WARNING: +18, MATURE CONTENT: MENTION OF DRUGS AND DRUG ABUSE, TALKS ABOUT MENTAL HEALTH, CONTAINS A LOT OF SWEAR WORDS, AND IMPLICATIONS OF CERTAIN MATURE ACTIVITIES. J.T. has been gone for one week with no contact, or warning. Kam and Paul are breaking into his apartment by jacking it open with a crowbar. Emily and Fran stood guard at different ends of the hallway. It was midday Sunday. It was eerily quiet as the hallways were lit by little lights on the ceilings of the hallways. When they broke into the apartment and swung the door wide open, J.T.’s homemade alarm went off. The white, chipped wooden door hit the multicolored ceramic windchimes that were hanging above the door, and a purple rubber goose screamed at the base of the door. Paul immediately grabbed the windchimes to make them stop making music, as he kicked the goose into the bathroom. “This has to be the saddest alarm system I have ever seen a man make.” Paul said. “Well, would you rather have J.T. be the screaming goose?” Kam said. “They both sound the same.” They were met with darkness and silence. Paul turned on the light and the apartment became dimly lit. The only bright light being brought in was the one window with a view of a red brick wall from across the street. The apartment was a small room. J.T.’s naked bed, as in no sheets and one pillow stained with coffee, was in the living room. There was no tv, so it really was his “living” room. The kitchen was against the left side of the wall with just a sink, mini fridge, an oven, and a microwave. The only “other room” was a bathroom that could only fit one person at a time. The entire apartment was only decorated with a round oak wood table, with a blue and green painted wood chair, but no pictures because J.T. believed it disturbed his creativity. The smell of the apartment smelled like an old cigarette with a hint of dusty old books. It was weird because J.T. didn’t keep books in the apartment. Kam, Emily, Fran, and Paul stood around the chipped oak wood table and looked at the loose-leaf paper J.T. had written on. The piece of paper was taped on a Star Wars R2D2 Tamagotchi toy. Kam began to read aloud: “I just wanted to touch a bit on the topic of solitude. I've noticed that by ex-communicating yourself from the outside world and becoming a bit of an agoraphobe can lead to understanding yourself better, while distancing yourself from outside influence. Both positive and negative. Allowing room for personal untainted growth but at a cost; People think I'm fucking crazy. Since I tend to dwell within the confines of my own Kafkaesque mentality, I've become a social pariah. Anytime I stand in line at the gas station I feel like I'm thinking so loud that anyone within my vicinity can hear me and have free roam of my emotions or thoughts, which makes me feel uneasy since they are so abstract, I would be prone to judgment and shunned due to a lack of understanding. I can safely assume that not very many people are as willing as I am to subject their thoughts to intentional distress like you want to elaborate. You see...I'm only trying to find the answers, some form of enlightenment. The things I desire most are not tangible, and I always feel out of place in the material realm. Is it my prerogative to smile and nod at the other vessels, when I am not there with them, to begin with? This is why I tend to avoid direct eye contact with children since the eyes are the windows of the soul, and God forbid I subject any child to the bizarre and the bottomless quagmire that exists within my mind. For these occasions, I've fashioned a quirky character for them to tease and laugh at and pray that they don't see through the gaps in the smiles l've fashioned for them. They are quite intuitive when they are young, and I fear they can see the waking nightmare a human being can become. The more I linger the further away from reality I get, but the further away I get the more powerful I become. There is not a soul in the world that could hurt me anymore. Much like a martial arts battle where the victor is decided before the match even starts. It's called combat clairvoyance, but the fight is not with fists. I'm untouchable; Albeit at the expense of my loneliness. Hell, any sort of reaching out I do is merely an attempt to anchor myself. I like to think of this as a phase of my evolution, in order to become strong enough to make others around me feel safe and secure. I hope that one day soon, I will become the silent immovable rock that attracts the masses, for answers, for the correct questions, for peace of mind; the deep thought. To anyone left in my life, please have patience with me during my transition.” The room went silent. Nothing else could be heard besides the sounds of their breathing, and the sounds of cars driving by on the busy outside road. Fran broke the silence, “You don’t think he kill-” “No.” The others said unanimously. They are still staring at the note. With blank faces. All their arms are crossed over their chests. Five minutes have passed, and no one has said anything. “Well,” Paul spoke again as slapped his thighs, “There’s no point in not calling the cops, and calling it a missing persons case.” “No. We can’t get the cops involved.” Fran said. “And why not?” “Because what are they going to do when they find him? He already has a warrant for missing his parole meeting, and he already has a few drug offenses. What do you think they will do to him? They won’t give him back to us.” Fran said in an anxious tone. Paul rolled his eyes and mockingly said, “‘Give him back to us?’ He’s not a fucking dog.” “So, what if the cops come here and see the broken door? They’ll get us too.” “You can replace doors.” You can’t replace J.T.” “What the hell are you talking about? I-.” “Can you two just shut the fuck up,” Kam said interrupting their bickering. “You guys are not doing anything but annoying the hell out of me. Why don’t we just look around the apartment, make some calls, try going his favorite places, and see-.” “Does he look like Scooby fucking Doo to you? We’re not the mystery gang here. He’s not our lost puppy.” Paul interrupted Kam. Kam huffed out a breath while shaking their head, and Fran looked out the window with an annoyed look. “I don’t think it would hurt if we looked around the apartment? There is not much to go through. I am sure we can find something.” Emily said as she walked towards the kitchen and opened the drawers. Paul sat down on the chair and grabbed the paper and reread the note. Kam walked into the bathroom, and Fran stood still, just looking at the entire room. Emily opened the utensil drawer. Only a few forks, and two knives. She observed a few spoons that were melted downwards and had the oxidation color still on them. She sighed, put the spoons back down and closed the drawer. The next drawer had mixed colored napkins that were from restaurants, mixed with sauce packets from Taco Bell, or McDonalds. The third and last drawer had a black plastic plate with a “I LOVE DILFS” written on it, with rolled up joints of weed, and a few Swisher Sweets on it. There was a black lighter, and a torch lighter next to the plate. Emily bent down and opened the cabinets underneath the sink. There was nothing but a half-emptied bottle of Dawn dish soap. She sighed and closed the cabinets. She sat on the ground as she stared at the cabinet, seemingly staring at space. Kam, on the other hand, was going through countless bottles of used and unused Advil, Tylenol, Xanax, Ecstasy, Prozac, Valium, and OxyContin in his medicine cabinet that was behind the mirror. In the bathtub, there were wet cigarette butts around the rim of the bathtub, empty green and brown beer bottles, and plastic 5ths of cheap liquor. The toilet looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since the day he moved in, over two years ago. The floor tile was either cracked, or some of the pieces were missing. “This looks about right.” Kam spoke to themself as they closed the cabinet. “Well, nothing new in there.” Kam announced as they walked out of the bathroom and towards the table.” “Yeah, I didn’t see much here either.” Emily said as he joined them. “What else could you suspect from him? He thinks there is a group of people waiting to just ambush him and take him to the FBI.” Paul said shrugging his shoulders. “Maybe he needs help,” Fran said. “No shit, Fran.” “You don’t need to be mean, Paul. We are all going through it with him missing.” “I’m not worried. It’s his own fault.” “Paul, I don’t think it’s fair to say th-” Kam began to speak until Paul interrupted, “Kam, it’s his own fault. We have all been in the same situation as him, and we have helped ourselves to be better. I’m tired of him dragging us down for his own benefit.” Paul started to become aggravated. “He has serious mental health problems; we should be there for him the best we can.” Emily calmly said. “And do what? Where is he? He’s always calling us selfish. Saying we are never there for him. Even though I bailed him out of jail two fucking times. Always blaming us for his own problems. When we are the only ones who answer his drunken state of mind and cry about how this isn’t a fair life, and how he deserves better. He amounts to nothing in his own life. I’m tired of it. He does nothing for us except mope around and bitch about how his life is a mess. When was he there for our existential crisis!? Getting high? Getting drunk? Suddenly his problems are our problems? Now, look at what he is doing to us. Thinking this is some fucking scavenger hunt. Fuck him!” Paul abruptly stood up as he slammed his hands on the table and stormed out of the apartment. “PAUL!” Kam yelled and walked towards the door. “Let him be. He needs time for himself. This is hard for everyone.” Emily said. “He needs time for himself? He’s the selfish idiot here. Our friend is out there having some sort of mental crisis, and Paul is calling him selfish. What an idiot.” Kam angrily said. The room went back to silence. -- Paul went through the Burger King drive-through for nine-piece chicken fries, a double whopper, two large fries, and a large coke. As he pulled out, he drove down the road to a storage unit where he kept most of his junk that was from his mother or father. When he pulled next to his unit, which was a brick red color he parked his car and got out while holding the food. He went to unlock the unit, and when he pulled the door up, he noticed it was dark inside. He sighed, put the food next to a ripped-up emerald, green chaise, and walked toward the metal string that turned on the light. “Paul?” Paul looked at his helpless friend as he lay on the cold concrete ground. His teal hair disheveled, his black oversize My Chemical Romance tank top stained with what seemed like vomit, and his black cargo pants ripped to holes. The bags under his eyes matched his strained eyes. “Yes, J.T.” “I feel awful. It’s like my body can’t decide what it wants to feel, so it freaks out on me every time I try to have a peace of mind.” “That’s what withdrawals do to you. Been there, done that.” “Thank you for helping me, Paul. You’re a great friend.” Paul took a deep breath and forced a smug smile, and said, “When this is done, never speak to me again. I never want to see you.” “Paul, what are you talking about?” J.T. stuttered, looking at his friend with big doe eyes. “I’m done with you. I’m throwing 11 years of friendship. It’s all because of your selfishness. I can’t stand to look at you.” “What do you mea-.” “I don’t want to hear anything from you. I have been too patient and caring towards you, and you have done nothing for me, or any of us, except be an awful excuse for a person. When your withdrawals are done, you’re going to go back home, to a clean house, because I will tell your loyal friends to clean out your drug-ridden house. You’re going to get a steady job and figure out how to live life like the rest of us. I have given you too many passes and you have fucked up on every one of them due to your carelessness and ignorance. You’re 35 years old. Stop living a sad and stupid life. Never contact me once you leave this unit. Fuck you, you psychotic bitch.” J.T. was in shock as he looked at Paul leave the unit and slamming the garage door shut. Hearing the garage lock, J.T. curled into fetal position and bawled like a child. Being consumed by his own thoughts. Wondering how everything went wrong.


