My name is Ahtlanta (pronounced Ought-Lawn-Tuh). I am your reality guide, teacher, revealer, fellow traveler on these life meridians. Just as Einstein said there is a space-time continuum not separate space and time, so is the Realituum which some call might call the multiverse. At least two realities always exist side by side in time space. There are many tools to see these truths, these alternate realities. Your vision focuses through your mind not through your eyes. Lifeforce controls your mind not logic. Logic can help but when presented with two realities you must choose. Only one reality exists for beings like you. Nadine read this passage aloud to Jeremy. Jeremy knew Nadine since they were three. His best friend always led Jeremy to interesting ‘places’. He did not exactly follow her like a puppy dog. She did not deliberately train him ever. But her voice demanded in pitch and quality without being demanding that he follow. So when Nadine told Jeremy that if he wants to understand her he should join her at this reality gathering, finding, searching as she called it. He did. “The challenge, my friend. Control your reality”, Matt said. Matt, an expert with pendulums, swung it in front of the class. “The pendulum if properly prepared will allow you to spiritually enter those places that you need when most needed” “Repeat this: The swing energy, gives your life energy...”, he implored to the class-gathering. “The swing energy, gives your life energy...” After a short pause, “The swing energy, gives your life energy...” “The reality moves if you let it, if you allow the multiple realities to be seen.” The pendulum with an endearing, charming teardrop shape and a deep tourmaline color forced the eyes to follow. The pendulum appeared to move without any visible force. As the pendulum swung, Matt continued with his sonorous voice. The students were encouraged to mouth quietly the pendulum mantra. It spun around and around and around. It seemed to go faster and faster, yet no movement of the hand could be seen of professor Matt. Jeremy knew Matt spoke directly to him even though an entire large group stared as well. The images of the pendulum began to blur for Jeremy. Jeremy thought, perhaps I am easily influenced, but I do feel energetic, like floating on a cloud. Yet he still wondered, silently, is this a waste of my time? Then suddenly Jeremy began seeing them. He was not sure what they were. Funny little swirls all around the room. They marched near his eyes. He wondered is anyone else could see this. Suddenly Jeremy, stood high on a mountain completely disoriented. Breezes bringing in an aroma of cinnamon and perhaps sage. A man stood in front of him and offered him a deep purple liquid. He offered Jeremy a pillow to sit on. He sat on the large green yellow paisley patterned pillow. He asked Jeremy what he most desired. Jeremy did not answer. A large dust devil began swirling near him. Jeremy still did not know what to say. He was afraid that if he said anything he might never leave this place where-when-how-ever this place, this reality existed. Suddenly Jeremy once again found himself seated at one of the desks next to Nadine. The professor droned on talking about how to cleanse the pendulum so that it will not be contaminated with negative energy. He stated before you prepare to use your pendulum for the first time remember to do the cleansing process. You must give proper respect to your pendulum. After cleansing it, you must find a proper storage vehicle. Then finally, create a sacred space. By respecting your pendulum in these ways and using it in your sacred space you will create your own reality. The professor said homework for this week: 1. Cleanse your pendulum of negative energy 2. Create a proper storage space for your pendulum 3. Create a sacred space to use your pendulum As Jeremy rode home with Nadine seated behind him, he felt whatever he experienced in the class it could not be real. He felt he must have dozed off, dreamed it. He thought truth is stranger than fiction because this would be horrible fiction. There are no rules, there are no whys, there is no good beginning or ending to explain what he saw. He had only gone to this class because Nadine had insisted that if they were to stay friends then he needed to take this class. It being necessary so that they could be on the same wavelength. But now, Jeremy hesitated to speak about this. He could not believe that Nadine could have experienced this without telling him. Wouldn’t she have mentioned her own reality trip or asked him if he experienced anything. But no, she quietly jumped on the back of the seat and entangled herself with him. They sped off together to her abode. Nadine may have been telling him about alternate realities for a while. But really he felt that the only reality that must be true was her reality. Nadine he knew, knew that Jeremy was conflict adverse. So a lot of times he simply followed whatever she wanted him to. She kind of hated this and kind of loved it. She always with aplomb encouraged him to find his own reality. She told him grab that journey, take that wild ride wherever it takes you! When they got to Nadine’s purple cottage in the woods, she told Jeremy that she had to get up early tomorrow. She also told him that she was suddenly not feeling well and so she would have to say au revoir. Unlike other times she wished him goodnight without a friendly hug. After the reality event, Jeremy decided that maybe it was not a good idea to do the homework. He thought that he might be stuck in that other reality. But at 2 a.m. he woke from a strange frightening dream sweating. His pulse it was out of control. Weirdly he could not remember the dream other than that Nadine and professor Matt and him stood in a totally colorless classroom. He saw the pendulum and thought, why not. Maybe the dream told him that his reality could only be controlled, if he controlled it. Rather than be at the mercy of whatever alternate realities there may be, he decided to take charge. He first prepared the pendulum by burning incense and silently meditating. He had his sacred place laid out with a fringed oval bright, muted yellow with small green spirals of various sizes. Yellow among other qualities was the color of creativity, green had qualities of healing and balance. He began repeating the energy mantra: “The swing energy, gives your life energy...” He cleared his mind and purified the pendulum by breathing in white light. He began to feel his whole body lighter, freer. He had forgotten what this felt like. He was remembering. The time seemed just right, he carefully pulled open the lid of the onyx colored box that contained his precious purple pendulum. Nadine and he both thought purple was the perfect color. It was the color of royalty. It is known to protect and to bring wisdom. He gently held the golden chain attached to the pendulum between his index and thumb. The pendulum began to move. He tried not to think of anything. He focused only on the movement of the pendulum. Whenever his mind drifted the pendulum boomeranged his focus back to it. It took longer, but just as suddenly he again found himself on top of the mountain. This time Nadine sat next to the strange man and professor Matt was there also. He noticed his clothing had changed and he wore gloves. Nadine told him, she loved him. This shocked him because he always thought they were just friends. She moved closer and started to hug him like he had never been hugged by her or anyone. Suddenly, he was alone again, the pendulum swinging gently in front of his face. He looked around for Nadine, and professor Matt and the strange man. None of them were there. The cinnamon incense infused the room. He thought he must have dozed off while sitting up. Maybe these incense had gone bad on him. Maybe he should open the window and get some fresh air. He thought dreams are like a different reality but he had never had such real dreams, ever. He kept on emphasizing to himself that it must be a dream. When the incense finished burning, he decided to hit the sack. But he could not sleep, he kept thinking about what Nadine had said in his dream. He worried that the dream world of his subconscious expressed secret feelings that he never knew he harbored. His closeness with Nadine could be ruined if he ever told her about the dream. He thought and felt it could be disastrous. He as far as he could remember Nadine had never expressed any romantic feelings towards him. And neither had he towards her. They had in fact encouraged each other to find that romance. But neither of them found any lasting romances. In fact they decided that since they had no one special to go to their high school prom with, they should go together. He enjoyed dancing with Nadine that night. Afterwards they had snuck a few puffs on a doobee together. Then Jeremy’s mom picked them both up. She dropped Nadine off first. Jeremy walked her to the front door and hugged her goodnight. His mom mentioned on the way home that Nadine had such a good head on her and was so nice. Jeremy turned several shades of red. He said nothing to his mom. That was five years ago. They both went to the same college and afterward both found jobs in the same home city. Jeremy had an apartment closer to the city center. Every week they got together and discussed their life plans and life situations with each other. Sometimes they completed each others sentences. And yet Jeremy loved his friendship with Nadine. He never, she never, asked for more. Jeremy thought about going out on his motorcycle, but he was afraid he might doze off and go into one of these strange realities. Finally he tried taking three very deep breaths, counting up and down to ten three times and as he counted down he felt sleepy laid down and fell into a deep sleep. The next morning Jeremy woke refreshed. The phone rang right after he showered and still had ten minutes before he needed to go to work. Suddenly a call rang,it was from Nadine. He thought about letting it go to voicemail but he knew that sooner or later he would reveal all to her. So he took the call. Nadine spoke clearly and deliberately,”You are hard to reach”. Jeremy responded,” What do you mean I answered your call on the second ring”? “Think about it Jeremy, Don’t you get it”, Nadine spoke quietly? “Nade”, he only responded like that when he was clueless. “Okay, let me spell it out for you. Do you not understand English? I need to know because I have done everything to make it clear”, she said. Finally she asked him why did he not understand that they were on the same wavelength, literally. “That is why she told him, you could see me in that other reality.”, she said. “You seem afraid”, she said. “Will Nade, I am not sure that I am ready for this”, he slurred. “I know it came as surprise to me too. But I knew when you showed up at the mountain top with me and professor Matt, and Ahtlanta, I knew that we were on the same wavelength. It’s time to admit what are to one another and that we will not find it anywhere else. It’s time to take a chance”, she said. Jeremy was afraid, but he decided to live with his uncertainty. “Yes”, he responded.


