“May, this is a bit of a random question, but do you ever wonder what’s up with that guy on our street who only goes out at nighttime?” It was a bright Saturday afternoon, and May Farrowday was eating lunch in the park with her best friend, Casey Collins. “Well, yeah, of course I do. He’s real strange, isn’t he? He avoids sunlight like the plague. That’s like, something only vampires do.” May gave out a little snicker. Casey stared off into the distance, letting her blonde hair flutter in the wind for just a moment. “You don’t think that man’s an actual vampire, do you?” May instantly burst out in a fit of laughter on the spot upon hearing that. She found the thought absolutely absurd. “Of course not! Vampires are obviously fake. Let’s suppose they are real for a second. So they die if they’re hit with sunlight? Well, moonlight’s just light from the sun reflected off the moon, so that should kill them as well!” May gleamed with pride after stating that fact. Casey nodded in agreement, and then asked, “So then what do you think the deal is with that guy?” May thought to herself for a moment. She thought of multiple reasons and scenarios, but they all just were illogical to her. “Hm. What a good question. I’ve never seen the guy really interact with anyone, so I doubt anybody else knows why. Maybe I might just go meet up with him later this night and ask about it. Could prove to be interesting.” “Yeah! Go solve that mystery! I sure hope you get good results from your interrogation.” And on that note, the two finished their lunches together and both went home to continue on with the rest of the day like normal. After a long day, nighttime finally fell. May’s entire neighborhood was quiet, except for one house which finally opened up its door that day. A man in a light beige shirt with extremely pale skin came out. Unbeknownst to the man, May was silently watching him come out from behind a bush. “This man...” she thought to herself. “ He has the color palette of a vanilla ice cream cone!” She carefully watched him slowly walk down onto the street, and made her move. “Hey.” As she came out of the bush, the man jumped. “Who are you?” He asked, startled. “Name’s May Farrowday. I wanted to ask you some questions about your... unique behavior.” “Unique behavior? I’m the one with unique behavior? You were the one who jumped out of a bush! Why couldn’t you just walk up and start a conversation with me like normal?” May looked away in embarrassment. How in the world had she not thought of that? “Look, that’s not important. The main point is that I just need you to answer a simple question for me. That’s it.” “Well... I have no clue who you are, but I can sense that you have no malicious intent. So, I guess I can give you my permission. What about me do you find so very odd?” “I just wanted to ask... why don’t you go out during the day? “Oh, that? Well, you see...” May was waiting for the man’s answer with great anticipation. She just stood there gazing at him awkwardly. The man took an unreasonable amount of time to finish his sentence; he took over thirty whole seconds to do it. After that perplexing interaction, he finally spoke. “I have a really bad allergy to sunlight. Even just slightly being hit by it would probably kill me.” May’s jaw dropped to the ground. She could not believe what she had just heard. She knew that having an allergic reaction was entirely possible, but with how extreme he made it out to be, she just could not accept that. “If it’s really that bad, then how do you know that for a fact?” The man simply smiled at that. May was completely unprepared for what he said next. “Just a gut feeling.” May was completely and utterly blindsided by the man’s simple statement, and she was unable to not let it show. “Just a gut feeling? Really just a gut feeling? How in the entire universe does that prove a thing?!” “Well, you can’t prove that I’m wrong.” At that moment, she wanted to scream. She could not comprehend the man’s logic one bit. Her mind was furiously racing around at the sheer absurdity of it all. “I literally can prove it wrong! Moonlight is sunlight reflected off of the moon, so if your allergy is that extreme, you shouldn’t be able to go out at all !” “Well... can you prove that that fact is true?” Every single interaction with the man made May feel closer to exploding each time. Every single sentence by him existed solely to infuriate her. Every single word that the man said was uttered purely to leave her hopelessly perplexed. She was speechless for the next ten seconds, which made the man continue on. “You have no argument, therefore I can conclude that that statement is false.” ‘BUT WHAT’S YOUR ARGUMENT FOR BELIEVING YOU’RE ALLERGIC TO THE SUN?!” She was unable to resist shouting there. Because of that, she ended up grabbing the attention of a few others living on the street. The man did not, in fact, answer the question that she had asked. Instead, he just stood there, smiling forcefully. For an extended period of time, the two were silent. Everyone spectating watched with great interest. Suddenly, the man started once more. “Oh! I just realized I haven’t told you yet! My name is Peter Arkins.” “WHAT. DOES. THAT. HAVE. TO. DO. WITH. ANYTHING?!” She had legitimately stomped her foot with every single syllable there, unable to contain her unbridled rage towards him. “Well, I sure am hungry. I definitely could use something to eat just about now.” “DON’T JUST TRY TO AVOID THE ENTIRE DISCUSSION AND ACT LIKE NOTHING HAPPENED!” She verbally protested with all her might, but the man had pretended to not hear a thing and simply walked away. She was infuriated with the entire situation, however she did not attempt to further continue the debate. She realized that it was ultimately all futile, and that she should not have even attempted to try in the first place. As everything was starting to dissipate, she suddenly heard the man cry out. She did not see the event it its entirety, but she immediately knew what had happened. The man had simply tripped over a rock, fallen, and was now lying face first on the ground, without movement. A small crowd of seven people had been watching it all play out without even the slightest bit of interference, but after the man’s fall, one of them finally spoke. A small eleven year old boy with red glasses had asked, “Is he dead?” Silence. “I think he is,” replied a young, dark-haired teenage girl besides him. A tall, brown-haired adult proceeded to walk up towards him and check for his heartbeat. “Nope. He’s still hangin’ on.” The teenager let out a disappointed sigh, then quickly realized that she had done that out loud, looked at all of the others in the crowd nervously and scuttled away. At this point, nobody really knew what to do now, so they all started to leave one by one quietly. May was the only one left now. She felt a bit reluctant to leave him there without doing anything, but she was still mad about the previous discussion, so she had decided to go home in the end. The man was unconscious for the entire night. When he finally woke up, it was 6 AM, and the sun was shining right in his face for the first time ever. May and Casey happened to be walking along the street at the same time he woke up, and May smugly smiled when her and the man locked eyes. “So, are you sure you’re so allergic to the sun now?” The pale skinned man was now being fully basked in the rays of sunlight that had traveled all the way through space solely to spite him and all of his previous beliefs. May was confident that the man could do nothing but accept the cold, hard truth right in front of him. The man gazed down at the path beneath his feet for a couple of seconds, and had finally answered. “This light probably comes from a fake sun.” May had passed out on the spot.


