SENSELESS It was dark. Not just an ordinary dark, but a total absence of light. It was an inky blackness that seeped from the walls - if walls there were - and made those walls cease to exist. It was a blackness that was all encompassing, smothering in it's totality. It muffled sounds - it muted other senses that struggled to compensate for the lack of light, striving to facilitate some sense of...something. This dark was a black blanket that spread over everything - absorbing everything and giving nothing in return. Something. Then, within the all encompassing blackness, there was a stirring. A movement that tickled the air from somewhere within the dark depths. It was so slight, but it elicited soft sounds, almost muffled by the black darkness. Soft sounds that whispered sibilantly like small breaths. Breathing. The soft breaths became stronger and more defined. Something was definitely breathing, and nearby. Slow, steady breaths now whispered in the dark, and the stirring within the blackness became stronger, more noticeable, more insistent. Now there were the soft sounds of rustling. Movement. A hand reached out, slowly, feeling, questing. More rustling. Was that straw rustling? Was there straw on the floor? Fingers explored: touching, feeling, tracing the lengths of the strands they discovered. Each of the touches translating into sensory images within the mind behind the questing fingers. Yes straw. A single confirmation of sense in an otherwise chaotic swirl of nothing. Questing. The mind behind the questing fingers began to quicken - it's responses still yet slow to comprehend. Even thought here seemed to be muffed by the stifling blackness all around. It was like something trying to stir, yet smothered in black treacle. It was a molasses, softly giving and yet seeping back as soon as a space was cleared. Within the mind, a consciousness began to gather. Thoughts began to coalesce, slowly, one by one in the deep blackness within and without. Consciousness. The hands reached up and felt the body they belonged to - arms, shoulders, neck then face...and hair. Long tangled hair it seemed. Then down the torso, feeling a curvy shape and on down to legs... and feet. At the joint of leg and foot the fingers encountered a hard cold surface encircling that space and the mind reacted in shocked surprise with a single tangible thought...."prisoner". Questions. Where? What? Why? Who? When? Where was she? And yes... suddenly she was assuredly aware of herself as a "she", but other details still remained elusive and barely recognised as being absent from her cognisance. Befuddled and bemuse, she struggled to make sense of the limited clues she had as to her whereabouts. What was she doing here? Now there was a question that stirred deep feelings inside her...feelings of apprehension and fear. She knew from the manacle on her ankle (there!! words were coming back to her to describe and identify things) she knew she was a prisoner. Why was she a captive? A swirl of flashing images swept across her muddled consciousness, too fast to register properly, but enough to give her a fuzzy memory of a succession of events that had lead up to this predicament. They immediately left her with a sickly feeling in the pit of her stomach. Who had captured her? And even more important...who was SHE? Two words popped into her mind as she thought of these two questions. Two words that were...names. Areassa. Maleku. She savoured the names as she silently rolled them around her tongue, trying them out for taste and size. Areassa, she found, gave her a warm feeling of belonging. This is me, she thought to herself, and smiled in the darkness. Then her mind turned to the thought of the second name, Maleku, and this name made her shiver with a feeling of cold dread. Her smile at once transformed into the grimace of a snarl as her heart began to instantly thump hard and loud like a drum within the cage of her chest. This name was bad. Finally, the last question - when? When did she arrive here? When would something happen...and would that something be the arrival of someone? She was alone in the darkness, she was certain of that, because there were no other sounds but those she herself made. Time stood still in the utter emptiness of the blackness in which she found herself. The air smelt old and musty, the sweet scent of the straw the only thing that seemed fresh in that dead seeming place. Her nostrils flared as she scented the air for more clues, but deeper breaths just lead to a bout of coughing and sneezing that left her panting breathlessly. Eventually calm again, she licked her lips. Her tongue discovered that they were dry and cracked and painful as she licked. Swallowing the scant saliva that her tongue's activity had triggered, she tasted the dust coating them. It was the dust she had raised with her own movements, and it's taste was unpleasant. She needed water. Water! The mere thought of it caused her to realise she was thirsty, a deep thirst that furred her tongue and left her throat feeling raw after all the coughing. Swallowing now seemed suddenly far more difficult. Blinking her eyes as she struggled to come to terms with her situation, they stung and brimmed with moisture that her mouth craved. Tears trickled down her cheeks in warm, wet trails that she brushed away with the back of a hand. Were they tears caused by the dust? Or were they due to an upsurge of emotion? She shook her head disdainfully, chiding herself that this was no time for tears of any kind. A rumbling gurgle from her stomach gave a sharp reminder that she was also hungry. When had she last eaten? She didn't know, but the immediate vision of hot venison stew filled her imagination with such a temptingly insubstantial remembrance of the flavoursome feast that her stomach cramped on it's emptiness. Thoughts of her stomach lead her to the next realisation of her other bodily needs. She squirmed where she was, half sitting, half lying in the skimpy bed of straw she had first woken up on. Whether there was an amenity within her reach she did not know, and as yet she desisted the urge to discover. Her mind drifted in on itself....drifted inwards to the growing maelstrom of images and emotions created by her recent recollections. Her mind observed the spinning chaos and she felt herself being pulled ever deeper into the well.


This has something to do with the novel that i'll be working on soon that i think that i'll be calling 'demi-god savior?' this isn't the exact stuff that will happen but eh. I'm just trying to make some stories now and i hope that you enjoy. Mika. Ryder. The two of them had been friend's for as long as they could remember, almost since birth. At least that's what Ryder liked to tell her. Though in a way he WAS kinda true about that. They had met after a week after birth, that was close enough. They had met each other that early because they shared a...future. Mika's parent's had someone come into the hospital right after her birth, she was kind of like a fortune teller. Even then the fortune teller lady had also done this with Mika's mother and even father. Though it was nothing interesting for them. Though she had a really...interesting future. "What do you mean by that? She CAN'T go and do that!" Her father didn't like it. It had been this way in the world for over two decades, their daughter wasn't going to ruin it. The Fortune Teller sighed and spoke again, "I've told you, your daughter...Mika will grow up to free the demi-gods. I don't think there's a way to stop it." "What about the god's?? Like Zeus, Athena, all of them! they're also keeping the demi-gods like this, our daughter can't possibly stop them to help the others." The fortune teller remained silent as she started to walk out of the house. She turned around and stopped at the front door then she spoke, "Even them." Mika's parent's had waited a while, maybe some other kid had the same future. Or maybe the fortune teller was wrong with this one thing, They didn't always have to be right with things. They could make small mistakes. It had been a while until her mother got a call from one of her friend's. Their son, Ryder, apparently had the same future as their daughter. This was bad. The fortune teller told the same future to different people? They wanted to believe that it wasn't their kid's but they just couldn't. It would have been good if the future they learned wasn't with their kid's, but even then the future would be bad. Who would want to FREE the demi-gods? Who know's what they would even do if they were all freed. They could go after the mortals. Well, even if it wasn't a bad thing like that, they still weren't going to let them be free. They knew what they could do. "Mika, come on! We don't need to listen to that thing the fortune teller told us, we can do whatever we want. We're both eighteen!" Ryder told her. He HATED that someone was telling him what to do. Ever since the both of them were around two years old, their parent's were kind of controlling in a way. There were areas nearby where demi-god's were being held to do whatever the lead mortal- or maybe even what a god said. No one was going to be able to enslave a god. They'd probably get killed from attempting it. Though the mortal's AND the god's reached an agreement a few years into the demi-god enslavement. The mortal's AND the god's didn't really like the demi-gods- even if they WERE a kid of one of them. They still didn't like the demi-god child, especially Zeus. The god's and goddesses agreed to help enslave the demi-gods while not enslaving or killing the mortals. The mortal's agreed not to try and really do anything that came to mind to the god's and goddesses. What else could they even promise? They were just mortals, they didn't really have a lot. "How do you suppose we even stop our FUTURE, Ryder? and come on, don't you feel at least a small bit bad for them?" "Come on, we don't HAVE to listen to a stupid fortune teller, she could even be wrong about it!" While they used to not be allowed to go to those demi-god areas their parent's were letting them go to SOME small areas with them. Though only if they'd tell them or something. They didn't wanna be so strict and they still thought that the future could possibly be with someone else. Though still, even if it WASN'T them, they'd still need to try and find out who the future belonged to. Maybe they could go get rid of them, or keep them locked up in their house. This was still a bad future for them. Mika sighed as she pushes Ryder aside and starts to dig through a drawer nearby. He watched in silence as she wrote something down on a piece of paper and then set it down on the kitchen table. She waved back at him without saying anything and ran through the front door of the house. He already knew where she was going but he took a look at the note. 'going to see the demi-god's, be back soon. -Mika" "Wait, Mika!" he called out, "You don't have to give in to that future! do whatever you want, don't listen to it" why would anyone want to even free the demi-gods?? The nearest demi-god area was actually really close, while the two of them were still running, they could see it up ahead. A bit far back from that one they could see a much smaller one. Maybe around ten demi-gods there. He managed to catch up with her and grab her hand before they reached the entrance. No one saw them yet luckily, the entrance was a large metal door that had a scanner you needed to use to get in. "Mika...come on! you don't have to do this just because of a stupid fortune teller said so." "i'm not doing it because of the fortune teller, i'm doing it because i WANT to! they shouldn't be enslaved, i feel bad for them because i want to. not because of that lady." She then slapped his hand away and put her hand onto the scanner. They watched as a purple light appeared and scanned it, then it turned into a light green. The door began to open up for her. She looked at him and said, "I'm going to do this WITH or WITHOUT you Ryder...and i have a feeling that it's without you" She entered it. Ryder didn't follow her inside. oh boy, this is probably bad. what do you all think?


