"Miss Kayla Swanson, you are cordially invited to this years June Jamboree on the 2nd of June 2024. Dress code as required. Men in suits and a black tie. Women in black and white dresses. We hope to see you there." I can't believe I'm invited to this year's June Jamboree, the social event of the year. This is unbelievable. I wonder why I'm invited but I don't care. Keep the dramatics down Kayla. I'm calm. I have to find a dress, a black and white dress. I leave my home and go to the mall. I spend hours at the mall trying to find the right dress. I think I found the right dress. It's not too long. The dress comes right above my knees with a parting down the right side of my leg. I love the way the dress looks on me. This is the dress for me. I pay for the dress and leave. I need shoes now. I leave the dress store and go to my favorite shoe store. It didn't take me long to find the perfect black heels. The heels accentuates my legs. They will go perfect with my dress. I happily leave the mall with my new dress and shoes when I see the woman who gets on my nerves. The woman in this whole town who I can't stand, Savannah Mitchell. She has this squeaky voice that will literally put holes in your head. Every year she gets invited to the June Jamboree and every year she throws it in my face. Not this year she won't. I don't pay her any attention. I just walk to my car and get in and drive home. Today is the day of the Jamboree. I wake-up early have breakfast and go to the salon. I want my curls to bounce. I love when my curls have texture. It took Marisa three hours to do my hair. I love the way my hair looks. I arrive home. Now time for my make-up. It takes me half an hour to do my make-up. My make-up is done. It's time for me to put my dress and heels on. Wow, I don't recognize myself. I look stunning. Time for me to go. I grab my purse, the invitation and my car keys. I carefully walk down the stairs, out the front door and to my car. I can't stop wondering why I was invited. The people who plan the Jamboree usually don't invited journalist. Anyways, I'm going to have a good time. I arrive at the hotel five. The most expensive and luxurious hotel in Coral Bay. It looks like the whole town is here. The Riley family who literally built Coral Bay and who host the Jamboree every year only invites the rich and famous. Why is the whole town here? That is a mystery. I get out of my car and hand the keys to the valet. I walk to the front door and show my invitation. The lady allows me to enter. Wow, the hotel is beautiful. I walk to the ballroom and enter. This is just beautiful. I feel like a princess walking inside of a castle. The Jamboree is also called the black and white Gala. Everyone looks amazing. I find a couple of my friends who are also shocked to be here. We talk about the Jamboree and the Riley family. After a while I excuse myself. I need some air. I walk to the balcony. The hotel over looks the ocean. I close my eyes and breath in the cool fresh air. "What are we going to do?" I hear voices coming from the other side of the balcony. I move closer. "We have to expose the Riley family for who they are and we have to do it tonight." Oh My God! Someone is after the Riley family. But why? The Riley family isn't perfect. Everyone in Coral Bay knows that. The Riley family built this town. The voices have quiet down. I peek around the corner. No one is there. I didn't recognize those voices. One was a man and the other a woman. What should I do? Should I go warn security? I look inside the ballroom. Everyone is having a good time. Why would anyone want to ruin it? The smiles and laughter is everywhere. Everyone is dancing, drinking champagne and eating. I have to put my journalist hat on and investigate. I enter the ballroom. I look around and see my whole town is here. It is a beautiful site to see. This is basically the only time the entire population of Coral Bay is in one room together. I see the Riley family huddle together. Mr. and Mrs. Riley hugging and kissing. There is Jake and his sister Jessica talking. They seem like a normal family, only with a lot of money. Could these people be after money? This is the first time I see Mrs. Riley smiling. She looks beautiful. Mr. Riley is a tough man who hold nothing back. Right now, I see a loving husband and father. The Riley children, Jake and Jessica. What can I say about them? Jake is just like his father and Jessica is known throughout Coral Bay as a spoil brat. But not tonight. Tonight they seem different. I can't point my finger as to why. Whatever the Riley family did to those two individuals, I can't let them and their vendetta ruin the whole night for the people and for the Riley family. I walk around the ballroom trying to figure out who the voices belong to. One by one I listen to each voice of the guest. I eliminate half go the guest. Then I go to the other side of the ballroom and listen to each voice. I eliminate the other half until I come up to two people. I don't recognize them as Coral Bay residents. I slowly walk up to them. I hear them talking. "By the time we finish tonight, the Riley family will be no more. Are you with me? "Of course, I am." That's them. I take a picture of the couple and leave. They are going to hurt the Riley family. I have to tell security. I go and find security. I walk up to them and tell them what I heard. I show them the picture of the couple. A couple of minutes later, I hear a man and a woman yelling and screaming as security is taking them away. Everyone is looking at them wondering who they are including the Riley family. Mr. Riley goes to the stage and tells everyone not to pay attention to the two strangers. Mr. Riley walks off the stage and goes back to his family. I see him whispering something to Mrs. Riley. After the two strangers are led away by security, the town of Coral Bay enjoys themselves including me. I do wonder what the couple had on the Riley family. One day I will hopefully find out.


The Mentor Off-key crooning... “The green leaves of summer are starting to fall, and those...’’ “Enough with all the melancholy end-of-summer stuff, Sawyer!” “How about something a little more upbeat like a little ‘Summer Nights’ from Grease, Jesse?” “Oh my God, no. If I hear about Sandy and Danny one more time I’m going to toss my cookies. You need to move on. Summer’s over. We had a good run, but school starts tomorrow.” “Yeah, I know, but I sure am going to miss those lazy, laid-back days of summer, sleepin’ in, sittin’ on the porch sipping my lemonade and checking out all the cars that go by, video games, watching Paw Patrol until my eyes hurt, trips to the park ...” “Snap out of it, Sawyer, life isn’t all fun and games. It’s high time you got a little serious about your future.” “To be honest, I’m scared about my first day of school tomorrow. I don’t think I want to go. Maybe I’ll just stay home.” “Don’t be ridiculous, Sawyer. You can’t stay home. And there’s nothing to be scared about. Sit down, I’ll tell you everything you need to know about how to be a good student.” Huck strolled into the room. The kid is so cool he makes the Fonz look like Napoleon Dynamite. “What’s up, bros?” “Sawyer’s got his undies in a bundle over school starting tomorrow, Huck.” “School starts tomorrow? Huh, I didn’t know that.” “Gees, Huck, how could you possibly not know school starts tomorrow?” “School, shmool, who cares? The Huckster’s got more on his mind than getting packed into a classroom like a bunch of sardines listening to some boring teachers try to teach us a bunch of crap.” “Watch your language, Huck!” “Crap, crap, crap, crap. Sawyer, relax. School’s no big deal. Just don’t let your goodie-two-shoes brother Jesse get in your head about it. You listen to him, and you’re going to hate school.” “You’re going to like school, Sawyer, but you have to take it seriously. Learning new things is exciting, fun, and rewarding. Knowledge and hard work are the keys to a successful life.” “You listen to Jesse, and you’re going to have a permanent seat at the nerd table at lunch. Lighten up on the kid, Jesse. Sawyer, all work and no play and you’ll turn into a super-geek like Jesse.” First days of school can be worrisome for a kid. First first days of school can be downright scary. Sawyer was making the big move, from kindergarten to first grade, real school. Jesse, having polished off his first two years in a breeze and now entering third grade, would be there for his little brother. Huck would also be there to...well, that was the problem. Huck would be there. Having miraculously made it through grades one through four without one documented minute of study, Huck was not likely going to be a good influence on his youngest brother as he embarked on his academic journey. But Jesse ranked high on the responsibility scale, too high for an eight-year-old kid, and he wanted Sawyer to get off on the right foot. “You got your pencil box packed?” “I think so, Jesse.” “Think so doesn’t cut it in the first grade. You’re not in kindergarten anymore, Sawyer. Let’s go through the list.” “ Six #2 pencils?” “Check.” “Ruler?” “Check” “Glue stick?” “Check.” “Remote control fart machine?” “Shut up, Huck. That’s not funny.” “Funny? Are you kidding me? That’s the funniest thing in the world. Sawyer, you make it sound like Miss Finn is rippin’ off a few thunder-busters, and you’ll be the most popular kid in the class.” “Stop it, Huck! Sawyer, don’t listen to him. He’s just going to get you in trouble. Fiskars kid scissors?” “Check.” And so it went, Jesse the force of good, and Huck, the force of not-so-good, exerting competing influences over their little brother. “Jesse, is Miss Finn a good teacher?” “She’s great, Sawyer. She’s very patient, explains everything really well, and cares about her students. You’re going to love her.” “B.S. She’s a witch, Sawyer. You can’t chew gum in class, she wants you to pay attention all the time, no throwing things, and she won’t let you go to the bathroom all day long. And I heard she killed a kid once.” “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Huck, Miss Finn never killed anyone.” “It’s what I heard. Just watch yourself, Sawyer.” “Is first grade hard, Jesse?” “Not if you stay focused and work hard. It’s pretty tough stuff, Sawyer, letters, words, numbers. If you pay attention in class and do your homework on time, you’ll