I put my headphones on. Here I was, sitting on a crowded train. It was very busy during this time of the day even though it was only 8 am. I sighed. Online school is hard. In fact it’s the worst. People think it would be easier but the pressure is twice as much. I just wish parents would understand that. I decided to do hybrid school. Maybe the stress levels wouldn’t go skyrocketing. I remember everything before COVID-19; life was amazing. Nothing was as bad as it is now. The criticism of my parents just destroys my enthusiasm to have hobbies. I sighed again trying to wash out those thoughts. It was currently 8:10 AM. My school starts at 8:40 and it usually takes 20 minutes to get there. So there was time for me to sit down and relax. “Ping,” someone just texted me. “HEY WHERE ARE YOU???” It was my best friend, Serena. “Why aren’t you on the bus?” she asked. “Yeah, we’re missing you.” My other best friend, Karen said. Serena and Karen were the only people that motivated me. I know taking the bus would be faster but things were so bad this morning I needed to run. Running was something I did to vent out my anger. “BROOKE BAILEY. I AM YOUR MOTHER. YOU DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO.” She scoffed. ”Why can’t you be more like your brother?” My mom yelled this morning. All I did was correct her. I was just helping her. Every year seems to get longer. I got another notification. “Hello??? Respond please” Karen wrote. “Yeah, sorry. I’m on the train, um I” I stopped typing. I needed to come up with an excuse. They have their own problems and telling them mine would help anyone. After all, they get perfect grades, they have a perfect life with perfect families. Here I was; almost failing school with new problems every single day. “Yeah, sorry. I’m on the train, um I had to pick up some things from somewhere.” I replied even though it was just a lie. “Oh. Anyways I gtg. Bye!” I just stared at my phone. I have always hated when someone just abruptly says “ I got to go, bye” and then just leaves. Like aren’t you supposed to wait for me to say bye? Or send separate messages. Like “I gtg. Bye!” so it seems like you aren’t in a rush to end this conversation. I kept my opinions to myself. I don’t want to lose them. They’re all I’ve got. I put my phone in my pocket and tried to relax. This was one of the only times when I could relax. Or else I have to worry about chores, schoolwork, competitions, after school classes, helping out and trying not to cause more problems. I got another notification. It wasn’t a message. It was an email from my teacher. I rolled my eyes because I knew exactly what it said. “Dear parents/guardians of Brooke Bailey, It seems that she has some trouble focusing in class, doing classwork and not submitting assignments. Please respond as soon as possible to decide the date when we will address the solutions in the near future. Sincerely, Kate Wilson 11th grade Science” I got another notification. It was a message from my dad. “Check your email.” he wrote in the group chat. Here comes another paragraph explaining why I’m a disappointment. I had around 4 minutes before we reached school. I turned my phone on silent mode and closed my eyes again. I could only see pictures of my parents arguing. My brother is in college so he doesn't know about this.My childhood was rushed. Since my brother was a “gifted student”, he got all of the love. I remember one memory very well. It happened when I was 5-6 years old. I asked them why they love Sam; my brother more and they hate me so much. My dad was saying, “Oh honey we don’t hate you. We love you both equa-” but then my mom interrupted him saying, “Yes. We love him more. Because he’s smart and gifted. He has a future.” and then she whispered “Unlike some people.'' I had my first mental breakdown because of that. I was only 5. The train’s intercoms announced that we had reached the final stop. I walked out. My school was 3 minutes away from the train station. I checked my phone for the time and saw the many hurtful texts. I thought my dad believed in me but that changed as soon as I got my first A-. Apparently gifted kids would only get A+. The worst part was that the grade was for a puzzle. A PUZZLE. I kind of laugh when I think about it. I think my emotions are broken. I’m numb most of the day and then in public, I’m an extrovert. I smiled as I walked inside my school. Serena and Karen were at their lockers. “Hey Brooke! Did you get that thing?” Karen asked me. “What th- oh that. “ I remembered the lie. “It’s in my backpack, it’s not important. So, how are you guys?” I said nervously. Lying over text was easy but lying in person was hard. I went to my locker and put my books in. Serena and Karen looked at each. They knew I was lying and I wouldn’t be able to deny it. They walked over to me. “Brooke, are you oka-” Serena asked me. She got interrupted by the bell. I grabbed a few books as the hall monitor started to roam the halls. Our school was very strict so if you were even a few minutes late, you would be getting detention, a phone call home, and a strike. If you get 3 strikes, you get suspended for a week. We all rushed to our classrooms. I ran to art while the hall monitor had his back turned. Running in the halls was “banned” and I just felt like I was a rebel. It wasn’t that big of a deal but I felt good about myself. Mrs. Davis was waiting for the class. She was really nice and bent the rules. I loved art for many reasons and this was definitely one of them. I can express my feelings so clearly. I took out my sketchbook and pen. I just let the ink flow, it made shapes and artwork . Mrs. Davis was also one of the few people who believed in me. The world felt free when I was in art. I took out my worn out colored pencils. Stroke by stroke, time flew by and my art came to life. I drew a stressed girl. Kind of like me. “Good job! And Brooke, you know you can talk to me.” Mrs. Davis said, coming up behind my shoulder. The bell rang again. Now that my “free time” was done, it was finally time to come back to reality. Where everything was stressful and not peaceful. Where everything was difficult and not easy. Where the teachers had no hope in me. Where everyone ignored me. I walked to my locker and switched my books. Serena and Karen were behind me. Serena tapped my shoulder. “Hey, are you oka-” The bell interrupted her again. We all rushed to our next classes. I was walking to my own doom. My next block was science. Mrs. Wilson was waiting for me. She was one of the cruelest teachers. I sat in the back and put in my airpods. I needed to silence everything. I hid them with my hair. I didn’t want to get caught. Mrs. Wilson started her lecture on atoms. I had my science notebook out. I started doodling. “So who made the first atomic model Brooke?” Mrs. Wilson asked. She was grinning evilly. “It was Democritus, a Greek philosopher.” I responded. Her smile turned upside down. “What year was J.J. Thompson’s model made and what was his analogy?” She asked me. I could tell she was hoping I would get it wrong. The class watched us dramatically. A grin slowly started to spread as I paused the music. Since I am me, I like to be dramatic. And I love to prove people wrong. “His model was made in 1904. He liked to think of an atom as a chocolate chip cookie or plum pudding.” “That’s tru-” she mumbled. I had enough of her nonsense. So I continued. “He also discovered the electron. The current atomic model is shaped like a cloud. A typical human body weighing about 70 kilograms contains 7,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 atoms. I have more facts. In fact I think I’m ready to take the test.” I interrupted. There was silence in the room. Everyone faced Mrs. Wilson. She looked unprepared but most importantly; defeated. She completely ruined her reputation. Mrs. Wilson’s questions were known as the “unanswerable”. No one had gotten all of the questions right. I guess I made history? I smirked. She ran out of the room. Everyone burst into laughter. “GO BROOKE! GO BROOKE!” they chanted. For a minute I forgot about all of my stress. I felt great. I just got acknowledged by the class. The bell rang and it was time for lunch. As soon as the class walked out into the hallway, I was an outcast again. I put my books away and headed to the cafeteria. Serena and Karen were waiting for me at the table. They were eating their lunch. I sat down. “Hey where’s your lunch?” Karen asked. Due to the fight in the morning, I didn’t bring any lunch, I acted like I was full even though I was starving. If I told them I was hungry, Karen and Serena would act like the world’s ending. “Hey Brooke. Are you okay?” Serena said. This time there was no bell to get me out of this situation. I absolutely hated opening up. Plus it’s because of the one time I opened up to my parents. I was stressed and they expected more from me. I couldn’t handle it. So I broke down in front of my mom, who took it as a joke. She called my dad who was supportive. But then the next morning they ignored me and when I asked how I can help and they said “Oh don’t do anything. We don’t want you to bawl your eyes out.” Like so much for expressing my feelings. “I’m fine. Just stressed” I said too tired and hungry to lie. “Oh. What’s so stressful? We can help you..” Serena asked, taking another spoonful of rice. “It’s.... It’s hard to explain.” “Come with me after school. I need to show you a place.” Karen said after a minute. “Ok sure. Anyways, what’s up with youuuuu?” I said switching the topic. Karen talked about her sweet dog, Hunter. She’ll never stop telling us stories and we’ll never stop listening to them. We talked until lunch ended. I yawned. I barely got any sleep. I walked to history while holding onto my textbook. It seemed to get heavier every step I took. I finally reached Mrs. Miller’s classroom. I could only think about what Karen had said. I love how much they cared for me. Like all of my classes, I knew everything that we were learning in school, due to my parents who signed me up for 2 hours lessons on the 11th grade syllabus over the summer. So I used these classes to do missing assignments. I never want to tell Serena or Karen why I’m stressed. One of the main reasons is that my parents are arguing a lot these days. They wrap me up in them and they last for days. I’m so tired of the fake smiles. “Today we’re going to...” Mrs. Miller said as she introduced a new topic. But I was listening to her. I was more focused on what Karen had said. I could use a detour on the way home. For some weird reason I felt excited. I kept thinking about where she was going to take me. “And these same people traveled WHERE. Brooke, answer this.” I snapped out of my thoughts, looking at Mrs. Miller staring at me. I shouted nervously, “To the Midwest” “That’s.... Correct'' Mrs. Miller said “ Anyways, these people were part of the Sioux tribe....” she continued the lesson. She was mad. I went back into my thoughts. “Brooke snap out of it. One mistake and Mrs. Miller is calling