It had taken everything else from him. His feelings began to fade in August of the previous year. Tiredness bled into torpor, torpor bled into apathy, apathy made him seek help that wasn’t helping. He was leaking. It had taken his wife from him. She left in March of this year. She couldn’t deal with the lack of emotion and energy that her husband used to be full of. He was running on fumes. It had taken his friends from him. He couldn’t deal with them anymore. Being around people so full of life began to take its toll on him. He gave them up shortly before his wife left him. He was empty. It had taken his career from him. He didn’t have the energy to show up anymore. He didn’t have anything left. Depression had taken a vibrant life and drained it of everything that had made it worthwhile. He was good as dead. At this point, it was only a formality that it should be the death of him. And since it couldn’t kill him in the literal sense of the word, he would have to do that himself. He’d been contemplating it for the past few months now. The question now was not a matter of do or do not, but the execution of it, ironically enough. He didn’t trust himself enough with knots to hang himself. He hadn’t the drive to go purchase a gun. Poison was too cliché. He couldn’t cut himself, he hated blood. He would jump, but he couldn’t stand heights. A train would do it, though. The thundering of steel at high noon, the shrill shriek of the steam horn, the raw power of ungodly machine, it all seemed morbidly attractive. He would have described it as a type of romantic if he had the feelings to find the words. He had found his end. And so it was settled: he would sacrifice the last of himself to the condition that had taken the rest of him. He put on his Sunday best for his final hurrah. When they found his body he wanted it to look good. At least, that’s what the real him would have wanted. If he could have watched himself, would the real him have been happy, though? Two years ago, the real him never would have imagined that he would go down like this, a prisoner of his own life, a victim of his own mind. If he was really going to do this, he had to stop thinking like that. Conviction was what he needed of himself right now. He was going to pull the trigger. The rails were surprisingly cold for early September. The trees on either side of the tracks had just begun to shed their leafy vestiges in a snow of orange and red. Perhaps it was appropriate that the forest around him was accompanying him in his demise. As they slowly died, so would he. In the spring, they would come back. What had really brought him so low? In the days before his demise, he would have said that he began to feel numb in August of last year. In the hours before his demise, he wasn’t so sure. Had he always been this cold on the inside? His life wasn’t flashing before his eyes like in the overly dramatized stories he liked to read. It melted before his eyes. His first memory of youth was inseparable from his memory of last night’s dinner. The first sign of the incoming train was the buzz he felt on his head. A light vibration that might have been pleasant if he remembered what pleasant was. The light vibration slowly and methodically became an incessant rattle. His heart fluttered with the frequency of pulsating rails. If he remembered what to call it, he would have recognized this feeling as anxiety. His stomach churned like the bouncing gravel under the tracks. His thoughts were brought to a rolling boil as his blood pressure shot through the roof. He was nervous. What came after the train hit him? He didn’t let himself believe in a god. Would it be blackness? Would it be peaceful? Painful? Immediate? Eternal? He lacked the answers to the questions he had; this wasn’t the best location to ponder life’s mysteries. Or was it? He hadn’t felt this alive in his whole life. His whole body was quaking with an unnatural tension that frightened him. How could he let himself die when he felt so far from death? He had doubts. Was this actually what he wanted to do? The rattle from moments before became a thunder in less time than he would have liked. The train was fast approaching and he was frozen in place, his head stuck to the frigid rails, cold sweat pouring from his burning being as his death charged down upon him. Something from within him screamed. He was afraid. He was scared to die. A last thought before impact, a deathbed confession to eternity: He didn’t want to die.


“What!” she screamed, pushing back her chair, causing it topple with the momentum. “How can you even say that? Get rid of i t ? It’s not a piece of furniture, Silvio!” Jen couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. The man standing before her suddenly seemed like a stranger. “How could you even think I would want this?” he snapped back. “This was supposed to be our treasure!” she yelled back, incredulously. “It would add to our beautiful life and make us.....whole.” Her flustered mind was trying to clutch at straws of reasoning but was drawing a blank. Silvio paced across the room, his eyes burning with rage. Jen couldn’t believe this was happening. Her life was falling apart. Just that morning, she’d bounced all over the doctor’s room in excitement when she’d heard the news. His outburst was completely unsettling. She watched his face, expectantly, trying to calm herself down. “Jen, tell me this isn’t serious,” he said, a steely edge in his voice. “I thought you were on the pill.” She saw the accusation in his eyes. “... I am serious...I don’t know what happened.” She walked over to his side and took his hand in hers. She wasn’t sure why he was reacting this way. He let go of her hand and took a step back. “I can’t ...I don’t want a baby,” he formed the words decisively. She felt like the breath had been knocked out of her. “Honey, we’re married now. Why wouldn’t you want kids?” she asked, as if breaking things down would make it easier to discuss. “I’ve never wanted kids,” he snapped, “How could you think I wanted this?” “You never told me!” She was yelling again. With every word he uttered, she felt the fragile fabric of their lives crack. She didn’t know how many more cracks it could take. “You never asked!” Jen was shocked at his tone. Running her hand through her auburn hair, she took a deep breath, walked back to the abandoned dining table and forced herself to sit. In a placating voice, she murmured, “How about we finish dinner and talk about this later?” She was trying to be the bigger person. She looked at him, the dim light from the street throwing shadows across his kind face which suddenly seemed unfamiliar to her. This was the man she’d fallen in love with. Six years! Her best friend since college and now her life partner. How did this fissure even happen? “No! There is nothing to talk about. I will not have kids...ever!” His ominous response to her olive branch left her speechless. He grabbed his jacket from the couch and headed for the door. “Silvio, wait!” Jen pleaded before he could leave. “I just.... I can’t be here right now,” he called over his shoulder. As the door slammed, Jen felt her perfect life come crashing down. She stood there, staring helplessly at the retreating back of the man who suddenly seemed like a stranger to her. Unsure how long she’d been standing there, she snapped out of her reverie and looked outside. The street was empty. A villainous stray cat ambled towards the trash can in the yard, but Jen didn’t have the energy to chase it away. The argument had drained her - physically and emotionally- and she was no closer to solving the issue. She didn’t know what this incident meant. Or how they would move on from it. Pulling herself together, she headed for a hot shower hoping it would shake off the numbness that had gripped her. Once done, she came out and looked at the antique clock her grandmother had gifted them for their engagement. It was midnight. She moved to the window and peered outside, still nobody in sight. Changing into her nightgown, she walked to her bed and lay down. Sleep eluded her. She tossed and turned, memories of the evening burning through her mind. What had just happened? Where had it all gone wrong? She remembered standing in the kitchen, excited as she’d waited for Silvio to return. It was all she could do to keep from calling him the moment she’d got the news knowing he was in a meeting. She’d heard the key turn in the front door. Silvio had walked towards her and wrapped his arms around her waist, his lips finding their way to her neck causing waves of pleasure to roll down her spine. “Mmm.....how do you still do this to me?” she’d asked, half-jokingly, turning into his arms and moving in for a kiss. “You mean you thought the romance would die after 8 months of marriage?” he’d asked, feigning surprise. She remembered him teasing her as he’d nuzzled her neck, his arms holding her tight. She’d laughed. It had been 8 months already! To her, it still seemed like the first time they’d met six years ago. Silvio had convinced a classmate to drop out of Jen’s dissertation group so that he could work with her, and do a lot more than work, whenever time permitted. Even now, the effort he’d put in made her smile, a warm fuzzy feeling spreading in her stomach. She sighed. Life had been a whirlwind since then. They’d spent days together, balancing studies and later work, but always finding time to roll back into each other’s arms at the end of the night. A habit that hadn’t changed one bit .... until today , she thought despondently. They had then sat down to eat. She’d grabbed a bottle of wine, it was something they always took recourse to, either to celebrate major wins or to drown out excruciatingly disappointing days. It was the one item they religiously replenished. “You read my mind,” Silvio had said, smiling tiredly, as she poured the wine. “The meeting didn’t go as planned,” he’d continued, digging into the lasagna. “They said the pitch needed work and that they are currently unable to provide any increments due to the pandemic.” His disappointment was apparent. “I’m sorry,” Jen had whispered, knowing how much he’d been looking forward to the promotion. They’d been discussing buying a house of their own soon and he was working really hard to move up the ladder so they could do that. “But I’ve got news that will make you feel better,” she’d said, taking his hand across the table. Till then, things had been fine, she realised. He’d looked at her, catching the excitement in her voice and laughed. “I don’t know how you do it but you always have a way of brightening the bad days,” he’d murmured affectionately, planting a light kiss on her cheek. Jen had drawn in a deep breath and with excitement pumping through her, she’d blurted, “We’re pregnant!” That’s when everything began to go downhill. She felt a lump rise in her throat now. Could he