be fine. Focus is the key. You’ve got to stay focused.” “Yeah, and here’s what you focus on, Sawyer- lunch, recess, and three o’clock. That’s when school lets out.” “Huck, don’t tell him that...” “Get in the lunch line early. Here’s where their stupid rules will work to your advantage. There’s no running in the hallways, but you do it anyway. That puts you at the front of the line every day. That way your hot lunch will actually be hot. And always look for some stupid, nerdy kid who might be willing to swap his dessert for your fruit or vegetable. It’s hard to believe, but they’re out there.” “Sawyer, you cannot run in the hallway! That’s a very important rule. Principal Carson is quite strict about that.” “Sawyer, I do it all the time. You don’t have to worry about Clueless Carson. His head’s up his butt most of the time anyway.” “Keep it up, Huck, and I’m telling Mom.” “Oh, that’s a surprise.” “Sawyer, Principal Carson does not have his head, well you know, what Huck said.” “Are you kidding me? You’d think after finding a fake puke on his desk five days in a row he’d catch on. Sawyer, the guy ran out of his office every time. Once he even barfed himself.” “That’s so disrespectful, Huck. He’s a very nice, smart man.” “Smart? One day I put a ‘School Closed’ sign at the entrance. When he saw it, Sawyer, he turned around and went home. Ha, ha, ha.” “He did not go home. You just told everyone he did.” “Well, he thought about it.” “How would you know if he thought about it?!” “And how about all the fire alarms I set off? The whole school knew I did it, and he never caught on.” “Stop it, Huck. Sawyer, if you listen to Huck you’ll spend a lot of time in detention.” “That’s where you want to be, Sawyer- detention. You don’t have to do a thing there. You just sit. And that’s where you’ll find all the cool kids. Hell, you and I can be in there together.” “That’s sounds pretty cool.” “Sawyer! No, you do not want to be in detention. Stop it, Huck!” “I’m just trying to help the kid out.” “ And, Sawyer, you want to look good for school. How you dress sets the tone for the day.” “No one cares what you look like Sawyer. Just try not to smell. In fact, it helps if you look a little rough, torn dirty jeans, your shirt hanging out, hair a mess. It boosts your cool-factor, gives you some street cred. Now, back to what matters. Recess. Stay away from the nerd games like 4-Square, Red Rover, Kick-ball, and Simon Says. And stay off the playground equipment. The cool kids are never caught on the swings or merry-go-round.” “Don’t listen to him, Sawyer. The playground equipment is fun. You’ll love the climbing ladders and the big slide.” “They’re death traps, Sawyer. I heard half the stuff was paid for by the school nurse and some bone doctor in town to keep their business up. You can shoot some hoops or toss a football around, but what you really want to do is play marbles or dice for money. Just make damn sure you get good at marbles before you play, and most of the kids won’t know the rules for dice so they’ll be easy pickins. You can make some pretty good dough at recess if you play your cards right. Oh yeah, and cards, Texas Holdem so you can get a lot of hands in.” “Will you teach me dice and Texas Holdem, Huck.?” “Of course, Sawyer. That’s what brothers do.” “Huck! Don’t teach him that stuff! Sawyer, that’s not what you want to learn or what you want to do. You go to school to learn, not to gamble, pull foolish pranks, or get in trouble.” “Sawyer, look how much stuff you know already, and you’ve never been to school! Life is short, enjoy yourself. Do you think they would have invented the remote control fart machine if they didn’t want someone to use it? You gotta have a sense of humor, Sawyer. You listen to your nerd-bag brother Jesse and someday you’ll be putting starch in your underpants.” “I don’t put starch in my underpants!... I do ask Mom to iron them though.” “Oh, my God. I can’t believe we’re related. Ok, little buddy, let’s move on. Three o’clock. Once your school day starts, that’s the only thing that matters, the moment you walk out of the joint.” “Eight to three, that’s a long day, Huck.” “You bet your sweet bippy it is, Sawyer. That’s why you need to be able to entertain yourself while all the teaching crap is going on.” ‘Huck! The language...oh, never mind.” “Game Boy was always my go-to device. Then I got busted, and now they watch for that stuff. Same with the little radios and the earbuds. The best you can do now is a comic book slipped inside one of their humongous textbooks. And of course, you can always doodle.” Sawyer was taking notes. “Comic book and doodle...” “Sawyer! Don’t write that stuff down. You don’t want to remember anything he’s telling you.” “And there’s always the sweet element of distraction. My buddy’s brother is in college, and he calls it ‘defensive booking’. Rather than study yourself, you keep the other guy from studying to lower the curve. It’s brilliant, and you can have a lot of fun doing it. There’s all kinds of things you can do.” “Lower the curve, that sounds interesting, Huck.” Jesse couldn’t stand it. He put his hands to his forehead. “Oh, my God.” “Like what kind of things, Huck?” “Spitballs, funny faces, fart sounds, whatever strikes your fancy. It’s a good chance to show a little creativity. They should give grades for it, but the tyrants that run the place don’t understand.” “Sawyer, as Principal Carson always tells us, ‘Your business here is learning.’ Your future starts now. Education will be the foundation of your life. You fall behind, and the Chinese will eat your lunch.” “Huck, you didn’t say anything about Chinese people in the lunch room.” “Sawyer, Sawyer, Sawyer, you’ve got so much to learn. That’s why you’re lucky to have big bro Huck to take you under his wing.” “Big bro Huck is going to get you in a lot of trouble, Sawyer. You need to listen to big-bro Jesse. You’re at a crossroads of your life, Sawyer. You can either try to make something of yourself, accomplish great things, and live a meaningful life, or idle away your time like a goofball clown...like your brother Huck.” The meeting of the brothers was interrupted as Mom and Dad entered the room. “Well, Sawyer, have the boys been filling you in on what first grade will be like?” “Yes, Mom.” Dad understood the forces at work. He could imagine the good and bad angels perched on Sawyer's shoulders. “Let’s hope you take your cue from Jesse and not from Huck. “Yes, for sure, Dad. Jesse really helped me a lot. The main thing is I will need to focus. It’s important to pay attention, follow the rules, and do my homework on time. I understand my business there will be learning. Oh, and I always want to look sharp.” Jesse smiled proudly; a devilish grin from Huck. --------- As the three boys and their Mother stood at the end of their driveway waiting for the school bus, Sawyer gave Huck a questioning look. Huck leaned toward Sawyer, smiled, gave him a quick wink, and whispered. “Don’t worry. It’s all good, Sawyer. I snuck the remote control fart machine into your backpack.” “Thanks, Huck. I think I’m going to like school.”


The old man walked slowly down the sidewalk. Thinking about where he had just come from, he hesitantly reached into his pocket for a cigarette, but he soon realized he had none left. Taking a small detour from his planned route, he crossed the street and entered a convenience store, where he bought a pack of cigarettes. After walking another block or two, he approached a bench outside of a small delicatessen and sat down, taking a break from his prolonged saunter. As he felt the cold metal through the back of his long, black pants, thoughts of his late wife began to rush through his mind. He took out the pack of cigarettes he had just bought, and opened the box. Just as he reached for one, he noticed a quarter on the ground about ten feet in front of him. He stood up, and began to walk towards the coin. Before he could take another step, however, there was a deafening crash, as if something had fallen from very high. The old man turned around to see an old air-conditioning in pieces on the bench. Under the rubble, he managed to make out a now crushed pack of cigarettes. As the gravity of the situation set in, the old man was not hit with worry, as what had happened was not going to happen again. He was not hit with grief, as he had faced too much in the last few months. He was struck by gratitude- not just that he had managed to narrowly avoid a terrible death, but that God had been kind enough to show him a sign. The old man walked down the sidewalk with newfound pep. This sign could only mean one thing- that he needed to quit smoking. This made sense to the old man, as his wife had been a smoker too, and met her end via lung cancer. Although he was sad about her passing, his motivation to quit smoking took over, and all an outsider would have seen was a jolly old man out for a stroll. When he finally arrived home from the cemetery, the old man decided to call up his daughter, explaining what had happened, and told her about his vow to give up cigarettes. While his daughter was very excited about this proposition, she cared little about his incident. She was more concerned about how this air-conditioning unit managed to fall onto the sidewalk, and curious as to why he did not stop to see who had been in the apartment; surely they would have come down to apologize. She tried to ask these questions to her father, but the old man was stubborn, and continued to rave about the “miracle” he had experienced. As a pious man, it was his responsibility in life to achieve greatness just to give away the credit to some external force, in the same way that his wife’s responsibility was to go to Him when He decided it was her time. The old man walked into his house, and immediately beelined to his room, not caring to lock the door or even take off his shoes. He collected every cigarette he could find, and started to walk back downstairs to throw them out. As he reached the bottom step, he saw a man dressed in all black approach him. The man in black grabbed a knife out of his pocket and proceeded to slit the throat of the old man, who now lay in a pool of blood at the base of the stairs, dead. The man in black looked down, and said to the body, “If you’d just stayed on that bench, I wouldn’t have to clean this shit up.


