I - The Encounter The calm evening weather turned to a thunderstorm in an instant. Jack was planning to reach home before all of this started... but heavy drops of rain stated that this wasn’t an option anymore. A few hundred meters further there was an abandoned train bridge, it would be a perfect cover for the storm to pass. Nearing the bridge, the structure’s contours in the gloomy evening looked like a twisted creature . With rain pouring down, it seemed alive... breathing ... sluggishly moving around. The thunderstorm was getting more and more intense as Jack squeezed himself into the very corner of the structure. The wind was picking up and his hands were freezing off. The sound came first... It was music , or at least it sounded like music. It quickly started and disappeared again. The noise was made out of different sounds - birds chirping, running waterfall, trees cracking in the howling winds . Sounds you don’t typically hear during a thunderstorm. And Jack might not have given this too much attention if it didn’t sound... human ... like someone was talking to him in some obscure language... Hands weren’t freezing anymore, or maybe he just forgot about them. Even the rain and thunder were eerily quiet . The sound was getting closer and closer... Jack felt his body tense up, entering the dreaded fight or flight mode. And then it showed itself, not running, not crawling, but seemingly swimming past him as lightning illuminated the old bridge. He saw it for a second... it was... something ... During the brief moment, Jack couldn’t even understand where the creature started or ended, where his head was, or did it even had eyes. He could swear that this uncanny thing was made out of random parts of its surroundings, half of a log, parts of moss and stones. Its body was made out of sharp lines but moved gracefully. Jack just stood there as the creature dove back into the forest. His mind desperately tried to come up with a logical explanation. One thing that Jack didn’t notice was the fact that he was already following the creature into the dark forest. His body was moving on its own, still getting soaked in the rain and collecting bruises from sharp tree branches. Only lightning illuminated the forest now, but it was frequent enough to at least orientate yourself. He couldn’t answer why he was following it, maybe to prove that there was nothing, maybe to hear that music again... He reached an opening and the sound, though faintly, appeared again. It was coming from right over there, but there was nothing... only regular rocks, logs, and other parts of the forest illuminated in flashes of lightning. He’s probably too tired , overstressed , overworked ... Then it moved ... he could swear that the thing just emerged from its surroundings, taking parts of trees and moss - making them part of its body. The creature looked different , it was bigger and had a wildly exaggerated body. But somehow Jack felt that it was the same entity , it must be. It moved around in slow yet methodical movements. Then dove into the forest like it was made out of water, yet again leaving nothing, just the same old trees and rocks. Jack wasn’t breathing for a long time and finally took a deep breath - like he himself was just about to drown. The thing resurfaced once more, a bit further down the tree line. Again it combined different parts of its surroundings, but this time an animal skull, or part of it dangled to his side. Even though Jack couldn’t say for the life of him which part of this creature was what, he felt being watched . The music, made of forest sounds, was getting louder . Combined with the constant rain and thunder it started to press Jack’s head in. Crumbling to his knees, still looking at the thing, but the creature didn’t move. Jack’s head was hurting bad, but even then, from all this noise, he could make out something - the creature was asking or maybe offering something. Like talking with a person without understanding their language - you might not know what they offer, but you KNOW they’re offering something. The thing started moving again, with slow moves , almost swimming, it reminded Jack of some form of dancing. God knows how much time Jack spent there in the middle of the dark shadowy forest watching the creature dance . Abruptly it stopped and stared one more time before diving into the trees and disappearing. The rain was dying down, he knew the creature was gone. There was no more music around, and the sound of thunder was back to normal. He felt cold , wet , and a bit stupid for standing in the rain for so long. All of this felt like a weird dream, and he just wanted the warm sheets of his bed... II - The Void It’s been 4 days and he hasn’t had a good night’s sleep since the encounter. His bed was wrong , the air in his room was choking him, and the food tasted more like sand . The sheets of his bed felt thorny and almost burned his skin. He couldn’t work either, the sound of coworkers, or any person for that matter was irritating. Everything was empty , lifeless , grey , without meaning. Except for one thing, when it rained ... During those moments, Jack became fixated with nature, it felt like pressure building all over his body. Even inside, the sound of tree branches moving and the smell of the forest were irresistible... It was 4 a.m. in the morning, and the small drops of water were beginning to hit his window... It’ll rain again ... Jack snapped... he’s not going to try to force himself to sleep for the fifth night in a row. Naked , marched into his yard which was now a mud bath. The rain on his body felt amazing, cooling, like a part of him. Jack laid himself into the mud and it adapted to his body like it was specifically waiting for him. The rain wasn’t falling down on him , it felt like it was falling on him . He felt his skin mixing with the mud and stretching, sinking deeper and deeper. After a couple of hours, his body felt numb , liquid almost. Maybe from the cold rain or maybe his body wasn’t even here anymore. He shifted his eyes downward. Someone was standing behind a tree. Even though it had a different overall shape, Jack knew it was the same creature from before. It was observing him, silently, patiently, waiting for something... It was probably watching him these whole 4 days, just from the shadows. Jack didn’t care, he was enjoying the peaceful cold of the rain and mud. Finally, he woke up as the first rays of the sun hit the ground. Getting up from the bliss , he headed to his apartment, carefully trying not to get noticed by the neighbors. III - The Offer Are you listening to me? You look sick Jack... You should probably go see a doctor... He didn’t care, didn’t care about anything anymore, all of this just felt fake , unnatural. Even the smell of other people made him sick . His coworker was talking for quite a while now, just talking, without any point or reason. Jack knew she was making things up, knew why, and even that it was not really her fault, just a human habit . Two weeks have passed since the encounter, and apart from the nights spent sleeping in the mud, Jack never actually felt alive, or even present... All thoughts were wandering around the forest, somewhere lost in the mesmerizing maze of it. It was beginning to rain outside and Jack desperately wanted peace... in his mind, there were two options, either lock himself in a mental institution or... or just live in the forest. A month ago idea like this would have been insane, but now it was burning in his mind, enveloping more and more of his thoughts. He quickly got up, abruptly ending the one-sided conversation. Didn’t even pick up his things, just left out the door, heading in the direction of that bridge. His plan was sporadic at best, his thoughts murky , jumping from one idea to the other. But he wanted to find a nice spot, just to clear his mind a bit. Wandering deeper into the forest, the rain was intensifying ... A nice spot of moss, he can just lay there... yet again, being dragged under... sinking. The creature was here, carefully watching him, following his every move. Once again that weird music started playing, and once again it sounded... no, now, it definitely was an offer... to be something else... Looking at the cloudy sky, Jack took a deep breath and finally accepted the creature’s deal. His body started spreading through the wet forest floor, tree branches, and small rocks around him. His skin was the tree barch, and his vanes were its roots... Then there was nothing, just a few rocks, some trees, and moss, nothing you wouldn’t see in any other part of the world. In the stormy weather, the forest was quiet. Jack Redmin disappeared on January 8, 2021.... Laura was hiding from the rain at an old bus stop, though it didn’t do much to protect her.... In the gloomy evening, she could swear that she saw 2 figures, dancing through the treeline, singing... calling to her. Laura Bratner disappeared on March 15, 2022....


