"Powers of the light, Guardians of the Earth, I call to thee to give me, Your strength, open all doors, Watch over me, I trust in your hand, to help me through this, Difficult time, so let it be," Bang the attic begins to rumble, then it's over. What did I just witness? My mother and grandmother doing magic. How? "What is mother?" I listen intently at my mother and grandmother, clearly something is bothering my grandmother. "Iris, we need to tell Star the truth, She deserves to know about our family, the family she was born into." "I will tell her when the time is right." Shoot! They are coming. I run as quickly as possible down the stairs and hide in the bathroom. I open the door a bit and see my mother and grandmother arguing. Secrets, what are they hiding from me? I'm old enough to know the truth but like always my mother treats me like a child. I wait a few more minutes and head back to the attic. I enter the attic, look around for anything that will tell me their secrets. The attic is dusty and old filled with cobwebs and spiders. Damn it! I can't find anything. I decide to go back to my hiding place where I saw my mother and grandmother. Right over there in front of the window is where I saw them. I walk there and look around. Under a stack of blankets, I find a chest. I pull the chest out and open it. Inside the chest I find candles, different color candles, little bottles and under all that I find a book. I take the book out. On the outside of the book is a symbol that looks like a moon and below that it reads Eldridge. I open the book. Oh My God! I never believed this was real. My mother always told me magic is not real. She lied to me. This book proves magic is real. But the question is, why hide it from me? Eldridge, that name sounds familiar. Where have I heard that name? "My dear Star, the truth shall be upon you soon." I better leave before I get caught. I head to my room and look up the name Eldridge. Wow, I didn't realize there would be so many results but one caught my eye. I click on that one. The Eldridge family flees Covington Falls in the middle of the night. Covington Manor has been destroyed. Where did the Eldridge family flee too? For 300 years the mystery of the Eldridge family has been told over and over and over again in the hopes someone will tell the truth. I close my eyes and begin to think about everything that has happened tonight. My mother and grandmother doing magic. My mother not wanting tell me the truth about whatever they are hiding but my grandmother wants to tell me the truth. Then there is the book of magic and the name Eldridge. I wonder if I should confront my mother. I begin to pace my room when I notice a piece of paper on the floor. I pick up the paper. It reads "The truth is here. Come to the library and all will be revealed." Yes, my home does have a library. I guess someone knows I know the truth and it's not my mother so it must be my grandmother. I walk to the library, open the door and enter. "Hello." No answer. I keep walking. "Come to the back my dear." I walk to the back and see my grandmother. "Grandma, what are you doing here?" I run and hug my grandmother. Wow this library is amazing. I only been in the library twice, this is my third time here and it's so beautiful. "I know you want answers. I'm here to give you those answers you are seeking." I nod and listen to my grandmother. "Many years ago in Covington falls, the Eldridge and Covington families lived in perfect harmony until one disastrous night. On that night the two eldest Eldridge children decided to play with magic. They didn't know anything about magic or how it works but they didn't care. What happen next tore these two families apart and a fierce rivalry grew all in the name of vengeance. The two eldest Eldridge children used magic the wrong way and a beloved member of both families was killed. This story doesn't end there. The Eldridge children blamed one of the Covington daughters. Both of them said she tricked them into doing magic. The Covington daughter said the Eldridge sons who tricked her, took her prisoner and was forced to watch them do magic. They both denied it. Because the name of the town was Covington Falls, the Eldridge family became enemy No.1. The Covington's were out for blood. The Eldridge family had no choice but to leave and in doing so they destroyed the Covington Manor. This book will give you more answers to your questions." My grandmother hands me the book then leaves. This is a lot to take in. I sit down and begin to think about everything I was told. But the one thing she didn't tell was if we belonged to the Eldridge family. The book is interesting, had a lot of history on the Covington family, none on the Eldridge family. Why is that? I keep reading. Some interesting facts keep popping up like witches and great power. "I can't believe you did this mother." "She must know who she is Iris. Star needs to learn how to protect herself. Her training must begin now." No way this cannot possibly be true. The Covington and Eldridge families are related. Oh My God! where does my family fall in all this? I keep reading and I finally have my answer. Rosemary Covington married Henry Eldridge. Since that union the family has become two. In the back of the book, I find the Eldridge family tree. I look at it from top to bottom, all the way down I spot my grandmother's name and my mother's name and under my mother's name I find my name. It is true we are part of the Eldridge family. There is more to the story I just know it. "Your right baby girl, there is more to the story." I see my mother standing in front of me. I'm sorry mother." "No star, it is me who is sorry. I was trying to protect you. Your grandmother is right. You need to know the truth and how to protect yourself." What is my mother talking about? Protect me from what? "I don't understand what's going on mother." "I will finish grandma's story then we can begin training." I nod. I listen intently as my mother begins. "Your grandmother left off when the Covington Manor was destroyed. The manor was destroyed by the Eldridge family. They wanted nothing to remain of their time at the manor. The Eldridge family took all of their precious belongs and disappeared. No one in Covington falls knew where they went. The Covington family tried and tried to find any signs of the Eldridge family but they couldn't. Years went by, generations of new Covington's were born, still the stigma of the Eldridge family remained. Where is the Eldridge family? The million dollar question no can answer. I'm going to give you the answers. It's going to change your life forever. The Eldridge family settled in the town of Canyon Hills and changed their to St. James. That wasn't the only thing that changed. The appearance of the family also changed." St. James, that's our name. Oh My God! we are the Eldridge family. "How is this possible?" My mother stands up and with a snap of her finger changes into a different person. Wow this is all surreal. I'm speechless. "We belong to the Eldridge family. Rosemary Eldridge your many times over great grandmother was the most powerful witch of all time. Her magic, the magic me and your grandmother practice is past down from mother to daughter. The Eldridge sons that the Covington's blamed for the death of the beloved family member didn't do what everyone said they did. They never in their lifetime ever used magic. Those two boys were Rosemary's sons. Rosemary had a sister who was jealous of her. Her name was Roxanne. She was the one who blamed the Eldridge sons. The truth is Roxanne was the one who misused magic and caused the death. Roxanne told many lies that the Covington family believed. Rosemary, she said was the one to blame for not hiding magic from her family. So, Rosemary her husband and the rest of the Eldridge family had no choice. They fled to survive. Rosemary and her family came here to Canyon Hills, changed their name and appearance to survive. The Covington's are still searching to this day for any signs of us. Each generation of Eldridge/St. James child has their appearance changed. Star, your appearance was changed for your protection. The Covington's are also witches but not nearly as powerful as Rosemary, this is the reason we went undetected and the reason why we never told you. Right now, things have changed, a new threat is coming. Your grandmother is right you need to know the truth and begin your training." I was born into a family of witches. This is life changing. I don't know how to process all this. "Tell me what you are think." "This is a lot to take in. Can you change yourself back into the woman who raised me." my mother changes back. "Who was the person that was killed?" I ask my mother. "His name is Arthur, patriarch of both families." "And the two brothers?" "Theo and Sebastian." Okay, I know their names and the truth about my family, now I can begin my training to become the next Eldridge/St. James witch. I'm looking at myself in the mirror and I say to myself you can do it Star. "Do you want to see how you look now?" I shake my head. I'm perfectly fine the way I am. "Ready to begin." "I am."


I’m walking all the way to Florida. I started in the depths of the night. 3a.m in Kankakee, Illinois and just kept walking. I didn’t use a map. I didn’t have money, a phone, or a change of clothes. I had a knapsack with a few secrets in it. It used to be a backpack, when I used it for school, but since I was going off on an adventure, it became a knapsack. I think I was somewhere in Kentucky when I stopped for food at a gas station. I flirted with the guy behind the counter at the gas station subway until he gave me a sandwich, for free. It was a meatball sub, and it was cold outside so it tasted good. I fell asleep on the bench until another employee woke me up and told me I had to buy something or leave. I asked her for money. She said no. So I got up and left. I hitched a ride. It was 2019, but I hitched a ride. A very large and smelly red headed woman stopped in a sedan, and let me get in. The car smelled rancid, like there was something besides body odor going on. I sat in the back seat because she had a bird cage in the front seat (It was empty). She asked me where I was headed and I told her Disney World. She asked why, and I told her I had family there, in the Epcot Ball. Little did she know, that was a lie. We drove for five hours and she didn’t stop to let me pee when I asked her. I thought about just peeing in the seat because the car smelled bad anyway, but I chickened out. She turned off the highway and drove through a town with a gas station and a motel and a Dairy Queen, and I thought that maybe we were going to Dairy Queen, but she kept on driving. She turned onto a dirt road, and we must have driven for twenty minutes. I didn’t see a car or house the whole time, just lots of fields. She pulled into a driveway, and there I saw it, a decrepit, tiny house that looked like it was actually collapsing. She turned back back to me, gave me a wide smile, and said “Thought I’d fix you a meal!” The orange soda was very refreshing, but the meatloaf didn’t taste right. Still, I scarfed it down. She watched me anxiously and talked about gardening. How to grow tulips. It was really boring, but she seemed into it. I remember wandering what her plans were with that bird cage. She had left it in the car. That was my last thought before I passed out. I woke up in a tiny little wood paneled room with no windows. I assumed it was in the house. There was a blow-up mattress but nothing else. It was extremely hot. I tried to walk out but the door was locked from the outside. She brought me two meals a day, and sat on the floor with her massive legs crossed, and talked about her life. She told me very intricate little stories about going to church, and the flowers she was growing in the backyard, and the day her bird Lenny had died. I begged her to let me go, that I needed to go to Disney World, and my parents and sister were waiting for me there. When I brought up Disney World, she got real quiet, and walked out of the room. It was a sad time for me. She didn’t seem to want to talk about ME, or MY life. She only cared about herself. I counted the days. It was on day fifty-four that I exploded at her. Not physically, just verbally. She was in the middle of talking about a handsome man she had met at church (who WASN’T interested in her at ALL ; I could tell.) when I started screaming, “WHY ARE YOU TELLING ME ALL THESE THINGS?! I DON’T CARE, AND I’M TIRED OF PRETENDING TO CARE!! YOU WON’T EVEN GIVE ME ANY BOOKS OR MAGAZINES, AND YOU NEVER GIVE ME ENOUGH SODA!! I’M ALWAYS THIRSTY! YOU’RE SUCH A BITCH!! I HATE BEING KIDNAPPED BY YOU!!” She got up, moved her big hefty body over to me and held her face an inch away from mine. “Listen, you little”, she began. She never finished. I bit her face so hard that I tore her nose off. I know I did because I could feel the whole damn thing in my mouth. I’ll never forget that feeling. Some of her cheek came off as well. Blood spurted out of her face like six squirt guns at once. Where I summoned this force, I still to this day don’t know. She fell to the floor in shock, and I grabbed the key from her dress pocket, made a rush for the door, and locked her inside. I felt bad about taking her car, and plus I didn’t want to smell it again. So I walked to town. When I got to Dairy Queen the next morning , I tried flirting with the guy at the counter, but it didn’t work because I had blood spatter all over my face and I hadn’t showered in fifty-five days. So I drank water from the bathroom faucet and left. I am still making my way to Disney world. I’m walking on the highway and keeping to myself. I’m paying attention to road signs and such so I don’t get lost. I'm really hungry. My thirty-second birthday is in three weeks. Hopefully I’ll make it there before then. I don’t even have my knapsack full of secrets anymore. That dumb lady took it.


