Go ahead, ask anyone about the life and lies of Squidward and I assure you, there will be an overwhelming amount of negativity to suffer through. This hate against the classic villain from SpongeBob has been fostered over years of careful production, through hours of screenwriting and voice acting. Squidward is portrayed as the evil of the show and naturally, that means he is. The off-blue octopus did not have an easy life, of course. Living next to a neon yellow, overly enthusiastic, and possibly mentally ill sponge with his cognitively impaired best friend takes a lot of energy that the character just didn’t possess. As introverted of a character as he was, it also seems cruel to put him on the front lines of a restaurant, dealing with navigating the ins and outs of society. On the other hand, the sea creature wasn’t necessarily the friendliest in return, even when one factors in the inner workings of the story, seemingly all set against him by default. Having lively neighbours isn’t necessarily a justification to be stuck up or rude, as Squidward has been described. People have even gone so far as to describe him as a “terrible person” who “doesn’t deserve anyone’s sympathy,” credit to u/\[deleted\]. Is this judgement too harsh? Could it be that Squidward is a being merely longing for love, but having his heart broken time and time again? Only time can tell, and it surely did. As one may or may not think, depending on their dedication to SpongeBob or simply their intelligence quotient, after the era of SpongeBob ends none of Squidward’s personality will have mattered anymore. Not one thing, good or bad, could be remembered by him or his peers, unless of course you consider the producers of the show to be peers. On that day, the entire era, the childhood of many, the show will be ended. That’s right, the flow of creative work came to an end and media began a new period in time. But this leaves the mind scattering to find peace - what happened to Squidward? Now, of course, the characters of the show could not have died, it is simply not feasible. The death of something that never truly existed - is that really possible? Well, in a sense yes. But think not of it as a physical death. The characters simply ceased to exist, leaving behind everything they called home but at the same time one most wonder... are they not still there, stuck for eternity in the closing scene, down in Bikini Bottom? In the famous words of Billie Eyelash, when Squidward falls asleep where does he go? When you think about it closely enough, it all really makes sense. He’s in a constant state of being somewhere between the living and the dead, a sort of Limbo, if you will. He can’t feel, see, hear, smell, or taste anything, as all his spirit is tethered to are fading memories, as soon as those memories die out, whatever is left of him now will just be forgotten by the sands of time, a place where many a soul will always end up. The rest of Bikini Bottom has suffered the same exact fate. Empty streets with buzzing streetlights, vacant homes alive with mildew and molds, not a whisper to be heard, just the material plane left untouched for eons. Not a soul present, yet not a soul removed. This, to the purest and innocent of souls, could seem overwhelming. It’s not anything to fear though, this fact of life. That is, for most people. But then, of course, a select few, the Chosen Ones if you will, have the desire, the pulling force that guides them to look deeper within themselves and discover the dark truth. That maybe, just maybe, death really does exist for those in the Bikini Bottom. And that possibly, in some alternate universe not fully discovered but slightly unsheathed to those most worthy, the characters of the show lay in wait. Their bodies decomposing into smithereens just as the houses crumble and the stove corrodes. Of course, they can no longer feel it. You may think. They are, of course, gone, dead or not. But then you realize that in some glitch in the metaverse, they feel everything around them. They are simply unable to react. Squidward can still feel the pain of his entire life, stemming from the pure hatred stacked upon him from his first day of existence. You wonder if maybe, just maybe, Squidward is able to reflect, feel, but not react. And then you realize, as you, now embodying the being and whole of Squidward, drift off into what may seem to be a fever dream at first. But you know it is real. Of course you do. Enter Squidward, a man who had no desire in life other than to make others happy, to keep them well. Life did not harbour the same plan for him. Flipping burgers wasn’t where Squidward wanted to be. His one true desire in life, the only thing that could truly make him happy was... nothing. And it wasn’t a matter of being picky, no, it truly rested in one’s realization that the squid would never be remembered in a good light. The Creators, the worshipped ones, had decided that an enemy of the plotline was needed and that decision, in and of itself, created both a victim and a monster. Squidward. His generous, giving personality did not match the attributes assigned to him, in fact they went against the biological capabilities of a being’s brain. And so eventually Squidward snapped and became what he was portrayed as. At first it was difficult to conform, but soon it became a part of him. At first his true being started to become merely ‘watered down’ by the mask he was wearing, but soon this mask became a part of him, whether forced or by some sort of... intrinsic evil nature. Squidward became the person he swore never to be, and while most of his brain had become in line with what he was his morals, his ability to simply know what was right, had not changed in the slightest. And so he was not happy, knowing that he would be remembered as the squid with no heart but with no ability to change this fate. The moody, depressed squid. The picky squid. And he was. The ending of Bikini Bottom was a bittersweet moment in time for the middle-aged squid. As he continued to grow old, he had grown more into this bewitched personality and completely lost his true identity, but his moral standings for what was right had grown stronger by the minute. And so as Bikini Bottom faded to a grey and white memory, Squidward did as well. SpongeBob lost all life in his eyes, Patrick lost his smile, Mr. Krabs’ blissful nature disappeared. But Squidward, besides the change of color, had no change in the lack of life behind his eyes, or his always annoyed facial expression. As Squidward’s entire city crumbled around him and his ever-conflicting biological alterations came to a standstill, he did not care. Even in Squidward’s last moments of life, of being, of existence, no life in his eyes was detected. It had never been. As long as the Squid had existed, he had been seen as a terrible person, one with no capability to love, to feel. Little did they know that he was capable of such things, but that they had been ripped away by the capitalism of the media once again. Bikini Bottom would never be his home, not after what they had done. And as the city lay still, one by one, everyone forgot about the emotional turmoil “Squidward’s character” had caused them. But Squidward, his conscience and his being, will never forget. He will remember. You come to, with either a new realization or a deeper one. Squidward is in the multiverse, thinking and feeling, with conscience but somehow, lacking consciousness. But of course, in a world with so many possibilities is it not foolish to assume that this is the correct one? What secrets are revealed in another, undiscovered territory of the verses that we have yet to experience? Well, of course, it is just as foolish to attempt to dwell on this, and to figure out every possibility in a sea of them. But there are some things that simply need to be touched on, spiritually and physically. The slide guitar being one of them. And of course, you and Squidward, your souls now morphed into one in a way from your past experiences, feel yourself drift into what seems to be another experience. But this time, it is not out of body. You can feel yourself, your tentacles, your bald head. The clarinet you enjoy so dearly to play seems to harmonize with another instrument off in the distance. You guessed it, of course you did as a long-time member of Bikini Bottom - it’s the slide guitar. And unbeknownst to most, but to you and to Squidward; a sad slide guitar plays somewhere in the distance just out of earshot. A weeping soul, broadcasting it’s last hoorah on our soul wavelength; you then realize, it’s not sound your hearing, the guitar is communicating with you directly. It’s but a messenger for feelings previously unfelt, experiences most unknown, warnings and omens of the coming trials of tomorrow. We have yet to face them, but they will surely bring us to that same dingy lake one day. It reverberates through the trenches of the abyssal zone in the deep ocean, snippets of information being lost in the dense mass of water. The surrounding pressure feels, strange. Void of life, you may not realize it now, but this world you believe to view is devoid of any life, including you, a cob which has left behind it’s husk. A wandering spirit. These pitch black navy waters crushing you down but only in a silent and determined way. Millennium pass during your trek of these deep sea trenches. As you exit this mind-altering state of being, you do not feel fulfilled as with the last flash of vision. You are filled with envy and with dread - almost as if you are beginning to experience an existential crisis, if you will. But different than you have felt before. This leaves you feeling, feeling more than you believed to be humanly possible. You may not want to hear more of this dreadful, eye-opening material but curiosity and a passion to know what is beneath keep you from turning to the exit. And so you move forward through the dark halls, taking turns in directions never before travelled. You open doors that are pathways to memories, new experiences never showcased in the seemingly happy show. You are in the backrooms, of what you do not know. Each door you pass is a possibility, and each you do not open is one you will never gain knowledge from. You stop at the passageway featuring a cascading blackness, a level of unlight you did not know to be physically possible. And it isn’t. But you are no longer in the physical world, no. You have entered the limbo. You are the limbo. Opening the door provides a wave of dark, sinister feelings but with that you bear more knowledge. And the further you walk through this, the more you realize, and the more you fear. You come to a great fork in the road that is existence, you choose the one that calls to you most. And you are faced with yourself, and with the turmoil of life itself. He still lingers in the salty depths of the underwater world, deep below, farther down than any human was ever meant to survive. But we, we feel this thing that Squidward is experiencing, some lost in translation, but a burst of passion, if anything. This abyss leads places that intelligent life may never know about, these deep winding tunnels only mocking us, coaxing us deeper into the depths of the unknowns. There is no fear, no sadness, no happiness, nothing. We have only ever experienced, and only ever will, but only so much. Squidward knows of this as well, he refused it his entire waking life, even during sleep at times. A miserable life led to nothing other than a foggy cavern of mystery for our beloved Squidward. What an unfortunate series of events, from the canned milk to the clarinet, he was a mortal soul, calling out into the void, praying for an answer. None was given. Now he is left alone in this moisture to contemplate what he once was, a mind without a matter, a life, without death, and a death, containing nothing other than his true essence. Fear. Running out, back, up out of the dark state of mind you are in seems to take forever. And of course it does. The state of mind cannot be changed once it has been altered like this. You become one with this darkness and you are permitted to leave the abyss. But if you do not, you will stay in the depths and eventually become one with it, but not by choice. You accept the depression, the terrible realization that what once was will never be. And of course you are let out of the abyss, but there is nothing else to life other than the abyss now. Everything has lost its color; you are fading just as