Wake Up... John K felt a furious breeze against his skin. “What is this,” he thought. “It's so cold.” The feeling was completely foreign. It was agony. Just a moment before this, John K thought of pure bliss, caressed in a complete vacuum. What changed? John loosened his tense muscles. Instantly he rolled onto his back. His arms and legs shot up vertically above his torso, shaping his body into a U shape. Something else was there. He felt encapsulated in it. The quick loss of bodily control caused John's eyes open. For the first time there was light. Blinding light. After a few moments, his eyes acclimated and he took his first view of the world. The colors, they are so vibrant. I've never seen so many blues before. The pallet of colors across the sky overwhelmed John and he began to tear up. I've never seen anything so marvelous, so vivid, and alive. John focused his gaze on the sharp divide between the heavenly blues and dark greens. He traced the spherical border between the two colors 360 degrees with his eyes. There was something about the green sphere. It looked stable. So substantial. Something within all the chaos that would feel warm. He reached out with his arms to hold the soft green orb but quickly realized it was too far away. Suddenly, John's mind was overcome with a ferocious roar. Alien noises invaded his brain. It sounded like a star being ripped apart. The death of a star screaming through the universe unwilling to let the vacuum re capture it without a fight. But there was no star. The sound came from inside his head. John's body convulsed in response to the disquieting noise. He grabbed his head with both hands but the noise would not go away. In the cold rush of sound, John's body flipped back over. He was looking straight down and saw nothing but green plots of land for miles on the gigantic sphere. The longer he looked, the closer the squares looked, and the quitter to noise sounded. “Focus,” John thought to himself. John thought as though he could look at the marvelously concentric fields for a lifetime, but in the breathless moments of staring down, John finally realized what was going on. He was falling through the sky. He closed his eyes. In hysterics, John shook his head violently back and forth trying to wake himself up. There's no way this is happening. It's impossible. He hit himself in an attempt to go back to the dream from which he came. Anywhere was better than this, he thought. "Wake up, wake up," he yelled to himself while punching his head. But deep within his mind he already knew there was no going back. This was his life. There is no more infinity. This was real, and the approaching ground was real. John K became fully conscious of his situation. Just take deep breathes and think. Look around. Is there anyone out there that can help me. I can't be alone. John shouted into the air, "Help me. Anybody, help me." There was no response. Even if there was one, due to the violent wind, John wouldn't have been able to hear it. He scanned the air high and low but saw no one. Johns stomach began to buckle as he found himself completely alone. It sent a creep through the spinal cord to his brain. The message was received. John's body quivered, and his skin began to sweat as vomit spewed from his mouth. His body was just as upset as his mind. The vomit spewed all over his face at terminal velocity speeds. The stench from the vomit was atrocious. How depressing. I'm plummeting through the sky and it still gets worse. What's next? John sensed he might have to throw up a second time, but there was nothing left in his stomach and instead he just gagged. It was followed by a nervous laughter. Time to regain composure. John wiped off his face and opened up his eyes. I'm need to find a way to survive this. He focused on the ground. It was still getting closer and closer. Think, what can I do? He felt along his chest looking for a parachute. Come on, where is it. Wait... what the hell. It didn't take John long to notice that there was no such back pack, or shirt. He felt lower and lower. John was completely naked. The severity of the situation was overwhelming. He thought about everything, but nothing in particular. No solid thought could help him out. Everything was too distorted to make sense. But his chaotic befuddlement was not an accident. It was a technique. John was in hysterics trying to think of anything that could keep the inevitable question from coming up in his mind. He knew what was going to happen, but did not want to admit it. Eventually, John could not distort his mind any longer. The torturous pain he was trying so hard repress final came out. Theres nothing to save me from hitting the ground. Soon, I will hit, explode into thousands of tiny pieces and die. John knew he was going to think it, but it still surprised him when he eventually thought it. He began to understand the seriousness of the situation. I've only got a few minutes left. The ground looks even closer now than before. He could see the divisions between one crop and another. A red dot showed up in his vision. John was in dismay over the fate at hand, but also possessed an odd comfort. A sense of accomplishment. It surprised John, but there was no denying it. It felt good to accept his fate. To not hide from the thought but rather embrace it. Admitting it removed the anxiety from denying the truth. But it still doesn't explain anything he thought. I want some answers. John peered into the infinite horizon and spoke to no one, "Why me? How the hell did I get here?" This was a marginally futile demand. Such perplexing questions have been asked by countless beings for centuries, and John wanted answers while falling through the sky. Why John? Why Anybody? Why anything? What is it that makes(allows?) someone become self-conscious? I must have upset a god. How else would I have ended up naked falling through the sky. An image rushed through his head of a god picking him up, observing with disgust and immediately tossing him over his shoulder. Like an insufferable infested rat on the land. What could I have done to make his so discussed with me? Did he even think about how I would feel? Did he wonder if maybe it was wrong? Focus John. What are you saying. In his short period of life, John saw nothing that would determine it was a magical being who was pulling the strings. There has to be an objective reason why I'm was falling. It has to have been an airplane. A perfectly reasonable explanation with no magic involved. But this only opened more questions. Why don't I remember anything that happened before? And why am I naked? Who would do this to me? The more he thought about it, the more holes he found in this argument. The more it sounded just as magical as a God throwing him away. While thinking about his situation, John was simultaneously adjusting to his environment. He became relatively talented at controlling his position through the air. No longer was it a conflict to stay in one position. Rather than just falling, John learned to steer himself. Through subtle changes in body position, he was able to turn left, right, and fly. A slight bend to the right and away he went. Turn left to get around this cloud. I don't want to fall through it and spoil the view. He could make out the rows of corn. The red dot gained definition. It was a house, that had children running around outside. He wasn't alone. The greater definition of ground features only made the inevitable crash more prevalent in John's mind. What will happen to me after I crash? I hope it only hurts for a second. John hoped there was no god, for if there was, he thought he'd be in for more suffering in the next life. No one that could care so little about me in this life would care about me more in the next. John pondered the bleak outlook he had upon death. What if it's a test? What if I have to suffer this death? If I take it in good spirits the next life will be easier. I'll be able to laugh at what I had to go through. John liked that answer more and decided that's what has to happen, but deep down he felt the true answer was different. He couldn't fool himself. This was just a nice dream. He was pretty certain that nothing would happen to him. He would fall and then the lights would go out again. No one will notice that he lived or that he died. I will vanish as fast as I came. As long as it was only a hope, John knew that he would never be settled with answers of the afterlife and would always worry if it really would be over when he hit. Time was running out fast, and nothing John could do would get him the answers he was looking for. What's the point? Why do I care so much? John closed his eyes. How good I had it when I was 15,000 feet higher. It feels like I had the world in my hands back then. A depression fell over John. I wasted all that time worrying about what was and will be that I forgot to think about what is. He finally noticed the beauty that surrounded him. The birds sailed along the air currents. The same currents that caused the trees to dance. With a deep breathe, he smelled the air. Life was meant for the present. John contorted his body to tumble around and take in all the sights. Why worry about what was? John felt a sense of freedom, one with his surroundings. Only with the acceptance of death can one take in the beauty of life. The same wind that blows the trees blows on me. I am a part of this world, and I effect it just as much as it effects me. The pain of death was numbed. It didn't matter anymore. All that mattered was the here and now. The red house was fast approaching. The fence was made of solid wood. It wrapped around the house to keep the families golden retriever from running away. The children were playing tag around the swing set in the backyard. John prepared for what would be his last moments. He bent to the right to make sure he would avoid the house and land alone in one of the fields. I hope those kids don't see what's about to happen. The time was here. Just a few seconds remained. John curled into a ball for protection from the impact. He knew full well it was not going to help but didn't want to go out without a fight. He closed his eyes and and with the last seconds left prayed to God for help. It took 5 minutes and 34 seconds for John K to hit the ground, but for John it felt like a lifetime.