The touches between their lips burn. He woke up in sweat and horror. The things in his dream had never happened in real life, which was more of the reason to feel terrified over. You dreamt what you had thought of, but he could swear to all gods he hadn’t thought of anything alike for quite a long while. He then realized he was not lying down on his own bed staring at the ceiling like it was supposed to be when waking up from a nightmare, instead he was sitting at a table by himself. Drowsiness and stupefaction of his mind prevented him from processing any more thoughts beyond the thirst for water. He waved his hand, a waitress came for him, and he asked for the icy waters. The ice water cleared the mind, he could finally observe his surroundings. It was the bar downtown, he realized, and soon enough he remembered he came here by himself just for some drinks, but then fell asleep at the table, succumbing to his sleep deprivations that had been pestering him for the last few weeks. One could only imagine his exhaustion if his little nap had dreams horrifying enough for him to wake up amidst it. The lady’s voice on stage sounded like silver bells. These round tables surrounding the stage were mostly empty. No one would come to a bar on a work day afternoon. Well besides him. He walked out the bar, and the sun almost blinded him in an instance. The street looked exotic, so did everyone that walked past him, but it might just be the effect of his slumbering mental state. Bilious, agitated, he wanted to do something, but there was nothing for him to do. The classes were all done and needed no more attention, besides, sitting back at his desk and starting doing work would be the last thing he wanted to do at this moment. He had a train he had to get on this evening, but that just seemed so far away right now, he wouldn’t want to entertain the idea of doing nothing until then. The phone came in. He picked it up. “Yo! Dawdler! I would imagine you having nothing to do right now.” “Yes. I have nothing to do.” “Come over to my apartment. Rand and I are heading out, you want to come?” “Heading out for what? “I don’t know. Christmas is coming my dude. You don’t want to make a proper meal together before going back home?” That sounded like a decent enough idea, but that meant he would be stuck with Reynolds and Rand for the next few hours. “Sure... I am coming.” The sun was relentless, and there were no clouds in the sky, so it blasted the land with all its might and wills, scorching the tarmac roads with thundering heat. Stepping on it, he could feel the ground hitting back up his feet, and his skin grinding against the bottom of his shoes. Their apartment was quite far away from his, and although they both belong to the school, one was far more superior than the other. He would normally be able to tell which was which, but right now the vivid dream and the numbness of his limbs had disabled him from making any judgment on anything, and nor could he remember what he thought of their apartments before today. All he could think of properly right now, was to walk. Walk to their apartment. Just walk under the screaming sun. The blocks looked all the same. Building after building climbing on top of each other, stacking layers upon layers like some kind of foreign dishes of which he forgot the name of. Since the surroundings were so monotonous, there was really no way of telling north west east south. But somehow, as if there were a mental map in his brain, he simply just kept walking, and his feet would just follow an invisible trail, heading towards an unknown destination. “Goddamn, I would expect you to be late for forty minutes or so.” Reynolds blurted when opening the door. “I was nearby.” “For what?” “I don’t know.” That wasn’t a lie. “Well, let's go then. Rand!” “Yea. I am ready.” Indeed he was with all his backpack and hiking shoes and such. “Would you keep it down, by the way, Not everyone has gone home you know.” “Thought it was just you two in the apartment.” He asked, not knowing why he would ask such a question. Seemed rather specific. “He meant our neighbors,” Reynold answered. They headed out. Rand suggested heading back to school, which was a few miles away. Reynold chided him for being such a nerd that even though they had all finished their courses the school was still the one destination he had in mind, but he did agree with the suggestion. The school’s market was quite cheap, and their goal of the day was to get food after all. Him, walking alongside the two, or to be more accurate following the two, since he just couldn’t pick up the pace of his steps, and the two sometimes had to stop their steps to wait for him. He didn’t voice any opinion about the suggestion, simply because he knew that even if Rand had suggested them all jump out of a bridge and off themselves, he would still think of it as a good idea. He felt dehydrated, dizzy, tiresome, and every time his feet stepped on the dirt or some rough surface, his entire body shuddered. Their school was on top of the hill, so the few miles that usually would be pretty easy for casual hikers like them were a lot more difficult this time. The uphills were almost torturous. Reynold joked about them all should just head back home right now and bored their brains out while at it, Rand laughed, while he, again, remained silent. He was a talkative person, for sure, but not right now, as he couldn’t construct a complete sentence in his head and continuously finding the act of listening to their conversations to be progressively burdensome, so he toned out, and focused himself on walking and seeing. “Say, Francis would have hated to be here.” “We need to do this with him next time. Walk to our school from the apartment.” “That moron probably wouldn’t be able to last ten minutes. I could laugh by just imagining his expression.” “I couldn’t. Mainly because my feet hurt.” “Yeah the uphill was quite the tribulation, but hey we had done it before right?” “Right, I am not saying we can’t do this.” “I know what you meant.” “Sure you do.” “Hey, I got you. We should do an even longer hike after this one.” “Of course you wouldn’t stop until my shoes are completely whacked.” “I got you, man. Don’t worry about those trivia details.” A farm. Amidst the esoteric, recondite conversation between the two, the corner of his eyes spotted something. A farm right next to the tarmac road they were walking on. He voiced: “We should check out the farm.” “What?” “We should check out the farm.” “Isn’t the farm a restricted area?” Rand asked Reynold. “Right... I don’t think we are allowed to enter the place.” Directed toward him. The sudden urge in his heart of visiting the farm was overwhelming, and it seethed in his chest, pumping and quickening his breath. He needed to see the farm. He felt. The need was a necessity, comparable to the matters of life and death and the basic need of human beings, like water and food. His arms and legs froze over, even with the boiling air surrounding him, he could feel the chill spreading from his spine to the outer skins and organs. It was the chill of desperation. If he gave up right there, there might be never again a chance of entering the farm with his friends, and the farm would forever be cloaked in mystery, and every time he walked past it would be mental torture from now on. So he must insist. The two standing in front of him would follow as well, and he would make sure of that. “Say, you are an adventurous person.” He blurted. “It is gonna be fine, alright? Trust me on this. I am circumspect enough of a person, won’t you agree?” “Yeah...” Reynold uttered slowly beneath his breath. “So then, what else is the problem. They don’t have guards, they don’t have security cameras, they have nothing. It is just a detour. Again, thought you are an adventurous person.” “Sure I am.” Reynold was properly convinced. He headed to the farm right away. The farm was not big, just a small field of a prairie. The wheat was still pretty young, so the colors of the place were mostly green instead of the usual bright yellow of a wheat field. The heat was magnified by whatever was in the field, maybe from the reflection of the road. The sun was right above them, with nothing between, he could feel his hair gradually heating up. He walked around the place aimlessly, but suddenly he found something. A small barn, in it, laid a few containers. The two followed him in here. He opened one of the containers, it was filled with rice grains. “Huh. So here are the foods the school dining hall uses?” “Why would there be no one guarding these will be my question.” Reynold looked around. He reached out his hand, grabbed a handful of it. The rice, though uncooked, looked extremely appetizing. For some unknown reasons, he could smell the delectable taste of a bowl of perfectly cooked, fluffy white rice. He was salivating, like a dog. He swallowed a lump down his throat, but his stomach was now growling as if it was protesting the long absence of food, which he would admit to. He hadn’t eaten for at least a day or two by now, but still, even himself found the fact of him hungering over raw rice to be disturbing. He suddenly made the decision. He pulled out a plastic bag and stuffed some handfuls of rice in it. “Hey! What are you doing?” Rand said, with certain panic and anger in his voice. “Woah there!” Reynold, less agitated but still with noticeable vexation. He just kept on stuffing. His hand that kept reaching out to grab the grains had slowly gone numb, and cold. He considered switching hands, so his left hand would be the one that held the bag and the right would be the one that purloined, but switching hands right now would be looking really weird, and his friends were watching him, so he gave up the idea, and kept moving his arms with muscle memories. Finally, the small plastic bag was filled with rice grains. “There is no one around.” He said, addressing himself to Reynold. “Nor are there any cameras. Look around. This little barn is not capable of having any sort of security alright? There are no fences around this place either. They don’t sell jasmine rice up there, and damn it I haven't had a good meal in way too long of a while. There are at least a few bushels of rice in each of the containers, a bag from it would be less noticeable than a needle under the ocean.” “Why would you go out of your way to do things... with all these illegalities...” He didn’t know why either. He could feel the fume burning, and the urge of doing something outrageous, something outlandish, something that no one else would have done just wouldn’t stop its hissing trails all over his body. He didn’t know the source nor the cause of such wants, and he didn’t question it either, he just obeyed. “Hey! I don’t care. Do what you want, I am getting these myself if you want to wash all your hands and walk away clean.” He appeared more insolent than normal as well. He normally wouldn’t talk to a friend like that. “Alright!” Reynold slapped his knees, “If the prudent living, overly-paranoid and cautious friend said it is alright, why not right?” He pulled out a small plastic bag and stuff and a few handfuls of rice in it as well. “Reynold!” Rand cried. “Dude! We are not doing the right things right now! This is stealing.” “Hey, it is fine.” Reynold gave Rand a few comforting pads on the shoulder, “Don’t worry alright? He does that. We said we are gonna make a proper meal tonight, and yeah like he said, they don’t sell these good rice up there in the supermarket. There are still tons lying around here. A few bowls of it, no one would notice.” “Nor would anyone care.” He followed up Reynold’s sentence even though it needed no follow up. “Let's go.” The dusk had come for them. On the way back, walking downhill, he could see the sun slowly drown beneath the horizon, as the bright yellow light slowly turned into a deep and crimson red. The heat was gone, and replacing it was the breezes and the chill that crept under people’s sleeves when they were not noticing. They had shopped quite a lot, and it seemed they really planned to have a proper meal in their apartment. Him, on the other hand, bought very little, just a stick of celery, some chocolate for the way back, and that one bag of rice sitting at the bottom of the pocket of his coat. He could feel the weight of it. And as the heat of the day died off, his rational minds had seemed to come back alive. His hand felt cold, and his brain was scrambling for a good justification for being a larcener, and no doubt not one was satisfying enough. What’s more, was the fear. The fear of being caught. The rebellion of the act was far greater than he had expected, and the anxiety and the nerve such rebellious intention brought were weighing in far harsher than he could take. There is no way to be sure. He told himself. How could one be so stupid that they thought their act of crime will not be caught. It was a strictly forbidden area, beyond any doubts that trespassing would be punished. He didn’t see any fences, or any guards, or anyone, and the barn was barren and empty enough for him to observe all over without an untrodden corner, and for sure there could be no security camera there. Something might have already gone wrong, but he was just ignorant of it. Maybe the authorities were heading their way already. Maybe someone who accidentally walked by saw them, and they would become the witness of their crime. Maybe that someone remembered their faces. Then he checked the watch, an even more intense but significantly more mundane kind of anxiety took over. He needed a proper hour to get to the train station, but right now, by their pace, he would miss his train which was also the last one of the day. He had to make home before tomorrow. When they reached their apartment, the stress had finally taken his toll. As they walked in their apartment, he voiced: “I can’t stay, guys.” “What?” Reynold turned and asked, just about to step in