Pain is a funny thing. One day it is so consuming you cannot breath, cannot function. Everything is fuzzy, low hums replace words. Your body goes on auto pilot and hours pass and you wonder how you got through the day. No one bats an eye lid because you smile and joke, you say all the right things and you body gives no indication of the decay that is happening inside. Before you know it you are alone in your room. Homework has been done, dinner has been eaten. You sit next to your Dad, watching the new episode of some crime drama while practicing the knitting stitches your mom taught you. In your room you are finally free to feel all the pain that has been built up. Sigh a relief that the pretending is over and the tears start to fall down your face. They are fat tears that tickle your face as they roll down. The salty taste upsets your stomach which sets off more tears. Betrayal, you have no right to dislike the tears as it is all your fault for them in the first place. Your mind wonders, how did you get here again? You cannot tell your parents because they thought that this was taken care of. 3 nights a week going to group therapy, to talk to a safe adult and like teens who have been through the same thing. Even though your mom said she wanted you better, her sighs when she realises that she needs to drive you again. The low talking to herself about how she will pass the two hours. How she cannot go to her book club for the time being because she needs to sit in the waiting room judging the other parents. It is obvious why their kids are messed up, but didn’t your father and I give you everything you needed? Did the family vacations and cello lessons mess you up? The summers spent on your Great Grandpa’s dairy farm running care free some how make you funny? We don’t understand where this came from Doctor, she has never shown any signs of being sad. Is it chemical imbalance? I cannot see how Doctor, we only eat organic. No unhealthy food is allowed in my house. Sometimes it isn’t even the talking, its the looks. How the family will go silent when you enter the room. Odd eye contact passes between the other people in the room. The fake dusty flowers that have been there forever suddenly become the high light of the room. Look how they arrange, they really bring the room together. Even though they are fake can’t you smell the fresh roses? Oh Grandma, the arrangement of roses and lilies really were a good choice. What? Grandpa got them for you for your 10th wedding anniversary? But they still look new! Yes, they are a good reminder that even when things are bad, you can always top and smell the fake flowers haha. Then all eyes fall on you. A good reminder that even when you are sad, stop and smell the fake flowers your great grandpa bought for $1.75 back in 1945. The over excited ‘Well look who it is! Aren’t you getting big and beautiful! Your puppy fat is finally going haha must be the volleyball.’ All done with good intentions but the tone shows it is forced. No one knows how to talk to a sad person. No one thinks that just saying ‘I’m here for you’ is ever good enough. But it is good enough. You don’t need advice, advice on how to wear your hair, grow it out honey you don’t want people to think you like girls. Really black lipstick, do we need to talk to your youth pastor? I’d buy her something pink but her body may burst into flames if she wears anything other than black haha. Your mind is racing. How do you stop the tears? How do you stop the pain? What did the safe adult say? Write it down? You should write it down but you can’t anymore. Mom found your journal and said that it was appropriate for you to have such bad thoughts. Dad tried, he said maybe it was good for you to write it out so you don’t hold it in, but he lost just as much as you did. Absolutely not, she needs to think better, she needs to see all we do for her and be grateful. Dad half smiled at you, he understood what you were going through. He said the safe adult recommended a journal, but mom still threw it in the fire place. You should have gotten sad in the spring, low chance of the fire place being on. Think of something funny. The time you were on the farm and you got your boot stuck in the mud. You couldn’t stop laughing as you stood there like a flamingo on one leg, waiting for your dad to come and rescue you. He kept telling you to just walk over, we will change your sock but you refused, wet and dirty socks were the worst! He was laughing and upset at the same time. He came and plucked you up but then he got his foot stuck in the mud and you both fell over. The laughter that rang through out the farm. He asked you if you preferred to be fully covered in mud or just your one sock, and to your surprise you lifted up your bootless foot and told him your sock was still clean. The two of you spent a good five minutes laughing and your clean sock. Afterwords you both decided the only way to get fully clean was to jump into the man made lake that was on your great grandpas farm. You both ran on the dock and just jumped in fully clothed. You splashed and laughed as the ducks swam around you. You floated on your backs and cloud gazed. Finally your mom came out and told you both to get inside and get properly clean. She scolded your dad for allowing you to get filthy and proper girls didn’t role around the in the mud and then jump in a lake for a bath. This wasn’t the early 1900s anymore, we have hot water for a reason. A knock on the door, a quiet hey you still awake? Oh hey dad, give me a minute. Why are you crying honey? Its ok, I’m here, move over let me sit on the bed with you. Dad I’m sorry I have been such a burden lately. What? No not at all, whatever it takes to get you better. But I don’t know what makes me so sad all the time. Then we keep trying to find it out. But mom is losing patience. Mom grew up differently, idle hands are the devils play thing, more work less time for day dreaming. Maybe a part time job would help me? Make some new friends, some money for myself. For more black cloths haha. Dad, it isn’t black it is a dark gray haha. Whatever you want to do honey, but do it for you, not for your mom or me. Dad does mom hate me? What? No of corse not, she just hates that she cannot control your mind. She knows what she needs to do to make herself happy but when it comes to you she is at a lost. I try to make her think what she wants for me is helping, but it isn’t. I know sweetheart, but don’t worry we will figure it out. Dad, I’m so sorry. Oh honey, come here, cry it out if it will help. The only thing that could be heard are the sound of your tears. Finally someone says they are here for you. No advice, no pointers, no sly remarks. Just someone fully there for you unconditionally.


Break into a Thin Ocean Place Drawing breaths between gritted teeth, in response to more up ended bins, rubbish strewn wide and broken windows. Sonya also noticed still wet graffiti daubed on toilet walls and tried to ignore Faberge egg shapes morphed into sharp edged phallic looking shapes as she walked down to the water. And wondered about necessity to appreciate this daubing as art, no matter how she looks, nothing artistic jumps out and bites her. There, as if an ultimate contrast to her mood, she saw a vision of happiness. A young woman was throwing a stick for a big, handsome dog. He tore back and forth on narrow shores, bounding and leaping with pleasure. As if this tripled any other euphoric canine experience. Dog body language said, beach, walk, best day ever! Rather than harbour thoughts of dog joy, Sonya forced herself away, kept her lips pursed, almost bit her tongue. Conceded she missed owning a dog, unconditional affection, canine happiness vibes and simple dependability. Another thing her ex had removed. She gathered herself inward, instead of speaking, else her anger at yet another vandal attack gets loose on some poor innocent dog walker. Thin edge of a wedge pushed more positive vibes as Sonya felt water curl around her toes. Warm and welcoming, liquid did not cut, punish or destroy. Instead licked her ankles. Salt in the air caresses her stomach. Ocean rolls, connecting with her belly. She looks at minute details in the sand, tiny undulations and high water marks. Not far away from the woman and her dog, was her neighbour, John. For the umpteenth time, told herself their relationship possessed more dimensions than proximity. Once again, with his tripod set up close to water’s edge. When he noticed Sonya, he waved. A grateful acknowledgement, stronger than earlier visions of hooligan damage. Feet propelled her in his direction. As if repelled by opposite magnets she associated with still dripping graffiti. ‘They’re always changing,’ John said, enamoured by watery weeds. ‘Light, current, wind, way they float and move, fluttering on all sorts of rhythms. I’ve taken dozens of pictures and each one is subtly different. Can’t decide which camera aperture captured image is best.’ Something about his manner, broke through Sonya’s negativity. To her, John brought good vibes; a token photography magazine in her letter box, or tiny, still warm pancakes, delivered on Shrove Tuesday. Little things, a smile, and raised eyebrow of recognition, visible through a crowded meeting hall. John embodied more family member traits than a orbiting merely as a neighbour. Indeed, less judgmental, because she could talk more candidly with him, than to her own brothers. ‘My dad believed we’re made up of invisible currents. He used to say there were ‘thin places’ where we’re closer to unseen worlds.’ ‘Name a thin place.’ John asked without looking up from rock puddles and weeds. ‘Ocean side. You stand next to seas and you’re in touch with longings and losses.’ ‘Longings and losses. Does sort of sum up ocean side sensations.’ Her mind swung back to a time when no excitement competed with a beach arrival. In a loaded-up van, full of siblings arguing about seating arrangement. Soon about to glimpse blue waves in gaps through bush, out a window past her father’s sun spot flecked arm. Heavy wheels, produced new divots on well-worn tracks, which pushed through thick Banksia trees and lower growing melaleuca shrubs. ‘Won’t be long before I can bring my hives down here.’ Her father scanned vegetation more than actions of his offspring. ‘Be a mass of flowers in no time.’ All about blooms, seasons, hive sites, according to Dad. Whereas back then Sonya lusted after empty beach sands, shifting waters, salt spray and next best-ever-special shell discoveries. A twinge of nostalgia for a more pristine coast needled. Too many people, houses and cars pushed in these days. If only she might travel back to, so much easier, childhood days. ‘So much easier now cameras recognize low-light algorithms. I can past water surfaces.’ Interrupted John. ‘You’ve crossed another thin place barrier.’ Words released while Sonya maintained her nostalgia. Driving in as kids, many corrugated minutes after they’d left smooth highways, it was possible to note subtle differences. Top sand which faded in two long wheel spaced strips, first grey, edged with wild oats and twigs, turning to paler as dunes dominated. Big trees decreased until low scrub took over. Ought to be clear lines on a map to mark zones. Smells of salt, open water expanses, rushing waves drifted into wound down windows, as deeper breaths were drawn. As the last hill was crested, full views of the beach visible. Blue of water and sky almost melting into each other. Just as quickly hillocks enclosed again, sometimes they caught sight of swamp reeds in a low depression. Dad often said, ‘some years reeds flower. Each bloom has male and female parts, you know. People call them Cat’s tails. But when they fluff up and explode into a mist of flakes, more like tiny flea infestations. Useless to bees, though.’ Words only wafted like those seeds until hidden ocean blues were revealed. Further away, before the family car vanished down unsealed tracks, closer to highways where tiny shops encouraged those here for surf activities to partake of fresh fish and crisp fried chips. Tantalizing glimpses of ocean vistas. Promised ride-able waves and cooling swims. Now any distance between buildings, commercial businesses and beach drastically reduced. As if dunes and coastal shrub had been chewed away by some introduced predator. Dad, sure to comment, bee sites so much further away now. He did keep struggling until he sold remaining hives to a man who marketed, via face book and websites, coastal honey (whatever that meant) at grower’s markets. Sonya recalled coastal flowers glossed only by rising, or setting suns. No need to take out phones, post on Instagram. And John’s photographic activities weren’t they just a step up from juvenile, takie-photos. Childhood arrivals meant a laden station wagon being embraced by sand hills, followed by expectations displaced by sheer joy of being near this tumbling blue goddess. Father’s words, ‘everything’s changed.’ As if citing a thin edge, evoked sensations of lust for ownership strong enough to preserve swaths of coast and grieve for environments lost. John broke through Sonya’s memories touching a cold finger to her wrist. Leaving her wondering, how does he do that? Sonya looked around and concluded, current arrivals didn’t provide similar sights nor anticipation. Especially when she need only glace to see evidence of constant vandal attacks. Shading her brow, looking at this view, she took in a narrow beach, captured by rock pools soon to be refilled by incoming tides. Tides, time and rising oceans, along with crowds stolen those remembered wide shores. Recalling how even on the grayest of days water glimmered a most extraordinary blue, as if generating its own light. Possible to follow line of shores, see hills rise around quiet bays, detect summer green grass slowly fade toward winter brown. She wondered, how long before local marauders launched projectiles into those ocean edged pools, rubbish tipped from bins, plastic bags, broken surfboards and random shrapnel collected into crevices. While she was happy to linger, John again interrupted. ‘We best make a move, before we need water boots to make the car park.’ As they walked John’s camera gear clunked. ‘You really have to stop getting so cross about things.’ ‘It’s that obvious.’ ‘Look on your face, gave things away.’ ‘And here was I thinking an encounter with dog and stick brushed clenched jaw and wrinkled brow away.’ ‘Not quite. Besides you seldom beach walk when you’re calm and collected.’ ‘Again, you’re right. I hope for better therapy, thin edges to take me away, confirm longings, give me ability to ignore losses.’ Rain out over the ocean obliterated a stretch of ragged cliff with squally grey sea beyond dissonance between rock and water. While she looked Sonya craved her tempers breaking like a thunderstorm, just so she could relish a post-tempest freshness. A metallic aroma lifting in wafts of released moisture equal to one-time aggression. A toughness of existence is battled out here. Evolution harsh on lands edge which drifted away form a great southern continent, breaking up under liquid pressure. Boundaries established with flora defined like sea and land - no millimetre surrendered without a battle of will. Each layer of land from the ocean to mountains is defined by the ability to conform to atmospheric pressures. A drop in wind is a moment to be savored as precious time before the next front from our closest star or celestial circling rock decides to wreck equilibrium of our floating oasis and create majestic chaos. Here is a place where you just exist and feel lucky to witness. Buff-green swellings indicated elevation and magnitude of land-ocean edges. In one dimension, water appeared to be part of land, while obviously and entirely two separate elements. Yet residing on a thin edge, longed to be one in the same and shake off their separation. As if another dimension existed only in this place, where water and land met. Sonya hears again her father’s, ‘closer to unseen worlds,’ belief in the fantastic. What if she could vanish on those invisible currents? Or devise a way to make stronger connections with shifting waters and sand to push away her tempers. If so who’d shout at Councillors, who’d write to newspapers and ultimately who’d keep powerful developers away. Gulls, dark headed and greedy, spun on thermals above cliff edges and then dropped away, like bit parts in some conjuring trick. Seemed to be more birds lately, or maybe they stuck closer to beach side all-you-can-eat rubbish bins. Perhaps envoys from more pristine shores sent to warn, if only tone-deaf humans learnt their idioms. Heading back towards houses John and Sonya encountered butterflies dancing in a depression between low scrubby sand hills. Moments later, before John could swing his camera into use, these insects were gone. ‘Damn, missed a calendar shot, right there.’ As if the extent of any interaction with scenery reduced to a monthly portal only available free from the local chemist. Glare from white sand edging an estuary below cliffs made Sonya squint as if walking from a darkened room out to a whitewashed courtyard. Her shoulders stooped, and sweat gathered underneath Sonya’s shirt. ‘All very beautiful,’ John said, looking again out to sea, ‘in some ways more real than anything I’ve seen.’ ‘So how do you preserve this serenity? ‘I try not to think about big things, focus instead on minuscule elements, weeds in a rock pool resembling green hair floating in tiny currents, butterfly wings, a dog chasing a stick.’ ‘Yet, look out there, its huge. Makes me feel helpless, as if I can’t possibly fight against so many negatives.’ John reached out, held his hand lightly over her shoulder. Almost touching, for the umpteenth time Sonya noticed yellow flecks in his eyes. ‘What is it you want to change?’ ‘I’d be happier, calmer if council members would listen to suggestions, especially about development applications. Be fabulous if policemen they send down here, during summer’s influx did something more pro-active about willful damage to change rooms, toilets and beach rubbish bins. But those fly in, fly out authorities don’t care. Shouldn’t be so hard to identify, they keep daubing repeated symbols. You’d think officials track down who is Tap’n Dude? ’ ‘At least the Council purchased some of my prints to display in public buildings, and ensured an annual arts festival. I feel affirmed, as if I’ve broken through what might be damaged.’ Sonya smiled. ‘You are my best friend John. But I get angry. Willful destruction of facilities and the environment are issues more than recoverable by pretty pictures and art works.’ ‘Maybe we could organize groups of those kids to daub artistic creations, not only along foreshores but within the age care village. Might take a while, but things may change as those kids grow up. Encourage more people to visit your father’s thin place.’ ‘Maybe then they’d fall through and vanish into unseen worlds, along with broken shorelines and ugly graffiti.’ ‘A tad cruel to wish on another person. Besides I think I’ve worked out who is Tap’n Dude. Got to be Saltant’s boy, Joel.’ ‘How’d you figure that out?’ ‘Crosswords, it’s another word for leaping, jumping, dancing. Sort of a puzzle, shorten words, sometimes reverse their names, I’ve been watching, guessing, making connection. Plus other tiny bits of evidence. ’ ‘Such as...’ ‘Spray cans out in their rubbish, same name on the back of his cap.’ ‘I know you focus on small things, but I’m not convinced, photos, murals and art work can make a difference.’ ‘No matter, Joel will be the first one I approach. What d’you think?’ About to reply, too slow, lips moving but words not ready. John continued. ‘Seems to be a creative force. Possible to be channeled. I’ll ask if he wants to be part of an artistic project, to splash new images and pictures around. Worth a try, I reckon.’ Sonya stamps her foot. Believed John needed to fix a wide angle lens to that camera of his. Take some images to demonstrate intensity of increased storms. Show less run off and flushing of estuaries and rising tides eating away at the very bedrock. Only then would he be able to appreciate how loss functioned. No matter how much nostalgia Sonya evoked doors to unseen worlds were creaking closed. Thin places growing scarcer by the minute.


