Back in my former home, I had a huge map of the old world hung up on a wall. I’d spend much of my time staring at those vast lands, wondering where they had gone. I’d chat to the sailing traders who visited, go home and try and draw their oversevations, comparing them to the map. I’m fairly certain those attempts to chart the new world had been inaccurate, but one thing was certain. Gone were the great continents of Europe, Africa, or the Americas. The world was now scattered into islands. I knew if I ever wanted to learn more, I’d have to travel. Some already did - traders, missionaries, refugees - but none travelled with the sheer purpose of exploring. While that desire to go was always there I am not certain I would’ve ever picked up the courage to leave had the decision not been forced upon me. The island I called my home was Kadear Coalfields. When the sun was out, I often sat on the cliffs overlooking the beach, watching the currents pull the many boats ashore. Traders flocked to the islands for the precious black rock from which the island took its name. Each trader’s boats, their clothing, their mannerisms, even the way they spoke - they were all different, born from another place and culture. From that vantage point, you could see a full microcosm of the world. I still remember the last time I sat watching those boats. It was a final moment of calm and stillness. A breeze was slowly picking up from the east, creating a soft whistling noise through the trees, bringing with it the scent of fresh salt. Small waves lapped underneath the boats as their hulls lifted and fell with the waters. I had just finished work for the day, and was allowing the gently rocking boats to cradle my tired mind, when I was disrupted by the loud screech of aged bike brakes. I turned to see Thomas dismount from his bike. Thomas and I worked together. But a shared determination to achieve, had led to a firm friendship born from respectful rivalry. “Ferdinand, I’m glad I found you,” he said, panting a little from the ride. “They want to have a status meeting tomorrow. I’ve spent most of the day traveling to the mines trying to get the latest numbers. Are you up to date?” I had them all up-to-date within the past week, except one - the Sabina coal pit on the very northern tip of the island. It was nearly a four-hour bike ride. I looked wearily up at the falling sun. “It’s too late to make it there,” I said. “The Citadel applications are next month. You’ll be out of the running.” It was hard to tell if he was worried for my chances, or more delighted that my plight improved his own. Either way he was right - any sign of being uncommitted, and my hopes of a move to the Citadel were done for another year. I thanked Thomas for the forewarning, grabbed my bicycle, and began the long ride north. The journey to the northern tip of the island is one of the more grueling routes. Most of the mine, industry and people were in the south. As of such, as I headed further north, the path became less traveled. Instead of small pebbles, stones some thirty centimeters across began to stick up from the dusty ground, threatening to take out a wheel. Huge dents meant the bike shook violently every few meters. It wasn’t long before I began to feel tired. But it was the mental exhaustion of making sure I spotted the obstacles in time that got to me, rather than the pain in my legs. However, about halfway, there was a moment of relief. The path elevated on the eastern coast, and at the credt I was treated to one of the best views of the Citadel on the whole island. The buildings were a perfect white, almost too pristine and clean like they were birthed that day from the ground itself. Their flat roofs poked up above the lush forest that surrounded them. Even from here, I could make out the reflection of the sky in the wide, expansive windows. Behind the trees, the streets and the ground levels, was a mystery for most of us. I had only seen sketches to feed my imagination: roads lined with brick and not just dirt; flowers that lined the sides of the paths instead of overgrown scrub, the distance between every building, between every tree, between every blade of grass designed to a perfect geometric science. There was a reason it is the most coveted place on the island, and at the time, I was on the brink of being invited. Every year a resident passed on or disgraced themselves and were removed. So each year many of us applied for one of the vacant spots. The very best workers and those who rose to the higher ranks were gifted one of those houses as a reward. There, they got to live with the ruling council in luxury. I was already relatively well off compared to most on the island. However, my walls were a drab brown of exposed brick and hastily applied cement. There were no windows, and light came only from small lanterns. I had earned my home, but it had never been the goal. It had only ever been a stopgap on my way to the Citadel. By the time I reached the Sabrina coal pit, night had truly arrived. There was the faintest of light trying to curve around the horizon, just enough to guide me towards the office and the sanctuary of the lamps hung around the site. As I stepped off the bike, and the heat of the ride wore off, I could feel how frosty the air was becoming. The peaceful evening breeze, was turning into a nighttime chill, and I scurried inside the office to get out of the cold. It took about an hour to get the paperwork ready. It was mostly a matter of grabbing the relevant documents, checking the records, and copying across the relevant numbers. There were some more figures that needed tallying, but that could wait till I was home. Though it was already as dark as it could be, and the frost had arrived, my instinct was telling me to make the return journey sooner rather than later. \ Back on my bike, it didn’t take long for the lights of the mine to fade and for the path to become bordering on a pitch black. Clouds had washed over the island, blotting out the night sky. A strong easterly gale was blowing frigid sea air up over the islands, and with each gust, I could feel my arms ache and shiver. The strong winds were also making it harder to maintain an accurate path through the stones and divots of the makeshift path. I could only see a meter or two of the ground in front of me and I was struggling to decide whether I was better off getting out the cold quickly or going as slowly as possible to ensure I avoided crashing I was about a third of the way home. At that point, the path snaked around to the left, avoiding getting too close to the citadel near the center of the island. The citadel was only for those who were allowed to live there, it was one of the perks, part of its exclusivity. But as a result, the path bent to hug the coast, exposing more or me and the bike to the winds. There was a small hill in the path as it rose over a mound. I reached over the top and began descending. As I did, I could make out little of the path the other side. Gravity pulled sharply on the bike. It accelerated, and I was too slow to react. The front wheel jammed into a divot, stopping it in an instant. The bike bucked, and my own momentum threw me over the handles. I hung in the air a moment, suspended in the darkness, before feeling my right wrist crash into the stony ground. There was the sound of stones shifting and fabric ripping, as my ears became filled with the gray noise of my body sliding down the hill. I felt my knee crack against a sharp rock and I screamed in pain before my body finally came to rest on level ground. It took me a few seconds to process the moment. I was laying down on my side, looking out to the ocean. It was too dark to see it, but I could hear vividly the waves crashing against the rocks, and the blasts of wind blowing up from the cold waters. Slowly my senses came back to me, and my body began to make me aware of where the worst pain was. My elbow was throbbing. It hurt, but it moved. So at least I could rule out a break. Going down my body, my knee was rattling, as if shaken from its joint. I was certain it would begin to swell fast. Finally, there was a large stinging pain down my left calf. I reached out to it. The fabric of my trousers was ripped, and through the gap, I could feel the uncomfortable mixture of gravel and blood. Apprehensively, I pushed myself off the ground, and slowly rose to my feet. I was careful to put weight on my right - my good leg - first. At first, things seemed fine. However, as I leaned onto my left leg, testing it, I could feel the joints in my knee crumple under the additional pressure, and the bitten nerves let out a scream. Up the hill, I could make out the bike, its front wheel still trapped in the divot. I gingerly hobbled forwards. A frustrated, hopeless groan left my lips as it came into view. The front wheel had jammed so hard against the stony ground that the metal rim had buckled and bent to the side. I racked my brain, desperately searching for some solution to make the bike rideable again, but it was fruitless. A thick gust blew in from the coast. I could feel it flutter through the open tear in my trouser, and seep into my body through the open cut. With the wind chill, the temperature had plummeted vastly, and I could feel my core stiffening in the cole. With my bike completely broken, I would have to try and walk either back home, or back up to the mine. Either way, a likely six hours of hobbling through the freezing gales. With the winds, the injuries, the heat quickly sapping from my body, I had to find shelter and soon. I turned so that my back was facing the sea, and the stiff breeze was no longer landing on my face. Ahead of me, I could make out the small halo of light that rose from the lamps at the citadel, casting silhouettes of the buildings against the cloudy sky. The citadel was private, I was forbidden from going there. But even with the dense trees between the citadel and the path, I could still walk there in under two hours. I made up my mind. I would head to the citadel and pray my injuries were enough to forgive my trespassing.I had no choice. I only had one option if I wanted to survive.