It had been six hours since Mary-Lou decided she wouldn’t sleep tonight. Soon, the sun would rise, and the roosters’ calls would bring forth a new day. A special day. For today was The Celebration of Wishes, a ceremony to bring in the new year for all the members of the village. Elder Orylyn would be calling upon the benevolent spirits of the dell to grant wishes for a select few of the villagers. An old woman, the townsfolk knew this could be her final Celebration, and envy would surely spread through those not chosen, much like a fire through grass in the midst of a dry spell. This fire would be promptly quenched with an assortment of alcohol and dances in the village center, an event which all able bodies would attend. Mary-Lou had kept the same wish locked away inside her heart for the past five years, since she’d become old enough for her parents to begin negotiations to find her a husband. She wanted a new life, a new adventure, and the man of her dreams to accompany her. She didn’t know what part of her this wish had grown from, but she had her guesses. The desire to leave the monotonous life of a farmer’s daughter surely originated from the day to day experience of being a farmer’s daughter, she thought. Mary-Lou got out of her bed and dressed for the day. Her dress was becoming worn through, but the holes near the center were easy enough to cover with an apron. She finished tying her shoes (which were also adorned with holes) and set off for the town center. Although the sun’s rays were barely visible over the grassy hills to the east, Mary-Lou was not the first to arrive. It seemed that a few villagers had a similar mindset to Mary-Lou: if there’s but the slightest possibility that Orylyn rewards punctuality and sacrifice, it would be worth the lost hours of sleep. A handful of others stood around in conversation, and Mary-Lou could immediately identify why they were so keen to be selected. One older man seemed to shred his lungs coughing when incited to laugh, the sound sickened Mary-Lou. Paxton Farnsworth stood proudly despite missing his left arm, the result of an unfortunate accident which the family had thus refused to disclose. The rest of the villagers gathered were either on death’s door or very young, all of them holding the same sorts of youthful wishes within them. Mary Lou approached Paxton, who had a stalk of wheat pressed between his lips on the right side of his mouth. “Hello Paxton. I see you couldn’t find any sleep either?” Paxton smiled. “You’re a smart girl, I’m sure you can guess my wish. I’ll even give you three guesses,” he said. “Hmm. Well, if I had to guess, I’d say you’re asking for a bountiful harvest.” “Wrong. Two guesses left.” “A healthy new calf?” “Incorrect. Final guess.” Mary-Lou furrowed her brow in mock concentration. “Could it be... oh of course! How could I fail to see this earlier? It must be to fix your crooked nose.” Paxton attempted to keep his serious expression, but he shortly failed in this effort. They shared a friendly embrace. “So, how have you been, Pax?” “Oh, you know, milking one utter at a time, trying to find a creative way of shearing the sheep,” Paxton said. “And you?” Mary-Lou sighed. “I’ve been bored, Pax. I’ve been really bored.” She considered telling Paxton all about her wish, about the feelings she’d harbored for years, but decided against it. While she was certainly close enough with this young man she’d been schooled with, to talk about marriage would be a sore spot, as she was certain he’d become a far less desirable match upon losing the arm. They caught up for a while, speaking of different incidents on their families’ farms only to learn that the occurrences sparking their stories probably weren’t as special as they’d once thought. As they spoke, more townsfolk filtered into the center. Her family would soon arrive, she was sure of it. She didn’t feel like speaking with them today, she was too tired, and she didn’t want to hear their demands that she wish for her father’s back to heal. Her wish was non-negotiable. Paxton was called away by a voice in the crowd, and Mary Lou was left to wander the center, ultimately finding solace in the alleyway between the Elders’ living space and the general store. She leaned against a wall, then sank down to the grass. She examined the scene in the center. Over a hundred villagers had gathered now, some she hadn’t seen since last year’s Celebration due to age or infirmity. A light veil of dust had risen from all the feet on the dirt clearing. She watched it settle, only to be kicked up again. She was captivated by this cycle for some time. Mary-Lou’s concentration was broken by a gruff mail voice behind her. She turned her head, and was greeted by the sight of Mr. Matterson, the city manager. Mr. Matterson was a kind man within the few conversations the two had shared, but everyone in town knew his penchant for order and practicality, properties which landed him his position in the first place. His beard was neatly trimmed, something few men of the village could say. “Not wanting to enjoy the festivities, I see?” “I’m sorry Mr. Matterson, I’m just a little nervous, that’s all,” she said. “I understand, Mary-Lou. Believe it or not, I remember being nervous about my future when I was your age,” Matterson said. “But I’ll let you in on a secret: I think this whole thing is a sham. For some people, I think their wishes are granted by coincidence, and others grant their own wishes just by believing they’ll be granted in the first place.” Mary-Lou’s gaze shifted downward. Mr. Matterson took the hint. “Ah, that’s it, is it? Well, seeing as I’m responsible for your well being, young woman, why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?” Maybe it was the fatigue, maybe it was her desire to finally speak her mind to someone, but Mary-Lou readily responded. “Oh Mr. Matterson, I just can’t take this life anymore. I love to read all about adventures, and I’m sure I’ll never get to live my own if I stay on this path.” Mr. Matterson was about to cut in, but Mary-Lou continued. “My parents talk to me every day about finding me a husband. But I’m not so sure I want to marry a farmer. I don’t want to live the same life as my mother, and her mother before her. I’ve read all about the towns, no, the *cities* from far away, and I’m just so amazed. You wouldn’t believe the things they have over there. Did you know-” “Alright, Mary-Lou,” Mr. Matterson interrupted. “Maybe a farm isn’t in your future. I understand that. You know, the O’Brien’s son is only a few years younger than you, and he’s to inherit his parent’s general store. In fact, it’s this store right here,” Mr. Matterson said as he patted a log making up part of the wall to his right. “And what’s more, as part of the business he goes into a big town up north once a month. I’m sure he’d take you with him to see it.” Mary-Lou sighed. “I appreciate your kindness, Mr. Matterson. I really do. But I... I just don’t think my future is in this village, that’s all it is.” Mr. Matterson’s expression changed, a stern expression overtook his face. “I’m sorry to tell you that’s just not the case. This town functions properly for a reason, and that reason is because everyone is committed to expanding and improving it. We can’t do that if healthy young men and women like you want to up and leave. You’ve never left this place, have you?” Mary-Lou shook her head. “Well,” Mr. Matterson continued, “I have, many times as a matter of fact, and you wouldn’t believe what’s out there. Terrible people, people who will rob you blind and never look back. Creatures that’ll tear out your throat if you give them the chance. Bands of marauders armed to the teeth with whatever firepower they can purchase with their blood money. You don’t want any part of that.” But maybe she did, Mary-Lou thought. Maybe she did. After exchanging pleasantries, Mr. Matterson walked to the town center to start the proceedings. Mary-Lou remained seated for a moment, then walked toward the now large crowd. She kept her distance, she knew her chances of being chosen were slim at best. Mr. Matterson began the proceedings. Mary-Lou couldn’t hear his words, but keenly watched the crowd’s reaction. They were still and silent in anticipation. He held up a small wooden box, and removed a scrap of paper. He shouted a name, and the crowd went silent. A figure was being pushed to the front. It was Paxton. Mary-Lou’s heart dropped for a moment, but she knew that Paxton deserved it more than anyone. Paxton entered the Elders’ lodgings, and Mr. Matterson read the next name. The crowd seemed to murmur, disappointment spreading. No one came forward to receive their prize. Mary-Lou’s heart fluttered for a moment. Her mind entertained all her hopes, dreams, and fantasies at once. A boy ran away from the crowd toward the southern section of town, right at Mary-Lou. He passed her without saying a word. He turned to shout back to the crowd. “I’ll go tell him! I’ll see if he can come down here!” Mary-Lou’s heart dropped, but this time to her stomach. She knew she wouldn’t be picked. It happened this way every year. She felt like an idiot. The same every time, and yet she still allowed herself to get excited enough to be dismayed when the inevitable passed. Yet still, she started rehearsing her wish in her head. *I wish for a gallant adventurer to take me away from this place*, she thought repeatedly. Mr. Matterson was reaching for the third name. He read it. Groans filled the crowd, and an old woman hobbled up to the front. Everyone in the crowd shared Mary-Lou’s opinion that such wishes would be wasted on the elderly. Mary-Lou felt a sob bubbling up. She fought it as best as she could, but soon it won the battle, and tears were streaming down her face. She ran away from the town center, running between some of the homes and shops stationed nearby. She’d let no one see her cry. She was too old to be getting her hopes up, after all. She dropped to her knees and cried for some time. Maybe a few minutes, maybe a half hour. She was stopped by Paxton’s voice. “Mary-Lou? What’s wrong?” She attempted to speak through her erratic breathing. “Oh Paxton, I... I just thought this would be the time for me, you know?” She gave up her sense of shame and looked up at Paxton, half-expecting to see a newly formed second arm. But the space where his arm used to be was still empty. “W-what happened with the Elder? What did she tell you?” “Oh, she did her whole song and dance to the gods, but I’ll tell you, I’m certain it’s all fake now. You should have heard what she told me. She said that the gods were listening to someone else while she was trying to summon them. She told me they might not hear me, and apologized. She said it had never happened before, and she asked me not to tell anyone else. Well damn it to hell, that’s what I say to that.” Paxton finished his monologue by lightly stamping the ground. Some of the produced dust fell onto Mary-Lou’s face, but she was too focused on what Paxton had just said to notice. “Could they, could they have heard me?” Mary-Lou’s eyes were locked on Paxton’s. “I’m not quite sure what you mean,” Paxton said, confused. “But hey, your parents are looking for you, they said if I found you I should send you to the festival. They want to introduce you to someone. I’m headed there myself if you’d like to join me.” Mary-Lou’s mind was snapped back to reality. Of