Thadumn! Prakash swayed and steadied himself as the elevator suddenly came to a stop and he was plunged in darkness. “What the hell? Of all the days, this had to happen today, isn’t it?”, he muttered to no one in particular. He waited for a few seconds. It must be a power outage. But surely they must have backup power in such a fancy office building? It won’t be long before he started moving again. He just wished they got the damn power back up on soon. What a frustrating morning it had been. Just like a set of toppling dominoes, one disaster led to a series of disasters and he was now running late for his first day at work. And now the icing on the cake, a fucking power outage in the elevator! Could it get worse? How long had it been? He took out his phone to check the time and realised it hadn’t even been a minute. Why did it feel like it had been hours already? He switched on the torch on the phone for some light. They should have one of those emergency lights, he thought angrily. “No signal..great. Why the fuck isn’t this stupid elevator working?” Great, he was talking to himself now. He checked the time on the phone again. Strange. Was his phone broken? It didn’t make any sense. The time was exactly the same as he had checked a while back. His phone showed 9:00 AM. Huh! Simply great. He pressed the button with the bell icon on it. Wasn’t that what it was supposed to be for? An alarm in case of an emergency? He hoped someone would realise he’s stuck here. He couldn’t hear the alarm make any sound. He couldn’t pray either. He didn’t believe in prayers. He knew he had a very low supply of hope as well. He started counting in his mind. One, two, three, four, five, six....fifty six, fifty seven, fifty eight, fifty nine, sixty. One minute. One, two, three, four, five, six...fifty nine, sixty. Two minutes. Three minutes. Five minutes. His mind started to scramble. Had he counted up to four minutes or five? Argh, he wished he had a pen and a paper with him. He needed to keep himself distracted. None of his apps were working on the phone and he needed to save the battery for the torch light. He forgot when he stopped counting the minutes. Why wasn’t anyone coming for him? What was wrong with this elevator? Hadn’t he pressed the alarm button a long time back? He started pacing. A step forward, a step backward. A step to the right, a step to the left. He almost laughed. He was dancing with himself inside a fucking elevator. He hated dancing. He was bored now. How long had it been? He could really do with some water. And he wanted to desperately take a piss too. His palms were clammy and he could feel a bead of perspiration cover his upper lip, his nose and his forehead. He wasn’t dressed for an overheated stay inside an unlit elevator. He was dressed in a suit and a tie, dressed for this first day at work in this shiny new office. That was when his phone decided to die on him. His only friend, his only saviour. And he was again thrown into the darkness of an abyss. He felt like he had been swallowed by a black hole and no one would even realise, since he was certain no one would miss him. “ Beware of new beginnings. They will bring known horrors and darkness ”... Why did he suddenly remember this? It was the silly old fortune teller squatting on the road side, last week. He had just bent down to give her money, when she had grasped his hand and looked strangely at him, staring at him and yet not looking into his eyes, when she uttered those words. He had been shaken that day. Not with what she said, but because the silly old hag had touched him. It had made his skin crawl. He had washed his hands at least twice after that incident. Ugh! He needed to get his control back. He started to shout. HELP!! IS THERE ANYONE THERE?? I”M STUCK INSIDE THIS ELEVATOR! HELP ME PLEASE!! Nothing. There was an absolute silence, which was eerie since he realised he wasn’t able to hear the sound of his breathing as well. He tried to kick at the door. He tried to pry the doors open. The maddening doors wouldn’t budge an inch. “Oh fuck this! Is this someone’s idea of a sick joke? ARE YOU ENJOYING THIS??”, Prakash was losing it now. He was close to breaking down and crying like a little baby. He hadn’t felt this scared, this suffocated, since he had moved out of his home two years back. He had worked hard with his therapist in the last two years, to fight his demons. But the nightmares had never fully disappeared. It hadn’t been his fault. He shook his head as the nightmares surfaced again. He thought of her suddenly. But that was a big mistake. He felt trapped, and he felt her presence, with him, in this dark, quiet elevator. The hair on his arms rose with an instinct that said, RUN! But there was no where to run. He clenched his fingers tightly into two fists to stop them from shaking. Then he walked backwards, two steps back until he bumped into the wall of the elevator. He started to slink down slowly, until his whole body was contorted like that of a child’s. Crouching. With his arms covered around his knees. And his head buried deep inside his knees. “Please..I’m sorry. Please Annie. You know there was nothing I could’ve done that night!”, he pleaded to no one. The nightmare started to flash before his eyes. The booze filled party at his place. The game of truth and dare. The new girl Annie, who had turned up and become the latest target of their game that night. They were a harmless bunch, but it was always fun to trouble a newbie at work. They’d apologise and make up later anyway. It was all in the name of fun and team building. Flashes of a dare that they made Annie do. To hide in the closet until they told her to come out. Flashes of more drinks. They had forgotten her. Until Prakash found her white, pale body, and her wide open eyes, staring back at him, before her lifeless body toppled out of the closet, when he opened it the next morning. Her death had been marked as an accident. A panic attack due to too much alcohol in her system and being locked inside a closed space. She had locked herself in by mistake and they had forgotten about her. Prakash had had nightmares of her face, staring at him, since that night. For two years. Until he decided to move out of the house and start a new job and see a therapist. Oh gosh, the images were killing him now. He was so scared. He was sure if he opened his eyes, he would see her face. He didn’t dare to open his eyes. He could feel her arms circling him in an embrace and he shuddered with revulsion. He could really do with a smoke right now. “Oh! I can use my lighter to get some light! Or light a smoke to start the fire alarm!”, his brained suddenly lit up at the prospect of escape from this cage. He unfolded himself and felt his pockets for his cigarettes and his lighter. He took the cigarette out with shaking fingers and put it between his lips. It quivered there, in anticipation. He took out his lighter, rubbed his thumb on the spark ignitor and clicked. And right then, her pale white face, with eyes white as milk, flashed in front of his eyes. The last thing he knew, was his scream.


A Halfling on the Stairs. A Guard Against the Sea. Names. Gammond Brandyford, a red-haired halfling of the Aevalorn Parishes, leaned wearily against the side of the cliff to catch his breath. He held out his oil lantern to peer over the edge of the stairs and saw nothing but a gaping void of darkness. “Guard rails!” he panted, placing the lantern on the stair beside him. His chest heaved. “It’s the least you dwarves could do!” “Bah! Rails be for children !” Vongur gruffly retorted. An amulet of a cranky dwarf’s head made from copper, silver, and bronze, Vongur was suspended by an iron chain around Gammond’s neck. Vongur looked up at Gammond from his chest. “Don’t be such a ninny!” “ Ninny ?” Gammond reeled. “You don’t even have lungs ... or legs , you old coot! Look at me! I’m doing all the work here!” “Aye, smallfoot !” Vongur snarled. Its animated metallic face stretched and moved when it spoke. “And at the top of the stairs await the Eyes of Hevroth Bloodgrog ! Two sparkly jewels, each the size of your wee fists!” “Crickets, they’d best be worth it!” Gammond breathed. Withdrawing a cloth from his leather satchel, he wiped the sweat from his face. He wore brown pants and a green vest over a long-sleeved white shirt, all soiled with sweat. Gammond’s sleeves were rolled up, and his calves and feet were bare. “You know, when you mentioned stairs , this isn’t what I pictured!” “Opportunity!” Vongur said with flourishing bravado. “It ain’t often one goes wanderin’ near the Ruins of Bhanboldihr . Hevroth’s sanctuary’s a cradle of memory . There I will learn my Clan Name an’ prove, once an’ for all, that I was a dwarf !” “But you are a dwarf!” groaned Gammond. He tucked the cloth back into his satchel. He lifted the lantern and retook the stairs. “I don’t get how learning a surname will change anything.” “Aye, but I’d finally know ,” Vongur whispered, his eyes trailing longingly up the stairs. Then Vongur growled, “An’ it’s a Clan , you carrot-haired dolt! Not a last name!” “ Pshsh ,” Gammond chided. “The sanctuary’s a connection to me dwarven past, befores I was turned into ... this ,” Vongur said wistfully. Holding the lantern, Gammond climbed the steps by crawling them; his form was too small to take each step one by one. “Well. Do try hard to remember this moment. This and all of the other kind things I’ve done for you over the years.” “Blazin’ Hells!” Vongur roared. His metallic beard bristled. “I’m the one cursed to hang ‘round your miserable, scrawny neck!” Gammond worked the stairs, and his breath came quick and sharp. “Keep talking, and I’ll just leave you up here!” “Scoundrel!” Vongur breathed. Eventually, Gammond reached the top of the stairs to enter the sanctuary. It was an open space carved into the side of a cliff. An eight-foot-tall bronze statue of a dwarf wielding a blacksmith’s hammer stood sturdy and imposing, its empty black eyes gazed out over the churning sea; its left arm was a stump. Behind it was an ornamental maple tree with bright purple leaves as tall as the statue, and behind the tree, an enormous door built into the side of the mount, maybe fifteen feet in height, crafted from gold, copper, and iron. “Great Green,” Gammond breathed. He rolled over on his back at the landing, winded. At that moment, he appreciated the shallow gusts of sea breeze cooling him down. “Halflings were ... not meant ... to scale mountains.” “Get up! Get up! We’re here!” “Can’t ... I ... rest ?” Gammond moaned and forced himself to sit up. Vongur raged. “Get t’ your feet, lad, an’ go to the bronze!” “Ugh,” Gammond moaned. Rolling his eyes with exhaustion, he wobbled to his feet and tottered to the statue. Once there, he discovered it sat in the middle of a copper ring engraved with ancient Dwarven runes. The ring was aged in a teal patina. Vongur was quick to spot the copper ring and the runes. “Hold me up!” Vongur demanded. “Uh, a moment,” Gammond pleaded as he rested his hands on his knees. “The stairs. Very steep. Burning. Legs. Lungs.” “Ugh!” Vongur winced, disgusted. “T’was just a wee jaunt up a minor hill. Barely a mountain.” “ Barely ... a mountain?!” Gammond asked incredulously. “Next time ... I’ll tie you ... to a bird .” “Behold!” Vongur proclaimed, peering at the bronze statue of the dwarf. “Hevroth Bloodgrog! Master Builder! Seein’ it now makes me heart skip a beat.” Gammond panted and glanced side-eyed at the massive, stout statue, gasping for air. Vongur proudly explained that Hevroth was a legendary dwarf, the earthly son of a Goddess, Berronar Truesilver. Hevroth constructed Bhanboldihr with his bare hands, and when his creation was threatened by landslides, he cut off his arm to hold up the mountain. Gammond panted and regarded the bronze skeptically. “You know what I don’t see? Eyes . Gems as big as my fists.” “Okay, okay, enough breathin’ ! Show