“So, you’re definitely getting extra credit for this, right?” I said, avoiding a particularly stubborn weed whose sole life desire appeared to be mating with my shoe. Dozens of them sprouted from the improvised path we trekked; the front gate would have been an easier obstacle, but Wren wasn’t willing to risk getting caught. “Not just a measly ten points or something-we’re talking getting a full grade bump, yeah?” “That’s what Mr. Wright said.” “But doesn’t he want some sort of proof? Sure you can snap a picture, but that only proves you showed up, not that you stayed.” Wren shot me a nasty look; were that the subject of her class, she’d have no trouble breezing through. “Look, you didn’t have to tag along.” “Just making sure you get your due credit,” I said and shrugged. There was little in life I regretted; going with the flow was more than fine when it came to just about anything. Especially when it came to Wren, because she hated spontaneity, and that made it all the more entertaining. “Besides-seems a bit sketchy to be spending the night alone. I mean, it’s sketchy in the first place, but even more when it’s solo.” “Shut up.” I huffed. “No need to be rude about it.” “No, I mean it,” she said in a low tone and tugged me down by my hood. “And turn off the flashlight.” I did so with a click and pocketed it. It was one of those weak, four inch things-a five-buck Boy Scouts prize for being the quickest to set up a fire-but it was our best bet on short notice. Wren kept her fingers tangled in my hoodie until she was satisfied we were alone again. “Was probably just the birds,” I said, leaning in; “chirp, chirp-maybe a Wren?” “That stopped being funny before your first joke about it,” she said and jabbed my ribs with her elbow. “I’m sure if I asked Ronnie he’d say otherwise.” “Well, Ronnie’s words mean jack shit to me as it is. No need to have me lower my opinion of him further. Here, this way.” “You lead and I will follow,” I said magnanimously. We wound up near the eastern portion of the cemetery where an admirable cluster of trees provided a semblance of cover. Dropping her backpack to the dirt, Wren quickly set up a blanket and settled her back against the nearest tree. “Ants’ll crawl down your neck.” “And they still wouldn’t be as annoying as you.” I took her picture like that, while she had her eyes closed and she looked half-asleep. The flash went off-necessary because it was nearing eleven at night-and Wren opened her eyes to glare at me again. “Hour one,” I said and slipped my phone away before she could confiscate it. “So, what’s on the agenda? Scary stories? Party games? Crime confessions?” “I’ll admit it; when I was seven I stole Jessica’s purple hippo eraser and wrote a ransom note knowing full well the victim was already buried deep in the playground tanbark.” “That sounds like you,” I said and she beamed. “What was on the note? What kind of sick demands did you make?” “Petty ones. I wanted her juice boxes for the rest of the year-and it was already May.” “Did you get them?” “I couldn’t without revealing I was the one who wrote the note in the first place,” Wren said and shrugged. “Not the most well thought out plan.” “Well, as exhilarating as that story was, I’m still interested in the one behind Mr. Wright’s extra credit being to spend a night in a cemetery. I’m pretty sure that’s not even legal? Or advisable, at the very least.” “You’re just worming your way out of telling me your childhood crimes,” said Wren, but she turned quiet and thoughtful. “He didn’t assign that as extra credit; he won’t even know what I picked until after-which is what makes it safe for now. He’s got shitty eyesight, you know, and he gets so sick of reading essays. And since the class deals with the definition of irrationality, he decided our extra credit would be for us to face a fear of our choice. It has to be a major one, but not our biggest one, of course; I’m sure plenty of people are most afraid of death, but he’s not about to go around condoning suicide or murder.” “Not that it’d matter,” I said. “He has tenure, doesn’t he?” “I did ask him what kind of proof he wanted, and he said visual would be fine if I wanted the memory, but that it didn’t matter.” “What? So he’s just giving free points to everyone?” Wren shrugged. “He said he’d know the next time we’d come to class. That he’d just know.” “Huh,” I said, rethinking my assessment of Mr. Wright’s mental stability. Of course, my initial assessment of him overall was built from the fact that he looked like Mr. Dolittle and I liked that. “So cemeteries. Uh, you want me to hold your hand, then?” Surprisingly, Wren’s face softened. “It’s not like that. It’s an old fear, not based on things coming alive or out of the graves. It’s derived from sadness.” “Does it count as a fear, then?” I sprawled out on my back, staring up at the darkened sky. Most of the stars were hidden, or maybe just not there at all. Against the blackness, though, the moon stood out in its half arc. “Definitely a fear,” she said firmly. “And yourself? What’s your skeleton in the closet? Devil in the dark?” “Nah, I’m not afraid of anything.” Wren sputtered an incredulous laugh. “Excuse me? That’s bull, Josh, and we both know it.” “Think about it as you will,” I said mildly and nudged her foot with mine. “Say, any beers in that pack of yours?” “Because breaking into a cemetery isn’t enough for you? You really want to add public intoxication, too?” “Just a suggestion. So, you’re really planning to stay here all night?” “That’s the plan. You bored already?” “Not bored-just wondering how we’re going to fill the time for hours if we have no drinks, no games, no anything.” “So you’re bored.” Wren sighed. She looked pretty exhausted already, but it may have just been as a result of dealing with me. “You’re welcome to leave at any point.” “Do you think Marella’s would deliver here?” Wren leveled me with a dull expression. “Josh. Go home.” “I can’t! It’s only eleven-fifteen. What kind of friend would I be if I abandoned you in this cemetery?” “Fine, stay; but don’t complain!” We lapsed into quiet for some time, which neither of us minded much. I had a tendency to talk Wren’s head off on occasion, but it seemed neither the time nor place for that. Instead, I watched the sky for any indication of acknowledgement, whether that was the evincing of stars, movement of the moon, or even a UFO for all I cared. Little entertainment came, though, and eventually I turned to ask Wren some nonsensical question-only to find her head resting against her shoulder and her eyes shut. How could she possibly feel comfortable enough to fall asleep in a cemetery when it was one of her biggest fears? Maybe she was overworked, though; it was part of the reason she even opted for this extra credit from what I could tell. Normally, she was a straight A/A- student, and her C+ in Mr. Wright’s class had devastated her. Apparently it wasn’t uncommon; his teaching style was rather absurd and out-of-touch, but the class was mandatory for her major; thus, she suffered. It was painfully tempting to scare her awake, but I like to think I’m not that much of a jackass. Plus I had to piss pretty badly; at the same time, it seemed cruel to leave Wren while she was sleeping. And a little sacrilegious to take a leak potentially on someone’s grave. I contemplated my options-which was more than I usually did-and decided her seeing me struggling with piss-soaked pants was enough of a deterrent to holding it. Shuffling to my knees, I spared her one last glance and headed for the way we arrived. As expected, my flashlight was pretty useless. Still, I managed to make my way out of the cemetery and started toward a nearby bush. As I pocketed the flashlight again, the wind whistled against my ears, drawing a shiver. My hoodie wasn’t exactly Winter material, but it was the comfiest I had. I waited for the wind to pass, but it only strengthened. “Josh.” I jumped, then turned with a scowl. “Ha ha, Wren. So kind of you to sneak up on a guy with his pants half down.” Leaves rustled on the ground where no one stood. Stiffening, I turned back around to see only the bush. With a nervous titter, I cleared my throat and called, “Wren?” Nothing. Okay, so maybe I was going insane. That happened sometimes to people, right? No better time than in a cemetery at night, right? In haste, I finished relieving myself and made my way through the cemetery. Once I got back to Wren, I could wake her, relay the story, and laugh about it. She could even make fun of me, and I wouldn’t mind. The flashlight trembled in my hand and I scoffed at myself, embarrassed by how cowardly I looked. Returning seemed to take twice as long, and when I finally arrived at the familiar, crochet blanket, it sat alone. Wren’s backpack was still there, keeping it grounded against the heavy wind. Had it been her calling me at the edges of the cemetery? Maybe she’d just been pretending to sleep and planned her own scare. That didn’t seem like Wren, though. After checking behind the tree where she had once sat against, I was at a loss. There was no way I was staying here myself, though, so I pulled out my phone to text her. 01:22 where are u?? I waited for a good three minutes, desperate for so much as a ‘ read ’ indication. 01:26 wren seriously this isnt funny Shoving the phone back in my jeans’ pocket, I resolved to make another sweep of the area. I just hoped the groundskeeper hadn’t shown up for some reason and caught her; surely he would have let her take her backpack and blanket with her, though. Maybe she had left it as some sort of warning to me? Christ, I was being paranoid. There was just something... wrong about being in such a desolate, well, dead place. It made you feel too much-too alive, too disconnected, too everything. You became the outsider in your own humanity. A few branches crunched. Spinning around, I flashed the dim light at the area. “ Hey- ” The voice was in my ear. Turning in a stagger, I shot out wildly and punched. “Jesus!” Wren stumbled and clasped her hands over her face. “Josh, what the Hell!” “Shit, Wren,” I gasped, trying to ignore the throb of my left hand; I’d punched with my non-dominant hand, which meant it had been poor form. Hopefully I hadn’t broken anything-either of my own or of Wren. Dropping the flashlight into my hoodie pocket, I guided her back to the blanket. “Here, sit. Are you okay? What happened?” “I was looking for you , asshole!” As I leveled the flashlight on her face, I saw a sickly trail of blood making its way down her chin and through her shaking fingers. Her eyes were wet and pained. “I...I woke up and you were just gone . I...” At this she turned, ashamed, before uttering, “I was scared.” My own voice was hoarse. “I’m sorry. I had to take a piss.” Her laugh stung. “Right. Stupid me.” “Wren, we oughta take you to the hospital,” I said. Her whole body was trembling now, from cold or shock or both. “What if I broke your nose?” “My extra credit,” she said miserably. She did sound a little nasally. “Screw that! Mr. Wright won’t know if you stayed the whole time- trust me, Wren. You were here hours, anyway. And he’d want you to take care of your health first. Look, just-stand up. I’ll pack up the blanket. Can you hold the flashlight with one hand? It’s fine if blood gets on it.” “Josh, I can’t; I’m a shit liar, you know that. He’ll know.” “And he’ll see you have a broken nose or a black eye!” I didn’t usually get this frustrated, but the weight of fear was beginning to cling to me. At that point, you couldn’t have paid me to stay the rest of the night there. “At least let’s go back to your apartment so we can take a look in proper lighting and clean you up.” Finally relenting, Wren moved off the blanket so I could fold it up and shove it in the backpack, which I slipped over my shoulders. She handed the flashlight back to me, now slippery with the evidence of my panic. “This bites,” she said through a sigh as we walked along our path to freedom. “All this over an irrational fear, and I couldn’t even make it through the night.” “Are you kidding me? I was only here a few hours, and I’m telling you it’s definitely not irrational. In fact, I’ve decided it’s irrational not to be afraid of this place. Here, give me your hand.” “Should I be concerned at how nonchalant you are about getting my blood all over you?” “It’s-it’s for both of us,” I stuttered and clasped her hand in mine. Her fingertips were cool and her palm was warm with blood. Still, it felt a bit grounding. “Hey, Josh?” “Mm?” “Why didn’t you reply?” I spared a glance at her. “Huh? To what?” “When I asked where you were. I thought you’d left, but then a minute later you punched me in the face,” said Wren. “Wait, hold on,” I said. “When was this?” “When you shook me awake and said my name.” Once her words registered, I said, slowly, “Wren, when I say ‘now’, we’re going to run.” “What? Josh-” “Just trust me, please,” I said and she gave a tentative nod. “Now!” We ran, and she screamed.


