FEEDBACK WELCOME There was a flash, and only for a brief moment, the sky was engulfed by a white light. The light collapsed into the middle of the sky until there was nothing left of it. The sky became devoid of colour, apart from a few drifting clouds which surfaced the sky’s canvas. The sound of thunder rolled its way through the ground and Escanor’s eyelids opened slowly. He was wearing blackened armour; however, his helmet had been separated from him, revealing his face. As his vision slowly focused, he felt something lightly tap his nose. Escanor began to notice the sensation of his hair becoming damp as the rain quickened in pace. He had burnt-orange hair and a moustache that reached the corners of either side of his lip. The right side of his head ached in pain, it felt like a stone was lodged deep within his head and something sharp was growing erratically towards his right ear. Stuck in a state of confusion, he tried to remember what he had been doing before he woke up. He recalled that he was a knight serving under King Arthur’s rule and was a part of the 9th Legion. They had been ordered by King Arthur to go to Sussex where rumours had been circulating about the spotting of giants. But, what had happened to everyone? He attempted to sit up, but the burning in his muscles caused him to struggle. He was built a lot stronger than the other knights, some liked to call him ‘The Lion’, but now it felt like his body was a magnet pulling him towards the ground. He reached out to the side of him for support and his hand became submerged in the wetness of the mud. Using all his effort, he pushed himself off the ground and onto his feet. The sound of the stiff pieces of his armour clanking against one another came to an abrupt stop as he found his balance. Escanor lifted his head and his heart nearly forgot how to beat. Soldiers lay scattered around some of them had been impaled by clubs that were three meters long, others had their heads and limbs completely torn off. Streaks of crimson red brushed the tips of the grass and mixed with the wetness of the dirt to form translucent puddles of blood. Off in the near distance, he spotted a fallen castle made of stone. A feeling of eeriness washed over him and his gaze quickly left the castle. He scanned the battlefield once more to see if perhaps one of his comrades, at the very least, had survived. “Anyone alive?” He yelled but as soon as he spoke his lungs failed him and he fell short of breath. The feeling that he felt then was one he was too familiar with. All of the world’s weight came crashing down on his heart and his lips began to tremble out of control. Of all of his comrades and friends in the 9th Legion, why did he deserve to stay alive? Did he even deserve to live, or was it pure chance? He wanted to escape this hell he wanted to be free alongside his comrades. He felt like his perception of reality was slipping, almost as if his consciousness was being separated from his body. He wished that his heart would crush under the pressure, but no such luck came; instead, the feeling continued torturing him. A laugh, so loud that it shook the trees in the distance and vibrated the ground, snapped him back into reality. His knees buckled. He was sure the laugh came from the castle. Reluctantly, he tilted his head and scanned the demolished castle. This time, however, he spotted a group of large figures. The entrance, which had completely collapsed, revealed the group sitting in the inner ward. Eight of them were gathered in a circle around a small fire. They all wore stained loincloths and some of them had wooden clubs resting on their wide shoulders. There was no doubt that they were the giants that had been rumoured about. Escanor unsheathed his sword. He let the sword fall by his side and the tip of the sword just scratched the mud. He began walking towards the castle. As he dragged his sword through the mud, he saw so many familiar faces; each one spawned memories of their previous battles, their training days and the laughs they shared when they were children. He felt something crawl down his cheek and at first, he thought it was the rain. He rubbed his eyes with his hand and felt a tear. As the following tear escaped, the rest of the tears began flowing out at an unexpected rate. He lifted his head back and looked at the sky where the same feeling of emptiness lingered. He tightened the grip of his sword and wiped the tears of his eyes. The sorrow that had pervaded his soul was being drained and rage was starting to fill in. He wasn’t going to let any of those memories die in vain, he was going to redeem his comrades. He stood on the rubble which was once the entrance of the castle and stared at the giants. The laughter continued, only now he could feel the walls and ground trembling. One of the giants turned its head and Escanor almost His face was puffy and large. He showed emotions of both confusion and joy, like he wasn’t sure what to think about his new meal that just showed up out of nowhere. “Ah, one of you survived I see.” The giant mocked, “Come to die have you?” Escanor said nothing and continued to glare at the giant. The other giants turned around, all curious. Their eyes drew towards Escanor’s sword and soon, all of them burst into laughter. “You’ve come to kill us?” One of the other giants sneered, “Good luck tryi-”. Escanor leapt forward with all his strength and with one clean swing of his sword, the giant’s upper body slid off. The other giants stood in awe and for a few seconds, the only sound that could be heard was the rain hitting the pale stone. Behind him, one of the giants swung their clubs at him while yelling frantically. Escanor ducked and rolled to the side. He swept his sword toward the giant’s feet and the giant toppled over. He bent his legs, launched and slashed the giant’s neck. The giants were in shock, but they attacked reluctantly regardless. Escanor turned towards the six remaining giants charging his way. His sword and armour were stained with blood, but he hadn’t avenged his comrades yet. Thinking about his friends he had lost filled him up with a new energy, one he had never experienced before. Using that energy as a harness, Escanor fought like a demon. Swinging left, dodging to the right, rolling, thrusting upwards, jumping he felt invincible. He continued fighting until only one of the giants remained. “You’re - you’re a monster!” The giant squealed, attempting to run away. He threw his sword like a spear at the giant’s back and the giant tumbled over on a pile of fallen stones. Escanor grinned, and then that grin turned into uncontrolled, insane laughter. That’s when he knew he had been reborn into a cruel world, into a living hell.


All Hallows Eve, a perfect night for revenge. Halloween, a night that represents candy and fun to some and demons and witchcraft to others. While the children and adults alike walk around the neighborhoods in costumes varying from rotting zombies to pretty princesses, teens sit in their basement, summoning ghosts and performing rituals, thinking they are too cool for trick or treating. Which is exactly what makes this night the perfect night for revenge. We have been planning this for months. We all knew that popularly obnoxious Finn would be throwing his annual Halloween party, not that any of us had ever actually been invited. It has been this way for years. We are considered the weird kids. We are the artists, theater kids, gamers, tech wizards, pranksters, and sci-fi nerds. We may be weird, but we are not a group to be messed with, and frankly, we are tired of being bullied. It was time for us to have our revenge. Everything was planned to the letter. We had an operative on the inside, Maddy, who technically wasn’t one of the “weird kids” but was the older sister of one. She was sick of watching her baby brother get bullied at school and agreed to help us. She was on the inside, having actually been invited to the party, dressed as you might guess in a skintight spandex suit, leather jacket, and DIY utility belt as a secret agent (so discreet). Her job was to bolster a little bit of fear into the party goers. She was going to just happen to stumble upon a website that shows the spooky history of houses. Of course, this information was being fed to her by Rachel, our resident ghost writer who was currently sick at home. Rachel had an unhealthy fascination with horror. She had seen movies so scary and intense it would not be allowed in my house. She seemed cold and distant to most, and I will admit, she scared me at first. She mostly stuck to her own company, but she had become fond and accepting of our group. We at least knew none of us would turn up dead in one of her novels. While Rachel was at home inventing stories, I was walking by the house, monitoring the goings on. I was playing the role of outside surveillance, keeping things in line, and making sure everything went according to plan. I figured no one was bound to recognize me in my inflatable T-rex costume. I probably looked so ridiculous that I would be easily overlooked, which is exactly what I was going for. The costume was hot, especially in this Florida heat, but it was great for hiding my surveillance gear. I had my binoculars out as I spied through the plastic covered eye hole in my costume. Honestly, this house was the perfect setting for our little prank. It was a two-story wooden looking home painted a light grey that appeared spooky in the dark. The trees and shrubs were well trimmed, and the grass cut. The house stood proud with its little porch and its rocking chairs, the balcony hanging over and shading the porch, and shutters lining the windows. It looked like the stereotypical haunted house, just before the haunting. It even had fake cobwebs and plastic skeletons climbing the railings. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out to read the message, the light blinding in the surrounding darkness. From Rachel. They asked about the house. Teenagers were too predictable. We gave Maddy a simple job. All she had to do was introduce the idea of a website that came up the with the spooky origins of each house and then read the made-up stories that were fed to her by Rachel. We gave her one rule. No matter what, she was never to bring up the idea of searching Finn’s house. This was to protect her, so they would never figure out she was an accomplice. We knew she didn’t have to bring it up anyways. You know what they say, curiosity killed the cat. We were relying on that same curiosity. Someone was bound to ask the spooky origins of Finn’s house, and when they did, it would be the death of them. It seems we had predicted right. My fingers flew across the keyboard on my phone and I pressed send. On cue, the lights of the house went out, and a collective scream rang out from the house. The fun had only just begun. We were riding on the premise that not one of the teenagers in that house knew what a circuit breaker was, where it was, or what to do with it. It was not exactly a stretch, and our hypothesis was quickly proven to be true. With the house blanketed in complete darkness it was time to send in the skeletons. The wide eyes of the teenagers peeked out the windows as they crowded together to get a closer look. I knew as of right now, all they saw was a T-rex standing in the middle of the street, facing the house. They couldn’t see me, or my binoculars. And besides, Halloween was the one day where standing in the street in an inflatable T-rex costume wasn’t considered suspicious. I hit send. Connor, our theater kid parkour artist, creeped to the edge of the balcony, let loose a couple of plastic skeletons he had tied to the railings, so they looked like they were dropping off the roof. He also dropped some plastic bones by themselves for an extra effect. Connor was a very athletic boy with a background in gymnastics. He was constantly jumping over things and climbing up places that probably shouldn’t be climbed. He had a love for musical theater, which is why he was considered one of the weird kids. He was good too as he could both sing and dance beautifully. It was too bad he was shamed for it. But his climbing skills had come into good use, especially since none of the rest of us could dream of climbing the roof. The teens were startled by the skeletons, but no screams emerged. We knew this was only the beginning of our revenge plan. We had more in store for them, they would just have to wait and see. It was time to bring in the ghosts. Now, when I say ghosts, I do not mean the sheet ghosts that you see in that popular trend they just brought back. What I mean by ghosts is a couple of nerds dressed up in ripped grey clothing and white face and body paint. There was a street light close enough to the house that would give just enough light to make their backyard creepy and give us an eerie look. This was my cue. I exited the street and quickly dumped my T-rex costume, with help from Ollie, a gamer who just happened to know how a circuit breaker works. Ollie was actually really funny, though most people would never know. He loved to game, and we would often come over to his house to play. We were terrible, but he never said a word. He liked to crack jokes and he was full of knowledge most people would find useless. Who would have thought we would need someone who knew how a circuit breaker worked? I certainly didn’t, but it is incredibly useful. We entered the backyard, clothed in our ghost costumes with a little bit of fluorescent silver glitter to make up appear shimmery in the darkness, like a mirage, our phone blasting your top of the line “ghost sounds,” like anyone knew what a ghost sounded like. The sounds drew the teenagers to the window where they met their second horror. This time we got screams as we were noticed, shimmering in and out of the darkness. In sync, we turned our heads and marched to the windows. Of course, we were only the distraction. We had given Maddy one more important job in all of this, to open the door. So, while we had all the teenagers inside distracted by the skeletons and the ghosts, she was to leave the door open for our last crew of nightmares. We set the last part of our plan in motion. We sent in Liz and Jackie, our tech girl and our prankster. They built things with their hands and made things work. Their job was probably the hardest, they had to make things happen and we did not give them much time to do it. They were dressed to blend in with the party, in pirate couple costumes, and had previously gone unnoticed. Given only the few minutes Connor, Ollie, and I made for them, they set to work setting up a holographic projector at the end of one of the halls, setting things up to fall, and creating the greatest part of our illusion. They had to scurry around in the chaos without drawing attention. They could be called out if someone just happened to catch them moving around the house while everyone else was concerned with the hauntings going on outside. Luckily, those two are good at sneaking around and avoiding detection. They get themselves into a lot of trouble, but they rarely ever get caught. Everyone knows it is those two, but the teachers and principal can hardly ever prove it. Without evidence, they get off quite often, much more than they should. Once again, we put our climber to use. Remember that streetlight I mentioned earlier. Guess who had just climbed the pole and was messing with the light? We didn’t want to accidentally break the light, so Connor was just supposed to cover the light with a dark blanket for a few seconds to create a flickering effect. As soon as that happened, the yard would go dark, and we would have about two seconds to bail out of sight in complete darkness. The light flickered and we dashed away from the sight of the window. We only knew we had been successful from the blood curdling screams that shook the house. Time to bring this party to a close. We scurried around the side of the house to the front door, where a sliver of light peeked from the thin opening. I watched a couple of kids fade into the night as they bailed from the party. Smart kids. They would probably survive a horror film, unlike the other idiots in the house. We grabbed our sheets from Connor who met us at the door, and we slinked into the chaos, just in time too. Liz and Jackie had done an absolutely beautiful job. The show had just begun. A cascade of plastic cups came sliding off the countertops onto the tile flooring. Heads turned and teens jumped. They were trembling, mumbling prayers or complete nonsense (I’m not sure which) under their breaths, holding up finger crosses, and hiding behind a few brave or stupid (it really is a fine line) people. One poor soul had passed out on the floor. I felt kind of bad, but at the same time, not really. The group turned and rushed for the door, which I quickly slammed shut with my foot. It was almost pitch black and they were too concerned with the door to see me. No one bothered to check to see if the door had actually locked. Predictable. They just turned and ran up the stairs, only to be met by our holographic ghost, which really wasn’t all that great, but it didn’t have to be, they were already scared to death. The faded whispers of ghosts echoes through the room. The sentences and phrases could barely be made out, but if anyone listened closely enough, they would only hear a stupid conversation we had with each other in what he thought was a ghost whisper. We had agreed that this was more of a realistic ghost sound than the stereotypical moaning. It seems the party goers agreed. They scuffled down the stairs, tripping and trampling over each other. Several tumbled down the stairs as they were tripped or pushed. Utter chaos had erupted, mixed with the screams, whimpers, and tears of the scared to death teens. Our extravaganza had finally reached its finale. Liz and Jackie had planned from the beginning where the most important pieces of our show would be placed in the house. We all knew our places. We took the stage and turned this cookie cutter house on the block into a real nightmare. The house was dark with plenty of hiding places. It didn’t take much setting up, only needing a few key cords in place to create the illusion. We created the perfect house haunting, pulling and pushing furniture, swinging and slamming doors, knocking non-breakable objects onto the floor (we weren’t monsters), moving things, and overall, just making a lot of noise and chaos. One final ear-splitting scream emerged from the crowd. Girlfriends clung to their boyfriends necks, people trembled in fear, several covered their eyes or ear mumbling under their breaths, and one idiot demanded to know what the ghosts wanted. This was it, our time to make an appearance. Connor, Ollie, and I dubbed our other ghost costumes, throwing the sheets over our heads and stepping from our hiding places. Ollie held up a tablet that was currently video chatting with Rachel, who had also dubbed a sheet over her head. It was this moment that these gullible teens finally figured out this whole thing was a prank. Liz and Jackie stomped down the stairs in sheet ghost disguise. Liz was holding the holographic projector and Jackie a spool of string. They stared at us, eyes wide and mouths agape, in shock and realization of what had actually just happened. No one moved, fearful of the other tricks we might have up our sleeves. We didn’t have to say a word. They all probably knew who we were, even with our ghost disguises, though I bet not one of them knew our names. Rachel, Connor, Ollie, Liz, Jackie, and me, Aubrey. The artist, theater kid, gamer, tech wiz, prankster, and sci-fi nerd. We were the outcasts and the troublemakers. They all knew this was payback for the years of torment they made us go through. So, not one of us said a word, because we didn’t have to. We had shown them tonight what we were made of. We had put our collective skills to work and created a Halloween extravaganza no one was likely to soon forget. Of course, we knew things would not end here. The bullying would never end, but we had had our moment and we were proud. We had tasted revenge and it was sweet. We could hear the sirens in the distance as one of the neighbors apparently called the cops. I wonder why? We figured it was our time to depart. Like after every great performance, we joined hands and took a bow, before marching straight out that door and into the night.


