“I feel empty.” This statement rang out into the silent air, the oppressive stillness parting for a moment before returning once more. Nature abhors a vacuum, after all. That place was never truly silent, actually. Along with the constant *hum* of the noise machine, designed to make listening in to our conversation impossible from the outside, there was the steady *tick*\-ing of Dr. Schuman’s clock. But, when I say silent, I mean silent to me. I had learned to tune these things out. “And what does ‘empty’ feel like?” Dr. Schuman asked. Dr. Schuman asked me questions like this often, and never seemed to be deterred by my lack of a satisfying answer. I shrugged. “It feels like nothing,” I told her. Again, silence. I took this opportunity to study the wall behind Dr. Schuman. It was covered in peeling wallpaper which was adorned with small sailboats. I didn’t like the sailboats. “And what does ‘nothing’ feel like?” She put a peculiar emphasis on the word “nothing”, as if this particular phrasing was very important. For a long time my only reply was to stare at her intensely. I tried to make it look as if I was gathering my thoughts, but I knew that I really didn’t have any answer to that question. “It feels... empty,” I clarified, at last. Dr. Schuman opened her mouth to, probably, ask for more specificity when a small timer placed on the desk directly to her right rang sharply. She reached over and switched it off. “I’ll see you at the same time tomorrow,” she said, extending her hand, which I took in mine. After a brief, awkward, downwards motion, I released it and walked back out the door and into the waiting room. The waiting room was full of dour people. Some were flipping through the boring magazines which litter doctors’ offices. Some were playing on their phones. Some even stared out into space, entirely motionless. I passed them and continued on to my car, turned the engine over after several unsuccessful attempts, and began the drive back to my apartment. Dr. Schuman always did her best, and I appreciated the effort, but these sessions did not seem to be progressing towards anything. I had not experienced the epiphany which the layman seems to think is the goal of psychotherapy. I assumed the fault lay with myself. The radio was playing a debate between a Christian and an atheist over the existence of God. I listened, found myself unconvinced by either side and switched it off. Afterwards, there was nothing with which to occupy myself but the white snow and monotonous rhythm of the traffic. My mind was blank until I arrived home. \*\*\* I didn’t like the way my apartment looked from the outside. I couldn’t really tell you why; I just didn’t like it. When I stepped through the door my girlfriend was waiting. She kissed me on the cheek and asked how my day had gone. I shrugged and told her that nothing had happened. She told me that something must have happened. Something is always happening. She repeated her question. I paused for a minute, thought hard, and replied that I had gone to my appointment with Dr. Schuman after work. She asked me how that had been and I told her that it was fine. She accepted this and we ate dinner together, mostly in silence. Afterwards we watched TV for a while and went to bed. We had sex and then set the alarm clock and went to sleep. \*\*\* “How are you feeling today?” Dr Schuman asked me. I shrugged. “I feel empty,” I told her. “And what does ‘empty’ feel like?” Dr Schuman asked. I told her that it felt like nothing. “You’ve been feeling that way a lot since your father died, haven’t you?” I nodded. “I haven’t been feeling much since then, I guess.” I could tell that she was about to ask for further clarification when a strange expression crossed her face and she seemed to change her mind. “Have you heard of philosophical zombies?” she asked me. “No,” I replied. “A philosophical zombie looks exactly like a human being from the outside and displays all of the characteristics of one. They eat and talk and answer questions, but they’re not conscious. Hence: zombies.” I nodded. “You, Philip, are not a philosophical zombie. You’re feeling something right now.” This was a joke. I laughed a little. “Would you know if I wasn’t?” I asked her. “Probably not,” she shrugged. “The whole point of the thought experiment is that they act exactly like a normal person.” “Interesting,” I said. It was interesting. \*\*\* The next day at work my boss yelled at me, but there didn’t really seem to be that much anger behind it. It almost seemed like a chore to him, something he just had to get out of the way. There was this queer emptiness behind his eyes, like nothing was there. I told him I was sorry for misfiling my report and that it wouldn’t happen again. He walked away. Karen from accounting asked me if I was okay. He seemed pretty mad, she said. I told her that everything was fine. He wasn’t really that mad; I could tell. She left with a concerned look on her face, but I could see that there was nothing behind it. \*\*\* My girlfriend wasn’t happy when I got home. Apparently, her sister had said something insulting to her aunt, despite knowing that the two of them (my girlfriend and her aunt) were close. They weren’t speaking now (my girlfriend and her sister that is). I told her that I was sorry and she said it was okay, that she just needed to vent. I nodded and went back to typing on my laptop. I had set myself up in front of the TV which was off. I didn’t want it to distract me, but since the conversation with my girlfriend had already done that, and since I needed a break anyway I turned it on. The President was giving a speech about a mass shooting. Twelve people had died. He was devastated. He offered his deepest condolences. He promised that “something will be done.” But there was nothing behind it; I could tell. \*\*\* That night, as my girlfriend and I lay next to each other, falling asleep, I looked at her and wondered what she was feeling. *Maybe she’s not feeling anything* I thought to myself. I looked into her eyes. She looked back. I saw nothing there. “Is something wrong?” she asked me, after this continued for some seconds. Dr. Schuman’s words echoed in my mind: “They eat and talk and answer questions, but they’re not conscious.” After I didn’t respond, she put her hand on my arm. “Are you okay?” she persisted. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I told her. That night, I dreamt of zombies. \*\*\* My next session with Dr. Schuman wasn’t until the following week. Nothing happened in the interim, really. She asked me how I was doing and I told her that I still felt empty. “It might be time to try other methods, Phillip.” She took out a piece of paper and scribbled something on it. “This is a prescription. I think it might help. Give it a shot and if nothing changes in a week or so, we’ll know that it’s not for you.” I reached out and took it. “Thanks,” I said. On the way home, I stopped at the drugstore and tried to fill the prescription for the first time. They told me it wouldn’t be ready for a few days. My girlfriend told me she was going to visit her parents and would be back later in the week. I said goodbye and she walked out the door. That night, I dreamt of nothing. \*\*\* The next morning the TV was playing the Presidential Debate. One candidate promised equality. The other responded by promising a balanced budget. The first said that the country wasn’t doing enough for the poor. The second insisted that we couldn’t allow rogue nations to acquire weapons of mass destruction. And never the twain did they meet. \*\*\* Work was not going well. Fixing my mistake with the report was taking longer than I anticipated and Doug wasn’t happy about it. He wanted the corrected report on his desk by the end of the day, but I knew I wasn’t going to be able to do that. I told this to Karen, and that worried expression crossed her face again. The same one. Exactly the same. “What are you going to do?” she asked. I shrugged. Somehow, I wasn’t too concerned. When I brought what I had managed to finish to Doug at the end of the day he was furious. I’d never seen him so angry. His eyes were wide and people on the other side of the office could no doubt hear his tirade. But, I remained calm. I knew there was nothing behind it. \*\*\* The next night, my girlfriend returned and asked me how my day had gone. I told her that I had been fired. She dropped the plate she was holding and spun around to look at me. I pushed past her to retrieve the broom and dustpan, then bent down to begin sweeping up the shards she had created. “What do you mean you were fired?” she asked in a shaking voice. “I mean that I don’t work for Walton Chemical anymore,” I told her. She knelt and put her arms on my shoulders, stopping me from continuing with my work. “How are we going to pay the rent, Philip? What about food and car payments and... medical expenses?” she guided my hand to her stomach. I was confused. “Medical expenses?” In response, she held up a pregnancy test. It showed positive. I took and examined it quizzically. “You’re pregnant.” She gripped my shoulders tighter. “Is that all you have to say? After losing your job and finding out you’re going to be a father?” I continued sweeping. “Well?!” she yelled, shaking me. This was annoying. “Could you move your foot a little?” I poked at her left shoe with the handle of the broom. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” her voice was rising in volume. It was beginning to hurt my ears. “There’s ceramic on the floor,” I murmured, gently moving her foot to get at the piece of plate trapped beneath it. A loud *crack* reverberated around the room as her hand connected with my cheek. I was surprised at how much it hurt. “Why’d you do that?” I asked, holding the side of my face. “To wake you up, Phillip! Jesus Christ! We have to talk about this. We have to *do something*! We can’t support ourselves on what I bring home, especially not with a baby on the way.” “So abort it,” I shrugged. She looked as if she were preparing to hit me again when, instead, a resigned expression crossed her face and she stepped out the door. I went back to sweeping. \*\*\* The next day my prescription was ready. The pharmacist handed me a small, colorless bottle. Later, I took my first dose, with food as the bottle had instructed. Though both Dr. Schumann and the internet suggested that no effects would be apparent for several days at least, I instantly felt something shift within my mind. \*\*\* I was growing to hate my own cooking. So, the next day, instead of making myself food as I normally would, I ate all three meals at the McDonald’s down the road. It was hardly more expensive. When I remarked on this to the cashier he just nodded and handed me my order number. It was usually a quiet place, but as I entered the building for the third time I saw a little girl sitting in the middle of the floor and crying loudly. I crouched in front of her. “Does anyone know who this girl’s parents are?” I asked. No response. I spent a few minutes just looking at her, examining the way her tear-stained cheeks rose and fell, how her little chest danced erratically back and forth. The salty droplets traced rivers and valleys on her skin. They reminded me of rain whipped against a car window. I thought of the canals on Mars. Still, no one came to help. After a while, her voice grew hoarse. She looked for all the world like a broken android. \*\*\* I was walking to McDonald’s again when a loud *pop* drew my attention. A man with a gun was walking away from a female figure lying on the sidewalk. Blood leaked from its mouth and onto the ground. Many people walked past her. A fair number were even forced to step over her torso or legs in order to continue onwards. Yet, nobody made any attempt to render aid or stop the murderer as he evaporated into the night. In fact, nobody other than