‘Alarston is the second of the twin cities, built by Emperor Alar back in the first age. The tale goes it was a gift to his son. An entire City for your birthday, can you imagine that?’ Said Chadwick with a shake of his head. ‘Some call it grand, I’d say it was madness!’ ‘Aye.’ Replied Luthar, not really listening to the history lesson. Since the fracas at the mill, Chadwick had been a lot more talkative, and kept giving these little talks about this and that. But today, Luthar couldn’t concentrate on what he was saying. There was a dark cloud hanging over him, like some important task left undone, but what it was, he couldn’t fathom. The night before the two of them, along with Ezekiel, Flint and Garrett, had stayed in a very well to do inn on the western edge of the city, with comforts such as feather beds and a cooked breakfast. Even a night of luxury couldn’t dispel his uneasy feeling, or prevent him waking in the night, fearful of unforeseen dangers. Ever since they’d started out that morning Luthar fought his own mind to free himself of his torment, yet it clung to him like persistent sickness, spreading to every recess of his soul. It was late morning when they’d left the high walls of Alarston behind and begun their ride along the road West to the first twin city, Alargoth, the birthplace of the long-dead Alaran Empire. To the left of the road lay Alarston Orchards, famous for their cider apples. To the right, just forest as far as the eye could see. Dark green leaves blocked sunlight from falling through the trees, casting pitch black shadows amongst the trunks, easy places for the mountain folk to hide if they should dare to venture this far south. Shuddering at the thought, Luthar diverted his gaze back to the road and thought of what he wanted to do after his promotion. Chadwick continued to educate Flint and Garrett on the history of the twin cities, however Ezekiel slowed down to ride next to Luthar. ‘All ok Luthar?’ he asked. ‘Do you ever get the feeling something’s not right? I can’t place it, but it’s been eating away at me since we reached Alarston.’ Ezekiel turned and looked at him, studying his emotions, grey eyes beating on him, like a hammer forging steel. ‘Don’t let your gut rule your mind. You need to be here in the moment, focused on the task in hand, not elsewhere pondering on things that might not come to pass.’ Ezekiel wasn’t scolding him, but his words came firm, leaving Luthar in no doubt that he should concentrate on what was in front of him, not on something yet unseen or unheard. The party set a quick pace for two days and nights until they reached the river crossing at Highgate, a border town between Calladia and Teraditha. They’d travelled in Calladia for nigh on three years, taking work and earning coin where they could, now heading back into Teraditha and riding for the guild felt like returning home. Highgate was a small but prosperous town, ruled by Lord and Lady Hammerton, chiefly earning its gold from taxes levied at the border crossing and wood gathered from the northern forest. Travellers passing were a common sight in the bustling settlement, so no one paid any mind to the five warriors on their horses. Chadwick had a particular soft spot for the place after his victory in the lists here, some five years past. As they walked down the main road to the square, Luthar cast his eyes over the wooden buildings, three stories tall often as not. Candles were lit inside to defend from the oncoming gloom. One building towered above them all, made of stone with a freshly thatched roof, bursts of raucous laughter could be heard each time the door opened. ‘Here we are lads, The Slumbering Giant Inn. Finest food on the border!’ said Chadwick with a smile. Luthar and Garrett took the horses around the back to the stable before sitting down with Chadwick, Ezekiel and Flint in the bustling common room. The air was thick with pipe smoke and lanterns on the walls gave out a dim glow, aided by a candle on each wooden table. The smell of cooked meats and stews drifted out of the kitchen making Luthar’s stomach growl. Farmers, travellers, and townsfolk all sat together, eating, drinking, and discussing the day’s events. Some played at cards or dice, betting for their companion’s coppers. Ezekiel, as the most senior member of the guild, carried the coin. He spoke to the barkeep briefly and passed over a fistful of silver shillings for a night’s bed and board for each of them, then returned to their table with five mugs of Teraditha’s finest ale. They all took a mouthful, grateful to quench their thirst. ‘What’s next for young Luthar?’ asked Chadwick, ale dripping from his untidy beard onto the table. Luthar took another mouthful of his drink, pondering for a second. ‘I think I’m going to train at the guild for a while, strengthen my arm a bit before taking any work of my own.’ ‘Can’t fault you there lad. There’ll be some tougher nuts out there to crack than them thugs back at the mill. Have you thought about the blade classes?’ ‘The blade classes?’ ‘Ranks given to guild members who show a real skill at arms. Flint here is a Bladehandler, same as me. Then you’ve got Bladefighter, like Ezekiel, then Bladewarrior which isn’t easy to get to, mark my words! Finally, there’s Blademaster, like our illustrious leader, Leyton. Reckon he’s the only one right now. You’ve got what it takes to make it big I reckon. What do you say Ezekiel?’ ‘Agreed. My advice, take or leave it, is to get yourself back to the guild and get as much training in as you can whilst you’re still young. There’s always work around Alargoth so you’ll not need to travel far to pay your keep. Just remember to respect the art though, it’s easy to get a new rank and think you’re the big man. Before you know it, someone’s separated your head from your neck, leaving you to look a fool!’ ‘I’ll do that. What about you Garrett?’ asked Luthar, eager to change the focus of Ezekiel’s hard stare. ‘He’s got a lot to learn still. We’ll be off to the frontier towers next. See if he likes them more than you did Chadwick.’ Said Ezekiel with a smile at Chadwick. Just then their food arrived, beef stew, potatoes and peas covered with a gravy so thick Luthar thought he could stand a spoon up in it. They all tucked in hungrily after the days ride. Luthar felt like it was the best meal he’d ever eaten. After they’d finished the conversation continued, but Luthar drifted again, his feeling of unease returning, greater this time. Something wasn’t right somewhere but he couldn’t guess what to do about it. The laughter of the room assaulted his ears, pipe smoke choked him until he couldn’t catch his breath. Cold sweat was beading on his brow and running down his face. He loosened his shirt and took a gulp of his ale to try and clear his throat to breathe. Suddenly he was falling, down and down into a never-ending black abyss. He awoke in a bed with Chadwick’s black bearded face staring down at him, concern in his eyes. ‘What happened?’ Was all Luthar could manage to say. ‘Seems someone put a little extra in your dinner.’ With this Chadwick stood aside to reveal the scene in the Inn’s bedroom. In the corner of the room, sat in a chair was the barkeep, wrists and ankles bound to a chair. Eyes swollen and shut, mouth and nose bleeding profusely down on to his white shirt. In front of him stood Ezekiel, sleeves rolled up, blood dripping from his hands. He was sweating and breathing heavily, eyes afire with an anger that chilled Luthar’s bones. Flint and Garrett were absent. ‘This weasel was just explaining to us what he put in your beef stew earlier. Still haven’t got to the why yet.’ Said Ezekiel before landing a vicious backhand across the man’s face, sending blood splattering across the wall. He grunted in pain, spitting yet more blood at Ezekiel’s feet. Suddenly three quick knocks on the door stayed Ezekiel’s clenched fist. Chadwick opened it a crack, before stepping back and letting Flint enter. He was dragging a young lad of no more than fourteen by the scruff of his neck. ‘Tell these good gentlemen what you told me if you want to keep your teeth in your mouth.’ Said Flint, meaning every word. ‘Some bloke gave me 10 gold crowns to put it in the dinner meant for him.’ He answered, indicating Luthar with a quivering hand. ‘Which bloke?’ Pressed Flint, giving the youth a shake. ‘A northerner, dark hair, bright blue eyes. Never seen him before, I swear!’ ‘Know his name?’ ‘He didn’t tell me, but I overheard someone call him Maxim or something. Please sir, that’s all I know!’ Flint pulled him closer, nearly nose to nose, gritting his teeth. ‘Why does he want him dead?’ ‘He never said!’ The boy was crying now, clearly no more sense would come from him. Flint opened the door and threw him out unceremoniously, firmly applying his booted foot to the lad’s backside. He slammed the door and turned back to Ezekiel. ‘Well, that sorts that out.’ Said Ezekiel to the room. He turned to the barkeep, still sat bleeding away in his corner. ‘Thanks for your assistance.’ He punched the man clean in the jaw, and his head fell forward onto his chest, he remained still. ‘Let’s get out of here sharpish, I don’t like this.’ Said Chadwick, moving to help Luthar to his feet. ‘Agreed. I know of Maxim, got business of my own with him. No doubt we’ll square up later.’ Said Ezekiel between deep breaths. They made their way downstairs and out to the back yard of the inn, Luthar leaning heavily on Chadwick. Night was breaking and the sky was turning a deep bruised purple, stars just beginning to be snuffed out. Garrett was stood with the horses saddled, ready to go. Behind him a raven-haired young woman dressed all in green was stroking Stepper. ‘How are you feeling Luthar?’ She asked, concern in her eyes. ‘Shaky, but think I’ll live my lady.’ ‘You’ll feel much better tomorrow I assure you. Whoever did this to you didn’t know their measures, the amount they gave you was nowhere near enough to kill you. But nonetheless it was fortunate I was nearby to get a strong antidote down you. You could have been bedridden for days otherwise.’ ‘Thank you, my lady, may I know your name?’ ‘I am Akindra, a friend of Lady Luella whom I believe you already know?’ Luthar had met Lady Luella as a boy, in fact it was her who enabled him to join the warrior’s guild. She’d paid for his journey and his joining fee, a debt he felt he could never repay. ‘I do, my lady. She helped me get to where I am today. A friend of hers is a friend of mine. If there is anything I can do to repay you, please name it.’ ‘It was a pleasure to help you. For now, I only desire your company as I ride to the guild to visit Lady Luella. I look forward to hearing about your work on the journey, I hear you’re quite the swordsman.’ ‘Forgive me my lady, we must make haste. I fear this place isn’t safe for us at present.’ Interjected Ezekiel. ‘Of course, lead the way.’ Replied Akindra, and with one graceful movement she was on her own horse, ready to travel. Chadwick and Garrett helped Luthar climb on to Stepper, his limbs still felt very weak, and his balance hadn’t righted itself. He held the reins tight, doing his best to stay mounted. ‘Don’t worry too much lad, like the lady says, you’ll live.’ Said Chadwick. They set off into the Teradithan morning, eager to get back to the guild before any more dangers reared their head. The light grew stronger as they rode west past Timberwood, over the river, and towards home. ‘Maybe you should listen to your gut a bit more Luthar!’ Said Ezekiel laughing. ‘Let us know if you get any more of your funny feelings.’ ‘Think we’ve got a truth seer in our ranks!’ Replied Chadwick, apparently seeing the funny side now Luthar was recovering.