A cool draft slips down my shirt making me shutter. The eerie feeling after its collapse made us stand there in silence. Lily, the tanker of our group, clenches an amulet and drops to her knees. Sobbing. Leo, the priest, begins tearing up and rubbing his eyes furiously trying to hide his tears from us. Lucas, the leader of our group, looks towards the sky and doesn’t move. He stands over the corpse and a couple of flies land on him, but this however, does not cause him to flinch in the slightest. He stares into the sky with an almost vacant, yet cheerful expression. As for me, I find a stable rock near the area and sit down, while wrapping bandages around my abdomen. I stare at everyone with a blank expression. No thoughts enter my mind as I take this chance and touch my temple. A status screen opens with all my skills appearing. Two new skills and the title “Savior” appear, but I close the window as Lily stands up and looks at us. “We did it,” she says in tears. “We finally killed God.” Night falls. Everyone is laughing and eating roasted meat. I try to laugh with the rest of my party, but there’s something unsettling eating at me. Like a centipede gnawing on a cockroach. I can’t hide it anymore as Lucas turns around and stares. Through the corner of my eye, I see Lucas leaning in for a closer look on my dumbfounded expression. “Well that’s a first. What’s wrong?” He asks with a puzzled look on his face as well. “Nothing in particular, there’s just... I don’t know. I can’t quite put my finger on it,” I reply. I feel everyone stare at me as anxiety begins to creep over their faces. Lily interjects, “What are you talking about! We just killed God over here and you’re just-” “I know. It’s just...” I take a long pause and hold my breath. “What now?” I reply. My hands gripping my staff, almost breaking it. The other members look at each other in confusion as silence consumes us. Lucas looks at me and tries to say something, but immediately closes his mouth and tightens his fist, raising both hands so that they are now covering his mouth. Lily caresses her amulet between her thumb and index finger while Leo begins to carve symbols on the dirt with his foot. “You’re right... What now?” Questions Leo, still looking down at his blood stained shoes. “We can try looking for survivors. I mean... who knows, maybe a couple of people were able to escape underground or... or maybe they weren’t touched by the hands.” Lucas states in a reluctant manner. Swallowing his pride and belief as he utters these sentences. “No. There’s no way anyone else could have survived. We were the strongest people out there, and we only just barely managed to survive his hands. And even then, it took us a couple of months to get back to full health and well... There was literally no one.” I state with a somber expression. I tilt my head up and notice a translucent gate stationed in our atmosphere. The gate itself spans almost the whole sky, yet the darkness of the night almost consumes it, but somehow, someway, it’s visible. What everyone thought was heaven at one point in time, ended up being everyone’s worst hell. The rest of the members look up too. Lily is the first to look back down. “I can’t believe it’s been eight months since the gates opened,” she states. She pushes her hair out of her face and tucks it behind her ear. A dark smudge is left on the top of her ear as her dirty finger grazed it. A cool wind envelops us which would have left us shivering if not for the fire that I created at the start of this. Some embers jump out of the fire, reminiscent of the great jump. A mass suicide where thousands of self-immolations and jumps occurred at the same time. Lucas and Leo are still staring into the night sky with blank expressions, while Lily is staring at the flame, lost in thought. I take a deep breath and resolve myself. “I have a couple of ideas if you want to hear them?” I state in a confident manner as to not worry them. Everyone is now staring at me as they begin to nod one by one. “We can travel the country and look for survivors, but I’m pretty sure we all know how that’s going to end, or we...” I hesitate to finish my words. “Or we can all go to sleep.” They look at each other in befuddlement until Lucas speaks up, “Sleep? I don’t understand, we’ll just wake up the very next day and be in the same situation as today. What does holding off our decision for the next day even accomplish?” Leo grabs his shoulder gently and shakes his head and softly says, “Suicide.” I look at Lucas as his eyes widen at the mere mention of the word suicide, but I swiftly interject. “Actually, it’s more of a spell. One that I never showed anyone because of how inhumane it is.” “What's the spell?” Asks Lily. “It’s sort of a sleep spell that makes you forget who you are and gives you an illusion of my choosing. You’ll be in a state bordering death, but in a state of paralysis,” I reply almost immediately. “How's it inhumane though?” Questions Leo after a couple of seconds of silence. “You don’t age when you’re asleep, neither do you need food or drinks to keep you alive. I can make you live the worst day of your life or your happiest.” One of my fingers begins to glow as I clench my fist, and the light disappears. “Not only that, but a person under my sleep spell can never wake up unless I undo it, and the only way to break the spell is with my death.” Everyone looks at each other in morbid curiosity, but I notice their faces light up ever so slightly. Lucas even smirks a little bit. “And how will the dream work?” Asks Lily. “I could either let you live day by day within a happier world. No hands of god, no death, no fear. Only you and whatever you want. Or, you can choose your happiest moment in life and keep reliving it.” I reply swiftly. “But won’t we get tired of repeating the same dream over and over again?” Leo asks. I shake my head slowly and say, “You’ll live your happiest moment, and by the end of the day, you’ll forget everything that happened and go back to the beginning of that same day. You’ll be stuck in that same loop without even realizing it.” “I’m in,” says Lucas as he looks over to Leo and Lily. “I mean think about it guys, we can wander around the country, trying to survive, or we can live happily without a care in the world. We’re all in our mid forties already. We’ll slowly begin to lose our power over time and eventually die due to some heart attack.” “Do you think you can give me a minute? I need to think about it for a second,” replies Leo. “I’m in” says Lily as she stands up still holding onto the amulet around her neck. She opens it up and stares deeply into it. I look over to Leo, “I’m planning to put myself to sleep right after everyone, and once I do, that’s that. You’ll be stuck living by yourself for the rest of your life. Do you really want to go through that?” Leo lets out a heavy sigh, “I guess I got no choice,” he says while rubbing his bald head. “Do you mind if I go first then?” Everyone shakes their head. “Not at all,” I reply. “Lay out your blanket on the ground and lay down.” Leo opens his backpack and unravels a brown, torn up blanket and extends it on the ground. It’s not entirely unfolded however, as wrinkles and clumps are visible even in the small bit of light that we have. This doesn’t matter to him however, as he lays down. His ankles are peeking out and resting on the dirt, instead of the blanket. I approach him and get on my knees. The tip of my finger begins to light up. “Give me about two minutes,” I state. We all sit there in silence as my party members are observing me. “So,” I say softly, trying to break the silence. “What do you want to be when you’re in the dream?” “I want to stay a priest,” he replies. Lucas speaks up from behind me, “Are you sure about that?” “Yeah, we literally dedicated so much of our time trying to kill God and you just want to return back to being an ignorant priest!?” She replies in a cold, yet heated manner. “I want to go back to being a priest, not because I want to be ignorant or can’t handle the truth, but rather, I want to see my village again. I want to see Petra helping out the homeless again, I want to taste Madam Oakley’s food once again, I want to see everyone from my village once again. They meant the world to me and... If I can see them one more time, then, I don’t care if I’m a priest,” replies Leo. “You know, I can give you all that and not make you a priest.” “No. It’s fine. This is a sin I have to bear,” he replies. “Thank you so much for everything. I really love you guys.” Tears roll down his smiling face as my finger touches his forehead. The light makes everyone, but myself squint as the light only grows brighter. He slowly closes his eyes and says, “Thank you so much... Lu-” He falls asleep. I close my eyes with him only to be standing in front of a large fountain. There are several pennies lying at the bottom as more people throw in coins. Leo passes me, but doesn’t recognize me as his attention is on an elderly woman. He’s holding three bags of food and looking directly at her as they talk. A young boy runs to him and extends his arms out in a hugging position. Leo hands the child a bag as they walk into the distance. I stand up and rub my wrist out of view from everyone. I turn to them with a forced smile on my face and ask, “So, who’s next?” They both look at each other and eventually Lily raises her hand slowly. “Sorry Lucas. Looks like I’m going on ahead,” Lily says. “It’s fine. As the leader, I need to watch you guys off don’t I?” He says with a smile on his face. Lily grabs a blanket and neatly places it onto the ground a couple of feet away from Leo. She stares at him and smiles. After placing the blanket down she stands up and hugs Lucas tightly. She lets go and then hugs me. “Thanks. You’re the best,” she says with a smile on her face. She quickly lays down and as I’m kneeling next to her, she takes out her amulet and opens it. She stares at it for the longest time and eventually closes it as she sees my finger light up. “Can you set me back to when I was sixteen,” She asks, “I want to make everything right this time at an early age. I want to spend more time with all my brothers and sisters.” “Of course.” My finger lights up as I slowly set it onto her forehead. “I’m finally going to be able to see my brothers and sister again! I-” she says, choking on her own words. “I really miss them.” She grabs a hold of my finger just before I’m about to touch her forehead. “I long since wanted to hold their hands again, eat with them, play with them.” She says with tears flooding out. “I- I- I wasn’t always the best sister to them. In fact, I had no idea where they were being sold to and because of that...” She bites her lips. “If only I had known... Thank you! Now my last memory of them won’t be just me holding their corpses. Really... Thank you so much!” I touch her forehead and the light engulfs us for a brief second. She calms down and smiles. Her eyes slowly shut as her tears began to dry. I close my eyes as well. A run down orphanage is seen in a field of flowers. Lily is in the center of about ten children. All of them ranging from ages five to thirteen. Some of them are holding hands and running around in circles, while others are sitting on a bench. Everyone with smiles on their faces. She stands up and all the kids scatter as she begins chasing them down one by one. Even the children who were sitting on the bench stand up and hide. With the older kids she tags them almost immediately, but feigns ignorance when it comes to the younger children. A little girl runs up to me and says, “You’re not going to play with us mister?” I shake my head and crouch down. “I’m only here visiting. You should go back and hide before Lily finds you,” I say. “Okay!” She replies swiftly and begins to run back to the orphanage. “Hey!” I call out to the little girl, not realizing what I had just done. She stops and turns around. “Tell Lily I said thank you for everything. Tell her... Tell her I love her. I wish I could have told her sooner, but I didn’t want to distract us.” The little girl smiles. “Ok!” She turns around and runs towards Lily who scoops her up into her arms. She taps her shoulder and points to me while relaying the message to her. Lily blushes and looks over to me who smiles and waves. She places the little girl down and looks up, only to see nothing but trees and flowers. I open my eyes and see Lily sleeping soundly next to Leo. Lucas has his blanket set down next to hers, but with a large gap in between for my blanket. He is sitting directly in front of the fire as he looks over to me and says, “I guess it’s my turn next huh?” I nod. “You know, as the leader of the group, I always wanted to look after everyone. I held myself responsible if any of you got injured,” he says. Lucas stands up and slowly walks over to his blanket where he sits down and looks over at me. “You’re not gonna set up your blanket? I even left you that space next to Lily.” “Was it that obvious?” I ask. He shakes his head. “You said love when you had your eyes closed. I just connected the dots from there,” he says. I chuckle a bit. “I’ll do it after you fall asleep,” I answer, while trying to avoid eye contact. “Sure. Whatever makes you happy,” he replies. He lays down with his hands behind his head and looks at the night sky with the translucent gate. “You know,” he says, “I’ve lived a terrible life even before the hands of God came... I drank everyday and caused my wife so much pain. Once my son came into the picture however, everything changed. I sobered up for a couple of years and dedicated my time training him into the next master swordsman... A little too much,” he says with sadness slowly creeping over his face. “I took him for granted and forced him to train everyday. He hated fighting though, and would rather spend his time reading a book under a nice tree. He had no talent for fighting, but deep down, I wanted to believe it was there. Deep down, I wanted to believe he was going to become a better me. I mean, he was my son after all. Tears roll down his face as a small whimper escapes him. “I gave up on him! I went back to drinking, and beat him almost everyday! I didn’t know how much I loved them until they were gone and I- I was...” I place my finger onto his forehead and say, “I know.” He wipes his tears. “Thanks Lucky” he replies. Lucas smiles as I close my eyes along with his. I’m standing under a tree with a makeshift wooden swing hanging from it. The smell of lavender and roses is the first thing I notice however as rows of lavender and different colored roses are lined up on the outside of their crops, sort of as a decoration. There’s a small, humble house in the distance as Lucas is carrying his son in his arms. Lucas’s wife comes out of the living room and begins to play with them. They all have the biggest smiles imaginable as their son laughs. Lucas turns to me and signals for me to come on inside. He continues to wave his hand until I shake my head. He hands the baby over to his wife and I lose sight of him for a moment as he steps behind the door to open it. Once open however, only flowers remain as he looks around searching for me. I stand up and look over at everyone’s sleeping faces. The fire is almost out as the last bit of the flame dances violently. Resisting the wind. I sit down in front of a rock and my finger begins to glow. I press it to my forehead and close my eyes... Nothing. I open my eyes and stop the glow from my finger. I take a deep breath and curl up into a ball. I stare at the happy faces of my former party as the fire slowly dies down. My savior, my love, and my best friend. “I hate you guys.” I mumble. The flame dies out as I curl up even more into a ball. My head is pressed into my lap to stop my tears from coming out, but it doesn’t work. A chill runs down my back as the heat from fire is no longer there to keep me warm. I should have stayed quiet, I think.. I tap my temple and a list of skills appear. Under the “New Skills” tab I see “Magic nullification” and “Immortality”. “I hate you guys.


