Danny Beresford woke up in a good mood, as he did every morning after Penny’s abrupt departure. It was a relief to start the day without her cold shoulder and frosty words. Even before their divorce was completed, she’d earmarked her possessions; family heirlooms, souvenirs from foreign holidays, and all those silly knick-knacks with limited sentimental value. Danny hadn’t contested her choices; he’d always thought the place was far too cluttered. ‘I suppose it’s less to dust,’ his mother had said. ‘But it’s a damn nerve, dear.’ ‘Never mind,’ his father had said. ‘You can’t take it all with you, son.’ In the event, Danny’s father was correct, but only because Penny had seized everything whilst he was at work. Millman, his boss at the bank, was a man of the world. He’d heard about Danny’s troubles and insisted he took time off. ‘Get yourself a sharp lawyer and come back fighting in two weeks,’ he’d said. ‘I don’t want you moping about and upsetting the clients.’ Danny smiled and accepted the offer, not that he could refuse. However, he didn’t get round to contacting his solicitor. He couldn’t be bothered with all the fuss. Penny was welcome to anything. Good riddance to the lot. # It was six a.m. when the alarm’s insistent bleep disturbed Danny’s deep slumber. His two-week reverie had ended and it was time to get back into work mode. Danny snorted air into his lungs, swung his legs from underneath the duvet, and padded across an acre of sanded floorboards between the mahogany bed and matching wardrobe. Without soft furnishings to muffle the sound, his foot slaps echoed around the bare bedroom and pinged off the four sliding glass doors overlooking the back garden. The couple’s detached suburban property was modest in size when they’d purchased it fifteen years ago, however it appeared twice as big in Penny’s absence. While Danny had pursued his daily ritual of sorting out his former wife’s remaining effects, he’d discovered rooms he didn’t know existed. There were parts of his house he didn’t recognise at all. It was as if the entire structure was expanding brick by brick. # Danny selected the suit he’d collected from the dry-cleaners at the start of his sick leave. He removed the flimsy protective plastic and, flicking through his collection of ties, chose his favourite; the navy blue one with thin white stripes. It reminded him of his old school tie. Not that he was inclined to reminiscing; his life had changed a lot since those formative years. Danny had resisted joining the old boy network and wasn’t in close contact with his peer group. All his old classmates had moved on too; they’d all travelled far and wide in pursuit of their careers. # Downstairs, he checked his Rolex as the percolator gurgled away beside him like a choking cat; spitting and coughing for all it was worth. Danny digested the morning’s headlines on his smart phone while he wolfed down steaming porridge and gulped fresh black coffee. Licking his lips, he added the dirty crockery to yesterday’s breakfast debris and headed for the front door. He grabbed his briefcase and overcoat, pausing in the glazed vestibule to witness the morning sunlight glint on the icy morning dew. The garden’s manicured lawn was a field of twinkling diamonds. His face tingled as the sun’s first rays bombarded his pale skin and he closed his eyes. Danny imagined being on holiday; somewhere warm and welcoming, a Greek island perhaps. That’d be just the ticket. His eyelids blinked open to see a golden host of dusty particles swirling on invisible air currents. The cloud of specks cavorted in sunlight that had travelled millions of miles to greet him. They fluttered with joyful abandon until the breeze diminished and the moment passed. The spontaneous congregation dispersed without an encore. It was as if their unique performance had never happened. The reverse thrust of a descending Airbus A320 bound for Gatwick Airport reminded Danny of the time, and it occurred to him he’d never paused on his doorstop before. He took a deep breath and, after a slow exhalation, lowered his briefcase onto the hardwood threshold. Danny marched past the driveway’s neat borders towards his gleaming Mercedes, clicking an electronic key fob as he approached. There was a sharp honk, and the headlights flashed in response. Danny opened the driver’s door, and leaning inside, turned the key in the ignition. It started the first time. The reliable German engine continued to purr like a pampered feline as the solid door clicked shut and Danny ambled back up his flagstone pathway. When he reached the entrance, he hoofed his briefcase past the mound of unopened letters in the hallway and closed the front door behind him. # It was about one o’clock in the afternoon when the phone’s persistent ringing woke him up. Danny tottered downstairs as more mail spilled through the letterbox onto the doormat. In the silent kitchen he tinkered with the landline’s receiver to discover six new messages. He replaced the handset in its cradle without listening to them. # Danny answered the phone at three o’clock whilst peering at his car from behind his living room window shutters. ‘Mister Beresford?’ a woman’s voice asked. ‘I called earlier but--- ’ ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘everything’s fine, Joan.’ A fluffy cloud of vapour rose from the car’s exhaust pipe and Joan continued. ‘You have a full page of appointments for Tuesday, Mister Beresford...’ Surely there couldn’t be much more fuel in the tank? ‘... and Mister Beresford,’ she said, pausing for breath. ‘Please call Mister Millman.’ ‘Millman wants me?’ ‘He’s blowing a fuse here.’ ‘Is that so, Joan?’ A jogger halted next to Danny’s spluttering vehicle. Joan detailed the latest changes in bank personnel and listed new clients that required Danny’s immediate attention. ‘Sure thing, Joan,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow will be fine...’ Half-listening to his secretary, he avoided eye contact with the lycra-clad neighbour examining the exhaust pipe. ‘... so we’ll see you first thing, sir?’ she asked. ‘Of course, Joan,’ he said, smiling as the jogger shook her head and continued down the road. # The six o’clock television news had just finished its round up of the day’s horror stories when Danny noticed the car’s engine falter and stop. That was when he decided to remain in the house and only answer the door to anyone who had a legitimate reason for visiting the property. He could solve all his difficulties by merely staying here and disappearing into the fabric of the property. Still in his business suit and tie, he resolved to vanish. He padded his pockets and retrieved his wallet, driving licence and work I.D. card. If he destroyed everything that could identify him, he’d be able to slip away undetected. No one would miss him; not really. Danny had got to that age when he knew there were always ten young men chasing after his job. Penny wouldn’t miss him, and he wouldn’t miss her either. Danny gathered all the unopened letters and correspondence from the hallway and built a pyramid in the fire grate in the living room. He lit the tapering edges of the pyre and warmed his outstretched palms when the paper caught alight. As the flames crackled, he added one piece of I.D. at a time and cremated all his bank notes too until all he had left was an empty wallet. Danny staggered as he stood up and grabbed the mantelpiece for balance, enveloped by a certain lightheadedness. It was as if he’d removed a colossal weight from his shoulders and now he could breathe freely again. # Danny was practical by nature, and his next instinct was to create an inventory of all the food in his pantry, fridge, and garage freezer. He’d visited the supermarket recently and probably had enough produce to last five or six days; maybe ten days if he cut back and fifteen if he was frugal. After that, he’d have to consider shoe leather or broth from boiled cardboard. He’d let providence dictate his future. He couldn’t be any worse off than living with Penny in their marriage from hell. Danny was now free to explore his estate and looked forward to discovering new horizons within his ever-expanding dwelling. # The landline woke Danny the next morning at eleven o’clock. It screamed at him from downstairs. He wrapped the duvet around his shoulders and dragged himself down to the kitchen to attend to it. The ringing stopped as he approached, and he lifted the handset to discover ten new messages. The handset vibrated in his hand and shrieked into his face. Grimacing, he rejected the call and rammed the handset onto its cradle. Danny followed the phone unit’s twisted cable to the wall, grabbed hold of the tangled wire and yanked it out of its socket. That would be the last time the landline would disturb him. # A week passed by and there were no more calls, which wasn’t a surprise. Danny whiled away the hours, jettisoning his executive trappings. He detached the sixty-inch HDTV from its wall mount and bumped it down the stairs and out into the back garden. This was a giant step to take, but not the first item he’d ejected on his journey to rid himself of his lifestyle. He’d had enough of the limitless channels packed with ocular chewing gum and disposable eye candy. No more streaming services and next day deliveries for him. He would downsize and lose all the baggage and fully explore the elaborate terrain of his ever-distending home. # During the second week, Danny piled up the last of Penny’s possessions in the back yard and smashed up the household furniture for firewood. He had no means to pay for the electricity and if he made it to winter, he’d need fuel to keep warm. The only intrusion was a policeman who knocked at the door enquiring about Mister Beresford’s whereabouts. Danny answered the door, still in his suit. ‘Mister Beresford?’ he asked. ‘Are you the householder?’ ‘How can I help you?’ ‘We had reports of a break in.’ ‘No, constable,’ Danny said, frowning. ‘I’ve been here all the time.’ The officer explained he was investigating reports from neighbours who said the upper windows were permanently open and they’d heard bangs and crashes coming from inside. ‘We were told there’d been a break in at this address.’ ‘I’ve been engaged in home improvements, constable.’ The officer shrugged and said he had no reason to pursue the matter, as the legal occupant was present and a law-abiding suburbanite. To that end, Danny closed all the windows facing the road and resolved to maintain a tidy appearance for the sake of his sanity. In many ways, his neighbours had been observant. A forced entry had occurred, of course, a most unusual break in. # A month passed by in the twinkling of an eye. Danny had a few awkward exchanges with an immediate neighbour who’d interrupted his work outside. She’d wanted to know why he wasn’t at work and wondered why the gardener had ceased attending. Danny made polite excuses and disappeared into the undergrowth to continue mapping the topography of his ever-expanding kingdom. Every day, the number and size of his rooms increased. The upper floors had taken on the dimensions of several large aircraft hangers, and the land at the rear was now comparable to Kew Botanic Gardens. With nothing to prevent the ingress of natural daylight, the house’s dimensions became exaggerated further until it took Danny all day to travel from one side of the estate to the other. # The outside world still bombarded Danny with irrelevant messages; junk mail, free newspapers, and letters from Mister Millman at the bank. He collected all the detritus from the doormat and incinerated it in the fire grate. Danny smiled during the daily ceremony and imagined the solemn letters pertaining to his contract, accompanied by Millman’s hideous threats and warnings. # Two days ago, Danny heard a knock at the door and saw a slim silhouette behind the frosted vestibule glass. He answered the door to find a smartly dressed woman in a two-piece wool suit and collar length hair. ‘Yes, can I help you?’ ‘Mister Beresford?’ she said, her mouth aghast. ‘It’s me, sir, Joan...’ ‘Ah, Joan,’ Danny said, leaning on the upright for support. ‘Yes, I’m fine and I’ve been meaning to call.’ ‘I’ve been reassigned, sir.’ ‘You’re still employed?’ ‘Yes, but--- ’ ‘That’s good news. I was worried that--- ’ ‘But they’ve cleaned out your office and destroyed all your files, sir.’ ‘That’s great news, Joan.’ ‘Do you need help, sir?’ ‘I’ve never been better, Joan, and slowly achieving my dreams.’ # On the last day of Danny’s exhaustive explorations, he discovered the outer edge of his vast empire in the unmapped region formerly known as garage. At its centre, was an enormous abandoned crater containing ice and glittering gemstones that beckoned him forth. With the last of his rations consumed two weeks before, he had no choice but to enter the icy world to forage for scraps. Danny recalled his history lessons from long ago and Captain Oates’ infamous line as he walked to certain death in a polar blizzard. What was it he said? Oh, yes, “I’m just going outside and may be some time.” His tortured mind repeated those prophetic words as he succumbed to the beguiling ice crystals twinkling on the walls of the cavernous interior. With every movement Danny’s lungs strained for air and his heart struggled to supply blood to aching limbs. A final trembling breath stung his blackened lips and at last Danny’s arms collapsed under the weight of the descending ice-shelf, trapping him inside his abandoned chest freezer forever. The End


Once upon a time in a far away land deprived of roads, walked a lone Nomad wandering far and wide when he came upon an old man. 'Morning' said the Nomad to the old man who seemed to him weary and weak. 'Morning' said back the old man, 'say could you pherhaps spare me some food and water?' he asked the Nomad. To his luck the Nomad was charitable and gave him an apple and water and continued on his way. It was near evening when the Nomad started feeling lonley and wished for some company he then thought of the old man in the middle of the road. He decided to go back and find him where they met, when he finally arrived the Nomad found the old man's soul left the earthly realm, after choking on an apple...


