There is a room in the north-east corner of my friend's house. Whenever I go their house Firoz don't allow me to enter the room. I asked Firoz, "what is there inside the room? Why don't you allow me?"Firoz don't reply. And I am interested to go the room but what to do. Then I stop asking. Oh let's give our introduction to the readers. I am Sabana and Firoz is my childhood friend. We are in college now. We both are in the language department. He comes my house frequently. Let's come to the story. Last Sunday, I went to Firoz's house. I knocked the door and Firoz's mom opened the door. I asked," Aunty where is Firoz?" Aunty replied, "he has gone to my daughter's place. Didn't he inform you?" "No aunty," I said. Aunty told me to stay there that night. Uncle were out of town and suddenly Firoz has to go his sister's place . I murmured, "let's discover the secret tonight." I called my mom and told all about. Mom always supports me. Having dinner, I go to Firoz's room so that I can visit the north-east corner. I said , "Aunty my exam's days are coming, if I stay Firoz's room, I can study." And aunty agreed. I am going to discover the secret tonight . Oh, I am so excited. I am awaking in Firoz's room and planning for today's operation. When I think that aunty may be slept thought it is tough to say, she is in another room. I open my room's door slowly like a thief. I go to north - east corner and enter the room. The room was well designed and decorated with balloons. "Does Firoz love balloons? Don't know but I love ballons" . I am looking at the whole room. One suspicious thing was there in the table. I go near and take the thing. It was covered. I open it's cover and see a photograph of mine and Firoz. I just shock. I observe it and see there is written "diary, 2012" behind the photograph. I never know Firoz writes diary. Now I have to find the diary. I start observing the table. There is a drawer, the diary may be there inside the drawer. I open the drawer and find out the diary, 2012. Now let's read the diary. 1st page "Today was my first day at the college. I saw college girl, may be first year. She wore a borkha. I saw her eyes. Her deep black eyes attracted me. I fall in love when I saw her. But I didn't get any chance to talk with her. My friends called me and had to pay attention. She vanished in a while. It was like a dream." 2nd page " Today is my second day at my college. I searched that "borkha girl" in college campus, other departments. But I couldn't find her. Finally I entered my department. What I saw, I couldn't believe in my eyes. That girl in my department! I feel swear on my body. Nervously I took a seat. Our professors has came and took classes one by one. At the end of all classes our senior come to our department and started taking introduction. All my classmates were giving introduction one by one. They asked that "borkha girl" to give her introduction. "I am Sabana Parveen, I have....." She said with a lovely voice." I felt, this voice is known to me. But who is she? Can't remember. Today I tried to talk but couldn't. Her eyes just pulling me near to her. In in deep black eyes anyone can immerses." 3rd page " Today our college was off. I was thinking of Sabana. My school friend Abhishekh called me and told me to visit at football ground. My friends had arranged a reunion of school friends. I had not visit the please since two mounth. I reached there. Sabana was there. How she were there? Was she one of our school friends? I found it as an opportunity. I wen to her and succeed in talking to her. I come to know that Sabana was there in my school before 4 years. Then she has to go out of town due to his father's posting. And this year she come back along with her mother to complete her graduation. She could complete her graduation from other college, but her father also complete his college from this college. So she wished to graduate from this college. Today I get my answered why her voice... 4 years ego we were in same school. Even we together completed our primary schooling. Oh! what a lucky I am." 4th page " Today I rode my motorcycle to my college. I attended first two classes and asked Sabana to go for a bike riding. She and I now friends as were before. So we enjoyed the day. We enjoyed 'panipuri', 'ice-cream'. Today I saw her whole face. She is looks like an angel. Her killer pinks lips and deep eyes... " 5th page " Today I saw her talking with another guy. I couldn't tolerate it. If he make any relationship with Sabana. No no,it can't be happen. I have to confess that I love her. What will be her answer let's see." 6th page " I started to took her at my home. And never allow her to come into this room. It must be wonder to her. But when I couldn't tell her face to face. Let's grow her interest to know about the room, why I don't allow her? And one day I will give her a chance to discover the truth." 7th page " I don't write daily. When I feel to, I write. I love you Sabana.. I love you Sabana.. I love you Sabana.. I love you.. I love you. I know today you are at my house and in the north - east corner room . And now you are reading my diary. So if you feel the same then give me any sign. The day after tomorrow I will be there. You know we couldn't marry now, our college has not yet completed. I want to be with you Sabana, love you " Now I have read all the pages and you readers too. I come back to Firoz's room and trying to sleep. How I give him a sign." How idiot Firoz is! he can't even propose a girl. Let's come him back. I will show him". I wake up by 10 am. What I discovered last night! I break fast and come back to my home. After two days , I am going to college. Today's weather is seems more romantic. And today I have to face Firoz, the idiot . I reached at college by 11 am. Firoz was there in the department but we didn't talk. After classes I looked for Firoz but he was not there in the college campus. Then I go to Firoz's house. Firoz was not in his room. Then I go to the north - east corner. The door was closed. I knocked the door. Few seconds later he opens the door."I love you idiot" I confessed and hugged him . He kissed in my forehead and touches my lips. I can feel his warm breathing. I close my eyes and he kissed in my lips. Then we hugg each other for few minutes. Then I say, "why can't you propose me? Idiot. " "Sabana, my Darling, why a girl always expect that a boy will Always propose first? Can't a girl propose first? Have they no courage? " so Mr. Firoz does Aunty know all about it? "What you think Sabana...? And you readers?"


Nathan Wassum and I have been dating for 7 years now. We're what you'd call high school sweethearts. Ever since we met I knew he was the one. Since we've both graduated college I think it's finally time we... you know (saying it is a little embarrassing). I spent so long figuring out the best way to ask, the best place, the best ring, the best material. I know it's not conventional for a woman to propose to a man, but come on, it's 2020, who's conventional anymore? Anyway, I finally settled on throwing a cookie exchange party and inviting all of our friends. None of them have any idea what I have planned! It’s going to be the most magical moment of my life. Sure, Nathan has his flaws, but who doesn’t? Plus, in the words of my mother, “do it while you’re still young, or you’ll miss your chance". It was a tradition in my household. I want my moment to be perfect. I decided that separate to my plate of home-made cookies, that I would make another batch, making sure that it turned out perfectly, just for Nathan. To make him feel special you know? It was a half an hour before the party and I’m sitting in my living room waiting anxiously for my love and my friends to show. Not even 20 minutes later, they started to stream through the door, one by one. Nathan was the last one in as punctuality was never really his strong suit. He looked at me lovingly as he hung up his coat, he always ramped up the theatrics around others. He gave me a sweet kiss and thanked me for setting this all up. My best friend David shot me a look. Then he said exactly what I knew he would. “Ew. If you two were planning on being all cute the whole time this should’ve been a couple’s cookie date.” I laughed. “Davie you act like you aren’t like this with Mark around all of us.” He sighed. “Yeah you’re right... And I would be right now if he wasn’t away in Barbados. Ugh businessmen. Hate to love 'em.” He slouched back in his chair, daydreaming about his husband. There was a long moment of silence as we all looked at David with jealousy. His relationship with Mark is the definition of true love and there wasn’t a single member of our group who wasn’t at least a little envious of their love, even those of us in relationships of our own. Lina stood up with force, jingling the bells entangled into her hair. Definitely the most jolly-merry person in the entire world with the exception of Santa himself. “OK. Enough relationship stuff. It’s Christmas! And this is a cookie party, not a Saturday girl’s night out! Let’s bust out the cider and stuff ourselves with cookies!” We let out a unanimous amen, and the party has begun. We all set our home-made cookies on the table, set up the other snacks I pressed play on my Christmas music playlist, and pulled out the card and board games. Throughout the night we played dozens of rounds of Pick-Up Sticks, Poker, Black Jack, and other games, while happily eating everyone’s cookies. Nathan kept losing, which he didn’t like very much. He’s the biggest sore loser I’ve ever met but it really brings out his competitive fire. “You know what? I’m tired of playing. I’m done. Let’s watch a movie or something. This blows.” His cheeks were red with frustration. “Not so good at being a good loser huh? Loser. Hahaha!” David giggled. “Oh shut up!” said Nathan, obviously irritated. I decided that was my cue to deescalate the situation. “Come on Davie don’t make fun of the man, he gets really invested in these games.” I turned over to Nathan making sure to smile. “Hey baby, it’s ok. You can’t win all the time.” I addressed the group next. “OK. I’m gonna go get some food while you guys choose a movie to watch. Anyone want anything?” “Oh yes! Can you get me some more cider please?” Said Lina. “Ummmm I guess I could always have more chips, OH! You’ve GOT to make some popcorn while you’re at it!” David winked. “Ahaha you’re right-” I turned to my boyfriend, “And anything for you?” He looked at me. “Five cookies.” He said grumpily. I sighed and headed to the kitchen. Finally I had some alone time to go over my plan. While I gathered the snacks the group asked for, I snuck upstairs into my room where I was hiding my surprise. I had to be extra sneaky, I didn’t want to spoil my magical moment. I came back downstairs and made sure the arrangement on the tray was perfect. Making sure there was enough popcorn for all four of us, making sure there were enough chips in the bag, that the cider was warm but not tongue burningly hot, and making sure that the five cookies were the best and the most special ones. No matter what this was going to be my perfect, magical moment. Down to the smallest details. I brought out the snack tray, set it on the floor in front of where the group was watching Christmas Carol , definitely