Over the past few years, Mary Gardner began suspecting Tim was hiding something from her. Something big! While on his frequent business trips, he rarely answered her phone calls. She was lucky if her texts prompted a response. The only details he ever shared when he got back home were insignificant, like what he had for dinner or what kind of car the rental company gave him. Who cares about that? According to him, he worked 14-hour days on boring, but secret, projects. The locked briefcase he kept in his closet drove her crazy! He would never open it when she was around; moreover, whenever she asked him about it, he’d respond with something like “It's just paperwork and files” or “It’s boring work things that you can’t see but wouldn’t be interested in anyway.” She tried so hard to ignore it and trust him. After all, he never actually did anything that disputed his trustworthiness, but the secrets were driving her mad! She couldn't take it anymore. She decided today was the day she would finally see what was inside. She would discover the truth, once and for all. One hour after he left for work, Mary decided it was safe to proceed with her plan. She used a hammer and screwdriver to pry open the lock on the briefcase. Inside she found a bundle of paperwork, two passports, a gun, a large envelope full of money, and a key. She sat on the bed and started looking through the papers. They seemed fairly routine until she came upon a Marriage Decree and was surprised to see that the names recorded were Marie Snyder and James Hart. Then she noticed that all the paperwork was related to them. Who were they and why did her husband have their documents? She opened the passports and found they were also issued under the same names, but her heart skipped a beat when she realized the pictures on them were of her and Tim! What in the world does this all mean? Suddenly she realized that Tim was not the boring salesman he claimed to be! So many things flashed through her mind. Was he a spy? Could he be a criminal? Maybe he has a second family? And what in the world was he doing with a gun? Was Tim dangerous? She couldn’t decide if she was more angry, scared, or curious. But she was sure she had to confront her husband and demand an explanation. Mary put everything that was in the briefcase into her satchel, even the gun. She was too flustered to drive so she called an Uber to take her to Tim’s office. Twenty minutes later, she was on her way downtown. She was calmer now as she spent the drive time convincing herself that Tim was sure to have a reasonable explanation. So many different scenarios bombarded her thoughts. It seemed to take forever to get to the office building on Frontline Avenue. When they finally got there, she didn’t even thank her driver. She just jumped out of the car and ran up the steps into the building. The elevator doors opened on the fourth floor and Mary stepped out. The first thing she saw was a big sign saying that the office was closed for renovation. Why hadn’t Tim mentioned this? And, more importantly, where in the world was he? And the plot thickens..... Mary called a few of Tim’s friends and, without revealing the morning’s events, attempted to locate him. Since no one offered any helpful clues, she went back home to wait for him to come home. What she found when she got there stunned her! Her home was ransacked. Drawers upended, a broken lamp, and closets emptied but the strangest thing was that there was no noticeable way anyone got in. The door and all the windows were locked and intact. The only way they could have gotten in was with a key and how could that be? Only she and Tim had keys. And the plot thickens...... Her first instinct was to call the police and report the break-in but what would she actually tell them? There was no corrupted means of entry and, as far as she could tell, nothing was taken. The only casualty seemed to be the lamp that apparently got knocked off the table. Besides, how much should she actually tell law enforcement? Her mind was still processing all of this unimaginable data and hadn’t reached any conclusion as to which side of the law Tim was on. Even if he was a good-guy spy, she probably shouldn’t share any information. She decided to wait for Tim to get home. She waited and waited. Mary was surprised, and kind of embarrassed, to realize that she was glad to have a gun handy. She never wanted one in the house, but it helped her feel safer tonight. Finally, about 3:30 a.m., she dozed off on the couch with the gun resting on the pillow beside her. The phone rang and she woke up with a start! When she answered, the caller just hung up. The clock read 7:15. She ran from room to room looking for Tim, but he still was not home. OMG! He never did this before, and she was becoming terrified! What could she do but WAIT? Each hour felt like a day. When Tim’s brother called shortly after noon and said he had stood him up for lunch, she thought she would lose her mind! Mark was talking but she didn’t comprehend much and when he asked if she knew where Tim was, she started crying. She tried to cover it up, but he could tell and said he was coming over. She tried to refuse a visit, but he was determined. Secretly she was glad he insisted because she longed for a trusted opinion on what she should do; and, if she couldn’t trust Mark, who could she trust? He arrived about 20 minutes later and was shocked at the chaos he saw. She ran to him, and he gave her a hug and asked, “What in the world is going on?” She held on a moment longer and then backed away and began to explain. Mary composed herself and started with “Oh, Mark, I’m so scared and confused. I don’t think I know Tim at all! After six years of marriage, I have uncovered some baffling bits and pieces. I have felt for some time that Tim was hiding something from me and today I decided to investigate.” Mark queried, “What made you feel that way and what did you do?” “Well, it is extremely hard to contact him when he goes away on his business trips,” she answered, “and he has a briefcase he keeps in his closet that he clearly specifies as private and for his eyes only.” Mark says, “That would drive me batty and make me want to know even more.” “Right? Me too,” she blurts! “So, I decided to wait until he left for work this morning and I broke into the briefcase.” “Wow!” Mark responds. “And?” She hesitates. “I’m not clear as to what is going on. It might be dangerous. It might be classified. It might be nothing. Are you absolutely sure you want to be involved?” “If my brother is in trouble, I am all in. I have to help if I can!” “Okay,” she tells him. “This is what I know. The contents of the briefcase were a bundle of paperwork, two passports, a gun, a large envelope full of money, and a key.” “Holy cow,” Mark exclaimed. “I can’t even imagine your astonishment. Keep going.” “That is just the beginning,” Mary went on. “The paperwork and passports referred to a couple named Marie and James Hart. But the kicker is that the pictures on the passports were of Tim and me!” Mark was speechless, but the look on his face said it all. She held up her hand and continued, “I don’t know how much money is in the envelope, but it’s a lot!” “And the key?” Mark asked. “I have no idea. Honestly, I haven’t even started trying to figure that one out.” He said, “It looks similar to my safe deposit key, but I’m not sure.” “Next,” she began again, “I put all of it in my satchel and summoned an Uber to take me to see Tim at his office. When I got there, I was thunderstruck by what I found.” She started feeling shaky and sat down on the couch. “What did you find?” Mark asked excitedly. “No one was there, but there was a sign stating that the office was closed for renovation.” Mary told him. “I didn’t know what to do so I came home. That is when I found this mess! I cleaned up a few things, but I didn’t know how much I should do. I waited for Tim, but he never came home.” “Did you call the cops?” Mark asked as he sat down next to her. “No.” Mary told him. “Nobody broke in or stole anything as far as I can tell, so what would I tell the cops? And that leads to my most mind-boggling question: Is Tim a spy? Or a criminal? And, oh Mark, where can he be?” A tear slowly rolled down her cheek. He reached over and pulled her in for a hug and thought for a moment. “I don’t know, Mary, both are hard to believe, but I seriously don’t think he’s a criminal. I will stay with you, though, until we figure out this puzzle.” “Thank you, Mark. That makes me feel better.” Mary told him. “The only other thing I can think of that you don’t know is that I got a phone call early this morning and the caller just hung up when I answered. It was probably nothing.” Mary and Mark waited together and discussed possibilities and actions they might take. Other than the key, for which they had no idea how to find its counterpart, the other items in the briefcase were not really clues. So, they passed the time picking at some food and distractedly playing cards. Just after midnight, the phone rang. They both jumped and Mary grabbed the phone. This is what Mark heard: Mary said “Hello. Oh my God, where have you been?” After a pause, she said “Okay. But just so you know, Mark is here with me, and I opened your briefcase. You have a lot of explaining to do!” She listened for a short time without saying anything and then said, “I don’t understand, but okay. You’ll be there soon?” Once she hung up, she turned towards Mark’s worried face. “Tim said that I should pack a suitcase with the items from the briefcase and anything important or sentimental that I couldn’t bear to leave behind. Not to worry about clothes and things, just important stuff. He said that we are not safe here so we should hurry and go to your house. The people who detained him had taken his keys and were looking for him. They were most likely watching the house, so we are to be extremely cautious and be sure we are not followed.” And the plot thickens..... Mark’s face looked ashen and all he could say was, “Wow. What in the world is happening? What did Tim get himself into?” Mary shook her head, “I don’t know, but we will find out everything when he gets to your house. He said he’d get there as soon as he could.” With her direction, he helped her get her suitcase and pack it. Forty-five minutes later they were ready to leave. She looked around one more time and said, “Let’s go.” Quietly, they peeked out the window and then stepped out onto the porch looking around for anything unusual. Mary had given Mark the gun and he kept it handy, just in case. The coast looked clear, so they walked quickly to his car. Once inside, Mark wasted no time getting out of there. It was late so there were not many cars on the road. He took a roundabout route home and neither of them noticed any suspicious headlights following them. Once satisfied they were not followed, Mark pulled into his driveway and parked the car. When they were on the porch, Mary told him that Tim said to go inside but to keep the lights off and stay out of sight. “Tim said he would knock six times so we could be sure it was him at the door,” Mary advised. Again they waited, but this time in the dark. About an hour later, a man appeared on the porch. The couch stood in front of the window, and Mary hid behind it as she peered outside. By the glow of the streetlight, she could see that he was a very big man, tall and husky. He was white and had red hair. When he reached out to try to turn the doorknob, she saw a skull and crossbones tattoo on his forearm. She had never been so scared in her life! At the same time, Mark hid in the hallway and pointed the gun at the door. He had told her not to come out no matter what happened. Only seconds later, the brute of a man rammed the door in and entered the foyer, gun extended. Mark shot first but only hit the man in the shoulder. He was not so lucky. The intruder fired and shot him right in the forehead and Mark crumpled to the floor. The man looked around quickly, but probably assumed no one else was there because the house was totally dark. He pulled the door closed as best he could and left. Mary, in a state of shock, stayed in her hiding place waiting for Tim to show up. It was no use trying to help Mark as it was obvious, he was dead. She doesn’t know how long she would have stayed behind that couch because the decision to come out was made for her when the police showed up about 15 minutes later. Apparently, the gunshots did not go unnoticed by the neighbors. Is that why Tim never showed up, she wondered. At the station, she told the detective some of the details, keeping the contents of the briefcase and Tim’s phone call to herself. She told him that her husband was out of town, so she was staying at her brother-in-law’s house for the night. She gave a detailed description of the shooter, including the tattoo on his arm. By the time she finished working with the sketch artist, the detective had received a report from Bay General Hospital that there was a patient there with a bullet wound in his shoulder. He fit the description Mary gave to a T. As suspected, it was him. He was arrested for murder. As it turned out, he was a hit man for one of the biggest syndicates on the west coast, and Mary would have to testify against him. She had police protection around the clock for the next week. Tim never did come home or even call again. She would probably never know what happened to him as she was scheduled to enter Witness Protection next week. Was he a good guy or bad guy? Did he ever really love her or was it all an act? What in the world did that little key fit? Well, at the very least, she had enough money to comfortably start over. She never would become Marie Snyder-Hart. and she would never be Mary Gardiner again. She pondered what her new name would be and what her new life would entail. She learned many lessons during this life; hopefully, her next life will be absolutely wonderful! And the plot changes.....