your parents. Remember last time?” I shook my head. My dad was furious last time and it ended with me getting slapped. I fiddled with my fingers until class ended. As soon as the bell rang, I needed to be alone. All of the excitement faded. I changed into my gym clothes and ran to the gym. I was tired, mentally and physically. We started to do the warm up before we played dodgeball. I jogged over to pick up a ball when one of my teammates came running. She rammed into my nose. I fell down. I felt fine so I got up and started playing again. Mrs. Smith blew her whistle. Asking me to come to her. Everyone was staring at me. What happened? My face felt wet but that was just sweat. Right? “Honey, you have a nosebleed.” “Wh-” I said, reaching up to touch my nose. I hesitated at first. But then I saw what everyone was looking at. My nose and lips were covered in blood. It was bleeding so much that it started to drip down to my shirt. Mrs. Smith handed me a nurse pass and I headed to the nurse’s office. There was this temporary nurse who was really nice. I needed to get a bandaid last week and she helped me with my feelings. I went to her and she told me to pinch my nose. I opened up to her. She was like a therapist. I talked for a while and she helped. Maybe my parents were overprotective. I yawned. “Do you want to take a nap? We have beds here, plus you lost a bit of blood so you’ll be a little lightheaded.” I agreed and took a nap. I woke up to Serena shaking me. She looked like she was going to cry. Karen was here too, just asking what happened. She seemed REALLY worried. “Guys, I’m fine. It was just a nosebleed” I said, trying to reassure them. I walked over to Karen and gave her a hug. She was more focused on my shirt. Oh right, I forgot about that. “School ended so we have to leave, where are we going?” I asked as I slipped my shoes on. Serena picked my backpack up. “You’ll see” We walked out of the school and hopped on to a trolley. It was a nice experience even though it was like a bus. Karen went up to the driver and whispered something. He cheerfully nodded. “Can you tell me where we’re going?” I asked once again. Karen said no. “Well can you at least tell me?” Serena asked. Karen whispered something. She smiled at me. I rolled my eyes and enjoyed the “stress free” time. 5 minutes later, the trolley stopped. We got off and I saw trees and bushes. “Do you like it?” Karen asked. It wasn’t what I had in mind. “Sure” I responded. We walked through the trees and took a couple turns. We stopped at this area that had a tiny fence. There were big and tall bushes that surrounded that tiny area. I was kind of curious to see what was behind it. There was no entry. Karen army crawled from the little space under and between the bushes. Serena and I exchanged looks. She was smiling. “Do you want to go?” she asked. I really didn’t want to crawl under some huge bushes. “No, you go first, I’ll be right behind you.” I said. Serena crawled underneath. After 30 seconds she told me I can go. I started to army crawl. The bushes were thicker than you think. I crawled for almost a minute. Then I reached the end where Karen and Serena were waiting for me. I dusted off the dirt. Then I looked up. There was a whole scenery. Because of the setting sun, everything looked amazing . “When I’m stressed I walk around here and sometimes even scream all of my problems. I thought that might help you,” Karen said as I looked around in awe. Tree branches swayed slowly. It was relaxing. I sat under a tree. “And if I’m stressed, I think about all of the little things that made me happy.” Serena added. They walked over and sat next to me. “You should try screaming,” Karen told me. I took a deep breath and started my rant. “I FEEL LIKE A DISAPPOINTMENT. I’M NEVER AS GOOD AS MY BROTHER. MY GRADES ARE SUFFERING. I’M TIRED OF CONSTANTLY BEING COMPARED. I’M TIRED OF PEOPLE THINKING I DON’T HAVE A FUTURE. “ I shouted. Karen and Serena looked at me as I shouted more things I was stressed about. Serena put a hand on my shoulder as I took deep breaths. “Now scream all of the good things from today.” she said. “Just trust me.” I nodded. I screamed everything that made me happy today. “ I LIKED WHEN I PROVED MRS. WILSON WRONG. I LIKED WHEN PEOPLE DIDN’T THINK I WAS AN OUTCAST. I LIKED WHEN MY BEST FRIENDS CARED ABOUT ME.” I didn’t have many things that made me happy today but the things that did were enough. I felt relieved. Happy. “I told you so.” Karen and Serena said smiling. We all sat there looking at the beautiful hidden garden. Maybe, only the little things matter.


Disclaimer: This story may be triggering to people who have body image issues. The concept of obesity was very different in South Asia, where I was born and raised. The number on the scale was proportional to the number in the bank account-- wealth and happiness would reflect on your body. Hence, me being slightly on the heavy side was not a stigma or a thing to worry about. On the contrary, it made me proud of my beauty. Relatives would fawn over my curves when I visited, and I was satisfied knowing that my parents were not worried about my lifestyle. They had enough to worry about: my dad’s business falling apart, my sister’s marital problems, and me living away from them. Without the ease of communication that exists today-I had to wait for months to receive my father’s hand-written letter and vice versa- they were bound to worry for me. At least my weight reassured them that I was happy in the foreign land. I hadn’t linked weight and fitness in my mind. To be honest, I just never gave it much thought. I was a mother, wife, daughter and sister- and each of those connections kept me busy each day. My weight, and its possible effect on my health, never crossed my mind. All this changed on the day of the incident. It was the year 1998. Back in the day, during my vacation, I would visit my parents and family in India. This was the highlight of the year; I would carry exotic treats like almonds, dates, figs and gifts for my relatives. It was the unsaid rule that any time you visit family, you need to take gifts for them. Thus, when I visited my family in the countryside, all the children would swarm the car when I went, knowing that I brought gifts for them from abroad. It was also established that summer equals weddings. Every time I visited India, I would be invited to all the weddings in my family, and sometimes I would attend up to four in a week. During that visit to India, I had gone to meet my sister who was living in Chennai, which was slowly evolving into a busy metropolitan city. The new concept of nuclear family was creeping into the city, which accelerated the apartment living. My sister had moved into a five-floor building and her apartment had all the comforts of a modern home but in “petite” size. The elevator in her building was considered a luxury in India. Though the amenities were not novel for me, I appreciated that my family too could enjoy them as I had been during my stay abroad. My sister came to the airport to pick me up, and during the entire car ride to her home, she updated me on all the events that I had missed over the year. My heart felt happy and my soul felt refreshed. I was ecstatic to be back in her presence. The sibling I didn’t appreciate growing up with, due to the close gap in our age, became one of my closest confidantes. The long distance between made us cherish the precious moments together as we navigated the challenges of adulthood. As we approached her apartment building, I was eager to freshen up- the excitement to arrive started wearing off and the exhaustion began settling in. While waiting for the escalator to arrive at the ground floor, my mind was processing the information I knew on these types of escalators. They were referred to as birdcage elevators since it resembled a bird cage- one was able to look out of the elevator car to the surroundings. This was different from the modern elevators with solid doors that I was used to in my building. The novelty of this elevator, and the loud noises it made as it came down, ignited a spark of trepidation but I couldn’t do or say anything. This was the usual route of transport to my sister’s apartment, and I was not ready to climb the stairs. Besides, how would I be perceived if I, the one who lived abroad and rode elevators daily, claimed to be afraid of this contraption? I got into the birdcage elevator, and rolled my bag into the gap. Since there wasn’t space left for my sister, she asked me to wait in front of her apartment, and told me that she would take the elevator when it went back down. I couldn’t show my hesitation so I just smiled and said “ok”. Before I knew it, I was closing the safety scissor gate and pressing the button for floor 5. I immediately reassured myself that this was a safe machine. I watched as the scene changed from the ground floor, to cement, to apartment 102’s entrance, to cement, to apartment 202’s entrance and so on. I turned to check if I had my passport in my bag when suddenly I heard a loud “THUD”, felt a strong jerk and the elevator stopped midway between floor 3 and 4. My heart stopped. I was in panic. I jingled the inner door of the elevator and it started to open. Then, it struck me-even if I get the inner door open, there wasn’t a way for me to leave. I couldn't climb up to floor 4 and wouldn’t fit in the space below to floor 3. I could feel the disbelief and desperation setting in. How do I get myself out of this situation? I quickly pressed the alarm and let out a scream for help. I don’t remember what I said, but it definitely sounded desperate. I kept shouting until I could hear a reply. My sister and a few tenants heard my shout and came rushing with the watchman (security guard was called this) to see the commotion. They were shocked to see me yelling for help in an elevator that was dangling halfway between floors. The security guard tried to bring the elevator down to the third floor but he couldn’t move it any further. So he opened the outer door manually, and placed a high ladder at the edge of the elevator. A ladder that I had to climb down. I could feel tears of humiliation gather at my eyes as I watched the many curious people gather to watch the dramatic scene. My struggle to climb down the ladder seemed amplified to myself and soon became an embarrassing tale that changed my life. It opened my eyes to the realities that life can throw on us at any moment. That was the first time I realized the value of being fit and healthy to overcome difficult situations such as these in life. I was thankful that it was not a more serious one. Neither fitness instructors nor Google existed at the time. I navigated my fitness journey by reading lots of magazines and through lots of trials and error. Two years after that incident, when a similar incident happened, I was able to laugh it off and was able to navigate it smoothly due to my better fitness. The number on the scale became a good indicator of my success- the kind I am proud of.


