Howard Wilkins, sixty-three (Widower, arthritic knee) Rose that morning, despite his pains, With one purpose: spotting trains  For Howard lived to see in action The roaring behemoths of traction To see them roaring through a station That - to Howard - was true elation  To see trains was to feel alive Hence his house, in Chaffinch drive From every surface displayed this passion (*Wilfully* disdaining fashion)  In photos hanging from the wall Stood trains from large to very small Here trusty freights, there record breakers Some scrapped now, they’d “met their makers”  Model sets stood proud on shelves 1:10s and 1:12s, And in pride of place, TMST (That’s eurostar, to you and me)  Though if one really sought to look In each cranny and every nook Though the collection was a delight Something there was not quite right  For though Howard’s pictures, bright and shining, Showed royal engines, carriages for dining, Amongst them all could not be seen A single engine built for steam.  For Brunel’s monsters, pride of Britain, Which left his fellow spotters smitten, Could not in Howard Wilkins sire A tiny inkling of desire.  Men in the club would chide him often, (Especially chairman, Roger Mofton) “Howard, chief amongst your evils, Is your blinkered view of diesels”  And Howard, inwardly seething, Would distract them, temper even, Smile warmly back at their harangue “Time for food - Vi’s made meringue.”  He had to say, he thought with pride, In fact he’d told her, as she died, Vi’s cooking was the best he’d eaten, In bed he’d called her “Mrs Beeton”.  Yes she’d not been that bad all told Until she’d started getting old And Vi, with all her aches and pains, Had took up all his time for trains  He wrung his hands - they still felt dirty, *But anyway, it’s gone 4:30* Time to get the show on the road *Or on the rails -* his joke of old  The morning’s fun still to begin He started whistling, was it a hymn? He’d sang it at a funeral Though quite when, couldn’t recall  He gathered up his torch and flask \-Equipment for this morning’s task- Satisfied he’d packed it all He hurried onwards, down the hall  As he passed the living room Glowing softly, from the moon Was there a shadow, clear and neat Lying by the three piece suite?  No - there was nothing of the sort His mind was just a little fraught He shook his head, left by the door Locked it, checked, then checked once more  Sat neatly round him, sleeping sweetly, But most importantly, *discreetly* Stood modest semis, in a row, Mrs Comstock’s bungalow,  Shiny cars and well-kept gardens (ignore the gnomes outside the Mardens’) Announced the folk who lived within: Proper, *private*, just like him.  He’d always liked that - Vi had too When they’d moved in at sixty-two Neighbours *greeted*, but nothing further - Even if you screamed bloody murder  He knew they’d never have any trouble Safe in that like-minded bubble He’d thought of that as Vi grew sicker Thought of it, when they would bicker -  He shut the gate and started walking.. Now Vi was gone, he missed the talking Though the house, where he’d turned violent Was never really - truly - silent.  He turned up the path, slightly uphill Braced against the morning’s chill All was still, all was sleeping No neighbours prying, no deliquents creeping...  But wait, that woman, up ahead? Had she cut across that flower bed? Caused that cursed dog to bark, Creeping round here, in the dark?  He peered out through his anorak - She didn’t move, or gesture back He called in greeting, but more in warning “What are you up to here, this morning?”  As soon as he spoke this aloud The moon shifted behind a cloud A ray of moonlight lit the scene - The woman? Nowhere to be seen.  At his call he’d noticed twitchings From forty-nine, old Mr Hitchens The estate was private, his neighbours shy But nothing passed old Hitchens by  And Howard, sweating only slightly Waved and nodded, quite politely Then he turned and walked on, briskly To give Hitchens gossip was far too risky  The danger of the old man passed He started on his way at last To the station, a walk away Across the old dual carriageway  No traffic or lights, glaring or strafing His feet along the pavement chafing For Vi, (her thrifty matched by nought) Had bought him shoes a smidge too short  She never had quite understood The way Howard felt in his blood That order and perfection mattered He’d thought that as her blood had spattered...  But pushing Violet from his head And focusing his mind instead On the purpose of this sortie The diesel pulling the 05:40.  He huffed and puffed, feet hot and screeching To the quietest station saved from Beeching Although that was a grand description For a small brick building, caked in lichen  The station’s guard, a man named Devine Would not be here til five past nine And as this stop had but one commuter Howard stood alone, in moonlit pewter  He took out his notebook, paper witness Spotting was a detailed business Much information needed amassing Firstly - the time of the train’s passing,  He sighed - why were trains just so unable To keep to their own set timetable? He checked his watch now, growing restless Why was the whole world just so feckless?  Then in the distance, he heard it coming The familiar metallic drumming But too came a sound, a moment later Was that the haunting song of vapour?  His heart ran cold, an old affliction The dark side of his train addiction The part that he so vainly tried To obfuscate, cover over - hide  Vi had asked once - she’d loved to pry * She hated trains, so God knows why - “Those old steam engines your friends mention - Don’t they capture *your* attention?”  He’d told her it dated back to Father Who’d been a soldier - conscripted, rather He’d taken steam down to the ferry That took him off to death by Jerry  That wasn’t quite the truth, all told What really happened made him cold For Howard Wilkins, duller than most Had once - and just once - seen a ghost  A ghost train to be more precise A hellish and profane device But it was true, real in its vocation And what’s more - it was at *this* station  Lost in this memory, blind to his eyes With a jump he realised Up the platform, looking back, Stood that woman, dressed in black  Now then, again, no-one was there He stared at dark and empty air He had a thought (quickly despised) Was her face one he recognised?  But then from down the track, like rain Came the whistle, a beast in pain He whispered aloud now, quite deranged, “I think the timetable has changed”  It was true, zero dispute A steam whistle (the devil’s flute) At five hundred yards, now maybe four The very train he’d seen before  The pistons slowing, metal clanging The wheels protesting, boiler banging Howard watched on, nerves quite distraught As the engine slowed to a halt.  Last time the train had roared right through As from its funnel, fire flew He’d only had a glimpse inside At those on their eternal ride  On seats of fabric, worn and fraying Sat bodies of the long decaying Though were they corpses? Hard to say If they could claw and scream that way?  Men and women, first class to third Screamed past the platform, the image blurred Steam billowed around young Howard, burning These memories flocked back, returning  And worst of all, source of his fears Words that haunted through the years As the train rushed past, lit by the moon A voice had called “You’ll join us soon.”  His heart beat faster in his chest The train came slowly to a rest The engine now was right before him Purring loudly in the morning  He gazed in wonder, or maybe fear To see the impossible stop so near Engine, tender, carriages black Clear as day, sharp as a tack  From outside all was quite serene * Apart from the atrocious steam - But inside - now there one could tell That this was truly a train from hell  The corpses screamed, whooped and cried, Turned handles vainly, locked inside They clamoured, their dead arms a’beckoning Inviting Howard to his reckoning  A tall man from the rear descended Checked his watch, his face offended “So sorry that we’re running late, I do try to be on time for fate.”  He gazed at Howard, from top to floor “Ah! Mr Wilkins - I’ve seen you before I knew it then, I’m never wrong This train is right where you belong”  “Now if you please, we need to hurry We’ve four more stops (and that’s just Surrey) If you would kindly step aboard I think you’ll find your just reward.”  As Howard started his approach To the nearest black and gleaming coach The beasts on board roared and knocked, Protested Howard “The door is locked.”  “Not so fast” the Guard’s smile was wide “What makes you think you’ll sit inside? ‘Replace the stoker, until repentance Coal and fire’: that’s your sentence”  A blackened man stepped from the tender His eyes red hot, charcoal ember His body broken, bent in double Produced for Howard a filthy shovel  The spade was hot - no wooden handle Melting his hands, as wax on candle Howard screamed, he dropped the spade Jumped back from the unholy crash it made  “How” said Howard “Am I expected To use that tool as you directed?” It can’t just be me that understands That to shovel coal I need my hands?  “Mr Wilkins, do you not comprehend Just where you are, and to what end? You’ll shovel coal, make no mistake Until I hear your backbone break.”  “You’ll be in pain, and you’ll carry on For Howard Wilkins, you’ve done wrong This train must run, this train needs coal And if you stop: I’ll burn your soul.”  “Now on the tender, and quick about it My orders are not to be flouted Though yes! I do have one nice surprise Someone’s here for their goodbyes”  And the woman, dressed in black Haunting him, was once more back She pulled down her laced and ornate veil To show a face, waxy and pale  There hadn’t been an open casket After the knife from the bread basket And though the mortician had done good work Her face remained a jagged smirk  She’d never made that smile alive While sat with him in Chaffinch drive “Hello, dear.


