Arithmetic? - Ah, I am not good in that at all. When it comes to measuring distance, I found it too difficult to do. Most of the times, when am stuck in the issue while talking to someone, I try to measure in my head the distance between two electric poles and what I wanted to say. “Emm, about two or three electric poles” That is always my answer to distance questions. That’s if am talking to close acquaintances. But if the person doesn’t fall into the category of a friend or acquaintance, I will supply guessed answers in miles. I can’t just claim to be deficient in what I supposed to know in my primary. Nah, it isn’t wisdom to belittle one’s self to a stranger in the name of being honest. Few days ago, I was driving with my friend to a popular market not far from his house to buy some provisions. About three poles away into our journey, we were stopped by police officers that mounted road blocks and asked us to slow down. We did. We was asked to clear from the road. That is their normal parlance. Clear from the road or park well. We did. The officer started with: “ Where’s your particulars” We presented him with the car papers. He went into motion of checking it. Whether he was actually checking it or counting it, I really can’t tell. Observing him, I had this feeling that he was counting the number of papers not seeing what they are. They seems to Know how many papers each car supposed to have not what they supposed to be. After the counting, he handed the papers over to us again. Then, it was: “ where’s your fire extinguisher?” We showed him. Then it was: “ Come down and open your boot” My friend went and opened the boot for him. He peeped from it north to south and then west to east and asked: “Where is your spare tyre?” My friend shifted the boot rug and pointed out the tyre for him. “Where’s your four heads?” he showed him. He sighed audibly and eyed us and then, it was: “Why do you put tinted glasses in your car, don’t you realize it’s against regulations? Civilians are not allowed to use it. You must get permission from the police before using it. Do you have the permit?” “ No Officer” “ Give me your keys and documents, you must follow us to the stations. This is serious offence” “ Officer, this the first time am hearing about this laws. Besides, I bought this car with the tinted glasses on it. I didn’t change them” “ I don’t care whether you imported it or bought it with tinted glasses on, my concern is that it’s against regulations. We will talk more at the stations” “Ha, officer, station?- we had been talking already for 30 minutes and you want to talk in the station again. We are going to the hospital to see a sick friend. We will change the glasses first thing tomorrow morning” “You are asking how you will follow us to the station, don’t you know that by law, we supposed to impound this car and you?- I gave you leeway to go and see our chief and you’re arguing” “ But officer, I never knew that laws like this existed. Pardon my ignorance and I will do something about it first thing tomorrow morning” “Pardon your ignorance?- do you know exactly the interpretations of what you just said?- are you asking me not to carry out my official duty?” “ No, no officer, that’s never what I meant. I am just asking that you reason with me for today” “ Reason with you?- how?, Tell me how you want me to reason with. Are you suggesting I shouldn’t carry out my constitutional duties?” Awkward laughter from me and my friend seems to spur him on. “officer, you must carryout your constitutional duties. After all, we are the ones you’re serving” We argued, pleaded, cajoled for about another 20 minutes before the officer opened his constitutional mouth to voice out what we all know it will lead to from the beginning. “ Okay, because you are visiting the sick, I will help you see our chief. You have to hand over your papers and 20k and go see the sick after wards you come to our stations to collect the cover papers” “ What! 20k?- I don’t even have such amount on me. It’s huge amount. How can I pay 20k for cover papers” “Oh, you want to pay lawyer and court 100k? You don’t know once this your car got to the station, we will queue it up behind those with similar offenses and when it’s your time in court, we will notify you. No problem if you consider 20k huge. When we open proceeding, maybe 100k would be not huge anymore to you. Your documents first” We argued and pleaded for another 30 minutes before he agreed to help us with 8k. Help us. That’s his exact word. Afterwards, he turned and wanted to know what we are still doing there. “Fade” he ordered. It would have been stupid as Nigerian to show him how intelligent we were by following him to the station to go talk to their boss. If we were lucky enough to get to the station in one piece or even alive, the boss would have still sided with his boys. It’s normal practice here in Nigeria. Motorist went through hell in the hands of officers each day. Many are wasting in jail for nothing courtesy of Nigerian police. Officers here are in the class of their own. They has no rival in the whole of Africa. It might interest you to know what their motto is: “ Police is your friend” Of course, they are our good friend. For just bribe of 20 naira from a driver that tries to play them by speeding off while pretending to park well. Bullets always teach those in that bus lessons some of them are not given chance to put into practices. Well, we got to the hospital from the market. We entered into the wards our friend is in. He was on colored drips and after talking with him and assuring him that all will be well. We left to see the doctor. If the man had been a yellow guy, you would have concluded in laying eyes on him that he must have been born in the year of the dog. He walks like one, talks in a bark like tone just like dog and when he is not talking and eyeing you, he seems to be doing so just like dog that is debating within whether to charge or not. It’s funny how small things always turn to something else. Our friend who is actually our course mate sustained the knock that ended him in hospital while playing soccer. He had thought like everyone that it’s a small thing and was massaging it with hot water and applying balm. Three days later the pain was getting worse that he decided to see doctor. We were surprised to hear from the dog like doctor that the guy has serious diabetes that if not urgently treated with special medication the name he mentioned was sounding Greek or Latin, the leg would be amputated. Our friend panicked and started sending “ save my leg” messages to all his course mates. We nearer had been the one connecting with other course mates in person and phones. Luckily, we were able to raised the 2.3 million naira the doctor claimed the special medication from America would cost. We paid him the money and collected receipt from him. On our way down to the parking lot, we had noticed one nurse that looked like someone that should be in the security sector not health sector following us. The way he walks and cast eyes here and there attracted our attention. She is just like those men you see at times in gym lifting weight weights. “Excuse me sirs. It’s your friend you came to see just now, the one they said suffering from type what I don’t know diabetes, right?” “ Sure, anything the matter?” “ Yes sir. Everything is the matter oh. I can tell you something I believe you should know about that your friend's sickness. It’s all in this form my boss asked me to sell... sorry show you. It is all about your friend” “About our friend?- let see the form then” “ Ah, sir, the form is sealed. I believe seriously you needs to know about the real truth about that your friend” “ Let see the form then” “ Ah, sir, my boss asked me to show you this form if you have 10k. In fact, it’s more than important” “10k?- for what? Who is this your boss?” “ Sir, it is sealed. Once open without 10k, I am the one in trouble” We debated within our self and decided to know the truth. We paid the nurse and she handed over the form. It was test from the lab department of the hospital our friend did on arriving there. The result indicated that our friend had serious knock on the leg that required resting for about two weeks while on antibiotics. We have never seen anything like this before. We though it was only in security and political sectors you see dupes and crazy staffs. We can’t believe the health sector have joined the bribery race too. We calculated and debated what best to do. “ Who is the mad one here?” My friend queried rhetorically.


In year 2352 a cone shaped transport hovered into position outside the domed city of Powlett, Mars. On opposite sides of the vessel ‘Solar Spaceways Cruise Coach’ flashed in bold, yellow letters. Hanging in the thin air, it sprouted a disembarking tube to connect to the round, sealed dock. Outside the dome was a typical Martian landscape with rocks and dust to the horizon, and a faint blue sunset decorated the dark sky. Inside Powlett there was not much more to see. The single-story buildings were made of stone, and the only sign of life was a crowd of people loitering near the circular hatch. Yet, when the four sectioned metal seal slid open, the passengers were eagerly lined up to move in. The first one to disembark was a short, thin man with light brown skin and neatly combed black hair topping his soft, round face. Unlike the pants, shirts, and jackets of the other passengers, he wore a three-layer beige robe with four green stripes on the collar. The neutral attire marked him as a seeker of knowledge, official representatives of Earth Management, and the four stripes gave him a high rank. “Thank you for flying Solar Spaceways, Craster Krenne. Welcome to Mars,” a smooth, feminine voice spoke to him. The message was from the ship’s pilot, but she did not know him personally. There were two hundred other passengers on this shuttle from Earth, and each received the same farewell with their own name. It was not his ears that received the message, but his brain-computer. Deemed a human right in 2234, brain-computers contained a few parts of ceramic, plastic, and metal, but most of the device was grown from a person’s cells. It formed a truly personal bond that would work for no one else. Craster’s brain-computer allowed him to connect to the Solar System Information Service, or the Big Sis as it was often called. It contained the accumulated knowledge of all humanity that spread throughout the solar system, centered on Earth. With the SSIS he could communicate remotely, learn public matters, and access the machines woven throughout society. Without replying Craster passed over the threshold of the city entrance and stepped onto the dull landing platform. His brown eyes gazed over Powlett with calm confidence as he made his way to the level, stone ground. Ten yards away a line of people dressed in bright colors fashionable on Mars silently waited to fill in the empty seats. Other than the pilot’s message, only Powlett’s musty odor greeted Craster, and he could not resist the thought that it was an alien scent invading his Earth raised nostrils. On the home world he had seen holograms of Mars with beautiful people lounging and playing next to enormous sparkling swimming pools and lush green foliage. In the background a violent storm wasted its strength behind the protection of a dome. Other commercials showed majestic floating barges with smiling people mingling and enjoying every luxury off the tip of Olympus Mons. The Mars tourism trade presented it as a planet full of exhilarating spots of the finest pleasures humanity could offer, but this was not that kind of place.


