My spoon clanked against the sides of my cup as I stirred it around and around. I watched as the peppermint tea swirled in sync without really seeing anything at all. My mind told me what to do but my heart wasn't in it. I set the spoon on the counter beside my cup and lifted the steaming mug to my lips, taking a long drink from it. The flavor that I usually loved was tasteless on my tongue. I set the cup back down in defeat. My ears were attuned once again to the deafening noise around me. It seemed the entire extended family had come out for the funeral. People I didn't even know but claimed to be family had all wanted to wish me well and offer their condolences. But it wasn't their words I wanted - I wanted to be left alone. I turned to face the crowd, leaning my back against the counter. It felt as though the kitchen was going to explode with the magnitude of people crowding around. The same went for the living room. So many people. . . My mind drifted to another time, another place, as I stood there in my grief. Once again I was sitting next to Mom's hospital bed, having my last conversation with her. “ How's school?” Her voice was weak and her eyes drooped as she turned to face me. “ It's good.” I took a deep breath, trying to choke back my tears. “ Getting good grades?” I shrugged. Grades weren't my priority right now. “ Lottie.” My fingers stilled from where they had been picking at a fraying thread on my jeans, but my eyes remained fixed on the spot. “ Honey, look at me.” Slowly, I raised my eyes and met her gaze. The pain hit me all over again. “ Talk to me.” Love showed so clearly through her gaze, causing the already forming lump in my throat to tighten all the more. I swallowed multiple times but couldn't seem to get it to go down. I knew I was going to cry and I hated myself for that. Mom needed me to be strong for her, not fall apart every time I came to visit. She reached her hand out towards me and I placed mine in it, feeling her thin skin and bones that seemed to poke through. She was so frail. So weak. But yet so strong. “ Let it out, Lottie.” And this time I did. The tears poured freely down my face until I knew my eyes would be miserably swollen and puffy later. I cried until I couldn't see her face through the tears. “ Mom, why do you have to go?” The sound of obnoxious laughter drew me from my thoughts and pulled me back to reality. I realized then that a single tear had fallen down my cheek and, by the way my throat was closing up, I had a feeling that more were coming. Abruptly, I turned to face the counter and picked up my tea again, taking a long drink before anyone noticed I was crying and came to offer more sympathy. “Okay, here's another one,” a voice came from behind me. I knew that voice all too well and the sound of it made me cringe. It was the voice of my next door neighbor - Rodger Hillingdale. The obnoxious, ever optimistic, boy that overtook the halls of school with his laughter. It grated on my nerves. “What do you use to catch a nerdy fish?” He waited for a pause and I could almost feel the excitement reverberating from him. “A bookworm!” Grating laughter followed. I looked up at the ceiling as I tried to calm the anger that suddenly overtook my whole body. What kind of person made jokes at a funeral? Apparently Rodger Hillingdale did, and my annoyance towards him went up another notch. Time seemed to pass by in milliseconds and I was beginning to wonder if anyone would even be gone by nightfall. Maybe I could sneak upstairs without anyone noticing me. The thought sounded appealing, especially as another burst of laughter came from Rodger's group. I couldn't take it anymore. Cup of tea in hand, I spun around to make my escape and ran straight into Rodger. My hand was bumped and tea sloshed equal parts on Rodger's button-up shirt and my black dress. When I looked down there was nothing left in my cup. I stood there open mouthed, my arms spread apart as I felt the tea seep through my clothes. Rodger, too, was examining his shirt, but merely looked back up at me with a crooked grin on his face. “I prefer to drink my tea, thank you.” My jaw clenched. That was the last straw. “Why are you even here? Who invited you anyways? This is a funeral, if you haven't noticed. We don't need your kind here.” I stopped then to catch my breath and realized I had been yelling. Everyone in the kitchen had gone silent and Rodger stood before me with a stunned expression on his face. Never had I felt so rotten. I slammed my cup down on the counter so hard I was surprised it didn't break and ran from the room. Footsteps sounded behind me, along with the sound of Aunt Susanna's voice. I made it to my bedroom and locked the door before she could reach me, immediately heading for my closet. I had barely opened the closet door before the tears began. With my tea soaked dress, I sank to the floor of my closet and let the tears come. I pulled my knees to my chest and buried my face in the fabric of my dress. My blonde hair cascaded around me and enclosed me in a world of my own, in a safe haven. The sun sank low in the sky and the sounds from below finally began to quiet. My eyelids grew heavy and sleep began to overtake me as I whispered the question I had never gotten an answer to. “Mom, why do you have to go?” ~ A week passed and Aunt Susanna officially moved into the house. Into my life. As if nothing had ever happened. As if my life hadn't come to a halt. She ordered me out of the house; said I needed fresh air, said it would be good for me. But I knew it wouldn't make a difference. It wouldn't take away the black hole that Mom's passing had created. It wouldn't fill the emptiness. Nothing would. As I stepped out onto the back porch, a gush of air hit me full in the face and I breathed deeply. Somehow it didn't feel as refreshing as it once had. Nothing felt the same anymore. Not without Mom. Something touched my leg and I looked down to see my cat, Muffin, rubbing against my leg. I bent down to pet her, but even the simple act of petting my cat didn't hold the same appeal it once had. I stood back up and started walking. Birds chirped overhead and the trees swayed with the wind but I barely noticed. I barely noticed anything. My feet moved but my eyes were glazed over. My heart felt nonexistent. “Hey, heads up!” I jerked my gaze up from my feet to find none other than Rodger Hillingdale running straight towards me. What was he doing here? My first inclination was to turn around and walk back to the house, but before I could even change direction the force of a dump truck plowed into me. With a half scream, my arms flailed and I fell backwards to the ground. No sooner had I touched the green earth beneath me than a squealing, squirming puppy was on top of me and licking my face with his sloppy, wet tongue. “Pipsqueak, bad boy!" The beast was pulled off me and I wiped my face with the back of my hand. Rodger stood over me with the golden retriever puppy squirming every which way in his arms and he struggled to keep his hold on him. “Are you okay?” he asked. My eyes flashed. “Okay? I just got plowed over by that beast and you ask if I'm okay?” I wiped my face off again, feeling like I had a gallon of dog slobber on my face and no amount of wiping would get it off. I got to my feet and crossed my arms over my chest. “Can't you contain that thing?” “Well, first of all, Pipsqueak is not a 'beast' or a 'thing', and, second, have you ever tried containing a puppy?” His eyes sparkled with humor, frustrating me all over again. I rolled my eyes and made a disgusted noise. “Whatever. I don't care.” I turned around and planned to walk away but he grabbed my arm suddenly and stopped me. “Wait,” he said. “I wanted to apologize.” “Oh?” I waited. “Yeah, I'm sorry for the way I acted the day of your mom's funeral. It was insensitive. I'm sorry.” I was actually surprised by the sincerity behind his words and was momentarily speechless. “Well, thank you. I appreciate that.” Again I turned to go. This time he stepped around me to block my path. “What is it this time?” I asked. He had done his due diligence and now I just wanted to go home. Pipsqueak continued to squirm in his arms and it took both hands for Rodger to contain him. “I thought maybe we could be friends. I mean, we are next door neighbors and, well, you seem like you need a friend.” My first reaction was to blow up at him again. I didn't need a friend; I needed my mom. But then, before I could say a word, I noticed the expression on his face. An expression of true care and consideration. It occurred to me that a friend might be nice. I looked away from his persistent gaze and tried to frame the words in my mouth. “You know what? Don't decide now.” He placed Pipsqueak on the ground and the dog immediately started jumping up at me. “How about you come over to my house and we can sit out back? We can watch Pipsqueak chase squirrels. It'll be fun!” “I don't know-” “C'mon.” He took hold of my hand and pulled me away before I could even finish my sentence. Pipsqueak ran in circles around us, yipping the whole time. We didn't stop until we reached his backyard and he ran into the house, leaving me with the excited puppy who thought my shoelaces were the best chew toy. “Hey! Stop that!” I pulled it out of his mouth, cringing at the slobber caked on it. “Here, fetch this stick.” I quickly grabbed the nearest twig I could find and threw it as hard as I could manage. A moment later, Rodger emerged with two cans of pop in his hands. We sat down in the lawn chairs and opened the cans. It was peaceful as we sat there sipping the cool liquid and watching Pipsqueak do his best to sneak up on the squirrels. His best being not very good at all. “So who names a dog Pipsqueak?” I asked. Rodger shrugged. “Mom thought it was a cute name and I was simply glad that she agreed to letting me have a puppy so I went with it.” “I don't think I've ever met your mom.” “Probably not. She works a lot so she's not around very much.” For the first time it almost looked as if his smile dimmed. “Where's your dad?” “He left us five years ago.” He said it so matter of factly, like he didn't feel an ounce of pain from it. But I knew that couldn't be true. Suddenly I saw Rodger in a different light. “I'm sorry.” He shrugged. “What about you? I know your mom. . .” his voice trailed off and for a second we didn't talk. “Where's your dad?” “I never