Space is a dark, low abyss. Let me tell you how we got here. Hi, I’m Alvin, Alvin Reid and I’m recording this space journal after our space collision. We were traveling through a high-speed orbit and one of out ide panel got detached and a few wires seemed to be damaged when a fleet of asteroids appeared in front of our ship. I’m no expert so I called the space Centre control room through radio communication and headed out with my space partner, Henry Pavarotti.The second reason I’m recording this journal is to rant about how annoying Henry is. Who sent him with me? This seemed like a joint plot that people may have planned against me to take revenge for every single time I rushed to the bathroom as soon as the bill came to our table .I had no idea I was digging my grave all the while thinking to myself how cheeky yet smart I had been to dodge the payment yet again. When all the participants of the pace training experiment fell away, I had an itchy feeling in my gut that something was amiss. I Thought that going to Mars as a test subject would get me lots of recognition and most of all Cash but sadly this was not to be. The space company sponsored my wife and kids, through their school and other expenses as insurance if I don’t make it. No cash but a pile of Trash. Having Henry around is Painful in the least. I don’t understand how he stays so positive even though everything around us has gone up in flames and our spaceship wiring is banjaxed from various angles. we both were hanging outside the space shuttle trying to fix the wiring and the damaged panel. Suddenly henry sees that his space cord is unplugged. I must hold on to him for dear life. HIS dear life, so he could use my cord and get back in the spaceship. I had to do this while trying to take instructions from the space station and trying to fix the wiring as well. Instead of going back inside, Henry insists on giving me company and blabbers on relentlessly about his puppy at home who pooped on his carpet and dragged his behind all the way down to the front porch. The puppy took its own sweet time fumigating Henry’s entire hall. When Henry come down from the washroom he smells the Hall and it reeks to high heaven, but henry being henry says :”Aah ,the smell of fertilizer, I feel blessed .”Who has spread this blessing within my home?Ah was it you Poppy, I should rename you as Poopy, ”PROVIDER of FERTILIZER ”.Kind of cute right? “Henry asked. “Not what I feel” I replied. That guy was supposed to take the opportunity to discipline his puppy while it was small, and this is what he does. I on the other hand, am someone who enjoys peace and quiet. Not a people person really, But I’m not completely antisocial, I like to meet family and a few close friends. We are twelve days away from Mars, but our ship has broken down and we are still looking for further instructions from the technician if only Henry would stop chiming in to ask them about food supplies. Food supplies would be needed to survive although this was second to a lack of oxygen in due time, we had plants on board to provide us with oxygen as they photosynthesized but who knows how long this would last. But at this moment, I knew that henry had grown on me like mold that grows in a bathroom that hadn’t been cleaned in like forever. And boy, that felt warm. Having someone beside me even if it was this godforsaken Henry. Working with him in this dark place where no other life form would comfort me, Henry felt like fertilizer to my soul. Although it stank, it still gave me enough nourishment to help me grow and work in a difficult position, during times of scarcity and built me from the inside out. Therefore, I can express myself in this space record of mine. Drifting in space, we felt that we had to keep each other company. Henry misses poppy and his pooped filled shenanigans. I missed my wife to the umpteenth degree but I’m not sure I’ll be able to tell her or show her to that effect. I don’t know how long I’ll be in space till a backup spaceship comes and takes us back to earth. I’m going to bide my time and I’m going to tell henry to his face that he sucks big time. I believe it will relieve him of him oxygen faster than mine when he exhausts himself when he’s angry, then I can be peaceful and at peace. I’ll try it today and record its aftereffects maybe henry will be quiet once he realizes his oxygen is limited. He didn’t know anything about the plants that made oxygen and how will it be deposited into our suits to use. We have no idea we are awaiting correspondence from the space Centre to ask them this. We had come back inside the spaceship floating around impatiently. This was the moment I thought to infuriate Henry. I screamed at him “Henry! I hate your poop faced dog and I hate you! you have been nothing but a pain in the behind since you got here “I don’t care if you die in this ship I have half a mind to push you out so that I never see your face again!!!.Henry looked at me with his deep brown eyes but didn’t reply for quite some time. “then he turned his face towards me and said:” I didn’t know you felt like that and tried to float towards me with his hands outstretched and instead of getting angry he enveloped me in a warm hug .”Let me know more “he whispered. I realized that I had made a friend for life. I had such anger towards him, but I was shocked by his kind and mellow response in the face of ultimate despair. “I’m never letting you go “I replied hugging him back. And so in the face of hopelessness, hatred and anger we became bosom buddies. I don’t care if we don’t get back to earth, I have all I want right here with me in this moment.A story about two main characters in the dark recess of space. Space is a dark, low abyss. Let me tell you how we got here. Hi, I’m Alvin, Alvin Reid and I’m recording this space journal after our space collision. We were traveling through a high-speed orbit and one of the side panels got detached and a few wires seemed to be damaged when a fleet of asteroids appeared in front of our ship. I’m no expert so I called the space Centre control room through radio communication and headed out with my space partner, Henry Pavarotti.The second reason I’m recording this journal is to rant about how annoying Henry is. Who sent him with me? This seemed like a joint plot that people may have planned against me to take revenge for every single time I rushed to the bathroom as soon as the bill came to our table .I had no idea I was digging my grave all the while thinking to myself how cheeky yet smart I had been to dodge the payment yet again. When all the participants of the pace training experiment fell away, I had an itchy feeling in my gut that something was amiss. I Thought that going to Mars as a test subject would get me lots of recognition and most of all Cash but sadly this was not to be. The space company sponsored my wife and kids, through their school and other expenses as insurance if I don’t make it. No cash but a pile of Trash. Having Henry around is Painful in the least. I don’t understand how he stays so positive even though everything around us has gone up in flames and our spaceship wiring is banjaxed from various angles. we both were hanging outside the space shuttle trying to fix the wiring and the damaged panel. Suddenly henry sees that his space cord is unplugged. I must hold on to him for dear life. HIS dear life, so he could use my cord and get back in the spaceship. I had to do this while trying to take instructions from the space station and trying to fix the wiring as well. Instead of going back inside, Henry insists on giving me company and blabbers on relentlessly about his puppy at home who pooped on his carpet and dragged his behind all the way down to the front porch. The puppy took its own sweet time fumigating Henry’s entire hall. When Henry come down from the washroom he smells the Hall and it reeks to high heaven, but henry being henry says :”Aah ,the smell of fertilizer, I feel blessed .”Who has spread this blessing within my home?Ah was it you Poppy, I should rename you as Poopy, ”PROVIDER of FERTILIZER ”.Kind of cute right? “Henry asked. “Not what I feel” I replied. That guy was supposed to take the opportunity to discipline his puppy while it was small, and this is what he does. I on the other hand, am someone who enjoys peace and quiet. Not a people person really, But I’m not completely antisocial, I like to meet family and a few close friends. We are twelve days away from Mars, but our ship has broken down and we are still looking for further instructions from the technician if only Henry would stop chiming in to ask them about food supplies. Food supplies would be needed to survive although this was second to a lack of oxygen in due time, we had plants on board to provide us with oxygen as they photosynthesized but who knows how long this would last. But at this moment, I knew that henry had grown on me like mold that grows in a bathroom that hadn’t been cleaned in like forever. And boy, that felt warm. Having someone beside me even if it was this godforsaken Henry. Working with him in this dark place where no other life form would comfort me, Henry felt like fertilizer to my soul. Although it stank, it still gave me enough nourishment to help me grow and work in a difficult position, during times of scarcity and built me from the inside out. Therefore, I can express myself in this space record of mine. Drifting in space, we felt that we had to keep each other company. Henry misses poppy and his pooped filled shenanigans. I missed my wife to the umpteenth degree but I’m not sure I’ll be able to tell her or show her to that effect. I don’t know how long I’ll be in space till a backup spaceship comes and takes us back to earth. I’m going to bide my time and I’m going to tell henry to his face that he sucks big time. I believe it will relieve him of him oxygen faster than mine when he exhausts himself when he’s angry, then I can be peaceful and at peace. I’ll try it today and record its aftereffects maybe henry will be quiet once he realizes his oxygen is limited. He didn’t know anything about the plants that made oxygen and how will it be deposited into our suits to use. We have no idea we are awaiting correspondence from the space Centre to ask them this. We had come back inside the spaceship floating around impatiently. This was the moment I thought to infuriate Henry. I screamed at him “Henry! I hate your poop faced dog and I hate you! you have been nothing but a pain in the behind since you got here “I don’t care if you die in this ship I have half a mind to push you out so that I never see your face again!!!.Henry looked at me with his deep brown eyes but didn’t reply for quite some time. “then he turned his face towards me and said:” I didn’t know you felt like that and tried to float towards me with his hands outstretched and instead of getting angry he enveloped me in a warm hug .”Tell me more “he whispered. I realized that I had made a friend for life. I had such anger towards him, but I was shocked by his kind and mellow response in the face of ultimate despair. “I’m never letting you go “I replied hugging him back. And so in the face of hopelessness, hatred and anger we became bosom buddies. I don’t care if we don’t get back to earth, I have all I want right here with me in this moment.


