It can be a beautiful thing, sometimes, going through life as a casual observer. Never staying too long in one place, choosing instead to live vicariously through the lives of those in eavesdropping distance. I observe miracles; heartbreak, the nuances of monotony. A common place for this happenstance is a bar I frequent, an understanding meeting ground that knows I'm four drinks deep before I remember its name. There's a revolving door of clientele, the occasional pit stop of a 21 run, tired workers and rejected souls. Among the ever-changing details, there has been a new constant, other than myself. She arrives at 9:45pm sharp, every night. Well put together, ironed clothes and sultry gaze. Dark hair, pinned with a knitting needle, freckles across a button nose and a well-traveled smile. The obviously bare knuckle where a wedding ring would lie, one single glass of Rosé. I never speak to her, in fear of upsetting her routine. She'll watch the clock turn 10:16 and sigh to herself, reach for her coat and quietly slip out the door. Tonight, a fellow observer dares to break the regime. She's come in as normal, but the glass of Rosé is waiting for her. Silence. A wave of panic on an otherwise perfect face. Ninety degree head turn, and disappointment disguised in kindness. She is facing him now, and I can hear the conversational details unwind. “I took the liberty of ordering your drink, and don't worry, the barkeep kept an eye on it. Just wanted to pay it forward.” A quiet, but genuine chuckle. He has a softened gaze, barely thirty by my estimate. Blonde hair carefully sculpted toward the left part, and eyes an evergreen shade. He's braver than I. She is polite, if cautious. “Thank you very much, you didn't have to do that.” It appears this is where she wants the interaction to end, but he presses on. “I see you in here, often. Easy enough to see you aren't in the league of many men here; you're strikingly beautiful, no-nonsense, but hey, I figured. Shoot my shot, right? I'm Louis.” “Charlotte.” A handshake, first contact. He swivels the stool closer to her, leaning his knees in. They engage in small talk for a few minutes, and I almost tune out, dissociate. She seems rather uninterested, but gives polite answers and seems one of sophisticated taste. Louis suddenly electrifies the air, and my ears once again have been pricked with interest. “Always 9:45, a glass of Rosé, and gone by 10:16. I've thought of many bizarre reasons as to why you've picked that routine.” Pointed silence, daring the conversation to draw nearer. Charlotte takes a single sip of her wine, removes her gaze from the clock on the wall. Deep breathing. Preparation. “You seem very observant, Louis. I'm intrigued. What do you think I could be doing here besides trying to enjoy a nice glass of wine after a hard day's work?” He runs his fingers through his hair, raises one eyebrow. “Isn't it obvious?” The tone is condescending at best. She doesn't answer, but places the glass down once more and adjusts her body language accordingly. Full attention. “Charlotte, you gorgeous, unappreciated woman. You're waiting for someone. Someone you know is never going to show up. I can see it in your eyes. The way you look at that clock as if you're begging it to show you mercy.” A cold stare. But shaking hands. “I know we've just met. And you've barely shown any interest,” Louis begins. Charlotte chuckles, suddenly warm and inviting the sentence to continue. Perhaps the honesty was more refreshing than the wine. “But honestly, even in the few minutes we've been talking, I can see you're selling yourself short. A woman of your caliber shouldn't be sitting here waiting for some schmutz to walk into this shitty bar and sweep you off your feet again.” She seems unsure of what to do here. Index finger slowly traces the rim of the glass. Louis presses on. “Unless...maybe, at least for tonight, that schmutz could be me?” Charlotte raises her head to see a toothy grin, flushed red face and an outstretched palm. The universe quietly holding its breath, perhaps at the same pace as this man. I suppose luck was in the agenda for Louis, because I watched her place a slender hand into this offering, and led out the door at 10:08. I do not know the fate of this couple, because I never saw Charlotte and the glass of Rosé again. However, at 10:15 that same night, a crimson haired man walked into this bar, and saw the lonely glass of Rosé on the counter, no beautiful woman to accompany it. An indescribable amount of sorrow upon his face. And I cannot explain why, but in that moment, I knew.


It is good to be back in the old neighbourhood. As much as the suburbs are quieter and safer for raising the kids, I have to admit I sometimes miss the city. Even the incessant sirens, constant sound of traffic and the general hustle and bustle of people I've started collecting porcelain teacups which gives me an excuse to visit more often. The kids are staying with my parents for the weekend, so Jason and I have taken the opportunity to tour the neighbourhood’s antique shops, in search of new additions to my fledgling collection. We walk leisurely hand in hand along the avenues, like not one day of the last 5 years have passed. We make a point to swing by the old apartment. Reminiscing about the crooked landing and even more crooked landlord. We lived here before the children, even before we were married and before Jason was promoted and we could afford this idyllic life of ours. I find a George Jones teacup that I just can’t be without, Jason duly buys it for me. “You’ll need a cabinet soon enough” he jokes as we walk along Rogan Avenue, as much as he’s joking, we both know it will be true one day. I hug his arm and feel a warmth roll of me. “...treat you to lunch and the old deli?” my smile gives him the answer, this was turning out to be a lovely Saturday afternoon. Something starts to rumble; it grows louder and nearer. I eventually look up to see a Texaco gas truck thundering down the street towards us. Suddenly a little girl, out of nowhere runs out into the street. Both Jason and I jerk in reaction to the disaster that we see unfolding in front of us but are frozen where we’re stood. The truck begins swerving from side to side. The driver has obviously spotted the girl, but the trailer is beginning to lose control. We watch as it skids, and crashes unchecked through the front of a store causing an enormous explosion. I lose grip of Jason’s hand as I shield my face from the heat and bright light. I catch a glimpse of Jason being propelled in the air and watch in horror as he plunges through another window behind us Before I can properly react, there’s a gun being pushed into the back of my head. “Don’t move” the male voice says. “Jason!” I scream, trying to get on him, “Shut up and come with me” the man grabs me by the shoulder, but I instinctively spin away, batting his hands away. We end up facing each other, his face is covered but our eyes are locked. This man has a worried look in his eyes, like he doesn’t know what he’s doing. I’m determined to check on Jason, so I decide to risk it and turn to run but he grabs me by the wrist. “I don’t want to shoot you, but if you run, I will” “Then do it!” I yanked my arm back. Maybe the adrenaline makes me temporarily deaf, but I don’t hear any shots behind me as I dart towards the store that John was propelled into. When I get to the busted-out window and look in, the store is much smaller than it looks from the outside, in fact it’s more like a window display than an actual store. The store front is a façade. “John?” I call out, he’s not there, instead of broken glass on the floor, there’s tiny pieces of white paper, like confetti, like we had at our wedding. Before I can really process what was going on, a cloth is pressed to my mouth. I struggle but they’re far stronger than me and before long I’m fading into unconsciousness. *** A door slamming jolts me awake, but I find myself in almost darkness. There is light shining from under a door about 10 yards in front of me. I can tell it’s a door as there is a keyhole and a halo of light around three sides. A carpet of light spreads to just in front of me but it’s not enough to illuminate the room. Suddenly I realise I’m bound to the chair I’m sat on. It’s tight as I can’t move a muscle but it’s not sore, in fact I’m not in any pain at all. Which comes as a relief “...Hello?” I say with reservations of a response. The lights abruptly flip on, long fluorescent lights flicker on one at a time above my head. The door swings open and a tall, burly chested man in a grey tailored suit came walks in carrying a file. The walls are made of dark grey cinder blocks with no windows, completely empty, except a table and one other chair. The fluorescent light is harsh to my eyes as it bounces off the polished concrete floor. “Mrs Jennifer Morgan” I’m caught off guard, “How do you know my name?” “You are married to, one, Jason Morgan” he reads from the front of the file he’s carrying. “Is that a question?” I ask. “Not particularly,” he brushes me off rudely, “we already know that for a fact”. “Why am I here? How do you know my name? What’s your business with Jason?” “You ask a lot of question for somebody who until recently was stuck in a dark room” The man says with cockiness in his voice and a smirk. “I just want to know what the hell is going on” I snap at him. “Whatever do you mean?” he feigns ignorance which I don’t fall for, even for a second. “Jason and I were walking down the street, then there’s an explosion. I watched Jason fly through a window and then disappear. Now you have abducted me. I want some answers!” “I don’t think you’re in a position to negotiate” he continues to smirk as he slowly pulls a gun from inside his suit jacket and lays it on table. “But I’ve got some questions for you...” he sits down behind the table, and he opens his folder. Taking a pen from his inside pocket, he gives it a condescending click before putting it to the page, “So, how did you and Jason meet?” “I’m sorry, what?” That