Squidward has. All that is left are the possibilities, and they envelop you. One stands out. In it, you are back to a realization that you have almost had before, but with a much deeper understanding of what is and what is not. In this alternative way of existence, you do not see Squidward but you know of his presence. Unbeknownst to the sea creature, he was born into a world where abstract constructs are all the eyes will ever see. This deep longing he dealt with his entire life, compacted only into a thought, occurring within a split second; ceasing continuation within an infinity of time, going by in a spark. This bursting decadence he once felt, then stifled by his own machinations. Soon not to be, and to be, he never was, he lives on in one way or another. His fleeting light, trapped in a limbo, a one dimensional plane, with four dimensional pieces. His whole life, though passed and experienced, he knows nothing about. Memories begin to fade, what once was his life, his love, his hatred, and his pride are all burning embers of an extinguished flame. Though he knows not now, he is subject to what many might consider a personal hell, what mortal minds see as bad, he merely just sees it. Without a body, he is left to only receive. No sight, no sound, no taste and no feeling. Merely his fading memories there to guide him, confused and dazed as a life form, he is now a supernova, a black hole, a universe. But once more, he knows not of what he witnesses. Staring into the deep blue and pitch navy-black trenches of the abyssal sea, he wanders, searching. Though a lost spirit, he is curious; a feeling once again felt after decades of empty existence. On, off, on, off, he lived only once in binary. Flowing now, he is able to see what he once missed out on, fearful of what lies past the horizon of this cruel pressure. Non-physical, he may be, but every immeasurable amount of pressure he still bears. Eons pass as he wanders the boundless stretches of lonesomeness, stuck in a timeless zone of constant fluctuation. The feeling has been present since the end, an instant realization that these waters, as large and infinite as they may be, they are lifeless. Devoid of any and all other conscious beings. Numbness may be the only description of this silent cavern of salt water. What lies above the surface he has never tried to explore, in dreams he may venture to god Neptune, nay here, he lay quiet. This deafening hollow landscape, fading exponentially, some may want to reflect. This soul we watch after does not. Distant steel guitar plays, just out of earshot, it weeps for us all, though of course, it’s only sitting in with his own reality. Playing notes never once before heard, it carries a message hidden between each memory, faded but available, it is found once more. His soulful coil ever changing in a non-Euclidean sort of way. His last moments of activity consist of more wandering, the same wandering he refused to give up in his physical being. Gone. Inactive. Wiped away, he ceases to exist, you may believe he was once here, but as a mortal being, we may never know the truth of our own inner workings, and those who have already left us in more ways than one. Sands of time have consumed his every part and trigger, everything that was once around him growing mildew and mold. Wallpaper slowly ripping itself off of his once habited abode. At the point in which you are, coming back from such darkness no longer seems to be a possibility. You long for the bliss that SpongeBob and his friends possess, and that is when you realize that Squidward is more a part of you than ever before. Squidward was a being entered into the Limbo before any other, existing in a world he was not meant to be in. Would you be happy in such a way of life? Of course not, and this has been proven to you today. It seems that the only thing you could really find comfort in at this point is the satisfaction of knowing that someone relates. Squidward. But of course, who is to say what is and what is not, as previously stated? How can we be sure that Squidward is what we think he is? The only real proof of Squidward's existence is from the creator's mind, so at the end of the day he could be completely different, and the animator could just have a bias against him. Is it possible that a very similar, yet different biologically of course, Squidward-like-human exists somewhere. Technically Squidward could be anyone, since no one has proof of how he looks or what he's really like, beyond the mind of the media. You could be Squidward, but you wouldn't know it since your brain doesn't have the capacity to understand that it is. No one is Squidward, he does not exist. But everyone embodies him, in every way, shape, and form. You exit the journey, no longer the same, no sense of joy within your soul. Every aspect of ignorance and bliss has been stripped from you, and you are left in the desolate and dingy lake. It is too far below the surface for anyone to see you and help you out, but too close for you to lose your last sense of hope and stop treading the waters. Oh what a realization it will be when it becomes known that you are tethered to the bottom of this bottomless abyss. There is nowhere to go but down, and there is no end to life or to death in this Limbo either. You hear the guitar somewhere beneath you, and you hear the sounds of boats atop the lake. Squidward is everywhere around you, but no where in sight and not reachable by any force known to man or to any living matter on the known universe. His weeping may be heard another day, from another sky than ours, he will call you, he will call I, limbo may be around the corner, but that will never stop you and I from living what he may have never been brave enough to live.


Paula Johnson gets up at 5 am, jumps in the shower, slips on her stockings, steps into her shoes, digs in the pocket of her raincoat, and walks out the door into the rain. She worked as a waitress at the English Muffin, a breakfast restaurant she has worked at since it first opened a hundred years ago. It's just another day for Paula Johnson, who is trapped in a time loop; time passes around her while she remains the same age and in the same job. Everyone around her goes about their daily lives, either leaving for better opportunities or dying. When the clock strikes, 5 am, everyone who had met Paula Johnson the day before forgets about her. Her first day at the English Muffin sparked the phenomenon. When she arrived for her second day, everyone acted as if they were meeting her for the first time. This has been her reality ever since. She's seen ownership change hands, the restaurant modernized, and longtime customers pass away and are replaced by new ones. This morning, Paula walks into the restaurant, checks in on the computer, and walks into the manager's office. "Oh, you're the new waitress, Paula, right? I'm Bob, the manager." "Do you want me to start at the counter?" "Sure, Angelica has been running around all morning; I'm sure she'd appreciate your help." Paula grabs an apron and approaches Angelica, who is struggling to make coffee. "I loathe this stupid machine," Angelica says as she aggressively presses switches with little effect. "There is a trick: you need to wait three seconds before flipping the brew switch. Bob is aware of it but has yet to have it serviced." Paula says as she flips the brew switch at the right moment, and the coffee starts to percolate. "Oh my God, I'm so glad you're here; that dumb thing has been driving me crazy all morning." "Don't worry, it'll be a good day; tipping is generally higher when it's raining. Is it okay if I take the counter?" "Of course, do you want me to go over the menu?" "I've worked in places like this before; let me know if there's anything else I can do." Paula walks up to Mr. Innes, who has been a regular at the English Muffin for the past eight years. "Has Angelica put your bran muffin and home fries in yet?" "How did you know that's what I always get?" "Word travels quickly, Mr. Innes; I'll have that up for you as soon as possible." "I can see you're going to be one to watch; your future looks promising!" Paula smiles as an underlying sadness begins to wash over her. She overcame it and walked to the end of the counter, where a couple was waiting for their order to be taken. It's not like Paula hasn't attempted to escape her daily life; she's tried to flee town, change careers, and even steal money, but her conscience wouldn't let her keep it. The bottom line is that the English Muffin is the only place where she can make money, support herself, and be somewhat remembered. She's tried almost everything to break the spell in the hundred years she's been living this day-to-day existence. She tried staying awake for 24 hours, then 48 hours; she paid a woman to stay awake with her until morning; at 5 am, she forgot who Paula was and freaked out. Finally, she placed a massive billboard of herself with the words, "I am Paula Johnson, remember me!" Every day the billboard was up, people acted as if it were the first day, and it had little to no effect on the spell. Paula was right about this rainy Wednesday morning; it was busy; she had already made her usual amount of tips by late morning. She took a break, drank another cup of coffee, and struggled to stay awake. Bob exited his office and motioned everyone to the kitchen just as she was ready to return to work. "I'm sorry for doing this now, but I wanted to inform everyone as soon as possible. I just got off the phone with the bank, and the English Muffin will be closing permanently." Everyone is stunned, but no one more so than Paula. She's almost catatonic. "It gets worse," Bob continues, "tomorrow is the last day we'll be open." "The restaurant will be closed after tomorrow!" Angelica said as she threw down a rag on a prep table in frustration. "Okay, everyone, I'm sorry I had to upset you with this, but I didn't want you to be surprised; let's have a good rest of today and tomorrow here at the English Muffin." "You're lucky this is your first day," Angelica said as she and Paula went back to the restaurant. "I've given three months of my life to this job, and now I have to start all over." The rest of Paula's shift is solemn, with a lot of thought on all the time she's spent here, but also worry about the future in the back of her mind. The restaurant is about to close when a man stumbles in, drenched. He walks up to the counter, where Paula greets him with a place setting and silverware. "Is it still raining out there?" "Don't worry; I think the majority of it is on me." As she held out the coffee carafe, Paula laughed. She poured him a cup after he nodded. Paula found the man easy to talk to, and even though the restaurant had closed a half-hour earlier, Paula told Angelica that she would lock up. The man asked Paula why she was sad. Maybe she was tired, maybe the news about the restaurant closing had weighed on her, but she chose to use this chance to express her emotions. "This restaurant I've worked at for a long time is closing tomorrow, and I'm not sure what I'll do after that." "You sound like I did a month ago; I had devoted my entire life to my family's business, and when it closed, I had no idea what I was going to do." "When did you decide to go on with your life?" "I stopped making excuses; eventually, you'll spend all of your time doing things in your comfort zone, but it's beyond your comfort zone where memorable things happen." "I desperately want to change, but I'm not sure I can." "Here's what I'll do; tomorrow morning, I'm getting on a train to start my new life; meet me at the station, and we'll figure it out together. The train leaves at 6 am." The man walked out the door, leaving a tip on the counter. Paula returns to her empty apartment, and the loneliness she has felt brings her to tears as she stares at the bare walls. She has spent the last hundred years living another day after another day and had nothing to show for it. Paula's alarm goes off at 5 am the next morning. She hops in the shower, slips into her stockings, steps into her shoes, and walks out the door. She knew it was a long shot, but she'd go to the train station in the hopes that he'd remember their conversation from yesterday. As she approached the platform, she noticed the man from the restaurant scrolling on his phone while waiting for the train. "Hi." The man was confused; he put his phone into his pocket and looked Paula in the eyes. "Paula! I'm so glad you could make it.