me them runes!” Vongur barked. Groaning, Gammond retook his legs, gripped the iron chain, and suspended the amulet over the copper rim. Walking to his left to circle the statue, Vongur read the dwarven script aloud: Witness ye one of timeless lore He who delved the mountain’s core; The dwarf who saved us with his limb A master of iron, steel, and gems; Whereas thine eyes naught meant to see Within his awaits the fire of memory; Should ye wake Berronar’s son Bestow a task that must be done. Gammond adjusted his satchel on his shoulder and circled the towering statue. It stood solid, unwavering, seemingly challenging the sea and prepared to fend off the erosion it’d bring. Head to foot, it was almost three times Gammond’s size. “Great Hevroth!” Vongur yelled. “ Awake , son of Berronar!” But the statue did nothing. Gammond touched the side of the statue. It felt cold, and hollow like all bronze statues. “Hevroth!” Vongur commanded again, this time with more Dwarven gusto. “Awake!” And still, the bronze remained motionless. Coming around to its front, Gammond looked up at its black, empty eyes. “Ah,” he said, and Gammond grappled the statue's arm and began to climb it. “What?!” gasped Vongur. “ Sacrilege !” “Pipe down,” Gammond said, busily grasping the statue’s right arm and pulling himself up to its shoulder. “He’s been here a while. I’m sure he doesn’t mind.” “You irreverent, thievin’ teetotaller!” Vongur sneered. He bared its teeth under his thick beard. “You get off of ‘em! If ye leaves so much as a scratch-” Gammond groaned. “It’s a bronze statue. And I’m barefoot!” Vongur reconsidered and growled, “Er, if ye leaves so much as a scuff or an unsightly blemish , you craven coward, I’ll-” “Look!” Gammond insisted, holding the amulet near the statue’s ear. There, the lip of a spout had been fashioned alongside its head, leading to a small hole no bigger than Gammond’s finger. Sitting on the statue’s shoulder, Gammond released Vongur to rest against his chest and riffled through his satchel. Vongur was puzzled by the spout. “Er, maybe it’s a ways to clean its innards?” Gammond smirked, finding what he was after. “Nope.” “Um, a ways to pour in some brains ?” Vongur suggested. “Na-ah,” Gammond replied, retrieving his flint stone and a sealed decanter of lantern oil. “A whisperin’ hole!” Vongur exclaimed. Vongur pursed his lips and whispered, “Awake, Son of Berronar!” “Hmmm,” Gammond said, popping the wax seal of the decanter. He poured the oil into the spout. “Close.” “Smokin’ Snakes!” Vongur exclaimed. “No! Oh no, you don’t! You ain’t gonna set fire -” “Oh, I am,” Gammond gleefully giggled and then struck the flint over and over until it sparked. The oil in the spout ignited, and a stream of flame ran through the opening and into the statue’s head. “Gaaahhh!” cried Vongur helplessly. The amulet was awash in horror. The bronze eyes of Hevroth Bloodgrog burned with fire, and the statue animated and lurched forward, sending Gammond sprawling to the ground outside of the circle. Flame coursed through its eyes, its nostrils, and its lips. Firelight glowed in its arms like strained, muscular veins. Suddenly, a ball of fire exploded out of its hammer and it roared with a bellowing howl. “Stop!” Gammond squealed, trying to command the statue. He flipped over to his back and inched away from the statue. The bronze of Hevroth looked at its flaming hammer and then menacingly at Gammond. “Dig!” It took a booming step forward. “Dance?!” Gammond pleaded. Growling, the statue lifted its hammer high to squash the halfling like a bug. “Give it a task!” Gammond screamed at Vongur. “Tell it to open the door! The big door!” The giant flaming hammer came crashing down and smashed into the earth, causing what felt like a minor earthquake. Gammond narrowly rolled out of the way and held Vongur up to the statue, and screamed, “Tell it!” “Open the door!” barked Vongur. Taking another heavy step forward, the bronze lifted its hammer and prepared to strike again with a mighty backswing. “In Dwarvish !” Gammond moaned. “Oh!” Vongur exclaimed and then shouted the command to open the door in the Dwarvish language. Pausing, the golem gripped the handle of its huge hammer and glared at Gammond. “Again! Say it again!” Gammond pleaded, scrambling to back himself away from the statue while Vongur repeated the command. Righting itself, the statue lowered its hammer, turned, and approached the tall golden doors built into the side of the mountain. The ground shook with its every step. “It worked!” Gammond screamed, hopping up on his feet. “You did it, Vongur!” Caught up in the moment, Vongur smugly said, “Ah-ha! I knew that’s how the contraption worked!” Lumbering to the tall gold doors, Hevroth grasped their handles and effortlessly swung them wide. They creaked and groaned, and centuries of dust burst from its seam to take to the air. When the doors were fully open, a ten-foot-tall book extended from the chamber on a sliding plinth. Its task completed, the golem solemnly marched back to its circle to await further instruction. “The Memories of Bhanboldihr!” Vongur breathed. Gammond stood and rubbed his shoulders, sore from being tossed to the ground. He squinted from the pain. Mountain climbing, he thought, in the middle of the night! He could do with a nap, a hot tea, and breakfast, second breakfast, come to think of it. Brushing himself off, Gammond was taken aback by the enormous tome. “Okay, that’s the biggest book I’ve ever seen, but what’s that? Under it?” “The Eyes!” Vongur whispered. Below the book, affixed to the plinth, were two pink, transparent gems. They were indeed the size of Gammond’s fist, but more appropriately, they would fit snugly into the empty eye sockets of the golem. “Huh,” Gammond grumbled. “Smart Dwarves. Keeping them behind the door makes ‘em harder to steal.” “Blazin’ Hells! What’re you waitin’ for? Go to it!” Vongur demanded. Gammond walked cautiously past the glowering statue, half expecting it to try and hit him again. He went beyond the tall maple tree and to the book. He had to climb the plinth and stand on its edge to see the writing on the book's pages; the design of the plinth seemed to suggest standing on it was appropriate. Removing Vongur from around his neck, Gammond held the amulet out to read the Dwarven text. “Gurgrot, Gurmont,” Vongur read aloud. “It’s a list of Bhanboldihr families. Husbands, wives, births, offspring. Arranged by first names!” “Who’re we looking for?” Gammond asked. “Thurmin, my father!” Releasing the amulet, Gammond reached over with both hands and grasped a page. Tugging, he pulled at one page and wrestled with its size and weight. When pulling didn’t work, he climbed up into the book itself and pushed the page over with both hands. Jumping back on the plinth, he held out Vongur. “Gurvok, Gurvom,” Vongur read from the top of the page. Gammond turned Vongur around to face him. “Oh come on!” “You keep turnin ’ them pages, you snivlin’ scalawag,” Vongur seethed. Three hours later, weak and exhausted, Gammond strained to push one final page over in the book. Vongur read from the book, and exclaimed, “There is it! Thurmin ... Copperhand ! Lived ... sixteen hundred years ago! Wife Murisa, yes, Daughters Helgana, Lotheda ... a son, Vongur ! Yes! My ... my Clan Name is Copperhand !” “Marvelous,” Gammond huffed, throwing his back into the book's spine. He gazed sleepily out over the sea to the breaking sunrise. Had they really been here all night? “I ... I’m a dwarf ,” Vongur sniffed, his thousand-year pursuit of self-identity concluded. The amulet was incapable of crying but frequently tried. “A Copperhand .” Gammond yawned. He stretched and mumbled, “Sixteen hundred years. I wonder if you’ve any living relatives-” Gammond’s eyes bulged, and he threw his hand over his mouth. “YES!” Vongur roared. He snarled, looked side to side, and bellowed, “We’ll make for the Dwarven Kingdoms! We’ll journey to the Stonereach and-” Jumping down off of the plinth, Gammond withdrew his thieving tools and examined the gems nested there. Carefully, he stuck a pick behind one and pried it from the stone. It fell easily into his hand. Aghast, Vongur hissed, “ Burglar !” “Oh no,” Gammond assured him, pocketing the gem. “Not listening. We had a deal. It’s sacrilege for you, but it’s food and a year’s worth of lodging for me.” “Put it back!” growled Vongur. Gammond ignored him, turned, and headed back to the stairs. “Tell ‘em to close the door.” Vongur grumbled, “No! You’ve seen it now, we both have! This place is sacred . Y’can’t take Hevroth’s Eyes!” “Hey! I left one !” Gammond grumbled, extending the amulet. “That works for most. Listen, if you don’t want to expose that oversized book to the elements, tell him to close the door!” Vongur muttered the command in Dwarvish, and the golem wandered to the door, grasped both handles, and shut it closed. “Sleep,” Gammond groaned, heading to the stairs. He snatched up the lantern. “A tavern. A warm meal. A bed. Tea. That’s what’s next, and not Stonereach, Mister Copperhand.” Vongur grumbled and shouted. “I tolds you it ain’t a surname, y’ damned smallfoot !”


It was a good day to die. Most of them are, out here. This town isn't unfamiliar with bodies popping up like Robert Oliver's. After all, even the best men have secrets. Had secrets. I got out of the Chevy, it was approaching noon. Don't ask me why I choose noon to work, it's the least sensible time of day I could do this. Digging's awful hard when the Sun is dropping bricks on you. I tried to ignore the banging from the trunk for as long as I could. Finally, when I had had enough of it, I decided to let him out. The stench hit me harder than I expected when I opened the trunk, I should have laid down a towel or something. Doesn't matter now, we're at the end of the line with no connections. He was on his knees twenty miles north from El Paso, Texas. Forty or so miles from where I picked him up an hour ago. It was always this spot, here, where I took them. I brushed off his jacket so he looked presentable while I made the preparations. It was hot, too hot, for something like this. It's the only way I'd have it. The closest man to us would be at least ten miles away. The road itself is nearly that far from us. The sweat rolled down my face in the sun. I marked out an 'X' on the ground with my foot. "Here." I said, pointing to the mark. "Wh-what?" He stammered. "Kneel here. It has to be here." "Okay." He said as he shuffled into position. I took the .337 Magnum out of my jacket and pointed it to his head. One silver bullet, that was all I needed. He whimpered as the metal touched his forehead, I glared until he composed himself. You may be thinking that I have real balls pointing a gun at a man tied up on the ground. Well, this isn't the Grand Arena, this is the fucking desert and if you're on your knees and covered in your own shit with a gun to your head it doesn't much matter. "Are you ready for this?" I asked. He shifted uncomfortably on the sand, "It's just... Death's awful lonely for a guy like me." "I'll send you company." I replied. Bang. His name was Robert Oliver, he was the eighteenth man I've killed. Eighteen times I've made this journey, eighteen silver bullets I've put between thirty six eyes. I've dug eighteen holes and filled all eighteen of them. Every one of the men and women I've killed has known why they died. Robert Oliver owned two small print houses in the Bowery, he participated in charitable work when he was free and he had two foster children from troubled homes. It was no surprise to him to be on his knees in the dessert with a stranger's gun to their head. I can say the same thing about the others. I hear you ask what crimes these men and women committed to deserve this fate? How had they wronged me? Well, they all knew in their last moments why they were dead. Y'know, it's funny how things work out that way. I just picked their names out of a hat.


