The sluggish countdown of the clock to home time ticked slower and slower the more I stared, as my eyes began to sting, I swear the second hand moved backwards. Class had dragged more than usual today, perhaps because I finally had something to look forward to after school. My birthday had been a success and we had the SNES. No more long bike rides to the arcade on the weekend now, no... it was video games every night from now on. “Ryu... you get the game? We on for tonight?” Li asks, leaning over from her desk beside me, her eyes facing towards the front of the class, while her hand made fake writing gestures across her notebook to feign attention. “We’re on, Mom picked it up last night after school,” I whisper back. “Dude, yes. Think it’ll be different from the arcade?” she asks, her interest now fully on me with no intent on faking attention. “Well... we'll have more quarters.” “Nice, lame of your Mom to get you the SNES with no games though, talk about party buzzkill,” says Ken, whose desk was in front of mine. “Relax, least I have one,” I reply sarcastically. “Asshole!” Turning around to flick my arm. “Kenneth! Lisa, Ryan... eyes up front guys. Or no... video game party tonight,” Mom yells across the class to us, worst thing about having your own parent as the teacher is they actually have something more than detention to hold over you. “Sorry,” I apologise. “Sorry, Mrs. Carter,” Ken and Li say in unison. Li trying her best to hide a smirk. * * * With six wins under my belt, Ken struggled behind with only two, his whining drowned out by Li, boasting her seventh win. As the TV illuminates my room in wonderful colours, Ken tries desperately to beat Li, failing, and bringing her up to her eighth win. Opening my bedside draw I pull out my secret weapon, tying the red band tight around my head I crack my knuckles, ready to take the trophy. “Uh-oh, someone means business,” teases Li. “First to ten?” “You’re on.” “Don’t bother, Ryu. The girl’s got cheat codes or something,” says Ken, lying flat on the floor to stare up at the glowing stars shining on my ceiling. “Sore loser,” Li mocks, a gentle kick to Ken’s leg. “I’m used to arcade controls that’s all, once I’m used to this, you’re both going to be bowing to me, the 'Street King .'” “And how’d you explain always losing at the arcade?” I ask. “Ah, it’s just so loud there, messes up my concentration.” Both me and Li laugh at his response as we sit down and ready ourselves for the next match. “First to ten,” says Li, the controller tight in her hand, so much so that her knuckles started to turn white with a ring of purple. Round one! “Here we go,” I say, leaning forward. Fight! And darkness, the TV turns pitch black, and so does the blue lava lamp on my bedside table, leaving the melted wax floating in just a small spot of moonlight creeping through the gap in my curtains. “Cheater!” Shouts Li. “Ha, like I could trigger a power cut,” I reply, flicking the light switch on my wall on and off, but nothing. Opening the draw under the TV I pull out a wind-up torch, with ten rapid cranks the torch turns on, illuminating the room bright. With me up front, Li to my side and Ken lagging behind we leave my room to explore the dark house. Creeping through the dim hallway, all keeping as close to the wall as we can. All of us suddenly startled by my Mom, yelling from behind the bathroom door. “Erica?” “No, the power’s out!” I yell through the door. “Oh, Ryan. Go get your sister and tell her to find some candles, I’d rather not get out the bath in the dark and slip.” “Okay, will do!” “And go check the neighbours houses, please. See if It’s just us that’s out.” “Shall do, Mrs. Carter,” shouts Li. “You kids better head off home after, It’s a school night!” “Okay...” we all mumble in sync. “Best to ten tomorrow night then?” Says Li, leading the way to my sisters room. “Hell yeah, you guys can sleep over and we’ll play into the weekend,” I reply, excited to earn my place as the ‘ Street King’ . Knocking on my sister’s door three times, Li waits patiently before ducking behind me as the handle turns, Eri standing a foot above us with a head lamp strapped on blinding all three of us. “What?” She asks, her tone already annoyed at me. “Mom wants you to get her some candles.” I ask, shielding my eyes as they adjust. “Under the sink, you know this.” “She wants us to check if the whole streets out, we’ve both got our quests.” My eyes finally able to make out my sister underneath the bright white. “Ugh, fine I will in a minute,” she replies, noticing Li moving behind me attempting to be invisible. “Oh, Lisa, when you gonna stop hanging out with the dork and let me do your makeup?” “Ah, ha ha. No, I’m, I’m good. Maybe some other time...” She replies nervously, a gentle laugh to cover it up. “Aw, shame.” An evil smile, Eri always loves messing with Li. “Hey, Eri,” Ken speaks up from the back. “Beat it, creep.” “It was one time, and I was seven...” Eri slamming her door in response. “I didn’t even understand what I was looking at!” “Well, I think you’re making progress.” I say, cranking the torch a few more times as the light had grown weak. “Yeah, she didn’t even slap me this time!” * * * Now outside we could see each and every house was pitch black, not even a flicker of orange from the streetlights. Making our way to the edge of the road, both Li and Ken holding the handlebars of their bikes, ready for the dark ride home. The three of us suddenly blanketed in a blinding light as the car across from us pulls out the driveway, speeding off down the pitch-black road. “Since when does Ms. Rubin drive?” asks Li, dropping her bike on the sidewalk and walking into the middle of the road to watch the light of the car disappear down the street. “I swear she can’t see over the wheel; think she has a booster seat?” Jokes Ken, who himself is just as tall as Ms. Rubin. “No, she moved out. Mom said she didn’t even say bye. That’s some new man that moved in a couple days ago.” I answer, tucking the torch into my back pocket. “A new neighbour... does he live with anyone?” Asks Li as she dashes across the road and up to the side gate of his house, tiptoeing to look over into the backyard. “Li!” I bark, running up towards her. “I don’t think he does, no. What are you doing?” “Aren’t you curious what kinda dude he is? Might have some cool shit,” she says as she lifts the hatch of the gate, a slow creak of the hinge as it opens up. “Cool crap to steal? Come on let’s head back,” whimpers Ken, who had now made his way towards us, his bike still beside him. “Don’t be a pussy, Kenneth , we’re just gonna check it... oh,” say’s Li abruptly, suddenly distracted as she makes her way around the side of the house, jumping through an open window. “Oh God,” I sigh, tightening the red band around my head. “Come on, let's go get her.” Making my way through the open window, I could hear Li just ahead, while Ken props his bike against the side of the house, I could see the worry across his face. “What if he has a dog? A big, angry, child hungry dog?” he asks, poking his head through the open window. “Then you blind him with this, and run,” I comfort, handing him the torch from my back pocket. “Ugh, fine.” Taking the torch and hoisting himself through the window, tumbling through and bumping into me, the light turning on to illuminate Li’s face. “Shh,” she warns, holding her finger to her lip. “This looks like your kitchen, Ryu,” says Ken, scanning the room with the torch, a gentle tremble in his voice. “Yeah, all the houses here are just copies of each other.” “Place your bets, vegetarian or not?” Quizzes Li, holding onto the fridge door handle. “If he’s like my Dad, I’m gonna say two full shelves of beer... and expired bacon,” answers Ken, holding the torch with both hands as steady as possible on the fridge like a spotlight. “I’ll take the veggie option then.” Tapping my feet against the tile floor like a drum roll. “And the winner is-“ Li opening the fridge with a tug, the putrid smell hitting us one by one. Inside wasn’t beer, nor veg, but several large white bags. “The hell, It’s warm.” “Well the power is out,” replies Ken as he flicks the kitchen light switch. “Yeah, but not long enough for the fridge to turn warm,” I say as I reach my hand inside and pick up one of the bags, a thick liquid inside packed so tight I worry it’ll pop. “Ryu!” Shouts Li from the hallway, who I now realise is no longer standing beside me.” “Keep your voice down!” I whisper back sharply, making my way into the hallway to find her staring blankly at a large metal door. “Isn’t that where your room would be?” asks Ken, shining the torch on the door, revealing scuff marks and soil in an arch on the plain wooden floor. “What the fuck?” Reaching for the handle I hear the sound of tires slowing on gravel. “Shit!” Panics Ken as he runs down the hallway into the living room. “He’s back!” Just then the kitchen light turns on, and headlights shine through into the entire house. Running as fast as we can, both me and Li dive out of the open kitchen window and clamber over the fence into the other neighbours yard, to then run with our knees bent across the road back to my house. “Shit, that was close...” I gasp, collapsing onto the ground, seeing the new neighbour close his front door, the kitchen light switching off soon after. One by one the streetlights switch back on to light up the entire neighbourhood in dull orange. “Yo... where’s Ken?” Asks Li, with short pauses in between as she catches her breath. “Crap, we didn’t leave him in there... did we?” I ask, a sense of dread twisting my stomach. “He did bring his bike, so he couldn’t hop the fence like us, he probably got spooked and rode home?” “Yeah, yeah he must have, we’ll see him in class tomorrow,” I assure myself, the twist in my gut now a tight knot. “Well, that was creepy, but I’ll catch you tomorrow, later.” Pushing off the ground on her bike to ride home, faster than I’d ever seen her ride her bike before. I didn’t sleep for even a moment the whole night, my eyes fixed on my door until morning, imagining it was steel, and that I was safe. * * * Dragging my feet through into the kitchen, I notice a key attached to a long yellow piece of string on the table, along with a note. Had to head in early today so take the bus. DON’T MISS IT! Will be staying late also so bring your key, Erica’s at a party so don’t lose it. And don’t forget to make yourself dinner! - Mom xxx With a rushed breakfast in my stomach, I manage to flag the bus down as it pulls away from my street, sitting at the very back I watch as my neighbour’s house shrinks over the horizon, the knot in my stomach still tight and heavy. As the bus eventually pulls up to school, and I'm the last to step off, my hands meet the hard concrete as I’m tripped up. Standing above me, proud and arrogant are Marcus and Mia Bison, twin bullies who I’d manage to avoid for a few months now. “We’ve missed you we have, ain’t we Marcus?” “Sure have, Mia, where’s Mommy?” “Too busy to give you a ride to school?” Teases Mia. “Something like that, just leave me alone, will you?” I ask, prodding at my scraped hands. “But we missed you!” Marcus says as he lifts me up by the key around my neck. “What’s this?” Tugging hard to snap the string. “Dude, give it back!” Shouts Li, making her way over, her face red and fists clenched. “For ten bucks, we’ll think about it,” says Marcus as he tucks the key into his pocket. “Hey...” Mia interrupts as she stares down Li. “Fine, ten each. Let’s just make it a round twenty, yeah?” “What... what else would it be?” I smirk, a swift kick to the chest in response, knocking the air from my lungs. “Twenty, here after school,” he threatens as he walks off. Mia pushes Li aside easily to join him. “Where the hell am I meant to- “ “Ask Mommy!” Mia orders, interrupting me. “Assholes.” I mewl as Li helps me up. “You alright?” She asks, brushing the dust from my back, “Fine, I’m fine. You seen Ken?” “Not yet, no.” “Ugh, he better be in class.” I hope. * * * But he wasn’t, as the rest of the school flooded outside around me to head home, to their buses, cars, and bikes, Li and I walked slowly. Playing last night over and over again in our heads. “Vampire,” mutters Li, barely noticeable under the roars of kids around us. “What?” I ask, my vision blurring as I walk into a solid object, Marcus staring me down with my key dangling from his thick neck, almost as if it were choking him. “Take my bike,” Whispers Li, right before she barges herself into Marcus. Running past him as he rebalances himself, I narrowly miss Mia as she tries to grab me, Li tugging her by the hair and holding onto her legs tightly. With Marcus’s thunderous steps behind me I make it to Li’s bike, the bike lock heavy in my hand, a combination... fuck. “Zero, seven, one, five!” I hear her yell. As fast as I can I enter the numbers, the dial slipping between my fingers from the sweat. That wonderful click. With the bike lock off, I throw it as hard as I can at Marcus, cracking his nose into a fountain of red spilling onto the floor. If I wasn’t dead