Author's Note Regarding Sensitive Material: this submission contains discussion on the struggle of infertility . I peer anxiously at the silver spigot of the decanter as I top off Aunt Marge’s glass of sweet tea, wary of a single droplet escaping through that precarious seal on the teal glass. Today has to be perfect, and heaven knows that the last thing a beautiful buffet table needs is three gallons of iced tea dripping all over the burlap tablecloth. Sweet iced tea, of course. This is South Carolina; around here, unsweet tea is only good for flushing down a drain. Aunt Marge cackles at my fervent concentration and shakes her head before plopping a wrinkled hand on the lacy shoulder of my dress. “Everythin’ is perfect, honey,” she reassures me in her natural drawl, bringing her face close to mine as she takes a satisfied sip. “Even the tea is perfect! She’ll just love it. She’ll love it all, and she loves you, Lizzie. She’s just so happy that today ever came.” I gulp at her last words, and quickly unclench my jaw as she pats my arm before sauntering toward the gift table. She doesn’t know; I can’t really blame her. To her credit, Aunt Marge is proved right. She knows her grand-daughter, my cousin Cassie, and her tastes well. That’s why I enlisted her “advice”, such as it was, for the shower. She spouted off ideas over the phone: a pink candy bar! Little pink flamingos decorating the lawn! A banner of pink and gold ribbons on the mantle! Won’t that just look lovely? Pink cups for the tea and punch! I wrote it all down, like a dutiful niece. A few hundred dollars spent and many boxes of cheap plastic arriving on my doorstep later, and my two-bedroom condo was transformed into a parade of pink to welcome Gracie Abigail - due to join us in just eight short weeks, as Aunt Marge and Aunt Jennie (my real aunt) and, of course, Cassie, remind us all the time. I hold myself straight, I pin a bright smile on my features as soon as Cassie bounds - a bit unsteadily with her seven-month belly - through the door and wraps me in a hug before gushing about the bouquets (“where on earth did you find pink hydrangeas this time of year?”), the garlands, the piles and piles of gifts weighing down my former kitchen table. “It’s all perfect,” she exclaims, running her fingers over the soft petals of a blush rose. But when I give her a sharp nod, her smile fades immediately. She quickly scans the kitchen doorway to make sure our various female relations are still gossiping around the iced tea decanter before wrapping an arm around my shoulder again. “I know today is hard,” she whispers. “I so appreciate what you’ve done today. It took so long for us, too. We’ll celebrate for you too, hun. I know we will.” My throat closes as she gently presses her forehead to mine. I say nothing; there is nothing to say. Besides, today is already perfect; what could make today any better? I surely can’t think of anything. So I jerk away from her as the doorbell chimes again. I pin my smile back where it belongs as I graciously welcome the next round of squealing, frenetic women climbing into the condo, each laden with gifts. An hour later, the two dozen or so ladies have drunk nearly their fill of sweet tea and pink punch, muscadine wine from the Midlands, and naturally, champagne. No champagne for Cassie though; Aunt Jennie hands her box after box of gifts, cards upon more cards tucked into pastel bags. Cassie gasps with every toy, blanket, trio of onesies she opens. I am tucked awkwardly between her and my fireplace, my ballpoint pen trembling as I try to focus on each thoughtful present and jotting down the lady who gave it; Cassie has to write thank you notes, after all, and Aunt Marge says I’m just so great at getting the details right. I giggle at the little jokes (“you can never have enough diapers!”), and gently arrange each item beside me on the hearth once Aunt Marge takes a picture of Cassie holding it with a brilliant smile. After the first round of presents goes by, my mind retreats to a comforting haze. Listlessly, I pretend to add up all the gifts in my mind, in terms I can understand. Thirty dollars for a wooden set of alphabet blocks: that could have bought three pregnancy tests. The really good ones, the ones that tell you “early”. Not that it ever makes a difference. Eighty-five dollars for a rotating baby monitor, with two cameras included: that could have paid for my Clomid prescription. The one we gave up on months ago, after Dr. Samir threw his hands up and admitted that we had to try something else. Two-hundred and fifty dollars for a car seat: that could have bought the medications from Germany, the ones that my insurance won’t pay for, according to the assistant at Dr. Samir’s office (“I’m so sorry, ma’am, but advanced treatments aren’t covered under your plan. Of course, you can always pay out of pocket!”). It might have even paid the shipping, too. I snort a little at the four-hundred dollar stroller, the convertible one (of course, Cassie needs the convertible one): that much wouldn’t even pay for the first IVF appointment. I sip my sweet tea, impervious to the little gnat already drowned in my glass, and shake these terrible thoughts out of my mind. It’s not Cassie’s fault, or Aunt Marge or Aunt Jennie’s fault. It’s nobody’s fault. It definitely isn’t my fault. I manage well enough with my stock smile as the ladies meander out of my doorway a couple hours later, whispering their congratulations to Cassie for the hundredth time amid a handful of glances back at me as I thank everyone for coming today. As I expected, almost no one pays much attention to me; why would they? I’m just the hostess - the young lady serving the tea. Almost no one, except for Mrs. Davidson, the pastor’s wife, who leads the married ladies’ Sunday School at church. All of the others are filing out, mostly in pairs, dispensing hugs to each other when Mrs. Davidson suddenly leans in toward me. I draw back anxiously as her watery, dark brown eyes come alarmingly close to my face, but the effort doesn’t spare me her query. “Have you and Johnny thought about trying?” She leans in even closer, her eyes now brightly inquisitive. Trying . The word ricochets around my mind as my fingers go numb. “You know,” she continues slyly, “trying for a baby of your own, I mean.” I swallow quickly, and grip my palms together at my waistline. Had we thought of trying ? Had we thought of anything else but trying ? Was trying all we ever did? When would we run out of money to keep trying ? Any of those would have been more incisive questions. They would surely be closer to the truth. But those aren’t what she asked, and God knows, she does not want the answers, either. I will the muscles around my lips to curl into a smile as I reply: “We’re thinking about it.” Several hours later, I am alone in my condo, which is now covered in torn up bits of shiny paper, white and pink tissue galore, and the occasional sprinkle gone rogue from whichever cupcake it started the afternoon on. Now that the shower is over with, now that I have nothing to do, nothing to keep me busy, the space which I decorated so meticulously feels strangely foreign. The champagne-stained pink napkins strewn about, the ribbon garland bearing the words “IT’S A GIRL!” now detached on one end and slung lazily across my hearth. In truth, it feels offensive. I should clean up. I know I should. I always know what I should do, after all. Somebody has to clean up, and Johnny won’t be back from his deep-sea fishing trip until tomorrow night at the earliest. I told him to take his time, to go have some fun. He deserves it; like the shiny paper all over our floor, he’s torn up, too. But I can’t seem to move. All I can do is stare at the glittery golden words in their great slant across my fireplace: IT’S A GIRL! My mind fixates on those words as I draw a deep breath. I press my sore palms into the hardwood floor around me, and push myself to my knees, then my feet. Slowly, like a trance, I wander to my bathroom as the all-too-familiar cream tiles come into view. How many mornings, afternoons, nights have I said on the linoleum floor, hoping, waiting, begging anyone who might hear me to make my only wish, the only one that matters, come true. I wrench open the glossy white drawer, and pull out a test from its pink and purple box, wrapped in waxy paper: one of the “good ones”. I’ve only got this one left, I’ll have to buy more, and they aren’t cheap. But I have to try. It’s early; my cycle isn’t due for days. I already went through these same, tortured motions earlier in the morning; that’s the best time of the day to try, they say. This is foolish; it’s a waste of $9.95. It’s too soon, or too late. It’s never the right time . Everyone always says, “it’ll happen at the right time !” But I have to try. I can’t not try. It doesn’t take me long to wet the stick; I’m practically an expert at using these little plastic sticks by now. I sit down in my spot, once again, and hold it, and wait. Five minutes. Then ten minutes. It’ll be negative, I tell myself, over and over again, seeing the image repeated in my mind that I’ve seen in my palm so many times before. Once the timer on my phone buzzes at fifteen minutes, I switch it off, and look down. NOT PREGNANT. There it is, in plain English, black and white. Not pregnant. I quickly catch my breath, I gasp as the tears I’ve held back for twelve hours now fall in earnest. My God, if only I could have back all the minutes, all the hours I spent crying on this floor, all the times I hid from Johnny, all the times I avoided his eyes at breakfast, all the little plastic sticks tossed in the garbage. But the phone beside me buzzes. I exhale sharply, assuming that the timer has gone off again, when I see it: one unread message, from Cassie. I click the green icon, and get it over with. Thank you so much for such a perfect shower! I can’t imagine a more beautiful day than today was, and I can’t wait for all of us to meet Gracie. She will be so very loved by her Cousin Lizzie! I shake my head as a fresh round of tears falls. But then, a quick scroll reveals the rest of Cassie’s message: I love you so much, and I’m praying for you. Pray for me, Cassie. Please, pray for me.


