The smell of rotten eggs woke Harper from a dead sleep. Or maybe it was the waves of intense nausea. Her innards felt like they were being stomped clean, like dirty laundry in a remote, rural stream. Through eyes weary and half-shut, Harper watched a red light pulse. It filled the space around her with spasmodic, blood-hued flashes. Uggghh... Moving wasn’t high on her list of priorities. Her head was heavy. It felt like a pumpkin propped on a toothpick, and inside sloshed thoughts and images that threatened to fuse together but, instead, bobbed haplessly in the groggy backwaters of her mind. She closed here eyes and turned to lay on her side. Too difficult. She motor-boated her lips. That's when the poem began. The absurd wordplay could have come straight out of the dusty vaults of Captain Beefheart. The strange sonnet danced on the tongue of some faceless woman as it corkscrewed into Harper’s consciousness, like a stream of buttercream frosting atop a cake. Harper grasped at it. It evaded her clutches, verbal confetti in a breeze. “Roll bed. Feel free to pull and retest it.” What in the world? “Toad said, its feet avulsed. Infected.” Whoever was speaking whimsically sliced and diced words, the way those theatrical, knife-juggling chefs at the vintage Japanese restaurant chain (whose name escaped her) diced sushi. The vowel scheme, however, remained curiously consistent. “Road bled. A vehicle dissected.” She struggled to make sense of it. But she was no poet. She never had the knack. It was a god-given talent, she was always told, and, in her life, she had never taken seriously even the slightest inclinations towards being an artist. When she was young, however, she dreamed of being an astronaut. She recalled how the stars outside her childhood bedroom window would whisper to her at night. They would tell her of her destiny, of her future living in their midst. “Joe fled. The bees on skull reflect it.” As a matter of fact, now that she thought about it, she had a faint recollection of donning a spacesuit at one time: one limb at a time, into the suit, a silent dance, a sacred ritual, all in preparation for sleep. Again came the verse. But this time, the words cut through the mental murk and dripped with a sobering clarity. “Code red. Debris on hull detected.” Oh god , she thought. Harper blinked herself awake. She swam up through the mental soup, lifted a hand and pawed at the mask that was pumping oxygen and hydrogen sulfide into her lungs. She finally pulled it off and the smell of rotten eggs disappeared. Harper grumbled. She slipped the IV from her arm and threw it somewhere next to her. She hoisted open heavy eyelids again and glimpsed the hyper-sleep chamber. The space was tight, just big enough for an average sized adult. A glass door lay above her, and on the other side of it, the flashing beacon intermittently bathed the large cryo-room in that haunting crimson glow. Between the scarlet pulses, the room would descend into darkness, lit only by the feeble lights of the keyboard panels which stretched across the room, under monitors that were inert and black with sleep. The red alert continued to blare in her ear as Harper attempted to move her legs. She was numb from tailbone to heels, a result of the three year hibernation. The nifty LSD-style dreams were one of the perks of hyper-sleep too -- a side-effect of the hydrogen sulfide. The gas slowed her metabolism, helping her body withstand the long trip on the scantest of nutrients. The rotten egg smell was just another bonus. “Christ, Cheryl, enough with the goddam code alert , please, ” Harper mumbled. The onboard AI turned off its alert protocol, which, to Harper, had sounded like word-salad just a moment before. The rhythmic red light clicked off too, which immerserd the room in the twilight-like glow of the the keyboard lights. “Welcome back, Captain Gordon,” Cheryl said, in an amiable female voice. Harper responded with a guttural noise that was somewhere between a grunt and a moaning. The door above her hissed open. The air in the room permeated her nostrils with the trademark aseptic smell characteristic of sterile environments. She sat up in her cryo-bed, hitching forward gently on wobbly arms. Her blonde-dyed dreads fell down around sandy-brown shoulders. The white tank top and blue underwear she'd climbed into the cryo-bed with had lost their snugness, despite the small army of electronic muscle stimulators that dotted her body. Harper filled her lungs with the cabin’s perfect mix of earth’s atmosphere, taking in a deep breath and stretching her limbs, which were coming back to life -- slowly. For the time being, they moved like gum in molasses. She shook the cobwebs from her head. “Status report,” she said. “All systems are nominal, chief.” “Really?” Harper tipped her head back and rolled it on her neck. “Then why wake me?” “Well, as we crossed into the Perseus Arm, the ship picked up debris on the starboard-side hull.” Harper arched her back, getting in a good stretch. She moaned in pleasure. “What kind of debris?” “I’m not sure. My analysis didn’t match it to any known life forms in my database.” “Life forms?” Cheryl paused. “Yes.” Harper shook her head. She needed a hot cup of coffee, one big enough to be hauled around on a dolly. With loads of cream. And sugar. And a jelly donut. She’d kill for a jelly donut. “What kind of life form?” she said. “That’s just it, I don’t know.” Harper sucked her teeth. “How long has this... lifeform been clinging to the ship?” "Three days." “Three days? Why didn’t you wake me earlier?” Harper said, furrowing her brows. “I would’ve but... I ran the calculations: the debris posed no threat to the integrity of the mission.” “And what changed?” “It started... growing.” “Growing?” Harper shook her head again and held up a hand. “Do you have an image?” “Yes.” A picture of the ship’s hull came up on a nearby screen. The image moved easily across it until it came to a stop at a series of bumps. The bulges were backlit, providing a hazy profile view. They were covered in what looked to be hair. And the hair was... moving, like it was grasping at things in the void. The protrusions were dark, maybe black, or purple. Maybe even a deep red. From the camera’s vantage point, it was hard to tell. “What the hell?” Harper squinted and leaned towards the screen. She swung a spindly leg over the edge of the cryo-bed, touching a toe to the floor. “Careful, Captain. Your muscles. They’re not --. ” “I know. I’d make a scarecrow jealous. I’ll be fine. Shut off the gravity, will you?” Cheryl slowed the spinning of the main bay of the ship, causing Harper’s belly to lurch. She belched in her mouth. Another delight courtesy of the space-trekking business. “How big is it?” she asked. “When it first attached itself to the ship it was roughly three inches in diameter," the AI explained. "It remained that size for three days. Today, within the last two hours, in fact, it more than quadrupled in size.” “Quadruple?” Harper thought for a moment, wiping a lock of dreads from her eyes. The fuzzy mass moved slowly as it slid across her face, the artificial gravity wearing off. “So, a foot across now,” she said. “Give or take, yes.” “And you don’t know what it is?” Harper asked flatly. “No. It’s not coming up in any known databases." Harper nodded, processing the information. Inside, her belly was waning towards full queasiness. Her body had lifted off the mattress. She grabbed a handrail that was attached to the cryo-bed to stabilize herself. “Chances of it covering the ship?” she asked. “I can’t say for certain. It could continue to grow at this rate, or grow erratically, or not at all. But if it does grow unchecked, I don’t see how it wouldn't." Harper nodded. “So, at this rate, how long?” “By my calculations, it could cover the starboard side in four days, and reach the starboard booster in five. That’s my real concern.” Harper bit down on her bottom lip. Her gray eyes twinkled in one of the panel lights. “Yea, we can kiss maneuverability good-bye then.” "Exactly." "And probably our asses." "Bingo." Harper fixed a blank stare at the screen as her mind sifted through alternative scenarios. She settled on two options, both fundamentally uncomplicated, neither very good. One: abort the mission -- but that would mean the end of decades of hard work and the dashing of a life long dream. Two: sticking it out -- and possibly getting it wrong. Dealing with this... entity poorly, though, could mean hurtling out into space. For an eternity. Fun , she thought. She chewed on it a while longer. “Apprise Houston of our status," she said. "Then prep my suit. I’m going for a walk.” “I can’t clear you for a walk for at least 48 hours and not before a full physical, Captain. The effects of the hyper-sleep --.” “Override,” Harper said. “Directive twenty-four point four.” The crisp edge of authority was sharp in her voice. “Counter override, directive eight-alpha. Captain, I cannot in good conscience let you --.” “Goddam AI, just...” Harper steadied her breathing. Her pulse throbbed in her ear and she had raised a clenched fist, unknowingly, ready to slam it against something. “Override,” she said, “directive two-four-two-seven. You will not keep me from checking on that debris. Unlike you, I have a heart and lungs and a brain, and along with all of those things -- which are near and dear to me -- I want to get my ass out to the California Nebula, then back home to Earth. Waiting 48 hours to check on this thing is not an option.” A silence bloomed between them. “The sarcasm is unnecessary, Captain. I may not have the same parts that you do, but I don’t want to die out here either. You’re not the only one who contemplates their mortality.” Harper rolled her eyes. These things had become far too life-like. “Protocol overridden,” Cheryl continued. “You've got your space walk, Captain. But I think it's a bad idea.” **** After her stomach completed a few back-flips, Harper adjusted to the zero gravity. She was in the belly of it now, floating along the starboard side of the Caelum , tethered to its polymer skin. Her suit was bulky. Under the earth’s gravitational pull, in her condition, it would have been unwieldy. But in the vacuum of space, she moved gracefully in it, like a Mylar-clad athlete. “Coming up on the foreign object debris now,” she said. “Roger,” Cheryl responded. Harper wasn’t sure what to expect. She had been with NASA for 32 years. Fresh out of the candidate program, she was one of only ten women who were accepted into the program. More than three decades later she’d been to Mars and captained three voyages across the solar system. And in all those years, not a single person had encountered an alien life form. Yes, they found bacteria within the crust of Mars. But had they made contact with anything larger than microscopic organisms, ever? No. It had never happened. And here she was, on the verge of discovering a new species. She couldn’t tell if she was excited or nervous. Maybe she was just terrified and in complete denial -- the potential downsides, despite the monumental discovery, were especially grim. Harper pulled herself around the hull using the handholds that speckled the ship’s shell. She spotted the silhouette of the debris and pulled herself closer. When she swung herself around and on top of it, Harper found a cluster of spiny, spherical objects. They were purplish-black and each was roughly the size of a tennis ball. Long, slender spines radiated out from every organism’s center, reminding her of sea urchins back home -- the little critters that gathered in tidal pools along the crisp Northern Atlantic shores. But there was a glaring difference: the eye at the center. Each of these creatures had an eye that