Competition is not all fun and games. A girl stood in a doorway, her long hair sat on her back. She had a long brown overcoat that went just below her knees. She wore a dark green shirt with black leggings. She leaned in the doorway and looked out at the town before her, this was the doorway out the front entrance to her home. It was a small home with only a few bedrooms; it barely fit her, her mother, and her three brothers but it was her home. She lived in a small town at the border of the safe lands. You see dear reader this is many hundred years in the future and cities have crumbled, places that had once looked familiar now we're mere ruins all that remained of humans were small colonies around the world. But they weren’t just on earth they also were on Mars living happily for life on earth was extremely tough with extreme weather, smog, and the one common enemy zombies. Yes this is the apocalypse, but zombies have been around for awhile now humans have learned to defend themselves from these half dead enemies. With their colonies protected by a thick iron wall, and guards armed along the wall waiting for an attack, there have been zombie attacks in the past but humans prevaled and learned to live inside their walls, farming and keeping livestock. The wall surrounds a big area which you know now as states and the group of states that are in this wall are North Carolina, New York, Ohio, Pennsylvania, Virginia, and West Virginia and this is called the North colony and on the other side of the country is another colony including the states of Washington, Oregon, California, Utah, Nevada, and Arizona and this is the West colony. The colonies are separated and isolated from each other because everything in between the colonies belongs to the zombies. Within each colony there are towns separated by paths and remember dear reader that the states no longer exist and they are now one colony of humans trying to survive. Now the colony this takes place in is the North Colony and our story starts in a doorway where a is standing and that girls name is Octavia Robin. It was a brisk afternoon and Octavia stood in her doorway looking out at her town, she was from the town of Beckinsdale in the North Colony. She lived with her mother and three brothers and dog, she doesn’t really remember her father but she did know he fell victim to a zombie attack when she was young. Her older brother remembers a little about him but that is the past. Her older brother Paris was called to join the colony army and her two younger twin brothers (Leo and Charlie) when the time comes and they are old enough are going to be called to the army as well and that is why Octavia has chosen to enter the Fate Games. The Fate Games take place every other year because it goes back and forth between the colonies this year Octavia can enter. You must be between the ages of 17 and 27 and she is 18 now. The past year she couldn’t enter because it was for the West Colony. The game is simple there are twenty competitors that are chosen at random from the colony, once they are chosen they have five days to prepare and say goodbyes then they get a backpack, a sleeping bag, one lighter, five matches, one gallon of water, a gun, a little food, and a couple pairs of clothes. You have a number and they put a tracking device on you and let you out of the gates to the unknown. You have one month to survive, only one can win and by winning you survive and don’t die but there is a twist if more then one survives they are all left to die and no one wins. The prize is something very precious: a ticket for you and your immediate family to leave, yes leave. The ticket is a ticket to a rocket ship that will take you and your immediate family to the thriving human colony on Mars where you can forget about zombies and live happily and thrive and every year the rich colonies of Europe hold this competition to give people a chance to leave and escape this world. The reason why Octavia wants to get out so badly is because for one her town is right near the border and there are more towns like hers but their job was to draft people into the army to send them out beyond the walls to fight zombies and these were the reasons why she needed to get her family out of here. Her brothers would be called to the army to fight and had a high chance of death and she needed to look after her family and give her mother a happy life. She had to win. Octavia loved her town and her family. She stood in the doorway, her mother standing behind her and her brothers sitting on the stoop as they waited. They were waiting for the names of the next contestants to be announced for The Fate Games. The other town members stood or sat in front of their houses and waited and heads perked up at the sound of the loud speaker crackling. A voice came on and started listing the names of contestants. “Contestant number 17 is...” the voice said. Octavia’s heart pounded in her chest. It's all she could hear pounding inside her, thoughts flying through her head. At that moment time seemed to stop and thoughts swirled like a tornado in her mind. What will happen if I die? Will I even get chosen for the games? She started to sweat, her stomach ached with the feeling of anxiety. “Octavia Robin from Beckinsdale!” She snapped back to reality as her name was called, she had a look of shock stuck on her face. She didn't know how to feel happy, sad, scared, or a mix of all those things. Her brothers stood up and her family hugged her while she stared into space still trying to process the information that she will be in the games. They stayed in their family hug for a few minutes and the own was silent except for Octavia grabbed her coat and said goodbye to her family and set off for the training grounds. The training ground was in the center of the Colony and it took a couple days to get there but that my friends is unimportant. She arrived there to see all the other competitors there, some looked huge and strong and others small and stealthy. Most of them were talking with each other and they all uuj seemed to know each other but there was one girl sitting on the side just staring off into space. She had beautiful brown skin and her curly hair just sat upon shoulders with blond ends. Octavia was going to start to walk up to her when a man and Woman walked out of the building in front of the courtyard area where the contestants were waiting. The contestants got up and formed a half circle around the man and woman. They introduced themselves as “I am Rafferty Sherriden” the man said, “I am Verity Lockwood and we will bring your guides through your training for the games and provide you with all the information you need” said the woman.They both had accents that sounded British they had most likely come from Europe who created and lead the games each year. “If you have any questions you can just ask us now each of you will get a trainer. Your trainer will help you get into physical condition for the game and teach you how to fight. Over the week of your training the judges will be observing you.” Rafferty added. The judge observed the contestants and predicted who will so people can place bets. “Now contestants follow us into the training room and where you will be staying.” Verity said walking towards the building with Rafferty. The contestants started walking towards the building with their bags of stuff. This was just the beginning, it all started after this. The contestants waited in the training room, in an awkward silence they all had different expressions pasted across their faces, some looked serious and stood there strong and proud, some looked frightened and worried, quite meek and small, and some just stared at the floor trying not to make eye contact with anyone. My dear reader sometimes you can tell a whole lot about people by just noticing their expressions but that is besides the point. All the contests had the same uniform on but they all had different numbers on them like jerseys for a game. Rafferty and Verity reappeared after they had left some ten minutes ago. They appeared with twenty people behind them; those were the trainers who each year came out to train the next contestants for the game. “Contestants welcome to the training arena where you will be training in the course of a week with your trainer” Rafferty said with what seemed to be forced enthusiasm. “Here we have your personal trainers,” Verity said, gesturing to the people standing behind her. “Now contestant you each have a number, that is your number i want you to find your trainer with the same number on there uniform” Rafferty added. “Now find your trainer!” Verity said, smiling. Octavia waited for everyone else to find their trainers until there was one left, it was a woman she was quite tall and had broad shoulders, her hair was cut short and a silver purple color, she had tattoos on her arms and her arms were crossed as a stoic look was splattered across her face. She had an eyebrow piercing and her eyes were two two different colors one brown like earth and the other as blue as the ocean. “So your number seventeen. I’m Mavis welcome to the games seventeen.” She said, holding out her hand. Octavia hesitantly reached out her hand and Mavis pulled her into a hug. Her hug was hard and her muscles were like rocks in her arms, she released Octavia and started walking towards the training area. Mavis toward Ocatavia as she did push ups the sweat stinging her eyes and her hair stuck to her face, her arms burned as if they were on fire. She heard the ear piercing sound of the whistle and stood up and Mavis had a half smile across her face. “Nice job Seventeen. Now time to learn how to fire a gun.” Mavis said pointing to the firing range. They were at the firing range, the deafening sound of guns going off in their ears. Octavia went up, put in ear plugs and fired, she hit the target over and over. Mavis stood back tall and proud. It was the day of the games the contestants were lined up and their families watched from the top of the wall. Their trainers stood with them preparing them and hooking up their tracking devices. The tracking devices tracked your heart and let the hosts of the games know where you are so you don’t leave or cheat by going to the West Colony, they also tracked your heart beat so they know who is dead. The contestants also have a device telling you who is left. “Good luck Seventeen.” Mavis said. Seventeen was her nickname for Octavia. Mavis handed her the backpack filled with the supplies and said “I trained many other Seventeens and none of them have made it but I think you have a chance. Good luck.” She said and hugged her. The contestants lined up against the gate and the trainers stepped back. The horn blew and the gate slowly cranked open quite loudly. Mavis yelled something but Octavia only heard the second part “Don’t like water” and she didn’t focus on that too much her heart pounding thoughts swirling. Rafferty and Verity stood on the wall and yelled “Go!” Octavia ran out the gates into the unknown and she knew the rest was up to fate.


