“I just love the first day of Spring,” Willow said, looking around the park where everyone mingled. “Everything is waking up from winter.” “Plus, they say a young man’s fancy turns to thoughts of love,” Ivy giggled, her eyebrows wagging up and down. “Ivy, all you can think of is boys,” Rowan said, rolling her eyes. Ivy shrugged and said, “That’s life. Especially this time of year, when everything is being reborn.” Rowan shook her head. “Let’s just get to the rest of the group,” she said, walking toward the clearing where a large group of people had begun to gather. They saw people setting up their tables and booths for the festival and waved to everyone who called out to them. They walked up to a table with the sign “Harvest Moon Hollow Coven” written on it and went to the shaded area in the back. “Hey, Honey,” Ivy’s mother called out, opening her arms to give the three girls hugs. “Have you seen much of the festival area yet?” Ivy shook her head and said, “We just got here, so we came straight here.” Her mother glanced out at the grounds and said, “Well, it looks like everyone’s getting set up, so if you want to help here before going out, I won’t say no.” “Sure thing, Mom,” Ivy said. “What do you want us to do?” Her mother put them to work setting out the educational literature on the tables as well as the items they’d brought to sell. Once they were done, they were free to go about the festival. They stopped by the booths of people they knew and chatted while looking over the wares. Finishing up with those booths, they moved on to the newer vendors to check out their items. As they neared a bench, Ivy nudged her friends and jerked her head toward it. A cute boy there, one leg crossed over the other and one arm stretched out over the back. Willow grinned at her while Rowan rolled her eyes. “Hi,” Ivy called out as they neared him. “You must be new in town.” The boy looked up at her, unsmiling. He looked at the three of them, then smiled at them. “You would be correct,” he said. “My name is Brian and I just moved here a couple of weeks ago.” “I haven’t seen you around town and believe me, I would have remembered seeing you,” Ivy said, lifting an eyebrow at him. His smile grew wider, and he sat up straighter. “And I would have remembered seeing you too.” Shaking his head, he said, “I haven’t gone too many places. I’ve been too busy unpacking.” “I know how that goes,” Rowan said. “I’ve moved so many times, I’ve now got a system.” Brian glanced at her, then focused back on Ivy. “So, what all is there to do around these parts?” “Well, there’s the festival today,” she said, looking around. “In the fall, there are leaf viewings and going to the orchard to pick the apples.” He looked vaguely bored, so she added, “But I often go into town to go to the movies or the mall to hang out.” “Any good restaurants?” he asked her. “I’ve always been partial to Ravioli’s,” Willow said. Ivy shot her a look, then turned to him and nodded. “They do have good food,” she told him. “Maybe one day, we’ll have to check it out together,” he told her, grinning at her. She grinned back at him, then asked, “Would you like to join us in wandering around the festival?” He looked around, then glanced down at his watch before nodding and said, “I’d like that.” Rowan and Willow glanced at one another, frowning. Ivy and Brian started off toward the booths on the other side of the clearing with Rowan and Willow following behind. At the first booth they stopped at, they offered tarot readings. “I’ll have to come back here later to get a reading,” Willow said. Rowan nodded, but Brian frowned and asked, “You really believe in that crap?” All three girls looked surprised, and Ivy said, “I’ve had readings done, and they’ve been true for me.” “Same,” Willow said. “I’ve even done a few readings of my own,” Rowan said, glaring at him. He rolled his eyes and said, “Whatever. Let’s see what’s over there.” He moved off to the next booth. Ivy followed him, after shooting her friends an apologetic look. “What do you think of this guy?” Willow asked Rowan in a low voice. “I’m wondering what he’s doing at our Ostara festival,” she asked, her eyes narrowed. At the next booth, he looked over the crystals and pendants, but didn’t make any comments. He sniffed the incense at the one after that without any more comments. Ivy began to relax again. They circled the vendors and Rowan noticed he steered clear of any with educational information. She frowned as she followed behind everyone else. As they neared the booth where Ivy’s parents were set up, Ivy’s mom called out to them. “Having fun, girls?” “Yeah, Mom,” Ivy called back. “See you at the ritual then!” “That’s your mother?” Brian asked, his eyes wide as he looked from Ivy to the booth and back again. Ivy nodded, confused. Brian stared at her for a moment, then looked down at his watch. “Crap, I need to get going,” he said. “I’ll see you around.” With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Ivy staring after him with her mouth hanging open. “What just happened here?” she finally asked, turning to look at her friends. Willow shrugged, looking just as confused as Ivy. “Good riddance, I say,” Rowan said, crossing her arms over her chest. Ivy frowned and asked, “How can you say that?” “Didn’t you see the way he reacted when he found out your mother is in the coven’s booth?” Ivy looked at her mother, then at the way Brian had gone. Her frown deepened. “I hope you’re wrong about that,” Ivy said. Rowan put her hand on Ivy’s arm and said, “For your sake, I hope I am too.” They went back to the tent, and Ivy’s mother asked if they were about ready to start the opening ritual. They nodded, so her mother put up the sign saying they’d return after the ritual and headed to the center space. Just as they were about to start the ritual, shouts interrupted them. Everyone turned to see a group of young men walking toward them, shouting out protests against them. Ivy recognized Brian in the middle of the group and felt a sharp nudge in her side. “Recognize someone?” Rowan asked. Ivy nodded and frowned. Ivy’s mother walked up to the group who had stopped and stood shouting at them. Vendors had left their booths to see what the shouting was about. Ivy’s mother held up her hand. “What is the meaning of this?” she called out. The group ignored her, continuing their shouting. Ivy, Willow and Rowen walked up to stand beside Ivy’s mother. Ivy met Brian’s eyes, and he looked away quickly. She scowled at him. “You heard the lady,” Rowan called out in a loud voice. “What’s going on here?” The shouting lessened as the one who seemed to be leader held up his hand and stepped forward. “We don’t want your kind here,” he said. “You all need to clear out.” “We have every right to be here,” Rowan said. “The young lady is correct,” Ivy’s mother said, stepping up beside her. “We do have the proper permits to hold our festival here.” The man spit on the ground and said, “I don’t care what kind of permits you have, lady. You are not welcome.” Ivy’s mother looked around and said, “I see otherwise.” “You see wrong,” someone from the hostile crowd called out. “She sees just fine!” Ivy called back. “We are just holding a peaceful festival here and you are interrupting us.” “Peaceful?” the man asked, looking back at his fellow protesters. “You call devil worship peaceful? We know exactly what you’re up to and it needs to stop now.” “We are not devil worshippers,” Willow called out. “We don’t believe in the devil, so how can we worship him?” “Oh, little girl,” the man said. “The devil takes many forms and he’s tricking you into worshipping him now.” “That’s enough,” Ivy’s mother said. “If you don’t leave this clearing, we will have the police escort you out.” The men laughed and one said, “Good luck with that, lady!” Just then, Ivy heard sirens coming toward them, and she said, “We’ll see in a few minutes, now won’t we?” Some of the men in the crowd looked nervous, but the leader made motions with his hand to remain calm. “I guess you don’t realize the police don’t want you here either,” he said, grinning. “We’ll see who gets escorted out of here.” A group of police officers came into the clearing. “What’s going on here?” one asked. “We got a call about possible violence.” “We were having our festival here, and these men decided to chase us away,” Ivy’s mother told the officer. He walked over to her and asked, “Was anyone hurt?” She shook her head and said, “They didn’t touch anyone. Just made verbal threats.” The officer nodded and said, “I was afraid of this when I saw the permits being issued. I was hoping everyone would be peaceful and let you have your festival, but I was wrong.” “What?” the man yelped, his eyes wide. “You mean, you’re going to let these...these satan worshippers continue their unholy rituals here?” The officer sighed and went over to him. “Jeb, you need to leave these people alone,” he said. “They mean no one any harm.” “But-” “No buts, Jeb,” the officer said. “You and your boys need to clear out, and I mean now.” Jeb looked from the officer to Ivy’s mom and back again. “I can’t believe you’re siding with them,” he told the police officer. “I’m not siding with anyone,” he said. “These people have permission from the town to be here, while you do not, so you need to leave.” Jeb looked like he was going to argue more, but the officer cut him off, saying, “Either you leave willingly, Jeb, or we take you all down to the station to continue our discussion there.” Jeb practically snarled at the police officer, then turned to wave to the men behind him. “Let’s get out of here,” he said, walking away. The men followed behind him, except Brian, who looked back at Ivy with shame on his face. Ivy met his gaze, then turned away, walking back toward the ritual. Once the men had left, Ivy’s mother thanked the police officers. They said a couple of them would remain in case Jeb and his boys came back. Ivy’s mother thanked them again. Once everyone had left, they all went back to the ritual circle to complete their ritual. When that was over, Ivy, her mother, Willow and Rowan went back to their booth. “Well, that was quite the adventure,” Rowan said, sitting down in one of the chairs behind the tables. “It sure was,” Willow said. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so nervous!” Ivy was quiet as she rearranged the merchandise and papers. “Hey,” Rowan called out. “What’s up with you?” “I just can’t get over what bad taste I have in boys,” she said, turning around. “I mean, why didn’t I see that Brian was bad news?” Willow went over and patted her arm, saying, “Well, they do say that love is blind.” Ivy sighed and said, “That definitely pertains to me. After all, I was blind as a bat with him.” “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Ivy,” Rowan said, getting up to console her friend. “I’m sure you’ll find love again before you know it.” Ivy looked at her with hope in her eyes and asked, “You really think so?” Nodding, Rowan said, “What was it you said before? Spring turns a young man’s fancy to thoughts of love? Well, what are we celebrating today? The return of Spring! So, of course I think that you’ll find love! It’s in the very air we breathe!” The other two girls were silent for a moment, then Willow said, “That was deep, Rowan.” Rowan flushed and went back to sit in her chair. “Excuse me,” a voice said behind Ivy. “Can you tell me more about this coven?” Ivy turned around to see a boy with light brown hair and brown eyes holding up one of their flyers. “I’d be happy to,” she said, smiling at him. Willow went over to sit next to Rowan, who rolled her eyes and said, “Here we go again!”