took up at least half of its body. The sight sent a shudder through Harper. “Christ, are you getting this?” “Crystal clear on this end,” Cheryl said. “What the hell are these things?” “I don’t know, chief.” Harper leaned in. The set of eyes looked into hers, sending a qualmishness bubbling through her belly. The irises were yellow stippled with green specks. The pupils were as black as the emptiness around her. But they moved. The spiral-shaped openings revolved, and spun in a swirling pattern. Harper stared at them in awe, her respirator humming rhythmically in her helmet. "Captain?... Captain, are you okay?" “What?... Yea... I’m gonna get a sample.” “Be careful.” Harper paused. Her eyes narrowed. Ok, mom . She prepared her drill and the empty bag that was typically used to hold drill bits. Crude tools, she thought, for collecting a species that will break science. But NASA hadn’t planned on her bumping into an undiscovered life form on this trip. She had to make due. She pulled herself closer. The cluster of eyes followed her every move, squishing and squirming in their body-sockets. She held the drill over the tiny creatures. “Here goes nothing,” she said. She wedged the tip of the drill bit under a specimen on the edge of the group. The bit hardly slipped beneath it. She shifted the bag further up her shoulder, then tried with both hands. Still, nothing. “Damn, these things are stuck on here good.” “Take your time.” Harper shook her head, again. Yes, mom. Out of some deep-seated Pavlovian habit, decades in the making, Harper nearly flicked on the drill. Christ. She chuckled. Then asked herself if she was nuts. She took a deep breath. Harper gripped the top edge of the animal with her free hand and slid the drill bit under the other side again. She pulled on it. Ouch! Harper recoiled in pain. She looked intently at her glove. It couldn’t be, could it? She flipped her hand over to get a better look. No way. It felt like the creature had bitten her. Through the Mylar, through the Dacron and through the Teflon-coated glove. As she tried to process the queer sensation, the sight of the ship began teetering in her view. The critters and their curious eyes started spiraling in a blur further and further away. She was tumbling into unconsciousness, and she knew it. Harper's mind gradually became alert again amidst the blackness of catatonia. The profound silence there felt like it pervaded her very soul. An image crystalized. It crackled with color. It was a moving picture of a black hole swallowing up space debris. Among the flotsam, trapped in the thing's maw, was the Caelum . And undulating across the ship from tip to stern was a purplish-black skin, glowing, rippling, with eyes, thousands of eyes along it, peering back at her. Harper’s breath caught in her throat. She watched the black hole suck in the ship, spinning it across its aperture, and down towards the chute of its endless belly. Inside the black hole, Harper could feel something, a being or a consciousness. It spoke to her in a deep, wordless rumble. A piece of it, a feeling maybe, or possibly a warning, slithered across the vivid vision and touched her, the sensation rifling across her chest. It pulled at her. Harper screamed. “Nooo!!” She jolted awake. Her respirator was whining in her helmet. Her chest heaved with ragged breaths. Harper looked down to find herself floating several yards above the Caelum , her tether at full length. Her head was pounding again and she felt weaker than when she emerged from cryo. She peered down at the ship. The colony had spread. The creatures had commandeered nearly the entire starboard side of the ship. “Captain? Are you okay?? Captain?” Cheryl said. “Yes, yes..." she muttered. "The... the creatures, they’ve... taken over the... how?” Her voice cracked with anxiety. “You’ve been out for more than three days. I tried to wake you, but there wasn’t much I could do from here.” The hairs on the nape of Harper’s neck stood on end. She needed to be back on the ship. She needed to get ahead of this. She reached for the tether. Her arm barely moved at her command. Harper tried the other: a similar incapacity. “Captain,” Cheryl said tentatively, “between the hyper-sleep, your unconsciousness and going without food for as long as you did, your body is terribly weak.” Harper blinked uncontrollably, her mind grasping at the situation, trying to make it all stick. “Slow movements, Captain. Take your time.” “We don’t have time.” “Time is all we have now.” Harper gnashed her teeth. Her insides burned. She wanted to scream. She could hear herself breathing, the respirator purring in her ears. Stars twinkled all around her. At length, she collected herself. Cheryl was right. Mother-jokes aside, she was always right. Harper took a deep breath and reached out for the tether. It seemed like an eternity, but all she could do was move, go through the motions, try. While stretching for the life-line, something below caught her eye. A long row of the prickly creatures, a bit smaller than the rest, were pulsating. They were mid-inception, giving birth to themselves. They encircled the colony, a fresh layer of lethal interlopers -- their amber-colored eyes wet and fully formed, their spines stunted and still fleshy. Harper’s jaw tightened as a heat rose like a halo through the top of her head. “You bastards!!" she screamed. "You goddam... sons of bitches...” Her voice fell to a whisper. She bit her lip, holding back sobs. The blanket of eyes looked up at her coolly, following each of her labored movements. They glowed and they squirmed. Then swiveled in their thorny sockets.


Mushrooms, why'd it have to be mushrooms? Today started off so well too. My mother used her usual secret technique of luring me down stairs with the sweet smell of bacon. Dressed in just a gown and slippers with the bed hair of the Wicked Witch of the West. I was in no mood to find my plate devoid of pig. Instead of breakfast I found an envelope. I willed my stare into a pair of daggers and aimed my weapon directly at my mother. "Woman! Where is my bacon?” I said with deadly intent. "Open it." she said a bemused smile upon her lips. My fingers were already working. “Another rejection? Let's hope it's from the Origami University. Then I'd know what to make of it.” I replied. My mother just scoffed at me as I read aloud. "Dear AMELIA FINN, We invite you... Interview... apprenticeship... at Oddity?” My eyes widened and I read on. "The interviews today! It's in two hours. What the frick mum!" I said. "You better hurry then." My mother said. I scrambled. Snatching the grizzled pork from my mother's outstretched hand with my teeth. Like a hurricane I ran to my room throwing objects in every direction. I found the only smart blouse I owned, some reasonably serviceable pants and hung them up to 'self iron' as I showered. I was ready in record time. A personal best! My reflection in the mirror showed me as presentable. My eyes shone hazel instead of the *‘I've been up all night playing computer games’* look they usually bore. My hair however made me look a relative of cousin IT from The Adam’s Family. I ran downstairs to find my mother by the door waiting patiently. We hopped in the car. My mother graciously driving as I used what little time I had to prepare for the interview. You see I've only recently got out of college. For the last few months I've been applying anywhere and everywhere for a culinary position. Lots of rejection letters, few interviews. A nervous wreck I frantically searched for interview tips online. My mother obviously reading the look upon my face rather than watching the road laid her hand on my arm. “Relax hun, you'll be fine. Just be yourself" “Be myself? That’s the problem” I retorted. The car slowed as we pulled up outside the restaurant. "You are awesome Em, now keep that shit up." She said with a sober look. My lips couldn’t help but draw into a smile. She was good at that. I took a deep breath, paused for what seemed like an eternity and got out of the car. Oddity is an upmarket restaurant with its name displayed on a canopy out front. I stepped into the building. They hadn’t opened yet. Everything was ever so still and quiet. As I waited; I inspected the interior. The dining room was split into four sections, each representing a motif of an overarching theme. Which as far as I could tell was Fairytales. Cool. One of the quarters looked like Jack & the Beanstalk. Another; Little Red Riding Hood. My favourite, Hansel and Gretel, had a giant gingerbread house where diners would sit. I was trying to decipher what the fourth one was when a voice called over from a nearby doorway. "Hello, can I help you miss? We're not open yet." A hostess said as she approached me. "I'm here for the apprenticeship" I continued. "Oh right!" she exclaimed. "Please come join the others in the back. Kenneth is about to start the interviewing process!” "Kenneth!?" I gulped as I followed her lead. Kenneth is the owner & head chef I remembered. Well known for his quirky cooking *'odd but delicious’* was the restaurant slogan. I was both excited & nervous. I didn't think he'd be conducting the interview himself. The hostess led me into the kitchen. Inside I saw a group of people standing around a man wielding a pot and ladle. "Ah excellent! That makes seven. All of our hopefuls have arrived." He said before whacking the pot with his ladle like a makeshift gong. "Welcome" He exclaimed. "You are the lucky few. Who will have a chance to join our crazy little family here at Oddity?" Kenneth said using the gong to emphasise the name. "Tonight we have a special guest; Vinny Van. My friend and renowned food critic!" This was followed by a sharp intake of breath from the other candidates. I scooched over to one of them. A girl similar to my age with a cute cat emblem on her bag. "Hey, who's Vinny Van'" I said hushed tones. She startled at my touch. "You don't know? He's TV famous! La Chabot gained fame and Glasshouse closed due to his review" "Thanks" I said. She threw me a smile and turned back to the master chef as he continued. “Now the interview is simple. Mr.Van has a particular weakness. Does anyone know what it is?" Kenneth said. He directed his weapon among the crowd. A guy wearing a green coat raised his hand. "Yes? "Kenneth said. The boy began to talk but was cut off instantly. "Yes! Fungi!" Kenneth said. I visibly grimaced. The rest of the initiates had a similar reaction. "More precisely. Mushrooms." Kenneth continued. "He's absolutely mad for the stuff!” He said. The guy in the green coat spoke up obviously taken aback at being cut off. "What does this have to do with the interview? "He said. "Ah I was getting to that," Kennett said. "You seven will be creating the five course meal he dines on tonight." He continued followed by gasps from the crowd. "You task is to eat nothing but mushrooms for lunch and then come up with a suitable dish.” He finished. "How will we be marked for the interview?" I said poking up from the back of the crowd. "Well I'll judge each dish combined with the critics reaction." Kenneth replied. "Does it have to be mushrooms?" The Girl with the cat badge said. "Of course. It's known that the little devils take up mushroom in our guests heart.” Vinny said emphasising the word by wiggling his eyebrows. Silence followed for a very unfortunate amount of time until the host cleared her throat. “Come back by 3pm to start cooking. That corner of the kitchen is reserved for you. My chefs will help you out" He said with one final ring of the gong. Mushrooms. Ack. I hated mushrooms. One reason I leaned towards baking in culinary school. What kinda fricking interview was this? I expected to have to cook but not under such strange