In 2016, America elected a President so exceedingly fond of walls that he spent all his money designing one. He cared nothing about reviewing his soldiers, going to the theatre, or even riding in his golf cart, except to show off his new wall designs. He had a wall plan for every mile of the border, and instead of saying, as one might, about any other ruler, "The President’s meeting with his Cabinet," here they always said. "The President is looking at his border wall plans." In the great city where he lived, Washington DC, life was always gay. Every day, many strangers came to town, and among them one day came two politicians, Nancy and Chuck. They let it be known they were wall designers, and they said they could build the most magnificent wall imaginable. Not only were their colors and patterns uncommonly fine, but walls made of this material had a wonderful way of becoming invisible to anyone who was unfit for his office, or who was unusually stupid. "That would be just the wall design for me," thought the President. "If I built it, I would be able to discover which men in my Republic are unfit for their posts. And I could tell the wise men from the fools. Yes, I certainly must get some of the wall built for me right away." He paid the two politicians a large sum of money to end the shutdown and start work at once. They set up two factories and pretended to manufacture the materials needed for the wall, though there was nothing in the factories. All the finest bricks and the purest mortar which they demanded went into renovating the Capitol and other federal projects, while they worked the empty factories far into the night. "I'd like to know how those politicians are getting on with the wall," the President thought, but he felt slightly uncomfortable when he remembered that those who were unfit for their position would not be able to see the wall. It couldn't have been that he doubted himself, yet he thought he'd rather send someone else to see how things were going. The whole country knew about the wall's peculiar power, and all were impatient to find out how stupid their neighbors were. "I'll send my honest old Vice President, Mike, to the designers," the President decided. "He'll be the best one to tell me how the wall looks; for he's a sensible man and no one does his duty better." So the honest old VP went to the room where the two politicians sat working away in their empty factory. "Heaven help me," he thought as his eyes flew wide open, "I can't see anything at all". But he did not say so. Both the politicians begged him to be so kind as to come near to approve the excellent pattern, the beautiful colors. They pointed to the empty brick ovens and mortar mixers, and the poor old Vice President stared as hard as he dared. He couldn't see anything, because there was nothing to see. "Heaven have mercy," he thought. "Can it be that I'm a fool? I'd have never guessed it, and not a soul must know. Am I unfit to be the Vice President? It would never do to let on that I can't see the wall." "Don't hesitate to tell us what you think of it," said one of the politicians. "Oh, it's beautiful -it's enchanting." The old VP peered through his spectacles. "Such a design, what colors!" I'll be sure to tell the President how delighted I am with it." "We're pleased to hear that," the politicians said. They proceeded to name all the brick colors and to explain the intricate design. The old Vice President paid the closest attention, so that he could tell it all to the President. And so he did. The politicians at once asked for more money, more bricks and mortar mix, to get on with the wall construction. But it all went into other federal projects. Not a grain of sand went into the bricks or mortar, though they worked at their wall construction as hard as ever. The President presently sent another trustworthy official, Sen. Graham, to see how the work progressed and how soon it would be ready. The same thing happened to him that had happened to the Vice President. He looked and he looked, but as there was nothing to see in the factories he couldn't see anything. "Isn't it a beautiful wall?" the politicians asked him, as they displayed and described their imaginary design. "I know I'm not stupid," Sen. Graham thought, "so it must be that I'm unworthy of my good office. That's strange. I mustn't let anyone find it out, though." So he praised the material he did not see. He declared he was delighted with the beautiful brick colors and the exquisite design. To the President he said, "It held me spellbound." The entire city was talking of this splendid wall, and the President wanted to see it for himself while it was still in the factory. Attended by a band of chosen men, among whom were his two old trusted officials - the ones who had been to the factory - he set out to see the two politicians. He found them working with might and main, but without a brick in sight. "Magnificent," said the two officials already duped. "Just look, Mr. President, what colors! What a design!" They pointed to the empty factory, each supposing that the others could see the stuff. "What's this?" thought the President. "I can't see anything. This is terrible! Am I a fool? Am I unfit to be the President? What a thing to happen to me of all people! - Oh! It's very pretty," he said. "It has my highest approval." And he nodded approbation at the empty factory floor. Nothing could make him say that he couldn't see a wall. His whole retinue stared and stared. One saw no more than another, but they all joined the President in exclaiming, "Oh! It's very pretty," and they advised him to have a grand opening ceremony for a section of the wall at the Mexican border. "Magnificent! Excellent! Unsurpassed!" were bandied from mouth to mouth, and everyone did his best to seem well pleased. The President gave each of the politicians a button, with the title, "Grand Wall Designer." Before the ceremony, the politicians sat up all night and burned more than six candles, to show how busy they were finishing the President's new wall. They pretended to measure the bricks and finish the mortar. They made cuts in the air with huge trowels. And at last they said, "Now the President's new wall is ready for him." Then the President himself came with his Cabinet to El Paso, and the politicians each raised an arm as if they were pointing to something. They said, "These are the bricks, here's the mortar, and this is the mantle," naming each part of the wall. "All of the components are manufactured of the lightest materials, but with maximum strength. One would almost think it wasn’t a wall, but that's what makes it so fine." "Exactly," all the Cabinet agreed, though they could see nothing, for there was nothing to see, except a big sign that said, “Trump’s Magnificent Wall”. Chuck and Nancy threw a huge curtain over the sign and the section of the ‘wall’ to be opened. "If the President will condescend to pull the curtain and reveal the wall," said the politicians, "all the attendees of your Trump Rally will see what a magnificent wall we have constructed." The President pulled the curtain and the politicians pretended to show him the wall. They took him for a tour of the wall, pointing out the features. "How well the President’s wall looks. Isn’t it becoming?!" He heard on all sides, "That design, so perfect! Those brick colors, so suitable! It is a magnificent wall." Then the Press Secretary, Sarah Huckabee Sanders, announced: "The President’s rally attendees are waiting to see the wall." "Well, I'm supposed to be ready," the President said, and turned again for one last look at the wall. "It is a remarkable wall, isn't it?" He seemed to regard his wall with the greatest interest. The Cabinet members who were in attendance stooped low and reached for the floor as if they were picking up some bricks. Then they pretended to lift and hold them high. They didn't dare admit they had nothing to hold. So off went the President to his rally. Everyone in the crowd declared, "Oh, how fine is the President’s new wall! Doesn’t it fit the border to perfection? And see how long it is!" Nobody would confess that he couldn't see anything, for that would prove him either unfit for his position, or a fool. No wall the President had displayed before was ever such a complete success. "But there isn’t a wall!" John Kelly said. "Did you ever hear such innocent prattle?" said VP Mike. But the crowd all began to whisper to one another, "There isn’t a wall. John Kelly says there isn’t a wall." "But there isn’t a wall!" the whole city cried out at last. The President shivered, for he suspected they were right. But he thought, "This rally has got to go on." So he walked more proudly than ever, as his Cabinet held high the bricks that weren’t there at all. So, from the utterance of John Kelly, the country came to realize that there was, in fact, no such thing as Trump’s Magnificent Wall. But that is how Chuck and Nancy brought the shutdown to an end. Trump had his ‘wall’ and the federal government got its funding and all lived happily ever after...well, until the next shutdown.


The wind howls and the bitter cold bites hard. Slivers of ice stab my cheeks as I make my way to the back of the taxi to gather our luggage from the trunk. Inside the airport I hold tight to my ten-year old brother’s hand as we wait to board our flight. Squinting to see the snow flying beyond the darkened airport windows, I’m obsessed with Mother Nature’s merciless wrath on this wild moonless October night. Once on board the Boeing 737-500, I try to unchain myself from endless months of stress; all that non-stop rushing around, pushing through uncertainty, and madly forging ahead adrenaline pumping through my arteries. I switch gears and allow the bliss that we are finally here and the coziness of the plane to envelope me like a hug from a loved one. Though I have mixed feelings, I’m pretty sure I’m grateful they decided not to cancel this flight. Seated comfortably by the window, I feel the slow burn of the white wine first make its way into my bloodstream and then into my head and, when I turn to smile at Aiden where he’s sitting next to me intrigued by his iPad, I feel the heat of it bloom across my cheeks. This is when she will come to me, her memory resurrected in my mind once again. I must hang on to her even if it’s not really her but just her spirit floating on the fringes of my life. Not tangible, no, it’s not like I can hug her or kiss her forehead or squeeze her hand anymore. None of those opportunities will ever present themselves to me again. But holding her in my heart... well... at least it’s better than nothing. Please Mom, I think to myself, be pain-free and happy in Heaven, or wherever you wanted to end up after the cancer chewed you up and spit you out. If I were being honest, I would have to admit that even though it was expected, somehow our mom’s passing, when she eventually succumbed to the disease, the villainous stage four leukemia, still came as a shock. Maybe it was because during her suffering my dad began to snap at us more, yell at us more, and then stay away from us more, until one day he was just... gone for good. It was mine and Aiden’s love, and my mom’s deep commitment to her faith that enabled the three of us to get through it without him. It was that same love that empowered the remaining two of us to keep going afterwards. Boarding this flight was meant to prove that. But now I’m starting to question why I chose this date, this Halloween night, an evening with violent weather raging across the desolate Saskatchewan prairies to fly to Seattle. That’s where Aiden and I are going to start our brand-new life far away from where the ghosts of both our parents may or may not remain. Saskatoon holds an abundance of heartbreaking memories now and though my dad is still a living breathing human being, he’s essentially become nothing but a mere whisper of the past to us. As for my mom, other than loving her always, even in death, we are in a way bringing her with us to start a new resting-in-peace-chapter for her. Just the thought of carrying her ashes across so many miles to sprinkle them along the bluffs of Puget Sound, a place she had always loved as a child, has new beginnings written all over it. So, fierce weather and Halloween or not, I realize it’s no use second guessing myself, that ship has already sailed, or rather, that plane has already taken off. As the jet soars through the ether at ten past eleven on a Friday night filled with ordinary people like us, I sip my wine and talk to Aiden like he’s ten going on nineteen, my age, because in a lot of ways he is. Wise beyond his years and so easy-going I sometimes must remind myself that he’s not just my best friend but also a kid who I will raise on my own from this point forward. I’m just about to tell him this when an abrupt buzzing