It's amazing what the shower can hide. She steps in, chucking her blood soaked clothes into the hamper. It had crusted over on the way home, with everyone's eyes turning away. Even the homeless man on the street corner, Clevis, the most relentless man she knew, always staring her down for change to get a bottle of beer, had averted her gaze. She turns the water on warm. Her bruises cry out as she makes circles with her wash cloth. The blood flakes off, and she sits on the floor of the tub to cry. Nobody can hear her crying behind the stream of the water. That's the way she likes it. The landlord pays the water bill, and he can pay for half an hour of sobs, until her skin becomes that of a raisin, and she can forget the sins that man committed on her. She feels violated. She feels abused. She wonders if she can drown if she plugs the tub. It doesn't work. Two weeks pass, and she finds herself back in the shower, water dripping down her face. If you ask, she will say it is from the faucet. Nobody bothers to ask. She saw his face at the coffee shop today. Turns out he also likes chocolate crullers. He caught her eye, and for a moment the recognition didn't flicker, with her sunglasses covering her face. But then it did, and he stuck his finger through the hole of his doughnut, in and out until he's satisfied with her squirming. She gave her doughnut to Clevis. And now here she sits, sobbing in a tub because the memories come flooding back, not caring how hard she has worked to repress them. Her stomach rumbles, because she never got to eat her doughnut, let alone anything, but she can't bring herself to get off the floor of her shower. It's a good thing she's not paying the water bill. Another two weeks pass. She thinks she is finally able to stand in the shower. Her legs wobble, and at the scent of her strawberry shampoo, she almost caves. The smell reminds her of her tears. Her tears remind her of the incident. Why had she walked home alone that day? Bolstering herself against the wall, she takes a breath. She doesn't think, and exhales through her mouth as the water pours down, and everything tastes like soap. She spits to the ground and slides down into it. She's not ready to stop crying. Two months pass this time. She was caked in sweat from her run around the neighborhood. The therapist said it would be good for her to take up a hobby, clear her mind. So far it's worked wonders. Today she took the route past the coffee shop. The chocolate crullers had cried out to her, and her mind flickered back to that day. Lacing her shoes tighter, she took off. She stands there, stomach growling, thinking about that doughnut. That man had stolen her innocence. Was she really going to let him take her favorite food too? In, out, in, out, had gone the finger. The shower rains down cold, until she can blame her shivers on the water. She wraps the towel around her body and stands in front of the mirror. "I am not powerless," she tells her reflection. She wishes she could hear it echo back. Six weeks disappear, and so does her midsection. There used to be a small bulge, but now as she turns to the side, it almost seems a bit concave, as if someone has scooped out her insides and ran off with them. She turns frontward and studies her thighs. They don't rub like they used to. They're long and lean, like those runway models she used to make fun of. She always swore they didn't eat, and ran off fumes all day. Had she fallen in with their crowd? No, she's thin now, but still not pretty. She can see the scar he left her. She escapes behind the curtain, and lets the water heat up. Tracing the scar, her lip trembles, and tears fall. It's time to let the shower pour. So do her eyes. Half a year has passed since she met him. Half a year of wondering why she didn't take Janet up on her offer to get a ride home. Half a year of sitting in her tub, pretending the shower covers her tears. There's a knock on the door. She ignores it, stepping into the shower. The past few weeks have been fine. If by fine you mean doing nothing but work and runs and sleep. There's no crying though, and she considers this an accomplishment. There's a tattoo on her scar now. It makes her feel beautiful, and she runs her hand along it as she steps into the shower. This time she doesn't cry. The shower lasts all of a few minutes, to cleanse her of her morning run. She throws her hair into a sloppy bun. Today she can face the world. She draws a smiley face in the mirror steam. It's been eight months now. The adrenaline of the tattoo has worn off. It's a part of her, like all the thoughts she keeps locked away. They're supposed to be locked away. He was at the drug store today. Which wouldn't be a problem, because her therapist has taught her how to handle these kinds of situations. Except he was buying condoms, and when the cashier told him to have a good night, he got that devilish tone to his voice that makes her skin crawl. "Oh, I will." She dropped her iced coffee. Having abandoned her favorite cafe, she had stopped to get her fix, the kind that comes in glass bottles. It had soaked into her leg hair. She's in the shower, removing every trace of coffee. If only she could remove every trace of him. Nine months in, she sits on the edge of the tub. Every day she gets in here, and every day she remembers. These flashbacks plague her. Today she turns the radio on. A country song pours out. It'll be the perfect distraction to her night. She had met a handsome man, and he was the type to kiss on the first date. He had asked his place or hers, and she had feigned ill from the shrimp they'd had for dinner. She gasps and changes the station. Maybe rock n' roll will cure her wandering mind. Her puke washes down the drain. It's Halloween, and she is scrubbing all the green off her skin. Her washcloth is officially trashed, and she wishes she hadn't been the Jolly Green Giant this year. More like the Sad Green Midget. Her frame is frail from malnourishment. It's more habit than anything really, this not eating habit, as she is buried in work and running to forget that she is working on running away from this man. She had played wallflower at Janet's party, afraid of running into that man again. With everyone in costume, he could have been anyone. She scrubs harder. All of her frustration is making her skin raw. She needs to learn to live without fear. Given the date, the irony is not lost on her. It's been a year. She woke up and came into the bathroom, laid down in the tub. The water isn't even on. Just the radio, filling her head with noise so it doesn't supply its own. A paper slides underneath her bathroom door. "Thought you might need something to help you through the day. If you need a shoulder, you know where to find me. -Clevis. PS. You should lock your front door." Opening the door, she finds a bag sitting on the floor. It's from the cafe. Inside is one broken chocolate cruller, extra napkins. She pokes her head around the corner. He's nowhere to be seen. He gave up his daily beer to buy her a doughnut. Broken in half, because you can't stick your fingers through a broken doughnut. She falls back onto the tiled floor, bites down into the pastry. This time they're happy tears.


Our perception of our surroundings is limited only to the senses. There are deeper ways humans can feel their way through spaces, and I have never thought to test this about the body. Facial pareidolia for instance, the way the brain constantly seeks out human-like qualities in things that don’t actually have them--There has not been a time that I have been reminded of this ability that does not put me in a state of skin crawling discomfort. No reason really why we do this, we are simply accustomed to human faces, our own faces, the faces of our mother and father. Perhaps some find solace in the presence of things that look like them. It just perplexes me how no one seems to find this phenomenon as unnerving as I do. I hate the way I am able to make out the three slits of a power outlet as two long, thin, open eyes and a frowning mouth, and how picture frames can be mounted onto a wall in just the right formation to make the wall look right at you. Looking too deep into the psychology behind this might have been why it's been keeping me up these past nights. “It was around 2:40 am.” “And what were you doing?” “I was staring at my hands and watching the room around me get big, the room was dark but light flooded under my door. I, keep them on in the hallway.” I didn’t like having to relive this. “I was making the room get darker with my eyes to help me sleep but I couldn’t. No matter how dark the room is I see them. Everywhere! there's faces, it’s like I’m being watched.” The office, fortunately, was minimally decorated and had plain walls, off white with mild yellow discoloration presumably from sun and age. It was my third appointment and around the time the afternoon bleeds into evening and I still don’t think I have communicated well enough to my therapist how frequently I see the faces. I mean there is not really a medication that can stop myself from seeing them, no amount of therapy could ever make me feel okay about seeing them. The issue is that it's just progressively gotten worse and worse that my wife is starting to worry about how I’ll be able to keep up at work with how restless I’ve gotten at this point. Everything around me just keeps getting more and more human-like. Objects started to appear with eyes that glossed over and creased on the lids with the slight bruise toned capillaries speckled throughout the surface of them. The eye slits of power outlets squinted and the frown of a mouth hole curled up at the sides and smiled almost like a pretense to how mentally torturing their existence is to me. On my drive home from the therapist I tried not to think at all. I’d close my eyes if I wasn’t behind a steering wheel. I’d close my eyes forever if the faces didn’t draw themselves there too. It was as if my brain was a projector casting the most nauseatingly, horrifying film on the screen that was the backside of my eyelids. I parked and sat inside my car for a while looking first at the front of my house, then down at my hands focusing only on my fingertips because with just a slight downward motion of the eye I’d be making eye contact with the face my watch formed with its detailing; maybe spiral again at my reflection in the surface of the glass, blending my face into the watch’s. That night my wife covered the power outlets. But I knew they were there still, I knew they wanted me to look back at them. I laid in bed on my left side, with my wife to my right behind me. I could hardly look at anything. I could hardly look at the face I’d marvel at each night before bed, I just use the time now to think about when I was still okay with it. I tossed in my sleep and so did she. I laid on my back and stared at the ceiling trying to ignore the millions of faces created by the slightest shadows in the shallow cavities in the wood but I couldn’t take it anymore. I beat at my eyes, I beat at my head I couldn't stand it. They looked just like me, millions of them like the section of stacked masks at a Halloween store but all the faces were me. “Darling, look at me.” “I can’t.” “It’s just me, it will only ever be me.” The warmth of her soft hand spread throughout the cap of my shoulder and my heart rate started to go down. She fanned the back of my neck with her other hand and spoke sweetly to me while I tried to find my breath. “Look at me.” And with a slow turn of my neck I stared myself dead into my eyes.


