It was a beautiful morning and the smell of fresh coffee and and bagels wafted through the air. She could also smell daffodils but couldn’t see it anywhere. Mia wondered, why don’t I see the daffodils? Where is this beautiful smell coming from? At first, when Mia woke up she had no clue where she was but it all started coming back to her. She vaguely remembered being in paradise retreat which is probably a fancy name for rehab. How did she get herself here? She always thought she was going to be one of those people who is going to be ultra-successful and here she was in a rehab a.k.a. Paradise retreat. Why can’t they just call things as is why do they have to give a politically correct name for everything? She saw piece of paper next to her which was presumably the program for the coming few days. This feels more like a jail then a retreat! 07:00 am - wake up to the smell of coffee 08:00 am - yoga 09:30 am - shower and get ready for group discussions 10:30 am - Group discussion Oh man! They also have group discussions she sighed aloud. She only knew these from whatever she saw in the movies where people sit in a circle and talk about things. Did she really have to do it? Mia was so engrossed in her thoughts that she almost forgot the strange things that she experienced the previous night. Shaking herself of the feeling she got ready to grab her breakfast and got into her yoga pants. She really enjoyed the yoga session. A lot more than she would ever want to ever acknowledge. Endorphins thanks to a good session made her glow and she was glad she made it to the session. Unfortunately her happy feeling did not last long, her room looked weirdly out of place. She constantly felt like someone was there but did not want it to be known that they are there. She decided to ignore the feeling and get to the shower. The hot water falling on the skin made her feel very relaxed. She couldn’t stop feeling excited about how great the shower felt. She did not want to spend too much time in the shower because she had to get ready for the group discussion soon. As soon as she got out of the shower and start dressing up in front of the mirror she noticed that her reflection was lagging behind her. She couldn’t stop herself from screaming really loudly. It was then she started screaming, she noticed that her reflection was blankly staring at her. This must have been the moment when she passed out. She opened eyes to see the kind lady in charge of the retreat. Mia started to explain what happened. “Let’s get to that a later time, you need to rest now, my girl” - said the lady with the softest and kindest voice Mia had ever heard. Mia thought, does this mean I get to skip that group discussion! Yay! It almost felt like the lady read her thoughts. She said, “Oh don’t you worry about your group discussion, we moved you to the evening batch. You perfectly all right now and you can go back and continue to rest in your room.” This was when Mia realised that she was in a different part of the retreat. Mia wasn’t sure whether she want to go back to the room. She really did not like the feeling she got there. Not she wasn’t sure if she could ask to move to another room. She thought she would do that the next day if things don’t feel better. Mia was back in the room and she decided to rest for a while - she tried to feel calm and focus on feeling better. As she walked to get a glass of water, she felt like someone was right next to her. She could almost feel the breath of someone very close to her shoulders. She could also hear some weird sounds like someone was crying softly. She was very confused. And then again the smell of daffodils. Mia loved daffodils, why was she smelling them everywhere And could not see them anywhere? Mia decided to take it easy and get a nap before she could go back to attend the group discussion that she really did not want to. Surprisingly, she slipped into a deep, sound and refreshing sleep. Mia woke up to a strong smell of coffee in the afternoon. She noticed that the staff had refilled her coffee. She wasn’t sure about having coffee in the afternoon but decided to make an exception. She wanted to be fresh for the group discussion and give it a real chance. How bad could it be? Mia quickly showered, And wore her favourite white dress. She tried hard to remember why was this her favourite. It was super weird that she could not remember many details about herself. She kept thinking, “oh man! I hope people don’t think that I’m not sharing enough in the group discussion. I just can’t remember much...!” She sprayed her favourite perfume and and set out for the group discussion. As she opened her door to go out, the smell of daffodils completely overpowered her. She expected to see 8-10 people seated in a circle just as you would see in the movies. She never thought that she would ever be in this place. Instead, she was pleasantly surprised to see around 20-30 people engaged in easy conversations with each other. They seemed to share a camaraderie that she almost envied. She was embarrassed how easily she was getting envious of people in a “group discussion” that she did not even want to join a few moments ago. Unlike groups that were difficult for a newcomer to break in, everyone made a genuine effort to include her. They had all posted stickers with their first names. When Mia wanted to get a sticker for herself, she was told, everyone knows her. It was the same kind lady she met earlier (her sticker read Anna). She said, “Mia, so glad to have you here. We were not sure if you would make it, but we want to be here for you in any case.” Mia did not get it. “Be here for me?” She thought, this was a group discussion where everyone would pour their heart - but she obviously got it wrong. She decided to keep her thoughts to herself. That’s when she heard the champagne glass clinking. It was tall, good looking guy call Bryan. Bryan said, “As you all know, we are all here today for a special occasion.” Everyone started cheering and whistling. Mia tried to smile and cheer too - but she had no clue what the occasion was. Clearly, she did not read the memo. Bryan continued, “Mia, we would gratefully like to celebrate your life. Let’s play the video.” Mia was dumbfounded but also very curious - what this video could be about. It started with her childhood memories. She shook her inhibitions and pragmatism to figure out how they managed to put this together and started enjoying the video. Her first steps. The first time on a slide. Her parents doting on their single child. Her first-time bringing home her trophy from school. Her finish line memories from the triathlon. Her first boyfriend. Her interview at Harvard. Her first day at Harvard Law School. Passing the bar. Making it to one of the best law firms. Her prepping for her parents 25th anniversary. “Oh my god! I remember now.” Mia thought, tearing up. “I ordered for thousands of daffodils for the ceremony. Dad proposed to Mom after reading the poem - Daffodils. So, I thought it would be funny. Why can’t I remember the party?” That is when she realized that she was thinking aloud, and the video had stopped. Everyone formed a weird circle around Mia and held each other close to each other. Anna said, “Mia, I am sorry, you could not attend your parents 25th anniversary. You checked all the arrangements at the party venue and took the train to get home for a quick nap before the party. In the train, you saw a guy leaving his bag behind and rushing out. When you called out to him, he rushed out. You had the presence of mind to realize it could be a bomb. Without second thoughts, you picked the bag and rushed out of the station. You ran all the way to an empty field and threw the bag away as hard as you could. You saved 1000s of lives that day but unfortunately you lost a part of your memory. You needed a lot of therapy to have your brain be able to process all this. The mirror was not a mirror. It was a program that monitored your motor functions. We are glad you are ok and can finally get back to your family. We are all the people in that train compartment. You saved us all. We wanted to be a part of your recovery.” Mia was too shocked to hear all this and was crying inconsolably. She could only say, “what about my parents?” Almost as if that was their cue, her parents came in and gave her a big hug. They had missed her miserably too. They stayed in the same rehab centre and would regularly sneak in to check in on her when she was sleeping. The doctor had given them strict instructions to let Mia recover first - instead of giving her too many mental stimulations. They were just excited and happy that their selfless daughter was alive and on a path to recovery. It was too much for Mia to process, but she was finally in peace too. Mia and her parents agreed, the smell of daffodils was a catalyst for her recovery. Her father couldn’t stop reciting his favourite part from the poem “Daffodils” For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils.