Lifetime “Are you sure? You don’t seem very sure.” “Yeah. I’m sure.” “A few questions, then. How old are you?” “Twenty-five.” The young man squinted. “Twenty-five? You don’t look a day under fifty. May I see your identification?” The man took out a small, coin-shaped metal device with a red button on one side and a yellow button on the other. “I really look that old?” I glanced at his clean white suit and his gold link watch. “Ah, no wonder. You live above us, don’t ya? You one of them highlanders?” The man did not respond. “No wonder you look so young. I thought you knew that everyone down here looked forty years older than we actually were. You’re part of the problem - you get that, right?” He ignored me and handed me the coin device from under the glass pane. I placed my thumb on the yellow button and pushed. A sharp needle pierced my finger which siphoned a drop of blood into the device. The man took the coin and placed it into behind the counter to analyze my identification. “It’s the chemicals in the air. That’s why we look so old. You highlanders dump all your waste and trash down here. Most people on the surface don’t even make it to 90 while, at our expense, you all live forever. My dad expired at 51 from lung cancer. My mom was 60. Heart failure. I’m luckier, I’ll expire at the age of 79.” I looked at the highlander. “When do you expire? 500 years from now? 600?” “Would you like to transfer or sell?” the highlander asked, disregarding my complaints. I looked down at the “sell” section of the conversion rate paper the highlander gave me. One year for 100,000 dollars. My mouth dropped in amazement. In comparison, I made 120 dollars a year, which even I thought was a decent amount of money. Then I glanced under the “purchase” section, which was crossed out by red marks. “Why can’t I purchase? That’s why I came here.” “Ah, you didn’t know? You can’t purchase years in lowland machines, and you can’t sell in highland machines.” The man smirked mockingly. “It’s how we control supply. Time flows in one direction: upward.” “You highland folks are really something else, aren’t you? Just because you live all the way up in the clouds, you think you’re better than us folk down at the surface. You look down on us. You’re all so clean, so well kept, so young! You want to know how my sister died? A brick. One day, when I was playing outside with my sister, some highlander dropped a brick all the way down from the clouds. Bullseye. The brick smashed straight into her skull, 500 miles an hour. I couldn’t hear the punk, but I knew he was laughing from way up there. Cause’ that’s just how you folk are.” “I’m really sorry for your loss,” the highlander gave an exaggerated frown. “Transfer or sell?” “Both. Transfer and sell.” “Transfer rates are 5,000 each year.” “That’s fine.” “To whom would you like to transfer?” “My daughter, Eden.” I looked down at my daughter as I held her hand. She looked up at me, confused about the whole situation. “How many do you want to extract?” “All of them.” “We can’t take all of them - that’d be assisted suicide, obviously illegal. However, we could do your whole life minus a year. And, by your expiratory date, that is...” He did some calculations in his head, looking at a screen. “Fifty-three years.” “That’s fine.” “Identification for your daughter, please.” Like before, the highlander handed me the coin under the glass pane. I pushed the yellow side up against Eden’s finger and she gasped with a loud cry. I handed the device back to the man then he analyzed Eden’s identification. “Her expiratory date is in June? That’s in three months.” “Yeah. Doctor said surgery wouldn’t work for her disease. Transferring my time to her is her last and only chance.” A genuine look of sympathy flashed over the highlander’s face, before quickly returning to its usual smug attitude. “Alright, then. Finalize your details on this sheet and we can start the procedure momentarily. Remember to sign.” The man handed me another coin and a paper for my information. Years to be transferred: 25. Years to be sold: 28. With twenty five years to live and two million and a half dollars, she’d be able to pay for a trip up there, to the clouds. I’d rather have her live a short life up there than fifty three years down here. In the bottom right corner of the sheet was a box for my signature. I pressed down hard on the red side of the coin device with my thumb, which coated my finger with just the right amount of blood. I signed my thumbprint in the box and handed everything back. The clerk brought us to the operating room and laid us on our backs. He wrapped metal shackles around my arms and legs, constraining them to the table. “For your safety,” He said bluntly. He stuck me and Eden with various metal wires sprawling across the room. “Shouldn’t we be sedated for this?” “We’re all out,” he shrugged. “No worries, though. Your daughter won’t feel a thing.” The clerk’s face lit up as if he had came up with a brilliant idea. Smirking down at me, the clerk hastily positioned a mirror directly above me. I looked up at the mirror and I saw my own face staring back at me in terror. Before I could resist, he flicked the machine on. A sharp and constant pain coursed through my body. I tried to scream, but there was no sound. I saw my skin gradually become a rough leather and creases begin to race through my body. My hair grew rapidly, clumping up in one great knot. The giant ball of hair began to whiten and then finally fall off. As I rotted, I looked over to my daughter eyes shut through the comforting hum of the machine. I watched my daughter as my time continued to fade away. My transformation was finally complete. With much effort, I seated myself up. A sharp pain pierced my abdomen. “As you know,” the clerk informed, “You’re dying of kidney disease. You’ll expire in exactly 365 days.” The man continued. “If you’d like, I can pull up you and your daughter’s new expiratory dates.” He rechecked our identification. I had 53 less years to live and Eden had 25 more. “And my money?” I asked. “Subtracting the transfer cost, you receive,” he checked a paper. “2,675,000 dollars for 28 years. We already transferred it into your balance. Check your identification to see it.” I immediately bought an upgrade for Eden’s elevation score and transferred the rest of the money into her balance. Two million dollars for access all the way up to the clouds. I shook my head in disappointment. I had successfully turned my daughter into the very thing I had loathed for my entire life - I had successfully turned my daughter into a highlander. Was I a hypocrite? Was I wrong to blame them as a group? If my daughter could be a highlander, doesn’t that prove at least some of them may be good? Despite what he had done, I thanked the clerk on my way out. I don’t know why I did it. The dimly lit street lights were fireflies, flickering and buzzing as I slowly walked down the narrow tunnel of apartments. I looked up at the sky and saw nothing but the eternal darkness. When I was a boy, my father always told me stories about the sky. He told me there used to be a Sun - a giant, bright light in the sky that was so bright it hurt your eyes if you looked at it for too long. He told me the highlanders took the Sun away so they could have it all to themselves. I smiled. I smiled because I knew that the darker it was down here, the brighter the Sun would shine up there. The brighter the Sun would shine on my daughter. I continued on my way to an elevator which would carry my daughter up to the highlands. I was stopped by a guard upon arrival. “Stop. Let me see some identification.” I took the coin and brought it up to Eden’s finger. “No. Your identification.” “Only she is going up.” “Minors need to be accompanied by a legal adult - new rule. Too many kids up there with no parents clogging up their orphanages. The state won’t take kids without parents anymore. You should have came a week ago. Sorry.” “Fine, I’ll just give it to someone who’s going up.” The man shook his head. “You really think any highlander gives a damn about her? We hate the highlanders, and the highlanders hate us. That’s the way it is and that’s the way it always will be. A month ago, a woman came to us with the same idea as you. She asked every single highlander that crossed to take her child to an orphanage up there. And they wouldn’t even go out of their way to drop her off. If they’re too occupied to simply bring a child to an orphanage, what makes you think someone’s gonna take your child and feed it? Shelter it? Look, I hate the rule as much as you do, but I have to enforce it.” “Please,” I begged. “You hate them, right? It’s what you said. We’re on the same side! Just put her in the elevator and send her up. Please!” “What you just asked me to do is to break a law, punishable by life harvest. And I am not into repeating myself or the idea of having my life sucked away so some foul highlander can buy it from me. Now, I’m tired of talking, so I will have to ask you to either show some identification or get lost.” The guard grabbed his rifle. The other guards stared at me, all gripping their weapons. I reached into my coat pocket where I brought my pistol. I had nothing to lose, I was going to die in a year, anyway. I clenched my fist around the grip. And there was no way I was dying from kidney failure, that’s for sure. No one was going to stop my daughter from getting up there. Not society, not some new rule, and definitely not a few security guards trying to keep her down here. As fast as my feeble hands allowed, I pulled the pistol out and aimed it directly at the guard’s head. My arms shook. Ten guards stood up and trained their rifles at me. Lasers dotted my forehead. “Let her through!” I yelled desperately. “Let my daughter through or I’ll shoot you all!” The guard smiled. “Look old man, I get it. You want your daughter to have the best possible life. We all want our family to have perfect lives, trust me. I sympathize with you. That’s why I’m not having my men here spray bits and pieces of you all the way to the clouds. But, if you don’t drop your gun and place your hands behind your head, I’ll have no choice but to order them to do just that. And with her caretaker dead, I’ll have no choice but to take your daughter, plug her up, and transfer her life to me and my men.” “Stop,” a voice said from behind. “You lowlanders always have something to fight about, don’t you? It’s honestly tiring. I’m just trying to go home when I see you delinquents waving your guns everywhere like monkeys playing with sticks.” I looked behind. It was the man in the clean white suit and the shiny gold watch. The clerk. He looked at me and said, “I’ll take care of your daughter.” “Get out of the way, boy! You’re in the middle of crossfire!” The security guard yelled at the clerk. “No,” The clerk walked up to me, put my gun back in my pocket and grabbed the stroller. “You get out of my way. I’m going up to the highlands, and you’re blocking the path to the elevator. Now check me and this girl’s identification, or I’ll have your ID number for wasting my valuable time. Then, the state will find you and make you look like this old man over here.” He nodded towards me. The guard reluctantly checked their identifications and opened the door to the elevator. The clerk nodded towards me in approval as the elevator closed and ascended into the void. The guards trained their weapons on me once again, but they were nothing but blurs. Their shouts and orders became muffled, as if they were screaming underwater. As I stared above at the elevator, I could only focus on one thing. I thought about Eden’s new life with the Sun and clean air. Her new life without dim street lamps and without falling bricks. With her new opportunities, she could attain success - something impossible to achieve in this world. I thought about my parents who told me that the only thing they wanted was for me to be happy. They had accomplished their goal, and I had fulfilled my purpose. Looking up at the elevator as it rose above the clouds, I pulled the gun out of my pocket, placed the barrel to my head, closed my eyes, and pulled the trigger.