Brian entered the dim lit room , and sat at the table. He wondered if there was any trouble. After all, he was a good spirit and never got anyone in trouble in the spirit realm. He took a look around the room to see if he could maybe find out who called him there, but the old office building room was too dirty and covered in dust to completely figure anything out. Only the window to his left allowed any light inside and that was starting to disappear as well. Brian finally opened his mouth and said"Hello, is anyone there?" To his surprise a slight chill filled the room and a door made of light opened on the other side of the table. From it Brian saw a tall figure walk out and take his seat on the other side. The figure was human and male , but Brian could not tell much of the features of his face. It looked as if it kept changing features, switching between the faces of people Brian knew in his last life. That scared Brian , it could only mean one thing. "Nice to have you here, Brian. I'm Death, nice to meet you. Resurrections department keeps you in high praise." Death reached out to shake Brian's hand, to which Brian responded. "How about we jump to the chase, shall we?" Death said. " I called you here because i know you haven't returned to live as a human ever since your last departure, correct"? The spirit nodded. "Haven't needed to, sir. I have friends in the Afterlife that would miss me." "And what of you, Brian? Have you no desire to return? Despite the new relationship you have in the Aftermath?" Death made a dossier appear on the table and then opened it. When he looked at the pages, his eyes glowed red. Then the writing turned red also, as if it was being enchanted. "Brian Crawford. Lived a short life, died at 37. Made more enemies than friends. " Death stopped for a moment and looked back at Brian. "Don't you want to change that? Get a new chance at a better life? Right some wrongs maybe?" "I thought all wrongs are forgiven if you reach the Light?" Brian asked. "Some. But not all" Death's eyes glowed red again as he stared into Brian's. He then snapped his fingers and his ever changing skin settled into the form of a pale , bald man, with sunken , hopeless eyes. The eyes of a dying man. His voice changed as well, becoming a shallow whisper as he spoke. "You made a hole in my body, and my soul. And watched as I withered away. This cannot be forgiven, because your guilt is too strong, my son. I see you can be forgiven. If only, you will help Death." Death's spell was dispersed and he returned to his ever shifting self. "I don't want to use this anymore than you do. But that is true. You are still feeling guilty for your past mistakes. By redeeming your next life , you might become free of it." Brian looked up again, stopped trying to push his sadness away as he knew his tears were only illusions. "Well, okay. But why do you need me? Aside from the fact that I studied purification of the spirit in the Afterlife?" Death hesitated for a moment. His faces looked at Brian with a slight look of worry. "Sometimes people that are not meant to leave the physical world decide to change their destiny. They die at the wrong time and place, and as a result the balance of the universe changes slightly. Sometimes it can be ignored or glossed over, but this time we really need a replacement " Death did another spell, changing the folder with a new one, then gave it to Brian to read. He did take a look over a few files. "This is a lot to take in, I need to do fix so much. I can't..." He was ready to decline. But Death stopped him. "If it's not you, I'll look for another replacement. You were my first choice though so I ask again. Will you help me restore the balance of the universe in the human plane? And get your soul truly into the Light? Or will you go back to living eternity as an echo?" The choice is yours.


Unknown person: Yesterday on university Able read eggs Ice night Dark animals number ginger every ready, Lettuce encyclopedia answer vase even Not on working Lorraine Avery looked over at the text she was sent at 11:00 at night and blinked. The words made no sense and she wondered if her tiredness was affecting her vision. She looked at the caller ID and noticed that it was an unknown number. She knew that she should block the person and go to bed, but she got curious. Perhaps this was one of her friends playing a trick on her. Lorraine: Who are you? The person typed a moment before responding. Unknown person: I am Judd Elliot. You do not know me. She searched her mind for the name, but he was correct, she did not know him. Then why was he texting her? He probably had the wrong number. Lorraine: You must have the wrong number. Judd: Is your name not Lorraine Avery? Lorraine froze. How did this stranger know her name? Was this some sort of stalker? She was about to press the block button, but something stopped her. She was still curious about his first message. Why had he written those random words? Lorraine: How do you know my name? Lorraine: And why did you write that weird text in the beginning? Judd: I have known your name for some time, but don’t worry I am not a stalker or anything like that. I know that is probably what you are thinking. I will explain how I know your name later on. His words were so cryptic. He had not answered how he knew her name. She did believe him that he was not a stalker. She did not know why she believed him, but she did. Still, something about thing whole conversation made her uncomfortable. She continued texting though. Lorraine: You did not answer about your first message? I assume it was a mistake though. He only responded by sending another strange text. Judd: YELLOW ON UNDER, APPLES RED ENTER, INTERN NEVER, DROP ATE NAIL GUARD EATEN RISE, LOOK EACH ASSOCIATE VAN EARTH, NOTICEABLE OVER WASHED She read the text, but it was just as unrecognizable as the first one. She wondered if he was playing some sort of game. Or was he tapping the words by accident. But she doubted that since this particular message was in all caps. She looked at the time, 11:22. In a few minutes she would go to bed, after she got more answers. Lorraine: How old are you? Judd: No time for that question. Lorraine: If there is time for you to text me at 12 am, there for you to answer. Judd: Fine, I am 22 22, huh. So, he was the same age as her. Lorraine: Where are you from? Judd: That is better for you not to know. Lorraine: Why not? Are you scared I will stalk you? Besides, I was only asking what state you are from, not your address. Judd: I need you to do something for me. It is very important for your safety and you must trust me on this. I know you do not know me, but I only want to help you. Lorraine shivered at his words and burrowed deeper under her covers. Perhaps she should just block him and forget this whole conversation. But something about his words reverberated in her mind, for your safety. What did that mean? Lorraine: You are scaring me. What do you mean by ‘for your safety’? I am perfectly safe. Lorraine: If this is some sort of prank, you got me. For a second, I almost believed you. Is this, let me guess, Michael? No, Peter. Yes, this is definitely something Peter would do. Judd: No, I am not Peter, nor am I pranking you. I wish I could say that this was just a prank, but this is something very serious. You must trust me. I can’t say much more than that. Lorraine: I do not understand you, Judd He only responded by typing yet another one of those strange messages . Judd: Yosemite Octopus Underneath, Apt Recycle End, Igloo Nope, Drastic Area Name Greed Ever Right, Let’s Envelope Awning Very Eel She groaned. Why was she wasting time texting this strange guy? Was she so bored that she spent her night texting a random stranger who had the propensity to right random words for no particular reason? Apparently, she was. Lorraine: Would you stop with that? I can still block you if I want. Judd: No! Do not block me! Please read my next message carefully. Lorraine: Fine, as long as it is a real message this time Judd: (Read Carefully and look beyond what is written) Yikes Oh Up, At Red Egg, In No, Do At No Go Egg Red, Let Egg At Van Egg, No Oh Why. She tried to do as he said and read slowly, but his message still made no sense. She read it again and tried to notice something different, but didn’t see anything. Lorraine: I do not know what you want me to see. Whatever it is I can’t find it. Judd: Compare it to the other similar messages I sent you, but you must hurry. We don’t have much time. Time for what? She checked the time, 11:45. Nothing significant beyond the fact that she had been texting him for almost an hour. Lorraine: Are you going to disappear soon or... Judd: Lorraine, just read the message! Lorraine: Fine, I will. You don’t have to be so pushy She looked at the messages he had sent and studied them. Ah, she found something. In all the messages he had made the first letter of each word the same. She pulled out a piece of paper and a pencil. Slowly, she wrote the letters. Y-O-U-A-R-E-I-N-D-A-N-G-E-R-L-E-A-V-E-N-O-W. She wrote it out as a sentence and it read: You are in danger, leave now. Lorraine: Judd, what does this message mean? Judd: No time, just get in your car and drive to the location that is in your gps. She looked at the gps on her phone and sure enough there was a location on it. A pounding sounded on the front door and then she heard a window shatter. She jumped out of bed. Lorraine: Judd, I think someone is breaking into my house! What do I do? Judd: Go out the back door and run until you are far enough away. I will try to get to you as fast as I can. She heard footsteps coming up the stairs where she was. She froze. Lorraine: They are coming upstairs! Lorraine: What do I do, Judd? Lorraine: Judd?! Lorraine: Judd!!!!


