“So close. So fucking close.” Jerry looks up at me. “We’ve talked about this, Lucy.” He sighs. “Right,” I chuckle. He picks up a cigarette and twirls it between his fingers. “We should have known the second they come up with this contraption,” Jerry says evenly. “What? That was a masterpiece!” I exclaim,” They took their already short life and made it even shorter!” “Of course that would make you happy,” Jerry sighs. I wheel my creaky chair over to him. “I’m sorry for suggesting the plague.” Jerry’s eyes bore into mine. Finally, he makes a sort of half-smile. “It was a good idea. Can’t expect it to work too many times though.” Jerry and I are something of an enigma. We had to have come from somewhere; but the truth is, neither of us remembers. I guess we’ve just been around too long. The first thing I remember is watching our ball of dirt get hit by another ball of dirt to break off a third ball of dirt. All we know is we don’t want to be alone. You have no idea how hard it was, watching this dull globe rotate around a glowing globe for eons. Sometimes, we wandered on the surface of the desolate planet, just to break the monotony. One particularly gloomy day on the shores of a long-forgotten ocean, Jerry had a stroke of genius. “You might like this,” he told me. Then he sent a lightning bolt to hit a tide pool. I burst out laughing. “How’s that any better than the meteor shower two rotations ago that didn’t even have the decency to hit us?” Jerry sighed. “You’ll be eating your words soon.” And eat them I did. Only later did I realize that Jerry, my soft-spoken, stoic complement in this dark void, had created life. He’d given us companions and, more importantly, hope. Or at least a way to make some. The first organisms we coaxed out of Jerry’s organic tide pool were little more than moving dust. Slowly, we helped them join together and work as one, and before long we had our very own aquarium. Satisfied, we sat back and watched our planet ripple with life. Jerry looked over at me, amused. “Now we have pets.” For a while, it was captivating to see our creations roam around their cage until the sweet release of death. But, eventually, we grew bored with these creatures. Spending their days eating and making more creatures, they were no better than the dust they came from. What does it matter if they choose to eat and procreate? Debris still absorbs other debris and makes new debris. I rapped my fingers on the railing, falling ever deeper into the abyss of loneliness. We had hoped for a cure, but hope is a fickle creature. What little purpose it gives, it can easily take away. Leaving you with nothing but the memory of better times. “Jerry, can we try again?” He looked over at me questioningly. “We can do better than this,” I stated, gesturing towards our creatures. “What’s the use?” Jerry sighed, exasperated. “It’s not like we can make another one of us.” “How do you know, Jerry? Maybe we just haven’t tried hard enough. Maybe we’re just one step away from our salvation?” He shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Not much else to do here anyway. Let’s go evolve some sea creatures.” And so the dinosaurs began to walk our world. Oh, how I loved our creations. Sure they had the same flaws as their ancestors, but they felt alive. Looking into their eyes was like looking into Jerry’s. They had emotions and desires, playing and fighting just as we did. Finally, I felt we had made something real. But even then, I felt boredom encroaching on me. Our scaly companions did the same thing over and over. They didn’t seem to live like we did. What was it that made us different? Made us want to have something more? I stood up. “I’m done,” I growled. Grabbing the nearest chunk of space flotsam, I sent it hurtling down. “NO!” Jerry cried out. But the crater had already appeared on the surface. Jerry grabbed my shoulders and shook me hard. “What did you do! We spent ages building our world!” I shoved him away. “And for what! So you can feel important? Feel like you did something good for us?” I pointed at the dying planet. “That was nothing to us. Nothing. We’ve been lying to ourselves.” At that moment, I saw fire in Jerry’s eyes, harsher than the burning world below us. “You might be lying to yourself. But I still hope for better.” He left me there, watching the fires burn out. He didn’t come back. But the planet refused to die. The skies eventually cleared of smoke. Seedlings sprouted from the ashes. Eventually, I even saw small mammals, curious creatures Jerry and I had left to their own devices, scamper through the saplings. I saw Jerry playing with them, tossing sticks and feeding berries. They looked happy. Somehow, I had an inkling that they enjoyed living. Something about them felt different. At that moment, I saw fire. I felt such hatred for these mammals. Why? I thought to myself. I shook my head and growled. I don't care why. I remembered playing around with ice in my early days, a pastime of mine in the days before life. Reaching into my rage, I covered Jerry’s precious land in ice. But Jerry didn’t budge. Furry mammals began to roam the world, defying the freezing curse. I countered by sending relatives of our first creation, vile specks I liked to call disease. But even then, Jerry’s animals thrived. And back and forth we went, killing, creating, killing, creating, killing, creating, until one day Jerry came to me carrying two wooden containers. He sat down in front of me. “Please sit.” I snorted and began to leave. “Please, Lucy.” I heard something in his voice, something that made me want to stay. I sat down. “What do you want, Jerry?” He offered me one of his boxes, which was filled with frozen slush. “I call it ice cream. Try it, it’s good.” I took his offering. “So is this why you’re here? You found a new recipe?” He smiled, infuriatingly happy and at ease. “It’s made of one of my plants, an iris flower.” I stabbed at the ice cream. To my surprise, it tasted amazing. “This isn’t bad,” I grudgingly admitted. Jerry smiled, bringing a spoonful to his mouth. For a while, we ate in silence. I set down his gift, polished clean. “Just to be clear, I’m not stopping because of your frozen flower stuff.” He laughed, a pure sound I hadn't heard in centuries. “That’s not why I’m here.” “Then why are you here?” He pursed his lips. “Lucy, how do you think your antics are affecting this planet?” “I imagine they’re causing you a lot of trouble.” Jerry grinned, leaning back on his hands. “Actually, it’s kind of helping me.” I stared at him, utterly confused. Jerry laughed. “You are definitely troublesome. Yet, I’ve found your disasters to be quite useful in ironing out the kinks.” “What do you mean?” “Well, every calamity kills many, that’s true. But, that’s taught me to create variety. Then I find the best traits and incorporate that in my work.” “So I’ve been... helping you?” Jerry stood up. “That’s why I’m here. I’ve been working on this species. They’re incredible, solving problems like nothing I’ve seen before. They even look like us. I need you to help me make them better. They have potential, I can feel it. Will you join me?” He extended his hand out. I slapped it away. “Are you joking? Why would I help you? I hate your creatures. Insignificant and useless, all of them. You can’t possibly believe you’re doing any good for us. At the end of the day, they’re false hope. Can’t you see how bad it is to cling to hope when it's so clearly hurting you?” He put his hand on my shoulder. “I know you. You’re lonely. I’m lonely too. But, I really believe in them. Why are you resigned to be alone? We can do it, you and I. I know we can. Just give this a chance.” I felt that emotion again in his voice. The one that made my eyes water. Hope, I realized. How did he still hope? I remembered feeling hope for the first time, staring at that tide pool long ago. That hope had turned to anger and rage during my deadly game with Jerry. But, I began to feel that rush, that passion again. His hope was infectious. And so began the story of humanity. Jerry and I had a grand time with this species. Boredom was a thing of the past. Before long, we had created societies, filled with humans going about their existence with just as much vigor as us. We walked among them, loving every moment of our creation. Humanity held the rage we felt. They fought viciously, like Jerry and I. Every once in a while, the humans needed a check. That's where I came in. I sent every manner of disaster: plague, earthquakes, drought. Jerry took the pieces and put them back together better than ever. We didn’t always succeed in our goals, but humanity had a way of adapting to anything. Maybe that came from us too. Which brings us back to the present, looking down on a slowly self-destructing world. It looked like humanity was on its last legs. I sigh. “We may have to start over.” Jerry shakes his head. “No, they’ll be fine. We have to hope,” he says, his voice trembling. It’s incredible that Jerry and I still held out hope in our pathetic creatures. We’d watched them commit unspeakably heinous atrocities and impossibly shortsighted blunders. But, then again, in this bleak void what else is there but hope? I tried filling it with hatred, but hope seemed to be the only thing that works. “It seems that's all we live for. Hope. Hope for a better future. In all the time we’ve lived, the only constant has been hope.” Jerry’s lips quiver. “I can’t,” he says shakily, “I just can’t hope anymore.” I turn to him. “Jerry, I didn’t mean it like that-” “Then what did you mean!” He yells. “Jerry don’t-” “Even humans know it! Existence is suffering... oh Siddhartha, my child, you don't know the half of it.” Crying, he looks up at me. “Who are we to inflict the suffering of existence?” “Jerry-” “Why do you think so many take their own lives? They feel the void eating away at them. Loneliness and pain, that’s all there is. Humans think their creators are gods, but we’re just as human.” “Jerry that’s enough. Was this suffering? Making humanity, making life?” He just looks at me, hopelessness filling his eyes as his tears trickle out. “Jerry, we’re alive. Before all this, we were just existing. You’re right, that’s suffering. When all that exists is the void, there’s nothing but suffering. But we made something out of the void. We don’t just exist. We choose to live. We choose to hope.” He closes his eyes, tears spilling between his eyelids. “Our precious humans know this too. They make their own existence worth living. They hope for a better future, and then try their damndest to make it so.” His tears do not stop. “Do you know what makes our humans different from the floating dust we started with? It's the desire for more. The desire to do more than just exist. They choose to hope for more. I need you to do the same” I took his head in my hands. “We don’t just exist. We live,” I repeat, “We hope. Don't give up on them just yet.” His eyes finally open, cloudy with moisture. Wiping away his tears, he looks me in the eyes. He smiles slowly at me, like he was trying for the first time. “Alright then. Thank you. Lets try this again.


