“I will make money from writing, you'll see!”, I insisted, "To start with, I will win fifty dollars in the Reedsy writing contest!” “What a fortune!”, dad laughed, “I tell you what! I will bet you another fifty bucks that you won’t win but if you somehow do, I won't mention law school anymore and you will be free to become a screw up!”, dad said. “Deal!” *** "It was autumn and it was cold and dark. Leaves were falling out from the trees. Cold wind blew some of the leaves around. Birds were very cold and besides there almost weren’t any birds left cause their went south. Maybe just some crows flying and walking around on the ground, covered with fallen leaves. It was very sad..." “Spare me, dear God!”, Judy said into her coffee mug. She called her dear friend, Martha. “Hey. Martha! Listen to this!” She read some of the story over the phone. “What’s with the trees and birds!”, Martha said laughing. “Right? And have you ever seen a crow covered with leaves before?” "Ha ha ha ha! Please... stop... And those repetitions? This could be taken care of with just one sentence!” “Writing is hard and yet everybody thinks they are a Hemingway these days!”, Judy observed. “Well at least they’re doing something that makes them grow as opposed to whatever stupid stuff kids do nowadays!”, said Martha with a slightly more serious tone. “Good point...” "What was the prompt for this one anyway?", asked Martha. “Write a story about a character who has found something precious”. “Looks like you just found it, ha ha!” *** “Robert submitted his first story to a real writing competition!”, mom announced proudly at the table. I always resented her embarrassing me in front of people. She probably didn't mean it but somehow everything I did sounded childish or weak the way she described it. “Robert, sit up straight, honey! You spend all your days at the computer and if you keep slouching, you will look like Quasimodo at a young age!” She proceeded to scrubbing some imaginary schmutz off my forehead with her saliva moistened thumb. “Mom, please...” I wanted to run as far away from the table as possible. “So what is the story about?”, uncle John rushed to my rescue. I could barely break through my embarrassment. “About a girl who lost a leaf and was trying to find it...”, I mumbled out finally. “Why was she after a leaf?”, asked my cousin, Cody. It always felt like he was out to get me. Ice hockey was all he ever talked about. “It was her lucky leaf...”, I explained. “Couldn’t she just find another leaf and make it her new lucky leaf? I mean there’s plenty of leaves to go around!” Uncle John gave Cody a warning stare. “So did she find it?”, asked mom. “Her friend who was a crow found it for her...”, I said. “I don't get it!”, said Cody. “Cody!”, uncle John interjected. “Sorry...” Dad was quiet. As far as he was concerned I was going to make a fine attorney. “Well, I think it’s a great honor to have a budding writer sit with us at the table”, Aunt Lucy chimed in. “So when will the winner be announced?” “In about a month or so...”, I said. “I’m crossing all my fingers and toes!”, said aunt Lucy. I always liked her. *** “The sea was very stormy...” “Oh, boy, here we go!”, Judy thought. “I think I know where this nautical wonder is going. Let me guess... It was dark as well?” The story continued: “... and very dark.” “Bingo!” “The mast broke on the boat and the sail was all torn in half. Captain was the only person left on the boat that was not dead. The boat was small and made of wood and it was lost at sea...” The prompt was “Write a story about a character who overcame an ordeal”. “That one is impossible to overcome...”, Judy thought. She closed the internet browser and opened Candy Crash instead. *** “What are you doing with your life, Robert!”, dad asked rhetorically. It was clear he meant to point out that I was wasting it. “Dad, I’m trying real hard! My writing's getting much better! I even got a like on Reedsy for my new story about a sea captain who made a hot air balloon out of torn sail fabric...” “That would never work!”, dad blurted out. I wasn’t sure if he was referring to the balloon or my future plans. “I'm just looking out for you, son! Don't you know that even the big shot writers out there are often struggling to make their ends meet? Writing doesn’t pay off, son!” "Dad, we made a deal!”, I reminded him. "All right! I'll be quiet until of course it's your time to pay up from your attorney salary..." "Ugh!" *** “Dorothy seated down on a chair and then took a deep breath and then exhaled and then she was trying to relax but she couldn't. She had a very hard day at work because her boss almost fired her because she was late from flat tire. She had lots of bad memories from childhood and she worried about what will happen next... ” Judy cringed. She wasn’t looking forward to reading through the entire story but she made it far enough to realize it won’t fly. “Write a story about being in the moment” was this week's prompt. Judy has been a Reedsy juror for quite a while now. One of her selections, a fictional story about cicadas, made it all the way to the top but the one she just tried to read would be in the hard rock bottom category. *** There were two months left before my graduation and quite some time passed after I gave up on writing. Not only my stories failed to win the prize but they were ignored by other members of the blog. I submitted one, sometimes even two stories every week but I haven’t received a single like apart from some troll nick named ‘Brat’ who kept liking all my stories, probably just to mock me. “You won, dad! Looks like your son is going to become a lawyer after all!”, I resigned. “Don’t jump the gun, my son!”, Dad said with his head immersed under the open hood of his beloved Corvette. “You’ve got two more months before your time runs out. Submit another one, then you can pay me in cash... or in beer!” “Fine!” I just wanted to put it to bed once and for all. *** Aunt Lucy handed me a mug of hot ginger lemon tea. “So, what did you write about lately? Did you win that contest yet?”, she inquired. “My latest story was about a woman who discovered she could change her entire past with the power of her mind... but... I was hoping we could talk about something else...”, I said. “Sure, Robby! What is it?” “Dad has been a real pain. He keeps pressuring me about that law degree... and since you grew up with His Stubbornness, the King of Asses, I thought maybe you could give me some pointers or even talk some sense into him...” “Oh, Robby, dear! That’s a tough one. As you pointed out correctly, your dad is as stubborn as a tree root! He’s always been a good brother to me but changing his mind about anything has never been easy...” “Was he always like that?”, I asked. “To a certain degree yes, but he became even more strict after he graduated from the military school”. “Figures...”, I sighed. Pause. “Let me show you something...”, aunt Lucy said excitedly. She took me to a spare room in her attic. It was filled with remnants of the past stashed away in boxes and plastic bags ‘just for when’ - the kind of room found in most old American houses. She opened one of the boxes and handed me an old folder filled with some hand written texts. “This is your father’s from when he was about your age...”, she said. I started reading one of the pages: "She opened the gates to the sacred temple of her mind and basked in the sunlight of the moment. Her lustrous thoughts freed themselves up from her tepid body. They meandered in and out like a flickering swarm of newly hatched butterflies. Lightweight, fragile and fleeting, just the way thoughts should be!” “Dad wrote it?”, I asked with surprise. “Yes, my dear! He used to be a budding writer just like yourself. His writing was beautiful, except...” “Except, what?” “His stories, though very well written, lacked a certain spark that would make them worth reading. His writing style was flawless but it always seemed like he was out of stories to tell...” “Can I have these?”, I asked. “You can borrow them for a while. Just don’t tell your father!” “Don’t worry, auntie! I’ll be discrete”. *** “When Chris woke up, he was turned into wolf but he didn’t notice anything for a long time when he was in bed. He noticed that something was different only when he got out of bed. He felt very hungry for raw meat and started crawling around the house on all fours. He also felt like going outside. It was very strange and scary...” Frank kept reading his son’s next submission to Reedsy contest. This one was in response to the prompt “Write a story about a character experiencing a sudden change”. It was awkwardly written, there were redundancies and repetitions all over the place and it was almost impossible to go through except the story line and premise alone were very compelling. It was about a wolf who had a dream about being a human. He gave it a like. “I must say, even though he can’t put a sentence together, that boy has a knack for storytelling”, Frank thought. His chest started feeling heavy and achy out of the sudden... *** They told us to come in a few hours once dad wakes up. He had to go into an emergency surgery right away. It was very fortunate that he was holding his phone when he felt something was wrong. It saved him precious seconds. Now it looked like, for the entire month before my graduation, he will have to be in recovery. When we saw him at the hospital he seemed a little weak but it looked like he was going to be alright. Aunt Lucy was already there. “Robert, my son, I want to tell you something”, dad said with a slightly exaggerated tone of a dying father from Brazilian telenovelas. “What is it, dad?”, I inched closer. He glimpsed at aunt Lucy. She gave him a nod. “Forget about that stupid bet. You don’t have to go to law school. I was wrong to pressure you...” “That’s alright, dad. My mind is already made up. You were right, my writing stinks and I would never survive as a writer. Copyright law seems close enough to my interests and might prove quite useful...” “Yes, your writing does stink but... your stories are wonderful...”, he said. “Wait, what? You've read them?” “Who do you think kept liking them on Reedsy?”, he asked. “Wait! You’re the... ‘Brat’? I should have known that one...”, I said. He chuckled. “There is something I need to tell you too, dad...” “Oh?” “Aunt Lucy showed me the stories you wrote when you were young.” “I know. Your aunt just told me...” She smiled at me. I continued... “Your stories are very...” “Let me guess...”, he interrupted, “They are beautifully written but they lack in storytelling...”, he said as if reciting a threadbare nursery rhyme, “Yeah... I've heard that one many times”. I made a 'you said it' face. Aunt Lucy approached the bed. “Frank, I think you've been a little unfair to Robert. You were almost as insufferable as our dad was to you. At least you didn’t forcefully sign him up for the military school...” “Grandpa did it to you?”, I asked. “He wanted me to serve a cause greater than myself... He couldn’t stand the thought of me wasting my life as a weak writer...” “That’s harsh!”, I said. “I don’t hold any grudges and in the end I’ve been very pleased with my military career, but now I do think he should have let me choose...” We sat in silence for a while. “I have an idea”, aunt Lucy turned to dad, “Since Robert is a born storyteller and you are going to be in recovery for at least few more weeks, how about you two engage in a little father and son bonding project!” “I think I know what you have in mind, Lucy but I don’t know... It’s been too long. I'm pretty sure I've lost my flare...” “Nonsense!”, she protested. She grabbed a notepad and pen and threw it on dad’s bed. “Now! I don’t want to hear any more excuses! Get to work, you two!” She kissed our foreheads and left. *** “Write a story about two characters who solved a dilemma by working together”, was one of this week's prompts. Judy finished reading a story by an anonymous writer nicknamed 'Robrat'. She called her dear friend, Martha. “Hey. Martha! Listen to this!” She read the entire story over the phone. “Looks like you’ve got a winner!”, said Martha.