Rohan : Ok Rina : “ what ok , its not a joke” Rohan ; “ I will do it” Rina : what are you talking about , have you lost your mind , it is matter of your life Jitesh : hey Rina why are you coming between us , if he said he will do it let him do , don’t interfere in men’s matter. Rina : Hey , why are you provoking him to do such task that will risk his life. Jitesh : He is interested in doing it . Jitesh challenged Rohan If he can jump from 100 feet height without any equipment’s. Rohan was a fitness geek so he accepted the challenge , he thought that there is nothing in the world that he can’t do . Rina who was very good friend of Rohan was always aware about evil mind of Jitesh who was their colleague. Jitesh always used to create problems in others life , and enjoys watching others in pain . but Rina was a very tough girl Jitesh tried so many times to get her away from his way but Rina every time came with an idea to solve problems of others. Rohan was one of the most hard working employee of the company. For him work was worship , he just enjoys the duty he was given and due to these qualities he was going to get promotion . His seniors were very happy from his performance and they were looking to give him the position of marketing head. Jitesh was very jealous from him because he was 4 years senior from him and he was at the same position were he joined the company. He was well aware that Rohan always looks for adventurous things in life . so he gave him challenge if he could jump from a 100 feet rock to the sand he will give him a grand party. Rohan said yes to him without thinking about that it could be very dangerous for his life. Rina was there when they were talking about all this , she has never told Rohan but she liked him when they joined the company . they joined the company at same day and got training together . They were from different cities and from different culture but they soon became very good friends . Rina liked Rohan from the day one when they met but she didn’t know that if Rohan also likes him or not and she never shared her feelings with Rohan because she was afraid that she will loose a good friend . Rina was totally against the idea of doing this stunt, but Rohan was very excited to do this and he didn’t thought the consequences of it and Jitesh keeps on provoking him and he also told him that if you will not do this I will spread the word everywhere that how bog coward you are. Rina was helpless now she was thinking what she must do to stop this nonsense to happen. Their senior manager Mr. Swaminathan was very supportive to them , he always liked Rina and Rohan as a hard working employer. Rina thought I should talk about this to him , but she was feeling that it is junior employees personnel matter should she talk this matter to him. But there was no other elders in that city with her to whom she can share her problem and get some valuable suggestions. She knew that Rohan was bit childish she need to act fast before he do some harm to himself in search of some fun. She went to Mr. Swaminathan and told him everything . Mr . Swaminathan “ I knew that Idiot Jitesh is jealous of Rohan , he is the most useless person in our company who joined just because some of his relative is in the board of directors of the company. He always creates problems for others but this time he has gone too far. Wait I am coming I will talk to Rohan not do this “ . Mr. Swaminathan and Rina went to Rohan’s desk after sometime but he was not there then they looked for Jitesh but they didn’t find him too. They went to security guard and asked him if he saw Rohan and Jitesh . Security guard said “ There shift was over so they went home. And yes Today I saw a weird thing that today Jitesh gave lift to Rohan in his car as they went together, Jitesh Sir never gives lift to anyone in his car. “ Rina became very worried about Rohan as were they have gone he just wished that Rohan safe till now. Mr . Swaminathan told her to keep calm he will call his fiend who is in traffic monitoring headquarters , he will help him find both of them with the cctv cameras records. Cell phones of both Jitesh and Rohan was switch of , Rina was sure that Jitesh played some trick and made Rohan phone off. Soon Mr. Swaminathan gets call from his friend that the no of car which he told went to the direction of Kailari hills . Mr. Swaminathan rushed to his car with Rina and they also took security guard Nandu with them. Soon they reached the Kailari hills , Rohan was standing near the cliff , it was a sandy his about 100 feet high . Jitesh was shouting from behind jump, jump. Rina got out of the car and rushed towards Rohan to stop him . She shouted “ Rohan please don’t jump wait a minute listen to me. Rohan looked at Rina and also saw Mr . Swaminathan with her, she ran to Rohan and hugged him and said “ I love you Rohan I liked you from the first time when I saw you , Please don’t jump for the sake of our friendship.” Rohan was surprised to know that she loved him as he always looked for a girl like Rina to be his life partner. Soon Mr . Swaminathan reached close to them and told him get back to the car and go home. Jitesh was very afraid he never thought that Someone will tell this too seniors in the company , he thought that he will manage everything after the incident , but things were different now. On the very next day It was decided in the company that Jitesh will be fired and won’t get any benefits from the company also he wouldn’t get any experience certificates after what he was going to do with an employee of the company. After 1 month of this incident Rohan and Rina got engaged to each other. Sitting at a beach on evening Rohan asked Rina if Jitesh will not have asked me to do that dare would she accepted that she loves me. Rina just looked into eyes of Rohan and smiled; Rohan got his answer. The sunset was beautiful it looked like sun was going inside deep water of Sea to get fresh and rise again next morning. Rina leaned on the shoulder of Rohan watching this beautiful moment.


He wasn't much good at waiting but walking into the office of the woman you've loved for decades unannounced wasn't a great tactic. The fact this version of Heath Breeland stood seven inches taller than the original only added to his conundrum. It would be one thing if LeeAnn recognized him and totally another to explain it. The last time they spoke, Heath the OG made a lighthearted remark, suggesting that if he could only find a portal to a parallel universe, he'd show up at her door, flowers in one hand, hope in the other. And, in the spirit of that impossibility, LeeAnn gave her harmonic laugh and readily agreed to let him in. Now, a week since that fateful conversation, Heath stood in the shade of a weeping willow, anxiously awaiting to capture the heart he so craved. He remained partially hidden and cool while keeping the front door of LeeAnn's interior design business in plain view. Rechecking his watch told him only five minutes had passed since his last glance, and it would be another hour before LeeAnn closed up shop. While his transformation would cause some difficulty in identification, LeeAnn was unmistakable. Standing nearly six feet tall, the woman was slender, strong, and elegant. Flowing blonde hair that often carried tints of bronze or twists of ginger bounced, swayed, and floated to the middle of her back. If she wore her hair up, it revealed a long, graceful neck, small ears, and a well-shaped, feminine jaw. The centerpiece of her beauty lay in a smile that beamed warmth, kindness, and good humor, and above a delicate Nordic nose were eyes that dazzled in a yet unnamed combination of blue, green, and gold. Heath had known LeeAnn for nearly forty years. From early childhood, laughing and playing in the innocence of youth, through their teenage years until a break caused by the arrival of adulthood and all that goes with it. In the decades since their paths diverged, Heath had yet to lay eyes on a woman as beautiful as her. Inexplicably, the universe decided to grant his wish, and Heath hoped, maybe LeeAnn's too. *** Being an archeologist was rarely, if ever, like scenes from Indiana Jones. During his accomplished but dull career, Heath never discovered lost cities secreting treasures guarded by booby-trapped corridors. The closest he'd come to anything like that was helping excavate the foundations of buried structures that surprised him with a few snakes and spiders. Everything changed when he was summoned to the site of the ancient Phoenician site in Sardinia, but he wasn't on his hand and knees scooping primordial soil into a sieve when he saw it. Adhering to the Italian fashion of shutting down work in the mid-afternoon hours, he'd taken his lunch pack and walked to a lone olive tree sitting in a hollow on the hill. Having eaten a remarkably delicious Italian tomato and cheese sandwich and enjoyed the overly sweet but addictive limoncello carbonated beverage, Heath made a headrest from his pouch, then stretched in the shade of the tree with the air warm against his skin and lulled by the rhythmic wash of the sea against the shore. Still unaccustomed to napping midway through the day, he'd rolled over, turning his face toward the twisting bark at the base of the tree when the glow of a soft blue light caught his eye. At first, he'd thought it was a reflection off his watch, a stone, or something else catching the sun, bouncing back a spot of the azure sea, but instead, the light seemed to be emanating from within the root structure. Being a digger, he began scratching away the earth from the tangle, and as more the light shone, the soil around began to fall deeper into a void beneath the tree. With hardly any work, the small opening grew to a chasm pulsing with a blue hue. Before the Phoenicians settled the area, the land was home to the Nuragic, a civilization dating back to the 1900s B.C. Not much is known about those peoples despite leaving the landscape dotted with over 700 structures, including the 350 Tomba dei Gigant- Tombs of Giants , and the awe-inspiring water temple, named the Sanctuary of Santa Maria, an intricate designed subterranean well that aligned with moon phases experts declared would be hard to replicate today. The fact primitive peoples made it remains unexplained. Heath quickly ran through his mental notes on what he knew of them and their history, but nothing about an olive tree with roots of blue light rang a bell. He dug deeper. The hard-packed earth, a mixture of limestone and clay, began to soften until a wide swath of it sloughed away into the hole below, and now Heath could see that the blue light came from somewhere further down. The shimmering that caught his eye was a reflection bouncing off the congealed sap that clung to the root structure in great globs. The opening, large enough for him to easily slide into, left him with a choice; go or stay. Curiosity is crucial to being a successful archeologist, so he'd only faintly considered the latter. With a final look over his shoulder, Heath grabbed his pack and slid into the abyss. *** By the time he'd jogged across the parking lot and crossed the street, LeeAnn had locked the door behind her and strolled around the corner. An unrealistic fear of having her vanish around the turn gripped his heart. Dressed smartly in a loose white blouse decorated with floral stitchings of pinks, purples, reds, and stems of green over top form-fitting blue slacks, LeeAnn strode along in a pair of white heels matching her shirt. With her head up and her long, wavy curls bouncing over her shoulders, the woman moved along the sidewalk with the grace and poise of a model, having forgotten the impact of her beauty on passersby. "LeeAnn!" Heath called out between breaths as he hurried to catch up. It was a marvelous habit of hers-always greeting someone with a smile, and when she turned to address the source of her beckoning, Heath stumbled, then stopped. Standing still and gazing at her, he