She would leave. It was the best possible solution to their problems. Who was she kidding? A romantic getaway with a man who had given up months ago couldn't...wouldn't fix their problems. So she made up her mind. At first light she would leave their beautiful chalet and their relationship forever. She sat in the great window of their cabin and watched the sun come up over the silver-tipped mountains. It was amazing how long the sluggish sun took to make its drowsy appearance when the importance of one's fate was at hand. She had never really unpacked because she never really believed that this trip could be anything other than what it was, a final good-bye to a seven-year relationship. But sitting in this big, plush chair, she realized it held her the way he used to hold her. It was warm just like his arms, and she found herself casting a glance to the bedroom where she knew he slept. She hated to admit that she still wanted this from him. The sun creeped its lazy ascension into the world, and she realized the world that surrounded her had transformed over night into a winter white world that she had only seen in pictures. It was a beautiful and a truly breath-taking blanket of pure white. It only made her think of how she'd love to snuggle up next to him, feel his warmth under the covers, but she knew that the words of the past stacked an unbreakable wall between them. The "I could never forgive you" that she'd spoken just days before made her sick to her stomach. She wished she could just simply take it back. How could they go back? So much had been done. So much had been said. She heard him stir. It was as if her hopes and dreams were somehow cast into the room he slept so soundly in. He had no idea that she would be walking out the door in the next few minutes. Maybe she could try, again. Tell him that all she wanted was his love, to forget all the things that had gone wrong over the years. She could forgive him, but there was so much between them that she didn't know if it was possible. "Amy, why are you up..." he said, trailing off. He saw her bag by the door. He instantly knew why. Walking to the window, he looked at the new fallen snow. "Looks like a lot fell over night, huh?" "Yes, it does." She said, still watching the sun rise over the trees. She wouldn't...couldn't look at him. He would see it in her face, the resolve within herself. In the distance, the light of the sun touch the tips of the mountains creating golden peaks where silver tips had once been. She felt her breath catch at the sight, and she exhaled for the first time in months. "It's beautiful, isn't it? It just seems so easy." He said resting his hand on the back of her chair. "What seems easy?" She asked, a little confused at how a sunrise could be easy. "Nature. It isn't hard for the sun to come up. It just does, and then something miraculous, out of the blue happens, like snow. It's the easiest thing. " His eyes were now on his wife. Her eyes were welding with tears. He saw them, but he knew she didn't want him to see them. "Yeah, you're right, Adam. The natural thing isn't hard. Not at all." She wiped the tears that were now streaming down her cheeks. It was so natural for her to love him, but she didn't feel like it was natural for him to love her at all. It certainly wasn't natural to be thinking of leaving him. Here he was talking about the sun and snow, but what about them? She stood up to step closer to the window. The light danced off the snow. She wanted to step out in it, be anywhere that didn't make her feel this way, but she knew that leaving now would be impossible. There was simply too much snow. Adam stepped closer to the window. Taking another step toward his wife, he touched her waist. "Amy...I..." he trailed, pulling her close to him. "No, no..." Amy said, pushing away from him. "What do I have to do? Amy, I'm sorry for the millionth time!" Adam pleading, rushing to pull her into him. "No, Adam!" You don't just get to put a band-aid on our relationship. You don't just get to buy me gifts and take me on trips! You don't just get to say, 'I'm sorry!' Aren't you tired? Like, really tired of the up and downs?" She was looking at him finally. She wanted him to really see her pain. She wanted him to acknowledge her hurting heart. "I am tired. I'm so tired of feeling guilty. I know I've been a terrible husband! I'm tired of trying, and you keep pushing me away. You never gave this trip a chance, Amy. Do you think I don't see this bag? Your bag is packed. Where are you going?" Adam now looked at his wit's end. He was pacing back and forth. But Amy had no words. If she really spoke them, it would be true. There would be no going back. Just like that, seven years would be gone and wasted. So she watched him. She watched his face turn from worry to anger to mere frustration at her none answer. Finally, he walked over to her. "Are you leaving me, Amy?" So they had come to this. She stared into his eyes looking for truth, looking for love, looking for a reason to stay. "You don't want me, do you? Really, Adam. You don't, right? It took us this long to get here. Look at this beautiful place. Look at us. It's literally where I've always wanted to be with you but not like this." Amy cried, shaking her head. "Not like this? What do you mean? Not like me, really trying to love you? I do love you. I want you, and I know you want me! I keep trying to show you, and I just don't know how. I don't know how. I don't know--" Adam gripped his jaw, holding back the tears that threatened to fall. "Not like me feeling heart broken and angry with you! You broke my heart, Adam! I don't know how to be here with you!" Amy sank back down in the chair allowing it to envelop her the way she wished Adam could, but she knew she couldn't...wouldn't let him in. They sat in silence for a moment, both gathering themselves until Adam broke the silence. "Let me love you, Amy." Adam said facing Amy. "That's how to be here with me. You can feel what you want to feel, but please, just let me love you. Let me back into your heart." Amy looked into Adam's eyes and for a moment, her breath caught in her throat as it had before with the sunrise. She exhaled when she finally saw a needing-kind of desperate love in his eyes. She knew it, for it was the kind of love she saw in herself for him. Taking Adam's hand, Amy led him into the bedroom and let him hold her. She let him kiss her. She heard his pleas of love. She kissed him back. She let their love intertwine into something beautiful again until their bodies locked in warm, desperate surrender. And as the snow kept falling outside their chalet, miracle that it was, Amy remembered what it was to love a man who needed her as much as she needed him and just how easy that really was.


It was a normal day in the life of the 24-year-old Josh Hopkins who has been working at his dream company and has a beautiful wife waiting for him at home. At least this is what he was dreaming about until the alarm buzzed. Josh: (Yawns) “Time to get up buddy, and go for another day of waste while job hunting.” Meanwhile, there is a loud knock on the door by Josh’s flatmate and college friend Sara. Sara: (Yelling) “Wake up you good for nothing guy, I am going to the restaurant, make sure you get your ass dressed and find a job already, or else you are moving out of here.” Sara works as a waitress at a restaurant while struggling to be a published writer. Josh finally wakes up and dresses up to leave for the unending struggle that has been the routine of his life since he lost his last job. On his way, he kept thinking that only if there was a way for him to win some instant cash then he would not need to be worried about the daily nagging by Sara. At this time, something crosses his eye. He takes a second look at what is supposed to be a poster for the new reality TV show “Survival Couple”. The poster says: “Enter with your beloved partner now to have a chance of winning a million dollars in just 10 days.” At first, Josh completely ignores the thought thinking the last time he talked to his ex-girlfriend Kathy was 2 years ago. The day continues just like the other days with Josh returning home hungry and disappointed. On his way, he bought instant noodles, well what to expect from a jobless guy. Soon, Sara returns home exhausted. Sara: (Sitting with her head tilted on the sofa) “So you useless guy did you find a job? Or you again just roamed around and ate instant noodles?) Josh: (Laughing) “HAHAHAHA! You know me so well.” Sara: (Throwing the cushion at Josh) “This is no laughing matter, we haven’t paid the apartment dues for the last 5 months and this month Mr. Cook is sure to evacuate us unless we clear the dues.” At that moment a sudden idea hit the not so bright mind of Josh and he smilingly said, Josh: “Hey, I saw a reality TV show poster for couples; the winning prize is a million dollars and that too in just 4 days, what say we give it a shot?” Sara: (Surprised, and then burst into laughing) “You and me as a couple on a reality TV show? They would instantly catch upon our lie.” Josh: “No. not necessarily. Look, we have known each other for the last 8 years and have been sharing an apartment for the last two years; in the eyes of many people we would definitely be a couple.” Sara: “Yeah, that is true but can we win the show? Do you really think so?” Josh: (Confidently) “Yes! It is at least worth a shot, we aren’t getting anywhere with our careers anyway.” Sara: (Still unsure) “All right, let’s give it a go, register us and we will see what happens.” Josh: “Hey are you so opposed to the idea of even dating me for 4 days to even not be swayed by a million dollars!” Sara: (chucking) “That’s because I know you dumbass, and I also know that you are still hung up on that ex-girlfriend of yours.” John: (Silently) “Hmmmm......” That night Josh registers both of them as a couple for the reality TV show. They get an email the next day regarding an audition to grant entry in the main show. Both Josh and Sara get dressed and go to the venue. Sara: “Woah! This is huge, just look at the size of that stage.” Josh: “Yeah well what did you think? They are giving a million dollars as the prize money and from what I have heard they will make the main round participants live together at a separate venue.” Sara: “That is so cool man; we get free food for 4 days.” Josh thinking in his mind that they really need to win the competition or they are not going to have a place to live starting next month. As he was lost in this thought their name was called up. Judge A: “Introduce each other and tell something weird but cute about each other.” Josh: (Seemingly looking tensed) “Ummm... So, this is my girlfriend Sara James. We have known each other for the last 8 years, went to high school and college together, and now we live together. She has a habit of suddenly talking in impersonated voices of famous movie villains; it always cracks me up (laughing).” Sara: “This is Josh Hopkins my boyfriend, and as he mentioned we have known each other for the last 8 years and currently live together. He has a weird habit of thinking way ahead like marriage, children, etc. He builds up different scenarios and asks me questions, any other girl would totally feel weird but I kind