The General’s Uniform Tristin’s eyes popped open. Jumping up he twisted. Explosions rattled his ears. Camouflaged troops shouting orders and others laying down fire atop the bulwark. Wait...he squinted; they were literally laying down fire. Blasts of flames burst from the troop’s palms incinerating the landscape before them. Black dots zipped across the scenery like ants with superspeed. He tried to make out the dots, but they were too far away. He tried to move but his clothes refused. His clothes felt...stiff, he regarded his outfit. “What tha...” “Hey,” a soldier shouted, “he’s up!” Tristin regraded the clothing again, a general’s uniform, pristine and starched stars and pins galore. But everyone else’s uniform was ripped and torn. One of the dots jumped onto the bulwark while they were distracted. Tristin stepped back or at least tried to step back. These dots were beasts. Their molerat body and lion type legs seemed out of place. Weirder yet, their bodies were translucent like it wasn’t really here. Is this a dream ? Tristin thought. A soldier screamed as it smacked him into the pile of weapons behind. Real enough to hurt Tristin thought. “What is this!” he shouted. One of the soldiers blasted the beast sending it screeching away. “We can’t kill them sir,” another cried. “We need him now!” The soldier with furrowed brows and a firm step came towards him. He looked in charge. He handed him a shield he got from the armoury. Tristin’s arm rose to take the shield. He clenched his fist. “What was that?” Tristin asked. “Take the shield nitwit,” a voice said, Tristin twisted searching for the source...” hurry up the men are dying.” He glanced at the captain that stood before him. He pointed to the general’s uniform Tristin had on. “Yes, I can talk,” the uniform said top pocket flapping like a lip, “but no time for that, now” it continued, “take the shield.” Tristin took it. “Are you sure this is his affinity?” the captain asked. “Guess we’ll see,” the uniform said, then launched him into the midst of the creatures in the open plain before the bulwark. With inhuman speed he dashed into the horde, translucent pink blood masked the land with every strike. The shield sent rippling poles of lightning across the land evaporating the creatures. Soldiers cheered but Tristin screamed as he was pulled backwards. His hand twisted behind him crashing into another set of ghost-like lion-moles. “What are you doing?” Tristin yelled. “My arms don’t work that way...” “Just shut up,” the uniform said “I’ll do the work just hold tight to...” A creature pounced on him. Tristin jumped. Panting, he turned. He was in a living room. His living room. He exhaled. “Honey are you ok?” Jemma asked, “oh my you’re sweating.” He felt the couch beneath him just to make sure. Jemma chopped vegetable a few feet away. She was real, right? Of course, you couldn’t fake that beauty. “That one felt real,” he said. Tristin sighed, relieved to be home. “One of those weird dreams again?” Jemma asked. “Yeah” he replied “but this time it was...” he reclined resting his head on the couch then closed his eyes. As soon as his lids closed, he jumped. Soldiers blasting lion-moles and screaming all around. “You again,” the general’s uniform said. “The same one?” the captain said, shield in hand. “Well, this wasn’t it,” he said looking at the shield. He rushed for the sword. “Take it,” the uniform demanded. The uniform had a deep, masculine voice. “Hey!” Tristin said refusing to take the sword, “this is my body.” The uniform sighed, “could you please take the sword so I can save my men.” “Why am I talking to a uniform,” Tristin said, “this is a dream.” He closed his eyes. When he opened his eyes, they were still there. The captain regarded him, concerned. “Why did you pick him again?” the captain asked. “I didn’t,” the uniform said. “This is not a dream Tristin, take the sword or men will die. And if they die, you die.” “The same guy?” Another soldier asked. The captain nodded. “I am right here you know.” Tristin said. “The only benefit,” the uniform said, “is that we can have multiple chances to guess his affinity for one of the armor sets.” After trying to wake himself two more times he finally took the sword. “Hey,” Tristin said, “do I have a say in this?” “No” the uniform said, then launched him into the horde. He crashed into the ground knee and fist sending dirt flying. He didn’t feel anything just as before. The uniform moved his hand with the sword slashing lion-moles. Lightening cracked and pink blood splashed as they made their way towards a distant form. A giant lion-mole standing on two legs. The giant monster loomed in the distance. Tristin eyed the creature. It had three heads. “Focus,” the uniform said, “stop stiffening your hand.” Tristin decided it’s best to play along if he won’t wake. He moved with the uniform slashing and stabbing. “Good,” the uniform said. “I know right, I think I might be getting the hang of...” Tristin woke up in the middle of a board meeting. “Tristin,” his boss said smiling, “Glad to see you are back with us.” What day was it? He checked his watch; a week had passed. “I’ll let him off the hook this time guys, he burnt the midnight oil to meet the deadline.” Deadline? Tristin thought, for what . Who was living his life while he was away? The only thing he could recall was going to sleep on the coach. Tristin rubbed his temples, then closed his eyes. He held them shut. He feared what he would see if he opened. He could feel a migraine coming on. What in the world was going on? Slowly he peaked. “He’s back,” the Captain said. “That one was amazing.” Tristin cupped his forehead. This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t real. “Yeah,” the uniform agreed, “but the sword is still not his affinity.” “What on earth is going on here?” Tristin asked. “Why am I here, what are we doing and why can’t I remember the time that passes when I am here?” The captain handed him a belt, ignoring his rant. “Ready?” the uniform asked. “Wait,” Tristin said “what does this...” the uniform launched him into the horde. He still hadn’t gotten used to that superhuman jump. This time Tristin--or rather the uniform--killed beasts with his bare hands. “Ah!” Tristin screamed flashing his hands. They really were bear hands or paws. They ripped into lion-moles as Tristin flowed with the uniform directing his body. “Hey,” Tristin said as his fist split the head of a beast. “What?” the uniform answered sounding breathless. “What’s your name?” “Really” the uniform said slipping underneath a lion-mole and ripping its gut. “You are in a transdimensional space fighting translucent monsters wearing a talking general’s uniform and you want to know my name?” “Well,” Tristin said, he ducked as paw pass passed above him. “I don’t have anything better to do. This all must be a dream, even when I think I am awake.” “Just call me general,” the uniform said. “I doubt we’ll see each other again. Summoning the same person three times is...unlikely.” “Summon?” Tristin asked. “Yeah,” the general said, “only your type can wield the legendary weapons and ware me?” Tristin regarded the belt as they ducked for cover, “yes” the general continued, “this is a part of the legendary armor.” “How long have you been fighting?” “Just over two thousand years,” the general replied. “What!” “As long as we can hold them back its fine,” the general said. “But weaklings like you cause them to gain ground.” “And yet you summoned me twice?” Tristin asked. “I don’t choose who wears me?” the general said. “Who does?” “Enough talking,” the general said “when I say duck, then...” “What?” Tristin said. His head lifted off his body. Tristin jumped standing. The people in the pews behind watched him. Church? He thought, he could remember the last time... “Honey” his wife said under her breath, “please sit down.” He sat down eyes opened refusing to even blink. “You promised you wouldn’t sleep,” Jemma said “I...” she looked at him, “what’s wrong with your eyes?” “Nothing,” he said, eyes dripping. “It’s watering,” she said “Hun, is everything...” a shush from behind cut her off. Tristin stared ahead, ignoring her. His only aim right now was to not go back. And so, he kept his eyes opened. “Is this because you didn’t want to come” she whispered. He shook his head. “We do not fight flesh and blood!” the preacher shouted in that signature way preachers do. Totally unnecessary if you asked him. “And so we need the full armor of God.” Wait Tristin thought what? “Let’s look at Ephesians 6:13” the preacher continued. “Therefore” the preacher read “put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand.” Seriously? Tristin thought. “The only way to defeat the devil in your life” the preacher continued. “Tristin, I think we should...” “Stop talking” he said to his wife. “I mean, listen...” “The only chance we have” the preacher said, “is to put on all the armor, not one, not two all of it.” Tristin sighed, “I can’t believe I am doing this again.” “Doing what,” Jemma asked. Tristin shook his head, then closed his eyes. “Listen general,” Tristin said to the uniform, “Give me all the armor.” “What?” the general asked. The captain handed Tristin a breast plate. “I want them all,” Tristin said. “Are you crazy kid,” the general said, “you can barely handle one; anymore and you wouldn’t even last a minute out there. These are legendary...” “What’s the worst that could happen?” Tristin asked. The captain eyed the uniform. The general remained silent. Finally, he spoke “If you are killed by a legendary weapon, you die! For real, not just here, no coming back.” “Oh” Tristin said. “Go hard or go home.” “Oh crap” the general said, “get them all, best case he dies early and we get someone else next time.” “Done!” the captain said strapping on the boots. “Ready?” the general asked “let’s do this,” Tristin replied. They zipped from one lion-mole to another slashing dashing and spraying the land pink. Most of the time the lion-moles evaporated even before he could slice through them. A sort of force enveloped him creating a protective shield. “I’ll be dammed,” the general said, “you are still alive. How’d you know?” “Long story,” Tristin said ducking under a paw. The duck was late, but it didn’t matter, the lion-mole evaporated before it touched him. They stopped. The lion-moles hesitated, stopped attacking. One of the three headed giants zipped towards him. The general blocked with the shield. This one did not evaporate. A thrust with the sword sent the giant zipping away, avoiding the strike. “Alright,” the uniform said. He rose his arms, shield in one sword in another. Thin strips of blue lightening danced across the surface. Tristin squinted; a bright blue light shot from the heavens. In waves they rushed across the land in every direction. Lion-moles and giants alike evaporated into nothingness. The general sighed, “you should have led with that one,” Tristin said. “Didn’t know I could,” the general said, “it’s the full set. It made all the difference. Good work kid.” “Wait,” Tristin said, he could feel his mind drifting away, “what now?” “We go home,” the general said. “Honey,” Jemma called, “we are going to be late, check the closet.” Right, he thought we are heading for a restaurant, and I am looking for my favorite tie . Wait, how did I know that? He opened the closet door. The general’s uniform hung at the front of the row. “General?” Tristin called. “Who are you talking to?” Jemma asked. Tristin spun, “no one,” adjusting her hair she went downstairs. “Don’t worry kid,” the uniform said, “I’ll be here when you need me, and I brought the armor, all of it.” The general lifted a sleeve pointing under the bed. Tristin smiled, then left.