smiled. It had been too long since he'd laid his eyes upon her. And, as usual, he cursed under his breath, never able to process her beauty; "Lord have mercy." Her smile faded as she looked in the face of her caller. Her eyes held recognition and confusion. She took a step backward, then glanced over both shoulders to verify her surroundings before returning her gaze to the strange but familiar man standing before her. A burst of nervous laughter came from her throat as she braved a step closer, then, shaking her head, she spoke, doubting the words that left her lips. "This isn't real. Heath?" "Hello, LeeAnn," he replied, handing her a bouquet of exotic orchids, lilies, and roses. "Yes. It's me. Heath. I found it-the portal. It happened." “Hah-hah-ha!” She threw her back, her long neck extending and hair falling away from her ears, revealing a set of gold hoops swinging at a pendulum's pace. Clapping her hands made a crisp smack, and she responded with a robust laugh. "Nice try. He's clever, I'll admit, but this is going too far, even for him!" Heath laughed, at her, himself, the absurdity of the situation, and the impossibility of having to explain it convincingly. Waving a long and beautifully manicured finger at him, she replied. "And I'm a member of the Royal Family living in obscurity rather than a single mother and over-worked decorator!" Heath stepped closer and watched LeeAnn's smile evaporate once again. She narrowed her eyes, looking him over closely. "But. It can't be-can it? " she asked, moving a step closer to him. "Can it?" "It can't, but I promise it is. It's me. I'm real. It happened." With an avalanche of words, Heath recounted the events in Sardinia, what he found, how it happened, and how he came to see himself standing before her today, the same man, albeit much taller and slightly slimmer but with the same white in his hair, the same face and eyes. Listening without interruption, LeeAnn erased the remaining space between them, raised a hand to his face, and finally spoke. "But how? How are you taller? How can you be different but the same?" "From them, the Nuragic. Consequentially, they are real, living in underground cities you can't imagine. You have to see it to believe it, and in case you were wondering, the legends are true-they are giants." Looking up at him, LeeAnn ran her fingers through his thick hair, her fingertips softly brushing along his chin, then she took the flowers from his hand and giggled. "You're more handsome as a taller man." Suddenly becoming aware of the two of them standing in the street, she dropped her hand from his face and took his hand. "Okay, this whole business requires a drink. Come with me." The fold of her fingers over his sent waves of indescribable contentment through his entire body, and Heath, having known long ago that he would go anywhere LeeAnn led him, readily followed along. A few minutes later, the pair were seated at a table in the corner of the bistro, LeeAnn gazing with disbelief at Heath while he tried not to faint from the overwhelming joy of being in her company. It was all he could do to focus on answering her questions, of which there were many, and give answers as plainly as possible. "So, you want me to believe you fell asleep like Snow White under an olive tree, then fell into a hole in the earth and landed amongst a lost civilization of giants in underground cities." she recounted. "Then, out of the goodness of their hearts, they gave you some magic beans to make you sprout up nearly a foot, then showed you a door where you can jump through time and space?" "Space, yes. Time, not that I know of. As far as I can tell, everything is as it was. Nothing is different except that I am here, with you, precisely how I had dreamed about a million times. And it wasn't beans, but a type of corn--I think." Heath looked sheepish momentarily before screwing up the courage to tell her the rest. "It wasn't random; me being here, taller, and to see you," he confessed. "They asked me to tell them my dream, and my dream is you." LeeAnn looked at him quizzically. "What about you-you? The original version? What happens to him?" Heath smiled. "That's the best part! At least, I think it is." He began to explain as best as he could understand. "He's back up top in Sardinia, scraping rocks and gathering dirt into buckets-the Nuragic exist with twin souls. Each of us has a double, one that exists as a separate entity while the other remains in the community or ventures out to discover other experiences." LeeAnn raised the glass of Pinot Grigio and took a long drink, then set the glass back down with her impeccable French-tipped nails drumming on the stem. "And you-he, will go on living life the same way, doing the same things, thinking the same thoughts, without any knowledge of this-you running around in the world?" "That's how I understand it, yes," Heath answered, calmly trying to mask his eagerness to tell her the next piece of information gleaned from the Nuragic giants. LeeAnn comically dropped her chin to her chest and shook her head, sending her long hair blustering about like a lion shaking his mane and then shrieking with amusement. "What's so funny? Besides everything about this?" Heath asked, reveling in the sound of her laughter. "OG you!" she answered. "You'd better not run into him; that guy has a very serious crush on me!" "Hmm. Yeah. There's a rule about that," Heath answered. "The giants made it rather clear that the twin entities must never converge. Observing the other from a distance is fine, but apparently, bad things happen when you get too close." "How do you speak with them?" "It's telepathic, as far as I can figure. Their lips move, and they hum more than annunciate, but you hear everything in your head in plain English. It's rather remarkable, really." "I bet it is," she answered. Then LeeAnn looked at Heath with serious eyes. "So, what are you going to do? Why are you here?" Heath took her hand. Light as a feather, it rested in his. "I'm here for you, LeeAnn. I said I would come. You know how I feel about you-what I want." Her eyes flared, and a beat of blush rose in her cheeks, then she drew her hand away. "You know that's not possible," she said. "What about my kids? My life? I can't just walk away and disappear. Sure, you showed up looking exactly like I wished for a time or two, but that doesn't mean I can drop my life and run away with you, even if I wanted." "You don't have to. But, if you want to take the chance, to trust me, and let me love you the way I want, in the way you deserve." Heath paused. This was the scary part, and he'd run through a thousand versions of what to say and how while he waited for her to finish her work day. He swallowed and silently prayed for the right words to come. "We can make portals anywhere. We can manifest whatever we want. The Nuragic showed me the universe is just a system of channels tuned to different frequencies," Heath explained. "Why, you could change anything you wanted. You can try being shorter or having hair as black as coal." A mischievous smile appeared as he offered his following words. "If you wanted to know the feeling of being more curvaceous, all you have to do is think it and wink," he said, referring to LeeAnn's past complaints of being small-breasted. "Everything is possible." Heath reached into his pocket and pulled out a small cloth sack. Slipping off the tie, he turned the pouch over and emptied it onto the table. A gemstone the size of a walnut, rolled across the tablecloth. The nugget pulsed with blue light. "The only requirement is that your desires be true. If you believe in what you want, it's only a matter of asking." Heath explained and clasped her hands in his. "Nothing changes here. Your kids have you, and this you continues on this path." Heath took a gulp of air and forced himself to be vulnerable to her, the woman he'd loved as much as his other life allowed, as much as it was possible. "You can't imagine how well I could love you. I mean, I already do, but I can show you happiness. I can give you the things you've been wanting for so long. All those spaces inside of you that have ached for the kind of love I can give." LeeAnn felt the trickle of tears running down her cheek as she sat listening to this man who had somehow stumbled onto the impossible, found the answer to the inconceivable, and bared his heart and soul-for her. Through all the years of his unwavering attention, silly, romantic, comical affections, and unyielding declarations of admiration, he was here, presenting himself to her, having overcome the final, superficial, but concrete boundaries she had held. All he wanted was her. She sniffled, gave a short burst of laughter, and took her hands away from his, seizing a cloth napkin to dab her eyes. "You're going to ruin my makeup," she remarked and laughed again. But when she finished wiping her tears away and looked at him again, Heath had never seen such a beautiful face. Nodding as she spoke, her heart sent the words her mind could not find. "I'll never understand what I've done to make you feel this way about me," she said between laughing sobs. "I've hardly given you any attention at all, and I've never led you to believe something that wasn't true. But, ok. Yes." Then a whimsical, joyous bubble of laughter broke from somewhere deep within, and she repeated the word. "Yes." Feeling like he was going to explode into a billion atoms, Heath was about to speak, but LeeAnn sprang from her chair, leaned across the table, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him. "Now take me with you, and don't you dare break my heart!" she commanded. Squeezing her hand, Heath looked into her dazzling, sparkling eyes and told her the truth he knew. "You are my heart."


The Last Time I Cried In truth, I am not an emotional person. I do show my emotions, but only with a smile or a frown. I used to cry a lot. In fact, I can tell you that most people enjoy a good cry. Although, I haven’t cried since the year 2014. Wondering what happened then? I’ll tell you. Betrayal. It’s such a strong word, no? Over the years, I have found that people tend to overuse it, along with words such as ‘hate’ or ‘love’. Well, I can assure you that, in this case, I do not exaggerate. In fact, I believe I handled it all very well. So, it all started in January 2014, I had just gone back to school after Christmas. School back then was fine, you know? Not too hard, not too easy. Just... fine. Or at least it was. The thing you should know about me is that I am rather inept when it comes to making friends. Truthfully, I suck at it; I start talking to someone and then I get so afraid that they’re not going to like me that I decide that I’m not going to like them first. This happened every time I would try to socialise. Of course, there was, as there always is, an exception. This exception’s name was Ruby. Allow me to tell you a little bit about Ruby. She’s my age (so was 9 at the time), has (or at least had the last time I saw her) long golden hair that smells of roses, and beautiful brown eyes. We had known each other since birth, as our parents were also childhood friends. I’m not sure if this is true or if it is just a lie my mum told me but the first face I saw after I was born was Ruby’s. She was my best friend and my confidant. Of course, nothing lasts forever. Ruby and I were never really interested in romantic relationships (because we were ten) and so all of our energy was focused on each other. You’d think this would get tiring but I can tell you that we never got sick of each other. We were inseparable. This made what happened next sting so much more. We were in year 5 and we had just gotten a massive project: the science fair. Now, in retrospect, this wasn’t that big of a deal but, at the time, it was the most important thing in the world. When a project is announced, you look around and try to find a partner. Of course, you’re supposed to be listening to the teacher, so this must