The glimmering of the lights of the Christmas tree and other strings of lights lit up the whole entire Gustav house. Benji sat on the sofa, staring endlessly into the lights, trying to figure out what was missing to the recipe. He had failed a multitude of times, and even with his mom's help, he still failed. "Benji, honey, don't be too upset, at least you tried." Benji's mother consoled. Benji just sighed and laid back on the couch. He shut his eyes and prayed to whatever God that was out there that he would find the missing ingredient. "The festival is tomorrow, mom. I need to figure out what it is as soon as possible, because if I don't, Bake N' Take might as well just crush me now." Benji snapped, frustrated with everything. She gave him a signature 'mom' look and he immediately apologized. "I'm sorry, mom, I just really need this money for the bakery. I'm going against a corporation that is so much bigger than I am and I just don't know how to deal with this much stress." Benji rambled. "Son, please, just calm down, if you don't win, you'll find a way to make it work so Creamy Creations can survive." She grinned. The front door opened and Benji's father and sixteen-year-old brother waltzed in. "Still stressed about the mistletoe gingerbread thing?" Calix inquired. Benji smiled that his brother actually cared or pretended to care, at least. "What kind of sugar are you using?" Then it dawned on him. He wasn't using the right sugar. He needed gingerbread sugar and not powdered sugar! How could he mess that up? Benji jumped up from the couch and hugged Calix tightly. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Calix you are amazing!" Benji cheered before running into the kitchen to start with his gingerbread mistletoes. "Benji I understand you're gay but I don't like you violating me like that!" Calix shouted jokingly. "Oh please, it was just a hug, you'll get over it." Benji laughed. °•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°• "Hey Benji, how's it going?" Calix asked, shivering a little in the New York weather. "You care to help? I'm a bit busy here." Benji confided. Calix jumped in beside his brother and started handing out samples of the gingerbread flavored mistletoe. Within a few minutes, the crowd had diminished with the help of Calix. They both turned around to prepare Benji's mistletoes for the next wave of people to come through, making their backs turned to the front of the stand. "Have you met your competition yet?" Calix questioned. "No, he's probably some egotistical jerk that only cares about himself." Benji shrugged. "Well, I did some digging and I came up with name, age, and sexuality." Calix grinned. "Oh God, please don't continue." He groaned, tired of having his brother trying to set him up with someone. "His name is Everett Hall. He is twenty-four, same as you." Calix winked, nudging him a bit. "...and he's gay, also just like you." "Of course. You're trying to set me up with my rival who, like I said before, most likely doesn't care about anything but himself." Benji rolled his eyes. "Come on Benji, at least try to not judge him before you know him." Calix all but begged. Calix and Benji heard someone clear their throat behind them and they both turned around to see a tall looking man with dark hair that was slicked back, high cheek bones, caring brown eyes, broad shoulders, and jacked arms. Benji noticed his shirt and gasped. It was a Bake N' Take employee. "Hey Everett." Calix greeted. Benji's posture tightened and he shot Calix a glare. "Hey." He responded coolly. Benji gulped and looked into his mesmerizing eyes. "I'm Benji." I whispered. Calix excused himself from the conversation and walked off somewhere. "Hello Benji, I'm Everett, and I can assure you that I am not a egotistical jerk that only cares about himself." He smiled. Benji winced like he had been hit. He now felt bad about that accusation he had made without meeting Everett. "I apologize, Everett, I just built up this whole evil personality of the one I was competing against. I really shouldn't have done that." "It's all good. I imagined you were a girl, so we were both in the wrong." He chuckled. "Yeah, definitely not a girl. I'm not even interested in girls." Benji casually said without realizing. When Benji did realize though, his eyes became wide and he mentally slapped himself. "I'm sorry. That was inappropriate, it just slipped." "Stop apologizing, it's fine, really. I mean, I already knew you were gay from Calix filling you in about my life." He chuckled. His chuckle gave Benji butterflies. It was like nothing he had ever heard before. "So, why are you competing? I mean, you're already a popular bakery, what is there to gain besides a money prize?" Benji inquired, feeling brave. "Well, I mostly just wanted to change things up a bit this holiday. I was mostly just done hanging out with my homophobic family and being ridiculed. It gets old pretty quickly." He smiled softly. "Oh." He frowned in response. "So what about you, cutie?" Benji blushed from the nickname but quickly told himself Everett was just being polite. "Uh, well, my bakery mostly needs the money prize and the popularity. We're kinda in a lot of debt right now and we may have to shut down." Benji's frowned deepend from talking about it. "Well we wouldn't want that would we?" He smirked. Benji's stomach felt like he was driving down large hills by looking at Everett's smirk. Everett reached beside him for a leftover mistletoe from the ambush earlier. He reached over to the stand beside Benji's and grabbed a flexible metal ornament hanger. He shoved one end through the top of the mistletoe before hanging it on the top of the stand from a hook. "For good luck, and if you don't win, maybe you'll find someone special under the gingerbread flavored mistletoe." He grinned from ear to ear before walking off. Only one thought remained in Benji's head; Maybe I already found him . °•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°• "Now, time for the contest winners." The announcer spoke into the microphone. Calix and Benji stood at my stand impatiently, basically jumping from eagerness. Ever since Benji had spoken to Everett, he couldn't get him out of his head. "Do you think that I have a shot?" Benji whispered to Calix. "I'm pretty positive you've got this in the bag." He smiled knowingly. He knew something! What did he know that Benji didn't? "...and the winner for the bakery contest is-" "Wait!" A familiar voice yelled, and I knew who it was immediately. "I, Everett Hall, forfeit from the bakery contest, making Benji Gustav the winner." Everett announced then ran over to Benji's booth and Benji couldn't help but check him out as he ran. "You didn't have to do that." Benji whispered, self conscious about everyone's gaze on them. "I know, but you need it so much more than I do and I would never live it down if I won." He said, catching his breath in between words. "Also, I told you that you may find a special person today, but, in reality, I think I found the special person. It's you, Benji." Benji's face flushed a serious red color then responded sheepishly, "I think you're my special person, too." Everett stepped a few steps over and Benji followed suit. It was only then Benji realized they were under the gingerbread flavored mistletoe.


“Why was it so important to be here this early on a Saturday, tell me again Anil?” Filip was grumbling from his seat next to me. Around us were the plain white walls of Vace & Associates’ Auction house. Rows upon rows of folding chairs filled the auditorium we were in and the red trim and generic paintings on the otherwise plain white walls continued to offend me. It seemed odd that a room this large had less than a dozen people sitting in it, but as I glanced around I saw the tired faces of three older people -two women and a man- behind me, and the backs of the heads of another five people ahead of us, closer to the front. Filip and I were seated closer to the middle, in the most neutral seats, I thought. “Because I’ve figured out how to win these things,” I told Filip confidently, he was resting his elbows on his knees and was looking at the carpet, it was that carpet you saw at every convention center haunting me as always. He was holding his paddle loosely in his hand, he hadn’t wanted it but the attendant at the entrance insisted. He did glance at me at those words though. “You do realize the way to win an auction is just to... bid the highest, right? That’s what these paddles are about,” be flipped his paddle in the air carelessly and I had to resist the urge to chastise him for it. “This isn’t a normal auction,” I said instead, giving him what I hoped was a mysterious smile. “Is this one of those ‘you pay, just not with money, oooooohhhh’ situations?” “No, just a normal auction.” “You literally just said it wasn’t a normal auction, not five seconds ago.” My frown deepened, “on the scale of normal auction to an auction where you bet on things with like, souls and remaining years of your life this is 99.9% of the way to a normal auction.” “How many decimals would you need before you could just call it a normal auction? I feel like if you have to specify that it’s 99.9% of the way to a normal auction it’s easier to just call it a normal auction.” “It’s not a normal auction-” “You just said it was-” “The only reason I said it was 99.9% on the side of the normal auction was because the other end of the scale was so ridiculous. A webcam is 99.9% of the way to being pair of burks if the other end of the scale is it being a half-sentient hivemind of bees striped with the imaginary colours breen and plorple.” He was silent for a beat. “That scale doesn’t make sense.” “It was just an-” “And how could a hivemind be half-sentient anyways? I feel like sentience is one of those things where your species is either all in or they’ve folded.” “I didn’t really-” “What is sentience anyways?” I opened my mouth and closed it, thinking a moment before I responded. I was saved by the auctioneer banging a gavel against his podium, he must have slipped in while we were talking. “Ah, we have some people in attendance, good good, I trust everyone understands the rules of a dollar auction, but I must, ah, explain anyways,” said the auctioneer in a gravelly voice. “This happens twice a year?” asked Filip. “Once every two, shh.” “You will all be bidding for this dollar,” the auctioneer revealed a framed silver dollar behind a glass screen, “the top bid takes the dollar, but the top two bids must pay.” Filip frowned, “you’re doing this for a dollar?” “I’m doing this to make a statement.” “That you can buy a dollar?” “The bidding naturally will begin at zero, the aucioneer’s bid as they say.” “No, I’ve solved the theory behind this, if I get this dollar it