I can feel it, you know. The taint on Saidin. The male half of the true power has become covered in something, like scum on the surface of pond. I know what is coming too, madness. Insanity. I would not bow to... to "Shai'tan". That I said aloud, and finally I had said it. Some believe it is bad luck to speak the Father of Lies' name aloud. I'm too far gone to care. *Beware, they're watching. They're watching us*. The world was slowly being torn apart by the madness of my brothers. My sworn brothers who had embraced Saidin, who had been the greatest Aes Sedai of an age. Men were naturally stronger in the One Power than women, and it showed in the fury with which we wreaked havoc upon a helpless world. *The dead, the dead see me!* We had gone to Shayol Ghul with Lews Therin Telamon, the greatest of us all. We were his hundred companions, and I marched proudly at his side to contain the Dark One, to put him back in his prison. It was a great and bloody fight, but we won. Barely. We put him back in his prison, Lews Therin sealed the most powerful of Forsaken, the thirteen, in the Bore with the Dark One. *And now they're watching me, watching us, watching the world shatter and break and fall to pieces and oh by the Light they're watching*. And then the Dark One, in his last act upon this world, struck back. He rendered them insane, all of us insane. Of the hundred and thirteen of us who went into that black pit, sixty eight came out. We were all horribly insane. *I'm* insane. It's a sick thrill realizing that I can't be rational anymore. Some days I can just feel the eyes of the dead upon me, other days I can see them. *AND THEY ARE WATCHING ME!* But no matter. I've found them you see. I've found some more of the Forsaken. Those who were not locked away in the pit with *the dead, the dead the dead the dead the dead the dead the dead the dead the dead the dead the dead the dead ENOUGH*. I won't, I won't let the insanity claim me. I won't. I'm stronger than that. I. Am. STRONGER! I am. I know I am going insane, it's a horrific thing to know that. Didn't I already say that? Oh god is my memory going? No matter. No matter at all. There are thirteen of them in this valley, and thirteen hundred trollocs. And Myrddraal. The trolloc's twisted leaders who bear blades forged in the depths of Shayol Ghul. Quenched in black waters and the blood of innocents. Men, women, children. It's said there are Myrddraal who prize blades quenched in the blood of children, they say those blades cut deeper into the souls of men. I breathe out, and reach for Saidin. Of the thirteen down there, seven are men. They immediately look up, shocked, surprised, but not terrified. Not yet. They don't know who I am, because they aren't dead. *Because the dead know, the dead are everywhere and they are watching me. They will watch me KILL THESE FORSAKEN BEINGS!* A shriek of pure fury crosses my dried and cracking lips, as the fury of Saidin flows through my veins. There is nothing quite like it, channeling. You're more alive than ever you could possibly be, everything is just... more. Not the dead though. When I channel the dead are quiet, the dead don't look at me when I channel. It's moments like this when I'm lucid again, when I'm embracing Saidin. It's why the world is breaking, men who go insane can't stop themselves from channeling, and the best kind of channeling is to take as much of the One Power into yourself as you possibly can, and release it in a blow of fury. We don't use balefire anymore, not since we learned what it does. It's in moments like this that I can realize balefire is wrong, that it simply unmakes things. And the stronger the balefire, the more unmade something is. It can undo things people did in the past. Lews Therin Telamon put everything he had into balefire once. Every drop he could channel. His army was destroyed around him, utterly and totally destroyed. I stood at his side, ready to die with a curse on my lips. His balefire was so strong it undid what the enemy general had done. He remade his army. It was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. Such power, so easily abused. I rain fire down on the valley, and the trollocs burn. They burn and burn and scream. The Myrddraal scream as well, and they burn too. The thirteen Forsaken don't burn, they danced through the flames, and returned the gift of death. They began to throw lightning and fire. They turned the air to water and raised barriers of rock to drown me. I blasted forth pure fury, and screamed as I shot lightning from my hands. It's the rage that really made it work. I cleansed the air and shattered the walls, I blew through the shields of one, then two, then three of the Forsaken. I cackled aloud and rained fire down on them still. We fought for hours, hours. Slowly, inexorably, my shields were weakened. My counters came slightly slower. My ability to hold Saidin withdrew, but still I hurled death from my hands. I ruptured the earth, and it swallowed three more of them whole. They fell into the pit, and I closed it on them. I could feel the two men's channeling snuff out. I could feel it when my shields collapsed and my skin began to crackle, then burn as the remaining seven hurled themselves at me. Two of the women had linked, and were more powerful than before. I howled, and began pulling forth Saidin from my sa'angreal. I obliterated the two who had linked, pulled their bones from their skin and crushed them to powder before the eyes of the other five. I just wanted to kill those five. That was my desire. I knew I was mortally wounded, my burns were that severe. My eyes were gone, melted into my face. My hands were lumps of blackened skin and melted flesh. But you don't need eyes to see with Saidin, and you don't need hands to throw lightning and fire and most importantly, death. The madness crept back into my mind then, as I approached death. I could feel the eyes of the dead on my burned skin. I could hear them whispering, like a chorus of mice. But I could hold that in the back of my mind. I could focus, and with focus I could ignore even the blistering agony that was my body. I defeated an attempt to end the battle by one of them. He shot forth balefire, I deflected it with the corpse of a Myrddraal and then rapidly expanded the air in his lungs. His chest blew apart in a spray of blood and bone and gristle. Two of the men broke and ran then, the last two. Leaving two more women, who had linked to try and save their skin. The two men opened a gate to another part of the world, I opened a gate through their heads. The edge of a gate is sharper than the sharpest razor blade, and stronger than steel. They crumpled, their bodies falling to the ground and their heads disappearing to wherever I had opened the gate to. I didn't care anymore. Two more women, two more. *Two more women, and two dead. Twenty dead. Two hundred dead, no two thousand, no two million. Standing there. Watching me. Why, why are they watching me? WHY WON'T THE DEAD STOP LOOKING AT ME!* I screamed aloud again, and pulled through more Saidin than I could safely handle. The two women died screaming as I boiled the blood in their veins and ripped their beating hearts from their rib cages. I collapsed, suddenly unable to channel. I had done it, I had gentled myself. I had pulled more Saidin than I could handle, and I couldn't channel anymore. But I could still feel Saidin. I could still feel the taint. I rasped a breath out of lungs that no longer worked, and fell over, burning. I could sense what I had done, and I had done terrible things. For hundreds of miles around me there was nothing but desert. Rock and sand, baked dry. Massive mountains rose to the west, and the dead danced circles around my body. There were living things, but horribly changed by the magics thrown around. Harmless snakes now had venom that could kill a man in literally the span of a heartbeat. Lizards that now would attack anything they saw viciously, and try to eat it. Tiny, minuscule pools of water still remained, but they were nothing compared to the vast lakes that had once given this region a name that translated to Fields of Water and Life. Now it was a waste, and I laughed dryly as the pain blazed through my body, took one last rasping breath, and died.


“Is this seat taken?” “Huh?” “May I sit here?” “Oh, uh, sure, I guess.” “Thank you.” “Sure.” “Going somewhere?” “Um...yeah.” “I thought so. That’s a pretty big suitcase you got there. Must be a long trip.” “Yeah.” “A little young to be embarking on such a journey, aren’t you?” “I’m nine and half. I can take care of myself.” “I see. Well, it’s nice to hear the young children of the day are taking responsibility for themselves. I don’t think my grandkids are nearly as mature as you are.” “Thank you. I’m moving to Chicago.” “Ah, a wonderful city. Been there many times.” “Really?” “Yes. I travel all over the country for work. I’ve probably been to Chicago a dozen times or more. Lots of adventure there...and lots of danger as well. You may want to consider that.” “I’m not afraid of anything.” “Oh, I’m sure you’re very brave. Headstrong little boys often are. However, the world is a very big place. Lots of ways to get into trouble out on your own. Even a courageous lad like you.” “I won’t be alone once I get to Chicago. I’m looking for someone.” “Oh? Well, that’s a relief. Here I was thinking you were running away from home.” “I am.” “Mm. Had a feeling. I did that when I was about your age, you know.” “Really?” “Oh, yes! I lived on a big family farm in Virginia, but I was tired of it all. Keeping a farm going requires a lot of hard work and early mornings. I hardly had time to be a kid. I wanted adventure. So I packed my things and sneaked out in the middle of the night.” “Then what happened?” “I made it as far as the train station and realized I didn’t have any money.” “You went to a train station?” “Hey, this was close to 65 years ago. Buses didn’t go as far, and automobiles hadn't been invented yet." “Oh.” “Yes. So anyway, I couldn’t afford to get anywhere. I figured I’d just be a stowaway then. I hopped into the caboose with all the luggage and hid inside a big trunk. Once I felt the train moving, I crawled out and there was the conductor, staring right at me.” “Oh no.” “’Oh no’ is right! He pulled me up by my ears and dragged me to the back of the train. I was too stunned to even plead for mercy. The train slowed down a bit as it passed through a grassy meadow, and with one big shove, the conductor pushed me off the back of the train!” “What?!?! He kicked you off the train?” “He sure did!” I went tumbling on the ground for a while. It made me very dizzy. Once I got my bearings again, I looked for my suitcase. It had broken apart, so I had to gather everything and tie it into a makeshift bundle. I didn’t know where I was, I had a nasty bump on my head, and had no idea where to go.” “Did you give up and go home?” “Heavens, no! In the 12 hours since I had left home, I had found the excitement and adventure I wanted, and I wasn’t going to give that up for anything. I just started walking.” “Where were you going” “In the direction the train had gone. I figured there must be something that way, or else a train full of people wouldn’t be going there. So, I kept walking and walking. When it got dark, I slept underneath a tree. And in the morning, I started walking again. I never saw anyone, not even another train. I was all alone. I was tired and hungry. And lost. I didn’t really know where I was going.” “Did you find someone?” “No, not exactly. Someone found me. A group of boys about 10 years older than me. They took care of me and in turn I helped them.” “What did you help them do?” “Rob houses.” “But, but that’s wrong!” “Yes, it is. But I did it anyway because it was exciting. And because those boys became my family. People will do anything for family, you know.” “Yeah, I know. Did...did you ever go back home?” “Yes, when I was 26 years old.” “You were gone for that long?” “I was. I was too ashamed to go home after I had run away. I had become a thief, a bad person. I didn’t think my family would want me back after that. But guess what? They did.” “They did?” “Absolutely. When I walked up to the farm for the first time again, my baby sister was sitting on the front porch, though now she had a baby of her own in her arms. She came rushing to me and gave me such a big hug I thought I was going to suffocate right then and there.” “My family wouldn’t do that. I don’t have a sister. I don’t even have a papa. That’s why I’m leaving.” “I see, so you’re looking for someone else in Chicago to be your family?” “No, I’m looking for my real family in Chicago. My papa lives there. My mama told me a long time ago that he was a baseball player there. I just need to get there and find him. If I buy a ticket to a game, I know he’ll see me.” "How can you be sure?" “He’s my father! He must recognize me! And I have to find him! He’s the only one who--” “The only one who, what?” “He’s the only one who’s left to take care of me.” “I thought you said you could take care of yourself.” “Well, yes, but I don’t want to. I’ve never seen my papa. Mama says he went away to play baseball so he could take care of us. But we couldn't go with him. So we stayed home. But now Mama is gone. So I have to find my papa! I don't want to be left alone.” “Oh dear. And I was trying to convince you to go right back home.” “Huh?” “I told you that story, I wanted you to see that running away was foolish. But now I see you really don’t have a choice.” “I just want to find my papa.” “Hmm. What’s your papa’s name?” “John Henry Lloyd.” “Wait, what did you say?” “John Henry Lloyd. Do you know him?!?!?” “Oh, sorry, no. But I follow the Negro baseball leagues with a passion. One of those boys I used to run with grew up to be a pretty good first baseman.” “Then you could help me find him! If you know who all the players are, you can ask them about my papa!” “Now, hold on just a minute. It’s a long way from here to Chicago. And I don’t travel anymore. I like Atlanta. It’s my new home. And I have no intention of leaving home again.” “Alright, I’ll tell you what. When this bus gets here, I’ll take you to where I live. You can stay with me and I’ll find your papa.” “You will? How? I told you, he’s in Chicago.” “Yes, I will. I’ll send a telegram, a few letters to some team managers I know. Once I know where he is, I’ll send word that you’re here. And then we’ll see what happens. Does that suit you?” “More than anything in the world. Thank you, Sir.” “You’re welcome. And I can promise you, I won’t rest until we find your papa.” “Really? Thank you. When we find my papa, I’m gonna tell him all about you, about how you helped me find him. What’s your name?” “Henry Walker Lloyd. Your papa is my son.”