the door. “You stay for dinner at least right? We bought all this stuff.” “No... I can’t... I have a train to catch, I already bought the ticket. I have to go.” He put down the few things he bought in the shop, along with that heavy bag of rice. “They are all yours. Just enjoy your meal alright? Happy holiday...” Suspiration could be heard, presumably made by Rand since it was coming from behind Reynold, though he couldn’t really see the inside of the apartment, it was unlit, and he had his head down and couldn’t raise it back up. He was just staring at Reynold’s shoes. They were new, and shiny, seemed expensive. “You sure. You can still have your stuff you know, we got quite enough.” “No just... have them, I need to go... put more water in that rice cooker... last time I ate here the rice tasted dry...” “That was what? Two or three years ago?” “Right... I must be going.” The road leading to the train station meandered around the hills and the city as if it was consciously expanding to agitate him even more than he already was. He needed to get to the train station. The ticket was not cheap, and missing the train would be a huge loss on his and his family’s behalf. He rushed through streets after streets, blocks after blocks, until finally, the thought of giving up had caught up to him: The train station was still a mile or more away, yet the train was leaving in twenty minutes. If he makes haste, he might still be able to catch it, but there was no point in doing that. His lungs were already burning with exhaustion, so did his limbs shaking from starvation and dehydration. He gave up. He would go back home the next day. Right now something more urgent must be done: eat and rest. But both his and the two’s apartment was really far away from him now. The dining hall it is. He thought to himself. The food there was absolute trash, and he enjoyed no bits from knowing the fact that the meal he was about to consume would barely be tolerable, but he needed to eat, and rest, fast. He headed back uphill towards the school dining hall. ... The morning. A very early morning. Not even seven o’clock yet. The sun had just come out, and the light it emitted was still mellow and somber, shining on the church’s wall appearing as different shades of blue and white. Some people were gathering at the front door. He just came back from home, and he had heard the news: the two friends of his had died, cause of death remained undisclosed. The church in the school was having a memoir right now, and he had just caught it. He rushed here immediately after he stepped off the train. It was the start of another quarter, and coming back from winter break, not a lot of classmates of his could handle such tragic news. He could, and fear and distraught overwhelmed him as he stepped into the church. The church was still relatively empty. No priest could be seen, just some classmates and friends of theirs sitting on the benches, weeping or whispering over the death, he couldn’t tell. No other sound could be heard. The people at the front door were greeted by a front desk set up temporarily to deal with the guests coming from outside the school. At the very front, there were flowers sent by people everywhere giving their condolences sitting on the altar and ambo, along with some words of prayers, but he couldn’t see the expected portraits of the two friends of his. He was glad about it, since he wasn’t sure about his ability to hold it together if he saw the two’s faces again. He saw a girl sitting on the very front bench, he walked down the nave to her. “Viola.” He whispered since the surroundings were all so quiet. “Oh, you are here.” She clearly had wept. but she still had her composure, with that ever-lasting stoic expression of hers, “Oh god, I wish we would have met under better circumstances...” “Where is the principle?” He asked. If Viola was not knee-deep in the water of grief and affliction, she would definitely be able to spot the irregularity: there was no anguish, or sadness over a close friends’ death on his face; his pallid skin and pale lips were all the expression of horror and utter fear; he looked as if someone was chasing him, as all his limbs shudder noticeably like care branches amidst a snowstorm.; his eyes wide open, and the trembling mind could be seen through his almost diluted iris. She didn’t notice all these however, as she was, indeed, overwhelmed by the sadness of losing two of her close friends. “Where is the principle?” He asked again, this time bellowing yet remained the low volume. “I need to speak with him.” “He is sitting at the front desk...” She replied, quite bewildered, yet again having not enough of vigor or strength to question his behavior. He turned his head and confirmed her answer. Strangely he had just walked past the front desk and didn’t notice the principle sitting there. “Mr. Principle.” “Oh, lad...” The principle was a man in his middle age, with a bald spot on top of his head and a pair of unpleasant looking specs, “You have my utmost condolences. I know you all are close friends...” “I need to talk to you, in private.” “Aye, just give me a few minutes to settle down the guests...” “It is urgent.” The principle paused for a moment. “Let's go to the quad.” The quad, not really a quad, but a football field, with running tracks circling it. There were some students on the field practicing sports, and some running on the track. Not by any means a lot of them, but still enough to scatter all around the field. “We can talk while walking.” The principle uttered. “This needs to be in private.” “It is private. We walk along the track and talk, no one would have heard.” They got down there and started strolling along the running track. “So. What’s the matter?” The news reached his house a week or so ago during the middle of winter break and holiday, and he could feel nothing but fear ever since. The trepidation he had experienced for the past few days must certainly be something beyond anyone’s comprehension: it had mastered him, as he was unable to fall asleep without feeling the sensation of those grains of rice slipping through his finger. He checked all his clothes and bags for any shreds of evidence of him ever been to that farm, any traces of soil or grains of rice he hadn’t noticed before. Naturally, there was nothing, he was all clean. He then got a fever, though he had never heard of anyone getting themselves physically ill not of outside factors but of inner turmoil. The fear of getting caught, coated his jacket, followed him every second of the day. He laid in bed for a few days, sinking down to the bottom of near unconsciousness, and during those days when he encumbered himself in the dusty bed sheets shaking and shivering, speculations and educated guesses muddled his mind even further. He could no longer believe in the blissful lies he had before. There must be a reason why a farm would be such a heavily restricted area, and there must be a reason why such classified and prohibited places so lacking in security. After a few days of bed-ridding, he finally felt better, physically. For the rest of the holidays, he suddenly became more polite, more timid to others, as he would never greet or welcome those relatives of his normally, but this time he was acting like a sycophant, smiling and treating them all like the most up class guests. Those around him noticed the differences, figured he was changing for the better. But he knew, because every night, when he stared at the ceiling, it looked like that metallic surface of the rice containers, pale white, staring right back at him. He needed to sort this out, and even though the principle wasn’t a person he had the most trust in, he was the highest official he could easily get to. He recounted everything to him, everything that happened that afternoon, even down to the details like the feeling of rice running through his hand like water. “Do you know what is in those farms around the hills, sir?” “No.” The principle answered solemnly. They strolled along the running tracks, occasionally passed through by some students having their morning run. “I am just managing the school, so does every school official, we don’t own the place you know. This is a public school, owned by the government. They got those farms. Even we are prohibited from entering.” “So they are of even higher-ups?” “Yeah... oh boyo, I wouldn’t trade places with you right now for all the whiskey in Ireland...” “I know why they are dead! The official record for their cause of death was unknown right now, but I know why!” As he was about to say something, some runner ran right past them. He recognized the kid, he was from the same class as theirs, the known juvenile, often breaking rules and disobeying the authority, someone on a completely different spectrum than his. He was a good student, well, decent enough, well-liked by teachers. He then noticed the runners running around the tracks all belong to that category, then the terrifying potential hit him: they were eavesdropping. For what reason, might simply be out of curiosity. Nosey cur, like a sewing circle in the back of the class, whispering rumors and conspiracies. “I know why they are dead. The rice was laced.” “Why would you think that?” “That is the only reason that is possible, I had thought of this through and through. There is beyond doubt they had eaten those rice we stole. I haven’t voiced my concern then...” “Why is that?” “I was partly intoxicated...” He scratched his head embarrassingly. “Those rice looked irregular. They were glistening. I had seen enough rice, and that is not something rice grain would do. The glitter was not a coincidence, and that also explained why there is no guard or fences. They knew. Whatever purposes the rice, or heck any other foods coming out of those farms serve, they must have a special procedure to wash off the substances before using.” “The soviet.” The principle suddenly voiced. “What?” “My guesses. These products are for the soviets. Or their organizations in the state. Or something along the lines. These poisonous lacing of anti-theft tactics also fits with their normal doings.” “Thought you said the farms belong to the federal government?” “It could be spies working there, or some other reasons, secret alliances, anything. I had done some digging of my own before in regards to these farms, out of sheer curiosity, and just some amount of spikes that I, as the principal and general managers of the school, were still not allowed to walk into those places, which are under my management! A lot of papers pertaining to the crops were written in a language I can’t understand. Russians. I have seen tags around the necks of those cows. These all add up.” “So, those farms...” “You guys touched the wrong stuff. Basically.” They had stopped their steps, standing in the far side of the track, looking at the football field. By then he had already determined that those runners were eavesdropping their conversation and feeding it back to the class. They were looking through the corner of their eyes every time they ran past them, and their ears were all erected and tall standing. Eyes and ears everywhere. “I think you should head home. I don’t think it’s safe for you to remain in school, my lad.” “You think that is appropriate?” “There must be further aftermath. I would contact you after the things blow over, right now you must head home. Nobody can know what we had spoken of here, boyo?” They had already known. He thought but he simply nodded. The way heading the train station was long, and numbing. After finally divulging his thoughts to someone else, certain clearances had finally visited his mind, the long yearned clearance, but yet still, the damage was done. He now no longer felt the overwhelming dread, instead, he felt nothing. Numbness and emptiness occupied his brain, and they were long-awaited. Like a drywall or an empty canvas, he sauntered to the train station and bought the most recent tickets. He hadn’t been this calm in a long while, not since that afternoon. He felt no relief, yet it was already good enough for him to not crack and cross the last line of defense and sanity. The train came, modern and refreshing. The cart was quite large and tall, so the inside really didn’t feel crowded even though there were plenty of people up there. The train looked more like a good modern subway now he looked at it more closely. The windows were all huge so there was no need for lights, for the sunlight had lit up the train more than anything else could. People standing around even though there were still seats available, most of them staring at their phone or taking a nap, all seemed like business people attending to work. He found a seat and sat down, put his head in his hands as if his nails would drill through his skull. Tears. He didn’t weep a single drop of tear through all these days. He hadn’t even considered the impact of their death, in fact, after all these days of isolation and apprehension, he had already kind of forgotten the appearances of theirs, how they looked, how they acted, how they talked. Fear and dread were so overbearing, no sorrow or sadness could compare to it, but now that those paranoia had slipped back a little, the regret and the remorse finally came crashing through the gate. They were his close friends, and he could never see them ever again. Such cold hard fact pounded his chest harder than his breath. He had led them to their death. He was the one who decidedly wanted to do an outrageous ordeal. He was the one encouraging them the unlawful acts. He was the one that practically killed. He wept like a baby, wanting to wail yet trying his best to hold back seeing he was in public on a train. There was not a trace of pride or ego of himself anymore, and the crushing sense of guilt gripped him by the spine. He cried into his hands, for the loss of his friends. The trains ran further into the horizon, and there was no return.


