Amidst the cold night Laurel travels with only the stars in the sky as company. She can't wait to reach the next city. All around is just barren land with a few struggling vegetation. Due to unforeseen circumstances Laurel travels by horse but only two types of persons would do so. Primitives, i.e. those who can't adhere to modern society or someone who's confident in their ability. Laurel breathes a sigh of relief as she sees the next town, Old’s Ville. Now she can have a drink, a shower and a good night’s sleep. The town has the glint of the wild west, all the buildings looked just like they came out of the era but the only horses here were metal and smelt of fuel. As Laurel strolled in, all eyes were on her. Who would have thought they’d see an actual horse being rode in this day and age. There was only one place she could head to, the local museum had the only stable in town. The curator stood wide eyed at the sight of Laurel. Approaching her, one could see the drool on the curator’s face. “Wh-wh-what c-c-can I-I help you w-w-with?” Unamused Laurel, replied “I need a place for Sheba here”. “Oh, this lovely beaut name of Sheba.” “Can I leave him here or not?” “S-sorry sorry, where’s my manners? Yes, yes you can, we keep the stable maintained for such an occasion as this.” Apprehensive, she inquired further, “You sure? If anything happens to him there’ll be hell to pay”. “I assure you Ms. Staellar. We will take the utmost care of him, I guarantee.” “You know me?” “Who doesn’t know you Ms. Staellar. You and him are known all across the planet.” Seeing as the curator knew who she was or at least knew of her, she dismounted and handed him the reins. “Point me to the best hotel in town.” “There’s only one, that would be Shack-It-Up.” “.... What’s this place known for?” “The shooting tournaments.If you have reservation about the hotel, haha the name isn’t what you think.” “... How so?” “If you really wanted to get laid, then there’s no better place than madam Chick’s cathouse.” “... Then why the name?” “The guy who bought it, renamed it, cause he thought he could compete with madam Chick but all anyone does is sleep in the rooms.” Laurel heads to the hotel to book a room. While the outside looked western like everything else the inside's decor was high tech. Truly a nice design, yet at the same time it had no taste. Nothing inside had an ounce of western flare. Laurel is approached by the receptionist bot and books her room. There are no human employees as far as she can see. She takes her room card and heads back out. Directly across the street she sees what looks like a saloon. Still wanting a drink and something to eat she heads on in, in hopes of finding other humans. Entering the saloon she finds a western style establishment that was also modern and to her delight there were other humans there as well. While they watched her, it was with downcast eyes. Everyone kept their heads down and didn’t venture to look her way for too long. Laurel heads to the bar and orders a drink. Seeing the reaction of the people near her she sets an order for some noodles and heads to a table in the back. The people's reaction was all too common for her. As the server bot brings her drink, she can only think of drowning herself in its sweet embrace. The bot informs her that her order will be done in five minutes. Stopping the bot, she places another order for the same drink but puts in an order as well for a stronger drink to be brought with the noodles. As she sits waiting, someone else comes into the bar. He is rugged in appearance but everyone in the bar greets him with a smile. He sits at the bar and relaxes a bit. The bartender serves him a drink without even asking. Taking the glass he salutes the bartender and takes a sip. Resting the glass down he looks in Laurel’s direction. Getting up out his seat the bartender stops him and whispers something, he takes another look at Laurel and waves the bartender off. “Hi.” “HI.” “Is this seat empty?” “... Who wants to know?” “Sorry, sorry, I’m Jackson Paul”, he extends a hand to Laurel’s surprise. She ignores this and motions for him to have a seat but even as he sits he keeps his hand extended. Taking another sip of her drink she shakes his hand and mutters, “Laurel Staellar”. “Must be hard being you.” Laurel gives no answer, she sits and carefully checks him out. He smiles at her as her food and drink arrives. Finishing her drink she ready’s her fork while he watches on. She eats as he continues to watch on smiling. Boldly he takes a sip of her drink much to the shock of the whole bar. “Wooo, that’s strong.” The bar is silent as Laurel stops eating. He smiles at her as everyone waits with bated breaths. Laurel looks at the glass then at him, now his smile faints to worry. Her facial expression was a true poker face, he couldn’t tell what she was going to do. Now he started to regret not listening to the bartender. Laurel is a bounty hunter with a great track record but is very loose with her weapons. Readjusting herself in her seat Jackson begins to sweat as he wonder’s how far he could get before she kills him. Resting her fork down, she stretches her hand across the table as Jackson closes his eyes in anticipation of what's to come. “You’re right, it's strong.” “....” In awe Jackson and the whole bar breathes a sigh of relief and surprise. Jackson begins to get up as Laurel stops once more. “Sit”, was the only word she said as Jackson stared into her eyes and eased back down to his seat. The atmosphere in the bar was again on edge. “Do you want some?” “.... Ex-excuse me.” Sharply she responds, “Food, do you want any?” “N-n-no.” Finishing her plate and drink she pays the bar while keeping Jackson in tow behind her. He dared not ask anything as they went to the hotel and she took him to her room. Standing like a statue he finally got the courage to talk. Sheepishly he asked, “W-what do you want from me?”. Laurel glances at him as she begins to undress. Jackson couldn’t help but admire her fair skin with those knockers he, like many others, dreamt of sucking. “You want to live?” “Y-Yes!” “Good. Then fuck my brains out.” His jaw falls to the floor at this command. He gulped but hesitated. “I can see you salivating from here. You have two options, either fuck me or die, your choice.” The next morning Laurel can be seen with a smile on her face as she goes to the museum to collect Sheba. Saddling up she heads out of town to her original destination. As soon as she was out of sight people rushed to the hotel to find out if Jackson was alive. Laurel had many nicknames but the one most relevant here is the Bloody Wife . She was considered the black widow of the bedroom. Even the owner was there as well to see. Standing outside the room his hands shake as he tries to scan his master card to open the door. The crowd stands behind him holding their breath at the sight they knew was coming. Opening the door the owner steps inside and looks around. To his surprise all seems well, there’s only Jackson lying on the bed. Everyone outside peer in and sigh but someone outside comments that Jackson looks peaceful. The owner's eyes widened and slowly focused back on Jackson as he stepped closer. Before he could check the cleaning bot comes in and tosses Jackson’s body to the floor as it removes the sheets from the bed. Jackson jumps up and gives the crowd a shock with many of the ladies delightfully surprised. Realizing he’s naked he rushes to the bathroom, taking his clothes with him. The owner clears his throat and commands the crowd to disperse as he leaves as well. Jackson puts on his clothes and heads to the exit but he sees the crowd outside and obviously realizes what they want. He had no intention of going through them so he asks the receptionist bot for another exit but he is told there isn’t any. He then asks to speak with the owner. “Jackson?” “Mr. Saint-Claire, I need another way out of here.” “Why?” “I want to live, that’s why.” “... Ms. Staellar has already left.” “You think I don’t know that. Listen to me, I want to live. You don’t know what that woman is capable of okay.” “... I-I understand, follow me.” Mr. Saint-Claire takes him to one of the many hidden exits of the hotel. As he watched Jackson leave he can’t help but smile as he thinks about how he could use this fortunate encounter to his advantage. *** A few months pass and Jackson who had left town that day and now resides in the city of what would be New London. At the Spring Time bar he sits having a drink and watching Metro Ball. Toasting to his promotion with his colleagues the game is interrupted. He takes a sip of his drink as the newscaster says, “Breaking news, the owner of Shack-It-Up Mr. Saint-Claire is dead”, slowly Jackson lowers his glass as the newscaster pauses. “This just in, from those on the scene, it seems the Bloody Wife Ms. Staellar blew his brains out in the middle of the street in broad daylight”, the newscaster continued. Jackson spits out his drink as those in the bar glance at him. “Dude, did you see a ghost?” “What?!” “Everybody knows about the Bloody Wife . Why are you surprised?” “Jackson? Weren’t you from around there?” “What! He’s from Old’s Ville?” “Yea-yeah I used to live there.” “Hmm but you didn’t react to the owner’s death. You only reacted to hearing it was the Bloody Wife who did it. ” Jackson dares not talk and instead diverts the attention from himself with just enough information about what happened in the bar that night without mentioning himself. Wrongly the people assume that it was Mr. Saint-Claire who approached the Bloody Wife . Shaking their head they comment saying, “That’s why she’s the Bloody Wife .”. Sitting back down Jackson gets another drink and tries to continue being merry with his colleagues but in the back of his mind he thought it was time to leave the city. Although he had no reason to believe she would be headed his way as the news report said she went in the opposite direction he had an uneasy feeling nonetheless. *** “Lala, why’d you have to kill him?” “Why? The bastard was using my name to promote his hotel.” “You could have just beaten him up.” “... That was the original plan but he tried to blackmail me. Blackmail me!!” “...” “He thought cause I fucked a guy in one of the rooms he could-” “Wait, you said you fucked a guy there right?” “Yeah, why?” “Did you kill him?” “Haa! Look it’s not like I kill every guy I fuck okay. And no, he was breathing when I left.” Inquisitively she said, “No wonder.” “What do you mean?” “Really... your nickname?” Looking annoyed, Laura asks, “Which one?” “Come on, Bloody Wife.” “What about it?” “You have got to be dense, you know. People consider you to be a black widow.” Puzzled, “So?” Highly annoyed, she replied “.... A black widow kills their mate, you bitch.” “What’s that got to do with me?” Slapping her head, she asks “What the condition of all the other dudes you fucked?” “They're dead, why-” It finally struck Laura, Jackson was the only guy you slept with that was still alive to tell the tale. Now she was sure it was even better that she had killed the hotel owner. She glances at Sarah who stood there with her arms folded and lets out a slight chuckle. Sarah just sighs. They head to the doctor’s office for Sarah’s check up. They were at Upper Avenue, this was where Laura was headed before stopping off at Old’s Ville. As they enter the elevator to go up to the doctor’s office a guy joins them. Since Laura who was close to the corner had turned to the side to take a private call the guy hadn’t noticed her. As he continues to hit on Sarah, Laura is getting annoyed since he didn’t