The hallways of the ship lay dormant. Not a single soul was stirring or dared to do so. It had happened in mere hours, one of the alien experiments escaped and ravaged the crew with terrifying efficiency. A few crew members still live, trying to survive the creature, but it won’t be long until they meet their eventual doom as well. Suddenly, the onboard intercom crackles to and a voice is heard. “To any crew mates that are still alive, I say this with a heavy heart, but there will be no rescue. “I have already sent a distress signal warning any vessel who comes across us to never board our ship, and if possible, to blow us all to kingdom come. I am sorry to have condemned us to this fate, but we all know it is for the greater good” The voice pauses for a long while. He is audibly heard sighing before resuming what he was saying. “It was an honor to serve alongside all of you,” the voice on the intercom then pauses once more and his voice is shaky. Taking another deep breath, the man speaks once more “If there is a god out there, may he have mercy on our souls. This is Radio Master Nigel signing off, for the last time. Goodbye my friends.” As the still playing song wraps up, the click of the intercom being disconnected is heard and the ship once again falls silent. Two Radio operators sit together in their compartment, one of them having just finished his final message. A quick nod from him indicates for the two of them to begin tearing apart the communication controls to ensure that any message that is sent out reaching for help will never be sent. When the deed is done, the two radio operators look at each other and take a seat. “Now what?” one of them asks. “Now?” The younger radio operator leans back in his chair “Now we wait until both of us die,” The younger operator who asked the question nods and too leans back into their chair. “If you’d like, I can shoot you now. Spare you the trouble of starving or whatnot” offered the older radio operator. “There’s only one bullet left though, besides, I already promised that I’d die alongside you,” The second operator chuckles at the adamant nature of his colleague. But, he still very much appreciated their conviction to a promise. “Suit yourself,” “Hey Nigel?” asked the younger operator. “Yes?” “I think I’ll try this Sinatra fellow you keep buggin’ me about” A very large smile spread across the older operator’s face. He grabbed his tablet and his headphones and swung his chair next to the younger operator, pointing out his favorite song from the artist. “Trust me dude, you are going to love this guy” “That awaits to be seen,” said the younger operator as he placed the headphones upon his head. The older operator smiles once again before pressing start on the song. In the silence, the faint words of the song can be heard “Fly me to the moon...


Deep, from the waters An unyielding force swims ashore Broken, born anew The Samurai walks through the tall grass, it is a lonely, still night. The kind of still that watches patiently from the shadows. Finally, he is greeted with the wind, which howls through the shaking branches of sakura and silver grass. His love so close now, he walks. The air was once clear Then leaves changed their color There is no return In the quiet open of night he ponders his being, which quick draw will be his last? He has cut his way through the land, a Ronin demon, rumors of his mutilation sweep the land like the wind that caresses him now, an unchained bringer of death. However, the demon’s blade is a myth, and myths are something fate is no stranger to proving. He takes a deep breath as the wind now calms to a breeze; so soft you can hear the blades of silver grass speak to the earth, and the branches of sakura crack and twist in gnarled life. One moment too soon Or hesitation, too late One moment is fate The Samurai walks so straight. His straw hat sitting atop his head, as if to shield his eyes from the wind’s calls and visions of death. Bushido is not a code, nor a moral, it is a way of life. The Hagakure. The way of Bushido is not to serve a master, truly , it is to serve a purpose, that purpose is honor. The death that lurks every corner for Samurai is not a nightmare, rather, a dream. One wishes to wake from a nightmare, but a dream is just a walk that every man must make. In the mist it calls The one true knowledge of man Heart disconnects mind The body always heeds to the begging of the heart. There is only one who waits for him, maybe two. Once a warrior, now the Demon’s Blade, soon maybe a farmer. Fate whispers in the breeze, preparing him through the whistles and howls of the branches that guide his path. His destination now days away from the weeks of travel, excitement is not an emotion a Samurai knows, he walks. So careless it loves The sakura's soft shadow A heart drowns in it Suddenly a figure approaches, It has been waiting. It has heard the tall tale of a demon, a ronin coward. The Samurai demon stops walking to stare into the figure while it finishes it’s speech. It is Hatori Musashi, a ronin as well, from the Ashika prefecture, Musashi does not believe in such stories. But how could any of this concern the Demon? We learn in the storm That the rain is a blessing Disguised as a flood The Samurai Demon says nothing. Instead, he speaks through the resting of his hand upon the handle of his blade, the Demon’s blade. In the moonlight between silvergrass and sakura, while the breeze whispers lies in the Demons ear; in the ancient times, when men made their name by their resolve. The two, now still and quiet as the night that surrounds them, look into each other. The wind counts the moments until a decision is made, life... or death... Waiting for the first move. Then, it’s over in an instant, they both draw. The Demon, in lightning speed, attempts a slash but misses. The figure moves in a way of absolution, then swiftly stabs the Demon... deep, to the handle. The wind stops completely, the silver grass stands straight, and the sakura dare not loosen a petal. No more to ponder, they stand for a moment, sword thrusted through a Demon’s heart. The wind begins to blow a new name, and the petals loosen their grip. The figure finally removes his katana from the Demon’s body. Trying his best to stand, the Demon falls on his back. In the moonlight, between silver grass and sakura, the Demon struggles through his final breaths as petals of love gently cover him, a final gift.


