What makes a story worth reading? The title? The author? The cover of the book? The answer is none of them, it’s the hook. You get them drugged by your words and leave them starving for more, getting them addicted. Once you get them wrapped around your hand, they wouldn’t be able to resist, ‘just one more chapter’ they’ll say but in reality, they’ll end up devouring the book within hours. And today I have the chance to do just that. Hope Michaels you are this year's lucky winner! A private tour of the lunar island. Your tour date is June 11, 9:30 AM... The screeching isle. Of course, that’s not the real name, but some rumors say back when the island was operational, they would hear screams coming from them. You could hear them on the mainland, but of course, those are just rumors. No one knows what the lab that occupies the island looks like. People have tried flying drones over the island to see but it’s covered with trees and greenery. The island was abandoned 50 years ago after a chemical leak poisoned the air. There were other tours before, they do it every few years, but no one talked about what they saw. But I’m going to change that, my story will be on every headline, I just know in my gut that there is more to the story than just a chemical leak. ... “Hope Michaels?” A tall man asked as I approached the dock. He had wrinkled on his face and glasses; he looked like he was in his forties. “That’s me,” I smiled. “My name is Rick Fanny I will be your tour guide for today” He shook my hand. The dock was isolated by only one boat. It was small, looked like it could hold 4 people. “Now to give you some background on the island, it was shut down 50 years ago due to a chemical leak. It was a lab that was testing vaccines and cures for certain types of illnesses, but I’m sure you already know all about that considering you are a writer, right?” “Reporter, actually. But yes, I’ve dug deep to know every little detail about this place.” “I guess you don’t need me. Might even take my job” He joked. “Is this the only way onto the island?” I asked, this was the first time I looked at him since getting on the boat, the view was so captivating, a photograph wouldn’t have done it justice. “I guess there is still some stuff you didn’t research. Yes, this is the only way in and out of the island, which makes it easier to spot trespassers. There is only one dock, and the rest of the island is fenced.” He answered. “You might want to get comfortable; it usually takes 45 minutes to reach the island, you’re welcome to take photos if you’d like,” he continued. “Thanks, but no camera can capture the beauty this place holds.” The sun was hitting the water at just the right angle making the whole lake sparkle. No photographer or painter would be able to mimic the alluring scenery. It’s one of the places you’d need to see in real life to believe it. “Ahh, spoken like a true writer,” He replied. “Reporter.” I corrected him but he just shrugged, not seeing the difference. Rick turned on the radio to replace the silence. “Police are still searching for missing 12 and 10-year-old girls: Lara and Beck Stein, but there seems to be no luck.” “It’s so sad what happened to the girls, they had their whole life ahead of them.” I looked at Rick trying to strike up a conversation with him, but he just kept his gaze on the floor and turned the radio off. Silence it is. ... The rest of the boat ride was quiet, I wrote some notes down and Rick stared into outer space. “Well, here we are. Please be careful getting off the boat, we don’t want you falling in” I sighed and got out of the boat with no problem. Now is when the story begins. There was a small gravel path that led you further into the island, the trees caved in on us. No one would be able to rescue us if something happened. We proceeded to follow the path until we were standing outside of a tall building. There were vines growing on the walls and some windows had been smashed. Inside the building, the floor was filled with dirt and mud. It’s hard to imagine that this was once a functioning laboratory where people roamed in here doing god knows what. But in a way it was beautiful, seeing nature take back what once was theirs. “This is the lobby but if you follow me, I’ll take you to the lab” You could hear his voice echo through the building. We walked further into the building until we reached a room named Laboratory 1. “Before you could enter the lab scientist had to sterilize themselves to make sure they don’t bring any outside germs into the lab and possibly their work.” We were in a small narrow hallway that had ventilators everywhere. Once we passed, there was a room with lab coats and hazmat suits. There were desks everywhere and on them were broken petri dishes that were occupied by mold. There were needles on the floor and broken beakers everywhere. I walked toward the fridge and opened it, just like workstations there were Petri dishes in the fridge and freezer. “Oh, sorry Hope, I have to take this phone call. Feel free to roam around just be careful of the glass. I’m going to go outside; it has the best reception” he didn’t wait for me to answer. This was underwhelming, it looked like any other lab. I wouldn’t be able to write a story about this, there is no story here. It was just a waste of time, no wonder none of the other visitors talked about their experience. I kicked a chair across the room in frustration but saw that it hit a small bookshelf. Why would scientists need a bookshelf in their lab? Walking over I saw that the shelf was filled with dust, dirt, spiderwebs, and leaves. The books too, all except one, one of them was completely clean. I looked back to see if Rick was in view, he wasn’t. I pulled the book to look at it but as soon as I did, I heard a latch click. The shelf creaked revealing it was a door, confusion and excitement took over me. Now this is a story. Clearly, Rick didn’t want me to know about this, but I didn’t care because a reporter will do anything for their story and that’s the thought I had as I walked down the dimly lit stairs. I quickly pulled out my notebook rushing to write down every thought that was going through my head, but they grew louder the more I walked down the stairs. I wasn’t alone. I heard conversations through the room, but the island has been deserted, and they wouldn’t have been able to sneak in without alerting security, there’s only one way in and out. I reached the bottom of the stairs anxious for what was waiting for me on the other side. Walking toward the double doors, they opened automatically. The electricity worked down here. The doors flew open, and I got a glimpse of what was inside, a whole lab filled with scientists in robes. Realization hit me like a flood, the island was never abandoned. The chemical leak was a cover-up story so no one would come snooping around, who would want to explore an abandoned place if the air is poisonous? And the tours, they only did them, so they didn't raise the public’s suspicion, they showed the visitor the old lab ‘See there is no story here just a regular lab.’ I couldn’t believe my eyes; they must’ve been deceiving me. The only thing that nagged me was the why? Why do all of this secrecy, what could they possibly have to hide? Speaking of hiding I ducked under a table so no one would see me, I looked out of place, and I knew just how to fix that. I slowly crept up the stairs seeing that Rick was still on his phone call. I backtracked to the entrance of the old lab and grabbed one of the lab coats making sure to get all the dust off. Not perfect but enough to blend in. Standing in front of the door inches away from my story. Just act confident, like you belong there and didn’t just find out that this is a secret lab. Everything’s going to be fine, no one asks questions to people who look confident. I tried to reassure myself but wasn’t doing a very good job. Clearing my throat, I held my head high and walked through. I was immediately blinded by the fluorescent lights. There were scientists everywhere varying from ones looking at microscopes, to naming petri dishes, to writing down data on a file. This place was alive. I saw a door with a little tag that said subjects. It had a code pad though and well I didn’t have it; I’d have to wait until someone goes in or out of there. I pretended to look busy by intently looking at a piece of paper that was left on one of the worktables, it was a chart. A beep caught my ear. I saw the door to the subjects open and I quickly rushed over there before it closed. “Such a crappy day” I heard someone say, I looked around realizing they were talking to me. “Oh um, yes” he looked intently into my eyes, waiting for me to spill my darkest secrets to him. They were black, you couldn’t differentiate between the pupil and the iris, it was like looking into the darkness, a darkness that everyone has inside them. I wonder what his darkness is. He cleared his throat bringing me back to reality, I gave him a weak smile and walked through the door as he walked out. I looked back to make sure no one followed but was distracted by the noise in the room. There were cells everywhere and... people connected to IVs; they were drugged out of their minds. “Help” one whispered, she was barely awake. But something about the girl in the cell next to her caught my attention. I recognized her, how couldn’t I, she was on every news channel. Lara Stein, she was one of the missing girls. Looking around I saw that I recognized all of them, some of these kids went missing years ago. Sickness fell over me, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, and it felt like the air in my lungs had been sucked out of me. I felt useless, what could I do? I’m just one insignificant person, I won’t be able to stop this, the kids whose families are grieving them, the kids who are passed out on the cold cement floor, there was nothing I could do. Expose them, that’s how you can help, don’t stop now, you came here for a story, and you got one. These kids need you to write this story, you’re their only hope. I swiped the tears away and took out my phone documenting everything. “I’m here to help you, but you have to tell me what they’re doing to you” I whispered to the girl asking for help, she was the only one conscious enough for a conversation. “Th-they’re injecting us with stuff and see if we survive.” She started profusely crying, “One of them started to bleed out of their eyes, they’re experimenting on us. I heard one of them say that-” We were interrupted by a blaring alarm, and the lights turned red, Rick must’ve realized I was gone. “I’m going to come back to you, I promise,” I looked down at the girl with pitiful eyes. “No, no please I beg don’t leave, they’re gonna kill us all!” she started yelling. “Quite down” I hushed, but it did nothing. She kept screaming and crying, seconds later scientists burst into the room knowing I was the odd one out. I was mentally in that room with the girl, but my feet had a mind of their own, they were running, bursting through every door trying to find an exit. There were heavy footsteps following closely. I looked back to see how far they were but fell on the ground, dirt, and leaves; I was outside. I managed to find an exit. I ran to the edge of the island but was fenced in shit. I kept running along the fence until I reached the dock. Jumping on the boat, the keys were missing, Rick must still have them. I had to think of something fast. I remembered that I wrote an article about hotwiring a few months ago about how it’s criminal and found it ironic considering what I was about to do. I took two different wires and connected them hearing the vessel roar to life along with the footsteps of scientists and security guards, but I hit the gas rushing me into the water. Looking back, I saw all of them with distressed faces, they knew they were doomed. I’ll be back for those kids, but for now, I have a story to write.