Preface: these are the contents of a story-esque recurring nightmare that I have every few years. If it doesn't fit here, let me know, but I had it again sleeping in this afternoon and got the idea to post before I forget. I can't handle horror well, so my brain cooks up night terrors to wake me up when it needs water or if my sleep schedule is shifted too far. You arrive at the dark Victorian home. Two stories and broad, wooden siding clattering in the wind, you wonder how such a busted up house could remain standing. It's windows are dark. The lower ones boarded up, much of the upper ones smashed out. "Why the hell do we have to come here," your partner asks. Walking behind you, he is lanky, a head taller than you with sandy brown hair that hangs in his eyes, despitebeing tucked into a hat. You don't even know his name. It doesn't matter, it never did. You just know he's on your side. There's an implicit understanding in everything each of you are doing. You give a vague, noncommittal answer to his question. You don't really know, yourself. You don't remember being called. You just know that the building *should* be empty, but isn't. Your task is to fix that. You don't have any idea what you're going to remove, and that lack of knowing makes you tense and anxious. The half-darkness inside makes you more anxious. There's no light coming in from outside, nor are there fixtures, yet you can see every detail of the stripped interior, from the batting across the studs to the rough wood floor. Those are the only details that surround you. Stripped walls and floor. There are no 'rooms' or 'hallways'. The cieling is a darkness. Though you can see without problems, it's still dark, as though the darkness itself is an invisible gas filling every room that you can sense without sensing it, like a propane leak or the smell of pot. You and your partner begin searching. He's in front of you now, always in sight but not filling your view. You walk, or wander, along the walls and floor. Until you hear it. The single cry of a baby, from somewhere in the darkness. You and your partner look to each other. He asks if you heard the same as him, and you confirm. The baby cries again. The two of you are climbing a stairwell. You reach the top, a narrow landing with a half-wall serving as a railing. There's a door. For the first time, you see actual light around the edges. The baby cries from behind the door. Your partner steps onto the landing and knocks. The door cracks open, and a young Hispanic woman leans her face into view. She's nervous and stressed, but asks pleasantly, "are you here to see the baby?" You look to your partner, and he looks back. You answer in the affirmative. The young woman apologizes, and says only one person can enter for now, and you'll have to switch. She says this is because the room is full enough with the whole family inside. You insist that you both have to enter. Your partner looks at you. What goes unspoken is that you know what you are after is in that room, and you are too scared to go in by yourself, but he doesn't complain. The young woman relents and opens the door, letting both of you in. Your partner is behind you now. You see that the room is full of people, perhaps eight or ten. An old white couple stands out, and the rest are various ages and ethnicities. Even though not all of the people even register in your mind, you know viscerally that they aren't a 'family'. They were all drawn here, and are trapped in a mental cage. The reason why is sitting on the dresser by the window. Atop a blanket in a basket, sits the dessicated corpse of a baby. It's eyes are wide black holes, with veins stretching from them like spider legs. It's mouth, agape and black like it's eyes. It's silent. The young woman says that the baby has been hungry, and they don't know how to feed it. Your partner collapses to the ground behind you. The family cheers, and says that the baby has picked a meal. You are by yourself now, and their prisoner. You don't resist when they take you somewhere else. You are at a candle lit dining table, and the family sits around it as you do. The baby sits at the head of the table. It is still, but it's skin is flushed and moist. Its eyes and mouth are still empty and agape, but you know it is gaining life. Your partner is seated to your right, at the foot of the table. He, on the other hand, is now brown and shriveled, and a third shorter. Somehow, the baby is feeding on him. The family is chatting and laughing around the table, passing dishes that you can't smell. You can only smell the dustiness of the bare wooden walls. You are silent, sullen. You've lost, and your partner is slowly dying. You look to the baby again, as a couple of the women are crowding around it. Suddenly, its neck gives out and the head snaps off, rolling under the table. You jump and start shouting, trying to use the opportunity to verbally beat some sense into your captors. This proves unnecessary, as the spell seems to have broken. Everyone becomes alert, and looks to the floor. A large rat has crawled through the mouth and neck of the baby's head, and is now scampering out of the room with the head riding it. Everyone understands that it must be stopped, and arm themselves with bricks and knives before descending to the basement. Following your lead, they begin wandering the maze like walls and dirt floor of the basement in search of the rat. At one point, you regroup with some others, and you sense the rat approaching. You turn your head, and see the rat and baby's head leap from an eye-level break in the batting onto the face of an 'aunt'. Desperate, it is trying to possess her. Everything moves quickly. The aunt is pushed to the ground, and the rat knocked off of her face. Bricks descend, smashing the hellspawn into the dirt floor. It's done. But the creature's presence hasn't left. It hangs over the group, and you feel that one false move will cause you to carry it out with you, back into the living world. As the paranoia rises to a peak, you wake up. Edit: typos and wrong words used.


For the third time, Reilly’s phone slipped off the table and hit the floor, with a dramatic thud that seemed to say “you failed!” once again. She sighed, picked up the phone, repositioned the selfie circle light attached to it, and checked the timer on the photo setting. Carefully this time, she leaned her phone at an angle she thought would make her face look skinny. She swiped the mode to “Portrait” setting, and mentally prepared herself for her best smile in 3,2,1..... Finally! A picture she can work with. She had been setting up her Facespace account for days, and the picture of herself was the final touch. She had worked meticulously creating her profile. Her hometown was boring, so she filled in a more exciting one several towns over. Her job was nonexistent since she was only 14 and couldn’t drive herself to one, but she filled in “Accountant”. Why not? Seemed like a cool job. And she was getting good at making a perfect account here, so “accountant” was fitting. It took two years for Reilly’s mom to finally agree to let her have her own Facespace account. “You’re too young! You see everyone you know in school anyway!” she’d tell her. Over and over again. Reilly was tired of the same excuse. “Mom. ALL of my friends have had their own accounts for YEARS now! I’m THE most uncool kid in school because you’re so overprotective!” Reilly had argued back. But, to no avail. The answer was always no. Reilly’s mom told her the Internet was a dangerous place and blah blah blah. Reilly knew how to be safe, not give out personal information to strangers, all the things her teachers have been telling her for years. They even had a program at school about “The Dangers of the Internet”, and Officer Richard (who was Gary Richard’s dad), came in and presented an entire PowerPoint presentation on the topic. It took up Reilly’s whole Algebra class so she felt it was definitely worth it. When she went home that day, she told her mom about the program, and promised on her dead goldfish Barry’s grave that she would be safe online. Still, the answer was always no. Until now. Reilly stared at the picture she had just taken. The Portrait mode had blurred the background of her bedroom wall and poster of a kitten with a donut. That was probably a good thing. She made a mental note to get “cool” posters. The picture still wasn’t right. She opened it in another app, PicEnhancer. She set the filter to brighten her skin, darken her eyelashes, and shrink her nose. There. She stared at the new image of herself. Something still seemed off. She saved it, then opened it in another filter a user had created. It was called Moonlight, and gave a darker background, making her face stand out more. The blurred kitten and donut were completely indistinguishable now. Her hair looked lighter against the dark background. Better. Reilly tapped “save”, then saw another filter on the home screen to the app. This one was called Starlet, and made puffy full lips. She adjusted the shade of her lips to a light red, and adjusted the flush of pink on her cheeks. While she was there, she dragged her cheekbones higher. She felt a little giddy with excitement. Her picture was starting to look so amazing! She wondered how many friends would like her picture. And if Nick would comment on it. He said “hey” the other day when they passed in the hall, and Reilly felt her heart begin a gymnastics routine in her chest. She managed a “hey” back, complete with an almost imperceptible head nod of casualness. She was trying to sell the nonchalant acknowledgment of his existence, and in doing so, tripped over nothing just as he rounded the corner. That was a close one. She was finally ready to upload her picture and activate her account. She felt a rush of adrenaline as she uploaded her picture into the Profile Picture spot on the page. Done. Wait. She scrutinized her picture. No. Not good enough yet. Her chin looked ginormous in this photo. She went to another app, FaceErase, and shaved off the bottom part of her chin. In lifting her cheekbones earlier, her chin started to look disproportionally bigger. But now it’s fixed. Only...only now her right ear seems off. With another swipe over her phone, she minimized the size of her ear. That made her eyes look bigger. And that looked so Disney Princess! She swiped again and made her eyes bigger, and changed the color from her boring grayish blue to bright, almost turquoise blue. Just a little more darkening to her lashes and brows, and there! Perfect! Reilly hit “replace” on her profile picture and added the new and improved version of herself. She gazed at her picture, and thought how stunning she looked. She wrote her first post. Then deleted it. Then rewrote it. Then deleted it. She wanted to sound equally cool and unphased by the whole thing. She wanted to avoid sounding like she JUST started an account, even though she did. She thought of something brilliant. “Hey new account here, had to. You know, locked out of my other one. Add me here!” Now people would think she had to start this one because an old one got hacked, and they just didn’t know she had one before. Then the “friend spread” would happen. Facespace would start suggesting her page to friends of friends until she grew her list to a respectable size. If she requested friends, they’d see she was just trying to add after being locked out of her old one which was totally cool. It was starting already! Notifications on her profile picture liking it. Friend requests on her list. And oh! A comment! Reilly clicked her picture and read the first comment. It was from Amy, in her science class. “Gorgeous grrrl!” Reilly smiled. She felt gorgeous. Another comment! “So pretty!” From Megan, who rides the bus with her. Reilly decided she could get used to this. She stared again at her picture and grumbled because it was time to go to school. She’d have to keep her phone in her locker til lunchtime, which would be pretty much an eternity. *** In homeroom, Reilly looked around wondering who saw her new profile picture and account. The first bell rang, and she gathered her books to make her way to English. “Hey. Saw your new Facespace account,” Nick said from somewhere behind her. Reilly turned and immediately turned four shades of red. “Oh! Yeah, I uh, had to make a new one. So annoying,” Reilly said, kicking at a rock that wasn’t there. Obviously, since they were in school. Stop being weird, she told herself. “Yeah, it looks pretty cool. But, I almost didn’t know it was you. I mean, like, the picture and all,” Nick said, his eyes narrowing a bit and seeming to look closely at her. Did he mean he liked her picture? He’s talking to her now, so it definitely got his attention. Maybe he realized how beautiful she was after seeing the new picture she created? “Well, I guess I just wanted to say...you know, the Internet is dangerous, Reilly. You might not like who you see. “You mean ‘what’ you see?” “No. I mean ‘who.’ See you around,” Nick said, as he walked away noticeably shaking his head. Reilly stood there, as the late bell rang. She didn’t go to English, but rather to the bathroom. She stood at the mirror, and looked at her face. At her small eyes. Her big nose. Her short eyelashes and crooked brows. She thought about what everyone else sees when they look at her. Reilly walked to her locker. She took out her phone, and saw she had 52 new notifications from Facespace. She opened the app, went right to settings, and deleted the account. The internet IS dangerous. And maybe not in the way Officer Richard presented.


