I’ve had the same friends since high school, but as the years passed, it became more difficult to see them often. We used to live within ten minutes of each other; a nostalgic memory now that everyone had moved to various points around the country. To stay in each other’s lives, we decided to commit to meeting up somewhere each summer. I’ve never liked flying, but after last year, it has become a much more preferable option. The plan was to stay at a cabin in Maine, and instead of flying, I elected to take the two-day drive. Luckily, a family friend knew someone who ran a bed & breakfast around the halfway point and offered to set up a reservation for me. At the end of the first day of travel, the sun had been down for nearly two hours when I happened upon a gas station. After parking, I read the rest of the directions given to me, only to realize they were far too vague. My exhaustion got the better of me, and despite the late hour, I called the B&B's number. “ Hello?” “Hi, is this Marie?” “ Yes... ” “Hey, I’m Cal. I’m supposed to be staying with you tonight?” I paused for a confirmation, which didn’t come immediately. I thought that maybe she didn’t hear me or the line dropped, but when her tired and thin voice returned, she seemed more surprised than anything. “ Right... Okay. ” “Ya, it was booked by a woman named Carla Henning. Sorry, it’s so late, I’m just having a bit of trouble with the directions,” I explained. There was another shorter silence followed by a sigh. “ Where are you? ” It was a fair question, but one I was unprepared for. I frantically checked my phone for my location, relaying it to her as best as I could. “ I’ll be right there, ” She said, hanging up. I was taken aback. I had expected her to explain the directions in more detail, or to possibly stay on the line while I drove. Instead, I felt a little silly that she was coming to get me. After about half an hour, a low sputtering reached my ears before I saw her truck drive up, red with faded paint and rust. Marie rolled down her window, and I admit I was a little shocked at exactly how ancient she looked. The creases in her face seemed to force her expression into a permanent scowl, and her hair was sparse, yet curiously shaggy. “Are you Cal?” “Yep, that’s me. Sorry about all of this,” I said, trying to be as repentant as possible. “Oh, it’s no trouble. The roads around here have a mind of their own if you don’t know where you’re going. Just follow me.” She gave a small, but friendly smile as she rolled her window back up. I got back into my car and felt a twinge of guilt, not only for putting her out but also my misjudgment. Her truck rumbled louder as she exited the gas station, and not wanting to betray her kindness any further, I quickly followed. After turning off the highway, the road slowly winded and narrowed into a steep path as we entered the Goliath Mountains. Pine trees rose on either side and even if they weren’t so dense, the moonless sky kept me from seeing much beyond the road. Eventually, Marie turned into a large clearing and I parked beside her, looking around as much as I could. Straight ahead was a two-story house whose siding may have once been yellow, even if it seemed to have forgotten it. Shingles were missing from the roof, and the chimney was falling apart, but the lights on inside provided some sense of comfort. On the other side of the clearing was a smaller bungalow, with many of the same features and defects, but no warming light from within. I turned off my car before stepping out. “Well, that’s your house over there. Sorry, it's not the bigger one.” Marie said with a chuckle, “I’ll unlock it.” She strode ahead through the unkempt grass to the guest house, and I quickly grabbed my bag before catching up in time for her to get inside and turn on the light. I stepped in and examined the decor that no doubt had existed long before either house. A dead fireplace sat across from me, and to my right a small table with a wood-burning stove behind it. On the other side of the room was a large orange couch, and in all the corners sat strange, but beautiful plants. Still, I could sense that something was off. “Where’s the bathroom?” I asked. “You can use that bucket there.” She responded, pointing to a corner that indeed held a large, metal bucket. I thought she might be joking, but her expression suggested otherwise. My disbelief must have been evident since she was quick to offer an alternative. “You can also use the bathroom in my house if you need to. I’ll leave the back door unlocked. That’s the pull-out bed there, and if you need anything else, I’m a pretty light sleeper.” She then bade me goodnight and left. Fatigue washed over me, so rather than stay up to read or watch something, I decided to retire to bed. After wrestling with the pull-out and eventually pinning it, I turned out the light and laid down. A curtainless window hung to the right of the front door and directly across from my face. Through it, a quarter moon stared down at me, so I turned over and wondered how long it would take me to fall asleep. I woke up after seemingly no time at all, as judged by the brightness of the moonlight still streaming into the guest house. I hadn’t moved, so I was still staring at the back wall and the projected silhouette of the window’s cross frame. In the frame’s bottom corner, I noticed a shadow and assumed it was a spot of dried paint or some other blemish. My exhaustion was winning once again when a chill ran through my body as I saw the shadow move. It was only for a second, so my mind ran wild with rationalizations. I thought perhaps I hadn’t seen it move at all, and if I did, it may be just a swaying bush outside. Ten minutes passed by my guess, and the shadow remained. I knew that if I didn’t investigate, sleep would remain a stranger to me, so I decided to turn and look. After some self-persuasion, I spun around and the thing in the window moved out of sight. I froze, propped up on my elbow, and heard nothing but my heartbeat. I had seen it for barely an instant, so only made out one detail. However, it was all that was needed to send my fear over the edge. Because when I turned to the window, someone’s eye had stared back at me. I jumped out of bed and instinctually went for the light, but stopped myself, knowing that it would only give an advantage to the watcher. Grabbing my phone, my worst expectations were fulfilled as it had no service. With my options diminishing, I summoned up a sliver of courage to confront my night stalker. Picking up a fire poker, I threw open the door before I could convince myself otherwise. Beyond the threshold, I had anticipated the scariest person imaginable but horrifyingly found no one. I began to think more clearly and deduced that the person may have slipped around the back. Turning left, I crept around the side of the guest house, approaching the rear, and my guess was confirmed. I saw the back of someone just around the corner. They were cloaked and crouched, probably waiting for me to come around the other side. When I was a footstep behind, I swung my makeshift weapon at the figure's head, and stayed only long enough to watch them collapse before I sprinted to the main house. Bursting through the back door, I called out to Marie. Without a response, I began to search the house for her, heading upstairs first. After checking a bathroom and a cluttered storage room, I finally found a bedroom, but the bed was empty. Instead, my gaze was drawn by a collection of scattered pages on a table in the corner. Turning on the light, I looked through them and, from what I could make out, they were the paranoid ramblings of someone far less sane than how Marie had first appeared. Supposedly she had found something in the mountains. A map was enclosed, showing a nearby lake, and a small cave that had been circled with the word “CAMP” written in red. In these writings, along with her fear, she seemed also deeply regretful. She was desperate to return what she had taken but was somehow unable to. There was a constant dread, as she believed that someone was coming for her. While it was unclear who or what this was, she seemed to know when it would come, and that it was inevitable. That was all I could read, and I turned towards the door, only for my heart to drop to my stomach. There in the doorway, in a ragged and dirty cloak, stood Marie. The wrinkles of her face contorted to mirror her psychosis, now reflecting the woman in the papers behind me. A red trickle ran down her forehead, no doubt from the fire poker I still held. Noticing the kitchen knife in her hand, I froze once again. We stared at each other, waiting for something to happen, and my sight moved to the wall on her right. A calendar hung there, with an impressionist ocean painting, and a circle around today’s date. “Marie, listen...” I tried to mediate. She interrupted by charging at me, blade first, and I jumped onto the bed to leap around to the doorway. She came at me again, so I swung the fire poker once more but only succeeded in embedding it into the wall. Unable to get it loose, and with my rampaging host before me, I chose to leave my only defense and flee. I flew down the stairs but felt her bounding close behind me. Breaking through the front door, I ran to my car and tried to open it before realizing that my keys were still in the guest house. I barely had time to curse before Marie was upon me again, and I was forced to run in the other direction, into the forest. Branches whipped my face, and I stumbled over nature’s uncounted and unseen obstacles as I plunged into the dark of the wood. I’m not sure how long it was before I checked behind me, but once I did, I was punished with a large stump that sent me landing flat on my face. I quickly scanned my surroundings, finding that Marie was nowhere to be seen and hearing nothing of her strangely energetic chase. After making sure I wasn’t seriously injured, I dusted myself off and weighed my options. Going back was the obvious worst idea, but I struggled to think of much else. At last, I decided to walk further into the forest, hoping to discover my salvation elsewhere. Either due to the cover of clouds or the density of the trees, the moon provided only a glimmer. I still had my phone, and although it couldn’t make calls, it could still light my way. With a half-dead battery though, I tried my best to feel my way around instead. Staying calm while doing that, though, was not an easy feat. It wasn’t enough that this forest was dark and alien, but like most others, it was loud. Trees creaked, the wind whistled, and animals called out to each other. More than once, the otherworldly cry of an elk sent me into a cold sweat before I realized what it was. Surprisingly though, and thankfully, none of my frequent stops to look around me ever came up with anything. Before long I broke through the forest’s edge and the shimmering blackness of a lake lay before me. As expected, a cave emerged from the ground to the right. Marie had marked this area “CAMP,” so in my desperate mind I hoped that there may be something useful inside, even perhaps a radio. The entrance was smaller than expected and was so close to the shoreline that I needed to sidle along the water’s edge to enter. Once I did, I was met with a steep slope that almost got the better of me as I descended into the earth. The moonlight reached about halfway down, so once I found the bottom, I was in complete darkness. It was at this point that I gave in, and sparingly used my phone to examine my surroundings. Ahead was a narrow hallway stretching forward into unseen depths. The suffocating shadow made pressing on difficult, but I still held onto my sliver of courage. With the hallway appearing perfectly straight, I tried to keep my light off as much as possible. However, the fear of walking into something horrible or falling into some unknown pit did not keep me blind for long. The only sounds were my footsteps and breathing, echoing through the passage. The rhythm they formed only amplified the solitude that I was trying very hard to fend off. Of course, when that feeling disappeared, it became all the worse. It started slow, a barely noticeable noise that likely occurred a few times before I became aware of it. Eventually, though, my