Emily glances up at the sun shining brightly off the windows and decides today is the day. She will get her friend Jenna to go Geocaching with her and get her addicted to it as much as she is. After all, Jenna needs to get over Aaron. She has been so upset about her fiance dumping her at their wedding, that she just doesn't want to do anything with Emily. So, she must take matters into her own hands. "How do I persuade her to come with me? I have it all set up. I just have to find a way to make Jenna want to. Maybe I could tell her that sometimes I find unusual things that are really interesting. I can tell her about the time that I opened a Altoids tin and a diamond ring was hidden inside." Trying to figure out exactly how to approach the subject with Jenna, she drives up to her house. Collecting some of her gear Emily knocks on her door. Jenna opens the door and hugs her. "Hey, you would never guess what I am about to do." Emily eyes her. "What? Turn gay? Because, that's what I am about to do if I don't stop feeling like crap." Jenna says sarcastically. "I have never felt so bad about a man in my life. My heart has broken in so many ways I didn't think it was possible." "Well, O.k. I am not going to turn gay. But, I am going to go Geocaching today and your going with me." Emily pauses and looks at Jenna who doesn't look shocked at all. "I looked up the coordinates to a little place about 2 hours from here. It sounds like it's right by the waterfall in Jenison Park. Maybe even in it. I have had to go swimming for my little treasures before." "Intriguing." Jenna murmurs. "I think I will come with. If nothing else, it will be pretty. Do you have everything we need for the hunt or do you need to go back home and get the stuff first?" Emily caught by surprise takes a minute to register that she actually said yes. "Yeah, I have it all. My Garmin GPS, pencil, paper, and log book. Also a rope, and climbing stuff if we have to go down a cliff." "Well, let's go then. Who knows, maybe we will find a cool treasure. Or an awesome surprise." Emily quickly picks up her gear and they make their way to the car. On the way Jenna stares out the window and tries to keep from talking about the whole wedding nightmare. But of course Emily doesn't take a hint and asks, "Have you talked to Aaron at all?" Jenna looks at Emily and rolls her eyes, "Nope, and I am never going to either. He hasn't even tried to call. So, I am done." "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up. Anyway, are you excited?" Emily feels really bad about the situation. "Hell yeah. This is my first one. Maybe we will find something awesome. I sure hope so anyway." Jenna starts to perk up and forget about our earlier conversation. They arrive at their destination. There isn't a lot of people at the falls because it's at the end of the tourist season. While unpacking the stuff Emily grabs her cell phone and tucks it in her pocket. Jenna leaves her purse in the car and grabs a bottle of water. With the rope over one arm and GPS in the other hand, Emily tells Jenna to "Hurry, the sun will be going down in about 2 hours. We have to find the exact location and then figure out if we dig or swim. Sometimes they are even hidden in plain site." Emily watches the GPS intensely as they find the exact location. "Hmm. It looks like we are here. Just as I suspected. It could be in the waterfall or in the surrounding rocks." "They couldn't have made it easy for my first time could they?" Jenna raises an eyebrow and smirks. "Well, no. Usually they aren't easy. That is most of the fun!" Emily puts down the rope and her other things along the rocks. Then she starts to meticulously look around every rock and into every crevice. Jenna picks up a rock and skips it across the water. Then she sees a shiny object just under the waters surface. She yells for Emily to come over. "What's up? Did you find something?" Emily looks surprised. "Yes, I think I found it. Look out there just under the waters surface. There is something shiny." Jenna proud of herself starts to take off her shoes and then walks out into the water. "Brrrr. The water is a little chilly today. Good thing I brought an extra pair of clothes in case we did go in the water. Let me go get it." Jenna wades in and then dives once the water gets chest level. She comes back up and holds a small tin in her hand. She waves, "I got it. I am so excited." "Hurry up, I want to see." Emily jumps up and down. She just can't wait to see what her friend has found. Will it be a trinket, a piece of jewelry, a note or something wonderful? Jenna struggles opening it, for some reason the clasp is stuck. Emily takes it from her and manages to free it. Then she hands it back to her so she can see what's in it first. After all, it is her first treasure hunt. Her hands shake a bit in anticipation as she opens the tin. When she sees what's inside, Emily hears a blood curdling scream come out of Jenna's mouth. "What's wrong?" Emily cries out. "It's, it's a finger." Jenna turns to Emily and then shows her the contents of the box. Inside, Emily can see a bloody finger of what looks like a man. "Holy, crap! Is that real?" she touches it with her hand to see if it's plastic or feels like skin. Immediately she wishes she didn't. She drops the box and looks at Jenna. "We have to call the police." Emily grabs her phone and starts to dial 911. She realizes then that there is no service. Jenna picks up the tin and they both walk back to the car. After they get in and lock the doors Emily tries to start the car and all it does is make a clicking sound. "Hold on. Did you leave the lights on in the car?" Jenna asks. " "No, did you? I never turned them on?" Emily searches for something under the seat. She finds it and looks around for anyone else who can help them. Everyone else has left for the evening, and it's starting to get dark out. "Now what do we do?" Jenna asks. Emily turns to her and smiles. "Don't worry. I have a flashlight and we can walk up to the Ranger's station. They can give us a lift into town." "Are you sure? I don't like walking alone in the dark, specially when we are in the middle of nowhere." Jenna looks scared half to death as she looks out the car door into the wilderness. "Well, let's get this over with. Who knows, maybe there will be some hot Ranger at the station waiting for us?" Emily giggles. They both get out of the car and start to walk down the dirt road towards the office. Jenna hears something from behind them and she grabs Emily's hand. She doesn't say anything, but she motions for Emily to be quiet. Emily looks behind her and could swear she saw a shadow move about 20 feet back. They both start to walk quickly down the road. Suddenly they stop when they hear someone rushing at them. Turning, Jenna feels the first impact. Then Emily gets hit over the head. When they wake up they are in the trunk of a car, tied and gagged. Jenna has a bruise starting to show on her left eye and a big scratch on her cheek. Emily doesn't look harmed but has a huge headache. They try to get free but don't succeed. Instead, they roll around to see if they can see what is in the trunk they can use. Emily manages to free her phone and turn the flashlight on. She can see a shovel, rope, and numerous other items in the trunk with them. She remembers to check the signal strength and finds one bar, so she calls 911. It doesn't go through. She tries again, realizing her battery is at 21%. If it doesn't work this time then she will have to shut it off for a bit and save the battery. Hopefully, in a while the signal will be stronger. She hears someone ask what the emergency is as the call goes through. She mumbles into it but she can't speak. The person on the other end asks again. Frustrated, Emily tries to get the gag out and scream. She manages to get out "help". This time the operator hears her and she says hold on. The car starts to slow down and comes to a stop. Then she hears a car door open. "Shit!" Emily thinks to herself as she looks over at Jenna who seems to be unconscious. Panicking, she gets ready to kick whoever has kidnapped them. There is a loud thud outside and the trunk opens up. What Emily sees makes her cry and then she feels pain surge through her head. Too late does she realize that a bullet just buzzed through her cheek and out the other side. Then everything goes black. Jenna wakes up when she hears a loud bang. She looks over and sees blood all over a gapping wound in Emily's face. "She's not breathing." a man from behind her says to someone else. Then he steps out of the shadows and she wants to die herself. Matter of fact, she is sure she will be next. The man has cold dead eyes, blacker then the night. He stares right at her and aims the gun. Before the end, all she hears is the owl hooting from the near by tree. Then the cracking sound of her skull. The End By M.D. LaBelle