“Anna! Where’s my hat?” “Eric, where’s the cooler? The blue one with your name on it?” “TJ, in the car! Now!” So many people shouting, their voices filled with excitement as Eric, Anna, Zane, and I pile into Zane’s blue SUV. Anna takes the passenger seat, Zane is driving, and Eric and I are in the back. After graduating from high school, the four of us decided to finally take the road trip we’d been planning since 6th grade; from our boring town in Kansas to Florida. It was the third week of summer and we were finally ready. “How long is the trip again?” I asked as Eric, my boyfriend, pushed me into the car. “About 16 hours,” Eric replied as we buckled our seatbelts. “Well, I’m gonna fall asleep,” Anna giggled from the passenger seat in front of me. “Same,” Zane replied from the seat next to her, putting his hands on the steering wheel, and we all laughed. He turned the keys in the ignition and we were off. We quickly exited our small town and turned onto the highway. We played a few rounds of I Spy, sang along with the radio, and listened to an audiobook. After about 6 hours of driving, we pulled off the highway and into the motel we had booked the week before. We grabbed our overnight bags from the trunk and headed to our separate rooms. Eric and I collapsed on the bed, tired from a long day in the car. Suddenly, Eric’s phone started ringing. “Yeah?” Eric asked, the call on speaker. “Shouldn’t we get dinner?” Zane asked on the other end. “Probably,” I smiled, rolling off the bed. Eric groaned, rolling off the bed, and falling next to me. “But I don’t want to move,” Eric complained. “Too bad,” I giggled, pulling him up off the ground. Eric finally stood up and we strolled out to the car to go to dinner with Anna and Zane, me basically dragging Eric along, his arm around my shoulders. We waited for a couple of minutes but Anna and Zane didn’t come out of their room. Eric and I wandered over to their room and knocked on the door, but no answer came from inside. “Zane? Anna?” Eric yelled, knocking again. Suddenly, we heard a sound from behind the motel that sounded like that of a gunshot. “Anna! Zane!” I yell, starting to get worried. “Hang on, Zane gave me a spare key,” Eric exclaimed, shoving his hand into his jeans pocket, producing a motel key card. He quickly swiped it past the door handle and shoved the door open. Inside was Zane, lying on the bed, a red bruise blooming on his head as if someone had hit him over the head with something. Anna, however, was nowhere to be seen. Clenched in Zane’s hand though was Anna’s jean jacket, a dark liquid splattered on it. I crumpled to the ground as Eric raced over to Zane, shaking him. Zane sat up, looking around groggily, he looked down at the jacket, and his eyes widened. “Where’s Anna?” Zane asked, “Where did he take her?” “He? Who’s he? Who did you see Zane?” “A-a man, a tall man in all black grabbed her and took her out the back door. Did he bring her back? Where’s Anna?” Zane questioned, standing up, leaning on Eric. “TJ?” Eric asked, helping Zane onto the bed, “Call 911.” I pulled my phone out as quickly as possible, dialing the number as quickly as possible. The ambulance and police arrived and Eric and I were driven to the police station. We tried to go with Zane to the hospital, but the police wanted to talk to us. I held tight to Eric’s hand until we arrived at the station. The police took us each to a different room. The one I was in had a guard standing by the door, a large mirror on one wall which I assumed was one way, a large metal table, and two wooden chairs, me in one. A tall, balding man in a police uniform marched in, sitting down in the chair opposite me. “TJ, right?” He asked. I nodded, staring down at the table, my mind replaying the past few hours in my head. “I’m Jones, Jones Michealson. I need you to help me with a few things, okay?” I nodded again. “Where did you last see your friend Anna?” “Right before we went into our rooms, probably around 7,” I replied quietly. “Who had access to a key?” “Eric and I had a spare key, and I’m assuming the motel employees but that’s all I know.” The guard by the door handed Jones a couple of photos, and Jones spread them out on the table. There was an older man with white hair and wrinkles, two middle-aged women, one with short red hair, the other with long black hair, and two teenage boys. “Do you know any of the employees?” “Yeah actually,” I replied, sitting up straighter, “That man substituted at our school one time for Anna and I’s science class. Anna kept disrupting the class and he eventually gave her a detention. Those two women also substituted one time. They also gave her detention for throwing markers at the board. Those two boys both dated her for a month or so, but they were both ugly breakups.” “So what you’re telling me is they all had a motive.” “I mean, none of them were that mad at her-,” “But they all didn’t like her,” Jones interrupted. “Yeah,” I replied, “I guess, yeah, but Zane said he saw a man.” “Your friend was scared, he could have mistaken who the person was,” Jones suggested. Suddenly, the mirror on the wall shattered. A bullet tore through the shimmering glass in slow motion flying just above my head as I dove under the table. The glass rained down around me, the metal wall dented and the bullet clattered to the ground. I huddled under the table as a tall man in a black hoodie climbed through the gap where the mirror had been. He had long, wavy black hair, a scar on his chin, and deep blacked-out eyes.


After a long day at work Patrick finally sat down in front of his computer. He’s been waiting for this moment since he woke up from bed. Finally he will be able to fulfill his daily wish. Everyday, an endless cycle of going to work, eating lunch, going home, sometimes eating dinner, and sitting in front of his computer. Except on Sundays. Sundays are Elly Days. He would pick up Elly and spending the whole day with her. Watching movies at the cinemas, going to the aquarium world, picnicking at the park, you name it. With a press of a button, his computer whirred with computer sounds. He could hear the cooling fan running, he could hear the beeping sounds it makes every time it turns on. His monitor lit up. He entered his password and logged into his instant messaging software. His face lit up with excitement when he saw “David” online. David is his online friend. Although they have never met in real life they traded a few pictures with each other. They met in an MMORPG. A game which players around the world play in several servers under the same name, leveling up their characters, joining guilds, and play as wizards, warriors, knights, and many more. Patrick: busy? David: nahh.. Patrick: Can I call you? David: Sure! He clicked the telephone icon under David’s name. “Testing,” Patrick said. “I can hear you,” David replied. “Nice. what are you doing?” he asked. “I’m grinding at treant right now, loot drop raised to fifty percent till the end of the week,” David answered. His microphone detected his keyboard mashing and mouse clicking. “I could use some help tho.” “Alright, hold on. I’m logging in.” They spent a couple of round grinding at the spot. Patrick is a Wizard, his main role is to deal a high amount of damage to the enemies while being squishy. So he has to rely on someone else tanking the damage. That role is filled by David who is a knight. A knight can switch his roles between offence and defence. While in offence mode, he would wield a two handed long sword. Shield and a short sword while in defence. “Would be nice to have a healer instead of relying on these potions, haha! I’m running low on them,” David laughed. “I can heal you, but it won’t be as good as a bard or a witch’s heal,” Patrick replied. “Your heal is enough.” Patrick alternated between damaging the treants and keeping his tank alive by healing him. “Hey,” David said. “What?” “You’re gonna be there right?” David asked. “Be where?” “This Sunday, at two o’clock, World Boss. Everyone and their grandmother is gonna be there,” he said. “And there’s a chance of getting the dragon’s heart as a reward. They’re worth millions of gold in the central market. Players would buy them to get the slight extra damage in Guild Wars.” “No, I can’t Sundays are for-” “Elly. I know.” David replied with a hint of sorrow in his voice. “Come on, I promised my mother I’d take her out every week,” Patrick tried to console. “Everytime I spent time with her, I’d imagine what if she...” “Didn’t have down syndrome?” David finished. “Yeah. She could have a happy life,” Patrick replied. “You wouldn’t know that,” David said. “What?” Patrick asked. “What if she’s happier now the way she is than being normal like the rest of us,” David replied. “Because she got to go out with her little brother every week! I promise you that being with you is the highlight of her week.” “I never thought of it that way,” Patrick was in awe. “Yeah dude, if my brother comes every-” Patrick heard a door slammed in his headphones followed by a crying child screaming. “Oops, hold on dude,” David said. A muffled woman’s voice can be heard saying “All you do is spend time with your goddamned computer!” David forgot to mute his microphone. “Lisa. Honey. I’m begging you for two hours of alone time, just for me. The rest I spend it with you, the child, and work. This two hours is all I have, Lisa.” David begged. “Then what about crying Jimmy right here?!” she shouted. “I put him to sleep before I- It was you! You chatted loudly with your friends on the phone, laughing like there’s no tomorrow, waking him up!” David snapped. “Even this dude on the other line could f\*cking hear you!” “Ahem,” Patrick coughed. David noticed that he didn’t mute his microphone. “Sorry you had to hear that, Patrick,” he ended the call. Patrick sat silent for a moment. “I wish you were with me here instead of her. You make me happy,” Patrick said to his microphone. No one else on the other line.