"When did I choose to come here?" he asked as he stood upon the cliff, looking up to the grey sky. It looked like rain. "Do you really want to know? " asked the older man in the black fedora. He could feel the mans cold blue eyes piercing his back like icicles. "No... I suppose it doesn't really matter, does it? " he replied without adjusting his gaze. "Because after this, I'll remember won't I? I'll remember everything." "Yes." the old man said "that is usually how this works." He turned his head toward the man for a moment. He was too bright to look upon, but he could see that hat and those cold eyes. Eyes that had seen the millennia pass, without rest. "Do you know... why do I do this? Walk among them, fool myself into believing I am one of them? " he asked the old man tentatively. "No." he answered coldly, and for the first time since they came here the man adjusted his gaze skyward. "Some believe it is your idea of amusement, or your way of keeping a closer eye on them. You share so little with us now, no one can be sure." He sighed pausing a moment. "I believe that it is your way of becoming more like them." Turning away from the old man, he fixed his eyes on the horizon. He wasn't sure of his reasons either. But as he watched the burning light fill the sky, he knew one thing. He did not enjoy watching himself destroy the world.


Hannah O Connor looked at the invitation on the iPhone screen which lay on the solid industrial style wooden kitchen table. She could sense the bumps of the joins without even touching the table, old habit of rubbing the tips of her fingers left to right while she pondered what to do. “Class of 95!” It screamed. Dear lord had it been so long? Everyone must have changed so much, with the freedoms of youth left beind and the ravages of having children played on the lined faces and stretched bodies of her old classmates. Although sneaky looks through Facebook showed a number of them cheating for sure! Lip fillers and Botox. Seems to Hannah the harder you have to try the older you seem anyway. Stacey, Hannah’s younger sister came into the kitchen grabbed her phone whilst shouting at her two beautiful devil children “Max! Liam! Say goodbye to grandad we have to pop to the shops to get something for dinner before Daddy gets home!” Stacey whirled out, armed with her phone, car keys and armload of bags with kid paraphernalia. Her sister singing “Bye I’ll see you tomorrow” then the beep of the automatic boot opening of the car as Stacey made the bustling noises of a busy working mum who never had enough hours in the day. Sounds of Jim kissing his grandchildren goodbye echoed through the hall, it was a sight to behold. Hannah could feel the love in the air just from hearing the squeal from his only two precious grandchildren. Hannah always felt a tinge of sadness that she herself was never able to have children, she knew her father loved nothing more at Christmas time and other celebrations as a house full of families especially children and the noisy clatter of fun they bring. James. He had been in Hannah’s mind ever since she saw the invitation on the phone. She had seen him a number of times over the years, had seen him grow into the strong capable man she knew he would become. Not classically handsome and with some scaring along his right cheek from the car accident all those years ago, oh but when he smiled! It would melt the hardest of hearts! The corner of his mouth seem to touch his eyes, such a genuine sweet guy. His wife was a lucky lady! Four children seemed to keep him fit, he was such an active dad. His wife Marie was forever putting pictures of their happy family on social media. Hannah was happy for him, even though he was the only person to make her feel truly alive, their happy ever after wasn’t to be. She’d go to the reunion. Hopefully Marie would be there. Hannah’s old best friend from school being there would prevent Hannah doing anything she’d regret! Two days before the high school reunion, Jim O Connor came into his room to look for his reading glasses to read ‘You and me little bear’ to young Liam and Max when he saw Stacey on all fours rummaging through his wife side of the wardrobe. “Honey.. you Ok? You loose something?“ ”Hi Dad, no, sorry, I didn’t loose anything, I was hoping to borrow the dress mum wore to my wedding for the school reunion on Friday night.” “I thought you said that invite was for Hannahs school year?” ”Well yes it is, I know but I was invited too, as I had a lot of the same friends as Hannah from then that I haven’t seen in years and I’d love to catch up, anyway I had no luck at the shops for an outfit“ Stacey moaned. Jim smirked, “you hardly need to buy more!“ “Dad I want to look classy, not like so many women my age in their 40’s trying to pass for being in their 20’s! When I was looking for a dress like mums and I thought maybe I could just borrow her one, it was beautiful and she spent a small fortune on it!” Jim looked forlorn for a second and said “Stace you’re right, it was a beautiful dress, she would want to to have it, Lord knows she would.“ “You sure Dad?” ”Sweetie yes it would bring back lovely memories of happier times“ A yell from downstairs let Jim know his grandsons patience was running out, he picked up his glasses, winked at Stacey “Maybe leave the fancy hat behind though” then hollered “Boys I’m coming go sit by grandads armchair, It’s story time!” Hannah smiled at the exchange she heard upstairs between her dad and sister. Since their mum moved into the care home six months ago after a stroke, it left an emptiness in the family homes atmosphere which sometimes could be hard to bear but it was a lovely nod to the style her mother enjoyed. Even though Stacey was a couple of inches taller than their mother, she would look very elegant in that dress. Hannah actually felt a little pang if envy! She moved from the fireplace where she was keeping an eye on her nephews to make space for her father to perch in his favorite spot to read to ‘his special boys’. “Ah hem, once there were two bears, big bear and little bear...” Jim began as his two grandsons, looking up, eyes wide, smiled, rooted to the spot on the fluffy mat in front of the armchair to hear their favorite story. James looked at himself in tall mirror in the bedroom as he did up his tie. “Marie, are you ready - the babysitters here?” Marie hopped on one foot coming out of the bathroom trying to squeeze her right foot into her black high heel shoe. “Yep nearly ready, God I think even my feet are gaining weight!” Marie complained. She always got quiet stressed about old school reunions. “You look beautiful as ever, you’ll knock ‘em dead! I bet you’ll even have the honorable Judge Sean Sullivan groveling all over you again” ”Stop teasing! He’s not a judge he’s a barrister” James pulled his wife close and smiles but before he could roam his coarse mechanics firm hands on her new dress Marie broke away, “the babysitter...I’ll let her in!” Later that evening as his wife Marie danced and gaggled with old friends, the band played Blurs “Park life” and James stopped in his tracks as he saw Hannah come in the door, it couldn’t be he thought. Stacey smiled at him and held her arms open “James I’m so glad you’re here!” “Stacey! Stacey. It’s great to see you! You look beautiful!” “ You look great too! A bit pale? Anyway I know I was the class of ‘96 and technically I’m gate crashing but I just wanted to see how all of Hannah’s old pals were going, you know, besides I haven’t seen many in years and there’s so many people I never had the opportunity to thank properly after- you know...’ James did know, unconsciously he touched his right cheek forever scarred physically and mentally from a car crash that cost him the love of his life back in ‘95. ”I know I bet people still think I was drinking that night and that the shock of the crash sobered me up“ James said, almost to himself. Stacey stood right in front of James “James that’s enough, you need to let that guilt go, I was there- I saw you leave with Hannah, she had a couple of Bacardi Breezers but you said you weren‘t drinking as your mother told you she’d have your ‘guts for garters’ if anything happened her car” James smiled her lobsided smile and thanked Stacey. “I appreciate that Stacey, I know you‘re right but every now and then I guess I need to hear it out load, hey is your Dylan here?” Stacey laughter, “Are you nuts? My husband miss the golf open to socialize with us- not a chance! When I mentioned it he said he would be feeling sick this Friday night! Cheeky sod! He did say to tell you guys he said hello” ”Tell him he’s a lucky man! A couple of beers on the coach watching sport on a Friday night is definitely more my scene too” James conceded. Hannah stood next to both people in this world whom she treasured the most. it was lovely to hear the easy banter between them. Hannah had long ago accepted just being able to be here and see them was as good as she could hope for. “God it’s good to see you Stacey, you bring so many good memories of Hannah, I feel like she’s here with us“ “You too James, I know she would have loved to see you so happy, oh is that Marie? She is stunning, oh wait that’s not Sean oh what’s his name again...?” James followed Stacey’s gaze over his right shoulder and sure enough Sean Sullivan was trying his charms on James’ wife, whilst she was far too polite to rebuff the overweight bespectacled balding redhead directly, Marie was slowly inching away. “Ha ha some things never change! Sean still has a soft spot for your Marie! I’ll go rescue her, I haven’t seen her since she was pregnant on your first baby!” James as still laughing as Stacey walked over to hold out an olive branch to Marie and for a moment there, somehow it was like the good old days, before that crash and his world changed, it felt like summer 1995 as if time had stood still.