"Guys we have to get a photo!” Kiara shrieked, the pitch of her voice betraying the effects of her third vodka-soda. I rolled my eyes at Alexis but obliged, turning my back to the stage and putting my arms around Alexis to my right and Kiara to my left as Kiara reached her arm out to snap a selfie of the three of us. Having known me as long as she had, she knew better than to let me look at it and beg her to delete it. I hated the way my smile made my eyes scrunch asymmetrically, and it didn’t help that Kiara and Alexis always looked like models. My distaste for photos aside, it was a good moment to capture. The New Orleans brass band concert was the first time the three of us had been together for months, and I hadn’t realized just how much I missed live music and my oldest girlfriends. I had been struggling with the emotional load of my first year of a master’s degree in social work, Alexis was deep in accounting busy season had recently broken up with her boyfriend of five years, and Kiara was on the verge of quitting her consulting job for something with less travel and reasonable hours. The concert gave us a few hours of dancing and forgetting about the rest of our lives on a Friday night, and Alexis even managed to chat with a handsome man in front of us despite being out of practice with flirting. *** The Tuesday after the concert, I was nodding off on my couch while trying to read a dry legal document for my Social Welfare Policy class when my phone pinged with a text message. Happy for the distraction, I picked it up to see a “Fearsome Threesome” group text alert from Kiara. “Do you guys recognize this guy? I feel like I do but can’t figure out why...” the message said, with a link to an online news article. I clicked the link: Partner arrested and charged with first-degree murder of Mariel Wright Jonathon Preston, 26, of Springfield, was arrested this morning in connection with the murder of Mariel Wright, 23, at her home on the 1800 block of Fairview Ave. on the night of Friday, March 18 th . Preston and Wright had been in a relationship for two years, but had been having issues recently according to the victim’s sister. Doorbell camera footage from a neighbor shows Preston leaving Wright’s row house at 7:56pm dressed in gray pants and a fleece jacket. At 9:19pm, a man the same size as Preston dressed in black jeans, a black hoodie, and a black mask is seen approaching Wright’s front door and gaining access to her house by punching through a front window and reaching through to unlock the door. At 9:43pm, the same man is seen leaving through the front door. At 10:58pm, Wright’s roommate, Michelle Starling, is seen entering the house. Wright was found deceased in the living room, reportedly from blunt force trauma to the head and chest. 911 records show a call made by Starling at 10:59pm. After 16 hours of questioning, police have arrested Preston and charged him with murder in the first degree. He is being held awaiting bail hearing but has stated through an attorney that he plans to plead innocent. Anyone with additional information regarding this case is encouraged to call the Springfield police department with an option to remain anonymous. Zooming in on the small mugshot, I saw an attractive man with swollen, red-rimmed eyes and an expression of profound despair. There was no trace of guilt or defiance, only deep sorrow. He did look oddly familiar though. I had begun to catalogue to overlaps in Kiara and my social circles - couldn’t be a work colleague of hers if I recognized him, couldn’t be a grad school classmate of mine if she recognized him - when a text from Alexis popped up: “Holy shit that’s the guy I was talking to at the concert. He introduced himself as Jon.” Kiara responded immediately, “Are you sure?” I certainly wasn’t sure. Alexis held her liquor better than Kiara but had not been close to sober. I thought the guy she was talking to had a slimmer face, and curlier hair. Alexis replied, “I really think it’s him. That’s so crazy - he wasn’t creepy at all! He even told me he had a girlfriend but they had gotten in a fight and that’s why he came to the concert alone.” “Whoa,” I replied, not knowing what else to say, as Kiara said “Girl I said find a new man, not a murderer, damn.” I tried to shake off the whole strange coincidence and got up to refill my coffee mug. I had to stop texting and finish the reading so I could write my summary. As I settled back onto the couch and tried to focus, a discomfort nagged at me like an itchy shirt tag. Exasperated with myself, I put the article down and picked up my phone again, tapping and scrolling to the photo of the three of us Kiara had posted on Instagram without even sending it out for approval. Sure enough, in the background between Alexis and me there was the profile of a man. I zoomed in on the small screen, and almost dropped my phone when I realized the man in the photo was the same man as the mugshot. Alexis was right, she had talked to him at the concert. I took a screenshot, zoomed in, and cropped it before sending it to them with the caption “It WAS him!” Within thirty seconds, my phone rang with a call from Alexis. She hated talking on the phone so it must be serious, or maybe she was just freaked out, which was understandable. “Hey,” I answered. Alexis didn’t even say hello before blurting “He’s not a murderer.” “What do you mean? He just got arrested for murder,” I replied. “Rach, it was Friday night. The concert was Friday night. It can’t be him.” A cog clicked into place, stopping my spinning thoughts. “Wait, you’re right. The show started at 9, and we were there until 11.” Alexis jumped in, “Yeah exactly. I ran into him by the front door as we were walking to the Uber and gave him my card in case,” she paused sheepishly, “you know in case things didn’t work out with his girlfriend. That was like 11:15, I remember from the Uber confirmation. And he was standing in front of us when Rebirth came on, which had to be around 9, they never start shows late. He was right there with us the whole time.” She was right. I had noticed him too when we first walked in, because it was a little odd to be at a concert alone. He had gone to the bathroom at least once, but he hadn’t left for more than a few minutes. There was no way he could have changed clothes, killed his girlfriend across town, changed clothes again, and come back to the show. The Pit didn’t even allow re-entry. We called Kiara and listened to her have the same lightbulb reaction when we explained the timing. “Hold on,” she said, coming back with “I took the photo at 9:32pm.” Alexis must have had the news article pulled up too and exclaimed “That’s exactly when the man was in the house. It couldn’t have been him.” I thought about the venue, which surely had security. “Why wouldn’t they have checked the cameras at The Pit? “ Kiara cut in, “Why would they? He probably said he was at the show but no one could verify it. Just having a ticket doesn’t mean he actually went. He had a motive to kill her, and it looks good for the cops to solve a murder. They don’t want to have to actually do work.” She was right. The boyfriend was always an obvious suspect. “I have a client meeting downtown in an hour,” Alexis said excitedly, “I’ll stop by the police station afterwards. Kiara text me the photo.” *** Evidence leads to release of suspect in Mariel Wright murder case, new suspect named With the emergence of new eyewitness testimony and review of additional photographic and video evidence Jonathon Preston, 26, of Springfield, has been released and all charges against him have been dropped. Mr. Preston was in a romantic relationship with the victim at the time of her death however it has been confirmed that he could not have been present at her residence at the time of the murder. A coworker, Curtis Smith, 35, of Springfield has now been named as a suspect. Smith was recently fired from Elevation due to allegations of sexual harassment. Wright worked in human resources for Elevation and may have been involved with his termination. Smith has not been seen in the week since her murder, and a car registered to his name was found abandoned on a Forest Service road outside of Midvale earlier today. Anyone with knowledge of Smith’s current whereabouts is urged to call the Springfield police department. *** Alexis had taken her glasses off to rub her eyes, vision blurred from the previous eight hours of staring at spreadsheets, when the courier delivered the flowers to her closed office door with a terse knock. Curious, she opened the door to find the colorful bouquet and picked up the card, completely baffled. The card read: “Nothing I can say will ever be enough but thank you for giving me my life back. Jon Preston.”