We sat there quietly on the black sand for perhaps ten minutes. Neither of us saying anything. We'd come two long hours and spent a weeks rations to see this. "It's so dark," that was the only thing he could think to say, I suppose. "I told you that you wouldn't like it." I said to him, trying to sound like this was all no big deal. I knew I'd have to explain it all to him one day, but exactly how do you start a conversation like that? "I didn't know it would smell this bad. Did it smell bad before too?" He looked so curious. I don't know why I expected him to be angry, he'd never known different. "No. It used to smell very nice. The wind would blow in over the waves and you could close your eyes and imagine *being* the wind and soaring for mile after mile over the water." Something in my throat knotted up and I stopped talking before I began to cry. "Does... does anything live in there now?" he asked. "No. Nothing lives there." I told him. We stood in silence awhile, just looking. The breakers rolled in with a sickening sound, like an old man eating without his teeth in. They slid back slowly- leaving thick, black, oily streaks behind. After a short time he said to me, "Still, it sounds really nice. I wish I could have seen that." I felt my heart jump in my chest at that. "Me too, son," was all I could manage. I seldom took him outside because I didn't know how to explain all the wrong that had come before him. I tried to avoid a million questions I didn't know how to answer by keeping him safe inside The Dome. “Daddy?” he asked, “What did flowers smell like?” It took awhile before I could answer. You just can't explain certain things. What does red look like? How does a tomato taste? How comforting is a father's hug? What does a flower smell like? “There were lots of kinds of flowers,” I spat out, hoping I'd know how to finish. “They each smelled different in their own way.” “I've never even smelled *one*,” he told me. “I know, son. I know.” I clasped a hand on his shoulder and he hugged my waist. I felt his chest heave and his shoulders begin to hitch up and down. I crouched down on my haunches and looked into his watery eyes. “Remember when mama used to hold you and sing to you when you were a little guy?” I asked. His chest heaved again, and he took a second to calm his breath and beat the tears back. “Kinda,” he said. “I remember her... but most times it's just her face.” “She was very pretty,” I said. This not so much to him but out loud to no one in particular. “She was,” I heard myself in his voice for the first time ever. “You remember that much?” I asked him. My heart was breaking in my chest. I never should have brought him here. “I remember... I remember her singing to me,” he said. He hesitated and I almost persisted but then he continued, “It was so pretty but...,” his throat tightened up and he stopped. “But you can't remember the words?” I asked. He broke then and threw his arms around my waist as he sobbed. “I CAN'T!” he heaved and struggled against me as the pain poured out. "I can't either," I promised him. That was a lie. “Shh,” I whispered. “Just calm yourself.” I told him. “What else do you remember?” “She would would hold me and explained how it would be like this forever and told me it would be okay,” he said through his tears and in between sobbing breaths. “It's not okay though! Nothing is okay!” he was getting angry now. It was about time. “What else do you remember?” I asked again. “About her?” he seemed confused. “About her,” I confirmed. “She...” he trailed off. I watched his eyes gaze off blankly into the dark expanse before us. After a few moments he raised his head and looked into my eye- tears still welling up in his own. “Her hair,” he finally managed. “Her hair?” I could remember his mother's bright red hair gleaming in the sun. It seemed to deny our future simply by refusing to dull in spite of the inevitability of our fate. It shone in the face of the darkness we'd set before ourselves. He looked at me as if I were mad to even question him. I couldn't blame him. “Yes. Her hair. It smelled so good,” he told me. “She would hold me tight and I'd shove my face into her hair and it smelled sweet. Almost like when the matrons make honey-rolls for breakfast on the holidays.” “Almost?” I asked. “Almost. Not quite,” he said. “You remember that much?” I asked once more. “I do. I don't quite remember her face and I can't really see it," His face wrinkled just as mine did when I was lost for words. "I know her hair smelled like fresh baked honey-rolls.” He trailed off and began to cry again. I hugged him closer. “You know," I began, "flowers were just like that.” I told him. “They smelled like honey-rolls?” he asked. “Not all of them, and not exactly,” I said then. “But all of them smelled sweet in a way you could almost describe perfectly but could never get exactly right no matter how hard you try.” We sat like that for a few more minutes and watched the black, oily waves lap at the shore. After a time he spoke up. “I can imagine flowers that smelled like her.” he said. "They'd be pretty." His face twisted then and he broke down- sobbing uncontrollably. I put my arm around him then and held him while he cried. “You've got it just right.” I told him.


He was sitting in his huge operations room.... Tens of operators with their headsets, telegrams, paperworks, mini maps, battle reports....  The ground kept shaking every now and then from nearby explosions, reports came through a megaphone fixed on the roof: squads losing, others winning, enemy movements and sightings...  He was hunched over the huge battle map infront of him... watching as the company figurines get added and removed... observing inspite of his anger... inspite of his loss...  “SIR, WE HAVE REPORTS THAT THE FIRE-WING MUTINIED” a report came through the megaphone “ENGAGING NOW... BRACE FOR POSSIBLE BOMBARDMENT” The ground shaking increased as the structure took direct hits. Dust particles kept falling through the roof... it kept on for a while: every shockwave from each cannon could be felt as it travelled through the fortifications.  “BRAAAACE” the megaphone screamed...  Suddenly, a huge impact shook the entire thing like the strongest earthquake... the sound of rubble falling as if the entire upper floor was levelled... all the lights turned off, the whirring machines and the microphones got silenced... then red emergency lights lit the place: all the operators loaded their guns and unsheathed their swords as they heard distant screams and gunshots.  “Guards” he growled in extreme anger. He grabbed his cane saving his wrath for the close fight. Two guards brought the six barreled wondrous machine of death on two wheels... the rest brought their bayonetted revolver rifles. With a company of twenty he marched. Through dim red lights and dark hallways, they approached the fight with each step.  “DRACULAAAAAAA” a loud shout called from the end of a hallway “END OF THE LINE”  “CHAAAAAARGE” he growled and followed his loyal soldiers as they rushed to receive the first volley.  The crashed zeppelin was bright and blazing in the background of a huge room, a room where Dracula kept the things he thought interesting throughout his years, a room now desecrated by blood and ashes. And stepped on by enemy troops. Red banners hiding red stains of blood, jewels, statues, artifacts... all scattered.  The troops exchanged fire uncaring of the hot lead piercing their bodies or the shards cutting their flesh. They charged in the smoke of volleys fighting with bayonets stuck in their chests. Roaring and screeching words that could never come out of a human... enduring pain that never a man could endure.  Munching, slashing, breaking... doing whatever their master ordered... unafraid of death for they have already died.... Or rather unafraid for they do not feel at all.... Cold killing puppets of flesh that fought humanity since ages in a quest of a crazy man.  Finally, Dracula entered the fight, his eyes turned bright red in outrage. He took the head of an undead fighter in squeezed it.  “HOW HUMILIATING” he screamed. He unsheathed his cane sword and sliced off the arms of another. “HOW IGNORANT” he pulled his huge reaver pistol and shot a hole the size of a ball in the chest of a third. “AFTER ALL I DID FOR YOU ?”  “YOU CRAZY OLD MAN” metallic stomping on the ground followed by a huge beast of flesh, gears and brass. “we played along for far enough” said a pale white man with sharp fangs and red eyes in the chest of the behemoth controlling it.  “alucard....” Dracula said in despair “my own goddamn son” the Gatling gun had already set up behind him. “I tried curing this cursed world”  “By killing off our food ?” alucard cried “since your wife died, you went insane”  “this town is your crawling castle’s grave” said another voice of another vampire coming next to alucard’s beast.  “oh... and your loyal secret cult” said a third vampires “we know about them”  The gatling gun started unloading at alucard’s monster tearing out pieces of flesh but the beast rushed to disable it.  “THE CULT IS THE SEED” Dracula said as he intercepted alucard “THEY WILL BUILD A BETTER HUMANITY” he tore off the beasts arm but his cane hit something hard. The behemoth as if built out of a pile of corpses, had a human skeleton made out of cast brass.  “awww” the vampires said, she rushed to fight Dracula “did your human wife turn your heart soft ?”  “YOU WHORE !” he fired his reaver pistol again but she dodged it. “ALWAYS SO VULGAR. ALWAYS SO LUSTFUL. JUST LIKE THE REST OF YOUR RACE”  “YOU TURNED US ALL, FOOLISH OLD MAN” she replied as she swung a threaded silver cane “FOR YOUR STUPID QUEST” “CAN’T YOU SEE IT ?” he pulled a grenade and threw it at her “IT’S THE NEW ARK..”  “WE” the third vampire killed the machine gun’s operators “ARE THE NEW ARK. THOSE HUMANS? THEY ARE WEAK AND FRAGILE” then rushed Dracula.  “IT’S A CURSE” he replied dodging his attack “WE ARE CURSED. THE FUTURE LIES WITHIN THEM” two undead soldiers joined his side.  “kill all humans” alucard grabbed a trooper with his beast “keep some to feed off. The plan was simple”  “they killed your wife” the vampiress grabbed a pistol “and you decided to write the longest suicide note in history” she shot Dracula but he shook the bullets off.  “AN EDUCATED POPULOUS AND AN IMMORTAL ONE...” he blocked off the vampire’s sword “I WOULD CHOOSE WHICH TO LIVE”  “I told you he had other plans” alucard squeezed the “life” out of the trooper “he isn’t that stupid”  “but now...” he growled. One of the two troopers hugged the behemoth and pulled the trigger off of a suicide vest “vampires prove to me time after the other that they are the wrong choice”  “good” the vampiress replied “FOR NOW YOUR QUEST ENDS” the suicide zombie blew up half of the behemoth sending all four flying  Dracula let out a whistle “you think I wasn’t prepared ?” a growling beast came up from behind him “I never wanted it to end this way” a huge wraith in the shape of a wolf stood by his side dripping blood from its shiny blue teeth.  “immortal corruption... undead lust... too much power in the hands of the wrong people... my plans will continue and I will deliver humanity into the new world... and since all of you are here, it would make it easier for me....