Everyday he opens me, digging through my insides, searching for something to appease him. I’ve seen nobody else with the privilege to do it. Just him. I feel like that creates a bond between us. When only he is in the house, I don’t see him as often as when there’s company here. I look forward to company, I’ve come to love those days. That’s when his hands are inside me the most. Digging, pushing, re-arranging my interior goods like he’s tickling me. I must admit, we’ve been together a long time and I care about him as much as he cares about me. That’s why I get so concerned about him when he’s alone. He doesn’t like to be alone. When he has no one to cook for. No reason for his hand to embrace my handle and pull my door open, peeking at my insides once again. He doesn’t care to cook for himself, though I think he should. Oh! Where are my manners? I should take this opportunity to introduce myself. I’m Electric General and my owner is Ralph. Ralph’s a great guy. He has a happy heart and a smile that could move mountains. He’s more than ready to do anything for anybody. And to feed others? He would do at the drop of a hat. I’ve seen him give away his last meal just so someone doesn’t go hungry. Since he lost his job though, he has a fog of melancholy seeping around him that weighs down that heart and smile. It’s been getting worse as the days go on. And truthfully, it started before he lost his job. He worked hard everyday but lacked a partner to spend his free time with. That was upsetting to him. Then losing his job made the fog grow thicker. I’d see him sitting at the kitchen table, on the phone, or computer looking for work. He’d stick reminders on me with those magnets I like. But he had no luck so far. Then, to make matters worse, our house got broken into and his wallet, keys, including the car was stolen. The cat crawling silent ninjas even managed to find his shoebox of rainy day money. Ralph cursed those pills he recently started taking for depression. They made him sleep so soundly he never even stirred while his house got cleaned out. Those criminals even had the audacity to handle my doors and open me up like they owned me! They rummaged through food on shelves and violating me even further, opening drawers as well. It had my Freon boiling. Those no good robbers even took some food right out of my body! I was upset, but my buddy Ralph, he took it real hard. He was talking to himself and saying how not only is he broke now but he’s still alone. Just to make the hard knocks worse. I think about him going through the days so lonely without a girlfriend or even a friend for that matter. I worried about him to the point where I blew my bulb! His deep depression was wearing off on me and I was dark for days. While I was wondering in dark despair if my bulb would ever get changed again, he was wondering if he’d ever meet someone who he could cook for. He reached the end and Ralph seemed broken now. He needed food and his means of buying some was gone. He was all alone, hungry, sick and just wishing he had food in me. I was tired of being empty too. When he had people over on the rare occasion, he would open and close me so much, my hinges loved the workout. These were days when he’d smile and laugh like he hadn’t a care in the world. When he’s creating some culinary temptation for others at the job side of the stove, it brings him such uplifting happiness. Whomever enters this home will get an amazing dish to eat, that’s for sure. But he was alone and so tired of his life he wanted to end it all. I’ve even heard him crying and that really shook my shelves! I wished I could make him happy. I couldn’t take watching him go on like this. I did the only thing I could think of to help. One of the papers he had under a magnet on my beautiful face was for a support group. I hadn’t seen him use it yet so I did what I could to shake it loose and have that paper fall on the floor in front of me. Imagine my relief when it worked. He picked up that paper and made the phone call. He went to his first support meeting that night. It turned out great. He met a few people who were going through what he was going through, and it really helped him see a light at the end of the tunnel. To top it off, the group was having its big annual members meeting next week and needed a caterer. Of course, Ralph jumped at the opportunity. I was feeling great, Ralph finally changed my bulb and with the commission for the catering, filled me full of food he would process into culinary delights. As far as how Ralph felt, well, things were finally looking up. This was the perfect opportunity for him to feel useful again and needed. He was going to cook! And for so many people. He would make this feast a memorable one. At the meeting, everyone was going wild over Ralph’s cooking. He had taken the time to ensure all members palettes were covered. Carefully making notes about allergies and general likes and dislikes had paid off. Everyone was so pleased. Especially Ralph! It just so happened that a girl at the meeting pointed out a chef in the crowd to Ralph. Her name was Susan and she said he would be a good person to get to know. Holding a plate, he repeats the question he’s been asking everybody all night, “Would you like something to eat?” He gave a plate to a man named Norman Rose, who worked for an exclusive restaurant downtown. This man had been attending the group for years and wondered if he could help Ralph in any way. He thought the food was so delicious, he asked if Ralph would come on an interview with him. Norman owned a few restaurants downtown and one had an opening for a chef. The man wanted to do what he could to give Ralph a chance. He just hoped he wasn’t making a mistake. For the second time that month Ralph got to cook for someone! And this time it could land him a job that he so desperately needed. I loved the way my hinges were getting a workout from being used so often again. Ralph practiced some of his most challenging dishes to find just the right one for his interview. I was in bliss with all the poking and prodding he was doing with my insides. With no surprise from me, he got the job! The last thing he packed were my insides to sufficiently keep everything temperature locked. There were so many bags and boxes to take with us to our new place in the city. This would be an adventure, I thought. Ralph had to move himself closer to the city for his new job as Head Chef at Chez Louie’s. Right in the middle of the thumping downtown core. He was so happy now. He couldn’t believe he ever wanted to kill himself. Things were so good now. Especially since Ralph met Susan. Finally, he wasn’t alone. Time could do some amazing things. Ralph and Susan decided to move in together. She already had a spacious apartment in the city close to his job, so he would move right in with her. But he wasn’t going anywhere without me. I’m a state-of-the-art machine. A well-oiled machine. I was expensive and besides, I was his first. That’s right, I was the first appliance Ralph had purchased as his grown up self had needed one. I had the best heating and cooling system this side of the state line. The chef that lived alive and beating in Ralph would never let me go. Besides, we had a bond. I did such a good job for him. Making sure the food was cold and fresh so he could cook such good food to serve his friends, his company. He slid the dolly under me with an awkward squeak and Ralph’s hands slid on the blue arms of the dolly I was being snugly and squarely affixed to. Gravity was thick with an object like myself when it came to falling off a dolly. We certainly didn’t want that to happen. So there I was, snug, square, and secure on the carrier seat of this dolly where the corner edges had sharpened to a paper cut of an edge. The blue paint had worn off the bottom of the dolly so that it showcased the stainless steel housed underneath. It shone and flickered in the midday sun. Ralph set about moving me to my new home. To my surprise, the new apartment already had a fridge. I wonder what Susan’s fridge is like. Is it a lady fridge and if so, what’s her make and model? As he was pivot spinning me into my new space in the new kitchen we touched handles, and I almost blew my door gasket. I asked her what she had inside her. She giggled again and said “Maybe you, if you play your cards right, cutie.” “Oh really? What’s your name sweetie?” “I’m Jenmore. What about you?” “I’m Electric General.” “Well, that name suits a handsome stocky fridge, such as yourself. I salute you Sir!” I couldn’t help but brag about what was in my own belly. I started in on a real nice story about the food inside me and how we escaped a dire situation of depression and loneliness. I bragged about Ralph and how he defeated all the odds stacked against him. “He’s a genius with food and he just got a new job as a chef in a fancy restaurant. He’s got such a huge heart and he shows how much he cares through his cooking. Now I always have leftovers of the most expensive foods. Oysters are always present on my shelves.” I HAD to boast about that. “Not to mention truffles!” Jenmore chimed in, “Ok, enough now you braggart or I’ll take back my handsome remark. I just met you; you don’t want to make my evaporator coils freeze already, do you?” “No ma’am, my heat radiator fans are hot for you!” “Well in that case, its my turn to brag to you. I’m a Smart Fridge so I know some of that fancy food your owner loves to feed people will end up over here relaxing inside me. After all, my control panel can detect best before use AND store data of items inside me like his delicious meals. Believe me, I will keep those oysters in temperature regulated luxury.” “Oh, so you’re a fancy fridge, are you? No wonder you’ve got my compressor turning up my heat.” Jenmore giggled again. “I’m fancy enough to store your fancy food, Sir Electric General.” One more giggle. “Well Madame Jenmore, I think our makes and models will get along just fine. Living with you shall be a pleasure. And that it was. Ralph was happy all the time feeding others and spending time with Susan. As for Jenmore and Electric General, once the lights were out, they would coil up together for the night. 😉


The whirring of ship alarms broke her unconsciousness. Red lights pulsed in front of her eyes as she struggled to get a grip on her surroundings. “.....well at least I’m alive.” she murmured, pausing to glance around the room. She lay slumped in the corner of the emergency landing room, her whole safety harness had been torn from the wall in the crash, leaving her strapped to a shell of metal on the polished floor. “Alex,” she called. “Alex are you ok?......Amir...are you there?” No response. She pried open the locking straps on the safety shell and tried to push herself to her feet. “Shit!” a sharp pain forced her gaze down where she saw a large cut down her thigh, “maybe I’m not as lucky as I thought.” Blood was slowly flowing down her leg but the cut didn’t seem fatal at least, just incredibly painful. She limped to the two harnesses next to where her own had been bolted. The wall had caved down one side, it must have split her harness from its original position. “Explains why I was on the damn floor”. Her two companions did not seem to be harmed. She slapped Alex lightly on the face and tapped Amir on the head. “Come one....wake up....we’ve got to get out of here....WAKE UP!” “What the......ahh” Alex’s head rose from his chest.. Amir opened his eyes and glanced anxiously around the room. “We’ve gotta get out of here...the ship is unstable and we don’t know if we’ve been followed to the surface.” “Just give us a minute Ria..” murmured Alex. She began releasing the safety strap on his harness. “C’mon we really need to go.” Free from the harness, Alex strode the nearby medkit and removed a couple of painkillers and gulped them down. “My head is killing me..” He offered the pack to the others, Ria snatched them, downed a few and removed a bandage from the packing. “Hope this keeps me together till we get out of here,” she winced as she tightened the bandage around her leg, compressing the oozing laceration. “Ok let’s go.” she limped to the door control, her companions following closely behind. “We’ve got to get off this planet before they find us, we should be able to launch one of the scout vessels if we can get to the hanger.....and there are any left intact”.  Explosions on the ship had left the route to the hanger open to vacuum, they’d had no choice but to strap themselves in and endure the crash of their kilometre long cruiser. They’d collided with the planet’s surface, more ships were falling around them as the space battle continued.  “Run! C’mon down the hall now!” she yelled. Punctures appeared in the door from the direction they had ran. Obviously some of the enemy boarding crew had survived the crash too. She ran with a limp to the next door, waiting for the other two to pass through before closing and locking it behind her. She caught a glimpse of their pursuer just as it broke through: a soldier, covered in armour, it tore through the metal with an energy blade. They were biomechs, engineered for strength and speed. They had to find a weapon....fast.