I awoke with a sudden fit of coughing, my throat felt dry and I grabbed for the plastic bottle of water I had left on the side before going to sleep, there wasn’t much left so I took a small mouthful, just enough to rinse my throat, and swallowed. I tasted ash. Panicking, I swung round to where I had put the children to sleep, both were still on the single bed in the corner, the worn-out tartan blanket had been kicked off and had slid onto the floor but they both still had all 3 of our jackets over them for warmth, top to tail with the little ones legs thrown over her elder brother. Both had a slight rosiness to their cheeks so I quickly checked that both were indeed actually breathing before I loosened my shoulders and unclenched my jaw in relief. This had become a morning ritual, the panic and checking for signs of life in my children, not a routine I ever pictured myself undertaking back in the school run days of snack and jacket checks while hurrying everyone out of the door for another mundane, yet peaceful day at our local village school, chatting to other parents about a child-free alcohol-fuelled night out or gushing over 4 pieces of artwork brought home every day from nursery. This felt like a lifetime ago, although it had only been a few months, a mundane and peaceful life was now a happy memory and one we were all grasping to the hope of having again soon. They should be home by now. My next thought. There’s ash and they’re not home. My shoulders and jaw are clenched again, and my stomach lurches. I lean over and pick up the discarded blanket off of the floor. It smells of dog. I wrap it around my shoulders. I squint my eyes out of the small gap in the makeshift shutters. It’s snowed overnight, I can see a layer of perfect crisp white peeking out from where the ash hasn’t covered it. A perfect example of this life and the last, laying together like some kind of horror story I never imagined myself part of. I look for footprints or even dog prints, but there is nothing, which at the same time brings worry as that means Eric and Glen haven’t made it back yet but is also a blessing as it means no one else has been here either. This new world has me constantly stuck between ironic emotions. I force myself back to being hopeful, for this to be a temporary world. As soon as one of the new wave groups breaks through the governments’ stronghold, surely we will get back to some kind of new normality? A better normality? I hear one of the children stir and I pull myself back to the present and remind myself to keep it together for their sake. They have already been through a global pandemic, watched a far off war taking place and as far as they understand, it always goes back to normal. This is just one of these things, happening where we live this time. Fine. It’s fine, It’s going to be fine. I pick up the cleanest useable pot and head over to the log burner. The electricity has been off for the past month and we have all of the belongings we need to get through the days just now, moved into the living room, both for warmth and for safety if a quick getaway is needed. By some miracle, we rented a house with a working log burner before all of this, once for luxury, now used for eating, washing, heating, time is looping back on itself. I had prepped a new fire last night for this morning and I lit our final remaining match, said a prayer to the universe for it to work, and set some paper alight, it burst into an orange and blue flame, taking a minute or so for the kindling to catch and I turned away to prepare breakfast while the fire became usable. I tore open a packet of porridge oats and poured them into the pot, along with the last of the carton of almond milk. Hopefully, Eric would manage to get some kind of UHT milk on this trip out, and matches, Eric, please find matches I thought. As I stirred the dull mixture together one of the children sat up. “Mummy, where’s Eric?”. He coughed. “Just out getting some shopping, he’ll be back soon, have a drink of water please”. I handed my 6-year-old the bottle of water. “Leave some for your sister just now please, Eric will be home with more soon.” “Why is there ash everywhere again?” “I think the wind has blown it over from the town with the snow,” I said, trying to avoid telling them why there was ash in the first place. I looked at the hole in the ceiling, caused by a weak spot from the gutter draining inwards, back when this was a trivial problem, now the gutter was completely broken and the rain and wind had created the hole in the roof cladding which allowed us a front seat to the elements...and anything else in the air when it managed to blow through our makeshift towel covering. I wished I’d had this fixed before, but it was always a tomorrow problem, and none of us saw this coming. “Mummy, I’m hungry”. More coughing from my 3-year-old daughter this time and her brother handed her the last of the bottle of water. He had taken it on himself to look after her as much as I did, to make sure she was always safe and warm, something a 6-year-old shouldn’t even have to consider. I used to hate their constant fighting, but now, I would love to see them fighting because one of them wants to watch Cocomelon and the other wants to play Xbox. We eat the porridge in silence, all of us knowing better than to complain about its dull taste and consistency by now. “Mummy, what are we doing today?” “Well we need to keep this fire going until Eric gets back so we can’t go far”, I reply, not mentioning the ash and potentially toxicity outside that I’m trying to protect them from. “How about we read some books to practice your reading?” “But we’ve read all these books a hundred times...” my son moans. “Well, you will know the words and spellings off by heart the...” I was interrupted by a bark and clawing coming from the front door. We all jumped. “Eric?” Please be Glen and Eric. “Stay there please. You know the plan?”. I say, trying to keep the fear from my voice. I slip out into the hallway and quickly close the door behind me, leaving the room in the semi-darkness we were now accustomed to. The whining comes again and I can see a black and white silhouette through the frosted glass. Glen. I start to quickly unlock the deadbolt and yale locks then the newer additional sliding locks and I open the door just enough to let the ash-covered dog in. I stall for a second before I stick my head around the door. “Eric?” No response so I pull my head back and close the door, making sure to redo all of the locks before I even check Glen over. “Slightly ash-covered but no visible bleeding or limping, I run my hands over his back and round his stomach. I take his muzzle in my hands and use my thumbs to check his teeth..all there and none broken. I let go, he whines again and nudges my hand. We slip back through to the living room where the children wait in silence. “Glen!” they shout in unison as they rush over to see him. “Where’s Eric? Is he okay?” “He’s fine, he’ll just be somewhere that dogs are not allowed so he will have sent him back.” “But how did Glen know how to get home?” “Because dogs are very clever and have a great sense of smell to find their way home” “But what if...” “Shhh.” I cut him off, “Eric is fine, Glen is fine. Let’s get ourselves ready for the day”. We tidied up the jackets, folded away the blankets and I rubbed down the dishes as best I could with a tea towel until we got water. I brushed everyones hair and we all brushed our teeth with our dry brushes in the name of some kind of normality. I tried to sweep up as much of the ash that had come in the damaged ceiling space and had lain across the living room as I could, and I slipped out the doors and reenacted my unlocking and locking act while I popped it out into the snow and ash layer that was covering the driveway. I popped some more of our dried sticks into the log burner and we settled down for our story. My son started “Niko wanted a pet. Niko wanted a pet mon..” We all jumped again as a gust of wind swept down the chimney and almost blew out the fire. I rushed over and grabbed a bit of paper from old junk mail and shoved it in the embers, it relit. I restarted the fire using paper and some more dried kindling. We settled down again. “Niko wanted a pet monkey. That way he wouldn’t have to keep asking his parents to take him to the zoo”. As he read, his soothing childlike voice and the warmth of the fire soothed me into an almost meditative state. It must have only been a few minutes when another gust of wind in the chimney and a soft bang and a sizzle brought me back to reality. The wind had brought down some snow onto the fire and it was dying quickly. I jumped up and grabbed some more paper, pushing it in to try and ignite it the same way I had just before, but there was nothing left to ignite it, the snow and resulting water had extinguished the fire. Now there’s an idea I thought to myself and put away for later. I tried to blink away the tears starting to form in my eyes. With no more drinkable water and our last match used, I was going to have to go out into one of the towns or we wouldn’t be around much longer to even need them. Normally Eric would do this, but I was going to have to go in search of him too, he had never been away this long, and I was trying not to let the ash coming from the town and the return of the dog, extinguish my hopes that he would be back. It had been a long time since I had been out for supplies, and I had never had to go alone, we had all gone back in the beginning when it was still deemed safe and we still had family in town. We would need to go in the opposite direction of the ash, I couldn’t risk that. Do I take the children like we used to, do I leave them here with the dog? What was safer? I looked around for some items to trade while I mused this over, I wasn’t sure how things were in the towns now. I slid some dried firewood into a pillowcase, nothing else had much value at the moment. I gathered our empty bottles to refill. I didn’t want to wait much longer in case the snow worsened, or it darkened, also we needed water, fast, and what if Eric didn’t come back? I had made my decision. “Jackets and shoes on, we’re going on an adventure”. The children looked at me. “Are you sure Mummy?” “Yep, I need my best two helpers with this one today” “Okay, Mummy”...they went over and got their jackets and shoes on. “Don’t forget your masks” I added, they patted their pockets to show me they had them. “Come on Glen!” We made our way to the door and I picked up the pillowcase, it was heaver and squarer than before, my son smiled at me. Maybe we can swap some books Mum, you know I love reading to you. I unlocked the deadbolt. I unlocked the yale. I unlocked the first slide lock, the second, and the final and third lock and I stepped out into the air filled with ash and snow. “Hold hands guys. Don’t let go of each other.” Fine. It’s all fine. It’s all going to be fine.