For Len it very much seemed like the end. There he was, on the outskirts of Zelnoss, digging his own grave as two thugs were holding him at gunpoint. Him, an orphan thief no more than 10... all because he got “too nosy.” However, he could not help it. His father was murdered and he was just a maker of Bags of Holding. Forced to live on the streets and steal to survive. Asking anyone and everyone if they knew anything about his father... and this time one of the gangs felt he was asking too many questions... he wasn’t even sure if the gang killed his father in the first place... and yet here he was... that said, though, he had a plan to get out of this situation... he just needed to find the right opportunity. “Come on, hurry up,” said one of the mangy gang members as he sat on a stump a few feet away. Pointing his blunderbuss at him. A faint hissing sound could be heard from Len’s hat but Len whispered: “Not yet, wait for my signal,” and the hissing faded away. “What was that?!” the man on the stump demanded, tightening his grip and aim on the digging boy. Thinking he was insulting him under his breath. “No-Nothing, sir,” answered Len timidly. Although in reality he was just faking. Under less impoverished circumstances Len hated being dishonest. However, he learned that acting a certain way would aid in his survival... and acting timid was one such way. “Lay off him, Gerrick. Pretty soon he’ll lay down and never get up again,” his lankier compatriot, a flintlock rifle resting on his shoulder, spoke up. Soon the both of them chuckled but even here Len did not give the signal for whatever was in his hat. As he continued digging he noticed small stones in the dirt and planned on snagging one in his next shovelful of dirt. His slight of hand would allow him to do so without being noticed. Finding a good size stone, he planned to grab it on the next shovelful he poured out. However, he would not get that chance. For just as he unloaded his next bit of dirt, the ground shook... and a pillar of flame shot out from the middle of Zelnoss. “What in the world?!” said the lanky gang member. His friend sitting on the stump darted his head at the pillar as well. “Durga,” Len said under his breath and a long, flat shadow shot out from under Len’s newsboy hat, bit the distracted gang member with the blunderbuss, and returned under his hat just as quickly. His body seizing. Blue veins bulging on his neck. In the next few seconds he slouched over. Dead. Just before the lanky gang member was about to turn his head, however, the shadow struck again from under the boy’s hat. This time wrapping around the lanky gang member. Coiling around him until the gang member found himself face to face with a Great Bolt Snake... before it bit his head and wrenched it off. Len reflexively looking away from the snake’s kill. With the head gone, the snake retreated at a blinding speed... and the headless body fell forward. Len darting out of the way as he saw if falling into the grave he was digging. Just narrowly avoiding the bloody stump at the top of the body. Despite the macabre state of things Len could not help but let out a short chuckle. The grave was going to be used after all. What’s more, he allowed himself this chuckle not out of any dark, sinister reasons... but to prepare him for what he was about to do next. Although he did not relish the idea, Len gulped... steeling himself... as he went about checking the headless man’s pockets for anything of value. His resolve to survive and find his father’s killer was just that strong. To his good fortune, he found two golds, five silvers, and eight coppers. Relieved to be done with his looting, Len moved on to the dead man on the stump. Although reluctant at first Len steeled himself once again as he went through the man’s pockets. Alas, the take was not that good. Only three silvers and five coppers. The man also had a pocket watch... but the condition was questionable at best. Seeing that his blunderbuss was in better condition than the watch Len went about moving the gun, freeing it from its now dead owner, and putting the gun’s strap over his shoulder instead. His looting done, Len finally looked in the direction of Zelnoss... and found a hellscape instead. ... Five Minutes Earlier ... Grieg had just finished closing up his dungeoneering shop and school and was on his way to his room at the inn. However, just as he turned away from the door... all the buildings around him went up in pillars of flame. Including his shop. Where most people might have panicked Grieg was more... irritated. He had just set up his shop and had been doing well the past three months. That said, Grieg was hiding a secret from everyone in Zelnoss... and that was the fact he was not originally human. Before he named himself “Grieg” he was a mindless Mimic guarding the vast fortune of a long deceased wizard. That said, a “miracle” occurred and he gained sentience... and found himself dreading and abhorring all the adventurers he had devoured. As such, as by way of atonement, he decided to leave the dungeon he had been in for millenia... and decided to open an item shop... that also offered schooling on how best to explore and complete dungeons... But alas... that very shop was burning and would soon be, literally, up in smoke. Although he could put out the fire, if he so chose to, it was his fervent wish to live as a human and not reveal that he was anything but. As such it was this feeling akin noblesse oblige... this feeling of “damned if you do, damned if you don’t” that annoyed him so... However there was yet another source of annoyance for him: the fact that all the lives he was trying to save from dungeons seemed to have all been snuffed out in a single day. As such, operating on what little hope he could muster, he went out searching for survivors. Sensing no one was around, Grieg reached into his mouth, which lead to a separate dimension that acted as his “stomach” when he was a Mimic. Now all that occupied its seemingly infinite space... was the wizard’s treasures. He was never sure if he did it out of spite or respect but he consumed all the wizard’s wealth... which also included Relics that could help with his rescue efforts. With such being the case he went for an ornate wardrobe that was in the midst of many other priceless trinkets and artifacts... and pulled out four Cloaks of Protection. Cloaks that would afford the wearer protection from the elements as well as boost their body’s regenerative abilities. “Overtake,” he spoke to himself as he chanted a spell that boosted his speed. Soon enough, his running form was overtaken by a white silver aura... and he scoured the burning streets for whatever survivors he could find. As he did so, turning down street after street, trying to detect whatever mana he could detect he could not help but ask himself: Just what had happened? As to where all this had started... that would be at the town’s church... at the town’s center. Moments before the pillars of flame overtook the town of Zelnoss, a bruised and battered 7-foot-tall youth was carrying a healing maiden to the church. Her closed eyes, looking as if asleep, betrayed the fact she had been dealt a grievous wound on her back. A wound that, one would think, would bleed more heavily however she seemed to only bleed a few drops at a time. Regardless, the 7-foot-tall, 15-year old youth known simply as “Moose” moved as quickly as his injured body could up the church steps. “Priest! I need you!” said Moose as he burst through the church’s heavy doors as if they weighed nothing. “Oh? You are back, are you?” the priest said as he turned away from the organ to see the two figures approaching. “What are you talking about? I need you to heal Amerald, she’s hurt!” Moose continued on as he rushed down the aisle past the pews. “Ah, but you see,” the priest responded, “I wanted you all to die in the first place so no. I will not be healing anyone today... or ever.” “Wha-What?” Moose replied, taken aback at what he was hearing. Thinking back to the quest he, Amerald, and two others were on... it should have been easy... killing goblins... however those goblins were far stronger than level 5... and as a result, the other two perished and he and Amerald just barely survived. “You mean... you sent us on that quest to die?!” Moose bellowed in anger. “My, so there is a brain amidst all those superfluous flesh and bones. Yes, my dear giant, I wanted you to die,” the priest answered, his face taking on a sinister grin. “But why?!” Moose demanded as he bore down on the priest, as if charging him, forgetting Amerald was in his arms. However, he soon found himself stopped by an invisible wall. One that encircled him and Amerald. “‘Why?’ So I can prepare for the coming of my master,” answered the priest. Despite all his attempts Moose could not break free from the magic enclosure he found himself and Amerald in. Looking down, he found they were on top of a magic circle that now glowed a bright red. “And although I intended to have this town’s budding warriors and sorcerers die in an unfortunate ‘accident’ during a novice-level quest... it looks like you will get to fulfill a far greater role after all.” “Oh yeah?” Moose questioned, punching to no avail against wall, looking to his fist as if he was expecting something but it was not happening, “and what’s that?” “AN OFFERING TO MY LORD ALZERESS!” Before being overtaken by flame, Moose saw the floor glow a burning red and it was right in this instant that Moose dove for Amerald. Trying as he could to shield her from the flame. A great pillar of flame then broke out of the church’s ceiling... and all the other buildings in the town. All the flames seemingly reaching the heavens as they burned. The priest, meanwhile, could not help but laugh with maniacal glee. “Ahahahahahaha, yes! Come! ALZERESS! THIS IS ALL FOR YOU!” he declared as he outstretched his hand to the church’s organ... where a tear in reality was opening. Looking in, one could see a void and a maelstrom of vapor. The tips of those vapors occasionally showing tormented faces... for all these were not vapors... but tormented souls... All owned by Alzeress, The Soul Plunderer... Whose figure was approaching from within the tear. A massive, brutish figure, with large horns and wings. Whose body might have been the darkest of pitch were it not for the souls illuminating his dark frame... and glowing purple eyes. “Yes! COME! COME LORD ALZERESS!” the crazed priest called out. The dark figure then approached the edges of the tear and, finding the opening smaller than he was, used his own arms to tear it more. Just as he made it to his ideal size, Alzeress’s gaze turned to the pillar of flame behind the priest... and looked on in horror. “What in the darkest Hells have you done?” the priest heard his lord ask, the voice seeming to reverberating directly into his mind. Looking in the direction of his gaze the priest looked to the flame pillar and saw the outline of a figure holding a body in its arms within... However, this was not what seemed to frighten his lord... for the standing figure within... seemed to have the same glowing eyes as his lord. His, however, was a blood red color that burned brighter than the flames that enveloped him. Switching the injured maiden to one arm, the figure within the flame merely reached out with his free hand from within the flame... and it vanished. In the next instant another tear in reality appeared and a brutal looking arm of deepest crimson extended from within it. The scars covering it more war torn than any battlefield. It was reaching out for the priest and, seeing this, the priest then turned to its summoned lord and pleadingly called out to him: “Lord Alz-” however what he found was the palm of his lord obscuring his vision... before being crushed by it. “Forgive me, Lord Irathzul,” said the dark Alzeress as he bowed from within his own tear in reality. His hand to his heart in a show of sincerity. “My time is nigh,” Alzeress heard a rumbling, reverberating voice speak from the tear where the blood red arm was extending from, “none shall impede my Descension,” he heard the voice once again before seeing the arm pulling back into the tear. “O-Of course, you will have no interference from me, Lord of Blood, Herald of Unfulfilled Rage, Swayer of Demons, and God of Berserkers. May we meet under more amicable terms when next we meet,” responded Alzeress as he closed his tear with his own hands but not before plundering the soul of his devout worshiper. With Alzeress’s tear closed, the flame pillar within the church, as well as those outside, all died down. The invisible wall that had barred Moose and Amerald also vanished and so had the flames. Before they would even realize it, however, the two of them passed out. Their wounds burned shut. Outside, the fires returned to normal and the buildings would continue to burn until dawn the next day. Thus far, it seemed as if Grieg, Moose, and Amerald were the only survivors of Zelnoss.