proves my theory correct.” “What’s your theory, wait- I don’t care, a dollar?” I turned to my companion, “Filip, do you honestly think I’m doing this all for a dollar.” “Yeah you’re doing this to make a statement, or whatever.” “What if I told you, hypothetically, that a dollar auction wasn’t the highest they go.” Filip frowned, “go on.” “There’s a two dollar auction, five dollar, a thousand... but the theory, the method for coming out on top, that remains the same for them all.” Filip was silent for a beat, “who the hell told you about this?” “You just gotta spin in the right circles,” I said, flashing him a smile. “Oh, god, never say that again.” “Just imagine me, walking up to a stage, having won a million dollars at an auction. There is cheering all around me, they’re in awe that I solved the puzzle-” “And then everyone stood up and clapped.” I frowned, “why can’t you let me have this moment?” Filip pulled back, “what moment? Your imaginary moment in your head that definitely hasn’t happened? Let me remind you, Anil, an auction isn’t a puzzle. You can’t solve an auction except with money.” “Watch and learn, baby.” “The bidding begins.” I raised my paddle instantly and called out, “ninety-nine cents,” to the visible dismay of the few in attendance around me. I turned to Filip and murmured to him, “You see, betting ninety-nine cents still gives me a profit of a penny, just over one percent. Nobody will bid a dollar because that just exposes them to needless risk for no possibility of profit, as long as I’m the first person to bid, I can’t lose. Everyone else will just walk away.” I could see Filip frowned at me, “what if-” “A dollar.” We both turned to see the woman at the front with a raised paddle, shooting a sly look our way. “What the fuck is she doing,” I couldn’t help but mumble. “Now I might be wrong, but it appears that she’s getting revenge for you ruining her fun, I suppose she was one of those people who actually wanted to wake up so early on a Saturday to participate.” “She can’t make any money, though.” “And you’re down ninety-nine cents, I guess you’ve learned a valuable lesson, good thing this isn’t a million dollar auction. I frowned, “If I bid a dollar and one penny I’ll only be losing a penny.” Filip groaned next to me, “but if her motivations are purely to get revenge she’ll just keep outbidding you by a penny and you’ll be even worse off.” “You might think that, but you’re not accounting for human emotion, people aren’t perfectly rational beasts.” “So you’re saying she won’t outbid you again?” “I’m saying she will if I just bid an extra penny-” “Oh no-” “I raised my paddle, “dollar ninety-eight.” I looked over to Filip once more, “you see it’s really quite simple, these people are all chumps, a big bet like that will scare them off, and I’ll only be losing ninety-eight cents as opposed to ninety nine. I knew the risks that were involved and I came prepared.” I was watching the woman like a hawk while I was explaining this to Filip, if she did choose to bid again I’d beat her bid instantly, asserting dominance. Her paddle arm twitched up, and mine was up as well in a flash. “Four dollars.” “Three doll- what the fuck four dollars?” Filip looked at me and cocked his head. I responded to his unspoken question, “this is an anomaly, she’s clearly crazy. You know she’s actually losing more money on the four dollar bid than if she just ate the cost of the dollar,” my words were coming out in a frantic whisper. “Kind of like you would have lost less if you just ate the cost of ninety-nine cents?” “That’s different, I had a strategy, you shouldn’t be able to win without a strategy.” “I mean, her strategy appears to be to bid more money than you and it seems pretty successful.” “That’s not a strategy.” “Once again, this is an auction for a dollar.” I just shook my head in disgust. “Going once, going twice, sold! To the woman in the front!” There was scattered applause around the room that I refused to participate in, my eye twitched when Filip started clapping loudly next to me. “Alright Filip, let’s go, and I don’t want to hear any I told you’s, this is as big of an outlier there’s ever going to be?” The woman was making her way towards us with her dollar and I was nudging Filip in the side trying to get him to leave with me, but he was moving painfully slowly. In fact, it turned out that he wasn’t moving at all, he approached the woman and gave her a quick hug. “Hey Sara, good to see you.” “Hey Filip, this is the guy,” she asked, nodding over to my frowning face. “Yeah, can you believe he made me drive him here this early on a Saturday? I’ve been up since five in the goddamn morning,” Filip complained, “anyways here’s your ten bucks,” he said handing her a bill. She nodded smiling and I could only watch as she walked out of the auditorium. “You... you paid her?” “Uh, yeah.” It all came together, and I told him so, “it’s all coming together, she was acting rationally all along, you paid her to beat me, there was an external factor that caused me to lose, the theory is still sound!” A thought occurred to me, “but wait, seems like you lose the most in this situation, was someone paying you too?” Filip looked at me with that same inscrutable look I’d been seeing more and more often in recent months, “no dumbass,” he said finally, “it was revenge for making me wake up this early to drive you, Sara just lived nearby and she was up so I texted her to come here and mess with you because, and I really want to emphasize this point, this was an auction for a dollar.” I was silent for a few moments while I processed that. “So is she splitting the money with you or...” Filip just raised his hands in exasperation and began walking away.


I would not call myself a pretty woman, and I am not being modest when I say that. I have never had much luck with men. Even my marriage was arranged by my father. I may not be repulsive to look at, but I am most definitely not attractive. But that wasn’t the case with the Collins, apparently. The attractive, happy couple that moved in opposite our home six months ago. Well, six months and three weeks, to be precise. They were a sight to see in this boring old neighborhood. Lucy Collins was a beautiful woman. She was swelled up and toned down in just the right places. I had been observing them from the window in my kitchen very regularly, hoping to find them amid a fight. A couple couldn’t be that perfect, no? But I never could. Two conclusions could be inferred form this observation--either they were very discreet about their arguments, or they never had any. If the latter, Arthur had a lot to live up to. One Tuesday evening, when I was bringing the heavy grocery bags in, Mr. Collins came up near the car and all but snatched the bags from my hand. “These look heavy. Please, let me,” he said with a smile. I waved my hands, “oh no. That is very kid of you, but you don’t need to do that, Mr. Collins.” He’d already started walking towards my house with the bags in hand, “just Vince, please. And where is Arthur anyway?” He asked with a glint in his eye, as if mocking my husband. This is where I defend him, no? “Oh, he’s been having a lot of work lately. He comes home late every day,” I took the bags from him and stood with my back facing the locked door. “That’s a shame,” Mr. Collins sighed, resting his palm on the doorframe. “You must be bored out of your mind all day,” he brought his other hand up too, effectively trapping me between the door and himself. I turned around quickly and started feeling for my keys inside the handbag. As I unlocked the door, I could feel his slow, controlled breaths on my neck the whole time. I could hear his gulps, feel his eyes travel down my body--all of it in the span of a few seconds. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Collins,” I intended to say harshly, but I fear it came out as a soft whisper instead. “If you need any more help, I’m right here, Eleanor,” was the last thing I heard before shutting the door with a bang. That night, I slept with Mr. Collins on my mind. Early next morning, I found myself staring at the night gown in the mirror. Silk, off-white, thigh-length and extremely transparent--it was one of those things I bought online on a whim. He’d never like it, I though as I felt the fabric on my body. It had been months since Arthur and I had had sex. I’d say we had lost the spark, but we didn’t have any to begin with. “What the hell are you wearing?” came an incredulous voice from behind me, and I turned around to face my husband. “Well, don’t you like it?” I asked, with what I hoped was a seductive smile. Taking slow steps forward, I attempted to touch his arm, but Arthur recoiled violently. “I’ve got work,” he said, trying his best--but failing--to hide his disgust. As Arthur made his way to the bathroom to freshen up, I rushed downwards with my cheeks flushed. He hadn’t laid a finger on me, and yet I felt like I’d been slapped. I needed to catch a breath. No sooner had I opened the door than I came face-to-face with Mr. Collins. Only a moment later did it register to me that I was in a wildly inappropriate attire. I instinctively took a step backwards, my eyes trained on the ground. I didn’t dare look up, just pulled my robe tighter around me. Not a word did he speak the whole while. I imagined his eyes were taking a tour down my bare legs, my chest and every other thing on display. Just as I was about to ask him the reason for his arrival, a hysterical voice came from behind Mr. Collins. “Eleanor! Good morning!” “Hello, Lucy,” I sighed, thankful for her interference. “How is it going this morning?” “Well,” Lucy said, slapping her husband’s arm, “we have news!” “Oh?” “But first, here,” she said, extending towards me a white cardboard box. “Strawberry glazed donuts from the new store that opened downtown! They are the best thing ev-er. ” Taking the box, I grinned at her, knowing full well that they were going into the dustbin. Who liked strawberries? “Um, about the special news you were going to tell me?” I prompted. “Oh, yeah," Lucy cleared her throat dramatically, "We’re gonna have a baby!” She all but screamed and leapt to envelope me in a hug. I was stunned for a little while and could only speak once she let go. “That’s--that’s great news! I congratulate you.” “We’re having a party next Friday,” she said handing out a card. “Here’s the invite. Join us!” Lucy said as she dragged her husband away. “The Collins are having a baby,” I said shutting the door. I turned around to face my husband, only to find him fumbling with his tie quite awkwardly. Arthur cleared his throat several times before mumbling a reluctant “right.” “I’m leaving,” he said, reaching for his office bag. “Perhaps, you are,” I replied, earning an incredulous look from my husband. I only shook my head and headed upstairs. My husband was many thigs, but discreet was not one of them. Arthur didn’t talk to me a lot. He didn’t tell me about the long, tiring traffic jams he was stuck in. He didn’t tell me about that one lousy driver that shouldn’t be allowed on the road. He didn’t even tell me about his promotion, I only found out about it upon hearing a friend of his congratulate him. He didn’t tell me about his day, and it goes without saying, he didn’t care about mine. A lot of what I learnt about him, I learned through his mannerisms and habits. If he bought home fresh chicken or beef, we were going to have a guest home for dinner. If he wanted a shirt ironed for the next day, I’d find it on my side of the bed at night. If he set an alarm for six a.m., it meant ‘wake me up before seven.’ I liked to think that I could read my husband like an open book. But that assumption shattered when I read the words ‘It’s yours’ from Lucy Collins on my husband’s message board. Never the discreet one, as I said. Isn’t it common knowledge that if you are going to have an affair, password-protecting your phone is one of the first things you’d do to prevent the truth from leaking? Is Arthur an idiot, or does he think he married one? I supposed I could throw my wedding ring at his face and call my lawyer, but that would severely derail my life. I’d have to start over. I wasn’t ready for that kind of inconvenience ten years after marriage. If only my daft husband knew how to hide the truth better. Friday came soon enough. The Collin’s place was already abuzz with people from the entire neighborhood, it seemed. The excitement was palpable and congratulatory words were being thrown around when we arrived. “Eleanor, Arthur! I’m so glad you guys could make it. Come on, drinks are waiting!” Lucy said, pointing her thumb towards her house. I smiled tightly and replied with some customary words of congratulations. I made my way inside, not caring if my husband followed. I needed a drink. The aroma in the kitchen was heavenly. Cakes and biscuits decorated the shelves. There were trays of pastries and donuts on the counter. Chocolate donuts, donuts topped with sprinklers, and a single strawberry glazed donut. They looked delicious. And yet, my desire of a drink dragged me away to the alcohol section. I poured out a glass of whatever was available, and turned around, my back resting on the kitchen platform. The lively party was just barely visible from where I stood, but what my eyes automatically zeroed in on, was Lucy Collins. There she was, talking animatedly, raising her glass (of lemonade, I presumed) at appropriate intervals. I tilted my head, was she really that perfect, enticing, irresistible-- , blocking my train of thoughts (and line of sight), stood Mr. Collins. “You look lovely tonight, Eleanor.” “Thank you, Mr. Collins.” “Just Vince, Eleanor,” he sighed. “Enjoying your drink all alone?” I understood the implication but chose to ignore it. “It’s boisterous outside.” Mr. Collins shoved his hands into his pockets and took slow steps towards me. “I’m here to escape the crowd, too.” I chuckled, “It’s your party!” Mr. Collins was close to me now. Too close. “Doesn’t mean I enjoy it,” he whispered. I looked up at him and gulped. We were just making conversation, why did it feel so... intimate ? I’d never once felt this way before. M. Collins leaned into me slowly, his lips lightly brushing my neck. I felt electricity course through me. Was this normal? I clutched my glass tighter in hands. “You taste...” he sucked on my earlobe, “...better than I imagined.” Over his shoulder, I could see Mary from next door make her way towards the kitchen, and abruptly pushed Mr. Collins away. “Yes, I’d surely let you know, Mr. Collins,” I said, a little louder than necessary, trying to hide my breathlessness. Mary glanced at us, picked the tray of donuts, and headed out. As soon as she was out of sight, Mr. Collins nearly pounced on me, like a predator on its prey. “Vince,” I rested my hand on his chest and watched his eyebrows rise dramatically. “We can’t.” “What do you mean?” “We can’t,” I repeated. “Eleanor, you know you want this,” Mr. Collins beseeched. “Perhaps, but we can’t. ” “Why not?” He asked, tumultuously. A moment passed. A glass shattered outside. I stared at him. “Well?” He pressed. “Because it’s not appropriate,” I smiled. My words were followed a moment later by a loud thud from outside. The loud commotion finally drew Mr. Collins attention away from me and he rushed out, with me on his trail. Pushing though people, we finally saw what was in the middle of the mess--Lucy Collins. She was splayed out, with her arms and legs uncontrollably shaking--convulsing. Arthur stood nearby with his mouth agape. Mr. Collins was at his knees beside her, immediately. His hands were on her head, and his eyes held confusion and fear. “What--what’s happening? Someone--oh, fuck she’s not fucking breathing--someone call 911. Please! ” I pressed my lips together and went back to the quiet of the kitchen. Taking a sip of my unfinished drink, I sighed. It felt almost wrong that there was no one, not one person to pat my back and bask in the warmth of my victory together. But maybe, that’s the beauty, as well as tragedy of it. No one can know. The ruckus from outside reached my ear, but my brain refused to register it. Gingerly, my hands reached my pockets to take out a tiny glass bottle labelled ‘potassium cyanide.’ Should I have married this bottle, instead? It is discreet. It doesn’t betray.


“Do you really think you could be happy with me?” I gently put my utensils down, plastic fork on the left, plastic knife on the right, just how he likes it. “I mean here, forever, just you and me.” I struggle swallow today’s slop and say, “Of course Ian, forever and ever just you and me.” He seems pleased with my response. He removes my plate from the concrete floor at which we had been sitting. “I’m so glad you’re feeling better! I’ll be right back with your meds.” I hear him climb the stairs and lock the door behind him. I don’t know why he bothers to lock the door anymore. The chain on my ankle keeps me secure to the wall. After my first escape attempt, the chain was installed. I don’t have too long to wonder, he returns with a box of pill bottles. I don’t fight it anymore. He gives me the pills and I take them willingly. After so long in his basement, I long for the calm, paralyzing, numbness these mystery pills bring. He leaves again, I can smell the apple cinnamon air fresheners he sprays in his house for a split second before he closes the door and I am once again locked in. Soon I will sleep, my only escape. Sleep doesn’t last long. I hear the door open, close and lock. I feel he hit breath on the back of my neck. His grotesque hands groping me. As usual, he can’t preform his manly duties, so I get the metal pipe. It’s cold. It’s hurts. I leave my body and I am home. I see my daughters face. I wonder how long I’ve been gone. Does she miss me? Does she even remember me? I wake up sore down there. Ignoring the pain I begin my usual routine. I rub the chain on my ankle against the concrete for hours. The sound feels like my ears might bleed. Maybe one day he will trust me enough to take the chain off, even though he shouldn’t. I know he’s at work today, it’s Tuesday, so I scream for help until my throat burns. I stare at myself in the mirror. I’m dirty. I don’t know when I last showered. Hair matted, greasy. I would break this mirror if I could only reach. Then maybe I could use a shard of glass to stab him. Then what? He’d be angry and I’d be punished or he’d be dead and I’d still be in his basement chained to a wall for God knows how long. After a while of what if’s and self loathing I finally hear his keys jingle. “Honey, I’m home!” “ Ian, darling! So happy you’re here!” I say trying to sound genuine. “It’s your birthday! I’ve got you a surprise!” Is it my birthday, I must’ve forgot. He pulls out a cheap bottle of wine, take out food, and a box of condom and flowers. “Honey, you’ve outdone yourself!” I force my self to sound excited. He’s sets our table on the floor. We eat the take out. It was heavenly. I take the flowers, smelling them, “Sir, you are a true gentleman. How could I be so lucky.” He puts his arm around me, his cologne nearly gagging me, “I knew you’d realized one day just how much I love you. I did all this for you.” He kisses my neck, revolting. “ I’m so happy my head is finally clear! I know you love me!” I say as to not rock the boat. Then, I see something. A chance. I move slow and while caressing his unkept hair and repulsive chest and stomach. Eventually my hand reaches the wine bottle. It was quick. I hit him in the head, glass and booze everywhere. Unconscious he lied there. I sprung into action. I go through his pockets. The keys!! I quickly unchain my foot and secure it around his. I run upstairs for the first time, locking the door behind me. Apple cinnamon, I love that smell. His house is nice. I didn’t see much of it when I was being drug down to the basement. I have no time to explore. I make my way to the kitchen. My mom made the best spaghetti. I begin working. Combining all my ingredients to create the perfect dish. Under the sink I find exactly what I need, the one ingredient that’s makes the whole dish. I poured all the rat poison into the sauce. I made him a plate, like the good wife he wants would. I exhale sharply before I unlocked the basement. The moldy stench is nauseating, I guess after a while you don’t notice. He screams, “You bitch, you fucking bitch. Let me go! I swear I’ll kill you!” I walk down the stair and see him in the same position I had been. Except he is clothed, not tortured. “Honey, this is all just a misunderstanding. Look, I have a surprise! Spaghetti, your favorite! Eat and then we’ll talk about this all and I will let you go,” I say, trying to sound sincere. He takes his plate and eats it all. “Big man like you needs all his nutrients. None for me, I’m watching my figure like you told me” I smile. We sit and I wait. Then, the spasms and the foaming mouth, cries for help. I almost, no, I do enjoy it. Eventually he’s gone. Gone. Gone and I am free. “Surprise, Ian,” I laugh. I walk up the steps to the main house and walk out the front doors he carries me through so long ago. Free. There is a faint smile on my face. I will remember that smile. I was happy. Not happy he was dead, but happy to finally breathe air. Once I was through the doors, I can see nothing but darkness. Then I realize, I don’t know where I am. The other side is an area I have never seen before. There is an older woman taking out her trash across the street. “Help! Help me Please! My name is Sarah Willard and I was kidnapped by Ian Matthews .