Tick Tock. Six In the morning, but exhausted. Waking up, go to work? About to call in sick. I'm a manager, so I gotta go. An office job, so most likely bored. A 40 min. Route away. Not much of a drive but enough to consume the day. Open up, and switch the lights on. Clock in and make sure nothing is wrong. Make a copy so the printer's working. Of course, make some coffee to start the morning. New day same events. Same chatter, same stories, nothing different. Looking for an assistant because help is needed. Work picks up, and my energy depletes. Found several, time for an interview. Roughly 20 resumes gotta pick and choose. Jessica, Britney, Cassie, and Stasey. Seen enough faces to just want to leave. All for the same position. I don't want to say no, but they have to reason. I came across Lucy but, of course, had to interview. Ask my questions, and the response will conclude. She had about five years of experience. She knows her way around printers a fax and computers. Can organize and keep a heavy list. Perfect to remember, she makes notes with a pad that has a pen attached to it. Takes the calls and makes sure I remember the meetings. Can summerize everything and only what's needed. Spoke with respect and kept eye contact . Dressed well respectfully. She had a smile that would make you grin back. Sounds too good to be true. Odd to say but people can always stretch the truth. Others had moments that didn't end well. Some no experiance. Some dressed like it's a motel. Had one I won't embarrass her. Name I won't mentioned but wore a ripped t-shirt. Definitely drunk at least she apologized. She said it's not usual for her but can focus. Right! Tick Tock. 6am once again. The day starts over as if it's my friend. Open up, lights on, coffee again. Lucy caught my eye she seemed promising. I can't rush too quick more resumes. Give everyone a chance as one says. Patricia, Tanisha, Helen. I spoke to more people than some do on Television. Then there was Tiffany, Veronica, and Brittany. Can't remember them all but still respect the effort completely. Time moved on as it does. Denied most of them. Probably holding a grudge. Went on to Lucy and didn't hesitate. Strange but 100% certain as if we're related. I called to give the news. It was a Thursday and arranged for Monday's schedule. Then I went on day after day. Bored out of my mind in the most irked way. The job pays and I do it well. Can't blame the system but mentally it's hell. Always in your head sometimes. Focused on work but still out of your mind. Friday came, a mood switch. Finally some action before I leave it. The third Friday of the month so donut day. I reward my people enough to obey. Respect because the job is tough. Accounting so the pressure struck. Lunch comes around it's the three of us. One talked about his dog and the other talks about her crush. Enthusiasm doesn't match. Vibe with one while the other memorialize that. Saturday I chilled at home sleeping. Went shopping towards the afternoon but nothing obliterating. Excitement was craving but behind shame. Sunday I was alone then later I came. Monday comes once again. As it always does upset the confidence. Recovery mode from the weekend. Zone into work before the soul's condemned. Lucy's first day her presence makes it official. Beautiful honestly but the viewing was minimal. Showed her the ropes and how to climb. The ins and outs before the comply. Picked up quick and she did her thing. Got a weight lifted off me like armor on kings. The day drags as normal. Lucy up to speed and quite professional. "Meeting with Robin at 10:30 and lunch with Steven. 2pm you have a customer should be smoother than a jam session." "Thanks, Lucy I appreciate it. The energy and motivation is there I can feel it. Nice to get the ball rolling." Work gets done while the minds provoking. Wednesday jumps in it's place. Out of bed, brush teeth, out the door, and tie the shoe lace. Open up, flick the lights the same old routine. Printer's good, computers on. The business is operating. Everyone comes in, and life moves forward. Scan paperwork then onto a folder. Lucy comes in and starts right away. Made a coffee for me as if my vibe was gray. Presence that I appreciated. Enjoyed her smile the stress was detained. Months fall into my lap. Lucy on point awareness sharp like a wild cat. Knew the gap between throwing jokes and being serious. Single passing through but can definitely subsist. Days move as normal but the vibe has changed. Low key happy to work Lucy deserves the blame. Talked about it all from time to time. Life is hard verbalizing the pain can delay the confine. Spoke about her time before. Worked as a flight attendant 10 Years back the mind was restored. Good for her went out to explore. Of course landed an experience that put a foot on the door. Needed a change she said. The money isn't the goal spoke like a legend. Enjoyed the job as I hope to. Doubt anyone would deny information reduced. We went out several times but not as a date. Didn't want to come up from such a strong claim. Just as friends and it was great. Laughed, drank, walked just magnificent. Tick tock. 6 am another day. Shower breakfast then work it's Tuesday. Open up, lights and printer's on. Everything seems right. I gave a little yawn. Everyone comes in Lucy as well. My coffee was made I enjoyed her smell. A perfume that hugs the nose. My body is there but mentally composed. Years passes our bond just grew. Work went well a ton of papers were used. Never got in the way as some might think. Kept it professional give it a wink. I began to feel and I couldn't stop it. Let it warm me up love was convinced. She had a vacation planned for some time. Christmas in Switzerland I was surprised. Had someone there to show around. Will be gone for two weeks. No Lucy found. Plane will leave at midnight. I Will pass before she leaves town tonight. It might be my chance to confess. God know she might even find love there and have mine vanish. Friends become close enough with time spent. Keeps you from moving like a foot in cement. Hours pass work picks up. Had to finish manager stuff. Sucks but it is what it is. Worked longer than usual physically drained. I ador Lucy and fought the feeling. Smacked my heart with diligence ignoring the meaning. Can't love at work just doesn't coexist. Maybe I speak and she might start to resist. I felt it though, the fondness. I don't wanna ruin what's already great and have her to drift. Plane leaves at midnight and I contemplate. Fell for her but don't want desire to fade. What choice do I have? Just throw myself like a basketball on Cupid's behalf. 11pm and a 30min. drive. Damn can't be late gotta let my emotions fly. On my way still following the laws. Strit town so I can't get caught. Thinking on what to say. Brain in a fog my thoughts are moving like a parade. Made it to the airport and didn't even park correctly. Got out anxious looking for my allurement. Saw her at a distance resting with her legs crossed. Eyes at a book captivated. Approached and stuttered no lie. Couldn't manage but willing to try. "What are doing? I'm leaving soon. Almost midnight my flight can't be moved." "Before you go I had to be honest completely. I understand our work and understand the boundaries." Preserving the moment. "We have known each other for some time now. Been happier and fulfilled every time we were out. The work suffocates but not with you. Hard to place in words but enough to deduce. Your green eyes and coffee colored hair. The ambience was wild and peace was declared. Your presence over the years grows onto me." "Wow, I didn't expect this before I'd leave." "Sorry, but I had to, emotions distinguished. I couldn't risk you being oblivious to it. My feelings are in..." "Well to be honest before you continue. I will put out there I have feelings for you too. The air is just perfect between us two. would love you to come with but didn't want to destroy our relationship too. Everything was going so well.." "Yeah I felt that. Definitely understand and afraid of getting cut back." "NO I wouln't do that to you. I would be honest but nothing to tear down a heart that's just rude." A hug was produced. Feelings were poured like some apple juice. Throw myself and sit there in scrutiny. Make sure the words bleed well since there was so much to loose within me. She went on her way. I shuffled to work. Stay in contact like an atterny or lawyer. Missed her as I would. Time moved twice as slow like it wants to reassure. She came back and love sparked. Not give the news at work or it'll throw things off. Happier than a winning ticket. Got me moving back and forth like a game of cricket. Lucy my love strange how we collide. Other than the help the rest was a surprise. Up for anything other than goodbye. Kept a great vibe I can't emphasize. The rest is for you to conclude. My life went well enough of the mental abuse. Still stressful at times but turned down a notch or two. Let's see how it goes December's our yearly review.


“I quit!” he said. It was so sudden and so unexpected that she didn’t know what to say. She just stared at him, mouth open so wide the wind almost blew one of her blonde pigtails in. “What- what do you mean ‘you quit’,” she said, finally finding her voice. “You can’t quit. We’re a team. We’re Maggie and Jake. Peter and Jane. Luke and bloody Leia!” He snorted and shook his head. “Not anymore. You can take on the Death Star. I can’t take it anymore. It’s too much. All that singing. All the walking. The climbing. The falling. The broken bones. No. Nonononono! I’ve had enough.” He had moments like this. At first it was funny and infrequent, but now it was happening more and more. He always talked about other things, but this was the first time he’d ever said he was quitting. She grabbed his hand, trying to soothe it. To soothe him. She knew he had a temper. They always had. Being brother and sister, basically twins, she knew him better than anyone. Better than he himself sometimes. He wasn’t going to quit. He couldn’t. She had to get him back, to calm him down. She could do it, she just had to be reasonable. “Come on,” she said softly. “We’re here. We came all this way so why not finish it? Remember the times we did it before? How much fun we had?” “I’m not a little kid anymore,” he said, pulling his hand free. “I’m tired of it. Every single day we do this and every single time it’s the same result. What did Einstein say? ‘Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results’. Well we’ve been doing this every day for god-knows how long and the same shit happens every single time! “The real question is, how aren’t you sick of it?” She shrugged. She had to admit there were times it got tiresome, but she was a simple girl with simple needs and this was how they earned their crust. How they got their water so-to-speak. “Look, I get it. It sucks. But we have to do it, you know?” “Why do we have to do it?” he whined. She hated when he whined. He was the older brother, the next in line to look after everyone if Dad carked it. But he could really be a petulant child sometimes. “Because it’s just the way it is. It’s how we survive.” “Every bloody time we do it we almost don’t survive.” She shrugged, “It’s just the way it is.” “Why is it?” he said. He indicated around us. It was a beautiful, sunny day. The sun warmed our skin, the grass was green and full of flowers. Birds sang in the trees and bees buzzed happily. In the distance were snow-capped mountains, and dark green forests, while near us was our tiny village where kids laughed and played. “Look around us. Look at what exists at our doorstep-” Here we go , she thought. This again . “-mountains and forests,” he continued. “Don’t you ever wonder what dwells within? Fairies? Monsters? Our first great love? Our genesis or our demise? There are so many possibilities out there for us. But do you ever wonder? No. You’re content living this sheltered little life. Doing the same damn thing every day. How aren’t you bored?” She sighed, “Look. I get it. There is a lot of promise out there. But if you actually look around us, you will see what we do is important. It ensures our survival. Sure, you like the romantic notion of wandering into the unknown with your sword and shield and saving the beautiful princess from the evil wizard. Or soaring high in the sky on the backs of dragons. Sure, you think you can handle the danger and the death. But here’s a little bit of reality for you, dear brother of mine. You can’t even handle this one little job without complaining about it like a spoiled little brat! You take a little tumble and suddenly the whole world is ending.” She was angry now, her words bit at him like a snake in the grass and she knew it but she didn’t care. “It’s time you put on your big boy pants and understand this is the way of the world we live in. This is what we do. We’re not like the others. You’re not a prince. I’m not a fairy queen. We don’t blow down houses or climb beanstalks. We are simply a brother and sister trying to help our village survive. “I-” he began but she cut him off. “-You know what. I’ve had enough of it. Do it.” “What?” he said, visibility confused. “Go. Quit. Go run off and play swords with dragons. Go home, go to your room and get your tiny wooden sword and your shield and go.” She held her arms out to the bright, sunny world before them. “There you are,” she said. “The world awaits its newest hero with open arms!” Her brother's mouth gaped like a fish out of water before his eyes hardened and she knew the insults were coming. He was a wimp but he loved to double down and he loved to insult people because he was never ever wrong. “You’re an ass, you know that?” “Ahuh.” “A real cow.” “Moo.” “I should leave.” “Yep. You should.” “I can do it.” She gave an appropriately sarcastic sound of agreement. “Just you watch.” “I will.” “I’ll come back a hero.” “I’ll wait here every night hoping to see my triumphant brother return as the new king of whatever fairy tale he dreamed up with the sexy, virgin, and always faithful, queen by his side.” They continued trading barbs until the sun was high in the sky and sweat was beading on their forehead. It was always like this and she always just waited until he lost steam. “I... I- I- shut up, ok?” She sighed, he’d finally finished his tantrum. Picking up the bucket she held it out to him. “Ready to go?” “I’m not doing it. I’m serious. I’ve had enough.” “This is our story.” “I know, but I’m over it. I’m over the kids singing it. I’m over the falls. I’m over the injuries.” She wanted to say something but this felt different. Usually his anger dissipated by now and he dutifully did what was sung. But now, there was something else in his voice. Was it sorrow? Was it tiredness? He glanced at the mountains and the forests. Maybe this time he would actually do it. It was going to happen one day. Deep down she knew it would and that thought scared her more than anything. Maybe today was the day. Despite how much of a baby he was, she needed him. There was no other way this could work and she sure as hell wasn’t taking the lead. She wasn’t breaking her crown. It looked like it hurt! All around them she heard singing and knew it was almost their time to start. “Come on,” she tried, holding out the bucket. “Let’s go. We can talk later.” Jack took the bucket and tossed it away, “Forget it, Jill. There is no way I’m going back up that hill to fetch a pail of fucking water.”