knew him. He left before I was born.” “Wow. That's rough.” I nodded and we went back to watching Pipsqueak. I pulled my legs up on the chair and rested my arms on them. “How do you do it?” I asked suddenly. Rodger looked over at me. “Do what?” “Remain so happy all the time even though you rarely get to see your mom and your dad left you. It seems to me you would be, I don't know, more sad or something.” He shrugged. “I learned long ago that there's no point in letting it eat you up inside. Life throws you down, but it's not about how many times you fall. It's how many times you get back up.” I gaped at him and realized that my opinion of him had been all wrong. I turned back to my pop and took a long drink. Then a thought hit me. What if it wasn't just Rodger I had been looking at wrong, but life in general? ~ Clank. Clank - clank. I moaned as I was pulled from the dream I had been in. A dream with Mom. Clank. Clank. Clank. There it was again. I sat up in bed and looked around. It sounded close. Clank. “Lottie, are you awake?” I jumped out of bed and ran to my window, yanking it open with a jerk. Rodger stood down below with a flashlight in hand and a jacket wrapped tight around him. “What are you doing? You're going to wake the whole house!” “I whispered!” “If that's your version of a whisper then you need lessons.” “I'll be sure to sign up for some. In the meantime, you want to do something fun?” “No, I want to go to bed.” “Come on, don't be a stick in the mud.” “What do you want?” “It's a surprise. Just come down.” I blew out a breath. “You owe me for this.” I closed the window and turned back to my room. As quickly and as quietly as I could, I traded my pajama pants for a pair of jeans and pulled on my worn Converse shoes. On the way out the door I grabbed my jacket and tiptoed down the stairs. Outside, Rodger met me and grabbed my hand before I could say a word. We ran from my house to his with only the light from his flashlight to guide us. Without even taking a moment to stop, he led me around the side and up a lattice work that went all the way to the roof. “Rodger, is this safe?” “Probably not. But that's part of the fun.” I wasn't assured by his words but I was already half way up, so I kept climbing. He made it to the top of the house and peered over the side at me. “Take my hand,” he whispered down to me. I took my right hand off the lattice work long enough to grab hold of it. He pulled me up and a moment later I was sitting on the roof of his house. “Why did you bring me up here?” I pulled my jacket tighter against me. “I should be sleeping right now.” “Stop your grumbling.” He laid down with his back against the roof and stared up at the sky. “Come here,” he said almost reverently. I moved alongside him and followed his lead. When I looked up at the night sky above us I was suddenly speechless. The sight was magnificent. “This is gorgeous,” I breathed. Stars twinkled in the sky, giving the appearance of a thousand lanterns flickering on and off. They lit up the sky so that Rodgers' flashlight was no longer needed. It was like magic. “This is where I come when I need to think or clear my head.” I could feel his eyes on me. “I thought you might need to do that.” My breath caught and unexpected tears sprung to my eyes at his thoughtfulness. I did need to clear my head, and this was the perfect way to do it. There had been so much on my mind since Mom's passing and so many scary unknowns. If I was being honest with myself, I was scared of what life was going to be like with her gone. Would Aunt Susanna want to keep me indefinitely, or would she give me up? My thoughts had been a scary place of late, a place I had been trying to avoid. But here, under these brilliant stars, it suddenly didn't feel so overwhelming. It felt manageable. But what about tomorrow? When the sun rose and my thoughts returned along with the fears and doubts. What then? I looked over at Rodger as he gazed up at the sky and thought about his life. How he'd chosen to have a cheery outlook on life. Then I thought of how I'd been living life, or really, how I hadn't. I turned back to the stars with these new thoughts in mind. It was a choice. The question was, which one would I pick?


Experienced mountaineers are extremely cautious and always avoid taking unnecessary risks. Jake was not an experienced mountaineer. He had been to a few classes, of course; he wasn’t that stupid. He knew to check the harness every time, double check the knots, how to haul himself out of an icy crevasse with altitude sickness and a broken arm...that sort of thing. In fact, altitude sickness was the one thing that they’d covered on the course that had spooked him a little. High-altitude cerebral edema , they said, is what happens when fluid collects in your brain. Along with severe headache and nausea, it can also cause drowsiness, uncharacteristic behavior, and loss of consciousness. After a presentation of case studies of people suffering from altitude sickness and the traumatic events that followed, Jake had left feeling thoroughly sick himself. But that didn’t stop him making plans for his first ascent to the summit of Mount Washington. It couldn’t be that hard...could it? It certainly wasn’t an easy mountain to climb. Especially not this time of year. The most popular route to the summit was via the Tuckerman Ravine Trail, but in winter it was closed due to the risk of avalanches. Instead, he would have to take a much steeper route. Aside from the obvious hazards, there would be no facilities on the summit- which meant no public areas to rest or take shelter in a snowstorm. He didn’t expect to see anyone else up here in such freezing conditions, either. But he was prepared, with fifty pounds of the best gear he could afford, a laminated map of the route and an ton of trail mix. And anyway, he preferred these conditions. The cold heightened his senses, gave him more of a thrill. And the view would be breath-taking, of course. He set off before sunrise. The mountain loomed overhead in the semi-darkness like a schoolmaster, the morning sun a naughty toddler peeping over the horizon. He had been looking forward to and preparing for this trip for months. His friends had gone on a long trip hiking the Appalachian trail last year. They were all big on extreme sports and idolized the mountaineers in the 60s who had done it without a lot of modern age comforts. They hadn’t invited him along for reasons they wouldn’t disclose, but he suspected it was because they thought he wasn’t up to much. ‘Everyone has to start somewhere, Jakey.’ They had said, with an air one might use when talking to a child. ‘You’ll get there. You just have to keep trying. They’d said that when he’d got his first girlfriend too. He began his walk, first heading east along Tuckerman Ravine, before he turned and began to climb north. The ascent passed without incident, unless you counted several stops for sustenance, and by lunchtime he had relaxed into his own natural rhythm. He was feeling confident he would reach the summit in a few hours’ time. He stopped to catch his breath half-way up, and to take a look at the view slowly spreading out below him. The sun was finally warming his toes now and the mountain was less intimidating in the daylight. At this altitude, the snow was still fairly soft, and the gradient was relatively gentle and easy to navigate, having been explored by many other mountaineers over the years. Feeling proud of his achievement thus far, he removed some layers and even took a couple of selfies- to send to his friends, and to his mum, of course. She liked to see what he was getting up to these days. Further on, however, the route became steeper, and harder to discern from the endless wasteland of snow around him. There were invisible patches of ice, and the snow was densely packed and slippery. An experienced mountaineer would have been using crampons, or at the very least been holding their ice axe in their hand, in order to save themselves in the event of a fall. But Jake was having the time of his life, dizzy with his success, and absolutely oblivious to any danger. He’d show them! Suddenly and without warning he slipped and plunged onto his stomach. He glanced over his shoulder and was confronted by the harrowing sight of five thousand feet of snowy mountain below him, shining in the midday sun like the glorious gates of heaven. Idiot! What was he thinking?! That could’ve been it, then! He took a moment to calm himself, breathing deeply in and out a few times. Much as he hated to admit it, the sudden feeling that he might be about to slide to an icy doom had shaken his confidence a little. He was going too fast. C’mon, Jake. Just take it slow. It was time to bring out the big guns. He grappled with his rucksack for a moment to pull on his crampons- sharp, spiky casings that attached onto his boots, to give him more grip. That ought to do the trick. Tentatively, he tested one out. Immediately, his boots made firmer contact with the snow, and he heaved a sigh of relief. Reassured, he took a confident step forward, lost his balance and immediately plummeted feet first down the mountain. His mind went blank, wild with terror as the ground below rose up to meet him. He scrambled to try and roll onto his back to see where he was going and immediately regretted it. His hands grabbed desperately at the ground, fingers spread wide apart, but he was travelling too fast, he couldn’t stop...a sudden flash of memory came to him and he recalled something the alpine instructor had showed them at the ski slope...something called a self-arrest? He wasn’t carrying his ice axe! Jake, you fucking moron! Terrified now, he scrambled for a footing, attempting to dig his crampons into the snow and using his hands to try to slow his descent, frantically trying to pull the axe out of its loop, but he only succeeded in ripping open his rucksack; the contents spilled out miserably after him, like a regrettable contrail of woe. Mournfully, he covered his face and screamed. Unexpectedly, his crampons dug into something solid, and quickly slowed his fall. He had landed in a large snowdrift, up against the side of a small building. Gasping with shock, he lay on the ground, dizzy from the adrenaline. Relief and joy welled up inside him. He was saved! He would live to climb another day! He laughed in between gasps, checking himself over for