He wasn\`t aware of the deer, before he heard its screams of agony. As he went closer, he could see, an arrow piercing the deer\`s lungs. The heart however, had remained untouched. The gentle brown eyes pleading for mercy. “My poor brother, who has done this to you?” The only thing he could do, was to redeem the animal from its suffering. So he took his bow, shooting with deathly accuracy. It was sad to see the spirit leaving its empty shell, yet it would have been crueller if he had done nothing. He patted the soft nose, “rest in peace, my brother.” Two green eyes from between the trees, made him shocked stepping back. The creature came closer, it looked like a lizard. No, more like a dragon without wings, covered in moss green scales and with a snake like body. He looked around. He was surrounded by them. Suddenly a presence appeared behind him, he wanted to flee but stumbled. His bow fell to the ground and before he could pick it up, a hand enclosed his neck. The grip was not violently, but firm telling him not to move. “Don\`t be afraid of my children, they won\`t hurt you. Unless you have a black heart. You killed the king of this forest, and my husband.” The dragons were now crawling up to him. “You know, there are humans, who kill for fun. And humans, who kill to survive. Which one are you?” “I did not know... he was already wounded, when I found him.” *Liar!* The creatures around him whispered, distrust reflecting in their eyes. Even the wind seemed to be against him, as if it wanted to say that humans cannot be trusted. “Why did you come into my forest, human?” “Because I had no choice, my kind is hunting me.” “And now they followed you, disturbing our balance. In one way or the other, you are responsible for his death!” “So, I can\`t escape death, either you or they will kill me, am I right?” Bitterness swung in his tone, the woman let go of him. He turned around to her, “your actions are your own. You cannot escape the consequences.” “I see, then I would prefer it to be killed by your kind.” “Why? If you leave my realm you are allowed to live.” He shook his head, “my fellow humans will find me, and burn me in place. If you kill me, I may be able to keep my dignity.” The woman seemed sorrowful, “they resent you... for what?” A weak grin occurred on his face. “I reject their faith, I follow ancient path\`s wisdom. Your wisdom, Lady Gaia.” She looked to the deer, “so you really released him from his pain...” One of the dragons was cuddling with his hand, careful he stroked over its scales. “You seek death, to flee from life.” “No, My Lady. To be afraid of death, means to be afraid of life itself. I lived my life as best I could, but my deeds led me to an early end. I can run but I can\`t hide, it is better to face fate. Than to survive as a coward. I embrace death, as I embraced life.” The mother bowed her head, “you are wise for a human. Yet we don\`t kill, like your kind on the battlefield, everything goes its way.” He handed over his dagger, a triskele was carved into its pommel. “I know. Everything is better, than to be executed as a traitor in front of thousands of self-righteous, judgmental, hateful eyes.” He leaned against an old oak tree, the dragons followed. Lady Gaia came towards him. Her divine, green-glowing appearance carrying the light of life, and at the same time the darkness of the night. She embraced him one last time, like a child. “You are no traitor, just someone born in the wrong place. You shall reincarnate in my realm. My brave, wise child.” The dragons sat on his feet, on his legs even on his stomach. One seemed to hold his hand, with his tiny claws. Looking at him, with soothing eyes. He looked upwards to the tree canopies. Such a wonderful view. “What is your name?” “Aderyn.” A fast pain emerged, when she slit his throat. “Now sleep, Aderyn.” Her motherly voice was the last thing he heard, closing his eyes. The wind blew towards him, a gentle, warm breeze of summer air. Carrying his soul away. The goddess placed the dagger beside his body. The dragons bowed their heads, then disappeared into the green. Leaves whirled around her figure, then she too had vanished.


Samantha stood on the dock overlooking the lake soaking in the warm sun, focusing on the sounds of the boats out for a boat ride under the light of the moon. She volunteered to come early to the family's summer home to air out the rooms, uncover all the furniture and get it ready for the onslaught of her family. Samantha hadn't wanted to come, since she hadn't set foot in the house since that fateful summer 10 yrs. ago, but her mother insisted that they have her engagement party among their closest friends and her entire family. Engagement party, who would believe that she would ever get married. Samantha had avoided marriage like the plague; she never found a man who she loved more than a friend, but her mother kept asking her when she was going to get married, and she felt the social pressure to give in. Samantha finally met Jaden, who was like no other man she had ever met. He didn’t push her to have sex with him, or get married; but after 6 months of dating, they finally made love, which wasn’t what Samantha wanted, but he was a gentle lover, very respectful and so Samantha gave in. Maybe, she could eventually love him; he was the nicest guy she had ever met, so after dating for a year, he proposed, and Samantha said yes. Her family was over the moon and wanted to share the occasion with their good friends at the summer house. So here she was, standing on the dock where she had stood 10 yrs. ago when life threw her a curveball from which she felt she would never recover. Samantha had had an ongoing battle with her mother over many things throughout her life; not the least of which was why Samantha couldn’t be more like her older sister, Anna. Anna was all girl, loved to dress up in “girly clothes” as Samantha called them; was very popular with all the boys, and was a varsity cheerleader. Her brother, Tim, was oblivious to most things around him if it didn’t involve a football, so he was no help with her battles with her mother. Samantha was more like Tim; she was what many considered a tomboy. She was athletic and played softball and basketball from a young age and although she was popular, she never felt like she was like the other girls her age. All they talked about throughout high school was boys and Samantha felt there were other things more interesting than boys. The summer after her junior year in high school the family spent the entire summer at the lake like they did every summer since Samantha was 5yrs old. It started like every other summer. The usual families were there and as was the custom, the first Saturday was the first event of many that all the families would spend together. The party started like all the past parties had started; connecting with old friends who they hadn't seen since last summer; with one exception. One of her favorite people, Thomas, also Samantha's age, brought his cousin, Julia, who was visiting for the summer. Her parents were in the middle of a messy divorce and she needed a place where she wasn’t in the middle of battling adults. Julia was 17 yrs. old, a senior, played varsity softball and had a full scholarship to play for Oklahoma in the Fall. When Julia shook Samantha's hand, Samantha was taken by surprise by how it felt to shake her hand. It was that feeling that Samantha had felt many times in the past when she was around one of her best friends in middle school. She remembered how the feelings frightened her and so she stopped being friends with these girls. This experience repeated itself many times throughout her high school years with the same result- she stopped being friends with these girls. Her other girlfriends talked about these feelings, too, but they always were feelings they had for boys not girls. Now, here were those feelings again. She thought she was past those feelings; she was mortified. Samantha left the party immediately and vowed to stay away from this girl, but Julia had other ideas. She too had had the feeling when she shook Samantha’s hand and she made a point of tagging along with Thomas when he met Samantha at the boat dock the next day. The difference between Julia and Samantha was that Julia embraced and honored the feelings she was feeling. She knew that these feelings were sexual, and she loved the way the attraction felt. Her parents always encouraged her to be her own person and that included her sexual orientation. As hard as Samantha had tried to avoid Julia that summer, it was to no avail. What Samantha began to realize was that these were perfectly normal feelings to have, but not for other women. she made a point of never being alone with Julia until the last night of their summer stay. Samantha was on the dock, enjoying the last sights and sounds of the lake when someone called out, “Sam, is that you?” Samantha turned and saw Julia moving toward her and said, ‘” please don’t call me Sam, my name is Samantha.” Julia was taken aback, but it did not deter her, and she continued to walk toward Samantha. When they were close enough to touch, Julia leaned in and kissed Samantha on the mouth. At first, Samantha pulled away, and then gave in to what she was feeling and kissed Julia back. But when the feelings started bubbling up inside of her, she pulled away and ran down the dock toward home. That was the last time Samantha saw Julia, but the memory of that kiss haunted her for many years after that summer. Samantha spent the next 5 years sleeping with a guy after guy, trying to convince herself that she was straight and that Julia was just an anomaly; until she met Jaden and decided she could learn to love him. Today, she was standing on the dock, filled with memories of all those summers before, but especially the summer of meeting Julia, willing it out of her thoughts. She was jolted back to reality with someone calling her name. “Samantha, is that you”? As Samantha turned, there was Julia, more beautiful than ever, tan, elegant, sexy as hell walking toward Samantha. “What are you doing here?” Samantha asked. “Thomas told me you were having an engagement party this weekend, and I had to come to wish you well” Julia replied. Samantha was noticeably uncomfortable, fidgeting with her sweater and not making eye contact with Julia. “I have never stopped thinking about you,” Julia continued. “I have kept up with your career and hoped to see you again during the summers, but you never came back. “ Samantha was beyond understanding what was happening to her, but as Julia moved closer in an attempt to hug Samantha, she could no longer deny the feelings she was having. She knew then that all these years of avoiding women who frightened her with what she felt for them, was just her denying who she was and who she loved. She finally succumbed to the attraction she felt and as Julia was hugging her, she turned her head and kissed Julia, like she never had kissed anyone before. She was flooded with desire for Julia, but pulled away and just looked her in the eyes and said “If you would a still like to, you can call me Sam.” Julia laughed out loud and kissed Sam again, asking her to come with her to the boat dock so they could take the boat out for a midnight ride. Sam shook her head and said that she would be there in a minute but first she had to make a phone call. As Sam dialed Jaden’s number her hands were shaking. When he answered, she said, “Jaden, we need to talk.”