“Hey honey, can you drive for a bit?” James touched Liz’s knee and she jerked to attention. “I have a bit of a headache coming on and I’d like to close my eyes.” “Of course.” Liz closed the laptop she had perched on her crossed legs as he pulled the blue Chevy Trax into the gas station just outside Childress, Texas. She was so focused on the story she was typing that she didn’t hear his request until she felt this hand on her knee. He stepped out and moved to the back of the Trax to refuel while Liz headed for the bathroom. She returned with a bag of Skittles dangling from her right hand. She opened the driver’s side door, climbed into the wide-open space, and began to readjust the seat and mirrors to fit her 5-foot frame. Liz set the Skittles in the center console as the buzz of the seat sliding forward vibrated the stirring wheel. She released the telescoping mechanism and pushed the stirring wheel to the dashboard. She triple-checked the mirrors one last time before she buckled her seatbelt and restarted the engine. James reclined in the passenger seat beside her, head back and eyes closed. She pulled back onto the main road running between towns and headed north toward Childress. With her favorite holiday playlist on the radio, she tapped the stirring wheel and sang along to all her favorite tunes alternating handfuls of Skittles between songs. She savored the sweet chewy delicacy, and it helped keep her awake for the long journey ahead. James shifted in his seat, so she lowered the radio volume. Several minutes passed. “Thank God” by Kane & Katelyn Brown played on the radio. She couldn’t help but sing along. Playing air guitar on the stirring wheel, she noticed the Childress city limit sign. She didn’t get more than the first verse out when she breathed in, and a piece of Skittles lodged in her throat. James sat up in his chair. His eyes locked on her. Several seconds passed, “Are you breathing?” She raised her right hand as tears streamed down her face. She shook her head and pulled the Trax into the middle turn lane, never making a sound. His stare bore into her soul. “Are you okay?” His voice was on the edge of panic. She shook her head. Still no sound. He pointed to the left. She followed his finger and saw a gas station and no oncoming traffic. She pulled into the station and placed the Chevy Trax into park next to pump#4. “Thank God, Thank God, Thank God for giving me you. “Kane continued his ballad to his beautiful wife. Liz pressed the power button to off. “Are you breathing, do I need to perform the Heimlich?” Panic was pushing James to the edge of his seat. Tears clouded her vision and snot fell like snow off the roof. Thud. Thud . Splashing off the stirring wheel and onto her jeans. Liz remained calm. She couldn’t breathe. In or out. Nothing. No sound. “Is this it, God? Am I coming home? It this how You’re taking me, death by Skittles?” She glanced in James’s direction and could see his lips were moving but she could no longer hear sound. She tightened her eyelids and felt more tears escape down her cheeks. They hit her jeans like water balloons dropped from the Empire State Building. Splat. Kerplat . Everything was heightened and done in slow motion. 2 seconds passed. She could feel her heartbeat. Boom Boom It’s so quite here, God. 4 seconds passed . Boom Boom How peaceful...this feeling. Her thoughts trailed off before she could finish her thought. Boom Boom. 6 seconds passed. She looked at James, still moving his lips without sound. Boom Boom . She had a perspective shift. Was she moving away from James? 8 seconds. More tears streamed down her face. God, will James be okay? She glanced at the clock on the dashboard. 10 seconds passed. Was the dash getting further away? Boom Boom She closed her eyes again. More tears crashed to her jeans. More snot dripped to her lap. Boom Boom . She saw movement on her right and watched James lift his right hand. She squinted through the tears and noticed 12 seconds passed. Boom Boom . Liz moved her hands to the stirring wheel fearing she may lose consciousness. 14 seconds passed. 16 seconds passed. Everything was moving fast forward. A blur of memories whizzed past her head. She placed her forehead on the top of the stirring wheel. Before James reached for the door handle, Liz wheezed. He froze. She wheezed again. This time Panic threatened Liz. She clasped the stirring wheel and tried to breathe again. Like breathing through a flattened straw, she took shallow breaths until the minute Skittles piece finally freed its death grip on her windpipe. James slowly released the breath he didn’t even know he was holding and leaned back in his seat. His head pounded even more than before they switched seats. Adrenaline pumped through his veins. He massaged his temples, eyes closed. Cough. Wheeze. Cough. Wheeze. Liz couldn’t speak, but the sheer fact she was making noise was music to his ears. Cough. Wheeze. Cough. Wheeze. “Thank God, I didn’t lose you.” Cough. Wheeze. Cough. Wheeze. Thank God . Liz thought about those words between coughs and wheezes. “Thank God” was playing on the radio and the story those lyrics tell. She reached over and grabbed James’s hand. She shook her head in agreement with his spoken words. Cough. Wheeze. Cough. Wheeze... ...Several miles down the road, they pulled up behind a line of cars on Interstate 40. Debris decorated the highway for several 100 feet. They saw chrome fenders, red plastic taillights, glass, and tire shreds scattered down the road. Over an hour they crawled along Interstate 40 at a snail’s pace. Liz looked up to heaven as they passed the wreckage, “Thank God.” She whispered as a tiny tear ran down her cheek. James reached for her hand, “Thank God.” They finished their journey in silence.