Malcolm sat on his bench dressed in thick warm clothing, drinking a cup of hot tea, listening to music in his ear buds. Peace, no stress, no hallucination, just peace of mind. He sipped his tea, when he noticed a glowing string out on the fire escape. Malcolm's eyes followed it up to his lap, he picked it up and tugged on it, feeling it loosely around his neck. It tugged back, and he was encircled in warmth. Something he usually felt when Tala showed her face. ‘ Go, ’ a hush voice said, ‘ Momma, wait for you at the tree. ’ Malcolm could only nod, enchanted as he climbed out the window into the chilly air. He heard so many voices telling him to move, ‘ It's an adventure. Don’t shy away now, ’ a woman said. ‘ Breath, young one ,’ A man said, ‘You fear not what is in you. ’ ‘ Your destiny awaits, kid. ’ and ‘ You belong there, with all of us. ’ Malcolm came upon a cemetery, in the field area a long way from home. Right next to it was a large church-like building. Memorized, he wandered the perimeter of the cemetery and found an opening large enough for him to pass through. ‘ Your almost there. Good job, ’ a male deep voice called. He squeezed through, and fell into the dirt. ‘ Follow the string, she waited patiently. ’ Following it through, passing stones finding himself at the end of the string. It tied to a branch on the weeping willow tree. He tugged on it and it faded away. Malcolm huffed “Damn episodes,” He said looking around. ‘Welcome,’ Tala spoke to him, ‘this is the start.’ He looked up and let out a cry seeing the beautiful woman hanging there, dead as a door knob. Her body spun facing him, eyes opened to look at him, she slowly lifted her arm in his direction. ‘Bend time and space, fill in the blankets, of past present and feature. Let us see what isn’t known, break these earthly chains. Let us see the beginning.’ There his vision blurred and he fell over. He wheezed as he found himself in a crowd of white dirty men. A young woman was dragged up to the disgusting fish barrel. The crown men shouting curses at the young woman. She was covered in dirt and ash, two braided pulls apart and a mess. A ripped up blue dress, and a man threw her against the barrel. Her hands were tied back with rusted shackles. “Hey!” Malcolm shouted at the man but he didn’t even flinch at his voice. “Filthy witch,” the man slurred. Malcolm strutted up, waved his hand in the guy's face next to him. Nothing. Was I dreaming?... She pushed herself to her feet, and a young boy fixed the barrel up right. People all looked like a puritian or a pilgrim from Malcolm history books. The boy's hands were shaking but he held a frown, stone cold face towards the woman. She was helped up onto the barrel by the stone cold boy. She growled at men who touched her. Her face was angry. An older man dressed as an old timey priest walked out of the crowd with a bit of a limp. “Emily Smith,” he said with a heavy heart, “you have been found guilty of witchcraft. You have tampered with Rebeckah memories to not remember her attacker and it's stated that you have come to Rebekah and her sister in spirit to take their soul, and by an anonymous court,” the older man said, “You have been sentenced to hang for your crimes. Do you wish to confess to being a witch and end this evil?” She cleared her throat, stood tall and proudly said a loud voice, “ I am not an evil witch. I am Tala Proxila. I am innocent. I never had blood on my hand.” The crowd went wild in shouts that she should hang. She cleared her throat as a man placed the noose around her neck, and the man tightened it with a glare. No way...this can be happening , Malcolm thought. “May I see all, in the inferno gates, suffered as I, and that demon I was forced to wed,” she seethed glaring at a man with black hair, “I will watch everything you love, blackens like you, and let it rot. This whole town knows of your horrid crimes you have committed,” she said glaring at a man. Malcolm looked back at them man. He held a devilish smirk on his lips, the man from the painting. “In the name of the son, the father and the holy ghost, may this wicked witch be sent to the inferno gates,” he said, making a cross, and folding his hand into a prayer, “Amen,” he said and the crowd repeated and fell into angry shouts once more. Tala looked towards the nervous boy who was about to kick her barrel out from under her. She smiled down at him, he looked no older than Malcolm. “Son, you don't have to worry, I’ll do it myself,” She jumped forward and kicked the barrel behind her. “No!” Malcolm shouted instinctively, reaching out for her. The crowd roared in cheers and shouted over her gasps as she slowly began to suffocate. Malcolm couldn’t breath, he reached up and felt the rope around his neck. He saw the crowd cheering for his death below, as he hung. He gasped as he awoke laying at the base of the tree. He laughed harshly grabbing his neck, he felt the burns on his skin from the rope. He sobbed, “ I’m dreaming...I’m dreaming, ” He repeated to himself. He felt something move, Tala sat in front of him with a soft smile, ‘Breath Malcolm,’ she told him. Tears fell from his face, as he took deep breaths, whipping them, “You're showing me this...Why?” he pleaded. She reached up and ran a hand through his hair, so warm and tender, motherly. She said nothing as her lips moved, speaking in silence. “ I can’t hear you, ” Malcolm cried, and laid his head down. He cried quietly beside her, as she rubbed his Back lightly. He fell asleep under the tree, cold and sad.


I haven’t been feeling good for weeks. There is pain in my stomach. I generally just don’t feel like myself. I tell my mom, because I am only nineteen, and can still run to my mom when I don’t feel good (Besides, as a mom, she has been diagnosing my odd aches and pains for almost two decades). She tells me that it’s probably nothing, but if I want to go to the doctor then I should. Her assurance means that I do not call the doctor for another few weeks, when the pain starts to get worse. I make the next available appointment, which is two weeks away. They are a good doctor and have a lot of patients. They tell me that if it’s urgent they can squeeze me in today. I don’t think about it again until two weeks later - the day of the appointment. There is no sense in worrying about it. I go to the doctor alone, because, again, it’s probably nothing. They run some tests and I’m on my way. I tell my mom the next time we talk, that they took some blood and I should know the results in about a week. We don’t talk about it again until I get the results, except the day after my appointment when she asks me if I’m feeling any better. I’m not, but I don’t want to worry her, so I say, “A little.” I get out of class and there is a voicemail on my cell phone. It’s the doctor’s office. They want me to come in and speak with the doctor. Tomorrow. That’s odd. They usually don’t have appointments available on such short notice. “Can you just tell me the test results over the phone?” “I just work at the front desk, I’m not qualified to provide you any medical information” “Ok, then can the doctor or a nurse just tell me over the phone?” “I’m sorry but none are available right now. Besides, the doctor really wants to speak with you in person.” I send my best friend, Katie, a text. “Hey, remember that test I was waiting for results on? The doctor called, they want to see me ASAP so the doctor can tell me in person. Kinda strange, lol” I’m worried, but I still go alone. I feel stronger when I am alone in this type of situation. The only person I would even bring is my mom, but I know that if she is with me, she will do the whole “supermom” thing, and I will revert back to being a child. If I go alone, I have to be strong because I have to be the adult. I’m waiting in the waiting room for about 10 minutes. And then 20. And then 30. Just tell me already. “Carly, the doctor will see you now.” I go back into the doctor’s office. Not the “doctor’s office,” his actual office within the doctor’s office, where he eats his lunch, and listens to NPR podcasts between appointments. He asks me how I’m doing. “I’m fine.” (Just tell me already) Well, we got your test results back, and the results are rather disturbing.” Just fucking tell me already. “You have stomach cancer. Based on the results, I would say it is either stage 3 or stage 4.” You know those “anti-gravity” rides at the fair, where you get inside and stand against the wall, and it spins around really fast and you can’t move much because the centrifugal force is so great? That’s what my body feels like. The force of gravity just increased tenfold. I weigh 1000 pounds. My heart is slowly inching down to the floor. I can’t move. “Ok.” “Because it is in such an advanced stage, there really is not a whole lot we can do. We can try chemotherapy and radiation, but I am afraid your cancer is terminal. I would like to have you come back in to do a PET scan, to see exactly where the cancer is and if it has metastasized.” To see if it’s spread? I don’t care where it’s spread. Why would I care if it’s spread? It’s killing me. I am dying regardless. Did you even go to medical school? Are you a real doctor? “To see if it’s metastasized” - are you joking? I decide right then and there: No more doctor’s appointments, no more tests, no treatments, no drugs. Fuck that. But I can’t move, much less form a sentence. “Ok.” The next thing I remember I am sitting in my car, in the parking lot, crying. I think to myself after a few minutes that crying is stupid and this is all going to be okay. I decide to go on a drive, kill a little bit of time, before I have to go home and back to reality. I drive past my old office. I miss work. I drive a little ways up the Interstate, past the mountains, and think about having my ashes spread in the mountains. I turn around, and realize that this could be my last time driving by these particular mountains. I have a few more of those realizations the whole way home. “This could be my last time hearing this song on the radio, this could be my last time being stuck in traffic, this could be my last time stopping at this stop sign” (The realizations got progressively more pathetic the more emotional I got). I don’t want to tell any one yet. I don’t even want to tell my self yet. I want to get a pack of menthols and a chocolate glazed donut. I stop at the gas station I used to go to every day before I quit smoking. There’s a new clerk. Must be new because he is way too enthusiastic to be working at this shitty old convenience store. “Smoking is bad for you, you know!” Ha. You don’t say. I wake up the next morning to my dog, Max, licking my face, and my phone ringing. It’s my mom. She asks how the doctor went. I’m not going to make her wait like the doctor made me wait. I’m not going to give her that kind of anxiety. Do I want to tell her over the phone? No. But I also don’t want her entire body to shake with nervousness like mine did for the 20 minutes it would have taken me to get to her house. “He told me that I have stage 3 or stage 4 stomach cancer and there is nothing that they can do.” “ Stage 3 or Stage 4? What the fuck does that mean? Which one is it? There is nothing they can do?! That’s the biggest load of crap I have ever heard, I’m calling them.” Ok Mom. She comes over shortly afterwards. I don’t think she actually called the doctor. But I’m wrong, she did, and thank god she did because I don’t think I could have told her any more details without completely losing it. She doesn’t want me to “give up,” but she says that I should do what ever I think is best for myself. I think it would be best for me to move back to Colorado. Spend my last few months in the mountains, in the snow, where my best friend lives, and smoke a ridiculous amount of marijuana. I never really smoked pot. I mean, I did a few times in high school, but it was just never my thing. I think now I would like it to be “my thing.” I want my mom to come with me. She likes Colorado, too. She used to live in a little ski town in the mountains. Her and my dad got married there. She comes with me, and I don’t even have to ask. I call Katie after my mom leaves. “So I have good news and bad news. Good news is, I’m moving back to Colorado. Bad news is it’s because I have stomach cancer... and I’m not going to, well, it’s terminal.” Katie and her husband grow marijuana for one of the local medical marijuana dispensaries there. She decides that she is going to grow a new strain of marijuana for me, one that she says will have really high amounts of the chemical compound in the plant that helps with cancer symptoms. I don’t remember the science-y part of it. CDC, maybe? No. That’s Center for Disease Control. CBD. The chemical’s name is CBD. Some friends send you flowers when you get cancer. Katie personally grows a pot plant for me. This is why she’s my best friend. She knows that I don’t want to cry about it, or get depressed and sulk around for the next six months. She knows that I want to enjoy the little things and do a couple of the items on the bucket list we made together in seventh grade. It doesn’t matter which ones. My mom and I work out all of the logistics. I don’t think I’ll make it a full year, so we get a vacation rental. You can rent those by the month. We make sure to pick a place that has a big backyard for Max. My mom can pretty much run her business from anywhere there is internet connection, so we go to the Apple store and I help her pick out a laptop. I’ve never been to an Apple store before. It’s pretty cool. I wonder if anyone here can tell I’m dying. I’ve lost ten pounds. My hair is thinning. My skin looks grey? This is new. Just noticed that in the reflection of one of the computers. Maybe it’s these fluorescent lights. Two months later, we hire a professional caregiver to come and stay with me while my mom has to go back to Arizona for a couple of days for work stuff. We also have our neighbor come over and help take care of Otis. He’s pretty low maintenance, but I can’t lift his dog food bag to feed him. Otis and I watch a lot of movies together. I like that he is a dog and doesn’t understand that I’m dying. I’m glad that my mom is getting a break from taking care of me; A break from having to pretend to be so strong all of the time. Sometimes I hear her crying, and it hurts more than the giant tumor in my stomach hurts. I know Katie would come take care of me at the drop of a hat, but I can’t ask her to do that. I don’t do much, except sometimes my mom wraps a bunch of blankets around me and we go sit next to the biggest window in the house and watch the snowfall. Something about growing up in the desert makes me feel like snow is a little bit magical. I can still walk, but only for short amounts of time. I’m having a hard time eating. I’ve lost another ten pounds, and I’m starting to look like a skeleton. Too bad Halloween already passed. The day that I fall trying to get out of bed is the day. I’ve read about dying enough to know that once the falling starts, the really slow, terrible death starts - The pain, the loss of mental facilities, the incontinence, the sleeping 23 hours a day. I don’t want to be that person. I don’t want to lose all independence. I don’t want my mom to see me like that. I call Katie. I’m getting weaker. When did it start to take so much energy to talk? This is new. I tell her that I love her and that’s all I need to say. She knows; We have talked about this. She starts crying. I start crying. “I love you too. I’ll see you later. And I’ll bring you a jet pack if we have them by then.” My mom and I had previously discussed this, but unlike Katie, she doesn’t want me to tell her. She just wants me to sneak out while she is sleeping, and do it. I’m ok with that. I don’t think I could tell her, anyways. I put a coat on. And then I put my shoes on. Max wags his tail like he think’s we’re going on a walk. “Not you, buddy, just me.” I’m scared. How will my body know it’s time? I don’t want to be stuck out there, alive. Hopefully the cold will help. I make it about 500 feet, which is a lot less further than I was hoping to be, but a lot more than I thought I actually could get. I can hear Max barking. I fall on my knees. About a minute passes. It feels like 5000 years, but I’m glad this minute felt so long because it’s my last minute. For 5000 years, I am thinking of all of the reasons not to do this. “What if I had tried chemo?” “What if I start to try chemo now?” “What if I miraculously recover?” “What if tomorrow they find a cure for cancer?” Ridiculous.