before, I am now. * * * Barrelling down the street I ride Li’s bike as fast as I can, the tires wobbling beneath me, Marcus on his bike behind me, yelling curses and threats. I realise in that moment I’m rushing home, but I don’t have my key and Eri’s car isn’t in the driveway. Then I see the neighbours car isn’t there either, and pray that window is still open, my only hope. Ditching the bike in the middle of the road I charge towards the gate and leap over, my shirt getting caught and my stomach splintered. Thankfully, the windows open and I dive through, hope lost as Marcus charges in after me. The steel door now slightly ajar rather than locked, I weigh my odds, the fear of the unknown, or the known beating I’m seconds away from, I’ll take the unknown. Inside the room was a tunnel, heading deep down into darkness, with wooden support beams and lights strung up around those beams. Grabbing onto the handle I pull as hard as I can to seal myself in, but I’m met with a much stronger resistance. Marcus throws the door open and punches me hard in the jaw, everything turning black for a moment, followed by a rush of dizziness. As everything becomes clear again and the giant bully approaches, I feel a rush of adrenaline, scurrying between his legs, to quickly find myself on the other side of the door. With a hard pull on the handle I shut Marcus inside, his muffled yells and bangs on the door falling more silent the further away I get from the house. “Thanks for leaving my bike in the middle of the road, man,” shouts Li, sitting outside my house, a purple-black eye and bust lip across her face. “Manage to ditch him?” “Yeah, something like that... how’d you get here?” “Your sister, she saw me walking along the road on her way to some party, so she gave me a lift, left us her key.” “I’m sure she’ll give me grief for that tomorrow. Wanna head in? Get some ice for your face?” I ask. “That bad, huh? But sure, after that, we need to do something about Ken.” “We’ll tell my mum when she’s back, until then... fancy a game? Best to get in all the playtime we can, after all I feel it’s gonna be taken away for some time after this.” “Sure, first to ten?” * * * Later that night with ten wins to my eight, Li slept soundly beside me on the floor. Hearing the front door unlock, I make my way out of my room, with a speech in mind I prepare myself for a grounding. But no mom exhausted from a day of grading papers, placing her keys on the table. Just the front door left wide open, with a key in the lock... my key, the string attached to it now frayed and dyed from golden yellow to a wet glistening red. The end


Now me. Why turning back? There's no turning back. Why fear when get a golden chance! Thought Rose to herself. Then too she was soo pale.. She turned red with fear. She had never been to rocket nor space why not even in a aeroplane. Her stomach was tied in knots. Her hands and legs were tumbling with extreme fear. From the spacestation now they're calling her the 5th time. She did not know what to say nor do. She took the phone they asked her that when will she reach? Did she left from her house? She only said yes with her lips shaking. There were many questions left....what if her oxygen finished at the space? What if she fell from the moon? What if she have a headache and unending silly questions .she then took a deep breath and told to herself that... You will make it ☺. You will go. You are brave, strong and smart. Fear is not told for you. Then again from the spacestation they called, asked when Will she reach?. She said that she will be there In a couple of min. As soon as she kept the phone she ran to her car did not forget to lock the house🙃 and went to the spacestation for here her new adventure begins. There was a small fear but she let it go.. As she entered the space her with her heart beating she smiled. As it took hours and hours for her she thought that it would take millions of hour to reach there or space. She suddenly slept as she woke she could not believe what she was seeing. The universe is. amazing and unique she said to herself. All her fear and hiding and trembling went waste she thought. She kept that smile on her lips as she floated in the rocket. She ate the food by floating.As to reach the moon it took them nearly a month (it is future) the moon was absolutely stunning. She said to her co-comers that she cannot walk they told that in moon walking is not applicable the should jump walk.she said finally I'm in the moon where everyone dreams of I am lucky I cannot believe that I have reached till the moon said rose to self. With her inner body dancing she jumped walked in the moon. She could not wait to go back and tell her friends, family, relatives and neighbours the story. As she walked she saw holes in the moon but she remembered studying in school that moon has many holes. Her joy bound no lines when one of the head of the grp said that they are heading back. With heavy heart she took her last foot from moon and placed in the rocket. While going she thought that how fool she was to because she had got many chances before this trip and she said no to it😒.she remembered that she hid herself in the house with fear of coming to space. They left the moon 1 more month In the rocket thought she. This is what i feared the most and which I know love the most. the scene in the space which is a variety the look of the earth from moon which is splendid and till reaching here fear was a barrier that blocked me from reaching here I was a fool to let it block me for a long time rose said to herself. She decided to write a book splendid on moon and another on fear. She smiled as she again floated on the rocket. She thought that why did she feared coming here.. Its because she read about space attacks and disasters. She then spend her time looking out and completely lost in space. Her good days were coming. She won't let her fear take her. They were nearing earth only 10 days were left she felt sorrow while coming she was filled with fear but while going she was filled with sorrow.happy happy happy happy happy happy happy happy as ever she said to herself. due to fear once again if she had rejected then she could never see this marvelous space and come here as adventure. Space is wonderful and I have been thinking about the possibility of having a party with family, friends everyone as this occasion. The last pic is a bit different from the ones taken she looked through the pics and said. So please tell me what you think it is she Said to one of her co-comer happily. As the trip lasted only a day rose sang a song for all of them they all appreciated her because it was marvelous singing. They all said that they met many people in these days in their trip but the trip with u is more fascinating.she never felt more happy.she too said that this trip was wonderful as she slept.when she woke she was in her planet earth her moon trip and her all fears were over as she kept her first foot on earth after three months. She felt relieved and happy. She then that night stayed there as she was so tiered and sleepy. The next morning as she left for her home she invited her co-comers of the moon trip for a lunch. She went to her home she did a round of dance and shared all. Her pics in the social media and how this trip changed her life. She sent a message that fear conquers our desires. This is what I learned typed rose. Rose narrated the whole story to her friends, family, relatives and neighbours till she saw their all jealousy faces for not being selected. Her mother and father applauded her for her sudden change and being mature leaving all her fears for small and big situations. She thought that how lucky she is and she kept the smile of hers in her lips. How fascinating is life is'nt it. #THE TURN🙃


We pull her out of the sea as soon as we find her. She looks like she was about to go under. I stare at her as one of the crew members pulls her aboard. They bring her below deck and lay her down in one of the extra beds. The nurse sat in the bed next to her. After a little bit, the nurse shooed me out. I came back the next day. She was sleeping and shivering in her bed. The nurse had left. I threw a blanket over her. She calmed down a little bit. I left to go eat lunch and she was awake when I came back. "Hi." "Hi... where am I?" "You're on the Borealis. We rescued you from the ocean." "oh... do you know what happened? Like, how I got in the ocean?" "No, I'm sorry." "...ok." We went upstairs together. The crew welcomed her with grace. After all, she was one of the only girls on the ship and she was the only visitor. "So, what's your name?" "My name is Olive. What is yours?" "My name is Aiden." She smiles, "I like that name." I smile back. We go below deck again for dinner. We almost always have something bland on our ship. Tonight it was bread and mashed potatoes. Olive snarfed hers down. Some of the crew laughed as she tried to grab more bread but she had already eaten it all. Under the table, I slip her mine. She grins at me as she grabs it and shoves it in her mouth. I give her a tour of the Borealis. We walk the whole deck. Then I showed her a tor of the bottom deck. We even went up to the wheel. I introduced her to most everyone on the ship. Finally, we went up to the crow's nest. It was nearing sunset when we climbed up there, "It's beautiful." "Yeah." She looks into the distance. "I just... I haven't told you but." "But, what?" "I can't remember anything since I woke up. Can you tell me?" "So far, when the crew pulled you out of the water, you were holding onto a board. I think it said something like, tranquility." "Hold on." Olive stared out into the ocean. She looked like she was concentrating hard. "What is it?" "I remember something." "What do you remember." "I remember my father. He is lifting me up in his arms. We are on a ship. The sun is setting. Then it just stops." "Oh. Is that a memory of yours?" "I think so." We go back below the deck and lay down. "Is there anything else you remember?" "Not really." "I guess we should go to bed soon." "...yeah." "Night." "Night." I wake up a little before Olive and went up to grab some biscuits and coffee. I come down with two mugs and a plate of biscuits. Olive is already awake. "Hi Aiden." "Hi Olive. Did you remember anything else?" I sit down on the bed next to her. "Yes actually." She takes a biscuit and takes a giant bite. "I was sitting on a chair in front of a mirror. My mother stood behind me and was braiding my hair. There were seashells on the table in front of me. I was making a necklace out of the seashells." "Any clues about why you were in the ocean?" "Well, I was on a boat." "*Sigh,* no." "...oh, ok." "Hey! Why don't we try some things to see if it triggers a memory." "Oh, that's a great idea!" We ran around the whole ship and talked to most of the crew members we saw. We stare over the edge of the railing. "Ugg! All-day and nothing!" "Something has to work." "OMG Look! Dolphins!" We watch as two dolphins jump out of the water and dive back in. Then, a baby dolphin jumps happily at their tails. Olive giggles at my side. Then she stares into the horizon. "What is it?" "I remember me and my parents. We are standing on deck. A whole pod of dolphins swims by." "That sounds fun." "Yeah." For the next two days, we continue to try to trigger some sort of memory. We hear from the crew that a boat would be nearing us soon so we went to the crow's nest to watch it go by. About ten minutes later we see the sail of the ship in the distance. "There it is!" We wave to the ship as it passes. Suddenly Olive's hand shoots to her side. "DAD! LOOK OUT!" She's screaming. Olive falls to the floor. "Olive! Are you okay?" She shakily climbs down back to the deck. I rush after her. She runs below deck and tries to hide under the bed in the corner. "Olive. You're okay. What's wrong." "It was a boat. We were hit by a boat. My parents were gone. I held on to a board from the boat. 2 days out there." I run to get the nurse to help. She was the first person I saw. "Something's happening with Olive." After a little bit, Olive calmed down. "I know what happened. I remember everything." "Do you remember who you are? Any family?" "Yes. I used to live on a boat called tranquility with my mother and father. The only other family I have is my aunt. She lives in Matunuk, Rhode Island." "You should be with her not on this boat." "Let's tell the captain. The captain agrees that we should go to Matunuk. We call Olive's aunt and she agrees to come and pick her up. Her aunt did not know of the boat crash or the death of her brother and sister-in-law. The next night we arrived in Matunuk. "Soon I'll never see you again." "Well. Let's make the best of it now." We climb up to the crow's nest for the final time. "The stars are beautiful." "...yes, they are." We see a car pull up. "That's my aunt. I'll miss you so much." "I'll miss you as well." She climbs down and runs to her aunt's car. We wave for the final time. She drives away. I hope that her life will get better from here.