My mother, brother, and I weren’t always family. There was a time where we were strangers, just making our ways in our separate lives, not knowing one another, not knowing anything. Why was this, you may ask? It was because I was adopted at the age of seven. Yes, we weren’t just any family, we were a found family. My mother, before she was my mother, was a writer. Sometimes an author in her spare time made a few bucks out of the books but that was about it. She never made much, just enough to buy a house in the suburban town she and my brother lived in. Where was I when all this happened? Running through the rain. It was always easier to sneak out of the orphanage on rainy days. Away from the orphanage, I ran, looking for a place to stay for a while. Just a little while. Every other house had been mean to me. They wouldn’t acknowledge me or even let me stay for a bit. How rude. Then again, we can’t blame them now, can we? How well would you react if a child merely showed up at your doorstep asking to stay awhile? I eventually had run too far from the small orphanage and found myself in the fields a bit further off the areas of our town. (I was always good with maps, so I wasn’t lost.) It was there that I spotted a house. A quaint little home with lanterns on the outside and a carpet that said: “Welcome”. “Welcome, hm?” I asked myself out loud. “Then I must be welcomed too, right?” I had the courage, and audacity that any five-year-old had to knock upon strangers’ doors, and simply appear. So I knocked. “Get the door, boy.” I heard a woman shout after someone. “Could be a friend of yours.” The boy, clearly irritated as I heard from the other side of the door, talked back to his mother. “Mom, you know very well that I have no friends.” “My point still stands. Answer the door.” “Fine, but don’t expect it to be a friend of mine.” The boy said again. Then, I stood and smiled, speaking once the door opened. “Hiya there!” And so I said my name. The boy looked shocked. “Who exactly are you? I don’t think girl scouts are out this late offering cookies.” “What’s a girl scout?” I asked, my eyes widening in curiosity. The boy had a moment of calm before shouting to his mother in a panic. This household was different. They were funny. “MA! THERE’S A LITTLE GIRL HERE, AND I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO!” “Are you going to send me away?” I asked, pretending to have tears form in my eyes. Fake crying was my specialty. “I won’t send you away but-” The boy began, but was soon stopped when his mother exclaimed a statement in my direction. “She’s adorable! Now, look what you’ve made her do. You’ve made her cry.” This household was different, they don’t mind me. “You won’t send me away, will you?” I whimpered as tears flowed freely from my eyes. “We won’t send you away, but we will need to ask you where your parents-” I clapped my hands in glee, knowing that they wouldn’t send me away. “Yehey! So you won’t send me away. Can I stay for dinner?” “But your parents-” “Can I? Can I?” I insisted, avoiding the topic about my parents. Because I didn’t have any. Now, I won’t say what their answer was, but let me tell you, that I left their house with a full stomach and satisfied grin. “Goodbye, nice lady! Goodbye, her son!” I said as I left their humble abode. “I have a name, you know?!’ The boy shouted after me before running up to me holding out a parasol. “Make sure to take a bath when you get home okay? You might get sick. Here, use this umbrella.” “Thanks, big brother!” I said as I waved goodbye. These were nice people. I should visit them more often. This was a very kind household. I liked them very much. Just as I made my way away from their home, the boy whispered something in his mother’s ear. She whipped her head around to him once he had done so, and asked him a question. “Do you really think?” “I’m as sure as can be.” Once I made my way back to the orphanage, the head caregiver spotted me and started thanking the Lord abundantly. “Thank goodness, child! Where have you been?” “Away in the fields...” I said, making sure not to tell the full story, or else they might make sure I never go to that kind of household again. “Thank god you didn’t get lost!” She exclaimed. “How did you find your way back home?” “A map.” “You can read those?” “It’s easy. After all, you already taught me about north, south, east, and west.” “Suppose we did, suppose we did.” I took a bath and jumped into my bed. I hoped to meet those nice people again. The next day was greeted with rain, and I was ecstatic! I could sneak out and meet the family again. I ran through the fields, my boots wet from all the puddles. I walked through the tall cornfield, with a compass I had ‘borrowed’ from another child in the orphanage. I couldn’t see very well, but I remembered that as long as I kept going north, I would arrive at their small house. I arrived a few feet near it, and I went to knock on the door. “Hiya! It’s me again!” I said once the door had been answered. “Ah! It’s you again!” The boy said once he had seen me. “Mom! She’s back!” “Let her in.” Said his mother while reading a book about astrology. And so I visited them. It was every single rainy day without fail. The woman’s son had soon developed a nickname for me, calling me kitty. He said it was because I was like a cat that kept coming back for food. The mother grew a fondness for me. I loved that family, even though it was just the two of them. They liked me, and I liked them. That mother and son had been the sun on my rainy days, and the warmth in my cold. Eventually, the time came around when they asked me where I came from. My eyes cast downwards, and I tried to avert myself from the question and I began to cry. For once in my life, I cried real tears. “Look dear, we won’t send you away. We just need to know where you come from. You spend so much time here that your parents might-” “I have no parents.” Then from the kitchen, I heard a voice. “I called it, kitty. You’d always take the direction back to the orphanage.” “Now that you know I’m an orphan, will you send me away?” Then, there was a pause. “We’ll bring you back to the orphanage and see what we can do, okay?” The mother said as she motioned her son to do something. So he picked me up, and I snuggled into his arms. And so we walked through the cornfields. Once we arrived at the orphanage, the woman and her son had faced the head caregiver who had been taking care of me. The mother had stayed silent, simply looking at me. It was when her son spoke up that my tears resurfaced and I cried once more. “I want this little girl to be a part of our family.” The caregiver composed herself before she asked one of the older kids to bring me upstairs. In a room where the woman and her son were ushered, the caregiver called in my social worker. “If you want to apply to adopt her, we would like to ask you a few questions.” I knew not about the details of the questions, but I know it went something along the lines of this: Home situation? Good. Loving and caring relationship? Present. A good financial situation? Absent. “Madame, I am sorry to inform you that if you wish to adopt this child, you will have to fix your financial situation. Though you aren’t in any debt, you can barely take care of you and your son. If you care so dearly about the girl, we can make sure that we update you when she is adopted so we can ask the adoptive parents if you can stay in touch.” “So, my financial situation is one of the biggest factors?” The woman asked. “Yes, I am afraid so.” “Then I will do something to fix it. I want the child.” Then, her son spoke up. “I too will help.” “Then you must hurry. She will be put up for intercountry adoption soon.” As mother and son walked home that day, they made a promise once they reached the cornfields. “Son, we are to work. We will improve everything that needs improvement, and she will be your younger sister. She will be my daughter.” “Yes, mother.” He said, as their eyes filled, burning with determination. It wasn’t easy. I was kept under strict watch so that I couldn’t visit them, and they, they worked. “Damn woman! Can’t you get my simple order right?” A comment the woman got when she took up a job as a waitress. “I apologize.” “You delivered me the wrong newspaper subscription, boy.” A comment her son got while working as a newspaper boy. There were some days when- Crash. A glass was broken right in front of the woman, for not only had she worked in a restaurant, but she also took up a job in a pub where she had to serve most of the drunks. “Hey! You work here, don’t you? Get to picking up those shards.” “Right away, sir. I’ll grab a broom and dustpan and get to work.” Those days were the toughest. “Here is your order sir.” The woman said one day while serving a customer. “You forgot the ashtray that I asked for.” Then, he dug his cigarette into her palm. She calmly put down the plate before rushing off to the kitchen to get some cold water on her hand. It wasn’t any easier for her son. “Drop everything you have boy.” A man one day pointed a gun at her son. That day, he gave all the money he had, all the profit that he had earned to the man, just so he wouldn’t be killed. When he returned to his boss, he was called an idiot. An idiot for wanting to live? What kind of cruel world do we live in? Forced to sell his bike to make up for his lost profit, he would walk along his kilometer-long routes every day since he lost all his money at gunpoint. They were struggling without a doubt, but I wasn’t any better. “Can’t I stay in this small town?” “No, but aren’t you excited? You’ll get to travel the world.” “NO! I don’t want to travel if it’s without them!” The caregivers knew better than to shatter my hopes further. One night as it rained, I decided to sneak out to meet the family again. Coming up with a clever plan, I went on my way. I ran and ran through the cornfields going north. I would see them again. Knock. Knock. The woman’s son answered the door and began to cry when he saw me. I suppose you could say that I did the same. “Do you realize what you’re making us do?” He asked in an angered tone after he wiped the tears away. “Huh?” “You’re so stupid, kitty.” He said sobbing again. “Do you know how many burns mom has gotten from her new job? Do you know how many cuts she now has from picking up broken glass when there wasn’t any broom and dustpan?” “I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to bring you this much trouble I just-” But he continued. “Do you realize how many times I’ve walked over a kilometer just to deliver newspapers for very little money? Do you realize that I was once held at gunpoint?” “I’m sorry!” I shouted, full-on crying. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to be a burden. I just wanted to escape from time to time. I didn’t realize-” “Don’t apologize, my kitty. We do it all because we love you.” And so I spent half the night sobbing in his arms. Just as problems are solved over time, my sixth birthday was drawing near, and I had a special birthday present. I was led down the stairs blindfolded, and into the dining hall. When I took off the blindfold I was surprised to see the mother and son whom I loved so dearly in front of me. “I thought that you... what... how? I thought I would be put up for intercountry adoption?” “Well,” The woman began, “We wanted to keep it a secret from you for a while until your sixth birthday, but today is your court hearing. Today is the day we hear if you are to be a part of our family or not!” I was overjoyed! How could I not be? The family I always wanted to be a part of, almost in my grasp. I remember everything, from the big room to the testimonies. I remember the scary look on the face of the judge. I remember sitting next to the woman’s son. I remember how his arm wrapped tightly around my shoulders. I remember the rain pelting the outside world, and I remembered the judge’s softened face as if almost touched when being told about our story. Then, I will never forget the words that left his mouth. Until now, it sends shivers down my spine and makes me want to jump up in objection. “Denied.” The woman did just as I wished to do. She jumped up from her seat. “But why?! I’ve fixed my financial issues, and I’ve made a caring environment for both me and my son. I’ve loved this child since the day she showed up at our doorstep! Why can’t we become a family?” “I simply do not think you’re ready.” I jumped from my seat and ran through the court’s doors. It was at that moment that all my feelings burst, and had melted down. The rainy days that had once been my happiness, were now my gloom. I cried and sobbed. Anything that one would do when being in the state beyond upset. I know not of what happened, the last thing I heard before being ushered away was, “I appeal for another court trial! Please!” “Very well, the court shall grant you one.” The judge said. “But don’t expect my answer to change.” The second trial took place a few weeks after the first. Now, I remember everything as clearly as I remember my first court trial. The only thing that changed? The judge. “Hello, I will be your judge for today. The one who had handled your case previously had fallen ill today, therefore I will be taking his place.” She was a young woman with hair tied up into a ballet bun. She looked scary. The hours passed on, as the woman, who I hoped to call my mother, stated her case. The judge seemed to listen more intently than the other, taking into consideration everything she heard. ‘It’s over for me. I’ll be put up for intercountry adoption and that will be the end of me and this family.’ I don’t remember what the judge said, but the next thing I had seen after the two grueling hours was the judge smiling contently, the woman who I hoped to call mom, crying, and the boy who I hoped to call my brother, hugging me. Then, I saw it. I saw what words the judge mouthed. “Approved.” Once I recovered from my shock, the woman- no. My mother ran out into the rain, beckoning for me and her son, my new brother to follow along. And so we ran through the rain. Our newfound family, running through the rain. Epilogue: As soon as we rushed outside to enjoy the rain, the judge smiled, exiting from another corner. “Mommy!” Her daughter said greeting her at the exit. “Did you approve of another adoption?” “Yes, my dear. Another happy family. I hope they make it in this world.” “Did it remind you of when you adopted me?” “Yes.” Hey! Me too!” Her older son said, and the judge began to laugh. “Yes, you too.” It was then that her husband appeared. “Do you really think they’ll make it in this world? They’re not the richest...” “You don’t need abundant riches to make it in this world. All you need is the support of one another. All you need is patience and love. That’s it.” “Ah, look. Why don’t we run through the rain too?” And so the other happy family was seen, running in the rain.