She looked at him with tears in her eyes, and a stuttered slur of words erupted from her, "I thought I could trust you" she wailed followed by a strong but weary cry, he began to feel her words as they sunk into his mind. A tear flowed down, staining her bright rose face, the disbelief of his dishonesty had turned into a throbbing in her chest that felt as if it would never surrender, "I thought it would help" the boy replied as he attempted to brush a droplet from her bright red face. he thought of what he had done, who he had done it to, and then he truly understood her heartache. It wasn't manufactured like the emotions of the popular girls and it wasn't a cry for attention like many of the ones before it, it was a genuine, honest pain, a pain that could leave a man bed ridden and a pain who could destroy the happiest seeming of people, as it had done here She wanted to leave, she wanted to leave her life behind and disappear as if She had never existed in the first place like she never graced the hearts of so many people, like she never brought a smile to anyone who saw her, her head rang with indistinguishable thoughts.


The Archipelago publishes every Wednesday. See the pinned comment for links to the contents. \ I spent my first night on the island lying close to the fire, waking constantly to chuck on more wood between being serenaded to bouts of sleep by the gulls that swooped over the island. When I woke the next morning, I felt hydrated and warm enough, but now my stomach grumbled. Returning to the forest, I hunted for something edible. During my previous trips I was already aware of the lack of fruits hanging from the trees, or bushes ripe with harvest. Autumn had arrived. Whatever colour filled this forest a few months ago, was now nothing but inedible browns and greens. The only nutrition were small berries on some of the bushes. They were tiny red beads, firm to the touch. As I picked them off the stems, they held their shape, the juice inside unmoved. I lifted one to my mouth and tried to take a small nibble out of the side. My teeth slid across the hard waxy surface as the berry plopped back out of my mouth and into my hand. I tried again, grating the outside with my incisors until the skin pierced. I felt the gentlest release of pressure, yet tasted nothing. No sugar, no vitamins. I could just feel the flecks of floating skin, and the droplets of additional moisture. At least though, they didn’t taste sour or rotten. They were edible. Still, whatever sustenance the tiny red dots would provide wasn’t enough. What I really needed to survive here was protein. I needed meat. I knew how to fish. I was good at it. But fishing required a line, and there was no one here to trade me the string. It would need a hook too, and one man couldn’t form a mine to get the ore to forge the metal to create one simple hook. The end skill, the one I knew, was the last step in a long line of those needed. And without the ones before, I was useless. Above the trees, I could hear the squawks of the gulls. A meal, riding the air currents, taunting me from the sky. If only I could lure one to land. I tried the next day to use the berries as bait, placing a small nestle of them on a rock near the shore. A bright red trap backdropped by grey stone. Yet nothing came. I sat some thirty metres away, nibbling away on my own branch of the thin pellets unable to blame the gulls for being disinterested. If I could dive into the ocean for fish I’d be doing the same. By the time the sun began to fall on my fourth day on the island, I could feel the hunger taking its toll. It was no longer a pain or discomfort. My whole body felt tired, limbs burning energy that wasn’t there, fire burning in hollow arms and legs. With no energy and no place to go, my body had been allowed to wallow in its weariness, and I found myself spending more and more time simply staring into space. I needed a break from the atrophy and so I forced myself to walk to the western tip of the island. I told myself I needed the firewood, but truth be told there was still plenty closer to the campfire, and I had already added enough large logs to the fire that it was now nothing short of a pyre. More in danger of spreading than simply petering out. It was a nice evening for the stroll. The air was crisp, and the light had dimmed to a calm twilight. Soft waves lapped up against the shore, the sea so much calmer than the waters that had brought me here. Maybe it too was tired. My train of thought was broken by something at the corner of the beach. Two seagulls stood squabbling, jostling with each other. They hadn’t noticed me, too busy squaring off with each other. Their beaks were open, preparing to attack. One jolted forward, and the other met it, their beaks clacking like swords. Then they reared their heads back, waiting for the next strike. The one nearest me flapped its wings, hovering briefly above the ground. In the space I could see what had caused the fight. Another gull, this one very much dead. The corpse lay on its back, wings splayed. There were blotches of red, large gaping wounds that had been picked at by the scavengers. Loose feathers littered the nearby stones and a still, beady eye stared back at me. The birds resumed their standoff. This was my chance. I crouched down and began slowly moving towards them, trying to tread softly. The stones shifted and clinked beneath my feet, but the sound was masked by the lapping waters and clapping beaks. I got closer. The birds were only ten or so metres away. The sea seemed to grow louder, the tides slightly faster, the waves driving me on. Do it! Do it! the waves whispered to me. Charge! Run! Kill! I tried to ignore the sea’s agitations. The gulls were still engaged in their dance, their wings outstretched, as they shimmied around the corpse, trying to intimidate the other into submission. I trod on a loose stone. It slid hard against its neighbours, who in turn rolled against theirs. A cascading echo rolled through the earth, the sound running through the cavernous gaps between the rocks and blaring like a siren into the air. The gulls looked up. Their heads turning to me. Then, they flew. Both knew a bloated corpse wasn’t worth dying over. I was alone on the beach again. Just me and the dead stare. I walked over and inspected the corpse more closely. It had clearly been dead a while. One wing bent awkwardly and poked up to the air, while its rigid legs pointed to the sea. Gashes where the other gulls had attempted to get to the offal inside could be seen along its distended belly. Most of all, the bird stank; the odour of decay that rots at the inside of your nose. The gulls’ stomachs could handle this carrion. Mine could not. But it was bait. One I knew they liked. I picked up the bird by its neck, the stiff frame holding its form. A small part of my insides rolled just from the touch and I could feel my oesophegus tighten with nausea as the smell grew closer. I kept my arms outstretched, keeping the carcass as far away as I could, and retreated to the campfire. The next day I set about creating my trap. The bait lay on the rocks while I dug a small crevice ten or so metres away, enough to lie in and try to appear as small as possible. Between me and the target, was the longest branch I could find - a thick and waving trunk. Light for its size, but still carrying the impact of a club. The middle of the branch balanced on a rock, with the rest held in the air. The result was a heavy branch with a single point of friction that,with one quick jolt of my arm, would move with speed and force over the the target. The trap was makeshift, and I was certain an experienced hunter could do better. But I was improvising from what little I knew. One person, with no real knowledge, guessing their way to hopeful survival. I tried to make myself comfortable among the jagged pebbles and stones of the beach. As I peered over the top of my small trench, watching the lifeless feathers waiver in the breeze. I thought back to Alessia, how easy she’d probably find this. She was always a step closer to the source of a problem than I was, a few less levels of abstraction. “I suppose you’d have a better plan,” I muttered to her apparation, under my breath. “You probably used to capture birds all the time.” I imagined her response. The way her tongue stuck between her teeth when she was being cheeky. \*Can you even move fast enough to pull this off?\* “We’ll find out. But I don’t have a better idea. I wanted to tie a knot in some string, but...” \*No string.\* “Exactly. So the branch it is.” \*You reckon you can kill a bird with this thing.\* “Probably not. But maybe stun it. Give me enough time to get over there and grab it.” \*And then what?\* “We’ll ride that wave when we get to it.” A gull landed near the corpse. It tilted its head, eying up the offering, moving closer in short and stuttered steps. \*Be patient\* “I know,” I whispered. The gull arrived by the bait, its head centimetres from the pole. My stomach grumbled with anticipation, but I could see the wariness in the bird’s eyes. I had to ensure the bird gave into hunger before I did. The gull picked tentatively at the corpse with its beak. After a couple of pokes it took a more definitive strike, trying to pierce through the skin. \*Now\* As its head reared back up, I swung the branch. The bird turned to see the pole and flapped its wings in reflex desperation, trying to escape. The pole made contact, but the moment of flight cushioned the blow, and the gull rolled backwards across the beach. I scrambled to my feet, just in time to watch the gull find its footing and take to the air. My lungs deflated as the bird glided across the sea towards safety. Failure. \*You swung the pole too soft.