“Sorry I’ve been blowing you off for so long, this place is great.” Megan said. “No worries,” replied Steph, “we’re finally here.” “I love antiques, but I have no room left at home.” They both chuckled in agreement. “Oh wow,” said Megan, “check this out.” Steph’s eyes followed Megan’s pointed finger. “What, another painting of that blue boy?” Steph asked. “No. But why is that everywhere? No, below it, look.” “Oh, a pretty lamp,” said Steph. “Do you think there’s a genie in there?” “Of course.” Megan said sarcastically. “Oh wow. I just got a funny feeling. Look at my arm, I’ve got goosebumps.” “Me too.” Megan gave the lamp a small rub, and a purple, shimmery dust started coming out of the spout. She quickly stopped and set it down on an antiques desk. “Did you see that?” Megan whispered. Steph stared into Megan’s eyes and nodded in agreement. After a moments silence, “you have to buy it.” Said Steph. Megan agreed, and she looked around until she spotted a basket. “Here, use your sleeves and put it in this basket. Don’t touch the lamp.” Steph did. “Got it.” Their hearts nearly jumped out of their chests when the cashier handled the lamp, making comments that neither girl heard. When it was finally in the bag, they were both able to breathe again. On the drive to Megan’s apartment, they shared their ideas for wishes. Inside the apartment they carefully set the bag down. “I know,” said Megan, “use the oven mitts.” With the lamp on the dining room table, they walked around, taking in every detail. “So, who goes first?” Steph asked, full of excitement and fear. “I mean, I found it. But I’m also fricking terrified.” Megan gave out an awkward, nervous laugh. “Well, if there’s really a genie in there,” said Steph, “I bet we’d both get our own turn, so you go first.” Megan stood frozen. Then she took a step back, “no. I can’t. I feel weird. You go first.” “Are you su -” “Very sure.” Megan interrupted. Steph approached the lamp and carefully picked it up. “Here we go.” She rubbed the lamp. Nothing. She rubbed it harder, still nothing. She started to rub every inch then returned it to the table in frustration. Clearly upset Megan picked it up, “this is stupid. You saw what I saw. I can’t belie--” Then it happened, after Megan gave the lamp an angry rub. Purple smoke filled the room, sparkles floating all around. And from the smoke emerged a little, purple-skinned man, no more than a foot tall, with comically large ears and vivid yellow eyes. With a surprisingly deep, baritone voice, “you summoned me, Master?” The genie said. “Oh my god.” Was all Megan could muster. “Not quite ‘god’,” said the genie, “but close.” It gave a grin that took up half its face. “You’re real.” Said Megan. “But why didn’t you work for her?” And she gestured towards Steph. The genie looked at Steph, then back to Megan. “My only Master’s are of the ‘Original Five’, and their descendants. Seeing confusion in their faces, “The Original Five are my creators from long ago. They, and those in their bloodline, are the only ones able to summon me. And since you are obviously a descendant of one of them, I now grant you three wishes.” Megan couldn’t collect her thoughts and was in disbelief. Without thinking beyond wanting proof, she said, “I wish for a million dollars.” “As you wish.” Out of the same purple smoke came a mess of cash, crashing onto the table and cascading all over the floor. Megan and Steph were forced to take several steps back to avoid it. “What is this?” Megan asked. The genie replied, “you didn’t allow me to go over the rules. I shall start with this; be mindful of how you word your wish. What you see before you is a million dollars in ones.” “Two wishes remain.” The genie said. “A pity you didn’t ask for more money, and perhaps in larger denomination. I could have even put it into your bank account.” The genie gave a menacing little giggle. “Great,” said Steph, “this genie is a wiseass.” The genie looked up at Steph and grinned. Steph and Megan discussed their next wish. “Genie?” Megan asked. “Yes?” “Can Steph be involved in my wishes as well?” “If you word it correctly.” “Okay, here’s my wish, and I want to know if it will work for the both of us.” The genie nodded and waited. “I want us both to be able to travel together into any book story that we want. Does that make sense?” “It does. Now turn it into your wish, and I shall grant it.” “I wish for me and Steph to be able to enter into any book story that we want to.” “As you wish.” It was quiet. “Nothing happened.” Said Megan. “You will have to choose your story.” “Oh right.” Megan picked up the lamp, and the genie went back in. As she was doing that, Steph was at the bookshelf, scanning for their first adventure. “How about Harry Potter?” She asked. “I like that idea, but maybe later. I already have one in mind. But grab it just in case. The first book.” “Okay. I’m going to grab a couple others too.” They had ten books in a tote and Megan grabbed one more off the bookshelf. “Are you ready to have tea with the Mad Hatter?” Megan said with a smile. “Yes. How does it work?” Steph asked. “I don’t know.” “Maybe just start reading.” Megan flipped through the book, “here’s the tea party scene,” and she started to read out loud. More purple smoke filled around them, then they both started to spin faster and faster, until... They both looked at each other, then looked over at the table with the Hatter, Alice and the others. “It worked.” They both said in unison. They approached the tea party and were welcomed as if they were original characters from the book. After a wonderful time, Alice left so Megan and Steph grabbed another book from their tote. “I’ve never read this one.” Steph said as she held up The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Megan looked up from The Great Gatsby. “Oh that’s a great one. That could be interesting.” Steph opened the book and started reading out loud. Then came the purple smoke and off they went. “What did you do?” Megan said. “I’m sorry, I thought that only you had the power.” “Apparently not.” Megan said. “I did make the wish for both of us.” In the distance Megan saw two men leave a house, one of them noticeably stressed. “Steph? Where’s the lamp?” With terror in her eyes, “I thought you had it.” “No. It was right beside me. I didn’t expect you to read the book!” “Read Alice. Let’s go back and get it.” Suggested Steph “I don’t think we have the book either. I’ll look at our other books, maybe something can lead us back to Wonderland. While I’m looking, can you talk to those two guys over there? We may need a ride, very soon.” Megan said. Steph ran to the two men as Megan looked at the books. Steph returned before Megan finished looking at the books. “That was fast.” She said. “They were very distracted, but said everything is fine, there’s nothing to worry about.” “Of course they said that. Well it’s not fine.” Megan said. “I don’t see the problem. Besides, that goofy looking fellow said there’s no way he’ll let us go with without towels.” Despite her panicked state, Megan still chuckled. “It’s fine. We’ll read one of the other books and maybe we can find another copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland in their story.” Megan looked over and noticed that the two men were gone, and knew she had no time, so she grabbed a book at random, opened it and read. As the purple smoke dissipated, they took in their surroundings. Megan closed the book and read the title. She looked at Steph, “this book, really?” “I wasn’t thinking it though.” Stammered Steph. “But hey, we escaped those aliens or whatever.” “We escaped the destruction of the entire Earth, and barely. Let’s read and get out of here.” As Megan reached back into her tote, she heard yelling. “Right there. There they are!” “Run!” Yelled Megan. But it was too late. They were surrounded by a group of angry men, most of which were armed with farm tools and hatred. Behind the men were women, with fear and hatred on their faces. A man grabbed Megan’s tote, and the force knocked her to the ground. More men came and the girls were powerless against the mob. Once they were subdued, the onlookers finally had the courage to rant, ‘witch, witch, witch.’ “They came from nowhere.” A woman said. “Then suddenly they were there.” And she pointed to the road. “They came straight from the Devil!” Another yelled. Megan and Steph were brought to jail. They were in a cell with several other women. “Why can’t we just leave the story and go home?” Steph asked. “I don’t know.” Megan said, holding back tears. “But I have a theory.” “I think we’re both thinking the same thing.” “The wording of the wish.” Megan said. Steph nodded in agreement. “We only wished to enter books. We need to find a way back to Wonderland.” “I was thinking,” Megan said, “without our books, every time we read a story within a story we’ll only end up going further back in time. How will we ever get back to Wonderland?” “It’s been three days of trials and barely eating in this cell.” Said Steph. “We need to do something. What if we wrote our own story?” Steph asked. “Write on what? I bet women who write are witches too. Then we really have no chance.” Steph looked down in defeat. “Have you ever read The Crucible?” “Back in high school, but I don’t remember it.” “Same.” Replied Steph. “One thing I remember though, if we don’t get out, we won’t be burned alive. We’ll be hanged.” A couple other women in the cell cried out. Steph blushed, forgetting that as far as these book characters knew, they were just as alive as Megan and herself. “The only book I think we can get our hands on is the Bible.” Megan said. “But that’s not the greatest place to go either.” “At the very least, it could buy us more time.” “You’re right. We need a Bible.” Their trial wasn’t going well, and they knew they had little time before their execution. “I got it.” She said, as she pulled a Bible out and handed it to Megan “I was able to snatch it while everyone was yelling at the trial.” “Oh great.” Megan said. “Let’s do the New Testament.” “But will they speak English?” Steph asked. “I hope so. Since it’s a story I’m thinking everyone will speak the language it’s written in.” As Megan sifted through the pages, the women in the cell were only get louder and more frightened, knowing their time is up. They were screaming and crying, running around like rats on a sinking ship. “Hurry up!” Steph yelled from across the cell. The women had caused so much commotion that Steph had to barricade herself in the far corner. “Here it is.” Megan yelled over the women. “Loaves and fishes. Are you ready?” “What? Yeah, but read it loud!” Steph screamed over the women. Megan started to read, trying her best to yell over the women. She smiled as she felt that spinning and saw the purple smoke. She heard the women scream at the smoke, and then a loud ‘no’ from across the cell. Megan looked around. She was on