Millie waited patiently in the sidelines for her new mother, Adoria, and same father, Mathis, to finally, finally, get to the real point of their speech. It's not like they called 60 percent of the village for kicks and giggles. For of course, Adoria is the new queen. Yes, Millie should be more excited about that, but she's not big on women only care much more about profit then personality. And even though Millie knew how much of that her father had, Adoria didn't care a single bit. Maybe she's just biased, maybe she just hates any woman who tries to take the place of her late mother's place. But, Millie has some strong evidence. If only she could speak... "Millie. Millie!" The sound of a familiar annoyance brought Millie back into the real world. "Yes, Blake?" She looked up at her younger brother. One of three. "Stand up! Adoria is here!" "Oh!" Millie stood quickly and civilized at the same time. Flattening her frizzled dress and looking around to see what everyone else was doing. Clapping. She started to too, but by the time she began, the applause was over. Making her delay-of-mind much more noticeable. And embarrassing. "Graci, thank you." Adoria spoke with a thick Spanish accent. Not only was that a little unconventional for the monarchy of Herein, them all being British, but it was blatantly hard to understand. "I can not express in words how happy I am to rule alongside my dear Mathis. And I only hope I can bring you that same happiness, all the years I am able." Sure, Adoria. Millie mocked to herself, as she slumped back into her chair. And, don't worry, everyone else was too. Adoria droned on about her thankfulness and appreciative spirit. While Millie only listens slightly, judged, and repeated. Some part of her wonders if there is some good in Adoria. A light in that dark spirit of hers. But if Millie's going to find the light, it won't be at a public speech. She knows, better than anyone, that royalty never shows the truth, the real truth, to the public. "Good heavens, that speech took a while, no?" Addison, MMM (Millie's Main Maid), acknowledges. "Indeed..." She trails off, quietly. Paying more attention to her threads in her blanket then Addison's question. "Something the matter, princess?" She asks. Oh nothing, I just am very against my new mother and think she's a danger to the monarchy as it stands. Millie thought, no, wished she could say. But all that came out of her was shrivel "No." "Are you positive, Lady Millie?" "...I don't know. I am just nervous." An understatement, and a large one at that. "What's bothering you?" Addison sat alongside Millie in the bed. Millie only looked down at her feet, while an odd thing started happening to her eyes. Tears. Why in the world was she crying? Sure there are many reasons to cry, but those are all in the past. And she's wasted enough tears on that. Why now? "Oh Millie, dear." Addison reached her hand out for Millie's shoulder. "I'm sure that whatever it is, we can talk about! I can even get the jester, to make you smile!" She only cried more. Still not aware of the cause, but she did. Addison pulled Millie's head close to her, cradling it. And they sat there for a while, while Addison quietly shushed her. Frequently saying, "It's ok, It's ok." And then, Millie found out what it was. Her mother passed when she was the mere age of 9. Long enough to love her mother, but too short to truly know what she did. Millie had to learn that without her mother. And only with people like Addison. And now, whenever she thinks of her mother now, it's just Addison's face. A fact revealing enough to know how long it's been, and who has truly been there for her. When she realizes this, the crying stops. "Apologies, Addison." Millie says, her voice still small. "I just- Thank you. For all you've done over the years." "Oh please, Millie. You didn't have to be all gloomy because of me!" The girls laugh together. "To add, you sound like I'm leaving you! And please know, Millie, I will serve you as long as you're alive! Or as long as I'm alive. Lord knows my age." Millie laughs again. That's another thing, Addison's witty spirit. Something it seems she'll never lose. "Now Millicent, you should get some sleep. The detainers out there might get cross if you're up past curfew again." "Alright then. Good night, Addison." "Sweet dreams, Millie." She stands up, blowing out some of the candles. Then heading out of Millie's room. Now it's time for sleep. The hardest part of the night... *** ...And it wasn't any easier this night. In fact, it might've been even more difficult. Tossing, turning, and thinking are big trends tonight. Not to mention the weird urge to explore the castle. And, Millie could. She has experience. But Addison was right about the guards. They would get cross with her... Then again, Millie was a quiet walker. And they would understand. Right? A princess can clear her head when she wants to. And on that idea, Millie stood up, lit a candle and quietly started her quiet walk around the quiet castle. Or, hopefully, a quiet castle. The small flame was only helpful for Millie's immediate vision. Anything further was dimly lit by the castle lights and basically a danger zone. But it did have a warm welcoming aura. And the fire's movement was so flawless, electric, and mesmer- "Millie!" Oh no. A guard just whisper-yelled at her. "What the blazes are you doing out here? You should be asleep!" Or at least, Millie thought that was a guard. No legal man would curse like that, and usually they call her ‘princess’... She turns around. And of course, “Why aren’t you asleep, Edward?” She whisper-yells back at her older, but not eldest, brother. “I- That’s not important. I’m the adult here.” Millie blinks rapidly. “You’re sixteen.” “Close enough, now get to bed.” Edward reaches out to grab Millie’s candle, but she, impulsively, turns away. “Millie, don’t be difficult.” He groans. “Sorry, I just-” She sighs. “I couldn’t sleep so... I didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts. I had to clear my head.” Edward nods his head, slowly at first, but then a little faster. “That’s understandable. But I wouldn’t advise being out too long. Someone cou-” He gets cut off by a scream. By a familiar voice. Scarily familiar. Then there are words: “No! Please!”. And that’s the giveaway. “Father...” Millie mumbles. Edward looks frightened, aware of what Millie could, and probably will, do next. “Father!” She runs toward the voice as it shrieks even louder. It’s a distressful call. A call for help. Her father is in danger. She treads faster, almost tripping on the carpet that bunches up with every step Millie takes. She reaches the doors of her fathers chamber. What scares her is the sight of fallen guards. But most of all, the open door. “Millie!” Edward, who has been chasing her this whole time, gasps for air. “Don’t go in, we should tell someone- leave it for people who know what they're doing.” Millie turns sharply. “I know what I’m doing.” “Millie please.” He grabs her arm gently. “I don’t want you to see something you wish had not.” She quivers, imagining all the possibilities she could walk in on. But she has to come to her father. He’s not safe. With much hesitation, Millie enters the room. Gently opening the door... And everything Edward said comes to pass. *** “Are you going to inform the council of what we saw?” “No. I can’t. But you can.” “It’ll be better if it comes out of your mouth.” “Well, does the council really need to know?” “It is fairly damning evidence, Millie-” “Excuse me, your young highness's.” The deep, regal voice of one of the government officials cuts in on Millie and Edward’s conversation. “But we are here to discuss the recent regicide of King Mathis. Any differing conversation must be saved until further notice” “Apologies, Lord Kelton.” Edward properly bows. “And evermore, but I must intrude.” Kelton turns his podgy head in a confused manner, raising an eyebrow. “As me and my dear sister have something to share.” Millie gulps, but clears her throat, thinking of what she’ll say. Knowing there’s no escaping this, she tries to envision what will happen: Ok, I’ll stand up and finally tell just about every important person in the monarchy about who I think, no, know did this. How it was Adoria. We saw her jewelry, clothes, and maybe even a lock of her hair. And then after, I’ll tell them how she only trying to weasel out money in her new queen-ship. She’s proved how much of a threat she can be, by killing father. And this, this, shall be his justice. “Mr. Lord Kelton Sir-” Millie starts strong but weakened so quickly she would impress a fire in the rain. And it was all due to the look she got. Or the look s. From Kelton. From the council men. From her eldest brother. Her youngest brother. And even Edward. It all put out her little flame of passion. She really felt insignificant. “Yes, Lady Millie?” “...Nothing. Nothing, nothing.” She covers up quickly. “I just had an outburst.” She laughs, difficultly. While the councilmen keep their blank expressions. Her brothers? One’s cringing, one stifling a laugh, and the last just looks disappointed. You could probably put together which. "Are you positive, princess?" Kelton queried. "I'll take it from here, Kelton." Edward starts. And continues. And continues. Knitting and binding words together so effortlessly in a way Millie never could. And probably will never be able too. As it seems this little doubter inside of her won't go away any time soon. And by the time it does, it'll be too late. Millie is always late. She can only have the desire to help, but she never executes it. What’s wrong with her? The meeting ended with Adoria’s arrest along with Adoria cursing at just about every child in the room. It all went the way Millie wanted to, justice was made for her father. But she didn’t speak a word. She wouldn’t like to admit that she wanted to. She’d seem like a pride chaser. But who is she tricking. She hates herself for not saying anything. That is why she’s here anyway, at Herein’s penitentiary. To talk to her father’s killer . “You sure you’re ready for this?” Graham, Millie’s eldest brother and Herein’s promised new king, questions. “No. Nothing can ever prepare for something like this.” Millie responds. “So why do it, Millie? It’s fine to back out now.” Graham proposes. And Millie’s willing to take the offer, she doesn’t want to regret something as potentially scarring as this. But she’ll keep that self-hate if she doesn’t finally speak now. “No, Graham. I have to do this.” Millie states. And her brother does not stop her. Instead, he smiles, and opens the door to the prisoner's cell. Adoria speaks immediately. “Welcome to my humble abode, Millicent.” Millie clears her throat. “Prisoner, pardon me but it is lawfully rude to call me by my name without putting ‘lady’ in front of-” “Please save the legal act for someone else, Millie.” Adoria cuts off. And Millie does accordingly. “You’re right, I shall get to the meat here.” “I firstly want to say that I knew for a long time. I knew your motives and desires out of your relationship with my father. Money. Cliche but, you still wanted that.” Adoria rolls her eyes. “I didn't come here to shame you, or vent, or condemn. I only want to tell you to please keep your truth, and stay honest. Falseness really only hurts the human heart, as it did with mine. And my late-father... Just keep that in mind Adoria." She only sighs. "Do you really think I'd worship some 12-year-old's words?" “I’m 13, actually.” Millie says a-matter-of-factly. “And I don’t expect you to worship my words, I only want you to remember them. And don’t think of it as a child telling you this. Think of it as your princess.” She smiles smugly, then leaves the room. Millie closes the door in a way you would with a book, or envelope. She finished something. Bigger than talking to a convicted felon. She spoke. And it was that fulfilling. Millie has closed the chapter of silentness, stillness, today. She will no longer wait for others to speak for her, and will respond to whatever questions she is asked- “Millie!” Graham shouts for, probably, the hundredth time. “Ah! Sorry, I was thinking.” Millie apologizes. “I asked you if it went well.” “Oh, it did. At least, in my mind.” “Good. Now, let’s get back to the castle.”