conditions! I needed a plan. I needed a partner, someone that I could bounce ideas off of. I looked around the room and my eyes locked with cat girls. "Hi! I'm Amelia, Thanks for earlier." I said. She looked down then back up to me. Shy. “Hey, no problem. My name's Kat with a K!" she said enthusiastically. I had to stop my eyes from rolling it was just too much of a coincidence. "So... do you have any idea what you're gonna do?" I said trying not to sound desperate. It didn’t work. "Uh, I've got an idea but this is a competition right?" she replied. "I guess. Fair enough. Know anywhere that'll be good for brainstorming? Mushrooms aren't really my thing." I said. "Well there's a vegetarian place just around the corner. I thought I'd go there if you'd like to join me?" she said. I could see the pity in her eyes. “Sure!" I replied a little bit too enthusiastically. We gathered up our things and made our way out. We chatted little during the short walk to The Collared Cabbage; Which I hoped was a misspelling of Collard. It was a small place and people were already sitting down for lunch. We were guided to a table and sat in awkward silence for a minute or two as we checked out the menu. "What're you going for Kat?" I asked hoping to stir conversation. She looked up from the menu her eyes darting each way before resting on me. "The um, mushroom risotto and rooibos tea. You?" she countered. “The Portobello Burger. I mean it's a burger right? How bad can it be?" We ordered our food and the waiter brought us our drinks. Taking a break from sipping her tea Kat said, “You really don't like mushrooms?” I nodded. "I mean they don't even fit the theme of the restaurant. I mean at least broccoli could be trees, walnuts could be brains. What do mushrooms look like?" I said. Kat blushed, spat most of her tea out and choked on the rest. Ignoring my rant she said. “Well there are plenty of interesting things you can do with them; Stuff them, saute them, make them a burger." she gestured to our food as it arrived. "That was quick” I said. "Yeah they're really good here & it's cheap!" she replied. We tucked into our food. I grabbed my 'burger' and imagined cow, and nothing but cow as I took a big bite. Chomp chomp chew.... spit! Argh it tasted just like shiitake.... I giggle to myself then grimaced. How was I going to do this? Kat must of seen the look on my face. “Cook what you enjoy.” She smiled as she raised her tea towards me. “I’m doing mushroom tea & sandwiches, as a starter." She said. "I want to be a pastry chef." I said trying to match her smile but failing. "Oh... that might be hard” She replied. We ate the rest of our meal in relative silence. Kat jotted down some notes while I sulked, trying to come up with ideas. Mushroom cookies? Cupcakes? Creme caramels? After awhile Kat got up. "I'm going to head back & make a start. I can't wait to see what you come up with!” She said paying her half of the cheque and leaving. A few minutes later, frustrated, I left my burger and decided to go for a walk. Maybe I wasn't cut out to cook? Chefs had a large pallet right? Kenneth’s crazy experiments proved that. My stomach growled. One bite for lunch wasn't enough. Beside me two kids walked out of a building with an ice cream in each hand. I mean literally two ice creams each. Instantly I wanted one. I walked into the parlour and was astonished by the amount of flavours they had! Mint, chocolate, mint chocolate, coconut, walnut, broccoli.... wait broccoli? That's when the idea hit me. I took my ice cream, orange chocolate, and ran back. Well I say ran but have you ever tried to eat and run? When I got to Oddity lunch service was already underway so the hostess led me to the kitchen through the back entrance. A few of the other candidates had already started on their dishes. I hadn't noticed any dessert or sweets yet. I saw Kat kneading bread with one of the main chefs. I smiled at her and received one in return. I moved over to the counter with my name on it and a man in a tall hat came over "What do you need? I'll get it for you." He said. I listed off the items "Whole milk, cream, dried shiitake, chocolate & bacon.." I continued to list off my ingredients. He brought everything in minutes, then I was away! Mixing cream, milk and sugar. Cooking bacon... mmm bacon. Grating mushrooms. I had to make a few executive tastings with the dark chocolate but I was in the Zone! I churned it all up in the mixer & everything was looking great. Dipping my spoon into the mix for one last taste; There was a recognizable flavour of mushrooms but then it transitioned, evolved into a psychedelic mixture of sweet & savory. It was magic. Which differed greatly from the taste of car tire that I had expected. Then I waited. Waited, watched & helped out where I could. Kenneth was cooking but I had no doubt he was paying attention to our work. A few hours later I finished off my creation. The kitchen went quiet as a hostess walked in and announced Vinny Van had entered the building. I could see the same look of nervous excitement on everyone’s face. Each course went out with several dishes. One from Kenneth and the others from us candidates. There was a horizontal slit in one of the walls in between the kitchen & dining room. We gathered there to spectate as the food went out. Vinny was a refined gentlemen in a suit and a stylish pair of glasses. The appetisers were first to go out. Kat and I held hands as Vinny tackled the course. I remember squeezing Kat's hand as he picked up the tea, sipped and downed the rest. He then poured himself another. Kat was ecstatic. The next few courses came and went, including the main. All some flavor or theme of mushroom. I began to worry. There was so much food. By the time he came to dessert he'd explode! Then the time came. Two covered plates were brought out to Vinny. Mine and Kenneth’s! I was sure to fail. The waiter lifted the dish revealing a sparkling frosted toadstool stuffed with chocolate moose, Kenneth’s dessert. Next was mine. Shiitake mushroom ice cream with chocolate-covered bacon bits. I was filled with dread. It was too basic... too simple... to compete with the master chef's dish. My heart thumped as I watched. He took a spoon then cut a slice of Kenneth’s dessert. Then a bite from mine. A bite from his. One more from mine - it was even! "Good job." I heard whispered in my ear. It was from Kenneth! Afterwards the masterchef brought us into the dining room and introduced us to the critic. He gave us his critique there and then. He loved Kat's tea as it was refreshing but thought the sandwiches bland. As for my ice cream. Kenneth said "Thank all the god's for bacon bits. After having nothing but mushroom all night I fear I was starting to go mad. The ice cream was delightful!" I beamed at the mixed praise. I mean he didn't not like it. Finally Vinny spoke to Kenneth in front of all of us. "Now Kenneth. when I told you my favourite food I didn't expect it in every dish! Good heavens man not everything needs to contain mushrooms." He said finishing with a hearty laugh. Which I took for a good sign. In the end Kenneth thanked us for our time and rewarded us for our efforts with an exquisite meal. Kat and I remained friends, Vinny gave the restaurant rave reviews for its commitment to uniqueness. Oh and I got the job! Along with Kat and another candidate. First day on training and Kenneth gave us chef's hats shaped like mushrooms... I nearly quit there & then.


Gentlemen, I observed my audience looking positively frabjous in their waiting that night; yes, I took a little peek from the red velvets right before showtime. Curiosity killed the cat, and my magic proficiency cannot hold a candle to Carroll's 71’-word invention of frabjous. What a wordsmith as his reading audience fell for his poppycock hook line and sinker; the same will be valid for me, the magician. I pulled my red velveteen curtain open and hooked it to the left. I began my well-rehearsed opening patter while making my trek down to center stage, "Ladies and Gentlemen, please let me introduce myself. I am Doctor Phileas Frickel, known in some circles as 'Frickel the Great.' Why? Because I have the supernatural gift of prestidigitation. Not just magic tricks but miracles, my friends. Real miracles!" As I advertise, my dime museum has astonishing curiosities. I travel with them from town to town in my wagon that is also my stage. My setup is comfortable for both myself and my audiences. However, it's probably not near as comfortable for the members of my museum as some of them are the results of experiments that went awry. I should think the name 'Frickle's mistakes' is more applicable than 'Frickle's curiosities.' On the day in question, the 17th of August 1890, I entered the lawless mining town called Leadville, Colorado. I was greeted by Horace Tabor himself as he saw my mule, Sal, pulling an unmanned wagon straight down Harrison Street. We entered every town this way as it causes a ruckus. However, may I state, Sal wasn't alone at all as I walked beside him, handing out flyers and hawking my miracles. My wagon is painted a flamboyant red with bright yellow wagon wheels. The spokes are uniquely carved with devilish-looking faces on every other one, and the artwork on the sidewall I had purchased in Denver and found it to be beyond compare. It read: Doctor Phileas T. Frickle, Prestidigitator Magic, Marvels, and a dime museum of curiosities! I had the artist render a painting of the two-headed baby and a Fairy who was waving. Under it, all was the line see the mysterious cabinet of transmogrify. Proudly, I had my flyers printed for me while in Denver. The printer had used brilliant yellow lettering that looked just like the writing penned neatly on the side of my flashy red wagon. The first 20 or so customers gathered that night had my brochures in their rough hands, no doubt to see my astonishing curiosities. They are my draw, as I never did half as well without them. "I am about to introduce you to two wonders of this world, friends, and therefore must ask you to pay your dime. The creatures you are about to meet are alive and breathing marvels." Before introducing Robert, the squirrel boy, and Hildegard, the 8-inch-tall Sprite, I noticed several more people were gathering, so I first brought out two tables, both covered in black shrouds. I began my spiel, "Before you meet the living, you will need to view the dead. These, my friends, are the abominations that the great creator deemed unlivable in this world. I am about to invite you to walk across my stage to look through their formaldehyde." I lifted the shroud to the left and said, "This, my friends is the rare cadaver of a mermaid who once lived in an ancient Caspian sea," knowing darn well it once belonged to the great Barnum. He had brilliantly sewn together the top half of a dead monkey to the tail half of a carp. Then I moved slowly to the right and removed the cover of my two-headed premature baby that I had bought from a medical laboratory while in Baltimore. "Shed no tears for my dead infant Son, Malachi, friends. He would not have been able to live in this world with such an affliction." Of course, the unfinished infant wasn't my son, and I have a receipt for its purchase. My paid audience now left the stage and took their seats. Mesmerized to see more, I carried out a covered small birdcage and began my speech. "You decided; you paid to enter, so now will you see an error, half beast half boy could it be that only 10 cents bought you the chance to see these impossibilities?" I loved the patter I wrote for this one, "I'm an ailurophile at heart. As a boy, I dreamed of being a feline wrangler by trying to teach my old yellow Tomcat Toby to walk on a tight rope using