bother to talk softly. Turning around the guy was just about to ask Sarah for her number as he saw who was in the corner all this time. He freezes and doesn’t utter another word as the elevator reaches their floor Sarah tugs Laurel for them to leave and the guy stands in the elevator still frozen as it closes. Sarah logs in at the desk and they both take a seat as they wait for the doctor to call her. Dr. Waterly comes out after a few minutes. Chuckling he says, “I see we have two patients.” “Doctor, you love to make jokes don’t you.” “Hmm, what are you talking about Sarah?” “I’m the only pregnant one here doc.” “... That can’t be, the scanners report that there are two pregnant women.” At a loss for words Sarah and Laurel look at each other. “Doc, you sure that thing’s working?” Stiffing up he replies, “Yes, Ms. Staellar.” “I can’t be pregnant doc. I was told I was barren.” “... If you don’t mind, can I check you with this machine right here? It should give me a more accurate reading.” To their surprise, it gave the same reading as the room sensors. The ultrasound clearly showed them a baby growing in Laurel’s belly. It had to have been at least three to four months since she got pregnant. Laurel hadn’t noticed due to her workout schedule and the jobs she regularly undertook. It was common for her to miss her period for months at a time. The doctor opted to give them some space as Laurel was in shock. “Lala, this wonderful news isn’t it?” “How... How is this wonderful? Do you realize how this will affect my job?” “Come on, it's not a big deal.” Laurel stands in frustration, “For you this isn’t a big deal. You think I want a kid?!” Seriously annoyed Sarah responses, “What wrong with having a child?! Being a mother is one of the joys of being a woman.” “I ain’t got time to raise no kid, especially since that dad ain’t even around.” Realizing what she just said Laurel turns to Sarah whose face is filled with disgust as tears run down her face. Laurel tries to apologize but Sarah has no interest in hearing it. Behind tears, Sarah bites her lip and mockingly says, “At least your child has a father”. She leaves Laurel in the waiting room and goes in to see the doctor. After her checkup she storms past Laurel. “Ms. Staellar, do you want me to give you a check up?” “Doctor just kills this thing inside me.” “You sure you want to do that. You may never get another child.” “...” “I understand that you’re upset and that you and Ms. Dowie are having a fight but I want you to know. Even though she was upset with you, she expressed that I take good care of you... and the baby.” Laurel is confused, and asks the doctor to let her think about it. She goes back home and tries to call Sarah but gets no answer. As if to clear her head she takes a look at open jobs. Finding nothing interesting she drowns herself in drink. Two days later she hears a knock at her door. It’s Sarah, she’s surprised at how ragged Laurel looks. “Can I come in?” Sluggishly Laurel replies, “... Yeah”. Surprised again at the mess in Laurel’s apartment Sarah gets to cleaning. After cleaning up Laurel's mess, Sarah sits down and they talk. Although it took fifteen minutes before either of them said anything. In the end they make up and Laurel decides to keep her baby. They figure between the two of them what could go wrong with raising their kids *** At the bar Jackson and co are watching the rest of Metro Ball after the sudden news. Their team narrowly wins. Jackson buys a round of drinks to celebrate but also to help them forget about the news. He had enough issues in his life. "Hey Jackson" "Hmm, Carla what's up?" "Let's have a kid." Jackson spits out his drink. The others stared at each other then laughed. Carla found it a bit puzzling and didn't understand why they were laughing. "Carla, we aren't an item. So why do you think you can say something like that so casually." "Come on, all you got to do is fuck me." Jackson is in disbelief. While the others nod in agreement to Carla's logic. "Carla read my lips. I don't want a kid. Not with you or anybody." "Why not? I'm hot aren't I?" "That personality of yours isn't", Jackson shakes his head, wondering why he only seemed to attract the crazy girls.


“I never thought it was possible for a person to be so damn arrogant!” Zed screamed as he slammed the front door of his house. “Your ass better stay on your own damn asteroid or I’ll kick it all the way to one of Jupiter’s moons!” Through the blinds of his window, Zed glared at the abyss of space outside his personal asteroid upon which his house sits. His eyes zoned in on the house of his one and only neighbor, Mandy. Across the asteroid belt, he saw Mandy’s front door fly open and her step out in a space suit with a brick in hand. She threw the brick and shattered Zed’s window as it landed in his living room. A tight vacuum sucked in from the broken window. Grumbling under his breath, Zed slapped some Flex Tape TM on it. “Crazy woman,” he muttered, then looked down at the brick. There was a note on it. Crouching down, he picked up the note. I didn’t steal your damn duster! Zed scoffed. “That’s just what a duster-stealer would say,” yelling louder so Mandy could hear him this time, he added. “I know you stole my duster ten years ago! I bet my house on it!” “As if!” Mandy hollered back. “That duster took forever to be shipped here from Earth, Mandy! I’m getting it back!” “I ain’t no thief!” “Yeah, right,” Zed remarked under his breath. Staring at the mess of glass in his living room, Zed realized he had spent enough time arguing and definitely has to swept up this mess. “Damn, when does that woman ever stop causing problems for me.” Zed glared at his closet door. Space-spider webs covered the knob. He hasn’t cleaned anything in years. Signing, he twisted it open and saw its crooked shelves propped up by a singular wooden broom. Slowly, just as he thought the broom was free from being Altas, and was about to carefully make his exit, the shelves can clamoring down. “Juck!” He cursed as debris cluttered at his feet. Something tapped his ankle. As he looked down, his eyes widened. It was the feather-duster. “Oh, juck.” Zed paced around his living room with the blinds closed and the duster in hand. “ Oh, juck. Oh, juck. Oh, juck. ” What the juck was he supposed to do? Apologize for his wrong actions? Admit he was wrong? To Mandy?? No! Those were all horrible options! Then, he stopped pacing a sly smile grew on his face. “What if Mandy never knows it was here?” He cracked open his blinds and peeled at Mandy’s house. “Because I’m going to sneak it into her house before she ever finds out.” Zed didn’t bother to wait until ‘night’ or anything because what night? He’s in space ! Instead, he immediately suited up and floated under the asteroids, out of sight, to Mandy’s house. He entered through a window in the basement. His weak muscles barely pulled him through the vacuum as he flopped onto the floor. “Man,” he mumbled as he stood up. “These houses were not designed for space.” After fumbling around looking for the staircase upstairs, Zed just ended up wiggling off a loose vent panel and shimming his body through the vent. He peeked out the occasional vent, using it to navigate through the house. Finally, he found himself in Mandy’s master bedroom while she was taking a shower. Zed pounded his fingers through the vent and tries to shake it off, but the metal held firm. “Juck!” He cursed as he heard the water turn off. Mandy would come out of the bathroom any minute now. Rushed to get out, he left the duster inside the air vent and shimmered back to the basement, went out the window, and made his daring escape by floating casually back to his house. Goosebumps run up and down Mandy’s arms. “Why is it so cold in here?” She asked herself as she pulled on a second sweater. “Geez, don’t tell me there’s something wrong with the furnace again. Ugh! It’s going to take so long to get a repairman here!” Mandy drastically pounded on the thermostat, but the temperature stayed the same. Then, she heard a quick rat-a-tat-tat-tat coming from her air vent. Slowly, she crept over to it, wondering if something was inside. She used her nails to unscrew the vent and remove it. Inside, she pulled out... the feather duster. Mandy went white. “ Oh, juck. Oh, juck. Oh, juck. Oh, juck .” She softly cursed to herself. She had been the one with the feather duster, she thought. Mandy began pacing. What the juck was she supposed to do? Apologize for her wrong actions? Admit she was wrong? To Zed?? No! Those were all horrible options! Mandy’s Mind scrambled for a solution. Wait a minute, she thought, if I hide it in Zed’s house, he’ll never know ... Mandy broke into Zed’s house from a sky light on the roof because I guess just juck breaking and entering laws in space, right? Tiptoeing around, she looked for any convincing hiding spot to but the duster. A hungry stomach lead her to the kitchen. As she stole all of Zed’s leftover pizza, an idea hit her. Underneath the fridge! Who cleans under there? Quickly, she stuffed the pizza in her mouth and the duster under the fridge as Zed’s footsteps approached. She dove behind the couch for cover as Zed opened the fridge looking for his leftover pizza. “What?” He asked himself. “I don’t remember eating it...” Mandy nibbled on the crust in silence. Zed tsked and closed the door. Instead, he grabbed a glass and filled with ice. Mandy’s eyes widened in horror as a cube slipped and slid under the fridge. Zed groaned and swiped underneath... only to have his hand find the feather duster. With a fearful expression of his own, Zed pulled it out. Oh juck! I thought I hide this in Mandy’s house! What is this some kind of boomerang duster? Zed thought. Swiftly, Zed grabbed his space suit and headed out the door. After it slammed shut, Mandy emerged from her hiding spot and watched from the window Zed hiding the duster back inside her house. “That punk!” She exclaimed, ironically. “How dare he tried to shift the blame and hide the duster in my house!” Zed came back inside his house to find a Mandy with a crooked grin sitting on his couch. “What are you doing here, Mandy?” He asked. “What were you doing in my house?” She remarked. His face paled. “Nothing.” Mandy wagged her finger in front of his face. “I don’t think so. You were hiding the duster because you were the one who had it along.” “Ok, fine!” He confessed. “I found the feather duster but--wait a minute, how did you get into my house without me knowing? And how did you get back here just as I hide it?” He stepped closer. “And how did you know I was even hiding it, or that I had it?” “I--well,” Mandy stuttered. “You hid it in my house first!” Zed declared. “I so did not!” She shouted. “How do I know you didn’t hide it first!” Zed gasped. “Like I would ever do something so scandalous as that!” He lied. “I just saw you hiding it,” she snapped. He crossed his arms. “That doesn’t prove anything. You don’t know if it was originally in my house!” “And you can’t prove it was in mine!” She hollered back. “You wanna bet!” Zed screamed with a red face. Mandy stuck her finger in Zed’s face, opened her mouth to say something before a confused expression flickered across her face as something outside the window caught the corner of her eye. “Wait a second, where’s the duster now?” “It’s in your house.” Mandy glanced back at the object. It was the duster . Just floating in space. “No it’s not.” Mandy pointed. “It’s right there.” Zed twisted his neck to see it. “ Oh, juck .” I must have forgotten to close the window all the way . “I guess that’s one way to solve the problem.”