“There’s Always a Cassandra” by Elizabeth Fenley He always apologizes, the Babadook whose name he told me is Ensos, for bringing me the dreams. I ask why he has to bring the dreams at all--and why bring them to me? He says solemnly, “You are now the Cassandra. There must always be one.” He stares at me with vacant eye sockets, his skeletal face stretched tight with thin-sheeted rubbery pale skin. His black top hat, worn, crumpled, dusty though it is, gives him an air of dignity, of reserved poise, even grace. When his long skinless boned fingers stretch to remove the hat, the nightmare begins. I write them down when I wake up from them--sweating, panicked--in the middle of the night or by the screech of my unforgiving alarm clock. I’ve heard anyone with especially vivid dreams should keep a dream journal, and then you could look back at your dreams and decipher the symbolism found in them. Only my dreams aren’t symbolic. They are foretellings. The people are real, the events are real. The neighbor’s mother fell on the icy front steps of the house while I was having a snowball fight with my boyfriend. The ambulance took her away. Patrick couldn’t understand why I was so upset. I pulled him inside, shaking off snow and ice. I showed him the entry in the journal from two nights before. It was identical. I remember the image. Watching it happen in real life was like déjà vu; if I hadn’t written it down, I would have shaken it off as a brain malfunction--short term memory accidentally rerouted to long term memory. Patrick read it, skimmed it really, and then looked up at me shaking his head. “It’s just a coincidence. You knew there would be snow. You must have heard your neighbor telling your mom about the visit.” “No, I didn’t, she didn’t---” “This says she died in your dream. She didn’t die. So it’s nothing. Just your subconscious processing shit you haven’t gotten around to. Nothing to worry about. Did I tell you about that time I dreamed....” He told me about his weirdest dreams and a few nightmares from his childhood, mostly about monsters, snakes in his bed, getting trapped in a closet full of spiders, while we sat by the fire drinking hot chocolate. I listened, dropping little marshmallows in and stirring them around, watching them congeal and melt, sipping the froth off the top and then adding more. The next morning, my dad told me Mrs. Matresse’s mother died before they got to the hospital. We all signed a card for the flowers my mother took over with the turkey tetrazzini. I texted Patrick when I heard, but he told me not to “be all caught up in the dream.” My own boyfriend wouldn’t even try to believe me. I didn’t tell anyone else. After the fifth dream about someone dying, I asked Ensos why all the dreams were about death. “I am Babadook, bone built of grief. Death is my companion. I am Her messenger.” “Do you take death nightmares to other people? Or just me?” He stood silently for a moment. He was always careful in developing his words. “There is only one Cassandra for each time, each plane of existence.” “Plane of existence? What are you---” “I have visited others for millennia. Now, I bring you The Sight. There have been many before, as there will be many after.” “After what? After I die? What happened to the last one?” Empty bone somehow conveyed his sadness. “The last dream I will bring you will be of your own death. When it is time.” He removed his hat, placing it somberly across his chest as he faded, and the next nightmare began. A family of five killed in a car accident on any icy bridge driving home from Thanksgiving dinner. Again, I showed Patrick the dream journal entry from two days before Thanksgiving and the story on the news website to match. He accused me of writing the story down after it happened. “You’re calling me a liar? I’m telling you these horrible things I dream about, and then I walk around just waiting for them to happen. Can you imagine how that feels? To know somebody’s going to die, and you’re the only one who knows, but there’s nothing you can do about it? Why the hell would I make that up?” “God, dramatic much?” “You think I’m doing this for attention? For sympathy?” “Either that or you’re killing them yourself and this is some kind of insanity defense,” he replied with a stupid grin on his face--one I almost slapped out of existence. “Or maybe I’m just crazy! Maybe that’s it.” “Listen, Alexandra--” He reached out to grab my hand, but I flung his hand away. “No. I won’t listen to you. You don’t believe me. My own boyfriend won’t even fucking believe me. You know what? Fuck you then.” Patrick spread his hands, as if to say “See?” “Get out. Now.” He stood up, dropping my journal on my bed. “Major. Drama. Queen.” “Whatever. Just leave.” That night, Ensos brought me a dream of a school shooting. Sixteen students, four teachers, and the principal killed. Twenty others injured. When I woke, I spent an hour throwing up. I didn’t bother checking to see that it was true. December was full of fires from faulty Christmas lights and one about a candle from a Menorah. The week before Christmas, armed robberies of shoppers putting newly-purchased gifts in their cars and families killed in their homes for the presents under their trees. On Christmas Eve, a man who had lost his job killed his entire family and then himself rather than face a joyless, giftless Christmas. Seven kids, his wife, and her elderly mother. After that I stopped keeping the journal. When an unknown respiratory virus killed a dozen babies in the NICU, I burned it. I asked Ensos to stop apologizing, to just skip right into the dream. He did not speak, simply lowered his hat and his head. My parents took me to doctors and therapists when I stopped sleeping. I thought if I didn’t dream, it wouldn’t happen. After a few nights, I fell asleep on the couch--even though I’d used up every K-cup of coffee. The doctors found nothing wrong with me--underweight, exhausted, stressed. They suggested melatonin, yoga, guided sleep meditation, and ironically, journaling. And they all referred me to a therapist. I didn’t tell the therapists, of course, about Ensos or the dreams or the journal. I made up things, exaggerated about school stress and breaking up with Patrick. Otherwise, I would end up in some mental hospital on Lithium and sleeping pills. I dropped out of college my junior year after I dreamed about a suicide on our campus. I worked as a waitress, took shifts in retail during holiday seasons. My parents were disappointed in my failure “to reach my potential” and wanted me to go back into therapy, but they couldn’t make me. I avoided serious relationships, never spent the night. I had acquaintances at work, but no real friends. I couldn’t go through the questions, and I wouldn’t chance telling anyone again--not after Patrick. The night before I turned thirty, Ensos spoke. “This will be the last.” I cried through the whole dream. Relief. It was someone else’s turn to be Cassandra.