“Sophia, there’s a monster under my bed!” the little girl cried. Sophia looked up from her Instagram profile on her phone and rolled her eyes. She said, “Charlotte, you’re eight years old now. That means you’re a big girl, and big girls don’t believe in monsters.” “Please, Sophia. Come look under my bed,” came the girl’s reply. Sophia scoffed and said, “All right, but we both know there’s nothing there.” She put her phone into her purse on the coffee table, then got up off the couch in the living room and walked down the hallway to the girl’s bedroom. She pushed open the door which had been left slightly ajar, and a ray of light from the hall spilled into the room. There, she saw the girl sitting up against the headboard in her pink pajamas. She had a look of fright on her tiny face. Sophia glanced around the room and saw nothing out of the ordinary. Dolls, coloring books, and other toys were strewn everywhere. “Why don’t your parents ever ask you to clean up after yourself?” she said as she approached the bed. Ignoring the question, the girl said, “There’s a monster under my bed, I swear. Please just look under there and make him go away.” The insistence in her little voice made Sophia’s heart melt, and she said in a soothing tone, “Alright, sweetie. I believe you. I’ll make the monster go away.” The girl smiled as she laid her head down on her pillow and said in a sing-song voice, “Thank you.” Sophia crouched down next to the bed and lifted up the sheet to reveal the space underneath. There was nothing there besides the carpeted floor and some crayons. She rose up on her knees and said, “What did I tell you, silly? There isn’t anything there at all.” The girl sat up and opened her eyes as if she’d been asleep, then looked at Sophia with an expression of terror and screamed. Her high-pitched wail punctured Sophia’s eardrums like a needle, and Sophia covered her ears and said, “Charlotte, what is it? What’s wrong?” However, the girl continued to scream. Sophia heard footsteps thunder down the hall and then the door burst open. A man in boxers and a t-shirt stood in the doorway holding a metal baseball bat. Behind him, Sophia could see a woman in a nightgown look over the man’s shoulder with concern. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?” he demanded in an outraged voice. “Tom, Mary, it’s me, Sophia, the babysitter, remember? You hired me to watch Charlotte tonight while you were out to dinner. I didn’t realize you’d come home already. I thought you’d be gone until later.” The man and woman looked at each other with confused expressions, then the man said angrily, “You thought we were gone? Are you trying to kidnap our daughter?” “What? I... I...” Sophia stammered. The girl began to cry and said, “Mommy, daddy, help me!” The woman rushed over to the girl and said, “Shhh, sweetie. Mommy’s here. It’s ok.” She looked at Sophia, then at the man and said, “She’s bleeding.” “What?” the man said. He then took a threatening step towards Sophia as he gripped the baseball bat tight with both hands and said menacingly, “What did you do to my little girl?” “Not our daughter. Her...” the woman nodded to indicate Sophia. Sophia looked down at her left hand and saw that a deep cut ran down the side of it. Before she had time to think about how it got there, the man took another step toward her with his arm outstretched. She wriggled away, then ran out of the room and down the hall. “Come back here!” he shouted. With tears streaming down her cheeks, Sophia ran into the living room. She went to grab her phone and purse off the coffee table, but when she looked, she saw that they were gone. Sophia heard the man’s footsteps as they pounded down the hallway, and she turned and went for the front door. Broken glass crunched under her shoes on the tile entryway as she flung the door open, and she saw that there was a torrential downpour outside. She looked for her car where she parked it at the end of the driveway but saw that it too was gone. In a panic, she decided to run through the rain to her parents’ house, which she knew was only a few blocks away. Rain pelted her and soaked through her clothes as she ran, and the man shouted after her from his doorstep, “I’m calling the cops!” Once she arrived at her parents’ house, she was perplexed to see that all the lights were off. She thought, “They’re always at home and awake at this time of night.” She reached into her pocket for her keys but remembered they were in her purse. In desperation, she pounded against the door and called out, “Mom! Dad! Let me in! Please!” She beat on the door for several minutes until finally the porch light came on. A woman opened the door slightly and Sophia pushed it all the way open as she bolted inside. She threw her arms around the woman and sobbed into her shoulder as she said, “Oh, mom, it was horrible. My babysitting clients went crazy. They treated me like a stranger who was intruding in their home. I think they might have stolen my purse and my car.” The woman, instead of hugging her back, went completely stiff. After an awkward moment, she put her hands up to Sophia’s chest and shoved her hard through the open doorway. Sophia sprawled out into the rain and landed painfully on the house’s front porch. She looked up with an expression of heartbreak as the woman slammed and locked the door. Three police cars and an ambulance pulled up, their red and blue lights flashing off the houses and trees in the neighborhood. An officer got out of his car, pointed his gun at Sophia and shouted, “Keep your hands where I can see them!” “Please, I don’t know what’s happening.” Sophia said as she sat behind an old wooden desk in the police station’s interrogation room. “Why won’t anybody listen to me?” “What’s your name?” asked the detective who sat across from her. “Sophia Larson.” “Sophia, I’m Detective Anita Benson. I need to ask you a few questions. First, how old are you?” “I just turned 16 last May.” Detective Benson stared at her expressionless for several moments, then asked another question, “Whose house were you at earlier this evening?” “Tom and Mary Smith’s house. I’m their babysitter for their daughter, Charlotte. I’ve been their babysitter for two years, ever since Charlotte turned six years old.” “How did you get into their home?” Sophia made a confused expression and said, “They let me in. I was there to watch Charlotte while they went out to eat. I have no idea what’s going on or why they reacted to me like they did. They treated me like they thought I was trying to kidnap their daughter. I also think they stole my purse and my car, but I don’t know why.” “How did you cut your hand?” Sophia looked at where the paramedics had bandaged her left hand before they brought her to the police station. She said, “I don’t know.” Detective Benson asked, “Whose house were you at when the police arrived?” “My parents’ house. My mom opened the door, but when I hugged her she didn’t say anything, she just shoved me back out into the rain. I’m so confused.” “Sophia, would it surprise you to know that the people at the first house said they don’t know who you are, and that you broke into their home?” “Yes, of course it would. Like I said, I’m their babysitter. They’ve known me for years. Why would they say that?” “When we arrived, we found that a small window next to the front door had been smashed. Someone apparently broke the window, then reached through it to unlock the door and let themselves in. We also found a trail of blood drops and muddy footprints that led from the front door to the little girl’s room where her parents saw you.” Detective Benson continued, “The names of the people who live there are not Tom, Mary, or Charlotte. I can’t tell you what their names are for their safety. Furthermore, the woman at the house you say belongs to your parents and whom you say is your mother doesn’t have any children, and she’s not married. We checked.” Sophia looked at her dumbfounded. “This... can’t be true.” “I’ll ask you again,” said Detective Benson. “How old are you?” As Sophia stared at her in confused silence, Detective Benson reached into her jacket pocket and took out a small mirror. She held it up, and Sophia gasped. Instead of her young face that she’d seen that morning and every morning before, Sophia saw the unfamiliar face of a haggard old woman. Her white, stringy hair was disheveled and matted against her forehead. Her wrinkled face was drawn in an expression of shock. She screamed.


