I remember the night we left Haiti like a dream. It was a hot and sticky August night, and my little brother and I slept huddled together on the same bed. He had wet his bed the day before, so his mattress was still leaning on the patio railing to dry. My mother woke us hurriedly, shaking our legs in hushed tones. “We have to go,” she urged. “Grab your things,” she continued as she walked to the other end of the room. I remember thinking, what things ? What time is it? But as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, I saw our school bags plumped and perched against the wall and somehow knew those were the things. Those were all of our things. So in the cover of darkness, and in the stillness of the night, with only the moonlight as our guide, we piled our things in the trunk of my mother’s Datsun and drove in silence to my grandfather’s house. I was the only stop we would make on our way to the airport. I often think about that drive, wishing I knew to take one last look at my home and commit every detail to memory. I wished I’d hugged my grandfather longer when we said our goodbyes and told him I loved him because it would be the last time we saw each other. I wished I had inhaled deeper, to take in all the sweetness of the fruit trees in the air, and listened to the noises of the animals and birds more carefully to play it over in my head whenever I got homesick. I wished I had known that after landing in the United States, I would search far and wide and still never find anything quite like home in the vastness of this land. But I didn’t know. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to remember the life of a remarkable man.” People huddled in small groups under their umbrellas, protecting themselves from the drizzle, as they listened to the pastor speak. It was humid, and the air felt heavy. The clouds filled the sky, and a light fog shaded everything and everyone in grey. Maybe I had missed his remarkable years, I thought. That’s why I couldn’t conjure tears. Growing up, he was the boogeyman in my life. He was the infamous character who’d pop up if I was being bad or disrespectful to my mother. “Do you want your father to come get you?” She’d say. “Do you want to go live with him?” She’d threaten me at the end of any lecture she gave me because I was acting like a wild child again. My father was a faceless memory that slowly faded, year after year, into insignificance. But, to these people, he was remarkable. One day, the week before we left Haiti, my little brother and I were playing in the front of the house, pretending to be mechanics and fixing our bikes, when my father came home, smelling of rum and slurring his speech. He yelled about the front door being opened and tripped over our bikes on his way into the house. He fell forward clumsily, hitting his forehead on the concrete and scraping his arm. My little brother, his namesake, rushed to check on him while I remained seated and watched from where I was. And as he approached, my father attempted to get up and swung his arm quickly, smacking my brother in the face as he turned. “Don’t touch me!” He yelled. “You little idiot. Pick up your damn bike!” I sucked in my breath and held it in, hoping and praying it would end there. But my brother froze, as he usually did in these situations, which provoked him even more. “Don’t you hear me talking to you? What?! You’re mute AND deaf!?” He screamed as he approached him, preparing to strike again. “Don’t!” I said, letting out the breath I held in all at once. I thought I would pass out from all the blood rushing to my head. He looked at me pointedly and shifted his body towards me. Slowly approaching, he asked, “What did you say?” “What’s going on out there!?” Someone shouted from inside the house. In that small moment of distraction, I leaped up, grabbed my brother by the arm, and pulled him as I ran towards the neighbor’s house. The pastor finished speaking, and the casket slowly lowered to the ground. People approached one by one and dropped roses into the grave. Some lingered. Some cried. I stood still, observing everything as if it were a scene in a movie. “How did you know him?” A woman asked, approaching me. She looked young, about my little brother’s age, maybe younger, and had short black hair. Her dress looked about two sizes too big because she looked like she was drowning in it and had bags under her eyes. She reminded me of a girl I had met during my first week at university. The girl sat alone in the student union, concentrating while scribbling on paper. She was pressing so hard you could hear her pen scraping the table. Maybe that’s why I approached her. “Is everything ok?” I asked as I lightly touched the table, motioning towards the paper on which she was writing. She popped her head up and looked a little surprised. Then she leaned back in her chair while slowly putting down her pen and flipping her paper over. “I recognize you. You’re that girl from 3B, right?” “Umm,” I replied, a little hesitant and slightly weirded out. “Yea,” she added, now more sure of herself. “You showed up to moving day with just a backpack when everyone else had like suitcases and boxes and stuff. “Yea. I travel light.” I replied, “What are you working on? Professors giving out homework already?” She let out a light chuckle. “Nah, nothing like that. I’m letting someone go.” “What?” Admittedly, I was lost. “Not literally. I mean, ceremoniously. You see, my grandma used to tell me when I was younger,” she continued, “when someone hurts you, you carry that hurt everywhere you go. Even if time has passed. If you don’t let go of that hurt of that person, you end up carrying it with you forever. You end up damaged. You know? Cuz you’re hurtin’.” “So, how do you get rid of the hurt?” I asked her, curiously. “You got to set it free. Set the person and the hurt they cause you free.” She leaned forward, turned her paper over again, and picked up her pen. “I do that by writing down everything I feel, everything they did to me, and everything I want to heal from. Then, I set it on fire. I get it out of me and onto the paper and set it on fire.” “Hmm.” I wasn’t sure what to say. Mostly I was skeptical that something like that would work, much less make sense. “What?” She asked, reading something on my face. “You ain’t never have somebody hurt you? You ain’t got nothing you carrying?” “That’s not it,” I replied. She paused and looked at me for what seemed like forever. “Well,” she finally said, “Don’t knock it until you try it.” she got up, picked up her bag, and left. “He touched the lives of so many. Were you one of his students? The woman continued earnestly, pulling me from my thoughts. “His student?” I retorted, surprised. I was a little more surprised than I wanted to let on. “Yea, he taught engineering at Umass, “she responded. She looked for something in my face. Feeling uneasy, I stuck my hand in my coat pocket and clutched the paper. I shifted my weight from one foot to another. Remember why you’re here , I repeated in my head like a mantra. “Is that how you knew him?” “No. He is... was my father.” “Your father?” I was confused. No, I was surprised. Was I hurt? “Yea, I was-“ someone touched her arm, interrupting her mid-sentence, and whispered something in her ear. “Well, it was nice meeting you,” she said, but I must go. “You’re welcomed to the repast,” she said as she started to turn away. Then quietly added, “If you’d like.” The rain started falling a little harder, and more and more people began to leave. I stared at the hole in the ground and wondered how quickly it would fill up. Two men started removing the metal bars used to lower the casket and the green tarp around the hole. This was my last chance. I walked up to the hole and pulled the paper from my pocket. I had spent the last week writing and dumping all of the broken parts of me into it, praying this would work. There were moments I questioned the whole thing. What’s a dead man going to do with a piece of paper? But then I thought about how much of my life he had already consumed in his absence and how much he had destroyed when he was present; there was no way I could allow him to take up even more space in death. Letting him go was for me, my sanity, and my healing. Not for him. I threw the paper in the hole and watched it float down. So heavy and so light. “This is no longer mine to ca


“Beep, Beep, Beep” the sound went on in succession “Beep, Beep, Beep, Beep, Beep” so ingrained was the tone she hadn’t noticed it had stopped. So occupied was her mind, abuzz with varied thoughts of the tasks she wanted to complete, and the tasks she must complete. “Miss, are you alright?” The clerk asked as she fell back into the present. “Madam, did you hear me? That will be 1200.79 Francs.” Waiting patiently the clerk eagerly watched her reach into her pocketbook, and slid out the correct amount of currency with expediency, rushing her out of his line, all but shoving her bags into her arms. Once in the car, she reached for the visor, grabbing her notebook. Hastily she jotted down what she’d gotten from Carrefour, now she needed to go to Regabon, then after that Supergros. The street changed to the highway as she headed home with her haul. Placing the items she needed to the side, she emptied the bags putting them where they belonged in her home. Showering she quickly washed, and brushed her teeth. Then in a mad dash, she threw her clothes on. In the mirror she admired herself “Bernadette”, she said, “Don’t you look lovely today?” She’d learned that in therapy, a self-proclamation in the mirror. When she felt down about herself, or when she felt “the incident” start to pull her elsewhere she was to look in the mirror and give herself confirmation. As if her house weren’t confirmation enough, more rooms than she could ever sleep in, and more jewelry than she could ever truly wear. Feigning a smile she looked back at herself meekly, “No that’s not it,” she turned her head from the mirror she couldn’t look at herself. “You’ve got to give me a true smile. Come on I know it’s in you. Back in the mirror, she gave a more elated version of herself. Finding this suitable, she went downstairs heading to her car. The road to work wasn’t far it took about thirty minutes to get there, she’d made sure to equip her car for what she needed when she was finished. Adjusting her mirror she ensured the bags were safely tucked under meaningless items. Work was a madhouse. Surgeries back to back, but she made it through. Her hands were tired but not enough for them to rest yet, more work was to be done. Mid-way through her shift she found time to take a nap, resting in a cot in the staffers' lounge. The lights thrummed in time with the music that flooded the air. The drink in her hand was bitter, but she forced it down trying not to focus on the taste. Like the phasing lights, nerves bounced around her stomach. She’d worn her best jewelry, her best makeup, her latest dress, and all for what? For her to stand at the back corner of the bar? Too afraid to speak to someone? To frightened of intimacy to even get her toes wet. The liquor was supposed to remedy that, it was supposed to make her feel at ease, and help her deal with the anxiety that bubbled up the moment she opened her mouth. Leaving her empty glass at the table, she clacked her heels across the floor, then she tapped at the bar grabbing the keeps attention “Another one. Make it a double.” Glasses were stacked neatly at her table, a woman walked by with a tray collecting them. Bernadette reached into her clutch, gripping a few Francs for a tip. The woman’s face was almond-shaped, she had wide brown eyes, with a long neck. She was tall, just about as tall as Bernadette, something rare since she was about 6’2”. A smile appeared in the corner of the woman’s mouth. In the bathroom, they exchanged making out in the third stall. Bernadette learned the name of the girl she had her tongue down the throat of when she had finished their second passionate kiss. “Druja. Or Dru for short.” She said then she slid her hand around Bernadette’s thigh, then further up still, further up until she was beneath the lining of her silk panties. The alarm on her phone sounded, which meant it was time for the next surgery. Groggily she tossed off sleep, grabbing herself a cup of coffee on her way out into the hall. At the desk she looked over the symbols she’d been scribbling, each one was made precisely so. The entirety of the page was filled with them, over and over she’d made pages of them, placing the completed copies in a shredder only after she found them satisfactory. A hand was on her shoulder, and she jumped. “I’m sorry, you know I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you heard me knock.” Charlot came in, though she wore scrubs parts of her still managed to fill every bit of them. Bernadette did her best not to take notice. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.” Surreptitiously she slid her drawing down into her shredder. Gratification came when she heard the gears begin to grind. “I’d been knocking for quite a while, then I asked if you were busy. I swore you answered me.” Charlot had a curious look, then she laughed a bit, which in turn made Bernadette laugh. “Long day Bernie?” Charlot asked. “Longer than I’d like it to be,” Bernie admitted. “Don’t worry the night’s almost through. We can grab a drink or two after, I think I feel the same...or worse.” Charlot let her hearty laughter fill the small office, so infectious was it that Bernie had no option but to join in. “Ok, we will see. I’m not promising anything yet.” Bernie said, scrawling across one of the many documents that needed her signature. “Of course, of course,” Charlot said catching the hint it was time to go back to work. “I’ll leave you to it.” With the eyes of a wolf longing for a prime cut of meat, she watched Charlot waltz back to the door, abruptly she had turned, and at the moment Bernie had her head towards Charlot’s shape, no she was focused on the door. “Bye.” Charlot waved. The steam of the shower always cleared her mind. With a grin she welcomed the hot flow, allowing it to take her trouble with it. Watching it swirl down the drain, she imagined all the bullshit of the day spiraling out. Under the shower, she rinsed her head. There were advantages to short hair, one of many being she wouldn’t drown in a sea of wet hair, while her mind wandered. Throwing her scrubs in her bag, she got dressed in her streetwear. “Bernadette, what do you have planned for tonight?” Charlot said to her, as she was slipping into her dress. Bernadette watched the dress slide down her form, she saw it caress her shape, going down until it covered the silk panties she wore. Charlot had turned around swiftly, causing Bernadette to turn her head a bit, giving her some privacy. “You think you’re down for a drink tonight?” Charlot asked. “Maybe we can get you a man. Verrill has a friend he thinks would be good for you. Someone tall, handsome too. I think Verrill said he is in the tea industry.” The prospect of a night out between her and Charlot had been alluring, but the mix of Verrill and his ‘acquaintance’ took all the blood from her cheeks. Thinking of the alternative, she could say no, she could very well make up an excuse for Charlot, one of the many she had for such an occasion. This was something she contemplated, alongside the gossip that came with it. Despite it being without punishment, Homosexuality was not encouraged. Not like it had been in America. Here they would talk about her, and the rumors would spread, though Charlot always put them to rest for her. On the other hand, if the rumors caught steam, they could lose to her no longer being able to practice, which meant no house, no car, and that also meant... “So what do you think?” Charlot said. She was already dressed, just finishing putting her earrings on. “You’re not even dressed yet? Oh, Bernie.. you sure you want to go out tonight?” For dinner, they’d chosen somewhere new. Bernie had driven herself, choosing to meet the others at the restaurant. The less she had to pretend the better. She also managed to squeeze in a small trip to a shop, grabbing a small dress to show extra effort and give Charlot more to barricade against the gossip mill. Walking in she went to the hostess stand, but Charlot and Verrill already spotted her. “Over here” Charlot stood up to say, a smile from ear to ear was across her face, her white teeth complimented by her red lipstick. The bracelets she wore jingled as she signaled. “Look at you”, Charlot said holding her tight. In Bernie’s ear, she whispered “Nothing too bad yet. This one seems like a catch.” She’d said it fast so as not to catch anyone’s attention, then Bernie said “Good cause I’ve brought my net.” At that the two of them chuckled, sitting at their prospective spots. If she’d been into men, he would have been a candidate. The man was handsome, with strong cheekbones, and a prominent jawline. When he stood up to reach for a hug, he smelled rich like frangipani blossoms and oud. Bright white teeth, perfectly aligned gave the most elated of expressions as he took her in. The flattery was nice, and remembering she was on cue she smiled the way she’d seen other girls do, as they were looked over by their prospective suitors. A blush even managed to brighten her cheeks, this was something Charlot must have noticed, for she whispered to Verrill. The man’s name was Razo. Razo Otumbe. Bernie made a rhyme at dinner “Razo Otumbe, Born on a Monday. Razo Otumbe, Born on a Monday” It helped her keep his name fresh in her mind, with it being preoccupied she found it hard to focus. The wine was poured glass after glass, it was true as Charlot had shared Razo was very endowed. There was not a course he didn’t know on the menu, nor did he find any of the food distasteful, he savored every bite. The conversation he provided was extraordinary, having traveled the world Razo had much to share about his experiences, he was very much into himself, Bernie came to find out after listening to fifteen minutes of his recent excursion to Thailand. When he had finished she promptly excused herself to the bathroom. Extravagant smoke doors lead to the restroom. Bernie took a moment at the sink, relieved to not have to pretend, if only for a few moments. Looking at herself she stared in the mirror, connecting with the Woman beyond the reflection. “Just a bit longer.” She steeled herself, “You’ve got this.” Having nothing to do in the bathroom, she washed her hands out of habit, allowing the water to flow over them, giving her thoughts room to untangle. The lights of the night were dimming, through the flurry of the disco, she’d been entranced. Convinced by Dru to accompany her for a rendezvous, with an anxious heart she’d said yes. They didn’t hold hands walking down the street, though Bernie wanted to. Behind closed doors in the intimacy of Dru’s apartment, they’d begun to kiss and run along the form of each other’s bodies. Bernie could trace the small of her back from memory if she’d wanted, that was how long they’d been in the embrace of one another. Throwing her back on the bed Dru ravaged her. In ecstasy, Bernie threw her head back and thrust her hips up. Feeling the sensation coursing through her, she convulsed as the pleasure continued. A hand was now on her breast, she felt it nuzzling her plump bosom. A slight prick she felt, nothing major just the end of a nail, then the star pain shot across to her arm. The hands had changed somehow, no longer dainty and nimble, the hands themselves felt like they had grown when she gazed at her chest, she saw a leathery ruby-skinned hand grasping her tit. In fear she’d jumped, unable to escape as the claw gripped her firmer applying pressure to hold her in place. “No...get off of me.” Bernie kicked with her legs, then the beast unveiled a pair of wings, which it used to grab her legs. Half nude she tried to free herself, but the monstrous grip only furthered her into the mattress. With her fists, she beat on its back, as it had its way with her... “BERNIE, are you alright?”Charlot said pulling Bernie out of her trance. The water at the sink was running, and spots of blood were in the basin. Looking at herself, Bernie saw her nose had been bleeding. “Oh, my god. Let me grab you some paper.” Charlot moved swiftly, rushing back to her side. Bernie held the paper to her nose, moving herself to a stall for more privacy. “Are you ok?” Charlot asked while Bernie ensured the blood wouldn’t stain her dress. “I’m fine, I just had a nosebleed.” Charlot said, “You should have a doctor look at that.” At the table, she was welcomed like a traveler returning from abroad. “I was worried about you,” Razo said, then he ginned with the corner of his mouth, biting his lip. “I was worried about myself,” Bernie said, then she took her seat. Looking at her watch she saw the time for her prior engagement was drawing nigh. With grace she excused herself, thanking Charlot, and Verrill for their time, and she made a point to act as if her parting was displeasing, due in fact to Razo being there for her. That water cooler would be smoking on Monday morning, full of the ins and outs of the dinner. Getting in the car, she went three blocks and then turned down an alley. Being at the dinner, in that damn bathroom almost made her miss it. The dress she began to tear off her, reaching over the seat and grabbing a bag she began to sort through what she needed. Then she tossed it on the seat beside her and opened the sunroof. Bright and bold the moon shone, so close she thought she could reach up and grab it. The sky behind it was clear, stars twinkled slightly, poking through the light pollution. With a quick swig, she downed the bottle of rosemary and blue vervain, then she munched on ginger root. Dousing the amulet in a jar, she pulled it up took the string, and hung it over the mirror. Steadily she drove until a slight glow emanated, when she made a slight turn and the glow dimmed, she eased herself around till it started up once more. The evening rolled on, the gem had a steady glow so she knew she was closer than she’d been. Bold circles of ruby shimmered in the cabin, looking up overhead she saw only the moon, onward she went driving in the direction of the brightest glint until she came up to a sign reading “LOANGO NATIONAL PARK”. Turning her lights down she drove in darkness, parking along the side entrance. Snagging her keys, the gem, and her bag she trekked through the trees. Monkeys called, and birds sang their nightly hymns as she felt her way in the dark. From her bag now and then she pulled a machete, hacking only when she found it necessary. The smell of a skunk filtered the air, so strong was the stench that she felt her nostrils begin to burn. Reaching into the bag she found a small bottle, placing it at her fingertips she rubbed it on her nose, stopping the burn, but keeping the scent. “CRACRACRA” At the sound Bernie stopped, she held her breath waiting to hear. “CRAAACRAAA” The sound was a high pitch, warble which was piercing to the ear. Stealthily she crept, the smell was now of burnt matches, so she was getting further away, locating where it was the strongest she continued. The stench of rotting eggs now, she knew it couldn’t be far. Sounds of the jungle had halted, and silence fell heavily on her ears, doing nothing to drown the drum beneath her throat. Ahead of her scattered in spots were bones, the moon caught the top of them, showing the bare alabaster back of a skull. Up the trail fresher prey lined the path a severed arm, deep onyx in color was on a makeshift post. On either side lay something, upon inspection Bernie could make out it was a set of lungs. “RRRAAAOORR”, “RRRAAAOORR”, the sound was distorted as it echoed from the cave. Erupting from it the beast expelled itself rabidly. Without thought Bernie grabbed her rope, throwing it in the direction of a red flash. Feet lifted off the ground, she attempted her best to reel in her catch. “Av Kin Noct” Bernie said digging her heels into the ground. “Nhg Vitw” the amulet “KEEEE KEEE” Flapping its wings the entity tried to escape her. Turning itself to face her, Bernie saw its wide singular eye. A yellow iris, with a pupil like a goat. The red wings it writhed with, looked like skin stretched beyond its limit, so thin it almost was translucent. “Av Kin Noct, Nhg Vitw” A siren rang from the mouth of the bat-like entity, deafening in pitch Bernie had no choice but to cover her ears, relinquishing her grip on the rope. Upward the imp rose, until it was a shadow against the backdrop of clouds, then up further still where she could no longer sense it. Bernie trotted back to her car reminding herself “Rome wasn’t built in a day.”