The afternoon was fresh and dry. A new smell of vitality and growth seeped from the forest around him. It was a very welcome change from the week of rain that Fred and Wylma had endured. A week of persistent drizzle that soaked to the bone and gave no chances to dry anything out. Everything he owned was in various states of saturation. Bitter experience had taught Fred to protect at all cost his sleeping bag, but it had also succumbed to the persistent rain and now felt clammy to the touch. Of course Wylma, his 2 wheeled companion, his accomplice on this around the world epic, did not care a wit. The leaden sky continued to threaten rain, but optimistically Fred laid out a pair of socks and two pairs of underwear on top of his panniers in the hopes of drying them in the last kilometres before finally making camp. It was the first chance to do so in what felt like an eternity. The cool wind cooperated, but made Fred shiver with each gust, eventually compelling him to fish out his windbreaker. Summer in Scandinavia was not for the warm blooded. The trail Fred was following was not often used. The grass in the wheel ruts, and lack of any fresh tire tracks made that obvious. He guessed he could camp anywhere here without being discovered. Just as he began to scope out potential camping spots, a single trail split off from this path. He spontaneously took it. The trail wound invitingly amongst the trees deeper into the forest. Suddenly it ended at a small clearing at the foot of a low cliff. The cliff faced east and was blanketed in shadowy secrecy. The forest obscured most of it’s face, but Fred could vaguely make out a darker patch on the rock wall. Now off the bike, he scoped out the site more carefully. The clearing was muddy and wet making Fred ruefully expect yet another night on sloppy ground. As if clairvoyant, the clouds began to release their first tiny drops of rain again. We're going to have a wet night again, he thought. Fred turned his attention to the cliff. Perhaps an overhang may offer some respite. This is when Fred discovered the cave mouth in the cliff wall. Hardly much higher than Fred was tall, but wide enough to drive a car through, the cave promised a night of respite from the rain. For all his bushcraft skills, he didn't know much about caves. This gave him pause. As if embittered by his discovery, the clouds redoubled their efforts and the rain became more substantial. Fred pulled Wylma, and his now wet laundry into the darkness of the cave. The darkness was oppressive till Fred donned his head lamp. The vestibule of the cave offered an ideal space to camp with level ground and space enough for a small fire. But the rear of the cave vanished into murky darkness that the torch could not penetrate. Fred let out a yelp as a casual call to any other occupants. The sound slowly echoed back to him from the bowels of the earth, hinting at the cave’s unseen depths. A tingle of trepidation ran down Fred’s spine. He put the darker thoughts from his mind as he set up for the night. Fred was proud of his own self reliance and fortitude. That pack of hungry Hyenas in Senegal, nor the visit from a curious lion in Tanzania were sufficient to perturb him, so he was adamant a mysterious cave in Finland was not going to get under his skin. He set up a clothes drying line between his tent and Wylma near the warmth of the fire. Soaking socks, wet underwear and a saturated fleece got prime sites near the heat. Once Fred was satisfied with the setup, he ventured out to collect more dead wood for the fire. Now back and settled in, he admired the camp which was ideal despite the slight smokiness. He sat back to begin dinner. As he peeled an onion, Fred noticed the dancing flames were being played by a faint breeze. Air was being sucked into the cave ever so gently. The smokiness somewhat dissipated, but it stirred his dark imagination again. He pushed the congealing dread out of his mind. He came up with a dozen logical explanations to mollify his imagination. The breeze intensified culminating in a short gust, accompanied by a deep rumble emanating from somewhere deep underground - then stillness. Again Fred paused and struggled for calm. After a few silent minutes he resumed his meal preparations. Fred had become quite the camp gourmet. Tonight his favourite tuna mornay was on the menu, with the obligatory surprise ingredient, usually whatever came to hand on the road, this time it was some delicious mushrooms he found in the forest that morning. Now sated, he sat back and lit a cigarette. This was the only vice he carried with him from his previous life. A solitary cigarette, as a desert of sorts, he told himself. Sitting in the stillness, Fred noticed the floating smoke emanating from his lit cigarette was heading for the cave opening. It was too faint to detect otherwise but just as his thought concluded, he could then feel the breeze, ever so gentle. It carried a strange odour. Both earthy and rancid. Not enough to be intolerable, but unpleasant nonetheless. The dying flames of the campfire were now being whipped up by the rapidly strengthening draft. Fred’s tent and laundry now whipped about in it. He began to collect the washing up from his dinner as the wind became a gale whistling toward the cave mouth. Fred’s clothes were now off the line and the tent pitched upward catching the draft. He tried to hold it all together till he lost his footing leaning into the powerful tempest. His tent and clothes were all now gone. Whisked away in a whirl of wind. Wylma was being sucked out as well while Fred hung on to the rock wall leaning against the tempest. The wind palpitated in strength a few times then vanished. He stood there panting from his excursions and beginning to take stock when the reversal began. The wind began to howl in through the cave opening and down into the dark unknown depths. Fred reversed his grip on his rock and held on for dear life. The gale kept intensifying. He could feel his grip starting to give and the power of the rushing air was magnifying. Fred’s hold finally gave way and he was sucked into the inky depths. *** Fred was sucked into the very earth. There was no chance to catch a handhold to arrest his progress. There was no fighting the sheer power and violence of the moving air as it dragged him deeper. The whirlwind began to lose its potency as Fred managed to grab onto a protuberance. His hand had found a hold but it was not solid rock, it was more like hard rubber coated with slime. He didn't have a great purchase on it, but soon the wind completely vanished. Fred was bracing for another reversal but it did not come. The odour was stronger here and the air was warmer and more humid. Fred stood up and thanked his luck when he found the headlamp hanging around his neck. Now he could see, but what he saw shocked him. The cave was close to round in shape. The walls were covered in lumps and pustules all covered with wet slime of various colours. Some were oozing yet more ugly goo. Fred knew from whence he had come but after some steps, the tunnel had split off in wildly different directions. There was no way to be sure of the path out. This is when he noticed the first oddity. The ground was not solid. It felt underfoot like the canvas of a boxing ring. Fred checked his pockets. Half a packet of cigarettes, a lighter, and his spoon is all he had. There was nothing he could use to mark his path. A curiosity took him and before he thought it through, he scraped the wall with his spoon. The surface gave way like the skin of an overripe peach exposing a gelatinous body laced with white stringy chords and muddy red tissue. The momentary calm was broken when the entire tunnel shuddered, then the air began moving rapidly inward again. Fred threw himself to the ground, searching for purchase in preparation for the next tempest. It did not come though. It was at this point that he noticed the pain. The palms of his hands began to tingle uncomfortably. He wiped them on his pants but the irritation intensified. A similar hot stinging sensation was beginning to spread on one side of his neck. Fred felt the skin and noticed it was covered with the mucus. He began rubbing it off with a mild panic as the pain gradually grew. He began to walk. He took the left tunnel, then the right, then left again, then he stopped. It all looked the same. Fred admitted to himself that he was thoroughly lost down here. After a few minutes of wandering the familiar breeze reappeared. He braced himself again but it was not as turbulent as before. He kept moving. Moving felt like progress, no matter the direction. An ominous theory began to germinate in his mind about the nature of this cave. All his logic told him that he had somehow found himself inside something that,... is alive. With each passing step, he saw things that corroborated his theory till he could no longer think of any other plausible explanation. The paths he took all seemed to go downwards. Even when he backtracked, that sensation of descending remained. It all added to his disquiet. The slime had worked its way onto his flip flops caking his soles and making each step treacherous. He took a tunnel which suddenly dropped precipitously. Fred slipped and slid a long way down the bumpy slick tunnel till it levelled out again. It proved impossible to climb back up that tunnel. His panic was bubbling, but still contained. On he went, deeper and deeper. The tunnel opened into a chamber not much larger than a garage. It was shaped like a bubble with a puddle of gunk collected in the bottom. The surface pulsated in slow motion. It was at this point Fred became certain about his theory, He was inside some terrestrial leviathan. A dark despondence descended upon him. A sense that he may not live to tell this tale. The air was hard to breathe here. Heavy, and wet. Fred suddenly felt very tired and slumped down against the sticky wall and concentrated on taking some deep inhalations, but no matter how he tried, he could not catch a satisfying breath. A funk descended upon him fogging his mind, thickening, until he was no longer sure of where he was. *** Huge powerful limbs, too many to count, grasped, tugged and pushed at the earth, the rock, and the roots all around him. He slid his body through the sticky wet ground. It offered a strange resistance. He was not tunnelling in the earth, but rather moving through it, or it moved through him. A very strange sensation. He stopped. Quiet. A dim low rumbled modulated from somewhere far away. An earthquake, or a movement of a large mass. Grinding over rock and rubble. But there was meaning in the sound. “Ayagom, I feel you”. Fred knew what the sound meant but he did not know how he knew. He drew into himself and shuddered. A strange pattern of rumbling sounds emanate from him. “Ugora, my friend, I hear you” Fred answered, but without intention. Did I say that? he thought to himself As happens in those rare moments when you become aware you are dreaming, Fred knew he had somehow become psychically absorbed by some