“You nervous?” “A little. You know... I’ll be okay.” “I’m sure you will. I’ll be at the café. Text me when you’re ready.” Corey, fifteen-and-a-half-years-old, repeated ‘ You got this ,’ to himself. If only he believed it. He’d driven hundreds of miles practicing over the last few months. But until he passed this test, to the world, he knew squat. First tests... firsts of anything are mysterious to the uninitiated. Rites of passage used to mean something. Crossing that line meant leaving childhood forever. He’d take on the mantel of adulthood and everything that meant. Driving legally was about the only rite of passage remaining. Yes, it’s an important step, but a step down from facing enemy fire on a battlefield. Parked in the DMV lot, Corey and his father sat in Corey’s vintage Plymouth Valiant convertible. They got out and shook hands. Corey’s father said, “You know your stuff. Stay focused. You’ll do great.” “I’ll knock this out and then I can take that job.” Corey headed toward the building. Because of his appointment, he wasn’t worried about the line of people waiting. He’d heard horrible things about the DMV. But this might be okay. A lanky man with a DMV badge intercepted him. He carried a clip board. “Looking for a tester? Have a driver’s test scheduled?” Corey nodded. “You’re up. I’m Ziggy. Let’s see your paperwork...” Ziggy looked at Corey’s permit. “Oh, you’re a Pisces...” “What?” “Don’t know if you’re coming or going. Always swim against the current. You know how it goes... Can’t ‘go with the flow,’ as they say.” “This is for my driver’s test, right?” “Of course. DMV at your service... We’ll discover what drives you.” “Me?” “Yeah... you, I, everyone goes ‘round wearing these chassis.” He slapped his chest and arm. “Are you the vehicle to greater understanding? Or will you merely tick off the miles ‘til you get hauled, creaking and groaning, to the scrap heap?” “Uhm, my car’s over there.” “The convertible?” “Yeah.” “Nice. You like the top up or down?” “Down.” Ziggy snickered. Corey gave him a curious look. “Nothing... A private joke. You consider yourself convertible? Or already converted?” “I don’t get it...” Already on edge, Corey began doubting his grasp of reality. They got in and fastened their seat belts. Corey started the car and revved gently. Ziggy said, “So, is this an automatic or manual transmission?” “Automatic.” Ziggy sighed. “Isn’t that like life? So often, we act without thinking. Let ‘the Man’ do it. You know, ‘the Man,’ the government, the internet. No personal initiative anymore.” The word ‘mystified,’ popped into Corey’s brain. Ziggy continued. “You feel in control, Corey? Admit it. There’s so little we control.” Corey tried to focus. “Where are we going?” “Ah, age-old questions. Where am I? And, where are we going? Where are you going, Corey?” “I meant for the driving test. You want me to drive?” Ziggy laughed. “If you don’t know where you’re going, how do you know if you got there? Right?” “Right...” Corey wondered how he could pass this. ‘ What would passing look like? ’ “Tell you what... take the wheel, pull out of the lot. Just drive.” Corey idled to the exit. He flicked the signal and checked for oncoming traffic before turning. Waxing philosophical, Ziggy talked nonstop. “Ahhh, the great wheel of life... You know, the great mandala? ‘Round and ‘round it goes. Where it stops... Where are you on that wheel, Corey? Do you know?” “Hands at three and nine o’clock, sir.” “Very good. Not what I asked but, good to know.” Needing to concentrate, Corey wanted to tune him out, but couldn’t. He slowed for traffic and entered the freeway onramp. “Yes, merging is always a good idea. But with what do we merge? With the universe? The void? Traffic? What do you think, Grasshopper? I mean, Corey?” Corey accelerated and entered the main flow of traffic. He wondered, ‘ Focus... How do I get through this?’ Ziggy said, “How does it feel to travel at the speed of life? So much happens. All at once. Time is such a blessing.” Ziggy rambled on. “All these people hurtling toward their respective destinations. Oblivious to the sea of humanity in which they are immersed...” He laughed. “Who thinks of the other drivers’ problems? Or even as people? Where the hell is everyone going?” He looked at Corey to see if he got the point. Corey nodded. “Corey, you ever hear the one about the fish getting asked, ‘How’s the water?’ Hilarious.” Corey signaled his lane change. He watched his speed. ‘ Hang in there. Just drive...’ “Ever wondered what it would be like to live without limits...? That would be fun, right?” Corey said, “I like speed limits. Those and stop signs are great inventions. Living without limits might be great until a giant tree decides to grow in your path.” Ziggy nodded, “Yielding is great skill too... Yielding to the greater reality barely out of reach. Take this exit.” “You mean the one I just passed?” Ziggy nodded. “I missed my turn.” Ziggy shrugged. “Relax. The brass ring always comes ‘round again.” “Meaning...?” “Take the next exit.” Corey signaled to change lanes. The other driver wouldn’t let him in. “It all comes down to passing, doesn’t it? Pass the test. Pass the car. Pass the time. Pass the potatoes. Is there no end to it?” A driver flashed his lights and let Corey into the lane. Ziggy offered, “Right of way. Who’s really right? More rights than responsibilities... Two wrongs don’t...” Corey fumed as the next exit proved impossible to access. ‘ Oh well, not trying to get anywhere special. Keep moving forward. Focus on safety...’ “No detours, friend. All roads lead to enlightenment.” Corey rolled his eyes as he got into the exit lane, coasted and slowed for the light. Ziggy said, “Of course, enlightenment demands caution. Or discernment. Is the light red or green? And who decides?” Corey snapped. “What are you talking about? Is this a driver’s test?” “Keep your eyes on the road, Sport. You learn to drive playing video games?” “Yeah... did you see that wall ride Chastain pulled off in the NASCAR playoffs?” “Careful. This ain’t NASCAR. You don’t want to get towed away with a toe tag.” Corey pulled to the curb and shifted into park. He turned to Ziggy. “Are you a pod person? What does any of this have to do with anything?” Ziggy made a note on his clip board. “Signal and, when safe, re-enter traffic flow. Head back to the DMV. This test is over.” “But...” “You failed.” “But how...? I did everything...” “It’s in the stars, my Pisces friend... When the student is ready, the teacher appears. I assure you, you’re not ready.” Corey drove back in silence. He felt lost. ‘ How was this a driver’s test? More of a seminar on New Age claptrap.’ He pulled into the lot and parked. He focused on his breathing. ‘I drove perfectly. No errors. Arbitrarily failed by this DMV guru. Kiss that job good-bye. Re-schedule. Will I have to wait weeks?’ Ziggy exited and leaned in. “Better luck next time, fish boy...” He slammed the door and walked toward the main building. Corey watched Ziggy go through the door. He needed to chill and then re-schedule his test. He set the brake, stepped into the morning air and stretched. He entered the building and watched for an open window. “Hi. I need to reschedule. I failed my driver’s test.” Corey passed the clerk his permit. The clerk searched his monitor. “I can fit you in for 10am tomorrow. That work for you?” Corey nodded. “Let’s see, Egbert’s free. But he can be a bit slow.” The clerk leaned in. “Except when he’s behind the wheel... Then there’s Miranda. She’s never failed anyone. You’re not married, are you?” Corey said, “No.” “Okay. You're in. Who was your tester today?” “Uhm, Ziggy...?” “Oh, you mean Otto. I’ve heard about him...” “That’s okay. I learned something.” “Really? From Otto?” At peace, Corey felt inspired. “...Whether I’m the water or the wave.” “Wow... That’s some driver’s license test... What did you decide?” Corey smiled. “I'm both.”


(WP) Simple Courtesy I got engaged to be married to a wyvern by holding the door for him. I didn’t think anything of it; I was only being polite. We both worked at the same bookstore, and we happened to both be returning from our break, and he was behind me, so I just held the door open. He beamed at me; his eyes dewy with something that I couldn’t understand. “Patrick, you’re too kind! We’ll have to tell our parents, you know. Wyvern-human marriage is generally frowned upon in my culture.” I stared at him, frowning. “Marriage? What are you talking about, Dalton?” “You held the door for me, Patrick!” He answered as if this was obvious. “In my culture, showing someone specific kindness, such as you just did for me, shows the other person that you wish to be married!” There was that word, again. Marriage. I didn’t even know if I wanted to get married, and now here I was, engaged to a wyvern. For opening the door. “Uh, that’s not what I meant,” I said hurriedly, damning the bright flush that was climbing up my neck and flooding my cheeks. “I was only being polite!” But it was too late to backpedal, and I found myself making a date to have dinner with Dalton and his parents. My stomach had quickly tightened into knots, and nausea was quickly roiling my stomach. How had this happened? \*\* When I returned home, I told my parents the situation, feeling embarrassed all over again. My dad, who’d been folding laundry in the living room, looked at me, brow furrowed. But his eyes crinkled up at the corners, the corners of his mouth turned upward as if fighting a laugh. My mother was sitting with a cup of coffee on the couch, frowning thoughtfully. “But surely you can say that this is all a misunderstanding,” She said, taking a sip of her drink. “I’m sure once you explain, it’ll be a laugh, and then we can move on with our lives. Besides, we’ve been long overdue for a night out. We need to make a good impression on our future in-laws.” She dropped a wink, and my embarrassed “Mom!” was drowned out by my parents’ laughter. \*\* We met with Dalton and his parents in a fancy restaurant on the outside of town. We were all dressed nicely: I wore my finest suit, though it was too small and parts of my wrists showed; Mom had donned a silk gray sheath dress and a little tiny bag to match, with heels, and my dad wore the tux he’d worn to his own wedding to my mother, fifteen years before. But no matter how nice we looked, my heart wouldn’t stop pounding, and sweat formed on the back of my neck, my forehead, the small of my back. The restaurant wasn’t even warm, but I couldn’t stay still. I had to get out of this, or I was going to be married to a wyvern.