me even acknowledged the dying woman. I knelt and clasped her hand in mine, looking deeply into her eyes as the life drained out of them. I wanted to see if I could find the instant when they passed from humanity to objectivity. She smiled at me as I attempted this, as if she were glad to be of service. Eventually, it became clear that she had died with that Chershire mark still upon her face. I never did figure it out. \*\*\* The next day was the election. That night, as the results were announced, I mused vaguely that I had forgotten to vote. It was at a dreary bar on the other side of town that I watched the tallies from the various states trickle in. The candidate of change pulled ahead, and I felt an electric wave of excitement wash over the room. It was quenched suddenly when the candidate of the people took the lead and held it until the end. As the victory and concession speeches played, I saw anger and confusion explode from the people sitting across from me. Their faces radiated frank horror. Then, a deafening *bang* sounded directly to my left and I turned to see the man sitting next to me slumped in the chair, his recently discharged gun held in a limp fist. Blood trickled to the floor. Then, another *bang* rang out, and another and another until most everyone in the bar met the same fate, and by the same means. The few who remained calmly raised their glasses back to their lips and continued to drain them one sip at a time. The floor was slick with blood and viscera. I got up, only to slip and tumble back down. I had fallen next to a young woman with a self-inflicted gunshot wound to her chest. She reached out to me and I put my hand on her cheek, whispering soothing words. “It's going to be okay,” I told her, again and again, stroking the side of her face. “No. It’s not,” she whispered back. I almost thought that I was witnessing the destruction of a human soul, amidst the mire and blood, in the bullet’s wake. She almost succeeded in convincing me that there was such a thing to destroy. As I looked into her dimming eyes, I saw their evaporating existence as nothing more than a facade wrapped around the unyielding void at the bottom of all human life. But, still, her heartrending final gasps and bloody caresses, which I received with gravity, were truly lifelike. Later that night the President-Elect gave a speech about the incident. He promised that “something will be done,” and offered his deepest condolences, but there was nothing behind them. I could tell; I could always tell. \*\*\* Every time I visited the library that room was closed. At 3 PM, no earlier and no later, I would walk up to the librarian and politely ask if the room was open today. “Not today,” she would tell me. The day after the election, however, she smiled at me instead of giving her customary rejection. “Yes, today it is open.” I nodded sagely. “Take me there, please.” She obliged, taking up a lantern and leading me into the space behind the librarian’s desk. We moved slowly, hobbled by her ancient legs. “Why, today, is it open?” I inquired. “All things closed must open eventually, elsewise they are not really closed, they do not exist.” This was a reasonable answer. “I am not open,” I told her. “Presumably, you have bled at some point?” “And if I hadn’t?” “Naturally, you would not exist.” This too was satisfactory. We came to the room and she left me and the lantern, the only light source available to me. For a long time, it was the two of us and nothing. Then, a ghastly scream began to echo in the dim chamber. For several seconds, it ricocheted wildly, as one would expect in a place with narrow walls. And then the echoes became more and more distant, as if the walls were drawing further and further apart. At that instant, the room was flooded with an unbearable light, against which I screwed my eyes shut, to no avail. It pierced my eyelids like rice paper and became more and more painful until I feared it would precipitate blindness. And, strange it was, strange indeed, that in the instant blindness appeared certain it came not. Spinning and blue, and green, red and yellow, and indeed all the many particularities of human ocularity came instead, laughing and crying and smelling gorgeous. An eternity passed like this, and then another in reverse. All of this, of course, passed through my eyes, but then, vision inverted itself and I stepped outside the vantage of these globular impediments and saw them instead, especially the pupils, and what handsome blackness they were! I saw them fold in on themselves, drawing the rest of my formerly useless body along with them, back into the nonexistence which gives rise to us all. Free, finally, from corporeal entrapment, the humor of it all became very clear, and the visions resolved into the form of a woman quite familiar to me: Dr. Schuman. “And how are you feeling?” she asked. “I feel nothing,” I told her. I ran my hand over Dr. Schuman’s body, and at every flinch, every shudder, I suppressed the urge to laugh. She smoothly undid my belt, with quiet efficiency. And then, the rhythm of the act, normally so primal, so human, began to grow metronomic and hysterically precise. She let out soundless gasps and arched in perfect stillness, suffering nameless, horrific ecstasy. Her sweet nothings, whispered directly into my ear, were most funny of all, for I couldn’t tell whether these responses were born of passion or programming. Images of violence and savagery flitted behind my eyes, all of them hilarious, putative outrages upon the body. And then, mangled machines: twisted, broken, unused. Everything dissolved into phantasmagoric splinters, swirling in cosmic uncertainty, and, of course, as above, so below. I couldn’t keep it all straight: man, machine and morality. Severed limbs, rusted engines, brains and motherboards. All of this appeared in my field of vision superimposed upon Dr. Schuman’s body, still motionless and writhing. And, finally, I was able to stand it no more and the sound of my laughter exploded against the unnarrow walls as I was forced to wonder, what difference is there between these things? forgetting To how I talk am. was Right that? and yoU aLl; -- It’s funny, isn’t it? W0r ds c1n **H**o w b**E** so broke,n st il**L** and so und3rstan;dable.


“Me, me, me, me, this attention I am an unable escape. I don't think they can get enough of me. Cameras, like the pupils of a full crowd, attached, hooked deep onto my curves, fixated on this face with a smile big enough to lay upon. “Yes Honey, just like that, anyone would die just to step foot in those shoes.” These shoes, Ha! Just these twenty thousand dollar babies, the diamonds like blades made from ice cut deep into my ankles but, it's fine, I'm not walking for too long in them, I'm just standing, standing tall for the eyes of the world to witness. These shoes, no, I didn't buy them myself how could it, they were given to me just for this shoot. I've never stood in extremely expensive shoes. Now I hope I get this job because there would be nothing I want more than to stand in extremely expensive shoes! “This dress!, am I staring at an angel or what?!” This dress, saturated with the smallest iridescent sequins, shiny enough to mock the sun with its outstanding glisten. \*Flash\* One snap after the other the reflections off my chest, act as a strike of lightning, splitting the pupils of all who are standing before me. A fire burns within my heart. “Not long now! keep that smile up, put that makeup to use. Guys, we have gold before us here!” Well, Gold. I'm indeed flattered. So the thick plaster-like paint on my face makes me comparable to one of the most valuable elements on Earth? Yeah, I can see it. No, I'm not pompous, it’s just that the people here are in constant awe of me. It's like I'm the goddess who has, at last, brought their long-awaited gifts of unattainable happiness. Ok, maybe I'm a little. “Ok sweetheart, the job is yours come back next week and we will get you started with some exciting stuff!” ***It's Far From A Dream!*** Delighted at the results, however, these plastic compliments are not strong enough to fool the most foolish of fools, I'm too smart to be fooled. I believe these people expect girls to be those dumb, ‘being rich is fun because look how good I look!’, type girls. Ha! well I ain’t that. ‘Whatever Shauna!’ I would tell myself Don’t get me wrong, being a genuine human being among the stupidity of this industry comes to my advantage, although I was starting to feel as if I'm being used, used as the shrimp on the fisherman’s hook for another person's fortune. Argh, ‘Shut up Shauna, you're just overthinking it, enjoy it while you can. Think about it, you can become famous!’ You will become famous. ***Curse NOT A Blessing:*** It was 2018 and the time finally came for me to have the photo shoot of my dreams, the shoot for a, no, *the* most beloved magazine, my debut in fact! The cameraman fulfilled his words. Ever since I was a little girl my singular desire was to be featured on its cover. Funnily enough, my dreams became a reality, as cliche as it sounds. *Unlucky* me had at last been selected. Unlucky me, you ask? Well... ever since that day onward life has been the utter epitome of hell upon Earth. No amount of chocolate could fix this, and chocolate can fix everything. How does one get famous with such speed? Honestly, I'm going to say this now, and you might think I'm crazy but I absolutely rather live on the streets than be involved in this shit anymore. Yes, I did say that being featured on the front cover of my favourite magazine was my childhood desire, though I am unable to locate any hint of decency to come out of it. This is indeed a dream for the ignorant. Just if I knew being treated like a little girl's God damn barbie doll was the reality behind my idyllic perception of happiness, I'd still be working at fucking a deli. ***This Is How It Really Is:*** What's there to fancy about being forced to sit still for hours on end to have your little face painted with a thick acidic substance. A substance powerful enough to corrode the pillars of the golden gate bridge, let alone the skin of a human being. ‘*No*’ isn't an option at this stage, I wanted it and I got it. What's there to admire about having a fist full of sharp syringes pumping what feels like a tone of plastic into your lips because they are too small? Okay, may as well call me a fat fucking pig while you’re at it. What's there to love about being forced to stand still for hours in a tight ass dress limiting any blood from circulating through to your legs? Didn't expect to have that *big shiny dress* pierce deep into my back and chest with the slightest micro-movements. Just the thought of moving my arms in this current state was a temptation by the devil himself. What's there to enjoy about having your feet moulded, kneaded like dough in high heels steep enough to crawl under? Glitter particles, a glamours substitute for fucking sandpaper eroding away at your poor ankles. O' the joy this brings me. ***Yeah, It's Nothing Special:*** Ever since that day forward, the day when the director at the audition has been that big fat ’yes’ I blew a kiss filled with a melancholy heartache to say goodbye to my dear precious normal. It didn't occur to me at the time because was entranced by success, go me! Wow, go, fucking, me! Having all the money in the world is not enough to replace this artificial smile, this plastic expression which has stretched my face into what I view today as a day old half-chewed piece of gum. Not even if your room service bill can sometimes cost some people's entire life savings. Yes, I know I sound like Earth's most ungrateful piece of shit and yes I agree to the fact I'm that whiney white bitch who has literally everything one could ever want and yet remains dissatisfied. But fuck, how I miss my dear precious normal.