“We have found the individual behind the rebel organization calling themselves ‘The Flood.’ His name is Miguel. Last name is unknown.” The lights in the small briefing room dimmed as a projector hummed to life. An image appeared on the blank wall behind the Harmony Division Officer. The image was of a man in his late twenties. His black hair was cut short at this nape but left long on top. His clothes were the typical style of civilians: black pants with a white shirt and gray overcoat. If not for the hairstyle, he would pass for any average person on the street. The Officer continued addressing Danika, the only other person in the room. “You have been tasked with infiltrating The Flood, finding Miguel, and gathering as much intel as possible.” The image on the wall changed to an unassuming three-story warehouse. “This is where we believe the next rebel event will take place. Your assignment will begin this evening. Garments have been provided for you.” He indicated a cardboard box sitting on one of the empty desks. Next, he handed her a small tube similar in shape to Chap Stick. “If you need an extraction, press and hold the top for three seconds, and we will send in officers to retrieve you. This is only in case of an emergency. Otherwise, you are on your own. Questions?” Danika pocketed the small device and stood at attention. “No, Sir. I understand.” The Officer nodded and turned to leave. He paused before opening the door to the small briefing room. “Observe, assess, and control.” She repeated the Harmony Division’s doctrine, remaining at attention until the Officer left the room. She grabbed the cardboard box containing her disguise and left. It was time to get ready. ~*~ The pressure of imminent rain hung heavy as Danika walked down the silent industrial road. It was well past evening, and the sound of Danika’s heels echoed down the empty streets. A chill ran up her arms, and she pulled her jacket around her tighter. She felt uncomfortable in the clothes the Division had given her to wear as a disguise. Rather than a customary pant and blouse outfit, she wore long flowing pants made of thin blue silk that billowed as she walked. The fabric wrap she wore to cover her stomach and torso was a darker shade of blue and thankfully thicker than the pants. The cloth clung to her figure, making her feel naked and exposed. She had been provided a thin white shawl to cover her shoulders and exposed collarbone but had opted for her usual black coat. The heels she wore provided as little cover as her clinging blouse. The heels were reasonably short, not much higher than her boots, but the tops of her toes and ankles were open to the elements. It had taken numerous attempts to figure out how to secure the shoes to her feet and legs using the long scraps of material that wrapped up her legs to nearly her knees. The whole ensemble felt unnatural, but she would not question the Division. As she finally approached the storehouse that was The Flood’s current base of operations, she stepped into a side alley and waited. Minutes later, a small group of five individuals approached the building. They wore dark coats that reached down to hover just above the ground and were chatting loudly. Their banter echoed down the street and covered the sound of her steps as she approached them from behind. The group quieted as one knocked at a small door next to the loading bay. The door opened a crack, and someone peered out. The two exchanged a few words that Danika didn’t hear before the door swung open, and the group stepped inside, Danika hot on their heels. The guard must have assumed she was a part of the group, as he didn’t stop her as she followed. She followed the group down a long hallway to another door. This one they opened themselves and excitedly walked through. Her senses were immediately assaulted the moment she stepped through the door. Thumping music blared from every direction, and the base was so deep that she could feel it in her bones. Bright lights strummed and flashed in the otherwise dark space. A sticky heat surrounded her. Whether that heat was from the blinding lights high above or the amount of bodies packed into the space, Danika couldn’t tell. Overwhelmed, Danika didn’t know where to look first. Bars and tables lined the open warehouse on every side, where people crowded together. Bodies moved and writhed on numerous risen platforms throughout the area, including a massive platform in the center that was wider and taller than the rest. At some point, someone had asked for her coat and removed it from her motionless form. Though she felt cooler without the stifling garment, she feared she would stand out like a bright blue beacon. That was not the case, as everyone in the crowd wore an appalling variety of colorful clothes. Dizzy, she managed to stumble to the nearest bar, falling more than sitting on an empty barstool. The man behind the counter, who wore only colorful body paint on his exposed torso, tried to offer her a drink, but she waved him away. She could tell by the sickly sweet and tart smell in the air that the bar served alcohol, which was strictly prohibited. She wondered if the Division already knew and made a mental note to add it to her report. Closing her eyes, Danika took a deep breath, trying to get her rapid heartbeat under control. She silently repeated the Harmony Division doctrine until she could breathe properly. In control of her emotions once again, she looked out over the confusing mass of bodies, lights, and colors. She hadn’t known exactly what to expect the rebel base of operations to look like, but it certainly hadn’t been this. The number of violations she observed in just a few minutes since she had arrived was too numerous to keep track of. After centuries of war and conflict among people, every nation had come together in peace to find a solution to end their differences once and for all. After years of debate and several failed trials, an accord was finally struck. At the root of everything was emotion--rage, hate, greed, lust. Powerful emotions were enough to lead even the most pious of people astray, blinding themselves to logic. As such, a global decision was made to suppress emotions. The mandate took decades to establish and control, finally coming into full effect with the invention of suppressant medication provided to all citizens. The world finally saw a time of peace the likes had never seen before. Without greed, crime vanished. Without rage and hate, disputes were settled with levelheadedness and pragmatism. Despite the global peace, there were still factions who openly opposed the emotional suppression, claiming the act to be against the very nature of humanity. To combat those rebellious factions, the Harmony Division was founded. An elite force of agents trained in combat, negotiation, infiltration, and survival. Their mission was to track down resistance organizations and put an end to the very atrocities Danika observed at that moment. She felt the urge to sneer with disgust at the sight but managed to rear in her emotions quickly, just as she had been trained. She had graduated from the academy at the top of her class, and this place and its influence were already pulling emotion from her. It was no wonder the Division wanted this group, The Flood, to be eradicated as soon as possible. She had successfully infiltrated the establishment, but how was she supposed to find Miguel in this crowd? By some stroke of luck, she was saved from her predicament as the man himself emerged from the crowd and headed directly to the bar and empty space next to her. She watched as he leaned across the bar and shouted to get the naked-torso-man’s attention. They exchanged a few words, and Miguel was handed a bottle of what Danika assumed was alcohol. He glanced at her twice out of the corner of his eye before turning to face her. “Are you alright?” Danika blinked, realizing that she had been staring. She didn’t want to shout over the noise, so instead, she nodded. Miguel didn’t look convinced. “You look a little... overwhelmed. Is it your first time here?” She pushed down her offense at the insinuation that she could not control her emotions. “Yes, this is my first time. I’m not used to all,” she gestured widely at the space, “all this.” He nodded and took a long drink from the bottle. “That’s to be expected. How long have you been clean?” Her brows furrowed. How long had she been clean? Did he mean since her last bath? What an inappropriate question to ask her. He must have noticed her confusion, for he laughed and moved to stand a little closer to avoid having to shout. “I meant, how long has it been since you stopped taking the suppressants?” Her eyes widened with shock. Did everyone here not take their government-mandated suppressants? That explained the blatant disregard for order. “A few days,” she lied. “That’s to be expected then.” His gaze roamed over her then, and she feared for a moment that something was wrong with her disguise. Her heart rate threatened to pick up. She wished she had thought to bring emergency suppressants with her. “Would you like to dance?” “What?” Between the look on his face and the question, she wasn’t sure which confused her more. He was smiling, but it was more than the expected pleasantness. There was more, dare she say it, emotion. “I asked if you’d like to dance. With me.” He took another drink from the bottle, emptying it. A flush colored his cheeks. “I don’t know how to,” she admitted. Dancing wasn’t something people usually did. There was no reason to, as the act had no practical use other than exercise. She knew what dancing was but had no firsthand experience. Miguel’s smile widened, showing white teeth. Before she knew it, he had placed the empty bottle on the counter, grabbed her hand, and pulled her into the writhing mass of bodies. She wanted to protest but was pulled in before she could react. The crowd seemed to part for him, people sending smiles and nods his way, patting him on the shoulder, or waving. He led her through the mob and up the stairs to the massive platform in the center of the warehouse. The music seemed louder here, the vibrations of the bass deeper. A small space opened up around them, and he released her hand. She watched in confusion as he started moving. Everyone around her moved as well, though no one seemed to be in sync, each moving in their own flailing way. Was this dancing? It wasn’t at all what she had thought it was. Her attention was pulled back to Miguel as he laughed. “You weren’t kidding! You really don’t know how to dance!” Her face burned. Was he making fun of her? She had told him she didn’t know how, so what right did he have to be surprised? Before she could voice her frustration, Miguel moved so close that they were practically chest-to-chest. He placed his hands on her waist and gently pushed her side to side. Danika stood ramrod still, unsure of what was happening or how to react appropriately. “Just relax! Follow me, and I’ll show you.” She took a deep breath. So far, she had done an excellent job finding the target, though truthfully, he found her. Now, she needed to get him to talk. And if ‘dancing’ is how she accomplished that, she would dance. Slowly, she relaxed her limbs and allowed the gentle pressure of Miguel’s hands to guide her hips from side to side. “Good! You’re getting it! Now, lift