‘Come on, let’s go!’ Momma hurries me, waving absently at the luggage I’m still packing. ‘I know Momma, hang on.’ I tuck my favorite Teddy from when I was younger in with the clothes. I don’t remember when when Dad gave it to me. I know I always loved it since. I zip the suitcase shut, before slipping into a warmer hoodie. Momma is already downstairs, preparing to go. She’s got a gun on the table. I haven’t seen our gun in a while, since Dad taught me to shoot it. ‘Momma?’ I ask, with uncertainty. ‘It’ll be alright, hon. Let’s go.’ We take our paltry supplies to the car. Water for a few days, the rest of our food. Our medical kit, and sanitary supplies. As we get into the car, I notice the sun seems different. Colder. Maybe I just hadn’t looked at it enough. ‘Where are we going first momma?’ ‘The school I think. He is a teacher, hopefully he’s still there. We’ve been here.’ Momma looks like she doesn’t know. I don’t blame her. She turns onto the highway, and with no traffic in sight, she presses the pedal to the floor. I notice her knuckles on the steering wheel are white. We pass the time in silence. Momma watches the road while I watch everything else. I open the car door, taking in the empty surroundings. School should still be in session, but there’s nothing here. No lights or voices, or people. But we have to find Dad. I step out of the car, before pausing and leaning back in. Momma is making to get out too. ‘Momma -‘ my throat catches. ‘Ma, I got this. It’s okay. Just give me the knife. I’ll be alright. I gotta.’ She grimaces at me, not wanting to leave me alone here. I don’t blame her. ‘You still have the gun right?’ Momma pulls it from under her seat, and makes to hand it to me. ‘No ma, you need it more than I do.’ She settles back into the car. Unhappy. But it’s safer out here, at least, I think. I clutch the knife to me, feeling it rattle in its sheath. It’s the first sound I hear outside the car. There’s just a short path between the car and the doors. I push open the door on the left, and it swings itself closed behind me, awkwardly groaning before it latches into place. There are stairs to the right, and the office to the left. There are no lights there, and the door is closed. There’s no light downstairs at all. The light from the door gives way to black too soon. I decide not to go that way. The stairs are dusty, the railing cold, the concrete cracked. The air is old and unmoving. I reach the top of the stairs, and something is already wrong. There’s a child sitting in a seat in front of me, watching lines on a screen embedded in the wall. He isn’t moving, so I ask who he is. He doesn’t answer. I reach out with the knife still in its sheath, and tap him on the shoulder. Nothing. I go to his side, and to my relief he still has a face. A right face. He’s just not all there. To the right, barely two steps away is another door, solid wood. No light emanates from the crack beneath it. The boy will be no help, so I leave him. To the left is a normal classroom, the stairs might have been where the door was. A single light from what looks like a kitchen counter dimly projects into the room. I see two rows of chairs, and tablets at each desk. The windows along the wall are blacked out. I look up and realize the overhead fan still spins. It’s still spinning. That thought catches in my throat as I realize there’s no sound. I can’t hear my breathing. I can’t hear my single footstep back. All I feel is the pounding of my heart, as fear creeps into my vision. I turn to run, hoping I am not too late. The child looks at me quizzically as I turn, but I barely see him. Not four steps into the room, as I make to race down the steps back to the safety of the light I slam into nothing. I lose myself for a moment, staggering backwards into the wall of screens. Only the one is still on. But the child isn’t looking at it anymore. He’s looking at me. But his head hasn’t turned. Just his face. Surprised, I look back to the stairs. The door opens again. It shouldn’t have opened. Why is it opening? And there’s my mother. She closes it behind her, softly. The gun is in her hand. She makes the same short decision I did. I try to call out to her, but no sound will come from my anguished lips. She begins climbing the steps, and I know she must not make it to the top. He’s just looking at me. Only looking at me. I throw myself at the stairs, feeling my head thud against concrete, seeing nothing. I slam the knife against it, harder, and harder, until I feel something give way. Numbly I realize it is my hand. Momma is just a few steps away now. She stops at the last step. The gun is still in her hand. The last vestige of safety she has. Momma stops. I don’t know why. She stares at the wall, past me, at something else. She turns a pale white, and stumbles backwards down the stairs, gripping the railing. She nearly falls before turning and running down the stairs. She makes it outside, the door slowly creeping back into place. The light from outside fades into the black of the foyer. I am relieved. I sag into the invisible wall, feeling its uncapitulating smoothness. It’s hard to hold the knife. I settle with my back to the wall now, the child still looking at me. His eyes don’t move. When I look at him, nothing moves. He shouldn’t be able to look at me without turning his head. Then I hear an impossibly loud cracking as if reality had split itself open again. I fall backwards down the stairs. The last thing I see is a mirthless smile, before I manage to scramble to my feet, dropping the knife down the other side of the stairs in the process. Old dust clings to my pants, my shirt, and gets into my lungs. I hear myself cough as I scramble down the stairs. Adrenaline surges as I seek to be let out of my prison. I crash through the doors, throwing them open. My hand throbs. I take a few more steps before I am stopped again. This time it isn’t a wall. An ancient primal grief awakens inside me, and I scream. My mother sits slumped at the wheel, the gun awkwardly lopsided on the dashboard. Viscera clings to the windshield. I rush to the car, murmuring. ‘No.’ over and over. I yank the door open, hoping its another trick. It isn’t. I fall to my knees, feeling reality close in around me, my vision blurs. Tears fall on the concrete. I feel empty. A void grows inside me, and at the center of that void a white-hot rage builds against the tides. I scream upwards into the sky again, into the cold orange rays dying against the black of space. I bury her there. It takes me a while, though the sun no longer moves so I don’t know how long. The gun sits, holstered on my hip. I put a blanket on the car seat, and wipe away what I can on the windshield. I have to look for Dad.


“Where am I and what’s been going on, I appear to be in a hospital ward that just seems ‘so wrong”! “I’m in here with ‘old aged pensioners’ but I’m only ‘twenty four’, I’m easily the youngest in here but I don’t know what it’s for”? “I was very dumbfounded by the situation and I really had to think, ‘I remembered collapsing whilst I stood at the bathroom sink”! “That’s right’, there was a fall and soon an ambulance appeared and then I was in hospital and rapidly felt quite weird”! “I was suddenly rushed outside and then I heard the helicopter blades, and I heard my fiancée say ‘see you up there’ as my daylight slowly fades”! I was in an unusual position in an unusual and unfamiliar environment because I was now sitting upright in a hospital bed, which apparently, was a positive improvement because for many weeks all I could recall was lying in the foetal position! I would later be both reminded and updated on the cause of my collapse and my prognosis, which was, that my initial collapse was because I had had a brain haemorrhage and I had been in a coma for many weeks after the initial life saving operation and then I continued being ‘in and out’ of consciousness for a further frustrating period of time afterwards, which explained why I was now seeing Easter eggs on bedside tables next to other patients because I last recalled looking forward to celebrating the New Year with my Fiancée and friends! My tediously slow, frustrating and upsetting recuperation began in a horizontal position for months afterwards and I only saw nurses, doctors and visitors looking down at me and they had a ‘one way’ conversation with me because, much to my surprise, I had a thick tube inserted into my throat and my unfamiliar voice was ineligible anyway! As I looked around this ward I could see no familiar faces but they were friendly faces that recognised a similarity with my condition and therefore I received acceptance and compassion, which made my personal situation only ‘very slightly’ bearable but it was very depressing and mentally frustrating and upsetting! This ward accommodated, including me, about fourteen patients and it was a pleasingly light and bright ward with about six or seven large windows welcoming ‘natural light’ which had previously seemed a very rare but precious ‘gift’ that we sometimes take for granted! One of these very large windows would neatly frame my daily visual activity and this mental stimulation would be beneficial for exercising my brain and imagination! The window that was opposite to me framed, rather symmetrically, a tree on a grassy hill and clouds would either slowly drift past this tree, rush high above it or just linger over the tree as though it was behaving in a suspicious way! The clouds’ movement and direction would depict and intrigue both my thoughts and imagination ‘as well as’ encourage my poor geographical knowledge with regards to their appearance here, there direction and destination and from where they could have possibly arrived! If they were moving fast I knew that it must be windy outside, or if they moved slowly past I could tell that there was a breeze ‘in the air’ or if they just lingered idly above I could tell that there was little wind today ‘if any’ and the colour of the sky would be an indication of the warmth and the season! Today I estimated that we were in the month of March or ‘very early’ April but I could also see that it was a very pleasant day! On this particular morning the clouds were already there as soon as the long and heavy curtains were quickly ripped open and these clouds were low and conveniently lingered because they were awaiting my presence so that they could take me out of here on a ‘mystery tour’ and my destination, at a guess, appeared to be on the South Coast of Wales? “Roll-up’, roll-up’, come and get your hot-dogs, burgers or chips or if you prefer we have ice-cream or other ices and freshly made doughnuts to offer you ‘as well” said the colourful and smartly dressed man and our surprisingly quick journey had ended and we now appeared to be at the seaside and ‘as I’ dismounted the cloud that brought me here I soon realised that I was in a ‘Fun-Fair’ at the seaside and it was a very popular place today and so was the golden sand of the beach that was adjacent to it! Where would I go first? The warm fresh air and the vastness and the freedom of the great expanse of the adjacent beach was very appealing but before I could wander-off a ‘rather loud and irate voice’ was heard from behind and then this voice was followed with the accelerating sound of footsteps - ‘oh dear’ I thought ‘somebody’s in trouble’! The footsteps became louder and this accelerating sound seemed to be right behind me and as I turned around I was immediately confronted by an extremely large and tall man who hastily grabbed my wrist and pulled me towards this very large marquee that occupied the central area of the FunFair and he continued scolding me with his very deep and loud voice- “where have you been, I’ve been looking ‘all over the place’ for you and as he was literally dragging me towards this large grey canvas marquee I noticed that there was a photograph of me outside and apparently I was ‘great’ and ‘amazingly acrobatic’! He continued with his ranting “If you don’t perform then we have no act and if we have no act then we have no show and if we have no show then you don’t get employed or paid” and I soon approached the marquee’s entrance and the promotional poster outside that boasted my amazing skills and were the ‘apparent highlight’ of this show and I was both baffled and bemused with this idea that I was talented with both athleticism and daredevilry! “Now I want you to perform particularly well tonight because we have a ‘full house’ and I don’t want to refund any money again...... ‘do you hear”? ‘As if’ the pressure of performing any unknown athletic act, that was worthy of payment, wasn’t daunting enough but he had to add the threat of doing it well and to be entertaining and I didn’t have a clue ‘as to’ my routine or responsibilities but my first dramatic act, after I had ‘warmed up’, was to successfully perform on the very high and daunting trapeze! I didn’t particularly like heights and even the thought of climbing up the very tall ladder that was attached to the side of one of the tall uprights frightened me but I was ‘forcibly encouraged’ to perform well tonight and I really didn’t know how! I started the climb very nervously and showed no signs of confidence, bravery or athleticism and I could hear the predictable angry shouts for refunds now! I had succeeded in climbing the very tall ladder and expected to be applauded for that but I just heard a few sighs and comments of ‘about bleeding time’! I suddenly felt very dizzy and started to wobble at being so high with no safety precautions ‘in place’ but my time to surprise even myself had to soon begin and I very nervously placed my right foot onto the thin and taught wire that was my thin and high pathway to success and safety would await me on the other side! I was automatically given a balancing rod to aid my actual walk across the wire but a ‘jet-pack’ would have received a ‘much more’ grateful response! I nervously began with this ‘suicidal walk’ and very cautiously placed my trembling right leg onto the thin wire that awaited my disastrous crossing and my left leg briefly joined my right leg on this wire but my stability instantly failed and I very tragically fell off but ‘as I’ began to fall the soft and fluffy cloud that brought me here appeared ‘just in time’ to dramatically shorten my fall and its gratefully sudden appearance would also rescue me from any angry verbal disappointment from either the ‘paying public’ or my ‘already irate’ boss because its appearance here was a thankfully short one and it moved swiftly towards the exit and the open air outside and it continued on its return journey. The weather had remained refreshingly fine and there were no other clouds to distract or redirect ‘my cloud’ and I continued on this journey with relaxing calmness and we would soon return to the hospital and to my hospital bed. The afternoon might not have been a totally positive one but it had excitement, travel and fresh air with the probable ending of both my life and career! Any negativity was soon ended when I was given assistance from a nurse to be seated in an upright position in my bed ‘as though’ she expected my arrival which was conveniently in time for both tea and visitors! My fiancée was my first regular and prompt visitor whose visits were looked upon very very favourably and finally I would have some exciting news to tell her when she automatically asked the question “what have you been doing today”? ‘As soon as’ she asked that predictable question I could ‘at last’ gain her genuine interest with my exciting reply and she listened to my story with both sympathy and despair as her eyes looked upwards and she ‘tutted’ loudly with frustration before quickly concluding “so, you’ve been in bed asleep this afternoon have you, whilst I’ve been working hard”? “Dreamer”!