TW: Contains some descriptions of blood and violence Philip smiled at me as I shuffled towards his counter. ‘Morning Frank, how can I help you?’ Good. If Philip was in a cheerful mood, that would make this much easier. I smiled back at him. ‘One course of antibiotics, please.’ He eyed me with concern. ‘You’re sick?’ ‘No,’ I replied. ‘Katy is. She’s got crimson fever.’ Philip’s eyes widened. ‘I’ll get your meds right away.’ He put on his spectacles and turned to rifle through the bottles and packets filling the shelves behind him, the harsh white light of the pharmacy glinting on his balding head. After a few moments, he produced a little bottle filled with red pills. ‘That’ll be point-two units. Are you paying by blood bag or straight from the vein?’ ‘The vein, please. I used up my last blood bag weeks ago,’ I said. He looked me up and down, frowning. Now I’m a small man at the best of times, and these times were far from the best. I’d been pushing myself a little too hard, and with my pale skin and the deep bags under my eyes, I probably looked like a walking corpse. ‘How many units do you have left, Frank?’ he murmured. ‘Nine,’ I replied, perhaps a little too quickly. Philip pursed his lips and stared at me for a few moments. ‘Alright,’ he said, giving a reluctant nod. He reached beneath the desk and took out a payment syringe. ‘Show me your arm, please.’ I rolled up the sleeve on my right arm and immediately cursed myself. I should’ve gone with the left. But it was too late. Taking one look at the telltale pinpricks on my arms, Philip froze. ‘No way. I can’t take from you when your arm looks like this. Not without a level test.’ A level test was one of the Overlord’s greatest inventions. Their tool to make sure that their precious livestock didn’t accidentally bleed themselves dry. At that moment, it was my worst nightmare. My personal lie detector. I snatched my arm away, and Philip stared straight into my eyes. ‘Frank, I can’t serve you if you won’t let me take a level test. I need to know how many units you have left.’ I glanced around to make sure no one could overhear, then leaned in close to whisper into his ear. ‘Then just let me take the bottle. You’ve told me that stock goes missing all the time.’ He reeled. ‘Stuff like candy and beef jerky, not medicine! I’ll lose my job! No, why don’t you try another pharmacy? Maybe they won’t ask for a test.’ It was a weak argument, and he knew it. I shook my head. ‘I’ve already tried everywhere else. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to put you in this position, but I don’t have a choice. Please, you’re my last hope. You’re Katy’s last hope. Do this for me, do it for her!’ He wouldn’t even look at me as he shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Frank. I just can’t do it. If I take you below the redline and anyone finds out, I’m a dead man walking. You know the law.’ The redline. Eight units. The minimum reserve of blood we have to hold back. The concrete law set down by the Overlords to protect their blood supply. Their food supply. That’s ultimately all they care about. It’s the only reason any of us are still breathing. Maybe that sounds brutal, but the world isn’t really that different to how it was before. The Overlords don’t go around opening up people’s veins on a whim, not anymore. They quickly found that keeping society running as normal was much more effective. So how do they get their blood? The same way the powerful always get what they want, money. They made blood the only acceptable currency and swiftly and publicly executed anyone trying to buy so much as a loaf of bread with anything else. It worked like a charm. Money always has a way of collecting at the top, and before long, the Overlords had more blood than they could drink in a thousand years. But none of that mattered to me right now. I raised my voice, beyond caring if anyone overheard. ‘You really won’t do it? Jesus Philip, you came to my wedding. You came to Katy’s christening. You won’t do this for her?’ I slammed my fist onto the counter. ‘Look at me, dammit!’ He still wouldn’t meet my eye. ‘I can’t, Frank, I’m sorry,’ he whispered. ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Screw you.’ I whirled towards the exit, but Philip called out to me. ‘Wait.’ Whirling about, I saw him holding a miniature bottle of whiskey he’d had stashed under the counter. He offered it to me. ‘At least have a drink. You could definitely use it.’ Typical Philip. He wouldn’t bend the rules to save a child’s life, but drinking on the job? That was fine. Still, I snatched the bottle from his hand and stormed out the door into the smog-filled street. Ripping off the cap, I took a deep swig, stomped a few steps down the road, then screamed and hurled the bottle into the ground. It shattered, throwing whiskey and chunks of glass everywhere. Most of the glass disintegrated into dust, but not all of it. I spotted a particularly nasty shard about the length of my finger. Picking it up, I turned it over in my hand. It had a nice weight to it and was sharp, very sharp. As sharp as a knife. At that moment, it felt like a gift from the universe. A sign. I looked at the pharmacy, clutching the shard in my hand. I could take what I wanted now. What I needed. Philip was a coward. He wouldn’t try to stop me. Sure, the police would be after me, but I could hide. They’d catch up to us eventually, but not before the medicine had time to work. I took a step towards the door. Katy will be alright without me. She’ll be taken into care. Another step. The Overlords don’t waste human lives. Our blood is too valuable for that. Another step. Although ... I paused. I’d heard stories about some of those homes for parentless children. Bad stories. Stories of abuse and suffering. I took a step back. Then another. And another. As the first tear ran down my face, I slumped to the ground. I don’t know how long I sat there. It could’ve been seconds, minutes, or even hours. All I know is that for that time, however long it was, I existed in my own personal hell. When I came back to reality, I rose to my feet. I had one final option. Another cashier had told me about a man he knew with a warehouse at the edge of town. A man who was a little less worried about following the Overlord’s rules. It was risky. The unregistered economy threatened the Overlords’ entire system, and the punishments for black market traders reflected as much. It was death, not just for the perpetrator but for their immediate family too. If I went to this warehouse, Katy might die. But if I didn’t, she would certainly die. I didn’t have a choice. I found the warehouse tucked away from prying eyes in a rat run of alleyways. It struck me as a petty criminal’s paradise, providing shelter and dozens of escape routes. Stepping up to an open garage door, I called out. ‘Hello. Is anybody here?’ A man’s smiling, ruddy face popped out from behind a tower of crates. ‘Can I help you?’ he asked. ‘Uh, yeah, I hope so. Benny sent me. He said you could sell me some... stuff.’ The man’s smile broadened into a grin, revealing a row of immaculate teeth, and he ushered me inside. ‘Well then, come in, come in. Any friend of Benny’s is a friend of mine.’ He swung the door open wide and looked at me expectantly. Taking a deep breath, I entered. I followed as the man led me along a maze-like passage through his horde of boxes and crates until we came to a pair of plush floral armchairs and a small wooden coffee table. He slumped into one chair and gestured towards the other. ‘Don’t be shy. Take a seat!’ Gingerly, I perched on the edge of the chair, taking the chance to study my host. This whole time, the smile had never left his face. He was also plump, not a common trait these days. Clearly, his business was doing well. ‘My name’s Charles, but everyone calls me Charlie,’ he said. ‘What’s your name?’ ‘Frank,’ I replied. ‘Frank who?’ ‘Frank Wilson.’ He leaned closer. ‘Well, Frank Wilson. Tell me about yourself. What do you do for a living?’ ‘I work in a Nilecorp Warehouse.’ He grimaced. ‘Oof, tough gig. I hear those guys don’t even let you take bathroom breaks.’ ‘They don’t.’ ‘I bet you need a good support network to deal with that. You have a family?’ I nodded. ‘A daughter. Katy.’ He brightened immediately. ‘A daughter!? How wonderful. How old is she?’ ‘Six.’ ‘What about her mother?’ My jaw tightened. I’d always thought criminals prized secrecy and privacy. I didn’t expect an interrogation. ‘Why all the questions?’ I snapped. He held up his hands in surrender. ‘Woah. Easy tiger. I like to get to know my potential customers, that’s all. Anyone walking through my door is desperate. I’m just trying to work out what kind of desperate you are.’ I sighed. ‘Fine. Her mother died. Happy now?’ Charlie winced. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. Truly. To lose a loved one is a terrible thing. There’s been no one else since?’ I shook my head. ‘No. It’s just us.’ ‘Alright then.’ He nodded. ‘I think I’ve got the idea. Now, what can I do for you?’ ‘I need some antibiotics for Katy. She has crimson fever.’ Charlie sucked in his breath. ‘Nasty. But why have you come here? That’s the sort of thing you could get elsewhere for far less than I’ll charge.’ ‘The pharmacies wouldn’t sell to me.’ ‘Why?’ I saw no point in lying. He’d soon discover the truth as all the others had. ‘Because I’m on the redline,’ I said. He snorted. ‘Typical. Well, you won’t have that problem here. Point-four units, and they’re yours.’ ‘Deal,’ I said immediately. Charlie rubbed his hands together and beamed. ‘Wonderful. Tell you what, since I like you, I’ll offer you a little added bonus.’ He moved over to the nearest crate and took out a small tin. Popping off the lid, he strode over to me and thrust it under my nose. The tin was filled to the brim with chocolate chip cookies. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘Have one of these. It’ll help.’ I frowned. ‘Help? How?’ He grinned. ‘There’s iron powder baked into them. It’ll strengthen your blood a bit. Make sure it has all the goodies it’s meant to have.’ I took one, and I have to admit, it was delicious. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘I’ll fetch the meds and my payment syringe.’ He bustled away, vanishing back into the maze of his stock. While I waited, I took the chance to study the room more closely. Charlie seemed to sell everything. I saw gun cases, cartons of cigarettes, crates of booze, and, yes, bottles filled with medicines of all kinds. It took me longer than I like to admit to realise it, but eventually, it hit me. Included in the many bottles stashed in this very annex were several types of antibiotics. In that case, what was taking Charlie so long? Surely he wasn’t still looking for his payment syringe? I tried to rise, intending to search for him, only to find that my legs wouldn’t respond. I tried again. Nothing. Frowning, I pushed down on the arms of the chair, trying to leverage myself up. I succeeded, only to fall as my legs gave out beneath me. Lying flat on my face, I heard a chuckle as Charlie stepped out from behind one of the crates. A broad smile still split his face, but it was now more leer than anything else. ‘Good. I was beginning to think you’d never even try to get up,’ he said. Eyes blazing with fury, I glared at him. ‘What have you done to me?’ I demanded. He chuckled again. ‘Lower body paralysis. Makes you a little more malleable. Though, to be honest, it might have been unnecessary. You look half-dead anyway.’ ‘The cookie.’ He nodded. ‘Clever boy. Yes. The cookie.’ ‘Why are you doing this?’ Charlie snorted. ‘Why? You really think I make a living selling to sad sacks like you?’ At the blank look on my face, he snickered. ‘You were never my client, dummy. You’ve always been the merchandise. My real clients are of a different class. Powerful men with unique tastes.’ ‘What the hell are you saying?’ ‘I’m saying you’re about to be lunch.’ My face remained blank. Still, I didn’t understand, and with a theatrical sigh, he explained. ‘Not all the Overlords are on board with this whole respecting mortal life deal. Some of them prefer a more... organic meal.’ His grin somehow managed to widen. ‘You’re about to make me a hell of a lot of money.’ ‘You won’t get away with this,’ I said, though, in my heart, I knew it to be untrue. He laughed. ‘Of course I will. Who’s going to come and save you, little Katy? I don’t think so. Mr Henry will drink you dry, then I’ll dump your body in some miserable slum, and the authorities will blame your death on a rabid renegade. They’ll call it a tragedy, say some nice words, and then everyone will forget you ever existed.’ Charlie pulled me back into the armchair and I raised my head to face him, eyes wild. ‘Please, don’t do this. Katy needs me. I’m all she has.’ He looked me straight in the eye and grinned. ‘Don’t worry. Without those antibiotics, I’m sure you’ll be reunited soon enough.’ Letting out a roar, I tried to punch him, but he batted my arm away with ease. My hand slapped against the side of my leg. I felt something hard in my pocket, something sharp. The glass shard. My gift from the universe. I slipped my hand into my pocket and wrapped it around the cold glass. I just needed him to get closer. Looking into his eyes, I said. ‘I misjudged you,’ ‘You certainly did,’ he agreed. ‘I thought you were a man of the world. An independent businessman. It turns out you’re just a glorified burger flipper.’ His grin morphed into a snarl, and his red face grew redder still. ‘You insolent little shit.’ As he leaned in to slap me across the face, I saw my opening and took it. I lashed out with the glass shard, slicing it towards his throat. A thin red line appeared in its wake. Charlie opened his mouth, probably trying to hurl some insult or cry of outrage my way, but all that came out was a strange, gurgling sound. That, and a growing stream of blood. Seconds later, he slumped to the ground at my feet, dead. I exhaled in relief, but I wasn’t done yet. I still had to escape, no easy task without working legs. I tried to come up with a plan, but the best I could think of was dragging myself out by my hands alone. As it happened, I never had time to attempt even that. ‘My, oh my. What do we have here?’ said a prim and proper voice. Before me stood a tall, slender man wearing a neat, tailored suit. He looked and spoke like a Regency gentleman. He probably was a Regency gentleman once upon a time. The crimson pinpricks in his eyes and his pale, paper like skin were telltale signs that this was no mortal. This was an Overlord. Mr Henry had arrived. The blood, what little I had left, froze in my veins. Mr Henry surveyed the scene and cocked his head. ‘I see that you’ve killed Charles.’ ‘He didn’t give me much choice,’ I replied. He chuckled. ‘I’m quite sure that he didn’t. He always was a diligent hound. Still, it seems I owe you my thanks.’ I frowned. ‘Your thanks?’ ‘Indeed. Charles was becoming rather too sure of himself for my taste. I would likely have been required to terminate him myself before too long. However, this situation does still leave me with a problem to solve. What should I do with you?’ He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘Tell me, what is your name? Too petrified to even consider lying, I told the truth. ‘Frank. Frank Wilson.’ He smiled. ‘Well, Mr Wilson, I believe I’ve reached a decision. Since you were the one to deprive me of my last servant, I think it’s only fitting that you help me fill the role, don’t you? Tell me, would you like a job?’ Two weeks later Frank Wilson entered the pharmacy and waltzed right up to the counter. He carried a brown paper bag in his arms. When Philip saw his approach, he greeted his friend with a tentative smile. ‘It’s good to see you, Frank,’ he said. ‘You look better. How’s Katy?’ Frank grinned back at him. ‘She’s fine. A friend helped me out.’ Philip raised his eyebrows and let out a low whistle. ‘He must be a generous friend.’ ‘Trust me. He can afford it,’ Frank said with a laugh. ‘Listen. About before. I put you in a difficult situation. I’m sorry. Philip shook his head. ‘Don’t worry about it. You were protecting your daughter, I understand.’ ‘I do worry about it, though, so I brought you a present.’ Frank opened the bag. ‘Would you like a cookie?’


Superb ! This new motorbike is so much better than the old one, more power and more responsive, and today is ideal for a bike ride, cloudy but dry. See how easy it is to overtake this lorry, and get back into my lane well before the top of the hill. "Oh, no !" I shout, braking hard, "Get out of the way !" Blackness. Silence. Now I’m back on the road, on a different motorbike, and this road is different, in a different countryside, and now the weather is sunny. No other traffic either. I come to a town and see a man waiting by the road. I stop. "Where am I," I ask. "This is Bugle Four," he replies and then asks, "What time do you have ?" I look at the watch on my wrist, "Ten past three." He doesn’t seem interested in my reply and I notice that his own watch shows a very different time. I wonder what sort of place would have a town called Bugle Four. He looks towards the distant mountains and says, "There’s a bad storm up there now." "Really, the weather up there looks the same as here." "Not a weather storm," he says, "a time storm." He pauses and suggests, "If you are thirsty there is a restaurant on the other side of the road." I enter the restaurant. I feel some coins in my pocket and join the short queue. The man in front gets a drink. "Same again," I order, for fear of not knowing what the drink might be called. "That’ll be fourteen (somethings), sir," says the waiter. I don’t catch the word so I take all the coins from my pocket and hold them out in my hand. "I hope this is enough." The lady in the queue behind me smiles and asks, "Can I help ?" I look at her imploringly and she takes three of the coins and hands them to the waiter saying, "Me too," and then to me, "would you like to join me ?" We sit at a table. She says, "I have been away from Bugle Four for a while and just got back today. I’m waiting for my friend. You seem to be a stranger here. Where are you staying ?" "I don’t have anywhere arranged yet." "Then stay with me. I live on my own and I’m sure you have some interesting tales you can tell me." "But, I don’t know you, and you’re a woman and I’m a man." "Don’t worry," she says, laughing, "I see from your watch that we’re not at all compatible, so the chances of anything happening are very remote." Someone turns up the sound of the television in the corner of the room. "Here is the time forecast." Everyone is silent and turns towards the screen. "The general situation. The low over the mountains will gradually fill and move away to the North East. This will leave an area of relative calm and steady time except that locally around Bugle Four there may be some isolated time storms." Time storms ? What can they be ? My new friend pulls a calculator from her handbag and furiously does some calculations. "Oh, no. That means that my tax form for next year was due last week !" She explains, "This is what happens when you travel as much as I do. Look, I’m awfully sorry, but I really must go and get this thing done. Ah, here comes my friend, Lumaga, perhaps you can stay with her." Lumaga takes her place. There is an embarrassing silence. I lamely say, "The weather is very nice here today." "The weather ? Oh yes, it's nice, well, it’s always nice of course. If it rains it’s nice, if there is a breeze it’s nice. What time do you have ?" "It must be four o’clock by now," I say. She seems excited by this and then asks, "Did you see that programme on television about parallel universes ?" I shake my head. "It was so interesting. A lady scientist said that there could be other universes parallel to ours where things could be slightly different, and other universes which could be so different that we would not recognise anything. She said there might be a universe like ours but where time is the same everywhere and progresses at a steady rate, and it is the weather which is so variable, and needs forecasting." Well, she got that right - that’s my universe, with weather forecasts and steady time, and clearly not what they have here, where I am now. As Lumaga and I go to her place I notice she keeps trying to read my watch. When we get there she grabs my wrist and carefully compares my watch with hers. "So close," she says. "Actually you are the person with the closest time I have ever met, except for someone I met once with exactly the same time as me, but she was a Christian lady from the first century and had moved twenty centuries forward. Can you imagine, twenty whole centuries ? That’s very rare of course and she was gone in a moment." She looks again, "Even the dates are the same." "You look confused," she continues, "Time varies from place to place. Once I was in the next town and I telephoned my mother, and she was angry at me for waking her. It was two o’clock in the morning for her. I must have made a wrong calculation. Also time varies generally, that’s why the time forecasts are so important. In a town like Bugle Four the time will be more or less the same everywhere within it, but there will be local variations in people’s homes, although it will be fairly constant among the family members if they always live there, and of course everyone has their own individual time which their watch shows, and I’m so excited that ours are so similar." "Is there a danger of, um, you-know-what ?" "Falling in love ?" she laughs, "Oh, yes. We seem to like each other, because our times are so nearly coincident and I have been noticing that your time seems to be keeping pace with mine. This means we could be coincident for a long time." "So if our times are the same and they stay in step we could be good friends for ever," I suggest, "like two hearts beating together." "Yes, but we will have to wait until the morning," Lumaga continues, "to see how close our time rates are and then I can calculate how long our friendship will last. The calculator will show how long it will be before we get so out of step that we lose interest in each other." Like getting bio-rhythms in step. Perhaps this explains how people fall in and out of love - very interesting. "I think you had better sleep in the spare room," she laughs, "just in case our times really are in step." After breakfast next morning she compares our times, which by now are slightly different. "I calculate that we will be close friends for the next five years," she says, "that’s very good." "What happens after that ?" "After a further five years we are merely acquaintances, and after a further twelve years we will be completely out of step and have nothing in common at all - strangers." Like marriage and then divorce in my universe ? I change the subject. "You mentioned someone from the first century. Is that like time travel ?" "In a way, but that lady did not travel through time from the first to the twenty first century, but it was rather that time and everything around her was changing, and at different rates. Also it was not her choice, it just happened to her." Lumaga looks out of the window. "It’s a lovely day, of course," she says, "although perhaps a bit warmer than yesterday. Can we use your motorbike to go into the country for a picnic ?" She tells me the way, and we leave the motorbike and walk through some fields. Eventually we sit down under a tree. After we eat she seems very excited and says, "There is no-one else here and I want to do something for you, but you must promise you will stay sitting down and not get up or try to touch me." "Okay," I agree, wondering what she has planned. She fiddles around with the cassette recorder which she has brought and explains, "I have been practising this for some time, waiting for someone who’s time is the same as mine. I want to do a strip tease for you." "Oh, yes !" I exclaim, and then ask, "but what music will you use ?" "I’ve got Beethoven’s third symphony." "A symphony, Beethoven’s Eroica, for a strip tease ? All of it ?" I ask incredulously. "No, just the second movement, the first part of it - you’ll see when I’ve finished," she laughs, "but you must remember your promise." She puts the cassette recorder down on the grass, away from me and starts the music. Then she moves some way farther and starts to dance. She dances gracefully, perfectly in time with the music. She flings off her scarf and starts to unbutton her blouse. I notice that she is dancing faster, faster than the music. Now she is dancing so quickly that she cannot undo the next button, and she cries, "A time storm !" Lumaga falls to the ground. Now the music speeds up. There is a pause. The second movement has finished and the third starts, playing even faster. Now the time storm must be at the cassette recorder. Perhaps it’s like a very small black hole, distorting time locally, but without gravity having any other effect. Perhaps all the matter here has negative mass. No, that can’t be right, otherwise the black hole would repel it. Maybe the matter here has zero mass and so it is not attracted to the black hole. I think that the time storm is moving towards me. I notice that the leaves on the tree are turning orange, then brown, then they start to fall off. I see that Lumaga is moving very slowly now and hear that the music is also playing very slowly. The time storm must be on me now, speeding me up and making everything around me appear so slow. The time around me seems to be getting faster and faster. Blackness. Silence. "Where am I now ?" "Now, indeed ?" says a young woman with a lilting Irish accent. "And where else would you be but in hospital, in ward C4 to be precise." I open my eyes and see a nurse. She says, "I’m glad you’re awake now. You had an accident on your motor cycle and you have been unconscious for nearly three hours. We were quite worried about you at first, but then the instruments told us you would eventually be okay." I love the accent. "I had a wonderful dream, so real." "Huh, was it dreaming you were ?" Lumaga, Lumaga.