your arms. No, not like that! You look like a zombie. Bend your elbows and let your arms sway with the beat. There you go. Now,” he released her hips and stepped back. “Now you’re dancing.” She felt utterly ridiculous, even more so that he had stopped guiding her. The way her hips and arms moved reminded her of the running chimpanzees she’d seen in a documentary. She was about to stop when Miguel started dancing. She found it was easier if she matched his movements. “You never told me your name,” He shouted. “Danika.” She immediately regretted giving him her real name. She should have made something up. “Beautiful,” he said as he took a step closer. “I’m Miguel.” Heat rose to her cheeks, and she stepped back, hoping that it looked like a part of her dance and less like the retreat it was. “So why all this?” She waved one hand out, again indicating the entire warehouse. He shrugged. “Why not?” “Because it’s against the law,” she deadpanned. “The law?” He scoffed. “What is so illegal about feeling?” “How about it leading to war and crime?” Miguel’s smile dropped. “Not all emotion is dangerous, Danika.” He closed the space between them and grabbed her hand. She kept her body pliant and followed his lead as he twirled her in a circle. “We can feel more than anger and hate. What about joy? Happiness?” He spun her again so that her back rested against his chest, one of his hands moving down to rest on her waist. “Excitement?” A chill ran down her spine at the same time as her face heated. She spun, facing him. He tugged her into twirls, moving her body with the guidance of a gentle hand. All the while smiling. She was caught off guard as he suddenly stopped. Once again, her back was flush against his chest. “Want to see something cool?” He didn’t wait for her answer, instead pulling a phone from his pocket. He tapped on the screen and a moment later Danika felt something wet drip onto her hair. Looking up, she watched in awe as the distant ceiling slowly moved, parting down the middle to open to the sky. Rain fell upon the cheering crowd, the music rising to match the pounding of water on bodies and the dance floor. Rather than run for cover, the people around her were invigorated. Most who had crowded around the bars and tables moved to join the throng of people dancing in the rain. Danika watched, enraptured as even the elements could not dampen these people’s emotions. The strobing and swaying lights' color refracted off the water, casting everything in a hazy rainbow as if looking through a tinted lens. How could something so terrible be so beautiful? Miguel spun her to continue their dance. His smile was radiant and infectious as she felt a smile of her own force its way past her barriers. Between the beat of the music, the thrum of the rain, and the warmth of dancing alongside Miguel, Danika lost herself. After a time, the music slowed just as she felt she could no longer go on. She had given up keeping her joy at bay, at least for now. Her cheeks were sore from smiling, and her throat felt raw from shouting and laughing. “So,” Miguel began, leaning down so that he didn’t have to shout as he moved them both slowly to the beat. “What do you think? Still want to shut us down?” Danika froze, all semblance of joy and warmth leaving her. Suddenly, the gently falling rain felt like pinpricks of ice. She looked up at Miguel, speechless. He smiled, though this time, the joy was replaced with sadness and guilt. “The Harmony Division isn’t the only organization with spies, Danika. I knew who you were the moment you stepped through the door.” “Then why...” She trailed off, knowing what she wanted to ask but unable to formulate the words. Miguel pulled her from the center of the platform to stand at one of its edges. She faced the crowd below as he stood behind her. His arms caged her in, resting on the railing on either side. “Look at them. Do you see how happy they all are?” Danika looked out over the mass of people. Couples swayed, lost within each other. Some danced alone, lost to the atmosphere as she had been earlier. Others moved in small groups. Everyone was laughing. Smiling. Living. “Why do we have to deny ourselves something that can bring so much joy? Humans were born with emotions, Danika. It’s not right to take away the opportunity for someone to find happiness in life just because there are bad people out in the world.” “Why are you called The Flood?” She asked. She hadn’t meant to voice the question, but her emotions were too raw to control. “Because this suppression mandate is just a dam holding back the natural order of things. And once that dam breaks, the ensuing flood will be catastrophic. People have forgotten how to live. How to feel. I will do my best to stop that flood from destroying as many people as possible.” He stepped away from her, taking his warmth with him. She turned to face him. “So, what will you do, Danika? Will you try to keep the dam from breaking? Or will you prepare for the flood?” She didn’t have an answer. Not able to stand the intensity of his gaze any longer, she lifted her face to the rain, allowing the cool water to wash over her. When she looked back, Miguel was gone. “How can I do anything but prepare for the flood when I know it’s coming?” She asked, knowing full well the music and rain would drown out her words to anyone but herself.


“She has to be burned,” the man behind the bars called. “She has to be burned, or he won’t accept her!”  “Quiet, you.” The officer banged one hand against the cell door. The man took no notice.  “Burn it, quick! I won’t say I didn’t enjoy watching her die, but that wasn’t the point. Fire is what you need, and soon. She has to be burned.”  The man in blue gritted his teeth and walked in the other direction, towards the desk where the officers who had discovered the criminal were talking in low voices. “Anything new?” he asked them.  They shook their heads. “Just what we saw on the scene. It’s lucky we caught him before he set fire to the bodies, or there would’ve been a hell of a mess.”  “He was only going to burn one,” the first officer said inconsequentially. “He keeps talking about the sisterhasn’t said a thing about the other ones. Says we need to burn the woman’s body soon, or his god won’t accept her.”  “He’s a lunatic,” the second man said. “Stark raving mad. Been talking about the same thing ever since we brought him in.”  “Just wait until the reporters get ahold of this,” his companion said. “I wish there was a way to stop them from spreading this story to the ends of the earth, but you know it’ll be in every newspaper headline and letter home tomorrow.”  **\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*** Annie Hamilton unfolded her sister’s letter at the breakfast table the next morning, spreading it over her large skirt so that she could read the interesting parts to her husband. Her eyes skimmed the written pages, caught on something near the top, then widened. “Oh my lord,” she whispered.  Jack, already in his overalls and halfway through his oatmeal, looked up. “What’s the matter?”  “There’s been murders in Saxton,” Annie said faintly. “Not three miles from Sissy’s house!”  Her husband set his spoon down with a soft clang. “Did they catch the murderer?”  “Yes,” Annie said, “she’s wrote the whole story here. Listen:  *We still can’t believe this has happened here, in our tiny little town! I guess the only saving grace is that they caught the man responsible, and right in the act, too--or right after it, anyway. They were too late to save any of the Williams. It was horrible, Annie, what he done to them. The newspapers say that he cut great pieces out of them, mostly out of their faces, and slit their throats. They all just bled out, right in their home. It was Jake Williams and his wife, Katie, and Katie’s sister Mary. I didn’t know them well, but I’ve seen them in town. To think of being attacked in your own house, attacked under your own roof by a madman with a knife! They run a picture of him in the paper this morning, and I sent it for you to look at. Everybody’s saying he’s insane, the article I sent you talks about it. You’d have to be insane to do what he did, I suppose. We simply can’t believe it. We’re all in shock ....*  Annie lay the letter aside and took a newspaper clipping from the envelope. Most of the front was taken up by a large picture. She gave a little cry and thrust the clipping at her husband, who took it silently and studied the face of the madman. Even just looking at him, you could see that he was indeed insane. His gray hair and beard were both long and unkempt, his eyes wide and wild. He was snarling, his open mouth revealing chipped teeth. He looked as though he could have been a hermit on a deserted island.  Annie shivered, looking around. “What could have possessed him, to do something like that to those poor people?” she asked. “Can you imagine just sitting in your home, and all of the sudden there’s a man with a knife” She broke off, shuddering, and looked out the kitchen window. “Jack,” she said, “the sky’s a funny color all the sudden.”  “Hmm?” Her husband was still engrossed in the picture. He stared into the man’s wide eyes.  “Just a change in weather, I suppose,” Annie said nervously. “Maybe a storm coming in. What does that say?”  Her husband read aloud from the clipping.  \*\*The criminal, who has not yet been identified, was caught standing over the bodies of his three victims, and is believed to have been about to burn at least one of them. Witnesses say he was chanting as he did so, though so far all have declined to reveal exactly what the lunatic was saying. When apprehended, the man put up a struggle, saying that he had to burn the bodies “before it was too late.” He is now in police custody and awaiting trial.\*\*  **\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*** “We had to move Clarkson,” the officer told his superiors, “on account of that murderer scaring him. Clarkson says he won’t stop chanting, the same thing Mrs. Dowel says he was saying when he was trying to burn that woman’s body. Said it scared him to death, and he was going to kick up a fuss unless we moved him. Tell you the truth, I’m not so keen on guarding the man all by myself. He gives me the willies, that one.”  The policeman’s boss fixed him with a withering stare. “You’ll guard him,” he said, “and you’ll guard him well. The last thing we need is something going wrong with a man we caught red-handed after he murdered three people. Now, get back down there.”  The officer knew he was beaten. He walked slowly back to the cell, where the wild-haired man sat on his cot. The madman was rocking back and forth, moaning. “It’s too late,” he said when he spotted the officer. “You’ve waited too late. I did my part, but it’s out of my hands now.”  “You bet it is,” the policeman said savagely. “Too bad it wasn’t out of your hands before it even started. Just why would you do a thing like that, anyhow? Enjoyed it, did you? You’re an abomination, and I can’t wait to see you swing.”  