The once-praised light of eons had faded away with the sudden nature that the universe tended to avoid. The climate of Earth had once been a prosperous and beautiful landscape, only to be completely unrecognizable in the span of two years. The only surviving species on Earth now are the underwater creatures, encased in a layer of ice, separating the cold, harshness of space from those who dwell underneath. The Sun had seemingly disappeared before anyone was any the wiser. Masses of people had flocked to make their way underground, and more safely, underwater, to avoid the harsh conditions. The colonies were clunky and lackluster for the first month, but thanks to the nanotechnology of the current era, they were able to make do and create a livable space for humans. Months had gone by, the Earth showing a significant decrease in temperature. The underwater climate was relatively unaffected, and the hydrothermal vents from the lower levels of Earth had kept everything around quite warm. The living situations of the colonies had drastically improved over the time, causing an increase in comfort, and people were as comfortable as they could hope for in these makeshift homes. Then the Old Ones made their presence known. The Old Ones, who were previously, miraculously, invisible to all forms of detection, made a large and overwhelming presence in the main communication tower of the colonies. There were twelve of them, all around the same size as a human, with wildly altered bodily features. They seemed to not have violent intent, as far as the humans could tell, but showed a very intrigued demeanor. “We come to see what all the commotion underneath the tides is all about, and why the seafloor is being infested by your inferior species.” The biggest of the Old Ones, who seemed to be the leader of this group, said. One of the scientists, who were working in the control tower, said, “The purpose of our abrupt stay was not that of invasion, but to escape the intense coldness of the aboveground, as the Sun has left.” “Hahaha! You are one funny specimen! What does ‘The Sun left’ even mean? You surely do realize that your story just sounds like a coverup and not the truth, correct?” Another scientist had stepped up to help explain, “Ge was trying to say that we were just minding our own business, when-” “The Sun left? Is that really your only proof of this happening? Why don’t we sense any difference in the audio transmissions from the Sun, if it has gone away?” This was a point of realization for the scientists. The creatures seemingly had no sense of sight, which made sense, as the seafloor was completely devoid of light at all times. The creatures only had a sense of hearing, and an incredibly good one at that, explaining the seemingly perfect understanding of English. One of the scientists was curious, and asked, “The Sun will continue to be heard for the next 13 or so years. I was under the assumption you knew this, right?” “We know your tricks, and want to know why you think you can get away with lying directly to our faces. We may not be able to see, but we can still feel your unending gaze across our bodies, in utter horror at the sight of us.” “There is no fear directed towards you, and-” Before the scientist could begin, the Old One to the left of the leader chimed in. “If there is not any fear, then why have you completely skipped asking for our names?” The scientists were unable to refute, and did the only option that they had: “So, then, what are your names?” The frontrunner had stepped up, “I am Frexa, the secondary ruler of the Old Ones. The ones behind me are Sisui, the commander directly below me. There is Ganta, The weapon specialist of our species. My good pal Gorathe, who has fought with me in wars that have lasted longer than you have been alive for. Lox, my lover, and writer of our group. Quinn, the quantum specialist of our group.” Ge asks, “What about the others that have been behind you all this entire time?” Frexa quickly replies, “Oh, the lesser ones? They are prisoners who we have taken as our personal escorts.” “Wouldn’t that be an upgrade to being in prison?” “Why sure, except if they step out of line at any point, then we execute them on the spot, to show that it is still their punishment.” This worries the scientists, and while they are unsure of what to do, Frexa suddenly says, “Well, it certainly has been fun coming to talk to all of you, even though you all seem to be complete wusses. We hope that the rest of humanity has a bit more of a backbone than you, because you’re gonna need it! See you guys later.” The Old Ones then teleport away, with the help of Quinn. The scientists are split, as some are worried about how they implied that we need courage, and others are even more worried that they had known that the species is that of humans. I hope that the humans that are still alive are able to read this, and understand that we never expected, nor wanted your likes to be our enemy. We hope to use this exchange of our first encounter to serve as a showing that we tried to be nice and work towards friendship, but you showed a blazing amount of fear and malice, based on the tones of your voices. We perhaps should have given you more of a chance, you may say. This may be true, but you were the ones who destroyed the planet, causing us to bring you down to our level. You were warned in early times, and had not proved any change whatsoever. We hope that you can understand that you were the cause of your downfall, and how you showed promise, only to cause destruction on a global scale, ruining our relationship before it started. We are ashamed to live on the same planet as you. We aren’t the enemy. We are the protectors of Earth, the harbingers of justice. We are the Old Ones, and the Old Ones have risen once again.


In a forgotten corner of a small, decrepit town nestled deep within the Appalachian mountains, a sinister legend whispered through the shadows. The townsfolk rarely spoke of it openly, but every man, woman, and child knew the story of the Devil's Bargain. It was said that, once in a generation, a desperate soul could make a deal with the devil himself, but the price was steep, and the consequences, dire. For Thomas Barrett, a once-prosperous businessman who had fallen on hard times, desperation had become his daily companion. His family was teetering on the brink of destitution, and his business was crumbling faster than the decaying timbers of his ancestral home. The mounting debts and relentless creditors had driven him to the brink of madness. One moonless night, as the winds howled like tormented spirits and rain pelted the world outside, Thomas found himself sitting alone at his creaking oak desk. He stared at a stack of unpaid bills and felt a gnawing emptiness in his chest. It was then that he remembered the ancient legend passed down through generations. A spark of desperation flared within him, and he resolved to make the Devil's Bargain. With trembling hands, he scrawled a letter to the devil, addressing it to a certain cave that stood sentinel at the edge of town. The cave, known as the Devil's Hollow, was a place few dared to approach, for it was said to be a gateway to the underworld. Thomas sealed the letter with wax and placed it on his doorstep. As the clock struck midnight, he watched the letter vanish into the darkness, seemingly carried away by an unseen hand. Days turned into weeks, and Thomas's despair deepened. The creditors grew more relentless, and the wolf of hunger loomed closer to his family's door. Just when he thought all hope was lost, a chilling presence filled his room one night. He could feel eyes upon him, eyes colder and more malevolent than any he had ever known. Then, a voice, like the rustle of autumn leaves on a tombstone, whispered in his ear. "Thomas Barrett, I have heard your plea." Turning, he beheld a figure draped in shadows, its eyes blazing like twin embers in the darkness. It was the devil himself, come to collect his due. "Who are you?" Thomas stammered, his voice quaking with fear. "I am the one you sought," the devil replied. "You asked for my help, and I have come to offer it. But remember, Thomas Barrett, nothing in this world is free." With those ominous words, the devil laid out the terms of their agreement. In exchange for Thomas's soul, the devil would grant him immense wealth, success beyond his wildest dreams, and the power to control the minds of those around him. The catch was that he would have to carry out a task for the devil when called upon, no questions asked. Thomas, desperate and consumed by greed, agreed to the devil's terms. A chilling contract, written in blood, appeared before him, and he affixed his signature with trembling hands. In an instant, the contract vanished, and the devil disappeared into the shadows. True to his word, Thomas's fortunes reversed overnight. His failing business surged with newfound life, and his family lived in opulence. He became a revered figure in the town, wielding power and influence like a king. Yet, the darkness that now dwelled within him was undeniable, a constant reminder of the pact he had made. Years passed, and Thomas had nearly forgotten the devil's bargain. But on a stormy night, as he sat by the fire, a bone-chilling wind swept through his mansion. It carried with it the scent of brimstone and the echoing laughter of the devil. He knew the time had come to fulfill his end of the agreement. The devil's voice echoed in his mind, instructing him to journey to the very cave where he had first made the pact. With a heavy heart, Thomas set out, his every step weighted by dread. He knew not what the devil would demand of him, but he understood that there would be no escape. Entering Devil's Hollow, the cave's eerie glow bathed him in an otherworldly light. At its heart, he found a desolate altar, upon which lay a single white rose, untouched by the ravages of time. The devil materialized beside the altar, his presence more formidable than ever. "Thomas Barrett," the devil hissed, "I have come to collect." "What do you want?" Thomas pleaded, his voice a mere whisper. The devil's eyes bore into him, and a wicked grin twisted his lips. "Your daughter, Emily." Thomas recoiled in horror. "No! Not my daughter! She is innocent! She knows nothing of our pact!" "That is precisely why I want her," the devil replied. "I crave the soul of one untouched by sin, one pure and uncorrupted. She shall serve as my vessel in this world, and in return, your debt shall be considered paid." Tears welled up in Thomas's eyes as he realized the depth of his folly. He had traded his own soul for wealth and power, and now he faced the unthinkable prospect of sacrificing his beloved daughter to the devil. "I beg you, spare her," Thomas implored. "Take anything else, but spare her." The devil's laughter echoed through the cave, a sound that chilled Thomas to his very core. "There is no bargaining now, Thomas Barrett. You made your choice, and now you must face the consequences." With a wave of his hand, the devil conjured chains that bound Thomas to the altar. As he helplessly watched, the devil plucked the white rose from the stone and crushed it in his hand, releasing a swirl of black smoke that enveloped Emily, who lay asleep in her bed at that very moment. Thomas's heart shattered as he realized that there was no escape. The price of his bargain had been paid, and his daughter was now a vessel for the malevolent spirit of the devil. With a final, bone-chilling cackle, the devil vanished into the darkness, leaving Thomas alone in the desolate cave. The next morning, the townsfolk discovered Thomas Barrett's lifeless body in Devil's Hollow, his face twisted in eternal torment. The mansion that had once been a symbol of his wealth and power stood in ruins, consumed by flames that seemed to dance with the very fires of hell. Emily, now inhabited by the devil's spirit, wandered the town, her innocent demeanor replaced by a sinister malevolence that sent shivers down the spines of all who crossed her path. The legend of the Devil's Bargain lived on in the town, a cautionary tale of the dangers of making deals with the devil. The people spoke of Thomas Barrett's tragic fate, a once-prosperous man who had sacrificed everything for worldly riches and power, only to be consumed by the darkness he had invited into his life. And so, the small, decrepit town in the heart of the Appalachian mountains remained a place where the shadows whispered of the Devil's Hollow, a place where desperate souls were warned of the price they might pay for making deals with the devil in the dead of night, under the cold, moonless sky.