all be kept under wraps. That group-finding experience is often the most soul-destroying activity that one would ever have to participate in in school (nay, in life). Naturally, as soon as a teacher announces a group project, you look straight at your best friend and make direct eye contact with them. Then, you both share a nod full of excitement but also covertness. That nod sums up everything about your relationship. This is what we do did every time... until once Now, the week before the fair was announced, Ruby and I had gone to TK Maxx with our mums so that they could buy trainers. The people to whom these trainers would belong would forever remain a mystery (they were for us). As is protocol in such scenarios, Ruby and I, while our parents were trying on their detour clothes (the clothes that people try on when they visit a shop, just to waste time and fill up their wardrobes), we ‘borrowed’ some money from each of our mothers’ handbags and awayed to McDonalds. When we got in, we were going to order but I needed to drain my bladder (as, at the time, it felt like I had a fish tank in my pelvis) so I went while she ordered (we both know each other’s orders (5-piece chicken select, large diet coke and chips for me and an entire share-box of McNuggets, a large diet coke chips for her (we weren’t fat, we just had large appetites))). While I was gone, Ruby had an encounter. This encounter was with a boy named Elliot. First, let me tell you about Eliiot: he had chestnut-brown hair and piercing blue eyes, he was charming, handsome, everything most girls wanted and everything most boys hated. Despite their hatred for him, every single boy in the school seemed to bow down to him (all but one-me) and every single girl seemed to love him (all but one-Ruby). The standard reaction received from a girl when encountering Eliiot was something along the lines of ‘Eliiot... wow... you’re here? That’s such a coincidence... Oh my god! It’s fate! Ha... Isn’t that silly?’ (even when they ran into each other at school). This is what made seeing Ruby encounter Eliiot all the more pleasing, as her greeting went something along the lines of “what do you want, ****wad” (yes, that is the language we used at the time). However, this day was... odd. This is because, while her initial greeting was identical to the ones of the past, their next action was a hug. Wondering how I know this? I was about to emerge from the bathroom, but I saw it all the door. Ruby collected our food and then sat down with the monster (Eliiot Price) at our table. I watched on in abhorrence as Eliiot munched on my fries. Although, I couldn’t help but notice that there was something off about Eliiot. There was something of with his face. It’s almost as if he was... sad. Shocked? Me too. But... what could the Eliiot Price possibly have to be sad about? Was he struggling that every girl in the school loved him? Was he frustrated that he was too handsome? I was stumped. Eventually, after devouring half of my fries, Eliiot stood up (as if to leave) and gave Ruby one last hug, loaded with suspicious innuendo, and got his almost weeping butt out of Ruby’s and my ‘straunt (as we called it at the time). After watching for about 10 minutes, I had had some time to calm down. Unfortunately, this did not come through in my greeting. In fact, the words that came out of my mouth were something along the lines of “WHAT THE ****, RUBY?” (past-me’s words, not mine), “You hate someone for years and suddenly he’s your best buddy? What’s that about?”. Her response made me eat my words: “Charlie... his mum died”. Instantly, my anger was quelled. I sat down. Suddenly, it was so blindingly obvious why Ruby’s hatred of all things Eliiot had been temporarily silenced-out of kindness, sympathy, decency, whatever you want to call it. Despite my hatred of all things Eliiot Price, this... event only made me respect Ruby more. About 10 days from then, came the ruling, judgement day the possible apocalyptic outcome. By this, I mean the day we chose partners for the Science Fair. That day, I woke up with a plan in mind-go to school pick Ruby as my partner, live happily ever after. However, it appears that Ruby had formulated a different plan-wake up, go to school, rip out my soul and stomp on it, live happily ever after. Melodramatic, no? Well I didn’t think so at the time. Nevertheless, the first 2 steps of our plans were similar: wake up and go to school, and so we did. As was the norm for us at the time, I was driven by my mum to pick up Ruby at her house , which was only a few streets away. We exchanged pleasantries with Ms. Rydohi (Ruby’s mother) and then we departed. What stings the most about what happened once we arrived at school is that, to Ruby, it was an ordinary morning, and we conversed accordingly, me completely oblivious to what would soon happen and her with the most malicious of intents. We arrived at school. Typically, we would have greeted our friends, taken our time putting our coats and bags on the pegs in the cloakroom and then lazily saunter to class. Today, however, our typical routines we rendered moot. This is because the entire year-which was really only the size of about 2 classes- was dying to get to registration first. See, the way pairs were chosen at the time is the first pair there would be together. Because of this, people would wait outside the classroom for their partner and then enter. And so, I did. Unfortunately, it seemed that Ruby had found a new default partner: Eliiot Price. That’s right, her vowed arch-nemesis, the Joker to her Batman, the Lex Luthor to her Superman, and suddenly they were best friends. Confused? Yeah, I was too! As I saw that idiot Eliiot Price walking down the corridor with my best friend, I was hurt to my core. It was like someone had reached down my throat and pulled out my heart, along with all my other organs, rendering me without means of living. Instantly, I relived all my greatest memories with Ruby, but, when I say ‘relived’, I mean ‘watched’, as my face was slowly morphing into that of Eliiot Price. Soon, I was erased from Ruby’s life and all I could do was merely watch while I was somewhat shunned from my entire life. It is a pain that I still relive to this day. You may be thinking “Oh my god, stop over-reacting; it’s just a science fair”. Well, I can tell you that it was not ‘just a science fair’. In fact, it was my relationship with Ruby. She was an endless well of happiness and comfort on which I could draw and, that day, she was taken from me or, more accurately, she left me. Unfortunately, this pain was not... swift. I then had to endure watching them both walk into registration and... be paired up. I couldn’t take it. The thought of them working together tore me apart. I knew that if I stayed a second longer I would break down. In prevention of this, I ran. I ran and I ran like the giant green monster was chasing me. Over the years, there has always been a safe haven for people in this situation: the toilets. I had my destination. My feet carried me, as if separated from the rest of my body. I didn’t notice how fast I was going until the classic corridor T-Junction, where I bumped into my headmistress, knocking her onto the floor, scattering her sheets of paper onto the floor. “Mr. Looker, what are you doing?”, she asked. Unfortunately, I was not in a position to answer such a question so the response she received was something along the lines of “I... Flannin...” before I panicked and ran even faster to the toilets. Thankfully, upon my arrival at the toilets, a stall was just being vacated, I was too distraught to notice the faint odour of faeces and old urine. I loudly opened the stall door, put the toilet seat down, sat on it, and wept. It was a cry like no other. Everyone knows it: silent, yet deafening, a soul-penetrating sob, an elegy for the greatest of losses. I didn’t go to the science fair. Obviously, there was an awards assembly and a week full of people congratulating the winners, but I just couldn’t stomach going. I know it seems stupid now but i never talked to Ruby again; I saw her in the corridor and bumped into her in Tesco but we never... talked. You know what? I’m quite happy it ended like that, because it was the last time I cried, and it certainly was a memorable one.


Hi there, this was my first short story i ever wrote, if you like please let me know! **Cocaine and Abel** The afternoon sun hit his face, waking him. Abel grunted as he rolled over, and blearily peered at the clock. A little before three. Thursday? Probably Thursday. Another week’s worth of lectures missed. Something about “Thursday afternoon” nagged at his mind, and he suddenly remembered the follow-up appointment with the doctor in an hour. Damn. His folks had insisted he either see a shrink, or come home, and he’d already missed two appointments with the doc. Sitting up, he rolled a cigarette, lit it, and inhaled deeply. He gathered up his discarded jeans and black t-shirt from the floor, dressed, and then waded through the empty spirit bottles littering the floor, searching for his bag, wallet, and most importantly, his earphones. They never understood. All they wanted to do was push pills on him to make him feel “better”. *Again, going to a doctor, as if that will help you. You’re pathetic, just kill yourself, it’d make everyone happy.* Better they always said, “Take this and you will feel better” they said. “These pills will help you sleep better, these pills will stop your episodes”. Pills, pills, pills and more pills. But it was all lies. They made him feel worthless, needy and sleepless. His life had become a shadow of what it used to be. While he was walking to the doctor’s, the voices in his head were drowned out by the music he was blasting in his ears. He was listening to a new metal band that he had found on the internet. That’s what he needed. Loud music. He arrived in the doctor’s waiting room and sat down, waiting for his doctor to come see him for his appointment. His mind wandered and thought back to two nights ago when one of his best friends had popped in to see him. “You can’t just shut us out Abel, you need to talk to us about this. Be strong, be courageous. Don’t let yourself be beaten by this” Jamie had said to him. *Don’t trust him. He’s lying to you, they’re all lying.* The words repeated and echoed in his brain. He knew he needed to talk about this, but he didn’t want to. It was easier to put on a fake smile and say that everything was fine. Abel’s doctor arrived and walked him into his office. “How are you today, Abel?” quizzed the doctor. “Fine” replied Abel. “Is the medication helping?” asked the doctor. “I’m starting to feel a lot better” he lied easily. *Liar, liar pants on fire! You’re not even taking your medication!* “That’s great news, but we still have a long road ahead of us. I’m happy that you have decided to get help, and I know it’s not easy. Don’t get beaten down by this, most patients feel better after a while. Stay brave, stay strong and keep coming to see me weekly.” said the doctor returning the smile. “Now that’s all for today, off you go”. *Lies, lies, lies and even more lies. Don’t listen to him, he won’t help you.* Abel headed towards the bus stop, wearing a smirk. He rearranged his bag, took the bus and went into town. He needed to pick up a delivery. He stopped at the train station and waited at the front, smoking his rolled up cigarette as usual. A man came up to him, shook his hand and the deal was done. He dropped the small package into his bag before quickly flicking his cigarette to the ground, crushing it under his foot as he set off. A smirk crawled across his face as he took out his tobacco pouch and rolled himself another cigarette. He had decided to stop counting how much he smoked, since it made him feel more depressed than anything. Abel’s smile faded quickly when he saw a beautiful girl walk past him. A blonde bombshell that he knew from class. He really liked her but never had the guts to say anything to her. He couldn’t talk to her, especially when he looked like this, near death’s door. He hung his head hoping she would not recognize him, but she did. “Oh my god Abel, what are you doing here?” she asked with a smile. “Nothing, I just had some business to take care of” replied Abel. “Oh, you’re still taking them I see....” She muttered. “I have to go, I’ll catch you some other time” said Abel, walking off before the sentence had even left his mouth. *Couldn’t even ask her out properly. You’re pathetic, can’t even ask a girl out. There’s only one answer for people like you.