foot scraped the cave floor at the same time that a heavier dragging sound came from behind. I turned around immediately and heard nothing, unsure if it was my imagination. Unfortunately, the disorienting blackness stretching out on either side didn’t help. After listening for several more silent moments, I turned back and continued. However, the noise was cruel, as right when I felt slightly comfortable again, it returned. Like before, I stopped and listened to the emptiness. Silence once again. I was about to continue when a far worse rendition of the noise erupted. I could hear with certainty, something heavy, and rough being dragged on the ground in short repetition. I did not have time to analyze it further, since, after a pause, it transformed into a continuous slither. Without hesitation, I turned and fled, praying the hallway would finally end in safety. My legs burned and I started to think the tunnel might indeed be endless. Finally, my hand left the wall as I entered a new area. I could make out a door behind me, so as my pursuer grew closer, I slammed the door and held it with all my weight. The horrible dragging became louder, and my confidence in that thin barrier waned. Right when it sounded as if the thing was about to crash through, a silence came instead. I pressed my ear to the wood, holding my breath to hear the slightest indication of something on the other side. After waiting for what seemed like long enough, I stepped away. I almost opened the door again, but a second thought convinced me otherwise. Instead, realizing my phone light was still on, I used it to look around. The first thing I noticed was the circular room I was in, about fifteen feet in diameter. The second was my phone’s battery, which had dropped to nine percent. I would have turned it off right away if something on the wall hadn't caught my eye. There a mural of swirling designs formed odd shapes and menacing figures, despite appearing completely abstract. I followed the fresco until it culminated symmetrically across from the entrance. The patterns pointed down at a pedestal against the wall, with an indent carved into the top. I assumed it would have held some object or artifact, but there was nothing there. I searched the rest of the room, initially finding only dust and stone. Eventually, though, I discovered two familiar things, which at that moment had become truly terrifying. They were a pair of shoes, which as my light traveled upwards, I saw was attached to none other than Marie in the now open doorway. Dried blood plastered her face, and both her clothes and hair were caked with mud. Her eyes burned, seeming to make my light obsolete, and a kitchen knife was still clutched in her hand. “Of course, you’re here,” she croaked out. With a cry, she prepared to lunge at me, but something stopped her. In the tunnel behind, the heavy dragging had returned, and Marie turned to face it. It grew louder as it filled the chamber, and right before its source appeared, my phone died. A symphony of screams followed, both human and not, that I cannot recall without shuddering. I did not feel anything, but from what it sounded like, Marie would soon be no more. Sure enough, the screaming stopped, but it did not yield to silence as whatever the thing was slithered around. I stood as still and quiet as possible, praying it would leave and that I would finally be able to as well. This was proven useless, with something rough touching my leg before latching on in an instant. I soon felt my entire body immersed in this texture, no matter how much I fought. I wondered how long I would be able to stay conscious before finally being consumed. I awoke to a lack of oxygen, and something still surrounding me, which I quickly realized was water. I saw the reassuring light of the moon above me and swam up, breaching the surface of the lake. After coughing up more water than I thought my lungs could hold I saw my surroundings, including the lakeside cave now crumbled, barring anyone else from entry.


Fear. He thought he understood the idea. When he was younger he had been told to not be afraid by his parents, but this was different. This was paralyzing. His parents had finally left him home alone. He fought for this right. Now, with the window broken from the outside in, and a shadowy figure making his way around the house, all he could fight for was to keep his hands steady as he dialed for the police. He strained to hear the operator over the relentless beating inside of his chest. Fear. He knew he understood the idea. But this, this was something he had never experienced. Something new. What was once an emotion reserved for times of solitude had suddenly, relentlessly even, shoved its way between him and his fiancée. The man across from him, who had already demanded his watch and wallet, looked weathered. The knife in his hand glistened with the light of flickering neon signs. He didn't care about the wallet or watch but when the attacker turned his eyes to his fiancée, that was when he knew what had to be done. The drum that was once a distraction, now played a welcome song of war. Fear. It was no longer an idea. Sitting next to her like he had done for so many years before, he knew it was close. The doctors said she could go home, she would be more comfortable there. The sound of his heart inside his chest didn't matter anymore. This was fear. The fear that comes from true helplessness. Unable to run, unable to fight. He would fearlessly take her place if he could, but he couldn't. This was fear. He longed for a time when the sound of fear was his beating heart. The sound of fear was now the sound of an electric beat. An electric beat that was ever slowing. Fear. Silence.


With bright blue eyes and a pronounced chin, the man in the grey suit sported a handsome smile as he removed the hat from his head extending his arm, “Hey there, Gustaf Olrog, I work for the government.” And before there was even a moment to respond to the man he made his presence known as he made his way through the doorway handing over his hat and there I stood quite shocked for a moment over the curious man looking around my home, through shelves but before he could make his way to the living room I took a step in front of him and said “Well, so what? Does working for the government mean that you can just barge in wherever you want!?” “Oh but you looked at me so invitingly, I suppose I may have jumped to conclusions, although I do smell some coffee brewing so if you don’t mind can I ask you for a cup?” “Mr. Olrog was it? I can give you a cup of coffee and all the damn semi skimmed milk in this house if you so want if you can explain yourself and this intrusion. I am quite offended by you simply shaking a hand to enter my home and now when I see it I’m even holding your hat...” “And that is why I made an assumption,” mr. Olrog said taking off his coat, “now as I said I work for the government. Specifically, the Unusual Robot Incident Unit, so perhaps you have heard of what we do? No need to answer that question so please put my hat on the hanger and give me a tour.” On closer inspection mr. Olrog appeared to be a quite well built man and his two piece suit drew attention to his broad shoulders and slim waist. It was quite enough to be able and put up a fight or even roughen up someone like me, and so I made way through the living room showing some of my antiques. The man seemed quite disinterested and sparsely commented on them or any of the books he inspected closer, didn’t read much he claimed. Although his interest in all bookshelves near the antiques and small knickknacks was somewhat contradicting this. The kitchen was somewhat less furnished and clean, a large wooden table with a large red table cloth covered most of it, and in the centre were already the can of coffee, some cookies, and coffee cheese. I looked through my cabinets for the nice cups with saucers, the one with small gnomes dancing on it. Of course I was looking to seem nice and quite bothersome with all the small things to show and talk about, perhaps backing away from the encounter, perhaps because the man hade made his way in so effortlessly. I poured us both some coffee and looked on as he took a healthy portion from the cheese and a single cookie that he ate immediately, he looked at me and smiled “I do appreciate the effort and for you to offer me this cheese is a rarity indeed!” “Indeed...” I muttered with a sigh drawing my cup far closer to my chest, “so then mr. Olrog you didn’t quite specify what you do?” “Oh I did quite well but I suppose you want me to explain the details.” “I do” I retorted angrily, “nothing big ever happens in these parts and never have I seen a government employee!” “Well, big things happen in big places” said mr. Olrog with a great smile, “so this is an unusual incident indeed. Now as I was saying before being interrupted, there is something strange that occurred in these parts. I received constant calls about this machine that ran loose, that came close to homes, especially those with families, almost as if the machine was peeking in through the windows. And now I must ask you, why would a machine do that? For what purpose would it serve something that lacks any sort of video equipment or cameras?” “I wouldn’t know” I hesitated, “But then again I don’t have a family so perhaps that is why I don’t know about this event at all.” “Yes, perhaps you are much like me, working away our lives until there is nothing left but a heap of bills and wrinkly fingers. No, I shall tell you about this machine, it is quite large, about your size in fact. It has a colour scheme much like those produced by Prosperos Musical Machines, if you have seen them. They are built as entertainers, playing mostly piano but some able to play flutes and string instruments. And I can see you are quite the musician yourself.” “Yes, I do own a lot of instruments, but I haven’t played them in a while. I got sick and my lungs aren’t quite the same, can still play the piano though, if only I owned one.” I said thinking of better days. Mr. Olrog nodded and frowned at the bitter coffee, “The machine wandering around does not only look for families you see, it also appears to search for musical instruments. And what the families have in common is just that, a piano and a group of people nearby. Quite what a stray machine would want to find to fulfil its duties.” “I suppose that would make sense, if it is broken or damages to roam around for an instrument and guests.” I said spilling some coffee all over my shirt as I attempted to drink it, “Dammit... So what is your point anyway, that I am alone and without a piano? Am I really the only lonely man in these parts?” “This coffee has been standing for a while, hasn’t it? Not too hot. And no, you are not the only one. But you are the only one missing in my report.” Mr. Olrog said reaching into his pocked, “Now, I wonder, with so many instruments in your house have you even thought of owning a musical machine to compensate for your disease? I would certainly do myself if only to hear the fine tunes once more in the comfort of my own home.” “I wouldn’t afford one” I mumbled, “I wouldn’t afford one. Besides I can still play and play for my guests.” “Would you mind playing for me?” “For you?” “Yes, play for me” said mr. Olrog standing up, “play for me on whatever instrument you wish.” We walked into the living room, me with the coffee-stained shirt and a violin and mr. Olrog with his hand in his pocked tilting his head as he looked at me. He gestured and nodded. And I began playing, and I was playing for a moment before the violin broke down in my hands. It broke down as if the wood had grown soft and I simply looked at it. I looked at it for quite a while then back to mr. Olrog who pulled out a small handgun, “The term you are looking for is memory plague, you have existed for nearly a century and your memory banks are full and here you stand in the rotting home of your last owner, taking his personality. All fragments of your mind is from previous owners that began replacing programming as the congested memory began deleting files, with such a congested system it can no longer decide which to keep and which are important. You are now decommissioned PM-2781, the last of your defective kind.


