Avi was fed with living a dual life, and he wanted out. The stress was too much, and it was affecting his physical and mental health. It's high time he charted out a new course for his life and made a decision soon, he thought, or it would be too late. Today he would speak to his wife Nima and confess everything. She will be shocked and hurt, but he hoped she would forgive him eventually. The phone rang, and he snapped out of his reviree, it was his Boss. "Avi please come to my cabin with the project report." Avi picked up the file, and walked to his Boss's room. He had completed the report before the deadline and was sure his Boss would be mighty pleased about it. "May I come in Sir?" "Yes please do". Avi handed the file to his Boss. His Boss 'Yaver, 'was a middle-aged man, and a taskmaster. "Please sit down", he said, as he went through the report. "Good work Avi, as usual you have managed to complete it before the stipulated time." "Thank you, Sir," said 'Avi.' "I have some good news for you, I'm promoting you to the post of 'Regional Head" of the northern region", said the Boss. Avi was thrilled to bits, he had been waiting for this opportunity for a long time, and couldn't hide his pleasure. "Thank you Sir. I won't disapoint you." "I know," said his Boss, it means more traveling and more responsibility, but of course with lots of perks". "I'm fully aware of what it takes to make it to the top, Sir," said Avi confidently "Good, the project will commence only next week. Why don't you take a break and enjoy some time with your family? Once the new project starts it's going to be very hectic without much free time.." said Yaver As he walked out of his Boss's cabin, Avi called his travel agent, and booked a ticket on the first available flight to Delhi. On the way home he picked up Nima's favourite chocochip cake from the bakery near his office. He remembered a phrase he had read somewhere, "killing with sweetness" but he quickly got rid of the thought. Nima was genuinely delighted to hear about his promotion. "Let's go out and celebrate in the evening", she said. "Not tonight Nima , I'm leaving for Delhi in the evening . Infact this is a long business trip and I will return only next week". Nima didn't say anything, as she was used to his erratic working schedules. Next month would be their thirteenth wedding anniversary. Everything was hunky dory with their marriage, the only flaw was that they were childless. They had tried various treatments, doctors, hospitals but no results. She wanted to adopt a baby but Avi was against it. He assured her it didn't matter to him,that she couldn't conceive, and is happy with things as they are, but in her heart of hearts she knew he was lying. Avi wondered, how she would react , once he told her about his decision, but as cruel as it may sound, he had to do it, as he couldn't think of any other option. Nima was oblivious of what was going in Avi's mind, she was busy packing his bag, and making plans to celebrate his promotion, after he returned from his business trip. Seeing her excited and animated face, Avi decided to wait, and tell her of his decision only after he returned from his trip. He landed at Delhi airport by 8pm.After hiring a cab, he settled in, for a long ride that would take him to the outskirts of the city. Two hours later, he entered a gated community which had series of row houses, a swimming pool, a club house shopping center, and a school, with top rate security at all hours. It was a very safe and secure place. He loved coming here. He stopped his cab outside a small cosy cottage surrounded by tiny creepers and plants. He paid the driver, and walked up the three steps and rang the door bell. A small girl around eight years old, opened the door. "Daddy !! " she squealed, as soon as she saw him and leapt up into his arms" . Her mother, a shy simple young lady stood behind her smiling happily. "How are you Sarita?"he looked at her lovingly. "What a grand surprise this is! " she said and hugged Avi. "My boss has granted me one week's leave, so I came here to spend with my family." He entered the tastefully decorated living room, and sat on his favorite armchair with his daughter hovering around him and regaling him with stories about her school and friends. He looked happy and contented. Finally he was home. Later that night, as they lay in bed, he shared the news if his promotion with Sarita. "I'm planning to shift here permanently, as I will have to operate from Delhi". "What about Nima?" asked Sarita with a puzzled look. "I'm going to ask her for a divorce, once I go back to Mumbai, and tell her everything" "Are you sure Avi ? I'm feeling so guilty about it". "Don't be Sarita, I will see that she is well taken care of, and she won't lack for anything as long as she lives. I'm also giving the house in Mumbai to her. "But Avi"... He placed a finger on her lips to quiten her. "I'm not happy being a weekend father to Kiara.She's growing up and I want to be present here all times for her and you. I have made up my mind after pondering over it for years. Sarita was elated, finally Avi will be living with Kiara and her, which she always wanted.She felt sorry for Nima ,but life can be cruel sometimes. . She had Avi met eight years ago. She used to work in a a bank those days where he had an account They would interact frequently as she was handling his account, and would solve any problems regarding his account. One day he had come to bank during the closing hours, and had offered her a lift home.She accepted readily as she knew him. On the way home, she told him a little about herself that she was an only child, her father was no more, and she was living with her old mother.informed her, that he was married. Avi was attracted to this simple yet girl with a sweet voice. He never missed an opportunity to see her whenever he visited the city. Very soon both got into a relationship which was not going to lead anywhere. Avi was aware, he was cheating on his wife Nima, who was loyal and devoted to him, he was ridden with guilt but he couldn't help himself as he had fallen deeply in love with Sarita. One day Avi got from Sarita call in his office, she was sobbing uncontrollably. "Sarita what happened ?,"he asked, his heart sinking in. "Avi I'm pregnant and I'm so scared, I will have to go in for an abortion". "No!! He practically screamed. I'm coming there, and don't do anything until I reach there". Avi took the next available flight and reached Delhi, within a few hours. She collapsed in his arms, as soon as she saw him. "Don't worry Sarita I will take care of everything" he said trying to calm her down. For years he was dying for this wonderful opportunity, he won't allow her to snuff it just like that. "Let's get married", he told her out of the blue. "But you're already married Avi" and our marriage won't be a legal one". "I'm aware of it Sarita. I want our baby, and to get married legally it will take long of time, and we don't have the time. He took her to a temple, and they got married in a simple ceremony attended by her mother and few close friends of Sarita's. Avi was over the moon, at last he would be experiencing the joys of fatherhood which seemed like a far- fetched dream a few years ago. He started visiting Sarita more often, and his happiness knew no bounds when he held his daughter in his arms for the first time, who was a replica of her mother, but had his long nose and broad forehead. They settled in life peacefully. Avi visited them at the first available opportunity. Sarita resumed her job after few months and her mother helped her to look after the baby. Life was cruising along just fine.. Sarita never complained about anything, happy with things as they were. A year ago Sarita's mother passed away, and Avi asked her to leave her job and stay at home with Kiara as he was in a position to provide for them. He purchased a house for them in a safe locality as he would be at peace, and not having to worry when he was not with them . But now more than ever he wanted to be with them, and hated to be away from his daughter. Kiara was the happiest when she was with her dad. Her chitter chatter echoed in the house which radiated happiness. The week passed very soon, they went to the movies, malls and markets with lots of shopping and gifts for Kiara and Sarita. It was time for Avi to leave, and he held them in a tight hug promising to come and stay with them permanently very soon. In Mumbai, Nima was excited, as Avi was coming home. This time around, he had been gone for many days and she missed him. She wanted to share a wonderful news with him. When the doctor called her yesterday she didn't belive him, they had been trying for thirteen years and she had practically given up. From past few days she was feeling very uneasy so she went to see the doctor.He asked her to take some tests, and finally she got the results yesterday. She was 'pregnant ', she knew Avi would be on top of the world , they had waited for so long for this precious gift.She was dying to see his face when she breaks this news to him Avi reached Mumbai around 7pm, and took a cab home, he thought of completing the unpleasant task of confessing to Nima as soon as possible before his resolve weakens, and he succumbs to his guilt. Nima welcomed him with a warm hug as always. Avi noticed a certain glow on her face and she looked very beautiful. She handed him a cup of hot coffee, and was going to the kitchen to prepare a special dinner for the double celebration. Avi felt this was the right time to tell Nima about his final decision. "Nima, please come and sit here, I want to tell you something very important". "Not now Avi, I'm preparing your favorite dishes, and will talk after dinner. I too have a surprise for you" "Nima its important , please sit down".. " You look so tensed, what's on your mind Avi?" She was worried seeing his sad expression. "Nima it may sound cruel, but I can't go on like this, it's killing my mental peace and affecting my work too, so I have taken this decision". She had never seen Avi so agitated before. "What is it Avi? Is it about your job?" "Nima, please be calm and patient and listen to me .. you would always ask me why do I go to Delhi so often". "Avi I was only teasing you .I know you go there for your official work." "Nima, apart from my work, I also have a family there, one eight year old daughter and a wife". He told her how he had met Sarita nine years ago, about their affair and how he had to marry her because of his daughter Kiara. "I'm planning to make Delhi my base and settle there. My daughter is growing up and she needs me and it's very difficult for me to be away from her. I want a divorce Nima so I can legally marry Sarita". Nima felt as though she was standing in a battle field, and the enemy was spraying her with bullets.She couldn't believe her ears.The pain in her heart was so terrible as if someone had punctured it a hundred times over. She just stared at Avi as though he was some stranger who had come home in place of her husband. "What about me Avi?" She struggled to keep her voice steady. "I'm sorry Nima but don't worry, I have made good provisions for you. There's nothing you will lack for as long as you live". You can continue living in this house as it will be in your name. Nima was blank ,she got up and went to her bedroom crying and sobbing as she lay on bed thinking of the life growing inside her. Should she tell Avi about the baby?, after all it's his baby too and he has every right to know about it. He had made his choice without giving her a second thought, cutting her out from his life as though she was some part of his body that had turned poisonous. This is all wrong she thought. She and Avi should be celebrating and rejoicing this beautiful moment, but here she was, all alone weeping and mourning . Not anymore, she had made her final decision, she stood up,wiped her tears, and went out of her bedroom to face the inevitable.


