fact, said nothing about seeing Scarlett at all. With or without you.” John became mute. He didn’t know how to respond to the interviewer. He felt the conversation increasingly grow more and more hostile. He didn’t know what to do. What to say. How to feel. Where to go. He felt trapped, cornered. But why? He had just gone through the most traumatic event of his life and here he was being questioned as if he was some sort of criminal suspect. Then John found the words he knew he needed right now but didn’t want to say, “I’d like to speak with my lawyer.” “No need for that,” the interviewer brushed his request aside. “Listen, Mr. Harper, I’m sorry that you went through this, I really am. But you need to--” Just at that moment John shot up from his seat and bolted for the door, hoping that he could slip past Donavan before he could stop him. He couldn’t. Like a brick wall standing in front of John, his run was stopped hard in its place. Donavan wrapped John with his beefy arms and pulled him back towards the chair setting him down with a thud. He pressed firmly down letting John know that he wasn’t going anywhere. “Listen, John, “the interviewer became loose. “we don’t have any time left. You either have to work with me or this is over.” John squirmed in Donavan’s strong arms, said “Where’s my wife? I want to see her now ! You don’t get another word from me until then.” The interviewer took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, and said, “your wife,” he let out a sigh, “she didn’t make it, John.” The words stabbed John. “You’re lying,” John said in protest. “That’s not true. I--I saved her.” “No John, you didn’t,” the interviewer slipped his glasses back on. He looked John in the eyes, “You only think you did. You’ve had a psychotic breakdown. You believe you saved her, but in reality, you didn’t.” “No,” John said, fighting against the words, fighting against Donavan’s hold, fighting against the building emotions threatening to tear him apart. “That’s not true, I did save her! She's fine. She's gonna be fine.” John spun towards the door, “ Scar! Scarlett, honey can you hear me? Please, please tell them you’re okay.” The interviewer lifted from his seat, came over, and cradled John’s head in his hands, “You weren’t able to save her, and it’s okay. You can accept that.” “I can’t, I--” “You must,” the interviewer said, John’s tears flowing over his hands. “No. No, it’s not true. Last night--” “John,” the interviewer's grip tightened, aligned John’s head to his gaze. “It happened two years ago. You tried to save her. You did. You have to come to terms and accept that it is a reality. Please, John, accept it.” John sobbed, Donavan, released his grip allowing John to fall into the surprising embrace of the interviewer. “I can’t,” John cried into the interviewer's coat. “I can’t live without her. She can’t be gone. She just can’t...” “I know,” the interviewer said, rubbing John’s back. He turned his head to the door, and said, “End simulation four-three-oh-two.” The walls vanished around John replaced by white walls and white furniture. The man that held John wore all white and his skin was painted all white. The man that stood behind him also wore all white and had his skin painted completely white. The interviewer released John from his embrace, stood swatting at his pant legs, and said, “Don’t worry, John. We’ll get her out of your head sooner or later, even if it’s the last thing I do. Just hang in there.“


“So, what's the catch?” Asked Gertrude, hunching over her 2004 Gateway computer, on the phone her grandson bought her around the same time. “Ma’am, that's the best part! There’s absolutely no catch at all.” Said the friendly voice on the other end of the line. “All we need is the first four digits of your social security number, and we can get you started.” “Wow!” Gertrude thought. With Albert's birthday coming up, this was the luck she needed. Finally, a break. Finally, a time to- “Wait... The first four?” She asked. “Yes, ma’am. Just the first four digits, and we can proceed.” The voice on the other end of the line answered. “Hmm, I think you mean the last four.” For a moment, all Gertrude heard was silence. Then, the sound of papers shuffling. “Uh, the first four work also!” The voice finally responded. Gertrude tried to think but was interrupted by the sounds of a garage door opening, followed by a car’s engine. Albert must be home. “Well, okay! It’s 929-4.” “Excellent! Just give me a moment while we verify your account... ok, looks like we are good to go.” “And this will give me NFL Pass for, you know,” she whispered. “for Albie.” “Yes, ma’am! We at DirecTV are just trying to give you the best package available for gameday for your husband.” Responded the friendly voice. “That’s wonderful. So wonderful.” “All we need you to do now is open your computer email.’ “Oh, Ok I-” A Door opened. “Hi, Gertie!” Albert peaked his head from the doorway of the room both of them aptly called, The Computer Room. “Oh, Hi, Albie! I’m just in my emails.” Albert walked to Gertrude and kissed her on the head. “Love you, Gertie!” he said, as he dawdled back out of the room. “ Ma’am...” The voice interrupted. Sounding Anxious. “Oh I’m so sorry Albie just-” “Have you seen the email, from DirecTV?” “Oh yes, sorry, I see it right here. Do you want me to click on it?” “Yes, Ma’am, Click on it.” “Okay!” Click! “What does it do?” “Ma’am, it should take you to your account page. Tell me what you see?” “Oh just a moment... I see the DirecTV logo and a...” Gertrude had to think quickly. She didn’t really know computer “lingo,” and felt it to be embarrassing. “... And uh... the home button and, Oh yes, I’m seeing my account page right here.” “Ok, great!” Said the voice on the other end of the line. It then became serious. “If you see the page, it, unfortunately, looks like you still owe us from last month's cable bill.” “Oh, dear!” Gertrude cried. “Yes, ma’am. You see that number on the screen.” “Negative a thousand?” she asked. “Yes, ma’am, it looks like you owe us $1,000 for your last month’s cable bill.” “Oh my, that's terrible. Albie usually takes care of the-” “Yes ma’am. We can still get you your exclusive deal for NFL Pass up and running real quick, but first, we will need that bill sent to us. “Oh okay I-” The serious voice continued, “And now I am terribly sorry, but it seems like our server is down, so we need to use alternative methods for payment, like gift cards.” “I’m sorry, what?” She asked. “Yes, Ma’am. Gift cards. Do you currently live near Target or Walmart, maybe?” The voice responded. All of this sounded so new to Gertrude, so different from how things worked when she was younger, but Albert’s birthday was coming up, and an “NFL Pass” did sound like something he would like. ___________________________ “Ok, So what's the catch?” Mark shook his head. “Sir, for the last time, this is the bargain bin. Everything in here is and will always be five dollars. That is the point.” “So you are saying this DVD copy of I am Legend, AND this DVD copy of The Money Pit-” “Yes, are both five dollars.” “So what’s the catch?” “I don’t know, maybe you need a DVD player? Are you gonna buy something, sir, or just ask questions?” The man humpfed and scurried off. This was Mark's last day, or maybe his last week, last month, for sure. He had just enough savings to start something new. Maybe go back to school and become a vet, maybe! Mark liked animals. He was going to talk to his boss, and soon, right after he dealt with this kid coming in hot from Aisle 9. “Hey! I saw you take that Fast & Furious BluRay off the wall and put it in the bargain bin, you can't just take it out now, and have it be magically five dollars. It doesn't work like that!” The kid stared blankly at Mark. “Get outta here!” Mark scolded, and without a word, the kid took off. “Ok then.” Mark thought. Now is the time he’d go up to Angela and tell her he was quitting. If not today, definitely tomorrow. He started his B-line to Angela's office, then froze. It was only Tuesday. Someone told him Fridays are the best days to quit a job once. “Ok then.” He thought. New plan of attack: He’ll coast the rest of the week and definitely quit Friday. But wait. Damnit, hold on. Friday was his day off. He was supposed to go fishing with his Dad. “Ok then.” He thought. He’ll first check on a calendar what weeks work and fully plan the best time to pull the trigger. Yeah, better to be prepared for something this serious. In that case, nothing can go wrong. In that case, he’ll be mentally prepared. In that case, he- “Excuse me, young man, where can I find a thousand dollars worth of Google play cards?” It took Mark a second to snap back to reality. Once he did, he noticed an elderly woman in a yellow floral house dress and slippers standing right in front of him. She had an old flip phone to her ear, seemingly having two conversations at once. “Excuse me?” Mark questioned. “I said, I’m asking him now!” The woman yelled into her phone. She then looked up to Mark, with eyes as wide as owls’ in her reading glasses. “I need one thousand dollars of Giggle play car-” she paused to listen to the voice on her phone. “Oh, sorry, one thousand dollars of Google play cards for the NFL pass for Albie.” She blinked. “Sorry, I’m not sure I follo-” “iTunes Cards work also.” The woman interjected, phone hovering from her ear. “Who are you on the phone with?” Mark asked. “Oh, this is DirecTV. They need a thousand dollars of Google play cards so Albie can get NFL Pass.” Owl eyes staring Blankly. “Albie?” He responded. “Oh yes, it’s his birthday coming up!” The woman put the phone back to her head. “Oh, they really want to know the status of the Google play cards...” Mark thought for a moment.