other entity. An immensely old being. He could sense a memory spanning back millennia and more. Spans too fantastic to comprehend. Back to the age of the scaled monsters, and warm oceans. Ugora was close by, by Ayagoms reckoning anyway, but this was still hundreds of kilometres away. Fred did not like it. Not one bit at all. He was powerless, but conscious. Looking upward, but not with eyes, he saw a low canopy of tangled roots from countless trees spreading out in all directions. Pulsing and communicating. A hum of intelligent exchange, like a busy Chinese restaurant. Moods and emotions, both brilliant and bleak in constant flux. He was under this cobweb ceiling, in a serene cocoon of dirt. This was not Fred’s world and he knew he had to fight to return to his own, but he lacked the vitality to act. I need to wake up from this , he said to his dreaming self. He tried to move, but he was just a silent passenger enveloped by this colossus. He tried again and felt a tear in his mind. A rend that he now pushed against. He felt a slow disorienting topple ending with a suffocating sensation. *** This brought Fred back. He was lying face down at the bottom of the chamber now, drowning in the slime. He jerked his head back and spat out the goo and gasped for air. He strained at the lack of oxygen, and fought back the drowsiness. He then reached into his pocket, drew out the spoon and with the sharp end, stabbed the floor, over and over again. The membrane gave way and the shank sunk deep into the flesh with satisfaction. The tunnel shuddered, and a gust picked up threatening violence again. The air freshened and Fred finally got a gratifying breath into his lungs. Immediately energised he stumbled up toward the chamber entrance, Fred was out of the now strengthening wind and noticed the chamber expanding. The wind tapered off and the chamber could grow no larger. Fred chose his moment and stepped out of its entrance into the main tunnel and braced himself. The reversal was shockingly powerful. It hit him like a solid thing. Fred became immediately airborne flying through the tubes, bumping and skidding off the sides. The speed was terrific. He slid past a section of the cave wall that was now harder and sharper. Then with a loud popping sound he exited the cave mouth and flew through cool night air, clipping a branch and finally landing heavily in a muddy puddle. He was in the clearing outside the cave now. The sky was showing the first light of dawn but the rain still held sway. In the dying light of his headlamp, Fred spotted his tent tangled in some bushes and Wylma caught in a tree branch. Other debris from his campsite littered the immediate area. On hands and knees, he turned and looked at the cliff face. In the steady rain, it was just a black band, and black backdrop behind the forest cover, preventing the first rays of dawn to penetrate. Fred’s disorientation was dissipating at the same time the burning sting on his face, neck, arms and feet reasserted itself. He wiped at the sticky gelatinous gunk with muddy waters but it resisted his efforts reminding him of slug slime. He looked down at his hands that were covered in it and saw the skin had turned a very dark colour. He pushed an enquiring finger of one hand through the slime to the skin of the back of his other hand. It was rough, and hard. Like... rock! Something was growing on him. He studied his hands again and with concern and noticed his fingers lengthening, in fact his hands were growing. Still on all fours, He looked down and the ground was moving away from him. The trees and bushes were shrinking. Wylma, still stuck in the tree, was now at the scale of a toy. The ground under his knees and hands felt soft and spongy. He picked up a clump and squeezed. The earth melded with him, some of it leaking out from between hard unyielding claws. His fingernails now looked like power shovel buckets. With childish curiosity, he scooped out a hole in the wet earth the size of a refrigerator, and held it aloft effortlessly. He dropped it and then with fingers extended like a spike, he drove his arm into the earth. His arm descended into the ground with a delightful satisfaction. The dawn was brightening, Fred could seem more of the cliff face, and the cave entrance. But this was no cliff, this was Ayagom, the resolute. One of the great Mokit. Stewards of this planet. Slayers of the Gkruts, the destroyers of life. Fred was surprised by the overwhelming feeling he now felt - it was pride. Fred then realised Ayagom was speaking to him: “Ufrot, you are me. I am you, join us.” At this, Fred looked at the earth under him in a new light. A light of comprehension. He then noticed a buzzing hum of background chatter. It was like hearing a poolside conversation while submerged underwater. Fred knew what he must do next. His arm was still buried. He balled his fist, taking a grip of the very earth itself and drove his head and other arm into the ground. His body slid fluently into the ground. He could now hear the conversations clearly and was gratified he was not alone. It was a gentle melodic ebb and flow of the Mokit hivemind. It was hypnotic. The turmoil and tribulations of life were now profoundly changed. Fred glanced one last time upward to see Wylma, alone, caught in the tree branch. He wondered if he would ever see her again. “I see you Ayagom!” Fred said, embracing his new reality.


“I can't do this anymore,” Carly said “I need to get out of this room. How do you people live in this heat? It ́s too bloody hot, it’s unbearable. 46c it says on my phone today. I swear I have never been this hot in my life. I can't breathe, I can't sleep. The sweat is pouring off me. Last night the aircon went off, there was a mosquito in the room - bastard bit me. I got up at 4am and had a cold shower - I still couldn't get back to sleep. I thought you lot had money, why am I in this shitty motel anyway, there are tons of swanky hotels on the Strip with decent aircon and room service?” Kevin looked across the room at Carly. “It ́s July, its Vegas what do you expect? We are in the desert. You get used to it. Just be glad you are not in Louisiana where I grew up. There it ́s 37c but 80% humidity. At least here the humidity is 10%, so cool when you get out of the sun. And in answer to your question. Hotels are dangerous. People see things. Most staff are on low wages, easy to bribe. Lots of entrances and exits. You've seen the movies where people dress up as maids and steal key cards. This is crappy but its anonymous, as long as you pay for the room no one bothers you. Anyway, we have one or two more days here and then that ́'s it.” “Where are we going then,” Carly said. “I don't know exactly, Petra is organising it. I should know tomorrow when she calls me.” Carly lay back on the bed and got out her phone. She was scrolling through it and he could hear music and laughter. Probably some stupid cat videos people were always sharing. Kevin tried not to think about Louisiana and his upbringing. As soon as he could he joined the police force and went to the big city. He hated the bayou and the small minded people in his town. Firstly, he worked in Baton Rouge and then, as a result of an exchange organised by the federal government, ended up in Washington - where he had been for 7 years. He loved the city. The drug busts and gang warfare didn’t faze him a bit. He liked putting bad guys behind bars, he felt like he was making a difference. Then he worked undercover. He liked that a lot. More flexible but more dangerous. These villains were off the scale. A stark contrast to Baton Rouge, where the villains were mostly good ol’ boys who had too many bottles of bud and decided to go out in an air boat on the bayou and shoot themselves a few gators for dinner. Sadly, a lot of the time they ended up as the meat, as they were so drunk they fell overboard, and the police had to pick up the pieces, literally. He smiled to himself at the memory, as Carly looked up from her phone and said: “I’m hungry, can we eat something?” “Sure, what do you fancy, - Italian, Asian. There is a great pizza place on the strip; they have a wood fired oven. I will go out.” “I’m so fed up being cooped up here; can I go with you, just this one time?” She pleaded. “Carly, you know that’s not possible, not yet, it ́s not much longer. Once you have the op you will have more freedom, but for now it’s not safe. They are out there and they know what you look like.” “I don’t want to have a nose job,” she said “My nose is fine just as it is, can’t I get an extension or something to change the shape without surgery.” “Because it works, changing your nose shape changes the rest of your face. You will be amazed what a new nose and new hair style can do. You will have a choice, the surgeon we use is very good, and he will listen to you.” “I’m scared,” she said, “what if it goes wrong, what if there are complications? I don't want to be sick and I don't want to be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life!” He wanted to say, “Surely you thought this through before you did it. You knew it would be hard. These people don't just walk away. You are a target and they are after you. They have a lot of resources and a long reach. You may not make it.” But instead he said “I had a client once. He squealed on a Colombian cocaine gang. After surgery he was reborn in Toronto where he ran a small bookshop. A few years later we checked in on him. He was happy, smoking a pipe with a goatee beard looking very bookish. He had a wife and 3 children and the Colombians never had a clue. It ́s a big world out there, hiding is not that difficult.” He felt a pang of compassion for her. All alone in a strange country, running for her life. No one to trust - or at least she probably felt that way now, after what had happened in Florida. Petite and dark haired she was not his type, but she was vulnerable and it was his job to protect her. “Carly, I have been doing this for a while. It’s not a risky operation with a good surgeon and good aftercare. You will be out the same day. We will find you somewhere nice to recuperate, I promise.” “Petra said she had been doing it for a while also, and look what happened there.” “That’s why we are going down the surgery route. It will give you more freedom, more chance of making this a success.” “I don’t have a choice, do I?” she said, finally. “Pepperoni pizza it is then” he said, swiftly changing the subject. “Lock the door and don’t answer it for anybody. I will swing by reception also and report the aircon unit. You know where the gun is. Use it if you have to. I will phone you when I am standing outside.” She felt like saying she wasn’t hungry anymore but in an instant he was gone. # # # # # # # # The door slammed behind him and she ran to the curtains to watch him get in the car and drive off. Kevin was tall, with dark hair, broad shouldered with deep brown eyes. Even wearing jeans he didn’t look scruffy. He worked out, no doubt about it. You could see his chest muscles through the tight white t-shirt