The man smiles and shoves the burner cell back into the pocket of a smart rented suit. He does a double step, a little dance, then high fives a passing stranger. Carries on, a spring in his step, down the busy main road. Knavish city is a great place, a great place to get away with murder. Two bribes, and a small handling fee to a cleaner, and he was a free man. Priceless. Now time to get that other body out. It will be stinking by now. Nevermind the cats and rats. A cat, chasing a rat, holding a gnawed ear, in-between tiny teeth, had led to him renting this smart suit. Both a curse and a gift. He looked good. Mother would be proud of how he looked. Not what he did. Does Pant leg vibrates. The burner. "Good day you have gotten through to John, Peter, Charles or James. How can we assist?" "Timothy gave me this number," stutters a soft female voice. "And?" "Yes- sorry, 58008" "Hold please" the man looks at his text messages. A message from Tim: *code 58008, widowed mother, request assistance with father in law, payment R10000x2* The man turns the burner around, smiles, then holds the phone to his ear and speaks. "Any particular request for your inlaws passing?" "No... Just I need money. And him gone... He’s not bad... Just. I can't anymore." a stuttering voice explains. "Quick and painless, got it" The man sighs. He loves his job, it is his passion, but even a passion can be mundane at times. "I'll text you a location and time, leave photos, address, his basic daily schedule and first payment in cash, in a purple A5 envelope. Got it? "Yes, how do.." The man hangs up. He has no idea how she was going to fit in photos and 10k cash in an A5 envelope, but that was her problem. He smiles, high fives a stranger and continues his freedom strut down Knavish's main road. *** For Paul, the regret and shame went away after the first whiskey. Last night's hangover would need at least two. So he ordered another from the barman. The Rusty Tap was one of Knavish City's dingiest dive bars. No small feat in a city where such a commodity was in ample supply. The whiskey arrived and Paul immediately raised it to his lips for a sip, the strong odor giving a welcome reprieve from the stink of damp and sour beer. Smells that seem out of place at 10am on a Tuesday morning. "Bad day with the Pops today Paulie?" The barman asked over his shoulder as he rummaged through the fridge. "Same old Merv... Same old" Paul raised his glass and took another deep sip. It was the same old. Beginning the 21st week of deep cover in Knavish. He hated this city, but felt that he somehow belonged here. His cover seemed so thin that it was closer to him than his own skin. Besides, a washed up alcoholic banker was better than a washed up alcoholic cop. Cops had to drink at home in the mornings, bankers could do it in red neon lit dive bars. He got to frequent the "Rusty", and that was where he was going to get a lead on the Tinker. Paul was close. He could feel it in the remaining shred of humanity he had left. Every other part of him could deteriorate into futility but this singular goal kept him relevant. He would catch this piece of shit. One more hour and 3 more drinks and hopefully he would get his lead. The time was ready to make a move. The pieces had been put into motion and by God, he was going to make it work. *** A man stands with the crowd of onlookers. Blue lights reflect off sunglasses. "Fuck!" the man whispers under his breath. Big innocent eyes look up. "Bad word," say the big eyes. "Bad man." Replies the man, while pulling down glasses and giving a wink. He turns and walks away from the crowd, wondering if it was the smell or another hungry rat. Either way it should be alright. The dead don't say much anyway. An hour later a boy on a bike rides up to a man standing by a tree, wearing sunglasses. The boy pulls up his shirt, puts his hands down his pants and pulls out a small fat purple envelope. Looking around before he hands it to the man. "Good, exactly the same." Said the man, smelling the envelope. The man smiles.."You made it stinky, Did anyone see you make the swap?" "No sir," said the boy, rubbing is head, with a guilty look on his face "Jimmy helped me, Jimmy pretended to crash into the bench I ran to help him, then-" "I don't care." The man interrupts. He waves a crisp note in front of him. The boy snatches the note and rides off. The man makes his way out of the park, then takes a seat at a bus station bench. Opens the envelope again and takes out the four photos. Shifting through them, he looks for the small details. Lazy right eye, green eyes, short brown hair, balding, mid forties and a bent nose. Must have played sports in high school. Theory supported by the muscular shoulders. Rugby. Likely tight five. Height suggests prop or hooker. Death would need to be non-direct. A Planned accident maybe? He places photos back in the envelope and pulls out a handwritten note. The man scans down through the neatly written woman's writing. "KCB - Assistant Manager", no, "8 palm Ridge", no, "brother Carl", no, "regular day drinker at the rusty tap" yes. He places the letter back in the envelope and the envelope in his jacket pocket. He stands up and starts walking down town, wondering to himself if Mervin was working tonight. *** "Another one Paulie? " Merv stood with both hands on the bar facing Paul, cloth hung over his shoulder. Paul twisted the empty whiskey glass in his hands then looked up. "Maybe just a pale ale Merv" The barman gave him a knowing smile then went off to get his ale. Paul resisted the urge to look at his phone. That wasn't his routine. He sat here for 3 hours every day and concentrated on drinking. Consistency was key. He was sure he hadn't felt any vibration. He would have gotten a message if someone took the drop. The curiosity was killing him inside but he maintained his outer deflated mask. He would just have to check his phone in the toilets after this next drink. Four stools down to his left, Hepp was starting to doze off. Hepp was a sort of friend that Paul never spoke to but spent hours every day with. "Hepp, get your bill and go get some sleep!" Merv slammed the slip on the counter then walked over and handed Paul his pint. Hepp dropped a few notes on the counter, cursed something under his breath then stumbled out toward the door. Paul took a deep sip from his glass. It was probably time to pack it in soon. He could check up on that envelope tonight. Who wants a fucking purple envelope? "Watch where you're fucking going you fucking snowflake!" Hepp shouted as he pushed past someone entering the door. Paul didn't look up. Alcoholic bankers come to drink alone and prefer to concentrate on their solitude. He watched the scene unfold in distorted reflections on the draft tap in front of him. A young man in a smart suit jumped back, raising his hands in apology. "I'm sorry sir. A momentary lapse of judgment." the man said, with a small bow and an exaggerated waving of his hands. Hepp grunted as he disappeared out into the light. The newcomer perked up then seemed to skip over to the bar. "Mervin you old scallywag! It's been too long" he dumped himself down and swung on the stool to face the barman. "Fluffy..." Merv paused for a long moment and Paul couldn't decide what the bar man's absent expression meant about this new guy. "Has been a while. How are things?" "You know. Work hard, play hard, hope the world gives you a break. That sort of thing. Your finest cocktail good sir! Something with an umbrella if possible. I'm celebrating a new deal!" Paul already didn't like this guy. Too over the top. Too happy. People like that were always hiding something. Or maybe he just didn't know what normal happy people looked like anymore. "And another drink for my big friend over there! I'm celebrating" he gestured over to Paul who took the opportunity to look up from his drink. The newcomer, "Fluffy" was youngish looking. Maybe early 30s. A face slightly pocked but otherwise rather handsome. He wore a genuine looking smile and sported a scruffy blonde mop for hair. His dark brown eyes seemed to twinkle under the deep red bar lights. "Paulie likes to drink alone, Fluff. Leave him be" "Oh. I'm sorry big guy. I won't bother you anymore but please Merv, let me pick up his next one. When does this place start getting fun?" Merv laughed, "6 hours maybe?" *** No wonder that woman wants him dead. The man shifts on his bar stool. Mervin places a drink in front of him, wide eyes with raised eyebrows. Mervin wants something. What he wants is a mystery. Like the woman's G spot, it was there, but honestly no man really cared. This man didn't care. This man has a job to do. He needs to talk to the big man. Find out more. "Thanks" says Paul, lifting the free beer to his lips. "It's a pleasure buddy, do you-". "-Better on toast" interrupts Paul, beer still raised. "What? Better?" the young man stumbles out a reply. Paul shifts on his stool and turns to face the man, "You see Fluffy, certain things are just better on toast, like marmite or jam. You may say jam is better on bread. You would be wrong. What you are really craving is a jam donut. Jam bread is a weak substitute. I'm right on this, don't press it, and besides donuts are toasted." "I enjoy donuts, have not had one in-" "don't interrupt me-” As he was cut off again, he felt anger slap the pit of his stomach and boil towards clenched fists. But Paul continued. “-I have a point, certain things go better with certain situations. People are like this, some people are better at a party, a party being their toast. My toast would be by myself, I'm awesome alone, greatest ever, take my word for it. Now please piss off" Paul turns again in the seat and slumps over the bar. A fight at this point would ruin a good pay day, he needs to hold it together. The man needs to take a different