You hear this one a lot: “The definition of insanity is to repeat the same thing over and over again and expect different results.” That isn’t true. No, that’s not insanity. I had a friend once. We’ll call him Jason. Sure, Jason. One thing you need to know about Jason is that he was a chronic nail-biter. He was the type of kid who you rarely saw without his hand up to his mouth, chewing. Just gnawing on the tough protein covering his fingers. I remember when we were very young his mother would paint his nails with clear Thum nailbiting polish that would leave a peppery and bitter taste in his mouth. But Jason didn’t care. He’d grit and bite the polish right off. He just did not care. His poor mother put that polish on his nails every single day, but he outlasted her. She eventually stopped once she realized Jason was starting to actually like the taste. They were perpetually moist, his fingers. Jason near constantly bit his nails. He bit them right down to the epidermis and until his teeth couldn’t get a grip on the nail itself, or until it bled. It wasn’t a nervous thing, it was just a Jason thing. When you first got to know Jason you’d politely ignore it but eventually you’d get annoyed and disgusted. Then you learned to ignore it. Jason wasn’t your average nail-biter, though. This kid never, not even once, spit out a chewed up keratin remnant on the ground. He told me the habit was disgusting enough, and he didn’t need to ramp it up by spitting nail all over the carpet. So he pocketed them. Each one. He’d chew and gnaw and bite and peel and once he had shaved off just enough of the nail to tear it off, he’d put it in his pocket. Aside from this admittedly common habit, Jason was by and large average. We played sports together, soccer league. My mom would babysit him after school sometimes. He liked his sandwiches cut diagonally. One time I went over Jason’s house to spend the night. Your nails grow at an average of 3 millimeters a month. They’re a form of hair, not many people know that. That’s why when you file your nails, that unmistakable smell pierces your nose, crinkling the minuscule hairs deep inside your nasal cavity. The speed in which they grow all depends on the length of the terminal phalange, so your index finger grows the quickest. In the summer, your nails grow faster. It’s true. Every young kid has been in a situation where their friend falls asleep first at a sleepover and they don’t know what to do with themselves. On foreign territory, you’re on your own to either entertain yourself quietly or force yourself to fall asleep. On this night at Jason’s house, that kid was me. Jason was sound asleep on his bed and I was on the floor next to him in a sleeping bag, wide awake. Bored out of my mind and doing anything to keep myself occupied before I got sleepy, I start feeling around the darkness of underneath his bed. It was very dark and I could only make out darker blobs of some number of objects tucked away under the safety of his mattress. To get a better reach, I turn myself on my stomach and turn my head flush against the carpet, unable to see what I was grabbing at now. Jason wasn’t your average nail-biter. I reached my arm further under the bed and wrapped my fingers around what was surely some sort of glass jar. Still on my stomach with my head turned to the side, I slowly moved my hand up the jar’s opening. A mass of something cold and wet my fingers feel. Like tiny, wet wood chips. Like chewed up sunflower seeds. Like chewed up nails. I jerk my hand back, moving my head back in position to see under his bed. Still, the darkness shrouds the jar I was feeling at. I get on my chest again and use my middle finger to delicately roll the jar out from under the bed and into plain sight. As I rolled it closer, the contents of the jar were clear. An entire jelly jar’s worth of chewed up and spit out, *and pocketed*, nail fragments lined the inside of the glass. Half moon crescents of nail stuck to the inside walls of the jar, stained purple from scraped out Smucker’s grape jelly. Without a lid, a mass of chewed nail clippings was near dribbling out the exit of the jar, moist with saliva. Pocket lint was scattered throughout the mess. The smell is a thing difficult to describe but for fans of black licorice I’ll spare you the thought. I look under the bed once more, seeing three, four, maybe even five more dark cylinders. More jars. More jars full of nails. I reach under again and touch glass. This jar wasn’t as full as the last. A new collection. Gagging on the smell and desperate to hide my intrusion I roll both jars back to their original resting place. A wet glob of nails knocked loose by my jostling of the jars just lay on the carpet, moistening the plastic fibers. The lump of finger protein almost seemed to be taking the form of the original contents of the glass jar. I dig the side of my palm into the carpet and grit my teeth, scraping part of Jason’s nail collection back under the bed. The side of my palm now wet from the spit that covered the nail shavings, I wipe it on a dry section of carpet. Making every effort going to sleep, I feel like I’m laying on a bed of nails. No pun intended. You do any one thing enough times, over and over again, it begins to become ritual. More than ritual, even. It starts to become who you are. Doesn’t matter what it is. Washing your hands obsessively. Making sure every straight edge is aligned perfectly. Cracking your knuckles repeatedly. Biting your nails. Storing them in jars. Over and over. Over and over. Never expecting a different result--but enjoying the power of knowing it. That’s insane.


Monday July 9th 2001 “Time is the portal of truth. Nothing in the world exits without an expiry, not even time! No wonder its vastness, the universe is still limited, limited to the very rate of expanding. Every human, every being is a time packet of universe determining the very age of it. We marked the beginning of humans from the time they started doing things that had potential to change the world. In the same way we marked the beginning of universe, by marking a certain point in time (the flow of information), known by the name of big bang. The theory itself is unstable, but at the same time there is no threat at thinking that it is true because there isn’t a second theory that rivals this. Thus the very stand alone concept of us being here is big bang. To change this we have to develop a theory that could be practically proven as well as would deny the very existence of all the concepts of universe discovered till date. My theory suggests that the universe is nothing but us, because...” “Dozing off again? Or rather gliding in vacuum!” Yelled the professor who had a smirk of sophistication of knowledge, when he started mumbling all about the universe. “No sir, we are making a theory of relativity for getting out of this exhausting lecture.” said a student with red spiky hair who literally came to sleep in the class. The spark was extinguished given the disinterest shown by students, who basically came to attend the lectures because they just have to. The very process of disregarding everything was destroyed, five times in a row. The professor was tired of repeatedly being repelled by students. With a disheartened sigh he said “You all can leave today.” As if they were the most obedient of students, they all left the classroom with silence and a smile on their faces. Putting his heavy head down on the table, he crept into his own tornado of thoughts. Starting from the stupidity he did to take up the task for explaining students, to how he can achieve the new theory that would open up gates of time travel. He starts seeing glances of weirdness. Neither he nor the one writing this story yet know what did he see and why! Contracting back to their place, the pupils seemed a bit diluted. His sight was stammering (though I don’t know how eye sight stammers) and constantly jiggling between objects trying to focus on things. He started to remember memories from future. Memories that were sent to the past by the future him...maybe. As abrupt as it sounds, it is abrupt. The way he described time as flow of information, he might just have found a way to reverse the flow of information, with at least memories. Without wasting a single second, he jumped into the time warp so created. He was stupid. Not because he thought to jump into such an unrealistic and a dangerous path, but because all he did was jump on the very pitiful wooden block, that sustained the weight of teachers for god knows how many years. Struggling through his childish behaviour, he somehow managed to hold his horses. Thinking one theory at a time, he got a link to access the memories that he was seeing distinctively, still struggling with the haziness of his eyes (probably should have used that previously). Communicating his mind and heart to a memory of the future he could synchronize with (a memory that had the same emotions and situations as one of the past memories he had already felt), he experienced the same pain, the same happiness, the same sadness, the same every feeling, thereby standing at the paradox of his own timeline. This was the warp he was trying to jump into? The memories, were they from future or past? To explain this let me just say, he was getting nostalgic over the incidents he hasn’t even experienced. Standing at the paradox, he was the only person immortal. By immortal I mean, at any given point in time, weather past or future, he holds each and every information about everyone. Just imagine this as; there are three different lines or truths- the present, the past and the future. Standing at the paradox means that he is the point where the present the past and the future pass though leading to a unveiling time loop, and every information that is surrounded by him or known to him at any given time will pass through the three way loop infinite number of times. Waking up from his heading down position, he finds out that the class had left and there stands only one guy in front of him. Sparkles in his eyes, he was interested in the topic he was teaching. He yelled with the irritation of what was happening to him. At one point he knew everything and now suddenly he is blank. “The paradox, the warp, everything is; what’s the paradox I am talking to myself about?” The student replied “universe is me, I am the whole universe, time is my soul, my soul is the whole time.” squabbling these lines he ran away. The very words he used to say at his schooling. This triggered him. He now understood, all that happened was a phenomenon where the ends of ever expanding universe had curved to merely touch each other, bending time and linking the past the present and the future. Thus information flowed from one end to another creating an infinite loop for less than a minute. And the lecture ended. As confused one can be (his realisation did happen but he was unable to absorb in all of these), he signed off the register on the place written Monday 9th July... 1973 The beginning is the end the end is the beginning. His soul was the time and his body was the universe. He was, is and will be the paradox.


