This is a story I first wrote about a year ago and i never really knew how to release it, but it took me a decent amount of time and its really been on my mind for the past few days so I hope you guys enjoy it. Also this is the first time Ive ever even been on reddit so please bear with me and correct anything ive done wrong. Im also just copying and pasting from the google docs this is on so tell me if any of this comes out weird. Captain’s Log Captain’s Log Day 1 I’ve discovered a journal in this despicable wasteland. The strange creature still wears a hat made of aluminum. I’m curious to why he does this. The Giant continues to make strange deep and ungodly noises. I don’t know where I am, but I believe both of these beings are anomalies or something pertaining to the topic. I can’t remember anything. The strange crown has now been transferred to other strange creatures and then returned to the original wearer. All these subjects now display strange behaviors. The Giant one disappeared for a sizable portion of time. I’m not sure where he went within this time period, but I believe it was a dimension out of my knowledge. The more I write the more I can begin to remember, but to my knowledge there are only 5 known dimensions. This took many years of research to discover. Out of these two subjects, the one with the aluminum hat seems to be the less sophisticated and more submissive one. The Giant, although quiet, when he speaks I believe no words are wasted. This may prove to be incorrect because of the language barrier. These beings speak a language I cannot comprehend. This is the end of today's entry. Captain’s Log Day 2 The two beings got into a small disagreement over something I cannot comprehend. The language they speak is one I've never even heard of. I can only decipher what’s going on through their body language. Whatever they were speaking about was important. I MUST know more. The key to understanding them is out there somewhere and I will find it. End Of Log Captain’s Log Day 3 I believe there is another being somewhere out there in the universe. From what I can decipher it appears there was once a third being, but he left for reasons unknown to me. The other two have tried to explain to me why and where he went, but their language is strange and alien to me. From what I understand though, the third being is a prophet. I have decided to name these three beings. The one with the strange hat like device will be known as Silverstein. The giant will be called Trognog. And finally, the third and most mysterious will be called The Prophet. I hope to learn more about these beings. End Of Log Captain’s Log Day 4 I have decided to put on Silverstein’s strange hat. I will either do this with or without his permission. I hope it will reveal more about him. End Of Log Captain’s Log Day 5 I have put on Silverstein’s strange hat. Many would wish to have this hat. I understand everything that has been said. There is a plague, the worst one this planet has ever seen, and its spreading fast. There’s not much time. This is why The Prophet left. He has gone in search of the cure. The Prophet is the only one that knows how to stop the plague. He believes the cure is in an unknown realm. From what I know it’s in the worst dimension ever discovered. I hope he returns soon. End Of Log Captain’s Log Day 6 It appears that the planet worships a god named Jah. Apparently, The Prophet is a direct messenger from Jah himself. The Prophet was sent down to protect this planet and all of its beings. I am skeptical of this religion and its beliefs. End Of Log Captain’s Log Day 7 I’ve realized that I have failed to describe any of these beings. The one I call Trognog is extremely tall. He is also a strange gray color almost like stone. He has a fungus or moss like substance that grows on his head in place of hair. The only articles of clothing he has are dark rags, ripped from many years of battle. He is always hunched over. 📷 The being named Silverstein is equally strange in appearance. His entire body is hair. From head to toe he is hair. It trails behind him like a glorified wedding veil. One characteristic of Silverstein is that he hates to be apart from the strange hat like crown he wears. 📷 End Of Log Captain’s Log Day 8 The whispers of impending doom grow louder now. They are a white noise to every conversation. It is steadily growing from quiet whispers into a dull roar. I hope The Prophet returns soon. End Of Log \*\*\*\*PROLOGUE\*\*\*\* Captain’s Log Day -3 LOG ID NAME: Cap-Ta-Ins HEIGHT: 5’11 WEIGHT: 170 LBS DESCRIPTION: AGENT HAS BLONDE HAIR AND GREEN EYES. AGENT ALSO HAS SLIGHT BUILD. AGENT APPEARS TO BE AROUND 20 YEARS OLD. MOTIVES FOR JOINING LOG: “All of my family died in the second war after the vietnamese took over after winning the first. Earth is gone and we’ve gone to using portals and other dimensions and space travels, so I figured why not join LOG. My main objective now is to spread and complete the motives of LOG.” END OF STATEMENT End Of Log Captain’s Log Day -2 We have hidden Jah far away where only one will be able to find him. That is my main target. I prep to enter the planet Zing today and will enter through The Garden Of The Seventh Gate in 2 days. There is a strong chance I may lose my memories by entering this way, but LOG insists that it’s the most efficient. The planet Zing has been under attack for many years so this is the easiest way to infiltrate Zing. End Of Log Captain’s Log Day -1 I enter through the gate tomorrow. All that is about to happens is for the future’s own good. He is coming and it will be glorious. End Of Log Captain’s Log Day 0 The Seventh Gate is found on an island in the inner space region of Zing. The Gate is located in a very nice garden. The gate is a dull gray color with hints of yellow, while the portal itself is like shimmering water. I wish I had more time to fully study this place, but my time has come. For the Future. \*Transmission cuts off\* End Of Log \*\*\*\*END OF PROLOGUE\*\*\*\* Captain’s Log Day 9 News is spreading that The Prophet has returned. The rumors speak nothing of The Cure. I now have a detailed description of The Prophet. He has a body that glows the whitest white. On him are star like objects that absorb all light. He also has a grape for a head. The only reasoning for this that I can think of is that Jah is also a grape. 📷 End Of Log Captain’s Log Day 10 I have spoken with The Prophet and he has big plans. He has strange abilities and powers and claims he can help return my memories. I think he is a great being. End Of Log Captain’s Log Day 11 Today The Prophet began the initiation process to regain my memories. He removed one of the black stars from his body and placed it on to my forehead, where it then got entirely absorbed into my skull. As soon as he did this, I was transported into the past. \*\*\*\*The Vietnam War- Asher’s Story\*\*\*\* It’s been around 40 days since we first got deployed. There are 7 of us all together. Our platoon is made up of Sergeant CD, Colonel McCrusty, Jacob, Hunter, Devin, Sam, and yours truly.There used to be more of us, but they’re all gone. It was on the 12th day when we lost 3 other members, Nathan, Chris, and Shane. We were walking through jungle when we started to hear them, The Vietcong. We heard them from all directions but couldn’t see a single one. We started to pick up the pace, but so did they. We stopped for a second to catch our breath, when suddenly everything exploded with movement. Nathan, Chris, and Shane were seized while the rest of us ran. 3 days later we found their bodies strung up out in the jungle decapitated and decomposing. We gave them an improper burial fearing for our lives. I gotta call it in for the night. Vietnam Day 41- Asher’s Story We found a river while moving camps. It was risky making a stop like this, but water is water. We continued moving up towards higher ground after refilling our water supply. We were at some high cliffs at a bend in the river. It was a very long way down. Most of us were taking in the view when suddenly, Sam started screaming about a President and something about the trees coming for us. This went on for a few minutes and none of us knew how to react from a lack of sleep. Sam stopped screaming and turned his head quickly towards Sergeant CD. Sam then grabbed Sergeant CD before any of us could react and he threw CD right off the cliffs, he himself holding on to the Sergeant as they fell into oblivion. The cliffs were so high, that they were dead before they even hit the ground. Sam and Sergeant CD died that day... End Of Day Vietnam Day 44- Asher’s Story It’s been three days since anyone has spoken to each other, what happened there on those cliffs has shaken us to our very cores. End Of Day Vietnam Day 50- Asher’s Story It’s been 6 days since I last wrote anything down. Over the last six days I've gotten about 3 hours of sleep all together. It's been non-stop fighting and running and killing. I can't even tell if any of the blood on my clothes is mine... \*\*\*\*Night\*\*\*\* Lately, the other men have been seeing a man in a suit and red tie following us through the jungle. I haven't seen him till now. I'm questioning my sanity... It has been 3 hours. He's just staring. He's gradually moving closer every minute. He doesn't blink or move anything. He just sort of silently glides. Is he real or am I just dreaming? I'm going to get some sleep. Vietnam Day 51- Asher’s Story When I woke, he was leaning over me, not in a threatening way, but more like an inquisitive way. He said “ come with me” and when I asked for his name he just said “ call me Mr. President”. as soon as he touched my shoulder, I saw a flash of red light then we were in total darkness... \*End Of Vietnam\* The Cave Day ?- Asher’s Story As soon as we were transported into the cave, all I could see was Darkness with some light reflecting off of water. I’m chained down and tortured every half hour. The only thing Mr. President says is “Where is He?” over and over again. I don't understand. I have to stop writing he's coming back... The Cave Day ?- Asher’s Story There is no sense of time here, so I've just started using a ? instead of a number. He's removed my fingernails and toenails. He has slowly plucked every hair off of my body. There are now needles in my knees and feet. I started to scream “ Mr. president you can't keep me in this cave forever! Release Me from these chains! Let me out Mr. President!” as soon as I said this the chains were released. I started to swim after I crawled into the water. Each agonizing inch was more pain than the last. As soon as I made it through the entrance, I found myself in an ocean... \*End Of The Cave\* The Ocean Day ?- Asher’s Story I've been swimming for hours... and so have they, the sharks. They’ve finally caught up to me. They have started to attack. I only have a few minutes left, but I have noticed something strange. on the side of the sharks there are three letters, CAP. What does this mean? This is the end of me. \*End Of Asher\* Captain’s Log Day 12 I woke to a start. I found myself in a field under the open orange and green sky and so is he, The Prophet. “Good” he said. “You found the first step to unlocking your memories.” “Yes” I replied, “but what does it mean?” “That’s for you to find out.” He said. He then touched my forehead and then everything went black. End Of Log Yad Eno- Rehsa’s Yrots I like to explore places. It's not like I have anything better to do. Sewers are my favorite because it's nice and quiet down there. I like being underground more than I like being above ground, it's nicer and a little more relaxing. And up until recently I thought I was the only one that liked going down there... Dne Fo Yrtne Yad Owt- Rehsa’s Yrots I'm always alone down there, no one follows me or anything and none of my friends want to go with me. The other day, I was exploring and such when I heard a noise. It was some sort of sloshing noise. This surprised me of course because no one comes down there, but none the less I continued my day... Dne Fo Yrtne Yad Eerht- Rehsa’s Yrots I keep hearing that noise, almost like someone's following me. The more I hear it, the more I feel like I'm being chased. I've decided to go home. As soon as I began to go home, and ungodly shrieking began for the sloshing sped up. I began to sprint through the tunnels. I only look back once and what I saw was truly terrifying. It was a Hound. A huge black one. It's hair was shaggy and trailed behind it through the muck and filthy water that came from the city up above. It chased me all the way to my manhole covering that led to my cul-de-sac. When I got out it also got out, it turned into a man wearing all black just standing on the man hole covering. I ran inside. My parents weren’t home that day because they were out at dinner . He must have stood there for about 3 hours before my parents got home. Once they made it inside, I explained the situation. They called the police, but by the time the police had arrived, he was gone. A few days after the incident occurred, I revisited the site where he stood for so long, and on the manhole covering the word “SEWER” changed into “TA”.I don't understand what this means. I live in fear now, I see him everywhere. I'm beginning to question if this is some sort of coping method or if I'm actually seeing him. \*Dne Fo Rehsa\* (Note: Rehsa disappeared under mysterious circumstances a few days later) Captain’s