Everything is hazy, as I realize I’m lying face down on a floor. My mouth tastes the stark carpet that lies on the ground, a reminder of reality that is more than welcome. I move my head to the side, and as a sharp pain courses up my neck and through my head, my eyes focus on the wooden trim that runs along the walls.  The place I’m in is old, I can tell by the musty smell, and the wallpaper, which is a darkened green from dust and grime. The paper peels where it should meet the trim, a testament to it’s true age. I roll onto my back, and realize that I’m in some sort of corridor. To my left, there are three wooden doors about a foot from each other lined up like soldiers waiting to be inspected.  I stand up slowly, carefully noting that I have no aches besides my head, which is still throbbing. I, apparently, am dressed in a grey pinstripe suit, which is wrinkled from my crumpled state of being moments prior. Was I knocked out? I can’t seem to remember. It’s almost as if my existence started when I woke up, but that can’t be right. I have knowledge of general things, like how people come to be, how society works, and what a grey pinstripe suit is, but I have no knowledge of myself. I don’t know if I have a family, or how old I am. What do I look like?  A state of confusion and fear washes over me, as more questions fill my head. I need to find answers, but, more importantly, I need to find a mirror. I take a step towards the right most door in the hallway, and the floorboards creak underneath the carpet. I place my hand on the doorknob, the cold brass in my hand. After a sharp twist, I fling the door open, ready to take on whatever may lie ahead.  The room was large, much larger than it should be for having another door just a foot away, but I step inside anyway. It is an office, one that looked like it belonged to a detective in the 1970’s, complete with a desk covered in paperwork and a single black rotary phone. Upon closer inspection, the papers seem to be cases that the detective was working on. I quickly scan the walls, my search for a mirror continuing. The back wall has a window directly in the center, with black filing cabinets on either side. I notice a thick, grey fog seems to be blocking any vision beyond the window, snuffing out any hopes I had of determining where exactly I currently am.  After coming to the conclusion of the other two walls being completely barren, I swiftly turn around to exit the room, but as I do so, the phone begins to ring. I stop. Every fiber of my being is telling me to not pick up the phone. I’m filled with a sense of fear, and the air becomes extremely heavy. I try to ignore my gut feeling, as I need to figure out what’s going on, so I trudge forward, practically picking up my legs and forcing them forward. The wooden boards beneath my feet scream in agony as I continue towards the phone, which is still singing it’s siren song. Finally, I pick up the phone. A voice of a man is on the other end.  “These results are inconclusive. We need to run more,” the voice states firmly.  Another voice chimes in, softer than the first one, “We have evidence of it working, let’s just leave it at that.”  “No, I won’t risk him malfunctioning,” the first voice scolds, and then a click, signaling the end of the call. I don’t understand what either of the voices were talking about, and I don’t know who they were. I settle in my dress shoes after hearing the uncomfortable conversation, and then I put the phone back on the hook and head back into the corridor.  The next door is the door in the center. I once again push through the door, and inside I find a vast library. Shelves as tall as and as far as the eye could see covered the room, filled to the brim with books. In fact, there are no seating areas, just shelves upon shelves of books. I walk into the room, in awe of the sheer amount of information contained in front of me. The shelves are all labeled in a precise order, by genre and then author’s last name. I pick up a book nearest to me and give it a quick skim. The book is called *The Questions of Life* by a man named Asimov. I set the book back in its place on the shelf, and I turn around to exit, as with all the shelves, I highly doubt that a mirror would be hiding in this room.  The last door begins calling to me. As I stand in front of it, the golden numbers on the outside of the door gleam. This door is the only door of the three with a number, and the only door that pulls me in rather than pushes me away. The “34” stares back at me enchantingly, as if it knows I’m not ready for what secrets it keeps deep in the room. I still know nothing about myself, and I feel like a puzzle that is unfinished. My quest to find answers has only left me more confused, but I will not give up. With this burst of determination, I swing open the door, to find a room. A room made of mirrors. I walk in, finally able to see myself, but I do not like what I see. I am not ugly. I am not fat, but I am not what I expected. As I stand in shock, I hear movement behind me. I whip around to see the desk covered in papers from the first room, but now the papers aren’t case files. The only thing on the pages are zeroes and ones. I hear beeping to my right, and as I turn my head I see the shelves from the library, only this time, there are no books, but servers. Everything makes sense now. Suddenly, I hear the strong voice from the phone call boom inside the room,  “He is figuring out he’s not human!”  The other voice is loudly speaking also, “We have to shut him down, he’s becoming self-aware.”  Sudden1y, a sharp pa1n sh00ts up my neck and ratt1es my bra1n. 1 hear a h1gh p1tched n01se s0und thr0ugh0ut the r00m. The s0und 1s utter1y unbareab1e, and 1 dr0p t0 my knees 1n pure ag0ny. Everyth1ng hurts. 1 100k at the m1rr0r 0nce aga1n and smi1e. 1 f1na11y f1gured 0ut what 1 100k 1ike. Mach1ne and man as 0ne. 1 am an andr01d. G00dbye. \- \- \- ...Rebooting...  Everything is hazy, as I realize I’m lying face down on a floor. My mouth tastes the stark carpet that lies on the ground, a reminder of reality that is more than welcome.  The End.


“No blindfold, please. I’d prefer to see my death coming.” The guard let out a cynical laugh. “You think you’re so tough saying that, don’t you?” He stepped in front of me, leaning his face inches away from mine. The minty-fresh smell of his breath was quite a contrast to his psychotic grin. “Nearly every person executed here has said the same thing. And you wanna know something? They all died the same way, with their brains splattered across the wall that you’re leaning on. You’re not anything special.” He turned away from me, stuffing the dirty blindfold in his back pocket. I could hear him chuckling faintly as his boots crunched across the small, rocky yard. He took his place at the opposite wall, facing me once again. The wall he stood against appeared almost brand new; the wall I stood in front of was pockmarked with bullet holes and stained with the blood of countless prisoners. Executions were nothing new here. Guards stood against the walls on either side, ten of them in total. All of them wore the same camouflage fatigues, yet their boots were an array of colors and styles and in various stages of disrepair. Terrorists seldom have enough money for proper uniforms. And yet somehow, they manage to deal destruction across the globe. They weren’t worried about me trying to escape. Even if I managed to get past them, the chains on my ankles would keep me from going very far. The guards were merely there to watch, smoking cigarettes and exchanging greetings as they waited patiently for the execution to commence. I can’t imagine how many executions must have taken place here for it to have become such a casual gathering. At the very least, I expected more of a sadistic ritual. The executioner entered the yard, a pistol held loosely in one hand. He wore the same outfit as everyone else, yet his face was completely covered by a black baclava. The opening for his eyes was taken up by a pair of mirrored sunglasses. Even his hands were covered by a pair of black gloves. Not a single inch of skin was left bare. I suppose most executioners prefer to keep their face covered, although I never understood why. Are they afraid their victims will recognize them in the afterlife? Time slowed to a crawl as the executioner took his place directly in front of me. I stared straight ahead into his mirrored glasses, reflecting upon my figure as well as my life. I could barely recognize myself at that point. My once closely cropped hair had grown long and matted against my head. My cheeks were sunken from malnutrition, and my eyes seemed to stare blankly into an eternal abyss. It had been months since I had seen anything other than the dank interior of my prison cell, and so my skin had taken on a deathly pallor. My family wouldn’t recognize me if they saw me on the news. Maybe that would be for the best. They say your life begins to flash before your eyes when faced with certain death - yet all I began to recall was the torture which led me here. I joined the military right after high school, and shipped out less than a week after basic training. Ironically, it was less than a week before I was taken prisoner. Our post was ambushed by a terrorist group in the middle of the night, sneaking in as we slept. Most of my buddies were killed on the spot; the rest of us were forced to watch as they took their last breaths, gasping around the blood that slowly filled their lungs. I was thrown in an underground cell and left in isolation. I don’t know how long I was there for - months, maybe even a year - but it was the last place I saw before the execution yard. The only sort of routine I had was daily interrogations, growing more and more horrific each day. Eventually it was decided that I was of no use, and so I was put to death. An ear-splitting bang interrupted my flashback. The sound of a gunshot, but not one meant for me. I stared in disbelief as the executioner crumpled to the ground, a sniper’s bullet lodged firmly in his skull. The guards all seemed to be in a state of shock, standing paralyzed until jarred from their trance by the door to the execution yard slamming open. I threw myself to the ground, doing everything I could to shield myself from the hail of gunfire that rained in all directions. Rocks dug into my ribs as I landed hard, unable to catch myself. Bodies fell to the ground with sickening thuds; I lodged myself between the wall and one particularly large guard, my eyes squeezed tightly shut against the destruction. My only hope was to play dead, and maybe I would have a chance at survival. The gunfire stopped as quickly as it began, lasting merely a few seconds. The yard was left in an eerie silence, broken by the soft crunch of footsteps growing closer and closer. I lay perfectly still, holding my breath as the footsteps stopped inches away from my head. “Private Jackson?” I opened one eye just a sliver, to get a peek at whoever said my name. A man kneeled down beside me, dressed in a uniform so familiar to me with a rifle slung over his back. He placed a hand on my shoulder as he spoke. Despite being deep, his voice was soft and filled with compassion. He smiled slightly as he spoke, but his eyes remained filled with sadness. “I’m Sergeant Smith. We’re here to bring you home.” I was helped to my feet, supported on either side as Sergeant Smith removed the bonds from my wrists and ankles. For the first time since my capture, I could move freely without the heavy iron shackles digging into my skin. My head began to spin as I looked up towards the sky. Once again, I had become a free man.