So this happened today. It didn’t start today but it happened today. It started months and months ago on tinder when I swiped a girl I thought was kinda cute. We swapped Snapchats and then nothing. Until last week when I was feeling especially lonely, I messaged her just for the company. Since then we’ve been messaging everyday, the conversations seem to drag out over multiple days like a chess match played via carrier pigeon, each of my messages carefully thought out to try to be the best I can. I’m sure for her it comes naturally, but for me I make so much effort with each message. This morning I woke to the torrential rain outside. I checked my phone straight away to see if she’d come to her senses and cancelled yet, she had messaged but only to say we would have to push back out meet-up time as she had a problem with her house but she’d get it sorted. I tried to act cool, I went about my normal morning routine and was secretly smiling to myself about how the day might unfold. “You can get here for about half 10” she sent me. It got real then because until this point she had just been a name and a bitmoji on my screen, but at 10:37 she was across the street. She wasn’t the type of girl I usually go for, not that I can afford to be picky, but she was so different to me. But my god she was gorgeous! Long black hair flying around in the wind like it was trying it’s hardest to get away from the gleaming smile on her face. Jeans, trainers and a coat, so simple and yet on her it looked flawless. “Heyyy.” I was gone, luckily when she said it she was putting on her seatbelt so she didn’t see my stupid face extend like it was being stretched from the eyebrows up and the jaw down. Her accent was incredible. My stomach felt like it weighed as much as the car I was in. With my hand on the wheel to hide the shaking I replied “hey, you alright?” With the pseudo confidence rarely seen outside of the intoxicated. I went to drive but I stalled. How embarrassing, how much worse can I get? Oh yeah I stall again. What a great start? Way to make an impression. Third time lucky though I managed to creep the car out of her street while asking for directions out of her estate like I was an Uber and with the professional tone in my voice to match. Half an hour later though I was settled, I had asked all the questions I had thought of before I woke up that morning. Flickering between “so what surprised you most when you first moved to this country” and “what’s your favourite dinosaur” I was just as much a mess as I was 30 minutes ago. I drove her to a small town in the countryside where I had planned on telling her about my experiences there and showing her the river that flows through the centre, the medieval buildings and the history on offer. However, as we arrived I just drove past all that at the speed limit while talking about how I was failing my duty as the tour guide for the day. It’s amazing how differently things work out in real life vs inside your head while you lie in bed at 2am. The romantic meal on the side of a river turned into a very greasy fish and chips ate in the front of my car while staring into a shop window. What am I doing?! Here I have one of the most genuine, sweet, beautiful and charming girls I’ve met in my life and I’m smashing battered cod down my throat like it’s a competition. There’s no way she’s having a good time, she can’t be having fun, she probably only smiles and laughs at my jokes so that I’ll take her home after I’ve spent my time with her. Just as quickly as we arrived we left, it was half way over and I wasn’t ready for that. We listened to music on the way back with the occasional quick short conversation, usually ending in some sort of dad joke by me and her with a smile and a stare that just said “I can’t believe you said that” but in a good way. Back at her house, I made an excuse not to drop her off in the middle of the road but instead to park up, clinging to any hope that she might possibly invite me in just so our time wasn’t over. “So when are you free next?” What?! First of all you *want* to see me again? Even after that shambles of a ‘date’ you want to endure me again? Then the realisation that she wasn’t going to invite me in. My mood went down, up and down again as fast as my breathing must’ve been the last time I was here earlier in the day. “Uhhh, I’m not sure, I’ll let you know later.” How generic. Truth was that no matter what I would’ve made sure I was free for whenever she was but I couldn’t say that to her. I’m not even sure if she liked me or she’s being nice until she shuts her front door and can block me from her phone. But, this time without stalling, I drove away feeling defeated, unwanted and like I just traded an amazing few hours for a whole week of sadness to follow. I couldn’t help myself though, before I made it home I messaged her. Telling her how much I enjoyed meeting her and that I had a great day. You should’ve seen the grin on my face when she replied, reciprocating what I had expressed with the same cheerful texts that we’d been sending before. I forget exactly how we got there but she asked what my first impression was of her and when I asked the same she said “you just need to get more comfortable, you don’t get much credit for” and that was it. She must’ve accidentally sent it or misspelled a word. I had to know so I asked “much credit for what?” “I guess what I’m trying to say is that you’re really nice, you’ve got a great personality and great features.” I didn’t even know what that meant but I didn’t care. If someone had seen me they might’ve thought I was trying to taste my ears with the corners of my mouth. On the drive I mentioned a game that I was particularly good at, she hadn’t played it or even heard of it before but she downloaded it earlier and I played with her for an hour or so. She sucked, I know she’s new but she was absolutely trash at that game. Yet it was the most fun I’ve had in that game. Next time I see her I have to just be more confident. I really, really wanna see if this is something that could be something more but I just don’t know if she feels that way. Like all the times before, I’m probably setting myself up for a months long misery.


From the moment she was born, everyone seemed to love Lucy. Like a human lodestar, she had the ability to draw warmth out of anyone around her. She succeeded at everything she attempted, and attempted almost everything. Without a doubt, she was the brightest, kindest, most beautiful woman I ever knew. On a Thursday night, in the heart of a New York blizzard, Lucy took her own life. When they went to bury her, the ground was so frozen they could hardly dig her grave. They lowered her into the cold earth, to cover her presence and hide our shame. There she lies today, bereft of the warmth she inspired in others, abandoned by the world and its people. I have tried talking about it many times; her mother refuses to discuss it. It is an open secret, something that happened and must not be mentioned, better consigned to history than examined in the light of day. That may be, but I can’t keep going like this. I need to talk about what happened. I need it to be told so someone else can remember. One final time, to set it in stone. *In the year of our lord 1518, in the city of Strasbourg, France, a woman walks from her home. She enters into the streets and begins to dance feverishly. Soon, multiple people have joined her. Together they dance as if their very lives depend on it, shaking uncontrollably to the rhythm of an ineffable beat. The illness spreads, there appears to be no obvious vector of transmission. For some, just knowing about its occurrence is enough to spur on an incident. No medical intervention seems capable of easing the ailment. The townspeople turn to god for help. Mass sermons are held, exorcisms are concocted to evict the demon that has gripped the town. It proves ineffective, but this does not stop the peoples’ prayers. There is a sense of the town being held together by prayer alone. Meanwhile, the diseased dance until they collapse from fatigue. Only then are they relieved.* When Lucy died I locked myself in a room for four months. I didn’t see another soul, didn’t hear a voice other than my own and the ones in my head. I ate very little and said even less. I wanted to come to terms with the grief. I wanted to memorize its features, to read its movements and learn its manners. I wanted to size it up like a rival gladiator before a bout. It worked, maybe a little too well. By the time I left the room I could describe every facet of the grief in utmost detail. I can still remember those descriptions today, but I’ve long since forgotten what Lucy looked like. I didn’t cry for years, I still rarely do. We don’t get to decide between what haunts us and what we leave behind. What happens to those things that are forgotten? Those people? A hundred years from now no one will remember Lucy, no one but the earth. Where do those thing go? Where is Lucy now? Everywhere and nowhere. Gone and yet fractured, smashed into a billion little pieces, digging in under my skin. What does that make us? What does that make me? *In 1300 BC, the Egyptian Pharaoh Akhenaten has had enough. In one fell swoop he abandons the old pantheon and replaces them with his own god, Aten. A single man, destined to be the sole intermediary between his world and the next, decides to usurp the gods. He outlaws the worship of the old pantheon. It is largely unsuccessful. In response, Akhenaten’s madness deepens. His laws grow more brutal, his convictions more dire. On paper it was a simple thing: the gods are only as real as they are believed to be. It is he, the pharaoh, who decides what is real for his subjects. And yet the gods are fighting back, refusing to die. As if they know what follows.* *Akhenaten decides a new capital is to be built. In alleyways and dark corners he is dubbed a heretic, yet no one dares to oppose him. The pharaoh’s might is absolute. What was supposed to be a religious execution has become a bitter war, one Akhenaten does not survive. After his death, all signs of him are swiftly erased, along with any mention of his foolish god. The old pantheon is soon returned.