Nathan’s choice, seeing as it is his favorite Christmas movie of all time. Everyone mumbled a thank you, obviously invested in the story. I watched Nathan take a bite of the perfect cookie and I knew it was time for my moment. I paused the movie. “Guys? I have something to say.” “Ugh don’t say you don’t like this movie. It took us ages to settle on one” David said. He looked at me as though the movie selection had destroyed his mental energy. “Your little hubby over there wouldn’t agree on any of our suggestions” He rolled his eyes and Nathan looked at him tiredly. I spoke up. “Um speaking of hubby... Nathan, I have something I’d like to ask you” I stood up and he followed my lead. I took a huge deep breath. In and out. I could do this. I could ask. I was about to make this the most magical moment. “Nathan, we’ve been dating since junior year of high school, and although we’ve had our ups and downs, although we’ve had plenty of fights and disagreements, we always pulled through in the end. I couldn’t imagine being in any other relationship” It seemed like Lina had caught onto what was happening. Her face had suddenly lit up and she looked like she was about to explode. “Nathan Wassum,” I knelt down. “Will you make me the happiest girl in the world and-” I didn’t even get to finish. Nathan grabbed my shoulders, pulled me up to my feet and kissed me. He looked me straight in the face and said “Yes.” Lina screamed with excitement. I was completely speechless. My magical moment. It happened. My mother would’ve been proud. After a quick round of congratulations and a cup of cider to celebrate, we finished watching the movie. After everyone had left, I started cleaning up. When I brought all the dirty dishes to the kitchen, I looked over at the plate of special cookies I made just for my love. My now fiancé. I smiled at them, thanking them for being the excuse to gather everyone here. I went to sleep that night, satisfied with how the day had gone. Moving forward, I would get to reap the joys from my magical moment. **** It’s been 8 days since the party. I woke up this morning excited to start the day with a nice cup of coffee and the morning news. I sat down on my couch and turned on the TV. “ Welcome to New York Morning News. Today is Monday, December 28th, 2020, and it is chilly outside at 46 degrees Fahrenheit. This morning we have some devastating news to share with you all. A man by the name of Nathan Wassum passed away last night, reportedly while out at a restaurant with a group of his coworkers... ” I dropped my cup. I stared blankly at the screen while the reporter continued, “ ...police suspect that he was poisoned. Eight grams of arsenic was found in his blood stream when paramedics performed a test... ” I couldn’t bear to watch anymore. I turned off the TV and took myself to the restroom. I gazed into my eyes in the mirror, and a smile crept onto my lips. The words of my mother flitted through my head. “Do it while you’re still young, or you’ll miss your chance.” and I did. I did it mother. Are you proud? My perfect, magical moment. I thought back to my special cookies, just for my dear, and thanked them again. The End.


8 pounds 3 ounces. At least that’s what the birth certificate said. But I have a feeling that could’ve been wrong. I mean, the nurse had already messed up my name so I wouldn’t put it passed her. Instead of ‘Jon Tranton’ she decided my name would look better with an ‘h’ shoved into the first half. So now, on this piece of paper that’s supposed to set up the rest of my life with all this hope and potential, there’s an ‘h’ crossed out by the red pen my dad had in his pocket that day. There are a lot of things I wish I could cross out so I guess an ‘h’ on a silly piece of paper seems pretty inconsequential, but still, I’ve always thought it represented how my life has panned out pretty well. 47 pounds. Just 3 pounds shy of the little league weight cut off for that year. I had played catch all summer with my dad in preparation for the new season. He even got me a new glove. Taught me how to break it in with shaving cream and everything. I went home crying that day. My dad wrote a letter to some league officials, but nothing ever came of it. 78 pounds. I was at this amusement park not too far from home. It was that kind of park that looked like it was from late 1800s. Everything was wood. Even the rides were wood. They had to weigh you to see where on the cart they would put you. I was pretty small for a 6th grader so I had to sit next to Jim Morrison. Not Jim Morrison from the Doors, I think he was dead by then, but there was this 8th grader named Jim Morrison. I remember he was so fat that his belly kept creeping out of the bottom of his shirt. He smelled like some sort of cheese. I remember thinking brie, but I doubt it was brie. 105 pounds. The doctor needed to take some measurements before giving me the anesthesia. I remember thinking that he had taken my weight wrong or that he would give me too much by accident. Something like that. I just remember thinking I wouldn’t wake up. But after I started counting backwards from ten, I think I got to six, I woke up with one less appendix than I went to sleep with. 121 pounds. I remember my coach asking me to put on some weight for the upcoming match in Milwaukee, but by weigh in, I had actually lost a pound. I had only been boxing for a few months by then, but I was pretty good. I had won 3 of my 4 fights. The kids on my team used to call me “Jon the Lionheart” because I never got tired. I’m not so sure why they chose ‘Lionheart’, but I guess it sounded pretty cool. I went up against this guy from South Florida. Probably Cuban. He was a little shorter than me, but stocky. I remember when I met him I could see the top of his head. He had buzzed hair and a long scar that went from the back of his right ear up to his hair line. I asked him how he got it, but he didn’t speak English. 12 minutes later he punched me so hard I felt one of my molars fall loose in the back of my mouth. 172 pounds. A pretty late growth spurt junior year. Almost 4 inches. I jumped 3 weight divisions. I was fighting at a tournament near Chicago. I remember looking at my first opponent, he was big guy, but you could tell it was mostly fat. I thought I would dance circles around him. When we stepped into the ring he had that sort of scowl that some fighters put on to intimidate their opponents. It didn’t work. I caught him with a right hook under his jaw 17 seconds into the fight. He dropped like a stone. Hit the floor so hard I thought it was going to cave in. My next fight was the following day. I went against this guy I had fought before, but now, he had a snake tattoo wrapped around his arm. I had beaten him before so I wasn’t too worried, but at the start of the second round, I started feeling tired. I didn’t usually get tired. He won by split decision at the end. He probably deserved it, but I remember getting really pissed. 168 pounds. I had been coughing for some weeks. I had to wear one of those masks you always see people from Asia wearing. I heard that they wear the masks there to protect from all the smog and pollution. But then why do they still wear them when they come over here? I think that theory’s full of shit. I think they’re just scared of getting sick. I think everyone’s scared of getting sick. I know was scared of getting sick. 160 pounds. The doctors called it acute granulocytic leukemia. I must’ve had it for months before going in for a checkup. I knew I was losing weight, but I figured it was just from some combination of stress and boxing. I remember sitting in the waiting room watching a mom try to corral her twin daughters. They were playing with some toys that were put out for them. I remember a doctor opened the door and walked into the waiting room without taking his eyes off his clipboard. He called my name and when I responded he looked up. His eyes sort of widened out of shock. He told me I looked much thinner than I had the last time I was in there. I told him I knew that. 145 pounds. I hadn’t been that thin in years. When I bent over, you could see the outline of my ribs through the back side of my shirt. I’d been told the chemo was working. It didn’t feel like the chemo was working. I stopped boxing after the diagnosis, but I asked my coach if I could still come to practice. I just wanted to be around it. He let me come a few times, but after he caught me crying in the corner he told me he thought it would be for the best if I stayed home for a while. I stayed home for a while. 140 pounds. The doctors said they had never seen a faster remission. I was cancer free. I still am, for now. I let my coach know and basically begged to be let back on the team, but he insisted I waited until the next year. I was still so frail. Sometimes I traced my cheekbones with my fingers. My little sister said I looked like a skeleton. Not like a scary skeleton though. My coach did invite me to the next tournament, just to sit ringside, but that was enough for me. I half expected it to be some sort of packed super-stadium celebrating the return of a fallen boxer, but it was just an ordinary high school boxing event. I don’t much remember watching the fights. I think one of my teammates ended up third overall, but not much else. I do remember seeing someone though. That Cuban guy I fought a few years earlier. He was sitting across the gym, behind one of the rings set up near the back. I started walking over to him. I wanted to catch up. I never got to congratulate him on knocking one of my teeth out. But once I got close enough, I could see he was sitting in a wheel chair. I figured he had hurt his legs somehow. That stuff sometimes happens if you get knocked out and fall in a weird way. I couldn’t quite remember his name so I just yelled out “Hey man!” expecting him and only him to turn around, but almost everyone, including 2 of the judges, turned my way. He did turn around though. Well, kind of. His neck seemed to strain while the rest of his body stayed absolutely still. I knew pretty much immediately he hadn’t hurt his legs. I read about some kid who had to be sent to the hospital from being hit so hard. The story didn’t really give anything away, but I’d put my money on this being that kid. I wanted to ask him what had happened. I wanted to tell him what I’d gone through. How I’d been out of boxing for a while. How I was hoping to get back in the ring as soon as I could. How I could relate to the struggle of not being able to do what you love. How it feels to have your body fucking destroy itself. But then I remembered he didn’t speak English. So, I just nodded and waved. And he just nodded. I went back to where my team had been and sat down for a while. I started thinking about everything. About how I was the kid who got cancer and how, somehow, I was still the lucky one. 152 pounds. I never did get back into boxing. I’m feeling better now, but I think that part of my life’s done. Sometimes I think about that Cuban kid. Sometimes I remember how much it hurt when he hit me in the face and sometimes I try to imagine how much more it must’ve hurt when he got hit. I wish I got his name. I bet at least his birth certificate doesn’t have some stupid crossed out h. But then again, I guess I’d rather have that.