“I don’t want to ever so much as see crystals around here again Lissette! You do know this is what got your mother killed, don’t you?” Aunt Ivy’s pine green eyes shift back and forth, examining Lissette’s tawny diamond shaped face. “But it’s also what made her feel alive.” Lissette responds. “I don’t understand how you so easily turned your back on our traditions all those years ago. What? Simply because you’re scared?” “Fear isn’t always a bad thing Lissette. You’re young, so you think you know everything, but you don’t. Please just stop with the magic. I already lost Ava,” The name catches in her throat. “Don’t make me lose you too.” Lissette rushes to the circular wooden door leading out to Willowdale. No one, not even Aunt Ivy, can take away what still connects Lissette to her mother. The one thing that brings joy in this dreary life. She strides towards the forest, where it’s safe to be herself. “Hey there, what’s the rush Lissette?” She’s startled out of her focused march by his chin length black hair and icy blue eyes. Her heart stops for a moment along with her feet. “Oh, hey Peter. Just,” She glances over at the small open market. “Out doing some chores for Ivy. Bread and all that.” “Ah. Would you like some company?” He asks. Lips twisting into a half smirk. “No, it’s fine. I’m kind of in a rush.” He bows slightly. “As you wish gorgeous.” She hopes he can’t tell she’s blushing and glances down as she moves onward. Lissette stops by the market just in case Peter’s still in the area. She lazily inspects the baker’s selection and overhears the conversation of two women behind her. “I can’t believe it. How did this happen when the Inquisori’s been so good about eradicating witchcraft?” Lissette’s ears perk up at the word witchcraft. “People can be sneaky. You never know what someone’s hiding.” “Yeah, but the Gargantha lurking in the forest is not something easily hidden.” “Those monsters are born rather small, or so I’ve heard.” A Gargantha is created out of someone’s insecurities, secret longings, and regrets. The mage gains someone’s trust, usually with the help of illusory magic to get the to the core of that person. Lissette despises crooked magic, but it’s what people generally associate with witchcraft. She buys a loaf of bread and walks back to the cottage. If a Gargantha is out there right now, Lissette would need to go into the forest more prepared than she is. Scents of a meaty stew swirl throughout the cottage, and Ivy’s more focused on the pot in the kitchen than she’d normally be. Good, she’ll probably ignore Lissette for a while. She slinks into her room which barely has enough space for her twin sized bed. Lissette places the bread and satchel on her miniature bedside dresser. She pulls off her blood red cloak over her thick curly hair and lays on the bed in her puffy white shirt and loose pants. She takes her notes and pen from the dresser. Use magic to defeat magic. Lissette pulls three empty sheets of thick yellowing paper from the stacks. She draws the symbol for verity. Three dots inside a triangle. Water, a circle with a t through the middle and raindrops in each of the four parts of the open circle. Fire, a diamond holding a flame inside. Truth and these elements are what best counteract illusory magic which creates a Gargantha. Lissette spends hours perfecting the symbols. She puts her cloak and satchel back on, placing the symbols inside the bag. She walks out to the living room holding the bread and finds Ivy sitting on the couch reading a novel. Barely looking at the table beside her, Ivy lifts her teacup and sips while reading. Lissette almost tells her about the plan. Maybe knowing that she’s using her powers for good will lighten Ivy’s views on it, but Lissette stops herself from saying anything. She’ll tell Ivy after she’s victorious. Hearing Lissette’s footsteps, Ivy says, “Help yourself to some of the stew.” She doesn’t take her eyes off the novel. “Thanks. I brought some more bread if you want any.” “Mm.” Lissette puts the bread on the counter and walks out to Willowdale. She spots Peter sitting below a tree playing the lute, and he glimpses her way just after she looks at him. Lissette quickly glances back down, but it’s too late. He walks over to her with a full smile on his moonlight face. “Out and about twice in one day. This is rare for you.” He says. “While you’re always out on the town.” She retorts. He raises an eyebrow, conscious of the double meaning in her words. She’s seen him walking around with almost all of the other young women in Willowdale. He’ll usually play them a song or two before moving on to the next one. She crosses her arms. “Is that such a bad thing? I can’t imagine how boring it must be to just sit in your room all day.” “Nope. Not boring. Peaceful.” She continues walking. “Anyways, if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.” She glances at his blue eyes one last time and jumps back at the intensity of his gaze. “Huh. Well then, Lissette. Enjoy your day.” He walks back to the tree and starts playing his lute. Though she’s had a slight distant crush on Peter for a while, he hasn’t spoken to her much like he has today. She never realized he noticed her introverted ways like she’s noticed his extroverted ones. Lissette shakes her head. He’s just curious because she appears like a mystery. Lissette pulls on her satchel and thumbs through the three papers. Hopefully this works. The most she’s ever done are simple spells to help around the house or change energy. She’s never used magic for anything on this scale before. She ambles to the forest on the long trail out of town. Feigning interest in a light green plant with deep red dots, Lissette kneels down and touches one of the waxy leaves. Maybe she’s not the one who should go defeat the Gargantha. “Don’t doubt yourself. This is what I want you to do.” Ava’s voice nudges inside her head. Lissette stands back up and walks with determination. Plants on each side of her sway in the wind. Her mom’s presence guides Lissette forward, even if it’s simply in her imagination. Standing at the base of the entrance to the forest, she inhales and exhales a long, deep breath. Wind slows, expansive silence covering the dimming area. The sun falls on the horizon to her right as the moon lightly hangs in the other side of the sky. Lissette enters between the trees and listens for any footsteps or sounds from the Gargantha. Though she knows how one is made, she doesn’t know what they look like. Time passes, and as darkness covers the forest Lissette wonders if what she heard in the market was merely a rumor. Her ankles throb and she sits down for a break. Whispers flow around Lissette, and the back of her neck tingles. She sees no sign of anyone or anything in the area. The words are barely distinct. “Not good enough. Why try if you’re going to fail anyways? Save yourself the embarrassment. Not good enough.” She stands up but sees nothing from any direction. “Something must be wrong with you. Your time has already passed. It’s too late for you to become an actress. You never would have made it to the city anyways. Not good enough.” Lissette’s eyebrows knead together. She’s never wanted to become an actress. Bushes shift, and the brushing sound covers the whispers that were there seconds before. Lissette turns towards them, biting her lower lip. Peter emerges from the bushes, and she backs away as he comes closer. She blurts, “What are you doing out here?” “I could ask you the same question, Lissette. Except I already know why you’re here.” Without glancing behind, she backs into a tree. She looks around for an escape route. “The full extent of my charms didn’t work on you earlier because while I am a wizard, you’re a witch. Though,” he smirks, “You are attracted to me without the excess.” She shakes her head and feels through the satchel. “You don’t need to destroy my precious Gargantha. Imagine instead, how powerful we could be together. We could stop the Inquisori from trying to destroy magic. Average people are scared now, but we can make them fear us to the point where they won’t try to erase us anymore.” “I don’t do magic to hold a twisted power over others.” Lissette pulls out the verity symbol and sways her arms until a slight glow circles around her. “Oh come now, I’m not going to do anything to hurt you. I’m on your side. You’re not the only one who’s lost someone for our practices.” His eyes are earnest for a moment. “And what of the girl who you used illusory magic on? It’s evil Peter. You’ve altered who she is forever. Those thoughts will always be at the forefront of her mind now.” “Isn’t every human impacted in some way or another by those they come in contact with? I’m just a more powerful force than the average person. Besides, maybe she’ll actually do something to change her reality with all those thoughts floating around her mind.” Lissette shakes her head, and her eyes widen at the sound of a tree slamming into the ground. A large, rounded violet creature waddles behind Peter. It has craters all over its body, indents where the eyes should be. Whispers of, “Not good enough,” murmur through the Gargantha. Lissette pulls out the water symbol, but the moment her verity shield is down, Peter uses wind magic to push the papers out of her hands and satchel. She turns and runs for the symbols, but the distance between her and the papers is futile. Lissette isn’t practiced enough to use magic without them. “How did you learn to use magic without the use of symbols?” She asks Peter. “I had a wonderful teacher.” A bit quieter, he says, “She was the person I lost.” Lissette’s lips part, but she can’t think of a response. “Get away from her!” Lissette and Peter turn to see Ivy’s broad form. Elbows out to her sides and a ball of water flowing through the air between her hands. With the force of a tidal wave, it lunges for the Gargantha. Peter directs wind towards Ivy, but he’s too late to counteract her practiced force. A loud screech emerges from the Gargantha. Deep shadows of pain are in every note of disharmony, and the Gargantha transforms into a shadow itself before evaporating into the aether. The ball of water is motionless once more between Ivy’s hands. She gives Peter the most intimidating look Lissette has ever seen from her aunt. This is a side to Ivy Lissette had a vague idea of but never expected to know. She’s never even seen her aunt use charms since her aversion to magic started around the time Lissette was born. “Run.” Ivy commands, and Peter darts in the opposite direction of Willowdale. When he’s completely out of sight, Ivy releases the magic and sighs. “Good. I thought I was actually going to have to hurt the kid.” She turns to Lissette, who looks at the ground. Lissette asks, “How did you find me here?” “I may not have purposely used magic in a long time until now, but intuition is my strongest gift. One that I’m happy I can’t get rid of.” She pauses. “Did you not know the Gargantha and wizard were out here?” “I did. Well, I didn’t know Peter would be out here, but I knew the Gargantha would. I overheard it at the market.” Lissette looks directly into Ivy’s eyes. “It’s just, I thought that if I defeated it and told you about it after, you’d see why I should keep practicing magic. I want to use my powers for good.” She pauses. “Though, I’m beginning to see I barely even have any power.” Ivy shakes her head. “Come, let’s go back to the cottage. It’s already dark, and we don’t want anyone to see us walk out of the forest at midnight.” They move side by side in silence for a long time. As they approach the exit, Ivy says, “Your mother isn’t the only person I’ve lost to magic. There are more ways to lose someone than death alone.” Lissette glances at Ivy and waits for her to continue. “The wizard, Peter you said? He probably didn’t start off using illusory magic. Some magicians change when they get a taste of power. It becomes an addiction to ease the tsunamis within themselves.” She wistfully gazes at the stars. “Growing up, you’ve never seen me have a long term companion. And it’s because my heart is a ghost for someone who’s alive but no longer exists. Someone who I lost to that addiction. It will break my heart to the point of no return if I lost you the way I lost her or your mom.” “But that’s not who I am. It’s not who mom was.” Tears form at the edges of Lissette’s eyes, but she resists the urge to wipe them away. “And she’s still with me despite what they did to her. I won’t become like Peter or the person you loved, but I won’t back down to the Inquisori either.” Ivy stops walking and Lissette does the same. Ivy says, “What I’m about to say comes with a heavy heart. You need to leave Willowdale.” “What? I’m not leaving you here alone. Isn’t that what you’re afraid of?” Lissette shakes her head. “There’s a school out west where you can learn the practice, but they will also teach you the self control required for true strength. And you’re not going to stay here, where the Inquisori rule with an iron fist. The west is more open minded about magic.” “Well then, maybe you can come with me.” Ivy shakes her head. “No. I used magic today, but I will not sway from the life I’ve chosen for myself. Yet, I realize it would be selfish of me to keep holding you back from the life you want for yourself. You can lead a safer life there than in Willowdale. We can still write to each other and visit occasionally. Neither of us will be truly alone.” Lissette embraces Ivy as tears stream down her cheeks. “Thank you, Ivy. I won’t change.” “You will change. But some of the teachers at Vixose are from my past life, and I trust the change in you won’t be for the worse. I will draw out a map for you tomorrow and write the letter to the dean. But you will pay for the carriage with the earnings you made from your summer job.” Lissette pulls back. “You always were a cheapskate.” They laugh and walk the rest of the way home under a full moon.