March 12 I’ve decided to start keeping a journal. Why? Because my friend Matt keeps insisting that we’re witnessing a historical moment and how privileged we are to be doing so. I’m not really sure of the importance of it but ever since I was a little girl I’ve always wanted to keep one, so I thought, why not? I guess this is one of those: hit two birds with one stone, scenarios. My name is Anna, I’m 23 years old, I’m witnessing, supposedly, one of the most important events in the history of the world and I shall be your guide through it. Now, I’ve mentioned this event 3 times already, 4 times now. What is it and why it’s so important? It’s not, really, I just see it as a nuisance honestly, something that upsets Matt deeply, heh, which in turn amuses me immensely. Matt’s my friend and colleague. We work together for CSS, that’s Cyber Security Services, the biggest IT company in the world and we’re working on one of the most important projects in the world. What project? It’s top secret! March 13 Ok, now you know who I am and what I do, I guess I should speak a bit about what’s this world altering event I keep mentioning. Here I go: A couple of weeks ago people started to get sick in some 3rd world countries and several of them have died, well, when I say several, I mean several thousands. In any case, it spread pretty fast and now we’re in lockdown, like locked in our houses lockdown. They say it’s for our own protection, but reports on the wireless show the numbers rising every day so I’m not sure “protect” is the right word here. March 15 Yesterday I forgot to write, nothing interesting happened though. Nothing interesting ever happens anymore since we’re all locked in. Supposedly we’re allowed to go outside for two hours each day and we can either go shopping or walking, as long as we’re alone. We need to do everything alone these days, more or less. What’s the catch? We need to schedule every outing through an annoying government app. We need to give all sorts of details like where why, and most importantly, whatever we do we need to keep five feet apart from each other. All the time! Two hours sound like enough time right? Wrong! Everybody’s desperate to go outside, it’s like they’ve been locked inside forever. And since apparently no one has anything important to do, those two hours per person seldom happen, you either get a chance to walk around the block or the one next over. It’s not worth the effort to be honest. March 16 Guess what happened today? That’s right! Nothing! March 17 I am getting so bored! It’s been almost a week now since the lockdown started and I feel like crawling up the walls. Tomorrow I think I’ll treat myself to something special. March 18 I got a new blouse today. It’s pink. I love pink. They’ll deliver it tomorrow. March 19 One week today since the lockdown started, and all I’ve done so far was to witness the importance of getting bored over and over again in my own home. I hope my grandkids won’t find me in here. Wait, can I still get grandkids if I’m in here? March 26 I know, I know! You’ve missed me! Shucks! What happened? Well, I’ve decided to write only once a week since nothing ever happens anymore. So what happened in the last seven days? Nothing. I’ve worked and worked and then worked some more. Matt keeps saying that what we’re witnessing is very important but I still don’t see it. Anyway, it seems that the disease is still spreading and that more people are dying. Idiots, why can’t they just be careful?! April 2 They’ve reduced the time we’re allowed to go outside to 1 hour now, on the wireless they keep saying that more and more people are dying. Not that many, and not in our country anyway. Yeah! It’s sad. April 9 I’ve been spending more time on the wireless lately. Until recently most of the deaths occurred in poor countries but now it’s happening everywhere. The government is thinking of doing a complete lockdown to see if the situation improves. April 14 It’s happened. We’re not allowed to go out anymore!!! Words cannot describe the immensity of my idiocy. I should’ve gone out while I still had the chance and now I’m forced to stay indoors for lord knows how long. I am truly, truly, stupid!!! I really hope this will be over soon. April 20 I can’t believe how stupid I was! I’ve been stuck in this damn house for 2 months now and I can’t stand it anymore. I can’t wait for this damn disease to be over. I can’t believe people are still getting sick and dying. I mean, come on, how can you still get infected. Everybody is sitting in their damn house. Everything is so damn stupid and pointless. I can’t believe I’ve been sitting in this damn house for two months. May 10 They’re introducing rations now. Can you believe it? Rations! It seems that because of all the deaths there’s nobody to produce essentials anymore and we need to be careful or we’re all going to die. Great! That’s just great. Goodbye life! June 1 Matt’s been driving me crazy. He’s been raving about world wide conspiracies and the end of human civilization as we know it. All I know is that if this doesn’t end soon human civilization will lose my sanity. June 18 Matt’s gotten sick. I don’t really understand what happened, he’s been in lockdown just like me. One day he’s fine, he’s telling me how everything’s just a big conspiracy to lock us up and bla bla, get us all to stay inside and work and be good citizens and the next he’s off the grid. Apparently he got infected through the grocery deliveries or something. There have been more and more cases just like Matt’s and the government has started an investigation. June 25. One of the major food distributors in the country was found responsible for the recent outbreak. I guess Matt was right, we are at a pivotal time in history. I’m curious where it will take us. June 27 Matt is dead. July 17 I met someone today. He smiled at me. He has a really nice smile. I don’t think I’ve seen someone smile for a long time now. I hope it happens again. July 20 His name is Brett. Ever since the Food Court incident, the government has taken food deliveries into their own hands. They take extra precautions to make sure that everything is done by the book in regards to packaging and delivery. Brett’s one of thousands of government employees across the country risking their lives every day to take sure that we are fed and safe. He’s so brave! July 21 It seems that whatever the government’s been doing is working. The number of confirmed cases has been steadily decreasing and there are fewer deaths each day. They say that they’ve been working on a vaccine all this time and that it will soon be released. July 23 Brett brought me a flower today. I’m not sure what I should do with it. I forgot they even existed. July 24 I decided to press the flower in the journal for save keeping. This way I can enjoy it forever. July 27 Brett’s brought me an extra yogurt today, we’re only allowed three per delivery. I think I’ll wear the leather skirt next time he comes around. July 30 You should have seen the look on his face when I opened the door. His jaw just dropped! I was so nervous, the way he looked at me, I could see the fire in his eyes. Hmmmm, now that I think about it more, it was rather embarrassing. He was all clumsy and stiff. Idiot! August 2 I’m happy. For the first time since this damn thing started, I’m happy. I don’t wish for it to stop. October 5 Has it really been so long since I last wrote? Come to think of it, I haven’t really felt these past months go by. It’s been like a haze, a sort of bad dream. First, Brett stopped showing up. He was replaced by this old, ugly man. When I asked him about it he just looked at me and left. I haven’t spoken with Brett ever since, it’s like he simply vanished. I can’t understand what happened. Work has been slow, I have a new colleague, Donna. She’s nice! Quiet. I had to do her training, it helped me keep my mind of things. The situation is still bad around the world. Over one hundred million people have died because of the disease and there are wars raging in several countries. I guess I should count myself lucky. October 8 I’ve been thinking about my childhood a lot lately, about my parents. I miss them very much. We’ve started talking more, I think Mom’s gotten thinner and Dad’s hair is all white now. They look sad, worried. They say that they’re worried about me but I don’t know, I think they don’t know how to be happy anymore. October 20 Winter’s around the corner. I look outside the window and all I see is death. When I was little I used to love autumn. I don’t think I can do that anymore. There’s a tree in front of my apartment building, I think it’s called a buckthorn. For the past few weeks I’ve been looking at it, at the way the leaves turn from green to yellow, from yellow to pink, then red and by the time they’ve fallen they’re a sickly purple. Purple used to be my favorite color. I can’t stomach it anymore. November 3 The last leaf has fallen from the tree. I feel very, very sad. November 10 They’ve started construction of some sort of delivery system. It’s supposed to bring all your shopping directly to your door. Well, technically, past the door. It’s some sort of lift that goes on the outer wall of the building. I’m glad I won’t be seeing old and ugly anymore, he reminded me too much of Brett. December 15 Winter is horrible. It’s not even snowing. It’s just cold. Everything feels cold outside, cold and dead. February 1 We’re no longer getting groceries. The government is sending us already prepared meals. They say it’s safer this way, less chance of getting infected. Honestly it looks like crap and it tastes even worse. February 22 They’ve discovered a vaccine. The government is doing tests to see if it works, I don’t think I care anymore. Nothing really matters anymore. I’m glad I can still work. February 27 I threw away Brett’s flower today. I hated looking at it. March 12 Happy Birthday!!! We’ve been together for one year and I’ve been such a good girl that I even got a treat. What, you ask? I got two pieces of bacon at lunch instead of one and it was delicious. Someone, somewhere loves me. I wonder if I’ll get anything tomorrow?!