My name’s Logan. I’m fourteen years old. And I’m gay. I have this hope that living near a liberal mecca like Seattle will make coming out a lot easier. But boy, am I wrong. My parents freak out. Mom cries a lot. Dad gets angry. Like, really angry. There’s a lot of shouting. And finally, an ultimatum. “Stop with this gay shit, or find someplace else to live.” As if I chose to be gay. With tears streaming down my face, I load up a backpack. My dad screams at me and slams the door on my way out, yelling something about me never coming back. My best friend Jesse’s house is a half-hour walk. He’s the only other person who knows I’m gay. So I have nowhere else to go. When I came out to him a month ago, he was totally cool with it. It’s part of what gave me the confidence to come out to my parents. I tap on his bedroom window. “Hey, Jesse. You in there?” A minute passes, then I tap again. The window creaks open. Jesse’s somber look is the first hint that something's up. “Jesus, Logan. What did you say to your parents?” My stomach clenches. “I came out to them. Dad kicked me out.” “Shit.” “I need to talk about it. Can I come in?” “I’m sorry Logan. You can’t.” “ What? ” “Your parents called my parents about ten minutes ago. I’m not supposed to see you anymore.” His pained expression puts a lump in my throat. “Why not?” Tears are welling up, but I won’t look weak in front of my best friend. “My mom says you’re going to hell.” My sadness morphs into shock. Then anger. “What a fucked up thing to say.” “My mom said it! Not me!” “But you repeated it. And now you won’t even let me in.” I walk away, fuming. “Logan! Stop!” Jesse’s holding a wad of cash. “Look, I’m sorry. This is all my savings. You can have it.” “Keep your damn money!” I turn around with my gaze fixed forward. There’s no way I’m taking charity from my ex-best friend who just betrayed me. No matter how desperately I need it. I’ve only got twenty-five bucks in my wallet. And that won’t last long. I walk down the street, my head spinning. In the course of an hour, I lost my parents, my home and my best friend. I have nowhere to go. But at least I have a bus pass. So I hop on the 425 from Lake Stevens to Seattle. To Capitol Hill. I barely know anything about Seattle, but I know that’s the queer part of town. On the bus ride down, I check for messages on my cell phone. Nothing. Not from my parents, or from Jesse. I lean my head against the glass and watch the world go by in a blur. How did it go so wrong? I don’t remember my parents ever saying anything too homophobic. But come to think of it, the topic never came up. Or maybe I avoided it. My parents are kinda religious. They go to church every few weeks and for Easter and Christmas. But they’re not like zealots or anything. We don’t even say grace. I guess I took them completely by surprise. I should have dropped some hints. Put up some posters of boy bands or something. But I was too afraid to show that side of myself. Maybe, subconsciously, I always knew this would happen. I ride the bus all the way to the end of the line in Downtown Seattle. Skyscrapers loom above me. Wherever there’s a gap, a large yellow crane is building a new one. I check the map on my phone. Capitol Hill is east, up a steep road that goes right over the freeway. I have no idea what I’m going to do when I get there. We’ve lived in the little town of Lake Stevens my whole life. I’ve only been to Seattle a handful of times. My parents don’t like the big city. But I’m taken by how much energy there is. Broadway Avenue is the heart of Capitol Hill and it’s bustling with activity. People everywhere. On the sidewalk in front of me, two guys are holding hands. And they’re cute . I turn my head to watch them as they walk by. One of them looks back and shoots me a smile. “Take a picture. It’ll last longer.” I snap my head back and stare down at the sidewalk, feeling the blood rushing to my cheeks. The two guys laugh as they walk away. When I’m sure they’re not looking, I peek back. They’re a block away now, with their hands around each other. It makes me feel warm inside. That’s what I want. Somebody to hold me. The wafting smell of burgers makes my stomach grumble. I haven’t eaten since breakfast and it's now mid afternoon. Above me is the marquee of an old 50s style burger joint. Dicks Drive In . Dicks . I laugh to myself. But oh man, are they delicious. I have a Dick’s Deluxe Burger and fries with a chocolate shake. With my stomach full and my wallet lighter, I explore Broadway. Walking by a restaurant, I catch a glimpse of some stage lights through an open door. I peer in to see a drag show in full swing. I’ve never been that into drag shows, but seeing the unabashed expression of queerness makes me smile. As I stand at the entrance, a bouncer at the door gives me evil eyes. She’s a short but thick woman with tight cropped hair. “In or out,” she booms in a husky voice. “In?” I say, not having any idea what I’m doing. “Ten dollar cover.” Ten dollars? Dang. “Oh-um-I guess out then.” “Then move it.” While I was loitering by the door, a line formed behind me. Patrons glare at me as I scurry away. I get a text message from my mom. Logan, we’re worried about you. Come home. A mixture of hope and anger courses through me, as my thumbs tap out a message. Does dad want me to come home? I stare at my phone. The three dots appear and disappear. At least a minute goes by. We want you to come talk to Pastor Jim. That’s it. I turn off my screen and put it on silent mode. What? Do they want me to pray the gay away? I don’t need somebody telling me I’m going to hell for who I am. Almost as in answer, I pass by a church with a large rainbow flag above the entrance. All are welcome here, its sign promises. It makes me smile. So religion by itself isn't the problem. Just small-mindedness. But, seeing my mom's texts makes me painfully homesick. I love my mom dearly, and she loves me. But things aren’t always great at home. My dad has a bad temper. In fact, the only two emotions I’ve ever seen from him are anger and apathy. And he can switch between them in a heartbeat. He’s never physically violent, but that doesn’t mean he can’t inflict a different kind of pain. I wander around Capitol Hill until the shadows get long. When it’s dark, I find a coffee shop and order a cup of hot chocolate. There I sit, watching people and contemplating my life. The whole running off to Capitol Hill thing sounded like a good idea at the time. But now I’m wondering where I’m going to sleep. A woman with long brown hair and a kind face walks up to me. “Hey hon. We close up in a few minutes.” “Oh, okay.” “Everything alright? You look kinda young to be out this late on your own.” “I’m fine.” I get up and head out. Last thing I need is somebody calling the cops and bringing me right back home. My eyes are getting heavy. It’s a warm night out, so when I pass by a sprawling park filled with massive old trees, I turn into it. I find an enormous bush surrounding an ancient maple. There’s a gap in the bush that I’m able to crawl into, and I lean up against the trunk. As I sit there, waiting for comfort that will never come, I think of my warm bed at home. I take my cell phone out and look at the last message my mom sent. I type out: Please come get me. Then I think of how angry my dad will be. How they’ll try to sit me down and convince me to not be gay. That I’m something that needs fixing. I delete the message before I send it, and turn off my phone. When I wake, the sun has come up. But I quickly realize it’s not the light that woke me. A man with long, disheveled hair and dirty clothes is going through my pockets. “Hey!” I yell at him and grab for his hand. But he shakes me off with surprising strength. As he’s running off, he shoves me into the tree. My head hits the trunk hard enough to see stars. By the time I run out of the bush and head after him, he’s already out of sight. I frantically check my pockets. My cell phone and wallet are gone. The events of the last twenty-four hours overwhelm me. And the mugger broke my last ounce of resolve. I crumple into a heap in the middle of a field of grass and start sobbing. How could my parents and my best friend reject me so completely? And now I’m stranded in the middle of a city I barely know. Even my bus pass is gone. Strangers walking dogs through the park stare at me. They must think I’m some crazy homeless person. And maybe that’s what I am. A hand touches my back, and a young guy’s voice calls out. “You okay?” I lurch back from the contact, expecting the worst. The sun shines behind him, silhouetting his face. But his posture is relaxed and calming. I don’t think he means harm. “I’ve been better.” I wipe my cheeks with the back of my sleeve, drying the tears. The guy crouches down, and now I can see him. He’s maybe a year or two older. Piercing blue eyes gaze at me. A lock of wavy light brown falls down his forehead and he pushes it away. He’s wearing ripped jeans, a Hurley t-shirt and a backpack. He’s got a skater punk vibe, and it’s totally cool. And really cute. He crouches down closer, and my stomach flutters. “Wanna tell me about it?” I let out a sad laugh. “Where do I start?” “Lemme guess. You came out to your parents, and they kicked you out of the house.” My jaw drops open. “How did you know?” “I wish it was a unique story, but it's not. It’s my story too.” “ You’re gay?” He laughs and smiles. “Yeah. Names’ Daniel.” He has the nicest smile. “I’m Logan.” “Nice to meet you, Logan. So tell me your story.” We get up and walk to a park bench. I tell him about everything that led up to today. He listens intently. When I’m finished, he pauses for a moment. “You’re a brave guy, Logan. And you’re right to stick to your guns. Don’t let anybody tell you who you should be. I’m sorry your parents and your friend aren’t more accepting.” “Me too.” I stare blankly at the ground. “And I have no idea what I’m going to do now.” Daniel’s eyes light up. “There’s a place for people like you and me. And it's just a few blocks away.” “Seriously? “Seriously. Just head down this road about ten blocks. You’ll see an old house with a pink triangle painted on the outside. It’s a gay youth center. They can help you out. They helped me. I volunteer there now, sometimes.” “I didn't know a place like that even existed.” A smile finally cracks through my drawn out face. “I don’t know how to thank you.” “You can thank me by calling when you're settled. I want to be sure you’re okay.” My heart flutters. “I--ah--don’t have a phone anymore.” “Give me your hand.” I hold out my palm. He takes a pen out of his backpack, grabs my hand, and writes his number on it. The feel of his warm skin on mine sends blood rushing to my cheeks. He sees this and smiles. “Make sure to write this down before you take a shower.” He laughs. “Heh, okay.” “I gotta run. But it was nice meeting you, Logan.” “It was nice meeting you , Daniel.” “And thanks for sharing your story with me.” “Felt great to finally unload it. Thank you for that.” He nods and walks off. Despite everything, maybe I’m gonna make it. Maybe life will be okay.