The July humidity continued to hang across Delmarva’s Ayers Creek this Friday long after the sun set and the full moon encased the area in its heavenly glow. The hot moisture imprisoned the lone fisherman floating his kayak along the surface like a straight jacket. Yet Dr. Fulbright at first had embraced the relatively minor discomforts of the eerie evening. He thought they would provide a quiet retreat from the pandemic-induced terror he had faced in six months of 18-hour work days. During his breakneck service at Atlantic General Hospital he had pulled patient after patient back from the brink of death from Covid 19. The physician had welcomed the overdue weekend outing. Also, to his relief, not a creature had stirred in the pre-dawn hours as he eased his rented kayak into the then cool waters. He had joyfully cast his line into the creek on the hunt for some of the prime perch he knew populated this Eastern Shore retreat. As the day began to move along peacefuly, Fulbright had laid back with his trusty fisherman’s cap pulled over his eyes to shield him from the rapidly-rising sun. He slowly had settled into what he thought would turn into a peaceful escape from the over-scheduled life of a country doctor just recovering from the forced march battling the forces of the Grim Reaper. In his role as one of the area’s more experienced medical personnel, the medical center’s senior adminsitrator constantly thrust into the healthcare system’s front lines. This forced him to alternate between scouring his tool chest of modern medical science for pre-vaccination cures and chasing down miracle fixes proposed from every corner of the Internet. In the infrequent breathers from his medical duties, he also had played comforter-in-chief to those whose loved ones had fallen victim to the plague. Additionally, the experience he acquired during the pandemic made it necessary for him to appear on the various forms of social media to battle sceptics carrying on a continual battle to discredit the science about the origins of the disease and fact-based methods to fight it. Far too many close encounters with severe illness and death had taken their toll on the physician’s quickly-aging, battle weary body. Long overdue for a vacation, with thoughts of retirement becoming more frequent, he surely had earned the right to enjoy an uneventful encounter with nothing more than an over-enthusiastic fish trying to avoid becoming his pre-weekend dinner. Time to let the solitude percolate through his psyche and wait for the first nibble on his line. With little action from under the water to keep him awake, a few sips of beer and the heat of the afternoon caused him to doze off for several hours with the sun setting and the full moon rising. Suddenly, something shook him awake as he grabbed for his fishing pole and the craft drifted into the darker reaches of the creek. Then the boat took off. It felt like someone had attached a winch to the rear of his kayak and pulled him through the water at the speed of a top-of-the-line outboard motor. Fulbright put a death grip on the sides of his craft--holding on for dear life. Then, a fish attached to his fishing pole bolted out of the creek ahead of him several inches above the surface. It was the most gigantic Maryland perch he had ever seen, easily weighing 100 pounds. Fulbright struggled to hold onto his pole and stay in the kayak at the same time. The sea creature dragged the small craft to every corner and every depth of the lunar-illuminated lake. Then the boat crashed headlong into the kayak rental dock and his craft splintered into pieces, leaving him treading water as the fish flung itself back into the water. Jim Michaelson, who owned the kayak rental franchise, had waited up long past closing time out of concern for the town’s most respected doctor-and his business. He pulled Fulbright out of the drink and onto dry land. “What the heck happened to you and look what you’ve done to my boat and my dock.” “Didn’t you see the gigantic perch that dragged me around the creek?” Jim said he had only seen the kayak crashing bow-first into the pier, splintering both the launching area and the craft to pieces. After checking to see that the fray had not injured the doctor, he informed Fulbright that, heroic doctor or not, the fisherman would have to pay for the dock and kayak replacement. That would cost him about $1000 plus construction costs for a new launching area. The physician lifted his sore body off the ground and changed into some dry clothes he had in his car. He then prescribed a strong dose of reality for himself. He agreed with Michaelson that he probably couldn’t reasonably explain what had happened to him. Then he came up with three theories: Either he guzzled more Corona Light than he thought he did, leaving him in a drunken dreamstate, or The experiments they were doing several miles away on Wallops Island emptied something into the water that drastically altered the natural order of things in Ayers Creek, Or he had stumbled into an alternative universe that promised to drastically alter life as he knew it in Berlin, MD. Maybe Fulbright suffered from the lingering effects of the just-departed Covid 19 virus that he had contracted from a patient. In any event, the launch area and the kayak still stood in front of him in ruins and he faced a repair bill that would put a huge hole in the retirement account he had just opened. Maybe if he sold his story to Sports Illustrated that would cover part of the cost. Then again, if many in the non-sports media didn’t believe him when he had scientific data to back him up would the sports media believe a fish story with only a wrecked boat and launch area to prove what he was telling them?


She says, "Why don't you look like that?" I stop scrolling. It's some glistening, rippling torso with a haircut. Stripped to the waist. Almond skin pulled tight over solid muscle. I look down at my stomach, bulging amiably over my waistband. Lightly dusted with sugar from the half-eaten donut in my other hand. She looks back to her phone again and strokes our cat, Belle, sitting in her lap. Back to the gym. For the next two months, I'm there every day, 6am. Weights, bike, cross trainer. Weights, bike, swim. I'm surrounded by washboard abs and shredded obliques. They remind me how disgusting I am, as I splutter and jiggle my way around the machines. But all this work makes me hungry and hunger makes me eat. Fries, pizza, ice cream, coke. For a couple of weeks, I replace it all with salads and plain, flavourless chicken. I need to eat three times as much of it before I feel full. The scales never change. Each day, I peer hopefully over my belly button and see the same number staring back at me. I’m scrolling through my phone again and there he is, the perfect specimen. Adonis, standing proudly and bulging in all the right places. An act of violence in the form of a still image. She's looking over my shoulder again. From the corner of my eye, I see her eyes widen ever so slightly and her tongue trace the edge of her teeth. But this time she doesn’t say anything. The next time I’m at the gym, sweating through a session with my legs and arms like lead, I seriously consider giving up. I’m on the tenth kilometre on the treadmill and the perspiration is running into my eyes, masking the tears. That’s when Gary comes over. “Take it easy Rocky, you’re gonna give yourself a stroke.” He slides his arm around my shoulders. Tacky sweat glues us together. I collapse over the treadmill and rest my head on my arms. He says, “You need a little edge? I’ve got something that’ll change your life.” I look up at his toned physique. Arms like tree trunks. A vast expanse of chest muscle pressed against the thin fabric of a sleeveless shirt. It’s all the proof I need. I follow him through the locker room to the back corner where they keep the cleaning equipment. When he’s sure no one is watching, he reaches on top of a dusty locker and produces a small plastic baggy. He says, “You’ll be the guinea pig. It comes highly recommended.” Inside the baggy is a tiny, round blue pill. “You only need one,” he says. “Thank me later big fella. Oh and let me know how it goes. I’ve got another 50 of these. They won't be going for free.” Once I'm showered and dressed I swallow it down with a gulp of water. Tomorrow the work starts again. But tonight I'm going out for dinner. Another final meal. In the restaurant, I order trio de bruschetta and garlic pizza bread to start. Next, sirloin steak in peppercorn sauce with extra fries, all washed down with three bottles of lager. Finally, cheesecake, sorbet and limoncello. She looks at me with thinly veiled disgust. We barely speak but I’m too busy chewing and swallowing for chit-chat anyway. The other diners whisper and try not to stare. I don’t care. It’s the last blowout. A final night of freedom and I have the miracle cure already working away inside me. At home, she heads to bed while I stop to feed Belle. By the time I follow her up, she's already asleep. Eye mask on, facing the wall. I stare at her through the darkness for a moment, then head back downstairs. I worked hard today. I earned this. Belle’s tail brushes my legs, tracing a figure eight around my feet as I eat out of the fridge. --- When I wake up, I feel better than I have done in years. Maybe I've never felt this good. I spring out of bed and look in the bedroom mirror and my heart jumps into my throat. I think it's someone else, in my room, in my clothes. But then I realise it's me. Or half of me at least. My t-shirt, last night stretched across a distended stomach and swollen man-breasts, now hangs loosely down from square shoulders. My sagging chin is now taut, revealing a jawline I almost remember. Tense muscles brush against the fabric of my clothes. She says, "Oh wow. It's finally starting to pay off?" And drapes her arms over my broad, muscular shoulders. "An early night tonight maybe?" She traces the shape of my jaw with her finger and gazes at me through the mirror, her eyes ablaze. Pancakes and syrup for breakfast today. I'm celebrating. At work I get double-takes all along the office floor as I walk to my desk. Most of the men narrow their eyes in suspicion. Most of the women, who couldn't have picked me out of a line-up before today, they can't take their eyes off me. There is a smile on my face all morning. But I need to be careful. Good cheer is kryptonite for willpower. Before lunch, I polish off two flapjacks and a croissant. When lunchtime finally does arrive, I’m somehow still famished. I head to the local sandwich shop and the kid behind the counter says, “Let me guess, a salad for Mr. Muscle?” I order a footlong meatball special and finish the whole thing at the counter. The kid’s jaw drops. The other customers are trying hard to pretend they don't see me. I should be ashamed but my stomach is already rumbling, crying out for more. The ingredients behind the glass counter glow and throb. Fresh, sun-ripened tomatoes. Succulent cuts of red meat. Rich, creamy hunks of mature cheddar. They are begging me. Eat us. Eat more. Keep eating. I go back to the start of the queue. On my fifth trip around, the manager asks me to leave. I’m distantly embarrassed at being kicked out of a sandwich shop for eating too many sandwiches. But the hunger returns so quickly, I have to move on to the next place. It’s mid-afternoon when I walk into the all-you-can-eat buffet. I should’ve been back at work hours ago but despite the near-constant eating, the hunger pangs only get stronger. I load my plate. Piling food as high as it will go. The first couple of times I sit at a table. But soon enough I just walk from station to station, eating my way round. Chomping down on drumsticks and spring rolls and samosas. A daytime drinker stumbles into me. He smells like stale booze and farts. He says, “Wish I could do that and keep my figure. What’s your secret?” He jiggles his beer gut and chuckles, staggering away before I can stop chewing long enough to answer. I notice everyone is looking at me when a teenager starts filming me on his phone. I see pity in some eyes and envy in others. I need to leave. It's been hours and there is a dull ache in my gut. Fat is coursing through the blood vessels of my brain. When I arrive home she asks, “What do you think, pasta?” “I’m not hungry”, I lie. The stirring has already begun again. She looks me up and down, devouring me with her eyes. Her smile is full of dark promise. “Maybe it’s time for our workout?” But I can’t think straight. My mind is raiding the fridge. My veins pulse with trans fats and MSG. My skin burns and crawls and I feel like a giant set of open jaws, snapping and grasping for anything within reach. “Not tonight," I say, "headache.” She looks at me with disgust, pulls out her phone and starts scrolling. I head upstairs and past the mirror. Even in this stupor, I'm still amazed by my new, athletic physique. I flex a bicep to snap a selfie. Then, for the first time in months, I update my socials. Focus on the progress 💪 💪 💪 The likes and comments flow in. They wrap around me like a warm blanket as I fall asleep, my stomach churning and saliva running from between my lips. --- When I come to, it isn’t morning and I’m not feeling better. I don’t even remember getting out of bed but here I am with my head buried in the fridge in the dead of night, consuming everything. My insides are roiling, screaming to be fed. I'm clattering dishes and ripping packets and Belle is mewling at me from the countertop. Pleading with me to stop. I suck down slimy, raw chicken. Inhale cheese by the block. Acid burns the back of my throat as I spoon thick, cold butter straight on top of it. I pour every milk carton, every can, every sauce, every condiment down my neck and it all congeals together in a thick, sickly-sweet ball. I bite into a raw onion and the odour stings my nose and