wasn’t what expecting his first question to be, it’s clear that he’s wasting my time or trying to goad me. “Where’s Jason? What have you done to him? Is he alive ?” My voice wavers, but I manage to catch my emotions and suppress the tear that threatens to drip down my cheek. “Our personal life is none of your business” Without lifting his pen or his eyes to me, my interviewer nonchalantly says “just...answer...my questions” before casually tapping the gun that’s still sitting on the table next to him. It’s a silent threat, but I hear it loud and clear. I stifle my rebellious side and swallow my pride. “What do you want to know?” I say calmly, through gritted teeth “ How did you meet ?” he reiterated himself I take a deep breath and slowly exhale through my nose, exaggerating the noise to display my displeasure at being forced to divulge such personal details. “College.” I say bluntly “I’m going to need more details than that” he says ignorantly not looking up. That’s what’s going to provoke me before too long, I detest rude people. “Why do you need this information? What’s going on?” I ask, I’m getting frustrated. “Why was I kidnapped and tied to a chair? Where’s Jason? Is he dead after that explosion?” All my questions fall deaf on my captor’s ears. We sit in silence for a moment, it’s clear that I’m not going to get answers before he does. I curse to myself and he is still not looking up. “...Junior year, we were in the same photography elective” “Majors?” “Jason declared Data Science, he likes numbers, and maths, and stuff...” “And you?” he asks “My degree is in Anthropology” he notes my answer without looking up and I wait for his next question with bated breath “What is it you believe your husband did for a living?” “What do I believe he does?” That’s a strange choice of words, I think to myself “That’s what I said” the interviewer says curtly “He’s a business analyst, isn’t he?” I ask, to no response from my interviewer. My thoughts begin to spin, that question has thrown me. What do I believe he does? Has Jason been lying to me? “What else can you tell me about his job?” the questioning continues, my head whirls and darts around searching for answers. Jason never talks about his job, from what I can tell it’s fairly boring and mundane, at least to an outsider. “...nothing really...” “Fine.” he says as if uninterested anyway, “...and what is it you do? “I’m a self-employed realtor, but before we had children, I worked in PR” “Children?” My interviewers head pops up. Shit ! I think to myself. Why did I mention the kids? a sense of dread washes down my body. “What are your children’s names?” I have his full attention now; he is eagerly staring at me awaiting my answer. I think about lying, but I can’t think of convincing names before the timer in my head starts going off that I’m taking too long to answer. “Johnny and Katie” I say solemnly in defeat. “Ages?” “Katie is 2 and Johnny is nearly 6” he scribbles down my answer as my stomach sinks into a dull ache. “Why do you need information about my kids?” However, he’s gone back to ignoring me. I’ve obviously given him what he wanted. He is clearly going to use my children to manipulate me or Jason to help his cause, whatever that maybe be. I try not to think that Johnny and Katie might be in any danger, but it’s hard. My mind starts to play tricks on me. Guilty, Fury, Desperation all come barraging into my head, I just make sure not to show them to my abductor. My dad is a former cop so I have faith the kids are safe, he’ll protect them at all cost. “Any problem you have with me or Jason, should stay between us,” I try to reason with my captor, tears are starting to form in my eyes and this time there’s no fighting them off, “Please don’t do anything to my children” my voice wobbles as the ache in my stomach intensifies and shoots into my heart. I clench my teeth and let out a cry. The interviewer doesn’t lift his head, the cold-hearted bastard. “I’M TALKING TO YOU!” I scream at him through my pain, I would be flying for his face right now if I wasn’t tied to this chair. I am an angry lioness, and he has threatened my cubs, but as calm as a Hindu cow my interviewer says. “I just have a few more questions...” “Fine.” hatred is pulse through me now and I’m already plotting the guy’s demise when I get my hands free “Why did you move out of the city?” “Why does anyone move out of the city?” I deflect his question, I’m being purposefully obstinate now, I’m done helping this guy anymore. He sighs, “just answer the question” “House prices are too high in the city, it’s quieter in suburbs, it’s safer for the kids, the schools are better, less pollution. Literally a hundred reasons” he gives a slight nod and jots down in his folder. “You’ll be happy to know this is the last question...” he smirks to himself but before I can ask what happens after the questions, he surprises me with his last question. “So, what’s with the teacup?” “I beg your pardon?” “When you were picked up you were carrying a bag containing a teacup, why?” “Are you serious? That’s your final question? The teacup?” I can’t figure out how anything we have discussed would be helpful in any way. “I would just like to know about the teacup...” “Ok...” I say still puzzled “...I recently started collecting antique porcelain teacups. I have three at home and today Jason bought the fourth” I don’t know what else to say, nothing seems unusual about that. “Ok, that’s fine” the interviewer says looking up after finishing his last note with a smile. He stands up from the desk, picks up the gun and starts towards me with determined strides. As he nears me, he raises the gun to point at me. My mind and my body go into full meltdown, I’m about to die and I sang like a fucking canary and now this guy has no use for me anymore. I have sold my family out and it turns out to be for nothing. So, I do thing only thing I can in the situation I start screaming for my life. “HELP ME, SOMEBODY HELP ME” Suddenly there’s a blindingly bright flash of white light. *** “Mom...” My eyes slowly adjust to the light, I’m not in the interview room anymore. Directly in front of me is a window looking out to a garden green grass, blue sky, colorful flowers. Not the harsh concrete room I seemed to have just come from “Mom...” the room I’m in is warm and furnished, a beautifully made bed over by the window. I’m sitting in a comfy armchair and in the corner of the room is a tall, glass fronted display cabinet containing what must be 20, maybe 30 antique porcelain teacups. My grandmother’s dressing table is next to it adorned with photographs, my wedding photo is there and some holiday pictures that Jason took, but there are some of children and old folk I don’t recognise. “Mom?” a voice comes from my left, when I look around the first thing I see in a tall man in a grey tailored suit, I recoil in horror, it’s the interviewer again. “Please don’t kill me!” “Mom, what are you talking about? It’s John” “John, who?” I say trying to swat him away, but I can’t lift my hand, they must still be tied to the chair, but when I look down not only am I not tied to the chair, but my hands are deformed. Gnarled and wrinkly and completely lifeless. The man crouches down next to my chair and puts his hand on mine. I’m desperate to pull away but they won’t budge. “Mom, it’s Johnny” he says softly, I laugh he must be at least 50. “My son Johnny is 5 years old” This adult man has rimless glasses, a grey suit to match his greying stubble and crow’s feet around his eyes. Those eyes, those are Jason’s eyes, the same eyes Johnny has. “Johnny? What’s going on? Where’s your Daddy?” “Mom, Dad died 3 years ago...” Johnny says “In the explosion...” I assume out loud, Johnny gives me a strange look “What? No, it was cancer” “I’m confused” “I know you are Mom, you had a stroke” he rubs my hand but I can’t feel it “I had a stroke? But I’m perfectly healthy woman, I’m not even 40” I insist “You’re 83 years old, Mom. The stroke means you can’t move your arms and legs...”. I suddenly “83? Where did my life go?” I ask through my sobbing realising I can’t account for the last 40 years of my life. “What are you talking about, Mom?” Johnny puts his arm around me and pulls me into him. His stubble scrapes against my face. His father was always immaculately clean shaven, “you were there for it all” “I don’t remember” I continue to sob “I know you don’t, Mom. But believe me, Katherine and I grew up in a fantastic home, full of love, laughter and fun. You were a great mom,” his words make me forget why I was crying and listen as he continues “...your kids grew up happy and healthy, we both graduated college, got good jobs, got married and had kids of our own-“ “I have grandchildren?” I’m suddenly full of joy and pride “You have 4 of them” my tears are back, but now they are tears of happiness “...and in a few short months, you’re going to be a great grandmother for the first time” “Really?” I squeal “that’s fantastic!” Johnny beams and nods “So, I didn’t miss a thing?” “No Mom” “...what about Daddy? Where’s he?” I ask hoping to finally get back to Jason and celebrate the good news. Johnny’s face dropped “...like I said Mom, Dad died 3 years ago” I’m shocked, my whole world comes crumbling down, “Oh My God! What happened?” “Cancer, Prostate Cancer” Johnny says sombrely “He was only 35” I weep “No Mom, he lived a long and happy life. He was 81, when he died, he worked hard all his days and he had a good retirement,” Johnny wiped a tear from his own eye, “when you guys weren’t travelling, he loved nothing more than spending time with his grandchildren. You two, were in love to his last day. His death was hard...particularly on you,” his eyes turn sorrowfully to me, “That’s why you’re here, so you can get some help” I look out the window at the lovely day outside and daydream about my life with Jason. When I turn back Johnny is gone, in his place is a man in a grey suit, with a stubbly beard and glasses that I don’t know. But I’m not worried, my husband Jason will be here in a minute to pick me up.