The nights weren't always like this, they flowed with mystery and adventure. Now there more like a bleak, barren wasteland were hopes and dreams were washed away by the cruel darkness. The change began with the disappearance of the spirits, some say due to pollution and others say due to the lack of hope however no amount of speculation could bring them back. A hero foretold on the prophecy of old was destined to bring the spirits back to bring the mystery and adventure back into the night, but that was just some old fairy tale the parents would tell kids to make them feel better. Our story begins with a young boy, a young boy named Ridwan Ayanie. Ridwan lived in one of the more poor villages in the kingdom of Frieya a desert where shade was a delicacy, after his father died he had to look after his elderly mother and his to younger siblings, a set of twins a boy and a girl. He'd lived an honest life he never stole and he kept it in his best regard to never lie. He never knew his life would change for the better or for the worst on one bland fateful night. "I should head home it's getting late" Ridwan told his friend Yaqoob "looks like your family will be eating tonight" the boy said looking at Ridwans score of the night, he was never really poor his uncle being part of the council governing the kingdom of Frieya. He never knew the struggles of going to sleep hungry and miserable like Ridwan, but he'd known the absence of a father figure like Ridwan and that's what made them such close friends. "Hopefully this will last us a couple of days" Ridwan said wishfully "atleast enough to support us untill my next hunt" Yaqoob had a sympathetic look in his eyes. Ridwan was walking alone in the dark alley ways of his village, one wrong turn and you could be on the other side of town. Ridwan thought to himself " why are there no stars in the sky? why did the spirits leave?" As he was nearing close to his small sand hut he smelled something, being a hunter he had a very keen nose. He smelt blood but not normal deer blood this one smelt more rich more it smelt more valuable. He knew something was wrong he proper the deer up as best he could on his shoulders and tried to run his mind asking a thousand questions but his face completely dull. As he rounded the corner he saw his sand hut, he saw his old wooden door open and the cold stare of the candle light. He knew something happened. He dropped the deer for his shoulders and sprinted faster than he ever did before, as he moved closer he saw blood all over the walls and the ground before the door. He stopped, stepped in and looking around. Nothing. He walked to the corridor towards his mother's room he opened the doors and greeted the horrors Infront of him, his elderly mother laying in front of him blood in every direction. His 6 year old brother to the left of her and his 6 year old sister to the right of her all the mercilessly killed. Grief struck him in the heart and seeped from his eyes, a million questions stormed his mind but we're stopped by his sorrow. "Mama" he cried in a soft whisper, "Aliya, Zaid" those were all the words he could say. He collapsed into his mother cold bloody arms, he stayed there for what seemed Hours, until he got up. Atop his mother bed was a note he rushed over to it and read it. "Be free young Ridwan, for we have freed you from any guilt or setbacks you would feel on this quest. The quest upon to free the night. To bring prosperity and hope to the people, meet us in the clearing of were the forest and river meet" he knew exactly were that was as he was there a couple hours before hand, "and we shall give you the details and equipment to find the lost treasure and free the spirits and free the nights. Come whenever you're ready we'll be waiting" millions of more questions flooded his mind and this time he let them out, "why my family? Why me? What treasure? Why did they kill my family? Who's doing was this?. About 2 hours past it was about three in the morning and he'd just buried his family and said a prayer, he was awake with murderous intent he'd go to the forest find who did the to his family and kill them. It was roughly 10 o'clock when he left it'd take him 15 minutes for him to get there. He'd taken a secret way so no one could see him, the last thing he'd need is someone to talk to. He made it to the clearing only to see 4 figures standing in front of him, he'd taken out his dagger and charged at them screaming"FOR MY FAMILY" a sort of war cry that did nothing but make the figures laugh, the biggest one hoped down from the tree he was perched in and hit Ridwan in the neck sending him straight to the floor, they laughed a female voice said in a joking manner "are you sure this is the right kid" and the all sniggered he couldn't believe it after the horrible things they done they were laughing anger shot out of Ridwan and he got up stabbed the figure straight through the heart. He didn't die. The 'flesh' (looked more like a white illusion) wrapped around the blade and snapped it in two. He punched Ridwan and sent him flying on his backside. He spoke " we called you here not to fight or argue but to do us and the kingdom a favour" Ridwan spoke up "forget it you killed my family" the girl spoke up again "oh family this family that by your age I killed my family. Just didn't live up to my standards" the main voice spoke up and they all silenced out of what looked like fear "will you o young Ridwan embark on the quest to save Frieya" he looked like he wouldn't take no for an answer. Ridwan spoke "for my family and for my people yes" his back suddenly felt heavy, he looks around and saw a bag filled to the brim with medicinal remedies, arrows, spare clothes and food and water, in his had he felt a bow but it was no ordinary bow it was a bow that had the front like a sword a sort of hybrid. The main figure spoke up and explained his task. To retrieve the missing treasure and give it to the spirit statue in the centre of the villages, he was warned about evil creates yet he did not know where he was meant to go or how to find the treasure. And Like that they grabbed him and threw him at the trunk of a tree but he didn't crash he went through He landed on rock and he felt an urge to go straight, he walked about 10 minutes and felt an urge to go right and this continued until he found himself in a room, a room holding a lion with the legs of elephants and the skin of wolves. It lunged at him and he knew what to do he was a hunter at heart and this was just another thing for him to Hunt. He loaded his bow and shot at the beast and it went through its chest, the beast dropped but it was far from death Ridwan realised this the moment it was to late it jumped on him and he sliced it's head of clean with the sword. The next couple hours were smooth sailing, he made it into another room were he met a vampire wearwolf hybrid, hairy waist and down and pale skin with two dots on its neck. It spoke to Ridwan but he did not understand he knew it was in his way towards the treasure so he attacked first catching it of guard he lunged at its feet and sliced but missed it was too fast. It attacked biting Ridwan in his neck sending a crippling shock down his body he knew he couldn't give up so he raised and fought the beast but he was no match he got to cover and searched his bag and found wolves bane he dipped the tip of his arrow in the pot and ready his bow he took a deep breath rised and shot the arrow right into the creatures torso. He exploded and collapsed, Ridwan felt tremendous pain in his neck he frantically searched his bag. Vampire counter medicine, he drank the hole bottle, it was over behind the door was the treasure. He walking in and found a necklace he picked it up and found himself outside of the tree but there were no figures it was the dead of night, he knew what he had to do. He walked to the centre of the village and saw the statue he placed the necklace on the main spirits head and light exploded but there was no one there to see. The spirits lunged into the sky yearning for the night sky and the sky returned to an array of colours and hope. The spirit spoke to him "thank you brave hero, for you actions benefitted the whole kingdom now children and adults alike will rejoice at the sky because of you. Go and rest you deserve it we'll always be with you" and with that they disappeared into the night sky. Ridwan sulked home he'd done so much yet his life was still ruined he didn't realize how tired he was until he collapsed Infront of his door step. He was carried in by someone. He woke the next morning to see familiar faces his family were alive and there was no blood or sadness. His mother told him last night that the sky had lighten up like no other night he knew the cause but he did not tell. Out the window he saw 4 figures they smiled and disappeared he spent the day playing and having fun with his family.


Most things that are lost are never found. This was true of my cat Lucy. By all accounts, Lucy was a freak of nature, who should have never been born. She was the runt of a litter and suffered from a genetic defect, which had given her a permanent limp and blindness. The poor thing was rejected by her mother and the other kittens had put her at the very bottom of the pecking order. While the other kittens found their forever-homes within weeks, Lucy remained unwanted and unloved until one day when my father found her. She had been abandoned at a roadside in a stereotypical cardboard box, damp from the heavy August rain. In those days, we lived in a small cul-de-sac in a quiet neighborhood. We weren’t exactly poor but we weren’t incredibly wealthy either. Mom had two jobs and dad worked around the clock at a factory. Even though she was blind, Lucy was fierce and her impaired vision didn’t stop her. She had mangled ears and scars before she turned two years old. Her approach to life was to try and be the queen of the castle or die trying. Her whole life from kitten-hood, she stalked the surrounding neighbourhood, muscular, almost skinny. Not once did I ever see that feline flinch, no matter what noise was going on. The only time she relaxed was when he found my sister Grace sitting in the garden, and would curl onto her lap - but only her. I can’t tell you how special that made her feel, how happy. She would tell everyone that she was her cat, with a pride the eye can’t hide. One winter, when the weather had been particularly bitter and Pacific Northwest had suffered the worst blizzards seen in decades, my sister Grace got sick. She’d always been a playful child with wild, strawberry blonde hair and a mischievous glint in her eyes, always plotting the next adventure. There were two years between us, I was the eldest and had just turned thirteen. Grace was eleven and even though we often fought as sisters do, we were extremely close. Our parents worked long hours and were often away, so for most of our childhood, all Grace and I had were each other but we never suffered from it. Lucy had been a welcome addition to the family. On a cold January morning, when small snowflakes crystallized on the kitchen window, creating intricate shapes and danced in the sunlight, I remember waking up to Lucy sitting at the edge of my bed and for the first time ever - she curled up next to me. That’s when I knew something was wrong. Grace had died from pneumonia in the early hours that morning. She had been ill for a few weeks and despite the best efforts of the doctors, they couldn’t save her. After Grace’s death, Lucy changed. She stayed in the house a lot and practically gave up her crown as queen of the hill. It was almost as if she grieved with us, in a way I’ve never seen before. She’d always been a quiet cat who never made much noise but sometimes, I woke up at night to the sound of Lucy crying. It wasn’t just the normal sound of an upset animal, but a heart wrenching wail. It broke not only my heart but also my parents. We never could have guessed that a cat would grow so attached to one human. Despite her blindness, Lucy had never had an accident. Her other senses must have been heightened because she never ventured to the road and so we were never worried for her safety. Three weeks after Grace’s death, Lucy had almost entirely stopped eating and even when we’d taken her to the vet, nothing changed. She became withdrawn and merely the shadow of the cat she once was. One Tuesday afternoon when I came home from school, both my parents waited for me on the porch. “It’s Lucy.” mom said and that’s all she ever needed to say. A delivery driver had knocked on the door a few hours earlier, holding the body of a cat in his arms. It was weird, he said, because he swore the cat had seen him and there was plenty of time for him to hit breaks on the vehicle but the cat had still made a run for it and by the time the driver hit the breaks it was already too late. My parents hadn’t had the heart to tell him about Lucy’s blindness but instead of burying her in the garden, we buried her in the graveyard, next to my sister.