a beach surrounded by a bunch of people. “Let’s find Jesus.” She looked through the crowd for Steph but couldn’t find her. “Steph!” Megan, Bible in hand, ran up a nearby dune and looked back in the crowd. “Steph!” She screamed with all her might. Megan could assume at this point that Steph was unable to hear Megan’s words over the women in the cell and was now destined to be hanged. Despite the logic of the situation, her heart refused to believe, so she continued to search. Megan sat away from the crowd with her head down, tears dripping into the sand. “Here, my child.” Said a strong voice from behind her. “Eat.” Megan looked up, and approaching from her right she saw a smiling man offering some food. “Jesus Christ.” She said. While still smiling and offering the food, “No. I am Jesus son of Joseph.” Despite everything, Megan was thankful to eat real food. She wasn’t fed well in The Crucible. As Jesus walked away, she called for him. He stopped and turned. “Jesus, I need your help.” He started to respond, but she interrupted. “I need a miracle.” Megan didn’t know where to start so she took out the Bible. “Here, look at this. It’s your story. That’s how I got here. My friend. And my lamp in the story.” Megan was babbling now. Jesus looked at her with compassionate eyes. “Come, help me deliver food to these men, women and children.” Megan was overflowing with intense negative emotion, but how can you say ‘no’ to that. Over time, perhaps several months, Megan read her way around the Bible. No one could help her. She was all out of ideas. All but one. She would go to God himself. The idea of reading Genesis terrified her, but she was desperate now. Megan never really put much thought into whether or not she believed in God, but she figured that the God in the book was as real as they come. She started to read about Adam and Eve. Megan entered the story and saw a naked woman approaching a tree. “Wow, this place is beautiful.” She said to herself. “Hey, you get out of here. I need to talk to that snake.” Eve looked at Megan and ran away in terror. “Hey, snake thing. I need your help.” The serpent approached Megan, a stoic expression on its face. “How can I assist?” Megan explained her entire story, and the serpent listened with great patience. “You forgot one important detail.” Said the serpent after Megan finished. “What detail?” “In the cell. Something your friend had said.” Megan thought. She struggled to focus. How could this snake know anything that I didn’t mention, was all she could think. “Read this passage, and you’ll know what to do.” Was all it said, then Megan was alone. A verse from the Bible came to mind, as if the thought was put there. As she looked for the passage, from behind her came a naked man, trying to look tough, but failing miserably. “Don’t worry dude, I’m leaving.” Megan then read the passage aloud and reappeared in a room with a man at a table full of scrolls and old writing utensils. “Of course.” She said. Write our own story. As odd as it was, Megan was allowed to write. She guessed that the man thought she was an angel. It took Megan weeks to write her story. She had to create a believable tale and come up with a way to bring her back to the lamp. She would undo all this chaos. She would even get her friend back. She wrote ‘the end’, then went back to the scroll with the tea party on it. She read aloud, hoping more than anything that somehow the lamp and genie would be there. Out of the purple smoke, she ran towards the tea party table. The whole gang was there. “Come and sit.” Said the Hatter. “We have more than enough room.” And he got up and took the chair from right under the white rabbit. The rabbit walked around the table to use one of the other, already empty chairs. Megan sat next to the Mad Hatter and looked around for the lamp but she couldn’t find it. “Have a cup of tea?” Asked the Hatter. “Yeah, whatever.” Megan said. Out from under the table, the Hatter took the lamp, and poured Megan’s tea from it. “That’s it!” She yelled. Her heart skipped a beat and she jumped from her chair in glee. She reached for it, but the Hatter was too fast and pulled the lamp away, spilling tea everywhere. “What’s the magic word?” He asked. “Please...?” She asked. The Mad Hatter looked at the dormouse, “How did she guess so fast?” Megan took the lamp and rubbed it right away, and thankfully the genie appeared. “You made it back.” The genie said. “I’m so glad you figured out my clue.” Megan thought for a moment. “You were the snake?” The genie grinned his grin. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you help me?” “I like my fun.” The genie replied. “Besides, The Original Five had yet to imprison me in my lamp, so I could not help.” “That’s stupid. Whatever. I need to get out of here. I have one wish left, and I need to word it right.” Behind her she heard men marching. She looked and saw the Queen of Hearts’ card soldiers coming her way, and she was in no mood to be captured and beheaded. Not today. She quickly made her last wish, “I wish that we never found you that day.” “As you wish.” And as the purple smoke filled around her, the genie said, “It amuses me. Your last wish is the same, every time.” “Wait, wha--” “Sorry I’ve been blowing you off for so long, this place is great.” “Oh, a pretty lamp...” “...I just got a funny feeling. Look at my arm, I’ve got goosebumps.”


From his kitchen window Jack watched clouds collide with the mountain, their shadow robbing the town of color. For the first time in his life he looked to the sky for entertainment. He grew up in Hell's Kitchen where there was no sky. It was buried, painted over with valleys of concrete and steel. Now, from his new cabin home he watched clouds dance with mountains. He'd only been there two weeks but he was already known around town. The retired cop from New York. He went to Ginger's Diner every day for breakfast. He looked forward to another day on his front porch reading a book about the Cold War. The collision of clouds and mountain was so dramatic it seemed odd there no sound. It was quiet. So quiet that small sounds traveled far. A car door slam could be heard a mile away. He stared at the neighbor’s home down the hill. It had been still for weeks. They’d moved to Austin, Texas where everyone was moving. He’d noticed a Suburban SUV with New Jersey plates parked in the driveway. This raised an eyebrow. “People from New Jersey don’t understand quiet,” He said to himself. At 1pm a moving truck arrived. There were now 2 SUVs one with two kids and a poodle. “Fuck,” he whispered to himself. On the second SUV he could see a small sticker but couldn’t make it out. He got his binoculars. After some adjustments to focus it was clear. It was an Italian flag. His new neighbors in this oasis of quiet contemplation were Italian Americans from New Jersey, perhaps the most unquiet people on earth. This he knew because his ex-wife was an Italian from New Jersey. The barking began at 7pm and did not stop. It was constant. The dog barked at everything and at times barked at nothing. “Can a dog lose it’s voice?” he wondered/hoped. He looked up “dog laryngitis” on Google. He had bigger problems. They had some workers come out to set up a trampoline. Kids, a dog and a trampoline. “Have kids ever quietly enjoyed a trampoline? Of course not,” He figured. It would be louder than Manhattan. He had that feeling he’d get when he wanted to hide but knew he should charge forward, to confront these obstacles to peace. So, he drove down to meet his neighbors to assess the situation. Mrs. Cielo answered the door and invited him into the house where kids and a poodle ran around moving boxes and shot each other with Nerf guns. They sat down for a glass of lemonade. She was a music history teacher who had taken a job at the community College. Her name was Flora and she was beautiful. She said her husband was taking a nap. They talked about New York and this new town that was near to perfect in her mind. She was done with suburbia and her husband’s work allowed them a new start in the desert. In their chat he noticed some walls. Some fortified areas of vagueness. She was hiding something but he couldn’t figure out what. Her napping husband sounded like a mystery person, maybe even a mystery to her. Her description of him was like the often cloud covered town...without color. The desert quiet he grew to know and love was all over now but he supposed he’d get used to it. But who were these people...something was familiar? They probably reminded him of home, the personalities, the affect. “No.” a voice said. A voice he hadn’t heard since he was walking by a bank closed in the middle of the day in Brooklyn a year before. Something was off the voice told him. As he was walking out the front door of the Cielo home he saw something...someone. Among the pile of unopened boxes, one was open. Framed family pictures from trips and home. He got a look at the husband. It was a face familiar. A face from the world of La Cosa Nostra, he was sure of it. It took twenty minutes of browsing mafia family case files online when it hit him. He’s “The sheep.” Giancarlo de Roccia, famous in Brooklyn. Known as the “white sheep” of the de Roccia crime family. No one really believed it but he was the only male member of the de Roccia family, who was legit. The Feds had followed him for years, convinced his appearance of legitimacy was a disguise that concealed a bigger and wider criminal enterprise. They found nothing. He owned 3 dry cleaners in Brooklyn and 1 in Manhattan. No ties to drugs, racketeering or money laundering. Jack wondered what he was doing there in the desert. A dry cleaners in Taos? Maybe. He didn’t really care. Maybe Flora became elusive in their chat because he mentioned he was a former New York cop. Maybe she was embarrassed about marrying into a family that had been in gang wars since the 60s. He didn’t think she should be embarrassed, it could happen to anybody. They changed their name and moved west, an American thing to do. That night and for every night following the barking poodle was brought in to the house at 6. The yelling kids also disappeared at the same time. Under the moon and stars the desert looked blue. Jack listened to the night from his porch. “I wonder if the Cielos hear the coyotes yelping and wailing in the blue desert. They were a long way from the Jersey Turnpike.” Breakfast at Ginger’s was always a treat. There were regulars. Ranchers, some police, the owners of some shops in town and a collection of artists and academics from the college. From his usual booth he saw de Roccia walk in. de Roccia scanned the restaurant like he was looking for someone. He walked towards Jack. “I think I’m your neighbor.” He said with a smile. He put out his hand, “I’m Mike Cielo.” After a handshake Jack asked Cielo to join him. Surprisingly he obliged and sat down. He may not be