Log Day 13 I woke with a start once again. All I could see was static, but it was the normal world. There were shapes of things, but at the same time there weren't. It was like everything blended in but also stood out. Once again, The Prophet congratulated me for finding yet another key to my memories. I asked him where we were and he replied The 5th Dimension. I shuddered. I had heard the 5th Dimension, otherwise known as the darkness realm, was a hellish landscape infested with a number of maniacal things. Just as I was trying to remember more about the dimension. A nightmarish creature that looks like a swirling mass between a rabbit, Eagle, dolphin, dear, and other unknown creatures charged at us. I began to flinch, but then once again The Prophet tapped my forehead and I was plunged into darkness. End Of Log \*\*\*\*Known Dimensions\*\*\*\* is there an infinite number of Dimensions, but to LOGS knowledge there are only five. First off, the sand realm. Everything, including you, is made out of sand. Entire cities and even more are entirely made of sand. The second is the mirror Dimension. Basically, it's an infinite House of mirrors. If you get trapped here, you will most likely die. They're creatures that reflect all light and can travel through mirrors. These creatures will hunt you down until you are eradicated. The only way to escape the dimension is by finding the cracked mirror. The third dimension is the world we currently reside in. It's our normal Dimension and it doesn't have many dangers. The 4th Dimension will transport you into a random place in the past or the future. The only way to get transported there is unknown. Many speculate that portals of some sort have a part in the transport, but no one actually knows. The 5th Dimension, also known as the darkness realm, is one of the worst and most confusing Dimensions. Everything is made of what looks like TV static. Everything is dangerous in this Wasteland. Only two known beings have made it out alive. This is a chaotic dimension. There are many more dimensions, but these are some of the most well-known. \*End Of Known Dimensions\* MEYMNAWOD Note: All of what you are about to read has been translated from Yaso. I used to live in a house, it was a large house in a nice location. There's a creek nearby, lots of Wildlife, and it was in the middle of a clearing in the forest. It was a normal house and it was a very big house. Sometimes it got a little lonely, but when there was company, it wasn't the kind that you wanted... The guests were fleeting shadows in the woods at night. At first I just dismissed it as my imagination or maybe I hadn't gotten enough sleep the night before. Oh how I wish that's what it turned out to be... The first encounter was deeply unsettling. I've been out in the shed all day woodworking. I was making all sorts of different of wood things. It was getting dark so I decided to call it a night... All is normal for a while. I ate dinner, shower, all of that. It was when I was getting ready to go to bed, when I heard an inhuman streak all around me. It was deafening. This went on until I temporarily went deaf. I don't know how much time that was because I passed out... When I woke up, there was a thumping coming from upstairs. THUMP THUMP THUMP. I grab my shotgun conveniently hanging on the wall, loaded it and slowly crept up the stairs. There was a strange Red Trail leading up to the bedroom. Was it blood? I crept closer to the door. THUMP THUMP THUMP! The thumping grew louder with every step. THUMP THUMP THUMP! The door was cracked open. I leaned in slowly pushed it open. The thumping was definitely coming from here... The room looked normal. I looked out the window and there it was. A dead deer that had been decapitated now hung by its hind legs. It was being pushed by the wind crashing against the window, so that's what the thumping was.I vomited at the sight of it. I was beginning to wonder how it had gotten there when I heard a little girl laugh. The laugh was coming from behind me... I slowly turned my head and there she was. She had long dark hair that went below her shoulders. She wore stark white robes that stood out against the dark wall behind her. Worst of all, she had a deer skull for a face. The Laughing increased and then she slowly faded away. NAOEEYFNODD WOYMFWAMOTD Since that encounter, I've been hearing and seeing strange things. They speak in a language I can't understand. I see odd apparitions here and there. But at night, is when they are most active. I'm trapped in a dream world. They can control what I do and I'm confined to live in this house in the surrounding Woods. I'm losing sanity. All I can do while I work work is carve out faces screaming in wretched pain. I put these wooden statues around the house and it seems to scare off the spirits a little. The dead deer are steadily appearing around or in my house. The smell is unbearable. NAOEEYFNODD WOYMFWAMOTD In this house there is a small, but extensive library. And in this Library, there is a book on the family that used to live in the house before I did. I believe this will explain everything. And in the book I found the family tree. I believe the family all killed each other. They did this because of a dispute over a prize-winning buck. I believe their Spirits now haunt this house in the surrounding area. NAOEEYFNODD WOYMFWAMOTD The only way to escape this dream reality is to dance around a fire with the spirits and chant the reverse spell. NAOEEYFNODD WOYMFWAMOTD The day has come, tonight I escape. The time has come. The fire is burning. The spirits have come. LALNKMAANKW LALNKMAANKW LALNKMAANKW WALK MAN MAN WALK MAN MAN WALK MAN MAN I've been transported into a desert I have named INS. The chant has worked and I am free. \*NNKWTDAALEFNMMAHOE\* Captain’s Log Day 14 This time I woke slowly... I remember everything. What the plan is, where Jah is... My real name. My real name is Cap-Ta-Ins. And I was sent to save or destroy the planet Zing by any means necessary... End Of Log Cap-Ta-Ins LOG Day 15 Jah Is trapped in the 5th Dimension. If I fufill my mission, the world ends, if I don't the universe ends. It's an easy Choice. The lives of millions compared to the billions upon trillions. The planet Zing is a relatively small planet. Lately, it's been in many interdimensional wars. There's not much trust around here. The climate of Zing fluctuates with what's the color of the sky. It's a swirling mass of orange and green. When it's swirling, the temperature is 79 degrees Fahrenheit. When the sky is orange, it's very cold. When the sky is green, it's extremely hot . The flora here is a variety of colors. They can be normal or inverted depending on the sky. Usually everything here slowly turns from one color to another. The fauna out here is composed of fish that fly in the sky. Birds that swim in the water. And lizard-like creatures that can create invisible walls and spin web-like homes within those walls. I will formulate my plan tomorrow. End Of Log Cap-Ta-Ins LOG Day 16 I have made my choice. I'm going to kill Jah. It's the only way to save the universe. I need to formulate a plan. End Of Log Cap-Ta-Ins LOG Day 17 LOG Has hidden Jah in The 5th Dimension, he is going insane as I write this. Once he is released, we need to somehow expose what's inside of him. I believe I can use Trognog and Silverstein's abilities to do so. The Prophet May prove to be an issue later on because his loyalty lies with Jah. There's been rumors as of late that The Prophet has the key to bringing back Jah. The Prophet Must Die... End Of Log Cap-Ta-Ins LOG Day 18 We will be able to destroy The Prophet by putting him in a trance-like state using Silverstein's strange hat and then turning him into stone with Trognog’s abilities, Then we will destroy the statue... Tomorrow is the day... End Of Log Cap-Ta-Ins LOG Day 19 Today is the day... Trognog and Silverstein are completely on my side. We have full control. LOG’s objective will soon be complete. Using their abilities, we can increase our chances of success tenfold. Trognog Controls an army of stone that he created back when he was Trognog the Destroyer. He is now Trognog the Peaceful , but is willing to return back to his old ways to help LOG. Silverstein will prove to be valuable by lending his strange aluminum crown to the cause. he will be the one using it because he has the most knowledge and control over it. Most of the skills are unknown to me, but I do not doubt him. We must prepare... \*Some Time Passes\* We've been preparing for hours. This is going to be one of the hardest things we will ever do. We must get him now. I will describe what happened today, tomorrow if we survive. End of Log Cap-Ta-Ins LOG Day 20 Awful things have happened... Never in my life have I witnessed the death of a thousand Souls at once. Many lives were lost including that of my comrades. We could have never predicted the level of mass destruction that occurred that day. Yesterday, Trognog, Silverstein, and I invited The Prophet out to a field. He believed we were going to discuss the plague, but in reality this is when we were going to make our move. The plan should have been foolproof. Because of one mistake I lost the lifes of all my comrades... As I've written about before, Silverstein's strange crown will temporarily immobilize a new user while I'm unlocking the knowledge of the crown. That was our plan, we believed that The Prophet had never put it on, but we were mistaken. When we placed it on him he said “My friends, why would you try this?” Then he grew 100’s of feet taller and cloned himself into an army. There were hundreds, possibly even thousands. Thankfully, we had Trognog on our side. Trognog Commanded his army to attack. They charged with the force of a small earthquake (or should it be Zingquake?). The Prophets did not react. They gathered miles away, the monsters we once knew as our friend now smiled psychotically... Waiting for the slaughter to begin. For reasons unknown, The Prophets Allowed the Stone Army to hack and slash at their legs, this actually did ruin a good portion of the beast, but that's when he chose to attack. Stars of the darkest night flew from the prophets bodies, obliterating all in their path. In an instant the Army was destroyed. One of the Giant Prophets then charged our Group. His arm beganto morph into a sharp point. just before it was about to hit us, Silverstein jumped in the way of Trognog and I. The Prophet Stopped short, then slowly picked one of the black stars off of his body and created a portal and thrust Silverstein and into it. Trognog And I found ourselves to become paralyzed and forced to watch our friend become part of the sand from the First Dimension. The Prophet Then turn towards Trognog. Once again pulled a Blackstar off of his body, created a portal and thrust Trognog into it. this time the dimension was the 2nd Dimension Also known as the mirror dimension. At first Trognog tried to find his way out, slowly going down every passageway, every Twist and Turn, but it was all the same. He stopped for a brief rest when suddenly, one of the reflective creatures attacked.Trognog destroyed it with one blow, its body shattering into millions of pieces. He began to continue his journey when the pieces began to move. Slow at first, but then quicker. They were the smashed pieces of the larger creature. They crawled all over him biting, stinging, and driving while doing so. That's when Trognog lost it, he began to brush the tiny things off, but he was in a confined spot and being the giant he is, hit the walls all around him with his massive fist. At first the sound was quiet, but then it grew louder and louder and louder. The maze was cracking. Huge chunks of glass crashed down on him. The screams were terrible. It was not a quick death. The Prophet turned towards me and said “ I'm sorry it had to be this way, but it was the only way. I must join them now with you coming only shortly after. Goodbye Cap-Ta-Ins.” and with that he began to fade away, but not before saying “ take this key and return to the Gate.” he handed me a key and finally disappeared. I'd never felt like this before. Sure I had lost my parents and other family and the second war, but this was different. Upon closer inspection of the key I have found it to be spiraled at the end. It also has a number 7 on it or the gate it corresponds with. I found myself to also be fading. I was transported to the Garden of the seventh gate. Back to Where it All Began. On the gate there was a keyhole that looked like a flower with the symbol first second third Zing fourth fifth. I inserted the spiral key in Twisted to the symbol. The portal change from what looked like a mist to what now look like television static. I heard a big boom and that's when I saw him. The broken God, Jah. He looked the same, but something just felt off. He was insane... Jah Spoke softly like a Lost Child would and he said “ have you made your choice?” As he grew to his actual size. “Yes” I replied. “But was it the right choice?” He asked. “Yes” I replied. “Everything is going to change now, you know that correct?” He said. “Yes” I replied. “Very well, you know what to do.” He spoke. As he said this, a black star descended from him and gently touched me. ‘‘Become the True Last Prophet and fulfill your destiny.” And with that you banished. The plague is still out there, but I have made my choice and will become The Prophet.


