Catherine Sinclar thought there were far more frugal ways for her mother to admit she didn’t know her. A paternity test, for instance. But, no, as always mother needed to compensate with cash. And even though Catherine had made her opinion of gift vouchers abundantly clear, - a free pass for the lazy, dull, and uninspired - mother apparently knew best. ‘Congratulations!’ the email’s subject line read. And then, in shouty, oversized text: ‘Your six-month book adventure is (still!!) waiting for you!!!’ Catherine scowled at Barney, her unemployed border collie. Barney huffed knowingly and flopped at her feet. His plush weight pressed comfortingly against her legs. A book subscription. Mother could’ve just said : “Sorry, I don’t listen when you tell me what genre you read. So, here, I outsourced the problem.” Catherine googled the price of the subscription. It was ruinous. Typical. To be fair though, the gift could have been a homerun if Catherine were allowed to choose the books. Instead, Mother was overpaying for the pretentious literary recommendations of this - she squinted at the email again - Ethan Tan fellow. She googled him next. Ethan Tan is the owner of Voyager Booksellers, a beloved independent bookshop, and the winner of the 2021 Best Australian Debut Novel Prize. Ethan was shortlisted for the 2022 Crime Writers Award, and his short story, Plot Twist, won the inaugural Solaris Prize. Ethan lives, writes and binge-watches anime above his Potts Point bookshop. His alpha reader is a judgmental cat called Tofu. Catherine finished reading Ethan’s bio aloud and snorted for Barney’s benefit. “Sounds like a right twat.” She peered at his bio photo suspiciously, examining the floppy-haired, bespectacled man now responsible for her reading. Ethan’s smile seemed far too jolly for someone who fictionally murdered people for a living. Nevertheless, it appeared Ethan was the one responsible for compiling the books for his extortionate gift subscription. Or, at least, it was his name on the email signature sending her increasingly insistent reminders to fill out some daft ‘pre-journey questionnaire’ so her first two books could be selected and shipped to her. But Catherine didn’t want some overrated crime writer to choose her books for her. And she definitely didn’t want to talk to him about it. She texted her mother. Catherine: One of the best things about books is that you can enjoy the human experience without having to actually interact with humankind. Mother replied instantly with, “ Is it, darling?” and sent her a photo of the ocean. Catherine liked the photo, leaving a little love heart beneath the message. She glanced out the window at her own stretch of cerulean blue and felt a moment of rare connection with her mother. Mother: Oh! That reminds me. Aunty Em wants to know if you’ve received a book yet? She was fawning all over that young man at Voyager Books. She made him swear he’d take good care of you A work email from the team she remotely project managed distracted her from her mother’s soliloquy. When she picked up her phone again, Mother had progressed from small-talk to guilt-trip without Catherine having to type a word. Mother: A pinky promise was involved, Catherine Mother: Em would be heartbroken if the only gift she’s ever helped me choose turned out to be a dud Mother: :( Catherine slipped her headphones off and stretched her tense neck. She sighed. Unfortunately, Aunt Emily was her favourite person. Even more unfortunately, this meant she’d have to fill out that daft questionnaire. ~ ~ ~ She wasn’t doing it. Catherine slapped her laptop shut with a satisfying thud. Barney’s ears perked up and she gave him a nod confirming impending walkies. He trotted to the back door, waiting patiently while Catherine grumbled and pulled on her boots. It took her longer than usual, mostly because she kept pausing to gesticulate her complaints. “To say it’s invasive would be underselling it, Barns.” Catherine ripped a bindii from her sock with more hostility than it warranted. “Which three emojis do I relate with the most? What plant would make the best conversational partner? Which insect would I swap lives with?” Catherine repeated each question, increasingly more vexed. “It’s outrageous. Is this a book subscription or a job interview?” She finished de-burring her sock and shot Barney a savage look. “We have to tolerate a lot of stupid shit in life, Barns, but this isn’t one of them.” Catherine slid the screen door open, and Barney launched outside, startling a pack of grazing pademelons. They thumped away and glared at him from a safe distance. Barney's tail wagged. Catherine followed him out, pausing to tip her face up to the sky. The warm sunlight countered the cut of the chilly sea breeze and Catherine let it wash away the frustrations of the day. ~ ~ ~ The next morning, an email awaited her. Catherine, vulnerably bleary-eyed and uncaffeinated, was startled enough to trip on her slipper while reading the email on her phone. Barney stole her slipper and raced down the hallway. She’d probably find it hidden in a pot plant later. Ethan bloody Tan. He wrote: I understand you’re busy, and not to add any pressure, but it’s been two months since your subscription was scheduled to start... and I fear your books may be developing abandonment issues 🙁 Why don’t you want them, Catherine??? 😢 Good lord. Did he think he was cute? Catherine deleted the email. ~ ~ ~ A few hours later, Catherine was watching Barney battle seaweed when her phone chimed. Mother: Darling, are you okay? Catherine frowned, tugged from her worries about an impending deadline. She replied affirmatively and waited. She didn’t have to wait long. Mother: Your bookseller is demanding proof of life. It seems he’s convinced you’ve been mauled by a murderous animal and your remains lay undiscovered amidst that untamed wilderness you call home Catherine was contemplating her response when another message arrived. Mother: Send me a picture of you and that incorrigible canine of yours so I can confirm you are my daughter Catherine: You think murderous animals can text? Mother: Catherin e. Catherine called Barney over. He shook, splashing Catherine with sand and salty sea water. “Selfie, Barns,” she commanded, crouching, and Barney immediately sat in front of her, baring his teeth for the camera. Barney counter surfed, raided the trash, and had the recall of a pebble, but the dog knew how to smile. Catherine checked the photo. Her pale blonde hair was loose and wind-messy, dark roots revealing regrowth she’d have touched up months ago back in Sydney. Her cheeks were flushed from sun and the short, downhill hike to the beach bordering her property. She searched for the familiar sight of bloodshot eyes and undereye bags but came back empty-handed. It was a version of herself she was still getting used to. She sent the photo and received a sharp lecture on not wearing enough sunscreen, - “Those freckles, Catherine! ” - then mother stopped replying. Catherine led Barney back to the sea and let the waves tickle her toes while he frolicked. She kicked her foot out, splashing Barney playfully. The bookseller had contacted her mother. Surely that was a violation of some policy? Protocol? Boundary? When she returned to the cottage, she sent him a strongly worded email that began with, “You told on me? Really?” and ended with, “I’ll have a list of books to you soon.” ~ ~ ~ A few hours later, at a time most irregular for a bookseller, Ethan responded with a winking emoji and, “Ah ha! She lives. Barney is adorable, btw. But I think you’ve misunderstood the point of book recommendations, Catherine.” There was an entirely unnecessary P.S. that added: “Tell me ONE thing you enjoy. That’s all I need.” Mother was incorrigible. Catherine supposed that’s what you get when you put a writer in charge of a bookshop. ~ ~ ~ She replied after midnight with six carefully selected books - one for every month of her subscription. ~ ~ ~ The package from Voyager Books arrived the following Monday. Ethan had gotten the hint after her last email and she hadn’t heard from him since, not even to confirm her book selections. Wildly unprofessional, she decided. Probably hideously entitled from a lifetime of being coddled and told he was special. It was those brown puppy dog eyes. Only a monster could kick a puppy, and it seemed Ethan Tan had yet to encounter the world’s monsters. She used the sharp edge of her scissors to slice the box open. Inside were two book-sized parcels wrapped in brown paper and twine ribbon. Atop a stamped Voyager Books postcard there was a large bar of chocolate; one of those fancy