and his thigh muscles pushing through his jeans. The way he spoke, that southern drawl, was really sexy, and she was sure he must have had a hard time of it in Washington, where they would have viewed him as a hillbilly. Still, he had stuck it out for 7 years according to Petra. Must be good at his job. Maybe it wasn’t so bad being “babysat” by Kevin after all. Nothing in her life had turned out the way she had hoped it would. She had a good job that she enjoyed, with great career opportunities, until that fateful day. The future that she had planned out, career, family a couple of children, was now a melancholy memory. Her life had taken a different turn, now she had to take one day at a time. The previous episode in Florida had shaken everyone up. Petra was at a loss to know what had happened to blow her cover. The Feds concluded that someone working for the airline had tipped them off, no other explanation. She had been identified and followed. Investigations were ongoing, but meanwhile she was in Nevada, just south of Las Vegas trying to start her new life AGAIN! She switched on the tv and flicked channels until she found an old episode of “Colombo” the scruffy detective from the 70’s, who is actually a whizz at solving murders and bringing the bad guys to justice. The ads kicked in after only 5 minutes, just when you were getting in to the story - it was the same on every channel. She would just have to learn to live with it. So many things here were different, not just the tv. But, it was in her interest to adapt, and adapt she would, her life depended on it. Her phone rang. It was Kevin. “I’m outside, look through the curtains, then let me in.” She did that and saw him standing there with 2 enormous pizza boxes and a giant bottle of coca cola. She opened the door and closed it quickly. There was a draught of air; it was like someone had aimed a hairdryer at her. The pizzas smelt delicious, her hunger pangs returned. “You don't want to be out there. It ́s brutal. Worse bit is the heat wave is going to continue for a few more days. It's the hottest day of the year so far - we just have to hang in here!” There were beads of sweat on his forehead, he wiped them with the back of his hand. She watched him as he opened the boxes and brought out napkins. No cutlery, or plates, she forgot that Americans ate pizza right out of the box. He poured her a glass of coke with ice and sat back in the chair; looking right at her he scooped up an enormous slice and shoved it in his mouth. She watched him eating it. He managed not to spill a drop on his pristine white t-shirt, she knew she wouldn’t be able to do that. Especially when she was nervous. This was their third night together, their third meal. They were still sizing each other up, trying to establish boundaries. Her heartbeat had accelerated but she tried to keep calm and helped herself to a slice. It was pepperoni with slices of onion topped with paprika and chilli peppers. She didn’t want coca cola but drank it anyway. It was cool and took the heat away. She already had feelings for him and hated it. She didn’t want those feelings, especially not now. Not when her life was in utter chaos. They demolished the pizza. “So tell me,” he said, wiping his chin, still no stains on his t-shirt “why did you do it. Why testify, you didn’t need to, you could have just gotten on with your life?” “Didn't you read the file?” she said, picking up a bit of pizza with her fingers that had fallen into her lap and was making a greasy stain on her jeans. “It’s all there.” “Yes, but I wanted to hear it from you. They don't put everything in the file, what was your motivation for doing it?” She sighed. “At the time I was angry, I wasn’t thinking clearly. They out of the door with the jewellery trays but then one of them turned round and came back. We were all lying face down on the floor. He went over to Mr Cohen and shot him in the back of the head. He didn’t need to do that, they were escaping and it held them up, but he did it anyway. I looked up and he had taken off his hood so I saw his face. He didn’t need to kill him. It was so unfair. Mr Cohen was a good man - she started to sob - he gave me a break, I was training to be a jewellery designer, not just a shop assistant, he gave me a break. I decided then and there that they wouldn’t get away with it.” Kevin thought for a minute. “Was Cohen wearing a kippah, the small head cover that Jews wear?” “Yes, he always wore it, why?” “We think the shooter was a Palestinian who grew up in Beirut. Lebanese father American mother. He used to work for us but then he was turned. He works for terrorists now as a gun for hire. Mostly the PLO. The money from the heist would have gone to them.” “I thought it was odd that the FBI would be interested in a jewellery heist gone wrong in London. They were at Scotland Yard during my first interview.” “We had to neutralise him, he was becoming a real problem. He knew far too much. But these people are vicious and vengeful, but nothing we can't handle. What about your family, they must have had something to say?” “To be honest, I wasn't that close to my parents. My dad was dead so Cohen was a father figure, and my mum and I were always arguing, so no love lost there; but I will miss my brother and sister terribly, we were very close. They tried to talk me out of it, but I am stubborn I suppose and wouldn' ́t listen. I think they have some mad idea about coming to join me in the future, when things have settled down a bit.” “Won't happen, sorry. Don't get your hopes up. It's got to be a clean break.” He said. “I knew it would be hard and tried to visualise myself in my new life but it different when it happens, it’s much harder to come to terms with. Everything is so different now and I can never go back.” Her voice was starting to break. He put his hand on her shoulder to steady her as she was sobbing. He gave her his handkerchief and she made a lot of noise blowing her nose and wiping her eyes. “Coffee?” he said. She nodded. He grabbed the empty boxes and went into the kitchenette. “I got more ice, and more drinks. In the fridge if you need them. When I speak to Petra we will get the date for the surgery. We won’t be coming back to this motel after; we will go somewhere else, closer to Vegas. Everyone is having surgery in Vegas, you won't look out of place with a bandaged nose.” He tilted his head to one side and smiled at her. She couldn’t resist smiling back through her tears. “Oh and one other thing, we really have to work on that accent!” 2,397 words


We stepped off the boat and headed up the jetty towards the island. Immediately we saw two guards straight ahead. My feet stuck to the ground, the air chilling around my limbs. “What do we do?” I whispered. “Act calm. See what happens,” Alessia responded. We walked up to them, waiting to be questioned. However, as we passed they merely nodded and smiled. Now that we were on the island the restrictions of movement no longer applied. Instead, we were free to explore. We picked up our pace and scurried past the few rows of trees lest the guards change their passivity. We quickly found ourselves on a street lined with tall brick buildings on either side. Ahead of us, a few hundred metres away, we could see the prisoner being led through the town, the guards accompanying her. “We should keep our distance,” I said. “No shit.” Alessia rolled her eyes. We began slowly following them; our eyes pointed to the buildings around us, but the prisoner and the procession kept in our peripheral vision. “I thought you were against these little adventures anyway,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “I am when they’re just for fun. But, I don’t like being tricked, and I don’t want to go back to Runar without any idea of what they’re up to. We need to have something on him.” As we walked through the town, I was struck by how similar everything seemed to Tima Voreef. The elegant buildings with their large glass windows loomed over the street, the electric lights illuminating the gravel path below. I passed a building with a picture just like the ones I had seen affixed to the walls on Tima Voreef. A picture of a hand holding a spanner stood above bold red text. *Keep the wheels turning. Industry is vital for Ruthogrey Landfall.* Our walk felt like a dream. As though everything around us was just the smallest bit different, slightly out of place, and at any moment reality might shift back and we’d land back on Tima Voreef. I assumed during the day the streets would be as filled as they had been back on Tima Voreef. However, with the daylight gone, the bustle had left. Instead, pedestrians slowly wandered down the streets in ones or twos. Some enjoying a warmer than expected evening with a loved one, others slowly dragging their bodies home after pulling an extra long shift at whatever job they had. The street curved gently before opening out on a large square, where three wide streets met at a public courtyard - our own, one opposite, and one to our right. On the fourth side of the square, to my left, a lofty stone building stood watch over the three streets. The top and lowest floors of the building had windows, but between there was solid grey surface with a mural painted on top. Four electric lights, one at each corner, shone onto the mural. On it, was a painting of who I assumed to be Philomena Rubio, the president of Ruthogrey Landfall. In the corner of the mural, I could see the same signature that was on our paper. She gave a stern, maternal smile to the citizens in the courtyard. Long, blonde drapes fell down her back, contrasting her bronzed skin. Written next to her were the words “We will prosper from your efforts.” Even the murals contained an odd mirroring: Joan Moreno’s brown curls replaced with the golden straight lines of Philemona Rubio; a thank you for efforts made replaced with a thanks for efforts to come. But the ideas were the same. Alessia tapped me on the arm and nodded ahead. Off in the distance, the guards and prisoner stopped outside a large white building. Heavy wooden doors opened, and they stepped inside, disappearing from view. The doors shut once more, a thud echoing down the street. We could follow no further. We traced their route until we could see more of the building. It appeared to be some kind of a compound. Thick metal bars guarded the windows of the four-storey building. A wall at waist height ran along the roof, and I could see two guards observing the movements below. “Well, we’re not getting in there,” I said. Alyssia scrunched her face and looked around. She scanned her surroundings, until stopping on a building just before and opposite our target. It was an office block with glass windows stretching up four storeys. In the artificial streetlights, the building reflected back a stained version of the white compound. “Come on.” Alessia tugged on my arm. “I have an idea.” She pulled me towards the building, her quick footsteps scraping across the gravel road. She walked up to the door and pulled on the handle. It