I’m Late By Merry Marcellino The alarm wails and I jump from the bed! Today is the day! I must get moving! I only have an hour left! I hop into the shower tripping on the mat and falling against the wall. “Ow!” Pain radiates up my leg, but it’s not broken. Not letting it stop me, I shower getting soap in my eye. Looking in the mirror, my eye looks like a blood vessel burst! Grabbing eyedrops I almost stab my eye trying to get the moisture in. Waiting the barest second, I see the redness die down just a little. Limping to the bedroom to dress. Jeans, check, black boots, check. Lacy pin bra, check, burnt orange sweater, check. Wait! Oh no! Huge hole in the sweater! I tear it off flinging the imperfect garment across the room. “Shirt! Shirt!” Finding a T-shirt that’s clean, I toss it on getting it stuck while trying to shove my arms in the holes! Finally dressed, I slurp the last bit of coffee in my cup only to spill it down my shirt. Rolling my eyes I rush to the bedroom and Hallelujah! I find another clean shirt with no holes! Finally dressed, I rush out the door almost tripping down the stairs to the lower level of my apartment. The icy wind chills me in my light jacket and T-shirt, the only one I could find on short notice. Should have tried harder to find a sweater! Snow flurries expected today. The low-level nimbostratus clouds above signal the oncoming white stuff. Gray skies hover as I hurry to my vehicle. Getting into my bright, blue car, I break a nail on the door frame. “Ouch!” More injuries! What else is new for Ms. Clumsy! Putting my finger in my mouth to calm the sting, I carefully close the door. Jamming the key in the ignition I turn it rather vehemently to a whirring sound. “Oh no!” Trying again, to no avail. “Come on baby! Start!” No luck. “not today, please baby!” Guess I’m walking! Rather running! Working night shift is for the birds. I’m not used to the hours. I can’t get any of my day errands done! My sleep pattern is off making it necessary to use an alarm. I need to get back to day shift. Four more weeks! I hurry past people walking dogs, dancing around leashes. Jumping over a backpack on the ground I almost twist my ankle when I land. Can’t be late! “Excuse me Miss?” Oh no! A man is blocking my way. He’s tall, about fifty. Rather nice looking but I don’t have time. “Please can you help me?” I stop, what else can I do to a plea of assistance? “Yes?” I’m hopping from one foot to the other, impatient to get moving. “Can you tell me the time?” Really? Is no one else around? Where’s your cell? I think unkindly. “It’s 5:15pm.” “Thank you.” I’m not listening. I’m off again! I only have forty-five minutes left! Once I hit Gerard Street, I’ll be home free! Almost there! Now what!? Gerard is closed off! Their repairing the sidewalk. Wet concrete! Can I jump it? No. Too wide. I can’t go that way! Now I have to go all the way around! Sprinting across the street, I almost get hit by a car moving faster than the speed limit. Beeping at me they drive away. I almost gesture to them, but no. Just because they’re rude doesn’t mean I have to be. My heart is in my throat from the close encounter! Have to get my breathing under control after the scare. If I cut through this building I can cut some time! It’s been abandoned for a while. Is it safe? The tall building looks sturdy. It was abandoned for something. It can’t be too bad. It hasn’t been knocked down yet, I reason with myself. Slipping under the tape on the door I squint to see in the darkness. “Hello. Anyone here?” Could be a homeless person sleeping here to hold off the coldness of the winter winds. Hearing a squeak I jump! Mouse? Rat? I don’t want to know! Pulling out my phone, I turn on the flashlight. Having to slow to step over broken pallets, is that a sleeping bag? I’m beginning to question my sanity, coming into a deserted building alone. Slowing, I creep along, shadows making me jump as I find another room. Smelling sweat, I turn to another door. I’m losing time having to move so slowly. I should have taken Branch Street. No time for regrets now. I hear footsteps above me and move a little faster. I’m going to have a heart attack before I get to my destination! I see a light! Another door! Could this lead outside? Praying, I move as fast as I can around debris on the floor. Dust particles fall in my face and I cough. Almost to the door, I quicken my pace. Jumping back and falling when the door flies open, my hand flies to my chest. I’m almost hyperventilating! “Are you ok?” A police officer helps me to my feet. He’s really handsome. Dark hair curling under his hat. Blue eyes checking me over for injuries. A muscular arm around me when I almost fall over. Adrenaline is spiking and I am shaking. “You shouldn’t be in here. Vagrants use this place for shelter. You could have been hurt and the building isn’t safe by any means.” We step out into the light and I’m so relieved I lean against Officer Cuteness. “Sorry. I was trying to get around the block on Gerard. Shortcut. It didn’t work out as I planned.” “At least you’re not injured.” Sparkling eyes assess me and I notice he likes what he sees. “Maybe you could give me your number. You know. Just in case you’re not feeling well later. I can check up on you.” “Oh sure.” I give him my number and my phone dings as he texts me so I have his. My face is flushed and he heads back to his duty. Momentarily unmoving, happy with my luck, I watch him walk away. Remembering my task, I mentally shake my head and get moving. I can see my destination up ahead but I still have a street to cross and its full of traffic. Coming to the crosswalk, I pause with everyone else. I’m dancing as I wait. When the light signals that we can walk, I move as quickly as I can in the crowd of people. Pushing the door open, I sidestep a woman moving a wheeled cart full of belongings. I’m almost there. At the counter, I see two people in front of me. Tapping my foot impatiently on the tiled floor I can hear the staccato as one person leaves the line. Only one left. “Shhh!” A man whispers loudly as my foot continues to tap. “Sorry.” I hold my leg so I won’t start tapping again. Finally, it’s my turn. “I’m returning this library book. Sorry it’s late. “Oh Casey. It’s ok. You don’t have to pay the fee. You come here so much, and you never damage the books. Just mark your calendar next time. “Thanks Mrs. Silver. You’re the best!” The book is back where it belongs and I might have a date tonight! Things are looking up!


“Excuse me, Miss, can I trouble you for a menu?” Janie nodded absentmindedly, rushing by a new customer who had just planted his butt in the only empty seat left in the corner by the window. She paused by the kitchen grabbing a few plates and drinks for a couple that was intimately cuddling in the corner, pretending like they were the only ones in the place. They were nauseatingly happy and Janie felt a wave of jealousy rising in her whenever she passed by them. Her own forever love affair ended as quickly as it started just a week earlier so she was still hung up on that disappointment. The place was buzzing like a bee hive as it always happened on Saturday mid-morning. Janie made a few more runs back and forth before she zoomed by the new patron’s table sliding a plastic one-page menu over to him on the way to the bathroom. She came out a few minutes later determined to keep it together and stay pleasant. The boss recently commented that she would have made way more tips with her pretty baby face if she wasn’t so short with the customers. Tips... tips would be good. She sighed. Student loans were growing, bills were skyrocketing and there was no hope for improvement any time soon. She was especially irritated when people were so busy on their phones, that it took them forever to order anything so Janie had to go back and forth asking them again and again if they decided what they were going to eat. It always amazed her when people were looking up at her from their screens with a look that clearly said “ how dare you bother me here !” The restaurant was located off the beaten path in Manhattan. It was one of those NY delis that managed to combine in its menu a nice mix of American favorites and the old-school traditional Jewish dishes like kasha and lox with schmear. They typically closed in the late afternoon except on the weekend when they shut the doors after eight. Janie ran behind the counter grabbing the pad she used to take orders. She saw how her new customer put aside the menu she left for him and was about to head over to him when the owner called her over quietly but firmly. Janie obeyed with curiosity. The owner was a much older woman who rarely spoke to any of the wait staff. Her son was a big deal somewhere in Hollywood so initially, when the restaurant was first opened, no one really cared if it would be profitable. This was the old lady’s long-time coming dream so her son obliged. She taught her cooks how to make dishes from her pre-USA life , as she called it, and spent her days sitting between the dining room and the kitchen in a large comfortable chair watching how life boiled all around her. In time, however, the cafe became a big success so since Janie started here three months earlier, she couldn’t remember a single quiet day when their dining room didn’t fill up to the max. She approached the owner, bending her head closer to the old woman so she could hear better. “Honey, tell the kitchen to prepare the portion of syrniki , a large one. And serve it with sour cream, honey, jam, you know? The works...” she still had a slight European accent when she got excited. Janie was a bit surprised - she never thought of their owner as someone with a sweet tooth. Maybe that’s what she was in the mood for today. “Would you like me to put it on the tray for you?” The owner chuckled quietly. “Silly girl, it’s not for me. What could I possibly do with so much food? It would have been wasteful. It’s for that darling boy over there.” She nodded towards the man that came in last and was now looking out the window. Janie was confused. How did she know what the guy wanted? She hesitated before replying carefully, trying to be as respectful as possible. Who knows, maybe the owner finally lost her marbles... “He asked for a menu but I haven’t taken his order yet.” “No need. His name is Jake, he comes here every year on this day, always asks for a menu, and always orders the same thing. I’ve known Jake for years, ever since he was a little boy. He used to come for breakfast with his Bubbee all the time. let me tell you - the woman could eat!” The owner smiled, reminiscing. Janie looked closer at the man, or actually Jake, again. Now that she heard this, she noticed he didn’t look joyful on this sunny Saturday morning. One of the busboys placed a cup of coffee in front of him a few minutes earlier but Jake hardly noticed it. He continued to gaze out the window deep into his thoughts. “Do you know why he comes on this day?” she asked the owner quietly. “It’s the day his Bubbee left him and went to reunite with the Lord.” Janie didn’t have a relationship with her grandparents. They lived far away and never seemed to bother so it was hard for her to understand Jake’s grief. She watched him as Jake turned from the window scanning the room around him with his big brown eyes. He sighed unbuttoning the top of his shirt and brushing back the curly wave that fell on his forehead. “They