Seven o’clock and it’s already dark out. The days were getting shorter and colder than John appreciated. Those lovely, long summer evenings were gone. Goodbye to warmth, and happiness, and energy. Hello to depression, lethargy, and despair. As his boots trudged through the dirty but thankfully dry streets of central London, he finally saw his destination. One final glance down at his phone confirmed it. Here was The Last Whisper, and he was uncharacteristically on time. Unfortunately, the friend he was meeting was uncharacteristically early. Which effectively made John (characteristically) late. He tossed his half-smoked cigarette in the gutter, ruminating on his many failed attempts to quit, and the general filth of the city. The bouncer waved him in without checking ID. Beyond the nondescript black door lay the alluring promise of darkness. John fumbled his way up the metal stairs towards the muffled sounds of music and voices. This time, a padded leather door that wouldn’t look out of place in a gentlemen’s club from a Hollywood film, separated him from his final destination. John scanned the room as he entered. It was hard enough spotting someone in a crowded room, let alone a dimly lit one, and that broke out into all manner of different sections. After squeezing his way through more than a few unwelcoming bodies, he finally spotted Luc in a plush velvet chair tucked away in a corner. A little table for two. Fresh drinks were already waiting. “Johnny boy!” Luc shouted, erupting into a giant grin as he stood up to embrace his friend. “How are you doing, my friend?” John smiled as he returned Luc’s very excitable hug with slightly less fervour. “I’m good, I’m good. How are you?” “All the better for seeing you,” Luc beamed back. The old friends sat down and chatted about the weeks they’d just had. John dictated his fairly ordinary week at work to his friend, skipping over the more boring, technical elements, as always. And Luc probed with questions as he always did. They remembered their forgotten drinks, cheersed them, and began a long night of drinking. What started as surface level work chat and whisky cocktails, turned into venting about interpersonal frustrations on projects, and Vespers. (“David is just so inconsistent. He’ll take no issue with these big experiments we want to try, but then get caught up in minutiae for hours.”) From there, the two shifted to pure work gossip and Pisco sours. (“Cassie definitely hooked up with someone from Sales at the offsite last week.”) And not long after that, they were sharing aspirations for the next five years, over some regrettable Amaretto and Coke’s. (“I really want to move to Budapest at some point, and just work there for a year or two.”) “Do you think we’ll still be friends like 10 years from now?” Luc asked, fresh off of ordering two glasses of wine. John paused for a moment. “Why do you ask?” “I guess with neither of us being British, I just wonder if we’ll both still be here in London after all that time. I mean, don’t you feel like you might move back home at some point?” “True, I might. But I also might not. It’s hard to plan that far ahead. There’s already so much that’s happened in the past few years that I never would have expected. It almost seems silly to guess what life will be like 10 years from now.” Luc frowned, seemingly unsatisfied. “What?” asked John, “I mean we might be friends in 10 years. I’d like to hope so. But who knows?” Luc excused himself to go to the bathroom. The two hadn’t known each other long, but it was a friendship that developed fast. They met at work, occasionally being involved in the same meetings. Those small encounters gave way to them saying hello when they passed each other in the hallway. Which one day led to a shared coffee break, when they both arrived in the kitchen at the same time, alone. One coffee became many. Office kitchen coffees became coffee shop down the road coffees. Which became after work beers. Which became weekend coffees and beers. And acquaintances became friends. But for the first time, John couldn’t get a read on his friend. Something was off. But what it was, he couldn’t tell. He brushed it aside and the two drank their wine. Eventually, the watch checking couldn’t be ignored. It was definitively home time for John. Luc half-joked at the idea of another glass of wine, but relented upon seeing the expression on John’s face. The two made their way back through the padded leather door, down the metal stairs draped in darkness, and came out of the nondescript black door into the cold, dirty, but thankfully dry streets of London. “Which way are you headed?” Luc asked. “I’m getting the tube down there,” John gestured. “Ah, I’m grabbing a bus the other way.” A brief, awkward pause buffered the conversation. John opened his arms for a goodbye hug, and questioned if there was an uncharacteristic lack of enthusiasm in Luc’s response. “Goodnight, pal,” John said, as he began to turn, “I’ll see you soon.” “Yeah...” Luc replied with a weak smile, as he stood watching John walk away.


Awakening to the sound of my phone buzzing always warms my heart: this morning was no different. Trying to shake off the brain fog that accompanies an eleven hour snooze fest, I reach for my phone. Every morning the same. I tell myself, “This’ll be the last time I look at my phone first thing in the morning” or “I’ll just check my emails and make sure I’m not missing anything”. My eyes struggle to stay open at the screen’s brightness, slowly searing the repetitive pictures of social media into my retinas. Another perfect start to my day. After scrolling through picture after picture of lame jokes, half-naked models, and other edited versions of reality, I finally get around to my email, hoping for something to make my day interesting. Alas, nothing. Stumbling to the restroom I commence my glamorous morning routine of taking a dump, washing my hands, and brushing my teeth. Currently there’s a fad of “morning routine’s” on the internet showcasing how awesome people are at their meditation’s, journaling, and morning yoga. Any simple youtube search of “... morning routine” will pull up a thousand videos from college students to athletes to mathematicians, all somehow waking up at 04:00 AM. Everyday I am thankful for their endless supply of advice, who knows where I would be without their input. Making my way to the dining table I set myself up for the second disappointment of the day. Instead of going for the heart healthy oatmeal or breakfast salad, I grab ol’ reliable... a bowl of cereal. In between bites of my Honey Nut Cheerios, it’s only natural to grab my phone and scroll through more social media. After all, everyday is so different, women with different bathing suits in different parts of the world, new exotic cars, new luxury watches, new memes. That is until you start to question what you’re looking at. I’ve been a lifelong fan of fantasy/fiction entertainment. Ever since I was little, reality has been so boring. Why would I want to be in this world, when I don’t even have super powers? Gradually as I aged, so did that ideology, and I have learned to embrace reality. Except there’s one hidden fantasy that no one seems to address: social media. Historically, people underestimate the power of pop culture. The lyrics of the music we listen to, the messages of the movies we watch, and the endless supply of entertainment at our fingertips can prime our subconscious for making decisions about how to deal with our problems or how to spend our Friday nights. If one were to learn about life from American pop culture, then said person would be waiting every day for a spider to bite them, a stranger to take them on a journey, or for their crush to ask them to the school dance. Thankfully, the majority of these examples are obviously gassed up versions of reality, and most people don’t transition these lessons to their lives. A gassed up version of reality however, that is indistinguishable from true reality, is exceedingly dangerous. This is social media’s true face. Planting unrealistic ideas in the heads of our society, our youth, and the impressionable is a moralistic crime that leads to millions of consumers feeling inadequate, unhappy, and jealous of a false world. New progressions, such as easily accessible internet, high quality cameras, and platforms for broadcast are arming people with weapons they do not realize they have.