Content Warning: Threat of impending doom No matter where we are, Uncle Julio always ends up the center of attention. He’s not trying to be the center of attention, yet it happens all the same. At his bar and grill, he usually sits at the same corner of the bar, with a group of laughing, talking friends who go silent if he leaves them for only a minute. At the bars in the town where he grew up, people congregate like moths around a porch light, slapping him on the back as the Packers game blares in the background. At my Grandfather’s house, when there are family gatherings in the summer, everyone sets up the folding chairs and coolers in a ring, and Uncle Julio is the focal point. Such as now. As usual, Uncle Julio is grilling hamburgers, this year over his new Solo Stove instead of on a grill. He and other adults have started a ‘beer garden’--empty cans in a pile on the grass, to be picked up later. Also, the annual kids’ fire has been kindled. It starts with a stick poked into the adult-made bonfire, until the stick catches fire. The torch is then rushed to the dry twigs and dead, crunchy leaves we’ve prepared, and the flame is fed with bigger twigs, then sticks, and finally dead branches. No adult assistance or supervision (or so we think). A difficult feat in our younger years, now a matter of tradition. Another thing you should know about my Uncle Julio: he always has an eagle-eye out, especially on the youngins. Be you his son, niece, nephew, or of no relation at all, he’s watching all the kids, all the time. As I contemplate his face, animated in conversation, my memories unfurl... A muggy summer night at Uncle Julio’s bar and grill, kids running around outside, having scooter relay races and waving neon-colored glow sticks. A water fight briefly broke out, my cousin Luis appearing with a plastic water bottle poked full of holes, squeezing the contents at one of his friends; but Auntie Estela put the kibosh on that, saying, “Your dad paid for those, don’t waste them!” Believing it prudent to distance myself from the scene of the possible crime, I took a break inside. As in many bars, several taxidermied animals and parts of animals adorn the interior, one of them in the low entrance hall: a turkey skin spread flat on the wall, feathered wings outstretched. As I passed, I unthinkingly lifted my hand... “HEY! Guadalupe! Don’t you touch my turkey!” My head snapped up, and I stepped away, probably looking like the guilty incarnation of “Who, me?” Uncle Julio was behind the bar, pointing an accusing finger at me as patrons laughed. To this day, I usually hug the wall opposite the turkey when I go in. At Uncle Julio’s house, we’re even more aware of his gaze. He’ll randomly stalk into a room, take a slow look around with brows furrowed, say, “Hmmm,” or grunt, and then leave. He has the ability to be very loud and intimidating, and he knows how to use it. There is one thing he has used this ability to impress upon us more than anything else: Do not break the Arizona vase. Oh, that vase! Nobody likes it except Uncle Julio, and maybe Auntie Estela. Big, red-brown pottery shaped like a bulging four-foot-tall amphorae of the Roman empire, but without handles. Rings of tiny triangles, red, orange, white, and pale blue band the entire surface, and the black stick figure of a dancer playing a flute is front and center. Ensconced in a decorative alcove in the hallway, everyone walks softly past it. We all wonder fearfully what will happen if we ever break it, for Uncle has not even issued his customary threat of “I’ll beat you with a shovel!” in relation to this. In the heat of dart gun wars, if a dart hits even that angle of the wall, everyone freezes, and all remind the rest, “BE CAREFUL!” A permanent armistice has never been discussed as an option. After all, Uncle Julio is the one who buys his sons more darts and guns, so that is taken as sanction enough to continue. But he’s not always giving us the stink-eye. On our last visit, he stomped into the kitchen from working outside and held up a foot-long brown-striped feather. “You want this, Guadalupe? You could make it into a feather pen.” I looked up from my notebook and smiled. “Yes, please.” He set it on the edge of the counter, and I went back to writing. When he came in again later and saw that his gift was in the same place, he barked, “Hey, do you want this feather or not? I’ll throw it in the trash if you don’t.” “I want it.” I retrieved the feather and set it on the back of the couch near my head. Uncle left and returned a third time, looked around for the feather, and took it into the kitchen. I heard him rummaging in a drawer, and a minute later he came back and dropped the feather into my lap. The anchor point of the feather had been cut off, and the ink barrel of a dissected ballpoint pen had been shoved inside the hollow quill. Black tape--maybe electrical?--was wrapped around the tip to keep the pen from falling apart. Grinning hugely, I said, “Thanks, Uncle!” He smiled and walked away, and I immediately began practicing a fantasy code which I hadn’t worked on in months. I love looking at Uncle Julio’s eyes when he’s happy. It’s like a cross between melted chocolate and brown stained glass with the midday summer sun shining through, but his eyes are, of course, alive and brilliant. I saw his eyes like that when he visited our house one time. Walking past the couch he was sitting on, I noticed something shiny on the floor, and picked up a penny. “Did you drop this, Uncle?” “Naw, I put it there. I’m seein' who notices.” Grandpa used to throw change on the floor when he walked past us grandkids, laughing as we scrambled and fought. Maybe Uncle had done the same. I did a swift scan of the area, and--aha!--spotted another coin. But as I bent to pick it up, Uncle said, “Just leave it, see if anyone else notices.” No one did. I was two cents richer. “Hey, Rafe!” Uncle’s call brings me back to the present--roasting meat aroma in my nose, greasy food on paper plates, beer cans on the grass, afternoon is drawing on. Uncle Julio beckons my cousin over, pulling him down so he can murmur in his ear. “Go get some of that cedar wood and throw it on your fire, but don’t tell Pablo until you finish.” “Watch this.” Already chuckling, Uncle Julio directs the attention of the adult circle to the kids’ campfire. We were expressly told not to take from the trailer of dry wood brought by a great-uncle. That cedar is only for the Solo Stove. “Hey! What are you doing!” Pablo yells a lot, and he’s doing it now, panicking as his older brother throws the forbidden wood into the kids’ fire. After Rafe has chucked several pieces into the now-healthy blaze, he turns to his younger brother with a grin. “Dad said I could.” Pablo’s chest and cheeks deflate. “Oh.” Uncle Julio laughs with his head back, teeth showing white through his black beard. He’s always watching...and often laughing.


I wake up in a strange room. "Where am I?" I ask. "You're safe." a familiar voice said. "Elizabeth?" I respond “Yes you remember me. Good." " So where are we?" As I ask that I realize that I am tied to a chair, unable to move. "You're at my house. You are safe." "Safe from who? From what?" "From us being apart. I love you too much to let anyone have you so when you were alone I knocked you out and brought you here. Thankfully no one noticed. I know that seems crazy but-" I cut her off " I love you" I say. “What?” She says. “I said I love you. You’re the most beautiful and most amazing person I have ever met.” “You really do? I love you too. You don’t know how much this means to me.” Elizabeth goes to untie the rope holding me to the chair, as she does, I lean in and kiss her. God she’s so cute. Ever since that day, the day she kidnapped me. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. She's so beautiful. God I love her, if anyone tries to hurt her, I will kill them. College is so much better with her around. All the stress from classes is fine. But the people, they are so bitter. All they care about is drugs, alcohol, and sex. With her around, I know I can protect her. Protect her form these awful sinners. A week had gone by, we’ve been meeting each other every day after classes. Going on a date. I love her, so dearly. We were walking around the park, late at night. Someone approached us, they seemed so high and crazy, they didn’t even seem human anymore. Before I could do anything she just went and killed them. She did it so quickly and...beautifully. She’s so cute. We spent her rest of the night trying to hide the body getting ride of any evidence we could. I love spending time with her. I love you. We realized that after the next few days the police wouldn’t be able to find us. The person is till labeled as “missing” but they’ve seem to have given up. But that wasn’t the last time we killed someone. All these guys at this college. Horny, drunk, disgusting. One of them approached her on our walk, trying to “seduce” her. How dare he talk to her this way. He grabbed her arm as she tried walking away after denying anything he tried to say. He had no right to do that. I was so angry, I killed him where he stood. I wasn’t as quick as she is. But, I got the job done. I got blood on her, “shit” I thought. But she just looked at me, and smiled. She’s so cute, I can’t stop saying that. I can’t and won’t stop loving her. We were a little quicker this time with disposing the body. We knew what we were doing this time. The police were smarter this time considering it was a student. Investing, questioning everyone. They still found nothing. She’s so smart and clever, with her, they won’t ever catch us. Oh my love. So sweet, so beautiful, so deadly. I love you with all my heart. I want to live the rest of my life with you. Forever.