course, her parents. While the gods of the dell were probably fake, her parents and their wishes were perfectly real, and would soon be enacted upon her. She suddenly hated everyone and everything, including her parents for asking Paxton of all people to deliver the message. She ran away, running until the pain inside her dulled. She didn’t know how long she’d run, but now she was by the lumberer’s homes on the outskirts of town. She looked back to where she’d run from and saw a pillar of smoke. The bonfire was as big as ever this year, and she could hear music emanating even though she was so far away. Mary-Lou wanted nothing to do with that festival. She turned back to the homes and noticed an unfamiliar covered wagon being pulled by two horses. She knew it was foreign as the horses were too large and battle-worn for this town, sporting a collection of scars. The emptiness within her was filled with curiosity. She investigated the cabin across from the wagon. She snuck around the side of the home, and peeked through a window. She dropped away from the window, back to the wall. She’d seen a man inside. A man with flowing brown hair, a gun on his hip, and a shaped leather bag in his right hand. She tried to sneak away, fear engulfing her. She’d only seen a gun held by friends and townsfolk. It was significantly scarier on a stranger, she decided. She crept back to the front of the house, and saw the man leave the logger’s home. He lifted the canvas on the back of his wagon and disappeared into it. Mary-Lou guessed he was storing whatever he’d put in that bag. She stayed crouched and ducked back behind the corner of the cabin. She held her eyes closed as tightly as she could, and shortly became aware of the fact that her heart was trying to escape her body. What felt like an eternity passed. “Excuse me, miss, what might you be doing in a place like this?” Mary-Lou opened her eyes to the sight of the stranger. He seemed to loom before her, although there was nothing threatening about his stance. He reached a hand forward slowly. “Could I help you up?” Mary-Lou tried to nod her head slowly and calmly, but when she reached her hand out, she found that it was shaking fervently. The man stepped back after helping her up. “Now, miss,” he said, “I’m going to ask you a question, and I’d really like it if you answered me honestly, alright? I have a knack for knowing when someone’s lying to me. I don’t mean you any harm, I promise, but I need you to answer me.” Mary-Lou was about to cry once again. She wasn’t sure she had any tears left, but the sobs were coming back. This time from fear rather than heartbreak. “I’d like you to tell me if you saw me in that cabin. And I’d like you to tell me what you saw.” Mary-Lou audibly gulped. She told the truth, never considering any other option. She told the stranger that she’d seen him in the home, then had ducked away from the window. “And that’s all you saw?” “Yes sir.” The man seemed to ponder something, but Mary-Lou’s mind was racing as fast as it ever had. Unbeknownst to the stranger, emotions were bubbling within the woman in front of him. She was thinking about the wish she’d made. She was thinking about the fact that she’d never seen a stranger in town before, and she was thinking that this one seemed awfully dangerous. She asked a question. “Are you... are you planning to leave this place?” The question snapped him out of his train of thought. “Yes, I may have some more business to conduct but I’ll be leaving.” Now that she’d gathered the courage to look the man in his eyes, Mary-Lou was becoming entranced by them. They seemed to sparkle, and filled her with a strange melancholic sensation. “Could you take me with you?” Mary-Lou asked. She didn’t know where the question had come from, but didn’t dispute its authenticity. She’d meant it. “And why might you want to come with me?” For the second time that day, Mary-Lou revealed her soul to another. She told the man about her dream to leave this place, she told him about how terrible her future would be if she didn’t leave this place, she told him that she didn’t think she could do it alone. She hesitated, then told the stranger that if she didn’t leave this place today, she’d kill her dream. She’d suppress it and punish such thoughts until she could accept the life of a woman in the village. She didn’t know how the man would react to this, but she didn’t much care. The man raised a hand to the stubble on his face, rubbing his jawline from ear to chin. He thought for a time, then responded. “You haven’t even told me your name, but you’ve told me your deepest wish. I think you’re a strange girl, you know that?” Mary-Lou nodded. “You know,” he continued, “I know just how you feel. I felt that way myself for a while. That’s why I steal. That’s why I take from communities with too many resources. The communities who make people like you unhappy. Are you alright with that? The way I make my living? Could you truly come to accept it?” “I...” Mary-Lou trailed off. “I think I could. I think I’m accepting the idea more and more, even now. So what do you say? Can I come with you, wherever you’re going?” “I didn’t think I’d be the type to be swayed by someone like you, but dammit, I can’t tell you to stay in a place like this. You can come with me.” Mary-Lou’s lips stretched upwards in excitement. “So when do we leave? I’m ready to go now, you know,” Mary-Lou said. “I have to finish my business here, that business being a good old fashioned robbery. Why don’t you come help me, and when we’re done, I can promise you we’ll be racing out of here.” “Like Zeus’s chariot?” The man crumpled his nose. “I can’t say I know what you’re talking about.” “I’ll explain it on the way out,” she said. And thus, their unlikely partnership was formed. The stranger had Mary-Lou keep watch outside the homes while he went in to rob them, but no one ever came. He told Mary-Lou that he’d scouted this location for the last three years. He knew that everyone went in to town to celebrate this time every year. It was a thief’s dream. After the fourth house, Mary-Lou asked the man what he was stealing, and if it would harm the townsfolk. He told her that this town produced a specific resource very efficiently, and it wouldn’t hurt anyone to take from a community with too much. He said he’d heard that the way the town produced it was even causing some townsfolk some harm. Mary-Lou tried asking exactly what he was stealing, but the man said she’d have to wait and see. They continued robbing home after home, each time the man leaving with his shaped leather bag, depositing the contents into the wagon, then continuing on. After fifteen or twenty some homes, the man said they’d be leaving soon. They’d been lucky, most of the homes had what he was looking for. Mary-Lou asked him about the money involved, and he told her they’d have enough to travel the world wherever they pleased, enough to find plenty of new adventures. Mary-Lou really liked the sound of that. Eventually, the man exited the wagon with a smile on his face. “Mary-Lou, it’s time for us to get out of here. I hope your time as a robber’s been plenty exciting, because we’re putting this life behind us. Happiness coming over her, Mary Lou ran to the stranger and embraced him, planting her head in his shoulder. The man returned the gesture, and they stayed that way for some time before releasing each other. The stranger told her to hop onto the wagon, and they were off. After a few minutes of riding, the man asked her if she was hungry. Considering she hadn’t eaten since the night before, Mary-Lou told him she was. They pulled over with the town still in sight, and the man found some smoked jerky, a few apples, and some milk in his wagon. They ate their meal and subsequently passed out, the warmth of the sun over the veil of leaves above them was too pleasant to resist. Mary-Lou woke up to an unfamiliar voice. Groggily, she wiped her eyes, and once they finally focused she saw an older man pointing a revolver at the stranger. Her new friend was on his knees with his hands held high, the gun just inches away from his nose. The man was yelling about something, pointing to the wagon excitedly, his face red with rage. Mary-Lou vaguely recognized him from the town, but didn’t know his name. Mary-Lou yelled toward the older man, begging him to stop. It was just like a man from her town to threaten an outsider. He would never understand why they’d stolen, he’d never understand that the man on the other side of the barrel of the gun had hopes and dreams just like her. That town was where dreams died, and this was simply an expression of it. The older man looked towards Mary-Lou and shouted something, and that was all the time the stranger needed to act. He gracefully sprung to his feet, grabbed the gun, and kicked the other man hard in the knee. The older man fell to the ground, releasing the revolver in pain. The stranger looked toward the girl. “Mary-Lou, look away now.” In a state of shock, Mary-Lou did exactly what she was told. She heard the gunshot ring through the air, then felt the pull of the stranger’s hand on his shoulder. “Come on, we need to move, now. They’re trying to destroy what we’re building, it’s now or never,” he said. Mary-Lou obliged. She climbed up to the front of the wagon, and the man ran around to the driver’s seat. He handed Mary-Lou a pistol he produced from under his seat. “If anyone tries to hurt you, don’t hesitate. You just point and squeeze the trigger, alright darling?” Mary-Lou nodded. She vaguely heard some commotion behind her. She looked behind the wagon and saw a group of townsfolk chasing after them on foot, likely thirty seconds away. Their shouts were of anguish. Were they trying to rescue her, or did they just want to maintain order? This confused Mary-Lou. She heard a strange noise come from the back of the wagon, but it soon stopped. Before she could ask the stranger about it, they were off. The wagon was building speed. “They’ll never catch us,” the man said, “they don’t have a chance in hell.” They rode like this for a few minutes, and once they’d put some distance between them and the mob behind them, Mary-Lou felt like she was finally able to breathe. The stranger placed his hand to the sun. “Seems like we’re about six or seven hours to sundown,” he said. “We took a bit of a detour from where we’re trying to go, I didn’t want them to follow us. Damn, it might wear off soon.” Mary-Lou wasn’t sure if the man was talking to her or himself. He seemed distant to her, his eyes weren’t focused on anything in particular. Suddenly, he snapped out of it, and looked at Mary-Lou. “Hey, you remember why we’re doing this, right?” Mary-Lou nodded. “And you know if we do this, we go live the life we’ve both dreamed of,” he said. It wasn’t a question as much as a statement for which he sought affirmation. “Yes, I know that,” Mary-Lou said. “Well, alright then. We may be able to make it by nightfall. We trade this wagon for a sack of cash and fresh horses, and we leave this place,” the stranger said. He was about to continue when Mary-Lou heard another noise coming from the wagon. She wasn’t sure what it was, it sounded almost alien to her. She started to wonder exactly what her town was hiding. And yet, there was a familiar quality to it, she just couldn’t place it. The sound stopped once again. Mary-Lou turned to the stranger. She’d just realized she hadn’t even asked him his name yet. Just as she opened her mouth, he cursed under his breath. Mary-Lou looked back at the road. Riding toward them were two men, both sporting gleaming silver stars. Mary-Lou didn’t understand the stranger’s dismay. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Those men...” he started, “Just let me do the talking here, alright? Please, don’t speak unless you must. I’ll get us out of this, but it might not be easy.” He looked at Mary-Lou and cast a reassuring smile toward her, then shifted his gaze downward and noticed she was still holding the gun. Startled, he took it from her and hid it back under his seat. The men on the horses were upon them now. The stranger and the rider on the left exchanged smiles. Mary-Lou hadn’t noticed when he’d done it, but the stranger was gripping her hand with his own. As the men on the horses passed, the grip tightened, then released once they’d cleared the wagon. Another noise sounded from the wagon, and Mary-Lou heard the horses behind them stop moving. The riders turned around and rode back even with the stranger, one on each side of the wagon. The rider near the stranger cleared his throat. “Excuse me sir, would you mind pulling over for a moment?” The stranger’s grip on Mary-Lou’s hand was painful now. “Well,” he said, “I would, but my wagon is holding sensitive cargo. My boss told me to let no one see it under any circumstances.” The rider was unphased. “Sir, I’ll ask you again to pull over. I’m not too keen on asking a third time. I’m asking you with the power given to me as a deputy of this county. Do you understand that?” “I-I-” the stranger stammered. His palm started sweating. “I’m afraid I can’t do that sir, I work for a powerful man, you see?” He released Mary-Lou’s hand, and began to slowly reach under his seat. He glanced at the rider on the other side as he did so. “I have the paperwork, if you’re worried about that. I can show you the manifesto if it gets you gentleman on your way.” “Well, I suppose that’s a start. Let’s see it then,” the deputy said. The deputy reached out toward the wagon, and the stranger continued to rummage around under his seat. He turned to Mary-Lou, and spoke so softly she thought it could have been the wind speaking to her. “When I lift my hand from under the wagon, you need to duck.” The stranger searched for another couple seconds, then found what he was looking for. “Sirs, I think you’ll find this satisfactory,” the stranger said as he raised the pistol from under his seat with his right arm, and unholstered the revolver in his left. Before the deputies had a chance to react, he’d planted a bullet in the head of the rider on the left. Then, flipping his head, he shot the other man just as Mary-Lou ducked under the barrel of the gun. Mary-Lou didn’t see the bullet connect, but she heard a now familiar sound of metal embedding itself in flesh, then heard a body hit the dirt path. Mary-Lou was shell shocked. She couldn’t find the courage to lift her head, much less to speak. She expected a comforting gesture from the stranger, but he now had hold of the reigns, increasing the speed of the wagon. They raced down the road for a few minutes, then he relaxed his speed. The two didn’t speak again for the rest of their ride. As the sun was setting, the stranger veered off the main path, taking the wagon through some tall trees and into a grassy clearing. A man with a similar covered wagon was waiting there. He was older, his hair readily receding and his teeth all but rotted. A few saddled horses grazed in the field, Mary-Lou assumed they were what the stranger had mentioned earlier. The setting sun cast shadows which seemed to loom throughout the clearing, the sky seemed to burn a shade of orange above them. “Hey, Mary-Lou? Why don’t you let me do the talking again, got it? Don’t worry, this is the man who’s giving us the money and horses, just like I told you. We’ll be living our new life soon enough, I promise.” The stranger planted a kiss on Mary-Lou’s forehead, then stepped down from the wagon to approach the other man. They conversed for a moment, but Mary-Lou couldn’t quite make out what she was hearing. She thought she heard the phrases “more than I thought” and “don’t worry about her.” She became nervous, but she calmed down once she saw the two share a friendly handshake. The stranger waved Mary-Lou over from the wagon, and the older man went over to inspect its contents. “My darling, today marks the first day of our new lives. Our man here came through just like I thought he would,” the stranger said. He pointed to the horses. “See those fine horses over there? Their saddles are full of gold, gold that we can exchange for as much cash as we can carry once we get into town. Then, I don’t know, we get a boat anywhere we want!” Mary-Lou didn’t know what to say. She thought that even if she knew what she was feeling right now, she wouldn’t be able to express it through language. The only word that came to mind was unsettled. Was this really what I wanted? More questions swirled through her mind, and she was more than willing to let the stranger lead her by the hand while she sorted them out. They mounted their horses, and like the stranger had said, the saddle bags held bars of solid gold. The stranger reached his hand toward her, and she took it, their horses cantering aside one another. The sun fell below the mountains to the west, Mary-Lou noticed as they passed the wagon one last time. The noise came once again, but louder than ever. No, she thought, it must be more than one noise. She wouldn’t even try to figure out this mystery, she was content to leave this place and never look back. But as they rode through the trees, realization flooded through Mary-Lou, and she became pale in the waning sunlight. The sound she’d heard hadn’t been from wild animals. It hadn’t been alien. It hadn’t been the clink of disarrayed coins, nor had it been the sizzling of a strange reaction. Mary-Lou thought she might fall off her horse. The sounds which had emanated from that wagon were surely the muffled cries of babies. The sorts of cries which would only be resolved by the gentle touch of the mothers they’d never again see. Into the sunset they rode.


Mark lives alone in a studio apartment in London. He works in finance, which is something he doesn’t like to elaborate on in conversations when the topic comes up. Mark’s days usually start by him waking up at 6 AM, taking a shower, going to work, working to 9 PM, grabbing a couple of beers with his friends, and then going to sleep. Mark hates his life. It’s been the same way for 10 years and if he doesn’t change anything it will probably continue to be the same to the day he dies. The only thing that consoles Mark is the high chance of him dying early, due to an overconsumption of drugs and alcohol, combined with a lack of sleep. Mark is sitting at his office; drinking coffee and analyzing numbers and trying hard not to fall asleep. Someone slaps him on his back. He turns around; it’s his boss, Peter. Peter smirks and says, “Falling asleep already, eh? You can sleep when you are dead and I don’t see a tombstone here next to you, and also this isn’t a graveyard. Never mind that, I need those reports in by tonight. I also need you to start going through the numbers for this quarter.” Mark opened his mouth to respond, but Peter was already halfway towards his office. “That old grump, now I have to work late again. That’s 987 days in a row.” Mark thought to himself. He sighed and took a sip of coffee. It had turned cold, of course. This was not the life he had dreamt of living. He wanted to be happy, live an interesting life, spend his time on hobbies, have a lovely girlfriend, and most of all; create a better world. Instead, he worked in a staid company, surrounded by people who only cared about money and profits, spending his nights doing drugs. A colleague sat a hot cup of coffee on his desk and said, “Mate, last night was mental. I reckon it can’t get better than that, but we’ll find out tonight, right? The blokes are meeting at the club at 9.” Mark replied, “I can’t tonight I’m working late, sorry mate” His colleague made fake crying noises, “We all work late, that’s why we get blasted, innit? Play hard and work hard. Did I tell you about the bonus I got last week?” Mark replied, “Many times.” His colleague started to walk away, “Awww, you’re just jealous. See you tonight, Mark.” Mark was in fact jealous, but not of his colleagues. He was jealous of people living ordinary lives and doing meaningful work, something he had never done his whole life. He decided it was time for his lunch break. The sun was shining as he stepped outside the office; birds were singing, people were eating ice cream in the park, and an elderly woman stumbled on a rock in front of him and slammed into the ground. As she was lying on the ground, Mark felt his heartbeat speed up. He decided he was going to do something nice for another person. He walked up to the old lady and extended his hand. She looked up at him and took his hand. Mark smiled and said, “Are you okay, lady?” She brushed the dust off her clothes and answered, “I’m old. I can’t walk properly anymore, but don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’m as fine as I’ll ever be. Thank you for helping me” She walked to the bus stop close by and sat down. Mark stood there and felt something weird. It wasn’t old lady dust. He was happy. He decided he was going to help more people. He heard someone crying in the park. A young girl sat alone on a bench; tears were running down her face and she was obviously not enjoying the sunny day as much as the rest of the people. Mark sat down next to her and awkwardly said, “Hi” She looked at him and wiped away her tears, “Hi?” Mark smiled and said “I noticed you were crying. I’m sorry to intrude, but is there anything I can do to help?” She looked dazzled, “I don’t think so. Thank you for asking. It’s just that my cat has disappeared. I’ve been looking for days, but I can’t find him. I love my cat and I miss him so much.” He scratched his head “What is your cat like?” She started sobbing, but eventually calmed herself, “He’s black. He’s a black cat, and he likes to eat cat food and snuggle next to me while I watch the telly.” Mark nodded, “That sounds like a nice cat. I understand why you miss him. If I see him I will give you a call immediately” She smiled, “Yes. He is a nice cat. Thank you. My name is Susan. Here is my number in case you ever find my cat” She gave him a little poster with the picture of a cat and her number written down at the bottom. Mark folded the poster and put it in his pocket, “My name is Mark.” Susan said, “It’s nice to meet you, Mark. You have made my day a little better. Do you want to help me search for my cat?” Mark was about to respond, but his phone rang. It was his boss. He answered, “Hello, it’s Mark” His boss had an angry tone in his voice, “You’ve been gone for 30 minutes. Where are you? You have to come back to the office and finish all the paperwork.” Mark did not want to go back to the office. He wanted to help Susan find her cat. Mark felt a surge of adrenalin go through his body as he said two words he had wanted to say for quite some time, “I quit.” He hung up the phone. He had just ended his career at the company, but in another sense, he felt his life had just begun.