He lay motionless, sprawled on the bed, gazing at the hospital walls, tall and white, spotted with grey flower patterns, and the whitewashed ceiling above. "I'd like to run up the wall," he thought, a thin man with brown eyes, now bloodshot and sunken. "Up, up! On all my six legs. And then across the ceiling..." He pressed his palm against the wall. It felt cold and rough to the touch. He hit the wall with his foot. Cold, and rough and hard. No sticky contact. He wouldn't be able to run up the wall even if his life depended on it. Four limbs instead of six, and all are useless! A feeling of loss struck him suddenly. He wanted to weep but couldn't: it was too human for him yet. Human. Soft, lithe body. No chitin plates. Wingless. Defenceless. Weak. And it lies on its back! He remembered too well what it used to mean in his past life. It used to mean that you were stuck with your wings glued to a sweet kissel, twitching your six legs helplessly in the air, and that you were going to die, slowly and miserably. There was no way out. He shuddered at the thought and then did what he never knew was possible: he bent over and sat on the bed. "Hey! Look who's up and smiling, guys!" The man's fellow patients put away the greasy cards they were playing and turned toward him. "He's awake, finally. Poor guy," said one of them. "Hey, sonny, are you hungry?" said another and without waiting for the answer began rummaging in his bedside table. "The guys who brought you here left some kissel\* for you. They told us to give it to you when it's gone sour." Had handed the man a bowl full of kissel, sour-smelling and heavily fermented by the yeast that covered it. "Listen, pal, don't eat this," said the other man. "I don't know what they were thinking trying to feed this garbage to you. Want a sandwich? I have one." But once the smell of the fermented kissel reached the new patient's nostrils, his face suddenly brightened up. He grinned. He beamed. He made a strange sound. Then grabbed the bowl, held it against his face and stuck his nose into it. The next moment he was grieving for a long and flexible proboscis he'd had in his past life while trying to reach the delicious yeast with his short human tongue. He reached, finally, but only to recoil in disgust. He felt sick right away; his stomach turned, he threw up. He wept, terrified of the salty moisture leaking from his eyes. The feeling of loss was different this time. It was so painful, so deep, so alien! For a moment he gazed upon the food that had meant a world to him in his past life, then began sobbing inconsolably over it with pathetic, whimpering cries of a heartbroken human being. "There, there, pal..." His fellow patient gently patted him on the back. "Eat a sandwich, it will do for now. There's going to be a proper breakfast soon." He learned to be human, and it came naturally to him, though he couldn't let go of the past life's memories yet. Sometimes he would catch little flies and try buzzing something to them while holding them carefully with his hands. Because of this, his fellow patients called him Fly. They couldn’t get his real name out of him anyway. As time passed, Fly learned to measure it in a human way: with days and nights, hours and minutes. It seemed familiar somehow but long forgotten along with many other things. Recovery of the old, alien memories was a hard and slow process, but it was much easier than learning from scratch. Each new day made Fly more and more human. Soon, the glimpses of his past life came to reveal themselves only in dreams. And then even the dreams of Fly's lost world became rare. He began dreaming of times that seemed ancient: of human childhood. When the Visitor came to see Fly, he found him reading a newspaper. Fly lifted his eyes and saw a tall man in a dark suit who greeted him with a warm smile. The man was old but had aged well, his snow-white hair thick and shining, his blue eyes full of life. "You've learned a lot here at the hospital," the Visitor nodded. "Do you even remember the days when you used to live in a vial of sweet kissel on my table? I doubt that." Saying no more, he took a little glass vial out of his pocket and showed it to Fly. Fly grabbed the vial that very instant. He couldn't believe his own eyes. There, in his shaking hands, human hands, he held his homeworld which seemed so small now, barely recognizable, too. It looked like ages had passed there since Fly left it. The glass itself was dirty, stained with countless tiny footprints, plastered with empty cocoons, and almost all the kissel had been eaten. Of all the inhabitants of the world only a few flies were left, small and starving, and oblivious of their doom. They ran and flew to and fro, living and moving too fast for human eyes. Fly felt tears welling up in his eyes again. "This hospital is just like the vial you came from," the old man said to the crying Fly. "You've grown out of it. Now it's time for you to enter a bigger world." He took Fly by the hand like a child and led him to the exit. The promised world wasn't just big, it was huge beyond imagination. Fly fell to his knees, his head swimming, his heart pounding, and tried to buzz as if he still had had his wings. "Get up, human," said the Visitor sternly. And Fly got up. \- Fly was adapting to his new life fast and forgetting the past one even faster. He now had a human name - Ivan, - a passport, and an apartment to live in. A mere week after getting all these things he'd already been working as a cook in a local bakery making sweet cakes of dough, cream and chocolate. The Visitor whose true name Ivan had never learned called on him often. He spoke little, smiled a lot, and always took a note that everything was going fine and according to the plan. His visits were all alike, brief and uneventful, all but the last one when he left Ivan a gift. It was a little glass vial half-filled with sweet kissel, seeded with living yeast, and populated with several young Drosophila flies. Attached to the vial with a silk string, was a little Birthday card with a few words written on it: "Remember where you came from." He did. And this memory filled his human existence with a depth he didn't know before. Ivan's touching love for the little flies amused his human friends and had earned him a reputation of a funny geeky guy, but he didn't mind. The little glass vials stood in long rows on the top of his fridge, minuscule ages rising and fading away inside them. He'd been a little fly once. Now he was their god. He washed and sterilized the dead worlds, filled them with kissel and yeast, and repopulated them again with a few chosen ones leaving the others to share the fate of their dying homeworlds. He couldn't save them all. There were too many. When he fell in love, the feeling of loss echoed in his heart once more for Ivan had no wings to sing the love song. But then a new wave of memories rose risen in his mind, and instead of a song sung by the soft buzzing of the wings, he found words. And deeds... \-- In a narrow white hall, there was a long table with a row of chairs on each side. That day, every single chair was occupied. People like Visitor had gathered there, and the Visitor himself stood on the podium above them giving a speech about the scientific breakthrough his discovery would lead to. He spoke with great eloquence, but all the profound phrases and big words he was throwing around were no more than ripples across the ocean, vast, deep, and cold. Gene therapy. Several genes taken from Drosophila melanogaster - a lab fly - and, with the help of a tamed virus, inserted into DNA of every cell of a human body. A subtle, harmless change with the most dramatic effects. How do you change a hardened, cold-blooded criminal into a compassionate human being again without damaging their mind in the process? How do you leave their memories intact and remove the dangerous behaviour at the same time? That's how. The suggested therapy blocks the very origin of violence in humans. It's simple, cheap and has no drawbacks. There's proof, see for yourselves. One, two, three... ten... hundred of files Visitor puts on the long table, patiently, one by one. They are the dossiers of the cruelest criminals of Earth, and the thickest and the heaviest one is that of a man who is now known as Ivan. People are shocked, they can not believe their eyes. But the proof is solid, the reputation of the scientist is perfect, and the results exceed all expectations. By the end of the year, the new gene therapy will be approved for the worldwide implementation. There will be no more prisons. The world itself will change for the better. A miracle... ...A miracle. A true miracle, and there's no catch... The blue-eyed old man smiled at that thought. He is walking down the park lane paved with white stone and spotted with green patches of grass. Under his arm, he's holding a case full of criminal dossiers, heavy with other people's recorded sins. He knows the debates about his method will cease soon. He has nothing to worry about anymore. Not even about whether he did the right thing. ...There is no catch... The blue-eyed old man stands on the shore and looks away; past the noisy children playing in the waves, past the horizon where the sea meets the sky, past the mortal world and into the depth of the afterlife where unbound souls soar in the infinite space. Every living being on Earth has this little gene sequence - the "soul bait" he called it. It is simple and short, just a "code phrase" to lure a certain type of soul into a certain type of body. That's how a fox gets a soul of a fox, and a cat gets a soul of a cat, and a human being gets a human soul... That's how it used to be, but from now on everything will change. (May, 2005) From (book of short stories) \*Kissel - juice or milk thickened with starch. It can be either a drink or a jelly depending on how much starch you put into it. As students, we used kissel to grow drosophila flies at home for our own experiments; in the lab, we used agar-based feeding substance instead. Also, kissel is a tasty dish that does wonders to a sore throat when sweetened with honey instead of sugar and drunk/eaten hot.