* I disappeared from the world. Not in a physical sense but certainly in a spiritual one. I retreated further and further into myself, until I couldn’t recognize who I was. To the world, I became a ghost. In a way, I think it was an attempt at punishment, a way to create a connection between myself and Lucy. None of it was my fault, it just made more sense if it was. At least then I had someone to blame. I quickly managed to put up appearances. It’s not difficult to teach yourself how to go through the motions. Lucy became my excuse for everything, the reason I went home early, the reason I didn’t go out on Fridays, the reason I stopped writing and the reason I couldn’t pick it back up. I didn’t tell anyone of course, it wasn’t any of their business. From the outside it must have looked like I suddenly stopped, like everything about me had ground to an abject and indefinite halt. Lucy’s death was a single, immaculate puzzle, and because I had made myself one of the pieces it had become impossible to solve. That was how I liked it. But life stops for no one, no matter how badly we want it to. In time, the rapturous drumbeat of your heart is destined to overpower any lingering regrets, and you will be forced to stand back up. It wasn’t that I didn’t still need Lucy, it was that I had been faced with an ultimatum: Give up life, or give up Lucy. Some part of me still had enough sense to know it wasn’t what she would have wanted. To hold on any further would mean despoiling her memory past the point of no return. She would die again, and this time I *would* be the one to blame. All these facts were true, even if I was the only one who knew them. They were real, even though they were only in my head. Even from beyond the grave, Lucy had the power to change my life. *In 1519, one year after the Dancing Plague torments Strasbourg, the Spanish conquistador Hernán Cortéz lands on the shores of modern day Mexico, determined to conquer the newly discovered land for his king and country. A year later, Cortéz and his men arrive in the Aztec capital of Tenochtitlán, a glorious city built upon the waves of a great lake. The city dwarfs anything Cortéz has ever laid his grubby little eyes on.* *They are received by the Aztec Emperor Moctezuma, who declares Cortéz an incarnation of the Aztec god Quetzalcoatl, the great feathered serpent. Cortéz is lavished with gold and proceeds to claim this mighty empire for his king.* *The story isn’t true, of course. The Aztecs were far from uneducated. They understood warfare and deception as well as any European warlord. It is, however, the story that was told for generations, a recollection of events so outlandish and intriguing that it could not help but spark a match in the world’s collective imagination.* *It helps that the Aztecs did not get to tell their side of the story. Tenochtitlán was raised to the ground like a modern library of Alexandria. Whether or not Cortéz was a god, he would ultimately herald destruction of biblical proportions.* For all of Lucy’s childhood her mother would always tell her not to believe in anything. ‘Don’t let anyone decide for you’ she would say. Lucy took it to heart, how could she not? When we are young our parents are like gods. We believe their every word because there is nothing else to believe. Those words gave her hope, they became Lucy’s foundation, the very core of her being. They elevated her, allowed her to reach ever better and greater things. They also killed her. When Lucy’s life fell apart there was no one to turn to, no one to blame but herself. She struggled under the weight of her own genius and the implications that genius created. It was torture. It wrenched her apart from the inside out. I tried to help, to find the right words like I’m supposed to do, but I couldn’t. There was no way of reaching her. She was already gone. I hated myself for that. I still do. ... In a perfect world she would have had somewhere to turn. There would have been a figure or ideal to grant her comfort. A God, to deliver absolution. Higher powers provide ambiguity, they serve as a sticky, waxy substance through which we can glance at the truth without being exposed to its power. It’s why there are no wordless gods. The language isn’t just necessary, it’s the point. Language and truth can never occupy the same position. Viewed together they form perfect parallels, lines skirting each others’ edges but never intersecting. In just the same way that I can never make you feel how it felt when Lucy died, even though I remember it clear as day, a god could never have helped her any more than she could have helped herself. But what does that mean? That it isn’t real? That it isn’t worth trying? Maybe that’s not the point. Maybe the point is to be haunted, to be gripped eternally by the feeling that there is something just out of reach that you can’t quite put your finger on, infinitely distant yet uncommonly familiar. After all, real events have no power. It’s only when we start telling them as stories that they begin to carry weight. It’s only when we tell them again that we can make sense of what happened. Often, by the time we do, the real thing has already been lost. So we walk in circles, following the stories we ourselves laid down as tracks, trying to capture the nature of the thing we lost, certain that if we could just hold it in our hands once more, that it would surely bring with it some new perspective, some ancient, antediluvian truth that would make our pain feel just a little lighter. In that sense, we have already become like gods. Because that’s all a god is: a false guide, circling something real, a memory thrice recalled and twice recorded, not a lie, but something adjacent to one. Maybe that was what Lucy needed to hear. Maybe it’s just what I want to believe. Every night I lie in bed and close my eyes. Every night I feel the life drain from my body as my consciousness fades. Every morning I am born anew, without sin, or pain or memory. Every morning I have to reconstruct myself from the broken shards of what remains. I never come out quite the same. When I die, I too will be a memory. Everything I am and was will be compressed until I become a single thing with many facets. A god, a dream, a notion. No one will remember the pain. No one will remember the loss, or the sorrow and horror of a life cut short. No one will remember who I really was. But that’s okay. The earth remembers. The earth *always* remembers.


Jill’s heart shivered when she saw Bruce for the first time. The young woman didn’t expect her blind date to be so handsome. After Jill saw Bruce, she wanted to thank her best friend, Rachel, for setting her up on a blind date. Jill hoped that her date felt the same way about her. Since Jill was a psychologist, she tried to read Bruce’s body language toward her. She studied Bruce’s gestures while sitting across from him at a table. Jill liked everything about Bruce, and she couldn’t understand why. She liked the way his lips moved as he spoke to her. She liked his smile and how it complimented his attractive, prominent jawline. Jill loved the hint of gray that decorated Bruce’s short blondish hair. Bruce felt the same enthusiasm toward Jill. He loved Jill’s curly fire engine red shoulder-length hair and her gorgeous facial features, which had an Asian-like essence. Everything about Jill seemed perfect to Bruce. Like Jill, he also liked the way her full lips moved when she spoke. There was something that bothered Bruce. He loved meeting Jill, but a melancholy atmosphere would nip at his thoughts now and then. “So is this your first blind date?” Jill asked while smirking at Bruce. She licked her lips in anticipation while waiting for her date’s reply. “Yeah, this is my first blind date.” Bruce chuckled when he saw a glimmer of disbelief in Jill’s eyes. “Honestly! This is my first blind date!” Bruce repeated. He broke into complete laughter as he tried to convince Jill. Jill slowly nodded while squinting her eyes at Bruce with her lips still wearing a smirk. “So I’m the first woman you’ve gone out with? That’s hard to believe.” “Why is that so hard to believe?” Bruce shot his question at Jill while still laughing. The man began drumming his fingers on the table as he waited for Jill’s answer. Jill shrugged her shoulders while looking away from Bruce for a minute. “The guys I dated in the past always dated other women before me. Some of them had girls on the side while they were dating me. I’ve never been with a guy who said that I was his first date. It would be refreshing if it’s true.” Jill laid her suspicious eyes back on Bruce’s ruggedly handsome face. She tried to look serious, but a slight smile would constantly manipulate the corners of her mouth every few seconds. “It’s true. You’re the first girl I’ve dated.” Bruce looked Jill straight in her eyes and he never blinked. The man folded his hands on the table and he leaned forward with an earnest glow on his face. He wanted Jill to believe him because he was telling the truth. He watched as the smile on Jill’s face slowly faded. “You must be a virgin,” Jill stated without hesitation. She watched as Bruce sat back in his chair while giving her a shocked stare. Jill snickered when Bruce’s face turned red. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that.” Bruce stared at Jill incredulously while chuckling. He wanted to say something else to Jill, but he held back his words while nervously brushing his fingers through his spiked, sharply cut hair. Bruce cleared his throat and he took his eyes off Jill when the waitress approached their table. *** As the evening went on, Jill and Bruce became more attracted to each other. The couple was no longer at a restaurant. They were now inside of an L.A. nightspot, grinding against each other on the dancefloor. Bruce had his hands on Jill’s curvy waistline and he loved feeling her hips sway rhythmically to the DJ’s hip-hop EDM. Jill loved feeling Bruce’s tall and muscular build hugging her from the back. Occasionally, she would playfully gyrate her buttocks against Bruce’s manhood area. Jill couldn’t understand why she felt so comfortable around Bruce. She didn’t feel guarded around him. The young woman loved feeling free around Bruce. She never felt so free on dates with other men. There was something about Bruce that exhilarated Jill. She didn’t mind getting loose with him. She didn’t mind feeling his large, firm hands on her butt even though they had just met a few hours ago. Bruce enraptured himself in the nightclub’s erotic atmosphere. The young man also enraptured himself in Jill’s atmosphere. It aroused him knowing that his body sweat was mingling with Jill’s. Bruce never thought of himself as a good dancer. But tonight, Jill awakened a rhythm inside Bruce that he didn’t know he had. He had to catch up with Jill’s dance moves and it amazed him to watch Jill gyrating and grooving like an NBA cheerleader. Bruce’s hands molded Jill’s wide hips and he could feel her sweat leaking through her silver skin-tight dress. The young man stayed in rhythm with his blind date. He rested his chin on Jill’s shoulder while wrapping his bulky arms around her waist and enjoying the feeling of her hand stroking the side of his tattooed neck. Jill and Bruce were perfectly in sync with each other. The couple was inseparable as they danced to the DJ's remix of Marco G’s Dancefloor . The R&B dance tune was turning the nightclub upside down. “You wanna go to my place after we leave the