of like his way of thinking.” Judge B: “All right, this is a test, please fill it separately, you have 3 minutes, do not think long just right the first thing that comes to your mind otherwise you will not be able to complete the entire test which could lead to disqualification.” Josh and Sara fill the form in a hurry and hand them over and then look at each other chuckling. Judge B: “Okay, thank you for your time. We will email you your results by tonight and the details about the next round.” Josh on his way out: “Woah! That was nerve-racking, I was about to spill the beans in the test.” Sara: “Totally, I don’t even know how I did on the test; all the questions were related to the cheesy stuff that couples do.” Josh: “Well let’s see what results we got, for the moment let’s get something to eat from the diner.” Later that night, they receive an email detailing their selection and the next round. Josh: “Sara pack your bag we are leaving for Los Angeles tomorrow.” Sara: “Home huh? It’s been two years since we last went back home. I wonder how your ex Kathy is doing nowadays.” Josh ignores her and goes to pack his stuff. The next day they leave for Los Angeles on the TV show’s bus. Finally, after a tiring ride, they reach the hotel at which the main rounds are going to happen. All the participants start to gather in the lobby for the instructions, and it is when they see an old face. Kathy: “Hey Josh! What are you doing here? (Then she sees Sara) Hey Sara! Long time no see girl, where have you been? No one at the hometown has a clue about you.” As Josh was about to respond the host comes and calls the attention of all the participants. She congratulates everyone on reaching the main round and informs them about the show’s procedure. After the introduction is complete, they tell us to go and rest for the night in our designated rooms. As Josh and Sara were about to leave, Sara approaches them: Kathy: “So you two are a couple now? Who knew that the kid A of our college and the lonely beauty would end up together.” For a minute pin drop silence echoes throughout the atmosphere when finally Josh speaks Josh: (sensing Sara’s uneasiness) “Yeah, astonishing things do happen, I mean look at you who knew that you would start to date the quarterback of our high school football team.” Kathy: “True, but Smith here is a real sweetheart, he lets me do whatever I want.” Smith: (Phone rings) “Sorry guys have to take this call; it was nice meeting you both again. Kathy comes to our room when you are done talking.” Kathy: “So Josh when did you two start dating, was it right after our breakup?” Josh: “No, it was sometime after when I met her in New York by chance.” Kathy: (touching Josh’s arm) “You sly dog, I never knew that you could get The Sara to be your girlfriend. Sara so tell me about it does he still do that trick with his tongue in the bed? I have been with many guys but no one can match that.” Sara seemed uneasy to reply. Josh: “Hey Kath! Come on give her a break. We are pretty tired from the ride; see you tomorrow at the competition.” Kathy finally left Josh’s arm when he grabbed Sara’s hand to go to their room. On their way, Sara was absolutely quiet. After freshening up, Josh sits on the sofa and Sara on the bed. Josh: “I am sorry for what happened downstairs, I had no idea Kathy would be here.” Sara: (showing a poker face) “Hmmmm......” Josh: “All right let us get some sleep we have a big day tomorrow. I’ll take the sofa, you can have the bed.” Sara without saying anything went to bed. The next morning when Josh woke up, Sara wasn’t in the room, he dressed up and went to look for her, he found her walking near the poolside. Josh: “Hey! What’s up? Something troubling you?” Sara: “Nothing much. So, tell me something. Do you still have some lingering feelings left for Kathy?” Josh: “No, not at all, what gave you that idea?” Sara: “Well you seemed to be pleased to see her and especially when she was touching your hand.” Josh: “Oh come on, that was nothing at all, you are overthinking it. Right now we are a couple and we need to concentrate to win the million dollars.” Soon after that, they went to the lobby for the first competition of the main round. Host: “We have here 64 couples with us, after this first round more than half of them will be eliminated from the competition and would have to go home immediately. The first round is the cook-off, in this round all the males will cook a dish in 20 minutes, and then the ladies will have to judge that which dish was made by their partner.” The round kicks off and all the males hustle and work against the clock. Finally, all the dishes are made and the tasting and decision are done by the females. Host: “Only 16 females were able to guess the correct dish, their names are Elizabeth Love, Sara James, Kathy Kristen, ....................... The selected teams have now a 30-minute break during which they can enjoy at this luxurious hotel.” Kathy: “Congratulations guys! We both made it to the next round, by the way, Josh you made the Half-fried omelet right? I knew it just by having the first bite you still make some cruel omelets.” Josh: “Yeah that was me, though I was surprised that Sara was able to guess correctly since..” Kathy: (Interrupting him) “Why? Hasn’t she had your omelet since you two have been dating for a while?” Josh who almost slipped the secret that he has never cooked this dish for Sara. “No no, I meant that she is very bad with tasting, she can’t even differentiate between Mozarella and Cheddar, I mean can you believe it?” Kathy: (laughing hysterically and again touching Josh’s hand) “Oh my seriously?” Sara: (Sighs and then goes to the lobby to wait for the next round alone, meanwhile Kathy stops Josh from going and keeps flirting with him.) Finally, the time for the second round arrives. Host: “The second round will have two couples make a team and take part in the treasure hunt. Only the first 6 teams to finish the hunt will qualify for the next round. Kathy, Smith, Josh, and Sara coincidentally end up in the same team.” Kathy: “Let’s do this guys we have to take the first position, remember Josh how we won the treasure hunt in college, we can do it this time too.” They all start the hunt and easily reached the last clue first, the last clue required them to take the stairs all the way to the rooftop. All of them ran to the top, Smith being the athlete he was, was way ahead and behind him was Kathy and then Josh and Sara when suddenly Kathy missed a step and slipped, spraining her leg. Kathy: “Aaahhh.....Aaaahhh.....Help me Smi......Help me, Josh!” Josh stops and takes her hand while Sara stares at them, Kathy tells him to take her to the top in his arms or give her a piggyback ride, Josh after retaliating uselessly gives her a piggyback ride. Sara after seeing hurries to the rooftop and they end up winning the Treasure hunt and move to the next round. After that Smith takes Kathy to the infirmary while Sara is still quiet. Host: “Congratulations to the 12 teams here to qualify for the finals. The finals will start the day after tomorrow and will go on for two days, and at the end of it we will have our final winner.” Josh and Sara go to their room, and still, there is a distance between them as Sara does not talk much. Meanwhile, Kathy comes back, she just had a light sprain. The next day passes by as all of them enjoy the leisure activities provided at the hotel, throughout which Kathy keeps flirting with Josh. Finally, the day of the final round arrives. Host: “The final round will be spread over two days. To win the couples have to do the tasks listed in the instruction manual given to you. The final task carries the most marks and will probably determine the winner, only one team will be able to complete that task.” Josh looks at the tasks, most of the tasks are fairly simple while some are a bit tricky. The final task is left blank, and in the end, it is written to fill this task after completing the rest of the tasks. Both the couples were able to do almost all of the tasks listed, although what they did not know was that one task was different for every couple. Kathy and Smith had the task to go confess and kiss to the opposite gender of one couple, only one of them had to do it. So they decided Kathy should do it with Josh since they already know each other. Kathy finds Josh roaming around the pool at night and goes to him. Kathy: “Hey Josh listen, I want to confess something to you.” Josh: “What is it?” Kathy: “That time I did not break up with you because I was not in love with you but because I was scared that if you had gone to New York we would not be able to be happy. I still love only you Josh. (Kathy then suddenly kisses Josh)” Behind the scenes, Sara was listening and seeing the whole thing and she hurriedly went back to her room as a teardrop came into her eyes. The next morning all the teams did their tasks, and finally, only the last task was left. The last task was supposed to be thought and done by the males. Sara goes to her room telling Josh to figure it out and then call her. At night just 20 minutes before the countdown ends Josh messages, Sara, to come to the rooftop. When Sara reaches the rooftop she sees Kathy in Josh’s arms with her leaning on his chest. After that Kathy leaves while Sara hides. Then Sara opens the door and walks towards Josh. Josh: “You finally came, here I was worried that you might get late and we might lose.” Sara: “Well I did come early but you were busy flirting with your girlfriend.” Josh: “Wait what? Girlfriend? Who?” Sara: (Angrily) “Do not lie, I saw you and Kathy, today and even yesterday night. If you had gone back to her then why even bother to play this stupid show. (Sara bursts into tears)” Josh: (not knowing what to do) “Hey! it is not like that at all.” Sara: “Stop lying Josh. (Stuttering) I, I, I, I have always been waiting for you, for the last 8 years I have been waiting for you to love me. First, you did not even see me as a girl, and then you got into a relationship with that stupid Kathy, and then when you finally broke up I thought maybe now you will look at me, I even left a good job opportunity and came to New York chasing after you, I even lived in the same apartment thinking you might make a move on me this way but still to no avail and now when this was supposed to be our show you go back to her and embrace her. I hate you, I hate you so much.” Josh: “Hey Hey stop crying dumbass, you do not even know the whole story, last night was just a task that Kathy was completing and right now I called her to thank her for breaking up with me because it was because of that I was able to realize something very important (Josh sits with one leg bent and takes out a ring)” Josh: “Sara James, will you marry me and continue to handle my foolishness for the rest of your life?” Sara: (In a state of shock, shouts) “Yes! Yes! You stupid dumbass (she starts hitting him repeatedly after wearing the ring and then finally kisses him.” Host: “Everyone, we have our winner here. The final task was for the couples to show their true love. And what is true love if not marriage.” Josh lifts Sara in her arms and kisses her again, both of them smile and laugh like they never ever did before, and finally come together as one.