I woke up in the middle of the night, a layer of cold sweat covering my entire body. Turning around on the bed, I looked at her. She was sleeping, breathing deeply, with a faint smile on her plush, pink lips. I frowned and moved in the dim, bluish light of the room, leaving the bed. My bare toes spread on the floor as I sat up, cracking my neck before getting up. I grabbed my smokes and lighter from the nightstand and walked over the open window. It was raining. A barrier of water that barely let me see the other side of the street. Yet the air was thick and warm, even when it seemed it had been deluging for hours, judging by the rivers flowing down the road. I lit a cigarette and leaned against the railing, taking a long and slow drag, and with a heavy sigh, I released a thick cloud of smoke that slowly went up in the air, mixing with the early morning mist. The sky was gradually gaining color far in the east, the storm clouds turning slightly golden and orange. There is always something very appealing and almost magical to this time of the day. It gives you the feeling that you're the only living person in the world, although I wasn't. I glanced to my right as she moved on the bed, mumbling about getting back to sleep. My gaze lingered on her half-naked form for a moment but quickly abandoned her and returned to the street as I continued to enjoy my cigarette and the quiet surrounding me. Although, there was an odd sensation slowly crawling into my mind and my skin. I stared up at the sky. The clouds were so thick and too dark. There was something off about them. It felt like they were pressing their ethereal mass against the earth, capturing the hot air and the city fumes, creating a weird atmosphere that made me uneasy even during the peace of the morning. But, I told myself that it was nothing and continued to enjoy the rain's natural song. It hadn't been too long when I heard a noise down the street, and I lazily turned in that direction. I couldn't distinguish anything, but it sounded like someone was out there, mumbling in the downpour. At first, I thought it was a person, maybe a homeless guy or someone too drunk to care about the weather, but some other voices soon joined the first. Unable to understand a word, if those were words at all, a feeling of anxiousness took over me. My chest suddenly felt tight as my heartbeat increased; my hands gripped the railing tightly as I held the cigarette between my lips. The sounds continued to grow in number and seemingly becoming louder as if its source was slowly dragging its way down the street. Maybe it's just a group of foreign people, I thought; a mere excuse my mind gave me to try and calm my nerves, although it didn't work. I continued to look toward the nothingness, only a waterfall in front of my eyes. I leaned forward, ignoring the downpour as it hit my face and exposed torso. However, in the back of my head, I did notice that each drop felt incredibly dense, not as if they were simply falling but deliberately thrusting themselves against the surface of the earth. I continued to stare, breathing heavily. Eventually, after what seemed hours, I noticed some fading motions in the rain. At first, I thought it was the wind, causing the falling and running water to wave, although it took me a fraction of a second to realize that there was no wind, not even a faint breeze. I shook my head, rubbing my eyes. Maybe it was just the sleep calling me back to bed. Squinting, I looked again, and the heavy rain barely allowed me to hear my voice as I gasped, dropping my cigarette. I recoiled from the window, and it took me a moment to force myself to pull my jaw up and close my mouth. I held my breath and pushed myself against the railing once more, and this time I had no doubt. Something was moving out there, a dark fog, leisurely rolling closer, moaning and groaning, mumbling and growling unintelligible sounds. I was about to close the window and hide, but then I realized I wasn't afraid, and for a second, that odd realization made me wonder if this was a damn weird dream. But I was sure this wasn't a dream; I was fully aware of what was going on. With my sight fixed on... Whatever that was, I tried to rationalize what I was staring at, but nothing I could think of seemed to work and make sense. I knew I was witnessing an unnatural event, something that no one was supposed to see, and that was the only answer that calmed me down. Watching the shadows creeping closer to my house, closer to me, I began to distinguish each of them and their voices. Their shapes changed and shifted as they moved, merging and then dragging their bodies apart and move in their own direction. However, they kept moving as a single, large mass, continually getting closer. Always groaning as if the rain hurt them like acid, as if the asphalt they were sliding across ripped their skins. Retreating from the window, I hesitated for an instant before rushing downstairs, not wanting to make them wait as I practically jumped down the steps. Standing at the door while catching my breath, I was able to hear them scratching the door and its frame. They were asking me to let them in, although their grumbling was now barely audible as if they perceived there was someone else in the house. And... I'm sure now that they knew. I glanced up in the direction my room was. That was why they were here, right? Because of her... I eagerly unlocked the door, pulled it open, and faced them. My eyes almost fell from their sockets as I saw their faceless fronts, the dark holes where eyes should have been, the void they had as mouths. It was bizarre and fascinating at the same time. They passed by me and through me. I sensed their low noises rumbling inside me, like standing too close to a large buffer, and yet I was only able to hear a muffled whisper by then --a silent procession flowing in front of me. The shadows slid into my house, floating upstairs, seemingly occupying the entire house as they spread and advanced. I watched them until the last one disappeared into the second floor. There was a long moment of silence when even the rain seemed to have faded into nothing, and for a second, I thought they were gone. I thought I was crazy, that my mind made all that up. I peered outside at the wall of water and blinked. Was that it? What was... It? All my questions and thoughts suddenly stopped when my ears finally heard a noise. It was the very distinctive sound of my wife's voice. Her screams were so loud I feared the neighbors might hear her, but the rain was so unnaturally heavy, deafening everyone around and isolating this very... Strange event from the rest of the world. I knew they were coming back as her voice now reached louder to my ears. I flinched and grunted lowly, looking up at the stairs to see the shadows return, carrying my screaming wife along with them. I saw the terror in her eyes, her sight clinging to me. She called my name, her mouth gaping, distorted in a pained grimace. She reached out with her arms, clawed hands as if she was trying to grasp the air desperately, and me. Her body twitched and shifted as she struggled, and I couldn't tell what kept her from simply falling to the ground. I couldn't distinguish if anything was holding her or if it was just some kind of force keeping her in place. I think I was smiling while my wife was carried outside, and I saw her expression changing from one of utter horror and desperation to one of deep pain and disappointment. She realized I had no intention of helping her, yet my soul felt light and relieved. I believe I caught a hint of understanding in her because deep inside, she knew our life together was fake. I watched in silence as the shadows abandoned my home, standing at the threshold as the last creature oozed its way out. I observed them, with my hand slowly going up to the doorknob. Returning through the same way they came, they took her, and they were silent now, content as I was. I could only hear her screams fading in the air as they disappeared behind the curtain of water. I closed the door, releasing a light breath. Turning around, I made my way to the upper floor, scratching the back of my neck as I quickly climbed the stairs. Walking into my room, I picked up the smokes and my lighter and lit myself another cigarette. I took a long drag of smoke and let it out through my nose as I sighed, smiling when I looked up towards the east, admiring the birth of a new day.


* Content Warning: Terminal Disease Discussion TIME OUT I don’t want to be strong today. Today, I want to drink wine before five, not eat a healthy dinner, and not complete my evening workout, the one I do religiously because healthy living, the podcasts tell me, is life-elongating. But not for him. Although he exercises daily, his life expectancy hasn’t elongated; it's diminished. Today, after hearing his news, I offered my strength, offered him my support, and said all the things one’s supposed to say in these situations. You’re going to get through this . I’m here for you . We’ll fight this together. I love you . You said the right things, I tell myself. But I abruptly ended our call because tears broke from the vault, and my voice started to quiver, and everyone knows you shouldn't upset someone who received horrible news. There really should be a handbook for terminal etiquette . More than anything, I want to open that bottle of wine I saved for a rainy day because Stage Four sounds scary--despite his assurances that it’s slow-moving or slow-growing or whatever my four pages of hastily transcribed notes mean--and today is the rainiest day of all. On tiptoes, I reach for the bottle on the shelf, and a landslide of pantry items tumble down. Plastic bag boxes, coffee filters, an insulated lunchbox. Fortunately, the bottle is unharmed. As I pop the wine cork, an imagined weight creeps from my chest to my spine. With hunched shoulders, I grab a glass and pour. Wine drops splatter on the counter. No matter. I'll clean the mess later. I sniff, swallow, and wince. The liquid is sour and pungent on my tongue. My taste buds tingle as I welcome the drink. Ten sips left--give or take a few. My phone feels heavy when I lift it. I stare at the screen, knowing I should call him back now--soon--but first I must pull myself together and be certain I won’t break down. “It’s going to be a challenging year,” my friend told me when I shared the news. “You’ll have to be strong,” she said. “Especially for him.” “I know,” I said. “I’m trying.” I swear. I will. Six sips left. My fingers repeatedly type the word tease instead of these and realize that my alcohol buzz has set in. Family members are texting, asking for updates, and I just want to drink this damn wine and turn back the calendar and not answer the phone and stay in bed and scream in my pillow. Why didn’t he follow up with his doctor last year? Why didn’t he tell me sooner? How could he be so irresponsible? Maybe he would live longer than six years if he had been more vigilant with his health. “Don’t beat up the cancer patient,” he pleaded when I asked him these questions. My heart grew soft and small. Stupid girl. He’s hurting. Don’t twist the knife deeper. Support is what he needs, not reprimanding. I’ve been stingy in doling out sympathy. But how will I support him long distance? How can I help from a thousand miles away? Who will take him to his chemo infusions? Who will clean his house? Run errands? Make him soup when he’s ill? I don’t trust myself with these responsibilities. It’s too much to think of at once. I’m not ready, not yet. Maybe soon. Soon. For better or for worse , they say. I guess we’re doing worse for a while. If only I could turn back time, my buzzed brain repeats. I’d go back to yesterday. Or the week before. Or New Year’s Eve when we lay in bed and made plans for the future, and he stroked my jaw and said, “I wish we could stay here forever.” “Forever” isn’t supposed to be only six years. If I could turn back time, I’d set the clock to the year I met him. Undo the wrong that followed. Force him to eat healthier. Get him to sleep more. Visit more. Join a gym. Follow up with his darned doctor. Five sips left. Focus on the positive, I tell myself. He has access to medical experts, and he’s not giving up. I’ll make every effort to be there with him. I’ll be a better girlfriend. A better nurse--advocate, friend, partner, proxy--whatever he needs. I’ll put my own wants aside and be a better human. I promise. I promise. I promise I will. If only it’ll help him get better. Four sips--wait. Not yet. He texts as I’m typing this, and I’m editing my misspellings because the wine is making my vision fuzzy, and it’s hard to get my thoughts down, but I need to put these words somewhere. I can’t let him hear them. I can’t tell him I’m scared. Scared for him, scared for us. Will there be an “Us” long-term? Dealing with two types of cancer simultaneously is going to be difficult. Plus, there are other factors to contend with. His Type 2 Diabetes and high blood pressure, for example. How did he get so sick? He doesn’t eat fast food, doesn’t smoke, rarely drinks. There are no guarantees, they say. Earlier, when he mentioned the words, “ Quality of life and metastasized ,” my heart shattered like a vitreous plate hitting the floor. I knew what he meant. Negative thoughts are detrimental. He must remain positive, look on the bright side, manifest healing. That’s what the experts advise. Don’t give up, I begged him. Hold on. Fight. Please. Please. Four sips left. The wine buzz isn’t numbing me, not like I hoped. Panicked thoughts scramble my brain. I should’ve eaten a salad. I should’ve gotten on the treadmill. I should’ve gone outside for a walk. I need to be a better girlfriend, one that’s healthy, happy, and supportive, not selfishly sipping wine, worrying if we’ll ever be intimate again. Worrying his beautiful hair will fall out. Worrying he will be too sick to help me when I’m older. Worrying, I’m a horrible person for even thinking such things. He’s the one suffering, not me. Three sips left. I stare at one of our framed pictures and feel a pinprick in my gut. Look at his thick, pretty hair. Two sips. I’m awake yet slightly sluggish. My stomach is warm and tingly. I’m not used to drinking. Not often. Not alone. I lift my hand and swirl the burgundy-colored puddle at the bottom of my glass. The little voice in my head, the one that’s been telling me I’m a horrible person, says, pour out the wine, wash your face and sober up , but my fingers need to release these words somewhere and my heart needs to heal a little before I call him back, lest he hears the grief in my voice. Last sip. Empty glass. Deep breath. I smile and reach for my phone.