Deep in the dark, beneath everything she knew Sir Danielle Longbow was introduced to one strange species by another. Kutharma, a cenaga, held a flaming torch high to reveal four bipeds that were more and less like Danielle than the quadruped serpent with antlers that was making the introduction. “I am Broken Hand,” said the foremost of the uamhith. Its arm was the length of Sir Longbow’s, but the width of a finger compared to her tree trunk arms. “It is a pleasure to meet you,” said the knight. She bowed. A wide smile revealed predator’s teeth. “There is no need to bow Danielle,” said the creature which looked older than the rocks of the cave around them. “I can only know you are bowing because I see you through Kutharma’s eyes. Now you wonder how I see through his eyes? My people are telepathic. We talk with thoughts the way you do with words. The odd thing is that I cannot read your mind. I am old enough to remember wars with humanity long ago. I could hear their thoughts, not yours.” “Perhaps humans have changed since you last met them.” Danielle tried to be diplomatic. “No,” the eyeless uamhith shook its head. “It was only four thousand years ago. Not even humans change so quickly.” “FOUR THOUSAND YEARS AGO?” Sir Longbow clapped a hand across her mouth to stop herself shouting. Her voice echoed up and down the cave. Four uamhith winced. Their enormous ears were used to hearing drops of water a mile away. Her yelling was agony to them. “I’m sorry. I’ve never heard of any creature that was four thousand years old. I didn’t think that was possible.” She kept her voice low and spoke to her feet. Shouting had been a serious screw up. Not the kind she could make in the darkness miles beneath the surface of the world. Taking their hands away from their ears the uamhith looked at each other and nodded. “I thought Kutharma might have told you that we are immortal. I hoped he would have told you that we have only brought you here to ask a favour of you.” “A favour? What favour would immortals who can speak through thought need from me?” Danielle looked between the four uamhith. “You are open to a friendship with us. You have proved yourself trustworthy to the cenaga, keeping their secret. You are a warrior with experience killing monsters.” Danielle turned to look at Kutharma. “I watched you in the tournament,” said the wise one. His yellow eyes with the black slits looked at her from the head of a snake which sat on a near humanoid torso with four legs and a long tail. The antlers were the oddest part of a cenaga in Danielle’s opinion. “You fought well against Lord Fabian Castel. You are our friend and no soldier of Crann has more experience fighting monsters than you.” “Oh dear,” she said. “You are afraid?” Asked Broken Hand. The left hand it had offered for her to shake was shrivelled the way any human’s might be when they had lived to the limits of longevity. Its right hand was mangled and scarred. The wounds on that arm were battle scars Sir Longbow guessed. “Anyone who isn’t afraid to fight monsters has taken too many blows to the head. My reputation for killing dangerous beasts keeps obliging me to fight more.” “You would be under no obligation, surface dweller. We only ask in the hope you will help us. You of course have the right to refuse. This is a strange, dark world for you. If you do not wish to help. I understand.” The heads of the four uamhith fell with disappointment. “Tell me about the creature you need killed before I make my decision. Will silver harm it? Is it a cursed creature or a natural beast?” “The creature was one of our own, missing far out from our caverns. It returned as something else, reborn with fury. More beast than uamhith. Taller. Stronger. Longer teeth. A wider jaw. Ears more finely attuned to the slightest sound than our own. It seems to smell blood from great distances. Because it was one of us it can read our thoughts. When we try to do the same a maddening screaming sound fills our minds. The fact that we cannot read your mind may protect you from its telepathy. Silver should harm it since it is a mutation, undead.” “How many of the uamhith has it killed?” Danielle asked. “Seven so far. Two who first encountered it. Then three who went to hunt it down. It has returned regularly. We find the bodies chewed. It is eating its own.” “Wow.” Danielle sighed. “Fuck. That’s a lot.” Lupita would miss her if she died down there. It had been two days since she’d left Leonor. Two days travelling deeper and deeper into the warren of caves and caverns beneath the continent. “If I agree to do this and die, you must tell Lupita how and why.” “Deal,” said Kutharma. “What do you need to prepare?” “I need weapons made of silver. A spear or a sword. Arrows for my bow. I need to set a trap for it. Do you know where it comes into your caverns?” “There are three ways that it can enter our home.” “Can you block up two of them while I return to Leonor to find the weapons I need?” Deep down Danielle hoped her father’s sword would be reforged when she returned. Not having it by her side felt like a piece of her soul was missing. “Temporarily we could.” “Just until I have killed the monster, or until it’s killed me.” Danielle assured Broken Hand. “I realise I should have introduced my friends.” Broken Hand turned to put a hand on a smaller uamhith who reminded Sir Longbow more of a woman. She had curves and was shorter than hunched Broken Hand. “This is Song Voice,” said the elder, patting her shoulder. “Hello, warrior,” Song Voice said and bowed to Danielle as if she was a queen. Her voice was musical compared to the ancient rasp of Broken Hand. “This is Quick Foot,” a withered hand patted the shoulder of a less wrinkled creature that was more than six foot in height. It inclined his head. “He is my youngest grandson. Only two hundred years old.” “Two hundred and nine, grandfather.” Quick Foot’s words raced off his tongue to correct Broken Hand. “And this is Long Ear.” The last of the four had ears that went as far up as the top of its head. “She is Quick Foot’s bride and in just three years will be the mother of his child.” “She has been pregnant for two years grandfather. She is already the mother of my child. We talk. You talk to the baby. It will be a fine new boy for the family.” There seemed to be some family dispute behind the words, spoken aloud for her benefit. Clearly embarrassment didn’t work the same way for uamhith. “I should leave immediately to fetch what I need,” Danielle said. “Thank you for introducing yourselves. Thank you for trusting me with this task. I will return as soon as I can.” She bowed to the creatures who looked grey to her. “I hope you understand why I brought my family to meet you Sir Longbow,” said Broken Hand. “My people are dying out. It is no chance that we were driven beneath the earth by your kind long ago. Eternal we are, but we reproduce as if we have all the time in the world. Five years to make a child, during which time anything can go wrong. Four years of infancy. Many more before the child is fully grown. Every loss we take puts us another step closer to extinction.” “As a citizen of Crann, I know the feeling. I cannot promise I will succeed Broken Foot. I promise to try with all my strength.” “Then farewell and hasten back, my friend.” Kutharma showed Danielle the way back through the myriad tunnels beneath Crann, back to the forest where five soldiers were waiting to escort her back to the capital. Two days after leaving Broken Hand, Danielle was back at the place where they had met. The border between the caves of the cenaga and the uamhith was marked by white quartz dug into the walls. Quick Foot waited for Danielle and Kutharma. The cenaga wise one had two warriors to escort it, pledged to fight with Sir Longbow against the undead uamhith. “You’re too late,” said Broken Hand’s grandson. “What happened?” Danielle asked. “Wandering Heart, I mean the beast, returned. My grandfather is dead. He was closing one of the paths into our home.” Quick Foot’s voice was the low growl of a dog defending its master. “I’m sorry Quick Foot. I came as fast as I could, please believe me. I never wished harm to come to your grandfather. Never.” “I know. I can hear it in your voice. My anger is not for you. It is for Wandering Heart. The fool who strayed too far from home now murders his own.” Quick Foot turned and began walking into uamhith territory. “Is your wife safe?” Danielle asked, thinking of the child in Long Ear’s womb. “She is under guard in the heart of our largest city. If not for the child she would be with us, ready to fight. I am ready. There is only one way into Dark Home now. When Wandering Heart returns, we will kill him. Then we will destroy him in the burning river.” In her armour, with a sword tipped with silver, Danielle followed. It was not the reforged sword of Darren Longbow. It was a blade commissioned by her friend Lord Fabian Castel after they had fought loup garous in Leonor Prison. In perfect darkness lit only by torches the cenaga carried, the walk to the uamhith city seemed to take hours. It felt like seeing the cenaga city for the first time all over again. Orange glowing veins snaked their way between homes cut directly from the rock. It was not the granite found beneath Crann. The rocks formed natural hexagons. The homes themselves followed the form of the basalt on the outside. Inside they were furnished with furniture made of bone. Giant creatures had been sacrificed for the uamhith creations. “What in all hells was that?” Danielle asked, pointing to a skull the size of a house. “That’s a drake skull. Slain by my ancestors,” said Quick Foot. He smiled with pride. “Drake, as in a small dragon?” “Related to dragons, the way that uamhith are related to humans. Somewhere, long before the uamhith and humans we know now, we were one. Along the way we went our separate ways, never to be one again.” Danielle ran her hand down a tooth that was as long as she was tall. Broken Hand’s blood still stained the ground where Wandering Heart had fed upon him. “You remember Song Voice?” “I do. I’m sorry for your loss.” “This way is closed now, Sir Longbow. I will take you to the last entrance.” The walk was a long way through basalt homes into the same white quartz which had marked the boundary between the territory of the cenaga and the uamhith. There were no streams of lava. The carved homes of the uamhith peeked from pillars that propped up cavern ceilings. Uamhith focussed on Danielle, not with eyes but ears. Everything about her seemed alien to them. Children who came up to her knee cried for a parent’s comforting embrace. A creature they could hear but not read was a horror that painted their faces with terror or revulsion. “They’re scared of me.” “Telepathy is one of our most important senses. We read every creature that walks or crawls through our caves. Only stones and plants are as blank to us as you,” said