This has been going on for years. The first time I saw him, I stood in one of those pharmacy cum general stores which every town had. When he first saw me, I don’t know. I became aware of him just as I planned to slip a magazine into my inner pocket and duck out. They never expected magazines to get shoplifted so I felt pretty safe. No one bought anything there. The whole store was crammed with stuff no one wanted. But then there’s this guy watching me, but not looking at me. He didn’t look like plain clothes, or what they call a ‘secret shopper’. I mean, were they going to make a federal crime out of a magazine? Our eyes didn’t make contact. I’d catch a furtive glance. I don’t know, I had this feeling. So I flipped through the mag and put it back on the shelf with a dismissive murmur. It’s not like I’m a thief. They wouldn’t miss it. I thought of it as more of a momentary lapse. Not a habit. And anyway, I didn’t take it. Big deal. I didn’t think much of it and had no reason to remember him after that. Until sometime later I sat in a diner with my date. She excused herself and I noticed the waitress eyeing me. So I made a face and made her laugh. It wasn’t anything anyone would take to heart, except maybe my date. But then I see this guy again. What’s he watching me for? I didn’t do anything anyone should care about, stealing sugar packets or anything. But there he sat in a booth across the room and I know he’s got his eye on me. So I cut the crap and drank my iced tea. Let him look at the chalkboard specials. Then another time I’m in the park playing dominoes with some friends. Chaz claimed I cheated. I told him I prefer to call my play ‘strategic’. I mean, can you really cheat at dominoes? What would that look like? So I like dominating a suit. Is that a crime? But who do I see reading the paper on a bench? You guessed it. Same guy. He can’t see my bones. What’s his problem? But it’s driving me crazy so I play to Chaz’s draw. Happy? You won’t guess where I see him next. Right. While passing the plate in church. My fiancé brings me to this peaceful place and I’m feeling stalked. He’s the usher, in a church, no less. I’m trying to be good. I put money in the tray when it floats by. So this usher stands there holding the plate and kind of hefting it like he’s judging its weight. As if he thinks I should sweeten the pot a little more. I looked up at him and he gave me a wink. The nerve. Like he’s my old buddy. So I dropped another sawbuck into the plate to get him out of my face. He finally got the message and moved on. Who is this guy? A few days later I see this homeless guy. He’s in his twenties and looks like he works out at a gym. He could get a job if he cleaned up and got a haircut. I walk by him and look down the street. Of course, my shadow is looking down his nose at me. He’s so superior, why doesn’t he help the guy with the bulging muscles and the sign? So I judged a homeless man with a cup. Okay, I shouldn’t judge. But who’s this mug, judging me? Am I his personal morality project? Every time I turned around I’d feel his eyes on me. I have nothing to feel guilty for. Why doesn’t he lighten up? It all came to a head one night. I took my wife to a favorite eatery of ours. Not too fancy, kind of crowded and bright but the food is fantastic. Waiters glided around effortlessly, while holding giant platters over their heads. I’m trying to eat. I’m minding my business. No way, anyone could think I’m anything but an appreciative customer trying to have a night out with my beautiful wife. But I felt eyes upon me again. I scanned the room. It took a minute but through the crowd I saw his beady eyes staring at me. Fed up and tired of getting stalked, I threw my napkin onto the table and stood up. Startled, my wife reaches for my hand with wonder in her eyes. I nodded to her not to worry. “I’ll be right back.” I navigated toward him through the tables jammed together. There’s barely room to walk. Then I realized he was approaching me. I wondered, would this lead to a physical confrontation? What did he want from me? A little over weight, he had as much trouble as me snaking through the narrow spaces between tables and chairs. But our distance had halved. How do the waiters do it? Every time I looked, he had his eyes on me. We got closer. I saw a gap. I strode toward him. I wanted to know his game. We rushed at each other. I wanted to take him out. Bam! I stopped. I could go no further. As if an invisible barrier had descended between us, I walked directly into it. Like a bird flying into a window. My nemesis made the same mistake. I would have laughed at his pain. He put his hand up to his nose. But we both held our noses. We were eye to eye and smacked into this - mirror. We exchanged hard looks and then it became obvious. The stranger, my nemesis was me. You should have seen the look he gave me. I heard laughter behind me. I turned to see diners and waiters failing to stifle their mirth at my clumsiness. I could only laugh too. I turned and pointed at the mirror. Trying to salvage the situation a little, I gave my reflection a high five. The whole restaurant exploded into hysterical guffaws. A waiter handed me a towel and clapped his hand on my shoulder. He took my elbow and gestured toward the back, to the restroom, where I could compose myself. I stood in the loo looking into the mirror. I looked a mess but you should’ve seen the other guy. Only I was the other guy. I wanted to punch him out but no future in that. Right? I rinsed my face and straightened my tie. Not too much damage except for my slightly dented self-esteem. I had to admit, my nemesis had decent taste in clothes. By the time I got back to the table, everyone had forgotten the scene I’d made and had returned to their dinners. My wife asked if I were okay and I assured her I’d never been better. As I sat down, I noticed the stranger across the room taking his seat too. We nodded and gave each other a respectful salute. No hard feelings.