I have to get it working. Four hours without life support and we'll all be dead, but that's not the main thing. I mean, it is. Obviously. None of us want to die out here, least of all me. But we've also got a point to prove. They said we weren't ready. The Council fought us every inch of the way, and I know it was only Ethan's intervention that got our expedition over the line. Ethan's name, really. There's only so much can be denied to the crown prince, even by the Council. And the reason Ethan fought them so hard? Me. So we're out here now, lightyears from home, hours from death, all because of me. All the exhileration of the launch, the adrenaline of the crew, the bombast and the posturing and the talk of guts and glory has splintered into stardust. Hundreds of accusing eyes burn into me as I pass through the ship. There might only be a dozen of us on board but the weight of those souls threatens to crush me. Their shading tells me louder than words that it's the guts rather than the glory that currently occupy their thoughts. I've heard what they say about me, too. I'd have to be deaf not to, it's not like anyone has the energy to spare my feelings right now. I've heard it all before, how I'm over-rated, over-promoted, a mad scientist that no one sane would let out of the lab. Usually it rolls off me, but usually I'm not holding my accusers' lives in my tentacles. Nepo baby. Sycophant. Catamite is a new one; I’m actually faintly impressed by the erudition of the insult. None of it serves to divert me for long. Because not only is the mission my baby, the ship herself is too. The hull, the engines. The life support system. I'm her inventor and her chief engineer, and while Ethan is her captain and pilot everyone knows she's mine to her wiring. I don't want to die. We have a point to prove to the Council. But I have a promise to keep to Ethan which is written in more than blood. “Are you sure?” His tentacles played over mine as we lay entwined in his bed. “I trust you, Tam, you know I do, but...” “I know. It's a big ask.” I couldn't hide the waves of colour that swirled across my scales, hope and excitement laced with the deep burgundy of avarice. To be first , to be the one to break the barriers of the edge of our star system, for it to be my ship, my engine, my innovations that cradled my people out into the unknown? A shiver of anticipation rippled over me, ruffling my frills. “I won't let you down, Eth, I won’t embarrass you.” He'd shaken his head, a hint of hurt staining his cheekbones emerald. “It's not that, Tam.” I waited, confused, as he coloured with anxiety. “Is it safe?” “Of course it's safe! You think I'd risk my own skin if it wasn't?” He'd frowned at me, knowing me a little too well, his look all that was needed to conjour the memories of boyish expoits and youthful innovations that blew up in my face, often literally. Sheepish, I'd conceded the point. “This time. This one is safe, Eth, I swear.” “You'll bring them all back? The crew? Every one of them?” “I swear.” I was under no illusions about the kinds of folks who I'd be given for the voyage. Those with too little to lose, too much to run from. Or those servicing a debt so great that it could propel them beyond the limits of our atmosphere. But a life is a life, and even though Eth is a much better person than I am I was happy to promise him this. “On my life, Eth.” Quite literally, actually, since there was no question of the ship leaving the planet without me. He'd nodded, apparently satisfied, and golden exhileration flooded my body. To be replaced by a chilling sense of horror at his next words. “I'll captain her, then.” More than blood, then. Instead, a vow to which I'm tied by the soul bond between me and him. Oh, there's no deep magic here, no arcane link that compels me to obey, nothing like that. Just the fact that this man is half of my whole, and my entire heart, and nothing in this universe matters if he is not at my side. I'd be a hell of a lot happier right now, though, if he wasn't literally at my side, but instead safely ensconced in the royal chambers in Selmat. Is this what he expected? Is this what his family anticipated when they appointed a royal engineer to their court? It was a fancy of his father's, I'm sure, a conceit inspired by visitors from abroad who displayed their own scientists and mathematicians like a florist bedecking a ballroom. He'd requested a physicist and a cosmologist as well and the univeristy had been only too happy to offload me, the troublesome thorn in the administration’s side, to complete the trio. Aretha and Silas didn't last long, their tempraments far better suited to the dusty, theoretical towers of academia than the whims of a court which demands flair and novelty more than rigour and punctiliousness. But I was in my element. Every harebrained idea I'd ever had suddenly had an audience. Nothing I could say was too out-there, nothing too outlandish to delight my avid fans. I wasn't expecting anyone to take me seriously. It had never happened before, after all. Oh, I knew my ideas would work, but I'd never persuaded anyone else. Or, at least, anyone who had the wherewithal to actually get them beyond the point of theory. Not until Ethan. Ethan listened . Not in the delighted, vapid way of the rest of the court but with actual interest. He asked questions . Intelligent ones. It was my engine design that fascinated him the most. His father quickly lost interest in the scheme once Ethan's questions become more detailed and my explanations less about showmanship and more about satisfying the insatiable curiosity of the crown prince. And about proving myself, of course. But that was fine, because in the face of his father's impatience Ethan began to ask for ‘personal briefings' on my ideas. They became increasingly ‘personal' as we got to know each other, and for a while the whole space exploration programme risked being derailed entirely as we discovered just how much exploration we could undertake within the four walls of the prince's bedroom. The scene in the engineering bay, when I get there, is a horror show. A pall of smoke hangs in the air, choking the handful of crew who know one end of an induction manifold from the other and have hurried in here in a forlorn attempt to help. There's little they can - or dare - attempt without my instruction, but they'll stand there and broadcast their resentment in neon blue streaks nonetheless. My orders echo around the cavernous space, chillingly unimpeded by the engine's usual hum. Suddenly six tentacles don't feel like nearly enough as I press reset buttons and hammer overrides and make absolutely no difference to the silently accusing power gauges. It's the fuel. Of course it's the fuel. I know it, even the underqualified grunts hovering at my back know it. But none of us have dared say it yet because to go in there and deal with it, to pass beyond the containment field, is only fractionally less of a death sentence than sitting around here waiting for the air to run out. We're out of time, and I'm out of delaying tactics, and I've known for a while - since the instant the explosion rippled through the ship and the alarms began to scream and the crew was painted lime green in terror - that it would come to this. Muttering ripples round the room but I can't spare the attention, not right now. There are supplies in the emergency locker for this, and I snag the tub of gel that I've never found the opportunity - or perhaps never been sufficiently suicidal - to test and start to smear it across my body. A commotion by the containment hatch catches my attention just in time, and my panicked screech stops the youngster's tentacle just before he overrides the security lock. “What the hell do you think you're doing?!” He freezes, glares, steps into the shadows to try and hide the shade of his scales which are now so dazzlingly viridescent that they almost glow. “I'm the most junior. Sir. You don't have to order me.” “Order you to what?!” Panic and confusion is making my voice shrill and a couple of the onlookers wince and cover their sensitive earholes. The youth - Derran, I recall, belatedly - looks faintly uncertain. “To go beyond the door. You... you do realise it's the fuel, don't you? Sir?” The honorific is tacked on tentatively, like he's increasingly unsure it's merited. Not that I can really blame him at this point. “That the lines are clogged?” “Of course I do, I designed the bloody thing.” I've finished slicking myself with goo now and I'm feeling unpleasantly tacky and more than a little nervous, and my temper is fraying. “What makes you think I'm sending you in there?” His expression goes flat, confusion and scorn and faint hope swirling across his scales. “Because someone has to unclog them, and it's a death sentence, and I'm the most junior.” He doesn't even bother with the ‘sir' this time. I can't help myself. I scan the room. Half of them are staring at the floor, the rest meeting my eyes with a degree of defiant condemnation and the words are out in a jumble of hurt before I can stop them. “That's what you think of me? Seriously?” I'm at the door before the first of them realises my intention, and the shock as the rest catch on is almost palpable. “Don't follow me. If I can't do this, no one can.” It's not hubris, it's the bare facts from the one who designed the engine, built it from scratch, nursed it through these first dozen light years and beyond the edge of the Relean system. “Give me 20 minutes then evacuate.” It's an order they might or might not obey. There's an escape pod, of course, but who will find it out here? They can jump ship, but they'll be drifting in the void for the rest of their natural lives unless we've woefully underestimated the population density of this section of the galaxy. That’s not my problem, not right now. Not with the containment door looming imposingly above me and the handle suddenly heavy under my hand with the weight of what's riding on this. It's a tiny comfort, as I take a final breath and step into the airlock, that Derran's scales are shining with relief and gratitude. (A little adoration and hero-worship wouldn't go amiss too, I'm putting my life on the line here, but beggars can't be choosers.) If the engineering bay was a horror show, the containment pod is a hellscape. There are no alarms blaring in here, because there isn't supposed to be anyone to hear them. But the heat and vapour and the smell assaults me and it's all I can do to focus on what I need to do. The goop on my scales will protect them, and I grabbed a respirator as a bit of defence for my eyes and gills, but both will falter when confronted with the scale of this catastrophe. As soon as it happened, as soon as we felt the ship rock and heard the alarms blare, I knew what must have happened. No one is ever meant to come in here, because I built backups for the backups and the only way they could all fail was through a series of events so unlikely that designing it out seemed a waste of time. (I'm reconsidering that assessment now, you will understand.) A blockage, an explosion, the failsafe systems taken out neatly in precise succession with split-second timing; I couldn't have done it intentionally if I'd practised for a month. In the vanishingly unlikely event we all get out of this alive there's a hell of a repair job and plenty of redesigning to do, but now is not the time. We can send the cleaner bots in later, but for now it's down to me and my tentacle-tips and the rising temperature is doing little to make them any more dextrous. The ringing noise in my head and the blurring of my vision tells me the muck is already seeping into my system, and choking clouds of fog are still blocking my view of the critical parts. In the end I have to just go for it, forge forwards into the choking miasma and rely on my instincts to guide me to the right place. Like I said to Derran: if I can't do this, no one can. The next minutes are a blur. Afterwards, only fractured impressions remain. The shriek of pressurised steam escaping from another rupture. The heat of the metal under my tips as I wrench at the valves. The choking stench of leaking exhaust and singed scales. The sound fades away. Finally I realise I've done all I can, and there's a protesting gurgle that sends a flood of hope through me as the fuel reluctantly starts to flow again. I stumble back to the hatchway, yank it closed behind me, and collapse in a heap on the blissfully cool deck. Ethan is there. Of course Ethan is there. He's there because he's the captain, and because he's the closest thing we have to a medic on this forsaken tin can, but mainly because he's my... because he's mine . I can feel the fluttering of his limbs on my body, the respirator replaced with medical masks, something sharp breaching my scales below my frill. His tentacles are everywhere, his touches reassuring and tender and a shade too intimate for a public setting but it's not like anyone's going to begrudge him those in my last moments. The ringing noise in my head fades and I realise that this must be the end. Oddly, I’m no longer scared. I've kept my promise, after all: our ragtag little band of explorers are safe. I've not failed Ethan. I've not failed my ship. I expect to see Ethan's scales swirling with the deep black of grief but to my shock it's the faint crimson of irritation that I see, not deep enough to truly be called anger, but hurtful nontheless as my... my Ethan's reaction to my last seconds. (It has occured to me more than once that we really ought to get round to naming this thing that's between us. I guess we're out of time, now.) Without the ringing noise I can hear snatches of words, and their unexpectedness tugs my brain closer to consciousness. Idiot. Stupid, bone-headed, self-sacrificing... And then it occurs to me that the scene is getting clearer rather than fuzzier, and the pain is starting to recede, and the realisation that I'm not actually on the verge of death hits me like a shockwave. “Ethan?” There's relief marbled through the crimson as he locks some of his eyes with mine. “Tam. Of all the stupid--” “I kept them safe. I promised you, Eth. I kept them safe.” Ethan glares at me and then scoops me up in his tentacles with an ease that I usually find incredibly hot but for which I am just overwhelmingly grateful right now, and bears me off to bed and healing rest. As we approach the door I'm shocked to hear the approving sussuration of frills from the others in the room, and see the shades of gratutide and loyalty, if no little surprise, that adorn their bodies. I don't know what we'll find out here, beyond the edges of our home system and out in the depths of the galaxy, but it looks like one thing has changed. Our little group of court sycophants and university spies and futureless outcasts has changed into something else today. I get the hopeful sense we're doing this as a comrades, now; teammates. And Ethan is here, and he's holding me close, and despite the utter carnage of this morning I can't help but feel that a lot of good has come out of today. I settle against his chest and let sleep wash over me as his insults fade into endearments. There's time enough to rake over today's debacle and make sure it never happens again; for now I can rest. I need my strength back - we've a universe to explore together, after all.