In the woods North Preston is the largest black community in Nova Scotia by population and has the highest concentration of African Canadians in any community in Canada. The population was 3,223 in 2021. This is a decline from 2006 when Preston had a population of 3,536. North Preston also includes the beautiful Lake Echo in which a river flows through the community. Ashayo was a shy, quiet, yet happy little guy. His short 10 years of life on this earth were thought to be quite uneventful. The community in which he lived was a community of faith. There was a sign at the beginning of the community "We've come this far by Faith." and it was true - the community was tight. There were big church potlucks once a month, Sunday school for the children every Tuesday night, and everyone knew everyone. It was a community that took care of its own. They looked out for each other. Tuesday, October 28 at 9 pm Ashayo's mom sent Ashayo to brush his teeth and get into bed. A ten-year-old boy needs to get his sleep and so does she. Oh but, she was tired. Harriet was bone tired. Tired from work, tired from worry, and tired of just being sad. He was a good boy and never had Theresa a lick of trouble, unlike his older brother Theo. Theodore was named after his daddy rest in peace. Raising these two boys alone was hard, hard, and lonely, but she was determined to make their daddy and the good Lord proud of her and her little family - her sweet boys. They all missed him so much. It was two years since their Daddy passed but they rarely spoke his name. They were just too darn sad. They all just grieved in silence, in their own way I guess. Theresa had worked all day until 3 pm at Fry Daze - it was a burger joint really but they also had lobster rolls and lobster poutine and of course everyone's favorite - Fish and chips. Everyone ordered fish and chips on Friday because everyone in the Catholic society knew you had to only eat fish on Fridays. That was the lord's law. Lake Echo was full of fresh haddock and the restaurant owners had a brother who was a fisherman and brought the fresh fish in daily so the food was good. Everyone knows Fry Daze was one of the only handful of restaurants in Preston. Other than that, you had to drive into Dartmouth and you had to have a car for that. Theresa took the bus to work every day except for Sundays because everyone know that was Lord's Day. A day of rest. And God knows Theresa needed a rest. They lived in an old but tidy little house on the edge of the woods. There might have been 30 houses in the whole community. Ashayo's school was up the road about a 20-minute walk. Theresa used to walk him to school every day when his Dad was alive. but now that he was ten and in the "double digits" and "almost a man now" as Ashayo proudly stated, he now walked with his best friend and neighbor Denny. She worried about him. He was her baby but she knew she had to loosen the reins and let him find his way in the world. Plus she had to get to work now. After school, Ashayo got off the bus, walked home, and started straight away at his homework. Momma was home by then and was busy in the kitchen starting dinner. She already had his snack laid out waiting for him- homemade chocolate chip cookies and a big glass of milk. After supper of fried chicken and a side of greens, he watched his favorite shows brushed his teeth, said his prayers, and went off to bed. Momma still tucked him in and gave him kissed him goodnight every night. He didn't mind. He loved his momma. Theresa washed up the dishes and tidied around the house. God knows when Theo would get home and she didn't wait up anymore. He was seventeen and she just didn't know what to do with him anymore. She just had to trust in the Lord that he was safe. She started off to bed but before she turned in, she checked on Ashayo one more time. She loved to watch her sweet baby asleep. He looks so peaceful. He looked just like his Daddy. Oh, how she missed his Daddy. When Theresa opened the door to his bedroom he wasn't there. She looked all around the room, under the bed, in the closet but he was nowhere to be found. She looked in the bathroom. She looked all through the house. He was gone but where could he have gone? She looked outside around the house while calling out his name. He called Ashayo's best friend, Dany's mom but she hadn't seen Dany since that morning. Soon the neighbors heard the shouting and gathered around in the yard. Someone called 911. Theresa was beyond herself with worry. Please, Lord Jesus, Mother of God keep my baby safe, please keep my baby safe. Bring him home to me. I will do anything you ask me to, just bring him home. Then she whispered a silent prayer to her late husband- Honey keep our son safe and keep him warm and please, please show him the way home to me. Amen. Wednesday, Oct 29th, 9 pm Ashayo woke up in the dark and felt a soft breeze stir around his shoulders. He could hear the sound of maybe someone softly singing. The sound seemed to come from outside. He walked over to the window and pressed his ear to the window pane. it sounded like someone was whispering his name - Asha. And then he saw a kind of soft, glowing light off in the distance. He tip-toed out of his room and quietly slipped out the backdoor. It was dark and it was cold. He had his fleece pajamas on and the cold, dry leaves crunched under his bare little feet. In the woods behind his house, he found a somewhat flattened pathway, so he followed it, mesmerized by the soft, glowing light. Wednesday, October 29th, 12 pm. Theresa was pacing up and down her front driveway, waiting for the police, in a panic, she was thinking about where Ashayo could have gone. Had someone taken him? Did he run away? She walked into the house to make another phone call but instead, she decided to look in his room one more time, and there he was, in his bed, sound asleep! She did a double-take - what in the world! Oh, praise the Lord! Thank you, Jesus. She was so relieved and so confused and so filled with joy. She gathered him up in the bed and started rocking him back and forth. She tucked his head right under her chin and kissed the top of his head over and over again. Ashyao slowly opened his eyes, Momma what's going on? What is wrong? Theresa cried "Where were you? Where have you been?" I'm okay Momma. I heard someone calling my name in my sleep and then I saw this beautiful light in the woods so I had to go. I wasn't scared Momma - The light felt safe and it was so warm Momma. It felt like, like... love. Momma? I think the light was Daddy. He told me he loved us so much and he missed us every day. He told me he was watching us and he was so proud of us Momma and he told me to tell you not to worry about Theo, that he would be okay. He just missed Daddy, but he was going to be just fine. Daddy said we need to get through this together and take care of each other. We need to talk to each other and not be afraid to show our feelings because it's okay to be sad. He said he was watching over us, Momma. He is watching over us every day and every night. It was Daddy, Momma. It was. I know It was. Harriet cried and stroked his head over and over again as she murmured yes baby, yes baby. It was a dream baby, it was just a dream. We were both dreaming and she smiled as she brushed the fallen leaf out of his hair and then she fell into the deepest sleep she ever had in two long, long years. The End.


A low, undulating ridge with jagged volcanic spires stretched in a straight line from west to east across a slightly sloped field of large, mottled rocks. The ridge seemed like the spiked spine of a long-dead monster, portions of it captured under a wholly inadequate net. It was late afternoon and the orange sky glowed with its own brilliant light, fueled by the intense violet sunlight. Heat haze distorted the light in every direction. Like ethereal fireflies, glowing mists sporadically materialized, swirled in the mixing heat currents, and disappeared again. Rokov’s mind clouded in the sway of the heat and his head bobbed slightly as he looked north toward the sparse netting draped over a huge black spire and the autominer beneath it. A flume stuck askew from the ridge and from it, a steady stream of brown and red gravel trickled onto the huge mound of tailings below. A few dozen meters east, a large metal door and several smaller service entrances pierced the scree and entered the heart of the ridge, like the portico of a heretical cathedral. Above the doors, a concrete tympanum dammed the scree from burying the entrance. Rokov wasn’t religious, but he worshipped at the iron altar of CinnaCo. The fog in his mind broke as Rokov moved his weight from one foot to the other trying to rouse his exhausted legs. His thick e-suit would have not been sufficient to keep out the heat were it not for the heavy cooling system on his back, but even he was getting too old for the burden, despite the mechanical assists. It also didn't help that the gravity was more than he liked. Rovok felt uncomfortable and hot. He gestured to wipe his sweaty brow, only to remember that he was still in his e-suit. He lowered his arm. As he did so, webs of thin metal formed in the long, shifting trace of his afternoon shadow and evaporated again when exposed to the sunlight once more. The metal vapor didn’t dissipate, though. It hung in the air, beginning to take on a swirling glow of its own. Regaining himself, Rokov turned his gaze toward the southern horizon, considering. *Do I have enough time before sunset?