Kratos C. J. R. Isely Sitting above that slim track of earth in the crowds, my fingers clench and unclench in my lap. Around me, there’s that hum of voices, all buzzing with excitement. None if it really seems real, though. They are voices that don’t exist. Not for me. No. For me, the only real thing is that slam in my chest, each beat an ache for something I’ll never have again. This has to be the nearest thing to torture that has ever existed. This is some glimpse of hell. For the first time since I agreed to this, I realize that I’m not strong enough for what’s to come. I’m not strong enough to face this. But, glancing at the woman settling herself into the seat beside me, her long brown hair pulled back, her eyes fixed ahead, I grit my teeth. She’s sat by me through so much, she’s shown so much strength. The idea of telling her I’m too weak to be here, that I want to leave, burns in embers of shame in my stomach. I push it down. Taking deep breaths, I try to calm. I rock forward and turn from her to look down again, shifting to get as close as I can to the rail. My knees press against it but, just like the sounds around me, that pressure isn’t real. It’s just a restraint, a barrier that insists on reminding me that I don’t belong down there. My eyes travel along the fences below, white and pristine. They travel to the starting gate, where track workers are hurrying to prepare for this moment. Without my bidding, they finally move to the shifting movement to my left. Half-ton athletes are led to the track from the parade ring, strutting and arching their necks, fighting to break loose of the riders who restrain them from stouter horses. The sight makes the air thick around me, like inhaling cold water. Watching their movements, the colors of the silks, I again question why I came here. I thought I was ready. I really did. But I’m not. I’m too weak. My hands begin to shake in my lap. “Did you want to go, Eric?” Amber reads my mind from my left. I turn to her and I see her eyes are shining too bright. Those beautiful green eyes that have been by my side for so long. She reads it all in my silence. She sees the struggle. There’s a piece of my heart that wants to beg her to save me, to take me away. I feel it choke in my throat and burn in my eyes. That weakness again. Instead, though, I force myself to shake my head and I feel her hand close over mine in my lap. There’s no point trusting my voice and she knows that. My breath is too tight and it only constricts more when another horse is led onto the track. That animal pulls away the last of my strength and I don’t have the power to beg to go. I can only stare at him with my mouth open to catch the suffocating oxygen. Bright blue and yellow silks shine under the sun on the blanket and the jockey. The big bay tosses his head and prances sideways, already anticipating the break from the gate. His white blaze shines like a beacon, his eyes fixed on the horses who’ve already been led ahead of him. The white number eleven on his saddle blanket makes my mind track backwards. Eleven on a track of thirteen. Again . I remember the last time, too. The last eleven. Memories of rain falling, of fog rolling in, the cold and the grey, and that voice above it all: “In the eleventh gate we have the favorite of this race--Kratos ridden by jockey Eric Sherman.” In there here and now, though, they aren’t saying my name when they say Kratos’s. Instead, I hear Levi Castillo’s name and I give Amber a quick and unsteady smile before turning my eyes back to the track. He’s a good jockey, a good choice. They asked me and I said he was the rider who could take Kratos out again. But it doesn’t make it any easier to sit here and watch. It’s not any easier to see the horses load in the gate. When I see them close the gate behind Kratos’s black tail, my breath catches again. Once more, I blink and my eyes to open to that other day, the grey and raining one. Beneath me, I feel the horse tighten and shift. His energy is my energy, tied together through that bond too strong for words to forge. A bond of souls, heartbeat, breath. We are one creatures, not of legs and hooves and saddle but of speed, power, and unseen wings. He rocks his weight back and forth, ears pricked forward and he lets loose a loud snort. When the bell rings in my ears, it breaks me of the loose of the bell ringing in my mind. My body jerks, expecting the rush for that split second, that feel of air in my ears, thunder beneath me. Instead, my knees are met with that metal bar and the crowds scream and I am back at the side of the track. Back where I am watching the horses surge from the gates from the sidelines. My knees press harder into the rail that blocks me and the taste of freedom. At my side, Amber is screaming herself hoarse and waving her hands. I don’t turn to her, though. I can’t look away from the streak of blue and yellow that is rushing to join the knot of horses at the rail. He broke a heartbeat too slow, hesitated that first crucial second. Thousand pound animals stretch into their strides, rushing, flying over the dirt. They surge along the first straightaway. I can only hold my breath and watch Kratos’s lunging steps devour the ground and throw dust at his wake. Part of me wants to scream encouragement, part of me wants to scream in the agony of sitting so still, but I lack the breath to scream at all. They are at the first turn and Kratos is stuck in the knot of horses in back of the pack. I see Levi trying to steer the horse to the outside, into an opening between a chestnut and a grey and.... Mud sprays over my goggles. I lean further into the black mane. Despite the wet dirt of the track that rains down on me, the blue and yellow silks of my sleeves are vivid. Just as vivid as the red and purple silk of the rider on the grey ahead of me who is drifting from the rail. And there. I see the opening. I see the smallest gap created by riders trying to break loose of the pack. Kratos doesn’t need me to tell him. He only needs me to show him the path. Power rushes in his every move beneath me, rushes us through that smallest break in the tight cluster ahead of us. Amber’s hand tightens on mine and it draws me back beneath the sun. She’s leaning forward, her eyes fixed on Kratos and the rest of the horses. I try to shake loose of the past. I try to regain the moment I’m in, this moment, where everyone around me is being carried in that hope and excitement. The horses turn onto the back straight away. A field of thirteen blaze the track with their pace, jockeys flattened against their necks, begging their mounts to give that last bit of effort, that final attempt to take the wire. Kratos has moved between two more horses, through the pocket, and is flying toward the tight group that leads the track. It doesn’t matter how hard I try to focus, though. It takes just one blink, one breath, and I’m again back. His hooves hammer a heartbeat that rattles in a different time against the slamming of my own pulse. There, the opening. That small hole on the rail taunts me. It’d be too much to ask of any other horse, but not Kratos. I know he can take it. He doesn’t hesitate at my slight thought, the twitch of my fingers in the reins. Instead, he throws himself forward with another burst of speed. We are flying into the gap and between the body of a black horse and the blur of white fence. We move from the back of the field to the middle of the track. I don’t need wings to soar above it all. The power of this horse gives me strength that no one will ever understand. “Coming into that final turn!” It’s a jolt to hear that same announcer’s voice in the here and now, saying the same words he had at that moment on that day in my past. “Come on, Kratos! Go!” Amber is screaming, her hand clenching my arm so tight that I am losing feeling in my fingertips. My mouth opens but I can’t yell. All I can do is feel the energy of the crowd engulf me like a fever. People around us are standing, shouting. Amber stays in her seat beside me but we push as close to that white rail as we can in these bleachers. The sideline is alive with mere ounces of that adrenaline that those riders feel turning that second corner. They are burning the track beneath them, coming into the home stretch and Kratos is moving out of the rail, opening wide. He’s covering ground with bounds, his ears flat to his neck, and I can almost imagine I hear Levi shouting encouragement to the horse. But I can’t be sure. It might be my own voice, yelling those words all that time ago. “Time to give it all, Kratos!” The words are whipped in the rain and the mud and the howl of wind that rushes in my ears. Hooves thunder in their own storm that has nothing to do with the darkening sky. Horses around are the only true tether to reality, the only thing my eyes can focus on. All else is a blur of grey and rain and distant troubles that belong to other people, other worlds. The hope stretch opens before us. Water glistens in the track moments before the horses tear through it, churning it. Kratos and I are coming up on the three horse pack that leads this track and I know he isn’t going to weaken. That fire that blazes in his blood is raging in my own. We are both throwing our hearts forward, rushing for the end. My fingers close on the rail before me now and I gasp for each bit of air that my lungs scream for. Those memories. They crash over me, they suffocate me. They flash between glimpses of the track under the sun. No. I don’t want to think of that moment. I don’t want to be there again. The horse leading to my left is lagging now, slowing. We are pulling ahead in each step and-- On the track, Kratos is overtaking another horse and the announcer is absolutely screaming himself hoarse. “It’s Kratos! Kratos, the longshot! Kratos making his comeback on the outside! He’s past Inferno Feud, he’s coming up on Settled Score.” Rain slams against me, there is only one horse now to pass, that white finish post looming nearer. I push myself against Kratos mane. “Can he do it? Can he make this comeback?” Something shifts in the corner of my eye and it’s all wrong. But I’m too slow in turning my head, too slow in realizing what is happening. The hooves of the falling horse thrash out and I jerk at Kratos’s reins. He tries to turn, tries to move both of us to safety. His hooves wallow in the muck of the rain sodden track. The world is thrown away from me while my body is flung upward. I’ve lost my wings in soaring. There’s one moment of seeing the bay horse flail, seeing him thrash for footing that isn’t there in this rain. Then I’m falling. I am crashing down from the height of power. Mud sprays around me, the first realization, when I hit the trembling ground. My body rolls, chaos roars, my heart slams. I try to move, try to escape. A field of thirteen horses. Eleven at my back. There’s one moment of purest fear before I’m again slammed against the earth. The hooves of horses destroy the ground around me, animals trying to leap my prone form. My arms fly over my head, and I squeeze my eyes shut. My screams are useless, my ears are ringing, my body is broken. I know I am going to die, I am going to die in this moment. The sound of breaking bones echoes over the hooves and the racing and the storm. They shatter where the thousand-pound stride collided with my body but the pain never hits. My body is jerked sideways, thrown like a plaything, and I am staring at the sky from my back. The grey clouds let rain fall over my face and nothing else is real. Nothing of the pain. Nothing of reality. No sounds. No sensation. Only the sight of the rain. But then a dark form is moving above me. His white blaze shines despite the grey, the mud, fall of the heavens above. He blots the storm. He shelters me. Sides heaving, sprayed in mud, Kratos’s nose reaches down to rest on my chest. I close my eyes. There is a moment where I hear the screaming, I hear the fear of others. Then, with my guardian above me, I know nothing. Nothing but the unconsciousness that swallows me. “And it’s Kratos in the lead! Kratos is taking the homestretch by one length, two lengths!” It takes all my strength to snap to sunshine and the track. My body is shaking, sweat is running down my skin, my eyes ache, lungs on fire. I can only stare at the dark bay horse who is a flat streak of blue and yellow silks, rushing ahead of the pack. “Go, Kratos!” My voice breaks on the scream, the only shout I manage before the horse rushes past the finish post without another horse within five lengths. Amber springs to her feet and shrieks, jumping up and down. She turns to me and there are tears running down her cheeks, rolling from those bright eyes. “He did it, Eric! He came back!” She reaches for my hands, kneeling beside me and staring into my face with her shaking smile. “He came back, Eric.” When I open my mouth to answer, I realize that the air has returned and brought tears pouring from my eyes too. Grief, pain, relief, joy--they congeal, they twist inside me, they choke me. Wiping her eyes on her shoulder, Amber tries to compose herself and I see all my emotions reflected in her face when she finally looks at me again. “They said they want you to come to the circle, Eric,” she whispers. “Are you ready to see him?” How many times has she asked that and I have ignored her, told her no, that I can never do it again? How many times have I thought it might kill me to see what I can never possess once more? But now, I know I’ve been selfish. Selfish to be afraid of hurting, of seeing him and not knowing that one of us will ever be able to fly again. And perhaps I never will. Never will feel that power once more. But I know now that Kratos still can fly. He still has his wings. And I can’t hide forever from that. I look again over the track. Some of the pain seems to have lifted in my chest. I know that I will never fly but he will always be my wings. I close my eyes a final moment and let go of that final self-loathing that has lived in my heart since that day, that fall. I let it go because he can still fly for me. He can take those strides for us both. When I open them again, I look up at Amber above me, above my wheelchair, and I nod. “I am. I am ready to see Kratos again.”