“Would you mind if I talked to them?” “Oh of cours-” She paused. Mark could hear yelling from the other end of the line. “Oh wait, no, you can’t” “Why can’t I?” Mark asked the woman. “Why can’t he?” The woman asked the phone. After a short pause, the woman dictates, “Because you are not a ‘verified user,’ they said. They said they can only speak to verified users to, you know, protect from scammers.” “Ok, give me the phone, please,” Mark said as directly as he could, and with little delay, the old woman did just that. “Hello?” said Mark to whoever was on the other end of the phone, “Who is this? For a moment, all Mark heard was silence. Then, the sound of papers shuffling. “Uh, this is DirecTV.” A voice finally responds. The voice sounded young and anxious, and the sound of papers made it seem like he was reading from a script. Without hesitation, Mark hung up the phone and returned it to the woman. “Oh no! Why did you hang up?” She cried. “I’m sorry, but here’s the thing. That wasn’t DirecTV.” “It wasn’t?” She asked, absolutely puzzled. “No, those people were trying to scam you.” Sternly replied Mark. “Me?” She asked. “Yes.” He answered. “But why?” “I don’t know, they probably figured you didn’t understand technology or whatever, and you wouldn’t question all the weird stuff they asked for you.” “But what about NFL Pass for Albie?” Her owl eye’s bigger than before. Mark paused. He tried to sound as sympathetic as he could, “I’m sorry, there was never going to be NFL Pass for, is that your kid?” “Oh no, my husband, Albie. We’ve been married for over 60 years. His birthday is coming up, and I really wanted to surprise him with the NFL Pass or whatsitcalled.” The woman lit up, “Wait is that something you can help me with.” “I’m sorry. It’s not.” The woman looked down in defeat. As a last-ditch effort, Mark grabbed a DVD from the Bargain Bin, “But I do have Remember the Titans.” He added. The old woman’s face lit up more than before. Her entire pupil filled the frame of her owlish reading glasses. “Did you say Remember the Titans?” “Yes! I mean, there are tons of DVDs here. There’s gotta be one tha-” “Albie loves Remember the Titans! Oh, we saw this the night of our 42nd anniversary. That Denzel Washington is a real knockout, even Albie thinks so! And don’t get me started on that Hayden Panettiere! Yes, yes, this will be fantastic! How much?” “Please, just take it, on me! Help yourself if you find anything else here. I’ll charge it to my name. It’s the least I can do with what you’ve been through.” “No, No, this is more than enough. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Cheered the woman. “Well, please let me know if there’s anything else I can help you with today!” Smiled Mark. “That will be all! Have a wonderful rest of your day.” The woman then turned toward the exit, took a few steps, and stopped. “You know,” She added, “there was a time when I wasn’t such an easy target for people like that, you know.” “I hear you.” Replied Mark. “I used to understand people and the world and how it all worked. How it ebbed and flowed. You understand?” “I understand.” Replied Mark. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, life is short, and sometimes I get so caught up with my own little problems that I forget to notice an entire world is changing around me.” The woman paused. Her face turned somber and then, in an instant, happy again. “Oh well,” she smiled, “Toodaloo!” Mark tried to think of a reply, but before he could, the old woman was gone. Mark made a B-line to Angela's office. ___________________________ *RIING* *RIING* Gertrude was just about to close her emails when she noticed a number she hadn’t seen before pop up on her screen. Promptly, she picked up the phone. “ Hello! We’re here with Chase Bank to inform you that you’ve had a serious breach of security on your account today! We’re here to help provide service to get your money back!” The voice was strict but friendly. “Oh, dear!” Gertrude responded, “It was these terrible, terrible scam artists. They made me drive all the way to Walmart for gift cards it was awful!” “So sorry to hear, ma’am! Thankfully we are here to help. All we would need to do first is verify your account. Can you please provide us with the last five digits of your social security?” “Wow!” Gertrude thought. After a day like hers, this was the luck she needed. Finally, a break. Finally, a time to- “Wait... The last five ?” “Yes, ma’am. Just the last five digits, and we can proceed.” “Hmm, I think you mean the last four.” For a moment, all Gertrude heard was silence. Then, the sound of papers shuffling.