was locked. “You were planning on going in there?” I whispered, looking around in case anyone noticed us. “Uh huh,” she replied, reaching into her pocket, her hands held close by the handle. There was the muffled sound of the door jamming in the lock before the metal clicked and the entrance swung open. Alyssia walked through. “You coming?” I made one final check of our surroundings, before scampering after her inside. “You can pick locks?” “Not well. That lock’s more broken than picked now. But, I know a bit.” Alessia squinted in the gloom before heading for a staircase at the back of the building. “Where’d you pick that up?” I asked, struggling to keep her pace up the stairs. “My dad taught me when I was a teenager. Passed the time when bored on a boat.” “Any other skills I don’t know about yet?” “You’ll find out when you find out.” Alessia turned to face me, a wry smile on her lips before she disappeared up the next flight. As we climbed, less and less light penetrated the stairwell and we ascended into hastening dusk. As we reached the seventh flight of stairs, I could feel my thighs aching with each clamber. I had never been in a building as high as this one, and although I had walked up many hills, the steep ascent of the stairs quickly exhausted my energy. We reached the top floor and Alessia walked through to the front of the building. Grey light crept through the wide windows, giving just enough illumination for us to navigate our way past the desks and chairs to the exterior, where we could look out over the street. I moved hesitantly towards the window, before I remembered the view outside. Thanks to the bright electric lights, we could see out from the darkness, but those looking out at us could only see their own reflection. We were invisible. We watched for a while. On top, the two guards continued to half-heartedly monitor their surroundings. Occasionally, they stopped to walk along the top, cross paths, and stand where the other had been stationed. We waited, counting as the guards made their slow back-and-forth, lingering for some change in the pattern. Tired of standing, I sat cross-legged on the floor, my eyes ready for something, but being unsure of what. Then a light in one of the top-floor windows came on. I could see into a small office. There was a desk. On one side, a luxurious leather-bound chair, and on the opposite three smaller, but still comfortable-looking seats. A woman and a man walked in. The woman wore smart black trousers and a matching blazer. She had smooth olive skin, and long, curled, brown hair. I was struck by the odd familiarity of her face, as though I knew here, even if I couldn’t give her a name. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, only see their movements. The man gestured to a cabinet at one side of the room, the woman nodded. He walked over and took out a bottle and two glasses, pouring a clear liquid into them both. He pushed it across the table as the woman sat down on the comfier side of the desk. The man sat down opposite her and they spoke while the woman rummaged through the drawers in her desk. She found what she was looking for and left it open. Then, without breaking in conversation, she lifted her hands to her head, and removed the wig of brown hair, revealing a perfectly bald scalp beneath. My breathing paused and my eyes narrowed, my sights transfixed by the beautiful skin of her head. The man was unphased, and he continued talking, as the woman reached down to her desk and pulled up a long, straight blonde wig. Then it clicked. “No fucking way,” I said. “What?” Alessia said turning to me. “No. Surely...” I cut myself off, the words unable to keep up with the swimming thoughts. “What?” Alessia repeated, louder. I stood up as quickly as I could. “I need to check something. To be certain.” Alessia followed me as I marched out of the room and down the stairwell. “Do you want to tell me what’s happening?” Alessia called out, four or five steps behind. “In a minute. I just need to be sure.” I walked outside into the street. The cool night air bit against my flustered cheeks as I marched back up the road from where we’d come. My fists clenched, angry frightened blood creeping to the surface, turning my palms red. I leant into the stiff breeze, ignoring the frigid air stinging my eyes, until till I was back at the town square. I stopped and looked up. The large mural of Philomena Rubio stood before me. The olive skin. The long-blonde hair. The same woman who was in the office. The same woman who minutes before had been Joan Moreno, president of Ruthogrey Landfall’s sworn enemy. “It’s her.” “Wait. No?” Alessia said, beginning to catch up. “Yes. They’re the same woman. The two islands are run by the same people. We didn’t transport a prisoner. We just smuggled in the president of Tima Voreef.” “But why?” Alessia said, tilting her head, looking at the portrait. “Why fake the standoff?” “Have you seen these islands? Everything they’ve built? That war is what built all of it.” A sudden instinctual rage flooded my veins. I closed my eyes, suppressing it until I could locate exactly where it came from. “It’s Kadear all over again. A fake promise that galvanizes everyone. Just a different lie. It’s the same fucking con.” I let out a frustrated groan as my head tilted back to the sky. Alessia walked up to me and placed a hand on my arm. “We should get out of here. Back to the boat.” She pulled on my arm to shift me away from the mural. Slowly my legs complied, and we began heading back to the boat, Alessia still pulling me by the sleeve. “This whole place is built on the same lie,” I said. I looked up to the great buildings. Suddenly a fit of laughter overcame me, and I burst out into a snigger. All that intimidation, all the grandeur, now seemed strangely comical, like a child putting on a deeper, meaner voice. The curtain had been pulled back. That tension that weighed in the air had dissipated, and now I felt giddy. “Will you keep quiet? They haven’t been suspicious of us yet, but I’d like for them to not be.” “There is no war,” I said, unsure of my own smile. “Yes. But their guns are still very real,” Alessia replied through gritted teeth. She yanked on my shirt sleeve. The jolt forcing an exhale, and my laughter disappearing with it. We walked the rest of the way in silence until we were back on the boat “Well, we have our leverage,” Alessia said. I didn’t respond. Instead I headed to the nearest crate I could find, sat down, and buried my head in my hands. “You okay?” Alesia said, sitting on the side of the ship. I leaned back, returning my gaze to the stars for answers. “It’s a little close to home. These two islands. All these people. They’re living the exact same life I did before I found out the truth.” “Kadear is a long, long sail from here. This isn’t Kadear.” Alessia said, folding her arms. “I know it isn’t. But... it feels the same. The trick. I’m just repeating it. Alessia nodded. “What do you want to do now?” “Sail. Get out to sea. Away from this.” Alessia pulled herself back off the side of the boat. “We should probably check in with the Deer Drum lot anyway. Can you get the front?” I forced a smiled and pulled myself to my feet. I walked over to the rope at the front of the boat and untethered us from the island. As the currents pulled us slowly out to the sea I looked back on Ruthogrey Landfall and the buildings that dotted my view. I wondered how many people lived on the island, and how many of them ever had a sleepless night frightened, afraid of the coming war that would never arrive. \ Next chapter 2nd September (nb.


The decrepit vagrant limps into the gas station and the three customers in line immediately recoil from the stench. They leave a wide berth and avoid eye contact, as if she is Medusa, her long, greasy blond hair really a nest of snakes. Perhaps they simply don’t wish to acknowledge the gaunt woman, for doing so would also acknowledge unpleasant truths. She stands at the door for some time, taking in the store and its patrons. No one bothers to calculate exactly how long she stands there; no one risks meeting her gaze. After a half minute or incalculable eons, Medusa takes her place at the end of the line. Hands in the pockets of her stained and tattered jeans, she waits patiently until it’s her turn to approach the world-weary man behind the grimy, sticky counter. He makes a point to not sully his hands by coming in contact with the residue of a thousand different people that sits on the surface in front of him. While empires rise and fall, the second-hand of the clock above the register makes a full rotation, and it’s finally her turn. “Can I help you?” the queasy clerk asks, as politely as one can with a fetid snake nest barely two feet away. Medusa frowns while her right hand fumbles in the pocket of her ragged hoodie. The clerk begins to repeat his question, but is cut off by the barrel of a Colt M1911 pointed directly at his mouth. The dead-eyed Medusa plainly states her desires: “Give me all the money in the register.” She follows this with an incentive for the petrified cashier: “Or you’ll die.” It is only now that the customers behind her pay her any mind. A man lets out a loud gasp; a woman utters expletives to no one in particular; others remain still in shocked silence. All except for a man coming out of the bathroom, the roar of the fan deafening him to the occurrence on the sales floor. It takes a single eternity for him to assess the situation and, tickled that his wife’s usual protests about “that thing” were demonstrably moot, removes his concealed Beretta M9 from the inside of his jacket. He’s been waiting for a moment like this all his life, and he relishes it as he carefully aims at Medusa’s head and bellows out his own request and motivation, “Drop the goddamn gun or I swear to God I’ll shoot!” Medusa jumps, clearly startled, and begins to turn herself to the unexpected counter-offer. She absentmindedly keeps the gun aloft as she does so, and doesn’t have time to realise her mistake. In no more than a few seconds, two loud pops break the tension, and Medusa’s face receives two new holes. She crumples to the ground, her hair now clearly snake-free. The veritable Perseus rockets himself over to the body to secure the wretch’s weapon, but freezes after picking it up. A small but significant detail, one unknowable to anyone not brandishing it, jumps out at him: her weapon lacked the heft of an actual M1911. No, he realises, this was just an airsoft gun, the barrel tip painted to complete the illusion of fatal danger. Several more details come to his attention: the half-rotted left foot and its assault on the nose; the dirt and grime of the street which covers her body like a second layer of skin; the desperation and sadness in her now lifeless eyes. The Perseus recalls the stories he’s heard of homeless people committing crimes, severe legally but petty in reality, looking to go to prison so they can get medical treatment, or a bed, or even just a meal. The realisation hits him like a bullet.