TW: suicidal ideation Warning: This is not a tale for children or sweet old ladies from a bygone era. I don’t know if it’s even a story, more like a blip on the line of history. But for me, it was everything. I don’t want to waste your time, so I’ll cut to the heart of it. holy shit I’m in the pit This was my first poem about my postpartum depression- pretty epic, right?! No, I’ll be the first to admit it was completely depressing, but you’ve gotta admire its brevity and unambiguous message- I was stuck. While my daughter cheered “Paw Patrol is on a roll!” I laid in bed silently chanting my poem like a mantra. The bitter words flowed through my veins until they seeped from my pores and funneled out my nostrils with each tedious exhalation. It was my self-fulfilling truth. My bleak reality. I totally could have used a techy, English speaking pup to rescue me, but from what? My bed? I was more confused than Mayor Goodway, more helpless than Chickaletta. Please forgive my post recovery humor when broaching such a serious topic. I’m like a one year old with a smash cake, gorging myself on giggles and the sweet things in life. I just can’t stop. But I’ll do it- I’ll swim against the currents of my brain to access those memories locked away in the murky depths. So cold down there... Welcome to my world. SEPTEMBER “I’m hungwy, Mommy!” She bounces around my head, which is already pounding with a headache, and I haven’t even opened my eyes yet. I tuck under my pillow and press it tightly against my ears, desperate to muffle her high pitched voice. “Pwease, Mommy?” I open my eyes and peek out. Her round blue eyes sparkle and watch me curiously. Frick. She’s so cute, but I hate her so much. I used up all my patience when she came into our bedroom six times during the night. I drag myself out of bed like I’m an old woman- the weight of the night heavy, the drudgery of the coming day oppressive. Another day to get through. Then another tortuous night... just like every other night of the past two years. I used to play tennis. I used to paint. I used to smile freely, especially at strangers or when I didn’t know what else to do. I was a naïve idiot. Wall, tell me- Who am I? My head still spins from revolving roles: teacher, nurse, referee to the crazy blonde creatures now sleeping in peace. Finally, I am free to just be me, and yet- I find myself here, staring at the wall. OCTOBER I sit on the bench at the end of my bed and tie my shoes. We’re going to a pumpkin patch, woohoo. Wait, what day is it? I snatch my phone from my purse and hit the home button, and the truth glows green. The anniversary of my dad’s death. I don’t usually think about it, but today it steals my breath. I stare at my shoes and think about sitting on the front porch with him. His body was already withered from cancer, literally eaten up with it from the inside out. It will never feel fair... I took a picture of our feet together, the rolling pastures in the background. His leather loafers. My bare feet. Our matching ankles. you left this world and you left a hole in my heart (in my heart) so I left this town walking backward clutching flowers now I travel to a new place with this same face (but I don’t even know who I am anymore) these eyes look at the mirror and they’re sure that it’s a mask please don’t ask (because I don’t even know who I am anymore) do you think I could be someone else something new is it true that I’m me cuz I’m not free I’m walking backward (backward) NOVEMBER I hobble across the bedroom, the mysterious pain slicing under my kneecap again. I grimace as I put minimal weight on it, and my husband frowns at me. “Aren’t you meeting someone at the park for a play date today?” “Yeah, but I just canceled. I can’t walk that far.” She won’t care; she hardly knows me. And my daughter won’t know the difference because I didn’t tell her the plan in case it fell through. Secretly, I’m relieved. Small talk in the preschool hallways is so draining, no, painful . We moved cross country three months ago with a two year old and a three month old baby. No one else is a military family like ours, and they all know we’re moving again in less than a year so they have little incentive to be my friend. I don’t blame them. I grieve the loss of my friends of four years in Georgia, our church, and my family that lived around the state. And all the ones in South Carolina, for that matter, where we lived for three years before that. This place feels cold and foreign. I don’t have the energy to start over. Yesterday or a lifetime ago? I can’t reach it, so there’s the answer. Fragments are all that I can find. Throw them into order, but they scramble again. Colors, enough to make me smile. Pain, that cuts me anew. Fragments, floating around, that I bump into occasionally. Long ago won’t let go. DECEMBER Thin gray light slants through the blinds. I know I should get out some play dough for her or set up a tea party or something fabulous like good moms do. Instead, she’s watching tv while I lay in bed. I’ve never felt this tired in my whole life. It’s like I just ran a marathon and no one gave me a banana after. Those jerks. The baby is napping, thank goodness. At least one of them likes to sleep. I lay here for episode after episode after episode. she stares through the mist motionless JANUARY A bit of sun peeked through this afternoon. I should have seized the opportunity to get outside with the kids. I could have pushed them in the stroller and walked to the park, but I started shaking and got dizzy as another fever came on. I keep getting infections. I’m falling apart. The world outside, so far from reach- an invisible barrier between. If I were to walk to the window and place palm upon cool glass, I would experience, at least touch, the last partition that separates me from endless motion, from life and color and change. But I can’t move beyond that which holds me hostage with cords and tethers that burn my consciousness, searing stripes on my soul that remind me- I am trapped in this scorched wasteland. The barrier is ME. FEBRUARY “Babe, you gotta talk to me. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me how,” he says. I don’t know what to tell him. I don’t know. I don’t know. You break the silence when you clear your throat, shifting nervously in your chair. I should say something, but the words stick in my mouth- no, they never even made it that far. Half ideas slowly swirl in the dark recesses of my mind, out of reach. I try to look at you, but the distance is too great, the connection too painful. I stare at your feet. MARCH Wooden blinds. Giant dressers. A soft bench at the end of the bed. They’re more real than I am. Definitely have more purpose. My life is pure misery. I just want it to stop. I don’t know what that means. But I want it to stop. I want to be gone. I want this to end. We’re talking in circles, you and I. These words, conflicting words, cut me like a knife. I know I drew first blood, but you, YOU thrust the blade in to the hilt and pull it out for sport, cheering wildly as my blood surges onto the sand. I’m losing it... The arena closes in on me, and I know I’ve lost the battle with my mind. APRIL Everyone else is asleep, except me. I stare at the ceiling in terror as muscle spasms dance across my body. Toe. Cheek. Knee. Bicep. Throat. Calf. Lip. Quad. What the fuck is wrong with me? Do I have ALS or some strange degenerative disease coming on? They say to new moms, “Sleep when the baby sleeps.” But I never sleep anymore. I just lay here and endure each incredibly long moment. Darkness swallows light until the full moon rises, promising a change. MAY I’ve been quietly struggling to breathe for the past two hours, but now I’m scared for my life, which is ironic. I dig my fingernails into my husband’s arm as air wheezes through my constricted throat. He turns over and looks at me in alarm. My head throbs from straining to get air, and my arms hang limp and numb at my sides. He tries to help me, and together we panic. Can I just cry now to make it all better? No. The tears won’t come, and they couldn’t cleanse my mind of its distress, anyways. The serrated edges of my hopelessness have already done too much damage. This knowledge adds another weight to my heart. It sags deeper within me, inky black and constricted. I feel the toxic bitterness seeping out of it into every fiber of my being. Immobilization takes hold. I CAN’T DO THIS ANY MORE JUNE “Have you thought about harming yourself?” asks my online counselor. We’re propped against pillows in bed, my husband sitting in on this session. I guess you could call this intervention. I’m a coward, scared to admit the horrors that play on repeat through my mind, so I beat around the bush. “I mean, not exactly. But I don’t want to be here... I want to be somewhere else.” But it’s enough. She says there’s no shame in getting help. She gives us numbers to call. A suicide hotline. Her number. She makes me write an escape plan so I can follow those steps when I’m thinking about IT. I’m raging inside, but my lips press tightly shut. Breaking News: DAM BROKE. The words spill forth rapidly til energy ebbs to peace. JULY I flop on the most comfortable bed in the whole world and let out a gusty sigh. I can’t believe it. I made it out of the psych ward in one piece. It felt like jail for irresponsible, albeit mentally disturbed children, but they gave me medicine. I can already feel it working. It flows through my veins and smoothes the rough edges of my mind. My room is warm and quiet. I know I will sleep in peace. Gray ash flutters past, enticed to dance on the breeze. There’s hope in motion. AUGUST “Good morning, Mommy!” a little voice chirps. I peek up at her and smile. What a beautiful little munchkin. I climb out of bed and follow her to the window where she’s watching a flock of black birds in our yard. The coolness of the glass seeps into my palms, and I relish the sensation. “Should we go out and chase them?” She squeals with delight, and for the first time in ages, I leave the bedroom willingly. What once was trapped beneath the doughy mud for winter upon winter until eons passed, has been unearthed with utmost care. Experts consulted and plotted the course, giving delicate attention with pick and brush until a Mammoth emerged, tusks raised to the sky. She trumpeted FREEDOM! Glorious freedom at last and filled her lungs with fluid air that gave and gave, oh generous Mother Earth. Unwilling to waste another moment, she shook off the crusty mud and trotted across a verdant land where others of her kind laid entombed. *Author’s Note: I wasn’t instantly “fixed,” but I began to climb a positive, incline slope toward a healthier me. With the exception of the first poem, the rest were all written in the months following my time in the psych ward, when the words came back to me. It felt incredibly cathartic to write about what I couldn’t express while trapped within my mind, so I decided to share them on my blog, Evening Poetry, to help others as well. My turning point came when I gave up control, threw up my hands, and said “I can’t do this anymore!” I had tried so hard to be okay, but my chemically imbalanced brain needed medicine. With Zoloft and the patience of my family, I made it through to the other side. My hope for those of you out there who struggle with depression is that you will also push through the darkness and into the light by seeking help. It was a scary step for me, but it made all the difference. I realize that medicine is not the answer for everyone, and it could be as simple as sharing your struggles with a friend who can help shoulder the burden. Don’t give up the fight.