brings tears to my eyes. I bite into another, and another until I’ve eaten the whole bag. My jaw aches and my insides cramp. My brain swells against the walls of my skull and I flop back onto the kitchen floor. The room spins. There is nothing left in the fridge but empty cartons and glass jars rolling around on the shelves. Belle jumps down and sniffs at my face. Her purr deafens me as she gently licks my ear. For half a second, I couldn’t eat another thing. I dare to hope that I might finally be full when an empty pot of cream rolls off the shelf and lands in my open mouth. I start to chew. The sharp plastic edges slice my gums and the steely taste of blood coats my tongue. --- When I wake next, I’m back in bed. I'm alone and it's light out, so she must already be at work. The clock says 11.30 which makes me two hours late, but there is only one thing on my mind. I scramble out of bed, trembling with nervous energy. My eyes dart around the room like a predator on the hunt. I catch sight of my square chest and narrow waist in the mirror. I’m a superhero, a warrior, a greek god. Every inch of me chiselled from oak. I want to flex, stand and admire but the burning is back again and I'm lightheaded. I run down to the kitchen in my shorts and there is a note on the counter. You cleaned us out fatty. Thanks for not leaving me any breakfast! Last night’s binge replays in my mind. In the fridge, the only evidence is a small pile of shattered glass in the corner of the shelf. My throat is like hot tarmac. I look around the room for something to eat. An empty fruit bowl, a plastic pasta container, and some flattened cardboard boxes in the recycling bin. Cramps squeeze my insides and I double over. As I drop to my knees I reach out and grab a kitchen towel. Before I hit the floor, I’ve pushed it into my mouth and I’m working it down my oesophagus like a python. Weakness overtakes me and I lay with my cheek against the cold, hard tile as tears blur my vision. A tail brushes softly against my calf and before I know what’s happening my hand shoots out and clamps around Belle’s neck. She hisses and spits at me. With dull surprise, I find myself pulling her towards my open mouth. She claws at my face, tearing strips from my cheeks and slicing my neck. Her body writhes and swings in my grip and her eyes roll around in their sockets as she fights for her life. Velvet ears tickle the roof of my mouth and a hard, round skull buckles under my teeth. The mewling stops. Dry, silky fur glides down my throat. --- The rest of the day passes in a frenzied blur. I stalk through the streets, the taste of raw meat in my mouth and the now familiar churn in my stomach. As people pass by, some laugh and point and others grope my arms and writhe against me. I chase a dog in the park. I'm forcibly removed from a butcher shop. I eat a full octopus at a seafood market. I tear through trash in an industrial size dustbin. It's dark by the time I find my way home. The emptiness is worse than ever, jabbing at my ribs and clawing up my neck. My jaw feels ten miles high and when I try to close it, dried flecks of blood crumble from my cheeks. I shuffle into the kitchen, arms cradling my convulsing midriff. Smears of blood and hair still coat the kitchen tiles. It takes me a moment to realise I’m not alone. She is home and she's standing in the doorway. Eyes darting from me to the floor and back to me again. Her lips move up and down wordlessly as the shopping bag falls from her hand. A glass jar shatters. I want to explain. But when I try to speak, my guts twist in agony and I'm bent over coughing soggy lumps of black fur and purple viscera onto the floor. She screams and turns for the door but doesn't get far. I catch a clump of her hair in my fist and I yank her back into the room, snapping her neck like a ragdoll. Choking a scream in her throat. I sink my teeth deep into her throat and tear at her flesh like an animal. She collapses and spits blood into my eyes. Her screams turned to wet gurgles as I suck down chunks of her like air. By the time I’ve chewed through her neck, she is silent. Her head thumps to the floor like a watermelon. It takes hours, maybe days, but in the end, I devour her completely. Hair, teeth, bones and meat. Not a trace of her remains. Like she was never even here. The worst part is the feeling of relief. The feeling of peace and how it only lasts for a moment. As soon as the satiation comes, it's gone again. Leaving that awful, burning void inside me. Desperate to be filled. When I look at myself in the mirror again I see precision-sculptured power. A masterpiece soaked in blood. I'm disgusted and impressed. Maybe there is nothing that can fill the emptiness left in the wake of perfection.


“You have the ability to achieve great things, Cody. This is why I’ve chosen you to help save the Fading Vale.” He listened to the ham radio and sat with his mouth open. The voice started the day before, calling out his name from the small speaker. He didn’t respond but after hearing the panic-stricken voice say his own name he was forced to reconsider. Cody had considered just turning it off and pulling out his dusty console but the radio kept calling to him, especially when the voice sounded so desperate. He waited several minutes, hunched over at the table in the garage, for another crackling message but there was only static. The older man didn’t sound like anyone he knew and he spoke as if he were in a fantasy novel, talking about a “corruption that plagued the land.” The boy placed his finger on the off switch when he considered the first words that were spoken on the channel. The older man’s tone was filled with desperation and sadness, “I know you can hear me. Our time is drawing nigh. You must take heed. Our world is fading and soon yours will too. The magic of the Vale is diminishing. I have traveled across all planes of existence-” Static had interrupted and flooded the channel. At first, he was weirded out by the message, backing away slowly and going back to his room. It was a little bit creepy and somewhat odd. But he found it much more curious when he returned the next day with a notepad. His father wouldn’t notice it missing. He was too busy to even notice him when he was there, sitting on his chair in the living room and watching a game. Cody had sat at the workbench all day waiting for another transmission. He was slumped over with his hand on his cheek when the static popped and he perked up. “-must find them all. Grand Wizard -- The Helm of Shadows has given me the ability to see into the great beyond and instill objects in your realm with magic.” This time the voice was choked with lumps. “Woe to our kingdom, woe to the valiant and to our peoples if you should fail. The sacred objects have been transmuted from my world to yours, to open a portal into our world. Only a person pure of heart can use them and I’m afraid there are no more in mine. Seek them out and bring them together.” The man then spoke his own name and the boy stood back, mouth agape. A line of ink on the paper showed where he had stopped writing and scrawled across the page. The last word was “the Fading Vale.” What did it mean? It couldn’t possibly be a real place. It reminded him of a fictional land only existing in fairy tales. He wanted to chuckle but the pronunciation of his name was too eerie. Before he could turn off the radio the elderly man spoke behind a wall of static, “-objects may seem trivial but they are very important. I have imbued them with the five facets of existence: physical, emotional, social, spiritual, and intellectual. These can be found near-” More static. “You’ll know- when- them.” He adjusted the knobs and pressed the speaker on the mic. He remembered the lingo his dad taught him, “Come in, this is Cody. Come in. Do you hear me?” When he received nothing back, he held his head in defeat and stared at the words. “Five facets of existence.” He said aloud. What did he mean? It was rather silly to belief in such fairy tales, especially when he was taught to never talk to strangers. There had to be some way to figure out if any of it was true. What was the harm in trying to find out? His father called from the kitchen, making him jerk. He’d ask Cody what he was doing and had the same reason, “playing with the radio,” which was the truth. It wasn’t like he would care. Rules, even if they were for his own protection, were meant to be broken. He made it into a game. Find the secret artifacts and save the Fading Vale. Real life was better than video games anyways. He looked around the garage, a room filled with tools and gadgets he didn’t fully understand. It was like a sorcerer’s lab, with racks for wands (screwdrivers) and containers of mystery. Surely if the wizard enchanted some random object it would have some importance to himself. It would have meaning. A box was sitting near the back door marked “Toys.” He pulled it out and opened the lid, furiously digging through the contents. All the toys brought back tearful memories of regret. His 10th birthday present, just last year, a small basketball, was sitting near the top. When he held it, he had nearly forgotten about the hours he spent throwing it at the hoop in the back. He bounced the ball, not as springy as it used to be, and rubbed his finger over the dirt spot on the side. It did feel like an artifact from a bygone era, a physical artifact. He set the ball on the workbench, having a new appreciation for the lost item. There was a smile across his face. He ran to his room, eager to uncover the secrets that had been forgotten. The dusty gaming console was sitting under the TV in his room. Nothing good had ever come from this except frustration. He looked around the mess, his clothes and blankets were jumbled together on the bed. There had to be something here of importance. Crouching he pulled things from under his bed, quickly rummaging through the unsung posters and toys. Each of the toys didn’t feel like they had magic properties. He didn’t know how he could tell but they somehow felt empty. He turned to the closet and noticed the collections of chains and necklaces. One of them did stick out, the necklace with the shark tooth. They had been at the beach when he got it, the sand was hot and the wind was warm that day. It had been one of his happiest family moments. He sat on the sand for hours, taking in the nice weather and meditating on the waves that crashed against the shore. The shark tooth dangled when he put on the necklace. He placed his palm over it, feeling a connection in his soul that steered him towards his desk. A composition notebook, with sketches and loose papers crammed inside, was sitting upright between several other books. He took it out and all the papers fell out. He cursed but then saw the notes that he had written in the open pages. They were from his math class. He flipped the page and saw notes from science class, and then drawings he made in art. It was all here, all of the things that he was supposed to know, all the knowledge passed down from his teachers. In the margins he had written his own interpretations and daydreams of the lessons from school. If there was anything in his room that was importance this would definitely be one of them, an “artifact.” There was a note on one page that not written by himself. It was written by his best friend, Stevie. In class they had shared a lot of things like pens, papers, and notes during a quiz but the thing that had brought them together in the first place was when he let him have a piece of gum. He pulled the gum pack from the jacket laying on the bed and held it up. This is what had brought them together and a tool he could use the break the ice to make other friends. The package glimmered in the light. He walked to the kitchen after giving up on searching his room for any other “magical” auras. He thought he heard his dad’s voice from the living room but he wasn’t there. He walked to the counter where he had left his pocket watch. It had elaborate engravings and when he popped it open, he saw his father’s initials. Instantly he lowered the watch and his eyes glossed over, to know that anyone, let alone his father, would give away something so personal. All the shame, guilt, and intimidation for doing bad things went away. He clutched it to his chest, feeling his father’s love, and that perhaps he wasn’t just the bad things and that he was a good son after all. If he saw him crying though, he would throw a fit. He put the watch in his pocket and went to the garage. As he laid the objects out in a row, he saw the meanings of them all at once and almost did cry if not for the absurdity of it. The wizard of the Fading Vale would be pleased, if he wasn’t consumed by the corruption already. But as he stared at the objects, he wasn’t sure how they were supposed to work together. The ball, the pack of gum, the journal, the pocket watch, the necklace, were they supposed to be combined? The radio was static. Maybe he had failed. Maybe the magical universe was gone forever. But then he heard rumbling near the garage door. A burst of light seeped in as the grumbling came louder, followed by the mechanical sound of the creaking door, being opened from the other side. When he moved his hand from his face, he saw his father standing there with a look of surprise. The door was fully open now and the sun was shining in. “Oh, hey kiddo. What are you up to?” Said his father. Cody smiled from ear to ear and said nothing. His father picked up the small basketball. He stared at his son with a look of playfulness, something Cody hadn’t seen in a while, and handed the ball to him. “You want to toss it around?” “Sure dad,” said Cody, turning off the radio. As they left the garage through the back a gust shuffled the leaves around the garage opening. A booted foot stepped out of midair, followed by a wooden staff that clattered on the driveway.