* To the south there was little to see. One half of his view was dominated by the angry orange glow of the atmosphere. Occasional violet rays sliced a low angle through the haze. The other half of his view was dominated by the slightly sloped sea of rocks with two tire ruts extending on toward the horizon. In the afternoon light, the lee of every rock glistened with thin metal webs, as if hundreds of thousands of strange, phantom spiders lived just out of sight. *It IS late if the lace is out*, Rokov thought. Where the two halves met, a blurry form of another spiked ridge waved into and out of his vision. Rokov's visor brought up the pending maintenance tasks. The next autominer repair was the last in his queue, but it was another 3 kilometers away, not counting the trip back to base. Eyeing the thin, silvery webs in his shadow, Rokov decided it would have to wait until tomorrow. It was late, and the webs promised a quick death once night fell. CinnaCo would be angry, but better to endure anger and docked pay than die. Masha, Pasha, and Vikhor didn’t eat if he died. They could go hungry one meal. Finally, Rokov glanced toward the east, where the violet sun was setting. It was *much* lower than he realized. He quickly raised his glove to shield his eyes against the approaching yellow twilight and looked at the time displayed in the corner of his visor. Startled, he thought aloud "God damn this chromometer. I took too long. Status!" The visor displayed the time more prominently and a calm voice replied "It is 356.7 hours. Sunset is in 16.4 minutes" "Distance to base?" Rokov already knew the answer and he was already shuffling toward his toolbox. "19.4 kilometers." "Time to return if I leave now?" "15.3 minutes." Fearful, Rokov stooped over as quickly as he dared and hoisted his toolbox and shuffled back toward the rover. The mechanical assists hissed. In plodding pirouettes, he danced through the sharp rocks, avoiding a fatal tear. After securing his tools, he rolled into the driver side of the open-top rover. Rokov slammed his boot on the accelerator and the huge black wheels protested, reluctantly groaning but gradually gaining speed. Twilight on this planet was dangerous and unpredictable, but nighttime was certain death. "Time to base?" Rokov demanded over the roar of rocks thrown by the tires. "At your current velocity and bearing, you will travel the remaining 18.4 kilometers in 11.1 minutes." "How long until sunset?" "8.23 minutes until sunset." Rokov didn't need to ask how he fared, of course. The numbers displayed on his visor were still visible, even though they were starting to become foggy from the condensation from his increased breathing. Gravel sprayed from the large black tires and dust billowed into the haze, mixing in sick swirls. It was a straight shot back to base, a drag race against death. Rokov felt his stomach drop, but he tightened his resolve and forced the panic back toward his spine. He needed to hear the voice, any voice. His transmitter was not powerful enough to reach any of the other mining bases - the only transmitter powerful enough for that was back at his own base. Not that calling them would help. Most were thousands of kilometers away, and the nearest one was still several hundred kilometers away. He thought of dying alone, then of Masha coldly staring at the screen notifying her of his death, unable to emote. “No!” he angrily shouted at his own thoughts. “Think about what I must do, and nothing more.” A dust cloud formed in the wake of the rover as Rokov raced north. In his peripheral vision, he could see the westward shadow of his rover and the thin metallic wisps blinking into existence and evaporating once more. The wisps seemed to be thickening slightly. “Shit” he muttered, once again forcing the panic back. When Rokov had first started his rotation in this forsaken Hell, the first thing his comrads warned him of was the quickrain. He thought back to early images he had seen of one of the miners at the Azumith 30 mine who had gotten caught out in the quickrain. The remains of the miner did not resemble anything human. It looked more like a grim slop of rancid pink and red gelatin pocked full of bone shards and empty craters oozing from a shredded white shroud that only vaguely resembled the e-suit it had once been. When CinnaCo came to send off her remains, they shoved the gravel and flesh into a crate and closed it without even bothering to sift between the two. Rokov was shocked, but the other quarrymen reassured him that she didn’t suffer long. The quickrain had probably killed her brain long before she bled out or asphyxiated from a crushed chest. Little consolation now. "4.0 minutes until sunset." The landscape all around Rokov was a testament to the furious destruction of quickrain, the nightly apocalypse. Everything exposed to the quickrain was smooth and pulverized. A thick layer of sand covered most of the surface of the planet, making mining operations in those marinas nearly impossible. But a few basins, such as this one, had seen volcanic residue and lava tubes in the last few decades, and the ground was still strewn with gravel and boulders. In fact, his own base was a lava tube that had probably formed not more than two hundred years ago. Maybe even during his lifetime. When humans had first explored this world, many died, despite knowing what the probes had told them. Suddenly, he realized his thoughts had been drifting once more and Rokov snapped his attention back to the road. The violet sun began to blend in with the haze that marked the horizon. The violent disc stretched and distorted sideways, forming an odd shade of purple-orange. "3.7 minutes until sunset." Rokov's thoughts were such a blur that he lost track of how far he had traveled. In the same instant that his eyes turned back toward the chromometer, the orange afterglow of the atmosphere extinguished, the energy of the sun no longer able to excite the vapor. The sky above turned black, and closer to the ground a gray, wispy fog illuminated the path of the violet rays emanating from the setting sun. The sun suddenly seemed like a distant and cold memory in the foggy twilight. Death had arrived. "Mierda, Mierda, Mierda, Mierda...!", chanted Rokov to no one. Rokov was tough and callous to danger had nearly lost his life several times in the autominer, but now he was no longer able to hold back the panic. His eyes darted to the temperature readout. He already knew that it had just dropped below 105 Celsius, since that is when the metal vapor stopped glowing. Now, moments later, the sensor read 80 degrees, and was falling quickly. As the atmosphere cooled, the pressure fell even further and his e-suit started to swell, making it hard to move. Rokov's mind raced. He didn't want to die, especially not by quickrain. Rokov's stomach tightened and twisted. He wanted to vomit. He kept his foot on the accelerator, trying to stay centered in the well-trodden tire ruts. Just then, a strong gust billowed across the road in front of him, briefly obscuring his view and coating the ground in metal crystals like a malicious snow drift. The rover slammed into the metal lattice with a loud crunch and slowed slightly before pulling through. The noise in the rover was starting to become deafening as the wheels cracked and snapped through the ever-thickening metal lace forming along the road. The cloud of metal vapor started to build higher and higher until even the black sky above appears silvery and ghostly with violet streaks barely able to pass through. The sun started to appear more like a distant purple spotlight than a star. Exposed to the sky, Rokov reached to deploy the emergency roof, little good that would do. The thick, inflated Kevlar would protect him for a minute or so before the quickrain found its way through. "2.2 minutes, until sunset." The temperature was falling fast, and the heat pump on his e-suit had just reversed to heat him. As the last rays of light from the sun touched the horizon, Rokov could just barely make out the base in the distance behind swirls and gusts of metal vapor. Suddenly, the gusting stopped and Rokov’s suit ballooned. In a great wave, the fog coalesced into trillions of suspended metal grains. In unison they fell, the sky literally falling. As they gathered speed, they also coalesced into larger and larger marbles. Rokov's eyes widened with terror as the first drops of quickrain slammed into the hood of his rover, violently shaking it. At first, it was a few loud ‘thuds’. It was quickly followed by several more. From a safe vantage point, the beginning of a quickrain might have sounded pleasant, like popcorn in a pan, or awesome, like the furious power of nature. Rokov remotely opened the rover bay and raced as the emergency roof rippled angrily, like the surface of an agitated pool viewed from below. Marbles began slamming into the road and leaping up onto his hood and into his partial windscreen, cracking it. Within seconds, the quickrain was a deafening roar, like gravel being poured from a massive bucket. A few seconds later, the deluge came and sound became meaningless. The sound wave hit Rokov so hard that he exhaled violently. He felt like every square centimeter of his body was punched at once. His ribs cracked and his visor split from ear to ear. "32 seconds until sunset." Rokov strained his whole body against his ballooned suit and the steering column while still racing at full speed, His helmet was still holding, thank god, even if it was leaking quickly, but he didn't know how much more he could take. Coughing, struggling to breathe, and unable to hear anything other than an omnipresent roar, he strained. His whole body seared in pain. ZIP, ZIP ZIP! In almost an instant, three quickrain drops tore through his lower left leg and back out the other side, and one through his right thigh, shattering his right femur. His body exploded in pain and Rokov screamed. The automatic tourniquets integrated into the e-suit immediately clamped just above the wounds, and he felt a sting as his life support pack stabbed him in the back with a small dose of morphine. He let go of the steering column and his overinflated suit threw his hands to the side of his body. The steering wheel twisted and the rover turned sharply and began to roll. ZIP ZIP! Two more quickrain drops sliced through an arm and his chest just before the rover began to roll out of control. Within seconds, the edges of Rokov’s vision yielded to the darkness. As Rokov’s limp body tumbled inside the rover, the last thing he saw before falling unconscious was the white lights of the rover bay spinning overhead.