Year of 2088 “Daniel, you’ve barely touched your plate. We have all this food yet you haven’t even glanced at the desserts,” Mother says. She waved over Sam, one of the maids that worked at my house, and asked her to start clearing the entrees. “I’m not hungry,” I replied, clutching my stomach to keep the growling locked inside my empty stomach. The dining room, where these dinners were hosted, echoed the noises of unbridled rants regarding the business industry. I absolutely hated Friday dinners. Around 20 businesspersons, all dressed in suits and garnished with the most expensive and dazzling jewelry I’ve ever seen, all gather to discuss deals, partnerships, profit strategy- all concepts that my 11 year old mind cannot grasp. “Well you have to try something Daniel,” Mother said. “If you only try one thing tonight, make it the pudding,” Michael, one of the businessmen sitting next to Mother, suggested. I slouched in my chair and sighed; Mother and Father only ever paid attention to me when other people were around. I watched as my Mother dug the gold serving spoon into the dessert and plopped it down smack in the middle of the gold plate. Raising my spoon I took a bite. Except, there was no sweetness. I took another bite; the world faded as a separate force took over me. A rain of the most fervent emotions I’ve ever felt poured down, flooding every inch of my mind; the rush of unfamiliar, yet vivid, familiar feelings pounded my head. I tasted sadness. I tasted suffering. I tasted desperation and everything that a sweet dessert should never taste like. Multiple memories of mourning over someone. A sort of nostalgia, or a yearning desire. I’ve never felt this before, although, Déjà Vu spiraled eliminating my doubts, and I reached an epiphany that I’ve lived through this state of mind before; just not in this lifetime. There was a flash in my mind, followed by the quick image of a small kitchen. The background blurred, although a figure standing in the middle appeared in meticulous detail. I saw a young, lanky boy, his brown hair swooping just below his hazel eyes. It looked as if he cried for hours and never slept as his eye bags practically fell as low as his hair. His facial expression fully captivated the exact feelings I had just experienced, as if his life had been in a permanent turmoil. I’ve never seen this kid in my life, yet, I knew exactly who he was. It was me. I couldn’t sleep that night. The following morning I begged Father to have Sam gather the ingredients used in bread pudding. Father was on his way to an international convention and gave me the approval without even acknowledging my question. “Here you go Daniel. Everything you need is laid on the counter and if you need anything I’d be happy to help,” Sam assured me as she ruffled my hair. Sam had always been there for me whenever I needed her. I dragged over a stool from the closet and positioned myself in a methodical manner; the ingredients, all labeled, lined up in order next to the glass pan and spoon I was given to work with. In my mind, I had no clue what to do first. All I sensed was an array of unfamiliar bottles and scents. I have never made bread pudding before. Daniel has never made bread pudding before, although the person he was decades ago made it a million times. Daniel was able to subconsciously make his way around the kitchen and didn’t request any recipe. He got started. 2 cups of milk Year of 2003 I had asked Tanner to go to the grocery store to restock on milk. Tanner was my older brother, the one I looked up to since Dad wasn’t around. My family wasn’t always poor. I mean- we were never exactly “comfortable”, but we managed to get around. There I was- in the kitchen, the place that I can actually call home. We didn’t live in a safe neighborhood, and my mom always had Tanner go out and help our family stay on our feet. However Mom didn’t even have to encourage him to; Tanner enrolled in our city college and started his own small business to give my family a better life. When I heard the devastating words that had come through our semi-broken home phone, my head spun. I felt like fainting. “Hello? Is this the Watson residence?” the authoritative voice spoke. “Yes..this is Marty. Who is this?” I answered. “I’ve got bad news. Tanner Watson has been found dead at the scene of a terrible car incident on the 510 highway. I am so sorry for your loss and we’ll continue keeping in contact with his immediate family. My number is..” The phone dropped and the long, high-pitched beep followed the sound of it smacking the cold floor. Then came silence. Then fear. I’m trembling. Chills turned to a shock, banning my body from moving. Silence. Deep breath turns to a cry. My brother. The person who got me. There’s no faith anymore. 1⁄2 loaf sweet bread That very night of Tanner’s incident I couldn’t keep myself together. Mom wasn’t even home and Grandma didn’t say a single word. Dad was unreachable and stressing him out would only hurt his condition even more. I grabbed Tanner’s coat hanging from the chair and ran out the door, slamming it behind me as tears flowed down my face; my eyes were puffy and swollen, more than they’ve ever been. It was night out. Mom would never let me roam the alleys past 7. I turned into Garfield Alley, the place that me and Tanner went together whenever we needed a break from home. The two crumbling brick buildings seemed to cave in the windy path as I kneeled there in the middle. The moon was nowhere to be seen; an array of dark storm clouds captured the full moon and blocked the light. I felt trapped. An old man, about 80 years old, approached me as his cane wobbled on the cobbled cement. His white beard extended about a foot, his bright blue eyes pierced through the air, and his teeth were as crooked as this alleyway. “Are you lost?” he asked with a scratchy voice. I brought my gaze up to meet his eyes and shook my head. He placed his hand on my shoulder and with his other hand gave me a loaf of bread. It was the kind that Tanner would always pick up at the grocery store. “What’s this?” I asked, confused as to why a homeless guy was offering me food. The man smiled and crouched down as best as he could, his back curving and knees struggling to bring him to my eye level. “You know son, I may be struggling to feed myself every day and am devoid of a home, but I was once a kid like you. In fact, the very night I ran away from my house, I came to this very spot,” he explained looking up as if he was recalling tumultuous events through his life. “Just because I’m in need doesn’t mean I don’t need to help others. Everyone is in need of something. Now I just came back from the market ‘round the corner and a gut feeling told me someone would be in need of my help today.” I wiped the snot coming from my nose and stared at the bread. “Thank you sir, but you should keep it. You need it more than I do.” That’s when he got up, his light body depending on only the cane to keep it from collapsing. “Trust me. Promise me you’ll pass the faith and help others whenever you can, no matter what position you may be in,” he said looking straight into my eyes, still red and swollen from crying. I nodded as he turned and disappeared in the dark. That’s what Tanner would’ve wanted. 1 teaspoon vanilla extract I had spent all afternoon in the kitchen and only my Mom was home. Standing on top of the tiled counter, I was careful to not bump my head on the low, popcorn textured ceiling. My grandma had requested me to make bread pudding that day and whatever she wants I’ll give her. She never really spoke to anyone- never engaging in conversations and choosing to sit in the same chair Dad had found on the streets years ago. The only time she ever talked was with me, and it was always in the kitchen. She taught me how to cook; the bread pudding recipe was originally her own, and she tells me she feels safe from the outside world cooking with me. As I poured in the milk and reached for the vanilla extract, the whole bottle tipped over as my elbow swung carelessly. It crashed all over the floor, the light brown liquid seeping through the cracks in the lopsided tile. The aroma of vanilla ate the empty void around me. Everytime I’m baking in the kitchen, my grandma and I make sure to smell it once before adding it into the mixture; it’s only when we both recognize the scent of vanilla extract that our moods illuminate. I bent down, crouching as I leaned on one hand, and began to clean up this mess. Looking up, I noticed the door to my mom’s office was a crack open. I continued to absorb the extract and overheard my mom’s phone conversation with my dad. “Ben, I don’t know what to do. In fact- telling the poor kid is going to be the hardest of all. Now that Tanner is gone we have no more hope,” my mom spoke as her voice trembled. “Pat fired me. No one in the family is making any money anymore, and our accounts are only plummeting. I miss you.” The sweetness of the vanilla didn’t smell so sweet anymore. As I was absorbing this hopeless news, my nose was absorbing the extract. All I could smell was bitterness. Sweet turned to sour real quick and the tips of my fingers slightly touched the leftover vanilla I had yet to soak up. It was almost as if I could feel the helpless emotions I felt flowing through my body, fusing into the liquid. Now whenever I open the bottle of vanilla, I try not to allow the scent to reach my nose, but the moment I catch a whiff of it, it reminds me of the day that my family fell apart. 2 eggs, beaten My dad found out he had lung cancer when I was around 15 years old. It was a surprise, although my dad spent the majority of his life doing work with a cigarette planted in his mouth. Tanner tried to get him to quit, but it was hopeless at the point Dad was in his life. He’s been getting treatment for awhile, but as his condition got worse, he landed himself in the hospital. Dad not being around was hard for all of us, but mostly grandma. I prayed every night, hoping that everything could turn back to normal. I remember sitting on his broad shoulders wondering how on earth he was able to hold me. As I swung my arms wildly watching him bring two eggs out of the fridge, he explained that cracking eggs was a skill it took years to master. Placing one egg in between his fingers, he pushed his thumb into it, cracking the sides and creating a messy hole, and he poured out the eggs as if the shell were a pitcher. “And that, my friend, is my special party trick, Marty,” Dad said as I giggled. He scooped me up and ran around the house with his hands under my arms. I guess my dad was a bit irresponsible at times, since he hadn’t been watching the stove. Even a bit burnt, they were the best eggs I’ve ever tasted. 1⁄3 cup sugar and a pinch of salt “Now we need the salt.” Grandma and I had been at work all day making her bread pudding. I walked over to the top shelf as I eyed two containers, both filled with fine white granules of either salt, or sugar. Grabbing both I spoke, “I don’t know which one is the salt or sugar; no one ever labels anything in this house.” I set down the two. Grandma turned around, leaving the perfectly clean mixing bowl by the stove. “Sometimes, you’re not gonna know which one is which, cause honey, salt and sugar look the same,” she told me. I didn’t know where this was going. “You might not know who you can trust- looks can be deceiving. One might give you a whole plate of salt while another a plate of sugar. Everyone always has a little bit of sugar and salt in their lives.” She had a glimmer in her eye, but not a happy one. It was as if she was remembering something in her past that related to what she was telling me. “So how do you know who to trust?” I asked. “Be cautious. Be alert, but never be afraid to try.” She stuck one finger in one of the containers and licked it. She scrunched her nose and shook her tongue out. “Yup, that one’s definitely the salt.” I laughed as I placed labels on both. 2088 I finished the final touches of the bread pudding. All those moments that revised my memory as I added each ingredient still trailed the back of my mind. The life I lived before was so different from my life now. I pushed the button on the new oven my parents just bought the other day; it was the newest model released last week and of course they were the first ones to purchase it. After 30 minutes, I pulled it out and left it on the cooling tray. Mother just came back from work as she entered the kitchen in her suit and set her briefcase down. “Wow Daniel, have you been cooking?” she asked, collapsing down on the couch. I nodded and smiled. “Smells great. Also, your father’s convention got canceled, he should be heading back home. I’m going to drive and meet him at the airport, and we might go eat out with some business friends. Ask Sam to cook you something. ” My smile dropped. I glanced over at the bread pudding, reminding myself of the tragic events I had once faced. Truth is, in these two lifetimes I faced similar problems. I always had issues with being with my family. I couldn’t give this up, not right now at least, and I knew I had to find a way to get my family back together. “Hey Mom, I made this bread pudding today and was wondering if you and Father would want to eat together with me?” I nervously asked as I fiddled my hands. Mother looked up at me and gave Father a call. Later that night, we decided to eat on the coffee table in the living room instead of the dining room. Father had gotten a call from work, but the moment he picked it up to answer, Mother tilted her head in my direction, almost as if she were hinting to him to focus on me rather than work. He set it down. “Shall we give this pudding a try?” Father asked as he smiled for the first time in ages, revealing his shiny white teeth. I dug my spoon in. Raising the spoon, I took a bite. I didn’t taste sadness. There was no desperation embedded into the treat anymore. I tasted the sweet bread flavor, coated with the vanilla and sugar paste. I tasted the first time in years my family was all together, laughing- just the three of us. I felt the love and bond grow between us as we slowly finished the pudding bite by bite. Food creates memories. Friday dinners even accumulate in my mind now. It shows how important spending time with your family is. It showed my boredom and longing for attention from my parents. Now, as we sit around the coffee table, laughing and their work not even being mentioned in any conversation, this bread pudding holds an entirely new memory for me. It’s replacing, but not forgetting, the suffering and the events I faced in my old life, and now collecting the essence of everything around me at this very moment. Food holds memories. I might have left my old life and come back as a totally different person, with a new lifestyle with no memory of anything, but food has the capacity to hold every aspect of what happened while it witnessed key moments in my past life. Every smell, every texture, every color, and every object will work together and create a sealed package of my emotions I felt while I interacted with them, and only opened up, releasing this memory, when you put yourself back into its presence. Sam walked up to me and tapped my shoulder. Whipping my head around, she smiled at me; she had this glimmer in her eye. “Maybe before you thought your parents ignored you. You felt they didn’t care. They might have been your salt in your life,” Sam started. I gasped. “But maybe you had to try. You had to try something different- taking a different approach through baking.” She winked at me. “I guess they were my sugar after all.”