club?!” Bruce had to shout out his question to Jill over Marco G’s young voice and a booming beat that shook the club’s floor. The young man’s heart skipped a few beats per minute when Jill smiled up at him while nodding her head. “I’ll ride with you for the rest of the night!” Jill shouted up at Bruce while reaching up and resting her arms on his shoulder. “I like you! You’re cute!” Jill announced her feelings for her blind date. She wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol talking for her or if she was really expressing her feelings for Bruce. Within a second, Jill brought her lips in for a kiss. She had to stand on her toes to kiss Bruce. The kiss made Jill’s skin tingle. Every cell in Jill’s body celebrated when her lips connected with Bruce’s soft lips. Jill thought she was kissing an angel. When Jill kissed Bruce, the nightclub and the crowd of dancing young people disappeared. This was the best first date Jill had ever experienced. She became one with Bruce and she could taste the tequila on his warm lips. Bruce couldn’t feel the bounce of the crowd anymore, or the nightlife atmosphere that embraced him and Jill. All he could feel was Jill’s plush lips massaging his. Kissing Jill made Bruce forget that he was a married man. It made Bruce forget that he lied to Jill at the restaurant. Bruce had a wife, but he decided that tonight he was a single man who found love for the first time. The young man embraced the moment with no fear of consequences for lying to his blind date. Bruce felt that he never lied to Jill, so he had nothing to feel guilty about. Everything was falling into place for Bruce, and all he cared about was making Jill happy. *** Midnight had arrived and Jill kept thinking about the unforgettable experience she had with Bruce at the nightclub. Jill had a little too much to drink while she was at the club. The young woman still felt aware of her surroundings. Her head was a little fuzzy, but she knew that she was inside Bruce’s house. She made herself comfortable on his sofa, and she didn’t find it strange that Bruce was kneeling in front of her like a man ready to propose. “You got a nice crib,” Jill giggled out her words while looking around the living room. She studied the clean and sophisticated living room, which had a Mediterranean style. Jill loved every piece of furniture in Bruce’s house and she couldn’t take her eyes off his coffee table, which had the shape of a palm tree. “There’s something you need to know,” Bruce said while maintaining his kneeling position in front of Jill. “I haven’t been honest with you.” Bruce continued. He chuckled when Jill giggled at his words while playfully tapping the tip of his nose. Bruce knew that Jill was substantially drunk and that she was half-listening to him. “Oh-oh, you haven’t been honest with me? You’re hiding something?” Jill’s speech was a little slurred and she caught on to what Bruce said to her a minute later. “What do you want to tell me? You can tell me anything, you know? Because you’re cute and I won’t get mad.” Jill spoke with a flirtatious spice in her already sultry voice. She leaned in Bruce’s face, almost burying his nose in her busty cleavage. The young woman couldn’t keep her hands out of Bruce’s hair and she knew that she was acting silly, but she didn’t care. “I lied to you when I said you were the first girl I dated.” Bruce softly threw his words out of his mouth and he nervously gazed up at Jill when he felt her hands come to an abrupt stop in his hair. Jill lifted one of her eyebrows. She kept a bewildered smirk on her face while leaning away from Bruce. “What are you talking about?” Right after Jill asked her question, a mysterious young woman wearing a pair of ripped denim jeans and a pink halter top cautiously stepped into the living room with her hands folded in front of her. To Jill, it looked like the woman appeared out of nowhere. “Please, don’t get upset. I can explain this.” Bruce put his hands up in a pleading gesture. He watched as the playful smile on Jill’s face melted into a look of disgust. “Who is this? What’s going on?” Jill still had a relaxed tone in her voice, but it had an edge. She tried to stand up from the sofa after it sunk into her mind that Bruce had made a fool out of her, or so she thought. “I need to go home.” Jill became a little sober after the other woman came into the living room with a pitiful expression on her face. “Don’t touch me! You’re an asshole!” Jill’s soft, sultry voice exploded when Bruce attempted to place his hands on her shoulders. “Take it easy. She’s not what you think.” Bruce chuckled nervously after Jill shoved his hands away. “She’s just the babysitter!” Bruce knew that he couldn’t waste any more time. He quickly reached for his phone to play a video for Jill when he saw that the young woman was about to slap him. “What the hell is this?” Jill snatched the phone away from Bruce and it took a minute for her to realize she was looking down at a recorded video of herself talking. Jill couldn’t believe that she was staring down at herself in a video. She turned up the volume on Bruce’s phone to hear what this other Jill was saying. “Is this some kind of joke? Is this CGI or something?” Jill shot her questions at Bruce and she watched as he slowly shook his head. “You recorded this video yesterday, but you don’t remember it because of your condition,” Bruce explained. His gentle voice shuttered a little when he felt tears trying to bloom in his eyes. “She has a message for you. Just listen.” Bruce tapped his finger on the phone's screen. “Hey, Jill! I know you’re probably sitting on the sofa feeling confused right about now. Don’t worry, girl! I’ll try to explain everything!” The video Jill laughed out her words while pointing at the phone’s camera. “The man who you went on a date with is your husband. You’re celebrating your anniversary tonight. I hope you had a good time. I told your husband to make you happy for the both of us.” The video Jill paused for a minute while looking down and wiping away a tear. “You have what the doctors call severe anterograde amnesia. It’s a type of amnesia in which a person cannot remember recent memories. You still keep your long term memories, like your childhood memories. But you can’t remember recent memories. You got in a car accident while driving to work. A drunk driver ran a red light and plowed into you, causing your car to rollover. You suffered a severe brain injury and you needed surgery. Every day, you forget who your husband is and your children. I made this video to help you remember that you have a lovely husband named Bruce Livingston, whom you’ve been married to for eight years. You have two beautiful kids. A girl and a boy. Your son’s name is Scott and he’s five years old. Your daughter is seven and her name is Olivia.” Jill had her hand over her mouth with her eyes glued to the phone's screen. Seeing herself in the video still felt like a dream. “Since your anterograde amnesia causes you to forget recent memories, you probably don’t remember doing this video the night before.” The video Jill took a deep breath before letting out a soft laugh. “Every night I make a video so your husband can show it to you. I didn’t want you to forget your anniversary, that’s why making this video was super important. I told my hubby, or maybe I should say, our hubby, to take you out on a date. I wanted him to recreate the blind date that your best friend, Rachel, set you up on ten years ago. I wanted Bruce to recreate the night when I first met him. I wanted him to take you to the same places you went to on your first date with him. I wanted your anniversary to be special. I hope you had a good time at The Cobra nightclub. The Cobra was where you kissed your husband for the first time. You have severe amnesia, but you will not let a car accident and your amnesia stop us from enjoying life. You will not be bitter and depressed because life is too short for that. Take notes by recording videos every day so you can capture and remember the best moments in your life. A drunk driver took away a piece of you, but you can get that piece of you back. You’re a wonderful mom and a splendid wife. You’re also a powerful woman and nothing will stand in your way. I love you, girl! You hang in there and I want you to stay strong for the both of us! I can’t explain everything in this video, so your husband will finish the job. I want you to give my love to your beautiful husband and your two gorgeous babies. I wish both of you a Happy Anniversary.” Jill kept her watery eyes on the phone even after the video ended. The young woman couldn’t talk for a minute, and she allowed her tears to drip down on her husband’s phone. Bruce used his thumb to clean away some tears beneath his wife’s eyes. He watched as his wife slowly stood up from the sofa while softly gasping and brushing her hair away from her wet face. Bruce stood up with his wife and he jumped a little when Jill dropped his phone before grabbing him and kissing him passionately. Jill never said a word to her husband and she let her lips do the talking. After assaulting her husband with a heavenly mind-altering kiss, the young woman took her husband by the hand. She reached out affectionately to touch the hand of the babysitter who was a seventeen-year-old girl named Amy Washington. “Your children are asleep. You want me to show you where their room is?” Amy asked Jill while embracing the woman’s hand. The babysitter guided Jill down the hallway after the young woman gave her a nod while still crying. Amy knew Jill, but she knew that the mother didn’t remember her. The teenager would later find the right time to reintroduce herself to Jill. But for now, she felt that it was more important to show the woman where her children were sleeping, so she could give them her love. Jill still had her husband’s hand when she stepped into her kids' bedroom. The young woman wasted no time kneeling beside Scott and Olivia’s bedsides and kissing them. She made sure not to let her affectionate kisses wake up her son and her daughter. Jill’s reality was still sinking into her mind as she gazed at her children, feeling like she was staring at two angels for the first time. She would occasionally gaze up at her husband unable to stop her tears. After giving her little boy and her little girl one last kiss on their foreheads, the happy but confused young woman slowly stood up and embraced her husband. Bruce kissed his wife on her lips. He watched as his wife wrapped her slender arms around him while laying her tear-soaked face on his shoulder. As he held his wife securely in his arms, Bruce thought about how he instantly fell in love with Jill when they first met. Tears tried to escape from Bruce's eyes when he thought about how the car accident, his wife’s surgery, and her amnesia never destroyed their marriage.