I'm not sure how active this sub is anymore, but I wanted to put this out there. I'm not a very frequent writer, but I felt I had to get this down, and get it out there. I do want to know what you think, so please be honest! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ *There's a certain amount of irony here,* I thought, in a moment of self-consciously dramatic pause. As familiar as this street was, I kept expecting someone I knew to be in one of the passing cars. Maybe they'd lend a hand. Give me a lift. Maybe they would notice something was off, and they'd ask if anything was wrong. But no; first it had been a taxi, a garish blur of yellow through the stale smoke I blew in front of me. Next, a pizza delivery car. More than unfamiliar, they seemed foreign, and inauthentic, on my well trodden path to the library. *Is that even ironic?* I still couldn't keep up with what irony was and wasn't. I was shaken out of my self-pity for just a moment when I realized I couldn't feel my fingers. I'd taken my gloves off to better double fist a coffee and a cigarette. Not the "I'm so sophisticated" kind of coffee and cigarette my British friends liked to very publicly have in front of the hip coffee shop while sporting designer sunglasses and a single earbud in, but the "I'm so fucked" kind of coffee and cigarette I liked to very privately have on my way to write a 25 page research paper I hadn't started yet for a class I haven't been to in a month. *And we're back,* I snidely remarked to myself, as my thoughts returned to self-pity. A college facilities truck rolled past, kicking up a frigid dust. I took a drag. I took a sip. I wondered why I'd dug myself this stupid, stupid hole. I took a drag. I took a sip. I wondered how close I could get to 25 pages in 15 hours. I took a very long drag, and a very long sip. *It's definitely something, if not ironic.* Am I thinking of symbolism? Does my lonely trip to campus represent something? Do those anonymous drivers hold some kind of deeper meaning? *Is that Ryan? Oh - no. Just a pickup.* I sighed deeply, and tapped my cigarette, knocking the ash off the end. I was being dramatic, and I knew it. *"What's the best way to get out of a field of shit?"* I heard him asking in my head. "Get up and start walking," I mumbled, the frozen air crystallizing my words as they left my lips. He'd always said that to me. *It's that "get up" part that's the problem.* What are you supposed to do when you can't bring yourself to care that you're lying in shit? I mean, I know it's shit, but if I close my eyes and hold my breath, I can pretend it's not. Fuck me, I thought. When did I get so dramatic? I took a drag. *What am I, a girl?* An image flashes in my head: I'm *dressed* as a girl, wearing some ridiculous flowery skirt I picked up from the Goodwill, and she's got on one of my shirts, with one of my baseball caps pulled over her bouncy curls. It was our first theme party: dress up as your date. We look goofy. I could see her so clearly; her cheeks rosy from the gin and tonics we thought we were fancy for drinking, her eyes shut tight and her face scrunched as she strikes a funny pose for a photo. I can feel her soft curves through the flannel of my shirt as I wrap my arm around her, and I can smell the perfume she wore. *Did she wear it for me?* I make eyes at her - for the photo of course - and the flash goes off. We smile, we laugh, and we go for another drink. I looked up from my feet, and I looked back. *Shit.* I'd walked right past the library. I groaned, kicking myself, took a drag, and almost turned around, when I remembered where I was. I faced forward again; I choked on the smoke. *That bridge.* It had been three months since I'd laid eyes on that pond, that bridge. That damned bridge. I remembered the morning after the theme party, walking past that pond, that bridge, wondering if what they said about it was true. That if you took a girl across it, you'd be destined to be together forever. *Of course it's not true,* I'd thought, but I couldn't help but imagine taking her there. Brushing strands of blonde hair out of her face as I kissed her at the crest of that bridge. That damned bridge. I found myself sitting on a bench near the edge of the pond, and my mind was stuck on blonde hair again. Not hers, though. His. *Fuck.* My chest tightened. I got up to leave, but I couldn't turn away. The clouds of my breath were more distinct here, near the water, floating out over the pond like ghosts. *Just look away. Please.* But I knew I wouldn't. I hadn't been able to three months prior. I wasn't able to in that moment either. *I have a fucking paper to write. I need to start this fucking paper.* My eyes were getting bleary, distorting the ghosts I couldn't tear my gaze from. What would he say if he saw me right now? I wondered. I heard him in my head again. *"You're being a bitch, Dean. You're being a total fucking bitch right now."* He said it with a laugh. I knew he was right. He was always fucking right. I was being a bitch. But it was his fault. And I tried to tell him so. "It's your fucking fault, John," I managed to whisper, weakly, with a shaky breath. I knew I was wrong. It was his fault he had killed himself, sure. But it wasn't his fault I was being a bitch. It just felt good to blame him. That selfish fuck. I felt a buzz in my pocket. I pulled out my phone. "How's your paper coming?" she'd texted me. "Great. Working hard. I'll text you in a bit." "<3." *Yeah right.* I pocketed my phone. She wouldn't come to get me, not like she'd done three months ago when I'd knelt for hours in the mud at the edge of the pond, staring at that bridge, crying, empty. If I told her where I was, she'd tell me to stop wallowing. She always said that. *Fucking wallowing. I hate that word.* That's why I'd stopped talking to her about it. That's why we'd been so distant recently. *This is your fault too, John,* I lied. *Goddamn it, my paper.* The paper just felt so worthless. It all felt worthless. Parties felt worthless. Eating felt worthless. Showering felt worthless. Getting up and going to class felt worthless. Hell, getting up at all felt worthless. I didn't see the point. All I could see was John hanging from that bridge, gently swinging, back and forth. That goddamned, fucking bridge. I flicked my cigarette into the pond. I set the cold dregs of my coffee down on the bench next to me. I squeezed my eyes shut and took a deep breath. I sat there for a while, just breathing that bitingly cold air deep into my lungs. "Beautiful, huh?" A voice from behind the bench startled me. I opened my eyes, and turned around. Some short, brown-haired girl, wearing earmuffs and a black coat, both of which seemed comically large for her frame, stood hugging her arms around her torso. "What?" "That bridge. It's so pretty at night. When they light it up. Isn't it?" She glanced up, toward the bridge at my back. She glanced back at me; her eyes were a pure, icy blue in the light. Her smile turned up in one corner of her mouth, sort of half crooked. "Oh. Uh, yeah." I glanced away. My brow furrowed. "I'm... sorry to have bothered you. Have a good night." I'd been too gruff. She turned on her heels and left. First I cursed her, but then I cursed myself. *You ass. She just wanted to talk. She didn't know.* It was starting to snow gently. A delicate calm settled over the pond. I looked at the bridge again, watching shadows dance across it, and thought about how stupid I'd been to have hoped for a friend to appear on the road earlier. I wasn't even sure anyone would've stopped for me. I'd been so detached from the people I cared about. I felt so lonely, so desolate. I wondered, for a moment, if this was how John felt before he did it. *People don't just show up with free bundles of joy,* I thought. *No one just shows up with a smile -* In an instant, I looked up, away from the pond, away from the bridge. She was still in eyesight. Something took over me; I shouted, "Hey! Hey, wait up!" She stopped and turned around. She still had her arms wrapped around herself. She seemed confused. "What?" she asked, terse. *You know, that crooked smile was kind of charming.* "Just wait a second!" Paper be damned. I got up, and started walking.