ones from a proper chocolatier that was sprinkled with rose petals and sea salt. Snuggled in the corner of the box was a bottle of red wine. Well. That was nice. One of his assistants probably packed it for him. She set the chocolate and wine aside and carefully unwrapped the presents. And they did feel like presents. Maybe she’d been unfair on Mother. Books, no matter the source, were always a gift. A tingle of unexpected joy fluttered in her chest. Then she saw the titles. ‘Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow’ by Gabrielle Zevin. ‘A Deadly Education’ by Naomi Novik. Those were not the titles she’d chosen. That she’d ever have chosen. Fiction? A kid’s book? She must have received the wrong parcel. She searched the box for a packing slip, but there was nothing but confetti. Idly, she flipped the postcard over, wondering if she’d have to ship everything back to Voyager. Catherine already dreaded it. She glanced down and noticed the sprawled words on the back of the postcard. Catherine!! Try these. Trust me. Yours, Ethan :) Trust him ? An overenthusiastic, over-applauded crime writer with a history of questionable exclamation mark usage? No, thank you. Now that she knew the books weren’t a mistake, she could set them aside and donate them to the little free library in town. And if Mother asked her how the book subscription was going, she’d simply lie. ~ ~ ~ As circumstances would have it, Mother wasn’t the only one Catherine had to lie to. Three weeks later, Catherine was staring out her window, trying to catch the leaves of her Claret Ash in the act of transforming from green to autumnal red, when an email from Ethan Tan arrived. The email itself was unsurprising. What was nonplussing was the way she eagerly leant forward, unbidden. ‘Catherine,’ the email read. ‘Are you enjoying the books?’ There was a pause while she considered complaining that he’d completely ignored her list. Instead, she wrote: They’re great. Regards, Catherine She reread her message. Added a begrudging ‘thank you’. Ethan: You didn’t read them, did you? A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. She decided to be honest. Catherine: No, they look terrible. He replied with a wall of laughing emojis. Then: Ethan: Read three chapters of Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow. Catherine: No. It sounds insipid. Didn’t you see my list? I read fantasy. Adult fantasy. Ethan: It’s about a group of friends that develop a popular video game. You enjoy gaming! Catherine: I never told you that. Ethan: You’re right - your aunt did!! We both think you’ll love it. Ok, tbf, we have a bet. She thinks you’ll hate it. I think you’ll rate it and appreciate it for it what it is. Catherine: And what is it? Ethan: You’ll have to read it and find out. 😉 Catherine tapped a finger against her bottom lip. Another email arrived. Ethan: Look, if you hate it, I’ll send you another book. For free. Catherine: And if I hate that one? Ethan: I’ll stick to your list Catherine was loathe to admit it, but she was a little intrigued . ‘ Three chapters’ she wrote. Then she closed her emails and padded into the kitchen to make spaghetti. ~ ~ ~ Catherine placed the book on her bedside table. Turned off her light. Stretched out in the dark, Barney’s warm body tucked against her side. She had a work deadline tomorrow. Today. The sun would be up soon. “That little twat,” she whispered, staring up at the shadowy ceiling. ~ ~ ~ Catherine: I hated it. Ethan: The first three chapters? Catherine: No, the whole book. Ethan: OMG if you stayed up all night, you LOVED it!!! Ethan: You’re welcome. Catherine: I hate you. Ethan: Ha! Brilliant. Alright, ready for the next one??? Catherine: The children’s book? Ethan: Young adult. Very different. It’s not a picture book, Catherine. It’s a masterpiece. Plus!! It’s fantasy!! It’s about a murderous magic school. Right up your alley. Catherine: Does it have a happy ending? Ethan: 😉 Catherine: WHAT DOES THAT MEAN, ETHAN? ~ ~ ~ Work was busier than usual over the next few days, so it took Catherine until the very end of the weekend to finish ‘A Deadly Education’. She reached for Ethan as soon as the final page was turned. Catherine: What was that ending? Ethan: A cliffhanger, Cat!! Did you love it? The nickname made her pause. She decided she’d allow it. Catherine: It was okay. She’d loved it. Catherine: There’s a sequel. Will that be in a future delivery? Ethan: Nope. I’ve introduced you to the series, now it’s time to try something new Catherine didn’t hate the idea. Anything other than fantasy tended to disappoint her. But maybe, maybe with Ethan choosing... maybe there was still pleasure to be found in other places. ~ ~ ~ Somehow, emailing him became a habit. The brief pauses in her day that used to feel empty were now filled with playful banter (Ethan), far too many exclamation marks (also Ethan) and a wary but captivated enjoyment (Catherine). Ethan: So, tell me: why did you move from Sydney to an island everyone forgets is even part of Australia??? After covid, she’d had little interest in co-existing with the unwashed masses. To be fair, things had been disastrous even before the virus had locked her down in a tiny apartment with her ex. The press had been hounding her non-stop, and the weight of being the disappointing Sinclair heir finally crushed her. So, she fled the city, and purchased a plot of land in Southern Tasmania. Catherine: Peace. Ethan: Did you find it??? Catherine watched the sea alchemise into gold under the day’s fading sunlight. A honeyeater flitted past, singing, while frothy waves licked Barney’s paws as he trotted off on his eternal quest for the perfect stick. Catherine: I did. But there were times she wondered what it’d be like to share it with someone other than Barney. ~ ~ ~ In the third month of her book subscription, Ethan sent her a hardcover edition of Leigh Bardugo’s ‘Six of Crows’. Catherine devoured it in one weekend and finally confessed to Mother that her gift was a hit. In the fourth month, after she’d complained to Ethan about recurring nightmares, she’d received ‘DallerGut Dream Department Store’ by Miye Lee. Her bad dreams had stopped. Catherine: I’m surprised you haven’t sent me your book yet Ethan: HA - yet!! Nah, I won’t torture you with that 😉 That decided it. Catherine requested his debut novel be sent as her fifth book. He resisted. She firmly demanded. In fact ... She let her toothbrush rest in her cheek as she typed out: “A signed copy, thank you.” ~ ~ ~ Catherine cradled Ethan's novel, its spine firm against her palms. Opening this book felt like crossing an invisible threshold. A risk. After four months of consistent email contact, she was fairly certain he could write well. But what if he had penned a complete dumpster fire? Then again, she had mused, what if it was so wonderful she couldn’t talk to him because he was no longer Ethan-who-annoyed-her-every-day, but some other, esoteric Ethan she didn’t understand? The thought troubled her. What she hadn’t predicted was that Ethan would be so unapologetically needy that he’d completely counteract the intimidating wonderfulness of his work. Ethan: Which chapter are you up to? Ethan: Do you like it so far? Ethan: Did the part about toxic mushrooms make you laugh? Ethan: Cat!!! Catherine: Leave me alone Ethan: Have you met Ace yet? Catherine: I’m muting your emails ~ ~ ~ At 3.14am, Catherine messaged Ethan. He was awake, awaiting her verdict. Catherine: I understand why you won an award Ethan: OMG. You read SO SLOWLY Catherine: I finished it in a day, Ethan He sent her a grinning selfie with his cat. The cat appeared displeased. Ethan: Tofu is so happy you liked it :) Catherine rolled her eyes. Saved the photo. Ethan: Ever been tempted to write a book??? Catherine: Books are like food: they’re better if someone else makes them. She shuffled closer to Barney, borrowing his courage. Catherine: Especially if that someone is you. Then, because it didn’t count in the dark, Catherine googled Ethan again. She fell asleep tracing the angles of his face. ~ ~ ~ Ethan: Your subscription ends next month. Excited??? The thought made her tummy roil unpleasantly. She wasn’t ready for it to end. So, she decided, it wouldn’t. They wouldn’t. She booked a flight to Sydney. Then, hands shaking, she sent a screenshot of her ticket to Ethan. Catherine: How about I collect my final book in person? The 180 seconds it took to receive his response felt like a lifetime. She was feverish. Jittery. Trembling. She refreshed her email. Leant in. Ethan: Catherine Sinclair, I think that is the best possible way for you to admit you’re in love with me.