only his front paws. It never worked for me. However, I had heard the Russians had accomplished this miraculous feat of training your cats, so I went to see for myself. The cats were magnificent, but I was transfixed on this rare creature." The audience gasped as I uncovered the cage. "This, my friend, is a squirrel and or possibly a boy. It speaks in gibberish; listen." The creature in the cage did not come from Russia; he is what's left of an orphan boy named Robert that had volunteered to a metamorphosis accident I had while building my cabinet in Denver. I made up this story to cover that unfortunate incident when my' cabinet of transmogrify' did not work as planned. The boy did wish to be turned into a squirrel, after all. Before Hildegard's introduction, I had fed her a dead mouse that I had caught in my trap. She drains their blood completely, which keeps her manageable. Hildegard the Sprite, as I advertised her, was also an unfortunate mistake of transmogrification. The Swedish woman I chose from my audience in Wray Colorado could hardly speak English and wanted to sprout fairy wings; instead, she was miniaturized, turning an incredible glowing green with pale transparent insect wings. I keep her in a crystal box as she also has a healthy dose of mosquito in her and tends to not only suck blood but bite. Hildegard stays out as I segue into my flurry of magic effects. I introduced and then performed the ancient rings, the mysterious Tower of Babel, a trick I call the house of cards, and my striking habit of eating fire. The Sprite pays attention and applauds with her tiny hands after each feat of magic, and she wouldn't applaud unless I fed her first. Now I must confess the fake ending I used in my show that night did have to do with a citizen of Leadville going missing. I closed the curtain and came down-center stage again with my arms outstretched and my hands clean. "I want to thank you for coming out this evening. I hope you enjoyed yourselves, and I wish you all a wonderful rest of your evening." Then as in every show for at least the last ten years, someone from the audience shouted out, "What about the cabinet?" That night, an older fellow with a long gray beard laid upon his chest. He couldn't pronounce transmogrification, so he just said cabinet. That was a common occurrence. And just as I had planned, those who had stood up sat back down. "Are you asking to witness the use of a cabinet of transmogrification?" I asked in a curious questioning tone. I then noted, "I have given you all I promised," although I knew the flyers that I had handed out to the patrons of several filled saloons had included the cabinet but now played coy. "As advertised for only a dime, I would show you my collection and amaze and mystify you with my supernatural prestidigitations. And now you are asking for more?" They began hooting and hollering while demanding more. The noise attracted several more potential witnesses. I do like to keep a mysterious, Delphic air about me, and my motto is to keep them waiting until the anticipation nearly kills them. " Alright then," I said back in my performance voice, "I cannot accomplish this miracle without someone from the audience who wishes for great change. Someone unhappy with life as it is will not condemn me, the miracle worker, if all does not occur to plan, and it happens. Please, is there anyone?" No hand raised in the rowdy audience; it worried me just a bit, but then I provided myself with a volunteer after rolling the beautiful mahogany crate to center stage. It was a live lamb in the back that I had purchased for my dinner. The audience gasped with worry for the tiny creature when I carried the small lamb out. However, they never thought that the butcher at the center of the main street kills at least fifteen a day. I spoke, "As a man of magic and intrigue, I had an exquisite yearning to accomplish the impossible and have done so with my unique invention; I call it the mysterious Cabinet of Transmogrify. For example, I will gently place this crated lamb into the box." I did and then closed the door and mumbled through many non-meaningful Persian incarnations. I said, "Aji Maji la Taraji" When I opened the cabinet, out sprang a spry small goat who simply jumped through the crowd and ran away. The cabinet never ceases to amaze. However, I swear on stacked bibles that I was not responsible for the goat, and I had never laid eyes on that beast before or after my performance. At this point, I saw my volunteer, your missing person, making her way from the back of the audience. I reached out my hand to a huge woman dressed in virtual rags with a shawl wrapped around her enormous shoulders. "No need to be worried, my dear," I said with a bit of worried hesitation in my own words. “How does it work, you ask? A great magician is sworn never to reveal his secrets. But in this case, the invention is not magic at all, and it only plays with the human mind. You saw the lamb as you saw the goat, but it was simply in your imagination. And it works because the participant wishes for it too. And your name is what, my dear?" “Caroline Craft," she said in a meek, barely audible voice. Caroline unbosomed her concerns to the boisterous audience that she may not fit in the box. I gave her a tiny vile of sedative mixture that I said was a potion and held her cold shivering hand to lead her into the cabinet. After squeezing just a bit, it was a perfect fit. "I want to be thin again she said in a trembling voice." The audience roared with laughter; I had nearly 100 people waiting to see my miracle by this time. I had to quiet them by saying, "You saw the unique creatures eternally confined to their glass coffins for that you paid a dime. It will only cost you another dime to watch your own Caroline transmute into her chosen desire. Who will pay? If you pay, you will watch! Who will watch? Those who pay! For only 10 cents, you saw the impossible, the improbable, a baby with two heads. Is it a repulsive mistake of nature? An abomination? And now, what will we see? We shall now see what will happen to this human being. I placed her into the box something never attempted in any of the great 48 States." What a liar I am, but a good teller of lies non-the-less, "I must ask you now to pay one more thin dime, a mere pittance to witness the miracle occur. You want to see Caroline become thin now, don't you? I never lied to you this evening, have I?" With those words, I saw the shine of their hard-earned dimes in the air and land in my hat 1, 5, 10, yes, at least 10 dollars. Ten dollars to most laborers is a week's wages. But just a measly little dime meant nothing to most. Caroline began to cry, so I closed the door and covered the crate with one of the black shrouds I had used earlier. I repeated the same incarnation I had used on the lamb, only this time adding the divine words of the Burtrust Chronicles. I will not write the actual words for you in fear they will further cause me dismay as they are of utmost holiness, but they mean boundary, release, and destroy. Perhaps including them brought about my demise and the writing of this confession letter. When I opened the cabinet, I swear to God that I was as shocked as everyone who witnessed the occurrence. A woman in my front row ran screaming, leaving her friend, who in turn passed out. And a couple of men drew their guns to no avail as Caroline Craft stood before us as a living Skeleton. Her skin clung to her bones that looked like they were dripping an unworldly ooze. Her eyes, now black with anger, twitched back and forth, and her bared teeth tried to speak. I threw the creature back in the cabinet and tried to reverse the spell. This time I said, "Taraji la Maji, Aji Abraxas" Mentors had told me many years ago that Abraxas in magic can be used with or without their stones but only with exceptional regard. I will admit that I did say the words quickly and without prayer. But they must have worked as I opened the cabinet door again. This time the audience saw nothing. I, on the other hand, saw a pile of dust. If what I saw was the truth, you can charge me with murder, but that was not the case. Caroline, who was still a skeleton, had escaped from the back of the cabinet, and my untidiness caused the pile of dust. Later that night, when she came knocking on my wagon's door, I went to the illation that Caroline wanted to join us. A few weeks later, while pulling into Alma, I advertised my dime museum's newest feature, the skeleton woman. As capricious as Caroline's thin self was twas a paradox for her to be the star. However, while pulling into Lake City, Colorado, the sabotage and hijacking began towards the end of the season. Sitting around my campfire in a daze of relaxation, I had noticed how the high jagged peaks of this area do indeed look like they pierce the deep blue sky; the rage of the unleashed Sprite was upon me. No one could hear my screams except for the wildlife who had no cares. The rocky canyons and high valley floors had hidden us well as Caroline the living Skeleton and a living fairy Sprite had overtaken me and the show. First, may I say, it was Caroline who released my museum. So, I find I am in no way responsible for any further mayhem they might have caused. She even buried the two-headed baby and the mermaid corpse. I would add, the monkey fish was becoming putrid. As for all the mistakes from the cabinet, I know exactly where they are. Robert, the squirrel boy, ran off into the woods, but I hear his mindless chatter telling me he is close by from time to time. Caroline, the skeleton woman, and Hildegard, the nasty Sprite, are both bound and determined that no one will ever find me. Taking justice into her claw-like hands, Caroline is holding me hostage. She and that evil Sprite have made away with me. They have taken me high up to cliffside on Slumgullion Pass. From my cave-cage, all I can see is the wild San Juan mountains. Unless it is snowing, then all I see is white with red drops. The Sprite makes daily blood draws from me, and Caroline has forced me into writing this confession and selling off my wagon, Sal, and all my magic apparatus. Unfortunately, including my mysterious Cabinet of Transmogrify. With utmost truth in confession, Phileas T. Frickle 7th of December 1890 Move forward 96 years; As luck would have it. I own Doctor Frickle's Cabinet of Transmogrify and his confession letter now. I told the cop I had found it neatly folded in an envelope, addressed, and stamped but never mailed stashed away in a lovely mahogany cabinet my wife and I found in an Antique store on Broadway Street here in Denver last Christmas time. At that time, both my wife and I found the letter curious and took it to the Denver police station near our home. After reading it, they didn't seem to care, and I thought it might be a practical joke. But then my wife Laura and I decided to try it out at a dinner party we had hosted. Laura thought it would be a fun and unique experience for our guests to show them the cabinet and then read the letter. After doing so, Laura got in the box, and I repeated Doctor Frickle's' words. My wife had made a wish to become famous. Judging by the Rocky Mountain News headline. "Wife murdered, and the husband pleads a magic trick did it!", she won. My wife got her wish of notoriety, if not infamous fame, and is, unfortunately, dead to prove it, and I am now being held as her murderer. I plead not guilty, and I am using this letter as evidence. It was the strange cabinet that did it, not me. I signed the submission envelope, stating more words from Doctor Frickle, 'with utmost truth,' Brian Wilcox the accused. Sign sealed and delivered to my defense attorney, who snickered when he read it.