The red glare of his lightsabre shone against the pale skin of his face as a young Palpatine stood at the doorway of his Masters chamber. A silent whisper from the Dark Side Nexus beneath the palace whispered to him, “What you do when you cross this bridge will determine the fate of the Sith Lord that will incinerate you. Remember Sidious you are the culmination of what we’ve been dreaming. Fulfilling the jealousy bound within Rule of Two in this instance will allow the Force to birth a saviour. Find him and bring him to us. The Legions await his arrival.” Palpatine stood at the doorway, awestruck by the sensuality of the voice that had cascaded through him. He hadn’t realised that the Nexus could speak to Sith such as himself. He’d always assumed that his Master was the sole recipient of the power stored within the Nexus. He heard the soft rustle of clothing inside the chambers as he opened the door and stepped into the moonlit shadows scattered in the chamber. Holocrons, relics, masks and statues stared at the young pupil as he walked unsteadily towards his Masters deathbed. “... the fate of the Sith Lord that will incinerate you.” The voice whispered through him and he saw a silhouette of a Dark Side User in a metallic black, robotic mask lingering against the outline of the moon. Hatred and fear courses through him as he raised his light sabre above his head, his eyes locked onto the heart of Hego Damask. His hands shot downwards and the light sabre stopper an inch above the heart of the Muun. His Masters eyes shot open and a kind smile crept across his face. “Good. You’re fulfilling the Rule of Two. You’re still not strong enough for what must be done young Sidious.” Darth Plagueis reached upwards and clasped the hilt of his disciples light sabre. “One day I will see you across the aisle child. I will be very different then. You will not even know who I truly am then. And yet balance will be fulfilled. Let that jealousy inside you flourish. I’ve seen that it will do wonders for the Dark Side. Remember do not mourn my passing.” The Muun slowly lowered the light sabre through his chest with Palpatines hands still clasped around the hilt. The Apprentice stood transfixed as he watched a transcendent smile overwhelm his Masters face. The body of Darth Plagueis disappeared. Palpatine stood still. The palace trembled and cackled. Far away, the energy around the Senate shivered as a youngling Emperor was born. The moon before Palpatines eyes had a red glow around it now. The silhouette of the future Vader shattered into dust and crept into the wind. *** 9 years later, the spiritual essence of Hego Damask was instantly teleported by the Force to the planet of Tattooine. The former Sith Lord smiled as he saw a serene woman kneeling on a stretch of sand dunes staring at two suns. He glanced briefly at the golden haze of the setting sun and entered the womb of Shmi Skywalker.


There she was, again. For years I've seen her sitting on that bench, as I make my way to work, crossing this park. It's funny, we've never actually greeted each others, let alone speak, but I have this feeling that we both notice each others. One cold morning I poured my coffee down the drain and made my way outside, to be greeted by a morning mist, a sort of shapeless guardian of time, fighting the sun to keep this peculiar moment, called crepuscule, going. Well, I felt minuscule, as I walked across the road, these dark fluffy clouds hovering over the very city I've lived in all my life. I made small talk with the chicken, on the other side of the road, exchanging pleasantries. ME ''How are the kids'' CHICKEN ''They're just fine, still in their eggs and all'' ME ''Well, say hello to the wife will ya friend'' CHICKEN “Will not, since a fox got to her last week, gruesome affair'' ME ''Sad to hear it, good day'' CHICKEN ''Same to you, watch for the geese'' As I tucked my icicles in my pockets, I realised that I was laughing like a mad person, completely lost in my mind, walking. Making my way under the tall trees, I entered the park. In these trees were big-nosed monkeys, hurling rocks and branches at passerby. As I pass the biggest one, I avoid eye contact and start hollering, filling the crisp air of an absurd, primal music. Soon enough the monkeys got down from the trees and started to walk, as people do, stopping and pretending to talk. The big-nosed one stayed on his branch and clapped his hands, then I kissed his ring. Blessed by his majesty the Prime minister of the big tree, I kept on walking my merry way. My mind kept trying to focus on the upcoming day at work, but such thoughts could wait a few more minutes. As I turned to the left at a park highway, a flock of cyclists passed me on the left, at incredible speed. All of them had the standard Spandex suit, with the helmet and sunglasses. One yelled something as he passed me by, making these intricate movements with his arms, as if I were to understand some bodily cyclist language. After a few minutes the flock thinned. The last one I saw was a pig on a unicycle, struggling to keep up with even the slowest of the flock. I pushed him down and, ignoring his screeching of panic I laid my judgment upon him, taking its pathetic life, to the blind eye of many witnesses. Cleaning my hands on a nearby bush, I was ecstatic. My white tie was stained with the invisible blood of a non-existent animal that I slain without pity, yet my mind was in complete ebullition. Above me was hovering one of the biggest dragonfly I'd ever seen, and I've seen at least two in my twenty-four years on this earth. In one swift move its wing began flapping in a noisy way, and it stood still, a few meters above the ground. Its wings were so noisy in fact that I couldn't hear anything else, neither the chirping of the harpies nor the screams of agony of the ants. The dragonfly flew away, seemingly disinterested by my humble presence. The deafening silence made way to a symphony of nature's most mundane noises. Only to be interrupted by a soloist, performing the lacrimosia. I had completely forgot her. There she was, again. Sitting on that bench. But today she was crying, and she wasn't alone. Seeing her in such an emotional state took me completely off guard. I must've had such a concerned face, which is funny since we were nothing more than strangers. How I wished I could go sit next to her and comfort her, not as an excuse to finally talk to her, but only for her to not be so sad anymore. As I approached, they didn't even seem to notice me, so focused they were on the corpse on the ground, in front in front of them. I tried to say something, but nothing came to mind. I tried to do something, but nothing came to body. I finally laid there, on the ground in front of them, as the clouds opened their hearts and let forth their tears, much like her. To all I was an unfortunate man, that somehow died while crossing a park. To her, I was this stranger that she never dared talk to. To me, I was a mad person, so deep in my own imagination that I died from it. As I stop breathing, I feel as though this is for the best. I look one last time at her, as I accept my departure from this world. She wasn't crying, she was laughing.


Thanks for reading. Happy to hear any inputs. Sonti The Sophist Sonti was my friend. We were about the same height, though he had a slightly darker complexion than me and a chubby face. His long dark hair was combed and parted over his left eye. Strands of hair would fall over his right eye which he would flip with a twist of his head to bring them back over his head--a characteristic display of his irreverence. I don’t know when he got the nickname “Sonti”. Maybe when we were in our second grade? I remember he fell from the mango tree at our school, fractured a bone in his right arm, and stayed at home for two months. When he came back to school he started learning to write with this left hand. As was the norm in our class we ridiculed him as “Sonti” (lefty). Whatever it was, the name “Sonti” stuck with us: only teachers at our school knew his real name. He made exaggerated claims about his struggles to learn to write with his left hand. But his other stories and claims captivated us even more. Like that one time in our third grade he told us about how he learned to ride a bicycle by himself: His father had asked him to rent a bicycle at Kumar’s Bicycle shop near his house and bring it back home. “First I chose the Hero bicycle that was about this length,” he lifted his palm to his head, “and I asked Kumar if it was a good vehicle. Kumar assured me it was the best he had and wrote my name in his notebook. He said he knew my father. I tapped on the seat twice with my right palm--just to check if the seat was ok. I looked around the bicycle and the air pressure in the tires seemed fine. Then I simply got on the bicycle and slid my right leg to the other side of the pedal, and slowly lifted my left leg onto the left pedal and balanced myself. I fell twice, for sure. It didn’t hurt me. After two attempts, I easily rode it like a monkey riding the bicycle,” he briefly paused to let us imagine a monkey riding a bicycle, “and I crossed the Seven Bisons bridge where I had to carefully drive on the side to give way to the No.10 bus. When I reached home, I told my father that I parked the bicycle outside.” He narrated it all so casually, as if the whole event was just like another leaf falling from a tree: pre-ordained and inevitable. Ennai, Mottai, Doku, and I listened in awe to hear Sonti’s mini travelogue. For us a third grader riding a bicycle by himself was quite a feat--or so we thought, till Sonti told us that he learnt it the very first time, by himself! One day during our fifth grade we were chatting at school before the morning bell. My friend Mottai was narrating his weekend experience riding the pillion of his uncle’s moped for the first time. It was a TVS-50, a lean 50-CC two-wheeled vehicle--in essence, a bicycle with a motor. “He drove for half an hour. Towards the end he went fast. May be 90-95km per hour, zhuuurrrrrrr.” He sounded like the roar past a supersonic jet engine. “I was frightened when he rode at 100 km per hour to overtake a truck,” my friend claimed. “100km. That is nothing,” Sonti dismissed my friend’s claims nonchalantly and continued, “One of my uncles has a Rajdoot. It is a large motorcycle,” his hands widened, “It looks like a big bull. My uncle and I went for a ride from our village to Madurai. He told me to sit in the pillion and told me to wrap my hands around his waist. But when we were returning, I asked if I could sit in the front, just above the petrol tank. It was dark in the evening. As he rode fast, I feared my dangling slippers might fall off. He even let me drive. I firmly held the motorcycle’s handlebar with both my hands. You know what I did?” he paused to look at me and gauge if I was following him, “I turned the accelerator and rode fast, rocket fast, at 150 or may be 200 km per hour. I overtook four cars and three buses and we came back home in half the time. My uncle was impressed with me. You know what he said? ‘This Rajdoot is yours’.” Sonti looked at us with his eyebrows lifted up. A casual swagger. “Is it that easy,” I asked. “It is, for me,” he shrugged. We nodded our heads in approval and looked at him with a sense of gratitude: at least, he is still our friend. “Super, super,” Ennai was emphatic in his approval. In sixth grade he ratcheted his claims even further: like that one time he told us that he had an uncle who was a District Superintendent of Police (DSP) and how he and his uncle went chasing a robber. “My DSP uncle asked my father if he could take me to Salem for ‘official work’ and my father consented. I was sitting in the passenger seat. An hour later he stopped at a roadside tea stall in a village. He ordered a Limca for me and a tea for himself. He described a person to the tea stall owner and asked if he knew his whereabouts. We walked towards the village and a man, who resembled a thief, started running away from us. My DSP uncle told me to stay behind and started chasing him but I also ran behind my DSP uncle. Fast and faster. When we finally caught him, the rascal couldn’t run anymore,” he finished with a triumphal grin. “Incredible,” we all muttered with our eyes open. “Why didn’t you chase him in the police jeep?” my friend Ennai wondered. “Don’t you know that roads are narrow in villages?” he bluntly rebuked Ennai. During the initial days of our seventh grade, he used to talk a lot about his pet peacock--a gift from his father’s friend. “My father is a government official. He gets a lot of gifts but he mostly rejects them because he is an honest man. When someone offered a peacock as a gift, I asked him if we could keep the peacock. He agreed under the condition that I would be responsible for its upkeep.” Before any of us could challenge his claim, he pulled a small iridescent blue and green colored plumage with a spotted eye in the middle from his back pocket and gave it to me: “This is a good luck charm. But you have to keep it inside a book. Otherwise the peacock will curse you.” My friends were envious, but I felt honored to be the custodian of his gift. There was one time when he claimed his family was related to the famous Tamil actor, Vijayakanth, and that his family always got free tickets to watch Vijayakanth movies. Who knew? Sonti once told us about how his father wrote to the state’s Chief Minister about improvements his father had suggested to a canal digging project and how the Chief Minister responded in a letter with grace and appreciation. “I think he might be promoted as the District Collector,” Sonti mused with a slight irreverence, as if his Dad becoming the most powerful man in the entire district didn’t matter the least to him. We were however excited at the prospect of having a powerful friend in our midst and were immediately curious: “Would you come to school in one of those police jeeps with a blue light atop?” “Would the police accompany you to the bathroom during recess?” etc. As was his habit, he simply shrugged--either he didn’t know or didn’t care or wasn’t interested in responding. One evening after school Dokku brought a picture of a tall building in the United States. The caption read: “The Empire State Building.” He said it was 100 floors stacked one on top of another. We took turns to look at it and gasped at the marvel. “How do you build 100 floors?” Dokku wondered. Sonti took a peek at it and paused. “This is all recently built. Anybody can do it,” he simply rejected the grandiose claims behind the Empire State building. “Did you know my ancestors built the Meenakshi temple in Madurai thousand years ago? Have you seen it?,” he sought our reaction and continued, “Even though people call it a thousand-legged hall, it has only 985 legs and the remaining fifteen are atop two shrines. Every pillar is sculpted with images of Gods. The entire temple was built by my ancestors,” he paused again wondering if his claims registered with us. “One thousand years ago,” he lifted his right hand behind him to emphasize the long past. “Think about it.” With those three words, he relegated Dokku’s wonderment into oblivion. Sonti’s stories were convincing. Whenever we challenged his claim, he countered us with questions for which we had no answers. Whenever we accused him as a cheat and a liar, he simply ignored it. One day, just as our afternoon session was about to begin at school, Sonti came running into the class and impatiently dislodged his school bag. He summoned the four of us into a huddle. His voice was frantic and he sounded tense. He gasped for a few breaths. “Somebody shot and killed Prime Minister Indira Gandhi today.” Our collective shock was shattered when the school bell rang. It was 1:00pm on the 31st of October, 1984.