really not want a baby? The sound of footsteps on the pavement outside dragged her away from her thoughts. It was him! She recognised that easy-going gait anywhere. He walked in. Jen remained in bed, unmoving. Silvio stood silently at the doorway his shadow reflecting his every move. A slight hesitation in his step, he entered the room, picked up a blanket lying on the bed and left. Jen strained her ears to catch his movements. She heard him walk into the adjacent guest room. The bed creaked as he got into it. She let out her breath. Her stomach was knotted to the point of being painful. He’d not even said goodnight ! Sitting up in bed, she tried to gather her thoughts. She walked out into the living room, grabbed a glass of water to calm her jittery nerves and moved to the guest room. Silvio sat at the writing desk, his head in his hands. The sheets on the bed lay ruffled. She realised he couldn’t sleep either. This thought brought her some comfort. “Hey,” she said, quietly. “Hey,” he replied, unmoving. She walked over to his desk and took his face in her hands. “I’m sorry about earlier,” she apologised, pleading, looking for some sign of a truce. His blank gaze disconcerted her. “I know,” he said, “that went out of hand,” he mumbled. “Could we... maybe...?” she ventured, not sure how to broach the subject. “Listen Jen,” he said, finally looking up. She saw the pain that lay behind his eyes. He moved his hand and wrapped it round her waist, pulling her onto his lap. “I won’t change my stand on kids...” he started. The finality in his voice was like a slap to her face. She got up in surprise. “No! Please, listen.” He begged, pulling her close again. She relented. “I did not have a great childhood, Jen,” he began, sighing. This was harder than he’d expected. “Dad left at an early age and I don’t know what he was like. Maybe he was bad, maybe mom drove him away.” He looked straight at her. “All I had was my mom.” “I know,” Jen whispered, aware that his mom had been his only support till he turned fifteen and decided to make a life for himself. “My mom abused me, Jen, every single day,” he revealed, tears stinging his eyes. “She’d come home drunk most nights....and yell if the day hadn’t been good.” His voice had begun to choke. “She’d first hit me but not where you’d notice. She’d make me drop my pants and...use a belt.” Jen gasped. Why hadn’t he told her any of this before? She didn’t know how to respond. Now the tears were silently pouring down his cheeks. “But that’s not even the worst part.” “Silvio, I didn’t know,” she whispered, pulling him close. “But...” “The worst part,” he interrupted, “was what came after. Every time she hit me, she’d do it until I cried but once I did, she’d feel bad and would begin to ....to make it up. She’d start fondling me, pull me to her room and abuse me...sexually,” he whispered, his voice breaking at the last word. Jen’s eyes widened. This was a revelation she had not expected. “Oh Silvio..” she cried, tears stinging her own eyes as she buried her face in his. “Why didn’t you leave?” “Where could I go?” he asked crassly. “I had no dad, we were in a locality away from any of dad’s family. All I had was her.” He brushed the tears off his face with the back of his hand. The room had turned dark as the moon slipped behind the clouds. The darkness and the revelation added an eeriness to the whole thing. Jen waited for it all to sink in. She took a deep breath and plunged ahead, knowing it was now or never. “Babe, I didn’t know any of this and I’m sorry,” she said, looking straight into his eyes. “But you are not your mom or your dad. You will be a great father. I know it,” she said encouragingly, running a hand through his hair. He stood abruptly, almost throwing her off. She felt the hostility that exuded from him. “Do you not understand what I just said?” he yelled, a maniacal edge to his voice. His calm demeanour had disappeared. “I do...but.” “No buts!” I am not going to bring a child into this world. You need to get rid of it. I will not tolerate this bullshit anymore,” he roared, slamming his fist on the table. Before she knew what was happening, Jen raised her hand and hit him across the face. They both stood stunned. “I will not ‘get rid’ of our baby, Silvio,” Jen said, in a quiet voice. “You don’t understand....it was...horrible...,” he cried, almost begging, his anger swerving to desperation. “Oh baby, I know,” she interrupted, moving towards him. He looked helpless. Shattered. She held him tight in her arms, his body shuddering as the sobs erupted. She placed gentle kisses all over his face trying to wipe away his tears. “Baby, I’m here,” she cooed softly, realising how traumatizing his childhood must’ve been. She decided their discussion could wait another day. She held him close, kissing him soothingly on the lips as her fingers ran through his hair. As his sobs subsided, he started kissing her back, a desperate fervour in his actions. He slowly took her clothes off, carrying her into the bedroom as she held him tight, wanting him to know that she was there. As they climaxed and the tears subsided, she wrapped her arms around him and drifted off. The last words she heard before her exhausted mind gave in was Silvio whispering, “I love you, Jen. I’ll always love you.” A contented smile on her lips, she dozed off knowing everything would be alright. The next morning, Jen arose feeling much better. The sense of gloom and foreboding that had haunted her the previous night had lifted. She turned in bed and saw the empty sheets. She decided to get up and see how her husband was doing before catching a few more minutes of rest. She walked into the living room. He wasn’t there. “Honey,” she called, too sleepy to check every room. The silence struck her as odd. She walked into the kitchen. The coffee hadn’t been heated yet. She moved to the balcony. It was empty. A slight panic began at the back of her mind but she pushed it away. Her steps became frantic. She moved to the last room - the guest room. The crumpled sheets lay there just like yesterday. She noticed Silvio’s jacket and shoes were gone. Jen stood trembling, knowing intuitively that something was wrong. Had he gone out to grab something? Had something happened? She took in the empty room, an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. She slowly walked to the tabletop and ran her hand over its surface, the memories of last night coming back to her. Him, sitting there, head in his hands as she slithered towards him, an apology playing in her head. Then it had spiralled and now here she was, his scent, their scent all over the room, heated memories tucked into every corner - it was all that remained. She dropped into the rosewood chair. It had been a recent splurge during an impromptu shopping spree they’d gone on two weeks ago. Her eyes settled on a small piece of paper tucked beneath a picture of them on the table. The five words scribbled there hit her with the force of a blow. I can’t do this anymore . Clutching the piece of paper to her chest, she let the sobs take over.


The year; 66 Million B.C. September 23rd. Just after lunch, central standard time. Three Neanderthals- Ogg, Grunk, and Louie were hunting mammoths and discussing the new sport that was taking the caves by storm. Ogg was filling the other two in on the details of the game, as they did not have DVR at the time, and in those days, most folks didn't know how to set their VCRs to record at a specific time. Ogg - "...so Nuknuk snap the egg and pass to Krodd. Krodd make break for endzone, but great winged monster come down from sky and carry him away, and him drop it before he can score." Grunk - "Mmm. What happen, then?" Ogg - "What mean? He fumble. It turnover." Louie, known to be sort of the tribe grump, was thoroughly unimpressed with the game Ogg described. Louie - "Hmm. Sound stupid. That never catch o- *AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH^HHHHHHHHHHH^^HHHHHHHHHHHH^^^HHHHHHH^^^^HHHHHHHHH^^^^^HHHHHHHH..!*" *[Thud]* Ogg and Grunk turned around and realized that Louie had simply vanished into thin air. Grunk - "Hey, where he go?" Ogg rolled his eyes. Ogg - "Typical. Him owe me five rocks. Now him nowhere to be found." Grunk peered down into the gorge next to where they had been walking. Grunk - "Nah. Me found him. Louie down there." He gestured towards the bottom of the ravine, where Louie's crumpled, mangled corpse lay, silent and motionless on the jagged rocks below. Ogg - "Oh. Him okay?" Grunk threw a large stone down towards the body, which caved-in what was left of Louie's skull. He did not appear responsive. Grunk - "Hmm... Me not think so. Him having blood, like woman." Ogg grunted in dissaproval. Ogg - "That sexist, Grunk." Grunk rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. Grunk - "Sorry, that my father talking. How hell Louie down there, when he just up here second ago?" For several minutes, Ogg, deep in thought, stroked his beard- which had long ago coalesced into a single matted, casteroides tail-like dreadlock. There was an audible dial-up noise as he attempted to piece together the facts of this most perplexing mystery. Suddenly, he had an epiphany: Ogg - "Eureka! Me have theory." His curiosity piqued, Grunk inquired; Grunk - "What theory?" Ogg continued; Ogg - "Bear with Ogg on this- Big rock under feet very big, right?" Grunk considered this for a moment. The big rock they lived on was indeed quite large. Grunk - "Me suppose so. What point?" Ogg did his best to articulate his new, ground-breaking notion: Ogg - "Okay: Suppose big rock have great mass. Much bigger than Louie. Since big rock have big mass, it somehow attract objects with small mass through sort of physical force, make objects go down, like when sky cries, and *voilà*- Now Louie down *there*." Grunk furrowed his monobrow, though it was obscured by his bulbous, super-Saiyan 3-like forehead. Grunk - "Hmm... That novel concept, but you not follow scientific method, so is not *really* theory, technically speaking." Ogg scoffed, indignant at this preposterous accusation. How dare Grunk, *a college drop-out*, call his flawless methodology into question? Ogg - "What you *mean* me not follow scientific method?" Grunk elaborated: Grunk - "Well... To have theory, must peform experiments. Take measurements. Record and analyze data to reach conclusion. *Then* it theory. What you have *hypothesis*." Ogg stared blankly at Grunk for several moments. His eyes narrowed. Then, without any warning at all, Ogg whacked Grunk in the back with his club, knocking him into the canyon to meet with his terrible doom. Grunk - "AAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIEEEEEEEEEE! OGG YOU BUTTHOOOOOOOOO^OOOOOOOO^^OOOOO^^^OOOOOOOO^^^^OOOOOOOOO^^^^^OOOOOOOLE..! " *[Thud]* Ogg peered downward into the chasm and grunted once more. Ogg - "Hmm. **Now** it theory... *Bitch.