All of my team said when we heard the announcement that our team was going to get the final bit of funding for our prototype hyperspace ship. The day I had always dreamed about was so close. The problem was my team and I had already built the ship but we just needed fuel which we couldn't have afforded with our budget that NASA had given us which luckily after our fourteenth appeal to NASA for a bigger budget they reluctantly approved. After a small party with my team the question came up, who would co-pilot the ship. I was the main builder of the ship and also took astronaut lessons, so I would be the main pilot. None of the team had experience of piloting a ship so after looking through countless candidates only one person took my eye Oliva Airhart, a P.H.D at Harvard University for Engineering and she has three years of professional experience in a jet aircraft there's no one better for the job of a co pilot then her. A few days after accepting Airharts candidate letter, my team and I finally met with Airhart. We throw welcoming party for Airhart so that we can get to know her better. After the party I went and found Airhart off to the side and I asked “why did you apply to be my co pilot we made it clear that this isn't the safest project, and with your talent you could be on a” Airhart cut me off “what's the point of working on some boring jet craft when what you guys are doing is so much more than what I could do working with anyone else” standing there with a stupid smile on my face Airhart stood there confused “what's with the grin on your face?” after what she said I turned away to hide my smile. I said “Glad to be working with someone who shares my views” I left shortly after saying that. Some time after a few weeks getting Airhart up to speed with the whole project and how to pilot the hyperspace drive we were ready to go. About to launch and my heart is pounding, my fingers are numb and to be honest I can't feel my face. The first time humanity is ever going to hyperspace. The computer starts counting down, One minutes remaining...Forty seconds remaining...Thirty seconds remaining...Tw- Airhart cuts in on the radio “Somethings wrong, turn it off!” in a panicked tone. I looked at the computer blinking red. Somehow there was a hole in the center of the spaceship quicking trying to not freak out. I go to turn the rocket off then as if a whip snapped the noise away, nothing , no noise besides the ringing in my ear. I had made it into hyperspace...alone. Looking at the computer frozen all I could see was the message displayed by the computer. Damage to the lower half of the ship second pilot M.I.A. It all happened way too fast for me to think. Luckily the computer was already trying to get me out of here. It tried to get a report of anything and everything. What it read out to me was the following “unable to use radio, fuel was at 1/10 still draining, Estimated time for rescue UNKNOWN, main pilots brain waves unstable.” Once I heard that report read back to me after what seemed like days I snapped. I opened my drawer behind my chair and got out my grandfather's old pistol and pressed it to my skull. I chuckled to myself. My grandfather said that this is the luckiest gun he ever had and how it got him out of everything. Chuckling to myself for the irony of me using it now.I slowly loaded the mag of the gun I thought wouldn’t help me but brought it because I loved the stories that gun told. Accepting my fate I closed my eyes and right when I’m about to pull the trigger I hear Airharts voice “Coward I wish I would have lived and you take surviving for granted” I looked around ready to see my friend but what I wasn't expecting was to see a face covered like I was trying remembering a face in a dream. Then all of a sudden all of my team started to appear faces covered in that same fog. I couldn't describe, slowly one after the other they one repeated “Airhart wanted to live more” The computer was screaming at me “UNUSUAL BRAIN ACTIVITY CALM DOWN”. I screamed at the top of my lungs to these ghosts “WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO”. Snapping, I pulled the trigger, the pistol clicked, And the spirits disappeared. Unfortunately after an hour of silence they came back. My pistol won't fire because the bullets my grandfather gave me were fake, that damn old man. Now I have the same nightmare about the death of Airhart in my head. I record one last message with that pistol in my hand praying it helps me too “Even though this ship has no signal and almost out of power I hope this message reaches out to someone, anyone I AM LIVE COME HELP ME” with that I tell the computer to loop that message and keep sending it out. With that recorded and looped i’ll spend the rest of my days pulling the trigger of my gun and listening to the illusions teammates call me a coward till death or someone saves me.


This morning was not unlike any other morning in the City of Gloom. In fact, it was difficult to distinguish if it was morning at all, for day and night look the same here. The Gloom city council is scheduled to meet later today to discuss the urgent issues at hand. Mayor Grumble heads up the committee of eight. I am the mayor’s assistant, Phineas Foghat. As I look out the window of my apartment on Tedious Road, I see the citizens of Gloom wandering the streets. Each one of them hangs their head low, staring at the ground below their worn shoes. I will be joining them shortly as I head down to City Hall. One of my duties is to run all of Mayor Grumble’s errands, which for this morning, includes picking up his breakfast. I slip on my gray suit, tie, and shoes, then it is out the door I go. The sidewalk is packed with others trying to get to work on time, each of them dressed in similar clothes to me. We march down the street like bottles on a conveyor belt. While everyone else stares at the sidewalk, I raise my eyes to the sky and wonder if there is more to life. The sky is dark, and cloud covered. There are no stars or moon to see. As I reach Shadow Street, I head East toward City Hall, but on the way, I need to stop and pick up the mayor’s order from Shady’s Diner. Maria, behind the counter, has it ready when I walk in. Every day, it is the same meal, black coffee, burnt toast, and truffles with a slice of Gray Owl Cheese. The aroma from the truffles is overpowering as I quickly rush out the door and back into the semi-fresh air outside. When I enter the mayor’s chambers, he is sitting at his desk with a light gray bib tucked into his dark gray suit. In his hands, he holds a fork and knife while drool dribbles down his mammoth chin. I quickly set the food out in front of him and stand back as he devours the meal in a matter of seconds. I’m certain that if I left my hands near his plate for one second longer, I would have lost some fingers. With an enormous belch that filled the air with the smell of truffles, coffee, and old cheese, Mayor Grumble began barking out his orders to me. “Foghat!” he shouted from six feet away, “Get me the list of complaints from the workers at the mine. I want to know what to expect at the meeting today.” “Yes, of course, sir,” I replied. “I have it right here.” Pulling the list from my briefcase, I handed it over. The mayor studied the list for several moments and scratched down a few notes for later reference. Then he turned his attention back to me. “Foghat, I need you to run down to Bleaker Street and pick up a package for me. It is a gift for my wife. Today is our anniversary.” “Congratulations, Mayor Grumble. Will you and Mrs. Grumble be doing anything special tonight?” “Don’t be ridiculous, boy! I have a city to run. I don’t have time for such nonsense. Now, get out of here.” I rushed out of his office and headed back out onto the busy sidewalk. Bleaker Street was four blocks away, and the crowd had died down slightly from earlier, so I made it there in record time. The shop was called, “Waste Not, Want Not,” a second-hand store with items that other people had thrown away. As I walked into the front door and introduced myself, the manager came out from the back and told me that the mayor’s gift was all wrapped and ready to go. He handed me a box wrapped in newsprint that was no more than six inches wide and four inches high. I thanked him and left the store. As I crossed the street, it began to rain, so I ducked down an alley to take shelter. Light was nearly non-existent apart from a dim light at the far end of the alley. I walked towards it and was shocked to see that beneath the light stood a doorway, but not just any doorway, it was unlike any other door in the city. This door was the color red. I was taken aback, wondering if my eyes were playing tricks on me. Colors like this did not exist anywhere in Gloom City. I had to see where it led to. I reached for the handle of the red door, took a firm grasp of it, and turned the handle to the right, then the left. It was locked. I hung my head in despair as I pondered what secrets could possibly be hidden behind that door. Looking at the package in my hand, I realized that I had already wasted too much time. I needed to get back to City Hall. The mayor took the package from me and set it inside the drawer of his desk. He then ordered me to go prepare the council room for our meeting. Preparing the room was not a challenging task. I needed to make sure they each had a chair to sit in, a glass of water, and a copy of the agenda. I finished early and decided to have a seat in the mayor’s chair. It was larger and more padded than the others, and quite comfortable. I leaned back and set my feet upon the table in front of me then closed my eyes. That was when I heard a knock at the door. Startled by the sudden interruption, I fell backward from the chair and hit the floor, my feet still resting upon the table. When I finally composed myself and got to my feet, I saw Wanda Bluster standing in the doorway shaking her head in disgust. I begged her not to mention anything to the mayor about what she saw, and she agreed reluctantly. She was there to drop off paint swatches for the mayor to look over for his office. He could choose from Gunmetal Gray, Ash Gray, Slate Gray, or White Smoke. I thanked Wanda and told her that I would make sure he got them. Once the council meeting began, I knew that I would have a couple of hours of free time, so I decided to wander back down to the alley off Bleaker Street. This time, I brought along a small prybar to help me open the door. I tried the door handle once again to be sure, and it was still locked, so after scanning for onlookers, I wedged the prybar between the door and the doorjamb, and I pulled back with all my strength until I heard and felt the door pop open. Carefully, I eased the door open, praying nobody was waiting on the other side ready to clobber me. The hinges creaked with disapproval of my deed. Inside, was a dimly lit staircase that zig-zagged upward into darkness. I edged my way step-by-step until I reached the first landing, listening for any unusual noises, but I heard none, so I continued into the darkness, with my hands planted firmly on the railing to guide me. As I reached the top, I stepped out onto a flat platform. The darkness engulfed the room to the point where even sounds from the street below had faded away. That was when I saw it, a bright light above me waving back and forth. I shaded my eyes from the blinding light. A male voice came out of nowhere immediately after calling my name, but I couldn’t see anyone. Fear began to envelope me. I had no clue as to what was happening or who could be calling my name. Again, my name was called out, but this time by a woman. Somehow, I recognized the voice, but I couldn’t put a face to it. The light appeared again as I felt a hand squeeze mine. The female voice called out, “Phineas, open your eyes.” I could feel the grasp tighten on my hands and I strained my eyes to see past the light. Suddenly, images started coming into view, blurry at first, but after a few minutes, things became clearer. In the room, there were two people, a woman who sat by my side, and a man standing in front of me. As I looked around, I was surrounded by light and colors. I stared into the deep blue eyes of the woman next to me and my memory of her returned. She was my wife, Christine. I was in a hospital room and the doctor stood at the foot of my bed. Tears ran down Christine’s face as I smiled at the realization. I asked her how I got there, and the doctor began to speak. “Mr. Foghat, you have been in a coma for several weeks. You overdosed one evening and were found by your wife when she returned from work. She mentioned that you had been feeling very depressed lately, so it is my recommendation, that you start seeing a counselor regarding your mental state. Mental health is something to take very seriously, Mr. Foghat. I hope you are aware of that.” “Yes, doctor, I am aware, and I have had plenty of time to consider what kind of world this would be if we were all in a depressed state all the time. I certainly have no desire to return to Gloom City.” Christine and the doctor looked at each other perplexed at my statement, but I decided to wait until Christine, and I were alone to tell her about where I had been hiding out lately. It felt so real to me, and I am sure that there are thousands of people still trying to find their way out of Gloom City too. All I know for sure, is I plan to make the best of every moment from now on.