\* “I know. Move the axis back and I’ll get a harder swing.” \*That bird was quick too\* “Exactly. Maybe the next one will be slower.” Buoyed, I set the trap back up and returned to my spot. It took maybe half an hour for the next bird to arrive. This one looked older. It’s chest bulged with years of survival on the ocean. It strode up to the carrion and began pecking at the skin, undisturbed by the pole poised by its skull. I let it relax, get a few pecks in, let its mind concentrate on the meat. Then, wham. With a sharp jerk of the branch, the pole slammed into the bird’s neck and it rolled across the ground. I jumped to my feet and sprinted to the bird. The gull righted itself, shaking its head, as I dived towards it. It tried to take off, but I grabbed a leg, and the bird thudded back to the ground. My fist tightened on the limb as a sharp beak turned and began pecking at my hand. They were pin pricks at first, but then the beak jabbed hard. A spasm of pain ran through my wrist. In reflex, I opened my hand. I screamed, a small amount in pain, mostly in exasperation, as the bird took to the sky and left me. Again. Failure. \*Did you not think the bird would fight back?\* I sat down, checking my hand for cuts. “Not that much.” I sighed. “I’m going to die here aren’t I? Starve to death.” \*Have more faith in yourself. \* “I’m not sure I can do this.” \*Yes you can. You may have grown up some sheltered boy in Kadear, but you’ve survived worse than this.\* “I feel like I should be better at this. Others would be better. You would be better.” \*Humans are social creatures. We thrive off each other. You’re never meant to have to do this alone.\* “So I’m dead.” \*I said thrive. Not survive. But you’ll make it. Until you get rescued.\* “You had better be coming to find me.” \*If I’m around to, I’m sure I am.\* A pain gathered at the back of my eyes. The one in my hand evaporated. “We’re not going there, Ferdinand.” I told myself as I walked back to my mark. “We’re going to survive. We’re going to get off this island. And we’re going to find Alessia.” The next bird arrived around an hour later. It was smaller than the other two. Maybe younger, maybe less wise, I thought to myself. It walked skittishly up to the game, aware of the abnormality of a free meal, but unsure of how to assess the danger. The gull bent down and began plucking at the meal, quickly grabbing the flesh and trying to rip it with a jerk of its head. Whack! Just as the bird pulled its head, I swung, the branch hitting it square in the side of its skull. It bounced down the stony bank and I set off in a sprint, moving forwards as well as up. The bird was on its back and struggled to right itself - a couple of seconds of inertia - enough for me to close the gap and jump on it. I grabbed its body and neck, pinning it to the ground. A startled beak squawked in anger, confusion and fear. I grabbed a nearby rock and brought it down fast upon the bird’s head. There was a thud, followed by an injured and hurt call. I raised the stone again and brought it down a second time. Another thud, and a crack. This time there was no reply. \*Reminds you of Outer Fastanet.\* “The stone.” I replied to the air, dropping the weapon to the side. “It’s how they killed those pirates.” \*You didn’t learn it off them.\* I stood back and looked at the kill. “You think it’s instinct?” \*Maybe. Maybe not. Seems like a question you’d enjoy.\* I’d killed fish before. But this felt different. When you hit a fish with a hammer it looks at you with a sort of dumb confusion that it isn’t in water. The seagull fought. It fought for its life and I watched its pupils shrink with the realisation of its own end. I had to do it. I had to survive. But this was the first time. While my brain was still shaking at the act, my stomach grumbled with a different, more immediate message. With no tools to cut the bird, I plucked it as best as I could and then skewered the whole body with a long stick, and balanced it over the fire. I am sure an unseasoned gull - half-cooked and half-burnt over an open fire - was not a great meal. Yet, I had never been so thankful to eat. My stomach groaned with pleasure, my entire digestive system in elation, the frustration of dormancy suddenly unleashed into a hive of activity. For the first time since I arrived on this island I slept with my stomach full. I was going to make it. ------------------------------------ More days passed. My first kill had become the bait or my second, which became bait for my third. The water in the bushes had dried up, but fresh seagull blood was mostly water and it quenched my thirst enough. Between the gulls and the fire running steady, I was beginning to develop a routine. I was beginning to feel confident that I could survive on the island a little while longer. I reasoned too, that Alessia would likely have the boat repaired by now and be on her way to find me - she \*had\* to be on the way to find me. But if I wanted to make her or any other rescuer’s job easier, I’d need to let them know I was here. The best hope I had for that was the fire. A column of smoke during the day and light at night. However, I only had the one. I needed a second beacon, one on the other side of the island. I had been on the island for about two weeks, long enough to be uncertain of the exact number of days. It was the evening twilight, the point where you can see, but color and depth become a challenge. As I traipsed through the forest collecting logs for my second fire, I was straining to make out branches against the dark forest floor. My gaze was fixed downward as I scanned the uneven ground for suitable branches. Around me, the trees had been rustling all afternoon. A steady breeze had created a constant background shiver through the forest, a persistent auditory blur. I was in a sort of sensory deprivation. Had I been anywhere else, on an island with other people or any animals bigger than the gulls, I might have been wary of being so unaware of my surroundings. But the one plus to my isolation was that I could stare at the ground for as long as I wanted in perfect safety. I picked up one more branch and added it to the pile in my arms, the last stick almost sending the whole collection cascading to the ground. “That’s enough,” I announced to myself. As I looked up I noticed how the trees were shaking more ferociously. Branches waved, for my attention and the leaves sung ominously. “The fire should be fine, right?” I thought to the pile of logs I added before I left. Even a gale wouldn’t blow that out. I nodded to myself in reassurance. Still, the shaking forest tickled the hairs on my neck; a small itch that couldn’t ignore the howls from the trunks around me. \*You know what comes with wind.\* I looked up. The sky was black. Bulbous clouds hung low, groaning with their weight. I could see the light show of sparks flickering in the gloom, waiting to be unleashed. Static clung to the air, ready and primed. “Please, no.” The plea was quiet, too quiet to be heard by such giants. The weight above gave way. Rain poured down as a carpet, the world suddenly more water than air. Within a moment, everything was wet. The ground beneath my feet turned to mud, my clothes drenched through, and the kindling in my arms became waxy and moulted. The fire. I dropped the branches to the ground, and ran back through the forest. Each stride was like running into a wall of water. The cascade dripped into my eyes, blurring my vision as I rushed through the drumbeat of rain. Shaking branches tripped me and blocked me. I kept running, ignoring the slap of wet leaves until the mass of trees began to clear and I burst out into the open. Out of the forest, the rain was even heavier, and I could feel it pushing me down. The weight of a million droplets pounded against my skull until I could feel no other sense. My clothes were heavy, my feet slipped across smooth and moistened stones, and it was a struggle to keep moving under the bombardment from above. Trees rushed past until I turned the corner and saw the bonfire. The strong yellow flame had gone, replaced by gentle wafts of smoke and steam. I ran to it, trying to think of how I could protect the flame. No sheets. No shelter. Nothing but my waterlogged clothes and useless stones. Utterances of denial and vulgarities left my mouth. I looked to the base of the fire. I could see the red glow, a branch still bright with fire. Water hissed as it landed against it and turned to steam; the heat leached from the log. But there was still fire. I began ripping large leaves from the trees and bushes nearby, placing them in a pyre next to the fire, hoping the surface would provide protection. But the leaves were too few. Water and winds continued to pour through my paltry defence. I ripped off my shirt, and held it over the wood. Winds billowed in the fabric, sending water from the soaked shirt onto the wood. The fire let out a pained cry as more of the droplets transformed into vapour. The sky roared, the predator unleashing its fury. And like any good prey, I felt my heart thump in my chest as I cowered in fear, hoping not to be snuffed out. I looked around for something to keep the rains away. Panic and stupid ideas flooded my brain. Could I build a shelter from the stones? Could I drag the fire into the forest? Could I chuck my clothes - my soaking wet clothes - onto the fire as fuel? I bent down to check the base of the fire again, and my panic stopped. No more adrenaline. No more rush of energy. It was all worthless now. Water had gotten through. There were no glowing embers, no flickering flames, no hint of heat. The fire was extinguished. \ The Archipelago publishes every Wednesday. See the pinned comment for links to the contents.