The madman raised his eyes to those of the officer and held him with what seemed a hypnotic stare. “Oh yes,” he said softly, “yes, I enjoyed it. I always enjoyed it. Ever since I started. You think this is my first killing? I tell you, I’ve done hundreds. And I enjoyed every one. But that’s not the only reason I killed.” He rose to his feet, still holding the officer captive in his mad gaze. “I did it for all of you,” he said, as the policeman stepped backwards. “I did it because I liked doing it, but I also did it to save your sorry skins. You’d all be burning if it weren’t for me, just the way *she* should have burned last night. But the sun’s up now, and it’s too late. You’ll see. You’ll see what happens when he doesn’t get his sacrifice.”  The officer suddenly found his mouth too dry for speech. Outside, the wind had started a low, mournful howl.  **\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*** Clutching her shawl more tightly around herself, Annie lifted her sister’s letter from the table and began to read again.  *They say he keeps talking about the sister’s body. It’s awful, what they’ll print in the papers these days. He keeps talking about burning her body, they say. He was all set to do it, too, when they found him. The police only found him because Mrs. Dowel was passing by the house and heard somebody talking. Chanting, she said later, like it was some kind of Catholic service or something. She thought it was funny, somebody in the Williams’ house chanting, so she peeked in the door and saw the man. She said he was standing over their bodies, holding a knife in one hand and a burning candle in the other. He’d put straw all around them, and the blood had all soaked into it. Well, she ran and got the police--lucky there were a couple of officers so close by, or the lunatic might have gotten away with it!*  *Mrs. Dowel said she wouldn’t tell the newspapermen what he was chanting, said it seemed wrong somehow, but she told me, and, Annie, it made me shiver all over. She said when she got close enough to hear him, her mouth all dried up and she could hardly move for being so scared. He was saying*  Annie lifted her eyes hastily. She did not want to know what the man had been chanting as he stood over the bleeding bodies. Her gaze moved nervously to the window, and she gasped. “Jack!” she cried. “Look at the sky!”  Her husband tore his eyes from the picture he had been staring at. He had looked almost hypnotized, but Annie didn’t notice. She was standing now, gazing in disbelief out the kitchen window.  Outside, the sky was a fiery red. The sun was already high, but sunrise seemed to have lasted longer than it should have. The wind was howling now, a high-pitched shriek, and black clouds had gathered to the east. As the farmer and his wife stood, gaping, the clouds rushed towards them, covering the crimson sky. Suddenly, the blackness parted, the clouds rushing to either side as though they were being pushed. A patch of clear red appeared. As it did, Annie screamed and clutched at her husband. From the bloody sky, a pair of giant wings beat down, black and ragged. In between them was the creature that only the madman knewor was the man so mad, after all? It was too late now, as he had said. The wings beat slowly as the creature swooped forward, its thin, insectile body topped by an elongated head. The creature’s eyes were almost the length of its face. They were a liquid, fiery red.  On the table, Sissy’s letter lay forgotten. *He was saying,* the last lines read, *the same thing over and over, while he got everything ready to burn them...*  ***\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\**** The murderer sat forgotten in his cell. The police were outside, staring at the sky. Soon, the screaming started. The man in the cell lifted his head, his long gray hair flowing into his beard as he stared vacantly forward. His eyes were wild still, the terror that had been mistaken for insanity plain on his face. His lips moved, speaking their last words, though no one was there to hear. “Blood,” the man whispered. His face worked, and he spoke again, the same words he had been chanting as he prepared the sacrifice. “Blood for the blood god.


If Google Earth were to update right now, take a snapshot of the world and allow it for everyone to see, you wouldn't see much. You'd notice bright flares, cities burning ferociously, towers of black smoke rising into the atmosphere, staining the planet. If you were to zoom in, somehow getting through all the smoke and smog, you'd see bodies. Streets filled with blood, vomit, and strewn corpses from sidewalk to sidewalk. The population of over 7 Billion was now cut down, maybe a few million left in total. Those few million were stranded. Probably burning alive in a building, or backpacking their way across their country to wherever they hope to find someone else. There's no shortage of radios. In the last few days no one really cared about the news or where to gather, it was just a smorgasbord of sex, drugs and partying, all of us waiting for the Earth to crack and finally swallow us up. We were given a month before our pale blue dot was nothing more. We didn't last 2 weeks. I wish I could tell you what the cause was, but I can't remember. No one can remember. The few stragglers I've come across in my wanders, those who haven't caved and killed themselves or gone crazy, couldn't tell me what any of the scientists said a mere 8 weeks before. All we knew is that as the people got less and less skeptical, as the evidence was insurmountable, people devolved into little more than beasts. At first people stopped going to work, then they started drinking. It wasn't long before people were beating each other to death over whatever mind altering substance they could get their hands on. Dealers were murdered not by their rivals, and not by the police, but by crazed addicts and desperate people looking to get distracted from our imminent death. Liquor stores were pillaged, trucks that were hauling alcohol had been nearly drank dry by the drivers who were pulling them. No one could cope, and no one would blame them. News fell apart with no broadcasters to announce it. You had people who tried to commander the place, someone at a CNN News Studio trying to replace Anderson Cooper. Meanwhile on Fox you had another crazed religious lunatic spewing hate speech, saying that the 'fags getting married are responsible for our destruction'. Not that many people saw it. Electricity was failing, televisions destroyed. Our cell phones couldn't get past much more than that, constantly being taxed by people weeping on the phone with their loved ones. And here I was, walking amongst it all. Surveying all this carnage after the days had gone past, seeing the ghosts of those beating each other to death with wine bottles, bricks, or bike chains. Teeth were crunching under my boots, blood causing the soles to become tacky and sticking to the asphault. In all those apocalypse movies you always saw cars piled up along the highway but I assumed that it was people dying as they were going to their family. No. These people died long before 'the end' arrived, just no ambulances or tow trucks to take them away. In the crazed panic of the world ending, no one thought to think about what if it didn't. Everyone shrieked and screamed, getting some satisfaction deep down about knowing when they were going to die. I mean, look at 2012. You had people yelling at the top of their voices for years about how the Mayans predicted our death and as the clock ticked on into 2013, it all faded away. Same for Y2K and every other world ending scenario that had been dreamed up by batshit people with too much time on their hands. But this time, with even the scientists agreeing, everyone let loose. They allowed themselves to believe in their end. They fully accepted it into their minds, souls and hearts and promptly lost their marbles. No one was around to tell us that we were going to pull through, no one was around to announce that the world was NOT ending. They had all either died in car accidents on their way home, plummeted into the ground when their flight crashed, or blown their brains all over the painted walls of their offices. The world ended, correct, but only because we allowed it to. Sure there are people left, but how many? How are we going to get infrastructure back and start over? Where do we gather? Who will lead us? It's funny really. This time last year I wanted to take a 9mm aspirin but today I'm actually enjoying myself. I don't know if that's still the shock or if some part of me is seeing the brighter side to all of this. The only thing I know is this, at least the lines at Disney Land won't be such a pain in the ass anymore.


“We’re live in 2 minutes”, said the voice in my earpiece. The restroom cabin door opened and an employee wearing a tight wetsuit came out. “Good morning”, I said, washing my hands. He ignored me. As he walked to the door, a small piece of paper dropped from his backpack. It read *Tank 3, Good luck.* What the hell. “We go live in 20 seconds”, the voice said as I rushed back to my station. They turned the broadcast tv on. “Good morning everyone!”, my colleague said through the screen, “I’m Alice and today we are live at the National Aquarium, where our anchor Peter will talk to the President. Pete, tell us how’s it going over there.” “Good morning, Alice!” I said, “this will be the President’s first public appearance after last month’s assassination attempt. We’ll not be allowed to speak to him in person, only through the--” “Sorry Pete” Alice interrupted, “the president has just arrived. Let's take a look”. The place looked like an arena. There was a raised platform in the center and three big water tanks surrounding it. Employees in wetsuits were standing on the platform feeding the animals. Four secret service agents scan the crowd for threats as the president walks behind with a woman-- probably the host. All the action could be seen in real time from the big screen hanging in the center of the arena. “Ladies and gentlemen” she says, “the president of the United States of America!” The arena vibrates with energy. Chills ran down my spine as I saw the man from the restroom on the platform. That wetsuit is definitely not his size. “Mr. President” she said, “let me introduce you to our little pets. In Tank 1 we got the orcas...” The man seemed lost, out of sync with the others. “...in Tank 2, the adorable dolphins...”, she continued. He could be a newbie, still learning the job. But what about the the paper? *Tank 3, good luck?* “...in Tank 3, the most loved and feared of them all--the great white sharks! Don’t you get too close to that edge Mr. president!”, she said, chuckling. No. “Now, joining us on the screen” she said, “please welcome Mr. Peter Sierra from the Daily Bulletin. Hi Peter, can you hear me?” A drop of sweat fell from my forehead onto the microphone, making a loud thud. “Mr. President, it's an honor to...”, The words vanished as I saw the man from the restroom put his fish bucket down and turn to president. The agents were still scanning the crowd. “Are you alright Peter?”, the president asked. The man started walking towards him. “We may be experiencing some technical issues...” the host said. The man was running. His arms stretched forward. Oh my-- “Mr. president, GET DOWN NOW!”, I shouted as fast I could. The crowd gasped so loud I could not hear the sound of the body hitting the water. In a heartbeat, a massive shark’s jaw emerged, sank its teeth on the body and disappeared underwater, leaving only a trace of dark, red blood. “You just saved the president’s life” said the voice in my earpiece.