{ note: this is my first story so there could be mistakes but enjoy anyways :) } Lucas followed Vera through the dark depths of the sewer tunnels. The stench seeped through the grubby brick walls in a way that made his eyes water. He knew that the girl in front of him felt it too but she didn’t utter a word; they both knew that journeying through the surface was like an act of suicide. Vera looked back at the boy, her plump lips formed into a thin line. He always thought that Vera was beautiful. With her slim figure and her wavy brunette locks cascading down her back. Even dressed in filthy rags and the prominent dark circles formed underneath her eyes. Even as she led him through this filthy tunnel to who knows where, risking both of their lives, he still found her as flawless as ever. Vera broke the silence. “We must hurry-” At the same instant a detonation was heard, causing the walls to quiver violently. The sewage water was like brown slime; it sloshed and hugged at their ankles. Lucas would have gagged if he wasn’t focused on the screams and crashes echoing from the surface. Rats scurried down from the end of the tunnel, their red eyes glowed in the dark as they let out helpless squeaks. Vera urged him to keep walking. More screams. More crashes. More rats; Lucas couldn’t take it. His eyes grew moist and he tucked a few blonde strands behind his ear. “All those innocent people...” He let out through clenched teeth. “Things change, Lucas,” Vera said solemnly. “Hopefully for us, they change for the better.” “No, we need to turn back or we’ll end up like them!” He gestured to the top of the tunnel. “I thought you trusted me on this. We would never survive in that slum of a home!” Lucas looked at her in disbelief. Of course he trusted her, but not even he would be insane enough to continue with this. Everyone knows that you can’t escape from this nightmare that they call the Apocalypse. But it wasn’t a nightmare, it was real. They wouldn’t even be able to make it out of the city in one piece, instead they would make new additions to the pile of bodies littered across the streets. But if this is what Vera wanted, he would have to trust her. He owed her that much after everything they have both been through. After all, they only have each other. It was just them against the world now, or what’s left of it. They couldn’t afford any arguments or distrust in each other. “Gross,” Lucas muttered bitterly as his feet sank deeper. “We’ve been walking for ages, where does this tunnel even lead to?” “Hopefully out of the city.” “ Hopefully? You mean you don’t even know where we’re going?” “I know that we’re away from the slums and that’s all that matters.” Vera didn’t have a reckless mindset, Lucas knew that for sure. So he didn’t question when she woke him up one morning and told him to pack what was left of their things, saying they were leaving for good. She hated living in the slums, what with all the hundreds of other families herded like sheep in the same area, in fear of their lives. In fear that one day those giant machines would come marching over and- Lucas shuddered even at the thought of it. Everyone was only concerned about their own safety and wouldn’t hesitate to choose their own life over another's. That was simply the way things were now since the Apocalypse. “Oof!” Confused as to why Vera stopped, Lucas was about to question her but gaped when his vision met the sight in front of them. Gone was the rest of the filthy sewage tunnel and in its place was a mountain of debris and rubble. It piled up in enormous chunks that went above the sewers and into the surface of the city. Vera turned to Lucas, a spark in her eyes lit strong and firm. The blonde-haired boy’s eyes widened so much he could practically feel them popping out. “Vera, if you’re thinking...” “What other choice do we have?” Vera placed a single frayed shoe on a slab of rubble amongst the debris hill. She stared up at the endless path that could possibly lead to their extermination but looked back at Lucas with a glint in her eye. He couldn’t quite fathom what it was: Pleading? Determination? Further up the hill she went and reached out a hand to him. He let out a deep sigh as he looked back and stared into the black oblivion. No turning back now. He grasped onto the brunette's outstretched arm and carefully climbed up to her, his barely covered feet squelching with each step. Hums and buzzes from flies echoed in their ears which would have annoyed them any other day, but right now it was the least of their worries. “Agh!” Vera shrieked as her steps made an unusual squelching noise and she was left tumbling over the destroyed bricks and metal. As he rushed to help her, Lucas almost heaved out his insides at the red liquid staining the brunette’s shoe. He peered down to what was only a few inches away from his own feet, only to be met with soulless orbs staring straight into his eyes. His breathing hitched and the hand that was gripping onto Vera trembled. Now we know what caused the flies. He barely heard the girl in front of him let out a sob and pull him away from the sight. After who knows how long they’ve been climbing for, the hill was getting a lot steeper that they could pretty much slide off it. But they could see the top and in this way, they would be able to journey through the surface. Vera looked back at Lucas with a genuine smile. The blonde-haired boy couldn’t help himself; he smiled back. Gosh, she was ravishing when she smiled. The brunette started to climb onto the now damaged road of the surface, stretching her hand out to the boy below her. She took in her surroundings, eyes widening in realisation. “I know this area! The exiting gate should be just-” More crashes and explosions. But this time, it was a lot closer. “Vera!” Lucas breathed heavily and tried to look through the dust circulating his vision. His entire body crumbled and ached like the rubble around him. The sound of machines whirring caught his attention and it was at that point that his heart refused to beat. No... it can’t be! Limping through the fog of debris and dust, Lucas desperately clawed through the now broken buildings. She was right there; we were so close. He halted as a pale hand weakly stretched out from beneath the rocks. It trembled and shook vigorously, trying to find some way to lift itself up. At that moment, Lucas had never sprinted so fast in his life. He couldn’t care less anymore if he passed through decaying bodies of innocent civilians or how the synced mechanic marches echoed louder throughout the city. “Vera, oh gosh!” Lucas quickly brushed off the soil and filth covering her limp body. Parts of her brown hair were stained in deep red and more of the liquid oozed freely down the side of her head. “I thought we were gonna make it,” she coughed out blood. “Guess I was wrong.” Machines whirred and whined, their heavy stomps vibrating through the rubble ground. Lucas bit back a whimper. They are getting closer now. He kneeled next to Vera’s weak body and gripped onto her frail hands tightly. “If we run now, we can make it!” Vera smiled faintly at the idea and shook her head at him. A single tear danced down her cheek and her cracked lips trembled slightly as she stared up at the blonde-haired boy. She took in his features one last time, savouring it in her mind and then pulled him closer towards her until their lips met. Lucas couldn’t stop the sob that broke free from his lips. He knew the kiss was a seal of fate. Though it was a different fate from all of those fairy tales and movies. This was real life. So as their lips parted for a split second, they leaned in again despite the machines nearing them. They stopped marching, and in a coordinated fashion, took aim at what was left of the city. Lucas smiled. This was where he needed to be.


He had taken everything from me. Friends , Family , peace of mind and left me a hollow soul deprived of happiness driven by rage, disgust and a devilish thirst to find this man for reasons I would never even think about if it wasn't for him. The journey was dangerous, tiring and emotionally draining, I found myself doing things I didn’t know I was capable of, I destroyed everything that came in my way, it was tough at first but the rage inside me allowed me to push myself beyond my limits and made me a relentless machine as effective as a black mambas venom. He awoke a beast inside me that had been sleeping for the 43 years of my existence. I still remember the first time I hurt someone in this mad quest, a security guard doing his duty, I couldn’t risk being caught inside a police station after robbing all the cctv tapes, he seemed nice, but it didn’t matter to me I managed to zap him with his own tazer and leave the building without any difficulty. In the last 423 days of grief, misery and fury I would hesitate before carrying a lot of task, when I had to take someone else’s life for the first time, I couldn’t sleep for days. Even though she was an evil snake who deserved every bit of pain that bullet carried with it, I still couldn’t stop thinking about her life, if she had a family, did her kids go to school, it was killing me, I was going to spare her life however until she told me it wasn’t just my family this man had destroyed, in her bid to convince me of how all this wasn’t that big a deal and just a mere symptom of a much bigger happening she made me a killer. I wanted her to experience something worse than death but in that moment I couldn’t have pulled the trigger any faster. The suffering was finally going to bear fruit however as I had Bates right where I wanted. I had been setting this up for months now and would not let anyone jeopardize my flawless plan. I had Bates Cornered at gun point with no place to run in an isolated parking lot right below the loudest Tomorrowland new year concert ever with only 10 seconds to mid night. I could feel the vibrations of the bass shaking the floor as I saw him on his knees. A puny figure wearing some old, ragged clothes, on the verge of passing out after devouring bottles of alcohol. Once a champion of Healthcare and medical development for mankind was now a broken man living on rum and cigars. The crowd above us screamed in excitement and unison “10” and I knew my moment was about to come. My ears were almost bleeding because of all the noise and In ten seconds the crowd would go even more crazy, fireworks would light up the sky making noises louder than those you would hear in a battlefield and the DJ would be screaming at the top of his lungs while the sound of a gunshot wouldn’t be heard even 10 miles away. Bates started mumbling, I couldn’t tell what he was saying and didn’t give a damn, at this point I just wanted to shoot the soul out of him and hence gave him a flying kick across the face. My heel had smashed his jawline into his upper jaw leaving him a new red paint job for his ugly deformed teeth. The sound of his bloody coughs was covered by the partying crowd shouting ‘9’ above us. He still chose to move his stupid mouth and try to convey a message to me again, I grabbed his head by the hair shoved my gun up against his ear and told him to speak up or I would blow the ears off his face and make him feel as deaf as I currently was for the short life he had left to live. He waited for the crowd to finish their cry for the number eight and then wished for my peace and well being after Id finish him off. This scoundrel of a man expected me to find peace after what he had done. Howard, my beloved husband flashed before my eyes. He was the sweetest thing in the world, a hardworking man trying to provide for his family who would always make time for me and the kids. It was Trevors first school play and a bright sunny Saturday when I received the call. The informant told us than Howard had died on the spot after a drive by shooting which proved to be fatal. How was I, a woman who had never lived without the company of either her husband or her parents going to raise two magical kids let alone take care of myself. How was I going tell a 5 year old boy waiting for his father to arrive for his school play that his dad wont be able to see him give a performance ever. How was my 2 year old daughter going to live her life without ever properly knowing her father or how much he loved her. The thunderous roar of the number seven brought me back to my senses and I found myself slashing Bates in the ribs with the back of my pistol tearing through his shirt leaving a few scratches. I had lost myself in a wrath of violent strikes. The crowd were halfway through their countdown and just finished chanting the number 5. I spit on his face and screamed right at him, at the top of my lungs I told him the damage he’d done to me was