Benvolio tilted his head, lowering his snout next to Walter. His amber eyes fixed on the photograph of Walter’s family. “Is that your treasure?” He inquired, his eyes studying the photo intently. Walter nodded in return. “My daughter, Beth and my grandson, Sam.” Walter looked at the photo. In the photo they were all smiles, surrounded by a field of pumpkins. He remembered that day. When Beth first moved back home, she was somber, defeated. Sam’s father had left them both. Beth wasn’t sure how she could pick up the pieces. She had been so strong in the face of it all. Then, the day at the pumpkin patch was the first day in several months that he saw Beth smile again. It hadn’t always been easy opening his home after years of being an empty nester, but they managed, and in time Walter couldn’t remember what it was like to live alone. “I see, from what I have learned the gateways are tricky, wavering in and out of existence. Let us consult my treasure to see what we can learn.” Benvolio proceeded back into the cavern. Walter followed. They walked through the chambers, back to the large cavern room where Walter had seen the gold and gems. Benvolio’s eyes darted back to Walter, carefully examining Walter’s face as they passed the sparkling pile of riches. Yes, Walter took a glance, as he did before, but the moment of temptation was fleeting. “I am a bit confused,” Walter admitted, recalling Benvolio’s comment, “How is the treasure helpful for my situation?” Walter wondered if it was simply one of the idiosyncrasies of dragons. He had always heard the tale of dragons hoarding gold. “Oh, that’s not my treasure.” Benvolio chuckled. Benvolio stretched forth his wing, gesturing to several yards beyond the piles of gold. His wing pointed in the direction of rows and rows of tall, sturdy wooden bookshelves overflowing with books and scrolls. “Ah,” Walter smiled, “I am a bit of an avid reader myself.” He thought back to his own collection. King, Grisham, Christie, Tolkien, and more. Lately that collection had expanded to Suess, Sendak, and Carle. “I believe I have just the tome, authored by my favorite mage. I found a lovely spell in there once to jettison a pesky, misguided Knight out of my realm. Though, admittedly, I haven’t mastered controlling the destination and I don’t want to simply maroon you in some strange place.” Benvolio carefully navigated alongside the bookshelves, Walter walking beside him. “Yes, I would like to avoid winding up in another random location.” Walter acknowledged. He glanced up at the shelves, his eyes drifting between Benvolio’s massive form and the comparatively small books. “This might be rude, but how do you manage handling the books and scrolls?” “Alas, my size is a dreadful inconvenience most days. And, I do have to be extra cautious about sneezing while reading, as accidentally igniting the rather flammable material is never fun. I developed my reading habit when I was just a hatchling and have been hooked ever since. I am always happy on the rare occasion in which I have a visitor with hands such as yours that are more suited for handling my treasure. Would it be an imposition to ask you to fetch the blue, leather-bound volume on that shelf there, titled, ‘Incantations of Time and Space, Volume I by Andromeda Chronos’?” Walter walked over to the shelf and began reaching for the book when Benvolio’s head suddenly shot in another direction. Walter paused and listened, hearing the echo of footsteps coming down the passageways of the cavern. “Up ahead!” A man’s voice could be heard in the distance. “Oh bother,” Benvolio groaned, “this again. Walter, take the book and hide. I will handle this. Do not be afraid.” Walter was confused but did as he was instructed. He picked up the book and slid it into the backpack he kept his hiking gear in. Benvolio moved out from the area of the bookshelves, towards the front of the room. “Hark, the monster!” The man’s voice could be heard, louder. Four people wearing armor and carrying weapons entered the main cavern area. Benvolio rolled his eyes and swished his tail, missing them by a yard or two. “Begone adventurers! Give up your folly and I shall spare your lives.” Benvolio rose, stretching to his full height, which practically touched the ceiling of the cavern. He extended his wings out, giving them a single flap, creating a gale that pushed the adventurers back a few feet. “Nay terrible beast. Your reign of terror is over!” The leader of the group proclaimed. The other three adventurers nodded in unison. Walter watched the exchange from the shadows. Walter pondered, what had Benvolio done? The dragon had been nothing but cordial with him. Benvolio sighed deeply and rolled his eyes. He snorted, two small jets of flames shot out of his nostrils, resulting in two plumes of smoke rising to the cavern roof. “As you wish, then.” Benvolio bowed and then let out a roar that shook the stone walls, some of the books rattled off the shelves. The quartet of adventurers lunged toward him with spears and swords, save one adventurer who was armed only with a lute which they strummed furiously. Benvolio batted them away effortlessly. One of the adventurers chanted something, summoning flame from their hands. They shot a fireball at Benvolio. The attack of flame merely glanced off Benvolio’s scales ineffectively. Benvolio chuckled, but then they threw another fireball, which landed a few yards from the bookshelves. Benvolio’s eyes darted to the books, then back to the adventurers.


THE PROBLEM WITH CREATIVE PEOPLE I happen to be one of those type people. Right now it is 2:15 AM.....yeah, I am one of those guys. For the past few weeks I have been working on a painting and hitting the sack at 4 or 5 AM with my dog Luther, he sticks around when I do this stuff. I also play the guitar and will start playing at midnight and go until I fall asleep on the instrument. Normally this is not a problem until I keep my wife Janice awake. She already has a problem where she gets up a couple of times a night to pee. Thank God that is not me; tomorrow she is going to get a cat scan to check that out. Anyway I will stay up until the wee hours of the morning working on something like this story. For a few weeks I was working on a fake receipt to return a stereo to Target. This was an attempt to get over on them. I finally gave that idea up and dumped it at a store where I got a tax credit. When I get going though, I will put on some quiet music and type or paint. When I was working on the painting I would put on a cheap boom box which also I had gotten from Target. This worked well; I would put in something like Segovia or some classical music and keep going. When I was working on the painting this was the result of a photo I had taken in Key West about five or six years ago. The original painting had been printed out on and 8 1⁄2 X 11 piece of paper and looked me in the face for several years. I finally decided to try to do this with watercolors. I have never been too good with that medium and the few good ones got sold off immediately. I had done that one using a photograph and carbon paper. I traced the design onto a piece of watercolor paper and then used watercolors and India ink to pull off the card. I have a friend who makes custom greeting cards by cutting out designs and pasting them to make 3D cards. Very cool stuff, her name is Janice just like my wife. I have always been a creative type as my twin brother John. He is mentally retarded but the man makes the best abstract art work I have ever seen, he makes mine look like crap even though I have an art teaching degree. I can kick his ass with realistic work. I will stay up working on a website, or an idea for a painting or a piece of music. The only problem with the music is that it sometimes gets stuck in my head and I have problems getting rid of it. I have sort of solved that problem by taking deep breaths and thinking of good looking women at the same time. I am sure these women would feel a bit put off if they knew I was doing this. Right now I am in the back bedroom doing this; normally I would type on the laptop in the front bedroom but the LED bulbs kill any chance of Janice getting any sleep so most times she is back here. When I had my first home in Beechwood NJ it was a small place 26 feet square and I am not a TV watcher. This is why we don’t have cable. When I lived there the reception was bad so when Lorraine moved out the TV went in the attic and I lived without it for the next two years by playing guitar all night or painting or doing some other kind of artwork. Now I don’t really need money from artwork but I have a ton of old hardware that I am working with to make abstract sculptures that I am gonna put into art and craft shows or online stuff. It is a matter of getting rid of this stuff and at least making a few bucks while blowing off some creative juices. I had a friend of mine who used to do art work her name was Rose Brancati. I met her in college and dated her for a few weeks until I started with Lorraine. She turned out some incredible ink work and many times at night she would call me at midnight to talk about artwork, her problem is that she had gotten MS which left her with only the use of her left arm and her head. She was like that for at least 25 years and I would visit her and help her put work into senior art shows. The last thing she did was a drawing for calendars I still have this in my music books. Speaking of music books I have played guitar since I was 11 and I am almost 76. I taught it for 45 years and have a bunch of videos on Youtube. I was doing that before and came up to the bed rooms and found Janice in the front one because I was being too noisy. In recent times I have built a PVC fence from fittings; and a stained glass window that went into the front of my home. Even when I was home I was always fooling around with some type of creative or technical work. When I was in high school I was into model trains. I have the set under my Christmas tree right now and in the next week or so that is coming down. I am also in a writing group this is not the first one I have been in. When I was in college I used to drag a guitar around so in between classes I could get in practice time. I get this bit from people that I don’t get enough sleep. I am wide awake right now and I don’t see that is gonna change in the next five or six hours. From what I can see I will be here typing until the sun comes up.


