I meditate on the kitchen floor. By which I mean I sit, legs crossed, mostly still, and pointedly try not to notice the fossilised food remnants haunting me from under the cupboard door. The veneer is cracked in such a way it resembles a curling lip, and I work hard to not think about it too hard, lest it threaten to warp into something edging on sinister. I just sit, breathing mindfully, which is desperately uncomfortable, batting away any wayward thoughts, or trying to. Until at last I am disturbed by the deafening stare of a small brown cat. This is our oft practiced ritual. He is hungry, or so he claims, and I pretend to be agitated by his flagrant disregard for my inner wellbeing. “Food?” Say I. “Prrp” says he. And so the conversation goes, every time. While demolishing a generous portion of biscuits, I imagine he questions my habits. “Why are you on the floor mummy?” I tell him I do this because the internet says it is the way to inner peace. That it is the path to a shiny white plastic enlightenment, and I believe them, sometimes. Because frankly it’s a choice between transcendental bliss or ice cream, and I can’t afford to buy any more fat-girl clothes. I meditate on the kitchen floor, and he asks me if it’s white-plastic enlightenment I’m searching for down there, or whether I’m just looking for stray morsels. The latter, he says, is wiser, and I am beginning to agree. We watch the news together in the mornings and descend into furious debate over the behaviour of MPs with regularity. He is firm in defence of filibustering, claiming it has political merit, and I rankle at the notion every time. More than once I have slammed the door in petulant frustration, leaving him alone to focus fully on the washing of a limb. We do not fall out often though. He is my closest confidant in whiskers. I talk to him about silence on the hard days, and how I hate it, and how I need it, which is somehow all the worse. In sympathy he breaks it for me by demonstrating how to add volume to a stare, and I thank him with carefully placed pressure behind the ears. I ask about his childhood sometimes, and wonder what he means when he says he can’t remember. Most evenings he curls up on my lap and describes his dreams, but only those that set his paws to twitching. They are all black and white films of pursuits and victories, strategy and success. There is a violence to them I think, though he never tells me so. He says the television helps him build a world outside of our flat, and my tears cast little spikes in his fur, as I mutter sorry over and over. I cry for his freedom, and for mine, and he purrs his low hymn to drown out my worry. We are trapped here he says, confined by co-dependency and circumstance, both caught by sadness and dulled instinct. He says he forgives me, but only after tuna.


, shouted Antonio who was perched precariously on Manarai peak, the highest peak in Monsanto. He has been shouting these words for a long time now. His vocal chords had turned stiff. By constantly uttering those words, he wanted to erase the blasphemous thoughts of running away from Luchesse. After some time, no matter how loud he shouted, he found his false pride about his birthplace withering away. He paused to gaze at the mountains that has been hugging his city, he calls it a bondage while others perceive it as protection. Antonio longed to fly above these mountains, get rid of his spiritual baggage and experience freedom. Knowing the kind of life he has led, he wasn’t sure if this was possible. But at that moment, he felt a surge so strong that he knew the mountains would crumble to let him do his bidding. Antonio is the only child of a Kaplan traders, who earned their livelihood by selling merchandise and souvenirs to the few tourists who visit Luchesse. Antonio was only three years old when his parents enrolled him into a monastery. Bells and prayer wheels were his toys. When Antonio grew older, he started to assist his parents in their trade. The tourists were eager to talk to this starry-eyed monk who shared their enthusiasm in equal measure. It was from these tourists that Antonio got a glimpse of what the outer world would actually look like, a world starkly different from his own. Unlike his world that stood the test of time with much disdain, the world from where these tourists came from was always changing. He noticed the shifting urban landscapes each time the tourists handed him over the photographs of their homelands. It was as if those places kept changing their masks every now and then. Few years after his parent’s death, Antonio became increasingly restless. He wanted to lose his loneliness among the festive crowds in Fiorina, he longed to climb to the top of Leaning tower of Pizza and his wish list started getting longer. He regretted his life that shunned all forms of materialism, a life that has been tuned to follow a strict code of ethics, a life that has laid a clear demarcation between good and bad. *“Of course, who are these people to decide what’s good for my life. I went to the monastery by design, not by choice”*, Antonio thought. But two decades of a rigid monastic upbringing is not going to be easy to be forgotten. He intently missed the prayers, faulted his morning prayers and skipped his classes. While guilt bore him down for a few days, hope of a new exciting life that lay ahead fogged his conscience. Finally when the pricks of guilt could hurt him no more, he knew he was ready to get away. He started planning his getaway from Linguina. From a tourist, he had learnt of a secret route through the Ortler mountain range. The route was not heavily guarded by border police and Antonio was confident in entering the quaint little town of Fiorina without any hassle. There he planned to start a trade shop which sold souvenirs and merchandise. *“I’ll have to start from there and go a long way to become a wealthy trader”.* With these thoughts firmly etched in his mind, Antonio packed his goods, discarded his robe for a cheap suit and boarded the early bus that will take him to Fiorina. The bus travelled down the friendship highway, which connected Monsanto all the way till Mondelez. At Mondelez, there would be stringent checking of the passenger visas by the border authorities. The secret route that Antonio planned to take started at Barila, which was few kilometers before Mondelez. The rickety journey by bus until Barila would last for two days. Antonio waved his hands impassively to the vast grasslands and the mountain vistas that he was leaving behind. A Ugandan tourist seated next to him quipped, *“What a lovely place! Place of the gods indeed."*. Antonio just smiled back. After an uneventful journey, the bus arrived at Barila two days later. Antonio got down and decided to stay overnight at that place. The place was barren except for a very huge monastery that he spotted few miles ahead. He was afraid that nostalgia would get the better of him if he sought rest there. Having failed to locate an alternative to seek refuge, he trudged towards the monastery through the heavy thickets of the Mondelez valley. He noticed that the monastery rested on the slopes of the trail that he would have to take to reach Fiorina.* “I am going to stay here only for the night. I would leave long before the first ray of sunlight strokes this place”*, he said to himself. It was dark by the time Antonio stepped into the monastery and the earthen lights made its walls reflect a sublime glow. The dome stood there majestically, ornamented by the crested moon. The peace was so filling, and the effect was magical. It hasn’t been even two days and invisible strings were drawing Antonio towards the life of prayer and solitude. But he held on to his mission. If his ascetic life gave him the will power to abstain from a common man’s desires, he could use the same will power to achieve the reverse effect. He walked up to a monk and asked him for a place to rest for the night. The monk took him to a huge hall where drifters were allowed to stay. The hall was empty save for a person huddled in a corner. Willing for an acquaintance, Antonio sat next to the small man. *“Where are you from?”* Antonio asked boldly, a trifle too loud, which shook the meek man from his slump. *“I am Rinaldi, a trader from Fiorina, on my way to Monsanto”*, he replied softly. *“Oh, you are a trader. Good. What goods do you sell?”* *“Gems, souvenirs, perfumes and other antiques”* *“Do you have any of these with you now?"*, inquired Antonio, who was more eager to learn about the kind of goods that are in demand. *“No I don’t have anything with me right now”*, Rinaldi retorted to Antonio. *“That’s strange. You don’t look like a tourist and I assumed you were going to Monsanto for business"* *“I am going to Monsanto to become a monk”* *“A monk? You want to become a monk?”* *“Yes”* *“But why?”* asked Antonio, bewildered. “You appear to be a man of means and why do you want to renounce it to lead a life of denial and contemplation?” *“Denial and contemplation. Yes those are the words. Those are the words that will make the rest of my life rich. All this time, I was running behind money, gems and fame. I was like this free bird, always seeking better opportunities far and beyond. I started as a small trader. Over time I set up many trade shops, my business flourished. I thought I knew what I wanted, but it was all a big mistake.”* *“Did you suffer losses in your business? You are broke?” “I am not broke, but I am a broken man. Fame and fortune are a bottomless pit. The way to it is deep, dark and limitless. I have been falling in this pit for years now. Nothing ever stops you.”* Antonio became disturbed. Here he was, determined to bury his caged past and forge a free life. Rinaldi, on the other hand, was getting more determined by the minute, to become a monk. He was swelling up in confidence and resolve as Antonio tried to talk him out of it. *“But what about freedom? Why do you want to spend the rest of your life in a cloister?”* *“Freedom.”* Rinaldi repeated. *“Freedom only creates chaos.”* Rinaldi stretched himself and laid down on the floor. He slept as soon as he hit the floor. Antonio had the premonition that Rinaldi would have left before he woke up the next day. He was very tired and set off to sleep. He was not able to catch any sleep.* “Strange. All these years in the monastery, of all the hardships I faced, I never faced a sleepless night.”* Antonio was awake the whole night, making futile attempts to remember the ideas that he had for the future. The next morning, Antonio saw Rinaldi wake up and heed towards Monsanto. Antonio pretended to be asleep. In one corner of his eye, he saw Rinaldi walk towards the rising sun. Rinaldi turned back and smiled, a smile of realization. As he continued walking, he heard someone shouting from behind. *“Wait. I am coming with you.”*, shouted Antonio running after Rinaldi. Rinaldi said nothing. Antonio and Rinaldi boarded the bus to Monsanto. The beauty of the rugged landscape was compounded by the inner peace that Antonio felt at that moment. They spoke nothing to each other, but it felt as if they knew the other person more than they knew themselves. The bus arrived at Monsanto and the driver woke up Antonio asking him to get down. Antonio searched for Rinaldi, the seat was empty, and he was nowhere to be found. The driver asked,*“What are you looking for?”.* Antonio stopped searching all of a sudden and stood transfixed. After some moments, he replied,* “Nothing. I think I found him.