The mountains of Stoney Creek have always been a home away from home for Katie. She loves the outdoors, whether its cold or hot you will always find Katie breathing in the fresh air. It's the middle of January and its time for Katie's annual trip to the Stoney creek Chalet. Her four best friends Mia, Brianna, Vanessa, Selena, along with Mia's and Vanessa's boyfriends Jacob and Samuel. Two days later Katie and her friends are on their way to the Stoney Creek Chalet. In four hours they will reach the Chalet. On the drive to Stoney Creek Mia begins to sing and everybody joins in, then they talk about what they are going to be doing. Jacob and Samuel want to go skiing, they ask the girls if they want to go. At first they are hesitant to go, but after some talking, they agree. Four hours later Katie and her friends arrive at Stoney Creek. Katie drives up to the Chalet and parks the car, they get out of the car and begin to unload. The Chalet is just as beautiful as Katie remembers. A two story house with a sloping roof, constructed wood and other materials like stone, walking inside the home look up and you will see a beautiful high ceiling both on the first and second floor. In the front and back of the home are two balconies with a perfect view of the mountains. "I love this place every time I see her." Katie says. After settling in and unpacking Katie and Brianna go food shopping, while the others take out the ski equipment. Katie and Brianna arrive back with tons of food, water and snacks. They put everything away and walk to the living room to talk to the others about they are going to be doing. Mia points out the sun is setting, so they decide to stay in, make dinner, after words, build. fire, make s'mores and tell ghost stories. Everyone happily agrees. Dinner consists of stake with mash potatoes and veggies. Once dinner is made and eaten, Jacob builds a fire and they sit around the fire place. Katie asks who is going to tell the first story. Jacob raises his hand. Jacob begins to tell the story. "It was a cold winter's night, the wind is howling, the moon is high in the sky, inside the hill manor all is quite expect for little Ava. Little Ava is playing with her dolls when someone calls her name Ava, Ava, Ava. Little Ava is not scared, she is happy and smiles. She goes to play with her friend. They run around the house playing hide and seek. Ava giggles when her friend finds her. They play until Ava's mother tells her it's time for bed, a little while later little Ava wakes up, she laughs and gets out of bed. Little Ava walks to the kitchen, picks up a butcher knife and walks to her parents bedroom. She opens the door, silently walks to her mother's side of the bed and violently stabs her over 50 times, then she walks to her father's side of the bed and stabs him over 50 times, then little Ava takes a knife and stabs herself. Because of the snow storm, and where the manor is located the bodies of little Ava and her parents were never found. Two decades later the Hill manor was finally found, but the bodies were never found. The manor was restored to its former beauty and sold to a young family, then the unimaginable happened the family was murder, this time their bodies were found with no explanation, the house was again sold and again the family was murder, then the house was sold again and again and again and each time the family was murder. The Hill manor was finally closed and torn down, but the surrounding area is said to be haunted by the voices of the people murder inside Hill manor. You can still hear the wails of the children." Jacob finishes his story by adding that Hill manor is a few miles from where we are and if you are quiet the wails of the children can be heard from here. Everybody stayed quiet looking at Jacob. Mia spoke up first and tells Jacob he's crazy. Jacob smiles. After a few more s'mores and more ghost story telling Katie and her friends go to bed. The next morning Katie wakes up bright and early, she takes a shower, gets dress and heads down stairs to make breakfast. A few minutes later she is joined by Brianna, Mia, Vanessa, Selena, Jacob and Samuel. They eat breakfast quietly, then they get ready to go skiing. Katie and her friends hike up Stoney Creek Mountain, once they get up the mountain they put on their skis, Jacob is the first to go down followed by Samuel then Mia, Vanessa, Brianna, Selena and last Katie. They ski for the next two hours, then they go back down the mountain, when they reach the Chalet, Katie and her friends have a snowball fight, they have a blast, then they go inside change their clothes and make dinner. After dinner the friends gather around the fire place and they talk about anything, there life, work, family, now they decided to play Monopoly. They laugh so hard their stomachs begin to hurt, after sometime playing the friends go their separate ways. Mia and Jacob go to their bedroom, as well as Vanessa and Samuel. Brianna and Selena stay in the living room and Katie goes to the balcony, she sits on the chair and looks at the mountains. "What a day today? this is the reason why I love coming here. There is no place better to be." Katie says to herself. Half an hour later Katie goes back inside, she grabs a snack then joins Brianna and Selena in the living room, they play board games and talk until the next morning.


[Places and Companies are fictional] It was just like any other day. I had my morning coffee at 6:30 before heading off for work. I do IT for a regional company called ExpressPark. They build parking meters for cities all across the Midwest. I live in Zionsville, Indiana. It’s a small suburb north of Indianapolis. Nothing ever happens there. It’s a grey smattering of office buildings and chain restaurants. It is just a reflection of my personality, an uneventful state of apathy. Is it ironic or sad that I am indifferent about that? Work is work. Again, just like Zionsville, there is no variety in day to day activities. I am doomed to an unending cycle of computer problems and printer malfunctions. I’m just the IT geek to everyone. No one gives it a second thought. Not that I mind. I would rather eat lunch alone than talk sports with the former high school quarterback still stuck in his glory days. Still, although I am content with my life, I feel like it lacks something. I ponder this thought on the way home. As I stop at a red light, I look out and see two twenty-somethings smoking cigarettes in front of a drug store and listening to music on a boom box. Their heads are banging up and down to the heavy guitar, their long hair whipping back and forth. They didn’t care about the damages to their lungs that the cigarettes would cause or the fact that a boom box is comically outdated in 2014. I wished I could let go like that. Listen to music from a boom box. Headbang. Smoke. Quit my job. Drop all of my dress clothes off at Goodwill and get some wax black skinny jeans, and a leather jacket. Meet up with these two and rock out in front of the drug store. It could break me out of the constant indifference that haunts me. I could feel alive. It’s been so long since I’ve felt true happiness, or had fun. There’s so much I’ve never done. There’s so much I’ll never do, if I continue to live this way. I’ve never been to a crazy party, been drunk and in love, kissed someone in the rain, smoked pot, or pulled an all-nighter with a friend. Do I even have friends? I take a long look at the headbangers. Something holds me back. Something tells me not to do this. My job is safe. There is no risk in keeping it. Just keep saving money. I can use it later in life. I can retire, have some good years at a beach house in Florida before I die. That sounds good, right? Before I can answer my own question, the light turns green and I drive off, always left to wonder what might have been.


Ralph found a singularity growing in his backyard. It’s a hell of a thing to see, though you’re never really quite sure what you’re looking at. It started as sort of a purple flower, he says, that just grew up out of the ground one day in the middle of his pumpkin patch. His prize-winning pumpkin patch, he always reminds us, as if that’s a crucial aspect of the story. It started as a flower, and he considered pulling it out of the ground, like the weed it was, but following a strange compulsion connected to an odd dream he could barely remember having, he let the flower grow. Within a few days the centre of the flower had shed its petals and the stem, and risen up free from the ground. The rest of the flower just fell off and faded away during the night, and then at around noon the next day the centre began to spin until it seemed to become a small shimmering vessel of unexplainable energy, all about the size of a hen’s egg. Obviously it has something to do with the chemical runoff coming out of the particle fusion generators up the way. Ever since they installed those massive towers with their queer arrays of blinking lights, we’d been discovering a lot more strangely similar types of transgression against the fundamental laws of science. Nobody knows quite what the singularity is, but I’m told that’s the nature of a singularity, not being able to conceive of it past the point of, there it is. If you’re lucky, maybe you can point to it, like when you’re standing in Ralph’s back yard. Stand close enough, and you can hear the thing humming, just ever so faintly. Sometimes you suspect it might be a song. A song you might remember, from far away, and long ago, when you were a different person. Maybe a parent hummed it to you, back before you were born. Maybe you knew this song, before you even had a body and mind. There’s not much to be done with, or about, the singularity. Ralph says it probably lowered the resale value of his home, but Ralph’s always complaining about something. Still, there’s no arguing that the thing did mess up his pumpkin patch, prize-winning or otherwise. And it did something to that little Jenkins girl. Of course we don’t know what. But it did something to her. She was warned not to play with it, but you know how some kids are. It was like she couldn’t help herself. Like she was compelled. A bit like Ralph was when he let it grow. This little girl. She was near-about ten years old. Snuck into Ralph’s backyard in the middle of the night, and got to messing with the singularity. Nobody quite knows what she was doing with it, but the next day there were a whole bunch of weird figures that’d been written in the dirt, all over Ralph’s backyard. Like somebody was figuring out maths or something. The girl never admitted to making them herself, and if it was the singularity that did it, it’s the only time that’s been known to happen. But the Jenkins, they say their little girl’s been different, ever since that day. For one thing, her voice dropped about six octaves they say, and I must admit, though I’d never encountered the child before, she does have an awfully deep voice for such a whimsical-looking little kid. And then there were the stories. The little girl, the parents said, keeps telling these stories, ever since she spent the night with the singularity. Stories about another world, one that existed long before this universe had been birthed out of nothingness. Stories about people who existed before existence, and their dreams and nightmares. Like angels, or monsters, creeping the dark, the endless dark, before there were stars or space for them to spread throughout. Ralph says the little girl, and her weird voice, and her weird stories, have nothing to do with him and the floating void of nothingness and light and sound that seems to be spinning about in his backyard. I think he’s just worried her parents might try to sue him, and equally, he’s worried that people might start to worship the thing. That happened out at the Morrison place, when that strange icon fell from the stars, and a bunch of weirdos came in from out of town and moved onto the Morrison’s land so as to be closer to the thing. I saw the icon once and it didn’t impress me much, but eventually one day it disappeared and then all the followers freaked out and tore the Morrison’s place down to its foundations. So, it’s understandable that Ralph doesn’t want anything to do with a scene like that. He’s barely paid his place off, and of course now he’s on worker’s compensation, ever since he burnt off one of his testicles with a welding torch. He sure can’t afford to get himself into any more trouble. Still, the singularity is something of a marvel to look at. Due to his fears of cults and quacks, Ralph won’t even let any scientists inspect the thing, which I think is a real pity, since it’d be neat to know more about it. Maybe it could be useful for something, in some way. Like as a source of energy or something. Ultimately, I guess the thing will just have to stay a singularity. A mystery. Just one more thing in this damn town that makes you say, huh, I wonder what that thing there is.