a gangster, Jack thought but he wore the same look. A smile that looked warm but leaves you cold like there’s no one really there, behind the smile. His presence made the temperature drop in the room a couple degrees. They were getting some looks, mainly because Cielo/de Roccia was dressed like a mobster, an Adidas track suit and gold chain. “I had a great chat with your wife yesterday, while you were napping. Great to have a young family in the neighborhood.” He lied as best he could. Cielo grinned but seemed to be waiting for more. He was using silence to get more from Jack. This was something Jack would do when interrogating a suspect. He decided to play along instead of unwittingly entering into a staring contest. “So, Flora said you moved here for work. What kind of work?” “I don’t know...probably open a dry cleaners. It’s all I know how to do. More professional people are moving to the area and I think coyotes ate my fucking dog last night.” Jack felt like he had been pistol whipped. “Jesus, the poodle?” “Yeah,” Cielo said in a cold whisper. “People must drive twenty minutes to Taos to get their dry cleaning. If I can get the apparatus and equipment installed at a reasonable price I’ll definitely do it.” Jack hadn’t talked with someone this nuts in awhile, he was trying to get his footing. The only people who were this particular type of crazy were contract killers and members of the NYPD Bomb Squad. “What do you think?” Cielo asked. Jack thought for a second, “Well, you wouldn’t have any competition-“ “No, about the coyotes. You think there’s a lot of them?” “Well, yeah they’re out there. Maybe get a full grown German Shepherd. And see if you can get used dry cleaning equipment from a place that shut down around here.” Cielo looked Jack in the eyes. There was a long pause followed by a glance around the restaurant. “Flora said you’re NYPD. I want you to know that world isn’t me. My family back east aren’t here. Not at all.” Jack looked confused but wasn’t. “Ok,” he said with a slight smile. To Jack, Cielo seemed as sincere as a sociopath could be. Cielo seemed to relax a little. Jack decided Cielo was okay, nuts, but okay. He dressed, talked and walked like a Soprano but all he talked about was the dry cleaning industry. He was kind of a nerd in that way. “The killer is in there,” Jack imagined. “It’s dormant but there, in the DNA, the hundreds of years of Sicilians killing each other over vendettas and goats.” But, so far as he could tell this guy just wanted to make a killing cleaning and starching dress shirts with some suit alterations offered as well. There was a house down the street from Jack that was used as an airbnb. Most of the time it was empty but occasionally some people would stay for a week. Over Christmas time there were 12 college aged guys that stayed there. They were loud. Shooting guns, blasting music and being complete assholes in general. Jack walked over to tell them to shut up but they wouldn’t answer the door. Now, in March for their Spring Break they had returned. This time they had dirt bikes and golf carts that increased the scope of their awfulness. They were skeet shooting off of the back deck, shots too close to the Cielo home. “Those fucking bastards.” Thought Jack. Flora Cielo called. She told Jack that she was going to bring the boys some snacks and tell them that they were shooting at her home and must please stop. It didn’t go well. Jack was standing in his driveway when Flora was walking back home. She was visibly shaken. “Flora...what did they do?” Flora could barely speak, she managed to say, “Those boys are not gentlemen.” She kept walking down the hill to her home. Jack decided he might have to kill a bunch of college kids. An hour later, a text from Cielo. Jack, those college shitheads said some things to my wife. Not good things. I’ll go see them tomorrow.” “Do you want me to go with you?” Jack asked. “No.” Cielo replied. At approximately 3pm the day after the college boys verbally harassed Flora Cielo, Mike Cielo paid the home a visit. He had with him a small box. The box was a New York Yankees baseball box. A present for them. After ringing the doorbell and waiting, the boys inside did not answer. So, he left the box with a note attached. Within a half hour all 5 carloads of young men left speedily out of the desert community. The Cielo family left for Breckenridge for the week that night. Jack called Mike Cielo that night, “I gotta know. What did you say to them?” Cielo told Jack that he didn’t say anything to them. “When the coyote ate our poodle Genie I found her head just outside the fence, so I saved it and put it in the freezer.” “Sweet Christ,” thought Jack. Cielo said he simply left a small box containing the severed head of Genie with a note that said, “The desert is big and you are a long way from home.” Hearing this, Jack was delighted, amused and horrified. “What’s the matter you, you damn psycho, you couldn’t get a horse head to put in their bed?” He asked. A reference to The Godfather. After a long pause Cielo replied, “No...that would be crazy. Genie did good...she made them disappear,” said Cielo with no hint of a laugh. “Jack, can you do me a favor?” asked Cielo. “Sure, Mike. What you need?” “Jack...I need you to get the head for me. It’s in that house somewhere, I doubt those idiots took it and I don’t want the owner to find it.” Jack stared at the phone. “Uhh, you want me to get the dog head?” Jack asked. He looked out the window at the airbnb house and tried to calculate how long it would take to recover the tiny head of a poodle. “Jack...I’m just kidding, I’ve got the head, I’ll see you next week.” With the college kids gone for good and the Cielos in Colorado, the quiet returned. Jack imagined it always does. When the party ends, the thunderstorm moves on, or a coyote’s howls grow more feint and disappear into the blue of night, the desert is quiet and still.


I lay there in my crown of flowers, the purple velvet coat soft under my body. The silver beads in the sleeveless bodice of my ivory dress twinkled in the sun as the tulle skirt fluttered in the breeze. My handsome prince stood above me. He, with his ivory skin, sky blue eyes, and blond hair, slowly leaned down. This was the magic moment, our first kiss. And just as our lips were about to touch, he started poking my shoulder. Huh? I thought. Then I woke up. My eyes opened and I saw the poking perpetrator. My friend, Jason, was sitting beside me laughing. I sat up, annoyance on my face but embarrassment flooding my cheeks. “What were you dreaming about?” he asked, still chuckling. “Shut up!” was all I would say. Golden warm beams of sunlight shone through the giant oak tree leaves. The cool summer breeze blew through my long curly ginger hair as I picked leaves out. I swatted at a mosquito that landed on my bare freckled leg. Ripped jean shorts and a loose tank top with my bikini under had been my ensemble of choice during this summer. I may have dreamed of being a princess in a fairy tale, but I was just a naive country girl. Being as I was 18, I was set to begin college and get a proper education, my parents’ hope. My desire, however, was to get married and have kids but my parents would have none of it. Alas, these last two months at home would be bittersweet. I looked at Jason as he set up his fishing pole next to mine. Nothing was biting that day, as was the norm. I didn’t go for the actual fishing. I went to hang out with my friends. With both Maggie and Alex already gone to their respective universities, it left me and Jason. He brought Anna once or twice in the beginning this season, a friend of his family’s, but usually she was working when we all hung out. How I missed Maggie and Alex, but especially Maggie, my best friend. Still, I was thankful to at least have Jason to hang out with during the last couple of months. As I sat staring while he baited his hook, I noticed how though he was not my type, I was feeling... attracted to him? No, being half asleep must have been causing this delusion. But... his dark tanned skin glistened in the sun, his thick onyx hair cut short, and matching eyes serious as he concentrated on the hook. He wore a light-weight gray t-shirt and cut-off jeans. Noticing his strong neck and veiny hands brought a mysterious tingle into my body. Ew, what am I doing?! I admonished myself as I continued gawking. As if sensing my stare, he looked directly at me. His eyes met mine and I looked away quickly. Because why not make it more embarrassing for myself? He smiled mischievously but then, choosing to ignore the awkwardness, he began chit-chatting about college and the future and we settled into a pleasant state. The lazy late afternoon slowly transformed into dusk as shades of lemon, cherry, and tangerine radiated through the oak leaves. The sunset came and went, revealing the abundance of stars in the sky above. The cicadas sang their song as the full moon casted its gleam on the riverbank where we sat. “I’m going to miss these nights” I said with a sigh, looking up at the twinkling sky. “Anything else you’re gonna miss?” he replied, impishly. I looked over at him smiling slyly. “What do you mean?” I asked as my heart started beating a little faster. With that same wily smile, he moved closer. “Anything, or anyone, else you’re gonna miss?” I looked at him, wide eyed and unable to say anything. Bashful, with that same mysterious tingling sensation throughout my body, I made myself meet his dark deep eyes. Without realizing how or when it happened, we were even closer, so much so that I could feel the heat radiating from him. And before I could make sense of it, we were kissing. Passionately. We fell into one another, clothing cascaded away from our bare bodies. My skin feeling the cool of the grass and the fever of his hands. The music of crickets and the sparkle of fireflies swirled all around. The night more magical than my dreams could ever hope to be. Our serendipitous encounter started a nonstop romance for the next six weeks. Except Saturdays and Sundays, which I assumed were for his family time. I steered clear of bringing him home due to my strict mom and dad, as well as my two younger brothers being there. My parents expected me to remain a virgin until I get married. Hah, that’s out the window now! I giggled to myself. Jason did not take me to his place either. With him being only 6 months older, I surmised the discretion was for the same reason (his parents as well as with Anna staying there). Mine and his gatherings always took place on the same part of the riverbank. We would meet in the late afternoon, as we had in summers past, as friends hanging out. But those nights ended very differently, with fire and enchantment, before heading home in the wee morning hours. It was the fairy tale I had been dreaming of. One Sunday morning, I went upstairs to my room to get dressed