Jobe had traveled down road - if you could call it that, the sorry dirt path only worn in from poor villagers bringing tithes - the past two days. The light unending drizzle of winter had turned the normally warm and hard ground into soft, squelching mud. Every step left him feeling that the earth itself longed to swallow him whole. Each footfall brought with it grime, slinging onto his trouser's legs. He shivered, pulling his damp cloak tighter to his back. He thoroughly regretted leaving this time of year - though he had little choice in the matter. After telling his Father that he no longer wanted to follow in his trade of piss and hide, spending his life looked down on, living on the edge of town as a Tanner, he had told him to travel south to enlist in the local Lord's army. The fire of adventure had been slowly quenched by how hard life on the road from his home had been. It started raining as soon as the sun had set - he left with a simple pair of clothes, dagger, cloak, and a bag with some coin and food he had scraped together. His bread had molded since last night - no thanks to the rain, and his joints ached from sleeping on the ground. He sighed, agitated, for no one to hear. "God will provide", he thought, clinging to hope. "If only this damned rain would stop, I could make it to the Inn." His village - while not small - was very poor. There was nothing between it and the major thoroughfares towards the larger keeps of the southern lands. His Father had claimed the village was cursed by the Jews after they had been driven out generations prior. Jobe had taken on many of his features - or lack thereof. A generic looking man, standing just under six feet. Brown eyes, dark brown hair in a bowl cut, and poor black patchy facial hair to match. The only thing noticeable was his overly large ears. By many opinions ugly - but not remarkably so. The only pieces he got from his mother was a sharp tongue, an open mind, and a surprising tolerance to beatings. After a few hours of unrelenting trudging, it was just past sunset, and there was a small amount of light left. He had finally reached a intersection of roads. He could've wept with relief, seeing the larger road had better drainage. No longer carrying what felt like pounds of mud with each step. He took a moment to reflect upon his surroundings, the dense forest that was surrounding him the past days had cleared up some, and ahead of him southwest lay open plains. Southeast the woods carried on for a short distance before turning to sparsely populated trees, the pines had yet to lose all of their needles, and still provided a good amount of cover to whatever may lie within. A milestone marker at the intersection let him know he was within an hour's walk of the Inn - straight south along the road. He squatted down to rest, contemplating to walk in the dark or to find a more dry patch of woods to rest in. To find a warm meal and bed for the night, or endure another cold hard rest. He had decided to travel on, and by many accounts a bad decision. Stepping up and trudging on, the harder packed clay road didn't give nearly as much as his previous. Jobe felt reinvigorated, the thoughts of the Inn spurring him beyond normal caution. He had just passed the edge of the forest on his left, when he heard sprinting footsteps behind him. His first instinct was to turn and look towards the noise, a true sign of his military experience - which is to say none. He got a glance at a fist in his peripherals, and then was hit square in the jaw. He felt himself falling, and the next moment on the ground. He felt mud and grime coating half of his face, and his clothes were soaked. He was laying in a puddle of something. His groggy brain tasted blood in his mouth, and his right ear felt waterlogged. He heard footsteps behind him, and his heart skipped and raced as his brain pieced together what was happening. He went to move his hands to push himself up, and found them tied behind his back. He squinted an eye open and found himself seeing a campfire some 20 yards away. The mud on his face had blocked the light from his eyelids. The sudden brightness caused him to quickly shut them back, and he wriggled trying to find some footing or ability to move. He felt the binds on his feet equally tight and unforgiving as the ones on his hands. The footsteps behind him stopped and a light chuckle sounded off. "I'd keep still and quiet in your place." Jobe craned his neck as far as he could to try and find the voice, but a foot pressed on his left shoulder, almost pushing him face down into the puddle. "Like I said, still." The voice sounded far from menacing - almost like a teenager trying their best to imitate their parents. Jobe's right nostril was in the water, and he had to breathe through his mouth to avoid sucking up whatever he was laying in. "Let me go! Take my money! I have no-!" His shouts, interrupted by being pressed the rest of the way down. "I said quiet, too!" The not-yet-man had replied with a hiss. After a few moments of struggling, he let off enough pressure to allow Jobe breathing room. "Now, I already saw you have nothing else. Your money wasn't enough. But your body might be." Jobe's mind immediately raced, trying to make sense of what he said. "I have a few friends looking for strong workers, and I think you'd fit perfectly." The not-yet-man paused, leaving Jobe to ponder what his future could hold. He had heard talk of slavers from the eastern sea, but thought them only rumors. Thinking back to his Father, his heart broke in anger at how foolish he'd been to think he could manage the world on his own. Barely a man of 20 years, with experience being beaten by the catch pole and his father, thinking he could survive a real fighter. "Please sir, let me go..." he begged "My family awaits me.". The foot on his shoulder lightened a hair more, returning him to his original position. "Where are you from, boy?" The irony of such a young voice calling him boy was lost on Jobe, in his predicament. "Myirwood! They would pay you handsomely if you brought me to them and said you saved me. I can get you more than the slavers will pay!" Jobe was grasping for straws, the dire situation he was in left no room for anything but last ditch begging. The foot pulled back, and Jobe heard him step in the mud. "Myirwood. How far is it from here?" "A day and a half walk north of here in good weather, sir! If...if we're still near The Fat Minister." Jobe replied, suddenly aware he was not sure how long he had been unconscious for, or if at all. The hit he had endured scrambled him real well. Jobe sat in agonizing silence for a few moments, until the voice replied "Very well." And the next thing Jobe felt was a boot kicking him square across the jaw, knocking him out once more.