What happens when you receive an email meant for someone else? Forward, delete, spam. I was the delete type. Admittedly, this had not always worked out for me, so I turned into a forward type. What if I had not changed? What a different life I’d be living, if I had deleted one email on one particular day. Monday morning promised to be ordinary. Bored! I swiveled in my office chair, wondering how I was going to make it through the rest of the day. I worked for a graphic design company which was up against a vital deadline. An S&P 500 company needed a facelift after an FBI investigation into their accounting irregularities had uncovered billions in misappropriated funds and led to the indictments of multiple company executives. The company hired us to produce a new graphic and slogan to become their new identity. Close of business was the deadline which had been pushed back twice already. There would be no extension this time. Deliver or refund millions in fees, otherwise wind up in court. And where do I fit in to all of this? I’m the account executive managing the client. Making promises, smoothing out deadline pushbacks, and acting as a liaison between the two companies when disputes arose. My paycheck generally said, “you’re crushing it,” but my free time was fleeting. Thus, no personal life. No wife, no children, and no real hobbies. But it was better than my former life. Waiting. Thirty minutes of waiting for an email from a product manager. Waiting normally was not so tedious. Walk around one of our building’s floors, find some talkative coworkers, and plan a Monday night out at a trendy bar somewhere in the city. That was my routine. But life has a way of forcing change upon us in a manner in which we cannot see coming. A chime! Email arrived. No, this isn’t right. The email was from my client and the subject line read: out of time. What the fu-k?! My mind went straight to fires, alarms, disaster. I am not a miracle worker. Talk can only smooth out a problem so many times. Likelihood of my client accepting another deadline failure. ZERO! I hovered the cursor over the subject line, dreading the content, but did not click the mouse. The email was addressed to William.Gregory@ESOgrafix.com. Right company, wrong recipient. And who the hell was William Gregory? He was not even in our email directory. Oh, how I wanted to delete it, but I once made the mistake of deleting another employee’s misdirected email and received a written warning. Serious violation. Better pay a visit to Chuck in IT. And here is where I threw myself down the metaphorical rabbit hole. I clicked on the email. What can I say? I was curious. Body of the email: they know get me out protocol steps mia JKvie c, 7, 3 -*----**- What? Who gets an email like this? Why did I open it? Yet, part of me was satisfied that I did. Someone was in trouble and trouble was not boring. Print. I retrieved the printout and looked around for my manager, Sylvia. And there she was, standing near the entrance to the IT wing. Well, I can handle abuse. As I approached, she stopped giving orders to a flustered assistant. “Where are you going David? The restroom is that way and nothing is down here except IT and the side exit.” “Relax Sylvia. I’m not fleeing the building. I promised you I’d never duck out again on a big deadline day. Going to see Chuck. Email problem. Not with mine. Got one meant for William Gregory.” Sylvia’s eyes widened just enough for me to notice. “David,” she began, hurrying over to me. I stopped dead in my tracks. “You don’t know?” I made a what-are-you-talking-about face. “Sylvia. What’s the mystery?” “William’s dead.” I had not expected that. “Old age?” “No!” Sylvia looked around and then leaned in a bit too close for my comfort. “He died in an accident. At least that’s what the NYPD reported, at first. In the New York Times this morning, it said the FBI was now investigating it as a murder. Part of an ongoing investigation.” Nope. Did not like the sound of that. “Then I better go see Chuck about this email.” As I jogged down the IT wing, I tried to reason out William’s death. Maybe he had owed money to the wrong person. You never know. I knocked on Chuck’s door. “Enter!” As I went in, the sunlight streaming in through the room’s tall windows was half blinding. “What is it David? Something important because I don’t have time to bullsh-t. Email server fu-ked up again. Hundreds sent all over the place, some went external.” He followed up that greeting with some techy jargon. “Great Chuck. I was dying of boredom out there and now you’re going to put me to sleep with that incomprehensible tech talk. I’m here because of one of those misdirected emails.” He did not look up but offered an “ugh-huh,” while typing. “It was meant for William Gregory.” “That guy’s dead!” erupted Chuck, looking up at me. “Glad I have your attention, and yes, Sylvia just filled me in on that. FBI thinks it may be a murder.” “No sh-t.” Chuck scratched his balding head. “You still have the email?” I slapped the hard copy onto his desk. He read it over and shook his head. “Don’t like this. No...this...this is bad. Oh my God, they’re trying to kill me. I can’t take this stress. I’m only human!” “Who’s trying to kill you, Chuck?” I held back a smile as I went to a window, admiring the city skyline. One day, Chuck had been hit by a bus and miraculously walked away unharmed. Ever since, he had been convinced that whatever deities ran this crazy universe were intent on finishing up the job they had messed up. “It’s payback. I cheated death, and now the carnival overseers are pissed off,” he often said something like this. “Who do you think’s trying to kill me?! Same malevolent forces as always. I should’ve stayed home. My wife told me to call out sick. She knew. Oh yeah, she knew.” “What about the email? It’s weird, right? Addressed to a dead guy,” I tried steering him back on track. He re-read the email. “Come on Chuck. What are you thinking?” “Weird? Is that what you said? It’s a god d-mn nightmare!” Sylvia’s dramatics led to more work, so they annoyed me. Chuck’s dramatics entertained even when life and death were concerned. He continued, “A young woman, named Mia, worked in my department for a few weeks under special circumstances. She was a government plant. Exposed that guy, Wambach, who was pilfering social security numbers and other data from contractors.” That statement caught me off guard. “You’ve got to be f-cking kidding me.” I went over to the desk and snatched up the paper, re-reading it. “You’re telling me all of this is real?” “Time to call the NYPD. Gotta report it.” “What about all these random letters, numbers, symbols? You’re a crypto genius. What do you make of it?” “I don’t do cryptography professionally anymore and how the hell am I supposed to know? It could be coded instructions or maybe nothing.” He was getting frantic, rummaging through drawers. “Where’s that blasted number?” He pulled out a yellow sticky note. “Aha, NYPD. I don’t know David. Maybe it’s a verification code so William would know Mia was the authentic sender of the message.” Boom. And there’s the Chuck genius that everyone knew. If he could eliminate his death paranoia, then he could be back working for the Department of Defense contractor, Xylive, that once hired him to develop and break codes. “David, back to your desk. Let me make this call.” Fifteen minutes passed. As I leaned back in my chair, sighing, my phone rang. I flew forward and picked up the receiver. “What happened?” “Get back in here.” Click. It was Chuck. This time, I ran down the hall. “How’d it go with the police? They issue a warrant on you yet?” Chuck considered for a moment. “Probably will. I could be wrongfully accused, convicted, and killed by my cellmate.” “Too morbid. What did the police say?” “A detective Lopez with homicide just left. He’s coming to speak to us.” “Well, that ruins my plans for tonight.” Just as I turned to leave, Chuck exploded. “I can’t believe I forgot.” “Whoa! Chuck. Easy.” “No, no, look.” He fumbled in his pants pocket and produced his cellphone. Going into a desk drawer, he pulled out a USB cord and hooked his cellphone up to a laptop. He rifled through photo folders. “There! That’s the riddle. The code is the key.” “Chuck, did I graduate from MIT like you? I’ll tell you this. I know that’s a computer,” I said pointing to his laptop. “Cut the jacka-s routine. It’s all there.” He pointed to the screen which displayed a street map with a grid over it. “See around the grid’s edges. The capital and lower-case letters.” He referenced the email print out. “JK,” he moved his finger down vertically on the screen; “vie,” he moved his finger across. “There’s the correct square. Around each individual square are numbers and lower-case letters. Apply the same method with the “c” and “7” and that’s probably the place. Not sure about the last “3.” Could be the third floor.” Intriguing. “What was Mia like?” “Odd. Went out of her way to disappear into the background. William was a systems analyst for me and once I caught them speaking in a confidential manner. When he died, I was obligated to go through his email and ensure nothing was suspicious. Legal wanted to know if he had been threatened or did anything illegal. The only unusual item I found was an email from Mia with this scrollable map of NYC. I’d never seen anything like it, so I saved it onto my phone. I highlighted it when I submitted all of his data to legal but never heard anything.” “Look at you, master code breaker.” “Looks like I’ll be spending the rest of the afternoon with this detective.” “Wait, wait, wait. Mia was a government mole who kept to herself but had some kind of contact with William. What if he was one