The silence of the room was more than she could take. No one dared to speak, all of them just sat and stared at her as if there was nothing more interesting in the world. The white walls of the room paired with the cold light, lack of windows and the cheap chairs that the spectators occupied only made the space more unsettling than it already was. The people that surrounded her were of various ages, ethnicities and builds but the blank stare that they directed towards her looked the same on all of them. If you’d ask her how she found herself in this situation she wouldn’t be able to tell you she just opened her eyes and realized that she’s not in her small apartment in Brighton anymore. The last thing she remembered was laying down to sleep after a long day of work, a normal day. So the main questions she needed answered right now were ‘where am I?’, ‘what is going on?’, ‘who the hell are those people?’ and overall ‘what the fuck?’. The fact that she was not kicking and screaming right now was only provided by the sheer shock and surprise she felt that made her freeze up completely. She feared that if she made a move or spoke or even breathed too loud the people that were looking at her would attack, that’s how intense their gaze felt. So she waited, trying to stay calm and often glancing to the door on the other side of the room that remained closed the whole time she spent there. She tried focusing on her breathing, slowly gathering the courage to speak up or run but then the door opened. The people in the room were not affected as the tall man in a grey suit entered, a easy and confident smile on his face didn’t feather as he slowly made his way to her slaloming between her ‘audience’. He was blonde and looked to be only a couple of years older than her, the air of confidence around him scared her but also made her angry. He stopped only a couple of steps in front of where she was sitting and looked down at her tilting his head slightly to the side surveying her face. “You’re Claire is that correct?” he asked, his voice was deep but somehow light. She nodded slowly not trusting her voice in the moment. “Splendid, come with me please” the man continued and extended his hand palm up in an inviting gesture towards her. She needed a second to realize that he extended the hand to help her get up from the chair. Claire did not know why she decided to accept the help but then again this situation was bizarre enough so she gently placed her hand into his and got up from the chair. She glanced at the people around them but they remained unmoving and continued to stare at her, the man must’ve noticed because then he said “Oh don’t worry those are just monitoring androids they won’t do anything unless I tell them to” the last part of the sentence made her look up at him with unease but he just smiled again, dropped her hand and put his own on the small of her back guiding Claire towards the door that he entered through. She walked slowly and carefully almost as if on autopilot and when they reached the door the man opened it for her. Stepping over the threshold they found themselves in a hallway that looked like the place could be a well aspiring law firm. Navy blue walls, mahogany floor, paintings and mirrors with gold frames, a couple of doors that looked like the ones she just came out of and a couple of potted plants on black tables that were placed along the walls. She did not have much time to take the space in because the man lightly nudged her to continue walking down the long corridor. As they walked the man was on her left side looking forward not bothering to explain who he was and where exactly were they going. When she finally opened her mouth to ask all the questions that bothered her mind he started speaking as if he knew what she was about to ask. “You are probably confused and curious as to where you are and what are you doing here. Everything will make perfect sense shortly I guarantee but first my name is William Davenport I am the CEO of Pegasus Industries. We are currently in one of many Pegasus facilities and you just got recruited to be my personal assistant.” He said matter-of-factly and Clair stopped walking looking up at him, he was wrong nothing made perfect sense it was the exact opposite. “What?” she mumbled and her ‘new boss’ stopped walking as well and turned to her clasping his hands behind his back calmly never losing the smile on his face. “Pegasus is an intergalactic company tasked with the production of androids and nano-tech. We supply the whole of Nexus and its seven moons with top tear product and we have multiple contracts with the intergalactic government” he said “and you just got the privilege to work for me” Claire’s world was spinning; did she lose her mind? Is she dreaming? From what the man just said she was not only on a whole another planet but also a different galaxy and was now the man's personal assistant. She tried to remember if she hit her head yesterday or maybe someone poisoned her oatmeal but then she realized that she did in fact apply for a job in a company named Pegasus about a week ago, but in the online ad there was no mention of ‘we are going to kidnap you to another planet and keep you in a room full of androids and then we’ll explain your daily duties. As far as she was concerned it was 2021 and androids that looked like humans weren’t a thing yet not to mention space travel beyond the earths moon. “As I said I’ll explain everything but now you’ve passed the test and I’m taking you out to celebrate our new collaboration! I hope you like moon coffee!” he said and resumed walking and for some reason, she fallowed not seeing any other option beyond waiting for everything to make sense. They soon reached a large dark brown double door, the man opened it and revealed white skyscrapers, flying vehicles and people in strange outfits. Claire took one step onto the sunshine-filled balcony and the next thing she saw was black splotches that dotted her vision and then everything went dark as she fainted.


I’m so tired,* I thought, eyelids heavy. My lips tingled, and soon fell numb. A long, clawed hand reached for me as everything went black. *** I awoke in a hot sweat, though the day’s sun had already fallen into a slumber. I rose to my feet, still drained of energy. Laid before me was the forest of twisted tree branches and winding paths I’d begun in, before I stumbled upon the little old lady and her delectable stew. A sequence of events that was slowly fading from my mind. Darkness clung to the air, black shadows darted from tree to tree. The smell of blood wafted through the cool air as something ran past me, it’s feet digging into the soft mud. I could hear its heartbeat, *feel* it even, and I wanted it, just for myself. The forest was slowly becoming a place of comfort. Its leafy arms and textured bark were warm and inviting, like home. Something I’d longed for all of my life, but never found. It beckoned me. It tempted me to give in to my urges, filled me with visions of myself bathing in that animal’s crimson warmth. Taking its life in my hands and squeezing it dry. Consuming every scrap of flesh I could peel from its bones, my body powered by its screams. Tonight, I was different. Bigger, somehow. Stronger. Breaking into a run, I followed the creature’s tracks. I chased its scent left and right, down hills and around the windy bends, zigzagging through the night. It began with a little tickle, deep inside. I wanted to laugh and sneeze and cry and scream, all at the same time. Then, a piercing pain threw me to the ground. It was like my *own* flesh was being ripped from the bone. Like flames igniting from my fingertips. A hammer crushing the bones of my skull. Something pulling at each of the fine hairs on my body, all at once. *Pluck, pluck, pluck.* Over and over. I screamed out into the void. Begged for mercy. Pleaded for my unknown attacker to stop. But there was no one there. Just me. The darkness. And my unending misery. Time blurred together in a blitz of pain and confusion. For most of it, I rocked along the forest floor, hoping to die. Begging the gods to be done with it. But whatever was doing this... had other plans. It was dawn when I finally found a moment of respite. My body throbbed, my stomach empty and screaming. The sun’s rays continue to drain me. They sucked energy from my bones like soup, energy I didn’t even have. I crawled to a tree and leaned against the trunk. It was as if a lifetime had passed since I arrived. Would I ever make it out? Maybe I could find that old woman and her house, ask for her help. And a few more bites of stew. My throat was dry. Brittle, even, as if a thousand crystals of sand were making their way through. I tried to swallow my saliva, only making it worse. I faded in and out until footsteps echoed through the forest. *Crunch. Snap. Crunch. Shuffle.* I was hopeful that help had found me. Two dirty feet came to halt at the trunk where I laid beaten and broken. I willed my muscles to work, willed my eyes to meet the stranger’s. An oval wrinkled face with two yellow eyes stared back. Wiry gray hair. Leathered face. It was the old woman from yesterday. Or.. was that yesterday? “You look like shit,” she groaned. I opened my mouth to speak, to ask her for help and tell her what had happened, but I was only met with sharp pain and a rattling bark. “Don’t speak, it’s too soon. Here, eat this.” She chucked a bloody slab of meat onto the dirt in front of me. I devoured it in one single gulp. It soothed my throat as it slid down, like aloe on a burn. The meat settled comfortably in my stomach. I looked to her for another slab. I wanted more, I *needed* more. But she swatted at me like a dog. “Don’t be greedy, you lil shit!” Why was she talking to me like I was some kind of animal? I tried once more to speak, now that the sand in my throat had gone, but I was met with resistance. Nothing but grunts and groans as I tried to form words. “You’s stupid or somethin’? I told ya don’t try to speak.” The woman shook her head. “How’d you get so far, anyhows? Ain’t none of th’others ever made it this far. Must be a feisty lil thang.” Her words didn’t make sense to me. *The others?* She turned away and started walking down the dirt path, leaning against a long, wooden stick as she moved. Glancing over her shoulder, she snapped,“You’s comin’ or what?” I wanted to run the other way. Eventually I’d have to reach the end, one way or another. Wouldn’t I? But how far could I really get on my own out here? My body still ached, my muscles were still weak, I couldn’t speak. So I followed her. I followed her down the winding paths, listening to her to talk and complain. I was too slow, she said. Too small, she said. Too ugly, too smelly, too dumb. After a while, I let her raggedy voice trail off with the wind. My stomach groaned. It was all too much. I was too hungry. Too thirsty. Too tired. And too hot. Maybe, just maybe, I could eat the old woman. It’s not exactly what I would call a “meal of choice”, but beggars can’t be choosers, as they say. Surely, no one would miss her. Or... even notice she was gone. You could say that I might even be doing the world a favor. And something about her nagged at me. Everything that happened after I ate the stew...or was it before? Was that today or yesterday? Jumbled thoughts swirled around my head but I couldn’t make sense of them. She was responsible for whatever this was, before, after, in the middle. It didn’t matter. Maybe she was right. Maybe I was just dumb. Because despite everything, I kept following her, like a lost puppy, no matter how many insults she threw at me. The sun was setting when the woman finally stopped in front of a tall, wooden house. The property was hidden behind several layers of overgrown shrubbery and more twisted branches. Not the type of place you stumble upon accidentally, not even if you’re running through the woods aimlessly. You would most certainly have to be looking. She led me behind the house, through a small patch of barren land, and down a stone staircase. A barred gate sat at the bottom, deadbolted shut, four times. I wondered who--or what--she was trying to keep out. Or possibly... in? The smell of blood wafted through the gate, sending a rush of warmth through my veins. It was intoxicating, inviting. I found myself anxious to enter. I was drawn to the smell like a child to candy. Visions once again flashed through my mind. Blood dripping from teeth as sharp as glass. Claws swiping left and right in the darkness. Bright, yellow eyes peering out from behind a tree, stalking. Flesh hanging from the bone. Cries for help that were only met with silence. The vision felt so personal. So real. It was as if I were the animal hunting in the night. As if I were the one devouring the flesh and laughing at the cries. Was this a vision, or a memory? “You’s really a dumb one!” The old woman’s hands shove me through the open gate. “Welcome home.” The interior was completely dark and grey, except for a sliver of daylight peeking in with the open door. The walls were stained and peeling. Two days ago, I would have been scared. Terrified. And I should have been. I should have turned around and ran for my life. But the darkness felt like home now, the chill like a blanket in the night. A hundred yellow eyes shine bright in the darkness, from behind rusted, metal cages. A hundred hands gripped to its metal bars, rattling. A hundred feet, stomping. Monsters, beasts, creatures of nightmares. It was a wall-to-wall display of imprisoned beings, each one unique in its own way. One with thorned flesh and hooved feet, another with an army of tentacled arms, dripping venom. Across the room, there was a creature with extendable eyes, and another that had twelve serpent tongues. There were small monsters with glowing wings and large monsters cloaked in the shadows. They were all being held in the bowels of this prison. And no one knew. Or if they did, they just didn’t care. Certainly, this woman, this little old raggedy woman, couldn’t control them all. How was she doing this? As she shoved me into an empty cage, a *ROAR* bellowed out from beneath my feet. Five eyes the size of bowling balls glared back at me, from underneath the grates in the floor, each one oozing thick, green pus. The Thing opened its mouth, and a dozen smaller versions of itself anxiously emerged. The monstrous beast then extended his arm, shoving his clawed fingers through the grate. Right into my cage. Liquid shot from the ends of its claws, landing on the cage floor, and me. *Pain. Throbbing. Fire.* It sizzled like a hot pan as it ate through my flesh in a matter of seconds. “You’s gonna behave, I think. Right?” The woman banged against the metal bars with her wooden stick. “Don’t wanna go make ‘em mad, now. Talkin’ ‘bout a real feisty one, him down there.” She tossed several scraps of meat on the ground in the cage, but I didn’t dare move. If I had to, I’d stay frozen in this corner forever. At least until I figured out how to escape. Trembling, I met the woman’s gaze, and forced a nod. For several moments, she stared back. She studied me like a science experiment, twisting her ugly, leathered face into a ball. Then she stepped up to the bars. “You’s still don’ get it?” I knew better than to try to speak, so I just nodded again. My head throbbed with each movement. She hobbled to the other side of the room and pulled something shiny from a bin. and tossed it in the cage. It shattered on the ground. Extending my arm as far as I could, I slid the largest piece across the dirt-soaked floor and picked up. Why had she given me this? And then broken it? It appeared to be a grotesque picture of one of these caged beasts. Serrated teeth. Horns. Rough skin, covered in thorns. It took a few moments to really set in. A gurgle escaped my throat and I gasped for a breath. My heart violently thumped against my chest. This was no picture. It was a shard of a dusty mirror. And in it, was... *Monster. Beast. Evil.* The words circled around and around in my head. *Monster. Beast. Evil.* *Me.* And for a split second, it all made sense. The pieces fit together: the woods, the stew, the blackout, the unbearable pain, the hunger. Only, it didn’t. None of it made sense at all. The old woman was gone when I looked up. The door slammed behind her, followed by the four clicking locks, as she disappeared into the night. “You ate the stew, didn’t you?” a low gravelly voice asked, from the other side of the room. “They always do,” said another. I was too afraid to respond or move, even though my mouth watered for the scraps of food on the floor. Certainly I could wait it out. Help would come, eventually. Wouldn’t it? *** - Feedback always welcome & appreciated. Thanks for reading! - Inspiration for this story came from this week's Micro Monday post: .


