The rest of my life depends on this, on a stupid simple coin flip. Everything I’ve been working towards depends on this moment. My whole life my family has been preparing me for either outcome and now they’re both staring me in the face. I’ve been training to become the Guardian of the Dragon’s Breath, the most dangerous form of magic known to man, if it falls into the wrong hands it can be a weapon of mass destruction. My great grandfather was once the holder and protector of the Dragon’s breath, now it’s my turn. Unfortunately, I never met my father, he died before I was born. He too was sworn to protect the magical weapon. My mother taught me everything she had learned from my father before he died, but never told me how he died. Not many people know of my existence, but I’m Tori Laurentina. I was born eighteen years ago to Scarlett Laurentina and my father’s name was Pierce Laurentina. Many people got to know my father, mostly for his reputation. I’ve been told he’s brave, caring, and very powerful in many ways. I've heard so much about him that I pretty much know him. After all this training and knowledge, I never expected it to come down to this. I’m standing here in the middle of the Temple of Fortification with the Leader of Magic, the current Guardian, and the other contender for the Dragon’s Breath. We’ve already gone through the rest of the tests and there were many other competitors before the final stage. After the test of intentions it filtered out most of them. Leading up to today I went through several trials with my mom to prepare for this role, my mother says I was born for this. The Leader turns to us with a determined expression, “This is the final test. Usually, only one makes it to this point so there’s no need for the coin. But you two are equally qualified for this role, unfortunately there can only be one, as you probably know Tori.” Confusion starts to set in, but I push it to the side, there’s too much going on right now. “Before I flip this coin, I would like to commend both of you for making it this far. Now, on with the coin flip.” He shifts the coin between hands and gets ready to flip it. I turn to my contender and give him a nod as in saying good luck. The Leader looks at us both, “lady calls it in the air.” He flicks the coin and I watch it flip in the air. Instinctively I shout, “Tails!” I hear the coin hit the ground and it rolls to my feet. My eyes squeeze shut as a reflex. As if commanded, all four of us look down at the coin. “Tails it is young lady, congratulations!” The Leader says with a chuckle. My competitor nods at me and is escorted out by the guards. “So for the next two weeks you will be learning from Abel, before he hands the Dragon’s Breath to you. He will show you to your new living quarters, after the ceremony and celebration you will start your training.” The Leader nods and exits the room through the back. I turn to look at the older gentlemen that’s going to be my mentor for the next couple weeks, I have no idea what to say to him. I should have a million questions spilling out of my mouth, but for some reason I'm dead silent. “Well, I’ve seen shocked before, trust me I was too when I got chosen. But you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Abel says breaking the silence. “I guess it just happened so fast and all those tests, just for a coin flip?” I say confused as ever. “Trust me I get it. Seems kinda pointless, but remember everything here is magic including that coin. It wasn’t just a chance. The coin chose you dear, it chose the most worthy contender.” Abel explains as we begin walking. “Well, I don’t know if that has anything to do with my family legacy, but I’m glad that I got chosen. My mother told me I was born for this, I’ve been dreaming of this moment my whole life and now I just don’t know what to say.” “I get the feeling, my family was the same way, I’m an only child and I’m a boy. My family has an old mindset.” An only child of course, I get that vibe from him. He was probably much worse before though, this role will definitely teach you responsibility and discipline. We make our way out to the courtyard and it is filled with beautiful flowers and trees. I can’t help but look around, I’m amazed by all the vibrant colors. “I see you like the shrubbery.” he says chuckling. “Shrubbery? This is beautiful, I’ve never seen colors like this.” “If this is amazing to you, then wait until you see the greenhouse.” “So how big is this place exactly?” “Honestly, this place is like a whole compound.” “There’s a very good chance I will get lost here then, I might need a map or something for this place.” Trying to make a joke. “Trust me I’ve been trying to get one made for years.” Now we’re walking by cabins outside. I’m assuming they’re living quarters for guards and soldiers because of the armor hanging outside them. As we walk through the little neighborhood it starts to incline up a hill. At the top of the hill is a house much larger than the cabins we passed. There’s a flagpole in front and flower boxes on the two levels of windows. We make our way up the cobblestone path to the front of the house and I stare up at the building. “So this is our house, well your house, but you gotta share with me for the next two weeks.” Abel explains and as if he can read my expression he continues. “Don’t worry, I’m going to be sleeping in the guest room downstairs and you can have the master bedroom upstairs. That way you can move in and get comfortable.” “Thanks, is the inside of the house as beautiful as the outside?” I ask as I walk up the porch. “Oh, just you wait, Tori, they'll treat you like royalty around here.” We walk in the house and this place is decked out, everything I could possibly need is at my fingertips. “If you need anything specific just make a request and it should be here within a few days. Before we got here they filled your room with some clothes in a couple different sizes, try them on and you can let them know in the morning which size fits so they stock you up. There’s two bathrooms, one down here and one upstairs attached to your room. The celebration is tonight and the public ceremony is tomorrow, so go try the clothes on and rest up. We got about four hours before the celebration, they will bring you a few gowns to wear.” He says while stretching out on the huge couch. “Alright, I’m gonna grab an apple and go explore upstairs, might take a quick cat-nap.” “Sounds like a plan, I’ll come get you when it’s time. If you need anything, I’ll be right here or in the kitchen.” He says waving as I disappear around the wall. Making my way up the spiral staircase I see a wall full of portraits at the top. Men and women of different ages and sizes all posted up on the wall with their names underneath. I found the master bedroom and wow. This is an amazing room! There’s a california king bed, a wardrobe, a vanity, and a cute little loveseat. I look in the wardrobe and just like Abel said it is full of clothes. Just like everything else, the bathroom is stocked up with towels, soap, shampoo, and conditioner. The bathtub looks so big I could swim laps in it. I decided I should try to relax before the celebration, so I’m going to test out the bathtub. Once I’m done I pull on some of the pajamas provided for me and lay on the silk sheets. As I lay down a thought pops into my head, what did the Leader mean by I should know there can only be one?


How long did it take them to notice? Ten years? Twenty? I’m sure someone was suspicious that not a single wrinkle appeared on my face by thirty years, no bones ached after forty years, and not a single solitary grey hair appeared at sixty years in prison, but nobody said anything. Not until my young blue eyes remained clear and bright past seventy years. Then came the tests, then more tests, and (just in case I hadn’t been tested enough) they tested me some more. I don’t know what they found. They didn’t tell me. I’m still a criminal, aren’t I? I did get some weird looks at the prison. All of the conspiracies resulted in a little bit of “testing” in the cells when nobody was around. I gained quite the reputation after eleven stabs in the kidneys did more harm to the toothbrush shiv than me. I quickly gained followers, and equally loyal detractors. To call myself a gang leader would be an understatement. I wasn’t a leader, I was a god. My peons worshipped me. Even the prison staff feared my control. I lived in luxury; all of my needs were taken care of by either my disciples or the more reverent staff. That isn’t to say I lived carefree. Jealousy is one hell of an emotion, and I don’t think anyone has ever been as envied as I was inside these prison walls. While I was safe from harm myself, even my extensive web of followers couldn’t be everywhere at once, and my stash of smuggled and swindled loot was well known throughout the concrete halls of the prison. Perhaps the worst of these jealousy-stricken thugs was Tinfoil. Picture a stereotypical 60’s greaser, place them in an orange jumpsuit, and dye their slicked back hair metallic silver. He was a caricature from the unlit cigarette that dangled unfailingly from his lips, to his slight Italian accent, to his prized switchblade that he could pull from God-knows-where on a moment’s notice. Tinfoil had a gang of his own, albeit smaller than mine. They would take any opportunity at all to slip into my cell while I was roaming MY kingdom and wreck MY stuff. I never caught him in the act, but that smug smirk from safely across the prison yard confirmed my doubts every time. God, how I wanted to slam my impervious fist into his fragile teeth. The only thing stopping me from wrecking that greasy face was the thought of solitary confinement. The thought of a week, a month without the luxuries I had grown accustomed to was enough to stop me from murdering that little PUNK with my bare hands. My pull with the staff didn’t quite extend far enough to save me from repercussions entirely. Normally, when I had a problem that needed solved, but would normally bring about some sort of punishment, one of my disciples would jump at the opportunity to prove himself to me. But a war between my devotees and Tinfoil’s greased up lackeys was a bad idea. I had many valuable assets, and a switchblade to the throat of my best smuggler was too inconvenient an idea to consider. So I had to get creative. If I couldn’t fight him directly, I could make it seem like an accident, or at least not my doing directly. Have you ever wondered how many hairs are burned off trying to make a firebomb out of some gasoline and the remains of a vending machine? None of mine of course. The smell of scorched eyebrows was a common one, however, for about a week until a group of my peons perfected the recipe. After that, it was relatively easy to get one of my men to suicide bomb Tinfoil’s gang, denying any involvement in it myself. I wonder how smug he looked while his unnatural silver hair was burning off. Hah, consider that. Me, calling something else unnatural. There was an extensive investigation of course, but I had hundreds of fall guys. They would do anything for me. They revered me. They loved me. They would never rat me out. Right? Wrong. It’s a lot rougher here in maximum security. I swear to God (an illusory promise; no God could possibly allow me to remain here on this Earth) I’ll kill someone if I have to sleep on another lumpy cot instead of the king-sized cocoon of comfort I’ve grown accustomed to. Those traitors better pray to their elusive God that they get out of here before I do.