**Year: 1929** I was coming inside my home after a long day’s work at the port office, when I heard something from inside my kitchen. I quickly reached into my purse and drew my FN Model 1910 semi automatic pistol. And then, out of nowhere, this creature that looked and smelled like an undead human came stumbling towards me. I fired at its torso, but my shots appeared to be doing nothing. The strange man-like creature kept coming towards me, and it looked hungry. But then, right as I thought I was going to die, someone or something dropped down from my ceiling, and landed on top of the walking corpse. It pulled the corpse’s head off its shoulders, and then threw it against the wall. Then, it started smelling the air. “Who are you?” I asked, but it didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to shoot it or not; it just saved my life, but I had no idea what it was or what it wanted. I turned on a light, and what I saw shocked me. It looked kind of like a man, but its skin was pale as snow, and it had almost dog-like fangs protruding from its mouth. It turned to face me as it continued sniffing the air, and once I got a look at his face, I recognized him. “Charles.” I said. Moments later, Charles transformed into a bat and flew out of my window. I watched it leave, and it flew onto the arm of someone else I knew; Reverend Hayes. The bat landed on Revered Hayes’s arm, and together, the Reverend started walking away. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ The most surprising part of the whole incident wasn't that a vampire was in my house; it was that I recognized him. My younger brother Charles went blind and deaf as an infant due to a bad fever. Once he was like, two years old, my parents decided that he was too much work, and sent him to be taken care of by nuns at a children's asylum, and we never saw him again. Five years later, we found out he had died in a fire. That was all fifteen years ago, and I had long come to terms with my brother's passing. I never forgave my parents for giving up on him, but I had accepted what happened. Until that night. \_\_\_\_\_ The next day, I went to the church. The door was closed, but I started banging on the doors. "Welcome." Reverend Hayes said as he opened the door. I could tell he was coming even before he spoke; his cologne was as strong as ever. We often joked that we could smell him from all the way around the block. "Susan, it's so good to see you here again, I don't think you've attended service since..." "Where's Charles?" I asked. "I'm sorry?" "My brother, Charles." I said. "I know he was in my house last night, and I know you carried him off." For just a moment, just a very brief moment, there was a look of surprise on his face. But he quickly went back to normal. "I'm sorry Susan, but you must be mistaken. Your brother died in a fire years ago. I officiated his funeral myself." "You're lying!" I said. "You know where he is and what he's become, I know it." "I'm sorry, but I truly don't. If you'd like to discuss your grief, I'm happy to walk you through some Biblical passages on dealing with loss. But otherwise, I'm afraid I have a sermon to prepare." \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ I knew he was lying to me, so that night, I snuck into the church. I broke in my prying open the backdoor. Then, I made my way to the top. “WHO’S THERE?” Reverend Hayes screamed, but I didn’t let him stop me, I kept pressing on. I could hear Revered Hayes coming down the stairs, along with someone else. I looked up to see that he was escorting my brother. My brother sniffed the air, and then came running towards me. He stopped when the Reverend tapped the floor three times. “Charles!” I said as I shed a tear. I went to give him a hug, but Reverend Hayes motioned for me to stop. “He doesn’t recognize you.” He said. Then, he held Charles’s hand and appeared to rub his fingers across his palm. “This is how we communicate.” Reverend Hayes explained. “It’s called tactile sign language. I’m telling him that you’re his sister.” “What’s he doing here?” I asked. “And how’d he end up like this?” “I might as well put on a pot of tea.” Reverend Hayes said. “This is going to take a while.” \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ “There was no fire at the asylum.” He said. “My organization made that up to cover what really happened. The truth is that on that night, a vampire broke in and committed a massacre; killed eight children and drank their blood before we stopped it. Only one of its victims survived; Charles, your younger brother.” “He’s still deafblind, but when the vampire virus took over his system, his other senses sharpened greatly. His sense of smell makes a bloodhound’s look weak by comparison; we know because we’ve tested him against bloodhounds, and he won every time.” “We didn’t make him work for us. We gave him the chance to simply be transferred to one of our safe houses, a place where he’d have fit in nicely. But he chose to become one of us, and aid us in our mission.” “I’m sorry, ‘us?’” I asked. “Who’s ‘us?’” “A secret organization known as the Protectors of Humanity.” He said. “Ever since the Middle Ages, we’ve been working behind the scenes, protecting the world from the paranormal. We’ve stopped everything from vampires like Dracula and Carmilla, to mad scientists like Dr. Frankenstein, Dr. Jekyll, and The Invisible Man.” “But, those are all fictional?” I asked. Reverend Hayes laughed. “Not as fictional as you might believe. Those authors borrowed a lot more from our adventures than you’d like to believe.” “Anyway, this church has been a front for the Savannah branch of the Protectors of Humanity for over a hundred years. Most people don’t realize it, but under the surface, this city is crawling with supernatural threats, including a recent series of zombie attacks. You know, like the one you almost died in last night.” “We don’t know who is responsible for these attacks, or what their motive is. Our only advantage is his sense of smell; if there’s a single zombie in all of Savannah, he can track it down.” And then, we heard the whistle of his tea kettle. "Tea's ready." He said. "You take anything with it? Sugar? Honey? Milk?" \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ We continued talking until Charles started sniffing the air and pounding his feet on the ground. "Something's wrong!" Reverend Hayes exclaimed. "There must be a zombie." “What are we going to do?” I asked. “I’m sorry, we?” Reverend Hayes asked. “Charles and I are going to resolve this.” He explained as he reached into a cabinet to grab a sawed off shotgun and two knives. “You are going home.” He continued. I stood up and said “No. I haven’t seen my brother in fifteen years, and I’m not leaving him now.” Charles was getting more agitated, so the minister quickly realized that he didn’t have time to argue with me. “Fine, you can tag along.” He said. “But you will not engage with any zombies we find. You will stay back and allow Charles & me to handle them. Understood?” “Yes, understood.” “Good, now get your shoes on.” Charles transformed into a bat and held onto the Reverend’s arm. Together, the three of us walked in the direction he was pointing with his wings. Ultimately, we knew we were close when we heard a woman scream. The Reverend tapped Charles's wing, which made Charles take flight and fly in the direction of the scream. “STAY HERE! Reverend Hayes ordered me, and I remained on the sidewalk while he followed Charles towards the house that contained a zombie. While I was waiting for them, I felt something on my leg. I looked down to see a python crawling onto me. Before I could even start fighting it, it had wrapped itself around me and had started to squeeze. Moments later, a carriage pulled up beside me. “Good evening, ma’am.” A man said from inside. “No worries, Emmauel will not kill you. Only make you, how you say, fall asleep.” He then picked me up and loaded me into the back of his carriage. “HEY, STOP!” Revered Hayes shouted as he started firing at the carriage, but it was too little too late. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ I woke up with my legs chained tightly to a chair. To my surprise my arms were free, and I was in front of a table with a full set of silverware, and even a glass of wine. It was a small room; just a dining room table, two chairs, and a window; a window whose blinds were all the way down, preventing me from seeing anything outside. My kidnapper was sitting on the opposite end of the table. “I hope you’re hungry.” He said. “My chef should be ready with the fried catfish in just a few minutes.” “Who are you?” I asked. “Heavens, where are my manners?” The sharply dressed stranger said. “I’ve gone by many names over the past century. I currently go by Papa Brown.” “Papa?” I asked. “Bit of an unusual suffix.” “Not for a voodoo priest.” He said. Moments later, a zombie emerged from another room, carrying a tray with two plates of food. “Excellent.” He said as he started eating. “Go on, eat.” I had no intention of eating my catfish. The smell of his chef alone spoiled any appetite I may have had; but even if he smelled right, I was certainly not going to eat anything prepared by a corpse. “You might as well have some.” Papa Brown said after taking a sip of wine. “It might be your last meal.” Hearing him say that made my heart sink. “What do you mean?” “I mean, after I have no use for you, I’ll probably just feed you to my horde.” The stranger said. “Only reason I kidnapped you is because I want information on the vampire who keeps foiling my plots, and the man who always accompanies him.” “I don’t know anything.” I said. “I just happened to run into them in the street, thought I’d watch them.” “Really?” He asked. “So it’s just a coincidence that a day after one of my zombies almost kills you, you’re at the scene of my next random attack.” “Yes.” I said. “I know it’s unbelievable, but strange things happen.” “I think that’s