I just found 20 dollars in an old coat pocket. There I was, standing on the edge of the bridge in the early light of morning, about to take my final step... and I found 20 bucks. Can you believe the nerve? The audacity of the world at that very moment? The wind whipped at my trench coat and pulled me forward, goading me into that one step; one, tiny tumble. A few seconds of falling, then darkness, and everything would be over. Peace at last. My toes were already peeking over the edge. All it would take was a tiny shift in balance. Now though... now I wasn’t so sure. It's not like it was a five or a ten. A twenty! And I haven't worn this coat in years! Trench coats went out of style forever ago. What are the chances I still had money in here? It has to mean something... doesn’t it? Now I was too far into my head, which is how I ended up here in the first place. With a deep sigh, I looked down at the water below. Darkness swallowed up my vision as I struggled to swallow my nerve. My left hand held me in place as the right tightly grasped the crumpled 20. I closed my eyes and leaned back. Maybe it wasn’t my time yet. My mind swirled as I turned around, putting the quiet river behind me. No - tonight was definitely not the night. Maybe tomorrow. I stuffed the 20 dollar bill into the pocket of my jeans and carefully lifted one leg to swing it over the railing. My other foot slipped, and I confirmed that gravity was still working. Seconds stretched as my old friend panic came knocking, quickly shooed away by instinct. My arm flailed, fingertips scratching the guard rail, seeking purchase - and not finding it. I kept my hand extended as I fell, every fibre of my being grasping towards the cold steel, towards life. I could see safety fading away as my torso and head cleared the bridge. All I’ve done for the past year was think about this fall, but this was not how I imagined it. This was all wrong. Suddenly, my whole body jerked to a stop. The sleeve of my jacket caught on piece of metal, my wrist painfully straining. I heard and felt a small snap, and my arm exploded in pain. Remarkably, the sleeve held. So now I found myself suspended from the bridge by my limp wrist, certain death waiting below; a fate I no longer wanted a part of. If I moved, the jacket might tear... I was helpless. Ironically, my life was no longer in my own hands. The absurdity of the situation hit me and I couldn't help it. Laughter began in my stomach, and soon found its way to my mouth, erupting in a laugh so real, so full of giddiness that it barely sounded like me. This was unbelievable. Less than a minute ago I was ready to take fall willingly, and now, I just want to get back up. All because of this stupid, wonderful old coat. I can't even imagine what she must have thought when she looked over the edge and saw me hanging there, laughing. Maybe she was the type to process information logically. Maybe she looked at me and thought “What a crazy idiot.” Whatever she was thinking, she voiced only one thought out loud. "OH. MY. GOD." I looked up, and the shock of seeing someone else choked my laughter to a stop. Her face was cute and bright, dark hair tied back into a ponytail... and her eyes were large and round. To be fair, that could have been because she was staring at a man quite literally hanging by a thread. For some weird reason, I felt exposed, naked. I'd rather have a nun catch me masturbating then this pretty girl see me now, at my lowest point. "Don't move!" she screamed, as she disappeared from view. That was already my top priority, but every muscle locked up as I swayed quietly. The wind moaned softly... no, wait, that sound was coming from me. I clenched my jaw and forced myself into silence, and as I did, I could hear the threads on the sleeve tearing slowly. I closed my eyes and for some reason, all I could think of was the next few weeks. If I didn’t fall in the next few seconds and somehow, I got back on the stupid bridge, would there be cops, firemen? Could I go to jail? Therapy, at the very least, and I might lose my job *(I worked so hard for that office!)* and then what? What next? Something closed on my arm. I screamed from shock and pain, but my hand became a vice grip as it found someone else’s. “Don't worry, we have you." *We?* Fantastic. A crowd of people to witness my humiliation. All that was left was for someone to film this. Wiry, lean arms pulled me up by inches, and soon my face peeked over the side of the bridge. I saw there WAS a crowd... and they were all wearing short-shorts. One woman had her cell phone out and pointed at us. It was official: this was my nightmare. There were two men pulling me up while another man and a couple of women held onto them from behind, forming a small human chain. For some reason, my brain had time to process that it wasn’t a crowd of short-short wearers, but runners. *They must all be part of some jogging club,* I thought as my heart pounded out a drum solo that would have made Neil Peart proud. *I should really work on my cardio*. As my torso cleared the railing, we all fell into a pile on the other side. When I landed on my shoulder *(damn it)* there was an audible and physical sigh of relief from the crowd. For a few seconds, there was even a smattering of applause *(for my rescuers I’m sure, not for the crazy guy who can’t even fall off a bridge properly)*. I closed my eyes and just lay there, shaking from adrenaline, pain and exhaustion. I was tingly all over, my wrist felt broken, my shoulder was in agony, but I could still feel the crumpled twenty dollar bill in my pocket. It felt like a million bucks.


As a preface, I started writing again after a long while because of D&D. This short story is an excerpt from the journal of a bard who met the mythical heroes of Tarkan, The Wyldguard, while they were still flesh and blood beings. Names and races are from D&D but do not follow the main canon of D&D. Enjoy, constructive criticism welcome.  My time with the Wyldguard has proven interesting to say the least, it is a wonder to have proper parchment to write on again. While I was imprisoned by them for justifiable reasons, I took to composing and chronicling even though I had no ink or paper.My initial time among them was short, as an anti-magic field soon revealed what I tried desparately to hide. I tried to plead my case but they would not hear me, calling me scum and a deceiver. I was on the cusp of getting a thrashing when suddenly a suit of forest green armor wielding a greatsword appeared over my prone frame in a silvery mist. I thought I was surely about to be smote by this seemingly animated creature when I noticed it had taken a protective stance over me and it was snarling visciously.Then, in a low, calm growl, it said, "Stay your blades pups or come see how I deal with scavs. I saw this one aiding the wounded from OUR clan and I will NOT see another healer dead this day. She will continue to aid the wounded in the medical chambers. Any who cause her harm will answer to me. Remember that looks are deceiving." It was then that he removed his vine-laced helm and I gasped and so did others who were seeing him for the first time and did not know him. I knew him though, I had heard the stories.Standing tall at around 8 ft, his frame was massive but he held himself like a tightly wound serpent ready to strike at any moment. Jet black fur covered him head to toe and with a short crest of hair atop his head that was a brilliant silver. His face was dignified, wise, and stern. His right eye was the color of steel with a gaze just as sharp. His left eye seemed like it had been slashed out in battle and bore three scars the covered the left side of his face. They glowed against the sleek fur with a faint orange light. It was when I saw that wound I knew. The Ravenous Traitor, who rose up against the great Gnoll warlord Yeeongzhu. The Gentle Alpha, who was raised by the Archdruid Melora and rode into battle as her Furyvine. The Ensaring Fang, who stole away gnolls to his own clan. The only gnoll in existence who had ever risen against The Clan and lived. His true name lost after being exiled, he was only known as Slag the Kinslayer. In my shock at seeing Slag, I failed to notice myself being gently lifted up by a pair of strong hands and found myself looking up into the huge grin of the kobold punter, Pelor. "Come on then, Bahamut's sent for you, all hands, scales or not on deck she says," he said before leading me through a series of vine covered hallways to a large room with many tables occupied by wounded. Pelor brought me towards the back where we found Bahamut finishing up with a patient. She motioned for me to sit, her eyes clear and surprisingly warm. "You know healing magic?" she asked in Draconic. "Y-yes," I stammered in kind, "I am trained." "Mm, no doubt," she said, her eyes appraising me. "What was someone like you doing at that port?" "Fleeing. I...I am not welcome among my kind. I was left to die," I answered, pulling down my tunic a bit to show her the top of the scar on my chest where I had been stabbed. Her eyes narrowed a bit at that. "I see. One more question. Can you read this?" She held up a scrap of parchment written with the word "key" in the language of my people. It wasn't an odd question, most of my people were illiterate, too busy fighting for the glory of the empire and all that. I was one of the odd ones in the clutch. "Yes," I answered simply. She broke out into a warm smile at that. Pelor broke in, "Come on now Bahamut, you know I can't speak your language well yet. What's the story?" he asked a bit peeved. "Our new friend here is a trained healer it seems. She will be put to work tending to the wounded. Assign her a guard, one Dragonborn and one of Grummush's men if you please. We don't want a scene like earlier, I remember what it was like when the Metal Clans and Slag's kin came to join the Horde." She stood up and gestured me to follow. "What's your name yuan-ti? Can't have people just call you scaleback, we'll have another brawl on our hands." "S-Saldana...Saldana Brokenscale," I answered.  Bahamut's eyes and mouth widened the slightest bit, "......I see. Welcome Saldana." Then she hugged me. \*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\* I could still feel the tension in the air when I entered the medical hall. People stared at me but said nothing. I assumed it's because of my guards that escort me everywhere. Rushak, a mountain of an Unok, Kalesh, a bronze Dragonborn of the Metal Clans, and her diminuitive kobold companion who only went by "Drek". I understood Bahamut's reasoning for these specific guards. The Dragonborn Metal Clans and the Unoks had faced significant resistance when they first entered the alliance of The Wildguard due to their nations' proximity to the Empire. It was only after a strikeforce of Unoks, Dragonborn, and Kobolds came to the rescue of a besieged fort on the Golden Sea that The Wildguard fully accepted them into their ranks at the command of Melora. My guess is that my escorts and their peoples had faced their share of discrimnation and suspicion. My skills as a healer kept me relevant, or so I thought. When I wasn't in the medical hall, I was confined to a small, spartan room and allowed access to my journal. Kalesh, Rushak, and Drek rotated guarding me while I was in my room. Rushak was a quiet and reserved person, always courteous to me but very duty-oriented I think. Kalesh was an amicable Dragonborn who seemed to take his job very seriously, as if he had something to prove. He was the most harsh to anyone who gave me trouble while I worked. The Kobold, Drek, was an amusing little fellow. He usually stayed silent and helped me with my work, surprising me with his extensive knowledge of healing and anatomy. He was also the one who would put my patients at ease if they were wary or harsh with me. I can safely say I began to feel comfortable around these three. The days had become routine during my...isolation, though Bahamut would frequently visit me and speak with me about healing or some such minor thing, until one night she asked me to accompany her above ground outside. I followed, not really having a choice. As we walked out into the night, I happily took in the sight of the clear sky framing the Three Sisters, then noticed that there was a group gathered nearby in the clearing that served as a courtyard or training ground depending on the day. As we moved closer, I realized I was in the presence of the entire Wyldguard. All of them were there, Kord the halfling, Silvanus the elf, Pelor the goliath, Moradin the dwarf, Grummush the Unok, Dacia the human, Slag the Furyvine and the head of the Wyldguard herself, Melora. I immediately froze in shock. This group had started as a mercenary group that favored helping the commonfolk in the Freelands, only to rise to lead the resistance against the Empire. Though the rest of the group was fairly well known, all that was known about Melora was that she was the most powerful Archdruid in the known history of Tarkan. Her gaze locked with mine as Bahamut and I approached and I could feel myself wilting under that steely gaze. This woman was fierce and wild, yet held herself with an almost....animal-like grace. All of us stood in silence until Melora said something that surprised everyone present. "Saldana Brokenscale, Tarkan has need of you. Will you join our ranks to save it?"All members of the Wildguard present went stockstill with perplexed looks on their faces, save Bahamut, Pelor and Slag. "Now hold on a fucking second Mel, why should we agree to this?" growled Moradin the dwarf, cracking his knuckles. "Easy there Mory, she has been doing good work and her guards seem to like her," said Silvanus. "She has skills we need you runt, you know that. She is skilled in healing and can read the tongue of the snakes," Kord answered curtly. "Who are you calling runt you midget?" snapped Moradin. "Both of you knock it the fuck off. Your height fight is tiresome. Lady Melora, how do you know we can trust her?" asked Dacia, who seemed like he was battle ready in the dead of this night. "Saldana, please show them your mark," Bahamut suggested softly. I looked around at those gathered, noticing there was no malice in their eyes to my extreme surprise. Instead, they were looking at me with curiosity. It was then I realized that I was probably the first yuan-ti they captured alive, as the warriors of my people would rather take their own lives than be captured by the "lesser" races. I hesistated for a second, then pulled my tunic down to show them my mark, the mark of a race traitor. It is a jagged scar right above my heart, with a brand around it that read "traitor" in my language. "I am....different from my people. I only wish to learn and chronicle what I see. This was deemed unacceptable by my clan as I sought to learn about the free peoples and their cultures. At first they sought to turn me into a spy." Some of the members present bristled at that, only to be quieted by Melora in an instant. "I resisted, I never wanted to conquer, I only seek the true history of Tarkan. I was betrayed by my clan when they learned I had refused to enter the Shadowskins. My refusal was....petulant, I made a scene and was branded a traitor to the Empire and given the name Brokenscale. I was then branded and run through and thrown from the top of the Black Walls. I managed to survive and immediately fled here to the freelands. I mistakenly thought I could hide here, but the Empire's reach is farther than I realized," I said breathlessly, relieved to finally tell my story. The Wyldguard murmured among themselves for a few minutes until Melora stood and walked up to me. I forced myself to meet her intense gaze and saw she looked at me with a pure kindness and understanding in her eyes. I immediately felt at ease, feeling a warmth to her presence. "Saldana Brokenscale, you have been through much. You have stood against what you believe to be wrong. Tarkan has need of people such as you. The Wildguard needs an asset like you. Will you join our ranks and fight to free this land and it's peoples?" As she finished, she pulled out a lute, my lute, taken when I was captured, and held it out to me. "Yes. Yes, I will help you," I said, accepting the lute. "I will aid you in any way that I can." "Excellent," said the archdruid, breaking into a beautiful smile. The other members rumbled their approval and began moving away, leaving me with Melora and Bahamut.