Quick Foot. Eyeless immortals with fangs for teeth scared of her? Danielle smiled and shook her head as she walked. Whenever she thought she’d seen it all life turned a new page for her. More of the bones she’d seen before formed bridges between buildings. Eyeless grey children climbed the ribs of monsters the size of castles. She walked through a drake’s jaw. The eye sockets alone were large enough to ride a horse through. The clothes of the uamhith were mostly woven from dried algae that grew on the walls. Living algae glowed a pale green. Patterns of squares covered signposts and the walls of buildings. “What do the patterns represent?” Danielle asked. “It is our language. We feel it with our fingers. Writing on parchment as you do would be far simpler. Sometimes reading each other is not enough to preserve information.” “Language for the blind?” Danielle wondered. “Lupita would love to know it. We could teach so many to read that never had a chance.” “Slay Wandering Heart and we will teach you our language,” Quick Foot said absently. “We’re here.” Camping out behind a barricade was equally boring and terrifying. Danielle handed out weapons to the warriors of the cenaga and uamhith. She kept a silver tipped sword by her side. To the cave dwellers she gave arrows with silver tips. As she had when she fought loup garous, she drank beer with silver dust mixed into it. The others drank water mixed with the silver. If Wandering Heart ate any of them it would be his last meal. A day passed in the darkness. The torches the cenaga had brought with them died. Uamhith brought them jars of glowing algae. Jars piled up around the entrance. Green light basked Danielle’s eyes. This is a terrible and beautiful place to die. Don’t let me die, gods please . As they sat on bone stools after what felt like eternity Quick Foot grabbed Sir Longbow’s arm. The others drew their bows. Danielle stepped into the space where Wandering Heart had to enter the caves. CRASH. A glass jar by her side exploded. Her heart tried to leap out of her chest. Goosebumps covered her arms. Nerves brought the taste of vomit up from her stomach. Quiet. Be quiet , she thought. CRASH. Her shoulders twitched involuntarily as another jar spilled its glowing guts across the white stone. The biggest difference was that all the light was around her feet. Pitch blackness watched her from the cave ahead. CRASH. A third jar showered the ground with glass and a green glow. TING! Danielle stepped back as a rock hit her armour. The metallic ring was deafening after days of near silence. “It knows I’m here,” she whispered to herself. “It’s seen you in our minds,” said Song Voice. The uamhith loosed an arrow into the darkness. They all heard the arrow hit stone and clatter to the ground. Nothing. They waited. And waited. “Hurry up,” said Danielle. She stepped forwards. “I know you’re there.” She hooked the rope of an algae jar on the end of her sword. Her shield was little comfort as she left the light behind her. “What are you doing?” Quick Foot asked. “What you asked me to,” she said. “Don’t shoot me in the back.” Each step into darkness made her heartbeat faster. Lowering her sword, she let the jar slide down to the cold stone. CRASH. Glass pinged against her armour. Where are - It hit her from above. Sitting on the shield it had her left arm pinned to her chest, crushing her. “Shoot now, it’s on top of me!” The thing twitched as an arrow hit it. A heavy blow struck her face, slapping her head to the side. “GET OFF ME.” It did. Reeling back as if she’d struck it, Wandering Heart fell off her into the mess of the broken jar. Lit from beneath she saw the mutations that made the beast so dangerous. “TOO LOUD?” Danielle roared. “YOU CAN’T TAKE SOME SHOUTING?” She hacked at it with her sword. Arrows flew past her, most hitting cave walls far off. The jaw opened. Canine teeth the length of her hand welcomed her sacrifice. The ears were enormous compared to even the other uamhith. Danielle thrust her sword into its wide-open mouth and pushed as hard as she could. Wandering Heart shook with the blade peeking from the back of its neck. His arms grabbed her sword arm and squeezed. She heard the metal crumple. “NO!” It flinched, clapping hands over its ears as she screamed. Grabbing its sinuous arms, she screamed again. Wandering Heart thrashed around, trying to shake her off. They crashed into the cave walls. She wrapped her legs around its neck, yelling hard enough that her throat stung. Arrows thudded into the beast. Some pinged off the wall behind them. Jaws wide, it pressed towards her. She screamed until its hideous breath invaded her nostrils. The stench was death and decay. Bite or be bitten. Danielle sank her teeth into the monster’s nose. The taste was revolting but as it thrashed and ran into another wall, she could feel its breath begin to fade. Arrows whistled and chewed its back. Together they fell. Wandering Heart’s last exhalation was an anguished whisper. “I’m stuck,” she yelled. “Get it off me.” “Stop shouting please, it hurts,” said Song Voice. “Thank you,” she whispered as many hands pulled the beast away. They were carried back through the home of the uamhith. Bones of ancient drakes passed her by. Wandering Heart disappeared into a stream of lava that twisted between basalt hexagons. Carried in the arms of the cenaga wise one, she slept until she was in the forests of the world above. Blinding moonlight welcomed her back to the surface as it clawed through the canopy.


On April 26th, I pack up a piece of the moon. Of course, I don’t actually know, or even care what the date is, but the reasons for its significance are twofold; the humans do, and this time, it’s late enough where I can secure energy for the entirety of next month. The drawstring bag tightens silently as I lump the wheat coloured chunk into its charcoal depths. Even in the few seconds that I held it, I could feel the healing aura seep into my cosmic latte pores, refuelling my social battery to a dangerous level. I will not, I decided, turn into preppies like the rest of them. They were disgustingly happy, jumping around like monkeys, even sitting on the edge of the circle and swinging their legs to the rhythm of their fluttery chatter. Most of them I knew, but even the ones I didn’t, I could somehow tell that the reason for their social enthusiasm was not due to their moonpieces. They were all inherently talkative, neurotypical even. It almost looked like a cult, the process of removing and replacing tiny chunks of the moon which produced the twinkling effect the humans loved to romanticise. And I guess that was the point; giving the humans a sense of hope within their hapless chaos. Maybe someday I would feel that sense of responsibility for the creatures on earth too. The full moon didn’t bring with it that potential though. ‘Aelia, you know you can’t put your moonpiece there...’ Lyerson’s warm touch on my fingers initiates a reactionary jerk as my hands pull the moonpiece away from the empty space I removed a chunk from earlier. I hadn’t even meant to replace it with my own, but I guess my hands naturally carried out the process as I mused about my counterparts who actually just felt like my counters. My face seemed to show this mishap too, as Lyerson’s face softened, warm as their hands. ‘Distracted by the hubbub of the full moon, huh?’ The sparkles in lieu of dimples on the corners of their mouth appeared, as their sympathetic smile worked in tandem to gently extract the dull moonpiece from my cold hands. They knew I was too embarrassed to answer, and assured me that they would replace the moonpiece on the shadow side, miles away. ‘But won’t your energy dissipate...’ I started, not abashed enough to forget how quickly an almost dead moonpiece can sap a positive disposition. ‘Oh don’t worry, Maggie has been on an uphill trajectory for the last few weeks, so I’ve got quite the stock of good ener-’ Lyerson abruptly stops, the sparkles suddenly disappearing as they cast their gaze downwards. I knew what was coming, and felt myself burning up with fluster. Please don’t please don’t please don’t start with the pity please please please- ‘I-you know, what I mean is that, mmm,’ Lyserson’s usually composed voice cracks as they try to regain control of the situation, but I was already starting to stand up. Wanting to get away from the situation as soon as was alienly possible, I mustered a faux smile and made to leave off on small talk, but Lyerson beat me to it. ‘I better go replace this...but what I mean to say Aelia, is that. Well, I am quite sure you’ll be tethered to a human soon. From what I can see, you’ve already made some really great progress within yourself. Catch you later,’ and with that, they propelled themself off the bright crater. I know it wasn’t their fault. Everyone loved Lyerson, and everyone loved talking about their humans, especially the ones that were doing well. It wasn’t Lyerson’s fault that once they started talking about Maggie, all they wanted to do was praise her efforts on Earth. It wasn’t their fault, it wasn’t anyone’s fault, yet I hated them for it. I hated that they each had their respective humans, had always had their humans, while I never did. And I probably never would. *** The moon had always seemed sympathetic. Sporadically, when I was procrastinating on my schoolwork, I would look out my window and be pleasantly surprised with its murky glow. Tonight, I look at it and think about just how unaware it is of its own significance, especially today. With everything off, the moon provides the only source of light in my room. Its warm glow reflects in the diamonds of my shalwar kameez, which hangs neatly ironed on the back of my door. I wouldn’t be caught dead in Pakistani clothes on any other occasion, let alone something like this. It was gorgeous and modern; a deep green and pale yellow diamond embroidered flower on a hot pink crop top, a long skirt in the same palette, and a green robe that spanned the length of my body. It was too gorgeous, too cultural. In the throes of living an Australian life with a Pakistani family, I saved the abundance of my Indian outfits for the eyes of my extended family only. In the throes of wanting to kill myself, I saved the abundance of my teenage angst for nights with the moon. I wouldn’t be able to let it show tomorrow; my extended muslim family simply did not believe in mental struggle. My mind wanders back to the moon, its perennial innocence, its innocence today. What were the chances that a full moon coincided with Chaand Raat, the eve before Eid Al-Fitr. As the whole family customarily gathered around the moon an hour earlier, my aunt and uncles remarked how Allah had specially blessed us this Ramadan. ‘Cringe,’ I had laconically dm’ed Dinali, my best friend. ‘Wait, isn’t Eid tomorrow?’ she had replied within seconds, adhering to earlier messages that frantically read ‘extended family round in an h0ur, pls be awake need moral support!!!!!’ ‘Yes’, I cautiously replied, eyeing my uncle for fear of his imminent tirade about my generation constantly on their phones. ‘So why is your family over today?’ ‘Chaand Raat,’ my uncle's eyes briefly scan me, lingering for a moment, like a threat, before continuing the conversation with my dad. ‘Girl I’m Sri Lankan, you know idk what that is.’ I hated that this explanation would require a substantial amount of attention to my phone, so I excused myself, quickly hopping past the back of my chair to my washroom. Tired of sitting, I decide to get some extra steps in and pace the bathroom while locking in an Instagram voice note to Dinali. ‘Soooo you know Ramadan right? How I’ve been fasting for a month in order to show my appreciation for food and the blessings I have from Allah and bla bla bla. Anyway, you know how after Ramadan they have like two festivals called Eid, yeah? Well the first one is the more...fun and non-slaughtery one. It’s called Eid Al-Fitr, and the eve before it is called Chaand Raat...when the moon is spotted and everyone goes out to celebrate and hang out with family and stuff. Chaand Raat literally translates to Moon Night-’ Instagram customarily cuts the voice note off at a minute and sends it to her. I start another. ‘And like...it just so happened that today was a full moon, which has never happened on a Chaand Raat before. I mean it’s like cool, I guess. Like I said, my uncles and aunts went absolutely fucking berserk for it, claiming that Allah was for real looking out for us this Ramadan and whatnot. I swear to god, I don’t know how I revel in their bullshit sometimes. Okay I have got to go now before my entire family starts getting suspicious. Besides this voicenoteisabouttocutoffanysecondnowbyeeee-’ I hurriedly run out of breath while I sit my phone atop the cool marble counter. This way, it would actually look like I’d just used the bathroom for a long call. As I rest it meticulously on the edge, the side of the metal phone case glistens. The source was coming from the vermilion pricked blades poking out the edge of my cupboard mirror. The colour was fresh. I knew because a) it was the work of merely a few hours ago, and b) some of the miniscule liquid had dropped onto the white sink, speckling it with tiny red dots. I grab a piece of tissue, dab it on the red so as to not leave streaks, and get rid of the evidence down the toilet. At least the sound of the flush will make my trip to the washroom even more real. The vivid memory of the colour seeps into my mind, filling the crevices with thoughts that I had trained myself not to dwell on right before bed. Tonight, it was particularly hard though. Despite everything that I complained about in my voice notes to Dinali, a part of me didn’t believe what I believed. What if Allah does actually exist? Surely this life had to have some sort of higher purpose to it? And if not Allah, surely another deity or spiritual being was looking out for us in this hellhole? The moon probably knew. It’s too magnificent and pure not to know the secrets of the universe. And while I eventually drift off contemplating God, I swear I see a part of the moon fall into darkness and out again, in the span of maybe a second. And though this was likely my eyes faltering at the mercy of sleep, I likened this state, and the moon to myself. Most times it is a half moon, but sporadically, it’s full. It always shines on the side everyone can see, but is perennially dark on the other. And sometimes, that darkness can’t help but show. *** At their core, they were benevolent aliens. That’s how the humans might’ve referred to them if they really knew them. Instead, they called them Stars. It was a two way relationship, except they didn’t know we truly existed outside of their tangible existence. In the olden days, they were mostly convinced that the Stars were inextricably tied to their fate. Their alignments were their peace of mind, and this was the closest they ever got to knowing them. Now, some of them felt it through energies, the spiritual ones who tried to exude good energy that would boomerang back in the form of good karma. Others tied their fortune to specific God’s, the kind that bloodshed and carnage were justified for. But it didn’t matter what, or who they believed in, or when they believed it; they were to help them all the same. They existed in the space between the cosmos. Hopping from planet to planet, sustaining themselves in the way humans eat food. The most essential part of this process was gathering energy and healing from the moon. Half moons were more than enough to do the job. The Stars would reverently take out a piece of the glimmering side of the moon, not enough that would be visible to a human eye of course, but enough to give them the energy equivalent to a human overdosing on cocaine thrice. Full moons happened monthly, and were occasions of celebration as Stars could collect a single piece and use it for up to years. With the amount of harvesting this brings on, the next generation of Stars don’t have to pick at the moon as much, leaving it as full and brilliant as it always is to inspire the humans. With the energy of the moon, the Stars travelled back through space, shining for the world to see. We were so respected, that some Stars’ humans would go on to write poems, books, movies, even journal articles about us. They inherently didn’t need any motivation, but that would have been enough to keep them loyal to the humans forever. They would go on watching over them, filling them up with good energy for the next day, intermittently intervening in their affairs through the power of simply supplying them with the urge to look up at the night sky. When they had used up our half moonpieces, they would replace them on the bright side of the moon, either with the same amount of glow or more. Never less. That was all if you were a normal, functioning star. If you were born a Star like me, your brain chemistry just didn’t align with the rest. It was unusual, the human mind wasn’t supposed to transfer over to our community. Ours was supposed to be, had always been, strong and immune from the mental health issues we supported our humans with. Sometimes, our presence in their life was too diametrically opposed for their minds to handle, and we would need our emergency intervention teams to try and alleviate the damage. But their problems never presented themselves in us. After all, that was what the healing energy from the moon was for. But I had been born different. Even the aura of a full moonpiece couldn’t get me to a level a quarter of the level everyone else did. It got me the level equivalent of a human who had overdosed on cocaine thrice, but the ugly part. I didn’t get the energy, I just died, and there was nothing to resuscitate me. As if I wasn’t already judged enough by the saccharine smiles of the other Stars, I couldn’t even harvest pieces of the full moon. I fully needed them to barely hang on, and I was the sole depleter of the whole community. They could never tether me to a human without the high risk of death of the latter. When a full moon came around, I wasn’t allowed to put my piece back on the bright side of the moon. I actually depleted the energy from it, sucked out everything until it resembled a rotten mass that was only fit enough to be thrown somewhere around the dark side. I look down at earth, the hole in my chest empty as ever. I’m usually immune to the light pollution, the pricks of life and my lack of connection to a single one always had me feeling worse than before. Tonight, however, it was particularly hard not to notice the intermittent flashes of light coming from somewhere in Australia. It wasn’t hard to see; the Stars were blessed with 100/100 vision. Due to this, I could also immediately tell that the flashes were a form of Morse code, something I had probably inadvertently actually picked up on something during the community lectures on ‘Fascinating Human Ideas’. I was surprised how easily I was able to decipher the message, and at the bubble of feeling brewing under my skin. My skin, which now had the faintest hint of a dull sparkle in it, pulsing on and off like a weak heart. This had never happened before, and from the stares of the surrounding Stars, it was clear they knew it too. *** I woke up with a jolt, the feeling of falling had my heart pulsing on and off like it was desperately trying to keep me alive. Now awake and alert, I instinctively reach for my phone to check the time, irritating myself after I realise where I had left it. The image of the bathroom sink threatens to appear again, but I grab my torch off the bedside table and turn my attention to the sky instead. Sometimes, when I couldn’t sleep, I would have this ineffable urge to talk to the sky in the only way I could. Tonight, the full moon cast its sympathetic gaze upon me, as if it knew I had been questioning the extent of its knowledge earlier. Off on. Off on. Off on off on off. On. And on and on I went, turning my portion of the sky ablaze with the clinical light, asking the heavens to give me a sign, any sign, that there was something out there. ‘Is there anything or anyone out there as fucked up as me?’ ‘Are you there, God?’ ‘Is anyone listening?’ ‘Is anything listening?’ ‘I promise to eat all my vegetables if you just give me a shout or something.’ ‘I promise to stop cutting myself if you just-’ ‘Surely send me a shooting star...’ And though I could have attributed it to my torch, I felt as though it was something more. The patch of sky directly above me gave off a slight warmth, almost as often as my flashes. As a test, I turned off my torch for a few seconds, anticipating whatever it was in the absence. There it was, and if I squinted my eyes, I could make out the blurry outline of a star. It was almost as if I had summoned it from nothing, like the light from my torch had been engulfed by the sky and spit right back at me in the form of a tiny ball of heat. And though it wasn’t the brightest star, I noticed that it was right atop the moon, making the latter seem as magnificent as ever. I had never really noticed the stars in this way before. Maybe this was my star. *** Whoever it was, they were pondering the existence of the divine. Their questions had seared through me, as if I was right there, on earth, reflecting a mirror back on myself. It seemed as though my body had instinctively reacted to this too, as the heat which now emanated from it was the result of a matte shine, not nearly as bright as my counterparts, but brighter than I had ever been. Out of my peripherals, I see Lyerson back a few paces away from me, the only Star giving off a small, genuine smile. For the first time, I’m there. I’m listening. Maybe I couldn’t be a shooting star, but I could be their Star. And maybe, for the first time, someone could be my moonpiece.