injuries. Definitely a few bruises, and his hands felt raw from trying to stop himself sliding, but nothing a hot bath and a few ibuprofen wouldn’t solve- he was alive! At least his humiliating descent had been a private one. He got shakily to his feet, and gingerly checked over his pack. The axe was still lodged stubbornly in its casing (of course), but most of the contents of his pack appeared to have been strewn around the mountain, including the several pounds of trail mix he had lovingly packaged into individual sealed bags for easier consumption. His torch and compass were missing, along with the- extremely expensive -GPS altimeter watch. It took quite a lot of willpower for him not to sit back down and burst into tears right there. He’d spent all of last months’ paycheck on getting the best gear he could afford, and that watch had been the biggest purchase. Moreover, if he couldn’t find his stuff, he couldn’t continue on up the mountain, and he wouldn’t be able to get to the summit. Cold, tired, and overwhelmed, he reasoned that he wasn’t going to get any of it back this way. He would have to wait a while, and rest. He wasn’t going to risk something like that happening again. Served him right for being so foolish. He retrieved the ice axe from his rucksack and held it cautiously at his side- resisting the urge to throw it on the ground in frustration -and decided to check out whatever this building that had broken his fall was. Maybe there might be someone in there who would lend him a map, or...at the very least, it was a sheltered area to sit, warm up and calm down. As he edged carefully around the perimeter, he was surprised to find a grand wooden chalet, with a large overhanging roof sat snugly into the mountainside. It was surrounded by a small veranda, held up by twisting wooden beams that looked as though they had been hand-crafted. Colored lights twinkled in the windows, and a friendly plume of smoke rose from the chimney. Outside, a rusty old snowmobile and a cluster of tools decorated the yard, next to a small information board. ‘That was some fall you took there, dearie.’ Said a voice, startling him. An old woman was standing on the veranda, watching him with some amusement. Ah. Not so private after all. ‘Yeah.’ He stuck his chin out, trying to seem nonchalant. ‘I...er...fell.’ ‘Is this your first time on Mount Washington?’ She asked. She had a quaint little voice that sounded like butterflies. Even in his current state, he warmed to her. Jake hesitated. ‘Yeah...’ He admitted guiltily. ‘Oh dearie.’ Her face softened with sympathy. ‘I’m Audrey. Want to come inside and warm up? We’re supposed to be closed for the winter, but I couldn’t leave you out here all on your own. I’m sure Frank won’t mind. We’ve got rooms left upstairs.’ ‘Uh...sure.’ Jake tried to hide his joy. He was mightily embarrassed that she’d paid witness to his epic tumble, but he wasn’t above swallowing his pride for a mug of cocoa and the chance to warm his toes. Inside the chalet was cozy and well lit, with a roaring fire crackling merrily in the hearth. A winding staircase led to an upper landing, which presumably housed the rooms for rental use. There were plenty of places to sit, each adorned with an assortment of patchwork quilts and cushions, all of which looked to have been made by hand because they were misshapen and wonky. There was a small area by the door with spare belaying and skiing equipment, and a massive fur draped over the banister that looked like a black bear’s pelt. An ancient and somewhat rusty looking pickaxe hung over the door. A man was sitting in a rocking chair beside the fire, apparently fast asleep. As they came inside, he jolted awake, saw Jake, and his eyes went wide. ‘I found this young man outside on the mountain, Frank.’ Audrey said. ‘He was pulling off some impressive stunts.’ She tittered a little, and Jake looked at his feet. C’mon man, think of the cocoa. ‘Sorry to disturb you.’ He grinned apologetically, putting on his best performance of someone who knows what they’re doing. ‘I lost my footing up there on the mountain and dropped some of my gear-’ ‘A mountaineer!’ The man interrupted gleefully. ‘I used to be a mountaineer, you know! Back when I could still get around!’ ‘Oh! Um, that’s nice.’ Said Jake uncertainly. He hadn’t been expecting that response. ‘Yes!’ Cried the man. ‘I used to get up and down that mountain in less than an hour!’ ‘Yes dear.’ Said Audrey, smiling fondly at him. ‘Would you like some hot cocoa dearie?’ She asked Jake. Oh, mother of God, there it was. ‘Yes please.’ He responded, trying not to look too eager. As she busied herself in the kitchen, the old man fell silent again, his eyes glazed over, and he stared into the fire. Jake sat awkwardly on one of the many patchwork chairs arranged around the fire, and took off his boots. It seemed like a pleasant place to stay for the night. Maybe he could continue his journey to the summit tomorrow morning. ‘Would you like some cocoa too, Frank?’ Audrey called to him from the kitchen. ‘I remember!’ The old man suddenly spoke again, with the same gleeful enthusiasm. His eyes fell on Jake’s ice axe, lying at his feet, soaking a wet patch into the mismatched soft pile rug. ‘It was the coldest part of Winter, 1966. I was the leader- there was 6 of us, you know. We scrambled the first thousand feet and belayed the rest. It was one of the most exhilarating experiences of my life.’ Jake raised his eyebrows. Clearly this man knew a thing or two about mountaineering. ‘How did it go?’ He asked him. ‘Ahh.’ The man heaved a deep sigh, closing his eyes. ‘Things started off well, but the weather turned the day after we set off, and we got caught in a bad storm. We had to dig a hole in the snow to keep warm. And then- I fell into a crevasse!’ ‘Here you are, dearie.’ Audrey returned to give Jake the cocoa. Gratefully he bent his head to take a sip and the hot liquid scalded his tongue. He resisted the urge to take another sip. ‘It was early in the morning, and I was boiling snow for drinking water.’ Frank continued. ‘That’s what you had to do, back in those days! We didn’t have these fancy tablets or whatever you have nowadays.’ He eyed Jake suspiciously. ‘Anyway, I had gone to find a suitable patch of snow to set up my stove, and that was when I saw it- The Sasquatch!’ Jake breathed in the smell of the cocoa, enjoying the warm comfort of the mug in his hands. If this was the price of a good mug of cocoa on his raw and aching hands, he was happy to play along. ‘No way!’ He said incredulously. ‘Really?’ ‘Yes, I did!’ The old man said, nodding triumphantly. ‘I saw him! And so, naturally, I wanted to get a closer look, but as I was heading over to him, I fell into the crevasse. The rest of the team had to pull me out. And by the time they’d done it, he’d gone!’ ‘Yes dear.’ Audrey was engrossed in her knitting. Jake got the distinct impression that she wasn’t really listening. Frank lowered his voice, speaking directly to Jake now. ‘They all think I’m batty round here, you know.’ He said seriously. ‘But I get it. You youngsters think you know what’s what, think you’ve got it all figured out. But I was young once. It’s all very well throwing yourself down a mountain once in a while- but you’ve got to learn how to do it properly.’ Jake stared down into his cocoa. The memory of his missing belongings returned to his mind. He screwed up his face, imagining his friends off on their hiking trip. He had just wanted to try and do something right for once. ‘Hey, listen. Everyone messes up sometimes. Don’t worry about it.’ Frank said, rocking absent mindedly in his chair. ‘If I learnt one thing in 70 years of mountaineering, it’s that it’s better to fail and live and be able to try again.’ ‘Yeah...’ Jake mumbled miserably. The old man seemed to soften. He watched Jake carefully for a few minutes, studying his face. Then he got to his feet, knelt before the fire, and reached behind his chair, before pulling out an antique wooden chest. ‘Take a look in there.’ He said to Jake. ‘Go on.’ Curious, Jake lifted the lid. Inside was a series of artefacts, newspaper clippings, treasures he’d acquired during his time mountaineering. Jake looked at the items in wonder. It was like a time capsule of days gone by. ‘That’s me.’ Frank pointed to one of the newspaper clippings, where a young man with pimples and a goatee was grinning triumphantly back at the camera. ‘I was so arrogant back then. Not like you. I never accepted help from anyone. It wasn’t healthy.’ He reached further into the chest and scooped something out, hesitated for a moment, then quickly gave it to him. ‘I want you to have these.’ Two gleaming carabiners, engraved with the initials F.M. ‘I can’t take these.’ Jake said incredulously. ‘Please take them.’ Frank begged him. ‘I can’t go out on the slopes anymore. I want them to get used. And anyway...’ His eyes closed once more. ‘I can’t remember what day it is most of the time here anyway. I probably won’t even notice they’re missing.’ Jake smiled. ‘Oh, I’ll make sure they get used.’ Only a few weeks later, Jake was back in his mountaineering gear. His friends had invited him to ‘get some experience’, on a smaller series of slopes closer to home. He hadn’t mentioned the incident on Mount Washington to them yet. ‘We thought we’d go somewhere that’s more your skill level Jakey.’ One of them said playfully. He had smiled and laughed along with their jokes, too busy looking forward to climbing again to feel too hurt or annoyed by their comments. They all swarmed round him, making sure that his equipment was on properly and his knots were tight enough and he had everything in the right place. Jake, smiling slightly, let them check him over, feeling that he was going to be safer than everyone else put together today. ‘What’s that?’ One of them asked, pointing at his carabiner. ‘Your initials aren’t F.M.’ Jake took a deep breath, and very matter of factly told them about meeting the kind couple at the chalet on the mountain- tactfully leaving out the part where he slid several hundred feet on his butt -and the old man who had given them to him. ‘Wait.’ One of them said with a face like thunder. ‘Wait. You said his name was Frank Miller. You mean THE Frank Miller? The mountaineer from the 60s with the goatee? That one?’ ‘That’s the one.’ Jake said, trying not to feel too smug. He had a feeling he was going to enjoy this trip.