thinking of taking up writing in my spare time. please tell me what you think of my writing, and let me know what i should do to improve. this is the first thing i've written. thanks. how batman details the struggles you will go through when working in a corporation. every enemy from batman can be considered unique in their own right, not necessarily due to their design, but their overall motives as well. but while these villains might be considered strange should they be encountered in real life as they are in the batman universe, however, you might still encounter them when working for a corporation... not necessarily in the form of physical anomalies, but as internal struggles. working for a corp, you might notice that you are most likely never happy nor will you ever be happy (unless you're one of those happy go lucky people who pretend that nothing bad ever happens). this causes many internal struggles. but before we go into the specifics of those struggles, we need to take a look at the main character of the story; batman. Bruce wayne is a typical businessman by day, and a warrior against evil forces by night, showing the businessman image to the world, and harboring a dark secret while fighting constantly with his enemies alone, hiding his true image from the world. this is you, as a corporate employee. putting up a facade in order to maintain your life, while in constant struggle against a horde of enemies each with their own agendas. and the first of these enemies you may find yourself battling against would be your own dr. Hugo strange. The backstory of Dr. Hugo Strange is that he is a deranged psychologist with a feverish obsession for the caped crusader, trying to figure out more about him. the Doctor's obsession drove him to discovering batman's weaknesses, his true identity, and once tried to replace batman altogether. he is a representation of individuals who will do their best to harm your chances at that promotion, as in the corporate world, competition is a bad thing, and it's easier to get rid of the competition than it is to outshine them. every team in every division in every corporation is writhing with individuals like this, regardless of where they are on the corporate ladder, if you are an obstacle in their way, they will try their best to bring you down, especially when you are a threat to your direct line of command or management. which brings us to ra's al ghul. Ra's al ghul is the leader of an order of assassins, and has been a mentor to Batman, however the two do not agree on ideals. batman disapproves of the decisions made by ra's al ghul, and as a result, the two are sworn enemies. as you climb the corporate ladder, you too will experience this between yourself and your managers or old mentors. majority of the time, your conflict will arise from the thought that "management are idiots" or "i don't agree with management's decision" just as batman does not agree with ra's al ghul's methods. usually, this disagreement leads to the desire to usurp your management in an effort to improve conditions, which will indefinitely mean long hours spent at work. and spending long hours at work will cause a division in your personal life, just as poison ivy has caused a division between batman and robin in the past. poison ivy is an eco terrorist who believes that humanity should be replaced by plant life. but in this instance, we are not referring to her motives, rather her methods. she creates tension between batman and robin, which affects their ability to work together. this is similar to the problem you will have to face when you attempt to climb the corporate ladder. having to constantly decide between going out with friends and working a few extra hours for brownie points with your boss, your friends will appear to be less forgiving and patient with you. this tension will make you consider performing some more underhanded tasks in order to get the same results in half the time, as penguin does occasionally to earn batman's tolerance. Penguin is a mafia boss, representing the more unscrupulous decisions you might encounter along your way. he often sells intelligence to batman, which is why batman may tolerate penguin more than his other enemies. just as you may occasionally decide to make a decision that is not entirely considered moral to advance your career. every once in a while, this decision will surface, and depending on the corporation (banks especially), the higher up the corporate ladder you go, the more unscrupulous you have to be to advance easily. mind you, you don't necessarily HAVE to be unscrupulous in order to advance, however you will constantly have to show courage, as fear will be one of your main challenges. Scarecrow's real name is Dr. Jonathan Crane, a professor of psychology and psychiatry. as a result of being bullied as a child, he has a fascination of inducing fear into his victims. one would think that bullying ends in highschool, and maybe in a physical sense it does, however, corporate bullying is a very common problem in society. just as with highschool bullying, the reason why corporate bullying still exists is due to the fear of what will happen to you if you report it. as corporate bullying is usually done by people who you would report the problem to, you're left with fewer options, and thus you are left with the fear of seeming unhappy, as unhappiness is detrimental to corporate growth. your unhappiness will continue to grow, and considering your financial dependance on the corporate job, you will constantly have 2 minds about your situation. 2 face (harvey dent) was originally the white knight of gotham, the district attorney of gotham city attempting to clean up the streets and create a better gotham by the book, and not by fighting it head on as batman does. however, during the trial of a mafia boss, the mafioso threw acid at harvey, and as a result, half of his face had burnt, thus creating the two-face persona. when you start your first job at a corporation, your intentions are honest and clear. you know what it is you want from the company, and that is what you pursue. however, there will be a time when the corporation spits acid in your face (metaphorically speaking. imagine how horrible it would be if that was literal), and you will be at constant conflict with yourself about being at that corporation, whereas you also see the necessity of it. just as harvey, you will no longer care about what's right, but instead, you will want what's fair. but you will come to learn that the world is not fair, and corporations make their foundations on unfairness. and through all this, knowing that you don't want to be there, but you know you can't leave easily, you will become angry. angry at your situation, angry at your company, and angry with yourself for being there, and putting yourself in that situation in the first place. and of all the things that you will go through, anger is the one that will break you. Bane. the one who broke the bat. he is a massive foe, addicted to the steroid/drug called venom. the steroid greatly improves bane's physical strength, however he must take it once every 12 hours or suffer debilitating side-effects. the steroid also has bane easily slip into a steroid-induced rage, leaving all in his path destroyed, including batman himself. working for a corporation, you will be under constant stress, and stress leads to a lot of suppressed anger, which in turn leads to more stress. this is why some people take up smoking or drinking, and some take up drugs, all as a way to relieve stress and improve performance at work by being less stressed, which in turn leads to addiction, and as a result, more stress if your addiction is not satisfied. for some, alternatives are not an option. they just simply continue to suppress the anger and stress, and do their best to carry on, trying to keep the anger and stress from breaking them. but very soon, you will notice that no matter how much you try to bottle up, only so much can fit in a bottle. and when the bottle breaks, it's your own sanity that you must face. the joker is the embodiment of madness. there is no one particular origin story, as joker himself is unsure (he is cited saying "sometimes i remember it one way, sometimes i remember it another. if i'm going to have a past, i prefer multiple choice"). of all the enemies batman has to face, the joker is the most dangerous, and the reason why so many people like him so much is that we all relate to him in some way. we all have a spark of madness, and occasionally we have to do our best to keep it under control, but we aren't always able to. and when you work for a corporation, the madness will claw at you, desperate to get out, and sometimes it will become almost impossible to contain it. you undoubtedly will see this happening even to those around you, some will have nervous breakdowns and some will have a moment of insanity at the office. but at the end of the day, you will have to fight it.