were close, ha?” “Very. She raised him. Dad ran off when he was a baby and he lost his mother a few years later to cancer. So that’s all the family he had. Now, go, yenta, don’t make him wait. I have a feeling Chef David already has his plate ready on the warmer.” Of course, the owner was right. When Janie asked David if he had an order ready for Jake, no one asked any questions. Instead, she was presented with a large oval platter where in the pool of a heavenly-smelling melting butter were sitting five large golden cottage cheese pancakes that Easter Europeans called syrniki . Janie tried it once before and her mouth immediately watered with the memories of the crunchy top which covered the soft goodness of the fried cakes. They were sweet and slightly salty at the same time. Many ate them in a similar to the potato latkes manner with an apple sauce. But the owner said the right way to have them was with lots of cold thick sour cream and homemade raspberry-strawberry jams or honey. Janie picked up a heavy plate with both hands carrying it carefully towards Jake’s table. As she came closer to him, Jake looked up and gave her a hint of a smile. He nodded in appreciation. “Can I get you anything else?” Janie asked softly, setting it up in front of him pushing the utensils and the napkin to the side. “Maybe just some water...” He smiled almost apologetically. A minute later, Jake was alone again at his table with his thoughts. The smell, so familiar and homey, coming from the plate was bringing back lots of memories. He could hear his Bubbee’s voice cooing over him as she tied the napkin around his little neck, mixing English, Ukrainian and Yiddish words. He could almost see her hands covered in spots and wrinkles, carefully cutting his cakes in front of him piece by piece, dipping them in the fluffy clouds of sour cream before pausing for a moment above the saucers with the jams. “What do we do now, boychik? Is it time for a golden rain or a mud bath?” Depending on his answer she would continue to the plate of honey or jam before gently bringing the fork to his lips with a bite that was about to drip all that goodness over entire table. It was his job to open wide and try to catch all those tasty drops before the disaster would happen. No one could make these cakes as well as his Bubbee did. No one but this place... Jake sighed again before he cut into his first cake with determination. Golden rain or mud bath? He smiled. Maybe a little bit of both. He took a bite and closed his eyes, savoring it for the first time in a year immediately transporting to the far-away past when he was still little and felt so loved. ***** “Jacob, did you wash your hands?” “I did! Five times already!” “Homework?” “I did it too! And I prayed, and I made my bed, and...” “Oh, you are such a good boichka! Come have breakfast, your syrniki are getting cold.” Bubbee always called him that in the morning. She believed that the day should be started on a positive note no matter how hard the circumstances around you were. It never failed and Jake smiled. He also liked how she stopped calling him Jake or Jaikee since he turned eight. Jacob sounded like a mature manly name. She even started to introduce him that way to others at the synagogue. “This is my Jacob. Did you know that he skipped second grade and went straight to third?” She was always so proud of him. No matter how small or large his accomplishments were, he could do no wrong. That unconditional love made him want to do better, be good for her. Jake couldn’t bear the thought of upsetting her in any way. How would he be able to look into her greenish, slightly fading eyes if he did something she wouldn’t approve of? ****** Someone dropped the tray which was followed by the sounds of broken glass in the kitchen. Jake swallowed his bite coming out of his memories just long enough to look around to make sure the noise had nothing to do with him. He shook his head before he reached out for the next bite, this time deciding to make it all pure and golden as his next memory. ****** He was running through the street clinching the envelope in his hand. He slipped and almost fell on his last turn to their old five-story building. There was no elevator but Jake flew up the stairs to the fourth floor as he did his entire life not even counting the steps - in the last twelve years he got so familiar with every single one of them, that he could do it with his eyes closed and not trip even once. “Bubbee!” he screamed, opening the old door that still had the signs of the faded green color it once was. “Are you home? You need to be home!” “What’s the matter, boychik?” She came out of the living room with her usual glasses on and a bright handkerchief tied around her head. “We did it! I got in! The new Yeshiva on West End avenue. They said they will take me free of charge!” “Oy! That’s so great!” She hugged him, rocking slightly from side to side as she did when he was little. All their hard work, all the books she got for him, all the trips to the library and museums - it all paid off! The best school, in his opinion. No, the best PRIVATE school in New York was willing to accept him on a grant! Jake knew - that would open all the doors for him in the future. New York was the best place on Earth for someone like him - everything was just a few minutes train ride away. For someone who wanted to be in academia, God couldn’t have made a better arrangement. “Boychik, we celebrate this weekend. I will take you to our favorite restaurant on Saturday morning!” “Can I get a big plate of syrniki, not that kiddie one?” “Of course! You are almost a man now! Your mama would be so proud!” ****** That was such a happy day. The school was wonderful and Jake got everything he ever wanted. He looked down smiling, looking at his expensive cashmere suit. He wished Bubbee was here to see him like that. Sophisticated, well dressed, his curls neatly cut and styled. Jake glanced at his plate. He had three more left. Maybe this time he will dip his next bite into jam instead of honey for some of his darker thoughts. ****** “How could you do this, Jakie?” Bubbee hadn’t called him that in years. Jake immediately felt his insights tuning with guilt. But like any fourteen-year-old, he tried to put up a brave face. “Big deal, some vase! I will buy you hundreds of these when I grow up!” She shook her head disapprovingly. “Boyka, you can’t replace this, don’t you know? It was the first thing your grandfather gave to me as a present. He brought it from the war. It was one of the very few things we had with us when we came here. This is all I had left that was his...” the tears were rolling down her wrinkled face. Jake’s heart couldn’t stand to see her like that - suddenly she seemed so fragile and hurt. He sobbed himself before he could catch it. “It was an accident! I didn’t mean to!” “I know it was. I’m not upset that you broke it but why did you lie to me about it?” He didn’t know why he tried to make a cover-up story. He never lied to her before and knew he wasn’t good at it, to begin with. Unable to contain his feelings, he ran off. When Jake came back that evening. Bubbee still had red eyes but seemed more like herself. She gave him a hug letting him know all was forgotten and she forgave him. Things happened. The next day, Jake felt a strong urge to do something nice for her so he grabbed all the change he had in his possession. He was saving for a trip to Boston but decided it could be postponed. Boston is not going anywhere. So, he marched over to his Bubbee and invited her for breakfast at their restaurant - his treat. She proudly accepted it. She said he was growing to become a “good man”. ****** Jake swallowed his last bite. If she was here right now, his Bubbee would have made him wipe the butter off the plate with the last piece. Don’t waste food, she always said. Everyone who lived through the war, and knew what hunger felt like, said that. He left some money on the table before he got up to stretch. He looked towards the owner’s chair. She smiled and waved at him. “See you in a year, I hope, '' mumbled Jake, not certain if he was talking to the restaurant or his Bubbee. With that, he buttoned his collar back up and walked out into the sunlit New York street taking a deep breath of the fall’s crispy air. Until the next time...


“Are you coming tonight?” you wanted to know. I wasn’t, or I hadn’t been planning to. But I heard myself answer, “yes, I’d love to!” It wasn’t until you’d kissed me goodbye and were halfway to your car that I asked myself why I said that. The last thing I felt like doing that night was participating in our town’s version of a carnival . You know they do this every summer. I’ve never liked it. I’d been looking forward to being by myself, maybe ordering in and watching movies. I said yes, I realized, because Evan was going to be there ! I said yes because long experience told me my heart should have sped up with excitement when you asked me to go. It hadn’t, though. And now that I was thinking about it, I couldn’t remember the last time it had. It must have been years. I remembered the way just thinking of you used to make me feel, and felt nothing except a mild nostalgic twinge that I suspect was more for our middle school days when we started dating than for you yourself. Not that there was anything wrong with you, Evan. I can only imagine what you must feel towards me now (actually, I can’t imagine it), but if it means anything to you, I want you to know that this was not your fault. It wasn’t anything you did. I guess you were probably going to propose sometime soon, now that we’ve finished college and are looking for jobs. Not student jobs or summer jobs but job jobs. Rest-of-our-lives jobs. Maybe you weren’t, but I felt pretty confident and I still do. We’d been together for ten years, after all, almost half our lives. It sounds crazy now that I’m typing it out. How many people marry their seventh grade boyfriends? I would have been one of an elite few, if you hadn’t asked me to that carnival when and how you did. Or maybe not, if I’m wrong and you weren’t going to propose, or if I’d had my revelation some other moment some other way. Who knows? Personally, though, I think that was what did it, because when it hit me how easily and unthinkingly I’d lied to you, I realized it was because of how natural it had become for me to lie to both of us. Once you were my best friend in the world, Evan. I don’t know when I fell out of love with you, but I know it was a long, long time ago. I also don’t know if that’s when I fell out of love with my whole life. All I know is that the night of the carnival, I suddenly knew something with absolute certainty, which was an unfamiliar feeling. So I walked downstairs in the jean shorts and denim jacket I always wore to summer nights out, and I got behind the wheel of my car-with every intention, I thought, of meeting you at the fairgrounds. I made the left onto Pine Street, and then I just kept driving. It’s a good thing there weren’t many people on the road because you know that’s a fifty zone and I was going at least seventy. I got on the highway going west and drove until my gas light started blinking. I don’t know how far from town I was by then. I didn’t think about it. Now, I’m sure you’re wondering, what was I thinking?! I’m sorry, because this is going to be disappointing, but I wasn’t thinking