"Bengt Skara Brae you have got to get out of here and stop moping around!” scolded Senzel as she pulled back the drapes allowing a beam of light to shine into the room. Bengt rolled over and put his pillow over his head. “You know you’re not even supposed to be in here. This is the boy’s dormitory.” “Rank has its privileges,” Senzel said with a smile to which Bengt lifted his head briefly to shoot her a sarcastic smirk. Senzel was the daughter of the First of Magi in the Court of Antioch, Moniak Illnoi. She could go pretty much wherever she pleased but right now Bengt wanted to be left alone. “You know Head Mistress Aquitaine is doing everything she can to try to find out what happened on the trip, but your story was somewhat...” and she trailed off in search of the right word that wouldn’t upset Bengt more. “What? My story was what Senzel?” “A bit outlandish.” “I thought you believed me?” he said, as he sat up and threw his pillow at her. “I mean you were forced to come back early from the exchange program at the École et Lettres d'Ingénieurs because you were raving about how two teenage dragons appeared out of nowhere, grabbed Maev, cast a spell that only a Master could know and then disappeared without a trace.” “Yeah, that’s about right,” Bengt said nodding his head. “And no one else could recall seeing or hearing any of this other than you. You have to admit if you heard this it would be rather hard to believe.” “Then where is she, huh? Why haven’t her parents come here to talk to me or the police? She’s not at the École et Lettres d'Ingénieurs and she’s not here. So, where’d she go?” “I-I didn’t think that Maev meant that much to you,” she said in a small hurt voice. "It’s not like that. Remember when we lost control in the last race after getting hit by that lightning?” Senzel nodded. “Something happened,” he said looking off into space. “It’s like we could see each other's thoughts.” “Dragons do have telepathic abilities. Maybe she reached out to you unintentionally.” “No, it was more than that. There was this weird feeling. Like everything we did we did at the same time. We didn’t have to talk through it at all. That’s how we pulled it out and won. Does that make any sense?” “I think so,” Senzel said with pursed lips. “Can you use this connection now? To try to see where she may be?” “I’ve tried,” he answered shaking his head. “But now it feels like whatever it was has been cut-off.” Senzel shrugged. “I don’t know but you must trust Aquitaine. If anyone would know how to find Maev it’s her. And besides with all the class time you’ve missed you’re likely to have to repeat the year.” “Nah, they’ll probably kick me out first,” he said as he rolled out of bed, slipped on a pair of brown loafers, pulled a pre-knotted purple and white striped tie over his head, loosened it slightly then threw on a deep purple sports jacket. “And you’d prefer that?” Senzel asked, handing him his ruck sack as the two left the room and started down the hall. “It wouldn’t be the first time,” he answered which earned him a hit on the shoulder. “Meet you at the North Servery for supper?” she called out to him as he pulled away and started down the steps to his class. “Maybe,” Bengt smiled slyly. Hard as it might be he had to try to push the thought of Maev out of his mind. The more he thought about that sensation the bigger the pit in his stomach became until he couldn’t move, think or eat. If Senzel hadn’t finally come calling on him he’d probably have stayed in his room forever! And Senzel was right, though he’d never admit it to her. Aquitaine was one of the most powerful mages in the CommonWealth. If anyone could find Maev,it’d be her. Bengt rounded the corner and suddenly he felt a stabbing pain in his chest. A few students stopped to look at him as he gasped and propped himself up against the wall, but most were in too much of a rush to get to class to even bother. A voice started to echo in Bengt’s head. He clenched his eyes shut and tried to push it away, but it kept growing louder and louder. He covered his ears with his hands to try to block it out. The voice sounded so achingly familiar. It was soft and warm. There was a melody to it. He closed his eyes now and instead of fighting it he tried to focus on the voice. Slowly it became clearer as words began to form. He couldn’t quite make them out, but he felt a strength fill his body and his head cleared. He opened his eyes and standing in front of him was Maev. She had a curious look on her face as she cocked her head to the side. A wave of delight rushed through Bengt as he staggered upright and reached out before collapsing on top of her. “Hey, are you alright?” she asked. “Yeah, I’m good. Now”, Bengt answered with a sense of relief as he placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. But when he looked up again, he felt stunned to his core. In front of him wasn’t Maev but a girl with lilac skin and a tangle of tight spiraled navy-blue hair pulled carelessly back in a bun so that strands fell across her red eyes. “You’re, you’re not Maev,” Bengt stammered. “Uh, yes I am,” the girl answered nervously as she looked around uneasily. “No! No, you’re not!” said Bengt angrily. “What is this a joke?” he said with a pained smile to no one in particular. “Who, who are you talking to?” she asked looking around. “Who put you up to this?” he asked in a commanding tone as he grabbed her by the shoulders. “No one. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “I felt, I saw Maev. She was right here!”, Bengt said and shook the girl. “You’re, you’re hurting me,” she said weakly. “I-I’m sorry,” Bengt said letting her go. “I just...I had this feeling that,” he stumbled trying to explain. “It’s okay. I didn’t mean to startle you. You looked like you were hurt and I...” “No, it’s fine,” Bengt said as he picked up his backpack and threw it over his shoulder. “Do you think you’ll be okay from here?” “Yeah. Sure,” Bengt said but he didn’t really believe it. That lingering sensation still hovered over him. It was like he had stuck his finger in an electric socket. All those sensations he had felt when he was close to Maev had come tumbling back in a massive torrent that had overwhelmed him but now it had retreated to a barely audible whisper. “Alright then,” the girl said, and she moved on. I’m losing it , he thought. How on Earths could I have thought that was Maev. Or at least my Maev. Like there can’t be more than one Maev in this school or even the CommonWealth . Bengt smacked his forehead then started walking again to class. I’m sure Senzel is gonna hear about this and he let out a groan. I’ll never hear the end of it. Bengt turned into a classroom and made his way to his customary seat in the back. He set his rucksack down, pulled out the textbook and notepad and set them on the desk. The rest of his day passed in a blur as he tried to concentrate on the lessons, but it wasn’t any use. He couldn’t shake that lingering feeling when he had met that other Maev. His mind turned in circles. Why had he suddnely felt that sensation? Had it been because he had been thinking about Maev and desperately trying to restablish the connection they had? Why did he care about the connection anyway? He didn’t actually like Maev. At least not that way. He didn’t even really consider her a friend. It was just a convenience that he had needed a ride and she needed a jockey. Plain and simple. Besides she had sought him out. Not the other way around. So why couldn’t he get her out of his head? “Mr. Skara Brae,” said a minotaur in a clangorous booming voice standing over Bengt. “Yeah?,” Bengt answered craning his head back to look up at the towering minotuar. “First off, Mr. Skara Brae, you will address me as sir, yes sir, Colonel Bravym. Not with a yeah. Is that understood?”, Bravym said sharply. “Sir, yes sir, Colonel Bravym,” and Begnt gave him a half-hearted salute. Somehow, Bengt realized, he had been so caught up in his own world that he had gone the entire day sleepwalking until he got to Combat Application class. The course provided students with a comprehensive set of basic combative skills. They learned