Bad dreams can’t hurt you. No matter how real they seem, you always wake up. Sometimes quickly with a start, sweating and panting in the middle of the night. Sometimes slowly, your eyes unfocus from the eyelid movie and come back to the world around you. The terror of the dream fades into a dull ache, fading away into the mist of memory. In my worst dream there were white plates, silver and cups ringed with baby blue lines, gleaming in the midday sun. Rainbows of flowers swayed gently at tables clothed in gold down to the feet making them seem to float off the ground. The cool breeze carried the lazy large clouds lingering in the glistening blue sky, rippling the water in the lake. The exuberance reverberated off the curved wooden pavilion with voices accented from all corners of the earth. The door opened. She stepped through the door carrying her own localized wind, curling and gusting in visible wisps. A head full of flowers, rooted around her neck and shoulders, climbing upwards into a crown reaching for the sky. Her skin reflecting a dark golden warm honeyed brown wrapped in a dazzling white with small strips of baby blue and lavender placed thoughtfully and practically.”Plain white is just too boring”, I remember her saying. Her smile pushed out from her glistening teeth to the corners of her lips and spread up to her eyes. The music swelled to her entrance and the gathered party hailed her with applause. The moment reminded me of the first time I turned the corner and walked through the doorway and saw her. Wearing blue overalls with a white shirt, she was sitting in the sun focusing on a book. The air swirled softly around her and I approached. “Um excuse me --” She looked up and slowly focused her eyes on me as I stumbled my way through the first spark, a stranger to her universe, a rogue comet meant to pass by but got trapped by gravity. We pushed on together through the void of those youthful years over late night chats, stolen kisses in the stairwell at Smiths, shared jelly buns gushing all over us, notes and letters passed between friends, quick touches between hawk like eyes watching us, secret rendezvous, tears, fears and trepidations. Locked in a spiral of each other's gravity now we reached out with soft touches at the heart, slowly uncovering more about that new world that had appeared in each of our skies. A ringing brought me back to the now with a jerk. Hues of dark purple and orange were pushing away the blue sky. Someone was tapping a glass, cheering for the kiss. She blushed and slowly turned. Her shadow followed, wrapped around her and invaded her local atmosphere to embrace for a kiss. I stood apart from the audience watching the scene of happiness around me as I gravity disappeared for me and I began to float away: a rogue comet, meant to pass through and now sent back into the cold endless abyss. The door had shut and vanished without a sound. But bad dreams never affect me, they’re just a flash of memory, the mind playing while you rest. High above the world I look into the lake reflecting the deep purple of the sky. I watched my water twin swirling, screaming and twisting silently as it floated away, waiting for the terror to fade to a dull ache, for the scream to turn into a yawn.


By the time I stepped outside, the leaves were on fire with the death of Avinash. The blood was still sprinkling from his neck. He was under that old cherry tree. Winter leaves were falling from the tree. People were already gathered around him in the early morning. I never thought it would end like this. He was a neighbour of mine, a very dear one. It started with his longing for money. He had been too greedy. He never thought where he was heading. A vicious circle of friends had acquired him by preaching the overnight rich method but he didn't understand that nobody can be successful overnight without doing any illegal jobs. His father was very proud of him. One educated boy he was. Every demand was fulfilled by his parents. I can say he was a very pampered boy in his childhood and young age also. He was the only child of his parents. They thought their children would be a respected man in this neighbourhood. In fact, he was already in the right direction. He was known as a good boy in our locality. We came here 2 years ago. Our locality is very peaceful. Small houses are surrounded by small gardens. Even the colour of every house was lightly painted. In front of our house, there is a small Cherry tree which looks so beautiful in spring. I heard that this is older than the others. No horns, no hustling and bustling of the city, though it is not a village. We enjoy the place. This place is remarkable at the time of spring when new leaves bloom on every branch. Birds chirping in the morning give this a different dimension. Though I was a little jealous about his good boy image in the locality, we were good friends. He used to live just beside our house. His father was an engineer by profession and mother was a teacher. His upbringing had been well nurtured. I remember when I first went to his house. I remember I went with Avinash. Aunty opened the door. Aunty - Hi Atul, how are you? So, how's your new home? I - good, aunty, it's been a great place for us. Very peaceful it is. How are you? Aunty - good, how're your parents? I - they are good. With asking the question, she went to her kitchen. Their house is well decorated. Avinash told me to sit on the sofa and he sat on a chair. We were conversing about a function which was going to happen soon in our area. She came out with a plate full of sweets and snacks and put it in front of us. Aunty - You have just shifted here, right? Avinash told me a little about you. You both have been good friends within a few days. I - yeah, just a 2 weeks ago. Actually, my dad is a railway employee and has a transferrable job. So, we have to migrate frequently. I am a very shy person, so couldn't eat anything but a bit of the snack and coffee. I met Avinash just 2 days after we came here. He has really been a very kind friend. Aunty - what are you doing then? Studying? I - yes, aunty. I'm still studying. This is my last year in graduation. Aunty - oh, that's great to hear. We had already finished our snacks. Avinash was silent in our conversation. He didn't say anything. Now it was his turn. He said, let's go to my room. I have already been accustomed to his chain-smoking habit. His room also was well decorated. It seemed to me he was a very creative person. Everywhere was paintings, writings. I asked, "Is this yours?" Avinash - Yes, I like to do this in my spare time. Do you like arts?? I said, yeah, of course. I know the value it gives us. We became very good friends within a few months. I used to be their regular guest. We were already accustomed to each other’s behaviour. He was already confronted with my calm attitude. He saw my aggressive side also. One day he told me why I hit my head at an aggressive time. I told him that was my childhood habit. It can't be changed easily. It was already concreted in me. A long year passed. In the meantime, I saw some changes in his behaviour. He was being aggressive for little matter. His frustration was not hidden from his family also. I found that he had started to take marijuana. Within a few months, he got too much addicted to heroin. His interests started to change. There were no creative activities. His mind diverted. The most important thing in our broken friendship which departed us is a lady. I fell in love with the same person he loved. She lives near our house. It is just a 5 minutes walking distance. I didn't even talk to that lady but felt a terrific longing for her. My desire for her grew rapidly. I tried to express my love but failed. The manifestation of love was not an easy task for me. Our friendship broke within a few days when he came to know about this matter. We had already stopped talking, though our parents would communicate with each other. I knew that he was running after money. He was being involved with a smuggling gang. I could understand his changed personality. As he passed out, he wasn't interested in jobs. He wanted to start his own business as an artist. It was not possible overnight. His dream was not being successful and finally, there was a friend who supplied the first marijuana to him. I knew the person. When I came to know that he had been accepted by the lady I became more jealous. Avinash started to come back to his good life. He was rehabilitating himself. He never thought the future of his destiny was in my hands. Nobody knew about his exact activities but me. Still, there is no trace of the killers. Everybody suspects that he was killed by one of his gang members, though I knew the truth. Hahaha! I felt an eternal happiness. The police came to know later about the murder within a few days. So, I had to go behind the bars.


There was a troll that lived under a bridge. He scared the local children and parents warned everyone away, but truthfully this troll was quite nice. His face was always in an upside down grin, for that was how he smiled. His eyes were big and one was just a bit lower than the other. He was quite odd to look at, by human standards. The troll was a very regular troll. However, he was also irregular. He didn’t like to do troll things, like bellow and bang and stomp through towns. He just liked the quiet under the bridge. He sat out under his bridge during the day, catching the things that flowed by. Tires and cups and newspapers and wood. He sat on the sunny side of the bridge and relaxed on the warm river rocks. And when the children crossed the bridge, daring each other to look at the troll or throw a stick, he would POP up! Sometimes he would ask them a riddle, or tell a little joke. Most times, they just screamed and ran. He did this for three reasons: 1. There were bigger, meaner trolls under other bridges, and he didn’t want the children thinking they could talk to them. 2. It was very funny. 3. He was a troll. At night he would go into the bridge under the left bank, through a little duct that led to a cozy brick room where he cooked and ate and slept. He had a cozy bed made of tires and a feather mattress. He had a table made of bottles and cans and a tea kettle Over a steam grate, which kept his home toasty warm. His duct became a window over the bed where he read the books that the children dropped by moonlight. Though to be quite honest, he had learned recently that he could use a fishing rod to grab a whole backpack if he was crafty enough. He slept well to the sound of the river running by. He was happy under the bridge. He loved the children and he loved his home. He had lived with trolls as a troll child. His parents were loud and angry, always bellowing and fighting. They didn’t understand their quiet troll child and yelled louder, hoping to inspire him. He hated the noise and the stink and the smashing. He just wanted a calm place to be alone. And so he treasured his life under the bridge. He befriended the ducks that came through, and one would often stay and chat through the night. He called him Huck. “Why do you suppose I always find one sock in the river but never two?” The troll asked. “QUACK.” Said Huck. And so it went long into the night. The troll was alone, but he didn’t feel alone. He had many friends, from the birds to the ducks to the owl that lived on the underside of the bridge next door, who he had much more sparkling conversations with. They had all donated feathers for his bed, and he caught them fish occasionally as a neighborly gesture. He saw the children grow every day, and he had good tea and good readings. He could always dry out the newspapers and magazines that floated his way, but he sometimes used them for papier-mâché instead. He was a happy, ugly troll under a bridge and he wouldn’t have it any other way.