#Welcome to the Micro Monday Challenge! Hello writers! Welcome to Micro Monday! I am excited to present you all with a chance to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic? I’m glad you asked! Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words. However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more! Each week, I’ll give you a single constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. It might be an image, a theme word, a sentence, or a simple writing prompt. You’re free to interpret the prompt how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.** Remember, feedback matters! And don’t forget to upvote your favorites and nominate them via message here on reddit or a DM on discord!   *** #This week’s challenge: **You weren’t supposed to wake up here.** This week’s challenge is to use this simple writing prompt as inspiration for your story. The sentence does not need to appear in your story (but you are more than welcome to, if you like). You may interpret the prompt any way you like, as long as the connection is clear and you follow all sub and post rules.   ***   #Last Week I really enjoy watching each of your stories and writing styles change and improve week to week. Each week you guys bring a wonderful collection of stories to the thread--tales of all kinds: sad, uplifting, funny, and dark. I love the way each writer interprets the prompts/constraints differently. It makes running this feature such a joy. Keep up the great work! **Spotlights:** - - Submitted by u/rare27 - A group of children excitedly collect lightning bugs in jars on a summer evening. - - Submitted by u/Say_Im_Ugly - An old woman passes the time as she waits for her family to visit.   ***   #How It Works: - **Submit one story between 100-300 words** in the comments below, by the following Sunday at midnight, EST. Use to check your word count. The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words will be disqualified from being spotlit. - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post exclusively. - **I will take nominations for your favorites each week via a message on reddit or discord.** Each Monday, I will spotlight two deserving stories from the previous week that I think really stood out. I will take all nominations you make into consideration. But please remember, this is not a contest. - **Come back throughout the week, upvote your favorites and leave them a comment with some feedback.** While it’s not a requirement, I encourage everyone to read the other stories on the thread and leave feedback. I will take all of this into consideration when making my selections each week. - **Please be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here, as we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. - If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the stickied comment on this thread or through modmail. - And most of all, be creative and have fun!   ***   ###Subreddit News - Try your hand at serial writing with - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


It had rained again. He’d woken in the middle of the night, the staccato patter on the uninsulated tin roof penetrating the fog of sleep. He had a vague memory of having rolled over, exasperated at the realisation of what the next day would bring. He stood staring out at the makeshift garden. Three racks of plants, with the broader leafed and more robust varieties above, less sunlight dependent and smaller plants beneath. A sickly grey-green on the best of days, the leaves were covered in a thin layer of muck brought by the previous night’s downpour. Sighing, he pulled on a set of weathered gloves, and moved over to one corner. He reached, grabbed the leaf of a rhubarb plant, and methodically wiped the surface free of mud. He did the same for the next leaf, and the next. When that plant was done, he moved on. His crops were smaller each month, and he knew the day would come where he could no longer sustain himself through the plantation he had. Acidity, ammonia and other toxicity in the soil was building up too fast for the vegetation to drain it away, and the pall on the foliage suggested the plants were slowly suffocating, starved for nutrients. The rain didn’t help. It was as bad as the soil, though it did save him watering them. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, taking care not to get the dirty gloves anywhere near his mouth. Humid. The cloying damp was at least a change from the musty heat of the last month. The sounds of laughter that used to drift over the next door fences had long gone. Maybe it had been a night of quiet stories, and then a large dose of medicine. Maybe they’d gone walking through the haze, hoping to find some haven or other. Sooner or later, they all left. He was lasting a lot longer than most, as through sheer dumb luck he’d had a flatshare with a large backyard, a mess of shelving in the garage, and a green thumb. Three months earlier and he'd been in a thirty-six square metre apartment. Not a lot of agricultural space there. It had started while he’d been at the old place. These things take time to build up, then they happen all at once. The fires that swept across every continent on the globe. The mass of volcanic activity. A melted glacier full of ancient gas bubbles, each of them as noxious as the last, and then the dust storms started. He moved to the planters against the back wall, stepping over the small wet mound that had formed behind him as he’d cleaned. The mess would have annoyed his flatmates, but they were gone. He wondered idly if they’d found what they’d been looking for. Shelter, or something like it. He stood up to stretch, and stared up at the sky, wiping sweat from his brow. It was a hazy blue, for the first time in months. At least after the rain had collected all the floating particulates, the air outside would be safer to breathe. For a time.


We lay in bed enfolded in each other’s arms. I thought about all the times we’d done this, and the fact that this might be the last. I held her a little tighter. "What will you do first, when you get there?" I asked. "My dad’s going to pick me up at the airport. We’ll have brunch... dinner." She was struggling to add the nine hour time difference. "Then I’m going to Julie’s to spend the night." "Your dad is driving to Copenhagen just to pick you up? That’s nice." It was nice. He was nice. I liked her dad. I thought about meeting him for the first time. He’d welcomed me into his beautiful little cottage in the countryside. It was the first thatched roof I’d ever seen. He’d eagerly fed me roast pork and the national Danish booze: Akvavit. It was hideous. On our way out of the neighborhood, I stopped at a tiny gas station to fill the tank. We probably had enough to get to LAX, but I didn’t want to have to stop on the way home. I just wanted to drive. She went into the store to see if they had any Imodium for her flight. They didn’t, but apparently they did have King Size Kit Kat bars. "Do you want any?" "No thanks." She ripped the package open, and the scent of cheap chocolate flooded the car’s interior. I inhaled. "I love that smell. It reminds me of being a kid. I feel like I’m at the YMCA." "What did you do at the YMCA?" she asked, probably picturing the Village People. "I took a lot of swimming lessons." I thought about the night we’d spent in a Palm Springs pool beneath a big, red supermoon. It had been so hot there, the water was still warm in the middle of the night. We held hands and talked about things. I drove for two or three hours, and then we were at the airport. I told her I loved her, then I got back into my car and turned around. I thought about children, and why the fuck my defective, emotionally retarded, man-boy brain couldn’t decide if they sounded like a good idea. I thought about uncertainty, and whether I was entitled to it or not. I thought about her goddamn hormones, and turning thirty, and friends around us having baby after baby after baby. I thought about how I would tell my parents. It was dark when I pulled into the garage at home. I cleaned out my car, and found her Kit Kats, only half eaten. They’d gotten a little soft on her heated seat. I carried them down to the curb with me to collect the recycling bin. I thought about the fact that she’d been nice enough to retrieve the empty garbage bin before we left. I stood on the cold street, stabbing my wife’s leftover Kit Kats into my mouth one after another, coating my fingertips in melted chocolate, and I thought about nothing.


Tami rushed into the room, the biggest smile on her face. “Guess what?” She plunked down on the couch next to Amber. With a sigh, Amber put the bookmark back in her book and closed it. “What are you so excited about?” “I’m going to throw Cindy a surprise birthday party!” She clapped her hands excitedly, then hopped off the couch and practically ran down the hall. Amber closed her eyes, wishing she could go back in time and not hear Tami's plan to surprise their friend Cindy. Secrets were not something she could keep. And living with Cindy meant, at some point, she would ask a question that would lead to the surprise party. Picking up her book again, Amber tried to focus on the words, but she found herself glancing at the clock as the minutes ticked by. Twenty more minutes, and Cindy would be home. She should hide in her room. This way she wouldn’t even have to talk to Cindy. She closed her book and got up off the couch just as Tami walked past and grabbed her jacket off the hook. “Where are you going?” “I have to get supplies. I only have two days before the big day.” She slipped her arms into her jacket and picked up her purse. “Have you even invited anyone yet?” “Well, no. But I’m sure when everyone hears about it, they will come. You can help me spread the word. I’ll make little postcards you can hand out.” She dug around in her purse, smiling when she pulled a set of car keys from its contents. “Be back shortly.” Tami opened the door and stepped outside. The door had barely clicked shut when Cindy came bounding in, a scowl on her face. “Tami is way too happy.” She threw her purse on the counter and kicked off her shoes. “Yep.” Amber nodded her head and turned to escape into her bedroom. “I wonder why. Do you know?” Cindy plunked down on the couch and propped her feet on the coffee table. Amber stopped mid-stride “umm... Yes.” she tried once again to retreat to the comfort of her room. “Are you going to tell me?” This time she spun to flash Cindy a big fake smile. “Nope. I have to get to my room.” She made a beeline for the bedroom, but Cindy was faster than she expected. Within seconds she was right behind her. “Tell me what she’s up to.” Why did the hallway all of a sudden seem so long? “She's planning something.” “Is she planning something for my birthday?” Amber stopped and took a deep breath before turning to face her friend. “Yes. Now please stop asking me questions.” She turned and continued her trek down the hall. Cindy followed along behind. “What is it? What’s she planning?” There it was, the dreaded question she was trying to avoid. She couldn’t lie, and telling the truth meant revealing Tami’s secret. With her bedroom door in sight, she quickened her pace. “She’s planning...” The rest of Amber’s words squeaked by on a whisper so quiet Cindy couldn’t possibly hear. “What did you say?” Amber reached her bedroom and quickly retreated inside. She slammed the door shut in Cindy’s face. A little rude, but it was better than ruining the surprise. “I couldn’t hear you, Amber. What did you say?” Cindy knocked on the closed door. Obviously not deterred by her sudden rudeness. A gargled mumble seeped through the door, but nothing that Cindy could understand. Amber flopped down on her bed, exhausted from trying not to lie and keep the surprise party a secret at the same time. This was all Tami’s fault. Now she would have to avoid Cindy for the next two days. Amber bolted upright in the bed as she remembered she was supposed to drive Cindy to work tomorrow. How on earth would she avoid all her questions? The night dragged on, and Amber hardly slept at all. She was so worried about the car ride that the alarm on the bedside stand made her heart jump with its annoying beeping. She slapped the button, quieting the room once more, and crawled out of bed. She dressed and marched out to the kitchen where Cindy was sipping on a cup of coffee. Amber grabbed her purse and turned to look at Cindy. “I will drive you to work, but you may not ask me what Tami is planning, or I will drop you on the side of the curb.” Cindy nodded her head in agreement with her mouth hanging open. She traded her coffee cup for a briefcase as she followed Amber out the door. Five minutes into the car ride, the questions started. Cindy cleared her throat. “So, Tami is planning something for my birthday?” Amber cast her a sideways glance. “yes.” “Is it a gift?” “No. I thought you agreed not to ask me about it?” “No. I agreed not to ask you directly what she was planning. I’m playing twenty questions now.” Amber knew she was in trouble. Sooner or later, Cindy would get it out of her. That’s what she gets for being so precise. “Fine. Ask your questions.” Cindy beamed a smile. “Is it alive?” “No.” “Is it something for the kitchen?” “No.” Cindy frowned and took a moment to come up with the next question. “Is it something outside?” Now it was Amber’s turn to frown. Tami hadn’t given her any details about the party. “I’m not sure.” “What do you mean you're not sure?” “Well, I wasn’t given a whole lot of details.” Amber turned the car into the parking lot and parked in the first available spot. “You are making this difficult. Wait, does it involve a lot of people?” “Maybe.” It was an honest answer because she didn’t really know how many people would show up. She turned off the car and stepped out. “I know what it is! A surprise party. Tami is planning a surprise birthday party.” Cindy jumped out of the car with a big smile on her face. Amber’s shoulders slumped. Tami was going to be so mad at her. “Cindy, do you think you could still act surprised, so Tami doesn’t find out you know?” Cindy stopped her celebratory dance and drew her eyebrows together. “Yes. I think keeping the fact that I know a secret is a good idea.” She gave Amber a little hug, and they went inside the building. Two days later, the surprise party was a big success. Cindy did an amazing job of acting shocked and surprised, and Tami never found out she knew about it. Another secret Amber would have to try to keep.