too? There’s a puzzle piecing together and it looks bleak.” “My whole life is a puzzle that’s falling apart,” Chuck added. A profound thought awoke within my mind. “I need to make an admission. Before I came to ESO, I was an Army ranger.” “No kidding. You don’t seem like the take-orders type,” laughed Chuck. “I’m not. Command had a group of us stationed out in eastern Afghanistan during the latter part of the war. On what turned out to be my final day of patrol, we stumbled upon a tough scene.” I related the rest of the story as though I was reliving it. In a way, that’s how it felt. “Another ranger in my group hears a scream. Five of us, including our translator, go into a house to investigate. During entry, our lead guy shoots two men who are armed with assault weapons, and we secure two others who are unarmed. Second room is locked. We break through and find five women in rough shape. Our translator tells us they were kidnapped. Probably being sold off or who knows what. He tells us that these frantic women are saying there’s a dead body in the last room. Turns out, there is a body, and the woman had screamed just before she was shot. That’s what we had heard. After three brutal months of patrol, I lose it. Go back into the first room and execute one of the kidnappers. Shoot at the second one but miss because the other rangers are already wrestling me to the ground.” I paused. “The rest was a nightmare. Court martial. Pronounced guilty of the military justice equivalent of reckless homicide. A year and a few months in a military prison. Dishonorable discharge. VA, counseling, anger management. Pulled myself together and connected with a veteran friend who knew someone at ESO. And here I am.” “You have some real resiliency. I wouldn’t have survived all of that,” admitted Chuck. “Now, what’s the connection between your story and this?” He held up the email. “I couldn’t save that one woman on that one day all those years ago, but I can save this woman. Where is she?” “You’re not going there?! I gave the NYPD the address. Let them handle it. You won’t even get inside.” “I have to do something. Trust me.” Chuck relented and gave me the address, which was less than a ten-minute walk away. “The police will send a SWAT team and that takes time. I may be too late, but I have to try.” “Look forward to reading your obituary tomorrow.” *** Driving past the place, I knew it was a bad situation. The three-story building was set back on a private lot with visible security cameras and no one in sight. At least you came prepared. Dressed in a suit, I wore a bulletproof vest beneath and a modified holster with a handgun, silencer attached. All of this equipment had been secure in my trunk. Call it PTSD or paranoia, but maybe I was more like Chuck than I cared to admit. After parking out of sight, I walked to the building’s front door and knocked. As soon as the door opened, I pulled my weapon. A teenager had answered the door and he had been holding a piece of pizza but now it lay on the floor. “Don’t shoot me! Mia’s upstairs. She’s been waiting for you.” I turned him around to face opposite me. “You’re my human shield. Don’t do anything except what I tell you, if you want to make it out of here. Only speak, if I ask you a question or tell you to say something. How many people are in here?” “Just me and Mia.” Something about him rang true but I needed proof. “Take me to her.” My hostage was clenched up and walking stiffly but managed to lead me up two flights of stairs. The place was quiet, possibly abandoned. We arrived at the third floor which had no hallway; the steps ended abruptly at a small landing and then there was nothing but a single door. “She’s inside.” “Open it.” He turned the handle and pushed the door open. No lock? No guards? Why the surveillance cameras? “Move,” I instructed, and we went in. The room’s interior reminded me of Chuck’s home office. Monitors everywhere, on desks, on the walls. Servers in one corner. Wires running like vines. Blinking lights. It was a lot to take in. “Where is she?” That’s when I felt the point of a gun press into my back. A soft, dangerous voice spoke, “Let him go and slowly hand me your weapon.” I obeyed and the teen ran out of my sight. What could I do? Making a move with my back turned to her was a low probability maneuver. “What do you see in front of you?” she asked. There was a blank white wall. Great. She’s insane. I’m not going to be able to talk my way out of this. Just need to wait for the right moment and then make a fluid move to disarm her. Need to test her out first. “Where’s William? He’s not really dead, is he?” No response. “Ok. It’s a white wall. That’s what’s in front of me.” Again, she said nothing. We stood there, listening to the symphony of computer sounds and staring at a wall. Then, something happened that I will never forget. My world changed. No, it altered forever. I felt her breath and her hair against the side of my neck and cheek as she leaned in and whispered. “Look.” I stopped blinking and stared, mesmerized, at the changing wall before me. No projector screen, no light shining onto it. How is this possible? The image of the wall grew fuzzy, wavy, out of focus. It dimmed and blurred. And then, beyond explanation, there was no wall and there was no room. But I was not outside the building. We stood on a busy sun-drenched sidewalk lined with palm trees and across from a boardwalk. Shirtless men carrying surfboards, women in bikinis, music, cars, kids on bikes. I felt the heat rising off of the asphalt, the sun hitting my exposed skin. I smelled the salty sea air and caught a whiff of coconut lotion. Tears came to my eyes. My legs felt light and I was dizzy. “ What are you doing to me ?” “You don’t know what you walked into when you stepped through that door,” said Mia. “What...I don’t understand. Am I hallucinating?” “Think. What happened?” I was in a room and now I’m at the beach. One place and then another. “Are we still in the room?” “Yes and no.” “Same place, different time?” “Still in the present.” “My God. A wormhole.” “No, but close enough.” The gun lowered off of my back, and I felt her hands pulling me back, back into the room. Everything looked the same. Overwhelmed and nauseous, I collapsed to the floor. Mia stood over me. “You’ll get used to it. There are many places that await us.” “ Us ?” “You proved yourself.” I simply stared at her. She spoke, “ The email . It wasn’t an accident. William chose you.” I heard the SWAT team breaking down the building’s front door. But then, I felt the same lurching pull, and we were off again.


It wanders the lands looking for fresh victims. Searching wherever there is lantern light shining in a world of darkness. They are easy to find but sadly far from and when they cross paths, the victims are sacrificed to a pair of heavy rustic cleavers. Having their flesh skinned so it may cover the light. These it will take attaching to the fur on its own back. To hang off dangling as this creature moves through the lands. Their light covered yet letting off just a hint to create a kind of armor protecting itself from something bigger and worse than a Butcher. A light flickering in the distance bounces around as firefly dances in the air. Moving in and out of these darkened lands trying to get back to the safety of others. This dance entices the Butcher to follow knowing it will lead to more victims to add to its armor. Stalking the dancing light, the Butcher watches patiently. Tracking each movement as it dips about the land and suddenly disappears. Confused, thinking there may be another monster here, the Butcher reaches for a cleaver tightening its grip on the handle for a sudden attack. Nothing. No wind, no sounds, no light, just nothing. The Butcher loosens its grip on the cleaver thinking to let it be when the light reappears further away and with another light. Now moving quickly to the base of a hill as more lights shine giving a welcoming glow. All together they light up another monster laying still. The Butcher now getting closer sees this monster is just a lion. Possibly an adolescent for it is not as big as it remembers. Its fur is all white with massive front limbs that have human-like fingers for claws and a mouth as big as half a human. Lying dead surrounded by the ones who took it down. A not so easy kill for people of the lantern. Goes to show that even they can become stronger in the dark when left uncontested. Still, the Butcher wonders how many of them were lost in this hunt. How many lanterns are never going to join its armor. Doesn’t matter. They may be strong to take down a lion, but they will succumb to the cleavers of a Butcher. Taking the fresh kill of a white lion, the Butcher watches the people as they are cheerful with what they accomplished. Light of the lanterns bobbing up and down playfully. All feeling accomplished knowing that a monster roaming their settlement is now gone giving up its resources for them as they enter a lighted area. The Butcher, stopping where the light and dark meet, looks onto their settlement. A bright light illuminating from a giant mound of lanterns reaching up pushing away the darkness. This is their center. Where many come and go about with whatever it is they do. Dancing, conversing, being playful, all of it is a disgust to the Butcher who knows the truth of the lands. A truth they must be reminded of. Now the Butcher enters the light, walking to the edge of their settlement drawing its two massive cleavers. Each one rubbing against the other to hone its sharpness while giving off an ear-piercing sound. The people of the lantern see this massive bear size humanoid and freeze in terror. A nemesis of humans now waits for a sacrifice.