Hundreds of beasts scurry throughout the ruined city of Colosia, the remanence of a battle over the rights of the sentient. Their base of operations all but destroyed, four soldiers shuffle between buildings working their way out of the heart of the city. Electronic warfare is keeping all long distance communication silent. What’s left of the squad is in search of a way off the lost planet. The Acers are a motivated mercenary company contracted out by generals of Dynamus whom they sympathise with. They believe grit should not be reaped from sentient life as they are sure its destroying the very soul of those reaped. The Astras empire on the other hand has no problem dissolving their slaves and prisoners into grit. This difference in values of life is what is fueling the war. Grit is a multidimensional particle that has just been discovered in the last two hundred years, and its capability of opening portals to hyperspace has had its value skyrocket. Combining powerful navigation computers with the ability to enter hyperspace allows travel to anywhere in the galaxy in short order. It’s collected by using a high frequency energy that breaks up the living or recently living tissue and releases grit which is collected by a specially designed negatively charged container. It didn’t take long for grit to become a standard currency which is used across the galaxy. “You really think the elevator is still functioning?” Rob asked his superior, referring the the space elevator a few dozen kilometers outside the city. “Has to be. It’s our only way off this grave yard. Just hope its still under Dynamus control” Luke said holding up a closed fist, signaling to his unit to stop. At the end of the alley is the growling of two wyrm hounds fighting over some garbage. The hounds were the remnants of monsters summoned by Astras to take down the city. “Hey!” Luke belted out not too loudly. It got their attention and they charged the soldiers. They bounded taking long strides and moved quite fast. The sound of the weapons were suppressed, made little noise, and short work of the animals. They bled green and didn’t smell so good. “We’ve only seen wyrms and traps set by Astras, do you think any of the army is still here?” Rob quizzed again. “Hard to say. There’s not much left to fight over. Those that weren’t captured and reaped managed to get at least out of the city, if not off the planet.” Doug chimed in. He was the units designated marksmen. The planets sun began to creep up casting long shadows and golden light down the streets. Taking full caution, the unit moved corner to corner keeping an eye out for traps and monsters. One at a time they switched off their night-vision. Their standard issue PR-330 light armor had kept them warm throughout the night. “Take five.” Luke allowed, walking into an abandoned restaurant. “Ammo checks and bio breaks.” Terra swung her backpack off and started counting magazines. “We’ve got plenty to go around yet. Two dozen clips and a half dozen nano patches. Not including your belts.” Terra is the engineer and pack rat for the squad. “How much farther?” “Your full of questions today” Terra smirked at Rob. “Well i-“ He stopped, crouching down and raising his weapon towards the window. The sound of heavy metallic footsteps drummed outside. “Ours??” he whispered. Terra pulled a heavy grenade from the backpack and passed it up to Doug who was closest to the window. The large bipedal machine thumped and than screeched dragging one of its feet, apparently damaged. Once it came into full view In front of the building the soldiers sighed. “It’s an FR-1080, one of ours...” Doug laughed and stood up. A second later machine gun fire lit up the robot from down the street and an anti tank round ripped through the biped and white hot metal erupted from the wound, it stopped in its tracks and fell to the ground face first. “Get me eyes on!” belted out Luke. Rob pulled a sphere off his belt and tossed it out into the street. It’s a drone for locating enemy targets. It gave a visual readout onto each squad members digital face shield, showing the pinged targets location. “Okay, out the back. Rob, Terra.” He commanded. “Get ready to flank.” They bolted out the back door of the restaurant and into the alley way. Their readout showed a dozen enemy soldiers in the street on the other side of the building. Rob and Terra moved up a half block in the alley to get behind their foe. In the meantime, Luke and Doug posted up behind the little cover they could find and waited for the enemy to come check out the robot that was taken out. It didn’t appear that any of Luke’s squad had been detected yet. The robot slayers moved from cover and began to cautiously approach the downed machine. This was all shown by the drone in the street. Terra and Rob got into position and raised their weapons to engage the enemy from behind. They opened fire. Two of the foes got tore up by the metal slugs thrown from the Acers weapons and fell to the ground. One more fell when running into view of Doug and Luke. A blue bubble, crackling with energy formed over the remaining soldiers in the street as they ran for cover. Rounds from the four man squad were stopped by the blue bubble. “They have a starmancer.” Rob spoke loudly over the short range radio, referring to a magic user in the enemy unit. “You think?” Terra growled back pumping another round into the chamber of her weapon. “Doug!” shouted Luke. “Yup!” He replied arming his hand grenade, it beeped once to audibly confirm it was armed and he tossed it to intercept the enemy. A fantastic explosion and the smoke cleared revealing all targets were eliminated. “Clear!?” yelled Terra. “Clear” Responded Luke. “What the hell? I thought it was just the hounds left.” Spoke Rob. “They were probably in the same boat as us. Left behind for bigger things.” Replied Doug. “Check the walker for a pilot” Luke pointed to the downed machine. Rob quickly climbed up to its hatch and knocked on the locked door with the butt of his rifle. “Anything?” Rob replied “Don’t think so, doesn’t look like anybody is home. Could have been unmanned maybe?” “Maybe.” Luke spoke. “Let’s get going. Another kilometer to the suburbs and twenty passed that to the elevator.” The party looked over their fallen foes for anything useful but found nothing they needed. So they piled up what was left and destroyed it with an explosive charge. The Acers marched on.