Our mom always told us that if we ever went to the outhouse, we pray after we shit. Otherwise the toilet monster would grab us and throw us down into a Great Lake of poo. What a load of bullshit! It took me 6 fucking years to finally realize that all she’s been saying was made up stories to get us to pray. Pray to the food, pray to the dog, pray to the goddamn truck we use to get into town each day. Otherwise some monster would come to get us because of a spooky family curse! WOoOoOoO! I even asked Kyle if his family did the same. But he thought I was joking! My mother made a fool of me and my siblings. So, I’m not gonna pray anymore. Starting with that goddamn toilet monster! -- I remember seeing Dan acting more and more rebellious recently. He even began telling us how we should stop praying and how everything was bowlshit. But we didn’t want to make mamma sad. We didn’t wanna die either. So we continued to pray, doing it honestly too. But not Dan, he only did it to make it seem like he was in the loop. Whatever that meant. Plus, he even began to pop outside in the bushes, but mamma wasn’t so happy about that. Saying he should do it in the out house. “Why should I shit in the out house if there is a monster in there?!” Mamma said “Because if we don’t the toilet monster gets mad!” “And if we don’t pray it also gets mad?” “Our fecal matter are offering’s to the beast. Cease the offerings and it will strike back!” “Whatever!” Then, Dan just stormed off and went into outhouse as mamma told him. Me and the other younger siblings gathered to see if Dan was actually pooping or not. We heard a plop, but no praying. He even said “Fuck you! I hope you eat my shit you god damn shit monster!” We all got worried and tried to pray for Dan, hoping it would help. “Thank you Toilet! Thank you Toilet!” Dan would walk out as we prayed and look at us with a strange look. “What the hell are y’all doing?” But that’s when the monster came out. A wet, light blue, 3 fingered, clawed hand grabbed Dan’s head and yanked him back in. He scream as he held onto the door frame. We all looked in and saw the Toilet Monster for the very first time. As it was light blue, had yellow fins on its arms, and a huge one on its back. It almost looked like a man, but it had some weird round mouth with sharp teeth and a scary look in its yellow eyes. Angry. Really angry. “Help me!” We all tried to pull Dan away, but the monster one arm was too strong. It’s fingers even began to dig in Dan’s head, making small cracking sounds. “Ow! Ow! Ow!” But that’s when we all lost the tug of war. Dan was yanked into the toilet along with the monster. We tried to see where they went, only to find poo and pee. We never knew where Dan went. Not even mamma knew, as she cried over the toilet praying for Dan to be safe. But all we knew was one thing. Pray, pray, pray. Otherwise we might end up like Dan. No one wants that.


Out of all the civilizations I was tasked with surveying, humanity always was my favorite. Such fascinating creatures, speaking of peace through violence, unity through division, equality through discrimination. If my memory serves me right, some even spoke of satisfaction through hunger. Surely, such a contradictory people was doomed to fail within the first centuries of its existence. And yet, they succeeded. They lasted thousands upon millions of years. They had their squabbles, yet they endured. Somehow, unlike most races, they claimed to be one, yet insisted on having a couple hundred nations as opposed to one to expand out, across the stars. As a matter of fact, to my knowledge, they were the only civilization to never unite or make contact with others. They tried colonizing Mars, but they didn't get far. One would think the death of the universe would be swift, a flash and nothingness. It could be, but the All-Father prefers to savor the process. I sometimes wonder if he enjoys ending the Cycle as much as starting it anew. You never get used to it. Looking up at the night sky and seeing the stars becomes the one thing you look forward to. A sight as simple as billions of lights against a black canvas is perhaps the All-Father's most mesmerizing creation. They also tell when the Cycle is ending, and truth be told, it saddens me each time. A billion stars becomes a million, a million, thousands. On and on until a single star remains. I always like to name them. This one, I named Copernicus. They called the first human to study the stars that. Why shouldn't that be the name of the last one? Each time, I hope that perhaps the All-Father will change his mind and keep this universe around for at least a thousand years more. Then, the last star goes out and I know it's over. I always miss those last stars. Normally, at that point, I wait for the end with the All-Father and watch that world from afar. This time, however, I made an exception. With how humanity handled crises before, I wanted to see how they would handle one they could not solve. Of course, they continued to fight. Now that I think about it, I think they fought more now. After just a couple decades, only one human remained. I decided I would see him off personally. It was a man, if I had to predict, at the middle point of what his lifespan would've been, and he sat against a building, shivering profusely, clinging onto life. When I came before him, I knelt by him, clasped his hand, a pitch black contrasting his bronze skin, and told him, "This Cycle is at its end. Rest, and return to the All-Father." His reply was weak in voice, but powerful in message. "Mary... Josie... will I... see them... again?" Here sat a man, the last life form in this Cycle, at his end, and yet, he wonders only if he will be reunited with his family when it's over. I assured him he would, and he chuckled. He sat back and let out one final breath. Humanity ended not with a bang, but with a sigh. Each Cycle creates a new universe, but I'll always miss that one.


As I lay in my bed, in my little box room, amongst the dust and clutter; I find my eyes unable to close, not for the dull stench of mould pervading the plastered walls or the stony mattress beneath me which pokes and prods my back with errant springs - nor the pitter-patter of winter rains against the windowpanes or the shadows of naked branches which dance against the walls like shadow puppets from spindled fingers. These distractions were not the thing that kept my mind gasping feverishly above the waves of sleep. In truth, I wished for nothing more than sink beneath the swell into that deep and dark void of sleep, where realities entangled themselves with the desires of the unconscious mind. Oh, how I longed for that sweet nothingness, but instead, there I lay; eyes bared wide against the darkness, transfixed upon the mirror. It had taunted me since the first time I laid eyes on it, tall and heavy, propped up in the corner of my room. Its frame boasted its decadence, ornately carved with baroque patterns of endless floral spirals which dizzied your eyes with maddening repetition, the golden paint which once served to extenuate the wealth of the craftsmanship; now cracked and flaking, serving only as a reminder of its age. The glassy visage which was once preened and polished so as to only reflect the truest image of the richness before it was now mired by a fine layer of dust, the corners chipped and splintered, a fissure running down its centre - warping the reflections of anything which stood before it mockingly, as if in revenge for its abandonment. I had spent many an hour standing before it, staring blankly into the reflection of myself, split down the middle by that ugly fracture. It was like looking at a stranger, a broken man, torn apart amongst the shattered pieces and clumsily rearranged into some foreign imitation of what once was. It frustrated me to no end, I would stare and stare, move an inch or two, observe closely and retreat to the fullest image possible and yet... there was no trace of me . This reflection, this other, which stared back. I could see no sense of self within it. I could raise my hand above my head, contort my face as strangely as a ghoul, kick out my feet and dance like a madman - it would copy my every move - instantaneous, dutifully, even mockingly. Yet it was not me . It was a malformed copy-cat. A demon disguised behind my face, my clothes and skin. The more I stared at it, the more it stared back at me, the stronger my hatred for the imposter grew; and with it, my terror. The worst of it came when I realised that this stranger in the mirror had begun to escape the confines of my little box room. When everywhere I went, no matter how far and wide, I could not seem to escape it. The first time I noticed it following me was out on the streets, as I idled mindlessly on the edge of the pavement, waiting for a gap in the thoroughfare and simply enjoying my time away from that little room and terrible mirror. Through my absent mind and vague daydreaming, I found my gaze wandering to the ground before me. How I wish I hadn’t. My blood ran cold when I saw it, my back arched like a cat and the air froze in my lungs. That face, staring back at me, distorted and muddled against the rippling surface of a puddle. Mimicking even the timing of my blinking eyes so as to ensure that however hard I tried, there was no escaping. The only reprieve came by way of the intervention of bicycle wheels, slicing the visage of the beast in half as it passed by, only then was I freed from the prison of its gaze and there was no telling how much time had elapsed. Ever since it follows me everywhere I go. It hides in shop windows, lurks in the water, my shined leather shoes and the watch-face on my wrist. It stalks me through reflections. Bending its shape formlessly into every facet of my life. Haunting me. Now as I lay here, in my little box room, consumed by the darkness of a winters night; I stare against the blackness, at the mirror, lurking in the corner. Grand and tall and decaying. I see it there, in the glass, lay in a bed like mine - in a room like mine - dressed in the same clothes, sheltering from the cold beneath the same frayed blanket. I wander if it too can smell the damp and rot? if it can hear the rain pelting the window? if it can feel the springs of the mattress prodding against its back? Perhaps its blind, deaf and dumb? Does it simply exist there, within its shattered realm, senseless... maybe it looks back at me wandering the same things? Why must in punish me with its distortion? This malformation I have come to hate, this other me in the mirror which isn’t me at all, this ugly imitation; bastardised and ungodly and evil and broken. I must kill it. Slaughter the beast I see looking back at me, return my own reflection to myself - completed, whole, unbroken. I find myself standing against it, nose to nose, its hollow eyes met with mine. The bookend in my hand feels heavy, cold, metallic. I see it has one of its own and know that I must strike first, I rear it back above my head and see the rage in its eyes before thrusting it forward with all my might. Cautiously, my eyes open, the stagnant air feels heavy in my lungs as I breathe fear laden breaths. I feel the sting of shattered glass beneath my feet, I’m bleeding. The victory of seeing nothing but the bared, wooden backing of the mirror dulls the pain. The bookend falls to the floor with a clunk as the satisfaction of freedom washes over me. I look to my bleeding feet, a menagerie of glass shards surround them, long as knives and just as sharp and... It’s face lives within each and every one of them. A thousand distorted reflections looking back at me, only this time, each and every one is smiling at me.