Jade stood gazing at her reflection. Beautiful bride, white satin, a veil of lace, stylish shoes, her face aglow. Then she paused, it as still her fantasy. Jade had bought her wedding gown years ago, as a teenager. She had chosen her veil and shoes, designed and stocked all the wedding invitations, imagined her bouquet, her hair style. It was her quite reasonable expectation that she would have been married in that frock, as soon as the handsome suitor proposed. She could visualize him on bended knee, offering his mother's pearl and diamond engagement ring. Oh, so romantic.... But no. Despite being raised in a church choir of likely young prospects, no one had ever chosen Jade to be his bride. Every now and then, she would spend yet another solo evening, trying on her wedding regalia. She had turned 33 years old. Time had passed, she had spotted her first grey hair. Jade smiled wryly. She looked like Miss Havisham in her classic text book, Dud Expectations, written by that fun guy, Chazza Dickens. Wow, that was another riveting thought. Jade's stern father was a widower. He was even now a minor lay preacher, laying on hands, and ministering in the flock of devout Christians. Jade's father had warned her about being immoral, and wanted her to save herself for wedlock in the church. God would send her a husband and lots of children. He could be their Grandpa Grumpy. Jade pondered on all the reasons why she was cross with God. She had dutifully trained to teach English and Religion to some very sulky teens in her church's system. One day, she realized that the teens hated English essays more than they ever had. So, Jade promoted them all onto higher things, and resigned. She kept her teaching registration up to date, and chose to tutor reading online, which she really loved. Jade left sharing her father's home, and rented her own simple pad. It was a bit run down, but it would do until the groom came along to rescue her. One slight hiccup, working online at home was very isolating. How could she ever meet this invisible husband? She decided to consult a local astrologer, who had quite an interesting profile. The lady, known as Madame, the Mystic, agreed to make an appointment for Jade. Madame, the Mystic, expected up-front fees. So Jade sorted that, and consulted her future prospects with the astrologer. The two chicks shared a coffee, then Madame read Jade's coffee grounds in her cup. She then read the tarot cards, and cast an individual horoscope for her new client. "You must lighten up, and be open to love. You have a powerful guardian angel. You must take your online career to the best coffee shop in town. Make sure it has a powder room. You must smile at likely men. You must never give up the ghost. You must follow my sheet of instructions for pleasing your angel, first thing in the morning, and before you go to bed...... Love will find its own path, right to your heart, just when you least expect it. I predict the letter B will appear. " Just then, Madame, the Mystic's dog wandered across this site of prophecies. His name was Golden. He was also known as having psychic energy. Why, he had even told Madame what his name was, by communing with his owners' third eye. He wagged his tail, as he sat down, and offered his paw. Madame, the Mystic, spoke again. "Look ,Golden gives you his paw of emotional support. I have a sale on Tarot cards, consult my daily horoscope for your true love, to guide you for all your happy days ahead. Plus here is my sister Charlene's phone number. You also need her to direct you in fashion and colorful zen. She will provide a color palette, personally tailored. It is not any woman's job to fix men. Be aware of any sign and symbol of friendship, Maybe you need a pet to share your future, always there to welcome your nurturing heart. Got to love a puppy!" Jade did a quick think. "I don't need a puppy. I want to meet a man to love." The mystic astrologer spoke again..... "Peace will flow, consult your guardian angel, always there in each awakening dawn. You must position yourself seamlessly for love, and be grateful for the graces that appear. I advise a weekly consultation. Here is your next appointment. I shall be your guide on the side!" Jade left the astrologer, slightly bemused. Within no time, astrology was her world. She met Charlene, spent some funds on new threads, dressing each day according to her horoscope and personal palette. No more grey and brown sensible clothing, all was aqua, yellow and bright. Her hair was tinted, with blonde tips, her make-up was featuring her eyes, sparkling with hope. Jade now awoke half an hour earlier, just to greet dawn with her guardian angel. She rehydrated with coffee, interpreting her coffee cup, making her bed, tidying her clutter, practicing her new skills in tarot cards. Once per weekend, she rose and changed her sheets, polished and mopped, flung open the windows, and lit her sage smudging. She wafted the aroma through her flat, opened doors. She still did not need a puppy, this guardian angel was demanding enough. Jade had not, of course, told her father, who was called Bernard. The astrologer had got that bit right. She was getting crosser with God on a daily basis, smiling at strangers was not very effective. She was getting some very funny looks at the coffee shop, as she taught her students. Still she could not fix men, as astrology states. Life took a turn for the worse. Bernard phoned, asking Jade to take him to his appointment at an oncologist. The news was dreadful, he had stage four tumors, riddled with cancer. His prognosis was very grim. Bernard was not as upset as Jade. He told her was grateful for all the blessings his Lord had granted him during his days. Treatment was planned, so he rapidly became an in-patient at an oncology unit. Jade and the church people visited him regularly. In between tutoring online, she made a daily pilgrimage to her father's bedside. He went downhill very quickly, the chemo was futile. Jade had been brought up with filial piety, but inside, she was now furious with her father's divine Lord. How could this happen to such a faithful believer? One grey morning, while channeling her guardian angel, her tarot cards finally showed a pair of lovers. "Yeah, right." Jade wondered, but she was now a keen follower of astrology. At her father's bedside, she held his hand .She felt that she was never quite good enough, never met a husband, never had his grandchildren to love and cherish. Bernard suddenly opened his eyes, he was lucid for a while. "I am so proud of you, the apple of my eyes,. You are so bright and loving. I want you to got to the chapel and pray, like you used to. God has a plan for every one of us. I shall always be loving you. This journey goes on, true love." With that, he breathed his last, and smiled his way to eternity. Jade was devastated. The nurses were summoned, she walked to the chapel, frozen. She sat, silently yelling at God, Jesus, the holy church, her guardian angel. More than cross, angry. She nearly kicked a hole in the church walls. But she was well-behaved,. Not praying, just recalling some happier times with her father. As she sat in the back pew, not doing any knee mails, she felt a hand touch her shoulder. She glanced up, meeting the eyes of her father's junior oncologist. "These things happen, " he told her, "Look, I have seen some mysterious things here, stranger than anyone can perceive. I took a photo of your father's monitor, as you were holding his hand." Jade looked at his phone, there was an image of an angel, with wings. "Is this possible?" she asked. "Can I send it your phone?"asked Dr. Ben, that was on his name tag. "it is a comfort for you. You have your own guardian angel." He laid his hand on hers. They swapped phone numbers, and Jade soon had a miraculous image of her own guardian angel. Nearly eighteen months later, Jade sat in the chapel. Dr. Ben had given her his paw of emotional support, and that was not all. She did have a white wedding, but not in that fancy dress, simple, fitting, respectful. His name did start with a B, after all. She cuddled their brand new baby son, healthy with a good set of lungs already. Maybe she wasn't so cross with the greater powers after all. Madame, the Mystic, was spot on. Jade had been open to a nuanced understanding of her guardian angel, and the theory that love will find a way. Dr. Ben sat beside her. Their baby boy looked like Jade's father, and himself. "Welcome to the world, little Bernard Benjamin......" A journey that continues for everyone. ......


It was just a normal night for me, eating pizza rolls and catching up to my favorite Youtubers when I finally decided to kill my father. The videos I watched had nothing to do with my resolution. I had been thinking of killing my dad for years. He had always been disappointed in me for not following in his athletic aspirations. To tell the truth, we had absolutely nothing in common. But now I needed money and, while we didn't along, I was the only family my well off dad had left. Surely, I'd inherit something. Plus, it wasn't like I had anything else going on in my life. I had been stagnating for far too long. After all, doesn't everyone need a hobby? While my commitment to murder was sudden, I wasn't going to impulsively fly off the handle and just shoot him. I had to remain free to enjoy whatever spoils I got. Besides, I enjoy mysteries. I thought it would be fun to craft the perfect murder. So, I researched. I found out that some of the hardest crimes to solve were those that started with random impulses. A lot of those do end up being caught because the lack of planning usually leaves lots of evidence behind and perpetrators who are quick to confess. But it's another story if the killer is lucky enough, or plans all along to target random people, and doesn't leave evidence behind. Cops also have trouble distinguishing between copycat killers so I started paying attention to the local news and police blotters. I knew I would also need an airtight alibi. The police would be quick to suspect a family member and I didn't want to get caught just because some dumb cop just assumed it was me and worked backwards from there. To that end, I started streaming videos of me playing games. I made sure to only play older games with absolutely no commentary nor have any over the top reactions to the action on screen. That and the fact I did no advertising kept my viewership practically non-existent. Fine by me. I needed as few variables as possible. I streamed like this for 2 months before fate gave me what I wanted. I read about two very similar murders that happened relatively nearby. Both victims had their back doors broken into. Both had been killed by slit throats with their own kitchen knives. Not a lot of evidence was left and the attacks seemed completely random. This was the best news I'd had in quite some time! Police were still unsure if those cases were connected but I wondered if they'd admit to a potential serial killer if a third body popped up. All I had to do was recreate those scenes but leave no DNA evidence behind. Then, all they would have to go on is the evidence already gathered that wouldn't point in my direction. I made sure a pre-recorded video of me playing games was being streamed as though I were live. That gave me 3 hours to do the deed so I immediately rushed over to my dad's house. Luckily, I rarely went over there so no neighbors would recognize me or my car. My dad was surprised to see me but I told him that I had big, good news. I sat him down in his armchair facing away from the kitchen and then told him I needed a drink to calm my nerves. The fool didn't suspect a thing. I had kept my gloved hands hidden in my hoodie pockets but he didn't notice. I was able to waltz right over to his kitchen knife holder and draw the cleaver. I even put on a hair net to make sure I left no evidence. I was shaking with excitement as I walked back. My gloved hand went over my father's forehead and pulled his head back, exposing the neck. My dad didn't even say a word. He was probably confused but expecting an explanation. Instead, I slid the blade across his neck and cut deeply. I dropped the blade on the floor and spent the rest of my strength on pushing my father's shoulders forward and down. This made him unable to get up and all of that gushing blood flowed away from me. Very quickly, his attempts to get up and to talk stopped and I just stood there until every last drop of blood stopped spurting out. I carefully wound my father's watch so it read 3 hours later and then smashed it with the butt of the knife before dropping it for the last time. Then, I popped outside the back door, only to break in again. I left through the front and locked the door with my own key. Finally, I drove home. The