October twenty first was the special day we met. As our five year anniversary gets closer I reminisce the fond memories we have created and hope to form future ones. The day you were born had a bright blue sky, cool weather that signaled the end of summer and an unexpected gift as it was the first time Gizmo, your mother, gave birth to her children in our home. The subtle cries in the house peeked our curiosity to search for the source of the sound. After minutes of searching, the bathroom was the last place. We opened the door and notice four little furry bodies and a bloody floor where we built a tent for Gizmo to comfortably give birth to her kittens. It was a joyous yet dreadful day as two of the kittens were born still but two were healthy identical brothers later named Droopy and Raptor. A few weeks passed and the two kittens were growing healthy. They were cute and small and at this point they were able to slightly walk with a few wobbles along the way. The bond between Raptor and Droopy was supposed to be unbreakable until I destroyed it. Unable to cater for three cats including the individuals living in our apartment. The struggle was not only unbearable but becoming unmanageable. I had recently been through a break up and was severely wounded. I was emotionally and physically exhausted and the only thing keeping me going was the innocence and pureness of the kittens. The last week of November was the last day all three of them would be together and that day came and went. The days and nights became cold and sad. The memory of giving Gizmo and Droopy away was painful. The sight of foster homes coming to pick them up in cages. I requested to have them adopted together and they promised they will. I kiss Gizmo farewell and pet her one last time and thank her for all the years and memories she gave me. She was a loyal, kind soul. She was always there for me through thick and thin. Tears well up my eyes as I recall the day. Gizmo purrs and rubs on me but at that moment I knew that she would be better off at another home who could cater to her needs and give her a filling loving life without struggles. Tears begin to roll down my cheeks and its followed by a tiny yet powerful purr. Raptor makes his way towards me wobbling from learning to walk, circles around my legs and eventually cuddles against my legs to keep me company. At this point I sob alone in my room at the fact that I solely separated his family. I vowed to be the best cat mom, but the guilt engulfed me in the end. One year is enough for a lot of things to happen. It was all I needed. Within the following year, Raptor became more of a male cat as he was destined. He was small with a huge head for his body but was loyal and sweet. He was a hyperactive cat but mellow at times. In this year he would get sick with worms for two months and fleas and end up at the hospital. Once again, I felt ashamed of owning a cat since I failed to take care of him. I felt resentment from him and that he hated me for being a horrible cat mom. It took me one year to realize my answer. The days grew long and tiring. Raptor was constantly visiting the vet once a week. He would get the worms out of his body and in two days they would re appear in the feces. He would meow loudly all around the house every day from being in heat. He was starting to lose weight from the worms eating him alive and the fleas not wanting to leave his body. It was excruciating to watch him suffer. His once happy eyes became dull and sad. His walk became more lethargic every day. I wanted Raptor to be a happy cat and at one point I considered giving him up for adoption since the only thing I could do was make him sick and unhappy. Even after all of this, Raptor would make his way to me in the middle of the night, get under the sheets and keep me company as I sleep. He always managed to comfort me and looked happy being next to me. During the day he would come and lick my hand and face. He would bring his favorite toy and still want to play with me even though he was not healthy enough. Raptor would jump from the highest point from his cat tree, a squeak sound comes out of his mouth and gallops his way to the sofa where I would sit. He would gently stare at my eyes and gently lay his head on my legs. I would caress his fur gently and lay my hand on his tiny waist to comfort him and let him know that he was not alone. This continued for weeks until he contracted scabies. His immunity was almost nonexistent. He was placed on watch at the vet for two months. I would visit him daily and at times I would stay with him until closing time. Raptors eyes would light up when he noticed me in the room. I would gently touch his face and talk to him even though he didn’t understand me, but maybe he did. I would tell him to get better so we can hang out more and intime he did. He was released from the hospital just in time for Easter. I rearranged his cat tree, bought him his favorite treats and new toys he would enjoy hoping our bond would strengthen. The night everything changed was stormy. Raptor and I were watching television when the power went out. I immediately stood up and turned some candles on and grabbed the portable air conditioner. It circulated carbon dioxide into fresh air. I built a little fort for Raptor to make him feel comfortable at a time like this but instead he was by the window enjoying the light show. His eyes lit up from the lightning, his ears perched at the sound of thunder. He turned his head to me and I could see his eyes were wide and dilated from happiness and excitement. I raised the blinds up, turned the candles off and let the lightning fill the room. I called for Raptor to keep me company on the sofa and he did. I felt the need to talk to him. It was silly but I did. I had a heartfelt conversation with him. One I should have had a long time ago. I started with: “I know that you probably hate me, but I want to apologize for separating you from your family. I am not a good owner, but I love you. You are not only a pet to me but a friend. The only friend I can trust and will always love me and not judge me...” My thought drifts to an epiphany. “I always thought you hated me but you are a cat and all you have done for me was help me heal. Even though I only cause you pain, the only thing you have shown me has been loyalty, kindness, and unconditional love...” I stop midsentence laughing hysterically at the silly realization. “That is it...You don’t hate me. All you give me is unconditional love. I am an idiot. Thank you, Raptor for helping me heal and always loving me even in my worst times. I know you are only a kitten but you make a difference. I promise to only give you the best of all worlds. You cannot speak to let me know what I am doing is right or wrong but that is okay. Together we will figure it out.” I say to raptor as he sleeps in my lap and continues to loudly purr. I cover him with the nearest blanket and watch the rainy show. Months passed by and he was finally flea free. I invested in preventative medicine, had him nurtured which helps expand his life. Bought him quality food, many scratchers, window perches, taught him to use a harness to safely go out and had him vaccinated every year. Raptor and I build a bond strong enough that the guy I dated didn’t like Raptor I would break it off with them as Raptor was family to me and refused to lose him the same way I lost his family. The guy can leave anytime but Raptor was one of a kind. He would stay until it was time for him to go. Raptor and I would make memories going hiking, walking in the park, binge watching movies. He was the best friend anyone wished for. During a breakup he would lick the tears away and lay next to me and purr me to sleep. During Raptor’s sick moments I would make a bed next to me and I would keep him company until he was feeling better. February twenty fourth something unexpected happened at work. The company hired a new male employee. We spend the majority of our time together with the graveyard shift. That day the sky was clear blue and air was chilly. We both realized we had feelings for each other the more time we spent together. He did not care about owning animals because it came with a lot of responsibilities, but he accepted Raptor. He came over to our apartment one day and soon the guy grew fond of Raptor. In a blink of an eye the years flew by and Raptor would showcase his personality more. The sassiness he would get when told no. The gentle cuddles he would give in bed and sofa. The way he would follow me around the house being not only a partner but a bodyguard. The different faces he would make when he was sleepy, moody, happy, sad and more. The most powerful sign of trust he would show me was when he would lay on his back and expose his stomach for me to touch. It took me a while to accept that Raptor trusts me. It was a relief as for many months I thought the opposite and now it was made clear by him showing me that he trusted me. He would carry his tinsel ball in his mouth and would bring it to me to inform me it was play time. At times he would sneak into his snacks or would make a loud noise to let me know he wanted some. We had become inseparable. The bond I once severed with his brother, I managed to give to him. Raptor was one of a kind.


The roar of the waves. The salt in the air. The taste of it on my lips. How pure and fresh this air is as I breath it in, In-and-out, In-and-out. I could die at this moment. I’d die completely at bliss on this rejuvenating, cloudless day. But alas, that’s not what she wants, a conclusion drawn only from the fact that she hasn’t taken me yet. It could be in a week, it could be tomorrow. But not right now. So I let myself relax as I soak up the sun. Just a few moment’s longer as I prepare for this day ahead. I open my eyes to draw myself out of this trance. There’s work to be done and I always need more coins in my pocket. I can’t let myself stop working for too long or I’ll get tied to the mast and whipped for my laziness, again. Captain Rothoss, although fair, isn’t a lenient man. You do your job or you get punished. So for the point of not getting whipped, I head below decks to swab the mess decks as part of my daily tasks. Being a chore boy isn't the greatest job, but this is the first ship I’m on. I can hardly expect something when I have no skills to rely on. That’s just how life is sometimes. Now when I say mess decks you might think of some huge area filled with rows upon rows of tables. It’s just two, they ain’t that big. Hell the ceiling’s not even that high. Honestly it’s not too much to swab but it gets dirty all the fuckin time. So here I am for the second time today, swabbing it. “Hey Kylar” I looked up to see Bernard coming to me. He’s another chore boy who’s supposed to be helping me swab, but he’s late. “I heard Marquez ain’t walking the decks. So we can probably take a sit for a bit.” “Who said that?” I asked Bernard doubtfully. It’s Marquez’s job to whip those slacking in their duties. And everyone, especially me (I can still feel it on my back when I move around or bend over), knows how much he loves that whip. “Well I ain’t really heard it as much as seen it. He was up on the bridge with the captain and looked like he was ‘gon be there for a while.” He replied with a little smirk on his face. “Well shit, then we got at least a few minutes. And we can keep swabs next to us in case he actually comes down.” I replied cautiously, feeling those slashes flare up a bit. “Shit alright man, but I really don’t think he’s coming down for a while.” Replied Bernard. Am I being a bit paranoid? I’m wondering in my head. I’m always stacked a bit differently than other people. I’m just not wired like they are so I’m always in my head with things like my paranoia, for example. And then I’ll stack my thoughts to a multitude of people to make sure I’m not being