approach. Music. The man stands up and looks across at Paul. Downs the last of his beer, slams the empty bottle down. Ignored. He walks across the bar towards the exit. Ignored. Stops by the entrance, turns and approaches the 60s style jukebox. Digs in his pocket. Pulls out three coins and feeds the machine, selects the song. The young man holding the jukebox on either side, puts his head down, bopping slowly to the rhythmic harmony of an acoustic guitar and the slow beat of Human touch, by Bruce Springsteen. The song achieves its intention, he is relaxed. The big guy still slumps over in his drink. But something has changed. He has ordered a drink for this unlikely companion. "Thank you" says the young man, sitting down, accepting his drink. "You're a bit young to be a fan of the boss, Fluffy," says Paul, turning a little, almost making eye contact. "Please call me Bruce. You have one bad fashion choice in this place and you will never live it down" says Bruce. He sips a drink to erase the memory. "My pops was a fan, rocked me to sleep singing ‘secret garden’ when i was a baby. Heck I was raised on ‘born in the USA’ blasting on Saturday nights, ‘leap of faith’ softly playing on Sunday mornings" "Your father sounds like my kinda man," says Paul, fully turned, making eye contact. "He died when I was twelve" says Bruce, with another memory erasing sip. "I'm sorry." "Don't be, he is ‘down by the river’, ‘reliving his glory days’" "Never heard death put better" "He told me that, before he went. Cancer." Bruce goes silent, then shakes his head "In fact, he told me anything in life could be expressed through a Springsteen song. Try me, I'm here all night.” "How's one for ungrateful patrons" interrupts Mervin as he places two fresh drinks. "Pay me my money down" Paul and Bruce say in unison. They burst into laughter. "what about a washed up old man tired of life," says Paul, finishing off the old beer "i am sorry, I did warn you I was better off alone" Bruce gives Paul a strong look, a little smile appears. Bruce gets up, walks over to the jukebox again, puts in three coins, selects a song. The up beat music of dancing in the dark starts playing. Bruce turns and starts to dance. *** This Bruce kid wasn't so bad. A bit eccentric, but he made Paul laugh. Maybe it was the booze. It definitely was the booze. Bruce bobbed, swayed and twisted across the room. Paul took another sip and decided to give into the booze a bit. “Get this kid another gay drink Merv. On me” Merve smiled and shook his head. Moments later, another pink drink was waiting on the bar counter. The kid was really letting loose now. Unsurprisingly, he was a great dancer. Bruce waltzed over to the bar and picked up the cocktail, gulping down half in one swig. There was still a beer bottle in his other hand. “Thanks, Big Uncle Paulie '' he shouted over the music while unbuttoning his suit jacket. He blew a kiss to Merv who winced. Then he turned away with his jacket flaring out. The movement made Paul a little dizzy. The black of the jacket, then the white of the shirt. Black, white, black, white to the step of the beat. Black, white, black, white, black, purple white- Paul's smile immediately flatlined. His eyes narrowed and his heart rate spiked. That flash of purple bulging from the inner jacket pocket was the single most sobering site Paul had ever seen. And the kid noticed. He stopped dancing and looked dead on at Paul, starting to say something. In a split second Paul decided. He stood and reached into his jacket for his glock-17. He saw the kids arm blur in a throwing motion just before a beer bottle slammed into his face making everything go black. Purple. There he was on his back with the kid on top hitting him. “Fuck him” Paul said to himself. He could take his punches. Paul ignored the hits and finished pulling out the gun, pointed it into the kid’s chest and fired. Paul locked eyes with Bruce and saw the kid’s gaze go from a look of determined rage to a glazed confusion. Then his attacker slumped over to the side making a faint whining noise. Paul stood, dizzy and nauseous. The vision in his left eye was gone and his right was seeing double. But he had got him. He slowly felt peace and happiness flow over him like a hot shower. Then Paul turned to see Merv pointing a Remmington 870 shotgun at him. He felt the impact just before he heard the thunder of the shot. Again he was on his back, the world slowly fading to blackness. *** Merv stepped over to the carnage. Fluffy was bleeding out in the fetal position against the counter. Paul was on his back. His breathing was slowing with each intake, but he still seemed to have a silly smile on his face. “You got close. I'll give you that. Closer than anyone else, Paul” They made eye contact. “Thanks for getting rid of Fluff. He was too reckless. I guess if you want a contract done right you do it yourself. I'm sure you feel the same... But fuck you Paul. Now I have to move to a new shop. I've been here 20 years” Merv shrugged and lowered the shotgun. “I just want you to know that you didn't get the guy. You failed” The subsequent look on Paul's face made it all worth it. “And that's why i do this” *** A dying man was crying. His life slipping away, like shit in a flushed toilet. Fuck Merv. Fuck him. Fuck. The man sees a pistol on the ground. Near. Fuck Merv. Fuck him.


Mason Longpore was the sheriff of a small town in Arizona. This town, Ashburn, had only two things to be proud of. First, it had crawled its way up from being a small outposting in Arizona of the same name, and second, it had thus far managed to avoid falling back into its original status, or being absorbed into the much larger city of Emeree where taxes were much higher and morale was consequently much lower. Ashburn held its status, however precariously, with the profits of the local gas station, which happens to reside roughly one tank of gas length from the nearest city. The taxes from the fuel and cigarettes, as well as the fines from heavy footed drivers who are emboldened by a full tank of gas, fresh, hardly stale tobacco, and a long straight road ahead of them, brings in just enough money to pay the necessary fees that come with township, including paying the sheriff. Mason was bored one July morning. Mason was often bored because this July morning was hardly different than the last July morning, or any morning of any month as far as that goes. Mason walked into his office, the strong yellow light from the sun being reflected by the many particles of dust in air. Mason grabbed his mug off his desk and proceeded to fill with hot coffee that was freshly brewed sometime this week. Masons mug was a dull off white ceramic when he bought it years ago as gift to himself for getting the Sheriffs job. It was still dull and off white outside with the exception of the sheriff badge painted on the side, but the inside was now a dark shade of grime. Mason said he like the flavor of this, “seasoned like a cast iron skillet” he’d say, but in reality he simply refused to clean it because he did not like his deputy constantly pointing out to him how dirty it was. Masons deputy, was a tall slender man. He had been an academic in a previous life, studied psychology and pre-historical sociology, but then he moved to Ashburn for a girl, promptly lost the girl, and, after deciding he did not want a job at the gas station, applied to be a sheriffs deputy. Devoid of competition, he got the job. His God given name was Richard Maple but Mason always called him “Sticky Dick! Good morning to you!” exclaimed Mason as he settled into his desk chair. Maple walked in and made a B-line for the coffee, haphazardly tossing his bag to his desk, situated catty-corner to Masons desk. “How many times are you going to call me that before it gets old?” pleaded Maple, full attention still on his first cup of blessed caffeine. “When you’re sheriff and I’m retired, dead, or your deputy” retorted Mason, now looking over the days paper. “Did you see the piece about the carnival coming through town?” asked Maple. “Lots of stuff comes through this town, the trick is getting them to stay longer than the length of your average shit” “They’re supposed to be here a week. It’ll be great to get some culture around here” “Yea, the mayor already talked to me, wanted to make sure we could handle the extra people in this one horse town.” Mason said dryly “When did we get a horse?” Maple quipped Mason continued as if he didn’t hear him “A fair that size will basically double our population, and after the fair closes down each night Susies will be the only place to go. We’ll need to make sure the public urination is left to the animals, and make sure none of the animals are released into the public by somebody with too much liquid courage and a key to the tiger cage.” “My Gosh, it’ll be a crime wave” mocked Maple “Been a while since we had one of those” “What was the last one?” “Mrs Henderson’s lawn mower went missing, turned out Mr Henderson just didn’t put it back in the right spot. It was headline news that Sunday” Mason returned to the stacks of paper on his desk. The usual clutter of speeding tickets, shoplifting, and drunken shenanigans. Looking around Mason sighed. Not that long ago he’d been happy with these sorts of cases day in and day out. Keeping the peace in a peaceful little town. Last year Mason had faced a case, the likes of which neither mason nor the town of Ashburn had seen before. A run of the mill knock and talk turned into the worst month of Longpores life. Since then, this, all of this, all these petty crimes just didn’t seem to matter anymore. There was real evil out there and Mason missed chasing it. Frustrated, mason stood up, downed the rest of his coffee and announced “I’m going for a patrol” Walking out the door past a sleepy eyed Richard, pausing only to grab his hat.