Jack's one bad habit turned out that he had none. He came from a good family of the unassuming respectable sort. Keith and Margaret Richards had come from a long line of midwestern farmers and had over the last few generations graduated to producing the type of midwestern accountants that were known for their steadfastness. Hard work, diligence, and honesty were the hallmarks of the Richards family and for three generations they had born and bread accountants, lawyers, and clerical staff whose lack of imagination was relied upon in the sort of middle income, white collar world that ran the lower to mid office towers of the unfashionable side of a big mid-western city which, in the interests of our narrative, shall remain nameless. Jack woke up every day, kissed his wife Daisy Richards goodbye, drove his sensible designed in Japan assembled in America with the good gas mileage in to work, and filed taxes for the firm of Peabody, Lionel, and Rotherson. Jack was 34, had ten year old son in the fifth grade, little Johnathan, who was beginning to learn his times tables. Jack and Daisy had married after college and had Johnathan shortly thereafter - it wasn't so much expected as it was the done thing. Daisy herself put on her scrub uniform every morning and drove into work as a nurse. Her locker was adorned with cutesy stickers and animals as it had been all her life. She was, in a word, sweet, and about as unassuming as it was possible to be and still be able to draw blood from her patients. She worked in an orthopedic clinic where there wasn't too much blood and about the most serious ailment that came into the office was a dislocated knee. They both put away from retirement in IRAs that were as sensible as Jack could structure them. They had a small house with a picket fence. Their life path was set in stone - they would work for thirty years or so and then they would retire to a slightly bigger house somewhere warm as their parents had and their parents before them had. It was not so much to call Jack, Daisy, and even maybe little Johnathan, happy as it would be to say that they had no comparison of what life was about. They were happy *enough*. They had enough food to eat and a roof over their heads. They weren't religious per se, Jack liked to mention in casual conversation to anybody that had the misfortune of being in earshot that he came from "good Christian stock", although Jack was more interested in his other, more material, accounts. They had a weekly barbecue every Saturday with the neighbors, Max and Mira Drotherson, who lived next door. Max was the owner of the local car dealership in town and while his house was about as cookie cutter as the Richards, although a pale shade of blue than stark yellow, there would always be some exotic car sitting in his drive way that he "test drove" before selling them to the public. Mira sold art in town. The art was bad, but people bought it out of charity. Mira had either the foresight or the ignorance to pretend otherwise; it was sort of hard to tell with Mira. "Look, Jack," Max gesticulated with his beer one Saturday at the end of July when the heat was becoming scorching. Max and Jack were standing in front of the grill cooking weenies while the girls were in the garden. As per usual they were at Jack's house but Max was grilling and Jack was standing watch. They had fallen into this habit, and neither understood why. Jack didn't drink. "You need to lighten up a little. Get out of town for a while, see the sights. Even up to the Lakes for awhile. I've got just the car that you could rent for a long weekend away for a bit..." And so the conversation went as it almost always did, with Jack nodding along and murmuring, in his meek and polite way, how now was not the best time. There would have to be arrangements made for a baby sitter for Johnathan and his summer schedule. How much work there was at the office these days. In fact, the one problem that Jack seemed to be having in his life is that nobody around him respected his need for a certain amount of boring. For Jack, he enjoyed what he had because he had never had the taste of what he could had if he, in the words of some of his colleagues at work, applied a little creativity. Even in the most boring and staid of offices, his boss Mr. Peabody would politely nod his head during the bi-weekly figure reports with a weariness that spoke volumes. People assumed that Jack was insensitive to their emotions, or as the hippies getting high near the lunch trucks might call them, "vibes", but Jack wasn't. He just was vibe immune somehow. Stephanie, Mr. Peabody's secretary, consoled him more than once when a fellow clerk was promoted ahead of him. He just needed to show a little more - mojo was the term she used. But they were accounts dang it (that was the word he said to himself as he sometimes kept himself awake at night in his little yellow white picket fence house). They weren't supposed to be interesting, and he liked them that way. The latest indignity had pushed him over his proverbial edge. His desk had been moved away from his customary position near a window to let a much younger clerk, a junior, into his spot and he had been banished to the middle of the office where there was much less privacy. Jack valued his privacy, he valued that his day to day life had a certain uniform consistency, and he valued not being humiliated in front of his peers. Damn the window (this time he really meant it), it was the indignity of it all. All his life he had done what others told him to do because they more or less fell in line with his expectations. But for some reason that he couldn't really fathom that wasn't working any more, so he began, for the first time in his life, to become cunning. One Saturday Jack convinced Max to lend him one of his high powered sports cars for the week. Jack, who on principle refused to lie, in keeping with his family tradition, told him that he was just looking for a change. Max jumped at the idea. For him the cars were free rides and he secretly liked the idea of thinking that he knew his neighbors secret, that Jack was having an affair downtown. Max liked to think he knew things and Jack did not go so far as to completely banish the idea from his mind. On that Monday he drove into work in a car that was worth easily ten times what his sensible Asian compact was worth. News around the office spread like wildfire. Stephanie looked at him with new found respect and began playing with her pencils when she talked with him. The junior accounts manager that had taken his chair deferred to him in a completely trivial matter and Mr. Peabody, bald headed paunchy Mr. Peabody practically gushed over figures that hadn't changed significantly over the last week. Jack, to add fuel to the rumors, carefully added a doctored spreadsheet showing exponential growth in some obscure stock. Jack did not lie, but if any of the partners or associates were to happen to walk across his terminal when he was roaming the halls that wasn't exactly his problem either. On a Friday the partners took Jack out to lunch and effused over his performance. Jack carefully noted what they ate (steak and salad) and what beer they drank (an import of a variety that closely matched the pedigree of his loaner vehicle). He ordered a smaller steak and a beer. This seemed to please the partners and they were quick to enjoy him to a more senior role within the firm, one came with an office and a door. At weeks end, Jack returned the car to Max and the following week happily moved his small office belongs, a cactus, lamp and calculator into his new office. No mention was made of the car which had disappeared from his parking space other than a few looks that suggested some slight betrayal. Stephanie stopped twirling her pencil, but also stopped consoling him as an equal - he now became Mr. Richards with a cold brusqueness. Other than this his normal duties more or less resumed. Yet...the hours were longer and the figures involved became both more and less serious. Jack's role became less about accounting and more about having to manage people, which involved learning more about food than he would have cared to admit. Over the next few weeks he began having to learn about the gastro sensibilities of the other managing firms in town and their clientele. The reason for this was simple - the accounts of Peabody, Lionel and Rotherson did not balance and as Jack was beginning to understand most of the accounting books in town, maybe even all the accounts in the world, or at least it seemed to Jack, might not balance. It started with a simple phone call over some tractor supplies to a manufacturing firm that had off balance sheet items that were not listed anywhere in any way. Bounced from one representative to another Jack quickly found that the only way to gain any traction was to call up a sales rep which involved another steak dinner. Chad from Feed Supply Unlimited. An explanation was given over tartar sauce that seemed reasonable enough. Jack submitted his report, Mr. Peabody was pleased and he moved on to other work. That was the beginning. The life that Jack had envisioned - honesty, integrity - started to quickly become mired in the reasonableness of his clients. Jack could not, would not for his own principle sake become involved in a lie, but he was forced, time and again to call up clients to explain their discrepancies in their accounts. From tractor wholesalers to lampshade dealers, Jack would be forced to find ways to excuse the profligacy of the accounts he was handed. And the explanations always made sense at the end of the day, there was no denying that. But Jack was having other problems. His waistline was expanding and he began to have bags under his eyes. The looks that Max gave him that summer were beginning to rub off on Daisy who looked at Jack with a side eye every now and again. The extra money and the promotion sounded too good to be true to her and the extra hours away at the office and the way that Jack came home every day exhausted and smelling of alcohol could only, to her sensibilities, mean one thing - that Jack was cheating on her. Daisy didn't say anything - in fact she was her old normal cheerful self, but she rolled away from him at night and more often than not she "got headaches". Jack had traded away his simple life of honest toil for money. His wife wasn't honest with him, what amounted to his friends thought he was having an affair, his clients were not honest. How could he then live an honest life? And so a hot sweltering night filled with sleeplessness found Jack out in front of his yellow lemon house taking a baseball bat to his sensible asian compact with the good gas mileage.