NOW The elevator doors part, propelling Benjamin and Alice into the hallway, both loaded down with grocery bags. They each lean to one side under the weight. "You didn't forget the rice, did you?" Alice asks. Ben just grunts and points with his chin at one bag in particular. The one holding the rice. Alice beams, her grin a spontaneous burst of sunshine, and they exchange a glance of understanding, acknowledging neighbours with casual head bobs as they pass. Living in these flats, running into people is as common as daylight. The homes are neatly in a row, each one connected to the next by the shared balcony. As they walk to their door, the vibe of their small community is friendly, warm. But today isn't just another Saturday. There's a tension in the air, a sense of something waiting for them, right behind their door. As they reach it, Ben sets his bags down. The one with the rice slips out of his hand as he fumbles for the key in his pocket. It's all so normal. A weekend shopping trip, the same as so many others. At least, that's what they believe. As Benjamin's hand closes around the key, Alice's voice shatters the peace. "Evan!" Benjamin spins around to face his wife, her worry mirrored in his eyes. "What is it?" Alice's lips move, but no words come out. Fear and confusion play across her face. She points, her hand shaking, at the door opposite theirs. His eyes move along the invisible line her finger draws. And the moment his sight aligns with the object of her indication, a bone-chilling revelation shakes him to his core. Little Evan, their six-year-old neighbour, is sitting on the patch of floor where the shoe rack usually sits. His cherubic cheeks, delicate arms, and pristine white singlet are besmirched with a crimson hue. Even from their vantage point, the unmistakable scent of iron wafts through the air, its metallic presence a harbinger of the unspeakable--a child drenched in blood. TWO HOURS AGO Thank heavens they had arrived at CKS Supermarket while the morning was still young, allowing them to secure a prime parking spot with relative ease. The vast expanse of the supermarket echoed their good fortune, as the early hour had kept the number of shoppers to a minimum. With a swift motion, Benjamin snatched a shopping trolley while Alice, clutching her phone, took the lead, consulting the meticulously compiled list of necessary purchases she had crafted earlier. Together, they meandered through the aisles, diligently collecting each item on their agenda. Feeling no need to rush, they opted for a leisurely pace, relishing the unhurried nature of their quest. "Let's make our way to the rice section," Alice suggested. "Alright," Benjamin replied, dutifully steering the trolley as Alice forged ahead. In the midst of their stride, their heads turned in unison towards the sound of a woman's voice emanating from close proximity. "Hello, Alice," the voice called out, revealing itself to be none other than Ain, a familiar face from their neighbourhood. "Ain!" Alice exclaimed. "You're here too?" "Yes!" Ain responded, moving in closer, her face alive with an unstoppable desire for juicy tidbits. Recognizing Ain's familiar gaze, Alice wasted no time. She gestured discreetly to Benjamin, silently requesting a moment of solitude, before joining Ain's side. Now face to face, Ain wasted no time diving into the heart of the matter. "So, spill the beans, Alice. What's the deal with Clara and Fabian? I saw your message in our WhatsApp group this morning, but I was too swamped to reply." "Well, they're at it again, just like always." Ain clicked her tongue. "I wish there was more we could do to help them. Have you ever tried prying into their affairs?" "No way, Ain. I prefer not to meddle in other people's business." "You're right," Ain concurred, her tone filled with empathy. "Word has it that Fabian is quite the jealous type. Forever suspicious of Clara. Poor, poor Clara." "Indeed! And let's not forget about Evan. He's only five, yet he's subjected to his parents' ceaseless quarrels." Ain tsked once more, shaking her head in dismay. "I hope that little boy is coping well at preschool." "Yes, absolutely," Alice agreed. "I wish--" "Darling, which one?" Benjamin interjected, his impatience palpable as he pointed towards a tower of rice bags nearby. "Ah, excuse me, Ain," Alice apologised, momentarily breaking away from their conversation. "No worries," Ain replied graciously, understanding the demands of their shopping expedition. Alice swiftly rejoined her husband, and together they resumed their individual quests through the supermarket aisles, leaving behind the enigmatic troubles of Clara and Fabian, at least for the moment. THREE HOURS AGO The oppressive heat and humidity had persisted for weeks, and today was no exception. The scorching sun beat down mercilessly, reducing a mere stroll from their residence to the car into a sweat-drenched endeavour for Alice and Benjamin. Yet, amidst the stifling conditions, nature revealed its own compensations. Tecoma trees stood proudly along the periphery of the flat complex, their branches adorned with what seemed like an endless array of blossoms. Each tree boasted flowers of the same species, yet their hues varied from vibrant yellow to delicate pink, from pure white to regal purple. The sight was nothing short of spectacular, a testament to the resilience of life in the face of blistering temperatures. Alice and Benjamin found solace in the enchanting spectacle as they made their way towards their vehicle. For a fleeting moment, the oppressive heat yielded to the captivating beauty of the trees. As they neared their car, they chanced upon the Siew couple, their heads tilted back, captivated by the same view. Alice noticed that their three children frolicked beneath one of the tecoma trees, joyfully collecting fallen flowers and casting them skyward, revelling in a playful shower of petals. "Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Siew!" Alice greeted with warmth. "Hello! Heading out?" Mrs. Siew inquired. "Yes, just off to purchase some groceries." Mrs. Siew nodded her head in response, but then her eyes transformed into slits and her entire demeanour switched into a gossip-ready mode. She leaned forward, asking, "So, your home is right across from Clara's, correct?" "Yes, that's correct." "Are you in a hurry? Let's chat for a while." "Absolutely." Mr. Siew and Benjamin exchanged knowing glances, fully aware of their wives' predilection for indulging in a bit of gossip whenever their paths crossed. With a shared understanding, they meandered toward the nearest bench, affording their wives the privacy to engage in their customary tête-à-tête. "They're at it again, aren't they?" Mrs. Siew began. "Oh my goodness, yes. I wonder when they'll ever cease." "Did you manage to catch any of the commotion?" "I couldn't make out the words, but there was shouting and banging of things." "I'm curious about the source of their troubles. I've been told Fabian is quite the possessive type, really territorial." "Exactly. After all--" Alice was about to elaborate further when Benjamin cleared his throat, emitting a deliberate sound to signal that it was time to depart. "I suppose I should--" "Of course," Mrs. Siew interjected, offering a warm smile. "Carry on, then." SIX HOURS AGO When Alice woke, the other side of the bed was bare. Ben had no doubt gone out for his usual run. It was Saturday and she could afford a few extra minutes tucked away in the cocoon of her cosy sheets. Peace reigned in these quiet morning moments, all hers to enjoy. She found her phone and began her routine - first Facebook, then Instagram. A steady stream of images and words to keep her entertained, to share a smile, a thumbs up, a word of encouragement. It was an easy thing, to show kindness to others. Stretching out her legs, she opened WhatsApp. Thirty-five unread messages waited for her. One by one, she gave them her attention, sending off replies where needed. Her peace was shattered when the noises started. A loud clank, like a pot being dropped, then the all-too-familiar sound of a man's voice raised in anger. The thin walls of her apartment left nothing to the imagination. The woman's voice soon joined in, a clear sign that Clara and Fabian were at it again. Alice wondered, not for the first time, if they could ever find a peaceful moment together. Alice wasn't troubled by it, not really. It was just part of life in the building. A common topic of conversation among the women in their Block F Sisterhood WhatsApp group. She shared the latest update with them: "OMG, those two just woke up the entire block." The replies were quick and full of laughter. Alice wished she could stay and chat, but the clock was nearing 8:00 am. Ben would be back soon, and she wanted to have breakfast ready for him. Wrapping herself in a towel, she made her way to the bathroom. The sounds of Clara and Fabian arguing followed her, louder than ever. She tried to make out what they were arguing about, but it was useless. Instead, she chose to drown them out with a playlist from Spotify, focusing on brushing her teeth and washing her face. Her next stop was the kitchen, where she found the cupboards were almost empty. They were low on just about everything. A trip to the grocery store was inevitable, but that was a problem for later. For now, she had breakfast to make and a day to start. And despite the drama from the apartment next door, it was a good morning. Alice was determined to keep it that way. EIGHT HOURS AGO The world was quiet, still mostly asleep under a thin blanket of predawn light. The moon clung to the sky, its glow washing the land in soft lavender tones. The only sounds were the early birds and far-off roosters breaking through the silence. One could be excused for wanting to stay curled up in bed, to let the morning laziness take over. But for Benjamin, that wasn't an option. He had made a pact with his crew, his running mates, his brothers in the Gallop Gang . They'd come together the year before, brought together by their shared passion for running and the shared address in Ken Hwa Flat Complex. Stepping towards the roadside, where a stretch of pavement awaited, Benjamin observed the presence of Siew, Baharuddin, and Rudy, already engaged in their pre-run stretches. "Hey, Ben!" Rudy called out. "Hey, sorry I'm not late, am I?" "No, we're just warming up," Siew assured him. The quartet completed their stretches, preparing their bodies for the impending exertion. And then, like a pack of untamed beasts, they embarked on their run, each step pounding the pavement, their breath intermingling with the rhythm of their own hearts. Lost in the harmonious solitude of their companionship, they left the world behind. After an hour of hard work, the four men took a breather, huddling around a hefty, mushroom-inspired cement patio table. With eager gulps, they drained their water bottles and wiped the sweat from their faces. "So, Ben," Baharuddin began. "How's your