The stage lights illuminated the empty pulpit in the chancel of Hartstown First Methodist. The chapel was small, cramped even when only seating about 60 people on a given Sunday, though Matthew Semple might have killed for a house that full. He had been the resident priest for the last five years, but tonight he sat as the lone parishioner of the church, his knees crammed against the backing of the first row of pews. He imagined the service as it would play out on Sunday. The hymns, the sermon, the announcements about who’s grandson had made the varsity football team and when the quilting club would be meeting the following Thursday. Just the thought of it made him feel drowsy. As he stood from the pew, Matthew’s eye was drawn to the stained-glass mural, faded by a thin layer of dust and the dark night outside. Rain on the window pooled around the ridged edges of christ’s eyes and a flash of lightning revealed a spider who had made its home in the high corner of the window just above Christ’s corona. He probably should have gone downstairs to the supply closet to grab the duster, but he waved it off, feeling too tired to do much of anything. Matthew side stepped from between the pews, the roaring sound of the storm swelled and the door to the foyer groaned open. Squeaky flat-footed steps crossed the tiles towards the doors to the chapel and the door swung open. A man stood in the darkness at the back of the chapel like a shadow within a shadow. He wore black from head to toe, the hood of his sweater hung over his face and rainwater formed pools on the carpet surrounding his black engineer’s boots. A gym bag slung across the man’s chest. In Matthew’s mind, impending violence played on a loop, a gun, a knife maybe, pulled from the gym bag, the squelch of wet footsteps across carpet, then blood and darkness, and then nothing at all. Matthew’s voice clung to the back of his throat *caught in a spider’s web*, he thought to himself. “Ca-can I help you?” They almost weren’t even words but stuttering little breaths. The figure flung back his hood and the atmosphere of the room dipped back to sustainable levels. A small grin broke across Matthew’s face. “Alex? Alex Lawson?” “Hello, Mr.Semple.” Alex spoke in a deep soft monotone that buzzed throughout the chapel. “I need to speak with you.” Four years ago, just as Matthew had become accustomed to the flock which he led, the Lawsons had arrived. There was Dean, Alex’s father, a blue-collar man who Matthew had found to be mostly inconvenienced to be brought to church. Sarah was a staple in the community, and it had been a tragic blow to the congregation when she’d left town only two years after she’d first arrived. Then, there was Alex, a slender, brunette child, maybe a little hyperactive and spoiled but no more so than any other child in the congregation. Hartstown, being the small place that it is, made an event of every newcomer, and on the first day that the family had come to Matthew’s church it had been all that anyone in the congregation could talk about. The talking only got worse when Mr. Lawson made fewer appearances at the Sunday service and more appearances at the town’s other rumor mill, The Fifth Circle Lounge. After Sarah left, Alex stopped coming to church too and the town moved on to the next hot topic of the month. Whenever a story came up now that involved something that Sarah had pioneered, like the quilting club, the occasional “that poor woman” or “I just can’t understand how she could leave that boy with him” would be spoken and promptly glossed over. The Alex that stood before him now was an entirely different creature, teetering on the edge of adulthood, his shoulders were wide and tapered fashionably into his slender but muscular form. Perhaps it was just the clothing or the situation, but Alex had a dark disposition that Matthew thought probably did well with the ladies. His hair was cropped short on the sides and the rain slicked his bang into a curl that wrapped around his eye like a scar. His face was boyish and seemed unfitting to the rest of his body. “Of course.” Matthew said, his grin growing wider. “Would you like some tea?” The tea kettle whistled in the kitchenette of the rec room, just as Alex was stepping out of the bathroom, donning clothes from the charity pile. Matthew made a note that they would need to be washed one last time before he drove the donations to the goodwill on Thursday. Matthew passed Alex a mug and they raised in a wordless toast before drinking. “Thanks,” Alex said, setting down the ceramic mug and locking his eyes on the vinyl of the kitchenette’s countertop. “My mother always said that you were very kind to her.” Matthew and Alex sat in silence for a few minutes, outside the rain fell with no signs of letting up. Alex nursed little sips of the tea and fumbled with an extra sugar in the raw packet in his hand. Matthew leaned back in his chair, the plastic backing tightened and made a little squeak against his heft. “Is that so?” “Yes,” Alex said. “It seemed like you too got to know each other pretty well when...” The words fell off the face of the earth, Alex pinched the sugar into one end of the packet and twisted the empty side into a spiral shape until it seemed like the packet might burst. “I’ve always made it a point to speak with each member of my congregation.” “Did she tell you about my dad?” Alex asked, he stole a glance at Matthew’s face as he spoke. “No, but I knew. I just wish that I could have helped her more.” Matthew took a sip from his coffee. Alex sat up straight, unfurling the sugar packet and setting it on the table. “Do you know where she is?” Matthew leaned forward exhaling deeply, He leaned in close and looked deep into Alex until Alex met his gaze. Alex’s eyes widened, he looked down at the floor and pulled the gym bag on to the table. He opened one of the side pockets and removed several slips of paper. “I started getting these letters a few weeks ago. She wants me to live with her, she told me to talk to you.” Alex passed over the letters to Matthew, who flipped through them each, not reading each line carefully, but rather absorbing the messages the way one does when they first see a striking painting. Matthew set the pages down, exhaling as if he were returning to his body after some deep meditation. Alex’s eyes burned like swords of fire. Matthew could feel his intensity even though he’d yet to look back. “I can take you to her.” Matthew said. “But you may not like what you see.” ... Alex had fallen asleep as they drove down the 11. It was dark, tall oaks whirred past them only as shadowy figures their tips illuminated by the moon. On the radio Linda Ronstadt sang softly about the Blue Bayou. *It could have gone worse.* Matthew thought to himself, sneaking looks at Alex’s sleeping form in between watching the road. The way it had been with Sarah, Alex’s mother, that was worse. The blood, oh god! Matthew thought that it would be like cleaning a cup of spilled milk, nothing to cry over, but the task had been so much more than that. Then there were the letters, it had been so hard for her to write them knowing what Matthew would do to her and to Alex. Matthew had been worried when the boy first showed up, it was a risk after all, having him come to the church, but everything seemed to have worked perfectly. The letters were all accounted for, he could torch them in the cabin’s fireplace when they arrived. The cover of night had helped immensely as well as the sprinkle of Benadryl in the tea. Yes, it was much better than how things had gone with Sarah, Alex’s mother. Matthew had almost felt bad enough to let her go by the end of it, almost. He didn’t even want her. That was the thing he realized in the aftermath of the event. She’d just been too eager to please, too eager to get away from that drunken idiot she called a husband, when Matthew had seen the bruised skin under her blouse, he knew he’d done the right thing. He’d saved her, and then he realized that Alex needed saving too. Matthew’s eyes felt heavy, but he was too excited to sleep. He looked over at Alex, his face was lit by the blue lights of the truck’s radio. He looked, Matthew thought, like a cadaver or maybe a ghost. Matthew pulled one hand off the steering wheel and reached for Alex’s face. He was close, so close he could feel the heat of Alex’s breath as it rushed out of his nose. Matthew put his hand back on the steering wheel and drove on.