(This was originally a comment I left in the r/WritingPrompts thread. Wanted to share it here!) \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_  It was a Sunday and I always hated Sundays. I hated them more these days, or should I say *those* days, because I'd usually sit and binge watch some sci-fi show on Netflix with a beautiful Chai Latte ordered straight to my door from the Starbucks down the road. But in the 1800s, there was no Starbucks. I'd finally done it. Invented time travel. I was 1 out of 8 Billion people who knew that it was incredibly possible. But it was too bad that I was stranded in Victorian England. Being the first person to develop time travel wasn't as amazing as I thought it would be. It turns out, travelling through time is easy. Travelling back, well... that's a bit more complicated. I arrived here two weeks ago. I tried to go back, trust me, I really did, but as soon as I realised it was a success, I took the time to have a victory nap (three all nighters in row can do that to you) and when I woke up, the machine was damaged. Parts were missing and it looked like it had blown up. I did everything I could to fix it, but the parts I needed didn't even exist here and I didn't understand why it had malfunctioned. My adventure to 1800s London was unwillingly extended. I was walking along the streets now, wearing a gothic garment I had managed to find in the street. It was slightly tattered and dirty, but it was clean enough and considering the time period, I'm sure I fit in better than when I arrived here in my System of a Down tee and black skinny jeans. The jeans alone would have got me in trouble just for being a woman. There was piss and shit every step I walked. The streets were uncomfortably busy. Beggars poured out of every walk way and rich noblemen strut highly on their horses. I couldn't have felt more out of place if I tried. The only remnants I had from my 2010s life was my doc martins that hid underneath the long skirt of this tattered dress. The longer I stayed here, the more depressed I felt. All of my family and friends were probably so worried. I wonder if the police were looking for me? None of them had any idea I wasn't even in the same *time* as them anymore, let alone the same place. I could be standing in a spot the cops are looking for me right this second, but because I'm 200 years behind them, they'll never see me. I felt doomed. Hopeless and the more time went on, the more angry I felt. How could I have been so stupid? I was an engineer! I was a smart person, a rational person. How could I have so arrogantly trapped myself time surfing? I was careful not to mutter anything too loud. The streets were so packed. A few people had given me strange looks as I was passing as well. Attention was *not* what I wanted here. When I eventually get back to my time, at least my acceptance speech for the Nobel Prize will be excellent comedy material. I was looking for objects I could use for the time machine repairs. I had studied how different parts do different things and I was sure that even if I found the base ingredients, I would get myself out of here. I couldn't vote, I was jobless and I had no suitor. This time was not *my* time. I had already acquired some of the things I needed, but the more 'modern' stuff, I just couldn't find anywhere. As I turned down one of the bustling streets in to a wide lane, I heard something that totally broke my focus. I could hear someone humming. Normal I suppose, there wasn't a great deal to do in this time, humming was probably as commonplace as checking your phone. But something about the tune really startled me. I walked slowly towards the humming. There was a window at ground level that was open. There was no one actually in the lane with me, so the sound had to be coming from this building. I ducked down so I wouldn't be seen and carried on listening. I recognised this melody too well, but I couldn't put my finger on it. It was an eerie tune, but there was something about it that really reminded me of space and the heavens. "*Aaaah- aaaaaaaaah"* The voice continued to hum. That's when my brain finally clicked. Without even thinking, I started singing the words really quietly. *"Because the world is round it turns me on...."* My voice was nothing more than a whisper for the first few lines, but as the song continued, I was ready to make myself known to the person humming. *"Love is old, love is newLove is all, love is you...."* And then the humming stopped. There was a brief silence and then the sound of footsteps. "Whoever is outside my window, I suggest you show yourself right now or I'll blow a whole in the wall." Without even hesitating, I stood up and a man slightly older than myself stood on the other side of the window, a revolver in hand, pointing at me. I held my hands up and started stammering "I-I-I I'm not going to hurt you. I just have a question. I-I-I *know* this song really w-well, it's o-one of my fave..." He fired the revolver above my head and I screamed. "PLEASE DON'T KILL ME. I JUST RECOGNISED THE SONG." He walked over to me on the opposite side of the window. Completely silent. He looked me up and down and even poked his head out of the window to literally look me up and down from head to toe. When his eyes got to my feet, he started bellowing so loudly, instead of comforting me, it scared me. "You're a *looooooong* way from home Doc." He slapped his knee through his laughter. My face flushed red, slightly embarrassed. "H-how do you know that?!" I asked. "Well for a start, Doc was meant to be in pun to Docs on your feet. They don't even exist until after the second War. The World War. So let's cut to the chase little girl, how did you get here? To this *time?*" "I'm not a little girl." I muttered. The man laughed again. "Only little girls get stuck when time travelling. When it comes to this field, you are but a child, Otherwise, you wouldn't still be here would you? You wouldn't be stuck." "H-how do you know all th-" The man laughed again, all he seemed to do was make fun of me. "I-I created a device that allowed me to travel back, but its fried. Parts are gone. The things I need to fix it I cant find." I clenched my fist, feeling my own disappointment again. He stopped laughing by this point and his expression returned to serious. He lowered his gun finally and sighed. "I should have known really. Of course it was too good to be true." He said as he walked away from the window and in to another room. I stood awkwardly outside the window, unsure what to do. I just stared into the window and the space he once stood in. \**click!\** Next to the window, a door unlocked and was opened and his head popped out from behind it. "Come in. We need to talk." I hesitated for a second, but entered regardless and he led me back into the room, this time I was on the other side of the window. He carried on walking through it into another room, but paused as we stood outside. "Before we go in here, I need you to understand that it wasn't anything personal. It was the first time I'd seen a TT machine in 6 years. I have been stuck here that long. I felt a glimmer of hope, but my judgement was clouded. I think fate brought us together and now I intend to honour that." I remained silent, mainly because I was confused by what he said. But 6 years stuck here? That's hard to hear from anyone. The door opened and I gasped. Inside, was a machine that looked almost identical to the one I had made. There were parts scattered all over the room, in fact, very *certain* parts... "MY PARTS!!!!?????!" I screamed. The guy looked to the floor in shame.


Feeling the air in the shadow of that mango tree brought me back to my early days. The perfume of the fruits began in December. So Christmas had this particular fragrance in the house. It was an American colonial-style house, like the one in Gone with the Win, in a small size. My mother had seen a picture in a magazine and told my father she wanted something like that. She was not an architect but she made not only the design of the facade lest the plan inside, with a dining room on one side, a living room on the other, and a hall in black and white marble. The stairs made a square spiral and we loved to slide by the handrail, yet nothing compared with climbing the mango tree. We were three children, me, my cousin Marine and my cousin Alfonse. We used to climb the tree starting in the big branches that were very inviting, as they were low. We reached them easily at six, seven, and eight years old. Of course, my mother watched us but compared to the current children, we were much freer. I remember one day when Marine touched something like little stains, and Alphonse cried out "Watch out! This is a snake egg!" Of course, it was not, but Marine jumped from where she was, some five meters high. She fell on a wooden bench and she did not cry because she was ashamed of crying. Ir must have been a horrible pain. Fortunately, she broke nothing. And she was thin as a toothpick. We all came down, but she did not shed a tear. Life went on, each of us in their path, we got married, had children, grandchildren, the house had been sold but the mango tree is still there. There are no more mangos now, not even year in and year out, as it used to be, and there is a big building in the place of the house. Yet, whenever I come near that tree, everything comes back as in a dream. I remember all the laughter, all the bruises, the fear to go on the taller branches, as they might break, the effort to seem courageous in front of the cousins, that kept saying, "You are a little princess, an only child, you have been spoiled!" And I replied, "Not in the least! My mother is severe with me not making me a silly girl!" Nevertheless, I was a bit silly as a teenager. I remember enjoying the company of my first boyfriend sitting on the same wooden bench by the mango tree, hand in hand. When he asked for a kiss, I denied it because I did not know how to act in such situations. As we laughed a lot, me, him, my friend Claire and her boyfriend, Mark, my father appeared in his bedroom window and said we were making too much noise. This remonstrance made me feel bad. Why so much freedom in childhood and so much restrain in adolescence? This little romance lasted a few months. We were too young and too silly. Other friends of mine were not so naive at that same epoch. They were wise enough to appreciate a good boyfriend that later became their husbands. I know quite a few in this case. Well, the other day I passed by this tree and saw an old man under its shadow. This footage took place several times. I wondered who he was and was a little afraid to ask him. Yet, one afternoon walking my dog, I decided to go near and ask him. When I approached the man, I recognized him. It was Paul, my first boyfriend. I was so astonished that I almost fell when my dog pulled the lead. I cried, "Paul! It's you?" "Yes, Mary! It's me. I thought you would never come near. I was afraid that you would not recognize me after all these years!" "Jee, Paul! Of course, I would! How come you are in the neighborhood?" "Well, I lived in lots of places, but now, once retired, I decided to live where I have been happiest, here, on the street where you lived!" "It sounds like My Fair Lady, remember, the film with Audrey Hepburn that we saw at a cinema holding hands?" "Sure I remember Mary! We liked her very much, didn't we?" "Yes, we did. And we were so happy together!" "Yes, we were. We loved each other. And I heard you are divorced. Is it true?" "It is. And you?" " I am also divorced." There was a thick silence. We did not know what to do. I finally asked him why he came to the shadow of that tree every day and sat at that bench. He told me this shadow belonged to him. It was part of his life forever. It was like in the known Chinese tale that a man buys the shadow of a tree and is his owner. There was no need of buying this shadow. It belonged to him because it was part of his history. I had never thought so but I agreed with him entirely. Yes, the shadow of this tree belonged to us. This time, as he approached me, I did not back off. I stood still and when he kissed me, I kissed him back. This has been a kiss of love. We were so happy! We were teenagers again. Eye in the eye, hand in hand, we stood there for a long time, as tears came by. Even the dog kept quiet, not pulling the lead. He sat on his paws and looked at us peacefully. We were reunited at last. This has been the best surprise of my life. I thanked this magnificent mango tree for its long and fruitful life in all possible senses. The next thing to do was to introduce each other to our families and hope they will like us. My family would certainly approve of him, a lovely man, good father, and excellent grandfather. The day I was to meet his daughter, I was so nervous that my hair went crazy, not to be fixed in my ordinary hairstyle. I had to make a bun and finally got it straight. She was a bit shy at first but then she gave me a warm hug and we became friends instantly. Our grandchildren met sometime after that and we all went to see the famous mango tree that united our families.