* He needed to get home as quickly as possible. He didn’t feel well. His head had started to swirl and his vision was blurry. Voices were screaming in his ears. He needed to get home. Abel woke up at 6pm that night on his bed. He looked around and saw two people sitting in his chairs across from his computer. He recognized them. They were his friends. Well, they used to be, before everything happened. He looked through the slits of his eyes and saw them, Natalie and Jamie. Natalie had made three cups of tea, Abel’s one had two sugars, just how he liked it. He got up and sipped his tea, waiting for them to talk. “You need to stop” blurted Natalie. “Stop what?” questioned Abel. “All this drug taking, the not telling us how you feel, everything” she replied. “You’re not alone in this Abel, you need to talk to us. We’re your friends, we’re here for you. We love you and we don’t want to lose you” she continued. Abel reached into his bag and pulled out his tobacco pouch and rolled himself a cigarette. He looked Natalie dead in the eyes and said “You wouldn’t understand, no one understands, get out of my sight”. *And you think they’re your friends? They won’t even help you, just making things worse.* And with that, he was alone again. They had disappeared like the smoke from his cigarette into thin air. He crushed out his cigarette in his fingers, the burning sensation making him feel alive. Abel walked over to his bag and got out another small pouch which he had bought earlier that afternoon at the train station. He opened the pouch and poured the white gold onto his desk. He got out his credit card and cut the charlie into four small lines. The only way that Abel felt alive recently was with this stardust. He grabbed a five euro note that was in his back pocket and rolled it up. Two seconds later he felt like he was king of the world again. Invincible. He went to the bathroom to make sure he looked presentable before heading out into town for a night of drinking. His eyes were bloodshot red and his pupils shone like obsidian. The whites of his eyes had turned a blood red and his sharp pupils stared into your soul. His hair had started growing again, blonde stubble was growing on his head and his face was unshaven, his ginger beard growing all around his chin looking as if he hadn’t been groomed in a while. He left the bathroom, and then left his room. He locked the door behind him, plugged in his headphones and walked to the bus stop. As he was leaving he passed by some people, who as soon as he had his back turned started screaming at him. He could vaguely work out what they were saying over the Omni-present music, but to be honest, he didn’t care. Help. Talk. Pills. Mental. That’s all he heard. He arrived at the bus stop just as a man in a top hat walked by the bus stop. He suddenly stopped and sat down beside Abel. Abel glanced at him but no one was there. “Sleep deprivation” Abel muttered to himself. *I told you. You should be in a loony bin, not wandering the streets like a crackhead. At least in a loony bin they can treat your craziness.* As he walked onto the bus, a thought popped into his head that reminded him about his medication. He was nearly out and the doctor would need to prescribe new meds to him. He needed to take his medication because he knew what would happen if he didn’t. He was brave enough to have asked for help, the least he could do is follow it through to the end. But he didn’t care about that now. Only one thing mattered. The only thing that mattered to Abel at that moment was getting to a bar and getting drunk. Once on the bus, he got out his tobacco pouch and rolled a cigarette for when he would arrive in town. His head was spinning. Something was eating him up inside. Everything was eating him up inside. He needed a drink to calm his nerves. His music echoed in his brain. John Denver’s “Country Roads”, one of his favorites. It reminded him of his grandfather. Tonight wasn’t a night to feel sad, it was a night to have fun, to party, to make the most of everything. Abel walked off the bus and lit his cigarette. He took a long drag, closed his eyes and let the smoke fill his already tar coated lungs. He exhaled and opened his eyes, looking straight into the eyes of the person who had appeared in front of him. He recognized the person. It was one of his best friends. Or rather, someone who used to be his best friend. His headphones tumbled from his ears, and Abel waited for his friend to speak. He knew what he would say, he knew what he was thinking because Abel knew him all too well. He waited for the sentence that had become all too familiar to him recently, and without disappointment, his friend started talking. “I know what you’re going through Abel, you need to talk to someone about this” said Henry. “But, for now, let’s go have a drink” he continued. And so off they went, to their favorite bar. Henry ordered his favorite, a pint of Guinness and Abel ordered a Jägerbomb, as usual. No one uttered a word, they just sat drinking silently. The confortable silence was broken by a cough. Abel looked up from his drink and stared into Henry’s eyes. Henry could see the pain in Abel’s eyes. He could see the despair and he could see that Abel was hurting inside, even if he did a good job of hiding it. “We need to talk, Abel” muttered Henry. “What about this time?” grumbled Abel. “Why haven’t you spoken to anyone yet? You need to talk to someone, I can see the hurt in your eyes. You need to build up the courage and talk about this. You can’t stay alone all the time. It’s killing you.” Abel lurched to his feet, ready to confront Henry but he wasn’t there. He had gone. People at the table beside Abel stared at him, looking at him as if he was crazy. Maybe they were right Abel had thought to himself. He quickly downed his glass and took out his credit card to pay. Everything around him was a blur. He handed his card to the bartender, paid his bill and left. Abel wandered for around ten minutes before he sat down and took out his tobacco pouch. He took out a piece of cardboard that he had left in there and rolled it into a small, perfect cylinder. Now wasn’t the time for a cigarette, he needed something stronger he said to himself. What he really needed, was something to take his mind off of everything. He licked the paper carefully, rolled the “something stronger” into a perfect cone and stuck it between his lips. He lit it and breathed in the smoke deeply, letting it fill all the nooks and crannies in his lungs, spreading the buzz all around. His head already felt lighter, and as he exhaled, a grin crept across his face. He picked up his bag and lazily started walking home. His feet were light and walked easily. The smile plastered on his face stayed there, and with a spring in his step, he continued on the long road home. The alcohol and drugs had done their job and at that moment, he was happy. His mind was blank as his feet followed the path home that they were used to by now. Time passed and Abel’s mind began to wander. Why was all this happening to him? What had he done to deserve this? He passed by a bus stop and saw the man in the top again. He blanked the man and continued home. The road followed beside a river, and Abel stopped and sat down to roll another cigarette. As he had finished rolling, his eyes scanned across the river. It was a quiet night, and nothing was disturbed. The water flowed slowly and calmly, the tree opposite him swayed gently as a small breeze brushed beside it. It was almost picturesque Abel thought to himself, as he picked up his bag and left. His feet were getting heavy, and a different song blasted into his ears. *Only... Out... Suicide... End it....* “I’m on a highway to hell” Abel sang to himself. As he had finished the last lyric, a spot dropped onto his forehead. He looked up and saw the raindrops falling slowly onto him. If he stayed outside much longer, he would be drenched. By the time he had decided to light his cigarette, it was completely wet, he chucked it into the bushes and continued the long and windy road. As he approached some traffic lights, he saw him again. It was the man in a top hat. Abel walked near him and turned down his music. He looked straight at his face and was horrified at what he saw. The man seemed old, ancient. He looked as if he had been in a fire, his whole face was burnt. But what troubled Abel the most was his eyes. The black pits that gazed back at Abel stared into his soul, devouring him from the inside. The man grinned at Abel and walked away quickly. Abel shook his head, not believing what he saw. “I really need my medication” Abel muttered to himself as he dragged his legs home. The rain was getting heavy, and Abel rushed home. He entered his building and took off his jacket. He was soaked. Abel was in his room, alone. He turned on his computer, ready to sit down and listen to some music. A voice echoed in his mind. *You’ve lost everything, all of your friends hate you. What is the point in living anymore? It can all be over in a couple of minutes, it won’t cause you any pain at all.* Abel had had enough. Maybe the whispers were right. He sat down in front of his computer, and stared into the bright screens. He could vaguely see his reflection laughing back at him. *Crazy? You think you’re crazy? You know that’s true. You know to get better you need your medication. Go on, take the pills in front of you. Don’t forget, you’ve been crazy for a while now, take the right amount. Take them all...* Abel slowly opened the box of pills and put them one by one on his desk, mixing them with all the other pills already laying there. *First one, down the hatch...* One by one, he took them. His fingers trembling over his glass. How many had he taken? How many more did he need to take? *All of them. Don’t miss out a single one, you haven’t taken any since the start. At least thirty will help you...* He wasn’t sure. What if everything turned out alright? What if he talked to people and got proper help? Even with help, would it make any difference? Tears welled in his eyes as he sighed. Was this to be the end? *Do it!* Would all his hard work lead up to this? No. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He would get help. He would talk to his friends about it, they could help him. They could make everything better, he knew it. He had found his courage, even if it was deep down inside him. He grasped at it with both hands and pulled it through the layers of depression, of negative thoughts, up to the surface, where it would be useful. *Don’t back out now, you’re so close to total bliss...* He blinked, and poured the pills into his glass of vodka. He downed it without hesitation. Abel’s head fell back with his eyes wide open and his mouth hanging. He slurred forward and fell off his chair, his mouth began frothing and his eyes began blinking rapidly, burning. Voices were screaming, telling him to stop, to give them another chance, to not let his demons take control of him, to find any last bit of courage to ask for proper help and take it. He could just distinguish the shape of a top hat on his desk as his eyes blinked furiously. The music echoed around the room. “I'm standing up, I'm a face my demons I'm manning up, I'm a hold my ground I've had enough, now I'm so fed up Time to put my life back together right now” But the demons had already taken contr...