THE MYSTERY IN THE MALL Aisha and Ahmad are twins. They were well brought up by their parents. The parents made sure the twins never lacked anything especially EDUCATION because it is the key to success, the sword to conquer injustice, the tool for empowerment and the shield against oppression. Nevertheless, the children on the other hand, also try their best in making their parents proud. However, Mary the eldest of the twins always had a problem of concentration when it comes to studies. She prefers to play around with her friends around the neighborhood or visit her class mates from one house to another. In the school, she fights with the weaker children in the class, tears their books, sometimes she even goes to the extent of misplacing her class mates books. As such this is the main reason why she is always flogged at school and at home. Therefore, Mr and Mrs Abdul decided to take Mary to a boarding school to complete her senior classes. Mary was really excited when she heard about the news of going to a boarding school at least to her own thinking she would be free. However, both parents called Mary and advised her. Mr Abdul told her to be serious and stay focused on her studies, while Mrs Abdul weeping the tears rolling down her cheeks, also cautioned Mary to stay away from bad friends and be a good girl. In the morning, Mr Abdul set out to Mary's new school, because the school authority ordered that parents should bring their children by 2pm . Mary all excited jumped out of the car, when she sighted the gate of her new school. They went to the principal, who directed her to the school matron and they bade good bye The school gave her what she needed for her academics. Initially, the new student behaved like a good one, she woke up early attended classes and did not fight with any students, not until after two weeks One day, while their teacher was in the class room, a student reported Mary of disturbing her with noise for the third time. Therefore, the teacher asked Mary to come out and kneel down since she was not serious with her lessons anymore However, with time, she started coming to lessons late, she don’t do her assignments as scheduled, even the extra mural lessons meant for senior students, she is always absent. Nevertheless, the two twins performed excellently and got promoted. This made the parents so happy, except Mary’s situation of which her situation worsened. As such the principal sent a letter complaining of her attitude, to her parents at home, this made them perturbed However, after three months in school, exams were scheduled and conducted as per the school curriculum. Parents were asked to come and take their children home and also to collect the results of their children. Like any other parents, Mr Abdul came for his daughter. They were so happy to see each other. He hope Mary’s performance has improved. Yes, to his surprised, despite all complains, she did averagely well. The principal encouraged the father on the girl’s capabilities, if she would change her attitude and concentrate. He also promised Mr Abdul, on the change of her attitude positively as the school would try its best to work on that. A week later, the family decided to go for shopping at a mall nearby. All the children were so happy because its been quite long. They entered in to the car and off he drove. On reaching to the mall, the father asked them to behave themselves well. The twins were close to their parents following them anywhere they go. As for Mary, she was busy going from one section to another, entering from one elevator to another happily Few hours ago, the family decided to have lunch, but were was Mary? Suddenly she appeared, the mother asked, were has she being all this while, but she said she was with one of her friends in her new school. They ordered for fried Rice and chicken and all of them sat and were eating peacefully. I want to visit the ladies she said. Alright be fast about it, because after the meal we are leaving because it is getting late. Thirty minutes had gone, and there was no Sign of Mary. Meanwhile, someone was in there enjoying the elevators again, going from one section to another. However, after she was fully satisfied, she decided to come down to meet her family. Mary immediately entered the elevator, and pressed number [1] from the 7 th floor she was descending down from. She was so happy. What is happening, she said to herself? Why is the light off, why is the elevator static? Mary became afraid, she knew she was stuck in the elevator due to power off. She started crying, she was sweating profusely, she observed that she needs air and her breadth is becoming difficult. How long would this take she said to herself? My family must be waiting anxiously! She sat there all alone and no phone to communicate and others had got down already Nevertheless, Mr Abdul became suspicious, something must have went wrong. He asked others to stay in the car. When he entered the mall he too was surprised to see the place dark. All customers were asked to please be patient as the problem would soon be solved. After, waiting for thirty five minutes, the power supply was back and the elevators became active. Mr Abdul his eyes widely open looked around, searching for his daughter, but Mary was walking, slowly gasping for air almost collapsing. Help, someone shouted! Mr Abdul turned and saw his daughter. Mary, what happened? Without requesting for explanation he lifted her and took her home. Shortly, afterwards Mary revived and told her Ordeal to her family members. They laughed at the naughty girl and at the same time felt sorry for her.