Zip Code 99999 belongs to a post office that most people don’t even know exists. There is a seventh dimension quality to this place even Rod Serling wasn’t aware of, but it is real. It is not the Dead Letter office or the final destination of letters sent by children to Santa Claus at Christmas time. While it is not a vortex or some other alternate reality, the Post Office at the End of the World is exactly what it says it is and its chief purpose is to connect people who have long been disconnected for whatever reason. Let me explain... Bullrush Island is barely a rock in the Atlantic Ocean claimed by the greater state of Maine off the coast of Bar Harbor. While few tourists have ever heard of this place, the lobster fisherman have first hand knowledge of this rock sanctuary. Upon this rock, they built a post office that is only accessible by boat and in that establishment, there is only one postman who wears the title of Post Master General. Having served as a postman in Bangor for over a decade, I got a letter one day from the Federal Friendlies at USPS transferring me to Bull Rush Island. “Hey Nate.” I walked to his office after opening the letter, “Is this some kind of joke?” Nate Mueller was the postmaster at the office in Bangor where we considered our office as the last stop before St. Andrews, New Brunswick. Nate was an overall good no nonsense manager who ran a tight ship as he called it, even if staff noticed a few leaks from time to time. “Whacha got, Rick.” He took the notice from my hand. “Oh, you got the assignment on Bullrush Island.” “Yeah, so?” “It’s known as the post office at the end of the world.” He chuckled. “Don’t worry, it’s pretty easy duty out there.” “Out where?” I shrugged. “Do ya know where Bahr Har-ber is?” He asked. “Yeah.” I nodded. “Well, it’s about thirty miles past there.” He pointed to the map pinned to his wall. “Ain’t nothing out there.” I shook my head. “Well it’s so small they don’t even bah-ther putin’ it on a map.” He put his hand to his chin. “Dee-lightful.” I whistled. “They send a boat out twice a week and carry any mail in a small satchel. You put anything headed for the mainland in that thing.” He smiled, but buried in that smile was sinister intent. “Good luck, Rick.” Two weeks later I was standing at the Harbor Master’s office as a cold wind blew off the water. Wearing a thick cardigan sweater and watch cap, I still shivered in the stiff ice cold breeze. I waited five minutes for the door to open. “Can I help ya?” A young lady asked, unwilling to fully open the door. She was buried beneath a heavy coat and a wool hat. “I am here for a one way trip to Bullrush Island.” I held out my ticket. “Are ya sure? I’m not even sure we got a boat headed out there.” She shivered. “It’s Wednesday and according to the table posted on your door, you have a boat headed out to that island.” I pointed to the schedule tacked to the door. “Yeah, but the weather is a bit challenging.” She waved me inside. Once she closed the door, I was embraced by the warmth of the Franklin stove in the middle of the small room. In the next room there were two men sitting at the control panel with switches and levers. One was peering through a pair of binoculars and holding a radio receiver in his other hand. “Roger, if you sail to the right of the buoys, you should be in good shape as you go through the channel.” He spoke into the receiver. “Roger that, sir. We are going to spend a few hours setting lobster traps out near Peter’s Point.” “You are clear to do so.” He spoke before putting his receiver on the hook on the console. “Morning, what can I do for ya, Stella?” The second harbor master asked when he saw her. “Gentleman needs a ride to Bullrush Island.” She pointed to me. “That so? We got an ice storm headed this way.” He squinted at me, lifting one bushy eyebrow heavenward. “I am the new postmaster.” I said, glancing around the small room. From the wrap-around window, I could see gray clouds that seemed to absorb the colorless water. “You are the postmaster at the post office out there?” He appeared as if he was going to burst out laughing, but he contained himself. “We don’t get much traffic from out there.” The other man spoke, still peering through his binoculars. “Bring a good book, heh?” The first man laughed. “I got the Wave Goddess headed out there this morning around ten.” The man with the binoculars said from the side of his mouth. “That’s two hours.” I looked at my watch. “Couch in the other room.” The other man pointed. “Or go down to the Sandbar Cafe.” “Stella, do you got some fresh coffee on?” Asked the man as he the binoculars on the console. “Yes, Barney.” She nodded. “Coulja get me a cup, please?” He implored. “Sure t’ing.” She smiled and left the room. “So, you’re goin’ to be the new postmaster out there on that rock?” Barney smiled as Stella returned with a steaming cup of coffee, “Thanks, doll.” “Yeah.” I shook my head as the horizon completely disappeared. “Good luck.” He shook his head as he sipped his coffee. “Whacha name, sport?” “Richard Hollingsworth.” I answered. “Well Richard, it gets pretty lonely out there. The last guy nearly went nuts.” Barney nodded. “Nearly?” The other guy chuckled. “C’mon Mort, don’t freak Richard here out.” He smirked through his thick bushy mustache now wet with black coffee. “Naw, he didn’t go nuts, but he did like to stroll around the island naked.” He chuckled as his gloved hand pulled one of the levers on the console. “Baker’s skiff is pulling out of the harbor.” “I see her.” Barney put the binoculars back to have a look. I walked out of the room and sat near the stove. Stella was reading a magazine, but would glance up at me as if she was afraid I’d do something odd. When she glanced at me, I would render a smile to creep her out a bit. When I did, she would move her eyes back to the magazine. “Fine weather we are having.” I got up the courage to speak. “Bettah during torrist season.” She did not look up from the magazine. “So, what happened to the last postmaster?” I asked as I looked around the room. “No one really knows.” She flipped a page. “But you have a pretty good idea.” I shook my head. “Folks say he took his rowboat out last week.” She flipped another page, “Coast Guard found the boat, but he wasn’t in it.” “So he went over the side?” I asked, but she just shrugged and flipped yet another page. “No tellin.’” “I’m Derrick Olsen, captain of the Wave Goddess.” He held out his hand and I shook his bear paw. Olsen was a burly man in his early forties with blonde bristle facial hair, so light it was nearly invisible. He wore a wool turtleneck shirt and a peacoat with a thick wool watch cap. He had three deckhands all dressed in similar fashion, “Are ya sure ya wan’s to go out today?” I showed him my dispatch. He lit his pipe as he read the paper I handed him. “Postmaster, heh?” Derrick scratched the nape of his neck. “I don’t envy ya in the least. Place is pretty secluded out there, mate.” “Neither do I.” I tried to smile, but failed miserably. “Hey cap’n, are we goin’ to Bullrush Island?” One of the deckhands asked. “Yup.” He shook his head. “Are ya sure cap?” The other deckhand had an inquisitive expression on his face, “Coast Guard is talking about a Nor'easter blowing in.” “Eddie, we’ve had worse.” Derrick slapped him on the shoulder with a hard whack. Eddie just nodded and began setting the lobster pots. Ice began falling from the sky as the Wave Goddess pulled away from the moorings. Before leaving Bar Harbor, the waves began to get choppy and my stomach began to talk back to me. “If’n ya gonna puke, make sure ya do it over the side.” Eddie advised me. I must have turned a pale shade of green as we pulled away from the main part of the harbor. Why anyone decided to put a post office on Bullrush Island, I will never know. As the thirty foot schooner was buffeted and bounced on the swells, I emptied everything I had in my stomach into the brine. “Can get pretty rough there, mate.” Derrick said to me from his wheelhouse as I bent over the side. The freezing rain fell sideways coating the deck with a slick surface that was impossible to walk on. In between retching fits, I was able to look up and see the horizonless seascape ahead of us. Derrick had the binoculars to his face as he kept his free hand on the wheel. He pointed to an empty patch dead ahead. “Be damned if I can see it.” I knew he was talking about the destination, but I was too busy with my own problems. The pitch and roll was both internal and external. “Got it.” I heard Derrick as he pointed. My eyes looked where he was pointing, but all I saw was the dull gray gunmetal sky dead ahead. In a few minutes, I saw shapes and then it came into view. It was a single cinder block structure that rose out of the jagged rocks. A dock jutted out to embrace us. With his experience and seaman skills, Derrick was able to guide his boat to the dock. His two deckhands leaped onto the dock once we were close enough. They were able to tie the moorings to the dock. The boat continued to bob and weave even after the boat was tied to the dock. Eating a pear, Derrick took his knife and cut off a chunk. He put it into his mouth and pointed, “There ya be, mate.” “What?” I managed to say wiping my mouth with my shirt sleeve. “We have arrived.” He spit out some of the fruit as he spoke. “I can’t-” “Ya gotta.” He shook his head. “We are still moving.” I gasped. “Barney and Beau.” He called to the two deckhands. As if on cue, each of them grabbed one of my arms and hoisted me to the dock. “Ya new home.” “Much obliged.” I belched. “Don’t mention it.” He waved to his deckhands to come aboard. Barney and Beau both jumped up on deck leaving me kneeling on the dock as the waves shoshed on through the gaps in planks of the dock. “Don’t stay there too long or you’ll wind up like your predecessor.” The motor of the Wave Goddess sounded like a low rumble. Bubbles emerged from the motor as the boat slipped into the grayness and disappeared. Bullrush Island was no bigger than a football field with a bulky building occupying the middle part of the island. The rocks that made up the small landfall were jagged, but a path had been cut into the rocks that provided a smooth walkway to the front door. Once inside, I saw a calamity left to me by the former postmaster before his disappearance. He had been nice enough to leave a few chords of wood near the fireplace. After a few minutes, I had a blazing fire going as the place began to warm. The building had two rooms, one room was where the mail was supposed to be sorted and the other room was made to be living quarters with a bed and stove. Nothing fancy, but the pantry seemed to be well stocked with non-perishable ready to eat dehydrated food. There was a sink and a hand pump. There were matches in the pantry in which I could light the four lanterns that hung in various places from the rafters. If nothing else the place was cozy once the fire had warmed the confined living area. Taking one of the lanterns from the ceiling, I wandered into the mailroom where envelopes lay strewn all about. It appeared as if my predecessor had flung them to the floor in a fit of rage. The nameplate on the desk read “Neville Harper.” I took this to be the name of my predecessor. “So why on earth did you go mad?” I asked as if he could answer my question. I am aware that isolation can drive a sane man to the brink, but I had craved seclusion and now I had been granted this accommodation at this post office at the end of the world. Apparently, Neville was not of that ilk. There are those who need socialization and conversation, but I do not require such things. I am the new Robinson Crusoe. Mine will be the only footprints in the sand at the shore. If there is a shore. Somewhere in the mess of the post office there is an order that I know nothing about. Who are these people whose names adorn the scattered envelopes? What are they doing here? Who brought them in the first place? So many questions. Who shall I ask? I find a radio among the ruins. Good, but it doesn’t seem to work. Damn. What was that noise? I heard something creak in the floorboards. Could it be a rat, a vermin? I shall set traps in the morning. I cannot allow them to take over. I am in charge. I have a dispatch attesting to that. The wind outside howls, I can hear a faint echo, “Welcome Richard to the post office at the end of the world.” When you look out the window, you can see it, the end of the world. Ancient mariners would speak of the end of the world where ships would navigate right over the edge or be eaten by sea monsters that lurk in the colorless waves. I walk out to the dock. I can hear them. I can hear them as they slither between the waves. What happened to you, Neville Harper? Did you venture out too far? Is that what happened? Damn it, the fire went out while I was at the dock. The building is as cold as a tomb. Cold as a tomb. I shall have to start from scratch. It is cold. Very cold. Why would they put a post office out here? Was it to drive a person crazy? Is that it? Well, I will not succumb to this madness. No, I will surely rise above it. Surely.