***IMPORTANT: Characters are inspired by the airship Norge event. The date is set in 1903 at the North Pole. Some facts might be wrong: for example, Serbin Husky was not made known until 1908, and the North Pole’s sky isn’t very likely to be gray. Comment if there are any other problems. Please enjoy!*** The sky was washed by a nebulous gray -- one could not even recognize day or night -- and it had always been like this. At the end of the vision, there was only a boundless mass of white, not even a single spot of green. However, if one was to examine the snow closely, they could see faint traces of two parallel lines originating from a sled dog cart -- not for racing, but for transporting. Going deeper for one thousand miles, the two lines gradually became more visible and went deeper into the snow until they were replaced by human footsteps. Creatures with sensitive senses could sniff out the scent of death lingering in the air. A snowflake that rhythmically drifted left and right curiously followed the footprints with the help of the northern wind. It had unique branches stretching out from each of its five dendrites, and there was no trace of melting on its crystalline and reflective surface. There! The snowflake seemed to shout and the wind was finally convinced to let it land. It fell on roughly-made fabrics and quickly liquidized itself to seek its way through the tiny gaps between the material. Only then, did the snowflake finally drop freely as water into a warm source and evaporated into the surroundings with a fizz. Under the illumination of the gradually undermined flame, sat a group of four figures. The three of the four were all adult males with heavy layers of clothes and bags equipped. The person sitting on the right had most of his body covered with winter coats and his aged face that had been through sixty years of storm told many stories of the past. The one in the middle had his clothes soaked by melting snow and his short black hair had a sharp contrast with his unnaturally pale skin. The silhouette on the left was noticeably plumper and although he was squatting near the fire, his cheek was still flushing rose-red from the coldness. The last figure belonged to a Siberian husky but her fur was dyed by blood and she made a weak noise from time to time. Suddenly, the person in the middle reached into his pocket and picked out a short knife. The knife released a chilling light and its blade reflected the feeble Siberian husky’s dying eyes. His upper lips bitterly curved up and then he raised the knife. “Hey!” the stout man exclaimed in disgust as he clutched onto the black-haired person’s hand to stop his movement. “Stop that right now. We are not eating little Icicle! Morality over life.” The person on the right directly took the knife from both of them and indifferently glanced at the stout person, “Joseph, we can’t let your Icicle suffer anymore. Killing her is indeed the best solution.” “Abel, right?” Joseph didn’t give in either and he added, “we are not going to survive anyways! It’s not like a rescue team will come to the North Pole to save us. Killing a life will only make us sinners before the gate of death.” “Human beings have already sinned since the beginning.” The person in the middle shook his head and snatched the knife back from Abel. He searched through his bags and finally reached out a few pieces of turkey meat, blackened bread slices, and some frozen carrots. Then, he started chopping the carrots with the knife. The atmosphere immediately went silent. Abel averted his gaze to the snow afar while Joseph scratched his head and awkwardly apologized, “Sorry, I misunderstood you. You were trying to chop the carrots this whole time, right?” “I am called Lin Yu (in Chinese).” Joseph was taken aback because he didn't understand Chinese and he asked, “Lin Yu means yes?” “Lin Yu,” he reiterated his name because he thought Joseph was rechecking the pronunciation. Meanwhile, Abel, who understood a little Chinese couldn’t help but click his tongue when he heard both of them talking nonsense. Under the noise of the blade conflicting with the ice sheets, Abel withdrew a pen and a crumpled paper. As Abel opened the pen’s cap, he started to notice that most of the skins of his hands began to peel off by themselves. Ignoring the extreme conditions, Abel began to write, just like how he saw his father write in his childhood memories. With a few elegant strokes, Abel signed his name on the last page of his diary, and he knew that at the same time, he also signed his name on the death list. Abel showed his glittering white teeth and smiled as he spoke, “Brothers, although we didn’t know each other at all, since we could have the last meal together. It could be considered fate. Let’s celebrate our life at this very moment.” Joseph shouldered Abel on the chest and laughed, “how did you suddenly become so open? Let’s eat!” “I said my name is Lin Yu (in Chinese),” the black-haired man patiently repeated his name as he got his share of sandwiches. After that, he threw a slice of meat to Icicle. The sandwich they ate was leftover, but everyone ate it as they had never eaten anything before. They felt in every favor of each bite and let the sandwich melt in their mouth. A faint fragrance filled the air around them, and they reclined on the snow. The god of joy brought them back to their youth when they were with their family, laughing and playing on the ad Infinitum grassland. The sandwiches were finished, and the flame faded. Yet, just like the flame, their vitality faded away, and their consciousness melted in the snow. Icicle released her last howl, and she collapsed on the ground. She was not alone, one by one, Joseph, Lin Yu, and finally Abel found their final resting place. The only difference between them was that Abel was still seemly looking at the paper that he wrote. A few days later, they froze into ice statues, and inside, no one would ever disrupt them again. The snowflake paid its last tribute to them and it escaped from the makeshift tent. It raised its head high like a proud soldier returning from his battle. Soon, it soared high into the sky... Waiting for its rebirth. Abel’s Secret Diary, last page: 10/7/1903 When I was young, I yearned for freedom. I stretched out my wings and went to see the world. There, I started my journey across continents and oceans. In the end, I forgot my last name, lost all that I ever got. I asked, what was the purpose of this journey? Perhaps it was just a wild imagination or it was destiny that brought me here. I didn’t know even until now but I did learn that the lives of all creatures were no more or no less than that of a snowflake. When snowflakes formed, it was birth. When snowflakes returned, it was death. The period between was life. Snowflakes cherished their short ‘life’ but we could only realize that when the end was coming. That end could also be a new beginning. Abel ◥▬▬▬▬.◙.▬▬▬▬◤ FIN


Every little boy we pass is him. It’s the reason I didn’t want to come. This trip was your idea and I couldn’t tell you why I hated it, so here we are. Seagulls squawk in the distance. I love that sound and you know it. My therapist says that seeing him still alive is part of the process. It’s difficult to accept. The flashes in the corner of my eye stop my heart with their insistence that -- it’s him, this time it really is!-- I want to enjoy their sweet faces the way I did before, when happy children made me smile, even if they weren’t mine. But jealousy is a mean thing to control. Before us looms the dike. It’s steep and tall enough to blot out half the sky. A layer of grass covers the slopes and a stone staircase cuts through the middle. The flat expanse fills my vision, running off dizzily to the right and left. My horizon shifts impossibly and I’m walking up a wall, into an Escher painting. In one month, he’ll be dead two years. I’m trying to live without him, I promise you. Though I’ve stopped saying it out loud; my track record on that promise is terrible. You don’t believe me, anyway. A swallow dives into view, swooping low to catch bugs. Its white belly flares. I can't remember the last time I saw one. They remind me of summer holidays at sea with him, before. I point out the bird to you. You nod and keep climbing, silent. You haven’t spoken since we parked the car and I wish you'd say something. The bird disappears over the rim. One swallow does not a summer make. Your reason for bringing us here has me anxious. The longer you don’t speak, the darker my thoughts spiral. Divorce flashes through my mind. The sun is oppressive on the leeward side of the dike. We’re both panting when we reach the narrow asphalt at the top. My sunscreen itches and pools in lines around my eyes. We're not at the ocean, though it sounds and smells like it. Our view over the saltwater canal is gorgeous. Across hammered silver, we can see the opposite shore. Apartment buildings form a gap-toothed smile and rows of clean-cut poplars alternate with wind turbines that look like blown-out dandelions. It hurts my heart to imagine a wish so large. Though the dandelions aren’t mine, I close my eyes and try. -- Love me anyway-- Looking down the way we came is unsettling. The parking lot is lower than the shore and the two images won’t connect. For balance, I grab hold of the sign at the top of the stairs. It’s a map of the beach with warnings in Dutch, German, and English. “Enter at own risk,” and “Careful, the bottom may be sticky.” The phrases sound better in Dutch. The beach borders a wide canal that snakes inland from the North Sea. Over centuries, the water has deposited alluvial clay with the viscosity of quicksand. The tide is out and the muddy clay lays exposed in gray, glutinous ripples. On the wind, a smell of damp earth, metal, and decay. I knew there'd be a lot children here and I wasn't wrong. The summer holidays have started and families are everywhere. So many have children below five, it's like they're doing it on purpose. You’re looking out over the water. The blue lenses of your sunglasses catch the sky in miniature. Cumulus clouds, like flecks of seafoam, run away towards the horizon of your eyes. Windows to another world. Am I in that world? Your profile hasn’t changed much since we met, only the beard is new. After eleven years, I still can’t read your expressions. I don’t know what you’re feeling, but I know what you want: another baby. Is this your last-ditch effort to persuade me? Do you think happy memories from before will change my mind? What happens when I say no again? “Beach or road?” You catch me off guard. I thought we came for the water. “Where are we going?” You point to the right. In the distance, a veranda extends across the sand, a canal-side restaurant. The road would be quicker and easier. It’s paved and not covered in gelatinous mud. But I haven’t been to the beach since he was alive and suddenly my feet are aching. “Beach,” and I leave the path. I remove my shoes at the bottom of the steps. Despite the noonday heat, you keep yours on. Blocks of concrete, heaped in piles and evenly spaced, form wave breakers on the sand. A teenager is washing caked clay from her feet in a puddle at the base of one. She scrubs at her shins and spreads gray streaks to her underarms. I see you, long ago, teaching him to catch crabs in such puddles. They get stuck between the rocks when the tide recedes, easy pickings with a piece of bacon, a clothespin, and a string. He was scared to touch them after getting pinched, but he enjoyed studying the ones you caught. You gently placed the crabs in a bucket for him, careful not to crowd them. At sunset, we returned them to the ocean and watched them scuttle. There aren't any children hunting crabs today. I'd like to be a crab in your bucket. Gently lifted and gently placed. Handled by your hands, touched. And at the end of the day, your calloused palms a cradle in the sunset. A crying baby draws my attention. To the left, a young mother picks up an infant to swaddle in a sling across her body. As soon as the small head disappears behind the cloth, the crying stops. You want that again, but I can’t give it to you. IcantIcantIcant. -- Stop asking-- The salt