“Yep, it’s definitely human remains.”; The Medical Examiner stated. His voice betrayed no sign of emotion. “Are you sure Doc? What could have done THAT much damage to a human body? An eighteen wheeler or a freight train?" Industrial equipment? The nauseous deputy continued to speculate wildly. "Maybe this is from a large animal attack. I've seen grizzlies really maul their prey, but nothing to this level of carnage.” Even fifteen years in the Sheriff’s Department hadn’t prepared him for the gruesome sight before them. "Honestly, it looks like this person has been through a wood chip..." Ralph quickly cut him off before the deputy had a speculative meltdown. “I can’t determine ANY cause of death until we get ‘him’ to the morgue for examination.” “So it’s definately a ‘him’, then?” “Right now I can’t even be sure of that; but at least the corpse is fresh.” “I’ll say.”; Agreed Phil. The deputy held his nose in disgust. His asinine criteria for ‘fresh’ was quite different. The next afternoon, Ralph began the medical examination. Normally he was unaffected by the morbid nature of his profession. Being detached helped him to concentrate on the necessary task at hand. All his patients deserved for their final secrets to be told. If they died of natural causes then they could be buried or cremated with dignity. If their lives were cut short from foul play, then they deserved justice so they could eventually be at rest. When the medical examiner realized the surreal circumstances that ended the life of his mangled patient, he dropped his ham sandwich and dialed the Sheriff’s department with a rattled immediacy. “This is Ralph down at the Morgue, you’d better get the Sheriff over here as soon as possible!” II Meanwhile, the Sheriff’s office conducted an official investigation at the crime scene. The forensic crew swept the area and discovered some very disturbing facts. The first of which was a spiked level of radiation near the lake. The second was a trail of large, reptilian-like animal prints leading down to the water line. Lastly came an even more curious item of questionable value. A perfectly-formed, oblong crystal was found among cattail reeds at the edge of the lowland swamp. Whether it had anything to do with their investigation was anyone’s guess but it obviously hadn’t grown on top of the weeds. In keeping with protocol, the team tagged and photographed it as potential evidence. Sheriff John Wright was too level headed to believe a mutated alligator was on the loose but the collected 'evidence' did point to such a bizarre conclusion! The only thing on his mind however, was what to eat for lunch. When the sheriff heard the dispatcher calling him on the radio, he knew he was in for another missed meal. He responded to the Coroner’s request with all the usual police jargon and was on his way. Sheriff Wright knew the importance of Forensic Science to his police department investigations. He just preferred to learn autopsy results from the comfort of his brown leather office chair. He knew that Ralph Gentry recognized his intense dislike of blood drains, phlebotomy tools, cadaver tables; and the cold lifeless occupants of them. Since he had been summoned anyway (despite their unspoken agreement of ‘live and let live’); the Sheriff knew it had to be important. “I came as soon as I could Ralph, what have you found out?” “Prepare yourself John. I know you don't like coming down here but it was necessary. I had to show you this in person. If I had tried to explain it over the phone, you wouldn’t have believed me.” He thought he could handle whatever nightmarish thing Ralph had to show him but he was wrong. With one swift jerk, Ralph removed the sheet and exposed the unrecognizable human remains on the table. It was the most brutally mutilated cadaver he had ever encountered. The sheriff felt a wave of dry heaves make his stomach contract involuntarily. Ralph spoke to distract his nausea. “Do you see anything unusual about this corpse besides its exceptional state of mutilation?” “Jeez Ralph! Did you have to mangle the body so much?” “Oh, I forgot. You haven’t seen the body, have you? I’ve yet to even stick my scalpel in ‘John Doe’. It was already this way when your men found it last night.” Before the Sheriff could interject; Ralph continued explaining. “See the esophagus, imploded pelvic region and abdomen?” “Yes.” The Sheriff replied. He forced himself to look at the monstrosity on the table before them. He attempted to comprehend what the Coroner was trying to point out but the carnage was just too distracting. After a few moments, Ralph further explained. “I don’t have any theories on how this could happen but the cause of death was sudden traumatic shock and tissue damage to the body." The sheriff glared in annoyance at the medical examiner for stating the obvious. Ralph held up his hand to belay the upcoming sarcasm and continue making his point. "Despite its seeming impossibility; this man's body has been literally turned inside-out. The remains are just like an inverted piece of clothing; discarded on the floor.” “How can that be... no human could do th...” Ralph interrupted. “I don’t know HOW; that’s your job! I’m just trying to inform you of the facts. For lack of a better description; some 'thing' has reached down this man’s throat and gathered up his insides and midsection. Then they were pulled outward while reversing his flesh like a shirt.” III Sensing the Sheriff’s next question; Dr. Gentry answered; “Yes it was a man. That much I know. I found his genitals inside his body where his stomach should have been. Here is the stomach. It’s in almost perfect condition except for the fact that it is on the outside of his body.” Ralph had known John’s logical mind for too long. He anticipated his next thoughts too. “No, I can’t identify him by his teeth. They were pulverized by whatever rammed its way down his throat. His fingertips are still intact so I made his prints for your men to run through the computer.” John’s walkie talkie unit paged him. “Come in Sheriff Wright!” He reached down and unfastened it from his belt. “This is the Sheriff. Come in.” He dreaded hearing more bad news but could tell it was coming. “We’ve found more of ‘em.”; The deputy stated somberly. “How many more?”; He reluctantly asked. There was no question over what they were discussing. “Looks like two more severely mangled bodies so far, sir. Another probable body is missing but we have found a blood trail.” “What’s the 10-20 this time?”; He requested. “About a mile and a half North of the first crime scene, on Holcomb Bridge road.” The Sheriff pictured the area in his mind and informed the deputy that he would be there ‘right away’. Then he signaled ‘over and out’ and informed Ralph that more of his morgue drawers were about to be occupied. IV Once again the crime scene showed traces of radioactivity and the bodies were mutilated beyond recognition. Several detectives were already on the scene when the Sheriff arrived. He was debriefed and led to the bodies. “Looks like the same ‘m.o.’ as the first victim.”; He remarked to his chief investigator. The previous murder could no longer be treated as an isolated incident. The news media would have a field day with the story and put more even pressure on his department to catch the perpetrator. No one wanted the murderer arrested any more than him but the non-stop calls from the worried public would only hinder their progress. “Has anyone ran the plates on that camper over there yet? I bet that would provide a strong lead to the identities of these bodies.” “Yes sir. It belongs to an out-of-town family that were here camping last night at the lake. Mr. and Mrs. James; Frank: 51 and Sherry; age 49. Their 15 year old daughter Regina is still missing but presumed dead; based on signs of a mortal struggle and massive blood loss. We believe the attack started here and proceeded down to the lake.” Both men stepped over the yellow police tape to follow the gruesome trail while the detective explained his running theory. “From this point; only the suspects strange, er... ‘footprints’ are continuously visible. An occasional set of heel marks show a heavy drag pattern. This would indicate that the victim was either unconscious or dead; and being carried. We have a search team combing the woods for her... ah... body.” “Good work. Sounds like solid reasoning. Obviously we can't assume the victims are the missing campers without official determination from Dr. Gentry. If these victims are anything like the first one, there will not be any usable dental records to ID the bodies. We may have to request DNA from other family members. By the way, were there any crystals or other unusual objects found near the crime scene?” “Crystals, sir? “Yes, like the one found at the other crime scene.” “Do you really think that has anything to do with this, sir? I mean; it just doesn't make any sense." “None of this makes any sense. It defies logic and sanity. Obviously we have a very violent, highly deranged individual or group on our hands. We can’t rule anything out until we know otherwise. After all, the crystal could be our only concrete lead. No matter how thin or unlikely it seems to us now. If we discover more crystals at this crime scene, then it would appear to be more than an odd coincidence. Oh, and Johnson..... Get a haircut! We’re trying to convey an image of honesty in this department. How can the town’s people trust you if they can’t even see your face?” “Yes sir, as soon as I get off duty.”; Replied Johnson. “Go now son. Your work is done here for today.” V 45 minutes later, three more oblong crystals were found in the bushes by the shoreline. Immediately the Sheriff's 'crystal connection' went from a far-fetched theory; to a near probability. “What kind of maniac would senselessly mutilate innocent people and then leave mineral clusters as a bizarre ‘calling card?’”; The sheriff wondered. "Who or what would even have the superhuman strength necessary to commit such brutal crimes? None of it adds up." The spiked levels of radiation around the crime scenes was equally puzzling. First he requested a roll call of all mental asylums within a two hundred mile radius. Then he organized a search team with bloodhounds to comb the countryside for signs of the suspect. Lastly, he instructed divers to drag the lake for bodies, first thing in the morning. “If the press gets hold of these strange details then the headlines will be calling him: ‘The radioactive crystal killer’; or something ridiculous.”; He grimaced. His investigators needed to hold back unknown details in order to weed-out false confessions. Every leaked detail worked against them. The townsfolk depended on them for public safety; yet they was no closer to catching the murderer than they were from day one. Soon public opinion would turn against his department. When that happened, State police would shut them out of the investigation and take over. Those depressing thoughts plagued him far into the night. It had been an extremely frustrating day. "Small towns are only supposed to only have small-town problems."; He lamented. The next morning, relatives of Cindy Weeks filed a missing person’s report. The Sheriff investigated her case personally since she had last been seen on a nature trail about 3 miles from the crime scene. The young lady was 19 years old (and legally able to come and go as she pleased) but her parents were insistent that she was responsible. They insisted that she would have phoned if she had made plans to spend the night elsewhere. Normally after hearing an ‘angelic’ description of a teenager from naive parents; he would have told them there wasn’t anything he could do until 48 hours had passed. However, under the dire circumstances, he had to investigate immediately. Time was of the essence in these matters. With any luck, she would simply turn up (safe and sound) after spending a clandestine night with her boyfriend. Sheriff Wright hoped that was the case. He and the rest of the search team combed the nature trail where she was last seen, as a precautionary measure. It wasn't far into the search before signs of a struggle, a long blood trail, and another 'posed' crystal pointed to the worst for her. Fortunately, no body was discovered so there was still a (minor) chance of finding her alive. All they could hope for was that Miss Weeks had somehow escaped the ‘crystal maniac’ with survivable injuries. Sheriff Wright’s next course of action was to check with Ralph about the two newest bodies. As expected, they had met with the same fate as the first unidentified victim. Ralph could offer no new information since he had so little to work with. In a rare moment of cooperation, the Sheriff encouraged