Steadily my faithful horse trotted on, both of us tired and worn. Soon we would be back home, after four years of struggle. In my mind I already embraced my wife and son. It filled my wounded heart with warmth and drove away the cold inhabiting my body. Dark clouds above promised rain and I wanted to be home before that. I had been drenched enough to the skin the past years. Worry started to take hold of me when I passed through the devastated landscape. Surely they would be all right I told myself. Still I quickened the pace. A slow sinking sensation made its presence known in my stomach. And as I laid eyes on my burned fields and the ruin of my home farther away my heart grew heavy and wouldn’t stop dropping. Getting down from my horse I sprinted towards what once had been my house. “Lily! Johnny!” I yelled out while running. They certainly had survived and were just hiding, right? They had to be alive somewhere, right? I desperately listened for an answer, nothing stirred. Reaching what once had been the door, I examined the ruin. Half of the roof was gone, the rest caved in and splintered. Only one and a half of the four walls still stood, although scorched and soaking wet through the rain. I already felt the first drops of water falling from the sky once again. But in my desperate haste I barely noticed. Breathing heavily, I forced myself to look around and stand still. Everything had been devoured by the flames, furniture, clothes, books. In the corner of the two meeting remnants of walls, I saw what looked like human figures lying on the ground. No, it couldn’t be. Barely keeping my body from trembling violently I went closer. Two charred corpses, one in the size of a child. What had they done! What had the Goddamned Yankees done to them! What they had to endure before death only the almighty Lord would know. How long were they already lying like this? Falling to my knees I touched the dead, feeling the moistness from exposure to water for more than just a few days. I couldn’t take it. All this time I had dreamed, I had hoped for this moment. I had killed and survived just for this one moment to arrive. Unable to contain the pain, I screamed towards the sky. I screamed and I wept and I kept sitting there in the pouring rain and the mud. If it wouldn’t have been for the muzzle of my horse touching my wet cheek, I might have continued sitting there for eternity. Snorting, he woke me from my trance with the warm air from his nostrils. Instinctively I reached behind to scratch my friend between the ears. Gathering the strength, I got up. I had no shovel; everything was destroyed, but I would be damned if they did not receive a place of rest. Therefore, I dug with my bare hands, placing two makeshift crosses over each one’s head. It would be enough for them. This would be the first and the last time me visiting these graves. Standing there, I looked at what once had been my farm. What was I going to do? There is nothing left to do for a man, once everything is lost. The union treated us like criminals in our own home. To them we were naught but rebels and traitors. So I decided to be one. \*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\* A figure in the distance caught my attention as I made my way through Virginia’s mountains. Careful not to be noticed I rode closer to the lone rider. Making out some vague details I concluded the traveller to be an old man on a white-grey horse. I usually avoided robbing old people, especially in the wilderness. But the vagabond life was harsh on me and I hadn’t eaten in days. Hunger persistently gnawed at me and although I was used to that, it started to impair my ability to think straight. With the promise to myself to not shoot the stranger I urged my tired horse forward. “Hands up ol’ man!” I said in a firm but calm voice once I was close enough to him to be a danger. The traveller signalized his own horse to stop and remained still. I waited for him to do something either to protect himself or attack me, but nothing happened. A bit taken aback but still cautious I dismounted and walked to face my victim. All the while the old man didn’t speak. The calm silence let me notice how graceful his bearing was. Was it possible? No. “You could have just asked, son.” There was no reproach in neither voice nor expression. And I was baffled by the gentleness he showed me, the one threatening him with a gun. But then the foolishness of his words struck me and I lashed out with a sarcastic answer. “Yeah, tried that, di’n’t work out.” “You fought for the confederacy.” The observational statement was enough confirmation for me. Causing me to lower my gun to the ground. A grey-haired man surrounded by an awe-inspiring atmosphere on a grey horse with black mane. I had never seen the general directly, only from a distance and in the midst of a raging battle. I swallowed as it hit me that I was just trying to rob that man who had led us into so many battles and out of them. It was true I fought for the south; my grey trousers probably sold me out. I had taken off the jacket, partly because it was warm and partly because trouble might be even harder on my heels. Yet I hadn’t discarded of my old uniform, I could have stolen some clothes. The thought had never really crossed my mind before now. Perhaps because the grey reminded me of the time before everything went down. A time when I still believed to know that my home was waiting for my return. Feeling myself drift away and into memories, I forced my attention back to the task at hand. Old manners taking over my bearing and speech. “Yes, sir.” “From Virginia?” “From Tennessee, sir.” “I recommend you go back home and help her flourish.” “I, can’t,” burning anger seized my soul at the memory of the day I went back home. “I cannot forgive the union. Nor can I accept it. I am sorry my general. No manner of punishment could change my mind. My days of discipline are long gone.” I tried to keep the sudden agitation supressed. I had never really hated the federals, not the simple soldier at least. Only those giving me a reason and the ones responsible for the war, I was prepared to shoot without remorse. But all that had turned to dust when I saw what they had done to our families. To our Dixie. “Our Lord has decided for us to endure and to spread reconciliation.” “Where was he when my family died? When my farm burned? Am I just s’pposed to forget and shake hands with their cowardly murderers?” The general said nothing, an invisible wall kept us from understanding one another. I felt at once guilty about addressing my commander with such lack of respect. At once I avoided my defiant gaze and stared at the ground. There I stood humbled, blinking away the oncoming tears. “I am sorry you can’t find a cure for your wounds.” I holstered my gun and took off the hat, looking back up. As always, he kept his composure, only the eyes revealed what he felt. I would have expected him to be angry or ashamed at one of his soldiers turning into an outlaw. But they were just sad. Sad for me? “I am sorry to have bothered you, sir.” I turned to go back to my horse when the general told me to wait. Taking money from his pocket he offered it to me. “I can’t take that, sir.” “You came to rob me, didn’t you? And you certainly are in dire need of provisions.” The general’s eyes glittered with a youthful smile which was faintly mimicked by his face. Hesitantly, I took it. “God bless ye, sir.” “I hope you will get well, son.” Tipping his hat, the old man continued on his way. Falling back into my old habits once again I saluted him as he rode on.


The six of us crammed into the tiny truck must have been a sight to see. Three of us ducked low in the back, laughing as our hair whipped into the wind, and three squished into the tiny cab up front. It was dark, but a welcome change to the dull and monotonous work that had been done at the school for the hours leading up to this point. No other cars on the road made for a smooth ride, digging into the winding seemingly endless curves that made up the stretch between us and our destination. It was cool, not cold out, and the stars and moon shone perfectly clear, like little flashlights raining down from above. Despite the dark we could see clearly, the moon acting like a beacon onto our endeavors. We made the final turn into the small gravel parking lot that acted as the entrance to the small dock. The moonlight glinted off the glassy still water, the perfectly smooth surface of the lake looked almost impossibly unmoving. We took off, running barefoot through the slightly damp field of perfectly trimmed grass, avoiding the flooded section. We race to the dock, laughing and tripping over ourselves as we go. The first pair of feet hit the wood with a thud, and laughter follows soon after. We gather ourselves at the end, at an impasse. It's like the reality of the temperature hit us all at once, and the giddiness at getting into the water seemed to fall off all at once. She decided to break the almost curse-like trance we were in, strips out of her shirt and jumps in, all at once breaking the silence. I follow closely after, splashing in. The cold water hits like a wall, much colder than anticipated. Not to be shown up, the others follow suit. Splashes all around while the group collectively decides that the water is fit for recreation. Laughter and sounds of surprise fill the air as we submerge, and almost as quickly as she got in she scrambles out shivering. Others follow, leaving just a small few in the water still. I float up onto my back, admiring the stars from my peaceful stance floating idly through the water. She watches me, as I become aware that I was the last to brave the chilly waters of the lake. The cold feels nice I think, peaceful. I opt to stay in for a few more minutes, aware of your eyes following my lazy movement through the water. The others leave to set up an assortment of tents, hammocks, and tarps, but you decide to stay. I finally pull myself up and out, my hair dripping as I thrust up and over the splintering wood of the dock. No words were spoken between us that night, none being necessary. We watch the lake, the stars, and the moon. The forests bordering the edges of the lake, the occasional plops of fish jumping, everything was perfect. I don't remember the point where I fell asleep, but I remember laying my head in your lap. I remember you running your hands through my hair, gentle and kind. I remember the feeling of acceptance, the feeling of love. But then, just like that, it was over. The sun tipped its fiery yellow tendrils over the ever so distant mountains, and we packed up, jumping back into the truck. The perfect night, the perfect moment, over. I do not remember feeling sad though at that thought, I just remember thinking, onto the next adventure. Chasing the next, perfect moment.


“Do you see any contacts Commander?” said the girl below me with her small, high pitched voice. I looked down at the time, thinking to myself how great it is that I hadn’t seen any yet. “No, I haven’t seen any contacts yet Klara.” I say, my normally smooth voice coarse with the harsh cold of the winter. I can hear her sigh, though weather in relief or disappointment I can’t tell. “Nona, how many hours can we wait?” I can hear Klara asking Nona. “I have no idea Klara dear, we have plenty of extra food so until morning I would say.” Nona says from the driver’s seat and I can see her fidgeting and constantly checking the vision port. I yawn and lean back, stretching out inside the massive turret of the KV-2. I open up the hatch and climb out, liking the cold outside better than the cold inside. I climb down and sit on top of the engine bay, taking out a closed cup of coffee and taking a drink after opening it. “Commander! Commander, the base is trying to reach us in the radio!” Klara is shouting as she comes out of the hatch of the KV-2. “Right, got it, thank you Klara.” I quickly hop up and swiftly climb into the tank, grabbing the earpiece and microphone as I adjust the dials on the radio. “KV-2 Number 5100, come in. KV-2 Number 5100 come in.” The man on the radio says as I finish adjusting the last dial on the radio box. “Da? What is it Lieutenant?” I say, forgetting about proper formalities with my tiredness. “Commander Katyusha, good, you have been recalled back to base to be moved to a primary base further inland.” He says, clearly cold and tired himself. “Copy that Lieutenant, we’ll be back at base in approximately two hours.” I say, glancing down at Nona who is already working with Klara to get the engine started once again. “Copy that Commander, have a safe trip back to base.” with that last transmission from him, the comms go quiet. I can hear the engine turning over and coming back to life as I take the headphones off and put them and the microphone back. Nona and Klara both get back in the tank and pull the hatches shut. “Nona, take us back to the base.” I yell over the sound of the engine. I feel the tank jerk forwards as she nods and then we start to slowly turn around. I wait until we are driving straight before I open the hatch and stand half out of the tank, leaning on the hatch as we drive along, the wind blowing gently across the snow covered plains, wide areas of lots of little snowflakes float across the plains. I close my eyes and enjoy the breeze, smell, and sounds as we drive along. Once we arrive back at base we are immediately told to load up on the train bound for the primary base 150km inland and to just ride in our tank. “Here you are ma’am, food for the journey.” Says the tall, slender woman as we pull our tank onto the train. I take the food and water and hand them to Klara who stores them. As the train starts to move, I feel myself starting to lose consciousness. By the time I wake up, we are at the primary base and Nona is driving us off the train, following a car of some sort towards the Great River. “Klara, Nona, what’s going on?” I ask the both of them and they merely shrug, saying they have no idea. We stop and someone gets out of the car, a short, chubby looking man who calls for me. “Commander Katyusha! I need you and your crew to step out and come with us.” He shouts up to me. “Come on girls, let’s go.” I get up and climb out, the others joining me. We’re led over to the car and asked to fill out some papers. I finish and set the paper down in the car and turn around to see the KV-2 backed up to the banks of the river. “HEY!! What they hell do you think you’re doing!? That’s my tank!!” I shout and the others turn and shout as well as we run over to our beloved tank. The tank starts to back up as we run towards it, someone climbing out of the driver’s hatch and jumping down as it slowly backs into the river. Klara and Nona both stop as the turret ring hits the water line but I keep running and get to the tank starting to climb on top of the driver’s hatch right as someone pulls a cord and the gun fires, the sound reverberating and the force of the back-blast throwing me clean off of the tank and flat onto my back in the dirt and snow as the KV-2 sinks entirely into the water, decommissioning the very last KV-2 in existence. I start to sit up, tears streaming down my face as I look towards where my tank had been, a large man comes up behind me and hauls me back to the car, calling for the driver to take me to the field hospital so I can be treated for any injuries.