In all of his years as a soldier Sergeant Myrnov had seen many dead bodies in his time. But never one such as the one he had the displeasure of staring at now. Before him his company commander, Captain Solinkov was absolutely sobbing next to a dead hooker on the bed while his XO, Lieutenant Artyom was beside him staring in disbelief. He had no idea what he was walking into, but sadly he was now here. After a moment Captain Solinkov rubbed his eyes “This isn’t how I wanted things to end, this isn’t how I wanted things to end at all”. As he spoke Lieutenant Artyom was already shutting the curtains and spoke to comfort his commander “no Sir we know you didn’t mean to its alright.. did anyone see you come in here?” Captain Solinkov just shook his head, unable to focus “no, no I don’t think so” he then stood up and began to pace the floor when Sergeant Myrnov spoke “I think we should inform the police, with your rank and connections Sir I’m sure everything would be fin-“ However Lieutenant Artyom cut him off before he could finish “That won’t be nesscary Sergeant, do me a favor and look down the hallway to make sure if anyone is there”. Sergeant Myrnov then sighed and creaked open the door to see the inside of an empty cheap hotel before discreetly closing the door and replying “the hallway is empty Sir”. Lieutenant Artyom then spoke as if he was the one wearing the double bars “now Sir we will take care of this whole thing for you.. But we’d better get our story straight. She died of a heart attack and there was nothing more that could be done, do you understand Sir?” Captain Solinkov nodded and began adjusting his uniform as he took a deep breath “Alright, she died of a heart attack and there was nothing more that could have been done.” Lieutenant Artyom then nodded “good.. now you go ahead Sir and get another room and we will sort this out.” The captain then nodded and took one last glance at the hooker before putting on his cap “it’s a damn shame, she was very nice you know. We spent the whole evening talking about my ex wife and our kids over some drinks.” Sergeant Myrnov then asked “What was her name Sir?” However Lieutenant Artyom answered for him “that doesn’t matter Sergeant” he said reminding him of his rank. The very dreadful reply reminded Captain Solinkov of their situation and he extended his hand to Lieutenant Artyom “you’re a good friend Pavel. Per usual I won’t forget this”. Lieutenant Artyom then said the same to the good captain. And with that Captain Solinkov gave a slight nod to Segerant Myrnov wishing him the same before he left. Lieutenant Artyom then got to work immediately, as if he had done this a hundred times before and rolled the frail woman’s body into a spare bedsheet from the closet and Sergeant Myrnov helped him carry her down the hallway and towards a cemetery when Lieutenant Artyom whispered “no, the river” They then went towards the local river and took every back alley they could to avoid crowds of drunken soldiers and annoyed townsfolk until they came to the river and Lieutenant Artyom was preparing to throw her in when Sergeant Myrnov stopped him. “Sir aren’t we going to say a few words for her?” Lieutenant Artyom answered him with a stare and they then quietly threw the poor girl into the river and began walking off back towards the hotel with an awkward silence coming over them. After walking a few blocks Sergeant Myrnov finally asked the question he had been thinking about for the past hour. “Sir, if you don’t mind me asking.. how have you remained your composure this entire time?” Lieutenant Artyom walked some time before he finally answered. “Because this isn’t the first time he’s done this”.


You had opened the door. He was standing there in an ugly black tuxedo with a boutonniere wilting as you speak. But it probably had been wilting for a while. You don’t think he did anything else in his life important. Except try to get you to like him. “Too bad.” You reminded him. His smile lingered, but your eyes were rolling. “I don’t like you.” You were about to shut the door when he told you he wasn’t trying to like you--he was here because he knew you thought he was dead. You shrugged. You couldn’t care whether he told the rats in the gutters he was alive. You just weren’t interested in him. And that was that. You slammed the door and waited for him to leave. But you sensed--with growing irritation as your long, star-studded nails dug into your clenched palms--that he was still standing there, waiting for you to jump into his arms and accept him as your husband, fiancé or boyfriend even. You won’t. You wouldn’t. You don’t care. You wouldn’t care. You don’t know why you had cared. Why you wasted your time. You opened the door and just muttered, “You can go now.” “But you thought I was dead.” Of course. His retort. You sighed, your heavily evergreen beaded tawny hand clutched firmly on the brass doorknob. You wanted to vanish, to leave with him knowing he didn’t belong to such a woman like you. But thinking he had been dead, you didn’t want--deep, deep down--to just leave him. You’re not someone who would just ditch people. You’re loving, kind. Friendly. Dutiful. You just... You pursed your lips and threw open the door. “What do you want?” Crossing arms, you held each elbow in a palm. “Why are you here?” He snorted and shook his head. “You know why.” The man scuffled a black, assumedly polished dress shoe on the finished asphalt and took a step. “You’re about to step in the wet cement.” You called. He snickered again but stopped with his lifted foot pointed downwards at the cement like a hunting dog’s paw when smelling the wind and visually tracking its master’s bird of prey. But this man was no dog. He was a weirdo. You even remember your senior picture day. Now, thirteen years later, he was even weirder. You didn’t need to know any more. “Guy?” You dashed outside, your bare feet scratching the rough steps but then halting right in front of the wet cement pathway separating you two. He opened his mouth when he saw your bare feet, but you cut in. “I know, I know. Just get some shoes on.” You turned your head away as he continued, saying he was going to say that you should be careful. “About what? Not stepping in the wet cement?” “No!” His persistence drew you back, almost begrudgingly. “I just don’t want you to get stuck.” You threw your head back and laughed. “Stuck?” You reached out and grabbed his cuffed wrists, him asking why you were suddenly kind to him even when you had killed those times you could’ve invited him in. “Well,” you pulled him across as he stepped dramatically over, “I’ll help you over this cement.” “And then invite me in?” He hooted, shuffling both feet around to face you. You just looked at them, mind blank. “No.” You shook your head and then bolted into the house. Crashing through the door and then opening a wooden cabinet, you grabbed a plastic container of pictures and then scurried back to the man. Suddenly, your hands shot out right in front of you and your brushed, low ponytail kissed the wet cement. Or rather it smacked a millimeter into it, and then you heard loud, instigative laughter from above. You instinctively tried using your hands to push yourself up to punch the guy but immediately felt stupid--they sunk in so your arms looked handless. Using your feet, you tried heaving yourself up. But try as you might, you couldn’t push hard enough to lift your evergreen hand bracelet out of this frightfully embarrassing situation. “Help--please?” You begged him. Suddenly, you were in the air, and then your soles pounded the white concrete behind the cement. “We’ve got to move!” He grabbed the box of pictures you were going to show him because you found yourself wanting to reconnect over those long-lost years. You wanted to get back together--although you didn’t love him and never would even if you two were the last people on earth. “Come on!” He yelled, frantically beckoning you on. “What?” You inquired, a little oblivious. “What’s going on--” Then you heard a whining, grinding sound as a monstrosity of a bulldozer beeped and rolled extremely slowly towards you. You yelped and then scampered out of its way. It lowered and then dumped a huge mountain of slimily cement-grey cement into the ditch of a narrow pathway trenched in front of the sidewalk in the asphalt driveway. “Amanda!” “I’m coming!” You rushed over to the man, his hand grabbing yours as you both hurried through the cracked, splitting door that creaked more than the bulldozer beeped. “I got the container!” He stated the obvious as he held it out to you amidst your eye-rolling sighs. You both were in the living room, standing in front of an ugly mustard-yellow leather couch and an ugly wooden side table. You looked at him like he wasn’t making any sense, and repositioned your arms so your palms held your elbows again. “Why’d you bring me in here?” You questioned. He shrugged, throwing his palms up. “The quicksand--” You slowly closed your eyes. “The wet cement.” “Whatever!” His eyes bulged, but yours rolled to the ceiling. But of course, he ignored this gesture and continued. “We need to get out of here. You see that cement?” He pointed out the window, but you were already looking. “Yeah.” You turned back and half-closed your eyes. “W--“ “We need to escape!” You slouched on your hip. “What’s the problem?” “Mandy!” He was ballistic. Over nothing. Over wet cement. What was he even talking about? It was just a sunny day outside in the neighborhood with construction workers filling a ditch. It wasn’t like green slime rained from purple clouds. Or an orange orangutan dominated the empire, desiring to destroy the world all because of his selfish self. It was like it was just an average day with average people doing average things. It was just an average-- A light crash swung you around. He was searching with a hand like he was trying to find his dropped glasses. “Here.” You hurried around the wooden table and relocated the half-empty plastic container onto the table. You shook and scraped off the majority of the wet cement and fell to the floor to