Clash! Clash! Bong! Swish! “This is getting boring.” “Better surrender soon then, pathetic pirate of the sea, Jaya.” the ugly Captain Roob sneered, puffing his chess and holding his black sword above his head. “First of all, its Captain Jaya. And every pirate is technically of the sea.” “You aren’t even human, sea monster!” “I am a sea person, ” I swirled my sword dramatically, “You wound me with words more than your sword.” I skillfully ducked another jab to the right. “I have hair, unlike sea monsters, though it is of different shades of blue, green, and a bit of purple, glittering skin that has a bluish glow, I am a Sagara , I am no monster. " “You are no natural human, you are a threat to all of-” he roared, but I cut him off, quite literally with a swipe at his wrist, his hand cut clean off. He howled in pain. “I am clearly a threat to your non-sword hand, ” I laughed as he crumpled to the ground, his sword thudding against the crickety wooden planks of The Prowling Sailor . “What,” I tilted my face, baring my fangs in a grin as he whimpered. “Can’t handle being unhanded?” He leaned against the wall and pushed himself, staggering from the rocking ship. Around me, my crew and the crew of the Sailor were dueling, my crew, of course was winning, with a few wounds. It wasn’t even us that invaded, we only signaled a basic hello. But of course... pirates. “Go drown!” He yelled, swiping but missing. “I literally cannot drown.” “Go drown in a volcano!” “Why don’t you?” He swiped at my black joot-leather boots, to which I danced away from. “Damn you!” He stumbled backward. “This is getting boring,” I feigned a yawn. “C’mon, old man-” “Old man?” “Yes, old man, I see white where there s’pposed to be whatever shade of shite brown your hair is.” I smoothed down my white button up silk shirt, bartered from a prince who wanted passage in our ship and didn’t have much else. “You old man, picked a fight with my crew, trying to board my precious Floating Palace of the Sea, hoping to slay me because you are so prejudiced against sea people,” I shook my head, my wavy short hair shaking with my head. “And all we wanted to do is break bread.” I said with mock dismay. “I’ll never break bread with a monster. ” he growled, a foot back, ready to charge. “Fine then,” I too got back into form, shoulders set and feet firmly planted. “Lets dance, old man .” He charged at me, yelling, his mouth revealing disgusting yellow teeth. Pirates. Blasted, unruly pirates. Can’t brush their teeth, can’t stop drinking rum, can’t stop fighting. Pathetic. Makes us calm pirates look bad. I turned to dodge the sword, missing my stomach by an inch. That’s how I play, on the edge. He knows he’s losing, because he’s pushing harder now, clarity and his need to win fighting to be in control. He immediately turns, waving his sword. Clang! I hit his sword with mine. I pushed, making him walk backward, but he did not falter. I raised an eyebrow, my only show of appreciation for his endurance. He lowered his sword and faked a jab to my right and swirled to stab me on the left. But that’s his fatal mistake. Sort of. My golden sword stopped his black one faster than a blink. I used the momentum to send his flying through the air, like a crow flying away in fear. His sword landed dramatically on the middle of the boat, sticking up from the floor, in plain sight of everyone. I pointed my sword at his chest, making him walk backwards toward his weapon. The fighting around us stopped, weapons falling around us. “It’s over,” I drawled. “You’ve lost a hand and probably your dignity. Surrender.” “No!!!” He screamed. “NOOOO!! I cannot lose!!” He unsuccessfully grabbed his sword, which refused to come out. He howled in pain again and fell to his knees. “I will never surrender,” he said with fake confidence. “Kill me.” My crew erupted in laughter, his crew was gathered into a corner. “What do you think, my mismatched crew!” I called out to them. “What should Captain Roob his crew be doomed for?” “Dragged by the boat in the sea!” “Cut off his other hand!!” “Take his eyeballs!!!” Different voices shouted out different ways to torture Captain Roob and his crew. All varying between bloody and partially humane. No one here has the heart for the death penalty, let alone for very bloody punishments of course. However, there is the case that this man is one of the worst to sail the seas and walk on land. He’s burnt entire villages, lead raiding parties on defenseless towns, kidnapped children, and harmed women in unspeakable ways. He’s got wanted signs pretty much everywhere. Even in my kingdom where I am the heir to the throne, I’ve had merchants and village chiefs complain about Roob. “Haven’t we seen his face on them wanted posters in many towns, laddies?” I called out. Resounding chants of “Yes Captain.” “I say we find the highest bidder and turn him in!” Everyone muttered agreements, but seemed confused. “Oi captain!” Sarge, a pale skinned former soldier who joined my crew after his military captain kicked him out, called. “Who’s the highest bidder? Surya is offering a plot of fertile land and a barrel of gold.” “What’re you going to do with a plot of fertile land sarge,” I asked, the mention of my kingdom bringing me memories of father declaring rewards for catching high profile criminals. “Besides, its actually the cardamom spice estates the king owns, north of the kingdom. The barrel of gold is correct though.” Father loves barrels of gifts. “Right...” “Cap’n Jaya, permission to speak?” A young man from the opposing crew asked. “Hmmm...” I took large steps toward him, the rest of his buddies taking a shuddering step backward. “Go on, speak.” “I believe,” he gulped nervously. “The kingdom of Sicily, is offering enough gold to fill a ship,” he paused and jumped backwards after looking at my eyes. “Your eye’s became purple, that’s not natural-” “Ah tut tut, my eyes are not the topic,” I rolled my lovely color changing eyes. “Besides, the color change is natural to me, considering I am not human.” “Right, erm... King Guiseppe doesn’t take kindly to pirates, even if they’re turning in other pirates...” “You don’t worry your head about it,” I spun back around to face my own crew. “Who wants a ship load of gold!!” I yelled, grinning ear to ear and raising my sword in the air. “US!!!” “And as for the crew...” I looked across the other crew, some looked scared, others looked angry. “Whoever is still loyal to Roobius Stupidius here can go with him, I’m sure Sicily has enough space in their lowest pits of prison for them. Maybe they’ll be forced to eat dirty rats!” I laughed, throwing back my head. “What about those of us who renounce our loyalty to him?” The same man that gave away the kingdom with the biggest bounty said. “Surely you’ll show mercy?” “I don’t know if you’ve heard of my reputation...” “You’re also known as the Blue Pirate, the Sagara Pirate,-” “I didn’t ask to know my nicknames, but yes...” “You mark any pirate crews that try to attack you with some kind of symbol, a you give anyone who surrenders that mark and give them a second chance. If they cross you, you hunt them down, and punish them.” “That’s right,” I crept closer to him, he flinched when I tilted his chin upward with my sword. “What’s your name?” “Simon.” “You seem well versed with the world, Simon. Did you get an education?” “I studied trade, Captain Jaya. I studied trade in France, and then I was,” his voice cracked, tears slowly flowing down. “He-he took me he-” I lowered my sword, my smile fading away. “He kidnapped you didn’t he?” “I haven’t seen my family in years.” His voice cracked. I put a hand on his shoulder. “There’s more like you aren’t there?” Hushed voices murmuring yes resounded. “Alright, well we’ll help you find your families, innit true crew?” “Yes captain!” “I’m still marking everyone, just because... Well I didn’t get this far by trusting everyone.” With that, I got to work. With my magical sea sapphire ring, I marked each person, a blue circle with a blue seashell in the middle. The mark stays blue for a whole day, and becomes invisible unless I or a different magic user touch it. During this ordeal, I had Roob strapped to a pole swinging off the back. He was shouting curses as he was tied with silver chains. At least I had the bleeding from the stump on his arm tied. After taking dive to my ship’s underside, where I kept enchanted seashells that force the truth from who ever is touching it, I tested each of his crew members to see who is loyal and who was kidnapped. Whoever was loyal was chained in different parts of their ship, which was towed to ours with an enchanted chain. Those who were kidnapped stayed on my ship, under careful watch. “Simon,” I got the attention of the young man, probably my age from what I could tell. “Since you were brave enough to speak up, I give you the chance of joining my crew. I could use someone versed in trade.” “I’ll uh think about it, sir-m’am, I’m sorry-” “Close, I prefer Captain.” I started to turn, but he cleared his throat to speak. “Captain Jaya, if its not too bold, um, where did you come from? They say you floated up from the sea and had the fish build you a magical ship.” I snorted. I could say I was born in the Kingdom of Surya, one of the southern kingdoms of South Asia. I’m the firstborn of the King, making me heir to the throne. A curse from centuries ago found its way to me, an ordinary human baby, turning me into a Sagara, whenever the scent of the ocean dares to entire my nose. I feared the curse, bullied by other children even though I’m a princess, until one day I decided the curse is truly a boon. And so I took one of my dear Father’s unused ships, decorated, and became a pirate captain. An identity with no history, only a future full of adventure and freedom. Someone who disappears and reappears, someone to be feared and to be respected. A crew full of ragtags just like the captain... “I am simply someone who ran away for freedom,” I answered, tipping my hat. “And I hunger for adventure.” “There has to be more, right? C’mon, no one knows where you come from!” I turned and laughed. “How very human. ”


Sensitive data for Australian Aborigines. Suicide. Phenomena ************************************** Australia does not have castles, nor have I ever been in a castle. The official date of European occupation occurred on the 26th of January, 1777. The dark history of colonisation started the terror forever placed in the ancestrial genetic memory of all Aboriginal people continuing today. On January 1st, 1901, a group of hairy, long bearded, glim men sweltered under canvas shelters established the Commonwealth of Australia for Whites to govern in their own right. The washout photographs remind me of garden gnomes piled together in the overgrown weeds and grass of an abandoned house. The sensitive land energy, the Ley lines, the Dreaming paths became agriculture, mining, and cattle stations to fill our coffers. The original nomadic caretakers were hunted, killed, or indoctrinated with Christianity, and children put in reserves stolen from their families. They were depersonalised, demoralised, and segregated as slaves and non citizens. As a child, a mansion was a double storey brick house with three or four bedrooms with maybe a shed and chicken coup in the backyard. The old, large residences in my hometown of Ipswich, often from wealthy landowners, once boarded and lodged house staff, such as cooks, nannies and farmhands. In my childhood in the 1970's. Ipswich was built up and I rarely travelled to Brisbane. There was a song called "Little Boxes," sung by Malvena Reynolds, a Californian lass. I remember once a week, the higher primary school grades, grades 4,5,6, and 7 would be tuned into ABC radio for children's singing lessons broadcast, today that would be probably be called a podcast. Before the broadcast at 2pm would start, we would be instructed to find our music books, printed and delivered to our school before each school term in our desks. We had four school terms per year and between the earlier school terms, usually