Saturday, June 9th at 9:30 am After eight hours of labor that's when Ella was born into the world. She was a small thing, but had the cutest smile. Her big adorable hazel eyes were shut as she slept in her father's arms in the living room. Her father, Dave, have been getting along for the couple of weeks and she was surprisingly quiet for a newborn. Dave was pretty happy that the past few days hadn’t been that hard with Ella. And still new to being a father, he didn't think much of it besides that raising Ella will be a piece of cake. Sadly though, the mother of Ella died a few days after their daughter’s birth due to a car accident. It was all because of some guy who was drunk while driving and sadly Jamie was the consequence of the guy’s actions. Dave was devastated when he heard and swore, he would take care of Ella the best he could. He wouldn’t lose her too. He rocked her softly back and forth as she slept. Dave smiled softly at Ella and brushed a few hair strands on her forehead. Ella looked a lot similar to her mother, she had her brown curly hair along with her hazel eyes except her nose which was shaped like Dave’s. He glances up at the clock that read twelve o’clock in the afternoon, then he looked back down at his sleeping daughter and thought, "This won't be so hard, right?" Wrong. It is currently four o'clock in the morning on a Tuesday and for the past five minutes Dave has been trying to get Ella to fall back to sleep. It was exhausting, he tried almost everything. He tried feeding her, rocking her gently... maybe it was her diaper? Nope. Still bouncing the small child in his hands, Dave sat down in a rocking chair. He didn't know what to do, so with this exhausted self he went back to his room, laid in the bed and sat Ella on his chest. He rested his hand on the baby’s side to help hold her up. “Does this help? Because I’m out of ideas.” Ella’s cries slowly came to an end as she was placed on top of Dave. Her hazel eyes started right back at Dave’s green orbs. Her hand moved slightly to his arm and left it there, her tiny little hands started to grip the fabric of Dave’s sleeve. “Oh, I see. If you wanted, you could’ve just asked.” Once again Dave saw Ella’s eyes well up and her lip poked out a bit. Dave chuckled to himself, “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I know you can’t, yet.” Ella stopped crying and Dave wiped away the previous tears on her face. Dave saw that she was getting tired again because her eyes were slowly starting to close. He laid her on her stomach on his chest and slowly rubbed her back. “Yep, you are your mama’s child.” Dave says quietly. Ella immediately fell asleep for the rest of the night. 8:30 am Dave had already made his coffee (preferably black) and was about to change Ella’s diaper. Now what Dave didn't do was plan for this. He set Ella on the changing table and held Ella’s feet so she wouldn’t kick him in the process. He opened the bottom half of the yellow onesie she had on then he removed the diaper. ‘Okay, she only did a number one. Thank God.’ Dave silently celebrated as to not cleaning up a number two from Ella. Dave leaned over Ella to get a diaper, big mistake, an instant small stream of pee hit his shirt. His WHITE shirt. Ella made a series of small noises and gargles that kinda sounded like laughter. Dave, with an unamused look on his face, turns to the small child who looked back at him with an amused look in her eyes. “That’s not funny.” 10: 00 am Dave set Ella down in her crib before making his way to the kitchen to get her food. He’s researched plenty of YouTube videos about how to feed a baby and the right amount of baby formula he needs for a two-month old infant. Dave took out the formula and measured four ounces of formula and placed it into the baby bottle. He then added one ounce of water and shook it up well making sure all the formula was mixed inside. When the mixing was finished Dave wrapped Ella in a light grey baby blanket that had cute puppy designs on it. Dave gave her the bottle and after around fifteen to twenty minutes Ella had finished the bottle. Dave set the bottle down on the table across from him. He then set Ella on his lap and held her stomach with his other hand placed on her back. He patted her back to get her to burp which she eventually did. After a few minutes and the bottle was now clean Dave put Ella down for a nap. After he set her in her small crib he walked past a picture of Jamie. He smiled and picked up the picture, caressing it with his fingers. He had missed Jamie dearly and wanted more than anything to have her back. “If only you were her to see this.” He says looking back at Ella then at the picture before setting the picture back down. 2:20 pm After feeding Ella a couple more times after her naps Dave was peacefully sitting on Ella as she played with her rattle until a really bad smell hit his nose. It was as if... “Did you just?” Dave lifted Ella up and turned her around and yep, he found it. Ella had done a number two on his lap and it was not pleasant. Dave took her as quickly as he could to the changing table. He set her down and opened her diaper. The smell of what was inside hit his nose like a train. Dave scrunch up his nose and disgust and held Ellas feet she wouldn’t kick him. “The things I do for you child.” Dave chuckles as he got out a baby wipe. Ella, who had no idea what he was talking about, shook her rattle with no care in the world. 7:50 pm After getting changed into her onesie with stars on it both Ella and Dave were ready for bed. Dave had finally got her to sleep and started to set her down in her crib. Once she was in Dave removed his hands from her slowly only to earn another crying fit. Dave gave an exhausted sigh and picked Ella up again and went back to his bed placing her on his chest. She imminently stopped crying and slowly went back to sleep. Dave had remembered what he said this morning. In a way she was like her mother but... “You are definitely a daddy’s girl.”


#Welcome to the Micro Monday Challenge! Hello writers! Welcome to Micro Monday! I am excited to present you all with a chance to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic? I’m glad you asked! Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words (no poetry). However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more! Each week, I’ll give you a single constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. It might be an image, a theme word, a sentence, or a simple writing prompt. You’re free to interpret the prompt how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.** Remember, feedback matters! And don’t forget to upvote your favorites and nominate them via message here on reddit or a DM on discord!   *** #This week’s challenge: **Sentence: The door hadn’t been there yesterday.** This week’s challenge is to use the above sentence in your story, in some way. You may add onto it, but the original sentence should stay intact.   ***   #How It Works: - **Submit one story between 100-300 words** in the comments below, by the following Sunday at midnight, EST. No poetry. One story per author. - **Use to check your word count.** The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words or over 300 will be disqualified from campfire readings and spotlights. - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post exclusively. - **Come back throughout the week, upvote your favorites and leave them a comment with some feedback.** While it’s not a requirement, I encourage everyone to read the other stories on the thread and leave feedback. I will take all of this into consideration when making my selections each week. **Do not downvote other stories on the thread.** Vote manipulation is against Reddit rules and you will be reported. - **Please be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here, as we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. - If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail. *Top-level comments are reserved for story submissions.* - And most of all, be creative and have fun! #Campfire and Nominations - On Mondays at 12pm EST, I hold a Campfire on the discord server. We read all the stories from that week’s thread and provide verbal feedback for those authors that are present. Come join us to read your own story and listen to the others! You can come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. You don’t even have to write to join in. Don’t worry about being late, just join! Everyone is welcome. - You can nominate your favorite stories each week, by sending me a message on reddit or discord. You have until 2pm EST on Monday (about an hour after Campfire is over). You do *not* have to write to submit nominations!   ***   #Spotlights: Two Weeks Ago I sure had my work cut out for me, catching up on two weeks worth of stories! You guys consistently surprise me with your unique interpretations of the theme and your creativity. Fantastic job over the last two weeks. And a double thank you to everyone who joined in for our Campfire today. I couldn’t have done it without you. ###Crowd Favorite - - Submitted by u/jimiflan ###Bay’s Spotlights - - Submitted by u/katherine_c - - Submitted by u/ravenight #Spotlights: Last Week ###Crowd Favorite - - Submitted by u/Leebeewilly ###Bay’s Spotlights - - Submitted by u/Thetallerestpaul - - Submitted by u/Dunyazatde   *** ###Subreddit News - We’ve recently updated our subreddit rules. Please take a moment to or take a look at our sidebar. - Try your hand at serial writing with - Have you ever wanted to write a story with another writer? Check out our brand new weekly feature on r/WritingPrompts - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


“Ancient Greece was a civilization belonging to a period of Greek history from the Greek Dark Ages of the 13th-9th centuries BC to the end of antiquity (c. 600 AD). Immediately following this period was the beginning of the Early Middle Ages and the Byzantine era.” Harold aimlessly scrolled down the page, his eyes glazing over. “See you on Monday!” and with that, the weekend had begun. Harold mumbled a response, grabbed his pens, and started to pack his bag. He balled up a crumb covered page of wax paper and threw it in the trash. Before he left he took one final look at the Wikipedia article and turned his computer off. Harold drove east on route 108. Luckily, few cars were on the highway, as Harold drove like he was in a dream, fascinated and frightened by the peculiar item sitting on his dashboard. The device. A blaring horn broke his stupor and he readjusted, narrowly missing a 16 wheeler. “What am I doing?” Harold thought. “The thing probably doesn’t even work. I mean, it couldn’t work. It’s science fiction.” Harold took a right on Highland Avenue, and his mustard yellow house came into view. He sighed a relieved sigh, his thoughts having turned to disposing of the blueberry slurp which now sat in his bladder. From behind the overgrown shrubbery, he could see the lawn come into view, and his driveway, and the red door. He parked, and hesitated before deciding to grab the device. As Harold walked up to his red front door, he instinctively grabbed for his keys. “Shit.” and as he turned around, “Shit!” Harold understood that he had locked his keys inside the car. “Damn it to hell.” He glanced longingly at his red door, wanting desperately to have not done what he had just done. And then it occurred to him. Fifteen minutes passed before he built up the courage to truly entertain the thought which had come into his head. What Harold did not leave in the car, was the device that had sat on his dashboard for the last three weeks. He reached for it in his pocket; and, of course, it was still there. He was almost afraid to take it out, but eventually, he did, holding the metallic rectangle in his hands. It resembled an early iPod, circa 2001. It even had a click wheel. The only perceivable difference was the strange metallic luster, which looked like nothing