Myself and my friend Julie set out for a hike in the woods. We had everything planned down to the finest detail. The only thing we hadn't planned on was the weather and a storm was fast approaching. As we searched around for the perfect spot to pitch our tent I came across a pile of trail mix, which led me to another and another. The trail was leading us somewhere as if somebody wanted us to find something. The trail eventually led us into a clearing. As we got to the clearing the trail suddenly stopped. A strong smell of ginger wafted through the air. Me and Julie followed the smell until we found the source of where it was coming from. We came upon a small wooden cabin. The light was on and smoke was coming from the chimney. Someone was cooking something and it smelled good. The rain was pelting down, so me and Julie decided to see if they would offer us shelter. Our bellies were empty and it was too wet and windy to pitch the tent. Julie knocked on the door as I peered through the window. The place seemed empty except for a pot of food cooking over an open fire in the centre of the room. Cold and hungry we decided to leave ourselves in. "Sure, if all comes to all I will offer to pay for their hospitality, " I said to Julie. I looked around the cabin for any sign of life. I walked over to the pot and lifted the lid. A smell of ginger rose up from the pot and into my nose. There were thick chunks of meat in the stew and it looked delicious. With my stomach growling, I grabbed two big bowls that were sitting by the pot. I served up two big hearty bowls of stew for myself and Julie. Julie sat by the window eating her stew. Something had caught her attention and she seemed more focused on what was outside then eating the stew. As I was eating my stew I started reading through a book I found in a drawer in one of the bedrooms. The book appeared to belong to a girl called Gretchen, it was some sort of diary with only a few entries. December 1: The winter freeze is setting in, food is sort. So my dad has to sell my horse for food and fuel. I hate him for it, he was my best friend. December 10 : The food is gone. I heard rumours that parents were eating their kids to survive. I'm too hungry to even care or be scared. December 11: My brother Hanson came into my room last night. He looked scared. He tucked me in and gave me a kiss on the cheek. He told me he had to go away and I was to follow him when it was safe to do so and he would leave a trail for me to find him. "Look for the trail and we can never be apart," he told me. December 13: We started eating well. For once there seemed to be plenty of food. I just wished Hanson could be here to share it with us. I asked my mom and dad where he was? They just smiled at me and told me he was gone to live in the Gingerbread house. A magical place with plenty of food to eat, and he sends us the food that he can't eat.. December 20: Food is getting low again and I'm really scared. I overheard my mother crying to my father, telling him I was all she had left. My father angrily telling her that we won't make it through the winter and definitely not with an extra mouth to feed. I heard him tell my mother that they were young enough to start over. December.21: I watched out the window as my father sharpened the axe. A smell of ginger floated through the air. I'm afraid this might be my last entry. Please pray for me. The entries just stopped and the rest of the diary was empty. As I leafed through the pages a piece of folded paper fell from the diary. My eyes widened as I read the text. It was some sort of recipe and instructions on how to splay meat from certain parts of the body. I felt my knees buckle and weakness washed over me as I read the writing at the end of the piece of paper. "If you scare the kids it taints the meat. If the meat tastes bitter, use plenty of ginger." I toss my bowl of stew across the room. I screamed at Julie to drop her bowl. She dropped it and called me over to the window. "At first I thought I was imagining it, but what is that outside by the trees, " said Julie as she pointed out the window. A flash of lightning lit up the forest outside the cabin. A little girl was standing outside waving at us. Every time the lightning flashed she got closer to the cabin. Before we knew it she was standing at the window smiling and waving at us. She didn't appear to have hands just stumps were her hands used to be. Then the lightning struck again and the little girl was standing in the cabin. The little girl pointed at the pot that was brewing on the fire with her stumpy arm. “How did I taste? I was scared so I might taste bitter, " laughed the little girl We heard a loud bang come from outside the cabin. The little girl turned to look at the door. The grin on her face turned to pure terror. I asked her what the noise was. She turned to me with tears in her eyes. “It’s my Dad and I think he is hungry.“ The little girl turned to Julie. “Are you scared? Please don't be scared, if you don't taste good my dad will be angry with me.


I always thought my life had no meaning. It's as if I was born with no true purpose. No 'helping as many people as I can', or 'make the world a better place'... Nothing. I never had a calling of sorts that attracted and mesmerized someone towards some thing or action. Then one day, as I was coming back home from school, I decided to take a new and unexplored route home. It minimizes the time taken to reach my house by half as compared to the ordinary route. I never took that route before cause Mommy told me that it's really unsafe and dangerous cause it's where 'Monsters have taken shelter after coming out of Hell'. It always scared me very much when I was small but now, I was 15 year old big boy.. I was not getting fooled by some cooked up Monster story.. Everybody knows Monsters are not real.. Also, I thought I was strong enough to kick one or two Monster's butt.. I mean I was a Champion in doing just that on Monster Hunter, so, I can do that in reality too. Still I was a bit scared, but I started walking on that route anyway.. The path was very gloomy at first; dense trees on both sides really blocked majority of the sunlight.. It seemed I was walking through a tunnel after a point... It just got so dark.. Maybe the sun starting to set didn't help much with the light either. Anyways, with such low light and weirdly stagnant surrounding, I started getting a bit tensed up and scared. But I didn't wanna cry and shout 'Mommy, Mommy' like a weak, little kid.. I was 15 now, I was a big boy. So, I mustered up all my courage and started walking a bit faster, trying to find some sort of exit. An hour passed.... Is what I thought at that time while I was practically running to maybe find a glimpse of life, preferably my Mom. But all I saw was darkness, in varying forms of concentration... Sometimes as thick as jelly and sometimes as light as a cloud.. Maybe if I had just calmed down and taken three deep breaths, then, I would have been just fine.. But I started remembering my Mother's warnings and how the Monsters were killers, who just pounded you with their big hammers until you died, laughing while they did it. It was at this moment when I lost it... I began running frantically in zigzags, my eyes filled to the brim with tears, shouting and shrieking 'Mommy, Mommy' at the top of my voice. It felt like the Monsters hidden in the darkness are trying to catch me, so I ran harder trying to find any sort of light. After running for what seemed like ages, I finally found an exit... A portal of light. I was so happy.. Never thought that I would be happy seeing light, but I was... So I ran a bit more... Pushing my failing legs to enter into the portal of illumination. I couldn't stand darkness anymore... Its density was suffocating. So, I gave it my all, physically and mentally and successfully entered into the portal.. At first, all I saw was light.. Blinding, protruding light.. Light so severe that it burns your eyes no matter how tightly you close it.. It seemed like both the forces were out to get me... Like Monsters trying to snatch their prey from one another.. As I walked forward, the light started to lose its intensity and gradually, I could see building like structures.. Little by little, I could make out roads, trees, houses and most importantly people.. Oh! It felt so good seeing humans, that too, kids like me, playing jovially.. As the light faded completely, I saw the place in its entirety and I rubbed my eyes in amazement and delight. It was exactly identical to the town Warhammer in Monster Hunter, my favorite game. The same buildings, the same roadsigns, the same well at the middle of the road with wooden sign, ' Welcome to Warhammer, where Hammers do the talking'. The kids, who I saw playing cheerfully, were actually hammering and hunting down the monsters to complete one level after another, just like in the game itself. It was like a virtual reality game, where everything was so real that your senses get deceived. I couldn't stay away from all of this for long; after all, it was my favorite game. So, just like in the game itself, I picked up a hammer from the hammer shop, located at the center of the town and started whacking one monster after another. It was not entirely identical to the game... I mean, the graphics were much more advanced, with the blood and bones looking much sharper and refined, the Monsters looking very much real with their movements and screams. For some reason, the Monsters looked much more humane than what they looked in the game. All of this added to the game playing experience and I just couldn't stop playing.. Playing this game gave me that purpose which I searched for so long.. It's as if I was born to play this game; as if it was my calling.. Moreover, this VR game is funnier in comparison to the desktop version... Like, when I run after the Monsters to smash them, they run screaming 'Monster!! Monster is coming! Run! 'It's so funny... The Monsters calling me a monster.. It's hilarious.. It's because of these well written dialogues that I cannot stop laughing while playing it and smashing those idiots... I don't know why Mommy would scare me and forbid me from taking this path.. Maybe because she thought I would get addicted to this game and enjoy it too much and continue playing for hours.. Well, she is not wrong..hehe.. I love this place and I have no intention of going back anytime soon... Let's look at how many more Monsters do I have smash to clear this level... The Monster board says, 7.6 billion... Wow, that's so many monsters.. I can't even count the number of zeroes that number has... Wait, One, two, three, four, five.... Forget it, I'll figure it out later.. Now, I have to smash some more Monsters and get home soon or I'll get smashed myself hehe.. Now, where do I start? There... Let's start from there.. Hey, that Monster kinda resembles my mom...