On the outside, Phillip was a completely ordinary man. He was married with a baby on the way. He owned an ordinary house in an ordinary neighborhood. He picked up the paper from his front stoop every morning, threw a ‘how do you do’ wave to the neighbors, and headed off to his ordinary job. He was respected in the neighborhood, even mowing his elderly neighbor’s lawn on the weekends. Inside however, Philip was anything but ordinary. Phillip was a tortured soul. Phillip was a victim of circumstance. As a young child, Phillip lived in a home not too far from where he lived now. They lived next door to an affluent business man. A man who also had a secret. Talk of corruption surrounded this man, and he had owed money to some rather questionable people. One night some men showed up to this businessman’s door, or rather they showed up to what they thought was his door. Young Phillip had hid in a low cupboard in the kitchen, one he often used when he played hide and seek with his twin brother, and witnessed the men brutally murder his parents and twin. Young Philip began suffering from nightmares. The events would often creep into his sleep, stealing away pleasant dreams, and replacing them with the ghastly images of his family’s murder. He often woke up screaming and noticing he had wet the bed. Phillip found no relief and the nightmares followed him into adulthood. Late one night, The phone rang, waking Phillip from yet another nightmare. He sat up, his tee shirt clinging to his sweaty skin. He walked to the phone and groggily answered. “Hello?” He yawned. “Meet me. I have something you may be interested in. Come to this address.” The mysterious voice whispered. Phillip sat up from bed, gasping. Was he sleeping? The phone wasn’t ringing. Had he dreamt that? Did someone give him an address? Did he just answer the phone in his sleep? It felt so real. After work, Phillip decided to make a detour. He remembered the address, but it was already getting late, and it was a long drive. He will just tell his wife he had to stay late at work. He had not been on the edge of town in years and a nice drive and a little fresh air may make him feel better anyway. It was a run down part of town. Many abandoned buildings, with faded business signs and boarded windows. Weeds grew from cracks in the sidewalk. Windows that were not broken were covered in a dust so thick that it was nearly impossible to see inside. Buildings from an era long gone by. An old rail yard lined the landscape on the other side of the street. Past that, a highway that faded into darkness. This was indeed the edge of town. Phillip slowed and read the faded addresses painted on the front of the buildings. On a corner lot stood a small one story building. It had the same address that he was given. Phillip pulled up along the curb and parked the car. This is strange, he thought. What would he even say? Would he tell them that he was given this address in his sleep? Would they chase him out of there, thinking he was a crazy person? The sun had set, and the store looked dark inside, but an open sign still hung on the door. Phillip grabbed the door handle, hesitated, then entered the building. An old man, perhaps in his eighties, stood behind the counter. Sunken, hollowed eyes stared back at Phillip. The old man’s lips formed a smile and Phillip noticed his yellowed teeth. The man looked like he had too many teeth in his mouth, Phillip thought. Maybe twice as many as he should have. That couldn’t be. He was tall, and very thin. Skeletal. Like a stiff breeze would knock him over. A filthy tee shirt hung like a clothesline over his collar bone. Slacks that were stained and dirty clung to his skinny legs. Thin, greasy hair laid loosely from the old man’s head. Phillip then noticed the man’s shoes. Two-toned, red and white wingtips. Those shoes had to be as old as the man was, maybe older, Phillip thought, but they looked brand new. Right off the shelf new. Peculiar. “I think I may have received a call from you, but I’m not sure”, Phillip told the man. “I have what you’re looking for.” The smiling man whispered. Phillip once again noticed the old man’s teeth. Narrow and long, like the teeth of a rodent. And so many. Way too many. The walls were stacked floor to ceiling with old boxes. Pictures and paintings in old dirty frames were piled in the corner. Antique furniture stood haphazardly around the store, many draped in dust-covered sheets. This store looks like it hasn’t been open in years, he thought. Phillip followed the old man behind the counter, then to a cellar door near the back wall. The old man bent over and grabbed the rusty latch. The wooden door looked heavy, but the old man’s sinewy arms lifted it with little effort. The flight of stairs were dark, with each step a different size. Years of replacing rotten steps, Phillip thought as he descended. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, the old man searched for a string and pulled. A lightbulb flickered and came to life. In front of them stood an old swivel mirror. Nearly as tall as Phillip, the oval, double sided mirror swiveled on rusty metal latches. “This is what you came for. Take it home.” “What is it? What’s it for?” Phillip asked. “What am I supposed to do with a mirror?” The old man stayed silent, turned and walked up the stairs. Phillip looked at the old wooden mirror, picked it up and carried it up the stairs. When he reached the top, the old man was gone. “Hey, where are you? I’m not sure what to do with this mirror. Do I have to pay for it? Where’d you go?” Phillip sat on the foot of the bed. His wife was quietly sleeping. She hadn’t asked much about the mirror when he came home. He said he had found it standing on the side of the road. She said “ok, dear”, and went back to sleep. He stared at the mirror. His reflection stared back. He thought something looked a bit off. His reflection seemed to be swirling, like a ripple of water. He stood up and walked over to the mirror. It was indeed swirling. He jumped back, shocked at what he was seeing. Was this like one of those fun house mirrors? Should he wake his wife and show her? He hit the bottom of the mirror with his foot, flipping the back of the mirror around. What was on the other side took his breath away. His twin brother was looking back at him. He can see me, Phillip said out loud, and then covered his mouth with his hand as to not wake his wife. He thought it better than to scare her while she was pregnant. Phillip’s twin brother looked down towards the pile of wooden blocks he was playing with. Wait a minute, Philip thought. This is exactly what happened the night of the murder. His brother sat there giggling, unaware of what was about to happen. His twin brother turned his head and looked away, as three men entered the room behind him. “No!” Screamed Phillip. “Please, no!” He hit his knees. He looked back up at the mirror and saw his twin brother laying on the floor, lifeless. He hit the mirror in anger and it swung back around, once again showing his own reflection. He saw tears were pouring down his face. How was this supposed to help me, he cried, and he cursed the old man who had given him the mirror. He grabbed the mirror and swung it as hard as he could. Instead of swinging wildly, it abruptly stopped on his brother’s side of the mirror. This time his twin brother looked directly at Phillip, with a look of dread in his eyes. His eyes then turned dark black. The innocent little child opened his mouth, and let out a blood-curdling scream that was so loud it began to shake the mirror. Bright light pored out of the mirror in blinding rays, causing Phillip to cover his eyes. The scream filled Phillip’s head, and shook the bedroom windows. It was the loudest thing he had ever heard. His wife hadn’t moved. The child grew silent. He then just sat there quietly staring at his brother with dead black eyes. Philip couldn’t breathe. Panic had rendered him motionless. He just stared blankly at the mirror, his twin, for what felt like an eternity. Phillip noticed a corner of a piece of paper hanging out from the bottom of the mirror. He reached for it and pulled. A folded note had been taped to the bottom of the mirror and fell out, landing near his feet. He unwrapped the aged, yellowed paper and read the note. It read “To find peace, you must break the mirror, but you must lose someone you love”. Phillip looked at his brother. He whispered “I am so sorry. I wish I could have helped you. But I was young too. I wasn’t strong enough”. His brother stared back with a blank look in his black eyes. Philip wanted peace. He didn’t want to loose his wife or anyone else that he loved, but he couldn’t deal with the pain any longer. He stood up and struck the mirror with every ounce of energy he could muster. The mirror exploded into a thousand shards of glass. A million. The glass turned to dust in the air and swirled around him. Phillip closed his eyes and prayed that he wouldn’t lose his wife. When he opened his eyes, the mirror, his brother, the glass was gone. Phillip crawled into the bed next to his sleeping wife, exhausted. He had never felt so tired. He tried to replay what happened in his mind, but everything grew dark. Warmth surrounded him. Within seconds he fell asleep. He woke up the next morning, feeling refreshed. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept so well. He turned over and looked towards his loving wife. She was gone. Memories of last night flooded back into his mind. He jumped out of bed, running downstairs to find his wife. She was standing in the kitchen, stirring a cup of coffee. Remnants of scrambled eggs lay on a plate on the counter beside her. “Oh thank God, she’s ok”, Phillip thought to himself. “I was wondering when you would wake up. You slept like a baby.” She said, tussling his hair. “Want some breakfast?” “Sounds good. I think I did get some sleep last night. Slept well actually. Amazingly well.” Phillip said. It felt like slow motion. The coffee cup slipping from her grasp. Crashing to the floor, exploding into shards of glass. Hundreds of shards. Millions. Dust covered the floor. She grabbed her stomach and let out a terrible scream. A blood-curdling scream. He reached for her, but couldn’t catch her before she fell to the floor. “The doctor will be right in” the nurse told them. “I hope there’s nothing wrong with the baby”, she cried. Phillip held her as the doctor entered the room. “It looks like you are ok, but I’m sorry to say that you have lost your baby.” The doctor said solemnly. “But they said everything was fine and the baby was healthy. Everything was going great.” Phillip replied. “I don’t think you understand. There is no baby. It’s gone. Disappeared. We can’t explain what happened. It’s like it’s never existed. It’s definitely a mystery.