A monotone buzz began to scream from an alarm clock into a very carelessly decorated bedroom. *7:45* the clock read as Terry groaned loudly. “Ugh... I thought I unplugged you!” Terry said as he nearly smashed the alarm clock with his hand. Terry climbed out of bed slowly as his eyes adjusted to the light spraying through the window from the bright sun. He yawned as he stumbled through his disgusting home. He rubbed his eyes, his hands rubbing against the many wrinkles on his face. Terry was an older man, around 53 years old. He was never the cheerful type and did not enjoy others company. He loved to complain, and his latest subject was the craze that had swept across the entire world in only a few months. The Changing. The Changing was a very cheap surgery where people could be turned into their favorite characters. Their looks and voice would be changed to be exactly like the character, so many people jumped at the chance to become their heroes. Most people became superheroes or their favorite movie character. Even other famous people got the surgery too! Almost the entire world had been changed after only a month of it being allowed. It was normal to be walking down the street and see Batman sitting alone drinking coffee or Michael Jordan playing basketball in your neighbourhood. Terry never understood the trend and thought it was a waste of someone’s life. He was one of the last original humans, at least in America, and he planned to keep it that way. He walked into his bathroom and stared at the person in the mirror looking back at him. He sighed heavily as he began to brush his teeth, his eyes focusing on the empty bottle of beer in the corner of the room like a monster glaring at him menacingly. He spat into the sink noticing the art gallery of different stains in and around it. Terry stumbled into his room, putting on his work uniform- A blue polo shirt with a small logo in the corner reading, “Terry’s Comics!”, and some jeans. He checked his watch. *8:10.* Terry clutched his car keys tightly as he left his house, slamming the door closed. He hopped into his car and ignored the trash collecting in every crevice of the vehicle. The engine jumped to life surprisingly quickly. Normally Terry would have to hit the dashboard a few times before the car finally started. He prepared himself for the work day ahead as he drove towards the mall. Terry stood behind the counter of his small comic shop. He stared at the people exploring the maze of aisles full of crudely put together displays of comics. He spotted Superman reading the back of a My Little Pony comic book and Sherlock Holmes aggressively eating a hot dog spilling different condiments all over himself. Terry barely contained the laughter building up inside of him. Suddenly, a very buff man wearing a ski mask ran up to the counter holding a knife. “Put all the money in the bag!” The man screamed while shaking the bag rapidly. Terry instinctively swung his hands into the air. “Uh...Okay..Just let me open the cash register..” Terry said nervously while secretly pressing the emergency security button under the counter. Almost immediately 3 large men wearing security uniforms barged into the store. Without hesitation they grabbed the robber and began to drag him out of the store. “Yeah! Don’t you ever try doing something like that again!” Terry yelled to the robber. The man spat on the ground, staring at Terry directly in the eyes. Terry rolled his eyes and continued working. The rest of Terry’s day was terrible. He got constant complaints from his customers about ripped pages in the books they had bought and lots of other bogus problems. Every time Terry would have to say that there was nothing he could do and point to the sign that read “No Refunds” hanging up behind him. The person would usually stomp away angrily or walk out of the store screaming at him. One of the only parts of his job that Terry actually enjoyed was his lunch break but even that went wrong. He ate quietly sitting on a bench outside of his store. Out of nowhere Princess Leia walked by and spilled her coffee all over Terry. “Oh my God! I am so sorry!” She screamed as she tried to clean him up but he stopped her. “It’s fine. I can handle it.” Terry said hiding his anger. He walked away cleaning himself up in the bathroom. At around 7:00, the end of Terry’s work shift, he walked to his car just praying that the day wouldn’t get any worse. He drove out of the parking garage and headed towards Skippy’s Bar. He watched the many people walking along the road, laughing with their friends, and just having a good time. Terry shook his head, disappointed in himself, and parked his car in front of the bar. “Hey Terry! how ya’ doing?” Skippy asked as Terry walked into the bar. He looked around the bar and saw Indiana Jones passed out on one of the tables and Jack Sparrow, The Terminator and Dracula all playing pool together. Skippy, just like Terry, was also one of the last original humans in America. He and Terry had become pretty good friends because of that, but also because they both hated The Changing. “Not very good. Just give me the usual.” Terry said, sitting down at the counter and putting his head down. “Hey man, what’s got you so down?” Skippy asked as he filled a glass full of beer and handed it to Terry. “Just a terrible day at work. It was a nightmare.” Terry replied. “It seems like every day is a terrible day for you Terry. Just remember man, I’m here for you and you can talk to me anytime.” Skippy said as Terry chugged his first beer and burped loudly. Although he wasn’t asked, Skippy slyly handed Terry another glass of beer, which he easily drank. Skippy continued handing him drinks as they talked. “Why can’t The Changing change a person’s personality too. No one can get their character’s personality right! You get me?” Terry said as he pointed at the other men in the bar and both of them started laughing. “Yeah...At least we still got each other.” Skippy said as he wrapped his arm around Terry. “Thanks Skippy. You’ve always been a good friend.” Terry said, mumbling after his 5th drink. “I think I should be going.” Terry said as he stumbled towards the door. “Okay. See you soon.” Skippy said smiling. Terry barely made it out the door because of how drunk he was. He limped out onto the sidewalk, completely forgetting about his car. He walked in the direction of his house, but bumped into two huge bald men wearing black suits and sunglasses. “Hey sorry guys, Hehehe..” Terry said as he fell on the ground. He tried getting up but was punched in the face by the first bodyguard and he passed out instantaneously. Terry woke up with a terrible headache. He groaned as his eyes adjusted to the area around him. He looked down and saw that he was sitting in a wooden chair with leather restraints holding his hands and feet in place. He shook his limbs rapidly trying to set himself free as he screamed for help. He noticed that he was in a small room with walls made of concrete, and there was a metal door closed in front of him. Suddenly, the door swung open and Skippy walked in with the two bodyguards from the night before right behind him. “Hey Terry. How was your sleep?” Skippy said with a sense of madness in his voice. “What is this, Skippy? What’s happening?” Terry yelled, looking around the room rapidly. He visualized the night before trying to remember what had happened, but with no luck. “Well, as you know, The Changing is a worldwide phenomenon now. Almost everyone in America has had the operation done by now. Only a few people are still the originals, including me and you.” He said pointing at himself and Terry. “I want to be the last human. Imagine all the fame and glory of being the only original person, but I can’t have that if you’re still here. I knew there was no convincing you to get the surgery via normal ways so... I had to take matters into my own hands.” He said as he pulled out a large syringe with a strange green liquid inside. “No....No! You can’t do this Skippy! I thought we were friends!” Terry screamed, trying his best to hold back tears. “We were never friends.” Skippy said with no sympathy as he drove the needle directly into Terry’s arm. The two bodyguards held him down as he screamed and thrashed, his voice getting deeper and darker by the second. Terry could feel the fluid running through his body, as if it were a snake venom slowly killing him. He felt muscles begin to grow in his arms and strange bulges cover his entire body. His grey hair began to fall out and his feet doubled in size. Skippy stared at the creature in front of him as it grew and screamed at the same time. Terry was now a very ugly looking goblin, his clothes completely ripped from the transformation and his new self looking nothing like it did five minutes ago. “It is done.” Skippy said as he motioned towards the guards. The bodyguards exited and Skippy waved at Terry while laughing hysterically.