"Please help, friends of nature." The sudden voice startled Merry and Freya, it came as unexpected as the message it carried; surely they loved nature and these walks in it. However nothing seemed wrong, it was a beautiful morning, the sunrise just around the corner, and the usual cacophony of birdsong was heard everywhere. They looked at each other with a mixture of fear, doubt, and disbelief in their eyes. Were they hallucinating? A foot-high creature, with antlers and butterfly wings came floating down from the canopy, "sorry that I so abruptly interrupt, it was not my intention to scare you." Frozen between anxiety, awe, and a flood wave of thoughts, Freya and Merry didn't move a muscle after seeing the mystical creature. "My name is Blossomhearth, protector of nature, the first fairy of the queen," the creature continued, "we need your help, pure souls." Freya was the first able to express her feelings, "wh...wha...what?" Hearing her voice grounded Freya, she straightened her back, relaxed her shoulders, her eyes darted around between observing Blossomhearth and finding a stimulus-free spot so she could think. With a bit more confidence, "what? Explain yourself fairy." Hearing the power in the voice of Freya, Merry snapped out of freeze mode. Blossomhearth answered, "we require pure-hearted humans to save nature." Seeing them get back within the moment, although still doubtful and alert, the fairy continued, "please follow me, it is easier to show you the problem than it is to explain." Having regained their senses and movement, Freya and Merry gave each other a reassuring look and did as requested. _ The fog in the red, yellow, and green woodlands was thick. They seemed to be crossing through some sort of arboretum, different kinds of trees were everywhere, the next one more ancient-looking than the last. The fairy they were following moved quite quickly until it reached the middle of an open space. Freya and Merry stepped into the circular field. All around them they saw trees with bright purple foliage. Before the two humans could let the wonder sink in, a bright flash erupted from Blossomhearth. Everything changed, the brightness faded into a pitch-black, they floated weightlessly around in space. They saw the stars, the moon, and the sun. O The earth in front of them stopped spinning east and started to rotate west. Faster and faster, until no details were discernible. Just before the dizziness became too much for Merry to bear, everything came to a halt. They floated towards the earth and saw lush green scenery and animals roaming freely. In the distance they heard a drumming sound, growing louder and louder, a group of shadowy figures appeared. In the middle of the group, one of them was working hard until a glow radiated from beneath him. The drums stopped, a shock on the faces around. Time and space picked up in speed again, slowing down on certain points where moments flashed before them; more and more fires were created; people settled in place; more and more fires were created; trees were being chopped; more and more fires were created; metals were mined; villages and cities appeared; more and more fires were created; peat was used as fuel then coal and oil; more and more fires were created. As sudden as the journey started, as sudden it ended. They were back in the beautiful field, on a beautiful morning. "We need your help," Blossomhearth said with a slight quiver in its voice, "please safe our queen, mother Earth." _ "H...ho...how?" Freya tried to gather her thoughts after the flood of information and the request to save the world. "You obviously have strong magical powers why don't you save Earth? Or why haven't you done so many centuries ago?" This time Merry was the one sharp who stepped up, being annoyed by the huge responsibility laid upon them by the fairy. Blossomhearth neither got angry nor upset, he patiently replied, "I did, we did try to do so many times before you. We have sworn to not interfere immediately with any lifeform or their internal politics, this includes humans. We have recruited many couples like yourself before, each one of them failed. Their followers twisted their words to gain power, the woman got ignored completely and every time religious warfare escalated as a consequence. You will be equipped with magical powers to make pants grow, earth rise, and rivers flow." Freya and Merry apathetically stared into some sort of abyss for hours straight. When they finally snapped out of it Freya produced some words directed at no one, "what if we refuse?" "If you refuse or fail we might need to wait for many generations to find another wife and husband with a pure soul. It might be too late, your race might be a deadly virus spreading through the universe, killing all life on every planet they come across." "You leave me little choice Blossomhearth, I will accept," Freya said. "I will stand by my wife and will accept as well," Merry said. A greenish pool of energy formed beneath their feet, slowly creeping up around their body, fully submerged in a bubble of energy they began to absorb it until everything looked like it was before. Blossomhearth had disappeared as did the open space with purple trees. They were once again in the forest they knew and walked before. _ After years of diligently and tirelessly working to convince people of the urgency, frustration and gloom got the better of Freya and Merry. Anxiety set in, humans were too egocentric and stubborn to acknowledge climate change was their responsibility or willing to change enough to prevent the consequences. Freya crept back into her shell, depressed, overwhelmed, and broken. Merry packed his backpack and walked out, furious. After nearly a year of grieving Freya finally had the heart to put on the news. The headline beneath the anchor read "nature strikes back." "For the 43rd Sunday in a row, strange events have happened, this time an oil power plant in Africa has been cleared. On satellite images, we can see a flood wave appears without warning putting out all fires and presumably clearing the hundreds of employees at the site. After the flood, a forest grows within minutes leaving no trace of the plant. Millions of people in the area have lost their power supply. For the local weather, we go to Tom, goodnight, and godspeed." Freya turned the TV off and felt a surge of mixed emotions overwhelming her. "Merry, you are alive," was her first thought, followed directly with, "what have you become?" She started to cry and crawl into herself. _ "STOP!" Freya had tracked Merry down by their natural connection. Merry ignored her, Freya fought the tears, which were heard in her voice, "please stop, Merry." "Freya?" He came back to his usual self for a bit and said, "I am sorry love, that I have left you, and that I have become rogue, this is the only way." "No, you are hurting people, you have become what you hate most." "I am completing our oath," his voice became angry and bitter. "Not like this, please, I don't want to hurt you, you have left me when I needed you most, I am here for you. The message has come across, we can convince them to work with us now. Please, Merry, search your feelings, this is not the way, this is not who you are. Please, please, please." Merry turned to face her, she saw the darkness on his face, he recognized her compassion. For a moment they locked eyes, he dropped his head, and fell to his knees, "I am sorry love, I did not know what to do." They cried together. _ Word count 1301 _ Written as five separate parts, denoted by an underscore, for a serie of photo's I have taken. I hope you enjoy(ed) reading.


Basically two men talking about which is more cruel--a death sentence or life imprisonment. So, they made a bet. One of them, the younger, would be "imprisoned" in one of the older, richer man's properties / houses. The deal was for several years (or was it decades?). Through the years the improsoned man read books and bettered himself, while the rich man continued on with his life. When the time was near to release the imprisoned man, the rich man was getting nervous. His wealth wasn't as great as before and (I believe) he would have to pay the imprisoned man a great deal. However, just before his release, the imprisoned man "escaped" and left a note saying he didn't have to be paid. He has gained a lot of wisdom and this was a lot more than what money can bring. Does anyone know the title of this short story? I would like to read it again, if anyone can tell me what it is.