The Disappearance of Gabbie This is a true story of how my friend disappeared. This story begins in 2010 when I started high school. Elementary school had been problematic for me. I was stuck with the same group of uninteresting and somewhat displeasing personalities. People liked me, but I had few friends and wasn’t very social. What friends I did have where a bit of a hassle, as these friendships were very one sided with me just listening to what they had to say so I wouldn’t feel lonely. High school promised new adventures and a better environment for my growth. I was getting away from the stale personalities that had surrounded me for the past 8 years and leaving the more annoying of my friends behind. The school itself seemed promising and exciting! To an extent this was true, but I was still a sad, lonely little teen with little social skills. I still found myself in friendships that felt empty and awkward. Then I met her. In my grade 9 music class I met a girl named Gabbie. She was a shy nerdy girl who played clarinet just like me. From day 1 I could tell she had a crush on me, and despite my desire for a girlfriend, I wasn’t really interested in her. High school continued, and our friendship grew, until grade 11 when we became best friends. We shared a lot of classes so we went everywhere together. She introduced me to Doctor Who and we played Dungeons and Dragons. I was desperate for a girlfriend or a date or something, anything to make me feel less lonely. I was aware of my desperation and I knew that it wasn’t healthy because that attitude would lead me into an unfulfilling relationship that would do more harm than good. But then there was Gabbie. She understood me, she introduced me to so many interesting things and listened to what I had to say. The person I was looking for was sitting right in front of me and was waiting for me to love them back. Our relationship began awkwardly, but we quickly fell deeply in love. She became my emotional support where I had none. You see, my family is sort of an empty shell, at least for me. My parents may be my parents, but I don’t feel I can approach them about my troubles and they have little interest in what goes on in my life. This was the reason I felt so alone up until that point. But now I had someone to be there for me and couldn’t be happier. However, I became more aware of this problem as we continued dating. When I visited her place and saw how she acted around her sister and father and his girlfriend, it was so different from the way my family interacted. It felt right. One day I even jokingly asked if I could live with them. 2012 turned into 2013 and in January I got a concussion from horsing around with my friends and had to stay home from school for a couple weeks. I could tell she was worried about me. She suffered from depression and had starting taking medication when we start dating. I worried about her and the effects the medication had on her. On top of that, she had recently found out she was allergic to diary and glutton. Overall, not a very good time for either of us. Nevertheless, I did my best to show her my love and try to take care of her. The problem was despite having dated for 3 months she had still not fully opened up to me. She had some trust issues and kept most of her worries to herself. I knew she was doing this and wanted to help her, but she remained distant. But in trying to get her to open up, I was devoting myself more and more to her, and she wasn’t doing the same. Unknown to me, the relationship was becoming one-sided and was headed for disaster. I began to worry that she didn’t really love me, that I was doing something wrong. I kept these worries to myself and they began to build and build. One night I snapped. I had invited her and some friends over to hang out as I recovered from my concussion. One of my friends was getting a little too friendly with her and I was getting frustrated, but didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to do, so I just left. In my own house, I stormed off and hid, leaving my friends to wonder what had happened. They became concerned and called my mom who came to investigate. All I wanted to do was see Gabbie and talk with her; my mother wasn’t going to help me. My mom got Gabbie to talk to me and I told her I needed to know that she loved me, she said “of course”, but at that point it was too late. I don’t remember much of what happened next and there are certain things which are a complete mystery. We tried to talk it out, but neither of us could say what we wanted to say. I hid from her and she got angry at me. My only line of support had turned against me but I continued to hide from her, which drove us further and further apart. I made some feeble attempts to try and talk with her, but that only made things worse. I was hurting her even though all I wanted to was help her. I was advised by the school guidance counselor to stop talking to her and to forget her. It was over. That year was the worst year of my life. I needed that support more than ever, but it was now working against me. My parents tried to help me, but they only made things worse. I became severely depressed and felt unwanted and alone. If it weren’t for my other friend, I probably never would have made it. All through the rest of high school she stayed on the back of my mind. I hoped beyond hope that somehow something would let me at least talk to Gabbie again. Even if I couldn’t do that, I just wanted to make sure she would be alright. I learned that before we had started dating she had tried to commit suicide. This only made me worry more. We didn’t have to date again, if only we could be friends. If only I could make her see how much she meant to me. While this was happening, she began to change. She dyed her hair, she got piercings and gained some weight. It seemed the shy but feisty girl I had fallen in love with had gone. Whenever I heard her and her friends talking, they always sounded so negative and depressing. Somehow I made it through grade 11. Grade 12 was better, but I still could not be around her. I often fantasized what I would say to her if I could go back in time before we broke up, before all this started. I just wanted to let her know how much she meant to me. When the summer of 2014 rolled around, I told myself that I would never see her again. I was gone most of the summer for cadet training, home for 2 weeks, then it was off to university far away from my hometown. She would go somewhere else and I would be forced to forget her. Goodbye Gabbie. University has been the best thing that has happened to me yet. I should point out that the major reason I am not still suffering from depression or something similar is that I am an optimist. I’m always looking on the bright side of life and I find it exhilarating to be alive! This became more apparent in university. In first year, life seemed amazing! School wasn’t too hard, I made lots of friends and built up my social skills, and I went to parties. It seemed like my life had completely turned around. For the most part I was care-free. But Gabbie still haunted me. Since about the start of 2014 I had been searching for someone else to love. This search became more successful in university, but Gabbie remained my first and only girlfriend. And so she sat at the back of my mind and reminded me what it felt like to truly love someone and mocked my at my futile attempts to talk to girls. That being said, in my search to get her off my mind, I analyzed our relationship with more mature eyes and found that it probably wouldn’t have worked anyways. Because she was an introvert and so shy, we may have been deeply in love, but the actually relationship wasn’t all that great. I realized there was more she could have done to move it from a friendship to a relationship. As summer approached, my friend introduced me to another girl. She was vibrant, full of life and adventurous, all things I wanted more of in my life. I made sure to myself that this was no going to fill the hole Gabbie had left. This new relationship was going to be different. I was going to learn from my experiences with Gabbie. However, in some ways this new girl and Gabbie were the same. They both were unwilling to open their hearts. Gabbie arose from the depths of my mind to haunt me again. The new girl tried to help me, but she had some issues of her own which made it hard. This new relationship was an improvement and gave me lots of self-confidence, but there was no love. Fortunately, I was able to end the relationship gently and we have remained friends, although don’t get the opportunity to talk much. At this point, I was fed up with Gabbie. She was the only thing that was holding me back. She was getting in the way of my future relationships and haunting me in my darkest hours, and she wasn’t even around. I was doing this to myself through her. Although I knew that, I couldn’t make her go away. She was the only thing holding me back from having a good life. I needed to sort this out once and for all. But then I was reminded of the full effect she had on me. I needed to see her face. I needed to face it head-on and confront my fears. I couldn’t meet with her, I was too far away and it would only end in disaster. Thankfully we live in the age of the internet. However, at the mere sight of her Facebook profile picture, I began to panic. I tried many times, but could bring myself to look at her for more than a couple seconds. I tried messaging her closest friend, hoping she would understand that I didn’t want this to continue, that this was for the best of both me and her. I didn’t want to put her though anymore hardship. All I said was “HI” but her friend never replied to the message. Life kept moving around me and I was forced to leave my darkest secret unresolved. I have matured greatly since high school, and so has my goals for a relationship. No longer will I jump at any girl that shows interest in me (only to somehow screw it up); I want something meaningful. I want to date someone that is confident and capable that I can lean on if I need to. Someone who is steady so I can feed off their steadiness but