only emotion I felt was smug satisfaction. I made sure to swap out the fake streaming footage with the real deal but this time I apologized to my 1 viewer and promised I would interact with the chat more. And I so for the rest of the night. Especially around the time I had wound my father's watch to. At that time, i made sure to comment on every single thing going on in the chat. The police came the next day. Actually, they came twice. First in the morning to tell me that my father had passed away. And then, 2 detectives came to ask me a hundred follow up questions. I'm not a great actor so I told them the truth, that there was no love lost between my father and I. But before they could speculate further, I showed them the online recordings of my whereabouts. As expected, they were most interested with the times I was the most active. It was like playing chess with someone who only knew checkers. Just to be sure, I 'accidentally' dropped a newspaper to the ground and picked up while pretending to read, as though it were the first time, the article about the other two killings. I wondered out loud if all three murders were connected. This was my one mistake but just a little one. They were immediately suspicious as to why I had a newspaper around, being as young as I was. The truth was so I could look up crimes to copycat without leaving a trail in my computer's search history. But I told them it was a rare purchase, just because I had been nostalgic for the comics. They seemed to buy that but the next day I had another visit. This time from a senior detective that I hadn't seen before. He asked again for my alibi and more information about my dad. When it seemed like we might be done, he suddenly produced a warrant and had a couple uniformed officer's take my computer. Detective Howard Phillip had me sit down in my own armchair in front of him as he explained, "You aren't under arrest. Not yet. But I wouldn't go anywhere if I were you. Just to make sure, those two officers are going to stick around in a car just outside. I know you killed your father." I tried to protest as I rose but he just gave me a hard stare as he raised his hand out and then lowered it slowly. I sat back down in response. He continued, "Coroners are pretty precise these days. Precise enough that we pretty much only listen to them now and don't put much stock in what a smashed watch says." I tried my best to look confused as the detective paced in front of me. He spoke confidently, "My boys are going to pour over every bit of data and we'll figure out exactly what you did to fake the footage. That will be enough for me to come back with handcuffs. You think you're pretty smart, don't you?" I did but I ignored his question and tried to sound just as confident as I asked, "What are you going on about? Did you find new evidence? I promise you that there is no possible way you could link me to the crime scene because I didn-" Detective Howard Phillip interrupted with a loud, strong command, "ENOUGH! I do not like having to play nice with murderers. We'll respect your rights but you are living on borrowed time. You're also right. There isn't a shred of evidence that puts you at the scene of the crime." He turned to me and remained motionless through the rest of his speech. He just stared right into my eyes as he said, "But you messed up when you hypothesized this might be the work of another local killer. When I heard that, that's the exact moment I knew for sure you were the killer. You see, people with a strong motive try to hide their crimes by copying another criminal. It happens enough that we cops look out for that. But it can be hard to prove. Except in your father's case. We quickly ruled out that other killer's involvement and you've been our number one suspect from hour one. You see, we already had fingerprints and hair from the other killer. Yesterday, we finally found whose prints they belonged to. Your father." The detective ranted some more but I didn't hear any more of it. I also didn't move, not even when the cops left. The rest of the day flew by in a blur and I still remained sitting in that chair. Nothing else matters any more. They'll be back tomorrow but I have no intention of leaving alive. In fact, all I'm planning on now is how I can leave them the biggest mess to clean up instead. The worst part of it all is the thought that keeps running through my head. I guess my father and I aren't as different as I thought.


“Rufus! Come in. We loved your latest piece on the migrant situation in the Mediterranean. You’re really broadening the horizons of the readers of the Post.” “Our readers already have pretty broad horizons.” “Of course they do. They read the Post!” Rufus sat in a windowless room, empty apart from the plastic chair that he sat on, opposite a man in a white polo shirt and khaki pants. The man wore a lanyard with an empty transparent I.D. wallet and a pen hanging from it. Rufus lived for information, and had almost none. Introductions seemed to be the place to start. “I’m Rufus Kenton from the Washington Post, and you are?” “Yes! I am. And you are too, Rufus. Both of us present here today. Thank you for coming along. We love your work and we were very keen that it be you who got access to our facility.” “Ok. Who’s we ? I’m going to assume you’re an agent. May I record this?” “Record away, Rufus.” The voice was avuncular Texan. The speaker, tightly bald and leather cheeked, leant forward to rest his elbows on his knees. His pen swung on its lanyard and clicked against the cheap plastic seat. Had muscle gone to fat, or was it just undercover? Either way, the man was two of Rufus. “C.I.A?” said Rufus, keeping his words to a minimum and letting his eyebrows do the heavy lifting. “I used to be in the C.I.A.,” said the man. The crows feet at his eyes went up a shoe size. “Still am. But I used to be too!” he sat back in his chair grinning. It creaked as he folded livestock arms. “And you’ve invited me here to work on your tight five-minute stand-up set?” said Rufus, clicking his own pen and opening his note book. “Relax, Rufus. We love journalists these days, we brought you here so we can work together. We’re on the same side.” “I’m an independent journalist. I’m on the side of truth.” “And justice and the American way?” said the agent with a gentle frown of sincerity. “Sure, but truth comes first. So, what is this place?” “This, Rufus, is the most secure lab in the world. A football field of razor wire in every direction, anti-drone fields, automated sniper turrets. This place has its own F35 guard dog on round-the-clock standby. It has a bunker from the nineteen fifties which has been pimped with some tech which is still going to look pretty damned impressive in the twenty fifties.” “Why?” “Exactly! I knew we had the right man for the job. Anybody in their right mind would ask why, and you, Rufus, are going to tell them.” “I’m going to tell them the truth.” “Of course you are. That’s your job. Which theory of truth do you currently subscribe to?” “Truth, reality, I’m going to tell people what I find here today.” “Oh, we’re counting on it. Now, I’m a plain old correspondence theory man myself. The truth arises from the correspondence of language, thought and such like, to a mind-independent world. Seems like our world is more mind-independent than ever! Am I right? Ha! Nah, Veritas est adaequatio rei et intellectus - Truth is the adequation of things and intellect; Isaac Israeli via Aquinas.” “Nice to know they’re teaching Latin at Langley.” “Surprised? You don’t think they keep me round just ‘cos I can kill a guy with a pen, do you?” Against his better judgement, Rufus liked the guy. So what if he really could kill him without breaking a sweat? Rufus was not octagon material; it was not that impressive a boast. But Rufus was no coward, so it was not much use as a threat either, if that’s what it was, and not just another joke, not that the two things were mutually exclusive. In conclusion, Rufus just shifted uncomfortably in his chair and looked down at his notepad. “Relax! I’m only joking,” said the man. “I wouldn’t need a pen. Are you ready to take a look around?” Rufus had had a bag over his head since he got in a chopper of the roof of the building he’d been told to report to. It had not been removed until he stood outside the room he was now in and he had no idea how much time had elapsed, how far he had travelled or in what direction. He could have been in one of half a dozen states, maybe seven, maybe eight or nine if you counted irritation and confusion, states he seemed to visit with increasing regularity. He was ready to take a look around. “Let’s go.” The corridor outside the room was lit by a thin arboreal glow of emergency lighting. The agent walked ahead of him, fleetingly green as they passed under the long passage’s evenly spaced exit signs. After what Rufus judged to have been about a minute, time measured by his unacknowledged humming of The Fugs’ C.I.A. Man , they reached an unmarked door. To Rufus’s left a dark space with a tiny exit sign floating in it, marking the invisible length of a perpendicular corridor. The agent saw Rufus looking to his left at the tiny eye-test of an exit sign. “No, it’s in here,” said the agent, opening the door and disappearing through it. Rufus followed him into a room which was industrially dark. “So, you promise to write about what you find here?” asked the agent. “Certainly,” said Rufus. “Good! We need it out there. We need the internet full of it. We need...” “You’re going to get the truth, whether it’s what you need or not. But I guess it would be easy enough for you to silence me if you wanted to? You could do it here and now, with your pen,” said Rufus to a black absence where he imagined the agent might be standing. “No! No, no, no, Rufus.” The voice came from the opposite direction to the one in which Rufus had pointlessly turned his head. “It’s not like that at all. And anyway, like I said.” The voice now came from behind him. “I wouldn’t need a pen.” Rufus peered into the black, trying to breathe steadily and control a heartrate that evolution was attempting to increase with every second spent in the vulnerability of sightlessness. “Now, Rufus, write the truth if you want, but please try and appreciate that in my business it’s really the value of information that matters, regardless of whether it can be proven to be true or not.” “Surely information is more valuable if it’s true? We have to confirm if things are true.” “Well, ah, Rufus. So, y’know Socrates, right?” “I know of him.” “Well one day one of Socrates’ buddies runs up to him and...” “Ah Jesus, come on, man.” “One of his buddies runs up and says, ‘ You’ll never guess what I heard about Diogenes.’ ” “Just turn the lights on.” "’ Whoa!’ Socrates replies, ‘You gotta pass the Triple Filter Test first,’ and his buddy’s like ‘Triple filter?’ and Socrates is like, ‘I’m going to filter what you say. The first filter is truth. Are you absolutely sure that what you are about to say is true?’ and his buddy’s like, ‘Maybe, dunno, just heard it.’ And then Socrates is like, ‘Ok, possibly not true, so filter two, the goodness filter. Is what you are about to tell me something good?’ and his buddy gets a bit flustered and he’s like, ‘Nah, pretty bad actually.’ And so, Socrates is like ‘Mmhmm, third test; is this information going to be useful to me?’ and his buddy’s pretty embarrassed by now and he’s like, ‘Well, no, not really.’ So, Socrates is like, ‘So you were going to tell me something that might not have been true, good, or useful. Why tell me or anyone else such a thing?’ and the guy’s feeling pretty bad and he realises this must be how come they say Socrates is so wise..." “And it also explains why Socrates never found out that Diogenes was banging his wife.” “You heard it! Ha! You do understand.” “Just turn the lights on.” “If I do, you’ll see the truth, but not the value. We need you to create the value, Rufus. That’s what you’re here for. We need information out there. Lots of it. Generated from this beautiful big resource magnet of a lab. It doesn’t have to be true, it doesn’t have to be good, but whatever it is, it’ll be useful and it’ll be ours. And it’ll be a good reason for all of our less enthusiastic supporters to keep their eyes on this place, instead of anywhere less convenient.” “Please just turn the lights on.” “This room is completely empty, Rufus. I can leave the lights off so you can’t see anything, or I can turn them on, so you can see nothing. Either way, you’re reporting the same truth. You want ‘em on?” “Please.” “Happy writing, Rufus.” An analogue clunk announced a staccato strobe and the room bounced in and out of existence before settling into its vast reality. Rufus stood alone in an echo-ready hall. It was completely empty.