Vivek is a surreal novelist who writes mostly horror and thriller genres. He is happily married to Varsha, a creative and beautiful woman and they then blessed with Sarah of 8 years. But after their marriage, she noticed Vivek is a kind of guy with multiple personality traits. But she doesn't care it much as he never behaves odd and never made her feel bad. But sometimes she finds Vivek talks to himself calling Vinay and she felt embarrassed and hesitantly asked him about this once. Vivek is a man driven by doubt, unable to give himself entirely to a person or to a faith - even as he knew that to refrain from such commitment was no way to live. Vivek, Vinay writes, spent "his whole life searching for a haven that, were he to find it, he would only exile himself from or spoil, and then begin the search again." Vinay negotiates these ideas - of detachment, of faith, of home and belonging, of love, of displacement - turning them over and over like river pebbles, puzzling over their place in his own life, thinking them through. This is, in a way, the point: when Varsha asked why he wanted to spend so much time with Vinay, Vivek told her "It's a way of working things out, as I couldn't otherwise." One day while Vivek is busy updating his website, he hesitantly scrolls through a website full of pictures of him sleeping and realizing that in each image a strange man gets closer to his bed. In the one uploaded last night, he was lifting the blanket. Not realizing that the auto-sync was enabled on his cloud account that synced the photos he clicked the last night to a social media website, Vivek is shocked and confused by this strange incident that happened, he went to see the blanket is positioned or not. Surprisingly he sees a letter near to the blanket and in that letter, there is an address of a village and written "come here for a good story for your next novel". Vivek is surprised and thinks it is a prank of someone. But when strange incidents start happening like his daughter talks to some invisible person saying her name is Chaitra and asks him about the letter and village, he decides to go to that village. But Varsha thinks it's foolish to go to the village depending on their daughter's behavior because she thinks Sarah like her father has adopted some psychological issues. And she thinks the letter is just a prank, but Vivek has decided to go to the village to know the reason behind the happenings. Vivek with the letter he found, starts his journey towards the mystery he would like to chase. But soon he starts, he misses his train and finds himself taking a ride to somewhere beyond normal understanding. He perceives the nature of the alternate universe in which he finds himself- a world where his friends and loved ones are all smiling, hate-filled psychopaths, sort of like the Mirror Universe taken to horrifying extremes. Vivek is completely out of his mind and he feels out of his bodily experiences of what he is seeing. He is continuously listening a voice - "I am nearer to you than you to yourself".... He sees his wife burning the dolls while Sarah cries. He does not understand her intension of weird behaviour. Varsha saying herself that Sarah was assuming it was her mom who moved the dolls into her bed each night. Vivek heard a voice murmuring- "Seeing is not acting. If you don't act, you don't see anything"... He sees and feels the decay and body horror and Kafkaesque surrealism. But again, the voice whispers - "seeing is not acting. If you don't act, you don't see anything". He sees her daughter under demonic possession. Sarah is afflicted by intense shaking and loss of control over her body. Confused by her symptoms, doctors diagnose her with schizophrenia but her behaviour grows worse. She begins attacking the family members and drinks her own urine. Her concerned family eventually convinces the priests and performs multiple exorcism sessions. Vivek, obsessed with the hauntings, decides to go back to his home. He takes his car and starts back to his home. Then he realizes how his car is there at that point of time when he tried to go to the village by the train. Finally, he drives away from there as fast as he can. When he feels safe enough to breathe, a voice from the backseat says, "Leaving so soon? “Vivek hears a noise unlike any other; it's a frightening combination of shattering glass, crunching metal and grinding rock. It lasts only a fraction of a second as the draining momentum hurled the now seemingly weightless vehicle back upright as gravity pulls it back to the pavement. It feels like a dream, or rather a nightmare. He struggles to grasp exactly what just happened. The windshield is completely shattered, but still held together in a mosaic design by the plastic between the panes. And somehow the whole vehicle seems whimsical and awkwardly bent. As he unbuckles his seat belt he notices a distinct red line has embedded across his exposed neck. Vivek is still in shock and has no idea what has just happened. He is wrecked but also misses an early grave just by an inch When emergency responders arrive, they find Vivek's driving seat crunched into a telephone pole. Vivek is slumped in his seat, unconscious. Vivek has traveled barely 200 yards before striking the pole... He isn't wearing a seat belt. It took emergency responders eight minutes to pull him out of the car. Some of the paramedics doubt Vivek would be alive by the time he reaches the city's General Hospital. At the hospital, Vivek has a CT scan to assess the damage and then rushed into surgery, where neurosurgeons remove the left side of his skull and part of the right to stop multiple brain hemorrhages. By the time he is transferred to the neuro intensive-care unit, he is a swollen-faced sphinx, eyes closed, head wrapped in bandages, pin-cushioned with needles, and on a ventilator. At each critical juncture of Vivek's journey -- the first three days, they struggle to balance intervention with compassion, while trying to discern the fine and shifting line between hope and hopelessness. Vivek opens his eyes on the third/second day. He’d passed from a coma into a vegetative state, a condition of wakeful unconsciousness - eyes wide open but mind still shut down. During the fifth day in the hospital, Vivek began to show signs to his doctors that he is becoming aware of the outside world. Doctor Jai feels it's the medical miracle and only patients in movies leap out of unconsciousness and stay there. Brain-injury patients more typically fluctuate -- up and down, in and out, aware and then unaware. The minimally conscious state can last days, weeks, months, years, the rest of one’s life. But Vivek shows no signs of any brain abnormalities which confuse the consciousness of his doctors. The exact process remains mysterious, in part because every traumatic injury inflicts a unique pattern of damage on the cells and circuitry of the brain. One week after the accident, Vivek's doctors perform a second MRI. Remarkably, and unexpectedly, the brain scan suggests that some of Vivek's damaged wiring has begun to mend. “To our knowledge,” the doctors noted later, this type of reversal has not been previously described with serial neuroimaging or in a case with such a widespread extent of axonal injury. Vivek is discharged a day after the MRI report is ready. He is still in and out. Sometimes he seems to pay attention, other times he seems lost. Varsha does not want to reveal to her husband about Sarah's abnormal behaviour, as he is not yet completely recovered. Sarah is showing the signs of demonic possession. She speaks in tongues and strange guttural voices; she levitates and clings to the walls of her bedroom. Rajesh, Sekhar and Bhaskar are staying together in a flat near Vivek's house. Murder mystery of Rajesh and Sekhar made the whole city in shock as they are clearly mentioned and projected as abnormal deaths caused by nonhuman or demon. When Rajesh enters his flat, he hears a deep moaning and getting nervous turns his head to the direction where he hears it from. There he sees a girl sitting on the floor with her head bent in between her legs and her hands upwards on head. Out of tremendous fear and anxiety Rajesh goes near to the girl and calls her slowly. The girl who was sitting there turned her head around until it was completely facing backward... Rajesh loses his heart and in deep shock tries to shout out loud but is unable to bring his voice out. Rajesh has been bashed around the head, had his face slashed, his body mutilated and then, finally, his torso sliced in half. He is stretched out, with his feet together and one hand on his abdomen and the other lying next to him. His head is turned slightly to one side. His eyes are wide open and staring. The eventual search party discovered a tent ripped in Sekhar's belongings--including his shoes--left behind despite the deathly cold temperatures. Following a trail of shoeless footprints that led to the woods, they soon recovered the Sekhar's body with the underwear... He had strange fatal injuries that included major skull trauma, major chest fractures, and a missing tongue. Police were alarmed to find out that what they presumed to be a corpse-like Halloween decoration hanging from a fence turned out to be an actual dead person. A bloody rock was found near the body of Sekhar. But the forensic reports revealed the hand prints on the rock and the blood was Sekhar's only. After Sekhar's death, Bhaskar is upset and afraid. He is scared even of his own shadow. Bhaskar observes the same toy at both of his friends’ dead bodies. He reminds that toy which they had seen it with Sarah and she named the toy as Chaitra... Bhaskar decides to go to Vivek's house to confirm it's the same toy or not. There he sees Sarah playing with that toy very innocently. He asks Sarah that where she was in the morning and innocently she says she stayed at home watching Doraemon as its Sunday-holiday. Varsha comes there to know what's happening. Bhaskar greets her and says her the reason for his coming to their house. Varsha feels sorry for his friends’ unnatural death and she advises him to take care of himself. Bhaskar observes the strange behaviour of Sarah and Varsha tells him the total incidents of what’s happening to them. Bhaskar asks Varsha to come with him to meet a paranormal investigator to understand what's happening with them. He decides to chase the mystery of his friends’ deaths. They meet the paranormal investigator Mithun Acharya and tell him about the horrible mysterious deaths of Rajesh and Sekhar and about the toy he saw there and about Sarah and her behaviour and about the Vivek's accident. Mithun Acharya performs exorcism to know the exact cause of mysteries. He, after some time, calls them and says that he wishes to see Vivek and Sarah once. They take him home and there he sees Sarah playing with the doll and when she saw Mithun Acharya coming, she behaves little weird. He went inside to see Vivek. He is sleeping and Varsha wakes him up. Not knowing anything that's happening, Vivek asks Varsha that what's going on. Then she tells him the entire thing that happened till that time and Vivek tried to recollect something happened prior to the accident. Mithun Acharya asks Vivek about Chaitra. Even though confused, all are seeing him out of curiosity to listen what he is going to say. Vivek confused first but gradually tried to recollect and starts saying. Chaitra was his classmate and neighborhood friend when he was doing his graduation. He was fond of writing since childhood and highly influenced to write horror stories... Once he wrote a story and after reading that Chaitra starts behaving strangely. Chaitra had an attraction developed on Vivek in her adolescent age and reads every story of his. After reading a story of him, she was inspired to play Ouija board and played. Later she started behaving strange. Vivek thought she was playing a prank. But situations made worse when Chaitra was completely preoccupied with the demonic possession and love towards Vivek. Chaitra had involved her all senses in the Ouija board and the anxiety of believing that she had been contacting spirits or demons, triggered the trance state and psychotic disorder where she started hallucinating and lost touch with reality. Knowing everything happening , Chaitra's parents decided to put her in the asylum. But it's not over. Mithun Acharya reveals that Chaitra