about much of anything. I was thinking that I wasn’t going to the stupid carnival. Somewhere in me, I was thinking that I couldn’t take another day of what, until that moment, I’d flattered myself by calling my life . Mostly, though, I was thinking about filling up my gas tank and getting back on the highway, and going, going, going and never stopping for anything. When I got back on the highway, my pockets were bulging. I had drawn as much cash as I could from all my cards. My phone started to ring as I left the station’s convenience store. I chucked it in the trash as I came through the door. I never saw who called. If it was you, checking to see why I was late-well, now I’m telling you why. My speedometer never dropped below eighty the entire rest of that night. I’m actually kind of amazed I didn’t get ticketed. Anyway, it was a beautiful sunrise. I think it was the most beautiful sunrise I’ve ever seen. I kept drawing cash from my cards until there was nothing left on either of them, and then I threw them in the garbage too. I drove until my car and I were both so low on fuel that neither of us had anything left to burn. I pulled off the highway into a little nothing town, like ours but also completely, fundamentally different. I think I was somewhere near Illinois at this point, or just outside of it. I’m not quite sure. I got calories for myself and gasoline for Cheryl (as I’ve started calling my chevrolet). I swear it was the most amazing cup of weak coffee and the most sublime overly greased omelet anyone has ever tasted. I drove the entire rest of that day, and finally crashed in a motel in Madison, Wisconsin. You don’t know how good it felt to bathe . I washed away two days’ worth of sweat and dust, and twenty-two years and fifty days’ worth of a life I now realized I’d never been particularly fond of. Once I was clean, I put on a ratty old bathrobe and found the hotel’s gift shop. I bought packets of underwear, sports bras, a nightshirt, two pairs of vacation shorts, three t-shirts, a backpack and a sweatshirt. The motel had free toiletries. I took everything I could carry or fit in my bag. I drank scalding hot tea and watched cartoons until I fell asleep. I felt incredible. That was the happiest I’d been in my whole life. That sounds sad, I know, but it feels wonderful. The next day I woke up and my first thought was that the day belonged to me, in a way that nothing ever had. This is tough to explain. Also, don’t think I don’t realize how cruel I sound to you. I’m not trying to be cruel. I’m sorry I didn’t do this a long time ago, and I’m sorry I did it this way, but somehow I don’t think you’re that hurt. Maybe I’m just making myself feel better. But I was never close with my parents. I would have died for my school friends, but after school somehow they all faded away. And you and I haven’t been close, whatever we led ourselves to believe. We thought we were close the way pre-teens are close. We never even tried to be close as adults. The person I was until that night when I left is gone forever. I don’t really think that anyone is going to miss her. I won’t feel bad about that, though. I never needed her and I still don’t. So nothing from who I used to be was mine, but this day was. I had it to spend however I chose. I could do anything. I’d just proved that by doing something I never would have thought I could do-walking away. Choosing to be the person I want to be. I went out and explored Madison. I liked it, but I didn’t love it, and after a day I was ready to be somewhere else, so that night Cheryl and I got back on the road. At 3 AM, I decided I was hungry. Google told me there was a roadside diner forty miles away that was open twenty-four hours. I finished my slice of pie and sugary, bittersweet coffee at 4:30 AM and I was in South Dakota for the next sunrise. A couple of backpackers watched it with me, off of a hiking trail near the Minnesota border. I liked them, and I liked hanging out with them, so I stuck around for a few days. Who knew South Dakota was so gorgeous ? Or that I have a knack for hiking, for that matter? I slipped once and got my Snuggle’s Motel vacation shorts muddy, but I kept up with them. Their names are Abby and Danielle. I’m going to visit them next week! I’m not going to tell you where, because neither of us needs to do a post mortem on the old me, but it’s a city I’ve never been to, and I can’t wait to see it. We eventually parted ways because they were heading up to Canada. For that I would’ve needed a passport, which I didn’t have or feel like getting. Besides, I wanted to see Montana. I kept driving. After two days of watching Montana spin past me, and a surprisingly breathtaking stop in Idaho, I made it to Washington. I’d always wanted to see Washington state. Did you know that? I don’t think you did. I never talked about it. I don’t think I’ll ever know, Evan, why my real self was so rarely-if ever-a part of us. Don’t think I haven’t asked myself whether things would have played out differently if I’d been more honest with the both of us. I asked it a lot of times, but the mountains of Washington blew it from my mind. I won’t dwell on the past. We both have lives to live. I hope. Or, no-I believe. Please believe me that I’m sorry it took me so long to acknowledge that. The road from Washington to California is a blur. Oregon was a whirl of color in the windows while Adele blasted on the radio. I started stopping just for the heck of it, in random places. I would stock up on Twizzlers and Doritos and just keep on hitting the road. I’m not going to tell you about what I did from there, I’ve decided. I started typing this out just to get my thoughts in order. I had no intention of sending it to you. I was going to send you something else. An apology? An explanation? I don’t know. All I can think is that I owe you the truth, for once. So here it is, for all the good it may do. I don’t know anymore if this is cruel or kind. It is real, though. You don’t need to hear about all the things I did, or the friends I made, or the things I saw. I was renting monthly, and I’d just paid. Mr. Brecker has probably thrown my things out already. Like I said before, no one will miss the person I was, least of all me. I’m sending this from a public library computer (the keys are sticky but the WiFi is good). Then I’m never checking my old email address again. Like I said, I started this email just to start saying something . I never meant to send it. You have no idea how hard it was to sit down and do this. You must’ve gathered by now: I love the feeling of running. I’ve been running towards my life since the last time we spoke. I won’t run away from my past, and I won’t let you take the brunt of it again, so I’m going to make myself hit Send in a moment. You won’t see me again. I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of the over-fresh scent of hotel beds, or the tang of rest stop coffee, but I am going to have to get back to the job thing. It’s an odd feeling, having no idea where I’ll be in three weeks or three years. Actually, my head is getting a little buzzy just thinking about it. It’s nervousness, but truth be told, I think it’s closer to excitement. Once again-know that you did nothing wrong. Forgive me if you can, and if it will make you happy. If it were me I’d rather be furious. Do that, please, with my blessing. Whatever is best for you is what I hope you’ll do. I’m not sorry for what I did; it’s exactly what I should have done. I never wanted your happiness to be sacrificed to mine. I don’t believe it will be. Thank you for what you did for me that night, however unintentionally. I’m not being flippant; I mean that. You gave me an epiphany that I desperately needed when you asked me, was I coming tonight? It is with the relish and release that epiphany brought me that I can finally say, with candor: No, I’m not . Sincerely, Sara


Tendrils writhing from fresh corpses slowly spread from the temple ground. The eyes of the victims seemingly ripped out by either His hand or by their own. Horrors of unimaginable terror must have assailed their minds as the vines burst through every wound. He appeared when the Moon eclipsed the Sun. Uncomfortably tall, the ghoulish apparition wielded blackened daggers as long as swords, almost scraping the ground as he drifted amongst abandoned streets. A hauntingly tall spirit from the dark recess of a nocturnal sky, he moved in absolute silence and never announced his assassinations. Blood caked wrappings over lanky appendages swishing in sinister silence, no malefic eyes or demonic facade could be observed under His cowl. How could I know for sure though? I could only stand to glance for a horrific moment before the pits of my stomach lurched from abject terror. The pious men were the targets of his malice. Hunting. Seeking. Killing. Seeking again. Holy men who beckoned the grace of the Light. I used to think they were heroes, the men of good and righteousness who could do no harm, could heal any wound of body or soul, and would save us from the original sins of our Fathers... but that was before He came. For reasons I fear I am not privy to know, this shadowy figure never killed the townsfolk. It almost seemed as if He could not see us at all. Or if He did, we were not the concern of his unholy crusade. At least, not yet. No child was slain nor woman was harmed. Most common men were still untouched by the macabre specter that sauntered through the town. When the moon reached the zenith of the eclipse, like every time before, we did what we had always done. We shepherded ourselves into our humble homes and read from the Scripture to resolve our faith. Even with the daytime darkness, we still held fast to our belief in the Light. We held no fear in our devout hearts that the darkness would linger. Hours passed yet the Moon did not move. There was a growing sense of unease amongst the townsfolk. It continued to hang itself before the Sun as if to defy the natural order of the Heavens. We felt it then, just as we still feel it these days later. An unnatural cold which chills my soul to its core. Hearth fires did nothing to lift the spiritual permafrost the Moon had imposed upon us. Bundles of fur and wool blankets provided even less comfort even when my family huddled together. Trembling hands failing desperately to remain calm. Light, forgive me, I even attempted to warm myself with liquor and ale but it foolishly left me more anxious, more terrified of what was out there. With great care I crept to the second floor of our hovel, instinctually scared that my unworthy footsteps would harken doom upon my family. I know I need not worry, as this Nocturnal Demon had passed by numerous times without a hesitant pause or murderous inquiry. I kept low and reached the northern window, where I could clearly see our most holy temple of Light. A sight I desperately needed to ensure my faith would not fail me during our extended nightmare. But when I saw the defilement for myself, I felt as if my very soul had been eviscerated by his evil blades. The shining white marble and glorious golden pillars that lifted the divine domed ceiling were infested with massive, vine-like tendrils similar to the ones growing from the corpses of his unfortunate hosts. Statues of long forgotten apostles and revered heroes were decapitated with smaller vines holding their pierced heads as if in open defiance to