“Hello Dina, he is here. I’ll bring him upstairs”, the voice from the comm says. “Thanks”, Dina says while opening her eyes from deep meditation. After a minute the door slides open. “Welcome Mark. How are you doing?” “I’m fine, thank you. How are you?” “Excellent. We finally succeeded in getting you here. Would you like something to drink?” “No, I’m fine.” They let go of each other’s hands. “I would say we picked the best day for this chat. *Horo* says I can talk anyone into anything this morning”. Dina prefers to keep small talk small. “I’ll be careful then” Mark smiles. “*Horo* told me to watch out for girls in their twenties” “You don’t have to worry. I turned thirty last week”, she says with a subtle smile. “So you are a Septemberian. I read my horoscopes from our internal beta version of *Horo*. It gives slightly different predictions, but they are a lot more accurate at times. It says a Januarian like me is prone to charms of sweet talking Septemberians, especially during the Fall” “Ha ha. Suit yourself then ... When is it coming out? The beta?” “Next week” “Can’t wait” Both walk across the room. Mark takes a moment to take in the panoramic view of the city. “Don’t you like the view?” Dina asks looking at the bridge rising above the faint clouds. The cloudy day has robbed the color off the city, but it’s charming as always. “Yes, it’s quite breathtaking. Makes up for living downtown.” “You bet. But I will live in the city all the same. I grew up in one. I’m a city girl.” “Good for you. I bought a nice condo last week in *Space Life*. It’s right in the center of Arcadia - the biggest outpost on Neptune.” He waits for Dina’s reaction, she only smiles. “Have you checked out their Neptune expansion yet? It’s truly mesmerizing. I spent a whole weekend in my new Neptunian condo. It’s quite an experience to sleep in the penthouse of a tower that sways along the fastest winds in the solar system.” “So I’ve heard” with a waning smile. “Don’t tell me you don’t play your competitor’s lifegames” “I just don’t have enough time. I spent my weekend testing out the beta of *Better Life*. After the crypto currency integration last year, we have seen massive user growth. Our top priority now is to enable those users to build sustainable businesses inside our lifegame. *Better Life* is the best out there among all lifegames available.” “Indeed”, Mark replies. “Tell me Mark. Do you lose your sleep wondering if you are giving false hope to billions of people on the planet?” “I sleep well Dina, thank you. Fortune tellers have been around for centuries. But *Horo* is much more than that. The predictions that *Horo* makes come from a fairly reliable prediction engine. They can help people plan ahead and not just give them false hopes. These predictions are at least as true as tomorrow’s weather forecast.” “That analogy is far-fetched, don’t you think?” “No it’s not. Our company has been around longer than you’ve been alive. And in all that time we’ve indexed all the events in everyone’s life on this planet. Horo’s neural nets embody all the patterns that you can see in the data of this magnitude. It can construct a map of events taking place and then extrapolate them into the future. *Horo* can tell you what gift your boyfriend will like for his birthday. It told me that your secretary will be wearing a red cardigan before I met her this morning. Dina, if we were driving cars on the road like in the old days, *Horo* would have predicted if the driver in the next lane is going to cut in front of me.” “Thank god we are not doing that anymore. But, I do believe in free will though. *Horo* can know every chemical reaction happening inside me and people around me, but we can still surprise it. Don’t you think? We can still make black swans.” “It does happen, but not so often. Most of the time *Horo* knows us better than ourselves. And he is only going to get better.” “Mark, I admit that *Horo* is a monumental achievement. Your company deserves all the success for building something that predicts reality. Your company’s history gave you a big advantage, but you leveraged it quite well. You have captured reality.” “Thank you” Mark takes a tiny bow. “But Mark, what good is reality?” A long moment of contemplation passes over Mark’s face. “If you spend half your day in *Better Life* and the other half in a dozen other lifegames, you have no time for reality” “Is that where you think we are going?” Mark says with a smirk. “We are halfway there already. I’ll let you in on a little secret. This afternoon we are signing papers with Neuralink.” Mark tries hard, but his eyes betray him. Dina continues, “Ability to make accurate predictions is a big deal. The real world runs on gazillions of parameters. To be able to see their pattern of movement requires enormous neural networks. Congratulations to your company on managing that feat. As people have started to trust more and more in *Horo*, its predictions have become self-fulfilling prophecies. You have always been the one to spot virtuous cycles in the evolution of technology Mark.” Dina leans forward before continuing. “But Mark, your scope is limited to reality. *Better Life* does not have to predict the future, because it writes it. When you are in *Better Life*, we own the reality” “Then what do you want from me?” “*Horo* of course. We don’t want it to predict reality though. Today *Horo* tells people what to anticipate. That means he also knows what they do not anticipate. That’s what we want to know. Reality is boring because most of the things happen as we expect them to. Only when something surprising happens do we get excitement in life. Reality doesn’t unfold to make people’s life interesting. It unfolds along its own silly logic. In *Better Life*, we are not bound by such constraints. *Better Life* is the greatest life-authoring service. All we need now is an author. And we want *Horo* for the job.” Dina leans back in her seat keeping her eyes on Mark. Mark stays quiet for a while and spends a few moments in contemplation. A gentle chime breaks Mark’s attention. He sighs. “Thanks *Horo*” he says silently, before opening the car door and walking to the lobby. A tall woman in a red cardigan greets him at the door. “Good morning Mark, how are you doing today? Dina is waiting for you, I’ll take you to her.” He follows.


Everything was easy when we were little, you were only a year or two older. We would dance and play all day, I never forgot how close we were, how much we dress like a Princess and a Prince. How mother would berate you for using Ethan’s old clothes. “You’re a girl!” She would say exasperated dragging you away to our room. “but Ethan won’t play princess and Princes with us so one of us has to step up,” would be your excuse but we both knew you felt more comfortable that way. Mother would always argue with Dad about us, saying we were too strange to be hers. That we should act like girls, that he should help her in correcting our wrong ways. They’d argue about it constantly. Until one day you and dad were gone. Mother had pretended you never existed. That I was a miracle child from God, the new Jesus. Everyone knew better. She was ill. But she wouldn’t accept that. She burned anything that belonged to you, to dad. She burned away the memories. I’ve longed for the day to find you, to hug you to talk to you but I never knew where to start and if I’d mention your names I’d be beaten and silenced. Ethan left to live with dads’ parents. I was stuck. All alone. Years went by I grew up alone. When I finally left home, I searched everywhere. I subscribed to many the ancestry websites but to no avail so why? Suddenly have I seen you in Spain. I cannot believe my eyes and surely you are the same. You don't look like you've aged one bit and yet you're taller and older. "Michelle?" My mouth moved without thinking, your eyes widen. "Vivienne? it can’t be, I was sure you were dead." she says almost quiet as a mouse. She is wearing the Hotels staff uniform and the desk manager does not look please that she is not moving. "I have many questions for you however your manager looks displeased. my room number is 278, come knock once your shift is over, please?" I plead; I don't want to let her leave, but I also do not wish for her to get into trouble. I am not that selfish. Michelle nods gives me a customer smile and briskly walks away. I grab my bags and walk to the lift. The angry looking desk manager approaches me while I wait for the lift doors to open. "Was there an issue with that woman ma'am you looked upset," her voice was higher than I expected. She had one bushy eyebrow raised and a mole under her left eye. "No, I just recognised her as a childhood friend I hadn’t seen in years," I said with a clam smile, Even though this woman hadn't really said anything or even done anything, she made me feel uneasy as if I was lying to her, luckily before she questioned me further the lift dinged open. "Well, I must me off" She smiled as I got into the lift and walked away, as the lift door closed, I tried to shove the feeling of unease away. Once I get to my room, I place my bags next to my bed and flop down on my bed with a sigh. Along plane ride and then bumping into Michelle the shock really takes it out of you. I assumed it would be a while until Michelle finished. Looking around the hotel room I find where the remote is and get up with effort to grab it. eventually finding suitable challenge I start to unpack my notebooks and pens. I cannot forget the main purpose of my trip to Spain, 'A tourists guide to the most gorgeous spots in Spain' a plain article. A few hours passed by, I'd meandered over the writing, had a shower and had given up on being any more productive and resigned myself to mindlessly staring at the TV while lying on the bed when a knock finally came from the door. I leapt up in a fluster and practically sprinted to open the door. "Viv-" Michelle began but was cut off by me dragging her into the room. "Michelle! You look the same as I remember, how are you in Spain? Is dad here too? oh I've missed you so much!" I bombarded her with questions. "Viv, you don't know what happened? Didn't you ever ask mother?" Michelle's voice was calm, but tears appeared in her eyes, "She forbade me from asking, of course that never stopped me but then whenever I'd start to talk about it she'd throw things at me," I said looking her in the eyes, her hair was in a cute pixie cut, she had dark bags under her eyes and she was holding her tears back I could tell. "You, you'll want to sit down for this." "What? what happened? I tried looking everywhere for you, I spent so much money on ancestry sights trying to find you," "Sit Viv," I sat on the bed and she followed. "Do you remember when those men came up to us one day in the park asking about mother?" I nodded unsure of what was going to follow. Michelle proceeded to tell me those men had been after mother for a while as she had done something bad in her youth which was still unknown. The day dad walked out with Michelle it was only to get groceries however, on the walk to the shop a small grey hatchback pulled up along side them and two men dragged them into the car. They kept asking dad where mother was but he refused to answer and he was killed. Michelle was taken as collateral to be a slave and shipped form country to country until she managed to get free and was found by a Spanish cop who took her to the orphanage at age 14. “Michelle, I-“ “Don’t go blaming yourself,” “Why did mother keep this from me? Why didn’t she just lie and tell me bad men were out for her as a kid.” “Shockingly that probably saved you.”