Why on earth did he decide it was a good idea to invite the man over to make him dinner? He didn’t know how to cook! Well, actually that was not entirely true, what he did not know how to do was cook something that was edible - or even something that was not worthy of being labeled a biological hazard - but that did not mean that he did not know how to stir things. He would like to think he was capable of that at least, but frankly Charlie doubted there were very many recipes that were made entirely by the act of stirring things over the stove. But he really, really wanted William to like him, so of course he made the foolish decision. So there he was, sleeves rolled to his elbows, the old cookbook his mother had given him years ago that had remained unopened due to the fact that it frightened him finally laying open on the countertop, a carrot in one hand and a bundle of beans in the other. He was sure that the carrot would so something if he did... something to it, but unfortunately it seemed as if the thing to do some of had escaped him. The glossary in the back of the book did little to help, and thrice cleaning his boxy glasses did very little to uncover anything in the way of an answer, and so it was made very apparent that this one and only option was to make things up as he went and just hope for the best. But really, how hard could it be? All he needed to do was chop up some vegetables into shapes that made them smaller. That would be so easy that he was sure he would be able to laugh at his own trepidation once everything went swimmingly and he was able to boast of his absolute success. An absolute success that he had yet to achieve, however, as he needed to pause the act of both slicing and dicing when one of the aforementioned dicing slices decided it was very appropriate to acquaint itself with his finger instead of the carrot it was supposed to be severing. Okay, that was just one little setback. Barely anything, really. With the addition of a plaster upon his finger and a determination to ignore that it was throbbing uncomfortably, and a carrot that was thoroughly washed - he wanted to woo the man, he did not want to somehow accidentally invoke some sort of long forgotten blood magic he didn’t know about by mistake - he carried on. He was determined to not let his mood dip just because he made one silly little slip up. There was always going to be something that goes wrong, that is just the inevitable outcome of literally any situation ever, so he would like to think this was just getting it out of the way early. Was it a little foolishly optimistic? Maybe, but one could fault Charlie for wanting to be optimistic. He wanted things to go well, so it was only fair that he was going to be looking out for any little sign that he could convince himself was a sign of good luck regardless of whether there was any real truth to the matter. The rest of the ordeal, however, seemed very much prepared to do any and everything in its capacity to test the bounds of this optimism, however. Admittedly, it was not too much of a surprise to think that the act of chopping vegetables was actually one of the easiest parts of the cooking process. This included the act of flicking through the cookbook to try and find something to make that didn’t make him feel dizzy from the act of merely imagining making something. It seemed much of the process in the book did not align well with his own. The book specified precision and exact while he had very much just accepted that he was running off of hoping for the best and the reassurance that came when things he did didn’t immediately ruin the overall scent of the things he tossed a little haphazardly into the pan. Slices of meat definitely did end up with both herbs and spices on it, and he thought that counted as an absolute win. He just had to hope that they were actually the correct herbs and spices, or at the very least the things he substituted - who can afford saffron nowadays? - would actually work as suitable substitutions for the things he did not have. Additionally, there were definitely vegetables doing things that they would not have been doing had he not started to, well, do things to them so he assumed this would have to be the correct thing for them to be doing. Even if it was beginning to smell a little like there was enough garlic to deter even the most curious vampire, he could at least claim he was cooking something that was good for the blood, as if that was something that people normally claim when cooking for people. Despite everything, Charlie was sure that he had managed to make something that was at least mostly decent and more than a little edible. Really, he was quite proud of himself for the effort he went to in his cooking, and he secretly - the worst kept secret in the world - hoped that William would be suitably impressed by his effort and so would declare his undying love to him there and then. Even if it meant he might need to learn to cook, he would find that tolerable if it meant his attempted courtship was complete and total success. He had just set the meal to simmer over the heat, keeping it warm and all that, when there was a knock on the door. With a flurry of excitedly nervous and nervously excited butterflies in his stomach and swirling his lungs, he paused only briefly to straighten his appearance in the mirror as he passed before granting his partner entrance. So caught up as he was in greeting William, who he had no qualms about informing looked perfectly charming in his greatcoat, and the typical sharing of pleasantries that he had rather forgotten he had left the meal on the stove. In fact, he would most likely have entirely missed it if the world itself decided this was the perfect time to go and end, as he was far too smitten to notice all that much of anything. Unfortunately. Devastatingly, these good and wholesome vibes lasted for as long as it took William, glancing towards the kitchen, to ask the perfectly reasonable question of, “Is that smoke?”


Megan placed her cup of coffee on the table as it shook slightly. Lately, she had been trying to act as old as she felt. This included a new love for coffee and tea of the sorts, as well as an old brownish-red lipstick she found in the drawer of her teacher’s desk. She didn’t know how to properly apply it, but it was the process and routine that stuck out to her most. She enjoyed sitting in front of the bathroom mirror, carefully taking in every aspect of her face, gently tugging at the corners of her mouth and eyes, mimicking what she watched her mother do before she dropped her off at school every morning. Speaking of her mother, it was almost time to leave and she could hear the loud thumping of her steps in the room above. It was obvious her mother was finally emerging from her room, and it was even more obvious that her mother had found something to be angry about. You see, when Megan’s mother was angry, her steps sounded different. She walked with a purpose, and the purpose was to make sure you could hear her coming. Last week, the incident was an Instagram page she had somehow found. Megan didn’t follow it, and she made sure to block it when it followed her. It was a silly gossip account someone in her grade must have made for the middle school. Something like “Liberty Middle Gossip Girl”. Megan didn’t even watch Gossip Girl. In the early morning, she woke to the sound of her mother’s steps. Louder than usual, practically assaulting the ground she walked on. Megan opened her eyes slowly from her bed, waiting for the moment her mother would burst in. And that she did. She started accusing her of creating the account. Asking her why she would stoop down to that level, why she would try to create drama like this. Asking her how she could be stupid enough to create such a vapid Instagram page. How she failed in parenting a good child. (Megan would argue that her mother would prefer to say “create” the perfect child.) All Megan could do was refute. Explain how she didn’t make the page. Explain how she didn’t care enough about the kids she went to school with to create a whole blog to gossip about them. Convince her that she was the daughter she was proud of. The daughter that she did love and the daughter that was above her classmates. Try to tell her that she was reading the book she assigned her instead, or that she had liked the music she told her to research. She knew this would ease her mother, having her know she was doing as she was told. And all with tears welling in her eyes, but she couldn’t let her see her cry. That would make it worse. She finally calmed down and left. Albeit she slammed the door but at least she left. Megan sat on the edge of her bed as she watched her leave. She sat there for a while, letting her face get wet from crying and her hair snotty from neglecting to properly blow her nose. She pinched her bedsheets as she waited. She pinched the fat of her arms and she picked the dry skin around her nails. Megan finally wiped the tears from her eyes but they were falling a little faster than they were before. She could now get ready for school, she could wear the lipstick she took from her favorite teacher. Hopefully, they would match. Her mother waited for her in the car and the ride was silent except for one exchange. “I’m not a terrible mother.” “I know.” This morning, Megan was anxious to know what she did this time. She made sure to hide her journals the night before and clear the search history on her phone and she began to shake thinking about all the possibilities. Her mother came into the kitchen gripping an old pair of Megan’s jeans. “I need to make sure you still fit in these.” Megan knew what would happen if she didn’t.


[RF] And She Smiled. So my name is sindy. My life is pretty boring , but this is not about me. This is about what I saw. I was on my way to work at a bus stop and saw A old man and an old woman, sitting on the black bench right next to me. But what caught my eye was that The man in the bench, kept stealing glances of the woman, but then quickly looked away. “Huh?” I thought to myself. The woman didn’t seem to notice, (or care.)but then the man stood up and walked over to a some bush I don’t know what kind. he stared and the side walk and then said. “You look pretty today, I like that color lip stick on you.” She didn’t say anything she just looked at him and opened her mouth to speak , then closed and looked away. Then, he picked a blue flower off the bush and sat down again very fast ,as if he might miss his chance. He handed the flower to the woman, and she took it . But then looked away. He didn’t say anything. She didn’t say anything. But I saw her smile. The bus showed up about five minutes later, and we all got on, Except the old man. He offered his hand to the woman to help her on the bus, (which she declined)He waved to the woman. Waited till she was on and seated. He then gave a light nod and turned to walk away. I saw that the the woman was sitting by herself so I sat right next to her,and said “ looks like he’s sweet on you haha” we both turned in our seats and watched him walk down the sidewalk. The woman quickly turned back into her seat and replied. “ I don’t know why he keeps trying....” Me, very confused by her comment, said “What do you mean?” She gave a big sign , and looked at me. “ I mean that we were married before...Until I cheated. He divorced me , which I deserve. But about a year ago, we saw each other again at some group therapy or something, and he’s been doing this everyday since......” I look back again at the old man fading away in the distance, walking slow and steady. “ soooo that means he probably still loves you!” I said excited by the thought that they were married, and that even after cheating the love he had for her even after all that time was still going strong “Awwww!.... I feel so single.“ I thought to myself. The woman let out a little smile and another sign. And said “ maybe, but I know that I don’t deserve him.” She brought her purse to her lap and pulled out a little hand mirror and lipstick tube, and started to apply it. But I could see, the little hand mirror let her see the old man in the distance, and she smiled. I learned something that day. I learned that, life is short. To short. And that I might have to try repeatedly again and again everyday for something that is important to me, but I can’t give up! I have to be like the old man! And I know if I keep trying I’ll get it, because they were proof. And after his every attempt, even though she rejected them. There’s hope.........because she smiled.