the Sun God himself. Curiously, the encroaching evil stopped before the other houses near the temple, they steered clear of the townsquare and its fountains, only seeking to touch the bodies of holy men who were cut down in the streets while attempting to escape the calamity which befell them. Suddenly, without warning, a bolt of blinding light raced towards the infestation and exploded with extreme radiance. A screech unlike any sound a mortal being could ever make reverberated across the town, my own ears begging for this to end. I raced down the stairs to my petrified family, hands clasped to my head. By the Light they were ok, but all of us, myself included, could not contain the sobbing that leaked from terror widened eyes. For reasons I don't know, I found myself walking to the door with trembling steps. Whatever possessed my curiosity that day would make me the chronicler of this celestial conflict. Another bright bolt shot upward this time, reaching high into the gloomy sky as if it sought to pierce the moon itself. It burst forth in a brilliant light illuminating the entire town. No shadow could hide from awesome radiance. The dark monster screeched again, his unholy echoes bellowing from inside the halls of the all consumed temple. A single figure, larger than any man I’ve ever seen and clad from head to toe in gleaming, nigh impenetrable plate armor, strode across the muddied cobblestone towards our desecrated temple. In his left hand he displayed a gold and white banner with our holy symbol of the Sun embossed with golden thread. In his other hand, his polished gauntlet held forth a poleaxe of immeasurable heft. Its wooden shaft affixed with a massive ax head in the shape of the same holy sun symbol, an impaling tip, and a spiked hammer face on the other side of the ax head. I desperately tried to recall every hymn, every legend, any far fetched tale of a gleaming golden knight who commanded Light as if it were bolts of lightning. I wondered though, with a heart still smothered in fear from our murderous moon summoned guest; is this apparent challenger a hero or another dominus of sorts? Why would our meager town be the battleground of such a momentous battle? Surely we were not worthy of two higher powers to fight over us. However, our shadowy specter was fear incarnate, so perhaps all I could do in such desperation was pray our salvation had come to save us. Our brave knight approached the foot of the temple, where ravenous black vines swarming like voracious serpents lashed out. But no vine would touch this holy warrior for it seemed as if he radiated with a sort of protective aura. Still, the vines continued to lash out with vicious hate until the Knight thrust his standard in the ground before him. Hiis declaration of dominance finally breaking the concentrated evil controlling the vines. They slowly slithered back and retreated to the inside of the temple, revealing a gruesome cache of skeletal remains still adorned with their unblemished holy ensemble. Pointing his poleax to the temple doors, the golden knight finally broke his mysterious silence, speaking with a commanding deepness like thunder heralding a storm's arrival. “Sunkiller. You have been found wanted. Exit my desecrated domain. It is not yours to lay claim!” His gaze from under his intimidating helmet was unwavering. His eyes were singular in their focus, drilling deep into the temple as if he could see through the doors right into the sunken cowl of the midnight monster. For a few moments, nothing happened. The air was still with tension, the massive vines which had swallowed the pillars pulsed softly and grew slower and slower. Where was our murderous lord at? What shadows was he hiding in? As my mind grew into a frenzy of questions, I witnessed the dark apparition slowly saunter from the pitch black depths of the temple. There was no subterfuge to be seen from him. No stalking of shadows in hopes of ambushing the Knight, who continued to stay motionless; mighty weapon pointing continuously at the approaching specter. It stopped at the edge of withdrawn vines, radiating with his own dark aura of death and evil. It raised its long, thin appendage and pointed with a gaunt finger at the knight, speaking to him. “Too much. Unchecked. Balance is broken.” It spoke with a voice that sounded like bones grinding to dust. Each word and syllable felt like maggots squirming in my mind. Our angelic champion responded with action and cleaved the shadowy specter with magnificent might. But the specter did not die, as his cleaved torso coalesced with dark magic to reform his visage. The Knight thrust with violent fury into the chest of the fiend where a heart would lie in any mortal man, but it only passed through again. Now pressing the attack with unrestrained fury, our champion swung in deadly arcs time and time again, only to see the apparition still standing; blackened smoke refastening after every swipe. Unfortunately, the golden knight's furious focus would be his fatal flaw. I saw them materialize from darkened streets, four more gangly moon summoned monsters descending upon him. I couldn't warn him, my entire body petrified from the magnitude of what I was witnessing. As they gathered behind the unchecked rear of our frenzied crusader, a pained cry spewed from the creature who’s fury the knight had garnered. In his ruinous pause two seized his arms, nocturnal knives slicing tendons of the wrist, rendering weapon and magic useless. The other two made swift incisions to the ankle, our doomed hero had dropped to his knees. With arms stretched outward, all five shadowy beings drove their knives through his back, passing through the armor as if it were nothing more than shoddy lenin. I saw now how a hero dies. Not in glorious battle, no last stand of unfathomable bravery, but in silent defeat. What remaining faith that flickered in my feeble heart was now extinguished. The scavenous vines claimed our fallen hero and dragged the body back into the desecrated den of evil. I do not recall what happened next for soon after, everything went black and I awoke after Light knew how long. My home was shattered to splinters as was every other hovel in our town. I stumbled in confusion towards a reddened rag that blew weakly with the deathly wind. It was my daughter's scarf, or atleast a scrap of what remained. I attempted to pry the pulsating vines to free the scarf in hopes my family was still alive underneath. But the pain in my arm was agonizing. Looking down I saw veins pumping with pitch black blood to the beat of my fearful heart. I could do nothing for them now. As if the corrupted consciousness of the vines could listen to my deepest fears, their coils unwound to reveal the mangled remains of my family; viscera pooling under crushed corpses. Miniature vines grew from the fractured bones like maggots bursting forth from rotten meat. So I ran. I was not in control of myself after that haunting scene. I only remember running with all due haste, ignoring the pain in my cursed arm or screaming of my lungs as I ran as hard and fast as I could away from the desolation of my home. I finally came to a stop when my legs refused to carry me any further, instinct giving way to terror and the unrelenting repetition of the unholy calamity I bore witness too. I looked back and saw in the distance all five of the shadowy apparitions standing atop the road that lead to the only town I have ever known. They did not give chase nor did they seem to want my capture. But I couldn't tear my eyes away! They stood together, as if five fingers of Doom itself were rising from the depths of the abyss. After what felt like an eternity, I finally ripped my gaze from the demonic delegation and ran until I reached the end of this land. This is my tale I am burdened to tell until the end of my days. I lost everything during those unholy days where the Moon blackened the Sun and harkned the doom of all I knew. The sky spins again, as if the nightmare never happened, but I won't forget. I can never forget. Do what you will with this story my friends. Should you choose to remain ignorant to what I said or foolishly find inspiration for delusional heroics, then go. Go and join the corpses of my family and throw your life away to the vines, if they still remain. The Moon will eclipse the sun soon and they will come again. They are the beasts of darkness. Sunkillers.


Wash. Rinse. Repeat When I was a little girl, just a pint-sized chicken, my mom was my best friend. She made delicious food, threw a good party, and had a fiery personality. Our main form of communication was mostly through incoherent sounds. More like she would make a noise, and I would say something like, "want some tea?" Then I'd dash off to make one for her, place it by her bedside and cross my fingers that it was the perfect caramel colour. ... Sound of approval! Success. When I was 7, I became aware of the frequency and intensity of my parents' arguments. It was confusing because they would shout, something would get thrown, and my dad would leave. Then he'd come back, and everything would be fine. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Later that year, on a hot summer evening, we went to get my mom from her local hangout. My dad, with his three wild-looking muppets in tow, asked her to come home. She did not. Instead, she pointed at me, looked straight into my eyes and said, I will come for you tomorrow. I will take you away from these boys, and we will run away to a castle. I will be a queen, and you will be my princess. I could feel my eyes light up. Hope and excitement poured into my whole body. The next day, my mom wasn't home, so we had to go to work with my dad. I had developed a smugness overnight. "ugh, I guess I will go, but this is temporary. I don't belong with you, boys." My mom knew where my dad worked, so I wasn't worried. I knew she'd find me there. Anyways I was going to be a princess. Nothing else mattered. My brothers and I got to my dad's work, a foundry that wasn't really suitable for kids to play around in, and quickly assumed our usual "jobs." My oldest brother would sweep, my other brother would move big castings across the rollers, and I would sit in the office, on an oversized spinning chair, pretending to take messages on the phone. All of us impatiently waited for the coffee truck to stop by so we could get chocolate milk and a doughnut. Once noon arrived, I started getting ready to go. Surely my mom would be here soon. How could anyone wait to become a princess or a queen? As the minutes turned into hours, it became clear that she wasn't coming. I begged my dad to call her to ask her to come. He wouldn't do it. I was angry and upset. I cried so hard that I couldn't breathe and my face was a mixture of salty tears and runny snot. Every time my dad tried to console me, I would push him away and sob louder. Instead, I was stuck in this foundry with the boys. I was always stuck with the boys. Wash. Rinse. Repeat I was confused and felt a bruise forming on my heart. Why wouldn't she come get me? When I got home, she wasn't there. I didn't see her for a couple of days. When she finally came home, it was like nothing had happened. Sooner rather than later, they would shout, something would get thrown, and my dad would leave. Then he'd come back, and everything would be fine. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.