I am roused from my 10 a.m. slumber by the sound of a phone notification going off. Fuzzy dreams of black wavy hair and crinkled-eye smiles still linger in my head as I reach for my phone on my shelf. My initial thought is not that it could be you because I haven't heard from you in days. Although, who else could it be? My only friend is someone I've known since fifth grade, who is now 25 years old and married. She only reaches out to me once every two months through random Instagram messages from her favorite cat lover account to let me know she's still out there. If it's not her, then I'm sure it's another Instagram notification followed by forty others that will soon follow throughout the morning. But, then again, could it be you? I become excited as blurry images of brown doe eyes still rush to swarm my drowsy thoughts. Don't be , I tell myself. The notification list is just as I thought, except your beautiful, magnificent, adoring name, wedged in between the forty Instagram notifications, graces my small screen, impossible not to catch. A missed video call. Not a message. I look at the clock. I have work at 12:00. It takes 40 minutes to get there. Based on my typical routine, it should take approximately 10 minutes for a shower, 10 minutes for breakfast, and 5 minutes to make lunch (assuming we have turkey). Ok, I don't have time to call you back. But my finger selecting the notification has a mind of its own. I guess I'll skip lunch today. Or just work altogether. It takes a minute to go through, but soon your bunny-toothed smile captures my screen. Your eyes squint in joy, and your hair flops around your head in black waves long enough to cover your secret bunny ears, which I know must be hiding underneath. But I can't miss the iced mug of dark yellow beer in your hand raised up to the screen. Now I understand why your smile looks so goofy. I laugh lightly to cover the worry. You are miles and miles away, and although it may not be 10 a.m. where you are, it's still 3 a.m. on a Saturday for you. I'm concerned. It seems like you're making this a habit. You're a casual drinker, but is it considered casual when you're crying by the night's end? I decide not to ask you. It's been a while; I keep it light. And I've missed you too much. I inform you that I have work in an hour, and I'll need to carry you in my pocket for the day. However, you don't acknowledge my playful attempt to get your attention. I send an onslaught of messages, each containing bright purple hearts, one after the other, but again I fail. You've started a karaoke session in your apartment. Turns out you also sing when you're sad too. Since you're busy, I walk around the house getting ready for work and listen to your drunken melodies through my earbuds. Even while intoxicated, your voice is sickeningly sweet, pure, and honest, laced with pain in its octaves. I gladly listen to you sing and sing as I crack eggs on the counter for breakfast and fasten on my light-washed overalls, imagining you here beside me. After I've picked out a coat for the nippy Spring day, I realize you've gone quiet. I then notice you've disappeared from the screen when I look at my phone. Your room is dark, as usual, the only natural light emitted from a flickering candle you lit and placed in front of the screen. I look for you in the shadows. I can only make out the black couch and the scattered stars rotating on your ceiling, cascading over your living room in a green and blue galaxy-like dust projected from your favorite galaxy mood lamp. Then I hear the soft snores coming through my ear. You fell asleep. You're lying on the couch but out of the video lens. The candle you have lit burns next to the screen; it sounds like a tiny crackling fireplace. It's peaceful. If I could, I'd stay and fall asleep right next to you. It's now 11:25. Again, I am late. We'll talk next time. At work later on I get a message from you: Lol, is it morning?! I still need to sleep more :) I'm still sleepy I reply back. Oh, look who woke up, sleepyhead >.< :) --------------------------------------------- The library life is fantastically eventful. Only three or four patrons scour the dust and book-filled shelves and sit behind the only two available public computers in the corner. As I assist a patron with the printer, I ponder whether my English degree was a worthwhile investment. Meanwhile, I sneak glances at my phone hidden under the counter, eagerly anticipating a message from you. Although you're probably still sleeping in your beer coma. I shut my phone off. As I listen to an elderly man scold my coworker for not putting up the closed sign on our holiday Monday last week, my mind wanders into a daydream. I imagine you waking up to the warm midday sun with your hair tousled and your lips slightly swollen from a deep sleep, only to discover that your video is still on. I laugh lightly to myself. You'll probably be famished once you wake up. I count the hours, I count the minutes, I watch old videos of you and your friends playing games of UNO and Jenga while I take phone calls that blur into one another. "No, this is not the Law Library," "Yes, you need a library card for that," "No, I cannot provide that." But it's not enough. When I get home, I tell myself to search for new jobs. My part-time job doesn't pay me nearly enough to support me. Nor the occasional concert ticket. I fight the urge to check Instagram to see what you've been up to. I remind myself not to live vicariously through you, to not become too intertwined in your life. Holding onto my pink bunny plushie, I recite this mantra and open my computer only to see a collage of our pictures I made last month and set as my wallpaper, with your face in it. I fail. I know you haven't posted anything, that's not unusual for you, but when I search your name, I can't find you. There are countless accounts with your exact name, but I don't see that familiar black-and-white silhouette profile picture. I check all the letters of your name. I spelled it correctly. Do I need to remember the underline? I type "J, U, N," but it doesn't appear. I check your messages from today. Could I have missed something while at work? I discover there's one message unread: I left Instagram. I just erased it because I never used it. I don't think I'll use it in the future just letting you know :) Oh. Well, at least I have your pictures saved. I close the app. I really need to get a life, I think to myself . But where would I start? I think back to the day I first saw you. My best friend invited me to her house one day; she had been trying to introduce me to you and your friends for months, stating you were the next big thing. She said you all sang and harbored immense talent, but she said your voice specifically was one of pure magic. I could care less, but she asserted that I had to see you; actually, she said, "You have to see his friend. He's so beautiful!." Your friend was more handsome, I'll admit. The first of your friend group to catch my eye and all the other girl's eyes, I'm sure. Initially, he appeared distant and aloof, resembling a stunning yet frigid sculpture. However, as the night progressed, I learned he was quite warm and open. Nevertheless, I took one long look at his marble form and let my eyes flit elsewhere. They fell on, what I come to know, as your more responsible friend. This one seemed most intuned with my usual type. Kind and intelligent and just a bit of a goofball. I sometimes imagine if you weren't there that day how we would be married by now, on our second child. Naming our second son Indigo. But I'd never tell you that. I'd like to say I didn't see you first; instead, I heard you first. This doesn't make sense because sitting next to your friends, you were the more reserved of the group. The kind to watch things play out before acting. Shy, but not around those close to you. Your hair was cut short around your face, dyed a light brown, and straight. You had a constant Duchenne smile which made you appear innocent but a little mischievous. You definitely were noticed. When a karaoke session began, I watched as you went up for a rendition of Memory of the Wind by the singer Naul, right after your kind, intelligent friend had just jokingly butchered it. We laughed along with him at his self-deprecating humor; however, this suddenly broke off at the first sound of your voice. I was entranced. To this day, that song remains my favorite because you sang it. Even against the muffled mic defects in your 10-dollar karaoke microphone, your voice was clear and powerful, warm and comforting. Even your friend's laughter had abruptly paused as they sat and listened, even though I'm sure they'd heard it a hundred times before me. You were not just a noticeable boy anymore. You took the stage, the forefront. You became the glittering star. The crowd you made gather around you could not look away. And neither could I. I still can't. You were born to be a singer. Nobody that ever met you would ever question it. I was not surprised in the least when your talent was noticed by a large entertainment company too. I supported you from the sidelines and became one of your fans as you climbed to the top. I was ok in my little part of the world as you discovered and conquered the whole of yours. And you stayed humble, always coming back to me at the end of the day. You really loved