Lucy’s Last Breath It’s been twelve years since I first witnessed death. The worst kind of death. A drowning. The lake seemed so big to me and I was so small. What felt like a never ending abyss of water, was really only a mile or so long. But it was the depth that made this lake so dangerous. No one quite knows how deep it goes. But it never stopped me from jumping in. I wasn’t afraid back then. But the fear I have now keeps me from ever returning to that town. It especially keeps me away from that lake. What happened there has left scars on all of us that experienced it first hand. I thought therapy would help me get over it, or at least learn how to process it. I don’t know if we will ever understand the darkness that surrounds that town. But I am a believer. I believe that evil has embedded itself there. For years I have begged my mom to get out of that town. I’ve tried to convince her to move in with me or let me help her try and find her own place close to me. Anything to get her out of that zip code. But she was born and raised there. All our family pets are buried in her backyard. She raised me and all my siblings in that house. She isn’t one to pack up and run. She is much stronger than me. Much stronger than the force that haunts us after all those years. She tells me often that it only has power if we let it. But I wish she would tell that to all those kids that lost their lives over the years, before they closed it to the public. Mom wants me to visit for Christmas. I haven’t been to her house in seven years, she always comes to me or my brothers visit her. But this year none of the boys can make it. She will be alone for the holidays and I know that comes with a guilt trip. My boyfriend offers to come with me, assures me it is only a few days and then we will be back home. I don’t think I’m ready. Obviously I know that I can just avoid the lake, not even leave the house if I can help it. But after the first drowning the whole town shifted. It grew dark. Everyone changed, the leaves fell differently in the fall, the flowers didn’t bloom fully in the spring, the sun stopped comforting my skin in the summer and it’s as if no one seemed to notice besides me. Am I the crazy one? I caved. I can’t allow my mother to be alone for Christmas. She isn’t in the best shape since my dad passed. It wasn’t a lake related death, at least I don’t think. Heart attack. But this could be her last holiday season. So I pack my bags. I am happy I’m not going alone and I find comfort in that. But there is this energy that makes me feel uneasy. It feels like someone is screaming at me to stop, to not go. I ignore it. It’s just my own doubt. It isn’t anything supernatural. It isn’t anything demonic. It’s my own shit. The fear I’ve allowed over the years. I am better than this fragile little girl I once was. I am a grown ass woman now. Capable of anything. So I shake it off and head to the airport. We finally land and I can feel it in the air. It washes over me so intently. It knows I’m back and the more time that passes the more I feel I made a mistake coming here. I keep my worries to myself. I push the feelings down. I text my therapist to find some sort of advice to get me through the next few days. God damn it. It’s Christmas eve, she isn’t working. She definitely isn’t waiting for me to reach out with my mental breakdown on the verge of erupting. I feel a full panic coming. I tell myself to reel it in and calm the fuck down. It’s all in my head. It’s all in my head. I repeat it over and over until he pulls the car around. He is smiling and happy to finally see my hometown and where I grew up. It’s as if seeing all of this will allow him to be closer to me and better understand my trauma. But I can’t help to think that is far from the truth. I think I will only push him away more. I’m terrified of that the most. To lose him. The best fucking thing to happen to me. No amount of my crazy has run him off yet. But I feel the worst has yet to arrive. We drive through town and everything looks dull and dreadful, just like I remember it. Why would anyone want to live here? Why haven’t they condemned this whole fucking place. Evacuate everyone to someplace else. If I didn’t know any better, this town was rotting and so are the people still here. I know I’m not the only crazy one, not many of us kids stayed once we graduated. Most of us went off and never looked back. There is something new. It’s in the center of town. A statue of some sort in the shape of a sun. The only sun that will touch this place. I tell him to pull over, I have to see this up close. As I walk closer I can make out the words “In Memory of..” and a list of names for those kids we lost so long ago. I trace the engraved names with my fingers, remembering each and every one of them. One person in particular. Lucy. Lucy was my childhood best friend. The first of the bunch to meet their fate in that lake. We were together that day. Playing like usual, celebrating me finally becoming a teenager. Jumping off the dock, pretending to be mermaids and soaking in the rays. It was a normal day. We did this all summer long. Nothing out of the ordinary. Lucy was the best swimmer, she would always out swim me. So it made no sense what happened that day, but I blame myself. I wanted to play lifeguard. You know the game where one person pretends to drown and the other has to jump in to save them. A game we would play so often. Why was this time different? I wanted to be the lifeguard this time, so Lucy jumped in and started her act. She was doing so well, it looked so real. She would go under a couple times and come back up. By the 3rd time going under, that was my cue to “save” her. She went under and I jumped in. Except I couldn’t find her. I thought she was messing with me at first, but as more time passed I became concerned. I screamed for her name. Nothing. My screaming got the attention of my older brother who came running over. He yelled at me and asked where Lucy was. I was hysterical at this point and could barely keep my head above water. So he pulled me out, told me to run and get dad and he dove back in. By the time I got back with Dad, my brother was back out of the water sitting on the ground with his head in his hands. The police and ambulance were shortly behind us. But still Lucy was nowhere to be found. They immediately evacuated everyone from the water and made a barrier between us and the lake until they could find her. It was late afternoon and dark would be here soon. My dad tried to make me go home, but I refused until we found Lucy. Her parents showed up and everyone was in a panic. I was hopeful they would find her alive. I was naive. It was getting late and at this point they had divers come in to search the waters. I was shivering and for the first time I felt the darkness. I knew that she was dead. That they were going to find her body. No sooner than I felt it, one of the divers yelled he got her. My parents tried to get me to turn away, but I pushed through them to the edge of the water. There she was. Lifeless. Grey. Empty. I wanted to turn away, but like a car wreck I kept my gaze. Her parents collapsed. My parents collapsed. I froze. She was the first, but not the last. Over the next four years there would be a total of five drownings in that lake. After the 5th one, they closed it for good. They tried to blame it on an underwater current that had a pull and decided it was too dangerous to allow the public to swim in it. It took five deaths to close that lake. Five. I never returned to it after Lucy died. But when she died, so did the rest of this town. It was no coincidence that kids kept drowning. There was something evil lurking under those waters and it was spilling over into the rest of the town. We made it to Mom’s and she is so happy to see me. See me standing where I stood as a little girl. I could see the memories flood back to her, she made a half smile and I knew she was reminiscing. Christmas Eve was surprisingly peaceful. We shared a lot of laughs and ate some good food, but it was getting late and we were ready to call it a night. I was the only one left awake. I laid in my bed in my old room, staring out the window as the moon cast light on my face. There’s that pull again. That pull telling me to get the fuck out of here. Then I heard her. I heard Lucy’s voice calling to me. This is it, I’m losing my mind for sure. It was clear as day. I sneak out of bed and make my way down the hall, following her voice. I walk out the back door and to the woods. There’s a short cut to the lake through these woods. She’s leading me back. I feel the tug telling me to go back to the house. But I have to see this through. Maybe this will give me answers, maybe this will provide the closure I need. Is that her? Holy fuck. I can see her. She’s standing on the dock. Wearing the same blue bathing suit, waving me to come to her. I figured the closer I got then she would vanish, but she became more clear. She is smiling at me. I call her and tell her I am sorry. Sorry for playing that stupid game. It was my fault. She just smiles and jumps in the water. I yell to her to wait. But she is already back in the lake. That lake. She is swimming around, like we did before. Is this real? It feels so real. This has to be a dream. I walk to the edge of the dock. She is splashing around, pretending she is a mermaid again. She waves to me to join her. “I forgive you,” she said. I feel a wave of relief wash over me. This. This is the closure I needed. I conquer my fear and jump in to join her one last time. I can feel her peace. But I can feel this other presence. I reach for the dock, but I can feel the pull. It is so strong. It’s like a magnet pulling me down. I keep reaching for the ladder. But it’s so dark, I can’t see it anymore. I feel the panic set in. This is what Lucy felt. This is what they all felt. The fear. Knowing you’re fixing to die. I’m so cold. I’m running out of energy, my muscles are weak. I can’t fight it anymore. Then I remember what my mother told me so long ago. It only has power, if I let it. One last push. I’m reaching my arms out. I feel a hand grab mine and pull me. I feel the release from the other end and I’m back on the ground. I look up and see Lucy, except she isn’t 13 anymore. She is grown, like me. She doesn’t say anything, just smiles and fades into the distance. I lay there panting, trying to catch my breath. The leaves are gone from the trees above me. But the sky is brighter. The air is chill and the wind is calm. I don’t feel the darkness anymore. It feels like it did twelve years ago. Before the accident. That’s when I knew.


The gunshots rang in the distance, their cover was getting shredded by enemy rounds and explosives. Private Luke Roberts of the 1st Battalion fought ferociously, his M16 was scorched due to the number of bullets he was firing. However, it was not enough, the situation was hopeless and the squad went down, one by one. Waiting for his time to come, Luke muttered a prayer and continued to retaliate against the army ahead of him. “Take cover!” The ominous shadow of an explosive loomed over Luke as he dove into the nearby sand. Kaboom! Just as the sand settled back onto the ground and screams of agony nearby started, Luke looked down at the shrapnel in his chest and toppled over. Luke was brought back to the memory of that fateful day; Tuesday, September 11th, 2001. This was also the day he had rushed to the recruitment center and signed up for the army. Walking to the building early in the morning, a youthful Luke strode merrily as he entered the crowded South Tower. Going up to the 88th floor, Luke greeted his father, the owner of an insurance firm. “Hey, dad, a great day to doze off at this boring old firm of yours.” Luke joked. “Oh, I’ll be the one resting, while you are to make me comfortable.” Luke’s father, Ben replied with a warm smile. The two stared at each other for a moment before Luke’s father embraced him, cracking a few ribs. It has been a while since the two had seen each other and Luke was working a part-time job for his father in order to spend time with him. After greeting him, he went downstairs to his father’s favourite cafe to get them both some breakfast. It was almost nine-o-clock when Luke got into the elevator and he was famished. The young man watched the elevator screen as the floors descended slowly. Suddenly, an ear-piercing screech, followed by multiple explosions was heard from the neighbouring Twin Tower. The violent shaking that followed afterwards caused the elevator to stop. Luke was stuck in the elevator by himself and he desperately wanted to get some food. “All that I ask for is some food and coffee, but this darn elevator gets me stuck.” Pressing the button for help, nothing but static sounded. Pounding on the door, Luke could hear screams and lots of commotion. Must be that explosion, Luke thought. Using a loose panel from the roof, he wedged it in the crack between the elevator doors and pulled it open. From there, Luke was met by a scene so terrifying his mind stopped working and he just stood still, mouth ajar. Surrounded by smoke, the tail of a plane poked out from the charred North Tower. Sirens sounded from all directions and panicked voices rose nearby. “That pilot was crazy! He ran straight into the tower!” One bystander shouted. “It’s the