I wish I could tell you everybody took it the same way. It would certainly make for a neater story, but, unfortunately, it wouldn’t be true, not in the slightest. See, as much as we would sometimes prefer to deny it, each and every single one of us is different, and to pretend that the humankind’s reaction to all the world’s clocks having stopped out of the blue was in any way organized, or even unanimous, would be as artificial an invention as the idea of letting one’s life be ruled by clocks in itself was. No, in reality, it was much more complicated. At first, you saw people checking their phones (hardly ever their wrists at that point of history) more than usual, as though on the edge of their minds they suspected something was wrong, but since all of them were so removed from the reality surrounding them, their minds swirling around the hectic succession of “I have to do this, I have to do that,” numbers, calculations, complaints, and other seemingly life-defining entities, it took them longer than you might expect to notice that the time, 10:24, did not change at all. It didn’t stay the same for merely a few seconds longer, nor for a minute, not even for hours, as though it were some kind of a glitch. Ultimately, it stayed that way forever, as one is now able to witness for themselves in all the national museums of the world. Anyway, you’d think that this type of people would generally be glad to be rid of the burden of time, of rushing to that myriad of different places, desperately out of their breath, before the clock strikes, say, eleven, but no, with those people, it was the very opposite - they were the ones who panicked the most, and they were the ones who panicked most profoundly, the panic shaking their bones, their worlds, their very beings. Now, you’ll think I’m exaggerating (or you won’t, depends on the degree to which you rely on restrictive regularities in your life, we all do it in one way or another) - I mean, they could still sense the passage of time, right? The sun still moved, the light still changed, and so would, eventually the months and the seasons alter. But the contrary was true - they were utterly and irrevocably lost. What they thought had been confining them, containing their lives and in general tormenting them, was, in fact, a guide to their day-to-day existence, without which they recoiled to the darkness of uncertainty. They were forced to realise that they no longer ate when they were hungry, but, rather, when the clock told them to; they no longer went to sleep when they were tired, but, rather, yes, you guessed it, when the clock told them to, and the same logic, they soon realised, could be applied to next to everything they ever did, including such unmentionable tasks as going to the bathroom. Imagine the horror those people came face to face with when they had to relearn to listen to their bodies, when they felt as helpless as babies, when they could no longer stand the sight of their unchanging phone screen (or laptop, or the TV, or, for that matter, even good old mechanical clocks pointedly not striking all over their hometown), and shielded their eyes from the terror of the still 10:24. Although you could easily attempt to claim that this was the majority reaction to this end of an era, of a world order, even, don’t be so quick to pass judgements just yet, because there were the scientists as well, and oh, was this a field day for them. Figuring out what had happened and how to fix it became the main aim of their very existence. But though they all agreed upon it having something to do with the earth’s magnetic field (don’t ask me what exactly it was, I may try to explain, but I’ll definitely fail miserably and in the end just waste precious time of mine as well of yours, and as we have learned, time’s nothing to be taken for granted, nor is it a mere joke, this is serious, people, okay?), they simply didn’t manage to fix it. That did a number on their self-esteems, too, although some kept trying for years, for which I applaud them heartily, because at that point people have already accepted a new world order and if somebody did manage to construct a clock (or, would it have a different name already?) that would actually work, would probably only get a few hesitant smiles and shrugs, but, the dedication to a cause was surely appreciated. Still, the longer they spent on trying to fix the problem, the longer they kept losing and the harder it was to simply let it go, move on to another problem, though there was plenty to solve. Of course, there were those who were happy, elated even. It all made for quite a nice experiment, and to watch the humankind crumble and attempt to build itself up was an exceptionally special opportunity that was absolutely not to be wasted. Sociologists thrived (although to ask people for an appointment at 1pm was no longer possible, so they, too, did run into some difficulties, but they mostly liked to attempt to use that for their research as well). They surely did milk it out as you can see by the number of studies published in the years following this life-changing catastrophe (and this is not to say that they weren’t of value, that they weren’t helpful, don’t go thinking that, but in one way or another, this was a welcome opportunity for them). Therapists and psychologists (at that point already overwhelmingly required) were wholly flooded by masses of people seeking aid in navigating the New World, but as a collective, they were less happy about the increase of their work. They were more compassionate, perhaps (as they, in all honesty, ought to have been). You certainly didn’t get a sense they viewed the people coming in as mere objects to be measured (even if you’d probably find some less admirable exceptions to this trend). Then there were those people, mostly philosophers and students of the arts (of literature in particular, if I’m being 100% honest with you), who were interested to see what happens when objective time disappears and subjective time takes over (supposing that subjective time was not always in its own way dominant, which many of them would tell you it was, because what are people composed of if not of memories of the past and imaginings of the future, what are they if not flailing through time haphazardly and fluidly - they certainly do not live mechanically and mathematically, although these entities do keep imposing their presence on all of us). These were the people who tried to make sense of it all artistically, to put into words what most people couldn’t and so relieve them of their burdens. In fact, how many books were written about this period of transition to time after clocks you can probably see for yourself, which is what makes this little introduction of mine feel so superfluous, but a part of me thinks it needs to be done, to, you know, fix the image of the time a little bit since it’s now being written about by those who didn’t live through it at all, and you’ll excuse me if I say your ideas are getting increasingly distorted, starting with the notion that all of humankind simply lost it. Some did, yes, but not all, and I thought we were past generalisations. And this may be my last chance to make a statement of this kind, so here we go. Everybody was as different as they are now, and everybody was differently dependent on clocks per se. I personally didn’t notice what happened for a day or so, because well, I was busy camping and falling in love and stuff and I thought I may get rid of digital devices altogether anyway because, well, my friend told me it worked wonders for her (of course, at that point I didn’t know even analog clocks would betray me). And for some reason, all I felt when I found out was relief, that thing that most people hoped for, but it never came. But maybe relief is too big a word, maybe I was just indifferent - world without clocks or world with clocks, I didn’t see such a difference after all. Perhaps this is what’s lacking in today’s accounts of how the world changed and how people lived without those little displays measuring the speed of their lives which, in turn, measured their worth - it’s that we kept going on, although in singular ways. You wouldn’t be here if it were such a catastrophe, would you now? But however they adjusted, it was another change, transformation, anarchy on the part of technology, probably. So, please, whatever you believe, don’t go thinking the reaction of the humankind was unanimously devastated or unanimously ecstatic. No, don’t go thinking that. It all went much, much deeper. But perhaps you’ve grown tired of my preaching already. Have you?