“Michael! Michael!” The elongated cries of a desperate mother rattled across the evening sky as she burst through her front doors and barrelled down her front path at a full sprint. She ran determined, through the fields and paddocks of her farms never taking her eyes off the horizon ahead. The animals were eerily quiet, pigs stood against the fence watching her as she ran, as she passed them their heads bowed as if in solemn thought. She took no note of the peculiar actions of her pigs however, she just continued to run and call out desperately for her son. “Michael! Michael” as she continued to wail, clouds behind her started to form. Light grey in complexion they posed no threat, yet they moved at a pace that matched her own. A light downpour started to fall from above, the droplets filling up the foot imprints she left in the ground in her wake. She was not bothered by the rain, she just continued to run. Her stamina never faulted, her breath never needed to be caught, she ran. Though never how hard she ran, no matter how fast her legs would move, she would never reach the horizon to catch the setting sun. This did not hinder her from trying however as she ran towards her goal. Any tears that formed and blocked her vision we quickly swept aside. A fallen down tree blocked her path ahead, but without missing a step she would leap over it and continue running, nothing could stop her will. She made it into town with fifteen minutes of solid running, though time meant nothing to her. As the path changed from packed earth to worn cobblestone her feet did not notice, they could be barefoot on ice and she would not have cared. Through paved streets and narrow alleyways, she continued her sprint. Her desperate cry for her son could be heard down every street, corridor, and lane-way of the town. People stared from their tables at restaurants as she ran past, and many started to follow to see what the commotion was about. Though her following grew she gave them no mind, as it was her son and her goal that filled her thoughts. Up a hill she ran, losing no swiftness and it was at the top she could finally see her goal. At the end of her path stood the town church. Made of old wood and stone bricks that were starting to crack, the building stood high and mighty, looking over the inhabitants of the town. She collapsed before its doorstep and let out a loud wail. A crowd encompassed her, looking on. The clouds finally caught up to the one they had been chasing and swirled high above in the sky, letting down a solid splattering of rain. “Bring him back!” she cried, “Undo what has been done and help me please!” she pleaded to the building, as she looked up she saw it standing resolute and unwavering. The building did not respond. “Please I beg of you! Bring him back!” her tears got the better of her and she sobbed into the ground. No one from the crowd moved an inch. As she continued to plead with the church, she started to become more and more frustrated with the silence it gave in return. Her sadness turned to annoyance; her annoyance turned to anger. The rainfall increased and the crowd began looking up nervously. The clouds continued to darken as the woman started to berate the building. “I have said bring him back!’ she leapt to her feet and banged against the door with her fist in a quick flurry. “Fix what you should have prevented, and you bring him back to me right now!” her voice bellowed into the electrified air. Thunder started rolling in from the clouds as they continued to swirl. The woman pounded and pounded on the door, ignoring the splinters that were lodging themselves into her fists. The thunder from above increased in volume, yet to those down below it was drowned out by the yelling woman. Those who could tear their eyes away from her could see the lightning striking the grounds outside of the town and they began to get nervous. As the woman continued to pound on the door onlookers could see the door beginning to buckle. Yet the woman did not let up her onslaught. With a final hit the lock on the doors cracked and they swung open just as a bolt of lightning struck the bell tower atop of the church. A bright flash caused all to look away. Their ears rang from the sound of the lightning striking the church and all were dazed and weary. As their vision began to come back to them and their senses returned slowly, they all noticed the rain had stopped. The clouds still darkened the sky above, but no more thunder could be heard. Their attention moved to the woman who had caused all of this, and they saw her, lying on the floor inside the church crying with a gentle sob, defeated.


TALK ABOUT ATTRACTION OF OPPOSITES Alan Ross <alanzip@gmail.com> 3:36 PM (11 minutes ago) DIALECTICS AND THE ATTRACTION OF OPPOSITES. Or SHANNON and SOCRATES I stayed with my grandkids in Dallas, over the Xmas holidays. I had hoped to jump on a plane to visit my ex-wife and two daughters in Maui, but somehow the airport game did not appeal to me, which in hindsight was a smart move. (Did everyone and their baggage finally arrive at their destination, I wonder?) Seeing the airport chaos it invoked. I think I made a wise choice. Shannon also invited me to spend the holidays with her in New Jersey. And being a Brit who left London many moons ago. (Where warm weather is a luxury, rarely enjoyed) I decided to stay put in my small pad on Venice Beach and spend a very quiet uneventful holiday with Ricky, my grandson. Now Shannon is a beautifully attractive Brit, who left the old country about the same time as I did, in the sixties, when it was much simpler to gain American citizenship, (just a couple of forms, a routine physical and the welcome mat was virtually waiting for us as we de-planed). The holidays are always a time for deeply engrained memories. From the time my elder sister Barbara dispelled my belief in Santa Claus, (But introduced me to dialectic thinking). This was a lot to take in before the age of five, but it made a lot more sense to me than an old bearded gent dressed in red, toddling down our chimney with a few toys. My elder sister Barbara was my early mentor, as there was very limited schooling in the war years. I remember her doing her homework and mixing her lemon cake batter at the same time. “Listen Brother , I have an opinion or I say something important, like an edict or statement, that’s called the thesis, then If you or someone argues, opposes or improves it, that would be called the antithesis, from which a new statement or position is arrived at, that would be called the synthesis. See it’s all a matter of threes, like act one, we’re born, we live a good productive life, act two, and then we retire and die, act three. Or like birth or electricity, you need a man and a woman for birth, and you need a positive and negative charge to make electricity happen.” She didn’t care that I was four, going on five. But somehow it sunk in and made a primitive kind of impression. (Plus, because I listened, she let me lick the mixing spoon) Such was my brilliant sister, (Rest her soul) “It all comes in threes.” She said. “Just like the three points of the triangle.” It's truly amazing how our brain associates our thoughts to various scraps of information. An odd piece of wrapping paper, for example, gives me a mental pictures of rising from an Everest mound of wrapping paper under the Christmas tree, as our two excitedly screaming daughters enjoyed and embraced their presents, and our one-eyed, honey brown mutt Pablo, pawed the paper off his new squeaker toy (How he always found his wrapped gift, was always beyond our ken), at the ungodly hour of six in the morning. Ah memories forever cherished. And yet-- The memories of Shannon at last Christmas, stayed well to the forefront of those with my early Venice family. How so, and why, when I knew it was a relationship that was never meant to be? But I’m getting ahead of myself. That’s how it is with me. Why my over-active mind keeps me awake until the wee small hours. And one thought is uppermost, how this reminds me of that, and another pathway in my overactive brain gets another rethink. Like I know that a few days with Shannon in New Jersey would engage me in the most marvelous sexual activity I had ever experienced in my young life, for after all I am a very young man who has been on this earth for a verrrrrrrrrrrrry long time. (One does not talk years numbers in the biz of Hollyweird ). Although it always amazes me how the highways and byways of the brain stir up memories, like the connection to Shannon, when I slept in my granddaughter Miranda’s den, which she gracefully turned into my bedroom when I paid her a visit in Dallas last summer.. I marveled at the magnetic doo-dahs on her desk. One of them was a miniature ball in the shape of the world floating in mid-air. The inventor had figured out the perfect balance between the negative and positive poles and the small globe of the world was thus held in space in the middle of the protruding arms barely an inch to spare between the upper and the lower. I thought then how totally symbolic this was to my relationship with Shannon, that opposites are in fact necessary. That the Socratic theory of dialectics, was perhaps nature’s way of promulgating diversity in the human species. How strangely symbolic, even though I know that firstly must come the spiritual, (The look, the meeting of the eyes, the merry twinkle that says so much, then the physical, and of course the mental, all the necessary elements), Why then, I wondered, in my case, did the physical predominate? To say we were ill-suited is a vast understatement. In fact, it was as she later admitted, her mistake. And what a marvelous mistake it turned out to be. She had answered the wrong personal ad in the L.A. Times. (They were most popular in the 70' and 80's. Sadly they are published no more). I couldn't have been more specific when I wrote my Men Seeking Women ad . Ex-Venice Brit hippie (Right brained kinda writer) seeks ex-flowerchild. Let's get in touch. Shannon who had just had cataract surgery meant to answer the ad just above mine, which when I read it, was. in my estimation, strident in tone and to the effect written by and from a decided left-brain accountant. She replied to my ad with a short letter, including her phone number, informing me she was an ex-pat and lived in West Hills, some forty driving minutes away from my home in Venice. She included a picture, a most attractive lady. strolling through London’s Piccadilly Circus, arm in arm with an older gent. (Her ex). After my short poetic reply, I received her next note inviting me for dinner the following Thursday. One phone call later, with a well accented English accent, she informed me she would leave the front door unlocked and would be waiting poolside with hors d‘oeuvres. So, hippie-like I of course opened the door, walked through her polished hardwood oak hallway, into a neat oak and tiled kitchen, took off all my clothes dropped them beside the screen door, took a quick look in her direction and dove into her beautiful pool. I quickly surfaced at the deep end, and sure enough there she waited before me with a glass of wine and a tray of assorted goodies, including toasted lox and cream cheese fingers. "I expected nothing less from you" were her first words, as she threw a lavender perfumed towel over my shoulder. It was followed by a delicious, broiled salmon dinner as we casually talked about changes in the old country and the rampant inflation, especially. when they changed to the decimal monetary system. We soon realized in the ensuing couple of hours that this was a total personal mismatch. Here was a West Hills stately home, decorated modern style, complete with projection tv, oak and marble countertop and every piece of furniture seemingly expensive and well matched. Nothing seemed to be working in our conversation. We both realized we had far less in common when our conversation dwelt in impersonal inanities, yet we both affected the compromise of genial common sense and kind words. She of course was on the defensive when she realized she had answered the wrong ad. AND YET---WHAT NOW? I of course called the following day with highly infused thanks for a lovely evening. She ended the brief conversation when she said; “I couldn't believe it, when I saw you dive into my pool completely naked.” Then a long telephone pause. “But I'm glad you did and I would like to reciprocate, but there would be too many observers at your pool, especially on a sunny weekend, with the vastness of the Pacific Ocean, so I suggest you return here on Saturday evening if you have nothing on." She had no need to elaborate. And the following Saturday evening I of course repeated the procedure of Thursday night. The difference being, when I arrived at the small food laden table beside her pool, there was no lady to greet me, but there was a note on the lavender perfumed towel, directing me to the bedroom upstairs. (It was as if she had a prescience knowledge of my lingerie tastes and as she later informed me, that after a marriage in which much needed romance was severely lacking, her physical desires had been left simmering on the back burner. But later over a marvelous paella dinner, when the ensuing conversation meandered into politics, (my least favorite subject), I knew there was no future when she aired her most definitive views on the pros and cons of marriage and stated emphatically that Donald Trump was the new savior of mankind. I knew then that any hope of a totally full relationship with any sort of future was doomed. When on a later date I refuted the prospect of marriage, she informed me she would sell the house and move to her daughter’s family in New Jersey. But ah what remained was an unforgettable two thirds of that bountiful triangle and a beautifully enduring long-distance friendship. BUT I am still alone on Venice Beach, waiting patiently for the emergence of the synthesis. Abraham Alan Ross. alanzip@gmail.com 310-579-1646 ReplyForward