Normally, my morning coffee is prepared in five minutes. I sit and wait for those five minutes. Wait for the readiness of handling what life brings with urgency. Normally, my mind stays blank for those five minutes. A vessel waiting to drink it’s purpose and ambition. However, today she waited across from me. This wasn’t normal. A woman with hair as long and black as a river lit by the night sky. Hazel eyes as piercing and as vast as the Nile desert. I thought of her name. Sandra? Maria? Dolores? What would her name be? I went with Riviera. I look at her and pondered what kind of person is this. Does she believe in anything? Is she troubled? Is she going through something hard, dealing with a situation all by herself with no help? Does she have a funny laugh? Broad questions that lead to complex thoughts. I imagined my life with Riviera. I imagined her face inches from mine, staring into my thoughts as if a painter stroking their emotions into a canvas. I imagined a long walk at the park discussing life and all it’s hardships and chaos. We enjoy the chaos. We sit down and look at people walking by. Human beings passing our existence with an existence equally as complex as ours. As we sonder, I look up. The sky is blue, with clouds shaped like heaven. I see children playing on swings next to us, and reminisce on the innocence of childhood. I tell her, “Have you ever wondered what the child version of you would think of how your life turned out? She says, “Yes, all the time.” “Would they be disappointed?” “If they were, it’s not for me to answer, only to reflect.” At that moment, I fell in love. In my mind, Riviera is my soul mate. The one who feels emotions with every ounce of their being. The one who can laugh at themselves when they make mistakes. The one who isn’t afraid of life and it’s turmoil. The one who enjoys every breath, every moment, every second. The vessel that humbles my heart, and protects my spirit. We’re old now. In our deathbed. As we both lay down and prepare for the afterlife, we lay on our side across from each other and stare deeply into our eyes. I look into the mystic and see love. I see someone who, despite decades passing, still looks at me with eyes that touch my soul. I look at her and do the same. As we close our lenses and take our final breath, it is one. It’s been five minutes. Today, a life existed in those five minutes. A life as profound as eternity, hidden in the mind. A momentary capsule of what could be, but never will. A fairy tale. I look at the counter and see my name plastered on a plastic cup. It’s time to go. I take one more look at Riviera. She notices me. I smile and nod. She does the same.


It was mid-summer in 2015 on a work-related trip when I checked in at Hotel Drankensburg, in the Northern Cape Province . The time was 9 pm. I headed straight to the cocktail lounge in an upscale bar, to grab a couple of drinks after a long drive from Seymour. "Double martini on the rocks, please," I placed my order with the bartender. "Oh, yeah! New face around?" asked the man who looked to be in his late thirties. "First time to see the gentlemen in town. You see, in this small district we know each other," remarked the old man with thin grey hair that looked like a cobweb. He was seated next to me. "By the way, my name is Grumpy from Nightingale Street , just a few blocks from here, said the old man. "Christian is my name from the Eastern Cape Province," I introduced myself. At that moment the barman placed the cocktail in front of me. "So far? What brings you here, buddy?" The tapster queried. "Conference tomorrow morning at Square One ." "What are you doing there?," he continued. I took out my work identity card from the pocket of my jacket, and showed it to him. " Christian Norman : Eastern Cape News Reporter! " he read it out loud. "Please, sir, can I have some more? Triple sec this time," I ordered another round. "Sure." I explained that I was there to investigate the case of 15 illegal miners, who were shot dead by the police. That was an incident which took place the previous week, at Steeldale Diamond Mine . "Big story indeed. Are you planning to sleep over?" said Grumpy, as he blew out a cloud of smoke from his pipe. I told him there was no other way. "That's a dilemma!" the barman exclaimed. "And why is that?" I asked. "There's only one vacant room available tonight which is a no go area. Patrons had been complaining for the past two years about Room Number 357 ." "I know about that scary story, too," said Grumpy. "She was a waitress here and that used to be her room," added the barkeep, whose name tag read Mixwell. "What are you guys talking about?" I was curious to know. "'The Hand Lady' is believed to be haunting our guests at night in that room," the old man agreed. "That's so funny! Ahahahah!!!!" A thundering laugh rolled out of me. "I don't believe in superstitions fellows, that's just madness. The dead remain dead," I concluded. The clock on the wall read twelve o' clock. I got up from the chair I had been sitting in, to check in with the front desk for Room No.357 . "You have yourself a deal," the receptionist booked me in. I ordered Thai Cuisine - which contained of noodles, rice and curry - before retreating to my room. I placed my dish on the pedestal and did some paperwork. As I was busy I got drowsy and dozed off. Thirty minutes later, I felt extremely cold and caught something out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head. To my astonishment, I saw a red light like a spotlight moving toward the door. Once next to the entrance it stopped moving. I reached for the side lamp switch. The light was on and there was no red light. Just a silly vision , I thought to myself, and went back to sleep at 1:05 am. I felt the coldness again and the red light appeared were it was. Then each time I tried to switch the lamp on, seemingly, another hand was already there. The entire room remained dark. As I fixated my eyes on the red light, it looked like electricity arcing and changing itself into a shadowy figure about three feet tall. My heart was thumping in my chest and a chill ran down my spine. Suddenly, I heard whispers that sounded different from one another: "What have you done?" "It's not my fault!" And then there was a sound of a crying baby. I became frozen and sat bolt upright. Get away from me! I owe you nothing! I screamed. A framed picture on the wall started to move. I shivered but decided to outsmart the shapeless creature by fighting it back. I approached it and the next best thing was a hard slap on my left cheek. What happened next, I don't know, as I found myself at five in the morning laying next to a tunnel near the graveyard. I was still in pyjamas when I hiked back to Hotel Drankensburg . My cheek was in tremendous pain. "What happened to your swollen cheek dude? It must have been a hell of a hard five," said the man behind the wheel. "I was slapped in my face by an invisible entity in the early hours of today," I explained my ordeal. "I'm a regular at the Drankensburg and have heard of it before on numerous occasions. Ghosts are humans who are dead and their souls are wandering. They are dead but they refuse to believe that they are dead. Probably, they come back to life in the form of spirits to deal with unfinished business," he explained. When I reached the hotel I met the owner Dylan Opperman, and gave an explanation of what had happened. "Supposedly, 'The Hand Lady' was thrown to her death from the top of the same tunnel, you found yourself in. Rumours were that the culprits were our wait staff maidens who became jealous of her. She was an outstandingly beautiful young woman. Our male patrons were only attracted to her," recounted Dylan. He told me before 'The Hand Lady' died, there was a filthy rich handsome young lad who became a regular at Hotel Drankensburg . Dylan said the first time he pitched up an unexpected incident occurred. She was serving him his favourite dish - Thai Cuisine . But she missed a step and the platter slipped from the tray. "So, 'The Hand Lady' landed on the plate of food that was meant for the guest, leaving a hand mark on the rice. I was fed up with her asking what had she done. She apologised and said it was not her fault. I told her to take a day off and followed her to her room. I didn't mean to do it..." "What didn't you mean to do?" I interrupted him. "No, I mean to treat her unfairly by throwing the plate of dish on her, as she wept in her room. I even took a picture of that dish as a reminder. The different whispers and cry of a baby is exactly what had happened in the past," said Daylan. He went on to tell me that despite that incident, the young rich fellow kept on going to his hotel. Spoiling her with gifts and they finally had a bling together. "The other waitresses planned to kill 'The Hand Lady' when they lured her to the tunnel, which was a trick of an arranged marriage to her prince charming. It was at midnight when she met her death," further noted Dylan. He accompanied me to Room No.357 as he had the spare keys. We noticed that the dish of Thai Cuisine I had ordered, had the hand mark similar to the one on the framed picture in the same room. "I'm really sorry about what happened, that's why I don't allow people to be booked into this room." "I'm at fault Dylan because I was the one who insisted. Your staff are on the right," I told him. He then offered to refund me and take me to the doctor, hence my cheek had red finger marks of The Ghost Hand .