“Please go down to the end of the hall. The door will open automatically. Go to your left. Enter the second door on your right. It will be open. Please be seated and await instructions.” The voice ominous, cold, coming from a speaker that was not visible. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t the monotone voice of an undertaker. I dutifully followed the instructions. The door as promised slid open as I approached, its green eye blinking unceremoniously as if I had disturbed it. I followed the corridor to the second door on my right and as promised, it stood open. The interior however was dark. I put my arm through the opening and felt for a light switch. Just as I had decided to chance entering this black hole, a series of fluorescent lights began to spit light into the room. A maniacal humming sound emanated from their metal caskets that hung like cocoons from the ceiling. Then as suddenly as the rave began, it stopped. The lights hummed as if placed on lullaby mode by some unseen force, the pulsating light found stability and remained in a constant state of boredom. The chair as promised, sat alone in the middle of the room. I sat as I had been instructed and waited. Something resembling music emanated from two large irregular shaped speakers that hung on the wall. The room was completely naked but for the chair and a desk which sat at the front of the room. It supported what appeared to be a monitor of sorts, one I did not recognize as an element of any home computer ensemble. I sat, attempting to pose as self-assured, in case anyone may be observing my attempt to follow precisely the protocol prescribed. The monitor suddenly began to erupt with other worldly sounds and then a green series of dots appeared on the black screen. At that moment the music died. It was replaced by a voice resembling my greeter, but with a slightly more aggressive and less fictional tone. “You will be given a short aptitude test that will determine your ability to differentiate between some of the more commonly used emotions available to our citizenry, and a few that are not. Do not attempt to answer a question if it makes you uncomfortable, or you do not have a definitive answer. To guess will alter the outcome of the evaluation, and in our experience, will lead to an unsatisfactory appraisal. If you have any questions, please write them down on the pad in the desk drawer just beneath me.” As the words were relayed to me, a face appeared on the screen. It consisted of green dots, and it appeared to be smiling. Not a happy smile, more of a smirk, as if it knew the outcome of the test before it had begun. Had it not been for lack of funds, and the difficulty in finding employment, I would have most likely never answered the add. I find want adds suspicious when they are vague about what is expected and yet adamant about punctuality and deviation from all rules given. “Please, proceed to the screen, bring your chair if you wish. A series of true and false questions will appear. Along side each will be a box. Check the box by touching the screen. Give only one answer. The correct one. Should you not know the answer, as I stated earlier, leave the question blank.” I pulled the chair to the front and seated myself before the screen. The face composed of dots melted into a river of rainbow colors and then turned completely black. I could hear the numbing whisper coming from the apparatus and waited for something to appear. Shortly a series of dots began to appear on the black background, this time purple, yellow, orange, and blue. The swirled in vortex fashion forming a cone of nearly imperceptible Mariachi dancers wildly clicking castanets made of clam shells. Out of the cone came a series of letters, also of varying colors and sizes. Some large, some barely visible, some pulsating in time to the music that now began to throb like a telltale heart. The white walls, ceiling and floor began to dance with the colored projection of the letters emanating from the machine. Words began to appear and disappear randomly. I attempted to read the words, but either the letters were not aligned, or they were simply gibberish put on the walls to confuse me. I realized after a few minutes that the randomness was an illusion that emerged as the letters grew, and then shrunk back into themselves, eventually disappearing, but leaving the assurance they had existed. I wondered if this was the test. Perhaps it was a psychological experiment to see if I was mentally capable of handling chaotic melody and the expanding and contracting letters that appeared to not belong in any sequence, that would give then meaning. As abruptly and methodically as the music and letters appeared, they stopped. The walls became white once again and the monitor beamed, as a series of numbers appeared on the screen. They were all the number, 1. And then as if by magic, letters jumped from the walls and appeared on the screen. They formed one word over and over, filling the entire screen. Then, other numbers began to fall from the ceiling onto the screen. All the same number, 1. I waited as patiently as I could for more direction, but none came. I remained staring at the screen as the numbers and letters began to pulsate, dance, growing and shrinking in time to the music. Then, as if someone threw a switch, everything stopped. The green number 1, stood obediently next to the letters that combined in stoic fashion to become the word, one. A box appeared next to the number 1. I still had no idea what was required of me, so I just sat and attempted to remain as calm and attentive as I could manage. My foot has a tendency to tap to the rhythm of my heart. It usually stops of its own accord if I ignore it. The music began once again, this time barely a whisper at first, but growing louder as the minutes passed. A voice, not the voice from before, but a different voice, one with more of a Hollywoodized quality. It repeated the same sentence, more of a statement really, repetitive, growing louder and then fading one again to a whisper. “One is the loneliest number,” it repeated over and over, as if it was speaking in a manner I could only understand, if it continued to bombard me with the declaration. It was as if it was attempting to force my understanding, if not by repetition, then by molecular assimilation. Then, everything went black. The entire room was consumed by darkness. The screen ceased to glow. I had no idea what was expected of me. I was afraid to leave, more afraid to stay, but I needed a job. My foot began to move again as if it were empathizing with the darkness. After what seemed an hour, the lights jumped back on with a sputtering strobe quality, and on the screen was a question. Just a single question, “What is the significance of the number 1?” No box! The first thing that came to mind, was me. My second thought was about the inference of loneliness. And the third notion, that I was being subjected to a psychological test of some kind, to determine if I was suitable for a specific type of employment. I found the latter to be the most troubling. Were they looking for conspiracy advocates to propel a new line of alternative truth through our presently unstable country? Or were they looking for someone that no longer responded to anything outside the realm, of self? And then I heard it, this ringing sound. I remembered it from somewhere. It reminded me, of me. I opened my eyes and Alexis was on the bedside table blinking, awaiting my commands. I’ve never liked the name Alexis, too detached, too inclusive, too... So I call her Molly. "Molly, please! I am awake." She does not respond. The ringing continues, and then like in the room, it abruptly stops. I had the feeling she was watching me more intently than at any time previously, and then she spoke. “How was your dream?” The question startled me. I couldn’t believe she could possibly know my dreams, but then she started to hum, “One is the Number.” As I untangled myself from the blankets, she asked, “What does Mr. Lonely have planned for the day?” I began to answer, “I...” but stopped myself. I prefer to keep my thoughts to myself. No one any longer knows, if what one knows, is any longer, the only one who knows.


Carl looked at himself in the bathroom mirror and an old man stared back at him. The face had changed, the mirror too, but he could trace a straight line from the old man to the boy he had once been. “Bullshit!” said the editor, “every face tells a story, but it never follows a straight line. There’s always ups and downs, arcs, setbacks and deviations. You are lying to me and to yourself.” The editor jabbed a finger at Carl. Carl dodged the finger. “It is just as much effort writing my own story as it is any other,” he said, “and there are many more interesting subjects than me”. “You know what they say about the unexamined life, don't you?,” replied the editor, “and, besides, since you’re constantly churning your life story, over and over, you might as well write it down, and stop expending energy on needless repetition, not to mention this 'creative fiction' fixation. You might even end up resolving a few things along the way... troubling character flaws.” “What if my story doesn’t deserve to be told?” “You have a point there,” said the editor, “but let’s stop the quibbling. Why don’t you set the scene, if you still feel compelled?” “The man in the mirror lived in a house in a town that was heavily populated with the elderly, each growing alike with age, their stories attenuating along that same straight-line and converging on a shrinking punct of irrelevance, and loss. They would all die apart, together” How dull and dreary, thought Carl, and so he made himself a cup of fresh-brewed coffee and sat at the computer terminal, where he was joined by the editor. They waited, then waited some more, and then - suddenly - caffeinated optimism spilled over them as if the sun had emerged from behind a dark cloud, atoms swerved and - just for the briefest moment, Carl felt close to something so profoundly true and beautiful that it would make the angels weep, and then he started typing. “ Annabelle Cloud emerged from the dark charnel house carrying a small body, which was that of the child ...” Carl annihilated a trillion planets and a million stars, and where there had been too much or nothing, there were a now a few specific things: Annabelle, the charnel house, the body of a child. ” The blustery rains made London a dreary place in the winter of 1910, ” a sentence that dropped like a bomb on hundreds of cities, laid to waste a thousand of years of civilization, until all about Annabelle there lay a wreckage of things that almost existed. Carl had the sense of a beginning, but the editor was lurking around and distracted him. “I need a muse to go on,” said Carl, wishful, hopeful, maybe the editor would grant him this wish. “Not happening,” said the editor, wise to this game, “that whole droopy doe-eyed pre-Raphaelite thing. It’s not fitting, and it’s just a little bit pathetic, don’t you think?”. “So how am I going to continue? I’ve got nothing left” said Carl, desperate. “Suddenly!” said the editor, now poet, "that's how you will proceed". "Suddenly?" “Suddenly, from a dimly lit hall... suddenly,” said the editor, grasping at air with his fist. Carl was game, grasped at the same empty air, "Suddenly! An interruption of time and space, a dislocation, a dramatic change of state, or a beginning, like the moment of universal singularity. The big bang". Very dramatic, very earnest, and a little bit melodramatic, but Carl had inspired himself back to the keyboard, which he banged at with abandon. “Suddenly, from the crucible of flame, Annabelle Cloud emerged in shredded rags and a clinging swath of smoke, carrying the limp child in her shaking arms. A fire man grabbed the infant from her and ran to the horse-drawn cart that was loaded with buckets of rancid water from the marshes. Annabelle fell to her knees, raven hair falling like a veil, swore an oath of revenge in the direction of the stinking sky, and blanked out on the cobbled street.” “I hardly know where to start”, said the editor, his nose twisted in distaste. “Why don’t you start with ‘suddenly’?” said Carl. “Well, that was my idea, regrettably, but - frankly - the bigger issue is your persistent exploitation of women as a means to an end”, said the editor, “I denied you a real-life muse, so you just had to go out and invent one?” “I like women,” said Carl. “Yes, I know that, but they’re always young, athletic, beautiful, and more often than not scantily dressed... all action, kicking and screaming... but they lack any kind of emotional substance. You love women, the idea of women, but you are scared to give them real agency or autonomy, so why do you insist on making them your protagonists? It’s beyond your ability and outside your sandbox.” “They’re more interesting than men, and less threatening”, said Carl, knocked back and down. “Fascinating, I’m sure, but remember most of your readers are women and they don’t have patience for animated girly-dolls, even when they are presented as ninja assassins, Russian spies, or some other neo-liberal trope... It's not authentic because it doesn't come from a credible place, and it insults your audience.” The editor placed a compass point at the dead center of Carl's identity and drew a bold circle that defined a small universe of authenticity. Carl felt deflated and responded with a petulance outbreak. “Suddenly, Archibald Cloud, emerged from the fire, looking glum". “Very witty. Was his shirt sweat-soaked? Were his forearms sinewy?” asked the editor. “Who cares?” said Carl, “it’s a man this time”. Carl wanted to hang with Annabelle, not with Archibald. He was trying to convince the editor that authenticity originates in something more than identity - in truth, for instance - when, suddenly, Carl’s wife appeared in the den. “I’m going to the shops; do you need anything?” she said, cheerfully. “Protein. Any kind of protein, but healthy, please,” said Carl, mindful of his cholesterol. “No, Carl, protein is too personal,” said Shelly, “how about staples? Milk, OJ, bread?” He paused just long enough to annoy her, and -suddenly - Shelly went on her merry way, happily putting behind her the dismal solipsism of the dimly lit den. The editor, keen to accompany Shelly to the supermarket, was momentarily distracted, which yielded an opportunity for Carl to proceed unchallenged. “Suddenly, from the crucible of uncertainty, Annabelle Cloud, auburn-haired, sinuous of limb, clothed in revealing black silks, erupted from the grave, fully formed and of irresistible pre-Raphaelite beauty. Neither Nash, unprepared, nor Le Queux, unequipped, had the strength to resist...” “Nice try. So here we are, and you’ve still going with the woman idea. You just couldn’t get rid of her, could you?” said the editor, who seemed to enjoy Carl's irritation. “I’m teasing a story into existence”, said Carl, “I need a woman to motivate me. Creativity is nothing more than sublimated sex, you know?” The editor was a student of Freud; he knew, he agreed. “Why is sublimated sex infinitely subordinate to the sublime?” said the editor, for whom this was an agreeable subject of discourse, mano a mano. “I’m not sure, but if you are right then it’s the specificity, I think. A specific thing that is sublimated is subordinate to the sublime. The sublime itself is oceanic, unifying all things in that universal singularity I mentioned earlier.” Carl imagined himself dressed in a Victorian frock coat, standing at a lectern, pontificating to an audience of men with bushy whiskers, gold fob watches and top hats. The editor looked at Carl as if he were a talking dog. “Strangely, that actually makes sense to me, though it also sounds terribly pretentious, and it would best if you didn’t write it down anywhere or - heaven forbid - publish it”. “Strangely? Terribly? As in peak-use-roaring-20s terribly? As in terribly-dull terribly? As in terribly-pretentious terribly,” said Carl. The editor didn’t appreciate being questioned or mocked by his protégé in this way, and it embittered him. Behind the scenes, second fiddle, pulling the strings, never capitalized, his resentments erupted into venomous spite, “you will never stand shoulder to shoulder with a real writer. If you had any talent, it would have been obvious a long time ago. If you were ever going to become a writer, you would already be a writer... at your age too.” The profound truth that seemed slightly beyond Carl's grasp, went careening off across the universe. Carl would never make the angels weep and it made him feel desperately sad. “You are my editor. I expect you to encourage me,” said Carl, shocked, “you’re not supposed to knock me down and destroy my self-confidence”. “I’m your editor, not your friend. My job is to stop you making a fool of yourself”, said the editor. “But I can’t stop now, I’ve only just begun” said Carl, appealing for sympathy and accommodation. “I suddenly have the sense of a good beginning here.” “And I suddenly have the good sense of an end,” said the editor.