Running through the large open fields toward the great forest was like running through the shallow landing of water on a beach. Cosmo needed to get to the train, not just because of the need to survive; but also the need to protect his family and friends. If he could get to London in time, everyone might just survive. If he could make it, then Thistle could live a good life. Thistle is Cosmo's best friend. He was always there for Cosmo and he trusted Thistle with his life, not that there was much to live of it. With Cosmo being 15 and Thistle being 17, it was a bit hard for them to bond without people hating the relationship they had. One of the many reasons they were forced out of the town and into the Rimstone Fields. Nothing ever survived in those desolate Fields, so Cosmo needed to go to London for one reason; to find someone who would accept who he was, who his family was. Outcasts, Queers, and different from others. With hair as white as snow, and skin as pale pink as Clementi Flowers. Cosmo and Thistle had a less than normal relationship; always having a fluttering feeling in the depts of their stomachs. Or turning a dark rouge when first seeing each other. People of this time hated "abnormal" people. Ones with different colored skin, or no skin color at all. Ones with weird eyes or different emotional feelings, not that Cosmo had feeling for Thistle. Besides, even if he did, who knows if Thistle liked him back. That was a close to none possibility, wasn't it? Besides, they couldn't be together. Even if it was in secret...Not that Cosmo wanted to be in a relationship, because he doesn't like Thistle at all. But it still made him upset to think about it. Cosmo could hear the whistle of the train in the distance, snapping him back to reality, getting louder. He was almost there! Just a little farther and he could save the people he loves most. 1....2......3......4.......5........6..........whistles. Shit, the train is boarding. Cosmo ran as fast as he could, burning his lungs like never before. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears. The need and the want to give up was so strong that he could've stopped and walked back to the tree his family was near. Or he could be the town hero, and help his family and friends live in luxury instead of in exile. The choice was almost made for him when he remembered that he would most likely die trying to save everyone from the discrimination. Maybe they would die before he could find someone to house them or support their unique differences. Right now, he couldn't think about those things. He had to stay focused and run faster then he was running, jumping over logs, and shooting the dirt up into oblivion behind every step. Snap.... What was that? Doesn't matter, Cosmo had to make it to the train before it left. 1.......2.......3........4........5.........6........7.........whistles. NO! He had to make it! Snap, rustle, crack.....Thump. Thump! THUMP! "HEY!!" A loud, booming, deep voice could be heard behind Cosmo, making him run faster. "Go Away! You can't stop me!" Cosmo shouted back in response. The footsteps became louder as the person gained on Cosmo. The final whistle could be heard so loud, Cosmo could almost touch it. The smell of burning oil and coal was so strong that it could've withered a bush with ease. Suddenly a hand grabbed Cosmo's wrist, making him stop abruptly. "Let me go! I'm almost there!" Cosmo started to cry, "I have to save them, I have to save them all before they get hur-" Cosmo's words were stolen by a heat on his mouth. He tried to pull away before he saw the smooth dark skin and the long eyelashes. When the kiss ended, Cosmo's voice became small and suppressed as he said, "Thistle?" The train was leaving, but nothing mattered in that moment. "Don't do this, you'll die!" Thistle put an arm around Cosmo's waist, pulling him in closer, "We don't need you to give us luxury and risk your life in the process." Thistle looked deeply into Cosmo's eyes, searching for a reply. But Cosmo was too flustered to think. The whistle of the train sounded one last time as it left. Bringing Cosmo back to his original goals. "No! I have to get to the train!" Cosmo wiggled out of Thistle's grasp and started to run towards the track. "You don't! Stay here with me!" Thistle said desperately while chasing after Cosmo. When Cosmo saw the train racing off on the track, he didn't bother to do anything. He plopped down on his knees on the side of the track, feeling nothing but guilt for not being able to catch it in time. Thistle came to Cosmo's side and helped him up. Having Cosmo stand directly in front of him. "We need you more then we need acceptance and luxury.." Thistle said in a soft voice that made Cosmo look at him. "Really?" Cosmo's voice was so surprised and precious that Thistle's face changed color to a dark, deep maroon. Cosmo raised on his tippy-toes to reach Thistle. Kissing him passionately with Thistle's large body supporting his own. Making Cosmo feel safe and secure, turning his stomach into a stew of butterflies; while they both melted together, neither of them wanting to let go. Knowing they would have to make they're way to their home, they let all their repressed feelings of fear of rejection and hidden admiration out affectionately. Eventually, they let go of each other, only to cling like magnets. Teeth-full smiles and moist lips, anticipating another loving embrace. Hand in hand, the boys made their way back to the run-down campsite they called home. Stealing kisses along the way, and enjoying the momentarily peace. Ready to fight against the towns people to accept unique personalities back into the community.


We had been kicked out of our Airbnb. A tiny guest house behind a real house about a half mile from Bondi Beach. After Australia’s lockdowns were lifted, rentals were tight in the city. Another more desirable tenant had replaced us. Lately I had also begun to wonder if, instead of being here on the other side of the world, we should be in Brooklyn visiting my daughter in university, but the immediate concern at that moment was the day’s move to our new place of shelter. Two large suitcases stood next to us as we waited on the main street of Bondi for a taxi. June being winter, there were not many tourists and not many taxis. The street was busy with a morning crowd; women in yoga pants, fashionable people walking their dogs, real estate agents, office workers picking up coffee. No one walking past noticed us standing next to our mismatched suitcases in our hastily chosen clothes . When you are doing something expected you become invisible. It's good not to be judged. Finally, we spotted a taxi headed in the other direction. He saw us waiting with our suitcases, waved, then pointed an index finger upward and mimed twirling a dinner plate, the universal gesture for “I'm turning around and will come back to get you.” Ten minutes later he still hadn't reappeared. We had time. It was three hours to check-in and I calculated it was a 45-minute drive. The only Airbnb we could find was in the far Northern Suburbs. The crowd-sourced neighborhood info website, ‘HoodsMap’ showed it in an empty zone between two other areas labelled “Cashed up bogans” and “Murder your whole family”. Neither sounded promising, so we were not in a hurry. After another ten minutes, the taxi finally showed up and was heading our way. “I can see it now!” I said to my wife. But when the car approached, I saw it was a different guy - a white haired older man. By this point, it felt miraculous to be spotted by any driver and to be wanted as a customer. He stopped, jumped out smiling and flung our 50 pound suitcases into the trunk before I noticed his advanced age. The driver began speaking as soon as we got in the car, “My parents came to Australia in 1938. They were Jewish and escaped from Germany” was his conversation opener. An interesting personal story followed but as we drove faster and faster I thought more and more of requesting we stop so we could get out and perhaps read about the holocaust in the library. But with two heavy suitcases, the uncertainty of finding the next taxi and the weight of politeness, I decided to roll the dice and stay with this one. Five minutes later, the driver, who I now saw to be nearing the age of 80, was driving extremely fast down a main artery in Eastern Sydney in heavy traffic when he turned fully around and looked toward the back seat. “Sorry I can’t talk now, I need to concentrate on the driving” I agreed that not talking was an acceptable idea. He grabbed the stick shift and downshifted. The engine growled. We overtook the car next to us and passed across two lanes in front of the other car to make the next turn. I had been in fear of my life for much of the ride so far. To reduce my anxiety I practiced the grounding technique I’d learned recently. Look at 3 objects, listen to 3 sounds, feel 3 things. Don’t rush. Be fully mindful. Repeat. It didn't work so I asked my wife Trish how she was doing. Fine, she said, she was enjoying our driver's storytelling. She hadn’t noticed the dangerous driving at all, she’s more trusting of people. The car lurched and we took another sudden left turn. My fear of traffic accidents started with a motorcycle spill in my 20s. After falling off I slid helplessly along the pavement and watched the car behind me close in, believing it was my last moment on earth. Luckily the driver was alert and he stopped his car just in time. Since then, I have had a paranoia about things suddenly going wrong with vehicles. To switch to lighter topics, I asked the driver “Your accent sounds... British?” He paused, this could be a touchy topic between Australians and Brits. America and UK might be distant cousins, but Australia and the UK are competitive siblings. “I'm Australian but yes I spent time in the UK.” As we neared the Harbour Bridge our car entered the Cahill tunnel, we were now past the point of no return. There were no stopping places from here on. The driver collected his thoughts for a moment and continued, “You see I spent time in the UK because I found God, and now I follow his path.” I was being driven at high speed by a zealous missionary. I hoped the path he spoke of was straight down the center of the highway. But I’ve learned everyone has their own version of a higher power and maybe I need to keep an open mind. People in religions and those not religious are perhaps just using different words for the same thing. To be agreeable I replied “That’s great, we are all on different paths.” The conversation then took a completely unexpected turn. “You see, I was there because my son followed his path and became a professional footballer in the UK” “Wow!” I said, “Is he still there?” “Yes, he’s still in the UK, he’s 34 now. He follows God’s path.” I wasn't much for religious talk but suddenly now we were in the car of sports celebrity. Possibly someone like Beckham? This was good. The driver said, “My son was good at sports. When he was 13, he said ‘Dad, I want to be a professional footballer’” This was getting interesting, but he needed to concentrate on driving again. I pondered how to ask him his son’s name so I could then do some Googling and collect celebrity gossip to tell in the future at parties. Because we had a long way to go to our destination, I decided to play the long game. “Do you have any other children?” I asked. “A daughter she was a swimmer, when she was 5 years old she said 'dad take me to the pool..'” He drifted off, and didn’t seem to want to talk more about her. “But my son, he was the one really into sport, he never stopped moving. He could never sit still, he caused a lot of trouble before he found his love for football.” He told a story about his son: “One day, I looked in my wallet and money was missing. What can you do as a parent?” “I asked him, ‘Son, did you take my money?’” “‘No, Dad.’” “‘I counted it, I know you took it.’” “‘Sorry.’” “‘My question, is why did you take a 100? If you took a 10, maybe I wouldn’t have noticed.’” “‘A 100 is more.’” "What can a parent do?” The driver shrugged. “So I asked the priest what I can do about my son.” “The priest said, ‘Think about yourself and your own actions’”. “And yes, when I was young, I took money. My father would hide his wallet above the cabinet behind the vase. And I would climb up and take 10 dollars.” His story over he drove silently for a while. I felt I was left waiting for the punchline to an intriguing Challenge of Parenting story. “So, what did you do? How did you punish your son?” I asked. “I told my son to pray to god for forgiveness.” "Nice!" I replied and thought about how that must have gone. That did seem like an infinitely better ending than an episode of parental violence or abandonment. I decided to remember the parable for future reference. “And now he is following the path god set for him,” he had said that quite a few times already. “Is he still playing football?” I asked. “Well, you see, he was working a lot with young people in football and they liked him. He followed his path and has become a minister and is now leading a youth ministry” I had all sort of questions about his son’s football career, was he famous? Did he leave because he had an injury? Trish tapped my arm. She leaned over and whispered very quietly, “he didn't mention his wife, she must have passed away”. She is often perceptive to things that I am not. Our driver's talkativeness suddenly made more sense. We arrived in Ryde, the North Sydney suburb where our next Airbnb was located. Our driver jumped out the door and went back and flung the heavy suitcase out of the trunk. “At my age, I’m happy to be working.” I offered a generous tip. He refused to accept it, gave us a big smile and drove off.