CW: Swear words. I didn’t even want to come on this stupid work trip. Yet, here I am, staring down at a one-hundred and fifty foot drop towards the ground - with what appears to be a wooden pallet shoddily attached to this tree trunk as the only thing between me and a sure death. I knew this godforsaken trip to Puerto Rico with a bunch of coworkers that I don’t even like was a terrible idea, but Karen insisted . “You should go! This will be a great chance to bond with all of your teammates!” Doesn’t she understand the main reason I work remotely is so I don’t have to bond with these godforsaken people? I can hear Betsy from accounting now, she’s shouting something - like always - so I am not quite sure if it is directed up at me or if she’s just speaking to the people around her. Either way, from a hundred and fifty feet up she’s coming through pretty crystal clear. Betsy. With her buggy eyes and tight blonde ponytail. Is she twenty-five or is she sixty-five? I really have no idea. Her perfume reminds me of my grandma but her incessant jabbering about TikTok throws it all off. I had always assumed that faced with imminent death, Karen and the kids would be enough for me to muster up some dormant courage and see myself out of any predicament. However, now my main motivation for not dying is that I just don’t want to give Betsy the satisfaction of seeing me fall to my death. She would just love to tell the story of how she just had a feeling that something was going to happen. That when I hit the ground, and exploded all over her and the rest of the team, that she just knew her life would never be the same. I would be fodder for her at dinner parties for the rest of her life. Not today, Betsy. Alex works for the zip-line company. He’s a white guy - but when we arrived he insisted on greeting us with “Holá Amigos!” - Betsy just loved that, she said it over and over again, laughing just as hard every single time, during the entire hour-long hike up here. He’s also wearing a name tag that says Alejandro - I am not calling him that. He’s clipping me into a harness and telling me something about a camera towards the bottom that will take my picture, so to “make a silly face or wave.” I will be doing no such thing. All I can think about is the carabiner failing and me falling out of the sky to a horrific but merciful death. I have been working for Transformative for a few years at this point. We have a small team, and up until this week, most of my interactions with them have been via conference calls and emails - more than enough to get a real sense of who they were. Sure, there have been meetings at our main office in Charlotte, but those had been so formal - filled with small talk and business conversations - nothing ever like this. Randall, my boss, had come up with this amazing idea to go on a team building trip with the entire team. I had immediately told him I couldn’t make it, and yet, somehow - here I am! My job is to sell our product - which I do fantastically by the way. I don’t get paid enough, however, to have to suffer through Betsy showing me photos of her cats for three days straight. Maybe falling to my death here would be the best option after all. Betsy cannot stop laughing, “You look so terrified!” she sputters as she holds the photo out for everybody to see. She’s getting spit all over everybody. “Look at how scared he looks!” I snatch the photo back from her. “Yeah, I’m afraid of heights.” I say, trying my hardest to hide my annoyance. This, it turns out, is very hard, especially because Betsy is very annoying. We’re back at the hotel now, the type of place that looks like it is trying way too hard to be what White people think the Caribbean should be like - taxidermy sea turtles, a mural of dolphins and a mermaid, fake coconuts all over the place- that sort of thing. “Lo siento, amigo!” Betsy cannot stop calling people “Amigo” now, and every single time she says it, she laughs at herself even harder. Being around her is like having a migraine, and you just keep waiting and waiting for the medicine you took to kick in, but it just never, ever does. I’m thankful that Randall has started talking, addressing the entire group of us at the bar. He’s going on about what a great time today was and his hopes for us to become a stronger team. Gag. I’m working on my fourth Mai Thai of the afternoon and hoping to be completely numb by dinnertime. Slowly, the group starts to disappear off to their rooms ahead of the team meal back here in the hotel restaurant. I am tempted to grab another drink, but now it’s just Betsy and me, so I decide to get up and head back to my room as well. “Need a walking buddy?” Betsy asks, followed by an extremely loud belch. “No thanks, Betsy. I can manage on my own.” I say turning to leave before she can interject again, but next thing I know, she’s in stride with me towards the elevator. “We’re neighbors, dummy! It only makes sense to head back together. Safety in numbers Amigo!” She winks as she says this and I feel my insides start to burn. The elevator smells like bleach and sweat and I try to control my breathing as the doors slide shut. This is going to be a long fifteen flights up. Betsy, to her credit, is surprisingly quiet as we get moving. The elevator creaks and shudders and I resist looking at when it was last inspected. Without any muzak to fill the empty space, that awkward elevator feeling seems to overtake us both. I’m anxiously watching the red numbers on the digital panel above the door click up, 7, 8, 9... it’s just stopped at 9. Why is it just stopped at 9?! The elevator lurches to a sudden stop, and before I can even turn to Betsy, she is on me. My brain can’t process what is happening this quickly - especially after that fourth Mai Thai, but a severe pain is shooting through my face and my eyes are watering, oh and I am on the ground now. My right cheek is being squished into the dirty elevator carpet and all I can feel is a shoe, and the entire weight of a person, a Betsy, on my face. “Betsthy, wha’ the fuck ah you...” “SHUT THE FUCK UP!” I knew Betsy was loud, but wow, I have never heard her like this before, just a very impressive yell on her. For some reason I am thinking about that fourth Mai Thai and am feeling so very grateful that the alcohol is probably numbing a lot of the pain I should be in at this moment. The pool of blood that is developing around my face is a clear indication I should be feeling this more than I am. I still don’t understand why Betsy hit me, or why she is now zip-tying my arms behind my back. To be honest, this entire situation feels very surreal, and I am also a little bit drunk. I try to push myself up using my legs, but man Betsy is strong! She throws me to the ground and of course I hit my head on the way down. I’m still conscious, or wait, nope. I’m out. “...if it weren’t...the next one in line...he won’t know.” Randall’s voice is coming in and out... what the hell, Randall! I’m seated in a chair - not a very comfortable one. I’m blindfolded and my head is throbbing worse than it was when Betsy was telling me about her and her cat’s nightly routine. I got my ass kicked, and kidnapped, by a woman who brushes her cats’ teeth every night. “What the hell, Randall!” I’m finally able to shout what I am thinking and it really hurts to yell. My entire face region is just hurting pretty badly. “Where the hell are we?” It feels like the appropriate question to ask at the current moment, but probably not the most important question that I had in my brain. We were definitely inside, and it definitely smells like fried fish in here. Not the best of clues to go on, but I am surprisingly hungry, considering the circumstances. “Tony, you’re awake.” Randall sounds more like a supervillain than the nerdy CEO of my company. He also knows I hate being called Tony. “Sorry that Betsy had to rough you up a bit back there, we knew you wouldn’t comply otherwise. You see, I’ve been thinking that we need to do some downsizing; some liquidating, if you will. We know about your Aunt Penny’s trust, Tony.” Aunt Penny’s trust?! Yes, my Aunt Penny left me a sizable amount of money when she passed away, but I have no idea how Randall and Betsy know about this. As if reading my mind, Randall says “Karen and Betsy are in the same book club. They talk.” Dammit Karen! “All you have to do is transfer those funds and we let you walk.” Betsy’s booming voice tells me she is a lot closer than Randall. And now I am fairly certain the fried fish smell is coming from her. “You guys don’t have to do this.” I say. “What’s the plan? That I give you the money and never tell anyone about it? Did you guys not think this through?” A silence. “Wait, did you guys actually not think this through.” Oh my god I have been kidnapped by idiots. “We...we have thought it through, as a matter of fact,” says Randall. “After you transfer the funds...we’ll make sure to take care of you.” “Are you saying you’re going to kill me Randy? You, the guy who cried at the end of Finding Dory . We took the kids to see that together man!” “No, I am.” Betsy’s right next to me now. I can feel her hot breath on my neck - and can now confirm, with certainty, that she is the source of the fried fish smell. I still have an appetite, surprisingly. “But if you kill me, how will you get the money? You guys are really blowing this.” I know I should be a little more scared, but it is really hard to take these two people seriously. Again, Betsy brushes her cats’ teeth - Every. Single. Night. And yes, the end of Finding Dory is a tear jerker, but still. This is Randall. This guy collects staplers for Christs’ sake. My two would be murderers are now talking a bit further away from me. I can’t make out what they are saying but it is clear they need to figure out a new plan. I’m doing my best to wiggle the muscles in my face around to get this blindfold off - unsurprisingly, these two jokers did not tie this thing very tightly. Finally it slips off my face and I can see now that we are in some sort of parking garage. Classic. Randall and Betsy are to my left next to a van - good luck getting the bloodstains out of a rental. To my right is a brick wall with a few bricks missing every few feet or so, allowing sunlight to stream into this otherwise dark and dusty place. I stare out through one of the holes in the brick and try to get a better sense of where I am. “We’ve decided we are going to kill you anyways, it sounds cleaner then letting you go.” I snap my head back to see Betsy coming towards me holding a pistol. She seems very confident with it and I am starting to believe she may actually kill me. “Any last words, Anthony?” She has the gun against my forehead and the floodgates just open up. I am balling, absolutely balling like a baby. “Please, Betsy. You don’t have to do this.” I can’t believe I am begging Betsy for my life. She is just standing there, looking at me with cold, dead eyes. I can’t hold back the tears, I think of Karen and the kids, I think of all I still have to give the world. I think I am pissing myself but I don’t care, I just want to live. Just then, a loud CRACK whips its way through the parking garage. “Not today, Amigo!” It’s Alex, fucking Alejandro, from the zip-line tour and he’s on a zip-line and he is barreling straight towards Betsy. Before I can blink she’s on the ground and he’s got her in an absolutely awesome headlock. The kind of shit you’d see on WWE Raw. Randall meanwhile, is coming straight at me, like a zombie just raised from the dead, he is ignoring the commotion with his partner completely. “Tony. Tonnnnny. Tonnnnnny” He just keeps saying it over and over again. He’s almost to me now and his hands are out like he is going to strangle me or something. “Tonnnny.” His weak, little fingers work their way around my neck. “Tonnnny.” He’s actually doing it, this guy is going to strangle me. All I can hope is that Alex, whose arrival is still entirely inexplicable to me, is able to stop him before he kills me. As I feel my body start to weaken more and more I glance over to see Betsy and Alex struggling. My entire world goes black to one last, “Tonnnnnny.” “Tony. Tony, can you hear me?” It’s Randall. I open my eyes, I’m outside now, trees shooting up spear tips all around me. Randall’s little hands are on my shoulder. “His eyes are open!” he exclaims. I hear a collective gasp to my right and footsteps and murmurs quickly approach. “That was quite the fall, mi amigo.” Alex’s face appears above me. “Good thing you were wearing your helmet, and good thing you hit a few branches on your way down.” I squint my eyes hard. What the fuck just happened? “Where...what, what happened?” I manage to say. The metallic taste of blood is unmistakable in my mouth. I try to move but Randall pushes down just enough on my shoulders to stop me. I can still feel his little fingers around my throat, but he’s being so gentle now. ‘Oh no you don’t mister. You’re not moving until the paramedics arrive. You could have broken your neck!” Alex seems pretty bummed about what has happened, he can probably smell a lawsuit coming. I am beginning to realize that I must have been stuck in some sort of coma-like fever dream. “Oh boy! That was scary!” Betsy’s voice punches into my ears like an airhorn. “You should have seen yourself, Tony! I just had a feeling something like this was going to happen. I had a premonition last night you know. Oh man, I just feel like having seen that none of us are ever going to be the same.” I close my eyes again hoping to be transported back to the parking garage where I at least had a chance of mercy. “Lo siento Amigo!” Betsy shouts, followed by a fit of uncontrollable and relieved laughter. I close my eyes tightly. I’m never coming on a fucking work trip ever again.