A Regenerating Dream. Picked up by her mother, young Andrea was placed onto her mattress. Bedtime was never easy for Andrea, who whined endlessly each night. Sitting up with her arms and legs crossed, she moaned “mom, why do I need to sleep? I'm an android!” The phrase 'recharging your batteries' was not intended to be taken literally; however, it was accurate regarding Andrea. Hidden under her left thigh was a small door with a battery. Impossible to remove, the battery was what kept Andrea alive. If she spent too long 'uncharged' she would indeed 'die' for real. She sat beside her daughter and briefly paused. Attempting to control her temper became increasingly difficult with each passing night. Weary of hearing the same complaints, yet having no legitimate reason to give her, Andrea's mother frankly stated, “Why? Because I said so! Your father and I have been teaching you about 'blending in' with the rest of humans, and sleeping is something we do. Sleeping is a task all living creatures partake in. Getting tired is often bothersome and many consider sleep a waste of time. Yet when they do not sleep, their behavior and general functionality grows significantly worse. Eventually, something malfunctions without sleep. Extreme deprivation could result in death.” Andrea recalled her past as she laid down. Like a cellphone running on low power, she would indeed malfunction. Trial and error over several previous outings as a young child revealed 'lack of battery power' was partially responsible for the disasters of the day. She knew her mother was right, although she swore she would never tell her. “So you're saying I will 'malfunction' without enough sleep? Funny, I thought you did not believe I am a machine, yet you are using words which often reference machines. 'Malfunctioning' humans indeed. What are you saying mother,” Andrea sarcastically replied. “I am saying you must go to sleep! GOOD NIGHT! End of discussion,” Andrea's mother shouted as she slammed the bedroom door with such force the door cracked slightly. Noticing the crack, yet also intending to sleep, she made note of the issue. She would have her husband buy and replace the door the following day. Reflecting on her creation, Dr. Rosalina James wondered why Andrea needed sleep too. As a Technical Engineering PhD, upon learning she could not have children, decided she would create her own. She was shocked to realize although she designed Andrea with numerous physical and intellectual enhancements, she forgot about adding 'no sleep required.' With an enormous investment of time, money and love placed into her creation, why not design the best? Perhaps she was running on a low battery the night she programmed certain sections of Andrea. 'Nothing is perfect,' whether specially built or developed between people. She and her whole family would learn how true the statement was throughout their lives. Young Andrea finally gave into sleep. Laying still and closing her eyes activated the regeneration cycle. Her last thoughts were regarding her parent's reminding her constantly about 'blending in.' She was often forced to hide her unique enchantments to prevent undesired consequences, such as being taken away and experimented on. Whether an android's regeneration cycle and a human's bedtime are similar enough to compare is up for interpretation. What could not be disputed was eight hours of hell was forced upon Andrea each night. Her body laid motionless on her bed, yet the gears in her head literally turned. Smashing into each other, each wire in her body unraveled and hid behind the destructive gears. Similar to how a spider weaves her web, the wires connected and wrapped around each gear one by one. Shocking each gear back into it's proper location is what Andrea imagined being bit by a black-widow spider would feel like. Thankfully, her programming prevented feeling pain or any other physical sensation. Her mother was not 'malfunctioning' the night she installed that enhancement. Her disobedience caused her nightmares. The few times she willingly slept she had dreams filled with ocean waves flowing throughout her entire body. Each of the millions of gears were sea creatures or coral reefs. Jellyfish and electric eel wires hugged each other and other sea creatures. Fictional mermaids could be seen gazing at the fish jumping over each gear when they turned. Andrea, like the fictional mermaids, also dreamed of being fully human at times. Yes, they suffered from nightmares and experienced pleasant dreams too. However, the differences were evident if remembered. Apparently humans often did not remember their nighttime experiences unless they were spectacularly vivid. Forgetting the crashing and exploding of each element in her body would be a blessing. Halfway through her regeneration cycle, she started remembering a lesson on bears. The relevant point was learning they hibernated during the winter. Winter had arrived on Lush Island, although telling the differences between the seasons was difficult on a beach. Andrea was grateful bears were not present near her home. They were however, present in her nightmares tonight. Her body was a bear pit, the gears became stepping stones. When they connected with the internal wiring cords, a bridge was created. 'Quiet,' she thought. 'Slow and steady wins the race' Andrea recalled her father saying and in her dreams she took the advice. Steeping lightly she continued her quest to reach her thigh. If she could reach the battery perhaps her irrational dreams would stop with her being fully charged. Only a few more gears left she noticed as she proceeded. Throughout her journey she dodged bears of all different species. Waking up a bear out of hibernation in real life would probably result in death. Many humans, such as her father, were equally as dangerous as wild animals when woken up too early. She hated sleep; ironically she was a wild animal when being woken up. Surpassing the obstacles of the bear cubs, unusually rare bear species and polar bears proved difficult. The cubs seemed to wake up; they did not. If they did the other bears would have been awoken. Occasionally loosing her balance Andrea would sway and fall off the gear/stepping stone, grabbing the internal wiring/bridge ropes for dear life. Perhaps she would be fortunate enough to reach her thigh and charge herself quickly without self harm. In nightmares, nothing was easy for humans or androids. She stopped walking for a moment. Standing on one gear for too long was unwise she realized too late. A snap in half and an attempt at jumping away proved futile. The snap of the cord as the gear cracked into pieces, flying in all directions, was the last straw. If she had a heart it would have stopped. Breathing would have been impossible given what she was soon to behold. The bears heard her pass, the snap waking them up quickly. Unaware of her presence they began fighting each other. Normally, this would have been a wonderful distraction. Unfortunately, the bear brawl was moving rapidly, growing more violent with each second. Blood filled in the gaps of her body and the pressure from their steps started breaking the surrounding cords and gears. Eternity seemed to pass and Andrea wondered why she had not yet woken up. Nothing could have prepared her for what she witnessed with the final two bears, the black and brown bears. The Black Bear versus Brown Bear battle was taking place directly on the part of the thigh she was trying to reach all night. The brown bear was near death and the black bear was preparing his killing blow. Accepting there was nothing she could do for herself, she did the only logical task dream Andrea could do. “STOP! I'M THE ONE YOU'RE LOOKING FOR,” screaming loudly enough she hoped. Panicking as she waved for them, “ I woke you up! I'm sorry...” Both bears stopped and set their eyes upon her. Both blood soaked, they raced towards her and she found herself uncertain about what should be done next. Some bears can be outwitted by playing dead, others you needed to flee before they caught and killed you she recalled. As she was considering her options... “Good morning Andrea! I trust you had pleasant dreams?” Her mother shook her awake, noticing that she was tossing and turning in bed instead of motionless. A seven hour regeneration cycle was close enough. They had no plans for the day; being slightly tired would not cause significant trouble. “Mom! You'll never believe what I dreamed last night! Oh, and good morning to you too,” Andrea replied still panicked from the previous night. “What time is it? Have eight hours passed already,” she asked sitting up. She stared deeply into her mother's eyes. Looking underneath, clearly her mother got enough sleep; no dark circles could be seen. Trying to calm her down, Andrea's mother remarked, “Well, only seven hours passed. Your tossing and turning made me wake you. For today, seven is close enough.” “NO! I need that one more hour! You're right,” Andrea cried. Setting a timer for one more hour was pointless in Dr. James opinion. However, she humored Andrea and set it for one more hour. Dr. James knew she was right, yet adored when Andrea finally agreed. A smile stretched across her face. As intelligent as her little girl was, she was unaware her mother knew more about her regeneration cycle beyond the science and purpose. Regardless of the topic, any night they had a fight, the next morning she would report bad dreams. At least there were a few nights each week she had pleasant dreams. Perhaps there would be more in the future. An hour later, Andrea woke up without help and found her mother sitting in the living room. “Good morning mother. I'm glad I received the extra hour.” “Better dreams I assume?” “Yes. I do have a specific request however; never take me camping. I hate bears.” Nodding her head, she inquired “Why bears? Personally I hate camping yet have nothing against bears.” “Simple mother; bears hibernate,” Andrea replied. Making no sense to her mother, she took Andrea aside and they watched TV, fully attentive to the cartoons playing on screen.