“I love you,” Allison Carter said to the girl holding a knife to her neck in the gray alleys of the subway station. Underneath the sun, the towering buildings and the gleam off the windows in the reflection of Allison’s sunglasses, there was the caricature of what she thought New York was like. People bellowed on their phones, paced past her without looking up, shouted in the corners, talked to the wall, and fell asleep on the floor. Every time while getting on the subway, ready to act confident and careless like she’s done this her entire life, Allison prepared for the worst. Of course in her last few hours in the city, that’s when she ends up against the wall with the demand she empties her pockets, and all she said was, “I love you.” The girl recoiled, “What.” “I...love you?” She scraped the knife further along Allison’s neck, “That’s a weird thing to say.” She tried to keep her eyebrows furrowed, but she was trembling. The veins in her neck twitched and her hands shook as they brushed Aliison’s face. “Are you ok?” “I’m fine. Are you ok?” Allison shrugged, “I’ve been better.” “Yeah, that was kinda the point.” “You’re not very good at this,” Allison noted. It was not the best thing to say to someone threatening to stab her. She could’ve also mentioned how she only had twenty dollars on her, but she figured this wasn’t exactly one of her high points. The girl in front of her dropped her knife, “Well neither are you.” “So we’re in the same boat then. I’ll continue my day and you can continue yours,” Allison creeped backwards. “I need to catch a train in...” she checked her watch, ”six hours.” “Six hours? And you’re just waiting down here?” “Yeah. I don't have anything else to do.” She packed up her apartment, the one she shared with two other students who replaced her the minute all her boxes were packed. Her parents sped to collect her belongings, and gave her one last day in the city to say goodbye. She had nothing left to do but eat a bagel, walk through the streets and feel anonymous for the last time. The girl rolled her eyes, “Ok, come with me.” “Wow, what a good idea.” “But my darling, I thought you loved me,” she challenged as she walked away without looking back. They ended up at a coffee shop with matching mugs of watery coffee in front of them. Allison put enough cream and sugar that she wouldn’t have to taste the bitterness. The girl on the other hand sucked black coffee through her teeth before asking, “So what’s your deal?” “What’s my deal?” “Isn’t that what I asked?” Allison studied her like she was inside a test tube: wiry thin black hair, eyes the color of iron, gray and hollow skin, “What does that mean?” “It means who are you? Who is the girl who confessed her love to me?” Her words felt detached and mocking, and her movements were labored. Allison folded her hands on the table, “I don’t even know your name.” “Gianna,” she said. “How do I know you’re telling me the truth?” “Does it matter?” “Wouldn’t you like to know who you’re talking to?” Without talking, ‘Gianna’ dug into her pocket and handed Allison her ID. Her name was right there: Gianna Monroe underneath a fatigued picture. She was from New York City, born and raised. Gianna took back her card and raised her eyebrows, “Your turn.” “Allison.” “That’s the truth?” “Do you want to see my license?” She shook her head, “So, Ally, what’s your deal?” “Don't call me that.” “Why not?” “Well aren’t you so inquisitive?” Allison said, sighing before answering the question. “No one calls me that.” “What should I call you instead? Lover?” Allison laughed, “Sure.” “Well then, my angel, why are you here?” Why was Allison there? She followed a girl who threatened to kill her and let her buy a coffee. She would either get a death powdered in snow, or entertainment other than the mass market paperback and pre packaged sandwich stuffed into her backpack. But why was she in the city? Why did she crawl away from Wisconsin to a jungle gym for academic exploration:“Columbia.” Gianna quirked an eyebrow, “You go to Columbia?” “I went to Columbia. It was my dream school.” “And it wasn’t all it turned out to be?” “I dropped out. I went there because I got in, and that’s where all great people go. All people that do something with their lives outside of rural Wisconsin.” “What’s so bad about Wisconsin?” “You ask a lot of questions.” “I want to get to know you darling,” she said, a smile curling up her lips. “But please, if you want to interrogate me, I’m sure Miss. Columbia has wisdom to offer.” Allison was a criminal law major. They were supposed to teach her how to get the truth out of people, how to weave herself an entire new skin that no one could penetrate. If she stayed there then maybe she wouldn’t be ripping out her skull to display for a girl with concrete eyes. “Why are you taking interest in me?” “I plead the fifth” “Why did you try to mug me?” “Next question.” “You’re not very good at this,” the words were deja vu on her tongue. Gianna smirked, “I grew up here, and I don't want to leave. That’s the truth.” “I don’t believe you.” “Oh? What can I do to convince you?” “Don’t lie to me; You don’t have any reason to.” “Fine, since you know me so well sweetheart, you tell me what’s wrong with me.” “Fine,” Allison said. “You’re desperate for something. You’re disheveled and defensive. You don’t like to be anything but a mystery.” “Good, but you forgot the ecstasy addiction.” Allison coughed. She didn’t know how to react. “Not anymore. I’ve been clean for,” she counted on her fingers, “one and a half months, but my parents want to send me to rehab, and I...I can’t. I’m cut off right now, and I need to get my life together or...I don't know. Did that satisfy your curiosity?” “You’re not going to get back on your feet by stealing from someone.” “Not someone with Columbia level of student debt.” “I’m not gonna try to give you advice--” “Good. I never claim to get you, you never claim to get me.” “Are you always this hostile?” Gianned shrugged. “Do you think you have to fight all the time?” “Touche.” “No, answer my question,” Allison said. “After today I’m gone. I won’t lie to you if you don’t lie to me. I do love you, remember.” Allison got the impossible concrete girl to smile as she said, “My love, I will give to you what you give to me.” “What should I give to you?” “Your everything.” She reached out her hand. Allison took it, “Let’s pretend we’re lovers for today. I’ll pretend my life is grand as long as you’re in it.” “Deal.” Gianna said. “Have you ever been in love before?” Allison shook her head. She was in love with her future once: all the kids saw her as impossible, and she saw them as useless. She thought about how delighted they all would be when she returned with a backpack full of nothing. “I haven’t either,” Gianna said. She studied the table, tracing stains with her fingers. Allison hated to admit it, but the words were smooth as honey. She thought of Gianna’s raspy voice whispering sweet nothings into her ear, and a tangible feeling of infatuation. She could have these solemn moments, instead of a rapidly approaching date with her hometown where everyone knew her name. Population: 15000. Allison felt the brick walls close in on her. She couldn’t escape being underground, “I’m suffocated,” she said. The concrete girl looked at her, “Then let’s leave.” She grabbed Allison’s hand and began to lead her out. “Wait, but don’t we need-” “I’m taking you to the top of the world,” Gianna said. “When you think back to this moment, you’re not going to remember the bill you didn’t pay.” The entire city was laid out in front of them. They were above the clouds, above the sprinkles of snow. The people were ants they could crush between their forefingers, and cars looked comical speeding along. All the yelling, the beeping, the wind, the chatter, the white noise they learned to dance to faded into they could only hear their own breath. “I’ve never been this high before,” Allison said. “What does it feel like?” Gianna was leaning against the metal wall in the center of the terrace, the one with the entrance to emergency stairs they ran up minutes earlier. “This is the reason I came to the city,” Allison said. “I wanted to be on top of it. I wanted to know the buildings and the streets. I wanted,” she could see the horizon away from the city, the bridge that connected it to the rest of the world, she could see the sun gleaming into her eyes, “all of this.” Gianna came up next to her, putting her elbows on the safety rail, “You could’ve had it, you know.” “I can’t go back to that place.” “Do you think you can stay here?” Allison searched for an answer, searched for anything that yelled into her face. She waited for the sun to give her an answer. She waited for her concrete girl to stop asking questions, for silence to fall over them. “I don’t know.” “That’s hard for you to admit.” “What about you?” “I almost jumped off this building when I was high.” “What?” She stared off into the distance. The sky was bright with the foreshadowing of afternoon. “I was eighteen and I dropped out of community college. It wasn’t for me. I couldn’t sit still in a classroom, I couldn’t see myself working a 9-5, I spent all my money on molly. I kept walking until I found myself here, and I thought it was a sign that I should give up while I still have my dignity.” “So why didn’t you?” “I was sitting here in this exact spot, looking at everything. I felt like I was a part of an indescribable chaos, and I could burrow myself in it long enough to find some sort of meaning.” “Ah yes, by mugging someone to avoid rehab.” Gianna laughed and looked at her, “I’m fine with being a fuck-up, as long as I can sleep at night and be somewhat fulfilled.” “You’re not a fuck up.” “Tell that to my parents.” “My parents would love for me to be a fuck-up. They don’t want an extraordinary kid, they want someone they don't have to worry about. They were overjoyed when I told them I was going home. I couldn’t take the pressure so I gave up. How pathetic does that make me?” “You’re not pathetic. You’re nineteen. You’re not going to end up anywhere you don’t want to be,” she said. Allison wiped her eyes to make sure there were no tears; She never let herself cry. “What did you want to do?” “I wanted to go to culinary school.” “Why didn’t you try?” “Nothing in my life mattered except my addiction. I have to take it second by second to get through the day. Finding my place in the world, listening to my thoughts, trying to believe in something was so much work. That stupid euphoric feeling was so much easier.” Allison weaved her fingers around Gianna’s. There was nothing she could say to make her feel better, but she could be there. “How did I make you feel when I pointed a knife at you?” “Sharp.” She thought back to that moment. She could only think about the adrenaline coursing through her veins. “I mean, how does vulnerability feel?” Allison replicated Gianna’s elbows on the railing, “I couldn’t die like that, in the middle of a place where no one knew me.” “You have a weird way of getting people to know you” Allison grinned, “It worked.” “Do you trust me?” She held out her hand: a sacred promise. “Should I?” Gianna only grinned at her. Allison, against better judgment, took her hand. “Ok, close your eyes” Allison shut her eyes and the rest of her senses consumed her. She could hear a plane in the distance, feel the wind through her hair, taste the sweetness of afternoon. She tightened her hands against the safety rail. “Let yourself trust me.” She took Allison, squeezed her fingers and led her up until they were both standing on the safety rail. Allison could hear the city underneath her feet. She went to peek open one eye, but Gianna put a hand over her eyes. She wrapped her other arm around Allison’s waist. “Now let go of me,” she whispered into Allison’s ear. “What?” “You’re not going to fall. Hold out your hands.” Allison took a deep breath and began to crawl her trembling hands until they were reaching out on either side of her. She filtered the breeze, feeling the ecstasy of the top of the world. She felt Gianna behind her, her grip loose enough to let Allison float, but not fall. The air was sweeter, untouched by pollutants or tobacco or the stench of the throngs. She could fall at any moment, or the stranger behind her could drop her, but she wasn’t thinking about that. Gianna pulled her back into they were both lying on the ground of the terrace, and they were laughing. They were at the brink of being corpses that fell from the sky like a forbidden snowflake. Allison looked at the hollow gray skin of her concrete girl, her eyes bright and wild and her thin lips open wide and vulnerable. She looked more real than she had all day. “Thank you,” Allison exhaled. She grabbed Gianna’s face between her hands and kissed her. Gianna jerked away, “Why would you do that?” “I’ve never felt like that before.” “You’re leaving in a couple of hours.” “Yeah, it was just a kiss.” “ Just a kiss.” “Fine, it was a thank you. It was my first time I ever felt that...free.” “I’m not your savior, Allison.” Allison furrowed her brow, “I never said you were. I thought we were having a moment. The whole ‘pretend we love each other’ thing.” “ Pretending . You can’t do that to someone. You can’t ...nevermind. I don't think the girl who dropped out of an ivy league when her grades dropped a little understands consequences” Allison imagined something physical: a strike of lighting, a crack forming in the pavement, a knife stabbing her neck, but there was only empty space lingering in between them.. When someone cuts deep like that, there’s nothing left to do but cut deeper. “You’re right. I hope you get the help you need. God, it will feel good to get out of a place filled with lunatics.” Allison hiked her backpack up her shoulder and ran to the subway station. Allison was back where she started, which she chose not to think of as metaphorical. She held onto her backpack strap in one hand, her ticket in the other hand. In a matter of hours she would be hugging her parents and sleeping in her childhood bedroom. She shouldn’t have been so willing to put her life in someone's hands. She shouldn’t have let herself kiss someone she didn’t know. She still didn’t know who Gianna was besides her concrete girl who hated being kissed and loved getting inside people's heads. It was all so pointless and Allison shouldn’t have let herself get invested in a fantasy. She should’ve suspected it when a voice yelled her name running down the stairs into the station, “Allison!” “You’ve come to apologize?” Allison asked; she wasn’t going to. “No,” Gianna said. “I’ve come to do this.” Gianna's hands were cold and familiar, trembling against her face when she kissed her. Allison promised herself she wouldn’t change her mind by looking at her, but she still let herself taste cracked lips. She would let herself bring her hands to Gianna’s face, down her neck, her collarbones, the curve of her waist to memorize this impossible girl, but she would not let herself think it could be anything. Allison pulled away and reached into her wallet, “Here. Please, get better.” Gianna pushed her hand away, “I’m not taking your money. And I think...I think I should go to rehab.” Allison bit her lip. She didn’t know how to be proud of her. All she could do was smile and say, “Didn’t want to give up so easily?” “I don’t care if you don’t forgive me for insulting you. Don’t forgive me, hate me even, but don’t ever think of me as a stranger.” “Stranger? You’re my lover.” They both smile, and Allison hated them for it. “Do me a favor,” Gianna said. “If you ever want to come back here, don’t do it until you make something of yourself.” Allison doesn’t say anything. She saw the subway lights approaching, lighting up the gray hallway. Instead, she kissed her again. And again and again and again. After she entered the subway car, and watched Gianna, after she got on her plane and got home, and after she became a lawyer and opened her own firm, she would think about Gianna. She would close her eyes like she was still on the edge. She would still let herself believe that she hated her, and she still would want them to meet again, so she could hold her close, kiss her again and again, and whisper “Thank you” to her concrete girl.