"You must pick one and only one." I stared hesitantly at the two swords embedded in solid rock, one glowed with a heavenly pure white light, as its intricate design had an inlay of gold. And the other, seemed to pull light and color from its surroundings, it's cold blade seemed to pulse with a deathly intelligence. "So, has anyone successfully picked a sword?" I ask, eyeing the shadowy figure that hovered just beyond the rock. "Yes." "Ah, ok then." That was probably all the insight I'd get on this subject. "Can't you at least tell me about each one?" The shadowy form shifted giving the impression that it was annoying. "One sword is death incarnate, merely touching its blade will drain the life from every living thing in this forest, including yours." I shifted on my feet uncomfortably and inched closer to the bright shiny one. "And the other?" "The other is life incarnate, touching it will bring new life to the world and grant its wielder the power of a god." I now hovered my hand over the golden sword and I could feel it warming my hand softly. But what if the shade was lying, merely trying to get me to pull this sword and it turns out to be the evil one killing everyone and anything. I tore my eyes away from the golden sword, "Are you lying to me?" "No." "Oh." I reluctantly pulled my hand away from the sword and rubbed my face. I definitely didn't want to die, and I really liked the sound of me having godly powers but, the shade said it was lying to me. "And what if I don't choose?" The shade seemed to ponder for a second. "You will be allowed to leave, but you will never have this choice again." I walked up to the stone and scrutinized each blade carefully as I felt the shade watching me. Each blade resembled an English longsword though with its own carvings and etches. "So the death blade only kills? It doesn't do anything else?" "It is said to have the power to kill everything it touches, be it mortal, undead, or immortal." I took a deep breath, "Well I've made my decision." The shadow regarded me coldly. "Your fate is in your hands." I reached over to the golden sword and touched its handle. Nothing happened as I wrapped my hand around the grip and began to pull. My breath caught as the longsword slid cleanly out of its rocky sheath. *Shing* I stared widely at the glowing white blade, it was surprisingly light and warm to the touch. "You have chosen the blade of life, and have been imbued with its power." "I don't feel any different." As I uttered the words the sword pulsed and began to burn my hand, I cried out but couldn't let go. I pulled desperately as my vision began to become blurry and my mind was assaulted by millions, no trillions of voices, some in languages I knew and heard, and others that I knew couldn't be uttered by human mouths. My body continued to be burned from the inside as I screamed. My eyesight split into two different views: One of the sword burning my hand and another of a woman cradling a child in her arms. My vision multiplied again, and again and again. Until there was too much input and I closed my eyes. Only to be met with more views. My screaming had turned from a terrified human to the roar of wind tearing through a quiet farmstead. The burning intensified but I could no longer discern where my body was nor the sword. I tried to move my nonexistent arms but was only met with extreme resistance as if dragging them through thick syrup. I opened my eyes again and saw everything. Every face, every word, every thought, every lie. I could hear everything. A babies first word, a child promise, a sickening cry, and dying heart. And I knew everything. Secrets, lies, hopes, dreams, deepest desires. Everything. Everything. And nothing. I felt the pain of a dead child, the sadness of death, the hopelessness of suicide, the hatred of murder. All of it at once, from every direction, thoughts, feelings, words, all of it. "There's too much...make it stop..." The pain kept coming, I saw a parent hug their child as their planet was destroyed. I saw a person regret everything as they took their steps off a building. I saw a tortured persons last thought and heard their screams. I saw genocide millions of times and heard trillions cry out. "Please..." And then it hit me. I was responsible for all of this pain and suffering. I had the power to stop it all, but I sat and relished in my newfound power. Every second someone, somewhere, died. And I did nothing. I blinked. \### The shade floated in the vast darkness. In the mere seconds, the mortal had wielded the sword, they had erased everything. Of course, they lasted longer than the thousands of previous mortals who had tried their hand at immortality and omnipotence. It was refreshing to have a break between life and death. The shade floated for a bit in limbo, the sad thing was: None of it mattered. There would always be death and anguish, life was merely a means to an end. The few seconds of omnipotence he had gifted that mortal had hopefully shown him the truth in it all and had put their mind at ease. Time to start again. \### Stacey never noticed the two swords protruding from the rock before, and she had hiked this path a million times. "You must pick one and only one.