had committed suicide and it's she who is talking regularly to Sarah. While everyone is in deep shock, Mithun comes to know that it was not Chaitra besides the multiple deaths. He sees an old painting of a woman there and asks Varsha about it. A strange fact that comes to know is Varsha who is more interested in collecting old paintings and fascinated over sculptures gets the painting as a gift by Vivek on her birthday once. Mithun senses that there is demonic presence in that painting and it is the reason for the mysterious happenings, but not Chaitra. He doesn't want to reveal it before he knows exactly what's happening. He leaves the place tying Sarah a divine knot. But he feels the eyes of the woman in the painting are haunting him. Bhaskar also leaves the place hesitantly with fear. Vivek is completely preoccupied his mind with demonic fear and is disturbed for his family's paranormal behaviour. The very night when he sleeps on his bed, Vivek feels heavy on his chest and opens his eyes. He is terribly afraid of seeing a woman's head on his chest with a teary eyes and lips and horrible terrific smile from the broken lips. Out of shock he shouts heavily but voice doesn't come out. He throws the head away and tries to get up but the headless body is sitting next to him and grabs his neck. He anyhow manages to get out from there running and enters the lift. Vivek apparently gains access to the rooftop of the house and climbs on its water tank. The rooftop is alarmed, the tank is 8-foot-high, and he manages to close the heavy lid after himself. Workers reach there to cut it open with tools to remove him. Vivek is panicked and immediately rushed to meet Mithun Acharya. Mithun, after exorcism got a clarity that the gruesome and potentially deadly concoctions in the painting induce the altered states of consciousness and out-of-body experiences. It haunts by provoking “to cast sickness into whom you will,” “to cause discord and debate,” and “to kill whom you will.” And he understands it is Varsha who is haunted and possessed. He reveals it to Bhaskar and Vivek when Vivek along with Bhaskar comes to him. They are shocked to know it because Varsha never shows any sign of demonic possession. Mithun clarifies them saying "Satan's greatest trick is convincing people it does not exist". Some see this other world and others don't. It's evil's way of creating yet another imbalance in the lives. Vivek calls Varsha's parents on Mithun's suggestion and after letting them know the weird incidents that happened, Mithun asks them about Varsha. Varsha was a toddler just like any other. She ran, played, and laughed all day, and was a treasure to her parents. Then, the unexpected happened. One morning, Varsha was running down the stairs at her home, she slipped and fell. So severe was the fall that the three-year-old was pronounced dead on the scene. But then something very unexpected happened: Varsha woke up. For another four years, they had their beautiful daughter back. In her eighth year, however, everything changed. On a regular outing to the ancient museum, Varsha's parents first became aware that the girl was behaving strangely. As soon as they reached the section of the ancient sculptures in the museum, Varsha was transfixed. She couldn’t get enough of the artifacts and sat near an ancient painting of a gruesome woman for a long time, refusing to go home with her parents. After this incident, things took a turn for the worse. Varsha became almost depressed. That picture of the “woman with haunted eyes which provoked altered consciousness with its deadly concoctions” caught her attention much. After she found the picture of the strange woman, Varsha developed her interest towards ancient paintings and sculptures and started painting in her free time. She finally fell in love with Vivek and married him. After her marriage, Varsha completely freaked her husband Vivek out by calling him Vinay sometimes. Bhaskar and Vivek are shocked after listening Varsha's flashback. They all understand the deadly concoctions in the painting seduced Varsha to involve in paranormal activities. Vivek, suddenly is alone when he comes out of his thoughts and finds no one in the room except himself and the painting. He loses his heart and stares at the painting for a while. A voice whispers suddenly that - "I am nearer to yourself than you to yourself". He turns back and Varsha is standing there. She walks towards the kitchen with a knife in her hand saying that" seeing is not acting. When you don't act, you don't see anything" When Vivek's consciousness felt that something is wrong with Bhaskar, not long after the blood has dried into the carpet, Varsha started her new painting. Then Vivek falls into a world of maniacal laughs and endless torment.


Elstrath von Graves ran as fast as his little legs could go. The guards who had given him a twenty metre head start ran him down with ease, even dressed in full fighting leathers. "Nice effort, young master." Oh, how frustrating it was to be a boy of eight when everyone he was surrounded by was a full grown adult. Time was cruel and unfair. When would he grow up and be able to outrun his minders? "Leonidas, next time you must wait a little longer," Elstrath commanded the Captain of his guard. "It just isn't fair that I have such little legs." "You'll have your growth spurts when you become a teenager," Leonidas said. "Do not rush the days of youth." Elstrath harrumphed and continued onwards towards the market. He never realised how big everything was until he was surrounded by it. The desert streets of Kyo baked beneath the mid morning sun. The citizens appeared pleased to be up and about, raising fabric awnings on the front of their sandstone houses. Men, women and children waved at the group of foreigners, not afraid of their pale skin. Elstrath grumpily ignored or sneered at them all, disregarding his father’s sound advice to be kind and welcoming while in foreign lands. Why should he be nice when he had been dragged halfway around the world against his best wishes? "Elstrath, control yourself," Leonidas said patiently, squeezing Elstrath’s shoulder and guiding him away from a group of children who were staring wide mouthed at them. "They’re just fascinated. Let them be." "I hate kids," Elstrath growled. "Look at them. They’re awful." Leonidas laughed and then hid it with a cough as Elstrath glared at him. "You are a child too, you know." "Don’t remind me." They moved as a rhythmic unit, ten men surrounding Elstrath, weapons on their hips but ready in an instant to attack at the first sign of danger. The streets grew busier and louder until they were suddenly in the thick of things, the market building up around them. Elstrath had never seen something so alive, so loud. Hundreds of people crowded the streets either setting up market stalls outside of their houses or gathering in crowds to purview and purchase food and wares. The most popular stall was a fish vendor somehow with the freshest catch this far from any sources of water. Everywhere there were people of all nationalities and races, as diverse a place as you could possibly find. Even Elstrath and his guards wouldn’t stand out in this crowd. "This is unbelievable," Elstrath remarked to Leonidas at his side, feeling quite terrified by all of the strangers. "How does something like this build up out of nothing?" "We have places like this back home too," Leonidas remarked. "Probably not as fast building or as full of action, but there are daily markets everywhere you go." "You’ll have to show me when we get home. How much did Father give you for me to spend today? Am I just looking or can I buy something as a reminder of our time here?" Leonidas hefted a pouch, jingling their stash of foreign currency. "We have more than enough for a trinket or two." Elstrath turned a slow circle in the middle of the market. How had he found himself so deep in the thrumming street already? The crowd was almost shoulder to shoulder with every stall busy with haggling pedestrians. He couldn’t see the sunshine through the trees. Where did he even begin in such a place? How would he find his way to the front of any stalls, let alone one worth visiting? "Would you like help, young master?" Leonidas asked. "I can disperse this crowd in an instant." "No, Leonidas, give me a moment and I’ll figure this out." Elstrath closed his eyes and listened. There were so many voices overlapping that it was almost impossible to focus on one alone. It was like drowning in an ocean, being pushed under by the rolling waves, unable to find a way to breathe. He gasped and swallowed a heavy breath, fighting off panic. He was braver than this. He wasn’t afraid or concerned by people. *Elstrath.* The whispered voice carried on the wind, burrowing into his brain. He whipped his head back and forth, opening his eyes and seeing nothing but backs. The thronging crowd was too dense to see anything else. *Elstrath.* There it was again, just out of reach. He could feel it coming from somewhere close by. He just had to fight his way through, pushing much larger adults aside and grab a hold of whoever was calling out to him. He pointed in the general direction and commanded, "Leonidas, make a path that way." Leonidas deftly carved a path through the crowd with Elstrath attached to his boot heels. He bid their way through with apologies and niceties and they came to stand before a crowded stall. The owner was shouting back and forth with an onyx skinned woman, haggling over some kind of trinket. Elstrath’s attention was immediately drawn to a row of red clay pots aligned at the back of the stall. *Elstrath.* The voice came from right there. He had found the correct place, but no one was speaking. "Do you hear that?" Elstrath asked, staring at the pots, taking in the strange symbols carved around their centre. "Hear what?" Leonidas asked. "The shrill barking of those two?" "No. Somebody is calling out to me. Can you see anyone we know?" "There’s nobody around who would know you. All of your guards wouldn’t be able to call out to you from throughout the market. Are you sure you’re hearing right?" "I swear." Elstrath crouched down so that he was at eye level with the wares. The intricate details on the pots were immaculate, but one of the five stood out to him more than any of the others. *Elstrath.* Was something inside that pot speaking to him? How could that be possible? "Hello?" Elstrath said uncertainly. "Can you hear me?" Elstrath reached out ever so slowly, hesitant but sure of his actions. "Oi, boyo!" The owner barked and flew over, slapping Elstrath’s hands away. "No touchie." "Sorry. I... How much is this?" "Too much for you, I’m betting. Take your grabby hands and find someone else to throw your foreign money at." Elstrath signalled to Leonidas and he handed him the money pouch. He tipped a third of it into his hand and glared at the stall owner. "Is this enough of your money to get you to haggle?" "Oho, my apologies, boyo. Which one of these fine goods caught your eye?" Elstrath took a gamble and said, "the set of pots." Elstrath didn’t know the value of the foreign currency so he allowed Leonidas to step in and barter back and forth with the owner. Eventually they reached a bargain and Elstrath departed with all five pots safely stowed in a crate packed with straw. He held them firmly to his chest as he barged his way to one end of the market. Before he could find a way free he stumbled into an alleyway between two houses and he followed it down and around a corner into a secret garden with a single tree. "Stand guard at the corner," he ordered, seeing that all of his guards had successfully followed him into the alley. Leonidas checked that there were no other exits and then stood with his back barely visible at the corner. "Alright," Elstrath said. "Let’s see what you are." He placed the crate beneath the tree and pulled out one pot at random. Looking it over he could tell that it wasn’t the one that had drawn his attention. As he went through and eventually picked up the fourth pot he heard it again: *Elstrath.