There are wolves fighting in my soul, one of white fur, which is now matted down with blue tears and bright red blood. One so large and mighty now so weak and small. She tries to fight them, keep them back, but they keep winning out each time. The black wolves of hate, fear, distrust and anger come at her in waves. She remembers a time when she was a lone wolf merely just watching the grey wolves until one came to her. He was gorgeous, and wonderful, so full of love and lust even through the Past’s misdeeds. She loved him, she could see a world with their own pack, but then one of the wolves of the grey pack became green, her fur growing thick with moss. Suddenly the pack of grey wolves began to darken their true colors coming forth, wolves of black and such a deep gray came forth. The white wolf still had her amazing beauty, but the fur of her lover still shone with his beautiful grey streaks but the black was beginning to fade in. she held onto him until he left her as the black fully consumed his coat. She wanted to run and hide away, but he did nothing wrong, so she stayed with the black pack, somehow grew closer to the moss-ridden wolf. She was already friends with the moss-ridden one who disliked the way the others acted towards the deep ginger male. She tried to tell the moss ridden one to stop that nothing is wrong. The moss ridden wolf never listened, so the white wolf just tried to nudge her to the right path. As time went on the white wolf realized she had become had become close friends with the moss ridden wolf who’s grey fur was so covered in moss, she was green like the oversized lizards of the marshes. So the white wolf walked a thin path taking hits from the black pack while holding the moss ridden wolf’s tears on the other. Now her fur was that of a purple hue, a mix of the red hate from the black pack and the blue tears of the moss ridden wolf. Along her journey the now purple tinted wolf met a beautiful blonde bear who walked with her only when both the black pack and the moss ridden wolf were gone. “He’s no good for you” she would say as she walked on her lumbering legs before going back to her own life in the forest beyond. This repeated for too long before one day the black laced ginger wolf snapped at the moss ridden wolf causing her to run only coming back to the purple wolf to say goodbye. The black pack laughed as the purple wolf left her path to go to her den alone. She foolishly had gotten attached to the moss ridden wolf just to be left behind like yesterday’s meal. The black pack’s fur had faded, but the darkness never ceased. That night the purple tinted wolf weep silently to herself in her den before a badger wandered her way in. “Who hurt you? Who must I hurt for you? I love you like one of my own and so who must I hurt” the badger asked, as she watched the purple tinted wolf wept before she fell asleep. The purple tinted wolf woke up to find that the moss ridden wolf had come back, but when she tried to talk to her returned friend it took a turn for the worse. The moss ridden wolf wanted nothing to do with her old purple tinted friend. She had used a raven to listen in while she was gone to find out the truth. The purple tinted wolf tried to be nice and show her she still had a friend in her. The moss ridden wolf just looked at her and just stared as she croaked out her desires, “I only want my to talk to the one I love, for no one may have him but me!”. Her fur soon became thick like that of a lizard as she stumbled towards the pack. The pack just watched her advance and they laughed, until the now lizard like wolf turned and ran. The purple tinted wolf tried to help but the lizard like wolf only wanted to talk about the ginger colored wolf. The purple tinted one had enough at this point and she snapped. “I have spent the last month trying to be your friend during this whole thing, and honestly, I don’t want to hear about the pack! I went with you to hunt and roam to get away from them but all you did was mutter and groan about the pack who you have caused to turn against you!” The lizard like wolf just stared before she answered in a low growl “I will get him back! No one will stop me not even YOU!” “FINE, you want to abandon one of the only people that cares about you? Go right ahead!” The purple tinted wolf shouted as she stormed away back to the pack who she now understood. The pack received her in open paws and even through it all the purple wolf still cares about the now lizard like wolf. She just can't be her friend, yet she still cares and so the lives of the pack and the lizard like wolf continued on. One day when the purple tinted wolf was passing a lake, she noticed she now had a black streak running the length of her light purple body.


Aiden stormed out the door and reached for his car, just a minute away from strangling someone. Irritated, he grabbed his irresistible messy hair with both hands and scream his lungs out in the car. Fool of him for thinking this day would be normal. He was tricked again . He’d chose to wear a black t-shirt with a loose denim jacket on top of it and a pair of black skinny jeans and also a pair of black checkered Vans when his parents informed him of the family dinner. He’s been thinking of wearing smart casual kind clothes to the dinner. Aiden’s not into fashion so instead of wasting time trying to pair clothes that look cool and make girls drool when they look at him, he decided to wear whatever he feels comfortable wearing on this cloudless hot sunny day. Whatever, it’s not like wearing something cool makes me cool anyway . Aiden starts the car and drove past the enormous gate that helps secure his parents’ house. This house is not his anymore, he’d long for the day he can finally get out of that place and now he can come and go whenever he wants. It’s not like he doesn’t love his family. He does. But they get on his nerves sometimes and all he can do is breathe, in and out and in and out. He’s driving towards the south in a sudden downpour without knowing his exact destination. All he wanted was just to disappear. To get away from life. From everything. Without realizing, he’d zoned out replaying every single thing that his mother said while speeding at 95km/h. (Everyone must’ve seen this coming anyway) When Aiden finally zoned back in, he has already lost control over the car. It crashed to another car before hitting the barrier on the other side of the road. Unfortunately of him, the barrier broke and his car crashed after they fell from that sharp corner up there. The world then blackout before his eyes and before he knew it he was in a very deep sleep. When Aiden woke up a few hours later, he finds himself in a rather strange place, he figures that it is some kind of a forest. The highway’s gone. His car is gone. He cupped his face and then look at his hands and feet, there are no injuries, even after that fall. “Am I dead or is this a dream?” Aiden asks himself. “If this is a dream did I actually never get into an accident?” is the second thing he wanted to know after waking up. He checked his watch--not working, then his phone--not working either. Still clueless, he managed to walk a few steps ahead from where he was standing while rubbing his eyes, and when he looked up a whole new world he has never seen anywhere else before standing in front of him. Grasses made of crystals shimmers as the sunlight shines through the forest. Trees with shady orange leaves surrounding the forest give autumn vibes to whoever saw it. Their bulky trunks help them standstill on the ground. A few trees have their roots coming to the surface which makes it a really great spot to relaxed and rest after a long walk. Even the sky looks lovely-blue cloudy sky with a hint of purple. On one side, there’s a river flowed by a girl’s tears. She looks like a ghost from the 17 th century. Her pale skin illuminates the way a lightbulb would in the dark. Big round eyes full of sorrows stare down the river as she cries. Her lip forms a line showing no emotion. Beautiful crown-braided dirty blonde hair decorated with blue and purple flowers shines under the bright sunlight. She’s wearing a stunning blue dress long enough to hide her feet, with layered laces sewed on the wrist part and useless fabric buttons sewed on the chest just for the sake of stylishness. She looks like royalty. For someone that doesn’t care about fashion, Aiden finds that she wears the most fabulous dress ever, unlike the kind most girls wear to prom, this one is way better in the most sophisticated way. This girl, however, looks familiar in Aiden’s eyes. He then walks slowly towards her to confirm his confusion. “Amanda?” he said as he stands 3 meters behind her. The girl turns around and meets his eyes not saying anything to deny nor confirm that she is Amanda that he claims to be. But Aiden recognizes that eyes and beautiful lips that she refused to turn up into a smile. “It is you, you’re Amanda, right? I thought you were dead!” “I’m not Amanda...I’m Heartbroken” Wait, she can talk? Had she been lying to everyone all these years? And why is she here? How is she here? Aiden ignored every question that’s building up inside of him and say what he promised to say if they ever crossed paths again, even in dreams. “I know that you are and I’m sorry that I broke your heart...but please...would you please forgive me for what I had said that day?” “No.” She simply replied. “I’m not heartbroken . My name’s Heartbroken. Others have the same name as mine.” “Oh!” he’s speechless, doesn’t have any idea how to respond to this madness. But he knows she is totally Amanda. So, he created questions so he can keep on talking to her because now she had turned away after his ‘Oh’ and continue flowing the river with her cry. “By any chance, do you know where we are? And how can I get out of here?” “We’re at the land of Forgotten...and no...there’s no way out of here” “Stop messing with me Amanda!” he exclaimed furiously by her responds “Again. I. Am. Not. Amanda. I have no idea who she is. And you couldn’t get out of here until you’ve accomplished your mission like the other humans that accidentally came here.” She replied with the same steady voice from the beginning. “What mission?” “Judging by the way you look and how you talk so much I know that you’re not one of us. So you must’ve been here by mistake. You need to tell one of us how you felt before you got here and they need to do the same thing for you to get out of here. I don’t know how you got here but that’s all I know.” “What exactly does ‘one of us’ meant?” “It means you are not one of The Broken Angels. We are emotions and feelings that failed to be delivered before our owners are dead. We’re trapped here until we finally told a human what we felt before we die. And my name is Heartbroken probably because my owner is dead while she had her heartbroken. However, Forgotten is filled with things people ignore such as us the emotions, broken things that no one cared to repair, and ended up being buried at the back of their house or simply extinct animals that nobody cared about or remembers. There, I explained everything to you.” He’s tongue-tied again. Only then he realizes that this place is full of very old things, or simply unwanted--a few granddaddy clocks are laying around this place, old couches, music box. Besides that, he knew he saw a peacock when he walks over to Amanda (or Heartbroken), but now the peacock is nowhere to be seen, only a cat lingering near the river. This place is strange indeed, but what she said just doesn’t make any sense. “If I need to share my feelings to get out...let me ask you something.” He pauses and waits for her to say something when finally, she nods once allowing him to continue talking. “What makes you a Heartbroken?” “The thing about me is I don’t even know who my owner is before I got here or, but I think I remembered that someone told ‘me’ to get lost, that they are tired of being in a pointless relationship and that they are sick of communicating with ‘me’. So I guess my owner’s death while trying to ‘get lost’?” The part where someone told her to get lost is familiar to Aiden, he said that to her 3 years ago, before she’s gone from his life forever. Everything hasn’t been going the way he wants this week. He’s fired from his job, a few days ago he’d been told to pack his things because he hasn’t paid rent for 4 months-it’s not like he doesn’t want to, but everything is so expensive these days and..., today he’d been diagnosed with brain cancer. He doesn’t like money that much but somehow everything in this world requires money even when his life is at stake. Now his fiancée is standing in front of him and using sign languages asking when will they hold a wedding ceremony. Amanda is mute, but she could hear, so if she wants to say something she will use signs and Aiden will respond by talking. He’d learned sign language because he wanted to ask her out 3 years ago, then they promised to get married last year. But his mood is off and for an introverted person like him, talking is not something he likes very much. But Amanda doesn’t seem to get it, she kept on nudging him to talk. That’s when he lost control and yelled at her, “Could you please stop asking about the wedding! I don’t even have any money to pay for rent but you keep on asking me for things like marriage and a house! And for goodness’ sake do I have to read your signs every time I want your responses? How will you comfort me when I’m down? By using signs? I’m sick of needing to stare at your hands every time we talk. Can’t you see, our relationship is pointless. Unless you can talk like a normal person, get out of my sight at once!” Amanda then ran away reaching for her car and drive away from his house. Now he learned that Amanda is dead for 3 years, he felt so stupid and mad at himself for what he said to her. He couldn’t ask for her forgiveness, and he couldn’t visit her grave either since he doesn’t know where it is. Then he told the Heartbroken ‘Amanda’ how he felt before he got there. “My mother wants me to find my ex-fiancée and reconcile with her. So I’m mad because I don’t want to and I felt ashamed of what I’d said to her when we part ways. I was being a jerk to her before and I don’t deserve her forgiveness even if she had forgiven me. So I get out of the house and started driving. Then, I got into an accident and got here after I woke up.” He replayed everything from family dinner until the time he smashed the barrier and faint. Night has come and ‘Amanda’ is sitting beside him. They don’t talk, just staring at the river together and enjoying each other’s presents. Aiden still felt bad about Amanda, after all, she died while driving because he told her to get lost, but he tried to let go of the past. Hours pass by and he fell asleep. When he woke up the next morning, he finds himself on the bed. He looked around him and saw his best friend Jayden and his parents staring down at him. “Where am I?” “At the hospital. Everyone has been searching for you for five days. You got into an accident and fell off the highway. We searched and searched and by a miracle, you appeared laying down in between trees on day five. How did you even get there?” Jayden asks. He couldn’t answer them. All he could think about is ‘ Was all that a dream’ ? No one knows...