Rook landed his ship on the platform of the fuel station. 'Fill her up to the brink,’ he said to the clerk while climbing down the ladder of his ship. ‘She’s got eleven additional tanks installed you don’t wanna miss!’ The clerk leaned under the hull of the ship and opened the cover plate of the twelve tank openings. ‘This is gonna take a while, Sir,’ the clerk said, ‘what do you need this much fuel for? You’re not a reseller are you?’ ‘No, Sir. Just make sure to fill her up.’ The clerk sighed and went on to connecting the fuel hose to the first tank. ‘With this much fuel you could probably travel over -,’ the clerk paused, ‘you could probably travel almost forever.’ He laughed. Rook nodded at the clerk with a smile. Then he walked down the platform into the rundown shop of the station. Nobody was inside. He went up to the counter and ordered a coffee at the coffee machine. It buzzed and blinked and spat the beverage into a paper cup. He grabbed the cup and sat down at a table in the corner, stretched out his legs and drank the coffee. ‘What brings you this far out?’ the clerk asked as he entered the shop after a while. ‘We rarely get a customer travelling all by himself, you know.’ ‘Well, it’s a one man mission,’ Rook explained. ‘Yeah? What kind of a mission?’ the clerk wanted to know, sitting down at Rook’s table. ‘I wanna look for the edge,’ he said. The clerks face changed. ‘So you think there is one?’ ‘I’m here to find out.’ ‘Well, good luck. We’ve already had people stop by here for a last refill. The farthest anyone ever made it and still returned, was fifty light years - not very far, I know. The problem was he wouldn’t stay asleep and had to go back. Returned on his 125th birthday, barely alive. You know, I’ve heard the toughest part, once you get out there is steering straight!’ he laughed. Then he smiled. ‘Better catch some real sleep until she’s full. I’ll wake you up.' The clerk got up from the table and left the shop. Rook was woken up a couple of hours later by the clerk hissing at him from a distance. He paid for the fuel, then walked to his ship, the clerk following him. 'Thank you Sir,’ Rook said shaking the clerk’s hand, then he climbed up the ladder and closed the hatch behind him. ‘*Welcome aboard Roxy 3.7, Captain Rook*,’ the operating system greeted him. ‘Hi Louis. Get her ready for a take off!’ He fastened his seatbelts and gave the clerk on the platform a thumbs up through the cockpit, signaling him to open the gate. The clerk rushed inside, a warning signal started blinking, the gate slid open and Rook launched into the black. '*Roxy 3.7 has now lost connection with interstellar fuel station G199*,’ Louis informed after a while. 'Alright, switch her to autopilot!’ The ships engines shut off and it stopped accelerating. Rook flipped open his seatbelt and floated out of his seat and the cockpit, pulling himself along the handles of the storage compartments in the walls toward the back of the ship. There was the sleep chamber. He pressed a green button at the foot of the chamber and the glass lid lifted up. Rook took off his overall and stuffed it in the compartment next to the chamber, then he drew himself on the mattress with the straps and tubes which disappeared underneath it. ‘Louis!’ He whispered. ‘*Yes Captain*?’ ‘You’re gonna make sure she flies straight?’ ‘*Certainly Rook*.’ ‘Good. I guess I’m ready for the fridge then. You thaw me out when we get there, or in case of an emergency,’ Rook slowly began to strap his legs into position on the mattress. ‘*What if we never get there*?’ Louis asked. ‘Well, if you are certain it’s infinite, you can wake me up as well.’ ‘*Alright Captain*.’ Rook finished fastening himself to the mattress. With his free left arm he reached for one of the tubes. At its end protruded a thick needle. ‘How long ‘til I’ll be gone?’ ‘*A couple of minutes.*’ Rook nodded. ‘Okay Louis, it’s just you from now on,’ he breathed out and pushed the needle into his right arm, squinting his eyes. ‘You can close the lid now!’ ‘*Do you want me to sing you a lullaby Captain*?’ Louis asked. ‘Sure.’ The electric voice began with, there was a young woman of Ryde, as the lid slowly dropped. Rook closed his eyes and it felt just like looking out the window. ‘*Good morning Captain Rook*!’ Louis said. Rook felt cold. He didn’t dare move. His eyes still closed he whispered, ‘how long has it been?’ ‘*20 trillion light years*.’ Rook threw up against the glass. ‘Are we there?’ He wiped the puke down to the bottom of the pane. ‘*No Captain*.’ Louis opened the lid. ‘Then what’s going on?’ ‘*Something is travelling our way Captain. However, it doesn’t appear on the radar and we fail to pick up any kind of signal. We only have a visual*.’ ‘But what’s the problem? Change course and let it pass!’ Rook leaped out of the chamber and put on his overall. ‘*I’ve tried, but it seems to adjust its course to ours whenever we do. Captain, I think it is trying to hit us*!’ Louis didn’t have to sound worried. Rook quickly pulled himself into the cockpit and slipped under the seatbelts. He flipped a switch which put the ship in manual mode, then looked ahead. In the middle of the pitch black he could see a dazzling bright spot. ‘How far away are we?’ He grabbed the wheel. ‘*Hard to tell. At the current speed, I estimate we are going to collide in a couple of minutes*.’ Gritting his teeth, Rook jerked the ship right, then swept left. The light followed. So he pushed down the steering wheel making a nose dive, trying to outmaneuver it and for a second it was gone. He pulled the ship back up in a swift motion and pointed her into the initial direction, when suddenly the light appeared again, striking him through the cockpit. He couldn’t see but white. ‘*Preparing for hit*!’ Turning away Rook pulled back the steering wheel and hit the brakes as hard as he could. A warning signal hollered through the ship. Nothing happened. ‘Did it pass?’ Rook leaned back into the seat. His burning eyes tried to adjust, but the light was still there, cutting through the window. ‘*No Captain. It stopped*.’ Louis said. ‘*Turning off headlights now*!’ ‘What?’ blinded Rook asked. Then the ships headlights switched off. The blinding light disappeared and Rick stared ahead. In front of them floated another ship. Roxy 3.7 was written on its left wing. Its headlights were off and there was only light in the cockpit. Inside he could make out the silhouette of a man. Rook reached up his arm and waved. The silhouette mirrored his movement. ‘Holy shit. Louis do you see this?’ ‘*Certainly Captain*.’ ‘Start her up again!’ The ship slowly moved forward, its nose approaching the mirror. It touched the pane for a second, then it went right through and began to disappear. For a moment Rook was sitting face to face, before diving through as well. The other side was just as dark. He turned the ship around and waved at the reflection one last time, then he flew on into the dark. ‘*Do you think that was it*?’ ‘I don’t know. I guess we’ll have to find out...’ ‘*Do you wanna go back to sleep*?’ ‘I’m gonna stay up a little more.’ ‘*Do you want me to sing you something*?’ ‘Sure.


In a small town, there lived a six-year-old girl named Maddie who had recently lost her parents. Orphaned and burdened with grief, Maddie sought solace in daily sessions with a compassionate psychologist after school. During their conversations, Maddie revealed a peculiar aspect of her dreams. Most nights, her dreams were black and white, and they remained uneventful. However, the night her parents tragically passed away, her dreams shifted dramatically and were in color. The color dreams depicted the exact manner in which both of her parents died. The psychologist tried to reassure her that dreams do not kill people, that accidents can happen, and that, while tragic, it is a part of life. Maddie is adamant that her dreams are what killed her parents. The psychologist probed further, asking why she thought this. The child recounted being irritated with her mother before going to bed the night before her mother died because she wouldn't allow her to watch another episode of her favorite show. She recalls sitting in bed, thinking about the terrible things that could happen to her mother. That night, she had her first color dream, in which her mother lost control of her car and crashed into a tree. The next day, she found out that her mother died in a car accident just as she had dreamed: down to the curve in the road, the road markings, and how the accident shattered the axle of the front tires. Three months later, her father did something similar when he promised her she could go to her friend's house for a sleepover but had to back out since he had to go to work early the next day. She doesn't remember being angry at him, but her mind continually returned to the idea that her father was mean. That night, she had her second color dream, in which her father fell down a flight of stairs and broke his neck against a cement floor. Her father, like her mother, tripped while walking fast down the stairs, rolling end over end and breaking his neck on the cement floor at the bottom of the stairs. The psychologist dismissed it as a coincidence and asked Maddie to experiment with her. She asked Maddie to think of someone she was angry with or, at the very least, annoyed with. Maddie said she would think about a student in her class, Greg, who had called her picture "ugly" during art class. The psychologist instructed her to think about Greg before bed and then report on her dreams in the next session. So Maddie left the psychologist's office and went to bed thinking about Greg. She had a color dream for the third time in her life. Greg fell out of a fourth-story window and landed on his head in her dream. The next day, she went to school, and Greg was not there. The teachers were huddled and apprehensive, and the start of school was delayed. Eventually, the principal entered the room and announced that one of their classmates had passed away that morning. Maddie told the psychologist about her dream and the news that Greg had died that morning. The psychologist was speechless; she didn't know what to say. She was certain Maddie's dreams had nothing to do with these deaths, but the evidence was mounting. The rest of the session was spent trying to pull Maddie's attention off Greg's death and onto more positive things, but the psychologist