two weeks holidays and end of year term, a six week holiday. Our music books, under our table, on an open wooden shelf, would be found and opened on our desks tops in a sort of passive military fashion; that day, we turned to page 42. The broadcast did its usual format of playing the full song first. There would be a basic discourse and a space in the broadcast of around 15 minutes, where the teacher and class discussed the context of the song and its deeper meaning. Little Boxes was a satire on suburbian housing development. We would then learn the chorus followed by the verses. I still remember today joyously singing with the rest of the students., "Little Boxes on the hillside little boxes made of ticky tacky... ...Little boxes all the same..." My husband belonged to the middle class, he worked a teacher's job. Mine was a sewing job from home where I could work and mother my kids. We were renting and, to our delight, had saved money for a bigger family home, one where I might have a sewing room. The local Queensland Times newspaper, each Saturday, printed a life out local real estate section. There in the tiolet, my only private place and refuge of uninterrupted reading, I saw our home! A fibro teal house, with three bedrooms and sleep out. The price is $35,000. We bought the house, now our home. I remember being told to always start a garden first, as an established garden, in the future, could add at least $20,000 to the sale of property. Tall gum trees and two Acacia trees shaded the property, so we added rose bushes, salvaged native cuttings and ground covers from our late afternoon pram walks, bought shrubs, and hung old man's beards in the front garden on the Acacia. The shade gave easy growth and along with summer high humidity and rainfalls the samplings flourished. We polished the floors, fixed the plumbing, painted the walls, and hung fairy lights on the verandah. Soon, we had our own oasis. The local children would say to my daughter, as they walked home together after school that our home was "The Witch's House" I got to know all three neighbours adjacent to us, we lived near a bend in the street. One an older lady with disabled adult son, another a married couple expecting their first child, and the last a couple of childless Swingers. Danni, the Swinger, would often visit me in the afternoon for a cup of tea and chat. I think she was basically lonely, but i could not dismiss the fact that it was around 3pm, the time our school would finish and my husband would usually arrive around 3.30 pm, where she would sheepishly smile at him entering the front door. That day, my 3 year old son sat on the lounge, sheet draped over him talking to his imaginery friend. Danni heard him. "Does he do that often?" With a raised eyebrow, I replied, "Kids have imaginary friends, " Danni persisted, "I knew the last owners of this place. I visited them once here, and it put chills through my spine!" Half heartedly, tired from a sleepless night, I gave, "Ah ha" Danni persisted, "Mrs Rodgers across there had to have her house blessed. A child spirit switched on her television, flushed her tiolet and could be heard laughing and playing with two other spirit children. She taped it so she would be taken seriously by the catholic priest" Squinting my eyes and looking at my tea, "Yer?" As Danni left, "He could be talking to one of those spirits?" I said nothing. Two years later, the memory of what Danni had said come to mind, when the usual smell of burning toast came from the kitchen, the usual cafe curtains rolling and tangling themselves on the curtain rod above the kitchen sink, the usual feeling of the house feeling 40 degrees Celsius occurred on that winter's day. I wondered? To put an end to thoughts, I had time on my hands as my son was in Grade one then. I decided to visit the City's house and land history library. A beginner, I asked for assistance from the grey haired volunteer librarian. Scattered copies of our land and home covered the table to reveal our land was once a rental home for defence personnel. The original home was destroyed in a house fire June 23, 1978. The land was left vacant until 1983, where a private buyer built our current home. My first thought was our home was very differently structure from the layout of all the old Officers homes built around us. It was the same cheap fibro, yes, the same all the other houses in the neighbourhood however the house layout was different. Our bedrooms were larger, we had a sleep out and we had heaps of storage cupboards. The wood floors were mahogany coloured and tight in their placement. The kitchen and entrance was where the original homes loungeroom was. Our laundry was outside and we had a large wheelchair access ramp to our backyard. We had a lock up carport also! A hasty, investigative, fast car drive took me to the Queensland Times archives at Warwick Road, Ipswich. I explained, "Um I'm researching a house fire that happened June 23rd, 1978 at 9 Berry Street, Leichhardt". After showing my drivers license of the same address, I was lead to a dim lit room. A large square dinosaur computer hogged the space and chair was available. The secretary pull a square box from the archived high shelf labelled with a sticker, "June 1978". A microfilm roll was placed on a gadget and rolled out and fastened to a permanent empty roll on the left hand side of the viewer, so the film would roll. The computer screen, revealed photographs of the day after the fire. The front page showed the construction of a new shopping centre. There was a car yard sale, adds for Holden's and the next page had a car sale yard for Fords and Country Women's association stall of knitting, crocheted coat hangers, shawls and a close up of a group of women posing casually. The secretary invited me to sit. I was shown how to operate the machine by pushing a fast forward button and as the film noisly whirred thru the contraption. There it was! Cover story 25th June, 1978, "House Inferno kills Leichhardt mother and three children" The secretary interrupted, "It's 10 cents per photocopy?" After a couple of hours, I left with a manilla folder of papers of information about our home. My husband browsed that, "Well we have a bit of a haunting here then?" "Hmph, yer guess so?" Each afternoon, I would tend to our garden, it was relaxing. Hand hosing our herb section near the mailbox. Mrs Rodgers saw me, quicly went inside her house, a her screen door banged. I looked up from my meditative state. Next, she returned, walking towards me with letters in her hand. "Hi Georgia" Extending her hand,she passed me the letters wrongly delivered, "New postman I think" They were mostly junk mail except for a Christmas card. "Sorry, I forgot all about them" Smiling and rolling my eyes, "It happens" She stood still. "Hey look" I said walking to the tap, with her following, I turned off the water supply and spied her out of the corner of my eye as I rolled up the hose on a partly rusted car tyre rim bolted to the stump. I casually spoke, knowing she had something on her mind. "Do you want a cuppa" The tension went from her body, "Yes, that would be nice lovey". The kettle boiled and small talk followed something deeper. She broke the ice of polite conversation to her own subject, her son was moving into State care, as he needed extra care. Saddened, I listened to the brief details, but they were very brief, I felt like she had not finished. "Your husband mentioned you know about the fire?" My mind changed to a different gear. "Yah" I replied fumbling the tea cup "What another cuppa?". Shc followed me to the kichen with her cup. I rinsed our cups placed new teabags in them and got the milk from the fridge. She persisted, "The family was a nice family. The kids were friends with my son and daughter you know. It was tragic. Our loungeroom windows cracked from the heat..." Going to our lounge with new fluid, "... When the new people built, they had teenagers. They would often travel and those kids would have noisy parties..." I remembered myself , those time in the 1980s. The Airforce kids were called "RAAF (Royal Australian Airforce) brats". I had attended Ipswich State High. The RAAF brats stuck together. I was included at school with my age RAAF friends but never allowed to go to the parties. "Too Wild", my father said frowning. Mrs Rodgers touched me on my hand interrupting my thoughts. "At the parties, the kids would get drunk and hold seances with oujii board..." Her eyes grew large as she clutched her tarnished silver cross securely on her necklace, draped near her heart. Her cashmere jumper so soft reminded me she was a conservative, neatly presented person even in her home clothes. "...My daughter was at one of those parties, where they summoned the dead mother and her kids. I remember her banging on our door, "Mum, let me in", she yelled near midnight. "Our Kelly had the hairs of her head standing on ends, her face was white, and she was shaking" In the disclosure, Mrs Rodgers said our home had to be exorcised. The house was freezing even in the middle of Summer. A dark heavy shadow enveloped the house. A rancid smell of sulphur would catch her nose and stay in her nostrils when the wind blew from that direction. She would emphasise, "I said my protection prayers for my family and the neighbourhood. I was worried" The previous owners had strange things happen like doors opening and closing by themselves, the lights flickered all day, curtains would plait, spectres appeared in their garden, but the worst could not be ignored! Mrs Rodgers asked me for a paper and pen. She scawled our front porch, horror rocking the pen, to sketch an outline of what looked like two oval sticks in the ground at the base of our stairs, Pointing Mrs Rodgers exclaimed, "I saw that myself! They found the handle of their two knives, which disappeared found buried so the blades stuck up. Mrs Smyt was pushed by something at that staircase. She fell rolling and grabbed the rail to be pierced in her thigh by that knife." Mrs Rodgers pointed at the left knife. "I mean lucky her. she was able to stop her fall or who knows? Blood! ambulance! And the likes". I learnt a fairly happy family became angry, fighting. The kids were having nightmares, they became more than rebellious and the marriage was strained with Mr Smyt loosing his job. The eldest child was killed in a road accident, so bad the police could not identify him. And Mr Smyt hung himself exactly where Kelly told me they had the oujii board. A catholic priest and his trainee were called to our home. The exorcism started. The loungeroom where the seance occurred was the pit of activity. The blinds rolled up and down by themselves. The main window glass bubbled inwards, then pushed out exploding shatters of glass out towards the street and then pulled back in to be its original state. The house temperature went below zero and then orange light moved with an airy, gluey force through the house returning to blow both priests off their feet, onto the floor. Their clothes were scorched and their body and face had third-degree burns. A loud otherworldly voice on the exorcism tape yelled, "Get out!" Mrs Ridgers finished, "As it started, it finished!" Peace was returned to our previous owners home with the price of cataclysm, a child's and husband's death, and a knife accident. The youngest training priest left the priesthood. Mrs Rodgers lightened up, "They say that poor young fellow, the priest, went to Byron Bay Hippy community , probably smoking dope, to forget. Bless pom and his poor soul" We were living in an Australia's Amityville horror house and like the American current owners, had really not experienced any phenomenon that could be not explained. Our toaster was quirky. Some of the mold growth suggested artisian waters from earlier mining, not recorded, and maybe causing heating or coldness in areas of the home. My son had grown and forgotten his imaginery friends opting for computer games like Sim City. If we were haunted, at the very least, it could be tolerated!