Work was like any other day, daydreaming of a day I can get away from this work life. One would think I would be used to it, after all I have been here for fifteen years. My husband is always away while I work and then go home with the kids. I have three teenagers. My boys are loud, eat a lot, messy, and stink, but to their dad, they are good boys. Connor is my oldest at seventeen, Matthew the middle child, sixteen and Zechariah the baby, is only fifteen, They are good boys at heart, but I wished that I would have had a girl. I longed for my little princess, who would go get her hair and nails done with me. We are at the end of 2019, I’m so happy to see it go. My 40th birthday is coming up, and I’m not ready to let go of my 30s. John is planning a big party in Barbados and I can’t wait to go. We are going for two weeks this man never took a day off from work in the 25 years we have been married. My birthday and our anniversary is in the same week of May, so this vacation is well worth it. I wonder what made him plan this but nevertheless I’m happy. Working in the hospital is a pain, but I love my patients. They come in with cancer, but they are the bravest people I have ever met. As I'm sitting in my office, listening to the news I hear that a virus broke out in China. They are calling it coronavirus. "Oh Lord please don’t let that come here," I think, fearfully, "it’s killing them over there." I called my husband, who is a Neurosurgeon, to ask him what he thinks. "To be honest babe, I’m not sure what to think. I just hope it doesn’t come here." he sighs. March 20, 2020 rolls around and, it's here! Coronavirus has hit the US. I don’t know what to say. We'd have never thought it would come here. The impact was immediate. Schools have been shut down, supermarkets have no food in it, there’s no toilet paper in no stores and me and John have been working overtime. The kids stay with my parents because when we do come home we don’t want to expose them to COVID-19. I have lost so many patient, and we have to work in the ER now, I have seen people come in and die within five minutes, people who died without their families by their sides, whole families not even knowing their loved ones are gone. I miss my boys, I can only FaceTime them and even that is short-lived. I'm being paged every five seconds. Outside of our hospital is a freezer truck full of dead bodies. One day, I ask my husband, already knowing the answer, "Does this mean we can’t go on our vacation, John?" He answered with a mournful and silent hug. The world had shut down. I miss my boys, severely, but for their safety I can only FaceTime them, and there's never enough time. I'm being paged every five seconds. I can’t use the bathroom without a code blue going off. I’m frustrated and exhausted. I haven’t slept in weeks. Our anniversary is here and our trip was canceled. I never cried so much in my life, but John tired his best to make it up to me by stopping by my office. He had got flowers and cupcakes and chocolate cover strawberries, my favorite, we both had been so busy, basically living in the hospital. We haven’t really seen each other, I barely recognize him. His face has so many lines from the masks we wear constantly. I have never seen him look like he'd lost a fight before and I'm sure I look the same. He gave me a kiss. Oh how I missed this man, he bent me over my desk pulled down my panties, cleaned me then he had his way with me, and I loved every minute of it until I heard the dreaded announcement blaring over the intercom. "Paging Dr. Harris! Code blue! Dr. Harris, cold blue!" John got up and pushed me back down on the desk. He was still aroused. He opened my legs wide and bent down and lapped me up again. I could feel it I was about to explode all over his face. I’m trying to hold back from screaming his name. Then, he stopped. I was so close I knew I had to go but before I can fully sit back up he was inside me again. This time he wasn't making love to me. I could tell that all of his anger, his frustration and his exhaustion fueled his thrusts. He pumped into me. The faster he went, the harder he was. My eyes rolled into the back of my head I can feel it, I'm about to come! I could feel my butt getting wetter, the desk was moving and John was finished. I found my voice. "Babe, hand me that wet wipe, I have to go. I love you so much John." " I love you too, babe,"he breathed, as he kissed me and walked out the door. Something is wrong with him, he is not himself, I sensed, but it could just be that we are under so much stress. The summer is here and we are still battling this virus. The city is under so much stress. We are either told to stay inside or to come and live at work. With the cops killing unarmed black men and women the US was under attack. Things were out of control. People wanted to feel normal again. I wanted to feel normal again. I missed being called mom every five seconds. I miss hearing John play with the boys out in the backyard while he grilled steaks. As of lately I had this knot in my stomach, along with this bad headache. One of the doctors who seen me asked me if I was pregnant. I just looked and laughed, replying, "Girl, I've been here at work! I haven’t seen home in a long time!" Sighing, she replied, "I suppose you're right, but I still think you should take one, to be sure." There was no way I was pregnant! Well, there was that one time way back in May, but I just couldn't fathom it.


Today is the first day that I, George, get to work with my best friend; we got a new job at the same place, the FCF. People know it is a Federal office, but its true purpose is known to only a few. FCF actually stands for the Federal Center of Fiction. Authors of fiction are all registered in files, but me and my friend have a bigger purpose than to classify files and papers. We are going to guard a door in the basement of the FCF building. We’re not supposed to say what it contains; everyone who went through that door never came back. But that’s not the worst. The worst are the things that could come out of that door, into our world. Me and my friend Jake arrived at work early for our first day. We had already done a training yesterday and learned all the emergency codes. We switched our clothes for black costumes each equipped with one revolver, one knife, and one sword. All in black, we went down the stairs until we reached the cold and dark basement. There was nothing, except for the door and an emergency button. The door was two meters high and many symbols were carved on it. We were impressed. Our morning was easy; literally nothing happened near the door. So, we were more off-guard in the afternoon which ended up being a huge mistake. Around two o’clock, we were making jokes when a pounding came from the door. Soon, sounds were coming from the door every minute. The boss had clearly said that absolutely nothing was supposed to come from the door, including sounds. We should have made the emergency code as soon as it happened once, but, instead, we got closer to the door to listen. The sounds were too blurry to be identified. We still got closer and when my hand touched the door, it flew open. Jake looked at me and went for the emergency button. He told me to run to the boss, but before either of us could sound the alarm, we were sucked through the door. We had both lost consciousness. When we woke up, the door and the room were gone. We were in the middle of London, near nighttime. ’Hey George, you okay?’ ’Yeah fine and you?’ ’Well yeah, I just don’t get why we’re in London. What’s in London already?’ ’Come on Jake, I bet it’s Harry Potter’ I answered, excited by the idea of meeting the boy who lived. Jake did not seem excited though. ’Does this mean Voldemort is also here?’ ’I guess?’ I realized what was the biggest problem in worlds of fiction: the villains. And which villain would say no to another world, ours, to terrorize? It was important not to reveal the secret of the fiction door. ’George, do you think we’ll be fired?’ ’Yeah, I don’t think the boss is going to forgive us.’ As soon as I finished talking, something roared in the distance. We looked around but could not see anything suspicious. Jake and I started walking on one of the many streets and looked around. The roaring grew louder and closer. We followed the sound until we arrived in a park, no idea which. We saw it, a disgusting monster with tentacles. ’That’s not Harry Potter’ I said. ’And that’s not the 21 st century’ Jake added. I looked around and understood. There was no car, only carriages, and horses. We were so caught up on the question of the time we were in, that we forgot the horrible creature. The roar we heard next was right behind us. We turned around slowly and fell face to face with the monster. We screamed and everyone in the park looked at us in annoyance. They did not see the monster. We started running and, when we turned around, the creature was not following us. It was actually occupied with tattooed fighters wielding shiny blades. We hid in the bushes; if we could get a better view of these heroes, then perhaps we would know in which fiction world we were. When the monster was disintegrated by one of the shiny swords, a man with black hair got a short stick out, a stele. Me and my friend finally figured it out; they were shadowhunters which meant they were in one of Cassandra Clare’s fiction world. The creature was a demon, and the tattoos were runes. Jake had read those books a few weeks earlier. ’Jake, where would she hide the door in her world?’ ’I think I have an idea; Henry’s the best inventor and it might be hidden in his lab.’ All night long we walked in London streets until we reached the London institute where Henry would be. They could not reveal the purpose of the door; they would have to enter the building and go through the door without getting caught. We succeeded to reach the lab and luckily, it was breakfast for the characters. We searched on every wall, but it was not there. On our way out, Jake stumbled on something on the floor, the doorknob. We heard voices coming, we did not lose time, we jumped right through the door. When we got out of the door, we were back in the room, safe. We were so relieved. We went up the stairs and we had to find the boss. At the top of the stairs, two men were holding guns in our direction. ’We’re not from fiction, we just came back’ said Jake to the guards. ’We have to bring you to the boss’ one of the guards answered. We were glad, that’s who we were looking for anyway. We took the elevator to the last floor. The guards escorted us to an office. ’Are you new?’ I asked the guards. ’We’ve been working here for 20 years’, the tallest guard answered. ’Really? Because we started the job yesterday’ Jake said. ’Not possible, we were the ones working’ one of them replied. We entered the office, and I was wondering, did we spend more time than we thought in a fiction world? We faced the boss just like the guards said, except that wasn’t our boss. We both frowned. ’You look disoriented’ the guy said. I was not sure how to call him anymore. ’Well, we went through the door yesterday’ Jake spoke, not sure. ’Sit down. We’ll figure out from which story you are from’ ’We’re from here, the real world’ I told him. He frowned. ’What are your names?’ Jake answered for both of us, ’I’m Jake Thompson, and that’s George Bowell.’ The guy searched on his computer, then looked at us. 'I am sorry guys, but you do come from a fiction world’ he said, seriously. ’You come from the story named ’The Door to Fiction’ and its world looks like ours, which might be why you are confused.’ I was amazed, was this really the real world? Then, we would have been living in a fiction world since we were born.