There’s a hair on your left arm that you never noticed before. Not that you usually notice your arm hairs, but this one was tough to miss. It was thicker than any of your other ones, and darker too. You give it a little tug and find it’s longer than you thought. You pull it a good four, five inches and there’s still more hair coming out. You take some scissors and cut it, or at least try. It’s a lot tougher than you thought: your scissors are ruined and the hair is still there. You give it another pull, just to see if there’s more, and there is. You take it about two feet before you stop, wondering if it ever ends. It never does. It doesn’t hurt when you pull it, though it does feel weird. You poke and prod the area around the hair, thinking something is maybe under your skin, but you feel nothing. You go to your parents who, in the course of their investigation, pull the hair another three feet, then conclude you should see a doctor. The doctor, after pulling the hair another foot, tries to x-ray your arm, but the machine breaks as soon as it’s turned on. They try again with another machine and that breaks too. The doctor tries cutting the hair, using a scalpel, an electric saw, a paper cutter, and even an antique Japanese knife a patient had on him. Nothing works. So they try surgery. You find this very scary and just want to go home and not think about this gross hair that’s coming out of your arm (and it is quite gross-you didn’t realize it at first, but now that there’s enough of it you realize it smells, very faintly, of bad BO.) Still, your parents agree, and you’re given something that makes you very sleepy. When you wake up, there’s a bandage on your arm and a doctor beside your bed, who says that they could not remove the hair. They tried digging it out by its root, but all they managed to do was break several scalpels. They also couldn’t find any reason why this one hair suddenly got so long, strong, and gross. They say the only way to really get rid of the hair would be to remove the arm. That makes both you and your parents very upset. So, your family tries other things. They try a blowtorch. They try a laser. They try a saw used to cut diamonds. Nothing works. Sometimes, like with the blowtorch, you only get hurt, because you find out the hair conducts heat very well. This goes on for weeks. The hair gets extremely long in the meantime. You do your best to be careful but sometimes you’re walking and it gets snagged on something and you don’t notice for a while until you look back and see you’ve added another ten feet or so. Or sometimes, in your sleep, it gets caught on your pillow and as you roll around in bed the hair gets longer with each movement of your arm. One time, the worst time, you got into a car and didn’t realize your hair had gotten wrapped around a tree branch and it took a few miles before you realized what had happened. You might have been able to tie it up before, when it was smaller, to keep these sort of things from happening, but now it has gotten much too large to manage. You have to coil it up like a garden hose to walk around, and it’s heavy and it’s stinky and it’s gross. So, eventually, you tell your parents that you just want them to chop off your arm. You’ve had enough. Your parents take you to the doctor’s again and, within a day, your arm is off. You’re sad-you and that arm had a lot of good memories-but you’re glad at least you don’t have to trail that hair anymore. A while later they take off your bandages and see how you’re healing. Sticking out of the stump, where your arm used to be, is another hair. Heart beating loudly, you grip it with your remaining hand and pull, hoping, praying, desperately wishing that it would just pluck out of your skin. It does not. It gets longer.


Mike let a handful of sand slide through his fingers. He stared at Jenny. She hadn’t changed a bit. It was five years since they’d had that awful row. He couldn’t even remember what the argument was about. All he remembered was Jenny storming off and then sending him a text to say it was over between them. Now, quite by accident they were together on their favourite stretch of beach on the anniversary of their breakup. Jenny looked straight ahead. She loved to hear the seagulls and watch the waves crashing on the shore. “Do you remember how we used to walk on top of the cliffs?” Mike said as he raised his arm and pointed to his left. Jenny glanced toward the high white cliffs as memories stirred inside her. You never, ever held my hand and always walked a few paces ahead of me. I was scared stiff when you got too close to the cliff edge. She thought. “I’d run ahead of you and take photos of the wind blowing your hair in your eyes. You always looked so serious. Maybe it was the cold wind up there on the cliffs.” You always looked like an idiot and people thought you were going to either jump off or fall off. No wonder I looked serious. You’d take me up there no matter what the weather and never listened to me when I said I was cold and wanted to get back into the car. She thought. Mike picked up some more sand and a handful of pebbles and began making an image of a flower in the sand. “What about that time I bought you a massive bunch of red roses for your birthday. We had to go out and buy three vases to put them in because you didn't have any big enough.” My birthday was the day before. You forgot my birthday and you forgot to turn up for our dinner date. I had to make up some excuse about us both being sick and cancel the table. You only remembered my birthday after seeing all my cards on the windowsill. Jenny was deep in thought. “Would you like an ice-cream Jenny? Shall I go and get you one? Your favourite is the strawberry isn’t it? I won’t be long.” Said Mike as he fiddled with the change in his trouser pocket. My favourite ice-cream is raspberry ripple actually, and I love candy floss. Jenny thought. “Here you are Jenny. You’d better take it quick as it’s dripping down the cone. I’ve bought us both some candy floss too. I thought you might like it. A reminder of the good old days.” “Thanks Mike. Yes, I do love candyfloss. How’s your Mum these days? I miss our little chats. Sorry to hear about your dad. Your friend David told me he’d passed away but I didn’t have an address or phone number for you so I couldn’t let you know how sorry I was.” “Oh, that’s all right. Water under the bridge now Jenny. Mum’s fine. Well, sort of. Yes, we all miss dad. Mum has asked about you a few times. But like you say we lost touch. I changed my mobile and you must have too because I did try to get hold of you.” “Yes, I did change it and I live with a group of girls now in a house that’s been turned into flats.” “Sounds nice. I moved back in with mum, but you wouldn’t have known that anyway. Strange us meeting up here like this. I thought it was you as I passed by the pier and then as I got closer, I realised it was you. Hope I didn’t startle you too much when I called out your name.” Said Mike. “No, you didn’t startle me. I could hardly hear you though above the sound of the waves crashing and the seagulls overhead. Good job you came over or we would have missed each other.” Said Jenny. “Yes,” said Mike as he sat on the sand beside Jenny. I wish he’d put his arm around me. Thought Jenny. “Are you doing anything this evening?” Said Mike. “Nothing really. The girls often go out on a Saturday. I sometimes go with them. I might tonight if I feel like it. But then, again, I might not. It all depends on how I feel really.” “What are you doing this evening Mike?” “Oh, I’ll probably sit in the hotel. I’m staying at The Grand. They have a pianist in the bar most nights. I’ll sit and listen to the music and then probably have an early night. I’ve got to get back to mum in the morning. I just came down for a couple of nights. To get away from it all you see. I do quite a bit for mum these days and it can be rather tiring. I just needed a break and thought the fresh sea air would do me good. Then I saw you.” Said Mike “Yes, strange that. I don’t often come to the beach on my own and especially at weekends when it can get rather crowded.” Said Jenny. “Do you remember that row we had Jenny?” “Not really.” How could I forget it? She thought. “I don’t even recall what it was about now Jenny. Do you?” “No, I don’t. I don’t recall what we argued over.” Said Jenny. I caught you snogging with Amanda at the party. You won’t remember you were too drunk. Amanda had been after you for weeks and you couldn’t keep your hands of her. Jenny’s face flushed a little as she remembered that dreadful night. “Do you ever hear from your friend Amanda at all? I heard from David that you had had a big fallout with her. Is that true? She’s quite a nice girl and I thought she was your best friend.” Said Mike. “She was” Said Jenny. “But she isn’t any more.” “Oh, shame that. Such a good-looking girl too.” Yes, I bet in your eyes she was better looking than me and she had bigger boobs than mine too. Thought Jenny. “She was quite shapely too, If my mind still serves me well, Jenny.” Said Mike. “Yes, she was quite shapely. She took up modelling you know.” Said Jenny. “Oh Wow,” Said Mike. “Look, would you like to spend the evening with me back at the hotel. We can have a meal and listen to the pianist if you like or take a walk along the promenade together. It’ll be just like old days.” Said Mike. “No, I don’t think so Mike. Thanks for asking. I’ll probably just stay in and have my usual pizza and watch a film. The girls will be there and they’re good company.” Said Jenny. “But I thought.” Said Mike. “You thought what, Mike?” said Jenny. “I thought that maybe we could begin where we left off. I thought we could get back together again. I thought this was not a coincidence but was meant to be, Jenny.” “No Mike. What you’ve been thinking about isn’t going to happen. What you remember is another you, another me, another us.”