"... then Suzie comes in, starts screaming at him and tells him to pack his bags! Can you believe it!? He told me himself, from man to man." "Holy moly! This is like... wow!" "Yeah, right! This just happened!" "Oh, my God!" "I know!" is his instinctive response. "Loren, you should call your sister. Loren ... call your sister. Now." She picks up her phone nervously and types in her sister's number. Riing...Riing... "Hey, Suzie! Your big sis' here. How are you? Have you got a minute?... aha ... aha ... oh, really? ... aha ... no way! ... aha ... did he? ... and what did she say? ... oh, I see ... ok, no no no that's absolutely fine. ... I'll call you tomorrow. Ok then. Byyyye!" "What did she say?" "Fred came home late apparently. He was due to be back from his team building weekend last night but only got home a few hours ago and-" "- She smelled someone else's perfume on him!" "I don't know about that. She didn't say. But she is furious. The neighbours came in to calm her down. They have just left her house." "So, what happened?" "Well, it sounds like he was the only one who had got home late. The only one beside his boss. You know, the new guy from Paris... uhm... Jonn Pawl ... John-Paul-" "- You mean, Jean-Paul. So, what about Jean-Paul?" Matt was getting nowhere close to hearing the full story. "Well, come on, then! What happened next, Loren?!!!" "Okayyyy!", she yells back. She stands up from the sofa to distance herself from him and heads for the fridge where she pours herself a glass of white wine. She returns the half-empty bottle in the fridge, closes it carefully and takes a deep breath in. "It sounds like he was having an affair..." "What! Jean-Paul and him?!" Matt asks incredulously. "No way!!" His right hand combs through his hair before falling flat onto his lap. "There is no way in the world that your brother-in-law is having an affair with Jean-Paul! No way! Not in a million years!" Loren watches Matt pacing their living-room. "My sister does not actually HAVE any real proof other than the fact that he came home a day after the training. He said that he had spent the night at Jean-Paul's and-" "- and that's why they must have slept together! That's it?!" Matt scratches his face. "There could be hundreds of other reasons why he did not come home last night", Matt suggests tentatively. "Maybe they had to finish off important business that could not wait until Monday", he interjects. "Or maybe... maybe Jean-Paul needed someone to talk to and Fred volunteered his time." Dead silence. "I don't know! They could have been involved in something after the two-day training..." he ventures. "Suzie said to me that Fred had come home wearing a suit that did not belong to him. She seems to vaguely remember Jean-Paul wearing one very similar to the one Fred was dressed in." Matt's pupils are moving left, right, then left and right again, as if trying to make sense of what has just been implied. He is now staring at his wife in disbelief. "Your sister has got it wrong, Loren. He loves her. He has always loved her so much. This weekend was their only weekend apart since they got married. This is not right..." He sits down on the sofa again, facing the TV on mute. From the open kitchen, she can see his head going down. He is now massaging his neck. "Matt? Maaat...? Is there something that you have not told me?" She is now standing in front of the TV, facing a man who seems to be avoiding her gaze. "What were you two talking about over the phone? ... You said you had talked to Fred." "Fred had come to see me just before the training weekend. He came to ask me for money to buy himself a new suit." "Aha..." "He wanted it to make a good impression. He wanted to impress his boss to... to get a promotion. He had it in his head that the start of this new year would be the start of a new him. He had made plans for a better future." "Go on..." "Fred told me that he was onto something good that would allow him to be the man he had always wanted to be and ..." "And...?" "He didn't go home last night because he... because he..." Matt buries his face in his hands, tears flowing through his fingers. "He didn't go home last night because he was scared." "Scared!? ... Of who?! Of what?!" Loren goes back to the fridge resigned to finish the bottle of wine. " Somehow during the training, someone left an envelope addressed to him. In it, he found some official documents. He told me that he had looked at them on the way home, at the end of the training but he could not TELL me what it was about. He stayed at Jean-Paul's because he could not face his wife." "And that's why you asked me to call my sister..." It all made sense. "But guess what? She has thrown him out of the house so we'll never know..." Ping! Matt searches for his phone and finds a message from Fred. He reads the message out loud: " 'Sorry I didn't get to say goodbye or explain. Tell Loren I love her. And tell her to look after Suzie. I need some time to process what I have just found out.' " Both Matt and Loren are puzzled by the mystery behind these words. Ping! Matt reads out the second message: " 'Whoever did this for me did us all a favour... I guess. Can I come for a sec? I am in front of your house.' " Matt and Loren stare at each other. Fred is here... Just as Loren prepares to open the door, another message comes through. "No message" Matt says. "Just two attachments." He opens the first one, a screenshot of a letter: "Hi Fred, upon checking the validity of the documents you received, I can confirm that they are authentic. The content has been checked by my lawyer friend who can be contacted on 0453231547 should you wish to discuss the implications of your recent findings. Take care, Jean-Paul." "The second one is a printscreen. Something about DNA tests... " Matt meets his wife's eyes. "Loren, you need to sit down. This DNA test confirms that Fred and Suzie are.... related... According to this picture, they are... they are siblings..." "He is my brother..." Loren's glass hits the ground, she runs through the main door and hugs Fred who falls apart at her sight. For the pain is real. The hurt, agonising. Change, daunting. A new man this year, Fred will be.


Vincent stretched and climbed out of bed. He made his way to the corner of the room and gingerly stepped out of the frame of the picture, carefully gasping the sides, and lowering his body to the floor below. The hallway of the museum was semi-dark, but Vincent could make out the details of each of his works that hung on the walls. He had no way of knowing that his evening wanderings were within the confines of the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam, nor that it was the largest collection of his art in the world. All he knew was that during the nighttime hours, he could emerge from his yellow bedroom in Arles and explore some of his favorite familiar haunts, from the south of France to Paris to the Belgium of his youth. Loneliness was a familiar companion, but he had his work and certain friends he could visit on his nocturnal wanderings. Depending on his intended visit, Vincent would don his favorite straw hat, or when he planned a visit to Madame Agostina Segatori at the Cafe de Tambourin from his Parisian days, he carefully placed his gray felt hat at a jaunty angle. Vincent could still step into his studio and dabble with his brushes and canvases, but for some reason there was never any completed work anymore. He could still seek out his brother Theo, with whom he bore such a striking resemblance, and converse about the art market for his works as if time had stood still. He occasionally dropped in to see his friend Paul Gauguin, with whom he had shared an apartment in Arles before their falling out. He recalled this as if it were yesterday and was puzzled that he could reenter Paul’s presence by stepping into the frame of his portrait, and still engage in heated artistic arguments. Van Gogh spent his youth in Belgium, and he still admired his work of the common man and the honest labors of the field workers. Tonight, he entered the world of his Potato Eaters. The family had the simplest of means and sat as always huddled around their meagre meal of potatoes that they had just cleaned and cooked. Despite their frugal bounty, they met Vincent’s entry with a cautiously welcoming gaze and a seat at their table. “Will you join us, sir?” He would defer their offer of food but welcomed their simple company and to learn of their days’ activities and honest day’s work. He would return to the Yellow House, stepping into the street in front and exchanging pleasantries with the neighbors he would pass by enroute to his house. “Greetings Vincent!”, offered the local postman. “I’ve left you a post from your brother”. “Thank you Monsieur Roulin, I bid you a pleasant good night!” Vincent had to follow the same sequence each night to arrive home, first entering his street scene with his home in Arles, then crossing down the hallway to the portrait of his room. Entering his private domain, he could sink into his bed and let sleep overtake him. Today he planned to visit Madame Segatori at the Cafe. He shared a special connection with her in his Parisian days, and her colorful presence brought him enjoyment whenever he stepped into the cafe’s picture. There she always sat with her red hat, buttoned blouse with long skirt, and pitcher of beer. She h ad helped him mount an exhibition of his Japanese prints in the cafe. “Good evening, Vincent.” “A pleasure to see you Agostina. How has business been today?” “Ah as well as I could hope my friend. For a rainy Friday.” Vincent could not see outside and had no concept of the weather, the day of the week, or even the year. He had grown accustomed to these mysteries, accepting his current existence despite its confines. He had his memories and could revisit where he chose. Perhaps it would be a walk along the Seine, a stroll through the olive orchard and a visit to a neighboring farmhouse, sending his greetings to the workers of the field sewing hay, or shearing sheep. At night he would sift through the piles of French novels he had collected, picking one up at random to enter a different world, an escape from his own. His provisions were scarce, limited to his own artistic creations. He could enter his still lifes of apples or grapes and have his fill of the fruit that always seemed fresh, and the bowl curiously was never depleted each time his pangs of hunger prompted his evening visit. He returned to his room, buoyed by his visit to Madame Segatori. The next night Vincent explored further down the darkened corridors, and hesitated as he saw the entrance to the asylum at San Remy. He recalled his time here and stepped inside feeling immediate regret. There was the one-eyed man who was a fellow inmate there, casting suspicious glances in his direction. Vincent left through the entry vestibule and went into the garden. His time in nature always lifted his spirits, admiring its bounty, whether in the beauty of a pink peach tree or the sunflowers or irises he loved to paint. The only exception was when he walked through the wheatfields and scared up the crows, who frightened him, making him feel a sense of foreboding, providing somehow a reminder of his own mortality. Sometimes he was still startled of late when he saw his bandaged ear in his looking glass and recalled he had cut it off after a furious row with Paul. This morning Vincent awakened not in his room in Arles in his familiar bed, but with a view of the Garden of the asylum at San Remy. He froze, not remembering how he had arrived here, as he did not like the restrictions here though he had been able to do some of his most creative work in these surroundings. Vincent looked for the exit but found none. He imagined the worst. He searched for the square picture frame that would provide his escape to another aspect of his life but found only an inky black void. “Theo, are you there?” No response. Vincent sat alone in his thoughts, contemplating his own mortality. Oh, but for one more glass of absinthe with the company of Madame Segatori. Instead, Vincent heard the distant cawing of the crows in the wheatfield and reached for the revolver he had carefully hidden amidst his belongings. He took hard his sense of dwindling creativity in his painting. Tomorrow he would venture out into the fields with his easel, looking for inspiration in the quiet of the field and the swaying wheat. But tonight, he stared into the darkness, his fingers gripping the pistol tightly.