no rely on them as my sole pillar of support. I want to find someone passionate and insightful. These criteria maybe a bit close-minded, but I am not, I am willing to let the chips fall where they may. I have more confidence and I am quite charming. So once again I seek to free myself of Gabbie. Although I recognized her as the one thing holding me back, I can’t hate her; she’s only human. Besides, it’s me that is doing this to myself. The other night I decided to face my fears again. I was going to see what Gabbie was up to, and let that be the first step in letting go for good. I looked her up on Facebook on my phone, as I did a couple months before. Nothing. What? Nothing?! That impossible! There is no Gabbie, or Gabby, or Gabe that I was looking for! What about her friends, surely they have her in their friend lists? Nothing! Her sister, maybe she got new friends. Nothing from her sister! Even a Google search only turns up old Prezi presentations of hers from back in high school. She’s gone! Like completely disappeared! That impossible? What if she committed suicide? Please don’t let that be the case! Anything but that! But there is nothing of the sort in her friends feed. There are still pictures of her from back in high school, but otherwise, she is gone. I texted my friends, the one who had helped me through those dark times. The one who had been there when she couldn’t. Nothing. He had lost contact with her. Needless to say, I didn’t sleep very well that night. It continued to bug me the next night. I continued my search. No one just disappears, not from the internet. Did she block me? Is it possible to complete remove yourself from Facebook to one person? Searching on my laptop didn’t help, even when I checked her parent’s pages. I found myself on her friends Friend list. There were a couple of categories, maybe that will help narrow the search. I check the “university” tab, I know they go to the same school. Nothing. Wait. I see a familiar face, but the name doesn’t match up. Let me explain one thing. Gabbie’s friend, whose Facebook profile I was currently snooping, had never known her father; she was a test-tube baby. In protest to this, she had changed her last name from her father’s to her mothers. Gabbie’s parent had split up, so I considered she might do the same. Sure enough, this familiar face had the same last name as Gabbie’s mother. But the first name was that of a male. It’s worth a shot! Sure enough, it was her, or him rather. He had completely changed and was even growing some stubble, but this had definitely once been Gabbie. This was a completely different person who even seemed happy about themselves. I was shocked. I didn’t know what to think. I knew she had been sort of a tom-boy, that was what I liked about her, but I never thought she would go and become a he. My shock wore off and everything began to settle in. I realized that I was alright with this. Actually, it suited him. I felt a bond with this person. It felt like if we were to ever meet - if we assume they were a new person - that we could get along. We might even get along better than me and Gabbie. But I was also right knowing that I may never get that chance. This new person probably had a satisfying life of their own. They had been freed of their past self and was living the life they wanted to live. Gabbie was gone. Gabbie was no more. Since she had started changing just after we broke up, you could say that sort of when it happened. That was how I had felt before and it had helped me cope - thinking that Gabbie wasn’t Gabbie anymore. But now it was true. It had actually happened. Gabbie had disappeared. I still wish I could go back and see Gabbie one more time. I would let her know what she meant to me and that she was such a wonderful person that was capable of so much. Most importantly, I would get the chance to say goodbye. I think I wanted that most of all. This now has the added realism of being that last time I could talk to Gabbie. Because after that, the shy but beautiful girl I feel in love with in high school would disappear. Not long has passed since I discovered Gabbie’s disappearance, so I’m not totally sure if I have made my peace or not. But I hope that in telling this story I will find that peace. I am seeking out professional help to make sure that I am the best person I can be, but this is a huge step in the right direction. Best of luck to this new person which has just recently been brought into the world. Thank you for everything Gabbie, goodbye.


My mother never spoke to me anymore unless she was telling me how I was a mistake and when she did, I could smell the rancid scent of strong whiskey on her breath and choked on the stench of rotten flowers radiating from the excess of expired perfume. Her blue eyes, now cloudy from years of cigarette smoke and never seeing the light of the sun, would stare at me, full of resentment and loathing. She always told me that if it weren’t for me, she would have been the most famous artist, a painter of unimaginable stature and skill. Instead, she was stripped away from that future, doomed to be a mother. She used to love me, I think before my father left, another thing she blames me for. She used to sit me on her lap and paint beautiful landscapes of flower fields and bouquets of ultra-realistic flora. Her eyes were a striking blue, the color of the sky on a warm summer’s day, and her face was beautiful and happy. She still sold her paintings and filled galleries back then. I can still remember, although I was only a toddler, her and my father taking me to the openings and seeing all the people in awe at how real the paintings looked and praising her talents. I try not to forget them when she gets into her alcohol and nicotine-withdraw-induced moods. My father met my mother at one of her gallery openings and soon after, I was born. They didn’t plan for me, and my father asked her not to have me, but my mother couldn’t bear the thought, which she says she now regrets. He learned to love me, or just pretended, but for my mother’s sake, he never hurt me, at least physically. When I turned seven, we learned that I have a rare, but deadly, allergy to pollen. No more flowers, no more walks through the fields of wildflowers and poppies, no more going to flower festivals to gather inspiration. If a speck of pollen got into my system, I would have an almost instantaneous reaction and choke. This was when my mother’s love turned to enmity. Her art, her true passion, blocked by her child. She went into a deep depression, stopped painting with me, stopped painting in general, stopped leaving the house, stopped knowing me. She never smiled and she began to drink. I think my father saw this opportunity and escaped, not being able to take care of the dying flower that my mother was. She never recovered, him leaving being the last petal to fall. I tried my best to make her happy, maybe bring her back to her normal self. I began to try and copy her style of paintings, of flowers and fields. I could never quite get it right. I filled the house with faux flowers and used floral perfumes, but nothing worked. She never left her studio except to use the toilet and to eat, even then, she’d sometimes not eat for days, full plates of food piling outside her door. She doesn’t paint in her studio, just sits in front of a blank canvas. Her mind probably creating beautiful images of roses, lilacs, and baby’s breath; of lilies, and orchids, and sunflowers. Her hands longing for the feel of the brush beneath her fingers and the scent of oil paints and fresh flowers mixing in a strange duet of smells. All this locked away, deep in the recesses of her minds, covered by the long, thick vines of depression and despair and resentment towards her own flesh and blood. Even though I could never exactly produce that same level of art my mother could, I am still regarded as one of the best up-and-coming painters in the country. I have my own studio where I have countless books on flowers so that I can best replicate their delicate beauty. My mother doesn’t know about my skills or about my studio, I think she would resent me more if she thought I was becoming what she says I stole from her. I credit my talent to her in all my interviews and I praise her work. When people ask me why she doesn’t release any more pieces, I tell them that just resides in her garden, painting for her own private pleasure. I think that this is only a partial lie. Her mind, to me, is a garden, filled with flowers, and she sits there, in her mind, painting, and reminiscing. In my mind, she, herself, is a flower. One who was the most beautiful in the field, that all the people flocked to see. Then one day, a tree’s branch blocked the sunlight and the flower slowly began to die. Slowly losing its radiant colors, shrinking back into the earth. The people stopped coming to look at the flower and moved on, only one remained and tried to bring that flower back to its past brilliance. The person cut down the branch, watered the flower, and tried her best to give the flower life again. But the flower couldn’t become what it once was, and the person tried her best to keep the flower from withering away entirely. My mother’s words still sting after all these years. She still wears the clothes of the style from back when she was her true self. The distorted 30’s silhouette stands out among the fuller skirts and brighter colors of the late ’50s. I imagine her as she once was before I knew her, a beautiful, intelligent, caring lady whose talent with paints made her bloom. I think that she is still like that in her mind, a flower in full bloom. She lives as if it's her past is the present. Her mind hides her new, changed appearance from herself. I now sit at my easel, palette in hand, the brush moving in fluid motions across the rough surface. I am painting a rose, withered by age and rough weather. The surrounding bright and sunny, the rose hidden and bent in the shade of a large tree branch, its petals without vibrance. A single beam of sun cuts through the shadow, illuminating a fallen petal. At the bottom of the page, I sign my name in one swift gesture, Flora.