when, suddenly feeling nauseous, I darted to the adjacent bathroom. There before me, mostly in the porcelain bowl, was the breakfast I just had with the family. Ew, gross, I thought as I began cleaning up. Bacon and eggs were normally my favorite. Weird. As I grabbed a roll of paper towels from the little cabinet beneath the sink, a tampon box fell and projected the cylinder wrapped products around the bathroom floor. Get it together, will ya?! I scolded myself as collected the scattered tampons. Then I stopped, realization hitting me like a ton of bricks. Scrambling to my feet and stumbling to the puppy themed wall calendar over the cabinet, my fears were confirmed. It had been eight weeks. I’m late, I registered nervously. I could hear my heart hammering in my head and my stomach turned as the room began to spin. I dropped the few tampons I had in my hand and rushed back to the toilet. Moments later, I laid on the cold bathroom tile, contemplating. What am I going to do? I stayed there for a while. As I ruminated though, I was surprised to find my panic was slowly transforming into excitement. Oh my God, I’m going to be a mom? I wondered in amazement. I needed to be sure. I timidly stood up and quietly opened the bathroom door to listen. My brothers must have been outside playing as the only sound came from my parents who remained downstairs chatting with one another. Not sure how long the opportunity would last, I snuck into my parents’ room nearby and rummaged through my mother’s things. Amidst her own tampons, pads, and other items I wish I could forget, I found a pregnancy test. Thank God! I skittered back to the bathroom and waited the longest three minutes of my life. *** I felt euphoric. I’m going to have a baby, I envisioned pensively. Not just any baby, but a baby with one of my best friends... Oh crap, Jason! I wanted to tell him right away so we could start planning. After splashing water on my face and brushing my teeth, I changed out of my normal summer attire. I chose a mid-length floral sundress, bare shoulders, hair down. Looking into the bathroom mirror, I approved of the princess that that was in the reflection. Instead of waiting until tomorrow when I would see him at the river, I decided to tell him right away. I would walk to his house as it was only a mile down the road and surprise him. I could see it in my head: He will run to me, and I will tell him. He will pick me up and twirl me around as we laugh and cry tears of joy. College-schmollege, my life was turning into a romantic comedy! I made it there in about 15 minutes. The pale-yellow two-story home sat quietly at the end of a little walkway made up of concrete squares. Vibrant green oak trees surrounded the property. Do the birds always sing so beautifully? I wondered as I floated to the front door. Nervous, I hesitated for a brief second before knocking on the white wood entrance. I held my breath as the door opened. There Jason stood, the father of my baby, never looking more handsome. I giggled at the surprise on his face. “Surprise!” I tittered. “Oh, hey...” he half laughed, and we hugged awkwardly. “Do you have a second?” I asked, so giddy I thought I was going to jump out of my skin. “Well, just a second, I was about to head out...” he seemed uncomfortable. I could tell this didn’t seem like the right time, but I just couldn’t wait. “I’m pregnant!” I whispered shrilly, putting my hands up in a prayer position in front of my smile. My sage eyes dazzled as I looked into his, widening like saucers, mouth hung opened. As I waited for him to say something, anything, I slowly saw my vision fading away. Instead of picking me up, he stood still in shock. Rather than twirling me, Anna’s smiling face came up behind him, waving to me. Jason and I couldn’t laugh together because she put her arms around him and lovingly kissed him in a familiar way. Tears did fall, my tears. Not of joy, but of dismay as I bolted from that house. My floral dress and ginger curls flowed after me as my fairy tale came crashing down.


“I died once. In the sand. The sun blistering down on me and burning my flesh away to nothing for days and days, while I wandered the wasteland without end. I remember great sadness, knowing the way home but never taking it. Far too lost inside of myself to care where my prison of flesh wandered.” His deep, flawless voice whispered into her ear, intimate as anything else in this world. “You asked me ‘what happens after death? Where I go?’ I cannot tell you. Not because it would bring you to fear, but because it would answer so very much. They are not my answers to give.” “Why... are you here if not to give answers?” The soft, paper-thin voice asked, laced with fear and perhaps more confusion than he wished to leave her with. “Will I become like you?” “No, my sweet. I promise you. The next step on your journey shall be as intended.” He whispers, softly running his thumb down her knobby spine. She was so frail, so very frail for a woman in her thirties. Cancer was a horror that even his scarred heart took pity on. “Would you like to hear my story? I’ve only told a few sweet souls. Perhaps it will put you at ease, relax your final moments in the wander that is time?” His lips softly pressed against her temple, feeling her pulse against them softly. She had time for a story, at least there was time for that. “Please... “ She started but stopped as a cough racked her form, blood mixed with spittle peppering his cheek and white coat. “I’m so sorry.” She finally says after the fit of coughing is finished. Her heart is beating faster now, costing her precious moments of peace and causing her great pain. He wills her heart to slow down, a trick he learned after his second century of new life. The relaxation was palpable, nearly putting the poor woman to sleep but he pulled back just before she could drift off. “No, my sweet. I am sorry. I am sorry that more cannot be done for you.” He continues his soft whisper. “I shall tell you my story, relax into me, and trust that no more pain will come. By the end of my tale, you will be at peace. This... I can promise you.” He says pulling the woman into his lap fully, the hospital gown falling away and leaving her small form completely nude. He preferred it this way, to take them in the same way they arrived. He believed it made the passing easier, to accept them without horror or revulsion. One final acceptance, even appreciating their beauty and willing them to see themselves at their peak. It was a simple trick, to bring back their old memories, those brightest lights. For this one, it was her high school prom. She wore a black dress, a strappy thing and despite her date choosing another woman at the last minute, his sweet victim knew she was ravishing. Oh, the heads she turned that night. “I do not remember everything, of course. So many things are lost to time and I wouldn’t be able to describe them even if I did remember. However, I remember waking up in the desert. A coyote desperately pulling at my flesh, silly little thing was starving. So was I. We fought for a moment, maybe longer and maybe there wasn’t a fight at all... but eventually it was only me in the desert alone. For a long while, I wandered in the night and buried myself in the day, letting the beautiful sand dunes keep me safe from the brutality of the sun.” His whisper slowly faded away and he trailed his lips down the poor woman’s neck. “I remember staying with some Bedouins, although I do not know if that’s what they were called at the time. They took me in, cared for me as if I were one of their own. We watched over each other for so very long. Generations of their families protected me during the day, carrying my body with them on their journey without fear of the sun. Wrapped in their tents, I made for very little extra inconvenience. So many times I protected them from bandits, riders coming to steal whatever they could. Occasionally we would wander too close to a sacred sight from some obscure religion and their followers would come in the night. I would also ease their elders into a final sleep. As I’m doing for you sweet one.” His lips parted and he sunk his fangs lightly into her paper-thin skin. Now, he was able to show her his memories. Continuing the story where his voice had fallen off. She would notice no difference, not when he’d been buried so deeply in her mind already. The poor frail thing that it was. He showed her images, of the group of Bedouins joining An-Nasir Salah Ad-Din Yusuf Ibn Ayyub and enlisting to fight with him against the emergent Christian invaders. He remembered the betrayal, the feeling of loss when the group was forced to brand him a monster, and the vengeance he took on every human lost in the dark for years to come. Harassing the armies of both sides in the conflict and occasionally picking a side in a battle, fought at night with something similar to the random flip of a coin. Oh, how the blood flowed like water in those days. It was so very cathartic to see their bodies strewn in the desert, dried out of all moisture. He knew now that history remembered those fallen as having been lost and running out of water. Conveniently omitting the grisly sight of their carnage and positing instead that animals had gotten to their corpses. He sighed inwardly, feeling the poor girl’s heart begin its final soft beats, he hadn’t even gotten to England yet in his story. Ah, it couldn’t be helped. Her slowing heart rate gave him very little time. Instead of finishing his story, or even giving her his name, he instead brought the images of her parents. Smiling at the birth of their daughter, proud beyond reason. It was a memory almost no humans would see, but he thought it poetic to give them a final look at the beginning of their lives. Envelop them in the pure and unbroken love of their parents as he took them quietly home for the final time. When her heart monitor started beeping, he knew it was over. Silent tears flew down his cheeks and he lay the poor nude woman back in the bed. Covering her up and composing her in what he hoped was a peaceful appearance. The final touch was of course, for the family of the deceased. He’d been doing this for so very long that he had forgotten more than he remembered now. Wiping the blood from his lips on the sleeve of his white coat, he closed the woman’s eyes and bowed to her. A sign of deep respect for one that had given so much to him. He left her room, heading up the stairs and out into the night air. He left the white, bloodstained coat floating quietly to the street below. He didn’t even know where he was anymore, a ghost floating from place to place without truly remembering. He remembered what had happened as if they were another person’s memories. His own were lost to him, and the only joy left in his life was to ease the suffering of those soft humans who truly earned none of it.