beyond repair. As the crowd moved to the number 4 He told me all he could say now was that he was sorry. Once again at the top of my lungs I told him I didn’t want his sorry and wanted to make him suffer and take out all my pain, anger , and distraught on him , the sole soul responsible for all my tragedies. My mind took over once again and this time it was Beverly. A beautiful baby still surviving on my milk, she was sleeping in my arms and was the first person to see me after receiving the call. I was shattered, weeping more than Beverly ever had and felt completely hopeless, when I heard Beverly crying in my arms I knew I had to be strong, I was all these kids had left, she showed me purpose, she showed me who I needed to be and my mini collapse was over. After wiping the tears of my face the two of us grabbed Trevor and rushed to the hospital. At Howards funeral the kids were as broken as me and there was nothing I could do except encourage them to pray for their father and tell them that he would have wanted the three of us to move on and be happy. All that was for nothing as within weeks a speeding cop car rammed our Chevy Tahoe in the back and somehow managed to explode leaving the officer dead. We escaped a number accidents that could have been fatal before I finally started asking the questions. Within a few hours everything was clear to me, Howard used to work in one of Bates’s then rumored human experiment lab. Howards death wasn’t just an ordinary drive by shooting but a planned operation. A drive by shooting put out by Bates to make sure no witness of his infamous illegal human lab rats lived to see another soul. I observed a fat but sturdy man walk by our house multiple times a day, a woman posing as a hot dog seller who had only set up shop a few days after Howards passing. After hiding in our home till dawn and a few failed calls to the police I knew the three of us had to run. We had uncovered something that could bring Bates’s global Empire to its knees. I told Trevor to carry Beverley like his life depended on it and sit in the front seat of the Tahoe as Mama takes them on a surprise vacation. After leaving the driveway I saw two black tinted sedans tailing us. I made sure we stayed on roads with slow moving traffic to make sure we could always be seen by tons of people and eliminate the possibility of being rammed by a fast approaching car. All was going well until we reached the airport where I was separated from my children and taken away for a more “thorough” check for carrying “suspicious baggage”. I tried to resist as hard as I could to get to my children who had passed security and were waiting for me with their boarding passes, but it was in vain. That was the last time I saw them. Ever since then I had been on the run with the aim of finding my two beloved children and making sure I could bring them back to me away from harm. Unfortunately, I Never heard of them again until I found Steve, one of Bates aides who I had spent months trying to find. He told me they were auctioned off to a rich family before being eliminated to erase all evidence when Bates was about to be caught. That was the first time I was able to kill without any hesitation, a bullet straight through Steve’s head. Not a day goes by without me remembering that dreadful day, every night I yearn for my family, nothing I could ever do would bring them back, killing Bates wasn’t going to be an act of revenge, just an outcome of a never-ending rage and a boiling hot desire to punish the man who hurt my family. When it comes to those whom I hold near and dear to my heart its not gods judgement they have to deal with but my beastly wrath that even the deepest dungeons of hell would fail to tame. Instinct took over my left arm when I felt him grab my right wrist as the crowd shouted “3”, After pushing him against the wall with the raw power of my left arm and breaking his ring and index finger with my right arm after he dared to touch me with his evil hands I realized he could’ve grabbed the gun straight out of my hands on multiple occasions when I was lost in thought and have me cornered just as I had him. Bates could barely stay up now, the alcohol was kicking in but In a shrill but loud voice he told me to finish the job and do what he didn’t have the guts to do to himself. TWO!! Was louder than anything I had ever heard and I knew I would be doing him a favor by putting him out of his misery. I saw his jaw bleeding, his stupid face that I’ve always wanted to torture and his red chest scarred with scratches and cuts uncovered by his torn shirt waiting to be shot, once a global tycoon who everyone saw as a hero was now drunkard who was on the verge of passing out after overdosing on alcohol. Bates wanted someone to put him out of his nightmare of a life, something he could never do being the wimp that he is. I knew exactly what I had to do. I took a sip from his bottle of wine then chugged the rest of the it down his shallow throat as I placed him across the floor. Wiped my prints off the gun and Placed it in his hand .The crowd went crazy again and I knew it was time. I pulled the trigger and shot myself on the left arm, then on my left leg, tore my clothes near my neck, around my waist and banged a few bruises into my upper torso and throat. I crushed my pepper spray and threw it a few meters away from him. I took off my bloody heel that had just thawed his face and placed it right beside him in a tilted position as if it had been thrown in an act of self-defense, ripped some hair out of my head and scattered it all over his torso and face. I placed myself on the floor right across from him, placed the wine bottle in his other hand and smashed it hard against my head to knock myself unconscious right after I dialed 911.


Giulia heard about the witch from a widow, an acquaintance of her mother's. The widow was rich and had three successful sons. Her husband had died of a fever, leaving behind an immense estate. Using the acumen and wealth which God had bestowed upon her, the widow shrewdly recuperated her husband's crumbling holdings, educated her sons, and married them off to rich and powerful families. The youngest of her sons was rumored to be betrothed to the daughter of the house of Valois. There was also a rumor that the widow has had illicit relationships with men as young as her sons. Giulia did not pay attention to those rumors. She admired the widow. Giulia's mother did not approve of their meetings, but her mother did not approve of any woman who had a tongue in her mouth. As far as her mother was concerned the widow was the spawn of the devil. She warned Giulia to stay away from her. To Giulia, the widow was a strong and independent woman who made subservient women like her mother uncomfortable. The widow’s sharp features, sharp eyes, and sharp movements attracted and terrified men and women alike. They did not like her but they were drawn to her, especially men. To Giulia, she represented a small but powerful light in a sea of darkness, where women like her were abused and mistreated. Giulia would visit the widow almost every week. The widow would listen intently and give Giulia advice. The conversation would often veer towards children, men, and cookery. The widow would say that men's viciousness did not scare her but their stupidity. Giulia personally was more scared of their viciousness than their stupidity. Giulia's husband, Enzo, used to come home every night and beat her over the most ridiculous of things. Food was the most common incitement. The old widow would say that Enzo was a vicious creature that she had warned Giulia's mother about. Enzo had broken a tooth of the old widow's youngest son. She had taken Enzo's family to court, and Giulia's father-in-law had apologized feverishly and made Enzo apologize as well. Although Enzo had to be beaten senseless by his father before he uttered the word sorry to the widow and her son. Giulia tried many things that the widow suggested but nothing stopped the beating. Eventually, the widow confronted Enzo. First time in her life, she saw Enzo unable to be mean to a woman. He growled and groaned but didn't utter a word of defiance. For months, he didn't touch Giulia until he came home one night with his eyes swollen shut and beat her for serving him a stale meal. The widow sympathized with her because her own late husband was a spendthrift. He had drunk and whored away almost half his inheritance before he passed away of a terrible fever. The widow would call him her silly old darling. The widow loved him but was glad that he died for he would have made her children destitute. The widow herself had lived her childhood in poverty and disgrace under the banner of a prominent family which had lost its wealth to the mistakes of vicious, silly, and irresponsible men. However, her family name had allowed her to get married in a nouveau-arrived family of Habsburg, risen to prominence single-handedly by the old widow's father-in-law who was an orphan, who worked in the docks of Venice until with industriousness and humility he becomes one of the wealthiest merchants in the city. Although the widow’s father-in-law made her uncomfortable with his intelligent gaze, he was one of the few men the widow admired. He disapproved of her marriage with his son but had to agree after a public insistence from her late husband. When they first met. The widow was charmed by her bold young beau, slender and popular with no care in the world. He would spend more on perfume than her family spent on rations. They lived a life of luxury and new dignity she had never known. She dined with every prominent family, met with the pope, and ate at the house of Medici. But when her father-in-law died of a sudden heart ailment, their family estate fell into the hands of her husband. Within a few years, her husband, unbridled, had lost and spent half of the family's fortune. Giulia’s marriage was like the old widow’s except that Enzo was also violent. He beat her hard and often. Sometimes, she wished she was never born. It felt like there was never a time when life was worth living. The ink of the present had smudged the memories of the past. Sometimes, she questioned whether the memories from her past were ever real. The pain, the beatings, and the horrors she experienced were the only thing that felt real. After one particularly bad beating, Giulia went to the widow's house. It had taken her a week to gather her courage. She had become anxious and, for the first time, she feared for her life. When the old widow saw Giulia’s face, she had grown furious. She wanted to confront Enzo but Giulia pleaded with her. It was her fault, she insisted. She was not a good wife to him. She could not give him a son. Giulia cried herself to sleep in the widow's embrace. After she woke up, she was not frantic and felt secure. In the evening, Giulia sat in the widow’s bedroom brooding over the fact that she had to go home to him. The terror came back. The widow found Giulia sobbing and she said, "You cannot live like that, child." "I fear for myself but most of all I fear for my children and their future. He will ruin everything." "For them, you need to be strong, Giulia. I know you can. You are one of the strongest women I know." That made Giulia feel better. Coming from her, it meant a lot to her. Giulia looked into the widow's sharp eyes. "I want to be strong like you. I want to do what you did" The widow began, "You have heard bad rumors about me. You still want to be like me" Giulia nodded. The widow told her to seek Paolina the witch. *** When Giulia entered the witch's place, she could not believe her eyes. She found herself in a room which was much bigger than what it looked from the outside. The room was lit wonderfully with candlelight. It smelt like lavender and rosemary and myriad other smells Giulia wished she knew. The floor was covered with the loveliest of carpets, which she could feel through the soles of her shoes. The walls were lined with sofas on which sat a score of women. All were veiled like she was yet every eye was different. Some were stronger than others. Others, younger. She could tell from those who had suffered more than she had. Life worse than hers she could have never imagined yet here she was sitting among women who had seen much worse than her. Giulia sat next to a girl with olive skin. Her eyes looked exotic and she had some sort of mark between her forehead. In front of Giulia sat a girl with brown hair and brown eyes. Giulia could tell that the girl was pregnant because she wore a dress that was too loose, she was with a boy too young to be a husband and sat too intimate to be her brother. The girl did not come here for childbirth. It was too early