Special thank-you to my own computers teacher who is the kindest teacher I have ever known. *** For everything that I know, there is so much that I don’t. While I know how to keep a child engaged while learning even the most boring of coding languages, I don’t know how to explain the bruises. While I know how to make an amazing task bar with flashing rainbows and unicorns using CSS, I can’t explain the sudden weakness or how it suddenly hurts to breathe. I wish I could tell them. About this. *** “We’re sorry. We could have saved you if you had come six months ago. The cancer has progressed too much to be removed without hurting your body. It isn’t even normal cancer and I don’t blame you for not realizing it sooner. You have chronic lymphocytic leukemia, which develops very very slowly. You had a quarter chance of getting it.” “H-How much time do I have left?” “A year, give or take.” “Will I have to do chemotherapy?” “It would do more harm to your body, seeing as you are older than most cancer patients.” “Doctor, thank you... I’ll be leaving now.” *** One year. That’s all I have left. No, I shouldn’t think like that. I need to make the most of my time, and teach this new batch of children the best I can. Speaking of which, they are already being difficult. First I had to deal with the bubblegum kid, then someone hit their keyboard too hard, and by the time we actually started learning about JavaScript, we had already lost 20 minutes of class time. What makes it worse is that the school wanted me to leave and rest and I insisted to stay, so they lessened my work load and made me teach just one class. Which would be this class. I told them to leave the first page of their notebook open. I wish I could yell at them for being naughty, but I don't have the heart. This will be the last class I will ever teach. *** My doctor is insisting I get a cane. In true family tradition, I only agreed if the cane is shaped like a flamingo. (It took him 4 days and more than 200 Amazon searches to find a flamingo cane that I liked. I made him pay for it too, claiming that I would tell God in heaven that he did something good for me. It works every time.) *** Like I imagined, my children were highly fascinated by my flamingo cane. I quote, “He’s ACTUALLY kind of cool!” We’re making fast headway in JavaScript. They’ve just learned prompt boxes and alert boxes and I am very proud. I keep on meaning to tell them that, but I don’t. It feels too much like a goodbye, so I avoid it. *** My children are so much better behaved now. Every time they do something bad I just swing my cane a bit and they quiet down and submit very submissively. My bones hurt and I’m starting to think that this must be how the Tin Woodman felt before Dorothy oiled his joints. I suspect something is afoot, however, that they are either giggling whenever they see me in the hallways or look straight ahead as though they are afraid to give something away. I’ve never dealt with anything like this in my forty years of teaching. But I like their laughter, so I give them less homework than usual today. *** It’s my birthday week! And today I coughed up blood. Well, what a sad way to start the last birthday week of my life. I bet the children are anxious, the mid-year parent teacher meeting is nearly here. I feel young again, giddily waiting for cake and presents. *** “So how has my child been so far?” “They are a wonderful student. I’m very happy to have them in my class.” That’s what every parent asked, and that’s what I answered to every parent. The parents told me all sorts of things too. Apparently I was a favorite teacher and all the kids loved me? How strange. *** THESE CHILDREN THREW ME A BIRTHDAY PARTY. ALL BY THEMSELVES. I legitimately started crying. In all my years of teaching, no class had gone out of their way to do something special for MY birthday. They deserve to know the truth. ** We’ve finally reached the last three months. We’ve also reached while loops and for loops and Boolean values. I made up a theory and shared it with my class. Everything is actually black or white. You’ll either do your homework or you won’t. (I will die, or I won’t.). Someone could win the election. Or they couldn’t. Based on this theory, I taught them how to randomize Boolean values to create a sort of coin flip code. They had a lot of fun with it. *** I have four weeks to live. Today would be the day I told them about it. I walked up and down, willing myself to say it. My children were quiet already. I guess they knew me so well that they knew I was tense. “Children... I have chronic lymphocytic leukemia.” No reaction yet. Don’t think they know what that means. “It’s a type of cancer that... is very deadly to, um, people of my age.” Stunned silence. This is going worse that I thought. Anna bursts into tears. Other kids begin to tear up too. “No, no, it’s ok... I still have a few weeks. And I want to spend it with you guys.” The only boy who wasn’t tearing up had his hand up in the air. His name was Alex. “Yeah, Alex?” “W-why would you want to spend it with us?” “Because I love you guys and you guys are like my children. Speaking of that, remember how I told you to leave a page in your notebooks? I’ll need those now, please pass up your notebooks to the front.” My kids were still mostly crying but they listened to me and passed up their notebooks. That day, they all gave me a hug when leaving, as though afraid that I would die over the weekend and they wouldn’t see me again. *** I spent the weekend writing a note to each and every child on the first page of their notebook. Although each was personalized, I ended each with, “The only thing I regret is that I only got to spend a year with you. I am very, very proud of how far you’ve come, and I’ll be watching you all the way. I love you all.” I was still alive by the end of the weekend and I gave them their notebooks back and they all became teary-eyed again. We spent my last class playing video games. *** I took them all to the beach, and ice cream, and to the dog park to play with dogs and to the animal shelter for cats and dogs and birds and then it was the last week and I felt very weak so I stayed home and rewatched old romance Hallmark movies. (The nostalgia is real.) Luckily, it came like sleep and it was actually kind of cool how fast it went by. ---^/\---^/\---^/\----------------------------------------------


\[ VIII \] Upon looking over the disappointingly disruption of the of patterns that mounted up: Matilda thought of the battle with the Centaur, as it were politely ended with no judgement by both parties. She let the links form naturally as she strolled in the dark, and her eyes gazed across the land near her Golden Fleece. She had returned home in which the land where there once lay massive fire was being covered by a gargantuan red and white tent that gave suggestion of a circus. Matilda had never seen a tent so grand and curiously marveled at the sheer height that the erect tent stood, and all its flimsy glory. The mesmerizing swaying lead her to question the structural integrity of the tent and its inhabitants that seemed to be yelled. She set foot inside without hesitation as to simply observe the engineering feat, and prioritize safety protocol. Her attention was set as natural to enforce safety, and reflex holding her frown under this very visibly unstable situation. Despite all the unarticulated noise of the ignorant people in attendance: she pressed blindly through the stomping crowds and headed west as to find the center of the labyrinth. The giant circus tent housed countless dead-eyed savages, blind and seeking the thrill of sensationalism. This misunderstanding of patriotism was a labor for Matilda, as she was obligated by her title to secure the safety of all those who stood resident on her yard. She yelled frantically and sincerely for them to stop their abrupt behaviors, and fell ill when she grew lost in her thoughts and orders of desperation. Her chest clasp tight as she heard their yells of hate filled intimidation, and she felt her strength weaken for only a second weakened from the endless shoulder to shoulder bumping. She tried standing like stone but the physical blows to her chest forced her lose her wind, and when she said nothing the sounds got louder all around her. Matilda had a migraine that lasted for what seemed like many years and many moons, and she finally fell asleep laying crumpled in a head under the unsteady swaying tent. She laid there being continually trampled over by the dead-eyed savages yelling nothing on her land, as Matilda had failed to find center of the labyrinth. She awoke to the same seizing shock that had once been brought on by the boulder running over her spine in Hades, and Matilda stood up confused surrounded in the masses. They had stampeded over her until her clothes fell torn to shreds and she was left stand there as bare as the day she was born. To this: Matilda looked down her front and shrugged. “Aight then” she said factually to what seemed to be nobody in the crowds of endless randoms. Matilda was an Indigenous Warrior from the West: being naked was how the original ancestors used to gyrate and she held dichotomy to her woman parts. Silly to be offended by something she clearly couldn’t change, and so Matilda continued wandering through the many obstacles the zombie like tenants presented. This precise event was things of nightmares for those with the fear of public speaking and often dreamt they were naked, but for her it just resembled the chilliness of Hades. She continued West to find the the now viewable pillar that stood in the center of the labyrinth. Matilda made her way through the crowds of shrieking dead-eyed savages, and found her small stature made it easy to push past them unnoticed. She stood in front of a pillar made from the wood only found in her yard, and she began to pace its circumference looking for a clue. The massive Redwood pillar held a small door along its backside, and to this ominous door Matilda cracked her neck as she stepped forward to investigate whatever lay within, and moved to the task without hesitation. The interior of the Redwood seemed to have been hollowed out, and sitting center was the beast Matilda had only known as the Minotaur. He wasn’t the quickest of monsters, and his notorious endeavors were often topic of jest to those on her land, as he was one of the many children that belonged to Mechanical Boar that now terrorized her yard. Matilda had known little of the Minotaur, as he were were only quoted when he contradicted himself and ridiculed for his beauty being seen opposite to that of his sister: the daughter of King Minos. Matilda strode up to the beast and observed that he had little in his facility, but saw that the Minotaur also held onto a magic book that held subpar might to her Golden Fleece. She asked him what he had done, and the Minotaur tightened the grip on his magic book lined with gold. He said that he may have pulled at some intertwined threads made of silver and sought favor of the Cyclops, and he was now sitting stuck in the pillar surrounded by the maze of dead-eyed savages. Matilda rubbed her temple in annoyance as his voice was that of a banshee, and it had been already known to the world these facts that he had now presented as new. The Minotaur began to cry at what he had done, as he had no solution on how to leave the pillar that now held up the unstable tent called the labyrinth. To this self-pity Matilda grew enraged, and began yelling at the beast asking if he had any concern for those who stood resident under his circus tent. He slowly shook his head no, and she knew instantly that he held absolutely no understanding of justice. Yelling at this slow beast would solve nothing: forcing Matilda to lower her voice and she asked if he knew how unsound the structure had become. She informed him the dire situation as it posed danger to all those inside, and that danger now included the both of them. He sat there very apparently having never thought of this before, as his woeful face began to show worry. Matilda was left to find solution alone, as the beast was slow in thought and obviously worried only aboot his own safety. She asked him if she could go find help from his rich family that often ignored him, and to this suggestion he stood up in excitement, as he loved the all forms of attention given by his father. The Minotaur didn’t care if the attention from his family was appraisal or disapproval, as he was enamored with the rare occurrence of being center of attention. Matilda said “Oi’” as the Minotaur began to yell excitedly aboot all those in his family that could assist to his problem, as it seemed that the Minotaur had been exiled from his family for far too long. His banshee voice grew old quickly and so Matilda resorted to slapping the beast as to get him to cease with his excited impromptu plan filled with grunts and wails. Matilda didn’t have time for this shit and she stood there watching as he slowly realized how hard she had slapped him, as he hadn’t ever been treated in such an appalling manner. He fell silent as Matilda stood there visibly judging the beast, forcing him to think of a plan: no matter how long it took. He finally whispered something and instantly turned away with self-disapproval at his own opinion. Matilda had little patience without the kind Argonauts beside her, and so she swiped away the balance of the standing Minotaur by way of kicking the backside of his knobby knees. To this he fell awkwardly and Matilda stood above him asking him one more time to repeat what solution he had brought forth before he had turned away from her in dismay. The Minotaur lay there and said under mumbled breath that he were sure that his sister would know what to do. To this Matilda rolled her eyes, as she didn’t understand the hype around the Daughter of King Minos. She had little knowledge of the woman beside the fact that she had once publicly boasted of being complicit, and that she never halted the advances of sexual desire made by her father: the Boar. At any cost Matilda knew time was being wasted on this beast that now lay at her feet and so she left him and his incriminating magic book lined with gold in the pillar and attempted to find way for her to leave the labyrinth. Outside of the pillar Matilda avoided the dead-eyed savages that held tight in the masses around the pillar. She looked up and without second thought began to climb the outside of the Redwood pillar, and found fond ease remembering how much she loved climbing trees. Atop the pillar lay flat surface, and as it stood center the tent: Matilda looked down the cloth as to try and find a way to place her away from the circus tent that shook violently in the wind. Matilda hated heights but found her anxiety heighten being atop this swaying pillar and so she was left with only the option to jump and slide down the cascading fabric. She rolled around and tossed as she fell and it seemed the tent was even bigger than she had originally understood, as she fell for what seemed like forever along the red and white fabric. Eventually Matilda was desensitized to the quantity of adrenaline produced falling and by that time she had came to an abrupt halt, as she hit the ground with heavy force and rolled across the land of her yard. She stood up winded: half impressed she hadn’t died by fault of her own shitty plan, and set afoot armed with her weapons of silver and gold, as to find solution to the dangerous circus that stood over her land.  \-A Traditional Yurok origin myth composed and re-mixed with Greek myths by: Matilda Brooks US Federally Recognized Property #562-6146, Yurok Tribe, CA.