“It doesn’t count if you’re already planning your defeat.” mocked Mandy with a tone of dominance in her proud voice. “We’ll see about that, considering my bestie has true talent unlike you.” Samara said, defending Chloe. “Oh really ... ha ha ha! All the worst to you.” Mandy muttered as she walked away with her snobby friends. “Aaaaah. I hate her.” low-screamed Chloe as she threw dirty looks at Mandy. “I can’t let her take my role this time.” “It’s fine, I know you can do it.” said Samara encouragingly. “Oh my goodness, only half an hour left, I’m so freaking out for this audition!” exclaimed Chloe. “Is my hair alright? What about my makeup? Is it perfect? Wait, how’s my costume?” “You seriously need to stop worrying too much Chloe. This is not the most important thing, it’s just a play and I’m sure you’ll get the role” said Samara, seeing her friend get overdramatic. “Just a play huh? That’s how you term a determined fight against Mandy, the worst beauty-queen ever! It’s my firm decision to beat Mandy and get the role of Princess Eliza and I so very hope she, a.k.a Mandy gets the role of the pauper girl, but yet again, that too would be a huge disgrace for me letting her act in the play I’ll be starring. Well, since I’m known to be super-sweet, I might as well give her the role-” started blabbering Chloe non-stop. “You know what, ju-just keep worrying. But never open your mouth again.” sighed Samara as she said this. “Fine.” sulked Chloe and started rehearsing again. “Miss Hilton, your audition starts in a couple of minutes, head to the backstage.” announced Professor Daniel in his usual French accent. “Chloe, you have to go now, everything is perfect. Good luck!” said Samara. “Merci.” said Chloe gracefully, “That’s how I’ll end my lines.” Samara replied “Great!”. “Oh no, it’s alright.” panted Chloe, her heart beating fast every step she took towards the stage. “You may begin your audition, Miss Hilton.” said Professor Daniel. “Laissez-la passer les portes ... échangeons des vies ... la vie est vraiment dure ici ...” she was doing the audition great. Samara was proud of her friend. She quickly glanced around to check whether Mandy was enjoying this too. There she was, at the far end of the auditorium, with fierce jealousy in her eyes. Samara couldn’t resist a chuckle. A minute later, Mandy wasn’t there. “Odd.” thought Samara. But there was something more than ‘odd’ going on. She roamed the whole auditorium trying to spot Mandy, probably planning something to ruin the perfect audition. Even though this feared Samara, she was overjoyed to see Chloe concluding her audition gracefully as she’d commenced, “La pauvreté doit être bannie du pays ... merci.” Chloe bowed elegantly and walked down the stage with her cheeks flushing with color as Samara flung her arms around her and hugged her. “You rocked Chloe. I distinctively saw Professor Daniel pleased with your performance.” said Samara, smiling. “I think so too. Seeing Mandy so furious gave me the spirit.” confessed Chloe. “Speaking of Mandy, where is she anyway?” asked Chloe looking around. “Dunno. Saw her, and then after a minute or so she disappeared. I was worried she’d ruin your audition.” explained Samara. “Well, she can’t be gone for long ‘cause her audition starts right after mine.” said Chloe thoughtfully. “Wanna go get some ice cream?” suggested Samara. “D’love to.” said Chloe with a grin as they went towards the lifts. “Chloe, you were spectacular on the stage.” complimented Harry, their close friend, who’d been waiting for the lift to arrive. “Thank you!” blushed Chloe as she said this, “Are you coming with us to get some ice cream?”. “I’m ‘fraid I can’t, I’ve got soccer practice.” “Oh right. We too are in a hurry. We wanna see how Mandy performs.” replied Samara. “Oh, she?” asked Harry. “Yup.” said Chloe “She.” The lift arrived and the three got in, fully aware only the school staff were permitted to use them. They reached the ground floor and parted ways. “See you later girls!” Harry said as he ruffled his untidy, black hair. Samara and Chloe waved and were soon found walking back to the lifts with their almost-finished ice cream cones. They were astonished to see, not even a single soul was in the auditorium except the janitor. “Hey, where is everybody ?” asked Chloe as she scanned the place for Professor Daniel. Samara, followed by Chloe, walked up to the janitor and asked, “Excuse me ma’am, but do you know where everyone is?” “Some purposeful accident there-” started saying the janitor pointing towards the nearest lobby, but abruptly stopped when she noticed the name ‘Chloe’ on Chloe’s identity card. “You Chloe?” asked the janitor with a clearly not-so-pleased expression. “People are waiting for you there ...” saying this, she continued to mop the floor. “Oh me?” replied Chloe wondering what on earth the janitor was talking about. Both of them sprinted towards the lobby to see a huge crowd gathered around a girl who was now, made to sit on a chair. Her frantically bleeding head and badly bruised arms were being bandaged insecurely by one of her snobby friends. Samara was astounded to identify the girl on the chair. She nudged Chloe as she gasped in horror recognizing the familiar black eyes and blonde hair. “MANDY!” she shrieked. “Ah, here comes our innocent assailant.” they heard Professor Daniel say, eyeing Chloe accusingly. “Professor me? B..but I-” started Chloe but was interrupted by Professor Daniel’s words, “Now, now. Don’t try to cover up Miss Hilton. It’s very best if you confess your wrongdoing, er ... right now and right here.” “But she has done nothing wrong to confess Professor.” said Samara fiercely. “Oh, are you her accomplice then, Miss Rodrigues?” interrogated Professor Daniel in his usual French accent. “Professor, we truly do not know what you’re talking about.” said Samara, this time even more confidently. Professor Daniel got up from his armchair and asked loudly yet patiently, “Then who else should I be blaming for this young girl’s tragedy of being pushed down from the stairs.” “Stairs?” asked Samara unsure. Professor Daniel turned his head towards Mandy and spoke “Dear, let’s have it all explained one more time so that these innocent-acting girls become fully guilty of their own deeds.” “Very well Professor.” said Mandy with colorless, clear liquid filled in her eyes. “I was rehearsing my play when I suddenly remembered that I had left one of my props in my classroom which was on the second floor. I was walking briskly to the stairs when I saw Chloe following me. I asked her if her audition was over and she said it just got over ... and, and the next thing I knew was kneeling on the stairs with blood all over my head and hands.” sobbed Mandy. “You liarrrrr!” screamed Chloe with utmost hatred towards Mandy. “Is there anything you girls have to say now?” asked Professor Daniel. Moments of awkward silence filled the atmosphere and Professor Daniel begins to speak again “Well, since you-”. His words were cut off by Samara’s, “Yes, Professor, I certainly have a few things to say.” Professor Daniel looked confused and so did Chloe, Mandy and the others who were around. Chloe nudged Samara but she just nodded as though meaning to say, ‘I know what I’m doing’. Samara was in a dilemma. She had to help her friend out of this fake accusation. But that would mean admitting one of their flaws. Anyway, she decided to go for it. “You see Professor,” began Samara with fierce confidence in her voice, “as soon as Chloe’s audition got over, we went down to the school cafeteria, through the el....elevators.”. She paused to analyze the professor’s reaction; she was merely surprised to see him nodding eagerly to know what happened next. “Er..yeah as I was saying, we went down to the cafeteria and in the same way came up to the auditorium through the elevators to find no one but the janitor here.” She finished the sentence quickly as though not to highlight ‘elevators’. “And what makes you think I would believe these events, Miss Rodrigues?” asked Professor Daniel questioningly in his usual French accent. “A witness.” came the quick-witted reply. It was now Chloe realized what her friend was actually doing. She glanced at Mandy to see her slightly taken aback with this news. “Who is the witness?” demanded Professor Daniel. “If you would accompany me to the school ground, I might as well be able to justify myself.” Samara answered relentlessly. “Well, take me there.” said the professor. “Er ... professor, may I come too?” asked Mandy clumsily. “No dear, I think it’s high time you should rest.” said the confused professor. Chloe and Samara led the professor to the school ground where the soccer team was practicing. Once they got there, Samara yelled “HARRY” and a figure with ruffled, untidy black hair froze on the ground and came running towards them,“Hi Samara. Hey Chloe. Good morning Professor Daniel.” “Well, I have a few things to clear so would you mind telling me a little bit of truth ...” said Professor Daniel. “Er...truth... yeah.. I won’t mind at all” replied Harry perplexed. “Good.” muttered the professor. “Now, is it true that these girls came down to the cafeteria through the elevators at around twenty minutes ago?” questioned Professor Daniel in his usual French accent. “Tell the truth Harry.” whispered Chloe. “We’re sorry professor, it is true we three, came down through the elevators and it was only because we were in a hurry. Professor, we are extremely sorry. See professor, I had soccer practice and well I decided to use the lift and met Samara and Chloe. Chloe had just finished her audition and needless to say, it was amazing ...and we apologize great ...” he did not seem to end his apologies. “Well, I’m sorry I doubted you girls.” said Professor Daniel smiling, “I still do wonder, how Mandy, would’ve got blood over her-” “Hahahahaahha ... Professor, I’m sorry to interfere but I saw her taking red liquid from her bag.” said Harry smirking. “Well, I surely need to get my spectacles changes, don’t I girls?” They all burst into a fit of laughter as they walked back to the auditorium deciding what punishment Mandy deserved. “I think you ought to give her detention professor.” suggested Samara. “Or maybe give Chloe the role of Princess Eliza sir.” Chloe blushed and Professor Daniel said “Maybe.” in his usual French accent, this time with a warm smile.