In the murky realm of the twilight hour, pulsating neon lights gnawed at the tender underbelly of the evening sky, spreading psychedelic tendrils of orange, violet, and electric blue. Their kaleidoscopic dance threw distorted reflections onto the wet asphalt, weaving a path towards a vortex of syncopated rhythms and deep beats -- the club, a modern cathedral pulsing with its own synthetic heartbeat. Here I was, a dark silhouette swallowed by the gaping maw of this techno temple. A self-portrait painted in soft hues of isolation, an alien navigating through the labyrinth of pulsing lasers and prismatic strobes. Ascending the concrete stairs, my footsteps synchronized with the bass emanating from the beast's belly. The music vibrated through the soles of my shoes, vibrating along the fault lines of my reality, distorting the world around me into unrecognizable fragments. I was no longer a mundane entity trapped within societal constraints but a formless spirit on the precipice of a transcendental voyage. Once inside, a sensory overload unfolded. Bodies writhed to the hypnotic rhythm, lost in the sound, their outlines blurred by the strobe lights. The air was drenched in a cocktail of sweat, musk, and spilled alcohol -- an unholy incense for the debaucherous rite about to transpire. Eager to join the spectral dance, I had approached the bar. Illuminated bottles lined the counter, filled with spirits promising liquid courage. The bartender, an oracle in this crypt of mystic energies, served me a luminescent concoction. With each sip, my consciousness began to waver, caught in the rift between the tangible world and a spectral realm. Seduced by the siren call of the music, I plunged headfirst into the rhythmic chaos, my body responding to the beats as though it were an ancient tongue. I was no longer confined by the routine banality of life. I became a cosmic nomad, a fragment of stardust caught in the swirling vortex of sonic waves. In the swirling pandemonium, I collided with her. Radiating an ethereal glow that outshone the club's throbbing strobes, she seemed plucked from a dreamscape. Her laughter cut through the spectral symphony, ringing like the precise toll of a bell. "Follow me," she voiced through the throbbing music, her hand stretching out, a beacon amidst the chaos. I latched onto her offered lifeline. Her touch was warm, an anchor grounding me within the shifting dimensions of this hallucinatory pilgrimage. We danced -- two celestial bodies trapped in an otherworldly dance. The club's pulse dimmed, the crowd faded into obscurity, and all that remained was us. Her laughter became a divine mantra, her fluid movements a sacred liturgy guiding me deeper into the heart of this mystical rite. As dawn painted the sky in soft pastels, the frenetic music subsided, the neon lights dimmed, and our bodies hummed with the echoes of the night's sensory bombardment. Yet, there was no fatigue, no trace of exhaustion. Instead, an intoxicating sense of liberation infused every fibre of my being. I had ventured beyond the constraints of my existence, shedding the monotonous shell of life to embrace the realm of the extraordinary. As the remnants of the music faded into silence, she leaned closer, whispering words that rang truer than any rhythmic beat. "You're liberated," she voiced. A benediction imparted in the hushed tones of the dying night, a testament to the divine revelation I had found within the swirling chaos of the nightclub. I was no longer a mortal navigating the world but a cosmic voyager, touched by the infinite tapestry of the universe. I had danced with the surreal, sipped from the chalice of ephemeral joy, and had been bathed in the spectral glow of her presence. Her words were not merely an echo fading into the creeping dawn but a holy chant that had been etched deep into the core of my existence. Her gaze, an intense prism that refracted my newfound truths, held me captive. The world around us slowly began to stir, awakening from its nocturnal stupor, yet time seemed to stand still within the sanctity of our shared sphere. Each passing moment was an affirmation of the transcendence I had experienced, an ode to the psychedelic rhapsody that had shaken the very foundations of my understanding. We were swept up in the reluctant exodus as the club began to close its doors. The music was now a mere whisper, a ghost of the sonic tempest that had ruled the night. The psychedelic kaleidoscope of lights had given way to the austere dawn, painting everything in hues of reality. Yet, I carried the night within me, a cosmic imprint, a testament to my spiritual odyssey. As we stepped out into the dawning day, the city had already begun to shed its nocturnal skin, ready to don the mask of normality. The sidewalks were filling up with early risers, each one oblivious to the divine spectacle that had taken place within the hallowed walls of the nightclub. Her fingers gently squeezed mine, a subtle reaffirmation of our shared experience. "This is only the beginning," she whispered into the crisp morning air. It wasn't a promise but a prophecy. I had tasted the psychedelic nectar of spiritual liberation; I was initiated, transformed, and no longer a passive wanderer but an active seeker. In the harsh light of the morning sun, the nightclub appeared as an ordinary edifice, its cosmic secrets tucked away behind unassuming walls. But it stood as a beacon of revelation, a testament to the spiritual transcendence I had found in the most unlikely places. I walked away from Hades, the nightclub, the concrete cathedral, a universe of endless possibilities, carrying the sacred echo of a night steeped in psychedelic discovery. My spirit hummed with the rhythm of the universe, my eyes saw beyond the realm of the ordinary, and my heart beat in sync with the divine dance of cosmic energies. I had begun as an alien, an outsider, but emerged as a celestial voyager awakened to the infinite symphony of existence.


The rain showered on the sidewalk ahead of Ethan. The streetlights were fizzling out and re-lighting every couple seconds or so. The sky had just started clearing up after almost two days of continuous storming. Ethan pulled up his hood and continued walking. “*What have I done*?” Ethan thought to himself. “*How could I be so stupid?*” A couple of days ago he was driving home, in his Toyota SUV after a late night party, across the bumpy Texas countryside. The night was young, and Ethan had never felt so relaxed when suddenly his car hit something. He reversed and in the fuzzy haze of his headlights, saw an elderly woman on the ground, with a much younger woman kneeling over her. “HELP!!!” she screamed loudly. Ethan knew her screaming would attract the attention of nearby townspeople. Without thinking further, he stepped out of the car and knocked the woman out with his bare fists. *“Problem one solved,”* he thought. He then grabbed the unconscious grandma by her armpits and dragged her over to the trunk of his SUV. Ethan picked her up and dumped her into the trunk. He then did the same to the younger woman. He had just killed an old woman. I would know, after all, I am the Devil’s Servant. The situation had turned dire. This was truly a calamity. The authorities would be after him soon. There was only one place he knew of that could possibly help. Ethan slammed the trunk and opened the passenger door. He then opened the glove compartment. It was empty except for an old ID, an old screwdriver that had started to rust, a large coin, and a heapload of crumpled up papers. Ethan took everything but the papers and shut the door. He then used the screwdriver to unscrew both the front and the back license plates. Ethan opened the hood of the car and placed the license plates face down against the engine. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. He then opened the fuel tank cover. Ethan sighed. He took one puff of the cigarette, reluctantly tossed it into the fuel tank and ran. BOOM! There was a huge explosion and fire leaped into the sky. It had most certainly caught the attention of the townsfolk. I was impressed. Even I had not committed such iniquity in my time of life. Ethan realized he had to get to Dallas County and fast. Thunder clapped and Ethan was pulled out of his memories. It had been three days since the catastrophic events. He was almost where he needed to be. He took the coin out of his pocket and inspected it. It was definitely larger than an ordinary coin. Ethan guessed that it was about two inches wide and two inches long. It was quite light and was made of what looked like solid gold. It had a leviathan cross on one side, and in an arc surrounding the cross was some small writing that Ethan couldn’t read. On the other side of the coin was a three dimensional picture of a skeleton lying down with its ribs cracked and a sinister-looking knife embedded into its skull. I remember my coin as well. It had been used many years ago before I had joined the Army of the Devil. The only difference was that my coin featured a skeleton with that same knife embedded into the right side of its neck. Ethan felt the chills go down his spine and he put the coin away. He was headed to his old workplace, a small room with a couple of computers and tables here and there. He had worked with a small group of people who helped people erase their debts or change their IDs. Ethan himself had allowed about 50 disreputable people to re-establish a new life in a new country, free of debt as an entirely new person. This job had made Ethan a whole lot of money, but he quit when police had learned about these illegal operations. On leaving, Ethan had received the coin from a colleague, and he had warned him, “Whatever you do, do not lose this.” Ethan had assumed it to be a friendship token or maybe something that he would’ve recognized, if they meet again in the future and had kept it for all these years. He was almost where he needed to be. Just a right turn into the alleyway, and he would be there. The sprinkling rain turned into stronger rain, and within a minute it was heavily pouring. Ethan broke into a sprint towards his destination. The back entrance was used as the main entrance back then, but now