to respond appropriately to aggression by utilizing proper body mechanics, skills, and fear management. Students were evaluated on their ability to perform selected combative skills and their capacity to exhibit a warrior ethos and fear management. This was the one class that he and Maev had together. Maev was way smarter than him in every subject, but she was absolutely horrible at combat and so was Bengt. At just under 180 centimeters Bengt was tall enough to intimidate most people with just his presence. He was also athletic which made up for his lack of skill with a sword. But rather than get into a brawl he preferred trickery and sleight of hand to brute force contests. And he absolutely hated this class. “It’s your turn to sound off, Mr. Skara Brae.” “Oh. Apprentice Begnt Skara Brae. House McMurty.” “Right then. Because it appears this is Mr. Skara Brae’s first day back with us the entire company will do extra wind sprits at the conlsuion of today’s lesson!” The class groaned but was cut off by a stern glare from Bravym. “Now then. Each of you get into your assigned pairings. We will start with sword dueling.” The students began milling about, collecting their practice wooden swords and finding their partners. Bengt picked up a sword and waited until each of his classmate had paired up to see who was left since Maev had been his partner. As the group started to disperse to find space on the mat the only person left, to Bengt’s chagin, was the other Maev. “So, hi again,” she said approaching him hesitantly. “You’re in this class? There was only one Maev in this class and that was my friend. Are you new or something?” “Yeah,” she replied. Bengt waited for her to elaborate but when she didn’t he sighed and moved into position. “Since you’re new I’ll take it easy on you. I’ve been doing this awhile,” Bengt said with a half-smirk. “Okay everyone. Take your positions! Salute each other,” Bravym instructed. Bengt raised his sword up in front of his face and Maev did the same. “Now, begin!” Bengt charged at Maev thrusting at her chest but she easily sidestepped the attack. He then swung his blade around to the right in a wide arc that she ducked under. He then traced it back aiming for her knees but she jumped avoiding the blow. Before she landed she struck out with her own sword at Bengt’s head. He barely had time to parry the blow before she spun down to her knees and swiped at his ankles taking his feet out from under him sending him sprawling to the ground. Okay, that tears it! He thought as he scrambled to his feet. Maev was smiling now as she circled around Bengt. “What? Are you enjoying this?” asked Bengt furiously. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t.” Bengt grasped his sword with both hands and cut down at her shoulder. She brought her sword up to catch it but the force of the blow caused her to stumble backwards. Maev was smaller then Bengt by at least ten centimeters and he had her way overmatched in weight and stamina. Bengt pressed the attack with short swings smacking her blade aside with each cut while pushing her back until her heels were on the edge of the field of play. Just one more thrust and this is over , thought Bengt. But on his last swing Maev closed the distance between them and ducked causing his blade to pass harmlessly over her head. She then hooked her leg around Bengt’s knee and shoved backwards to the ground. Before Bengt could get up Maev stood over him with the tip of her blade held against his throat. “Well done Apprentice Sekhmet! You’ve done your house proud!” bellowed Bravym. At that Maev’s face went white. She dropped the sword and began to back away. “Sekhmet? Wait, that’s Maev’s last name. But you’re not Maev!” Bengt said as he got up. “Colonel Bravym, sir? May I be excused? I’m not feeling well, sir”, she asked the minotaur as she started to make her way to the exit of the gym. “Yes, yes of course.” With that she turned and broke into a run with Bengt in pursuit. His longer strides allowed him to close the distance and he grabbed her wrist as she stepped into the hallway. When he did a flood of memories, emotions and pain wracked his mind and body. He dropped to his kneeds but held onto her wrist. “Who, who are you?,” he asked her in-between breaths as he tried to settle himself. “And don’t give me that your Maev. You are not Maev Caitrín Sekhmet.” “Can you please let go of me,” she pleaded. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.” “It’s, it’s complicated.” “Try me.” “Ok, but not here. Is there someplace we can speak in private?” “Sure, follow me.” And the two set off. Bengt switched from holding onto Maev’s wrist to holding her hand as they wound their way through the corridors of the school until Bengt stopped in front of a painting. He glanced around to make sure no one was in the hallway before he pulled back the painting revealing a gaping hole in the wall. “Through here,” he said. The two clambered into the hole. Bengt grabbed a torch and held it aloft as they continued down the tunnel until they got to a stream. “Where are we?” Maev asked. “Underneath the school. No one knows about these tunnels. It’s practically a whole other city down here. Now, who you are and where’s the real Maev?” “If I tell you anything it could mean my life.” “If you don’t tell me what I need to know then I’m going to bring you to the Headmistress. And believe me, you don’t want that!” “It wouldn’t do you any good.” “Oh yeah? And why is that?” “Because she already knows.” “Knows? Knows what?” Maev took a deep breath. “I’m not Maev Caitrín Sekhmet. My name is Erylis Rykeld.” Bengt gave her a confused look. “First daughter of Corvallis the Eternal? Ruler of Vestroya?” “Should I know this?” “We’re at war! Our two kingdoms are at war! How could you not know this?”, said Erylis in a tense voice. “I dunno,” Bengt shrugged. “Unbelievable. My people die and you, none of you even know or care. What’s the point?” “Hey, I don’t know about any war and I don’t care. The only thing I’m looking for is to find out where you took Maev and bring her back.” “Fine,” she said resolutely. “All I know is that I was captured by your people. There was a rescue attempt but something went wrong and it appears Maev and I switched places.” “What? What does that mean?” “It means that your friend is in my body and I’m in hers.” “Wait,” Bengt said shaking his head. “That means. Maev isn’t a dragon?” “No.” “She’s, she’s you?” “Yes, in a manner of speaking,” said Erlyis composedly. The revelation caused Bengt to rock on his heels and he had to catch himself on the wall for support. “Maev’s not a dragon. And Aquitane knows this?”, asked Bengt distractedly. “Yes.” “Then why isn’t she doing something about it? Alerting the authorities?” “Because I tried to escape.” “Escape?” “Yes, escape from my family. My duty. I didn’t want any of it. Headmistress Aquitane understood. She gave me asylum here at the school while she searched for a way to switch us back.” “Right now my friend is missing after getting dragged off by two dragons. Aquitane knows this and hasn’t lifted a finger to help her? This is insane!” “Your friend was taken by dragons?” “Yeah, did you have something to do with that?” “No, but I know where they’ve taken her.” “Then we need to go get her before they realize that she isn’t you.” “It’s not that simple. We have to find a transport that can take us to Vestroya. With the war still going on that will be almost impossible. And even then we’d have to get into the castle, find her and then get out before anyone knows what’s going on.” “But you did it,” Bengt retorted. “I had some help.” “The longer we sit here waiting for Aquitane to figure out what to do the higher chance your dad figures out Maev’s isn’t you. And then what?” Erylis knew she didn’t want to and couldn’t go back. He father would never forgive her failure or take her back as a humanoid. But she knew that if she didn’t at least try to help Bengt then his friend Maev could be in real danger once her father uncovered the truth. Erylis extended her hand to Bengt. Bengt, looking surprised, reached out and grabbed her hand. “Let’s go get Maev.”