slide some pictures from underneath this furniture. Once you had peeled the spider webs and dust bunnies away, you plopped them onto the white top and looked at the still searching man obviously not understanding that he only had to get two more pictures. You smirked and slid a toe around, pushing the pictures in circles and away from him so he had to scramble to get them. Snickering became complete hilarity until the man panicked, shooting his hand out, grasping them and swiping them up to slam them on to the table, his eyes bulging. Utterly confused, you stared at him, eyes wide. “What’s wrong?” He bit his lip. “Amanda.” He sighed up at you, and you quickly snatched a look out the window. But nothing terrifying was going on. “At least not now.” As if he could read your mind. “I’m supposed to be dead. You thought I was dead. Now I’m alive, and they’re after me.” You scrunched your face together after eyeing him suspiciously. “Who is?” He jabbed at the outside. You tried to imagine what cement monsters or construction demons could be infesting the world outside this shabby place in order to get to your friend. After a dry explanation, he then clutched the container like a precious object of his and then headed for the basement. Barging through the door, he beckoned with an arm, and you scampered over, stomping downstairs until he hopped up on the rail. You found yourself doing the same. Sliding tempted you to scream “Wheeee!” and just ride along. You wanted to just relax from the stress of him randomly spazzing and panicking. He had started already whipping out pictures like a magician whips out a card in front of his guest. “Oh!” You gasped, pushing yourself off, leaving dry cement spots on the wooden rail. When the guy started elaborating that you couldn’t leave the handprints there, you almost fired back, “Are you--” But the guy shoved a picture in your hand. You looked over it, studying the wet cement into the asphalt driveway’s ditch. Then you bent your head forward and stepped back, covering your chest with a hand and gawking. “That’s...!” “Yep. It’s right outside.” You both locked eyes. “We’ll have to move. We can’t stay here.” He threw the picture back with the container’s others, and you ran away into the pitch darkness. Pestering him about how he obviously knew exactly where we were going, the sound of him jumping and then coming loudly down on metal flooring rudely interrupted him. It was telling you that you just had to follow. Suddenly, a beacon of white light like that of a stage light for a solo performance appeared. You didn’t know where the light came from. “What are we doing?” You slowed down, gulping hard. “What are we doing here, exactly?” “Amanda.” He closed his eyes. You scrunched your face and then thought about it, realizing. “Let’s go.” You shook your head and walked calmly past him but noticed he stood stock-still. Stubborn as a donkey, maybe, absolutely refusing to move. A Duchenne smile formed. “Ow! Ow!” He laughed, jerking away from your punching hand. You threw your hands in the air and said, “Well, you weren’t leaving.” “So you want me to leave. Besides, we’re safe here.” He flicked his eyebrows up and down, and you gave a rigid smile. He turned away, the stupid grin still wiggling between his round, should-be flushed cheeks. He wouldn’t quit. Maybe you should let your guard down again. Besides, he wasn’t a complete stranger. You both met back in early middle school, you dashing up to him and asking him where your homeroom class was. He just shrugged. Cute. But this time, he wasn’t. He was infuriating. But he dropped the container and repeated convincingly, “We’re safe here. The light is our safety zone--” “I thought they were coming for us!” Your eyes bulging now, you grabbed his white, starched sleeve and tugged it. But he stayed rooted to the ground. You let yourself care about something else, calming down. “What is this?” You turned to him, but he didn’t look at you. “Well,” he said seriously that bordered on funny although you didn’t want to admit it. “We’re here.” “What do you mean?” You probably sighed all your confusion and frustration and lividity away. Well, not away but enough for this moment. “Guy, I just...I’m sorry. I--” “Sorry?” He spun on a heel, turning right towards you. “You don’t need to be sorry. Just come over and slow dance with me.” “Slow dance?” That wasn’t in his nature. You stared at him and furrowed your brows. “Dance...?” You repeated slowly, wondering. “Yeah!” Before you knew it, you were right in front of him, his hands holding yours, his shoes tap dancing rhythmically to some beat. If there was a beat, which there wasn’t. “There’s no music.” You stated, but the man nodded his head softly. “I got it.” He positioned your hand so you both stood before each other like a couple about to dance together. Then he started singing, softly, and then normally. You smiled a little, stepping along with his shoes, careful to shift them before they came down on your toes. But then you moved your body to the song, spinning around and twirling about. Being pulled and let go and then pulled again was actually fun. No one was there to watch you. No one mocked or pointed. Just you and him. You rested your head against his shoulder. You slow danced, you closing your eyes. He slowed down and you almost grit your teeth--you didn’t want him to stop! You looked up at him and he asked what was wrong. “Don’t stop!” You pleaded and grinned when he just told you that he was getting to a slow part. He sang it for a while and then swung you around, singing louder and moving quicker. Twirling and spinning and then coming back against him, your smile grew big and proud, knowing you’d never get a moment like this again. So you lifted a foot and rotated yourself on the ball of your left foot as he took your raised right hand and pulled you to him. Stopping, you flashed a grateful smile and hugged him. “Thanks.” You whispered. You slow-danced again, shoes moving simultaneously with bare feet. When he stopped swaying, you stepped back and freed your hands. “That was beautiful. Thank you!” The hands and bracelet were checked. “The cement. It’s gone.” “When you danced, all the cement stuff is gone--” “For now! But we’re here!” A growling, arrogant voice echoed a little off the walls, causing you two to flee the spotlight. While you ran, you asked your friend where you were going as you scampered around a wall and then dashed down a flight of stairs. Entering another hallway of black and blueness with very little light, you skidded to a halt. “No!” His eyes bulged. “We have to keep going. The reason why we were able to dance is because of the spotlight. It washed off the wet cement I pulled you out of.” “How far does this place go?” You looked ahead to a tunnel you entered --all black and blue. No lights except those lighting the corners of the front and end of this weird contraption. Were you going through a construction site? What was going on? Was this a maze of some sort? You inquired, but no answer came. You just chugged on. Soon, you had run through the tunnel thing and were going through these-- “Wait!” You slammed yourself to a stop, and he jammed his shoes into the ground, rolled forward and then spun around while getting back up and rounding around. “This is a trap. I sense it. We need to get out of here.” “Those cement wolves. They’ll get us.” You listened, but you didn’t hear them. You gestured in the opposite direction. “They’re not coming because we’re running. Because we’ve stopped, they’ll be onto us. But if we keep moving...” You surveyed the very dim place. Locating a piece of glass, you ran over and picked it up. Tilting it, you noticed something about the glint--lining it with other glints, you saw a bird. “Hey,” you told the guy as it flapped its wings and snapped its beak. “Come over here. I want to show you something.” “Huh?” His dark silhouette came closer. “What’s going on?” “We’re coming!” roared the eerily intimidating voice, closer now. “Let’s go.” The man grabbed your free hand, and you raced again through the tunnels and over rocks and under bridges. The whole time, you tilted and moved it, the bird that was made of refracted light clucking its beak and then suddenly flying out from the glass. You watched in awe as it escaped its own place of confinement. “Guy. Let’s escape. Let’s... here.” You bent down, running your free hand under some stream water, a handful of pebbles coming along for the ride. Casting them randomly so the wolves would think you went in separate directions, you told the man to stop. He did. Showing him the formerly glinting glass, you moved it so it reflected your faces. You looked at each other. You looked at the glass. You saw yourselves. “Trapped in the mirrored world.” He explained, scratching his head. He swallowed hard and wrung his hands. “We need to save ourselves.” “How are we going to do that?” Your glass self wrung her own hands and shook her head, asking the guy what they were going to do. The man just blinked at the ground and shrugged. Then he looked at you, but you cocked your head because you couldn’t see how he felt. Then he sniffed, and you could just see some tan against a hint of other tan. “Guy? You okay?” “I’m fine.” Some white whipped away from you, and you knew he had jerked his head away. You bent your head apologetically. “Sorry.” You muttered. But you felt your hand lighten, and stood shoulder to shoulder with the guy as you studied the jagged mirror. Your mirror selves were panicking. You were almost crying, but he was trying to calm you down. But you wouldn’t listen. You started to sob. His face was contorted in anger but then he yanked you into a hug, admitting he was petrified as well. He also disclosed he didn’t know what to do or what you should do. What we should do. “That’s how I feel.” The real guy’s voice quivered. You don’t know what to say. You just breathed, “Yeah.” And then hugged him, hoping this gesture would help. It did, but he shuffled away, stepping past you. You pursed your lips and stared at the blackness below you. Then you sniffled, too.