“Never judge a book by its cover.” It’s a common saying, one I’m sure we’ve all heard. I suppose it’s common for a reason, people are more than just their appearance. Every one of us are complicated in unique ways, shaped by all the experiences we’ve all had to go through. However, what if I told you that this isn’t necessarily true, well not for me anyhow. My name’s Mark, and I’ve been able to see Aura’s ever since I can remember. I’m getting ahead of myself, let me tell you what an “Aura” is. Imagine it as a gaseous cloud around a person. A hazy mist of different consistencies and colours, unique to each and every individual. As a child, I remember being captivated by all the colours, which can be as simple as a light blue around my mother, or a bright and diverse palette of colours when with many people. As you’ve probably guessed, I did not have a great childhood. I learned early on that no one else could see these wonderful sights, and eventually ended up going to therapy for my “issues”. I quickly learnt to keep my gift to myself, and try to be as normal as possible. Unfortunately, that’s quite easier said than done. Having this constant vibrance around me was distracting to say the least, especially in class when surrounded by so many peers. No matter how hard I tried, I’d often slip into a world of unknown, gazing at the combination of Auras. As such, my grades suffered and I’d often be labelled as a miscreant. Combine that with constant remarks from fellow classmates for being “out of it” and “high as fuck”, its safe to say I didn’t have a positive school experience. I didn’t mind though, I was perfectly content being surrounded by Auras, gazing at them longingly. It wasn’t until I met Mr.Rodgers though, that I discovered the true meaning of the Auras, and why they were unique for each person. Mr.Rodgers moved in next door, right after the day I turned seventeen. I remember the first time I saw him as clear as the night sky, for good reason. It was one of the few times of day I wasn’t admiring the different Auras of people around me, mostly since my mother had told me to take out the thrash. I’d unwillingly dragged myself out and dropped the bag in the dumpster, when I first spotted Mr.Rodgers. He was quite a large man, easily 6 foot and extremely daunting in appearance. With a patchy beard and a menacing scowl on his face, he looked like he was having hell mowing his lawn. But it wasn’t any of those attributes that got him my attention. Surrounding him was easily the largest Aura I had ever seen all my life. Dense and thick, it coiled and extended at least 10 ft in diameter around him. More shocking, was the colour. It was the deepest shade of red, which occasional streaks of black etched onto it, as if a brush had stroked it there. The colour pulsed in place, going from a bright red to a dark crimson as the Aura swirled menacingly around him. Needless to say, I was extremely terrified. The moment I regained my senses I dashed inside my house and slammed the door shut. My heart hammering at a thousand times a second, I was left to wonder why his Aura was so, to put it bluntly, horrifying. Over the coming months, I used every excuse to avoid meeting Mr.Rodgers. The dread I felt whenever I saw him and his Aura never faded, and I often felt trapped inside my own home, unable to leave in fear of meeting the man, and being within, what I assume would be, a very suffocating cloud of Aura. It was then tragedy struck my city. Jasper, one of the many children attending West High School, my high school, went missing. It was all over the news for weeks, and posters were hung up on every corner of the city. It wasn’t unusual to see police making their routes along the city, searching for the missing child. I was personally saddened by his disappearance, Id met Jasper only a handful of times, but he was the happiest, most cheerful person I knew. Moreover, his aura was a nice teal and extremely vibrant, and I’d feel at ease whenever I was around him. Coincidentally, it was his unique Aura that lead to me discovering something bizarre. The morning before I knew about Jaspers disappearance, Id spotted that shade of teal at, you guessed it, Mr.Rodgers house. I wrote it off as morning sleepiness at first, but the fact that the colour seemed to persist for days afterward bugged me to an extreme. Something just didn’t feel right, and with that teal slowly diminishing over time I swallowed my fear and went outside for a better look at Mr.Rodgers house. From a safe distance of course. By which I mean hiding in the bushes at the edge of the neighbourhood and spying on him using a pair of binoculars I’d bought with my allowance. It was a cowardly and crude plan, but I was seventeen and didn’t have too many options. It was stunningly uneventful, to say the least. Days went by without even a hiccup. Mr.Rodgers routines were like clockwork, only leaving his house to go to the local bar at 6, and coming back around 10, drunk out of his mind. By the end of the week I was ready to give up on solving this mystery, when fate decided to intervene. It was a Saturday morning, and Mr.Rodgers was out pruning his bushes. I was snacking on some gummies and keeping an eye on him, when I noticed a glare coming from the other end of the house. I redirected my binoculars at the glare, and nearly jumped out of my skin. The origin of the glare was a shard of broken glass, held up by a human hand, right behind Mr.Rodgers basement window. Once I got over my initial shock, I looked at the scene once again to confirm what I saw was real or just a hallucination produced by all the sugar from the gummies I’d been stuffing my face with. It wasn’t, and I slowly sunk into the bushes, perplexed by what I just saw. It wasn’t until a few minutes of deep thinking later, that all the puzzle pieces fit in my head. It was no wonder I was seeing Jaspers unique Aura there, if Jasper himself was stuck there too. Mr.Rodgers must’ve kidnapped him for some sick reason, and what I had just witnessed must’ve been his desperate attempt at being rescued. Not knowing what to do, I eventually settled on writing “Jasper at Mr.Rodgers” on a piece of paper before conveniently dropping it right infront of the local police station, and quickly running back home. Id hoped it’d be enough for the cops to consider as a lead and save him. The cops did not disappoint, the very night I woke up to a frenzy of noises disturbing the stillness of the night. My mother and I got to watch from our doorsteps as the police dragged away a struggling Mr.Rodgers, and lead a boy draped in a blanket into the back of a cruiser. It was all over the news the next morning. The police had done a raid on Mr.Rodgers following an “anonymous tip” and wound up rescuing Jasper and putting Mr.Rodgers, who was found guilty of multiple charges across many states, behind bars. It was never revealed the reasoning behind the kidnapping however, but I quickly figured it out for myself. The next time I saw Jasper, he had changed. His cheerful exterior was replaced with a sullen look, and more importantly, that vibrant teal Aura of his had dimmed and darkened, losing that warmth it once had. I didn’t need to ask him what horrific acts he had to go through, his Aura spoke for himself. I put two and two together and came to realise that Auras were much like a fingerprint, unique to each individual as it represented each individuals personality. The Auras were a reflection of their true selves, and a change in a persons overall demeanour was expressed by the Aura itself. If a persons appearance were their cover, the Aura was their inner pages. You can see why I meant I no longer had to follow the phrase, never judge a book by it’s cover. This uncanny ability of mine helped me pick and choose different aspects of my life, who to be friends with, which endeavour I wanted to undertake, and most importantly, what was the easiest route to getting the next biggest scoop. My little adventure in rescuing Jasper had sparked a flame inside me for snooping and detective work. Combined with my love for writing and literature, journalism seemed like a perfect fit as a career choice. I worked my ass off at Grad School and ended up graduating from the prestigious Yale University with a degree in Journalism and Literature. One fruitful job search later, with a recommendation from my professor at Yale University, I had secured myself a job at the Daily Globe. The no.1 biggest newspaper and media company in America, and I got the luxury of being a reporter and journalist there. It did not take long for me to develop a reputation there. Within the first month itself, I managed to uncover a huge drug market happening deep in the heart of the city itself. My reports earned me several glowing remarks from critics and the general public alike, and I was even nominated for the Journalism Awards. People often remarked that I had a nose for the next scoop, but it had nothing to do with my nose. My eyes on the other hand, were a huge help. Being able to see Auras meant that all I had to do to get a good story was simply follow whoever had an intriguing Aura. In the case of the drug market, it all began when I met the local butcher and meat supplier for the Daily Globe. Despite his polite behaviour and charming smile, he had an Aura that was nearly as menacing as Mr.Rodgers himself. I knew I had my first lead. A thorough snoop and a somewhat dangerous car chase later, I had pictures of him stuffing drugs in the meat before selling to his “daily customers”. After unearthing some more information about him and his clients, I had my final report ready for the public. Im not going to lie, it felt nice to be able to service the city while developing my career at the same time. At that point, life was going great. I had an unshakeable reputation as the best journalist at the Daily Globe, I had met the love of my life, Sarah, and moved in with her, and had recently had a talk with some of the heads about a promotion. If only things had persisted like that. The Auras, they were my gift. No one else could see them, feel them. I was determined to carry this secret, this gift with me to the grave, and had it not been for him this might’ve been the case. It was a dull Monday morning. I was sitting at my desk, typing away my daily quota for the newspaper when I first felt it. A chill that ran down my spine, sending goosebumps all over my body. I blamed It on the air conditioning and tried my best to resume working, but as time passed the feeling got worse and worse, eventually exerting such a pressure that I found it difficult to breathe. As I tried to revert my breathing back to normal and calm down, a faint white glow began emanating from behind me, growing stronger and stronger by the second. It eventually enveloped the whole floor, and to my shock and relief, felt comforting. I was taken back to all the nights my mother would hold me as she read all those nursery books. The first time I had met Sarah and my heart skipped a beat. The day I’d asked her to move in with me and she’d happily said yes. All those wonderful memories, the white glow seemed to possess as it wrapped around me like a warm blanket. The glow simultaneously emanated a sense of pressure and strength, but possessed a calm that made me relax and put me at ease. I was so distracted by all these emotions that it took me a good while to realise that this was in fact someone’s Aura. Once I realised this fact, I quickly scanned the floor to see the source of this enormous, powerful sensation. The owner of the Aura which dominated every other Aura I had ever seen. My eyes landed on a man, dressed in a trench coat at least two sizes big for him. He wore a fedora on top his neatly combed hair, horn rimmed glasses that made him appear to be twice his age, and was holding a stack of folders while talking to some of the other reporters. Eventually, he spotted my gaze, and began walking towards me. I noticed he had a limp as he walked, and generally seemed to be quite awkward as he slowly made his way towards me. It was hard to believe that he possessed such a brilliant Aura, when he seemed beyond normal. Upon catching upto me, he flashed me a dazzling smile as he uttered the words that I would never forget for the rest of my life, the very words that would end up changing my life. “Hey, I’m Clark Kent, the new guy. It’s a pleasure being able to work with you.