“Mommy, can I have a balloon?” A child tugged at his mother’s clothes while pointing at a stand selling balloons. The mother sighed. “Oh, all right fine. Just don’t lose this one.” The mother paid for a nice blue balloon and gave it to the child. As they walked off, the child tripped and immediately let go of the balloon and it floated off into the sky. The mother was more dumbfounded than anything and the child started to cry. ... The balloon was confused. One second it was tethered to the earth by a human child, the next it was abandoned into the breeze and drifted into the cloudless sky. The balloon didn’t get to publicly float for a while as a strong gust blew it over a city. Looking down onto the buildings below, it first saw the finest of towers and houses glistening over the glorious boulevard below, but that wasn’t the only thing it saw. Next to the gorgeous buildings, there was a maze of slipshod buildings sprawled out in contrast. This confused the balloon, shouldn’t the humans defend each other, shouldn’t they watch each other’s’ backs? The balloon tried to dismiss this thought thinking, there must be a justified reason the other humans must have their own woes... the balloon wasn’t completely sure. The balloon got blown down into the slums where it became horrified. The humans there were living in absolutely appalling conditions. There were families starving, structures that were falling apart, and orphaned children running around in rags. The balloon wanted to do something, anything, but it couldn’t, it was just a balloon. It could just float. The winds changed and blew back into the wealthy part of the city and balloon floated along with it. Among the glamor, the balloon saw people splurging on fine goods and foods, partying their times away, and seeming to only give a care about themselves. The balloon felt a building furry, here were people just throwing away money without care while people not far away are struggling to just survive. Again the balloon wanted to do something, but it was just rubber. It could only drift. The balloon was disheartened. What could it do? It couldn’t do anything. The humans probably wouldn’t do anything anyway. The balloon did a mental sigh and decided to just give up thought. As it drifted of both mentally and physically, the balloon only lamented that it couldn’t do anything. A loud crash brought the balloon back to consciousness. From high in the atmosphere the balloon peered around and saw the remains of a collapsed building. With nothing else to do the balloon drifted down to the ruins. It was horrendous. Scrap was everywhere, and so were bodies. The balloon decided to look for any survivors it could find, it could at least try to do something. It floated above the scene but could find anyone. All of a sudden there was what sounded like a child crying. The balloon saw a kid almost hidden by the wreckage and covered in so much dust they were barely visible and immediately floated down. ... The child sniffled. They wanted to cry but they were losing the strength to even do that. The child was scared, they didn’t want to fall sleep forever like what happened to their parents. That fear gave the child enough strength to cry out for what they thought was one final time. Strangely a savior came to the child, a blue balloon. “Hello, Mr. balloon...” the child propped themself up awkwardly and weakly. “Are you here to carry me off...” They reached out to the balloon and pulled it towards their chest. “...thank you...” The child poked some of the dust on the ground and drew a smiley face on the balloon. “I don’t think I’ll make it Mr. balloon... I can’t feel my legs anymore...” the kid looked back to their legs. “My legs got stuck when the building fell... I hope I can finally see my parents again...” The kid’s grip on the balloon loosened and it floated up slightly. ... The balloon thought about the child. They wouldn’t survive. For the third time the balloon wished it could do something, but it was just a disposable toy. What could it do? It could only be carried by the breeze and eventually, ...the balloon realized there was one final way to help. ... The child let go of the balloon and watched it float away. It didn’t get far, however, when the balloon ran into a sharp piece of wreckage, poped, and fell back into the child’s hands. “Did you hear that?” rang a voice in the distance. “I think there’s something over here.” said a closer voice. Some of the rubble surrounding the kid was moved aside and a firefighter peered through the newly made gap. “There’s a kid over here!... They are still alive!” A few more firefighters rushed over to help clear the rubble and free the kid. “Don’t worry now,” the first voice said to the kid, “we will save you.” After a bit of struggle, the firefighters freed the kid from the wreckage and was carried to an ambulance. While all this happened the child looked down at the small corpse of a balloon in his hand “Thank you Mr.


Forest Creatures I’m frustrated looking at an empty sheet of A-4 its white virgin rectangle taunting me to write. Was my life always so inane and predictable? The page's luminosity of unblemished parchment pulls my mind back to a bedsheet blowing during a wonderful August summer school holiday. This mundane occurrence of mother washing, over time, has become a sorely missed distant place and time of simplicity. Within moments, I have sat again on my James Captain Motorcycle in the early seventies. The old maroon machines familiar aroma of petrol and oil permeates making me breathe quicker and twitch the throttle of an inactive engine. A faint whine from the neighbor’s dog pulls my attention to her, she looks longingly at me over our adjoining fence, her soft eyes begging me to stroke her and perhaps take her for a walk. I make a subtle click to her with good-girl appeasement. She slinks back to her kennel realizing that today’s adventure will not include a dog walk. A gust of wind flaps my mother’s clean washing, resulting in wafting and billowing sheets flooding the ambiance of our rear garden with fresh smelling artificial tones. This scene of domestication makes me desperate to leave this pocket of boredom to begin my ride bathed in sun, flicking the ignition with a gloved hand; followed by a quick kick of a chrome leaver brings a snappy two-stroke to life. Shoving it of its stand, I maneuver her past the kitchen window and under our house gable onto a pale concrete drive, excitement builds like a drug high, as my anticipation heightens, I look out both ways for cars and police, then excitedly scoot illegally across our public road, entering through a hedge-gap to an adjoining field. Within minutes, I’m speeding along a field track to Far-Wood, breathing deeply, the wind blowing my hair on a bright summer’s morning, serenaded by a two-stroke hum and its gas mixture stimulating all my senses, spreading a smile across an exuberant face. Mile’s flash-by and too soon I’m closing the throttle to enter the forest, cutting my speed to almost a walk helps me negotiate a thin sliver of a woodland track, dotted with stones and fallen branches. As the track widens and becomes uncluttered, a thirst for speed made me open up the throttle releasing a snappy two-stroke engine growl. Heavily laden trees flash by, as dirt shoots from the motorcycle back-wheel, these visual cues trigger adrenaline. Instinctively, I Stand on my foot-rests tensing all my muscles as the bike takes off over a bump, it lands smoothly before a steep hill, winding open the taps, digs the rear tire into the soft earth, my machine scales the incline easily! Eventually, opaque woodland clears, answering to an open field paralleling a strip of forest. Before me, a dirt track meanders and undulates between forest edge and muddy field. Regretfully my throttle has to close as the bike weaves and skips pulling my arms and shoulders. The angry two-stroke engine spits and complains as I wrestle the steering through loose dirt and thick mud. Crawling along with my eyes scouring for a good track, allows me to see and smell the open field and the greenery of a substantial forest. Eventually, a slow arching bend pulls away from the plowed loamy field through a lush green arch that leads to a hidden Dell. Without warning, my stomach turns and my heart races as a previously flat path descend sharply into an area full of hillocks littered with yellow and green hawthorn bushes, I pull the brakes sharply stopping with a skid, then I maneuver the bike behind a small hill; a deft flick of a silver key kills a strumming engine. As the engine dies all that can be heard in this eerily quiet place are cooling machine clicks. I’ve never stopped for any time in the Fairy Dell before as locals warn against it! However, being a rebel, warnings act as a siren. Moreover, what can be frightening about an ancient Dell, that local villager’s walkthrough? Encouraged by the heat I laid against lush grass, to enjoy the day's sun and balmy ambiance, I am convinced that this Dell being haunted by Fairies seems like a fanciful tale? Silence causes me to check my senses again; I can only hear a droning sound of long-distance traffic and an occasional metallic click of a still cooling motorcycle engine. Noticeably, sounds of wild-life and birds remain absent. Curiosity, makes me get up to begin a reconnoiter. I notice animal tracks go through the Dell, strangely non-lead to underground dwellings? Following, tiny footpaths cut into turf, leads to a deep shrubbed mini-gorge, its strangeness beckons further examination. I Eclipse its edge, the bank sides collapse! Falling, whilst scrambling, sliding, scrouging through bushes lands me on a grassy plateau, I look up to see how far was my descent, staring up from the gloom shows me the main path has disappeared, stretching before me, a well-trodden tiny path zig-zagging through scattered copses demands to be followed. I scour the narrow path for prints and droppings, seeing nothing doesn't worry me! Common sense dictates weathering can remove any trace of animal activity. However, I follow it deeper into a dense copse full of undergrowth and darkness. A flap and a scurry, of what sounds like small fluttering wings jolts my head to look upwards, a thud follows as my head hits a thick branch. A young woman’s laugh rings, turning towards its direction a beautiful girl is sat on an old tree stump, stroking my head to relieve the pain. I also rub my eyes checking this girl is not a fanciful wish, despite my attempts to correct my vision, she still appears to be sat and smiling at me. Before I can speak, “Hello, John.” Greeted me! I look at her every one of my hormones races. She was beautiful with blond-haired dressed with wildflowers in barrettes, complimented with a figure-hugging bottle green skirt, strangely she wore no shoes? Moreover, I didn’t recognize this person! As I stood raking every memory of village and school girls, I knew, her soft voice whispered. “Are you scared of me John? Come over here.” I walked over desperately trying to remember where I’d met this strange beauty. As I approached a fragrance of fresh forest after rain exuded from her. She Moved across the impromptu stump seat; her hand playfully tapped the wood beckoning me to sit next to her. I sat down nervously not knowing where to put my eyes, many questions concerning this young woman puzzled and embarrassed me, as I could not remember her! Her eyes sparkled green as she looked at me and smiled in a cheeky elfin way, despite my aversion to prolixity, I had to ask an obvious question. “How do you know me? I don’t believe I’ve ever met you before?” She laughed uncontrollably kicking her legs in delight. “I see you every day John on your way to school, sometimes at school, always in the woods near your home. Exasperation flooded me! Why don’t you introduce yourself? She followed this question by giggling uncontrollably, seemingly enjoying my disadvantage of her presence in my life. Stopping suddenly, she declared. “That’s what I’m doing now John, introducing myself!” May I ask your name?” Her eyes flashed with devilment! “Guess!” “I cannot guess, there are simply too many girl names. However, in my school, all the girls are called Bridget, Maria, or Mary.” She giggled again obviously enjoying her ability to remain a mystery. Slightly frustrated I proposed a solution. “Ok, I think I will call you elf. You look elfin, and certainly dress like one!” She retorted! I’m certainly not an elf!” Seeing the lady was upset I tried to justify my assumption