Every night, it’s the same dream. A familiar voice beckons me into that luscious, thriving garden. Through the aged wooden gate held together by rust and sheer willpower, I trudge. The path never seems too long, yet as I traverse it, I feel energies seeping from me that I unwillingly borrowed in the first place. Bonds that I have no earthly collection of forming shattering in the dense moonlight. It’s like radiation leaving my bones - colour draining from my marrow, my muscle mass shifting, altering. Remembering some form better than the one I hold now. I feel myself change, yet I know I am the same. When I get there, it awaits me. An MC-Escher like collection of plants, stairs, and the feelings and thoughts of those who came before me. Brilliant collections of living matter, intertwined and codependent. Forms that seem impossible in wake take shape here, beckoning even the most lucid of travelers. I find myself exploring, wanting more of this place. Every staircase I climb, new energy fills my cells, turning them into an instrument for incessant humming. I am but a vessel. I find new purpose in the unreadable, ancient etchings on the infant stone walls. Cryptic symbols that some part of me reads like home. After some time, the illusion shatters - I find myself falling through steep nothing as my body divides and reunites rapidly. New version of myself, colliding with the old. A woman, faceless and formless, yet clear in my mind. She comforts me as I undergo this process, becoming something new. I wish she would stop. No - I wish she would keep going. I lose track of my mind as it races off without me. There are parts of me that don’t want to change. These parts are slowly mutated, reformed and bathed in blistering white energy that ages them past perception. The more resistance I show, the more she grows agitated. But she never hurts me. It’s almost like she knows how much I am holding back in the waking hour. Eventually, I feel the changes come to a stop. I’m allowed to exist in the current form I hold - floating in an embryonic state, waiting for the creation of all... or is it the destruction? I feel fantastic. Frantic. Manic. The deep layers of depression binding my soul during the working hour no longer restrict me. I am formless. In this moment, I am whoever, or whatever, I need to be. I find peace. We swim through existence together, basking in all the endless possibilities of the new minds we hold. We visit those who are bound by their humanity, and we bless them with the same gift. Then, every single time, the shaking begins. The matter around me vibrates and I feel myself collapsing back into my primordial form. Sick, twisted, repulsive flesh and bone. Humanity I didn’t ask for. Ribbons of anxiety, depression, anger - wrapping around me like chains on an old boat. She fades away with a sadness that’s untranslatable. Every night I fight this rebinding, this recalculation of my earthly matter. But last night, a strange language filled my synapses, and gave me strength to fight. A location burns into my mind. It stays. I wake up in a pool of disgusting, mortal sweat as the alarm clock blares, calling me back to life. Notions of office blocks, morning coffees and office workers fill my mind as my humanity is recompiled. I long to sleep again, to feel the feelings I felt during my slumber. I want to feel those feelings constantly, to have that sense of purpose full-time. Normally, I have no choice as I sink back into my life. This time, things are different. I feel a calling to that location branded into my grey matter, a deep beckoning. I know what I must do - the Godmouth awaits me. It awaits you too.


I first saw him out the window, getting out of his car. He wore vibrant colors: A bright red sports jacket, bright green pants, and a bright purple hat. He had a pencil mustache, and looked too old to be looking as he looked. He walked up to my door and knocked. I looked through the keyhole just to see his eye looking through his end of the hole, right back at me. I opened the door. "Well howdy partner!" He said in a terrible imitation of a southern man. "How can I help you?" "Well, I heard you're an interesting guy to talk with." "From who?" "Well, from everyone around the block!" "I'm not sure what they're talking about, so I guess I'm going to have to--" He walked right in, gently shoving me aside. He walked up to one of my paintings, something I had painted a couple years back. It was of a naked man holding a cat, which covered up his genitals. The critics loved it and made all sorts of claims of what the whole thing was about, and they couldn't seem to agree on a single thing that the painting was about. A lot of people asked me about it, but I never had any answers: I didn't know what the damn thing was about either. "Well, this is interesting." He paused for a minute, "So, the cat is the man's coping system for the world, in this case it is most likely depression or schizophrenia, and without it he would be completely naked?" This struck me. I almost told him he was right, but then he walked over to the kitchen table, picked up a knife, and chopped his fingers off. Then, he ran over to the painting and waved his arm around, splattering blood onto it. I pulled out my phone and dialed 9-1-1, but when I looked up after dialing it I saw that he was running toward me. He tackled me and started beating me with his good hand as his other dripped blood onto my face and into my nose and mouth. Then, he dragged me by the collar over to my backyard and dumped me into my pool. He jumped in and pushed me down. I gasped for air, but only sucked in his bloody water.