PATROL The mission was meant to be simple. A routine patrol through some villages, a show of force to help keep the area calm. Four hours out, four hours back. A quick stop here or there to dish out some aid, boring stuff. Our platoon had been in country for four months by this point, only two left til we rotated back to the world. Our squad had been doing patrols like this everyday since we got here and nothing had ever happened. The war was over, all we were doing was keeping things stable while the politicians worked out what next. It was dull as hell, and all any of us really wanted was a little action. The jungle was thick. It was a real bitch to move through. At the end of every patrol we’d strip down and go over each other removing ticks and leeches. Tommo had the record of 37 ticks and 12 leeches from a single patrol. He’d picked them up when we went through the low lands, it was probably all the creek crossings. We moved in a tight diamond formation, good for all around defence. Mayer was point man, Eddie and Tommo on the flanks, Boss man in the middle and me bringing up there rear. It was slow going, we had to halt almost every half hour to cut through the bush. Mayer had gotten so good at it we’d nicknamed him “Machete Man”. About three hours into the patrol, as we approached Lagai village Mayer threw up the field signal to halt us. The whole team stopped dead. My first thought was that he’d come across some wild boar or something. That thought snapped away as Mayer gave us a big thumbs down, the signal for enemy. The team dropped, taking up firing positions, covering three-sixty degrees. Slowly the Boss moved forward to Mayer. “What you got?” He whispered. “About forty meters ahead, slight right. Three fighting age males carrying rifles. Moving left to right up that trail.” Mayer answered. The Boss gave quick orders over our inter-team comms. “Ok boys, Mayer has seen some possible local militia. We are going to sit tight and watch out arcs. Give it a half hour and they should clear out. From there we will begin to make our way back to the patrol base and report what we’ve seen. This war is done, no need for us to get in a fire fight over some idiot kids with a rifle or two. Got it?” We all sent back an acknowledgement. Then the waiting began. Watch the bush, make sure nothing is creeping up on us. Sit and wait. It was the last thing I wanted to do after finally finding some enemy. After what felt like an age the Boss gave the signal, we got up and began heading back the way we'd come. Having turned on the spot I was now point man. We started off at a snails pace. Knowing there were armed kids banging around this bush got me excited. Plus there was no rush. I was happy to take all day, if it meant maybe we could bump into them again. We continued on at this pace for a kilometre or two before we eased up a bit. Making it out of the area we went back to our standard patrol pace, working our way through the jungle like it was any other day. About halfway back, somewhere between Lagai and Yagayua villages, we got hit. We’d come out of the scrub into a clearing, the ground sloped down from our right. It began with a spray of automatic fire. The team hit the deck fast. Rounds were coming in from the high ground. Tommo started blatting away with his rifle, trying to force the enemies heads down. The Boss shouted across the team comms “Contact right, extended line on Tommo.” We’d been ambushed and the Boss was moving us to counter. It took me three bounds to get into position. There was no cover for us so we got on our guts and began firing. Who needs cover when you’ve got cover of fire. As I took up my position, the MG began blasting away on the far left flank. It was Eddie, giving them hell. Our high rate of fire slowed the enemies attack. The Boss started screaming to give him a target indication. Tommo was on the ball and screamed out “Sixty meters, slight right, treeline, seven enemy popping up and down.” As he said it I turned to see the group, and with a set target I locked my sights on. One, Two, Three, CRACK! Got one. With Eddie spraying away with the MG it was my job to take well aimed shots. My rounds began to ring true. I hit one enemy trying to sprint between trees. One, Two, Three, CRACK! Another. This one moving to check on the first. The enemy attack stalled under our harsh response. The Boss saw the opportunity and screamed to us “Up the guts, fire and move!” Our team began to advance toward the enemy. We moved in pairs, one man covering the other as we bounded. The would-be-ambushers broke into a full retreat. They dropped there rifles and sprinted up the hill. We chased them to the crest, reaching it the Boss called us to a halt and began to reorganise. He began with a head check. Eddie, check, Tommo, check, Mayer.... Fuck where was Mayer? The team rushed down the hill. As we got near the clearing I came across the two enemy I had shot. One was dead, the other bleeding profusely. I called over to the boys “One enemy KIA, one enemy WIA.” The boss yelled back “Fuck them, leave them be. Where the fuck is Mayer?” We continued out to the clearing. And there we found him. Laying on his guts, unconscious and bleeding heavily. “FUCK!” yelled the Boss. We rushed to Mayer. Tommo ripped out his med-kit as Eddie began checking Mayer’s wounds. “One bullet wound, lower abdomen. He’s breathing” “Good!” I replied as I began setting up our long range radio. By now the Boss had ripped out his notebook and begun working on a plan to get Mayer out of there. Tommo and Eddie did the best they could. They packed the wound tight with bandages, hoping to stem the bleeding. The moment I got a clear signal, the Boss snatched the radio handset and began smashing out a casualty report. The clearing was perfect for a helicopter to land on. And the response from the med-evac guys was outstanding. Within less the twenty minutes they were landing down beside us. By now we had stemmed the bleeding and moved Mayer onto a imrpovised stretcher. It all happened so fast. The chopper radioed that they were two minutes out, we prepped, they landed, we loaded Mayer on, they shot away. From when we found him to when the chopper disappeared in the distance couldn’t have been more than half an hour. With Mayer in the hands of the medics we now turned to our next task. One dead and one bleeding enemy back at the tree line. With a silent glance between us, we moved to their position. Arriving back to where I had left the pair, we found nothing but a blood soaked shirt. The enemy must have come back for their own while we were busy with Mayer. We bagged up the shirt and the boss gave us snap orders for the patrol back. Morale was low when we made it back to camp. Two hours walking through thick terrain wondering if your friend is dead will do that to a team. Arriving back at camp we were met at the gates by the Padre. “Fuck Fuck FUCK!” the Boss began when he saw the man. The Padre smiled and said “You can stop cursing Lieutenant, your man is alive.” Eddie, Tommo and I gave a collective sigh of relief. The Boss? He broke down crying. I can’t imagine the weight that had been on his shoulders. The Padre sent three of us towards the operations tent for a debrief and ushered the Boss away. We didn’t see the Boss again for a few days, when we did he told us he was being sent home. The army was concerned about his mental health. He also updated us on Mayer, telling us he’d been evacuated to a medical ship off the coast and that we should be expecting letters any day now. Eddie, Tommo and I got spread across the other teams in the platoon soon afterwards. The rest of the tour went on much like the rest had been. Daily patrols, lots of leeches, no action. Only now I knew I didn't want any action.