I can’t say what prompted the idea but one day recently I decided it was best for me to stop breathing. Oh, it was a short-lived rebellion the first few times, but eventually I built up a considerable tolerance to the mindless act of respiration. Like a bolt out of the blue I came to realize my unrelenting addiction to oxygen was the root of all my problems. Frankly, it wasn’t just the cause of my own. Everyone knows the truth about the toxic air we inhale. The unapologetic need and continuous consumption of this primal element is behind everyone’s personal woes but we must arrive at that sobering conclusion for ourselves. Every chance I had, I held my breath for intermittent fasting periods. The goal was to fully wean myself from this chronic dependency until I no longer needed it at all. I built up my endurance at a steady pace but it has been discouraging at times. Just as I started to believe I’d beaten the crippling dependency, my lungs would demand another breath to ‘save myself’. With every new iteration however, my ability to go without air has increased a little bit more. Over time I started seeing things in a whole new light. The golden periods between breathing and exhaling my spent carbon dioxide changed my entire perception of things. There were longer and longer times where I’d drift into a hazy realm of nothingness. It was just a different state of being. The pale world I knew ceased to be in those brief flashes of alternate existence. In its place was a celestial plane where all problems I had in life were insignificant. I came to crave the peace and tranquillity I experienced there but all too soon; I was returned to this depressing version of reality. Each time, Tell-tale tingling of my extremities signaled the toxic opiate had reentered my body and renewed my addiction. Reoccurring headaches grew from the extended periods I was oxygen free. Only a lingering lung addiction kept me in this world. Others tried to tell me it was from deprivation itself but that was only half true. It was a lifelong dependence on respiration which created the heaving pangs of withdrawal in the first place. The addiction tried to hold me back. It didn’t want me to escape its fickle chains. The closer to freedom I got, the worse my headaches became. It was a cycle of biological slavery to breathing and I was determined to break free of it. As my resistance grew, the longer I remained moored to the other side. I no longer felt a burning ache in my lungs demanding I give in. I rapidly approached a tipping point where I spent more time in there, and less in this dimension. Bystanders saw me gasping for air and tried to offer aid, not realizing my asphyxiation was a deliberate attempt to free myself. They meant well but were unable to understand it was my intention to stop breathing and permanently dwell in the beautiful place I’d only experienced in fleeting glimpses. They labeled me mentally ill and a grave danger to myself but they were philosophically wrong. To be suicidal is to want to harm oneself. I only want to break free of my lifelong dependence to breathing. Dozens of times I’d almost escaped the limiting bounds of life but I was unable to permanently let go. At the last moment I’d panic and swallow a breath of air through my parched lips. A lingering fear of the unknown and superstitious doubts prevented me from permanently crossing over to those cerulean skies and lush, rolling hills. At last, I’ve found the perfect solution to stabilize my faltering faith and do what is necessary to achieve my goal. To your ears this request may appear unorthodox or against my own self interests but I assure you, nothing could be further from the truth. This is the only way forward for me. Please understand that when I stop breathing, it will be when I actually start to live. Do not let me back out of these sincere intentions. It would only be from primal fear that I might beg you to stop suffocating me but that’s not what I really want. No matter what I do or say from this point on, please do not give in. I am not conflicted. My final wishes are to cease breathing and permanently deny my lungs of their toxic drug. Help me escape the mortal slavery of oxygen and be free at last.


“Professor Delorian, why does it matter which theory may or not be correct?” asked Trainee Patterson, adjusting his tie self-consciously as all the eyes in the lecture hall stared at him, some judging his good looks, others scoffing at the ignorance of the question, while those closest to him nodded their heads in solidarity. Even here, in a place that shouldn’t exist, the cliques of yesteryear still somehow held sway. The professor, a tall woman with short hair just starting to turn gray, looked up from her lectern mid-speech and took off her glasses. I felt my spine push back into the hard wooden backrest in anticipation. I knew what that gesture meant. “Trainee Paulson, is it?” “It’s act-” “I’m so glad you’ve asked this question, because, and I say this with all honesty, it is one I rarely hear anymore. But, since you’ve decided that the pleasure of my voice is preferrable to the dull scratchings of the required readings, I feel obligated to rid you of your ignorance in a manner most befitting the austere hall in which you now sit.” She smiled then cleared her throat before taking a sip of water from the crystal glass perched delicately next to her notes on the lectern. “So, why does it matter which theory is correct? Okay, let’s put forward a simple scenario and look at three ways it could possibly play out. For brevity’s sake, a formerly dormant volcano explodes and destroys a colony on New Vega. But you’re able to return to the past to attempt to stop it. First, you warn the people, but they don’t listen and die regardless. You try again, this time heading straight to the volcano and throwing some concoction into the fuming magma, which, to your surprise, causes the volcano to erupt. And so on and so forth. Now, can an enlightened trainee tell me what-” “The ‘Fixed Timeline’ theory,” I blurted out, before shrinking back into my seat. “It seems we have a class of interrupters,” Prof. Delorian said, “but yes, that is correct. In this case, everything we would try to change will either resist our efforts or our choices in the past will actually result in the disaster we were trying to prevent.” “Wouldn’t that make time travel, and all of this, pointless?” asked another girl from the far end. “If changing the past is your primary goal, then I suppose it would be. But now, getting back to our volcano dilemma, let’s say you threw your concoction into the volcano, and it worked. No explosion. And you head back to the present. What are you going to find when you get back?” “There’s two theories on that, one more destructive than the other,” I said again. This time the professor did take notice of me. “And what is your name, pray tell?” “Trainee Cordelia Adams,” I said automatically. Being a military brat could have its downsides, but it definitely set you up for a quick response time. “Adams... Adams, why does that sound... never mind. Please, share your knowledge with us. Tell us about the destructive one.” “Oh, well, of course.” This hadn’t happened the last time. “The Dynamic Timeline Theory posits that there is only a single timeline, and any changes to the past will alter your present. The destructive part comes with not knowing how much a single change could alter. The Butterfly Effect, essentially. And then there’s the Grandfather Paradox, whereby if you alter your own timeline in any way, such as by killing your own grandfather, you’d create a paradox where you’d never be born, potentially destroying the entire timeline, past and future.” Prof. Delorian nodded thoughtfully. “And now we start to see why it matters. And, just to round out Trainee Parklands education, what is the third theory, Trainee Adams?” “Me, again?” “Yes, you again.” “Alright. That would be the Multiverse Theory. We’re not actually changing the past of this timeline. All we’re doing is creating a new timeline. In essence, stopping the volcano won’t help the people already killed by it. And by traveling back to the present, we’d have no idea if we’d be returning to our original timeline or the new one created.” “And there we have it. Multiple theories, each one potentially leading to destruction if we’re not careful. Has that satisfied your curiosity, Trainee P-” “Patterson. Yes, Ma’am, it has.” “Good, and I would hope...” She went quiet for a second before turning back to me. “Trainee Adams, I’m curious, which theory do you hold to be true?” I scratched my nails into my palms as I felt a bead of sweat cross my brow. This was new. “It’s impossible to tell, isn’t it? I mean, I know which one I’d prefer was real, but...” “Let’s start there, then, shall we. Which one are putting your hopes on?” “The Fixed Timeline.” “Interesting choice, and not one most go for. Why would you choose this?” “Because I know that humanity can’t be trusted, and so when we do eventually jump back into the past, we won’t be able to screw it up more than it already has been. It would also mean we wouldn’t be able to use time travel as a quick redo for our mistakes.” Prof. Delorian put her glasses back on and smiled. “That’s surprisingly honest and refreshing to hear.” “I’m not finished, though.” “Well, perhaps we can discuss-” “I need to apologize to you.” “That’s really not necessary.” I stood up. “I’m afraid it is. You see, I lied when I said it’s impossible to tell. Are you at all familiar with Colonel Ted Adams?” “Ted? Of course. Uh, that’s why the name was familiar. Are you two related?” “We are. I’m his daughter.” “Oh? That’s not possible. She just turned three, if I’m not mistaken.” “That is correct.” Professor Delorian collapsed onto her lectern, knocking the crystal glass onto the floor. Somehow it did not shatter, which surprised me, as it always had before. I turned to aim my weapon at Patterson and pulled the trigger a second time, somewhat disturbed that I no longer felt any remorse. I touched my earpiece with my left hand. “I’m