Ina is a small town in Ilinois. The place was first settled around 1840. But the main settlement was a bit farther from Ina, about 3 miles away to the northeast. That was called Spring Garden at the time. After the railway was built in 1905, more people came to this area, and the centre was moved towards Ina. The town became a stop on the Chicago and Eastern Illinois Railroad, which connected with the major rail lines of the Midwestern United States. Nonetheless, as in almost all towns, this one also has a dark history. Dark memories, which people do not really like talking about. This story, however, could not fade away: there were rumours in the beginning and rumours turned into facts. And facts reached the press; they turned into the news which reached the whole world. As his boss and colleagues described him, Russel Keith Dardeen was a very reliable, honest and helpful person. He worked at the Rend Lake Water Conservancy District. But one day in November 1987, when he did not turn up without checking in, his employer called the police and his parents who did not see him either. When the police arrived at his parents’ home, Don Dardeen, his father gave the police access to Keith's trailer. When the police entered the trailer on the 18th of November, they faced a horrible scene: Elaine Dardeen, her son Peter, and her newborn daughter were brutally beaten up with a baseball bat given to the son by his father for his birthday. Elaine's body was duck taped, and the two children were put in bed. The room seemed to be cleaned up, which indicated that whoever did this terrible murder, was not in a hurry. ‘Is it possible that the husband murdered his family?’ - the detectives and people asked. However, this presumption soon dissipated as they found Keith’s body in a field. He was shot three times, apart from his body was removed. Interestingly, his car was somewhere else: it was found at the police station in a nearby town, Benton. The interior of the car was bloody, which implied that the scene of his murder had been that place. When the news broke out, people got terrified, and they all started to protect themselves by watching their properties, wearing shotguns and looking behind their back. They were also afraid of strangers. As I was walking down the streets after work, they were open and empty. Families did not allow their kids to go out. People preferred getting around by car, instead of walking. As for the investigation, about 100 people were interrogated, but none of them turned out to be a suspect. The motive and the reason for the murder were also unclear. In the meantime, Keith’s mother did not give up: she was pushing the place to continue the investigation and asked for the help of the public as well. However, the murder was so brutal that the media was reluctant to detail it. You might ask if there are any improvements in this case. The year 2000 was a turning point. A serial killer, Tommy Lyn Sells was apprehended and claimed to kill the family among other people. According to Tommy Lyn Sells, he met Keith at a truck stop, and he invited him for dinner at his home then offered him sex, including his wife. This claim, however, is not reliable because Sells was an untrustful person and his story was not convincing. He was executed in 2014, and the question of whether he committed it or not is gone with him. He admitted committing more than 70 murders, and this could be one that he was responsible for. But we do not know for sure. The thing is that uncertain answers are as uncomfortable as unanswered questions. To not know is to suffer. To know can be a burden. The answers you seek may be the very thing that you wish to avoid.


"Hello," I say to no one in particular, not that there was anybody to hear it. No, nobody. Certainly nobody. A vast expanse of sand, and in the distance an ocean, is all that was left in front of me. It's a tricky thing to remember where I am, but most importantly it is hard to remember where I am going. I walk towards the ocean, but it seems to never get closer. I thought I saw a bird a few days ago, but it had three too many legs. It seems like a lot of things aren’t very solid now, shifting like the sand underneath my feet. You have to be careful at the sand dunes because if you roll down it is hard to get back up. The sand is all I ever see now, so I have gotten pretty good at feeling it. Sometimes you get that windy sand that seems to get kicked up like dust, other times you get the hard unmoving sand. It’s always sand though. How long have I been moving? I do not know. I do not remember, all I know is I must get to the ocean. The ocean is my destination, some days though I walk around in circles, feeling like I can’t get my legs to move straight. Those days are always so cloudy, the sun never seems to come up all the way. Hidden behind a veil. Who am I? I do not know. I do not look at myself, or if I had, I do not remember. Where am I going again? Something with... Fash? Fesh? No, it’s fish. Fish with an I. I am going to the ocean. The ocean, with birds and fish. Water too. I walk because the sand is too slippery to run on, I used to run a lot. On these weird hard things that weren’t quite sand. I remember the feeling, running until I was sick. I remember someone, someone helping me. I can’t remember the name, it’s on the top of my knee. M something, short... Then I remember other things too, like the sounds of... Where am I going again? The ocean, I am going to the ocean. The ocean, with birds and fish. Water too. Sometimes the ocean seems so far away that it feels like I’ll never reach it... Sometimes it feels like it’s right in front of me, I can hear the cackling of the birds laughing. Those damn birds. The fish never speak, which is why I prefer them over the birds. I haven’t seen them in a long time, and that suits me just fine. But, what are birds again? Small for sure, were they white? Maybe they were black with speckadoodled spots? Maybe they had four legs or eight like the spiders? “Hello,” I say to no one in particular, not that there was anyone to hear it. No, nobody. Certainly no- “Hello.” A voice answers. I'm not startled, it felt perfectly natural. There, through the sand. A monster on two legs, far more than normal. A terrible monstrous with beady eyes and a fanged face... I run. I run, and I fall down a sand dune. Not good, the edges are too steep. I couldn’t make it up even if I wanted. I see something peer over the edge of the dune, a monstrous face with beady eyes and a fanged face. Certainly something this horrifying can not be natural? No, it couldn’t be. Perhaps it is all just a hallucination, after all, I’ve never seen this monster before. Yes, that is it. It is a hallucination. I sit down and attempt to calm my nerves, but the figure doesn’t leave. If anything it grows bolder, what was once far is now close, it is merely a few feet away. I need to run- I should run now, right now, no wait there is no way up from the dunes. How can I get away can I get awa- “hello?” A voice asks me a question. “What are you?” I asked with such trepidation, perhaps I do not want to even know. “I do not know.” The voice answers, in a voice so familiar to me. “What are you?” the voice asks me, and I respond “I do not know.” Both of us frown. I think for a while, the monster just stands there... On two legs, I look down and I see two legs as well. I investigate my skin, it is the same. I feel my face and my eyes. They are similar. I understand now, “I am you” I respond to the creature. “ and I am you” the voice responds. I do not understand, this is a terrible thought to have occurred. I am me, but they are me? Impossible, I am already me therefore I cannot be them as well. I push the thoughts away, and I ask the voice “ Where are you going?” The voice responds “ The ocean, with birds and fish. Water too.” I responded, not understanding “ Me too, would you mind if I joined you?” The voice responds “ Sure, we’ll keep each other's company.