A lone planet circled around its star, silent in space it followed its course. The calm of its rotation was only a front though, down on the surface chaos reigned. The surface of the planet is unstable, large deposits of charged crystals defy the gravity of the planet, lifting large chunks of it into the sky, while some rose to safe heights before stabilizing, others sailed far beyond, falling apart the dirt and stones came raining back down to the surface, destroying anything it landed upon. It did not matter if it was a hundred-foot tree, or a boulder, they were crushed under the immense weight of that which fell. Beneath the chunks of land were great craters which over the years filled with water and became lakes. The creator of the planet, Anodyne the mad god of chaos, spent their time in the pursuit of creating life, they started by making plants and single celled creations, they found themselves moving up the evolutionary ladder at a rapid pace, but when it came to creating a creature with sentience similar to a human, they achieved nothing. The already scarred surface of the planet was struck repeatedly as the deity let out their frustration. They created deep crevices, and reduced most of the mountains on the planet to a sliver of their original height. Their screams could be heard across every planet in his universe, vibrating through space and resonating on every planet. Anodyne continued to feel the crushing pressures of loneliness, they thought that by now they would be able to create life they could interact with, something that they could talk to as to stave off some of their crippling isolation. They cried and laughed at the same time, their hands shook with rage, as they giggled to themselves. “All alone, finally, everything we wanted as a mortal. To explore a universe, and here we lay in the dirt, weeping, laughing, incapable of dying.” Anodyne slammed their head into the ground, over and over again, screaming louder with each collision, then they stopped just shy of the ground. “I don’t need to create life, I just need to find developed life, I am an idiot. This universe must be covered in developed planets.” Anodyne seemingly vanished as they started to fly around their universe in search of sentient life. They darted between planets like a wayward pinball in the largest machine ever built. It reached a point when they started to give up on everything, they slowed down, and soon they were nothing more than adrift, staring blankly with their mouth slightly ajar. Their eye twitched as a small portion of drool fell from them, freezing in the cold of space as it drifted away, eventually finding itself falling to a nearby planet, evaporating upon entry it released a new biome of bacteria, and a new branch of life to develop. Meanwhile Anodyne was approached by another, there was a flash of light and a soft click that appeared behind them, they turned to see a shining individual, their ambient light fading slowly they stood before Anodyne upon a small chunk of earth with lush grass and flowers they sprouted instantly. Anodyne squinted, turning their head to one side, then slowly back to the other. “Are you real, or just one of my usual hallucinations?” Anodyne asked, as he covered each of his own eyes one at a time. The other deities mouth opened, but instead of words, came the sounds of crashing waves, cracking rocks, and morning bird calls. Anodyne stared blankly, but before he could say anything the other deity spoke again. “Strange, do you use language?” “What else would I use?” The other deity looked around them, squinting periodically before turning back to Anodyne. “With a universe this old, I assumed you would know other forms of communication.” “What, is the sound of nature supposed to be faster than just talking?” The other deity pinched dust that was floating past, look intently. “This is rare,” the deity brought their finger closer to their eye. “Oh, this is very rare, this place might be a good spot for mining.” “What are you on about?” Anodyne looked at the small pile of dust “It is dust how is that rare? It is everywhere.” The other seemed to stop momentarily before grinning. They then started to walk forward, and the small island beneath their feet grew to accommodate the new deities’ movements. They walked straight past Anodyne, Anodyne turned to watch him, but another light caught their attention, they turned back to see two other deities wander in. They both looked to one another and the sounds of nature came out, the first deity to intrude replied in kind. “Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my universe?” Anodyne yelled. The other three looked to one another with furrowed brows. “Listen kid,” the first deity said, laying a hand on Anodyne. “This place has some rare materials, we are going to take it, then we will leave. We will only be here like a million factorial years, then we will leave.” Anodyne raised his hands and proceeded to count on his fingers for a moment before looking back to the newcomers with the same hatred in his eyes that he used to stare at the frozen being. “You will leave now, or I will kill you.” The three newcomers laughed at Anodyne before turning away and continuing their plan. Anodyne felt the rage boiling inside of him, he turned and struck the closest one, just to have his fist stopped by some kind of invisible force. “Okay, listen here child. We find you amusing, but if you try and get in our way, we will kill you, and we will continue what we were going to do anyway. So, know when you have no chance of fighting, and back off.” Anodyne waited for them to finish before he slammed his fist at the other deity a second time. “This is my domain, you will leave.” Anodyne proclaimed as he continued to stare. “Stupid, fucking child gods.” The invading deity said as he turned to Anodyne. He let a sigh out just before he struck Anodyne, sending him flying back to a nearby planet, like a stray asteroid landing upon a planet. Anodyne coughed blood, and struggled to breath through his injuries, his vision started to wobble, and then he fell still. The other deities did as they pleased, bringing strange machines into the universe they begun bagging the dust that was circling around the universe. Anodyne’s blood flowed out onto the planet, around his unconscious body was a small any colony that tasted his blood, returning it to their nest they began improving themselves in ways they were not prepared for. The followed the stream of blood, and moved their colony into Anodynes body, crawling in every orifice they could find they built their colony in his body. The more blood they drank, the stronger they became, until they were able to finally chew through Anodyne’s internals, carving their own caverns, not having to rely on his natural cavities. They dug deeper, ate more, grew in strength, and number, but it did not matter how far they dug, his body never seemed to end, even when they had burrowed further than Anodyne’s slim frame should have been able to hold. Anodyne awoke suddenly after only a few months with an intense ringing in his ears. His body had healed, and he stood to his feet, nearly falling as he went. “Odd, why is my body off balance?” He asked himself. Rolling his eyes backwards he looked inside, to see the sprawling nest of ants that now lived in him. “Pests. If it wasn’t my body you were in I would crush your home suffocating you, until, you, died...” Anodyne began to trail off, then looked to the sky. “I know what I have to do.” Anodyne started to amass every piece of matter he could lay his hands on, pushing it all together they soon collapsed under the immense pressure, creating a black hole in their place. He could feel the pull of his creation, but could still move freely around it, he knew he would have to do better. So he made another one, and another, until they started to chain react, sucking each other in, until there was one that ate everything that came near. Meanwhile the invaders were working on collecting all the dust from space still, but they stopped when they noticed that everything around them seemed to be drifting in one direction, then stop again. “That, was, weird. It was almost like there was an intense pull then it balanced.” They looked to one another before getting back to work, they made no attempt to look for the disturbance, and soon had forgotten that it had even happened. But after a while it happened again, pulling in another direction for a short moment before stopping. Then again in another direction. “Okay what is happening?” One said frustrated. “That is simple, I am going to kill you all.” Anodyne said, appearing in-between the three other deities. “What are you on about?” “I am bringing death to your door, this is your last warning, leave or suffer.” “Kid, you don’t know what you are talking about, you have never even left this universe, how do you expect to stop us? We have visited hundreds of other deities’ universes; you can’t hope to defeat us.” “I won’t defeat you; I even intend on dying with you.” The other three looked to one another, before noticing what was happening. Around them the universe was being consumed by a collection of black holes that were slowly encroaching on them. “Damn, take what we got and move out.” With that, all the strange machines disappeared, and two of the three deities reached out, grabbing door handles that were not there but a moment before, and walking through the appearing doors, for them to just vanish once they closed. “Smart move, but you can’t jump universes, good luck getting out of this. Out there in the Eterna-verse, they call getting caught in a black hole that is stronger than you as god hell. Have fun with that.” The last deity went to leave, reaching for a door handle that started to appear, but then faded, and Anodyne began to laugh. “Oh thank the stars, I thought I was going to die alone, at least you can join me.” The intruding deity began to panic as he started grasping for the handle, trying again and again. “What have you done?” He screamed as he looked at Anodyne. “I made black holes to destroy all your precious dust, turns out that somehow disrupts your little door thing which is a nice bonus. I actually had forgot you could jump universes, so I nearly completely fucked up. But hey, one out of three aint too bad for a kid.” The surrounding black holes all spiralled around another, encroaching on the two remaining deities, they could feel their bodies being dragged by the immense force of a nearly universe sized black hole. While the intruding deity screamed in horror, and tried to summon his door he could not help but see Anodyne allowing the pull of the black holes drag him around as he laughed. “You have no idea what fresh hell awaits us, you won’t be laughing then!” “I spent my first several billion, trillion, whatever years of existence suffocating in space, being burnt to dust, and dissolving in acids, I then had part of another being’s mind forced into mine. I don’t see things getting worse. I have done hard yards; this is just the next hurdle. Welcome to the life of the suffering friend. Let’s visit hell together.” Anodyne reached out, grabbing hold of the other deity, laughs and screams twisted, and wound around one another, spiralling into the immense mass of the black hole which was in its final moments before becoming whole. The other deity broke down into tears while Anodyne cheered the two of them into the pit of the black hole as it consumed the final pieces of matter from their universe.