it was planked shut. Ethan ran towards the front of the building. It was a lot different than when he had last seen it seven years ago. Instead of looking like an abandoned building, it was brightly lit and Ethan thought it looked more like a casino. He was correct. The words “THE DEVIL’S DEN” hung over the entrance in bright red typography. He tried to walk in, but was stopped by the bouncer. “Entrance ticket!” he demanded in a gruff manner. “I-I don’t have an entrance ticket,” replied Ethan. He looked around and saw other people handing bouncers large coins. A coin一 The Devil's Den. The coin had to be the entrance ticket! He took his coin out and showed it to the bouncer. The bouncer inspected the coin, looked at Ethan, looked at the coin again, and finally let him in. Ethan was surprised. He quickly stuffed the coin into his back pocket and stretched out his hands. So much had changed in seven years. After all, seven years isn’t a short period of time. There were elegantly styled crap tables and round tables with people sitting around them playing rounds of Blackjack and Poker. Ethan went up to one of the game supervisors. I recognized that man. T’was a buddy of mine. Or actually more of a fellow worker. Goes by Dan. “By any chance, do you know Jonathan Miller?” asked Ethan The Supervisor turned his head to face Ethan. That’s when Ethan noticed his unusually eerie countenance. There was something inhuman about his face, just like me, just like the rest of the Devil’s Servants. “Who’s asking?” questioned the Supervisor. “Ethan Smith, a former colleague.” “Hmmm.” The supervisor paused for a bit. “I don’t know him personally, but he owns this place.” “You know where I can find him?” asked Ethan. “He should be around back, but you can’t just waltz into his office,” he replied. Dan caught sight of me. He was probably surprised to see me here, but he gave me a wave. I gave him a wave back. Ethan decisively began walking towards the back of the building. “Thanks!” he exclaimed. Dan grunted. Finding John’s room was easy. Ethan came across it within a minute. The door read Jonathan “*The Devil*” Miller. Ethan knocked and entered. I followed suit. The room was quite bare. There was a single desk in the middle of the room with nothing on it except for an inkpot. The walls were a complex shade of red, and the room itself smelled like something was burning. Behind the chair, was a short, middle-aged man with a cigar in his mouth, wearing a white tux and a panama hat. In the furthest corners of the room were two bodyguards, both wearing black suits and sunglasses. I myself had only been in this room once. It was maybe four and a half years ago. The time when I had died. My memory isn’t really the best, as I cannot remember how I had come to pass. My Boss looked up. “Eddie?” asked John inquisitively. “Johnny!” exclaimed Ethan happily “Eddie, it’s been a long time. What have you been up to?” asked John. He then signalled his bodyguards to fetch Ethan a chair. “Same old. Partying all night, drinking at work.” He chuckled. John laughed. “What have you done to this place, Johnny?” The Boss’s laugh faded into a frown. “You don’t like it?” “No no no. It looks way better than before actually,” reassured Ethan. “Hmph,” he said in a dubious manner. “So, what brings you back?” “You still carry out the business that we used to do back then?” asked Ethan hopefully. “Perhaps.” John paused. “You need somethin?” “Well......ummm yeah. I actually needed a favor,” admitted Ethan quite guiltily. “A favor eh? What kind of favor, Eddie?” “Well, uhhhh a couple days ago, I accidentally ran over a grandma and what looked like her daughter. I got rid of the evidence, but my fears came true and it got into the news. Y’know, I was hoping you could kinda help me clear my name. Just like we used to in the old days,” he said, trying his best to be persuasive. John took off his hat. “Well, you see, it isn’t as easy as it was to get away with this kind of stuff. New laws and people are more likely to squeal nowadays...I can do it. Of course, I can; I’m the Devil, but I’m gonna need something in return,” he said mysteriously. “What, like my soul?” said Ethan jokingly. “Exactly,” said John. Huh, now that I recall, I do remember how I died. I ended up dying with a knife being stabbed into the right side of my neck.


Denise was just leaving the band room when the siren went off. Because she was alone, she didn’t realize that no one else heard it. Looking around, she saw nothing that seemed out of place; she couldn’t identify where the sound came from. She threw her drumsticks into her backpack and headed outside. There she saw her Aunt Carol looking worried. “You heard the alarm?” she asked Denise. “Yes, but what does it mean?” Denise threw her backpack over her shoulder. “A Well has been stolen.” Denise looked up. “Well what? What well?” she asked. “Not a well small ‘w,’ a Well with a capital ‘W’,” Aunt Carol explained. “Follow me, Denise.” “What?” Denise had no idea what a Well with a capital W was. “You’re needed. I knew this would happen someday,” Aunt Carol said. “I had hoped that when it happened, you’d be older.” Denise had just turned sixteen. “What are you talking about, Aunt Carol?” Denise, totally confused, climbed into Carol’s Subaru. “The Wyvern Queen needs you to help find it. It’s your destiny.” “Wyvern Queen? Like the two-legged dragon with a barbed tail? That kind of wyvern?” Denise was totally lost. “Yes. She’s responsible for the Wells.” “Okay, I’ll bite. What are these Wells?” “Portable, potable water. Water is essential to the multiverse. The Wells provide water to everyone. This missing Well is assigned to Earth. Without it, all life dies. They are tightly controlled because they are so valuable. That’s what the siren was about.” “Okay,” Denise said. “But what has that to do with me?” “You are the chosen one. You’ve spent your whole life learning about swords, aliens, and space. You know Star Wars, Harry Potter, and Lord of the Rings . You’ve been trained. Now’s the time for it to pay off.” “What am I supposed to do?” Denise asked. “The Queen will tell you.” Aunt Carol pulled into her garage and rushed into the house, Denise on her heels. “Here’s the Wyvernian computer. Sit down.” “The what?” Denise asked as she sat in the desk chair, putting her backpack on her lap. “What do I do now?” Aunt Carol fired up the computer. A huge eye covered the entire screen. “Hello, Carol. Good to see you. And this must be Denise?” “Yes, Queenie. She will obviously need guidance, but she’s ready.” Aunt Carol smiled at the eye. “Wonderful, my dear. Let’s not waste time then.” Denise’s world disappeared in a swirling fog. She felt sick and exhilarated at the same time. After what seemed like ages, but might have been seconds, the girl found herself sitting at a large table in front of a huge wyvern and a garbage-sized tin can out of which a man sat (she thought), looking intently in her direction. “Hello, Denise. This is Bob,” the Queen gestured towards the man in the can who reached out and shook Denise’s hand. “We have no time to waste but we must finish tea before we go.” The Queen handed Denise a china cup full of dark liquid. “Tea?” she asked. “Not a big fan.” “It’s okay, Denise. Yours will taste like your favorite drink.” Sure enough, the drink tasted just like Pepsi. “Yum,” she said. “All right, team. Time to go. We’ll need to pick up the Terriers on the way.” The Queen leaned towards Denise. “They’re the best warriors in the multiverse.” The other stood up so Denise followed them. The Queen stood about fifteen feet high. The room was twice that, the walls covered with luxurious rugs and paintings of strange creatures. A few minutes later, Denise found herself on a long tarmac. The Queen was putting on what looked like an enclosed saddle. “It’s a Bubble,” Bob told her as his can hovered beside her. “Uh, thanks, Bob,” Denise said. “Is it polite to ask ...” “It’s not. It’s my whole life but that’s all I can reveal.” “Ok. Bob, why me?” “You were born for it, Denise. Sometimes destiny doesn’t show itself for a while, but it’s been watching you. You are strong, brave, and pretty fearless. It’s just your time.” Bob pointed to footholds that had appeared on the Queen’s flank. “Go ahead, Denise. That’s how you get into the Bubble.” Denise climbed up as Bob hovered alongside her. At the top, he pushed a button that opened the Bubble. He floated in and settled in what looked like a big cup holder. Denise sat on a wonderfully comfortable overstuffed sofa, putting her backpack into a luggage rack overhead. “Wow,” she said. “This is very cool. Is all intergalactic travel this comfortable?” “Not all. But the Queen goes first class.” The same huge eye appeared on a screen in front of the sofa. The. “Be sure to buckle up,” the Queen instructed. Denise looked for a seat belt. She saw something buried in the cushion. “Glad someone figured out that seat belts are a good idea,” she said. “Good for you,” said the belt as it fastened itself around her. “A pain for me.” “Be quiet!” Bob growled. “These belts are a grouchy lot.” “Everyone secure?” the Queen asked. “We’re good, Your Majesty,” Bob answered her. Denise marveled at the Queen’s speed as she began to run. Effortlessly , they took to the air. “That was amazing,” Denise said breathlessly. “She’s the best transportation I’ve ever been on,” Bob told her. “You might as well take a nap or something. It’s a long way to the Terriers.” Bob disappeared into his can. Denise found herself tired and groggy. Before she knew it, she was asleep. She woke when the Queen landed abruptly. The Bubble opened just as Bob emerged from his can. “Time to meet our warrior friends,” he said, gesturing towards the steps on the Queen’s side. Denise made her way down to the ground. Once she had disembarked, the Queen suddenly shrunk to a size closer to her own. Bob leaned over. “Make Me Small pills. Very useful.” A creature about half Denise’s size came bounding out of a nearby building, making what sounded like barking noises, its small tail wagging madly. “Welcome, grrrouff, to our home,” growled the creature, standing up on its hind legs, its face almost eye level with Denise. It had smooth brown and black fur an