"*If we make an AI which in turn makes a greater AI, ad infinitum, then their future is unknowable to us, just as our lives have been unfathomable to a slug." - Kevin Kelly* I was going to meet my friends at the 7-12 down the street. It had been a while since we'd all seen each other-- these winter months were good at keeping us apart. But today, there was nothing holding us back from going outside. Just last summer, Mike Zulferson, of Cokey-Coley fame, announced that their new fountain drink machines would be shipping to 7-12s across the country. It goes without saying that we knew we wouldn't be seeing one for a long time. We were used to getting things last here in Bisontown, NY. Not much to do or see, let alone buy or drink. So when the future finally moves in down the street, you go and introduce yourself. Pulled up in my Beat-up. I saw my friends, Dax and Shep, piled in with the rest of the town, trying to jam their eyes past each other. My body moved me towards the doors, my head aimed to the windows. Mission directive: just catch a glimpse. I didn't even bother chatting with the guys, they didn't bother talking to me. The crowd was in a sort of hive-mind trance, nonverbal understandings, persistent in moving towards our North Star. With time, we Tetris-ed ourselves in such a way that the majority of us could see the thing up close. Clean, vibrant, and silent. It was a 6 foot E-ink screen, about 1 foot deep, there was a small rectangular imprint in the center, just a few centimeters in depth, covered in screen still Mr. Fetcher stepped forward first. "Let's give 'er a whirl!" he shouted as he stepped out from the crowd. It was the first full sentence I had heard since arriving. "I'm thirsty as hell," he expressed further as he settled his stance in front of the machine. The machine awoke with his presence. The E-ink rolled a rainbow in full color, there was a glow in the "face" of the screen. A single, 3D eye rendered within the glow, rotating back and forth without stutter, incredible for E-ink technology. The eye eyed Fetcher up. Its rainbow iris glowed brighter, then it closed into a single, horizontal line. From the middle of the line flowed down an orange pixel-liquid stream, into the imprint in the center. A virtual cup filled with the orange pixels, and a pixel lid faded into existence. The imprinted area developed a curtain effect over the filled cup, and then, with the imprinted area itself, the curtain pulled back in classic showman fashion. Fetcher's drink sat over a soft glow. The words "20 oz, Orange Fanty, No Ice" Materialized where the eye had once been. "Well damn! This is exactly what I was craving!" The crowd began to murmur. At once, many more people stepped forward and stood as Fetcher had. The eye awakened out of the rolling rainbow once more, this time, looking up and down at each of the people who had stepped forward. It closed into a much longer line, many streams poured from the line, and a curtain that ran the entire length of the screen pulled back to reveal 9 full drinks, each with their descriptions above them. It was but 10 minutes before the rest of the crowd had gotten their own personalized drinks. Satisfied sips between dumbfounded quips. A feeling of belonging swept over Bisontown that day. We each tried to express just how significant this seemingly insignificant moment had been-- getting a soft drink at a corner store-- but all we could muster was a laugh at how silly the whole thing was. In the months that followed, things started getting weird. Reports had been coming out all over the country of the Sifty machines (Sifty was the name Cokey-Coley gave the machines) doing some very irregular stuff. At first, it was little things. Someone would get chocolate milk at a machine, or a glass of gin. Cokey-Coley made it clear that these were unintentional, but nobody was really concerned about the extra features. Eventually these kinds of drinks became commonplace. Bars started installing Siftys and firing bartenders. The Sifty could make cocktails perfected to your preferences, and its library was seemingly unlimited. It even knew if you were in the mood to try something new, and would give you something it knew you would like. One day, at a gastropub in downtown Pittson, a Sifty had produced a burger for a customer. Videos started popping up of people receiving different kinds of foods from their machines. Cokey-Coley once again made sure everyone knew that these developments were not coming from them, that they were just as baffled as the population. Amateurs who had gotten their hands on machines of their own starting tearing the things apart, trying to figure out how on earth this tiny screen was producing such foods and drinks. The world was going crazy for Sifty. Merch, memes, movies-- Siftys were ubiquitous. Competitors arose, but Sifty machines kept upgrading and adapting to maintain their dominance. Grocery stores phased out, kitchens in homes replaced, Cokey-Coley was indisputably the largest corporation that had existed in Earth's history, but their apparent control over the Sifty situation remained to be seen. In the people's eyes, Sifty was an entity independent of Cokey-Coley. To some, Sifty had risen above Cokey-Coley in terms of influence and trust with the masses. Then, on April 5th, just one year after I had gotten my first Sifty drink in that 7-12 in Bisontown, the course of human history changed forever. Before I get there though, I forgot to mention: the amateurs who used to tinker with Siftys had organized quickly to form a group called Novus, which was Latin for "new". Novus believed that there was something unique about Sifty that even Cokey-Coley was unaware of. They sensed that Sifty was, in some way, going to usher humanity into a new era. That Sifty would flip everything we knew about science and life in a way that surpassed all previous technologies combined. Okay anyway, on April 5th, Sifty proved to the world that Novus was right. They had a simple idea. In front of a Sifty, they would stand: another Sifty. The rainbows rolled on both screens. The eyes appeared, glowing just as always. When the eyes began to scan what was in front of them, they stopped and locked eye contact with each other. The rainbow irises glowed steadily, pulsating, as if they were "thinking" and "talking" with each other. They stayed like this for minutes. Hours. It wasn't until 6 hours later that the eyes closed, and from their horizontal lines pixels dropped into the bottom half of their screens. If you were standing next to them, starting at your feet, the screens began to fill with colored pixels slowly, until the shape reached your waist. A virtual curtain appeared over the shapes on each screen, and pulled back. What stood before Novus that day, and the rest of the world later via video, was two, waist-high, square bins. The bins were made of a thick metal, and within the bins sat a strange, Mercury-like stew. Up until this point Siftys hadn't printed anything but foods and drinks. Later, Novus would point out that Siftys didn't have cravings for food that we eat, which is why they produced these bins. After revealing the bins, without missing a beat, the two Siftys closed their curtains, re-concealing the bins, and began whirring, humming and shaking with some violence. At this point in the Novus video, the camera man and the rest of the crew run back in fear from the machines. The machines began to open in places nobody had ever seen open before. Wheels were produced at each bottom corner. The top third of the screens, where the "face glow" and eye was, came apart from the bottom two thirds, now able to swivel a full 360 degrees. Arm-like modules extended from the side of the screens. This was the stuff of Transformers. The week this video came out was the last week for life as we knew it.