for that. Giulia almost fainted when the realization came to her. The anxiety brought her back to her own problems. What was she doing here? Consorting with a witch? I am a terrible terrible human being, she thought. She remembered her husband, but she remembered him as young and cocky but gentle. Oh! He used to be so kind to me. Only if his father was alive. However, this time Giulia did not blame herself. She did deserve the beatings. It was not her fault that he squandered a large portion of his inheritance. She loved him, despite the beating, despite the abuse, but she could never forgive him for ruining her children’s lives. It was her turn. She pushed the heavy arched wooden door open. She went in and found herself in awe. This room was grander than the last one. She had never seen so many objects under the bright golden light of what she could only describe as a suspended star, a glowing orb that was not harsh but smooth and pleasing to the eye. The light shone upon everything but it shined the objects differently. She brought her hands in front of her and they were the most beautiful hands she had ever seen. In front of her was a huge table filled with hundreds of apparatus, of the most complicated assortment, filled with potions of vivid colors. Colors she had never seen. Smells she had never smelt. Giulia saw a small woman with dark brown skin. She had never seen a person like that before. Her hair was curly and short. Her skin was smooth and shining like a polished apple. She had heard about such people that worked at the ports but had never seen them before. The brown woman was searching for books amongst the thousands lined from end to end on shelves that reach from the ground to the distant roof. Like books, hundreds of jars lined the wall, jars of distinct shapes and sizes, stored within them were life forms she had never seen. There were also chairs and clocks and chests. As Giulia scanned the room, her eyes fell on a woman, absorbed in a book on a standing table, across the room from her. She was a slender woman in a red dress with long hair the color of deep-burnished copper, and rosy white skin. She was taller than most men Giulia had seen. Her high cheeks and sharp jaw did not suggest in the slightest that she was older than thirty. One word jumped into her mind red. Giulia stood engrossed in the red woman as the woman stood engrossed in her studies. "Giulia", the woman said, "Come here darling, would you?" Those words brought Giulia out of her trance. She should have questioned how the woman came to know her name. But no suspicion came to her mind. It was as though all the despair was sucked out of her being. She faintly remembered feeling the opposite. Fear and anxiety had shrouded her existence. Standing in this magical place, Giulia felt immense love brewing inside her heart. She felt one with the red woman. One with all the women sitting outside. One with the little brown girl. She had never felt this happy, this awed, and this protected before. She did not feel like a lone scared animal anymore but part of a whole that nurtured and cherished her. Giulia felt part of a sisterhood. The woman removed Giulia's veil. And Arm in arm, the woman walked Giulia to a desk. She beckoned Giulia to sit on a chair as the woman took the chair opposite of hers. Giulia was mesmerized by the woman's hair, her slender neck, and her lips. Never in her life had she seen lips that red. The woman noticed Giulia's gaze and said, "I apply lip paint on my lips. When I first saw the consort of the emperor of China, I asked her about it and she gave me her lip paint. I determined its ingredients and created my own lip paint." "Are you the witch?", asked Giulia, but she instantly regretted it. The woman leaned back on her chair and replied, "When a woman is confident and powerful, they call her a witch. Besides, Paolina the potion-maker sounds better than Paolina the witch. "How did you know my name?", asked Giulia "I know a lot about you. I know that you have two girls. You have a pious mother. And you have an abusive husband, whom you are here for.", said Paolina and gave Giulia a knowing look. On the verge of tears, Giulia looked down. Paolina leaned forward and took Giulia's hand into her hand, "You are a strong woman, Giulia. Do you know how many women waste their entire life like that? It is easier to live like a slave than to break the chains of tradition and propriety." "I am doing this for my children", said Giulia, "How do I pay you?" "An ounce of blood", replied Paolina. "Blood? Why?", asked Giulia. "I need them to make potions," said Paolina as she stood up and went to her work table that had all the apparatus. The little brown girl hurried next to Paolina "We have to make Aqua Tofana", said Paolina, "Bring me dragon-blood, belladonna, arsenic, and lead." The girl scurried off as Paolina boiled some liquid in a pot. She mixed all the ingredients when the brown girl came back. Paolina poured the contents into a glass vial. The potion looked colorless. For some reason, Giulia had expected a red like that of Paolina's hair. Paolina walked up to Giulia in her long elegant strides and placed the vial in Giulia's hand. The potion was warm to the touch. Polina's hand was warmer when she placed her delicate hand on Giulia's face. Giulia hugged this strange woman who felt like an older sister to her. "Come back and I will give you some lip paint," said Paolina with a smile on her face. "Remember, whenever you need me, I will be here to help." Giulia nodded her head and asked, "Did you gave the same potion to the widow" Paolina nodded her head and said, "Be strong for your kids. Your husband will have a fever for three days. It will not be sudden. Everything will look natural." Giulia was ill for three days before she died. Everything looked natural.


The desert noonday sun is a brutal master. It demands every ounce of energy and returns nothing-no trees, no shade, no life. Here in the Dunes of Duranan it is relentless. It is a far cry from the icy shores of Agária from whence I hail, but such a journey is necessary if the knowledge I seek can be found hither. For any who should read these words, allow me to expound upon my quest. My name is Émata, scribe of the Dianoa, and student of wisdom. I was raised in the finest learning institutes the northern kingdom of Aglia has to offer, and for thirty-two years I have voraciously studied every book and scroll it contained. However, as I have advanced in age, I see that the Dianoa are not the lovers of wisdom they once were, but instead have fallen prey to their own haughtiness and pride. Their scrolls have many words but contain little. Three years ago, I departed from the port town of Agária and sailed south to the kingdom of Ûskal. Though they have been ravaged by war for generation upon generation, still a few keen minds can be found there, and I studied with my brothers and sisters in the humble abodes of the Western Woodlands. It was during this time that I discovered a tale which had all but disappeared from the world. Ages before now, when the seven kingdoms of Helorím were one, a great library stood in the center of the king's castle. Books and scrolls were piled on top of one another endlessly. It was rumored that the first king of Aglia, Pagoma, once roamed those halls and read those parchments. Known throughout the ages as the Wise Hand of the King, Pagoma is considered one of the most brilliant minds to ever have existed, and such a collection of parchments would have most certainly forged such a mind. However, since the fall of the High Mountain a thousand years ago, the desert upon which the castle and the surrounding city of Tévos stands has slowly expanded and invaded, burying the castle and its contents. The thought of such great knowledge being lost to the sands of time stirred within me a passion I have not felt in many years, and that passion fuels my quest. Ten days ago, I set out from the kingdom capital of Eftos and sailed to Khadûm, the westernmost city of the desert lands I now traverse. I will write to you at another time of the wonders of Khadûm, known as the Cliffside City, for it was hewn from the sheer escarpment by Earth Movers long ago, and such a magnificent sight requires its own parchment. What I can say is that since the beginning of the Second Age, as the desert has swallowed up the land, these two cities have become even more isolated, and my ears heard whispers of secession in the cliffs. This ever-expanding desert is where I travel now. The Dunes are all but behind me, and I only pray that my water and provisions last until I can reach the once great capital city of Tévos. I arrived at the western wall just as the sun peered over the eastern horizon. My shadow fell far behind me, and I saw the crumbling, white stone melting into the unforgiving desert. The once pristine masonry was cracked and afflicted by a black disease, and the wall, once towering above the sands, is now no more than the height of two men. Though I knew this place not, tales of the might of Tévos and its King have spread far and wide for generation upon generation. As I entered the city, the dunes gave way to long abandoned buildings of sandstone and clay, their wooden frames eaten away by bitter sandstorms. A cistern, once used by the locals for drawing water, had been filled in by the desert. My sandals crunched against the sandy cobblestone streets as the wind thrust my headdress about. Not a soul could be found there. Around midday I began to see signs of life in the city, and before long I came to the market square. Even this place was empty. I have seen the markets of Eftos where the Money Masters count their coin, and they bustle all hours, day and night. Here in the desert, however, the shops open late and close early. Goods are bartered, often for labor, and the currency is reputation. It is difficult to believe that this city was once the great capital of Ainíos, that long-forgotten kingdom where the peoples of Helorím were one. It was there in the markets I came across a woman, kind and generous, and quite pregnant, who offered to let me stay at her home while I searched for the lost library. She lived alone with her sister and had never been married. When I asked if I would bring dishonor on her for staying in their house, she said that dishonor already lay on her head, for she had never been known by another. It was obvious that her reputational currency had been used up. She told me of her sojourning from the eastern mountain province where her family had lived for generations here to the land of her ancestors. A strange man had come to visit her there in the bosom of the mountains, telling her to travel west to the kingdom of Bahar, where she would bear a son. When I asked about the man, all she could say was that he had been struck blind but saw more than the keenest of eyes. As for the child, she had kept him a secret as best she could, for there were people who would take him from her if they knew his true heritage. When she told me this, I knew whom it was she carried, for the writings of the Prophets spoke of such a child called the Son of the Earth. This I kept hidden from her, but you, my reader, should know. From there I traveled north through the city to where the citadel of the old castle stood. It was pure, gray stone, strong and everlasting. White stone and marble lay around it as the sands devoured the mason’s handiwork. I came across what was once a courtyard where a large, crumbling throne, hewn from the rock, stood in its center. I climbed and clambered over the fallen stone and shifting sands until I came to an entrance, once barred with a large door of oak, now open to the elements. Hazy light poured in from the apertures of that narrow hall. A crimson rug stretched along the dust-covered floor and a few iron lanterns hung unlit along the wall. I proceeded further in utter silence until I came upon a great opening. It was a large room of fallen marble and white stone, for its ceiling and walls had collapsed in on themselves. I clambered over them and looked to my left, seeing a massive set of gray, wooden doors the height of ten men. I approached them, wondering if they were real. Such a material was only known to grow in a forest on a far-off island, now untouched by man. Running my hands along the wood grain, I felt an immense power emanate from them. It was true; these doors were made of Ironwood from the Isle of Tasak and had been imbued with a great magic. They are impenetrable; I did not attempt to open them. As it was, my search for the library proved unfruitful the first and second days. However, on the third I approached the castle from the east instead of the south. When I did so, I saw