with a voice that was a little higher through nerves. “I think elves are quite cute, at least the ones I’ve seen in paintings and prints.” A pair of green eyes steadily stared back arousing carnal interest. Swinging her legs around to face me I braced myself for some kind of rebuff. “I can assure you John Elves may look cute, however, in my experience of those trouble-making irksome creatures. Cute is the last word I would associate with them! “Sorry?” I replied with a deliberate tone that mirrored the Australian speaking pattern of a question-initiative. This rouse did not work as only a muted reply supported by sparkling eyes returned. Frustrated, I tried another ploy to make her reveal her name. “So...” No name prompt returned from her, just an air of enjoyment, it was at this stage I decided to fain no interest in whatever name she used, hence a spiel of small talk erupted. “Do you often come here? I mean what’s of interest at the bottom of a Dell surrounded by thick bushes? She stood up quickly, in a releve like a ballerina, again a waft of fresh forest filled the air. She held out her finger, a Jenny-Wren, flew to it perched and began twittering to her. Without looking at me a loud dialog between her and the bird ensued. “Jenny, he’s asking why I come here? Obviously to be with my friends, and of all my friends, you are the wisest little bird.” Excited fluttering and chirping from the little bird followed she and her feathered companion seemed to be talking the same language, then both looked at me. “Jenny does not like your motorcycle. It frightens her! What do you say, John?” In reality, what I’ve just seen astounds me Manny thoughts hatch with the ferocity of fireworks! Nevertheless, my reaction is mixed; a part of me believes this apparent bond of a girl, and a bird may be an elaborate trick? Therefore, I try to ascertain a way to qualify my position of doubt, ignoring her question I ask. “Can you tell the bird to fly to my right shoulder and kiss my ear?” She stroked her bird’s tummy while saying something, immediately the creature flew to my shoulder and lightly kissed me, and returned. Astonishment took any words of comment away; they truly had some kind of bond! Enwrapped, I kept repeating amazing, fantastic, and other expressive adjectives, which will remain unprintable. Releasing her bird into a nearby tree and sitting down on her stump again, her green eyes fell on mine. “I can speak to any animal; would you like to see my rabbit friends?” This was an opportunity I did not want to miss, yes! Spilled from my lips with childish wanting. From her mouth came a shrill whistle, within a moment's glance dozens of rabbits filled the grass plateau, all of them running around both of us, many talking to the mysterious girl. I was wide-eyed and smiling profusely having never seen such a command over wild animal! A part of me was witnessing something that seemed impossible, the other desperately looked for a sleight of hand. However, whatever this phenomenon was? It was happening before my eyes! After a few moments, she dismissed her rabbit friends, leaving just the two of us and a chirping Wren. After all the excitement my stomach began feeling empty, looking at my watch to check the time revealed an empty wrist. However, instinct told me it was near lunchtime. Before I left, I tried one more time to extract her name. “Excuse me, (With a long pause) She did not say her name but, as usual, smiled with delight! “I have to go, it's near my lunch; it's been great fun hanging out with you?” She smiled seeing another failed attempt at retrieving her name. Then her head fell like a little girl, a tear rolled down her cheek as she whispered sorry. Bemused, I blurted- "Why did you whisper sorry? I’ve had a great time!" Her eyes fell on mine. “I’m sorry for making you late; however, like you, I have to go!” I blurted out. “Will I see you again?” With an enchanting giggle, she waved and disappeared behind a bush. I ran to the spot, not a trace of her remained; my scramble to the path mirrored my mind scrambling in earnest, trying to make sense of my encounter! Was she a fairy? This erratic thought kept circulating in my head. Eventually, I cleared the steep top and began walking to where I had hidden my motorcycle. It was missing! It then inexplicably it went dark! Dismayed and confused I started my long walk home, puzzled and exasperated by all that had happened. Trying to find some logic to my present situation, thoughts of practical jokers, and perhaps the darkness falling indicated an eclipse had just occurred? In reality, I was flummoxed. After about two hours of stumbling through dirt tracks and dark forest, the street lights adjacent to my house came into view, then I noticed all the house was dark? It must be later than I thought. Nervous feet walked quietly to the door, afraid my parents would be angry, gathering my keys, I tried the lock. They didn’t fit! Trying them again resulted in them failing. No option was left, apart from wrapping loudly on the door. Anxious as to how my parents would react my first knocks were quiet; no one stirred; my next volley shook the glass. I heard a movement upstairs, above me a light illuminated, seconds later a large man opened the door wearing a blue dressing gown, gruffly asking. “What do you want!” I stood vacantly scanning around for signs of my parents, searching for an answer, I could only say the words. “I live here.” He looked quizzically at me. “You’ve got the wrong address.” He began shutting the door I screamed. “I’m John Paver and I live here!” He paused closing his door. “No one lives here called Paver. You have the wrong address!” His wife started coming down the stairs, asking what was wrong? “Some kid says he’s lives here, probably drunk; you know what kids are.” She came to the door in a white dressing gown and piled up dark hair; she smiled kindly. “Who are you?” With a stressed voice, I repeated John Paver. Her mouth dropped. “You can’t be! John paver disappeared forty years ago!” I screamed back at her. “I am John Paver!” The man reached for a black rectangle that lit-up, his fingers started whipping and scrawling over it. “We will soon find out who you are son!” His mouth fell open, he showed his wife something he’d found. Both stared in disbelief. “Impossible! I can check, what year is it son?” Astonished I replied- “1974!” Jesus, this is impossible, do you have any money on you? I raked through my pockets. “Yeah, I’ve Ten-shillings.” He looked at me checking my appearance, after which he turned to face his wife holding an expression full of disbelief, his now shaken voice proposed. “We’d better ring the station!”


“I See” “What do you see? What I see and what you see, could it possibly be, that we may see is differently? That doesn't make me right and you wrong we're just willing to stubbornly stand alone. We can agree to disagree which is so weird to me. What solution have we come to? Is there something else we can do? It’s through the eyes of the beholder. Ask her, ask him exactly what do you see? To the question must be asked whatever it may be. Perspective or perception? What is really to blame and be it to our shame? Because what we’re really saying, is the same”. The End James insisted on my reading this poem. I tried to see it his way. He thought this poem would help, but it didn’t, not at first. You’d think it would have, he’s my identical twin brother. We are so much alike in so many ways but there are times we just don’t see eye to eye, and this is one. It started back when we were freshmen in college both of us majoring in psychology. I wanted to be a doctor, James wanting to be a college professor. Well as in most psychology classes the subject of relationships comes up one way or another. I perhaps should stop here and introduce myself, I’m John. I know it sounds like the beginning of the names of the twelve disciples. We were teased throughout grade school for our names. We come from a religious family so there goes our names. My mother Mary thought James and John would be easier to pronounce and Paul and Saul didn’t sit right with her. My father Peter Powers was the assistant youth pastor at the First Baptist church we attended. So, you can imagine we heard all types of sermons, etc. The one that most intrigue me and my brother were the ones about love. This is one of the many subjects we agreed on but at the same time we didn’t. We didn’t realize how far apart we were in our perspective on love until we were older. Love, itself is a word that’s hard to explain, James would say. I always said that love is just love and what’s hard about that. I love you; you love me. James’s argument stayed true, but what is love. While in college this was our monthly topic of discussion, especially whenever one of us got involved with a young lady. Whenever one of us got serious in a particular relationship with the young lady and the word love came up. James and I took many of the same classes. We however tried our best to take them on different days and at different times. Our friends thought we did that so not to confuse the professors, which was totally not true. We did that so we wouldn’t be confrontational with each other on certain subjects of which we may not have agreed. Because as I said though we were identical we didn’t always agree. James while in college had many relationships none lasting very long. He never got serious with any one girl like I would. One of my relationships lasted a whole two years. James longest was a semester. He felt especially as freshmen we shouldn’t get too serious too fast. He felt we had lots of time to find the right one. James ran from any girl that would use the L word, love. I felt he had a point to a degree. Myself, when a girl told me she loved me I’d say it right back, because I did. I loved them as a person. I wished them well and no ill would come to them etc. I felt like I did love them. Weil, James would get upset with me. On more than one occasion he’d tell me I did not love those girl and I should be ashamed for telling them that. I’d argue, “well what was I supposed to say, nothing. Oh, yeah, I’d do like you James, I’ll call them as soon as I got home from a date and break up with them with no decent explanation except that they said, I love you? James would say, “boy you don’t have the slightest idea what love is.” He might have been right. I don’t think I did in its truest sense. All I knew is that God loved me, Jesus loved me, James and my parents loved me. But did these girls love me. I would have like to think so. So, I made up in my mind the next girl that told me she loved me, I would ask her how she knew she loved me. There, I thought would be my quest to try and figure out James’s philosophy on love. Why did he feel it was hard to explain and why did he run from it? It wasn’t until years later that he shared it with me, and I better understood his stance on it. He later in life did get to the place where he would say I love you back. However, he would make it clear he was not in love with them. And of course, that would start an argument. The young lady could not understand that. To those who would take the time to listen to his explanation. They would learn that to James love was a sacred word and it wasn’t to be used lightly. He matured and wasn’t running away anymore as he did in college, he simply felt it necessary to make it clear. He shared with me the different types of love. His love for our family was different from his love for his wife. Yes, James finally married, and it was to Jerri Lee-Powers he was able to say, I’m in love with you. How he became so particular about love I don’t know, I guess it was all the sermons we heard and the psychology classes we took. He even once told me he never uses the word love when it came to inanimate objects. I asked him to explain that. What he said next blew me away. He said love is a sacrificial word. He continues and says like John 3:16 “For God so love the world He gave His only begotten son, that whosoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life.” God sacrificed His Son, His son Jesus sacrificed His life. Why? because they loved us. So, I don’t ever say I love something that cannot sacrifice for me. I was as I said blown away. That was deep, I thought but it made sense. So, I try my best to never say things like I love a particular food or car or whatever. He is a smart dude, good husband, father, son and brother. He’s the oldest but not by much, a couple of minutes or so. And I Love Him.