Somehow a passionate and hasty decision had been made out from exacerbating testosterone's which neither party had believed in abstinence nor the consequences of their impatient actions. Accompanied by their each of their domineering parents, Tatiana and her teenage boyfriend were pressured to get married, no matter what either these two individuals’ intended plans were anticipated; each of their endearing prospects were now and forever modified and forcibly intertwined to be future parents, instead. This one of those impetuactes spans that a moment of passionate is always followed by a lifetime of grief. Like the norm of the immature and the irrational, the boy had cowardly given up to be a parent and provider. Young people who rush into a situation that they were never prepared for responsibility have always bailed out only when difficulties had begun to arise. And then, once a personal crisis is struck in the human mind; the search of a lost identity begins to be forever, seeked out. This unruly event has often leaves behind involunatry victimsholding the bag. Now the mother is left with the unlawful and upheaveled burden of raising a child, alone. Yet, even after this long period time, had passed; Tatiana has still found herself alone and financially supporting herself as well as her son, Jackson. Her identity has also been damaged and irrevocably, disrupted. She’s become emotionally exhausted, miserable and again hungered for companionship. She had no idea if it were possible at anything in this stage in her life. She no longer the same vibrant woman that she was almost 20 years ago. Lost and confused, she had to compel herself to move forward. It was now very sad for the seventeen-year-old Jackson Sempton when his father had walked out on him all those many years ago. This is a period of time in Jackson’s life where one is still psychologically developing one’s identity and it is still being substantiated. He had very little male-role model to strive from, and his interactions with ‘ girls ‘ were inadequate in school had very little confidence while living with hormonal changes. Just by seeing some of his friends holding hands with each their female companions made him feel uncomfortable. He had refused to ever discuss private feelings of jealousy and frustrations with anyone because of reasons of shame and fear of ridicule. So, there are two unhappy people living under the same roof as one finds out the (real) value of a relationship and the other realizes how frail life is when it’s unconsciously being taken for granted. Tatiana would tirelessly complain to everyone than she encoutered that she wanted a devoted man to be accompanied with . She was utterly famished for male attention and affection. She kept on whining that she being constantly used by anyone that she met and tossed aside for a better prospect. One evening, Tatiana had decided to attend some progressive therapy sessions from a public speaker who she had been referred by her doctor. She had needed to find some inspiration to relieve herself her manic slump. This procedure had well recommended by many. Throughout the entire course of these meetings, she did meet up with a man with some similar issues, yet his had been slighted towards different aspects of his life other than relationships. His were more the means of a social interest. Somehow this friendship had been slowly cultivated where it did unevently morphed into a romance as well being a sexual encounter. Then, Jackson had begun to notice that his mother was finding a little joy in her life that she had often seeked out. He had a spring in her step as positivity had been overpowering her sense of cloudy behaviour. Tatiana had begun to encourage her son have fun where it wasn’t her usual norm. Her son had been permitted to more often stay out late at parties and perhaps sleepover at friends’s homes. Tatiana had been able to retrieve her happiness for life, again. It was long overdue to return in having a smile on her face. A sparkling gleem in her face had been shinning. Her eyes had begun to glow with absolute radiance, as well permeating through her entire being. She was no longer constantly living in misery. She had eradicated her entire drab wardobe and exchanged it for mores alluring and attractive attires. For some strange reason, make-up was no longer needed to accentuate her sexual appeal. ‘ Being Real ’ seems to be more acceptable than ever being shallow. She even found herself with the the time to afford the extra expenses to go away with him on extended weekends of pleasure. Her manner of thinking and living was morphing her into something new and positive. The man she had met had ignited something special that was always hidden in her subsconcious. Her thoughts had become tranformatively optimistic ang giddy. This became a definite reason for a missing joy that has positively arisen and desparately hungered for a prolonged survival. Was this new man in her life the cause of her ‘ butterfly effect ‘? Was this a second chance to towards finding some positivity? Or had she had enough of being miserable? Either way, one count had clearly assisted the other in order to reach her goal. Subconciously, she had been worried of losing this enticing feelings during an approaching moment of hardship. She had to find a manner to hold on to it at no matter what would ever become of this trist. Among Jackson’s new awarded privileges, he still possessed conflicting emotions for this immediate overturn in changes. His doubts had increased for reasons that this unusual event had occurred very quickly, instead of a gradual progression. His new extended permissivesness did open further social doors for him to some good times, yet ‘ girls ‘ had still remained an inaccessible reach to him. His insecurities were not fully overcome with confidence, yet. Somehow, as he had closely studied his mother’s existence during his own; he knew inside that this process was going to take some time to ameliorate towards a more tangible longevity. While Jackson was trying hard to keep an open mind during all of these abrupt changes; he simultaneously wanted to be happy for his mother. It was definitely a postive improvement that she was living. Somehow, Jackson’s controversial thoughts had him remebering his mother’s bleak history with relationships. Her record was nothing to be proud of. In his mind; he had questioned if was she perhaps able to hit the target this time? Was this success to be her hopeful destiny? Or was she headed for another unforeseen discouragements? Pensively, another downfall could now possibly bring her to final demise because he doubts that her remaining energy level will not be able to be sustained for any further disappointments. Jackson had felt that he should support her to this new opportunity at happiness. Amid Tatiana’s new relationship experience, she somehow had found new strength that she had no idea that she ever possessed, before. Similar reacting to an unexpecting bee-sting that struck her like a serious blow; it had clearly dawned on her within the peak of her amorous affair; she may haven’t the chance to realize that she had temporarily disregarded her son’s attention and needs for her own selfish pleasures. When these doubts had began to emerge in her mind that all good things must one day come to an end; yet to manage her priorities to keep an even keel throughout her life where it had always been very difficult for her because she’s someone who has never known the differences between haste and in preparatory thought. Within Tatiana’s emptiness had been filled with her famished joy and pleasure; her thoughts were turning to temporarily break-up with the man who had recently risen her spirits from her dismal abyss. She wanted to make up for whatever the loss time of her depression where she had lacked any of emotional support for him. This a momentous loving ride that was being unforeseenly, disrupted. This mysterious admirer was in shock from her abrupt decision. Her brief paramour was seeking a compromise with both of her dilemmas where she could live both scenarios in meaningful equivalencies. Somehow, she wasn’t interested in any kind of rationalization or medium. When his dismissal was clearly determined; the man had felt quite used for simply being someone’s one else’s mid-life crisis redefinement. The attraction of a total stranger might be a temporary comfort and brifely formalize someone else for one’s simple reassurance. This wrongful and egotistical behaviour is emotionally damaging to the one on the receiving end. Unknowlingly, Tatiana’s trust in others had deteoriated and her sense lot of validity. When Jackson was told by his mother that she had decided about her latest encounters; he began to be quite disturbed and confused to why she would make such an irrational decision. Jackson had told her that she had been a fool to unrully discarded in view of the good luck that came in her direction. She had met a great guy that made her at very ease in her life. Once, she had told him what her reasons were; Jackson became quite upset with her because this was a welcome opportunity had been impulsively thrown away. It was like that she didn’t really appreciate the fact that she could’ve had a real future with him.. Within his perspective if a girl (of his age) had approached him with the offer of a ‘ friendship ‘ like hers; he would have undoubtled jumped at the situation for a chance at love that he had always craved for. Jackson was willing to take that risk even though heartbreak would headed his way. He had been desparately craving for this ravaging amorous attention where it was hard for him to access. He would have appreciated a romantic liaison or a long-term partnership. Unlike his mother; it was without any efforts, it had been easily awarded to her. Jackson had previously told her that he had already (personally) approved of her new relationship for the facts that she had found happiness that she always hungered for. After the fact that Tatiana’stupidity had sent him to the curb for absolute no reason at all. As for his closing argument with her; his remaining queries to her were: How would you salvage this relationship without being narrow-minded? Would he be forgiving, let alone be interested or trust you in starting over? Or would he just keep walking away without ever looking back after being unlawfully hurt? How will YOU ever know that this occasion will ever possibly come YOUR way, again? Once, your ship forever sets sail off into the sunset; it may never to be seen, again. He had even quoted the reputed poet Alfred Tennyson’s famous saying: 'Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all.’ Some people are granted many chances and deliberately messed them all up and have nothing to show for it. Regrettably, you never realize that are those who also exist who will never be as fortunate as you are. These people would instantaneously leap at a chance like knowingly what the risks would be, but it might the only opportunity in their lives that they will ever experience. And possibly discover one could then see what eventually develops . Sadly, Tatiana had refused to ever learn these simple life lessons from someone else another which could be used an advantage as well it could be a curse. This would depend on the level of an individual’s attention span, insecurities and behavior patterns which would be able to interpreted by.