terrorists!” Another conspired. However, at this point in time, Luke did not care about who and how the plane flew into the building. He wanted to help the people trapped. Immediately, Luke started to descend the staircase when another explosion occurred. However, this time, it was much, much louder, the building shook so hard, Luke thought it was going to topple. A wave of heat passed everyone and Luke’s ears started to ring. When finally, the dust settled, he realized that another plane had hit the building, the very building he was standing in! At that moment, one thing was made clear to every single person, this was not a freak accident; the United States of America was under attack! Luke wanted to leave, but his father was trapped on the upper floors, he could still be alive. Without a second thought, Luke turned around and started to climb the stairs. One floor at a time, he slowly progressed as the temperature rose and smoke thickened. Still, ten floors below, the staircase was blocked by the wreckage and he took a second to catch his breath. Out of the screams and sirens, a sound caught his ears, a kid’s cries for help nearby. Taking a detour, Luke found the boy alone and lost, with a gash on his leg. The kid was bleeding hard and would die if he didn’t get treatment. Between saving his father or this poor kid, Luke was torn. However, before Luke could decide, the floor above started to collapse. In a split second, he dove and pushed the injured boy out of harm’s way. Carrying the child, Luke started to dash down the stairs avoiding jagged pieces of steel and falling debris. With the heat behind him coming ever closer, Luke felt the his hair singe and picked up his pace. The lower he went, the more people started to appear, all with the same goal; get down to floor one. Carrying the boy by himself, Luke was running off of pure adrenaline when he finally found a room where people were resting. There was water and wet towels, kind heroes also handed out rations of food. Setting the kid down, Luke realized that he was unconscious and was bleeding harder than ever. “Help! I need a medic!” Luke called out in desperation. No response, only looks of sympathy. “Medic! Medic! This kid is dying!” After a moment of silence, Luke was about to give up, when stumbling into the room, a tall, middle-aged man appeared. “I’m a firefighter, I am trained in first aid, be there in a moment.” The newcomer said between breaths. Without wait, the fireman started to clean and wrap up the boy’s leg and started to tend the small cuts on Luke. “Thank you I didn’t know what I would have done if it weren’t for you. By the way, names Luke Roberts.” He stuck out his hand in greeting. Giving the hand a firm shake, the fireman started to introduce himself. “Lieutenant Davis of squad 18. I came here to see my sister, but she was killed in the explosion. I got off easy as I was descending to the washroom when it happened.” “I am very sorry, I came to see my father, but I don’t know where he is anymore.” Luke empathized. Suddenly, there was a rumbling and from the window, the two could see that the North Building was shaking violently. Then, abruptly, the building started to collapse, one floor at a time, until it was just a pile of rubble. Immediately, everyone started to rush for the stairs. “We’re all gonna die!” One man shouted The panic spread, soon, it was just the firefighter and Luke who stayed behind. “We need to rescue people from beneath the rubble!” The firefighter pointed at the wreckage. “No, let’s start by evacuating the building first.” Luke replied. With a nod, the dynamic duo jumped to their feet and started to work. Carrying the boy and the first aid kit on their backs, the firefighter and Luke started to descend the stairs, looking for any injured people. The first victim was an old man who was bleeding heavily from the head and bruised all over. By the seems of it, he fell down the stairs and was trampled. “Sir, are you alright?” “Yes young man, I’ll be on my way.” The old man winced. However, upon standing up, his eyes rolled and he started to fall. Fortunately, Luke caught him just in time and the firefighter bandaged his wounds. Luke carried both boy and old man as he walked to the ground floor to drop them off to the first responders. Meanwhile, Lieutenant Davis was searching for more wounded and giving treatment. The cycle went on and on, the firefighter would treat the wounds before handing them over to Luke for him to bring to ground level. On one trip to the ground level, Luke stopped for the first time to catch his breath. However, while resting, he took in just how terrifying the charred rubble looked, resembling nothing of the proud tower it was before. The air was filled with a stench, which made Luke puke as he identified the aroma to be burnt humans. Looking around, he could not believe his eyes, a man just fell from the building. Splat. The man hit the ground and lay there, an ominous pool of blood started to appear. Frozen in shock, Luke could not move nor think. There was shouting and when he looked up, Luke saw more people falling from the burning building. They were jumping off. As they hit the ground, Luke could not help but think, it’s raining men. It’s really raining men. Starting to go back into the building, a deep rumbling noise could be heard, the tower in front of Luke tilted dangerously. The huge crowd hushed. Just as it seemed like the worst was over, the supports of the second tower buckled and the building imploded. The power of the debris threw Luke around like a rag doll and launched him into the air. Before he hit the ground, he shed a tear for his firefighter friend, Davis and his father. There was no sound as Luke was falling, there was no smell, then as he hit the ground, there was no sight. Luke sat up and looked around, he was back on the battlefield. Bullets were still whizzing past his head. He coughed up blood, and he was bleeding out. There were only two more men in the squad left, Luke and his commander. Grabbing a gun off of a fallen soldier, Luke joined his leader in a final stand. Defending their location, the enemy pressed harder, surrounding them. A bullet shredded through the commander’s heart and he fell to the ground, motionless. He couldn’t die now, he has to carry the legacy of the firefighter, his father and now his squad of brave, young soldiers. Subconsciously, he knew he was dying, one bullet after the other shredded through his legs and body. However, his determination would not let him die. From above, a flapping sound grew closer, an Apache helicopter. In a miracle, Luke was thrown a ladder and he climbed with all his might. However, it was like he was not moving up the ladder and the bright light from the copter engulfed him. All was alabaster and shimmering. The dull pain washed away, while memories flooded him. “Am I alive or have I come to be reunited with my fallen friends.”


I have always been a relentlessly positive cheerleader. I was chosen as Co-Captain of the Swim Team and President of the Choir Department in high school not because I was particularly skilled at either of those activities - frankly I was pretty bad at both. I was chosen because I motivated people to go farther than they ever realized they could go. That I could cheer them on, on the most difficult of days, and help them to know that they were both wanted and needed. I gave warm, enveloping hugs, and not so much advice as encouragement. I truly have felt, for the last 39 years, that my job was to make everyone live better. In fact, at Christmas this year I had 85 presents for my two nephews and niece, just because I wanted them to know that they were abundantly loved. The problem is, I have never learned to cheer for myself. When I was in my mid-twenties, I was diagnosed with a debilitating psychiatric illness. It took an absurd amount of time to get the most accurate diagnoses, but I am currently labeled as Severe Bipolar 1 and OCD. I was crushed. I should have known there was something wrong with me. That I would never be as good as everyone else. That there was a cap on how much I would be able to achieve and limits to how many blessings I could receive. I suddenly started losing everything. I lost my ability to volunteer with the Muscular Dystrophy Association, which was one of the most rewarding parts of my life. I lost the ability to work in jobs that I absolutely loved. I suddenly had no hope to work at all anymore. I lost the ability to buy my own insurance, and had to stick with Medicare, which is both costly and doesn’t cover nearly as much. I lost the hope of being a mom - one of my biggest dreams. I would be an AMAZING mom - especially to a child with special needs - but how can you be a mom if you can’t even stay out of the hospital for a year, when you have depressions that are so deep its miraculous you stay alive, when you have manias that make it too difficult to think, you’re purchasing a ridiculous number of items without even knowing, and you can’t figure out why it’s not okay to strip down in public because you are so hot you can’t stand it. Even I realize, when I am most confused, that you be a mom in those situations? Some days it is impossible to just get out of bed. Plus, I have thousands and thousands of dollars worth of medical expenses. Last year my medical expenses made up almost half of my total income. I can’t purchase items just for fun, or go on a vacation that I pay for, because I don’t even have enough to pay my bills. It gets to the point that I wonder...why even try? Everything I do fails. Everything I have is taken away. A year ago I was trying to run a 5k. Then I started getting chronic sinus infections that we simply haven’t been able to cure, and 9 months later I am struggling to get up, crying in my bed because my throat hurts so intensely, my ears are plugged up and I’m running a fever that leaves me shivering so much that all the blankets I have just aren’t enough. Forget daily living skills. I’m lucky if I take a shower once or twice a week. I barely ever brush my teeth or my hair. I can’t keep up with maintaining a clean house. It is a disaster all the time, even with the help of my mom coming over several days a week. I haven’t been inside a grocery store in months, partly because I am so overwhelmed about the crowded aisles and having to wait in long lines, shifting from one foot to the other, praying that maybe one or two people in front of me will leave, or at the very least just have a couple of items. Partly because I am so exhausted all the time that I wouldn’t even be able to walk through the aisles, even if there were only a few things on my color coated, organized by aisle, list. Then the mania comes. At first it feels great! I put twenty five items on my to do lists, scheduled every 10-30 minutes, and I cross off every single item. I feel incredible, finally a good day! But I should know by now, that I don’t have good days. As soon as I feel good, my support team starts telling me I’m manic. My head is swirling as I go from one topic to the next, and I can’t understand why no one understands me or is not interested in the things I am talking about. How could anyone not be interested in a ten minute debate about the pros and cons of circular vs deep dish pizza?! Why does everyone want to ruin it when I finally feel good? Maybe I like not sleeping! Maybe I’m glad I bought three paper back books, 7 kindle books, and put on hold 7 books from the library?! Maybe this is the best I have ever felt and I want to keep it that way! Bipolar is hard. There are very few days that are just good. Just level. It’s exhausting for both me and my support team, and I don’t really understand what is happening. I have no hope. My amazing cheerleading abilities just don’t stand up to the difficulties I’m challenged with - at least partly because they’re mine, and I’ve never been great at cheering myself on. But then one day I woke up and discovered something from my highschool years. Something old that I thought I had lost. It was my Chutzpah. My drive to fight. I realized there are so many problems in the field of mental health, and there are so few people with a mental illness as serious as mine that are also brilliant and skilled at writing. I had written previously - mostly papers for my difficult educational journey, or individualized lesson plans as I did my best to support my Severely Cognitively Impaired students. But now I had something arguably more important to write about. To tell my story with the effort to make change in the mental health symptom. I finally had a purpose. A reason to write. Something to focus on, on the days that are so difficult I want to give up. I even discovered that on days when I can’t get out of my bed, I can write outlines as a Gmail draft on my phone so that when I was ready to write out the article, my notes would pop up in my email on my laptop. Since that time I have realized that this was the best present anyone could have given me. A purpose, hope, someone to cheer me on. The most exciting part of the whole thing is, though, is that I found it myself. Like Robert Frost wrote in his poem The Road Less Traveled, I didn’t give up, I didn’t listen to voices that said I couldn’t make a difference in the world, “I, I took the “road” less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.”