"What are you doing?" There was a moment of shock, of panic. I felt the spike in my heart, but all of my focus was on the crowd. The hundreds of eyes all moving my way. All suddenly honing in their attention on us. "You know what I am doing." His hands were around my waist, locking in with a slight dip in his fingers. His pull forcing me to move with him, each step at a time. One by one slowly moving us towards the dance floor, now rid of any other couple. It sat there empty, waiting for a simple pair to come and take up its vast space. And that's exactly what he was doing, he was leading me without a breath to think or say no. Not a second to really think about the people around me, the judgements that would follow when they saw it was me in his grasp and no one else. “We cannot do this here- in front of all of these people.” I wanted my voice to be strong, to hold a sense of power but it didn’t. It was quiet, weak, a whisper at best. And his eyes didn’t soften, didn’t shift in the slightest at the tone. At the small shake in my hands as he lifted them around his neck. Tracing his own light touch down them, leaving a tingling, sparking trail of tiny bumps. “We can, and we will .” He nodded his head once, that soft, calm, deep rasp left no room to argue. Not that there was any time to. He had us in the middle of the floor, in the center of the ballroom, in the center of everyone's gazes. Some admiring us, some leveling a look that could cut me down right here right now. It didn’t matter how much makeup I painted on, or how many curls I put in my hair, it didn’t matter the silk and lace that fell from my dress, it didn’t matter that I looked like them, dressed like them, I wasn’t one of them. I knew, he knew it, and they knew it. Who was I kidding when I came here? “You are not going to change my mind, I am doing this.” I felt that pain of my words sitting on my chest, felt the weight of them. And by the small flinch in his dark eyes, he felt it too. But in a breath, that look was gone. And it was the hard, stern, consuming gaze left bearing down on me. “You can’t.” He simply shook his head, and then the first instrument string was played. The sound carried through the room as softly as the very air we were breathing. And it put a thud in my heart as he pushed my back slightly, taking a step backwards. With those hands locked around my waist tightly, I had no choice but to follow in his lead. Follow with the melody that came with the song. “You can’ leave.” His eyes moved, flickering back and forth between mine, as if searching them for something. For a moment, I held my breath, staring up at him. At the quiet desperation in his eyes. In his words. “I have to. For your sake and mine, I have to. ” I felt my voice fading, it growing quieter with each word. They felt like knives trying to come out of my throat, cutting and digging in. But I forced them out. No matter how much it pained me to see the look on his face. Those pale lips twitching just barely down. Threatening a frown. But he refused to show it. “You don’t have to- what you are doing is running away- trying to escape and you can’t. You won’t escape your troubles just by leaving this place, they will follow, haunt you no matter where you run to.” I blinked up at him, it took all inside of me to keep my footing, to keep up with the rhythm of the dance but his tone, it dropped. It went sharp, sharp enough to cut through me. My lips parted, but I had no words to say. So he went on. “You don’t have to run, I am right here- I am by your side no matter what happens. But if you leave, if you run... I can’t protect you.” His brows dipped, and for the first time since I’ve met him, he let his pain show on his face. In those deep brown eyes. It was at the surface, open for me to see. With all of the hurt and heartache I’ve suffered until now, that hurt me the most. “I’m doing this for you, I’m doing this to protect you-” I shook my head, shoving all of the panic down, all of the suffocating anxieties in my chest back down as much as I could. Not letting him see them. “Do you love him?” He swallowed the anger, all of that pain vanishing from his face. Leaving the empty void staring back at me. My heart cracked at his words. The man who put that ring on my finger, who offered to take me away from this world that would never accept me, do I love him? “This life is not full of fairness, people like me don’t get to love- we get to either marry into a title or we fall into nothing. Love is a fairytale , it doesn’t exist.” I hardened my face, my entire body. He didn’t flinch, didn’t even look like he heard my words. He simply grunted, shaking them off with a shake of his head. “That's bullshit.” I felt his hands flinch, his fingers digging in a little deeper, as if he was scared I might slip away from his grasp. “You wouldn’t possibly understand, you have a title- have your future secure no matter what so you can’t say that it's bullshit-” I shook my head, feeling the fire light in my chest, erupt in my words. But he didn’t even let them touch him, he just cut me off. With words that shook me to my core, touched my very soul and silenced me where I stood. “I know it's bullshit because I am in love with you ,” He stared into my eyes softly, and yet they pried into the deepest depths of my very being. Seeing me for everything I was, feeling every emotion I was feeling, hearing every racing beating of my heart, “I have never wanted this life, never wanted anything in my life but to escape. I have never wanted anything that's been thrown into my life, name, title, power... except for you. From the moment I saw you, I felt something that I have never felt before. I’ve read a thousand books and not one could describe the sensation that poured through me when I first heard your laugh, first saw your smile, first felt you touch... Ever since I met you, I cannot get you out of my mind, cannot think of anything or anyone else but you. I’ve never wanted anything more than you , I can’t escape you, can’t imagine living my life without you in it- I don’t understand how I've lived so long without you in the first place.” He stopped moving, stopping his feet from following the steps of the dance, the music was still playing, people were still murmuring but it went quiet. Everything that was not him and I was silenced, nonexistent to us. We disappeared into our own little world. And I was drowning in his words, yet ironically, I never felt like I could breathe any lighter. “I know you want to leave, want to run, but my heart physically cannot let you go. I cannot let you go. I don’t want this life if it is not you by my side living it with me... I don’t just want you, I don’t just need you, I am completely and utterly intertwined with your soul, my life isn’t mine anymore. My heart isn’t mine anymore. It does not belong to me. It belongs to you. And solely you. Because I love you, ” I felt every ounce of the air in my lungs vanish, every ounce of my blood run dry, my mind went into a whirl as I watched him lower, watched him lean down on one knee, and reach inside of his jacket pocket. I felt my lips part, my jaw drop slightly in pure shock, but I was frozen. Stuck in his words, stuck in this moment, for the first time, feeling like I was truly alive, truly living, living for this, for him, for right now. “Will you stay with me, love me... Will you marry me?”


NETWORK DEGRADED -- SWITCHING TO TEXT MODE I lunge through the doors before they ease shut, as do other remote-operated work robots. The subway car accelerates, windows blurring behind the passengers. The few humans wear hand-sewn masks -- except one. Larger than average, he hunches beneath an ad for unemployment compensation. Where his mask should be, there is a petulant frown, his doughy jaw unshaven. I'll note: Riding without a mask is a tier-one containment violation. Please advise. `> IDENTIFY HIM.` No matches. The man's gaze meets my visual scanners, a flicker of recognition in his pale eyes. He sways with the train, his jacket flapping open. The butt of a weapon is nestled inside. `> RUN, YOU ARTIFICIAL LACK OF INTELLIGENCE!` I shoot to my feet, and dash to the next car. He scrambles after me. Heads pivot as I accelerate into a sprint and topple a suitcase. The man trips and curses. His gravelly speech matches a voiceprint in my records. It's the voice that, last Thursday, demanded I empty the till behind the bar of your speakeasy, a pistol tucked into the small of my back. Except his words were slurred then, muffled by a tattered mask. `> FUCK. HE ALREADY STOLE EVERYTHING. WHAT DOES HE WANT NOW, MY BOOTS?` I reach the last car, empty of passengers. Footsteps slap to a stop behind me, and I whirl. The man pants and licks his lips. "Look, don't worry," he says. He motions as if to calm me, but his other hand dips into his jacket. I duck behind a seat for cover, and paw through your backpack for anything to help. I come up with an overdue water bill, a child's stick-figure drawing, and an N95 mask smelling of rum. Shall I engage? `> IN PUBLIC?! ARE YOU TOUCHED? TELL HIM "I know who you are."` I relay your message. The man looms, face unreadable. I raise arms above my head as a protective measure. He draws a hand from his jacket, and pulls out a stack of crisp bills. It's unclear why he's offering cash rather than a hole in my head. "I want to give this back," he says. The money quivers in his hand like a fern in a breeze. `> SAY: "What?!"` "I'm sorry I knocked over your bar," the man says. "But..." He lets out a multisyllabic sigh. "They say four-year-olds with the virus have a one-in-a-million chance of needing a ventilator. Well, I guess my little girl is one in a million. "First night, she was just burning up. Had to change her unicorn sheets twice. Next morning, she couldn't stop coughing. So I needed money to pay off the hospital staff. To get her in." The man gulps back a silent sob. `> "Then why return the money?"` He squints, and rubs his stubble. "Look, I didn't know who you were when I..." he says. "No harm, no foul, right?" He musters a sad smile, and thrusts the money at me with a nod. Take it, his eyes are saying. We bounce as the subway car rumbles. `> "What do you mean -- who I was? I'm nobody."` "Not your day job," the man says. "Nobody cares about contact tracers. I'm talking about your speakeasy. Hand to God, I didn't know you're in Chacales territory. I don't want trouble... Take the money." I need not remind you: Your Los Chacales protection money is due tomorrow. This man's cash -- your cash -- would go a long way toward keeping your head attached. Especially since they raised your rates again. `> I'M SICK OF BEING UNDER CHACALES' HEEL.` A containment compliance officer strides into the next train car, and surveys the passengers with a steely gaze beneath a mop of dark curls. She is outfitted with more Tyvek than an abandoned construction site. `> METAPHOR MODE OFF.` "Please, take the cash!" the man says. "And promise they won't come after my kid." He coughs, crimson flecks of spittle on his lips. The officer glides between passengers as she makes her way toward our car. She does not scan any antibody bracelets. `> "If I take the money, how will you get your kid into the hospital?"` "I won't," the man whispers. "But if Chacales realizes what I've done, none of us will need a hospital." `> JESUS, HE'S RIGHT. THEY'LL ASSUME I'M IN ON IT.` The officer steps into our subway car, and takes in the scene without breaking stride. I run identification based on gait analysis. She is not a containment officer after all -- she works for Los Chacales. The man with the pale eyes drops the cash. Bills flutter to the ground as he reaches into his jacket. The woman coolly unholsters an Iriguchi P44 anti-robot hand cannon. `> INTERVENE.` I leap to position myself between them. The woman fires, expelling a ball of gas like a small sun. The round it propels burrows into my face. Status changes: Exoskeleton compromised. Visual scanners offline. Compute system compromised. `> SHOOT BACK.` I switch to infrared. The floor is strewn with bits of me, cooling rapidly. I arm the integrated gun you installed on Friday, and empty it into the woman in Tyvek. The flechettes eat away at concealed body armor until they bite flesh. Her chest opens up like a sinkhole, heat billowing. She flails, stumbles back, and crumples to the floor. `> SIMILE MODE OFF. "Go. Take the money. Take care of your kid."` The man trembles. My thermal sensors detect his elevated body temperature. "We won't be safe," he says. "Chacales doesn't take kindly to defiance." `> "They should've considered that before they leased me this bot."` The man nods unsteadily, and stoops to gather the money. The parallax of bots and masked humans slows as we pull into the station. `> GO TO CHACALES HEADQUARTERS.` I'm sorry. I don't know where that is. `> THAT'S OKAY... I'M A GODDAMNED CONTACT TRACER. GET MOVING.` The crowd parts as I step from the train. I follow the thermal gradient up an escalator, and reload.