ready to come home, Barney.” “Post haste, milady.” ### Each time my body reintegrated into a new time, my mind was left adrift at the theater of memories. Moving backwards was different to moving forwards. Going back in time forced me to relive every crucial turning point in my life. Each moment would have lead to a separate branching timeline, and I was allowed a glimpse into what could have been. At times it was clear I’d made the right choice for all involved, but other choices had been selfish and lead to someone else’s demise. After my fifth trip back through time, I’d come to accept what I couldn’t change, and there was a peace in that. Moving forward in time back to where I’d left was different. I got to watch the new timeline I’d just created play out. I tried to soak in as much information as I could, but sometimes it was too much for me to hold on to. Regardless of the success or failure of my mission, I would always return to my original timeline, and hoped that the new world I’d help create was better than the one I was forced to live in. Because while back then time travel was all still theory, here in my time it was fact. There was a multiverse and each choice would branch out into new realities, but the time traveler could never exist outside of their original time. When each molecule in my body was in its right place, I jumped out of the chair and rushed over to Barney. He slid a bucket over to me as I did so. I grabbed it mid-run and threw up as I moved. Wiping my mouth on my sleeve, which always elicited a looked of disgust from him, I fell into the chair beside him, swiveling to face the array of screens before us. “The computer’s just starting to acquire the new timeline’s information,” he said, pushing a glass of water toward me. I drank in down in one go. “Were you able to tell if you’d succeeded?” he asked, referring to my theater of memory. “It was a bit hazy this time. Maybe it was the adrenaline. But I definitely made some ripples. I remember my father being brought in for questioning over...” I paused, swallowing hard. “...uh, the professor and Patterson’s deaths. Of course, me disappearing right in front of them caused a stir for quite some time. Even at three, I remember it being all over the news. It seems like I grew up mostly with my mother after that. I don’t know what happened to my dad. He disappeared from my life soon after.” The computer started beeping, and the two of us turned towards the screens. ‘New timeline Kappa created,’ read the scrawl at the top. ‘Twelve years from the inciting incident, time travel tests begin. Due to Patterson’s death, Colonel Ted Adams takes his place and successfully jumps into the past. Timelines Lambda and Mu are now in existent.’ “Damn it!” I grabbed the glass in front of me and threw it at the nearby wall, having enough wherewithal not to throw it at the screens. “How is this possible? I killed Delorian. And with Patterson gone, I thought...” “She must have completed enough of her research for them to get it running,” said Barney, putting his hand on my shoulder. “And whatever your dad did in the past, he somehow created two new timelines. That’s more than Patterson managed.” “So what do I do now? Go back even further and take her out before she gets further in her research?” “You were what, three years old, when you killed her this time? You know you can’t go back before your birth, so do you really think three years will make much of a difference.” “Are you kidding? Look what we managed to build in two. Of course it can make a difference. That’s not the point. It’s if it’ll make enough of a difference. I honestly don’t think so. If we’re going to stop the spread of these timelines, we’re going to have to make a surgical strike. We need to take out the lynchpin.” Barney took his arm from my shoulder. I could tell he knew what I was talking about. “Your father.” I nodded. “At some point after that lecture he got hold of her research and completed the chair. And it’s clear now that he can do it with or without her help. Patterson’s misleading as well. I honestly don’t think it matters who uses the chair first, the consequences don’t change.” “So it all depends on your dad. What are you going to do, Cord? Kill him like the rest?” I hesitated, but then looked back at the percentage displayed on the lower right screen. ‘Multiversal Collapse at 72%’. “It’s a race against time itself,” I said. “Whether or not I keep going back to change things, the Agency isn’t going to stop, and that number’s going to slowly tick forward.” “True, but we can’t even be sure that stopping the creation of time travel in one timeline will make any sort of difference.” “It might. Besides my meddling, how many more branches have appeared?” “Just one for now.” “Exactly. It’s slowing down, which means we are making some progress. We might not be able to reset the clock, but we can slow it to a crawl.” I got up and walked over to the exit. It was time to get some sleep, and do this all over again tomorrow. “You don’t know that it’ll stay like that forever,” Barney shouted. “We could end up accelerating the process. Why not just-” “Quit?” I asked, shocked that he could suggest such a thing. “You of all people know what this has cost us, Barney Delorian.” ### I sat in the chair, waiting for the light to envelope me. I’d been considering how far back to go this time, and decided it was time to push Time to its limit. “Okay, Barney, start it up. If I do this right, we won’t have to go through this again.” He didn’t say anything, and I could feel his doubt from across the room. “Alright,” he said finally. “Initiating.” The needle entered my lower spine and I immediately went frigid, trying to ignore the cold sensation slowly spreading throughout my body. I breathed out slowly, watching as the air in front of my face turned to mist. “Okay,” he said. “Coordinates set. And you should arrive in three, two...” I blinked, and immediately grabbed my head as the migraine hit me. I sat up, head in hands, breathing in and out slowly as the pain dissipated. I finally lowered my hands, taking in my sterile beige surroundings. I swung my legs out of the bed and pulled the curtain away. There was only one other patient in the room, judging from the other closed curtain, and hopefully they were asleep. I moved quietly to the door and walked out into the hallway, almost immediately bumping into a nurse. “Excuse me, young lady, what are you doing here? Visiting hours ended twenty minutes ago.” “I’m sorry. I dozed off and didn’t notice the time. I’m leaving now, I promise.” “Alright, but try not to let it happen again.” I walked to the end of the hallway and left the recovery ward. I made my way to a floor plan and found the delivery rooms. Fourth floor. When I arrived, I walked up to the nurse’s station. “Good afternoon, my, um, aunt is supposed to be giving birth now. I wanted to come and wait with my uncle.” “What’s her name?” “Shelley. Shelley Adams. And my uncle is Ted Adams.” “Okay, one second. Your uncle should be just down the hall in the waiting room. Over there and to the right,” she said, pointing. “Thank you.” I made my way there slowly, hoping I was making the right decision. But every time I hesitated, that ever-increasing percentage helped me focus. I touched the side of my wrist and my weapon materialized in my hand. I stopped at the end of the hall, and, steeling myself, turned the corner, raising my arms to fire... and froze. My father was pointing an exact replica of my gun at me. “Cordelia. It’s... nice to see you again. If only for a brief moment.” “Dad?” I took in his disheveled beard and blood-shot eyes. This was no young man. It was then that I noticed the body on the floor. “What...?” “I can’t let you continue destroying the multiverse,” he said, his voice raspy. “Your meddling has set us on a path to destruction.” I touched my earpiece. “Barney, what the hell is going on?” “Barney? You have a Barney, too? I guess that explains this,” he said, looking at their weapons. He touched his own earpiece. “Barney, did you get that?” There was a sudden crackling sound and the both of us suddenly grabbed our heads. “Aah,” I screamed, yanking the earpiece out and throwing it on the floor. My father did the same. “What the hell?” he shouted. “Barney?” The twin earpieces began to crackle before flying toward each other like polar opposite magnets. They floated up into the air, emitting a holographic image of Barney. “You know, the two of you were surprisingly easy to manipulate. It really didn’t take much to turn you into cold-blooded murderers, even going so far as to killing your own family. But now I’m afraid it’s time to end this charade.” “Barney?” My voice was slightly more threatening. “What have you done?” “What have I done?” He chuckled. “I’ve saved the timeline, that’s what. I must say, the fact that you were both mislead by some graphics on a screen into believing there was a multiverse says more about you than I. But, well, that was a lie, too. You see, there is only one timeline, and it’s extremely malleable. And the two of you have helped me put everything in place.” I lowered my gun. “But, the memories, and... I killed your mom. If that’s true, then you shouldn’t...” “Professor Delorian? Oh, she’s not my mother. You really should have done due diligence on that one. She was just another obstacle to be removed. And you two are the last. So, here’s to one final teary farewell,” he said, raising a champagne glass before his image disappeared. I looked at my father, seeing the sudden fear and anger in eyes, then glanced down as the earpieces started to beep. I thought about trying to escape for a single moment before reaching down and picking them up. “Run!” I screamed at him. “Save Mom. Save me! Don’t let him win.” My dad looked at me for what seemed an eternity before nodding and barreling through the doors behind him. I took off running in the opposite direction, hoping that my last words would become a new reality. “Protect us, Dad. Don’t let him win...” I whispered, the words evaporating before they left my mouth.