I had finally saved up enough of my salary to afford one, my very own to keep and look after. I had sacrificed 500g of food each week for almost a year, and now finally the time I had imagined for so long had arrived. The blank-looking shop assistant slowly walked to the back of the poorly-lit, magnolia-painted store and over to the gloomy looking fish tank. She didn't share my excitement or need for haste. We both wore the same plain grey uniform with plain black shoes, and likely the same empty expression, the only distinguishing difference between us was the assistant's pale blue, dusty apron. There is no need for name tags anymore. We all had the same pale complexion too, not quite healthy, but then not really unhealthy either. She slowly submerged her plastic-gloved hand in to the seemingly stagnant, murky water, pointing to each of the plump and docile goldfish in turn. My choice of fish was the sleekest looking one nearer the bottom of the school, the brightest gold of the twenty or so, each staring in the same direction with their tails wagging back and forth just enough to tread water and keep them aligned and synchronized. They were all staring towards the front of the tank, perhaps at the plain wall beyond, or perhaps at their reflection against the tank's glass, or possibly at nothing at all, just collectively phased out or deep in meditation. The uncaring shop assistant knocked each one out of the way with her pointing finger until she landed on the one, Marty I was going to call it, after one of my favorite classic films. I nodded once she reached Marty, then proceeded to slowly pick it up with both hands and raise it out of the water. The assistant smirked as she pulled it out, "funny how you can just pick up an animal with your hands. Their primal instinct to run away has been bred out of them to the extent that they don't care about anything at all. They just sit here day after day, with their only purpose to eat and breathe." She then dropped it into a small plastic bag that was partially filled with grey water and passed him over to me. This sad comment quickly dispelled the excited feeling I had in my stomach, incidentally the most joyful feeling I had felt in years. In thought, I looked up and saw the same vacant look which the fish wore in the other people in the store and wondered if the shop assistant's point applied equally to us. I shook my head instinctively, shaking away this negative feeling and remembering the worthwhile sacrifice and achievements of our society. Our lives are indeed simpler now, having created the paradise which so many generations before us had envisioned and sacrificed themselves for. War is no longer a threat. It is not even understood how or why a species with such intelligence, wealth and capable technology invested the money meant for people in development of mass and precision killing devices. With war gone and with it the killing machines, the extra money was reinvested in healthcare for all of the highest quality, extending the lives of some to near immortal standards. Famine is also a thing of history. Now, we are careful about how food is produced, distributed and consumed. The decadence and gluttony of the past replaced by sustainable food sources that could be produced near to fully autonomously by robots. And best of all, the planet was saved. The pillaged and suffocated world of the past, left for dead having been harvested, mined and dredged of nearly all of its resources for the benefit of a small minority, saved on it's deathbed by a miracle of the current culture, a miracle I will explain shortly. Amazingly it was us who achieved all this, finally brought together in unity by a common, truly virtuous vision. We had even eradicated the causes of so many previously common mental illnesses, which plagued so many of my ancestors. No more holding ourselves to unrealistic standards, no more feeling inferior to other people, no more unnecessary time spent on unnecessary hobbies or expending effort into exercise for meaningless pieces of metal and ribbons. The result was that over the generations, our anxieties and depressions slowly vanished. And how did we achieve this world which previously only existed in dreams? Well, the answer was so effortless and relatively easy; we all became the same. We are now all raised the same, hold the same values, earn the same wage, and live the same. We are homogeneous and interchangeable in almost every way. I even know the opinions of the strangers around me, without ever talking to them, and they know mine. It was the human race's differences and perceived freedoms that were holding back our ancestors for so many wasted years. How was anything supposed to be achieved when democracy, delivered by self-serving individuals, allowed for an ever changing goal? Our whole lives now follow the same plan and routines. And of course some weren't happy with the new system or didn't fit in with the new order, and sadly weren't able to breed, cast aside by society or imprisoned. However this made the remaining people more aligned to our vision, reinforcing our trajectory and enabling our journey to paradise now possible. The thought of all this wonder then dissipated as I nodded to myself, remembering the "why". With the bagged goldfish and murky water in hand, I walked towards the front of the store, grateful that i would soon be able to eat properly again. Thinking of food caused my stomach to rumble, reminding me also to collect some satiety powder, our sole food source, on my way to the checkout. Similarly, this food was apart of the miracle of the modern world too, genetically altered grain produced by robots in huge glass warehouses and supplied in biodegradable packages via lines of conveyor belts hundreds, if not thousands of miles long, and delivered direct to the stores. It is such an incredible achievement I can feel myself smiling to myself. Better still, the elimination of low-paid physical jobs meant that over time, the oppressed lower class workers slowly disappeared. This in turn reduced the differences, resentment and bitterness between classes, leading to the near-elimination of crime. How were we ever to achieve all this when there was so much choice and difference? I shudder at the thought of how things used to be, the videos I watched as a child of all of the trash heaps and floating islands of plastic in the oceans. All because my ancestors couldn't work together, because they were too selfish and wanted choice and supposed freedoms. I placed Marty and my bag of satiety powder onto the checkout and the automatic scanner checked the goods and calculated the cost. I held up my wrist to the machine, which scanned my microchip, beeped and deducted the amount from my account with the efficiency that had evolved over hundreds of years. The butterflies in my stomach came back as I walked out onto the street and headed home just a few hundred metres away, little Marty staring up at row after row of towering grey apartment blocks. I should have mentioned the reason for such excitement over a fish. They are considered a luxury and are the only pet permitted under current regulations, after being bred over time to be barely sentient and almost feelingless. Animals, so commonly and cruelly kept as pets in the past were no longer permitted, with it deemed far too mean to keep an animal outside of its natural habitat. The thought of keeping a dog and away from its pack, locked inside your stuffy room all day by itself and fed on dry, barely nutritious feed, for no discernible reason or benefit shocks me. I took a deep breath to calm myself, which reminded me of the freshness of the modern city air and returned the smile to my face, reminding me of another one of our achievements. Everything was designed to be in close proximity, using tracking data to optimize how we move and operate - the shops and the parks were all designed to eliminate the need to travel long distances and therefore the need for cars. We even worked in the same building where we lived, with workstations located in the basements. I haven't even mentioned the best part of our new, modern world or explained where both this wonderful fresh air comes from or this feeling of worthwhile sacrifice. Slowly, over the years, governments progressively consolidated into more cohesive ones, using the money they saved through reduced social and military needs to procure vast areas of our country for a special new purpose. In addition, as the farms became more and more autonomous, people became reliant on the government and the need to live in the country reduced, causing the cities to grow significantly in size. Then, once the remaining country folk became fewer and the exception, their land was purchased for an irrefutable amount by the government. A stubborn few remained in their original country homes and selfishly battled the vision that would benefit so many. However new legislation was introduced, initially aimed at making it unaffordable to live outside a city, but was soon revised to make it an imprisonable offence to live, and now even venture outside the cities. Concurrent to this, huge concrete walls were being erected around the new metropolises as part of the great plan. Once the walls were complete and the humans all located within the vast cities, the lands outside were handed back to mother nature to do as she wished. Then, through her magic and wisdom, mother nature retook the former towns and villages which soon became overgrown with flora and returned the land as intended. This provided homes for insects, which provided food for the other animals, allowing them to return to huge numbers not seen for fifty-thousand years. Great forests and plains now exist, rich in life again, with the skies are filled with birds, the seas filled with fish and huge sea mammals. From the verge of becoming extinct forever, animals now live freely in the environment they were designed for, free from the interference, greed and selfishness of humans. So I am told anyway, I haven't been outside the walls myself as only special workers are permitted. We do however get to visit locations in virtual reality from our workstations as a treat, and they are spectacular. Occasionally a bird will fly over the walls, but soon leave of their own will once they realize there isn't anything here for them. There are of course rumors and conspiracies around what is also outside of the walls, but those are just nonsense created to occupy the minds of the bored. Some say those who run our civilization live out there too in huge palaces. But I also hear other similar lies about wars being fought outside the walls too, which I know can't be true as I haven't heard anything to indicate fighting. Still, I would love to explore outside the walls one day, to see what freedom looks like. And I plan to one day.


General Thomas Smith sat in his office with his leg bouncing, a response to the anxiety this letter gave him. He was a general of the United States of Eurasia. It was August 3rd, 1970. The Eurasian Marine Corps had been ordered to start making plans for an invasion of the United Socialists of North America. Smith had been given orders to make land fall in Greenland from Iceland. He breathed out a sigh and covered his face. Smith was born in what was the UK before the Soviets invaded in ‘55. But during that war he lived in Canada. The USNA invaded Canada the following year which forced him to move to Iceland who were threatened into joining the rest of Eurasia. In ‘59 there was Civil War in the Eurasian Commune and Democratic People’s Republic of Africa that lead to them becoming democracies. The only Democracy up to that point was the Kingdom of Oceania. Oceania, Africa and Eurasia formed an alliance called the Last Bastions of Democracy. The LBD were weaker than their North and South American counterparts. South America was ruled by the People’s Republic of South America who had split Central America at Lake Nicaragua with North America in 1953. The USNA gave the PRSA the Panama Canal in 1954 But that was then, this was now. Smith, with shaking hands, put the letter down. “Alright, t-time to get to work.” 1975, on Moon Base Kiev Eurasian space marines loaded their weapons and looked to their commander. A young Turkish man named Oray Cimen was their commander. He looks to his subordinates and put the mag in his gun. “Today we take the Moon, or we die for Eurasia! For freedom!” He says before his men started cheering. 18th Marine Division Base in Vladivostok Marines loaded onto their transports, nervous, hoping the great fleets could get them across. Aboard the ASV Rida el-Tariq, a Dhaakir el-Barakta class Aircraft Carrier Rakin got in his MiG-23, leased from the Eurasians, and slid the canopy over his head. It was officially the first day of war, the war that would be called the Last Great War. North Atlantic, many kilometers off the coast of Greenland General Smith stood on top of a tank, facing his men. “Soldiers of the Eurasian Marines female, male or other, today we embark on the greatest war the world has ever seen. Today marks the day that Communism starts it’s fall, today marks the day that will forever be known as the day we begin our liberation! Many of you will die in this invasion, or see your friends fall dead on the beaches. But that must be a sacrifice you are willing to make. Together we will breath back the communists and liberate the Americas! For Eurasia! For Liberty!” The soldiers cheered as they loaded their guns and put their helmets on. They loaded into their vehicles. Four hours later, shells from Eurasian Battlecruisers and battleships bombarded the coast of Greenland. Bombs, ballistic missiles and anti-tank missiles rained down on the American soldiers, completely taken by surprise. Thousands of amphibious assault craft approached the shore, weapons blazing. This was the beginning of the war to end wars.