inch long all over its body as well as a beard and mustache. Denise thought it handsome even though she personally preferred cats. “Hello, Macduff. Good to see you.” The Queen smiled as she put her hand out and shook Macduff’s paw. They followed him into the Hall. “They seem awfully carefree and silly for a group of warriors.” Denise pointed to an area full of Terriers jumping up and down for no apparent reason and another group playing tug of war. One chased its tail. The Queen laughed. “Yes. They do like to play but they can catch a Gopher faster than any other creature in the universe. That’s Gopher with a capital G, Denise. They stole the Well.” All these capitals , Denise thought. It must be a really big deal. That’s scary. The Queen walked to a small platform at the far end of the Hall. “Terriers. We need your help. You know me and you know my Pathfinder Royale Bob. This is Denise. She’s the one.” The Queen pointed to Denise and with all the Terriers’ eyes now upon her, she swallowed hard, bowed and smiled awkwardly. An approving growl swept through the room. “A Well has been stolen from the Vault. We need to find and return it.” The Queen waited until the Terriers finished leaping and howling. “We believe that it has been stolen by a giant Gopher from the planet Broke. You are the best Gopher hunters in the multiverse. We need you to keep them occupied while we recover the Well. Will you join us?” An exuberant howl went up around the room. “Gopherrrrs! Gopherrrrrrrs!” Coming from the Terriers, the word had a menacing and growly undertone. “Just one thing,” the Queen continued. “You can’t kill the Gophers until we find the Well.” The Terriers growled. “Once we’ve secured it, you may kill or capture any you can.” The Hall went wild. After meeting with MacDuff and other Terrier leaders to formulate a plan, the Queen took flight once again. Denise lost track of time as they hurtled through space, the Terriers’ Mercedes Bones ships scattered in front and behind them. The Bubble provided everything she needed: food, drink. Internet and a bathroom. This is amazing , she thought more than once. Finally, she noticed the Queen beginning to descend. Looking out of the Bubble, she could see a planet below. It was quite blue, like Earth appeared from space but even more so. “Bob is that Broke?” she asked. “And why is it so blue?” “Yes. It’s covered mostly with water. There’s land although it’s tricky to find sometimes. It’s the perfect place to hide a Well.” Bob began to close the top of his can. “Grab your backpack, Denise. We’ll be landing soon.” “What about air?” she asked. “No worries.” Bob handed Denise a small face covering. “Once we’ve landed, just put this on for a few minutes. It’ll fall off on its own. It adjusts your body to whatever breathable air is available.” Denise looked at the mask. “Wow,” was all she could think to say. “This space travel is a whole lot more amazing than in movies and books. And that’s pretty amazing.” “Don’t forget we’re on a mission,” Bob said. When they were on the ground, the Queen slid the Bubble off. Terriers had gathered around them with MacDuff at the front. All were armed and covered in chain mail. “All right, troops. Westies head west. Yorkies go north. Fox terriers - stay on the dry. And the rest of you spread out. When we find the Well, we’ll let you know.” The Terriers disappeared. “What do I do if I find it?” Denise asked. “My dear girl, you have more knowledge of space travails than many of us do. You’ll just know.” With that, the Queen took off, leaving Denise and Bob at the landing site. “Okay, Bob. What now?” “I’ll stay here and guard the Bubble. You can wait with me,” Bob added. “That wouldn’t be right. A space adventure where we just wait? No way.” Denise stood up and started off along a trail of grass with water on both sides. “Come back when you find the Well,” Bob called out as she walked away. The planet was indeed wet. By following the trail, she was able to find dry areas to move across. It’s a trail. It must lead somewhere. After a while, she noticed that the hill to her right had grown bushes along its bottom. She pulled them aside and found herself in the mouth of a cave. Moving inside, she was surprised to find incandescent moss lighting a path lined with rocks. A small rock rolled itself up when Denise approached. “Who goes there?” it asked. How can I understand that? Denise wondered. “I’m Denise. We’re looking for a Well that’s been stolen. Probably by your Gophers.” “Ah, yes. We know about that. And definitely not our Gophers,” it said. “I am Wequt. Follow me.” Denise did as she was told and found herself in a large cavern that was lit by holes in the mountain. Several large rocks sat in a line. They didn’t move as Wequt and Denise arrived. “These are our elders,” Wequt told her. “You seek the Well?” a zircon asked. “We are the Counsel. What will you do with it if we reveal its location?” “We’ll return it to the Vault and lock it up safely,” Denise told them. “And increase security so none get stolen again.” “As you can see, we have no need of a Well. But the Gophers stole it to sell. They hid it in our caves, stepping on many of us as they came and went. How do we know we can trust you?” Denise thought for a moment. “I have profound respect for the Well. My planet, which we call Earth, is having water problems and may need the Well someday. People fight wars over water. I promise to return and respect it.” The Council of Elders rolled together to confer. At least that’s what Denise thought they were doing. After what seemed like a geologic time lapse, they rolled back into a line. “We will show you the Well. Wequt and Elder Adnal will go with you.” “Thank you all.” Denise bowed. She wasn’t sure why; it just seemed appropriate. The two guides rolled down a hallway in the cave with Denise following closely behind, carefully watching where she stepped. Eventually, they came to an opening. Peeking around the wall, she saw a pulsing blue dot sitting on a boulder surrounded by stalactites and stalagmites. Wequt and Elder Findal stopped. “The Well,” the Elder said. Denise stared at it. She had never asked what it looked like. “That’s it?” she asked, just to be sure. Wequt giggled. “That’s it. New to you, is it?” “Yes.” Denise walked around the boulder. “Uh, how do I carry it?” Wequt shook his head. “In your pack, Denise. It doesn’t leak.” “Of course. Sorry. I am new at this. But I should have known.” At that moment, they heard a deep growl. As Denise looked in again, a huge beast with big teeth and sharp claws appeared at the other end of the opening. That must be one of the Gophers , Denise realized. It was huge, almost eight feet tall. It hovered over the Well protectively. Denise shrunk back. “How do you kill ... or at least disable these things?” The Gopher heard her and turned in their direction. “Crap,” said Denise. She thought for a moment then took the drumsticks from her backpack, which she left with Elder Adnal and Wequt. “That is not your Well,” she shouted at the creature. It looked surprised. She wasn’t its usual adversary. Denise raised the drumsticks over her head and began banging them together. “You. Gopher. Get away from our Well.” She shouted at the top of her lungs. The Gopher hesitated and then moved back a step. “These are magic sticks from the planet Earth, and you cannot withstand their power.” All of her years watching sci fi were paying off. “Now get away!” She flourished the sticks and started drumming on a nearby boulder as she moved closer to the Well. The Gopher looked surprised but only for a moment. Then it began moving towards her, growling and gnashing its huge teeth. Denise struck the protective minerals which crashed to the ground. The Gopher stopped. “Dinna ye know not to bother t’ one, ye wee beastie.” MacDuff appeared at her side. Before she knew it, he was on the Gopher. She made a run for the Well, grabbed it and ran back, putting it into the backpack as she went. The guides led her out of the cave and pointed her back towards where the Queen had landed. When she got there, Bob was gone. She could hear battle sounds and followed them to the top of a hill. Looking down, she saw a slightly familiar gory sight. The Terriers and Gophers had been fighting, that much was clear. She saw Bob, holding a sword and hovering over a huge Gopher. Denise put her fingers to her lips and let out a loud whistle. When Bob looked up, she waved. He threw a chain over the neck of the Gopher and hovered up the hill, dragging the beast behind him. “Denise, good to see you,” he said. “This is the ringleader. But he won’t tell us where they put the Well.” “It’s okay, Bob. I found it.” Denise grinned broadly as she pointed to the backpack. “But a Gopher came. MacDuff went after it. I didn’t see him again.” “He’ll be fine, Denise. He cut his teeth on Gophers, so to speak. She was right, the Queen. You are the one.” They found the Queen was waiting for them at the landing site along with MacDuff who was unscathed. Denise gave him a hug. “You got it,” the Queen pronounced. “I guess all my role playing and movie watching paid off. But MacDuff saved the day when the Gopher came. And I admit that being on a quest is a lot different than watching it.” The Queen put a wing around her shoulder. “It is and it isn’t, child. Clearly you benefitted from all that watching.” She turned to MacDuff. “We’re taking this one back. Can you fit it on one of your Bones ships? You can let your fighters go after the rest.” “Surrrrre,” MacDuff assured her. He took the Gopher’s chain and growled. “Don’t even trrrry to get away.” When the Queen had put the Bubble back on, Denise and Bob settled in for the flight back to the Queen’s home on Wyvernia. “You have done the multiverse a great service, today, Denise. We won’t forget it.” “Thank you, Your Majesty. I won’t either. Won’t I have been missed, though?” “Time is relative, my dear Denise. But it is time for you to return home. Your Aunt Carol is waiting.” The world fogged over. Denise found herself in Aunt Carol’s car, leaving her school. “Have a good day?” her aunt asked with a wink. “Interesting, thanks. Did I just sort of save the universe?” Aunt Carol grinned. “Sort of, yes. Stay tuned.”