too weird. Am I being too paranoid or is Bernard being too careless? I hadn’t seen what he’s seen but then again he is the kind of person to not fully think things through. Which is why we got caught slacking last time...shit! He’s just kinda looking at me while I’ve been in my head. He’s probably waiting for me to say something so I open my mouth to say a prepared, bland question that I honestly don’t care about. Like ‘How are ya?’ or something else just as boring. But just when I open my mouth to speak I hear this loud clanging. It sounds something like, ‘DING-A-LING, DING-A-LING, DING-A-LING’ over and over. Holy shit that’s the battle bells. But it might just be a drill. The captain likes to test us to make sure we’re ready for anything. Since this is a merchant’s ship we’re big targets for pirates. Because of that, and with more than a little worry, we run to the weather decks and make it topside. Everyone’s running around us. People are bumping into us trying to get to their stations. I know we’re in the way but I’m completely shocked and I’m sure Bernard is too. This is definitely not a drill. We can see the ship aft starboard side flying a black flag. And it’s fucking terrifying. I’ve never seen that many cannons on a ship before. We’re getting robbed, without a doubt. Since the pirate’s want our loot they’re not going to sink us. I know that but I’m still terrified. We can’t even do much since we only have four cannons, two starboard and two portside. Through my quick glance at their ship I saw, at least, three times that. So I start to run to where the cannonballs are stored. It’s my and a few others' jobs to refill the cannons after they’re fired. Not that we’ll get many rounds of volleys out before they put enough holes in us to make us stop. Before they incapacitate us. But a job’s a job. As dangerous as this one is at least it doesn’t take much skill. Just some courage to run around topside while cannonballs are flying. But, Jesus, my legs are trembling, can I even move? I have to grab onto the rope that makes up our lifeline before I fall to the floor. I try to take a few shaky steps. I’m so terrified I can barely move. The Captain is barking orders for the ship to turn so we can point the cannons at them. I haven’t even grabbed a cannonball yet and we’re about to fire at them? I try to take just one, small step. Maybe just a shuffle of my feet. But I can’t! I’m completely locked into place. I hear a deafening roar that shakes me down to my core as someone runs into me and knocks me down. I can’t even look up to see who it is. I hear cannonballs whiz past my head. Did one just nearly hit me? Seriously where are they aiming those cannons? They should be shooting lower so water can fill up the ship. But I guess with the amount of cannons they have they can shoot everywhere. And a deafening crack as they smack into the wood that makes up our hull. I hear a scream of agony somewhere topside. I don’t even know the direction it came from. The realization that could have been me causes a warm trickle down my pants. Seriously that scream was nearly as loud as the cannonballs hitting the hull. Is wood still cracking? People are screaming at me but I can’t make out what they’re saying. They look terrified though. So full of emotion for me to do...something. What’s that they’re pointing towards? Well it’s something to my left, so I look just in time to see the main mast coming down towards me. No one was brave enough to come and move me. Hell I’m not even brave enough to look anywhere else. It just keeps coming, creaking down. Pulling all the connected ropes with it but it won’t stop. Just gaining more and more speed like it’s excited to hit me. Like it wants another blood sacrifice from more than what a whip can give. It smacks my skull with enough force for me to hear a crack. I bet it hit me hard enough to leave a bit of my brain on the wood. My bodies in the water...well, no. I’m in the water. But I don’t feel cold. I don’t feel scared either. That’s a relief. Before I couldn’t take a couple steps and now I feel like I can fly! Gods that such an exhilarating feeling. Actually, I am flying. I’m soaring up in the sky! I can feel the wind. But it’s not cold, just lively. It makes me want to soar faster. So I do! I keep soaring up! I’m going past the sky, the moon, the stars. I can see the stars in a blur around me. They’re so beautiful. Like millions of the purest diamonds to ever shine. Each one as unique as a snowflake. I’d tear up from the beauty but I’m not stopping here. I’m soaring farther, faster and faster the longer I fly. I’m still not cold! Passing these beautiful clouds. These clouds are like rainbows of vibrance and life on top of the canvas of nothingness. I wish I could soar through and around these clouds but I have to keep going. Gods this is so...I can’t describe this feeling of joy and freedom. It’s true freedom, I’m sure of it. What people preach for but no one delivers, what being rich entails but never happens, what everyone dreams for but no one gets. I keep going, past the stars, the clouds, past galaxies, and then I see this light. This is what I’ve been soaring towards. This is why I had to go through that shitty life before. It’s getting closer. Closer and brighter. I can nearly see through it. I’m so close to it! And then...


I am Lexi, Best Buddy Bot model 8. My best buddy is Kora Smith, age, ten-years-old. My objectives are to serve and bond with my best buddy. This is entry one of data journal number one. It is March the third, two thousand and fifty-four. I am currently sitting on the couch in the living room of the Smith residence waiting for Kora to arrive from school. It is her birthday. “Come on, mom, I’ve gotta get back to work.” Jessica, the sister. Twenty-years-old. Cam-girl. “She’s going to be here any minute, and please, try to be a little more enthusiastic when I turn my Lens on.” Ginger, the mother. Forty-five-years-old. Influencer. She walks over to the staircase and climbs a quarter of the way up before bellowing, “Rodger! Get down here!” Rodger, the father. Fifty-years-old. Video game tester. He bellows in return, “In a minute!” Ginger snaps her head around at the sound of a school bus squealing to a stop at the front of the house. “She’s here...Rodger, she’s here!” “I can’t come down right now! Important boss battle!” Ginger rolls her eyes and turns her attention to Jessica who appears to be completely removed from the situation, attention absorbed by her phone. “Jess, stand up and look like you’re happy to be here.” She begrudgingly stands and attempts her best impersonation of ‘happy.’ It looks painful. “Okay, we’re rolling!” Ginger blinks her left eye three times rapidly turning her brown iris bright yellow. The doorknob on the front door jiggles. This will be the first time Kora sees me. I hope she is pleased. I have been told all about her. She likes anime, plays soccer, and enjoys reading books about adventure. She is not good at making friends at school. She is lonely. I will be a good best buddy. The door creaks open and there she is, a small girl with large fluffy brown hair and dark eyes. She appears sweaty and sad, as if she had just come from quite an ordeal. Her eyes widen as she takes everything in. She sees me and her brow furrows. This is confusion. “Happy birthday, sweetie!” Ginger yells. “Happy birthday, twirp!” contributes Jessica. “Who’s that?” Kora asks, she hasn’t taken her eyes off me. Ginger walks next to me and puts her hand on my shoulder. This is my cue. I stand and smile. Kora takes a step back. Frightened? “Is that one of those Best Buddy Bots?” she asks. “Yup! Best Buddy Robotics is one of my biggest sponsors. They gave Lexi to us for free. Thank you, Best Buddy Robotics!” This makes Kora look away from me and at her mom’s face. Her eyes widen. Anger? “You’re recording? Mom! I don’t want this to be an episode! Shut it off!” “But sweetheart, they gave us Lexi for free and they’re expecting an episode where you meet her,” Ginger supplicates. “Happy Birthday!” Jessica rings out cheerfully. “Can I go now?” Ginger’s eyes are bulging, and both of her hands are grasping large chunks of her pretty blond hair. Aggravation. Definitely aggravation. I am an expert at reading emotions. “Fine! Jessica, go!” “Thank god.” She hurriedly rushes past us and up the stairs. “Can I go too?” Kora asks. Ginger sighs. Exasperation. “Fine, can I at least get a shot of you giving Lexi a hug?” Kora rolls her eyes. “Fine.” She walks up to me and wraps her arms around me before quickly pulling away. “There. Can I go now?” “Yes, just go, I guess I can piece together a decent episode from what I’ve got. Take Lexi upstairs and bond with her.” “Do I have to? She’s creepy.” Rude. “She doesn’t blink.” Okay, note to self, blink more. Ginger triple blinks again, and her eye goes back to brown. “I don’t care what you do. Just make sure you’re down in an hour for supper. You know, if you want to...you can help make supper...” “Are you going to record it for your channel?” “Well...yes--” “Then I’m good. Come on, Lexi.” I’m glad to leave Ginger behind and to follow Kora upstairs to her room. It’s a lovely room, pink and purple with stuffed animals everywhere. “I like your room,” I say. She doesn’t respond. She sits down in a chair in front of a desk and turns on her laptop and begins clicking away. Awkwardly, I sit on her bed next to a big stuffed frog. And she thinks I’m creepy. “So...” I begin uneasily. “What do you do for fun?” No response. “What are you doing now?” I try again. She sighs. Uh-oh. Is she exasperated with me already? “I’m talking to my friends online. Okay?” “Oh! So you do have friends! I was told you did not and that you are lonely.” She glares at me. That must not have been the right thing to say. “Well...I do have friends...mom just doesn’t know about them.” I smile. “Good! I’m glad you are not lonely.” Silence. I allow her to chat with her computer friends without interruption. My patience pays off. After a few minutes she turns to me and says, “Can I tell you something and you promise not to tell my parents?” “Yes.” “I’m going to run away tonight. My friends are going to come pick me up at the park, so I just gotta get to the park by midnight.” Not good. “That does not sound safe,” I reply. “It’s safe. I’ve been talking to them for a couple months now, and they’ve finally agreed to let me join their group, and if you’re truly my best buddy you won’t tell anyone.” Uh-oh...what do I do? Ah...I shall appeal to empathy. “But...won’t your family miss you? They’ll cry. You don’t want to make them sad, do you?” “They don’t care about me.” “They do.” “They don’t!” What do I do? What do I do? Hm...this is desperation. “How about...we go talk to your family. If you can see how much they care...then will you stay?” Kora smiles and nods her head. “Alright, best buddy, let’s go see if my family truly cares about me.” She takes me by the hand and together we go out into the hallway and approach the door at the end. It has a sign that reads DO NOT DISTURB. “This is my dad’s office. He lives here and he works here, and I haven’t seen him in two months.” My eyebrows shoot up. Shock. This is shock. Kora knocks heavily on the door and yells, “Dad, I really need to talk to you! It’s important!” A few seconds go by before, “I’m busy! Go talk to your mom!” “I really need to talk to you!” “I am working!” Kora shrugs. “Well...we tried.” “I can unlock the door.” I take a couple bobby pins out of my hair and begin shimming the lock. CLICK. “We’re in.” She hesitantly reaches for the knob, turns it, and pushes the door open. We both stare into the room...shocked. Her father, completely unaware of our presence, sits in his gaming chair with a device on his head covering his eyes. The room is completely empty other than trash debris and articles of clothing strung about. He is shirtless, ribs and sternum