* This was the one. The pot that was calling out to him. He set it on the sand and took a deep breath. Before he could convince himself otherwise he pulled the string tied around the seal and plucked the cork out. A powerful tornado of wind slammed Elstrath backwards, whiplashing his head into the ground. He practically bounced into the air from the impact and the breath was knocked out of him. "Elstrath," someone yelled. Elstrath was too disoriented to know who was speaking and he couldn’t seem to move without wanting to be sick. "Elstrath!" A second booming voice said from directly above him. Through swimming vision Elstrath looked up at a sight he could not believe. There was a being, ten times larger than a man with blue skin, a long wispy trail of smoke instead of legs and rippling muscles. "A Djinn?" Elstrath whispered. "Elstrath," the Djinn said, smiling with crossed arms. "You followed my call." Elstrath struggled up onto his elbows as ten men and women made a tight semicircle behind him and the Djinn. No one knew what it was or where it had come from. Only Elstrath knew that he had found the magic pot. "What do you want from me, Djinn?" Elstrath finally started to feel better and he rushed to his feet, feeling Leonidas pushing up towards his side. "Be careful, young master," Leonidas said, drawing his sword and adopting a defensive stance. "These creatures are dangerous and manipulative. Do not fall for its deceptions." "I want nothing from you, Elstrath," the Djinn said. "It is you who may ask things of me. Ask and I shall fulfil three of your dearest held desires." "Wait," Elstrath demanded. "Why were you calling out to me? That’s not how it happens in the stories I’ve read." "You’ve read fables meant for children. Djinn seek out their targets as much as we are sought out. You interest me, Elstrath. Now ask and I shall give." Elstrath had no idea what he wanted. No idea what to ask the Djinn for. Should he ask for endless fortune? For good health and a long life? To be whisked home, across the Endless Sea? "I... I don’t know, Djinn," he muttered. "I don’t know the limit of your power. What kinds of things could I ask for?" "I cannot guide your desires, Elstrath. You must come to the decision yourself." "I want to be brave," Elstrath quickly decided. "I want to see danger and be able to charge into it. I don’t want to be afraid anymore." "Your wish is my command," the Djinn said. Elstrath didn’t feel any changes, but then again he wasn’t particularly afraid of the Djinn or of being surrounded by his personal guard. He thought about running back into the crowded market to see how he felt being around people much bigger and stronger than him. But he decided to complete his wishes before seeing how effective they were. Maybe his newly provided bravery was leading his desires as he cleared his throat and stared at the Djinn. "I want my father to say yes to my next request. No matter what I ask for." "Oh, Elstrath, what are you planning?" Leonidas questioned as the Djinn accepted the wish. Elstrath glanced over his shoulder at the man who had been the only thing that made him feel safe until only moments earlier. Now he seemed like just another soldier, not specifically placed to keep him alive, but only there to alleviate his father’s concerns. He turned nonchalantly back to face the Djinn and spoke his last desire. "I want to be the greatest swordsman the world has ever seen," Elstrath said. "Your wish is granted," the Djinn proclaimed. "Goodbye, Elstrath." A heavy wind knocked Elstrath backwards a half step as the Djinn turned into dust and whisked back into the pot. The seal reappeared out of thin air, closing the pot until somebody else found it and summoned the Djinn. The guards all murmured and started to discuss the possibility of opening the pot for themselves, making Elstrath jump forwards and turn around with his arms held wide. "None of you will call out the Djinn," he said bravely. "Step away unless you want to challenge my newly acquired skill with the sword." There was a half sword attached to his belt, a weapon he had never used in a real fight before, but he didn’t doubt for a moment that the Djinn had given him untold skill. "No one is going to challenge you, young master," Leonidas said, holding his hands up above his shoulders. "Isn’t that right?" Every single one of the guards lifted their hands away from their weapons and nodded eagerly. "What will you do with the pots?" Leonidas continued. "How will you keep them safe?" "I will take them with me," Elstrath said. "No one will speak with the Djinn until I deem them worthy." "And what is it that you intend to ask your father? That was not a wish I ever imagined." "I will ask him to forget about me. It is time that I make my own path." "Young master? What do you mean? Do you intend to give up your family?" "I’m tired of being my father’s puppet, Leonidas. When I walk away from my father will you come with me? I promise to take you home, across the Endless Sea. This place does not hold any answers for you and me." "I am beholden to your-" "Just say that you’re too afraid to follow a boy," Elstrath interrupted. "I understand how hard it must be to have to protect me, but now you never have to draw your sword in my defence again. I am more than capable and brave enough to protect myself. I do not ask for your company as a soldier, but as a friend. So, forget about my father and make the decision for you. Will you come home with me?" Leonidas scratched his thickly bearded chin for a moment and then shook his head. "No, Elstrath. I must stay to protect your father. I swore an oath to protect his family and if you truly decide to leave that means I must protect him." Elstrath turned and collected the small crate from beneath the tree, packing the Djinn’s pot away safely. He hefted it and turned to face his former protector. "That’s fine," he said. "I guess the last thing you can do for me is see me safely to my father. My hands are a bit full to test my newly acquired sword skills." "That I can do, young master. That I can do." Elstrath fell into the centre of his guard as they forged a way back through the dying market. Many eyes fell on the young boy and his prize, but none of them knew what he had attained that day. Not one person knew that he held in his hands the key to unlock their greatest dreams. He would have to be careful where he kept the pots. If the Djinn fell into the wrong hands, who knew what disastrous outcomes would come to life. He had told Leonidas that only those worthy would get the chance to speak with the Djinn, but if he could have his way no one would ever break the seal. He pulled the crate tight against his chest and glared at everyone who looked his way. Let them try and steal his treasure. They would find that he would not let it go easily. The Djinn was his.


I wake from a deep and restful sleep, slowly stretching as I stifle a yawn. The sunlight streams in through the gap in my curtains. I carefully roll over and lift myself onto my side to pull them closed, but as I reach for the curtain I slip. I feel the pain before I even fall, trying to twist and evade the mess of claws and teeth that is Snowball the Destroyer. She hisses and yowls as she digs into the soft skin of my abdomen. Damn, I think as I blink away what little sleep was left in my eyes. I need to start wearing hockey pads to bed. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to bother you, your highness". Snowball glares at me, unimpressed. I swear she rolled her eyes. I get up from the bed to grab some antiseptic and bandages. Snowball slinks along after me, and once we arrive in the bathroom she proceeds to hack up a hairball. "You know, you probably wouldn't hack up so many of those if you weren't a flesh-eating beast!" I shout as she scurries back to bed. I open the medicine cabinet and pop a couple Benadryl as I search for the first aid kit. After I get cleaned up, I head back to my room to clean up the mess and make my bed. You would think that I'd have learned to stop buying white sheets by now. I sigh as I strip the bed, silently praying that the bleach removes the blood. It's a wonder that Snowball stays so pristinely white despite feasting on my flesh every other day. After tossing the sheets into the wash, I check the clock and briefly panic before I realize that today is my day off. I head into the kitchen and to make a pot of coffee and some toast. As I walk into the kitchen, I catch a whiff of a familiar scent before I see the accompanying smoke. I calmly grab the fire extinguisher as I push open the door. "Damn it Snowball! How the hell do you even manage this??" I ask, as is the tradition. After I've extinguished the blaze, I unplug the toaster for good measure. I let it cool off for a minute before tipping it upside down into the trash bin specifically for toasty toy mice. Snowball's most recently acquired habit is putting one of her mice in the toaster if I don't feed her soon enough. I swear, that cat is going to be the death of me. She legitimately looks disappointed that she didn't burn the house down. I clean up the mess in the kitchen and decide that I'm energized enough without coffee. I decide to go to my desk and try to get some shit done. I pull out my chair, sit down, and open up my laptop. Before I can even hit the power button, Snowball is on the keyboard, swatting my hands away from the computer. Not wanting to lose a finger, I pull out my chair and take a step towards the other computer. Snowball takes the bait and races me to it, climbing atop the second keyboard. I quickly shut the door behind her and return to my desk. Finally, some peace and quiet. I get logged on and launch Chrome. As I log into Reddit I hear a loud crash, followed by the door behind me swinging open. Snowball pushed the decoy computer off of the desk and used it to reach the knob. I get up to check for damages; thankfully, the computer was already broken. No mess to clean up this time. I turn to get back to business, only to see Snowball smirking at me from my keyboard. "Fuck it. The apartment is yours. I'm out", I say as I grab my keys and march out the front door. I swear she cackled at that. As I make my way outside I pull out my phone and text my best friend. She's going to meet me for breakfast at the café near my building. I head inside before even receiving a response and snag us our favorite table, the one in the corner. It has a great location for people watching, but it's also secluded enough that we can have meaningful conversation. "Two black coffees, please," I say to the waiter as I hang my jacket on my chair. He gives me a pitying look, but brings both nonetheless. My friend eventually arrives and we spend the better part of two hours catching up and sipping coffee. I fill her in on all of Snowball's shenanigans from the morning and she, again, asks why I don't just get rid of the damn cat. She hasn't been over to visit in the two months since I've taken Snow in. "You know I can't do that. She's all that I have," I tell her, with an exaggerated pout. She rolls her eyes at me, unconvinced. She argues that Snowball has done more harm than good since I've adopted her, but I tell her that the pros just outweigh the cons on this one. She scoffs at me, a familiar sound. She doesn't believe that anything can outweigh frequent morning mauling and occasional kitchen fires. I tell her that she would understand if she just came over and met Snowball, but she just gives me a sad, disappointed look. She tries to explain to me all of the reasons that she can't do that, but I brush her off. I've just gotten over my mess of a morning and I don't need my coffee buzz to be killed right now. My best friend gives me a sad smirk as we go our separate ways. It's noon when I head back home. I decide to take the long way around today. I decide that I'm finally ready to face the truth. I stop by the florist before the cemetery and purchase a single white rose. I silently walk past tombstone after tombstone until I get to hers. It's been three months since the day I lost my best friend. The reason that I can't get rid of Snowball? I've been so deep in depression and denial that I haven't wanted to get out of bed, but Snow always makes sure the open the curtains. She makes certain I get out of bed and that I don't do anything stupid by following me to the bathroom. I'm pretty sure her attempts to burn down the kitchen are really attempts to make me breakfast. She only sits on my keyboard when I'm slacking off, never when I'm working. I believe that deep down, somewhere, my best friend is still with me, watching over me and keeping me going. So thank you, Snowball. Thank you for being my best friend.