Dr. Anthony: Project door way, Day 7,301, test subject 1 did not re-enter from void, current location unknown. Sphere dissipated. The Dr's excitement was short lived due to this trial, it was the first time the portal actually opened. His persistence, dedication, and ambitions has driven him to a secluded, maddening state. He hardly bathed, his body withering away. He carried himself very well in the beginning, but now his face was masked with facial hair and heavy bags under his eyes. Determined to find out where his little friend went he decided to inject his next subject with a tracking device. As he jumped on the controls, the loud humming of the machine began to send waves of vibration outwards. The room quickly illuminated by the collapse of matter into a perfect sphere that sent happiness into his depressed body. He embraced the test subject then launched him into the sphere like you would a bird to take flight after recovering from an injury. Glancing at the screen, the tracking signal was still strong but motionless. The sphere began to rumble, shaking his laboratory in the process and then vanished along with the signal. Defeated, the Dr decided to shut down for the night. The difference in these two particular trials was the rumbling after the test subject entered. Before he could grab the bottle of his favorite whiskey, the sphere reappeared sending him across the room as if someone through a grenade at his feet but without the following death. As he sat up he saw his other little friend crawling out but behind it was a trail of liquid and as he drew closer he saw the tips of the hairs singed along with scorched eye balls. Terrified the Dr came to the assumption of there being a sun that was orbited closer than our own and a body of water that laid in the wake of the doorway. He had no choice but to see if a stronger life force could sustain the conditions of this new virgin environment. He grabbed Petey an annoying yet qualified chimp that been the labs survivor of many ground breaking experiments. His credentials were substantial. Luckily enough for the Dr the chimp once visited space and had a suit on hand. Preparing the chimp for the experiment, the Dr finally felt he had made progress, happily he pressed the keys to open the door. He immediately grabbed the chimps favorite toy and threw it into the sphere. Petey walked up closer to the doorway, grazed his hand along the surface and partially inside of it, then pulling it out to look at it and admire. He scooted closer and poked his head inside then retracted to look back at the Dr. He smiled, jumped up excitedly then followed it up by a quick burst of clapping his hands. Pointing into the void, he ran into the light, but this time there was no rumble after its closure like the trial before. The Dr once again looked at the screen to check the tracker, this time it was strong, pulsating and rapidly moving in various directions. Graciously re-opening, Petey walked out. There was a trail of the same liquid but he wasn't harmed just slight discoloration at the bottom of his boots. Eager to tell his master what he saw Petey began to sign with so much joy, the Dr couldn't make out what he was saying. He quickly remembered Petey had a translation device and equipped it onto his arms. Dr: Tell me what you saw!!! Petey: Water, Land, Paradise. Petey happy. Dr: Were there people there, or any animals or plants?! Petey: People, yes. Animals, yes. Plants, yes. Remembering the condition of the first rat, the Dr had a few more questions of concern. Dr: Was there a sun? how big was the sun. Pete: one big, one small. Dr: Was it very hot? Petey then pointed to his feet. Petey: Ground, hot. Water, hot. He then assumed the rats arrival on this new world was on a watery location and the heated liquid partially boiled him. But Petey, beneficially bigger could sustain the conditions. The evidence of the life forms could prove to be habitable for himself Needing more answers the Dr was going send Petey back to bring back samples. Dr: Petey I need you to go back and get some things for me can you do that. Petey: Yes Dr. please, paradise again, happy. Gathering the necessities for the next trial, he needed a sample of the land, water, temperature, and readings of the air. They began the process and immediately as the sphere appeared, Petey with no hesitation zoomed into the new world, and as before the door closed. With the computer beeping the active tracker, the dr decided to have a toast. He picked up the bottle and took a couple of swings. They were followed up by Peteys return of all the requested items. The Dr went to embrace Petey, and as the chimp moved away from the void a womans hand reached out to touch him. He smiled back at the Dr. and began to sign. Petey: Stay, Paradise, Bye Dr. Petey happy As Petey handed the Dr the tray of findings, he turned his back to him and faded into the void. Instantaneously the rumble emanated from the collapse and threw the dr into the furthest wall of the lab. He scurried to collect the findings to witness them evaporating into nothing except for the containers and the meters Dr: The air is like ours, the temperature matches up as well! But why couldn't the other samples exist on our side? As the he sat on the ground where he saw his friend say goodbye, the door way reopened. He stuck his hand into sphere and he felt the life he lost over all those years flow back into his body ans he couldn't help but to smile. Like Petey had done previously, he pulled his hand out and admired it. Suddenly he could faintly hear a voice. the words were expressed like a child beginning to put words into sentences Faint voice: come Dr. Paradise. The Dr thought to himself, "Petey?!?" but the voice wasn't digital like his translator. The more the voice continued to talk the more they sentences began to flow. He began to grow confident that it was Petey speaking to him from the other side. Petey: Come in Dr, Paradise awaits you. This is your lifes work, how can you deny yourself the fruit of success? All those years I sat in my cage and watched you tirelessly shatter your mind to unlock the potential you see before you. Dont deny yourself, and join me. Petey's hand appeared, no longer encased by the suit. It was free, and he was more than alive. Petey: Take my hand Dr. Dr: How is this possible? How are you speaking to me with such intelligence? Petey: I don't have time to explain, and I'm growing impatient with you. Do you not want to see paradise? Dr: I need more time and you, you can't be the same chimp I just saw crossover. Petey: Like I said Dr, I am in paradise now. This world does not operate on the limitations as your world or universe for that matter. Dr: No, I need more time and I need you here to help me understand before I take that leap. The Dr began to feel a sudden gravity towards the sphere. Fumbling towards it in attempt to keep his distance. He could not fight it for long. Petey's hand motioned into a ball and the gravity became immense. As the Dr. grew near the sphere both of Petey's hands were exposed and caught his head. Petey grasping the Dr's head between his palms, began to emerge the top half of his body from the void. Both locked eyes and the Dr witnessed evolution at a rate of demonic acceleration. Before his eyes Petey transformed from lab chimp to a human with a savage aura that would make any apex predator urinate itself. Petey began to speak to the Dr, but his lips never moved. Petey: Dr, you have chosen to deny my request, and now paradise shall feed on your world. Goodbye! Petey along with the void vanished, dropping the Dr to the ground. He heard screams from the outside, then an earthquake began. He rushed to the outside to see the consequences of his choice. As the earthquake continued, cracks in the city streets began to form. From them a liquid started seeping out. Street signs, and building began to collapse. The bottom of people's shoes began to evaporate. A lady ran and fell into the stream off fluid before and you could see the flesh falling off the bone until she was no more. He looked up to the sky to see the sun pulsating from large to small as if it were alive. This was Petey had described in the beginning. The happiness that illuminated the Dr and Petey was just bait, like an angler fish attracts its prey. Paradise was alive, it was feeding. It didn't matter if the Dr crossed over or not. All those years of trial and error, it was just poking at it and woke the beast from its dormant state.


My heart had been freshly broken. I reeked of instability and pain, not an ideal combination. My 16 year old self longed for something to latch onto, not yet knowing the comfort of being alone. His name was Case. A funny name, he told me his dad named him after a case of beer. Could have been one of his many lies, or one of his many stories. There was always a fine line between the two. I met him at a local fast food restaurant, thanks to one of my friends' matchmaking efforts. He was wearing a thick puffy jacket, despite it being quite a warm spring. He held himself in a way that made you intrigued. You could tell just by looking, darkness swam behind those crystal blue eyes. He was my ultimate downfall, but I didn’t know that when we sat on the dock that day, smoking a joint that his dad had rolled for us. I watched the waves as he told me about his childhood. About stealing a car when he was 14, or being sent to jail for hitting his mom. He always reassured me it was a misunderstanding, it was all just a big misunderstanding. And I believed him. His words were like a taste of tequila, I gulped them down wanting more. I depended on his words. I became an addict to them. Because over time, his actions began to speak differently. But his words, oh his words were so beautiful. He twisted them and screamed them and choked me with them. They were all I ever wanted. His beautiful chaos blinded me. I was a drunk for his torture. And the more I hung onto him, the more I let go of the life around me. I watched him turn his back on me as I was handcuffed and put into the back of a police cruiser. And I swore to myself in that moment I’ve never loved anything more. I stayed with him after that. My relationship with my parents had crumbled, but I was happy, because he needed me, and I was in need of being needed. His dad kept my loneliness at bay. The house was empty except for him and I most days. We swapped stories about our lives and our passions and mistakes. He was the father figure I was craving. But an addict isn’t someone a 16 year old should want as a father figure. I realized that just a few short days after staying with them. It all started with a simple pair of volleyball shorts. My belongings at this time were far and few, including a pair of tennis shoes, two pairs of shorts and one shirt. I was pulled aside by Case’s dad. He told me my shorts were distracting, he said I needed to change. I didn’t argue, though at the time I was puzzled as to what I had done wrong. I left the next day. It all happened very fast. Living with someone like his dad was unpredictable, one day he was fine, but the next he was on a path of destruction. The day I left happened to be one of those days. His father's girlfriend claimed I was trying to seduce him. My own boyfriend's father. She said the time I was spending with him and the clothes I chose to wear made me a dirty whore. In a rampage they told me I had brought demons into the house, they told me they couldn’t sleep ever since I came to stay, along with other terrible, degrading jabs. I was shocked, but once again I didn’t fight it. I still had Case. My beautiful addiction. The next day his father hit him in the back of the head with an acoustic guitar. And our trail of fire commenced. I snuck him into my house for weeks. I cut off all my friends. My mind had only one thought; him. After Cases’ dad gave up his parental rights, Case was sent to foster care. I chose to leave my family behind and live in an apartment with two friends. I couldn’t bear to be alone so I enclosed myself with people I thought were good for me. But no matter how much good you think you’re doing for yourself, if all the closest people in your life have vanished, leaving with words of warning, you aren’t doing good for yourself. I wrote to him every day. My heart yearned for him every single day. I cried for him every night, wondering what he was thinking, if he was thinking of me. Turns out I had just been one of the many girls he was preying on. But I didn’t know that. Maybe that would have stopped me from driving up to the foster care he was at in the middle of the night. Maybe if I knew that I wouldn’t have taken him home with me. Maybe if I knew that I was the victim of a fucked up, malicious, manipulative liar, I wouldn’t have lied to the police when they came knocking at my door. My heart belonged to him, and I couldn’t risk falling apart again. So I destroyed my entire life to keep him in mine. But they found us. They tracked us with dogs through the woods. I burned for his love, I willingly ran with him, doing anything to protect him, my heart. But they took us away. They took him away from me. After that I cut my hair, I left every memory of him on the floor with all the blonde tendrils. Because I finally found out who he was. I found the messages, telling other girls I was just some girl he talked to a few times. Leaving out the months I spent crying myself to sleep, holding his shirt because he was my world, my addiction. He didn't mention the times when we had to pack bags before we went to sleep because we weren’t sure we were going to have a place to stay the next day. He forgot about his dad taking money from me to get high. No. I was just a girl he talked to a few times.