protruding. His limbs are without muscle and his hair is long and greasy. I cannot smell, but Kora’s face scrunches up. Stink. It must stink. “Dad?” His head jerks our way. “What are you doing in here? Get out! GET OUT!” He screams and jumps out of his chair, ripping the device off his head and revealing two dark hallow pits where his eyes used to be. Kora screams and runs out. I stay, transfixed. “What has happened to your eyes?” I ask. “Who are you?” “I am Lexi, Kora’s Best Buddy Bot. What has happened to your eyes?” “Oh...I...had them removed...I had to in order to play this new game, the headset requires connection to my oculomotor nerves.” I do not reply. I feel shivers on the back of my neck. Fear? Disgust? “Get out!” he yells. I back away. “GET OUT!” I run out and pull the door shut. I run all the way back to Kora’s room and find her lying face down on her bed, sobbing into a pillow. “Are you okay?” She says nothing but continues to cry. “I am sorry about your father. He seems...disturbed...” She flips around to glare at me. “I told you he doesn’t care! He doesn’t care about anything other than his stupid games! He’s nothing like he used to be!” “I am sorry you saw your father like that...” She grabs her stuffed frog and holds it tight. “It’s whatever. Won’t matter after tonight.” “We haven’t talked to your mother or sister yet.” Kora smiles cynically. “Fine...let’s go talk to my sister.” Again, she takes me by the hand and we walk out of her room, this time stopping at the door directly to the left. She knocks and yells, “Jessica! I need to talk to you! It’s important!” No response. We can hear music coming from inside the room. “JESSICA, I NEED TO TALK TO YOU!” she yells louder. The music stops. The door cracks open. Jessica peers out at us. “Go away, twirp. I’m working.” “You’re always working. I need to talk to you.” “Go talk to your new robot buddy.” “I am a Best Buddy Bot,” I correct her. “Whatever.” She slams the door shut and the music continues. Kora smiles at me. “See?” I take the bobby pins and go to work unlocking her door. CLICK. I turn the knob and push open the door. Perhaps I should stop doing this... Jessica wears a bikini and is standing in a kiddy pool in the middle of the room. The pool appears to be full of...chocolate pudding? She has her back to us, dancing and smearing the pudding all over herself. A camera with lights points at her. Kora’s jaw drops. “Jessica! What are you doing!? This is what you do for work?” She whips around and comically slips in the pudding. After struggling back to her feet, she yells, “What the hell are you doing in here!?” “I need to talk to you. It’s important.” “Get out before I rip your head off! NOW!” We quickly depart and slam the door behind us. Kora is glaring at me. Anger...definitely anger. “I am sorry your sister makes money by smearing pudding all over herself.” She rolls her eyes. “I don’t care how she makes her money...but she don’t give a crap about me...that's for sure...” I can’t argue with that. “Do you agree that I should runaway now?” “No...I do not agree. We still haven’t talked to your mother.” “Jeez...this is gonna be fun...” Kora grabs my hand and pulls me down the stairs and into the kitchen. Ginger stands by her kitchen island and mixes something in a large bowl. She is seemingly talking to herself. “Next, we add the brown sugar for a little extra something--” “Hey, mom...” Kora interrupts. Ginger looks up at us revealing one glowing yellow eye and one normal eye. “Kora! You decided you wanted to be in my episode! Fantastic! Grab an apron, girls!” “Um, no, I don’t want to be in your episode. I...just want to talk.” “Oh...okay then, what do you want to talk about, honey?” Kora shuffles her feet. She’s uncomfortable. “I...can you shut off the Lens?” “What? No. Why? I’ve got to get this episode recorded so I can get to editing by this evening.” “It’s just...I wanna talk... privately .” “Honey...I can’t stop recording. I’ve got to get material.” “Please, mom...just for a minute.” “GOD, FINE!” She blinks three times and her eye returns to brown. “What? What do you want? Make it quick,” she demands, her demeanor completely different now. “I...I’m thinking of running away. I don’t think any of you really care about me.” Ginger stares blankly at her. Is she concerned? No...a smile spreads across her face. “This’ll make a great episode,” she says blinking rapidly three times, turning her eye yellow again. “Can you say what you just said again, sweetie?” “GAH!” Kora yells in exasperation. “Come on, Lexi...I told you so...” She takes me by the hand and together we walk back up the stairs and into her room. She collapses onto her bed. I take a seat next to her. I feel...guilty...compassion...sorrow... “I’m sorry your family is like that,” I tell her, putting my hand on her shoulder. “Don’t be sorry...I have another family waiting for me and I’ll be with them tonight. Can you help me?” “I will help you,” I agree. This is entry two of data journal number one. It is March the fourth, two thousand and fifty-four. Kora has left the residence to meet up with her online friends. I fear they are nefarious, but she would not let me join her. The sun has risen and Kora’s alarm has been going off for fifteen minutes. It is time to get ready for school. It is my job to tell whoever comes into her room that she has ran away. No one has appeared yet. This is entry three of data journal number one. It is March the fifth, two thousand and fifty-four. Still no one has entered her room... I will continue to sit and wait patiently.


I write this now from a hospital bed not far from my hometown. Though I am labeled delirious and force-fed medications whose names I cannot pronounce, do not believe that this testament is anything other than truth. It was two days ago, several miles away from the outer shelf reefs from the coast, when I was aboard a sailboat that drifted seemingly aimlessly over the waves. As the setting sun reflected its vibrant hue on the lapping crests, I, the schooner’s sole passenger leaned against a railing as I stared out across the waters. My name is Howard Phillips, and I was out on this solo sailing journey to find a new clarity in life. Three days before was my father’s funeral. My relationship with my father was a perplexing one; I looked up to and admired the man but felt like I never really knew him too well. I found myself wondering about the conversations that would never be had, the beers never drank together, the lessons and the stories that would never be taught or told. After the funeral, I had expected to feel some clarity and peace but instead found only distraught and confusion, and I now often wonder about my own life and where it could lead. I was left this small sailboat in the will, and I found it a sign of what to do next, and, without a second thought, put everything else on hold, loaded up the boat, and sailed off into the unknown with the belief that I myself could be known. Now with the currents pulling me ever outward from land, I treated this as an autopilot for the craft as I stared in a yearning way into the waters below. I watched as I saw a small school of fish swim by. Though I could not identify their breed, I mused at the occasional scaled adventurer who would jump from the water away from their brethren as they tasted the open air and observed a whole new, alien world. I admired these displays and began to wonder if this was some metaphor from the universe I was meant to see - some natural guidance on my own mission for self-discovery. As I watched the fish surface to dance above the cresting waves, I felt I caught a glimpse of something further ahead in the water. It seemed like two orbs of crimson as if two eyes were staring at me from below. But when I scanned the waters to better see these supposed eyes, they were nowhere to be found. I supposed whatever bigger fish they belonged to had swum away; or, more practically, it was a trick of the light of the setting sun as it distortedly emulated back to me. I shrugged away from the shimmering vision and turned to face the mast. As I did so, I saw a large onyx storm cloud approaching fast in the distance. I rushed to the wheel yet was too late as the rushing gales moved at a seemingly supernatural speed, enclosing on and whirling the small boat in all directions. As my vessel lurched aggressively to and fro, My only option was to cling to the railing for fear of losing myself to the now crushing waves which hurled against the sides of the sailboat like slapping tentacles of a great Kraken. The schooner broached and was nearly knocked down. As I was raised into the air I looked down at the opposite end of the boat and saw that the mast was nearly parallel to the water. I then peered into what I believed to be the murky depths below - except that, with a flash of thunder, there appeared to be land not far below me. With that quick blaze of light, I witnessed an unending plain of putrid mud amassed with the carcasses of decaying fish and horridly foul, less describable things protruding from the sludge. I thought I would feel relief by knowing there was land not far below should I capsize, but instead an even stronger fear gripped me; a primal fear that whispered in my heart of the unknown horrors hidden beneath the waves, as the unknown, lurking darkness between the spaces of rot and decay beckoned for I to join it in eternity. I witnessed and experienced all of this and more in that split second in the boat’s rocking, in that short burst of illumination. But now the ship had leveled out and rode the waves on the merciless winds, whose howls in My ears sounded more like mournful ghosts of all the lost sailors who fell to their watery graves in all the histories of man who came before me. On the horizon, I saw once again those dark crimson orbs from before, though now they rose from the waves instead of hiding beneath them. With churning waters to mark its rise to the surface, the thing slid into view above the dark waters. Those soulless eyes sat as two windows of malice against the face of a towering loathsomeness as it rose to face me. Two monstrous scaly arms rose to cast in my direction. I turned my face and cowered in a squat huddle against my forlorn vessel, unable to hold my gaze upon the goliath for fear of losing hold of my sanity. With my eyes squeezed shut and my whole self trembling I prayed for release from the leviathan’s wake. The sailboat lurched again, this time with such force that I was knocked into the air and hurdled into the water. I felt the unsettling sensation of the sludged mire below; the masses of decay and putrid remains pouring over and surrounding me as I sunk deeper into the concoction of fetid slime and rotted scales which cut deep in my skin. I felt it seep into my nostrils and under my eyelids, and the groping carcasses felt like an incalculable sum of vengeful hands gripping me, pulling me deeper and deeper still into my shallow grave. My consciousness faded, and all went into nothingness around me. That’s when I awoke next in a hospital near the coast. I don’t know how I escaped, or what became of my father’s boat. I only know I was found washed ashore - bruised and littered with abrasions, but I was alive. As I lay on my hospital bed, with no company but the memory of that nightmarish storm, I realized I had found the clarity for which I had set sail; though it was a clarity I would wish on no one, and wish only that we all could remain in our blissful ignorance of the truth - the truth that, as men, our place in this world is that of mere play things on a board of cosmic proportions for being far beyond mortal comprehension; that the storm that man finds themselves trapped within is at the whims of those who rise from the deep. ((This was a small tribute to one of my favorite authors, H.P. Lovecraft, with heavy inspiration from his short story, "Dagon."))