We few -- No. No, we are many. We are strong. We are not pitiable. We stand here today, few in number but strong in will -- That’s better. From the top. We stand here today, few in number but strong in will. We do not desire any unneeded violence. I make my -- Sorry. We make our stand for equality, for our rights. Did I say stand twice? Oh no, I’m being too redundant. Should I be writing this down? I lost my notes so long ago. I shouldn’t dwell. I’m wasting time. The static is waning... The people here have suffered at the hands of greed. We are starving, homeless, cold. This is how it is, this is what we were taught is life. What has damned us? Who decided, before we drew our first breath, that we must work our life away to take our second? This is life. The toilers have suffered this life since necessities were priced. Our mothers cradled our heads, sang us to sleep, and whispered that this was life. As we tried to sleep, our mothers wept from the pain in their bones. Is this your life? Wait, no. Don’t refer to a specific entity. General statement, general audience. We would have borne this life. Our bones were prepared to ache. Alas, we are here. Alas, we ache in new patterns. And it has become unbearable. We few, our numbers dwindled and frail, drained by man-made evils, stand here. Hundreds more, thousands more, sleep. Millions. They cry. They twist and turn and sweat and die. They spit blood on floors built by their own hands, their ancestors’ hands... Is this life? Is this the life that we were born into? Was this inevitable? Would you like to hear this story from the beginning? The sickness came in through the water, they say. Those scientists, in their ivory towers, proclaiming the truth without seeing her face. Too emotional. I must be taken seriously. The sickness was predicted. It was written in newspapers, broadcast on TV. But we didn’t have a spare dollar to buy the news these days, and our TV only gets cable when you hit the side just right. I mean, honestly. In this economy? No comedy. I have to be taken seriously. Appeal to emotion, but be professional. Was it written in newspapers? Or is that just what they tell themselves so they can sleep soundly? Was it whispered at the formal parties, announced over private government gatherings? Nevertheless, the infection drove on, burrowed deep. We learned, eventually. And yet, this is life. Our strength was sapped, our breath was stolen, and yet. We woke, we dressed, and we locked our doors, if we had them, behind us. And we served you with smiles. Don’t use you! You, you, you. If only there was just you. One killer, one perpetrator. One drink to poison... Time is running out. Before we could make our demands, we were given our crumbs and told to fetch. And that was life. Our mothers sang and chided us, preached to us to appreciate what we have. And then she went to work. And then she fell sick. And she went to work. And then she died. And I went to work the next day. Did you think she appreciated what she had? Did she die wearing the same smile she carved for her livelihood? Oh, fuck it. This doesn’t matter. I hope you know what we demand now. Do you understand? I don’t want your mother to ache. I don’t want crumbs. I don’t want what was life before, what is life now. I don’t want what you have. I want you to understand. I want you to look at me. I want the blood cleaned off the floor. I want the water to be clean. I want to wake with a smile that I didn’t carve. I want my mother back. And I want so badly to crush your skull. So completely that your tears run red and you can’t form a thought. But I won’t. That would kill only you. And then your child would take up your staff, and run me through, claiming justice. And worst of all, when I died, my mother would be so, so disappointed. We are not few. We are one. And I am the last. I never went to law school or got gold stars on my grammar quizzes. I’m not sure if you understand this concept, but I am here out of desperation. I am here out of love. And I am here because I am the last one. I won’t tell you my mother’s name, but know that she died crying. In her last moments, was she filled with compassion, empathy for you? No. The only thing she could feel was pain. At least she didn’t die screaming, like my sister. At least she didn’t die in a ditch, like my father, too far from home for me to recover the body. I sat shiva alone. What I want is not possible in your eyes. I understand. This is life. So instead, I will tell you what will happen next. Not a demand, just a truth. I will die. Painfully, slowly, by your hands, or by the throes of your disease. And you will have to make a decision. Will it be your children, next? Will it be the lawyers, the bankers, the mathematicians? Who will be chosen to work? Who will build the floors that they will die on? You will die. But your children’s children’s children will be here as well. They will stand before someone like me and will have to choose who is next. And slowly, slowly, slowly, your numbers will dwindle. Twisting and turning, sweating and crying and dying in the trenches that you put them in. And then it will be you. And then maybe you will understand. We are many. I am you. The work will always need to be done.


I’m guessing no one ever really reads this, one or two cops probably read it as evidence, maybe if someone finds this before my body. Well if you’re unlucky enough to be reading this I have some bad news, there’s a body floating somewhere in the lake. I guess the best place to start would be who I am, then later I can explain why and how I got here. In 1994 two people in their early 20’s met at a Real Mccoy concert, they smoked some pot and talked about space aliens, Bryan was of the belief that space aliens not only existed, but had visited our planet Earth on numerous occasions, Amanda was of the belief that space aliens didn’t really matter, and that she’d rather ponder over the mysteries in Bryan’s pants. They made love under the stars, which is a very strange thing to do if you believe in space aliens, especially if you believe those aliens often research our planet with very strong telescopes, which of course, Bryan believed. Afterwards Amanda lit a cigarette and told Bryan that while she liked him a lot, she would have to skip town soon, she was a novelist on an adventure, and this little town in Texas was not where the universe was calling her. Amanda had always been a believer that the universe had a plan for each of us, which in retrospect made it particularly strange that she didn’t believe in space aliens. Bryan was of course saddened by the fact that this beautiful girl would be leaving soon, but he knew he was in no position to adventure with her, he’d just landed a new job at a company that built airplanes, and he’d been taking classes at the local university. Bryan’s life was in that little Texas town, and he was ready to settle down, he’d leave the adventuring for another day. I am not Bryan, and if you’re reading this before you find my body you should know I’m not Amanda either, while I do have her eyes and nose, there’s a rather distinct difference in what we have between our legs, presumably I got that from Bryan. I’ve never been a huge fan of overly suspenseful non fiction, so I’ll just tell you now, Amanda’s book was brilliant, Bryan became a spaceship engineer, and they never met again. Oh and they managed to create a fucking monster. My mother died when I was 15, which I found rather depressing, she’d finished her novel a few months before and was in the process of publishing, when a routine trip to the doctor’s ended badly. You’ve heard that story before, to sum it up quickly, there was a whole lot of crying, surgery, and chemo. After she died the publishing company sent me a very nice gift basket and a letter apologizing but mentioning that they would not be publishing my mother’s book, she was too unknown to publish post-mortem. Before she passed away my mother gave me an address, my father, she told me, lived in a small town in Texas, he built airplanes, liked the real Mccoy, but thought their album Space Invaders was a bit derivative, and spent most nights looking for space invaders of his own. I threw the address away of course, I hadn’t needed this man yet, and he clearly had better things to do than raise me. Unfortunately some social workers got a hold on the address and had different plans. A week after my mother’s funeral I was on a bus from Kentucky to Texas. In my defense, I had just gone through a very traumatic event, found out my father didn’t know I existed, and met twin babies that were my new half brothers, it was a stressful time, but I treated the last of my family like shit for the next three years. I should’ve helped with the babies, I should’ve gotten a job, or at the very least helped around the house, instead I spent every day getting high and doing nothing important. I ruined their marriage, my dad claimed it wasn’t my fault, and of course they both played their parts but I have a feeling it’s a lot easier to raise somebody else’s bastard if he isn’t selling pot to the neighbor’s kids. After the divorce my dad and I moved into a small apartment, he saw the twins most weekends, but I never really found much of a point in it. I graduated highschool and had good enough grades to get into a small university an hour from my father’s apartment. On the last day I spent in that apartment we shared a 6 pack and my dad told me the story of how he met my mother, it was short enough to include in my suicide note. We both apologized, I forgave him, it wasn’t his fault my mother never told him I existed, and he’d stayed by my side while I destroyed his life. “Where to next?” I asked him right before we went to bed. “I guess maybe it’s my turn for an adventure.” We saw each other a few times after that. College was fine for me, I followed in my father’s footsteps and went into the sciences, I spent five years in that place and managed to walk out with a degree in Computer Science. I had friends there, met girls, and finally did a little more with myself than just smoking weed. My fifth and final year at university was when I started to see the signs. It started like radio static, like voices were talking very far away and while the noise was carried to me, the words