(This is one of the beginnings of a story I've written in my spare time. It's intended to be funny and is somewhat inappropriate for certain readers. Since I don't really use reddit much, I'd also like to know if there is a better subreddit for a story like this. In adittion, the story is unfinished and barely started. This is my style of writing and if anyone wants I can try to write more or submit some of the other stories I began to write and didn't really do much after) PART 1 Why hello there dear friends and beloved acquaintances. We find ourselves immersed in the deepest Ebola-stricken jungles of the South African Amazon Rainforest. Under the fifty shades of grey of many a fern and palm tree, lays a small rock. The rock doth gently lay and gently lay it does as though it hath been frozen in the coma of time for centuries past. A small echidna, native to these parts of the forest trots near the pebble-like figure and sluggishly places its anterior on top of the rock in silence and leans on it in the most suggestive of suggestive stances. Accelerating swiftly it humps the rock with powerful might and pummels his front-facing nether regions against it. The spikey creature ejects its fluids onto the rock and waddles away, praying to god nobody has seen it commit such atrocities. Needless to say, the rock agonisingly bore this punishment as it now continues its eternal struggle of stillness in this ‘moist’ and temperate environment. Simultaneous to this event was the occurrence of one of the other most fascinating events in the history of mankind; the birth of Irl. Irl? Irl isn’t a name for fucksake. People please give your children proper names so they don’t end up like the protagonist of our story. Like fucking seriously just don’t give them these scrub names. Of course being called Irl gave me - I mean - fak... Ok fine. My name is Irl. Laugh all you fucking want because after I tell you my life story you will laugh no more.


I’m an oil man, in broad terms. My fingers were made black from years of smut, and by the time I settled down, I could hardly remember what my real hands looked like. The dye is fading, and so am I. Perhaps it’s time. I made my start working in the Navy yard. I was nine years of age, rolling empty barrels aboard ship after ship. “Reworking material” they called it, hauling used barrels back down the coast. As a lad, there wasn’t much money in it, at first. I worked for scraps and loose change, and mercy from the men. The yard had become my home, as I hadn’t a real one elsewhere, and it was all I could do not to swipe lunches for myself. Belcamp, a tall burly man whose torso was twice my size, befriended me. He was merely a crewman with no money to his name. He owned no stock, nor did he have any prominence to speak of, and yet every day he’d sacrifice a quarter portion of his lunch to my belly. It was Belcamp who watched over me, even if I didn’t see it. And it was he who arranged my first paid position with the yard. My first dime, and my survival, I owe to a man I never truly knew. At fourteen, I managed to convince a captain to bring me aboard his ship. They were sailing for Charleston; another hoard of barrels was to be retrieved there. But afterward, they were bound for Havana. Whales were plenty in the Caribbean. So, I left home. I hadn’t left those docks in my entire life, and now I was watching them vanish into oblivion. A crewman told me it was the ‘curvature’ of the Earth. Another said it was simply smog clouding our view. It wouldn’t be until 1829 that I learned the first crewman was right. After a few years of scrubbing and some ship-laden injuries, I was an official member of the crew; the harpoon master’s right hand. If not set for sea, I apprenticed by his side, learning to craft different variations of spears and mechanics. Larger rigs had contraptions the size of stagecoaches; massive cross-bow-like machines. Ours was small and mostly handheld. When on the job, I stood by his side at nearly every instant, ready with rope and knife, able to seize any moment. It was important to have multiple shots tied and ready, six at least. Melville’s pros are theatrical, whales do not harbor grudges, at least, to my own knowledge. However, the dingy holds no salvation against a ramming white. The terror is real. The instinct to dive away weighs heavier than all the steel on Earth, yet it’s crucial to stand your ground; there is no other way to make the shot. It was during these misadventures that I lost two fingers, one on each hand. Soon after my second finger sunk into the ocean, I decided to find different work. I had drudged some long years in the whaling business and had accrued a decent sum that funded my pilgrimage home. Upon my return, I found that the city had changed since I was young. I was now one and thirty, and I intended on doing two things: starting a business and starting a family. Elisa and I had a baby girl and had taken residence downtown. I had wished for a boy, but when Abigail grew and began showing interest in my work, I took it as consolation. A few years since returning home, I used my profits to purchase my own dock and warehouse, not too far from where I had had my first job. Per her request, I took Abigail here often and put her to work. Many of my men found Abigail strange. It was unbecoming of a young woman to drudge her hands in oil, but it was her preference. I often spied some men making advances upon her. I took the liberty of firing those men. She had grown beautiful and capable, and she was under my protection, just as I was under hers. She helped me strike a deal with the city to sell our oil for city-wide street lamps, and various government-owned residences and office buildings. At the time, we were the smallest business and had a little reputation. But Abigail had made these flaws our advantage by convincing them our oil was as high a quality as our competitor, but at a lower price. Despite this lower price, the deal still brought us a profit and a good living. I lost many acquaintances during this bid, but Abigail had found love. Perhaps this is a partial reason for our success. She chose to leave my side in business and pursue political standing with her new husband, a state legislator. I was older then, still toiling away at my desk at the age of three and fifty. Elisa would ask me to retire, but I knew my hands would tremble if idle. So, I demoted myself. I stepped down as chief, leaving my business in the hands of younger men, and accepted a more leisurely position among the even younger lamplighters. They were scrappy like newspaper boys, but decent nonetheless. I hardly fit in. In the winter I’d have lunch with Elisa then head to work. I’d pick up my pail and ladle, my match and soot pouch, and my folding stool, and walk. That’s all it is. Walking. Walking, dolloping, and lighting. In all my years I had hardly the time to see the world for what it had become, but as a lamplighter, I could. The stone on the streets had turned straighter and shinier. The very lamps I lit had gotten more abundant. People’s clothes had gotten leaner, suits brighter, and dresses shorter. I, myself, hadn’t noticed such changes and realized that all my clothes at home were undoubtedly a decade out of date, at least. Regardless, my uniform for lamp lighting had no business being fashionable. It had all the business of being black and slimy, and so did my hands. I kept my position until I was forced to leave. Elisa was pleased that I kept busy, but grew ever anxious as I got older. This was reason enough to settle, but as fate would have it, I was also laid off. A man named Edison had developed a lamp fueled by ‘electricity.’ I’m told it’s the power of lightning in the palm of your hand, able to produce light that shines brighter, and lasts longer, than the oil I had furiously harvested my entire life. The discovery left me melancholy. I was amazed by this new device, yet saddened by my place in it all. The men I had served, the men who had served me, even the lamplighters I had served with, were now relics. Everything’s changing, and I hope it’s for the better. I know it is, for Elisa and me.


Elsie and her new puppy, “Teddybear,” gazed at the first winter's snow falling like white cotton balls on the lighthouse. Her eyes widened, her breath slowed, the corners of her mouth turned up, and she felt a sense of wonder. Earlier, on the grey, drizzling morning, their trail guide had the horses saddled and the pack horses waiting for Elsie's family when they got to the corrals. Smells of horses, hay, salty ocean air, and Douglas Firs blended into a fragrance that Elsie found pleasing. The river lapped at the shores and fir trees studded the sand dunes. Elsie's mother, Jeannie, saw that her husband, Joseph, and the three kids looked fresh-faced and eager, despite the long journey they had made. Today their new home at a lighthouse keeper’s house awaited. Anticipation wiped fatigue away. “The weather is doing what it usually does this time of the year. You’ll get used to it,” said Andy, the trail guide. “We can’t put off the ride because it is like this most of the winter.” It was 1898 on the central Oregon coast, at the village of Mystic Beach, nestled in a curve of the river that met the Pacific Ocean a few miles to the west. A few days ago, the family crossed the wide river on a large raft made of logs strapped together, dragged by lines from the shores to pull it back and forth. Blue herons who were standing in the river shallows watched them. Egrets in tall reeds flew away like a white cloud when the raft got too close. Jeanie, Joseph, and the kids had crossed rivers before on their way from the countryside outside Austin, Texas. They may have started out a little soft, but now even the kids never blinked. Back in the ranch swimming hole they had learned how to float and paddle a little. Their skills would be no match for this mighty river if they fell into the cold water, but their travels had taught them toughness and grit. At the barn, they loaded the pack horses with their supplies and belongings. Flour, oats, coffee, sugar, tea, cornmeal, beans, and other foods were in watertight containers. When Jeanie’s family joined the other families at the lighthouse keepers’ houses, there would be a root cellar under one of the houses, with more provisions in the cool underground room. Jeanie looked at the pack horses and drew in a breath. They had left a trail of belongings along the way from central Texas, tossing heavy objects away like they were in a sinking boat in the ocean. It was hard to let go of treasures that evoked memories. But Jeanie also felt a new lightness with the sense of letting go and starting fresh. Now they made their way on horseback over the trails to the lighthouse. All the shades of greens surrounded them in the wet Douglas Fir forest. The sky was blue-gray. From the coast trails, they could glimpse views of the beacon shining through the December fog and rain as it rotated. Douglas Firs bent over against the sky when the hurricane-force winds caught their boughs. “We’re in for it now,” growled a low voice coming from Andy's thin figure on his grey horse. He was used to guiding riders and pack horses along the 15-mile trail from the village to the lighthouse. The horses knew the routine. Calm, plain looking, wiry but strong, the horses kept their honest eyes on the trail, heads low, ears relaxed but forward, stepping carefully. Their long, ragged winter coats ruffled in the wind. “Are we gonna be ok?” The voice came from Elsie, hidden beneath her bundle of coats, winter hat, and heavy scarf. She was holding the reins in one hand and holding the bulky coats closed tightly across the chest. “It’s going to be all right, Elsie,” called Joseph. Elsie clutched her coat tightly and felt relieved no one had noticed what she was hiding inside the layers against her chest. When the woman at the horse barn ran up to her, the little puppy was buried in both of her hands. Big puppy eyes peered out. The woman said, “Please, give him a home. Shepherd mix. He’ll be your best friend. His name is Teddybear.” Elsie’s hazel eyes met the round eyes of the puppy. The woman