There was a tall man with a short hat sitting on top of a lamp post. A breeze blew by and the hat fell off, but the man continued to sit still, afraid that he would fall. He finally braced himself to look down at the landing place of his hat. The hat had pierced through the horn of a boar that snored below him. Furious about his now ruined hat, the man kicked his shoe towards the boar in an attempt to wake him. The shoe caught the breeze, landed in the boar’s yawning mouth and was quickly digested. A rumbling crept from the boar’s stomach (boars don’t react well to a specific type of rubber sole) and the beast kicked back his hoof in frustration, rattling the lamp post side to side. The tall man rattled about until his equilibrium was compromised, sending him towards the ugly pig. The man reached his lanky arms outward and grasped onto the boar’s wisp of a tail. Without a proper brace for his fall, he crushed down onto his right knee yelping with pain, but the boar continued to sleep. Curious, thought the man, but he took his hat and wobbled down the walk towards a local drug store. *I’ll take my usual* he demanded to the ethnic shop keep. Before the boy could grab the man a pack of Winstons and a stick of beef jerky the door hammered open. In walked the boar with sleep in his eyes. *Nice day* he snorted, grabbing a tin of antacids with three teeth and placing them on the counter. *Yes. Nice day*. Said the man, counting the floor tiles. *Why were you resting on top of that lamp post?* Asked the boar. *I’m a very tall man and benches rest too low to the ground*. He continued, rocking onto his socked foot, *Why didn’t you wake up when I dropped my hat, when you swallowed my shoe or when I pulled your tail*? The boar took a moment to wiggle his snout, *I take a lot of vicodin*.


My Uncle John was a pathological storyteller. He loved to tell tales, sing, entertain people, and just have fun. He played banjo and guitar, called for square dances, and in general did all he could to make people happy. He had a terrific sense of humor,too. The nameplate on his office door read "John Brown and body," which should give some clue as to his humor. His most severe critics would call him a pathological liar, which might be partially true. But he never told tales for monetary or political gain, to scare people or make them do anything, but rather to just have fun. Family and friends knew better than to fall for his imaginative tales, but strangers could and were taken in. And the best example I know to illustrate his prowess is the story of Hannibal's barn. Uncle John worked in Philadelphia, and rode the commuter train from Philadelphia to Valley Forge every day. Commuters like that tend to sit in the same spots, read the papers or sleep. They tend to follow routines. They recognize fellow commuters even if tbey dont know each other. They get to know who fellow commuters are, or at least recognize them as such. When he decided that a ride was too quiet , John knew it was story time. Uncle John would pick his victim carefully, usually a lone person who looked a bit bored. gullible or tense, and then begin. First he would smile. offer part of his paper, introduce himself-- all the usual gallantries. Next, he started reading his paper,then would look up out the window at the same place each day. After a moment looking out the window,he went back to his paper or might sit staring into space for a moment before reading again. This pattern he would repeat for several days, maybe muttering "there" or "that's it " or a similar phrase, until the intended victim would ask "That's what?" John might say "look there quick" or "darn, you missed it." Soon other passengers became aware of the daily lookout, and joined in to look too.When he had a few people on the hook, John would then point out the interesting site. What a disappointment! They were looking at an old, falling down, mammoth building near the tracks. A huge brick ruin, it was surrounded by briars, weeds, and the usual trash as well as covered in graffiti. In short there seemed to be little to interest anybody. Of course they all wondered why so much interest was there, and asked. Soon John obliged them, and they heard the story, the amazing, authentic tale of the marvellous barn. Hannibal's elephant barn. And what a take it was too! "You see," John told them, " when Hannibal crossed the Alps with his army during his move to conquer Europe,he didn't get across the mountains as planned. Not yet. He got lost at one point. He actually crossed the ocean instead of the river and ended up here, near Valley Forge: men,elephants and all. Why they didn't turn back is a mystery. Perhaps they didn't realize until too late that this way was wrong. We will never know. But they landed safely and came inland, looking I suppose for a good campsite. See, it was coming on to winter, and like Washington centuries later, he knew he had to put his animals and men into shelters to survive. Everyone knows what the winters at Valley Forge were like, and those men and elephants had not been raised in that kind of climate. They were used to much warmer weather. Elephants could never survive that cold, so his men built this massive barn and filled it with hay for the winter. It took weeks of work, but they did it. If you look, you can still see the remains of the stalls for each elephant. They stayed there with the army all winter, munching hay and doing nothing. The men foraged for food and hunted for meat. Then during the winter the men built boats for their trip back in spring. There must have been workshops for that, but they are all gone now,and of course the men woukd not leave their tools behind. When tbe snows melted they left, using the elephants to pull the ships to water. After all, that's what elephants did--pulled things. They all crossed the ocean and landed safely in Europe to continue the fight to conquer the world. Everybody knows what happened to Hannibal, but the story of his adventure in America was lost for centuries until it was revealed by an ancient scroll found buried in a cave in the Alps. No other record has ever been discovered.There are no elephant bones or written records this side of the ocean. But the ruins of the barns are still here as a testament to their adventures." His listeners were amazed. How could such a fascinating story have been forgotten? For days after that, people would wait to see the ruined barns flash by the train windows, sometimes pointing them out to other,newer commuters. As for John, I believe he enjoyed watching people look for the barns as the train rolled by. He never confessed his duplicity to any of the other riders, but I think he did eventually start riding in another train car. Now, would you tbink reasonable people would believe this highly unlikely story of Hannibal and his elephant barns in Valley Forge? Maybe not. Or maybe yes. These people did. After all, the historian who told them -- a chubby faced little minister with an angelic look, a winning smile, and a straight faced narrative would never tell a fib. Would he? And after all, he had the proof-- those ruined barns were there for all to see. Uncle John is long gone, but his legacy of love and laughter is still around. He told lots of stories, sang lots of songs, preached lots of sermons. (Some day perhaps I will share the story of him setting the pulpit afire during one of his fiery sermons). But Hannibal's elephant barn is still the greatest example of people sharing a totally improbable belief in a totally inaccurate story. And who knows? The ruins are still around too. Perhaps on that commuter train from Philadelphia to Valley Forge some gullible person at this very moment is still telling another gullible person tbe amazing tale of Hannibal and his Pennsylvania elephant barns.


You have to see it to believe it. The romantic postcards make it look larger than life, but the Eiffel Tower isn’t all that. In fact when I saw it, I could easily believe it. It teeters off into the sky like match-stick spider-web scaffolding. It’s got fussily intricate swirls and whorls like a geometric tree that didn’t know when to stop growing. It might have been less disappointing if I hadn’t had the poster. My Mum brought it home for me one night when she was working at the travel agent’s--selling holidays she could never afford to people she would never see again. My Mum always said you should take what you can get. And in her case it was ballpoint pens and old promotional posters. ‘ Visit romantic Paris ’ the poster implored, in spangled word art that was already dated by the time the printer spat it out. Fortunately, I had scissors. Carefully, tongue poking out the side of my mouth, I trimmed off the offending slogan so all that remained was the glimmering tower, a park, a sunset, and some elegant flowers peeking up from the bottom of the picture. Perfect. I rushed downstairs to fumble through what my Mum affectionately referred to as the ‘shit draw’ for a wad of blu-tack to stick the poster to my ceiling. And there I was, sprawled out on the bed, staring wistfully at that celebrity structure as I drifted off to sleep every night in my box room. I dreamt about Paris then. Strolling up to the tower at dusk and throwing out a checked picnic blanket. Opening a hinged-lid basket stuffed with cheeses, grapes, and baguette. Sometimes I was alone, sometimes draped around a handsome Parisian who had swept me off my feet. Either way, I was immersed in the climactic scene of my very own movie. Either way, I’d always wake up before taking the first bite of my picnic. Before that all-important first kiss. By the time I was 18 I was desperate to see Paris, and the summer before I started uni seemed like the perfect time. Exams done, copious volumes of beer consumed, I was ready for a little culture. In a childish attempt to live out the movie in my head I’d crammed brie, grapes, and baguette into my backpack when I visited. Squished bread. Sour grapes. Slightly leaky brie, and a bottle filled with lukewarm tap water. Not a feast to be recommended. It was a grey June evening, but mild enough. I plonked myself down on the tourist-trodden lawn and ate as the Parisian traffic blared around me. No sunset, no flowers, no romantic, swelling strings. Where was my wind machine, I wondered. Where was the rousing, full-orchestra recapitulation of my theme? It’s silly, I know, but my heart sank. For another hour, I waited. If I only stared at the tower long enough, I reasoned, maybe my third act would materialise. I’d have my meet cute with the handsome stranger, perhaps--or spot a mysterious book that would lead me on a whirlwind adventure. Maybe I’d at least feel a fraction of what I felt staring up at my ceiling every night back home. Nothing came. A cool numbness had begun to sweep over me. At first, it was pins and needles in my legs, crushed beneath me on the hard earth for too long. Close on its heels was a numbness in my brain. It trickled through my synapses like cold water. As that inexplicable sadness descended, a new thought occurred. Maybe I was in a movie after all--just not in the genre I wanted. But the dramatic rain refused to fall. The mournful, solo piano line playing in my head soon evaporated. How could I be so underwhelmed? It’s not as if my poster had lied to me. The Eiffel tower was the exact shape, the exact size, the exact location it depicted. Never meet you heroes, I guess. Although when your hero’s a building, you expect a little more stability. And I wasn’t feeling so stable myself. The rest of my life stretched dizzyingly out before me, promising anticlimax after anticlimax. Things never feel like they do in the poster. In the cinema. In the books. If this was the trip of a lifetime, what then? Staring into the non-future, my heart began to race, and the lawn started to spin. I found out later there’s a name for what I felt: Paris Syndrome. It was coined to describe the crushing disappointment felt by waves of Japanese tourists who visited Paris in the ‘80s. Expecting romantic, archaic, accordion-wielding, beret-wearing splendour, they were instead met with the cigarette smoke and hairspray of a modern city. According to my research (read: Wikipedia) symptoms run the gamut from nausea and fainting spells to hallucinations. I’ve no clue why Paris gets a proper syndrome when every other tourist trap has its own regiment disappointed visitors. Back home, London is no different. The iconic black cabs are always stuck in traffic, and anyway real Londoners use Uber now. The Rosetta stone is just an average-looking rock with writing on it. The diplodocus in the Natural History Museum looks bigger in the pictures. On top of that, the Greek columns in the V&A are only plaster casts. Only tourists shop in Harrods. No one speaks like a Jane Austen character. And I’m sure the Tower of London is a real treasure trove of disappointments. So there I was, head tilted to one side as I stared at the disappointingly real Eiffel tower, periodically reaching down to rub feeling back into my legs. The throngs of tourists had begun to thin out, and dusk was descending. At least I think it was--someone had turned the dimmer switch from ‘grey’ to ‘darker grey’. I climbed unsteadily to my feet and turned around. After a few steps, on a whim, I glanced over my shoulder for one last look. Suddenly--instantly--a thousand white lights sprung to life. They danced up and down the tower, and up and down again, like fireworks. My jaw dropped. The ice in my brain melted, flowed down my back in chills, seemed to settle on my arms, raising goosebumps. All the little match-stick pieces looked so different lit up. The shadows they cast seemed to tumble away into the night like smoke. And it was better than a movie--so much better. No clichés, no corny dialogue, no overbearing orchestra, no unconvincing romantic subplot. Just me. Standing exactly where I’d wanted to be for years. Widening my eyes so I could take in more of the scene. Gulping it down. Drowning in it. All it took was turning on the lights--I don’t understand why. But some things make no sense and I don’t think that matters. When I finally dragged myself away, I smiled all the way back to my hotel, all the way to the Eurostar the next day. All the way to uni. Maybe Paris syndrome has a cure.