Warning: Autistic Meltdown (Including restraint and self-harming behaviors) Leah fiddled with the volume button on the dash, turning the pop music up so loud it shook the car. Q covered her ears with her hands, wincing as the sound hit her eardrum. She glanced at Tytus, who was sitting in the back of the van with her. He said something Q couldn’t hear, and the car stopped shaking as Leah turned the music back down. “Sorry about that, Q-tip,” Leah said from the front. “That’s not my name,” Q responded, looking out the window at the blur of trees. “It’s just Q. You know that.” Leah laughed a little, fidgeting with her pink hair. “Yeah, but Q-tip is more fun.” Q smiled a little, nodding along to the beat of the song playing. She was excited to get to the Air BnB they were heading towards. “Oooh, do you think it’ll have-- like-- a pond or something?” Araria questioned excitedly. “Probably not. There was nothing in the description about that. There is a pool, though.” Iris turned onto a dirt road. “We’re almost there. Someone wake Tobias up.” Araria saluted and proceeded to kick Tobias in the side. He grunted and turned to glare at the girl with tired, brown eyes. “What the hell?!” The two began bickering back and forth from the middle seats as Iris pulled into the driveway. “Children! We’re here!” Leah cheered and burst out of the passenger’s side as Tytus barked a laugh. “Moooom, I’m hungry,” he said in a whining tone. “Shut up,” Iris said. They all clambered out of the van, grabbed their things, and went into the cabin-like house. It was huge, with a large living space in the middle and three bedrooms clustered down the hallway. Araria and Q walked into the room they had claimed as their own. The large window on the far wall filled the room with bright sunlight. Unpacking went without too many hiccups. At one point, Q looked out of her door to see Tytus chasing Tobias with a pillow in the room across from theirs. After a half-hour filled with pulling clothes out of her suitcase and hanging them up as well as filling the one bathroom with all six of their things, the house filled with the smell of delicious food. Q hesitantly walked into the hallway, met with the sight of Leah and Iris cooking together like an old married couple. Even though both were the same age as the rest of them-- just out of high school-- they always became the two parents when it was just their group of friends. Q jumped as the sound of crashing lightning rang through the house. She looked outside to see it was still sunny. “I’ve never seen lightning without rain,” she wondered out loud. “It’s probably going to start raining soon,” Iris murmured. Araria whined from the table. “Aww, I wanted to play outside.” Iris was right. By the time they all sat at the table and began eating the stirfry Iris had cooked, rain was pouring down outside. Q watched as the water dripped down the windows, smiling a little. She always loved watching the rain. The rest of the night was filled with laughter as they played a board game Leah had packed. Tobias ended up falling asleep at the table, and Araria won. She gloated all through the time they all spent getting ready for bed. “There was no way Tytus was even close to winning. Like, he placed second, sure, but he wasn’t even close,” she continued as she pulled a bonnet over her orange braids. Q hummed in acknowledgment as she closed her eyes, quickly drifting off. Q slept fitfully. The boom of thunder shaking the house woke her up multiple times. On top of that, she kept waking up sweating from the heat. Eventually, she threw off the blanket she was wearing in an attempt to cool down. By the time the house began stirring, Q only got a few hours of sleep altogether. She groggily stood up and stretched. Araria blinked up at her from where she was snuggled up in her bed. “Mornin’ Q,” she mumbled, sitting up a little. “How’d you--” “What the-- Why won’t it work?” Tytus’s voice ran through the house, interrupting Araria’s question. Q peeked out the door to see Tytus in his room, the door partially open, flicking the light switch back and forth. “What’s wrong?” Tytus glanced over at her. “The light won’t turn on!” Q hummed, turning back to her and Araria’s room and trying their light. It also wasn’t working. “I wonder if the power went out.” Tobias poked his head out of the bathroom. “Yep, that’s what I thought to. The water’s not working either so it looks like it. That would explain why it got so hot all of a sudden last night.” “Damn it,” Tytus mumbled. “That means my phone didn’t charge and...” He grabbed it, fiddling with the buttons. “Yeah... it’s dead.” He sighed, throwing it back onto his bed. “Aww, this sucks.” Araria pouted. She walked down the hall and knocked on the door to Iris’s and Leah’s room. “Guys, wake up! The power’s out.” Eventually, everyone was awake and sitting in the living room. Iris walked in with breakfast bars and fruits, handing them out to everyone. “Well, I messaged the owners of the house, and they said that it seems like the storm took down the powerline that powers this property. On a good note, they are giving us back half of what we paid for the Air BnB.” Tobias grumbled, “That doesn’t help us now.” “We can either leave now and just go back home, or we could stay here,” Iris said, ignoring him. “I vote we stay and make the best of it. There’s a pool outside so we can stay cool.” Leah smiled widely. How she was always so upbeat, Q would never figure out. “Yes! We still have to pay half of the price, so it’d be a waste of money to leave now. If we get hot, we can sit in the AC car,” Araria reasoned. “Let’s just vote,” Iris suggested. After voting, it ended up a 50/50 with Tobias, Iris, and Q wanting to go and Leah, Tytus, and Araria wanting to stay. Q looked at Tytus, who was staring at her with blue puppy eyes. “Q...” he said pleadingly. She sighed. “Yeah, okay, but only if we eat all the ice cream that’s not melted yet.” Araria squeaked, running to the freezer and throwing semi-melted popsicles at all of them. “The rest of it is melted,” she said with a pout. A few hours later, Q was sitting in the shade, fanning herself with paper fans Leah had made as she watched Tytus and Araria have a ‘splash-off.’ “At least they’re keeping cool,” Iris sighed, leaning against the glass porch door. “Iris, babe, come on,” Leah said from the edge of the pool. Iris hummed at her before walking up and sitting with her legs in the pool. “That’s all you’re getting. I don’t want to put my swimsuit on, Leah.” Leah sighed but took it in stride, immediately splashing her girlfriend’s legs. “Tobias,” Iris called as she looked over her shoulder, “Can you grab water bottles for everyone?” Water was distributed to everyone-- warm, of course, due to the lack of refrigeration or ice. Tytus was the only one who didn’t run towards the water; instead, he floated on his back and looked at the sky. “Tytus.” Q approached the pool, sitting next to Iris and crossing her legs. “You need to drink water.” He hummed in acknowledgment and came to take a sip of the water labeled with his name. “I’m swallowing enough of this pool water that I’m the most hydrated I’ve ever been.” “Doubtful,” Tobias said. He jumped into the pool next to Tytus, causing a large splash right in his face. They sat there for a little longer before Iris suggested they go in and eat food. Everyone clambered out of the pool, dried off, and changed. Q and Iris-- the only two who stayed relatively dry-- worked on setting up sandwiches. They took their chances with the warm vegetables and condiments, but Iris refused to let anyone touch the hot lunchmeat. Q sat down with her sandwich, taking a bite and trying not to wince at the uncomfortable texture. Q felt like she was drowning in sweat, her purple shirt sticking to her back, and the others didn’t look much better. Araria had been drinking water bottle after water bottle like it was no one’s business; Tobias was alternating between fanning himself with two paper fans and taking bites out of his sandwich; and Leah had forgone the half-sleeved shirt she was wearing for a loose crop top. “It’s too hot in here,” Tytus complained. “I’m going back outside. At least there’s a breeze there.” He grabbed his plate and opened the porch door. “Tytus, seriously?” Iris asked incredulously. “It’s over 100 degrees outside right now.” “Yeah, and it’s 100 degrees in here too.” Iris shook her head. “Q,” she said, “give this to him.” She handed Q a water bottle. Q grabbed her sandwich and drink and went to go sit with Tytus outside. “Thanks for the water,” he hummed around his sandwich. “It’s really too hot to be outside,” Q said. “I repeat: it’s just as hot inside, dude.” Q wrinkled her nose. “Don’t call me dude, Tytus. We’ve been dating for like 6 months.” “Really, dude? I don’t know what the problem is, dude.” He shot her a goofy grin and poked her in the side. She flinched away, shaking her hand back and forth a little. Tytus’s smile faltered. “You good?” “Uh, yeah,” she said. “I think I’m just a little overstimulated.” “Sorry,” Tytus said, moving a little further away from her so their sides were no longer touching. She smiled a little. “Love you,” she mumbled. “L’ve you too.” He blinked a little, leaning against the wall behind him. His eyebrows were creased. “Are you okay?” Q asked. He hummed in response, shrugging. “Tytus, seriously, you don’t look good.” He exhaled a laugh. “Very kind of you, sweet... uh sweetheart.” He blinked a little and put his sandwich back down on his plate. He had only taken a few bites. “I’m fine.” He sits up, blinking a little. “I’m going to dip my feet in the pool. It’s way too hot.” He stood up and took a few steps towards the pool. Q watched, jumping up when he stumbled, his eyes rolling back and his face losing color. Her heart plummeted as his body went limp and hit the water. She froze for a moment; his body began to sink to the bottom of the pool. Her brain whirled as the water from the splash touched her toes. She couldn’t save him; she could barely keep her head over water when she swam. She couldn’t even lift him out of the water. But he was going to die if she didn’t do anything. He was going to die. She was going to watch him die. Her breath turned sporadic, and her vision went blurry. She became distantly aware that there was noise around her. More water splashed her legs, making her back up. She hated the feeling of water on her skin. It mixed with the sweat that was building from the heat, making her feel sticky and gross. She kicked her legs out, trying to dry them off, and began rubbing them. When that didn’t work, she hit them, hard. It hurt but was nice in a way. Calming. She kept hitting her leg before something grabbed her arm and held it still. She whined, pulling at the thing, but