neighbour?" "Which one?" Benjamin responded. "Oh, you know," Baharuddin gestured, his fingers playing out the movements of two endlessly talking mouths in midair. "The ongoing saga." "Still at each other's throats, as usual." Siew cleared his throat, leaning in. "Clara bears some responsibility, in my opinion. She can be quite cynical, don't you think?" "Yeah," Rudy chimed in. "I don't envy Fabian. It's a challenging prospect, handling a wife like that." Benjamin withheld his comment, contemplating the predicament. Then, a realisation struck him, reminded of Rudy's brother who served as a police officer. “Hey, Rudy. Couldn’t we report this to the authorities?” Rudy hesitated, his brow furrowing. "Unfortunately, I've inquired about this before. In most jurisdictions, verbal abuse doesn't constitute a crime. Unless there's physical violence or an imminent threat, the police won't intervene in a marital dispute. Verbal spats, regrettably, fall outside their purview." The quartet exchanged despondent glances, a shared realisation descending upon them. "Well, for now, all we can do is wait and see," Benjamin offered. Baharuddin nodded. "Yes, let's hope it doesn't escalate before we can take any action." "Why don't you all back off and worry about your own damn lives!" A sudden voice pierced the atmosphere, jolting the four men. Their heads swivelled, gazes settling upon the imposing figure of Fabian, towering before them--tall, robust, and muscular. He stared them down, an intensity emanating from his eyes, challenging them to make a move. Caught off guard, the four men dispersed, retreating to the comfort of their individual abodes, each bearing the weight of Fabian's silent provocation. NOW Five cops have huffed and puffed their way into the Fabian house. It has taken a fair bit of boot power and the handy assistance of a Halligan bar to bust the stubborn door. They were quick on the draw, spurred on by a nerve-jangling call from Benjamin about little Evan, all covered in blood, and the door that just wouldn't open. Benjamin, Alice, and a handful of locals watch, wide-eyed and silent, as the cops come out guiding Clara and Fabian, their hands shackled. The blood smeared on them paints a grim picture that has the onlookers rooted to the spot. Peering past the warning tape and barred door, they see a dark red stain seeping into the floor. Lying next to it, a gaunt woman's body is spread out like a gruesome still-life. Three of the cops click away, capturing the horrific scene for their records, getting ready to bag the body. Alice and Benjamin exchange glances, their brows knitting with confusion. They've spent long evenings talking with their neighbours in the Ken Hwa Flat building, thinking they've unravelled every mystery about Clara and Fabian. But they're wrong. They never knew about Evan's lifelong silence. They remain clueless about who's dead, what really happened, and why it all took place. But that's not their concern now. Their main worry is comforting Evan, whose sobs have hardly stopped since they found him curled up on the floor. Soon, a kind-hearted cop waves them over to the sobbing boy. "Got any idea what happened?" the cop asks, gentle and understanding. "Officer," Benjamin replies, his voice heavy with worry, "this little fella can't speak." "Know anyone who could connect with him?" the cop asks. Benjamin and Alice stop to think, then Alice's face lights up. She nods, saying, "I think I know just the person." *** After around thirty minutes pass, the Siew family emerges from the elevator with a sense of urgency. Alice's gaze is fixed on Zi Hao, the eldest child, who tightly holds a notebook and pencil. Alice can't quite grasp the purpose of these objects, but her instincts tell her they hold the key to effectively communicating with Evan in the near future. Without wasting any time, a police officer engages Zi Hao in a conversation, their voices muffled by the distance between them and Alice. Zi Hao, always obedient, nods in compliance, showing his willingness to follow the officer's instructions. Soon after, the police officer approaches Alice, who cradles the blood-stained Evan in her arms, and says, "Ma'am, it's time." Alice gently taps Evan's shoulder, indicating the officer and Zi Hao. However, Evan seems to resist, as if desperately clinging to Alice for protection. His innocent expression reveals a deep need for comfort. "Ma'am," the police officer interjects, his tone insistent. "You're welcome to come with us." "Very well, sir. Maybe we can continue our conversation at my home," Alice suggests, her voice filled with a glimmer of hope. The police officer silently nods, acknowledging Alice's proposal. *** The Siews and Benjamin huddle in the living room, quiet as church mice, while Alice, Evan, Zi Hao, and a police officer claim the dining table. A hush swells throughout the house, the echo of a tragic event hanging like a heavy coat on each person. And in this stillness, every word from the officer and Zi Hao rings out clear as a bell. Alice is putting the pieces together about Zi Hao's notebook and pencil, her eyes following the boy’s hand as it moves across the page. Evan's drawings paint an unsettling picture--an iron, a woman scrubbing dishes under the stern eyes of a couple. The truth hits them like a bucket of ice water, making them shiver with guilt for the gossip they've been spreading. The noise they thought was Clara and Fabian fighting was something far more sinister. It was the couple, not at odds, but united in their cruel treatment of a maid hidden within their home, a secret kept even from their closest kin. "Do you know how many times your folks attacked her?" the police officer asks. Zi Hao scribbles the question down so Evan can understand. But Evan just shakes his head, his memory a foggy landscape. "He doesn’t remember, sir," Zi Hao says, then a light bulb moment. "Hold on, let me try something." He draws ten circles, hoping to jog Evan's memory. But Evan shakes his head again. "Guess he doesn't remember," Zi Hao sighs. Then, as if guided by an unseen force, Evan rises from his seat and makes his way towards the kitchen window. The peculiar action puzzles the others, their confusion etched upon their faces. Sensing their bewilderment, Evan raises his hand and directs his finger outward, pointing towards something outside the window. Alice and the police officer follow his indication, their gaze falling upon a tecoma tree resplendent with a multitude of blossoms. Perplexed, they turn to Evan, seeking an explanation for his cryptic gesture. The officer swings around, planning to ask Zi Hao for help, but the boy is already behind them. "What's he saying?" the officer asks. Zi Hao's expression goes solemn. "He's answering your last question, sir," he says, his voice heavy with weight.


Some people said it was a monstrous eel. Some people said it was a landlocked sturgeon, an ancient creature touched by **dark magic**. Others said it was some sort of mutant, an abomination that should never have been. All were agreed, however; fishing for the **demon fish** was **folly**. All were agreed that is, but one. A local businessman heard the tales: reports of ducklings sucked under Deepdale Pond’s surface, tiddlers hooked by local children plucked savagely from their lines. He suspected the demon fish was no more than a big pike. He took the other stories; whispers of a curse befalling anyone who hooked the demon fish, a darkness falling over them and their endeavours, as superstitious nonsense. The demon fish was a pike and the businessman was going to prove it. One Saturday morning the businessman - an experienced fisherman - set himself up on the bank of Deepdale Pond. The pond was big, more of a lake in truth, but he had the whole day to move up and down the waterside, to search for the monster pike in every reed bed and deep pool. Dog walkers, picnickers, children with dinky little rods, all asked the businessman what he was doing with such bulky tackle as they visited the pond throughout the day. When the businessman explained that he was out to catch the demon fish they warned him off his charge, but he would not be deterred. As night began to fall the businessman found himself fishless and alone by the waterside. But he wasn’t going to be beaten. All the visitors to the pond throughout the day, surely their clamour had simply put the big fish off? Spooked it into hiding? But now it was dark and calm the businessman might finally be able to claim his prize. Knowing now was his best chance, he reached for his bait box and attached the biggest, smelliest mackerel fillet he had onto his hook. He cast it out into the deepest part of the pond and waited. He didn’t have to wait long. A monstrous take and the businessman was in, line screeching from his reel as he fought to keep the beast at bay. It had to be the demon fish! Moving along the bank to get the best purchase and keep the fish away from snags, the businessman gave as good as he got. He wrestled the fish this way and that, all in an attempt to tire it. Minutes past, then an hour, then longer. Still the fish would not relent. The businessman even started to doubt the fish was a pike. Pike were ambush predators he knew - sprinters not distance runners. And this fish had serious stamina. Just as the businessman thought it would never give in, the fish finally allowed itself to be pulled towards the bank. Even in the darkness the businessman could see its immense flank break the surface; by far the biggest fish he had ever caught. But he couldn’t quite make out what the fish was. Just a couple of feet closer and he would have his identification. A few inches more, an inch, and then, *TWANG*. With one last burst of energy the fish powered towards the deep water and snapped the businessman’s line clean. Close, but not close enough. Back home and without an identification, witness or photograph, no one believed the businessman’s story. And that simply would not do. Not after all he’d been through. The next Saturday he was back with better tackle and more bait. But wherever in the pond he tried, and whatever bait he used, nothing. Night bought no bites either, nor did the next morning. So the next weekend he came back again, and the next, and the next after that too. Soon he found himself fishing the weekday evenings, and then during the weekdays themselves. His business began to dwindle, and then fail. He didn’t care, the demon fish had one over him and he needed to settle the score. His wife told him he was becoming obsessed, she left him. That didn’t matter, the fish was more important. Soon the businessman was spending more time at the pond than anywhere else, all to no avail. Next he stopped sleeping, eating, all to give himself more time with a bait in the water. It couldn’t go on. Finally, sick with exhaustion, the businessman collapsed by the side of the pond. A dog walker found him the next day and, half-dead, he was rushed to hospital. The **demon** fish had **won again**.