The smell of mildew hurtles into Ann’s nasal cavity. She tries to move; her legs are stuck in their place. A groan escapes her lips as she struggles to sit. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a voice calls quietly to her. Alarmed, Ann wonders where she is and what happened before she awoke. The building she’s in seems to be a barn-like place. Straw is everywhere around her, she’s up against a bale of hay. And there’s a tractor-like vehicle ten feet away from her. She assumes that that’s where the other person is. The barn is rundown, the planks of wood are uneven. They allow sunlight to barrel in. Ann believes its midday, and summertime. She has no reason to believe it is summer, she just feels it. “Are you still there?” The voice calls again. It’s deeper, like a mans. They sound tired, much like how she thinks she would sound if she spoke. She tries to speak but out comes a grunt instead. Her throat is dry, she desperately needs water. Clanging catches her attention, its coming from outside the barn. A tall, thin figure enters Ann’s eyesight. She can’t make out any distinguishing features. “You’re awake, what’s your name?” The person asks, coming closer to Ann. Fear overtakes her mind and she tries shuffling away--as if she is trying to force herself into the hay bale. “It’s okay; I won’t hurt you. My names Arthur, and your roommate is Max. Arnie picked you up three days ago, you’ve been out ever since.” Arthur tosses two things toward Ann and she just stares at him, “I thought you might need these, but don’t tell him. He said you put up quite a fight.” He still doesn’t get any reply from her, so he rounds the tractor to Max. Ann hears a thump, so she guesses that Max gets a present as well. “Thank you, Artie. See you soon.” Max states without any hesitation. Once ‘Artie’ leaves the barn Ann reaches for the two items a foot away from her. Her muscles ache from three days of not using them but she’s able to grab them. “It’s water and bread. Artie takes care of us. He’s nothing compared to Arnie.” Max sighs after time passes without Ann’s reply. Ann stares at the beat-up bottle of water, slowly opening the cap. She peers at it with hesitation. ‘I guess if it’s poisoned, I’ll die no matter what’. The bottle is pressing against her lips and she greedily drinks it. Spilling down her face. She pulls pieces of the loaf and nibbles on them--not entirely hungry. Only when the light from outside disappears does Ann whisper to Max. “How long have you been here?” She asks hoping he’s awake. “A month, it seems that the limit Arnie and Artie will keep someone is two.” He says louder than Ann. “Why are we even here? And what happens after the two months?” “What’s your name?” He asks avoiding her questions. She sighs in frustration. “Ann, and you’re Max. Now why are we here?” “Well, Ann. We’re here to die. At least I think that’s what’s going on.” The wind outside shakes the barn, creaking and cracking take over the sound of silence. Once the wind slows Max speaks again, “I was walking home from my bartending job. It was May and late in the day. I think it was around 11 pm in Vancouver. A sedan started pulling up behind me. I thought that maybe it was someone in need of directions. Artie was driving, he was a stuttering mess. Then out of the back jumped Arnie. I had zero chance against him. He’s tall and big.” The trembling in Max’s voice is heartbreaking. Though Ann can’t see him she knows he’s holding back tears. “I’m sorry,” she pauses, “I don’t remember anything. I’ve been searching my brain, but I can’t find any memory of this.” Ann startles awake, a loud bang is heard in the distance. She can hear yelling, a gruff voice. She’s in a different position then yesterday. Instead of being against the hay bale she’s sitting up with her back hitting the tractor. On Max’s side. “Max, what’s happening?” She asks once she notices the man, probably in his twenties. His brown hair is shaggy and sticking against his forehead. Max’s face is adorning stubble and dirt. His black jeans are ripped and so is his black shirt. Ann can’t imagine what she looks like at this point. She knows her hair is falling out of a ponytail and she feels the clamminess of her body. “They’re fighting, and it’s not good.” Max’s long face is wearing a soft expression while he does a once over on Ann’s figure. Just as she’s going to reply the barn door is opened. Artie’s slender fingers wrap around Ann’s thin arm, pulling her to her feet. Without any word from any of the three he tugs her out of the building. The land around her still reminds her of British Columbia however, she doesn’t see the cities buildings or any striking landscapes. They approach a house and the door swings open. That’s when she sees him. Her mind pulls her from this moment into the past. Nearly a week ago Ann was making her way home after a party. Her mind was fuzzy from the copious amount of alcohol in her system. Ann’s eyes were swollen--her boyfriend of three years had just broken up with her. Apparently, she was too boyish, being a mechanic. That event caused her to run out of her friend’s house at one in the morning. It was a decent temperature--being mid-July. The sedan’s engine is the first thing she heard. It was a long road with barely any houses or businesses. When the sedan pulled up to her she immediately knew she was in trouble. Running down the road as fast as she could. Nowhere to hide, she just had to keep running. At first Ann thought she was exaggerating until the vehicle sped past her and stopped. A man jumped out of the back and started towards her. A laugh rang through the quiet area and Ann was too shocked to move. Like a deer in the headlights she just waited for the impact. Once the man had his hands on her she snapped out of her trance. Kicking and screaming; she would not go down without a fight. The man had to readjust his hold on her a couple times before he threw her on the ground. Ann saw the rock in his hand. She didn’t know where he had gotten it, but it came down on her head and she was out. “C’mon now. You need to keep moving.” Artie states trying to push Ann forward. It had been a whole minute since Arnie laid his eyes back on Ann. His jaw tightens as he remembers the whole incident. She was the hardest to grab. “Are you okay? I know the first one is always the worst,” Max asks Ann once Artie leaves the barn, “you definitely look like you’ve had a rough time.” “Max, for once can you just shut up.” She snarls at the man whose six feet away from her. Max turns himself around and Ann assumes that he’s done. However, he lifts the back of his shirt. Not only does she notice the lacerations on his back, but she also sees that he doesn’t have the ties around his wrists like she does. “Most of these are from my first time, I think he just likes to keep us around for fun after. I’ve only seen Arnie five times.” Ann shushes her roommate. “I don’t really care about that Max. Where are your ties. How did you get them off?” She questions hurriedly. Max sits back in his original position. “Artie took them off after I was here for two weeks.” “It’s like you’ve gained his trust.” Max hums in response. “Can you take off mine?” It takes a couple minutes for Max to get close to Ann. His body is so tired that he can’t stand very good. He gently pushes her body forward so that he can reach her hands behind her back. Ann winces and almost sits back where she was comfortable with the deep cuts. “Oh good.” Max gasps, Ann’s white shirt is now seeping with burgundy, and the smell of pennies hangs in the air. His face is pressing against Ann’s back while he bites at the zip tie. Relief washes over the woman’s face as she feels her hands come apart. She looks over at Max to thank him and is met with his bloody face. Her body trembles at the sight. “Thank you, Max.” As he stands the barn door opens revealing Artie’s figure. The sound of keys dangling from his belt loop. Max makes a dive for his spot by the hay, but it’s too late. Artie looks as though he has been betrayed and he grabs Max, hauling him off. Ann tries to scream for Max, but her larynx won’t allow her, and she cries herself to sleep. Max arrives again a few days later, he looks like he has taken many blows to the face. Ann is beside him as soon as Artie is gone. Her hands lifting his head to look at him. He’s unconscious but alive. To Ann that’s all that matters. Her mind is scattering. “This wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t help me.” She says to him, knowing he won’t answer. Her body is still aching, but she gets up. It’s the afternoon, Arnie won’t be back for another three hours. Ann is searching the barn for anything to help Max. She stays away from the walls; the wooden planks are nailed apart from each other. The two maniacs could see her if she isn’t in the more open area. The door is of course locked from the outside. Ann lets out a quiet shriek, her back injuries opening with every movement. A wrench hanging on the door frame is now seized in her hands. She turns away from the obvious exit and is face-to-face with the tractor. She makes her way to the seat of the vehicle and finds the gas cap. The dangling keys from the belt loop make their way into Ann’s conscious mind. Her body is being used as a pillow by the broken man she has grown close to. He sleeps quietly, wincing every now and again. Ann tries to sooth Max by running her hand gently through his hair. Arthur’s presence startles her, he tosses her two bottles of water and only one loaf of bread. “Your hands are free; did he help you with that?” He asks staring at the twenty-year-old. Ann shakes her head slowly, “no I was able to do them myself. Whoever put them on didn’t do it right.” She watches as her words effect Arthur. “They were tight when I put them on, there’s no way you got them off yourself.” He raises his voice. Arthurs body lingers closer to the two injured people. Ann is relatively short for her age, so she waits patiently. Arthur leans down, inches from Ann’s face. “Why do you lie to me? I just asked you a ques--” The wrench is driven into his skull with all the force Ann could muster. Which given his lanky stature was enough to knock him out cold. Ann turns to Max with her adrenaline running high, “Max we got to go now.” She lifts herself up and pulls his body gently. Max’s eyes are opening slowly, “Max c’mon, we have to go now.” With his help she gets him onto the tractor. Ann quickly searches Arthurs unconscious body for the keys. “What’s going on Ann?” Max whispers as Ann fumbles with the keys. She just hushes him and pushes the key into the ignition. The tractor roars to life after the fifth key and Ann presses on the gas. The vehicle can only go up to 60 kmh. Which hopefully will work. Especially if Arnie doesn’t know right away. They get halfway down the road when Ann hears gunshots. Two weeks later “Arnold and Arthur Gertold have just been reprimanded trying to leave BC for Alberta. The twins are known for thirteen murders and two attempted murders. Ann Wilks and Max Johnson were lucky to--” Max turns off the hospital room TV. “I’m tired of hearing about that,” he tosses the remote onto a nearby chair. “Well, I doubt we won’t stop hearing about it for many years.” Ann said packing up her things, “you almost ready to go? Doctor gave you the okay.” The now clean Max had just finished shaving when Ann came to pick him up. After nearly two long months of torture the doctors decided to keep him at the hospital for two long weeks. Ann was only in the hospital for four days. Max often complained. “Yeah let’s get out of here, are you sure your parents are alright that I crash there?” He asks, rubbing his hand through his hair. “Of course, in their eyes you saved me. We’re family Max.” She hugs the taller man and then they set off.