that only made them hold tighter. She needed something, though. She felt like her body was freefalling. Realizing she was leaning against something hard, she pulled her head forward and banged it against the wall. It caused pain to flare from the back of her head, and she sighed in relief. When she tried again, though, something soft blocked the path. Her throat hurt as she screamed in frustration. She couldn’t do anything. Whatever was holding her down was hurting her. She wanted it off. She wanted it off. And then it was off. She had a moment of freedom, where she scratched at her leg, relaxing into the sharp pain. However, her relief was short-lived as something else was placed over her body. She tried to shake it off, pushing up on the weight. The weight didn’t move, though, instead gently putting pressure all over. Q felt her body relax a little, breathing heavily. Her eyes slowly cleared, and she could see Leah’s face hovering over where she was lying down. She didn’t remember lying down. “--Breaths, come on,” Leah was saying. She was breathing loudly, and Q felt her lungs following her. Her breathing slowly became more even and normal, and suddenly, Q remembered why she had been panicking in the first place. She sat up, looking around wildly. Her eyes locked on the sight of Tytus lying on his back next to the pool as Iris was performing what looked like CPR. She pushed the weighted blanket off of her-- that’s what had been placed on her, she realized belatedly-- and ran towards him. Tobias was pacing back and forth, fiddling with his phone. Leah followed Q, kneeling next to her. “Iris has been performing CPR for maybe a minute. After they got him out, he wasn’t breathing. Tobias tried calling 911, but we don’t have any cell service anymore because the wifi is down with the power outage.” Q didn’t respond; the words were stuck in her throat. That happened almost every time she had a meltdown: once she calmed down, the panic took her words with it. Instead, she placed her hand on his forehead. It was worryingly warm, but she couldn’t do anything about that right now. She began gently stroking his hair as his body moved with Iris’ compressions. All of a sudden, there was a gasping sound, and Tytus began coughing, his body curling into himself. Iris pulled back and quickly moved him onto his side. Once in that position, he began to cough up water onto the concrete. Q instinctively jumped back to avoid getting hit before feeling slightly guilty and coming back to his other side. Tytus continued coughing for what seemed like forever before slumping back on the ground. “Jeez,” he coughed out. His voice came out so scratchy that it made Q’s throat hurt. “Uuh, what- what happened?” They all turned toward Q, who realized that the others most likely didn’t know what happened. However, when she opened her mouth, no words came out. She let out a small sound of frustration, running back into the house and grabbing her phone. She prayed that it would work without service and opened up a communication app. When it loaded, she sagged in relief. It took a moment to type it all out, but eventually, a robotic woman’s voice left her phone. “You went to get into the pool, but it looked like you fainted. I didn’t know what to do. I’m sorry.” Tytus hummed, sitting up. Iris leaned forward and grabbed his arm to support him. “Don’t stand up yet, idiot.” “I feel the- feel the love, Iris.” Iris rolled her eyes in response to Tytus’ sarcasm. “You need to be slow. Honestly, I might have Tobias carry you to the car. I don’t feel like you should be walking after all that.” Q nodded in agreement. She stared at him for a moment too long before lunging forward and hugging him. He laughed a little, reaching one arm around and hugging her back. “I’m okay, Q. I’m right here.” She felt tears dripping down her face and onto his shoulder, as Leah gently pulled her back. “You don’t want to hurt him. Iris probably at least bruised his ribs doing CPR.” Q nodded in agreement, and they sat there for about 15 minutes as they allowed Tytus to recover a little. Iris said that they would need to go to the hospital as soon as possible, but right now, Tytus shouldn’t move too much. Once Tytus felt a little more stable, Tobias picked him up bridal style and carried him to the car. They blasted the AC in an attempt to cool him down, having decided that that was mostly likely what caused him to pass out. Only Iris, Q, and Tytus rode in the car; everyone else stayed behind to pack their things. Iris would come back after dropping Q and Tytus off at the emergency room to pick them up with all their things. The drive back was long-- almost an hour-- and Q found herself rubbing her hands back and forth against the seat until her hands were rubbed raw. Tytus assured her that he was fine now, but he was still a little pale and sweating even after sitting in front of the AC. Once they got back into a place where there was phone service, all of their phones rang with the same alert: Heat Advisory: Avoid being outside for extended periods of time. Exposing yourself to these temperatures may result in serious illness or death. After reading it, Iris groaned. “A few hours too late, phones.”


“Mom! Mom!” Dominic yelled, as he walked up the stairs into the corridor, the marble columns stood perfectly on the plinths with paintings hanging on each of them. The summer sunlight beamed into the room making the staircase look like a fashion walkway. Just before Dominic could yell again at the top of his voice, a plucky looking middle-aged lady walked in from an open door, she was wearing a ravishing gown with a carnation on her buttonhole and a pair of red stilettos, her hair was styled into a chignon, probably on her way to an occasion. A lanky but thick looking bald man was abreast her. “Good morning to you, Dominic!” She said firmly. “What's good about the morning?” Dominic barked. “I haven't come here for your greetings, why did you forget to send my allowance into my account? I was embarrassed at the club last night because there was no money in my account!” “And who said I forgot?” She grimaced. “Wait! You mean to say you did that on purpose?” He shrieked. “Yes! Dominic Ivan Thompson! I've had a bellyful of your animus behavior. I am your mother and you will treat me with the respect I deserve!” “Really!” He sneered. “Yes! I will cease to send money into your account until you forsake this abrasive attitude of yours!” The man behind her nodded his head in agreement. “Hey you! Why are you nodding your head? You think I don't know you're the conspirator of this,” Dominic gestured as he walked towards him. “Newsflash! You will never be my father!” “He had nothing to do with this!” She pulled him back. “ It was all my idea.” “Oh! It was all your idea, Bravo! Mom of the year,” He clapped. “Was it also your idea to bring this man into my Father's house and have him fuck you on my Father's be...” Before he could finish his statement, a slap landed on his mild face, he held his cheek and clenched his lips together in anger. After few seconds of quietude, he plodded towards his room, as he held his door knob, he turned back and said, “In case you forgot, today's daddy's birthday,” He tilted his head towards the ceiling, “Happy birthday Dad.” His mother's lips quivered right before she bust into tears. The bald man wrapped his arms around her in an attempt to comfort her but all to no avail. Dominic walked into his room and was welcomed by a vile smell, probably from lack of ventilation or the heap of dirty laundry laying on the floor. He plonked his Phone on his cluttered desk, took a sip from the glass of Absinthe that seems to have been sitting there for days and tossed himself on his bed, looking all zonked. “I don't need her. Am a graduate, I'll look for a job and move out of this damn house.” He soliloquized as his rubbed his sore eyes. As Dominic sauntered into the elevator, he hands reached for an elevator button. “Wait!” A voice said briskly. Dominic removed his lanky finger from the elevator button at the sound of the voice. It was a lady, she snappily walked into the elevator with a coca cola bottle in her hand which seems to have been shaken to well as the bubbles went all the way up to the cap. “Which floor are you headed? I am going to 13th floor,” She noticed he was indifferent about what she said so, she pushed the 13 button herself and the elevator door closed. As the elevator started moving, she tried to open her drink, the cap flew off with a hissing sound and some drink spilled on Dominic jacket. “Shit! Look what you've done to my jacket!” He yelled as he used his flicked his jacket. Feeling remorseful, the lady tried to wipe it with her handkerchief, “Am so sorry. Here, let me help you.” “Don't touch me man!” He nimbly moved, “Am on my way to an interview and you've ruined my outfit!” “Am so sorry, it's just a drink, why are you acting like I poured acid on you?” Dominic squinted his eyes in anger, “With all due respect ma'am, is everything ok with you? You ruin my outfit and you still have the temerity to talk!” “But I said was sorry!” She yelled, “I can see you are a rude boy, didn't your mother teach you how to talk to people?” As she spoke, Dominic noticed how disheveled and chubby she was looking but after few seconds of examination, he noticed she wasn't chubby, she was pregnant. “Oh! I see the problem now, you're pregnant. Pregnant women and their crazy hormones,” He flipped in disgust. “You're the crazy one!” She shrieked. “Children of nowadays, y'all don't know how to talk to people!” As, she spoke the elevator door opened. “Ma'am please go, you've reached your destination, crazy woman!” She walked out of the elevator and continued raining insults on him. “What a crazy lady!” He took of his jacket and dusted it roughly. Dominic stood up and shook hands with the interviewer. “We will give you a call Mister Thompson” “Thank you sir!” Dominic grinned. He walked down the hall to the elevator. As he entered, he saw the same woman he had a fight with earlier strolling towards the elevator, he quickly pushed the button to close the elevator door but the button seemed non-functional, he pouted his lips in anger at the button. The woman arrived at the elevator flinching, she snickered at the sight of him and trudged into the elevator in silence. Occasionally, Dominic glanced at her and noticed she was uncomfortable, She placed one hand on her waist as she bit her lip in pain and closed her eyes. Just then, the lights went out and the elevator stopped working. Distracted from her pain by the disruption of power, the lady panicked. “Mister, What's going on, what happened to the lights?” She asked tremulously. “Why have the elevator stopped?” “Ma'am please calm down, am