Dr. Gentry to ‘keep at it’. As if he didn’t have enough to worry about, a large mob of reporters surrounded his car. They were all shouting and trying to get an official statement. He gave the standard, “I can offer no information at this time until the investigation is complete”; brush off. Then he added; “My men are working around the clock to find the person, or persons responsible. Please remember that I am personally involved. I live here too. I promise to make an official statement as soon as I can.” With that public appeal for room to do his job, he made it to his car and roared off in a cloud of dust. VI Later that night John was roused from his fitful sleep by the incessant ringing of the phone. His wife sat up in bed and turned on the lamp. “It’s 3:30 in the morning! Who would call at this hour?” He answered the phone and after listening, said; “Yes Shelia; I know you wouldn’t bother me if it wasn’t important.... What is it?” Mrs. Wright was exasperated. “For heaven’s sake! Don’t they know that you have to sleep some time?” He silently waved for her to be quiet. “I’ll be right there.” Marie interrupted; “Can’t this wait ‘til morning?” John attempted to explain the importance of the situation. “Shelia said there have been strange lights reported at the lake tonight. It may have something to do with the murders. We can’t afford to overlook it.” As the Sheriff drove down the lonely dirt road that led to the lake, he called for backup. The two deputies on night patrol answered his request for assistance. Deputy Phil Bates and Detective Johnson accompanied him as they circled the nature trail. After 20 minutes in the brisk night air with no sign of 'strange blue lights', they suspected the report was without merit. The sheriff was about to go back home when all three men witnessed the etherial lights for themselves. They stood in absolute awe as an alien spaceship materialized at the edge of the lake! The side of the ship opened and four shrowded beings came out into the cool night air. The two in the middle removed their cloaks to reveal their hidden identities. To the Sheriff's genuine elation, they were the two missing young ladies. The other two individuals were definitely not human at all. The men were unable to move from the intense excitement of being face-to-face with creatures from another world. Oddly enough, they didn’t feel as if they were in any danger. In an indeterminate amount of time, one of the aliens spoke. “Are you the one called Sheriff Wright?” The shock of the situation prevented him from responding. It wasn’t everyday that he was addressed by extra terrestrials. The same alien asked if the question had been improperly phrased. Finally the Sheriff managed to ‘choke out’ the correct response. The other alien stepped forward to make an announcement to the men. “We regret to inform you that our immature offspring accidentally terminated three of your organisms. We are in the final stages of cloning the expired individuals from residual DNA samples that we extracted. Once the regeneration is complete, they will be reintroduced back into their native habitat without delay. We regret the inconvenience this has caused you Sheriff; and would like to explain. On our planet; there is an extremely docile creature that roams the marshy wetlands. The offspring of our species enjoy keeping them as pets. This 'bashful' animal is very much like your terrestrial box turtle. It recedes inside its body as a defense mechanism when it is frightened. To coax them to come out; our 'children' often leave a feeding crystal near their nest (as a reward or incentive). If they retract back inside themselves to hide, our offspring reach into their shell and pull them ‘right side out’ again. Sadly, this regrettable incident only happened because of an elemental misunderstanding. You see, the turtle-like animal on our planet closely resembles your human form. Our young incorrectly assumed that your species was also very shy; and thus required inversion coaxing. They were unaware of your somewhat delicate physiology. VII After the explanation was given about the purpose of the crystals, Sheriff Wright winked at Johnson. His suggestion that they might be relevant to the investigation had baffled the deputy earlier. Now they both knew that he was basically right; although neither of them could have guessed the crystals were for bait. By that time the Sheriff had gained enough confidence to inquire about the clones. "Will they be exactly the same as their original counterparts?" “Technically yes. They will be identical; with one notable exception. They will not possess any memories which their original counterparts acquired during their lifetimes. This is because human DNA does not retain memories or any learned information. To compensate, we are programming them with the basic human knowledge needed to survive. Your experts will unfortunately have to teach them anything we overlooked.” In an emotionless tone, the second alien apologized for the inconvenience. The sheriff pointed to the previously missing girls. “What about them? Are they... ah... clones too?” “No. They are the originals. We found them before they expired and repaired the tissue damage. There was no permanent damage to them.” At that time, the freshly cloned victims appeared alongside the aliens and the two girls. After a short pause the ‘talkative’ alien concluded; “Ours is a peaceful race. We has laws which forbid any interference with alien life forms. We must again express our sincere apologies for the inadvertent harm we have caused. We hope there will be no ill will between our two races.” “Our 'vacation' is complete so we will be leaving your planet now.”; Added the other one. “Will there be others from your planet spending their 'vacation' here on Earth?”; The Sheriff asked nervously. “We will be back in about 273 Earth years.”; Replied the talkative one. "By that time, our young will be mature enough to avoid damaging any more of your species." That news greatly relieved the Sheriff. He didn’t think he could handle any more tragic cases of accidental alien mutilation! He was sure he would have his hands full trying to invent an explanation for the ones they already had. Both aliens made an unfamiliar salutation and returned to their ship. An instant later it gently lifted three or four stories off the surface of the lake and was gone in a ‘blink of an eye’. Phil and Johnson snapped out of their trance-like state and expressed their amazement. “Sir, what shall we do about this?”; Phil exclaimed. “Well, they’re definitely out of our jurisdiction now. Besides, we would need something a hell of a lot faster than a patrol car to catch ‘em anyway!” “Seriously though sir. I almost don’t believe what I just saw with my own eyes; and I know that no one will believe our reports!”; Added Johnson. “I want everyone present to keep what we just witnessed to ourselves. Is that understood? If anyone breathes a word of this to the press or our neighbors, they will put us in an asylum! Just leave the reports and explanation to me! Oh, and Johnson.... Next time get a REAL haircut! I'm surprised you saw a damn thing.


“It appears you’ve been exposed to excessive X-ray radiation. I’ve seen this before in radiologists who maybe put in too many hours.” The next words out of my brother’s mouth just sounded like an ancient dialect of gibberish reciting haikus using only the word “blah”. This was common during moments I needed to protect myself from harsh truths. Usually in the form of “I told ya so” or “Hindsight is 20/20”. It always happens when it concerns my powers. My x-ray vision, which saved so many people over the last few decades, decided to give me cancer. Why couldn’t my x-ray vision see that coming? Maybe I had “blah blah” mode on too long. It’s only a matter of time before I find out my telepathy caused a tiny hike in my phone bill. I used to be able to mold my body at will like putty, slip through a crack in a brick wall and return to form almost effortlessly. Saved a lot of people, including myself, especially in a fight. Then, one day, shortly before a “blah blah” soliloquy by my physician and powerless sidekick brother, I woke up as a deflated blob of putty, unable to return to my regular form. It took me 10 days to de-putty and I could never will myself into any shape other than myself again. That power went almost as quickly as it came. And all I had to remember it were a few local tabloid clippings and a 12-pill/day regimen of arthritis meds that do more harm than good. I know I haven’t woken up as a blob since I started taking them, but they haven’t done shit for my cracking bones. Not to mention I’ve now pissed every color of the rainbow. I’ve heard my brother say once that the cracking sound bones make is gas being released. Could this be true?? I rarely think of the day I got my powers. I was just a boy on a ninth grade field trip to a military research facility who got too close to a room that a lot of people should have never let me near. I remember walking and then a BOOM and then a ringing that was so loud I could almost taste it. All to sneak a cigarette, too. Next thing I knew, I had eye twitches which the doc called involuntary nystagmus. What he didn’t know was that each time my eyes twitched, I could see through walls or skin.. or both.. or neither. Took me a while to control it but, once I did, I instantly knew purpose. Never questioned it. Now I’m wishing I had. No one gives a fuck about me saving them. If they did, someone would’ve come around to save me from these awful side effects. “Blah blah blah blah so take 1 of these, twice a day, morning and night to prevent further metastasis,” my brother said. I popped two, half caring, half pretending. “But until you get treatment, you need a break from work. Maybe it’s time you retired. Blah blah blah sometimes cause auditory and visual hallucinations blah blah blah.” I clicked my eyes a few times to make sure they still worked the way I needed them to. With my brother thinking I’m on a hiatus, I could enjoy myself at work, the way it did when I had purpose. Brotherlessly. Sidekicklessly. I decided to take the stairs down from his 5th floor office. I needed the exercise and maybe I’d release enough gas from my bones on the way down that I’d be magically cured of arthritis. By the third and a halfth floor, I regretted my decision to take the stairs but also saw behind a few layers of concrete and sheetrock that my purpose was about to be reinstated. Two goons trying to rough up a doctor and a nurse in a third floor office. It was time for me to act. Nothing gave me more pure joy than smashing in the faces of those who deserve it most. I quickly put on my mask and casually opened the office door. It took me less than ten seconds to find those goons and snap their necks like twigs. I could see the nurse was almost as aroused by my saving her as I was but I, for the sake of mystery and ego preservation, resisted the urge to exchange even a simple “Can I call you sometime?” Besides, a few twitches of my eyes discovered her name, number and address, conveniently found on the inside of her purse beneath the words “If Found, Please Contact:” I left and quickly finished the remaining 3 floors by taking the one working elevator. God, it was slow as shit. The door opened at Lobby and I discovered four police officers had already arrived. “Third floor,” I said, still wearing my mask, and to no particular officer. Before I could make it to the entrance, I felt something I’d never felt before. Cuffs. On my wrists. The nurse from the third floor had made it down to the lobby. “That’s the man!” she cried, half yelling angrily and half inconsolably weeping. “He killed a mother and her 10 year old son. Broke both of their necks.” I’d never been so confused in my life until I skimmed as quickly as I could through pages of “blahs” which came out of my brother’s mouth, while he discussed something about hallucinations caused by my cancer pills. All it took was this remembering to realize what I’d actually done. There were no goons. I broke the necks of a mother and her son inside a pediatrician’s office. I thought of how odd it was that I no longer hallucinated the memory of my hallucination. It’ll be okay, I told myself. My brother will get me out of this. I passed out. When I awoke, I lied on a stiff bed behind some very expensive looking bars, with my brother reciting the “Unabridged Encyclopedia of Blah” on the other side of them, telling me he told me so. In the next cell, the same two goons from the third floor of my brother’s building bullied an inmate. And there was nothing I could do but hear the words “blah” and the sound of gas cracking from my newly retired bones.