“Don’t forget to wear your mask,” Melissa says over the phone to Don. “I know. See you soon.” “Okay.” Thirty-five minutes later Don pulls up in an UBER in front of a brown cottage. It’s well kept. An extravagant vine encasing its sides up to the wood roof. The wide bright green grass is cut perfectly around its landscape. Its door is colored forest green. After he steps out of the car, he sees Melissa standing at the entrance. The weather is warm, sunny, a little breezy. The car service pulls away. He walks up to Melissa. They smile at each other. “Beautiful out here.” He says. “Maybe we can take a walk to the lake nearby.” “Sure. We have the weekend.” They kiss on the mouth as he enters the cottage. She locks the door behind them. “Any bears in here?” “Ha, ha. I’ll take that.” She takes his jacket and hangs it up in the nearby closet. “You can put your sneakers over here.” He does so. “Anything to drink?” She asked. “Sure. Nice fireplace.” “Thank you.” “This place is awesome. How long you and Mark had this?” “You mean how long have I had this?” “He hasn’t seen it? She shakes her head. “Not until he and I get married.” “Which is...” “End of August.” “Right.” “He’s looking forward to you being there.” “Cool. So, what do you have to drink?” “Come in the kitchen.” He follows her. “So how long did it take you to build this?” “You’re full of jokes today, uh?” She pours him a glass of orange juice. He just smiles, revealing his dimples. “My grandmother left it to me.” She hands him the glass of juice. “Thanks. It must be good being the only grandchild.” “Not bad.” She grins. She puts the carton of juice back in the refrigerator. He drinks while looking at her nicely shape body in her fitted jeans. She turns to him. “I’ve been here for the past couple of days. Jogging, cleaning, reading, enjoying nature. I needed the peace and quiet, you know. I have time to spare since Mark is in Las Vegas for like two weeks.” “Good for us.” She smiles, “Yes, good for us.” She walks up to him and kisses him on his wet lips. “You know, I always thought if I was younger maybe you would have dated me in high school.” “Age had nothing to do with it.” She says. “We’re only a year apart. And I must say, you were the only cool guy I’d date in your class. I see you still have the class ring.” “You know it, Class of ’99.” He holds it up. He continues, “You know, Mark wasn’t a good athlete, an okay looking guy...’ “And?” “You still fell for him.” “He was cute and charming.” He grunts. “He still is.” She says. “But...’ “No but...’ “Then why am I here?” “Because you’re cute and charming.” She smiles and they kiss again. He puts the glass of juice down on the table, wraps his arms around her thin waist. “I’m much more than that.” “Really?” “Yeah.” “Show me.” “Right here?” “No, follow me.” She takes his hand and they walk into her bedroom. “Hey Don, isn’t that Melissa’s boyfriend over there?” Don looks over his shoulder, sitting at the bar with his friend Jax. “Yeah that’s him.” “You look better than him, man. I don’t know why she dates him. It looks like a truck ran over his face.” Jax laughs, but he sees Don doesn’t crack a smile. “What’s up with you?” “Melissa introduced us last week at a party she invited me to.” “Did you tell him that you wanted to bang his girlfriend?” “No...no I didn’t. He actually turned out to be a nice guy.” “What?” Don waves the bartender over to him. “See that tall guy with the light blue shirt on over there? Tell him next round of drinks is on me.” Bartender nods. “Are you serious?” Jax looks at him with disbelief. “It’s my money, what do you care?” Some time later Mark walks over with a couple of his football buddies to the bar where Don now sits by himself. “Why didn’t you come over to our table?” Mark asked. “Didn’t want to intrude.” “No worries, man. Thanks again for the drinks.” “It’s nothing.” “Want to come with us?” “Where?” “To a club. Melissa and some of her friends are going to be there.” “Um...I guess, sure.” “Cool. You can ride with me. Come on.” “Alright.” In the club Max dances with one of Melissa’s female friends. As he dances with her, he catches Melissa looking at him as she dances with Mark. He looks away and then back at her again, she still watches him and grins. They all get drunk except Mark. He drinks a lot but still doesn’t get drunk. Everyone envies him for that. The moonlight lights up the starry sky. Melissa lays under the sheet, tired. Don walks in the bedroom with a bowl of ice cream. Melissa looks at him and laughs. “What’s so funny?” “That robe looks small on you.” “It’s the first thing I grabbed in the closet.” “What you bring?” “Ice cream.” She groans. “You don’t want any?” He sits by her. “I meant to throw the rest out.” “Why?” “Trying to stay in shape.” “A little bit won’t hurt.” He feeds some to her. “Mmm.” “Good, right?” She nods. “That’s it. You have the rest.” She says. “Yeah, let me get fat by myself.” “You’re nowhere near fat.” He eats. He looks at her as she lays on the fluffy pillow, her long wavy brown hair spreads out around her head. Her pale skin is exquisite in the moonlight. She looks up at him. “I’m happy you’re here Don.” “Me too. But tomorrow evening will be a different story.” “Don’t remind me. Let’s just stay in the present.” He smiles at her. “You want to watch a movie tonight?” She asked. “Movie? There’s no TV.” “Um, it’s 2020, cell phone, duh.” “Right.” “Wait, you still have a TV?” “Yeah. It still works, so it stays.” “Man needs his big screen.” She gets up out of the bed, naked. She continues. “So, what do you say, movie or TV show?” He’s infatuated by her look. “Um...not sure.” “Well, make up your mind.” She walks to the clothes dresser and takes out a clean pair of underwear. “Where you going?” “Taking a shower.” Just when she reaches the bathroom door, which is there in the bedroom, he calls her. “Melissa.” She stops and turns. “Yes.” “This might be hard to stop.” “What, what are you talking about?” “You know, this...you and me.” “Don, you’re not...c’mon, this is not...it never was that.” “It was never what?” “Well, you make it sound like you might be catching feelings.” “Of course, I have feelings for you. Don’t you?” “I mean like, you know, deep feelings. Like falling in love kind of feelings.” He puts the empty bowl on the nightstand and looks at her. “Forget I mentioned it.” “No, wait I thought we were clear on - “ “We are, I was just talking silly. After your shower we’ll watch something tonight.” “You’re good?” “Yes.” “Okay, cool. Won’t be long.” She goes into the bathroom, closes the door behind her. Don looks at the moving curtains. He hears the shower turn on. He gets off the bed and walks to the open window and closes it. He pulls the curtain slightly back to look out to what is mostly darkness. He sees small lights slowly blinking off and on in midair. Lightning bugs. ‘Just enjoy the moment Don.’ He thinks to himself. ‘ What a jerk I must be. To be with my friend’s woman. What is wrong with me? She is beautiful. I couldn’t have her then, but I do now. And all we have is now.’


Snowflakes were slowly falling on the frozen ground. It was a cold winter and it was going to get even colder. Jane was running late for a meeting with her friend. She was walking as fast as she could, being careful not to slip on the ice. Ice crystals were beginning to form on her eyelashes as she reached the restaurant. She pushed the door open and was instantly welcomed by a warm breeze. Jane spotted Melissa at a small table, drinking what seemed like red wine. “Hi, Melissa”. Melissa looked up and smiled brightly at her friend: “You’re late” They ordered the food and began small talk. Jane was thankful for the warmth of the place. Her plate of Carbonara Spaghetti just arrived when Melissa asked her a question, Jane had already heard a hundred times in the past week. “So, have you heard about your neighbor Mr. Allen?” The rumor was that Mr. Allen might be dead, frozen in his own house, just feet away from Jane’s place. Mr. Allen lived with his nephew in a 1 story building. No one had seen him leave the house in over a month. And no one had ever bothered to check in on him. The only one who goes in and out of the house is the nephew. But no one dares to approach him. The thing is, everyone believes he killed his grandpa and stuffed him somewhere in a freezer. The police have been called multiple times but nothing suspicious was found. According to the sheriff, “Mr. Allen was safe and sound”. The people, however, didn’t want to believe that. The place where Jane lived was a small town and people were often closed-minded. They created all these rumors, hoping their little town would get famous one day. And gossip in such a town was the order of the day. Maybe some people knew the truth, one of those being the sheriff, but they liked hearing others fantasize about what mysteries might lie between the walls of the Allen’s. Jane looked at Melissa with tired eyes: “Can we not talk about this? You know pretty well I’ve heard about him and no, I don’t think the rumor of him being dead is true. Mike, his nephew, is not a criminal”. “Yes, but have you seen Mr. Allen in the past weeks? And have you ever talked to Mike? How are you so sure he’s such a good guy?” Jane wasn’t sure. But she hoped with all her heart that nothing horrible was happening in the house across from her. She didn’t even want to think she was living near a murderer. Maybe this is why she never checked on the Allen’s house either. She was scared of what she might find. Then again, should she be alarmed? The police said there was nothing wrong there. After lunch, Jane said goodbye to Melissa and went home. All that talk about her neighbor spooked her. She just wanted to get home and drink some tea in peace. The cold air was slipping through her jacket and Jane couldn’t help but think that in such cold weather a body could stay frozen for weeks, even without a freezer. People were constantly telling her to steer clear of Mike. But deep down, many believed that Jane was involved in the killing of Mr. Allen. He was her only neighbor and people found it impossible for her not to have played a part in what probably went down there. Jane was aware of this but the opinion of others didn’t matter to her. There were, of course, those who didn’t believe Mr. Allen was dead. They thought him to have transformed into a vampire. And that’s why he didn’t go out. His nephew had to be supplying him with blood, or he himself was the food source for his grandpa. A select few believed the old man doesn’t even exist and until now, he had been just a ghost but finally he found peace so he wasn’t haunting around anymore. Jane was thinking about how this rumor changed constantly from man to man, from woman to woman. How everyone tells the story his way, changing some details for his amusement, or just because that is what he believed was the truth. This is the thing with gossip, you never really know what is true and what isn’t. As she approached her house she gathered up the courage for what she wanted to do next. The gossip has been going around for some time and Jane was fed up with all these phantasmagorical ideas. She didn’t see Mike as a criminal. Even though they never had a single conversation he seemed like a nice guy and always smiled towards her. The tea had to wait. First, she had to prove to everyone that the rumor was fake. She knocked on the door. Twice. Her hands were shivering but Jane couldn’t tell if it was for the cold or because she was scared. Soon, the big door opened and on the other side stood a man in his late 30’s. He had dirty blond hair and a scruffy beard. Mike was good-looking but he couldn’t be described as handsome. His brown eyes widened at the sight of Jane. For a moment he seemed unsure whether to shut the door in her face or hear what she had to say. “Jane, right? What are you doing here?” “Hi! Yes, it’s Jane. I wanted to ask you something.” She paused briefly then continued: “Would you mind if we went inside?” She didn’t plan to stay but the hot air inside the house was just too inviting. Mike nodded shortly then led her to the living room. There was no sight of Mr. Allen. Well, maybe he was asleep. This didn’t seem like a house where a gruesome murder took place. Everything was clean and neat, with no dust to be seen and the temperature was too high for a body not to rot. “What’s up?”, asked Mike after they seated themselves on the sofa. And then Jane asked the million-dollar question with no hesitation: “I guess you’ve heard the rumor about Mr. Allen. And I just want to say I don’t believe any of it. But I still want to know the truth. Why is your grandfather not coming out of the house? What’s going on?” Mike seemed like he was prepared for this question. “Well, you see... There is nothing fishy going around here. My grandpa is just on vacation.” Vacation? This was such a simple explanation. How did no one consider this? Jane felt so dumb at that moment. Of course, he probably fled from the icy cold here and went somewhere like the Bahamas. He had the money after all. “Wow, that makes sense. It’s just weird he didn’t tell anyone.” All of a sudden a laughter crisis took over Jane. “I’m sorry, it’s just so funny how everyone painted this murder mystery around you and your grandpa when he just went on vacation. But why didn’t you tell anyone? Did you like being considered the black sheep of our community?” Mike seemed surprised. “No one asked me except for the police.” That was plausible. Everyone was inclined to believe the gossip rather than know the truth. “So where exactly did he go? Is it someplace sunny? And how long is he going to stay there?” “I already told all this to the police, I don’t need to tell you too.” He was slowly getting irritated. Jane felt like she pushed too hard. Mr. Allen has always been private with his life. “Oh no, of course. Sorry, I was just curious. Well, thanks for making things clear. I’ll go now. I can’t wait to tell everyone that all the rumors are fake!” She was just about to head for the front door when she remembered she was out of eggs. “Could I borrow some eggs if that’s alright with you?” Mike forced a smile: “Sure, I’ll bring them to you”. He went into the kitchen. Jane thought about how unfair the people had been with Mike. They believed him a criminal when in fact his uncle was just taking a holiday. Jane would try to apologize to him on behalf of everyone. She decided to bake him a cake. But she was also low on flour. Well, it was going to be a cake baked with half of Mike’s food. Jane hurried after Mike to ask for some flour too. Mike was at the refrigerator door. Red ketchup spots stained the walls of the fridge. “I could help you get rid of those ketchup spots if you wanted. I have this really good cleaning spray.” At hearing Jane talk, Mike turned around as if he had been electrified. Anger was building up in his eyes. Jane took a step back. “Are you alright?”, she asked. “No, I’m not alright. Why did you have to come here? I managed to fool the police but only because they knew that all the gossip in this town is fake! And now you came here wanting to find out the truth. You want to know the truth? Some rumors are true. Even if they are exaggerated there is a seed of truth in every little rumor.” “What are you trying to say?” Jane looked bewildered at the man in front of her, the man at the center of the most notorious rumor of the town. But rumors are just lies. Right? “What they say is true, I killed my grandpa and I stuffed him right here in my refrigerator until I had the time to dispose of the body. The police were so eager to demonstrate that the rumors about the murder were false that they bought all I told them. They didn’t even check if the old man was really in the Maldives. People don’t trust gossip at all nowadays. Well, lucky for me.” Jane was trembling all over. She needed to get out. But there was no escape. She was frozen in place. It was like she was standing naked outside in the cold. Like she was slowly transforming into an ice sculpture. Into a dead body. “Looks like I have to take care of you too, now. I’ll wonder what rumor the people will spread about what happened to you next.”