THE SUN SETS ON THE MEADOW I have been working in the Brothers Grimm and Associates architectural firm for almost twenty years. I have always been involved in the renovation , or refurbishment of bathrooms and kitchens. Never in all these years I have been asked to design a building. And when I say a building I don’t mean a public work (one), not a condominium or even a villa. No, I mean a single house, even a small one. Well, that morning , one of my bosses, Adolf Grimm, summoned me in his wide office. He even offered me a tasty, hearty breakfast, after which he started to talk about what he called the occasion of my life, that he would offered me. Ah, he said me, a real stroke of luck, for you, my dear James. Indeed a train to be seized on fly , since, oh, occasions like this doesn’t happen every day. As he lingered in these preambles, I swear I was thinking he is going to offer me a trip to the space , or something like that. Might be he was going to propose me the design of ( for) buildings on Mars. When he finished with his introduction, which promised, announced wonders, Adolf Grimm instead said me that he had decided to entrust to me the project for the construction of the villa of the Commendatore S. Rossi, who was also a Knight of merit of the Republic. I was complexly stunned, more than surprised, I could only be incredulous. “ What, you don’t say anything?” Mr. Grimm asked, with his thundering voice. Then he, standing up from behind his desk, came beside me, with his hands stuck unto his trouser pockets, his chest out, and his belly too. I had remained seated , and was quiet, silent as a chick. “ Ah, but sure, I can understand that you are left speechless, by God! You would never have expected an occasion like this, right?” Mr. Grimm said, towering over me with his imposing physique. He leaned over me, his big bald head hit my ear, my cheek too. He grabbed my shoulder with his big hand, giving me a strong squeeze. “ Come on, but speak therefore! No, don’t tell me you have to think about my proposal! Since you don’t really need to think about it! It is an opportunity to be seized on the fly! On, what are you waiting?” He shouted, giving me a strong slap on the back. “ Oh, I....really need to think about it a little before deciding” It came naturally ( spontaneously) to me to say. “ Ah, don’t start saying bullshit now! I cannot stand it!” Adolf Grimm thundered. “ But I have no experience. I never projected a building, much less a villa” I said. “ Oh, my dear James, I know, it’s our guilt. Ah, it’s mine especially, if you here, in our firm ( studio) have not been appreciated as you would have deserved, Oh, sure, I’m sorry, I regret too having entrusted you only with assignments mostly regarding the modernization of some rooms of a house.....Ah, look, I acknowledge that I have been wrong, even much wrong, that I made a big, unforgivably mistake , and I’m ready to apologize .....But you know how things go.....my brother Frank and I, we aren’t the only partners in this firm....” The biggest of my bosses started a rant, or rather a spiel , that I really didn’t stand to listen to....Oh, if I knew how.....things go in a prestigious architectural firm ( studio) like that of Brothers Grimm and.....and others. The architects who have to make a name for themselves, they are entrusted with the projects for important works, those works of which magazines and newspapers will write, of which television will also speak , which will indeed advertise and the works and the architects who designed ( projected) them. And, coincidentally, the architects who are entrusted with the design of these great works, they are always either relatives or friends of the firm’s partners . ( of the firm’s owners) . And, as for friends, they are all sons, daughters, nephews, cousins of very rich and successful entrepreneurs , or even of powerful politicians. Meanwhile he, my biggest boss, insisted, he continued to speak non-stop, without listening to a word of what I said, indeed of what I was trying to say, he kept claiming the very great importance of that task ( assignment) for me. Oh, could I imagine? My name associated with the villa of S. Rossi! He, just he, the big entrepreneur , the biggest in the country, in the steel, iron, aluminum, pipe industry! Ah, his villa would obviously have been a marvel! It could only be an absolute wonder, a masterpiece, the villa of a man so much excellent! I understood this too, didn’t I? Oh, of course I should have designed the villa taking into account the tastes of this very excellent man “......since , oh, after all, it is he who pays!” My very big boss said, pulling up, with an energetic tug at his belt, his trousers , which, truly, were not falling at all. Oh, but he, Adolf Grimm, is like that : when he loudly proclaims an unquestionable truth, oh, he needs to underline his words with an energetic gesture. Despite his great commitment, although he really gave it all to make me accept that sensational, fabulous assignment , oh, a more unique than rare occasion ( opportunity) for me, he could not at all convince me. Since I did not feel like saying him immediately, in front of his large face, that I didn’t accept the wonderful assignment , which he, so magnanimously, had decided to gave me, since I also could not stand to hear him declaiming , thundering, his rant, I said him that oh, I thanked him very much, but I needed to think about it for a while before accepting that assignment. He would never have expected it, that I could not have accepted instantly, so Mr. Grimm was very disappointed. Oh, I could see on his face how much he was disappointed . What face he made! Oh, his big, large and stubby face seemed to be smoothed out ( stretched out), flattened. It really made me think that it was as if the rolling pin, with which my grandmother smoothed the dough, had passed over his face . But that day the surprises weren’t over for me. I had just come back to my office, I was look at the plant of a bathroom to renovate when, oh, nothing than surprise, I almost took a hit, here that she came....she, Claire, the young and beautiful niece of the Grimm. Even Claire worked in the Brothers Grimm and associated firm ( studio). But she, unlike me, was a successful architect, yes, she was almost an archistar, however she was going to become one ( an archistar). Ah, Claire was a real beauty. She was tall, with a lithe, harmonious physique (body) , beautiful legs, slender and well shaped. She had a perfect oval face, wide, sculpted features, green cat eyes. Eh, Claire....years ago, not even so many years ago, even if it seemed to me a century had passed from then , when she had just been hired in the firm of her uncles, ah, I had been struck by her . I had made her a tight court. I had sent her flowers, accompanied by notes with words, oh, what words....words which now it could never happen to me to write to anyone, never.......I had given her gifts, yes, jewels too....But she...ah, to say that she had stubbed me, it is too little. She had done worse. She had mimicked me with people of her high entourage, she had made fun of me. I had waited in vain for her on more than an appointment , which she had given me, and to which she had not come. But now, as they say, all this was a thing of the past. And instead here I saw her arrive, quite unexpectedly, in my office, all smiling and winking, even full of kindness, but you look a little.....Claire immediately ___she had entered without knocking on the door, but, oh, of course, apologizing as soon as she entered____began to congratulate me on the very important assignment that had been entrusted to me. Oh, a really great opportunity, not to be missed! Oh, I had to feel me at the seventh heaven, hadn’t I? I said her that, yes, the project for the magnificent villa of S. Rossi was a great opportunity for me . After saying that I agreed with her, I was silent for a few moments, as if preparing the effect__or the space___of what I would add ( of what I was going to add). However I didn’t know if I would have accepted the fabulous assignment, I said, in fact. “Oh, but you want to joke, don’t you, James? You cannot at all speak seriously, on! It wouldn’t have ( make) sense for you to refuse! But why you would refuse, then? I really didn’t understand!” Claire started screaming, even yelling, so much she couldn’t believe that I spoke seriously when I said that I still didn’t know if I would have accepted to take care of the project for the villa of S. Rossi. She kept on screaming, came next to me, and, hopping around me,she slapped on my back. She even asked me, coming close to me, all thoughtfully, bringing her face closer to mine, if I was okay. Did I have health problems, which prevented me from accepting that assignment? “ No, I have no health problems. I’m fine” I replied calm, without breaking down. “ Then why? Oh, you won’t be serious, this is an occasion to be seized on the fly, that you can’t miss! “ She continued to insist, shouting and hopping around me. Perhaps it was because of her insistence , because it was evident that Claire, like her big uncle, didn’t care about what I thought____what mattered, what she, like his uncle, could admit , and also what they could understand, was only what they thought____that suddenly her very presence became unbearable for me. I couldn’t wait for her to leave. When she, all smiling, said me that she was inviting me to dinner at her house that evening, that we would be alone, that , oh, she would have convinced me to accept the fabulous assignment, I would have liked to kick her out of the way. Of course, I didn’t kick her . I only refused her invitation, saying that I couldn’t, since I already had a commitment for that evening. Oh, the face that beautiful Claire made when I declined her invitation to dinner! Suddenly her perfectly sculpted features wrinkled, her face assumed the appearance of a deflated balloon. Of course, it wasn’t true that I already had a commitment for that evening. When I came home, the sun was setting. I stopped in front of the lawn near my house. “ SUNSET is my favorite time of day, it’s my hour” My grandmother Lucy said, and I seemed to hear her voice again as I was looking at the lawn in front of me, under the light and shadows of the sunset. It was a meadow that had always left uncultivated. In the green of the meadow, among grasses and weeds, the daisies grew thick. I was used at that meadow. I saw it every day as soon as I left the house, it had nothing special for me. That day, completely unexpectedly, under the fiery sky of the sunset, that meadow appeared to me as an enchanted, wonderful vision. That expanse of daisies which peeped in the green carpet of the grass , suddenly it was something precious, something priceless.