Find the best light and tilt your chin upwards. Look directly at the camera lens on your phone, then smile. But not a big smile - A smile that says I know you wish you were me. Most people find taking selfies awkward, but it was second nature to Cissy. It was her livelihood, and she was good - very good. Cissy was a social media influencer - a mega influencer - who had built up millions of followers on Instagram, TikTok and YouTube, and her followers were like a cult, blindly following every recommendation. Being an influencer was a very lucrative business and Cissy was ruthless. When she wanted something, she would network like a poverty-stricken beauty queen in a room full of rich, old men. Despite this killer instinct, Cissy looked like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. Her figure was sleek and strong without being muscular, and every part of Cissy was primped and preened; from her platinum bob to her French polished toenails. Her image was her brand, and it was perfection. It was an average mega-influencer type of day. Cissy had posted her vlog for the morning; a GRWM 1 reel sponsored by a high-end fashion brand. The response had been amazing, and she knew the brand’s marketing department would be pleased. It also meant her asking price would go up. A win-win, and all thanks to her. Cissy was reading her DMs 2 after the post and noted the up-and-coming male model who had slid in. He knew some of the people she knew (of course he did - she knew everyone who was worth knowing) and wanted to ‘catch up and hang’. ‘Maybe next time, loser’, she thought, ‘if you have to chase me then I’m already bored.’ Ekko, Cissy’s old school friend and PA, bustled into Cissy’s bedroom. Ekko was like a creamy custard tart; round and messy on the outside but sweet and thoughtful on the inside. She had idolised Cissy since school, however Cissy had ulterior motives from the start. Cissy wasn’t popular at school but that was because teenaged girls were shallow and jealous. The only reason she was crowned Prom Queen was because Ekko was friends with everyone. Was it her fault that they were all so mediocre? Nevertheless, as loathe as she was to admit it, Cissy was completely reliant on Ekko, to do her dirty work. “Good morning, Cissy”, chimed Ekko in a sing song voice. “You’ve got that right”, said Cissy triumphantly, “I’ve got a few thousand new followers with that crap the brand sent over.” Cissy smirked to herself as she continued. “Make sure we get the views and the sales figures from this post. I want them to know what a difference I make.” “Sure”, chirped Ekko, “Okay, you have a few appointments today; the stylist wants to show you a few looks they’ve pulled for your appearance tonight and your trainer said he can add the extra Pilates session later this week, just like you asked.” Cissy inspected her nails. The chic French manicure with a slice of deep navy across the top would need a touch up soon. “Ohh” Ekko spluttered, “I almost forgot! So exciting! You know that new resort that opened in the Maldives? Well, they want to pay you to visit and post some content for them. Do you think you’ll have time? It would be so cool - I’ve always wanted to go there!” Cissy rolled over in her linen sheets towards Ekko and stared at her coolly. “Hmmm, is that really necessary? I’m not sure that your body is (Cissy used air quotes) Maldives-ready. It could take some prep work for you to be comfortable in a bikini. Honestly, I’m only thinking of you and want you to feel great, and I’m not sure you would.” Ekko slumped, her round shoulders swallowing up her neck. Ekko was so easy to manipulate that it was barely sport for Cissy. Cissy knew that comparisons would ensure she was always unquestionably, the most beautiful. But she also knew that she had to be cautious not to become less desirable by association. Cissy hoped that people saw the generosity she showed a poor little thing like Ekko, simply by allowing her to orbit in Cissy’s universe. “Oh, okay, well, you’re right of course, perhaps I don’t need to be there,” Ekko sulked, “but do you have someone who will sort things out for you at the resort? I’d be happy to try and arrange everything from here, but I just don’t think I could be on top of everything, being so far away.” Cissy paused, tilted her head and tucked her manicured hand under her chin, as if there was a shot being taken of her looking “pensive”. ‘I’ll have to remember this pose’, she thought, ‘it could be good for my post next week on self-affirmation’. “Oh look, I suppose you could come” Cissy sighed, “there’s too much for me to arrange, and I’ll be busy trying to make sure that resort looks as good as it can. God knows, they could do with my help.” Ekko squealed as she spun around and ran out the door. “I’ll get right onto it now”, Ekko shouted as she bustled down the hallway. Cissy leaned back on her pillows and sighed with a smirk on her face. Aquamarine blue water, glaringly brilliant sand and sparkling sunshine - this would be perfectly on brand for her. She would post content of herself lounging on a rope hammock at sunset, and long, slow shots of her oily lean limbs being massaged. All while her followers were shivering in their sodden winter clothes, hating their miserable lives and living vicariously through her. Yes, this was a great idea. When Cissy arrived at the resort, there were some “issues”. The food upset her digestive system, however her stomach became flatter and her thighs were slimmer, which was great for those bikini shots - lots of thigh gap and jutting hip bones. When she got slightly sunburnt, she simply used the photo filters and adjusted the saturation of her reddened skin to a deep olive glow. Cissy posted lots of ‘solo’ reels on the beach (with Ekko following her and filming), showing Cissy emerge from the water like a modern-day mermaid, glistening water running down her burnished back. The posts were an unbelievable success. Cissy’s followers increased exponentially, and her DMs were blowing up with pokes 3 from A list celebrities. She was pursued by major players in the lifestyle and beauty industries, with offers that made her manager scream and cheer down the phone from the other side of the world. Life was perfect. On the last day, during their morning catch up over breakfast, Cissy and Ekko went through the figures and planned the final shoot. Cissy’s floating tray of delicacies bobbed around the private pool as she poked slices of tropical fruit into her mouth. Ekko sat on a chair at the edge of the pool, slick with sweat from the heat. Ekko studiously scrolled through the messages on her phone. “Oo, Cissy - the resort manager has offered us a sail on the resort yacht, and I think this might be a great opportunity to show the reef around the island”, Ekko said excitedly. “God no, I’m not here for the environment” scowled Cissy. “Where’s the hotness? My followers are not worried about the stupid fish!” “Oh no” stuttered Ekko, “I mean it would be perfect to show some full-length shots of you swimming underwater in that neon bikini you have.” Cissy stretched her lithe limbs out and admired the way they glimmered through the dappled water. “I suppose you’re right” she sighed, “okay, well, let them know I’ll do it. But not too early - I need my beauty sleep.” The yacht glowed in the bright sun, stretched out along the bleached marina. As Cissy and Ekko boarded, Cissy imagined reels with long, smooth dives overboard into the turquoise waters (good for a full-body action shot) and of her swimming below the ocean with sea life (the water would make her thigh muscles ripple as she kicked). The journey to the reef seemed to stretch forever and the island faded behind them until it wasn’t even a sliver on the horizon. The crew unfurled the sails which puffed and billowed, capturing the strong breeze. Finally, the deep sapphire of the water lightened to a topaz blue, and the captain set anchor. The increasing gusts of wind unsettled the water, creating small caps of white foam on the edges of the waves. “This is it”, said the captain, “it’s the best spot for sea life. If we’re lucky you might even see some sharks.” Cissy swung around and glared at him. “Reef sharks, of course” the captain continued with a chuckle, “perfectly harmless and very well fed.” He winked at Cissy, but it didn’t appease her. Determined to create the content she needed, Cissy began to wrangle on the bright coloured goggles and snorkel and struggled to pull on her flippers. She snapped at Ekko to avoid headshots and keep the focus on her body. The boat kept leaning and yawning in the unpredictable waves. Ekko balanced on the rolling deck with her legs apart, focusing her phone on Cissy. Cissy leant over the side and looked below into the cool depths. To others, it looked like she was watching the fish below the surface, weaving around the keel. But Cissy was distracted by the perfection of her silhouette, reflected on the choppy water surface. The angle of the afternoon sun meant her shadow was taller and slimmer than in reality, and despite the churning waves muddying any definition of her shape, she knew she was ideally proportioned in real life. That’s why everyone wanted to be her - she was flawless in every way. Cissy pulled herself to the back of the yacht and held onto the metal rail as she steadied herself, ready to jump into the water below. Suddenly a wave lifted the bow and the yacht lurched. Cissy slipped and she clutched at the handrail, but her hands were greasy with sun lotion. Her grip slid recklessly along the length of the rail, finally wrenching open at the end and she fell headfirst into the sloppy sea. With a stomach-turning crack against the fibreglass keel, Cissy shattered her perfectly shaped skull. The hard smack of the impact was followed by a quiet, soft dullness. Cissy’s body sank lower and lower, into the depths. Her final thought was pathetically typical, as Cissy’s mind dissolved into the salty water around her. ‘Ekko had better be filming this - nothing gets more views than tragedy.’ A crimson cloud of blood slowly enveloped her as sharks hovered ominously, swimming in ever smaller circles. -The End - 1 GRWM is a ‘get ready with me’ reel on social media where influencers film themselves getting dressed or applying makeup in preparation to ‘go out’. Always staged and often sponsored. 2 DM: Abbreviation for ‘Direct Message’, private texts/messages between the person who uploaded the post and an approved follower. 3 Poke: A DM/message or a reaction to a post from a follower.


The whistling sounds emanating against the window resounded through the corridors. Even though she walked with padded footsteps, the loose floorboard under her feet croaked suddenly and, her breath hitched for a moment. After looking around to see if anyone was awoken by the noise, she again sauntered towards the main chamber to check on Mr. Charles. Erna released a sigh of relief as she glanced at the man entering his older adulthood, sleeping peacefully. Unlike most of the time, on that night his visage was calm and serene. His aged frame was not shivering of fear but due to the cold gusts of winds penetrating through the gaps in between the ventilating windows. Erna tiptoed to the window frame and shut the panes with a thud. A whimper passed between the lips of her husband and, she turned around abruptly, only to find him still sleeping peacefully. She trudged towards his figure with a small smile and engulfed his frame in a duvet before reclining on her side of the bed. Eyes drooping of exhaustion, she caught one last glance of the sleeping man as she enveloped herself in her own sheets and entered the realm of her dreams. - A man in his mid-fifties was strolling along the trampled trail, his back facing her and his frame enveloped in track pants and a white t-shirt. Erna squinted her eyes as she tried to discern the outline of the frame under the dim moonlight. The small bald patch on the back of his head caught her sight and she sprinted forward to call out to him. "Edmund! Edmund! Right here!" she waved her hands back and forth, repeatedly to grab his attention. Mr. Charles turned about to find her wife, Erna, standing upright a few feet away from her. He gave her a rueful smile as she got frustrated due to his sudden melancholic behavior. As Edmund beckoned her to trudge towards him, she noticed a white light radiating from his frame. She took a step in his direction and his smile widened, betokening her to continue to do so. Erna gathered all her confidence and will and reached out her hand to hold his. As his palm came in touch with hers, she shuddered due to the sudden and unfamiliar coldness. She glanced at him again. "Why are your hands so cold?" He again gave her a pitiful, weak smile. "And what's with those smiles? You know, I have had them for the forthcoming ten lifetimes in the past twenty-two years." Erna forewarned as she glared at him. Edmund broke into a peal of laughter, amused at her wife's grimace. He imperceptibly patted her shoulders and she slackened immediately to find him back in his usual demeanor as her hazel orbs now wandered around to recognize her strange surroundings. She ascertained herself standing in the middle of what looked like a clearing in an unknown forest. Green shrubbery