Today, finally I get to go visit my Aunt Mary and spend the day with her at work. For Sophomore year Social Studies, we’re required to do a team report on a relative (or family friend) with an interesting or unusual job. Melissa (my best friend) and I have convinced our teachers to let us do our joint report on my Aunt Mary. She’s the Command Logistics Coordinator for an Imperial Tactical Assault/Rescue team. She makes sure all the right people are in the right places, and have the right equipment when and where they need it. Mostly for assaults against hardened criminal or military elements, but also for the occasional hostage/rescue mission, and the very rare extraction of a defector or agent (spy) that has been inserted somewhere dangerous. It’s unusual to be allowed to shadow anyone working at the TOC (Tactical Operations Command) as Mary calls it, but they occasionally make exceptions, primarily to instill goodwill with the general public, and also to remind the younger generation that these service positions exist. Hoping that future generations with the right aptitude, and attitude, will choose a career in this area to replace older members as the retire. And we can write the report, only with the strictest understanding that Command have first option to read-approve-edit-and potentially destroy the report. While anything else we see/hear/read/think about what we experienced is to be kept strictly secret.  Our cab makes the last turn to the base, “Oh, I’m so excited I can’t stand it.” “I know April, me too. But at least you’ve been there once before.”, Melissa replies. “Only for ten minutes to pickup Aunt Mary once for a family funeral. And then she met us at Reception for pickup and we returned her to the gate after the funeral without even going into Reception.”  “Is it just us?”, Melissa asks. “No. There is a group of ten or so visiting dignitaries from a neighboring galaxy. We’re to be observers on the tail end of their group. So, aside from just visiting the TOC, we have to be on our best behavior to help leave them with a good impression.” “No pressure. As if I wasn’t freaked enough already.”, Melissa adds.  Aunt Mary asked us to arrive “on time” and not be over eager and arrive too early. We’ve timed it pretty well. Stepping out of the cab three minutes before entry time at the walkway up to the guard gate.  A young man, with short hair, and immaculately crisp pressed khaki shirt and pants uniform, around 25 years, with a pistol sidearm on his belt, addresses us as we approach, “Names and ID’s.”  The young guard may only have a pistol, but he’s flanked a few meters back by two more Marines with environment sealed body armor and rifles. Off in the distance, with overlapping fields of fire, I can see turrets with heavy weapons pointing in the general direction of the gate. Checking our ID’s visually, then scanning them into his clipboard, the guard looks back at the guard station, to see another similar dressed Imperial Marine look up from a terminal and nod back clearance. The guard hands us our ID’s, “You’re right on time. Thanks. The Utt delegation is in transit and will be clearing the gate in about two minutes. Corporal May will take you to the reception area.”, the guard waves us over to a transportation cart already waiting a few steps away.  Corporal May talks as he drives, “You’ve probably heard it all before in school, but you’ll be watching the “Intro to the Empire” vid shown to all visiting delegations. Then follow them in for the tour and actual TOC visit. It will be a busy day. There is a Rescue Op in progress. If you’re lucky, you might get to see some of the actual extraction.” Corporal May parks, escorts us into Reception for a second ID verification. The receptionist offered us water or soft drinks, but we are too nervous to touch anything and respectfully decline. We’re asked to wait in the anteroom chairs while the delegation cars are clearing Security scans at the gate.  We are off to ourselves and mostly out of earshot of the others waiting nearby, and Melissa speaks for the first time, other than saying her name earlier. “Have you ever seen one? Did you see one here last year when you picked up your Aunt Mary?”, she asks. She doesn’t explicitly name them, but I know exactly what she means. One of the Sezrakeen, the Emperor’s Daughters. “Last time, when mother was talking to the Receptionist, telling him we were here to pick up Mary, I felt an unusual new sensation off to my right and slightly behind. I looked down one of the hallways leading away from the front desk, and saw the trailing edge of what was a gown or cape on the floor. Just the briefest glimpse of black fabric trailing behind someone passing through the hallway intersection. I can’t describe the sensation well enough. Have you ever walked through the kitchen when your parents were cooking something that required a high temperature, just as they opened the oven door?”, I look at Melissa, “It was like that, but there was no heat. It was just the sensation of standing next to something of immense power. It must be what it’s like to stand next to a nuclear warhead. Nothings really happening, but you have the awareness of being in the presence of great power, ... and doom. I looked back straight ahead and caught the eyes of one of the guards, and blurted out softly ‘Was that . . .?’ The guard still looking forward, with the barest of perceptible head movements, gave one head nod down and up to indicate ‘Yes.’ ”  The Utt delegation arrives. Only six of them, with four escorts/guards surrounding.  The receptionist waves us up and we fall in behind the delegation, with two of the guards trailing our group. As a young Corporal joins addressing the group. “With all respect, please forgive me for dispensing with the normal formalities. My name is Corporal Novis. If we can take you straight in and get you through the introduction vid, we’ll head directly to the Ops. We should just make it in time to see an Extraction Op.”  We’re lead into a theater/auditorium, as I see/hear the receptionist calling my Aunt Mary to announce that we’re here. I can hear my Aunt Mary’s voice faintly from the phone, “Oh God, is that today? OK, thank you Lieutenant.”, She says to the receptionist. “It’ll either be the best possible day to be here, or the worst.” Sounds like Aunt Mary is having a “Manic Monday”, even if it is actually Tuesday.  We enter the auditorium and take a seat. The video begins and gives a quick recap of The Empire formation. The Emperor’s early (normal-human) life. His gathering/training over time of the women that would come to be the Sezrakeen. As their lifespans began to extend, so did their power. ”Absolute power corrupts absolutely” as the saying goes, and they were ‘oh so very’ powerful, which lead them to corrupt and crave even more power. It showed the stages we’ve all learned in school. The gathering years, when the young man who would be Emperor gathers the women. The first separation years, where they all pulled away from him, and grew in wisdom and power, . . . and fear of each other. Fear that lead to the great war with each other. After millions of years, traveling through time, back-stopping whole Galaxies to acquire resources and form armies, and waging war to a standstill. Tens of Billions dying as human cannon fodder, but the several hundred Sezrakeen themselves always fighting to a draw. Then the “bitter” years, when they returned to the young man that started them on their path. The 20,000 years of torturing the man, relishing their revenge on him, for the actions they couldn’t take responsibility for themselves. The 40,000 years of the second separation when they abandoned him, alone, on the planet where he had been tortured. Then, finally realizing the faults they were projecting on him, were within themselves. The penitent years, where they sought him out again and set him in place as the Emperor. The Sezrakeen finally becoming the stewards of the Universe, the Multiverse. Committing themselves to serving the people in redemption for billions of deaths, and millions of years of sins. A redemption they don’t ever expect to find. Then finally, the Empire as it exists now. Peaceful. Well, as peaceful as humans can ever be. Spreading across to fill the known Galaxies and exploring the Universe. The vid switched from “The Empire” to the more recent history of the TOC itself, with scenes from assaults on entrenched criminal and military compounds, and a few scenes from some hostage extractions.  The auditorium doors open, and Corporal Novis escorts the group out, through a series of three doors, each leading deeper into the TOC. Deeper both meaning, further away from reception, and deeper underground. At one point, we all fit one one large elevator, that ... plummeted is the only appropriate word, down at least 1000 feet underground. The elevator opens. As the delegation in front of us moves to clear our line of sight, Melissa lets slip out, “Is it costume party day?”, I’d thought only I could hear her, but Corporal Novis seems to answer the question. “Today is an Extraction Op, but its one of an unusual type, and requires some of the agents on-site go ‘in costume’ to blend in with the locals. A few have just returned, the remainder are reporting back events/movements, to keep our extraction in sync with events on the other end.”  We enter a large set of blast doors, currently open. Mary said they weighed several tons, but was balanced such that a typical six year old could push it open/closed if necessary.  “Respected delegates from the Utt homeworld, and other guests, welcome to the ‘TOC’, my name is Lieutenant Mary Corbin.”  I see that Melissa is getting her wish, if it was indeed a wish and not a fear. Two of the Sezrakeen are here. Both are in full Spectral form. Imagine ‘Death’ you’ve seen in the movies. Black holocaust cloak. No visible skeleton or body. Just a black void where someone should be inside the vaporous garment. They aren’t walking, so much as gliding when they move. Melissa and I look at each other, but say nothing.  Aunt Mary continues, “Today ... is unusual, even for us. For the first hundred years of his life, The Emperor loved stories. Books, Video, Movies, spoken remembrances. You’ve all heard of the Multiverse. The theory that there are an infinite number of Alternate Universes out there. Where if you searched far, and long enough, you could find anything.  When the great war was young, and Sezrekeen were looking for a universes with raw materials, and people, to fight their war with each other, they began cataloging the millions, then later billions of “slices” they surveyed.  But, like all humans, the Emperor yearned for “Happy Endings” for some of his favorite characters. So many tragic characters, that suffered greatly. It would be cruel to “make” a Universe, where they were enslaved to the stories we’d created here for them.  But what . . . What it if was the other way around? What if they were real-true-complete individuals with Free Will in their own Universes. And that the great stories we love, aren’t creations of our Authors, what if instead, the authors of our world were “seeing into” these Alternate Universes, and transcribing what they witnessed?  Authors here (sometimes) not being creators of fiction, but instead unintentional witnesses of remote fact.  It solved several problems for him. It meant the characters he’d grown to love were real, and had Free Will, and good or bad, happy or sad, at least they were in charge of their own destiny, and it was OUR world, that was different.  In the great surveys the Sezrakeen performed, and continue with today, once in a while, they stumble upon a universe from one of the stories in the Emperor’s childhood.  A few months ago, one such slice was found. We’ve homed into the particular time and location of interest within that Alternate Universe, and have inserted “agents”, dressed as ordinary citizens, to infiltrate the population, and keep track of the people of interest.  The Emperor admits it’s a character flaw, but he can’t help but want to ‘fix’ some of the ends of these stories. And today is one of those Ops . . .  But remember . . . Many of these stories were/are classics. Millions, sometimes Hundreds of Billions have read the story over millennia, and even though we can go there, we can’t “really” tamper with the outcome. Or at least, not in such a way that tarnishes the author’s vision into that world. Whatever change we attempt to make, it must be undetectable to the people of that Universe.  Two of the Sezrakeen have been overwatch for the the extraction. When our in-place agents indicate the correct time is upon us, they will open a Portal to the Alternate Universe, and Extract the two targets.  Timing is hyper-critical, since in the original story, both the main characters everyone has followed, die in the end.  But, if we can extract them fast enough, and replace them with clones . . . Then for all intents and purposes, they will “appear” to die in their world to all observers there, and the story will complete as it always had, when in fact it will be the clones left behind that die, and the real characters will be pulled back to our universe/slice and safety.  Phase 1 was to find the Alternate Universe slice. Part by arduous an unrelenting searching/cataloging, predominately by dumb luck of just exploring billions of alternate universes until we stumbled upon the right one. Phase 2 was to find the right time within the alternate universe that lines up with “the story” as we all know it. Phase 3 was to get blood samples from both the extraction targets a few weeks before the critical extraction moment. Phase 4 was to grow the clones, and station monitoring equipment (and sometimes human “agents”) near the characters being extracted, to both keep track of timing, and to report interruptions. Agents will report back on the exact clothing the targets are wearing, so we can match it on the clones.  This is the point we’re at currently.  Phase 5 is the actual extraction/replacement/cleanup. Phase 6 is to “calm” the extracted, perform the necessary medical operations, and explain what’s happening to the two targets. Phase 7 we extract all the inserted agents and clean up/remove any cameras/monitoring equipment. Aunt May bows gently to the group, concluding her presentation.  