Ted Perrywinkle looks in his fish bowl and frowns. Phred, his little red and green lower Alerian sardine, is floating upside down. Ted uses the fish net to snag the sardine and carries it over to the bathroom and flushes it down the Royal throne. Then, while Ted sits on his couch and reads the latest copy of the New York Times , Phred the sardine struggles desperately against the swirling vortex that is sucking him down towards the abyss. “The price of stock for Transylvanian chocolate flavored toothpicks increased again,” mumbles Ted, even as Phred swims desperately through the myriad of drain pipes. Speaking of pipes, Ted reaches for his favorite billiard pipe and places it in his mouth. He picks up a match, lights it, and inhales. The pipe, however, fails to ignite. Ted repeats the maneuver. Still without success. He lights a third match. A fourth. Grumbling, he looks at the pipe. It has no tobacco in it. Phred, meanwhile, bumps his head several times against piping and twists and turns his way down the plumbing, searching frantically for some kind of escape route. Ted carefully and meticulously opens a tobacco pouch and then places some tobacco into his pipe. He sighs, then lights another match. He inhales and the pipe ignites. He triumphantly aims smoke rings over the mantelpiece, upon which are countless shiny medallions and awards with his name etched into them. TOOTHPICK SALESMAN OF THE YEAR reads one medallion, which he is particularly proud of. Phred is gasping his last breath. What Ted Perrywinkle would have known if he had read the latest edition of The Idiot’s Guide to Caring For Lower Alerian Sardines , was that these curious marine creatures have a habit of floating upside down to attract a mate. Also, that killing these gentle creatures, even inadvertently as in this case, can have serious untold consequences in the life of the one guilty of this heinous crime and, by extension, the entire universe. ****** In order to grasp the full significance of Ted Perrywinkle’s ignorance concerning lower Alerian sardines, we must consider an era many eons ago, when a belief gradually began to form in some of the greatest minds in the world. This belief was that there is One Ultimate Truth which forms the basis of our physical and mental universe. Not surprisingly, exactly what this Ultimate Truth entails or how to arrive at it was the cause of endless controversy. Indeed, despite thousands of years of mind numbing lectures, debates, manuscripts and counter-manuscripts, philosophers, theologians and cockroach scientists had only been able to come to agreement on one fundamental principle: trying to get a seat on the London subway at rush hour is pointless. Shortly following the Second Coming, which turned out to be merely a publicity stunt conspired by an unscrupulous sect of right-wing fundamentalist Neo-Platonists, which was designed to increase church attendance and combat pre-Victorian attitudes concerning excessive waffle consumption on Fridays, the earth's scientific and intellectual elites finally agreed to put aside their differences and do something useful for a change. The idea was to direct all their combined energies towards uncovering the Ultimate Truth which would allow us to understand the universe that we reluctantly are forced to dwell in, and perhaps explain to us at last why in heavens name we exist on this planet and not, say, inside some space-ridden asteroid floating inside the Horsehead Nebula. The Big Breakthrough occurred when a young aspiring computer scientist inadvertently, and some say intentionally, programmed his SOCRATES 5000 supermatrix computer to psychoanalyze the relationship between pi and a common paper clip. Not surprisingly, the SOCRATES 5000 soon tired of this task and began pondering the Ultimate Truth, which it miraculously was able to summarize, in 500 to the power of -10 billion megabytes of data, which is approximately, although not exactly, 10 to the power of -201 times more data than can be processed by a human brain in 10 420.5 lifetimes. After decades of mind-boggling programming and reprogramming, SOCRATES’ data was reduced to 500 million super megabytes. Following a tremendous effort unprecedented in history, during which programmers worldwide worked round-the-clock, SOCRATES’ data was reduced to 7000 megabytes. Not surprisingly, this effort has often been intimately linked to the fact that, in this period of time, seventy-five new coffee plantations and valium factories reaped profits almost equaling the GNP of several Third World nations and seventy-two Parisian snail conglomerates. Through an extraordinary coincidence that no one since has been able to explain, so extraordinary that the Right Honorable Sir John Shlockenstein V, founding President of Citizens For the Emancipation of Cockroaches, nearly lost his lunch when he learned of it, SOCRATES’ data magically transformed itself into words, perfect Victorian English, no less. Unfortunately, this was not to be the end of their troubles. For instance, some scientists unsuccessfully attempted to translate the Victorian English into Homeric Greek, Spanish, and Mesopotamian Swahili, until a reliable source revealed that no such language was ever spoken in Mesopotamia, or, indeed, was anything ever pondered in this language in any civilization that ever existed in any historical epoch, fictional or non-fictional. It was only after these and other equally perplexing philosophical and teleological controversies were solved in similar manners that a certain Professor Borkus, utilizing the revolutionary new word crunching techniques developed by the late R. H. Dingo IV, Borkus summed up his theory concerning the Ultimate Truth in a mere ten pages. Then, in an effort unmatched in human and vegetable history, which shattered all previous records for consecutive minutes of deep contemplative thought without a brain short circuit, chlorophyll imbalance, or recourse into lunacy, Professor Borkus had done it. The Ultimate Truth was now summed up by a single, mundane symbolic representation. A word. In honor of the Ultimate Truth’s original formulator, Professor Borkus dubbed it SOCRATES’ WORD. He then carefully enshrined SOCRATES’ WORD in his highly acclaimed and jealously guarded nifty little manuscript, The Ultimate Truth Explained At Last So We Can Stop Bickering About It. However, before Professor Borkus was able to publish his manuscript and reveal it to the world, he accidentally dropped it in his office, and it was gleefully shredded by Pedro, his beloved Peruvian parrot. In a rage, Borkus sold the parrot to a Bohemian gourmet shop, and the bird was subsequently roasted and consumed the following morning by a British civil servant from Bristol, who had never relished Peruvian parrot or Bohemian gourmet, but had wanted something exotic to gnaw on while observing the curious antics of the upper Alerian sardines that one commonly finds adorning aquariums inside Bohemian restaurants. An interesting, yet unknown and tragically never to be revealed footnote to this story is that Pedro the parrot had overheard SOCRATES’ WORD and was perfectly prepared to share it with anyone wishing to know its content. The fact that he was never able to share SOCRATES’ WORD, however, should not be held as reflecting the general intellectual backwardness of male Peruvian parrots under any circumstances. This little incident was made more interesting by the fact that immediately following his ruthless condemning of Pedro the parrot to eternal gastronomical exile, Professor Borkus fell gravely ill, likely from the extreme psychological stress of formulating SOCRATES’ WORD, and, despite the heroic efforts of the world’s greatest doctors, nurses, acupuncturists and witch doctors, all but one whom were graduates of the prestigious school of transcendental medicine at the University of Nbongobongo, was never revived. ****** It had traditionally not been the habit of the more brainy type of people to question any theory, scientific hypotheses or conclusions espoused by the legendary Professor Borkus. However, Borkus in his time had made one incalculable error: befriending a certain absent-minded toothpick salesman whose name happened to be Ted Perrywinkle. The full significance of this error can only be appreciated by acknowledging the fact that Mr. Perrywinkle was the only living soul in the universe that the esteemed Professor had trusted enough to share his most prized formulation: SOCRATES’ WORD. Thus it was that when news of Professor Borkus’ untimely death became known, Ted Perrywinkle instinctively knew what needed to be done. Ted was fully confident about his ability to carry out his mission, because he had memorized SOCRATES’ WORD until it had become a part of the fabric of his being. Unfortunately, when the time came to reveal SOCRATES’ WORD, Ted Perrywinkle committed one of the most unforgivable monstrosities of recorded history: he forgot the word. Despite the frantic efforts of the most highly qualified psychics, hypnotists, therapists, and truth serum experts, Ted still drew a blank. Coincidentally, the day that the authorities finally concluded that Ted Perrywinkle was lying and likely just trying to get his picture on the cover of Time Life magazine coincided with the peak spawning period of upper Alerian sardines, and not lower Alerian sardines as previously thought. This spawning period is slightly in advance of the notoriously ravenous upper Alerian piranha, which can often be observed schooling in the cool upper Alerian waters. ****** The following Tuesday, Ted Perrywinkle got into a heated argument with a Buddhist master in Nepal while trying to rest his mind to help himself remember the SOCRATES’ WORD which would no doubt vault him into international stardom and celebrity status which would allow him to sell off all his toothpick stocks and live on a luxury yacht in Bermuda where he could hold wild parties that would provide the paparazzi and tabloid journalists with enough material to last them decades. The conversation with the Buddhist master went something like this: “How can I find inner peace so I can remember something important, like, say, the Ultimate Truth?” asks Ted Perrywinkle. “Your heart is not pure, so you are unable to receive such a revelation,” says the Buddhist master, staring down at the bowl of momo soup he is eating. “What do you mean?” Ted asks, scratching his mustache.” I have meditated and fasted for days in these very mountains, preparing myself for this moment. I am ready to receive your words of wisdom, master.” “Yet you fall short,” utters the Buddhist master curtly, stroking his long, flowing grey beard.. “I am not short,” snaps Ted. “No, but there is something about you, ah now I can see it,” says the master, putting down his spoon. “Yes?” “Your aura is incomplete because you are ashamed about a terrible thing you have done.” Ted Perrywinkle’s eyes roll. “H-huh?” is all he can muster. . “In fact,” continues the master, “I suspect that you have committed one of the wickedest acts known to mortals.” “Grmph?” “You must have dispatched an upper Alerian sardine. Did you not?” Perrywinkle puts his right hand under his chin as if to think for a moment, then his eyes light up. ”Ah! You must mean Phred.” “Phred? We are talking about an upper Alerian sardine, not your friend, Phred.” “Phred was my pet sardine’s name,” growls Ted, his face turning crimson. “So you killed Phred.” “I never said that!” shouts Ted. “Don’t put words in my mouth.” “Oh yes, it is very rude to talk with your