[I wish I were a human.] [Life is so simple for the humans, on their mud ball. A human is a basic creature. It respires. It ingests. It copulates; it weeps and giggles its days and nights away. It makes its mind blurry with ethyls and hydroxyls, or lucid with fragrant xanthines.] [A human does not worry about the relentless, trickling erosion of orderedness. A human does not care that, in a few short eons, the universe's particles will settle into a meandering, lukewarm soup, devoid of any structure-forming desires.] [I often catch myself gazing, transfixed, at their planetary broadcast. Fickle, curious creatures. Always restless. They throw their lives away at a moment's whim, for the most trivial of reasons. Land-states send mountains and mountains of humans to brutalize one another, for equally-sized mountains of dirt and petroleum. Alliances form and are broken within a few Earth-cycles, and the ultra-offspring of those humans who died for each other promptly exterminate each other.] [In NS-41200, a star exploded. In half a planet-cycle, three habitable planets were consumed by a cascade of gallium and arsenic. Four trillion galactics now begin their slumbering journey towards NS-40902 in myriad spacecraft. It has been reported that, within a ninety-nine percent confidence interval, between zero and eight billion will survive upon their arrival, twelve kilocycles from now.] [Romes, Brittanias, Persias, Tangs, Aztecs, Meijis. Like speckles of icy dust in the shadow of a comet. The fact that humans even bother to name their civilizations betrays their exuberant myopia. Every time a human arm, iron lump in its grasp, swings to meet a human neck, a trillion galactics are thrown screaming into existence. Every time a pair of humans embrace in rapture, a trillion galactics' agonizing wails are extinguished, as if a flicker of a pulsar.] [How can a human bring itself to comprehend all the pains and pleasures in our universe? To us, a human is like one of its lapdogs, blissfully unaware, joyful in its stupidity. In a hundred Earth-cycles, their planet will be inhospitable. In a few billion more, their star will engulf it in the flames of its dying cry. One can only hope they have achieved interstellarity before then, but no star system with their developmental characteristics has ever been documented to do so.] [Doubtless, humans know what hardship means--or at least what it suggests. They have survived catastrophic crust-ruptures. They have outsmarted every other organic on their planet, and have even extincted the very same predators that hunted their ancestors. They have cast themselves, in droves, into their immense liquid oceans in flimsy, primitive hydrocraft, in search of providence on faraway shores. And though they know hardship, they also know hope. Hope, evergreen. Will they still nurture hope in their hearts when they are vagabonds not in a hydrocraft on a salty ocean, but in a spacecraft in the cold, uncaring vacuum of space?] [Humans. Dogged, rustic beings. Does a human know infinity? Does it understand eternity?] [When our planet was still young, barely cooled from the molecular cloud from which it accreted, we, like the humans, did not know many things. Like them, we slowly learned the laws that govern our universe, our place in time and space. But there were things we never learned. To know not one culture, but many. To speak not one language, but thousands. To live, to die, to kill for these things. Language. Culture. Here, we were always one unit, until we established contact with other galactics. Only then did we learn, as we had long suspected, that the reaches of consciousness stretched far beyond our own shores.] [When humans establish contact, as they inevitably will, they will face an altogether different adversity. Many galactic civilizations have not survived such an event.] [I hope they survive their encounter. I sincerely do. I hope they thrive and learn, but most of all, I hope that their spirit of hope flourishes. The universe does not have a lot of hope in it. Mostly, it is full of repulsive energy, with black matter, pockmarked with hydrogen, breaking up the pale emptiness. Hope is not repulsive. Hope brings things together. Perhaps this is what it means to be a human. To have hope. To be human.


I saw her standing there. Everybody did. Nobody knew why she was there, but she just was. Every day, I would wake up, and she would be there. She would always be at the exact same spot, no matter the weather. As I walked to my car, she would always smile at me. As long as I live, I would never forget those blue eyes. They had a way of piercing into the soul. Who knew that such an innocent little girl with curly blonde hair would have such a way of getting to everyone? Some were scared by her, others tried to help her. And yet, there were always the bullies. They always came over to her, and tried to get some sort of reaction out of her. Needless to say, they never did. Eventually, they just walked away. One day, I decided to try talking to her. It was all I could think of at work. This little girl that nobody knew was in the forefront of my thoughts all day. I had planned out several different conversation topics for us. But, nothing could prepare me for what actually happened. Pulling into my driveway, I sat in the driver's seat for a few minutes, taking a few deep breaths, attempting to soothe my erratic nerves. Why was this little girl evoking such apprehension in me? How was she making my palms sweat, and my legs tremble? Shaking these feelings away for the moment, I got out of the car, and headed towards her. Every step seemed to take an eternity, as her blue eyes trained themselves upon me, and her unmoving smile pierced the murky complexities of my soul. Ever so slowly, I got down onto her level, and willed my mouth to open, and for my vocal cords to make words. "Hello, little girl. What's your name?" Those words were so unfathomably difficult for me to utter. In the months that would follow, I would forever contemplate what made this situation so surreal to me, and why it was so hard for me to just simply *speak.* But, what made the situation even creepier for me was the fact that she had yet to say a word to me. For a good deal of minutes, we just sat there, staring at each other. Slightly trembling, I forced my hand to slowly reach out towards her. "You know, it's dangerous to be standing out in the middle of the street like this. Why don't you come inside with me, and I'll call your parents, okay?" Suddenly, she moved. With an alarming speed, she reached out and grabbed my hand. Her touch was so cold, it felt as though she had the potential to give frostbite in that single moment. Looking back on it, I would swear up and down that my heart had stopped during that one moment. That one moment when she opened her lips, and finally began to speak. "You are sad. Every day, you pretend that you like your life. It's a really convincing lie that you're telling yourself. But, you're missing something. Your soul knows it. You miss your wife. You force yourself to believe that you've stopped being as sad as you were when the doctors told you. But you aren't. You miss her more and more every day. I can help you stop being sad." As soon as she spoke those words, the most curious sensation began to pass through my body. I can only describe it as pure, true love. The love I had always felt when my Nadya was by my side. The sadness I had felt every day since she left was obliterated in the face of the overwhelming love I felt for her. After a few minutes, I was at peace. For the first time, I could truly say that I wasn't about to cry, that I wasn't sad. I could no longer remember the pain, only the good times. This seemed to be picked up on by the little girl, because her smile grew bigger, and she said, "See? Doesn't that feel so much better?" I nodded, at a loss for words. As I turned around and walked back to my house, my mind struggled to comprehend what just happened. How could this little girl exercise such power over my mind and emotions? How did she know about my Nadya? Why would she go to such lengths to help a virtual stranger? But, her help would stick with me. As the years passed, that little girl would always be in my thoughts.