Nathaniel Thornton thought he had found a haven. But, as he tried -- and failed -- to wriggle free of the pillory, it occurred to him that he’d been wrong. The post wobbled when he fought against his shackles, but the trap would not break. The wooden framework, into which they’d locked his head and hands, remained steadfast and shut. At least no sharp blade hovered above the stocks, ready to guillotine him. Although he’d later reflect that decapitation would have been a preferable fate. “Now, now, Nathaniel.” Heledd Cadigan, dressed in a white robe, tutted. She walked around the front of the pillory. A crown of flowers adorned her head. It wove through the Scandanavian braids of her platinum blonde hair. The creases of her face reflected her authority over the other girls. The sparkle of her crystal eyes glinted, clear and aquatic and mad. She smiled, a grin stretched across, lips pressed tight. “No need for aggression, now. We’re far past that.” Nathaniel thought he’d seen the worst in people. He thought that if he acted in a kind and caring manner -- his heart on his sleeve -- others would follow suit. Others would respect and treat him with kindness. He thought that you’d only reap what you’ve sown. He’d never sown anything like this . But, he realised, he’d made a mistake on every account. The darkness within the souls of people had no end -- it plunged on forever, pitch-black. Other people wouldn’t follow his example, they’d only use his gentleness as a weapon against him. And, at last, there is no karma. Good things happen to wicked folk. Bad things happen to good people. There is no order or system. Shit happens . “Let me go!” Heledd tilted her head back and laughed her insanities to the sky above. The sunlight fell upon her, golden and soft. On the walls of the small courtyard, lush green vines crept their way up the stone. The windows all boarded up. The ones of the building opposite barricaded from the outside . A thick metal chain locked the door in place. “Why on Earth would I do that? It’s destiny that you’re here, Nathaniel. Do you know what your name means? Hm?” He thrashed within the shut holes of the pillory. Wood scraped skin. Splinters deposited, scratches left to bleed. “You’re insane! Let me outta this thing!” “It means--” she said without reply “-- Gift of God .” Heledd stepped forward and cradled his bound head. If he’d been a more savage man, he’d have tried to bite her. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Even now, with the wooden boards locked into place. She crooned to him. “And that’s what you are, Nathaniel. A gift of God. You see, he has a plan for us all. And this is his plan for you. For us to let you go...” She shook her head. “Well, that would go against God, wouldn’t it?” “Stop this!” Nathaniel’s voice cracked. “Stop this now!” It commanded none of the authority he wished to embody. It came out thin and reedy -- the whine of a prepubescent boy. Not an insistence. A weak-willed plea. “Oh, how you’d like that. To spit in the face of Mother Nature. You men are all the same. All you do is take and destroy. Rape and pillage. Burn and raze and scar . This blessing she’s laid upon the world.” Heledd grimaced. “The thing you call a virus, a disease. It’s her reckoning , don’t you see that? Mankind evolves and usurps nature’s throne. Says it’s his rightful spot.” Heledd spat on the floor. The rest of the girls -- all younger -- did the same. “You’re insane!” Nothing more than a pitiful croak. The skin around his wrists and neck now red and raw. The blood trickled down his arms and his back and his face. Hot and wet and wrong. “But Mother Nature has a trick up her sleeve. She has her reckoning. You call this blessing HuLa . Hmph. Such a human perspective! To name this most wondrous thing after ourselves. Human lyssavirus?” Heledd shook her head. “No. This is Mother Nature’s tool for rebalancing . And we are here--” she gestured to the girls “--to ensure that her tool gets put to use!” They all wore white, with various flowers and leaves stuck in their hair. “To make sure that you don’t evade her wrath, to stop you from spitting in the face of the divine!” She dropped her voice down a register: “I must insist.” All the moisture evaporated from his mouth. The blood drained from his face. Ice rippled through every vein. No words came out, only a dry groan. Nathaniel’s eyes watered and his vision blurred. Under different circumstances, he’d have shamed himself for the tears. In the background, two of the girls unlocked the chains from the door. Behind these, a pair -- more robust than the others, arms roped with muscles -- held sticks. Hooped lassos dangled from the ends. Two more flanked, spears at the ready. The metal chain clinked to the floor. A flurry of movement. Snarls and growls. Clicks and howls. Grunts and shouts from the girls. One of those with more authority barked orders to the others. Heledd stood aside, to clear a path from the opened door to the pillory. Nathaniel got a good look at this reckoning . And started scream. The girls brought forward a female rager, held in place by the lassos from either side, hoops around her neck. Those who had a grip on her had faces of pure concentration. Jaws clenched. Eyes squinted. Muscles tensed. Tendons strained. The rager wore what must have once been a white gown. Now, brown-red blood splotches stained the material. Flowers protruded from her messed-up hair at wild angles. Had she been one of them before HuLa? Or had they dressed her up post-infection? The thought seemed insane. Her eyes stretched wide, bloodshot. Her gaze fixated upon him -- right in her line of sight. She twitched. Pink foam frothed at the corners of her mouth. It dribbled down her chin and wet the collar of her dress. Unintelligible shrieks jumped from her throat in fits and bursts. Her joints cracked as she staggered down the path towards him. Nathaniel screamed and tried to back away. But, of course, he couldn’t. He shredded his skin against the rough-hewn wood. Half-strangled himself against the lock around his neck. The boards creaked and groaned, but they did not give way. Heledd sighed and gazed upon the rager. Her countenance indicated peace and tranquillity. “For too long has womankind been forced to subjugate and serve. All for the petty crime of a bite from an apple. Well, no longer. The second great sin of our species has been committed, this by man. By his greed, by his ego, by his arrogance. The earth bleeds, and we with it. If the second great sin has been committed, then this plague is surely the second great cleansing. Mother Nature must purge the poison from her veins. We are the Daughters of the Earth.” All the other girls repeated this last line as the rager drew ever closer. “We are the Daughters of the Earth.” ### This is part of my project (novella?) for April’s Camp NaNo. The plan is 30 short stories, 30 characters, 30,000 words. Give or take. All set in the same city. All focused on the same event. This is actually #17 in the project. I also submitted part #1 to the monthly #BlogBattle, and parts #3 and #10 to Reedsy. https://joshuainsole.com/short-stories/this-place-is-dead-1-daughter/ https://blog.reedsy.com/creative-writing-prompts/contests/88/submissions/61324/ https://blog.reedsy.com/creative-writing-prompts/contests/89/submissions/62242/


*THIS STORY CONTAINS MENTIONS OF ALCOHOL AND CHILD ABUSE. Beep, beep, beep. Beep, beep, beep . Maya rolled over and flipped off the alarm. Then she slid out of bed and into her day clothes, skipping the shoes. Ever since their mother died three years ago, their father didn’t care much where they went or what they did. She wasn’t worried about waking her brother, Gilbert, who shared the room with her, because she knew his bed was empty. The last two Tuesdays Maya had seen Gilbert rise at five in the morning and sneak out of their small three room house only to be back in time for breakfast and pretend that nothing had happened. Today she was going to follow him and find out once and for all. She had set her alarm for 5:10 and hoped that would work. Quietly she left the house. She looked around and spotted a figure leaving Rose Gardener’s house; the old lady that lived next door. It was definitely not Ms. Gardener so it must be Gilbert. When she spotted a package in his hands, her nine-year-old imagination took flight. It could be anything! The figure began walking farther away from the two houses and toward town. She crept after him, keeping to the shadows. Gilbert was six years older than Maya and practically kept the family going but, of course, she didn’t know this and was thoroughly convinced that he was up to mischief. After a little while of walking she began to wonder if it was indeed Gilbert that she was following? and if he knew that she was there? and how far he intended to go? and so on. Should I go back? But the thought of being alone in the dark on an unfamiliar road was rather foreboding, so she continued forward. Perhaps I should call out to him. He wouldn’t send me back alone so he would have to take me with him or go back with me. But then she remembered the package and thought that if it wasn’t Gilbert then it could be someone with a little girl’s head in his package; and so her thoughts went on until she had herself quite frightened and nearly ready to cry. After what seemed like forever and really wasn’t very long at all, a small light appeared along the horizon and buildings loomed in the distance. She hoped whoever it was wouldn’t see her trailing them. Suddenly and much to her distress the person turned into a fenced area to the left of the road. A graveyard. Maya shuddered but her curiosity got the best of her and she crept up to the gate. She could hear the person moving through the graves. There was no doubt that he knew where he was going and what he was going to do. Then the footsteps stilled. Had he heard her? She slipped through the gate and behind a large headstone. The person stood staring at a smaller plot that seemed slightly familiar to her. Then he knelt on one knee and reached into the package. She froze. What will he do? she wondered silently, her heart pumping faster. And all at once it became clear. The mysterious feeling disappeared and the whole place silenced as if waiting for something. In the dim light she could see Gilbert kneeling by their mother’s grave. He lifted a bouquet of roses from the package and gently brushed away old, dead flowers, replacing it with the new ones. Then he spoke. “Hello, Mama. It’s me, Gilbert. Oh, I’m doing alright, I guess. I got a raise in my wages. You remember I got a job at McClellan’s feed store? Well, my boss said I’ve been a real help and deserve a raise. “How’s Maya? I reckon she’s doing fine. It’s hard to tell sometimes what’s on her mind and I know I ain’t always good about talking to her and making sure she doesn’t feel alone or neglected, although I try. “But, Mama, it’s Pa that worries me. He doesn’t seem to care about living or us. I’ve been going to tell you but I really didn’t want to bother you about it but days turned into weeks and weeks into years and I don’t know what he’s gonna do. I try to protect Maya from finding out what he is really like but he yells at her too. Either that or ignore her. He spends most of his time in bed now, as if he’s sick. You see, the reason I’m worried is . . . well . . . he’s been drinking alcohol for the past few years and the other day I got tired of it and threw it all away. I’ve done that before and he always gets mad and yells at me, sometimes he hits me, but then he always goes out and buys more. This time he didn’t do any of that. He just went back to bed and stayed there. I tried to give him food but he wouldn’t even look at me. What am I supposed to do?” His cheek glistened and teardrops gently fell up the roses. He was quiet for a moment and Maya tried to let it all sink in. It was a little much for her to comprehend but she caught enough to realize how hard it was for Gilbert and see a sag in his shoulders as if there was a heavy weight upon them. She wanted to go tell him that it was okay and get him to stop crying but he began talking again, his voice still low and soft. “Some days it’s harder than others and I just want to crawl in a hole and die but I’m not gonna give up. I’ll do my best for Maya . . . and Pa. I miss you, Mama.” Then he lowered his head. “Dear Lord. I don’t know if Mama can hear me or if it’s foolish to be talking to a headstone but I feel the closest to her when I come here. I can’t come everyday but since you called her to be with you on a Tuesday it just seems right. Give me the strength to carry on, Lord, and wisdom to know what to do with Pa. And tell Mama I love her, will ya?” He stayed in this position for a while without saying anything. Maya wondered if she should head back so that he wouldn’t know she heard, or maybe hide and trail him back, or just tell him she was here, but before she could decide he rose and walked toward the gate and the headstone that she was hiding behind. He walked through the gate, not seeming to see her. Without further thought she stepped out from her hiding place. “Gibby,” she called softly. He stopped dead and slowly turned around. She saw the tears in his eyes and rushed toward him with open arms. He knelt on one knee and embraced her. He didn’t say anything so she spoke instead. “God will help you, Gibby.” She smiled slightly. “ And I’m always here too.” He sniffed. “I know.” Then, standing, they walked hand in hand into the rising sun.