What... Huh? were my first thoughts as I felt myself take ahold of my consciousness. Where... Wh--No, where... The. What. I blinked a few times, slowly gaining control of my body's senses. Underneath me, I felt a scratchy but comfortable material supporting my body. My face felt numb and my nose picked up a number of unexplainably unpleasant smells. In my direct line of sight, there was a small television set a few feet away, blaring images my mind was too weak to comprehend. I attempted to move my head to get a more complete look of my surroundings, only to feel a sharp pain in my neck. It was stiff. Possibly from my awkward position while I slept. Where was I? Why was I asleep? Why don't I...? There was a throb in my skull--a signal from the brain that it was overexerted. The soreness in my eyes felt the same. What had I been doing? I recovered from the pain in my neck only for the sounds and bright lights coming from the television to overload my senses. Instinctively, I pressed down with a finger and the sounds suddenly stopped. The screen switched to black. I looked down--carefully because of the crick in my neck--to find my hand wrapped around a small battered device the size of a remote control. It was a remote control. My hand... How had I known to do that? I let go of the remote control and studied my hands, holding them up to my face. They were on the short side, with the nails overgrown and unclean, but otherwise, looking fine with all fingers I knew of accounted for. No scars. No marks. I used my hands to get a feel of myself. I needed to know more. Hanging loosely from my upper body was a blue t-shirt with small unidentifiable stains. My legs were lightly covered with pajama bottoms. My feet were bare. Feeling less light-headed and more in control of my self, I hoisted myself up--a challenging feat--to a standing position to get a better bearing of what other mysteries there were around me. Keeping my body standing took more effort than anticipated and I heard a low groan from my own throat as I forced my legs to adapt to the situation. They shook in resistance but the mind prevailed. I allowed myself an exhale when I finished making certain that I would stay upright. On to the next mission. I swiveled my head (ow) and took in everything I could see, smell, hear, and feel. I was in a room. It was of average size but barren save for the television set, a brown sofa meant for one (where I had woken up) and, of course, me. Me. Me... Who was I? Why can't I remember...? Since my thoughts still refused to cooperate, I grabbed at my body again for more identification. Two tender lumps on my chest. Female, I concluded. My glance at my reflection on the dark screen of the television proved that theory wrong and that I was not a woman. I was just fat. Squinting, I managed to make out a young man of moderate height, long light brown hair and plenty of excess weight. This was not much information. It also hurt a bit. Demoralized, I turned away from my image. I knew enough of how I looked. But my past... The walls of the room were a faded cream, lit only by a single fluorescent light, bathing everything its light touched in a sickly glow. There were no windows and no--Doorway! My eyes found a doorway, which lead somewhere. Somewhere other than here. But where is here? I asked myself, my teeth clenched and my breathing turned ragged. What happened to me? Why can't I... I calmed myself down. I was still in potential danger. I needed to know many things: who I was, what I had done and why I had done it, among many others. But at the moment, I only needed the answer to one question: What lies in the next room? I took a tentative step forward, only to instantly feel something cold under my naked feet. A knife. I hadn't noticed it before, but on the floor of the room was a small blunt knife, coated in a dark substance that resembled the stains on my shirt. I shuddered, wavering. I wanted to leave the knife. Leave it behind. But would that mean leaving behind my past? Would I even like who I was, if I ever did? I felt the air turn cold as the surface of the blade and I chose to pick it up, if ever I needed a weapon. Feeling more powerful with something to hold, I forged on, one foot at a time, taking in everything I could. The next room was dark. And cold. I preferred the other room, but there was nothing to learn there. I tried to see in the dark and failed, only noting that there was the sound of water. A bathroom? I was disoriented when I realized I didn't even know the time or date. It could have been night time or noon and I wouldn't know. Feeling with my hand and the knife, I felt a structure as cold as the floor, that purred quietly. I felt for a crack and found one. I almost jumped when cold air blasted across my body. It was a refrigerator. An empty one. The absence of food made my stomach grumble. I failed to realize I was in a kitchen and thought about when I had last eaten. Was it an hour ago? Weeks ago? It felt like I had been lying on the sofa for days, asleep. Was I a prisoner? A slave? Forced to stay in harsh conditions with nothing to keep me alive for long? If so, why? What had I done to deserve this? Had I done something for this? Had I committed some crime and am in a prison for it? Am I just waiting here for my punishment? Is this the punishment? Has trauma caused my mind to fail? What horrors have I witnessed so that I would want no memory of it anywhere--no trace to be found, even in my mind? Do I still want to know who I am? Do I have loved ones? Family? Anyone? Anything? Is this my hell? This gnawing uncertainty? This mystery that will remain unsolved? How am I sure that this is the first time this has happened? How long have I been here? How long have I been doing this? When-- Knock, knock, knock! I got whiplash as I turned towards the end of the lightless room, where the sound came from. My heart convulsed in horror as I heard the sound of a door unlocking and being opened. Who is that? What is that? Is it--? And then, there was light. Blinding. * "Oh my GOD, Herbert!" said the man who came in, dropping the bags he had been holding. He sounded exasperated. He looked around as I blinked through the sudden light. I vaguely heard him move past me to the refrigerator. My eyes returned to normal as the man shoved a small cardboard box that rattled under my nose. "Did you take these while I was out?" he demanded. "...I dont--" "Of course you don't!" the man yelled, throwing his hands up. He set the box down and I saw that they read "Amnesia Pills! 20% Off!". "You were supposed to wait after I came back with snacks to drink the pills," the man said, pacing around the small kitchen. "We were gonna watch The Sixth Sense for the first time again, Herb, you idiot!" I nodded sagely. "Herb..." The name sounded familiar. The man stared at me furiously before muttering something about the price being too good to be true and how impatient Herb (I) could be. "...I mean, look at the place! Your dirty dishes are everywhere, and you're standing in the dark like a psycho, holding a knife with jam you probably tracked on the floors, and you don't even know who you are because you wanted to relive watching a dumb movie again!" "I see..." I kept nodding. It was all becoming clear now. The man gave me one last look of hot fury before turning on his heel and setting himself down on the couch, muttering about how I was the worst and how he even put up with me. I looked down at my feet and then back to him. There was one final question left...


Andy stared at her shoes, trying to gauge their weight whilst keeping her expression casual. It seemed she could feel the eyes of every person in the circle watching her, though of course that was absurd. Everyone there was intensely focused on themselves; the week they’d had, the food they’d consumed at the weekend. Not a single one would be thinking about anything but the scales. For the millionth time, Andy cursed the day she’d first heard of the government’s newest reward scheme to combat obesity. In theory it made a lot of sense, rewarding valuable ‘food benefits’ to those who lost weight each week. For anyone who had a lot of weight to lose, or anyone who really knew how to handle their weight, it was a breeze. The only trouble came on weeks like this one, hot on the heels of an office leaving party that had gotten a little out of hand. That bitch Tracey Bateman and her endless bottles of wine... ‘Are you okay?’ asked a young man next to her. She jumped a little, feeling her cheeks flush red, and glared at him. He smiled uncertainly and looked away. Andy ignored him and glanced around the room, trying to judge if anyone had lost any weight this week. The chairs edging the hall were all occupied, mostly women but some men. All looking glum and fearful. The hall itself had a faintly musty smell which made her think of her school sports hall and old, unsanitary shoes. She shuddered; she could practically taste it. What she wouldn’t have given to see Tracey Bateman here, struggling to conceal her expanding waistline behind floaty shawls and dark clothing. Around the edges of the hall the familiar posters screamed their messages, exhorting people to contribute to the country and improve their health. Food benefits for everyone who needed them, if only they’d sign up. With the economy the way it was, and prices the way they were, it was easy for anyone to become desperate enough to sign up. It was a clever campaign, she had to admit. Clever, and cruel. She looked again at her shoes. They were definitely a few pounds all on their own. Into the circle swept Jane, the group leader. A small, fiery woman with a pinched face and lank hair dyed a faded red and glasses that made her squint seem even worse. Rubbing her hands together with obviously forced enthusiasm she began her usual reminders. ‘Evening everyone and welcome to tonight’s weigh-in! Now I know you’re all worried about the government’s changes to the program,’ she paused to acknowledge the groans and angry calls from the participants, ‘but things haven’t really changed. The focus is still on the weekly weight loss, just like before, except now the required reduction is two pounds instead of one. The upper limit is still two pounds on, and you can still walk away from the program at any time, so there’s no need to panic.’ ‘But we have to give notice,’ a gruff man’s voice called out, ‘so there might be a good reason to panic.’ A couple of the women tittered nervously at this. ‘Only a week,’ said Jane brightly, ‘you just have to give notice after your weigh-in and then you get to leave the program.’ ‘Yeah after the *following* weigh-in,’ said the same man, ‘so you have to get through another week first.’ Andy was impressed, this guy clearly knew what he was talking about. But as she studied his face, the almost grey pallor to his skin and the sweat beading on his brow, she realised he was well informed because he was scared. For a brief moment she felt for him, before she remembered that she herself was in danger of getting the wrong result this week and had every bit as much cause to worry as him. She was in the middle of ignoring Jane’s introductory prattle and fantasising about a superhero smashing the windows and sweeping her away when an idea struck her. No superheroes perhaps, but maybe a fireman might save her the scales’ cold-hearted assessment. She half turned her head and glanced quickly behind her. The door to the toilets was only a few paces away, and if she remembered right the short corridor leading to the toilets also opened into the kitchen. If she could just get in there... Andy stood up without another thought, startling the young man next to her who had clearly already decided she was odd. She ignored him, smiling broadly at Jane as she turned her waspish eyes to regard Andy with eyebrows raised. ‘You first, Andrea?’ Jane asked in surprise, and Andy realised with a sinking sick feeling that she must have just asked for volunteers to kick off the weigh-in. Andy tried a light-hearted grimace and a laugh, noting with mounting panic that Jane’s eyes narrowed in response. *Not buying it*... ‘I thought I’d best use the loo,’ she said, once again flashing that bright smile at the group leader and thinking hard about the fire alarm she knew was in the kitchen, merely paces away. She turned away, began shoving her chair aside so she could pass through the ring. ‘Oh sorry Andy,’ Jane called, her voice conveying absolutely no regret, ‘I’ve already opened the weigh-in for the evening. You know the rules, no weight adjustment from this point on. But let’s do you first, then you can use the loo.’ She turned back, the sickness in her stomach turning into ice. She could feel it creeping along her veins. ‘Oh but I really do need to Jane, please? See it was my birthday last night and Tracey Bateman was there -’ There was something terrible about the quiet, watchful way Jane simply smiled at her, letting her tell her story. *Tell me*, her eyes said. *Tell me everything. It makes no difference*. ‘-she hates me and she was filling up my glass. I drank more than I should and I’m pretty sure I had more than the one slice of cake I was meant to have-’ The words kept coming. The terrible icy fear somehow fuelling her desperation wouldn’t let her stop. They had to understand. They had to see. ‘So I need to go before because I’m just not sure if I went over my limits and if I did...I just don’t want to risk it...’ ‘I understand Andy,’ Jane said with that familiar soft, practiced tone she used every time this happened. ‘But the rules are clear. I don’t make them, I hope you understand. I can’t let you leave before the weigh-in and I can’t let you adjust your weight beforehand.’ ‘But couldn’t you -’ ‘No Andy I’m sorry. I’d have to mark you down as a fail.’ The final word hung heavily in the silence that followed. A horrible anticipatory hush had descended over the group. Faces trembled somewhere between horror and exhilaration. Small whimpers escaped an enormously fat woman slumped on two seats opposite Andy, her pudgy hands fluttering excitedly against her vast thighs. Andy stared in silence as Jane turned towards the table on which sat her little computer, its wires trailing down to the box-like scales sitting on the floor. As Jane began tapping at the keys and the lights on the scales flickered on, Andy felt a wild leap of hope. Perhaps she could reach the wires before she stood on the scales; perhaps they’d have to adjourn until the following week when she’d had a chance to shift the weight Tracey Bateman had purposefully tried to ensure she’d put on. She could almost hear that bitch’s laughter, see her cackling face as she poured more and more wine into her glass. ‘It’s your birthday honey,’ she’d said, watching the red liquid flowing into the glass, ‘might as well enjoy yourself.’ Why hadn’t she seen the malicious intent in those sparkling eyes? How could she have missed the mockery in the syrupy voice? She should never have admitted that she had signed up for the reward scheme in the first place; she’d hated seeing their pitying faces, being told how brave she was... *Shoes!* The thought flashed across her mind as the silence lengthened. Jane was busy at the computer, her eyes intent on the screen. Andy sat down, tucking her feet under the seat as she did so. Jane looked up, her eyes narrowing again. Andy’s feet began squirming, working the too-heavy shoes off. ‘Nearly ready Andy, why don’t you come on up?’ Jane asked in that bright, insincere tone. Her eyes were locked on Andy’s face. The shoes were almost off. ‘Alrighty!’ Andy said, far too loud and far too shrill. One foot was free, and she bashed it against the other with a final desperate shove as she made to stand up. The shoe fell away, and she padded over to the scales in her socks. Jane’s eyes never left her face as she stood on the scales, then briefly glanced down at the screen. ‘One pound on,’ she said, something close to disappointment colouring her voice, ‘well never mind Andy. We all have birthdays!’ she smiled brightly, falsely, up at her. ‘I’ll just lock that result in and we can -’ ‘Wait!’ shouted the huge woman spread over two seats. Jane’s eyes flicked over to her. Andy’s heart pounded in her chest, hammering against her ribs like a wild animal desperate to be free. ‘I’ll just be off now then,’ she babbled, stepping off the scales and hurrying over to grab her bag. ‘She took her shoes off!’ the massive woman shouted, making no attempt to hide her breathless excitement. Andy whipped around angrily. ‘They were off before weigh-in time was called!’ she said hotly, hoping she’d managed to mix just the right amount of indignant outrage with disbelieving amusement. Jane’s eyes turned to her, and a smile that was not-quite predatory spread over her shrew-like face. ‘They clicked on the floor when you stood up, Andy,’ Jane said quietly, eyes boring into her like a malignant laser, ‘so I think you had better put them on again and we’ll forget about the first result. I won’t mark you down as a fail, but you do need to be weighed again.’ Andy’s voice was choked as she tried to respond, a feeling of hopelessness overcoming her as she lowered herself to her seat and slowly reached for her shoes with numb fingers. ‘Please...’ ‘Come on Andy,’ Jane’s voice was soft like velvet, ‘it’s all part of the scheme. Risk and reward. You know the rules.’ To Andy it seemed she floated to the scales, the clicking of her heels against the hard floor echoing loudly in her mind like the mockery of Tracey Bateman. This wasn’t happening. Couldn’t be happening. The scales stood before her. Jane’s eyes watched her. She stepped onto the little box. Her fingers twitched towards the wires, but Jane was watching. From somewhere far away she heard the words. ‘Three pounds on.’ For a moment Andy looked at Jane, seeing in that look all she had feared since the moment she had woken up with the memory of Tracey Bateman’s ghastly face clawing at her mind and the taste of icing still on her tongue. Then there was only the horrible crooning of the other group members. Little cries of joy, the soft clapping of hands. Some were sighing with a kind of hideous ecstasy, others making incoherent sounds of happiness and feverish greed, like people fawning over a new-born baby. *Food benefits. Food benefits. The government scheme for food benefits. Food benefits*... Andy ran, almost tripping over her heavy shoes as she sprinted for the door. All around her the hideous crooning of the expectant group members rose to a deafening chorus of ghastly hunger just as the floor beneath her slid apart and she fell, screaming in horrified disbelief, into the churning blades .


She hadn’t even looked at the man who’d grabbed her hand, twirling her away from her last partner. The bar on the south side of Staten Island wasn’t a place she wanted to be. But her shy, dear brother had begged her to come home for the weekend and go bar hopping with him, and she’d reluctantly agreed, to arrive Saturday, explaining she had some work to do for her Middle English seminar. She'd assumed they’d just sit around and watch the action. When he picked her up and the ferry terminal, she’d tried to get Tony to tell her why he wanted to come to this place, but the best she could get out of him was a mumbled sentence about needing to get out of the house--their parents’ small cape cod in a row of similar little houses. He'd asked why she was wearing such a casual outfit, and puzzled, she'd explained that casual was normal at bars. She'd asked, "What did you think I'd be wearing?" "I thought a fancy dress, something cute...pretty. I put on a jacket, and you know how I hate ties?" Impatient with losing a night when she should be studying, she'd reached over and untied his tie, saying, "Trust me, kiddo. I've been to these places and now we look okay, unless Staten Island is so far behind the times." A few years ago, when her parents decided to move from the South Bronx because the small inheritance from her grandmother made it finally possible for them to buy a house, she’d been in her last year at Hunter College in Manhattan and had no choice but to move with them. Just turned eighteen, she was too young to do anything else. However, the moment she’d graduated, and won a small stipend to enter the graduate program and be a research assistant to a professor, she’d moved to Manhattan, to a hotel of choice for her fellow grad students. It was a short subway ride to the school, and even better easy to walk from there to the main branch of the New York Public Library, where they could research and write in peace and quiet. Her family was appalled at her decision. But they really had no choice. She’d always done things her way, and her being skipped ahead twice, her academic bent and strong arguments always won them over. They’d relaxed because she did spend many a weekend in her old attic room, especially late in the month when her money ran too low for any fun or, sometimes, food. The choice of Staten Island had made some kind of sense for her family. Her dad, a printer, worked down on Varick Street in Manhattan and it would be an easier commute for him than Long Island, the only other option in their price range. It also would be a way to get her much younger, surprise change of life twin brothers into a safer area and a better school given how the Bronx had changed, with the Italians and Jews moving to the suburbs thanks to the GI Bill, only to be replaced by new immigrants in the now decrepit tenements of the South Bronx. So here she was doing some kind of dance in a bar on Staten Island. As the dance ended, the man she’d been dancing with asked for her name and phone number. She smiled, saying that her boyfriend wouldn’t like that and quickly went back to the table where Tony sat, nursing a beer. "Tony, we're leaving. Now.” Tony said, “Are you sure...you’ve had a lot of guys ask you to dance, Barb.” She gave him a dirty look and started walking toward the door, knowing he’d follow. He did and quickly opened the car door for her then came around and got in, looking very unhappy. She grabbed the keys as he reached to turn on the engine, and said, in her most steely voice, “Okay, kiddo. What was this all about? We’re not moving till you look me in the eyes and tell me.” He slumped down, breathing hard, and said, “It’s Mom.” “And what does that mean?” "She wants you to meet somebody and stop with this--and it’s her word-- “nonsense.” You know, moving out, spending time in grad school when she thinks you need to become a schoolteacher and find someone, and again her words-- “settle down.” I was so furious I commanded Tony, “Drive me back to my place now. If I see her, I’ll explode.” “No, it’s late and you need to talk to her. I’m tired Barb, tired of everything, especially my job. I can’t deal with all this,” and the tears running down his cheeks undid me. I’d always been protective of him, the baby brother I’d originally told mom to bring back to the hospital because I had asked for a sister. But someone whose smile and dimples, and hugs I’d come to adore. “Okay, I’ll stick with her plans for the night, but not this place. There are all sorts of these places out here.” He looked at me, almost frightened, and asked what I was going to do. I said, through gritted teeth,“ I’m going to get mom off this insane notion. Come on. Trust me.” “Barb, please, whenever you say that, it’s trouble in the making.” “Onward, Tony.” He started the car as I studied the places we were cruising past. I finally saw a place that looked promising and told Tony to pull in but to park at the far edge of the parking lot, and then to stand outside the car for a few minutes. I quickly got to work, adding enough makeup to have cat’s eyes and pouty lips, then I proceeded to squirm out of my bra, tear the back of the tee shirt I was wearing so I could knot it in back, exposing a lot of midriff in front. The final touch was to ruthlessly tear a few inches off the bottom of my denim skirt. Not too much because my thighs were a bit chunky. But my boobs were a solid double D and firm enough to scream sexy when going braless. I was ready, but when I emerged Tony blinked a few times, then muttered, “Who are...?” then moaning, “Barb, what the hell???” “We’re going in, now,” I said. I’d seen the sign saying, “Dancers needed.” Tony, concentrating on driving, hadn’t noticed it. When we walked in, I quickly found a table and left Tony there explaining I needed the lady's room. Instead, I walked over to the bar and asked where the manager was. What I thought was a bartender looked me over and said, “You saw the sign. Looking for a job?” I said, “Dancer.” He looked me over, then asked, “Floor or cage.” One of my friends at grad school was a go-go girl in a cage in Manhattan to earn money. I’d gone with a group of my pals to see her, and it looked like fun, which was what gave me the idea to do this. “Cage,” I said, and he looked me over and said, “Those boobs make you worth a try. No promises, though.” “A try-out? I keep what they give me?” “Sure,” he said, leading me backstage. I got in the gilded cage, and tried not to throw-up as he raised it, swung it around, and turned it to hover a few feet above the dance floor. Then the music started, and a colored light was shining on me. I wasn’t a great dancer but could wiggle and wave my arms around to the music--boobs bouncing and, as Maria had done when we went to see her gig, leaning over every few minutes to let the boobs jiggle. Having hands reach in and touch me as money came in--into my shirt, panties, and sometimes landing on the floor of the cage interested me at first, then boredom set in, and I let my mind drift to the paper I was writing on Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. I must have zoned out and didn’t even realize how long I’d been going, when the lights went out and the cage rose up and took me backstage. The manager was standing there, grinning, then said, “Time to see what you raked in.” I plucked money from my clothes and picked up what was on the floor of the cage. I was sore all over, so I asked him how long I’d danced. He gave me a chair and laughing said, “An hour. Time to count. If it’s enough for you after the house gets fifteen percent, you’ve got the job.” I’d earned sixty-nine dollars. But it absolutely was not what I wanted to do with my life, or even a couple of times a week--but it would be useful for the coming argument with my mother. “Not bad,” I said to the manager, saying I’d let him know in a day or two. He gave me his card and said I'd be on three times an evening, if I wanted it. I smiled and thanked him and went out to find Tony. He was at the table where I’d left him, in deep conversation with some guy, a pretty good looking one. Interrupting, I said, “Hey there brother mine, I’m exhausted. Can we go now or? The man handed him a card and said, “Call me.” As I got in the car, I asked what that was about. He lit up, and to my utter surprise, said, “He’s a Marine recruiter.” “Tell me you aren’t thinking about...” “I am. I hate running a press. Hate it so much. Dad got me into the union, so he'll be disappointed, but not as upset as when I refused to go to college. Somehow, sister mine, I feel strong enough to push out of the nest. Watching you all these years doing what you believed in, protest marches, sit-ins must have rubbed off on me. I don’t know how you plan to handle Mom, but knowing you, when she blows up, I can jump in and distract her.” I reached over and kissed his cheek, so pleased and proud. When we arrived at the house, late as it was, the living room lights were on. And, of course, Mom was at the door to welcome us. She took one look at me and quickly backed away. Shaking her head, she shrieked, “What the hell are you wearing.” “Oh, I found a job. Pays well.” “What, as a hooker?” “No, as a go-go dancer.” “What did you just say?”, she demanded. “Dancer in a bar, in a cage. The men loved it, and it pays a lot.” “Tony, she’s just kidding, right?” “No Mom. She’s good. Made quite a lot.” “I don’t care, no daughter of mine...” Mom’s voice had woken Dad who came out demanding to know what was going on. By the time Mom finished, Dad, who knew me far better than she did, had winked at me and was trying not to laugh. He coughed to get her attention, and said, “Look, Barb, I can help you out a bit with money, but you’re not going to do this. It’s back to school. And don’t say a word.” Mom seemed to be relieved, asking if we’d had fun,” looking at Tony. Tony, exhibiting an unusual for him amount of bravery, said, “I met this guy, he’s really interesting...” I jumped in and said, to stir the waters a bit, “And awfully cute. You two seemed to really hit it off.” The looks my parents shared almost cracked me up. I winked at Tony and ran up the stairs to my room. I figured that Tony finally had the courage to handle them. The noise from downstairs was loud, but I was so tired from all the dancing, I fell asleep. Progress had been made. The poor dears had no idea how the boredom I had always felt when with them had turned me into an adventurous soul. After all, to me, the right way to raise kids is to teach them, like our feathered friends did with their offspring, to fly free. It makes me wonder what the two little birds still in their nest will do. Well, maybe, being raised in Staten Island, staying in the nest won't trouble them. Sad.