the tip of a great spire, colored like the walls of the city, her slanted roof and exposed arches protruding from the looming sands. As you may know, the Wise Hand of the King was an avid seafarer and charted the stars. Before the age of the compass, he devised a way to traverse the seas at night when the great lights were hidden. Thus, I concluded, such a man would have spent many nights close to the heavens. I tightened my satchel and head covering, preparing to traverse the dunes which had accumulated above the castle. Once inside, a long, spiraling staircase lead me down into the dark belly of the citadel. As soft light poured in from above, I was elated at what my eyes could see. There, on the threshold of the darkness, were rows upon rows of shelves lined with books, parchments, and scrolls. I had found Pagoma’s Library! For hours I perused the contents with lantern in hand, stashing in my bag scrolls and books that I wished to study further. It was then that I heard a shifting behind me. I turned and saw an old man, dressed in a white robe adorned with gold, and a frosted beard which stretched down to his bosom. His face was pale and thin, but he spoke with authority. “What are you doing in my library?” he asked. I stuttered for a moment, for my heart was terrified beyond my comprehension. All I could mutter was, “King Pagoma?” The man scowled. “Fool! This library does not belong to Pagoma, for it was I who built it and who filled its halls with wisdom!” I dropped my belongings and fell face down on the floor. “Who are you, King?” I asked tepidly, though I knew his answer before it was uttered. “I am Amo, King of Bahar, King of Ainíos, the Greatest of Ancients,” he thundered. “I drew Helorím from the waters and raised Tur-Gadal to its great heights in the days before man. I am the everlasting Light which resides within all. Now, stand up, Émata, and remove your sandals!” I did as I was told and kept my eyes to the earth, for they did not deserve to gaze upon such glory. “The time is upon us," he said. "You were called here to carry out my will, thus I beseech you listen and heed what I am about to say.” His words seemed to shake the very foundations of the earth, and inexplicably I began to weep. “Tell me, my King.” “You will depart from this place the same as you entered. Nothing shall leave which was at rest here, and you will go into the city and declare what I am about to tell you. The King of Bahar is dead. Darkness is coming, and from the east the Son shall rise. Say these things just as I have told you, and the end of this age shall begin.” He stretched out his hand to me and caressed my face, wiping the tears from my cheeks. “My son, you have sought true wisdom, which is why I revealed myself to you. Take heart and have faith. Light will soon return to this world.” As he said this, his body turn to luminescent dust, like a million stars floating off into the ether. I left that place, leaving behind the scrolls and parchments just as he requested. Sand dried to my cheeks as I descended the dunes and returned to the home of the woman. She had gone into labor in my absence, and her sister stood over her as she held her son. I told her what I had seen in the library, and she smiled; it was just as the blind man had said. She would need to travel east soon, for word of the King’s death would spread quickly. I packed my belongings and prepared to travel to the other kingdoms spreading this news. Before departing I turned to her and asked the child’s name. “Celorím,” she replied. “Servant of the Earth.” I smiled. Truly, this is the child who would bring Light back to Helorím.


Have you ever wondered how it is that your heart works with so much elegance and passion? So small and yet so beautiful. Just like a little platinum ring hidden away in a small velvet box. A ring that could bond two souls for a lifetime. A heart strangled in arteries and veins, with four marvellous chambers sucking away the pollution inside you and filling you with fresh oxygen. Oh, so exquisite! My poetic thoughts are interrupted as I see my girlfriend, flipping her hair around her shoulders while she walks into the kitchen. She mutters incoherently as she passes me. But my head is too caught up in the beauty of her skin and my ears are too busy enjoying the song of her heartbeats to even pay attention to what she is saying. I begin to walk towards her. I hold her face in my palm and rest my thumb on her cheek. I can already sense the rushing of the blood, with her body pressed against mine, I can feel the "Lub dub, Lub dub" of her heart. "God, you're so beautiful! I cannot take this anymore. I want every piece of you for myself." I whisper in her ear as she giggles. I smile at those lips. Those soft bundles of cellular layers, that glistening epidermis. They get me so high. I wonder how they would taste in my mouth. My stomach drops and my hands start to shake. I close my eyes, trying to get my breathing under control but only in vain. My blood is turning into molten lava and exploding through the volcano of my heart. My head feels like its floating among the clouds. It's happening again. I'm terrified but excited at the same time. "Close your eyes. I want to recite something I wrote for you." I say in a seductive tone. With a flirty look on her face she raises her eyebrows at me while she closes her eyes slowly with a smile. "I take a deep breath, taking in the aroma that surrounds her. She smells so human. She smells of thick skin and warm blood." I say and I take a deep breath. Oh, nothing could get me this high. She puts marijuana to shame. "I walk behind her slowly, placing soft kisses on her neck." I say and I follow suit. Her skin tastes like stars. I've always wanted to taste stars. "And then... I hold her wrists as I trace the nerves pressing against her skin. Feeling the rhythm of her heart, just like playing an instrument." I hear her laugh as I run my thumb across the nerves of her wrist to the ulnar and the radical arteries carrying her starry blood along her forearm. Oh, isn't her anatomy a piece of art? I lean in. Pressing my mouth against her ears, I whisper, "Slowly and steadily, I grab the knife from the kitchen counter and stab her through her ribs from behind." Before she can react, I turn my words into reality. She wails in pain and begins to wither in my arms. "I grab her neck with my other hand as I try to choke her. Minimising her ability to shout or scream and momentarily paralysing the muscles that control her breathing." Her screams and her pain bring life to the beautiful poetry I just recited. I let her go as she collapses to the ground. She struggles to breathe and eventually, her heart-beats come to a halt. I pat myself on the back for making a much lesser mess than all other times. I clutch the knife tight in my hands ready to sculpt her into a chef's choice. Sculpt her into a platinum ring that would bond my soul and hers forever. I can't wait to taste her. I can't wait to have a part of her inside of me for eternity.


Ryan Erickson had quietly glowing, copper-penny eyes and soft, curling, coal-black hair with only a strand or two of silver at his temples. He was about 35 years old, lightly built and hovering just above the six foot mark. His face was thin, but his jaw was finely chiseled and completed with a handsome cleft chin. He had a good-natured manner, and he had a very sweet, very warm, dimpled smile which instantly melted the heart of the beholder. He was very patient and fairly reserved; he worked hard, and was good at his job. The first impression of a man with a good heart proved true as one became more familiar with him. Ryan was a chef by trade and by hobby; he was always putting together amazing works of food-art in his home and at work, although the workplace environment created restrictions and monotony for him. When the restaurant’s menu was condensed to fast-food adjacent burgers, fries, and pizza as a precaution during the coronavirus outbreak, Ryan made sure his staff were grilling the burgers just right, buttering and toasting the brioche buns to perfection, and not over-frying the chicken tenders. He brought a homemade seasoning oil to put on the pizza crust, even though outside ingredients and creativity were strictly forbidden. It was depressing to have his creativity stifled by the severe restrictions; but customers still regularly and genuinely complimented the food, often saying it was a “pleasant surprise” to have such well cooked, nicely plated “fast” food. Even if the fare itself wasn’t high quality or original, with chef Ryan in charge the preparation and presentation was. His patient, thoughtful nature combined with his quick wit and years of restaurant experience made it easy for him to throw things together quickly, but with as much excellence and care as if he’d spent hours. When he worked on the presentation of a dish, it didn’t matter if it was a plain cheese pizza or a romantic dinner for his girlfriend; a very focused, deliberate look would come over his face, and his physical body seemed to sync with his spirit as his natural artistic talent and an innate love for beauty came pouring out of him and into his dishes. Every piece of shredded cheese, sheet of seaweed, or slice of pepperoni was mulled over and gently placed in just the right spot. Every dish was a painting, too pretty to eat, but in the end too delicious to resist and soon devoured heartily by the one he had bestowed it upon. He loved to experiment with different foods from around the world; he had an appreciation for all classes of cookery, and loved to celebrate other cultures by making traditional dishes for his loved ones, and sometimes for pure enjoyment and the expansion of his own skill. He was especially interested in Japanese cuisine, and lamented bitterly that he could not make ramen noodles from scratch. He could, however, make sushi more beautiful and delicious than the most expensive sushi restaurant in LA. His love of cooking was rivaled only by his love of spoiling his family and friends with his creations. His deepest and most meaningful show of affection was to cook for those he loved. He took regular trips to visit his father and sister who lived a state away, and every time he went to see them he would splurge on high quality, rich, and nutritious foods. Needless to say, they would all eat like kings for the weekend. Once, when his mother was down and out with a particularly nasty cold, Ryan went to her house and made her a ridiculously beautiful minestrone-esque soup, packed with vegetables he scoured from the fridge and made with homemade bone broth. He spent two whole days on the soup, and there was lots of overnight stewing and vigorous hours of chopping and mixing and seasoning. When it was finally done, his mother insisted it healed her immediately, and it probably did; her son’s love was infused into every cubed squash, every minced onion and every minute of stewing. Ryan also loved to cook for his girlfriend, Jane. During the work week, he couldn’t make anything very complicated or fancy for her lunch, so she always requested a simple steak salad; the steak was juicy and sliced even and thin, pink in the middle and pleasantly charred around the edges. The salad was piled high with the sweetest cherry tomatoes, impeccably cut slivers of firm, vividly green avocado, and aromatic, toasted almonds. It was finished with dried cherries - Ryan’s favorite sweet - which he had dubbed “adult candy.” Jane loved to walk in right as he was plating it; she loved to see his soul and body become one as he created something beautiful. She felt like a princess every time he handed her her special, custom, gorgeous salad. He was always regretful that he couldn’t make her something more advanced or complicated but she would have taken anything he made her, and loved it completely because it had been made by him. He would then walk her down to the ground floor and send her off with many sweet kisses and a promise to meet up later. She loved to leave the salad out on the counter at her job, so customers would ask her, who made that? It looks so good! She would brag that she was seeing a chef and he made her the loveliest meals. People would laugh when her expression changed so dramatically at the thought of him; her rosy complexion would deepen and her twinkling eyes would positively shine. A powerful brightness soaked into her smile, and her whole person would glow with a love light. After the salad had been fully appreciated by strangers, she would feel satisfied enough to eat it, and she always relished every bite of the lovely steak, the sweet tomatoes, the fresh spring greens and the love that had been blended into every tiny detail and poured all over.