“I don’t know yet, Dad. Do I have to decide right now?” “Well gee son, I don’t know. Do you want to get into a good, Christian college?” “Dad, --” “St. Paul University is hard to get into, they have a long wait list--" “Dad, --” “Our Lady of Love Bible college is having a student tour next weekend--” “Dad, --” “Junior year is when you should start taking this seriously, son, I mean this is your future after all--” “DAD! I don’t even know if I want to go to a Christian college.” “What? Of course you do, you’ve wanted to ever since you were 10, remember?!.” “No, YOU want that. YOU’RE the one who always talks about it. I don’t know what I want to do yet. And yeah, junior year is for figuring that stuff out, so let ME figure it out.” “Well hold on now, where is all of this coming from?” “I’ve always felt this way. You just never bothered to ask.” Dan couldn’t believe his ears. Since when does Jacob not want to go to a nice, clean, Christian college? Jacob has been going to church with his family ever since he was still in the womb! He’s attended Sunday School and Bible Study every Sunday, Vacation Bible School and Camp Jesuit every summer. He’s participated in the Christmas play ever since he was an infant (he got to play Baby Jesus for his first performance). The plan was always for him to go to a Christian college and become a Youth Leader for the church. It’s been Jacobs’ dream job practically forever, or so Dan thought. “I think maybe you’re having some funny thoughts about this. I know you’re young and sometimes when you’re young you think you want one thing when you really want--" “Dad, please don’t stand here and lecture me on what I want. Just...leave me alone.” “Alright, well...I’m uh, I’m gonna go on my jog, so if your mother asks where I’m at--” “I know, I’ll tell her.” “Alright, well...cool.” Dan leaves his sons room feeling conflicted. How is he supposed to talk to his son about his future when his son is being so unreasonable? This was always, ALWAYS the plan. Dan laces up his running shoes and leaves the house. He needs to get away. A good jog is medicine for the soul. Left foot, right foot. Left foot, right foot. The breeze brushes through Dan’s hair. The wind tickles the little hairs on his arms and legs. Calves burning. Sweat racing down his face. Styx playing in his earbuds. Water bottle strapped to his fanny pack. “Please Jesus, tell me what to do,” he whispers under his breath. He silently prays for guidance. Suddenly, he feels a finger tap him on the shoulder. Surprised, he jumps and yanks out his earbuds. “Hey man, mind if I run with you?” “Jesus, you scared the hell out of me!” “Ah, I see you’re familiar with my work.” “Huh?” “Jesus. You know, my dad’s the ‘big man upstairs’. We’re kind of a big deal. Bigger than ‘The Kardashians’, some might say. There’s a bestselling book about us. It’s called The Bib--” Dan stops in his tracks and faces the man who nearly made him wet his jogging shorts .2 seconds ago. “I know what a damn Bible is! This isn’t funny. I am a devout Christian and I do not find that ‘joke’ funny young man.” “What joke?” “Seriously?” Dan shakes his head in disapproval, puts his earbuds back in, and start moving again. “Not what you expected, is it?” Once again, Dan stops, takes out his earbuds, and faces the man, this time very obviously annoyed. “Alright man, what do you want? Money? I’m not letting you perform any weird sex stuff on me, if that’s what you’re thinking.” “What? No, I’m just here to talk.” “I don’t wanna talk to some creep who walks around claiming he’s Jesus and harassing strangers’ on the sidewalk. You’re not Jesus bud-“ “Because I’m brown?” Dan was stunned. The balls on this guy. “I get that a lot for some reason. I’m Middle Eastern, what’d you expect? You think they had sunscreen back in the A.D.?” “I--” “Here let me prove it to you.” The man snatches the water bottle from Dans’ fanny pack. “Hey man, what are you--” The man gently shakes the water bottle. “Uhh, bibbidi-bobbidi Jesus magic! Here.” The man hands the water bottle back to Dan. Dan takes a drink. He scrunches his nose at the sharp taste. “That’s wine!” “Still my best party trick. Now do ya believe me?” Dan is unable to speak. He opens his mouth and tries to utter words, but nothing comes out. “So anyways, you rang?” “This can’t be real.” “I thought you said you were a devout Christian, so clearly you believe in me; you know I’m real. Well, here I am, in the flesh! Son of God, at your service!” “You’re...Jesus?! I’m sorry, I gotta--” Perplexed on how to feel, Dan starts jogging again. Jesus tags along. “So what you want to talk to me about?” “What?” “I overheard you telling me to tell you what to do, and I happened to be in the neighborhood, so, lay it on me!” “Well, uh, ummmm. Jesus, this is so weird--” “I hope you’re not using my name in vain now.” “What are you even doing here?” “My dad is...I just needed to get some fresh air. Nothing quite like Earth air.” “This day just keeps getting weirder. First I find out that Jacob is a God-hating atheist who doesn’t want an education or a future or anything and now you’re here and I--” “Woah woah, slow down, who’s Jacob?” “Shouldn’t you know who he is? You’re Jesus after all.” “People think I have more power than I do. I’m actually more of a middleman. The archangels are the ones who keep records of everyone, I just get the coffee. So, Jacob? Who is this mystery man?” “Try angsty teen who doesn’t care about or appreciate--” “Slow down, is Jacob your son?” “Yes, and he--” “Hey man, go easy on him. Whatever is going on between you two, it’s not worth souring your relationship with your kid over. Trust me.” “Didn’t you just hear me? He’s a God-hating-- “Atheist who doesn’t want an education or a future, I got that. To be honest, I can’t blame him, sometimes I hate God too.” Dan abruptly stops in his tracks. “What?!?!? But you’re Jesus. Your dad is...I mean he’s our ruler! The King of Kings, Yahweh, our HEAVENLY father--” “Yes, and he’s also a hard ass who makes decisions for me. I’m 2000-something years old! I stopped counting after like, 408, too many candles to blow out. Anyways, I should be making my own decisions, but my dad is too stubborn! Maybe Jacob should be making his own decisions.” “Jesus just cussed. I’m sorry, am I dreaming right now?” “I don’t think so, but I can slap you across the face if you’d like.” Dan is completely flabbergasted, his brain frying like an egg. He doesn’t know what’s real and what isn’t. He isn’t sure how he should deal with whatever the hell it is that he’s dealing with. Dan feels like Earth is flipping upside down. What’s left is right, what’s blue is orange, and what’s a white, conservative, almighty Jesus is actually a pretty chill, Middle Eastern guy who’s easy to talk to. Nothing makes sense anymore. Dan starts running slower, like a man in an indie film who doesn’t know his own name or have any memories. Jesus continues to run beside him. “Hey man, that was a joke, I was--” “I don’t joke!” “Oh come on, who doesn’t joke?” “Me! I don’t! I go to work and I go to church and I’ve been paying my dues my whole damn life to get into Heaven!” “So, Heaven’s actually more of a concept--” “I thought I was emulating you the best that I could, but you have more in common with my lazy, laissez-faire, ‘chillax dude- bro’, ungrateful--” “Hey!” Jesus steps in front Dan with authority. “Do not speak that way about your kid, ever! Do you understand me?” “Psh, whatever man.” “Don’t ‘whatever man’ me, I’m Jesus!” “You’re the middleman!” “Why do you want Jacob to be someone he’s not? If you continue to speak this way to Jacob and you push him and push him and keep pushing him, he’s not going to want to be your son anymore! If you try to force him to move one way, he’s going to bounce back and head straight for the opposite direction. Yeah he's your son but it’s not his responsibility to bear the burdens that you decided belong to him.” Dan feels fed up and starts running again. Jesus, also fed up, runs beside him. “Hey! Slow down, we’re not done here!” “I’m not pushing him--” “Then what are you doing?” “Nothing! It’s just, that’s just how it goes.” “How what goes?” For the first time in a long time, Dan felt powerless. Much like his son, he didn’t have all the answers. Or any answers, really. “So you don’t know, but you expect your kid to just understand? Have you ever tried understanding your kid for a change? If you try to force him up on a pedestal that he doesn’t want to be on, you might just...crucify him. See what I did there? Crucify? Little word play...you know what, never mind. Why not just get down on his level?” “I just want what’s best for my son, Jesus. He’s a kid, he needs some direction from me and his mother.” “I know you think you’re doing what’s best for your kid; I can tell how worried you are about his future, but Jacobs’ wants and needs are important for Jacob to figure out. Did you turn out exactly how your dad wanted you to?” “No, I guess not. My old man wanted me to join the army. I was too much of a coward. He was so disappointed. Still is, I think.” Dan sits with his thoughts for a moment, realizing that he holds an angry space in his heart that is reserved for his father. He doesn’t want Jacob to reserve the same kind of anger for him. “I just don’t want my son to fail. I don’t want the world to...crucify him, ya know?” Jesus chuckles. “So you do joke then, huh? Have you ever tried joking with Jacob? Maybe, be more honest with him? More vulnerable?” “Vulnerability isn’t something I see in the Bible that often.” “No, but you do see a whole lot of ..well, me...living my life for my dad, and we know that my story ends with me--” “Yeah yeah, I know, crucified--” “Suffering. It ends with me suffering. I put my life on the line...err, on the cross, I guess...because ‘that’s just how it goes’. But I didn’t write the Bible and I didn’t choose how the story ends.” “But...but you came back 3 days later. It was a miracle.” “I had to, my