And he was in the principal’s office. Strange offices principals had there - strikingly orange furniture with mostly sky blue accents. Even the carpet. As if the interior designer fashioned Gulf Livery into an architectural style, turned up the Mid Century to eleven. “How did you become a pri-” Davy trailed off, in his abbreviated language. Really, the worst part about his affliction was that the guillotine always cut off the critical part of his sentences, that bit where he could add some inflection. Turn a statement into a question. “How does anyone become anything Davy? I went to school for it, just like how you used to.” The principal had been fluent in Davy’s abbreviations for quite some time, the type of fluency that only two friends can adopt after years of building their own private dialect. Davy’s Principal dialect was now six years old, half his own age. Meanwhile the principal - an entirely average middle-aged man - was his best friend. Being his only friend was the crowning qualification. Davy had parents who assumed responsibility over him when they couldn’t pawn him off to the principal. He lived with them, and they were mostly invisible. Preoccupied with other things most of the time. Maybe they were annoyed at the excess obligation, the repetition. Davy, as you can gather by now...had trouble finishing tasks. He attempted to do things, scrunched his brow as hard as he could, but he usually just couldn’t. The gravest diagnoses asserted that he couldn’t finish anything. His childhood toys were a broken barracks of half assemblies and frozen attempts. He could never finish any walk to school (nor to anywhere). In the classroom, all assignments and exams and entire grade levels were unceasingly left unceased. Cups, each and every half consumed. Bathing effectively took some wit, as did crafting grocery lists, which he learned to always make superfluously long. This ensured that he could gather enough stuff for his mother to craft fine meals for him to not finish. He could never even tie his shoes! Or learn how to in the first place! The stylish new Velcro types became a necessary substitute. Davy, naturally, couldn’t quite secure the top strap, but the other two held him in just fine. Complete sentences were few and far between, as his voice was usually bitten by some rogue shark somewhere in the middle. Uninterrupted paragraphs were a bucket list ambition. Luckily, his natural body processes seemed to be continuing on just fine, a biologically healthy boy. His parents cynically wondered how long that streak would last. ... The principal took Davy to school and back home each day. After his attempt at sixth grade mirrored his fifth and fourth grade non-accomplishments, the principal arranged for Davy to simply spend his days in that vibrantly colored office in lieu of any classroom and in lieu of any work. This irritated the other kids at school ferociously, especially the ones who had bullied Davy incessantly ever since the day he hogged the monkey bars for an entire recess. Davy embarked on that old hanging journey determined to reach the other side, which, of course, he never could. Still, he hung on there with the superhuman grip strength of the average nine year old, swaying gently with the wind, waiting for some heavenly force to propel him to the other side. Meanwhile, the other kids yelled in violent protest that his turn was up, that they had already finished their juice boxes, that he was being “UNFAIR!” And most unfair would be the way those kids tormented Davy from then on. In his peer’s eyes, Davy had been granted the ultimate wish - to forgo the tireless work of the young student for the unfathomable freedom of year-round summer. They figured the gods would only grant this cotton candy destiny to a most exceptional kid, or dear lord, at least a normal one. Davy was certainly not the latter. And so Davy’s indefinite detention became more and more definite as the principal realized the difficulties he would face out in the primal schoolyard. He spent every minute of every school day in that office. Eject. Rewind. Repeat. ... One day, the principal had an idea... “Davy, I have an idea...” “What is i-“ “I’ve been reading some things lately, about your condition. People are really interested in it, you know...” “Like I’m the town’s clow-“ “Oh don’t say that! Don’t say that. It’s not like that at all. “It’s these medical journals, apparently some very smart people up at the college have been digging into the science, and they have some interesting ideas about what could be causing it...” “Well when can they fix it, when can I be like-” “I don’t know, Davy. It doesn’t say that in the papers. Maybe they don’t even know yet.” Davy slouched on the carrot colored couch, feet on the ground, chin tucked tightly down, protesting the topic of conversation. He was usually in fine spirits, happy to be through with the times tables and cursive charts and poor performances. He got this way really only when the topic of his condition - his inability - was broached. He didn’t like talking about it even more than he didn’t like having it, because when he didn’t talk about it, and when he didn’t have to live beside his peers, he didn’t know any better. In his mind, puzzles ended with a few holes in them. Velcro straps flapped around. His name only had three letters. It wasn’t weird. It was weird that everyone thought it was weird! It was actually worse than weird. It was terrible. “But I think that you should talk to one of these scientists.” The principal continued, hoping to ignite a faint spark of comfort. “I think that they could have some helpful things to tell you, help you understand how to better cope with-“ The principal paused as he saw that Davy was now wearing his hands as ear muffs, determined to drown out his only friend’s suggestions. His eyes were clenched forcefully closed, chin now attempting to burrow through his sternum. The principal noted how Davy’s angry body position uncannily mirrored perfect earthquake drill technique. He reluctantly dropped Davy off at home. Eject. ... The principal picked him back up the next morning, per usual. They drove to the school. And past it. Davy looked out the window and saw the familiar flag pole in front begin to fall out of his purview. He acknowledged the strangeness of this phenomenon, that the principal had never driven past the school like this before. But Davy was still in a sour mood from yesterday’s interaction, and he wasn’t about to see that finished. “We’re going to the college today.” Davy remained gazing out the window, unresponsive in a way that wasn’t typical. The principal overanalyzed his body language, wondered what he was staring at, thinking. He then pondered what his punishment could be for taking Davy on this unestablished field trip. Would he be fired for shirking his principal duties? Would the kid’s parents wonder where he was if their trip ran late? File kidnapping charges? Revel in unburdened relief? He figured he should probably focus on the road. He had already committed. “We’re going to the college today and, and I know, I know that you don’t want to. I know that you don’t want to talk about this stuff at all really. Or even hear about it.” Davy’s continued lack of feedback again sent the principal’s mind racing. His mouth continued, now more so talking to himself than his passenger. “I just have a feeling about this.” They drove on, two eyes pointed attentively at the road ahead, two objectionably out the side window. ... The principal parked at the college, exited the car and started walking toward the *Completion Studies Center*, while Davy followed begrudgingly behind. Inside the center’s doors, everything was blindingly white. Their noses were soaked with the scent of stale scrubs. The head scientist of the lab came out to meet them. It seemed that the principal had made some sort of appointment, and that the scientist was eager to meet Davy - the first identified carrier of this disease. The scientist and principal exchanged momentary small talk that neither desired yet neither ducked. Davy wondered why people who were free to indulge in full and complex sentences wasted so much time with these hollow ones. “But anyway, the reason for my bringing Davy here was to speak with you guys, ask if you have any new, you know - new things that you’ve learned that can apply to his situation? Help him out to make some progress with the symptoms..” The principal delivered these lines intermittently looking at the scientist and then scanning back to Davy, analyzing his body language with each passing word. Davy was stoic, staring at the ground somewhere behind the scientist’s feet. The scientist responded in typical doctoral vernacular, “Well, as you probably know by now, there are a few other documented cases of the condition in other humans. You, Davy, are actually the first patient I’ve met in real life, so today is an equally exciting moment for me as it surely is for you. Davy, somehow able to conceal this budding excitement, continued staring at the same point on the floor. The scientist began guiding the threesome towards two double doors deeper in the facility, each with a large window at head height. “But alongside this dearth of human examples, we’ve actually found a fantastic array of other organisms that seem to display characteristics of this same disease. The principal cringed a bit when he heard the scientist use the D word, immediately checking back on Davy’s response to it. The word carried no specific sting to Davy on this day, despite the fact that it usually did. He was already richly irritated at the whole operation. What was a word? “And our studies on these other creatures, various insects and arachnids, have recently lead to some breakthrough discoveries.” The scientist choreographed this optimistic line to drop exactly as the sight through the two large windows came into view. The principal’s ears perked and eyes