The Sezrakeen, look back at the group, each other, then one of them moves towards our visiting group. The group parts down the middle, until Melissa and I are alone with our backs to the doors. The Sezrekeen holds a black-smoke hand up to my, then Melissa’s foreheads. She was “reading” us. But, she wasn’t just reading us, she changed something. I can feel it. Something is different in me, but, I don’t understand what.  Aunt Mary steps forward, speaks, addressing the Sezrakeen nearest me, “Ma'am, the one on the right is my Niece, they are here . . .”, but she stops mid-sentence as the Sezrakeen holds up a hand in the Stop gesture, without looking back.  The Spectral form speaks, “It’s fortunate timing. We can use them. They can help.”  The black Spectral Form dissipates and leaves behind a woman. Early thirties, about 55 kilos. Long blond hair, green eyes. A slim build. A models build. Likely she was based on a model. The Sezrakeen are so old, even they have forgotten what their original human-born bodies looked like a few million years before. So now, each assumes the form of an Actress or Model when taking physical form. Someone the Emperor remembers from his childhood. It’s both a blessing and a curse. It’s nice to see the beautiful faces he remembers, but they are also the faces of the ones that tortured him for 20,000 years.  “Come with me.”, the Sezrakeen / now-woman says to Melissa and I. Walking briskly away out a side door. We hurry to follow.  “You can help calm them down. The two we’re extracting. A few minutes ago when I ‘Read’ you, I also inserted the targets birth language. So you’ll be able to understand and talk to them. I could do it, but you’re near their age, and will have more believable responses.”, the woman leads us down a side hall, into a room labeled “Costuming”.  Leaving us standing at the entrance, and moving with a blur of speed, she transits up and down the aisles choosing in seconds, two gowns for us to wear.  She hands Melissa and I each one of the gowns. Simple designs, muted colors, with long sleeves, and tight upper arms, fluting out into conical larger openings where the hands exit. It’s like wearing skinny jeans on the top, that expand out to bell bottoms on the ends, but, for sleeves. The body of the dress is the same. Ankle length, perfectly sized for each of us, and also conical in shape. There are two black lace veils with some kind of a white under-cap. The Sezrakeen in human form, gives a flourish of one hand in our direction, and I look down to realize now I’ve swapped, and am wearing the outfit, and holding my original clothes. She gestures to the clothes and to a rack of shelves on the side. We set them down.  As she leads us back to the Op Center, she tells us the role we will play in the Extraction.  “The Alternate Universe we’ve located ... In the original story, two young people we’re extracting, fell in love, but their families were avowed enemies. With the help of her Nurse, and a Friar friend of her lover’s, She had a plan to escape her parents rule by faking her death, then run off to be with the man she loved. She was to take a sleeping potion, mimicking death, then when all had left, to wake and go be with her lover. But, couriers were delayed, messages failed to be delivered, and in a tragic twist of fate, the man only heard news that the love of his life was dead. He goes to visit the crypt. Seeing her lifeless body, is also fooled, and drinks poison he has brought with him to join her. Going unconscious, just in time to see his love wake. Understanding what has happened, she draws her lovers dagger and kills herself, rather than living a life without the man she loves.”, she opens the door for us to reenter the Op Center.  She continues, “For the ‘Author’ to see and transcribe the story as it originally played out, the boy must drink the poison, and she must begin to plunge the dagger. It’s at that exact moment, I’ll open the portal to the crypt, the other (pointing to the other Sezrakeen still in Spectral form) will halt the dagger, yank the boy/girl, and replace them with the clones we’ve prepared. The clones were never alive. They have no brain, no nervous system. They never “lived” nor thought any though, but to observers from that place and time, will pass completely for the original targets they are replacing. The entire Extraction/Replacement/Continuing the dagger Plunge, will be over in less than a millisecond. The two Targets will both be ported direct to Med-Bay along with you two. Then comes your part . . . The girl will be conscious and terrified. She’ll have just been stopped a millisecond before committing suicide. The horror of that alone will be traumatic. But she comes from a world, similar to the 1300’s on Mother Earth. Everything she sees, hears, experiences, will all be alien and terrifying to her. She’ll never have had any experience with, or even imagining of . . . Bright interior room lights. Sterile operating rooms and clothing. Intubation tubes and IV’s. Life sign monitors with all their graphic displays and beeping sounds. The foreign (to her) language everyone will be speaking. Your goal is to attract her attention and try and keep her calm. Talk to her in her own language. You need do nothing more than be a friend to her. Let her know we’re trying to help the man she loves, and that she’ll have to be strong for him. Because he’ll be going through the same thing when, if, we can counteract the poison.”  A man across the room at suite of consoles announces, “Agent Delta reports the male is entering the crypt now. All units on Stand-By for extraction.”  “You couldn’t replace the poison he’s to take with a sleeping potion as well?”, I ask. “Agents on-site couldn’t get to him to swap it unnoticed. We know what it is, so we’re prepared to counteract it, we even managed to lace some of his food over the past weeks, to help build up an immunity and counteract it. But remember, to all observers in that Universe, events must appear to play out as they did originally, in order for the author in our Universe to ‘see’ the vision in his minds eye, of the story he thinks he’s creating, and record the story, the tragedy, just as billions have already come to read it and know it. ”  “Video feed on main monitors.”, as we see the view inside the crypt, from three different angles appear on the large end-room monitor. This must be what some of the agents have been doing on-site. Planting hidden monitoring cameras when no one was in the crypt and surrounding passages to see them.  “How are we seeing the live feed?”, one of the Utt delegation asks.  Aunt Mary responds, “One of the Sezrakeen (now both back in Spectral Form) has opened a mini-portal into that Alternate Universe, and we’re live-streaming radio transmissions of the video feed. We’ve also got comm’s up for the agents in place, and location tracking on the Friar as he approaches the crypt to witness the aftermath.”  We wait and watch the monitors, listening to Agents report progress.  “Approaching thirty minutes since Target 1 took the poison.”, one of the Tech’s in the Op Center announces to the room. “The Friar is leaving his quarters.”, Agent Bravo announces over the Comm speakers. The room full of people watch as the Friar passes various surveillance cameras, and finally enters the crypt. The Friar and Target 2, the girl, exchange the words most of us have heard.  The Friar hears a noise, and startled, begs the girl to leave with him, but, in the seconds after he leaves, she draws the dagger from her lover’s belt and begins to stab herself. In that moment, Sezrakeen one moves, a brief flash occurs on the crypt video as a portal opens, and the two clones, previously waiting on tables to the side of the Op Center are gone.  Instantly, now Melissa and I are in another room. A hospital operating theater. Nearly a dozen nurses and doctors move towards and around a young man, unconscious on the hospital bed. Standing between myself and Melissa, is the young girl from the crypt. And she’s screaming. Thumping the empty hand, that only a second ago held a dagger, to her chest.  Melissa and I each take an arm in one hand, the other on her shoulder. “Shhh. It’s OK. You are alright. You are safe. He is safe.” Though it sounds strange, because I realize I am speaking Italian. Something I couldn’t do this morning. The Sezrakeen’s change in me . . .  “Look. Look!”, I say, moving in front of the young girl, taking her face in my hands. Placing one hand on each side of her face, just in front of the eyes, like forming blinders on a horse, to get her to look only forward, only into my eyes. “You Are Safe.”, I say. “I know it all looks strange. I’ll explain later. All you need to know for now, is that these people are doctors and nurses, and are doing everything they can to save him. Trust them. Trust me. Let them work and help him.”  I drop my hands and put one arm around the girls waist, the other on her shoulder, pulling her close to me to have someone to lean on.  While Melissa and I have been working with the girl, nurses have been opening the Tunic, and cutting through the white undershirt on the boy. Inserting IV’s, and placing EKG/blood pressure/OxygenFlow monitors on him.  The girl looks around at all the displays lighting up with heart rates, respiration, graphs of EKG output. “Just look at him. Only him for now. They will take care of everything else. You’re scared I know. But imagine how it’s going to be for him when he wakes up. All these strange people around him, in a different place. You’ll need to be strong for him. To keep him calm and not fight the doctors and nurses while they get the poison out of his system. Be strong. Strong for the man you love.”  The girl lets out a sigh, and leans against me. Then after a moment, stands straight and firm, her eyes, her full attention, now only on the man she loves.  I notice the Sezrakeen, previously in the Op Center, are here with us, both in now-human female form. That’s fortunate, the girl would really flip to see them in their normal appearance.  One set of doctors/nurses has been inserting/running IV’s. Bags of fluid to counteract any poison already into the young man’s system. Another set working near the head, have inserted some sort of tube, down the nose and into the stomach. We watch for a few minutes and see a black chalky liquid being pumped into, then later drained through the tube. What did my mother call it last year, when our neighbor kid Thomas swallowed the poison? “Activated Charcoal”, mom said it neutralized the undigested poison still in the stomach/intestines, and even helped to leach it out of the lining walls, to keep some of it from continuing on into the blood stream.  He’s got a pulse. Had one since the monitors were first hooked up, though at that time, it was erratic, and the blood pressure was falling dangerously. Now, the readings begin to stabilize. Minutes pass like hours. “Blood Chemistry?”, one masked doctor asks. “Coming back. White cell counts went up, trying to fight it as an infection, but everything is stabilizing. And the PPM (parts per million?) on the poison. It’s almost gone.”  I ask toward the doctors, “Will there be any long term damage?”, then realize I said it in Italian, and repeat the question for them in English. “No. If he wakes at all, we caught it in time. This particular poison works by suppressing the heart and breathing, if we can make it past that, there should be no long-term organ damage.”, the doctor near the head replies. I translate his response for the girl.  “It could still take a few minutes, or he could snap out of it at any second.”, one nurse says in my direction.  I move my hand from the girls waist up to her shoulder and guide her forward to the side of the bed. Nurses move to clear a path for us. She’s terrified. She already thought he was dead, and never having seen intubation tubes and all these fluid lines and sensor leads in her world, isn’t helping.  “Take his hand.”, I tell her. The girl takes his left hand in hers, putting her right hand on his forehead.  “Romeo. I’m here. Everything is fine. You’re safe. I’m safe. Wake up. Wake up my love.”  Beeps from monitors, and the whirring cyclical rush of air down and back the intubation tube are the only sounds in the room. Everyone is either holding their breath, or trying to move as little as possible.  Juliet looks down at her left hand. He’s squeezing his hand closed around hers. She looks back up to his face.  His eyes open, and he begins to reach for the intubation tube, as one of the nurses restrains him.  She lets go of his left hand and places her hands on each side of his head as I had done to her. Tilting his head over to her side to look directly into her eyes and leans close, “Look at me. Look only at me. You are safe my love. I am safe. We are both safe, and both together. When they’re sure the poison is out of your system, they’ll remove the tube that is helping you breath. Don’t look at them, don’t worry about them, or the tube, nothing else matters. You are with me, and we are safe, and can live out our lives . . . together.”  Melissa and I spend the next few days with the young couple in a nearby resort village for friends/family visiting the medical complex. Explaining how they were found, where they are now. That the Emperor will take care of all their needs. The Sezrakeen we met earlier had already found a planet-system with descendants from Mother Earth, many of whom still speak Italian. Though, even I have been having trouble with dialect. The “old world” dialect of Verona has changed over the millennia and a few of the words just don’t translate. Witnessing the two young lovers experience the modern world, is amazing. Sometimes it’s a bit like watching skittish horses around cars. They’re taken aback by the strangeness of this new world they have entered. But whenever they are afraid, they cling to each other.  At night, while the young couple is together, Melissa and I are writing our school report of the events. It’ll be so long, I can’t imagine Ms. Watson will accept it for our school report, “if”, the TOC will clear it when we’re done. We may have to switch over to Melissa’s Uncle, the Llama breeder as our backup plan and use none of this.  But even if no one ever is ever allowed to read this story, I wouldn’t trade being part of this, for all the Llamas in the world.