“I told you to stay away from the back. Someone will see you.” “ You will. How else are you supposed to find me?” Wade sighed. “You’re going to get caught. And that’s not going to be my fault.” “If you say so.” Addon emerged, head-first, from under a woody jumble of dirty shipping crates. “All clear?” “If it wasn’t, you’d be in danger, stat.” “All clear, then.” Addon stood up and did a complimentary quick pants-brushing. He punched the side of Wade’s arm. “Love you too.” Wade had never actually said the L word, in hopes that Addon always meant it as a joke. And while it was true that whenever Addon used that word, it wasn’t exactly with great sobriety, the two were hardly ever in situations they allowed themselves to think of as somber. Every circumstance personally encountered, if they were being honest with themselves, was incredibly depressing; if they viewed everything as it came they’d be dead within a few hours. So Addon, with Wade in tow, preferred to look on the bright side. When there was one. “I--I have this for you.” Wade withdrew his left hand out from under his jacket and handed a packet to Addon. “Ah, a delicacy,” Addon said in a poor French accent (he’d never been outside of London), sitting down on a stray wooden packing case. He patted one next to him. “Dine with me?” He started unwrapping the soft brown paper encasing Wade’s evening gift. “I already ate in the shop.” Still, Wade took a seat next to him and rested his elbows on his knees as he watched Addon’s uncharacteristic slowness in revealing the evening’s dinner. “Oh, I almost forgot--here’s this.” He reached inside his jacket again and pulled out a lukewarm brown-tinted glass bottle, hesitated a moment, then set it on the cracked pavement between the two. “We can share.” “What is it?” Addon had finally opened up the package to reveal, unsurprisingly, a hunk of crusty bread, a soft apple, and a single piece of pastel pink hard candy in a clear wrapper. “Oho, you got me dessert this time, eh?” He slid his feet forward and laid the paper packaging like a plate on his lap. “It’s--the drink--um, it’s cola.” A pause. Wade swallowed. “It’s beer.” “Honesty, we do love to see it.” With a snap , Addon twisted the candy’s wrapping away and popped the sweet between his teeth. “Do you have a bottle opener?” “Shoot, I forgot.” Wade positioned the heels of his hands against his knees, in a hesitant attempt to stand up. “I’ll go get one from inside.” “No need.” Addon scooped the bottle up, somehow not disturbing the contents of his dinner, and, turning slightly, set its bottom on a corner of the crate. He slid the edge of the silver ring on his middle finger under its cap and popped it off before Wade could fully realize what he was doing. “Bon appetit.” Addon held the bottle out invitingly. “Oh, and you can swear. More risque than ‘shoot,’ if you want. Full permission.” Wade frowned. “Where’d you get that?” He took the beer. “The ring, I mean.” “Ah, it was my dad’s. He believed in vampires. Are you one?” Addon reached over and cupped his hand over Wade’s, waited a moment, then released. “No burn marks, I see. That’s nice. Classy.” Wade took a slow sip from the bottle. “How come I’ve never noticed it before?” “Used to be on that chain, under my shirt, y'know? Recently took it off so it could be somewhat lethal if I ever need to, er, quickly determine if someone’s a vampire. You’ve got to watch out for them these days; I hear they’ve started filing their teeth.” Addon’s cheek caved in with the quiet sucking of his candy. “And wearing makeup, too, to disguise their deathly paleness.” He glanced at Wade, who was taking another drink. “Speaking of, when’s the last time you’ve seen sun, buddy? Are you ever not working?” “It isn’t a choice , Addon.” Wade stared straight ahead, his dark green eyes fixed on the alley wall. “You know that good and damn well. It was the only way to get out.” “Well, or running away. And nice cursing, by the way.” Addon stuck his tongue out. “Is it pink?” “Of course it’s pink. It’s a tongue.” Wade sighed and handed over the bottle. “Addon, if I had snuck out, I wouldn’t be able to babysit you--you realize that, right? We’d both be starving, and parentless--” Addon snapped his fingers. “Don’t say that.” He took a quick swig of beer. “You know I have a mother.” Wade blew out his cheeks. “You’ve never even met her, Addon. You don’t even know if she’s real! You’ve only seen her in your head, when you’re asleep with the rats and haven’t eaten in god knows how long--” The bottle hit the alley floor forcibly, shattering on impact, brown wedges of glass mixing with whatever urine-colored liquid was left inside, fizzing out to a mixture that vaguely resembled vomit. Addon swept the food off his lap and stood up. “So we’re making this a classist thing now, hmm? Just because I don’t break my fucking neck working for some pig in a rich person shop all day means you get to invalidate the one single person I can possibly call family?” Wade’s bottom lip was trembling. He stood up and faced Addon, their same-smelling breaths tingeing the short distance between them with traces of alcohol. “I thought I was your brother.” “Oh, God, I want to laugh. Christ. Jesus Christ.” Addon turned and kicked the bottom of the narrow brick alley walling them in. “I actually am going to laugh. Give me a moment.” Addon laughed--a bitter sound completely devoid of heart--and spit before turning again to face Wade. “My brother ? My brother. Wade, darling, do you actually believe that when I say I love you, I mean it as a brother ?” He shook his head. “Christ, you’re stupid.” “Addon, please, not now--I’m sorry--” Wade tried to back away, but his heel only met shipping crates piled against the wall. “You’re sorry. You’re sorry. A change of heart; how comforting. What, exactly, are you sorry for?” Addon’s narrowed eyes, a deeper brown than his sun-tanned skin, searched Wade’s face. Wade swallowed. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I hate to see you like this.” “Like this? Like what ?” Addon threw his hands out. “Wade, when I ran away from that ghastly orphanage and you got employed here to get out--something you swore you’d never do--and searched until you found me, brought me food, showed me places to hide--that was as what ? My babysitter? My brother? My mother?” He took a step closer. Wade dug his teeth into his lip to stop it from shaking. “Your friend.” Addon laughed, a sound as equally heartless as the one before. “My friend.” He exhaled and looked away, then back. “Why are you shaking? Friend. ” “I’m--I’m cold,” Wade said, in a somewhat normal voice. “I’m not used to--to being out here. Like you are. I didn’t expect we’d--I’d--stay this late. I should get going--” “Oh?” Addon interrupted. He reached inside Wade’s jacket and pulled out a warm brown bottle. “Then what’s this?” Wade swallowed. “How did you know that was--” “I pay attention to you, dearest. And your numerous pockets aren’t as subtle as you’d have yourself believe. Wait--” Addon cocked his head, then smiled, much more genuinely than the laughs. “You brought two bottles, yet we still shared.” It had grown so dark by now that, surely, Addon wouldn’t be able to see the hue of Wade’s cheeks-- “I know you’re blushing,” Addon said quietly, and reached up, ran his hand along the side of Wade’s face. “Christ, you’re so cute. Your eyes are so pretty.” He dropped this beer (it fractured, too), and used his other hand to gently tuck a dark lock behind Wade’s right ear. “Listen to me.” Addon brought Wade’s head so close to his that their foreheads were touching. “I’m not going to hurt you, Wade. I know what your mother did to you; she’s a terrible, terrible woman. There’s a reason she’s dead. And I get if you don’t want to do this, right now, but you’re blushing; you made us share the bottle even though you didn’t have to; hell, half the clothes I have on belong to you. I have a feeling you do. Want to do this.” Addon stroked Wade’s earlobe with his thumb. “I’m not your mom, though, so I’m going to ask. Do you?” “Shit.” Close as they were, Wade managed to make his eyes look anywhere but at Addon. “I’m so scared to say yes. I don’t want to ruin this, Add. We’re not even adults yet. I--” “Hey. Look at me.” Addon breathed in slowly. “It’s been a really long time since anyone kissed me (or, more accurately, since I ever kissed anyone), and since I’m a selfish hedonist who is usually very poor at communication, I’d like for you to answer right now: Can I kiss you?” “I don’t know,” Wade began, then stopped himself. “No, that’s not true. Yes.” He laid each of his hands over Addon’s. “Yes, you may.” “Thank Christ, I was afraid you were going to say no.” Their faces drew even closer, then their lips met, Wade’s fingers were curling into Addon’s hair, Addon was grasping the sides of Wade’s face, and their souls opened up. Wade tasted yellow, like beer and flowers and starch and spit; Addon tasted red, like candy and blood and fruit and life. After an indeterminate amount of time, Wade broke off, half gasping. “Wait, wait, I need a break.” He stumbled his way backwards, towards a crate. “Let me just--sit down--for a second...” “Fine by me.” Addon bent over, grinning, and picked up the neck of the second dropped bottle. “It’s a shame I did this. Good beer gone to waste.” He threw it to the side, and it shattered further against the alley wall. “I can get more,” Wade offered, standing up. “It’s--I have the keys.” Addon continued smiling. “Then what, exactly, are you waiting for?” Wade smirked and ran over to the rear door. “Back before you know I’m gone,” he promised, and disappeared into the shop. When he emerged only a few minutes later, three beers hanging from in between four fingers in his left hand, Addon was nowhere in view. “Addie?” Wade called quietly, scanning the nighttime alley. “Psst. Here.” Wade followed the sound to where it led him: Addon, slumped on the alley floor, in between two hurriedly constructed walls of wooden boxes and one metal trash can. “Step in and close the opening,” he whispered. “I left some crates for you to finish the job.” “I--okay, but not for long,” Wade cautioned. “I have work tomorrow.” He set the beers lightly on the ground.” Addon laughed quietly. “Eh? Then why’d you get three bottles?” Wade’s response was to stack several crates in the opening to their makeshift whatever-it-was, so that, both sitting down, they wouldn’t be easily visible from the outside. Not that anyone important ever came into this alley, anyway. Addon had already opened a beer, and Wade brought the other two over and slid down on the wall beside him, setting the bottles to the side. Addon took a good, long swig, before handing the beer to Wade. “Let’s get drunk,” Addon submitted, and Wade, for perhaps the first time in his life, actually agreed. In the morning, there they were: The two brown-haired boys, intertwined in each other, empty beer bottles scattered among their feet like glass mice taunting an elephant. In the shop, an aproned, fat, and angry red-faced man would be storming about, furious at his assistant’s tardiness; but in the alley Wade would remain sleeping, far into the morning, his head on Addon’s chest as the latter kissed his love’s curls, softly, and wordlessly asked the sky just what antics they were going to experience next.