sound rips through my ears. Like a thousand killer bees swarming inside my skull, it’s so loud and painful that I can’t help but press my hands to my ears and shake my head to make it stop. When I look around the plane, I’m stunned to see everyone else is doing the same thing. Amid that torment, the lights on the plane start flashing neon silver, like a strobe pulsing around the dance floor of a nightclub. Then they go out. The entire cabin is plunged into an eerie darkness, something I’ve never, in all my years of constant travelling, experienced before. People begin to scream. From the direction of the cockpit, I spot the silhouette of a person waving their arms around and yelling that the pilot is dead. “He’s bloody and not moving,” the steward, I presume, breaks down in sobs and then grabs his head again as the buzzing continues. Instinctively, I wrap my fingers around the small crucifix hanging on a chain from my neck, it used to be my mom’s ruby-studded gold cross, and I pray like I’ve never prayed before. That’s when the buzzing stops and the plane begins to jostle like a building on land in the middle of an earthquake. Except we are not on land, we are still high above the clouds and seemingly gaining altitude. Inside the pit of my stomach, it feels like an elevator car shooting upwards at full throttle to the top of a high rise. The shrieks grow louder and both Aiden and I begin to weep openly as we grab each other’s hands. All I can think is that what goes up must come down. Everyone shouts at once. “Who’s flying the plane?” “Oh, don’t let the co-pilot be dead too. There is a co-pilot, right?” “Are we all gonna die on this bird?” “Is this because it’s Friday and we boarded out of gate thirteen and it’s Halloween?” “If any of you survive this and I die, please tell my wife Stephanie that I love her. My name’s Sean.” “Is this someone’s idea of a Halloween joke to scare us? It’s not funny, there are young children on this flight.” “It must be a Halloween stunt, everyone relax. They’re messing with us; this can’t be real.” “Don’t be ridiculous, the airline would not do something this dangerous and despicable to any passenger, never mind little kids. It is real, we’re all gonna crash to our deaths.” A few more minutes of that, voices over top of other voices, exclamations, declarations and a few very colorful expletives and it becomes background noise to me as I try to tune it out and bring my face close to Aiden’s. I cup his smooth-skinned baby cheeks in my hands and kiss them with three or four loud smooches. Then I take hold of his hands and look into his tear-filled hazel eyes. I tell him that I love him and that what’s important right now is we have each other. I ask him with my own flooded eyes spilling over if he understands that. He nods though his lips quiver with fear. As I drain the rest of my glass, the apple flavored notes of the wine sliding down my throat, the loud chorus of voices around Aiden and me abruptly... stops. It’s so quiet the silence truly is deafening. My ears have a hard time adjusting to it because it seems so unnatural all the sudden and makes no sense whatsoever. But then again, none of this does. A second later the lights slowly come on. Strange, dim illuminations glow like candlelight, I swear I can see the flickering flames reflected in the glass of the unshuttered windowpanes. In fact, as I squint at all the windows along the rows of seats on each side of the plane, I see shimmers of tangerine and scarlet-red dancing on the end of an invisible wick. This is the only source of faint and shadowy light we have been granted. Still, it’s enough for Aiden and me to see that the plane is now completely empty. At least in the vicinity of where my brother and I are sitting. All the passengers that were in front of us, behind us, to the side of us are longer there. Only things left behind on some of their seats remain: a deep plum-colored silk shawl, a Mickey Mouse sippy cup, a copy of The Hunger Games, and many, many cell phones. Everyone has disappeared, and if this is as real as it is surreal, I’m beginning to feel the dread in the form of a physical pain in my chest, like pressure in the lungs from running too fast. Somehow this kicks my reflexes into survival mode. “We’ve got to find out who, if anyone, is flying this thing Aiden. We have to be brave and go into that cockpit and make sure there is a co-pilot or someone trained who is actually behind the controls of this plane and that we are not just on autopilot because I don’t even really know how safe that is, and, oh God, please let there be a live person there, I don’t know the first thing about flying a plane.” I talk fast, breathlessly spewing out a million words without pausing, trying to make him understand as I undo our seatbelts, then grab his hand and pull him towards the cockpit. As our boots clop down the narrow isle, I feel something crunch beneath my left heal and look down to see shards of broken clay pottery everywhere. Unique Indigo blue Talavera pottery, there’s no mistaking it’s the urn housing my mother’s ashes. When I look up, I gasp and jump back, my pulse racing. There, right in front of me, swims an iridescent vision of my mom’s delicate facial features partially concealed under a lacy white wedding veil, framed by her once long honey-hued lustrous locks of hair. The entity or my mom or whatever it is, lunges at me and seeps into my skin, I can feel it burn like acid, and then jumps right back out again dissolving into the door of the cockpit. Like the proverbial ripping off the bandage, I throw open the door to the cockpit where the pilot is supposedly lying exposed in a gory death. Which he is. So, I don’t look too much lest I puke up the wine that tasted so good and went down so well only mere moments ago. But there’s someone else in the cockpit too. The co-pilot, his back turned to us, sitting calmly and without a care in the world munching on pretzels and washing them down with a coke and... flying the plane. Flying the plane . It’s much too soon to be relieved though, of course it is. Before I can totally let go of the panic, a frostiness, complete with sparkling ice crystals, fills the air and both Aiden and I see our breath plume from our mouths. I touch the co-pilot’s shoulder and he swivels his chair around to face me. Suddenly, everything begins tilting sideways and I feel nauseous and dizzy like a wave of motion sickness just hit me. I sense I’m about to faint though somehow, I force myself not to. It’s a gory sight that accosts me. The cockpit is flooded with fluorescent lighting making it easy to see the distortion of his features, his bulging skull, his face void of skin in some areas and peeling flesh in others. Grotesquely disproportionate eye sockets are huge and charcoal black with fresh blood oozing from them. Blood splatter is everywhere, huge globs of it on the instrument panel, seats, windscreen, and all over his head, his hair is matted with it. The metallic smell of it makes me gag. Sharp fangs fill his mouth dripping with brown saliva. Opening that mouth, he says “darling, I’m here to help you”, in the exact voice of my dead mother. With a spine-tingling shiver I haven’t felt so intensely since the violinist at the funeral played the first notes of Amazing Grace, I back away from the ghastly apparition. My heart thwacks in my chest and amidst the lightheadedness, I realize that I’m on the verge of losing consciousness once again, this time almost falling to my knees which I know I can’t afford to do. If there’s any one person on this plane that I must save, it’s my brother. Gathering my wits about me, pushing aside the terror of this haunting, I confront the thing my mother has turned into, head on. Everything about her now is wrong, everything she has become feels wrong; this is not the person I loved from infancy. My mother was always a sweet, kind, gentle soul, the type of lady who brought home stray cats and dogs on a regular basis. And even though she may have unleashed a demon that’s hungry for flesh and bone, somewhere past the evil, I think the real her can still be reached. “Mom. Are you in there?” I call as loud as I can trying to connect with her soul where it’s buried underneath the carnage. I hear a crack of thunder and see a flash of lightning bolt across the sky through the front window. Immediately the nose of the plane points downwards sending us into a spiral as we descend at breakneck speed. Both Aiden and I grab hold of the first thing we can while the bouncing plane continues to fall. A rattling noise like a giant washing machine stuck on the spin cycle clangs through the air, as the earth surely rises to meet us. Aiden starts sobbing loud hiccupping cries of anguish and only slightly stifles his moans when the ghost growls at me. “You will not hand that precious child over to him. You will not. You must fight. If you don’t make me a solemn promise that you won’t let him go, I will not cross over and I will not leave you be. Don’t let him take my son, my precious child away from my other precious child. Don’t give him away, Taylor, please.” “Who, mom? Who’s coming to take Aiden away? I don’t understand.” “There is something wicked there inside of that man,” the pointed teeth mimicking my mom’s voice sputter, spit glistening in the harsh light. “He’s full of a fiery greed and a cruel cold-heartedness,” she continues. “You will both be doomed. Don’t do it or you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. And I will never stop the haunting if you do.” “Mom,” I cry, “the plane is going to crash and kill us. Stop the plane from falling, Mom, please, hurry. Aiden and I will both die if you don’t do something. You must stop it from crashing. Whatever man is coming, I won’t give him Aiden, I promise. I will always look after my brother. He and I will be a family together. We’re going to Puget Sound, mom. We are taking you there too. We will all be together, and you can cross over into the light now. God is there waiting to take your hand. Please, mom, please stop possessing everyone on this plane"- my voice cracks and breaks off as the teardrops snake silently down my face and I make the sign of the cross, shifting my eyes upwards, praying incessantly to the dear Lord above. And that’s when it all comes to a halt. I’m back in my seat with Aiden next to me and I’ve got perfectly chilled white wine on my tray. All the passengers are there and safe and everything is as normal as it was when we first settled in. Aiden is laughing at some silly video, multicolored cartoon images dancing flamboyantly across the screen of his iPad, and there is the low murmur of sleepy voices and soft snores all around the cabin. It will be months from now when my dad will appear out of the blue and offer me money, lots of money, to take Aiden off my hands. He will beg and plead for me to accept his offer, he will want to take him to move to Mexico with his new wife and infant daughter. A daughter conceived while my mom was still in the hospital battling her illness so bravely, without any compassion or help from him. But I am firm with my answer, as is Aiden. No. My dad had his chance to be part of our lives when we were young, and our hearts were tender, and we needed him so much. But he chose not to be there for any of us. No amount of money in this world will tear Aiden and me apart. Thanks mom, but I had it covered all along.


This is a story I wrote based on . Criticism welcome. They sat on the rugged beach. They dare not look behind them. Their were boats demolished, their morale diminished. The sky was bright tonight. Not by stars, or by a full moon, or even by the paper lanterns that annually flew over the city on this day every year. This night was different. The sky shone bright while the planes flew overhead. The city thundered as the bombs hit. They could feel the heat on the backs of their necks, even from a thousand yards away. The buildings fell to the overhead flock of sudden death. The flames seemed dimmer as the smoke blanketed the lake. It was as if death himself drew a breath from his pipe and peacefully released it onto the still water. Soon, the dam broke and the glass of water broke unto the city. It entered the inferno, as if to combat the flames, however its attempts were fruitless as power lines succumbed to the rush of waves and the napalm floated gently on its back. They made one last glance at the end times. Above, another flock flew over, dropping shimmering stars down onto the city. Brighter, the beauty became, and closer and closer it got to their shipwrecked island. They held each others hands as the flames glimmered in their eyes. Still, the stars became closer and soon their island was no more. This was the war that would display many stars like the ones on this night. The war whose beauty would create an era of peace in the world.