air crystallizes in my lungs. Can you love me without a child? Concentrating on the exercises my therapist has taught me, I count to five--inhale--count to ten--exhale. I canceled therapy for this trip. Another reason I didn’t want to come. Another thing I won’t tell you. I go every Tuesday. You don't mind, but you also don't understand. You tried therapy and found it lacking. To me, it’s sacred time, the only hour a week when I’m allowed to not feel guilty. You’re a few steps ahead, the baby didn’t trip you up. Did you even notice? Do you care at all that these people have what was stolen from us? Aren’t you angry? You’ve never expressed your emotions in words and I’m terrible at reading your face. You tell me how you feel with actions. What does this one mean, this trip? The wind pulls your linen shirt tight across your back, outlining broad shoulders. It’s been months since I ran my hands across them. My palms tingle and I curl my fingers up. The only way we touch now is with our feet under the blankets, out of sight. I press mine against your calves and you leave them there. Connected, but invisible. Near the shoreline, a young girl fights to free herself from the clay. Her legs are coated in gray sludge to below her bony knees. Though we stay far from the water, my feet and your shoes get the same coating. Our footsteps make sucking slurps and you nearly lose a shoe. See, you can’t leave me. Even the earth wants you to stay. We pass a patch of ground dotted with the hidey-holes of razor clams. They’re buried at semi-regular intervals, small perforations dotting the beach like stars, every hole accompanied by a mollusk-sized pile of mud. I’m tempted to search for patterns, like constellations in the night sky. Except this firmament changes with the tide, wiping clean the horoscopes--a fresh future twice daily. How many futures do we get? A broken Venus shell pokes my sole and I pick it up. The inside is baby-cheek pink and soft. With a sideways swoop, I skip it on the ripples of the sand, a shooting star that burns out in three bounces. -- Stay with me-- You pick up another and do the same. It bounces one farther than mine. Watching the white shell flash from your fingers, hearing the rhythmic plopping as it skips, I’m reminded of the days before. You played piano then, practicing eight hours a week. Often, he’d sit in your lap. You filled our world with music. Sometimes, he’d put his hands on yours and you’d fill the world together. I want to pick up my star and redo it. -- Give us back the music-- In the shadow of the restaurant’s veranda, a father is letting up a parafoil. It snaps and flaps before ballooning in the wind. His son--maybe eight years old--watches with interest and waits his turn. You capture the pair in your glasses, a snapshot of one of your potential futures. I know how you used your shooting star. -- You’ll have that, with me or without-- I jab a fist below my ribs, pushing hard enough to hurt. You see what I'm doing and it forces me to stop. The fist drops heavy to my side, full of emptiness. Shards of sea glass fill my belly. Today, I lose you to the children I won’t have. With effort, I unclench my hand and mind. Moving on is living now--another lesson from my therapist. You’re still here. Until sunset, we’re crabs in the same bucket. At the end of the beach, a mat of cobblestones leads up the dike and to the restaurant. We get lucky and there's a table free on the terrace, with a view over the water. On the horizon, a loaded barge bobs out to sea. You open your mouth for the second time since arriving. “Coke, please.” I order a beer, plus fries for us both. While you wait for the food and I wait for you to speak, we watch a flat-bottom sailboat cut the waves. It has red sails, a warning sign nobody needs; we both know we’re sinking. The waiter brings our order. Between us on the table stands a plastic succulent. The fries come in a basket, the mayonnaise in a folded banana leaf. We don’t clink our drinks. A couple enters the terrace with a dog and I flinch. I can't help it. You snap my attention away by rapping your knuckles on the coke bottle. "How's the beer?" Despite it all, you remain the man I fell in love with. "Decent. Want to try?" A shake of the head. "The fries are nice," I add. How long have we been this stiff? Finally, you speak. "I have a proposal and I want you to really think about it. Don't just say no." And there it is. I need you to stop asking, but you can't. This is where we hit our wall. You want another child and I don't. I can’t give you that future and you can’t let it go. "I won't have another baby." I look at you as I say it. I want to enjoy your beautiful face while I can. I'm not ready for goodbye, but once again it isn't up to me. You shake your head, sunlight flashing off your glasses. This is the moment it ends. All I’ll be left with is a therapist and one hour a week. I inhale deeply, taste the ocean. I wish you’d look at me, but your attention is on the coke. Your fingers are steepled on either side of the bottle. We both have clay under our fingernails. I pick at mine and watch your lips. “I want us to move to Sweden.” You’ve turned a new, impossible corner on the Escher painting of my life. “Did you say us?” You look up, confused. Before you can analyze what I’ve said and change your mind, I replace the question with a “Why?” “It was our plan. You remember--” Of course I do. But that was before and before no longer exists. I don’t have to say it for you to hear it. You take off your glasses. Your eyes are unbearable, gray like the mud. “We can’t stay like this. It isn’t healthy. We’re frozen in grief, stuck. I need to live again. Chase some of our dreams. Mine haven’t changed. I want that house in the forest, a life in nature. I think it would be good for us.” I see us among the trees. A shadow falls between us. I push a palm against my eyes, smell the mud under my nails. A dark unknown opens below me. I need something to hold on to or I’ll drown. “When?” “As fast as we can get our things together.” “No.” It slips out, another promise broken. I’d meant to think it over, but one thought screams through the good intentions; I'd have to give up my therapist and he’s all I’ll have left when you leave. Your voice holds disappointment, but not surprise. “You promised to think.” The floor creaks as you lean back--underneath our blanket, you pull away. Whatever we have left is foundering, icy water rising up my legs. I’m ashamed to say the words, but I have to. You can’t leave without me, I have to make you understand. “My therapy.” “Is that all?” “Yes.” No. Maybe. You cross your arms. My lies are making things worse. You want to live our dreams, but what dreams? Mine is in a coffin. How do I dream my way out of that? But then, so is yours. You buried him with me, were there through every agonizing moment. Yet, you’re still trying. Even when I tell you no over and over, and crush your heart with my empty womb. I study you. The beard almost hides how sunken your cheeks are. Is that why you stopped shaving? There are bags below your eyes and your normal olive hue has a sickly undertone. You look almost as tired as you did right after. You aren’t doing well. I knew that, but now I see it too. The reckless self-regard I’ve been practicing in therapy has leaked from its allotted single hour. I’ve been so consumed with saving myself, that I lost sight of you. “Alright.” Your surprise is big enough that even I can read it. “Let’s move. Something has to change, maybe this is it.” You stare. “On one condition.” There’s sad relief in your eyes. This is what you expected. Firmly, you say, “I won’t give up on another child.” “I know.” You drop your hands in your lap--palms up and fingers lightly curled, like you’re waiting for me to land in them. “You have to get a grand piano.” Your hands close. “I haven’t played in two years. We’re not getting a grand.” “A grand or no deal.” “You’re serious?” “If we’re going to follow our old dreams, I want to do it right. We move to Sweden, you get a grand, I write again. If we’re going to try, no excuses.” It’s your turn to study me. I reach across the table to take your glasses. I fidget with them, making the lenses flare. “What about a baby? You always said you wanted two.” Why do you have to keep asking? Can’t you just give up? But, if you did, we wouldn’t be sitting here with clay on our feet. In your sunglasses, I see myself. I wink in and out of frame. In one future I get the answer right, in another there is only empty sky. It hurts to swallow. I can’t make more promises I might break, but I have to give you something. I angle the glasses and watch my lips. “Maybe.” It’s more movement than sound. It isn’t anything, but it’s enough for you. For the first time since it-hurts-to-remember-when, you take my hand in public. Our intertwined fingers lie in the middle of the table, reflected in your blue lenses. The sight reminds me of before and, because you’re here with me, it doesn’t hurt as much. I rub my thumb across your palm. It’s rougher than it was. A trade. My dreams for yours. We shared the nightmare, maybe we can share the waking. Is this moving on? With my free hand, I wipe at a tear. It clears the sunscreen on my cheek and I feel less guilty. You don’t express your emotions in words. In all the years we’ve been together, you’ve never said it. Not when we moved in together. Not when I told you I was ready for a child. Not when he was born and certainly not when he died. But today the razor clams align, my lucky stars, and you say it. So low the wind almost steals the moment. “I love you.” It’ll mean giving up my therapist. It’ll mean a thousand scary things. But if you’re there with me, maybe I can do it. Carefully, I smile at you and, carefully, you smile back. We’ve upended our bucket. Outside the restaurant, I take your hand again. You say nothing and give me a squeeze. We walk, hand in hand, back home across the paved road, leaving the sticky clay behind. A flight of swallows passes overhead. Four or five of them wax and wane above the dike, showing us their shining crescent moons. "Look," you say, and lift our joined hands to point them out. -- The start of summer--


I stare through my window facing the quiet and empty street, watching the sun rise from the west. Letting out a deep sigh, I walk to my kitchen and cross off yet another day from the calendar hanging on my fridge. “Ninety-four days,” I say out loud to myself, clicking my pen. For 94 days the sun has been rising in the west and setting in the east. 94 days since I woke up to a world of silence. 