were lost on the journey. I ignored it for a while, nothing more than stress and partying too much.I went to the doctor after the first time I made out a full sentence; “Rape that girl, make her bleed.” A minor case of paranoid schizophrenia, Thiothixene, one pill a day, and weekly therapy, that’s what they told me it would cost to get the voices to shut up. It worked for another year, and I managed to graduate and get a job validating software, a job anyone could do just fine after a lobotomy. I didn’t make many friends after college, I spent two years at the same job and went out with my coworkers only a handful of times. There was one girl at work I was obsessed with, Jolene, a gorgeous woman only a year my senior. Jolene worked in our accounting department, she was smart, funny, and cute. Oh and I’m using the past tense because her body is wrapped in a blanket in the trunk of my car. I didn’t mean to kill her, neither did the voices, at least I don’t think they did, but Jolene stumbled upon my secret and she wanted to leave and she was going to leave and tell everyone and the voices said if I didn’t stop her she would tell them and she wanted to leave so I took the bottle in my hand and I wasn’t thinking but I hit her with the bottle but I hit her too hard. I didn’t want to hurt her. She kept breathing for a while, I watched her chest rise and fall for a few minutes, but she was leaking. Blood dripped from her head and her blond hair slowly stained crimson as it clumped together. I wanted to call an ambulance, I wanted to save her, but they told me not to, they said if we did we’d be locked up tortured there, hurt, raped, beat, killed for what we did. I tried to reason with them, “But if she lives they can’t be that mad at me, they’ll help they won’t hurt me!” Then there was a booming laughter drowning in the static of my brain, the volume turned as high as it could go. The voice screamed to me, cackling all the while, “No one will care about this girl, but for what’s on your computer they’ll kill you.” What is on my computer was put there by someone else, someone using my hands to press the keys, but another person all together. I wasn’t the one making the decision and I didn’t even know it was there until tonight, honest. Well some of it I knew about, the adults, that was the secret she found out, the reason I hit her, but the other stuff I swear was news to me. I know it was all wrong. I knew it all along, but I guess I just thought no one would really be hurt, it was just for me. But Jolene had been hurt, she was terrified when she saw herself on my computer, fully nude and bent in a submissive position, an intimate photo taken by a lover long ago and still backed up to his Google account. She asked me how I’d gotten it and I lied, told her he’d sent it to me unprompted and for no reason. Of course she didn’t believe me, maybe if I’d been a better liar she’d still be breathing. And that’s when the radio static demanded I “Stop her! Before she sees everyone else!” Then there was an argument, a bottle, a leaky head, and a slow rhythmic breathing fading away. I stole her nudes, and others, and set up hidden cameras, it was wrong but I couldn’t stop myself, but this, this was so much worse, but it wasn’t me, the voices did it, not me. Now some poor girl lay dead in my trunk because of them, all because of the voices that never shut up. The voices weren’t content ruining my life alone, they had to drag everyone else down with me. I am the outlet, I cause all of this suffering. I am proof God either doesn’t exist, or is the world’s biggest asshole, a real loving God would have killed me the day I was born. My mother would’ve finished her book years earlier, she’d die happy as a published author, my father would be happily married, Jolene would walk into work tomorrow, and the twins, the things the voices made me do to them. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. They’re screaming at me even now. They want me to stop, to make myself throw up. “Cut up the body, hide it here. Run! Escape!” They won’t stop yelling things like this to me, it makes me think they’ll die with me.The thought of them dying is all that keeps me moving now. I’m nearly paralyzed with fear but I’ll keep going I can still bring some good to the world, if only by stopping my own evil. I’m sorry, I’m scared, I don’t want to die, but I’ll die for you, for the good of all of you. I finished the bottle of Thiothixene and washed it down with some bourbon, nice stuff from Kentucky, from home, from a time before the voices, before I was afraid, before I was a monster. I’m leaving the notebook here on the dock, thank you for reading this. If there’s a God in heaven I’ll tell him off for all of you. For now I think I’ll go float into the lake for one last swim. The stars are beautiful tonight, I’ll look out towards them and watch for space aliens. Goodnight. I’m so sorry.


It's taken me a long time to think seriously about this former friend and someone who passed away at eighteen years old. He's someone I've never forgotten about, and he haunts my dreams. Joe was a really sensitive, loving kid who was always taller and skinnier than me. When my family built a house in the township of Mendham I started going to the elementary and then the middle school. I was in Mrs Thomas' class and it's likely there I first met Joe. His parents lived in a stone covered ranch house on Woodland Road and Summit Road. The house seemed to go on forever. The garage was the only room that was below floor level and the house looks like it was built into a slight decline to the left. I don't remember exactly how Joe and I met but he had spent some time in the Philadelphia area and he liked the Phillies. Star Wars was huge and enigmatic for us. But I remember standing in front of his house and our classmate Miriam was there with us. Miriam had found a woolly bear caterpillar and it was peacefully walking under a leaf. Joe and I went over to look at it and the woolly bear was dark, which Miriam said portended a very cold winter. I was living in Morris Plains at my grandparents' house for that severe winter of 1977-1978 and this limited my time with Joe to a few visits and time at school. When I finally got to the new house we got together more. There was a sleepover for Joe and his birthday was March 4th. The sleepover was fun and we all slept in the room over the garage. Then Joe’s mom cooked us eggs, bacon and flapjacks for breakfast. Afterwards I was on my way back to Morris Plains. Somehow I was totally enamored with that house. You could go from the room where the sleepover was and into the kitchen and common area with a couch where Joe's hamster went and his dad had to dig into the couch to get it. Joe's dad was pretty kindhearted, and my dad thought he was a scientist. Maybe he was, and I think I remember Joe telling me they'd been to the Philippines; of course, I might be confusing this with Philadelphia. Joe’s dad also had a bunch of Playboys in his garage and we helped ourselves to them at least once. Harmony Brook (hence Brookside) ran by Joe's house and he and I built a dam over a few weeks; Joe lead this project. Joe was also friends with Scott, who was two grades under us. Scott also lived on Woodland Avenue, and we went to his house. I tried playing Scott’s Atari dragster game but I sucked at it and kept blowing the engine. Whether or not this all happened in fourth grade or fifth grade, I don't exactly remember but by the time we were in middle school our friendship really seemed to take off. I remember us playing little league baseball. I was on the Coutts team with my two brothers and Joe was on another team and we had to play against each other. I was on this team for fourth, fifth and sixth grades and it seems like we played all our games at the Brookside community field or at the elementary school field. Joe and I finally were on a team together in seventh grade. It was much different than in sixth grade, and you had to steal bases, which horrified me. Then there were secret signs the coach gave us, such as a swipe across the chest which meant to steal a base. It was more aggressive, the practices seemed unorganized, and to top it off, the coach rarely put Joe or I in to play. During one game, Joe was in center field and the batter from the opposing team hit the ball directly to him. Joe tried catching it, but it stung his hand badly through the glove and he dropped it. Joe flicked his hand violently up and down to relieve the pain. When Joe came back in he and I got on top of the dugout together and spent the rest of the game there. It wasn't long afterwards that he and I quit the team and left baseball forever. I complained to a teacher that I wasn't getting played, but to no avail. Then I bagged up my uniform and gave it to the coach's daughter, who was a grade lower than me, and she gave it back to her dad. After this, Joe showed me his new computer. He had a game on it where you could fly through space with the stars appearing to fly past you, and we played for hours until I had to go home. My parents got Intellivision for me and my two younger brothers, along with several game cartridges, including Battleship, Space Armada, Football and Baseball. Joe came over and we played all the games, but he really liked Battleship, so we had a tournament that lasted from Friday night well into the next day. Joe and I had some of the same friends. One was Randy, whom I'd also met in my move to the township. Randy and I shared an interest in stuffed animals and "Laurel and Hardy". Joe and Randy were also friends, but seemed to fall out somewhat during middle school. Next there was David, who loved movies such as John Carpenter's "Halloween" and of course Star Wars. David was a bit of a prankster and we stole a golf cart from the Roxiticus golf course. I was scared, but Joe was far more relaxed, and that probably helped to chill me out. David had also recruited a cute girl from the sixth grade named Tammy, and I started getting a crush on her. I was also jealous of David for being able to get her to come on this adventure of a lifetime. David, Joe, I and Tammy all walked stealthily up to a row of golf carts. David had gotten a hairpin from Tammy. We all three stopped and David continued up to the carts. Then he