The night is resoundingly quiet, not a soul wanders the cool streets. So the clicking of my heels thunders like the clouds above me. I can’t even hold back the cliche melancholy washing over me anymore. I should be in the packed gymnasium, visiting my old best friends, my old teammates, my favorite teachers, but instead, I’m wandering the street like a lost puppy looking for its mom. I tried to go, I really did. But as soon as I walked in the entrance, dressed in a casual dress I usually wear to work and my “attorney heels” as my husband calls them, I couldn’t go in. I couldn’t force my feet to pass the threshold, they shook and my toes curled in terror every time I tried to lift them off their station on the floor. So I stood there for 30 minutes until a man that looked strikingly familiar tapped my shoulder and I elbowed him out of the way and took off into the night. It’s really pathetic. I even told my husband, James, he didn’t have to come because I could do it alone just fine, but apparently I was lying through my teeth. I wanted to hear one of his cheesy jokes about my hoity-toity high school, with its Olympic sized pool and planetarium. I wanted his warmth close by my side instead of the biting cold of a solitary bench on the street corner I’m perched on. My legs had begun to ache in these heels, they aren’t usually for walking. They’re usually what I wear in court. I’ve found that 5’ 10” woman with confident resounding voices are more intimidating than 5’4” women who are just as loud. These heels come with me to every court case and meeting prior to the hearing, hence their coined name “attorney heels''. James loves them, he always smiles and says “There’s my spitfire goin’ to work!” when I get them out; I still blush every time, despite 10 years of marriage and 2 children. Thinking of my husband and our kids at home makes me wanna hop on a plane and fly back to New York this instant and leave this tiny town behind, but then James would know something is wrong. I look down at my watch, it’s 9:30, Sammy and Duke should be in bed right now but I know they aren’t, they’re probably up watching football with James who's likely saying “just another minute and then off to bed with you two!”. I always find them sprawled out on the couch the next morning after waking up in a cold bed--I act angry and scold them every time but secretly, I’m smiling at the little family we’ve made. I had wanted to brag about my success at this foolish reunion, I wanted to say that despite all of their tyranny and bullying I came out alright. I know I came out better than alright. I live in a 3 story house with 2 beautiful children, a super hot and sweet husband, and a job I love. But I couldn’t do it! I was too much of a wimp! Perhaps I haven’t changed that much since high school. The thought makes me clench my fist and bang it against the damp metal I’m sitting on. The blow rings in the hand but I just grit my teeth and try to hold back the tears of pain that want to escape. “Allie?” A voice behind me makes me spin around. It’s my old friend Maya, the one who ditched me my Senior year when I was deemed too weird to be seen with. “Hello, Maya.” I must remain cordial and she will go away. I secretly cross my fingers and pray for the clacking of her heels to grow fainter and fainter but they do the opposite. She plops down beside me and looks over. “Smoke?” She asks, holding out a pink box of cigarettes. I decline with a shake of my head. I look back over at her, her face more visible in the light of the streetlamp. I can’t help the shocked look on my face as I take in her sallow skin and sunk eyes, under her eyes are a heavy set purple and her face is the uncanny orange of discolored foundation, her mouth is shakily lined with cheap red lipstick and her hair is patchy and hanging out by chunks. Her previous beauty and the youthfulness that drew in every boy at our school is gone, long gone. Now she just looks sad and, strangely enough, used. I quickly look away. “So, how’s life?” Her voice is scratching, with emotion or tobacco, I’m not sure. “Fine, I’ve got 2 kids. A daughter and a son Samantha and Duke.” I keep my answer short but try to give enough information to satisfy. “I got a few of those,” she takes a long drag from her cigarette. “Sons or daughters?” “Eh, both?” She poses the words like a question, does she not know about her children? “How many?” I say the words slowly, suddenly curious. “Um, lost count ages ago. At least 7?” Her words take me aback. She doesn’t know how many children she has? What happened to my Valedictorian best friend from high school? “Oh.” Is all I can bring myself to say. I want to ask her why she doesn’t know the number, but I don’t want this conversation to last much longer, her cigarette is giving me a headache. “Seems you turned out better than most of us. Michael, Caleb, and Carra are dead, various things like cancer or whatever.” She takes a drag between each name. “Jackie is a drunk, got hammered just an hour into the reunion. Daniel, well we don’t know. We didn’t know about you either, you never talked to us anymore. Annie said she thought you’d died, but here ya are.” “I went to college, and law school. I decided to stop being a screw-up.” My mouth is open and forming words before I can process what I’m saying. “I met my husband there, James Earl, he’s an absolute nerd and we argue all the time, but I love him. And he was by my side every day, when I was giving birth he held my hand and kept telling me I was beautiful and strong and perfect for him.” A smile creeps over my face as warmth fills my chest. “Eh, good for you.” She takes a drag and pauses, studying me the warmth quickly recedes. “Really Allie, I’m glad you’re doin’ good. I’m glad you got out and away from this little shart town. If you can’t tell, it chewed me up and spit me back out.” She looks at me, her cigarette hanging out of her two fingers like how we used to when we sang with Rizo during our Grease marathons. I don’t know what to reply so I don’t. I look down at my lap instead, picking at a loose string in my dress. She takes another drag and speaks again, “I got pregnant,” she pauses for a drag, “my first year of college, a guy named David.” Drag,” real bastard he was.” Drag,” After that, I got into sex work, I was a young woman and beautiful, made some good money for a bit.” Drag, “and then-” She starts lifting the cigarette to her mouth but I pluck it from her and stamp it into the bench, almost smothering it on her skin tight cheetah print dress. She stares at me for a second as my ears flame red, but then she bursts into a resounding fit of laughter that ends in a violent series of coughs, each time her throat rattles I flinch. Finally, she gets herself under control and looks up at me from under her chunky eyelashes. “God Allie, I missed you.” She smiles at me sadly as unspoken words are exchanged. I realize now that the peak of her life was high school and when it ended, her life ended with it. Maybe that’s what drove me to wrap my arm around her slim shoulder despite the rancid smell emitting from her form, or maybe it was just the guilt I feel for leaving her behind here, or perhaps we both just need this little bit of warmth to thaw the bitter ice coating those 4 years. I may never know. But for now, I let her cling to me and cry as I hold back tears of my own, our roles reversed after all these years, on the park bench where we first met.


Hey everyone, I'm Matt. I work at a state park as a ranger. I am a historian by training and oversee all of the historic and archaeological features. I feel like I am at the bottom of the totem pole because I am not in wildlife or land management. Something weird is going down around here, but no one believes me. I hope that *someone* out there will take this seriously and get someone to investigate it. It started a couple weeks ago when I got called to the campground around 1:00 in the morning. Our quiet hours start at 11:00 PM and this group was keeping other campers awake. The caller said she had gone over and asked them to keep it down but they seemed to take that as a challenge to be as loud as possible. I quickly dressed in my uniform, jumped in my truck, and headed for the campground. Going over a hill, I began to hear the ruckus. The chanting of five 20-somethings instantly caught my attention. It was like they were speaking in tongues; no coherent words or patterns to their chants. My heart started racing and crazy thoughts started pouring into my head. *WTF?! Are these people possessed? Did they get some bad beer? Should I just call for backup now?* I am not a law enforcement ranger, so I am not issued a gun or endowed with any authority to detain or arrest people. I parked my truck and, armed with just my dull pocket knife, a flashlight, and some padding from my dad bod, walked toward the group. "Excuse me! I'm Matt, I'm a ranger here." I called once I was within earshot. "Hey! Sir? Ma'am? Folks, I need to talk to you guys real quick." Chanting young adults was strange on its own. What really caught my attention, though, was how they laid out their camp. Five tents arranged like points of a star, with a round platform in the middle. Four posts surrounded the platform. I would have to talk to them about whether they paid the fees for the extra tents. And I had so many questions about the platform. "Hey! You guys are being *way* too loud! Quiet down or you will have to leave." The chanting grew louder. Each person was sitting around the fire with their chairs arranged in the same way as their tents. Nothing was strange about their behavior other than the loud chanting. Everyone was just casually sitting, some roasting marshmallows, some with cans of beer. Just chanting louder and louder. I approached the fire, repeating that they were being inconsiderate and breaking our campground rules. No one reacted. I started breathing heavily and feeling a bit dizzy. I have overcome confrontation anxiety enough that I can approach people who are breaking rules. Usually people see my truck and my uniform then apologize and change what they are doing. A lot of them don't even realize they were breaking a rule so it really isn't a big deal. Getting nowhere with these weird people and growing anxious, I turned to head back to my truck. I could say I tried to contact them and just call the county dispatch to send a sheriff's deputy. Which is exactly what I did. Three deputies responded and when one came to get a statement from me, she said there had been no people there. No tents. No fire--in fact the fire pit was cold and hadn't been used for several hours. They had woken up campers from surrounding sites and none had reported any noise issues or suspicious behavior. I gave my statement and she left, saying something about crying wolf to the dispatcher.


Not so long ago, there was a young man. He was tall and strong. The kind of young man often called respectable, impressive even. He walked gallantly with his shoulders back and his chest puffed out, almost as if he wanted you to meet his gaze. He certainly met the eyes of any and all, regardless of station, stature, or title. This young man dripped with confidence like a daunting glazier melting into the sea. He never feared to share his thoughts, to raise his concerns. He was quick with a comment and quicker with a criticism. The young man was loved and admired, but many held him in contempt. Many were quick to whisper when he left the room; quick to gossip angrily about the arrogance so obvious in the set of his jaw. Oh if they'd known. If they'd only known how much he wanted to impress and to be loved, to be admired, respected, revered and maybe a little feared, like one of those knights or ancient kings in the old stories. If they'd only known the depths of his desire to achieve, to make something of himself. If they'd only known he woke before the dawn to fall on his knees and ask for love, to fall on his knees and pray for peace and forgiveness for one more day. If they'd only known the exhaustion of his body and the calluses on his hands. All in an effort to escape the legacy of an unhealthy past. All in an effort to turn heads and silence whispers when he walked into a room. If only they'd know this young man was not the product of accident or chance, not more or less than any other man. He'd formed himself to be something more, or at least he'd tried, really tried. He formed his body, rolled and folded over like hot steel slowly hardening and taking shape. He swung the hammer of learning against the anvil of his mind, over and over he swung. He sharpened his whit and forged his intellect. He dug the well of his knowledge with his bare hands, he'd scraped the soil of his mind until his fingers bled. The young man knew, no he believed, if he simply dug a bit deeper, swung the hammer once more, folded the steel one last time, then it'd be enough - then he'd be enough. Yet, with each bloody handful of dirt painfully scraped from the well of his mind, with each resounding clang of hammer against anvil, with each fold of white hot steel, he came closer and and closer to the truth. The truth at the bottom of the well, the truth at the end of his accomplishments, the truth that he'd never done any of this for anyone else. The truth that he hadn't sought the love and respect of the masses. He hadn't sought to silence the idle gossipers. He hadn't sought to convince anyone of anything. He'd been digging his well, forging his steel, swinging his hammer, thinking, believing, hoping that one day when his work was done he'd have finally done enough to simply love himself.