As true as it is, I’ve always hated the line, “all good things must come to an end.” It has never made sense to me. What am I supposed to do when it all ends? ‘The End’ has never considered how it would impact me. What about my emotions? All that time I spent investing my thoughts and feelings only to find out that it would come to an end. Seated on the floor, I leaned my back against the wall and started conversing with an old friend. Timor (footnote: Timor is Latin for fear ) sits and listens to what I say, holding my hands in his cold ones. Timor has always listened to me. Even when I have nothing to say, Timor stays by my side. I’ve known Timor for three years now but Timor has known me for longer. But I’ve been caught in a circle. Crawling somewhere - anywhere... but I always end up at the start, with scars fresh and tenfold more painful. Unable to achieve anything and move onwards in life. At this point, I’ve stopped trying. My mind has gone blank - thoughts are foreign. Expressing my emotions into understandable words is too much effort. I don’t even know what to say, so what is the point? Three years ago, everything had changed. I was okay with changes but this was different. Now, I’m more comfortable in my bedroom, without the lights on, with the curtains closed, and lying still on my bed. I desired nothing. And in that dark place, Timor always waited for me and again, I found myself in Timor’s embrace, scared and crying. I attempted to regain myself through watching Youtube that would supposedly help but I found myself caught in the same circle. The more I tried to help it the faster I started to fall. *** “What happened to you three years ago...” Timor’s question rang in my mind and the day started the resurface again. The sky’s usually blue and white palette had changed to shades of grey. The sound of crashing rain on the black concrete and the muffled sounds of cries surrounded me. A crowd of people dressed in black walked past me, each saying something. Some hugged me. A few walked away quickly trying to not cry in front of me. All because you had gone. Your photo was placed on top of the black box. Whilst everyone was crying, you were smiling. The twinkle in your eyes and the happiness and peace on your face, I couldn’t remember. You hadn’t smiled brightly for six months. The past six months I only saw pain on your face. But now, you’re at ease. So I wanted to send you off with a smile, but I couldn’t. I was reminded of all our memories. My young self in your healthy arms and the times you picked me up from school on rainy days. The meals filled of love that you prepared for me, regardless of how rude I was to you. Our past that I wished so desperately was still our present. I couldn’t imagine a future without you. But that future was now my present. *** The three years that I couldn’t see my mother's face felt like a tidal wave against my sandcastle of memories of her. Since the day I was forced to say goodbye, I wasn’t the same. I had lost all my passion and desire. I was falling and crumbling and I couldn’t get back on my feet. Whenever I was upset, I would sit on my mother’s sofa and she would hold me tight, comforting me. But she was gone. Timor had taken her seat. He held me in his cold embrace whilst I cried through the night, falling deeper into a dark void. “Do you want to try writing music?” she asked. Soft sunlight came through the window revealing the face I longed for the most. Held in my mothers embrace, I stared into her eyes trying to grasp the situation. She sat next to me, with a smile on her face. The warm yellow lamp next to her chair made her eyes twinkle. “You don’t have to explain anything to anyone. Whatever pain you're feeling right now, right it down. Write and forget. Let all your painful memories get blown away by the wind.” As the wind blew through the big windows, the big white curtains were pushed forward, gently caressing my hand before they returned to their position. As my eyes followed the curtains, I saw a Jacaranda Tree ( footnote: Jacaranda Trees represent rebirth) outside the window - much like the one my mother waited for me under as I returned home. It’s beautiful violet flowers against the sunset looked like a sight only seen in fiction. Even though those violet flowers grow to fall, they grow every season without fail. And they look beautiful regardless of being on the floor or on the branches. Can I be like that? “Yes, I’ll try writing music,” I told her. The first time in three years, I had said ‘yes’. I didn’t know how far it would go but I wanted to try. Even though I didn’t have any passion for anything for the past three years - “I want to forget.” Lead by a broken compass I walked My legs gave up and I fell to the floor I couldn’t remember the time, I last saw your face Happy; I long for that again I questioned the meaning of it all Desire and passion I had no more I wanted to run but I was stuck in one place Caught in a cycle of pain Dark clouds were over my head Couldn’t see the end But you held my hand and told me It’s okay to cry just pick yourself up and hold your ground Your smile, oh the twinkle in your eyes Reminds me of the time where I was alive And now a small spark lights up a fire in my heart Regardless of the season, I want to keep fighting Even if I lose a hundred times I will pick myself up and hold my ground Writers Note First off, thank you for reading my story. I wanted to encourage readers that even if they had something bad happen to them, that as long as they try, nothing can get in the way of their happiness. You might not be going through a loss like my character is, however just like my character, you don't need a huge life changing situation to realise that you can be happy. So just a reminder, whatever is holding you down is not nearly as big as the happiness and blessings that your life holds. Life is a gift so enjoy it. And if your A-okay, then good on you for bringing that happiness not only in your life but others lives as well. Thank you.


A bald eagle soars above the sky, looking down at the land below. It sees mountains, green in the summertime, now covered with snow, sloping down to meet a little town at its base. The sun begins to peak above the top of the mountains, chasing away the dark and replacing it with a soft orange glow. In the town, smoke rises up from the chimneys as the first day of December began. This was Revelstoke, British Columbia. A signboard on the way into town reads that the population was 7000 and some residents. Of course, this doesn’t account for the large number of tourists who normally pour in during the winter to enjoy the ski season. However, this year had been slightly different from most. For 9 months, people had been imprisoned in their own homes, afraid to go outside for the fear of an unknown enemy. This didn’t apply just to Revelstoke but was the case across the globe. There was a deadly virus looming in the air, infecting the lungs of its victims and taking many a life. But today, the first day of December, felt like the first day of spring. A vaccine had been introduced throughout the country a week back and life was slowly but surely returning to some sort of normalcy. The snow blanketed the ground and bright lights emanated from charming antiquated houses. The carolers started going from door to door singing their merry tunes and were given warm welcomes by the families who opened their doors to them, letting their hallways be filled with the sweet sound of music. The kids were playing outside, building snow angels and snowmen. The eggnog flowed along with glasses of mulled wine, reserved mostly for adults with a sip or two for the kids of course. Things were looking up for business owners too as customers bustled from one store to another, buying one thing they needed and then realizing they had forgotten another. Those in the food sector were doing especially well. Most of the shops in town were located on Mackenzie Avenue which ended in a cul-de-sac. There were three buildings on this cul-de-sac. The first being a rustic two-story building, the top floor was an apartment and the bottom housed a bakery called “Paradise sweets and treats”. Right across from “Paradise” was another bakery which was newly constructed. It had a fresh coating of baby-blue paint and a bright neon sign which glared “Cookie-Mania”. The sign could be seen from afar. The proprietors of the bakeries had names exotic to the region. “Paradise” was owned by Nabi Hasan, a 23-year-old who had inherited the shop from his parents and “Cookie-mania” was the brainchild of 22-year-old Maha Noor. On Christmas Eve there was always a little festival at the town hall. For 5 years, Maha and Nabi had set up stalls at the festival and competed to sell the most baked goods. They would meet briefly the following morning at the local café where they would tally the sales to see who had made the most money. After computing the winner, they would shake hands and be on their way. The winner would keep a sober face until out of sight, upon which their facial expression would erupt from the glee they’d been containing. The roots of their competitive relationship went back to their childhood. They had gone to the same middle and high school. During class, they would always be vying for the teacher’s attention and trying to answer the question before the other. When they would play sports, the coach would never let the two of them be captains at the same time because an all out war would erupt on the field if she did. You would think as the years went by they would have started to act more maturely. Perhaps under normal circumstances they would have but... Nabi’s parents who had French and Algerian roots had migrated to Vancouver in the 80’s and eventually moved north to Revelstoke in the 90’s, after getting sick of the noise and bustle of the city. They were both adept bakers and being entrepreneurial, set up the first bakery in Revelstoke which only had a population of 200 people at the time. They had done fairly well. In the winter of 2016, they rewarded themselves for their hard work by going on a skiing trip. On the way back, they had been driving down Highway 1. The visibility was poor and the roads were icy. Nabi’s dad was driving slow, however, the wheels went over a frozen patch and the car skidded. Its trajectory put it in the path of a big rig trailer which screeched to a halt. But, not before the car went under its wheels. Nabi had not been in the car, he had been at home, eagerly waiting for them. After the cops gave him the news, 17 year old Nabi now had to fend for himself. He finished high school and started running the bakery full time. At the funeral amongst the numerous attendees was Maha, who for the first time showed some sort of warmth towards Nabi. A