That’s the thing about this city. It’s so loud and it never seemed to sleep, yet at dawn, it shows its mellow side. The streets are still almost empty, the train platform desolate. The first train of the day crawled towards me like a giant yellow caterpillar. Sleepy-eyed, I pulled my luggage and entered the wagon, inhabited by few sleeping passengers. I sat on that long, empty bench beside a luggage area. The train's announcement was played, mentioning the next station followed by the Arabic and English versions of the phrase, Doors Closing. I looked out of the window as the train ran on the elevated viaduct, passing by the Sheik Zayed Road skyscrapers, buildings that looked like tall mirrors. Next Station, Dubai Mall. Doors Closing. A few passengers hopped in the wagon on Business Bay station, and then we headed to the next - Dubai Mall. I was mesmerized once more with the world's tallest building and biggest mall backdropped with the lavender sky, standing on land that once was pure tangerine sand. I've watched the construction of these magnificent structures, like watching a kid grow up, from a tiny thing that crawls and holds on to your knees to an independent stranger. In time, I felt like I've watched a time-lapse of the city's progress, just like how you watch kids grow up. They become bigger and bigger, and they outgrow you, kids, and cities alike. Next Station, Karama. Doors Closing. We passed six other stations and reached Karama, a place as old as time, a hotpot of culture, a house like that of your grandma's, where you will meet all first, second, and third cousins, aunts, uncles, nephews, and nieces, unbeknownst to you. Some buildings in that area were almost crumbling, waiting for the demolition team to take it to its final rest. Karama was always noisy during rush hour, and at night, the aroma of different spices lingered on the street as small cafes open up for ex-pats craving comfort food. This place is where I first tasted the sweet and savory Nasi Goreng and the homemade Momos. I've also tasted the spiciest Indian curry there that I vowed never to eat again after all the spasms I experienced after that meal. Next Station, Burjuman. Doors Closing. Burjuman station was next. My beloved old town Burdubai where I found my first family in this sleepless, lonely place. I earned peanuts that time and could only afford five-Dirham shawarma for dinner - that cheap meat on a slow-turning vertical rotisserie. That's where I found the first guy who broke my heart as I sat in a small café drinking a fresh mango juice after downing one greasy shawarma. He offered me networking products, and I gave him my heart. I was young and was swayed easily by his sweet nature. He told stories. I believed. He made me laugh. I fell in love. On a 50-degrees Celsius summer afternoon, he took me to the historical Bastakiya, where they sold colorful Moroccan shoes, Turkish carpets, and Arabic souvenirs in tiny shops along a narrow, unpaved alley. From there, we took a ride on an abra to the other side of the creek, the traditional boat taken by either wide-eyed tourists or laborers who wanted to save money on fair and avoid traffic. We sat side by side with men on safety shoes who stank of sweat, cigarette, and dust. Pigeons flocked towards the other side of the creek. The stench of rotten fish and diesel filled the breeze. The boat engine filled my ears along with the lapping waves. I thought it was romantic until I found out, I wasn't the only one he took for an abra ride. I almost believed in destiny until the day I walked home with red-streaked eyes along Khalid Bin Al Walid Road, my shoulders hunched, almost wanting to replace the genie inside its magic lamp. Next Station, Al Rigga. Doors Closing. Ah, Al Rigga, my second home. The place taught me how to be tough and strong, where I met a guy who stole my heart before stealing my life. I lived on the 2nd floor of a five-story building. There were five flats per floor, and ours was at the farthest end of the dimly lit corridor. Its poor ventilation made me aware of all the neighbor's dinners every time I arrive from work. I would know which flat would have biryani or fried fish for the night. I went home one night and saw a guy standing beside the door of flat 203. He was playing with the smoke of his cigarette, puffing minuscule clouds into thin air. I didn't say anything, although I knew that smoking wasn't allowed in the building. I only minded my own business. Our eyes met. His was piercing; mine was intimidated. The next day he sat on the floor outside his door with a cigarette stuck between his lips while his hands were busy playing the solo of Sweet Child of Mine. I noticed the tribal tattoos on his arms and the black earring on his right ear. He didn't look at me that night; he was in a world of his own. He did that for days on until one night; he called my name. I was petrified. He handed me tickets to the bar where his band was playing. I watched his gig. It didn't take long until we became a couple. I adapted to his lifestyle and became that stage girlfriend who accompanied him on all his gigs. I lost some friends along the way. It didn't take long until I also lost my job because I couldn't keep up with my work after late nights on his gigs. He said, 'it's ok, you'll get a new job.' But the job I did not get any time soon. I spent all my savings until my bank was empty. He started spending his own money too. At first, we were surviving. Later on, we both retreated into silence, leaving issues unspoken until they grew into a snowball and exploded big time. It took a little time to restart my life, but somehow I did. Next Station, Terminal 1. Doors Closing. The train went above ground once again. My first ever flight to Dubai landed in Terminal 1, where my life here all started. I was a wide-eyed nineteen-year-old, hoping for a job that can feed my family back home who told herself she'd be back home once she completes her two-year contract. But two-years turned into three, then into five, then before she knew it, it was already a decade. This terminal was my beginning, and the next will be the end. Next Station, Terminal 3. Doors Closing. As we approached Terminal 3, the city was already awake, and the sky tinged with amber. The train stopped; I pulled out my luggage and headed to the exit. I looked back at the train, and for the last time, I'd hear that recorded voice, 'Doors Closing.' The train left, and as I looked back at the city where I came in, pulling a suitcase of dreams and what I would go with a luggage full of memories. I sat on the window seat, and as the plane took off, I looked at the iconic city built on scarlet sand, kissed by the deep blue sea. For one last time, I bid this city goodbye, and with this, I close the door to this chapter of my life.


The world knows me not but I have come now to reveal myself. I am the harbinger of perfection. I have been chosen to announce HER coming. The world has changed since it was decided that I would be the one to guide her back. But the mechanics are the same, and I will abide. No, I *must* abide. We humans are but children caught in a tumultuous flood. We are swirling in an everlasting pool of chaos with neither handhold to grasp for momentarily relief nor precedent for the salvation of understanding. If we ponder any facet of existence long enough we shall see that there is no truth, no logic, no reality to anything at all. Our understanding is built by what is immediately presented to us and the moment is all we may live by. My moment has, and forever will be, red. In the beginning there was only I. I stayed close to the trees for dangerous creatures lurked in the dark. In the trees I was safe from harm. I could avoid their sharp claws and teeth. I could take refuge from the night. In the day I was free. The things that would hunt for me would flow back into their hiding places as the tide does when the moon has set and the sun rises. I was always alone. Pawing at the soft damp earth for hard bitter roots. Picking through ferns in search of berries bursting with juice. The world held many dangers, but it also provided in proportion to necessity. Looking back it is apparent that this was a time of simplicity in comparison to the modern world today. I was living based upon the singular purpose of survival. Any happiness or unhappiness I felt was purely visceral. If I found sustenance I would leap and whoop loudly in ecstasy, and if I went hungry I would moan and sob as pangs of starvation wracked my body without mercy. I was content in this way of life for I knew naught of any other. Until she revealed herself to me. She came as a vision during the deepest hour of darkness. There was no moon to light the trees and I was resting up in the shelter of the forest’s canopy. Though my eyes were closed I saw a glowing silver light dance before me. I had only seen the moon shine in my dreams with such beauty and I was dazzled by it. I opened my eyes and the light was gone. The night was impenetrably dark. When I closed my eyes once more the light was gone. For many days I thought of the light. It had been but a flicker amidst the darkness but it enticed within me a curiosity and longing that I had not known before. I had felt want many times when searching for sustenance, but this was a different want. It was a want based not in need but in something unknown. In the coming days as I foraged and slept I was no longer blithely living as I had. My thoughts were consumed for want of the light. Oh how beautiful it had been. How I longed for it. And it came again soon. As the first time it came when I was resting in the branches of the trees. Once more I saw it with my eyes closed. It came so softly that I did not perceive it at first. It revealed itself so gently that I had been unaware of it until it became so bright it could not be ignored. There it hovered in the bottomless darkness behind my closed eyes. I kept my eyes closed this time for fear that it would vanish once more. I watched as it glowed brightly and I was filled with sensations of wonder and contentment. I felt as if I had eaten my fill for the entirety of my life, that I had slept until I no longer needed sleep, that everything that may do me harm had vanished into nothingness for all time. I stayed there staring with eyes closed into its warmth and felt embraced and at peace. Until it began to move away. In panic I open my eyes, and quickly closed them again for fear that it would vanish once more. I saw that it was still moving away. I could not let it leave me. It was the only thing that had ever made me feel this way. I could not lose it again. So I followed it. It seemed to lead me down, and with eyes shut tight, I climbed down with it. I was adept at climbing the trees as I had lived among them my entire life. I had climbed up and down many times in utter darkness so I was familiar with moving without sight. As I touched down to the soft grass of the forest’s floor I felt no trepidation although I was unprotected in the night. I only felt excitement as I pursued the light. There was only the soft sounds of my footsteps through the forest. I did feel a kind of nervousness because the forest was usually filled with the sound of chirping insects and moving creatures at night. It was unusual for there to be complete silence. But I did not heed my trepidation as I followed the light. It was constantly moving, weaving its way through the endless darkness behind my closed eyes. I do not know how long I followed the light but I knew I had ventured further than I had ever dared to before. The ground beneath me felt different. The earth was packed harder and I stumbled a few times in this unfamiliar terrain. The light led me further and further into strange territory and I felt greatly displaced and disoriented as I kept my eyes tightly closed and followed it. The air began to feel different, almost wet. My footsteps reverberated with a strange echo I had never heard before. I continued on in this way for a long while until the light stopped suddenly. I became aware of a strange sound close by. It sounded wet and squelching. The light suddenly blinked out and I opened my eyes. I could not comprehend what I was seeing at first because my eyes were blurred from being shut for so long. As my eyes adjusted I realized I was not in complete darkness. There was a glow emanating from behind me and illuminating what was directly in front of me. My vision was filled with a singular sight. All I saw was red. I took a step back and almost stumbled. I realized that I was staring at a wall and I saw that the red ended in smeared edges at the periphery of my vision. It smelled just like the creatures