2/11/1373, 6/30/1908, 7/7/1997, 11/1/2011, 6/21/2013, 11/18/2013, ? 32492/ 6 = 5415.33 194952/365=534.115 902.55 The Bloop... That’s what it was called at the time, The “Bloop” , because I guess we didn’t have anything better to call it. And to be honest, after reviewing the audio several times, it did kinda sound like a bloop. The kinda noise when a large volume of water is displaced all at once. We were lucky on that one, or unlucky. Maybe if we had recognized it for what it was... I’m getting ahead of myself. I believe it was the Olmecs that first encountered the phenomena around 1831 BCE. There’s this monument, they call it the San Martin Pajapan Monument now, that was carved in approximately that time period. The statue is early example of their artwork, showing a young lord or demi god, holding up a ceremonial bar. The general consensus is that it was a figure meant to be establishing the center of the universe. What little we can translate of their culture and writing, the statue was placed at a location that they viewed as being a place of powerful energy. Maybe they saw something in the hills between those two volcanoes. Something that defied nature. There’s no fossil or archeological evidence, but it just fits, you know? By working backwards with the math? The first recorded incident was February 11th, 1373CE outside of what is modern day Baghdad, Iraq. I say this is the first “recorded” incident for a reason. What happened outside of the recovering city was never properly documented. The Il-Khanids, Mongol rulers of their captured Arabian lands, weren’t too keen on writing down things that didn’t involve the glory of the Mongol empire. What can be gleaned from the entire TWO historical documents concerning the event, was a massive shockwave tipped over several ships on the river, as well as toppling dozens of homes within the city. The writings from the era said that a pressure wave, described by them as “the air punched at our chests as if a forceful man ” , originating from the desert sands east of the city. I calculate the epicenter to have been 1 mile east north east of the cities’ harbor, of approximately 63 kilotons of TNT in strength, somewhat less than the destructive threshold of the atomic warhead dropped on Hiroshima by the United States during World War 2. The effects of being so close to a blast of that magnitude would have been similar to what was described by the accounts. I can consequently see why no one cared. It was not a great era of scientific curiosity. It was written off like any myriad of events during that era. The second recorded event occurred on June 30th, 1908. Centered around 5 miles South South east of Lake Cheko, in Tunguska, Russia. I’m sure you’ve heard of that one, though. What’s more commonly known as, The Tunguska Blast. Up until last month, it was easily attributed to a rogue asteroid or cometoid exploding in mid air over the deserted forest. Official estimates vary, but the explosive force rattled windows 400 miles away. It hammered the Siberian wilds with what we now know was around 2 megatons of explosive force. Speculation was, that had such an event occurred in a populated city in that era, say for instance, Paris, London, or New York City. The death toll would have numbered in hundreds of thousands. We were “lucky” though, it was a deserted location, very few people were injured. Hell it took months for a study team to even venture out into the frozen woodlands to survey the damage back then. Again, No one really cared.


I looked into the blurry eyes of my reflection and loathed the person I had become. But it was more so towards the snakes who made me this way. The wide and murky sea stretched itself towards the horizon, peering over the edge for an end that didn’t exist. Within it, I also searched for something unknown with a lidded stare. But there were no thoughts that came to me as I gazed upon the starless night sky. I found out the hard way how the world was revolted by the idea of change. Even if I felt as though I was loved by my fans, I guess I shouldn’t have been so surprised how those fakes rejected me with little hesitation. The helping hands I trusted so much blew down my walls and tore away my eyes as if I were nothing and would forever be nothing. My life was practically over in a matter of minutes and I could do nothing to stop it. I realised then how truly cruel society is. Living was not so easy and I was foolish to have thought that way. As if I were a bird trapped in a cage, the key to my success was stolen and thrown into dark waters with no regret. Unable to escape the glares upon its tiny figure, the bird’s exhausted wings of passion were now clipped with snares called failure by the very same people who taught it to fly. Like so many others in this industry, I couldn’t get enough of being in front of the camera. It was my dream and main purpose in my now miserable life. To have the opportunity to be on the big screen; it was more than I could have ever wished for. But there were those who pretended to love me and my work. They were only deceitful snakes, wanting nothing but the fame I gained. Tying me down with unbreakable chains, they stole the riches I worked hard for. Or perhaps the naive me turned a blind eye to their trickery. Touching the distorted face of my reflection, it rippled and floated away with the waves - even the mirrored version of myself has abandoned me. I once longingly reached out my hand for someone who would hold it. Now there is no one there to grip onto it anymore. It’s pitiful. I guess there is nothing left for me now that I finally know no one ever really cared about me. Those hands that used to guide my wings of freedom now cover the unreachable sky I called hope. Their hateful words weighed my mind down and the shadows of the past now haunt the realm beneath my eyelids. It was like waking up from a dream I never wanted to end, for in the living world, there was nowhere to turn - no one to hold. The movies I starred in, the laughs I had produced and all those I have kissed. It was all for naught, it didn’t matter. The beast I knew as time hunted me down with a hunger in his cunning eyes because its treasure I tried to steal, the hourglass full of sand, taunted me everywhere I went. I should've never loved it - should’ve never tried to. A flash. Then the shutter of a camera. Another and another. Faster this time. Until all I could see and hear were very things that led to my downfall. A flash and a click. “Isn’t that person a famous actor?” One of them whispered. “Don’t you know?” Another said back, “It’s the actor that went coo-coo in the head a few months back. No one knows why but there’s rumours.” “What kind of rumours?” The first asked. A third one responded, voice all too familiar, “Drugs.” It was within the glass jar of lies that the flower grew with prideful petals, only for it to wither and disappear as it was soon despised. Wanting only to bloom, it did no wrong. But the world would not accept an imperfect being in the spotlight. No one wanted a potential druggie in their film. It would only get bad reviews from the general public and the media would never give it a break. My life as an actor was over. No movies to an actor meant no work. And no work meant no money. The things I had thought were mine are now lost. Never to get it back, I could only accept this fate of mine. My teacher once said to me, “What’s the point of Valentine’s Day? If you are going to love someone, why not love them everyday?” I saw her point and I found it sad how my peers didn’t understand my teacher’s point of view. I was angry and sad and confused. And, when time passed, I grew to not mind this life as I was now used to it. How pitiful this state of mine is. No one to love and no one who loved. The love was not there, it was fake, and I was sick of it. The lights, the cameras and the sound of the director’s “action!” was something I missed. But now I can’t remember how it felt to act, to be filmed and to be loved. It was foolish, it really was. But as those shutters clicked and clicked, lights blinking on and off as it was night, I loathed myself more than those people. And I loathed those flashing lights more than myself. Oh, how I hate this disgusting idea of love.


I’m a stranger to myself and I enjoy it very much. It makes masturbation very fun. Also haircuts. I learn a lot about myself while I’m sitting in the chair getting my hair cut, talking about where I’m going to go on holiday. It’s cheaper, too. Bored waiting for the bus? No problem. I just strike up a conversation with myself and the time passes quickly. Then when my bus comes I’ll say “toodle-oo!” to myself and be on my way. I’m really beginning to get to know myself through all these different ways of meeting and talking. Of course there are times when I don’t want to talk, and that’s fine, I completely understand and respect my privacy. But usually after a while I usually want to get back out there and mingle again. There are times when I just completely don’t connect to myself, but that’s ok, it happens. You can’t be instant friends with everyone you meet. I just accept it and move on. No matter how strange I can seem to myself at times, there are lots of opportunities to meet me, so there’s no point dwelling on the times it didn’t quite happen. I'm excited to meet myself again. I don’t want to get too close, though. Some things you're just better off not knowing. I think secrets make a person more alluring, if a bit confusing and difficult to understand. I already know a lot about myself, more than the average stranger, at least. It’s kind of strange to know so much about a stranger. I know how I like my coffee and what position I like to sleep in, for example. But that’s only exterior stuff. I can’t help wondering what I’m thinking about when I’m not talking to myself. I get the sense when I do talk that I’m holding something back, that there’s something I’m just not saying. Maybe it’s just out of politeness, or maybe I’m just vulnerable and sensitive and afraid to reveal too much without knowing the other person better. People are like that in society. I’d rather just portray a superficial impression of myself, it seems. It’s a lot safer that way. There was this one time I talked for hours with myself about all these deep things. It felt really good, as if I’d coaxed this extremely timid animal out from its hiding place, and I told myself all these things and it was a very enlightening experience. But then I had to go. I’m a stranger to myself, after all. That’s the way it always has to be. I often find myself wondering whether the things I told myself that time were even real. I mean, we were just two strangers. Is it possible to go to such a deep, personal level with a stranger like that? Maybe I just needed someone to tell all those things to, things I can’t tell anybody else. I wonder if I’ll ever see myself again so that I can find out. I wonder where I am now, what I mean to myself, how far away I am, whether or not I even remember myself, who I am. Maybe I scared myself off, and the timid wild animal ran back into the forest, never to be seen again. The ball is firmly in my court. When the time is right, I’ll come out. I just have to wait. I’ll be able to see me coming before I see myself, of course. I might even be watching me right now. Anyway, the next time I see myself, I’m not going to pry. Whatever I want to reveal is ok with me. I’m a stranger to myself, after all. I don’t owe myself anything. I’m just going to be kind and nice and polite and say, “Pleased to meet you.