After almost three decades of ruthless competition amongst the richest people in the world one particular individual, Marco Zælioli, emerged as the first man to break the trillionaire threshold. Impressive about the man was not only that he started from almost nothing, investing at the young age of 18 and that he made his first million by the age of 25, he also was the CEO and creator of the first spacemining agency AND the biggest tech company in the world. His spacemining company owned a huge number of assets such as huge intergalactic mining ships and an almost infinite stock of minerals ranging from precious metals such as platinum and gold to less precious minerals such as hydrogen and carbon. Another special thing about Marco was that he saved millions of lifes during the 2032 climate crisis. Parts of the world had been flooded while others were plagued with diseases and droughts, causing millions to immigrate and creating conflicts at the borders of many nations. Huge immigrant camps were a sad reality during that period wich nobody knew how to adress. Misogynistic politicians further escalated the situation wich reached its critical point in 2034 when one politician suggested to raid the immigrant camps. Fortunately it never came to this thanks to Marco, who showed up just at the right time, opened the doors to his spaceship and gave everybody a free ticket to a new world. A new spacenation was born, of wich he was the founder and president. Most people were transported to the moon wich had previously been terraformed and rendered habitable. However it quickly became selfevident, that to survive the people had to adapt to their new environment, become miners and extract oxygen and water from the lunar surface and other extraterrestrial bodies. On top of that one has to keep in mind that these were all people of different cultures and religions wich led to a huge clash of cultures. Because of this cultural clash and because of the traumatic experiences suffered losing their homes most people abandoned their former religious beliefs while some few went the opposite way of the spectrum becoming more extreme than ever before. However most of these people were expelled by Marcos spacecouncil and sent back to earth. Yes there were some terrible terrorist attacks but fortunately due to the immediate and radical action of the council most unstaible individuals were sent back to earth. This lead to another conflict (we will get to the other great conflict later) with earth threatning to shoot down the shuttles with the "extremists", to with Marco responded that he would see this as an act of war and that he had nukes pointed on all major cities of the earth. He argued that the earthlings were to blame for the climate disaster and that this was part of the price they had to pay. In the end the Earthlings had to give in and accept the troublemaker immigrants also because marco simply had to much technological power (we will come to this later). After a week of intense debate in the 2032 climate crisis summit, held in germany, all nations (exept northkorea) in an effort to stop or at least slow down rising sealevels agreed to a set of terms and conditions wich drastically limited the amount of CO2 emissions per capita, banned the consumption of meat and introduced a new climate tax wich every company had to pay. These actions worked but sadly were too late, as historians would later recall. Millions of people lost their homes and immigrated into space. Thousands died. Some experts estimated that if it wasn't for Marco the world would have been either overpopulated and undernurished due to the lack of land or in a new never before seen worldwar for ressources. Negotiations with the Earth started soon after but the USA aswell as China didnt recognize the spacepeople as a nation and tried to drive a hard bargain on vital ressources such as food wich led Marco and the spacepeople to initially primarly dealing with the EU. This was the first great conflict that emerged between the spacepeople and the earthlings. On top of basically owning space and leading the second biggest nation by population after china, Marco also owned the second most valuable company in the world, wich was actually the company he started with. "Smart Brain Interfaces" was -as the name suggests- a smart glass company wich replaced the smartphone in the early 2030s. With ER technology the glasses could pick up brain waves and brain activity, decode it and use it to take an imput wich would be directly visualized in the smartglasses. It was a genius concept and it didnt take long for people to dump Apple and Samsung for the next big hit. It was a technological revolution and it gave Marco incredible Power from a political point of view. Apple was now mostly a smartwatch company, as smartphones were ridiculed by the masses and regarded as reliques of the past. Infact, the most popular meme of the decade wich racked up more than 10 billion views made fun of smartphone users, wich the meme depicted as "not having enough brainpower to control the smartglasses". On top of the meme there was a picture of a man with smartglasses and a graph over his head performing all sorts of complex brainwaves labeled "big brain smartglass users". In the middle of the caricatures one could see a shimpanzee holding a smartphone in his right hand and a graph over his head showing a flat line without any brainactivity labeled " smooth brained iphone users". Under the two pictures comparing the brainactivity of smartglass and iphone users was a third picture showing Marco during a Smart Brain Interfaces event wearing smartglasses with an off the charts brainactivity. This was a reference to one of Marcos presentations in wich he failed using the smartglasses due to a technical error. This is my first short story and i hope people enjoy it at least a little bit. Upvote if you want to see a part two after this long and interesting exposition. I have some great ideas for the actual story but i don't know if its worth it to continue and i am currently out of time. If i get over 25 upvotes i will do a part two Edit 1: spelling and additional information. Ps.: please drop mistakes in the comments. I am very bad at commas and english is not my main language.


Thompson stared at the dead rat as if his life depended on it while trying to go back to sleep. The truth is his life didn’t depend on it but he just felt like taking his mind off of certain things. The letter he got from Laura that evening didn’t go very well and he just didn’t want to think about it so instead he just stared blankly at a rat that had the misfortune of dying not even a few paces from his bunk. It was just then that his concentration was broken when Goodwin stumbled into the bombproof and spoke with a tired expression “Thompson you’re up on Pickett duty man wake the fuck up” Thompson then glanced up and grabbed his things and shoved the letter into his pocket. He had forgotten he had picket duty tonight after he got done reading his mail and as a result he was unprepared as he grabbed his rifle and put on his boots and coat. “Sorry I got distracted, anyways who am I on duty with tonight?”. However his words had fallen on deaf ears as Goodwin was already laying in his bunk with his boots still on his feet leaving him to figure it out for himself. To those who don’t know Pickett duty is both the most stressful and boring tasking that command could ever devise. It would involve two men to sit in a rifle pit on the firing line at night and watch for stragglers trying to cross no man’s land from the Ticonderogan lines and every night men would rotate said duty. Thompson thought about this as he slogged his way through the trench past a few more sentries either getting off shift or getting on until he found it. Howard paid him no mind as Thompson crawled into the rifle pit because he was nearly coughing his heart out as he was. Thompson set his rifle down beside him and spoke in a hushed voice. “Hey you good over there?” Howard proceeded to cough for several more minutes until he stopped “Yeah I’m fine man.” Thompson then sighed. “Good. I don’t need anyone else dying on me today”. Thompson said as he rubbed his hands. To this Howard felt compelled to ask. “Did something happen?” Thompson sniffled in the cold spring air. “Yeah I’m fine.. I just got some bad news today from home that’s all”. “Mail call always has that effect on people”. Howard said. “I hope you find some good news soon.” The notion made Thompson smile and felt compelled to ask in turn “So did you get any good news today?” Howard then replied in turn “yeah I did. My son was born today actually.” Thompson’s sadness returned again “congratulations” he said in a bitter tone “Any ideas for names?” Howard asked “Stephanie was thinking of Bill or George”. Thompson added “how about Robert?” Howard seemed to agree “yeah I like that one. Robert, it has a charm to it”. Thompson only nodded “yeah it did”. Thompson didn’t like to suggest his dead sons name but it would suit someone else better than him. A quietness engulfed the two men before Howard spoke again. “Hey Thompson do you believe in the afterlife? I mean Heaven and Hell and whatnot”. Thompson paused for a moment to reflect as he rubbed his eyes. “Yeah I do why?” “Nothing it’s just something I think about every now and then”. They then spent the next several hours talking about anything and everything they could think about and when they couldn’t think of anything more to talk about they talked some more. They spent all night memorizing the scenery before them which wasn’t much. The only notable feature before them was the ruins of an old log cabin that must have burned down before the siege. Every so often he thought he saw something moving at the base of it but reassured himself it was nothing. The shuffling of Goodwin’s boots in the mud broke the silence and he spoke “morning gentlemen. See anything interesting?” Thompson spoke as Howard became unusually quiet “nothing but rocks that look like sappers”. Goodwin then kicked Howard to wake him “hey get up I’m relieving you early so you can get someone to look at that cough old man”. There was then a breif pause when Goodwin kicked him again “hey I said get u-“ however Thompson spoke in his defense “hey give him a minute he’s had a long night”. It was at this point that Goodwin knelt down and said some words that made Thompson’s blood run cold “he’s dead”. To this Thompson glanced over and saw him roll Howard’s frozen corpse over and he saw his frozen eyes stare into Thompson’s. “That’s.. that’s not true I was talking to him all night last night” Thompson said. Goodwin then nodded “you were talking to a dead man Thompson.. maybe you should get some sleep instead”.