Bright, bright, bright. It was always too bright, always bright, always grating, grating at the back of his eyes, in the back of his mind. Peter no longer squinted. The lights that lined the room bored into his brain, boring and drilling, but Peter no longer squinted. The window, the singular window, told him it wasn’t food-time yet, but he couldn’t help but wait, shivering, by the door slot. She would come soon--or maybe not. Time didn’t exist in his blinding cell, not until the sky outside the window slit turned dark. When he stood, he could reach it, peering outside at the endless sky. Peter shivered, sitting on the damn floor. The room had begun to stink again, but he didn’t mind. It meant she would be arriving soon, to clean. Peter loved it when she came. She didn’t look like him, with her stomping boots and her black-eyed mask--Peter often wondered if they were of the same kind--but when he could see her hair, he felt at peace. They had the same brown hair, hair that trickled over her shoulders and cascaded down his back. Sometimes she let him touch it, gently and softly. On very special days, she would stay longer, and run her careful hands down the ridge of his backbone. She would help him to his feet, ever gentle, ever soft, and stretch out his arms and legs so she can run a bit of cold metal down them, bumping into his skin every so slightly, ever so often. He no longer made a sound when she did--she didn’t seem to like his sounds much anyway. He liked hers, though. Peter loved to hear the sounds she made when she came to see him. There was one she made, that she said so gently, with so much devotion. He longed to hear it. He practiced making her noises, so maybe she would stay longer, but she never stayed. Peter bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, both excited and cold. A very special day would be coming soon. Most days, all he could hear was the buzzing of the lights, but sometimes, if Peter huddled by the edge of his cell, he could hear muddled sounds. He thought they might be from others like him, but he’d never seen anybody but her. Maybe there were others out there, others like him. Peter longed to see them. Their sounds surrounded his dreams. He practiced making her sounds a couple times more--she would be so surprised to hear her sounds. Maybe then she’d stay. Food plopped through the food slot, and Peter rushed over, grabbing it as soon as he could so it wouldn’t lay for long on the damn, cold floor. It wasn’t bad--it wasn’t sweet today, but it was food, and he had been so hungry. At this point, Peter knew the routine well. After food came the darkness outside the slit of a window, and sometimes, if it was a very special day, she would come. Surely a very special day was coming soon, Peter thought. He had been waiting for a while now. It was! It was a very special day! Peter leapt to his feet, walking up to the door. She pushed him back as he walked in, which was normal--Peter knew by now that he was not supposed to see whatever was behind his door. She had less brown hair now, and she let him run the tips of his fingers over the feathery ends. He watched her adoringly while she did her measurements. She used the special sound, the one that Peter knew, only once. Peter waited patiently while she tested his memory, his reflexes, using a small shock to let him know what he would done wrong and something small and sweet when he did something right. This was all typical; Peter barely needed to think about it anymore. He made sure not to relieve himself while she was there; she didn’t like it when he did that in front of her, and it always made her leave sooner. Finally, she turned to leave, and Peter made his move. “Peter,” he sounded, and she turned with a start. Peter bounced up and down. He surprised her! Maybe she’d stay. “Peter,” he sounded again, and to his delight, she started making sounds of her own. “Peter.” She made more noises, wiggling her finger back and forth on the little item she always brought with her. Then she said something else to him, but that sound he didn’t recognize. “Peter,” he tried again, but she didn’t seem as surprised this time. He was far taller than her now, but she could still put one hand on his head. He closed his eyes. Maybe this time she’d stay. But she didn’t. She left, leaving Peter in the cold, bright room alone. It was okay. That was okay. He would practice her sounds and maybe next time she’d stay longer. Peter settled on the floor and put his arms over his head, ready to sleep. Next time, he would be better at her sounds. A muffled thump against his window startled him out of his rest. Something must have smacked against it. It wasn’t the first time that had happened, but as he trotted over to the window, he found it was different now, for the first time in eighteen years. There was a crack, splicing down the middle. Peter pressed on the window gingerly, and the freezing glass shifted under his fingertips. A cold stream of air swirled in, and with it, a tiny speck of something wet that settled and melted on Peter’s skin. He pressed harder, and harder, and harder and suddenly it snapped, and the glass under his fingertips was suddenly gone and his arm was out, out in an environment that was much colder than his own. Peter pressed on the other side, and this one cracked too, but this crack stung his skin, as if she was still there, shocking him for being wrong. Peter pulled his hand back in shock--it was wet now, and vividly red with blood. It was colder in the room now, with the frigid air flurrying in. Part of Peter wanted to stay behind, to huddle in the corner. He doubted this is what she wanted him to do. But part of him felt exhilarated. Peter propped himself up on one elbow, standing on his tippy-toes and ignoring the biting sting in his arm when it pressed against the jagged edge of where the window had been, and what he saw amazed him; there was so much outside his room, so many more colors, so many more shapes. Entranced, he stuck his other arm through, ignoring the cold, ignoring the stinging of his arm. Suddenly, wildly, taken by this other world, Peter launched himself through it, bits of where the window used to be piercing and tearing at this stomach and the paper-thin skin of his thighs until he was falling, and then he landed in something cold, something wet, knocking this wind out of his lungs. And when Peter stood up again, he wept. The world outside his room was so much bigger than he’d known. Something alive, something he’d never seen, fluttered over his head, making a sound he’d never heard. The wind blew over his naked body, making the thin hairs that covered his body bristle, before the wind swept past him, rustling a huge, spindling something farther down the path. Peter took a few steps toward it, his feet sinking into the white wet something that covered the ground. He took a few more steps, more than he’d ever taken in his room before, and soon he was running, speeding, faster than he thought he would ever move, and out of his mouth came a sound he’d never heard, and it filled his heart. He reached the spindling something, touched the rough covering, felt pieces break off and crumble in his hands. The fluttering thing, the one that had flown over his head, lighted on the spindling something, looking down at him, and making a sound that was high and piercing and startling and Peter couldn’t help but shriek after it in delight. It flew away from him, and he followed it, running faster than anything Peter had ever seen. He followed it a ways, until the white wet powder that coated his bare skin began to make his feet numb until they wouldn’t move. Peter was surprised--his feet pierced, like the cuts on his arms and stomach, but when he sat to look at them, he couldn’t see any holes or any blood. His arms started to feel sluggish too, Peter noticed, and when he looked at them, he saw them change color from pink to blue to grey. They were hurting too, and Peter started to feel less sure of himself. He took to his feet again, plodding after the little fluttering thing, but it didn’t last. His feet, his legs were too tired. It was okay, though, Peter thought, falling to his knees. He didn’t mind. He was starting to feel quite warm, actually, which was nice. He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d made a mistake though; he knew she wouldn’t like him being out here, and he hated to let her down. His stomach and thighs were sticky with blood now, seeping and dying the fresh soft powdered ground. Peter lay down. The ground beneath him was soft, at least--he liked it more than lying on the cold tile of his room. And the sky--oh! --the sky was so much richer now that he was outside, and speckled with the little fluttering things, calling to each other as they traversed the sky. Peter loved it all, as much as he loved her, and he wished he could show her all of this wonder that had been outside his room the entire time. Most of all, he just wished she was there. Peter couldn’t move his arms or legs anymore, but it didn’t matter. It was okay, just to look up, look to the sky. He had hardly closed his eyes when he heard her voice. She sounded so far away from him--he tried to sit up, to see her, and he found he couldn’t. That was okay. “Peter,” she called, and he sounded back. Peter was happy, as the strength left his chest. She had gotten to see the outside world with him after all.