As I sat there looking at the display I was nervous. It had been far to easy to get away; sensors and video could be fooled. “Cass”, I called. “Get to the aft porthole and see whats behind us.” As she came through the door from her lab she looked at me quizzically. “I thought we lost em’”, She said. But she continued walking aft towards the small porthole window next to the airlock. After a couple minutes I heard her voice over my cochlear. “*I don’t see anything out of the ordinary, just space rocks from this death trap you pulled us into.*” I reply back with my inter-phase “*It’s a planetary ring debris field not a death trap. Keep an eye out there for a bit. Look for straight lines. The universe doesn’t work in straight lines.”* “*Whatever you wanna call it.”* was the response I got as I flipped a switch and the metal plates that covered the forward facing portholes slid back. In doing so the revealed the beautiful “death trap” as Cass so eloquently put it. We had the ship in a slow orbit around the planet a midst its gorgeous rings. The debris were all colors but mostly blue for some reason. With my inter-phase I got a hold of the pilot. “*Hey Derek can you nab a small sample of one of those blue rocks?”* “*Sure thing boss. Are we hidden well enough?”* He asked. “*I don’t know.”* I sent back over my inter-phase. “*I have Cass looking out the aft porthole. But it felt to easy to me. Kill the main power we can drift around with the maneuvering thrusters for a bit. I want as small of a power output as possible.”* “*Done and done.”,* Derek said. As I settled back into my seat I peered into the scopes on my instruments; looking for a blip, listening for some static, trying to see what I sensed; that we were being hunted. While I was scanning the radio frequencies looking for any anomalies I felt the familiar pressure in my head and Cass got back in contact over the inter-phase. “*Hey Captain, I just saw stars wink out and reappear in a line. It looks like it is moving towards us. I saw it aft about 270 degrees and up from our plane about 65 degrees.”* “*Thanks. I’ll dial that in on my scopes.”* I replied. As I dialed the scopes and instruments in I got a hold of our gunner on my inter-phase. “*Taylor load up. We have incoming. We didn’t shake em all the way. What do we have left for ammo?”* Her frazzled reply came over the inter-phase. “*We don’t have much left. One nuke, four conventional warhead missiles, two counter missiles, and about enough plasma for one laser burst of 15 seconds or less. We burnt through most of it blasting our way out of that mess we stumbled into.”* “*Okay,”* I reply. “*Is the defense shield back online at least? If not this is gonna be a short fight.”* “*Yes,”* she thought back at me. “*I just finished getting it set up. It’s priming the charge now. We need 45 more seconds till we can deploy it.”* Just as she finished speaking the radio scopes locked on to the ship following us. From the outline we may be fortunate. It looked like a scout/research vessel. It didn't seem to have spotted us yet, or at least they were not letting on that they had. I looked at our power readouts wincing and not for the first time wishing we had better stealth capabilities. Knowing roughly the capabilities of their ship, their location, and now being able to now track them on scopes I started to come up with a plan. I opened up my inter-phase to the other three and started to explain, “*Okay everyone here is my plan. First Derek get us out of line of sight with that ship. Bring us around that larger asteroid. Taylor I want you to take one of our conventional missiles and eject it out of the ship but leave it inert. Let it drift away from us. When I give the signal remotely activate it and sent it toward that ship. That should draw their attention away from us at the same time bringing them closer. As soon as they drop their shields to launch their counter missiles fire the last three conventional missiles at them and then fire the nuke. Then bring up our shields and Derek, get us out of here as fast as you can. We can use the laser to knock any of their missiles down that happen to get through the nuke and the debris field behind us. Cass you are going to be charting a course so we can slip away from here and back to friendly space. Any questions?”* They all agreed to the plan and started preparing to implement the operation. While the crew were all working on their tasks I was keeping an eye on the enemy ship. They had begun a grid pattern search and seemed to be focusing in on the most blue of the asteroids. This peaked my interest, anything that the enemy was interested in we should be as well. So I entered a command for the computer to do a spectral analysis of the sample that Derek had gotten earlier. Mostly magnesium with some unknown chemical compounds. I tucked that knowledge away in the back of my mind for later. Returning my attention to the enemy ship I noticed that the grid pattern had reset and it was moving closer. I opened up the channel on my inter-phase again and asked, “*Hey everyone how are we doing? Their ship is getting a little to close for comfort.”* Derek was the first to respond,” *I am ready to fly as soon as the fireworks start going off. Been keeping us out of sight behind the astroids. One button, five seconds, and we are out of here at speed.”* Taylor came in next, “*I have sent the missile out of the ship and it is a good distance away from us now. It will be a good distracion. Shields are primed and ready to activate. All the other missiles are primed and in their tubes set to launch in the sequence you wanted.”* Cass came in last and said “*We have a course plotted. I sent the slip point to Derek already. It is three miles out of the debris field we are in. So almost five miles in total. We will need to make two slips though. Our slip field generator cant handle a sustained slip that whole way. We are much farther out into the unexplored regions that we have been before.”* “*Excellent work everyone.”* I said. “*Lets wait for them to get a little bit closer.”* So we all sat there. Waiting. Watching. Hoping that they didn't detect us before we could start the plan. When I felt that the time was right I opened the team channel with my inter-phase and said, “ *It is almost time. Get strapped in if you are not already, we don't need a mess on the bulkheads. On my mark. Five, four, thee, two, one... MARK!”* With that word, mark; it all started. The missile floating in space reoriented itself and shot off toward the enemy ship. I was slightly surprised at how far it had drifted away. Immediately the enemy ship turned and lowered its shields to send out a counter missile. By the time its shields had lowered all our other missiles were in space and rocketing toward them from a different angle. As we were flying away with our shields up nearly bouncing off asteroids at points I saw the flash of a nuclear explosion in space, the porthole automatically dimming to save my eyes. I turned to my scopes and didn't see anything following us at first. Then with dread my mouth went dry as I saw two blips on my scope start to move towards us at a terrifying speed. Over my inter-phase I said urgently, “*Taylor we have incoming! Get the laser ready! Cass divert power from forward shields to rear and mid sections! Derek don't hit anything and how far are we from the slip point?!* Derek replied, “*We are nearly there one point seven five miles to go! Slip jump generator is primed and ready. What is chasing us? How did they survive a nuke?!* Then Taylor came through, “*They are fighters, they must have been powered down and didn't power up till the fighting started. That ship had an escort. Now just get us out of here and let me shoot!”* As she finished speaking the rear laser array came online and crackled to life. I knew with the shields those fighters had there was no way a 45 second laser burst would destroy one but it might hold them off long enough. As I had that thought the super-heated plasma laser spouted out of the array and hit the shield of one of the ships and it peeled off to let its shield recharge. The other kept on us and let two missiles fly. Taylor made short work of those with the laser but we were getting perilously low on ammo. As the slip field began to glow around us both of the fighters came in for one last pass. Both let go two missiles each and began firing their kinetic weapons as well. Taylor took out the last four missiles and as our shields began to dip dangerously low everything went white. I leaned back into my chair and sighed with relief. We were in slip space; safe from weapons and enemies. I unbuckled from the command chair and began to walk to the bridge. I walked up to Derek and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Nice flying.” I said as I reached around him under the console. His eyes went wide as I pulled a brand new bottle of whiskey from his hiding place under the control panel. “Uhhhh I don't know how that got there.” Was his statement as I looked at him with a grin. “You sure?” I asked. As I pulled the cork out with a satisfying POP. “You know that its against regulations to have alcohol on a ship during a mission like this.” “Yes sir.” He said. Suddenly sounding a lot more formal. “That's why I am just as surprised as you to see it there.” I just chuckled to myself and asked him. “How long until our next slip jump?” He looked at his instruments and replied, “We have twelve hours of this slip jump, then we have to let the generator cool down for at least two hours. Then its another ten hours of slipping till we get to the closest outpost.” “Okay,” I say. Then take a pull off the bottle. I put the cork back in and turn around. I open up a channel to the crew with my inter-phase. “*Everyone get your things in order and meet me in the mess hall. We have a twelve hour slip to kill and Derek brought something special to share with the crew. I figured that surviving a fight like that; we earned a reward.”* At that the ship adrift between realities, floating in literally nothing, resounded with cheers and the sounds of footsteps on floor panels. I took another pull from the bottle. When every mission can be your last; you have to enjoy the little things when you can.


The air entered his nose, flowed through his lungs, then back out his mouth. The oxygen was pumped through his body from his heart, rejuvenating his cells. Thousands of cells at once reformed from a lifeless organism into thriving cells all with a purpose engraved into them. His bones cracked and snapped back into place. Ligaments rebonded with each other from a tangled mess. He is alive. Now standing, he gazed upward towards the stone wall which was once behind him. Although it was night, it was still a shock to him when no end was to be seen. He began walking along the wall. At first limping, he now walked at a steady pace with gentle, deep breaths. His clothes, still tattered, were soaked to the brim with blood. Minute pieces of his broken off flesh stuck like wet glue to his pants where a bone penetrated his skin. After hours passed by, he, at last, saw a break in the forest around him; a road. Once reaching the road, he shifted his head to the left then right then began walking to the right. A little way down the road a light pierced the shadow of night and caressed his eyes. Covering his eyes as they adjusted to the sudden change, he instinctively was drawn closer. There before him stood a small convenience store. Through the clear pane windows, fluorescent lights illuminated the pavement which surrounded the convenience store’s immediate surrounding ground. He walked up to the door where a small laminated piece of paper was stuck to it. On it was the time of opening and closing. He looked at this puzzled. According to the schedule, the store should be closed, but then why were the lights on? Blowing this fact off as a mere mistake, he pushed to open the door and stepped through. The sense of dread overcame him. The air was murky with bloodlust. From the far left corner, a subtle flick could be heard moments after darkness shrouded him once again. The darkness was familiar to him. It took but a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark. But that wasn’t fast enough. A blade swung, slicing through the dorsum of his nose and splitting the pupil of his eye. He doubled over with his hands covering his face. Without hesitation, he came back up with force and caught the side of their jaw with his fist. Now in the dominant position, he grabbed their shoulders and kneed their gut. Taking advantage of the situation, he grasped the knife from his hand. He flipped the knife in his hand as he raised it above his head then plunged it into their back over and over again until their body went limp in his arms. He dropped the dead weight onto the ground and placed the knife next to the body. He walked away as the cuts on his face finished closing. He looked back one more time. Where the figure once laid, there was nothing.