nonsense.” He said. He then stepped aside to take the blinds out of a window. Even in the dim light, I could see a whole horde of zombies, at least twenty of them or so. “Beautiful, aren’t they?” Papa Bown asked. “And these are just my personal guard. I have more stashed in other places outside of the city.” “That must be why Charles hasn’t found him.” I said to myself. Reverend Hayes said he can only smell zombies within the city; he said nothing about the surrounding areas. “I’ve spent years planning to takeover Savannah.” He continued. “The attacks, like the one that almost killed you, are simply my trial runs. Soon, I will have this whole city under my control.” “And right now, the only thing standing in the way of that is a vampire and an old man.” Just then, I felt a snake slither up my leg and wrap itself around my torso. “Emmanuel doesn’t have to make this quick.” Papa Brown said. “He can make this last as long as he has to. Believe me ma’am, we are literally squeezin’ everything we need out of you, and no matter how long it takes.” I was so scared that for a brief moment, I was almost tempted to tell him what he wanted to know. But then, moments before I might have caved and given him the information he wanted, there was a loud crashing sound coming from the ceiling. “Emmanuel, come.” he said as his skeletal serpent slithered back to him. He turned on a lightswitch, and I saw my brother fall to the floor. “The vampire appears to have found us.” Papa Brown said. “No matter, he should be no match for my horde.” He was wrong. Two zombies stumbled towards Charles; Charles started sniffing the air, and once he had a clear sense of where the zombies were, he struck. He raised his hand and slapped a zombie’s head right off its shoulders. The other zombie tried to grab onto him, but Charles kicked it away. Moments later, Reverend Hayse barged in with a Thompson submachine gun. The moment he ran in, he started opening fire on the zombies, hitting their heads with surprising accuracy. He ran up to Charles, and used their tactical sign language to say something to him. I obviously couldn’t tell what it was, but it appeared to be something along the lines of “I’ll finish off the zombies, save Susan,” because after sniffing the air one more time, Charles started running in my direction. He burst through the window, landing on the ground in front of me. Meanwhile, I took advantage of the commotion to take the steak knife off my table and start breaking at my ties. “Leave, or you will die!” Papa Brown shouted. I was tempted to tell him that Charles was deaf, but I figured that he’d catch on soon enough. “Emmanuel, attack!” He ordered. His snake launched itself at Charles, latching onto his arm and trying to get to his torso. But Charles simply grabbed it, pulled it off of him, and then pulled it in half. “Ma’am, hold my coat.” He said as he took off his jacket and threw it towards me. I simply tossed it on the ground and continued sawing at my ropes, but I don’t think he even noticed. Only then, once his jacket was off, did I see that he was also a zombie. He had rotting flesh, some even to the point where bones were sticking out of him. Nonetheless, he looked ready to fight. “He seems to rely on his sense of smell.” Papa Brown said. “Let’s take that out of the equation.” He then waved his arms, and all of a sudden, the room started filling with thick fog that smelled like rotting corpses. “There, that should keep him distracted.” He then approached Charles, who had no way of knowing where he was coming from. Papa Brown then pulled a vial of water out of his pocket, uncorked it, and threw it towards Charles, who immediately started to burn. “Holy water.” He said. “I’m never without it. If only I had more, so I could finish you off. Guess I’m gonna have to do this the old fashioned way.” He then grabbed Charles and threw him against a wall. Charles tried to fight back, but there wasn’t much he could do about an enemy he could barely even sense. Once he had him against a wall, he started to beat him. Charles continued to throw out strikes of his own, but Papa Brown was blocking all of his strikes. He didn’t stop until Charles was virtually immobilized from his injuries. When he was reasonably sure that Charles couldn’t do much to fight back anymore, he went over to his cabinet, and pulled out a wooden stake. “Goodnight, vampire.” I then finally burst free from my ropes and charged into action. I ran at him with my knife, and before he could even react, I had already stabbed him in the back and pushed him down. What happened next was nothing short of incredible. Charles appeared to feel the vibration of his fall on the ground, and finally had a sense of where he was. Once he had a lock on him, he jumped forward, landing right in front of Papa Brown. Papa Brown tried to repel him with magic, but Charles fought back, and was able to grab ahold of him. One his hand was wrapped tightly around Papa Brown’s neck, he simply pulled it off, and threw it against the wall. Moments later, Reverend Hayes burst into the room. He was covered in blood and brain bits, but he didn’t care. The first thing he said was “Are you two alright?” “I am.” I said. “Charles looks hurt though.” Reverend Hayes took a look at his injuries and said “Nothing a few nights of rest can’t heal. Surprisingly, this isn’t even close to the worst he’s been through.” \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Reverend Hayes drove me home. I told him I was fine, but he insisted. As we approached my house, he had a conversation with me that changed my life. “Susan, I want to offer you a place within our organization.” Reverend Hayes said. “Are you serious?” I asked. “Yes, I am.” He explained. “You showed real strength back there, when you saved Charles. We need people like you working with us.” “I’m not going to lie to you, it will be difficult.” He continued. “I will personally facilitate your training, and I can guarantee you right now that I will go out of my way to push you to your limits. I’ll understand if you don’t want to do it, but if you’d like, I’ll gladly make you a Protector.” I said “Sir, there’s nothing I’d like more than to join you and Charles in protecting this city.” “That’s what I was hoping to hear.” He replied. “Now, unless you have any plans today, I suggest we begin your training.


“Playing God has its consequences,” Nina said to Maggie. They were sitting at the kitchen table. “Name one.” “I’m not having this argument with you.” Maggie got up and went towards the refrigerator. “Told you,” she said. “I win.” “Me not wanting to go into an existential argument with you is not the same as you winning...” “Of course not... I’m out of soda... I think I have some in the garage. Do you want any?” Nina nodded. “Coke please.” Maggie went into the garage and after stepping over the massive amounts of clutter piled up, grabbed the soda and returned to the kitchen. To her surprise, a middle aged woman and her two children were sitting at the table eating soup. “Hello... Who are you? Where is Nina?” The woman looked up at Maggie confused. “Nina? Who is Nina? Do you not remember letting us in? It’s pouring rain outside and we had no place to stay.” “How is it pouring rain? I was outside not twenty minutes ago and it was bright and sunny.” “Momma what is she talking about?” one of the little girls said. “I don’t know baby. Just eat your soup...” “But I don’t like potatoes,” the other one said. “You don’t have to like it to eat it. It’s gunna make you big and strong,” the mother said. “Who made you soup?” Maggie asked. “What are you playing at? You are scaring my children.” “Woman. Listen. I’m sorry you don’t have a place to stay, but you can’t stay here.” “Momma...” “Go outside babies. I’ll call you back in soon.” The two children ran out the front door. “I don’t know who you are and why you are here? Where is Nina? Who let you in? And where the hell did you get soup from?” “You must have the memory of a mayfly. I came to your door soaking wet. You rushed me inside and handed me and the girls towels to dry off,” the woman said. She pointed to the couch behind her, where there were indeed three towels. “You were home alone. There was no one named Nina here. Then you asked us if we were hungry, so you made us soup. You left the rest of the soup on the stove. It’s obvious we are no longer welcome, so if you don’t mind, I’m going to finish my soup, then be on my way.” Maggie stared at the woman then slowly turned around to check the stove. Her big red pot sat on the back burner, full of potato soup. “This is not happening...” she said. She ran up the stairs and fell into her bed. “This is just a bad dream... If I go back downstairs Nina will be there and...Nina... Do I know a Nina?... Of course I know Nina...maybe...” Maggie tried convincing herself. She ran down the stairs in hopes of jogging her memory. The same woman sat at the table. “I’m sorry I yelled at you...” Maggie said to her. The woman looked at her confused. “I’m just very confused by what’s happening,” Maggie continued. “One minute I’m talking to... Suzy? Sarah? No. That doesn’t sound right.” “Are you alright? You don’t need to apologize. You never yelled at me.” “Mommy! What’s for dinner?” a little boy squealed, running from the bathroom. “And who is this little fella? Is this a friend of your daughters?” Maggie asked. She had accepted the situation as reality already, so questioning it was pointless. “Daughters? Have you lost your mind? I don’t have daughters,” she said. She got up from the table and took her son by the arm. “We aren’t having dinner here Nicky. Let’s go.” “But it’s so cold outside... I don’t like the snow.” Maggie pushed past the mother and son and ran through the front door. It was sunny outside. She stood on the balcony overlooking New York City. She took a deep breath of tobacco smoke and came back inside through the side door. “You good?” Trevor, Maggie’s boyfriend said. “I haven’t tripped that hard in years.