I have a plan. I’m going to build a house. A home. I will hold the key. I will have control. I’ll have a nice front door that we’ll put a wreath on every Christmas to remind people and ourselves that we’re jolly. Maybe I’ll even have one of those electric doorbells with a camera. Then I’ll know if anyone else, including you, is trying to get in. I’ll be in the kitchen cooking dinner and you’ll show up at the door and buzz and I’ll prepare to put the pasta sauce on a simmer so that I can walk to the front door without having the ever-burdensome worry of having something boil over or burn into flames whilst I’m not looking and unaware. Yes, that will be my biggest worry when I’m in this house. I’ll casually ask who it is, and you’ll say it’s you and I’ll look worried because you were not part of my future plan. I did not consider that you would be here. I thought you’d be dead by now. I’ll have a nice hallway, of course. Just like the one I run down now, only with higher ceilings and more room to breathe. I haven’t decided if it will have family pictures along it or not - I won’t want to rub my family’s happiness in our guest's faces - it could seem a little gauche. I won’t have stairs - too many risks. I don’t have to explain it to you. Or do I? Is your brain so damaged from falling down them all the time that you can’t remember you fell down them? Well, not necessarily fell - I’m just sticking with the story you told the police. The police won’t ever come to this house. I’ll probably forget what they even look like. I’ll forget the clomp clomp clomp of their fists on the un-wreathed door. I’ll forget how it felt for my heart to jump up and lodge itself in my throat. I’ll forget the subsequent clomp... clomp... clomp... of his enraged fist-pounding your belly as your intestines wince - police make him angrier than ever. I think it’s because he’s scared of losing us? The only reason the police might tap tap tap at my big, wreathed door that I could possibly think of would be for a minor noise complaint by a grumpy old neighbour. The noise complaint wouldn’t be the same as the ones we receive now - no, if I ever got a noise complaint in this house it would be because I was throwing a little soirée in the garden, not throwing my wife against a wall. Oh god! I haven’t told you about the garden yet. It’ll have enough room for outdoor seating due to the simple fact that I’ll always be having guests over because I have nothing to hide. There’ll be white roses in the back of the garden of course, growing through the mud until the mud just disappears altogether. At the front of the garden, near the chairs and table, we’ll have daffodils. Those two flowers complement each other in a beautifully non-aggressive manner. Moreover, the soirée and the noise complaint from the grumpy neighbour will be the most ‘terrible thing’ I talk about for weeks, until I go to the bakery and my favourite sourdough is sold out, or one of the kids spills a snack in the car. Oh, what a chaotically blessed life I’ll have - I’ll talk about this supposed chaos at the P&C meeting the following week and receive validating empathetic nods and chuckles. It’ll feel so good to have my experience validated, so I’ll be able to project a warm smile, ignoring the cold iron rod that’s been lodged in my soul since birth. I’ll have a white kitchen with an island. Are you jealous I’m choosing white without hesitation? I’ll have a cleaning supplies closet off of the kitchen. I’ll keep bleach in there, but mine won’t be for cleaning my own blood that inconveniently spurted out of my mouth after my husband sadly smashed my face into the sink. Mine will be to clean silly little messes that my kids make. I won’t get angry when they make messes either, just bewildered. I’ll say “Oh no! Not pasta bolognese sauce on the white rug!” and then I’ll rush to the closet and get my supplies. Instead of crying as I wipe, I’ll laugh at how ridiculous I’m being - pasta sauce on the white rug is really no big deal! By the end of the night, we’ll be sitting in the living room that I’ve designed with a fireplace, all warm and cosy watching a movie on the TV that I’ve designed to have mounted to the wall. It’s not that I need it mounted on the wall - it will be mounted due to stylistic preferences, not because I’m afraid someone’s going to pick it up and throw it at me. And the fireplace will be turned on whenever it is cold. It will be a comfort, not a weapon. I think I’ll have a husband in the house too... maybe... we’ll see. If I do, I’ll sit next to him on the yellow and blue checked sofa and tell him what an ordeal the pasta sauce was - having to find the perfect pork and veal mince ratio, buying the organic tomatoes from the farmers market, only to have it spill on the white rug! He’ll listen and he’ll laugh and he won’t get angry. He’ll go in for a kiss and I’ll purse my lips and wince quietly even though I know he won’t hurt me. We’ll have a study off of the hallway too - a lot of successful families have those. But this one won’t have a lock like ours does. I did think about making it soundproof - it is quite a tiresome task to get my brain to focus on my homework when your howls and bellows permeate so pointedly through those thin walls. But then I remember that I’ll probably never need the soundproofing due to something like that again - oh gosh I’m a ditz sometimes! I’ll use the money I’ve saved on soundproofing to buy a big dining table that the kids can do homework on. I’ll always know what time they’ll be home, because they’ll always want to come home - to this home specifically, specially curated for them. I wonder why you haven’t designed a house for me like this yet. Why don’t you take me away? I’ll help you build it. You love this old house we live in too much, don’t you? It’s too familiar to you now. Do you even realise it’s haunted? Do you? Do you realise? Do you care? Do you care? Can you hear me? ....You must be upstairs. I’m sure you’ll pummel down soon. I guess I’ll have a spare room in the new house though. It will sit empty for a while, waiting for you to change your mind. You’ll call one day after I’ve put the kids to bed and I’ll answer and I’ll ask who it is and you’ll say it’s you and you’ll admit you’re in trouble and I’ll open my double garage and pull my car out to come and get you, and then we’ll pull back into the garage and close the door, and then we’ll be safe because we can watch the outside world through the electric doorbell with the camera. We will be safe in my dream home because I will hold the key. Not you, me. But for now, I’ll lock my door with an old broom that dad broke in half. I’ll lodge it under the handle and I’ll go to sleep with a pillow over my head so I can’t hear your curdling screams bubble over. I used to not lock the door in case you came to get me from my room in the middle of the night and take us away to someplace safe. But you will not get me out. I will get myself out and build us a new life. Don’t worry, I have a plan.


Kate woke up on a bed that was not her own. Her soft bed was gone, replaced by a hard slab of fabric, sitting gently on a sturdy metal frame. She swiftly opened her eyes and was quickie sitting up. As if on queue with her awakening, bright lights shot on, bathing the room is clean white light. Once her eyes adjusted, Kate looked around and was able to get a better understanding of the room she found herself in. The room was small, the walls and floors were made of solid panels, each seemed to be the exact same size and shape, all but one was a stark white. Across the room from the bed was a single black panel at the center of the wall. Kate’s eyes were still adjusting to the light as she stood herself up from the bed. She looked down and noticed her normal clothes were gone, replaced with a simple gray jumpsuit. “Hello?!” She shouted, her brain was running on overdrive trying to figure out where she was and how she got here. A monotone robotic male voice echoed across the room. “Subject is awake. Please confirm.” The voice seemed to be without a source, as if there were a thousand invisible speakers all echoing in perfect unison. Kate looked around, the adrenaline from being woken up was quickly fading as the fear of what was going on began to take hold. “Wha.. What is going on? Who are you? Where am I?” She stuttered through her words, unsure which question she really wanted answered, worried the answer might be alot worse than whatever her mind might think of. The voice returned. “Confirmation accepted.” The voice paused. An eternity of silence passed in a heartbeat. “Make progress, or termination will be permanent.” Kate yelled out, “What does that mean?” The voice was annoyingly silent, that seemed to be all the answers she was going to get. Kate looked around, and noticed the black panel had changed. At the top, a timer had appeared and was counting down. 3 minutes were left. Underneath, there was a message; ***What walks on four legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon, and three legs at night?*** Kate stared at the board confused as to why she was being asked a simple brain teaser. She thanked herself that she knew the answer, and unable to think of another way to answer, Kate spoke out the solution to the riddle. “The answer is man.” The timer stopped, and the message disappeared. A moment later, the loud voice returned. “Progress has been made.” Kate was unsure of what exactly *progress* meant, but making it seemed like a good thing, as the timer began to tick upwards until it hit 13 minutes, before it began to count down again. Then, another message appeared. ***LOCATE WHERE THE PATTERN REPEATS*** Kate looked at the message, then around the room for any sort of pattern she could find. The walls and ceiling remained unchanged, however when she looked down she noticed the floor had changed. It was no longer the same solid white, now a variety of black shapes scattered across the floor. She scanned the room, but couldn’t find any sight of a pattern. She spoke to herself “Okay, ‘Locate where the pattern repeats.’ Just gotta find it.’ How hard could it be?” Kate wasn’t sure if it was the nerves or the riddle, but she was just thankful that she had something else to focus her mind on. She quickly began to scan the ground, looking for any sign of a pattern, and where it might repeat. The clock had ticked down to 2 minutes, and Kate was still scanning the floor, but she couldn't find any sign of a pattern. Her mind was racing, and she began to panic. “There is no pattern! This doesn't make sense!” She yelled out, a small part of her brain was desperately hoping that maybe she had found the answer, but the voice was silent. Kate stared at the message, and suddenly she noticed something odd about the letters. She ran over, but before she could analyze them, she remembered the clock, and realized it had 5 seconds left. Kate froze, she tried to look at the letters but the pressure of the timer was too much, she couldn’t focus enough to find a pattern. The final seconds ticked away. The clock hit zero and the message disappeared. The ominous voice returned. “Time has expired, commencing termination.” The hard white light of the room was quickly replaced with a dim red. Smoke began to seep out from the floor. The room was quickly flooded with toxic gas. Kate tried to hold her breath, but eventually her body betrayed her, she took a deep breath in, she felt her body quickly begin to fail, until she completely collapsed. There was a flash of white, then suddenly Kate was once again standing in the center of the room. She took a deep breath, confused as to what just happened to her. “Make progress, or termination will be permanent.” Kate quickly realized she was somehow right back where she started. She looked at the clock, and saw it begin to count down from 5 minutes, with the same message as before. ***What walks on four legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon, and three legs at night?*** “Okay, so as long as I make progress, I somehow end up back where I started.” Kate said to herself. She didn’t understand the how or the why, but at least there were rules she could follow. “The answer is man” This time the voice did not return, the message simply disappeared, and the clock began to tick upwards. This time settling at 14 minutes. “And it would seem that time gets added every time I solve a puzzle. Got it.” Kate was beginning to feel slightly more confident, as the next riddle appeared. ***LOCATE WHERE THE PATTERN REPEATS*** This time Kate ignored the shapes on the ground, and went right to the letters. At the bottom of each of the letters, there were small shapes. Under the L was a square, the O had a circle, the C had a triangle. Square, circle, triangle. This pattern repeated under each letter across the whole riddle. She made a point to note every spot where the pattern repeated itself, and nervously spoke out her answer. “The pattern repeats every 3 letters.” The message vanished, the clock stopped, then the voice returned. “Progress has been made.” 10 minutes were added to the clock. This was how it continued, puzzles and riddles continued, sometimes entire rooms would open up, but each one had the same black panel, with a clock and riddle. If Kate could solve the puzzle, she could move on, and every time she solved a new one, the robotic voice indicated progress had been made. The once ominous voice began to take on a more calming presence to Kate, as each time it echoed, she knew she was now safe to fail a puzzle. Each failure led to a death of some type, but each time Kate woke up back at the start.