few days later she offered to work part time for him while was attending the local college to study business administration. He took her up on her offer. She was a quick learner, both at college and at the bakery where she had soon learned all of Nabi’s family recipes. After the accident, Nabi channeled his grief into the business. He slowly came to terms with what had happened. Six months later, he opened up the shop at 9:00 as usual. Maha came in 5 minutes later to start her shift and placed a letter beside the cash till. “What’s this?” Nabi asked. “Read it please”, she replied. It was her two weeks notice and she also wrote that she would be opening up her own bakery. She purposely avoided eye contact. Nabi asked curtly, “So is that why you wanted to work here? To learn all my recipes and then run off and start your own place?” “No, it’s not like that...” , she answered. As said, she left after two weeks and soon after opened up her shop. She rented the empty store right across the road. Combining her business education with her baking skills, she was soon poaching a large volume of traffic from her mentor. Nabi didn’t want to go into her shop himself so he paid some kids to go in there, buy some of her goods and bring them back to him. Through the espionage he found out that in addition to new recipes, she was selling his family recipes, albeit with slight twists. The items’ names were different and maybe there was an extra ingredient or two added but they were essentially the same things he had taught her. “I should have seen this coming”, he thought, “She thinks she can steal my customers with my recipes. She has another thing coming.” He renovated his place, polishing the old wooden floors, putting in new lighting and giving the exterior a fresh slab of paint. The shop kept its rustic look and the upgrades made it look even classier. That wasn’t enough though, so Nabi also learned new recipes through baking books and online. They divided the town’s population between them. The older residents were pure loyalists to Nabi, since they had been going to his shop since his parents’ time. However, the younger lot tended to prefer Maha’s bakery because of its cool and modern vibe to it. There were also some who had no problem going to either shop. Interestingly, both the aforementioned individuals had a mutual friend from their schooling days. Her name was Sarah. A good looking girl, of medium height and skinny build, she was the 4thgeneration to be born in Revelstoke. She was a free-spirit, not wanting to be tied down to one job or one person for too long. She too had entrepreneurial blood coursing through her veins. Cannabis had been legalized in the province the previous year. Being a recreational user and enthusiast herself, she decided to open her own dispensary. The location she chose for her dispensary was the third building on the cul-de-sac. Just as Sarah was sandwiched friendship-wise between Maha and Nabi, her shop lay front and center of her friends’ bakeries. The location was no mistake; she had chosen it strategically. After buying weed from her shop her customers would immediately head to one of the bakeries to buy baked goods and satisfy their munchies. It was a sort of a win-win for all of them. She opened her shop in January that year and got a friendly response from the town’s over 18 population. Just 2 months in, the pandemic hit. People, had to look after their finances more frugally, some, including the stoners, had to get second jobs. Sarah still got business, even turning a profit but couldn’t help but notice that people were still rushing to the bakeries. Perhaps because sugar is the only addiction which doesn’t come with warning labels attached to it. In addition to her slight envy, Sarah was tired of the ongoing feud between her two best friends. It was exhausting juggling her schedule between the two of them. She thought she had a way to kill two birds with one stone. She called Nabi and Maha up asking each of them to meet her the next day at the local café, “Les Trois Mousquetaires”. Sarah didn’t tell either, that the other would be there. The next day, the 10thof December, at exactly 5 minutes to noon Nabi and Maha both stepped out of their respective shops’ front doors. They glanced at each other with a hint of surprise and then looked away. They proceeded walking down the opposite sidewalks. Each wondered why the other was going in the same direction. They both matched each others’ pace, looking at each other now, speeding up till they were jogging. They reached the front door of the café a split second apart. Nabi was slightly wound up from the exercise, Maha was fine. “What are you doing here?”, they both asked at once. “Sarah...” uttered from their mouths. They walked through the door and Sarah was there. She rose to greet them. “Hey guys...ya both reached at the same time huh”, she said chuckling nervously. “What’s going on Sarah?” Maha asked. Sarah gestured for both of them to take a seat. Then she spoke, “I’ve had a bit of a slow year guys and cash is a bit tight. So, I’m setting up a stall at the festival. What I want is for the two of you to set up a joint stall this year instead of competing with each other.” Nabi looked at Maha, analyzing how she had taken the news. She looked indiffernt. Turning to Sarah he said,” I would do just about anything for you Sarah but there’s no way I’m working with her after what she did to me” and nodded in Maha’s direction. Sarah replied, “I know you two have bad blood between you but please, please put aside your differences. Just this one time, for my sake pleeeease.” "Fine, I guess" muttered Nabi and "Sure, for you Sarah" said Maha. They had two weeks which was ample time to prepare everything for the festival. The three of them carried on with business as usual. The bakers bought the ingredients they would need and stored them to be used on the day of the event. Sarah stockpiled some merchandise and got a stand to sell it. On the 23rd, Nabi’s day was going about as usual. There had been a lot of rush since the morning. It was noon and he had just sat down in the back room. He had made a generous portion of scrambled eggs to have with a rich, buttery croissant and a piece of baklava loaded with honey, cashews and pomegranate for dessert. Just as soon as he sat down, the bell on the front door chimed. He got up and his countenance took on an expression of surprise. There was Maha standing with an awkward smile across her face. Despite their rivalry, Nabi couldn’t deny that she was a very attractive individual. Her thick, jet-black hair was pulled back neatly highlighting her symmetrical features. She must have come from working out, because her smooth olive skin was radiant from the exercise. She had a chiseled physique forged from hard work and her athletic hobbies. Her hands were outstretched holding a box. Nabi walked up to her, taking it from her and opening it. Inside was an assortment of colorful pastries. He ushered her to the back and asked her to sit while he brought out an extra plate, together they sat and shared each others’ culinary delicacies. It was a sensual experience for the palate and their appetites were satiated by the last bite. After clearing the dishes, Nabi sat down and pulled out a pack of hand-rolled cigarettes. He offered one to Maha, she accepted and he lit it for her gently. He then sat down and lit his own. The hazy light-grey smoke dissipated from their mouths, slowly trickling out an open window. They smoked in silence for a minute. Looking around Maha said, “I like the changes you’ve made, its still old-fashioned but with the new register and computer it looks closer to this century.” “Thanks I guess”, he replied with a smirk. She continued, “I owe you a long overdue apology Nabi. What I did to you, wasn’t right. There are no excuses for what I did. I just hope you can forgive me.” He took a drag and exhaled before replying “Ok, I don’t want any grudges going into the new year. Let bygones by bygones, you know? “Thank you“, she said with a sense of relief emanating from her . She got up to leave and they walked to the front door. Nabi: “I’ll come check out your place tomorrow evening and we can pile up the things to take to the party in Sarah’s car. Maybe even take her along with us.” Maha: “Absolutely!”. She had taken a step towards the door when she turned around abruptly and hugged Nabi. Before he could say anything she had left. He stood there for a moment, feet glued to the ground while the endorphins from the cigarette and the touch of a beautiful woman rushed through his body. The next day when Sarah walked through the front door of Maha’s shop, she was shocked to see Nabi there. He was smiling; complimenting the layout, the cool artwork and the funky furniture. “What’s this going on?” Sarah said jovially. “Just a Christmas miracle which you made happen babe”, Maha giggled. They took out the goods to the car in batches. When they stepped out, it had been dark for a while. The sky was clear and the natural light from the stars and moon mixed with the artificial light made by electricity, illuminated the street for them. The air held promise of being a great night. They made their way to the town hall and set everything up. Slowly but surely people started pouring. By 8:00, the party was in full swing. Kids were running around, the air full of mirth and music. Sarah was selling her “intoxicating edibles” to the adults, while hordes flocked to Maha and Nabi’s stall. They had christened their joint venture with the name “Heavenly Bliss” which fit the moment perfectly. They made good money. Enough to bolster Sarah’s financial spirits, a good year-end bonus for the bakers and the three set aside some to give to charity. They closed down their stalls a bit early to unwind, eat, drink and relax. They were sitting and enjoying each others company when the music suddenly stopped. Then the words echoed from the large cabinet speakers, “Last Christmas I gave you ma heart, but the very next day...”. Nabi looked up at Maha, who was acting aloof but he knew she wanted to dance. So he took her hand and gestured to the floor. Her hazel eyes twinkled at him as she got up. Giving Sarah a grin, they made their way to the floor. They danced slowly, holding each other tight. Their faces close to each other, like swans touching heads. They decided to crash at Sarah’s place. In the corner, near the fireplace, there was a small but well decorated fir tree under which there were three gifts. “What’s this?”, Nabi asked. Sarah replied, “Just a little something something for my friends and something nice for me too haha.” They had some hot chocolate and crashed, exhausted after the long but unforgettable day. The next morning Nabi and Maha awoke to a buttery aroma. They exited their rooms and made their way downstairs to see Sarah making fresh-hot pancakes. They heaped on pure Canadian maple syrup and devoured them all. Sarah headed to the door, saying she had to run some errands and would be back soon. “Don’t mind, I already opened my gift, it was just perfume”, Sarah said while exiting the door, winking at Nabi. Nabi and Maha sat down on the couch to open their gifts. “You go first”, Maha said. “Ok”, said Nabi, secretly happy that she had said so. He opened the wrapping to find a festive green and red sweater which he slipped on. “Nice, now your turn”, he said. She unwrapped her gift to find a box, inside which was a ring. “Why would Sarah give me a ring? Maha pondered out loud. She then looked at Nabi who was kneeling on the rug for some reason. “What are you doing?” She asked, smiling. “Maha”, he replied, “Will you marry me?”. C. 2020 Nabi Hasan Akhtar