“I won’t go back. The past is in the past. I won’t go back. The past is in the past.” It was no use. As Tobias slammed his eyes shut he felt his presence begin to slip. Warmth and tingles began to wash over him. Starting at his toes and then to his legs, the feeling rose. As the feeling hit his waist, he clenched his fist, his knuckles turning white in hopeless defiance. He was overcome now, his stomach in his throat and still he whispered, “The past is in the past.” But the sensation continued to engulf him and he continued to slip, as if falling forward while lying still. As his stomach settled and his fists eased, Tobias allowed himself to slowly open his eyes. For a moment, he considered not opening them at all. “Perhaps if I don’t, it will pass,” he thought to himself. After all, what was there to see? He knew where he was. He didn’t know when but he knew where falling down the rabbit hole had led him. To the same place it always did; his former self. Back to past moments of his life long-lived, no longer his, and no more than memories to his present self. Good memories, bad ones, absolutely pointless ones, it didn’t matter. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason as to why Tobias continued to tumble back into himself. “A bloody curse!” he mumbled, tears streaming from his still half-closed eyes. At first, he thought it was a gift. An opportunity to right the past, to truly live out the age-old question of what one would do differently if they could go back. But it made no difference. Calling the girl back, accepting the job that seemed too risky at the time... the past and the future remained unchanged. And the good memories? The ones you think you’d want to relive? Those made his heart ache the most. Nothing more than exuberant nostalgia tinged with the knowledge of the loss that was yet to come. His fingers curled around the edges of the cold porcelain sink. He wanted to scream. Instead, with eyes wide open, he stared at himself through the steam that was fogging up the bathroom mirror. A sopping wet former version of himself stared back. “Oh, c’mon! Are you kidding me?! I know this one. I know this one and no! No. I don’t want to be here!” His heart began to race. “Fuck!” His teeth clenched as he paced through his own puddle of shower water. Try as he might, he couldn’t will himself out of the moment. “Come on!” he yelled through gritted teeth, his frustration leading his fist forcefully into the mirror. Jan’s familiar voice called from just beyond the closed door, “Everything okay in there?” Tobias struggled for words, his breath taken away at the sound of her voice. “Um... I... I...” “Tobias? What’s going on? You’ve been in there for almost an hour.” “I’m... fine! I was feeling a little dizzy but I’m good now. I’ll be out shortly.” “Okay. Well hurry up or we’re going to be late. Your mom already drones on about how you’ve been late your entire life. ‘Always fifteen minutes late for school. Twenty minutes late for your own wedding, and --’” “’Two weeks late for my own birth,’” Tobias chimed in, a smile audibly settling into his voice. “Let’s not make them wait that long for you to show your face at their anniversary party,” Jan quipped. “I won’t. I’m almost done. Promise.” Tobias listened as Jan’s footstep trailed away from the door. “Fuck!” he whispered to himself. Pacing once more, he attempted to calm himself. He knew there was nothing he could do. These slips, as he called them, came as they pleased and were always just beyond his control. Ten years of slipping to and from himself and he still had no idea what was causing it or how to stop it. But this slip was different. It had been almost six months since his last slip yet this was the second time he had found himself in this bathroom, just finishing a shower, and on his way to his parents’ 50 th wedding anniversary party. He’d never had the same slip twice. “I just need to --” His thought was interrupted by the sudden turn of his stomach. His sight grew dim. “Well, this is new,” he mused to himself as he stumbled toward the sink. Typically, each slip lasted a few hours. “Think! Think! Okay, uh... This was what -- Ow!” His vision began to fracture as a sharp pain surged behind his eye. “Um... Fifteen, twenty minutes tops! That’s not long enough. That’s not long enough! What is hap --” Tobias awoke to find himself face down on the bathroom floor, staring at the same black and white tile that he had just drenched when he didn’t bother to towel off after his shower. Well, his former self’s shower. “Did I slip? Like actually slip?” he wondered, but as he pulled himself up, he realized the floor was dry. He was also fully clothed. In clothes that he didn’t recognize. Drip. Drip. A warmth began to run down the side of his face and pool between the adjoining hexes of the tile floor. He smudged at the green-hued liquid on the floor. It didn’t make sense. He reached for his right temple. A wet, green-hued liquid stained his fingertips. “Clearly, I’m bleeding from the fall, but why is it green?” Still dazed, he steadied himself with the edge of the tub before pulling himself up to sit on the toilet. With his head resting in one hand, he reached back with the other and grabbed the hand towel near the sink. The fibers were rough in spots and overly worn in others. It was a terrible hand towel. It did nothing that a hand towel was intended to do. Nevertheless, he couldn’t throw it out. It was Jan’s first embroidery project. She was so proud of the tiny red and white flowers she had painstakingly stitched onto nearly every inch of that towel. He never had the heart to tell her she had robbed the poor cloth of any hope of ever being absorbent. It was comforting now, pressed against his temple, even if it felt mostly like sandpaper. He missed her. “This isn’t right,” he said aloud as he pulled the towel from his temple into his line of sight. He pressed one of the tiny green flowers between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s supposed to be red. It’s always been red! And blood is supposed to be red! What the hell is going on?” He wondered if his last slip had taken him to a different time, a different place, to a different him. “Jan?! Jan?!” he cried as he lunged for the door. “Maybe she’s still here. Maybe in a world with green flowers and green blood, she’s still here.” It wasn’t until the knob was within reach that he saw it. A small, yellow Post-It note right at eye level. He stumbled back toward the toilet as he read it, “SHE’S NOT HERE.” Thick and heavy, a sense of panic started to settle in. His chest tightened and his breathing shallowed as the acid from his stomach made its way into his throat. He reached up to the sink and braced himself to stand. His fingers curled once again around the cold edges of the porcelain. He used every muscle in his face to close his eyes as tightly as he could. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be where he was before either. He just wanted, so desperately, to live his boring, thirty-something, crappy-job life. A life where nothing exciting happened but at least it was happening for the first time. He waited. For tingles. For warmth. For anything to indicate that he was slipping back into his present. The sound of his heart pounding in his ears was unbearable. With an exhale he opened his eyes wide ready to confront a past version of himself in the mirror. But the mirror was devoid of any face. Instead, it was filled with Post-It notes. Meticulously numbered and completely covering the mirror. He pulled the notes off of the mirror one by one and read them aloud. “Number one: You’ve developed protanopia. (Colorblind) You can’t see red.” “Number two: The slips caused your protanopia.” “Number three: This is where you are supposed to be.” “Number four: Yes, you’ve learned how to control it.” “Number five: The bathroom, the party, Jan -- all significant. It’s why you keep returning there. You don’t know why it’s significant.” “Number six: This is where you are supposed to be.” “Number seven --” A glimmer of light off the now exposed mirror caught Tobais’ eye. He didn’t recognize the face looking back at him. It looked like him but the hair, the face, it was wrong. This face had grey hair and time-worn skin. As he touched his face, a hand touched the face in the mirror as well. He pulled at his cheeks and pinched his nose. The hand in the mirror also pulled at the stranger’s cheeks and pinched the stranger’s nose. “How hard did I hit my head?” he wondered. “This isn’t me. I’m not old. My hair is black, not grey. What the fuck?!” The room began to spin. He reached for the edges of the sink but the note labeled number seven was still in his hand. “Number seven: THIS IS THE PRESENT.” “This can’t be happening. What happened to my life? How old is this person? Sixty? Sixty-five? I was in my thirties!” Tobias heaved at the thought. “This can’t be right. Okay. Think. Think.” All he could think about was how exhausted he was, his head still throbbing from the fall. Any thought of any possible solution alluded him. He sank to the ground. “A bloody curse!” he mumbled the tears spilling from his eyes. As he reached to wipe the tears, he realized one of the Post-It notes was stuck to his hand. He reached for it, violently pulled it from his skin, and tore it to pieces. He screamed in frustration and sunk his head into his hands once more. That’s when he saw it, on the floor, between his legs, note number four: “Yes. You’ve learned how to control it.” He sprang to his feet and looked at the old man staring back at him in the mirror. “This is not me. This is not my fate!” He felt warmth and tingles begin to surge through the tips of his toes. The feeling rose. One last defying glance in the mirror and a final remaining note caught his eye. “Number eight: The past is in the past. DO NOT GO BACK.”


I felt it for the first time when I was 12. I learnt about worms in school and I had always been very intrigued by them. They need warm places to live, breathe through their skin, and their colors range from red to brown. I could not tell why adults always refused to tell me about them. It was as if I could not even look at one. I thought, what's wrong with taking a peak? As long as I don't keep it, I don't see the harm. At first, I could not tell that I was feeling a little worm. I thought it would be somewhat gooey, but it felt soft and cold, and it perfectly blended with the back of my head, making it really hard to spot. Indeed, I still haven't put my eye on it. I thought, however, that it was normal, and that everyone gets a little worm every once in a while. I saw some on my classmates, teachers, and in my mom, but these seemed to quickly vanish. My worm was different, though. It was a little bit like me. It liked the things I liked, and disliked the things I didn't. It would also help me sometimes. For example, if I was too mean to my friends, or I disappointed my parents, it stung me very hard in the back of my head. I liked my little worm. It made me different from the rest, and made me see the world from a much safer and realistic point of view. After a couple of years, I finally let the worm into my head. Once inside, my little worm got full access to my thoughts. This was good, I told myself, as every sting was a sign that something needed a little fixing. But time passed, and the stinging got more and more painful. Soon, I wasn't able to produce a single thought that came without a spurt of agony; a single action without a burst of misery. But my worm was right: I was repugnant. I was a revolting, soggy, heinous burden. I infected those around me, brought deep sorrow to every room. I hated my little worm, and yet I was nothing without it. One day, almost overnight, I couldn't feel it anymore. My thoughts were free and everything seemed so clear so suddenly. I was scared, but very excited. I had learnt a lot thanks to my little worm, and I owed it who I was. It was a new beginning, of forgiveness, growth, and experimentation. It was still in my head, though. And sometimes, some days, it stung. But it brought with it a feeling of familiarity, trust, and even nostalgia. My little worm was my friend now. I grew up, and my little worm did too. I could feel its bulkier size, its larger weight. We were gonna be unstoppable. Nonetheless, I found it a bit weird that I couldn't only feel it in the back of my head anymore. I now felt it close to my forehead, in between my temples. I guess it had just been moving around. This was about the time when I started spending way too much time inside my own head. It wasn't that interesting or fun, but it felt more appealing than looking at the outside. Colors were lifeless, sounds were flat, food was insipid. People seemed bland, learning felt pointless, curiosity vanished. My little worm doesn't sting anymore. But it now blurs all colors, dampens all music, encases all words. Everywhere I look I see its shadow, every breath I take I feel its tail pulling on my eyes. When standing it numbs my eyelids, but when laying down it dries and hardens them; when speaking it sucks my thoughts; when smiling it clots my cheeks. My head gets heavier every day, making it harder to raise. My arms seem to move by themselves, my legs have grown free from my commands. My mind is not mine anymore. Sometimes, when taking the bus to work, I like looking deep into people's eyes. And sometimes, if I look hard enough, I can tell whether theirs is red or brown.