Trigger warning: blood, drugging The sound of ice skidding underfoot made Serena yelp and grab onto the frost coated metal mailbox with one desperate hand, the other clutching at the cling wrap clad paper plate of goods in the other. Serena's heart beat hammered away in her chest, like a loose hummingbird in a cage as she regained her composure, cursing harsh words at the bleak slick patch of ice that had caught her feet by surprise. It was the dead of winter, the time when the snow was crusted over enough to get away with ditching the pesky cleats, which of course were left on the floor of Serena’s mildly messy blue Sedan. With ginger footsteps, she carefully climbed up the driveway, freshly scattered with chunks of salt that had melted the pavement enough for her to toe by the dainty miniature statues of garden gnomes in santa hats and the thick red and gold bows that were nailed up to the side of the house. The Wilson’s home was always well prepared for the winter festivities, with small quirky things here and there, having a home that looked like it belonged in homely holiday postcards or painted Christmas cards. Serena managed to make it up to the porch safely and knocked on the door politely, checking her box made sugar cookies for damage, the frosting on a few bells were slopily smeared, but the mistletoe cookies were still in good shape. The sound of twinkling bells caught Serena’s attention as the door swung open. Michelle Wilson stood at the front door entrance, all pearly white in a lottery fleece sweater, her pants a dark red and green plaid and a tasteful glittery silver necklace hung low around her neck. She smiled widely at Serena, a stemless wine glass in one hand as she opened the door wider. “Serena! Oh I am so glad you made it!” Michelle exclaimed, ushering Serena into the gaping warmth of her home, “we were hoping you’d show up!” The inside of Michelle’s house always appeared as one would think it would, quilted tapestries and framed photos of family members hung up on style walls painted in warm hues. There was a candle wax burner next to the front door that smacked Serena’s nostrils with the scent of peppermint and lavender. From the living room, Serena heard a caterwauling of laughter from the other guests as she took off her shoes and hung up her coat. “Well I couldn’t miss a Wilson Cookie Social, what would the neighbors think ?” Serena lowered her voice, not masking the sarcasm that dripped off of her words. Michelle’s blue eyes twinkled with laughter as she placed a beige manicured hand on Serena’s arm, snickering at the comment. Serena had known Michelle for a few years, when Serena’s late mother passed away at the Wilson’s and the church helped fund the funeral. As typically Christian the Wilson’s were with their stunning blue eyes and long dark tresses of brunette hair, lovely homes and all the accoutrements, they were a very open sort of people. The kind of religious that worked in kind ways that never asked for anything in return. They were not the religious type, the Adams were not the type of people that went to church, Sundays were spent working and spending the evenings watching movies. Serena used to have a distaste towards them and never understood why Gertrude, her mother, was friends with Michelle’s father; until she had gotten to know Michelle. She was very sweet and quick to be patient with Serena’s weak heart at the time and stubborn attitude about the arrangements, grief bonded them quickly. There were friends and then there was Michelle, patient and willing to deal with Serena’s grief at her lowest and she would always be grateful for it. “Oh it’s not so bad, Lora brought deviled eggs so at least you have the advantage of bragging about being on theme,” Michelle tapped her finger on the cookie plate, “come on now, let me get you something to drink, it’s a party!” Serena followed after Michelle in tow to the main hub of the gathering, in a well fitting living room where three other women chatted around the coffee table. There were an assortment of cookies and a deviled egg platter that Serena pointedly placed her cookie plate down next to. Michelle disappeared into the kitchen, and Serena was left to social with the other ladies. Most of the women in tonight's circle were aforementioned Lora Brown, a short lady that loved her copper bangles and always had her auburn hair put up in curls. Lora was the local social studies teacher at the middle school and had a tense air to her that was good for bickering with anyone she had to pick a bone with. Madeline Miller, a bank clerk and single mother of two, laughed in a bubbly manner and had large brown doe eyes that followed anyone out of a room like a beacon. Then there was Jessica Perez, petite to the point that her glasses almost swallowed her entire face, but she was at least a familiar face to Serena, they worked at the local newspaper together. Jessica rose from her seat, wobbling over to give Serena a firm hug, her rose water perfume coated Serena’s sense as she returned the friendly hug. “Oh it was so boring without you,” Jessica whispered to Serena as she pulled away. Lora smacked Jessica in the shoulder, “hey I heard you Perez, what you have something to say to me? Am I not entertaining enough for you?” “Oh Lora she didn’t mean anything by it,” Madeline defended quietly from the sidelines. “Yeah!” Jessica gestured to Madeline, “you know it is officially winter break now teach, save that kind of talk for your husband.” Lora’s jaw dropped and Serena sneaked over to Madeline, picking out a nice gingersnap front he coffee table to nibble at as Lora went at Jessica. Michelle swept back into the living room, holding an additional glass of wine as Lora began to complain to Jessica about the tortures of commanding a class of rogue thirteen year olds with hormonal issues. Serena reached out for the glass and clinked hers against Michelle’s own as the brunette draped herself on the couch next to Serena and Madeline. “A classic Brown and Perez debate, I call Perez,” Michelle’s timbre spoke to Serena and Madeline. “Yeah Jess has an edge tonight,” Madeline agreed. “Nah, I think Lora is going to tire her out, she has the rage from finishing grading finals, this is going to be a while,” Serena gave her intake as Lora’s face began to grow pink. The three of them idly chatted over cookies and wine as Jessica and Lora went off at each other over the seasonal saxophone track playing in the background. Serena swirled the deep red wine in her cup, bringing the glass up to her lips slowly as Madeline whispered about something new that came up with her eldest daughter as to not interrupt the argument going on. The merlot was rich when it touched Serena’s tongue, almost coating over it instantly as she took in a good gulp of the warm liquid, letting it slowly ooze down her throat. After the busy rush to cover new articles for the paper, meeting all the deadlines and getting all of her presents bought and wrapped, Serena finally felt like she could spend some time unwinding with the girls. Taking another generous gulp, a little bit spilled past her lips and before she could recover front he feeling of the liquid dripping onto her blouse a firm thumb brushed right under Serena’s chin. Looking up, Serena saw Michelle, now firmly draped over the backrest of the couch, her ice blue stare focused on Serena’s chin as she gently sipped the drip of wine from her skin. With a coquettish grin from Michelle’s pearly white teeth, she pulled her thumb back and stuck it into her mouth, making a point of sucking the caught drop off of her thumb. A rush of warmth flushed to Serena’s face, she placed her glass down and excused herself to the bathroom. Once inside the perfect seashell decorated room, Serena stared herself down in the mirror. Quietly, she tried to will her heartbeat to calm down, she felt very out of place getting a little worked up over an affectionate gesture from Michelle. Truth be told, this was not the first time this had happened. Easter Brunch had Serena almost breathless when Michelle applied lipstick to Serena’s lips, on her birthday the woman had also written her such a loving note in her birthday card. Serena felt too old for crushes, she was thirty eight years old and knew which trees to bark up if she wanted another woman’s affection so badly and Michelle Wilson was not it. Fixing her raven hair, Serena slowly pulled herself back together, gently patting her face and counting the beauty marks on her face. Once she began to feel more composed, she straightened out her skirt and left the bathroom. Jessica and Lora were done arguing by the time she returned back to the livingroom and now Jessica was settled in getting Madeline to dance with her while Lora and Michelle chatted away. “Who won?” Serena asked, pulling out a cheery smile quick to get back into the swing of things. “Lora, now come over here and spin me bitch!” Jessica cackled, quickly grabbing Serena by the arm and swinging her into the over the top swaying and jiving that Jessica was trying to get her and Madeline to do. They laughed and swung around, moving around to the smooth tones and accompaniment of percussion that played over a rendition of Little Drummer Boy. Serena soon found herself swaying with Madeline, twisting and giggling along with the way Jessica moved in an exaggerated manner. When Jessica twirled Serena around in a circle her entire world spun and she lost her grip on Jessica’s hand, hitting the ground hard. Serena felt a dizzy spell and the room smudged over itself, she did not have that much to drink... Had she? Laughing on the ground, Serena grabbed the coffee table to try and help herself up, “I think that’s enough spinning for me! Oh shit-” Serena’s arms gave out as she got up part of the way and hit the ground again,except this time the impact did not hit her. At first she thought that maybe she had hit her head in a wrong way or maybe that the ceiling looked a little too funny, it seemed to fade into speckles of tv static. The vision was interrupted by Michelle’s face looking down at Serena, the brown ringlets of her hair pointed down at her like the tentacles of a jellyfish. Michelle looked placid and calm as Serena spoke up in a shaky voice, “hey