There was silence before the birds began to sing in fear. Above them, storm clouds rolled in the sky, causing the forest to undergo a dark tone. Lightning bolts striked and thunder screamed accros the forest, threatening to set trees aflame. Squirrels, birds and other animals quickly ran off for shelter once thunder began to echo throughout the valley. It was only a matter of time before the wind would pick up and destroy anything on its path. None of this mattered, however, to Jack, who continued to run below nothing but a couple of leaves. Jack knew this forest. He had spent more than half of his life exploring it in his free time. It should’ve been a maze to him--the trees all looked exactly alike and there were barely any landmarks. But, he could tell exactly where he was and what way he needed to go to get to his rustic cabin called home. The leaves began to sog underneath the pouring rain, no longer providing comfort for Jack. Heavy raindrops soaked through his sweatshirt and jeans, making it more than uncomfortable to continue running. He ducked underneath branches and jumpedd over logs. For once in his life, he was thankful that his father had made him run track when he was a kid. Dim lights shone through the huge fog. There were only a few hundred yards between Jack and the small cabin when a lightning struck. It didn’t land near him, but it released a bright glow, showing Jack that he wasn’t alone running. Within the trees was a man watching Jack run. The rain blurred a lot of his vision so he couldn't catch the man’s face. Once the lightning faded, the man’s silhouette was still visible. But he did not move. Jack swerved around a tree and looked back at where the man had been. No one stood there anymore. The boy shrugged, assuming he had imagined the whole thing in his head. Finally, he reached his ratchet fence and jumped right over it, landing with a thud on the ground below. He ran straight into his front door, but came to a stop before he could slip. The door creaked as it opened, light enveloping the boy’s figure. He smiled at the sight of his mother, curled into herself on their living room couch. It was a flimsy old thing that they had found on the side of the road the day that they were leaving the city. His mother said it was some kind of sign that they had to take it. It was more of a purple lump rather than a couch, but the two of them loved it. Jack shut the door quietly behind him, locking it and then proceeding to bolt it shut. Carefully, he slid off his muddy sneakers, dropping them on the floor. His brown hair fell all over his face, invading his line of sight. Drops fell from it, leaving a small trail behind him as he wobbled into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and grabbed an apple from the fruit drawer. He threw the apple into the air, watching it spin a few times before it softly landed back into his palm. Jack grabbed a knife from a drawer and hummed with happiness as he placed the apple on the counter. He hadn’t eaten since dinner the night before, and the storm he endured made him ravenous for food. He continued to cut the apple into small pieces popping each one into his mouth. A few minutes passed as Jack ate his apple in bits. He was putting the knife in the sink when a loud bang from behind him startled him. He turned around quickly and scanned the room. His heart rate had skyrocketed and his hands were shaking. His eyes fell on the door. It was still closed, making him less worried. “That hallucination must’ve really gotten to me,” he laughed to himself. He looked down at his bare feet, only to look right back up when he heard a groan. “What the--” Jack took slow steps. He creeped over to where his mother was laying on the couch. She was huddled in a ball on the rug that sat beneath the coffee table, holding her head. “You alright?” Joey asked, with a humorous tone. “Fine,” his mother spoke from where she lied. Jack bent down and, helped his mother get up “Did you shower?” Joey looked at his mother, confused. “You’re all wet.” He laughed, “There’s a storm outside. Can’t you hear it?” At that exact moment, thunder struck from above, shaking the small cabin. Fear spread through the houes. “Someone’s at the door,” his mother muttered, staring straight ahead. Jack only sighed, lifting her from underneath her arms and placing her back on the couch. “No, mom. That’s the storm.” “It doesn’t rain out here in Hawaii, sweetheart.” “We don’t live in Hawaii, mom.” “Let your mother go back to sleep,” was the last thing she said, her voice dropping a few octaves too low. Jack gave up and stood, leaving his mother to sleep her day away on the couch as she usually did. He made his way back to the counter, where his unfinished apple sat. Biting into it quickly. So fast, he bit his lip Jack walked toward the bathroom at the edge of his cabin. Stepping on the cold tiles, sending shivers down his spine. Rust chipped off the faucet as he twisted the handle. Getting in under the water turned his back numb. CRASH. “What was that ?” Jack thought. He stopped showering abruptly, slamming the faucet shut. He tiptoed into the kitchen, bending beneath the counter. He jumped up to see the living room. Glass had shattered all over his gray rug. In the middle lay a red brick. Jack carefully observed the object in his room. He slowly picked the brick up. Flipping it over to the side where in small letters one wrote, “I'm watching you.”


A bright, white light fills my vision. I wince, gritting my teeth as the shine fades and I focus on what’s happening. But as my vision clears, all I still see is white -- a thick, white blanket of snow, stretching in every possible direction. I don’t understand. What happened? I don’t even remember how I got here... I had a couple beers but definitely not enough to end up alone in a big, open field. I look up to find a pale night sky with a few glittering stars above me. Yeah. Something crazy must’ve happened. I clamor up to my feet, stretching out my arms to balance. I might be hungover and there’s too much stupid snow everywhere. I don’t wanna fall. But as I start walking forward into the snowy wasteland, I don’t feel unsteady. I still look down at my feet, just to be sure. I freeze. I’m walking. I know I am, I can see it. Left foot, followed by the right. But no matter how many steps I take, how far I walk, or even how hard I try to ram my feet into the snow, nothing changes. The fresh snow beneath me looks untouched. I’m not leaving any footprints behind. Okay, now I really don’t understand. I must’ve been really drunk or high or something. This can’t be happening. But my head feels clear and I don’t feel like I’m gonna puke. No, no, no... What’s happening? Why the hell can’t I remember anything? I plop down into the snow to sit. But my body doesn’t sink in. I don’t even feel the wet or the cold of it. It’s like the snow isn’t really there, like it’s not real. I rub my temples and try to remember. Oh. It was Padma’s birthday. We rented a cabin nearby to go skiing. I hop to my feet and hurry in a random direction. I think the cabins were this way. I need to find the others. If I can talk to them, they’ll know what’s happening. I think. I don’t know. I just can’t be alone out here right now. “Can you just pretend you wanna be here?” I remember Padma saying to me earlier. “Come on, Pia. Don’t be like this.” I was sitting on the fluffy red couch across from the cabin door, where Padma was standing. I felt like I was putting distance between us, making some kind of statement. Thinking about it now, I probably looked more like a child than a 23 year old adult. “I’m not into the snow,” I grumbled. “Just go on without me. I’ll catch up later.” “Pia, sometimes I wonder why you even come out with us,” said Ana. She was Padma’s favorite friend. And for me... she was my least favorite acquaintance, to put it kindly. “Because Padma is my sister,” I answered shortly. “How touching.” “Please, can we go now?” Padma whined, looking between me and Ana. “Pia, you spent the money to come here. You might as well join us.” I groaned, nearly stomping my feet as I followed Padma and Ana out into the snow. The wind was biting, nipping at the exposed skin on my face. I shuddered, my teeth clattering in an incessant rhythm that gave me a headache. I strapped on my skis and fell as soon as I tried to balance myself. Ana laughed so loud, her voice echoed across the cliffside. I wanted to kill her. But Padma helped me up and dragged me along. I didn’t understand how that could be fun for anyone. As I hurry off, I think of how cold I was just a few hours ago. It’s night now, and I see the strong winds blowing plumes of snow past me. They gust into my face but I don’t feel the cool dampness. The wind rages all around but I don’t feel it on my skin. I can’t. I can see the snow. I can hear the wind. But I can’t touch or smell or taste it. Am I hallucinating? On the distant horizon, I see the dark outline of houses. I can’t be that far from the cabins. I try to run for it, but soon find myself rolling down a dip into a ravine I didn’t see. I hit the snow at the bottom on the canyon but still, I don’t even sink in. My eyes screw shut and I grit my teeth, waiting for the immense pain to wash over me. I fell at least 25 feet straight down. But... The pain doesn’t come. Now I really don’t understand. I jump back to my feet, completely unphased, and hurry onward. A massive hill towers over me. I start to hike up it with ease. I knew