Hallvar sat in his office, browsing the police file of suspects and cursing his brain for not remembering anything regarding the incident. The doctors told him the blow to his head was severe - it gave him a concussion, after all - and that it might take time for his memory to come back. If it did at all. “Hall?” Without turning his eyes from the computer screen, he waved a hand. “Come in, Sigfride.” His assistant walked into the office, placing a hand on Hallvar’s shoulder. “How are you?” “Still can’t remember anything,” he said, scanning the faces of every known criminal in Norway. He recognized a few of them, having captured them himself, but none rang a bell as to whom might have killed two of his friends and placed one in a coma. “He’s got to be here somewhere...” “Hall, you should rest,” Sigfride said, placing a cup on his desk. Steam rose from it, spreading an invigorating scent of coffee. “We are looking into every possible avenue.” “I have to regain my memory,” he said, scrolling further. He had to. It was the only way. He must have seen the killer, just before the hit on the head knocked him out cold. His mind held the only real evidence they had. The only evidence to help turn suspicion off of Hallvar himself. Sigfride sighed and retracted her hand. “We talked to Olaf, the studio owner, again. He said he left the place early that evening and didn’t see anyone but you and your friends coming in. Nobody else was scheduled for practice either. The single security camera caught no one else entering the building.” “That camera’s position is awkward,” Hallvar said, rubbing his eyes. He hadn’t slept in a day. He didn’t like what sleep brought. “The killer could have entered through the back or by the window. Did Olaf tell you about his back door? How he’s too cheap to have it repaired? Anyone could enter...” In fact, could the man himself be responsible? He did complain often about the noise of Hallvar and his band playing. Even though they paid to rent his studio for practice. “Hall, I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you. I know how close you were with them, how much music meant to you. I hope that Bjarke makes it. And I hope you get some rest.” Hallvar sighed and listened to Sigfride’s footsteps leaving the office. The cup of coffee rested on the desk, smelling heavenly. He turned to say thank you, but his assistant was gone. Instead, he noticed the pictures on the office walls. His formal detective license, a photo with the whole police department for Christmas two years ago, and a framed picture of him and his three friends playing live at a local festival. Two of them were dead now, one in a coma, the result of some lunatic bursting into the studio, and killing everybody. Hallvar himself survived by sheer luck, it would seem. I’ll find out who did this , he thought, turning back to the screen, and no law or moral code can save them from me when I do . He spent the rest of the night searching through the files, as well as his memory, both seemingly void of the information he sought. Eventually, sleep caught up with Hallvar. And with it, came the nightmare. Each night since the incident, he had been having roughly the same dream. It was almost as if his mind was trying to tell him through dreams what he couldn’t remember consciously. Hallvar got to relive the murder of his friends every night for the past two weeks. He got to see every bloody detail, but never the killer’s face. That detail always eluded him. And with each dream, he thought he was getting closer to the truth. Each time the nightmare would reveal a bit more of what happened. That was if his mind wasn’t just making everything up out of trauma. In the dream, he was often in the killer’s shoes, after all. But he could never see his face. This night, the dream started as usual. Right in the middle of it and from the point of view of the killer. Hallvar saw himself - as the murderer- picking up his guitar and crushing his friend’s head with it. They were in the middle of practice and were stunned at the sudden outburst of violence by the intruding killer. Before anyone could react, Hallvar smashed the heads of all three of his band colleagues with his own guitar. Then the dream shifted, where he could see outside from himself, how he got hit on the head too by a figure without a face. The prosecutor then ran away, and when Hallvar wanted to follow, the figure disappeared into the shadows. Hallvar woke up, sweating and breathing heavily. He looked around and noticed he had fallen asleep in his office. The place was dark, no light coming from the hallway - everyone must have left already. He grabbed a pen and paper and wrote down everything he could remember from the dream, recording every detail. The drawer by his desk was filled with accounts from his dream and he used them to correlate the event, searching for consistent patterns and hints. As incredible as it seemed, his dreams were the only clues he had - but he couldn’t share them with his colleagues. They would never take it seriously. “The killer used my guitar,” Hallvar murmured, comparing tonight’s dream with the others. “But the last thing I remember was playing on my guitar. Then, nothing. So whoever did it, I must have trusted them, to let them have my guitar...” The evidence found at the crime scene clearly pointed at Hallvar’s guitar as the murder weapon. It had blood and tissue of all four of them on its body, all found on one side, suggesting that the killer used it as a club to repeatedly strike at each one. The guitar’s body was solid steel and hard plastic, and it cracked under the brutal hits but did not break apart, surprisingly. So the killer must have known how strong the instrument was, so he could perform precise strike with it and not have it break in the middle of his assault - that would create an opening for the others to defend themselves. The only person that Hallvar would entrust his instrument to, and who would know so much about it, other than his band friends, was Olaf himself. The studio owner. Hallvar even once took lessons from the man, who showed him a few tricks on the guitar from his hay day as a roadie. It wasn’t rational to think that Bjarke would take the guitar, kill the other two, attempt to kill Hallvar, and then knock himself out - how would he do that? And it was just as absurd to think that Hallvar himself did it, as was the unspoken suspicion. How would he swing the guitar at himself, knocking himself out with it? The angles didn’t match. But the blood and the concussion did. Somebody else must have been present there that night and the more Hallvar thought about it, the more he suspected Olaf. The studio was his. He had access to the camera, the band knew and trusted him. He did complain about the noise. But was that reason enough to attempt a quadruple homicide? Or was there something else, a form of jealousy against Hallvar and the band? Olaf did say that he never had a chance to be in a band, but that it was his greatest wish... Hallvar checked the clock. It was something past three A.M. He considered, looking at the photo of him and his friends. Then, he left his office. Olaf’s house was next to his studio - it was part of the same building complex, just on the other side, so the owner had privacy as well as quick access to the place. Hallvar sat in his car, parked outside the man’s house. There was a light turned on inside. Olaf was the one that found us, Hallvar thought. He came into the studio and called the police. In the report, the man said he had heard shouts and how the music suddenly stopped, so he had gone to check. The more Hallvar considered the more sense it made. The man pretended to have stumbled upon the murder scene, to have an alibi. Hallvar waited in his car, considering whether he should confront the man. Considering, if he could even do it. As he waited outside of Olaf’s house, the pain in his head from the blow returned. Hallvar took some painkillers and watched the window, wanting to catch Olaf in some act that would rat him out. In a whirlwind of thoughts and with a headache pounding, Hallvar must have fallen in a pill-induced sleep, as suddenly his mind was back at the incident. This time, he saw more of it. “That sounds terrible, Hall,” Bjarke said, grimacing on the drums. “Are you sure you can play the guitar, mate?” Hallvar ignored the remark and focused on playing the solo. They were working on a new song and it was a pain to get it right. “Sounds to me like he’s butchering somebody,” Demas, the bassist commented. “Must be the stress at work, I reckon?” They laughed, typical guy-talk. Hallvar tried his best but failed. His fingers were just too slow, the solo too technical and complex. His mind was sluggish, indeed from stress at work. There was a dangerous killer on the loose and they had finally gotten a lead. Hallvar just wanted to relax and let go for a few hours with his buddies. But all he could think of was the brutality of the recent murders. “Hey, we’re going to get something to eat,” Bjarke said. “You want something, Hall?” “No,” Hallvar said. “I’m good.” He just wanted to get the damn solo right. “Alright, then,” Bjarke said. “But don’t you try and steal my rolls when we come back!” They left. Hallvar kept practicing. Then, Olaf entered the studio. “Hey, mate,” the older man said, wearing his long grey hair in a tail. “Sound like you’re having some trouble.” “Yeah,” Hallvar said. “I can’t do this transition here. It’s too fast for me.” Hallvar showed what he meant, by playing the part at half-speed. Olaf nodded. “I see. Can I try?” “Sure,” Hallvar sighed. He handed the man his guitar. “Knock yourself out.” “I’ll knock you out, with my veteran skill,” the man said and took the guitar. The dream then changed to Hallvar being in the killer’s shoes and butchering everybody, until seeing himself in third person again, being hit by some man with no face. Hallvar ran after the man and this time, he caught him in a corner. The man had long hair... Hallvar jolted awake. He was sitting in his car, parked outside of Olaf’s home. The light in the house had turned off. It’s him, he thought, breathing heavily. He did it. Hallvar got out of the car and walked to the studio entrance. He had the key as he and his friends were regulars. It was the little hours of the morning and there was nobody outside, not even a stray dog. Hallvar unlocked the door and removed the police tape, entering the crime scene. He knew that the studio and Olaf’s house were connected by a passage, for practicality. Hallvar used the light on his phone to make his way through the dark interior. If it really was you, Olaf... Hallvar hurried through the passage, entering the man’s living quarters. He’d been there once or twice when Olaf invited them over for a drink. Building his alibi. Plotting, even then. Hallvar crossed the living room and climbed the stairs to the man’s bedroom. He didn’t think of what his plan was, he just wanted to have a look at the man, to see his murderous face. As he came to the bedroom, where he saw the light coming before, Hallvar paused. He heard weeping from inside. His heart pounded like a drum and he burst into the room. “Feeling guilt for what you did?” The man, lying under the blankets, jumped up in shock. Hallvar turned on the light and noticed he had taken out his gun on instinct. Olaf gazed at him with wide eyes, red, as if from crying. “What...” “Don’t deny it, you did it,” Hallvar shouted, his hand trembling. “I saw you, it was you!” The man’s face was twisted in a mixture of shock and fear. “What are you talking about?” “I saw you in my dream,” Hallvar said. “You took my guitar and-” The man was crying. There were candles placed on his window sill, alongside pictures of Hallvar and his friends. The two that had been killed had a rosary around them. He was... grieving? “What’s all this?” Hallvar asked, pointing at the pictures. “They were my friends too,” Olaf said. “Your band reminded me of when I was young...” His gaze focused on the gun in Hallvar’s hands. “You think I did it.