can I get some help?” “Madeline,” Michelle looked up, her blue eyes leaving Serena’s vision, “can you get her propped up?” Serena felt a furrow of confusion start to swirl in her head as then Madeline came into view. The quiet and well kept woman propped Serena up against the coffee table,making her sit up as Serena struggled to move a single limb. It felt like every nerve in her body had abandoned her and not a single ounce of feeling was found in them. Her breathing picked up as Madeline backed away, crowding next to Jessica, who placed her hands on her hips, looking at Serena and back to Michelle who was disappearing again into the kitchen. The sounds of drawers being opened and clattering of utensils faded into the room as Lora sauntered in next to Jessica and looked at Serena like she was a spectacle. “Wha- what’s going on?” Serena spoke slowly, her mouth felt heavy and moving her jaw took a lot more work than she expected. Serena’s chin nodded down once, she blinked and then her head snapped back up, eyes fluttering to fight the heavy feeling that nestled down into her bones. “We drugged you,” Michelle’s voice twittered back into the room as she came back in from the kitchen. The sound of her footsteps thudded against the floorboards as Serena watched her renter holding a rather small kitchen knife. Panic spiked in Serena’s heart when she saw the metal glinted as Michelle got close and crouched down in front of her. Managing to shake her head, Serena tried to move her legs. Jessica snorted, grabbing her wine glass up from the coffee table, “you’re full of the good stuff babe.” “A sedative,” Michelle said, grabbing Serena’s twitching arm and holding it up. The silver metal shined in Serena’s eye as the twist of it met the skin of her arm and she closed her eyes. A cool hand cupped the side of Serena’s face, pulling her head in the direction of Michelle as Serena’s eyes opened up to see her up close in Serena’s space. There was a spot of red on Michelle’s mouth as she tilted Serena’s head. Her blood ran cold and nausea spiked up in her chest as she watched her arm being held up by Madeline and the sight of her letting the blood from the cut drip into Lora’s awaiting wine glass. Serena’s eyes fluttered, this had to be a sick joke, she had to be dreaming. Just a dream, a sick twisted dream, it had to be! Michelle tilted Serena’s face back to her and now Serena could smell the way Michelle’s breath smelled of copper and she shook her head in defiance. Everything was making her sick and she refused to get sick or cry as blood was being drained from her arm. “Serena, I’m going to need you to open your eyes and look at me,” Michelle spoke in a strict tone. Serena made a disgruntled noise in protest, “sweetheart if you don’t look at me this will only get worse.” Breathing became harsher and Serena felt her vision beginning to fade out, washing away like a tidal wave. Everything was fading into static and obscurity, wavering into undulating colors and vertigo that made her want to hurl. It was over, it was all over... Serena gasped for breath, inhaling so deep that it hurt and made her ribs contract too tight against her insides. The pale white sheets on her bed were cool and stark against her vision as she coughed and sputtered against her pillow. The clock on her bedside table read at eleven thirty am in the morning, she focused on that as her breathing began to even out and a warm hand rubbed between her shoulders. “Shhh shhh,” a soft sound came from the familiar form cradling up behind Serena as she regained her groundings. It was just a dream, another twisted thing that snuck up on her when she slept. Taking her time, Serena slowly turned around in her wife’s arms, tears being whipped away gently by Michelle’s fingers, soft baby blue eyes looking at her with concern and patience. This was her Michelle, not the one from her dream, the one that she’s raised her kids with and shared one too many nights being in her arms when a particular nightmare froze her in place. “Do you want to talk about it?” Michelle asked softly, cupping Serena’s face. Irrational guilt and embarrassment prickled up Serena’s spine, she could not even begin to explain the dream she had just had, even more so it was something for her therapist to hear. Serena gently kissed Michelle’s forehead and shook her head. “No,” her voice came out hoarse and strained, “just a stress dream...” “Alright... You can always talk to me,” Michelle reassured her, kissing Serena once before pulling her into a long embrace. Serena buried her head down under her wife’s chin, pressing her face into her exposed collarbones and wrapping her arms around her waist. “I know, I love you.” “I love you too,” Michelle muttered into Serena’s hair as the moment drew on, leaving them to their quiet recovery, settling things back into place for the day.


SORRY... I always loved reading fairy tales, sci-fic, mystery. But, here, in my village, ‘Senu’, girls are not allowed to read, write, study, do business. What girls here are allowed to do so is, entertain men (not just any men, but your husband.) to do house chores, handle kids, and teach them the manner to behave in public. And, we are allowed to wear only gowns, if we like it or not, we have to wear it, our opinions don’t matter. You must think, how come I know to write, and read...so pause there, tell your mind cells to relax, I am giving you the answer. So, I am living with my granny and pa, granny’s mum taught her to read and write, and she passed me the same environmental traits here, she taught me to read and write, and I am not allowed to tell this to anyone, or else we will be dead. We are very poor, but rich by heart. My dad knew about the traits I took from granny and he is very supportive, actually he is the one who buy books so I can read them, our neighbours think my dad is a book lover, but actually he is not. “OPEN THE DOOR NOW!” those guys were banging the door very rudely. “kiddo, do not move from your room, king has arrived here with his men’s!” “but granny, what’s the issue?” “oh, I don’t have time to explain that. Just sit here only darling, for god’s sake, do not move!” And granny locked my bedroom, and she went out. Well, let me be quick, our king is an asshole, this is his regime, and his rules, he is a dickhead (sorry for using so many abusive words, but you will come to know the reason soon!) I ran towards the door, and sticked my ears on it, Ah, I can hear them now. “Return me the payment by tomorrow, or I will take your daughter with me, she will please me every day, and will work as a maid in my court.” “Please, don’t do this, I beg you!” “My majesty, he has an only child with him, please don’t do this, we beg you!” “How dare you open your mouth in front of me, don’t you know the rules, women’s are not allowed to open their mouth in front of anyone, haven’t you taught anything to her!” “I am sorry on behalf of my mother, but please don’t be this cruel with us!” *BANG* “Tomorrow morning I will come with my men, and if I don’t get my money back, you can repay it by your daughter, time is ticking! Hahaha” *Sighs* told ya, he is an asshole, you will come to know how low he can fall. “Pa, Granny, open the door!” *cricks* “what happened, I heard some noise, granny!” she was not saying anything, I ran towards the hall and found dad, injured on ground, and our dish almirah fallen on his left hand, and he was bleeding out. “PA, YOUR HANDS!” I tried with all my efforts to push the almirah side with help of my granny. “Mom, this is the time. I love you my child, you are very strong and smart like your mom, and I want you to be safe. And ill make sure to keep you safe.” And without talking and seeing me he stood up and went out. He behaved very strangely today. Granny tugged me in her arms tightly, “granny, what’s up?” “you have read the book, ‘Hidden Kingdom’ right?!” “yes.” “Do you remember, the map given in the book?” “yes, how can I forget that!” “kiddo, you have to run away.” “What?! I didn’t get you, granny!” “The situation here is worst and complicated, I will pack everything for you right now, go from the back side of village, there is forest you knew about, so just go from there, and then turn to north side and walk until you find a pond, once you get there, look in the map I am giving you, and remember one thing, do not search from your eyes, but from your heart!” Don’t get confused guys, I myself don’t know what’s going on, let me first understand the situation then I will explain you later! After a moment, granny handed me a bag and a rope, and planted a kiss on forehead, “I have taught you everything and now its time for you to apply. I am very proud to have such a smart, kind, beautiful grand-daughter like you, I love you.” They are serious, THEY ARE SERIOUS!!!! *AT NIGHT* I took the necessary thing, and wore the cloak, and ran away. Somehow, I cross everything, and reached till pound, but I was tired too tired to walk, I could feel my leg numb. So, I went near oak tree and sat under it, and I put my head on the ground, and my hands touched the branch and after a moment I felt land shiver, I got afraid, and I took my bag, and then...AAHHH! *CREAK* “OUCH!” *CREAK-CROOK* “AH!” Let me explain, as soon as I hold my bag, land stopped shivering, and there was no more land, and I fell down, seems like I am in a fantasy world right now. I walked a little more and then I could hear my stomach saying, “food, food!” I searched in bag for something, and found three dounts and water bottle in bag, “Thank god!” I unwrapped the donut and when I brought the food till my mouth, “Please give me that.” Huh, I looked here and there, and found nothing “hey I am not that small, you are the one who is too tall!” I looked down, and saw a dwarf I smiled, and gave him my hand so I can bring him up, “can I know your good name please?” I asked slowly. “Ayla! What is your name?” “Zella.” “Where are you going toward? I have seen such a tall girl, after such a long time.” “I uh, just a moment. There is map in my bag, let me see.” I put her down, and took my bag, and searched for it, and found, the map, which was folded, I unfolded it, and to my surprise, it was the map from the book, ‘Hidden Kingdome’ “Why do you look so