Millie sat at the rim of the darkened cottage, the scent of peat fire churning in dense ringlets around her. In the center of the chamber, circling the cooking fire were the elders. They called a gathering to confer over what should be done to save the season's yield of grain. “It has already been months of no rain, the harvests will not endure much longer.” A female said, anxiety lacing each word. “We can have the youths collect water from the creek.” Said a male. “That may work, albeit challenging. Others would need to contribute.” Said a more youthful voice. Millie couldn't help as her chest puffed out in pride of her mother's contribution. The first female spoke again. “It will not be enough.” They spoke for hours, spinning around the same ideas: Children hauling pails of water from the creek and clipping the harvest prematurely in hopes they spare some of the grain. But there was an itch in the back of Millie's mind telling her there was something more they could do. She couldn’t think of what. What could she, a girl of nine accomplish that the entirety of the village elders could not? The group dispersed, leaving Millie walking home clasping onto her mother's hand as the heat of the night made her linen shirt cling to her skin. “Can I do anything to help?” She asked her mother. Gently squeezing her hand her mother said, “We will all gather the water and hope it will hold us until the rains show up again.” But Millie could hear the unspoken words. It will not be enough. Her shoulders sagged and her eyes watched her feet for the rest of the walk home. At twilight, Millie sat up in her cot. Squeezing her flimsy blanket in her hands she strolled over and threw open the shutters to the small window. Immediately the hot air struck her face, enveloping the room with the dry earthy scent of the fields, causing her to step back and glance at the form of her sleeping mother. When her mother didn't move Millie returned her attention to the window. The sky was dark, streaked with shimmering stars. Millie always thought of the stars as little fairies that overlooked the simple folk of the Earth. She observed each star, gauging to see which one was watching her. A fairy who has noticed their struggles and would offer her the help she needed, if only she would ask. To the right between a large glimmering star and farthest away from the moon, it was a fairy that began to twinkle. It was calling to Millie. Her heart jumped in her chest. Hope started to blossom as her hands idly twisted the blanket. She dared to linger her eyes on the fairy reaching to her. It blinked some more and Millie knew for sure she had the right fairy, and she made her plea. Whispering the words and blowing them out to the sky, “Save my village, spare rain for our harvests.” Locking her eyes shut until her cheeks grew tired, she repeated her words over and over, blowing each one to the sky. She dared to open her eyes only once she thought a suitable amount of time had passed. Her heart plunged within her chest as the fairy started to flicker out and fade. They must have drifted farther away - rejecting her call for aid. Closing the shutters, her eyes stung as she returned to bed. That night Mille fell asleep with her tears soaking into her blanket. The next morning, she jolted up in bed. She had a dream - a vision. A message in a dream! Her smile radiated with the brightness of the sun as she ate her portage with zeal. Her mother observed her every movement, her eyes brimming with questions she dared not ask in case it spoiled the magic. Waving goodbye to her mother, Millie merrily joined the others as they began the work of hauling pails of water from the creek. The others all clustered together, followed in a line walking with steady purposeful steps, but none of their steps were as light as Millie's. She soared across the distance until she was at the creek well before the others. Without looking to see if someone was watching, she ran. She flew as fast as her little legs could carry her. In the trees, the heat turned to warmth and the buzzing of bugs surrounded her. When her lungs were burning and each breath was a chore she halted. She had followed the creek until she reached a clearing. Her vision had shown her where to go, so she was not frightened. Her fairy had told her to find the answer here, in the woods. Looking around and drinking in the warm air she noticed the trees lining this space with purpose. She had never been here before. It was the circle from her dream, where she would encounter the lady who would help her. But, she was alone. Slowly Millie walked to the center of the space. It was greener than the rest of the forest and it even smelled green. The pine needles and moss covered the edges of the grass. With the chirping of birds in the trees, she almost felt like she was still living her dream. “What are you doing here, child?” Millie whipped around to face the woman who spoke. It was her. Her hair was a grey bunch on top of her crown and her gown was patched and mended in too many spots to count. In her vision, the woman wore a smile, but here she did not. She glowered at Millie, making her want to plunge back into the shelter of the trees. Her mouth was open, so she closed it. The woman was waiting for an explanation so she opened it again. But, she didn’t know what to say. Her palms started to feel damp, and her senses darted in every direction landing nowhere useful. She clamoured, “The fairy ...” but broke off. The woman's brow furrowed. “You believe in the faeries?” Rubbing her palms down her dress, Millie nodded. Maybe she made a mistake coming here. No one knew where she had gone. Who would find her if this woman decided to carry her off? The woman watched as her hands fidgeted in her skirts, unsure what to do next. She strained to choose words that wouldn't sound crazy. “The star, I asked them for help.” “Your fairy was in the stars?” The woman's brow rose in question. To Millie's relief, the woman's tone softened and feeling encouraged she offered a smile. “I watched them - the stars. For a fairy whose gaze was drawn to my village. I asked them for help, and ... they sent me to you.” Holding her breath, Millie waited for the woman's reply. She would either shoo her away for being crazy, or the fairy had sent her to the right place. The woman took so long to answer Millie's heart started to beat faster. She was just a crazy child, lost in daydreams and wishes. She should not have come. The woman twisted around, her face turned to the sky and her hands firm on her hips. Deflated, Millie’s eyes began to burn with embarrassment and shame. She flung around, turning away from the woman. She will run back to the creek. Go back to helping her village the same way everyone else was. She should be bringing water to the fields, not venturing into forests looking for magic and fairies. “Wait.” The woman spoke, her voice calming and full of warmth. “If you desire my help, I will give it.” Millie didn’t turn around right away. Her eyes were wet and her heart was thrashing about in her chest. The woman was going to help her? She hadn’t made it up, she didn’t dream of fairies just to wander into the woods alone without reason. She brought the edge of her skirt to her face and rubbed away the drying tears. Then she slowly turned to the woman. “You will help me?” Her voice sounded small and timid but the woman nodded and beckoned her closer. “I can guess your plea to the fairies. I would have done it myself, but my gardens did not wither.” Millie's eyes widened, she knew what she had come here for. “Now, I will tell you a list, and you must remember each item, collect them and return to this clearing. This area carries the fairies' magic.” “How do you know this clearing is for the fairies?” She asked. “Dear child, do you think I cleared this circle of trees?” The woman swung her arms wide. “The fairies live here. You can smell their work in the wind. The moss they tend, the beetles they care for; this is their home.” She gave a warm smile as Millie took in the clearing with new eyes. Yes, this place did hold magic. It was vibrant green and lush with the smells of fresh earth and all the wild-growing things. It was thriving when Millie's fields, tended to by mortal hands were withering away to nothing. The trees lined the clearing almost perfectly, opening a flawless view of the sky. It was too perfect to be human-made. It was incredible. The woman gave Millie a list of objects to collect and made her vow not to forget one. She was to return in the night, under the watchful gaze of the fairy who had given her aid. Rushing back through the forest, Millie splashed her bucket into the creek and threw herself back toward the village. She rushed through her day’s work with the same smile plastered to her face as she recited her list over in her mind. A blue flower: To call to the sky for aid . A handful of seed: For the harvests, I desire to save. A lock of her hair: For my sacrifice and gratitude. Moonlit dewdrops: To invoke the spirit of the rain. She found the flower in a bush that had yet to wilt and she gathered the seeds from the dying wheat stalks themselves. When her mother was asleep, she snuck into the kitchen and used a knife to cut her hair. She tucked each item into the rolled-up sleeve of her night dress and she left for the forest once again. It was dark and there might have been the cry of a wolf in the distance, but she steadied her pace and marched through the forest knowing the fairies wished for rain just as much as her. They desired the items that would call forth the rain, they would guide her safely. There was an instant when she grew tense with the fear of a wrong turn taken, but it was just a blimp of a moment, easily forgotten, and before she knew it she was back in the fairy clearing. Here, shaded within the trees, the night air was calm with the smell of promises and magic. The woman was not there, but Millie already knew what to do. With the moon bathing the clearing in its light she lay each of the items out in the center of the clearing reciting as she did so. She placed the blue flower foremost. “To call to the sky for aid.” Next, she placed the seeds in a miniature pile. “For the harvests, I desire to save.” Twisting her lock of hair, she gently placed it on the grass. “For my sacrifice and gratitude.” Sitting back on her heels she watched as each item slowly soaked in the dew that shimmered in the moonlight. She smiled and faced the sky searching for the fairy who watched over her. Only after spotting the flickering fairy, she said, “To invoke the spirit of the rain.” She waited. Her smile slowly sank as the darkness of the woods began to expand and take form. Nothing was happening. The items lay on the grass, limp and wet. The back of her neck tingled. Standing she looked to the trees that surrounded her. Something was watching. Was it the woman, or the fairy? A wolf howled in the distance. The low sound reverberated through her bones. She was alone, in the woods, in the dead of night. She ran. Her feet and lungs ached by the time she scrambled back into her cot. Clinging to her blanket and thoroughly exhausted, she tumbled to sleep. Her dreams flooded with the comforting memory of magic. Tap. Tap. Tap. There was insistent tapping like tiny hands knocking all about her head. Squeezing her eyes to shut the noise out, she tried to hold on to her dream. A dream of wonder, sparkling green moss and guardian wolves. Someone gasped and Millie's eyes shot open. Her mother was sitting in her cot, her face upturned to the roof. Her mouth opened as a smile grew on her lips. She looked toward Millie with a voice full of awe and wonder. “It’s raining!” Millie shot out of bed and threw open the shutters. Warm humid air streamed into the room. Rain was pouring from the sky. Sheets of water dropping from dark heavy clouds. Their air was rich with moisture and fulfilled promises. Releasing a shriek of delight Millie ran and embraced her mother. They spent the entire day listening to the music of the rain.