Do not ever step foot on the ground. Charlie had been told this his entire life, but it never really sunk in. He didn’t understand the deep-seated fear everyone else seemed to harbor. He thought it was incredible, a beautiful problem to be solved. Until he was laying on the floor of the lab staring at the ceiling and blinking away tears. The first time Charlie ever saw the ground consume a person he’d been twelve. What the tree-top teachers referred to as “live mummification” was a quick, disturbing process. Dirt crawling over skin to create a sort of exoskeleton. A casting of the human body, like those papier-mâché spheres they’d made in class years ago. It’d been an elderly lady that first time. The pulley system keeping her safe had malfunctioned and she’d lurched off balance. It was a code yellow bridge and wasn’t fully enclosed. The old lady stumbled to the side and was pulled right over the edge. Charlie caught only the first flash of the swarming ground on her skin before his mom had ushered him away. As the crowd around them shrieked and cried, Charlie craned his neck for a better look. He’d liked to have claimed this moment as the catalyst for his obsession, but really that had occurred years ago. It was maybe a few days after his seventh birthday, and he was crossing that old rope bridge by his house. It’s been built in a rush by early survivors trying to escape their houses for supplies. He was not supposed to be on it, but that had only made him more intent on using it. One of the rotten wood planks had splintered under his front foot and sent him toppling forward. It was only due to some notion of luck that his hips didn’t fit through the empty space and his arms had gotten tangled in the ropes. His leg hung down, exposed, ten feet off the ground. And then his new shoe, a size too big so he could grow into it, slipped off his foot. It landed on the dusty ground and tipped over sideways. Charlie’s breath caught in his chest, but nothing happened. The shiny shoe glistened under the sun. He wanted desperately to stick his finger in that restless dirt, just to see what would happen. He stayed put for way longer than was logical just in case, but the ground remained flat and lifeless. The shoe was not alive. The second time he saw someone be consumed by the ground he was 18 and on the verge of declaring a major in Microbiology, specializing in the study of those tiny organisms that made the ground hungry. This time the fall had not been an accident. He’d been crossing a major intersection of bridges when a commotion piqued his curiosity. A young woman who looked barely older than him had crawled out onto the roof of a one-story house where no one would risk following. Her auburn hair floated in the wind. People crowded against the railings to watch her. A few kind souls called out things like “You don’t have to do this!” and “Things will get better!” but the girl ignored them. She stared straight ahead and stepped off the roof. For a millisecond it was as if she was walking in the air, and then she plummeted to the ground and landed with a heavy thump. Immediately the soil surged up to meet her. She didn’t make a sound as it closed over her. Charlie came back every day for two weeks to observe the hardened cocoon. Inside, he knew that the body was being decomposed, drained away. The microorganisms in the dirt would suck the nutrients from her. Then the cast would collapse in on itself and the ground would smooth over once again. It wasn’t surprising that these events would have a lasting effect on him. The unexpected part was the nature of the effect. Where others would shy away and realize how dangerous the ground was, Charlie felt himself drawn to it. He wanted to understand the little beasts that terrorized his people. So, it was inevitable, really, that he’d want to see this forbidden phenomenon again. The lab he was assigned to was on the upper floor of a university no longer in use. The building was old, made of even gray bricks. He had to duck through the fifth-floor window that had been fashioned into an entrance to get in. The walls were off-white, and the floors were so stable it made him feel somewhat unbalanced. His feet, used to the bridges and tree-top platforms, weren’t accustomed to the solidity. The equipment in the lab was well maintained: microscopes, autoclaves, incubators, centrifuges. He felt like a child in a room full of new toys. On one side of the room, where a balcony had once been, a ramp had been fixed that led down to the ground. The space before it was taken up by a deoxygenation chamber used briefly to asphyxiate any rogue organisms. Charlie was integrated into a group that exclusively studied the microorganisms in the ground called Vitae Suffocent . Life suckers. The study was relatively new, they’d only recently worked with engineering to create a protective suit. Before then, the scientists would lean out the window with a cup fastened to a long pole and scoop up a small bit of the dirt. With the help of the suits, they had been able to set up a secure mock habitat to observe the specimens’ behavior. The group was small, a handful of young students of which he was one, along with six seasoned scientists. For the first time, Charlie found himself surrounded by people who were just as interested in the ground as he was. The obsession that had set him apart from other kids in school was now reflected all around him. There was a girl who’d started at the same time as him- Tori. She was short and had thin black hair chopped short around her ears. Because they were new, they were often assigned projects to work on together. He wasn’t sure if he liked her, but it didn’t matter much. There was an ongoing experiment that needed a fresh test subject, someone to stick a finger into the Life Sucker habitat. Charlie volunteered immediately, exhilarated by the idea of being able to touch the ground. He pictured it being magical, a borderline religious experiment. He worked himself up over it for days, so that when it was finally time he was almost bursting with excitement. The scientists heading the experiment placed him in the deoxygenation chamber with the container. Around him, they gathered clipboards, pencils poised to jot down any and all details. His forefinger was swiped clean with an alcohol wipe that made the skin feel dry. Tori unlocked the circular compartment in the top of the container. Slowly, breathlessly, Charlie lowered his hand into the habitat. The tip of his finger brushed the dirt. It was soft and damp as he pressed the finger down. Charlie blinked and the soil began to stir. It tickled the pad of his finger. He watched in fascination as the hidden organisms began to climb up his skin. It was a strange sensation. The soil was cool and light, it felt more like a caress than a smothering. Tori clicked the stopwatch in her hand and began to count aloud. By the time she reached seven, the organisms were up to his wrist. He withdrew his hand. The seal on the opening caught most of the dirt and held it back, to the irritation of the organisms. He held his hand away from him, not trusting it. Tori latched the contained shut quickly. Someone on the outside of the chamber switched it on. They held their breaths as the oxygen rapidly drained from the room. A loud whirring assaulted Charlie’s ears. His chest tightened. For a minute they all felt like they were suffocating, then it abruptly stopped and the doors to the lab popped open. Oxygen flooded back in. Charlie sucked in a deep breath. He examined his hand. It was tingling and covered in little red blotches, but otherwise, he was fine. No damage had ever been recorded from less than ten seconds of exposure. Charlie glanced at the other set of doors over his shoulder. The ones that opened onto the ramp that led down to the ground. He longed to go through them, wanted to dig his hands in the ground and laugh as the organisms consumed him. He turned and walked back into the lab. A month later he was given a protective suit and given the chance to wear it for the first time. He and Tori had been assigned to walk, outside , to a big oak tree and back. Charlie was thrilled. He stepped into the suit and pulled it up over his arms. A tech zipped him in and checked him over. The suit was a stiff layer of slick rubber designed to lack tread so the organisms wouldn’t be able to climb against gravity. The boots they were given were thick and clunky. They were tall, reaching up to his knees like a pair of extra-long rain boots. A device attached to the top of the boot sent out vibrations that they’d found would deter the organisms. The hood of the suit came up over his head and the visor was clicked into place. He saw the world through a glass partition. Then they were in the chamber and the doors behind them were closing. It was midday and the sun was shining. A breeze spirited a few brown leaves past the glass. The doors to the ramp opened. Charlie stepped out first. His heart pounded in his chest. It was right there, the ground. He walked quickly down the ramp, Tori following behind him at a more reserved pace. He paused at the end of it. The dirt was disturbed, as it always was when the organisms were present. It looked almost fluffy. Charlie took a deep breath and lifted one foot. He lowered it slowly to the ground, enjoying the crunch of soil underfoot. He leaned his weight forward, ready to take another step, but paused. The ground was shaking around his boot, pulsing in strange waves. It was trying to climb up his boot, he realized. He tried to pick up the foot but felt resistance. The ground clung to his boot, pulling him back down. Charlie watched, entranced. He continued to pry his foot away and eventually the dirt fell back down. He looked at Tori, whose face he could just see behind the visor. She looked equal parts disturbed and fascinated. Afterward, he felt like he’d been on another planet. It was amazing, he’d been on the ground, but he couldn’t help feeling slightly disappointed. What had they learned during that expedition? Nothing new, nothing interesting . He wanted more. All he could think about was how slow the studies they performed were. They were no closer to understanding these organisms. They needed to study them in action. His plan fell together quickly after that. Once again he fastened the protective suit on and was checked over by the other technicians. Tori was doing the same next to him. Charlie clapped a hand on her shoulder and with the scalpel hidden in his palm he sliced a tiny hole into her suit, the rubber splitting easily under a sharp blade. She turned and gave him a thumbs-up. He hid the scalpel in one of his pockets. They walked through the chamber and out onto the ramp. The suit was heavy and sweaty against his skin. Through the visor, he saw the dirt-coated ground come closer and closer. The first step was always the most exciting. His foot hovered over the solid ground, casting a wavering shadow over the dirt. He placed it firmly down. The ground beneath him stirred, trying to creep up his legs but being deterred by the vibrations. Slowly, the ground pulling at them with each step, they made it 50 feet away from the end of the ramp. He knew they were being watched closely from the observation windows, but at this distance, no one would really be able to tell what happened. Charlie shoved his foot hard to the side right as Tori took a step. The bottom of her boot caught on the top of his and she lost her balance. Her arms windmilled but the suit was too bulky and dragged her down. She should have gotten up. The suit should have kept the microorganisms at bay. But Charlie had damaged her suit. He gazed intently down at her as the