In the morning somebody knock on the door, a person gave a packet to Alicia and laughed and said please see the footage. It is hilarious. * ‘I am mad at her’. ‘I will run away from her’. Eddie said to Alicia. ‘Don’t be panic I am also facing the same circumstances.’ Alicia tried to compose him. They are sitting in the balcony and talking about how sad Eddie was. ‘Whenever I ask her, her answer is always ‘No’ a big ‘No’.’ ‘But she loves you.’ ‘I don’t believe.’ And Eddie started crying. ‘Hey Eddie stop crying and do not worry. I am always with. We are buddies your best friend Alicia will not leave you in any condition even if you will demand me to leave.’ Alicia giggled and her infectious smile gave a grin on Eddie’s face. ‘I did this because I had a deep craving for it.’ Eddie sobbed and feared. ‘But I think you should tell her the truth.’ ‘No, never did you see her eyes? She will kill me.’ ‘Eddie she already knows it. She only needs you to confess.’ ‘Really?’ * Ok so this is the present let us explore the history. Eddie is the only child of his parents and only grandson of his grandparent. He is blessed to born in a loving family. He says his grand mother is his best friend that is why he calls her by her name because in friendship people address each other by name. Alicia is his partner when everyone is out at work. She fulfils his every wish. The bonding of the family is precious. Eddie’s passion includes Cookies, Chocolates, Cakes, Alicia, family (I wrote Alicia and family separate because she is his best friend not grandmother), playing and travelling. This order is strictly important except for ‘C’ words which can be shuffle at only first three places. You can put chocolates before cookies, or you can put cookies after chocolates or cakes, but do not you dare to put them after first three places it hurts Eddie. In daytime other family members are busy in their offices so they take dinner together because they love to spend time with each other. After every meal Mr. Eddie wants any of the “C” sweet (Cookie, Chocolate or Cake) well I was wrong not only after meal in every hour he has a deep craving for “C” sweets but ...... ‘Eddie one day one sweet either cookie, chocolate or cake.’ His mom said. ‘Alicia, see mom does not let me eat what I like, if big can eat what they like why can’t I?’ Eddie cried and complained. ‘Oo my darling your mom loves you that’s why she said so. And if she is saying ‘No’ that means it must be really bad for you’ ‘I do not believe.’ He blubbered again. Eddie is very clever he does it daily to emotionally blackmail Alicia and poor Alicia she cannot put up with his tears. ‘Do not cry. Do not cry. Here is a cookie for you filled with dark chocolate. Now smile my Boy.’ Mom Alicia Mom Other three members of the family responded immediately. They stared at her pointed their finger at her and said ‘he is getting stubborn and tricky. He knows how to get the things he wants.’ ‘Few tears and Alicia will bring everything he wants.’ His grandfather said. Alicia hugged Eddie and said he is just a kid. Let him live his childhood. She gave him a hongi. Everyone else laughed at Eddie’s naughtiness and talking about him at the dinner table. That was two days before Christmas Alicia was at shopping. Eddie asked his mom to buy some cookies and chocolates from a bakery a stone throw away from their house. His mom said, ‘no you will have cavities, I already told you to have only a cookie in a day. But you eat them throughout the day.’ Oh poor Eddie, Alicia is not there to fulfil your tantrums. He was down in the dumps. He was looking at the bakery from the window people were eating Choco pies, cookies, pastries. His mouth started secreting more saliva. He could not stop himself. He went in the dining room and instructed everyone not to disturb him, not even for dinner because he was already feeling disturbed for ‘C’ sweets. And said I am sleeping I am angry. His salivary glands giving him many ideas how to stop their secretion. He secretly went in the store hide himself in a corner and waiting for closing time. ‘Yippie bakery is closed now I can eat as many sweets as I want. But guess what he is 6 years old he can not reach out to some of his favourite cookies. But he had a Clever mind!! He dragged a table stood on it and take out chocolate filled cookies, chocolate pastries, cakes............Aahh my mouth is watering. He sat in a corner ate many cookies his hands and mouth became brown completely covered with chocolate. He was licking his hands and as night was passing, he fell asleep with those ‘C’ sweets having in his hand. OMG he woke when sun rays hit his eyes. He started worrying mama will discover me I need to be in my room. But how door is locked how will I get out of here. He was searching for an exit and left his chocolaty fingerprints everywhere. He saw a back-side door latched from inside he opened it and run away to his house. When he reached everyone was getting ready for office. They saw his brownish face and hands. His mother was shocked she asked what happened how many chocolates did you eat? You were supposed to be in your room when did you woke up and went out and ate chocolates. But she was in hurry getting late. So, she left for the office and asked her mother-in-law to message her what happened. * Here bakery was opening. Owner was surprised when he saw the bakery, he was sure a theft had happened. He investigated the complete shop nothing precious was missing except the secret ingredient of his recipes, cash was at its place as it is. But every edible item was scattered on the floor. He noticed small chocolaty fingerprints everywhere. Back-door was opened. When he investigated the CCTV he laughed out loud. Hey this is Eddie but how did he enter here. He knocked the door and gave a packet to Alicia and laughed and said please see the footage it is hilarious. Well, my investigation is over but something very important is missing I need it back. That is the secret ingredient of my store. He laughed again when he saw Eddie. Alicia was puzzled. First, she cleaned Eddie’s hands and face and then sat to saw the CCTV footage. When she was watching her phone ringed; ‘Mama where is Eddie he was not home last night. His video is getting viral everywhere with a caption “Eddie eat more chocolates but give me back my secret ingredient” and people are laughing in office and showing me the video. You know he needs a lesson he did something wrong. He cannot enter anywhere privately to eat sweets. You will not pamper him anymore.’ 'Ok.' Alicia replied. Alicia: hey buddy where was you last night? I think you ate many chocolates and cakes. Eddie was angry. ‘I am mad at her’. ‘I will run away from her’. Eddie said to Alicia. ‘Don’t be panic I am also facing the same situation. She does not allow sweets to us also.’ Alicia tried to compose him. They are sitting in the balcony and talking about how sad Eddie was. ‘Whenever I ask her, her answer is always ‘No’ a big ‘No’.’ ‘But she loves you.’ ‘I don’t believe.’ And Eddie started crying. ‘Hey Eddie stop crying and do not worry. I am always with. We are buddies your best friend Alicia will not leave you in any condition even if you will demand me to leave.’ Alicia giggled and her infectious smile gave a grin on Eddie’s face. ‘I did this because I had a deep craving for it.’ Eddie sobbed. ‘What did you do?’ ‘Do not tell anyone yesterday I asked for some cookies mama said no and you were not there to help me, so I broke in the bakery and enjoyed many chocolates, cakes and cookies. My mouth is still watering, and I cannot forget that sweet smell. Alicia you should be with me those cakes and cookies were awesome. Unfortunately, I fell asleep and came back in the morning that’s why you caught me red-handed. ‘But I think you should tell her the truth.’ ‘No, never did you see her eyes? She will kill me.’ ‘Eddie she already knows it. She only needs you to confess.’ ‘Really?’ ‘Yes’ ‘How does she know?’ ‘I do not know. She just told me on phone.’ Wah wah wah.................. Eddie cried again. ‘Do not cry darling but tell me what you stole from there?’ ‘I did not steal I just picked up something that was too yummy.’ ‘What did you pick up?’ ‘Three bottles of chocolate sauce there filling made me hungry. It was awesome not the regular chocolate sauce we eat at home.’ ‘Go and give it back to the bakery man.’ ‘No, it’s very tempting. Please do not tell mama.’ ‘What happened Eddie what is tempting and what you do not want to tell mama?’ he heard her mama’s voice from back side. ‘Nothing mama.’ 'Are you sure it is nothing.' 'yes mama.' ‘Then come downstairs before dinner we will watch something together.’ ‘What will we watch?’ 'Come and see.' Eddie feared his mama could not utter a single word. Everyone was sitting on the table with a serious face and they invited the bakery guy too mama turned on the tv. And as soon as video started, they find it difficult to control their laughter. And Eddie his eyes were wide open. He hid his face in Alicia’s lap and started crying. His mother came held him and said. ‘my sweetie when did you became so big, I am not annoyed but please give the chocolate sauce back and do not do it again. I am having something for you afterwards.’ ‘Eddie was sad and angry he brought those three bottles first gave it back but then immediately took it back he did the same thrice and at last he grabbed the bottles and very sweetly said I can’t give it back it’s very delicious.’ Alicia said ‘Eddie to enter in someone’s property and take their belongings without their permission is wrong. You cannot take other’s stuff. You return it then we have a surprise Christmas gift for you.’ ‘very sadly he returned those bottles.’ Mama has something for you. 'What? suddenly his sadness converted into a joy' Wow!!! I love you mama!! I am not mad at you at all. You are the best. Eddie had a dozen bottles of the secret ingredient ‘the yummiest chocolate sauce and many ‘C’ sweets .’