With nervous excitement, John had taken his seat and according to his ticket assignment. He purposefully reserved a window seat to occupy his mind on the journey. He gazed out of the window, as the remaining passengers boarded, and the crew performed their pre-departure routines. It had been many years since he had travelled, and he thought back to the days when his parents - now deceased - had taken him on vacations. They never drove more than a few hours from their home, but John had great memories of the places they had taken him. He had travelled by plane a handful of times during his career and by vehicle but something about the clickety-clack appealed to him. He'd never married and never had kids. In fact, during his career he hadn’t made any friends and pretty much kept to himself. He’d saved up most of his salary for the past twenty-five years and had decided to retire and move on to something else - something unknown and new and fresh. He had nothing holding him back and decided to embrace the uncertainty of travelling and visiting some national landmarks. As he continued gazing at the station from his seat, he began wondering if he’d lost his mind and contemplated if it was a good idea to leave. He reminded himself that it was too late, as all his belongings were packed in his suitcases and everything else had already been sold off or donated. His apartment lease had expired, and he had nowhere to go but forward. His trip was predetermined and would begin with a two-day trip to South Dakota then to Montana and on to Colorado - visiting all the landmarks along the way. These were places he’d never been such as Mount Rushmore, Glacier National Park, Yosemite, and etcetera. As the whistle blew, a gentleman had taken the seat just across the aisle from him. He was about John’s age and immediately engaged in small talk. He was on his way to visit his sister in South Dakota for the summer. John explained to him that he was embarking on a longer journey and would be visiting Mount Rushmore as his first stop. Stephen, as he introduced himself, then explained that his sister didn’t live too far from there. For the better part of the following two hours, they talked about their lives - something John didn’t normally share with anyone. Stephen explained that his sister had lived alone for her entire life and was about to embark on her own journey and move to Alaska. That’s why he was spending the summer with her. He went on to say that she worked in the station where he was to end his journey. Coincidentally, John was also going to the same station and from there he’d planned to rent a car to visit Mount Rushmore and then return to the station to continue his journey. They talked on and off for the two days and had become comfortable with each other - knowing they’d soon be parting ways. And that’s when Stephen asked, “Hey, how about I take you to see Mount Rushmore?” John stammered, “Um, I guess I could. I have a couple days to burn.” “Great,” Stephen returned. “You’ll like my sister. She’s very hospitable.” Soon after their conversation, the conductor indicated that they were approaching the station. Everyone was disembarking, at least for the night. John’s plan was to stay the night and then drive the next day to Mount Rushmore. He wasn’t sure how Stephen’s sister fit into the equation, but Stephen did elude that he’d be meeting her. They both exited and walked through the exit gate and into a waiting area where other passengers were being picked up by relatives and some were boarding buses. John asked Stephen where he was going from there and indicated he needed to check into the motel. Stephen replied, “My sister is picking me up. You can come with us. We’ll drop you at your motel, which is only a few miles from my sister’s place.” John began to feel uncomfortable with the whole situation. He had just met the guy and had grown more and more anxious the more they talked. Within a few minutes, a car pulled up - it was her. She waved and Stephen waved back. She got out and they hugged each other. Stephen yelled over to John, “we haven’t seen each other in a year.” They seemed to be privately catching up when John noticed Stephen point back at him. His sister looked John’s way and smiled. “Get in,” she yelled. They drove about ten minutes when John noticed his motel, but she kept driving. “Whoa, that’s my motel,” he blurted out. “Nonsense,” she replied. “You can stay at my place.” “No,” he insisted. “I don’t want to bother you. I already have arrangements.” “It’s fine, really it is,” she replied. Within a few minutes, they arrived at her home. From the outside, it seemed quaint and well kept. They all exited the car and made their way in the front door. John couldn’t help thinking about what he was walking into. They all took a seat around the kitchen table. “My name is Clara,” she offered. “You’ve already met Stephen.” “Yes,” John laughed. “My name is John.” “Nice to meet you. Anyone like something to drink?” “I’ll have an iced tea, if you have it.” “Sure thing. Stephen?” “Same.” They spent the next few hours talking and sharing stories. Nearing midnight, Stephen excused himself for bed. John was also going to excuse myself, but Clara kept talking to him. She was very personable, and they seemingly had made a connection, at least in John’s mind. They talked for another hour or so as she explained her move to Alaska. By that point, John had become comfortable with staying for the night. Early the following morning, Clara was up making coffee and breakfast. Stephen and John crossed paths in the hallway, on their way to the kitchen. The three discussed the day’s itinerary and that they’d all be visiting Mount Rushmore together, which was fine with John. At least he’d have some company - it beat going alone. By the end of the day and during the drive back to Clara’s, John had become saddened knowing that he had to leave the next day. As they arrived home, everyone decided to get to bed because they were all feeling tired. The next morning, John awakened to Stephen yelling out, “We need to leave now if you’re to make the next leg of your journey.” John threw his stuff together and thanked Stephen for everything. Clara was already headed out to the car. Stephen waved and yelled from the door, “Bon voyage, it was a pleasure.” John waved back. “Thank you. Till we meet again.” They raced to the station, but they were too late. John was somewhat disappointed yet not. The car ride back to Clara’s house was comical because both thought the idea of missing check-in time was funny and worth poking fun. John felt they had made an even deeper connection, considering they barely knew each other. When they arrived back at Clara’s, John did his best to rearrange his plans and according to the station’s schedule, but it seemed that he wouldn’t be able to continue his journey until Friday - some three days away. Over the course of the following days, John learned that while Stephen was slated to stay the summer, it was really only two months and not the three months he had assumed. He also learned that Clara had sold her house and would be forced to relocate, temporarily, prior to her move to Alaska. Clara had also arranged for all her furniture and fixtures to be included in the sale. So, she essentially had nothing to move except clothes and personal items - making her journey easier. Clara had already resigned her position at the station, where she’d worked for some twenty years. John began to wonder why Clara hadn’t already moved because she’d seemingly had everything in order and could leave at moment’s notice. He also wondered why Stephen was there except to see her off. There was nothing for him to do. Leading into Friday afternoon, when John was due to leave, Stephen received a call that his son had been hospitalized with a rare heart condition. Stephen immediately made plans to leave but needed a ride to the airport. Everything seemed to be turned upside down, quickly. John realized he’d need to find his own way to the station because Clara would be taking Stephen to the airport. Everyone said their quick goodbyes and John stood and watched Clara and Stephen pull out of the driveway and disappear. John did his best to make arrangements to get to the station, but to no avail. It just wasn’t in the cards. He made the call to the station to inform them that he was unable to make it. They informed him that he’d have to wait another week before being able to continue his journey. While he was disappointed, a part of him was okay with spending another week with Clara. Clara returned later and was completely surprised to see John still at her house. However, there was a part of her that was happy. Clara insisted that John stay with her for the coming week and he eventually accepted her invitation. They became emotionally attached to each other in that week. During their dinner on Wednesday evening, Clara had asked when he was scheduled to leave. John shyly replied, “Well, honestly I never scheduled my departure.” Clara looked at him puzzled, “What? Why not? You have your planned trip.” “I know, but...I just can’t convince myself to leave.” “We’ve made a connection, yes. But I’m still leaving for Alaska in a handful of weeks.” “Yes, I’m aware and I don’t want to interrupt that. So, how about if I stay till you leave?” “I would like that very much.” “I mean, neither of us needs to work and you’re pretty much ready.” “That is true. What would we do?” “We’ve seen Mount Rushmore. How about we take the scenic drive to Devils Tower?” “We could. Sadly, I’ve never been there in all my years here.” “So, we’ll go, yes?” “Sure.” With that, they spent the next two weeks planning the trip. Their time together was enjoyed by both, but John especially. He’d never opened up to anyone in his life like he had with Clara. She enjoyed the time as well, but she was less needy than John. She was alone by choice and John was alone because it was the only life he knew. On the night before their trip, Clara and John prepared some food and put together a basket. They packed sufficient water and extra clothes, just in case. They hugged in the hallway and parted ways to their separate bedrooms. In the morning, they ate a light breakfast, packed the car, and headed out. They had a short drive to get to the highway, which would lead them to the main highway into Wyoming. The weather forecast was not favorable, at least for the morning, but they pushed forward. As they got into the second hour, heavy rain began to fall causing traffic slowdowns. A storm had formed and was barreling right at the traffic. At several points, visibility was poor, at best. Causing major slowdowns and near accidents. As they were deciding whether to pull off and wait out the storm, they were struck from behind by a large truck. The truck pushed them into the truck in front of them. Their car was pushed up and under the trailer and tore off a portion of the roof. Both John and Clara were knocked unconscious and were pinned in the mangled steel. Neither of the truck drivers were injured. Each attempted to rescue John and Clara, but it was a near impossible task. Fire and Rescue Services arrived within approximately twenty minutes from the time of the accident. They worked diligently for an hour just to get Clara out. She began to regain consciousness as they placed her in the ambulance. Extricating John was much more difficult. In fact, he was pronounced dead and remained in the car. Clara was taken to the nearest hospital where she began asking about John. Eventually, she was informed of his death. At first, she remained silent, but shortly was overcome with emotion. Clara was cleared to go home after about seven days. She had many lacerations, a concussion, and a broken arm. During her stay, she was forced to arrange for John’s transport and services back in town. She knew that John had no family, at least that he ever mentioned. He left behind no contacts and no living will. She was on her own. Sadly, there was no service for John and his body was cremated - and a marker was placed in the local cemetery. Clara had agreed to pay the fees, which was nothing to her. More painful for her was the fact that the services were held while she remained in the hospital. She thought John deserved better. When Clara arrived home, she did her best to settle in and get adjusted to the arm cast, but she knew life for her would be physically challenging in the coming weeks. She couldn’t imagine the emotional challenges that would soon follow. There was a bag of personal items that the hospital staff had indicated were collected from the accident. It contained the extra clothes they had packed for the trip, John’s wallet, and his wristwatch. Also in the bag was a card. She pulled it out and removed the envelope. She read the card and cried uncontrollably. The note read that their time together was a blessing, and she should follow her dream for Alaska, and he would not stand in her way. It was signed, “Bon voyage. I love you, John.” Clara grieved in the days remaining and leading up to her planned departure. On the morning she was leaving, she stopped at the cemetery to pay her last respects and to say her goodbyes. She mustered up the courage to tell John, “I love you too. Bon voyage, John. Bon voyage.”