thrust the dark, shaggy puppy into Elsie’s arms and grabbed Elsie’s coat to cover it up. “Just don’t tell your parents until you get to the lighthouse,” the woman said. The warm little body cuddled up against Elsie’s chest and two sets of eyes gazed at each other. Elsie was overcome with feelings. She squeezed the puppy into the big storage pocket inside her parka, where the little dog was cuddled against her. The bulky clothes hid any bulges. Andy looked at the sky and felt twinges creep down his spine. His weathered face drooped, the narrow brown eyes scanning the clouds. He had two years of experience bringing supplies and lighthouse workers to the bluffs hundreds of feet above the sea. The sky was sending a warning now. “Hunker down and keep going," yelled Joseph when another gale roared through the forest. “Wait,” a hollar came from Elsie's small figure. She grabbed a long mane and clung to the neck of her reddish-chestnut horse. “Elsie, you need to keep up, come on slow poke,” came a young boy’s voice. “I’ll get you for this, Jack.” Elsie's voice was thin in the wailing wind. The silhouettes of the riders in their bulky clothing, the horses, and the pack horses were buffeted by the squalls. To the west tall waves with whitecaps crashed, and deep swells rolled in the dark ocean, which blended into the horizon. To the east ragged cliffs rose on steep mountains. The horses splashed over the flooded trail. “Let’s turn back, please Father, Mother,” came another young boy’s voice. “We can’t Edward. The lighthouse keepers need us. Especially now.” Joseph's deep voice was almost drowned out by a new gust of wind with rain. He knew maintaining the oil and the wicks was critical during the stormy winter so the beacon could warn the ships of the rough coastline. His mind held a sense of wonder at the thought of the beacon. "392 prism...Fresnel lens...80,000 candle power...the brightest beacon on the Oregon coast." Joseph couldn't wait to take care of it, see it, polish it. Known as the “graveyard of the Pacific,” the Oregon coast in 1898 now had a string of lighthouses at intervals. “Jeanie, you lead and I’ll be in the rear to keep watch.” Joseph’s voice continued. The trail dipped and ahead they saw sand dunes leading to a wide beach. It was low tide. “Hurry, we need to get around that point on the cliffs before the high tide rolls in or it will catch us,” yelled Joseph. Jeanie felt the sting of the raindrops like pins on her face. Years ago, outside Austin Texas, she fell in love with an adventurous, brave man, who caught her imagination with his stories of what a life with him might hold. She turned and looked back at her husband, bringing up the rear of the group. He lifted a hand and moved it. That was the thing about Joseph. She was no longer alone. He always seemed to sense her and respond. Someone who saw her, heard her, knew her feelings. In the rain and cold Joseph felt a warmth inside when he and Jeanie shared glances. He knew true love really did exist. Whatever life sent his way, he would battle through it for the love of his life and the children. They were his dreams come true. Jeanie’s bones felt chilled now, despite the layers of clothing, and her adrenaline surged as she watched the trail, rocking slightly in the saddle, moving her right hand to neck rein the horse around a turn in the path. Between the horse’s ears, she saw the ocean framed. Her skin prickled with fear and her heart jumped with excitement. “No more endless days of boredom ,” she thought. “ We might have to fight to survive, but we’ll be happy. Every day we will be thrilled to be alive.” Jeanie pictured the life they left behind on the isolated ranch in central Texas. She saw herself following the manual labor routines each day. Joseph’s parents meant well, but living on the ranch with their constant supervision and criticism was a crushing experience. “We’ll still have hard, physical work,” she thought. “ But to live on the ocean will be worth it.” She knew giving up the inheritance so Joseph’s brothers could have it all, and moving to begin a new life of their own, was the only way to be happy. Joseph needed freedom for his spirit to soar and she did too. Jeannie saw the kids were swaying along on their horses behind her. Growing up on a ranch meant they rode as well as they walked. Jack and Edward were at home on horseback. Elsie's favorite pretend game was galloping around rearing and neighing, pawing the air, tossing her head, and throwing her hair like a mane in the wind. Every day Elsie invented new horse names and stories to act out. Neighbors in Texas lived far away, and Elsie was used to entertaining herself. Elsie felt the puppy move and she said to it, “Not too far now, little baby. I’ll take care of you, love.” She and the puppy rocked together moving easily with the horse's back at each step. The motion was lulling and the puppy had slept most of the way. Her brothers had each other for playing and sharing activities. Elsie's parents were overwhelmed with the duties of survival. She often felt lonely. But now, cuddling her little puppy inside the parka next to her chest, she knew she had a best friend. At the rear Joseph led the pack train carrying their supplies and belongings. Once he thought he saw a Black Bear disappearing into the trees. Another time a coyote gazed at them from a hill and trotted calmly away. The volcanic rock of the cliffs stretched skyward on one side of the group and the rolling hills of sand on the dunes was on the other side. The dense fir trees of the rainforest became more scattered along the trail. Rain created waterfalls splashing down the cliffs. Openings in the reddish volcanic rock led to caves the width of several horses and taller than a person on horseback. Boulders and smaller rocks were scattered next to the cliffs. “Watch out for mud and rock slides,” called Joseph. “Okay,” came voices through the wind. Reaching the trail’s entrance to the beach, the group looked quietly at the darkening skies. Raindrops and wind hit their solemn, determined faces. But their eyes were shining while they pictured themselves at their new home. It was only a few more miles. The last trek along the trail to the lighthouse keepers’ houses led along the beach at low tide. They had to round several prominent volcanic rock outcrops that reached into the ocean. By land the only route would have been many miles inland, going around plunging ravines hundreds of feet deep, and climbing steep mountain trails that were impassible during winter’s torrents of rain. Andy looked at the waves as the whitecaps rose taller than a house now, spewing their spindrift high into the sky. The swells must be over 20 ft. If any ships were out there in this he felt sorry for them. His face grew serious as he contemplated the breakers crashing on the beach. Each set of waves crept closer across the tidepools. It was later in the day than he thought. The large group had moved slowly and they were behind schedule. Arrival had to be timed to hit the beach at the lowest tide so they could ride around the outcroppings on the sand. When the tide flowed in it covered the sandy path and the ocean currents burst with explosions against the rocks. Anyone caught in the currents would be drawn under and swept away like a figure picked up by a tornado. “This doesn’t look good,” Andy said. Joseph had ridden up next to him. “See the beach at that corner?” Andy pointed. “How do we get through that?” Joseph said, wondering if there was a path leading over the rugged volcanic rocks. Ripples of ocean water were already surging closer to the rocks, covering the beach. The currents made the waves hiss as they snaked up the beach, closer and closer. “We’ve missed the low tide. We took too long getting here,” said Andy. “What now?” asked Joseph. “We wait. Overnight. Camping until the tide goes out.” Andy’s face in the rain and wind looked grim. “I know some caves nearby. We’ll stay there,” he said. “Follow me.” The dark sky let loose with raindrops that pelted them like bullets that stung even through the heavy clothing. The chilly day became colder. The wind howled and nearly pushed them off their horses. “Go this way,” Andy yelled. Their horses picked their way carefully over a rocky terrain. They saw three caves and one had a large, wide mouth. “We’ll camp in there,” said Andy. He rode into the cave and they followed. Inside the air was still while the wind and rain roared outside. The group dismounted and tied the horses to a line strung across the cave that was tied to boulders on the sides. Late afternoon was bringing their appetites to the forefront. Andy set two rocks several feet apart and set another flat rock across them like a table. He brought some dried moss from his waterproof pouch and set it under the rock slab. Spinning two dry sticks from his pouch together he got a small bit of smoke to appear on the moss. He blew softly and it grew until they had flames. Everyone gathered around the fire as it grew. The light cast shadows on them as they held their hands out to the warmth. “Here, use this,” said Joseph. He unpacked dried salmon jerky, beans, water in containers, and a pot. He started a stew on top of the flat rock slab. Elsie and her brothers squatted near the fire. The warmth began to reach their cold faces. Inside her coat, she felt the puppy squirm. She knew he would need to get out for a while. “I’ll be back,” she said, walking further into the cave. “Be careful, honey,” said Jeanie. “Don’t go far.” “I won’t," Elsie’s voice came from the shadows. She opened her coat and took the puppy out when she was beyond the sight of the group at the campfire. Teddybear's little head fit just right under her chin and he leaned against her. She pressed him against her cheek and gave him a little kiss. His tiny tongue slid across her face and she smiled. “I know, Teddybear, you need to stretch those legs,” she said. She set him on the ground and he scampered around by her feet. Around a bend, she felt a draft and saw light streaming down into the cave from above. A drumming sound reached her ears. The rain had turned to hail. It was coming into the cave from an opening in the ceiling. Elsie walked closer, looking up through the cave’s opening at the sky. Now white flakes began appearing. The first snow of the year. She picked up Teddybear and climbed over rocks to get a better look. Barking sounds like dogs came to her along with the wails of the wind. " Sea lions, " she thought. With Teddybear tucked into the parka’s storage pocket, she popped her head through the opening. Below about a hundred feet away sea lions sat sheltered in a cove on the rocks. Ocean spray flew into the air farther out. Snowflakes like cotton balls fell from the sky, piling up on the rocky shore. Across the late afternoon seas, a beam of light like a star swung across the opening of the cave while Elsie watched. Her eyes grew big and her mouth opening into a circle shape. “There it is. The lighthouse.” The whiteness of the snowflakes and the light of the beacon shining through them across the waves made Elsie draw in a deep breath. It was another world. Her new life. Through the falling white stood a tall white cylinder with a red roof, high on a bluff, with a brilliant beacon light rotating. Strong flashes lit up the ocean and shore as the light bathed the areas each time it went around. The sea lions were diving into the water now, disappearing into the swirling waves, heading for deeper shelter. Elsie took Teddybear out of the storage pocket and hugged him close. “You’re gonna be ok, little baby. And I am too,” she said. The long journey seemed to fall away like a forgotten other life, and the ten-year-old little girl felt her heart fill with excitement. She held Teddybear up to her face and gave him a kiss on his squishy nose. The snowflakes sparkled like stars, and the lighthouse beacon swung around and shined on Elsie and Teddybear. Elsie cradled the little puppy in her arms. "Look Teddybear," said Elsie. The puppy gazed up into the eyes of the ten-year-old little girl. "There's your new home. You're going to be a happy little puppy and we will love each other sooooooo much."