surprised, Zella? Let me see what the map is.” I took her in my hand, and lifted her on my shoulder, so she could see it clearly, “WHAT THE FUCK!” “Why the fuck are you shouting in my ears.” “Do you even what it is?” “NO” “you have to cross the walls, and I don’t think they will let you in.” “why, what’s wrong in me?” “uh, okay, see once upon a time, fairies, witches, genies, ghost, humans, animals all lived together happily, after a time it was announced the queen was pregnant and expecting twins, whole town celebrated when they came to know this. When 9 months got completed, two boys were born, kingdom got confused to make whom the next king, at that time our beloved king announced, that from both of them who will be the best chivalry will get the crown. Time passed away; both grew. Prince, Jane was very kind hearted, he loved literature, and everyone, whole kingdom loved him because of his kindness, friendliness, sweetness. And on other side, Prince James, turned out to be a living human beast, he was heartless, he didn’t love the other creature, except human, and he was not kind with human too. Time passed away, and then it was the time to make a king, people voted for Prince Jane, but Prince James had his own plan, he started the fight in the court and wished for trial, and then it was the fight between Humans VS Creatures, and Prince Jane was with creatures and we won. Prince James started erupting jealousy, he wished for a war. And it happened. Between the two prince, it was a non-stop war, then a conclusion made, Prince Jane and Creatures will take other side of country, and Prince James and humans will take other side of country, a wall was built, and then Humans were on other side of the wall and we were on other!” “oh okay, But what about the old king and queen?” “That stupid, asshole Prince James, poisoned the Queen as she was with Prince Jane, he didn’t even felt guilty for his actions, and people use to says James killed the king too.” “He is our King. He made our life living hell.” *DHIK-DHIK, DHIK-DHIK, DHIK-DHIK* “FIND HER, SHE MUST HAVE RUN THIS WAY, JANE YOU ARE DEAD!” “That asshole came, Ayla, hold me tightly, we have to run!” “take your bag first!” “we don’t have time for that!” “AAAHH! DON’T RUN SO FAST ZELLA!” I ran till we didn’t reach to a tunnel. “oh god, that was close!” We walked till we reached the other side of wall, I begged and with the help of Ayla they let me in. First everyone bullied me, some hated me as I was human being, some didn’t even want to talk because of me they were have to face once again James. I met with Prince Jane, he was literally the beautiful person I have ever seen, in his kingdom women was allowed to participated in debate, women were running business like men, they were having the freedom to what to wear and what to not, children were allowed to read and learn, even if she is a girl. I told him about the way Prince James was ruling, I could see rage in his eyes. After a time, fight happened, and this time Prince James tried to kidnap me, but Jane got me, and he looked in James eyes in rage, “long time brother!” “do not call me your brother James!” “why not?” “you lost that right on the day when you killed mom!” “I didn’t kill her!” “then did I kill her?” “the poisoned I gave her, killed her!” “You are a psycho!” “aww..” “Sorry, James but I couldn’t let you ruin human life’s!” and he brought the sword and killed James there itself. I cried in happiness that time, and then once again everyone lived a happy life, and the wall collapsed.


Billy,a widow,living with her four kids in a small town.She typified a poultry farm business.Billy ,after seeing off children to their school, along with Mrs John get towards work and busied her self till late evening.It was a dark and precipitating night ,they all were home and watching precipitation from the big Windows.Somebody pell mell knocking the door.Mrs John opened the door, subsidising a young man with a brief case in hand,jumped in and said, "fairly passing through, precipitation took me". Billy frowned little when she glared a brief case and a young fellow,but she allowed him step in. Introduced himself as “Vicky “.Billy liked his appearance and kept her coffee in front of him. Vicky went towards wash room .In the corridor he saw pictures of Mr Wulmer and Billy." Are you once a model and the other gent is the famous film Director Mr Wulmer,am I right”?.Vicky quickly said all this.”Absolutely right “ ,Billy answered smiley.Vicky quickly opened his brief case and put out an old magazine ,”Mam, your old pics,”Oh my Lord,after twenty five years I’m seeing my pictures”.Billy Wulmer,a thunder in the City,Billy as a silly,types of pics were there in a mag.”Mam,I discovered you after twenty five years,your life had so glamorous and taste,and Vicky commenced with the interviewing her.Vicky left and promised to come again in two days for more particulars.Vicky ,after two days came ,along with his team to quiz her.”My sweet heart,are you arriving day after,ok,Who is this coming with you” what are you talking about “ok,I would give you my concent after seeing him"."My daughter is arriving home for holidays ".She told Vicky .The phone call got her thinking.”My daughter,she is in college,coming with his proposed husband day after “Billy said"You are also invited on dinner ,definitely come .“.She invited Vicky.Billy and Vicky were sitting in the lounge,her daughter,"Robia" and her proposed husband stepped in.Billy became disturbed when she saw an aged man ,not suitable for her daughter ,sat beside.”I’m Robert Harry,Director in Foreign Services,.Next week I scheduled for South Africa for two years,so I wanted to marriage this Sunday and also take Robia along".Billy confused looking towards both of them.”But in a short notice how it could be possible,it needs time".Billy became disturbed.”It would be a simple arrangement".Robert answered smartly.”You are such a smart and cute, Vicky,delighted you are proposing Robia,she is a quiet sweet girl,is he your father Vicky.?”Mrs John frantically narrating all thi .”Mrs John,please ,you are talking without knowing the facts,Mr Robert is the proposing husband of Robia".Billy said in little rashed manner.”Oh,I’m extremely sorry and Mrs John hurriedly left the room.After dinner Mr Robert aparted.”Robia,He is more of your age,you will regret later".Said Billy in a polite way.”Mama,I’m in love with Robert,He is well established”.Answered Robia.Billy phoned Vicky to pick her for the party.They both participated well establishedly .Some body took the Mike and request Billy to sing.Billy astonished heard her name,she was not expecting part of the crowd now she thought people have forgotten her.She looked towards Vicky and said “Today I’m rebirth because of this boy,Vicky,Vicky I love you”and kissed him.The media shooted to shoot the scene.The media became active and flashed news in sensational style. Breath breaking news"Star born again” and the news stripe encircling on the Screens. Back home very late.kids and Mrs John were all awakened watching them.Billy and Vicky purporting outwardly,sitting in red sports car.Vicky held her hand , kissed on lips and cheeks hotilly.When is your next arrival".?Asked Billy romantically.”Day after to complete the interview,your previous interview was warmly welcomed.”Answered Vicky.”You dunno,you are still young and electric.I wanna make you a star again.Vicky further said.”You know Vicky,Im happy in my life,I won’t need billions to grow up my kids,I wanna give them a decent growth,mind one thing Vicky,don’t fall in love with me" and they both laughed.The kids along with Mrs John,sprinted to their rooms.Next morning Billy didn’t go to her farm,she woke up late in the morning only Mrs John went to work.The kids oddly acting towards her mother.”Billy ,kids not expecting this from you,typified last night,you are their ideal,they take you as a star of the other world,not of this world.”Mrs John said all this blunt and in open way.”Mrs John,there is nothing like this,I’m matured and I know that I have to raise the Children “.Said Billy calmly.”You were a star of past ,now you are only a Widow mother,that boy is smart and tricky ,lest he should ........“.Mrs John stopped saying further and went out of living room.”I’m delighted watched your mother on media,give my blessings.You know she has raised my prestige and class,you would amaze ,she is now again rising not like a star but like a sun".Mr Robert said all this to Robia on the phone.Robia also felt proud but she repeatedly thinking about Vicky and her mother's romance.All the neighbors gossiping about the romance on newly horizon.Sometimes ,at night when they both arrive in the Street,everybody used to stare them.”Beat your drum inside your house to spare the neighbors”,Mrs John tried to alarm Billy.Billy became super bold when she heard of Mr Robert's remarks about her.Now,Vicky became active member of their family.He now trying to use his influence to brought Billy to starlings life.Billy again rising as a super star after twenty five long years.Vicky wanted to make her more obliged.”Vicky,sometimes I stunned to think “Why are you doing all these efforts for me"?Asked Billy astonishing.”Billy,I’m in love with you”Vicky said like a shooting training.”From the last so many days,I was realizing,you are falling in love ditch,but you know I’m not fond of money making and don’t want to go back to that fictitious lighting life ,I will give my final to you soon “said Billy by dropping from the car.As she opened the door Robia, continuing upheaval.”Mama,you are in love with a boy,not matured ,you are making fool of him,using him,You are a mature woman and he is an amateur lover".”This what I was trying to say that day that Robert is not your age,you both have a long distance of age as ours,I did all this only to show you while act”.Billy said." I realized mama,I was wrong ,Robert is not of my age.”Robia said.Billy busy talking with Robia,door opened , Vicky came in and desperate kissing Billy.Billy tapped him and said “Vicky I’m not your age,we would only be good friends not good spouse”.They both naively deeming towards Billy.Billy Smiled and said"Every cloud has silver linings". The End.......'............Springs for life".