I don’t know what it is about this stupid blade but every time I touch it, I can’t stop the images that cloud my vision. My whole world turns shades of white and grey while the images play out what I can only guess to be some part of a past life. It never makes any sense to me, but one thing that never fails to take my breath away are the piercing bright green eyes that shine through the dull images drawing me in and pulling me this way or that until I come back to reality completely unaware of where I am or how I got there. I’ve been lucky thus far, my conscious self-coming back in places where the trees provide a dense protection of wise shade, water lazily flows in thin veining streams, and the animals are the only eyes to be seen for miles. My mother had said this blade was the key to my future, but as I stand here staring at the shiny, sharp, object latched to the belt around my waist all I feel is apprehension and resentment that she didn’t say more. Although I look back on my time with my mother fondly, she often frustrated me with her way of making everything into some form of a riddle. I always felt there was more she wanted to say, but I guess she never felt comfortable speaking her truths aloud. She was more affectionate than most others in our village were towards me, but I don't think that says much because she really didn't have the relationship with me that I saw other women in the village having with their mothers. Truthfully, I always felt quite out of place here. Like I never really made sense in their world, and never would. That's why I always lost myself in these woods, feeling more at home on my own in the elements than where all of my family and friends resided. As I pace back and forth lost in my thoughts about life and how I ended up with this magical, yet incredibly frustrating blade, the hairs on the back of neck begin to rise, a telltale sign in this forest that something is coming and whatever it is, it’s not good. Before I can start the trek to find my way back to the village, the sky grows dark and unnerving. I arch my neck to peer up at what could cause the sudden disturbance, sure enough, there it is. A vast and endless array of the most terrifyingly beautiful black scales. An endless night sky. Ehecatl. That’s when the screaming begins. I had heard the stories of nearby villages facing the wrath of such a demon but didn’t think our time to face such a creature would come so soon. Just as it had begun, it had ended. What lay before me, what was once my home was now a pile of ash and bone. From what I could tell there wasn't a single person that had made it out. Before my mind can catch up to what my body decided to do, I was off. Wherever this creature was going, I would follow. Until my feet were bleeding and my lungs were gasping for air, I would follow. This thing, this Ehecatl, stole my life away from me in a matter of minutes and I would chase it down until I could return that very favor. By the time it had finally landed the night stars shone bright in the sky. I continued to move forward solely relying on my intuition. I let my feet lead the way up, up, up. As I made my way the path I was following on the mountain continued to narrow, I now found myself shimmying along with my back pressed up against one side and my toes still dangling over the ledge while tiny bits of rocks from the very edge plummeted down, down, down. I can’t stop. Even as rain rolls in and starts to tickle my face with tiny drops that I knew would soon be consumed by thunderous booms and striking blasts of light, I can’t stop. I hear the rumbling begin just as I start to lose my footing, I slip just over the edge and the free fall commences, I turn around as quickly as I can and reach for my blade that is strapped to my waist hoping to plunge it into the rock, but as soon as the cold metallic blade bites my fingertips, the world begins to fade as shades of grey and white begin to form and the world as I knew it begins to fade once again into nothing but a pair of piercing green eyes. I could feel whatever was coming before it had physically touched me. It was like an electric current that found it’s way to my very core. I was sure I had been struck by lightening until I felt something catch me. My vision was still clouded with images of white and grey making it impossible to tell reality from whatever visions danced before my eyes. I had to be dreaming as I was gently lowered into the soft, wet ground. Whatever had saved me had dropped me in an open field filled with nothing but overgrown grass and what appeared to be a small log cabin. As I quickly gathered my bearings the storm started to pick up so before I could think I started to run as fast as my legs would carry me to that log cabin standing on the opposite end of the clearing. Without so much as a knock I opened the door, hoping whatever I found inside would be less confusing, less intriguing than whatever had just happened to me outside. I was pleasantly surprised to find that it was empty, and whilst it was small it felt incredibly inviting, as if I already knew where everything was I made my way over to the only window that this cabin had to try and figure out what had saved me, when I saw it. It wasn’t the sheer size of the beast that disturbed me. It wasn’t the way his wings looked like they could take down an entire army in one small swoop. No, it was the all too familiar, piercing green eyes that stared directly at me through the rain. As if what I was seeing wasn’t unsettling enough, I continued to watch as those piercing green eyes shrunk, and changed into a mess of lean muscle, and curly black hair as dark as the night sky. I couldn’t stop myself from walking towards the door and opening it to get a better look at whatever this was that I was seeing, but when I saw the large gash in his side spanning from his hip all the way up to the bottom of his rib cage. Without so much as a second thought I rushed out to him just as he started to fall to the ground. With his head in my hands, I ripped a piece of my cloak to apply pressure to the wound and helped him slowly sit, then stand and hopefully make it back to the cabin and out of the relentless rain. Time seemed to both fly by and stand still as I worked to try and repair the skin that had somehow gotten mangled by the elements as this man that I have been seeing for the past several months in flashes of my imagination faded in and out of consciousness. After what felt like a lifetime the bleeding began to subside and curiosity got the best of me while I studied the unconscious face of the monster in front of me. How could something so beautiful be so destructive? Why had I been seeing him in visions? What was his tie to this very blade that my mother gave me before she passed away? As I started to get lost in the thoughts that were running through my mind at an unnerving speed, I was suddenly rooted to my spot and pulled back into the moment at hand as his eyes flew open. I don’t know what drew me to him, but I leaned in slightly as I took in the sharp curves of his chin and cheek bones waiting for his lips to open and say something, anything really to explain what was happening. I knew that this man in front of me was the very creature that I was hunting down to slaughter mere hours ago, the irony of the fact that I just saved the life of the thing that killed everything I held dear to my heart does not escape me. Yet, as I looked in his eyes, I knew there was more to whatever he was, and whatever he was doing that I couldn’t help but feel pity for the lonely gleam that shone through. A small gasp escaped me as the words “You have my blade.” Rang clear as day through the silence. I jumped back not because I was scared but because the deep, raspy voice that came from him felt like something I had heard a million times before. As if reading my thought, and not having the patience to wait for me to work through whatever ideas were working their way through my brain, he slowly stood and walked his way over to me, I was sure it would be my end, but for some unknown reason I wasn’t scared. I closed my eyes and waited as I felt his fingers brush against my waist, shooting another jolt of that electric current I had felt earlier, grabbing the blade my mother had given me. I don't know why I had the sudden rush of relief flooding my body as the blade left the strap on my waist, instead finding it's home in this man's hand, but it felt like the blade had been crying out to me for so long and it had now finally found where it had been dying to go. In that moment, I knew I could not be the one to take his life. Within a matter of minutes and a few words from that unnerving voice, I had gone from hatred and anger to awe and confusion. I could not explain what compelled me to to do what I did next, but I knew it was meant to come to fruition. I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his without hesitation, before he could do anything to stop me. What happened next took my breath away as all I could see was a different version of those very same images that would play in shades of white and grey only this time they weren’t. As if some veil had dropped, I could see everything in vivid color, I could hear the voices of the images ringing loud and clear in my mind. It was no past life. Those images they were memories from a time before I lived in the village that I had called home, thinking that was where I was born and raised. I was wrong. This was wrong, but it was the truth. That place was no home to me, I had only been there a measly year and a half. The truth was beautiful and cruel. These memories, they revealed my world to me like a storybook. I didn't fit in, I didn't belong in that village because it was never truly my home. I watched and listened as my childhood, happy as can be, and my young adulthood made their way back to me and the lies those people embedded in my brain using their ancient magic were unraveled. It was like that blade and these lips that I kissed were piercing my very soul and opening it up to what my reality was and how much I truly missed it. My heart ached as I saw my life before I was taken, before I was changed, play out and dance in wonderful color. My family, my life, and him. He was no monster. He was my other half. He was the better part of myself. He wasn’t destroying the lives of the people I loved he was burning down every village of ancient witches who had stolen my life. He was searching for me. In that moment when I took a step back to peer into those endless green eyes my heart cracked a little more and I knew, I had found my way back home.