Sunlight floods my room. At the first break of morning, I let go a sigh of relief. I know my worries are gone for good. Well, except for the mess in the other room, but I can ignore that for now. The scent has never caused anyone in the complex to complain before. I gently tiptoe around my linoleum tile room and dress myself in a light cotton skirt and thin tank top. My nails appear to be clean, but I paint them bright red as an extra measure. What if anyone noticed the blood? I can’t remember what I did with last night’s clothes, but surely, I would’ve been careful with them. Did I burn them? Is fire cleansing enough? The only thing I have to do is avoid the kitchen. I need to leave the apartment first. I can deal with the mess later. Later is always better. I rush out of my apartment, and I narrowly escape the disaster waiting for me in the kitchen. The usual decorative half-empty coffee mugs were nowhere to be found in my home. This is the most definitive sign he is gone. I make my way downtown, eager to greet the bodega man. He is always kind, and he is understanding when my clothes are occasionally blood-stained. He is also always excited to show me his freshest oranges. The bodega always makes the world more tangible. As I graze my fingertips along the oranges, attempting to choose the ripest, I make eye contact with a smiling man sitting at the café table next to the bodega. I look away quickly - surely it isn’t him. As my blood runs cold and my mouth dry, I recall the previous night’s events. It can’t be him. I know it can’t be him. I saw his blood flood furiously through my kitchen just last night. I put the cold metal to his neck, and I slit him from ear to ear. His corpse looked as if it had a distorted smile. I hid his heart in my floorboards. Its never-ending beat screamed of my guilt. And yet, here he is. Alive. And drinking his favorite: black coffee. Whenever he appeared in my life again, he was always accompanied by a black coffee. Sugarless. Tasteless. A drink as dark as the sinister thoughts he whispered in my ear. I first met him ten years ago, in my early 20s. He was kind, warm, at first. He made sure I knew the realities of the world, and he wanted to protect me. He used to drink his coffee with cream and sugar. I am not sure when he changed, but he is not the same man now. It can’t be him. I killed him. I have killed him hundreds of times, but I am positive this latest attempt was successful. He never screamed the way he screamed last night. Hurriedly, I choose an orange, and I make my way to pay. I can barely focus on what the bodega man is saying. The man at the café is walking towards me, and he is whispering. Just as always. He says he only wishes to protect me, and he would never bring me harm. Perhaps I should listen to him - I don’t understand how he could be so different now. I ramble to the bodega man about coffee, and I tell him how it reveals the deepest desires of the soul. I leave - I shouldn’t listen to him. I shouldn’t listen to him. He is not who he used to be. When I finally arrive at my apartment, I know I am going to have to deal with a mess. His body is still there, lying on the ground, smiling. His blood will have soaked the floor mat by now. My neighbor, Nancy, tries to speak with me as I fiddle with my keys. Nancy is not real. She has never been real. I tell myself this every day, as she always tries to convince me she isn’t like the others. I am grateful Jim doesn’t look out of his peephole. Jim has kind eyes, and he never drinks coffee of any kind, but I do not trust him. He blares circus music late into the night. He is suspicious of me. I’ve invited him over for tea before, and he always stares at the kitchen floor tiles too intently. He knows what happens in my apartment. Even through the circus music, I am positive he can hear the screams. After what feels like years of trying to open my door, the knob finally gives way. Much to my shock and dismay, someone has already cleaned up my murder scene. The body is missing. There is no blood. Just once I wish the blood would still be there after I killed him. I do not know who always cleans it up, but surely, I would remember doing such a thing. I sink into the most comfortable chair I own. There are empty black coffee mugs everywhere I look. I hate the taste of black coffee, but he doesn’t. They weren’t here this morning. He wasn’t here this morning. He strolls in moments later. Just as he always does, he places a singular chrysanthemum in a glass jar. He cups my face in his hands. “You know,” he starts, “the bodega man wanted to kill you today. That’s why I was there.” I sigh. Of course, I already knew he would tell me this. I know the bodega man would never hurt me, but he is excellent in making me nervous of the kindest people. I would rather skip the conversation tonight. There is no reason to hear his thoughts on the strangers in the street who seek to harm me. First, I sniff the chrysanthemum and place it in my breast pocket. I then stumble around my messy kitchen as he babbles, and I find my prized knife. Just like I have murdered him every single time, I slit his throat. It is comfortably familiar. His bitter, black blood seeps onto my hands. This time, I killed him in the living room. Perhaps the change in venue will yield different results. After all, they say insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. Maybe tomorrow the blood will be here.


David Alexander, age thirty-five, was a man of little consequence. A humble night-manager at a small motel in a forgotten corner of Southern California, David's most notable accomplishment in his largely ineffectual life was actually the way in which it ended. Unfortunately for David, due to the horrific, highly improbable manner in which he--I wouldn't say "passed away," because that greatly undersells the nightmarish torment that preoccupied David in his final moments. But needless to say, David had neither the time nor inclination to comprehend the absurdity of his own situation. In fact the frightening, chaotic, yet effortlessly graceful dance of the cosmos which was David's death proved so improbable that a successful attempt by Dr. Urvi Patel, of the University of California Irvine, to approximate the odds of it even occurring--odds so mind-boggling, mind you, that I can't even be bothered to offer a comedic approximation of how impressively absurd they really are--drove the poor women insane. She now exists in a slight, yet perpetual state of depression, and teaches creative writing courses at a community college in Colorado. For the safety of others, the location of Dr. Patel's research remains classified. Though, there are rumors it’s stored away in an evidence locker somewhere in Anaheim. That said. Fortunately for us--though admittedly not so much for her--Mrs. Leticia Trevino was there to witness David's, let's say, "incident." A long-term resident of the motel where David had worked for some fourteen years, Tish's statements to the police and reporters in the days, months, and even years after the incident faced heavy scrutiny. And in all fairness, it's not hard to see why. Tish was--and still is--an admitted drunk. To this day, some three years after the incident, Tish can still be found scuttling about the motel at her leisure, walking up and down and all around the place, hair a mess, and always sipping from a seemingly bottomless thermos of whiskey. When asked by one reporter why she felt compelled to drink so much, Tish plainly and simply replied, "I like whiskey." David, meanwhile, never had an opportunity to speak with reporters on account that he was dead. But had he somehow the ability to speak from beyond the grave, David likely would have wanted to clarify a couple of things. First, David would have corrected Tish’s claims that she found him a “weeping mess” in the motel parking lot. For one, he wasn’t crying. He was merely worked up over the rather emotional phone call he had just finished with his wife. If anything, they were the scattered few raindrops of the restrained, though highly emotional storm raging within David. And for another, had he been crying--which he most definitely was not. But had he been crying, it was because--as he had already explained to Tish (who subsequently downplayed this crucial bit of information in most of her interviews)--David’s wife, Denise, had just then threatened to leave David and take their two children upon discovering that David had squandered their meager savings on a failed microbrewery. And as David bared his soul in that motel parking lot, Tish drank. And as she drank, she thought about her own failed marriage. How she chose drinking and a surprisingly lucrative online poker career over her own husband and children. It had worked out pretty well for her, all things considered. Sure, she was living alone in a motel and unknowingly had a large mass growing on her liver. But even after child support, she was still clearing a cool three-grand every month, which had to count for something, right? And so, halfway through a heartfelt (and utterly tearless) recounting of how he had screwed up his whole life by following his dreams, Tish cut-off David with a seemingly harmless question, which was this: “What’s the worst that can happen?” This brings us to the second thing that David would have clarified regarding his death: just how excruciatingly painful and frightening the whole ordeal was. If you take Tish at her word, you come away believing David’s death was instantaneous, or close enough. One moment he was alive, the next he was not. And it's a story that has proved a comforting thought for David’s family, especially Denise (who, after all this, eventually forgave David's flagrant disregard for his family’s financial future). Sadly, Tish's story simply isn’t true. Now. In all fairness, from Tish's perspective, one can clearly understand why she saw David’s death as instantaneous. Again, one moment David is standing in front of her, carrying on about his failed marriage and poor life choices. And then a moment later, David’s a pile of bones and clothes soaked and floating in the liquefied mess that was once his own flesh. You see, Tish’s question had the unintended consequence of triggering, deep within David’s brain, the exact sequence of synapses--the precise chemical cacophony, if you will--required for the human body to self-destruct. In fact, it followed David pondering him living alone in a motel, much like Tish. (*Maybe she can teach me about online poker*, he thought). In a moment so rare it drove Dr. Patel to write listless and pedantic poetry about it for the rest of her life, David seized, in a manner of speaking, on the most horrific thought imaginable by the human mind. And while nobody has dared to replicate David’s findings to ensure the scientific accuracy of it all, everyone has mostly come to agree it must have been something particularly spooky. The argument here being that nothing capable of liquefying the human body--if not instantly, then at least as instant as the human mind can perceive it--could possibly be as banal as your childhood sweetheart (and mother of your children) leaving you forever. Nor could it be as silly as having one’s genitals slowly removed by way of a small, rabid mammal surgically attached to them. (This is, of course, done in such a way that the devouring of the genitals in a slower, more roundabout fashion is the preferred--and surely more obvious--manner of escape to even a creature as intellectually deficient as a moderately starved, intoxicated kangaroo rat). To accurately describe David’s death requires details so outlandish that nobody would ever take them seriously. In fact, most reporters who initially interviewed Tish found the whole thing to be rather silly despite the obvious puddle of human goo carted away by local officials. Worse, such details would, aside from the most unprofessional of blogs, be unpublishable on a platform dependent upon ad revenue. Thus the best description we can offer that concisely yet safely encapsulates the grisly nature of the equally untimely demise of Mr. David Alexander is this: imagine a life-sized figure of a man crafted from lasagna melting beneath the heat of the midsummer sun, with its pulpy mess of tomato and chunky, gooey globs of meat and ricotta cheese slushing off in chunks, steadily revealing a skeleton that is, more or less, screaming in such a way that sounds like a frankly poor rendition of New Edition’s classic hit, "Mr. Telephone Man," and all while gargling with Alfredo sauce. It was a frightful mess, to say the least. As for how Tish’s view of this conflicts with David’s, simply imagine all this happening in slow motion. And just as the nightmare-inducing image of a man turning into what the bottom of a dumpster behind an Italian restaurant looks like is forever burned into your mind’s eye, slow it down several steps further. \* \* \* Three days after the incident, yet another reporter from yet another newspaper--disturbed by the rather enthusiastic and flippant manner in which Tish spoke--asked Tish how someone could carry on with their life as if they hadn't witnessed something so horrific. Tish shrugged. "I like whiskey.