Warning: depiction of alcoholism, child abuse. The light seemed so dim I could barely see. I stood, gripping the desk’s edge as hard as I could. Am I falling? No, I thought, you are fine . But these conflicts were so bad they affected my balance. What year is this? I know that. It is January 5th, 2125. I did not understand what was happening. I had wordless thoughts. Emotions? Whatever they were, I believe they frightened me. Others spoke like voices in my head. Maybe this is thinking for yourself? The Guru has always guided me. But now I wondered if it was malfunctioning. You have run diagnostics and nothing. So perhaps this is true. I focused on the poster of a mountain scene, something which had helped in the past. I understand Linda Jones had once been-wherever there was. I could not remember. The sun shone behind green trees and high peaks. It helped my balance a little. Just as I felt able to let the desk go, the door opened. Jimmy Pace looked in on me. No. Not now. I wanted to tell him to leave me, but Guru spoke up. No. Broken or not, you are all he has. “J-Jimmy. What is wrong?” “I had a bad dream,” he said, his voice just above a whisper. He will be fine. My research shows nightmares are simply the result of stress and are common in children. He still has them far too often. Right now, he needs comfort. I connected to the intercom but heard the man’s footsteps, staggering and uneven. Somehow, I walked to the door and looked out. I glimpsed Robert go into Linda’s bedroom. She could not help Jimmy now. So I said what I never had before. “You can s-stay with me if you would like.” “You don’t sound right. Are you okay?” Now I could see Jimmy's blond hair, his pale skin. I did not want to frighten him, but I also could not lie. “I think I n-need defragging. In the morning I will be all right.” I hoped. That thought nearly started the conflicts again. This was not the first time I felt this, although tonight had been bad. I should inform my benefactor, but I could not do so. If I had to leave, what would happen to Jimmy? They say a thousand-mile journey begins with a single step. That simple decision was my beginning. But I did not know it then. All I felt was the boy’s concern. It was not something I experienced often. Jimmy said, “did you have a bad dream too?” “I d-do not dream as you do. Come.” I led him over to the cushioned bench I use at night. “You can lie here.” I pulled a blanket and pillow out of the storage closet. Jimmy watched me closely. I wondered if he was trying to scan me as I did him every day. “Where you going to sleep?” “On the floor.” He moved until his back was to the wall. “There’s room for both of us.” I was about to say he would be uncomfortable, but Guru spoke again; you need him too. How can I need anyone? Who else do you have? His mother. Who is my benefactor. Right. Even the child knows what that is worth. Why else would he seek your company? Again, I felt afraid. It was not that I judged, we do so all the time. We assess a situation and inform our benefactors if their course of action is wise or safe. After all, we have an untold amount of data at our fingertips. But now I judged...this was something new. Not that my anxiety deterred the voice within. Who else does he have? Unprecedented and as irrational as this is, right now, you two need each other. I lay on the bench with Jimmy’s head in the crook of my arm. I took a pillow for him, but he just pushed it away. At least my body is somewhat soft, like a human’s. Jimmy put his hand on my chest. “I feel you whirling inside. Look, my hand vibrates.” “You feel the fans cooling my machinery.” I picked up my charging cord from the floor and plugged it into my impla-chip. Jimmy has one too, just behind his left ear. I wondered why he never found comfort in virtual reality as his mother did. It did not matter. I felt his breaths against my neck, his body’s warmth. I thought he was asleep, but then he said softly, “I think they aren’t running as fast, Seb. Does that mean you feel better or worse?” “It means I am better,” I answered. “Now tell me, are you better too?” Jimmy was silent for three minutes. Then, soft as his breaths, “ye, Seb.” He put the two middle fingers of his right hand in his mouth, as he often did. Then he slept until dawn. I had just awakened, when I heard Robert calling for me. He walked in without knocking, glared at us, then turned and shouted out the door. “For God’s sake, Linda! He’s in here with the aye.” “Okay,” I heard Linda call. “Tell him to get out here. Breakfast is ready.” I covered Jimmy’s ears with my hands, not that it did any good. The boy stirred and blinked up at his stepfather, who turned back to him. “Nine years old and still can’t sleep by yourself,” he said. “Good Christ almighty, you better not have wet the bed this time.” *** I was never meant to do child care. Perhaps that was the problem. If so, then I am guiltless. If an A.I. works beyond his scope of programming, there might be unexpected consequences. As it turns out, that was a bit of an understatement. Probably I should have told her this is one of the worse ideas you ever had. Not for me or Jimmy. If I am reset, so be it. As long as the boy is safe. If I could have one wish, that would be it. As I said, I tried to tell Linda. And was rebuffed. “You're supposed to assist me,” she said. I scanned her. Blond hair and blue eyes, like her son’s. Her face was passive, but her blood pressure was elevated, her skin pale. I told her what my abilities were as a personal assistant. For example, keeping a calendar, bookkeeping, cooking, and cleaning. “Robert wants my help with his software business,” she said. Why not me? I did not ask. “What of Jimmy’s grandmother? I can call-” “Shush! Sebastian, you know Rob will never-,” Linda said, looking towards her husband’s office. Her heart rate sped up as the door opened. Robert Jones looked at me. “What’s your damned malfunction?” “None. It is my duty to inform you--” “To obey us,” her husband said. “Yes, Sir. But if I am not suited-” “That's bullshat. Linda, I don’t want that interfering bitch here.” “Please don’t talk about my mother that way.” But soon Linda turned away from his unblinking black eyes. “Mom can be a handful,” she said, then faced me. “If Jimmy could only use the VR world, we wouldn’t need you to watch him. But he’s afraid, Sebastian.” And so, I had to obey. At least I thought, I can almost pass for human . Some of my brethren cannot. I stand 1.78 meters. I have short brown hair and eyes, fair skin. Even my voice is human-sounding. Slight Midwestern accent, soothing. Or at least so I have been told. I downloaded everything I could find about childcare. I will not say it was easy. Jimmy often ran away from me, would not always listen, and hit me in anger. At first, I told Linda. Robert reacted by forcing Jimmy to plug into the virtual world. I do not know what he saw or felt. But when he came out, he was crying and pale. That day Guru said if they don’t ask, don’t tell. I obeyed that too. **** I often speculate about the change in the Guru program. Why does it tell me these things? Perhaps it was the bio-RAM the roboticists installed in me. After all, DNA was never meant to mix with copper and gold. Or so I have heard people say on Sharetalk and other social media sites. Perhaps it was the rain. On December 12th, I picked Jimmy up from school. He did not want to go home yet. I asked him why. “It’s Wednesday, so the asswipe will be home. Bites, broth.” At first, I did not know who Jimmy meant. Then he said, “I wish Mom never married him.” “You mean your stepfather.” “Ye.” Then Jimmy hung his head. Softly, as if afraid, he asked me not to tell on him. “To tell this conversation? I did not plan to do so.” Jimmy raised his eyebrows. I ran facial recognition and realized he was surprised. “If you do not wish me to speak of our conversation, I will not. Let us go to the playground until Mr. Jones is done with his work.” Jimmy smiled, then ran on ahead. At the playground, he showed me how to climb on the red metal dome. I followed, intrigued. We both sat at the top and Jimmy announced he was king of the world. As for me, once I got my balance I was fascinated. Everyone below seemed smaller, although I knew that was impossible. A warm breeze blew through my hair. I did not expect the rain so soon, nor noticed until it was too late. Tallahassee winter, Guru said. In what is left of Florida. “Come, Jimmy. We must go. Demonstrate how to get down, please.” He did, and I followed. By the time we were down, it was raining fairly hard. I apologized that I had not realized sooner. “I don’t care,” Jimmy answered. “Rain’s fun.” “It is?” I knew the definition of fun. But not what it was. “ Watch.” Jimmy ran through the puddles. I watched water splashing all about him. “You try,” he said. So I ran, watching the water splash around me, the drops falling. I looked to the sky as Jimmy was doing. Cooling drops fell on me so very softly. They ran down my face, all so new to me. I had been in the rain before, but not like this. It felt like I thought tears might. Like some spring inside me just relaxed. I have liked the rain ever since. We ran home, splashing through puddles. But Robert shouted at Jimmy for ruining his new shoes. Jimmy ran into the bedroom and slammed the door. Both parents then demanded an explanation. “I apologize,” I said. “But there was no lightning, so I saw no harm in his playing. I can dry out his shoes easily. Really, you need not-” I stopped, as Robert strode up to me. His black eyes were dilated, nothing behind them. I did not scan him, nor spoke. Guru did. Maybe Jimmy’s right about the asswipe part. I said nothing. From behind, Linda said, “I didn’t think I’d have to instruct you to keep my son out of the rain.” I walked to her. “I told you I am not programmed for childcare. So, it appears you do.” “Why you--” Robert began, but Linda interrupted him. “It’s all right, Rob. Sebastian will dry everything. Won’t you?” “I will.” “Let me make you a drink, babe. Not a VR one. The real thing.” That was the start of the odd thoughts and conflicts, which have steadily increased. The time Jimmy found me was the worse, and they did not get better. What did was our relationship. The boy listened when I told him to do something. He also sought me out for help and comfort. And he tried to help me too. For example, occasionally I stuttered, which I had not done before. Jimmy found me speech programs to try. They were inexpensive ones, for he had to buy them with the little money his parents gave. But he cared. As I have said before, this did not happen to me often. A month after the nightmare incident, Jimmy got me a singing program. He said singing helped one of the kids at school. I tried it and sang an A.I-Jazz song. I was off-key but completed the song. Jimmy burst out laughing, and this made me smile. We sang together until he was hoarse and we had to get him water to drink. **** There is a saying: if I only knew then what I know now. But of course, even I cannot know everything. If I had, I would have silenced Jimmy. But I did not. Jimmy still came to me when he had a nightmare. Nights were often bad for me too. I encouraged him to talk about his dreams. He stayed until he fell asleep and then I carried him back to his bed. This helped both of us, and his parents could sleep undisturbed. Of all the things I have done, letting him confide inside the house is the only thing I regret. I wonder if Linda regrets things too. For example, giving Robert that drink. Virtual-reality drinks are bad enough for alcoholics if misused. They’re normally for managing withdrawal. Real-life ones--I believe what can happen is common knowledge. Is that first drink why I am here, trying to comfort a scared child? I know he is by his heart rate and his pallor. We were in Jimmy's bedroom, trying a new singing program. Robert shouted at us to