me. You had never failed to say it every day. But calls got shorter, and the days got lonelier. What was I to expect? You were living your life; I needed to live mine. You told me on a video call one day to prioritize my life and be happy even if you were not with me. You cried that day. You were drunk again. You were sitting at your dinner table with a white beanie and black hair underneath, curling against your neck. Were you leaving me? Was this the end? No, no, you were my only priority. You made me happy. I needed you. Nothing else mattered. My friend, the one who introduced me to you in the first place, told me you were right. I needed to move on. I was becoming too "obsessed" with you, she said. But she didn't understand. We had something special. You loved me, and I loved you. We relied on each other. But I yielded to her concern and put on my best fake smile. So I went to college for five years and got that degree I'm still not sure I wanted or needed. I spent day after day writing, reading, writing. You went to the White House and shook hands with the President, targeting social issues, spending day after day singing, traveling, and winning. I heard a rumor you dated that famous singer with flawless skin, the pixy nose, the one with Bambi's eyes. Her songs are almost as mesmerizing as your voice. I can see why you picked her. Over time, I have come to accept the bitter truth that your life is beyond my reach. Your life appears to be a constant display of vibrant purples and shimmering blues, like an endless fireworks show. You have found what you love, nurtured your talent, and let it flourish into beautiful roses. Giving one to each person whose lucky enough to receive one. I would like to take a little bit of your magic and sprinkle some overhead as well. Maybe some tulips might grow instead of these weeds. I want to prove that although we may be far apart, our love for each other remains strong. I know I am your biggest supporter. If given a chance, I could make you happy and wipe away any tears that fall. I've known you for so long. Our friendship, our love, can overcome anything. ---------------------------------- I find myself standing at your doorstep, outside your hotel room. I had heard that you were in town, and although I know you value your privacy, I remember you mentioning that you wished we could all meet up in person instead of just chatting online. Maybe now is the right time for that. That day could be today. I took off the weekend from work to see you and be here for you. You seem so down lately, I had to come cheer you up. So here I am, food in tow, with your favorites, sweet bread, and strawberry milk. A friend on Instagram told me you were staying here. I hope she's right. I even bought a room beneath the floor you're supposed to be staying on. It's 10 p.m. right now. Tomorrow is your 24th concert, but I'm sure you're awake, considering your video calls are always past 12 p.m. I waited until this floor was clear because I didn't want any distractions; I'm already nervous. Room 284. I knock on the door twice. I stand there for a minute or two, with no answer, before I hear footsteps coming down the hall. I panic. I drop the food in front of your door and sprint down the opposite direction of the hall, pushing through the emergency exit doors as I race down the three flights of stairwells and throw myself through the lobby stairwell entrance. I fly through the lobby, boots hitting against the red and beige patterned carpet until I pass the hotel bellhops with puzzled looks on their faces and set off down the sidewalk at full speed, my heart in my throat, and possibly the dinner I had three hours ago. ----------------------------- "Did you see Jun-sang's Weverse post?" My boba drink is grasped tightly as I suddenly hear the name. I look up from my phone to find my friend staring at her phone across the table with a disturbed look. My palms suddenly feel sweaty. "No, why?" My voice sounds calm enough. "Those sasaengs are at it again." She rolls her eyes and hands her phone to me. I read the post for the second-first time. Jun-sang: Please don't send me delivery food. I'm thankful for your concern, but I won't eat it even if you send it over. I'm serious. Stop. If I get sent food one more time, I will check the receipt number and take further action to stop this. End it beforehand. My throat is dry. I can't form words, so I look up at my friend and widen my eyes in a dramatic expression of surprise. "I know, right?" She states, grabbing her phone. "That would have been you five years ago, too," she jokingly bursts out laughing, resuming her scroll through Weverse. I laugh nervously with her and sip my boba tea to keep myself busy. "Have you seen his recent lives?" she continues, "He seems a bit sad lately, but his lives look like so much fun. I heard he got drunk and fell asleep with the live still going the other day! Did you watch it? I just saw some clips on Instagram." I shake my head vigorously, mouth full of milk tea as I chew the boba slowly. "Oh wow, you've really changed since your Z2M phase. I still remember when I showed you that video of their group singing karaoke at my house 5 or 6 years ago. I was so in love with Tae-hwan. And you were so obsessed with Jun-sang. I could tell you were hooked as soon as you heard his voice. All I heard for the next year after that was how great he was. That's all you ever talked about!" My friend begins to laugh hysterically across the table as she relives our old memories. I stay silent. When her laughter finally dies down, she looks at me again, quiet for a moment. "I'm pretty sure you were their biggest fan," she giggles. "I had to force you to get out of your room and off that computer. I mean, your still a fan, right?" As I gaze at the tablecloth adorned with purple and white flowers, I run my fingernail along the curves of the stitching. I glance up to see her curious expression. "I mean, not so much. I'm not really a fan anymore."


I scroll through pictures I’ve backed up from my phone. I have thousands, but in every lineup there are pictures of my boys throughout my myriad of randomness. Every grouping they grow subtly, nearly invisibly to the normal eye. But I see it. I see the time between. I’m gone so much. They say parents never see their children actually grow, age, get bigger and smarter because they are with them nearly every day of their growing lives. I see my two boys grow every time I see them. They are three and five, almost four and six and I have been away from them for the majority of their lives. I watch them grow from a distance. I am more lucky than my father who did not have video chat and the technology of worldwide instant communication that we have today, but that’s a tiny grace in the life of an absent father. I get to see them age through pictures or a phone screen. Every time I interact with them is a joyous heartbreak. Every time I delve through my photo vault I am reminded of how much I love and miss them, how much of their lives I miss and memories of theirs I will never be a part of. Their first steps and words, a loving story passed to me by my best friend and love, my wife. They’ve hit the age where memory sticks, and I’m terrified of their memories without me. I hope they are happy, I know they are given so much love... but do they truly feel my love from a distance and through a screen? I remember my life growing up without my father present, and that put a huge gap in my heart that took me most of my life to figure out and fix who I am because of it. Am I doing that to my boys? Will they carry this hole for the majority of their lives? Will they perceive my absence as a loving sacrifice or will they see me as the father who was never there for their scrapes and problems? Another photo, another memory of a time I was there and the painful stab of reality that I am yet again viewing these from a distance. I try to pass on wisdom from afar. I try to bribe their love with boxes and mailed gifts from around the globe. One day I will be there, but they will be too old to sit on my lap, to cuddle with me the way a toddler can. That warm pure innocent embrace without specific memory. They are passing the sweet innocence of childhood into their cognitive years and I am never there to directly shape and sculpt their personalities. I try to lie to myself and believe that I do this for them, I do this to provide for them and give them a life of opportunity, meals that aren’t ramen and broth soup. College funds to give them the option of an education if they so choose that route. Money doesn’t buy happiness but it does provide for an easier start and an easier life. I try to believe that I am not there in order to provide that opportunity most children don’t have. I hope everyday that I’m not making excuses for my own mind, but I know the truth and know that there is a part of life that cannot be replaced with the provisions of an absent father. I think of them every day, I miss them every day, and I’m torn on the reciprocal. I want them to miss me, but I don’t want them to feel the pain of missing me. I want them to be amazing people and shape society for the better, but understand that in doing so, they will have been able to build that strong foundation without me. They will be great men, and I fear that I will not have been a part of that foundation.