It was upon the shattered road from Murzil to Keta where the sage Parabrahma met Atenati. She was engulfed by the shadow of a sandstone pillar, lean, eaten away by the heat, and surrounded by a halo shaped by the glare of three suns. In defiance of the holy tenets of the battle phalanx, her shield was strapped to her right arm. Ruins of ancient gashes basked indolently upon her forehead. Her ears were bars of red, mangled flesh. Her nose was a haphazard reconstruction. The skin beneath her eyes was tormented. Yet it was her feet that stood out so visibly, untouched by scars, smooth and adolescent. Parabrahma did not notice her in the swirling desert heat. He was distracted, contemplating the rituals of the mirror cults of Murzil, and how they conflicted with the interpretations of the cultist pilgrims with whom he was travelling. Each pilgrim wore a face. A face far more intimate than flesh, rooted deeper than intellect, as stubborn as a misplaced emotion. The woman with long silken ribbons falling from earlobes to her footprints wore the face Yuchagri; an expression of witnessing an ageless injustice under the aegis of an unbreakable principle. The man with an abyss in his left arm wore the face Isseta; an expression of delirium moved by the presence of lovers from lives lived, unlived, and yet to live. The limping elder whose face was shrouded by the charred silver of sundried hair wore the face Shranate; an expression of colorless fear sung with tears as melodious as a lament of infant chords. They had witnessed these faces in the Great Mirror, but for Parabrahma. When he looked upon himself, he only saw his own reflection. Staid, immovable, rippled as if by an absolute lack of wind on water. Atenati watched sand spiral up from their march and raised her warspear. A sun spat brightness into the eyes of the foremost pilgrim. The pilgrim, a maiden, was shaken from her reverie and her face failed. She looked at Atenati and was afraid. The maiden spoke: *Our blood is metal, our skin is death, our flesh belongs to the infinite, and our soul is a thief. To slay us will bring no honor to the shamed, no wisdom to the maddened, no fulfillment to the primal, and no alacrity to the ensorcelled. We are pilgrims of the Mirror. We seek distinction from paradoxes, and so may you. Let us pass and determine what the heavens see reflected upon the world.* Atenati flashed. She raised her shield. At its center were the remains of the symbol of an eye jaundiced by the metal, with three pupils that danced in the light Parabrahma did not even realize when the fresh, sonorous lines of blood had spilled over it, for Atenati had moved beyond the seduction of comprehension. Her spear tasted veins before the skin sheathing them knew it was cut. She became a silhouette, a blur, bronze, and the pilgrims falling dead attested to her accuracy. Her aim was as absolute as the lust of true lovers in the moonlight. Parabrahma did not understand how she missed his neck by the distance of a moth’s wing. Terror had abdicated reason and his eyes were watered by a harvest of fear. He swerved and felt the drums of his heart desynchronize each time he saw a face falter, a body collapse, a rain of life. When the massacre ended, Atenati was behind him, spear pointed away, each drop of blood taking an eon to fall from it’s killing point. The famished earth drank each splash. Atenati turned in phases reminiscent of the moon. She spoke, and Parabrahma, silencing his soul, sat. ***** Like all free tribespeople of the Ketaoi, in my younger days I travelled. I joined the assassin tribes on their cattle raids. I was a mercenary with the Southern Cults and protected copies of their sacred texts, which they guard in mountain-holds like exiled child kings. I witnessed the three blessed rebirths of Mihgateranna, and the three damnations that ruined him. I did this because I adhered. The Ketaoi have custom that helps them shape their lives. When a woman is found to be with child, the shaman of her tribe gathers the elders and together, they breathe the waft of the crowflower. It is said that when the waft truly reaches a zenith, they can see the lifepath of the fetus in its entirety. After sensation returns, they write what they remember on eggshells and call it a prophecy. They always remember how and when the child is to die. And they enforce these prophecies, because prophecies are truth, and truth is divine. Therefore, to adhere to the prophecies is to adhere to the divine. There are Ketaoi colossi capable of slaying lions who are set to gather berries until the day they are expected to walk into swamps and contract plagues. Fragile cowards incapable of defying children are armored with precious steel and made to stand on the battlements and survive the loosening of bowels and an amputation of limbs. The Ketaoi adhere, for to do otherwise is to make liars of the shaman and their elders. Inadherence ruins clans. It rots teeth. It contracts diseases and enfeebles the cattle. The eggshells which bore my name said that I would die in a battle beneath the viridian moon, and so I sought to conquer battle dread to prepare for that day. In one of my journeys, I found myself in the Helsesshoi Phalanx on the newly inaugurated battlefield of Ikhuyeri. *Elelelele!*, went the battle-chant of the frontline. The enemy responded with their own chant. The ground between the two armies trembled under a cadence of heavy footsteps. In the rear thummed the great drums. Scattered gangs of lowbred slingers took aim and their lead bullets shrieked echoes above us. They struck shields like a multitude of gongs. The tremors gave depth and contrast to the all-encompassing noise. The armies closed in, nearer and nearer. And they met. But no weapons were raised, no skin torn, and death remained unfed. Shields pushed, shields resisted. The omens, you see. They weren’t right yet. We looked to the sky for the right signs. The heralds walked among us promising that once a dove tore apart a preybird and the solitary sun shied away behind the purda of an ashen cloud, we could begin the bloodletting. It would be a blessed bloodletting. The preybird was dead, but the sun yet shone. The armies grumbled. *Where are the idiot priests?* *Have them slaughter a goat to appease the gods!* *Have them slaughter goat-faced Achenji!* *You look more a goat than me, whore-son!* *Fuck the gods!* We grew impatient. We were, after all, on the precipice of glorious death. And we grew tired. Our chants began to falter. They became rasps, losing their fluidity and synchronization to ennui, and to monotony. The weakest among us began to whisper, mumble, and even hum. Such shameful impiety! Frontlines are never to be silent. The battle-chant must always be maintained. The legendary strategos Nin-Kuriltau had chanted throughout his rout at the gates of Siyoi. At the end, he was alone, bleeding, dying, and even with his death rattles, he chanted, chanted the holy chant. A true warrior. An exemplar! A silent frontline is more than dishonor. It is sacrilege. But even that seemed more preferable than this maddening pause. So we agreed that half of an omen is as worthy as an omen entire. Any remaining theological misgivings were soon sorted with military efficacy and the first enemy abdomen was soon torn apart in a berserk frenzy. The battle began. The chant was renewed. All was in perfect harmony. I remember only little. There was a beating heart that embraced my spear, which then bathed in the bile of an open abdomen. It hit a clavicle at an odd angle and an edge dulled. The iron became flesh. Vision clouded. Strength faltered. Words drooled. Battle dread blurred discipline, bred disorder. The rigidity of the frontline broke. Advances met retreats, retreats met challenges, challenges met bloodthirst, bloodthirst met advances. The solitary sun witnessed this, and was soon joined by its siblings. They grew tired of the massacre and retired early, inviting dusk to loom upon the world. The last of the frontliners were now dead or close to it. Their lips were foamed red, and spawned beads of blood and spit that released the names of wives and mothers in their disintegration. The earth was a miscegenation of shit, piss, and blood. The last of the suns crumbled into the universe. A fog descended upon the corpses. Nothing disturbed the wind traversing the pervading stench. I waited for the omens to signal the end of the battle. And then the viridian moon finally rose and I heard the souls of the dead sob as they transcended. They did not challenge me, and I witnessed their lament, and I broke. I fell into the viscera at my feet and a great madness overtook me. Night swayed through the fog. I heard footsteps as rumors of sunlight threatened the horizon. The shaman of my tribe walked on the dead and watched me with every one of its heads. *Maker of lies! Mocker of truth!*, it spat. And I realized this was truly the battle I was foretold to die in. *The fires went out in Keta last night*, it said, *and the lambs gave birth to bones.* *You are disenfranchised, Atenati Death-traitor! May the future you stole be grim and debased!