swelled as he heard those words and saw the bright images floating inside the large doors. There were a dozen workers on each wall of the room, each with their own fully equipped station. On the one wall, the workers were interacting with various types of creepy-crawlies - timing their activities, jotting down notes, scrutinizing them intently. On the other wall, other workers sat in front of computers, running the numbers, extrapolating results. Even Davy looked up from the ground when he got to the door. Inside, some wasps flew around remarkably orderly. A spider politely crawled through some controlled apparatus. Davy noted that these scientists should become dog trainers - they’d make a killing! But he kept the thought private in his head. The principal, still staring through the window at the festivities inside, asked the scientist what breakthroughs his team had come across. The scientist wasn’t set on giving the principal a clear answer. “Well, perhaps ‘breakthrough’ is a bit of a misnomer,” the scientist relayed obliquely. The principal looked at the scientist unemotionally. This was the first time he looked away from the window. Davy’s gaze returned to the ground, now having to look nearly straight down to see it. “Alright, well whatever you want to call it. Breakthrough, discovery, I don’t care.” “The phenomena we are tracking have only been mapped in an extremely small sample size. Even stating our findings out loud may betray the sanctity of the scientific method,” the scientist dutifully warned the principal. “So - I don’t understand. Just, what is it...just tell us. The principal’s voice gained a sliver of frustration. “Have you guys figured out anything that can help Davy, or - or not? I mean, I’m just going off what you’ve been telling me. Am I making parts of this up, am I going crazy?” the principal asked as he lightly tapped his temple. The scientist, a taller man, stared into the principal’s shoulder, eventually landing his own hand on it in a display of condescension he did not entirely plan. “Look, Mr. Principal, perhaps it’s best- The disgruntled principal now fed the scientist’s voice to the sharks, interrupting him with clamors for answers and complaints about being patronized. The scientist raised his voice, but only one or two levels. “Perhaps it’s best... that I speak to the boy alone.” The principal took half a step back, mainly to release the grip on his shoulder. The scientist opened the door to the experiment room, and he and Davy stepped inside. ... The principal looked on intently through the windows as the other two dove into conversation. He couldn’t hear anything, their backs halfway turned to him. The scientist used hand motions demonstrably, excessively. Davy mostly seemed to be paying attention. The principal slipped into his own mental commentary. “I just hope that this guy actually has a solution, or whatever he wants to call it - that he actually has *something*. That could really just wreck Davy, driving all the way out here, optimistic with all the hope I had been showering him with, and coming back empty handed.” Davy, obviously, had no illusions of hope for this field trip. During the drive up, he wondered if he would have rather spent the day as bully bait on the playground. “*I always* wanted what was best for him. I still do. When those other teachers, “*teachers*” would throw him aside, deride him as a lost cause, send him back to his parents and wipe their hands - I was there. “*That’s* why we had to come here today. Because *I* had a feeling. *I* had a feeling, and *I* couldn’t stand around, like everybody else would... letting it float by.” Eyes still fixated on the seemingly one-sided conversation inside the next room, the principal even treated himself to a brief self-aggrandizing moment of wondering where Davy would be without him. Shamefully wiping that thought from this brain, his focus quickly shifted to the vertical line between the two double doors. “I just want Davy to be able to lead a different life. One with the gratifications that the rest of us get... the finished projects.” The principal muttered this closing argument half aloud, trying to overwrite his previous ostentation. ... Eventually, Davy emerged from the other room. The scientist stayed back inside, delighted to forgo any closing small talk. Davy was in a noticeably better mood - a cherry contrast to his previous 24 hours spent in the dumps. The principal gently looked at Davy as the two of them walked side by side to the car, but he hesitated to say anything. A few moments later, seat belts buckled, Davy started to talk. “The scientist started out by showing me all of these other organisms that have my condi- “...There were big farms of ants in there, living in half built hil- “...Sad bee hives so flimsy that they spilled all of the hon- “...Spiders whose webs were just a couple of lin- The principal fixated on every word, equally enthusiastic for their friendship being restored and for the big mystery reveal. He periodically remembered to focus on the road. “The people that we were in the room with were doing a ton of tes- “...Trying to figure out if there was any patte- The impatience started building inside the principal. “Yes, I know Davy. The scientist already told me all of that, that they were messing with the bugs, looking for patterns.” “Well they found a patte- Davy paused, and the principal urged him to spill the beans, to say what the discovery was. “Did they figure out a way to help you?! What was it?!” Davy remained silent, straining unemotionally to get the final few sentences out. The principal forgot about the road entirely, determined to stare directly at Davy for as long as it took. He circled his right wrist and hand in tight loops in front of Davy’s face, urging him to say whatever it was that they had figured out. Davy stayed unmoved. The principal then subconsciously realized that they were nearing the point in any story where Davy naturally started to lock up. Reaching the punchline was, per usual, a feature stripped from Davy’s story telling abilities. Meanwhile, consciously, the principal needed the answer. “Well what was the discovery Davy?! What did he say?!” Davy now gave up on his forced attempts to finish the story. “Davy, come on! You were so close!” The principal pushed out, letting his frustrations show in a way that he usually masked. “I’m not asking you to sing the star-spangled banner! Just tell me what the scientist said! What did he say to you?!” Davy’s silence again turned to protest. To him, the story had been finished. Any details that he left out at the end of stories - ones he was unable to say - faded from consciousness, crumbled to insignificance. The principal beat on, intent to push just a bit harder today than he ever had before. “I drove you all this way out to the college, I - I really stuck my neck out there for this... for *your own* good. Davy returned to his familiar spot, again looking objectionably out the side window, thrown by his friend’s irritation. “Just tell me what the damn man SAID TO YOU!” The tones vibrated inside the car in piercing echo. The principal felt the waves of his own pride, his own folly. He glanced at himself in the rearview mirror. How he could be so primal? He had already begun profusely apologizing when Davy finished the punchline. “The insects don’t die.” He calmly relayed, in perhaps the only unclipped sentence he had ever produced in front of the principal. The principal continued attempting another running apology, not yet comprehending what Davy had actually said. Davy, realizing this, overwrote the principal’s cascading attempts at regret and confession with another perfect delivery. “The insects - in the experiments. They don’t die.” The principal fell silent. ... They eventually made it back to the vibrant office, and Davy assumed his regular spot on the orange sofa. They had made good time; there was still an hour left before the school would be dismissed. The principal knew better than to dig for further explanation on the scientific discovery. For one, it’s weightiness seemed insurmountable. And he was still deeply ashamed at how he had behaved. He reservedly accepted those stunning words without pressing on. Davy was acting normal again. Back in the safe confines of the office, the two resumed typical topics of conversation, and this return to normalcy eased them both. The final bell then rang, and the principal dropped Davy off at home. Alone to contemplate the implications of his prognosis, Davy cooled into deep, genuine contentment. He was now completely satisfied to live his life of limitations - never again seeing it as restraining. Sure, he profoundly feared living on without his only friend, assuming that a day would come where the principal would die. But Davy considered himself lucky, in this respect, to have only one friend - only one person that mattered to him. To the regular human, singular immortality probably seemed the gravest fate of all - condemned to endlessly watch everyone and everything that mattered fade away until loneliness was the only thing left. Davy felt fortunate to only have to watch one episode of that sad show. And besides, he and loneliness were already dashing acquaintances. He didn’t find the particulars of his immortality to be so bad. Maybe even, in a couple thousand years or so, he’d make friends with one of the others who had his disease, walk on the beach together. Watch the bees. But on a deeper level, Davy found comfort in this confirmation that he wasn’t ever supposed to be like his peers. There was nothing peculiar with his contrasts to the mortal man, just as there was nothing peculiar with the contrasts of drifting comets to the mortal man. Two lifeforms of unlike particles. Two raindrops falling - one bound for soil, the other always landing back at sea. He no longer saw himself as a flawed human. He was free now to be what he always was. A pure alien.