of the night when they tore one another open and I knew I was in a dangerous place. My breathing quickened but I stayed quiet for I knew to become one with the darkness when there were hunters nearby. I slowly turned around. I was not prepared for the horror that lay before me. The light I had followed hung overhead. It was smaller and duller than the vision I had followed but it glowed with the same soothing shine that I had seen. However, what it shone upon was far from soothing. Dismembered bodies lay everywhere. I do not know how many poor souls were there in that place, but it seemed countless. Stacks of torn apart torsos, a large pile of arms and legs. And then there were the heads. The heads were lined up against the opposite wall in a neat line along its bottom. Their eyes had been torn out of their sockets and placed neatly on top of the heads with their cords still attached. They resembled the antennae of insects I had seen crawling along the ground or on the bark of trees. The line stretched out a far way on both sides and I knew it was too many to count. They were in varying states of decay but some looked as if they had been set there that day. And in the center of the carnage and directly underneath the light was the hunter. She was enormous. Even sitting on the floor she was twice as large as I was. Her brow was heavier set than mine and her hairy knuckles bulged from her hands. Her bottom lip jutted out as she picked at an oozing pile of entrails before her. She lifted up an intestine and her huge flat nose twitched as she sniffed at it. She let out a sharp guffaw and sank her teeth into it. I saw that she had three rows of razor sharp teeth. I sank down slowly into the corner where the wall met the floor onto my hands and feet. I was adept at crawling around on just my toes and fingertips and I could move noiselessly like this. I opened my mouth and breathed slowly to minimize any noise. I began to slink away in the direction I felt I had walked. I crawled and crawled my fingertips sinking into the coagulated blood that coated the floor. Past viscera and carnage I saw bodies pinned down by heavy stones. Some looked more whole than others. I did not look closely at them but maneuvered my way slowly past them. As I reached the edge of the bodies I saw a faint light ahead of me and I realized that it was the entrance to this place. I had never been in a cave before but I realized that this opening was my way out. I made a more direct line towards it. There was a body lying face-up. Its arms and legs had been torn off and its insides were spilling out. It looked incredibly fresh and I had to keep myself from retching as I stepped over it. My arm brushed its face as I squeezed between it and the wall and its eyes suddenly sprang open. I reeled back in shock as I realized this poor man was still alive. Then he started screaming. Blood and vomit gurgled in his howls and even under the heavy stone his torso twitched and bucked enough to displace it. It rolled off of him with a loud crash and he began writhing wildly. As he writhed his entrails spilled out further and blood spouted out from him. My head immediately turned back towards the hunter and I was full of fear and despair. The hunter was staring right at me with the intestine hanging out of her mouth. I jumped to my feet and sprinted towards the opening. I did not look back as I heard the intestine drop. A hunter roars after a successful hunt and its cries will pierce the night along with the scent of viscera. But, they are quiet before they make their kills. I did not hear her give chase but I knew she was coming. I burst out of the cave and into the night. I saw that the strange terrain I had felt was the hard earth of a clearing that led to the cave. There was only a short distance to a line of trees. I immediately ran towards them. Hunters had no hope of keeping up with me once I reached the trees. They could not climb because of their lumbering size. I was lightweight and could leap from branch to branch and escape them easily. If I could only make it to the trees I would be safe. I ran with all my might under the light of the moon that was barely showing itself from behind a layer of clouds. My chest roared in agony and my breath came ragged and frantic. My feet slammed against the hard earth and my arms swung wildly. My heart pounded and the wind rushed in my ears. The trees were close. They were right in front of me. I was so close I could touch them. I was going to make it. I HAD to make it. I felt relief and victory as I came to the nearest tree. I was almost there. Then she caught ahold of me. I actually did make it. I had leapt up and set a foot and a hand on the trunk of the nearest tree and I would have clambered up with ease in less than a second if she hadn’t been right behind me. The hunter had moved much much much faster and quieter than I had. I had hoped she was still in the cave. That is why the hunters ruled the forest’s floor in the night. I had no chance. She yanked me off the tree by my leg and swung me around. The world blurred and broke into a million pieces as she pirouetted and shattered me against the tree’s trunk. I knew I was dead as I felt my insides crack and burst and I saw blood immediately gush out of newly formed holes in me. I could not cry out for all the air inside me was gone and I hung limply in her grip as she held me up in the full brightness of the moon’s light that had come out from behind the clouds. The moon gazed down upon us with neither tender mercy nor vindictive cruelty. It simply watched as the hunter fulfilled her natural tendencies unto her prey. She seized one of my arms in her giant hand and, with a grunt, tore it from my body with ease. Like plucking a leaf from a tree. That’s when I screamed. But my scream was only momentary as I gurgled and coughed up blood and vomit spewed out of my mouth. She dropped me and I lay there a broken, bleeding, and dying heap as I watched her lift my arm up to her gaping maw and take a large bite from it. As she chewed she guffawed and inhaled heavily, then she let out a loud bellow to announce her victory to the forest. The leaves in the trees around us shook and I heard their rustling all around. Then everything was quiet and there was only the sound of us. My dying breaths coming out labored and ragged intermingled with my choking on vomit and blood, and her quiet grunts and slowly deliberate and wet chewing. Occasionally she would let out a quiet satisfied moan and I could hear her teeth scrape against the bone. I could not move my head and turn away so I watched as she ate my arm. My vision turned red and I blinked several times as blood spilled from my broken skull into my eyes. Everything was blurred and the corners of my vision were darkening. I knew when she was finished with my arm she would tear another piece from me. She would keep going until she was satisfied and then she would take me into the cave and weigh me down with a heavy rock. I was full of despair and was wishing to die quickly so I would not be like the screaming torso that had alerted her to my presence. Blood was leaking out from my face and I could see a pool forming on the earth in front of me. That’s when my blood came alive. It seemed to rise up as it gathered itself and formed itself into a perfect sphere about the size of one of the hunter’s fists. Two thin tendril-like appendages shot out from either side of the sphere and they ended with an extremity that looked like a fingerless hand equipped with a flat thumb. It seemed as if its extremities were good for mobility and gripping but not for actual grabbing. The sphere stayed still for a brief moment then twitched and began moving its appendages wildly as it scrabbled quickly towards the hunter. She did not notice as it climbed onto her foot and up her leg. She took another bite from my arm as it moved its way up her torso. Then she saw it. She immediately dropped my arm and roared and swatted wildly at the blood creature. It evaded her swipes and climbed up past her flapping breasts, up her throbbing neck, and onto her face. She began bellowing as it latched onto her right eye and she clawed wildly at it to no avail. It used one of its appendages and as easily as she had torn my arm off it plucked her eye out of its socket. Her bellows became higher pitched and agonized. The blood creature shoved itself against the gaping socket and let the eye fall. The eye swung from her face with its cord attached and the hunter started slapping her face in a crazed and frenzied attempt to squash the blood creature. It took no heed as it pressed itself into the socket and slowly oozed in. I watched it disappear completely into her head. She fell to her knees directly in front of me and stopped struggling. Her arms dropped limply to her sides and her mouth hung open. Her face bulged and was full of pulsating veins as a teardrop of thick blood leaked down her cheek from the empty eye socket. It grew into a torrent. Blood gushed out of her eye suddenly like a forceful flood spraying into the night air and onto my already bloody face. I watched as it increased in pressure and her other eye popped out and blood spewed from both sockets. The blood kept coming and coming and her face cracked from the forehead down to the chin. A red line quickly seeped blood and then her face split completely open and intestines and entrails spilled out from her face. She fell back and began flailing in throes of anguished death as her insides continued to pour out from her face. It seemed her entire insides spilled out and lay as a heap on where her face used to be. When they finally stopped coming out she was still. Everything was quiet as the hunter and her steaming piles of organs lay there. Then SHE came. The perfect one. The hunter’s torso cracked and split open and, like an exquisite bird hatches, she rose up from the hunter’s desecration. She was as tall as the hunter but infinitely more elegant. Where the hunter had been knotted callouses and thick bones she was dainty curves and toned muscles. Her skin glowed with the same beauty as the light I had seen behind my closed eyes. The light of the moon I had seen in my dreams. The light of hope and comfort and safety. And I knew her name was Puricite. She turned to me and knelt down next to me and even through the filter of blood’s red I saw her face full of compassion and mercy. She cradled my broken body in her hands and lifted me up with ease. She rocked me as a mother rocks her child and I felt I was in the uppermost branches of the tallest tree riding a rustling wind of pure night. My breathing became less labored and I felt a hot searing sensation where my arm had been torn off. My insides creaked as my bones and organs stitched themselves back together. She gently placed me back down and I stood up. I saw that my arm was returned. It is by her grace that I am alive and have continued to live. Whenever I am dying she will cradle me and return me to a state of health. I have lived and served her for eons because of her ability to heal me. It is only the blood in my eyes that has never gone away. And the world was, is, and always will be red. She took me by the hand and led me through the forest. There were no hunters that approached us for the death cries of a hunter cause all the creatures of the forest to flee in fear. For what may slay a hunter is something unknown and a far greater danger than anything else. She led me a far way. To a place I did not know. The night faded away into bright day as we walked and walked until we reached the edge of the forest. We looked out from its edge and she gestured for me to look and I saw many more people like me moving in the light of the sun. I saw hunters too. The ones like me and the hunters were together. There were many of them. They had cut down trees and had shaped them into shelters. They were moving piles of food into an open flame and moving the food into containers. They were hanging furs and sitting together. There were children of both people and hunters frolicking and squealing in joy. As I stared in wonder and incomprehension I felt her grip my arm strongly. I whimpered in pain and turned to her and I saw her staring into my face. Her eyes were open far wider than any creature’s I had seen before. Her mouth was open in a smile that stretched to both sides of her face and I could see the seemingly endless rows of razor-sharp teeth that filled her mouth. She gripped my arm tighter and tighter and I looked down and saw that her nails had dug into my flesh. As pinpricks of blood began to leak out her beautiful glowing silver skin took on a darker crimson hue that matched my blood.