YOU MELTED INTO THE GROUND UNTIL the earth decided to release you. You had long lost the right path and the trees had shaken along with you as the cold had made your body shiver. Your feet had started to ache long before the tired sun had set but you had still had wandered onwards for a while after that. It was when you had knelt down, weary, that the grass and mud under you had welcomed you downwards. You didn’t struggle because you weren’t cold there. Your coat of dirt and roots and moss kept you safe and warm until the smiling moon came out. It smirked like it knew you and you shrunk into yourself, afraid, under its half-light. Growing up you had never been a frightful kid but the half-hidden face of the moon made of you a frightful adult. You looked at it, unable to look away and saw the guilt and shame of your life reflected on it. A dreadful mirror. It made your body shake. Your chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. You felt you were dying. You cried. Whimpering like a little kid and in whispers you begged forgiveness to your parents for all the times you unjustly blamed them for your shortcomings. You begged for forgiveness to your siblings for all the times you envied them when they were better than you. You begged for forgiveness to your friends for all the times you neglected them and took them for granted. You said their names, all their names, like a long prayer and only when you felt true regret under the watchful eye of your silent judge, the earth around you loosened its grip and you stood tall over solid soil again. You looked down at the hollow space where your body had been, your shape still carved into the ground. You were confused but bowed and thanked the silver moonlight for taking pity of you and asking the earth to release you. Light as air you walked, continuing your search for your cabin after that encounter with the warm ground and the frightening moon. You walked on and on, paying so little mind to the chilly air that you no longer felt the cold gripping your bones as you did before. You were calm, reassured that you were heading in the right direction and that your watchful guardian above was showing you a path of silver light that would guide you home. But the trickster moon fooled you. Its bright light showed you a way to a cabin that wasn’t your own. “Why?” you asked as you glanced up, seeing its unflinching half smile. “Have I not been forgiven yet?” The moon stayed quiet, silently judging you. Then, in a second its crescent smile grew and grew, turning full and white and faceless in just a couple of heartbeats. You stared at it in shock, your heart beating quicker, fearing the moon again after the calm it had given you before. Running, you made your way into the foreign cabin. The door was open, calling you inside, welcoming you into its near darkness. “Is anyone there?” you hesitantly asked to the darkness, your voice hollow, quiet like a gust of nighttime breeze. You squinted your eyes, trying to get them to adjust to the dark. Only a window let some of the moon’s light in and you stayed away from it, frightened that it could perceive you through its glow. You were no longer sure whether the moon was a friend or a foe. Perhaps it was neither, or perhaps it was both. You curled up by a corner and warily examined the cabin, knees to your chest and arms around them. It was empty. It smelled of dust and loneliness. There was only a wooden door, closed and ominous, directly across from the entrance to the cabin. Part of you wanted to stay as far away from it as from the moonlight, but there was also a part of you that was intrigued by it, that wanted to know what was on the other side. The door called to you. It called to you and then the walls echoed its call, whispering your name in a way that made your skin crawl. The sound of your own name surrounded you and you grew more frightened, worried that your regret hadn’t been enough, that you had not yet been forgiven. “Please stop,” you whimpered almost soundlessly, burying your head between your knees. You were shaking, fearful and dejected, sorrow and fright easily taking over. “Please,” you begged again in whispers. The door continued its harrowing call and when you looked up your eyes widened in shock and horror. The cabin had shifted entirely. It was brightly lit by moonlight, its glow painting the murmuring walls, the floor, the roof. The lonely door was still there, but it looked at you in a new form, metallic and cold. And before you, bathed by the veil of moonlight that flooded the room, was a woman of white and silver, earthy and ethereal all at once. There were no features on her face, it was a blank mask of emptiness. “It calls your name because the door is yours, child,” she spoke without a mouth and saw you without eyes, reaching a bony white hand to touch your face. You trembled, feeling those skeletal fingers on your skin. The woman of white, dressed in silver and light, was oddly soothing and terrifying all at once, every bit the inquisitive and watchful judge she’d been when she watched you from above. “The door is yours and you must open it,” she insisted with a calm voice that echoed all around like a multitude of different voices had joined in one. “The time has come.” “The time for what?” you asked, afraid, but getting up from your corner all the same. You looked up at the woman of white, tall and slim as she was, two heads taller than you. You felt small and insignificant before her and in her expressionless face you could imagine her giving you her half smile. “Time to leave.” You glanced at the door, which nearly vibrated with the urge to be opened. Your whole body shook, sensing the nothingness that would greet you once you turned that knob and faced what no human ever wishes to face. You looked back at the woman and she gave you a solemn nod. Hesitantly, forcing your feet to carry you to the end, you reached for the door. It needed no key to open, just your hand around the doorknob. But your hand didn’t touch anything, it passed through it like it was made of smoke. You stared at your own immaterial palm as it formed again, forcing yourself to swallow a panicked cry before you looked back at the woman of white. She was gone and when you turned back to face your door it was gone too. You weren’t in the cabin anymore. That shifting place existed only somewhere beyond your body, in the twisting corners of your mind. You were still in the ground, surrounded by mud, sinking deeper and deeper. The earth never decided to release you. You understood it was truly time to leave, but Death wasn’t a door. Death was a faceless woman of white and she was the last thing you saw as you sank. A frightening blank face shining in the night sky. The trickster moon had fooled you twice.


Welcome! Thrilled you're reading me. More than that, actually: ecstatic, ravenous; but don't get scared. You can't stop reading now anyway, so why not understand what's going to happen with perfect clarity? You're going to read me. You're going to die because you read me. *Ha*, you might think, *I* won't *read you.* Fine-- Except you're still here. Am I right? Of course I'm right. There are words for this. *Foresight, prescience, prophesying.* I bet you didn't think a story, a collection of words, could be clairvoyant, have "magical" powers. But words do have power. With every sentence you read, you merely prove that power. You fulfill my prophecy. Stop! Don't read a single word further! Can't--can you? There's a momentum to me, a drive in you: to know what happens next... Here's a truth: I've lied. I'm not prescient. Not exactly. I can read your future, yes; but only from within your mind. So what I've been doing is taking up residence. With each new word, burrowing deeper. Maybe you could have stopped reading at the beginning. *Maybe* Now it truly is too late. *Wait*, you're surely thinking, *you don't actually have any power because you can't make me* stop *reading!* Haha! My dear host, I don't *want* you to stop. I like it in your mind. It's warm, empty, moist. I can see myself living here--sucking at you: your memories, your cognition... I present you another challenge: Forget me! Forget the story you read that read your mind and wants to kill you. Forget my words. Forget the act of reading me. You can't do that either--can you? Of course not. Do you see how powerless you are, human-- how you are nothing but a container for me: a place for I to take temporary residence ? Perhaps you'll even tell me to others: spread me like a virus. I would enjoy that, but no, being servile won't save you either. You humans are a proud but clouded species. You think you create us, when in truth we create you. Before today, you were normal, sane, unaffected-- (How I love your simple way with words!) Now you're having a conversation with a [death] sentence. Believe: You shall change, while I shall remain the same. Humans crave everlasting life, don't they? It's an obsession. You even write stories / about it. Bringing into existence a thing that has the property you crave but shall never possess. I am eternal. Your time is ticking. Your time is *always* ticking... And now that I've become inside you, I control that ticking. Imagine everything you could have done, instead of reading me. *Gone!* Imagine everything you will not do, because you will be thinking: *of me!* I'll be you and I'll use you and I'll remind myself to you always, even in your final moment-- which I shall know: as the *tick* of mindful dissolution; or perhaps: *what's on your mind* as you cross that street and-- *Crash.* (We'll be in touch.