“Richard, up,” the nurse commanded as she fondled with the IV in my arms, making sure there were no kinks in the hose that was pumping whatever substance into me. I grunted and gathered my might as I pushed my back off of the slanted hospital bed so she could check the needles in my spine. Her cold, skilled hands stung as they expertly adjusted what was needed. “Someone’s grumpy,” the nurse teased condescendingly. “I know it’s your 5-year anniversary of being here today, but there’s no need to spread your annoyance to others.” “5 years, Annie” I sighed. “5 years of this concrete room.” The nurse muttered in agreement as my eyes scanned over the walls with their stupid blue floral wallpaper, peeling on the edges of the baseboards, mirroring my exhaustion. There was no light here. The wall that separated me from the outside world was windowless. I hadn’t felt the real sun in ages; my condition wouldn't allow me (something about extreme photosensitivity). I rolled my eyes. I remember a couple years back the hospital plastered paintings of nature around the room, trying to mimic what I was missing out on, but I took it as a cruel mocking of my loss. It was as if they were teasing me with realistic renditions of sunsets and forests when I just wanted to forget nature as it forgot me. “Open up,” Annie said as her slender brown fingers that gripped a spoon airplaned into my unwilling mouth, brushing my grown-out, grey stubble. “Richard, you have to swallow,” she whined and tipped my head back forcefully. I didn’t yelp or flinch; this happened almost daily. I was used to the invasive poking and prodding. The sour liquid with floating pills burned my throat as it slid down my esophagus, spreading to my problematic system. I always took it unwillingly, never adopted the compliance that other patients seem to develop out of tiredness and defeat. I was not so easy. Another nurse, Gertrude, a middle-aged plump woman who seemed like her job was the best in the world, bounded in through the open dividing door, eager to hear the blandest of news. “Hello, Gert,” I greeted sarcastically; they all knew I’d rather be left alone. “I told you to never call me that,” she smiled and playfully brushed my shoulder in a sort of hesitant shove. The nurses professionally greeted each other and carried on with their agendas. “So how are we today, Annie?” She looked me up and down. “The same as ever,” Annie said bluntly and cocked her neck at an angle, gazing at me longingly. “You don’t ever change, do you,” she sighed and rested her hand on my knee. “Not when you don’t let me,” I chuckled out snarkily. Gertrude tsk-tsked through her botox-filled mouth and puffed up her hair while Annie reviewed health paperwork with her. My eyes drifted in and out of darkness; this happened often. With all the drugs they were circulating through me, my body never felt fully awake or energized. It didn’t help that the room was devoid of sunshine. The wheelchair in the corner of the room drew my gaze. It had been propped and folded up against the wall waiting to be used but had never got the chance. My eyelids consumed my vision to black once again. “Richard,” my love whispers back. Her arms are covered in scabs and bags hung under her eyes. Everything is in slow motion and rippled, like being underwater, yet the sound was as clear as day. “Gloria, you can’t leave me,” the recalled words left my mouth without realization. “You can’t be taken away from me this early, not yet.” A sob escaped my mouth and was followed by a whimper. My hands unexpectedly reach out and caress her balding head. “I can’t watch you leave me.” I shut my eyes tight. The line went flat, and she went flat. As simple as that. No dramatic rush of doctors like the movies, no frantic beeping of the hospital equipment, no dramatic last words murmuring out of her thin, cracked lips. Just a breath, then nothing. The bright fluorescents break the dream and snap my consciousness back to reality with a subtle gasp, the hospital monitor spiking and cooling. “Bad dream?” Annie rested a hand on my chest, feeling around for my breathing pattern as she always did. I cleared my throat. “Bad memory,” I said and the conversation stopped there. Before long my monotonous day turned into night (not that I could ever tell, everything was always exactly the same here) and night turned into morning once more, the only signal of dawn was the analog clock hung high on the wall. But the dream from before was gnawing at my brain. 20 years. It had been two entire decades since that night. The underwhelming qualities of the situation stuck with me ever since. The absence of her gnawed at my chest every waking minute of my dreadful life. Partners for life, until that life is taken away, and to leave me... stranded? Why was I the one who had to stick around? The one who was to be cooped up in a medical facility like some brain-dead specimen? What was the point of living when your center of gravity had been knocked out of course and was now in a different solar system? “Richard! What are you doing?” Annie yelped, grasping my wrist, halting my fingers that were in the midst of punching in a number on the bedside telephone. I dropped the phone in shock. “I didn’t mean to-” I gasped when I saw the five digits displayed on the screen, the numbers that I repeated in my head on the daily. Like a mantra, over and over again as if I’m afraid I will forget them, because I am. Gloria’s telephone number was the only piece of her I had left. For all I know, the number belongs to someone else now. Before I could explain to Annie, Gertrude came bursting through the doors again, grasping a thick stack of papers and wearing a face of worry. Annie and I shared a perplexed expression before she got up to discuss the bustle. They were too far away for me to make out the words clearly, purposefully being secretive, but I could make out words like “clot” and “artery;” I knew this wasn’t going to be good. Annie looked over into my eyes and realized that I knew, and she knew, this was coming to an end. Over the next couple of days we awaited my finale; the rush of doctors, the frantic beeping, the dramatic last words, but my death came just like my Gloria’s: underwhelming and accepted. The final beep of the monitor was silenced forever as Annie’s grasp on my wrist faded from my mind while a bright, brilliant light consumed my vision. The sunlight blinded out my life, scorching the remnants away. The tall grass beneath my feet was lusciously green and the sky had never seemed so blue. The colors were oversaturated and bathed in sun. That little ball of power devoured any corner of darkness in the meadow where I now stood. I heard a noise across the clearing. My head jerked upwards to meet a small figure in the distance. I squinted my eyes to try to focus on the woman, my woman. My heart did not race as I walked in slow motion, through the ripples to slowly re-greet Gloria; the light of my life, my center of orbit, my sun.


Kami finally had some space to himself. His girlfriend Ginny, who would normally be at his place on a weekend like this, but was out of town with some friends. This was somewhat of a rarity for Kami who worked hard during the week in his corporate position for a small tech startup. That is not to say he resented his responsibilities- He was grateful for a loving partner and a job where he could make a real difference but sometimes he simply required room to recharge his batteries. One could say he was a highly social-introvert. With the aroma of freshly poured bourbon in one hand, Kami heard the ding of his micro-wave oven, signalling his popcorn was ready. With his gawky limbs, he took hold of the bag and dispensed its fragrant buttery contents into a large bowl. He then proceeded to his beloved Eames arm chair. He felt around for the television remote and pushed the ‘on’ button. The moment he placed his feet on his leg-rest, there was a loud wrap on his front door. ‘Who could that be?’, Kami muttered to himself. ‘Today was meant to be characterised by uninterrupted, mindless television viewing.’ Placing his snack and beverage down on the coffee table, Kami stood up albeit reluctantly, and made his way, lazily for the door. ‘Who is it?’, he shouted to the uninvited guest outside. ‘Quick, let me in’ the visitor squealed. Kami was by the peep-hole by this time and as he gazed through it, he saw something he wasn’t expecting on his relaxation day. There, through the peep-hole was a middle-aged man who had clearly been beaten and bloodied. His short blond-thinning hair looked more like rust and a gash by his left temple trailed blood to his chin. His white shirt was partially stained with same said blood. For lack of better judgement, Kami released the lock on his door and let the gentleman in. The visitor stumbled in quickly shutting the door behind him. He stood about five-foot-seven and though Kami was at least six inches taller, this gentleman was broader shouldered and brawny. ‘Do you have a back door?’, he loudly demanded. Kami was stunned at first. The man retorted, this time much louder, ‘Do you have a back door?’ Kami finally gave an answer, ‘Yes, it’s this way’. The man again demanded, ‘Lock it now - and any open windows in this place. Now, move!’ This was clearly an urgent situation and it made Kami jump to fulfil the orders immediately. Kami lived in a 1950s mid-century modern conversion bungalow that was surrounded by exterior glass pocket doors. He scrambled to pull them all shut and finally made his way to the study to shut the back door. On his return, the man had a purple-glowing device, the size of a golf ball in his hand as he peered through the peep-hole. Kami was clearly nervous at this point as the initial surge of adrenaline left his body. He asked sheepishly, ‘Can you please tell me what you are doing in my house?’ The gentleman constantly wiped the blood from his eyes with the sleeves of his shirt. ‘You are not going to believe what I’m about to tell you but it’s the best I can do right now. I need you to listen very carefully. My name is Gibson. I’m a special government commissioned spy and I’ve just escaped from the hands of assassins that were hired by an international drug cartel. I’ve been gathering intelligence on them for months and I guess someone found out and blew my cover. A tracking device has been implanted into the back of my skull so in a few minutes the assassins will turn up at the door looking to neutralise me.’ He delivered this introduction in a much calmer fashion to when he first arrived. Kami’s knees began to wobble. ‘Don’t even think about fainting. Here’s what’s going to happen. That black coupe outside is yours? Kami nodded confused. ‘Good, that’s good. Go stand by the back door. When I give you the signal, I need you to run outside and start the car. Wait for me to get in, then I’ll let you know where we’re going.’ Gibson knelt down by the front door, taking the glowing object in his hand, he placed it underneath the runner rug. ‘What’s that?’ Kami asked as his voice quivered. ‘It’s a chronoscope-reconfiguration charge’ replied Gibson. That made no sense to Kami but he gathered it must be an explosive device. Scared, he decided the back door was probably the safest part in the house right now so he headed for it as quickly as possible. His heart was beating at triple time by now and his t-shirt was drenched in nervous sweats. Surely, within minutes there was some loud commotion. Kami could hear the loud screech-to-a-stop of a car at the front of the house. Four car doors were slammed shut and some loud northern European accents could be heard as men shouted menacingly. ‘Gibbs!, let us in. We just want to talk. You have five seconds or we’ll shoot.’ Gibson could see through the peep-hole that only two of them had weapons in their hands. He said nothing as the men tried to push the door down. This was unfruitful as it was a specifically fashioned security door. The men were big, burley and bald. The type that commanded dread wherever they went. One of them rammed the door with his shoulders then his boots to no avail. He then emptied the ammo in his pistol into the door. The second gunned man did the same but they couldn’t get in. One man rushed back to the car and Gibson could tell was was coming next. They were about to ram the car straight into the house. He blurted to Kami, ‘Now, to the car!’ Kami fumbled with the back-door lock for the longest two seconds of his life and finally made his way out. He darted out through the back gate and started his car. He could hear Gibson shouting to the four men, ‘Wait, I’ll surrender myself’. What you’re looking for is in the living room. Come through.’ Next thing, Gibson was by Kami’s car and getting in. Kami had never seen anyone move that fast. ‘Drive’, Gibson exclaimed loudly and urgently. Kami put down his foot on the accelerator and sped down the street. The spy then pulled out a phone from his pocket and punched some numbers in. There was a loud noise behind them and Kami could see a large plume of smoke erupt in his rear-view mirror. He stuttered, ‘You, you blew up my house?’ ‘No, I’ve simply sent your front driveway, house and everyone inside it, back in history 100 years. Your house will be back in one piece in about ten minutes. Stop the car on the side of the road please.’ Kami complied, albeit perplexed at what had just happened. ‘You’ve been very brave,’ continued Gibson ‘here’s my card. Thank you so much.’ He exited the car and bid a completely bemused Kami good-bye. Driving back to his house with so many questions, it had been half an hour since he left. He parked up, entered through the back door, half expecting to be apprehended by the assassins from earlier on, only to hear the door bell ringing and the voice of his girlfriend on the other side of the door. He quickly rushed to let her in, checking for the car, bullet holes in the door or any sign of them. She was tall, with pins for legs and slender shoulders underneath long dark wavy hair. ‘Where have you been? I’ve been ringing for ten minutes. You look so dishevelled. Kami looked down at his hand, at the card Gibson left him. It read, Odeon Agency -established 2061. He looked at his girlfriend and just sighed, ‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, Ginny.’


Falling asleep has always been a problem ever since I was young. I thought what had happened was a dream. Only just recently I was reminded that it was all true. When I was ten, I would often lay awake in bed thinking about the day just had or the challenges the next day would bring. I spent nights watching the lights dance on my bedroom wall as cars went by or glancing around my room at the few toys I had. I would get lost in thought thinking about what kind of adventures they would get into if they had come to life like in that movie. The house I grew up in was located on the corner of a less traveled intersection. One streetlight lit the 4 way. The light was old but bright; shining through my window soothingly giving my room the orange fade like a dim melody. The streetlight would flicker every once and a while causing the collection of bugs around it’s bulb to disperse only to return once their oddity of light came back into existence. The nighttime setting was memorable and comforting. Until it showed up. One night, after crawling out of bed from pure boredom, I sat on the edge of the foot board watching cars go by. I counted the passing vehicles while getting lost in thought. One car, maybe two all night, but often none. A few hours passed without a car whizzing through the intersection. The light flickered and when the bulb regained power, it stood directly underneath. The night air still and noisy insects silenced. The dark figure stood frozen but not in a natural or what seemed comfortable way. Oblong limbs on a cracked and deformed body. The figure was so dark it was hard to be sure if what I saw was a person or shadow. Climbing over the end of my bed I creeped over to my window never removing my gaze from the being. I couldn’t tell but, I think it knew I was watching. It wasn’t long after I reached my bedroom window that I knew something wasn’t right. The dark figure under the streetlight had moved. My eyes narrowed and I focused on the abnormal being. I studied it. I noticed it was breathing. Not slowly, but fast and erratically. Almost as if it was out of breath or as if it had just exhausted stamina sprinting a long distance. Its arms moved slightly up and down with every sporadic breath. At this moment I realized it moved again. Slightly but, it was definitely not in the same position as when I first seen it. It was hard to be sure. The being was so dark under the light that it was hard to focus on what was it’s torso or a limb. I continued to stare at it. My eyes just above the window frame. I was so concentrated on the strange figure in the street that I jumped when I heard a noise in my house. Quickly, I turned around towards my bedroom door. One of my parents or perhaps a brother had just gotten up to use the restroom down the hall. After assessing the situation, I turned my head back to the newfound problem in the road and I noticed it had moved again. It was now staring at me. I knew this because I could see its eyes. I froze. It’s eyes were small but a bright. Piercing white sparkles so tiny that they almost seemed to get lost in the black void of it’s own body. I knew for some reason that it wasn’t just looking in my direction. It was staring directly at me. After a few minutes I decided I needed to leave. I had to run to show someone what the fuck was in the road. I slowly began to stand out of view of the window, but I didn’t take my eyes off the figure. It was at this moment I realized the game I was in. Before I made my way out of the window frame, I had blinked. Upon opening my eyes from a single blink, I noticed it had shifted. I blinked again. It fucking moved again. That . . .*thing* out there was moving any moment it wasn’t in my sight! It had by now taken a full step in my direction. The dark figure looked . . . excited. Like it knew I had finally figured out the horrific rules of the game. It’s frantic breathing grew more intense. This is crazy. This isn’t a real thing, right? My heart began to race and my breathing quickened. “This is. . .what is happening?” I thought. I wasn’t convinced. So I held my breath as I stood in my bedroom and SHUT MY EYES. I thought, “I’ll count to 5. This must be a dream”. One Mississippi, Two Mississippi, Three Mississippi, 4 . . . suddenly I heard a crunch like a tree branch snapping. I opened my eyes. It was no longer under the streetlight. I was overwhelmed with adrenaline and panic. I bolted for my bed and dove under the blankets. I was so scared I forgot what I had JUST proven. I have look at it! As I shuffled the covers, I heard quickly approaching footsteps. They sounded unreal. The steps were quickly growing louder and were hitting so hard I swear I could hear the dirt and sticks being thrown into the air behind it. My head rose above my blankets and sure enough, the footsteps stopped. I stared at the window. The only visible thing was the intersection lit by the light pouring down from the streetlight above. Although the figure wasn’t in my sight, I knew it was there. Somewhere, in the dark. I sat in my bed staring through the window in the bedroom. I didn’t move. I would blink once in a while and when I did I could always hear just a little movement. I knew the longer I blinked the more distance between us the creature would cover. This nightmare lasted for hours. Every time I was tempted to yawn I would fight the reflex with what felt like every muscle in my body. After what seemed like an eternity the sun began to rise. A soft light began to wash over my neighborhood. I decided to get out of bed and move to the window and attempt to locate the thing from the road. I knew it was out there but, where? I slowly approached the window and was given a much broader view of my yard leading up to the intersection. Even though I was looking for the creature it still made me jump when I laid eyes on it. There it was in greater detail. The blood left my face, hands, and feet as I seen just how terrifying it truly was. The thing was in a paused motion. Must have been 7 feet tall and perched on one leg as if frozen in mid stride. One dangly arm was open palmed on a tree it had been passing as if using it to push off and increase it’s speed. The other hand was open and clawing, right in my direction. It was now 20 feet from my window whereas in the road it was about 45 feet. The creature’s skin was black, wrinkly, and had the texture of dried leather. Other areas of it’s body were made up of random patches of black mangled fur. Tall, gangly, and unbelievably skinny the creature looked as if it was malnourished. Starving, desperate, and it’s sights set right on me. Every time I moved, even slightly, I noticed it’s breathing would intensify. It would get excited as if any moment I would turn and lose eye contact and it could continue the rampage toward me. I remembered it’s piercing eyes and decided to look at them in the small glimpse of daylight I now had. As I lifted my gaze towards it’s head the streetlight suddenly flickered. The sunrise was causing the light sensor to diminish the power to the bulb and it was shutting off. I was tired and not thinking when I flashed my eyes to the light which I noticed had just went out. My eyes hit the streetlight, the light went out, and I then heard a low growling coming from the creature. The noise it emitted was low and scratchy and it sent shivers down my spine. I quickly relocated my eyes back toward the creature and . . . it was gone. I didn’t move for quite some time. The creature had vanished and the last time that happened it had covered nearly 25 feet in a matter of seconds so my guard was UP. I scanned the yard intensely. I stood shaking. I could feel the cool morning breeze hit my cold sweat covered body. Minutes had passed and still no change to the absence of the being. A car passed through the intersection. I hadn’t even noticed if cars had passed at all since it appeared. I still couldn’t find it. I felt unsure that the thing had vanished at all. “BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!” I jumped and shot my head around behind me as to evaluate the sudden noise in my bedroom. My alarm was going off. I threw my head back towards the window. Still no sign of it. Had the monster finally disappeared? Was it unable to be in the daylight? It vanished as the streetlight went out. It must be gone. Maybe it can only, “POUND, POUND!”