A Letter from a Long Dead Human Nobody knows how it started, it was as if the omnipotent button to begin the apocalypse had been smashed down by whatever omnipotent being up there was craving a little chaos. I had been lucky I was driving down through time square when it happened, almost as if they were in sync the subway systems burst out from the earth, creating pot holes the size of semi trucks, my ears began to ring as I noticed that large dust clouds were gathering at the bases of buildings and each of them climbed higher than their buildings, leaving nothing but ruble when the dust subsided. Some drivers began to accelerate however most were met to a fatal end as new pot holes emerged and devoured their vehicles. I had been lucky enough to be so shaken yet still that I dodged the death that awaited the others, and that is the sole reason you are reading my words, I haven’t been able to find many others in a state where they could tell their story. This leaves me and whoever else is out there with all but nothing as to what happened to humanity. We were able to not only survive, but dominate our environment for century upon century. Nobody could have predicted it would all be eradicated in such a short time. From what I’ve gathered every city big enough to have a news channel has been experiencing something similar to what I have, some even worse, almost the state of Delaware was engulfed in flood after flood, anybody who would have survived those floods would have run out of food weeks ago, the only remains of humans to be found is whatever could float. Rumors went around that those who survived Delaware were left with no choice but to result to cannibalism, so even if we did check out Delaware it’s likely we wouldn’t like what we found. Like I said I was in New York when it all went down which was already dense in population, cities like Tokyo where there were tens of millions more people were left with far less after those days. When I’m reading over this it looks like those six days were the only truly apocalyptic days, but I’m afraid that that was just the start, its a whole new world these days and sometimes I wish I wasn’t the ones so lucky to be here to see it, but that’s why I’m writing this in the case that one day the humans will bounce back and everything will be ok. I don’t think I’ll be there when that happens, but that doesn’t mean it won’t. I guess in the end that’s all I can hope for, and it ain’t so bad now I’ve gotten used to the doom and gloom surrounding me, I’m just sorry for any poor child born into this mess. I don’t know how much time I’ve got left in me, if you’re reading this that means that somebody’s found my body and hopefully I am the last victim to ever come out of this mess, I wish I could tell you more about what happened but I don’t know any more, I don’t think anybody does. And that might be more haunting then whatever the hell actually happened.


"I hate this," Lucy groaned, scrunching up her face. "It's so gross." "I know," sighed Grimm patiently. "I know it's not what you signed up for with this apprenticeship, and I know you still find it creepy, but it's what sells right now and if we don't adapt then we'll be left behind and you won't have an apprenticeship at all." Grimm picked up a child's skull and passed it gently to her. "Now attach the jacks just like I showed you. The holes are already drilled, you just have to fit them and wire them to the psionic recievers." Lucy gingerly took the skull. She knew it was just bone, but something about touching it felt *wrong*. She overcame the desire to wash her hands and started to rummage around the desk for her tools. Grimm's were already out, but they weren't *hers*. She slid the metal jack into the drill hole wincing as it scraped dryly at the brittle edges. It was so unfair for this to happen to her now, only a year into what should have been a normal mech apprenticeship. Working on robotics, tweaking code, taking apart engines, *that* was what she'd signed up for. Admittedly she'd spent most of her first year cleaning out pipes and organising scrap, but she knew that she'd *eventually* be allowed to do the exciting stuff. And she had; for a month. Grimm had finally relented to her begging, and grudgingly allowed her to do the routine upgrade of a service droid. And she was good at it. Unbeknownst to Grimm, she'd been up late most nights trawling the Weave for courses and tutorials on exactly that kind of thing, hoping to impress him enough to let her do some real work. It'd paid off too. For a whole month Grimm had been letting her help out with his commissions; until the bones were discovered. Lucy toyed with a few fragments of wire, waiting for the sealant holding a jack in place to dry. It'd only take a few minutes, then she could solder the recievers into place. That's where it'd started of course, the psionic recievers. The news spread like wildfire when alloys that reacted to the presence of thought were discovered. Did that mean there was some kind of ether thoughts could move through? Were psychics actually real? Could it prove the existence of a soul? In an effort to prove the latter, a med student had stolen a skull from his lecturer and hooked it up to some of the new psionic material and a neural cap. The student ended up in a psyche ward, broken by the backlash. He raved about memories that couldn't have been his, and the press ate it up. The idea captured the public imagination, and within a week the practice of bone reading was established. Bones, skulls especially, hold memories. They seep into the matter over a lifetime and for a while after death they persist. Not a soul, but more like a footprint in the sand. If you had the right tech and were skilled enough you could pull memories, experiences, even talents from a skull. The market for bones and recievers *exploded* overnight. Eventually the government had to clamp down on the use of bones, establishing a legal trade to stem the sudden rise in graverobbing, and pouring serious research into bone reading to establish a safe way to do it. Reading with no safeties was causing a flood of new and severely unstable mental patients, and as even dead people could tell state secrets now, bone reading represented a whole new branch of espionage. Buffers, jacks, breakers and dampeners were all quickly developed and released, though it was only legal for certain licenced mech shops to fit a skull. And lucky for her, Grimm had jumped right on it. She sighed and reached for the little skull, absently rolling it between her hands. Why would anyone want to use one of them? She understood police wanting access to a victim's memories, or a government wanting some spy's intel, but normal people like her? The thought made her shiver. The cold jack bit into her palm as she toyed with the skull. It wasn't hard to use, you just plugged in a special headset in like it was a macabre music player. The tech did the rest, and you got a whole new set of memories, maybe even lost some old ones... She hastily put the skull back down and jumped up, wiping her sweaty palms on her jeans. "Grimm!" She yelled, "I'm going out for a bit, for um... for wire." "Sure," he called faintly back, clearly distracted by some other project in the shop. "Don't be back too late, Martha is sending round pizza as payment for that last bot repair." Lucy bit her lip guiltily at the lie, but pulled on her boots as fast as she could and dashed out the back entrance. She stuffed her hands deep in her hoodie pockets and walked quickly down the crowded street. From every side neon signs and holgoraphic posters screamed with rainbows of garish colour, boasting the wares of a hundred shops and stalls crammed into the narrow lane. All around her merchants yelled, calling customers to their stall, mocking their competitiors, telling outright lies about the quality of their wares. "Miss, miss! You look so thin! Come and look at my stall, every kind of candy to put some meat on those bones!" Called a cheerfully plump merchant, waving at lines of sweets gittering like glass in the neon light. "Neutral implants! Cerebral serums! Intelli chips! Discount operations! Totally risk free! Outthink any AI!" "Fruit! Get your fruit! Apples, pears, mangos! All perfectly unnatural, get your genetically modified fruit here!" A woman shouted brusquely, gesturing entusiastically at a collection of oranges larger than Lucy's head. Lucy grinned and shook her head. This was exactly what she needed, a sea of voices to drown out that one whisper in her head. The lights, the crowd, it felt almost like it did before the bone craze. And it wasn't like she hated her job. She loved it here, she'd always wanted to be part of this mad, wonderful, technicolour city and now she was. Maybe things would die down again and she could go back to tinkering in the shop with Grimm like before. "Bones! bones! Fresh bones, filled with memories! Stuffed with secrets! All of the highest quality! I have musicians, artists, scientists, lovers! Got 'em all here!" Lucy's head snapped round to stare hungrily at the stall of dirty, yellowed skulls. An emaciated woman leered at passersby, waving them over with grubby hands. "You! Little girl! How would you like to be a dancer? A poet? A pilot? Got 'em all here, fresh as you like!" Lucy gazed fixedly at a small skull, scarcely larger than her fist. There was still some grave dirt smeared around the eyesockets. Biting back tears, she pushed her way back into the crowd and hurried back towards the shop. Maybe if she tried it just once she could let it go and things would go back to normal, maybe she could just *forget*.


An international spy with a reputation for debauchery, a martini always on his breath, and a closet full of tuxedos, Rex Flint possessed all of the suave and slick characteristics that made him the envy of everyone. Men wanted to be him, and women wanted to be with him. He was famous for his quick wit, charming personality, and ability to stay one step ahead of his adversaries at all times. However, even Rex had some vulnerabilities, and his sworn enemy, Vladimir the Vicious, was well aware of how to exploit such vulnerabilities. Vladimir had gathered an army of Rex's ex-girlfriends, all of whom had a reason to want him dead and had the inside knowledge to get it done. First, there was Karen, the girlfriend who used to send food back to restaurants and, when dating, drove Rex crazy with her lousy attitude toward service workers. Karen held a black belt in karate, but Rex was just as skilled, and they fought to a draw after an epic battle. The conflict continued at various locations, including a hotel, a grocery store, and a restaurant. Karen was able to tap into her true inner strength at each site by employing her mastery of the art of complaining. When she kicked Rex in the face at the restaurant, she said, "This steak is undercooked; if I wanted it this raw, I'd go to a farm and milk a cow." "This hotel room is too cold; I don't remember ordering the refrigerator suite!" Karen said as she hoisted Rex over her shoulder at the hotel. "The sign posted says 20% off, but the register rang it in as 15% off; I want to see a manager!" Karen said as she punched Rex into an end cap at the supermarket. It all came down to a showdown at the deli when Karen had him cornered, and he came dangerously close to surrendering. Rex, however, saw something out of the corner of his eye that would defeat Karen for good; her true kryptonite: dry chicken. "I believe you ordered this thinly sliced," Rex said to her as he pummeled her with slice after slice of dry chicken. "No, No, no! It's so dry, and there's no one to complain to!" Karen said as she spontaneously combusted. Next, there was Rebecca, the girlfriend who was a bad driver but refused to admit it. When dating, she scratched Rex's Aston Martin and then denied it was her fault for the next 48 hours, claiming that the curb had "come out of nowhere." One night, Rebecca broke into Rex's compound to steal his beloved Aston Martin, the car she claimed he loved more than her. She had driven it for three minutes before she made an accidental collision with a fence, which resulted in it catching fire. After causing him significant pain, Rex was utterly beside himself. This attack led to the two of them engaging in combat. Rebecca was a weapons expert and again had Rex in a stalemate. "Admit it, you're a horrible driver," Rex said. "Never," Rebecca replied, "you're just obsessed with cars to make up for inadequacies in other areas of your life," as she grazed him in the arm with a gun that was hidden in her dress. The conflict continued to escalate, with both sides taking turns firing their weapons at one another. At long last, Rex had a solution that would put an end to this matter once and for all. He tricked her into a high-speed chase on the 405 freeway. On the eight-lane highway, they were weaving in and out of traffic while traveling at fast speeds. To Rex's surprise, she was handling herself reasonably well, and he started to think he was wrong. When Rex was on the verge of losing, he made a last-ditch effort to save the situation by calling Rebecca on her cell phone. Rebecca couldn't resist picking up the call, and after she did, she drove her car directly off a cliff. Finally, Vladimir sent Marta, the one that got away. Marta was the only one who knew the truth about Rex's true self, which was that his middle name was Philomena. She was also aware that Rex was picked on by the other spies because of his passion for The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills and the fact that he spent his free time creating Tick-Tok dance videos. Marta was quite knowledgeable in the field of psychological warfare. After only ten minutes of conversation, she was able to reduce Rex to childlike crying and seeing a shrink five days a week. Rex had been defeated. With the help of his therapist, Doctor Weintraub, Rex could confront Marta and admit that he still had feelings for her. To his surprise, Marta realized that she also had feelings for him. Rex apologized for his past mistakes, and Vladimir the Vicious was defeated by, of all things, the power of love. Foiled again, Vladimir retreated to fight another day, vowing that next time, he would go nuclear... send Rex's mother.