Here I am sitting once again, my bare back against the rough concrete wall in this small, dark room. I feel a dampness under me, it reminds me of when I was younger and would play in puddles after a storm; the only difference is now I am a middle aged adult and I don’t have any shoes. Chills race through my body as my weak heart pushes me through another cold night. I can hear pain-driven moans of other middle aged men in other rooms much like my own. I haven’t been able to keep a meal down for days and I think my body is finally giving up on me. It smells like a high school bathroom that hasn’t been washed in weeks, but I have become immune to the putrid smells that would sting the nose of a hog. All I wish for in these hopeful final hours is a room mate, someone I could talk to and tell my final secrets to; someone to tell my story to, or at least make up a story. The moans are getting louder. I could try and lay in my mattress, but I don’t want to die laying on something that isn’t mine. This isn’t the jail life that is romanticized on TV and in books, this is the real jail life of Sector 858. It all started in the year 2024 when the government started telling everyone of the wonderful life that could be possible if we accept a few changes in how society is. That should have been the first indication of hell; we should have known from the beginning that nothing good comes when people try to change what feels natural. We embraced it though, we trusted them, we thought the people behind the locked doors knew what was good for us. They told us the only sacrifice we would make is breaking a few friendships and that this would only be a sacrifice for a closer society and a closer web of companions. Their big plan in a nutshell was to organize people like files in a computer. We would be organized by occupation, and further organized into a bureaucracy of social status. The people never really changes, the only change was a mass feeling of loneliness; that was our second chance to realize this couldn’t work, we ignored it trusting them. Within two years, everyone was moved into cities, sectors as they became known as. There was a business sector, a factory sector, an art sector, a sector for just about every occupation, or at least somewhere every occupation would fit into. The worst of these sectors was Sector 213; this was where they sent everyone that could not work or was not willing to work. I was never there, I only heard stories, rumors. Nobody left their sector, there was a commitment that was needed in the new society. The only way information was spread between sectors was through the internet, but the internet turned out to be as honest as the men that set up our new lives. Sector 213 consisted of everyone from drug dealers to hitmen to the mentally handicapped to the mentally insane. The types of people varied drastically, and this led to chaos. At first, stories on the internet were trustable, they seemed realistic for the people living in Sector 213. Everyone knew what types of people lived here from the handbook given to every citizen of the new society, which listed all 914 sectors and what group of people belonged to them. Sector 213 consisted of “noncontributing individuals.” The details of Sector 213 are not important to the grand scheme of what ended up being this nation by the year 2031, present time. Times were alright after awhile; people were feeling connected and sector life became centered around what people actually did with their lives, which looked like it would make life more bearable. Problems started coming with the children. Children could not be born into an occupation; as much as the they wished we could be computers, we weren’t. They found a solution. They promised happiness and wellbeing to our children. This was our third and final chance to see where this was all leading, we missed it. They took away our children to Sector 864, “schooling and developing.” Our lives became more and more centered around work, less and less around relationships and family. People began to forget what having a family even was. Stories of pain and chaos stopped showing up on the internet, replaced by stories of success and happiness in other sectors. I thought my sector was special, I thought maybe this sadness was special to me and my brothers and sisters, that’s what we called each other in my sector. We wrote manuals, manuals for putting things together, taking things apart, pretty much anything that needed a manual. I thought maybe my sector was sad because there was no advances to be made in our occupation, nothing new ever; it was always the same, typing steps to putting together and taking apart things made by other sectors. Honestly, I never minded it, it was easy and relaxing. I had a few close friends that I worked with and got drunk with occasionally. It was one night in particular that really got my thoughts changing. We were drinking beers and sitting in my friend Mark’s living room. We were laughing and making fun of some of the things we were writing manuals for, it was a fun night. Then Dan, a friend of mine from before all the changes happened, brought up something from before the change. He started talking about this book that people would write in and it would help others understand what you do for a living; you would write in as much depth as you chose about your job and what you do. There was obviously no need for it anymore after all the changes, but Dan bringing this up brought up a rush of nostalgia. I felt myself sink into the couch I was sitting in as my mind began to wander into memories of my family. I had a brother and two sisters, they were twins. Luckily they ended up in the same sector because they were exceptional athletes. I felt my heat sinking a little into my chest and I began to miss my life from before the change. The change that struck me at that moment that I never realized before was the lack of curiosity. There was nothing new, nothing to wonder about because there was nobody else besides yourself. Everyone in a sector was almost an exact clone of each other. I began to feel more lonely than I did ever before that moment. Every day after that dreadful night felt like a repeat of the day before, but every day got worse in some way. I felt my hair getting longer, my sighs getting longer and my body getting weaker as I began to lose hope in a life that meant anything. I wanted to matter, I wanted more than anything to not be a clone in some sector where everyone is the same and just another gear pushing this nation along. I decide it was time for change. I began working out a way to escape my sector. I looked through the handbook and found which sectors I wanted to go to: Sector 213, “artists,” Sector 457, “scientists,” Sector 110, “psychologists,” and Sector 54, “weapon experts.” My final location would be Sector 1. Sector 1 was where the leaders were living; nobody knew anything about it. I had no idea how I would even get out of my sector, it took more planning and surveying of the wall that confined my sector. I planned on leaving and heading east, looking for any sector to see if I could find a pattern or organization of the sectors. I finally left in 2030. I found a hole in the wall that I could crawl through. Outside of this hole, I saw sunlight like I have never seen before, it burned my eyes. Freedom, an open land that people could not even dream of anymore. I smelled trees and nature, it smelled like a park I went to as a child, I felt a smile slowly overtake my face, then tears leaking from my eyes. I stepped out of the bubble that help my life for a few long years. I forgot what real weather was like, I felt a frigid cold begin to climb up my legs. I took a few steps, it felt like hours, I was overcome by happiness and this new feeling of freedom. I was about twenty feet from the wall when I heard a loud, high-pitched noise pierce through my skull. An alarm. There was an alarm going off in my sector, time slowed down even more as I turned around to look. I felt every muscle in my body begin to tense up and every hair on my arms and legs raise, this made the cold air feel even crisper. I saw a tall tower that I somehow missed while living in the sector, and in this tower was a few men staring at me. I could see the look in their eyes, they looked like leopards that just saw a deer that walked away from its pack. The look that burned into my brain and felt like hours as I saw the man raise a gun, I was frozen. There was nothing I could do anymore, I waited for whatever was in that gun to pierce my skin and take me away. I was unaware of what happened next, but I woke up in a dark cell; my new room. This is where I am now. My life lasted another year I estimate it to be. After everything that happened, after everything I wanted to change, all that resulted was me sitting in my own sweat, slowly dying as alone as I was in Sector 858. I don’t know any of the other men in this jail, all I know is they are men I may or may not have worked with. I never learned about any other sectors, I can’t even be sure there are other sectors anymore. I can’t be sure there are other people besides the ones I hear moaning every day. I guess you can never be certain of anything that isn’t you. I realized the only truth I ever knew what what I felt inside. I wish I had realized what was happening from the beginning, I wish I had trusted myself instead of the people trying to change what I knew was natural. I don’t regret anything I did, I only regret what I didn’t do sooner.