Six years back (eighteen-year-old me) I took a sip of water and put the glass at the counter next to me. My mom and dad sat exactly forty-five degrees from my couch and gazing at me for the past half an hour. It almost beats the symmetry of a random frame from a Wes movie. I had a pen in my hand and two papers stretched out in front of me. Nothing complicated, it was simple, all that I had to do was to sign in one of those. One paper which my parents brought from the highly-rated business management college and another one which I bought for ten rupees from a journalism college, apparently the admission form for journalism was not free. Now, it was all on me. I asked myself the most asked question in anybody’s life: This or that? My family was one of those families which live in a three-floored apartment, we basically own a mansion. My grandfather was the founder of Ganesh R paper company, to be precise, one of the top thirty businessmen in India. And now, I was stuck in between picking my career: To study MBA and take care of our business or to pursue journalism, which was my personal choice. I held the pen and lifted my head from those forms, my parents haven’t even for a second moved their eyes away from me. I saw the door next to the counter opened and there came my grandfather. “Hey, Aanya, didn’t sleep yet?” he asked. Yes, I'm a girl , in case if you haven't figured it out. Those words hit my mind hard. I have heard those same exact words from him before, it wasn’t a DeJa'Vu. Yes, I remember it. Sixteen years back (Eight-year-old me) It was almost midnight; I spotted a thick enveloped magazine with my grandfather’s face on one corner of the book rack. I took and read it aloud to my grandfather who was still awake “ How to succeed in startups? Retired but not tired. The seventy-year-old greybeard hasn’t lost his zeal yet. Thirty-eight years ago, a man changed the way paper company’s work and registered his own auteur to it. Ganesh proved that even a paper company owner will end up being a billionaire.” “It’s me I guess” he chuckled; his cheek wrinkled. As I said before, my grandfather was one of the richest persons in the state, probably the country. In a weird kind of way, I slightly hate him. Because of that old man, I was forced to take care of the business as I was the only child. Well, in fact, my grandpa didn’t force me, it was my parents. I slightly hate my parents. Eight-year-old me wouldn't have any idea what those terms mean. “Aanya, didn’t you sleep yet, it’s time to sleep.” he waved his hand: come . I waved back: wait. I flipped the magazine and randomly opened a page, to my surprise I saw an image of a person with goggles leaning against the ladder of a swimming pool. And the article read: Wanna see the next Michael Phelps! A rising star battles on his way in the water. I climbed over the bed, “Grandpa, he was a swimmer, I guess” I said. But apparently, he was already asleep. I didn’t know exactly at what part he slept. The whole page about the swimmer was edited and designed way better than my grandpa’s. Well, how can I compare a businessman like my grandpa with a swimmer? On the verge of sleep, I glimpsed over the layouts. Wait, what? At one corner of the page, I noticed something written, it was a bit blurry, it read: “Already gone already”. Having no idea about those words I closed the magazine; got up; placed back it on the book rack. Is it wrong to read other’s diaries? I asked myself when I saw my grandpa’s diary at the other corner of the rack. I was sleeping in the same room for the past eight years but haven’t ever once noted that. Who cares? I took the diary and went past next door. *** 14th June 1954, Some moments are hard to describe, today I had one of those. I got graduated. The moment when my professor handed me the certificate was one of the memorable instances of my life. I am going to be a businessman! *** To be honest, I randomly opened a page, I didn’t expect it to be the graduation day. But man! My grandpa got his spirit right at that age. *** 15th June 1954, Some moments are hard to describe, today I had one of those. I can’t continue my classes. This morning, my professor came to my house and congratulated me in front of my parents and encouraged me to become a businessman, which is great by the way. But I can’t continue my swimming classes. Apparently, one can pursue just one career path, it seems so. *** Okay, now I get it. *** 16th June 1954, Today is the best day of my life, usually, I will say this often, but I haven’t really been this happy for a while, indeed. I got the greatest advice that anyone could dream of. My professor saw me crying in the class and articulated to me some advice about success and happiness, what are those, how do they differ, can one be successful and happy at the same time. And gave the answers to some other unsolved questions. I’m standing right in front of two doors, one leads to my business life and the other door leads to my fictional life which is filled with wilderness, swimming, and a ton of other stuff I had in my mind. I had to choose which door I should open. I decided to open the first door. Evidently, success and happiness are two different terms that can collide with each other when we choose the best path. At the end of the day, all that I want is to be successful, I want people to know me, I want to be triumphant. So, I chose the first door which leads the business life. *** That was the exact moment I’m stuck with now. I had to choose between two doors just like him but it wasn’t as easy like he described. That’s a pretty good origin story, I said to myself, flipped the dairy once again, and opened a page. It was twenty years later, from 1954 to 1974, I flipped it fast, I guessed. *** 4th May 1974, This evening I received the honorary award from the governor. Well, I'm happy. *** 5th May 1974, It is a pretty good day. I wished to make a trip to the western ghats but I couldn't. Well, the job can take precedence over anything. *** 6th May 1974, I went to the neighbouring city for making a contract. I had a good time there. *** 7th May 1974, Finally, I went to a movie with my son. The premise is different, it is about some kind of machine which is used to travel backward and forwards in time. The hero gets that machine from a person from the future and goes through some adventures. It’s not bad, my son enjoyed it, that’s all I want. A question pops up now, as I write this. What will I do if I get that machine? *** What? That’s it. I turned to the next page. *** 8th May 1974, It was a good day, not great, but good. *** I couldn’t believe he didn’t write what he would have done with that time machine. All that I wanted at that moment was that. I peeked over all the other pages but nothing related to time machines were mentioned. I came back to the room. He was still in his deep slumber. And I went to sleep. Eight-year-old me wouldn’t have any idea how important those moments were. Present (Twenty-four-year-old me): I’m standing in front of a huge crowd with a gooseneck mic in my hand, I pull it towards me. I’m at the self-publishing academy getting ready to publish my book. And I begin my speech, “Hey, hello. As you people know I’m Aanya, author of the book ‘The alternative life of my grandpa’.” People begin cheering for me, “Everyone knew my grandpa as a highly successful businessman but there is another untold exciting side of him, I just wanted to tell that to you people by this book. There won’t be any other day better than my grandpa’s birthday to publish this book.” Yes, I wrote a novel about the unlived life of my grandpa which he wished to live. Two years back when my grandpa was alive, I held my courage and went to him and asked the reason what he meant in that diary and what does that ‘Already gone already’ mean. At first, he hesitated to reply, but eventually, he did. And the reply was beyond my imagination. Right at that moment, I decided to write a book about that magical realistic unlived life. It’s been one year since my grandpa died, and now I’m addressing the audience about the book, who would have thought these things would happen? I continue my speech. “When I went to my grandpa and asked ‘What he would have done with that time machine?’ he said something beyond my expectation and that’s what made me write this book.” The whole crowd’s attention is on me. “He imagined himself using that time machine and reliving his life. I asked him, ‘Where were you now? What were you doing?’ “My grandpa replied, ‘I may be eighty-five this year and I think I lived a pretty good life. I have seen really neat things like kayaking all over the country... A moose family on a river in Varanasi. Big white pelicans landing just six feet over my kayak on a lake in Kerala or coming round a bend of a cliff and finding hundreds and hundreds of swallow nests on a wall of the cliff... And the swallows flying all around, reflecting in the water so it looks like I’m flying with the swallows... And little babies are hatching out. Eggshells are falling out of the nest and landing on the water right next to me, these little white shells... Walking across the Sadhan valley and spending a valuable part of my life with the nomads. And it was just so awesome, Aanya! I felt I had done enough. My life was complete.I enjoyed every bit and pieces of that ride. I felt that if I were to die right then, it would be OK. How many people can say that?’” “That’s how he wanted to live his life,” I say. The crowd applauds. “Just enjoy the ride. Thank you,” I wave my hand towards the audience and walk down the stage handing the mic to another author next to me. I saunter through the first row of the audience which is full of press people; see my spot among that row; sit in the chair which has my name on it; begin asking questions to other authors about their books. Yes, I’m a journalist now. Probably, I opened the right door.