and trees surrounded her from all sides as the shrill hooting of the owl reverberated through the area. She hesitantly left the warmth of his hands as she plodded towards the sound of low, cascading water, originating from somewhere in between the huge trunks. Before she could move any further, the huge figure of Edmund Charles hovered over her small frame, arms draping around her shoulder. "I'll escort you there." "Where?" Erna inquired, utterly perplexed. "You'll see." He clutched her hands again and motioned her to follow his lead. She soundlessly trudged behind him for a few minutes as the only sound that could be heard at a distance was that of the rustling of dry leaves and the faint murmur of water. A thousand visions passed in front of her eyes and she could only envision what was the thing of so much significance that made his husband travel all the way down to the middle of the jungle. "Earth to Erna, are you dying on me?" Edmund chortled at his own words but abruptly opted a grim expression on observing the bemused expression of her face. "No, I am not. Not now, not ever." she retorted back. Edmund's face broke into a gleeful smile as he conjectured the concealed meaning behind her words. "We're here!" he announced softly. Erna turned her head to espy the scenery as a gasp of astonishment escaped her lips. She rummaged her brain to find the familiar image embedded in her wits and then it clicked. "The fall!" she shrieked. Edmund nodded dubiously in her direction as his orbs traveled back to the breathtaking picture painted by God himself. There stood in front of them, a gigantic and colossal waterfall as the water tumbled down along with the boulders, accentuating its waves, and the watercress rooted in the river bed danced along with the wind. The water descended with white foam originating at its edge and the river-water reflected the subtle white moonlight. The trees surrounded the stream as if shielding it against all harm from the outer world. Erna reminisced the picture she had seen in his personal album. It was of the same waterfall. "This is the Lake of Zion. Dew named it." Erna was startled at the sudden piece of information provided to her. "W-What? What do you mean?" "I have had enough of this life, Erna. When she was here, I wasn't. Now, when I want her to be here, she cannot." "Erna D'Maryne Charles, I regret marrying you sometimes. Not that I don't love you but because of me, you had to opt for that boring last name that my family had been cursed with." She gawked at him in skepticism as Edmund broke into a peal of laughter. Realizing that she wasn't up for witticism, he shut his mouth for the 'greater good.' "And...no. No, I am not leaving you. Not now, not ever." He returned her own words with a small smile and her eyes widened in cognizance. - "No!" Erna woke up astounded to find her frame sprawled on the bed. Sweat dripping down her forehead, her eyes frantically traveled around her chamber, seeking her husband. This wasn't her usual paracosmic dream. It felt too... realistic to be just an illusory dream. She glanced at Edmund once again before placing her palm on his forehead, only to bring it back perturbed. To say he was cold, was an understatement though, his face was still serene. "Lucy! David!" she called out to her housemaid and personal doctor. Frenzied footsteps were heard along with the creaking of the wobbly floorboards and, the door swiftly flew open to unveil a middle-aged woman and a man in his early thirties. "W-what happened?" David asked in between his gasps of air. "It's E-Edmund... he is not reacting." their eyes widened at Erna's words as they scurried towards the bed in the chamber. David remained speechless for a few minutes as he examined the sleeping man for any cynical symptoms but found none. "It's probably the sedatives present in the antibiotics, Erna. He is absolutely fine." She gulped down her own saliva before responding to his words. "He's n-not. I had a vision. Or I thought it was a paracosmic vision. B-But it felt t-too real." "But you know that, Erna. You have had those dreams since childhood and..." Lucy's voice trailed off as Erna abruptly shrieked at them. "I know it wasn't! I had a premonition! He mentioned that he wanted to see Dew again and was going to leave me again...soon..." she croaked as she tried to muffle her sobs. They shut their eyes at her words. It was Dew. All over again. Dew Charles was the only little sister of Edmund Charles. She was everything he could ask for. A little angel that subsisted only for him. She was the one who discovered the Fall of Zion, veiled by the thousands of trees and boulders slouched in the green forest. It was her own sanctuary, her innoxious place. But she wasn't blessed enough to see it with her own orbs. Yes. She was purblind. But Edmund became her pair of eyes she never owned. His words did magic to the visions she created in her brain. It was just another usual day. Edmund and Dew were sitting on the boulder perched on the riverbank of the stream. Her head was in her brother's lap as he stroked her hair adoringly while her hands were moving constantly engraving something on the boulder with a sharp stone. At first, Edmund took no notice of it but when the ear-splitting sound of scratching the stone became louder, he couldn't keep his patience and grasped her wrist to restrict her from doing so. As soon as he caught sight of the engravings in the boulder, his eyes widened in astonishment. Her blind sister had carved a sketch of a boy, crouching in a corner, his head reposing on his knees. "Dew! H-How ??" "What, Ed?" "H-How in the name of holy l-lord did you picture this? The boy?" A gasp of surprise passed in between her lips as Dew turned to view the direction from where her brother's voice reverberated. "That's it! I've got the name! Thanks, Ed. You're the best!" Edmund looked at her in bewilderment as she pranced along the trampled foot trails and suddenly turned about to face him again. "And yes, I guess that's you..." her voice drawled on. "I've always attempted to envisage what would you look like, but of course, I am not sure..." her head drooped disappointed in herself. Edmund smiled at her innocent and cherished words. "It's perfect. I will always look what you imagine me to be like... be it a chipmunk." Dew's sweet laughter was like the chiming of bells to his ears. After what seemed like an eternity, she eventually calmed down and inhaled a deep breath to intake the floating fragrance of the oozing mud. "Hey, Ed?" she called out as she inched closer to him. "Hmm?" "Do you think it is okay for me to ramble for a while around the 'Zion'?" she asked him falteringly. "Yeah, that's perf-What? No! No! Absolutely not! What if you get lost and- " His words were cut off mid-sentence when a pair of padded footsteps caught his ears and he took a glance at Dew getting lost in the shrubs. "Dew Charles! Get back here right now!" he scowled. "I'll see you in a few, Ed!" she smiled cheekily in his direction before sprinting away. Edmund let out a huff of exasperation as he perched upon a log of wood lying near the riverbank, waiting for her little ball of happiness. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Half an hour. Three hours had passed. Still no sign of her. Edmund was agitated as he stood upright and looked around for Dew for the rest of the night. He was clueless as to what had happened to her. Nobody knew where she went or what had she met on the way to never return back. A month had passed. Six months. A year... Forty-two years. Even forty-two years were not adequate for him to overcome the sudden loss of his beloved sister. The Police force had terminated the case after six months of its commencement. But there still lay a ray of hope that maybe, she was alive. Maybe she would reappear again. And it was then, Erna realized the meaning behind his words. He was never going to leave her. Because he had no intention of returning home. Which meant... "No!" Erna bellowed. "No! No! No! Don't do this! Edmund, Don't do this! Don't leave me alone! Don't die on me, Edmund!" her voice resounded through the mansion. Her head was swirling. Her breath was becoming slow. Everything around her was black. A muffled voice jolted her back into reality. "Erna!" Her bloodshot eyes flew open as she recognized the voice that belonged to Lucy. She turned to face her frantically. "He's going! He's going! HE'S GOING TO LEAVE ME! DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND!" Lucy and David were baffled at her sudden change of demeanor as they slowly approached her. "Erna, he's alright. It was just a dre-" "DON'T YOU DARE SAY IT WAS JUST A DREAM!" she screeched at David. "I need to go to him, I need to find him!" she uttered slowly as she sprinted across the chamber leaving David, Lucy, and his body behind. Upon reaching the garden of their mansion, she sat on the swing, hinged to the soil bed, and shut her teary eyes close to see her husband for the last time. She was sitting on a boulder. A colossal waterfall was running down to meet the edge of the stream as white vapors emanated from it. Two figures emerging from between the bushes caught her sight and she squinted her eyes to see them distinctly. "Erna." A soft voice greeted her. "Nice to meet you." A petite frame of a little girl came close to her and Erna's eyes widened to see Dew standing right in front of her. She still resembled the same as her pictures. A soft smile tugged on her lips as she reached out to her arms and hugged her tightly. A comforting warmth filled her heart upon comprehending the amount of love and endearment radiating from Dew. Erna glanced at the man standing behind them, smiling softly. He was belatedly reunited with his sister. "Edmund," Erna beckoned him to come forward. She held out her hand for him and he pulled her into a heart-warming embrace. "Erna, Why are you here?" he whispered in her ears. She broke apart from him and looked into his deep blue eyes, stained with tears as she responded, "When the last ray of light had given up on me, You broke my shell to bring me to the shore of sea. And we sit together, hands immersed in the sand, For years to come, breathing on the lonely land." -Swasti Jain


My old man is a lone locksmith who was locked in his own loneliness. His remaining days and monotonous nights are spent by dancing in the shadow of sadness. For this reason, he made me to keep him company; to have something to hold on to while he continue to exist. But do mind that I am no Pinocchio; because I cannot speak a word to ease his sorrows. Nor be by his side as he stare at the horizon, wondering where does it end or would it ever do. I am merely a tool that has a will birthed from his blue colored heart. And along these lines, he created me with no particular peculiarity nor bewitching beauty. I have none of those remarkable characteristics that may differentiate me from any other keys crafted by his poor, calloused hands. Out of his old wife's cheap wedding ring with his dead daughter's earrings, he forged me altogether. Pleased by the result, (although there is nothing pleasing about my appearance) he tied me on a black cord to hang around his saggy neck. Once in a while, he would hold me and rub me gently on his frequent nostalgic periods. Sometimes, he would remove me from my string only to put me onto his palm, gaping at me until the clock's hand disappeared to the oblivion. His eyes are lacking of emotions; as if it was tired of mirroring his soul. Or perhaps, there wasn't any left to reflect anymore. As the unceasing time passed forth, I started to wonder: what is my purpose? I am a key: a device for opening locks and such, yet I have never been used in accordance to the purpose I serve. What is his intent then for making me? A daily memento of his both deceased wife and daughter? How pathetic it would be if that is so. I am a key, my meaning is to unlock. But why was I not used in the way I should be? With nothing to do, I ponder, and ponder, and ponder why. If I was to be only a remembrance, why reconstruct me into a key? Why not keep the ring and earrings as it is? Do I hold further importance than just being a rusty keepsake of his family? While I continue to seek my significance, eventually his dusk came. One day, he went to his bed, never rising from his slumber ever again. His true and only friend, who is also a good carpenter, found him three days after. He looked at his rigid and cold carcass for hours, as if mourning silently, then left. After a while, he came back with his son, bringing along a casket made from wood at exactly my maker's size. He then instructed his son, a fine young man; to probe my Father's belongings. He on the other hand, groped my old man's body as if finding something on him. He search and search, then finally, his search soon landed on the locksmith's chest, getting a hold of me. My old man is a lone locksmith who was locked in his own loneliness. His remaining days and monotonous nights are spent by dancing in the shadow of sadness. For this reason he made me: a quite common key which opens his coffin. I am his gateway to his long-desired escape: in the arms of death, where his sweethearts in the otherworld awaits. He was freed at last, from his agony he called...life.