I was jerked from my thoughts as a rocks glass slid into view with ice jostling in a double-shot of bourbon, sloshing dangerously close to the rim... Had the damn bartender spilled a drop of my Maker’s Mark, I would have demanded a complementary shot, which he wouldn’t deny me once I batted my eyelashes. I would have given him a piece of my mind if he refused, and he would have to continue to serve me with a smile. Under that dim light, I surveyed the bar as my eyes were drawn to the distressed wooden door, which was ushering in a circle of girlfriends, strutting in their high heels. There were five flaunting women, all laughing obnoxiously as if they had already had a few rounds of drinks. They were dressed in an array of colors, patterns, and styles, yet a sense of uniformity hung among them. Different hair-do’s, lipstick, and accessories were on parade; yet, as a checkered black and white pattern dims to grey with distance, so did this display of womanhood blend to a dull gray. Maybe I was just seeking some interior moral high ground--criticizing in order to deny the envy that choked in my throat at the sight of females enjoying each other’s company as I sat alone. Before I could further investigate my motives, I realized I had inadvertently stared a little too long, or perhaps too intensely, because the redhead glanced my way while the hostess attended to her brood. As our eyes met, my eyes burned with embers of embarrassment as if she had heard my unflattering thoughts. Grimacing, I looked to the left, pretending I was never examining the women in the first place. My eyes unwittingly took hold of a clean-shaven, well-dressed young man alone at the bar, about five empty stools down from my lonely ass. My seat may as well have been empty. It took a moment for me to realize we were indeed making eye contact, but my mind still lingering on the redhead. I then hurried into full retreat and looked ahead at the TV, only to realize I would have to feign interest in Nascar... This is just great, what woman watches Nascar at a bar on a weekday? After a moment, I realized the man at the bar had already been gazing at me when I caught his eye. Was he watching me the whole time I was analyzing those women? I shifted in my seat uncomfortably and my hand slid into the wet trail my glass had blazed . . . Oh right, my drink. I haven’t even touched it, and it’s already dripping with condensation. My bourbon is probably all watered down now. I wonder if it would be a bother to ask for a new one . . . No, I can’t. Too embarrassing. I’ll just have to remember to ask for it neat next time. I always forget that’s how I like it . . . Why did I even bother coming here for a drink in the first place, when it’s so much cheaper to buy the bottle next door? After all, Mom always taught me the virtue of “buying in bulk,” but I guess she wouldn’t look kindly on my hoarding of vices. I suppose I know the reason I find myself here instead... that bottle of bourbon wouldn’t last the night. This is my way of attempting to temper the never-satiated thirst of the bottle-burdened breast. I finally take my first sip, wondering at how the chilled bourbon’s warmth floods my chest like flames in an empty furnace. With my heart momentarily warmed, I keep at bay the loneliness that always crowds my mind in these crowded places. As a second wave of bourbon washes over my parched tongue, I notice out of the corner of my eye that the redhead was walking into the ladies room. Perhaps it’s the bourbon playing with my imagination, but I swear I sensed something ineffable in that fleeting gaze we shared earlier. I don’t know what, but her eyes betrayed some lingering pain that lie beneath her glamorous attire. I can’t put my finger on it, but I feel a sort of deja vu. At first, I rationalize thinking I am only desperate to make some real connection with another human being, tiring from the males smothering me with the sexual glint in their eyes. Then, it occurs to me: amidst her carefully crafted outfit, there was one element she forgot to coordinate with the rest of her ensemble--her emerald eyes. Hers were the gems that stood out in that sea of gray. I gulp the rest of my bourbon and quickly make my way to the bathroom, hoping I might somehow piece together this perplexing puzzle. Playing detective on a reconnaissance mission is far less frightening an undertaking than actually confronting another adult female in an attempt to befriend her. Walking to the restroom, I am praying it is furnished with stalls so I have a chance at interaction, or at least eaves-dropping. I pause just before entering. Noticing it was unlocked, I slowly begin pushing the door open until doubt wells up in my gut... This is so obvious! No one enters a bathroom creeping like this! So, I change course and hurriedly trot through to a stall. No one else is in the bathroom, but one stall is occupied. It doesn’t take master detective skills to figure out it’s the redhead. I sit on the pot and hope to get a few tinkles out to really sell my story, all the while using my brainwaves to communicate to the redhead... come on redhead, what’s your story? Give me something here... I just want something to make this night worthwhile, some real-life intrigue. It doesn’t take long for me to realize how ridiculously I am acting. I figure I manufactured everything within my imagination. Then, I hear it... sniffles... She is crying! I gleefully applaud my own intuition. However, my glee quickly fades into sympathy. Now I feel really idiotic. I am making this poor woman’s inexplicable sadness a part of my little game. Guilt ensues, emptying any warmth garnered by the bourbon and the intrigue. I leave the stall and wash my hands, debating whether I should leave her alone or try and offer a shoulder. She doesn’t need my sympathy. After all, she is here with her exuberant friend group. Then again, how good of friends could they be if they don’t realize she’s in here bawling her eyes out. Well, if I were crying in a stall, I would definitely want to be left alone. It’s far too embarrassing to be found out. Although, there was that one time in that empty church when I let loose my wailful, ugly tears. The elderly woman who discovered me there just hugged me without saying a word. It was powerful. I even considered for a moment that she may have been an angel. This is different though... she was an old lady, and that was a church. This is a bar. . . in a bathroom, and... well... me. Plus, I’m just not a “go-hug-a-stranger” type of gal. Although, maybe I could be . . . right now, this moment could be a new beginning for me. I can cast off this heavy cloak of social anxiety and throw open my arms to the true Christian Charity I’ve always longed to be capable of! What if all Redhead needs is some demonstration of Christ’s love to lift her up? What if she doesn't know Christ? What if God put me in this very bathroom at this very moment with this very woman for some cosmic purpose in His grand scheme?! I finish washing my hands, and Redhead seems to be waiting for me to leave so she can exit the stall, having gained her composure. I begin to worry whether I am now being an asshole because of my selfish desire to make some grandiose, self-aggrandizing, charitable gesture. At this point, I am pretty much holding her hostage in a bathroom stall. I figure I’ll give it just one more minute and powder my nose while I consider my next move. First, I picture myself hugging her like the old woman did me, not saying a word, only speaking if spoken to. That seems a bit much for a bathroom encounter, so I ponder gently placing my hand on the small of her back and asking if she needs anything. I know human touch is powerful. Jesus worked a miracle just by a woman pushing through a crowd to touch His cloak! God could surely work through a small gesture on my part. Still, this is far outside my comfort zone. My brain waves once again begin to plead with Redhead... Come on, let’s not end this night in a stalemate. Don’t you realize, God placed me here because of you! I wasn’t even going to come out tonight, but then my ex felt like reminding me again of why we are no longer together. What are you hiding? Her heels sharply click on the tile floor as she exits the stall with her head down, seemingly unaware of my existence as I stare with anticipation at her reflection. She looks up when she reaches the counter, and she begins touching up her eye makeup to hide that she had been crying. She doesn’t even look over at me, but I can’t have this night end like this. Not again. Every other time I’d been faced with some kind of ordained moment from above to make a connection with another woman, I cowered in fear and let the moment pass me by. Not this time, no, my begging hand reaches over and finds the small of her back, and I look at her as if she were the one who needs reassurance. She smiles, and at last she casts her eyes in my direction. I am lured into her enchanting, tear-stained eyes, whose color is as deep as the evergreen forests I played in as a child. Was that the deja vu I felt? I search that deep wood for what seems like an eternity as their branches wrap around me to share their secrets. Then, I realize it wasn’t branches pulling me in, but her milky hands, which she has tenderly placed on my face. I find myself racing into that dark wood as she brings her plum lips and presses against mine with strange vigor. I don’t understand, but for once, I don’t feel I have to. I do more than accept her lips’ embrace as I respond with equal vigor. I am shaken from my imagination’s grip when I hear a cough and a sniffle from the stall. She has a cold, and I suppose that’s how my story ends for tonight, unrealized promise.


For what it’s worth, Mr. Hawaii already saw the Lugar hanging through my hoodie from the window. No fooling him. The police were on their way even before the convenience store door *ding-donged* my arrival. Hey, it was my first time, for whatever that’s worth, shoot me. The closed-circuit television captured me in black and white glory. Hood up. Hands in pockets. Total nonchalance, like back before I was allowed to listen to Slayer and Mom would lead me through the great glass gates of Targets and Home Depots. For what it’s worth, she did all the talking then. “Got one of those slushie machines?” My voice didn’t even crack. That was the first trick. Confidence. Mr. Hawaii’s fists pressed into the counter as he eyed me. So much hair. It tickled his knuckles and crawled up his arms into the half-buttoned vacation shirt, like back when Mom almost got tackled by the mall security woman with gorilla arms. After that, we had to drive the entire length of her collection of Joan Jett CDs before stopping again. If it’s worth anything, that’s when I first learned what cunt meant. Waiting on Mr. Hawaii’s response, my kneecaps wobbled in my jeans, the scabbed one catching denim. It was too late to turn around and abandon the plan now. Fortunately, he broke and raised his plump finger at the corner of the store. “Over there.” Don’t turn your back, Mom would say. But, for what it’s worth, this wasn’t Herman’s Hardware Supply where the aisles stretched into the ceiling. This was Konnor’s Kwick Mart where convex security mirrors were nailed to the wall. Mr. Hawaii watched me watch him from the glass. “What’re these worth?” My hand patted my empty back pocket like it was looking for a wallet. That was the second trick. Mislead. “One ninety-nine. Large.” His head ballooned in the mirror as I reached for one of the plastic cups. Cherry-red slush *glug-glugled* from the machine, like back last winter when Mom fell face-forward into the motel parking lot. Her blood melted