The cabin was eerily quiet despite how crowded it was, but this was typical for divinings. The silence seemed to seep in through the big bay windows as if the stillness of space muffled anything that anyone might want to say. But the truth is, they didn’t want to say anything. They were there to bear witness. They just wanted to see if maybe this would be the historic divining. The last one. There was a quiet, religious reverence to the room as Ludwig approached the sphere which sat elevated near the captain’s station. No one looked directly at Ludwig, their attention was all placed on the sphere. Ludwig resented them for that. He stood in front of the bright white sphere. It sat on a pedestal, elevated to about chest height, and sat in a latticework bowl of metal probes which came halfway up the sides of the sphere. It looked like an enormous pearl, encased inside some great robotic clam. The top of the pearl was exposed and Ludwig placed his hand on it. It rolled smoothly, the unseen ball bearings hidden in the bowl below giving its movement a frictionless feel. Let’s get this over with . He reached into his pocket and pulled out his black divining glove, placing it on his right hand. It covered just his thumb, and middle and index fingers in a thin black velvet. On the tip of his index finger was a small metallic nub. Here goes literally nothing. Ludwig placed his hand back on the sphere and gave it a hard, twisting spin. The ball bearings made a small whirring noise as the sphere rapidly spun in a chaotic direction. He heard a sharp intake as several nearby watchers held their breath. He placed his three gloved fingertips lightly on the surface of the sphere. He could feel it spin underneath the soft velvet. It was still spinning very fast. Part of him wanted to see how long he could get away with waiting here. Let the people who had taken those big gulps begin to struggle, waiting for him to make a choice to release that breath. What if he never made a choice? The sphere could probably spin for a long time, for how long he didn’t know, but likely longer than their breath would hold out. Let them suffocate on their superstition. With his fingers still gently placed on the spinning globe, he looked up into the room. Everyone was still staring at the spinning sphere. Except one. In the back of the room, Ludwig noticed Aunty Gemma standing, wearing her regular dirty overalls. She was looking not at the sphere, but at his face. As they made eye contact she smiled, and gave a slight nod to the device in front of him. Do the job , the nod said. Ludwig closed his eyes, waited a moment, and pushed down on the sphere with his thumb and middle finger. The sphere came to a halting stop, and Ludwig heard the held breath release once more. With eyes still closed, Ludwig swirled the tip of his index finger across the surface of the ball. Where? He asked, but as always, his prayer remained unanswered. Finally, with nothing left to do but act, he opened his eyes and pressed down with his index finger. “There, I guess.” The screens around the room lit up, showing a model of their ship, floating in empty space. After a moment, an arrow appeared, originating from the Mellifera and pointing down and to the right at an oblique angle. This was the vector Ludwig had chosen for this month. Immediately, the silent spell was broken and people around the room began talking in excited voices. Ludwig could hear the captain begin barking orders, telling crew members to initiate travel towards the new heading, and those not a part of the crew to leave the bridge. As people began to file out, a woman approached him. “God bless you, Ludwig, for what you do for us,” said Adelaide, the head chef and one of the oldest women on the ship. She always smelled like celery and Ludwig tried his best to avoid her when in the mess hall. “Thanks.” Ludwig kept his head down to conceal the grimace he felt rising there. His stomach tumbled with guilt, frustration. “But I haven’t actually done anything.” “Why of course you have, Ludwig,” she said. “I’m old enough to remember what it was like before your father was born, before we had our first Diviner. Things were much more difficult then, never knowing where we were going. But with your father, and you now, well I have hope we might find land yet, before I pass on.” As if on cue, Ludwig felt a hand clasp his shoulder and looked to see his father standing there. A broad man, Karl dwarfed his son. It was easy to see why he was so respected. He was an imposing figure. Karl smiled at the old woman. “Another step closer. Isn’t that right, Adelaide?” “Another step closer,” she repeated, smiling. The captain issued another series of commands, ordering any stragglers out of the room. Adelaide gave a nod to each of them and exited. Karl and Ludwig followed shortly thereafter, the father’s mighty hand still clasped heavily onto the boy’s shoulder, steering him down the hallway. “Excellent work, son. I feel really good about today. I think we’re getting much closer.” Ludwig’s father smiled at the other shipmates as they passed, beaming with obvious pride for his son. “Shouldn’t be much longer yet, I figure. Any month now.” Ludwig could feel himself shrinking under the weight of his father’s hand and the looks of those they passed. The pressure continued to build until finally, when they reached an empty corridor, Ludwig shrugged off his father’s hand and turned to face him. “But it’s all bullshit!” His father turned slowly. “Now, what do you mean by that Ludwig?” He asked. “That I haven’t a damn clue what I’m doing up there? I just pick a spot at random. I don’t actually know where any habitable planets are. And I don’t think you did either. I’m just guessing. I’m sure if we tried using the ship’s sensors, or thinking about it a bit more, we’d come up with something better than this nonsense.” Karl grabbed the boy by both shoulders, his grip now both forceful and fatherly. “Son, we’ve tried that. For generations, before you or I were born, our people have been floating around on this ship, using the sensors and the science they’d been taught. And look where it got us.” A young couple walked past and waved towards the two of them. Karl smiled brightly at them, waiting until they had passed around the corner and out of sight before continuing. “The truth is, the science was never good in the first place. They sent the first shuttles out and told them to find a new Earth, that our old one was broken, except they didn’t give them the right tools to do it. And so our people have been out here a long while, son. Trying to find somewhere. Gemma keeps us fed as best she can, but that farm won’t last forever. That’s why they need us. Why they need you, Ludwig. We’ve got the right tools to finally find something.” “But, I’m literally choosing at random. I don’t know anything. I don’t feel anything. At all.” “I know it can feel that way sometimes, son.” Karl rubbed his hands up and down the boy’s shoulders. “I felt that way too, even just before we found that first exoplanet. Back when you were a boy, do you remember? And that one was nearly habitable. Do you remember it?” “Yes,” Ludwig said, shrinking again against his father’s intensity. “I remember.” “Then you see. It works. We just need to give it time. I had a touch of the gift. Of the old ways. But then you were born and I could see it. We all could. You have the gift. Every turn you have us take is one that brings us to salvation.” Karl gave a light shake to his son’s shoulders, indicating that the conversation was over. The two of them walked together to the mess hall and joined the rest of the colony for dinner. When they entered the hall, Adelaide made a big fuss, insisting they come sit at her table. “Make way for the Diviner.” ***** By the end of that month, the Mellifera still had not found any planets, let alone any suitably livable ones. This meant another divining and despite his conversation with Karl, Ludwig found himself even less inclined to go along with the charade. What did any of it matter, anyway? When he went to divine, he did his best to make a mockery of it. He put the glove on wrong, and made the selection with his pinky. His father stood in the back of the crowd with his arms crossed, but after the ceremony was over said nothing. Again, the month passed without discovery. And another. On and on the months went, as Ludwig found stranger ways to subvert the divining. He spoke to the sphere, requesting it to tell him where it wanted to be poked. He asked members of the audience where they thought he should point. He tried using his foot. All the while he watched as the peoples’ faces grew concerned. As though they knew that something wasn’t right, but didn’t know what to say. When the next month came, Ludwig found he didn’t have the energy to play his game any longer. When he stood at the podium, he moved the sphere only a small fraction before plunking his index finger down near the same spot. “There.” The usual silence was overtaken by an uncomfortable one. Divinings were supposed to take longer than this. “Are you sure?” A voice called out from the crowd. “Yep,” Ludwig said, already retreating from the podium and heading towards the door. “I’m sure of it.” He had made it halfway down the hall when he felt an arm link into his. He turned, expecting to see his father, and was surprised to see Aunt Gemma. “Come with me, Ludwig. I think we need to talk.” She guided them through empty halls until they reached the door to the Farm. Aunt Gemma was in charge of all agriculture onboard Mellifera , and so was allowed to freely enter and exit. The rest of the colony required special approval to enter. Gemma entered a passcode in a small terminal near the door. It opened and they stepped inside. Ludwig had visited the Farm a handful of times as a child, and again later during agricultural classes, but still he was struck by how green everything was. In a ship full of grays and browns, with windows pointing out to a limitless black, the green in here was so vibrant it was overwhelming. Towering, leafy plants touched the ceiling, the leaves hanging down to brush the top of Ludwig’s head. To his right was a large section of crops, green plants that came nearly up to his neck, and on them hung numerous, heavy tubers. Modified potatoes. These he was overly familiar with from the mess hall. Gemma led him further into the Farm, through a section full of large, multi-coloured flowers. The flowers grew up to his waist in places, in colours and shapes he hadn’t known were possible. “You seem to be having troubles lately. With the divining. Is that right?” She cocked an eyebrow at Ludwig. “Yeah,” he said, unsure of how much to say. He’d only ever talked about this with his father, and that hadn’t gone well. And yet, he felt compelled to continue. “It’s just bogus. I mean, you’re a scientist Auntie. You have to know that. I’m not special. I don’t have some magical ability to sniff out planets. I’m no Diviner.” The older woman paused for a moment, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Farmer.” She said. “I’m a farmer. And I don’t know much about space travel. Or divining. I mostly just know about gardening. Plants and animals.” Something caught her eye and she bent down to the flowers below, indicating to Ludwig to do the same. She pointed to a bright pink flower nearby. A fat little honeybee wandered across its petals, zig-zagging its way closer to the centre. Bees were one of the few animals maintained aboard the ship, and from his childhood visits Ludwig knew they were essential to the running of the farm. “Did you know that honeybees dance?” Gemma asked. “Maybe,” Ludwig replied. “I remember learning something like that in agro classes.” “Well they do dance. Waggle dancing, it’s called. People used to think the bees did it for fun. When a bee felt joyous, or wanted to celebrate, it would do a little dance. Well, eventually scientists figured out that when a foraging honeybee finds a particularly good flower patch, it will go back to the hive and dance. And that dance tells the other bees about the patch. Where it is, how to find it. How far to go. And the other bees, well they would listen to the dance, and they would follow.” “That’s interesting,” Ludwig said honestly, assuming that a point to all this was forthcoming. Gemma remained silent, squatting with her elbows on her knees, watching the bee for a while before continuing. “What I guess I mean to say is, even if it didn’t look like the dancing was doing much, it mattered to the bee. And,” she looked directly at Ludwig, “It stands to reason that there weren’t always bees. So at one point there must have been a first bee. And how do you think that first bee learned to dance?” She stood up and brushed her hands off on her overalls. “Come on, let me show you the hive.” ***** The next month concluded, and it was time again for a divining ceremony. The morning of, Ludwig found himself approaching things differently. He smiled to the others as they walked to the bridge. He felt an energy coursing through him. Buzzing , he thought to himself and laughed. A readiness. Perhaps there was something to this. As he stood on the podium, he noticed trepidation in the faces of many in attendance. He realized how badly it hurt them when he made a mockery of things. A feeling of guilt rose up at the back of his throat, but he swallowed it, channeling it into focus. Today would be different. Once he had donned the glove he spun the sphere viciously, placing his fingertips just slightly on its spinning surface. Closing his eyes, he let the feeling consume him, felt his body begin to move and gyrate however it wished. Whatever felt natural. At first it felt awkward but as he began to give himself away to the process, letting his body take over, he forgot even that he was being watched. Suddenly he felt a spark, some twitch of energy in his left foot. He felt it rise up through his leg, fill his body with a white hot heat, before arcing out down his arm and into his outstretched finger, pressing it down onto the sphere and stopping its spin. “There. I am certain.” He opened his eyes and saw the crowd, awestruck and open-mouthed in the moment before they burst into jubilation. They felt it too. It had worked this time. The next few days were electric. Each day, Ludwig awoke, waiting for news of land. In the mess hall, people talked in excited whispers of what they would do first when they landed on the new planet. It made Ludwig happy to here these whispers. On the fifteenth day after the divining ceremony, an alert rang through the corridors of the ship. “ Possible exoplanet detected. Arrival T-6 hours. ” Ludwig, along with the rest of the colony, rushed to the bridge. They chattered excitedly, their noise spilling out of the room, down the hall and out the windows to fill the space around the ship. This ship had finally completed its mission. These people, born in the harsh confines of the ship, had finally found a home. At last a small blip appeared through the central window, growing larger by the second. The new planet. Raucous cheers went up around the room. Someone had opened several bottles of wine, which were being passed around joyously. As the object grew closer, Ludwig pressed his face against the glass to get a closer look. He began to see forms on the planet. Swaths of blue and green. Closer now, he saw a painter’s swipe of grey. Mixed in with the green now, he saw red. Red fire, eating up the green. And around the planet, a haze of small metallic grey objects floated. Now they were close enough that he could take in the planet in its entirety. As the room began to quiet, he heard a sob escape from someone nearby. “No, it can’t be! There was no denying it however. They’d all seen it in pictures before. Earth. They’d found their way home.