Seeing something after only picturing it in your mind for so long, was always a strange thing. There were always those slight alterations, those few freckles, you’d forget within your internalised portrait. I’d, in a way, forgotten how she looked. Her smile was the same. Her scent, a combination of her vanilla perfume (which hadn’t changed) and the fresh cotton of her clothes, yet with the hidden hint of tobacco that she clearly wished to disguise - unsuccessfully. I knew that scent would never change, as her mum had bought her that same perfume when she first moved away from home, and since her passing, she never let the bottle even verge on half- empty, just in case it stopped being sold. The smoking was a habit I never favoured of hers, but I got used to it. I knew it was her warm hug in the winter, her old friend on a summer’s evening, and that bit of reassurance that was unobtainable for me to provide. I could sit here and reminisce over our relationship forever. I could think about how I was terrible. I could also think about how she was terrible. In actual fact, literature loves to tell us all about the beauty of love: it’s perfection; it’s inability to break your heart in every possible way. As far as perfect goes, she was far from it. But sitting here, now, looking into those sage - coloured eyes, little specks of brown, she looks prettier than I’d ever thought she could. I wonder what she must be thinking about me. Is she thinking I look tired because I have spent sleepless nights working on a novel which will probably be the death of me? Is she remembering the time I told her I wasn’t in love anymore? Is she remembering how the last time we saw each other, we agreed we would never see each other again, and I walked away, wiping the tears which temporarily burnt my cheeks? I suspected by the slight pain that tinged her eye, that in fact, she was. I fidgeted in my seat, suddenly feeling embarrassed. I’d not dressed up for the occasion, as I didn’t want it to appear that I had intentionally meant to look nice. That would be trying too hard. She clearly had a similar idea, but she always looked better than me without any effort. She was wearing a brown, round - necked jumper, with the same blue jeans (slight fraying at the knee) that she had worn when we were together. The shade of the jumper complimented her auburn hair like the warm tones of an autumn tree, the leaves being her green eyes. But what did I know? That just sounded like something a writer would say. I am a writer, of course, but that’s all fiction. I scanned the coffee shop, to see if anyone was looking at us: sensing my apprehension and her discomfort. Maybe we looked like a couple. That thought settled my nerves for a little while. I wasn’t sure why I was overthinking, as like I previously mentioned, this wasn’t one of those extraordinary love stories, and in reality, we were just two people that had fallen out of love with one another. A man with his cold cappuccino and a woman in her, now I come to look closely, relatively average brown jumper. Even so, I smiled at her, with the image of her sat in this very coffee shop came to mind, of which seemed like a very long time ago. We spoke for a while. It was a little forced at the beginning, and nervous laughter often overpowered most of the conversation, along with regular distant glances out of the window to the busy street. I considered how every person that walked past that coffee shop, in that moment, had their own life and their own love stories to tell. I wondered how many of them would write about it as I did. I wondered how many of those I would obliviously come to read someday. No one here knew of where we had been half an hour before we walked into this small, cosy café, and no one knew where we would go to the second after we walked out. That was one of the more bizarre concepts of life that I could never quite get my head around. Who else was sat here, discussing the breakdown of their relationship with an ex-girlfriend? Catching me deep within my own thoughts, she picked up the plastic bag next to her, which I assumed was filled with my things. Having caught me by surprise, I snatched the bag in humiliation, hoping that no one would notice this exchange. I had been told this would be the hardest part of the experience, as though they are passing you back the memories you shared, ridding any part of your life that is still the slightest bit prominent in theirs. I didn’t feel this way, however, as I did really miss that baggy band t-shirt that she’d taken from me after the first night we had slept together at hers. She’d even had it in her suitcase when we moved in, hanging it up in her wardrobe as though claiming it as her own. I would be lying if I said it didn’t sting a little, though. After the closure was...closed, we headed to our separate homes. I had thought, when I’d walked in earlier that day, that perhaps things would be reconciled. That is what often happens between two people that decide they need closure. Perhaps that’s more common in couples who reunite after a few drinks, in one of their homes, dimmed lighting, often a mistake. The bitter taste of cappuccino in my mouth and the dryness of the aftermath of small talk for the past hour. She seemed to have a weight lifted off her shoulders, which comforted me, thinking that she had struggled just as much as I had to become accustomed to loneliness again, but that she now knew she was going to be okay. Sometimes the quietness was bliss, but every now and again, the solemn silence truly was exhausting. I paid the bill (as I always did, despite each penny spent reminding me of my unfinished novel), and we parted ways. In a heart-wrenching rom-com It would seem fitting to say that it was raining, a little windy, but perfect weather to walk home after a breakup. In actual fact, it was. We live in England. The sky was a plain grey, and the walk home was the same. I never spoke to her again, but life continued, as it does. “How many times have I got to tell you? Mark, the readers aren’t going to like it. We’ve been waiting for some material from you for months now; people are losing interest.” “But it’s reality, Sir. The kind of books we write nowadays, the kinds of books we read... they’re a façade. Heightened expectations of love nowadays are damaging real, happy relationships. Content is no longer enough for anyone. I wanted to express what real love is like; what real breakups are like; what real life is like. I think people will appreciate it.” “No one wants to read that, Mark. Rewrite the chapter and come back to me when it’s done.”


"Med-bay for Commander. Over." "Go for Commander. Over." "We're hav.... s... sporadic power ou... here. Can you co... Over." The automatic door next to the intercom slides open. Pilot Symanski walks through and returns to her seat. The faintest hint of a smile shows on her face, but the Commander is too distracted to notice. "Med-bay, go again. Over." The request goes unanswered. The commander finally presses the button and speaks again, "I'm on my way. Over and out." Commander McDowell pivots away from the intercom to address the flight crew instead. "Symanski and Schaefer, you two take over until I get back. Jones, come with me. We need to find out what's going on." The door slides open again and the two men exit the flight deck. Unsure of what's happening, they hurry down the long corridor. "What do you think's going on, Commander?" "No idea. There haven't been any communication issues like this before. The previous commander would've included it in his brief when we took over. And it would have been in the flight logs, too. " As the med-bay doors slide open, the commander and the flight engineer are greeted by a cacophony of beeping and buzzing. Medical staff scurry around, trying to placate the various machines as they issue their warnings. "Harrison!" The commander shouts the Chief Medical Officer's name, hoping she'll hear over all the commotion. She looks up from across the room. As soon as she sees the Commander and the Flight Engineer standing in the doorway, she gives the nearest medic a command. The medic dashes off to do whatever errand he's been assigned. Finally, Harrison hurries past the two men, and motions them to follow her out the door. Once the door closes behind them and the noise dies away, Harrison rubs her temples. "What's going on? I couldn't hear your message earlier I thought it was just some malfunction with the intercoms, but this is far more serious than I thought." "Our power has been flickering for the several hours. Then an hour ago, it went out completely." At the commander's questioning look, she continues. "Our systems are running from the backup generator right now. They aren't meant to handle this much all at once though. They were only designed for emergencies, like if one of the cryogenic sleeper pods malfunctions. The generators are just supposed to keep them going long enough that we can transfer the user out." "As far as I know, everywhere else on the ship is fine. What's been affected by the outage?" He looks at her, worry etched across his face. "It's just your computers, right?" "No. I wish that's all it was. Everything in medical has lost power. It's not just the computers and monitoring equipment. All the cryogenic sleeper pods have lost power, too." Jones chimes in, "Is that why there's so much noise right now? All the machines are warning that the cryopods are offline?" "Exactly. We've started bringing the other crews out of the stasis and getting them out of the pods, but... Well, it's a balancing act. If we take too long to get them out before the backup power is gone, they'll die because there's no life support. If we bring them out too abruptly, they'll die, too. It's sort of like scuba diving. Coming out of the stasis too fast gives them a kind of decompression sickness. "I know the next crew isn't supposed to be brought out of the pods for another 10 years, but I didn't know what else to do. If we left them--" The commander interrupts to reassure her. "No, you're right. I would've done the same thing." She nods and continues, "And to make matters worse, I can't find Pierce. He should be here, but no one knows where he is. I've sent a few people out searching. I'd send more, but I really can't spare anyone else." Harrison looks through the glass in the med-bay doors. "In fact, I should really get back in there." "Of course, Harrison. Keep waking the other crews up and send them to the flight deck. We may need their help to deal with this. Then start waking civilians after that. We'll go talk to Repair and Maintenance. I'll see if they can divert power from some of the non-essential areas until they can fix this." She nods and disappears back into the med-bay. "Come on, Jones." "Commander, shouldn't I go look for Pierce?" "No. We're going past the Janitorial section on our way. We'll send them out searching." Commander McDowell turns to go down the corridor. "But, sir, we n--" McDowell spins back around to face his Flight Engineer. "I gave you an order! We don't have time for this. You will come with me and that's final." Jones takes a step back when he sees his commander's reddening face. The commander spins around once more and swiftly marches down the hall. As soon as he walks into the Janitorial area, a staff member named Peter speaks up. "Commander, Schaefer has been trying to reach you over the intercom. She said that the commanders from the previous two crews have been woken up and told her about the 'situation' and that you need to meet her immediately. Sir, what's happening?" "Later. Everyone here needs to--" Jones interrupts, "I'll go explain to Repair & Maintenance." Before the commander can protest, Jones disappears out the door. McDowell turns back toward the staff member. Through gritted teeth, he says, "Your team needs to find Pierce and get him to the med-bay." As an afterthought, he adds, "And then you go find Jones. Let me know..." How to phrase this delicately? "Let me know when he's gotten R&M started on their task." Finally, the commander steps up to the intercom. "Commander for Schaefer. Over." "Commander, meet me outside the flight deck doors. I need to speak with you." His brows knit in confusion. Why isn't she following intercom protocol? "Wilco. Over and out." He hurries out the door and sprints up the hallway. Moments later, the commander stands next to the pacing Mission Specialist, Mila Schaefer. "Sir, we've been apprised of the situation." She stops to look him in the eye. The commander opens his mouth to protest, but she continues on, "I think Symanski has something to do with it. She disappears for long stretches. In fact, she was out of the room when this started today. And remember that smile she had when she walked back in?" He stares at her. Before he can figure out a response, the flight deck doors