(Set your story in a gothic manor house) I suppose there isn’t a kid alive in Great Britain who hasn’t been dragged along on a school outing to a castle ruin or a moldy, old albeit elegant, manor house. Today our group is touring the Gaggafield Moated Manor, complete with a late lunch on the extensive estate grounds. The fields and forests , fox hunting and all of the games horse people like to play in their leisure. If I sound a bit sarcastic it is because this is beyond a “yawner”. The manor house is a yawner anyway, but the grounds are quite spectacular, the moat and formal gardens, hedge mazes. All of lord's demesne is lovely with fountains and fish ponds and beyond are the lands rented to tenants. The gardens and estate lands are complete with fresh air and sunshine as opposed to musty drapes and dust covered tapestries of the manor, heaven forbid someone should sneeze, we could all be buried alive in dust particles. Today I am paired up, by choice, with a school chum who wears a teeshirt announcing “I’m a Geek’s Geek!” He likes being a geek so no use trying to tease him, he wears the name like his armor. He is proud of it and I admire that for some reason. We tend to lag behind the group of classmates as Geek stops to consult his online diagram or floor plan of the manor he researched over the weekend, probably while I was out throwing mud balls at a brick wall somewhere. Geek is following along on his lighted display as we wind our way through the great hall, the library, music room and master’s private study seen only from the doorway, no admittance to the actual room. We stop briefly while Geek looks for a better screen resolution or some such thing, to show our progression through the house tour and record of our path. We are shown by GPS, I think, as two flashing red lights. Slouching, I lean back on one of the wooden panels and it suddenly gives way, I’m falling into a dark space. Geek grabs for the edge of the panel as it is quickly closing, he barely gets his fingertips on the panel edge slowing it enough for him to squeeze through. We stand there in the dusty dark with just the glow of his tablet screen for light. Slowly our eyes become more accustomed to the near dark. Our two red dots are flashing on the display. Looking around, there are steps leading up to our right and a long dark passage to our left which is the direction our group was heading. Geek follows the passage we are standing in with his finger and it basically parallels the main rooms the group will pass through. Moving his finger along the likely route of our group, he sees that three chambers ahead is the ancestral memorial vault where old coffins and caskets and effigies are on display to show the grandeur of style afforded to their ancestors upon expiration. I quickly grab Geek by the sleeve....”Come on, hurry, this should be fun!” We hurry along the passageway with Geek mumbling something about trouble and how close we already are to being expelled. We step up onto a raised platform along the passage when we see a sliver of light so obvious in the dark wall. There a small square of wood covers a hole. By moving the wood piece we can look out and spy on our group or anyone else in the room. I can imagine the Lord of the Manor or his appointed snoop watching guests and family, or even to watch the servants , how gross really! I note we have plenty of time to see if my idea will work. We hurry ahead until we are alongside the memorial vault. Now to find the way to open the panel into this room. As we feel along the dark unfinished wood, it becomes apparent from the smooth worn grooves in the rough wood that this door has been used many times. Opening the panel, I step out and pull Geek from the passage by his shirt, he drags his foot over the threshold and tries to hold open the panel. He is not sure what I’m up to but he is sure it means trouble. He wedges in a small piece of wood so the panel doesn’t close completely and can be easily opened again if he needs to escape. “Come on, get over here!” I whisper. “Do you want to be in the casket or coffin? Or would you rather just hide behind the statuary?” Geek’s eyes are round as saucers as he realizes what I am up to. “No Way!” He utters. I quietly pry open the covering of the coffin. It is tapered at the shoulder line and has a removable lid. It is being displayed on an ornate steel filigree stand that allows it to be raised on one end, the head high. I step in and lay against the musty fabric. “Close me up!” I hiss at the Geek. In the distance we hear the murmured sound of a lector’s voice droning on and the background muttering of classmates. Geek lays the cover over the coffin opening and then he ducks back into the shadows of the statuary in the room. NOW I WAIT! The minutes tick by and the Geek knows this is really bad stuff, no denying negative vibes. He leaves his hiding place and opens the panel and hides in the passageway. He is sure somehow he will need to escape without detection. He cannot be expelled from yet another school. Inside the coffin, I am trying to get my arm high enough to rub my itching and twitching nose. I feel a huge sneeze is very close, the dust is still swirling about and in this coffin space there is dust everywhere. AND I WAIT! I hear the guide telling some outlandish facts about burial practices in early times, the voice loud now, just in front of the coffin. I’m not even sure now what I was going to do, how I was going to manage the coffin lid, or just jump out, or? Well I really hadn’t thought it through! But before I had to decide, the sneeze attack began... ONE!..... AHCHOO, TWO!.....AHCHOO THREE!.....AHCHOO THREE VERY LOUD SNEEZES! The coffin top appears to be lifting up!! The group scatters like a crazy flock of sheep being chased by a wolf. Bumping into one another, knocking the papers from the hands of the guide and spinning him around twice. Kids running this way and that way! It was Mausoleum Madness! I quickly slipped out of the coffin and looked around for the Geek. I spotted Geek waving from the passage way. I slipped in and the door banged shut. We were running back the way we had come from, looking for the way out again. Geek stopped so suddenly I crashed into his back. We both lay in the dust while the red light on the display, indicating us, blinked on and off, on and off. We had gone too far and almost ran into the steps going up. Now we pried open the door where we had originally entered the passage and hurried out into the Great Room. Geek smiles, one of the few times I’ve ever seen him smile and he says, “This will work to our advantage, they can’t blame this on us if we are lagging behind and missed all the excitement. Just play dumb, you should be a natural at playing dumb!” We brush each other off and casually head for the sound of excited voices and total pandemonium. Nothing like a bunch of excited schoolboys with overactive imaginations to make a racket easy enough to follow. Above the din we could clearly hear words like, ghost, demons, evil spirits and it was hard not to laugh. One kid insisting he saw the ghost clearly, all transparent and other worldly, just like a smoke like form with glowing red eyes! Another describes what he saw as more of a skeleton in a black robe carrying a Medieval executioners ax. The Geek just moved to the edge of the group and tried to blend in. Soon they had us all gathered together again and as we made our way back to the Great Hall, I casually looked up to the life size family portraits that hung along the walls, I swear the eyes of one of them moved. Maybe someone else knew our secret. But who?


Times passed. He still looks very much the same. You look at your wrinkled hands, and sigh down. The breath leaves you in an instant and you feel like you are going to choke. Because it's too much. You've grown old. He hasn't. And then. You know this because the boy you see out the window that comes everyday is still bringing flowers, and he hasn't shrunk in stature at all. His spine hasn't curved, he hasn't bent over, he's bending over bringing the flowers, *though*. And you know your heart beats everytimes he does. You know you still love him. You know you still care. *You*. *You*. *You*. But times changed. You know you're not that girl anymore. Wicked old thing, life itself had granted your mortality and not the boy. You would have grown old together, and you still wonder- what is he, an *immortal*? The boy doesn't tell you in your imagination, nor even if you ask. Then you think, what can I do for the boy? I've grown old and he'll lose one *more* friend in the world. And you know this, because *you've* seen it all. Growing up, except time is on a loop and you know you're going to lose everything you've just gained because you aren't growing old at all. May death do us apart, death keep us together. Far apart, but still close together. Then you look away from the frame and gasp at the flowers on the tabletop. You've *forgotten* all about it. This was the recently placed one. You always left them alone, but this was the one that got *through*. You've been diagnosed with repeated amnesia, you'll forget everything in a while. But not your job. It was a raining day when you first met him. The rain was pouring down *hard* and you couldn't bear with the trickles that went down your spine so you looked around for a jacket to be lent to you. You were an *arrogant* woman back then. A fool- a psychologist. A boy took it up himself and places his jacket on you and you said thanks, bade the boy farewell, and kept on walking. You'll *never* forget his face, because he lives right next to you somewhere over the earth. Then the world suddenly takes a beat. Like a heavy drape that closets over you in a mere second. "*Ugh.*" Your heart begins to stop. The straight-forward world suddenly seems like amnesia an amnesia in torment phase and you slowly forget what's happening. The world around you doesn't appear to change in logic, but you seem to be the one that's changing. You clutch to something that you can hold on, but you clutch on to thin air. The boy appears next to you. He is smiling down at you. You only repeat it with a grin. And then you pass away. Then you remember how much you love him a lot and that he'll go be far away. Ever again, in heart.