It is always said that there are two kinds of people in this world- sheep, and wolves in sheep's clothing. The two gentlemen who had just now assumed the command of this cold bank lobby were definitely no sheep. While the one with a blank white mask made the teller squirm, the one wearing an ogre mask held a woman by her nape, and pressed his gun to the back of her head. One always does assume that they won’t be possessed to commit such acts of barbaric brutality, but these men had no delusions about their capabilities. The white faced guy was Robert "Rob" Von Pearson. Son of a brilliant banker, Arnold Von Pearson, he was a young, brilliant kleptomaniac, with an acidic animosity towards authorities in his life. Disowned at 15, he lived his life on his own expectations and capabilities. As an adult, he was tall and toned with wavy black hair curling into tangles which seemed to be just as twisted as he did, and a fancy fluency when he spoke which could put anyone at ease, or rob their comfort away. People always assumed the "Rob" was on account of his name, what it really was on the account of his hobby. The ogre held the identity of Charles Mason. They guy was a marvel of human body, a top physical specimen. Tall, broad, dark, with long hair, running down to his shoulders. As a kid, he was close to Jenny, his elder sister. Jenny and Rob were very close, and that is how the two had come to known each other. One evening however, they found young Jenny suspended by her neck from the beams which carried the burden of the ceiling in her room. Charles never did understand the why of it, and for some time after that he and Rob made some unsuccessful attempts to find out the why of this mystery. But this was in times past now, all they had left of those days were memories, some on the verge of being lost, some misshapen, some perfervid, and some ardent. What did however remain was the friendship they had forged then. Rob had an immense influence in Charles, and they grew up learning the secrets of the trade. Rob was the idea man, and Charles was the one who could execute it with dexterity. Together they had made their fame amongst conmen, thieves, and of course, the state police and federal police. The dream, the plan was to witness the dawn of the 21st century, in the arms of luxurious women and wine, and to spend their dotage in the same way. They were about to reach that margin, and ten years before the deadline at that too. Now, standing in the middle of all the action, and being the center of attention, these two men, looked at each other and gave a mutual nod. They did not need fake and silly names to call each other during work, their understanding was too deep, and never failing. Except, for just moments before they had just made their ferocious and swift entrance. The guard outside the bank, Rob was supposed to call his attention, and Charles was to dispose him of his life. There was no other way about it, or so said Rob. "We can’t put on the mask before taking care of him. They're gonna see us coming and call the cops. And we can’t let him live, he'll see our faces. Trust me Charlie, it’s the only way." But for the first time in his life, Charles hesitated when snapping someone's neck. Rob darted his eyes back and forth between him and the guard, but when the guard turned around to follow the sight of the stranger before him, Rob did not hesitate to pull out stiletto, and pierce his neck with it. His movements had finesse, and grace, and coldness in it. The warm blood rushed out to color his hands, but he did not let it fall on his suit. He looked at Charles, his eyes reflecting disappointment, but he did not say anything, there would be time for that after. Quickly they put on their mask, and Charles picked up the martyr. A shot was fired, and everyone dropped to the floor. It almost looked rehearsed. This was the genius of Robert Pearson, no one could explain it, but no one could deny it either. His presence, his posture, and his cold stare, could cripple even the toughest of alphas. He could have said something, but he did not need to, everyone knew what he could do, rather what he would do at the very hint of slightest disobedience. Charles put the body down, and let its weight fall on the wall, as his blood kept gushing out, painting red the clean, cold, white marble floor. It seemed he took a second or two to get up, as if to pay his respect to this man, while his jacket sleeves, poured his the dead man's blood drop by drop into the puddle just below. He untucked his jacket, and with a smooth motion, pulled out his shiny silvery gun. Like a shard of glass, it split the sunlight for anyone who gazed on it, and for who did gaze on it, it looked almost holy. But as he stepped forward, and out of the sunlight, the metal seemed to seep out coldness, replacing warmth with fear. In a flash did he smack someone out of the way, and grabbed a small woman, by her nape and put the cold gun against the back of her head. As Charles returned his usual brutal self, Rob couldn’t help but feel more confident, and more pride in his tutelage, and upbringing. He turned to the teller, and made his way to him, without a hurry, like a stroll in the park. He put his gun against the glass window, and casually flung his bags on the counter, then gave a gentle tap on the window. As the sense of the safety and comfort escaped this teller, he could not help but look into the eyes of this white masked man. His eyes conveyed the commands with ease. He made his presence known to everyone in the room without saying a word. His face was never considered to be attractive but he always seemed to attract all attention nonetheless. He looked now at the teller, and he made it known who was in charge here. He was the king, and everyone else present there on that day, his subjects. The teller sensed an apathetic, condescending, and cold amusement in the eyes of his new master. He couldn’t help but stare at the azure eyes piercing right through him. Ever so often he would fumble, and each time he felt like it would be his last, but he could only sense the amusement in the eyes to get more childlike. Like a child, toying with a solitary ant, for amusement, for curiosity, before finally crushing it under his heel, that was what this amusement felt like. He could not help but sympathize with the ant now, being the subject of this torture which lacked the innocence. He did however see how it gave the man before him an ecstatic adrenaline rush, and the very thought of being a part of this transaction made him feel dirty. It was like waking up in the middle of an afternoon nap, one does not know how he came to be awake, just that he is. It was the same way for Rob, when something grabbed his attention, maybe it was a sound, or maybe the shadows moved on the periphery of his eyes. He turned around to a see an unseen scene: Charles as a hostage, that too by some greasy cop flashing his badge with the hand he used to lock Charles by his neck, while other held a black gun to his temple. Rob turned his head halfway, to look at the general direction of the teller, and gave a gentle nod. Even a nod from Rob felt like a threat, and the teller obliged, caring no more who would best who, he did what he was told, like an obedient servant. Rob turned his attention to Charles and this brave fool who would take him as a hostage. Charles rested his eyes as he caught his breath, and Rob felt like he had missed out on an epic showdown, or the fight of the century, in which he would bet on Charles a thousand times over. Looking at Charles now, he did not know why, but he remembered how he was moments before all of this went down. They were in their getaway car, across the street from the bank, waiting for noon to come around, along with their small window of opportunity. He looked over and saw Charles staring in the distance towards the guard he was supposed to take care of. His eyes, like always, were unburdened with thoughts of higher order, simply because it was not his job to do so. He always was an excellent foot soldier. He was pulled back to reality again, as the sound of the screaming cop was being tuned from blurry to clear. This time however, it didn’t feel like a lazy afternoon nap, but more of a slap, snapping him out of this state. He was sure he heard the cop say his name . Paul Wolfe was still a rookie, only on the second month of his job as a beat cop, his career so far was not so stellar. Yet, all one does need is an opportunity. Some wait for the right one, and some create the right one. Here he was, in the middle of an action-movie showdown, a famed beast, now tamed in his headlock, while he had to convince the other to surrender. He could feel his eyes on him, but he didn’t have his attention, his instructions were in vain. Rob showed nothing but blithe, and that was very a trembling thought for him. In that moment he decided to take action, and gain the upper hand so he called out his name. “Robert Pearson, you are under arrest for 18 counts of grand larceny, robbery of 7 AVP banks, one attempted robbery, and one count of murder of Jenny Mason” Like a wounded boar did Charles struggle, a spark lit something tucked away deep within him, at the sound of that name and what had just been said. It pricked him, just like it would prick a lifelong priest to find out his God is a lie, or a man, fiercely religious, plagued with thoughts of taboo. He rejected the possibility of it, and struggled. The sudden motion of this hulking bull, sent panic across the spine of the cop, like it would do to any human being. He focused too much on keeping Charles in the head lock, and he left his other hand a bit too loose. By the time he realized what he had done wrong it was too late, a small knife had already taken flight from Rob’s hands, and it hit him right near the trigger, Charles broke free, and let loose a punch. The hero flew for a second there, losing his consciousness, his final act was to pull the trigger. He had no idea, who it would hit, if it would hit anyone, but it was all he could do, and he did. Charles walked over onto his limp body, grabbed his collar and pulled him up to him. His scent triggered some happy memories in Charles, but he could only feel a sting now. He was about to make this cop an exhibit of his brutality, when a cry for help overcame his anger, he recognized the voice but did not want to face the person it belonged to. At first it felt nothing, and then suddenly, a warm feeling gripped him, right in his guts. Rob went down immediately after that. All he could think was how much he hated this feeling, it reminded him of someone he knew long ago, when he felt warmth of a different kind. Soon things began to fade, it felt like falling into a bottomless pit, perhaps it was not the bullet, it was this life, but he knew this feeling was just there to give his imminent death more meaning. A profound epiphany, a lesson learnt, and then death. With what little he had, he cried for Charles. Then were these little flashes of consciousness, he was in the passenger seat of the car, Charles was driving, pressing a cloth on his wound, and there was a song on the radio, it was about love. When he came to, he saw a farm pass by, he recognized it, it was the interstate, and they were moving towards the safe house. He looked over at Charles, and his eyes were troubled, and then he looked over too. Charles asked Rob a question, and he replied, truthfully, he was too tired not to. Then he fell into the limbo again. Rob was thrown on the ground; that woke him, he managed to get up and sit on his knees, as Charles put a gun on his head. He looked around, they were in a moor, the sun was shining through the tall green leaves into his eyes, they were not much far away from the place where they would be safe. He looked at Charles again and said nothing, neither did Charles, this was not the time to exchange words, it was time for a vendetta. Charles tucked his gun in the blood stained black jacket of his suit, and began to unleash his wrath on his childhood friend. Anger was cathartic to Charles, the way he grew up with Rob, he felt no shame or guilt in it. Rob struggled but it was useless, he tried to reach out for another one of his hidden knives, but Charles knew him too well, not giving him a fair chance. He threw him once again and spread his hands around his neck, choking him, this time without any hesitation. And just when he was about to remove his only family left in the world, he saw something shiny, something small, redirecting the rays of sun into his eyes, blinding him just for a moment. It was a small knife; one which he had never seen before, and it was moving towards him now. It was too fast, and Charles was too slow. It made its way through his eye, and hot blood came rushing out. This time, however, Rob was not able to save his suit neither did he attempt to. The blood dripped on his face while he held the knife tightly. As the entire weight of his friend, and disappointment lay on him, he pushed the former off of him, and Charles lay there in the grass, still pumping out blood and it mixing with the fresh wet soil. He looked once again at Charles, he really looked unburdened by thoughts of higher order. He took a moment, before he made his way to the car. He saw bloodied masks in the back seats through the rear view mirror, and then the corpse of his loyal soldier as he drove away, somehow managing the pain and his reckless driving in that state. Back at the safe house, he mended himself, managing to stop the blood, but the bullet was still buried deep in him. He lay on the couch now, and closed his eyes, meditating and contemplating on that day’s events. The more he thought about it the more tense he got, the more uncomfortable at the thought of it. His pain mattered less and less each moment. His mind paced fast, asking all the right questions now that he was out of danger and safe. Then a cold circle relieved some of the heat from his sweaty forehead. It was the cop, who was just as tense as he was, his eyes looking around and searching for someone, “Where is he? Where is Charles?’ Rob lay there in silence, looking straight into his eyes. “Where is he? Where is Charlie?” The silence made Paul snivel, he knew what had happened, and he knew who to blame. His knees went weak and his eyes teared up, “Where is my Charlie??” his voice broke, and he felt like he would choke on his own guilt. Rob still said nothing, he had learnt a lesson that day: he was not the only one wearing a mask. Paul did too, he just wasn’t sure what it was, only that he would have to bear the guilt for the rest of his life. They rode back the interstate in silence, Rob, cuffed in the back seat, amazed by how little he knew, this was a new feeling for him, the feeling of knowing that he did not know enough, it would take some getting used to. Paul could barely drive, his eyes would water up every few minutes, and he let it all flow over him, like standing against a strong ocean wave, after all he only had this drive left to be himself, for when he reached the destination, he put on his own mask as well. He knew what would follow he got his promotion along with the guilt, and Rob got his sentence, but there was still some time left, the road had not ended. The sun shone brightly, into their eyes, and the radio sang another song of love.