open and one of the previous commanders steps out. "McDowell, you need to see this." The group walks into the flight deck. McDowell's jaw drops as he looks out the front window. The lifeless body of Blake Pierce floats past. When the initial shock wears off, he looks down at the control display. A flashing red light warns that an airlock near R&M had been opened ten minutes prior. Medical staff key cards can't control the airlock doors. The odds of him having voluntarily gone through those doors seem almost non-existent. "Symanski. Outside. Now." He turns on his heel and marches into the corridor. As soon as the doors close behind her, he begins his interrogation. "Where were you this morning when all this started?" Her look of confusion immediately turns to one of anger. "Excuse me, sir, are you accusing me of something? Do you think I had something to do with Pierce's murder?" He glares at her. They've worked together for years. They were even friends for years before this mission had ever started. Is he accusing her? His shoulders droop and he lets out the breath that he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Lena, I... I honestly don't know. But you've got to tell me where you were this morning, and why you walked in smirking like you had a secret. Otherwise I won't have any other choice but to assume you had a hand in this." Symanski looks at the floor and sighs. "OK." Finally, her eyes meet his, before dropping to the floor again. "Erik Jones and I have been seeing each other. I know we're not supposed to, um... Fraternize, but... Well, he'd left me a note in my chambers and I went to go read it. I'm sorry, I know we sh--" "Lena, we've got bigger issues right now. We'll discuss this breach of protocol later. Do you have proof? I'm sorry to do this, but do you have the note with you?" Her face turns beet red as she pulls the folded piece of paper from her pocket. The commander skims the note to see, "My darling Lena," at the top and, "xoxoxo, Erik" at the bottom. He hands it back to her and says, "I believe you. But I need to know that Jones doesn't have anything to do with this. He's been acting strange. Come on. You can't be alone with him until after I speak to him." The two take off down the hall. Jones and Peter approach from the other direction. The commander tells Symanski to wait in a nearby room while he speaks to the others. As soon as she's out of sight, he turns to Jones. "Why were you so insistent on getting away from me earlier?" The man opens his mouth to respond, but the commander speaks again, "A crew member has been murdered. I need the truth from you, regardless of whether your actions were against the rules or not." Jones's eyes grow wide. "What? Who died?" "Pierce. Now, explain yourself." Jones looks at the floor as he processes the information. Then, his eyes flick to the door that Symanski stands behind, then back to the commander. "I... Er, well... We, uh..." "Spit it out!" "Lena Symanski and I are together. I ran to my chambers to hide some notes and... stuff... before I went to R&M." McDowell stares at his Flight Engineer, deciding whether to believe him. Suddenly, Peter clears his throat. "I did find him in his room. He was shoving something under his mattress, but I don't think he knew I was there. And then he told R&M to divert power, but the guy acted like he couldn't do that without your direct approval, so we came to get you." The commander nods. "Come on, we need to get to R&M." He opens the door for Symanski and the group hurries down the hall. When the quartet walks into the R&M area, there's a man sitting at the nearest desk. Otherwise, there's no other staff in sight. When the man looks up and spots McDowell, his eyes nearly bug out of his head. He leaps out of his seat and presses his back against the wall. "Ralph, what's going on? Why are you so jumpy?" "You've got to help me! She made me do it!" "Who?" The commander glances toward the woman on his left. "Symanski?" "No, not her. Her. " McDowell twists around to see Schaefer slowly backing her way from the entrance toward the airlock. She slides her key card past it and the interior panel slides open. Two children sit inside the small chamber. Ralph speaks up again in a desperate and pleading voice, "Those are my kids. My wife is a civilian passenger on here, too. Schaefer said she'd kill them all if I didn't help her. She made me shut down the power in Medical." He lets out a sob before he continues, "P... Pierce came in and caught us so she trapped him in the airlock before she went back to the flight deck. When she found out you were looking for him, she used the controls from the flight deck to open the outer door, and he..." Ralph choked on the last word and collapsed back into his chair. The commander turns back toward Schaefer and stares in shock. "Mila? You did this? Why?" " Why ? Why did I do this?" She spits the words through clenched teeth. "Our species has nearly destroyed our own home planet! Now, we think we deserve a new one? Why should I allow such a destructive, invasive species to spread farther into the universe? Humans, as a whole, are not worth saving. No, humans need to be put down before we do more damage." McDowell and Symanski take a step forward, hoping to ease her away from the children. Schaefer isn't ready to give up, though. She holds her key card in one hand over the buttons that control the airlock doors. "Don't test me! I'll send these children into the vacuum of space!" "Schaefer," The commander waits until she turns toward him before continuing. Peter and Jones sneak up from behind while her attention is drawn the other way. "I always trusted you, but I can see now that I shouldn't have. I'm not sure why you volunteered for this mission if you are so against it, but those children are doomed either way. Unless you let them go and allow us to fix the power system in med-bay." During this distraction, the children were sneaked away by the other two men. " NO! " Not noticing that her abductees were no longer there, she pushed the button to start the airlock sequence. "You can't stop this!" Suddenly, Ralph lets out a yell and tackles Schaefer as the interior panel starts to close. The two of them fall into the airlock. Enraged, Ralph punches the woman over and over again in the face. Meanwhile, McDowell jumps forward to try to cancel the airlock sequence. The system has been tampered with though, and the panel continues to close. Symanski pulls on Ralph's shirt, trying to pull him back into the room. He's too focused on his target. One of the children screams, and, as if broken from a trance, Ralph stops his attack and looks at the chamber's closing door. With barely a second to spare, Symanski and Ralph leap back into the main room. Schaefer lies unconscious on the floor as the outer panel starts to open. Suddenly, her limp body is sucked into the cold vacuum of space. The Commander walks over to where Ralph is hugging his children. He lays a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I know this is tough right now, but we need you to get Medical powered up again." Ralph nods without looking at him. Then, refusing to let the children leave his grasp, he picks them both up and walks over to electrical panels on the wall. He flips a couple switches and walks away. McDowell and Symanski share a look before turning back to Ralph. Finally, the commander voices his concern. "That's it? It's fixed, just like that?" Ralph nods and lets out a small chuckle. "Yeah. I was hoping that someone would come along and fix it before it caused any real damage." McDowell lets out a small laugh as well, and surveys the people around him. "Symanski and Jones." The two released each other's hand as the commander stepped in front of them. "You two started a relationship that you were not supposed to and then tried to hide the evidence of it. I should demote you both for that." He pauses while he lets the words sink in. " But , you both stepped up and did the right thing when the time came. So, I think we'll call it even." Then, he steps over to Ralph and softens his voice. "Ralph, what you did was nearly genocide. You participated in a mutiny that could have cost thousands of people their lives." Ralph nods in acknowledgement while tears run down his cheeks. " But, I know you were forced, and you didn't want to hurt anybody. We need to have people we can trust in here, though. So I'll give you an option. You can give up your position and finish out the journey as a civilian. You'll spend some time with your family and then go back into the cryopods until we get there. Or, you can be demoted to a lower ranking job that doesn't have access to anything major." Ralph nods, then looks at the children. "I just want to be with my family, sir." Finally, he turns toward Peter and smiles. "Thank you for your help in all this. You were loyal in following instructions and very brave in helping get those children out. I can't do much as far as rewards while we're still on this ship, but how about a promotion? I hear a job in R&M just opened up."


“Nia, they’re here!” my mom yelled. I stumbled out of the makeshift tent, hurriedly smoothening my hair as much as possible, and fumbled in the dark on the way back to our backyard porch. They can’t see me anyway. I forgot the flashlight in the tent but I followed the voices to the front door. I could somewhat make out their faces under the glow of the nearby streetlight. “Hello Nia,” Mr. Sanders greeted. He had always been a jolly person but the tiredness in his voice seemed more apparent now. “Good evening, please come in,” I replied with my best welcoming smile plastered across my face. Carmen strolled in, fanning herself. Her wavy blonde hair was twisted up into a tight bun. “Hey. Isn’t it really hot without the AC? I’m sweating so much.” Before I could reply, my mom returned from the kitchen holding as many candles and matchboxes she could, in her sweaty palms. “Ah yes... It is hot. You all can go out back where there’s some air. We’ve got a tent. Not too great but the most we could put together.” She motioned towards our backyard. As they filed outside gingerly trying their best to avoid colliding with our prized living room showpieces, I felt a sharp tug at my elbow pulling me into the kitchen. “Did you greet them? Politely?” Mom asked. “Yes,” I replied attempting to hide my frustration. “Well I didn’t hear it. You should’ve spoken louder. No one’s going to hear you at that volume.” I rolled my eyes. Thank God she couldn’t see me properly in the dark. “And what did you say?” “I said Good evening, please come in.” I was trained not to say Hello in any social settings. Best to pull out the ‘Good days’ and ‘Good nights’. She nodded. “Now go out back and talk to them. And look confident. And happy. And ask Carmen everything about college and her study routine. And sit properly. And talk loud. And don’t interrupt the Dads. You’re not old enough to be intruding any adult conversation.” “Ok Mom.” I turned towards the door. “And keep that attitude of yours in your pocket.” I pretended not to hear that one. I stalked out to the tent where Dad and the Sanders were having snacks. During any power outages, my parents took it upon themselves to camp out in the backyard. It wasn’t much but it could fit a tent and sleeping bags. There wasn’t any greenery save two gnarly jackfruit trees and sparse weeds. There wasn’t really time for garden maintenance in my family. We were all too busy with our own lives. Mr. Sanders had previously worked with my dad and being neighbours, Dad invited them home to socialise . The word wasn’t part of my vocabulary. “So Nia, how’s school going?” Mrs. Sanders asked. “Great.” I flashed another angelic smile. Dad nodded towards me. “Yeah, she’s just qualified for a junior scientists’ convention in Munich. And she won first prize at a Chemistry contest.” “Oh wow.” I squirmed as everyone beheld me with pride. Dad was evidently enjoying himself as he listed every other competition I had placed in: badminton, coding, and writers’ convention. But I didn’t like being a display trophy. It was true that I loved competing but I preferred to bury all my awards inside my soul and use them as a private shield. “Well that’s very amazing Nia. You’re too modest.” Mr. Sanders chuckled. Carmen slowly stared up from her phone. Her eyes bore into mine, her face expressionless like she wasn’t being proud or critical but she was just trying to read me. I broke away appearing as unresponsive as I could. I swiped a kebab and snuggled at the back of the tent where I was trying to finish my assignments due in two days. A quiver of pain rushed down my spine. I quickly pulled out my phone and started googling. In my life, the only ‘best friend’ was Google. I was an only child with an invisible social circle. To be honest, I had many friends but they were all in my head. I