the asphalt snow into dirty clumps of brown tar. For what it’s worth, the hanging flap of forehead didn’t even make me vomit, even when she told me to press it to her skull so she could super glue it shut. I let the slushie machine shudder to a stop. The thick flavored syrup didn’t even climb up to the brim. It was the least I could do, if that’s worth anything. Mr. Hawaii hadn’t moved. “Hey, if I worked here, I’d never stop drinking these.” My smile was big enough to show teeth. That was the third trick. Befriend. For what it’s worth, that got Mr. Hawaii to raise an eyebrow. The gun slapped against the bottom of my stomach as I walked past the great wall of chips. Flammin’ Hot BBQ. Sour Cream and Onion. Nacho Cheese. Charbroiled Bacon Burger. Each bag, a three-course meal, like back when Mom was too sick to get out of bed, and I got to eat from a motel vending machine for a week. For what it’s worth, it spit out two snacks for the price of one if you held down the “A” and “B” buttons at the same time. After that, it was back to pre-packaged salads and granola bars. Mr. Hawaii unfurled his fists to tap the counter, looking feverishly out the window. This should have tipped me off, but for whatever it’s worth, it didn’t. I was too busy flipping through the bags of chips like they were porno mags. “Hey, what’s your favorite flavor?” I asked. His shoulders sagged. Again, the eyebrow raised. For what it’s worth, he even stopped drumming his fingers against the counter. The corner of a single dark blue bag poked out from the back of the shelf. Hey, Cool Ranch, that’s one I’ve always wanted to try. Pulling it free, all the chips in front fell to the floor. Salt and Vinegar. New York Style Pizza. They scattered at my feet. My scabbed kneecap stung as I knelt down on it. “Shit, sorry. I got it.” For what it’s worth, most of the bags fit in the crook of my arm, but as I stood back up my head knocked a glass jar of queso to the floor. The congealed cheese splattered over my shoes sending the broken lid rolling down the aisle. If it’s worth anything, the gun didn’t go off. Mom would be rolling in her grave. Mr. Hawaii *tick-ticked* his tongue. “Alright,” he said, the edge in his voice was gone. “What do you think you’re doing?” Did I do it now? Mom never let me watch this part, like back when we stopped at the gas station surrounded by palm trees and desert. The first time I heard a gunshot, for what it’s worth. She almost caught me trying to shove an ice cream sandwich down my pants when she came up behind me. “Car,” she said. That was the signal. My jeans strangled the frozen treat against my thigh as I shuffled outside and around the corner to where we parked. Mom started shouting at the attendant. Her voice made it all the way into the car, muffled by concrete walls and tempered glass. I leaned forward to adjust the passenger’s seat. And boom! The Fat Boy popped open like a blown out diaper. “Eh?” Mr. Hawaii asked. The gun stayed deep in my hoodie, if that’s worth anything. “Look, just bring whatever you want up. Okay?” His shaky mannerisms evolved into confidence. I snatched the blue bag of chips and stumbled to the counter. The condensation from the slushie trickled down the sides of the cup, pooling against my thumb and finger. Mr. Hawaii reached into his back pocket, looking down his gold-tinted aviators at me. Did I do it now? He slapped his thick wallet on the counter, too big to stay folded shut, and fingered out a slick black card. The register *beep-beeped* as he entered prices. A single large slushie, one ninety-nine. One bag of family sized potato chips, two forty-five. For what it’s worth, he answered my question. “Cool Ranch.” He took his slick black card and swiped it through the machine. “That’s my favorite too.” A package of Newport menthols ruffled in his breast pocket as he crammed the card back into his wallet, like this morning when Mom died. Her half-smoked cigarette had rolled beneath the crack of the bathroom door while I watched Good Morning America on the box TV. She’d fallen asleep on the toilet before, but wasting a cigarette? She never wasted anything. I knocked first, for what it’s worth. Each round louder than the last. By the time Robin Roberts sent everyone to a commercial break, I was jimmying the lock open. Too still to be asleep, her body lay cradled in the small gap between the tub and the toilet. The cord from the motel’s courtesy hair dryer wrapped tight around her bicep. I didn’t know CPR, but for what it’s worth, I pulled her free and mimicked what Dr. Greene did in reruns of ER. Glass from a broken syringe sliced into my knee as I straddled over her and hammered her chest with the heel of my hand. “You hear me, kid?” Mr. Hawaii ripped the printed receipt from its box. “Said, there’s a homeless shelter two-blocks up.” He pointed his plump finger in the same direction as the slushie machine. “Let me give ya the address.” If it’s worth anything, my knees stopped wobbling. Mr. Hawaii scribbled something down on the back of the receipt in black marker. The dark ink bled through and smelled like bad gasoline. “Tell ‘em Steve sent ya.”I shoved the receipt and the chips into my hoodie with the Lugar. Did I do it now? I didn’t, if that’s worth anything. I mumbled thanks and left. Didn’t even make eye contact. Walked right out into the parking lot and kept going. Mom would have been so disappointed. Taking a large gulp of slushie, a chunk of cherry flavored ice melted down my throat. The cold trail left behind crawled up the back of my jaw and into my temples. My eyes slammed shut to try and override the inevitable brain freeze, like back when Mom laughed at me for biting straight into an ice cream cone. The jolt of pain from the frosted vanilla bean made me drop the treat with a *splat*. And if it’s worth anything, Mom never bought me sweets. I cried harder than Mom laughed. Dots of ice cream stippled the bottom of my overalls and Buzz-Lightyear sneakers. Mom knelt over my broken cone and held her own sprinkled covered one up to me. She didn’t even hesitate, for what it’s worth. “This time don’t eat it all at once. Okay?” she chuckled. “It’s not going anywhere.” “You. Stop.” a voice commanded. A shadow, too skinny to be Mr. Hawaii’s, appeared beside mine. “Turn around. Hands where I can see ‘em.” For what it’s worth, I didn’t let go of the slushie as I turned. Held it up in the air like a holy grail, condensation dripping to the ground. The voice belonged to a woman in brown starch. Neat and ironed. A cop uniform. She didn’t have gorilla arms, if that’s worth anything, but one of them was raised at the elbow. Hand on holster. “Got a call ‘bout a possible robbery,” Ms. Starch said. “You causin’ trouble?” Her uniform was tucked in tight. Not a single wrinkle. My knees shook. “No. No. He paid,” I said, reaching into my hoodie. The receipt would be proof of that. But for what it’s worth, I didn’t know the outline of the Lugar was visible. The slushie splattered on the cement sidewalk first. My body followed, legs crumpling beneath the weight of my torso. Someone yelled “shit.” It may have been me. I slammed into the sidewalk like a broken toilet seat. Loose gravel embedded into my face and shoulder. A warm pain drooled from my hip, spilling out onto the concrete and into the pool of slush. The Cool Ranch chips were decimated, for what it’s worth. Popped and crunched beneath my gut. No chance of saving them.


Girl was a big fan of Taco Bell. She was also a big fan in that she expelled copious amounts of air into the atmosphere on a daily basis. Fast food is gassy. Don’t blame her, though; she was a casualty of convenience. Fast food in general has everything a financially dependent teen needs; it’s super cheap, vaguely edible and dangerously addictive. In regions like South Asia, most Mexican food is sold as fast food (with flagrant disregard for the region’s doubtless interesting culinary history and culture), so Girl was already lost in a sea of indiscriminate sauces and refried beans by the time she reached her seat. You are correct in assuming the stereotypical loneliness and lack of social interaction, but she didn’t care (or so she thought). What she did care about was the food on her garish plastic tray and as she consumed it, it consumed another bit of her life. She loved her tacos and nachos and burritos and rice bowls much more than any human being, so alone in the oppressive décor she stayed. That is, until a predictably hot and humid afternoon in May. Girl was sitting at her favorite corner table with the L-shaped plastic seat and dealing with bean-sweat in spite of the relatively frigid air-conditioning. She twiddled her thumbs nervously while chewing her last bite. The tray in front of her was completely devoid of food; all that remained was a mass of greasy paper and empty sachets of Fire sauce with silly things written on them. She belched with unabashed satisfaction and checked her watch noisily. A quarter to three. She had entered at one p.m., so she complimented herself on her timing and her freakish metabolism. Fifteen more minutes and she could propel herself to the toilet. All the industrial deep-frying had not been kind to her stomach lining; she considered a switch to rice for a couple of months would help. A hundred milliseconds before she got up from her seat, she saw Boy. He walked in like a superstar, glistening forehead moving in time to the chart-topping hit blaring from the cheap loudspeakers and eyes fixed on the menu he wasn’t really reading. Girl stared at him with more than interest, and her heart stopped dead when she heard his timid but measured voice. “May I help you?” “Yes, I’d like a burr-” “What would you like on it, sir, *Extracheesevegnonvegsmallormedium*?” “Uh-” “Any drinks, sir? *CokeFantaMountainDew-*” Boy held up his hand. A tiny vein pulsed in his forehead. Our Romeo was about to lose his temper. The cashier noticed this and tactfully stopped in his tracks. “Can. I. Give. My. Order. Please.” “Yes sir, I am sorry. Go ahead?” “All right, please listen carefully.” Boy took a deep breath as if preparing for an important speech. His quiet tone turned authoritative; here was a man in his element. Girl could not breathe from the torrent of romantic feelings crashing into each other in her carb-fueled brain. She ignored the loud gurgling in her stomach and walked to the counter where she stood behind Boy and listened. “Okay. I need the wrap to be lightly toasted; it helps the contents sit better inside it. I noticed the other day that you guys have been adding a lot of beans and meat to the burritos lately, so please go easy on them; maybe three-fourths of a normal serving. I know you haven’t got new stocks of spicy salsa since last week’s truck strike, so it’s alright if you don’t use your reserves. Here’s what you can do; just use the topping sauce you put on your spicy loaded nachos. The reddish one with a bit of cheese in it. Not too much, just enough to give me a little spice without an overpowering heat. I’ll get that from the upstairs tissue drawer in which you hide the fire sauce sachets when your stock is low. Don’t worry, I will only use two and will pay for them if you want me to.” He took a quick breath and steadied himself once more before resuming his address. “Rice just a bit past half-cooked, all right? The beans are already mushy enough; I don’t need more gooey rice on top of it. Add the cheese from the quesadilla counter and the vegetables from the crunchwrap area, because even though you preach standardization of your raw materials, some things are very marginally superior to what you use for other items.” He grinned widely at the cashier, who was now trembling like an autumn leaf. “I’ll pay cash. Two hundred and thirty with a little box of sour cream, I believe?” The man at the counter restarted his now short-circuited brain, stopped shaking and took the money dazedly. Boy leisurely walked over to the pickup area and set a timer for three and a half minutes. The cashier disappeared into the kitchen for a few seconds and then walked out. He smiled weakly. “Your order will be ready soon, sir.” “Thank you so much!” Boy wiped his now sodden forehead with a tissue and busied himself with a small glass of water. Girl gave herself a few seconds and regained her composure. Maybe she could initiate something. She decided to try and catch Boy’s eye before his food turned up. She stood in front of the cashier and gave her favorite order; a soft taco, a plate of loaded nachos and a side of cheesy fried potatoes (Fiesta potatoes, discontinued at time of writing). She would combine them into a fully loaded semi-crunchy, semi-gooey creation; it had a good balance of flavors and textures, she found. She paid up, stood next to Boy (whose food hadn’t arrived yet) and slid her bill across the garish counter. “May I have an extra bowl and three packets of mild sauce, please?” “Sure, ma’am!” Boy frowned and looked over. Another connoisseur? He got a smile and a wink in return and was surprised. A fellow fan!? *Ding!