"Do you know who these belong to? I think these are Joey's. That's definitely Sunrise Films logo on all of this stuff." Amanda said as she looked through the camera equipment scattered throughout the storage unit. "What does it matter? Can you sell them on Facebook Marketplace for me or not?" Sam said, starting to feel like his sister was going to let him down yet again. This always happened and it infuriated him. He thought this would be an easy slam dunk, and give them a chance to bond, while at the same time putting some much needed dough in his pockets and giving his sister a little financial aid too. But, he should have known better. With Amanda, it literally was always something. "This gear definitely belongs to Joey from Sunrise Film Productions. I worked as a PA for him on a few commercials a few years ago, and he let some of us assistants use his gear to film a few weddings to make extra cash during the down times. He was a really nice guy...I wonder how all of his gear ended up in this storage unit...maybe I should just give him a call...I don't think he went out of business...Do you think someone robbed Joey and stored the stuff here while they tried to sell it online "Amanda, look...this is turning out to be a lot more complicated than I wanted it to be. I thought this would be something that you would want to do, to help me and to make a few quick bucks. I asked you, because I know you have experience working with this kind of gear...you have friends in the industry who would be interested in getting some of this stuff for cheap, and you're always getting rid of spare and random stuff on Marketplace...but now it’s like...I should have known better...of course you would put Joey over me." "Sam, I'm not putting Joey over you, just let me give him a call, if his company folded and he couldn't pay the storage fee, then it’s all good. But if somebody jacked this stuff from one of Joeys trucks, which is kind of what this looks like...then I can't do that. Joey's a good guy." "Forget it Amanda, just forget it." "Sam you don't have to be that way. It's not like I'm making this up. And, hey, I know you're a little strapped for cash right now...but you're not a thief, you're not a crook. If somebody found your DJ gear in a storage unit...and someone had stolen it from your car...you'd want to know right?" "Of Course. But Amanda...it's just I do really need the money. The pandemic has basically wiped me out. I thought I could make it. I thought, you know, I can live off my savings for three months, even six months...but this thing has gone on for almost a year, and I'm wiped out. I put my last little chunk into this unit...I can't afford to not sell this stuff." "Well, Sam. I got to call Joey and let him know, to at least ask him. I mean maybe his film company folded and this gear is up for grabs fair and square...then we can sell it and have a clean conscience." "Amanda, you don't have to help me. Forget I asked you, come on let's go. But you can't call Joey either. I have to sell this stuff, even if it's just to get what I paid for the unit back...I don't think you get it. I'm really in a tight spot right now." The two got into Sam's van and started driving back to Amanda's apartment, when Amanda's conscience took the reins. "What are you doing...Amanda...give me your phone." "I can't...Sam... you’re better than this...trust me...just let me reach out to Joey...you know he's a great guy, he'll probably give you some reward money...plus it's just good karma...I mean..." "Amanda...give me the phone..." Sam said between gritted teeth as he reached across the space between the velour covered captain's chairs and snatched the phone out of Amanda's hand, tossing it nonchalantly into the boulevard. "Saaaaaaaaaaam!!!! Stop the car." "Amanda...you weren't listening...all you had to do was be cool." "Stop the car Sam." "I should have never asked you to help me. You never come through. You never ever do anything to help me. And after all I do for you and continue to do for you." "Stop the car before I start screaming Sam. Let me out." "Oh, I'll stop the car." Sam said as he pulled the van over onto the side of the road. As soon as the van slowed to a stop, Amanda flung the door open and jumped onto the grassy shoulder. "I hate you Sam. You're such a selfish pig. You've always been a pig." "Me? Selfish?" "Are you kidding me...I do so much for you and not only do you never do anything to help me or Debbie or Ty...but you don't even appreciate everything I do for you." "We're done Sam. As far as I'm concerned I don't have a brother." "Yeah well...if you ask me I've never had a sister!" Sam said as he pulled away glancing back angrily in the rear view mirror as Amanda started walking up the road trying to find what remained of her phone. Sam stormed into the house where, as luck would have it, his wife was just Facetiming him. She had quarantined with her family in Atlanta and got stuck there when the lock down hit and decided to just wait it out because she didn't want to risk bringing any sort of virus back to Sam or their 7-year-old son Ty who was in the other room studying the different trees for his science class. "Hey Honey." Sam said sitting down to answer the call on his IPad. "Hey Baby! Oh...What's wrong Sammy?" "Nah... it’s nothing." "Baby come on, you're fuming what happened? Is everything ok...where's Ty? "It's all good it's just Amanda..." "What did she do now shug?" "It's the same old thing...she just...she just has different priorities, and it's just so frustrating! You know I do so much for her...when she got married two years ago I DJ'ed her wedding...got all of the equipment set it all up, did all of the formalities, broke it all down everything. I found her a videographer and a photographer and covered it all! I mean that was a lot of work...and it wasn't cheap." "You're a good brother Baby..." "I'm done though!" "You don't mean that." "Yes I do! This was it. "This was a chance for Amanda to make things right, not only for her to pay me back, eve just a little bit for the wedding but for all of us to get a little bit ahead and ...man...I just thought it was a no brainer...but of course not. "Baby...what happened?" "Don't worry about it Debbie. I don't want to talk about it right now. It's all good, I'll figure it out. But I'm done with Amanda. This was it, this was her chance and she blew it. She's out. She's done. She's cut off. I don't want anything to do with her... or her husband or their life. "Sammy, you're just mad...I know it can be really frustrating...whenever somebody feels like..." "They're giving more than the other person...with no reciprocity and no gratitude." Sam interjected. "Exactly, and you are a very good brother, but and this is tricky. You can't expect Amanda to be as good of a sibling as you are. You are an incredible brother and an incredible son and you are constantly putting your family first, and Amanda just has...a different way of seeing things." "Screw her." "I know you're mad...Hey why don't you take Ty and go for a hike in the Nature Preserve...let this go and just enjoy spending some quality time with your son...then get a nice dinner at that Mexican place you boys love...what's it called...Three Amigos!" "That's a good idea D... thank you...I love you." "I love you too...tell Ty his mama loves him and I'll be home soon...I can't wait to be with my boys." "Us Neither. We miss you something terrible. Bye Deb." "Bye sugar! Love you!" Sam got up from the blank screen and called for his son..."Hey Ty?!" 'Yeah Dad?!?" "You wanna go for a hike in the Nature Preserve?" "Yeaaaaaaaah!" "Get those fancy new boots on then and let's go. How many birds do you think we can spot this afternoon?" "How many trees do you think I can name?" "Let's find out buddy boy!" "Oooh! I wanna see what the biggest tree in the Nature Preserve is ... Dad, what do you think it is?" "Hmmm...I bet it's a Sweet Gum!" "Sweet Gum? Come on man you know that there are some massive Tulip Poplars in that forest that are like Legacy Trees...I bet it's gonna be a Tulip Poplar." "Well let's go see...loser buys dinner...Three Amigos?" "Oh yeah! You're on Old Man!"