There once was a man with a flower garden. There were all kinds of flowers, but he obsessed over one. The highlight of his achievement, the lone of its kind among many others. It was him. His life was to take care of the flower. Morning, noon, and night he looked after it. The plant grew tall at first, becoming the crown jewel of the scene.  Upon one afternoon inspection of the flower, he noticed a brown spot on one of the petals. Hardly fretting, he poured some water onto the base of the plant and decided to check back after dinner. After a relaxing meal, the man came back outside at sundown to reinspect the flower. The brown spot remained. A bit miffed, the man grabbed some potting soil and stuffed it around the base of the plant, and then added some more water to the soil. The water splashed and trickled down the fresh pile of soil.  Much to the man's dismay, the brown spot was still there in the morning. In fact, it seemed slightly larger than before. Or was that his imagination? Still, it needed fixed. He added more soil and doused an even larger helping of water onto the plant. After lunch, the spot remained unchanged. He stood over it pondering what to do, that brown spot stubbornly remaining on the petal of the flower. Hours he stood over it, pondering about how to fix his once perfect plant. A plan came to mind.  After dinner, he took a shovel to the dirt around the plant and uprooted the flower. He moved the entire thing to the highest point in the garden, gave it a fresh pile of potting soil, and brought the hose out to water the flower. The ground now seeped through the ground around the plant, making a muddy slosh around it. Satisfied he had solved the problem, the man went to bed.  Morning came soon enough and he jumped out of bed to inspect the flower. It was even worse than before! An entire section of the plant had turned to that dastardly shade of brown. The top of the plant began to droop over and wilt. Incensed at this development, he uprooted the plant again to find a new location for the plant. What to his great surprise when he saw the roots rotting and covered in slime! He grabbed the hose, laid his thumb over part of the nozzle, and pressure sprayed the roots to rid his prized flower of the slime. After much spraying, he laid down fresh soil in a new location, and planted his beleaguered flower. One last time, he grabbed the hose and doused it until the entire area was a muddy lake.  He tried not to think about it all day. The anticipation was turning his insides, but the pain of seeing the flower in such sorry shape kept him from making further inspections that day. He went to bed hoping for the best. What he saw the next morning was death. The once beautiful flower had rotten to the core. The once vibrant crown jewel of his garden now lay dead, brown and toppled like a fallen statue. Wondering what he did to deserve such sorrow, the man looked upon the rest of his garden with despair. Nothing in his eyes could ever measure up again.


The moon never set anymore. All day and all night it hung above the red sky, flecks of its shattered surface breaking off into the cosmos. There was always just enough light from it. Just enough. Enough light to see, enough for plans to grow, enough for things to feel almost alright. Almost. Things were almost normal. The dust storms were no longer a daily catastrophe. Meager crops could be grown from the soil, and it rained just enough to make wells a backup instead of a primary source of water. Wild beasts with a taste for people roamed the wasteland, but they never rolled into town anymore. They stayed outside most of the time. Trade was almost regular again. Men from other places came and went, selling their wares. Men with different skin and different faces. Men and women who weren’t human but were close enough. Polite enough. They’d come selling food and crafts and machines, they sold things that one would expect to be sold in market stalls. It was almost normal. Almost. The killings had started again, just like before. First it was a pet, a dog found wrapped in silk. Then it was a vagrant, the fluids drained from his body. Then another and another until people were being found in packs of six or seven, all of them sucked dry, all of them wrapped in the same silk with care, stuck up in the alleyways and the back lots. Hidden. Saved for later. There was no longer any doubt about it. People lived in fear once more, after 7 long years. The Queen of Spiders had returned. Everybody knew who they should ask. He got rid of her the first time, they would all whisper in secret, he could do it again, couldn’t he? He drove her away last time, drove her away every time. But that was just it. He only drove her away. People doubted him because that was all he could ever do was drive her away, push her out for a few years. Every time she came back. Eventually she always came back. Men in bars bragged that they could do a better job, but in secret they admitted they never could. They were afraid of her. They knew he had to be the one to do it. Nobody dared ask him to go do it, though. They all knew he was already on it. Donnie went though the same motions he always did. Find the bullets, not the normal ones, the ones made of tungsten. Count them out, seven is enough, bring an extra just in case. Find the gun, oil it, and make sure all the parts still work. Load it, test it, and make sure the safety is on when it gets holstered. Find the vest, find the hat, get dressed and go get a drink before you head out there. Don’t get pissed when they call you The Dawn. The man behind the bar was elated to see him. “Well if it isn’t The Dawn himself! How ya been, Donnie?” Donnie gave a half hearted thumbs up before asking for a bottle of the usual. “Judging by the gun, I take it you’re headed out there to deal with her again? Give the spider a run for her money?” “Yep” Donnie grumbled, not wishing to have the same conversation for what felt like the hundredth time. His monosyllabic response left the man working the bar at an awkward loss for words, allowing Donnie to finish his drink in peace. He eventually stood up, payed his tab and began to head for the door when the barman grabbed him by the shoulder. “Listen man...I gotta know. How are you gonna find her? I mean I know you’re gonna find her and you’re gonna drive her back but...but how ya gonna find her? We never find her when we go out looking!” the barman stammered, just a hint of fear in his eyes. “Finding her ain’t the hard part. Doing what needs done is the hard part,” Donnie replied before heading back out the door. The moon hung above the town in the red sky, casting almost enough light for things to be normal. Almost. Visibility didn’t matter much though. He knew where he was going. She always waited for him in the same spot. He started the long march to the edge of town, past the people in the streets, past the children clutching their mother’s skirts. Past row after row of dirty wooden homes and paddocks full of livestock eating scrub grass with both their heads, three eyed dogs and saber tooth rats tied to posts nearby to keep guard. He had done this a hundred times. He knew the path. He knew what to say to get her to leave. What to do to make sure she left these poor people alone. The house was easy to miss. The windows were broken and the door hung lazy off the hinges from being kicked in too many times. The vibrant paint had long ago been blasted off by the sand storms, leaving behind the dull, blackened timber. A faint smell of sex and alcohol lingered in the air, the ghost of former inhabitants. She was here. Walking the halls brought back the same awful memories it always did. The laughter. The drinking. The kissing. The embraces. Floorboards creaked in agony at being forced to bear weight again. Paintings followed every move as he went deeper into the house. The sex. The love. It was all coming back, back in waves like the tide. The anger. The betrayal. The beckoning to come back and the reluctant agreement to do so. It was all here. All those years were pent up here. A wretched archive. The Sex. The Venom. The Addiction. It was all here. She was in the same spot she always was, an old love seat, draped in spider silks to the point of being unrecognizable. A throne fit for a queen to recline on, and recline she did, sprawled out as if she had not a care in the world. Lying naked in repose as if there weren’t corpses on the floor. As if the past hadn’t walked in the front door with every intention of bringing her harm. She was still beautiful in that horrible twisted way. The long blonde hair, the shining blue eyes, the curvaceous figure with perfect breasts and a pudgy belly that bore a red and black hour glass mark. Long, thin spider legs extended from her back, toying idly with lengths of silk. Fangs could be seen as she opened her mouth for the occasional sigh. “I’m sick of this Jeannie.” Donnie snarled as he finally entered her room. The Spider Queen sat up, smiling coyly at him but making no move to stand up. “Aw, you came back. Come here Dawn, talk to me. Tell me what you’ve been up to, let me take your pains away...” She sang, beckoning with an outstretched hand. “It’s Donnie. And No, I’m not here for that. It’s time for you to go. You’ve done enough.” She frowned at his response, pouting like a child before standing up on her arachnid legs and moving to him. “I don’t wanna go. I’m not done with you this time Donnie,” she gasped, grabbing at his jacket, “I’m so lonely out here and I need you. I need somebody to play with.” “I’m not playing this anymore, I’m done, you hear me,” he snapped, placing a hand on the gun. “I don’t need you anymore, I’m walking away. It’s over. Leave these people alone.” Her playful expression faded entirely. Now her face spoke of anger and mockery. “Oh but you do need me. You need me because deep down you know I’m all you’ve got. Because no matter how much you get hurt you’ll come back. Because admit it, Donnie, You like this. You ENJOY it. You know deep down that whenever I call you’re gonna come crawling right back here because you NEED me. Because deep down, you and I both know you’ll never let go because you love m-“ BANG A casing and a body hit the floor. Both could be heard from miles off. For the rest of the night, the town was quiet. It was finally over. The Spider Queen was gone, and she was never coming back. The moon still shined with almost enough light. There was still just enough rain, and the sky was still blood red. People were living with what was almost a sense of normalcy. And if you walked out to the edge of town, and stood by the old farm house, you could almost hear somebody crying. Almost.