else Harold had ever seen. He closed his hand around it. “This is crazy,” he thought. He looked at it again, and there it was, gleaming in that way. Harold pressed his finger down on the central button, and it awoke, suddenly displaying a series of black zeroes on a green background. - 00:00:00:00:00 He stared at them like he had a thousand times before. But this time, he slowly placed his thumb on the click wheel and gently brought it around, clockwise. One click, then two clicks. The numbers now read: - + 00:00:00:00:02 He placed his thumb on the click wheel once again, and this time, rotated counter-clockwise. One click, two clicks, then two more: - - 00:00:00:00:02 A mania took him over. The numbers dipped and changed like a slot machine and when the first column ran up to sixty, it reverted to zero and kept on climbing. Soon these first two digits were a blur, and the second two were steadily increasing, repeating at intervals of twenty-four. - - 00:00:03:21:49 Harold frowned. He turned the click wheel clockwise once more and gingerly brought the clicks to a standstill at: - - 00:00:00:00:20 The wind rustled through the trees. Harold recalled the solemn warning, offered to him by XchleiboK'a K'a months ago; "You may use it once, human scum. So use it wisely." Harold stared up at the clouds and let out an anxious whimper, then smiled and shook his head. “No way. It doesn’t even work. I’m just gonna do it, and nothing is going to happen because it’s science fiction.” He looked at the device. “This is so stupid.” For the first time, he pressed the central button. Words popped up on the screen. - Are you sure? He smirked at the warning, and defiantly pressed the button once again. “Yes, I’m sure.” Harold took a right on Highland Avenue, and his mustard yellow house came into view. He sighed a relieved sigh, his thoughts having turned to disposing of the blueberry slurp which now sat in his bladder. From behind the overgrown shrubbery, he could see the lawn come into view, and his driveway, and the red door, and himself. He slammed the breaks, and the car came to a screeching halt, stationing itself at an odd angle in the street. “What in the holy fuck!” he shouted, as he watched himself leap over to the car. “You’re gonna lock your keys in there!” Harold shouted from behind the glass. Harold’s eyes went from his keys to the device on his dashboard. “You used it?! Holy shit, I used it?!” Harold hastily parked the car in their driveway and got out, taking special care to grab his keys along with the device. Then he looked himself in the face. It was an awkward moment. “So...uh... it works, huh?” Harold waited as he used the bathroom, then when he came out, he went in and used the bathroom. “We have to figure out what we’re gonna... Where we’re... When we’re gonna go.” Harold came out of the bathroom. “I don’t think that’s possible. I think you have to use it. I used it approximately,” He looked at his wristwatch. “A minute and thirty seconds from now. You don’t want to... y’know... Cause a space-time thing. There can’t be two of us. You have to complete the chain of events.” he emphasized this with a twirl of his arm. “What do you know about space-time?” “For Christ's sake. Take it out of your pocket.” They both walked outside to the front lawn. “I was standing right... here.” Harold grabbed Harold and had him stand where he had stood. “Set it to minus twenty minutes.” - - 00:00:00:00:20 “Okay.” “Okay, well, nice to meet you, I guess.” “Yeah...” Harold pushed the button. A harsh buzz came out of the device and the screen went red. - Expired - Please Recycle :) Harold’s eyes widened. He pushed the button again, and it buzzed, he pushed it several more times. Bzzz, Bzzz, Bz-Bz-Bz . - Expired - Please Recycle :) He looked up at himself, mouth agape. A similar expression faced him. “But... It’s... I...” The gears slowly turned in Harold’s head. Harold, on the other hand, couldn't help but crack a smile, which grew into full-on hysterics. “You’re laughing?” He looked back down at the inert device in his hands. “But, Greece...” There was a blank numbness in his brain, which rose like violins in a horror score, processing the impossible situation before him. “I don’t understand.” “What’s not to understand?” He fell to the ground, unable to contain his apocalyptic laughter. An ice cream truck drove by, playing a familiar tune. In the kitchen, Harold sat at the counter, drinking a cup of coffee, while he also paced across the room, mumbling to himself. He opened the fridge, then closed it, then opened it again. Ketchup. Milk. Bologna slices. Mayonnaise. He closed the fridge. “I didn’t even get to choose...” “You did get to choose. We chose what we chose.” “No, you chose that!” “You, me, us, it’s all the same.” “Don’t sit there and tell me that I made this mistake. I’m not the time traveler here! And now I never get to be...” He paused. “What was it like?” Harold looked down at his coffee with a grim smirk. “Well, I pushed the button, and then... I was standing on the lawn, the device was gone, and so was my car.” “That’s it? That’s the best description you can muster?” “Honestly, it was kind of underwhelming.” Harold stared at himself in contempt, then looked away and rubbed his temples in frustration. “What are we gonna do? Huh?! Mr. H. G. fucking Wells over here. And over here. What am I gonna tell people, I have a long lost fucking twin?” “You really wanna have this conversation?” Harold looked down at the device, and then back up at himself. Harold was sipping his coffee and drumming his fingers on the table. “Why didn’t you call Sandy? Why didn’t you do anything else?” Harold shrugged. “I didn’t think it was going to work. Would you? ” “I was gonna go to Ancient Greece...” The other Harold said, his hand still holding the useless instrument. Harold sighed. “No you weren’t. I mean, come on. You don’t even speak ancient Greek.” A moment passed. Harold suddenly stood up and walked through his kitchen past Harold. Then, with strange portent, he slid the drawer open. Harold grabbed an instrument of many uses, which he then laid on the table. Harold looked up at himself. “Excuse me?” “I’m thinking it, so I know you must be thinking it too.” Harold replied, to which Harold raised his eyebrow. “Actually, I have no idea what you’re thinking.” He said. “Really?” Harold blinked. “Interesting... Maybe that means that I’m the real Harold.” The other Harold glanced nervously at the large knife in front of him. “I think that time traveling screwed with your head.” He cautioned, as he took a step back. “You’ve got wormhole madness. I suggest you take a cold shower.” “Harold...” Harold said. “You know why you always wanted to go to Ancient Greece? Because your life is boring. You are boring. But me? I’m a time traveler.” “You’re an asshole is what you are.” Harold replied. “You want to kill me, don’t you?” “Now you're catching on. You said it yourself! There can’t be two of us! So...” "You said that!" "Did I?" Harold looked down, then he went for the knife. “Wait!” The other Harold held his hands up defensively, then he dug through his pocket. Harold was disappointed. Harold took out a coin. “We do this honorably. Whoever loses has to leave. Find a new identity, I don’t know, whatever. This is the only fair solution.” Harold looked at himself disdainfully, and then sighed. “Fine. I guess that is better than some interdimensional knife fight...” He took the coin and placed it on his thumb, then he flipped it. It came back down and he covered it before looking up at himself. “Call it.” He said. Harold looked down, trying to logically deduce the arbitrary. “Tails.” He chose, finally. The other Harold removed his hand. Heads was facing up. Harold blinked, looking up at himself, then he went for the knife. Harold, surprised, went for the knife as well and they ended up both clutching at it in desperation. Sandy took a right on Highland Avenue, and her mustard yellow house came into view. She was looking forward to a quiet evening after a hectic day at the office. If it wasn’t one thing it was another. Employees squabbling. Cutbacks discussed. She imagined a warm bath and a good book were waiting inside that house. From behind the overgrown shrubbery, she could see the lawn come into view, and her driveway, and the red door, and Harold’s diagonal car. Just once, she thought, it would be nice if he could park straight.


A Sailor on the Endless Sea of Stars “I was a sailor. I sailed the endless sea of stars, hopping from galaxy to galaxy, from star cluster to star cluster, from star system to star system, even from Universe to Universe, looking for that rarest of phenomena, self-organised matter. Matter with the capacity for metabolism, growth, reaction to stimuli, and reproduction. In short, life. And specifically, the type of life termed ‘intelligent’ life. The sort that creates civilizations and which builds cities and collects knowledge.” Nessa looked at him. She’d simply introduced herself and asked where he was from. “So, do you have a name, sir?” asked Nessa. “Name? I do not know if I had one when my story started, but many people have given me names. A name is but a label, but sometimes there is an essence, a meaning that attaches to a name and to the person who is given or adopts it, or vice versa. On this very planet, one man to whom I talked called me Azathoth. But I’m no ruler, and I’m no god. Please call me Aza.” Nessa reflected that if you gave him a sentence, you would get a paragraph back, but the man was not pompous. “Would you like a toffee apple, Aza? The fete is in support of the local chapel.” Nessa was selling toffee apples at the fair on the local green. She’d seen the young man enter the village along the road to the next town, and had decided to chat to him. “Yes, please.” “Are you religious, Aza?” Azathoth stared into space. “Not conventionally. My viewpoint is holistic. I see the smallest electron exploding the biggest star. I see the smallest wish moving the biggest mountains. I see a dream inspiring a talented child who will change the world. I see the wave of a hand or a flipper or a tentacle or a tapping beak expressing emotion and affecting the future.” “Why are you looking for intelligent life, Aza? Why are you ‘sailing the endless sea of stars’?” She wasn’t sure of him yet. He seemed a little odd, but harmless. “I don’t know,” sighed Azathoth. “I seek out the interesting people, the people of power and wisdom. Those who feel the undercurrents of the Universes. Though in some cases ‘people’ is not a good word. I’ve communed with colonies of bacteria, in some sort of limited Universe. Maybe what this world would call a Petri dish. I’ve shared gusts of elements with clouds of gas and stars and received their replies in the form of streams of plasma of their own. I’ve performed more exotic exchanges with dark matter beings at the very edge of science and magic, at the very edge of being and communication, at the very edge of life and non-life.” Somehow she believed him, or set her disbelief aside for now. “Maybe you are assembling parts of the answer, like a sort of jigsaw puzzle. Maybe when you learn enough, it will all make sense.” Azathoth laughed. “Maybe. I’m gaining knowledge all the time, it’s true. But is that progress or merely an illusion of progress? And I only have the lifetime of the Universes to work with. Maybe there is not enough time. The Big Bang to the heat death or the Big Crunch. Or whatever happens at the end. Sometimes I think that, somehow, I must transcend time in some way to determine my purpose, whatever it might be.” “You said ‘I was a sailor’. Have you stopped then, Aza?” “I’m still a sailor of the stars, and places where there are no stars. I step from place to place, at random. Or as random as I can make it. A drunkard’s walk, except that I am little affected by alcohol and what humans term drugs! I’ve stepped into atoms and sub-atomic particles, and I’ve stepped out to the wild spaces where the