I poured Whiskey into a glass, watching it fill with the dark brown color of my favorite drink. Taking the glass from the kitchen to my living room, I placed it on a table next to my couch. I went a little to harsh so the sound made me think it broke for a second. I turned on the radio like everyday. “ Good evening ladies and gentleman, the weather tomorrow will be quite shivering with an astonishing - 7 degrees celsius, rain also to be expected with a chance of 68 percent”. I took my first sip from the glass, remembering how I used to make a face while swallowing. “ What's more interesting, scientists found a way to make you experience death. A young Swedish team in the field of neuroscience made a groundbreaking discovery, when testing the brain activity of a freshly killed sheep.” I sat up and got closer to the radio. “ They initially wanted to figure out how long the brain would remain intact before shutting down, when it did they accidentally brought it back to breathing. Brian Adams, one of the teams members, wanted it to be tested on him. He experience death and reported to have seen and felt nothing. Of course believing that would be naive, they knew that too. So after further testing they published stations for everyone. Soon after they got built into trucks, now driving around almost every city. WIth the glass in my hand I walked to the window, there it actually was. A truck on the corner of my street. Action never happened in this part of town, should I check this out? Believing in an afterlife was never for me, joining God in heaven sounded absurd. This was my chance to prove it to myself, but this has to be a trick. How could this be? Experiencing death, I always knew this happened someday, but me, getting to see this day I could've never dreamed of. Rushing to the door I left after taking my keys. My building never had an elevator, so I had to take the stairs. There are people out there who have already died by now, I am about to be one of them. What if it had a malfunction, they said publishing was only possible after further testing. But still there had to be a small chance of me actually dying.But I needed to know if I was right, “ seen and felt nothing” they said on the radio. Would it be the same for me? I opened the exit door, outside a huge line built in front of this truck. I wish to be able to see inside of it but even the truck is hard to see with all these people gathering around. After walking all the way to the back of the line, not even a minute passed before another five stood behind me. The woman in front of me wore nothing but a blanket. Trying to cover her private parts she moved it a lot. The constant scratching of her arms made me uneasy. This got worse when blood stains appeared on the blanket. Avoiding the sight of her as much as possible I paid more attention to the other people around me. Until no one was in front of me anymore. “ Next one “ a woman's voice screamed from inside the truck. When entering it, only a mattress layed on the ground with three masked people surrounding it. “ Lay down, it won't hurt, “ they told me. The mattress itched the skin my clothes didn't cover, as one of them made me inhale something..... “ Was that it “? I asked them. “ Yes, are you enlightened now? “ One of them said mockingly. They pushed me outside before I heard the lady scream for the next one to come in. I never feared death but after this even less. I couldn't describe “nothingness” . I just placed myself on the mattress then got up again, Closest thing to it was sleeping without a dream. I had nights in which I slept so little falling asleep and waking up I perceived it as the same moment. If what I experienced now was actually death it felt a little like those nights but still slightly different in ways I couldn't bring to words. At Least the weather is cold, I might as well get some fresh air while I'm out here. “ It's all fake, it's all fake”! A drunk screamed, running at me. I barely dodged to the side before he would have run me over. Idiotic drunks, always in the same part of town as me. You get to see them all the time, today a bit more than usual though. I walked into a flower shop, and a bell rang over my head while entering. “ Hello” I screamed, there has to be someone here, I read “open” on the door before entering. After screaming again a guy opened the “staff only” room door, “ You're not one of those are you”? he said. “ One of those “? “ The crazy people, a lot of them around today, are you one of those “? he asked again. “ I'm not, just here for some flowers sir “ I assured him. “ Flowers huh,... which ones do you want”? “ yellow ones, my daughter's favorite “. The bell on the door rang again. When I turned around, three guys ran into the store. Are those the people he talked about? They looked at me and the employee before destroying one after another vase with flowers in them. One of them walked up to me, raising his arm while getting closer. “ Wait “ I stopped him. “ I'm one of you, “ I added. “ One of us “? the man asked. “ I was just about to rob this man, then you guys came in”. “ Go right ahead, dont let us distract you.” He answered before joining his friends again. I turned around to the cashier “ G..give me your money “! I said. We met eyes before he quickly put his hands in the cashbox and gave some out to me. The guys still broke all things they could find so I ran out the door. “ Hey there, not so quick someone grabbed my shoulder from behind. “ Youre one of us “ he said. handing me a baseball bat. “ We have something planned for later, why not join us “?. If I said no, he'd definitely punch me. “ Sure, “ I answered. He lifted his hand off my shoulder before taking the lead with his friends following. They walked down the street until they all turned around to look at me. Hands still in their jackets. I started walking towards them, when I reached the small group they proceeded to walk with me in the middle of them. There will me a moment eventually, where they wouldn't pay attention to me, I couldn't leave now. Its weird, they seem like the guys I meet at work all the time. I imagined violent people to be old heavyweight guys, crazy alcoholics. But speaking to these guys I could never have guessed. “ We are almost here, “ their leader said, turning to me. “ See that bridge over there? always drunks underneath, there like punching bags, never met someone defending himself.” He proudly announced. Do they expect me to join? I have never hit someone, well maybe in kindergarten. My father broke his hand in his first fight, that won't happen to me though. One of the guys went in for a fast uncalled punch, the drunk he hit fell to the ground. Followed up by a kick, the drunk held his hand in front of his mouth before throwing up. “ Come on Frank it's your turn now “ he said, turning away from the drunk. I got a push from behind now standing half an arm length away from the homeless looking drunk guy. I kicked him in his stomach, he let out a scream, “ please stop “ he begged. I bent down, his stench filled my nose. Punching him in the face hurt less than I expected. My hand is not broken either. I turned away from him, the other guys were watching me, all with a smile on their face. awful people. 3 weeks later I rolled down the car's window. The wind threw itself against my face making my cheeks sting. “ I never asked why you do this “ I turned to James. “ You've been to a station right “? "Yes, of course, “ I answered. “ Before this we all believed in god, in an afterlife you know, hell and heaven. But after experiencing it for ourselves we realized how our actions while living don't have any consequences. Everyone here used to be religious, not doing what they wanted for the sake of god. There isn't one after all, so we formed this group, living everyday, filling it only with things we enjoy.” James said. “ So you always wanted to do these things “? I asked him. “ I have, what about you, why are you here “? “ Well I never believed in any god or an afterlife, so the stations just proved my opinion. But I guess if there was something stopping people from committing crimes and sins, I guess I would call that a god.” “ You with your philosophies, “ James said, and we both started laughing. Though I don't think he understood what I meant with that. The car stopped in a small alley, and Phillip, our driver, got out. The back of the ally had a drunk guy sitting in it. Phillip beat him up mercilessly. These guys beat up people daily. I got used to watching it. But right now Phillip took it a little far. The guy, already being unconscious, reacted to none of his punches in any way. I opened the car door “ Phillip that's enough, you'll kill him”! I screamed. Him not reacting at all I stepped out and ran at him pushing him away from the nearly dead guy after reaching him. Blood all over his face, basic features like his nose not even visible anymore from all the swellings. “ Are you crazy? “ I asked Phillip. He stood there glaring at me. “ Since when do you give orders, kid “ he said. “ I don't, but we shouldn't kill anyone, they clearly told us multiple times “ ! He took another step closer to me. “ They didn't, “ he said, raising his arm. He threw me to the ground, the asphalt hitting both my elbows. I could instantly feel them bleed. James screamed at him from inside the car. But Phillip hit me again.... I woke up laying in the same alley. My blood next to me on the ground had spilled out of my mouth. I must have lost consciousness sometime while receiving his punches. Getting up I saw the guy Phillip beat still there on the ground. No one else was around, not even James. Searching for them was meaningless, they committed so many crimes not being found is like breathing to them. Probably for the best. Would they come search for me? Usually I'm the guy beating up others, feeling it yourself was different from what I imagined. I had now felt what they did. I looked once again at the guy on the ground, before walking home. Back in my apartment I poured myself some whiskey into a glass. Sitting down on my couch I put my feet next to me on the table. Drinking the whole glass in one sip, I realized I couldn't hear my radio. Why bother? Lifting my shirt up bruises were all over my chest and stomach I felt some on my back too. Did my punches leave the same marks? Hopefully they wouldn't come knock on my door expecting me to come do those things again. In that moment I wished to have never known what's after death, I wished for the chance of a god, for the chance of hell.


For centuries, the Moon watched from her unerring perch. She spun carefully around the Earth that was the center of her universe, gazing with curiosity at the blue and green orb that drifted along with her. She understood her role and carried it out with the utmost sincerity. Sure, she lost her temper a few times. Well, more than a few times. And, yes, there was that one little incident where she kinda sorta let water cover the entirety of the planet she was responsible for. But, couldn’t every woman understand how tenuous hormones were at certain times of the month? She loved Earth, and she felt special. She was the one and only Moon. Unlike the moons of Jupiter or Saturn, she was the lone planetary body caught up in the orbit of Earth. And for years upon years upon years, she meandered along in a month-long ellipse. For Earth’s part, he just resolutely sat. Moon wondered what he had going on down there. He seemed lush and refreshing. The verdant greens and deep blues certainly seemed to suggest a complexity that she could see even from miles away. Yet, after millennia of being within arm’s reach of each other, Moon never heard a peep from him. She was waning. Making herself smaller and less noticeable. She did this every month. Sometimes she was flashier. Sometimes she shrank. Sometimes she shone so brightly she knew the Earth was simply ignoring her ebullience. Regardless, on this particular day, she was waning when all at once a small disturbance caught her attention. A small burst of light and motion seemed to be shooting forth from the surface of Earth. Not only that but it was coming right toward her. This was it. Earth was finally acknowledging her! The little object continued to move in her direction. Then, all at once, it seemed to fall wretchedly short. Instead of continuing its linear path, the object started circling Earth. Moon couldn’t believe her eyes. This had to be the biggest tease that the galaxy had ever seen. In a matter of minutes, the object disappeared. Her disappointment matched her phase and made drifting into invisibility that much sweeter. Still, she carried on. Days and days went by. Earth sent multiple objects into its own orbit. They never made it to Moon, and she was seriously starting to wonder about Earth. How could one planet be this self-absorbed? She rolled her eyes. This was getting out of hand. Determinedly, she decided not to spare another thought to Earth besides the duties she was compelled to uphold. She had plenty to look at from her place in this galaxy, thank you very much. Earth thought he was the center of the universe, hmm? Well, she’d show him. Maybe Sun would even team up with her, and they could show Earth who *really* ran this show. Her plan to ignore him was coming along swimmingly. She spent her days in the company of Mars and Venus. And, if she felt like calling long-distance Saturn was always available. She was always trying to spill some gossip about Uranus. And, the meteoroids were always flying by with little snippets. For instance, Pluto was apparently going through his emo phase. He said he might not even want to be a planet anymore? Without a doubt she had plenty to occupy her days. Earth didn’t even cross her mind. (Except those late nights that she stayed up too late thinking about his curves and the way he tilted on his axis.) Everything was fine. Until yet again, she saw an object blasting through Earth’s atmosphere. She sighed. Not this again. She did her best to look the other way. No reason to give Earth the attention he so obviously needed. She was mostly succeeding until the object was suddenly closer than any had ever ventured before, and it showed no sign of slowing down. Oh, God. She hadn’t had any advanced warning! If she had known she would have made herself more presentable. Filled in her craters a little better or something. Too late. The object was imminent now. She almost couldn’t contain her excitement. She hoped Earth didn’t mind a little high tide. She barely even noticed when the object landed with bony legs that jutted into her body. For long moments, the object just rested against her. Then, all at once, a flurry of movement. She was surprised to see the forms that spilled out. Puffy and rotund, stepping carefully across her dusty surface. They looked nothing like the life forms Saturn had gone on about. These three...things were calculating. Gentle. Carefully cataloging what they saw. What they felt. She had never been under so much scrutiny. The attention was a little off-putting but after eons of waiting, she couldn’t complain too much, she supposed. All at once, one of the figures attached something to her person. The most colorful little pendant, standing proudly. Red, white, and blue. A gift from Earth? She couldn’t believe it. At last. He loved her. He really loved her.