The Night Mare comes with the fog. I’d heard the story all my life, we all did. “Best be sleeping when the Night Mare comes. Just one glimpse and she’ll steal your soul and carry you to the mists!” So the Elders used to say by the hearth’s fading fire to scare wee ones to bed. As a child, I’d sometimes hear a horse squeal in the night, but I couldn’t tell you if it was one of ours or The Night Mare. Not until morning broke and some poor soul from the village lay dead in their bed. Everyone feared her until we became the elders scolding wee ones by firelight. After all, she was no more than a story. I coughed hard, my chest aching something fierce. The deep rattle had been my companion since last winter, one that worsened in the damp. “...will be... the death of me,” I laughed to Ulfrik, my youngest son. “This blasted weather.” He smiled but a twinkle of fear lay in his eyes. My cough, a wretched sound, must keep him awake at night but he was never one to complain. Like his father, a stoic thing. Comfortable grief massaged my heart. “You should get to finding a wife,” my frequent reminder coaxed a sigh from my son. “I won’t be for this world forever.” Ulfric frowned. “I think you’ll be with us for a while yet.” “What of Ragna? She’s handsome enough if a bit dim.” He tried to suppress his smirk. “There’s Ingun. A set of hips on her!” “Mother!” Ulfrik scowled but his lip dared to tremble with a laugh. “Lost your chance with that girl from Holmslond. Pretty one... what was her name?” My son focused on the fire, prodding it to keep from answering. “Grelod? Greiland?” “Gyrid,” he said softly with what only a mother could recognize as regret. “That’s it, Gyrid. Lovely girl, but I am glad to be spared her *dreadful* laugh. Like twigs snapping - *Hack hack hack!*” He could hide his guilty grin no more while I wore mine wide and proud. “You’ve better things to worry on than who I might take for a wife,” he said. “Like myself? Bah.” The girls haunting rattle-laugh found friends in my chest. The company of them made my breaths ragged. “You’re a good son, Ulfrik, to care for a mother so sour.” He stood from his stool by the hearth and passed me a warm blanket. “Gladder still that you’ve noticed my plight.” We laughed, lightly, and I coughed again. For a time, he held my hand as it was, wrinkled weather thing in his strong grip. The chill air slipped in through cracks unseen and cooled the room. Ulfrik took to bed easily while I lingered by the fading fire. A fearsome neigh cracked the air like a whip. For all my years, I had heard the Mare’s cries in the night but always turned back to my sheets and slept restlessly. I did not this night. With the blanket about my shoulders, I opened the door. The fog rolled from the trees urged by a chilling wind. From its waves, she danced in and out of the shadows, her shape glistening in the moonlight. A beast too tall for a man to break, she seemed like the night itself; powerful, brisk, and inevitable. She trotted in place and I felt bidden forth, leaving blanket and hearth at my back. Strange, though, for I did not feel the cold. With her steps, she wheeled the fog forward, her head high and proud. She nodded and knelt before me and my eager fingers slid into her silken mane softer than any fur. “It is my time then,” I whispered without fear and, as though she understood, the Night Mare snorted. At my age, it was no small thing to climb atop her bareback, but I somehow found the strength. As the Mare righted, the thick mists coiled around us and I breathed my first easy breath in almost a year. “He is a good son, my Ulfrik. He deserves a good wife,” I told her as we trotted from the hearth and light. “I just hope he finds one that’s just a wee bit sour.” The Night Mare whinnied as a laugh and retreated for the trees. With us, so followed the fog.


"Roses are red. Violets are blue. Sugar is sweet and so are you." Napoleon’s first wife Josephine was born Marie Josèphe Rose Tascher de la Pagerie in Martinique on June 23, 1763. Like Napoleon himself, Josephine was a study of contrasts. As a child, Josephine grew up on a sugar cane plantation and developed a sweet tooth. As a result, her teeth had turned black at an early age so she learned to talk and smile without showing them. Despite this drawback, she was renowned for her grace and style. Many people in the 1700's had bad teeth. It was not the horror that it would be today, but was still an embarrassment. If a woman wanted to find a rich husband, she had to smile with her mouth closed. Don't show your teeth and let your charm take over. Josephine is walking by a waterfall in Martinique when she slipped and fell into the water. She struggles to swim to the surface when a strange cosmic force pulls her down deeper to into the abyss. She faints .... When Josephine wakes up, she is no longer in Martinique. She is in Hollywood, California. The year is 1969. The year of Peace, Love, Rock and Roll, Twiggy, Woodstock, Mini Skirts, Go-Go Boots, the Twist and lots of Groovy Music and of course, Movie Stars... Josephine is confused. Everywhere she looks, the world seems so strange and also wonderful. The sights, the sounds, even the smells. She looks up and sees an airplane flying high up to the clouds. She never saw anything like that before. She hears strange music but there is no band, no instruments. Where does that sound coming from? A girl with a transistor radio passes Josephine. "Where is that strange music coming from?", she asks. The girl has long blond hair, straight as a pin, and is wearing dark sunglasses, a white shirt, bright mini skirt and go-go boots. "Here, listen for yourself". The girl put the radio to Josephine's ear and her eyes got as big as saucers. "What kind of music is this?" The girl in the mini skirt starts dancing the Twist. "I am in the groove....Come on, try it!" Josephine imitates the girl and she started to laugh. "What happened to the waltz?" "The what? Oh, that went out with the "Mashed Potato!" Josephine scratches her head. "Where am I? Am I still in France?" "Oh no, lady. You're in La La Land. Hollywood, California! You are in America!" "How did I get here?" The girl thinks for a moment. "You were not here a minute ago. I saw a bright light and then I saw you. Do you want to get something to eat? Do you need a job?", the girl asked. May I introduce myself. "I am Josephine Bonaparte, Empress of the French. And you are?" "Oh, I am Bambi.", She replies as she looks in her compact mirror and fixes her lipstick. "I have an audition today for a commercial. I am not an Empress, but I can dance better than you. Come on Jo, let's get some food." "Don't call me Jo! I am Empress Josephine Bonaparte!" "Wow, an Empress with an attitude. It's all I need. Do you want me to help you out or not? I am losing my patience!", Bambi bluntly remarks. "Sorry, I am so used to being adored that I take it for granted everyone loves me." "Don't worry, honey. We will get you an agent and a commercial job. We'll figure it out. I hope!" Josephine follows the strange girl with the mini skirt and looks left and right and when she looked down she saw a whole sidewalk full of stars with names on them. "What is this?" "Oh, that. It's the Walk of Fame. You see, here in America, we have no Kings or Queens. We have "Movie Stars". Famous people that star in motion pictures. "What is a motion picture?" "It would take me a week to explain. You are from the 17th century, it would be better to show you. Let's go to the theater after we get some tacos." "What's a taco? "Are you kidding me? A taco is a tortilla with ground beef, lettuce, cheese, tomatoes and salsa? I am waiting for you to ask me what a burger is. Easy with the questions, just try it." "Okay." The taco stand is nearby and the girl in the miniskirt orders two tacos. Josephine bites into one and spits it out. "It's atrocious! I want Crepes Suzette! I am an Empress! I don't want this slop. You're American food is awful! Where's the wine? Where's the champagne?" "You can't afford champagne anymore. Napoleon is dead, remember?" This is not 1803, it's 1969! And we are in the Woodstock generation!" She faints for a few minutes. When she woke up a crowd had gathered. The girl in the mini skirt took advantage of the opportunity to exploit Josephine and had a big sign telling the crowd who she is. "Back away!", Josephine screams. "Who are these people and why are they dressed so strangely. "Remember, its 1969!" Josephine starts to cry." I need a job. I want to be famous in the movies." "You need to try out for a commercial. How about a toothpaste commercial? " "Smile!" Josephine give a big smile for the crowd. The crowd is absolutely horrified. Josephine's teeth were all black and rotten! "What happened to your teeth, Josephine?" Josephine starts to panic and immediately puts her hand over her mouth. "Maybe I can be a hand model? I would surely FAIL any audition if I smile! My teeth are black!" "You can do a toothpaste commercial if you get veneers. That might work. Or you could be the "before" model and have another model for the after." "What are veneers? It sounds French!", Josephine asked. "No, it's not french. It's a kind of bright white cover for your teeth. For cosmetic reasons. For TV, the movies!", the strange man replied. A strange man with a bling suit walks over to check out what was happening in the crowd. "What's going on here? I work for a talent agency. I need a walk on for a toothpaste commercial. The name of the toothpaste is "Pearl Drops". Any takers? " Josephine raises her hand up and gives the man a great big smile. His eyes went all buggy and he backs away two paces." You have black teeth and bad breath? What happened to you?", he declares, totally horrified. How can we spin this? Don't worry, Josephine. We can sell your black teeth and bad breath as an incentive to buy our toothpaste and get white teeth!" "I will probably be a flop if I smile. I can be a model that doesn't smile. Is that groovy enough to get a part in your commercial? ", Josephine laughs at that word. "My name is Josephine Bonaparte and I fell in the water by a waterfall in Martinique in the year 1794. I woke up in Los Angeles in the year 1969! My teeth are black because my family owns a sugar plantation in Martinique. All the people have teeth like me in 1794. " "I have an idea!", the strange man said. "We can do a historical commercial. That way you can keep your black teeth and horrid breath and people will think it's history. The public likes the past and they love Napoleon and Josephine. You even have a movie with that name starring Jacqueline Bisset?" "Truly? I am known and famous in 1969?" "Yes, people like you even more than Napoleon. Napoleon died at St. Helena and he was poisoned by the British?" "Really? I didn't know that?", Josephine cried. "I miss my Napoleon. He ditched me for the Habsburg chick. She was a ditz but Napoleon wanted a son, so he divorced me and married her. She ended up going back to Papa Habsburg and left Napoleon to be an English prisoner. All that glitters is not gold. I was a better wife to Napoleon than she was." "I am sure you were. If history were a star, Marie Louise would be an "asteroid"! She ran back to Papa and took his "King of Rome" with him. The poor "Eaglet" never knew his father and was never allowed to speak his name in Vienna. He died at age 21. " "How awful for Napoleon. To lose the son he divorced me for. I had one son, Eugene and a daughter Hortense. Why wasn't Napoleon satisfied with Eugene ? Why was he always looking for royal blood when mine was more aristocratic most Parisians. He had his heart set on a Habsburg bride. A bloodline that is thin and watery from generations of arranged marriages. And I was more of a wife than Marie Louise could dream of being!" "Okay, okay. Enough of the history lesson. This is 1969 not 1795. Forget Napoleon. He is yesterday's news. Your new job is a commercial concept called Pearl Drops toothpaste! You have black teeth and you brush your teeth and no matter how much your brush with pearl drops you fail to make your teeth white. How funny is that? The target audience will just love it!" "Are you making fun of me? Do you think I LIKE having black teeth and rotten breath? It's the time I lived in. I am CERTAIN that if YOU lived in 1795, your teeth would be ROTTEN TOO! You would be eating lots of sugar, pies, cakes, sugary puddings, beef pies, wine, champagne and anything our fine cook would bring to the table! Sugar was new to Europe around 1795 and the people ate a lot of it." The strange man screamed. "I am way too vain to have rotten teeth! I assure you my teeth would be pristine white. Weren't Napoleon's teeth white?" Josephine bent over laughing. "Well, he ate black licorice. He loved licorice. So he had "gray" teeth. He used salt and a twig to clean his teeth. And he rinsed with whiskey! Josephine became famous in 1969 as the Pearl Drop's Girl. She had black teeth and bad breath and a million dollar commercial deal. She will probably always prefer the waltz to the Twist, but Josephine gave us her best shot even though she thought she had a slim chance of landing a job in Hollywood. It's just a commercial but it's a start. "Now give us a great big smile, Josephine!"