By Noah Wright  He was going to pay for this. *The blazing Miami Sun was scorching his back, reaching him through his car's side windows. The Cars wheels squeaked each time they hit even the smallest bump, and there was nothing Tyler could, or would do about it.* *He gently pressed down on the car's ignition, which caused the car to accelerate.* *The cool and fresh wind jogged through his hair, and he leaned his head back in order to appreciate just how nice and cool the atmosphere was. His anger started fleeing his body and he regained his senses.* *He had a job to do and he was going to do it.* The grass was green, and the birds were chirping, Tyler was currently sitting outside on his porch which was stationed in his back garden. Around him were dozens of trees, all different shapes and sizes. Some being teeny saplings, and others being vast, grand Oaks which blocked any sunlight getting into the garden. Tyler looked around at this family, he saw his elderly mother quaking above his younger siblings. She was sipping a lukewarm coffee, which she had placed in her right hand. She was looking at them with her loving eyes, and Tyler could tell that she was happy. Their house was on the outskirts of Miami, a small modest little cottage which was within walking distance from the beach. They were in a neighborhood which was dominated by nature. With there house being engulfed in knee-high grass, and dazzling flowers which were scattered all over. Although he often disliked living in such a place, being on the verge of poverty more often than he liked, he had feelings for the house which he could not describe. He had known in it for all of his childhood, and had spent the majority of his teenage years there, and he could not live without it. He glanced over at his mother one more time as well as his younger brother and sister, who were in their early infant years. His brother had just recently began to walk, and the two of them were playing in the mud. He would not give this life up for anything. Unfortunately he might not have a choice. The restaurant was dimly lit, it had no other source of light other than the candles which were placed on every table. It was a fancy place, Tyler could tell, it was the sort of place that rich, showy, pretentious couples went on dates. This was not his type of place, and he didn't feel welcome. However, his boss had called him here and he didn't have a choice. A waiter walked over to the table and started speaking to Tyler. "May I ask what it will be you're having?" the man asked him. Tyler looked over at the man startled, and told him that he was waiting for company. "Very well then Sir" he said and nodded his head, he smiled at Tyler before turning around and going to server another one of the restaurants customers. He let out a big sigh, and took a sip of Liquor from a flask which he had been carrying in his pocket. He could feel the alcohols effects, and began to feel quite cozy as his body temperature slowly increased. That was when he saw him. He was a rather large man, with some interesting features. He often slicked his hair back, which did not really do much for his appearance. He was in his 50s, and you could tell from his fashion. He often wore suits which simply did not look good on him, but no one ever told him that. No one had the courage to. Tyler focused on him, and watched him scour the restaurant looking for him. When the man finally spotted him, his mouth morphed into something that resembled a smile. He stumbled over to his table and sat down in front of him. "Hey there kiddo" he told Tyler. Tyler smiled, "Hey, so may I ask why it is you called me here?" he asked the man. He signaled to the waiter to come over before turning to Tyler, "Slow down there Kid, I just got here. Give me a second, you had anything to drink yet?" he asked him. "Yes Sir?" the waiter asked him, "What will be having tonight?" "Bring us your best bottle of wine!" he told him with a smirk on his face, Tyler looked over at the water, "I'm good with water, thanks." The waiter nodded at both before moving on over to the bar. The man had been looking at the waiter as he was moving from then, when he was out of hearing distance his smile faded away and he swiftly turned to Tyler. "I have a job for you. One which I had to push to get them to give it to you." he told him in a quiet manner. *The Car was going at 40 something miles an hour, and Tyler was not worried about having an accident. Not one bit. He couldn't be, not with everything on his mind.* *He pressed down on the pedal until the meter hit 50. He looked out of the window and saw the vast Miami Sea, which stretched as far as the eye can see. It seemed to be full of life and so empty at the same time. He listened to the sea's waves crashing against the shore, and it helped him calm down and cool his head for an instant.* *Unfortunately, this was interrupted by the Car's engine.* *It began to make heavy, clunky, mechanical sounds, and before he knew it smoke was blocking his complete view. The sounds got louder and louder, until the car came to a complete halt.* *Tyler let out a deep, hearty cough, due to the thick cloud of smoke which was only growing in size before getting out of the car.* *"Fucking typical" he mumbled to himself. Of course it had to happen now, why not?* *Tyler kicked the car in frustration, and then did it again, and again until he was out of breath. He had left a decent mark in the car, and started to stumble towards the beach until he was right next to the water.* *He sat down, picked up a stone which was next to him on the ground and chucked it as far as he could into the ocean. It traveled about 20 meters away from him until it hit the water, and sunk to the bottom of the deep, dark ocean.* Tyler had just left the house, and had left his mother and two siblings alone. He had not told them where he was going, neither whether he would be back anytime soon, so his mother needed to figure out what to do with her other children. She began to wander over to the Garden when she felt her phone start vibrating. She reached into her pocket and pulled it out. After a quick glance she was able to read the words "Soccer Practice". Oh crap, she though. She ran over to her children, they were in the living room, relaxing on the couch when she came running in. She picked the two of them up and got them into the car, along with their soccer equipment. She stepped on the gas, and after a large cloud of smoke came out of the exhaust pipe, the engine started to run. "Chris Miller" the man asked Tyler, "You heard of him?". Tyler genuinely had a look of confusion on his face as he tried to connect the name with a face. He came up with a blank. "No, I can't say I have..." his eyes promptly opened as he made a connection. He grinned as soon as he made the relation, he recognized the man as his sibling's football coach. His look rapidly turned from one of grin, to one of anxiety. "What do you want me to do to him?" he asked in a quivery voice. He knew that whatever it was, it was not going to be pleasant. "What do you think?" the man asked him, "Listen, I think you know what we want you to do. So listen, I know that this would be your first time. However, I really think you can do it, that's why I pushed for them to give you this job." Tyler looked at him hesitantly and took a long sip from his flask, he looked into his Boss's eyes and could see that he was telling the truth. "Listen, every single person that is above you, has done it. It's one of those things that everyone needs to do at one stage at another" The man could tell that Tyler was not convinced, "I'm sorry, but I really can't. Not him at least." The man looked at Tyler sympathetically, "Kid, I know what it's like, believe it or not but I didn't get to where I am today by being nice. I have hurt and killed many people, and I will never forget my first one." He looked at his drink which he was holding in his hand, he took a lengthy sip which seemed to go on forever to him. He started to fidget with the Watch which was on his Wrist and began talking, "You see, back when I was your age things were different, one of the reasons that I like you is that you remind me of me, starting from nothing and slowly going up the ranks." Tyler gave out a little smile, which encouraged the man to carry on, "Now, I realize that murder is a gray area for most people, but well, if you have got a problem with it you might be in the wrong business." he said before chuckling to himself. *Tyler was standing next to his broken down, piece of crap car. He just stood there, looking at it. He would need to decide what he was now going to do, luckily he had already decided. He took in a deep breath, before entering the car, opening the glove box, and pulling out a pair of sunglasses and a pistol. He then swiftly hopped out of the car and began coughing like a madman.* *When he was done he placed the gun down his pants, and the sunglasses on his face.* *He looked down the road and carried on his journey.* The sun had just set, and Tyler's mom was driving to the other side of town with her two children, she was hurrying as she was fairly late, and always did her best to give her children the things she thought they deserved. Her two children had been going to this Soccer Practice for over a year now, and she did not feel like giving up after everything. She stomped her foot on the pedal, and the car shot through the town. The children started feeling anxious, and told their mom to slow down. They arrived at the small field, which the practices were hosted at, with a few minutes to spare. She found out quickly that it did not matter whether they were late or not, as the Coach had not arrived. They simply found the group of children which were part of the team, all waiting outside with their parents. "Welp" she mumbled to herself, "That's what I get for trying." *Tyler could see the house down the road, he had been walking for the past two hours, and was now finally here. It had been nice and bright when his car had broken down, and it was now sunset, the atmosphere was cool, and the winds had sent a shiver down Tyler's spine.* *He was going to make the man pay, no matter what.* *He pulled the gun out of his pants and made sure that it was loaded. He was now standing outside the mans garden, he cocked the gun and started walking closer.* "No, I'm not going to do it." he told him. "All right then" said the man, "I can't force you." he leaned back and took a sip of his drink. The man had a look on his face, one which Tyler could recognize. It was one which he had seen many times, the face of a person who has a trick up his sleeve. "What are you doing, you're obviously going to try do something to change my mind." He scanned the mans face, and tried to figure out what that trick might be. "Nope, I gave you the option and if you're not going to do it I'll just find someone else who will." Tyler sighed, "All right then, thank you for respecting my decision." He stood up, grabbed his jacket, "May I ask what he's done?" "To us?" the man asked him, "He is refusing to pay back the money that he borrowed and we are worried he might rat us out. He's a long time customer." "Oh, all right." he put his jacked on and walked over to his boss in order to shake his hand. He stuck his hand out in front of him and the man went and grabbed it, he held it tight and did not let go. He then dragged the boy towards him and whispered in his ear, "Oh, one more thing I forgot to mention, the man is a pedo." Tyler stood back, his eyes were wide open and these couple words completely stopped his brain from thinking. He tried to say something but couldn't, all that came out were stutters, "e...e.xcuse me?" he asked in a trembling voice. *He cocked the gun, and made sure that it had ammo.* "This is what you get when you touch children... fucking creep", he circled the house before finding that the man had his back door wide open. Before Tyler walked into the house he admired the garden for a second, it was a decent size and was carefully taken care of, he could tell. The grass was all the same height, and the trees seemed artificial, they were so perfect. The man had two children and a wife, at least that was what Tyler knew. And he hoped to god that they weren't here, the man might deserved to die, but no child deserves to see the dead corpse of their rotten parent. He took a deep breath and carefully wandered into the home, he was greeted by a well tended, and orderly kitchen, he ignored it as he had more important manners to do. He listened carefully and heard a mumbling upstairs. A mumbling which he assumed to be that of Chris Miller. He walked over to the steps and softly climbed up them, step by step, his heart began to race, he could feel the sweat crawling down the back of his neck. He was trying to be quiet, which presented to be a challenge, as his breathing was becoming heavier with each step he took. He finally reached the top of the stairs without making a peep. He walked down the hallway and reached the door, he closed his eyes for a second and mentally prepared himself. I can't do this. Yes, you can. The man is a pedophile. According to who? He is my brother's tutor, he's touched him, those moments when I saw him helping him, rubbing his shoulder encouragingly, while showing him how to properly kick a ball. At the time I didn't think much of it. But now, knowing what I know. The man has to pay. And I'm going to make him. Tyler swiftly jumped into the door frame, holding the pistol with both hands, pointing it directly at the man. He was taken back by what he saw. He was just sitting there, his face white as a ghost, looking at him with his vast, gray eyes. It was clear the man had been crying. He looked directly at the gun and then drifted his view to the man holding it. Tyler's arms began to quiver, he changed his mind, he couldn't do this. He just stood there, frozen solid, unable to do a thing. The man closed his eyes and looked down at the floor. He had accepted his fate, and was now ready to face it. Tyler's arms started to loosen, his finger started to release pressure from the trigger. That was when it went off. A loud piercing sound came from the weapon. It droned out all other sounds, and traveled for what seemed to be miles. The room filled with thick black smoke. This growing cloud blocked Tyler's vision. Leaving him there, unable to see his first victim. His hands loosed, and he lost the grip of the gun. It fell to his feet and caused a emphatic crashing sound, one which Tyler was unable to hear. The smoke had cleared and Tyler was left there staring at the man. There was a bullet hole in the very center of his face. The wall had been painted red from the mans brains. The ringing continued, and blocked out all others sounds. It infected Tyler's brain, interrupting all thoughts he might have been having. He fell to his feet and his eyes filled with tears. He brought his hands up to his face, placing his face into them and he proceeded to completely break down. There was no way he could see himself coming back from this. The man had finally paid, and it made absolutely no difference.