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. One in which Hallvar wasn’t so sure anymore. “I-” he looked into the man’s eyes and saw sadness underneath all the shock. And betrayal. “I can’t prove it, Hall,” Olaf said, sniffing. “But by God, I’m not the man you should be pointing that gun at.” “Who then?” Hallvar shouted. “Who did it? Who killed my friends and nearly killed me?” He pointed the gun at the man’s head. Olaf began weeping. “The guitar was in your hands when I found you...” “Yes, the killer wanted to confuse the forensics by framing one of us.” “No one else came or left the studio, Hall.” “What are you saying?” Olaf glanced at the gun again, then at Hallvar. “Are you here to kill me too?” Hallvar balked. Olaf pissed himself, a dark spot appearing on the bedsheets. The man was genuinely afraid of him. Hallvar suddenly felt deep shame and he lowered the gun, running out of the room, and out of the house. No, it can’t be , he thought. If Olaf didn’t do it, who then? He started the car and drove back home, where he took a bottle of scotch and began drinking. He demanded from his mind to remember all of it, to remember things clearly, without dreams and illusions. His head began hurting but he didn’t take the pills; they would only distract his mind. Hallvar emptied the bottle and paced around his room until he collapsed in a corner and wept for his friends. Once again, sleep took over, his body and mind exhausted. This time, the dream picked off as his friends returned with the food. “Where have you been?” Hallvar asked. They were gone for nearly two hours. Bjarke giggled like a schoolgirl. “We went to get food.” They all had red faces and were snickering like teenagers. “Have you been smoking weed?” “Um, nooo,” Demas said. They snickered some more. Hallvar sighed. “We were supposed to practice tonight.” “You should chill, detective,” Oyolf, their lead singer said. “You can’t play that guitar anyway.” He turned to the other two. “Hey, maybe we should cut his hair. If he can’t play, then he’s not a true metal fan and shouldn’t have long hair.” The three laughed, obviously talking gibberish. But Hallvar, being frustrated by his stressful job, having to deal with murderers and psychopaths all day long, just wanted to lose himself in the music with his friends. But for some reason couldn’t get the creative juices flowing, and had enough. Something snapped. He grabbed his guitar and began playing. The guys turned to him. “Whoa, look at Hall. He’s on fire!” Hallvar played the solo with fury. He struck every note on the spot. “Yeah, man, that’s the thing!” Then he came to the hard part. He followed Olaf’s instructions and sailed through it, racing to the finale. “Seems Hall’s been practicing while we were smoking!” Hallvar’s muscles tensed as he got to where he always failed. He struck the notes one by one, the pick flying over the strings, but his fury was too much. He broke a string. And the guys giggled. Hallvar smacked Bjarke straight in his laughing face with the guitar. The man fell over, like a chopped log. Then, he hit Demas, who was too stoned to register what was going on. Hallvar repeatedly hit the man’s head until it cracked and the guitar strings vibrated from the impact, playing a sinister echo. Oylof wanted to run away, but Hallvar chopped him down by hitting his side first and then smashing the man’s head. Breathing heavily, feeling all his frustration boiling in him, Hallvar screamed and headbanged into the guitar’s body repeatedly, until he collapsed to the floor, unconscious. The dream shifted outside himself and he could see Olaf stumbling upon the aftermath, mortified. Hallvar jumped up on his feet as the doorbell rang. His fists were clenched as though he still held the guitar and he breathed heavily, confused. He was at home. He just woke up from a dream. Someone was at the door. Did I really kill them? Hallvar ran a hand through his sweaty hair and walked to the door. He took one deep breath and opened it. It was Sigfride with two other officers by her side, Hallvar’s colleagues. “Hall?” she said, her voice painful. “Yeah?” he groaned. “Bjarke woke up. We have some questions.”


My eyes fly open. Where am I? I look around and find myself in a strange room. Smooth walls, floor, and ceiling, all made of cement. Fluorescent lights irritate my eyes. There is a white cot in one corner of the room and a white desk with a chair in the opposite corner. I get up from the floor and look around more carefully, but there’s nothing else to find except two number two pencils and a sheet of paper on the desk. After seeing this, I realize there is no door. Panic sets in, there is a pit in my stomach, my mouth is dry, and I start to shake. I sprint to the wall, moving my hands up and down, trying to find a handle. I do this to all four walls of my square room. There is nothing. I shout to see if anyone will respond. All I hear is the echo of my own screams. A sob rises in my throat and I can’t stop it. I move over to my cot and lay down and cry myself to sleep. I don’t know what time it is when I wake up. I look down at my watch that I always wear to find that it’s missing. I'll never know what time it is. I feel better after sleeping. I now realize there may be hope, I just need time to think. The chair at my desk is uncomfortable, but at least it’s something to sit on. Now that my head is clear, I ask myself some questions to get my bearings. *What’s my name?* ***I don’t remember.*** *How old am I?* ***I don’t know.*** *What is this place and why am I here?* ***I have no idea.*** Anxiety pushes its way into my brain, dominating all other feelings, making me feel insignificant. I can usually push this away, but not now. Not when I can’t even remember my own fucking name. I feel worthless. I feel small. There is no hope. I don’t know how long I’ll be down here for, so I started a tally on the sheet of paper. I am careful not to break the lead of the pencil, seeing how I only have two and there is no way to sharpen them. As I write the first tally, I think that maybe soon someone will come and talk to me and explain what’s going on. All I must do is wait. I don’t know what time it is, but I’m tired, so I fall asleep. Nothing has changed in the room when I wake up, and I have a realization. I can’t tell when a day has passed because the lights never shut off, so my tally system is useless. Before I have the time to worry about that, another feeling comes over me. Hunger. I am starving and there’s nothing to eat. I swallow my spit to try to feel just a little satisfaction, but there’s nothing. I don’t know what to do. I do know I should be able to last a while without food, though, so, maybe the person that will tell me what this place is will bring me food, right? What seems like days pass, and I get hungrier and hungrier. As I am dozing, I hear something, and sit up. I listen closely. There is a whisper. *Are you hungry?* I don’t have the energy to speak, so I nod my head. *Well, that’s too bad... you have plenty of food.* The voice trails off. The voice is wrong, I don’t have any food. I look around the room once again. There’s something new on the desk. I weakly stumble towards it. It’s a menu. I open it up and all there is one picture. A picture of me. I blink, and the menu is gone, as if it wasn’t there in the first place. I go back to my cot and think about the voice. Maybe it was right. Anything in my stomach would feel wonderful. But no, this is a ridiculous idea, I’m going crazy.... But I can’t stop the urge. I raise my forearm to my mouth and dig my teeth into the muscle. Pain shoots up my arm, but I ignore it, for the pain in my stomach is greater. I only have enough energy to swallow as I pass out. I wake up. There is dry blood everywhere and my whole body is in agonizing pain. I look down at my arm and see the flesh and muscle ripped out. I can see bone. This causes me to throw up. I cry as I heave up the flesh I had eaten, and I eat the vomit in order to keep my nutrients. I have no other choice. A sudden wave of anger come over me, which causes me to go over to my desk and snap a pencil in two. I lay down on the floor, for I am too weak to move to the other side of my room. I pass out once again. There is someone in the room when I wake up. A bald man with a brown beard, wearing an all-black suit. He spoke to me, but he never opened his mouth. He spoke in my head. *How pitiful you are. Why are you doing these things to yourself? Do you really think someone will save you?* He slowly walks towards me. *You are too worthless to be saved at this point. I don’t know why you thought you would be in the first place. No* *one cares about you, no one loves you. You have nothing. You are nothing.* He is within my grasp. I swipe at him, and he disappears. I think about what he said. He’s not wrong. I am nothing. I am worthless. I am **alone**. But I do know a way out of this hell. I manage to sit in the chair at the desk. I don’t know if I can do this, but I have no choice. I pick up the second pencil, still sharp. Tears run down my cheeks as I raise the pencil to my neck. I put the point of the pencil right over my jugular vein. There is still time to stop myself, but I don’t see a reason why. I close my eyes as I push the pencil into my neck.