(TW: Mentions of assault/violence and suicide) Stella sets up her booth like she does every Friday. Ballston Mall is always swarming with desperate characters: flirtatious teenagers, voracious salespeople, millennials trying to find acceptance with a side of discount pajamas. She gets her fair share of hate, sure. There's always a MAGA Hat Asshole that spits on the ground and calls her some terrible slur. She usually makes at least $500 though, and for a fortune teller that's basically the best one can do. "Hello? Do you take card?" It's a timid college student, obviously no cash. Probably still on her parent's credit card. Her shirt is on-trend and cheap. Her hair is straightened and prim, but her makeup is a mess. Lipstick on her teeth and smudged eyeliner. Hopefully the Macy's woman can help her out. Stella and her have lunch every Saturday; she's a sweetie, but intimidating. A genius with a brush though. "Yeah, we take card. CashApp is preferable though." "Oh, great! I have CashApp. Should I send you the money before or after?" Stella sighs. She hates when people ask that question. "Before, please." "Okay, I'll send it right now." There's an awkward pause as the woman sorts through her phone and *pings* the money over. Stella nods for her to sit down in the chair opposite hers. "Y'know, I don't normally do this type of thing. I was raised Catholic, so we were very skeptical. But my roommate is absolutely obsessed with tarot and crystals, so I thought she'd love it if I came here. She got it done once and it changed her life. Or so she said, at least. Actually, I don't know if it was here. Might've been a fair or something." She's rambling, which would normally annoy Stella, but there's something about it that's endearing. Like she genuinely believes Stella cares. A lot of people ramble to fortune tellers, but they just seem to talk because they can. This woman (who Stella is about 90% sure is named Grace) is talking because she wants to. And that makes Stella feel good. "Well, I'm glad. I'd ask for her name, but I probably wouldn't remember. Been working here a long time." "Oh, it's alright. So how does this work? Do I give you my hand or do you read cards? I have a rose quartz in my bag somewhere." 'That won't be necessary. Just tilt your head forward, Grace." Grace smiles with delight. "How'd you know that? My name, I mean?" Stella shrugs. "A hunch." Grace smiles smugly and leans forward a bit. "Well, you're right and wrong. My friends call me Grace, but my real name is Grayson." Stella decides she no longer likes Grace/Grayson. "Okay. Head tilt, please." Grace obeys, and Stella lays two cool fingers on her forehead. It's really oily; she'll send her to Macy's right after she's done. Immediately Stella sees a dirty wall. It's the kind of wall you couldn't usually tell was dirty unless you're standing an inch away, which Stella is. The wall gradually expands into four, and soon enough Stella and Grace are in a tiny apartment bedroom. Bare bones, but cute. Clean white bedsheets and some simple posters. A dresser full of discount clothes. "Why don't you tell me where we are?" Grace looks around bewildered. "We're, umm, we're in my room. This is my apartment." "I know that. I mean when was this?" "This? This was my dream last night." Stella tries not to look taken aback. It's rare a client selects a recent dream. Those are normally too personal, too raw. "You chose it, so we'll see what's in store." "Okay. It should start any minute now, I guess. I'm sorry, I didn't think this would work so...I don't know, viscerally. I thought you'd just..." "Make some generic shit up? Oh honey, read the sign." Right outside the booth, Stella has a sign up: PREPARE TO BE SHOCKED. It's half gimmick, but also half real. It's a truly shocking thing to relive a dream while awake. People never remember a dream start to finish, and seeing one play out in real time can be incredibly disturbing. She knows for a fact it's made at least seven people go insane. "Yeah, I, uh...I really wish I would've chosen a different one though. This one is pretty unusual for me, I think. I didn't think you'd be able to see details. Like watch it all play out." Stella knows Grace is lying. Obviously the dream is characteristic. Everybody has "special" dreams occasionally, but they don't reveal anything extraordinary. People always choose a typical one. They want to understand their pattern, what makes them tick. Or at least they think they do. "It's okay. I don't judge. I've seen it all." This is also true. Stella has seen it all. And once you've seen it all, judging doesn't just become pointless, it becomes boring. No one is truly special. That fact just becomes more apparent at night. Suddenly Dream Grace walks in wearing an evening gown. Actually, not just any evening gown: Kim Kardashian's Met Gala 2017 look. Strange, but probably not meaningful. Dream Grace is followed by a shorter, skinnier woman that Stella recognizes as her roommate. She is wearing an Adam-and-Eve look consisting of just leaves on the non-PG parts. That probably means something. Behind them both is a skinny, freakishly tall, faceless man wearing a clean-cut suit. He appears in a lot of people's dreams. Stella calls him Jack Frost. He's harmless, but certainly creepy, and the Real Grace's face goes white looking at him. Stella tries not to laugh. "Can they see us?" Real Grace looks so wan and sickly. Stella's seen worse reactions, but she still doesn't think Grace will last long here. It's not for the faint of heart. "No they can't. We're kind of like ghosts." Normally people ask questions after that, but Real Grace just leans against the wall and watches this distorted version of her life. Suddenly a booming noise echoes throughout the room, making Real Grace jump. "Let's play Twister." Jack Frost has a weird, modulated voice. Not typical, but not worth thinking about. He pulls a Twister board out of thin air and they begin to play on the bed. The dream is really boring for a while after that. They play about 9 rounds of Twister and Micheal Jackson starts playing in the background. Not a whole song, just that one clip from Smooth Criminal. Annie, are you okay? Won't you tell us? Are you okay? "This is so strange." Real Grace is watching the whole thing play out in rapture, even though all that's happened was Dream Grace dropping out of Twister when she fell trying to reach a blue circle. "All of this is perfectly normal." It's more than perfectly normal, actually. It's exceptionally boring. "Oh shit. This is the part I remember," Real Grace says as she buries her face in her hands and slumps against the wall. Suddenly a TV appears and they all start to watch a bunch of random clips from an assortment of shows. Jack Frost and Grace laugh every time without fail, but the best friend is creepily austere. She just stares lifelessly ahead. "Are you okay, Kate?" Dream Grace sounds fake concerned, almost like she's mocking the best friend. Wordlessly, Kate turns to Dream Grace and stares at her. Jack Frost hands her a knife he was apparently carrying. And Kate begins to stab Dream Grace violently, rapaciously, and soullessly. Stella looks down at Real Grace with mild concern. She has her hands over her mouth and her eyes wide. There are tears rolling down her cheeks noiselessly. Her brown hair is ruffled like she's been tousling it, and if her eyeliner was smeared before it's unfixable now. Stella was almost sure Real Grace would ask her to stop the dream now. She didn't seem like the type who could handle it. But there she stood, tears dripping down, watching herself die. She watches the blood splatter. She watches Kate laugh and wear the red like war paint. She watches Jack Frost play Twister with her lifeless body. She watches it all until she thinks she can't anymore. Then her eyes open again and she watches some more. Finally everything goes dark. Stella and Grace are back in the courtyard, though they never really left. Grace looks slightly better than she did in the dream, but her physical body cried as well so she still seems frazzled. Her trendy shirt is covered in eyeliner stains. There are a couple of people staring. Stella tries not to smile, but she knows that means new customers. Everybody loves a traumatic revelation. "So what do you think?" Grace sounds shockingly hopeful for someone who just watched her own murder. She wants a good interpretation. Her desperate energy radiates off of her and it makes Stella nauseous with disgust. "I think you are too hard on yourself. You compare yourself to people you see in the media, to your best friend. You're a jealous creature, and you need to let go of that. Reconnect with Kate. Stop making everything a competition. Also, whoever that dude you're dating is, dump him. He wants to come between you two." Grace nods like she knew it all along. She sniffles and wipes off her nose. After a quick glance around, she sees that some people are looking and begins to compose herself. "Wow. Thank you. Truly. That was amazing. I"ll tell everyone I know, I promise." Stella stands up out of her chair and motions that she can leave now, the session is over. And at the risk of laying it on, she shouts after Grace as she walks away: "And honey? You need to stop being so kind. Stand up for yourself. Stop being so giving. Take some time." The small crowd that gathered nods in approval, and Grace blushes and walks away standing taller. A nearby waitress claps and Stella resists the urge to punch her in the face. As a line forms in front of her booth, Stella puts up a 5 minute break sign. That familiar feeling of disgust and hatred is sinking in, and she needs to compose herself if she wants to make any money at all. Grace doesn't need to stop being so kind. It's dumb advice to anybody, even the most selfless person in the world. Everybody should be kinder, and everybody knows it. That's why they love to hear that no, they're too kind, that's their problem. They want to feel validated in their selfishness, and Stella gives them the stamp of approval. Stella finds comfort in the fact it wasn't all a lie, though. She definitely is jealous of her roommate and Kim Kardashian. However, her roommate is probably bad news, and the boyfriend trying to get between them was almost certainly a good thing. The advice to dump him was still relevant because Grace was obviously a repressed lesbian. She had her best friend wearing nothing but leaves, and she did grow up Catholic so it makes perfect sense. But Grace doesn't want to hear that she's a secret lesbian. She doesn't want to know she needs to be kinder. And she certainly does not want to know her jealousy is just thinly veiled attraction. So Stella doesn't tell her. Stella doesn't tell anybody the truth, even after doing this for 52 years because 53 years ago she did tell the truth and the man committed suicide not two minutes later. He jumped off one of the store balconies after Stella told him he was probably going to become a peeping-tom stalker later on in life, after he got bored of his wife like it was clear that he would. It was then that Stella realized people don't want to know what their id wants, no matter how much they claim to. And she wanted out of the job, wanted to become an accountant or something safe. But it was too late. Once you're sworn to the dreams, you can't leave. So Stella spends every day lying and letting the malicious people of the world continue to be cruel with a clean conscience. She composes herself and steps back to her desk, facing the line that has formed. She puts on a fake smile like she's learned to do so well. "Only card, please."