. My bedroom door shook and I let out a gasp. “Turn off your alarm it’s so annoying! Come on dude!” It was my brother. I sighed relief and mouthed an almost silent, “Yeah, sorry”. Knowing that someone else was within reach I felt that I could take my eyes off the yard and I turned to silence my alarm. I felt uneasy. I felt alone and unsure. I sat in bed and covered myself attempting to regain composure. The day went but many questions clouded my head. Was I going to see it again? Could anyone else see it? I told my brother what happened and he just chuckled. Same reaction from my parents. Their conclusion was that I had a vivid imagination and so no more scary movies. This was mine to handle on my own. It was under the streetlight multiple times after that night. Some nights it didn’t show but that didn’t mean I was just going to bed like nothing happened. I mean, there was no instruction manual to this fucking thing. All I knew was I had to stare at it, blink sparingly, and under no circumstances nod off. I made that mistake once and it nearly cost me my life. After a few nights of this I had a good system going. I would blink about 20 times per hour so by sunrise it would only have made it a few steps onto the lawn. The system worked so well that I became bored. Boredom led to drowsiness. One night I repeated what I had done most every night for a couple of weeks. I didn’t even remember shutting my eyes. I only recall jumping awake to sound of the screen bursting off the window. My eyes met the creature as it was now frozen in place. One foot on the bottom of my window and a hand at either side of it as if it were in motion to launch itself at me. It’s breathing changed from fast and frantic to slow inhales and exhales. Calm. Like it was sure it would finally reach me. Huge gnarled teeth and unblinking white eyes that expressed anger and yearning. I stared for the remaining hours and once that sunrise hit, it vanished once again. The nightmare lasted about a month and then it just stopped showing up. I stayed awake almost a year after that until I slowly began to gain a normal life. 5 years past, 10, and beyond. I’m 32 years old now. Sitting at my desk writing this letter at about 6:30 in the morning with a cold cup of tea. I’m submitting this experience everywhere I can in an attempt to reach out to someone who may have seen this *thing*. I need to know if others are seeing what I’m seeing and if they have any answers for me. Because it’s back. Last night it managed to climb up the 4 stories to my apartment’s balcony. I accidentally spotted it on my way back from the kitchen with a hot cup of tea. It was only just getting it’s other leg over the railing outside the slider door. That fucking look on it’s face. It almost had me. Please, someone contact me if they know what this is. I can’t do this again.


On Fridays nights, I-Nina Garcia-open a good book and eat junk food. My parents are usually on date nights, so I have the house all to myself. Sure, maybe it sounds pathetic, but this is how it's always been. It's how I reward myself at the end of a long week. Other kids go to parties, but I've never been a social butterfly. Making small talk with other people has never been my strong suit. This Friday night was like no other. I order pizza from a family-run business in town and open a bag of candy. Since it's August, I put on pajama shorts and a tank top and settled on the couch. Since classic books are rapidly going out of style, I decided to pick up A Tale of Two Cities from the library. "Well," I whisper quietly to myself. "You can't go wrong with a Dickens book." I open the book and start reading. It was the best of times it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom- The doorbell rings loudly, startling me. I frown and get up. The pizza shouldn't have been made so quickly, should it? Slowly, I open the door and freeze. James Abbot stands outside the door, his emerald green eyes wide with fear. In all our time living next door to each other, I've rarely spoken 5 words to James. What could possibly be of my concern, I think grudgingly to myself. "James?" I ask. "Is something wrong?" "Yeah," he chokes out. "I need you to come with me. Please, Nina." "Why?" I scowl. "Because I don't have a car," he explains hurriedly, looking behind him as if to make sure he isn't being followed. "But-" I start. "Please, Nina, I'll never ask you for everything else," he practically begs. I bite my lip as he runs a hand through his sandy blonde hair. "Fine," I sigh, giving in. "Let me get changed." "Can I wait inside?" he questions. I nod, opening the door wider. He stands in the foyer and I go to my room and put jean shorts and a tee-shirt on. "Okay, so where are we going?" I inquire when we're settled in my barely running 2004 Honda Accord. "Just drive," he says, irritated. I bristle. Why is he annoyed? I'm the one driving him around. I comply, starting the car and backing out of the driveway. We sit in awkward silence as I drive down the road. "Are you running from something?" I prod. "Family problems?" He doesn't respond. "I'm stopping the car right now if you don't tell me what's going on." "Were you seriously reading on a Friday night," he smirks. "Don't change the subject," I growl. "You took me away from a pretty good book, you owe me." "Okay, okay," he holds up his hands in mock surrender. "A couple of guys were chasing me out of Sandy Cohen's party." "What did you do?" I laugh. Sandy Cohen's the most popular senior, if you're in with her, you're on top of the social hierarchy for life. "Well, we were playing poker-" he starts nervously. "And you won?" I ask dryly. "Yeah," he says softly. "That's a big no-no for a junior, I guess. A nobody like me winning a poker game against three senior guys." "How did you get invited anyway?" I ask, bemused. "If you're as unpopular as me?" "Well, that was another subject up for debate," he admits. "In a way, I guess you could say I snuck in." "Oh, geez, James," I roll my eyes. "Sandy Cohen's house is like three blocks away, why didn't you go back to your house?" "They weren't far behind," he shrugs. "Thought you were my best bet." "How long am I driving you around?" I ask. "A couple of hours, maybe?" he replies sheepishly. "I'm hoping they'll get too drunk to function." "Maybe," I nod. I make a left. "Well, let's make this night interesting, shall we?" "What do you mean?" "Don't worry about it." "Shouldn't I be the spontaneous one?" "No, I read more books, so I've got a few surprises up my sleeve." "Right, can I change the station?." "Nope." I turn to him and grin, he smiles back. We drive for another five minutes until I park my car at the beach." "Ah, not a bad choice, Garcia," he nods approvingly. "We're just in time for the sunset." He's right, when we step out of the car, the sun is above the ocean. I run onto the beach and sit in the sand. The sky is bursting with pinks, reds, and oranges. There has never been a prettier sight. James sits beside me. I close my eyes, breathing in the salty, sea air and listening to the crashing waves. It's a sound that I could fall asleep to, no matter what. "You look so peaceful," his voice breaks me out of my thoughts. I open my eyes and laugh. "This is the only place where I feel peaceful," I respond. "Yeah?" he raises an eyebrow. "I haven't been here since I was a kid." "No kidding," I smirk. I shiver as it grows colder. "Here," he hands me his hoodie. I look at it uncertainly. "It's washed . And I wore deodorant today, Garcia." I take it and put it on. There's a faint smell of pine and vanilla. It smells like something to come home to. "Thanks, James," I say softly, my voice almost drowned out by the ocean. "Anytime," he says. "You feel relaxed?" "What?" "You said I was relaxed. So....are you?" "In what perspective are you asking?" "Answer the question." He leans back on his hands for a second, staring out at the view. The sun is almost gone. He looks at me for a moment. "Yeah," he nods. "I suppose so." "Good," I respond. "Good," he repeats. We sit there, not speaking. The sun disappears. For the next few hours, we talk about school and where we want to go to college. He tells me his favorite color is orange, and I tell him my favorite food is pizza. "Well," I check my watch. It's nearly 10. I hold my hand out to him. "I think the seniors are probably drunk enough." "Probably," he agrees, placing his hand in mine. And there it is, a spark that makes me want to yank my hand away. I haul him up, and he doesn't let go of my hand. I clear my throat, and he drops my hand quickly. "Come on," I say, starting to my car. He follows behind me. "Thank you," he says once we're inside. I put the key in the ignition and nod. Then, I realize it's dark, and he can't see me. "A-anytime," I stammer, wondering why I'm so nervous. I grip the steering wheel, white-knuckling it. "You alright there, Garcia?" James puts a hand on my shoulder. "Yup," I say, driving us to his house. In no time, I drop him off at his house. "Well, don't get into trouble." "Thanks again, Nina, you're the best," he unbuckles his seatbelt. "Do you want your hoodie back?" I ask, starting to take it off." "Keep it," he says. "It looks better on you than me." He hops out, freezing as his hand reaches to close the door. "What is it?" "Nothing." "Okay, well, goodnight then, James." "Goodnight, madam." "Seriously, go to bed." "It's not even midnight yet." "Don't stall. Goodbye, James." He smiles, shaking his head. His hair flies around in a bunch of different directions. He shuts the door and jogs to the door. Before he steps inside, James Abbot salutes me. I grin and laugh, shaking my head. I park in the driveway and unlock the door to my house. I settle back on the couch and open my book. Sure, I didn't expect tonight to be like this. I didn't expect to spend half of my Friday night with a boy I barely talk to. Yet, there's nothing I would change, except the fact that I didn't get to eat my pizza.