5’5”. That’s how tall I was the last time I marked my height on the dining room door frame. Mom used to get mad at my brother and I for making up her good door frame. “Have y’all lost the good part of y’all’s mind!?” she’d exclaim as she watched in horror us having our height war. “Y’all better find some paint and fix it!” So, we did. Every three months at the turn of the seasons my brother and I would mark our growth, write it down in a notebook, and paint back over it as if nothing happened. We would even use a fan to expedite the process to ensure that we didn’t get caught. I’m sure that even with all the precautions we took, the smell of fumes white paint stained hands and clothes gave it away. She probably got a good tickle out of our valiant efforts. Walking through our childhood home felt different today though. The air wasn’t ripe with the smell of fresh baked bread. My dad’s favorite recliner wasn’t frozen in front of the t.v. with his seeming lifeless body in it “watching” Sunday football. My rendition of Van Gogh’s Starry Night was no longer proudly displayed on the wall of my old room. Everything felt so sterile. I head back downstairs to the dining room where the height wars took place, hoping for some sense of normalcy. I again was met with change when I touched to door frame. There was no texture from the constant repainting. No discoloration from the different shades of white paint used. It was gone. A core childhood memory erased. “What happened to the frame?” I ask turning to my dad. “Your mom changed it out a little while ago. She felt it was time to let it go.” He replies coming into the dining room where in standing. “So y’all just threw it away?” I ask still rubbing the door frame. “It might be in the shed, buddy. I honestly have no idea what she did with it.” I head out to the shed and lift up the door. It’s filled with all the antiques from our lives. Old toys; Old projects; Old clothes and blankets. Rifling through a couple of the boxes I find pictures of us on family trips, from birthdays, and random pictures taken around and about. I moved a few more around and found on labeled ‘Big Fella’ - my brother’s childhood nickname. I opened it and the first thing I saw was the yellow hat he wore everywhere until he went off to high school. “You’re still out here?” My dad called to me as he made his way to the shed. “Yea. I got distracted.” I say holding up Big Fella’s hat. He gently takes the hat from my hand. “Yea, Big Fella didn’t go anywhere without that hat.” “He sure didn’t.” I say smiling. “Is he coming?” “I don’t know.” My dad replied. “He hasn’t visited in a while.” “I would kill for one of his stupid jokes right now.” “Me too, Buddy.” He replies patting me on the shoulder. We look through boxes for a little longer, laughing and reminiscing about the good old days. Some stories were near and dear to my heart. Others had been partially forgotten until my memory was jogged. Like the one Fourth of July when Big Fella and I were fighting and decided to settle it with a Roman Candle battle. Or the time he dared me to ride my bike down the steepest hill in the neighborhood and I scrapped all the skin on my knees off. I still have the scars to this day. Or the time in middle school when I caught him kissing a girl in the treehouse and he bribed me with chocolate not to tell. I told anyway. An hour or two went by with us still rummaging through boxes and storytelling. I was distracted by the photos from our high school float trip when my dad called out to me. “Hey, look what I found.” He says moving boxes and maneuvering to the left back corner of the shed. I maneuver my way through the clutter to assist him in clearing a path. There, standing in the corner wrapped in bubble wrap was a piece of door frame. Perfectly preserved. I scratched off some of the old paint to reveal name and dated hash marks. The last time I was taller than Big Fella he was 12 and I was 9. I fully believed that I was going to be 6’2” and go to the Olympics for volleyball of play professional basketball. Instead, I stayed 5’5” and he went on to be 6’2”. Growing 10” after that last hash was marked. We grew distant in middle school and people didn’t even know we were siblings in high school. I took a picture of the door frame before heading back in the house with my dad. I took one more look around. Reliving the memories as if our brains were the projector and our eyes were the light that made the picture. “Are you sure you want to sell it?” I ask. “Well, this is a lot of house for one person, ya know.” He replies. “What are you going to do with all the stuff in the shed?” “I’ll of course keep all the important stuff. Everything else is either getting donated, sold, or thrown out. Speaking of-” He reaches in his back pocket and pulls out Big Fella’s hat and reaches it out toward me. “He would want you to have this.” I hold the hat in my hand, running my thumbs across the stitching. Anywhere it reads. Tears well up in my eyes. “I’m proud of you, buddy. I know he is too.” My dad says placing his hand on my shoulder and pulling me in for a hug. The tears I was trying to hold in now streaming from my face. “Thanks, Dad.” I reply thorough sniffles. We turn off all the lights and head out to lock up and leave. As he’s turning the key in the lock we hear tires screech to a stop and a car engine turn off. We turn around to see Big Fella walking up the pathway to the house. “Long time no see. Sorry I’m late.” I says through a weary smile. I stare at him for a second in shock. It has been five years since we’ve talked. Dad and I had reached out to him a couple weeks ago when mom passed but he hadn’t reached back. Dad walks up to him and embraces him in a tight as if to make up for all the hugs he hasn’t been able to give him over the years. “Why are you standing over there, Buddy. Get in here.” Big Fella says gesturing me over. We all stand there. Embracing each other in a hug that is greater than words for a few minutes. “I see you’ve stolen my favorite hat.” He says after we all pull away. “Oh, you can have if back if you want. I was just-” “I’m kidding. I want you to have it.” He says with a big; goofy grin on his face. “Do you know why it was my favorite hat?” he asks. “No. Why?” I inquire. “Because it’s yellow and says anywhere on it.” He laughs I roll my eyes and give him a playful punch as Dad laughs. “No but on a serious note,” he redirects “It’s because it always reminded me that regardless of where life takes me the sun will always shine. That light follows those who dare to wander. That even in my darkest moments there’s always a silver lining somewhere.” I take a second and ponder on that. “Here I was thinking you just liked it because it covered up that hideous hair cut you had as a kid.” I joked Big Fella laughs and pulls me in for a playful nuggy. “You guys already finished with the walk through?” he asks gesturing toward the house. “Yea.” Dad replies “The movers are coming to empty out the shed in the morning. You kids can help me decide what to keep and what to throw out once it’s moved to my new place.” Big Fella and I agree and we walk down the pathway to our cars. “You guys want to grab dinner and catch up?” He asks nervously. “Absolutely.” Dad and I says smiling. We plan to meet at our favorite restaurant before he drives off. I look back at the house one last time trying to cement all the good old memories in my mind. Everything that I am today came from that house. My competitiveness; my problem solving ability all came from this house. And as sad as I am to see it go, I’m grateful for all the lessons it taught me. “Are you coming?” My Dad calls to me. “Yea.” I says nodding to the house to pays my last respects.