Universes perform something like the function of those unimaginably small particles, and to realms even further out, where those wild spaces are mere particles. I am using terms which apply in this set of Universes of course, but the analogy is pretty good. I thought that I had come across something significant when I found a Universe or space where there were dragons. There’s something special about dragons. But I was mistaken. Azathoth looked into the distance. “I have seen many places. I’ve consulted many sages. I’ve talked to the common folk. I’ve talked with gods. I’ve talked to midwives, doctors, priests, soldiers, mathematicians, and potion makers. Kings and paupers. I’ve looked under stones and in babies’ smiles. I’ve looked at the whorls on the thumbs or the equivalent of thumbs on the hands or appendages of many creatures. I’ve looked at evil and good, and found little difference between them in the long run. I still don’t know what I am looking for. I don’t even know if I am looking in the right places.” He sighed. Nessa decided to tease him. “Maybe, like the man in the legend who rolled a rock up a mountain only for it to roll down again, you are destined not to succeed. Had you thought of that?” “Yes, I’ve often thought of that. I’ve been travelling for a long time.” He scratched his ear. “Maybe forever, whatever that means. I’ve not come close to even guessing what it is that I am looking for. I was with a tribe of ants one time. I was part of the tribe or nest, and I, as part of the nest, asked the rest of the nest for their opinion. It was quite divisive, disrupting for the nest, actually. What was I looking for? The consensus was that it was impossible to know. The question didn’t really make sense. Did it not make sense in the context of the tribe, I wonder, or did it just not make sense?” He contemplated the small village fair. His eyes were dark, very dark brown, she discovered, but then he smiled and his smile warmed her heart. She handed him a toffee apple and he paid her for it. “What’s it for?” he asked, gesturing with his apple at the fair. “The chapel, I think you said.” “Books for the school. Repairs to the chapel. That sort of thing.” They wandered through the small fête, the girl selling her apples as they went. She laughed at his attempts to snare a prize with a quoit and he laughed with her. She was slim, with light brown hair and hazel eyes. She was never far away from a smile, and her smile drew smiles from everyone around her. They met the Pastor. “Yes, the fair is mainly to buy books for the school. It’s a pity that the schoolmistress is leaving to look after her ailing mother,” sighed the Pastor. “Perhaps I could teach the school for a while?” said Azathoth. “Would that help?” “Could you? That would be marvellous,” said the Pastor. So, instead of moving on, as he was so used to doing, Azathoth became the schoolmaster. The Pastor had some reservations at first, because Azathoth would not attend the services at the chapel, but over time, her concerns evaporated. Azathoth was an excellent teacher, and good with the children. He listened quietly at the back whenever the Pastor taught religion to the kids. He didn’t try to influence them one way or the other. Nessa was a believer, and she asked Azathoth what he believed in. “I don’t know,” he answered. “I’ve read the Holy Book. I’ve thought about it a lot, and it is a good guide to how to behave in your own life and in your relations with others. But something inside me won’t let me believe in it completely. I’ve had some interesting discussions with the Pastor, and she understands my position. She’s of the opinion that I will come to believe it, but I’m not so sure.” “I know that you are a deep thinker, Aza, my dear. I know that you are a good man. It would be nice if you did come to believe it, of course. But it doesn’t matter.” *** “I’m going to have a baby, Aza, my dear,” said Nessa one day. “That’s great news!” replied Azathoth. “Shall we get married? I love you, dear Nessa. Will you marry me?” Nessa laughed and hugged him. “We’d better, I suppose.” The convention was that babies came after marriage, but it wasn’t considered to be a hard and fast rule. So Azathoth and Vanessa got married and Nessa’s Mum looked after baby Marigold while Nessa and Aza earned a living. Soon Mari was joined by a brother and later by a sister. The years passed. The village grew into a small town, and a bus service now ran twice daily to a large town to the north. The tiny school had been extended twice and all three of Aza and Nessa’s children had attended it, grown up, and gone on to University. Azathoth had to employ two more teachers. Mari came home unexpectedly one day. “Mum, Dad, I’m going to have a baby.” Nessa was overjoyed. “So, when do we meet the father?” Mari scowled. “He’s no longer around. The minute we found out, he left me and ran back to his Mum. Can I come back home?” Aza experienced a burst of anger at the boy, which surprised him. “Of course you can. Erm, this boy...” “Please, Dad. Let it go. I’m better off without him.” “OK, dear. OK. If you are sure.” So Mari came home, and got a job in a nearby town. She left baby Kerigwyn with her grandparents during the day, and they loved it. “Happy?” asked Aza as they sat on the sofa, with Keri asleep in her grandmother’s arms. “Yes, of course. And you?” She was aware that Azathoth was sometimes restless. “Yes, Nessa, my dear. Very happy. Isn’t she beautiful?” Gradually their little family grew. Their other children married and had babies, Mari met a man who loved little Keri as much as she did and married him. She had two more babies. There were also cousins and nephews and nieces, uncles and aunts, and more distant relatives on Nessa’s side, but none on Aza’s side. He explained this by saying that he was an orphan and had been brought up in an orphanage. Only Nessa knew the truth, which was that he remembered nothing before happening on the village fair. *** Nessa became ill. At first she just felt unwell in the mornings, so she and Aza consulted the doctor. His face was grim when he gave them his diagnosis. Aza held her on the sofa where she sobbed for a long, long time. Eventually she dropped off and he carried her up to their bed and laid her down gently. As he moved to go downstairs again she drowsily said “Sorry, my love. I’ll be better in the morning.” The next day the doctor’s medicines had kicked in and she was much better. Aza had to push down what he knew was doomed hope. Several of their friends and relations dropped in to see Nessa, but soon Nessa became tired. Aza was terrified that the strain would harm her, so Mari stepped in and sent them off to their bedroom. Aza helped Nessa up the stairs and onto the bed. “I love you, Nessa,” he whispered. “I know. I love you too. Don’t be sad, my dear. We’ve had a good life. We’ve had marvellous kids and grand-kids. Haven’t we?” “Yes, dear. Yes. I’m not sure that I can go on without you!” “You can. You will. You have no choice, my love.” Aza looked at his wife and saw again the young girl with the toffee apples. He stroked her hair as she dropped off to sleep and he lay down beside her. He was as tired as she was and quickly dropped off to sleep as well. Nessa slowly faded away. Her family gathered around her bed, and she dozed, the oxygen mask obscuring her face. Aza was holding her hand, but seemed confused and distressed. The rest of her family talked quietly about nothing very much. Nessa roused slightly, mumbling into the mask. Aza removed it. “Nessa, my love!” “I’ve always known... that you were special, Aza. I hope you... enjoyed... our life... together. I’ve been privileged... to know you. I’ll rest now. I’ll see you again... sometime.” Her eyes had closed and she struggled to breath for a few seconds, then her breathing stopped. Aza stood up and pushed back his chair, his head in his hands. He walked out of the room and staggered into the garden. Mari appeared at his elbow. “Oh! Oh! Mari, I feel so alone! I feel that she left me, but I know that she didn’t!” Aza drank the sleeping potion from the apothecary, even though he didn’t want to sleep. In the morning he felt hollow. He talked to Nessa constantly, and people talked and nodded behind his back. But over the days, the months, the years, it got a little easier. From time to time he had mental flashes of strange realms. Gas people. Sea people. Underground people. People and realms too strange to describe. In all those flashes, Nessa was always there by his side. “What does it all mean, Nessa?” She just smiled at him. *** He came to, lying by the side of the road. Someone had put a coat over him. He tried to sit up. Someone was talking on a radio somewhere, and something was bleeping regularly. “Please stay there for now, sir. Relax,” said an authoritative voice. “What?” he said. “I’m a paramedic, sir. You collapsed by the side of the road and someone called the Ambulance Service. Stay still, please.” He was confused. Things happened around him, not really affecting him. Then Nessa appeared. “Nessa!” She smiled at him. “Not long now, my love.” Then she was gone. His daughter Marigold arrived at the hospital. “Mari! What’s happening? Why am I here?” “Hush, Dad. You collapsed. You’ve had a heart attack they think.” “I saw your Mum.” Mari looked concerned. “But Dad...” “Yes, I know. She’s been dead for years. But she’s always close to my thoughts. I sometimes see her for a second, in the corner of my eye. When someone walks like her.” He didn’t mention what she had said. Later that night he had another heart attack and the doctors were unable to save him. “I told you that it wouldn’t be long,” Nessa laughed. “Yes, my dear. It’s been so long without you!” “What about those moments before you went to sleep and you felt me beside you. When a stranger talked or laughed like me.” They were quiet, just being happy together again. “You’ve made me immortal, Aza. By loving me. Well, I will go on as long as you will, anyway.” “Are you real? Is this just a dying dream? Oh, my love!” “Is this real?” She gestured at the glowing star scape, stars from dwarfs to super-giants. Clouds of brilliant gas, and small rocky planets and large gas giants, and life everywhere. He nodded. “I have to return to my search.” “Yes, I know. But I will be...” “... just a thought away. I know.” Azathoth sighed “I was so happy. I somehow forgot or repressed my urge to look for I know not what. I aged as people normally do. I think that I was one of you. Then you died. I grieved for you. I became ill, I died, and then, without a break, I was with you again. I enjoyed it all!” “What would happen if you did find what you are looking for, Aza? If you did find out what it is that you are looking for, and you found it? What then?” “Eh?” It was one of Azathoth’s shortest utterances. He looked at Nessa in bemusement, and thought for a moment. “That’s something I’ve never been asked! In all these years and what passes for years elsewhere, I’ve never been asked that, but now it seems like an obvious question! This terrible longing would be ended. I would no longer need to be a sailor on the tides of time and space. I’d be a searcher no longer. I could... What would I do? What would be my purpose? My purpose would be fulfilled, completed. I would have no reason to be. I could end. I could stop.” “In the terms of this space or Universe, you could die. This time for ever.” “I could, couldn’t I? I could cease to exist. For ever. I could dissipate over the spaces. I could dissolve into space and time! Bliss! Sheer bliss!” “We would end, Aza, my dear. We would just let go. Together.” “Yes. Together. Am I destined to travel for ever, Nessa?” he asked as they walked down the lane and turned the corner. “In one way, yes, perhaps.” “And in another way?” “Maybe you are the essence of seeking and not a real person and yet...” “And yet... ?” “And yet, I love you. That makes you a person.” “I love you too.” They kissed and the lane was empty. ***