sure it's a power outage, buildings like this always have back up generators and am sure it's gonna come on anytime soon.” He tried using the telephone but it wasn't working. “It's dark in here! We're stuck!” She banged the door of the elevator. “Somebody please help us, there are people in here!” “Ma'am can you calm down! I told you buildings like this always have back up generators and am sure it will come on soon.” “If we do not shout, how are they gonna hear us? In fact, Mister mind your business while I mind my business,” She moaned in pain. “Somebody help me!” “Oh my God! Ma'am can you please just shut up! Your shouting is giving me a migraine, you think I wanna be stuck here with your body odor?” Immediately, she was quiet, feeling hurt by what he said. Suddenly, the lights came back on again. “See! I told you buildings like this always have back up generators,” He beamed. “See what!” She replied still hurt by what he said. She stealthily sniffed herself to confirm if what he said was true. Unexpectedly, the lights went out again and this time the cables of the elevator snapped, the elevator dropped a few feet, the force was so powerful that they both fell to the elevator floor as they screamed in fear. It was stable, Dominic stood up in the darkness, he heard the woman moan but this time it was louder and more severe. “Ma'am, are you ok?” He turned on the flashlight on his phone and saw her on the elevator floor with her legs wide open, he crouched and saw a liquid substance on her underpants and immediately, he knew what was happening. Her water had broken. “Somebody please help us!” He banged the doors of the elevator as hard as he could. “Help us! There's a pregnant woman in here and I think she about to have her baby!” He banged and stomped his feet harder and harder but no one showed up. The wailing was becoming louder and unbearable. Dominic was perplexed, he eventually gave up banging the elevator and tried to soothe her. A pot-bellied man walked into the reception. “Bessie! Haven't the generator been fixed yet?” “No, sir.” “Tell the technicians to hurry up!” He sashayed into his office. Dominic was at the verge of losing his mind, the pregnant woman had become more intense. “Ah! Somebody help me!” She lamented in pain. “Sorry Ma'am! So sorry!” She shook her head in discomfort as she managed to raise her upper body. “Don't call me Ma'am, Stop calling me Ma'am! My name is Abigail--My name is Abigail!!!!!” She sang with a high-pitched voice. Dominic began to wonder if she was going crazy because of the way she said her name. “Ok! Abigail, where's your phone?” He asked in a sweet voice. She fossicked through her bag and handed her phone over to him. “Ok, what's your husband's number? Just give me anybody's number we can call to help us.” “The father is not around,” She muttered. “What do you mean he's not around? Ok just give me anybody's number, your doctor, your sister! Anybody at all!” “Mister! Give me my phone!--Give me my phone!-- Give me my phone!” He swiftly handed the phone to her, yet she continued shouting. “Give me my phone! Give me my phone!” Dominic didn't want to call his mother, but he had no choice. “Hello, Mom! I need your help!” He entreated. “What's wrong Dominic? You sound worried.” “Mom! Am stuck in an elevator with a pregnant woman and I think she's about to have her baby, please help me!” “Is that her I hear in the background?” “Yes! Mom, please help me!” “Ok, what building are you in? I'm gonna call for help” “I'll text you the address.” “Ok!” She hung up. He felt a bit relieved, now that help was on the way. “Abigail! Don't worry, help is on the way.” “I am dying!” She yelled as she hauled the collars of his shirt. Few minutes later, Dominic phone rang, it was his stepfather. He scoffed at the sight of the call. “What do you want?” He barked. “Dominic, your mother told me what happened...” “ Of course! She told you,” He interrupted. “I don't have time for your fore talk, I have an issue at hand!” He hung up. The phone rang again, “Hello! What is it! I don't have to talk to you old man!” “Listen! Dominic,” He commanded. “I know you don't like me but whether you like it or not, you need my help to save that woman. Have you forgotten I am a doctor?” “Whatever!” He replied acknowledging the fact that he was right. “Now, put me on speaker phone.” “You're on speaker phone now,” He laid the phone on the floor close to Abigail. “Hello, Ma'am. Can you hear me?” “Yes, I can sir,” She groaned “My name is Dr. Aaron, what's your name?” “My name is Abigail--My name is Abigail,” She recited. “Ok, Abigail, I am on my way with an ambulance to help you, ok?” “Ok Sir. Please hurry up!” “Not to worry, you are in safe hands. Dominic, can you hear me?” “Yes, I can.” “How far apart are the contractions?” Dominic tried to recall his thoughts, “Well, umm... 2 minutes apart I guess.” “Ok! I need you to feel her belly and tell me the position of the baby's head” “Ok!” He gently placed his hands on her belly, “I think it's facing downwards.” “Ok! Dominic, we may not have enough time before the baby comes. I need you to check if she's dilating.” “How am I supposed to do that!” He said in confusion. “Do you know where the cervix is?” “Yes!” “Ok! I need you to check how many fingers you can fit into her...” “No! No! No!” He waved his hand in disagreement. “I can't put my hand into this woman Virgi...” Before he could finish rebuffing the order, Abigail took of her underpants hastily and pulled his arms into her. “Check! Please check!” She screamed. “But make sure your hands are clean!” The doctor continued. “Ok! I think she has wipes.” “Yes, I have!” She pulled out a packet for wipes from her bag and gave it to him. Dominic wiped his hands before he put his fingers into her. “How wide is it?” The doctor asked. Pouting his mouth in disguise, “It's... It's pretty wide, I can fit my whole hand.” “That means she's dilating! Dominic, we don't have anymore time. The baby is coming!” “What! I can't deliver a baby!” “You have no choice, Dominic! That lady is going to have that baby and you are her only hope. Find a piece of cloth and put it beneath her legs” He quickly huddled his jacket beneath her legs. “Have done that!” “Dominic! Now tell her to push!” “Ok. Abigail! You need to push, ok. The baby is almost here.” She clenched his arms and pushed as hard as she could. After series of pushing, the baby wasn't forthcoming. “Doctor! The baby's not coming.” “She needs to push some more!” “Abigail! Abigail! Doctor, I think she passed out.” “Dominic, you have to wake her up, she can't pass out now!” He shook her vigorously before she gained consciousness again. “I can't do it anymore,” She gibbered. “Abigail! Look at me. We are almost there, come on, let's bring this baby to life. I know you have it in you, just push please,” He tried to cajole her. She tried to gather enough strength before she pushed. “Ahh!!!!!!!!” She yelled. “Doctor! I can see the baby's head,” Dominic screamed in excitement. “Tell her to stop pushing now!” “Abigail, stop pushing!” “Dominic! Now, you need to guide the baby's head out and the rest of the body will follow.” “How do I guide the head?” “Gently curve your hands underneath the head and guide it out.” “Ok. Wait! There something around the baby's neck!” “That must be the umbilical cord. You have to cut it of.” “Ah! Cut it off with what? My teeth?” “Preferably, a clean blade.” “Where am I find a blade in here?” “I have! I have!” Abigail muttered. He trolled through her bag and found the blade. “Doctor, I found a blade!” “Now cut the cord. But, leave enough space between the cord and the baby's head, we don't want the baby to bleed to death.” “What! I don't think I can't do this.” “No, Dominic. You must do it now! Cut the cord.” He gently placed the blade on the cord with his fingers underneath and cut it. “The cord is cut Doctor!” “Now, tell her to push. Am almost at the hospital.” “Abigail! Look at me, we're almost there, just push one more time, as hard as you can!” She gripped his collars and pushed with all the strength in her. “Ahh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” With Dominic's hands came the baby. “Abigail! You did it. It's a boy!” He smiled and handed the baby to her. “My baby!” Abigail grinned as she held him in her arm. Silence filled the air for some seconds. “He's not crying!” She panicked. “Dominic, what is going on?” The doctor asked. “Doctor, the baby is not crying! He's not breathing, why?” “Oxygen! The baby needs oxygen! place three fingers on the baby's chest and perform ten compression then you blow air into the baby's mouth.” “Ok!” He began with the doctor's instructions, just then the call ended. “Hello! Doctor! Doctor...” He continued with the compression while Abigail sobbed for the fear of losing her child. The hatch of the elevator was opened and light radiated into the elevator. The doctor and some medics jumped in. Dominic sat in the summer bench, the smell of barbecue for nearby grills filled the air. The atmosphere was peaceful. He heard footsteps, it was his Mother, she sat beside him with a broad smile on her face. “How're you doing son?” “Am ok.” She couldn't believe how calm he was, it was a miracle. “Mom! Am sorry.” “What are you sorry for dear?” She asked in surprise. She couldn't remember the last time he said that to her. “For everything!” He looked her in the eyes. “The way I treated you and everyone else. After Dad died, I felt all was lost and you remarried which made me angrier. Being in that elevator with Abigail was eye-opening. Mom, I saw what she passed through just to bring her baby to life, the pain, the struggle and when I held that baby in my hands, I felt happiness within, I could only imagine the happiness the mother felt. It made me realize you passed through the same just for me.” “Dominic,” she held his hand. “You are my son, I can never be mad at you forever. I am glad you've come to realize life as it is. It's not easy for a life to emerge. Life is precious, and we must learn to appreciate it.” “Mom, you know I wondered why I got stuck with that pregnant woman in that elevator. I mean, it could have been someone else. Maybe the universe thought of teaching me a lesson,” He laughed. “I guess so,” she joined him in laughter. “By the way, how's Abigail and the baby?” “Well, Dad said the baby is in 100% perfect health and Abigail is just fine, she named the baby Dominic.” “Dad! You say!” “Yes mom, he's a good guy, he helped me save Abigail and her baby.” “Wow! Am so proud of you son,” She hugged him passionately. “You guys are having a family reunion without me?” A voice triggered. They both looked to see who it was. “Good afternoon Dad!” Dominic smiled. “My elevator Doctor!” The trio laughed and hugged in the scorching summer Sun.