loved fantasising. It was my hobby. Sure, I felt pretty weird but I was getting to live my perfect life. I wasn’t a loner, don’t get me wrong...but in reality, the only thing people saw in my personality was the smart kid. The nerd. The snob who doesn’t talk because she seems to be ‘superior’ in knowledge to everyone else. But I hated being labelled. I didn’t want to be a stereotype and maybe that’s why I loved competing in everything possible. But somehow I always ended up becoming one. And I really didn’t see the point in speaking to someone whose only motive was to borrow my homework. Google’s Verdict: Spiral Stenosis. Great. Another reason why I might die in the next five minutes. “Hey.” Carmen slid down to the ground beside me. “How’s everything?” “Fine.” I wrinkled my nose trying to ignore the stench of rotten jackfruit. “The place doesn’t smell too great but Mom tried her best with the air freshener.” She laughed. “You don’t have to give me an explanation.” I grinned. But this time, it was a real smile. “Sorry, just too used to giving explanations for everything.” She crawled next to me with her back to the pillows I had set out. “I can hold the flashlight while you work if you want.” “Thanks.” I handed it over to her. This was my first real conversation with Carmen. Inside, I was panicking. Carmen was a twenty-three year old college Yale University graduate who was back home after four years. I was the follow-in-her-footsteps disciple who’d been compared to her for years. Naturally, I had grown to hate her. “So...you do a lot of stuff.” I nodded seriously. “That’s nice...but are you ok? You seemed uncomfortable back there.” I took a few seconds to gather my reply. “That doesn’t matter--getting into a good college and improving life for yourself and your family matters.” “I know. I get all of that.” She smiled. “But if you’re constantly improving life, you won’t ever get the time to enjoy the life you’ve improved so far.” I paused. This wasn’t something I didn’t know but my life was basically a vicious cycle of anxiety. My mom eyed us as she ladled food as professionally as possible onto styrofoam plates. “Talk to her about college,” she mouthed. But I didn’t want to talk about college. I could do that any other time while she was around. Here I was having a normal conversation like a typically normal person for the first time in about five years. It just made me happy. There was no simpler way to put it. “Try explaining that to the parents,” I whispered to Carmen. “I mean I really love them and I know they want the best for me. But sometimes I really just want to sit outside and look at the sun and smile. I want to be able to reply to messages on my phone without being monitored like a prisoner. It’s not like I’m getting into any form of trouble. I’m not even on much social media. I just want to be able to say Hi to someone without having to explain their entire history. I guess I’m just--” I shook my head. I wanted to achieve and feel beautiful and not seem irritated to my parents and be able to conjure words when people were around. I wanted to feel happy. “Confused? I totally get it.” She sighed. “People say you’re an only child so you must be your parents’ little pampered princess. And you’re the smart kid so you won’t fail. And you don’t have a boyfriend so you won’t ever get dumped.” “Exactly. The problem is we’re not allowed to have problems.” I cracked. It was like I finally opened up to someone for the first time. I never realised how much Carmen and I had in common. I had always been pampered with toys and games when I was younger. And it was always imposed on me that I had a more fortunate childhood than they did. But no one ever noticed that the games were all two-player and they were left on my shelves unopened. I had just wanted a little of someone’s time. “Wow. That was a lot of ranting.” Carmen smiled. She was a bit teary-eyed too. “Oh--I really have to finish this assignment,” I remembered. She nodded and focused the flashlight onto the paper in my lap. “It’s ok. Life gets better. At least we can have our own talk therapy sessions whenever there’s a power outage again.” I laughed. Something to look forward to. “Girls, the food’s ready!” Mom called. “Coming,” we echoed. Maybe things weren’t so bad. I realised I had forgotten about spinal stenosis. I had actually forgotten to worry for five minutes. And it was the best five minutes of my life.


I have not spoken to another human being in twenty-five years. I was at that time, the best astral projectionist on the planet, able to extend my consciousness an almost unlimited distance away from my physical body, and so I was chosen to search for extraterrestrial life, living or extinct, in a place where men cannot go. It was the most pressing question on the human mind and what fools we were, for as long as my body lies preserved unconscious in a lab I am unable to return to it. I cannot even write in the Martian sand and report the futility of my findings, if I could I would write this... IF THERE ARE NO MEN ON MARS THEN I AM NOT A MAN It was believed there might be surface water on Mars due to photographs of runoff that appeared to be salt crystals. But somehow my government knew (perhaps from my predecessors) that a planetary ecosystem, intelligent life included, had had its entire run beyond the age of our own civilization all the way to extinction. They could have known from this information alone what to expect, but I wasn’t given any geological training except that I knew a rock from my own head and now I’m not so sure. Magazines showed a beautiful pink landscape with bubble-headed children toiling outside a future enclosed settlement. There was something called a “water seeker”, an imaginary animal that probes the soil with its long snout and closes its ears over its body at night. The real Mars is so dead one might say it’s a place where rocks go to die. Imagine the driest place on Earth, the Atacama Desert in Chile where the rovers were tested, if the most lifeless square mile of that desert was global. I spent a year exploring curiously, able to pass through any surface but unable to see through the darkness inside it, unable to sleep through the long Martian nights. In time I explored the polar regions, where it is too cold for rocks as much as that puzzled me. I figured there must have been an ice age when a great deal of the planet was covered in ice sheets. But the temperature is always 80 degrees below zero, one would think moisture never rises unless there is such a thing as negative moisture. One would think it would have to be warmer to have more ice, but this was the least of my revelations. It was also believed that certain mountain formations resembled pyramids. There was a group of three (one big mountain and two little ones) that reminded them of the pyramid complex at Giza if one used a lot of imagination, so that is where I was sent first. From the orbital photos they did seem to rise from an empty plain with only the rubble that had fallen from their own slopes, and they did seem to have the right proportions with the “divine ratio”, but as I stood there they looked disappointingly like ordinary mountains. I passed through them searching for any internal chambers, trying to discern if they were connected to the bedrock, a job that could have been done by sending a backhoe or even the ability for me to brush some dirt aside with my hand. (Not only has a backhoe not been sent in all these years, they have not sent a probe of any kind to those mountains.) I can only assume the theory they were so convinced of has been abandoned. After searching the nearby crater for any signs of quarrying, I started to wonder if there was any visible difference between a million-year-old pyramid and a natural mountain. If the ones at Giza were a million years old we might think they were natural hills. (But that would mean the Egyptians didn’t build them but found them and quarried them off just as their descendants did, which would mean they were not tombs in the first place.) I was instructed to project myself back in time 100 million years, to a time when there might have been life in this desert and the pyramids might have been in use. Projection is like having a waking dream where someone at your bedside is telling you what to do, so I did my best to transition to that time. Someone in the past would have perceived me as a ghost or something they imagined. Mars 100 million years ago looks much like it does today. The mountains did look a bit more like pyramids albeit on a gigantic scale; the sides were cleaner, the ground was smoother as if someone had swept with a broom a thoroughfare wide enough for a million people to assemble around the complex. But there were no signs of life, and in this form I can gravitate instantly to the thoughts of a single individual, even someone who has been buried in the ground. Archaeology as I understand it reveals mostly human waste and there was none. There was no trash, no homes for the laborers who built these structures, no discarded material from their stoneworking, no channels in the ground for plumbing, no signs of agriculture, there were no graves. I would come to explore five of these locations within an area of 100 square miles, each of them slightly different but just as deserted. The massive cul-de-sac around the complex did not lead anywhere, I perceived only a distant memory of its occupancy and it was then I started to doubt if it was only what I was seeing that made me think there was a memory. Perhaps it wasn’t a cul-de-sac and they weren’t pyramids, but it did remind me of something I’d seen before. As a child I remember seeing a movie version of Bradbury’s The Martian Chronicles that wasn’t very good, it might even have been a school production. The scenes with the Martians were filmed through a lens to make them indistinct; instead of the shining cities described in the novel there were only cones, spheres and geometric shapes filmed in a patch of desert. Movie props probably made of foam covered in gritty-looking reddish earth. This reminded me of that, like a mirage. Then as I knelt to the ground it occurred to me this was a landscape scoured by a natural disaster. A storm that moves boulders farther than the eye can see (or perhaps destroys them with lightning?), and I came to the realization I should have made in the first place: A civilization far older than ours, more advanced, on a dying planet. Which means they either died with it... or settled somewhere else at a time when there was no human life. We ourselves are able to travel to other worlds right now, we just choose not to because the Earth is divided among too many rivals and agendas. So a spacefaring civilization more ancient and perhaps wiser was still faced with destruction from planetary forces? I went back even further, one billion years which is so vast an amount of time to my human brain I could barely hold myself there. It was like moving and thinking through soup, but the pyramid did have an entrance and a dark chamber for sleeping at this time, sleeping through storms. For how long I wondered. They could have projected as I do from their sleeping chambers to explore the nearest planet before they left. I perceived something like an ark transporting them to a new place, but then my logic disabled me. For them to be pyramid-builders who came to Earth in ancient times and inspired our own pyramid-building was not possible. An architectural style doesn’t outlast the entire span of evolution including five mass extinctions, observing from a time when they were the only predators to a time when they were hunted themselves and then watch the predators die out. No, an architectural fad belongs in a book on the history of architecture, each generation making changes all the way to the styles of the Atomic Age. Was it even knowable that Earth had been visited so long ago? There are no fossils that old except for bacteria. The Appalachians where I grew up are a billion years old; what would a human body or a vehicle be reduced to in all that time? So my thoughts returned to the possibility of a hoax. What if someone had wanted people to think there was life here? It’s an age-old prospect from the imaginary “canals” to Orson Welles’ radio broadcast. Our knowledge is still mostly telescope-based, even though we probably have the ability to place a few props knowing no one would come along to discern them in decades. Astral projection was not recognized by science in my time, my handlers didn’t identify themselves as NASA or anything else. What was the alternative? That the Martians obliterated all signs of themselves leaving only the most base monoliths behind to keep them from becoming our gods? Just then as I turned to leave the sleeping chamber, I perceived I saw a man or something like a man standing at the gaping