Today is no ordinary day, but a day I was sent to a boarding school, far away from where I was born and raised. At this young age, I was scared, and I missed my parents. I missed the girly barbies, I missed Lucy, my lovely Shepperd dog, I missed my nanny, my childhood friends, my favourite piano, violin, and my ukulele. I missed the wonderful kitchen where there are so many food I could eat, I miss the mango tree in the front yard of my house where I can taste the most juicy mangos. All of a sudden, I was sent to this institution, where all the horrible things seem to about to happen. I went to the school to sign in, and I met two girls who were so nice to me and they invited me to join their little gang. Although I was a super shy girl, but I accepted their invitation. I was surprised that they were nice because this strange place was like an origin of nightmare to me. I was taught so many brainless tricks like buying snacks from behind the high walls, using cellphones by bribing the dorm manager and paying the bookstore owner to get them illegal stuffs from the outside. I came from a little village where people are genuinely pure and don’t have many cunning thoughts, so I was kind of scared and surprised at first with these city people. Soon enough they found that I was a poor little girl whose parents sent me to this school against my will, they abandoned me and looked for other interesting people to play with. In this school, I didn’t get a lot of disappointments actually, because I didn’t even expect this experience to be good. None of my parents are well-educated, they sent me to this elite school with the hope that I could be different from them. As people in their age always say, education is a good way to escape from the lower class and advance to higher class in the society. As a child, I honestly didn’t have a concept about social class and I was not smart enough to deal with people with political mind. They tell too many lies as my grandpa said, who was a soldier fought in many countries like Afghanistan, Israel, Egypt and Cyprus. He said, he never like politics and being a politician, although himself was a high-ranked Military Officer. I was a very quiet and shy girl who didn’t like presenting myself and felt very reluctant about strange things. I constantly felt being bullied by my classmates even though I think they didn’t mean to be. They were mostly from well-off families with a lot of pocket money. Their lavish lifestyle were things that I could never comprehend. Some students like me were happy as long as the food they offered from the canteen were excellent, the bedtime were promised, and we were safe and weren’t getting any hurt. We were told that we had to follow a very strict daily schedule, including getting up at six o’clock, followed by running, breakfast by seven thirty to start our first lesson, then followed by classes and homework time until eleven o’clock in the evening. I didn’t really feel like having a life in this school, except the moments when we had some chances to dress up to perform, sometime there would be some sport competitions for our class. That’s pretty much it. I didn’t even know there was a big library where students could borrow with our student card until the last semester. Luckily, I was a true bookworm and I liked studying. The school used to have a long corridor for posting higher level students’ articles which I enjoyed reading them as I finished my breakfast and lunch. This is when I developed a personality that I liked to be alone when no one can interrupt me while thinking. I feel kind of sad for myself when I could have been a totally optimistic girl and well-rounded person if I didn’t go to a boarding school like this away from my parents and hometown. However, there is something good in this school, which is the time they gave me to develop my brain and learn new knowledge was abundant while most of my peers were just dating and doing a lot of mindless stuffs. I had been through so much in this school, I used to be a very carefree person in my little village where there were not many temptations and desires corrupted in it. People loved their jobs and their families, and they helped each other. In this school, people were selfish and always thinking about themselves and what they could obtain from the other people. There were so many messy things going on in this school like briberies, student federation corruptions and discrimination from teachers. Some teachers even ranked their students by asking what career their parents worked for a living, what cars they were driving to school and how much pocket money they got from their parents each month. This was a totally sick environment and I felt so pity for those people who paid so much money to just get into this political private school. The only one thing I appreciate from this school was that, I greatly appreciate my parents’ love for me to go to this expensive school. With their great hope and love, I developed a lot of good discipline which deviate myself from the others such as getting up early to read, and developed a habit in reading and trying to learn in my own pace. However, I would confess that went to this school was a mistake they made because being away from parents were the worst childhood one could get in life and without parents’ unconditional love but the bullying from strangers were very scary. I was trying to cry but never have the energy, as I was too exhausted trying to survive.