organisms poured over her and into the hole in the fabric. He bent over as if to help her, but really he just wanted to get a closer look. This near, it was mesmerizing. The dark earth swirled as though it was possessed. It rose and fell like a liquid. Tori cried out one last time before they closed over the top of her dark hair. Charlie ignored the panicked voices over his earpiece. Through his visor the majority of the event had been captured (excepting, of course, when he purposefully tripped her). He'd made a huge leap in the field, no matter how tragic. The footage would help inform scientists for years to come. Except, he didn’t know (no one did) that after a feeding, the organisms laid their eggs. Hundreds of microscopic eggs stuck to his boots and were carried back into the facility. The eggs, not having to breathe oxygen yet, were not affected by the deoxygenation tank. Charlie stripped off his suit and hung it on the hook. Overnight, the eggs hatched, and those tiny, deadly microorganisms scurried to hide in the dust accumulated above cabinets and at the edges of the room. Charlie was the first person at the lab that morning, still buzzing with the exhilaration of the day before, ready to study the footage and propel their lab forward. When his skin started to itch, he thought nothing of it. Until he noticed the little red dots on his forearm. Then the world tilted on its axis, and he crumpled to the floor. He’d made another major discovery that day. The skin of the microorganisms contained a deadly neurotoxin. There weren’t enough creatures to make a cast over him. It was a slow death during which all he could think about was how these organisms would feed on him, suck the life out of him. After, they’d lay their eggs. And the eggs would hatch. And the organisms would spread. His curiosity had doomed their entire town. He’d brought the ground to them.


A long, long time ago, when gods and goddesses, demons and fairies, wizards and dragons, still roamed the land, there lived a human woman in a rural village. As it is with villages, everyone knew everyone - and everyone knew this virtuous lady. This woman was the village school teacher, a position which garnered respect from the folks - even the village chief treated her like his own mother. Nobody knew where she had come from, but that did not matter. She was kind and did not seek trouble. In fact, when the village children saw her face, deeply imbued with grey haired wisdom and gentle eyes that could not see very well, it occurred to them that this lady had seen the rise and fall of every dynasty. That is to say, she seemed like a wise sage sent from the heavens to guide them. This woman was called Ms. Eirian. She was a sweet dear, with a seemingly everlasting supply of patience for anyone. Her kindness even reached out to animals and plants. The village chief once joked that if Ms. Eirian were to encounter a wounded lion, she would still treat its wounds - even if the cranky beast were to pounce on her afterwards. Ms. Eirian’s kindness, however, had spread far and wide - so much so that even the gods had heard about her. Would this be a blessing, or a curse? *** One night, as thunder roared and lightning danced in the sky, Ms. Eirian was sitting by her fireplace reading her book. Soon, the rhythmic sound of water splashing onto her roof resonated within the house. Ms. Eirian glanced outside through her window, worried about her students. She hoped that every single one of them were inside their houses, safe, warm, and... “I hope this rain won’t distract them from their homework...” Ms. Eirian muttered to herself. Yes, Ms. Eirian was a really dedicated teacher. Knock, knock. Ms. Eirian turned to look at the door - and nothing happened. Did she imagine those sounds? Knock, knock. There it was again. Ms. Eirian stood up and walked towards the door. She held the cold metal of the door knob and twisted it. The wooden door creaked heavily, the sound scraping her eardrums. Standing before her was a young boy, drenched to the bone. “Oh my,” Ms. Eirian was surprised. “Quickly come in, lad,” she gestured for the boy to enter, which he did. With the warm glow of the fireplace, Ms. Eirian could see the slender face of the child, eyes as large as saucers. Drops of water dripped down from the boy’s black curls. He was wearing tattered rags that clung to his skinny frame. “Who are you?” The stranger asked. Ms. Eirian smiled kindly and opened her cupboards to fetch a clean towel. “I’m Ms. Eirian, the village school teacher... Who are you, kid? Where are your parents? You’re not from around here, are you?” She handed him the towel, which he used immediately. “I’m Lor. Parents? Never got one. Been traveling to get some coins - just to live, y’know,” Lor rolled his eyes. “I see...” Ms. Eirian felt her eyes tearing up for the unfortunate lad. “Ms. Air On, I must say, your house is so small!” Lor began. “It’s Ms. Eir - “Ms. Eirian was cut off by Lor. “I don’t think any human can live in such a dingy place! My, you wouldn’t know this but - even the beggars in my hometown have mansions as big as this~” Lor gestured with his hands. Lor took the liberty to seat himself - yes, he was still quite wet - on Ms. Eirian’s couch. Ms. Eirian just smiled and handed him a book. “Can you read, Lor?” “Yes, there was a man in my hometown who knew his letters. Taught me how to read, y’see.” “Well, that’s good then. Stay here and make yourself at home. I’m going to fix us some warm soup. Poor thing, maybe you should change your clothes too. I’ll look for something, goodness, I don’t think I have clothes the right size for you though,” Ms. Eirian mumbled. “Oh sure, I’m always good at making myself at home, Ms. Air - you won’t mind me calling you that, right? I really wondered why your parents would name you with such a silly thing... Really makes you sound strange. What soup will you be making? It had better have some carrot in it, or else I ain’t gonna eat... I hate green peas though. I also -” “Lor,” Ms. Eirian interrupted, “Can you please be a good dear and stay quiet for a moment? I really need to concentrate. If you keep talking, I might mistake the green peas for carrots and add them to the soup. We both wouldn’t want that now, would we?” And when Lor gazed at Ms. Eirian’s gentle, earnest eyes, he could not help but mumble his ‘yes’. Ms. Eirian began cooking her soup, adding a little bit of this and a little bit of that, all the while enjoying the peace that elderly people find in the presence of golden silence. But that silence was broken very soon. Thunder roared like an almighty lion. A shrill, piercing scream was heard from the living room. The living room! “Heavens, it must be Lor!” Ms. Eirian abandoned her boiling soup and rushed to living room, only to find Lor on the floor with a face as pale as sheet. “What happened Lor?” Ms. Eirian helped him up quickly. “Ms. Air On... t-there was thunder...” Lor cried pitifully. “Oh dear... Don’t worry, dear, the thunder won’t harm you here. Shh... it’s no problem...” “Ms. Air, you wouldn’t want me to suffer from everlasting trauma due to the terrible thunder, right?” Lor asked. “Well, of course not...” Ms. Eirian had completely forgotten to remind her visitor that her name was Eirian - not Air. “Then... will you do me a favor, Ms. Air?” Lor asked, his ink like eyes swirling with tears. “It depends, child. What do you want?” Ms. Eirian patiently asked. “Let me cook the soup for you. I’ll be thinking about the soup so I won’t have time to worry about thunder and whatnot.” Ms. Eirian hesitated. “I can cook really well, promise!” Lor pleaded. “Alright,” Ms. Eirian gave in. Thus, Lor went to the kitchen and cooked the soup. All the while, he bombarded Ms. Eirian with questions. “Do snails yawn? Are rainbows painted in the sky? Do fishes ever suffer from diarrhea? If they do, are they polluting the rivers by doing so? Can jellyfish be made into jelly?” Poor Ms. Eirian was starting to doubt if she was really capable of being the school teacher - and felt as if her ears were about to fall off. Lor also told Ms. Eirian he could juggle plates - something which Ms. Eirian deemed too scary to be done. However, Lor still took Ms. Eirian’s favorite China plates and showed off his acrobatic skills - it was fine at first, but Lor almost forgot to switch off the stove. In fear of burning the soup, Lor dropped the China plates he had been juggling and put out the fire. Ms. Eirian sighed and cleaned up the mess he had made. Seeing that Lor finally finished making the soup, both of them sat down and ate. Ms. Eirian almost spit out the first spoonful of soup. “Uhh, Lor?” She smiled weakly. “Yes, Ms. Air?” “How much salt did you put here?” Ms. Eirian asked hesitantly. “Oh, all the salt I could find,” Lor replied nonchalantly. He scooped up a piece of carrot and bit it, smilingly. “A-all the salt you could find?!” Ms. Eirian wanted to cry. He used the entire bag of salt just to season this soup? Lor looked closely at Ms. Eirian’s expression, as if waiting for something. When Ms. Eirian calmed down, she smiled gently again. It’s okay, Lor was still a child, he probably didn’t really know how to cook but still tried to cook for her - such a sweet child. Ms. Eirian’s gaze at Lor turned even kinder than before. Seeing this, Lor frowned and gritted his teeth. “Lor, I need to get some water in the kitchen. Just continue eating, okay?” “Sure, sure,” Lor paid no heed to Ms. Eirian and wolfed down his soup. Ms. Eirian drank a glass of water and her mood was lifted. “I don’t mind of the soup is too salty, Lor must’ve put in a lot of effort to cook it for us...” she muttered. Ms. Eirian decided she had to thank Lor properly, but when she arrived at the dining room... “Lor? Lor?! Where are you?” Lor had disappeared! Ms. Eirian was left bewildered. She opened the door and looked outside. The rain had stopped, leaving the fresh smell of earth in its wake. The boy - Lor - was nowhere to be seen. The bowl and cutlery that Lor had used sat cleanly on the shelf with no trace of being used. Only Ms. Eirian’s bowl of super salty soup was left on the table. Confused, Ms. Eirian was left to eat the remaining soup and mull over the events that night. *** Back in the heavens - home of the gods - Balor and Luken were sitting in the garden. “Lor, come on, pay me!” Luken urged his friend. Balor frowned; his exquisite face crumpled up because of his annoyance. “I can’t understand that woman at all!” Balor roared furiously. He ran his fingers through his black hair, gritting his teeth. “I broke her favorite plates! I called her name wrongly! I was rude to her! I even made the soup super salty, but she still... to think she would still look at me kindly! I can’t understand that human at all!” Luken chuckled triumphantly. “I told you... Ms. Eirian has the patience of the gods... No, even gods couldn’t stay as patient and kind as her. Maybe she should be nicknamed the goddess of patience instead. Hohoho, how does it feel to lose, Lor? Come on, pay me... you lost the bet this time.” Balor rolled his eyes, regretting that he had agreed to this bet in the first place. “No way, I can’t believe nothing can make that lady upset! Why don’t you try to make her mad this time, Luke? If you succeed, then - only then, I’ll pay you,” Balor said. “Do you think I don’t know what you’re doing? Trying to run away from this debt? You dare to bet with me but you don’t want to pay when you lose? Lor, you better pay this time...” “Ahaha...” sheepishly, Lor grinned and started running away. “I just remembered I need to visit my grandma... catch you later!” Lor ran away with his tail tucked between his legs. “Hey!” Luken cried, “You don’t even have a grandma!”