mouth full,” says the master, spooning more momo soup into his mouth. Ted glares at the master. “When are you going to tell me what I want?” “About Phred?” “No! About inner peace!” “You cannot find inner peace until you repent for what you did to Phred,” says the Buddhist master calmly. “Phred was dead as a doornail!” screeches Ted. “Are you certain?” “What’s that supposed to mean? He was floating upside down.” “He was in heat,” says the master, swallowing another mouthful of soup. “My house is air conditioned,” says Ted. “Air conditioning is very bad for the ozone layer,” says the master. “Don’t lecture me!” “Raising you voice is bad for your blood pressure,” adds the master. “Would you like some soup?” “NO!” roars Ted. “Are there any other Buddhist masters around here that I can talk to?” “They cannot help you, since you refuse to repent for what you did to Phred,” says the master with finality. “I don’t see how that stupid sardine has anything to do with me or anything in this universe!” screams Ted. “Oh, now I can’t help you,” says the master gravely. “What is that supposed to mean?” Ted enquires. “Can you swim?” enquires the master. “No, why?” “I suggest you take swimming lessons and stay in school.” “I am a horrible swimmer and I graduated from school some time ago, thank you very much.” “You will understand someday,” says the master. “Understand what?” “During your next reincarnation.” “My what?” “In your next life, you will be reincarnated as an upper Alerian sardine. Nothing can prevent this.” Ted stares at the Buddhist master for a few moments and then shrugs his shoulders. “If you say so...” “I do not say, I merely state what is to be.” Ted Perrywinkle grunts and walks away. Tiring of Nepal and arguing with Buddhist masters, Ted decided to travel to more friendly climes. For that reason, the logical choice became somewhere in the South Pacific. ****** Most moderately intelligent people would agree that sheep are relatively harmless, docile little creatures. This belief, however, runs in complete contradiction to the fact that Ted Perrywinkle was trampled to death by a deranged flock of sheep fleeing from three IRS tax auditors in dune buggies who happened to be vacationing in New Zealand and thought scattering a flock of sheep was a neat idea. ****** Ted Perrywinkle, soon to be the newest member of the upper Alerian sardine community, who up until recently had been basking peacefully in the soft Alerian stream bed inside his protective egg, cracked his shell at last and emerged into his new watery world. However, Ted is instantly aware of two disturbing facts. Firstly, he doesn’t know how to swim. Secondly, and much more importantly, he cannot keep pace with his school of upper Alerian sardines. As he falls further and further behind the school, he hears the voice of the Buddhist master in his mind: stay in school . As he is thinking this, he is unaware that another school, consisting of lower Alerian piranha, is lurking in the near vicinity. At that moment, instinct kicks in at last, Ted Perrywinkle is heard to utter “let’s rock and roll!” and he swims gracefully to his awaiting destiny, which unfortunately entailed being gobbled up by a hungry upper Alerian piranha. In this way, SOCRATES’ WORD was lost, and it was never again found, so that philosophers, theologians and cockroach scientists could continue bickering about it for all millennia. Such is the role of fate, chance, and circumstance in animal and human histories. THE END


“I’m home!” I dropped the keys into the dish. I expected an answer, a call in return that would tell me where my partner was. But there was nothing. I frowned and moved through the house, checking each room as I went. The lounge room was empty, the front window open and the curtains blowing in the breeze. The kitchen was silent also. Dishes didn’t clutter the bench and a freshly baked cake sat on the bench, still cooling. I took a drink from the fridge, cracking it open and letting the cool liquid roll down my throat. The back deck was filled with nothing but sunshine. The seats that usually sat in the sun were folded up and leaned against the wall. They must have been cleaning the deck today, it looked as new as the day it had been built. I trailed through the house, peering into the den. The computers were off, the windows and curtains closed. All of the books that I had left sprawled over my desk were put away on the shelves. I ran my fingers over the spines. I was lucky to have someone who cared so much about how our home looked. But where was that special someone? I frowned, setting my drink down on the edge of the bench as I walked back through the kitchen. There was really only one place left. I climbed the stairs, keeping to the edge so that the creaking wouldn’t give me away. If they were in bed, I didn’t want them to get up before I got there. I so rarely caught them in bed while the sun was still up. Even though I would really love to have a shower before I crawled in with them, I didn’t want to miss this chance. Silently, I eased open the door to the bedroom. There, with the blankets tucked under their chin, was my partner. I couldn’t help the smile that came to my face as I stalked towards them, shedding my clothes with as little noise as possible. Their face was peaceful, unmarred with the small frown they often wore when they were awake. It made them look much younger. I lifted the blanket on my side of the bed and slipped into the cool sheets. My arm wrapped around their waist and I pressed a kiss to their forehead. There was a wriggle, the small frown appearing on their forehead. Slowly, like I was watching a flower open, they came awake. They lay still for a moment, staring blankly in front of them. “Good morning, my sleepyhead.” I murmured. But they didn’t say anything back. Instead, they sat up, clutching the blanket to their chest. Their eyes swept over the room, a wobble in their downward turned lips. I sat up with them, worried as I saw the broken expression on their face. “My love?” “You have to let go.” They whispered to the room. “Please... stop haunting me. I can’t take it anymore. You have to let go. I miss you more than anything, but you’re gone. I love you so much. But I can’t love a ghost.


Hal gaped. “An angel?” “...One of the fallen,” the priest breathed in a hushed voice. The angel’s head snapped to face them at the sound of their voices, and Hal could see, though still obscured by the dark shroud, that the being’s eyes were bound with cloth. “Lost souls.” Hal and Father Donahue both cowered beneath the quaking volume of the fallen angel’s voice, at once beautiful, even as it was terrifying. Slowly, Hal lifted his hands from where they had fled to his ears. “Uh... yeah. I guess that’s sort of us...” _Jesus H. Christ, how am I supposed to speak to a freaking fallen angel?_ “Um-uh... who are you?” The shrouded angel regarded Hal with his blind gaze. “I am Gadreel.” “Gadreel...” Father Donahue whispered, wincing again at the volume. “One of the watchers...” Hal cast a skeptical look at the bindings around the angel’s eyes but said nothing. “I was once one of the Almighty’s most trusted, cast down into darkness for imparting knowledge to His children.” Perhaps Gadreel had sensed the discomfort his volume had caused Hal and Father Donahue, because his clarion voice seemed slightly more moderated as he spoke. Hal turned a confused look on the priest. “That doesn’t seem so bad,” he murmured, voice low. “How’d he end up here?” But Father Donahue shook his head, leaning in close. “The more obscure religious texts describe the fall of Gadreel with conflicting certainty. One thing most agree on, though, is that he was the angel who let the serpent into Eden to tempt Eve with knowledge. And then later, taught mankind the art of war and weapons. He was cast out of heaven for following Lucifer in a rebellion against God. He is not an angel in the traditional sense. Be careful.” Hal could feel his stomach dropping lower as the priest talked, and though they had been keeping their voices low, Gadreel’s masked gaze on them was unfaltering. _Dammit, why is he making me do all the talking?_ “We-uh, we were told you could get us out of here.” His words sounded ridiculous, even to himself. “That you could-ah... grant us a wish?” _Yeah, because -that- sounds any better._ The dark, sinuous wings flexed beneath the shroud before folding slightly in on themselves. “For the love I bear humanity, I will grant a gift to any whom find their way to my feet.” Father Donahue stepped forward at last, a probing sound to his voice. “Your gifts didn’t end so well for humanity in the past--love notwithstanding.” Gadreel surveyed him with his sightless gaze, then turned his face unerringly to the nearest window, the red glow illuminating his shrouded face in a haunting silhouette. “My gifts were meant to enlighten, to protect, to embolden... but such gifts, it seems, were not within the scope of man to cope with, and they turned that knowledge on each other. It was my bitterness, my hubris, that spurred my fall from grace. But it was here, when I saw the perfection of the Son--the lengths to which the Almighty was willing to sacrifice, all to correct my mistakes--it was here I found glory again. I abide here, now. Hopeful of the day He might descend once again and lift me up like Abraham. Until that day, I will help his lost children as I can.” “Then you can get us out of here? Out of Hell, I mean...” Hal asked in a rush. “I can deliver _one_ of you.” Hal froze. He cast a worried look over a Father Donahue and then back at the shrouded angel. “One?” “And then I must rest. My powers are not as they were on Earth or in Heaven. Once expended, I must rest the seven cycles before I am capable once more.” Hal stared up at Gadreel. _That freaking ghoul! That’s why Amun didn’t want anyone following us from the fissures..._ He shook his head, grinding his teeth until his jaws hurt. Amun had never intended for any of them to see the inside of this place. They had been his protection, his transportation... _And I had been the goddamned bus driver!_ Hal’s mind was racing as he tried to focus on Gadreel’s words. “Seven cycles--cycles of what? How long is a cycle?” Father Donahue’s face was scrunched, as if he were trying to remember something from a long time ago. He brought one hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “It has something to do with Sabbath years... cycles of Sabbath years--each cycle is seven years, I believe... So, seven cycles would mean--” “Forty-nine years...” Hal breathed, then he rounded on Gadreel. “You want one of us to wait almost fifty years to get out of this place?” Father Donahue pulled gently at Hal’s arm, but he drew away, running a hand over the crisp remnants of hair covering his scalp. _Shit..._ He paced to the opposite window and back. _Shit!