“It’s inside the distributor, there.” Leaning under the hood, De’Veon used a long brown finger to point at the back of the air filter housing. All his fingers were long and brown, dark on the tops and a kind of coffee brown on the undersides with darker lines at the creases. They extended out from giant palms on the ends of his long arms, yet everything about the man was in proportion. He was just very tall, and lean with it. I remember when we brought the ‘bird home this time last year, the week before Christmas. From the passenger seat I watched De’Veon’s right hand cover the shift knob as he moved deftly between gears. His left hand held the thin-rimmed wheel, gently I noticed, as if too firm of a grip might crush it. “Your Grandpa knew what he was doing when he bought this,” De’Veon said over the bass rumble of the V8. “Pontiac built some great cars, but this ’71 Firebird is one of their finest.” I grunted and looked out to my right. I wondered what Grandpa would have said about a black man driving his precious car. Or living with his daughter. Nana had said that with Grandpa gone now the car was just going to rust away, unless I took it. Of course, I wasn’t going to say no, but it was a stick shift and that was something I’d had no experience with. De’Veon had grinned at me across the kitchen table as Nana said this. It was like he understood what I was worried about without me having to say it out loud. “Never fear Ed,” he said, “I’ll teach you to drive it.” “And look after it I hope,” Nana chipped in. “Your Grandpa was always out in the garage working on it so I guess it’s not too reliable.” “Staying out of her way,” De’Veon mouthed at me. I snorted into my coffee even though everything the man did rubbed me up the wrong way. I didn’t know him very well back then. Mom had brought him home on July 4 th . That got us off on the wrong foot because grilling had been my job since Dad passed and there he was flipping burgers and buns like he owned the red-domed Weber. I was in my room on the Playstation when Mom came in. “Your food’s ready Teddy.” My eyes stayed glued on the screen. “I’m not hungry Mom.” I expected her to leave but she sat down on the bed. “Is this because I asked De’Veon to grill?” “No.” My eyes were filling up and I couldn’t see the screen clearly but I kept working the controller in my hand. “Teddy, I like him and he likes to cook. I want him to feel welcome but I don’t want you to feel pushed out. Anyway, I wanted to see if he’s as good a cook as he says he is.” “A test huh?” Yeah, in way it is. I’m sorry, I should have warned you first.” Neither of us spoke. After a while Mom got up from my bed. “Well there’s food down there when you’re ready.” He moved in just after Halloween, and now here he was helping Nana out with some jobs around her tidy little ranch. The Firebird sat outside the garage all through January, and the keys lay on my desk. I was desperate to get in, fire it up and hear the beast rumble, but there was that third pedal to deal with. Early in February De’Veon stopped in my bedroom doorway while I was doing my homework. “You’re looking puzzled Ed,” he said. “Calculus,” I grunted. “I could help with that if you like. I am an engineer y’know.” “I know. Thanks.” De’Veon turned to leave, and then turned back. He rubbed his chin between finger and thumb. “Y’know, I hate to see that Firebird just sittin’ out there not being driven. You’d be doin’ me a real favor if you let me show you how to drive a stick.” Well I wasn’t eager to spend time with the man, but I really wanted to drive the ‘bird to school so I didn’t have much choice. We started out at the High School parking lot on Sunday afternoon. There was a lot of kangaroo hopping at first but I will say De’Veon was a patient teacher. After a couple of sessions he let me take her out on the road. It was jerky at first but I got better every time I drove it. Just before Easter I demonstrated my ability to start off on a hill without rolling back. “Man, you are trained and we are done!” De’Veon exclaimed. That was it, now I could drive the ‘bird to school. A few weeks later, as we were finishing dinner, De’Veon hit me with a question. “When you goin’ to change the oil in that car?” “I um, I don’t know,” I mumbled back. “Have you ever done an oil change?” “Well no,” I admitted, “But I don’t think it’s that hard is it?” “How about tire rotation? Ever done that?” I had to admit that I hadn’t. So Saturday morning there we were doing an inventory of my Dad’s tools in the garage. Once we knew what we had, De’Veon had me jump in his truck with him and we ran over to the auto parts store to buy oil and a filter. After lunch and a little instruction I dressed in my oldest, scruffiest jeans and sweatshirt and went out to do my first oil change. It was going okay I thought, until I couldn’t get the filter off. I was lying on my back under the ‘bird and there wasn’t a lot of room, but no matter how hard I gripped and twisted the metal canister wouldn’t budge. I should have just gone into the house and asked De’Veon for help, but that would have meant admitting it was harder than it looked. So instead I lay on the concrete with the cold seeping up into my bones and wrestled and wrestled with it. My hands kept slipping and more than once I scraped my knuckles against the oil pan. Then I heard footsteps. I looked down past my feet to see De’Veons giant white Nikes. “Everything going okay there Ed?” I wriggled out and found myself looking up at him silhouetted against a bright blue sky. “I, I can’t get the filter off,” I admitted. De’Veon nodded. “I think we saw a strap wrench in your Dad’s garage. Like me to get it for you?” I nodded and he ambled off, returning a few minutes later with an unfamiliar tool in his hand. It looked like a screwdriver with a short belt attached to one end. He bent down and handed it to me. “You know how to use it?” I admitted that I didn’t. “Uh huh. Well, let me get down there with you and I’ll show you.” With that he lay down next to me and wriggled on his back under the car. We were so close I could see the pores on his nose. I watched as he slid the strap wrench into position and showed me how to use it. From there he stayed with me all afternoon, watching and talking me the job. A couple of weeks later it was tire rotation. Again, he watched and talked me through what I had to do, patiently, step-by-step. After that each weekend passed in much the same way. Over lunch on Saturday De’Veon would ask how I was doing with my homework and if I said it was all done we’d spend the afternoon outside on the Firebird. One of the first things he taught me was about protecting the paint. We found some old towels and placed them over the fenders for that purpose. We changed spark plugs, we swapped out the air filter. Each weekend a different project but De’Veon’s style was always the same. He wasn’t one to lecture; he’d stand back and watch, just keeping himself available if, or rather when, I got stuck. This week just gone I had a problem with the ‘bird I couldn’t figure out. It would start and idle just fine, but give it any gas and the engine would die. I took a few steps back from the open hood to think about it some more. De’Veon must have seen me because he came ambling across the yard. “Problem there Ed?” I moved around to one side of car and started to explain. He stood across from me and listened, all the while looking at the engine. “So I’m pretty sure it’s the carburetor,” I finished. He stroked his chin and nodded. “Well it could be, but I think it’s more likely to be electrical.” I looked up at him. “Why do you say that?” He kept stroking. “We’ll get to that, but there’s something I want to say first Ed.” This sounded ominous. I turned my eyes down to look at the engine. “You don’t like your Mom callin’ you Teddy, do you?” “Um, no,” I mumbled. “Well don’t you think it’s time to tell her?” “S’pose.” “Well if you don’t she’s going to be callin’ you Teddy when you bring some cute girl home to meet her, and I’m pretty sure you don’t want that.” “No.” I realized one of the spark plug wires was unclipped so I reached in to put it back in place. “So ask her to call you Ed. Pick your moment, but be sure to do it. And sooner rather than later. If you don’t she’s gonna be babyin’ you for the rest of her life.” I said I would. Then De’Veon explained how electrical problems were more common than carburetor faults, and a whole lot easier to fix. Then he suggest I start with the condenser on the distributor. That was when he reached out his long brown arm to point it out. About an hour later and after a trip to parts store we had the new condenser fitted. I climbed into the driver’s seat and slid the key home. That’s when I noticed De’Veon slipping into the passenger seat. I turned to look at him and he nodded. I pumped the gas with my right foot, turned the key, and the V8 roared into life. I let it settle into a steady burble before pushing down on the pedal. The revs built, the engine noise grew louder. It didn’t die the way it had been doing. I turned it off and twisted to face De’Veon. He had one of those big brown hands raised up. “High five Ed! You fixed it!” Our hands met, and so did our eyes. “Ed,” De’Veon said. He suddenly looked serious. “There’s something else I want to ask you.” I raised my eyebrows slightly, an involuntary reaction. “Go on.” “This is big Ed, but hear me out please.” He took a breath. “I want to ask your Mom to marry me. Would you let me do that?” “God!” I grasped the wheel with both hands and looked out through the windshield. “I mean, wow!” “What do you think Ed? It’s up to you man.” A million thoughts rushed through my brain before one stuck. “You gotta look after her De’Veon. After all she’s been through. And you gotta look after yourself. She can’t go through losing someone again, she really can’t.” “Of course man, absolutely. You have my word.” “Then um, I guess. Yeah.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw De’Veon stretch his big arms out wide. I turned to face him and he was grinning the biggest, broadest grin a man could grin. He leaned towards me, his long arms came around me and he hugged me hard. My arms went around him the same way. A thought struck me and I pulled back slightly. We were still very close. “So you’ll be my Dad.” De’Veon moved his big hands onto my shoulders. “No man, I’ll never be your Dad. But I am excited about getting to be your Step-Dad.” I nodded, “Me too De’Veon, me too.”


The line in the water began making subtle jerking motions before Corey whipped it tight in an upward motion as he attempted to set his hook. No luck. It was just a nibble and he had let excitement get the best of him. As he reeled his line in he only felt mild disappointment. It was early in the evening after all and he was no professional fisherman. It wasn’t the first or last time he would let a fish get away. All he could do is try to wait until the perfect time next time he felt a curious fish taking jabs at his power bait. By the time the hook and sinker reached Corey the bait had either fallen off on the journey or made a delicious dinner for a lucky rainbow trout. With any luck, it would be the trout that was for dinner by the end of the night but first the hook would need re-baiting. Was it time to switch to a lure now that the fish were possibly familiar with his current ruse or would the best tactic be to stick with what got their attention in the first place? He switched to a lure as he contemplated how inane this thought process was. Was there even a right answer? This action and current conundrum reminded him of fishing with his sister Amanda. Corey was constantly switching tactics, depths, reel speeds, lures and it seemed to no avail. No matter what he did his sister seemed to catch more fish with a simple baiting setup. Last summer when they had fished this very lake together she had more than doubled his bounty for the day. The worst part was she clearly didn’t know as much as he did about fishing. This was evident when she spent the first five minutes with a lure sitting at the bottom of the lake. “You reckon those fish will sniff out your hunk of metal in the bottom of all that lake mud?” Corey jeered after he noticed the lack of reeling from his fishing partner. “Oh. Is that how it should work? This is the only way I’ve seen people fish.” Amanda retorted. “I put a lure on yours. That means you have to reel it in so the fish think something shiny is moving through the water. Then you gotta recast.” he explained. “Hmm. I think I want to switch to bait then. That’s how grandpa always did it.” she noted. “Reel it in then and I’ll help you switch. I had no idea you actually paid attention when grandpa fished” “Only when I wasn’t feeding the ducks” Corey figured that was his grandpa's fault for using marshmallows as bait. “Woah!! I think I got a bite!” Amanda said excitedly, only seconds after beginning to reel. “Think?” Corey said while examining the bent