We waited until the second moon rose before we made our move. Silently we stole through the forest - half a dozen shadows flickering through the underbrush, hardly distinguishable from the green-grey darkness of the great wood's densely crowded floor. Ullic wove a spell around us, chanting beneath his breath in the rolling speech of the Arkingdoms, and I felt the chill of sorcery in my bones as he led us on. It was a dark night, even despite the twin moons. Made darker still by the task ahead. I stuck my hand into one of the pockets of my overcoat and felt the cool touch of a brass medallion, familiar and comforting, worn smooth by long handling and the slow passage of years. It was my greatest possession. I grazed my thumb across its face and repeated the incantations for the hundredth time. I knew I was ready. If I wasn't, there wasn't time to become so. But I repeated the words and went over the steps and prayed that we would be enough. Something in the air began to change, and at once we could sense the edge of the clearing drawing near. Through the darkness I could see the faint outline of an enormous structure; more visible through the stars it obscured than any true feature or distinction. I went over the outline in my mind's eye, trying to remember where we were supposed to be. Somewhere just outside the southern wall was my guess. Ullic raised a hand to halt us, and as one we drew in close. "We're here." He said simply, his breath coming in steady gusts. He was winded, but still strong -- the spell had only been the first taste. "Does everyone remember what it is they need to do?" We nodded silently, there in the shadow of the massive, ancient trees. In the gloom I could see the rest of our number; Imbra and Ilyas, Ana, Tenoch of the Risar. This last seemed even more monstrous than usual, his craggy, stone-like features and hulking form made ominous by the faint light. I would never speak such words aloud, but I was glad to see his face. The risar were a strange race, but they were useful in a fight. With assurances given, Ullic gave the final word, and as one we stepped out into the clearing. Six figures, still hidden against the shadow of the trees. And before us the ancient temple of Randrabram stood tall and malevolent. We broke into a run, heading straight for the curtain wall of blue stone that encircled the base of the entire structure, keeping out unwanted visitors. It was a stalwart edifice thick enough to hold off battering rams and onagers -- but against sorcerers it was a trifling distraction, and hardly worth its weight. Imbra and Ilyas took the lead, the foreign pair sprinting faster than I could match, and as I watched they loosed a burst of power and vaulted themselves upward. They twisted gracefully in midair, feline in the smoothness of their movements but something other in their weightlessness, landing softly upon the upper ramparts with hardly a break in their stride. Ullic came after, though not near so prettily; he reached into the satchel that hung by his side and drew a series of brass rods. In the dark I could barely make them out -- but I noticed the glimmer of colour as he threw them toward the wall. With soft sounds they pierced stone, forming a trail up to the wall's upper ranks where the twins crouched and waited. The northman leapt lightly upward and began his climb, reaching from rod to rod as he scurried up the wall with startling speed. Ana half turned and gave us a wink, before she took spoke a spell for climbing. Hers, however, was not so physical as the other's. She whispered beneath her breath, and then she flew. That left only Tenoch and I at the base. I looked at the hulking giant, and he looked at me. "There's no way I'm doing that." He rumbled. I grinned at him, and reached into my own bag to find a narrow length of rope. It wasn't much, but sorcery could make up for a great deal of lack. It wasn't long before we joined the others on the ramparts. The temple spread before us like a stone lily; concentric rings of pale blue walls all centered upon a grand central tower. Buildings cowered in the shadows of each ring, most not much bigger than a hovel, but the true wonders were the ornately carved statues that seemed to fill every corner and crevice. Dogs, bears, demons and devils, drakes and manticores and all manner of beast -- all found their place in the ranks of those unmoving denizens, their bodies painted with a pale gold ringlets, their eyes gleaming with gemstones. But all throughout there was not a single living soul. "Not quite the guardians I expected." Ullic muttered. "Where are the soldiers?" asked Ilyas. "I thought there would be guards." Imbra scoffed. "The gods are dead. What need do they have for guards?" "They're not dead. They're merely sleeping." "Five hundred years is a very long nap." "Quiet!" Ullic hissed. "We are in the temple of Randrabram. Hallowed hall of the Ruddhan kings. Here the demi-god Matharu slew a thousand foes with a broken arrow. Here the goddess Derrinkor was laid to rest after the Abolition! Here we bring the age of gods to a new and glorious beginning! Have some respect, damn you, or at least some wits. We know not what lurks in these shadows." Both of the twins seemed annoyed at the rebuke, but they wisely held their tongues. Tenoch made a noise like a landslide through a canyon. I think he was attempting to laugh. "Tenoch," Ullic spoke with an urgent air of command. "Take the mute and head down on the left. Imbra, Ilyas, you take the right. Ana--" He paused, sharing a strange, long look with the dark-haired southern woman. "You're with me." He declared. "Straight down the center." "Right into the maw of the beast?" She replied. "It would be my pleasure." The risar and I made our way across the wall, marveling at the temple as we did. The ramparts were wide enough to accommodate two chariots side-by-side, and so high the world below seemed strangely peaceful. It was easy to forget how much blood had been spilled here. Easier still to forget how much would spill after we were done. We came to the head of a long staircase, the steps carved directly from stone. Side by side we began our slow descent. It was then that we heard the scream. Both Tenoch and I halted in place, struck by the agony and horror in it. It lasted for hardly a moment, but in my ears it sounded like an age -- I could hear the shifts of its pitch and timbre, responding to agony like the reflection in a mirror. It twisted and roiled and burst into the silence of the evening like a storm, setting every hair on my body to standing, and filling my stomach with no small amount of dread. Beside me, the risar grunted. "Damn." We took off running. Down the stairs and into the maze-like corridors of the temple grounds, the ringed walls rising above us so that all was obscured save the sky. We wasted no time looking for our comrades. Spent not a moment worrying about their fates. We knew the risks, and we knew the dangers, and we had come to this place with a mission in hand. The mission surmounted all. That was what Ullic always said. The slap of boots on stone echoed around us, my speed matched by the giant's long strides. I found myself grateful again for the eight-foot tall slab of stone and gristle. How my father would pale at the thought of his son being thankful for the help of a risar! But he was not here, and he had not heard that scream. I was. I had. And thanked the gods for Tenoch. A crossroad opened up before us, branching paths between the corridors made clear. I drew up short, while Tenoch glanced around for any sign of trouble. He looked to the left and the right. But trouble came from above. With a screech like metal on metal a great dark shape came hurtling downward, leaping from the ramparts of the nearest curve of wall with teeth and talons bared. It was a blur of blue stone, amber paint in swirling designs glowing faintly on its flanks as it landed hard -- both Tenoch and I scrambled backward, hands reaching for weapons, but already the beast was moving. It went for Tenoch, clearly decided him to be the greater threat, or the tastiest morsel, and with fangs bared it leapt for his throat with violence in mind. He threw up his arm, bellowing loudly as the devil struck its mark; the risar had skin much stronger than a man's, but the creature's teeth sank home nonetheless. Tenoch roared again, and I scrambled for my bag, digging through for anything that might help. I found a small bag of blackpowder but discarded it quickly, searching for something that wouldn't kill Tenoch as well. The two struggled with one another as I hunted for a tool, my mind racing for spells and incantations. Tenoch shook the beast, its teeth still buried in his arm, its claws rending great long slashes in his clothes and armour, while with his free hand he struck it again and again. Neither seemed to gain the upper hand, though the ground grew dark with risar blood, and at last I felt my fingers close around something of use. A bladeless hilt, weapon of choice for mages all across the Redemah. I pulled it free and pushed myself to my feet, trying to remember the incantation even as I sprinted forward. I raised the hilt high and worked my fingers for the spell; calling upon the power of the Firmament and the forces beyond. A blade of light and fire surged from the hilt, and with a shout of fury echoing through my mind I leapt, and buried into the beast. With a keening shriek it fell backward, loosing at last the worried, bloodied arm of Tenoch as it twisted and writhed in agony. I drew back the blade and struck with it again, and again, and yet again -- up and down the blade rose and fell, until the keening died and the sword grew dim. Panting, I glanced at Tenoch. He clutched his forearm to his chest, but seemed whole. The bronze armour he wore was a tattered mess of torn metal, and blood coated the whole of his arm and streaked across his chest and side. I offered him a sympathetic look. He grunted, and spat a few curses in his native tongue. Tentatively I made my way to the ruined corpse of the beast that had come for us. A strange creature, almost like a lion but...wrong. I knew at once what it was; the blue stone form, the pale yellow markings. One of the statues, come to life. “Should have guessed.” Tenoch growled. “Whole damn world full of magic, and mages, and treachery. Should have guessed this would be one of those.” He wasn’t wrong. I put the hilt back into my bag, and joined his side. There wasn’t much to be done for his arm, but I gave him what aid I could. Suddenly a fluttering filled the air, like a canvas sail whipping in the wind. Both Tenoch and I looked up in time to see Ana descending to meet us. “You heard the scream?” She asked. Tenoch grunted his assent. As the witch landed, she caught sight of his arm and then the beast. “Seems you’ve had troubles of your own.” “The damn beasts are coming to life, aren’t they?” Tenoch spat again, as if it was curse enough. “All those tomes you read, all the preparation you did - nothing told you about magic statues?” “Nothing concrete. Certainly nothing said that they would be this dangerous.” “Creatures of stone, animated by magic, charged to defend the grave of a god with their lives. What could be dangerous about that?” The witch shot him a withering look, and turned to me. “Time for subtlety has passed. Time to make for the central keep. You have any tricks in that bag that can help us?” I shook my head. It was her turn to curse. She turned to Tenoch. “What about you stone-face?” “Where is Ullic? You were with him.” “He sent me to find you. He went for Imbra and Ilyas. They were the ones who screamed - one of them anyway. But I doubt the other was very far behind.” “We should find them.” “There isn’t *time*.” Ana’s voice was hard, and sharp and swift as the crack of a whip. “There are dozens of these creatures. Scores of them. All hunting *us* as we speak. Let Ullic find the others and join us at the keep. We need to move, and we need to move quickly. You know what he would say.” Tenoch grunted. “The mission before all.” “Before all indeed. You ready?” The risar nodded. I did the same. “Good.” Ana took the lead, and together the three of us plunged deeper into the maze. The blue stone walls seemed to loom large overhead, threatening to tumble inward and envelop us - but they held as we rushed onward underneath, running hard as we made for our goal. Every so often Ana would take to the skies, adjusting our path to steer us rightly or avoid another beast. By the end Tenoch was panting and I was drenched in sweat. But we found our way through the corridors of Randrabram, and came at last to the final steps before the citadel. “Here,” She told us. “Gods be good, we’re nearly done.” We took to the steps three at a time, our energy renewed by the nearness of victory. The only sounds in the night was the slap of boots upon stone and the labored breath of weary men. But as we came to the doors that led into the temple’s heart, a new sound joined them all. *”Wait!”