“Jee-Anne! Jee-Anne! Jee-Anne!” At the sound of her name, Jee-Anne ran downstairs, red pigtails flying, into her living room. “What is it Gol-Lee?” Jee-Anne asked, panting. “Oh Jee-Anne, you’ll never believe what I just got!” Gol-Lee exclaimed. She had her hands behind her back, her long dark braids covering the wriggling object her hands were clutching. “Oh! Let me see!” Jee-Anne squealed. If Gol-Lee was excited about something, then Jee-Anne knew it had to be something big. Gol-Lee took one big breath, then thrust the object out in front of her. Jee-Anne’s jaw dropped. Gol-Lee was cupping a tiny, fluffy, kitten. “Meet Fluffy,” Gol-Lee said, grinning so widely her dimples showed. “Oh Gol-Lee! This is too good of you!” Jee-Anne squealed. She felt as though her heart was going to explode with joy. She really did have the best friend in the world. “This is an early birthday present for me, isn’t it?” Jee-Anne asked, already knowing the answer. “Oh Gol-Lee, I just love it!” “Wait a second Jee-Anne,” Gol-Lee said, her dimples vanishing, her face falling. “H-he’s not for you.” “Oh Gol-Lee I just - what!? Not for me!?” Jee-Anne’s jaw dropped. She couldn’t believe it. “Gol-Lee, you know I’ve wanted a cat ever since I can remember!” “So have I,” Gol-Lee argued. Jee-Anne scoffed. “You’re kidding right?” “No, I’m not,” Gol-Lee said. “And anyway, I wanted to show him to you because -” “How could you do this to me!” Jee-Anne screamed. The little kitten in Gol-Lee’s hands cowered in fright. “I thought you were my friend! I thought you knew me!” “I do!” Gol-lee gasped, “Jee-Anne, I was going to -” “Gol-Lee if you don’t give me that kitten right now, I’ll never forgive you.” Jee-Anne said, her voice stern yet quivering with fury. Gol-Lee looked astonished. “Jee-Anne, how could you say that?” “You know I’ve wanted a kitten for forever!” Jee-Anne sighed, tears in her eyes, “and now whenever I go to your house, I’ll have to look at that adorable, sweet, lovable, squishy little furball and remember how my best friend wouldn't even let me have him.” “Jee-Anne, this is ridiculous!” Gol-Lee exclaimed. “No, you’re ridiculous!” Jee-Anne shot back, “I’m never talking to you again unless you give me that kitten!” “Fine!” Gol-Lee said. Jee-Anne sealed her lips, and looked the other direction. She heard Gol-Lee’s hurried footsteps as she ran out the front door, and slammed it behind her. The next day at school, Jee-Anne avoided Gol-Lee. She was still furious with her, and determined to do whatever she could to get that kitten. After history and grammar however, it became harder to stay away from Gol-Lee. She always relied on her best friend to get her through grammar class, Jee-Anne being dreadful at the subject, and Gol-Lee extremely well. And she couldn’t play tic-tac-toe with Nicolaus, because he would chew on her crayons and get them stuck in his teeth. By lunch time, Jee-Anne was almost ready to give in. Almost. She was surprised when Gol-Lee came over to the table she had chosen, and sat next to her. “Jee-Anne, I don’t want to fight,” Gol-Lee started. “Good! I knew you would come to your senses! Now, when should I pick up Fluffy?” Jee-Anne asked happily. Gol-Lee sighed. “Jee-Anne, I’m not going to let you have my kitten.” Jee-Anne groaned. Gol-Lee was still being stubborn! This was so unlike her, that Jee-Anne had to think for a second before she made her next move. Then, she grabbed the cookie out of Gol-Lee’s lunch bag. “If you don’t give me that kitten, I’m going to eat your mom’s homemade fudgy chocolate cookie!” Jee-Anne cried. “I’m sorry Jee-Anne, I’m not going to give you my kitten.” “Fine then.” Jee-Anne showed the cookie in her mouth. Several people around the table stared at her, shocked at what she had just done. Gol-Lee scowled, surprised at Jee-Anne’s daring. She picked up her tray, and walked to another table across the lunch room. Jee-Anne chewed slowly, savoring the sweet chocolate flavor, then swallowed, satisfied. If Gol-Lee wasn’t going to cave easily, she was going to have to make her. The whole rest of the school day, Jee-Anne and Gol-Lee fought over everything. When they played dodgeball in P.E., Jee-Anne threw balls at Gol-Lee even though they were on the same team. During science, Gol-Lee chose Sarah for her experiment buddy instead of Jee-Anne. Right before math class, Jee-Anne stole Gol-Lee’s math homework from her backpack, and hid it in her back pocket so she couldn’t turn it in. On their walk home from school, Gol-Lee ran a few blocks ahead of Jee-Anne so she wouldn’t have to walk home with her. Jee-Anne sighed. She was getting desperate. Gol-lee had still not cracked, and she had tried everything she could think of. There was only one option left. Jee-Anne dropped her backpack off at her house, and checked her watch. It was fifteen minutes til four. Jee-Anne grinned. At exactly four o’clock, Gol-Lee would have to leave for her violin lesson. Jee-Anne hurried across the street to Gol-Lee’s house, and, checking first that the coast was clear, snuck through the back door. She could hear Gol-Lee’s mom talking in the living room, so she ran silently upstairs into Gol-Lee’s bedroom. Right as she walked through the door, she saw him. Fluffy was sleeping peacefully on Gol-Lee’s bed. Jee-Anne smiled. Cautiously, meticulously, Jee-Anne lifted the kitten in her arms, and sprinted out of the house. “Jee-Anne!” Jee-Anne gasped at the shout. It was Gol-Lee! She must not have left for her violin lesson yet! Jee-Anne let out a terrified scream and ran as fast as she could toward her house. However, she knew Gol-Lee was catching up to her. Gol-Lee was taller and faster than Jee-Anne. Just as Jee-Anne reached her front porch, Gol-Lee grabbed the back of her shirt. “Let go!” Jee Anne screeched, trying to pull away. “Put down my kitten!” Gol-Lee shouted, grabbing the kitten’s back legs. “Never! He’s mine!” Jee-Anne screamed back, yanking on the kitten’s front legs. The terrified kitten let out a petrified yowl, but the two girls continued to yank. “You better let go Lilias Francis Fisher!” Jee-Anne screamed. “Not until you do Annabell Gertrude Price!” Gol-Lee shouted. “You traitor!” Jee-Anne screamed. “You stealer!” Gol-Lee yelled back. “You selfish backstabber!” Jee-Anne roared. “I’m not a selfish backstabber! I was going to give you a kitten too!” Gol-Lee shouted. Jee-Anne stopped pulling. Gol-Lee stopped yanking too. The poor little kitten sighed with relief. “What do you mean you were going to give me one too?” Jee-Anne asked, panting slightly. Gol-Lee took a few deep breaths, then explained, “My aunt was the one whose cat had kittens. She said I could take one over to show you, then you could come over and choose one too if your mom said you could have one.” Jee-Anne stared at Gol-Lee, utterly shocked. “I’m sorry Gol-Lee,” Jee-Anne muttered, her face turning red. “That’s okay Jee-Anne,” Gol-lee said, “want to walk over after my violin lesson and pick which one you want?” “Okay!” Jee-Anne said eagerly. The two best friends embraced. Fluffy meowed uncomfortably between them. Gol-Lee ran back over to her house, waving over her shoulder to Jee-Anne. “Oh, but Gol-Lee!” Jee-Anne said, “How about I don’t ask my mom if I can have one. I’ll think she’ll like it more if it’s a surprise.” Gol-Lee grinned, her dimples popping out.