I heard about Dad’s death from the news. It’s not the way most people hear about that sort of thing, but it’s exactly how I expected to find out. His face has been staring out from every available screen since then, people thronging around them like flies to honey. I’ve seen tears. Real tears. Tears from people who probably hadn’t even shared the same air with him. Strangers kneeling in the streets and sobbing into jacket sleeves and newspapers as reporters all over the world scramble to write the best coverage of such a miraculous man. Those words scratch like needles in my ears every time I catch them. Hero. Inspiration. The man who truly had everything. Every corner I turn, there he is; picture after picture of his success. His boats, his art, his houses, all smushed together to some god-awful pop song so every soul on the planet can remember this man with his perfect fucking life and his perfect fucking family. Every single one ended exactly the same way- “Hard to believe this brand worth billions all started from an idea formed in an alley behind his local pub.” And you too could be so lucky! Just follow his story and even a random nobody like yourself can have more wealth than a small country and the ability to fly to space if you just really buckle down. Work hard. Dream harder. I’d seen his twee little catchphrase plastered on everything from t-shirts to bumper stickers. Hell, even I’d done my share of thirteen hour shifts printing those letters when I was really desperate for cash. Every hour on the hour his face would pop up on an automated screen above us, smiling down like some malevolent God and telling us how we were such integral cogs in his machine. People would clap without fail every time, rolling their eyes when I laughed. “Some people just don’t want to be better.” I quit on the spot after that. My own tears for that man had dried up decades ago. The few people that know me properly hadn’t dared ask how I felt after it happened. I know my face hadn’t changed when the details of the accident were released, how some bad winds plummeted his jet taking his wife and children with him. There wasn’t an ounce of feeling I could dredge up, just a black spot in my mind where the sympathy should be. The rest of the world seemed to have that covered anyway. Anguish and praise overflowed like the champagne, people messy and drunk on the golden legacy he’d left in the dust of his accident. It almost made me laugh at how absurdly perfect it was. A man from nowhere and through nothing but the sweat on his brow he built himself a golden palace of success. And then he died- both young and tragically. Frankly, it was genius. Makes me wonder if that bastard planned it somehow. Now there wasn’t a single blemish anyone could ever muster to tarnish his fantasy. The fantasy that was apparently my duty to keep alive now. *** I was high when the members of his board finally got to me. I don’t remember the conversation, but a hotel bed sounded a lot better than the tarmac of the playground I’d been crashing on for god-knows how long. I’ve been pretty much confined to his gaudy suite ever since. If I open my door a crack, I can still hear the suits next door frantically arguing about how they’re going to clean me up enough for the funeral and keep the idea of this ‘family business’ alive. I fish my last pack of ciggs from my bag and head out the service exit. I can still hear the crowd waiting out the front, desperate to catch a glimpse of his “secret successor.” I cringe at the title, like I was some covert backup plan he’d hidden all along. I could run out onto the street right now and scream about what a shit he was and it still wouldn’t matter. How he’d erected a wall stronger than any fortress in his mind so he could pretend life before his first success never existed. So much so that he didn’t even dane to show his face at my mother’s funeral. It’s already dark as I duck into a loading bay round the back. It’s become a bit of a safe haven over the last few days, the mismatched walls and grey faces of the staff a bit more my speed. I instantly regret not bringing my jacket as the chill of the January night bites into my exposed skin. Pulling my shirt tighter around my torso, I sweep a fine layer of snow off an old moving palette and sit down, glad to be out of his hotel for a moment. No. My hotel? The thought still makes my head spin. I thought I could just cut myself a cheque and run from this circus, but apparently that wasn’t how it was going to work. Now I have to be the good little puppet and play my part for him. “Light?” I flinch at how close the voice is from me. Turning to the side, I see someone else leaning in my dark little corner, holding a small lighter out towards me. I blink a few times, very sure I was alone when I sat down. The man doesn’t budge as I silently look around, not a footprint to be seen in the snow around us. When I look back, he’s moved closer, his face just a fraction too near. I’m not sure if I’m meant to recognise him as one of the countless execs I’d talked to over the past few days, but nothing about him is familiar. His face seems almost impossibly old, the pale sag of his cheeks tracked with dozens of deep lines like the work of an eager cat on a sanded scratching post. A pair of small dark eyes watch me intensely, both shaking like skittering beetles in their sockets as I stay rooted to the palette. He’s wrapped in a black pea coat that looks like it cost more than the room I’m staying in, but it’s doing little to hide the wiry frame underneath. His stance almost reminds me of the house plants my mother stopped watering after everything happened- sad and impossibly fragile. He keeps his hand extended as I eye him, his self-assured smile not faltering. “Just looks like you could really use one,” he continues, eyes flicking down to the cigarette dangling from my lips. There’s no doubt to the sandpapery rasp of his voice, no award tiptoe to his expression like all the other stuffed shirts had whenever they were forced to talk to me. I push the cig further into my mouth, leaning forward a little so his face flashes red and orange through the flame. “Uh- sure.” My nose wrinkles as his wrist brushes closer, the smell from his coat almost overpowering in its intensity- some unsettlingly savoury mix like ash and tanned leather. He leans away after it’s lit, pulling his own pack from the pocket of his coat. “Should you really be smoking at your age?” I mumble, exhaling a thin cloud of smoke in front of me. He laughs. It grates like a failing car engine. “Should you?” I give a curt smile as he lights his own cigarette, turning away to look at the uneven stonework of the wall. I can almost feel his gaze lingering on me as I inhale again, like a cold hand on the back of my neck. His expression is the same cool smirk as I turn back, the lighter flipping idly between his gloved fingers. “Lot of people would kill to be in your position right now, you know?” My anger is sharp at the words but I keep still. “I’m am really not in the fucking mood to talk about that,” I mumur, each word spitting out a puff of chilled fog. The man shakes his head. “Don’t worry. I’m not with that lot out front. I’m just in town for the funeral.” He taps the ash from the end of his cigarette almost rhythmically. “Unlike them I actually knew him.” I raise an eyebrow. “Old friend?” “Business partner actually. I’m mainly back to collect something he owes me.” I sigh, shifting against the uncomfortable wood of the palette. “Bit late for that I think.” “Oh no. I’m right on time.” The soft arrogance of his words shoot an uncomfortable shiver through me, something much colder than the chill seeping through my shoes. I smile awkwardly again as I stand, hoping the alley towards the kitchen would afford me a bit more peace and quiet. “You know, he was the most insufferable little shit when I met him.” I pause at his words. People never had anything bad to say about that world’s golden boy. Even my mother refused, her anger slowly eating her from the inside out until she all but disintegrated like chalk in front of me. “Pretty sure he was the same when he died,” he continues smoothly. “When I met him, he asked if I could give him the life he was owed.” I almost choke on the laugh caught in my throat. There’s no humour to it. “Well he got it,” I say quietly, wincing as my fingernails dig red little crescents into my palm. A light flashes through a window on the opposite wall, the man’s shadow casting pointed and long for a brief moment. “You really think he was owed it?” Owed it. Like that fucker was owed anything I barely remember the life when he was still around. There are moments, pinpricks from my childhood I’ve tried to burn away with as much alcohol as I could get my hands on: the wet smell of the carpet, a dining table that didn’t stand quite right, the feel of my pillow pressed over my face to drown out the voices that raged like a wildfire downstairs. After is much more clear. I’d known it was a good day when I’d wake up to sandwiches in the kitchen. Days like that, Mum would usually be sober enough to drive me to school or to the park, sometimes she’d even press the last of her spare change into my palm for an ice cream so she could lay down in the grass to help with her headaches. On the bad days though... I drop my cigarette and smash it firmly under my feet. “Doesn’t matter. He’s dead now.” I hope the flint in my voices signals clearly enough that the conversation is over “Well it’s all yours now anyway.” He stands upright from the wall, regarding me with those manically sparkling eyes. “All that wealth, fame, love. Nice to have, isn’t it?” I laugh coldly. “I don’t want anything to do with that piece of shit.” He shrugs, dropping his own cigarette. “Well then. Burn it all,” he continues casually. “Liquidate everything. Tank his empire and walk away.” It takes me a second to process his words. I’d never even thought of that as a possibility. Every one of his drones had just pushed the same recycled spiel about the number of zeroes that could add to my bank account if I just read from their little script. I swallow. “Is that even possible?” He pulls a black handkerchief from his pocket and carefully brushes the corner of his mouth. “Oh definitely. And I can help you either way.” I feel the wind pick up around us as he stares me down, that same pungent ugly scent now fanning coldly into my face. I take a definite step back. “Who... are you?” “I told you. I’m just a business partner.” His smile lingers on me for a second more before he quickly turns on his heels. “Decide what you want and come find me. Those leeches on the board won’t touch you until I say so.” His words hover in the air long after he’s disappeared towards the street. I turn them over in my mind as I make my way back to my room until I’m sure I’ve worn them through. I could do it. I could take every ill-gotten gain that bastard accrued and destroy it right in front of every slack-jawed bootlicker that followed him. I feel myself smile against my pillow a little. No money, no company- sure it would be some kind of cruel act to take all those jobs but somehow it didn’t dull the sweet vision of imagining the torment on my father’s face in whatever corner of hell he’s rotting in. As