Joe sucked in air through his mouth then let out a coughing exhale. He covered his mouth too late, despite the fact that he was alone in his truck. Through his windshield, he saw the wide, rugged, filthy, death-filled area between the trenches. No man’s land. It was World War III and trench warfare was back and in a big way. This time, it was mostly due to laziness, but neither side would admit that. You’ve got the English or the French or something on one side and the French or the Swedish or something similar on the other side. Joe couldn’t remember what they were at war about but he knew that he supported the French. Or the Swedish. Trenches these days were pretty fun; Joe knew for a fact that one side had a pool table and heated bathroom floors. *Maybe I should’ve joined the military,* Joe mused. *I’m too fat for combat, but maybe they’d need numbers so bad that I’d squeeze in. Although I’m not French or Swedish or English so that would be a problem.* Joe wasn’t a soldier. Joe was a repairman. His specialty was in televisions, although he wasn’t really a specialist in anything. He was a jack of all trades repairman, as long as those trades were consumer electronics. And he had a doozy of a repair on his hands today. Both sides knew it as “The Speaker”, and that’s what it was: a titanic, colossal, double-sided speaker, one side facing each trench. No one knew who put it up; one day it wasn’t there, the next day it was, like an alien monolith. As Joe had heard, much of the fighting post-Speaker was over which radio station to put on. One side wanted the hottest pop hits while the other wanted to unwind with some classic rock. There was a detente for a day where holiday music was accepted by both sides, but this ended when Guns N Roses began blaring first thing on December 26th. Eventually, the two warring armies settled on public radio, finding the dulcet tones of the various hosts soothing. The shooting stopped as the soldiers learned about new books that were coming out soon. Then The Speaker broke, and resentment began to simmer once more. Both sides’ spies were blamed; the spies had previously been discovered to be spies, though both were so charming that they were incorporated into the other’s ranks. Though both spies pleaded that they knew nothing of the speaker breaking, they were executed in front of each trench. The message was clear: spying was fine, but fucking with The Speaker was not. This brought us back to Joe, sitting in his truck, an old revolver in the passenger seat. *What am I gonna do with this thing?* he wondered, picking the gun up and examining it. Joe came from a neutral country in the conflict, his unbiased presence being something both armies agreed upon after days of progress-less fighting. Joe detested war, not because of any moral objections, but because it seemed like a lot of work. Exercise was abhorrent to him; someone speed-walking past him on the street was something he interpreted as an insult and showing off. He had bad eyesight and flat feet and a head so big that an enemy sniper would tear up with joy seeing it in his scope. Joe pushed his glasses up and started speaking to himself. “In and out. There’s a ceasefire. They don’t want to shoot you. They just want the speaker fixed. They don’t want to shoot you. They just want the speaker fixed.” This became Joe’s mantra as he shakily opened the truck door, still holding the pistol in his hand. Eyeing the gun with each movement, he pointed it at the ground so as to avoid any accidental firing. Joe moved around to the truck bed and placed the gun in his right hand. He reached over the side of the bed and grabbed his toolbox. Gun in one hand and toolbox in the other, he took a deep breath, let it out, and began walking towards The Speaker. Though each step was slow, each heartbeat was quick and pounding. Sweat melted down his brow, and he could taste it and feel it sting his eyes. His tiny, circular glasses fogged up, either from perspiration or precipitation. The sweat wasn’t confined to his head; the running water loosened his grip of the pistol and toolbox. He didn’t want to squeeze either, careful not to accidentally pull the trigger. As he walked, he tried to wipe his glasses with the fabric on his workman’s outfit. He had to do so every few seconds, like windshield wipers in a hurricane. All Joe could see in between wipes were guns trained on either side; no people, no figures, only guns. He knew they weren’t pointed at him, but they were still pointed at him. Finally, he had arrived at The Speaker. He knew this because the dark shape he was walking towards was now very large. The Speaker towered over him like a skyscraper. Joe placed the toolbox and the revolver down on the mud. He used the fabric of his tucked-in shirt to firmly rub away the steam on his glasses before placing them back on this nose and wiping it. “Okay,” he whispered to himself. “Okay. Um. Let’s take a look.” He heard movement behind him. He jolted and turned around, but saw nothing. “Focus, focus, focus. Come on,” he whispered again. Joe began poking around The Speaker, or at least the area of The Speaker he could see and reach. As he examined the other side of it, he noticed an issue: it wasn’t plugged in. “You gotta be fucking...” Joe muttered before trailing off. He picked up the extension cord - about the size of a well-fed boa constrictor - and ran his hands down the length until he reached the plug. There was a socket in the ground covered by a superficial layer of mud. Joe kicked the mud off frantically. The soldiers peeked over the trench walls to watch Joe furiously kick the mud off the ground socket. Joe looked at one trench, then the other. “I found the problem.” He lifted the plug and its massive wire; he tried to lift it high but it was too heavy. “You’ve gotta-- this has to be plugged in. For it to work. You’ve gotta plug it in,” Joe shouted. He turned to the other trench. “This has to be plugged in here. See?” Joe rotated the plug so that the prongs faced the socket, then slowly squatted and plugged the large plug into the large socket. Immediately, The Speaker started producing sound. “There you go. See?” Joe tried to shout, though The Speaker was entirely too loud for anyone to hear. The sounds of a public radio host echoed through the land, and both trenches erupted in cheers. Suddenly, soldiers from both sides hopped up out of each trench and began jogging over to Joe. Joe shook the hands of both sides of soldiers, who began to mingle with each other like it was an office holiday party. Joe let out a quick chuckle before gulping, finishing it off with a smile as he shook hands. “Yeah, no problem. Just had to plug it in, that’s all,” he kept saying to the soldiers. *”However, we do have some unfortunate news,”* the public radio host said through The Speaker. The soldiers stopped talking to each other. Most ears were tuned to The Speaker now. “Yup, just had to plug it in,” Joe said again, before his ears, too, were clued in. *”Due to a lack of funding, Global Public Radio - the station you’ve been enjoying for over ninety-nine years - will be going off the air,”* the host continued. Joe’s smile froze on his face. *“This will be the final broadcast. Goodbye.”* The Speaker went silent. Both sets of soldiers began to examine each other. Joe spoke up, his newfound confidence slowly draining along with the color in his face. “That’s okay! That’s fine, I’m sure we can find another station you both enjoy--” A punch was thrown, right in front of Joe. Another punch. A tackle. A grapple between two men dropped Joe to his back as they rolled over him. His back caked with mud, Joe scrambled to his knees before dodging another set of fighting soldiers. Joe slipped onto his stomach before he began crawling toward his toolbox and pistol. He heard shouting in some language he didn’t know as a few of the soldiers sprinted to their sides, sliding into the trenches once more. The sound of the first gunshot seemed to reverberate through Joe’s skeleton. He sprawled out as flat as he could in the mud before he covered his head with his hands. Joe twisted into the fetal position before flicking himself over, inch by inch, toward his tools and gun. A bullet rang off the toolbox as Joe reached for it, and he pulled his hand back quickly, shaking it out. He quickly grabbed the pistol instead. Bullets flying overhead, Joe looked into the distance at his truck, a good one hundred yards away. His glasses fogging again, he squeezed next to The Speaker - now serving as a massive shield - and continued eyeing the truck in the distance. *Two options,* Joe thought to himself. *Stay here, use The Speaker as a shield, and hope the fighting stops soon. And that I won’t get hit. And that neither side executes me for being some sort of spy.* A bullet got so close to the top of Joe’s big head that he swears he felt its heat. *Or get to the truck.* As soldiers continued grappling in the mud and bullets sailed between and through their bodies, Joe closed his eyes. *Get to the truck.* With a shot of adrenaline he hadn’t felt since his first kiss, Joe climbed to his feet. As out-of-shape as Joe was, at this moment, he felt like the fastest man alive. He bumped into and knocked down two wrestling soldiers as he gained speed. Joe raised his pistol into the air and fired aimlessly, screaming as loudly as he could, a primal cry, a cry for life. Joe knew at any moment that his kneecap could be obliterated, his kidney punctured cleanly, his head splattered with bullets. In this moment, though, Joe felt alive in a way he hadn’t felt in decades. Halfway there as he weaved through charging soldiers from both sides, desperately trying to claw each other’s eyes out. “Get the fuck out of my way!” Joe screamed, his vocal chords unused to the power with which he ordered the soldiers, throwing his gun over his shoulder. Like a bowling ball destroying a house of cards, Joe knocked over more soldiers on his way to his truck. Twenty yards now, and not too many soldiers in the way. Joe dodged one soldier who was slamming another onto the mud before he slid next to the driver’s side door of the truck. His hand dove into his pocket with purpose, Joe identified which key he needed, and quickly inserted the key, turning it and throwing the door open. With the same precision, he slammed the door, put the key in the ignition, and threw the car into reverse. As he sped away backwards, he turned so he could look out the back windshield. He sped away from the skirmish, away from the combat, away from the war, away from The Speaker that brought him there. He would not be killed today. He may be killed someday, and he forgot his tools and maybe pissed his pants a little bit, but he was alive. And as he sped away in reverse, he screamed wordlessly. He then suddenly vomited all over his shoulder. *That’s okay. I can clean that up later.* Vomit on his shoulder, piss in his pants, but alive, Joe spun the truck around to face the other way, kicking up sheets of mud in the process. He drove away.