Tap-Tap-Tap There have been several tappings on my window in the past, usually a bird with an inept sense of direction, poor braking skills or still trying to master the art of flying. When I peer out all I can see is an almost ghostly outline of a bird, wings outstretched, smeared across the window pane. At least I have no cats to pounce on any of the concussed feathery aviators. Last night at approximately midnight I heard such a tapping. Just three short sharp taps. Tap-tap-tap. I thought nothing of it initially but thereupon came to reason that actually these winged marvels do not take to flight in darkness with the exception of owls. So what could it of been? I then thought perhaps a moth of rather gigantic proportions - it would have to be to make such a noise. Pleased with my Sherlock style powers of deduction I settled back in my plush chair and continued to read my first edition of War of the Worlds by a prolific writer with extraordinary talent, namely Herbert George Wells. I was just easing my way back into chapter three when... Tap-tap-tap. What the blazes? Not only was the moth gigantic, it was insistent as well. However, it could not of been drawn to the light as I had merely a small candle flickering away beside me while I read and I knew of no Kamikaze moths, so what could it have been? “Pesky insect,” I mumbled as I rose unsteadily from my chair and ambled across the room on unsteady, arthritic legs. I pulled back the curtains and gazed out, my breath creating mist circles on the glass. I couldn’t help noticing that my breathing was a little faster than normal. What was I so nervous about? I am in my own home, with all doors and windows locked to keep any nefarious miscreants outside, there was no reason whatsoever that I should be scared. But I was most dreadfully afeared. Squinting through the gloom I cupped my hands around my face but despite the slight improvement to my vision I could still see nothing outside. There were still numerous lights on at this late hour in town, stretching for miles in all directions, a scattering of flickering yellow stars on a black sky. Satisfied that there was nothing out there I closed the curtains and made my way back to my chair. However, I didn’t pick my book up again. I kept my hands firmly clasped upon the arm of the chair and I stared anxiously at the window, waiting for the next tap. The seconds ticked by, becoming minutes, before realising that the time was now 5 minutes past 1 o’clock. Almost trance like I had been concentrating on the window, my mind wandering off to some other time and place, losing track of time. Satisfied that the tapping had stopped I decided to make my way to bed. I shuffled across the living room, I had developed a lazy habit of dragging my feet rather than lifting them, I had paid the price with some hefty falls, but still I shuffled. I stopped at the doorway to my bedroom, holding on to the door frame, not only to steady my weary body but also to steady my nerves as if touching something tangible would allay my fears and keep the thoughts of something unreal at bay. I waited with baited breath in the doorway listening for any sounds but I could hear nothing untoward, in fact there was no sound at all as if the whole world was on mute. I shook my head more with frustration than anything, my ridiculous superstitious mind was playing tricks with me, creating frightmares from a mere tap at the window. “Stupid old fool.” I reprimanded myself, and still shaking my head I limped through to the bathroom to prepare myself for bed. With ablutions done I settled into bed pulling the sheets up under my chin. I never do this normally but tonight was different, tonight I wanted to make myself as invisible as possible for anything that may be... Screeee. What was that? Screeee. Damn these nerves! That’s the blasted pipes, they always make that noise. I have heard them so often over the years that even when they do make a sound I pay no attention. But tonight is different. Tap-tap-tap. I shook my head firmly. No, I did not hear that, that was not another tapping at the door. Absurd to think that it was. There was no tapping at the window, I am merely over tired and creating sounds that do not actually exist. Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap. Closing my eyes I sighed heavily, my chin resting on my chest. I did hear it, this is no longer my imagination, there really was something at the window. With a mounting sense of dread I climbed out of bed and slowly made my way back into the living room. Just as I grabbed the curtains there came the all too familiar... Tap-tap-tap. With restored nerve I flung open the curtains, determined to have it out with whoever was there. They were going to get the sharp end of my tongue, make no mistake. It was time to bring this damn prankster down to earth with a bump. “WHAT THE DEVIL...”, but I never finished my reprimand. Afeared once more I fell backwards, landing heavily on my left side, I felt bones crunching unnaturally together in my wrist and hand as they bore my not inconsiderable weight. I cried out, not in pain but in shock, as my eyes beheld that which stood outside my window. A face cloaked in darkness peered back at me, his eyes tinged with a red hue shone brightly despite the gloom, sharp pointed teeth, immaculately white complete the chilling vision. I could see nothing else until an arm gradually ascended with first finger extended, pointing at me. It’s nails were almost like talons, these were evidently what had been tapping on my window. Then, impossibly, the finger seemed to morph with the glass before sliding through with the tip of the finger now inside the room. Too scared to scream or utter any sound I just stared dumbfounded at what I was seeing. “Arthur Harold Worrell,” a deep rumbling voice echoed around the room, ringing in my ears “I have come for you.” I looked around the room and noticed my slumped body in my reading chair, glasses askew and mouth slightly open. My eyes were also open but they were unseeing. I was quite dead. It was then that it all made sense, my less than holy life had caught up with me. My charge sheet of misdemeanours, large and small, was endless and it was time to re-pay. A grim smile played across my lips. “You took your time getting here!” The finish


I don't know what brought it on, she just suddenly suggested it. We were watching tv, our favourite tv show. We were following the life of our favourite character, a secretary at day, a cold, hard thief by night. It was the latest season, the first episode of many to come. The previous season had ended with the character being placed under house arrest after being caught by her love interest who turned out to be a detective working on her case. This season began with her being bored out of her mind, she decided she needed something to do, so she picked up painting. The episode soon came to a close as the character finds satisfaction in her new found hobby whilst helping her love interest solve a heist proving her worth to the police force, getting her placed on probation and off of house arrest. “I want to do that” Cindy said as the closing credits rolled by, “What?” I asked, looking at her curiously, “Painting” she said as if I was stupid not to have known, and maybe I was. I looked at her, really looked and then I laughed, she blushed, pouting, “What, you don't think I can do it?” she asked, with fire in her eyes, daring me to say otherwise, I looked at her in amusement, I felt a slight smile come onto lips as I composed myself.“I haven't known for long ”I started, making sure I didn't sound snarky,“but for as long as I've been your friend, I have never; ever, seen you pick up a paint brush,” I said making sure to emphasize my point, she was stubborn though, she held her ground with,“So” she pushed back glaring as I looked over at her, “I can learn,” she said cutting me off before I even opened my mouth, I could tell she wasn't going to back down on this one, so I did the only thing I could do at the moment,I relented, “Ok.” Our first painting class was a blast, and the instructors were patient and helped know what to expect through our learning, and pretty soon, a week had past, I really liked the class and I thought Cindy did too, but the announcement of our favorite shows cancellation was hard on her and not another day passed, she decided dropped class, I couldn't talk her out of it. “Why?” I asked she was at my place tonight, I was washing the dishes as she helped me dry them, she never took her eyes of the glass she was drying to a shine, “Why what?” she asked innocently, “Why did you stop coming to painting class?” I pushed, she shrugged “It wasn't really my thing,” I couldn't believe this, but I didn't push any further. It was her family reunion and Cindy said I was family enough so she brought me along with her. “I'm so glad you came with me” she babbled, jumping with excitement, as she pulled me in yo her car. Her parents house was fairly large, a two story Victorian style home, painted alabaster, with a pristine lawn and a flower bed for all to see. I felt under dressed, in my plain t-shirt and washed out skinny jeans but we were already at the the door when I decided turn back, it was too late. Cindy had rung the door bell, “Hello...” a woman answered, she could have passed for Cindy's twin if it weren't for age lines she bears on her face, her hair a honey brown, though peppered with grey, her eyes a golden amber, though you could see it shining with motherly warmth. She was clearly happy to see Cindy as ushered us inside, “How could I forget my manners?” the woman asked as if chastising herself, “I'm Mary, Cindy's mother,” she greeted when she noticed me, holding out her hand, “I'm Jane,” I introduced taking her offered hand, shaking it. “Oh,”she said except “your the Cindy met in college? She always talk about when we talk over phone” I nodded not having a clue what she was talking about, I could now see where Cindy got her cheerfulness from, Mary smiled gently “Well it's nice to finally meet you.” “Mom, where's dad?” asked Cindy “He's gone collect your grandma from the airport,” her mom answered,I tuned out the rest of the conversation, mindlessly looking around the living room seeing family portraits hanging on the walls and trophies in display cases in the corner along with bookshelves decorated bookends and books of sizes and genres. I wondered , what was Cindy like as a child or what was her high school years like? It was noon when Cindy's relatives arrived, an hour later and so did her father with her grandmother. The reunion was like any other, the grill was running the moms and dads dividing into their own little pack the kids played games or listened to grandma's story while the teenagers rolled their eyes dramatically as story was told. As Cindy helped her mother in the kitchen, I helped by bringing out the food to the spread that was set outside. I had the pleasure of meeting Cindy's cousins, Judy, Mark, Benjamin and Linda, they were our age or in Mark's case just a year older. While talked with her grandma, I was left in their company, “So your telling me you and Cindy took painting class a week and she dropped it the very next week?” Linda asked, Mark snorted “sounds like something she'd do,” I looked at him confused “What do you mean?” they all looked at me, sharing looks as if deciding whether are not to answer my question. “Cindy was never one to stick to anything,” Mark sighed,“in preschool she wanted to be a ballerina,” “Yeah,” Judy chimed, “I remembered it was she could talk about, until her mom signed her up for lessons, she went one day and decided she didn't want to be a ballerina anymore,” “then their was middle school, she joined the community theatre group” “and in freshman high school she joined the school paper, that didn't last long at all,” “then summer before college she got into photography that lasted longer than the rest,” and it went on and on. “Hey, what's that?” I asked, Cindy and I were making our way to her car, she had a towel in her hand, wrapped around something wrong. She smiled softly “it's my grandmother's fencing sword,” she placed the sword gently on the backseat, and as we drove off, I couldn't help but think ‘oh boy, there she goes again. ’