Hey, I don't really ever use reddit, but I have this idea for a short story. I wrote two chapters last year but never had the confidence to show it to anyone. I was really into Douglas Adams at the time that i wrote i an if any of you have read his books, you'll probably see the influence. Anyways, just let me know what you think about it. Chapter. 1 I was sitting in my office, staring discontentedly at the picture frame that occupied the front right corner of my desk. I picked it up, moved it to the front left corner, and immediately regretted the decision. I slid it back to the right corner and was satisfied. The picture frame was one of three items on my desk, along with a pencil and something that is of no concern to you, or anyone for that matter. I picked up the pencil and instinctively reached for the drawer on my left hand side and removed a pencil sharper from it. I attempted to sharpen my pencil, which i thought was much too dull for my tastes, and felt immediate regret in having ruined my last mechaniical pencil. I put the pencil sharpener in the drawer from which I removed it and opened the top drawer on my left hand side. I picked up the wooden pencil that was inside of it. "It's just not the same." I said, or maybe thought. I put the wooden pencil back into the drawer and stared at it grudgingly for a few minutes, then shut the drawer. Turning my attention back to the picture frame on my desk, I started to wonder if maybe I should move it when someone knocked at my door. "Yes?" "..."What do you mean yes?" A voice responded. "Well, I'm not entirely sure, just come in." I said. The door opened and a man took several steps in. He was a strange man that walked as if he had a hermit crab in his shoe. It was my secretary, whose name is of no importance. He stopped at the front of my desk and stared at it for a few seconds, as if it were completely alien to him. "What is that?" He asked. "What is what?" I replied. "That" He said, pointing at... well it doesnt matter what he pointed at. "That's no concern of yours." I said. He continued staring, rather rudely I might add, for a few seconds. He apparently decided it wasn't worth further questioning and looked away from it. "I have something very important to tell you." He said. "What is it?" "I think that picture frame would fare much better on the other side of your desk. I considered this for a moment and came to the conclusion that it was completely insane. "Only a madman would think that." I thought, or maybe said. "is that all?" I said. "No." he said, and pulled a notepad out of his pocket, flipped the page several times muttering something about a walrus, and flipped back to the page he was initially on. "It's your wife, sir" "Which one?" "Er.." He flipped the page several more times until he found a page that satisfied him. "The blonde one." "What about her?" "I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but she's been murdered." "Oh, not another one." I said insouciantly. I thought for a second, moved the picture fram to the other side of my desk, and looked up. "Very nice, sir." Said my secretary, pleased. "Well, do you know who did it?" I asked. He flipped through his notepad again, furrowed his brow, and said "A walrus, I think." "That's new" I said. "Are you sure?" "No, but It's in the notepad, sir." "Well, thank you for bringing me this infromation. Do you know where it happened?" "At your house." "That's strange. How could a walrus have killed her there?" He shrugged and turned to leave. He stopped at the trashcan, took off his shoe, and shook it over the trashcan. "How did that get in there?" He muttered as he shut the door. I got up and walked to the door, intending to solve the problem that awaited me at home. But first, of course, I'll have to stop for a quick drink. Yes, that's what I'll do. This is surely a problem that can't be solved without a quick drink. Before leaving, I looked at my desk to check if I was forgetting anything and it turned out to be a mistake, as all I could think about was that I needed a picture to go in the frame on my desk. I decided I'll do it another day, when I was distracted by a clicking sound coming from my trashcan. I looked in it and, upon seeing a hermit crab, came to the conclusion that I'll need more than a quick drink. I opened the door and set off on what would surely be a rather confusing and unpleasant adventure.


“Tonight is Ana’s last night. She has been with us for forty-seven years. Thank you for everything, Ana! Ladies and gentlemen, Ana Jackson!” Ana stepped to the microphone and looked at the full theater below her. Her chest swelled as the whole theater stood up and started applauding. “Thank you. Thank you so much!” She wanted to say something clever, something touching, but nothing came out. She just stood there, listening to the applause getting louder and louder. She remembered the day she joined the theater, she was only a few years older that Juliet. This made her chuckle inside as she recalled the actor who played Romeo was middle-aged and balding. “Go home, grandpa!” a teenage boy at the back shouted as Romeo entered the stage. They say you must always choose one person in the audience to look at during the performance, and she looked at the girl sitting next to the boy. She was young and beautiful, giddy with love. I wonder what happened with them ... She could always tell when it was someone’s first time at the theater. Very few are completely out of place like the teenage boy. The others look at the stage with wide eyes. They glow. They turn to the person next to them often. “Did you see that? Did you feel what I felt?” they say without words. She knew the feeling well, it has never left her. Every time was like the first time. She looked at the audience, and she could see them. Fireflies glowing in the dark. They will come back. *** The first play she saw was Cabaret. She was sitting in the front row, so close to the stage she could touch it if she just leaned forward a little. She could see the stitching on the costumes, the sweat running down dancers’ legs. They were singing for her, dancing for her. She could swear they were all looking only at her. ♫ “Maybe this time, I'll be lucky. Maybe this time, he'll stay. For the first time love won't hurry away ...” ♫ The lyrics hit Ana hard. Her high school sweetheart had left her just a few weeks before, and, although it wasn’t a Romeo and Juliet kind of love, she could feel this wouldn’t be the last time. Sally was looking straight at her now, she wasn’t imagining things. With every note they were mourning past and future loves together. Ana bought the Cabaret record. She had a little bowler hat she had bought at the charity store, and her late grandfather’s walking stick. Whenever she was alone at home, she would put the record on at full blast, dim the lights, and sing. ♫ “Money makes the world go around, the world go around, the world! “ ♫ She would tip her hat and hit the floor with the stick. Oh, but who needs money, and who needs the world to go round when you can have magic like this? Theatre was a safe place for magic, for singing and dancing, crying and laughing, even cursing. But then she remembered how expensive the front row ticket was, and how she had to lie where she was going, and then lie about her age to get in ... There was another way. She was going to make theater her home. And she did. Forty-seven years of pure magic. *** Ana named her son Tony, after the Tony Awards. The father was one of those loves that hurried away, the one she and Sally sang about all those years ago. When she was pregnant she would play her records, and the baby would kick in time with the tune. When he was seven, she took him to see Annie. “I don’t want to leave!” he said when the play was over. When she asked him what he wanted for his birthday, he said a violin. It was just the two of them and their love of theater. He was such a good child, always studying or practicing his violin. She remembered the day the screeching noises turned into music and he ran downstairs. “Mom! Did you hear that? I don’t sound like I am torturing mice anymore!” He loved musicals, Hair was his favorite. He grew his hair and knew all the lyrics by heart. ♫ “Let the sunshine, let the sunshine in!” ♫ He would sing at the top of his voice. ♫ “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine!” ♫ Anna would sing back. “Mom, you are ruining the song!” he would laugh. She remembered the day he was accepted to play in the theater orchestra. She cried tears of joy, after a very long time. *** The crowd was still applauding. It felt like hours, but she knew it was only minutes. Time has a funny way of expanding to accommodate memories, and more random memories started flooding in. The time she fell off the stage and broke her leg; she couldn’t work for months and it broke her heart. The time she saw something shiny between the seats; it turned out to be an engagement ring. A very grateful young man came to collect it and brought her the biggest bunch of flowers. The time she found an old book on the theater floor, love letter for a bookmark. No one came to claim it. She felt sad at the thought of books and love letters not being wanted. The time she saw Phantom of the Opera for the first time and the giant chandelier was lowered over the audience - how the blood drained from her face and her heart started racing. The time Tony saw Phantom of the Opera for the first time and the giant chandelier was lowered over the audience - how his face went white and he gasped. The time Tony played for the first time in their theater, and every time after that. The time theaters were closed for months on end because of the pandemic ... She still went in every day. Everything had to be ready for the reopening, even if nobody knew when that would be. The beautiful dark red seats were empty, but she could still feel the magic. She would go onto the stage, look at the sea of clean, plush seats, and shout: “We will be back! You will be back!” And now they were back. A girl to the left looked just like the giddy teenage girl from the Romeo and Juliet story. Imagine if that was her daughter, or granddaughter! Another girl, in the front row, was leaning towards the stage. Tony was standing to the side of the stage, smiling and waving at her. They were back, applauding her ... Her! Ana Jackson, the theater cleaner. She bowed and left the stage.