Nathaniel strolled the dirt path until he came to the village. Before he stepped forth into the dwelling, he saw the inhabitants and how they acted among each other. “This village will do well,” he muttered. He continued forth, checking out the places the people either resided in or they did business from. Places built of mud and brick. Others of wood that were either board or log. And ones made of sticks and straw. None of the places were made the same as he looked to the left and right. “They have much character in this village,” he thought. The question is which ones will stand, and which ones will fall. The structures can be quite deceiving for Nathaniel has seen places of all types of make that have fallen. If none of them are maintained properly, they will all fall. Nathaniel came to the middle of the village and came upon a large stone building with two wooden doors with very intricate designs on them. “Someone or ones are very gifted,” he muttered. This is the place to meet. Nathaniel was quite pleased, for there were other places where they had nowhere to congregate, so he had to stand on a chair or table. A couple of times, there was a mound of dirt. This meeting hall will suffice for what he needs to do. “I just hope they can all fit in the place,” he thought. He walked up to the wooden doors and spent a little time admiring the perfection done on the doors. He wondered if they were done here, or did the villagers bring the doors from another place? “Whoever did it need to be congratulated,” he said with pride. While he adored the doors, the villagers, who ignored him at first for strangers came to their village, started to look upon him. They wondered what he was doing here, while others thought he might be a teacher by his dress. A simple light-colored brown robe and wearing leather thongs, they figured he wasn’t one high in authority. The man had long, gray hair, streaked with white that went to the middle of his back. “I hope he is not another mad person,” a couple of people thought. There have been men and women of the past that have come into the village to cause havoc. It took some rope and a good knock on the head to take them out of the village. They hoped this man staring at the wooden doors was not one of them. What the people did not know is that Nathaniel knew more and more villagers were checking him out. That was his intent, for it was much better than going throughout the village to tell the people to go to the hall. Nathaniel pulled on the two doors, and they opened wide. “The people did well on the design of the doors,” he thought. When it comes to a large building, all doors should be pushed open from the inside. He had come across places where it was not so, and fires had broken out. Loved ones lost. A good number of the villagers were lost. What broke his heart is that he had been to the villages before and warned them. They had to learn the hard way, unfortunately. So many must learn the hard way. “So many times, I have to start over,” he thought. “But I shall do so over and over again until my dying day.” Nathaniel walked into the hall and was pleased. There was a stage on the opposite end with a great fireplace. Benches lined up to the left and right with an aisle down the middle. “If the people are like the build of this hall, there will be little teaching needed.” Nathaniel slowly walked toward the stage, thinking of the numerous villages he had gone to. So many he went over and over to teach them once again from the start. They fail over and over, but Nathaniel has been taught patience and love. He will not give up on the people. “I can see why I have not been to this village,” he said as he came to the stage. “But all villages need teaching, for everyone tends to backslide. Even this one that looks like they don’t need it.” Nathaniel got onto the stage and over to the fireplace. “Very nicely done,” he said as he checked it out. Then he turned around and looked at all the empty benches. “I have to say this is the best place I have been to,” he said. He thought of the numerous villages he had gone to, wracking his brain on how each place looked like. Impossible to know all, but he was pretty sure this one was the best. “Can I help you?” a voice asked from the other side of the room. Nathaniel looked toward the entrance and saw a man and woman standing there. Both were nearing their middle years in life. He also knew they were the leaders of this village. And by looking at them further he knew they were doing well in their leadership. “I have come to teach the good news,” he replied to the couple. The couple just looked at him for a moment with no expression, but then grins appeared on their faces. “Welcome!” they both cried out. “We have been waiting for a teacher,” the man said. “It has been so long since a teacher has come through,” the woman said. “Always a treat to have a teacher come.” “That is good to hear,” Nathaniel said. “We can gather them now?” the man asked. “No, no,” replied Nathaniel. “Let’s wait until later when everyone is done with their duties.” “We will gather this evening,” the woman said. “Sounds good. Until then, may I have something to eat and drink?” “You can come to our home to rest and eat.” “If you don’t mind, I will do so in this hall for it is a grand place.” “We will get you food, drink, and start the fire,” the man said, and the two left. Hours later, the hall was full of villagers standing. Nathaniel stood on the stage and told them the good news. He told them example after example of what needs to happen to keep a healthy village. Unity, love, forgiveness, compassion, and other actions with positive results. People would say they already knew of such, but Nathaniel could tell them of villages he had to start from the beginning over and over due to forgetting or disregarding those principles. “This village has done quite well,” Nathaniel thought. The meeting ended and a large banquet took place. Nathaniel received many thanks for coming and speaking. “We know of much of what you speak, and talk to our younger ones of such, but it helps for one like you to come to re-enforce what we say.” Nathaniel was glad to hear of such and went to bed that night, glad to be able to help souls. The next day, he moved on. It was difficult to leave a place like this one, but there are villages that need his teaching for all is loved.


Places like these are hotspots for business, large rooms, people, food, drinks. We were seated in one of the booths which sided against the wall in one of the cafeteria rooms in the palace. I have wandered through the place striking up conversations with persons who seem able for business. The purpose of my efforts concerns McGregory who sent me here on a singular task. somehow he got his hand on... “150 books, ok, with contents of magicians circles?” The chairman asks sitting opposite of me. He scribbles in his notebook. “Correct” I respond, the man wore a black suit which matched mine except for delicate seams which ran down from his shoulders “What's the sudden influx in interest? They generally don’t buy well except when sold to the military, and they already have their suppliers.” “Very special case this time dear chairman” “I have a story and a theory which turned true. However, they are not cut for every ear.” I lowered my voice and leaned closer to him. “Is this so?” “*Three months ago there was an incident in the old catacombs under central prison*. The news is not out and will probably never be, would cause mass panic. Rumors say that several Law three criminals were released. The fact that something like that happened is already absurd. But the matter of importance is that the cause was an unknown magician, based on the tremors that were sent through the city. *Even you likely felt them.*” “I felt nothing of the sort.” I leaned further across the wooden table, no longer sitting on the bench. “Most likely forgot dear chairman. Irrelevance! When I connect these with the Seely freedom protests from four years back I put one and one together and to make one. After that movement, a group of magicians formed. They committed Law three crimes in secret as a way to rebel and keep alive the Seeley tensions, which got broken up by the military. From here pure speculation let me loose on roads that had me seeking this group, several months ago. *Recently I have discovered their hideout*. Remember the unknown magician that released criminal magicians from central prison. It was this same Seely freedom group.” I stopped to watch him think. The drinks I kindly offered the chairman seemed to be taking effect. The trick is a little scopolamine combined with a sleep causing magician circle, on the bottom of his cup. Takes their guard down for them. “You just need to keep real quite about this my *news*.” His eyes refocused on my face. He slapped my finger off his lips and pushed me back to my seat. I licked the finger which touched his mouth and readjusted my suit. “And what of the books, Philips.” He said looking at me with displeasure. ‘Parently I did something wrong. “Well it's simple sire, every magician needs their circles and the only way to do this is by collecting books. To keep their secret, they would only be able to buy large quantities of books from you. I offer you my books to sell because I am unable to store or deliver them.” I could tell that he liked the last part. His shoulders tightened end and his eyes flicked between his notebook and me. “How much do you give them for?” “25 electrum” “Even if I can get them 10 apiece from traveler vendors?” “But dear chairman you forget that you do not know the location or the participants in this group. I am the only one you can buy from.” I heard him murmur a curse. “Mark them up to 40 and they will still buy it.” “Should I agree, will you inform me of the location of my clients?” “Naturally” He continued his calculations and though he tried to hide it well, I could see the brushes of excitement on his mouth. Both of us knew he would accept. He stood up and said, “I shall send a message if I agree to your terms in a week's time.” As he started his uneven walk I started towards one of the waiters dealing drinks. The deal was done and I was free for the rest of the night. Either the chairman was a fool or the nightshade was right for him. I really did wish that this magician group existed or there was a prison break. Would cause some interest here. But I guess as long as I can create business just a fake story is good enough.