When Good Champagne Goes Bad It was Oscar Night in Hollywood in 1960. Famed up-and-coming Movie Director Jack Jones had received his first ever nomination for his action movie "The Boxer", and was waiting patiently in his "Guests of Honor" seat. The audience clapped as a man walked up to the podium with a letter in hand to speak. "The next Oscar Award Category is "Best Picture of the Year 1960." The nominees in this category are "Herakles Versus the Nemean Lion", "Sapphire of Bombay", "The Boxer", "Clint Buckeye: Texas Lawman", and "The lonely Fisherman". And the Oscar goes to...."The Boxer!!!" declared the announcer. The audience gave a standing ovation as Jack Jones walked up on to the stage to receive his Golden Statuette. "I would like to thank the Academy, and I would like to thank my lead actor, Charles Tanner, without whom, none of this would be possible today. Follow your dreams!!!" Jack said at the podium. The audience clapped. Later that night, Jack and the cast of "The Boxer" had a dinner party at "The Brown Beanie" in Hollywood to celebrate. Jack Jones and his mistress, Actress Alexa Fair, Actors Charles Tanner and Dean Loren, Singer Roxanne Green, and producer Frank Cardella were the guests of honor in attendance. Roxanne chatted casually with western movie star Wesley Boothe, while Charles Tanner flirted with a waitress. Dean Loren talked to a composer about their work on "The Boxer" and other movies. Waiters rushed back and forth to the kitchen and the dining room, pouring Drinks, bussing tables, and so forth. There were exquisitely decorated Flower Bouquets in Vases placed on all the tables. A Band was playing Jazz Music on a stage. A female voice called out "BASTARD!!" The crowd turned to see Jack Jones's wife, Melissa, stomped up to the crowded table. "Jack, who is this??" Melissa said, pointing at Jack Jones' party date. "Oh, this...this is....um...my wife...Melissa, I'd like you to meet Charlene! She's Singer!" Jack said awkwardly. "Jack....How could you? When you come home, I'll be long gone!" Melissa said, leaving the restaurant in an indignant huff. "Melissa, wait!" Jack called out for her, but she was already outside of the restaurant door. An uncomfortable silence filled the air around the Dining Table until the Wait Staff brought out the Rose Salads and popped the bottles of Champagne. After a few moments of dining and chatting amongst guests. Jack Jones broke the atmosphere by choking and gagging, and then clumsily slumped over forward onto the dining table. "Oh my God, Jack!! Is he okay!?!?!?" Charlene yelled. A Stage Hand ran up to check his pulse. "Oh, dear lord! Jack is DEAD!!" The whole restaurant gasped and froze. The band stopped playing Jazz Music. Charles, Dean, and Roxanne, no longer hungry, set their forks down on the table next to their appetizers. A few minutes later, the police arrived. The Police were asking the Dinner Guests and Kitchen Staff questions like "What was the last thing Mr. Jones ate before he died?" and "What was in the Salad that could've caused Mr. Jones' death?" Dean Loren said "Well, there is ONE person I could think of as a suspect...Jack Jones' Wife, Melissa! Jack brought his Mistress Charlene instead of Melissa, and she was NOT HAPPY about that to say the least!" "Well, there's also Frank Cardella..." Wesley Boothe started. "Frank and Jack had been butting heads off and on for a little while." So the police interviewed Frank Cardella. "So, Frank, I understand that you and Mr. Jones didn't always see eye-to-eye..." started the Police Officer. "Well, Jack Jones was considering putting Charlene in "The Boxer" as the Round Card Gal, but I was skeptical, I felt it wasn't necessary. He said that Charlene wouldn't be interested in being an extra in the stands. I threatened to quit the film altogether if he wrote her into the Movie, and so Jack Jones agreed to leave her out of the movie, but I swear I didn't kill Jack!" Frank said. The Sherriff took note of every detail. "Well, thank you for your Participation. We'll question Mr. Jones' Wife later tonight." said the Sherriff. The Police examined the Kitchen and found no apparent evidence of Poisoning in the kitchen. The Homicide detective carefully examined Jack Jones's food, and found a most peculiar flower petal in the Champagne Flute as part of a glass decoration, still full. Carefully, he removed it with a pair of tweezers and headed to the University of California Botanical Gardens. "Excuse me Professor Delaney, I need you to tell me what kind of plant this flower Petal belongs to..." the Detective said, holding the Petal up for the Botanist. The Botanist gasped in Horror. "That's a ACONITUM Flower! They contain an extremely potent toxin which can cause Heart Failure!" Professor Delaney explained. "Up-and-coming Film Director and Oscar Winner Jack Jones was poisoned to death by this flower, do you know how anyone could have gotten a hold of the Aconitum Flower?" asked the Detective. "Well..." started the Botanist. "We have a small section of the Gardens full of poisonous plants for the sake of Research purposes, so if the flower that killed Jack came from there, someone who has access to the Botanical Gardens, like an employee or a professor must have gotten a hold of it...." The Detective then talked to the Secretary. "I need you to tell me who visited the Botanical Gardens, today." "I'm sorry, sir, but that information is confidential." The Secretary retorted. The Detective bribed her with a bottle of Whiskey and a Pack of Cigarettes. "Here's the records of everyone from the past 48 hours who signed in." The Detective saw Charlene on the list. So he called the Police. The Police raided Charlene's Trailer at the Studio, only to find the Trailer Vacant, except for a note. "By the time you read this, I will be long gone. I killed Jack Jones. Why? Because he promised to cast me in his last movie, and he never did. ~ Love, Charlene <3" Meanwhile, Charlene had crossed the border into Mexico and landed a job singing at a local Cantina in Acapulco.


The teleporter malfunctioned, as it always did, except this time it hurtled the atoms of its small, skinny inventor, Alfred Macadamia, through space, through time, and then through the ribcage of his smaller, skinnier next-door neighbor Petunia. Through the strange magic of the teleporter, Alfred was reassembled with his torso horizontally through hers, and their rib cages were atomically welded together into one large, agony-and-organ-filled cavity. Alfred stuck out of both sides of Petunia like a pencil shoved through the side of a fish, and the two of them had a conversation that went something like this: Screaming, Heavy Breathing. Wriggling Around, feeling one another’s organs bump and scrape together. Further screaming (louder, really making use of the double-diaphragm). Introductions, followed by weeping, followed by an apologetic explanation by Alfred that his teleporter must have malfunctioned, followed by a slight injection of hopefulness, explaining that At Least No One Died, And Perhaps They Could Go Back To His Place And Extricate Themselves from One Another (Please Excuse The Mess). After Petunia wiped her tears and Alfred stopped her from wringing his neck (“Do you really want a *corpse* stuck in your midsection for the rest of your life??”) The two of them waddled to Alfred’s dingy little house next door, Petunia impaled by Alfred, Alfred doing his best to support her with his hands and feet when he could reach the ground. Petunia opened Alfred’s door and, still not used to having a grown man shoved horizontally through her middle, slammed Alfred’s head on the doorframe. After some hasty apologies, they proceeded inside and spent the next four hours fiddling with Arthur’s stupid-looking little teleporter, failing to separate themselves from one another. It seemed they were hopelessly stuck like this, feeling their organs smash together in their somehow-combined rib-cage, feeling their blood mix and slosh about. They hated each other with a passion for around four months, but in time they got used to their new living arrangement. A time after that they decided that they might as well get married. Although they once had essentially nothing in common, living in the same body changed all that. Now they could carry on for hours about how strange it was, and tell each other inside jokes that were only funny to people who had been fused together by a poorly-designed teleporter. Sex wasn’t really on the table because of the angle they were conjoined, but they both had working hands and did enough for each other to get by. They were always right there, anyway. That was the thing--the other person was always, always right there. After a long and happy enough life, Alfred and Petunia lay on their deathbed, and Alfred looked up at his beautiful wife. She looked down to him and smiled, then he smiled, then she asked him if he teleported through her on purpose. Alfred said no, but he should have. This whole experience had taught him that the most important part of love wasn’t genuine affection--it was just helplessness at the hands of the universe to not be together. How could they not have fallen in love? The universe hadn’t given them a choice. How could they not have stayed in love? They never had the option to leave each other. The universe had simply given them their roles and they had lived them out as they had to. Petunia thought of a couple solid arguments against Alfred, then decided against them and laughed to herself. She couldn’t decide if this stupid man had ruined her life or made it better, and after a while she stopped trying. Whatever it was had already happened. She ran her fingers through Alfred’s thin grey hair, and he reached up as high as he could and rubbed her freckled, wrinkled shoulder. A while after that the two of them fell backwards into the eternal hands of the universe that had shoved them together, for some unclear purpose they both felt they were better off not knowing.


Desperation This has been going on for weeks, and I don’t know if I can take any more. The cold stone floor bites through my clothes, and I grit my teeth, tears of exhaustion pouring down my face. I do not know when my captor will come back, though I am praying to the gods that I have a reprieve. The size of my cell is tiny, barely enough room for me to lie down. In the corner there is a dirty metal plate, a chamber pot, and a pail of dirty water that is beginning to smell. There are no windows, so I have no way of keeping track of the time. My days have all bled together, a blur of violence and nightmares. My memories of life before this existence as a prisoner are few and far between. I am broken from my thoughts by the deafening screech of a door swinging on rusty hinges. I scramble into a sitting position, putting my back against the wall. The cold, heavy manacles around my wrists and ankles have rubbed my skin raw, and I bite back a cry of agony. The sound of slow, sure footsteps echoes throughout the cavernous chamber, and I find myself wishing that I had the company of the rats and insects that live in this hovel. If only I could rip out his eyes... The thought brings me a burst of dark, unexpected pleasure. After all, there’s not much else to do but dream up ways to revenge, in my position. After what seems like a whole eternity, my captor finally shows himself, standing in front of my cell door. In the weak torchlight, he looks sallow, washed out, his eyes like tiny black pebbles in his face. His red, bulbous nose is swollen, and when I look closer, his eyes are bloodshot. There are food and sweat stains on his fine silk coat, and it’s all I can do not to let my disgust show on my face. “Have you given any consideration to my offer, my dear?” He asks me, his words slurring. “What does it matter? My answer is the same, always. No.” At this, his mask of a fine courtier slips, and his lips curl. He spits, and I barely manage to dodge it. “I believe I’ve been quite generous, considering your... situation. But fine. If you wish to rot in your cell for the rest of your days, that is your human right.” Despite myself, despite aching for every bit of control I have, I laugh. The sound edges on hysterical, and I can feel my power coiling like a snake in my chest, calling upon the rats and the bugs and everything hiding under the flagstones. I don’t have much left; I’ve had very little sustenance. “But know this, my love. You’re not the only one who suffers from your choices.” I know who he is referring to. My family, outside of the palace. Heat builds in my chest, and I murmur a command under my breath, disguised as a prayer to the Father Earth and Mother Sky. The creatures within this prison hear my call, and heed it. The rats and flies descend on him in a black cloud, enveloping him until there is naught but dust. His screams echo off of the walls, but they are as music to me. In his place, there lays a shining metal key, and I just barely manage to reach through the bars and snatch it. My hands are shaking so badly I almost drop it. But my power has won me my freedom. It is finished.