PROS AND CONS OF PUSHING THE BUTTON By the One Who Pushes PRO: The world has never (not even once!) ended. Neither as a direct result of your having pushed the Button, nor in any other way. This is optimal. CON: The world ( your world, that is) has indeed never, not once, ended (nor even changed in the slightest) as a direct result of your having pushed the Button. And not to be too down on yourself and your sad life and everything, but let’s be honest: This is suboptimal. (You need friends.) PRO: The people you pass on the street, on those rare occasions you dare to go out, may well have you , and no one else but you, to thank for their entire worldly, spatiotemporal existences. Good on you. CON: Those same people may in fact have you, and no one else but you, to thank for their every waking misery and toil. And the non-waking ones, too. Maybe the Button isn’t what you think it is. He never told you for sure. PRO: Pizza. There’s pizza. And there’s also a direct correlation. You’ve never pushed the Button and not had pizza afterward. Causal effect? This, more than anything else, feels like magic. Except for Him. He was pretty magical. (You think.) CON: But what if there’s something better than pizza out there? Impossible to think (obviously), but still, it bears asking: What if, much like the unintended causing of all sorts of misery, the pushing of the Button is also the very one-and-only thing that tethers your taste buds to this reality where pizza is the ultimate bliss? What if there exist higher peaks--truer peaks--among the universe of possibilities? Peaks that are simply unimaginable in this Button-fixed world of pizza? Holy crap. What if there’s one where kale actually tastes good? PRO: The doubt. Or, more specifically, the total lack of it. Because when you push the button--and you’ve never not pushed the button--there’s none of it. And as long as you keep pushing the button, there’s no reason to start. The world is here, the world is the world, and there’s no reason to doubt any of it. CON: Except you’ve never not pushed the button, and yet here you are . And what to call this entire exercise, really, but one big snowball of doubt? You should probably stop now. Get it together. Go back to your life. Because, like... PRO: How about this little thing called existential security? Because seriously, how could you be so selfish as to even think about forgoing the one and only action that may or may not be the only thing holding the entirety of space and time together? You know what He told you. You can’t even begin to disprove it. And even if you could... Is it really that important, to know more than this? Are you really that important? CON: Squanderance. You’re not sure it’s a word (in fact, you’re pretty sure it isn’t), but you can’t rightly think of any better one for the entire world of alternative possibilities you’re leaving on the table, each and every time you push that Button. Even if the one and only alternative is the immediate and irrevocable annihilation of everything... Is that truly so bad? I mean, of course it is. But yet you wonder. Yet you toil. He never should’ve placed this burden on you. PRO: He told you to do it. And seeing as He is the closest thing you can fathom to Truth and Wisdom incarnate--and possibly even to Justice--it seems like folly to disobey. To even question. And still. CON: It’s killing you. And if He is Truth, if He is Wisdom, then He could not have possibly hung the balance of time, space, and reality itself on your shoulders for any reason other than for you to do with it exactly as you will do. This has to end. CONCLUSION & PARTING NOTES And so, I’m building a box. A box unlike any other. The details of this box are perhaps irrelevant, but I feel you should know them anyway--for posterity, let’s say, even though it seems a near mathematical certainty that you will never see these words. Perhaps it doesn’t matter. Perhaps none of this does. Regardless, I have decided to do this thing, and so here follow the details and reasons why. The costs to me in undertaking this project have been considerable--both financially and spiritually. To the former point, I’ve sold my home and crappy car, and cashed out on every bit of retirement savings I had. To the latter, I don’t even know what to say, except that I’ve prayed each and every day for Him to appear to me once again--to tell me if I am acting in error. To tell me anything at all. But there’s been no word, save for those of my skeptical construction crew. The box itself... The box is a miracle. A space age capsule of filters and shielding. Or the equivalent of one, at least. Mostly, in reality, it’s one dense chunk of a subterranean bunker. Cinder blocked and double Faraday caged. Lead paneled on the exterior. That didn’t come cheap. Suffice it to say, though: not even the Man of Steel himself (if he were real) would be able to see what’s happening in the box, once it’s closed. At times, I wonder if maybe even He--the He that is real, and way more omnipotent than Supes--will be unable to see what happens in there. I don’t know. And I’m pretty sure I never will. The water and air filtration systems have been an interesting challenge. All of it rather interesting , the construction foreman points out one day, in lieu of what he’s really thinking--which is namely, no doubt, that if any single part of this weirdo bunker fails in any unforeseen way, this stupendously expensive box of mine will almost certainly be rendered a stupendously expensive coffin, posthaste. But I see no other way. I just hope to the Gods of Pizza-flavored MREs that I’ve stocked enough supplies to last... well, however long it lasts. You see, the only certainty left in my mind is that I must push the Button. And the only certainty left in my mind is that I also mustn’t. And so, I’m taking the Button with me. Into the box, we go. In there, with my Button and without my world, I pray I might finally do as I may. In there, I pray it will not matter--though to whom I pray all of this, I can no longer say. Regardless, from here on out, you may consider the Button to be both pushed and also not pushed, for that will be the truth as far as anyone but me should ever know. And if it should come to pass that this truth should also happen to coincide with your untimely annihilation--and indeed the untimely annihilation of everything--then know (though I suppose it’s impossible for anyone to know anything, in that case) that I am sorry. Or that I would be, at least, were there any existence left within which to be sorry. But at the end of the day... at the end of it all... Well, what business is it of yours, really, what I do with my own Button?


On a cold autumn morning, camera in hand, I set out to the park near my home in an attempt to capture the grandeur of the changing foliage. Clouds overhead dampened the spectacle of mother nature's display. The red, gold and amber hue of leaves shone ashy and dull under overcast skies. A low mist hung to the ground as if the spirits of all that had ever lived in my city were coming back to walk the earth. I had my camera at the ready to capture the hauntingly beautiful landscape around me. I snapped photos as I walked, and checked each on the digital display to ensure the lighting and framing was just right. As I looked at my last photo, a ghostly figure sat on the park bench underneath a maple tree that I had photographed. She was not there when I framed the photo in my viewfinder, but when I looked up, there she was--a beautiful, young woman in a flowing, laced white dress. Her dark hair was done up, but falling out as if from a long night. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, and her lips were gray. She had black make-up streaking down her cheek, stark against her porcelain white skin. As I approached I could see her face wrenched in agony. She cried, dropping her face in her hands and her body shuddering with sadness. I walked up beside her. "Do you mind if I sit?" I said. She shook her head, wiping tears away. She crumpled her face, trying to hold back tears. "No, not at all," she said, sniffling. After I sat, she put her face back in her hands to cry more loudly. I looked upon her with pity, wishing there was some way I could help this poor girl. But what advice did I have to give? I was an old man, she was a young woman, obviously suffering some kind of heartache. I could never know what it was like to be a scorned bride. But she looked like she needed someone, so I offered her my ear. "Do you want to talk about it?" I asked, shiftly on the bench uncomfortably. This poor girl. I couldn’t just sit here in silence. She didn't respond, she just kept crying. But by the way she was dressed, it was clear to me that her wedding day didn’t turn out as she had planned. "Is it your wedding?" I asked, unsure how to bring up the topic delicately. "No," she said, looking directly into my eyes. "Today is my funeral." My heart began to pound and I straightened, taken aback. Surely, she was joking, but I could not help but notice her lifeless, black eyes when she looked at me. "Your funeral?" I asked incredulously. "Yes," she said, nodding and sniffling and wiping her tears away with her gray fingers. I decided to play along, perhaps this girl was sick and needed psychiatric care. Perhaps I could gain her trust and bring her into the nearest hospital. "Then why are you in your wedding dress?" I asked. "This is what I was wearing the day I died," she said. Her crying had paused for a moment. "I had just been married that morning love of my life. The wedding could not have gone more perfectly. We danced and sang and our families were all there, having a great time. It was the greatest day of my life." She paused. "But that night, I fell asleep in my dress and I never woke up," she said. "I don't know what happened. The next thing I knew, I was watching my poor husband struggle to wake me up. He started to yell and scream and shake and cry. He called an ambulance. The whole time I was in the corner trying to calm him, but he didn't see me. 'Jake,' I said. 'Jake, it's okay, I'm right over here.' But he didn't hear me. Then, I watched as my mother and father cried over my lifeless body. They said it was an aneurysm, and there was nothing anyone could have done for me." My stomach flipped and I felt my jaw slacken. "How did you end up here?" I asked. She pointed her finger far across the park, where I saw a huddling of bodies all dressed in black. I spotted a man crying over a casket, and an older couple weeping together. The booming voice of a preacher echoed across the misty plain. "I have been following my husband around," she said. "I want him to know that I love him. I want my parents to know that I love them too. That's why I'm here. I was at the funeral before, and I was shouting at my husband, saying 'Jake, it's ok! I love you, I'm right here! Jake! Mom! Dad! I'm right here.' But they didn't turn around, they just kept crying--and I kept crying too." I nodded. It was all so strange, I could hardly believe it. But what I did believe was that this woman was sick, and she definitely needed help, so I did the best I could. "Well, you can tell just by how sad they are, that they loved you very much,” I said. “And they must have known you loved them too. I remember when my wife died, I worried that I didn't tell her I loved her enough, but I never worried about how much she loved me. That was apparent in every day we spent together. One day, you and your husband and your parents will be reunited and you'll know for sure. But for now, take comfort in knowing that they know, just based on they way they miss you." For the first time since I met this young woman, she smiled. It was a beautiful smile that anyone could fall in love with. "I guess you're right, but it's so hard to be in this...this...purgatory right now. How do you deal with it? Why aren't you with your wife right now?" Confused, I furrowed my brow. "Well, like I said, she's passed away." "Yes, but so have you." She pointed down the path and I saw my body face down on the concrete--the camera shattered on the ground beside me.