A scientist is working on a space program that is about to send another probe to a nearby planet that is known to have a vastly different environment compared to Earth. Their job is to design a few experiments and tools to test things once a probe has sucessfully landed. Knowing about the harsh conditions, the scientist is reminded of recently discovered extremophiles on Earth and just can't stop thinking about how such lifeforms might react to a similar environment if forced to survive there. After several weeks of pondering, the scientist comes up with an experiment that involves sending extremophiles along with the probe. The argument made is that it would be extremely valuable to understand if life from Earth could be introduced in another environment. How would these specialized extremophiles adapt to new conditions? Would they survive and mutate? How long would that take? A colleague finds this intriguing, so the scientists designs a more serious concept and eventually presents it to a superior. "Are you crazy? We can't just contaminate another planet with extremophiles from Earth!? What if there is already life on that planet? This experiment could have negative effects we can't even imagine. And even if there is no life on that planet, we would have a difficult time proving that once we introduce lifeforms from Earth. This is a really bad idea, please focus on your actual task!" Somewhat hurt, the scientist returns to designing other experiments, but the idea doesn't just vanish. After getting in touch with an old friend, they invite a biologist who has been researching extremophiles for a bit now. They start talking about possible experiments on the other planet, how to design them to answer the initial question: if extremophiles can exist on Earth, can they survive on another planet, even though they won't have much time to adapt? They discuss mutation rates due to increased radiation as well as possible chemical reactions that might occur over time, possibly creating a beneficial local environment to survive long enough to adapt. The biologist promises to do some experiments and they agree to have another meeting in a few months. The biologist gets in touch with a chemist, who is equally excited about such an experiment. So they start to design a box that could hold several cultures of extremophiles for a longer period of time, protecting them from the harsh conditions of the other planet; taking into account what they know about the conditions and the materials used for the space probe, they test a few designs and eventually discover that there could be a way to protect extremophiles long enough until the entire containment reacts with the atmosphere, exposing the lifeforms. But they hope that until then at least a few might have mutated and somewhat adapted. It's mostly a shot in the dark, but it's worth a try. The overall design is adapted to match the specifications for the craft and the scientist approaches the superior once more. "Ok, it seems like you really can't follow orders, but I'll take it serious just to show you that this won't work." They go over the details and the general design seems fine, but after a few more calculations, it becomes clear that the containment won't survive long enough. Best case, the extremophiles simply die off within days and are eaten alive due to the atmospheric conditions, worst case, they do survive due to pure luck and contaminate the planet. The scientists does not share that conclusion at all, as their survival would be the best case scenario. The superior is speechless. "You better get back to work right now or I'll fire you on the spot! This nonsense stops now!" The scientist leaves teeth-gnashingly. This could be such a great experiment, there is no doubt. A few days later, a very excited biologist calls. "You won't believe this but I found an interesting genetic variant that has higher mutation rates for some reason. We started to create a much harsher environment in our lab and they not only survived but adapted within a week. They are now more resistant and I think we could give them even a much harder time and they might actually survive. I'll call you back in another week!" Eight days later it is confirmed. Even though this genetic variant has populated a niche for eons, it seems to have the ability to adapt quickly to harsher conditions. For some reason, increased radiation activated a gene sequence that would allow for unexpectedly fast adaption. The biologist wants to publish the paper as soon as possible. They agree to meet in the biologist's lab to take a closer look together and possible redesign the experiment for the planetary probe one last time. They work through the entire weekend and the final result is actually much better. The containment would be intact for about a week, giving the extremophiles just enough time to adapt to the initially experienced new conditions within the containment. Then, the material would slowly peel away and give them a bit more time to adapt to the actual conditions, especially of the atmosphere and radiation levels. Worst case, they don't make it - best case, they survive and could be detected by future missions. Either way, it would be worth a try. The biologist is ecstatic. This could turn into a Noble Prize. After all these years of tedious work, finally a worthy reward. They start one-upping each other what they would do with all the money, but after a while it becomes rather one-sided and the biologist explores the sudden silence. "You can't publish these findings. If we want this experiment to succeed, you need to wait until the probe is on its way to the planet. Otherwise, they will suspect that I might be involved and search the craft. If you go public now, we'll never get a chance to do this. You need to wait nine more months, just to be safe. After that, you can do whatever you want." "I really can't wait that long I'm afraid. I need the funding yesterday. The results are amazing, I have already started writing. I'm planning to send the paper next month to be peer-reviewed. It will be all work and no play but this is such a crazy discovery. I - *we* - need to publish. Other people will discover this as well and they won't hesitate to share the findings with the rest of the world. Nine months is too long." "My entire career will be destroyed if you publish now and all the effort will be for nothing. I'm not willing to risk all that just so you can get an early paycheck. Can't you see how this experiment benefits both of us? You could even include the planetary experiment once we have the data!" "You don't even know if there will be another launch after all these failed attempts recently. Besides, your career will be over one way or another. Even if the experiment is a success, the scientific community won't be pleased to find out we basically contaminated another planet on purpose. Not everyone will see the value of this experiment. I need to publish these findings seperately, they are too valuable to be held back. The planetary experiment is your department, you will have to find a way to publish those findings yourself. Don't drag me into your problems just because we have worked this out together!" A heated debate starts and the arguments made receive more vocal support through alcohol consumption. While the extreme extremophiles are minding their own business in an even harsher environment than before, fists start to hit faces and other body parts. As the lab slowly adapts to these violent conditions, making room for unexpected movements rather awkardly, a skull eventually hits the floor. A one-sided inquiry quickly evolves into panicky cries for help, but it turns out that Sundays tend to keep away other people for unknown reasons. A phone call is made while the lab continous to wonder if an increasing amount of red liquid on its floor is considered a hazard. After a few silent moments, sudden hectic movements result in additional minor glassy fatalities, mostly noticed by the smoke detector. But since there is no smoke to report, the alarm is not triggered; it is clearly not the smoke detector's job to detect other problems. Someone leaves in a hurry and the lab is finally able to determine the current state of things. Apart from something heavy and warm blocking the floor in a puddle of wet liquid, many things are not where they are supposed to be - not just misplaced, but also missing entirely. This is concerning, yet such mayhem never occured before so maybe this is just temporary and things will return to normal soon. Voices are approaching after a while and it seems like many more CO2 emitters are entering the smoke detector's observable universe. It is not enough to trigger the alarm, but it is still unsettling as this is an unusual amount of CO2 emitters at this time of the week. Sundays are supposed to be quiet, that is what continous observations throughout an entire decade have revealed. The anomaly could be of relevance, but that remains to be seen. It is a rainy day when an old scientist is shaving an old friend who has never moved a finger during the last few decades. The news is all over the radio and TV. Signs of life have been found on a nearby planet which is a surprise since the harsh environment was believed to be uninhabitable for quite a while now. The idea that life could exist in such a place is creating excitement all over the world. "Listen to this my friend. Isn't this great news? We finally have an answer after all these years. What a great discovery!" The warm soapy water experiences more turbulence as a foreign object is diving into it. Being treated like that is upsetting for several reasons but the worst part is the grey residue that keeps floating everywhere, making it really difficult to enjoy life in general. One could file a complaint to the larger body, but in this current position there is no way to communicate. The soap itself, a companion one has accepted over the years, also is not amused. The general consensus is that this invasion can not stand, especially after the foreign object seems to be a distant relative of what is already spreading in their main habitat. As they debate potential actions, they are flung into the dark corridor, which will reunite them with the larger body in a while. This part of the journey is unpleasant but it is the only way to return after being seperated from the rest. At some point, the soap will go a different way, so their time to come up with a proper report is limited. "You see, my friend, it truly was worth it. Now we can finally celebrate!" A bubbly liquid is separated into two transparent vessels of a similar material compared to the previous enclosure; but after a short while, it is reunited again. What a curious thing to happen, as the initial separation didn't serve any purpose at all? The bubbly liquid is confused yet happy to oblige. Its job just started and it will be quite a journey. "I think you can publish your paper soon.


August 1948: ROY So far this month, skinny Roy Parr, all 127 pounds of him, has unearthed three chunks of petrified wood--a bit crumbly, not the shiny spars in the Field Museum nearby in Chicago, but real enough, multicolored pink and brown and crystalline white--plus various hunks of charcoal and driftwood, some tan pebbles, and two Indian arrowheads. Today Roy is digging again. He knows he’s too old for this, but he burns with curiosity. An inch below where he was digging yesterday, he finds two objects almost touching. One is small and shaped like an arrowhead. But those he found before were sharp and made of brown rock. This one is metallic and has blunt edges. Roy rubs it on the leg of his shorts. It shines up to the color of an old copper penny. He wonders why someone made an arrowhead of metal. The larger, heavier piece shines up to a brighter copper color. It is a rounded lump, flattened on one side. Roy perches the flat side on his palm. Now it looks like a little statue, of a sitting person with a huge mouth eating something. Is it a talisman of luck--a one-armed man eating a long, nourishing loaf? Or is it an omen of starvation and despair--a monster reduced to eating its own arm? He turns the lump over. Underneath is an indentation full of sand. He snaps a twig off a cottonwood, teases the sand out of the hole, and finds that it is a deep slot. He wonders if the arrowhead would fit into it. He wonders if the combination is magic. Roy’s father, Mel Parr, has given Roy a head for magic. They both needed something to replace Roy’s dead mother, yearned for something deep and mysterious to help ease their loss. Magic, tribal magic gave them a love to share. It started when Mel showed Roy the deed to the land on which their little bungalow sat, how it was passed down from the Potawatomis. The elder Parr learned tribal legends from a half-blood Potawatomi named Anson Eagle who lives on Miller Beach. Mel and Anson work together, white collar jobs in the rolling mill at Gary Works. Anson told Mel and Mel told Roy of the tribe’s beliefs--in the two spirits, Kitchemonedo the Great Spirit and Matchêmonedo the Evil Spirit, of the Seven Grandfather Teachings, and of the Great Chain of Being connecting past, present, and future generations... and that the mission of the people was embodied in their name, Keepers of the Fire, the counsel fires that the Potawatomi made to keep peace with their relatives the Chippewas and the Ottawas. They united to smoke the pipe of peace--the calumet . Soon Roy begged to meet Mr. Eagle. Mel worried that he would lose his special bond with his son, but he introduced them and hoped for the best. They first got together that June in Marquette Park. They