Based on previous experience, much deliberation and a confidence that is unshakable, James enters the casino knowing that the $300 in his pocket will grow exponentially by the time he leaves there. Scanning around, he waits until his inner self senses one of the machines calling to him, summoning his extrasensory power to determine where his success can be found. He convinces himself this time he will not get carried away and act foolishly with his money. He cannot afford to do this. A deep breath and he moves toward the middle one in a row of seven poker slots. Sitting down and getting comfortable, he opens his wallet and pinches a $20 bill between his right forefinger and thumb then pulls it out carefully, making sure there are not two of them stuck together. He peers at the screen as if he is looking someone in the eye. This is showdown time. He means business, James is here to win money. In slips the 20, prompting the sound of money being added to the machine, a bump thump of sorts, telling him the 20 was accepted. The choice is before him for which type of video poker to choose. Without deliberation, he points his finger at the “Deuces Wild” icon and presses it carefully. This is the poker game that is the easiest to win. The likelihood of a huge jackpot is not as strong as with other card games but James has been through this before and he knows the odds are more against him with those. Totally focused on the task at hand, he takes another deep breath and presses the “Max Bet” button with firm confidence and an expressionless face. This means he will be wagering the full $2 allowed on at least the hands he will be playing even though he could change his mind at any point. Forget betting any less because the payoffs are proportionally that much lower and not worth the effort for a player of James’ caliber. Next in the process is the actual act of playing the game now that these preliminary routine decisions have passed. A quick tap on the “Deal” button precedes each of the five backs of playing cards on the screen being converted to their front sides. James watches calmly as the cards materialize before his eyes, including two kings, so he, without hesitation, presses a finger on them to “hold” them and wait for the other three cards to be redealt. Another king comes up, giving him three of a kind and $2 on his bet, break even, better than losing. Next hand, a tap on the deal button, then a mix mosh of unconnected cards, one of them an ace. Re-deal, James decides, so another tap on the same button and similar results, two dollars gone. Just getting started, warming up the machine, nothing to be concerned about for sure. James moves ahead for another deal of five cards, this time a “wild” deuce, the two of clubs, appears first then no cards of the remaining four that can lead to any obvious win. So as strategy would suggest, hold the deuce and deal again. From those four new cards, another deuce, a four, queen and eight, meaning three of a kind again because the two deuces are wild and can be used as a match with any other. Okay, this is how the game is supposed to be played and meant to proceed, James tells himself, a positive outcome, giving him two dollars, as three of kind pays “even money,” the same amount as what he bet on that hand. Never expect any immediate windfalls, any sudden huge payoffs so early in the session, James assures himself, having learned this from previous experience. Pressing on, another $2 wager and the dealing of the five cards. Definitely not a challenging hand to consider now, two 10s and two 7s, because two pairs also pays even money but if he holds all four, there is a chance he could draw another 10 or 7 or even a wild two and have a full house. He does so and has to be happy with his two pair. Time to move ahead. Three losing hands follow, leaving James in a hole but not a deep one. No changes in his approach, here comes a deuce, two threes and an ace and a queen. Already set at three of a kind, he holds the cards that comprise that win and discards the others. Another deuce comes up! Four of a kind, now the brief negative spiral is reversed. The nice payoff not only wipes out the deficit but gives James a surplus over his original investment. He’s playing with the “house’s money” now! James methodically continues to bet the max of $2 and gets a straight, another even money payoff, better than losing. Followed by a couple losing hands then a three of a kind again, the machine’s bells ringing for an even money payoff, only not as loudly or as long as when he hit four of a kind or better. A video gaming roller coaster ride follows, win, lose, win, lose, two wins followed by two losses, all of these victories for minimal amounts. A flush, all cards of the same suit, is dealt to James without any decision to be made on his part, keeping all five of those cards makes for a nice but not major payoff yet it puts him ahead a few bucks at this point. Then three deuces appear on the next hand with an ace and a four. A fourth deuce would mean a $500 win! James quickly holds the wild cards and fixes his eyes on where the other two were: the results are a king and a five. No $500 but four of a kind again and he goes more ahead for the round. As expected, a loss follows. Then another three of a kind even money hand. Next a wild deuce comes up but there is nothing to match with it. A string of four bad hands successively comes next, the meter showing his cash balance sinking back down below his original investment. A reprieve materializes: two pairs so he holds all four and gets that full house he was looking for earlier. Now things are on the right track again. Let’s go, he hits the deal button hard and fast but three more hands of losers come up. The roller coaster ride goes on for another half hour before a bad stretch follows and leaves James with only $6. After two even money wins, he has three bad hands and is out of money from his original stake. An exciting series of hands, some close calls, some great moments and some bad moments. It was not a total wipe out so James pulls out another 20 and presses on. More of the same. Up and down, win and lose, some nicer hands that pay well without cause for celebration and some more losers. At one point, he is ahead by slightly over $20 on the second round but sees it depleted with a series of seesaw hands and a succession of losers. A third then a fourth bill with Andrew Jackson’s picture on it leaves James’ wallet and finds it way into the machine. If only those four deuces would come up, it would be $500! A couple of times, a pair of twos show but nothing more, meaning three of a kind and he gets his $2 back. A cleavage abundant casino cocktail server spiked heels her way to him to see if he wants a free drink but he says no without even a glance at her because it would break his concentration. Of all the slot machines in this glittery place, those where James chooses to play poker give him some control because he has to decide which cards to hold and which ones to discard. The other types of slots work on their own, you put your money in, spin the reels and wait for the results. This type of machine, where he has some say over the outcome of each game, is more to his liking. James is there for two more hours when he looks into his wallet and realizes the $300 he brought here with him has been reduced by way more than half. But after so many countless plays, this machine is not only due, it is overdue for a major payout! The bright lights and colorful borders around the machine screen are barely noticed by James, the sounds accompanying his winning hands all but inaudible to him as his senses are fixed only on the cards in the poker hands before him. Occasionally, there will be music, calliope sounds, buzzing, bells, whistles, soft explosions and various noises emanating from other machines in the casino but while they reach James’ ears, they do not register in his mind. He is on a mission to win big money playing video poker. A slight aching in his video poker right hand trigger finger is noticeable but not to the point of rendering it too painful to advance toward the big jackpot. More rollercoaster rides, more money lost, four hours now gone. Down to the final $20 bill but it ends up disappearing completely inside the machine with the credit indicator on the screen showing zero all too soon and nothing else to retrieve from his wallet. How did this happen again? James has been down this road many times before. He is a master at video poker and this should not have occurred. It was the wrong night, the wrong machine, James now realizes this. Just wait until next time.