No disrespect to all the cleaners out there, but house cleaning wasn’t exactly my intended career path. Hey, life happens. It paid the bills while I got back on my feet. Most of my clients forgot my name. I was just the Merrie Maid girl to them, basically invisible. I exacted revenge by giving them all nicknames in my mind and fantasizing about their reactions if I were ever to write a book about all their quirks. For example, there was Ms. Hoarder. She had only accepted cleaning services out of fear of her daughter who had threatened her with Social Services. She followed me from room to room as I threaded my way through tottering stacks of clutter, fumblingly snatching back anything I tried to throw out. The Poopsters were a nice old couple, but they had a couple of yappy, incontinent little dogs. I learned early to look where I was stepping and to wear my heavy-duty rubber gloves in their place. Ms. Party Girl left spilled wine stains and cigarette ash all over the place. I was always surprised that the house hadn’t burned down since my last visit. Then there were the Glossies. The same wedding picture that had been in the glossy society magazine I had browsed through in my dentist’s waiting room was hanging framed on the wall of their elegant home. They were tall, slender and confident, with sparkling white teeth. The dentist probably approved. If the article hadn't contained their personal details, I’d have thought the picture was staged. It all looked too good to be true. With hindsight, I wish I could say I had been prescient, but at that moment I was just plain jealous. He was standing behind her, arms clasped around her waist as she gazed adoringly up at him. Her hand rested delicately on his to show off a diamond as big as a walnut. Okay, I’m exaggerating, slightly. The blurb had gone on about how they had met, their degrees and careers and how they were soulmates. She was a lawyer, and he was a financial consultant. It described seed pearls and lace in excruciating detail. My marriage had turned out to be even cheaper than my wedding and had barely lasted six months. At least my mother was so thrilled with her granddaughter that she had stopped saying “I told you so” about my ex more than once a week. Since we were living in her basement apartment, I had learned to bite my tongue. I couldn’t disagree with a word she said about him anyway. “Hope you have better luck than I did, sister,” I said to the bride in the wedding portrait as I dusted it. I forgave them their good fortune. The sleek, modern design of the house, with its cathedral ceilings and hardwood floors, made cleaning easy and I had learned to appreciate the little things. They were polite on the few occasions that we crossed paths, more than I could say about some of my other clients. Their life seemed to be idyllic. I couldn’t hate anyone for that. I smiled knowingly at the messy tangle of sheets in the king size bed and empty wine glasses on the bedside tables. There were loving little notes in the waste basket and roses on the dining table. What, you didn’t think I would read them? Give me a break, and shred your papers . And yet, there were clouds on the horizon. Sometimes there were only one person’s plates in the dishwasher. One side of the bed was immaculately made, while the guest bed had been used. Gorgeous flowers and sweetly worded cards appeared after these episodes. I gave Mr. Glossy full points for classy apologies until I found the most recent bouquet shredded in the trash along with the shards of the vase. Now I understood how the hallway mirror got broken. That one apparently didn't go according to plan. That day I was dusting his office when I retrieved some papers that had fallen between the desk and the wall. They were letters from collection agencies. I recognized those from my own experience, but the amounts on these made me open my eyes wide. Romantic, considerate Mr. Glossy was in deep financial trouble. I wondered if Mrs. Glossy knew. It might explain the vase throwing. Yet it didn’t seem to make a difference to their standard of living. The wine cabinet remained full and there were exotic travel brochures scattered on the coffee table. I pored over them wistfully before I stacked them neatly in the magazine rack. “I’m sorry,” I said to her photograph. “I know what it’s like to have your Dr Jekyll turn out to be a Mr. Hyde. Mine wasn’t as good looking and he didn’t have any money to lose, but I know what it’s like to fall for a jerk.” I wondered what would happen if I tried to warn her. I hardly ever saw her in person. There was the slight matter of client confidentiality. And finally, I was the house cleaner. There was no earthly reason she’d believe anything I told her. If I left the statements where she’d find them, he would know who had moved them. I put the papers back where I found them and kept my mouth shut. On my next visit, I noticed that most of the clothes and a suitcase were gone from her side of the walk-in closet. We wore the same size. I admit I sometimes took items of her beautiful designer clothes out to admire them, though I never tried them on. Hey, I’m human. If you’d had to wear a Merrie Maid smock, you’d have done the same. I thought of the travel brochures and hoped she was relaxing on a beach somewhere, sipping a tall drink with a little umbrella in it. I headed to the main bathroom, gloves on, basket of cleaning supplies at the ready, when Mr. Glossy suddenly appeared, scaring me half to death. He seemed equally startled. “Good morning, er, um, Ms., Ms...yes, Ms. Merrie.” I told you they never remembered my name. “Didn’t mean to scare you. You don’t have to worry about cleaning the bathroom. We had a slight mishap last night before my wife left on her business trip. The toilet overflowed. What a mess! It took forever to clean up. I don't know how you do that all day long. Anyway, long story short, I bought new mats and it’s all fine now.” He’d never uttered more than a passing greeting before. Since he was almost blocking the doorway, I could not enter, but I could see that there were indeed new mats on the bathroom floor. “In fact,” he continued, “I’ll be joining her in a day or two, so there’s really no need to worry about the rest of the house. Here, this is for your trouble. I’ll call the office when we’re ready for you to come back.” He rummaged in his pocket, pulled out a roll of notes, peeled off several and handed them to me. It was almost a week’s wages. I just managed to thank him before he hustled me downstairs. I found myself, cleaning supplies and all, outside on the front porch, still wearing my gloves, as the door shut behind me. Something didn’t feel right, but it wasn’t a crime to behave oddly. Maybe she’d left him, and he didn’t want to admit it. I told the office that they’d put services on hold for now. Somehow, I forgot to mention my tip. About a week later, I was relaxing at home, playing with my baby, half listening as my mother prattled on in the kitchen. She had the television tuned to the local news. I glanced up and did a double take as I saw Mr. and Mrs. Glossy’s familiar wedding photograph. The view switched to a teary eyed Mr. Glossy standing outside the house. “Please come home, honey,” he intoned, gazing into the camera with tearful sincerity. “I miss you so much. It doesn’t matter what’s going on. We can deal with it together.” He turned to weep on the shoulder of a distressed looking older woman. Judging from the likeness, she was Mrs. Glossy’s mother. The camera cut back to the reporter. “Anyone with information is requested to call...” I was already on my feet, scrabbling for pen and paper. “Mrs. Glossy, you’d better believe I’m going to call. I’m on your side, sister.”


A sliver of light seeped beneath Dolly’s door. Shadows paced back and forth, while beads of sweat dampened her forehead. She rubbed the cool opal pendant beneath the quilt, trying to sooth her nerves. The door squeaked open, flooding the room with light. Dolly’s heart thrummed against her rib cage. The stranger’s imposing figure towered in the doorway. “How are you today, Dolly?” Her pulse quickened. “Who are you? Where is my husband? What have you done with Harold?” He wheeled a trolley across the floor, blocking the exit. “It’s time for your medicine.” She sucked in a breath, and pulled the quilt to her chin, her limbs aching from arthritis. “I don’t have any money. Please, please, leave me be.” He halted a few steps from her bed, and tilted his head to the side. “It’s me, Dolly, It’s Nigel.” A flash sparked behind her eyelids. A short circuit of memories. Harold’s funeral twisted like a knife in her stomach. “Oh, Harold, - w- why did you -l -l - leave me?” Nigel’s warm hand rested on her back. “I’m sorry, Dolly.” “He was my angel.” “And he loved you very much, I’m sure.” She winced as she shifted onto her side. “He did.” Wiping the tears, she gazed into her care-givers dark brown eyes, and breathed shakily. “He always said, Doll, you are too skittish.” She sniffed. “I dare say, I think he was right.” Nigel stood by her nightstand, the top edge of a pewter frame was visible behind a pile of books opened at varying degrees of completion. “May I see your photo?” Nigel said. Proud, and shy at the same time, she nodded. “Harold was so handsome.” On the bottom of the frame was engraved Mr. and Mrs. Harold Chambers, September 12,1945. He handed it to Dolly’s outstretched hand. “You looked beautiful, Dolly.” With a delicate touch, she ran her finger along Harold’s face. “You know I was fifteen when we married.” She closed her eyes, feeling Harold's embrace as he twirled her along the dance floor. “We were so happy, barely a fight between us in fifty-five years.” “You’ll need to