Having a hobby is a good way to pass your free time. It also helped you to discover many different strengths and weaknesses that you had or needed to work on. However, some people didn’t like hobbies and having to do something in their free time made them feel like they were working. At least, that was how my friend felt when I told him to get a hobby. “What’s wrong with a hobby? At least, it gives you something to do when you’re bored.” Hobbies made me feel like I could discover my new passions. As I grew older, I always had a passion in different things. But that was not how Kyle felt. He preferred the lazy hobby, where he could sit in front of the TV and watch Netflix all day. “If I can watch my Netflix, I’m passing time. No need for exhausting yourself for no reason.” He was a complete couch potato. I thought that I should get him to try out things, even if it is sports, to see what he liked but no matter what he kept telling me the same excuse. I visited the art museum or the history exhibition to find out more of my passions, but all he did was hunt for places to grab a snack. It became irritating at times. Yes, some people said that eating was a hobby, but that was if they were lazy people! A hobby didn’t have to be something tiring. It could be something you did for fun and watching a movie or playing a computer game wasn’t doing something for fun! “Why are you so negative? Just try out something and see if you like it. But don’t say you don’t like it because you want to go home and be a slob on the couch!” He just gave me a look. I felt that there was more to life than just being in front of the TV. I knew that he collected antique vases that dated to the first Queen of England and other ancient artefacts. And I found a stall that had those exact items, but instead of him looking at them, I found Kyle eyeing out the cake stall next door. The poor girl who stood at that stall looked horrified at him. “Kyle! You are scaring the girl. Look at this, I found your collective items.” He sulked for a minute, but then I saw a slight interest in his eyes when he saw the vases. “I haven’t even touched them in years, why would I want to collect more?” I saw a delicate vase with ancient Egyptian drawings on it. Since he had a variety from all over the world, I decided to get this one for him. He didn’t have an Egyptian vase and this was a perfect item. “It’s a beautiful vase. Wise choice. But the vase contains a hidden secret in it.” The vendor made a chilling comment on the vase in my hand. I knew that any treasures stolen from the Pharaoh’s tombs were cursed, but could this vase be too? Perhaps his warning meant something and I didn’t want to leave without finding out what he meant. “What is the secret? Should we be worried?” He gazed at me for a minute before looking away. “It cannot be said in public. But it might change your life and reveal hidden thoughts, feelings, emotions or whatever you may want to call it.” This made me even more suspicious of the vendor’s warning. What was he trying to tell us? Since he didn’t want to say, we left with the vase in hand. “This vase is incredible! It can make things happen, as if it is a magic lamp!” I was surprised by Kyle’s excitement with the vase I bought him two days ago. First, he was in a mood and didn’t want to do anything...practical, but now he can’t step away from the vases, especially the new one! A part of me was happy that he was back to his new found hobby, but another part made me think back to the vendor’s warning before we paid for the vase: ‘The vase contains a hidden secret in it’. If the hidden secret was that it could make hidden hobbies ignite in someone’s heart, then I didn’t see that as a negative side nor a warning. But his excitement was a bit too sudden. Perhaps there was more to this vase than met the eye. Whenever I wanted to scan the detailed artwork on the vase, he would harshly pull the vase out of my grip. That behaviour of his also seemed sudden. I had to find out what this vase had. Was it a curse? Or just some strange spell? Or was it all in my head? I revisited the stall where I purchased the vase for Kyle. The vendor recognized me, but the look on his face meant that he wasn’t too happy to see me. “Yes, ma’am. How can I help you?” I reached my hand into the Tote bag I carried on me, and took out the vase to show him. “Two days ago, you mentioned that this vase had hidden secrets in it. When I asked you what they were, you didn’t reveal them. I want you to tell me, right now and right here, what those secrets are and I demand an explanation!” He looked around him as if he was on the lookout for any suspicious listeners. After a moment’s silence, he directed me to an area where only the staff were allowed to go. “We shall talk in here.” I followed after him and there he sat me down to explain the history behind this antique vase. “I take it that your friend has returned to his interest in antique vases?” Before I could ask him how he knew, he raised his hand to silence me. “Please, let me finish: The vase was a precious gift that was given to Queen Cleopatra on her 30 th birthday. She loved the beauty of it and kept it hidden in a secret room, where only she knew and had access to. However, after she kept this vase she had many tragic losses in her time. Her life began to become miserable and every suitor itched to get his hands on both the beautiful vase and its extremely beautiful owner. Her guards, who protected her from any threat, managed to ward her off them. But one of these men secretly got into her room and stole the vase. It was from then that she ordered all her magicians to place a curse on this ornament, but if it was in the hands of someone who bought it for another’s interest, then it might bring more than happiness for that individual.” His story made me think that Cleopatra had a specific reason for the curse or spell that she had placed on this vase. I was more intrigued after hearing about the history of this vase only increased my interest to learn more.


Etim, aren't you joining us? Tom asked almost unmindedly, "No!" Etim answered without adding any more words. "Maybe he isn't feeling really well or he hasn't eaten since morning" Tom thought to himself before taking his eyes off him. Etim was in a weekly meeting with his friends. The group was about fundraising and financial support to her members. In the group, if you are a registered member and you had any event or ceremony, you will inform the group officially with a bottle of wine, and all the members will contribute a particular amount of money to you. But even without a member having a ceremony, the group do meet on Thursdays to discuss new ideas and the way forward for the group. Apart from the contribution they make for a member who has a ceremony, all members of the group do contribute a fixed amount of money every week to help fund the group's purse. Such money is used for charity or if need arises, to help a member who is desperately in need of money. Mr Tom was inviting Etim to join them in their table where they were drinking some strong alcoholic beverages and most of them were even smoking cigarettes. Though Etim's refusal to join them wasn't taken personally by anyone, it was a bit Surprising that he could boldly say no to alcohol. The following week, they conveyed again for their usual weekly meeting. A whole lot of issues were being addressed and Etim even came up with an idea, "My opinion is that we should always celebrate and enjoy ourselves every once in a while, what I mean is that we should set out specific times that we could drink, eat and reignite our love for each other. We can even colour it up by sharing gift items among ourselves" Etim said after he lifted up his hand. "Wow, that's a nice idea" exclaimed Mr Tom, the chairman of the group after listening to Etim. Thanks so much Mr Etim for that great idea and we will definitely start to implement it as soon as possible. "The Great Minds Association (TGMA)" was a great organization to be in. Their detailed planning and contributions goes a long way in uplifting the members. The love shared among the members could be discribed as a pure and genuine love because they seemed to trust and believe in each other so much. The took each other's challenges and experiences as their own. But they never seemed to include God in anything they did. They could not even pray before or after any meeting. Why? The reason being that the founder of the group Mr. Tom didn't want the group to turn to a religious one and moreover, the purpose of the group was to accommodate people of different and diverse religions, so he didn't intend to bring any religious differences Etim had taken a personal decision to stop drinking alcohol. The reason for this decision was best known to him alone. After this decision, he had attended several meetings with TGMA but none of his fellow members seemed to really notice that he hasn't been indulging in alcohol all those while. Then on one fateful meeting day, Mr Tom called Mr Etim aside and both of them were sitting on the table alone and discussing. In front of them was a bottle of branded whiskey and two small glasses. Mr Tom poured the drink it the glasses, carried one and also expected Etim to carry the other one but to his greatest surprise, Etim didn't even touch the glass the whole time they were discussing. Amazed at what he saw, he winked and said playfully, "Don't Tell me that you don't drink alcohol anymore! "Yes I stopped indulging 2 months ago, and don't tell me you just notice it now" Mr Etim said smile. " Yes, I just notice it now for the very first time" Mr. Tom said and gave him a pat on the back. " I wouldn't ask you the reason for this decision because I do know that Change is the only constant thing in life, no one could believe that you Etim of all people can really stop drinking alcohol" Mr Tom exclaimed playfully. "Yea I have changed and I haven't regretted about it" Mr Etim said as they both walked away laughing. Eventually, all the other members of the group and even Mr Etim close friends and family members got to know about his change of attitude. Etim that everyone knows, was a man that loves drinking. He could even go extra miles to make sure that he has a good alcoholic beverage inside his fridge. His motto was "Instead of me to lack alcohol, let me lack food" Mr Etim was married with 3 children. After several failed attempts to convince her husband to stop drinking alcohol, Mrs Etim finally gave him his way and resorted to praying to God that he should change him for her. On some occasion, he will come back to the house drunk, looking so scattered and lousy. On such occasions, his wife will help him to the bathroom, give him a warm bath and make sure he sleeps before doing any other things. The aftermath of such days were always advise heaped on upon advice from his wife. When his wife noticed about his change of attitude, she was so excited but resented that she should give it time to really prove whether her husband has truly changed. Three months passed and Mr Etim remained faithful to his decision. This got his wife really excited and she thanked God so passionately because she believed that it was God that changed her husband. Even Kingsley, thier eldest child was also excited for his dad's change of attitude. He had always looked at his dad as the perfect example of a man he wants to become if not for this particular bad habit. Mr Etim was a very renowned man. Very honest, respectful, and he was best known for his integrity. He didn't joke with his words. On one of their meetings in TGMA, one of his colleague even joked that he was only taking a break and will eventually start drinking again in the nearest future. Mr Tom would always test him by serving him alcoholic beverages once he visits him on his office. "You have truly change o" was always his remark when Etim refuses to drink. Etim's wife decided to test him one Sunday evening. She cooked his favorite dish, pounded yam and put a lot of meats. After everything, she invited him to the dining table and disclosed the suprise to him. They ate and ate until they were full and just when Mr Etim wanted to carry water and drink, his wife exclaimed, " A chill glass of alcoholic beverage will go a long way in digesting such a sumptuous meal! "But you know that I stopped drinking anything alcoholic sometimes ago. Why are you now saying that? Or are you trying to tempt me?? "No no no! How can I tempt you? I was only joking and I wanted to see your reaction" Mrs Etim replied playfully. The both laughed and continue eating It was at this juncture that Mrs Etim was truly convinced that her husband has truly changed. In amazement, she exclaimed " Change is the only constant thing in life and people should not always be judged by their past because someone can definitely change without announcing it on the radio".