That night we sat aboard the refugee’s ship discussing what we should do. The temperature had dropped quickly and a cold sea air blew across the deck. Most of the islanders stayed in the hull to keep away from the breeze. However, a few of us braved the elements and decided to set up a small fire up top. Xander had decided to take it upon himself to build the fire on top of an old metal drum. He spent a good twenty minutes tenderly placing various twigs in a small pyramid before setting them alight. With the kindling letting off a gentle but steady yellow flame, he sat down triumphant. The rest of us pulled up crates and huddled around, with blanket wrapped over our shoulders, and held our hands out to the warmth. “That’ll keep us warm for a couple of hours,” Xander beamed. “Good work,” I replied. “Have you decided where you’ll go yet?” Xander shook his head. “We’re still deciding. We’ll stay until you’ve found out what you can. Besides, people are oddly happy on this boat. I don’t think I’m ever going to get a line out of Mirai’s hands.” I laughed. “I will admit I didn’t have her marked down to become a passionate fisher.” “She’s put you out of work,” Alessia smirked. “Gladly,” I said, raising my hands. “She’s better at it than me.” “Yeah. Sirad’s become obsessed with nautical charts. Eir loves the feel of the helm. And Laachlan, well he’s mostly trying to get us all to join in with his singing.” “That nightingale song’s been getting in my head,” Kurbani said, her wide smile caught in the yellow light of the fire. She paused briefly. “Are you going to take that prisoner to Ruthogrey Landfall?” The conversation fell quiet briefly. I turned to Alessia. She looked out to sea, eyeing up the distant lights of the island. “We do it,” she said. She turned to face me, but my eyes couldn’t meet hers. I sat tense, my jaw clamped shut. “We need that information,” she added. I grimaced, shaking my head. “Clandestine prison transport. Doesn’t feel right.” “It isn’t, but, what choice do we have?” “If you don’t do it, someone else will,” Kurbani added. “Sometimes, if bad things are inevitable, it’s better that they are done by good people.” “What?” I replied, turning my head. “Whoever they are, you will treat them with kindness and dignity. The next person, may not,” she spoke to the fire as if she was retelling visions. “Besides. That prisoner’s no worse off on Ruthogrey Landfall than Tima Voreef.” I paused, my tongue waiting on the roof of my mouth for my words to be conjured. “It feels like a large price to pay for that information.” “We can’t live our whole lives clean of compromise,” Alessia said. “It’s like when you're sailing. You can set a course to exactly where you want to go, but you have to play within the winds around you. Sometimes you have to tack or get shifted about by the breeze. You aren’t always making a direct line for where you want to go, but getting beaten around is fine as long as the direction is broadly right.” “I know. Let’s just make sure we don’t get blown too off course?” “Agreed,” Alessia smiled. “I’ve seen people become moralless on the oceans, Ferdinand. I promise we won’t become them.” \ The next day we sailed back to Tima Voreef. I stayed on the boat while Alessia tracked down Runar and informed him that we agreed to his deal. She returned an hour later. “What now,” I asked as she climbed down onto the deck. “He said head to the other side of the island. Bay number three. They’ll meet us there.” We left the quay and rounded the western tip of Tima Voreef. I could see the outline of Ruthogrey Landfall poking above the horizon. The small strait of water between the two islands was flat, only thin licks of waves rose from the sea. Yet the water was not calm, but tense, like a tightly pulled piece of string. Even from here, I could make out the cannons pointed out from Ruthogrey Landfall, and the flotilla patrolling the coastline. Any basic logic tells you that when a gun is raised towards you in threat, you don’t calmly walk towards it. Yet, here we were, preparing to sail towards an arsenal. I looked down the southern shoreline of Tima Voreef to a similar site. Men and women stood with rigid backs and binoculars held up, watching the enemy. Between each outpost, a large gun, the size of a person, stood anchored to the ground, pointed out across the ocean. While on the northside of Tima Voreef the quay was long and flat, here instead a series of concrete jetties jutted out into the water, each with a large number painted on its end. The boats were made of metal; steel, painted grey, and clasped together with large rivets hammered into the ship’s hull. The first few boats we passed were huge constructions: an excess of masts pointing upwards, reaching for the sky. But as we continued, the boats grew shorter and more nimble, the number and height of the masts dwindling. Then, we began passing boats with no masts at all. I scrunched my face, staring at them. Instead of sails they had long, thick metal funnels that rose from the back of the boat. “You...” I paused, blinking, rechecking my eyes. “What powers them?” I asked. “Steam and coal,” Alessia replied, glancing briefly before turning her eyes back to the waters. “They probably get some of it from Kadear,” she said with a knowing nod. When I look back at that black rock that powered so much of the industry on Kadear, it seems impossible that it could be used to create movement. I knew it was used in furnaces, to keep buildings warm, and occasionally to power machines. But the idea that it could power a boat through the water even now seemed illogical. I had never seen a mastless boat before, and I found it hard to shift my eyes from the site, my brain refusing to let it go until it could fully comprehend what I was seeing. I was jolted back to the moment by Alessia turning the boat sharply towards the quay. “Bay number three.” “You ever seen a coal-powered boat before?” I asked, staring at her disinterested expression. “No. I knew they existed. But not seen one.” “Aren’t you... intrigued?” I flicked back and forth between the impossible boat and Alessia’s eyes that remained fixed on lining up the landing. “The first time I went anywhere with you, I saw moving paintings on a wall. Honestly, since then, I kind of gave up being surprised.” She turned to me and grinned. “Guess I’m just less easily impressed.” As we entered the bay I could see four people walk towards us. Runar led the way, followed by a man and woman in black waistcoats, and lastly by the prisoner. The captive shuffled along behind them, their wrists chained and with a sack over their head, hiding their face. They wore dark blue overalls that were several sizes too big, masking any form or shape underneath. Alessia threw out a rope and one of the guards caught it, tying it around the mooring and reeling us in until we were flush against the harbour. Runar walked alongside so that he was level with the helm. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a small red envelope. “Someone will probably ask for documentation out there. If anyone does, show them this.” I took the envelope and opened it. Inside there was a folded piece of paper. Unfurling it I could read a letter. *Diplomatic Immunity.* Next to the title there was a large seal stamped onto the page, the faint whiff of wick still clinging to the wax. The paper itself was smooth and silky, not rough like you would expect. Interwoven across the sheet were brief flickers of gold, seemingly part of the paper itself. There was a brief paragraph of text, before two signatures. *Joan Moreno, President of Tima Voreef* *Philomena Rubio, President of Ruthogrey Landfall* Somehow both islands had signed the document. I tried to work out the logistics of such a process as Runar continued speaking. “You’ll be accompanied by one guard. Deliver them to Ruthogrey. When you come back, I’ll get that information for you.” “I hope we can trust you on this,” I said, putting away the paper. “With all due respect, that document you want doesn’t mean a great deal to me. I’m coming out on top with this transaction,” he replied, looking to his right, as one of the guards led the prisoner down onto the boat. Runar walked over. He picked up a black box, its lid held in place with a leather clasp, and handed it over to the guard on the boat. “What’s in the box?” I asked. The guard turned to me, unsure of what to say. “I don’t think that’s something you need to be concerned with,” Runar replied, as he signalled to the other guard who started untying the ropes. “Processing paperwork for the prisoner. I would advise you to concentrate on your job, and in return, I’ll get you that sales report.” With the ropes untied, the boat gently pushed off from the harbour and we drifted out into the sea. A stiff westerly wind blew across the strait. Alessia made use of the right-angle winds and smooth seas to cut through the water like scissors through paper. I stood by the helm with Alessia looking down on our passengers sitting on crates. The guard sat in the middle, the prisoner to one side, and the black box to the other. Both of them sat perfectly still facing the starboard side. The prisoner made no pleas. They didn’t wrestle the chains for greater freedom. They just sat, waiting. The only part of the prisoner I could see were their arms that extended past the short sleeved of the ill-fitting overalls. However, the smooth, hairless skin and the smaller frame, was enough for me to deduce the prisoner was a woman. I noticed too that her arms didn’t look dirty. There were no scratches or bruises. It was clear, for whatever reason, Tima Voreef had been certain to take good care of her. “What do you make of this?” I said, leaning over and whispering to Alessia, the westerly winds carrying my words out to the sea. “Something’s not quite right. Whoever she is, she ain’t no ordinary prisoner.” Alessia tensed her jaw in thought. “The guard’s too relaxed. Prisoner too. It’s just, something’s missing.” “Agreed,” I said, my eyes locked on the passengers. “What do you make of that box?” “I’ll bet my boat that old man was lying about what’s in it.” Alessia mumbled. “‘Processing papers’. Fishshit.” “What do we do?” Alessia slowly shook her head. “Right now? Nothing. Just, see what pans out I guess.” The boat continued cutting across the channel. Behind us I could still see the guns, the soldiers, and the canons; their focus primed in our direction. Ahead of us sat the forces of Ruthogrey Landfall, poised, and ready. We were like an ant scurrying across a busy street. A small spec caught between lines of enemy fire. We made it about two-thirds of the way to Ruthogrey before one of the island’s boats approached us and signalled for us to stop. It was a small boat, maybe a quarter the size of Alessia’s, yet there were half a dozen soldiers on board. One threw over a rope, while the others watched on with wide, ready eyes. Their hands were raised at the hip, ready to draw their weapons should the moment require it. “Do you know you are currently in restricted waters?” a woman at the front of the ship barked. She wore a similar uniform to those on Tima Voreef, a black waistcoat with a white shirt. The only distinct difference was a dominant red trim to the waistcoat and her trousers. “Yes. We have a permit.” I took out the envelope, the hands of the soldiers twitching by their holsters as I moved. I showed them the letter. The woman read it and nodded as her body softened. She turned to the rest of the crew and gave a gentle downward wave as she finished reading. Their gaze shifted, and hands dropped from guns, swinging loosely by their side. “Another prisoner run I see,” she said, nodding at the woman in the jumpsuit. “Another?” I replied. “You can be on your way. You’ll likely be stopped again though.” Her prediction was correct. Another two boats came out to meet us as we sailed in. Both followed the same pattern: confused and stern looks turning to indifference as soon as we showed them the document. Despite the good winds, the stoppages slowed us down, and it was nighttime as we approached Ruthogrey Landfall. We were probably less than half an hour away from arriving when - for the first time - the prisoner stirred. They leaned over and whispered to the guard. The guard furrowed their eyebrow. They whispered back before the prisoner cut them off. The guard’s shoulders jolted back and they stood, before walking towards us at the back of the boat. “Does your ship have toilet facilities?” the guard asked. “In the cabin,” Alessia pointed to the small room behind her. “The prisoner requests to use them,” the guard said in a monotone voice. Alessia shrugged. “Be my guest.” The guard walked back down the boat and spoke to the prisoner. She helped the prisoner up and guided her along the deck, up the two steps to the helm, and to the cabin at the back of the boat. I watched them walk past, but Alessia’s eyes remained fixed forward, stuck to where they had been sitting. As soon as the door closed behind us, Alessia turned to me. “Keep an eye out. Let me know if they’re coming back.” “What?” “Here, hold this.” She grabbed my hand and placed it on the wheel. “Hold the course.” The boat lurched slightly in the crosswinds as my reactions caught up to the responsibility. Meanwhile, Alessia walked down the deck to the crates. “What are you doing?” I whispered as loud as I dare. “The box,” Alessia said. I looked at the crates. They had left it behind. Alessia bounded down to the black box, carefully undid the clasp and opened the lid. She pulled out a handful of papers as the sheets rustled in the wind. Alessia held a tight grip on them, as she leafed through the pages one by one. She stopped on a page, and walked over to a nearby lantern on the ship, leaning in to read the words more closely. Her eyes scanned the page. Then she flipped over and scanned the next. Slowly I could see her eyes widen as her head slowly drew back. “Shit,” she mumbled. “What?” I said, leaning over the wheel. “This is not what I expected.” I was about to demand an explanation when I began to hear footsteps climbing back up to the deck behind me. “They’re coming back.” Alessia scampered back to the box, opened it, and slid the pages back inside. She turned and bounded up the steps just as the door opened and the guard and prisoner emerged. “All good?” Alessia asked. The guard nodded. The prisoner said nothing. “We should be in port in about twenty minutes,” Alessia said as they walked back down towards the crate. Alessia took the wheel from my hands as they sat down again. The guard’s eyes turned to the box. She stared at it, unsure for a second, before gently retightening the clasp, and returning her gaze to the black sea in front. “You’re not going to tell me what you saw are you?” I whispered in almost silence. “Not until they’re off my boat.” The docks on the northside of Ruthogrey were similar to the southside of Tima Voreef. Large, white, concrete jetties jutted out into the sea, each with a numbered bay. Along the harbour wall, men and women stood, staring out across the channel as guns stood ready. Ruthogrey had more greenery though. While on Tima Voreef the buildings pressed up against the coast, here there seemed to be a buffer of trees between the shoreline and the town. But if it weren’t for that, and the red trim to the guards’ uniforms, you could be forgiven for thinking you had never left. We found an empty bay and gently sailed in. As soon as we arrived around eight guards trekked down to meet us. One of them threw out a rope. The others took out their guns, pointing them at the boat. Once more, I handed them the piece of paper. They read it and handed it back. For the first time, the guard escorting the prisoner spoke on our behalf. “I’m escorting this prisoner to the parliamentary cells.” The man on the quay looked back with a mirrored pose: stiff, rigid joints, posture stretched out in a line. “Very well. We’ll accompany you there.” It was strange to see this simple conversation between bitter enemies. I had expected immediate animosity. But their professionalism and sense of greater purpose took over, both sets of soldiers understanding their mission. The guard brought the prisoner to their feet before turning and picking up the box of papers. Our passengers stepped off onto the quay. Alessia and I watched them walk away, waiting till they were just far enough to be out of earshot. “There weren’t processing papers in that box were there?” “Anything but,” Alessia scoffed. She turned to face me. “It was reports. On everything. Production numbers, sales, productivity reports. A total breakdown of everything Tima Voreef has done for the past year.” “Runar is smuggling information to the enemy with the prisoner?” “Or the guard?” Alessia shrugged. “You reckon?” Alessia twitched her nose. “Maybe. I don’t know.” I took a deep breath in, the cold salt air tickling the back of my throat. “What do you want to do?” Alessia looked up to the island and the lights of the buildings that flickered between the swaying trees. “That piece of paper have a date on it?” “The date it’s signed, but otherwise, no. Why?” “No need to head back right now then. Wanna follow them?” I grinned. “Oh, definitely.