Grandma Charlotte showed me our chains when I was seven. She placed her hands on mine. “Close your eyes,” she whispered, “Look for them.” I saw them before I opened my eyes. I felt their weight pull me down. She dragged my fingers along the ghostly blue metal links that connected my wrist to hers. The links grew heavier as my hand got closer to hers. We walked through the cramped rooms following the phantom trail of our chains into the kitchen. Mom’s heavenly smile greeted us as we entered. She lifted me up in her arms and hummed a song for me. As she held me our chain gradually lost its weight. “What are the chains for?” I asked my grandmother from my mother's arms. “To tether us to our family.” I learned certain things about them over the years:(1) My grandmother carried broken chains. The weight of them slowed her movements.(2) My mother sometimes moved as if the chains carried no weight at all. The chain connecting us floated as if it was lighter than air. (3) My mother and I each carried the same fragmented chain. It was the only chain that burdened my mother, yet it contained no weight for me. --- She looks back at the burning houses. She sees the smoke rise above her town. Their faces scar her mind. As the fire becomes a distant glow, the weight of chains becomes more oppressive. Two chains that were taught now drag against the ground. The cries of the surrounding children drown out her own sobs. They aren't bonded by blood but skin. The children of a town built through hardship, destroyed by hatred. My chains sunk into the ground; their weight anchored me to the snow below my feet. I looked toward grandma. The wood creaked below her chair on the patio. Her chains borrowed through the wood and the ground below. She nods but doesn’t smile. Neither do I. Mother isn’t here to remind us to smile. My bad leg aches as I walk to the car, alone. The radio hums alive as the car starts. Warnings of a storm in the area separated the morning music. I flicked off the radio and drove in silence. The chains feel lighter when she's with Angela. Everytime she reads to her at night, she hears her father reading to her. Everytime she cooks with her, she smells the aromas of her mother's cooking. But for every cheerful moment there are a dozen somber ones. When she sends Angela off for her first date, she is reminded of her family that could never do the same for her. The family that was stolen from her. She sees the smoke in the sky. She feels the ash on her face. So her chains get heavier. ---- The tree fell like a comet. I was too slow to react. My vision was consumed by darkness. I awoke to the winter wind howling in my ear. Snow surrounded the vehicle. As I looked at my hands, my blood mixed with memories of hers. I cried out for help. My only responder, the wind. My leg burned the same as it did all those years ago. I looked to the empty seat next to me and saw her. I struggled to walk. Every step the chains got heavier. Every step I saw her cold face. My chains got so heavy they dug deep into the earth. I couldn't move. A human scarecrow in a winter wasteland. ---- She knew the words before the man spoke them. “There was an accident, y-your daughter...” he said. “She's gone.” She had felt the broken chain. She knew what it meant. The grief consumed her soul. Her girl was gone. Elijah came home later that day. His left leg twisted in an unnatural direction. She hadn't moved. She couldn't move. The chain's weight had caused it to dig deep into the ground. So she sat in her chair on the patio unable to speak to the boy with the limp. --- My body shivered. My eyes were forced closed. Every time they opened I saw her. The wind had stopped but the snow was still present. The whistling of birds slowly returned. Their whistling turned into my mother’s humming. I opened my eyes, the face was no longer empty but warm and smiling. I saw her picking me up, holding me close. I saw her smile when I learned to ride a bike. I saw her mouth the three words she would tell me every night. The chains rose from the ground. They floated like my mothers. My last unbroken chain directed me like a compass through the snow. Although my leg decelerated my journey, I made it safely to the house, my grandma asleep in her chair. I moved towards her and embraced her. And for a slight second her chains seemed to become weightless. ------ Thank you for reading! I am new to creative writing and this sub. I would appreciate any feedback on my first piece so I can improve.


Journal Entry 236: Winter’s Day, 1347 I think that will do it. The last injection should be the correct formula to introduce plant cells into the human body. Hopefully this will allow me to use the infernal sun’s power as a food source to survive in this accursed winter wasteland. Journal Entry 237: Winter’s Day, 1353 It’s been almost a week, and I’ve been terribly sick. I can definitely tell that the bio serum I injected myself with is working. It’s changing my very genetic structure. I’ve noticed that my eyes are turning yellow, and my skin has a green bioluminescence to it. I guess I should have thought about the fact that my skin would be the primary source of dietary consumption, if I really am turning into a plant. Does this mean I’ll have to walk around naked all the time? Good thing there’s no one else around to see my tree stump. Lol. Journal Entry 238: Winter’s Day, 1354 First report of sun feeding: I’m totally sunburnt! I spent three hours topside yesterday afternoon, walking around in my birthday suit, and I’m burnt from head to ankles. I have a stupid tan line where my boots were, and there’s funky tan lines also where my backpack straps were. I’ve been lonely for so long that I never thought I’d actually be glad no one is around to see how stupid I look. Journal Entry 239: Winter’s Day, 1364 It’s been ten days since my last report. I’m struggling to eat solid foods. The canned goods I have stockpiled in the bomb shelter are not staying down. I’ve had violent diarrhea every time I eat, and I’m manically thirsty. It’s like I’m addicted to water. I think I’ll try infusing water with fruit sugars for added nutrients. I feel like I have to start experimenting with plant fertilizer just to feed myself properly. This experiment is just getting weirder and weirder. Journal Entry 240: Winter’s Day, 1374 Another ten days. I’ve been spending significantly more time topside, naked. Emerging from the bomb shelter no longer hurts my eyes, but being inside actually does. I think my eyes have adjusted to the serum injection, and become sunlight dependent. It’s like my very eyeballs are sunglasses now! Journal Entry 241: Sun Day, 1 I’ve pretty much stopped eating solid foods. My primary source of sustenance is now the blazing sunlight. I don’t even burn anymore. I can actually feel my body absorbing the sun’s rays, and there’s a tingling sensation after about thirty minutes walking around. I think I can actually feel the chlorophyll in my skin cells converting sunlight into energy. I think this mad scientist plan I had of turning myself into a plant has actually worked! I’m officially changing the name of my calendar system to Sun Day, as the nuclear winter is no longer a limitation for me! I’m restarting the number system of how I count days as well. Journal Entry 242: Sun Day, 10 Another ten days has gone by. I think I can officially say that I’m no longer reliant on basic human foods. I have the digestive system of a plant now, requiring only sunlight. I’ve decided to pack up my belongings and start searching for other survivors. The last survivor I ran into was two years ago, and they mentioned a settlement near Taos, New Mexico. I think I’ll head down that way and see what I can find. I’ll need to follow the river though to make sure I have water, but that’s good desert country and I’ll have plenty of sunlight for food. How neat to say that! Journal Entry 243: Sun Day, 16 It took about a week to finish packing, and I’ve been walking for a few days. I’ve walked about sixty miles, and it’s a barren wasteland out here. The city of Denver is still a smoldering heap of bombed concrete and ash, and I didn’t see or hear any survivors. Perhaps if I find smaller towns away from the major blast centers, I’ll have more luck finding survivors. Journal Entry 245: Sun Day, 30 Another ten days have gone by. I’ve walked a long way, and still haven’t seen anyone. Am I the only survivor? I have to believe that’s not the case. Journal Entry 246: Sun Day 36 I found people! I’m just outside Chama, New Mexico, and I found a small village that’s established like a trading post. I got some strange looks because it’s not everyday that A: a wanderer comes in from the wasteland, and B: wastelanders probably don’t stroll around wearing only a loincloth. I’ve even stopped wearing shoes because my feet are barklike now so I don’t even need any foot protection. And I’m overall just a green color now, so that scared quite a few people. But these folks, who call themselves Chamites, were overall hospitable. They don’t see me as a threat, although they were rightfully wary at first. I had a great meeting with a group of five townspeople- three women and two men, who gave me a bit of their history. They said they’ve been in Chama ever since the bombs went off. The bombs tended to hit any sizeable population center, or anywhere that there were military installations. So Chama was saved, as it’s always been a small crossroads between Colorado and New Mexico, and not deemed a military target. I spent enough time with the town council to understand that these are not war-like people, but they’ve been having trouble with a group of local raiders that are desperately trying to break into the underground quarters where the people are. Most of the surface level of Chama has been pilfered by this group of marauders, and they want my help as I seem to be the only one who can openly traverse the surface without suffering health consequences. I think I’ll help this group, and maybe they’ll let me stay on with them. Journal Entry 247: Sun Day 40 I’ve been out in the Waste for over a week, surveying the band of raiders harassing the Chamites. There’s about twenty of these scoundrels, but it’s hard to tell who’s who because they are covered head to toe in rags and gear to protect from the sun. They’ve got a cage of Chama captives sitting out in the sun, and they absolutely torment these poor people. The town council told me that I can bring the captives back to the Chama Underground if I can figure out how to spring them. Journal Entry 249: Sun Day 52 I got ahold of one of the smaller raiders, and stashed him in a pile of rocks outside their encampment. He was terrified of my green skin and thought I was an alien. I laughed at that, as Roswell isn’t too far away. But I realized that I have the power to make roots and plants grow now, and I used them to wrap this guy up. Pretty awesome superpower! I’m going to go into camp while everyone is sleeping and quietly wrap vines around the doors of their poorly built housing structures. I’ll free the captives, and come back for my prisoner tomorrow. As soon as the sun goes down and everyone is sleeping, I’ll make my move. Journal Entry 250: Sun Day 53 Last night was terrifying, but successful! I got rolling late, as most of the raiders stayed up drinking some kind of homemade moonshine. Most of them were drunk as skunks by the time they went to bed, so I didn’t have to be as quiet as I had thought. But, I was sneaky and silent, and terrified beyond anything I’ve experienced since the day the bombs fell twelve years ago. Heart thumping out of my chest, and skin tingling with anxious excitement, I made my move. I crept into camp, and tested my powers of growing plants. Reaching out my hands, I concentrated on extending my fingertips. Little shoots sprung out of the ground where I directed my focus, literally willing plantlife to emerge. These neophyte plants grew up, and I was able to use my mind to twist them all together. Once I had created a thick lattice work over the door of the first hut, I focused on hardening these green shoots and turning them into brambles. This made them thick and tough, almost like dead vines. And the beautiful thing is that this only took about a minute of deep concentration! I moved from hut to hut, keeping a careful watch for any guard patrolling the camp. But these raiders didn’t feel the need to be cautious, convinced they were the only ones foolhardy enough to survive topside in the wastes. The sun is so strong on the surface that it burns anything in its view. So I quietly crept from one hut to another, closing off doors and windows. In about an hour, I had the whole camp on lockdown. Just before sunrise, I headed towards the cage holding the captives. There were seven of them, and looked almost dead. Skin burnt, hair frizzled, and dehydrated almost beyond salvaging. I quietly dispatched the lone guard, with the captives watching in wide-eyed fascination at this green plant-man. They had just enough strength to sneak back to my hideout in the rocks where I had left the last captive. We decided to leave him trussed up, either for dead or for finding by his comrades. It took us nearly three days to get back to the Chama Underground. I grew a crop of cactus plants, and cutting them open created enough fresh water to rehydrate the captives just enough for the journey to safety. The people of Chama were ecstatic that I had freed their family and friends, and regarded me as a superhero. They asked what they could call me. I said, call me Chloro Phil.