tell me your secret. Velma and I are in our fifth year. Not sure if we’ll make it to the sixth.” “Just say your sorry. Oh, and make her laugh, Harold used to make me laugh no matter how angry I might have been. Come to think of it, that got me even more angry, but still there was never a harsh word between us. Don’t go to bed angry. You never know when the end is near.” His black curls fell in waves across his forehead as he helped her to sit up. She gripped his arms. “Nigel?” “Yes?” “I had one of those nightmares.” “The one with the eyes?” “Yes, those piercing blue eyes, staring at me in the dark.” She bit the inside of her cheek. “What is it?” “The man with the blue eyes. He was walking the halls.” A chill shook her to the core. “I’ll talk to the doctor about adjusting your medication” “But what if he comes back?” Nigel lifted a plate of biscuits off the trolley wrapped in cellophane. “It’s just a side effect of the medication. You’re safe here.” She squinted at her watch. “Oh, dear look at the time. We’re well past tea time.” “I know, sorry about that, I got held up with a new patient. He was a bit disoriented. Insisted on seeing someone. Said there’d been a mistake.” “Poor dear. He’ll settle down. We all do eventually.” He handed her two pills in a tiny cup. “Take these with your cookie, it’ll help with the pain in your back.” “They’re biscuits, like my mum used to serve. She was a marvel in the kitchen. Three-course meals and not a speck on her apron.” Nigel's eyes creased at the corners. “She could teach a thing or two to my wife. The house is a disaster when she cooks.” Pulling a chair along the tile floor, Nigel settled beside her bed. “How’s the pain?” “I only just took the pills two seconds ago.” He quirked his mouth on one side. “I meant in general.” “At my age, you’re bound to start wearing down.” She inhaled deeply. “What’s that smell? Aftershave?” “My kids got me a bottle of old spice for my birthday.” He leaned in. “Do you like it?” “My sister’s boyfriend James, or was it Peter... no it was James, he wore the same cologne. He practically bathed in it. We could smell him a block away.” Dolly covered her mouth as a titter tickled her lips. Nigel sniffed his light-blue scrubs. “Too much?” She patted his forearm. “You’re fine, dear.” “Tea?” A lightness lifted her spirit as Nigel presented a dainty cup and saucer. “Where did you get that?” “Don’t tell the others. I brought it from home. I thought it would be nice for a change.” She ran her finger along the rim. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Nigel. It can't be easy dealing with the likes of me. I know I can be a terror.” His dimples deepened. “If you’re a terror, I’d hate to think what Velma is.” He poured the amber liquid into her cup. The cup and saucer clinked in her trembling hands. The feel of china on her lips brought her back to a simpler time. “I remember one time, oh dear, it must have been seventy years ago now. My best friend was supposed to get married to a strapping young man named Jacob Tremble. She was a lovely girl, though a bit head-strong.” “I know the type.” “We were to have a party, you know, the kind before the wedding. Just us girls.” “A bachelorette party? I hope you didn’t get into any trouble?” He winked. She dunked her biscuit. “Stop teasing.” He sat forward, elbows on his knees. “What happened?” “Oh, yes. Well, it was a catered affair. Nothing too extraordinary. I just remember the gift she gave us.” She lifted the opal pendant from beneath the quilt. “See it has my initials in gold. DD for Dolly Duncan, I hadn’t married Harold yet. Helen had one made for herself. It was rather controversial as she wanted her maiden initials. HP for Helen Poole. Her fiancé was none too pleased.” She dabbed the corners of her lips. “But that was Helen, she did what she wanted.” “Did he get mad?” Dolly’s face heated up. “It was a terrible thing.” “Some guys can’t take a strong woman.” Dolly balled her fists. “I saw it all. I saw what he did.” Nigel stood up and felt her pulse. “Hey, it’s okay. We don’t need to talk about this anymore. How about something more pleasant.” “She never made it to the altar.” He placed his hand on her forehead, and set her tea cup down on the trolley. “You’re burning up.” Gripping Nigel's hand, Dolly widened her eyes. “She was murdered.” “Deep breaths, Dolly. I’m going to give you something to calm your nerves, your heart rate is sky high.” “It was Jacob. He-- he killed her, I saw it.” “Lay back. I’m calling the doctor.” She bit her lip, holding back a scream. “I see her, she’s right there in front of me... Get out of there, Helen!” Nigel shook her gently. “Dolly. Look at me.” Blinking, she focused on Nigel’s chestnut skin. “Helen lived in the apartment across from me. I could see her through the window. She was talking to Jacob, but something happened. He slapped her across the face.” Dolly cupped her cheek as if the sting was real. “Helen backed away from him, but he kept coming.” Dolly squeezed her eyes shut. “He, he- he pushed her. I called out. I shouted her name, but no one came.” Tears stung her eyes. “He kept pushing her.” Dolly covered her face. “She fell, Nigel. She fell from the balcony.” Bile churned in her gut. “I should have saved her. I should have done something.” The mattress dipped, and Nigel held her in his arms. “You did everything you could. You’d have never made it there in time.” “When the police found her, she was dead. They said it was suicide, said she couldn’t go through with the marriage. But, I saw him. I saw him--. He did it.” Nigel’s face blurred, as her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Dolly. I’m so sorry.” “He left after that. No one saw him again.” Visions of Helen’s limp body sent shivers up her spine. “She would never have taken her own life. If she didn’t like something she’d tell you straight out. She would never...” “I shouldn’t have got you talking about all this.” “I pray for Helen every night.” Dolly’s eyes fluttered closed. “I’m so tired.” He tucked the blanket around her shoulders. “Sleep.” *** Dolly woke with a start, and clutched her neck. A knock at the door sped her heart. Nigel peeked around the door. “Can I come in?” “Where am I?” “You’re at Cedar Residence. It’s time for dinner.” He pushed a wheel-chair beside her bed. “Hop on, I’ll take you for a ride.” A child like merriment bubbled in her chest. “Really? Like we did with Mummy and Daddy?” “Yes, we can go as fast as you like.” She gritted her teeth, as the throbbing pain pulsed down her legs. “It’s bad today. I can’t move.” Nigel scooped her up, and sat her on the edge of the bed. “Let’s get you dressed first.” He presented a pink dress from the three hanging in the closet. “Oh yes, I like that one.” He gingerly unbuttoned her nightgown and slid it over her head. There was no shame or sadness as she gazed at the sagging skin. She lifted her arms while Nigel slipped the dress over her head, and slid her arms through the sleeves. “You’ll be the envy of the dinning hall.” She leaned against his arm. “You’re such a sweet lad.” He picked her up and sat her in the chair. “Ready?” “Ready.” The chatter in the dining hall hummed like a whirring tornado. “We have some new residents,” Nigel whispered in her ear. “Mummy doesn’t like me talking to strangers.” She bit her lips. Gliding between the tables, Nigel seated her with three white haired women engrossed in conversation. Nigel squeezed her shoulder. “It’s movie night tonight. I’ll make sure you're seated next to someone respectable.” *** The lights dimmed and the reel to reel clicked to life. A black and white title appeared on the screen, “How Green Was My Valley.” A man hunched in the seat beside her leaned over. “I love this one.” “It’s one of my favorites. Roddy is so young.” “And how he cares for his mother. It breaks your heart that they can’t be together.” She batted her eyes. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.” He nodded, squinting in the darkness. “The pleasure is mine.” He nudged a little closer. “Can I get you some popcorn?” “Oh, how lovely, yes thank you.” He lumbered out of his chair, and limped toward the popcorn machine. Nigel sidled up beside Dolly. “Seems like you two are getting along.” Giddy, Dolly bounced in her chair. “This is my favorite movie, and he knows all about it.” “That’s a good sign.” The white haired gentleman weaved through the aisle with two bags of popcorn. “Oh, shoo, he’s coming back.” She patted the chair. “I saved your seat.” “Aren’t you sweet.” The movie ended, and pleasantries were exchanged. The dapper gentleman kissed the back of her hand, as the lights brightened the hall. A scream lodged in Dolly’s throat. Her chest constricted. His blue eyes narrowed. “Small world isn’t it, Dolly.” “Get away from me.” “Now, now, don’t be like that. It was an accident.” “I saw you.” A sly smile curled his lips. “She tripped.” He shrugged his shoulders. “What was I to do?” He fiddled with his opal tie clip, initials HP shining under the light. “Now she’ll always be Helen Pool, just like she wanted.” “How’s everything going over here?” Nigel backed Dolly’s wheel-chair a few inches. Short breaths strangled her words.“Take. Me. Home. Please.” Nigel blocked the man from view. “What’s wrong? You’re shaking.” Dolly closed her eyes, terrified Jacob would do to her what he did to Helen. “Please, Nigel take me home.” The man peeked from behind him. “Is there anything I can do?” Nigel wheeled her out of the room. “She’s just had a long day.” “Maybe we can meet tomorrow, on the terrace?” His voice trailed off. Dolly reached back and clutched Nigel’s hand. “Hurry.” Once in her room, Nigel lowered her on the bed. She sobbed into her pillow. “What is it, Dolly? Tell me.” “Harold? Is that you?”