I was in shape but this seems... very easy. But the elevation here is incredibly uneven, and it’s dangerous. As I think this, I remember. “Don’t be such a baby,” I groaned. “We used to go sledding all the time as kids.” “Not on mountainsides!” Padma squealed. “It’s dangerous!” “And not to mention, we’re not supposed to be on the hills at night,” Ana added in her usual snooty, annoying tone. I snorted. I sipped my wine, the tart flavor filling my mouth and the familiar burn tickling my throat. I think I was on my second glass at that point. Or... Was it my third? I put down the glass of wine and sauntered over to my younger sister. My thick snow boots clattered against the hardwood as I walked, echoing through the dense silence between us. I wondered if I was pushing her too far. No, I didn’t wanna come this weekend. No, I wanted to be home in the city, spending my Saturday drinking wine in a lounge, not in a cabin in the middle of nowhere. No, I was not having fun. But I knew that telling Padma to go sledding out in the mountains with me would stress her out. At least she could feel some of what I was feeling. “You’re 21 now,” I said with a little scoff. Padma frowned. “The least you can do is act like an adult, not like a baby.” “Stop it,” Ana growled. “You’re ruining this weekend. This isn’t about you!” “No,” Padma interrupted. She didn’t look at me or Ana, just at her fluffy boots and the floor. “Pia’s right. Besides, this is my big birthday bash. Would... would it really be a party if we didn’t do something crazy?” Padma smiled shakily. I remember being in shock. I didn’t think she would actually agree to go out there, after midnight, when we had been drinking. I couldn’t even think straight. I just wanted to rile her up a little. I peered over her shoulder through the single cabin window. A layer of frost coated the glass and through that hazy layer, I could see thick white snowflakes falling. The wind howled outside, practically shaking the tiny wood cabin as it roared. I didn’t understand why Padma would even wanna do this. “Let’s go!” she exclaimed. She slipped on her jacket and threw open the front door, a barrage of snow rushing inside. I yelled for her to stop and that I didn’t mean it. But Padma, pushed by me and too much merlot, was already outside. Ana shot me a glare and hissed. “You better hope she doesn’t get hurt.” Still rushing through the cold winter air toward the cabins, I scowl. How could Ana think I wanted something bad to happen to Padma? I was tipsy. I was messing around. I didn’t want anything to happen. I stop running. I look down at my feet, still resting atop the snow and never sinking in. But what if something bad did happen? What if everything went wrong, and my brain can’t process it right now? What if... What if something happened to Padma? I dash forward, the dark outlines of the cabins bigger now, but still too far away. I smack my temples hard, but the pain doesn’t hit me. Come on Pia... You need to remember what happened next. I keep running and the silhouettes in the distance blur. For a second, I think it’s snowing. Then I realize that I’m crying. I... I don’t remember the last time I cried. I know we went outside after Padma left. A blizzard was brewing, the wind whipping into us and thick snowfall making it hard to see. Ana and I called after Padma but she was too fast. She was already at the car, pulling the sled out of the trunk. It plopped out, snow kicking up into the stormy air, and Padma began pulling it by the string. I remember being cold, trying to push myself deeper into my thick jacket somehow. It didn’t help. I think... Ana ran ahead and tried to stop Padma. But she was too stubborn now, not listening to either of us and bounding toward the ravine. Dammit, why can’t I remember her voice anymore? Why is everything so hazy? I look down at my feet. Still no footprints. Have I lost it? Have I lost Padma? I clutch my stomach as I run, wondering if I’ll puke. My eyes can’t focus anymore and I can’t think straight. What happened? What did I do? How do I fix it? Why why why... “Pia!” I stop. That’s Padma’s voice. Am I remembering it? I don’t understand. Why now? “Pia, no!” I hear it again. Her voice echoes through the air and I know it’s not a memory. Padma’s calling for me. I reach the cabins, following the direction of Padma’s voice. I ran for so long, yet I’m not out of breath. It must be the adrenaline. I hurry toward our cabin, the last one in the second row. As I get closer, I tense up. I see Padma, draped over the hood of Ana’s car staring blankly at her hands. Next to her on the snow-covered ground is the sled, just sitting there. “Oh thank god!” I laugh, running up to her. “You have no idea how worried I was! I woke up in the damn ravine, Padma. Did you leave me there? How could you even come out in a blizzard? Do you have any idea how irresponsible that was?” Padma doesn’t reply. I know she’s out of it and probably hungover, but it isn’t like her to ignore me. Wait... Is she mad at me ? “Padma, come on,” I moan. “The silent treatment? Okay, I shouldn’t have made you so upset. Sorry. But you were reckless, and I’m not apologizing for that.” Silence. “Don’t ignore me. That’s disrespectful. Hey, are you even listening?!” Nothing. I don’t understand why I’m getting this treatment. It must’ve been stupid Ana, telling my stupid sister not to talk to me anymore. I growl and look around for Ana. The cabin door is open and I see her inside, sitting with a man in a dark uniform. What? Who’s that? I ask Padma but she doesn’t respond. I try to step closer to the cabin but I can’t will my legs to move. Then it hits me like an avalanche. The memories. “Padma, stop,” I yelled. “If something happens to you, mom will kill me!” “God, all you think about is yourself,” Ana hissed at me. It’s blurry but... I recall us getting closer to the ravine. “You always make everything about you! You made every effort to make today suck for us, and now, it’s your fault we’re out here.” “My fault? I didn’t tell the birthday girl to go out here!” “Yes, you did! You’re so oblivious to how horrible you really are!” “Um, guys,” Padma called out from in front of us. “I don’t know if this is a good idea anymore.” She stood at the top of the cliff, looking down the steep drop at the rocks and snow beneath her. Man, I was tired of snow. I was tired of chasing after Padma. And I was really sick and tired of this damn trip. I stormed toward Padma, fists clenched at my sides. It was hard to see her through the thick snowfall and it was hard to see the cliffside or the ravine. Ana reached out to grab me but I shook her off. I was so over everything at that point. Now Padma was too scared? “You don’t think this is a good idea?” I snarled at my little sister. “Really? Aren’t you a genius.” “Pia, please, I... I-I’m sorry!” “You could’ve gotten us killed!” “I didn’t mean to! And you’re the one who wanted to come out here!” “Ladies, can we please head back?” Ana interrupted. Through the blizzard, I just made out her face. She looked nervous. I remember thinking that she had never made that face before, and I didn’t understand why. “Don’t blame me for your choices,” I snapped back. “And don’t talk to me like that.” “But you always talk to me like that! Please, for once, just stop!” “No, Padma! You forced me to come out here to this damned mountain, and now you’ve forced me out of the warm cabin. What’s next?” “Please, just stop!” “Pia, I think you should come here,” Ana said hastily, reaching for me. She tried to grab me but slipped and fell into the thick snow. I turned back to my sister. Through the wind and the snow, I could see her dark eyes. They were wide, wild almost. I knew then that I had pushed her too far. I knew I had to stop. And yet... I didn’t. I never did. “Everyone keeps telling me I’m selfish, but I don’t think so. I think you’re the selfish one, Padma! It’s you! It’s always you!” “I said stop!” I felt her hands on my shoulders. For a split second, I thought she was grabbing me. But then, I was weightless and all I saw was the gray sky overhead, the wind thrashing the snow across the air. Was I... falling? I wasn’t sure then. All I knew were Padma’s hands, then the sky, and then... white. I blink. I turn back to Padma, still staring at her hands with eyes that were still wide, still wild. I wanna ask her, but then I understand that she won’t answer me. She can’t. “...and then she fell down the cliff,” I hear Ana tell the uniformed man inside the cabin. Ana’s voice is quivering. To him, she probably sounds sad. But not to me. No, she sounds scared. “It was an accident.” An accident... I reach out to Padma, my fingertips grazing her arm. But she doesn’t respond. I understand that she doesn’t feel it, and that I can’t either. I look back toward the ravine, watching as the wind whips the snow in front of me into the air. I wanna rip off my jacket, not bundle into it, so I feel the wind on my skin. I wanna feel it through my hair. I understand that I can’t though, not anymore. Why... Why could I never stop? A loud wail leaves Padma, a shudder rippling through her body as she shakes and falls into the snow sobbing. Ana runs out to her as the man stares, a sad look on his face. I can’t watch this. I turn away from them, walking back to the ravine. Where else could I go? As I walk, I watch my footsteps on the ground. Left foot, followed by the right. They don’t leave footprints behind me. They leave nothing behind me. And finally, I understand.