pole. “Either that or you hooked onto the back of that F150 that’s driving out” Corey netted the impressive rainbow trout while glancing back at his own pole to make sure it wasn’t getting any tugs. He had staked it between two rocks and it had felt fairly secure, not that it seemed to matter. “We’re eating good tonight!” Corey exclaimed as he held the large trout in his hand. “No thanks to you!” Amanda teased as a wry grin spread across her face. “Oh you just wait. I’m pulling a state record out of these waters tonight, I can sense it.” As it turns out, Corey must have never been bitten by a radioactive bass because the biggest of the two fish he caught that night was average at best. One he caught with a lure and the other with bait in an attempt to copy his sister’s setup. She caught three fish just in the time he spent playing copy cat. How could she do so much better when their baits were identical? Regardless, at the end of the day Amanda had caught five trout to his two. He let both of his fish swim free. Five would make a hearty fish fry for the two of them and there was no point in killing more fish than necessary. Besides the stories, banter, and nostalgia of fishing with an old childhood friend; Corey especially liked fishing with Amanda because she enjoyed eating them as much as he did. Part of the enjoyment for him was savoring his fresh catch with his fishing buddy and continuing the banter, stories, and nostalgia. He knew plenty of people who liked fishing but didn’t have the taste buds for such a distinguished piece of meat. His friend Blake, who he had originally invited, was one of these sorts of people. So when Corey had called Amanda instead, he knew he wouldn’t be eating fish alone tonight. Although, as he reminisced, he admitted to himself he remembered not being so sure that Amanda would be interested in driving down from the city for an afternoon fishing trip. She enjoyed being active in her free time and was usually up for whatever adventure Corey may suggest, but it went without saying that she was no avid fisher woman. In fact, it didn’t quite seem to matter if Corey had called to go skydiving, fishing, or play checkers in the park. She seemed to just be happy enjoying his company and being out in nature. ‘Afterall, isn’t that what it’s all about?’ Corey thought as he finally wet his line once again. Being with family and friends, enjoying nature and each other’s company. The things that would be remembered for Corey were the fishing methods used, the silly stories like feeding marshmallows to ducks, and just the fact that he spent time with his sister and they both enjoyed it. Didn’t they both spend time thinking about the memories their grandpa had taken time to create with them? And wasn’t he spending time currently thinking about the time he enjoyed on the lake with Amanda? The only question left was why did Amanda agree to go fishing with him? As Corey pondered this he could only come up with so many answers. Either she felt bad that his buddy Blake had bailed on him, she really did just want to spend time with him and the activity didn’t matter, or she just wanted to see how long it would take for a fish to find a lure that was stuck in the mud. Wailing and screaming came from the back seat in protest as Amanda slowed her minivan to a stop a few feet before reaching the stop sign. After a peaceful highway journey to her sleepy hometown the squealing of her freshly awakened six month old boy signaled that the trip was almost over. “Just a few more blocks. I know, it’s so sad I had to wake you up” she said in a gentle but sarcastic tone. “No more stop signs until grandma’s house okay?” It was after dark so she wouldn’t be able to fully enjoy the drive through her old neighborhood where she and Corey had played when they were younger. She turned her thoughts to him and wondered if he would be home from fishing yet. Certainly he wouldn’t be fishing in the dark but he might still be driving home from one of his nearby fishing holes. He had invited her to come along but she needed to wait for her husband Jaden to get home from work. With her watching the baby, and him always at work or on business trips it was hard to find much free time at all. Amanda did remember being able to go fishing with Corey before she had given birth. Jaden was on a business trip at that time too. Starting new local offices for his insurance company led to a lot of business trips at that point in time. She remembered how she felt that day. Stressed. Scared. Alone. She had just gotten back from the doctor’s office and was trying to find the courage to call Jaden. He had told her to call him after the appointment and let him know how it went. They had just barely started trying to get pregnant and there was a lot of excitement and nerves about such a fragile idea. Failed test after failed test had made it feel like the universe didn’t want them to have kids. That is, until one holy grail of pregnancy test finally gave them a shimmer of hope and a doctor’s visit was immediately scheduled. Now the results of that doctor’s visit had left Amanda in tears. For an hour or more she sat on the stairs, crumpled in a ball of distress, trying to find the strength to get up. Finally, after who knows how long, she pushed the matted clump of wispy light brown hair out of her face and wiped the tears from her equally light brown eyes. After a phone call to Jaden explaining the situation and a few more minutes of deep breathing she would be together again. As together as she would ever be after that doctor’s visit. Jaden would be on the next flight home but still wouldn’t be home until the following evening due to lay overs. The next day was just as bad. She felt lonely, discouraged, and overall just frustrated. Why couldn’t she have a baby? Why would the universe hold something like that back from her? What had she done? She wished more than anything that Jaden could be home. The phone call to him earlier wasn’t easy. His soothing, patient voice did help to calm her down but she knew it would be just as hard for him and almost felt as if she had let him down somehow. Just then her phone began to ring. She picked it up quickly, expecting Jaden to be on the caller ID but instead it was Corey. Wow, she began to think. How many times has he even seen me cry? It couldn’t be more than a handful if any. She was his older sibling and had made it a point to not cry in front of him. Not only him though. Really it was the entire world. It wasn’t her style. Would she be able to keep it together now though or just fall apart as soon as she heard his voice? “Hello” she said after accepting the call. “What’s up?!” Corey’s voice bursted through the other end of the line. His gleeful tone was refreshing and relaxed her a little bit. “Just sitting at home” “Great!” he said “because I’m on my way over now. Blake totally bailed on me so I guess you’re stuck being my fishing partner.” “Oh I see. So I’m just your back up plan?” “No no no. I would’ve invited you either way. The difference is now that Blake bailed you gotta come. It changes it from an invitation to more of a kidnapping if you get my drift” She knew it was true that he would have invited her and that it would’ve been on this short notice had Blake not bailed last minute. “Oh my, you’re too much sometimes” “Well I figure Jaden is out of town so you got plenty of time anyhow. I’m just leaving so it would take me about an hour. Think you can be ready by then?” “Uhmmmm. Yeah. Yeah that should be fine.” She said hesitantly. “Alright sounds good!” Amanda was very hesitant, not because she didn’t like fishing or hanging out with Corey but because she wasn’t so sure she wanted to be around anyone at all right then. This was a difficult time but ultimately a distraction away from home could be a good thing. Amanda would remember how she felt on that fishing trip for a long time. She would remember the sound of the gentle waves crashing against the shore and the birds in the trees on the lake side chirping a melancholy afternoon tune. The feeling of the sun rays hitting her back or the tug on the rod when a fish finally decided to take the bait. When she was really fighting mr. trout on the other end of the line or busy tormenting her little brother it was hard to think about anything else. She thought back on that day and the joy she was able to feel. Sure her problems weren’t solved and they were still in the back of her mind but it is still hard to think of the universe as such an awful place when you’re enjoying nature or a freshly grilled lake trout. Amanda was in a good mood as she pulled into the driveway of her childhood home. She kissed Jaden on the cheek and smiled back at her little cry baby in the back seat. That day fishing with her brother gave her a spark of hope that may have indirectly led to the bundle of joy that was now the center of her life. Sure, she probably would’ve kept trying for a baby with Jaden but that day still got her through a hard time and she had her brother who took the time to think of his sister to thank for it. A simple and ambitionless afternoon on the lakeside made all the difference and after all, isn’t that what it’s all about?


Nicholas stood there in complete shock as he faced his brother Andrew for the first time in an entire year. “Andrew? Is that you?” Andrew then turned around and dropped his knapsack at the sight of his brother standing at the railroad station. “Holy shit Nicholas?” The train station platform was crowded with soldiers going to and from the front and among them was Nicholas who just so happened to encounter his brother getting off the same train he was on. The two brothers then hugged each other tightly and Andrew spoke directly. “My God. What are you doing here? I thought you’d be sitting in a trench in the West right now?” Nicholas shook his head “I’m on furlough.. What are you doing here? You’ve got nowhere to go, if I remember correctly you’ve only just turned eighteen”. Andrew then looked around and took up his knapsack “Yeah I’ve got a long story to tell you.. come on let’s get out of here”. Nicholas nodded in agreement and the two men got off the platform and into a local tavern. They found a booth somewhere in the back away from watchful eyes and sat down. “Why didn’t you write that you were coming back?” Andrew asked. Nicholas nodded “I wanted to surprise you for your birthday.. Sorry for being late. Getting away from the front was no easy task.” You didn’t answer my question by the way”. Nicholas then asked in turn. Andrew began to fidget with his hands. An uncomfortable habit that he picked up from childhood. He then spoke, “I was at the train station because Ive volunteered. I’m going to go off to the war Nicholas”. Nicholas then scratched his red beard, an uncomfortable habit he picked up since joining the army. “What?” He finally asked. “You heard me,” Andrew said confidently. “I’ve decided to join the army like you did and serve our country.” Nicholas leaned back against his chair. “Why would you do that? You stupid fucking idiot” he said as his voice turned into anger. Andrew then seemed hurt “What do you mean? You’re the idiot wearing the uniform. What a hypocrite you are”. Nicholas spoke back “Look around you. You’re in a room full of soldiers coming back from the front? Look at their faces, Andrew. These men have seen nonstop shelling, hair-pulling stupidity and the horrors of watching their friends die next to them and not being able to do a thing about it. What kind of idiot would you be to enlist at a time like this!” Andrew then stood up “War is not supposed to be a fairytale.. I thought you’d be happy for me I’m going to go serve my country like my brave older brother did. Why can’t you be happy for me.” Andrew then grabbed his knapsack to leave but Nicholas stopped him “no wait.. just please sit down”. Andrew then obeyed his brother and then did so and Nicholas scratched his head. “Andrew I have to be honest with you.. I’m not on furlough. I went AWOL.” Andrew then became angry “Now who’s the stupid idiot? Why would you do something so stupid?” Nicholas then sighed “It’s not what they say it is in the papers Andrew. There’s nothing honorable about shooting at men you’ve never even met before and get shot in return while drowning in mud. It’s a Hell I want to save you from. I’ve made a mistake and I don’t want you to make the same”. Andrew then rubbed his face in dismay “I wish you didn’t say that.. I really wish you were wrong. But I know you’d never lie to me about something like that. But I still have to leave for the war.” Nicholas then found his anger again “did you not hear a word I just said? I got lucky by escaping from the Army. You won’t be afforded the same option.” Andrew shook his head “it’s not like that.. I’ve lied to you too actually”. Nicholas then raised his eyebrow “What?” Andrew then reached into his knapsack and pulled out his notice “Because I’m not enlisting. I’ve been drafted”.