I watch the beach and try to think of happy thoughts, but like the waves, they come and go. My cheeks are sun kissed, and my lips taste of salt water, and days like these slip away like rainstorms.  In my foggy memories you are mine. You sit next to me on this beach on my blanket in my daydreams. How did I lose something that was never mine?  I like to pretend I’m in a movie sometimes. I imagine that someone would want to photograph me. I crave it. I think I'd look nice in a photo here. With my pink blanket with woven diamonds on it, my brown basket, and my black and white striped swimsuit. I think the reason I crave a photo is so I can double check that I'm real, double check that I'm here. Days like this feel like rainstorms that don't feel real. I wonder if the inside of my body still works the same when I'm in a place I love, a place I try to love at least.  I should be happy, just like the waves should keep coming up until they touch the edge of my blanket; but they never do. Gravity just pulls the white caps back. I close my eyes and try to be content with the darkness, but the darkness never comes because the sun is so bright it peaks through my closed eyelids. I grab a towel out my basket and put it over my face and lay down. I wish I could make time stand still, appreciate this moment, and be content with the day, but my body fights against the current and pushes me to sit back up and take the towel off my face. I sit up in the sunlight again before I find my body standing up and walking to the water.  I stand where the sand first meets the lips of the ocean. Anytime I'm here I always count how long my footprint can leave a clean imprint until the wave washes it away. One, two, three, and gone. The waves go away, but they always come back, just like my thoughts of you, which were gone for so long this time. I walk further from my blanket and basket, and I swim underneath the ocean's tongue. When I stand up I am only knee deep, but when I get on my knees my head goes all the way underwater. It feels so good to let my hair get wet, to feel my crown get washed off and go back to wild.  I wish I was one of those people who could open their eyes underwater, but alas, I cannot stand the burning sensation. I wonder what the ocean looks like while you swim in it. I wonder if looking at the water is like looking through a mirror that your reflection isn't in. I wonder how different it is from looking at a pool underwater. I bet the difference is like my brain without the thought of you, like a warm, sunny day that I could actually appreciate.


Alfred was alone. This was nothing new to him, but he did feel more alone than usual. He called out into the endless white plain for what must have been the eighth time, “Hello? Anyone know how I can get out of here?” No response came. Alfred scratched his head while he stared straight ahead with a look of deep contemplation. He felt absolutely perplexed, which was his least favorite way to feel due to his deeply held self-esteem issues. The cogs in his brain had been turning ceaselessly since his arrival into the empty realm of white, and his legs were exhausted from near constant wandering, and a sever lack of chairs. “I don't suppose there is a complaint department nearby,” he said sarcastically as he massaged his aching thighs. He'd tried to take a rest now and again by simply sitting on the pure white floor, but he found that his butt would become uncomfortable after a short while as the floor was rather hard, and no amount of awkward shifting could fix his discomfort. He'd been standing nonstop for three days now; but there was no way of which he could have realized this because, unbeknownst to Alfred, he has wound himself up in limbo. It was five days ago in earthen time that Alfred had met his end. He was in the midst of his morning ritual which consisted of waking, showering, dressing, and turning on the television, all while munching on two pieces of toast. The pieces of toast, I should add, were completely void of any condiments; no butter, no jam, no peanut butter and honey, just plain old boring toast. His fixation with this substandard form of toast eating remains a mystery to all, including himself. Once Alfred had reached the dressing phase of his bizarre ritual he had but one slice of toast left. He had usually attempted the long game (i.e. taking only small nibbles so that he'd have one-and-a-half pieces of toast left instead of just one by the time he reached the television), but he was feeling somewhat adventurous that morning. He'd been taking substantially larger bites than usual, and felt a sort of sinking feeling when he'd realized that all he had left was the company of a single piece of toast, and he had yet to even put on his trousers. He wanted to savor the piece as much as possible so that he would have something to eat whilst watching the morning news. Alfred pulled out his clothes for the day (a white, stained t-shirt and dark blue jeans) and then slipped the corner of the last piece of toast into his mouth, where he left it so that he could salivate over the tempting taste of room temperature toast on his lips. The toast wobbled limply between Alfred's lips as he hobbled to get his legs through their designated slots in the blue jeans. He began to feel the corner piece split off from the larger portion of the toast, and with a gasp of alarm, he sucked the now separated corner piece down into the depths of his windpipe in his rush to save the falling remainder of toast. After two minutes of struggling for air on his bedroom floor he passed on, leaving behind his corpse with his pants half down, no shirt on (revealing his somewhat flabby and pale body), three-quarters of a piece of toast beside him, and a corner piece of toast in his windpipe. The whole thing was rather depressing to witness, but luckily no one was around to see his comical last moments. Alfred was the luckiest of all as he has no idea of how he died, or even that he died at all, so he doesn't have to spend eternity thinking about how dreadful a finale he'd performed. Alfred's body would not be found until ten days later by his landlord who, in his usual state of rage, would come pounding on his door for the months rent, only to not receive any answer. This would lead him to kick the door down (despite having a maser key in his pocket) and find Alfred's dead body after a short search for any hidden cash. The landlord gave a moments pity, then cleaned out Alfred's wallet which sat on his nightstand, and called an ambulance to clean up the mess. The funeral proceedings were attended by the landlord, Alfred's mother in law who had screwed him out of his father's inheritance, and a weeping old man who had molested Alfred during his first semester of community college at the age of twenty-seven; no one was ever told about the incident. Alfred is now left to wander the endless plain of white for all of eternity; never again to be greeted by another. Never again to be embraced. Never again to eat his morning toast. Never again to attempt to find out what love means. Never again to speak with a telemarketer about politics. Never to make love. Never again to hear the morning news casters droll on about the weather or something equally unimportant. Never again to try and spark a relationship with Tina in the cubicle beside his. Never again to hear another voice, but his own. Alfred was alone.


Chapter 3 A unexpended discovery I opened the door let out a sigh of defeat, dropped my backpack carelessly on the floor and fell onto my bed, and screamed into my pillow at the annoying mystery I had in front of me. How could I have detected magic for an instant from one of the two children then discover neither had even a hint of magical talent coursing through there veins? I was trained properly in the detection of magic even before I gained any of my abilities in my homeworld so even if for some reason this new body of mine never was blessed with the gift of magic I should still be able to identify it. I squeezed my pillow in frustration hard enough that my hands began to ache causing me to direct my anger at my weak body. “Gods damn this body for being so fucking weak!” I screamed no longer having my face buried in my pillow and slapped my face as hard as I could causing an intense burning sensation on the right side of my face. I stared at the blurry floor as tears welled up in my eyes and streamed down my face as I wept softly rubbing at my eyes. Gods, please let me get my magic back, I thought while trying not to be too loud with my sniffling not wanting anyone to witness my weak moment. I heard my door begin to creek open and quickly got off the bed and faced away from the door holding back my tears trying not to make another noise. “Son, are you alright?” I heard my new Father whisper gently like he was speaking to a feral animal trying not to spook it. I shook my head up and down slightly not wanting to say a word in fear my voice would crack. “Son, look at me.” I shook my head no, not wanting him to see the shameful act of my crying and he closed the distance between us without me realizing it and turned me around gently with his giant hands. His face was level with mine and when I looked into his eyes I did not see the shame on his face I saw empathy something I had only seen a handful of times from others that were never directed towards me. Anger boiled in my veins knowing that his empathy must be fake and I balled up my fists ready to strike him in the face, but before I could do so he did something I would have never expected from anyone even from this man. He wrapped his arms around me and gave me a soft gentle hug and patted my back. I wept into his shoulder no longer caring if he saw my weakness and let the sorrow flow out of my eyes until I had no more tears to shed. Crying for an extended period tends to drain the energy of one’s body. That is why I wasn’t too surprised to find that I had passed out in the middle of my crying session and had woke up on the couch next to my Father that was watching TV. I looked out the window nearest to me and saw the sun was close to setting meaning I had been asleep for the better part of two or three hours. My eyes turned towards the TV and watched a man in a white outfit with glasses talk about things called particles and how they make up the new world I was in. I watched him list the things that made up the world like electrons, neutrons, and protons made me have an insane theory. What if magic did not start in the bodies of creatures in this world, but rather the opposite was true and the magic began in the air, the water, the earth, and all other sorts of places? I sat up slowly contemplating that possibility and my Dad rested his hand on my shoulder. My Dad? When did I start to think of him as my real Father? I looked up to the man that I began to consider as my real Father and not as my new Father and saw him giving me a warm smile. He pressed something on the remote causing the world on the TV to freeze. “Son is someone bullying you at school?” He said with a serious note to his voice. “You can tell me and I will speak to your teachers about it.” “No, no one is bullying me,” I said with sincerity in my voice. “Then how did you get that red mark on your face?” He said in a not so convinced voice. “O.” I said touching my still tender cheek. “I did this to myself.” He gave a look that said I don’t believe you and he pressed another button on the remote making the world on the TV move again right where it had left off. Later in the night after my parents got done tucking me into bed, which still embarrasses me and weirds me out a little, I waited until I could no longer hear them talking in the other room and then got out of bed and sat on my bedroom floor and closed my eyes and felt with my senses. This was a whole new territory for me considering I was use to feeling out specific objects or creatures for magic. Now I was trying to expand my senses to detect magic anywhere around me. For several moments I felt nothing and slowly I felt my hope draining again, but suddenly I felt the slightest flicker of energy. I concentrated harder, clearing my mind, ignoring the sounds of the wind and the settling house, and began to feel more tiny sparks of energy throughout the air. The sparks were so tiny that even losing a fraction my concentration made the sparks invisible to my senses. I felt a smile creep onto my face when I realized there were not just a couple of these small sparks of magic there was an ocean of it waiting to be harnessed all around me. My eye’s opened slowly and my grin became a smile so large that it hurt my soar cheek. I found magic.