You’re walking down a dirt road. You can hear the shore in the dark distance. Somewhere, in the back of your mind you know the ex boyfriend of your newly estranged wife is realizing you’ve disappeared from the rager he invited you to. The thought of his concern for your safety sends you into a fit. He’s trying to be your friend. To help you through a hard time because he’s a Marine and so are you. You’ve all fucked each other’s wives and sisters and mothers and gods. It’s all the same. It’s all so ridiculous. This world. Your life. There’s nothing special about any of the things you have built or destroyed. You wonder if Rett will be able to find you. You wonder if he’ll be able to find you before you find the ocean. Because this is the first time. The first time you got in your head to kill yourself. It’s pretty special in a way. First times always are. The dreadful amount of rum in your blood must have left you open to possession by some pirate spirit still lingering on the Carolina coasts. His spiced whispers thread their way through some cortex or another, inspiring you to leave the festival of pity that drinking marines are wont to host. Crashing waves in the distance sing the lyrics of a siren song, beckoning to the black of night. And something, perhaps, a bit darker. In any case, the urge to run has narrowly saved you from receiving an ill-advised tattoo of a Mayan calendar on the whole of your back. In the apartment you just left behind, a perplexed marine is sitting with a homemade tattoo gun buzzing in one hand a handle of vodka in the other. He’s wondering if you’ll forget to come back for the hundred dollars of cash in the morning. As you traverse the road, you discover there’s lightning in your chest so you tear your shirt a bit to let it out. The sound of the fabric ripping sounds like electricity in your hands, so you continue to conjure imaginary sparks as you flex every muscle you’ve had worked into you over the last few years. Laughter sounds from atop a grassy knoll. Three men holding beers in their hands are watching with eager eyes as you devolve into human litter. “Behold!” you shout at them, stepping into the glow of a streetlight. You let out a howl, envisioning Frankenstein’s monster discovering fire. You feel hot tears on your cheeks. The laughter stops. The men retreat. You scratch at your chest and cry out more, curiously satisfied by the sensation it leaves in your throat. You smell drunken cliche on your skin. It’s all so predictable. So mundane. So unoriginal. Beyond the knoll the laughing men had just been standing upon, you find the beach you were quested to find by the ghost of The Pirate King . There is no moon this night. You are too pathetic for its company. And yet, like a fool you mutter, “Goodnight moon,” to yourself, hiccuping hot liquor into the back of your throat. You are a romantic to the end. A fool through and through. The tattered shreds of your shirt fall to the sand as you begin to make your way. You feel strong. Ready to fight the tide until it overpowers you like everything else in this world has been able. Every feeling. Every desire. Every impulse. Losing yourself to a force of nature should be easy. You’ve been practicing all your life. Dutifully, you continue your fateful march, considering how fortunate it is to be one of the few Marines in the world who has somehow managed not to learn how to swim. Then your phone vibrates in the pocket of your denim and you realize how unfortunate it is you are one of the most consistently lucky people in the world. You answer the phone and things start to move fast. “Where are you?” she asks. “Rett is looking for you.” “No.” You’re looking at the sea. “I’m looking for you, asshole! Where are you?” “No.” You’re so very tired. “Do not make me drive around aimlessly all night. Let me bring you home.” “Okay.” You hate the ocean anyway. Now you are balled up in the passenger seat with your arms wrapped around your legs, sullen as a child caught sneaking treats. The pirate spirit has abandoned you, disgusted with your lack of commitment. He seems to have taken the rum with him. This plotline is overwrought and you would like the show to wrap up. The characters have no teeth. Elizabeth’s shitty car climbs the highway like she knows where she’s going. But you’ve been living in this town for a couple of years now and have yet to meet a soul who knows a goddamn thing about it. It shifts and moves and hates its inhabitants. This swamp is Purgatory. This swamp is Tarturas. This swamp is Jacksonville. Behold! “What the fuck were you doing out there? And since when do you hang out with Rettidal?!” You give her questions good thought and decide to be as forthcoming as possible: “Everything hurts.” You hear her baptist lips mutter “Jesus Christ” under her breath and spring into action, pounding your fist into the window. There are no worse days than when that fucker sticks his nose in your marriage. The impact of your knuckles on the tempered glass feels like the sort of pain you’ve come to find particularly attractive since puberty and 80’s action flicks wrought havoc on your physiology. You wonder if you can break it. You wonder how mighty you’ll feel as you complete the tableau of the “The Last Cowboy” you’ve always envisioned for yourself. Which ballad will play over your tragic denouement? You hit it again, smiling. Maybe the pirate left you some of his bloody rum, after all. “Hey! Hey, Motherfucker! What are you doing?!” “I’ll pay for it,” you whisper as you hit the window again. “I WILL LEAVE YOU ON THE SIDE OF THIS ROAD!” she bellows, almost losing control of the car. “I JUST WANT TO BE LOVED!” you scream as you recoil back into a ball. The car sits idle on the highway and it occurs to you she might be waiting for you to get out. Just before you reach for the door handle, the car slowly begins to continue on down the highway in silence. You squeeze your eyes shut and wonder if she can still see you. “I should’ve gone to college,” you say, eyes still closed. “This is too much for a nineteen year old.” “You’re twenty-two, Miles.” “Exactly.” A silence follows. Then a reluctant chuckle escapes her throat in search of your quiet smile. Then another. You both fill the car with laugher and suddenly the roads drop all labyrinthian pretenses. She’s got teeth after all, whispers The Pirate God. “Aye, Cap’n!” you say, talking with the ghosts in your head like you have since childhood. Elizabeth is asking you to repeat yourself but you’re already feeling yourself sinking into a slumber that will leave all the high tides of the night behind. All the better. You’re pretty sure if you made it into her apartment conscious you’d make a good show of rummaging through the kitchen for a steak knife to dig into your arm. You’d never done such a thing before but tonight feels like a night for dying, so long as everything is forgiven in the morning.


HE WAS LATE FOR THAT APPOINTMENT TOO Terrence had always been a latecomer. His schoolmates, from elementary school, remembered that there had been no a day that he didn’t arrive in class, out of breath, all in a hurry, always after the lessons had already begun. Even when he was no longer a child, Terrence continued to be regularly late. He arrived late not only to appointments with doctor, with dentist, but even with girls to whom he cared a lot, with whom he had to insist very much because they agreed to meet him. Not to mention his delays at job interviews when he had started looking for a job. Since he was always late, he had to wait a long time before he could find a job, which he soon lost because he kept arriving late every day at his job. But even when he had fixed to meet with friends for a soccer match or a dinner, it happened that he always arrived when the match or dinner had already started without him. Sometimes he arrived when they were over.. So those , who knew him for his inveterate habit of arriving late , used to say, jokingly: “ Ah, Terrence...you will see that even death will get tired of waiting for him” Those who mocked him like that certainly could not know what would have happened several years later to that chronic latecomer of Terrence. Many years had passed when something happened that no one would have ever expected, that no one could have ever imagined. Terrence, now a mature man, was satisfied with his work____he had set up a major travel agency. He was also happy with his family. After a first marriage, which had lasted a few months, he had married Helen, with whom he had three children, now teenagers. His life was a satisfying, comfortable and also peaceful life. What a pleasant surprise had been for him to receive that phone call from Charles, a friend of his teenage years, when they had been neighbors. Terrence had not known anything about him for years, since Charles had been living abroad for a long time. Charles was back in their town and he wanted to see him, he wanted to meet him as soon as possible. Of course, they had to meet. They had so many things to tell each other , not to mention the memories they had of their time together as teenagers. Terrence, enthusiastic, had invited Charles to dinner at his house, so he would know his family. And also, it must be added, Terrence would not have risked being late for their appointment. But Charles, after thanking for that invitation, had said that he preferred to meet him alone, at least for the first time they would see each other again. Of course he, Charles, would be happy to know his family later. So they had agreed to meet at the bar, Arlecchino, which was next the stadium. Terrence and Charles had frequented the Arlecchino as boys, after watching a football match or after a friendly game between boys. “ I’ll be waiting for you in front of the bar at five o’clock. We’ll go into the bar together ”Charles said him.. Charles perhaps, after so many years, didn’t remember that Terrence was always late. But of the two, the one who ignored something very important about the other was Terrence, as Charles couldn’t really tell him the true raison why he had called him and why he was so eager, indeed impatient to meet him. Eh, it had been a long time since they had been boys and had played on the soccer field. Then they had been friends, although, how can we say?( how to say?), friends in the lightness and in the heartedness of that green age, friends to have fun together. So, who knows if they had been really friends. He, Charles, thinking back to those times, he had a faded memory of Terrence. Indeed he remembered that Terrence was ( had been) often quite annoying and even snooty. If he was happy to see him again after so long? Well, to tell the truth, Charles didn’t ask himself the question. As soon as he had been again in the town, he had looked for Terrence , since he absolutely had to see him. It was a simple business matter. If he had not been able to see Terrence, to meet him, Charles couldn’t fulfill the assignment which had been entrusted to him. He had therefore considered it appropriate, indeed necessary to give him an appointment to be sure he would see him again, instead of relying on chance that in that town, sooner or later, he would meet him again. Charles was in a certain hurry to accomplish the task that had been entrusted to him. Therefore the day after his phone call, Charles at five in the afternoon, but rather a few minutes earlier, was in front of the Arlecchino bat , waiting for Terrence. As soon as Charles arrived, he sat at a table outside the bar and asked for a coffee. Among those who came in and out the bar there was more than one that ( who) he recognized, despite all the time that had passed since he had not seen them. But no one seemed to recognize him. Indeed no one seemed to pay attention to him. To the left of the bar, beyond the bend in ( of) the street, there was the stadium, with its soccer field, from where shouted words arrived to him. “ On, hurry up! On, get the ball!” ....” Warning: shot on goal!” Probably a football match ( game) was taking place , perhaps between boys, as then, when Charles and Terrence were ( had been) teenagers. Twenty minutes ( had) passed and Terrence did not arrive. Charles got up from the table in front of the Arlecchino bar and started to wait for Terrence , standing on the sidewalk. Anyway, when Terrence had arrived, oh they would take something into the bar, but then... Charles knew that , they , he and Terrence. would have to get away from there. He should have to get Terrence into his car and to take him to a....a suitable place. Well, maybe in the park next the station, which was just the right place. Time passed and not even the shadow of Terrence....Charles called him on the phone, but no one answered. He began to doubt that Terrence would come. A bad trouble for him ( it would be a bad trouble for him) , who could not wait to complete the task that had been entrusted to him. Not that Terrence had forgotten the appointment with Charles, but, as usual, he was late. He had started in time towards the bar where he would meet Charles. But, on the way, he had had so many unexpected events that had led him elsewhere. It had been about two hours since five o’clock. Charles, who had continued to wait for Terrence, going up and down the sidewalk, and ( going) up and down from the sidewalk to the bar, was about to leave, to stop of waiting for him, when he was arrested. He was wanted on an international arrest warrant. If Terrence had arrived on time for the appointment, Charles would have killed him, as he had instructed to do.