I roll over, I feel sharp pain shoot from my back tooth like I’d just touched a live wire. I convulse in pain, grunting in the dark as I root through the bedside drawer for the new bottle of painkillers. I pause for a second as I swallow down two pills raw. The ache had been getting steadily worse for the past few months, only now had I been able to actually get someone to look at them. Flicking on the lamp, I look at myself in the mirror hanging on the opposite wall. Something about the reflected image just seems all wrong. The duvet is pristine, the wallpaper shining and gold, the flowers on the bedside table fresh. And then there was me right in the middle, as tattered and out of place as a stray dog on a velvet cushion. I immediately switch off the light and curl into a tighter ball. That money could actually give me a life, a real life. Before yesterday, I can barely remember the last time someone actually looked me in the eye. Now those same people who crossed the street wherever they saw me sleeping are ready to grovel at my feet for acclaim. I can’t deny how sickeningly good that feels too. I think about the papers that the board had pushed in front of me yesterday with some syrupy but stern words. Not a word about his past. All I’d have to do is roll over and take his name and everything else would be done for me. The thought is nauseating- but the thought of being treated as an actual person? Not so much. I haven’t been given a single kindness over the past twenty years, least of all from my father. Was it really so selfish to think I might be owed something ? “He asked if I could give him the life he was owed.” I shut my eyes tighter, the pills finally taking the edge of the sharp ache in the mouth as I drift. What life was I owed? More importantly, what was I willing to do to get it? *** I turn the printed eulogy over and over in my hands until the paper starts to feather. The service starts soon, but I’m ducked around the side of the funeral parlour, desperate to get away from the almost comically large group of mourners waiting by the gates. No one had dared to say a word to me, but I can still feel their eyes boring into me loud and hungry. If one more person tells me what ‘a great man,’ my father was, then I’m going to break something. “Ready to send him off?” The rasp is instantly familiar. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I say calmly, looking up to greet the old man standing a few feet away from me. He looks the same, save for the coat now opened to reveal a pristine crimson suit underneath. “Did you get what you came for?” He chuckles. “Oh yes.” “So what was it?.” “When we made our business arrangement, I told him I only wanted two things. One then and one I’d collect later.” “What was the first?” He tilts his head, running a gloved finger against his thin bottom lip. “I wanted to hear out of his own mouth that he’d be perfectly okay knowing that thousands of people would crumble so he could climb. And if he said yes, there would never be another person who would ever beat him at his own game.” I exhale sharply through my nose. “He would have sold his soul for something like that.” The man’s face twists into a more crooked smile as he shakes his head. “You really think that man had a soul to sell in the first place?” I laugh softly. It’s a cold sound. “Not while I knew him.” Bell ringing peels through the air around us, causing the birds to erupt from the bare trees in a shifting black clump behind him. He gestures to the gate behind us, “I think it’s time for you to take your place.” I turn and watch the gates swing open, throngs of strangers trampling onto the grass with the same gusto as antsy shoppers waiting for Black Friday. I know they aren’t here for the service. It’s a strange feeling knowing who they’re really here for. I turn back to the man, my gut twisting a little as I do. “What did you really come back for?” The man raises a sparse eyebrow. “Tell me what you want to do about your own little predicament and I’ll tell you what it cost him.” The air tastes like ozone around us as he calmly folds his arms. I want to pretend, to at least try and look conflicted or hum and sigh as I watch the people stomp around the funeral ground with insatiable eyes and clinging hands. I don’t do any of that. That man had his empire and I know exactly where that gaudy crown should go now. “Fine,” I say confidently, screwing the eulogy between my hands and looking straight into those unsettlingly black eyes. “Let’s deal.”


In the beginning, it seemed as though this was perfect. The world was in dire need of help. The news headlines read like a sci-fi novel. Good news! The world is no longer warming! Global Warming is officially over! Bad news? It’s because we have entered into a period coined “Global Boiling”. Humanity had cooked the entire planet. One that was rife with war, corruption, pollution, poaching, murder, sex trafficking... We killed everything we touched. Humans were destructive by nature and sought out conflict everywhere we went. Then they came. The Utawaya looked human. They’d blended in at first, merging with the masses, but as the world went further and further up shit creek with not a paddle in sight, they made themselves known. They came in peace, they said, quoting every Hollywood sci-fi movie about aliens to have ever existed. They’d spent a long time monitoring Earth, they said, learning our ways, so they might come to land and join us. Help us. And, for years, they did. They had technology that even the greatest human minds could never have replicated. Net zero energy sources, machines that outperformed the combustion engine, a social system that harkened more back to the days when items were traded instead of money, where everyone had worth and a contribution to a community. The Poverty gap closed, despite the filthy rich protesting. Weapons of mass destruction were banned and disarmed. Tyrants were overthrown. People liberated. Wars ended. Crime prevented. They promised that they could reverse the damage done to the planet. It truly was the coming of The Age of Peace. Earth was thriving, and so were the people. Then came the culling. It was slow at first and started with the dredges of the barrel. The ones no one cared about. The Utawaya had technology that could read the thoughts of a person. There was no more doubt over a prisoner's guilt. Mass murderers, rapists, and pedophiles were the first to be killed. Then came extremist groups with the intent to cause mass harm or disaster. Terrorists, human traffickers, poachers. Eventually, those people ran out too. Earth was massively overpopulated, the Utawaya said. The numbers needed to be controlled like we used to do with deer destroying forests. No one was safe, really, but the Utawaya had one rule: pregnant women and women with young children were exempt. Everyone else? Fair game. Some volunteered, of course. Just because Earth was a utopia didn’t mean people weren’t still depressed or suicidal. Even that wasn’t enough for the Utawaya. They began a roster. Bi-annually people were selected at random to be volunteers, like some twisted version of The Hunger Games. At least Katniss had a chance. Those selected have no chance. If you’re a man, you die. If you’re a woman and you have no children, you die. The male population decreased dramatically in the first ten years, and so did the reproduction rate. We all prayed to forgotten Gods that eventually the culling would stop, but every six months people were selected, and within days their bodies were returned shrouded in white. It is an honor , the Utawaya told us, to give back to the Mother in the purest form - to return your life and your body into Her waiting hands as She rebalances the scales. It wasn’t long until people started to rebel, and then things changed, and not for the better as we had hoped. Our rebellion was met with fury and an iron fist. The Utawaya were enraged. They’d given us so much and asked for so little, and this was how we thanked them. By showing that destruction was at the core of who we were. We were parasites, they said, and they would start the world anew. Turns out, even Utopia has War... * * * I cough as yet another cloud of dust falls from the roof, clouding my vision and drying out my mouth better than an old bottle of Vodka ever could. We hide in a bunker on the outskirts of London. It isn’t very big, but we make it work, jamming the seven bodies in like a tin of sardines. “God bless the doomsday preppers,” I mutter under my breath. No one laughs. I lean over the table that the four of us have gathered around and squint my eyes to see the map in the dim candlelight. It isn’t easy to access tech anymore. Candles work, just not as well as a torch would. The others talk under their breath, running over the plan once more. I hold my breath and count to ten. The panic is building in my chest, coiling around me like a snake. Mick stares down at the table, his eyes moving back and forth rapidly. I know he’s running over every possible route in his head, and every possible problem that could arise. Our one chance-- there can be no room for error. We’ve waited a long time for the leaders of the Utawaya to be in one place. The door to the bunker bangs open. My eyes lift and lock with a familiar, startling blue pair. The balaclava hides most of her face, but I see Rave’s eyes crinkle as she smiles at me and I smile back, some of the panic fading away. “You started without me?” The love of my life demands as she kicks the door shut behind her. Her hands are smeared with oil and dirt when she lifts them to pull off the balaclava, revealing her shock of silver blonde hair. I shuffle to the right, clearing a space at the table for her. “You’re late.” That is all Mick says. Rave fills the space beside me, her arm winding around my waist as she presses a chaste kiss to my temple. We’re all stressed. “She’s here now,” I mutter, affixing our de facto leader with my best no-nonsense stare. Mick’s lips press into a thin line. “Don’t be late next time.” He grouses. Rave’s arm tightens around me. I knock my hip against hers. Silence falls over the group as she examines the map. “So, this is it.” She says at last “Are we sure it will work?” Silence once more. The two men at the table share a look with one another. Abel and Mick are the only two men in our group. I don’t blame them for sticking together. Men were rarer since the cullings. “This is it. And it’ll work.” Mick says. He looks between us all, his gaze wary. He nods to the other person at the table. Lucille is an older woman, the oldest of us all. She sighs as the attention falls on her and smooths the front of her shirt. It’s a nervous tick, one I’d noticed very early on in our time together. People are what I do. We all have a role to play here, and Lucille is about to enact her part. I watch Lucille, noting the tightening of her eyes, and the slight tremble of her hands. I look back at Mick and note similar movements from him. He wipes his hands against his legs. Sweaty palms, shifty eyes, dilated pupils. My own eyes narrow. “What are you two hiding?” I demand, pointing a finger between each of them. Lucille jumps and avoids my gaze, but it’s still she who speaks. “There’s a reason no one has done this before.” Lucille’s