It was winter again. Winter was when they came. The respite of autumn had faded. The nights now much longer, the air much colder. New families had moved into the homes of those that had gone. They had heard rumours of the string of disappearances, but had no choice. It was slim pickings for the poor. No one was sure what they were. I peered through the bedroom curtain once, and all that did was confuse me more. Some were bipedal, almost human, while others crawled on all fours. They prowled the streets, hunters searching for prey. All were as dark as shadows. They would come to the door, but I would never open it. They would try to trick you into opening the door. One night, I heard my mother pleading for me to let her in from the other side of the door. She’d been dead for six years. I would hear the screaming of my neighbours as they fell for their tricks. I think it was their screams. I wasn’t sure of anything. It could have been another trick. The news never reported it, the police refused to help. We were the dregs of society, not worth the attention. As long as the shadows stayed out of the cities, the world was happy. Out of sight, out of mind. Was that the deal? Perhaps those in ivory towers had traded the lives of the downtrodden in exchange for safety. It wasn’t much different before the shadows came. We were the ones who scrubbed their toilets, delivered their food, cleaned their cars. Yet all we got were the crumbs from the rich man’s table. We were already slowly dying, the shadows just sped that up. If anything, it was a mercy. I considered this nightly. The purpose of my existence. The struggle of long work days for little pay, the fear of death throughout the winter. What was it all for? What, exactly, was in it for me? Tonight, I was awoken again by a voice at the door. I say awoke, but during winter it wasn’t really sleep. It was impossible to really sleep. The voice was feminine, sultry. I peered through the spyhole and saw the figure of a beautiful woman. Long red hair, full lips. “I know what you are, but I have a proposition.” The shadow grew silent. “I’ll let you in. I’ll accept my fate. But you must keep this form, you must let me have you. My life is nothing but long, drawn out, anguish. I want a single night of ecstasy before I die.” The shadow remained silent for a moment, and then spoke. “I accept.” I unlocked the door. The woman smiled and crossed the threshold. Her eyes were completely black. We kissed. We were already slowly dying, the small pleasures of life a barely palatable distraction from the crushing agony of existence. At least this way it was my choice. At least this way I could embrace the void.


These streets were once the brightest. The neon colors used to blend into the hallow puddles. The shadows of buildings were tall and frightening. Now they stood forlorn as crumbling foundations. As I carefully stepped over broken concrete, I could hear my mother's voice telling me to not do so; and I think she had a point. The darkened sky would howl and cry-- the grey clouds never moving. I think I angered someone with my neglect to superstition. I tried scavenging for life-- a green plant, or a distant scream. My hands were gathering frost, but I kept looking. Who dared look over the wasteland, whistling a tune? Me. I thought I was crazy. In a fleeting moment, I kicked the dust off the ground and screamed profanity at the wind for blowing it in my eyes. I'd try to persuade the trees to grow apples because I was hungry. I was losing the plot. There was an apocalypse inside my mind, and a shattered city in my core. My gut kept rolling the dice, and the voices in my head roared louder with each gamble. My liver took a good beating by sunrise, and my heart never stopped searching for its purpose.


please wait little, it’s heavy precipitation, we will be quick little later” was phone's machine answer. Many times seen outside window, It struck to go to Couriers Office ,send the work to head office ,myself .Whole scenario was dark and dull. Presenting hilarious look.. “Hallo, anybody here ". said little louder ,but no answer . On side of table, an old man lied unconscious ,cash drawer opened wide. Terror took me . Light flashed on windows, It was my car’s lights. “Oh my Gosh, ran out side, my car was missing. some staff members came in haste , picked up old man for side room , doctor examined and half an hour later old man stepped to life.He Episoded, three lads of twenty ,wearing jeans and jacket, taken cash and fled away.” Officer, my car also been taken “wailed me .We had done a haul”oohooooo, the three muggers were great excited about..“Better in disguise.There is no police patrolling yet". Oscar said with great happiness. .” Jaffer,drive carefully, it’s precipitation”, Cried Watson." Don’t worry before dawn we would be far away “.Replied Jaffer heroically.”I’m little worried about old cashier, got hit badly in head,”. Jaffer said little contentedly. , “Be a man, don’t think about him,think about your self, police must be there and would searching us every where .“Added Oscar. Three some Sitting in front seat of the car. “Where is Money bag”?. Watson inquired . "Back seat,” and Oscar jumped back seat to count the cash. Started counting. He screamed” small boy here! “What? “.Both said loudly. Car halt in the woods. Lovely cute little boy, wrapped tightly, presenting a smile.” Hurry up throw him in wood” Oscar yelled .He would be died soon.this is inhuman “.Expressed Watson .”what you have done,stealing money hitting a man, is human act" Oscar said it with great disturbing voice." I have a quick solution, I will shoot him.”.Jaffer barked”.”Ah don’t do that, it’s a cute boy “again Watson interrupted." I think it’s his fate".Oscar angrily said." Nevertheless are you deciding his fate"?. Saying this ,Watson gave him a strong fist.”Ah, you start fighting,police would come in a while and we would be caught .“said Jaffer scarcely .Oscar took out a gun and tried to kill the boy.Watson swiftly jumped towards boy and pushed him other side.Bullet missed." Boy is also cripple, wearing prosthetic”. Pointed Watson.” "you stay with boy we are moving “ saying this they rushed to wards car and drove away. NOW !.....there was a boy ,Watson and the precipitation. Watson saw a dim light in the middle of the woods.He marched towards that way .It was a small hut. Door was ajar. He dared inside. “Watson, I knew you would come!'.'.. ? In the dim light he saw shadow of girl.Watson quickly put the boy on a little bed."Who is there" Watson asked scarcely.” "Julie".Replied came from the dim light."I thought you were no more"Watson getting close and touched her and hugged her tightly in his arms and started kissing his face madly."Are you married ?”Julie asked with severe fright.."No, “Watson replied abruptly." Did you kidnap him ??”Julie inquired frightened."No,no,I just saved his life" “Watson became emotional. “It’s good you are alive, How do you came here" ? Watson became distressed. “My brothers threw me in the river but the old fisherman saved my life, I’m since living with him. “Julie replied sadly.Watson kissed her again ."My life is in doldrums,I won’t take you”.Watson heavy heartedly said. “No, I would go with you, ”Julie’s voice over loaded .Watson agreed but he attained his fate, he also found taking Julie is not wise decision, it’s all endangering.But he picked up boy and Julie accompanied him. I was very perturbed and my husband was also very angry “Those bastdards would kill him and would cut into pieces !“.My husband with a great loud angry voice said. "Why did you bring him ?"he again asked me in anger. “How could I leave him,I thought in little while we would be home.” l answered. What shall I do now.? There is no shelter,the boy is shivering, should go to the police,Splash of ideas were knocking Watson’s mind. Watson decided to go to the police and hand over this boy to them. “What’s your name ? but the boy didn’t answer. How old are you ??”Watson again asked.He with his fingers showed he is six. They smiled with them selves.Julie carried him in her arms but he was very heavy. hold his finger and asked him to take some steps,the boy took some steps and fallen down.Very strange,this boy neither walk nor talk,what kind of life is he carrying .?Julie thought.After a little while sat for rest. It was horrified darkness and didn’t ’know how were they continuing? Watson felt some thing very strong touching body, It was a rail track and due to darkness they couldn’t see the track.Julie was also tired and dozy. . She saw a rail bogey approaching them and some men were running after the bogey. She became swift and pushed Watson to the other side of the track ,she also jumped.Literally, the boogies were all gathered there for auction bid ,next week .One of its bogey slipped down and started rolling. Watson and Julie were indeed very tired and worried. It was nearly dawn, passing through Couriers office ,Police were there, Watson stepped in .All became alert. Watson handed boy to officer .” "Did You kidnap him"? No ,we didn’t know, this boy was lying in the back seat of the car. “Watson replied with confident."Where are the rest two?Officer asked."I don’t know, they left us and ran away."Watson replied simple." Who is she? She is my fiancée found it accidentally”.My husband came close to Watson and gave a blow on his face.” Yes, he is the one”. The old cashier cried. " a great drama being created, to get sympathy from the parents of the boy .How it could be possible that they ran away and You came to hand over the boy to us ”.My husband shrieked badly. On the spur of the moment,boy enchanted towards Watson “Mama, this man been kind to me ,he saw my prosthetic , pity on me,He had saved me from the muggers”. Watson and Julie were just watching him with great amazement. “Excuse me, Lady ,this boy was unable performing normal but now he’s doing perfectly well ”Watson asked very humbly. The lady smiled and replied” Rehearsing from the last twenty days and making him up for the upcoming stage show on Television serial next week ",The kidnapped”. Meantime phone rang, Investigation officer been informed that the two muggers Oscar and Jaffer been killed in an encounter and stolen money recovered .The officer took out handcuff..Julie was very silently watching all the scene. Tears came in her eyes’. I came forward towards Watson and said “Julie is my responsibility till your restoration”. The End. Muggers.