* When the shaman vanished, I looted the bodies of the enemy strategoi. A pineal gland here, a metatarsal there, an occasional silver stud affixed to a broken spine elsewhere. When I returned to Helsessh, the acropolis honored my victory and the temples granted me any boon that I desired. I asked for the hand of Sijuwa the rope-dancer, who walked high above the city between the towers and the cliffs, tracing hieroglyphs in the air with torches. I imagined an act of balance between the earth and the sky to be close to battle dread. The boon was granted as the season of commerce began. We travelled with one of the Neutralist caravans. We sold stale gossip to provincial oafs. Sijuwa performed and I delighted. Up in the heavens, the stars were as mindless beasts in their haste to accelerate time. The season of commerce ended, and the boon expired, and Sijuwa prepared to depart with what remained of my joy. I asked Sijuwa to stop, to extend the boon, to be with me endlessly. *Only gods can claim to be endless, and the gods are jealous*, said Sijuwa. We wept as we parted and promised mutual death in our senility. I raged and took the road to Keta and my tribe. I had no great purpose, no shining banner for which I could do battle, so I made my own. I swore to fight the injustice of prenatal prophecies. Along my path I found a band of Surrealist zealots. I discovered disgust and caprice in their foolishness and imbalance. On whims, they dug wells and then filled them with the detritus of autumn. The built sturdy paths in untrammeled forests and then hid them with rumors of demons and thieves. They found whores to enlighten and then heresify. They stole from the rich and gave to the reasonably comfortable. They taught the poor to hate hunger and love starvation. They did not see my hatred, and they saw my realism as an act. They saw it as a stubborn loyalty to some form of anti-dogma, and they marveled. *What could be more surreal*, they questioned,* than a mask of realism?* They embraced what they deemed to be my mask. They became saints for the world, but to themselves remained contrarians. They smiled with glee and a smug, secret superiority. They grew terrified of being unmasked under the liberation of fermented drink, ignited herb, the company of warm flesh at night, and the soft luxury of silk and pillows. So they advocated celibacy and austerity as pillars of divinity. So it was that the zealots became demigods, which was when I slaughtered them. They laughed when I did so, and their eyes were wide mirrors that shone. ***** And saying so, Atenati sat on the ground in front of Parabrahma. The blood on the spear was dry and weevils sang beside the road. He spoke: *Is that why you killed these pilgrims? Because they wore masks reminiscent of the Surrealists?* Atenati stared at the dark clouds of the evening. *Do you notice the haze above the clouds?, she said, It was put there by our ancestors to protect us from the wages of an older heresy.* Parabrahma stared up with Atenati and did not see a haze. She did not look at him,* I am not yet senile, though I will be. You are the first to have looked into the Mirror and not be slaughtered after meeting me.* Parabrahma looked upon the symbol of the eye on her shield. The pupils did not dance under early starlight, as it turned out. *And will you tell me why the Mirror did not show me a mask?*, he asked. Her eyes pounced from the heavens to the earth, to the deadened, blunted face of Parabrahma. She whispered, her words almost fricatives, *Look into the sky and notice the haze.* And Parabrahma looked into the sky again, and there was still no haze. And he looked again, again, and the haze was veiled, veiled, until Atenati wailed. And the merest figment of a delusion stirred in the firmament, and it fell upon the eye on the shield, and the pupils danced again. *See, see!*, wailed Atenati, and Parabrahma did. It shimmered and cracked at its seams, and he saw great fires bloom beyond it. The rage of something ancient, with blood that flowed in veins weaved of hatred. And it was the antithesis of absence. And she whispered a question, and Parabrahma did not answer. He walked away, composing an uneven meter and an uneven rhythm and heard Atenati’s wails echo up towards the haze that he could now see.


“Last call, old timer,” the bartender bellowed. The sad, old man looked up. “Glad to see you’re alive,” the bartender told him. “You don’t look so hot.” “I’m fine,” the old man assured him. “Just been having some troubles lately.” “Well, it’s just you and me now,” the bartender said, topping off the old man. “Tell me your story.” The old man took a sip of his gin and tonic. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” “Oh, I wouldn’t?” The bartender capped the bottle of gin and set it back up on the shelf for the night. “I do have a life outside this bar, you know.” “I know.” The old man looked down at his drink and fidgeted nervously. The bartender could see he wasn’t going to budge. “Listen,” the bartender said. “If you don’t wanna talk, I’m not gonna make ya.” With that, he took out his rag and started cleaning the glasses. He had thought maybe when all the other patrons had cleared out, the old man would be more at ease, but every passing minute made him more anxious. “Did you call your wife tonight?” the old man asked abruptly. The bartender put down his rag. “I have not,” the bartender said. “Why do you ask?” “You were talking about her earlier. Said you’d gotten in a fight.” “We did, yeah. What makes you so interested now and not earlier when I wasn’t about to close this joint down?” “It’s just getting late,” the man said from behind his glass. “I think you should call her.” The bartender looked at his watch. “It’s nearly one A.M.” he said. “She’s definitely asleep by now.” “She’d wake up if you called her.” The bartender let out a chuckle. “Trust me,” he said. “If I called her now, we’d really get in a fight.” “I’m sure she’d love to hear from you.” The bartender looked over the old man. He had a familiar face, but the bartender couldn’t quite place him. “Do I know you?” the bartender asked him. “I’ve been here before,” he replied. “You got a name?” “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” He was a real elusive drunk, the bartender thought. “When did you say your daughter’s birthday was?” the old man asked. The bartender paused. Clearly the old man had been paying more attention than he’d given him credit for. “It’s on Thursday,” he said. “You don’t talk much, but you sure do listen.” “It comes with age.” the old man said. “When you get as old as me you don’t know how much time you got left to hear someone else’s voice.” The bartender paused. The sad, old man at the end of the bar was turning out to be more than just some depressed drunk. “That’s some sage advice right there,” the bartender said. “You want some more sage advice?” he asked. “Call your wife.” The old man’s eyes were watery. Normally, the bartender saw himself as a comforter of weary souls, but it was about five minutes past close, and all he could think about was getting home. “I think you mighta had one too many gin & tonics, old timer,” the bartender said. “Plus, it’s too late for a heart to heart.” The bartender went to the register and printed out the old man’s tab. “Look, I don’t wanna kick you out on the street, but I’m getting a little anxious to close.” He handed the old man the receipt. He fumbled around his pockets looking for a pen, but the old man pulled one out of his jacket pocket. “Funny, we got those same style pens here,” the bartender joked. “You didn’t swipe it did you?” The old man shook his head and slid the receipt back to the bartender. The bartender went to place the receipt in the drawer with the others but stopped when he read the signature. “Alright, wise guy,” the bartender said turning back to the old man. “How ‘bout you write your real name on here?” “I told you you wouldn’t believe me.” By this point, the bartender had had just about enough of this sad, old man and was going to not be so nice. “Look, we’re closing, old timer,” the bartender said sternly. “So, sign you’re name, and get outta here.” “I’ll sign my name,” he said. “If you call your wife.” The bartender threw his rag on the ground. “For Chrissake, if that’s what’ll get you outta here, I’ll call my wife.” The bartender pulled his phone out and dialed home. The old man sat on pins and needles as the phone rang. “Straight to voicemail,” the bartender said. “I told you she’s asleep.” “Oh no, what time is it?” the old man asked frantically. “It’s about ten minutes past closing.” The old man checked his watch. “Damn, I thought we had more time.” “What the hell are you talking about?” the bartender snapped. The old man reached into his pocket and pulled out a newspaper clipping. He handed it to the bartender whose face turned red with rage as he read it. “What the hell is this?!” he yelled at the man. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way I--” “Get the hell outta my bar. Now!” With that, the old man gathered himself and walked out the door, shaking his head. “Goddamn drunks are getting crazier everyday,” the bartender grumbled to himself. He knew he wasn’t getting out of here anytime soon. Finally, after all the glasses had been polished and receipts counted, the bartender flicked off the lights and began locking up the place. Just as he was fumbling for his keys, his phone rang. He expected it was his wife ready to chew him out for waking her up and being out so late, but the call came from an unknown number. The bartender let it ring as he hopped in his car. ... They were being carried out in body bags when he arrived home. The official investigation says faulty wiring caused the fire that burned down the house. They assured him the firefighters had done all they could, but by the time they’d gotten there, the fire had consumed so much of the structure it was in danger of collapsing. He hasn’t been back to work since. He spends a lot of time in bars these days, but he mostly keeps to himself. Sometimes, in the late hours of the night, he’ll dole out sage advice. And he always makes sure to tell you to call your wife.