* I whirled, and there came Ullic - running hard with Imbra clutching to his side. She was wounded, badly, and even from a distance she looked pale. The only thing keeping her moving was her arm slung around Ullic’s shoulder, and a desperate, undefeatable will to survive. They lurched along the path up to the staircase, half hobbling, half stumbling, desperately trying to make up the space. In a few moments I saw why - behind them came death, in all its many faces. “Gods be good.” Tenoch breathed, his own eyes catching sight of the half a dozen shadows hurtling down the corridor to our companions. They were moving too swiftly, and Ullic and Imbra too slowly; they would catch them before they were halfway up the stair. There was no hope, unless we gave it to them. Tenoch did not wait. He drew his sword with his good arm - a long, savage thing of bronze, gleaming with fury in the half-light. I reached into my bag for the bag of blackpowder, and offered a quiet prayer to the gods for true aim. It was Ana who stopped us. “Are you *mad*?” She hissed, slipping before us. Her arms were spread to bar the way, and her gaze was hard. “Just *one* of those things nearly killed you. Six will rend you limb from limb.” “I will not watch our companions die.” Said Tenoch. “Do not watch, then. We go on.” I stared at Ana, but for all my shock I was not surprised. We were companions in arms, but not friends. We had a mission. And it was paramount. But the risar was not so easily convinced. He took a step forward, and in the shadow of his might the witch seemed a child. “Move or be moved.” He said. “No son of Sarmath leaves allies unaided.” Ullic’s voice reached us at the top of the stair. “Please!” He shouted. “Help us!” The statues were closing swiftly. Tenoch and Ana locked eyes and wills. My hand closed around the sack of blackpowder, and like water from a spring the spell came to my fingertips. I drew the sack and threw. It flew high, and far, heading straight for the ranks of the onrushing specters and their seething, shadowy hate. As it reached just above their ranks, I raised my hand and clenched my fist. The word of power in my mind burst into incandescent light. And above the guardians, the sack of powder did the same. With a roar it exploded into scorching flame and smoke, belching forth across the ranks of the devils as they came. They let up a chorus of shrieks and cries, their terrible approach halted for only a moment. Tenoch rushed down the stair, pushing past the witch and moving swiftly for Ullic. I watched the smoke from where I stood, hoping. Praying. Then something moved beyond the haze. *TENOCH!* My mind bellowed, but my throat could not do the same - and I watched in horror as he ran to his doom, the beasts already rallying, one leaping through the smoke. Its jaw hung at an angle, clearly wounded by the blast, but these demons of stone and magic seemed to care little for the pane. In their gemstone eyes hate glittered, hard and cold. They came on with renewed fervor. Tenoch spotted them and redoubled his speed, leaping down the ancient staircase with little care for anything save haste. He skittered down the steps toward Ullic and Imbra, even as the latter slipped on the stones and fell, buckling beneath her own weight and agony. Ullic tried to move her, but he did not have the strength. I watched with horror. Then felt a hand on my shoulder. The witch woman looked at me, her eyes intent on my own. “Do you know the runes?” She demanded. “If we make it to the top, can you do the casting?” I nodded. Tenoch was the runemaster, of course - the risar had invented the craft, and knew it best - but I had learned the spells as a precaution. I was meant to perform the final ritual, but in a pinch I could do the rest. “Good.” She glanced at the scene unfolding below. “You’re not so crippled by attachment, are you?” I followed her gaze. Ullic and Tenoch stood together now, united over the body of Imbra who lay unmoving at the base of the steps. The northman had fire dancing along the tips of his fingers, and Tenoch bore his bronze blade high. Four of the statues circled. Waiting for an opening. And in the distance more shadows seemed to move. The mission before all. I turned my back on the fight below, and followed Ana into the temple’s heart. I offered a quiet prayer, for northman and risar. Blood was often spilled in Randrabam. A little more would be of no consequence. We entered the temple and climbed its steps, ignoring the chambers and hallways that whispered of secrets and treasures and glories unknown. Ana led the way, a witchlight floating just beyond her, and I followed while straining for the faintest sound from outside. Nothing could be heard. And as we climbed higher and higher, outside faded from memory. Soon enough it seemed inconsequential. Soon after that, little more than a dream. We surfaced at the top of the tower, forcing open a door that had not been opened in centuries. The wind whipped harshly around us, whispering admonishment, but there was a power here that could not be denied. It thrummed through the air, through our beings, warmer than a furnace, so rich and sweet it was almost heady. It felt like being drunk, only greater. Like lust, only stronger. Love, but deeper. “This is it.” Ana breathed. And indeed it was. The altar of the temple stood before us - a black stone monolith of unknown make, glossy in the light of the twin moons. I could feel its draw upon my heart. Every breath I took was like a gasp in the face of a hurricane. “Its time.” I stepped forward. Tentatively, as a boy before his father’s wrath, my head bowed in fear of rebuke, but driven forward by an order I could not disobey. Even step made the air feel warmer. Every moment I felt more alive. And as I stood before the altar, my fears slipped away. There was no doubt. There was no worry. There was only this. The spells I had spent all my life learning came to my fingers without demand. They too seemed bowed before the power of the presence before us; subdued in the wake of the force that we now embraced. I bent to write the runes of power, and with the tip of my finger etched them in white fire along the altar’s base. I worked the incantations with the shifting of my fingers, and I felt something beyond the Firmament shift as well. Summoning is a lot like picking a lock. You twist and tweak and listen for the changes. You test the mechanism for weakness. You let it tell you where and when to push. Summoning a god is nothing like that. It’s more like sliding down a hill. Once committed, it’s out of your hands. There is only the draw. There is only the fall. Yes, that is what it was like. Summoning a god felt like fighting gravity. A fight that I was losing. “Come on!” Ana urged, her eyes wild and alive with power. “Keep pressing!” Press I did. Upon the very boundaries of the world I pressed. Deep into the fabric of creation, straight into the veil, right into the Firmament and beyond it I pressed my power and *pushed*. There was no time for thinking. No time for planning or the cleverness of mages. I could feel the power of that which we locked away, and it was like staring into the heart of the sun. It called to me. Urged me onward. Promised me power, and glory, and dominion. Immortality. Apotheosis. Fire, water, and blood. It offered me my speech. How could it know that, I thought. As if the gods did not know all things. As if the piercing light that now divided the contents of my soul could not tell where I was weak, and failing. Slowly I could hear music in the distance, and I knew then that the moment was coming. It began to grow, louder and louder, crashing with cymbals and bright with lyres and alive with wood and brass. Voices were in it; ten thousand voices in ten thousand tongues, crying out a name - *my* name - and offering me praises, offering me glory, offering me power over life and death - “Fool!” Ana began to shout, “What are you doing? Bind it! Bind it!” But there was no binding the storm. No leashing the wind. I could feel it coming, sure as dawn. Who could forbid the sun its dominion? Who could stand before the sea, and tell it no? Only the gods. Only they. And I was not such a one. Not yet. The music was louder now, and I could feel the blood as it ran down my ears. I fell to my knees in reverence, shaking with the force of creation. I could see visions. Crystal towers, stretching from the center of the earth to the outmost stars, and upon them strode demons and heroes, colossal and mighty, wreathed in power. “Bind it!” Came the distant voice again. But the binding mattered not. This power did not care for bindings. This power did not care for me. My hands etched the runes upon the altar without my will to guide them. Slowly, surely, they carved fire into stone, and undid the names of the locks that sealed this ancient god from all creation. Vaguely I remember a loud, desperate scream. Then a sound like canvas in the wind. Then there was nothing - nothing but the storm of song that surrounded me, and the feeling in my gut that *something was coming*. I heard it. Steps. Each one the death knoll of millions. It was coming. They were coming. And I would be their herald, their arbiter, their servant, their son and devoted slave But as the flash of bronze caught my eye, I loosed a guttural scream of horror and fear. Sharper than steel was the risar’s blade, and swift as moonlight on water it bit into the flesh of my wrists and severed my hands at the bone. I fell backward, blood gouting in crimson streams as I tried to voice my agony. The pain seered through my mind, and as the hands ceased their writing the visions were lost - like a door slammed shut upon paradise, all the wonder and peace and glory I had known was hidden once more with one dreadful, final boom. I railed, and laughed, and wept bitter tears, and screamed with my mangled tongue. I found myself thinking, quietly clearly, that I had gone mad; but I cared not. It did not matter. I wanted more. Tenoch, bloodied and wounded in more places than could be counted, looked upon me with pity. His sword still dripped with scarlet blood, even while his clothes were streaked and stained with black. “The mission before all.” He sneered. “Damn the mission. Damn your gods. Damn it all.” He coughed, and spat red blood upon the blue stone. You have, I thought. You have.