Monticello, Minnesota Tuesday, November 12, 1957 Dear Elmer, I am going to send you a few lines and will write as I think along. I am getting so that the fingers on the left hand are beginning to line-up a little better than they did a while ago so I can peck away today. Yesterday, the 11th of November, it was just three months since I had a little touch of something. It was on August 11th that my right side went on kind of a strike, it was hard to talk or eat and my right hand and right foot did not want to go the same way that I wanted them to go. I felt this coming on for several months but did not know enough to lay up or did not take time, so after takeing it easy for a while I am now nearly better. I think that worry causes things like this so today I have decided to let worry go where it wants. Now the wheather for this time of year is very good and we have not had any snow here to speak of and not very cold yet but I am certain it will come as it has never failed so far. The day you called me I had just gotten back from the lake cottage and some of the water pipes there had frozen and all the sistem system had to be drained. It should have been done but was put off till almost to late. I was s not at the lake cottage but very little this summer but your mother was out more or less. Do you remember Mr. Clark from the auto dealership? He helped your mother and Aunt Ida with lake house chores this summer. Aunt Ida is about the same as usual and intends to stay at the lake cottage unless it gets real cold and much snow this winter. I received the Old Spice you mailed me for my birthday. I still had some left-over from that the children sent me last Christmas. I must say that little Kenneth is a fine writer and have letters from Judy and see they are gaining knowledge. How long before Judy can play like Liberache? I am not doing any playing these days as my fingers on my left hand don’t cowperate cooperate most days. Now, I am useing the "Hoffman" T.V. We put the Admiral up-stairs in the guest room and I will say that the Admiral has been used a lot and is still going good. I can manage the Hoffman but it has been moved around and not in the best of adjustment but it gives plenty of entertainment. Your mother has the 17" Zenith in her room and it has been given a new antenna. With the three sets you and Peggy will have enough sets to fill every room in your house. I still have the old violin and also have a very good mandolin as I will never use them again so I have already shipped those to you in Oregon in proper boxes. Kenneth can use the violin for the Christmas recital. I tried to get this letter off withoutt thinking of so many things but it seems that so much comes into ones mind that one cannot write about it all, there is always something that turns-up to interrupt ones thoughts and when I think of all you's all out there in Oregon I just forget what to say. I have been at home this fall more than ever and any time I can ever recall and one reason is your mother has been very very busy with company or one thing or another. She gets my meals and brings me scotch but I don't see much of her only now and then as she has been with the company of Mr. Clark most days. Now I will try to get back on the subject I intended to write about as the fingers in my left hand are acheing now. I am glad to hear that your financial advisor business is good, Elmer. It is worth while when you are gaining even though it is hard work. I think I mentioned to you some time ago we have some little money saved up that you could use to help you allong more. I intended to save it for house repairs but since it is no good to me any longer it will go all to you and Peggy and the kids. About the year 1950 there began a farily fairly good income in your mother's business and it was steady until 1955 and there are stock options she invested with Aunt Ida. I never did much of anything in the way of labor, just some little tinkering here and there and tried to help your mother to my ability but she never allowed me to help. Your mother never thought I was good at the business aspect or let alone anything else. The balanse balance that has been put into the bank is about $5,000.00 and it is all yours. I have not made a will but you keep this and it may answer just as good. Your mother has recently withdrawn $1,000.00 for herself as I do not know the intention but there has been a new auto bought and I think the Dodge was traded in. She had bought a new dress too. This is a matter I had nothing to do with and one I don't want to get mixed up in. I know Elmer this is not something you would had advised your mother to do because the Dodge was in tip top shape. I told your mother to call you for your financial advise but I don't know wheather or not she did and I have no way of finding out because I did not ask her before I shot her. She was watching the news as she does in her favorite brown chair. She did not notice me when I walked in her room until the very last moment she turned my direction and saw that I had pointed the gun at her face. I smiled and pulled the trigger. I had to use my right hand and luckily my first shot struck her square in the face and that bullet sent her into eternity. I cleaned with a wet rag the blood and brains as best I could and not much splattered on the 17" Zenith so that is good. Her new dress is ruined so that will need to be thrown-out. The news broadcast on the TV was about the Pan Am airline flight that crashed on Friday the 8 th on the way to Honolulu and killed all 44 people. Elmer, did you see that on the news? What a tragedy. Love, Dad


‘’Raj, how long are you going to stay home, and just keep working on your laptop???’’ Chris yelled. ‘’I know but I feel better when I am up to date with my cases and my emails,’’ answered Raj. Both have been close friends for quite some time. They know well each other. Chris is a gamer. Spends a lot of time playing games on consoles. Especially adventures, and first-person shooter games. Call of Duty for example. Raj is a movie buff. Not movies on Netflix at home. Movies at cinemas. At one point, he was watching seventy movies a year in theaters. That was more than one movie a week! He would then write down on an Excel spreadsheet the movie he had seen and write a little review about the movie with a rating out of ten. A review under two hundred words. Till the pandemic hit the world in March 2020... then it all ended. He was forced to work from home also by that time. Both have been living together as roommates for a few years now. ‘’I know you work hard, go above and beyond, and you are a perfectionist. However, you need to rest. Take you mind off from work. I know lately you have not been going out due to the pandemic. I know you love working from home now. You are saving time and money, and because you are already home, bored, you just keep checking your work emails and your pending cases. Clients will wait. You are not paid to work 24/7. You need to leave some tasks for your peers also. You are not paid more to do their work, ‘’ said Chris. ‘’I guess...you are right. It is not just about the money, getting paid or not, for the extra work. I enjoy my work. I am troubleshooter, I am an analyzer, I am a logician...my brain needs that type of work. Not sure how to explain to you. It is more for me, not only to help the clients, or my company. I desire to be the best at what I do,’’ replies Raj. ‘’I know your personality type. I know what stimulates your brain. You see, cinemas are still closed. How about you start watching some on Netflix or Amazon Prime. You are subscribed to both services. I would always come to you to ask about movies. If a certain movie was worth watching on the big screen or at home. How about you watch at least one movie a week at home, write a review, give a rating, and list the movie on a spreadsheet? As you used to do. You took your hobby very seriously. I know also you enjoy talking about movies in general. About cinema. About stories. About plots. About acting. About actors.’’ ‘’I think you are right. Maybe I should get back into one of my favorite past times. You know, going to the movies for me, is like an escape from reality for 2-3 hours. To be sitting in a cinema hall, lights off, even if it is empty, for me, is like being in paradise. Every 5-6 movies, I make sure I do get also some buttered popcorn and Coca-Cola. I would not abuse because it can be quite expensive and I don’t want also gain weight.’’ Raj puts his work laptop on sleep mode. While Chris is getting ready to launch Netflix on their tv set. Chris seems happier about this movie night than his friend who is a movie buff. Chris is browsing by genre. ‘’Would kind of movie you are looking forward to watch?’’ ‘’Tonight...how about a new arrival on Netflix. A new movie...’’ As Chris is going through a list of new movies that were added to the database of Netflix, Raj is getting ready with a bowl of popcorn and some Coca-Cola. Our friends, found a movie. Titled, The Vanished. A mystery thriller. It is Friday night. They already had supper. It is almost 9 PM. By the time the movie ends, it will be bed time. ‘’All set Raji boy?’’ ‘’Yes Sir! Thanks for doing this movie night with me. I needed a change. I was spending way too much time on my work laptop when it was not even required. I can’t wait for the theaters to open and enjoy a good movie on the big screen.’’ ‘’Soon my friend. We all need to be patient and do our part to minimize the impact of this pandemic,’’ says Chris. ‘’I know. You are right. All of us, all human beings, we need to chip in and do what is best for the human race as a whole.’’ As the movie starts, total silence in the living room. Raj is in some kind of a hypnotized state once a movie starts. Especially if it is a good story, with some great acting. After 15-20 minutes, our movie buff friend can tell if a movie is going to be fun to watch or if it will be a disappointment. It is almost 11 PM. The movie just ended. Raj did not utter a work during the movie. It felt like he was in a cinema where he is not supposed to talk to anyone. Chris was happy. Raj looked at Chris with a big smile. Our amateur movie critique was satisfied. ‘’I feel unstressed. Tomorrow, I will do my movie home work. I will show it to you also so you can tell me what do you think about it. A rating out of ten, list the movie title, a short review, and save it on my personal pc. I feel like I am back in the game. One day, maybe, I would like to be a movie critique. The last time I saw a movie was six months ago...’’ ‘’Raj, buddy, even though life has changed on a global scale, we must stay united, and we must help each other. During this difficult times, mental health is even more important,’’ replies Chris. As another day starts, Chris wakes up, and sees his friend Raj, on his personal laptop this time with a cup of chai, with his glasses on, getting back into movie viewing and movie reviews. Life is never easy and sometimes, we need to indulge in little things that can bring us joy. And, not to always wait for everything to be perfect to enjoy something.