Today, I ate five times. The day was so boring, that eating five times is the only thing I could recollect doing. My days are never this boring usually; because I was always surrounded by my two idiotic friends, Dooby and Doo. Actually my mom nicknamed us this way; because together, we are known as Scooby, Dooby, Doo and we did the stupidest things with a lot of impenetrable unity. After being the victim of boredom for a long time, I Played Ludo online and that game planted a doubt in me. I didn't like that doubt. That doubt disappointed me of the fact that I thought in that way. So, I just quit both, the doubt and the game. The reason I was left alone today, is Jasmine. She is Dooby’s girlfriend. Despite having a girlfriend, Dooby was always with us. Not because he is one of those rare species who cared friends more than their girlfriends, but only because theirs was a long distance relationship. She lives in Vishakhapatnam, which is quite far from Hyderabad, but she somehow, due to some reason was going to be at Vijayawada, which is also quite far, but comparatively less. She was going to be there only for one day. Dooby, to meet his sweetheart, came up with a plan to rent a car, go to Vijayawada and be back at Hyderabad within a span of 15 hours. It takes 6 hours car drive to reach Vijayawada. The plan was too risky for our age, and our parents shouldn’t know about this at any cost. Initially, I was not at all interested in this plan. Not because it was risky, we’ve done twice as stupid as this (but never this risky for sure), I was not into it just because it was for Jasmine. She, to me always seemed like a threat to our friendship. Doo was stupid; he never actually analyzed or took the situations seriously until they burn our pants. He just lives in the moment, which is reasonable to some extent. They both convinced me and went to look out for rented cars that could fit in our budget. The day light almost faded away, and these guys were still in search. I was waiting for their call. I was not going to call anyway; I don’t want to catalyze the process; I still wanted some or the other thing to go wrong to ruin this plan. They finally came and showed their incapability in executing a plan. I was the one who used to set up things every time, as I had a very good contact list. Then they did the most obvious thing - pleading me. They really know how to convince me and they did it. I very reluctantly called Aamer, my super senior at college. We had some negotiations about the budget, I convinced him anyway. But the thing is, he is a very commercial guy. He helped someone, only if he finds the guy promisingly profitable. Next day, early morning 5 am. The three of us started on Doo's bike to Aamer's place. It was a particularly cold day. It was freezing and we hugged each other as if we were never going to meet again. I signed the document; I didn’t read it but I knew it was an assurance contract. We left Doo’s bike as an assurance. It was all properly documented, and we all felt like this guy was a bit overdoing things, after all it was just a 20-hour rent. I took the keys and was just going to start the car, suddenly Doo with his high pitched, over excited voice said "Guys!! We forgot something" Dooby and I looked at each other and began to extensively think for a few milliseconds, as Doo resumed, "Selfie guys!!" in a 'why are you not as excited as me' tone. I always get awkward while taking selfies. Like, how do you pose or smile! I never understood them. But Doo was an expert in selfies and also driving. We began this journey of love and for love, with a cup of tea and a cigarette. Those highways, at that time looked so heavenly. The sun just rose, and the light when hit the road was so pleasing to the eyes, everything it touched was gold. I was just slouching on the rear seat and was enjoying the scenery passing by. Those morning greens with dew on them, when hit by golden sunlight turned into pearls. As I was so busy analyzing and understanding the beauty, I realized Dooby and Doo in the front seats were crushing weed only after they threw the waste from the window. I was a bit worried and said to them "Guys, Do we need this now? Why should we take risk"; for which Doo replied, "Dude, chill. You know my skills and please enjoy the moment bro! Don't ruin this for god's sake with your daddy instincts." "Chill dude! Take this joint" said Dooby, passing the joint. I didn't refuse. I smoked half of it reluctantly and the other half shamelessly. That was such a beautiful vibe. I could hardly open my eyes. The forces of dark energy wanted to see me and they pulled my eyelids together. I was high. Really, really high; and also were Doody and Doo. The drive was so pleasant that, even the steady linear movements of the car began to reciprocate in my ears as an orchestra. I was lying in peace. All of a sudden there was a bang. I hit the front seat and fell down. I didn't know what happened. I was not able to process that whether something hit us or we hit something. Everything seemed to be in slow motion. I got up and looked back through the mirror, a car hit us. And when I looked in the front, we hit a car. The car in front of us hit a buffalo. He quickly drove away. We were still not able to process what was going on and whose fault it was. We were definitely not going to wait for the police. Doo just took off rapidly. All of this happened in the time gap of less than 5 seconds. We didn't stop, as we thought we were being chased by the car behind us. We were in that imaginary chase for at-least half an hour. We didn't know how bad the car was damaged, but everyone passing by glued their eyes to our car. "Guys, It must be really damaged. I think we've to stop and have a look at it" said Dooby. We didn't want to stop immediately beside the road so we took a detour to a village and stopped at a small shop. As soon as I looked at the car I knew that we screwed things a big time. I became insane. I was sweating with a terror in my eyes. Dooby and Doo were too tensed but they tried to calm me down first. They bought a cigarette and gave it to me. We three sat there on the rock beside the shop and were just staring at the car for an hour; and the curious villagers did not let our tension come down. "What do we do now?" I asked them; and with this one question, I lost the command over them. They both already decided to continue with the plan. Meet her, eat lunch and reach back to Hyderabad as soon as possible. We were only a few miles away from Vijayawada, so it not a bad plan; but the thing that's back on my mind, and making me restless was they both are not as serious as I was; and that's pissing me off. I was just hiding my panic behind that 'everything's okay' face, just because I didn't want to ruin their date. We met Jasmine, and she was not at all an evil girl, as I thought she would be. She was very nice to us. Most importantly, she understood the seriousness of the issue and started blaming herself. I said, "No Jasmine, it would have happened anyway, we always are into these kind of troubles, we manage it, don't worry", and thought that I took the situation under my control again. They had their goodbye kiss, which made our hero turn into pink. Then,we got into our severely dented, badly sandwiched car, and started to discuss about how to handle the situation. Dooby said that these rental cars definitely have insurance, so no worries. The way he said made my heart a little lite. We called Aamer and told him that it was hit. He calmly asked me to send the pictures. I sent them. He called and said to come as soon as possible and we'll talk the things out. The way he said, was so polite and calm, which made me even more relaxed. By the time we reached Hyderabad it was 11 pm. We went to him. He examined extensively and all the four of us drove to a mechanic he knows. The mechanic took a look and said, "70,000 rupees minimum, these dents, the bonnet, the air conditioning, lights and many things are damaged." Our hearts collapsed. 70 thousand rupees was a really big amount, we definitely couldn't arrange that amount. Aamer also knows this. He just said "Pay the amount and take the bike, until then don't come to me." He said it as calmly as he spoke us on the phone. That's when I understood that being soft can also be a powerful command. We didn't know how to manage money. Doo said, "Dude, I'll manage 10-15 thousand." , and for that he has to go to his Dad's place. He lives with mother and their parents are divorced. He has seen many tragic incidents, and maybe that’s the reason nothing hit him hard. On the other-side, Dooby was talking like he was just not part of this incident. He was saying that he can't arrange any money and was going to his village as his grandmother was ill. At that moment, I just wanted to slap him on the face. Never did ever we have an issue with or for money until then, and I think that's why we never really didn't know who our friends really are. I knew him from childhood, I knew him only the way he wanted to show himself. The doubt that Ludo planted in me showed itself comes into reality in less than a couple of days. 'If it’s for you to be safe, you never care about any others more than you’. Doo had no choice, he had his bike on stake and otherwise I don't think he also would have stayed. Most people always find detours to escape in hard times, leaving alone those who are with them. All these thoughts, which made me feel bad about myself a couple of days earlier, now made sense. Man is that kind of animal which survives in clans, but hunts for itself. Maybe, I would also be really mean if I had not signed those documents; who knows? After a month, I and Doo cleared the amount. I took loans from student loan apps, and Doo stole it from his Dad's thick pocket day by day. I, also had to give away my savings, which I was saving to gift myself a guitar. Vinay disappeared for a couple of weeks. Even after he came back, he didn't meet us as he used to do. Don't know whether it was guilt or whatever, he was dodging us. We were not even caring about him; and honestly, even if I was with Tharun, I stopped caring about him too. The hug we shared on the bike that day was really the last hug of ours and I'm glad that, the last hug seemed really like a last one.