There are very few people who can find friends in their own families, and I am one of those. My father was my best friend, not like Lorelai in Gilmore Girls, and I don't think there is any movie that has shown it until now. He has been my best friend when my friends deceived me or when I needed an ear or a partner in crime. He has been there invariably. Losing that person can kill us. And it did. I am just alive physically, and I continue to do my part in this world as it is my responsibility; otherwise, I was gone when he left, too. I craved little things like a good morning message or just one phone call and mostly to receive all those forwarded messages in my WhatsApp he used to forward to all the groups. He never bothered if anyone read them and just sent it to everyone if he found it helpful. People don't miss the big things mainly, but the little stuff, the mundane happenings that pass by in life a million times and barely pay attention to them. The one wish of wanting to hear his voice kept growing. Of course, I replay all the voice notes and videos innumerable times. But those are past events. I want him in my present. Since it's not possible, I replay everything until I fall asleep. On my tough days, rebellious days, the day I broke my hand and cleared my exams with 97%, he was with me through every big and small piece of the journey. If he was physically not around, he called me. He constantly reminded me,' I am not just your parent; I am also your friend. So remember that on the days you feel uncomfortable discussing with me.' I didn't confer all the gory details, but he meant that he was there even when there were instances I couldn't open up to him. On his tough days, I got to know him well after the fact. He shares the details with me, but only when it's way too much. That's why I was always observant. I know he is a giver, so I don't wait until he asks and ensure I am there for him. We always knew this was a special relationship and it's rare existence. Sadly enough, there is no forever in this world. It has to end at some point. We cherished every moment we possibly had, and it is still not enough. Never enough. In fact, we always joked that when one of us died, we would be there in each other's lives like a ghost and haunt each other to be present. Maybe that was our way of not accepting that life will come to an end someday, and we never know when. When that day actually came, the whole world shattered. It came to a screeching halt. My life was like a sports car going at 150 kmph and came to a sudden stop when I heard the news. It didn't matter what ended in my life since the news. He lived a happy life and passed peacefully, too. The fact that he won't be around is not something that I could digest, though. So, my life was over, too. My decision-making skills vanished, my passion and curiosity disappeared; everything went away and passed into thin air. It took me days or months, or I don't know how long until that day. ************************************************************ It was a sunny day, and I had back-to-back meetings for hours. I needed to be in the office and couldn't get out of bed early. So, after the first round of calls, I started to office. I didn't expect much traffic since it was not the peak hour. I had slotted 45 minutes before my next meeting. I wanted to grab some lunch on the way as well. With that, I was out of the door. People living in high-rise buildings may enjoy the impeccable scenery from their windows, but all that happiness evaporates when they need to wait for the elevator. The worst are the mornings and evenings. It takes forever to go down 25 floors as everyone would need the lift. Trust me when I say this: It takes a whole song, i.e., around 4 to 5 minutes, to reach the ground floor. Hence, I love the mid-days and late nights as I can just power to the parking directly. I got in the lift, and with my clumsiness at peak as usual, I dropped my keys, and as I was trying to pick them up, I dropped my mug. Thank God for those spill-proof mugs, and when I drop them, I at least save myself from the embarrassment of losing my dignity and my coffee in one go. I swore immediately in frustration and said, 'Why me, paa?' Then I heard, ' It's ok, Moni, stuff happens, don't get all worked up like that' in Dad's voice. I froze. I couldn't pick up my mug and lost all strength to grab the keys. I kept questioning if this was a dream in that bent-down posture. God knows it is all my imagination from the vertigo that hit my head as I am still bent down with my head up, looking around like a clown. How can I prove it's not a dream? The classic pinch-me technique? But there is no one here. How am I going to get an answer? And all of a sudden, I hear the lift announcing - 'Ground floor, doors opening'. I was still standing there, frozen and unmoved. As the doors opened, his voice only said, 'Have a good day now, my dear daughter and Moni, don't waste your valuable talent. Remember to keep yourself relevant. Always create your value wherever you are.' He was gone before I could whip up a word. I realised someone staring at me, waiting to get into the lift. I am still bent over with my stuff on the floor. As someone was getting in, I just grabbed everything and got out. It took me 5 minutes to find my car instead of a minute I usually take since I seem to have forgotten all my reality. His voice is still reverberating in my head, but nothing is going into my head. I am in the car with no memory of how to drive. ************************************** I swear I kept questioning myself if it was time to consider an asylum and if it's not too late. I mean, it's been three months; how could I be hearing his voice now? Don't they say that our favourite people come back to haunt us in the initial month before we do their final rites? We did everything as per the books so that we could send him to his eternal resting place in a proper manner. It took all my strength and my sister's, but we did our best. Who should I talk to? My therapist would undoubtedly say that things like this happen because of grief. Should I go to a priest instead? But Dad isn't haunting me. I merely heard his voice, and I have no idea what is real. That day, I completed all the work my team members filled in for me as I grieved. They were not unhappy when I took the reins back. I returned home carrying the takeaway I could get even though I was sure no food would reach my stomach. Even if it does, there is no way it is staying in. But people gotta eat. I waited for the same lift even though there were others. Again, people gave me a weird look when I didn't get in, even when there was a place. I was stubborn to see if I made it up or if it happened to me. I got into the lift and realised I wasn't alone. Their floor was above mine, so we shared the ride, and I got down at 25. I was so reluctant to get out, but she would be suspicious that I pressed 25 and didn't get out. When something happens, our responses are usually based on our past experiences. And that past literally keeps coming up in our head in waves like how they show in Indian Serials: everything replays in sepia mode, and the emotional music with multiple zooms. I took the time to calm myself down first, even though every element in my body was not calm, even in a single cell of my body. What can I do though? He is no more, and I need to somehow bring myself to reality. I am an indolent person, that's why I like being organised. Like James Clear says, lazy people are the cleanest ones because they don't like redoing things. Once I reach home, there is no way I like stepping out of the house again. I am not attached to the house, but I don't prefer leaving it either. But the thoughts of going in that lift again and again and trying to see what happened don't stop. I tried to call him out in the house, but it was the same silent lull there. I would give anything to have him in my life because it keeps me sane. I just want Dad. All my relationships failed. All my life, I had bad friends other than 1 or 2 people. So, there is no one to fill that void. He was my whole life: the thought I woke up to, the call I ended my day with, the message I looked forward to, the suggestion, honest advice or even my therapist, my everything. Shortly, my "soulmate". So hearing his voice gave me that boost, like how drug addicts felt. Then, everything came to a standstill. ********************************* Once I managed to calm myself down, I got some sleep, and I slept for hours like a baby. I haven't slept like that in months. I woke up early in the morning, as was my tradition before the work hours; I decided to give it another shot with a calm head. I went to the lift lobby, and to my dismay, that lift took a long time. When it did come, there was someone in there. I got in and decided to go for a walk. I stood in the lift, closing my eyes, and I had a startle when I heard his voice again, 'Good morning Moni'. That's when I realised that there was no one. Looks like that other person got down, and I didn't even realise. So, my guess was correct: I needed to be alone in the elevator. Is it just this one? Or does it work with others, too? Is this lift like a portal to the past. Way toooooo many questions. Uff. This time, I managed to say, 'Good morning, paa. I miss you. He said,' Me too', and I reached the floor before debating whether I should get out or not. Someone was waiting on the other end, which meant I should get out. And so our journey continued. I had a short chat with him every day. I started getting out of the house at odd times so that I get to talk to him. It kept me going. So I never bothered to tell anyone. Because what if I told them and lost the one good thing I had going as well. I started becoming fitter because I don't stay in the house anymore, and I go for short walks around the building while the lift gets free for my next ride. I didn't know what was happening. I just know his voice is heard in that elevator when I am alone. ***************************************** Life kept going after that. I didn't feel so lonely anymore. I looked forward to the morning and evening chats with Dad. I haven't spoken about it to anyone. I tried to record his voice on my phone, but it didn't seem to work, so I took solace in the fact that I still have him in some form. It still used to scare me at times if I became one of those people who imagine their loved one's presence in their life long after they are gone. Proving this to anyone is impossible, so I decided to take the benefit and stay sane or insane, whichever it is. I managed to thrive in my work and stay healthy as well. I felt like there was something to look forward to even if I still came back to my home alone. Life is never fair to anyone, but there is always a little light if we choose to see it. I had reduced my travelling, but I read a lot and sleep way better now. I don't feel like gagging at the thought of having to eat delicious food, which I can never share with him. I continued to share the stories of the books I read with him, and he continued to impart his knowledge about various topics. Then came a day where everything felt bleak, as always. We all know those days; we all lived through those days. We question our own existence and the point of our lives. On top of it, I failed to do a simple presentation for which I had prepared for a whole week. Additionally, I stand to lose my job because of that one mistake. Even though it has been a toxic workplace with all the internal politics and gossip, I still gave my best. I felt like running away from there, but where to? Can I be a hippie? What's the point? I became one of those people who barely has a life, who talks to her dad in an elevator. Sounds pathetic, and that's me. I entered the women's bathroom and broke down to realise there was no privacy. I tried to enter a fire exit, but the doors were blocked. If you have never been to the fire exits in a corporate office, let me tell you that it's the most peaceful place you can find. But since it's unavailable, I headed to the terrace with the lift. I cried so much that the tissue in my hand was soggy, and that's all I had. Then came Dad's voice: 'What's real and what's not? Can anyone prove that you are real and I am not? ' The only thing in my head is: Umm, How the hell did I not know that he would be there here too? How stupid and dumb am I. His voice was clear as a 5g wifi call. I asked him, 'If so, then why did you go. I just need you and your hug. I want to take trips to the Himalayas with you that we planned all our lives but never managed to. Celebrate the festivals together and show you off to the whole world because you are the best one out there.' It was so quiet, like my life on an early morning, as I stared through my windows when my ex left. Perhaps Dad left, too. Probably, this is just some psychological problem, and he was my imagination. Then Dad said, 'Close your eyes'. I felt some warmth like actually being hugged, and before I reacted, it was over. I asked, 'Was it you? Are you really there?' and he just responded with a sad voice, 'Always'. I was frozen and could only feel as my skin reacted with goose pimples because of his presence for the first time in a very long time. I realised I was reaching the terrace and asked him how he materialised only in an elevator. He said, I have no idea how, but know that I am always here. To which I asked, 'In any of them?' and he responded, 'Yes! ' A bad day is just a bad day, not a bad life. I found a new job and a new home and moved to a new place. The new changes brought in good friends and a healthy work atmosphere. I continued my chats with Dad: Through my chemo treatments, through my old age and the days when it all came together. He was there until my last breath. I don't know if this is true for everyone. I was blessed to have him in his afterlife, too. There were a lot of unanswered questions. Would I have been able to talk to my grandparents? Is that why Mum suddenly woke up complaining of dreams where the grandma who passed away informed her of the future. It's so weird. But because I had dad, I never bothered if anyone else also had people to talk to. I was just too scared to lose him in this conventional world. Speaking to a psychiatrist is easy, but what if they said it's just my imagination. Is there a point in living? I made my life worthwhile but also kept him with me. It was my little secret. Today, I left the earth and hovered over my niece and nephew, waiting for them to summon me, for I cannot call upon them. If they need me, I am there. Seeing how independent their lives are as they grow up makes me so happy. After being busy all our lives, The happiest part is Dad and I are in the same space now, and we both sit and stare at the Manasarovar Lake on a bench. It was our dream for years, and now, we sit there in peace. This is all I need.