father expected me to show up. On time. So I did. And where did all that hard work and sacrifice get me? Being a fucking middleman.” “Jesus just said fucking...” “I work for my father, filing prayer requests for him. He doesn’t even read them half the time. He brushes a lot of them off. And the ones he does answer are about someone wanting their favorite sports team to win a game or to help someone find their lost keys. If I knew this is how everything would turn out, I would’ve gotten the hell out of dodge. Don’t give Jacob a reason to want to run away.” “Wow, um...thank you Jesus. I think I need to, um, I need to go see my son. Thank you.” “I think you do too.” Dan picks up his pace and runs home. He’s never been so eager to see his son like he is right now. Jacob is in the front yard, mowing the grass, when his very sweaty father comes panting over to him like a fluffy dog on a hot, summer day. “Jacob....Jacob. I need to talk to you, I need to--holy fuck where’s your mother? I need some water.” “What is happening? Also, you have a water bottle strapped to your fanny.” Dan struggles to catch his breath. “No that’s not....that’s not....it’s wine.” “Wine? Why are you drinking wine on your runs? And why are you so sweaty? It’s 50 degrees out!” “Son, I need to talk to you...I just..fuck, how am I so out of shape? I jog every day!” “Maybe it’s because you drink wine when you exercise.” Dan finally catches his breath. Jacob is a bit unnerved, wondering if he did something wrong. His dad never shows Jacob this level of passion. What does he want to talk about? “I need to talk to ask you a question I’ve never asked you before.” “What?” “Jacob, what do you want to be when you grow up?”


As the barbarians came into range, we threw our pila. The last time we had fought these enemies my pilum and those of my legion had performed as designed. The iron tips penetrated their shields and the soft metal attaching the points to the wooden hafts bent, making their shields unwieldy and forcing them to be dropped. This time their front lines carried shields that were somehow face hardened, and very few of our javelins got their barbs through. I found myself wondering what previous battle I was thinking of. As far as I knew, we had never fought this tribe before. The barbarian charge continued with little disruption. The legion formed a shield wall and awaited impact. I was in the third rank and I pushed against my second, who held the first. When the enemy struck our shields the line barely moved. After that the battle was typical. The front line kept shield discipline while reaching around and stabbing as the opportunity arose. When they fatigued, the centurion would blow the signal to regroup, and the legionnaires in front would shuffle back between the lines behind them, the second line becoming the first, et cetera. I had rotated through the cycle several times, and was getting tired. I became careless and made a mistake, too slow in moving my shield and letting a hooked barbarian dagger around it. It entered my stomach between segmentata plates and the man holding it ripped upward even as he died, stabbed through the neck by Lucius on my left. I fell backwards, clasping my midsection to keep my guts inside as the lines separated to receive me. The optio grabbed my shoulder plates and pulled me behind the lines, my entrails dragged behind me and stepped upon, pulling them out. The pain was indescribable and I thought, "Oh gods, not again." This was one of the worst ways to die. As I lay there impatient for death, I wondered what my life would have been had I not joined the legion. Would I have carried on with ... what? I could remember nothing from before this battle. Except death. Hundreds and thousands of deaths. As I expired my last feeling was relief. At least it's over now. I've escaped this horrible world and its cruel gods. *In another place a being with a function best described as "technician" spoke in a language never used by humans. "The construct I referenced before is still exhibiting memory leak. Should I reset to initial state?"* *The "supervisor" responded. "That is your prerogative. Are you prepared to reintegrate the cohort? The task will be yours alone. I intend to return home to my family (brood?)"* *The technician considered. "I too would like to spend time with my family. The memory leak has very little effect, after all."* *The supervisor approved. "It will perform anyway, leak or no. And regardless, it is only a simulation. A thin simulation at that. Load the next scenario and let it run while we attend to our reproductive responsibilities.* The carthaginians had already formed battle squares on the plain before the legion arrived. We deployed and prepared to fight.


He exhaled a shaky breath. His plan wasn’t going to how he had thought it would be go. He never thought he have to do this .He never thought he would be in this position. It is all because of her. Yes, that her. Tracking her down had been fairly easy. She wasn’t the kind to leave details of her life to the public but there are still enough people who knew where she might be. That’s the way she preferred it and he knew it too well about her. After few phone calls with friends, he had a location on where he could find her. After 5 years of no contact, he had to do this. He thought it was time. He was right. He just had to be right. He bit the inner parts of his lower lips to stop the quivering of lower lip. He didn’t think he would be this nervous. Coming to see her had unnerved him .With all that he has accomplished, he was surprised that confidence was disserting him at the time like this .The irony in that when it was the same ego that made him a name. Not a famous household name but a whisper of it could open few back doors needed and did make life pretty comfortable. His name meant something and that almost made life prefect. Almost. He at least had to be right about this. He cracked his knuckles so that he could feel and hear something to remind himself that all that is going to happen is real and not a dream. With the way things ended all the years ago, it was silly of him to daydream about her waiting for him. There were days he thought about her giving him the fairytale ending that mothers told their little girls about at night. Maybe life could grant him some kindness and at least show him that he made the right decision for the both of them that night. He had to know that she had a fulfilling life .That’s why he is where is at this moment in life .He was right about it then. He really needed to be right about it. His hands were clammy. He tried to wipe the sweat off his denim trousers and rearrange the daisy flowers that he plucked from a stranger ‘garden in his hands. He felt like the way an adolescent would be panicking on his first date with his dream crush in high school. He felt stupid for feeling and reacting this way. He knew what he lost and had accepted to sacrifice it before .In life it’s all a game of gamble; once the dice is rolled, not all the sides of the dice can be displayed .Whatever side one of the dice you want to call ‘jackpot’ will cost you the other sides. He tried to explain this to her that last night about life and its possibilities. He explained and he was right then. He is confident that he is still right now. He closed his eyes to clear his vision. He was envisioning that he was watching her at her house out in the lawn ,watching her with loving husband play tag with her dotting toddler at the front of her house. She would glance and notice a stranger staring at them across the lawn. She would proceed to walk to him when she recognizes him because she would be in disbelief. They would exchange greetings and talk about life in general. He would give her the flowers and proceed to give the speech that he has been preparing all this time. She would smile gently at him like she always did they were young and tilt her head to the side when she is listening. He would tell her what his ego couldn’t tell her all those years back .It would about their decade long friendship that spanned from naïve adolescent years to exploring undergraduate college years. It would be about the promise of what could have for their almost life .It would be about the decision. It would be about her life now without him. In return she would embraced him just for a moment and return to her family playing on the lawn without any further words. He would finally feel whole and light. He had not come to cause trouble only to see if she is happy. The chapter would be closed. He thought he was right. He was not sure anymore. His throat was dry and itching .He cleared his throat and opened his mouth to recite all his rehearsed speech. This was it. This was the moment. Yet only make unintelligent sounds came out. He prepared for this moment and could not afford to lose this .Grinding his teeth, he shook his head to clear his mind and think clearly .Irritation tingle at the back of his nose and words still failed to leave his lips. He could feel his chest tightening and his pulse started to pound. This was followed by harsh breathing as his knees buckled under the strain of the circumstances bringing him to his knees on the grass closer to her .His noise become uncontrollable as it became clear what was happening. He finally had gave in to what his body was telling him what needs to be done. “I am so sorry.....I was wrong .....Please “he cried with wet lines running down his face as he opened his eyes, the image of the would-have been moment fading. In its place on the well- trimmed green lawn, he now faces a cold oval granite marble stone evidence erected upright .He reaches out to touch it, to trace her inscription on her tombstone as he mourns for her. It was always about her and probably will be. For this man asking his greatest loss for mercy, the only response to his plea were the soft whispers of the wind rattling the fallen tree leaves around him.