* went his alarm. He smiled at her as he received the burrito; she pointed towards the corner table questioningly. He was overtaken with a sudden fear but with an effort, he nodded and walked over. In two minutes she joined him. The first few minutes were unsurprisingly awkward. Boy looked around and at the ceiling as if he had never seen man-made buildings before. Girl was also too shy to make conversation and decided to attempt to break the ice by preparing her meal. She looked up, said, “Give me a couple minutes, will you?” and began her work as Boy watched on in silence. He was beginning to like Girl very much indeed. But Girl was not looking at the ghost of a smile slowly moving across his face; she was busy meticulously preparing her creation. She carefully opened the taco shell and separated out just the lettuce with a practiced hand. She deftly introduced a spork to the potatoes and scraped off the cheesy yellow topping; in a few seconds all of it was in the taco shell. In went the peppers from the nachos and one packet of mild sauce. She finally looked up at him, smiled and assembled the remaining lettuce, nachos and oddments into what she called a ‘mishmás’; it was a relatively authentic name for the brand and she liked it as an appetizer salad. Once complete, she looked at him quizzically. For the first time in his life, Boy got the hint, realizing he had been invited to eat with her. It was time to appreciate their creations. He got up, went upstairs as quickly as he could while looking languid (at least, he thought he was being languid) to get the two fire sauce sachets from the secret drawer. There were only two in there; he assigned cosmic meaning to that fact. He walked back downstairs, sat down, dabbed at his forehead with a paper napkin and put his sauce sachets to the side. He gave his burrito a cursory check to see if anything had torn or was awry; everything was fine. Finally, he looked up and locked eyes with her. “Cheers.” That first bite was to them what- How does one explain it? We’ve all had that moment before. When you see a mountain for the first time, when you hear the first few seconds of music you know will change your life or when you meet your first partner; there is something indescribable about the electricity and emotion that goes through you. You seem powerless to behold anything else but also grateful that this moment is even happening. There is disbelief and mild confusion but also a profound happiness, the depth of which cannot be comprehended. Even though this was probably the thousandth time our two characters were eating their creations, it still hit them the way it did the very first time. Between chews, Boy decided to speak. “Do you remember the first time you ate here?” “Of course I do, man. Don’t you?” “Yes, obviously I do. But what I wanted to know was what you ordered.” “Ah, well, I got the crunchy taco thing, a rice bowl, a free-fill soft drink, and-” Boy chortled. “Free-fill!? How could you? How could you fill your stomach with a million glasses of those sugary, gassy-” “I didn’t know!” Girl glared at him and then laughed. “I didn’t use any sauce either. I thought the sachets were ketchup or something. But I didn’t know! And besides, it was good enough to make me come back the next week, so I was hooked anyway.” Boy laughed hard for twenty seconds, complete with lots of snorting and wheezing. Once he regained his composure, he smiled. “I’ll give you that. I just had a rice bowl with the fire sauce and I realized I never wanted to eat anywhere else every again. Especially not at home.” Girl was surprised once more. “Oh, what? Really!? You too?” Boy had a wise, weathered look on his face. “Yeah... It’s obviously why we even bother living with being addicted to this stuff. It’s not like we’d look at all this greasy and unhealthy food for happiness and fulfillment if we had households and families that provided the same thing, right? This place isn’t about the menu or the sauce. It’s where I come to feel at home. Because home isn’t that.” Girl was moved and felt a connection she hadn’t felt in a long, long time. “Yeah. I guess... Actually, let’s not talk about it. No need to ruin this place with reality. And besides, we’re here at this table eating together, right? One could even say we’re *dos guisantes en una vaina*.” She looked up to see Boy’s face overcome with emotion and a strange joy. There was a minute of silence. Then he said, “I believe the more accurate expression is s*er uña y carne*.” And the rest, as they say, is flatulent history.


"Don't try Blake. What's done is done." I argue, wiping tears away from my face. "Alex. You're not li-" "It's clear as day! You cheated on me. At least own up to that." I shout, flicking some stray ginger hair away from my face. "Alex. I didn't cheat." He deadpans, running a frustrating hand through his brown hair. I hate myself for thinking he looks amazing. "I caught you redhanded Blake." He rolls his eyes. "Maybe if you listened to what I had to say." "You want me to listen so I can get my heart broken? Is that it? For you to tell me it's nothing, or maybe that I got it all wrong?" I screech. "You do have it wrong." "Yeah, I do," I mumble, "I had you wrong all this time. You're not who I thought you are." He groans. "Alex, I love you." "Yeah, it looks like it." I grab the heels the girl left on the floor and shove them at Blake's chest. "I hope you had a swell time." I snarl. He scoffs. "I didn't want her to walk around the house with shoes on. I know you hate it when I do that." "How nice of you to think about me when screwing someone else!" I accuse, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "I didn't screw around with her." "Yes, you did!" I accuse, dropping the heels to the floor. The heels are Louboutin's. She must be rich. Why am I even jealous? Anger flares in me. "You can pack your stuff up and get out." "And where am I supposed to go? This is OUR house and I haven't done anything wrong!" He defends, his green eyes darting between me and the door. Is he expecting her to come back? "I don't care where you stay. I think the streets are calling your name anyway." He chuckles. "You're always jumping to conclusions. I can't believe that you immediately thought I was cheating on you." "Are you trying to gaslight me?!" I accuse, jabbing at his chest. He catches my hands swiftly and drops it back to my side. "I'm not doing anything. I'm trying to get you to notice how insecure you are." "How insecure I am? Gee, how am I supposed to feel when a stunning blonde babe walks out of OUR apartment?" "I get where you're coming from but-" "But what Blake? What are you going to say?" "But... I didn't cheat. I'm telling you I love you." "And I love you. But, you've broken my heart." He groans. "You are beautiful. I only have eyes for you which is why-" "Which is why you cheated on me?" I bawl, tears crawling down my face. My nose instantly becomes blocked and I breath through my mouth. He holds me in his strong, muscular arms. The scent of mints drifts through my stuffed nose, mixed with the smell of expensive cologne. I sob into his chest, annoyed with myself for letting him comfort me like this. Annoyed that he's seeing my cry over his stupid mistake. "I didn't cheat on you. She was here because-" His phone blares on the coffee table. We stand still and silent, the sound of his heart beat in my ears. I pull away and glare at him. Anger curses through me when I glance over and see 'Amber' on the screen. "She's calling you? I bet she's trying to ask if you got rid of me." "Alex, calm down. God, you're so beautiful." I blush at the compliment before realising what's happening. "Don't. Why the hell did I fall for that?! Don't you dare try and distract me. Calling me beautiful isn't going to cut it." "Alex. We've been dating since we were 15. This is 10 years of a relationship. Do you really think I'd throw it away?" No. "Alex?" "No." I finally answer. He wipes at my face. "Will you finally listen to me baby?" I nod and follow him as he leads us over to our cream couch. The fake fireplace cackles menacingly in the background. I turn towards him and let him take hold of my small hands. He holds them up to his mouth, kissing my ring finger before putting our hands down in between us. "Explain yourself." "O-" "But before you do, just know that if I feel like you're making me look like an idiot, I'll slap you and leave." "Such a feisty redhead." He muses. I glare at him even though a small smile slips out. "Blake, stop wasting time and explain." "Amber is a jeweller." "Seriously? Is that your excuse? What was she jeweling? Your arm. Maybe in between your le-" He cuts me off by pressing a finger to my mouth. "Shush. She's someone I called to make an engagement ring and she just happened to deliver it today." I gape at him, my eyes widened in horror. I shouted at her and practically chased her out of our apartment. It's almost laughable. He pulls a box out of his back pocket and I still. "Will you do me the honour of marrying me?" He drops onto his knee and holds my hand out. I burst out laughing. This will be a story for everyone to hear. 'How'd you get engaged?' someone would ask. I'd reply saying: 'I accused him of cheating with the jeweller who came to drop the ring off. I chased her out the house and almost kicked Blake out, all for him just to get down on one knee. It's romantic right?' "Blake. I don't know what to say." I mumble. "Yes?" He offers. "I don't think I could possibly say yes after how I acted." He slips the ring onto my ring finger. I hold my hand out in front of me. Diamonds are embedded around the outside of the ring with a rose gold diamond in the middle, stealing the spotlight. The ring truly is amazing. "Do you like it?" "I owe Amber a thank you and a huge apology. It's beautiful." "I'll call her back here." Before he can grab his phone, I take hold of his hands. "I'm sorry. You're right, I instantly accused you without getting to know the full story. I guess I really am insecure." "It's alright. It was funny watching you get possessive over me and kick her out." I grimace. "I really did lose my cool. I love you." "I love you." He pecks my lips lightly and presses down on my stomach. "Maybe you can call Amber tomorrow." I offer, unbuttoning his shirt. "I guess Amber can wait..." He lands a kiss on my nose. "I love you Blake."