“So, the culprit entered through the kitchen window connecting to the fire escape,” the detective said into his recorder. Bending down, he examined the broken glass scattered around the worn wooden floor. The crime scene photographer placed a numbered card near the evidence and flashed a picture. The detective waved for the young man to follow behind him as he walked throughout the small apartment, taking note of any disturbances. A petite woman sat on a floral sofa in the living room nearby, watching them move around her home. It happened in the early hours of the morning when she heard the glass breaking from her bedroom. Sitting up in bed, she went out to investigate to discover someone had broken in. The last thing she did was call the cops, who took their sweet time getting out to her Brooklyn apartment. “Do you think it was someone she knew?” she heard the photographer say from the bedroom. She liked him. He seemed sweet, innocent almost. The detective simply called him Rookie, so she hadn’t caught his actual name. “Nah,” the detective drawled. “That’s not what she said when she called. If it was an ex-lover or friend, that would’ve been the first thing out of her mouth.” She stood from her seat and walked over to the doorframe. Leaning against it, she followed their movements around the bed as she heard the camera's shutter go off from different angles. A tear rolled down her cheek as she wiped it away, sniffing. They paid her no mind as they continued. Rookie shook his head with a sigh. “She couldn’t be much older than my little sister.” “You have to learn to compartmentalize it all. It doesn’t surprise me she was a target. A single woman living alone in the rough part of town. Easy kill.” The latex snapped as he pulled it over his thick wrist. Lifting the edge of the soiled blanket, he clicked on a UV light, searching for hairs. She sobbed softly in the corner of the room, unable to speak. “Did she have family?” Rookie asked, taking his final photo. The detective picked up a framed picture on her nightstand of her smiling with her ex-girlfriend, Lizzie. They would find out that Lizzie had broken up with her almost a year ago, and she didn’t have the heart to rid herself of her presence. She hadn’t slept well since she left--and now, it didn’t matter. The detective sat it back down. “We’ll go through her personal items: laptop, phone, wallet. I’m sure there was someone she talked to, like a coworker or neighbor. Between you and me, it doesn’t look like anyone’s looking for her. Rookie frowned. “That doesn’t mean she’s not important.” “I know.” The words escaped the detective’s lips as a raspy breath. The atmosphere was somber as she finally gained the courage to walk over to the bed where her mangled body lay as the pair talked about her as if she wasn’t there. Her body was cold, bruised, and broken. The detective had done the decent thing and closed her eyes after the initial body shot. He mentioned that the Catholic side of him couldn’t let the little things like that go. She knew it was his pity even though she was appreciative of the gesture. Rookie and the detective left the room, having gathered all that they required to keep her case open for the next week until they closed it. She wasn’t hopeful that they’d find the person who did this to her. It was obvious from their discussion that the best they could do was notify anyone close to her about her passing. It was the best she could hope for. She walked over to the bed and knelt by the edge, reaching out towards her stiff body before snatching her hand away. Falling beside her bed, she pulled her knees to her chest and rocked herself as sobs racked her body. While there was no pain, her sadness was palpable in the air of the tiny apartment--a coldness that pierced any soul that dared to wander into her domain. Through puffy eyes, she peered at the picture on her nightstand. As she tried to pick it up, her hand passed through the object and floated down beside her. She knew she should’ve locked herself in her bathroom. Maybe then she could’ve gotten away or fought long enough until the cops arrived. Pushing herself up from the floor, she wrapped her sweater around herself and headed back into the kitchen. Gasping, panic filled her being as she flung herself towards the window that was once simply broken glass. In its place were bricks, keeping her from the outside world. Spinning around, she dashed from room to room, realizing that she was trapped in the last place she would ever physically know. The door to the apartment opened as her mother, and Lizzie carried in boxes. Glancing around her living room, she noticed the layer of thick dust that had settled across the coffee table. Rushing towards Lizzie, she opened her mouth, but the words she so desperately wanted to say wouldn’t come. Lizzie blinked as strands of her ebony hair fluttered past her face. “Is the air conditioner still on?” “We shut it off months ago after...well,” her mother answered, tears welling in her eyes. “Let’s get started with packing this up. The new family moving in here needs it out by next week.” “Mom,” she managed to finally say. Her mother turned in her direction but seemed to look past her. Lizzie walked over to the nightstand and picked up the photo. She walked over to her, wondering why she was there after their fight so long ago. A single tear rolled down Lizzie’s cheek as she sucked in a shaky breath, rubbing her thumb along her picture. “I miss you. Please, be at peace.” Lizzie clutched the photo to her chest as she watched her mother place a hand on Lizzie’s shoulder. The two women hugged each other as she felt a warm ray of sunlight hit her back. The bricks over the windows had given way, beckoning to her to come forward to make her final escape. She glanced over her shoulder one last time as the light drew her in, allowing her to finally be free.


She'd been there for me since I turned sixteen. I was younger then, physically that much is obvious, but I was a younger spirit too. I didn't know what it felt like to breathe another person's air in, and I couldn't have known what it was like for someone to spit yours back in your face. I was only sixteen, and anything was possible, and she was my ticket to all those possibilities, to a life yet unknown. Carmen, my sister had named her, it was only proper that I addressed her by the same name once she had become mine. I'm the type who doesn't like changing the name of his pets if they've already been given one, I don't see why cars should be any different. Hell, I'd hate it if someone started calling me by something stupid one of these days for no good reason. But, I guess there's no harm in a nickname - still, she remained Carmen to me. In my youth I had mistreated her, as most youth do with most things they don't understand the value in. Tools were tools to me, and relationships were relationships, and my mother's fascination with dolls and furniture had pushed me even further away from subjectifying objects. I drove her too hard, I let my friends blast their shitty music at full volume through her speakers - I paid quickly for that one, poor Carmen never sounded the same after that first summer I had her. It didn't take long for her health to start to fade, she was an older girl, but she had been properly taken care of before me. Her brakes went out, her oil turned to slop, and later on, she'd punish me especially harshly by taking away her cooling capabilities from me - a sentence too cruel to be served in Texas, regardless of the crime. I learned a lot from her though - every time she'd let me know something was wrong, I learned how to fix it. She taught me to be attentive, to listen to every bad breath she'd heave, to feel for when her shoes would start to hurt in the wrong ways. I didn't become a mechanic by any means, but I was well beyond oil changes and brake swaps by my second year. By the end of her life, I'd fixed her bumper, given her cleaner headlamps, replaced the power window assembly on three of her four doors, you could definitely say we were well acquainted. That's what I think does it to me, now in our twilight together, she's not just a car to me anymore. I don't think she'd just been a car when I got her either, but now I know the difference. A car can take you places, a car has nice features and big cup holders and vents for the rear, but a car is just a means to an end, no more romantic than a high-tech wagon. Carmen was something else, Carmen was something to hang out with - I learned that on one of the many drives between college and my hometown. I learned it more deeply later on, on the drives I'd make to and from nowhere: excuses to hang out with Carmen. I remember the wind she cupped perfectly into my hair as I drove her on, the way she'd hum and purr beneath my feet so gently. I remember what it felt like when we were in our prime together. But, Carmen is an older woman - younger than me, but old in her years. Eventually, the years caught up to her; fixing her became more of a hassle, and made hanging out with her feel like something tedious. Her health got worse and worse over the years, and by the time I could start affording to give her the attention she needed, it was plain to see that we had outgrown one another. As she sits now, lonely and unattended to for far too long, a fixture in my garage, I wonder what to do with her. I love her, and I know she loves me, but the love is different now - love for a long lost past we shared. So, when I asked her this morning, it didn't surprise me that she accepted my offer - it almost felt like she had been waiting for this moment too. Carmen's moving on. She became far too costly for anyone who didn't understand her worth to sign up for; but, I found a service that lets me free her, one that lets me give her away. I don't know what'll happen to her once they take her, but I know what would happen if she stays. I hope they give her to somebody who can appreciate her, some one who can learn to love her flaws that make her unique. I hope they fix her up before they do, give her the makeover she so desperately deserves. But, I know they could just as well turn around and discard her at the nearest salvage yard. How many pieces of silver would she be worth for her flesh alone? I don't know what will happen to her if she goes - but I think that's just life; all I can do is hope. But, if there's one thing she's taught me: it's not about where she stops, but about the drive that got her there in the first place. I'll miss you, Carmen.