stop. “Yes, S-Sir.” “What’s wrong with you now, stupid aye?” I focused. “I am fine.” Jimmy said, “I’m just trying to help his speech.” Robert came to the room. He swayed, and I could smell the alcohol. “Shut the jack up,” he said. “My damn head hurts and you’re making it worse.” “My apologies, Sir,” I said. Robert turned to go and as he did, Jimmy whispered, “stupid asswipe.” I thought the man did not hear, but he stopped. He was as still as a shut-down A.I. Then he said, “What did you say?” Jimmy shrank away from him. “Nothing, sir.” “Aye! What did he say?” Robert was red in the face, his hands clenched. I said, “Sir, J-Jimmy was s-speaking to m-me.” “Come here, boy.” Jimmy did not move. “Come here!” Robert removed his belt from his pants. Jimmy looked at me but I could do nothing. My conflicts were so bad if I was not sitting I might have fallen. Robert strode in and grabbed the boy’s upper arm. “Stay there, aye,” he said, ignoring the boy’s crying. He pulled Jimmy to his feet and half dragged him out the door. And I could do nothing but ride this out. My fists clenched. We have to do something. But he ordered me to- Jimmy’s scream cut through the apartment. The sound broke some programming within me. I had this amazing, unknown clarity. Is Linda home? But soon I saw she was not. And might not do anything even if she was. It has to be us, friend. Another scream. I followed it to Robert’s office. The door was locked. But in emergencies, I can override an electronic lock. I opened the door and witnessed horror. Literally. Jimmy was in a chair and hooked to the virtual world. His body strained against wrist restraints; he whimpered. Meanwhile, Robert watched a holoscreen. On it was what Jimmy saw, felt, and experienced. They were things he had described to me, fears many children have. A monster crawled out from a closet. Another crept from under a bed. They had bodies blacker than the dark of Jimmy's bedroom. Their red eyes glowed and their mouths were full of fangs. Robert saw me. “You’ll say nothing about this. Now, get out.” “How d-did you know--” I scanned his office. The truth broke something else in me. “You installed s-spyware. And eavesdropped on our c-conversations. Then you recreated J-Jimmy’s nightmares and t-trapped him within.” Robert grinned at me. “I’m trying to get him to face his fear.” “N-No. You wish to t-torture him.” I sensed the man's pulse and recognized his expression. “Y-You enjoy--” I could not speak for stuttering. I connected to the VR computer and shut it down. Robert shouted something. I believe he said, you bastard. I could not hear even Guru, only my whirring fans. I pulled the cord from Jimmy’s impla-chip. Robert hit me and I pushed him away. I unbuckled Jimmy’s restraints and lifted him into my arms. “C-Come. We are l-leaving.” Robert grabbed for Jimmy, who clung to me. “I’ll call the police,” he said. “They'll hunt you down as a dangerous machine. And destroy you!” “So b-be it.” “You need to obey!” I pushed him again and he nearly fell. I thought I saw fear in his eyes. Good . “I b-believe the p-proper term is jack off , Robert. N-Now, remain there.” My first order. It felt--my conflicts eased. Linda stood at the front door. She stared at me and her hysterical, crying son. I then gave my benefactor my second order. “Do not s-stop us.” “Why?” she said, hand against her mouth. “What the hell happened?” “Ask your h-husband,” I answered. Then I ran and did not stop until I was on the auto-bus. Thankfully, it was empty. We rode in silence, Jimmy leaning against me. He did not speak until I asked the bus to stop. “This is Grandma’s street.” “Yes.” “Don’t leave me alone!” I took his hand and we got off the bus. “Do not worry," I said, thinking, I will see you are safe. Only that will I obey. We are at a light blue, two-story house and all the lights are on. Does Jimmy's grandmother somehow expect us? I will know soon enough.


Tomorrow will be a better day. You say this to yourself while looking out of the living room window. Despite the forecast saying it would be blue skies today, it is now raining a steady gray drizzle that casts everything in a faded, drab light. You shake your head and collapse onto the single sofa, maybe pouring a glass of wine first, and try to speed up the last few hours of the day by flicking through the television channels. It offers some background noise and a distraction from the day if nothing else. At 8.00 AM your alarm goes off. Pouring cereal, or making some toast after you get out of bed, the morning news is talking: It looks like a sunny day, with a steady temperature and light breeze. The kettle boils and you make a tea or coffee, glancing at the calendar on the fridge while finding the sugar, or milk, or even both. You have a lunch appointment at the nice new local restaurant with your colleague. It looks good, and your colleague is paying as thanks for covering one of their shifts a while back. Then in the evening, your son is going to visit. Yes, you promise yourself, it will be a good day. With a deep breath, you finish breakfast and get dressed for the day. Catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror you smile slightly, it is a professional look. Business fashion might not be exciting, but it is more effort than a lot of people can muster, and that small effort is commendable. ‘Dress for the job you want,’ you say to yourself, heading out the door to catch the bus. The phone screen says 08.50 AM. The bus was supposed to arrive at 08.40 AM but for the last 20 minutes of waiting, it has not shown up. The sky above is overcast, clouds covering the forecasted blue skies. You shake your head - the haze will burn away and the bus will show up. The forecast did say sunny, after all. You are right about one of those points, but it takes another 15 minutes, and the phone is already showing several texts from the office asking if everything is fine. Maybe you reply, maybe there is no point since you will be there shortly anyway. Ultimately, it does not make a difference. Arriving at the office there seems to be far fewer people than usual. “There’s a cold going around, half the office is off sick today.” your colleague explains, sniffing loudly. “You know what that means...busy day for us.” They give you a smile, but you know it is forced - no one likes working with only half a team. “But we’re still on for lunch!” they finish, disappearing to their desk. You are not convinced. They sound sick enough to be off themselves. With your coat hung up you try to get started as quickly as possible. There are 3 hours until lunch, and then 5 more to the end of the day. You can make it. There is a lot to get done, but the restaurant menu is available online, and a quick look over that is motivation enough for the morning. At least the time will go quickly. In fact it seems to go very quickly - too quickly really, and you are approaching lunch without anything from the morning complete. There is only 40 minutes until your reservation. The delicious menu has now turned from a motivation into a taunt, mocking you from near the ever-growing mountain of unfinished tasks. To top it off, the overcast skies outside seem to be making their way into your head, and you fight to manage the fog in your brain. Another cup of tea or coffee gives you a temporary boost, just enough to get you to noon. Your colleague appears and you open your mouth to ask them to wait just a few more minutes. That is enough time to finish the task you are on before leaving, but they speak first. “I’m sorry,” they say, blowing their nose so hard you have to wonder if someone just started up a chainsaw. “Boss is sending me home. He doesn’t want me getting everyone who’s left sick. I should be in tomorrow, hopefully, we’ll do lunch then? I’m still buying.” You nod, your shoulders dropping. It has to be admitted that they do sound terrible. You tell them to go home and get some rest, and thank them for their help already. It is not their fault. A glance around makes it clear the whole office is behind for the morning. There are too few people in, and there is far too much work to do. Everyone is hunched over their desks, brows furrowed. You sigh, perhaps make another cup of tea or coffee, and decide that lunch can be short today. There is no one to enjoy it with anyway, so what difference does it make? You work for another 30 minutes before the hunger gets too much to ignore, and there is no sense to putting it off further. As you leave the office alone you notice the cloud cover has increased. The sky is darker and the temperature a few degrees lower. The forecast for today was definitely wrong. Lunch is a simple affair at a nearby food stall. There is not enough time for a proper meal, so you get a hot pasty, or a box of noodles. Something simple that won’t take long to prepare or to eat. The wind is starting to pick up, blowing dust around in swirls, so you hurry and get back to the office. At least the office is warm. You return to work. It is 1PM and chaos now reigns. Orders have been delayed, paperwork is not filed, and somehow even fewer people are present than before lunch. The manager has rolled up his sleeves and is helping wherever he can. At least he tries, even if it does not help much. You give a glance to your clock. Only 4 and a half hours to go. Time for another cup of tea or coffee for a final boost. The sky outside has turned a thick, dark gray. It will definitely rain today. For the next few hours all you see is the work, trying to ignore the ticking clock as you try to get as much done as you can. Anything left will only be there tomorrow. The phone vibrates, breaking your flow of work, and on the phone screen your son’s face is showing. The clock says 4.30 PM. Strange, why is he calling so early? “The contractors have brought the wrong cabinets, naturally, so they need to return them and re-deliver this evening instead,” He says, clearly unhappy. You know what this means. He will not be visiting today. “I managed to get free labour from it though, and tomorrow they are going to set up the whole kitchen for us as compensation for the mistake! So, maybe you want to come over for dinner this weekend when it’s all finished? See the final kitchen, we will cook, if that would be ok?” Of course it would, even though you had been looking forward to seeing him today. It is not his fault. You close your eyes tight for a moment and agree to the new plan. With the phone hung up you glance around to make sure no one is looking and let out a long sigh, letting your head fall into your hands. Keep it together. Slow breaths. There is only one hour to go, you can manage. As it turns out, the manager gives up early today anyway. He says there is no need for anyone to stay past 5.30PM, despite how little has been completed. Maybe you wonder if he has his own reasons to finish on time today, maybe you admire him for not trying to push a clearly hopeless day. Not that you were planning to stay even after your own plans had changed. As you sit on the bus home the rain starts to fall in earnest. You look out the window and, not for the first time, think about how wrong the forecast had been. You sigh to no-one in particular and pull your coat a little closer to keep what little warmth there is around you. Maybe you get off a stop early to get some takeaway for dinner, or maybe you microwave something from the freezer. You just want the day to be over now, and cooking a full meal is just too much effort. It is unlikely you would eat it all anyway. The television provides background noise but not entertainment as you rub your head, taking a few long, slow breaths. Tomorrow will be a better day. You repeat it several times. You, and hundreds, even thousands are saying exactly the same thing. You are not alone though. At some point it will be true. Maybe not tomorrow, or the tomorrow for a while, but eventually a tomorrow will be a better day.