He approached me from the direction the sun was setting and asked me: “Where’s the end?” “What end? End of the World?” “Yes, precisely.” I was amused and pointed in the direction i never even looked before. I was hoping to get rid of unwanted company. The man left and I continued watching the sunset. But then I saw him again in the distance. He approached me from the direction the sun was setting and asked me: “Im afraid I can’t find it. Could you please do me a favor and guide me to it?” I checked the time. “I can’t, I don’t have time. Try it again, you must’ve taken the wrong turn somewhere along the way.” “I will, thank you.” He left in the same direction as before. My neck started to twitch, my head started to turn. My curiosity made me look after the wandering man. He was heading in an interesting new direction, interesting landscape, but without any sunsets. I gazed at the world with no sunsets for a while. But then I saw him again in the distance. He approached me from the opposite of the direction the sun was setting, he was shielding his eyes from the light and he asked me: “I went all the way and back and I still can’t find it. I’m afraid I’m in need of your assistance. Would you be so kind and come with me?” I looked at him and then checked the time. I do have some time but do I want to turn away from the sunset? I was unsure. “In that case you must be looking for a different end of the world. The one I know about is in this direction. I’m certain of that.” “That might be the case,” he agreed. “Thank you for the help anyways, I’ll try my luck and go this way now. You’re a good man, I’ll make sure to let you know where I’ll end up.” He left in the direction I never even knew existed the moment he was done speaking. The curiosity took over me again and I tried to turn my head to look at the leaving figure, but it simply couldn’t be done. My neck wasn’t meant to look in that direction. I resumed staring at the sunset. But it wasnt as majestic and impressive as before. Something was missing all of the sudden, but I couldn’t figure out what it was . I was too busy thinking about the end of the world and how to get there. So I sat there, blinded by the sun, lost in my thoughts. He approached me out of nowhere, just as I was starting to get sad about never seeing him again and never venturing in new directions. He asked me: “I found it and memorized the way. I can lead you there if you want. Do you?” I smiled at him and checked the time. I didn’t care what time it was. “Sure, I have a moment to spare.” \ This is my first story i wrote in english, so apologies if there are any grammar errors.


I want to do something with my life but I don't know where to start. I feel lost and I feel empty. I haven't felt myself since You ended it. I know I would have fought harder to keep You but I just felt like if I grabbed the slipping rope harder i'd only hurt myself. Everyone tells me that I have to let it go and move on but they don't tell me how hard it will be. If i let go of You I fear it will diminish what value love has in my eyes. "It's better to have loved and lost then to never have loved at all" what a crock of shit. Once you've felt the warm comforting emotion of love you will never be the same. Like a cigarette you will always think back to when you had your first wishing you could go back and do something different.  I want to feel welcome and safe again but I fear it will never feel the same. Lingering in the back of my mind would always be the what if. What if I corrected my course the slightest bit, down the line would I end up here? Or miles off course? Tis a solemn thought that keeps me up, as I spoon my pillow late at night knowing I have to sleep for work tomorrow yet I stay up drowning in the sea of girls hoping that one will replace you. Hoping that maybe you weren't the one and trying to fool myself and others that you were just another belladonna I fell for and ended up poisoning myself with.  One flower perishes only for another seemingly identical flower to take its place, the same yet all so different. The flowers may look similar yet the petals may be a slightly paler colour, the leaves sprout from different parts of the stem and the roots spread all so differently, yet we account that this flower is the same as the other. The two flowers will live with out ever knowing of the others existence, two flowers running parallel the only thing separating them?  Time the only thing separating sadness and happiness. The two emotions run parallel inside us. Never could one be truly happy and truly sad at the same point in Time. We as a species refer to space as our final frontier making the same mistake as our fore fathers only focusing on what we see ahead of the car in the fog and never accounting for what lies beyond the wall of fog created by our own headlights. as we push forward we only consider the now we never consider the then after. Our "final frontier" is conquering time itself for only time can mend all wounds. Only time will make me forget the solemn feeling of being without Your touch without Your loving and caring words of reassurance that I will be fine, that I will make it, that I will find what the world needs me for. Only time separates us from cuddling and talking all night to not even knowing if you're doing alright.  We all feel destined for greatness, right? We all delude ourselves with thoughts of grandeur. It's what keeps us going, what makes us want to get up early tomorrow to go to work because if I work I will have money and money makes my time go by easier. Money wont cure my hurt but it will help numb it. Or so we think until we build an immunity to it then what are we left with? A pile of plastic or paper of false promises of happiness? I feel empty yet wont allow myself to lie and say to myself that money or fame will ever fill that hole. because the truth is it never will be full, it's an empty void that just stretches to fit anything you try plug it with. I feel the hole does shrink but only when I don't acknowledge it, only when I ignored it did it seem to shrink. You helped me ignore the hole and so You helped me shrink it, only after I lost You did I realise that.  I don't know why I'm writing this but that's okay because it's helping. Helping me realise my own foolishness. You helped me out of my pit and the second You left I fell back in. I kept blaming you telling myself You tripped or shoved me but writing this out now I realise you just let go. I wasn't ready to stand but you didn't know that. You had to let go because You were loosing your own balance. I'm glad You let go. I'd rather be in this hole looking up to You standing above me then looking up and seeing nothing. I guess what I'm trying to say is I understand and I hope you don't blame yourself for any of the pain You have caused, because in the end without sadness we could never appreciate happiness.


“It’s just to help me sleep better, so it can’t be that bad.” Cynthia said out loud as she was carefully pruning her tomato plants. She had been growing her own food for over a decade now, and her hands flowed like a well-choreographed dance as she trimmed. Still, her thoughts weren’t on her current task. She had a black box in her bedroom that she was dreading opening. For the last three years, Cynthia had been plagued by the same nightmare. She would fall asleep fine, but then wake in a sweat and a panic. Mark, Cynthia’s husband, went missing almost 4 years ago. When she fell asleep, she still heard his voice. Sometimes she would see his face too. He always looked calm but said the same thing every time. “Cynthia, find me.” Cynthia would wake up every time in a panic that she had never found Mark, and struggle to go back to sleep. She never got more than about 3-4 hours of sleep a night now. She tried every natural sleep aid she could figure out, but nothing helped. After a few months, she had sharp migraines that never got better. Cynthia and Mark lived a very natural lifestyle and usually could find what they needed to treat injuries or illnesses in their garden or the woods around their house. She made herself a tea out of willow bark, peppermint, and ginger that would numb the pain, but the pressure never went away. One day she was sitting and talking with her sister Julia, and Cynthia collapsed onto the floor and blacked out for a few minutes. By the time she woke up, Julia had called an ambulance and the EMT’s were talking to Cynthia. “What is your name, ma’am?” One of them asked slowly. “Cynthia,” she responded right away. “Do you know where you are?” he continued. “At my sister’s house,” she said with a defensive tone. “Can you tell me how many fingers I am holding up?” he asked. She leaned back as he thrust his hand towards her face. “Three,” she snapped back pushing his hand away as she sat up. “Don’t move ma’am, we need to make sure nothing is broken,” The EMT ordered. Cynthia shook her head. “I am fine, just tired,” she replied. “Cyn, you are not fine,” Julia retorted. Cynthis turned to see her sister sitting on the floor next to her. “Let them take you in to get checked at least.” “No!” Cynthia snapped back. “I won’t go to a doctor.” Cynthia had not been to a physician in years. She didn’t trust all the machines, tests, and other devices they used to diagnose and treat people. Cynthia and Mark worked hard to create a life that was in harmony with nature and found a big part of that for them was avoiding modern technology as much as possible. Cynthia still had a cell phone, but rarely had it on her. She did have a laptop and basic internet as well, but beyond that she lived a fairly tech-free life. “Cynthia, either you let them take you or you let me take you,” Julia demanded as the EMT’s examined Cynthia. Whether it was because of the stabbing migraine pain, or the anxiety of being surrounded by first responders who wouldn’t leave her only, Cynthia’s willpower crumbled. “Fine, you can take me,” she mumbled. “There are no obvious injuries, and it should be safe to move her. She needs to be checked by a physician as soon as possible.” Cynthia was irritated that one of the EMTs was talking to her sister like she wasn’t there. Julia nodded and then the EMT came and knelt in front of Cynthia. “You need to be seen by a doctor right away, ok?” The EMT was nodding his head as he spoke like it would convince Cynthia to agree with him. Cynthia turned her head back towards her sister and ignored him. The EMT leaned close to Cynthia and whispered, “If you go to Dr. Nabul, you will find him.” Cynthia jerked her head back and saw the EMT stand up and write on his clipboard. “What did you say?” she demanded. “That you need to be seen by a doctor right away.” he replied taken aback by her tone. “By which doctor?” she pried. “Whomever you choose, ma’am.” The other EMTs had packed their equipment and started to head towards the door. “But, what about Dr. Nabul?” She said sitting up more. “Um...if that’s who you want to see, then call his office and get an appointment.” The EMT tore a piece of paper off his clipboard and handed it to Julia. Cynthia stared at him as he left and as soon as the door was shut, she stood up and yanked the paper out of Julia’s hand. “Cyn! What has come over you?” Julia responded shocked. “He told me I would find Mark,” Cynthia replied hastily as she scanned the document for any mention of Dr. Nabul, finding him, or Mark. “Cyn!” Juli yelled and yanked the paper out of her hand tearing it. “We are going now, get in the car.” Cynthia started to wonder if she was hallucinating from the sleep deprivation and felt embarrassed acting