The darkness wasn’t always there. There was once light; beautiful light filling the room. The memories of the light drive me mad. All I can do, all I want to do, is capture another moment in it. Yet, darkness is almost all I see. I am paralyzed. Fear is the only thing I feel as I stare at the door before me. The only small taste of light I have had in a long time is coming through the crack of this door. But it is locked. I have a key in my hand but the same question circles like a vulture in my mind, “What if the key doesn’t fit?” There were other doors, lost in the darkness of the room as their lights had burnt out before. I have tried this key in those doors. Each time it hasn’t worked. There was one door in which I thought I heard it start to unlock, but then it failed. So, I sit here paralyzed, holding this key. I dream of the other room, the one with the light. I imagine the comfort, warmth, and clarity that will come with it. Yet courage evades me; and I sit here paralyzed, holding this key. I hear the laughter, faint but strong, coming from the other room. This is a sound I haven’t made in recent memory. A sudden rush of emotion comes over me. I feel the urge, the need to unlock the door. I grasp the key and move towards the door. I can start to feel the warmth. As I get closer the light gets stronger. I reach my hand out, shaking from nervousness. I insert the key and turn it. It unlocks! For the first time in forever excitement sweeps over me. As I open the door, light starts to fill the room. A smile creeps across my face and then.... It disappears. The light was no more. I understood. It was all an illusion. A cruel trick played by my mind... but no, it wasn’t. The light was there. I know I heard the door unlock. How could I be so close to the light, just for the light to burn out? So, I go back to waiting for the next sliver of light to come through a door. Hopeful. I sit, and I wait. Hope the only thing that is keeping me patient. My memory of what once was in this room has slipped away. It left a long time ago. The only thing I know are these doors. These doors that refuse to let me in. More and more time goes by and I am stuck. Hope dwindles and a new sense of anxiety comes over me. I have waited so long and the only thing I am hanging on to, the idea of light filling the room, seems impossible. There is no rest here. I cannot sleep. I just keep looking, searching for a sliver of light. Then it appeared. A new door. A new light. This time it was brighter than ever before. So bright it seemed as if it should bust through the door. I knew. I knew that this was the door to which I had the key. I don’t know how I knew, but I did. The laughter coming from the new room was louder than ever before; it was calling out to me. As I approached the door, I wasn’t nervous. I wasn’t anxious. I wasn’t scared. I simply entered the key, unlocked the door, and went inside.


Martin Moose was coming of age. A perky young stud. He was a Moose with lustre and potential, the universe was at his hooves. Martin was in fact a Moose who stood upright and dressed head to toe in clothing associated with a person of similar description to him minus the being a moose. He and his posse of other animal friends who's first and last names were alliterated, their first names being common forenames and their surnames being the species of animal they were. He and his posse, wow! What a bunch. Well it would be fitting to call this boisterous bunch a pack of party animals, but make no mistake, they were hard working animals that put some real graft into their studies at Animal University. They found a release from their day to day lives through the animal pool hall. Nobody loved the animal pool hall more than Martin Moose. A place were Martin could meet his peers, rack ehm up, shoot ehm and now and then court the local cows. It was Martin Moose's safe haven, his escape hatch from the harsh reality of animal life. One could say Martin Moose was moulded into the Moose he was through many an evening at the animal pool hall. Nights at the animal pool hall always had the potential to get a little wild, and believe you me they often did. One such night was the birthday party of Megan Mayfly. Megan Mayfly had just turned 14 hours old and the usual suspects were out in force. Never had Martin Moose seen the ol' hall so crowded. Martin couldn't so much as shake off his palmates without injuring one of his animal pals. A flurry of furry fun ensued and the night motored on. What a blast Martin Moose was having, shooting pool and catching up with animals he hadn't seen in an age. Amist the hustle and bustle of the party Martin Moose spotted Warren Wallaby hopping through the front door. Martin barraged his way through a sea of bodies to be the first to greet Warren Wallaby. Martin had always admirred Warren Wallaby. Ever since Martin was a calf he strove to emulate Warren Wallaby. Warren was an enigmatic wallaby who had gained a reputation through his ice cold demeanor. Martin Moose was infatuated with the idea of Warren Wallaby, who represented a jagged edge that Martin never truly had, being a moose that stayed on the straight and narrow. Whispers on the Animal University corridors spoke of lore surrounding the exploits of Warren Wallaby. He was rumoured to be anything from a petty thug to the Al Capone of wallabies. Martin Moose didn't know what it was Warren Wallaby got up to in his spare time, and he didn't really care. The unknown excited Martin Moose and injected inferno into his crystallised world. Alas, Martin greeted Warren Wallaby and they sat together, perched on two high stools overlooking the action on the animal pool table. Warren Wallaby was always open to Martin Moose's company. Truthfully Martin's desperation for his companionship sent Warren Wallaby on an ego trip he never could refuse. He didn't hold Martin Moose in high regard, all the animals could see it, all but Martin Moose. They spoke for almost an hour, never uttering anything meaningful or of substance, flapping heads. That changed when Warren Wallaby's black beady eyes lit up, as though he had awoken from a slumber, he was in the room for the first time in the night. He gestured to Martin Moose with a flick of his ear, pointing to the litterbox room. A curious Martin Moose obliged without hesitation and he followed Warren Wallaby as he hopped towards the litterbox room. Alone they stood, Warren Wallaby sported a dasterdly smirk as he gazed at Martin Moose from under his brow. Warren then slid his claw into his pocket, he didn't have a pouch as he is a male wallaby, he was wearing baggy jeans. From his pocket he flashed a small plastic zip lock bag containing white powder. Martin Moose's heart skipped a beat and a hot flush came over him. Martin was a naive moose but he knew exactly what Warren Wallaby's intentions were. Martin Moose had never taken drugs, granted he enjoyed some ale now and then, but he came from a family of catholic moose with strong moral values. Before Martin Moose could so much as flinch Warren Wallaby opened the bag and drew a small silver spoon from his jeans. He scooped out a generous serving of the powder and snorted it right up his snout. Warren Wallaby took a long deep breath, and then like a house on fire began wailing with furious anger as he frantically bounced around the litterbox room. Hopping from the floor to the wall and anywhere else he could launch himself from, now screaming out incoherently. Warren Wallaby abruptly composed himself. Panting and drueling he stared right through Martin Moose and softly propositioned "Let's let the moose loose". Martin Moose gulped. Warren's rampage had left him shell shocked. Martin wanted out of this situation pronto, but he was stuck, he had to face this situation palmates on. In a split second Martin Moose had an eternal internal battle that he had been having his entire life, would he walk on the wild side and allign himself with the wallaby he had worshipped from calfhood or did he possess the moral fibre to be true to the moose he was and reject Warren Wallaby's sinister offer. He knew what he had to do. A shaken and torn Martin Moose turned down Warren Wallaby. With a shake of his head Warren Wallaby turned his tail and hopped away, murmuring about square moose. Left isolated in the litterbox room Martin Moose pressed his elbows against the sink and looked deep into a dirtied mirror. The moose he locked eyes with in that mirror was not Martin Moose. He didnt recognised this particular moose, but he liked what he saw. He let his reflective moment pass by and marched back out into the ocean of animal pals. He and his oldest friend Gary Gnu shot some pool, Martin Moose considered telling Gary about the experience he went through earlier in the night but thought better of it. It was a monumental moment for Martin Moose and built the foundations of who he is as a moose. Such a moving personal experience is precious and for that precious experience he had Warren Wallaby to thank. He pondered if Warren would one day have a life altering experience like his but he let it go, he let Warren Wallaby go and closed the book, a book he had opened as a calf, gently closed by a man.