It was Tuesday, again.  Tuesdays were always especially anodyne for Mark. It was mainly the regularity of the whole thing. Wake up. Linger over a coffee, considering whether accountancy was really in God's plan for him. Drive to work. Team meeting. Coffee break. Lunch. Try to do some actual work in the 30 minute gap before the next meeting. Look at tables and graphs with some people he felt ambivalent about, and if he was lucky potentially witness an argument that was far too passionate to be about accountancy. Nod and say important sounding things at the right point. Try to blend in. Try to get by. Hopefully the work day would eventually end, at which point he'd be so tired of doing nothing that he'd go home emotionally distressed. Rinse and repeat.  The beige aura of Tuesday permeating Mark's commute was so plain it was offensive as he gazed out of his car window. The sky was too bored to rain, preferring to stay grey and threaten the world with some interest. As a man in a large car (he assumed it was a man, despite the tinted widows preventing any vision of the driver) cut aggressively into the fast lane, a cacophany of horns rudely interrupted his daze. He wondered about everyone involved in the car incident. Where were they going at 8:33 on a Tuesday that was so important? Where did the big-carred man/woman (although it was probably a man) have to be so urgently? Did horning make his offfended peers feel better? The questions danced across his mind briefly as the morning radio droned in his ear.  Mark wasn't particularly fond of the kind of people who present morning radio shows. As his car edged ever closer to the building where he would spend his day, he listened to the happy morning people discussing happy morning things and playing songs that were designed to make you believe that it might be alright in the end. Somehow they sat together every day and talked for hours at a time. \_Every\_ day. They must have been the only set of work colleagues that didn't discuss work more than 50% of the time. Mark couldn't avoid discussing fiscal matters in important tones with his own colleagues for more than 5 minutes at a time. He felt slightly jealous, but still sang along to the songs. Maybe it would, in fact, be a lovely day.  As he pulled into the car park, he noticed a small toothpaste stain on his tie. His mother appeared on the dashboard, wagging her finger and lecturing him about putting his tie on after he'd eaten breakfast and brushed his teeth. He sighed, licked his thumb and rubbed at the stain after he parked in his usual space, reaching into the back seat for his jacket while simultaneously trying to brush his imaginary miniature mother from the dashboard. He got out of the car, sighed once more for luck, and walked into work.  Joel was unfortunately coming into work at the same time. This was a problem because Joel was a prick. This impression of Joel hadn't been formed with a lot of data if Mark was being truthful, but he disliked being near him. Joel was aggressively happy, laughed too loudly at jokes that weren't funny ("...and then I said 'That's not a P60, that's P45!'"), enjoyed wearing non-standard shirt colours, rarely did any work and would talk at length about his diet and fitness regime when given the slightest opportunity. These were all problems.  "Morning Joel!" Mark said, smiling with false positivity.  "Hey man!" Joel replied, beaming. Mark assumed it was genuine. Prick.  "How's your ongoing existence treating you?"  Joel laughed. Mark had not been joking. "It's pretty great, man! I was actually just in Amsterdam at the weekend there with my girlfriend. Took a bit of a long weekend, know what I mean?"  There was no ambiguity. Everyone knew what he meant. Mark laughed in a friendly way. "Oh yeah? I hear it's lovely, loads of bikes and all."  "Mate, you've no idea. It's actually just like they say; look up, look down, look side to side, check your pockets, look into the next dimension and still get hit by a bike. Still beautiful when you're not dodging through them. The weed isn't bad either."  "Aye mate, when in Rome in all."  "You know it, boss. Can't go see the place and not partake a bit, know what I'm saying?"  "Aye, definitely. See much else?"  "Yeah mate just did all the tourist bits. Anne Frank's house was packed out like, queue down the street to get into a bloody attic. The missus wanted to see it though, and I traded her that for the Red Light District."  "Aye I hear it's cool to see."  They'd badged through the first door. This would be over soon. Mark's desk was close, and if all else failed he could stop at the coffee machine. He didn't like coffee.  "You've no idea mate, it's class though. Bit weird like but still cool to see."  "What'd your girlfriend think?"  "What?" Joel replied, confused by the question.  "What'd she think?"  "I don't really know." Mark got the impression that Joel had monologued the whole way through the Red Light District. He briefly wished Joel's Red Light soliloquy had been recorded for his entertainment.  "Fair enough. Sure I'll catch you later on, have a nice day" he said, stopping at the coffee machine.  "See you later mate!" Joel replied cheerfully. Prick.  Mark didn't particularly want a coffee, but still lifted a cup and made himself one to ensure his cover wouldn't be blown. The aged coffee machine rasped and spluttered as it was asked to do it's job, making sure everyone nearby knew it was working hard. Coffee trickled out and into the cup. He sipped it, since he'd gone to the effort of making it. It was incredibly average.


There’s a nature park a few miles from my house. It has a marked trail that winds through a wooded forest. Sometimes I take my dog there for a little variety in our walks. It probably doesn’t matter that much to her though. She just wants to sniff the trees and chase wildlife. I keep her on a leash for their safety but her collar is kind of loose. If she really wants to escape, she can (and has). I’ve tried tightening it but it’s as snug as I can get it. I’d buy a smaller one but it doesn’t happen often enough to be an issue. At least not in the past. One day last week she began tugging fiercely on her leash. They teach all sorts of training techniques on how to stop unwanted behavior like that but Thelma is a husky; and they aren’t nearly as eager to please their humans as most dog breeds. Pulling is in their genes. She’s only pulled hard enough to remove her collar a couple other times. I don’t know what she saw in the woods, but it was enough to shimmy out of her collar and break free like her life depended on it. Fearing it might be a rabid animal in her sight, I chased after her. Naturally she took off at a furious pace I couldn’t replicate without a motorized vehicle. I’d soon lost sight of her but I could still hear her in hot pursuit (of whatever it was). Calling and yelling did no good. She only responded when it benefited her. Finally I caught up to her. She’d stopped by the edge of a large tangle of underbrush in the woods. She paced around it frantically, wagging her tail and circling the mound with hyper focus. I figured it was a possum or raccoon living in there. Heaven help us if it was a skunk or den of snakes. The truth was actually worse. I witnessed the tell-tale evidence of a man-made bunker before us. As I had carried her collar for the whole heart-pounding chase, I tried to unfasten it and slip it back around her neck. Whoever was living in that hollowed out enclosure in the deep woods would definitely not appreciate our intrusion. Thelma just barked frantically. She never barks unless it’s highly important to her. Like most huskies, they howl or ‘talk’ most of the time. I was already on the edge from the uncomfortable situation; and hearing her bark on top of it just added to the creepiness. She wouldn’t sit still long enough to slip the collar back on her so I could drag her away. I feared some crazed hairy mountain man would spring up from a hidden trap door and shoot me at any moment! Thelma was making things infinitely worse. She began to dig frantically at what I assumed was the entrance. I hissed at her and tried to pick her up. She wasn’t having it. For whatever reason, she desperately wanted inside the bunker; and I wasn’t going to be able to stop her. I debated giving up and leaving her. Ultimately I’m a coward at heart. I wasn’t about to be attacked or shot by some antisocial hermit living ‘off the grid’. She could fend for herself. I’d go back and get help. The authorities could deal with whatever soul was dwelling there. Just as I was about to run back to my car, Thelma slipped in through a trap door and was gone. I was torn between the pragmatism of saving myself, versus the emotionalism of saving her from whatever was down in the bunker. I’ll let you guess which side won. I crept inside the bunker slowly. I feared it might be booby-trapped or I would encounter the occupant before I could explain my intrusion. I whispered for Thelma but she was nowhere to be seen. I used my cell phone to light the way but there was a surprising amount of natural light filtering through some improvised ‘skylights’. The bunker was much more spacious than I expected. I suppose I thought it was just going to be a narrow hole in the ground. The truth was, it was expansive and incredibly well-braced. I could even stand upright. There were a number of large corridors leading in different directions. There was no telling how far the tunnels went. I called Thelma again. She finally showed her head and I successfully collared her. Just as I was about to drag her outside to safety, I was struck by something very odd. Everything felt ‘familiar’. I couldn’t shake the deja-vu feeling that I ‘knew’ something about the place! Obviously that was impossible but as I looked around the dank hideaway, I had the unshakable sensation I’d been there before. Thankful I didn’t run into the ‘owner’, my dog and I left the bunker as close as possible to how we’d found it. It was a small miracle that he was out gathering supplies, or whatever. I vowed to call the forest service and report it just as soon as I got home. I also intended to pick up a better collar for her. Obviously I didn’t want to accidentally discover any more hidden bunkers in the woods. When I got home, I looked up the local parks and forest service phone number. Somehow the first link that came up in my phone was the right one. I wasn’t sure how I was going to explain such an odd thing but when a park ranger answered the phone, I blurted out my incredible discovery. I half expected the guy to hang up on me but to his credit, he listened with no judgement as far as I could tell. I described the events of finding the bunker and the general area where it was. Then he asked if I would accompany him to locate it. Frankly, I was so surprised he even believed me that I readily agreed to show it to him. I figured there would be more safety in numbers. It was near sundown so we both agreed it would be safer to go in the morning. I met Ranger Ross and the two of us started down the trail. Thelma started getting agitated again when we neared the same area where she’d broken away before and led me to it. Just as the previous evening, she started whining and pulling hard on the leash. At least there wasn’t going to be an difficulty locating it. The ranger and I allowed her to guide us back to the source of our journey. She barked and wagged her tail in animated excitement. Once we approached the mound, the ranger motioned for me to stand behind him. He quietly unholstered his service revolver and crept up to the bunker. To my surprise, he went straight up to the hidden trap door, without Thelma or I showing him where it was. It was well hidden and I didn’t see how he could’ve guessed it was there. My suspicions and paranoia were having a field day. Had the ranger been there before? Was he somehow involved with the bunker? Even more strange, he pulled open the trap door with no apparent concern, and then a well dressed man exited! It was incredibly jarring. The man in the suit was very familiar. My knees buckled. Thelma went over to the bunker occupant and started licking him like he was a long-lost friend of ours. The ranger put his gun away. I still had no idea what was going on. It was beyond surreal. Thelma obviously knew the man and she was aquatinted with the bunker too. The ranger came over and put his arm around me in an apparent gesture of support. The well-dressed man instructed Ranger Ross to guide me inside. I was deeply afraid of what I might find there. My knees were knocking. I stumbled though the opening while my dog and the other two men led the way to whatever epiphany I was supposed to witness. Blind trust instructed me to comply. Once inside the main corridor, a battery powered lamp was switched on by one of my companions. When illuminated, I recognized the walls of the bunker. Not from my brief foray into the mystery the day before, but prior to that. Somehow my memory was only letting me remember small details, a little bit at a time. The harder I tried to force it to come back, the more my head pounded. The well-dressed gentleman introduced himself as Dr. Jackson. He explained that he was my therapist and I’d experienced a deep trauma at the bunker some time in the past, which fragmented my memory. Through immersion therapy and repetition, he and the ranger were trying to help me come to full terms with my experience. I asked for greater details. Dr. Jackson said I still wasn’t quite ready for the full truth yet, but I was making ‘remarkable progress’. He felt I would be ready in just a few more ‘cycles’. I marveled at the implications. I had apparently led rangers to this bunker in the woods many times in the past. Each time I get a little closer to accepting the unpleasant truth and releasing the block to my memory. I still don’t know what it is, but one day soon I hope to. Thelma will need another walk in a few days. I’m sure she’ll start dragging me toward the hidden truth about ‘the bunker’.