so rash. “Ok, let’s go,” Cynthia said defeated. As they were driving, Julia did her best to reassure her sister that it would all be ok, but Cynthia was lost in her own thoughts about how real the EMT’s words had seemed. “Cyn, are you even listening to...” “Can I see your phone,” Cynthia asked interrupting her sister. Curiosity had finally won, and she decided she would look up Dr. Nabul. “Why do I even try?” Julia replied exasperated and handed her phone to Cynthia. “Because you love me,” Cynthia responded immediately without looking up from the phone. “What are you doing?” Julia asked trying to monitor her sister while staying focused on the road in front of her. “Just a second,” Cynthia replied as she struggled to use the search bar and typed one letter at a time slowly. D - r - . - N - a - b - u - Before she even finished typing the whole name, a suggested search popped up that said, “Dr. Nabul, Cynthia, find me.” Cynthia gasped and dropped the phone on the floor. Julia was startled and swerved for a second. “What are you doing?” Julia asked. “Did you see that?” Cynthia pointed a shaky finger at the phone on the floor as she spoke. “See what?” Julia replied. “They are in my head. I knew it. They already know everything about all of us.” Cynthia said panicked as she started to cry. “Who?” Julia asked worried. “Them! Big brother, the tech companies.” Cynthia was now sobbing in shock and fear. Julia pulled into a park and ride, rushed out of the driver’s seat, and ran around to the passenger door. She opened it, picked up the phone off the floor and wrapped her arms around Cynthia. “Shhh, it’s ok, no one is in your head,” Julia comforted. Cynthia knew Julia didn’t get it but was too shaken to argue and just put her head down on her sister’s shoulder and sobbed. After a few minutes when she was calmer, Julia let go and held the phone up so they both could see the screen. “What did you see, Cynthia?” Julia asked in gentle tone. “Search for Dr. Nabul,” Cynthia instructed shakily. Julia swiped Dr. Nabul into the search bar and a suggestion popped up, “Dr. Nabul, the sleep specialist.” “That’s not what it said!” Cynthia yelled smacking the phone out of Julia’s hand. Cynthia started to feel like she was going crazy. Julia sighed, walked over to her phone, and picked it up off the asphalt. Julia shook her head running her finger over the new crack in her screen. “I’m sorry,” Cynthia said defeated now sure she was hallucinating. “Cyn, let’s get you the help you need,” Julia replied in a soft tone, putting a hand on her sister’s shoulder. Neither sister spoke during the rest of the drive to Dr. Nabul’s office. When they arrived, Julia went around to her sister’s door and helped her to her feet. Cynthia’s objections to seeing a doctor was completely overshadowed by the new fears of losing her mind completely. Julia helped Cynthia, who was still shaking, sit down next to the rack of informational pamphlets before going up to the intake desk. Cynthia’s mind was racing with the EMT’s whisper and what she read in the search bar and with the migraine pain, she had no energy to process anything that her sister and the receptionist were saying. “It will take a little while, but he will see you today,” Julia announced with a relieved tone. Cynthia nodded sadly. After 30 minutes of being lost in thoughts of crazy hallucinations, Cynthia longed for a distraction and grabbed one of the pamphlets on the top of the rack. She scanned over the front fold talking about Dr. Nabul and his innovations into improving sleep with little interest. Then she opened the fold. “Cynthia, find me. I am waiting.” Cynthia threw the pamphlet across the waiting room and started sobbing again. Julia immediately wrapped her arms around her sister. “What happened?” she asked lovingly. “I am not crazy!!” Cynthia yelled. “No, you’re not,” Julia assured her, holding tighter. “That pamphlet said the same thing as my nightmares,” Cynthia announced breaking free from Julia’s embrace and marching over to the pamphlet. Julia walked calmly over to her sister as she stood over the pamphlet glaring. Julia carefully picked it up and started slowly reading the words on the front. Frustrated, Cynthia grabbed the pamphlet and opened the fold. “Right there!” she pointed to where she saw the words. “You can find peace in sleep again. A better sleep is waiting for you with the help of our patented Deep Sleep Band.” “No!” Cynthia screamed, grabbed the pamphlet, and tore it in half. “Cynthia, calm down!” Julia yelled. Cynthia looked up and saw a scared child being comforted by his mom across the room. Floods of guilt and embarrassment washed over her, and Cynthia ran out of the clinic sobbing again. “Just give us a minute,” Julia assured the receptionist as she rushed to follow her sister. Cynthia sat on the curb sobbing while Julia held her and did her best to comfort her. After a few minutes when Cynthia started to gain some composure, the receptionist stepped out. “Dr. Nabul said he will see you right away,” She informed in a soft tone. “Thank you,” Julia replied. Cynthia looked up at the nicely dressed receptionist. “I’m not crazy, really,” she explained desperately. “I am sure you’re not, ma’am,” the receptionist replied holding her hand out to help Cynthia stand. Cynthia struggled to her feet with Julia and the receptionist’s help, and they both escorted her into one of the examination rooms. The room was painted to look like the night sky, and there was a fully made bed with soft pillows and a comforter off to one side. Other than that, there were a couple other chairs and a white band hanging on a hook above the bed. “Please lie down on the bed,” the receptionist instructed Cynthia. As Cynthia sat on the edge of the bed, she realized that every muscle in her body was sore, and the headache was worse than it had ever been. She started to cry again, this time more from the physical pain. Julia helped her lie down as she kept sobbing. Cynthia had no clue how much or little time passed before the doctor came in, but it felt like an eternity to her. “Cynthia, I am Dr. Nabul,” A thick Indian accent finally shook her from her tears and back to her surroundings. The man on the chair next to her was old with a long white beard and long white hair. He wore a bright purple shirt and a jacket that was covered in colorful flowers. Cynthia was so surprised at his appearance, that she was sure she was hallucinating again and refused to respond. “She’s had a really rough day,” Julia offered nervously. “I am sure she has, that is too bad, I am so sorry,” Dr. Nabul said in response to Julia. Cynthia was relieved that Julia was responding to Dr. Nabul, because it meant her mind hadn’t created this strange doctor. “I am not crazy,” Cynthia said in a cracking voice. “Oh, I know you are not, no worries there,” Dr. Nabul assured excitedly. Even though it felt relieving to hear she wasn’t crazy from someone else, Cynthia was worried that he hadn’t even examined her before concluding that. “Please will you step out of the room, miss,” Dr. Nabul said to Julia as he rolled his chair closer to the bed. “What are you going to do?” Julia asked nervously. Dr. Nabul sighed. “I am going to help your sister with her nightmares and sleep issues, of course.” He said impatiently. “Uh...ok,” Julia replied as the receptionist escorted her out and closed the door. “Do you know what this is?” Dr. Nabul asked grabbing the white circular band off the hook above her. Cynthia just shook her head. “This is the patented Deep Sleep Band. It will make sure you are not plagued by nightmares ever again.” He informed cheerfully. Ever again sounded unrealistic to Cynthia and she started to get nervous. “How does it work?” Cynthia asked timidly. “It responds to the subconscious brain waves and emits a frequency that regulates the waves while you sleep so that you find peace in your rest.” Dr. Nabul spoke with the excitement of an inventor selling his new gadget on an infomercial. “All you are going to do is place this on your head when you go to bed, and you will find what you need to.” Cynthia wondered if Dr. Nabul was actually using the word find as much as it seemed or if she was starting to hallucinate again. Either way, her headache was now so bad that she couldn’t focus on any thought real or hallucinatory. “In the meantime, let’s take care of that headache.” Dr. Nabul pulled a syringe out of his pocket and uncapped the needle. Normally Cynthia would object, but she didn’t have the energy anymore. Her muscles were so sore, she barely felt when the needle pierced her skin. Within a few minutes, though, her migraine was gone. She had not been this clear headed in years. “Maybe I will be ok,” she thought as she sat up. Dr. Nabul opened the door and held his hand out to motion Cynthia through it. “You can go now,” he instructed. Cynthia got up, walked out the door, and the turned back quickly and muttered and thank you. Dr. Nabul didn’t seem to notice. She met Julia at the receptionist desk again and the lady behind the desk was already typing vigorously. “Come back if the band stops working or you experience any strange side effects,” she instructed as she typed. When she finished, she grabbed a white box off a stack next to her and handed it to Cynthia. “Sweet dreams,” she said with a smile as Cynthia took the box. “I am so sorry, Jules,” Cynthia broke the awkward silence that had permeated the first 15 minutes of the drive home. “You seem better,” Julia replied in an almost snarky tone. “Yeah, he gave me a shot,” Cynthia responded with a drop in her voice. “Of what?” Julia asked. “I don’t know,” Cynthia replied sadly. “What, my sister not questioning what a doctor gave her?” Julia questioned mockingly. Cynthia rolled her eyes and they returned to awkward silence. “What is that?” Julia finally asked pointing at the box on Cynthia’s lap. “It’s a band I wear at night to help me sleep better,” Cynthia replied. “Well, I hope it works,” Julia said. “Me too,” Cynthia replied, feeling guilty for all the hell she put Julia through. After saying goodbye to her sister, Cynthia went home and decided to take advantage of the first time in a while she wasn’t plagued by incessant migraines by taking care of her garden. After clipping the last tomato plant, Cynthia wheeled the scraps over to the mulch pile and dumped them. Everything she did that night was like she was on auto pilot. She was grateful to not be in pain right now, but worried about a device that would change her brain waves. “Maybe I’ll just use it for a little while until I get into the habit of sleeping better,” she finally justified to herself and got ready for bed. She pulled the white band out of the box. There were no buttons or switches, it was just a white band. She picked up the instruction manual, all it said was, “Put it on and lie down, that’s it.” Cynthia could almost hear Dr. Nabul’s thick accent as she read the simple instructions. She placed in around her head and was surprised how snuggly it fit. She then lied down carefully and closed her eyes. It must have been only seconds before she was fast asleep. In her dreams, Cynthia was walking down a familiar street in her small rural town, towards a familiar café. She walked in and up to a familiar table where she sat in front of a fresh cream cheese danish and a cup of chai tea. She looked into Mark’s eyes for the first time in years. “You finally found me, Cynthia, I’ve been waiting here a long time.” He reached out and grabbed her hand tenderly as he spoke. “Mark,” she said with a tender whimper in her voice and found herself unable to say anything else.