I'm new to writing and I've been writing short stories if anyone could give me tips and feedback much appreciated, here it goes. Perry: The Sports Teacher. Perry's day started just like any other day, he would wake up, go for a 2-kilometer jog, then he would come back home and cook himself up some eggs and bacon. Today was different though something felt off to Perry, was he gaining weight? Was his hair not perfectly gelled back? He brushed it off and continued with his morning routine. As he was putting on his Adidas tracksuit getting ready for work, he heard his neighbors fighting again. “All that kid fucking does is play his goddam video games in his room all fucking day!”. Perry peeked through his curtains to see their faces, but they were blurry, he rubbed his eyes and though ‘dam, at least I'm not that kid’ and brushed off the fact the neighbors faces appeared blurry and quickly left for work. As Peery sped through traffic on his *Honda Motor,* he took time to appreciate the world around him, looking at all the other people in this small unforgiving world going about their day with not a care insight. He loved his morning commute, he always made his stop at a coffee shop, to get a glimpse at a girl he has been in love with for a while now. She was beautiful tall but not too tall, long curly blonde hair that she put up in a bun. She was everything to Perry ‘alright today is the day I finally talk to her and ask her name’ he thought as he was taking off his helmet to go inside to get his morning coffee. As he entered the coffee shop, his nose was overwhelmed by the strong aroma of freshly ground coffee beans and of course he singled out the perfume, She, was wearing. It gave Perry a warm sensation, a feeling he hasn’t felt in a long time, nervous, why was he feeling nervous ‘I'm not one to get nervous, why now, why, I have the perfect chance.’ he wondered, but nothing was stopping him today. He walked over and introduced himself to her “Hi ip merry.” “excuse me?” “uh nothing, never mind.” His cheeks turned red with embarrassment, turning to run back out the door he knocked over an old man making him drop his freshly brewed soy latte. He got on his bike and buckled his helmet as fast as could before taking off on his *Honda Motor.* The only thing that could make Perry forgot the atrocity that just took place as if he was to pop the biggest wheelie he has ever done. He succeeded no doubt and continued his way to work. Perry parked his *Honda Motor* in his spot, “The Sports teacher” it read in its fading black paint. He grabbed all stuff and proceeded to make his way inside to the teachers' lounge greeting students as he walked past. When he walked through the big mahogany door to the teachers' lounge he heard a familiar voice saying “Hi ip merry”. Chad was playing a video from his holophone, the video was of course Perry and his awful performance on trying to talk to a woman. “Hey Perry, you fucking beta.” “What do you want chad.” sighed Perry “Is this you, you fucking dweeb.” “Yes Chad, you know dam well it's me, ha-ha look at Perry, the idiot that doesn’t know how to talk to females.” “Alright you two that’s enough.” The principal walked in, elegantly as always. She proceeded to inform all the teachers that it was a new school year and that they are expected a lot of new kids this year. Perry was excited because he was the sports teacher, that meant all he has to do is make the kids play dodgeball, so he could sit back and watch his TV shows on his holophone. The First-period bell rang, Perry was up for his first class with the new little kids. “alright every, my name Perry Perryson and I will be your sports teacher for this year. Now I don’t care much for what you guys do as long as you don’t hurt each other and at least run around for the hour.” They all shouted “yay” in unison and violently engaged in a game of dodgeball. This was great for Perry, with no one objected like last year and making him run a ‘Proper’ class, he was able to catch up on all his favorite Tv shows like The Florpsons and Space Wars XIX. Perry was very pleased with how this day was turning out, he gets to watch his favorite TV shows all morning and he has another sports class after lunch. Nothing could ruin Perry's day again, or so he thought. It was nearing the end of Perry's workday, with having caught up on his TV shows and getting to relax all day, he enjoyed himself feeling accomplished. Even though no work was actually done he was content with life again, forgetting all about what ensued this morning. Now it was time for his favorite time of day again, his commute home, on his *Honda Motor.* Perry decided to take the longer route home today, driving along the beach and taking in all the fresh air, traces of the sweet ocean scent that reminded him of his youth playing in the sand with his friend Noel. Perry was finally home after enjoyed a scenic ride along the ocean side enjoying the view and all that came with it. Perry entered his wonderful home, upon a hill in the mountains he felt a sense of pride in his accomplishments today. He went to his gel fridge and pulled out a beer, sat down of his couch, and booted up his Square Box 10, a gaming console that much needed and upgrade bad, but that didn’t bother Perry. He logged on to his social server with his friends and they all played their favorite shooter game together “Shoot Those Aliens 5”. After gaming for what felt all night only five hours has passed, Perry thought this was enough time because he had to wake up early and watch kids pelt each other with dodgeballs again. Perry said goodnight to his friends and logged off, he walked to his bed like a zombie reaching for brains. As he lay in his bed, he put his hands to his temples and pulled, a VR headset peeled off his crusty face. He blinked twice and for the first time in a while he looked around his real room, moldy and a gross stench seeped from the carpet, ‘gross’ he thought as he struggled to get up from his stiff mattress and walk to the kitchen. “AH look who it finally fucking is, you done playing your dumb VR games all day?” “uhhh” ‘Perry’ rubbed his eyes and looked at his stepdad. “When are you going to do something real Jack?” A name ‘Perry’ hasn't heard in a real-time, Jack was his real name and he was a 17-year-old, living in a trailer park high rise. Jack grabbed a can of mountain juice and returned to his room. He lay back in his bed, shedding a tear of sadness as he wished he could be Perry in the real world, he looked at his window and opened it. “time to log off for real.” As he sat in the window sill tears coming from his eyes, he looked at his VR headset one last time before pushing himself out into the open air and falling 10 stories to his demise...


Fuzzy Image By: Joseph A. Monachino George’s grandfather’s house has comfortable surroundings. George has just moved in after his grandfather, Bill, passed away one month earlier. He feels that when he gets married and has kids, this is the perfect place to live and raise kids. He goes to the bedroom to lie back on the bed to read a book. What is this he sees in the corner of the bedroom? It is a roll of undeveloped film. He wonders what could be on the 12 pictures of the roll of film. So, he brings it to the camera shop to have it developed. -- After he develops the pictures, he observes one closely. The image is fuzzy. Therefore, he has it enlarged. He sees, more clearly, that there is an object on the floor of the room. He knows it’s the recreation room because there is a hockey stick placed on the wall beside the object. Upon closer observation, he discovers that it is the finger of a hand. George rushes down to the corner of the rec room to where the finger is laying. He gasps! He can’t just leave it lying there. So, he grabs a pair of tweezers and a sandwich bag. He carefully puts the finger in the sandwich bag without touching it. He walks over to the rec room closet. He grabs the shoe box, off the top shelf of the closet, which already has a couple of items, and places the bag inside it. The shoebox is put in the corner of the shelf of the closet out of view where nobody can see it. -- The next day, he is sitting back in his reclining chair reading the newspaper. The front-page news story points out that a recent murder victim was found; and that his index finger was missing from his hand. George panics because the finger he found in his rec room might be that of the murder victim. George realizes something. If he leaves the finger in the shoe box in the closet of the rec room, investigators might search his house and find it there. Then, he would get arrested and sent to jail for murder. He engages in quick thinking. It is early in the day. Therefore, he has time to get the finger out of his house. So, he rushes to his closet, grabs the shoebox, and takes the plastic bag out of it. He meticulously puts it in the carrying case pouch. He then gets out of his house and gets into his car to drive to the forest located down the road from his house. When he arrives there, he finds a discreet area that he can dig up a little hole. He takes the finger out of the sandwich bag with tweezers, and places it in the hole and covers it up with sand. Afterwards, he gets into his car and drives home. -- The police authorities begin their search for an index finger belonging to the murder victim’s hand. They target the forest down the road from George’s house. It is one hour into the search when they find the missing finger. The police authorities meticulously place the finger into a sanitized container. They bring it to the police lab for DNA analysis. When the lab technicians run tests to analyze the DNA from the finger, they compare it to the DNA of the murder victim. Low and behold, they discover it matches the DNA of the murder victim. The police authority investigators analyze all the evidence they gathered up to this point in their investigation. They conclude that the murder victim was not killed in the forest. The evidence indicates that it was a home on the same street as the forest. Further analysis reveals that the home of the crime scene is George’s. George has the T.V. tuned on the news channel, All That Matters. The first news story is about the murder victim who is missing a finger. George panics. He worries that the murder will be traced back to his grandfather’s house, where he now lives. And that is exactly what happens. The murder took place 1 month prior to when George moved into his grandfather’s house. George is shocked to know his grandfather may have murdered the victim of the finger he found. The newscaster further says that police authorities are on their way to the home where murder took place to arrest the homeowner who most likely committed the murder. George has sweat running down his neck and face. Since his grandfather is no longer alive, he assumes he will be arrested because he is the prime murder suspect. Now, George must think quickly. He is in a race with time. He figures he has to fly out of the country, so he won’t be arrested. He packs his most valuable possessions. He jumps into his car and drives swiftly to the airport. Earlier, his google search indicated that Aruba is a destination country where he can’t be extradited. When the police authorities arrive to his home to arrest him, he is nowhere to be found. They suspect that he is gone to the airport because they see that his passport storage tray, on his desk, does not have his passport. They get into their cars and head to the airport. At the airport, George has gone through the custom check point and boarded the plane to Aruba. It is now in flight and headed there. George is delighted. He can live on the beautiful island of Aruba for the rest of his life. That is because he can’t be arrested and extradited to Canada because there is no extradition treaty between the 2 countries. George must be sure of something. He opened his laptop. He went to the list that he made prior to leaving his house. He made sure he took with him the most essential items he needed to successfully live in Aruba. He looked at all the items. He realized he took all that was essential. So, he had no worries. Mission accomplished! Now, all he has to hope for was that the plane lands at the Aruba airport without incident. He is safe and secure in knowing that authorities won't be able to arrest him because Aruba has no extradition treaty with Canada. He can sleep peadcefully tonight.