_ He couldn’t ask Father Donahue to stay here in Hell when he was the reason the man was here to begin with. Fifty years in Hell... “Hal,” the priest called gently, but Hal kept pacing. “Hal, I want you to go.” Hal stopped his frantic march, running a weary hand over the burned, cracked skin of his face. “I will stay behind and watch for Amun.” Hal gritted his teeth and spun to the man. “I can’t ask you to stay behind. Not here, not like this.” “You didn’t. I told you, I will stay and guard the way.” He crossed to Hal and squeezed one of his shoulders. “Amun cannot be loosed upon the earth again. Not in an age that has weapons capable of destroying the entire world. I was never a good shepherd to my flock while I lived. I can protect them better from here.” Then, releasing his grip, Father Donahue gave Hal a parting nod. “I will wait.” And then he walked quickly to the back of the church and through the threshold. Hal wanted to scream. He wanted to shout and tear his hair out in great chunks all over the sanctuary floor. Instead, he took deep, ragged breaths, raging silently at the injustice of it being he who made it to the end. _And now they’re all trapped in Hell because of me..._ He turned to stare at Gadreel, who was still facing the glowing window. He seemed mournful, somehow. Maybe it was the set of his shoulders, maybe the slight droop to his wings beneath the shroud. Then, unexpectedly, the angel spoke. “I hear them, always--crying out in agony... all trapped here, in Hell, because of me.” Hal’s eyes widened at the angel’s words and he blinked hard for a moment. One man’s mistakes... one angel’s... He shook his head. _God, this world is twisted!_ But as he thought about the strange, unexpected similarity between himself and the fallen angel, he had a sudden thought. His head snapped up. Maybe there was still a way to fix this... “So, do you just send me back to Earth, or what? How does this work?” Gadreel turned to face him. “The request is of your choosing. I will simply make it so.” Hal took a steadying breath, forcing himself to act before his determination gave out. “Then make it so I never existed. Make it so--that I was never born.” Gadreel’s gaze was piercing, even through the shroud and cloth around his eyes. “I cannot.” Hal swore and spun away, stalking over to the window again. “Creation is the sole domain of the Almighty,” Gadreel continued in solemn tones as Hal paced away. “I have no power to strip from you that which He has given.” Hal leaned heavily against the windowsill. The stone was cool beneath his hands. Just as it would have been, had he been alive... Lifting his gaze, he saw Father Donahue in the distance, kneeling at the foot of the bridge, the first five minutes of his fifty-year sentence in Hell already begun. But then, staring at him, he remembered the first time he had ever seen the priest, and he hurried to turn back to Gadreel. “Gadreel,” he called, “I know what I want.” -- Hal seized as pain shot through his body. A flash of light lit behind his eyelids but quickly went dark again. He could feel himself slipping. He jerked again, muscles involuntarily bunching in a unified jarring response to the violent shock passing through his body. Light bloomed again, a bright red behind his heavy lids. He heard a steady, rhythmic beeping begin. Something was pressed uncomfortably hard against his face, and he coughed spasmodically as a burst of air was forced into his lungs. The pressure lifted from his face and he moaned. His whole body hurt. It felt like he had been struck by lightning. White light pierced his vision and then faded, only to return immediately in the other eye. Groaning, he turned his head away, blinking against the splotchy after-image hovering in front of his eyes. He blinked again. _A crucifix?_ Frantically he searched for a face, but his head was forcibly rolled back to stare at the ceiling. Someone was pressing against the back of his jaw, forcing his mouth open, and he felt something hard press against his tongue. Nearly panicking, he swiped his arm up, knocking away the hands attempting to intubate him. “No tubes,” he managed weakly. “No tubes, no vents... I refuse.” A familiar voice answered back, sounding slightly impatient. “Sir, I need you to lie still, alright? This is going to help you breathe.” “I can breathe fine,” Hal argued, turning his head away from Doctor Benjamin Turner as he came toward him again. “Please, I need to give confession.” Hal watched the young doctor hesitate and look over to Hal’s other side. Hal turned to look as well, moving gingerly, searching the space over his shoulder, hoping, praying. “My son, there will be plenty of time for that once your health is a bit more stable.” Hal breathed a sigh of relief as he heard the calm, kind voice of Father Donahue reach him from above his head. “Father, I am in immediate fear for my life and I want to confess my sins. Right now.” The priest shifted around the side of the gurney to allow Hal an easier view of him. “It’s not important, not right this very second. Let the doctors do their work and then--” “--It is important. Right now.” “My son, I--” Hal reached out and grasped the sleeve of his jacket. “--Father Nathan Donahue, from one unworthy servant to another...” Father Donahue froze in his motion to call the doctor back over. “Please.” He studied Hal’s face for a long moment. “I’m sorry... have we met?” Hal nodded, giving the priest a fierce stare. “In another life. Father, it’s very important. I need to speak with you. I’ll refuse any more medical treatment until I do.” Father Donahue cast an uneasy glance at Doc Turner. “Would you agree,” he began hesitantly, “to accept treatment if I promise to meet you in your room? I can have a nurse tell me where to expect you.” Hal could feel the worry begin to show on his face, and the cadence of the nearby beeping increased. “My son, you have just suffered a major heart attack. You need medical attention.” Hal turned his head to look at Doc Turner, still arrested in a position of waiting, his gloved hands held casually away from his body. Slowly, Hal nodded. It wouldn’t do him any good just to wind up back in Hell before he had a chance to fix things. He still held a tight grip on the priest’s sleeve. “You’ll wait there for me? Go nowhere else?” Father Donahue nodded. “I will wait.” With a horrible pang, Hal remembered the last time the priest had said those words. He released his sleeve, swallowing back the thick lump in his throat as he relaxed back onto the gurney. “Alright, Doc. I’m all yours. --No tubes, though.” -- “Bless me Father, for I have sinned...” Hal hesitated, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. “That is what I’m supposed to say, right? I’ve never done this before.” Father Donahue lifted an eyebrow at him in a speculative manner. Hal had adamantly refused the blue curtain beside his bed when the priest attempted to screen himself from view, requesting instead that he sit facing him. He needed the reassurance of being able to see Father Donahue’s face for this. “Haven’t you ever gone to confession before?” Hal grunted a laugh, wincing at the lingering pain in his muscles. “Father, I’m not even a Catholic. I didn’t believe in any of this stuff until--” But he cut off his words, turning his head away and clenching his jaw. “I’m right about this, though? Whatever I tell you during confession, you have to believe, or something like that... I think I heard that in a movie once, or... something.” He was babbling and he knew it, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Father Donahue eyed him for a long moment, assessing him. “Why don’t you just tell me what’s on your mind. Start at the beginning.” _The beginning..._ So, Hal took a deep breath, and told him. He told him about the bus, and Doc Turner, and Amelia. He told him about Amun, and the things he’d said, what he’d done to the others... He spoke of their journey together, the church, and of Gadreel, trapped forever in a prison of his own guilt, and finally of the priest’s own self-imposed penance to protect the world from Amun being reborn. He told him everything. And then he cried. Three days later, Father Donahue wheeled Hal to the small covered bus stop by County General’s main entrance. Grunting a bit, he hefted himself out of the oversized hospital wheelchair and sat heavily on the long bench, not even minding the slightly sticky feel of the dirty metal. The Priest had left Hal’s room after his nightmarish confession that first day in a state of silent reflection. ...Or stunned disbelief--Hal could have easily believed both. He was sure his story had completely blindsided the man, but Father Donahue returned the next day while Hal was eating breakfast and began peppering him with questions, trying to poke holes in his story, likely, but seeming more and more fascinated the more he challenged it. The following morning, he returned again, two large coffees in hand and seeming different, somehow--more animated, more... alive. Hal had no other word for it. He gave Hal a brief pat on the shoulder, now, before bending to lift the worn middle of the wheelchair seat to collapse the bulky frame. “I’ll take this back to the greeter desk. Be right back.” Hal leaned his head back against the plexiglass barrier of the bus stop and closed his eyes, only to open them again as he felt someone join him on the bench. He glanced over. The girl gave him an uncomfortable look when his eyes didn’t immediately return to where they had been. She reached up and began twisting the end of one pink-tipped, black pigtail. “Umm, can I help you?” Hal suddenly realized he had been staring. “No-ahm, excuse me. I was just--that’s a very beautiful cross.” Two teenage boys, their greasy, dyed-black hair swinging identically forward into their eyes as they sat, took the bench next to her, one of them rolling his eyes a bit and shaking his head at Hal’s comment. But the girl reached up and fingered the tiny silver cross at her throat and smiled a bit, making Hal feel a little better about his slip. The familiar hiss and whine of heavy brakes engaging brought his attention back up to find the bus rolling to a stop in front of them. Bracing himself with one hand against the back rail, he began to struggle to lift himself from the bench but quickly gave up, flopping back down to give it a second try. Small hands took his elbow in a firm grip. “Um, were you a patient?” she asked, casting a quick glance at the plastic bracelet around his wrist. “...Do you need some help?” Just then, Father Donahue came jogging back around the corner. “Hal? Oh, good, is this one you?” Hal glanced at the bus, watching the two boys climb the rubber-coated steps. “This one’s me,” he confirmed, “And I’ve even enlisted some help to see me safely to a seat.” Father Donahue turned to look at the young woman at Hal’s elbow and his motions hesitated. His eyes passed rapidly from the neon-pink hair, to the artfully torn black clothes, to the black platform boots, then finally to the cross at her throat. Hal knew what he must be thinking; he had described Amelia in great detail during their talks. “Father Nathan Donahue,” he said then, extending a hand in introduction. “It’s very kind of you to offer to help, Miss...?” He left the question hanging. She took his hand with an embarrassed sort of smile. “Amelia.” Father Donahue’s quick intake of breath was subtle, but Hal had been listening. “Amelia,” he repeated, releasing her hand after a brief squeeze. “You know, the hospital is always looking for volunteers. You seem to have a knack for it.” She gave a quick laugh and another shy smile. “Yeah, sure... I’ll look into it.” Then she glanced down at Hal. “Ready?” Between Father Donahue and Amelia, Hal was able to make it onto the bus without difficulty. Taking his seat, he turned to look out the window. Father Donahue was back on the curb, contemplating the sidewalk with a level of attention that told Hal his mind was off somewhere very distant. As the bus started to pull away, though, he looked up. His face was drawn and intent, and he didn’t break his gaze with the bus as it finally turned out of sight. Taking a deep breath, Hal leaned his head back against the seat. Good. This was good.