Running from Reality (Copy and Pasted from word) The day was covered by darkness, the sky a dull gray. Hidden by the ominous clouds, the sun wasn’t in sight. The air taunted of damp grass and fresh rain, even though it never rained. It all looked abandoned, all except for one small boy alone on the swings, relishing in memories there every day. * * * * * * Small cracks of light, coming through the drapes that weren’t completely closed, were shining in Adabel’s bright emerald eyes. Turning to her side a headache blazed into her brain, spreading like wildfire. Very slowly, she built up the energy to get out of the, now disheveled bed; whose blankets had become like a trap to her. The headache was getting worse, but Adabel had become accustomed to living with it. Standing in front of the mirror, she looked at the reflection with disgust etched into her features. She ignored the sight; she didn’t bother to brush out her wavy brown hair... no point in making it frizzy. “I already look bad enough,” she thought to herself while pulling it into a bun. Grabbing a sweat shirt and her keys, she went out into the cool air of the autumn day. Watching others, she thought of nothing as she walked around her small town. Hoping she would see one sign of kindness, in this world she knew all but too well. She crossed a small bridge over a tiny stream that was probably at one point a beautiful river. Past the woods of the large, practically abandoned park was a beaten down play set for children, including a small slide with a hole punched through the middle and a swing set with only two swings left and the remains of the third. It was as if the wind was carrying sounds of the children of the past that used to play among it. It all looked abandoned, all except for one small boy alone on the swings. Adabel hadn’t noticed him until she was two feet in front of him. He was only about ten, five years younger than she. He seemed as though he hadn’t noticed her either, but in reality he was wondering why anyone had come to this old beat down park. Who is he? Adabel thought as she went to sit on the swing next to the young boy. She rolled her sleeves down even though they were too long for her arms and only showed the tips of her fingers. Watching the child, she began to push herself on the swing. He looked tired; dark circles had made a home under his dull gray eyes. They looked similar to the dark circles she had. His chestnut brown hair became disheveled in the strong wind. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you it is rude to stare?” He said finally looking up at her “No.” Adabel replied while she fidgeted with her hands in her lap. ”She left me and my dad when I was a baby.” “I’m sorry.” He said. “No you’re not, you just regret saying anything about it.” “No, I understand. My mother died a while back. It’s okay though, I saw it coming, she was depressed for a long while before. It finally got to her, found her hanging from the ceiling fan when I got home from school one day.” He said with a sad smile. “Who are you?” Adabel asked; astonished at the bluntness he used when talking of his mother. “I’m Imre.” He replied extending his hand for a handshake. She took it and shook it lightly. When she went to pull her hand back he held it a bit tighter and grabbed onto her sleeve and rolled it up, revealing many white scars, some fresh and new giving a red tinge on her arm. Imre loosened his grip and she yanked her arm free. Adabel’s face grew warm becoming red with rage and she stopped the rocking of her swing by slamming her feet on the ground. “You don’t have to be alone ya’ know,” He told her, “I’m here every day, when you’re ready to talk.” Without saying another word, Adabel jumped up and started to walk away, pulling down her sleeves as she went. Before she could control herself she was running, tears starting to brew in her eyes, spilling over the brim, making her long eyelashes clump together and blurring the world around her. And there it was again, the pounding back in her head as she slumped down against the back of her bedroom door. No one had been able to see through her fake smile before. She had always been able to just dismiss people of their concern by saying she was tired and tell them she got cold easily to cover the cuts on her arms. Imre had seen straight through her in the few minutes they had sat together. Adabel wiped her tears and walked to the table beside her bed, she opened up the drawer and took out an old pocket knife. She had found it in her dad’s old tool box and figured he wouldn’t notice it was gone, and he didn’t. Adabel’s father, Mr.Jones, was only home for seven hours a day. He would come home wreaking of alcohol and, after he had sobered up, eat something with Adabel and then get some sleep. They weren’t very close, she practically hated him. Always thinking he didn’t care about her at all. No wonder mom left him. Adabel thought to herself as she took out the knife, running the icy touch of the blade along her wrists. A small trail of red followed in the wake of the blade. Numbness was all she felt. How else was she supposed to know she was alive? When she heard a car door slam she ran to her bathroom running the water of the faucet over her arms. The warm water burned her skin, turning it into a field of trees caught in a wildfire, skin blazing and turning raw. Hearing the soft vibrating buzz of the microwave heating up their so-called dinner, she knew her father was almost fully aware now. She heard the thump-thump-thumping of her father’s boots against the hard wooden floors growing louder as he got closer to the bathroom. His soft tapping of knuckles and muffled voice let her know to come sit with him and eat something. She turned the water off, pulling down her sleeves once again, exiting the bathroom, she already felt nauseous at the thought of food. She stared blankly ahead as she sat, making an excuse to not eat, lying saying she wasn’t hungry. As Mr.Jones ate, he talked about his work at the factory and some men at the bar after he left. It was nothing but a murmur to Adabel. “Adabel!” he yelled as he slammed his hands down onto the table. “Sorry, I stopped caring a long time ago about that stuff. You can repeat it if you want, but chances are I’m still not going to care.” Adabel muttered bluntly, looking Mr.Jones straight in the eyes. “Adabel, stop pretending like you don’t have any emotions!” He yelled, louder at her this time. “It’s not my fault you don’t notice there is something wrong with your only daughter! No wonder mom left you. You’re too self-centered to care about anyone but yourself!” She screamed. A hard force slammed against her cheek, blinding her for a moment in white hot pain. A ringing formed in her ears as she cupped her palm against her face. A dark bruise was already becoming noticeable on the sharp features of her cheek bone. When they had both began to realize what had just happened they backed away from each other. Adabel ran into her room, slamming and locking the door then collapsing on the bed. Simply listening to the sounds of life around her, she didn’t sleep that night; instead, she stayed awake. She grabbed the pocket knife from her bedside table and climbed out her window. As soon as her feet hit the ground she took off running towards the park. At least Mr.Jones wouldn’t have to be the one to find her dead, was all she was thinking of when she reached the park. Some random person will wind up finding me and they won’t even care, they don’t even know me. She reasoned to herself as she held the knife against her chest. Of course, it will take a while for someone to notice me, after all people barely ever come here. And as she thought this her eyes fell across the old play set and landed on a solemn figure sat on the swings. She remembered Imre and all he had been through. If she died he would have no one. Letting the knife relax from her grip, she began to walk to him. “Take this.” Adabel said handing him he knife. “I can’t use it anymore.” “Thank you. You don’t deserve it anyway. We just need to look out for eachother for a little while. We can be each other’s guardian angel.” Imre said. He was the only person Adabel had ever met that was able to read her like a book. “You’re right we deserve better.” She said. A small sprinkle of mist started to drizzle down on them. Adabel smiled as she sat on the swing next to Imre, extending her hand towards him. It began to pour with rain; the pitter-patter of raindrops felt comfortable as he took her hand. “You’re smiling,” Imre stated watching her features for a hint, to tell if it was genuine, “for real this time.” “I guess I finally have a reason to smile.


There I was walking down the street and all of a sudden I heard a scream like no other, this scream made you think that something was happening to you. After I didn’t hear the scream anymore I went to investigate, where I heard the scream it was coming from behind a house so that's where I went. When I got behind the house I was looking everywhere that i could think of, then i got an idea to look in the house so i went to see if the back door of the house was unlocked and it was. When i got into the house i heard footsteps coming from upstairs, as i was listening for footsteps i saw something on the ground, when i looked around the corner i saw something that i have never seen before a dead body just laying on the ground. When i went into the room of the dead body i was looking for weapons but i couldn’t find anything, as i was still looking for any weapons i heard the footsteps coming down the stairs, so i left the house and i was lucky that nobody saw me. Whenever i walk by that house there is always someone outside watching me walk by like they’re stalking me, and even when i am in a car they watch us drive by as if we did something wrong. So one day my mom walked with me by the house and when we got close to the house I told her that there has been someone watching me walk by for the past couple of days and she said if we see them then i will go talk to them. When we got close to the house there was nobody outside so she didn’t believe me, so I told her the next time I walk by the house I will video the person sitting outside watching me. So the next day came along and i started walking to the store and guess what the guy was outside watching so i stepped back and pulled up my camera on my phone and started a video and put my phone back in my pocket and walked by the house, i walked a little slower that usual and i probably made it look suspicious that i was doing something. When i got to the store i watched the video to make sure that i got a good shot of the guy, as i looked closer i realized that the guy was holding a piece of paper that said, “ I will get you one day.” At this point i am freaking out about the situation, why in the world would someone even do that to an innocent person, i mean ya i was in there house but it was for a good reason. When i got back home i showed my mom the video and she didn’t even care about it so i was like if i get taken its your fault. The next day came along and i wanted to go hang with the boys so i started waking to meet them at the spot, when i was getting close to the guys house he was standing at the fence in his front yard so i took a few steps toward the road to get some distance from the fence, when he saw me move a little farther away he stepped outside of his fence to get closer to me, when i saw him do that i ran to find the boys. When I finally found them I called the police and told them to meet me at a nearby store. When the police arrived I told them what had happened and they went straight to the guy's house. When i was going back home i saw four cop cars in front of the guys house, the police officer that i talked to came over to me and told me that the guy was a serial killer and if i didn’t contact them when i did them i would have been his next victim. After we got done talking my mom showed up and came to gave me a big hug and made sure i was alright, i am so glad that i contacted the police when i did, i am also happy that i don’t have to deal with that guy no more and everyone doesn't have to worry about him anymore because he will be in prison for life. A couple of days later the police showed up at my house and wanted to talk to me, so I went outside and talked to the police officers. They wanted to know everything about what happened and I told them every little detail about what happened. After we got done talking I got to take a picture with the officers, and they were so grateful for what I did. After a couple of days passed, I walked to the store to get something to drink. When I got close to the house I realized that a family had moved into the house, as i got closer to the fence i saw their kids playing in the front yard so i went and talked to them. The oldest kid is Kyle and the younger is Clay, after we got to talking for a little bit their parents came outside and Kyle introduced me to them. They are the Robertsons, i told Mr.Robertson that i was going to go get my parents and introduce them to y’all. When i got back to my house i told my parents that i made some new friends and i want to introduce their parents to you, so we hopped in the car and drove to there house. When we got there i introduced them to the Robertsons and they really like each other, i went to Mrs.Robertson and asked if i could stay over at their house and play with Kyle and Clay for a little while and she said yes. Now our families are like best friends and we are always hanging out together, I am so glad that that creepy guy is not living there anymore.