fished in the morning and lounged in the afternoon by a picnic table to grill dinner the old way, skewered on sticks over an open fire. The bluegills weren’t biting, so they ate Mel’s store-bought pollock. But, over the glowing embers, with their bellies full of charred fish and some roasted marshmallows, Anson got expansive with the curious boy. He told Roy how his tribe used to fish the very same river. The lagoon in the park was an isolated remnant of the old Calumet River. The slow, winding stream and its boggy boundaries used to provide wild rice, too. His forebears plied it in the warmer months, using spears for the mighty sturgeon--as long as a man--nets for trout and perch; and beating sticks for wild rice in the fall. The women farmed and collected berries and wild plants. Their specialty was grinding sweet calico corn and vegetables into cakes to wrap in basswood leaves and bake on hot embers. The leaves made the cakes smell like wild roses. Come winter, Anson said, the tribe trekked east to the woods of Michigan to trap and hunt deer, bear, moose, elk, even foxes. They followed the old Sauk Trail, now paved over into U.S. Route 12 running through Gary. “The highway that goes past our house?” Roy said. “Yep,” Anson said. “You go to school on a Potawatomi trail. It ran all the way to Detroit.” “Winter,” he said, “was also the time for setting down the tribe’s beliefs and stories on scrolls of birch paper. The Potawatomi wrote for hundreds of years before the Europeans invaded.” Roy was astounded. “Tell us a story!” Anson smiled. A story he loved was of Wisaka the Trickster. Wisaka was raised by Grandmother Earth in great poverty. He remained scrawny, roaming the land until one day he met a fox. Wisaka told the fox he would be poisonous to eat. But, Wisaka said, if the fox helped him build a lodge, he would bring a bounty of food. When the fox had built the lodge, Wisaka said he would provide food by turning into a woman and charming the chief’s son in the neighboring village into marriage. He took two elk kidneys, tied them to his chest under his coat, and sashayed into the village, calling himself Nanabush the Beautiful. The chief’s son was entranced, and a wedding ceremony soon took place. But when the village showered the couple with gifts to leave for their honeymoon trip to ‘her’ lodge, Wisaka / Nanabush told them ‘she’ feared a ravenous fox had invaded it. The village’s braves armed themselves and followed the newlyweds, carrying loads of dried venison and trout. When the fox smelled the food coming his way, he licked his chops with pleasure. But when the braves unloaded their provender, the fox could see their carrying sticks were spears. The fox ran away keening in fear. Wisaka cheered with the braves, waving his coat in triumph. When his false breasts were revealed, the chief’s son and the rest of the braves ran away screaming of Wisaka’s betrayal. And Wisaka had provisions to last the whole winter. To use one’s wits to survive was the lesson, Anson said. Roy heard only that a weakling can use creativity to become a hero. Such a tale might seem quaint to people like the Paars who live in the middle of the 20 th century in a frame house rather than a wigwam, on a street paved with black cinders--slag from the blast furnaces--rather than on the shore of a stream. But their neighborhood, Indian Hills, has kept its age-old surroundings of sandy fields and dense woods because of its remoteness from the trendy beaches, the smoke-belching steel mills downtown, and the stores on Broadway. Indian Hills owes its sandy surface to recession of the Big Lake over thousands of years. That has left a foot or more of what everyone in the neighborhood calls sugar sand. A bit farther from the street, dunes rise and a wood of maples, beeches, and oaks. To Roy the sand is the mysterious provider of treasures. The greatest of them now lie in his hand. To appreciate their potential, he recalls Mr. Eagle’s story of Wisaka. Could a weak child really fool a fox, a brave, a chief, even a whole village? Roy wants to believe the story. He’d love to share it and his new treasures with friends. But he has no friends, sees no one his age during the summer. He tells himself he doesn't care, he has magic. Roy thinks as hard as he can about someo ne more important than friends--Wisaka. He hungers for adventure too much to wonder whether the statuette is of a lucky man or a desperate monster, or whether magic comes from Kitchemonedo or from Matchêmonedo. He whispers fervently, “Wisaka, help me. Send me!” and inserts the arrowhead into the slot. The sand, the hills and the woods blur into a vortex, a swirl of colors. A cacophony of warrior howls and fox screams assaults Roy’s ears. The sweet rose aroma of burning basswood leaves fills his nose. And everything turns black. August 1810: NIKAN “ Cigwe '!”--Thunderbird! --Nikan shouted in Neshnabek, which we call Potawatomi. He pointed at a large black bird ruffing its tailfeathers. To the old man, such enthusiasm was childish in a sixteen-year-old. “ Co, m shike' ,” he said. “No, it’s a turkey.” He sighed. “You have turned away from what growing men must see, must do.” Crouched in the stern of his birch bark canoe, ash-wood paddle in hand, he spoke again to the boy in the bows. It was more courteous this way, with the boy not having to face him. “You have become a dreamer.” The boy kept paddling and craning his neck to see the sights. It was August, and the Grand Calumet was running slowly. The man dug his paddle into the water, turning the canoe to avoid a snag. “Do you deny it?” “No, grandfather. But...” He trailed off. “But what?” “But I love to dream! Of the bear and the elk. Of what the whippoorwill’s call means, and why the dove sounds so sad. Of how the pheasant got its beautiful feathers.” “That will not help us face the Sauk or the Ojibway in their war canoes. Nor will we eat if the Pokagon take our game. If all young ones sat around like you, our people would vanish.” “But grandfather. Medicine Woman says we are all joined together, that we must love and respect all beings. How can I fight--kill--humans if I believe Medicine Woman?” Grandfather huffed. “Medicine Woman has no need to gather food. It is brought to her for giving us wisdom. A man cannot live on wisdom alone. He and his family need food in their bellies. A man must learn to tell the clouds of wisdom from the rain and snow of the real world.” “But, grandfather, don’t clouds become rain and snow?” The old man threw back his head and laughed. “Ah, Nikan. Yes, all is connected. And all that grows matures in its own good time. And you--" he chuckled-- “you may be too clever for your own good. Or maybe you will become the next Medicine Man. Shall we speak to Kwe’ Wapun, whose words you revere, and ask her if you will become our next healer?” Nikan beamed and threw his hands in the air. “Yes, grandfather!” “A grandfather’s recommendation must be taken seriously,” The Medicine Woman said, seated with Nikan and Grandfather by the evening fire outside her wigwam. “But the test is what counts. If you cannot pass the test, you cannot become a man of medicine--ever. Are you sure you want to dare the dream hunt?” Nikan said, “I am not a boy, Kwe’ Wapun. I am old enough and sensible enough to ask of the dangers.” The Medicine Woman nodded approvingly. “It is no small thing to go without food for three days. It is a test of bravery to wander alone without the company of the Neshnabek for that long. Who knows what animal might hunt you? If it be a spirit animal, what kind of magic might befall you?” “Does magic come from Kitchemonedo the Great or from Matchêmonedo the Evil?” “A prudent question. I will answer it with a tale of Wisaka the trickster. It was a time of drought. Wisaka’s people--our people--were dying of thirst. Miles upstream, Wisaka had seen a dam made of reeds, branches, and mud. A lake lay behind it. The Frog People had built the dam and were luxuriating in their water. Wisaka took on the form of a coyote and spat in the dirt. He rolled in it until he was coated and filthy. Then he trotted south to show himself to the Frog People. “‘Take pity on me,’ he cried to their chief. ‘Let me wash in your bounteous waters.’ The chief said, ‘Get to it! You look terrible. And you smell even worse!’ “Wisaka dove into the lake. He swam underwater and dug into the dam. Tossing reeds and branches aside, he dug until he made a hole. When his lungs were about to burst, he popped through the hole and swam down the new stream all the way back to his people.” Kwe Wapun stared at Nikan. “Did Wisaka’s inspiration--his trick--come from the Great Spirit or from the Evil One?” “From the Great Spirit! Kitchemonedo took pity on his people and saved them.” “But what of the Frog People, who no longer had water to grow their crops and feed their many mouths?” Nikan had no answer. “Perhaps you will learn of good and evil on your last night of praying instead of sleeping. But I warn you: it can make the faint of spirit go mad and tear their hearts out or cast themselves into the deep.” To his credit, the boy sat still awhile. “I know of death. Were it not for grandfather, I would be an orphan. The raids, the sickness, the shortage of game... our village does not grow as the years go by. But you have taught me that the Neshnabek will be everlasting. Someone must say those mighty words to the next generation. Perhaps it takes a dreamer.” “Anak ... maybe,” Kwe’ Wapun murmured. She raised her eyes to heaven. Would this dreamer be the one? In Northern Indiana, a boy-man on a spirit quest cannot hide in a cave at night. The limestone that erodes into caves lies deep in the Calumet region. Wind, ice, and five thousand years of time have created long spits of land that cover most of the area. Spits grew west from Michigan and, later, spits grew east from Illinois creating a huge, corrugated wetland. The land also grew vertically. Beachgrass started it, holding grass in its roots and sheltering sand grains and seeds with its leaves against the wind, until cottonwoods grew and were themselves covered by mighty parabolic dunes. That was where Nikan hoped to find a safe spot for his last night of the test. His goal was the highest dune in their territory, Mt. Tom. It was a struggle to climb the two-hundred-foot hill, especially barefoot, as the singing sands parted with his footfalls. The soughing sound with each step was the only comfort in his long battle up the steep, 33-degree slope. Nikan fell onto his hands and knees now and again, breathless, when the sand gave way more than expected. Moonlight illuminated the dune just enough to keep his feet out of the sharp-edged beachgrass that covered most of it. He reached the open top of the dune dizzy with hunger, too exhausted to take another step. But when he stopped watching his footing long enough to look up, he was amazed by the beauty of the night. The moonlight made the foaming breakers wash ashore from the Big Lake in moving lines of glowing white. The sounds of their collapse on the shore mirrored his panting. The sand on the shore stretched in great curves east and west. He raised his arms to match their arcs. The Big Lake cast a coal black shadow all the way to the horizon. Stars beamed above, swaying this way and that in the summer heat. Not a cloud marred the inky sky in which they swam. Nikan let the world wash over him, through him. He lay on his back, spread his arms wide, slid his fingers into the cool sand, and stared up. A shooting star flitted. Soon more came, wider arcs in yellow and orange. Nikan was enraptured. But when a big, bright green one headed his way and burst before his face with a thunderous boom, he cried out in fear. “Who’s there?” a voice called out--in English. October 2030: ELDON Elaine Trich, the slim, Eurasian former nun who served as chief ethics officer for the Genocide Project pointed at the image of Roy. “He made it! Now bring him back!” The image of Roy walking along the ridge at the top of the dune at night looked eerie until one got used to it. The flat screen showed his face as orange, his swinging arms in lurid yellows. The grasses around him looked mauve. Only the sandy shore was in natural-looking tans. The tans were much the same as those out the window, a view of Lake Michigan’s southwestern shoreline from a conference room in a luxurious high-rise. CEO Eldon Muntz turned from the screen to look down his nose at Elaine. His wide-eyed boyish face belied his intent. “Inane, tell me again. Why are you with us?” “It’s Elaine ! You know perfectly well, Eldon. And, clearly, you need ethical guidance. Claiming Roy gave informed consent by pushing the key into the slot is self-delusion.” Hernan DeSoto, the chief of IT and, at age 45, the elder statesman of the group, said, “He did invoke magic--he wanted to go somewhere. The question is, are we going to leave him in 1810, and make him stay? Do we go for data on the Indian Relocation, or is the technical feat enough for now?” Elaine said, “Bring him back to 1948 where he belongs! The rats never survived more than two jumps with their maze-running time intact. For God’s sake!” They had thought it a master stroke when Hernan produced the arrowhead-statuette combination. The simulation of native copper was superb. The tranachron-transmitter combination in the lump was invisible. Its infrared holo-camera gave weird images, but it worked even inside Roy’s pocket. And it allowed the illusion of agency by a simple action of the person holding it. Eldon raised his hands for silence. “Look, everyone, we don’t have to decide today. Let’s see what happens--whether the boys bond. We have all the time in the world.”