Hour 60 without power: As I awoke this morning from the brief respite provided by the sweaty sleep, it occurred to me just how forsaken we were. The ritualistic sacrifices of vegetables from our fridge had clearly appeased no power god known to man, our choreographed dances and songs to the same purpose were unheard and unseen, and charging my iPhoneTM from the car was just plain annoying. We had realized about 20 hours after the power was out that we would have to fend for ourselves for food - and to this end we had begun to drive around 15 miles to the Tysons area for food. Forsooth, we were a ragged crew. The locals had, for the most part, abandoned our powerless village for more fluorescent pastures, and the choice few that remained had sold their family members for generators and the requisite gas to make them run. And yet we had stayed, clinging to order in a brutish world; and yet we had stayed, when the hours turned to days and the gluttonous eating of food before expiration had begun; and yet we had stayed, and harbored hope that Prometheus would once again bring us fire. Perhaps you’re right - we were foolish. A though that had more than once occurred to us as we looked about or shelter, vestiges of power hauntingly lacking that jolt which gave them their life, their purpose. But we were young. We were foolish. We were naïve. And while you sit swaddled in cooled air, your electric addiction fueled by your latest hit, think of us powerless ones. Remember us fondly. Because a world in which I can’t crank up the AC, reach into the cool fridge for a chilled beverage, and watch trashy television is a world I cannot long endure.


"Coffee". "What?" "Coffee." "Yeah. So where do you want to go?" "I dunno, Kaka?" "Sure, like, why not?" "Let's go." "Wait." "What?" "Look, about last night." "Forget about it." "I... yeah." "What?" "Nothing." "Come on, spit it out." "No I just, wanted to say... that it was good." "Yeah." "So now what?" "Coffee." "No I mean now what, I mean what are we?" "I don't know." "No I mean, are we together now?" "I don't know." "You want to be... together." "I don't know." "Well say something!" "I think I love you." "What?" "Yeah." "Well, I... this is... I mean... Well..." "I said I love you." "I know what you said." "So...?" "So what...?" "Maybe I made a mistake saying it." "NO! No... I'm sorry. I just don't want to ruin our friendship." "I'm sorry then. I'll go." "No wait, don't go. I don't want you to go. I want to be with you. I want to spend this morning with you and you alone. I want us to be, together." "So do I." "Okay then." "What?" "Coffee?" "Yeah.


Once, there was a young girl named Sue who could run in an unusual way. Sue would fall asleep, and once asleep, she would find herself in a peculiar world run by sinister creatures. These creatures had long, dark tentacles that they would use to ensnare their victims. Sue was never worried because she knew she had the power to control everything in her dream world. That changed one night when Sue fell asleep on a car ride with her parents to the beach. As Sue drifted off to her slumbering world of mystery and horror, she noticed something was off this time. Usually, she felt she could wake up at any moment if she thought things were too scary. This time, however, something clouded her ability to sense the "real world" from the ties of this darker shadow world. While this made her feel different, she was still not too worried as she knew this was her dream world and was in control. She would always just run from anything and never be caught; after all, she had never encountered anything she could not outrun. As Sue ran through the twisted landscape of her dream world, she realized she was being pursued by a creature, unlike anything she had ever seen before. Unlike the "normal" dark and twisted creatures with long tentacles that were slow and almost zombie-like in movement, this new creature had a glow that almost erased the darkness of her dreamscape and illuminated the twisted features of its grotesque form. This creature possessed a speed and agility that surpassed anything Sue had ever encountered in her dream world. The new creature could also speak. However, it was hard to determine what it was saying at the distance she kept from it. "Y...ca....run...fo..ever..." What was it saying, Sue wondered, and why was this creature so fixated on her? While the other darker creatures would run for her, they would typically lose interest in unobtainable prey and head for other slower victims. But this creature, with its radiant and enigmatic presence, seemed to be different. As Sue continued to explore the dreamscape, she noticed it was becoming harder and harder to see the once-vast landscape. Sue, finally out of the range of this new and terrifying creature, decided to see if she could think about why this trip seemed different than before. She tried to fit all the pieces together as she sat under a sizeable, decaying tree. Sue pondered over the strange circumstances of her dream and the relentless pursuit by the unearthly creature. Why is this time different from the last, and why can I not wake up? She asked herself. Sue remembered waking up this morning knowing she would be headed to the beach with her parents. She was so excited as this was her first summer vacation trip. Sue recalled quickly rushing to the car, packing bags, and grabbing all the extra beach toys needed. As Sue sat and reminisced on this morning's events, she wished she could go back and never fall asleep on the car ride. She thought, What if I never wake up and miss my whole trip? What if... Sue quickly realized that she had sat for too long and that things around her were getting brighter, a sign that this new creature was getting closer and it was time to run again. Sue had let the creature get close enough this time to hear the screeching words coming from its mouth. It was more like nails on a chalkboard turned into a horrifying melody. "You can't run forever." Sue wondered what this thing was and why it wanted her so badly. With no time to think, she looked toward the creature and saw that her dreamscape was not only being consumed by the light but that what was left after it passed was nothing. No land, no sky, no grotesque monsters with tentacles ready to capture its prey, simply nothing. What could this mean, and why was she being pursued by a creature that seemed to defy the rules of the dreamscape? As Sue continued running, she noticed she felt slower and tired. For the first time ever, Sue felt tired from running in her dream. This was very alarming as Sue just figured "real world" effects on her body would not affect her mental body. As Sue ran, her legs grew heavier and weaker with each step. It was as if her energy was being drained away by some unseen force. Sue started to think again. We loaded the car, started down the road, and then everything went dark. Wait a minute, Sue realized; I felt like I was falling, but why? Why did Sue feel this way? Sue had hardly any time to think about this as she heard a new voice, different from the creature chasing her, saying, "Don't go into the light." Sue thought to herself, no kidding, Sherlock. But she did not know why or what to do other than to let her last bit of energy out and fall victim to the pursuing creature. Sue fell to the ground, finally out of energy. She stood and turned to face the creature and accept her fate. As the creature moved closer, she noticed the almost human look of its figure, like a beautiful lady with a long dress on and a sweet, inviting smile that comforted her. "Sue, Sue, You can't run forever." As Sue reached out to the creature, the creature began to change form into something more otherworldly. The skin of light began to almost run off the lady's face to reveal a skull with sunken eyes and sharp teeth. The creature's once inviting smile turned into pure terror, and her once welcoming embrace turned into a cold and empty void of hollow desolation. Sue's heart raced as she acknowledged the true horror she was facing. With a surge of adrenaline, Sue's mind snapped back to reality, filled with the chilling realization that she couldn't escape this nightmare. She was trapped, caught between the realms of dreams and reality, unable to outrun the horrifying creature that haunted her every step. The creature inched closer, its bony fingers reaching for Sue's trembling form. As Sue stared into the creature's hollow eyes, she knew her fate was sealed. Just then, a jolt of energy vibrated through Sue's body, and she found herself with the power to run just a little farther. She began to run to the voice that she heard earlier, "Don't go into the light." As soon as Sue began to run towards the voice, a blinding light engulfed her surroundings. She heard the creature scream as if it was a murder of crows, "YOU CAN'T RUN FOREVER." The light consumed Sue, and she found herself standing in an unfamiliar place. She looked around, disoriented and afraid. The air was heavy with an eerie silence, broken only by the faint whispering of distant echoes, "Don't go into the light...." Sue's heart sank as she realized that there was no escape, no refuge from the horrors that pursued her. As she stood in the light, she saw it as if it was a movie at the start of this morning. She saw herself get into the car and her mother and father laughing and talking about how much fun they would have. She saw the moment she fell asleep but continued to watch herself asleep in the car instead of going to the dreamscape. She saw the 18-wheeler cross the line, and her vehicle crashed and fell off the bridge they were on; Sue thought that the falling feeling must have been when the car went off the bridge. The creature stood at the doorway pointing at Sue; behind it was a dark room, so dark not even the light from the creature could light it. Sue asked the creature who it was. With the same horrifying melody, it sang out, "I am the one many fear and few embrace willingly. The cold you feel when drifting to sleep, the nightmare that haunts your deepest fears. I am called by many names, but you may call me Death." Just then, a hand emerged behind Sue and grabbed her, pulling her away from Death quicker than she had ever moved in the dreamscape. Death's face grew angry, and shouted, "No, she is mine; she can not run forever!" Beep....beep....beep. Sue woke to the sound of footsteps and the blinding glare of fluorescent lights. As her sight returned, she saw a man wearing a doctor's coat, saying, "It's good to see you awake. We thought we lost you there for a little." Sue's heart raced as she realized that the horrors she experienced were not just a dream but a glimpse into a terrifying reality. As the doctor explained her condition and the extent of her injuries, Sue couldn't shake off the lingering feeling that Death was still lurking just beyond her reach, waiting patiently. The doctor told Sue that she needed to rest, and as he walked out the door, he turned around and said, "Now, don't go running off again, Sue."