Dear Diary, Today was really annoying, my friend was being a jerk. Also, I started this diary because other than my mom I have no one to talk to but she’s busy with work. Anyways, jack was really pissing me off. Today at lunch he said I’m a right-footed player with two left feet. Everyone laughed at me, and so did Claire. I really like Claire but now she probably thinks I’m a joke cause of jack. I should tell him but what if he gets upset at me, or I hurt his feelings. Well I’m going to try tomorrow so he doesn’t do it again. That’s all for today diary, thanks for listening to me Evan stares at his diary, nodding his head as he reads it over, reassuring himself of his feelings. trying to get the courage to speak up to his friend tomorrow. He dives into bed after and hugs his blanket for comfort, the boy rolls back and forth in bed as he smiles and giggles. He lets out a sigh and whispers “Claire” under his breath. Both hands swiftly rush to his face, covering his mouth. His eyes sprung open, in shock. He giggles and then throws his blanket over his face and falls asleep. The morning wakes, and the boy does two takes on the clock before realizing he is one hour behind, he forgot to set an alarm. he springs out of bed and then runs to his mom’s room, lifting the blinds, he sees the school bus already outside his house, the last kid strolling into the bus. “No” Evan yells He scrambles to his room packing all his books, from his desk into his bag, then ransacks his wardrobe looking for a good outfit. Settling for a plain gray shirt and some Nike blue shorts, his next target is the washroom. Forcing his way through the heaps of clothes all over the floor, he escapes his mess of a room and now is stuck staring at the empty bottle of toothpaste. He squeezes as hard as he can until he realizes there’s not enough in there for him to get out. He steps out of the washroom and glances between his room and his mom’s room. Scissors Evan thinks, finally he settles for his mom’s room because there was no way he was finding his scissors in the state of his room. With the bottle of toothpaste in his hand, he makes his way into his mom’s room eyes scampering around looking for scissors. Target found, he jumps onto her bed and reaches for the scissors on the stool his mom places the night lamp on. He grabs the scissors, but his hand knocks the light lamp down, but he reacts swiftly, while still on the bed he catches the lamp just before it hits the floor but nicks his finger with the scissors. He takes a deep breath, then another one, and another. He places the lamp back on the stool, walks slowly to his washroom, and cuts open the toothpaste. The cut is truly unmerciful, as it burns and torments Evan while he brushes his teeth. He slaps a bandage on it grabs his bag and heads for the door. He checks the time before leaving, I can still make it in time if I run Evan thought. He speeds walks down his driveway then clutches both straps of his backpack and starts a light pace. The bag bounces and he grip it tighter to keep it stable as he runs, but the strap rips his bandage and digs into his cut. He cringes in pain with his eyes closed and misses his footing on the sidewalk causing him to fall. His swift reactions save him again or do they as he catches himself with his hands before headbutting the concrete sidewalk, but now his wrists are hurting enough for him to forget his cut finger. His eyes begin tearing up as he stares at the sidewalk face close enough to kiss it. “Hey are you okay,” Claire says. “Yea I’m fine,” Evan says as he pushes himself back up, and dusts his pants. “Why were you running,” Claire asks “I didn’t want to be late” Evan replies with his head down, hiding his face as his eyes begin tearing up again. “Well let’s go,” Claire asserts Evan looks up and sees Claire already jogging, he clutches both straps again, and although the pain is still there from his cut and his wrist, he doesn’t seem to care too much about it now. They arrive at school with 5 minutes to spare. “I’m gonna run to the washroom,” says Evan. “All right, I’ll see you in class” Claire responds Upon entering he looks around and knocks on the stall to make sure he’s the only one. He lets out a big breath and begins gasping for air. After all, he was keeping up with a cross-country star all the way from his house. He takes off his bag and turns around facing his back to the washroom mirrors. It’s drenched in sweat; he quickly takes it off and puts it under the hand dryer while hoping no one would walk in. His shirt dries quickly, and he slips it back on, then his wrist starts to hurt again, just when he’s all clear. Something is off Evan thinks as he feels his wrists up, but he isn’t referring to his wrists. He stares blankly at the washroom walls, for over a minute then it hits him. Where are the urinals he thinks, as he connects the dots? He picks his bag up swiftly, and his wrist makes sure they let him know that they are not okay, as they begin sending waves of pain, he heads for the door but then hears two girls’ voices. Evan ditches the speed walk makes a 180, and dashes for the washroom stall. He stands on the seat of the toilet while squatting down so nobody sees his shoes, the girls giggle then just wash their hands and head out quickly. The bell rings, and the school announcements begin playing. The feeling of utter disappointment and defeat penetrates Evan’s mind as he squeezes the cut on his fingers trying his hardest to hold back his tears as he realizes all his efforts were in vain, but the pain isn’t enough as he begins sobbing in the stall. he tries to stop but it just causes him to cry harder. Evan walks into class well after the announcements were finished, he had to make sure he didn’t look like he was crying. “Glad you could spare some time for us, why don’t you go grab a late slip,” Mr. Porter says. No response Evan puts his bag on his desk and heads for the office to grab his first-ever late slip. He returns swiftly to class and a note is left on his desk. He grabs it quickly, it reads Are you okay, Evan glances over to Jack, his friend, and shoots him a thumbs up. Confusion is written all over Jack’s face as he responds also with a thumbs up. Dear Diary, I am currently in class right now and everyone thinks I’m taking notes but I wanted to write cause I am having a reallllllllyyyyyyy bad time. Seriously, my hand is hurting a lot, and it’s been a bad day I mean yesterday was bad but today is the worse day. I thought jack noticed something was wrong but apparently not so I don’t know who left that note. I mean it could have been claire. No way she only spoke to me for a while today probably cause I was hurt too. And I could barely keep up with her when we ran she probably thinks I have two left legs, as well. And then I think her friend was also one of the girls in the washroom, her laugh is the exact same and she keeps looking at me and whispering in Claire's ear. My chest is really hurting it feels like I can’t breathe what if claire thinks I’m a weirdo. I feel nauseous. the bell rings and Evan’s journal time is cut short. While the other kids are grabbing their lunch packs, Evan tries to approach Jack, but his attention is on his other friends as he rushes to see what they got for lunch. Evan doesn’t give up though, today’s been all about persevering and he isn’t about to back out just yet. “Jack” Evan calls. Jack makes a 180 turn to greet his friend. He waves him over to come to sit down with the others but Evan isn’t all that interested in a giant table with 9 other kids. All he wishes is to tell his friend what a horrible day it’s been. So, he keeps his feet planted on the ground, and Jack approaches him. “Hey, you eating with us right,” Jack says as he high-fives Evan. Evan bites his tongue as the high five not only felt like someone had taken a hammer and dropped it from a ladder onto his wrists, but the high five was loud enough to get everyone’s attention. Evan’s chest tightens more, his vision a little blurry, and breathing seems much more difficult. His lips are held shut, as his brain struggles to find words to put a sentence together. Their eyes are all on him, and his chest squeezes harder. “I-, um, ca-can we just sit together?” Evan stutters. His brain is in full meltdown now. “Ca- ca-ca-ca-can we just sit together? what are you g-” mark yells, but his words are interrupted by Jack’s lunch pack. Although Jack isn’t the best at deciphering people’s feelings when he does put two and two together and figures out something’s wrong, he never fails to do what he thinks is right, which is where his popularity stems from. Mark gets up and grabs the lunch packs ready to hurl it back but when he makes eye contact with Jack, he instantly knew his place. “Shut up,” Jack says before Mark gets a chance to speak. While everyone’s distracted by Jack and mark, Evan uses the opportunity to sneak out and when Jack turns his head Evan’s gone. Evan paces down the hall with teary eyes and blurry vision. He gasps for air as his chest tightens and tightens with each step he makes. He aims for the washroom but as he gets there, he sees groups of kids entering the washroom, and he doesn’t want anyone to see him. He starts making a dash down the halls, as he needs to get somewhere where he feels safe, he trips. His hands react first again going to catch him, but Claire reacts faster as she catches him by his right bicep and Evan catches his other side with his left leg, taking one big step. Evan’s chest squeezes even harder this time the boy is visible gasping for air and taking long empty breaths, and Claire tugs his arms and drags him along with her. “Come,” she says. She takes him down the hall and into the stairwell where she opens the door. He’s hesitant, as recess hasn’t started yet, but she reaches her hand out and he softly grabs it and they both head outside together. The air is much cooler outside, and the boy’s chest slowly loosens but it is still tight enough for worry. Claire lays down on the cool pavement, and she taps the open space to her right signaling Evan to come to lie as well. He follows suit, lying down next to her. he tries to speak but he doesn’t know what he’s feeling or how to even say what is feeling, and his chest tightens. “It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything it happens to me too, and my mom and I just usually lay outside when it does. It’s okay, okay?” Claire says “Okay,” Evan says as tears streamline down his face and his chest finally let go of the tight hold.