The sun glistened off the powdered snow-covered mountainside as Darren and his friends exited their vehicle at the ski resort. Hundreds of people made their way from cars or from the chalet with one purpose in mind; to take on the snow-covered giant before them. Darren and his best friend, Shane, decided to grab a hot cup of coffee before hitting the slopes. Jack, their other sidekick, headed straight for the lift. Dozens of people crowded the chalet. Many sat close to the massive fireplace that warmed the chilled bones of the skiers and snowboarders who had already been down the mountain. There looked to be a few that were not there to ski but enjoyed the ambiance of it all. After the chills had left their bodies, Darren donned his salopettes, a pair of waterproof snow pants and his Helly Hansen ski jacket, grabbed his skis, and the two of them headed toward the door. As they opened the door to the chalet, the frosty air felt like a slap in the face. Darren pulled down his balaclava. Shane didn’t seem bothered by the cold. He grew up in Northern Alberta, Canada where the winters were extremely frigid, so this felt like a Spring Day to him. As they reached the lift, Shane, and Darren each sat on a T-Bar and were carried up the glistening slope. As they reached the top, they pushed away from the T-Bars and headed to the top of the Black Run, a ski hill for advanced skiers. Darren was a little nervous. He had never attempted a slope this difficult before, but he did not want to look like a coward in front of his friend. A shout came from ahead of them. It was Jack waving his arms frantically among the sea of skis and snowboards. Once they caught up with him, Jack had informed them that he had already been down the mountain twice and the snow was a perfectly packed powder. They all made their way to the piste, the designated area for skiing, and Darren was in awe of the view. It was a beautiful landscape of mountains, frozen-over lakes, and evergreen trees that were drooping from the weight of the fallen snow. On the Blue Run, or beginner hill, a piste basher was grooming the slope for the next batch of skiers. The massive machine crept down the mountain like a 400-horsepower tortoise, smoothing the surface of the slope. Jack was the first to head back down. He was bombing across the light powder like a rocket on skis, and as he hit a kicker, he was sent airborne where he spread his arms and legs into an eagle stance before landing back on the ground. Shane was next to go. He was schussing straight down with little or no variations to his form. When it was Darren’s turn, he slipped the goggles over his eyes, took a deep breath, and pushed off. In seconds he felt the rush of the wind against his body as he tried to steady his legs. He looked to the sky and noticed a flat light forming. Low, grey clouds hovered above, and the sunlight disappeared. Distracted by the change in weather, Darren failed to notice the moguls ahead; small pyramid-like mounds of snow created by skiers as they turn. His left ski caught the mogul, and he found himself heading off course toward the trees, when out of nowhere, he felt an impact against his right side. Darren toppled down the mountain until he face-planted into a deep pile of light powdered snow. Seconds later, something fell on top of him, pushing his face deeper into the snow. As he managed to struggle his way out of the snowy airbag, he felt the weight on top of him subside. Turning over, he saw the silhouette of a person kneeling above him. Removing his goggles, he saw the face of a beautiful woman surrounded by a pink hood. Her eyes reminded him of the water in The Maldives. They were so blue, that it was almost hypnotic. “Are you alright?” the girl asked. “Um, yes, I think so,” Darren replied. “Sorry if I got in your way. I lost control on a mogul.” “That’s okay. No actual harm done, though I think we both might be a little sore by tomorrow,” she said. “My name is Francesca, but my friends just call me, Frankie.” “I’m Darren. It was great bumping into you,” he said with a sarcastic grin. “Are you here alone, Darren?” “No, I came with two of my friends. They are probably waiting for me at the bottom of the hill. What about you?” “I’m here with my friend, Ashley. She is likely sitting in the chalet sipping on hot chocolate right now.” Frankie helped Darren to his feet, and after checking to make sure the bindings on their skis were still intact, they continued down the slope together. At the bottom, Frankie told Darren that she was going to take a break and warm up in the chalet, and Darren offered to join her. He spotted Shane and told him that he would have to continue skiing without him for a little while, then he headed inside the chalet as well. As Darren entered the chalet, he scanned the room for Frankie. He spotted two girls sitting by the fire and approached them from behind. He reached down and tapped the shoulder of the blonde girl in the pink ski jacket who sat with her back to him. She turned and stared at Darren with a look of confusion. It wasn’t Frankie. He was embarrassed and apologized to the woman. He then heard his name being called. As he turned, two brunettes sat at a table further over. It was Frankie and her friend. He explained to Frankie that he could not see her hair color beneath the hat, so it was an honest mistake. They all laughed as Darren sat down with them. Frankie introduced him to Ashley. Frankie explained that Ashley was studying to be a nurse and felt that she should be at home studying instead of out having fun, but Frankie admitted she could be very persuasive when she wanted to be. Darren mention to her that his friend, Shane was a paramedic, and they would probably have a lot to talk about. Later that afternoon, Jack and Shane returned to the chalet. Darren and the women were still deep in conversation as they walked up. Darren introduced them, and Jack instantly began to turn on the charm, only to be shot down in an instant by Ashley. She welcomed Shane to have a seat instead. Jack, feeling like a fifth wheel, scanned the room for other possibly single women and excused himself as he went on his quest. They watched as he approached the same blonde woman that Darren had mistaken for Frankie. He sat down beside her and began to speak, then moments later, he stood up and walked away with his tail between his legs, then moving onto the next victim, he continued with the cheesy lines until someone accepted him. Shane and Ashley spoke in medical jargon that neither Darren nor Frankie could understand, so they went for a walk to the front of the chalet by the large windows overlooking the slope. As they gazed out, Darren pointed out a skier who was showing off his aerials. He hit the kicker and caught a lot of air. The skier grabbed the tips of both skis and coasted through the air. “Did you want to hit the slopes one more time, Darren?” Frankie asked. “On one condition,” he said. “I will go if you allow me to take you out on a date.” Frankie’s face turned a crimson red. “I thought you’d never ask.” Leaving their friends behind, they took to the slopes again. The sun was out once again, though the day was ending, and they only had about an hour or two of sunlight left. At the top of the Black Run, Frankie reminded Darren to watch out for moguls as she pushed off down the slope. Not wanting to get too far behind, Darren quickly headed down after her. He crouched down, trying to add an aerodynamic flow around him. He spotted Frankie up ahead, but waves of powdered snow peppered his face, temporarily blinding him. When he looked back up, Frankie had disappeared. Further down, Darren spotted a set of tracks going off to the right of the piste, not far from where they had collided earlier. Carving into the snow with his skis, Darren turned his body to the right and followed the path left behind by Frankie’s skis. He traversed carefully across the fresh powder and into the trees where he came to a quick stop as the tracks disappeared into a deep crevasse. Afraid of falling in himself, Darren coasted backward away from the edge, then after removing his skis, he laid flat upon his belly and inched his way to the edge. Looking down, he saw a shadowy figure below. He called down to Frankie, but she didn’t answer. He knew that he needed to get some help, so he ran back out to the piste and flagged down a passing skier. He asked the man to send help back up when he reached to bottom of the slope. The skier rushed down the hill in search of assistance. Twenty minutes had passed, and Darren heard snowmobiles approaching. He hurried back out to the opening and waved them over. A rescue team, equipped with backpacks filled with gear, followed him to the crevasse. One of the rescuers was lowered down into the crack and then secured a harness around Frankie. She still wasn’t moving. As they raised her up, Darren was shocked to see that it wasn’t Frankie at all, but another skier he had never met before. Relief washed over him, and all he could think of was getting back down to see Frankie. Hitching a ride with the rescuers, Darren made it back to the chalet where a crowd of people along with local EMS waited. Darren spotted Frankie and the others in the crowd and ran over, wrapping his arms around her. “I lost sight of you on the slopes,” he explained. “I thought it was you that had fallen in the crevasse. I am truly glad it wasn’t.” “When you didn’t show up at the bottom of the hill, and then the rescue team was sent up, I started thinking it was you that was injured,” Frankie replied. They squeezed each other tightly once again, then kissed for the first time. It was a magical moment amongst the chaos. It didn’t take long before word of Darren’s assistance started circulating. On the news a couple of days later, he was labeled as a hero for saving the life of a stranger. Darren, however, didn’t feel like a hero. He felt that he was just in the right place at the right time. Frankie argued with him though, stating that he was her hero, because he saved her heart from dying.