voice holds the soft remnants of an Eastern European accent. We don’t hear much variety in accents anymore. Traveling to other countries isn’t possible now. “The device that Abel reconfigured can launch the Nuke.” She says. The pause is pregnant. Lucille deliberately avoids my gaze, looking anywhere but. Apprehension coils in my gut. “And?” I press, certain there’s more. Panic is rising again. I grip Rave’s hand under the table. “And the Utawaya took steps that mean that entering coordinates won’t work anymore. Someone will need to take the beacon inside, unseen, and keep the device powered up. The warhead will target the link.” “Inside. Unseen.” I repeat robotically. “Like a ghost,” Rave whispers at my side and my heart drops out my ass. Raven is our ghost. That is her role. I feel sick. “It’s a suicide mission!” I protest, “This wasn’t part of the plan.” “None of our lives are worth more than the greater good.” Lucille intones. I slam my hand down on the table. Rave runs her hand up and down my back. The movement is meant to be soothing, but it only serves to remind me of everything I will lose. “Mel,” she whispers. Tears burn my eyes and I shake my head, my hand curling into a fist against the table. “Make the preparations. I’ll do it.” Rave murmurs. Her words split my heart in two and the world falls away. In two days, we will bomb the Utawayan summit. In two days, Rave will die. And I intend to die with her. * * * “We don’t need to do this, Rave,” I whisper. Raven draws in a breath. “Yes, we do.” “We’re just proving everything they’ve ever said about us to be true.” I plead. “Maybe. Maybe we are destructive hateful creatures, but that doesn’t give them the right to do what they’ve done.” I reach up and run my fingers along Raven’s jaw, the truth settling into my bones. “I know, Rave. I know. I just wish there was a better way.” This woman is my world. My universe. I won’t let her do this alone. * * * The bunker is quiet. The others look at one another. Then at Rave. Then at me. Rave fixes me with a glare that would send a lesser woman running. I meet her stare. “No.” She protests, “No.” “You’ll need a driver. You’ll need someone to keep them distracted if something goes wrong.” I insist. The atmosphere grows heavy. “You’ll die.” Raven’s voice cracks. I smile a sad smile. “Where you go, I go, Little Bird,” I tell her. It doesn’t take the others long to agree. That hurts more than it should. Perhaps the Utawaya are right. Maybe we are all broken and corrupt inside, ready to sacrifice one another for our own personal gain. Raven and I hold one another tightly as night rolls in, curled into the same cot. Tomorrow morning the others leave. The day after tomorrow, we both die. But so do the Utawaya. * * * The others left with barely a backward glance. Only Lucille had hesitated, making sure we knew what needed to be done. They’d go north, find a way into Scotland. We had no way to know how the fallout would behave in the new atmosphere the Utawaya had been creating. Rave and I took the old underground to get to the Summit Building. There was an old service entrance into the basement which allowed us to get in unseen, as required. A pair of ghosts walking willingly to their death. The tunnels were unguarded and we made it in without a hitch. Perhaps the Gods had not forgotten us after all. Now, we sit on the floor above that basement. We needed to ascend a floor to get a signal on the device. Many of the satellites stopped working in the wake of the war, but the Soviets still had power on theirs. Of course, they did. I look at Raven, my heart in my throat. “Last chance to dip,” I whisper. Her eyes lift to mine and I find hers lined with the silver of tears. She reaches out and takes my hand. Far above us, the Thirteen leaders of the Utawaya clans are meeting, the sound of their conversation, playing on speakers so the assembled guests can hear, filtering down to us levels below them. There would be no humans above. Humans didn’t need to be present to discuss how they could be eradicated. “No dipping.” Before either of us can have second thoughts, she presses the part of the screen as Lucille had directed. Silence falls. “How long did Luce say we’d have?” I ask softly. In contrast, my pulse pounds in my ears. Terror raises a cold sweat along my brow and down my back. Death races towards us. Even if we wanted to, we could not escape it now. “Fifteen minutes.” Rave breaths. * * * Fifteen minutes. The first five are spent telling Rave how much I love her. How much I wish we’d met in a different time when we might have had a life. A future. Another two are spent holding one another. * * * Six minutes to go. We fall silent, holding hands. Mine shake. So do Raven’s. Above us, the alien invaders of our world discuss how they will squash the human resistance, and how they will re-make the world without the violent, abhorrent creatures known as humanity. They don’t know that the humans still have teeth. We bite back. They plan and they scheme, and they fail to see that in their desperation to crush our violence, they succumbed to it. Perhaps violence and destruction are rampant in humanity. Perhaps we have a proclivity for disparity and aggression. Maybe we do destroy the things we want rather than let another have it. But these traits are not unique to humankind. Above us, the Utawaya fail to see how flawed and corrupt they, too have become. They, like we always have, fail to see that War is not the answer, that peace cannot be had alongside violence. It is as though the ruinous nature of humanity was a virus and it spread to them. * * * The ends do not justify the means. This is my ruling thought as the timer hits thirty seconds and the room above falls silent. The air is split with a high whistle as the warhead streaks through the atmosphere. This is a mistake. We never should have done this. We had hoped that in the wake of our attack, the world could be reclaimed. We could come out on top. We were so blinded by revenge that we failed to see that there would be no winners. Rave and I look only at one another as the bomb detonates. Within seconds most of London will be in Nuclear Winter, and this building, and every Utawaya within, will be gone. The world will keep on turning, but would our sacrifice change anything? Would the death of the thirteen leaders change anything, or would a new War begin? War was inevitable. Even Utopia has War.


In moments of panic, he found himself taking slow, and choppy deep breaths. “Remember what the self help book says, remember what the self help book says.... What the hell did it all say again?” Shaking the hands of family he had known since he was a baby, Franky smiled and laughed half heartedly. He hadn’t seen the lot of them in over 10 years. Around him, he gazed over the 20 plus people in the room, many of the younger ones he’d only seen in pictures. They all seemed to be having a good time, drinking and catching up like old friends do. Dressed in his only pair of nice clothes, Franky made an conscious effort to be engaged with small talk, however he couldn’t stop worrying about whether anyone had noticed his rather small fitting shirt, or that he’d cut his upper lip from shaving only an hour before this. The pain from the fresh sting somewhat kept him level headed from what was otherwise uncomfortable conversation. He was right to assume other people were curious. The scrape over his lip was a sure symbol of his old fighting ways. Needless to say, when he accepted the Christmas Party invitation this year, it wasn’t met without a fresh feed of family gossip. “Franky! We need someone to dress up as Santa for caroling. Would you do it, please!” Asked his favorite cousin Peggy, who was a little drunk at the time. “Oh, of course of course!” Franky responded with a nervous grin, which was easily read by the older women in the room. Before they had a chance to chime in their wisdom, Franky was off to the bathroom, costume in hand. As he disappeared from the main party room, a few of the older Aunts and Uncle’s huddled around together. “Hey, would one of you want to go with Franky and the kids.” Aunt Sherri asked to the group. “I can’t go, I don’t have the right shoes. Maybe one of the men can go. I’m sure Joe would” responded Aunt Maggie, looking around for her husband. “Wait, why are you so worried?” Dean broke in. ‘We’re in the Golden Estates with 24 hour security surveillance? He’ll be fine, and plus Tommy will be there. He’s got a cell phone.” “Well, I’m just concerned you know. We haven’t seen Franky in years, and I just don’t know. I’d sure feel a lot better if one of the men went with him. “Well I’m watching the turkey, but you can try your luck with one of the guys.” Dean chuckled while he said this as the rest of the women looked to the patio. Huddled around the table on the patio was a large bowl of spiked egg nog. Sherri could see her husband Bill with Uncle Joe in the back. They had just lit cigars “How do I look?” Standing underneath the mistletoe by the fire place, Franky stood fully dressed in the bright red Santa Suit. He looked unrecognizable with the thick white beard, and seemed to be standing taller than before, his posture improved. The Aunts and Uncles began responding in unison. “You look great! Oh my god!” “Kids! Come look, Santa is here!” Smiling, Franky felt different now all of the sudden. He wasn’t wearing the small shirt, and didn’t need to force any small talk. It was as if his previous insecurities had been draped in love. All of his nieces and nephews, the ones he had missed seeing over the holidays ran up to him and gave him a hug like it was the first time they were meeting. It was way he’d day dreamed it to be. Picking up Shane, the youngest of the boys, he carried him under his arm, making it look easy. Seeing the smiling faces of everyone pointed towards him, Franky finally felt that sense of home he hadn’t seen since he was 16 years old. After he lost his Mom to drugs, he’d fight a 10 year battle with addiction, missing birthdays, phone calls, and annual Christmas parties. This was the first year he’d been back. All of the emotions of guilt and shame flowed through him in a moment of release and ecstasy. Picking up each one of his nephews and nieces in the air, he attempted an emphatic “Ho, Ho, Ho’ which made everyone laugh and cheer. “Alright kids, you ready to caroling ?” Franky gathered the kids together who were now putting on their jackets and gloves in excitement. They could finally get to use some of that high energy they’d gotten from all of the Christmas cookies. “Yeah!” As Franky put on his black gloves, Aunt Sherri reached out and grabbed his hand. She wasn’t sure what she was going to say, until they caught each others gaze. Hesitating, Sherri paused a moment before looking into her Nephews deep blue eyes. The same eyes as his mothers. “Yes, Aunty Sherri.” Franky asked their hands still tied. “Your mother would be proud.” Hugging her Nephew, they held each other tight for a moment, before Franky had to lead the small troupe out down the street of their 10 house culdesak. Walking out the door, the family wished the carolers well as they exited into the cold of the winter night. Closing the door behind them, was their once youngest nephew Franky. He was finally home.