It didn’t feel like I slept long, but when I began to stir and one my eyes I felt way better. I was a little stiff from the way I slept in the car, but I no longer felt groggy, tired, dizzy, or confused. In fact, I felt just like myself, and felt well rested. I began to stretch bringing my hands above my head. Then I looked over at him, and smiled. He smiled back before turning his head back to the road, “Hello sleepy head. Feeling better?” “That really did the trick. I feel much better.” I looked out the windshield at the dark sky, “How long was I out? Feels like I slept for awhile.” Then I looked at the time on the car’s clock, and I threw my arms down shocked, “What!? It’s 2:00!” I looked at him alarmed, and then outside again. We were going down a winding road that was surrounded by trees. I know I didn’t really know the roads around here, but I definitely didn’t know where we were now. Then I looked back at him. “Why did you keep driving? Where are we?” I tried to ask the questions calm, and not accusing, but it was hard too when I realized I had been in this car for almost two hours with him. He just looked forward out the window, and gave a little shrug. “I’ve just been driving around. Seeing where the road would take us. You looked so peaceful I didn’t want to wake you.” He gave me a quick smile, “Don’t worry if we get lost I’ll just put the GPS on.” I still looked at him shocked, and starting to feel a little annoyed, “Well turn around now. I want to go back. And it better not take us two hours to get back, because I actually have stuff I need to do.” He still had a trace of a smile on his face as he continued to look forward, and his voice was calm. “Alright, relax. We can go back. I just have to find a good spot to turn around.” I settled back down, and then leaned back in the seat. I could of easily drifted back to sleep, but I didn’t trust that he would take us back if I did. So instead I just crossed my arms and watched the road. We were going down it for awhile in the quiet, and I was beginning to wonder when he would turn around. I really wanted to get to bed at a decent hour, so I could still white water raft with Stewart, Tessa, and Bella. But the longer it took to turn around, the less I felt like I would get to do it. But I tried to calm myself, telling myself it would be ok. And it was working, until I saw a sign with an exit’s name on it, and I realized just how far away we where from the hotel. And suddenly I started to feel uncomfortable. I pointed at the sign, “Why did you head this way? It will be forever before we are back!” He was quiet for a moment, and then glanced at me. I could see his jaw line a little tense. “Like I said, I was just taking us where the road would take us.” I watched his face for a moment, and spoke with a clear stern voice. “This isn’t just seeing where the road will take us. This is going to take us to a different state completely. You have any idea how long it will take to get us back?” I pointed at the exit that we were about to pass, “You better slow down, and take that exit so we can turn around.” But he didn’t he kept going. I turn fast in my seat watching the exit leave us behind. Then I looked at him mad this time, “What are you doing? You missed a turn around. Who knows when the next one will be!” He didn’t reply right away. Not looking at me he replied, “We will find another.” And I could see his face fighting to stay as calm as it was. I sighed, and collapsed back in my seat, “Fine. Then I am going to just pull up directions for us. Ones that will get us back to the hotel fastest.” And I dug in my purse for my phone, and mid search I froze. That’s when I remembered why we had ended up in his car at all. We were looking for my phone in my car, except we never actually looked. So now here I was in his car with him with no phone. I spoke quietly out loud, “My phone...we never found it.” He didn’t look at me, but he replied. “Don’t worry. It’s probably in your car.” I couldn’t look at him. I could only look at my open purse, which now felt so empty. “But we never even looked for it.” He didn’t reply to that, and I started to think about how he had gotten me to get in his car without even looking first. But it was kind of a foggy memory. It was kind of like trying to recall a dream. I remember the resturant. I remember being in his room with him. I remember being in his bed with him. I even remember leaving his room with him, but everything after the elevator was fuzzy. And I could feel my pulse starting to pickk up. Three drinks that spaced out would not have had that kind of effect on me. It had to be something else. I had been tired before, but I always remembered what I did when I was tired. And my anxiety started to build when I thought about the beer he offered me, and how that’s when it went down hill. Could he have put something in it? Did he drug me? Did he want me to get in his car with him? Was he really taking me somewhere? And then my heart froze as I remember one last detail. He had said my name right before I fell asleep. We oddly enough, had never told each other our names. Even though I know I didn’t remember a lot, I know I never told him. Clenching my purse so tight that my knuckles went white I looked up at him. My voice felt hollow, “How do you know my name?” Even though I could only see his profile I could tell he was confused. His eyebrow raised, “What?” I repeated myself, “How do you know my name? You said it right before I fell asleep in the car. I never told you my name.” Then he looked amused, “What? You definitely told me your name.” Then he shot me a smug smile really quick, “What girl would go to bed with me, without even letting me know her name.” I wasn’t amused. This wasn’t a game to me, and I didn’t like how he was acting like it was. “Apparently a stupid one. And that is what I must be.” And I knew there would be no coming back from the next thing I was going to ask him. “What did you put in that beer you gave me, and where are you taking me?” I got exactly the response I knew I would. He looked at me bewildered, before turning his attention back to the road, “What!” Then he sound annoyed, “Are you honestly accusing me of what I think you are?” Then he calmed down, and steadied his voice. “Look I like you. When we started talking there was a connection. I took you out to dinner cause I like you, and wanted to treat you. We had a great night together. And then I thought it would be nice to go for a ride with you. I was a gentlemen to you. Never once forced you to do anything you didn’t want to. And now you are accusing me of, what? Date rape? Kidnapping?” He looked at me with pure disappointment. Part of me wanted to feel bad. Part of me wanted to believe him. But the part of me that was confused, and scared knew better. So I kept my own voice even. “How to you explain how I felt so off after that beer? How do you explain never checking for my phone in my car? How do you explain me losing my phone and hotel key, which I know was in my purse. How do you explain how I got in here so easily, and you are driving us far away?” He wouldn’t look at me again, but his grip on the steering wheel was tight. “You had two drinks earlier. I don’t know how much a light weight you are. But I didn’t put anything in there. I don’t know how you lost both those items, and honestly I could tell you didn’t feel well so that why I offered the drive. At the time making you feel better seemed more important, than your phone. I’m sorry for caring.” Then she looked at me, and held my eyes long enough to make me almost believe him, before he looked back to the road. All I knew now was that I had to get out of this car. “Let me out.” I said it without looking at him. “What?” He glanced at me quickly. “Let you out? It’s the middle of the night, in the middle of no where, and you have no phone. What exactly do you plan to do?” I kept my voice level, “I’ll borrow your phone and call a taxi, or get an Uber. I just know I don’t want to be in here with you.” He sighed, “That is ridiculous. I am not dropping you off on the highway at night by yourself, with no way to contact anyone if you get into trouble.” I raised an eyebrow at him, “Ok then. You can wait with me until my ride gets here, so I won’t be alone.” He shook his head, “I’m not doing that. I’ll just drive you back. It is safer.” I could hear a strain in his voice. I held firm, “Well, I don’t feel safe. So let me go. Otherwise you are kidnapping me." He was quiet for a few seconds, “Fine, I will get off at this next exit. That way we aren’t standing on the highway.” I crossed my arms, and nodded “Good.” Once we were off the exit he started to slow down, but he wasn’t pulling over. We passed at least two small roads that would have been good to pull over at, and one gas station. I started to get antsy, “Why aren’t you pulling over?” He gave off a big sigh, “Cause I can’t.” I raised an eyebrow, and tried not to panic. “What do you mean you can’t? Where are you taking me?” He sighed, “I didn’t think when I finally started talking to you that I would like you so much. But I did...so it makes this harder.” Now it was getting hard to hid my worry, “Make what harder? Where are you taking me? Why are you taking me.” I no longer was calm, “Let me go!” He seemed conflicted, “I can’t tell you yet. But I can’t let you go either. There’s no turning back now.” Now I knew I was in trouble. I looked out the window trying to control my breathing. We were going fast, but not that....fast. Without thinking I grabbed the door handle and started to push open the door. Wind came rushing into the car. It was cold and fast. I could see the dark road speeding by through the ajar door. Fear enveloped me as I thought of the odds of survival if I jumped out. My hand went numb on the door, as I tried to keep it from swinging any wider open. “What the hell?!” He said as he looked over, and he swerved for a second before getting control again. The jerk of the swerve sent the door closing, and I let go of it shocked. “What were you thinking? You can’t jump out of a moving car like that. You could die!” Dazed I looked back at him, “How do I know I won’t die staying with you?” My tone was remarkably calm for how I felt. He lowered his eye brows, “I’m not going to kill you. I’m not a murderer. That’s not how I plan to get back at your dad.” The last part he said caught my attention, and I saw his surprised face showing that he didn’t mean to say that. Before he could say anything I asked, “What does my dad have to do with this?” He looked away focusing on the road again, “I can’t tell you right now. You can know everything once we get there.” He looked over at me, and had a surprising warmness in his eyes. “I promise.” I felt a pit in my stomach, and gripped my purse tighter in my lap. “Where. Are. You. Taking. Me.” He actually looked sorry, “I can’t tell you yet.” Then he slowed down as he was driving around some debris on the road. Instead of asking him why, that was when I got my idea. I had to get out of this car, and we were going just slow enough that if we got of the road, and hit something I could be ok. And if anything, I would be just as bad off as I could possibly be later. So I took my chance, leaned over toward him, grabbed the wheel, and pulled as hard as I could. “What the fuck are you doing?” I heard him shout in a strained voice, as he fought to steady the wheel. I felt him pressing the brakes on the car as we jerked off the road into the grass. And then we went right toward a tree. I watched in stunned silence as I death gripped the wheel, holding it in place. I watched as the car went straight to the tree, and the right front corner of the car hit it. The car came to a sudden stop, I released the wheel and jerked toward the left. That was when I hit my head and shoulder into the side of the door hard. The windshield cracked, the hood curled up, and the airbags came out. I shut my eyes as I tried to catch my breath. My chest hurt from the impact, and immediately my head was throbbing. I opened my eyes to see the air bag deflated, and smoke coming out of the engine. He was slouched in his seat was his arms in his lap. He looked dazed, but remarkably fine expect a few nicks on his face and arms from broken glass. He looked over at me slowly, “What was that?” Before I could respond, or think of anything else I undid my seat buckle, fought the door open, and started to get out. “Wait, what are you doing?” I heard him call out to me. But before I could even check to see what he was doing I started to sprint into the woods. With one thing on my mind. GET AWAY FROM HIM!