“Dad!” A little voice called from deep in some crevice of one of the Bercan family’s rooms. The call was followed by a drawn out wail, which gathered intensity until it could sustain itself no longer and it came crashing down flights of octaves to end in an exaggerated sob. Durie Bercan, the father being called for, left his desk and hurried down the dark hallway, trying not to trip over toys and towels on the way. His two children had just left the bathroom to run to their shared bedroom and snuggle into their beds, when the entire house had gone dark. Durie guessed that this was what had caused the wail. He reached the bedroom door without injury, and tried to turn on the light. Remembering the situation, he rolled his eyes at himself, and opened the blind on the window instead, which let a little light into the room. “There you go, Eevie,” he said, forestalling another unnecessary wail. “Can you see now?” “No.” Durie smiled, thankful that the darkness hid his approval. “Why is it dark?” Ten-year-old Alexander asked. Durie didn’t blame him for being unsettled. The darkness was extreme. At night time, the house would usually be dimly illuminated by bulbs hanging from the roof of each room, and outside each street had brilliant ropes of light running down each side to show the way to any late drivers, but now there was no light aside from the pale moonlight which entered the room uncertainly through the lace curtain on the window. “I think it’s so that we can enjoy this night especially,” Durie answered with a smile in his voice. “What do you think?” By this time, the three had found each other and Durie and Alex were holding hands. Five-year-old Eevie still thought she was little enough to be held in her dad’s strong arms, and at special moments, she was allowed to, so she jumped up against him, and Durie lifted her up with one arm. Eevie was no longer concerned by the malfunctioning lights. This was fun. “What do you mean? Can we not go to bed?” Both children were eager to make this a profitable opportunity. “No... But I think you can go to bed somewhere else. Would you like to tent in the backyard tonight?” “Yes!” Eevie bounced up and down in excitement, and Durie had to let go of Alex’s hand to keep her from falling. “Okay, come on. Bring your pillows and blankets and a toy if you want, and we’ll go set the tent up. I hope mum doesn’t mind!” ---- -- It didn’t take long for everything to be set in order in the backyard. Or, at least relative order. Eevie was wearing a pair of her brothers socks and if you looked really closely, you’d see that a part of the tent was being held together with sticky-tape, but everyone was content, sitting in a circle, looking up at the evening’s stars through the tent’s skylight. A little hand rose slowly and pointed to the sky, and Durie looked at his daughter’s face as she stared with rapture at the white diamonds in the sky. “Never seen this many stars,” Alex commented in a low voice. Their father said nothing, not willing to break the beautiful moment if peace. Any minute now, he sensed that both of his children would start to drift off to the shores of sleep and while he wanted the time they were spending to last forever, suspended like the yellow moon in the sky to the very last, he also knew they needed to get to sleep. Eevie wrapped her arms around his neck, and her head fell gently to Durie’s shoulder. Across from them, Alex lay down on his makeshift bed, his eyes glued to the skylight. “I think it’s beautiful,” he mumbled. “I do too.” Was the last thing either child heard until the sun hit their eyelids the next day. -- -- -- Durie woke up, cramped and stiff in the morning. He had spent time on ships, sleeping in bunks and berths before, but never with two wriggly, precious children. However, he got up as soon as the sun rose in the sky, and went inside, checking first that his Eevie and Alex were still comfortable and warm. Then, after working out that the power was back on, he stretched a few different ways, warming up his joints for the day. Durie looked up curiously when he heard a knock on the front door of the house. Wondering who it was, he walked to the door, unlocked it, and opened it wide enough to look out. On the Bercans’ front porch, there were two uniformed men in their thirties. One was holding a clipboard, and the other had some sort of fancy telecommunication device in his hand. “Good morning,” the man with the clipboard began, in a forced cheerful voice. “My name is Bob Waters, and this is Stephen. We are here to gather some information about last night’s power outage and how it may have affected the locals. If you could answer a few questions, that would be wonderful.” Durie relaxed. “Okay.” This could have been worse. “First, we need to know some basic details about you and your family, if that’s okay?” “I guess so.” - - - The questionnaire was completed and the two men moved on to the next house in the street. Durie turned around from watching them when he heard movement behind him. He smiled widely at his wife’s sleepy appearance as she exited the bedroom. “Good morning, sleepy-head. Did the baby keep you up last night?” This raised a smile on Mrs Bercan’s lips, and she laid a hand at the bottom of her round abdomen. “No, she - or he - was pretty still last night. How about you. You slept outside with the two little monsters but you look like you survived it pretty well.” “Without a scratch!” Durie and his wife embraced and then both of them suggested coffee at exactly the same time. They walked to the kitchen, laughing. - Four days later, Mrs Bercan was alarmed when she heard frustrated arguing coming from the office. Approaching the closed door, she heard her husband say, “You never disclosed anything about this decision. This isn’t fair!” She could hear raw fear in his voice. Something she couldn’t remember hearing before. Concerned, she opened the door and looked in. Durie was on the phone, pacing around his desk, his face wrinkled in concentration and horror at the news he had received. He was so engrossed in the call he didn’t even see her enter. “I told you why I can’t go. There needs to be a choice here.” He demanded. “No...” He hung his head, realizing he was beaten. A few seconds later he hung up the phone with a crash and kicked the leg of his desk splintering the wood. “Durie, darling, what’s the matter?” Mrs Bercan asked, her concern evident. He turned to her, realizing he wasn’t alone. “Oh, Sarah. Sorry. I-” He didn’t continue for a minute. Then he put his hands on the sides of her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “I’ve been conscripted. I thought I was going to get away with staying here, since I have you and the kids, but I’m afraid they found out the other day when they were surveying our area after the power outage, and they’ve not given me any room to appeal the call.” “Oh, Durie!” Sarah exclaimed in horror. “No.” He brought her into his arms for a hug, both of them seeking comfort from each other. “I know. I hate them for doing this. They don’t think we matter.” “They’re wrong.” Durie nodded silently. - Durie tried again and again to have the summons revoked, with no results. He begged and promised and prayed, but the law was unfeeling and unbendable. On the day he was to be taken to the Navy headquarters for assignment, a straight-backed Navy recruitment officer arrived with two other officers to back up him up. Both of the children were at school. Durie had been subtly, delicately, saying goodbye to them for the past week. He would have broken down on the doorstep if they had been there. Sometimes the hard way was best. “Take care of yourself, Sarah. And bubs.” He looked fondly at his wife’s baby bump, trying to ignore the little voice in his head - his subconscious thoughts - saying that he wouldn’t get to see the birth. “I will, Durie. And don’t forget to look after yourself. Make some friends. I know you’ll be in a hard group, since you were conscripted, but you can do it. I love you. I believe in you.” She kissed him, and then let him go. The officers had already walked back to their car and the horn blared, startling Durie from his pensiveness. “I love you. And the kids. Tell them I said that, okay?” “Yes.” “Goodbye.” His wife waved. Tears began to spill from her eyes, but she wiped them away immediately. In the back of his mind, the thought ‘I can’t believe this is happening... I can’t believe this is happening.’ was repeating itself, as Durie was forced to turn his back on his house and his family. His life. As he reached the car, Durie turned back, numb. He couldn’t wave, but he never appreciated his wife more than the moment he was leaving her, perhaps forever. He climbed into the car silently, watching out the window as his wife, his house, and eventually the city were left behind.


May 30th, 2016 The Little Things “Mommy, can we go get some candy?” “No, not today. Maybe tomorrow we can go.” “But mommy!” “I said no Sarah.” Sarah groaned and headed to her room and closed the door behind her. Her mother sighed then went on with her daily task, cleaning the house. She vacuumed, washed the dishes, re-organized the bookshelves, and made the beds. By the time she was done all this it was 4:00 PM. She glanced at the clock. “Oh shit! I have to go to my interview soon.” She went over to her purse, opened it, and called the babysitter. Sarah was in her room playing with her dolls when her mother came in the room and told her the babysitter was coming. She kissed her daughter goodbye and left the house. Allyson was off to her first interview. She’d never had a job before, so this was a new thing for her and she was quite nervous. She looked at the time on her phone. 4:10 PM. Her interview is at 4:20 so she assumed she would have enough time to make it on time. She walked down her street, down another, and finally arrived on the street where her interview is. She was headed for the Tim Hortons door until she saw a poor man lying in a patch of grass. His clothes were rugged and covered in dirt. For a moment she just stood there looking at the man, until the man got up and looked over at her. She quickly turned away and went inside Tim Hortons. She checked the time again. 4:18, two minutes early. She noticed her boss in the back interviewing another women. The conversation seemed to be going well. Allyson began to feel like she would screw this interview up completely. Maybe this women was better than her. The interview ended and Allyson quickly put those thoughts to rest. Her boss noticed Allyson and called her to the back. Now it’s her turn to get interviewed. Allyson shook the boss’ hand and they both sat down. The boss started off with small talk, then got down to business. He asked a lot of questions, but Allyson realised it wasn’t as bad as she thought it’d be. The interview went by quickly and Allyson left with very high hopes. She knew she would get this job. As she was leaving she noticed that the homeless man was gone. She got home, and sent the babysitter on her way. The next day she got a call from her boss saying that she got the job. She went to work the day after, and the next day, and the next day after that. Each day she’d notice the homeless man outside of Tim Hortons. After weeks and weeks of working, one day at work she decided to buy the man a coffee and a bagel. She walked up to him and said “Hey, I got you some food. You like coffee and bagels?” The man smiled and replied “Yes, I love coffee and bagels. Thank you.” The next few days she kept getting the man coffee and bagels, each day he would very graciously accept the food and drink. One day she went to work, and by the end of her shift she went to give the man his coffee and bagel but he was nowhere to be found. She searched everywhere around Tim Hortons, but could not find him. “Are you looking for the old homeless man?” Allyson turned around and saw one of her fellow employees, Emily. “Do you know where he is?” replied Allyson. “I heard he was shot and killed last night sometime after your shift.” said Emily. Allyson dropped the coffee and bagel, then slowly walked home. As she was walking she thought of what she did to help him. She knew that it’s the little things that matter and at least she tried to help him.