triangular entrance for only a millisecond; a man with a padlock in place of a mouth. Perhaps it was only something that made me think of a padlock, pierced through his nose like a portable respirator. But in a moment I was sure there was no one there, and I returned to the present day. -- Little did I know my doubtful statements would result in me never hearing the voice of my handlers again. From time to time I thought I heard something , orderlies whispering around my body perhaps. I had no way of knowing which doubts were the problem, my theory that this was staged or that Martians were our progenitors, and so my global wanderings began. I thought of how time travel makes the concept of history meaningless. An advanced race shouldn’t have to be present for disasters or even their own past; not if they gravitate to a time of paradise and live there in perpetuity observing all eons. The only remnants visible to us would be from the time they chose to abandon their original form, like discarded library books they no longer care to go back and erase. The job of the scorched-earth policy, leaving nothing visible to confuse us might have fallen to a janitor or the last Martian standing. I imagined a heat beam fired from orbit or wherever they went to, unless... we ourselves did it? I started looking for traces of glass or other signs of a burn area having no knowledge of archaeology. Deep down my list of things to investigate, of less importance than the top ten attractions on Mars was something I never expected to bring up. The lander that was sent in 1995 took panoramic images of the landscape that included an oddly-shaped rock someone thought might be a fallen statue, and another that slightly resembled a human skull, and another that looked like a bear swinging its arms or whatever people imagined it to be. They seemed to think a lander that touched down at a random location, facing a random direction, happened to capture this unlikely moment. It was a sort of idolatry as they poured over every photo leaving no stone unspeculated. But I didn’t have to go to that random spot when I could find more bizarre formations no rover has ever seen. So I willed myself to gander at thousands of potential objects until the day I came to a giant rock slab a hundred meters across, which had sprouting like a tree from its far corner a figure like a deformed person with one arm hideously bent at the wrist and the other arm pointing at the Sun like a statue of a discus thrower. I looked at it wondering how the wind could possibly have sculpted it into this shape. What is it that first makes something an idol? Does a person speaking to it automatically make it one? There’s another story by Bradbury I knew only in name, “And the Rock Cried Out”. And why shouldn’t it? Introspection is a healthy measure when one is completely alone, yes? So I began speaking to this inanimate object, for how else was I to glean its wisdom? “Inhabitants of this planet settling on Earth so far in the past doesn’t just precede our natural history but theological history.” I voiced the foremost thought on my mind. “One Billion BC unless I’m mistaken must predate the War of Heaven. What would they have found on Earth at that time? And why was it deemed not necessary for us to know about them? Unless... they were our gods.” The formation stood there in the wind as I continued. “What makes a god different from an idol?” I finally asked. Its grotesque pose never altered nor did it once turn its stone head to look at me. “The difference is who is on the losing side.” the rock cried out. I squinted in the sun neither bowing in admonition to my psychosis nor ignoring it. “Not only gods but facts themselves vanish if no one believes in them.” it continued. “Your quarreling with yourself is not necessary; you are still abiding by considerations that are no longer real. You should be an acolyte of your beliefs, there is no one here to doubt them. These are your own words.” “Yes I am aware of that.” I responded. “I have crossed vast distances of space and time in search of answers to those questions.” “I will tell you whatever you wish, but only if you take it as your imagination.” it replied in a sly, stony voice. I considered this strange condition for a moment. “Very well, I’ll take whatever you say as my imagination.” I conceded. “The man I saw in the past, was he the last of his kind?” I had no way to interpret its silence. “You must have seen a reflection of yourself.” it answered. “Yes, that’s what I thought. I am in the same position as him, which means vicariously he is the same as me.” “It is as you say.” it gave a non-committal answer. “And what are you?” I demanded next. “I am your *Ngggh* .” it made an unpronounceable sound that pealed like a bell in my ears. “You are my what?” I repeated. “But that is not the question you have come here to ask.” it said. I thought for a moment. “How do I get out of this predicament?” I posed. “You already know the answer. In time they will send someone else.” “Yes, there is a manned mission projected for 2009.” I admitted. “That is quite a few years from now, but I will sense him wherever he lands. But what if I fail to convince him to tell others about me or he thinks I am just a delusion? Murder him in his dreams and take his place?” I had just answered my own question. “I didn’t think that was possible.” I flummoxed. “What do you know about that?” “Pass through me...” it beckoned with its twisted hand, and I obeyed. -- I am not the man I was, for he shared things with me no man knows. Of course it wasn’t my first choice to subdue an unsuspecting spacefarer chosen by his people. A fool who wanders a trackless wasteland to my resting place should know better, for a man who lies to himself receives bad information. He becomes his own god. But it wasn’t my first choice, I still have *ngghs!* to tell me... My thoughts jumped like a scratched disk skipping over what I was going to say. But I did not wish to wait for so long. Projection requires a voice from someone in the outside world and there are risks. I wished to go back and talk to the silent man first. So I returned to the pyramid a billion years in the past. I stood in the doorway transitioning through weeks, months, decades so that someone would think I was a monument. I probed thought itself past the limitations of my surroundings for another presence, peeling them back like layers to reveal the hand that built them. And there beyond the rationality of colors, one half of the sky black and the other white, there he was as if I had disturbed him. He was hairless, his face pursed by some irreconcilable conundrum, and indeed his mouth was a padlock. It was my own from ages ago, and I was not in a position to help him. From the time before I first set foot on this planet there have been two possibilities we are led to believe, both supported by prevalent institutions with countless scholars and reasons, one black and one white, both competing for our loyalty. And if we try to find out which it is, we end up riding a line that stretches to infinity because the revelations are too important for us to know. On that both sides are in agreement, and those two truths are *Ngh!* and *NGGGH!* ... I mean they are... they’re unattainable to us. And so I wait, no longer able to see the colors of this landscape since my perception was broken. I am waiting for the first man on Mars, waiting to know him, but I have looked as far into the future as I am able to go and they still have never sent one.


It’s my first day on the job and I am so excited to get there. “ Oh man this job don’t know what I have in stored for them. Today they will be getting a rude awaking”. As I walked into Citi Bank I see a few of my colleagues that were in training with me. Looking at their face I can see so much excitement. One of them happen to be a close friend of mine that I grew up with. I approached my friend Adam and said “ What’s up man, you ready for this wild day?”. Adam responded nervously “ Yeah, I’ve been waiting for this all week”. Dave responded “ Nice, be on the look out for my signal. As Adam and Dave separated they both started working and ensured that their customers were satisfied. A while later Dave snuck off into the volt where all the cash and gold was located and started loading up some bags to go. A security guard approached Dave and was quit suspicious of what he was doing. “ Hey, what are you doing in here?”, the security guard asked. Dave got frantic and jumped and said “ Woo, you shouldn’t be sneaking up on people like that. I was just making sure that the money was counted correctly and in the right spot”. The security guard said “ Alright just checking. You always have to stay on the look out now days”. The security guard shrugged it off and walked away as if nothing happened. Dave started acting on edge since the security guard didn’t say much to him after he had left the volt. In the back of Daves mind, he was wondering if he should call the entire operation off, but he needed the money so dearly. Some where down the line he needed to find Adam to let him know what just happened. He didn’t want to look obvious about it so he helped a few customers out, and figured he would slide over to Adam when he was finished. Surprisingly Adam wasn’t busy and he felt it was the perfect time to tell him what happened. Dave smoothly walked over to Adam and said “ Pss, we need to talk”. Adam jumped and said “Why are you whispering?”. Dave replied “ I was in the volt loading the bags up and the security guard walked in on me mid pack. I don’t know what to think. Maybe he’s not on to me because I work here. At this point I’m kind of skeptical on the whole operation”. Adam said “ Yo, this is not looking too good. I need that money, and I know you do too. So what’s our next plan?”. Dave and Adam put their heads together and came up with a brilliant plan. “ Alright Adam, I’m going to go back in the volt and finish loading the bags up, and I want you distract the security guard. In the event the security guard is on to you, I want you to pass out until he throws water on you or about to call an ambulance. If I finish before all the jazz, I will pull the fire alarm, and I want you to meet me at the back of the building. We will be on our way from there”. Adam replied “ Okay boss man, I’m ready when you are. As Dave and Adam proceeded with their plan a complication got in their way. Rebecca, the supervisor walked over to Dave and stated “ I heard you were in the volt earlier. Care to explain what you were doing in there”. Dave froze up and didn’t know what to say. At this point he felt as if he was figured out. Dave replied “ It’s my first day on the job and I was familiarizing myself with my work space. I wasn’t aware that the volt was off limits”. Rebecca stated “ Well..... its’ not off limits, it’s more so for our high in clients. When ever you have a high in client please report to me so that we can handle business correctly. This is protocol. Dave “ Yes, ma’am”. “Thank you for understanding, I don’t want to hear something like this again” Rebecca stated. A few minutes went by and Dave started the plan. In a blink of an eye Adam and Dave are cruising down the street and the next thing they notice, they are getting hijacked by two random people. Dave and Adam start screaming “ Oh no the money is in the trunk”. The two hijackers laughed and speed off in the car with the quickness when they heard that there was money in the trunk. Dave and Adam high five each other because the plan went as it was suppose to go. Did you really think we would drive around town with that much money on us. We needed to get rid of that car so we wouldn’t be tracked. Dave and Adam returned back to the Citi bank building to pick up the money that was around back. The door to the back of the bank slowly opened and someone walked out. It was Rebecca. Dave thought “ Oh snap, we’ve been caught”. Rebecca stated “ You think you’re just going to hit the road without me, I think not”. Dave smiled and told Rebecca to hop in. The sun starts to set and the weather start to cool. Dave drops Adam off to his girlfriend so they can all hit the road. “ Alright bro, see you on the flip side” Adam said. As Dave started driving he asked Rebecca " How did you know what I was up to?". Rebecca replied " I left something out when I asked you why you were in the volt when I ran into you". " And what might that be?" Dave asked. " I didn't ask you why you were filling those duffle bags up. The security guard told me everything. I was just waiting for someone to execute a plan that I've been dying to do" Rebecca said. Dave laughed and felt at ease now that he knew Rebecca was on the same side as him. From their Dave and Rebecca hit the interstate Texas. Who said you have to be a random pedestrian to rob a bank. Why not just work for the company.