“What the actual fuck is happening?” I was standing behind a trash can that smelled of cat piss. I reasoned that the sight before me was the byproduct of ammonia intoxication because people can’t just levitate ten feet off the ground, in the middle of the street, with no chords, ropes, or jet packs. “Isn’t that Jacoby, that weirdo from third period?” Clara questioned beside me. Not only was I not aware that she had been next to me, but I was confused as to why she sounded so calm. It was indeed Jacoby, the most random of people to be performing a miracle for the ages. How could she have sounded as haughty as ever in the face of such wonder unless I really was losing my mind. “Claire Bear, can you please tell me, does it look like Jacoby is . . . doing anything strange?” I hesitated to just come out and say what I saw because I was already on thin ice. Ever since the death of my uncle Jerry, I had been walking around a little less than myself. The loss had dredged up a lot of, let’s call it, “stuff” and my parents had everyone on high alert as a product. Clara was for sure, though a decent neighbor, a backstabber who would spill business for anything she could perceive as an opportunity to make herself look like an invaluable person. “Him standing in the middle of the street like an idiot? Yeah sure. I should go over and tell him to move before he gets himself killed.” True to her word, she walked right over to him under the bright summer sun, a hand smoothing down the front of her white dress to keep the wind from lifting it up. Jacoby didn’t seem to see her immediately but did float down just before she could come within a few feet of him. Her eyes were trained, when he was floating, on the space that he eventually stood, the entire time. It’s as though she could only see him in that very spot. He did not act startled or waiver in the least. It was then that I decided I was losing my carefully kept marbles and so chose to straighten out from my bent position and make myself a respectable citizen by engaging with Jacoby directly. He and Clara had begun to chat and were walking towards the Paramount Pharmacy, the best in our well water town. “So, yeah, I was just looking down the road. That was all Clara. I thank you for your concern,” Jacoby said as politely as he could muster though it was obvious, at least to me, that it pained him. I smiled, a tight, cheek hurting smile when he looked my way. It was hard to meet his honey brown gaze. He had been in the air, I could have sworn but wouldn’t dare say, just a few seconds prior. When I did meet his gaze head on, his brow furrowed quizzically, and his eyes widened. “My, Clara. You have been so kind as to check in on me. Always so helpful. Would you mind going’ on in there to the Pharmacy? I was supposed to ask about Ms. Sally’s ointment. You mind seeing if it has come in yet? I promised I’d do a check for her and keep my mouth shut about it. For a seventy-year-old math teacher, she can still be quite vain, you know?” Clara shook, giddy with the gossip. She spared me a half smug glance then skipped on in to nosey her way into Ms. Sally’s business. Jacoby stayed behind, eyes fixed to me the whole time and I was painted red, my neck hot with flush. “Hi Adams,” Jacoby said. He began to walk over to a nearby bus bench. The street was quiet for a summer Tuesday afternoon. Everyone in town was out celebrating in the square after that morning’s homecoming parade and I was exhausted from the theatrics. I was supposed to be heading home. My date, Abbey McKinnon, would no doubt have been in a rage if I were to show up late with the limo that evening. Home was exactly where I was headed before I saw whatever hallucination of Jacoby. “How’s it going Jacoby? Did you enjoy the parade?” I ask. “Oh, no. I didn’t get a chance to see it. I was busy with something.” The turn of his lips proved contagious as I felt my own twitch upwards in response, but only for a second before I looked away. I thought I saw his eyes flit to my mouth, and this left a hollow but at the same time full sensation in my center that filled me with alarm. “But I hear congratulations are in order. Clara told me about our team. Good work, I’m sure Abbey is stoked to be with a winning King.” I choked on a chuckle. “I most certainly will not be crowned king of homecoming. Not this year. Abbey and her girls, Clara included, decided it would be best for the books if we were runners up this year and won in our Senior year instead. She said ‘everyone loves an underdog. It’ll read better,’ apparently.” I sat down next to Jacoby and my ordinary fidgets started in my legs, causing a wiggle, wiggle in my ankle. I apologized and shuddered away when I bumped my foot into his, but he waved it off with an easy smile. “Jacoby, I uh. I thought I saw something back there, a moment ago.” “Oh, yeah? What did you think you saw?” He looked me right in my eye and my stomach couldn’t abide by the direct challenge. “Oh, nothing.’” “There you two are! Jacoby, you little rat. Ms. Sally ain’t asked for nothing.” * The festivities of the evening went to plan as the women in my life had intended and they could not have appeared happier. My mother was all too eager to snap up picture after picture. She insisted on going to Abbie’s house and wanted to pay her portion of the limo and hotel fees the parents had agreed to. The other ‘rents had given Mama a bit of a discount with all the travel my dad had been doing as of late. No one wanted us to burn through the funds he’d left. They were meant to last. I had stepped outside for a breath of fresh air, tired of all the posing and fake deliberation on what it meant to be this year’s runner up with Abbs. Oh, me? Oh my, what a surprise and an honor. “Having a good time, runner up?” Jacoby appeared beside me on the old brick wall by the dumpsters, his hands folded together. I felt a little shaken, like a rattle in a baby’s hand at the proximity. “Sure. It’s been a heck of a long day.” “I’d suspect as much.” We looked at each other and something about the eye contact, after a while, plied me like warm water softening plastic. “Where the fuck you come from? I didn’t see you inside.” Jacoby frowned, but that frown fell faster than a drunk falling for a stripper and it was replaced by a small smile that bloomed across the bottom half of his face like dye in a pail of water. “What?” I sobered, afraid that it would be my only moment to ask: “Do you know how to float?” He went still and silent, so I pressed on. “Look, I know this may sound like a bag of cashews and peanuts, but I swear I saw you like twenty-feet in the fucking air this afternoon and Clara acted like everything was normal and maybe it was, maybe I was - “ “You did see me. And no, Clara couldn’t. If you weren’t the person, I’m pretty sure you don’t want to be, then you wouldn’t have either.” To be honest, it took a moment to dissect what he said because that last sentence confused me. I looked up and down the wide alley we were in. The metal door to the cafeteria was left ajar, the night's festivities taking place just down the hall from it and audible even where I stood. “What does that mean?” “I uh. I am what some may call a warlock in training and my aunt totally told me not conjure a love spell so I may have used a levitating love potion which essentially makes me appear to be levitating to those who may sort of, kind of, be interested in me - which I totally am not accusing you of, seeing as you have a girlfriend and all but, yeah. You’re not crazy, but I completely understand if you now think I am.” I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or run. So, I did all of them. And somehow, my wiggly hands pulled Jacoby along with me.


I had my taxi drop me off at 666 Jackson Street, right at “Dr. Susannah's Museum of The Weird.” By day, it was a downtown tourist trap meant to get visitors to pretend to awe at clearly fake bigfoot prints, Fiji mermaids, and other oddities. The most real thing they had there was the taxidermized remains of a three eyed pig, although even then, the taxidermist went out of his way to make it a bit more horrifying. But by night, after closing, when the witches reclaimed their spot from the tourists, the weirdness got very real. And that’s when I popped by to make my visit. “Good evening, ladies.” I said to the three heads of the coven (Margaret, Christine, and Tina) as they sat at their table. “I must say, this city never ceases to amaze me, one of my favorite spots on the mortal plane to pay a visit.” The witches seemed surprised. “What, you didn’t think that even The Devil still needs to take a vacation every now and then?” “I’m more surprised you needed a cab to get here.” One of them said. “I didn’t need to, I wanted to.” He said. “Whenever I visit the human world, I want to make the most of it, live like a local, ‘when in Rome’ as you say. Hell gets boring after a while. Heaven is even worse, if I weren’t immortal I’d die of boredom every time I have to go there for a ‘diplomatic’ trip. You humans, on the other hand, you know how to make everything artistic and vibrant. Your lives may be short, but you’ve damn well learned to...” “Can we please get to business?” one of them asked. “Very well.” I said. “You must be Margaret. You were the one who contacted me, I believe.” “Yes, I am.” Margaret said. "And what does a group of beautiful young ladies like yourselves want with The Devil?" I asked. “We need a weapon, something that can defeat a powerful vampire.” Margaret said. “It’s a long story, but we’ve made enemies with an exceptionally powerful vampire lord, one who calls himself Lord Wallace, although he's not been 'Lord' of anything ever since he hopped on a ship to the United States. Anyway, we need something that can beat him. Could you give something like that to us?” “Wait here.” I said before vanishing back to Hell, to browse my vault. I came back a few minutes later with something I knew they’d be interested in. “11th Century Celtic vampire killing staff.” I said. “Infused with powerful magic designed to kill vampires. If anything in my collection has a chance of killing it, this does.” “Now that that’s out of the way, what would I expect in return if I loaned this to you?” I asked. “How about our souls?” Tina asked. I laughed. “I can already smell the sins on your souls, they’ll be mine eventually anyway. You’re young, so it may be a long wait, but they will be mine, and I think you already know that.” “How about this.” I said as I showed them a picture. Shelby Smith was a fifty-two year old woman who lived fairly close to the witches. For all her strong suits, attractiveness was not one of them, never was. Despite being fairly active, her lifelong love of sweets kept her quite overweight, and it didn’t help that she was too frugal to buy jewelry, makeup, or nice clothes, save for maybe a nice church outfit or two. She was a nurse by day, and a committed charity worker by night, organizing weekly luncheons for the homeless with her Bible study group. To most who knew her, she was a kind, grandmotherly figure who always had kind words and a hug for anyone who wanted one. “I want her dead.” I said. “Her