People have existential crises all the time. I had mine only a few months ago. After careful research, I figured out many ways to deal with it and tried most of them. I learned that some people go to a psychologist, others spend money on expensive clothing and designer accessories, a few dedicate more time to themselves, many keep a journal, and a handful quit their jobs to find their passion. I decided to take a more radical approach, a leap of faith. I switched my monotonous and meaningless existence for a life-changing journey. Furthermore, I packed my whole life in seven suitcases and moved from America to Europe. The decision was made arbitrarily. Either continue living an unfulfilling life or, take control and start all over. Although it felt like jumping from a trampoline into a pool where you couldn’t see the bottom, I was already too invested and could only move forward. When I look back, I cannot pinpoint the time when and how it all started. My mind is a bit fuzzy, but I mostly see snapshots of my life showing me evidence of pure malfunctions. One winter night as I was walking home from the gym, I looked at the sky and saw a gorgeous full moon about to be covered by clouds. It was me! Everything clicked at the time. I could not hide any longer behind a routine. I could not pretend anymore that I was happy. Everything became clear, I needed to break away and shine. Planning began and I had no backups, no Plan B or even a Plan C. There was only one plan, and it needed to work. I took it a step further by deciding not to leave anything in storage because this was a one-way journey with no turning back. In a matter of weeks, I got rid of everything I own. During many sleepless nights, I wonder how many people had packed everything and gone to a country they had never been to before. There were many more times when I questioned myself if I was making a smart decision. Nevertheless, departure day arrived, and I remembered the moment I was on my way to the airport and realized I didn't have any keys with me. I no longer had a key for my car because I sold it. My work keys were also gone because I resigned and had to return them. To top it off, the keychain for my place was empty because I did not have one anymore. Not even a key to a locker at my gym! It felt like I was in limbo. A terrifying feeling that I belonged nowhere and had nothing came over me. My flight was leaving in four hours and with a bag of fear on my shoulders, I embarked on a journey of dreams toward my destiny. Buildings, houses, and freeways were becoming smaller and smaller. The bike path on the beach that I traveled so many times was disappearing between the clouds. Seeing the city for the last time from the plane felt like a big relief. Likewise, I must admit that leaving so much behind was liberating. I had no doubts that I was not going to miss the people that drained my energy or the many worthless material things that accumulated throughout the years. It was an incredible feeling. It felt like taking a heavyweight of bricks off my shoulders. However, not knowing what was ahead was equally exciting and scary at the same time. In my loneliest moments, I prayed for a different lifestyle. I begged for a change and for the opportunity to start again. Yet, I was never prepared for everything that I was going to learn and experience. When the plane landed it was past midnight. The taxi driver did not speak much English, but he was so helpful and welcoming with just his attitude. Somehow, he managed to accommodate all my suitcases in his car. On my way to the hotel, I could only see traffic lights and illuminated buildings. When I arrived at the hotel, I was exhausted but incredibly grateful and thrilled. The room was perfect, and the view of the mountains was exhilarating. It would be my new home for the next 3 weeks while I find an apartment. I felt humble, blessed, and extremely grateful. I was eager to start seeing the city the following morning. I encountered a lively and energizing atmosphere. People rode their bikes and scooters throughout the square. Tons of cars packing the streets and as many people walking around. After getting a local phone number, I started my search for a place to live. My first meal was delicious and affordable; chicken kabobs, salad, softy springy bread, and a variety of sauces that could not figure out what they were except that they were delicious. When I was moving in, I was lucky to find people who were willing to help. I remembered the old man who helped me unload my suitcases from the taxi and placed them at the front door without accepting a tip. Even today I still see him around and we greet each other. In reflecting on my journey, I gained more than I bargained for. Locals are so proud of their roots, their culture, their traditions, and their country. Moreover, it is admirable to see how this society has arisen from the ashes of communism barely 30+ years ago to become so strong and rooted. They had built modern sky risers, cute coffee shops, beautiful shopping malls, schools, and superb restaurants that highly contrast with their traditional architecture. Tall mountains, enormous lakes, multiple parks, and blue oceans were witnesses of a society that does not give up and seeks to strengthen its infrastructure. I discovered a society that valued reading, a good quality of life, and strong family ties. Simple everyday things are not taken for granted. This is a country that I like to call raw and innocent because its natural resources are not polluted by long zip lines in the mountains or fast jet skis on the coast for tourists. Coffee is king and family evening strolls are sacred. The square is the heart of town and people of all ages gather there to hang out. Additionally, their dairy products are the best I have ever tried. Similarly, fruits and vegetables are the freshest and come from the farm to your table. Of course, not everything around me is delightful. Streets and sidewalks are made of uneven cobblestones that could make you twist your ankle in a second. Outdoor cafes and restaurants are surrounded by a cloud of persistent smoke. Payment of utilities is done in person like my grandparents used to do it. Instant gratification is not the norm and postal service is almost nonexistent. Air conditioning and ice-cold drinks are rare luxuries. Nothing wrong with any of that! Although locals keep their livers healthy as alcohol is not overly consumed, unfortunately, their lungs are filled with smoke and nicotine. But a pink handheld fan is my best friend to hide from the strong sun, blow the smoke away, and capture fresh air. When I look back, I see a bitter, impatient, and desperate person willing to risk everything. Moreover, I see a brave person convinced that this move was more than an incredible journey. It has been a transformation, a rebirth. Arriving in a developing country immediately made me appreciate life and be thankful every day. It has changed my perspective on life and has rearranged my priorities. Sitting on my balcony feeling the morning breeze, admiring the view of the city, reading a book, and drinking iced coffee is now a glorious moment in time. I do not miss my car and much less driving in traffic. I walk and take public transportation. I embrace other religions while respecting our differences. In this learning path, I became a sponge trying to absorb a new language and traditions. Moreover, I learned to listen more than speak. I am happy with fewer material things around me. Downsizing has also been part of this new chapter. Who needs a toaster, a bread maker, a food processor, an air fryer, a slow cooker, an immersion blender, a rice cooker, a pressure cooker, a mixer, and a blender to make a delicious meal? Nobody! Do I need three pairs of tennis shoes for the gym? Negative. Less is more. The other day a passed a group of tourists, and I felt so happy that I did not have to go back like them. I was fortunate enough to be able to stay and continue writing new chapters to my story. Every day I take a step forward as I continue to adapt and attempt to blend into a new culture. Learning the language continues to be challenging but an open heart and a smile have taken me far. I cannot wait to spend the holidays in my new place. How would the city be decorated? What types of events take place in December? I do not know how or when this journey ends, but I do not need to know. After only four months, it is still going strong. Dreams are now part of a beautiful reality that I would not change for anything in the world. I came to understand that although people are the same everywhere, culture and upbringing make all the difference. My dream turned into my destiny, and my destiny is my journey. My cup is only halfway full, but I make sure to add new experiences each day while keeping an open mind for the unexpected.


It was quite a silent night. Usually, I could hear the engines of cars outside my apartment window, roaring down the street, trying to bustle off to a location unknown to my mind. I could still hear the cars, but tonight, it seemed as if it were more of background noise, instead of the nuisance it usually was during these late hours. I sighed, shaking my foot lightly as I read my book in the dim light of my bedside lamp. Suddenly, I felt a claw bat at my foot. I chuckled. It was most likely my cat, who was usually very energetic during the nighttime. Then again, she always has been this ball of spunk, but seemed to prove more so when the moon had shown. I put down my book for a moment, and looked at the end of the bed, her claws tickling my foot. I'd jerk from side to side of my bed, and occasionally sliding my foot down the entirety of the covers. She was so fast. I couldn't even see her in such dim light though. Then I hear the sound of my door creak open. Slowly, feeling a tinge of fear, I look to see what is causing the sound. It's my cat. I turn to look at the end of my bed. It's not my cat.