"...and he burps. He doesn't even say 'Excuse me' anymore. Just yesterday he... he wanted to bed me and place his, you know..." The individual listening to this interaction, positioned on the end of the second row in a rather petite call center, waited for the caller to finish. "Ma'am? Are you still there? Place his 'You Know'...?" The call agent knew what the answer was but after a few years in this job, it's best to let the customer finish their statement. Sometimes it's out of necessity to never assume, sometimes it's to make them say it. "He wants to stick. His thing. In a place where it isn't supposed to be." The agent scratched above where the cheap foam of a call center headset met her upper ear lobe. This was going nowhere, other individuals were waiting for the 'Next Available Representative'. "To be blunt, you're saying he wants to stick his dick in your ass. Is that what you're saying?" A gasp. A pause. The agent continued, "And you don't want to do that. Because you're a princess. And that isn't what a princess does. And why would he want to do that to you? Are these all questions that you're mulling around right now? Does he also want to see a few of the peasant girls? How many times has he hit you smelling of alcohol?" When you've taken enough calls, you can recognize the sound of tears hitting a receiver. "If it's /that/ important to him, you'll do it or he will find someone else who does. That will put your contract in danger." When issuing the hot tears associated with true emotional pain, the human face does this weird thing where it's almost a caricature of a frown. The most unfortunate part is that they often elect this moment as the best time to talk, completely altering their diction. Through that face the caller half-whispered, "This isn't what I wanted." "I know. But you made a deal. How'd he save your life?" Another pause. "Curse. I was turned to stone for a hundred years. He heard of my beauty. Journeyed for a year to find me through the Blood Forest. The Wicked Queen met us there in the clearing where I was a statue. As he lay defeated at my feet, his tears touched the stone and I turned to flesh. He healed." "Tears of True Love package. That's what it's showing on your account. Unfortunately, you're in this until the contract is broken." The file also showed that the witch had been relocated to another story; however, Antagonist Relocation wasn’t her department and they kept notes on an entirely different system for the most part. With a shaky voice the caller asked, "What happens when I break the contract?" "I hope you're somewhere you want to stay a while," the representative said without missing a beat. There's a sound that humans make when they lose everything, when that last door closes, or when they realize there is no escape. That sound was followed by an abrupt and ear-splitting pop. After the three minute rule that necessitates checking once a minute to see if the caller is on the line, the representative disconnected the call. There was no question what had just happened and that would make the fourth call this week. While you know it isn't your fault entirely, it wears on you. She decided to take a smoke break. Just as she was about to press the buttons on her phone a voice echoed over the cubicles: "Glinda? Could you go into three?" When she pressed "1" on her phone, it was a break. Other buttons did other things but those weren't really important. The requested number "3" indicated a meeting with her supervisor. Of the two numbers she knew the meanings of, the one requested was her least favorite. Glinda stood from her uncomfortable chair and walked past several others to the cube of her GM, or Godmother. These individuals oversaw and reviewed the case interactions of the call agents. The GM offered Glinda a seat next to a pair of cheap headphones and said, "Grab a headset and let's review this last call you had." "I just listened to a young woman revise a story's moral. It's pretty fresh in my mind. What do you want to tell me to change or that I did wrong. I need a God damned cigarette." The GM's ever present aura of sparkles always sparkled less when confronted and cursing was always considered an act of confrontation. "Have your cigarette. We need to discuss your future with the company when you return." Glinda walked past 30 other women on her way to the door. She didn't look at anyone on the way out and only heard bits and pieces of them explaining that this was the deal, regardless of their knowledge than a binding agreement had been made; their curse debt was essentially transferred and there are rules.. She quit smoking a month ago but every time. Every time, it's this fucking place. A small area was allocated for smoking outside the center and, if you ignored that area and kept walking around the building, you would eventually wind up at the back of the building which was devoid of light pollution. You could see the Milky Way from here and, after her relocation, that was the only thing Glinda lived for: seeing something that large and feeling small because every other day she just felt small without seeing the profound immensity of the galaxy. Glinda used to protect a location known as Oz. Her sister did a number on it and as bad luck would have it genetics only granted her powers related to changing horse colors, fashion items, and bubble teleportation. The other two nautical directions did most of the fighting when It, proper noun intended, started. Glinda hid and cried often over the tortured citizens of Oz that she could not help. The action of smoking a cigarette was all muscle memory for Glinda. Without even processing the action she had flipped open the pack, extended a smoke with her thumb, grabbed it between her lips, flipped her lighter on her palm once to place the action at her thumb, and placed her cigarettes back into her pocket. "Bitch didn't even come from magic." Glinda was somewhat bitter over the moment that Oz was vindicated from the hands of the Wicked Witch of the West. A lucky shot followed by literally winning through blunders. Dorothy was a sweet girl but sweet girls always cause the most problems. After Dorothy left, Glinda was sort of in an uncomfortable role. The inhabitants of the area already knew she was fully incapable of protecting the realm. And that Oz refused to. For a month the Munchkins would coagulate at bars too small for humans to enter. The night it happened, Glinda watched as 50 Munchkins surrounded Oz -- her hot air balloon quickly ascending. She ducked behind the wicker of the basket. To this day she doesn't know what that first strike was upon his body -- but the sound of it vividly haunts her dreams every now and then. It was guttural and a forceful expulsion of air encountering a profound amount of liquid. It sounded like a man being forcefully drowned and he didn’t know why. They were yards away from the main fountain and candy canes had been disappearing for two weeks. The ‘didn’t know why’ part was quite valid, though. Oz had an awful system in terms of political power. Distrust for a populace of ‘savages’. A magician who ruled through parlor tricks. When the antagonist that held everyone’s attention was defeated, change was in the air. The revolt the Munchkins set up a completely functional form of Parliamentary Democracy. The last time she heard, they had managed to start a space program. Glinda didn't even know if those planets out there were real. Guess they'll find out. Glinda was standing to the side of a call center that was, for the most part, a reception and support line for brokered deals between Godmothers and whomever was destitute enough to take up the offer. The talking mice? The dancing laundry? The subtle hints that your prince charming uses to make sure he doesn't quest himself into the sea? That's all under contract. When a woman accepts the first portions of that assistance, they are locked in an agreement of varying gravity to both the prince in question and to Glinda's corporation. God Mothers were also notorious for working both ends of the game. That prince didn't just appear and vast sums of money had been allocated to ensure that a proper prince had a proper trophy story for his trophy wife. Glinda remembered her first day, looking at the Human Resources manager, and saying that the practice seemed somewhat heartless. The Godmother looked Glinda straight in her eyes and asked if she honestly thought turning a pumpkin into a carriage was effortless. Glendia had never turned a pumpkin into a carriage. She remembered that royal carriage they used to utilize on special occasions. She remembered the royal guard of Oz being dragged behind it -- members of the Lollipop Guild riding on the bodies like sleds as the pack of horses ran through the cobblestone streets. They never changed colors the whole time, remaining black as night. She remembered trying to remind herself that this was an interview and now she was crying and now... The Godmother's formerly stern scrutiny faded into empathy, false or legitimate. "You haven't been gone long, have you?" It had been around three months and after the transition, especially in the case of populace reformation in the power vacuum of an evil ruler, things happen. Those things necessitate therapy before entering into the workforce. Staring up at the Milky Way and remembering this, Glinda had neglected to notice that her cigarette was now burning into the filter. Now her hand was going to smell like that all night. She placed the butt into the trash can and walked in, passing the Indian analogs of 'Good Witches'. Their multiple hands somewhat limited their ability to be accepted in the workforce and, even after saving entire lands and protecting kingdoms from evil: princesses would still ask for someone who spoke English. She sat back down at her desk in the Saves Department. In sales that term is intended for accounts where the customer wants to drop service. Similar concept. This is where the Good Witches ended up: begging princesses not to end it all or run away risking a very real Early Termination Fee. The department offered commissions; however, the success rate dictated an hourly wage. Sitting on Glinda's keyboard, wedged between the 'qwerty' and 'asdf' rows of keys, a piece of paper. 'The Road Takes You Where You Want It' These words, written in gold leaf. An image of a a road spiraling into the center of the card -- each brick also adorned with a small square of gold. The Godmother popped up behind her, startling Glinda nearly to dropping the piece of paper. Someone told her that you get used to that after your first year. "Why don't you go home early. You seem like you need a rest and we'll talk about that call tomorrow." That really wasn't a request so much as a command and Glinda treated it as such. She gathered her belongings, placed them into her purse, and exited the building. In the quiet peace of the late-late evening, playfully bordering just on the cusp of morning, she made her way to the bus stop adjacent to the center. Glinda sat down waiting for the bus to take her home. She stared at the card, unable to focus on anything but the spiral and the lack of sparkle in each progressively smaller brick. The seemingly-wide and inviting starting point leading to an inevitable singularity bereft of gold. There is a sound that humans make when they lose everything, when that last door closes, or when they realize there is no escape. That sound accompanied the irregular beat produced by tears tarnishing gold foil as Glinda waited for the bus. When you've taken enough calls, you can recognize the sound of tears hitting a receiver.