94 since I have been completely and utterly alone. It seems as though 94 days would be enough time to make someone go mad, being alone with their thoughts for so long. But I don’t think people go insane from being alone. I think they go insane hoping something better will come. That the misery will soon be over. Holding on to the possibility that one day you will see another person again. Hear their voice, touch their face, breath in their humanness. I’m passed that now. No one is here. It’s just me and the whole world. The first few weeks were the hardest. Every day blurred into the next, dragging on endlessly. I kept track of time like a prisoner, marking tallies on the wall. One. Two. Three. Four. Ten. Twenty... I reached a point where I was scared that I’d tear my own hair out just to feel something, so I searched what was once my parent’s bathroom for my father’s trimmer and shaved my hair to a buzz. I couldn’t stand the sight of my practically bald head every time I passed any type of reflective surface, so I started wearing a red bandanna I found at the bottom of one of my drawers. I still keep it short because it’s easier to deal with. It’s not like there is anyone here to impress. Even though every day feels the same and I typically stick to my routine, the day of the Reverse is the most vivid memory in my mind. Nothing from before that day or after could ever compare to the horrifying realization that I was all alone. I started calling it the Reverse on my very first night alone on Earth. I sat on the porch swing that I used to share with my mother, at the end of each day to watch the sun set out front, while dad watched TV inside. On day One, I tried to turn on his TV before I stepped out, for old times sake, but it stayed silent, like everything else around me. It seemed that nothing electronic was working. Figures. It wouldn’t be the end of the world with working electricity and an Internet connection. I was rocking alone on the porch swing, wrapped in a blanket humming to myself. I tapped my feet on the painted blue wood, watching the sky; it seemed to dim and turn pink, but something was wrong. The sun. The goddamn sun was missing. For a moment I thought: This is it. I have finally lost my mind and I am having a psychotic episode, or I’m stuck in a really horrible and really vivid nightmare. Then I snapped back to the real world and had an idea. I ran out back to my mother’s garden and there she was. The sun was setting in the east, where she was meant to rise each morning, as if the Earth has begun to rotate in reverse. To this day I cannot figure out how or why this happened. Or where everyone had gone. Maybe I died in my sleep and this was my own personal hell. Designed for me and only me. What a sick joke. I am way beyond trying to understand my situation. Now, every day is only about survival. I leave my half-finished and now almost-cold coffee on the kitchen counter to tend to the chickens. I keep thinking of them as stolen , but I don’t think you can steal from someone that is no longer there. About a week after the Reverse, I had finished most of my food and I set out to scavenge the local grocery store. On my way there, I passed by Bittersweet Farm. I hadn’t seen a single animal since everyone had disappeared, but curiosity got the better of me and I decided to go and explore. What do you know, I found a hand-full of chickens clucking around in the barn, half starving and confused as to where their caretaker had gone. Why did the chickens survive? I don’t know but they are all that is left to keep me sane. Their quiet sounds are the only thing that break the silence anymore, plus caring for them give me a sense of purpose. The brood’s mighty rooster is my alarm clock every morning, dragging me out of bed to live another day just like the rest. I finish feeding and cooing at my chickens and walk to the side of the house to grab a pale of rainwater. I fill up my watering can and go wake up my vegetable garden with a light warm drizzle. “Good morning,” I say to my little plants and I smile. I remember reading somewhere that speaking to your plants encourages them to grow. I think I started doing it because it brought me comfort to hear my own voice. The only voice left. Today is a shopping day. I still call it shopping even though everything considered, all that is left is mine. It feels less like a post-apocalyptic world to do mundane things like grocery shopping instead of hoarding supplies at home. I grab my keys from the hook by the front door and lock up behind me. Another desperate grab at normalcy. I grab the bright blue children’s wagon from the front porch and tie it to the back of my bike. I climb on and head for the store. My footsteps echo through the empty aisles as I drag the wagon behind me, filling it with all the necessities for the week. Canned beans, another bag of rice, dry pasta. I dread the day that these shelves will begin to look bare. I haven’t mentally prepared myself yet for living off the land. I don’t even know if I will survive that long... or if I want to survive that long. I shake my head. “You can’t think like that. You have to keep going,” I tell myself, confidence wavering. I’m rolling my wagon towards the door, whistling the tune of a song with a title I have long forgotten, the wind gushing through the cracks of the door, which I almost think sounds like a human gasp. I hear shuffling behind me. Before I have the chance to turn around, they speak. “And who the hell are you?” They say. I drop the wagon's handle to the floor.


MELANIE History, epic, that's what I call my love story. It was epic from the first moment my eyes landed on Matt. History was our love story and it all began on a sunny spring day. Three years ago, I was walling in the park when my eyes landed on a stranger. I walked passed him but I had this urge to look back so I did. He looked up and saw me. Our eyes met. I couldn't move. I was frozen in place. This perfect stranger started to walk towards me. He was tall with deep green eyes. I couldn't take my eyes away from him. He came up to me and introduced himself. His name was Matt. I was tongue tied. I didn't know what to say. I stood in place looking at Matt and his beautiful green eyes. I was afraid Matt was going to leave. So, I opened my mouth and told him my name is Melanie. Matt extended his hand to me. Strong and powerful he was. Sparks flew immediately. I felt it so did Matt. We walked around the park together getting to know each other. I was nervous. I never talked to a complete stranger. I let Matt do all the talking. He told me he was in the military, the Navy to be exact. He lives in Virginia, likes to go to the beach. I listened intently. Matt wasn't a crazy insane killer. We sat down on a bench to relax. Matt bought me an ice cream. He continued to talk about his Navy career. I can tell he was very proud of the work he did. Matt told me the reason why he joined the Navy. It was to get away from his parents especially his mother who is overbearing and controlling. He couldn't take it anymore. Joining the Navy was his escape. I sensed sadness in Matt when he talked about his parents. I felt just like him. I didn't come to Virginia for a vacation. I came to Virginia to escape from my parents and two brothers. I grabbed Matt's hand and I told him my truth. I told him I came to Virginia to escape my parents and two brothers. I told him my parents and brothers are controlling, they tell me what to do all the time and I couldn't take it anymore. Tears started to form in my eyes. I broke away from Matt because I didn't want to be near him but Matt wouldn't let go of my hand. Matt held on to my hand for a long time. In all my life I never felt comfortable with anyone but with this stranger I just met I felt more alive than ever before. I felt safe and happy. I didn't know what was happening between me and Matt. What I did know is that me and Matt shared a common bond. We both escaped our own families. Our connection was strong and part of me was scared. What was going to happen next? For the rest of the day and into the night me and Matt spent it together. He took me to the beach then to a nice restaurant. We talked about happy things like our favorite music, favorite food, favorite books and so much more. I had so much fun with Matt. He's funny and easy going, he's still like that today. Matt made me laugh so much my stomach was hurting. I didn't want the night to end. A true gentleman Matt was, he walked me to my hotel and up to my room. Matt kissed me on the cheek. He told me he wanted to see me again. I of course said yes. I walked into my hotel room happy. My smile was as big as the sun. Nothing was getting in the way of my happiness. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I could be me, the real me. There was nobody telling me Melanie you can't do this. Melanie you can't do that. I only answered to me. Matt a total stranger understood me and I understood him and for now I wanted to keep on getting to know Matt. Something that day in the hotel room clicked for me. Maybe Matt's the one. In the ensuing days I would find out how much Matt meant to me and how quickly I fell in love with him. The next day Matt came to pick me. We went to breakfast then after breakfast Matt took me on a tour of Virginia. Matt was a good tour guide. He took me to some amazing places like Shenandoah National Park, Colonial Williamsburg. We went zip lining, a dolphin tour even a ghost tour. I had so much fun. After our fun day and night Matt took me to the beach for a night time picnic. I looked up at the night sky and I told myself I don't want to leave Virginia and I don't want to leave Matt. I had to make a decision fast because at the end of the week I had to go back to my nightmare. Throughout the rest of the week me and Matt continued to spend more and more time together. I was quickly falling for Matt but the real question. Was Matt falling for me? MATT Sitting here in my backyard of my home in San Diego watching my beautiful wife Melanie, I think back to three years ago when my eyes met her eyes. I just got to the park after yet another fight with my mother. I needed to escape my home. I walked around for a bit, then I ended up at the park. My back was facing the people, I was facing the trees. The side of my eye caught someone walking by. I didn't turn around until I sensed the stranger watching me. I turned around and saw the most beautiful woman starring at me. I took a chance and walked up to her. I introduced myself but she didn't say anything. As I was about to leave, she finally talked to me. She told me her name is Melanie. A beautiful name for a beautiful lady. I saw that Melanie was nervous to be around me. So, I did the talking. Me and Melanie walking through the park. I talked about my Navy career. She listened intently. I liked that. I spotted some benches and an ice cream truck. I went to buy Melanie an ice cream, then we walked to the benches. We sat down and I continued to talk. I told Melanie the reason why I joined the Navy. I joined the Navy to get away from my parents especially my mother. Melanie did something unexpected. She grabbed my hand when I stopped talking. It was and still is always hard to talk about my family. We use to be close but somewhere along the line we grew apart. What she told me next took me by surprise. Melanie told me the real reason she came to Virginia. She came to Virginia to escape her parents and brothers. I saw the sadness in her eyes. Tears began to form in her eyes. Melanie began to pull away from me. I didn't let her go. I had this urge to protect Melanie. She's so beautiful and I knew Melanie has a good heart. In all my life I never had a connection like this to anyone not even my twin. But with Melanie I felt something inside of me that is strong and powerful. Me and Melanie spent the rest of the day and night together. I took her to the beach, then to a nice restaurant. I love making Melanie laugh. Her laugh is infectious. I couldn't take my eyes off of her. At the end of the night, I walked Melanie to her hotel and up to her room. I kissed Melanie on the cheek and I told her I wanted to see her again. She said yes. I left after Melanie closed the door. That day and night I spent with Melanie was amazing. I never felt more alive than I did right at that moment. I got back to my place feeling like I'm on top of the world. Nothing brought me down that night. The next day I got up early, took a shower, got dressed and went to pick up Melanie. I took Melanie out to breakfast, then I took Melanie on a tour of Virginia. I took Melanie to the national park, to colonial Williamsburg. We went zip lining, a dolphin tour and a ghost tour. I watched Melanie all day long and I realized, I wanted to watch her forever. Later that night I took Melanie to the beach for a night time picnic. Melanie looked so beautiful under the moon light. I knew Melanie had to go back home soon. The truth was I didn't want Melanie to leave. I wanted Melanie to stay here in Virginia with me. I just had to tell her. The heart wants what the heart wants and I wanted Melanie. Knowing her for a day felt like a lifetime to me. I didn't waste any time. I told Melanie I wanted her to stay, that I needed her to stay. She looked at me with those beautiful hazel eyes and I knew her answer was yes. Melanie hugged me. We kissed. Our first kiss was magical. Our boned, our connection was made stronger that day. One day was all it took for me to find the love of my life. I know Melanie will say the same thing. MELANIE One day was all it took for me to find my happiness and end my nightmare. When Matt told me he wanted me to stay in Virginia with him, I was beyond happy and to this day Matt makes me happy. For our life together in San Diego the rest is history.