infectious kindness makes it very hard to attract people in this area to sin. If you kill your vampire, then you owe me her death.” “Deal.” The three witches said in near perfect unison. "Wonderful." I said as I whipped up a contract. After they all signed, I said "Alright, now, I best be leaving." "Why, because you have important duties back in Hell?" Margaret asked. "No." I said. "Because I have a dinner reservation in fifteen minutes. One of my favorite seafood restaurants is just down the street." \_\_\_\_\_ The next day, the witches made their move against the vampire. They went to the mansion he was based out of, and used the staff’s power to break down the door. They even targeted him during the daytime, to make sure he was really home. “Wakey wakey, we’re here for you.” Margaret said. “It’s a beautiful day out, come enjoy.” The vampire said and did nothing. “Alright girls, time to find this prick.” Margaret said as she summoned a ball of fire in her hands. They didn’t find him anywhere downstairs, so they went up the stairs. And then, Christine was attacked from behind, pulled by Lord Wallace and thrown down a full flight of stairs onto a wooden floor. The other ladies could hear the sound of her neck break. Margaret then used the staff to blast lightning in his direction. Lord Wallace fled back into the shadows, and Margaret and Tina then stood back to back, eyes on a swivel and ears scanning for every little sound that could be him. Lord Wallace then reappeared as a cloud of smoke. Margaret used a wind spell to make him dissipate, and spread him so thin that it was hard for him to put himself back together. After he reappeared in his vampire form, Margaret began blasting him with fire. He keeled in pain, but then leapt out of the way and into one of the bedrooms. Tina noticed something. She said “Stop, look at that.” and pointed to a little discovery that could turn the fight in their favor. The spot where she had fired lightning had burned straight through the ceiling, and was now shining light inside. “You thinking what I’m thinking?” Tina asked. Margaret then fired another three blasts at the roof, each one made a little more light shine in. “Yeah, I think I am. Keep watch while I make it a little brighter here.” \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ After they brightened up the second floor, Margaret taunted “What are you staying inside for, the day is so nice. Oh well, time to get you out of that stuffy bedroom.” She used a wind spell to knock the door off its hinges. She and tina barged in, only to find that no one was there. What they didn’t realize was that each room on the top floor was connected, each room had a backdoor leading to one of the other rooms. But just before they realized what was going on, Tina was grabbed from behind, bit once in the neck, and then thrown out of a second story window. The window wasn’t even open, she was simply thrown with so much force that she bursted through the glass. Margaret didn’t even have to look at her to know that she was a goner. The vampire then came towards Margaret, but Margaret kept it at bay with a fire spell. She then pushed him back, into the hallway, where the light would shine on him. “What’s the problem, too bright out for you?” She asked as his skin began to burn under the intense sun. Right as she was about to win, she got cocky, and blasted the ceiling with more lightning. She thought he was too weak to fight back anymore; he wasn’t. Using the last of his strength, the vampire rushed her, and before she could back up or defend herself, he slashed her neck wide open. He succumbed to the sunlight and finally burned to a crisp moments later, but it was too late for Margaret. She then simply died of blood loss, and no spells could save her. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ As I looked at Margaret’s dying body, I said “Oh well. I may not be getting to see Shelby Smith die, but at least I won’t have to wait any longer for your souls. I'll be seeing you again soon, in Hell, looks like your friends are already waiting for you there.” “And thank you, I think I’ll take my staff back now.” I said as I pulled it out of her hands and left to put it back in Hell’s vault.


The foyer was filled with thick red carpet, emblazoned with intricate patterns of silver and black ribbons that caught the eye, and covered the cold stone floor completely. The furniture was carved from the wood of the surrounding forest. Stained such a deep brown that the pieces looked almost black. The space was cold, and the only sounds were of the ticking of an antique clock accompanied by the rhythmic typing of the Headmaster’s secretary. A woman who looked ancient, but refused to stop working. As if her presence at that desk was simply another constant of the universe. We had been waiting for twenty minutes already, but my blood was still pumping. My ribs hurt and my trousers were torn, but otherwise I was fine. The upperclassman sitting next to me on the bench was not. He was wheezing and trying to hide it. I pulled a piece of nicotine-dosed gum from my inner jacket pocket, contraband here at the Citadel, and slipped it into his palm. He took it immediately. Hiding slow chews as his breathing eased. Fresh blood was slowly seeping through what remained of his right sleeve and he was doing his best to keep it contained. “Why do it?” I asked of the taller boy. I had to know. His eyes were closed as he kept pressure on the wound with his opposite hand, the secretary remained devoutly focused on her work. Apparently, the presence of wounded Cadets was not an uncommon occurrence here. “Why?” he responded with a slight chuckle and pained wince, “For one I’ve never liked Gregor or his family. Two, he had a knife, and you did not. Three, I’ve never liked Gregor or his family.” I pulled my uniform’s kerchief and began to tie it around his arm, cinching the knot over the gash to keep pressure. I kept prying, “And that was enough to spur you into diving off a table during dinner, stab him in the shoulder, and get cut for your efforts?” I checked the snugness of the dressing and glanced at the secretary. She kept typing, oblivious, or indifferent. “That’s correct,” he coughed, and I stared at him in confusion. He finally opened his eyes, and upon seeing my face he laughed, immediately wincing hard again. He spoke softly, “My name is Kalchomich. I am one of your class supervisors in the machine shop. I have watched Gregor accost you and other members of your class since the start of school, but you always stood up to him. Even when it would end badly for you. At dinner, when he threatened you, I simply had enough. So, I put a stop to it.” Kalchomich leaned back and focused on chewing while I attempted to make sense of his logic. A dull buzzer went off at the secretary’s desk and her constant typing ceased. She looked directly at us over half-moon glasses, “The Headmaster will see you now.” Then promptly went back to her keyboard and screen. I made to stand, but Kalchomich grabbed my arm, his pained eyes looking right through me, “We stand up for the good ones, because if we don’t, then soon there will not be any left.” I heard his words then, but it would be years until I understood them. At the time I was more focused on helping him stand. The bottom of his right trouser leg was doing a poor job of hiding a very swollen, very broken, ankle. The landing after his initial attack had not been a good one. Taking his arm across my shoulders, I helped him up and we pushed our way into the Headmaster’s office together. My name is Vladimir Zhukov, and that was the first dead hero I have met.


402 Another sleepless night of tossing and turning in my bed Another night of terrors pounding at my head Another cell phone ring, another horrific scene Another dead body for me to have to see “Hello,” I answered as the tone stayed dead Then a woman's voice shrieked, “He's at it again.” “Are you sure?” I asked as out of the bed I flew “I'm positive sir, but this time... he left you a clue” As I hung up the phone I sat for a minute to think A clue? Why now? What is the missing link? This doesn't make any sense, as I picked my clothes off the floor I can't wrap my head around this, he's never done this before I then grabbed my badge and my gun and ran out the door Another drop of rain Another dark night Another dead body Another scene of fright This victim wasn't different, he did them all the same Bound, gagged, and stabbed in his sick demented game This poor girl had been tortured, had to suffer so much pain “Has anyone notified the family? Do we even know her name?” “No, not yet sir,” I heard, “we're still trying to figure this one out” “But here's the clue he left for you... he stuffed it in her mouth” Another lifeless corpse Another woman dead Another brunette beauty Another street of red I stared at this piece of paper as I plotted my next move But I kept drawing a blank, for all it read was 402 He wasn't going to make this simple, this was no easy clue He was toying with my brain as I knew not what to do “Check every apartment in this city, I don't care how long it takes” “Until we figure this thing out, not a woman will be safe” Another shot of whiskey Another cigarette drag Another night gone hopeless Another night gone mad He just won't quit, won’t give up or leave He won't relinquish himself, discontinue or cease He won't vacate my life, retire or flee He won't stop til I'm dead, til there's just a shell of me Not til I'm hopeless and defeated, not until I give in Not til I am ruined, not until then will he win I laid it on the bar and stared at the piece of paper til it bled Til 402 was all I thought about, til it was branded in my head I know it wasn't over, I know what he will do He will have to kill again, He'd want to leave more clues Another cell phone ring Another whiskey down Another shrieking voice Another body found “Sir, you must get down here, I don't know what to say” “Well first,” I shouted, “tell me what happened. Is everything ok?” “Sir, I can't explain this, please say you're on your way” “I'll have to take a cab, put up the yellow tape” My cigarette was lit but a drag I did not take For inches just blew off as the ash just blew away I stood running, fast, for a step I did not take My hands remained still, as my heart began to ache Everyone stood in horror at how this girl was laid to rest For the clue that he had left me, he carved it in her chest I couldn't understand what he left for me to read I just could not make sense of the letters before me 'NOT HIL' is what he carved, 'NOT HIL' is what I saw As I remained motionless as the rain continued to pour Another nightmare branded In another person's soul Another 911 call Another clue untold The next victim was found different, I almost couldn't tell He laid her down so careful, he treated her so well No puncture wounds or stabbings, no torture could be seen No horrific nightmare, no signs that he was mean A dead body, of course, a murder yes indeed Fearful, dreadful, frightful, horrific to say the least Not his usual victim, it was not his usual play No signs he went too far showing his shades of Mr.