The light from the surface was fading as Dr. David Lovering drifted towards the entrance of the grotto. The entrance resembled that of a gaping maw, swallowing the inky blackness of the ocean depths. Rocks on the ocean floor scaled upwards before Dr. Lovering, reaching jagged points at their zeniths. The rocks lined the cave opening along the bottom, and the ceiling of the cave entrance mirrored the floor; sharp conical spires of rutted gray stone unevenly dotted the ceiling above the entrance. The task before Dr. Lovering was simple: Explore the cave and discover the source of the strange radiation that seemed to originate from somewhere within. David had been on many deep sea dives before, but he had done very few alone, and he couldn’t help but feel slightly on edge. He was no stranger to the deep blue and its inhabitants, but he couldn’t help but feel a sense of overwhelming awe before the great aperture that seemed to yawn before him, like the welcoming jaws of a great white. Before crossing the threshold into the cavern, David took one last look to the surface and basked in what last little bit of dying moonlight he could. The rays just barely managed to pierce the briny deep, casting lines of pouring light that stood stark against the black backdrop of the expansive open ocean, where for fleeting seconds, bits of debris and plankton glided past and became visible before disappearing into the dark just as quickly as they had appeared. Further up above, David could see the surface swelling, the moonlight reflecting off, and how it created what resembled diamonds glinting and shimmering, swelling and receding with the push and pull of the sea. David stared skyward for a few short moments that felt much longer than he knew them to be. Was he stalling, or sincerely enraptured with what occupied his focus? Not even David knew, but he decided whichever it was, enough was enough. He turned and kicked his legs, and felt the rush of water past his ears as he headed into the deep unknown of the grotto. Making his way past the stalagmites that lined the entrance, Dr. Lovering procured a large yellow diving light from the belt of his wetsuit and felt the firm ka-chunk of the on switch being pressed. A wide beam of bright white light lit his path as he ventured into the expanse of the cave that lay before him, like the cold interior of a cathedral, ancient and pristine. The walls of the cave seemed to expand outwards, becoming ever more lifeless as he made his way further into the darkness; bits of coral and algae became sparser as the walls stretched on, and David felt the water become cool and stale, like the air in a basement. Swimming cautiously onwards, David shined his light around his surroundings, looking for anything unusual, which he quickly found. The normal seafloor rock began to slowly change color from a stone gray to a sort of pale, off-white. Swimming ahead, David observed that the walls of the cave had now become completely chalk white, and totally absent of flora or fauna of any description. Finding this rather odd, Dr. Lovering extended a wetsuit-clad hand and felt the ground, noting the unusual smoothness. Most sea floor caves (in David’s experience anyway), were made of craggy, almost porous rock, nothing like the smooth white surface that he found so curiously unnatural. Preoccupied with the strange composition of the cavern, it took David a minute to notice the brightening cyan light that appeared ahead of him. It was quite faint; in fact it was barely noticeable, but as Dr. Lovering drifted onwards, approaching the luminosity of the mysterious blue light, it only became stronger and brighter, eventually filling the cave with an almost palpable atmosphere of understated yet awe-inspiring power. **This must be it.** The pale white cavern walls reflected the blue light and now all sides of the grotto around David now appeared radiant, to the point where he no longer needed his diving light, which he switched off and placed back on his utility belt. Approaching an opening in the end of the long tunnel that he had been traversing, Dr. Lovering drew a long breath on his respirator before nervously peeking his head out into the chamber from which the mysterious blue radiance seemed to radiate, hands gripping the rim of the tunnel opening. Squinting in the direct exposure to the blinding blue glow, David was convinced he was hearing things. *What is it you seek? Knowledge? Understanding? Or are you simply acting on instinct, like a moth before a flame? Who are you to enter my domain? Should I reveal my exact nature, would you truly comprehend?* The might of the aqua glare seemed to ignite the water in the chamber, and David felt a force pull at the suction on his goggles. The white spherical chamber’s walls danced with oscillating blue shapes that reflected the aura of the glowing object, which David struggled to see in the brightness. Having adjusted to the light, David’s eyes made out what looked like a cross-legged figure, which was either the source of the blazing sapphire light, or a resident thereof. Either way, Dr. Lovering was not at all sure what he was looking at, and was understandably completely terrified. The figure had four long arms and was very skinny. Its eyes were the same milky color of the cavern, yet their blankness did not convey anything other than overpowering knowledge and wisdom. It remained suspended in a state of neutral buoyancy in the middle of the chamber, floating in a meditating pose, legs crossed and arms extended and slightly bent. Lost in the wonder of the spectacle he was beholding, David failed to notice himself drifting towards the azure being, and found himself feeling completely numb; he began to see double and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. *You exist in a corporeal state, purely sensory. Superficial, primitive. The nature of your existence is nothing compared to mine. I am endless.* Endless? *Endless, child. I was there when the hands of men built the first cities. I will be their when the hubris of their descendants burn the cities down.* Am I dead? *You are free.


/////First Submission, howdy y'all!///// “Miranda, this is control, how are we looking?” Miranda was chewing on her lip, her brow furrowed in concentration as she focused on steadying her trembling hands. “I’m fine control, just... just being extra cautious.” “Roger, take your time captain.” She rolled her eyes, but out here there was no one to see it. Take your time, captain. No worries, captain. The whole world is watching, captain. She bit her tongue though, in no small part because she knew every word would be recorded and memorialized for all time. She took a glance at the heads-up display projected on her helmet’s visor - Aside from slightly elevated heart rate and blood pressure readings, everything was green. She let out part of the breath she was holding, then focused in on her hands again. She was still holding the long, braided polymer cable that connected her to her only lifeline. She looked back over her shoulder at the Herald, which she’d landed about sixty yards away. She could see that the cord - and all of the anchor points she’d placed along her path so far - were secure. The small landing pod was scarcely big enough for the measuring equipment it carried, let alone the sole occupant expected to travel down to the surface with it. But beyond it, hovering silent in the void of space, was the vast bulk of the Ascendant, the pride of the United Planetary Navy’s research fleet. Sleek lines and polished white bulkheads reassured her that she was far from alone out here, despite how it felt inside her tiny space suit. She returned to her work, retrieving another alloy stake from the toolbox she’d brought with her. She clipped her tether into the loop of the stake and then set it against the rocky surface of the asteroid beneath her feet. After ensuring that her mag-boots were set to maximum strength she swung the heavy tungsten hammer she carried. The impact drove the stake in easily, while nearly lifting her from the surface. Thankfully, her boots held. She gave the stake a firm tug and, when it refused to budge, bent to retrieve her tools and instruments. “Control this is Miranda. Stake six embedded, proceeding to target.” “Roger, good copy.” Minutes ticked by in silence as she worked her way painstakingly across the harsh, rocky surface. Yard by yard, stake by stake, she made her way to what her team had dubbed ‘the entrance.’ Finally, she’d made it. A short distance before her stretched a perfectly circular void in the rock. She looked at the lip of the hole as she drew nearer and was in awe of the razor sharp, impossibly precise edge. Her in-suit sensors did a quick scan of the opening and confirmed what she already knew. The circle was perfect, variance was 0.00% along the entire shape. No mortal instrument could have crafted such perfection, she’d seen laser drills less precise. She activated her mapping software and a wire diagram projected itself over the hole, measuring it’s diameter and depth in an instant. It was 31.4 feet across and... that couldn't be right. Her diagnostics weren’t giving her a stable depth reading. The number simply kept growing until it blanked out. eRR. She rebooted the program. eRR. “Uh, control, I’m getting some odd readings here.” “We’re tracking, captain, running shipboard diagnostics on your suit. Standby” Standby. Miranda quirked an eyebrow, what else was she going to do, pack it in? She was by herself on a rock floating in outer space. Of course she was going to stand by. “Suit is reading green across the board, you’re good to proceed.” She took a deep, unsteady breath. “Roger, good copy control.” Miranda closed the last few feet and was greeted at last with the reason they’d come all this way. The hole emitted a pale blue light that washed over her as she leaned out over the edge. Not so far as to risk falling, but enough to get a good look. Instantly her suit’s communications suite spiked. Every band, every channel, every signal that humanity had learned to listen for jumped clear off the charts. Tiny alert lights and warning indicators populated her heads-up display, prompting her to take a few steps back. They quieted instantly. This was it then. The Source. Fifty-four years ago, before the United Planetary Navy was even a pipe dream, humanity had suddenly and loudly been informed that they weren’t alone. At 7:31 PM GMT, on April 12th of 2066, every communications satellite, television set, and computer on Earth had been bombarded with... everything. The signal had been strong enough to blot out every form of communication on the planet, and had lasted exactly six minutes. Within days, world governments had convened a series of special meetings, and within weeks the signal had been traced here. To this otherwise unremarkable piece of interstellar space. All the world's instruments were trained on this spot and the scientific community was baffled to find this, a completely stationary asteroid, alone in space billions of miles away from anything else. It shouldn’t exist, it couldn’t exist. And yet it did. What’s more, the signal remained. It no longer drowned out the earth but it shone, a steady beacon to those who were listening. The Source galvanized mankind, revealing to all the world that the issues which had for so long divided them were petty, trivial compared to the knowledge that something was out there. Work was done in decades that would have taken individual nations centuries to accomplish, progress and innovation flourished as never before. All leading to this moment. “Miranda, do you read us?” She blinked, her eyes dry, unsure just how long she’d been standing, staring off into space. “Sorry, yes, I read you control.” “Thank God, we thought something had gone wrong,” the voice said, clearly relieved. “What happened? We lost all comms with you.” “The signal flood projecting from the entrance is too powerful for my suit, it overloaded everything, please advise.” Silence. “Control?” “Standby, captain.” God how she hated that phrase. Miranda waited as patiently as she could as seconds turned to minutes. “Captain?” “Yes, control, I’m here.” “Captain, this is Admiral Colin Reeves, UPN Commander.” Miranda’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment at her flippant response, this was one of the most important men in the world, he’d designed most of the equipment she wore. “Y-Yes sir!” “I’m talking to you now not as a superior officer, but as a fellow human being. We don’t know how this ends, we don’t know what happens in that hole. No one can rightly ask you to go down there, knowing you’ll be totally isolated. We can pull you back, consider other options. No one would fault you for-” “I’m good, sir.” She surprised even herself. She hoped her voice was steady and cleared her throat to speak again. “Sir, I’m ready. I’m here. I’ll do it.” “Then Godspeed captain, we’re all behind you.” Miranda heard a faint beeping and noted mentally that her heart rate was in the yellow, 130 beats per minute. She silenced the alert and closed her eyes, focusing solely on her breathing. After a few moments she opened her eyes again and stepped to the very edge of the entrance. She hammered one last stake into the ground, clipped on her tether, and then leaned forward over the opening. With her mag boots on max, she could walk down the edge of the tunnel with relative ease, so she took a tentative step down into the unknown. She held tight to her tether with one hand as she made her way down the tunnel. She felt the familiar tug of gravity as she approached the light below. That wasn’t possible either, this tiny asteroid should have had such a negligible gravity field that she shouldn’t have felt a thing. She grew closer, and it grew stronger. As she approached, she could see a thin membrane, like the surface of a massive bubble. It was the source of the light and, theoretically, the signal stream as well. She could see herself reflected in the shimmering surface as she got closer. She looked at her HUD, everything was still normal. No temperature spikes, no unusual radiation, just the mass of communications signals and the strong gravimetric anomaly. She was a foot away now, maybe less, and the gravity was strong enough that she felt as though she were suspended from the sky, hanging out over the pool of light and mystery. A moment of fear passed through her heart, chilling her briefly. But how could she give up now? She took a breath, closed her eyes, and fell forward into the unknown.