Day 1 Something rather weird happened tonight - while I was out in Paceville, I took a shortcut through the stairs on ‘Strip Row’, and I saw that creep Daniel Savona standing in the entry to ‘Sensations’. I think that was the name; these clubs all seem to have similar names - Sensations, Steam, Angels, Darlings.... He might have been on duty, but somehow I don’t think so. He was chatting with another guy like they were mates. He had a drink in one hand, and a girl’s arse in the other. My impression was that he’s a regular. Hmmm... that could be interesting; a cop dropping into a strip club to unwind, after a hard day’s work. Then again, Daniel’s a slimy creep, so maybe, I shouldn’t be surprised. Still though, he’s a police officer - isn’t there some rule about cops hanging out in places like that? I mean, if he were to bust that girl he was with, it could constitute conflict of interest. I actually need to check this out. Day 2 I asked auntie Google, and she turned up the Malta Police Force Code of Ethics - revamped and re-issued this year apparently. It makes reference to something called ‘conduct unbecoming’ but then does not go on to specify what that would be. ‘Conduct unbecoming Malta police force’ only yielded a few complaining letters to the local papers, all signed with pseudonyms. For the purposes of research, I read all four of them - all complaining about officers either being too brusque or too keen to write parking tickets. I didn’t know police officers still dealt with parking offences; I was under the impression that had been outsourced to traffic wardens. Haha.. at the end of the code of ethics there’s actually an address where ‘an aggrieved member of the general public may file a report for unethical behaviour allegedly committed by a police officer’. I wonder, has anyone ever used that email address - somehow, I cannot see too many people willing to put their name to an official complaint. And if anyone has, have they ever gotten a reply. I wonder what really happens when the Professional Standards Office of the Police Force becomes aware of possible ‘conduct unbecoming’. I know I’m more than slightly biased, but I do not trust them to not ‘protect their own’. Day 3 I thought I could let it go. I thought I could forget about seeing Daniel in a strip ...ahem, gentleman’s club. After all, Paceville is hardly my scene anymore. I was only there the other day because Martina asked me to meet her there after work. And Daniel gives me the creeps, ffs. Why would I want to run into him again? But nah, I can’t help my stupid self.. and here I am two days later, incognito, lurking on the Strip Row stairs. I’ve been up and down them about six times already. No sighting of Daniel yet - thank god for small mercies - but the club is definitely ‘Sensations’. I remember the elaborate cornicing over the doorway, because it reminds me of my nana’s house. Only hers was the real thing; this is probably some cheap polystyrene crap. Maybe I’m on a wild goose chase. Maybe he really was on duty, and the other day, he’d simply run into someone he knows. And even if he is a regular here, what does that mean? I’m uncomfortable; straightening down my denim skirt, and trying to look ordinary, all the while being careful not tumble over my heels. Already two men have asked me if I’m looking for ‘a good time’ - this is beyond absurd; I’m going home. That’s when I see him - he’s on the steps up to the club, with a group of men, and two women today, his hand draped across the shoulders of one of them, openly groping her chest. I wonder, how does she keep so impassive. As the men all clink bottles, Daniel looks in my general direction, and I shrink into the shadows, afraid he might see me. I needn’t worry. He might be looking but his attention is elsewhere. I hurry past and head home. Day 4 I’ve been thinking about it all day. Daniel definitely is at home there. As I went past last night, he called to someone inside, and seconds later, another girl materialised at his side, holding a tiny tray with a tumbler of whiskey on it. Okay, so he hangs out at a strip place. So? The code of ethics doesn’t specifically list that as unethical behaviour. And don’t most men ogle scantily-dressed women, either in real life, or on a screen? It’s not as if I didn’t know Daniel’s a class-A sleaze. I open the fridge, looking for something to eat. There’s fresh veg. I did my weekly shop the other day, before I met up with Martina. But I’m not in the mood for veg. I don’t know what I’m in the mood for. My mind keeps going round in circles. And coming back to the same thing. A glimmer of a feeling, intuition maybe, that there’s more to this. But what? And for heaven’s sake, why am I so stuck on it? On Daniel? I know, I know. I’ve never liked the guy, ever since he tried it on with me, while we were both at work. It was one of our fundraisers, and he was on security duty. As fundraising manager, I was responsible for the housekeeping of the day, among other things, and I’d briefed him about what was where. A few hours later, I was pinning up some winning tickets to the board near the exit, when I felt someone grope me. I turned, ready to smack the creep, only to find the uniformed cop I’d been briefing earlier. I was lost for words. What cheek! He didn’t even care that he was conspicuous in his uniform. He didn’t offer an apology either; instead he’d said he’d been thinking about me all that time. Now, I wonder if my intuition is not just my antipathy towards Daniel. Am I just imagining things? Is it just because I know him to be creepy? Am I making more of this than it really is? Oh heck! Day 5 I spent all day going over and over my thoughts. Still no clarity. I need to do something about this; if I don’t, it will just eat away at me. Of this I’m certain. But what? ~~~~~~~~~~ Thank god for Brian. I called him, explained what I needed, and he was up for it. Wouldn’t miss it, he said. He even called off a date, to come with me. And here we are, me in my loosest-fitting jeans, and an oversized hoodie. I’ve squeezed my chest into the tightest bandau top I could find. With some artful contouring, I’ve given myself what looks like a somewhat manly jaw. The usually muted (‘sensuous’) lighting in the club and my buzz cut - it seems to have been enough for us to look like a pair of blokes looking for a good time. I paid for my entrance ticket. There’s girls everywhere.. girls taking orders, girls bringing drinks, girls giving lap dances, girls gyrating around poles. The patrons are all men, in all shapes and sizes, and ages; unlike the girls who are all slim, pretty and young, some younger than me. The gender divide couldn’t be more stark. I remind myself I’m meant to be a guy, and look like I’ve been to places like this. I keep my eyes peeled for Daniel. I really want him to be here tonight. But I am also scared he’ll recognise me. Brian complains that the price of the drinks has gone up. I’m bored. Then I see him - like the last time I saw him, Daniel’s wearing a suit. He walks up to one of the tables, and exchanges a few words with the men. He gestures to one of the girls, and she hurries over, tablet in hand. While she’s taking orders, Daniel palms her arse before moving on. The same thing happens as he moves from table to table, chatting, groping, joking. ‘That is not someone who’s just hanging out,’ Brian’s voice cuts into my thoughts. ‘That’s someone with an interest in seeing the customers satisfied.’ Suddenly, I just need to leave. I’ve had my fill of this tawdry club with its pretense of classiness Before going to bed, I open up the link from the Code of Ethics and using my untraceable email account, fire off a complaint about How I think it is unethical behaviour for a police officer to hangout in a club like that one.I sign off with a man’s name. Day 6 I called in sick today. Truly, I feel sick. Last night made me, as a woman, feel like I was living in a different dimension. It made me feel sullied somehow. I showered the minute I got in last night, and again this morning, and I still feel it like a layer on my skin. Brian is sure Daniel has - how shall I put it, a ‘business interest’ in the club. I wonder if someone has read my email from last night. I have no reply, not even an acknowledgement of receipt. Would I have gotten a response had I mentioned a stake in a strip club? Would that be ‘in line with the Force’s Business Interests & Additional Occupations Policy’? Brian thinks we should go again, and get pictures. I think Brian just wants to go there again. I think we need something more substantial than photos taken on the fly in a dimly-lit club. I need some sort of proof. Who can I ask to get the info I need? Day 8 Pay dirt! After a day of digging into various dead ends, I remembered that my friend Tanja works at the Business Registry Office. And today, she came up with the goods. The club is registered to a company called Magick Entertainment; which is in turn, owned by three people, one of whom is Daniel Savona. The other two are both sitting MPs; one on either side of the House. It makes sense, really - given the polarised and volatile nature of Maltese politics, Daniel would want to have partners on both sides of the political divide. It’s how a lot of Maltese businesssmen ensure their business ticks over, regardless of who wins elections. Tanja even sent me a copy of the relevant documents. She knew I’d want them. This is bigger than what I thought it was a week ago. So, now it’s official - this police officer does have a stake in a strip club... how interesting is that? Day 9 Rachel, my editor, wasn’t too impressed when I told her about Daniel, and his stake in a strip joint even though I quite laboured the point on potential conflicts of interest. But she sure sat up when I revealed who Daniel’s business partners are. That got her all fired up. Really, I should have thought of it myself. Considering that both of Daniel’s partners are very keen on pushing their ‘family man’ image, the news that they part-own a strip club should make quite a bit of noise. I’m kicking myself - I should have thought of it; I would have thought of it, if I hadn’t been all laser-focused on Daniel. I need to get a grip. My antipathy for Daniel is personal. Personal is not work. Personal doesn’t pay my bills. Work does. I need to focus. Although, now that I think of it, writing about the politicians could have a knock-on effect. One thing leads to another, and all that. Now to settle down to write my piece. Deadline’s tomorrow. Day 10 And.... it’s online. I did my best. Fingers crossed this will generate the response I’m hoping for.