The earliest memories I have all include my sister Allison. We have been best friends since the day we were born. Oh yeah. I probably should have mentioned that we are twins. We both have dark red hair and hazel blue eyes. We're almost completely identical except my eyes are a little bigger than hers and she has more freckles than me. But until you really know us you can’t tell. We have always been very close. We did everything together. Ally and I lived with our mom in Portland, Tennessee. Our mom was a senior in high school when she got pregnant with us. My dad was a senior too. He was the star of the football team and had his pick of girls. But he chose my mom. And if I’m being honest I can’t blame him. My mom has the same hair as me and Ally but her eyes are a bright sapphire blue. I always assumed we got our hazel eyes from him but I don't really know. You see, my dad left us before Ally and I were even born. He was too young to be a father. But my mom. She was incredible. She had really good grades and was able to get a scholarship to business school. My grandparents took care of us while she was at class and eventually she opened her first boutique. Even with the scholarship my mom didn't have a lot of money and was often very stressed out. To help, my grandma taught her how to sew so she could make us clothes. It really helped to distract her. She got so good at it that after college she ended up opening a boutique with her best friend Molly. It’s not a large shop but it provided us enough money for everything we needed. With some help from my grandparents. Allison and I had the same group of friends and always hung out together. Even though we were a small group we always had a good time. It was me, Ally and our friends Mia and Olive. Every summer we would all spend time swimming in the lake, going to the movies, and all kinds of other stuff. We were always in the same class in elementary school and ate lunch together everyday in middle school. We did homework every evening at each other's houses and even had family dinners once a week. In my mind our life was perfect. That is until the summer before senior year. It started the same as any other summer. My friends had planned to go to the movies to hang out all day to celebrate the first day of summer and Ally and I were gonna spend all night planning what we were gonna do. I was sitting in my room waiting for her for about 30 minutes before I decided to go look for her. I found her in her room reading a piece of paper. When I knocked on the wall she looked up and quickly hid the paper under the pillow. I ignored it and just asked her if she was coming. “Actually Eliza, I’m tired. Can we do this tomorrow?” she asked. I could tell she was upset but I decided to just go with it. “Sure we can do that, goodnight”. This was the first day I noticed a change in Ally. When I woke up the next day I came down stairs so we could plan but she wasn't there. I asked mom where she was but she said she hadn’t come down yet. Now I was really confused. We went to bed early and she knew we were supposed to leave in 20 minutes. I ran upstairs to talk to her and saw her sitting at her desk doodling in a notebook. “Hey are you ready?”, I asked. “Actually I don't really feel like it. I think i'll sit this one out”. And now I was concerned. “Are you feeling ok?, you were so looking forward to this and we told Mia and...” “Look Elizabeth, I just don’t wanna go!” she snapped. The look she gave me scared the life out of me. But honestly I was really mad at her. How could she ditch us like that? “Fine!”, I snapped back and left. This lasted all summer. Ally always had an excuse to not hang out. And it wasn't just me. She stopped doing things with my mom. She even made excuses to not to go to my grandparents or family dinners. By July I was done with her. I decided it was better to just let her be moody. Whatever the reason was. Mia and Olive decided to do the same. My mom didn't give up so easily. She kept forcing me to ask her to come with me places. I fought a little but decided it was better just to get a no and move on. And this was our routine till August. Our town was having an end of summer carnival and my mom was insistent on everyone going. “Mom I’m telling you she won’t go.” I said, while helping her hang up clothes. “She’s barely left her room all summer.” “I don’t care. She needs to get out.” She picked up the empty basket and headed inside. I grabbed the bag of clothes pins and followed her. “Ally! Come down here please”. I heard her yell. Immediately I wished I had waited another minute to follow her. I might have been able to stay outside and miss the fireworks. Ally came slowly down after a few minutes. She glared at me when she passed and walked to mom. “Honey, the end of summer carnival is tomorrow. Are you excited?” “Not really.” Ally responded then turned to go upstairs. My mom looked at me and I gave her a shrug with a “Told you so” look. Her face changed immediately from gentle to frustrated. “Ally!” she said firmly, stopping Ally in her tracks. “You are going to this carnival. I don’t know what is going on with you but I have had enough of this moping. In fact today you and your sister are gonna go out and spend time together. We both immediately complained but she gave us a look that meant we had to go. So we got our shoes and walked outside without another word. “So uh...what do you wanna do?” I asked. She shrugged and refused to look at me. I sighed and just started walking towards the woods. She followed slowly behind me. We walked for about ten minutes in silence before I finally snapped. “Ok that’s it!” I screamed, definitely scaring Ally. “Why have you been hiding away from everyone? What gives? What is your problem?” “That’s none of your business!” Ally snapped back. “Ally come on.” I said, “we use to hang out all the time.” “Yeah well maybe I don't wanna spend every second of my life with you anymore! And maybe I don’t wanna tell you everything anymore!” “Fine!” I screamed. “Fine!” she screamed back. Just as I was about to turn away a blinding light shown from further in the forest. Ally and I both covered our eyes. I peaked out behind my hand to see the light had dimmed enough that I could see. I turned to look at Ally just to see that she had started walking towards it. “Ally wait!” I called out running after her. By the time I caught up to her she had already found the source. Two doors were just sitting in the middle of the woods. They were both a deep red with gold handles and hinges. We walked up to them. The bright light surrounding them dimmed as we got closer till eventually disappearing through the keyhole. I peered through the hole but couldn’t see anything. I walked behind the door. The backs were the same as the front. I came back around to see Ally reaching for the handle on the door on the right. “What are you doing?” I asked. “What?” “You don’t think a door in the middle of the woods is strange. And that maybe you shouldn’t open it?” I said sarcastically. “Oh come on how bad could it be?” She asked, still reaching for the door. She grabbed the handle and turned it...but nothing happened. The door was locked. “Hmm...” she said then walked towards the door on the left. I went to follow her but something stopped me. I looked at the right door and, for some reason, reached for the handle. Suddenly, the door began to shake and I heard a strange noise. I looked over to see Ally had grabbed the other door knob and was looking at the top of her door. I looked at the top of mine and saw that letters were being engraved into the wood. It read Two sides to every coin. Two kinds of people. Two sides of every story. You know yours. It’s time to see hers. Ally and I turned our heads to look at each other, then back at the doors. Then, without really thinking, we opened them and stepped inside. At first I had no idea where I was. It was dark and when I felt around all I felt were cobwebs and wood. I was really scared. I leaned against the wood to try to calm down when suddenly I felt something cool on my back. I turned around, found the item with my hand, and realized it was a door handle. Just as I was about to turn it I heard someone walking around. I paused for a moment then slowly turned it and peaked out. Looking around I was able to see that I was in a wardrobe that has been sitting in my attic for as long as I could remember. I walked out slowly to see Ally looking for something. “Ally!” I called out. “What happened, how did we get here?” But she didn't respond. I went up and waved my hands in front of her but she just walked past me and kept looking around. Suddenly she headed toward the wardrobe I was in. I followed her to see her pull a green hat box from it. I watched as she opened the box and started looking through it. I peered over to see it was full of papers. My mom was not very organized in college so a lot of important paperwork was just sitting in old boxes. Ally suddenly stopped digging and pulled out an envelope with mom's name on it. I was a little confused at first till I looked closer to see my dad's name on it too. I watched as Ally thought about putting the letter down then shove it in her pocket and hurried down the ladder. I went to follow her when suddenly I realized I was already in her room. I was facing her vanity when I saw her in the mirror. I turned around to see her sitting on the bed reading a piece of paper. Suddenly I walked in the room. Well another version of me. “Actually Eliza, I’m tired. Can we do this tomorrow?”Ally said. That was when I realized what was going on. I didn't know why but somehow I was back to the last day of school. The day Ally stopped wanting to hang out with me. With anyone. I looked back at where Ally was sitting to see she was gone. The room was dark except for a small bulb that should have been in the attic. That old wardrobe was in the corner where her dresser usually was. It was like the rooms had combined. I walked over to the bed to see the envelope laying there. I sat down and opened it. It contained a letter to my mom from my dad. It explained that my dad was leaving because He did not feel he could handle two children. He told my mom how he loved her but wasn't ready to have two kids. It stated that he had been selected for a professional football team and that he would send my mother money to take care of us. As shocking as this was, it was the last line that really stuck out to me. “Please tell the girls that I loved them and that I am sorry. Maybe if it was just one it would be different. Goodbye. Love, Ethan.” I was in shock. My mom had told us that our father ran off and never told her where he went after he left. And all the money that was supposedly coming from my grandparents was actually from him. But the last line infuriated me. He couldn’t handle two kids. Most people are so excited when they have twins. It’s probably very stressful but it’s still a miracle. How could he do that? And why would he never make contact? Ally and I were almost 18 and he never wanted to meet us? “Eliza.” I was still in shock when I heard Ally say my name. I looked around and realized that I was back in the woods. I turned around to see that the doors were gone. “Ally, what was that what just...” I paused when I noticed her staring at my hand. I looked down to see I was still clutching the letter. “Well” I thought, “at least we know it actually happened.” “Ally, I realized that this letter was shocking but...you didn’t talk to anyone for months. How could you...” “Didn’t you read it?” she asked, “Dad left because of me.” I looked at her confused for a moment before I realized what she meant. Ally and I are twins but I was born first. I looked at the last line of the letter again, “Maybe if it was just one it would be different.” After that I finally understood what happened. To Ally this letter was saying that if it was just me. If she had never been born I would have a dad. Mom would have a husband. I looked at my sister and saw tears start to form in her eyes. I ran to her and wrapped her in my arms. “Ally this is not your fault.” I said while hugging her. “Yes it is. He wanted you. He wanted mom.” She let go of me, “why didn’t he want me?” I looked at my sister and felt tears in my own eyes. “You know what? Who cares. You are an amazing person and he is missing out.” She looked up at me, making eye contact with me for the first time in months. “Ally, forget about him. I would rather have you than a dad who would run away from someone they loved.” She smiled and hugged me. “I’m sorry Eliza. I’m so sorry.” I smiled and told her it was alright. I broke our hug and said sternly, “But never do it again.” We both laughed and took one more look at where the doors were. We looked at each other and walked back to the house. “Hey what happened when you went through the door?” I asked. Ally’s face dropped, “Umm...” she stuttered. “It’s ok. Tell me when you're ready.” “Thanks” she said. I smiled “Come on. We have a carnival to go to.” We walked back to the woods talking and laughing. It was like the last three months had never happened. But I couldn’t stop wondering what Ally saw through that door. I may never know but if it was anything like what I went through, finding out will change both our lives. I just hope if she does decide to tell me, they change for the better.