was concerned. After that session, she called a colleague from the university to get another perspective on how she might help Maddie. The colleague was a consultant for the military and wanted to run a sleep study and some brain scans. Since Maddie was a ward of the state, the psychologist granted permission because she trusted her colleague, and he helped children all the time. Maddie was subjected to several tests over the next month, ranging from brain scans to psychic interviews. They kept repeating the same test, telling Maddie a story about a criminal, an evil person, or an enemy of the United States. They would tell her to think hard about this person before bed. Maddie would experience a color dream about the person they wanted her to think about overnight. And every time she had a color dream about the person they wanted, they died the next day. The military saw Maddie as a potent weapon, and her recurring nightmares continued to affect countless lives. Almost every night, Maddie was told a story about a horrible person. Everyone from leaders of countries with which the US opposed, tyrants who were murdering their people, to criminals who were destroying society. Maddie was being used so regularly by the military that she told them, "I only dream in color; I don't like colored dreams anymore." The military leadership didn't care since their implications were too phenomenal to ignore. There was no one to look for Maddie because she was an orphan; she was the property of the US Military, a weapon that could never be traced back to them. Maddie's original psychologist had passed her over to her colleague almost a year ago, and she hadn't seen her since. She saw her colleague at a conference, and Maddie was the first thing that came to her mind. It was an awkward encounter; the colleague felt bad and acknowledged that he had handed over the girl to the US Military and that her claims that her color-death visions come true were real. From then on, the psychologist did everything possible to find Maddie and bring her out of this horrible circumstance. She was stopped at every turn, suffocated by paperwork, and threatened with prison for meddling with classified information. Realizing the dire consequences of her dreams, Maddie reached a breaking point after 60 consecutive nights of being manipulated by the military. Maddie asked her night guard for a sip of water, and he unlocked her bedroom cell and let her down the hall to get one. As Maddie turned on the faucet, she heard the guard's phone ring, and he turned around the corner so Maddie couldn't hear what they were talking about. Maddie took advantage of the situation by sneaking out of the prison, navigating into the surrounding woods and climbing over an 8-foot fence. She ultimately arrived at a main road, where a truck driver reported seeing a young child and called the police. Maddie was picked up by a squad car about a mile from the station after the local police were notified. Agents from the top secret facility went to the police station and took Maddie back to the base. However, the next day, a reporter listening to the scanner heard the call about a missing child and questioned the local police about it. The police did not provide much information to the reporter, but it made the reporter skeptical of what was happening. Why was a little child out in the middle of nowhere on a country road? Was it related to the military base in the woods? What became of the girl? Despite publishing the article, it received little traction and soon faded. Maddie returned to the military base and her nightmares, but there was now proof of a mystery girl emerging from the woods in the middle of the night. Maddie's original psychologist uncovered the story of the girl who came out of the woods in the middle of the night two and a half years later, nearly 600 deaths later, and more stories of evil told to an 8-year-old than should be heard in a lifetime. The psychologist lobbied the US military to release Maddie and let her back to her life. The military was concerned that her location would be discovered and decided to relocate her in the middle of the night; little did they know that the psychologist was watching the base and noticed Maddie and yelled out to her. The psychologist gathered photographic evidence and decided to go to court. The military eventually released Maddie after considerable public outcry and the psychologist's unwavering efforts. The military attempted to explain that if Maddie were freed from military custody, she would be a danger to others if she was not constantly supervised. Ultimately, the military’s refusal to admit that they had this weapon would lead to Maddie's freedom. They were concerned that if it were discovered that the military had this weapon for more than three years, all deaths caused by Maddie's color dreams would have serious consequences for the United States. Maddie continued to see the psychologist, who helped her control her color nightmares and work through the reoccurring stories of violence she was cruelly told while under military custody. Her psychologist became her loving guardian, and Maddie's journey towards a brighter future began.