jumped into one of them, and seconds later he was speeding towards us. "Get in, goddammit!", he hissed at us. We all jumped in and barreled down the hill together, Joe and I in the back with David and Tammy up front. It was a misty, cloudy early spring day, so we had some cover. Then we took turns driving the cart, doing doughnuts on the thicker fairways and avoiding the greens. We finally left the undamaged cart in a wooded rough area and all four of us skulked off. Then Joe and I had some disagreement and got into a harmless fight, rolling around on the grass and getting soaked while David and Tammy watched us. No punches were thrown, but Joe had some fight in him, yet he wielded it gracefully. I guess David and Joe were two of my closest friends in middle school, but both of them had been friends with George, whereas George and I were merely acquainted. Joe and George had kind of a love-hate relationship, but one day they had such a weighty disagreement that they decided to fight after school in Joe's driveway. Joe told me about the fight and I rode my bike to his house, ostensibly taking his side, but trying to stop him fighting. Joe didn’t heed my protests and down Woodland Avenue came George and one of his friends from school. I was apprehensive and I tried playing music in my head to drown out the coming conflict. Then George and Joe faced off and engaged in the stupidest fight I've ever seen, with both of them taking wide swings at each other's heads, connecting about half the time. I was transfixed, but neither combatant seemed to win. George pulled away first and then backed up. The saddest part was that they parted ways after that and stopped being friends. George trudged away and his friend tagged along, but I stayed, dry mouthed and heart racing. "Joe, are you alright?" I wondered if we'd have to put a piece of steak on his cheek, like Peter from "The Brady Bunch". Joe said he was fine, but I could see red marks under his eyes. Just then his dad pulled up. I looked at my wristwatch and it said it was five in the afternoon, and I wondered how so much time had passed so quickly. Joe's dad listened as his son told him about the fight. "Did you give him any shiners?", his dad asked. I thought it was a strange question, but Joe's dad was obviously proud of him. Joe and I remained friends through all of eighth grade, but it was different because David had moved away and Joe had stopped being friends with George and Randy, so we were pretty much it. But even we started diverging somewhat. Joe never changed much, except for getting somewhat taller, but I started growing thin mustache hair. I also began taking on a somewhat mesomorphic appearance. By high school I was shaving first my mustache and then my entire face. Joe on the other hand kept his boyish voice; he likely could have been in a choir! He also didn't have any facial hair, but maintained his mop of dark brown hair. Even then he probably looked a bit like Justin Bieber. I thought nothing of it, but Joe's appearance definitely caught the attention of other boys in our class. They started calling Joe "gay", and made fun of his voice. There would be call outs in class, like "Joe's gay!", and I can't imagine the teasing in Joe's other classes. Joe and I were in Mr Blasko's history class together, and we had to do presentations about halfway through the year. Mine went off without a hitch. A guy named Marc, who often wore an Atari shirt went next, and he kept the class and Mr Blasko in stitches. Then it was Joe's turn. Poor Joe couldn't even get through his presentation. Some of our male classmates were telling him to make his voice deeper. Joe said aloud, "Oh, come on! I can’t help it!" Then someone said, "Joe's gay!" for about the hundredth time. Mr Blasko didn't do a damn thing, but after all it was the rough-and-tumble early 1980s. I turned around at one point to look at Mr Blasko, but he just shrugged. Then one of the big girls got up and told the boys to shut up. They did, in shock, and Joe finally finished. I couldn't understand why people were so mean to Joe. He was so nice to me, and I loved his laugh. His interest in cars and computers and other technology, as well as his interest in coin collecting got me to see a new world. We didn't start with much in common in fourth grade, but we enjoyed each other's company. But I had my own limits, and one day they were rudely pulled out of me. My cousin, whose name is Dick, and who was also one year behind me, was at my house one day. It was a few days until I was to start freshman year at Mendham High School. I was up in my room, and in came Dick. He asked me why I was still friends with Joe. I felt like he was interrogating me, so I just stared at him and said that Joe was my friend. I wish I could say that I stood my ground, but Dick ground me up. Dick said, "Joe is gay, and if you don't want to be seen as gay too, then stop being friends with him." Then Dick walked out of my room. I thought about how I wanted in high school to be more well known by the ladies. I thought back and realized Joe hadn't been with girls much and hadn't attended the "cotillion" I had been to with most of my class, as well as to dance classes in eighth grade. As the first day of school approached, I came up with a contingency where I simply would not initiate get togethers with Joe anymore. At least if there were any chances, no one would doubt me. But the first day of school would prove me wrong, because Joe and I had the same earth science class. When I walked into the school I started seeing people I hadn't seen since I'd lived in Mendham borough, and it was like I was back. There was Mary, with whom I was friends in kindergarten, and Jay, who would bike over to my house on Mountain Avenue. Then I went to my earth science class, and the room was full of freshmen. As I rounded the corner to my left, I saw Joe and he saw me. Immediately he was begging me to sit with him, the seat to his right being empty. I just strolled right past him and took an empty seat behind him. He looked back at me, crushed. I didn't even look up at him. Then he faced forward as Mr Skala started class. My cousin, Dick, had successfully broken up our friendship. It left me wondering if Dick came to my room specifically that day to tell me to stop being friends just for fun. But as the days went on, Joe started becoming friends with some of the same people I was befriending. Jay was an archer, and another friend, Mark, was in my German class, and he introduced me to "The Dark Side of the Moon". There was also John, with whom you could never be correct on anything, but we hung out a few times. John liked Scandal, and he played his "Goodbye to You" LP for me. Mark recorded Pink Floyd for me, as well as "Moving Pictures" from Rush, and sold me his Walkman. I almost froze to death on my bicycle listening to it while pedaling home from John's house. Jay and I got on the wrestling team and practiced together. But then one chilly and overcast day Mark, Jay and I got a ride to a familiar looking house on Woodland Avenue to look at a Mustang. We stood on Joe's doorstep and Mark knocked. Joe came out and greeted him and Jay, but he didn't say anything to me. Then Joe motioned for us to go to the garage. There was a very used-looking Shelby. Joe had gotten it from Jay, and I found myself wondering why he’d gotten a car without having a driver’s license yet. But I just kept my mouth shut as Joe, Jay and Mark talked about the vehicle’s timing. “Do you know what timing is, Jim?” Mark asked me, giggling. “Oh, Jim has no idea what that is!” said Joe, laughing. Sensing the tension, Mark said “Why don’t we show Dimdy Doo what timing is?” That was a nickname Mark and Jay had coined for me. At this, Joe laughed uproariously. “Dimdy Doo! Is that what you call him?” Joe gleefully locked eyes with me, but it lasted only a second. He then proceeded to pop the hood, bringing the seven liter power plant into view. Mark connected the timing light and pointed it at the harmonic balancer. They performed the adjustments in a few minutes, and even I thought it sounded better. It was getting dark, so afterwards Mark, Jay and I left. I went home feeling totally foolish because Joe had made some really great friends and gotten a car while my mom was making me do wrestling, a sport I knew nothing about! I really didn’t see much of Joe after this encounter at his house. At least he let me stay to see his car. But then high school passed by and I didn’t see Joe again until the last two quarters of senior year when we took an auto mechanics class together. Mr Mineo, our teacher, really taught a great class in which we all but dissected a Chevelle and were introduced to car computers, albeit without the OBD II port. Then we talked about how fossil fuels were formed, and that dinosaur shit was part of it; Joe, sitting next to me, laughed, looking at me, this time with no glee at all. I smiled and laughed too. In August 1986 I went to start my undergraduate studies at Shippensburg University. It was very early in the year, and my mom called me to tell me that Joe Bogdon had passed away. I couldn’t believe it. He had been helping his dad build a wall. Joe was helping to dig a trench, and a wall of bricks fell on top of him, snuffing out his young life. My parents said maybe I should drive to his house, but I haven’t yet. I feel ashamed for unilaterally ending the friendship. But maybe I can still go


"What do you mean 'no damage'?" Barked the Captain of the ASF Fragile is a State of Mind. His crusier was in pursuit of a stolen experimental ship. Orders were to not allow it to escape under any condition. "The warheads impacted but other than knocking the ship off course it did negligible damage." - The never named ASF ship rung like a bell as hundreds of rounds of ammunition impacted on her hull. "Holy shit! It actually works!" Shouted the woman sitting in a makeshift captain's chair in the centre of the bridge. Though shaking and vibrating furiously the little craft was holding together. "I can't believe they actually got 'shields' working." A small man wrapped in a web of cables turned and gave a wicked grin, "Totally impenetrable. They could fire everything including the mess sink at us and the shield will never break. Told ya the intel was good!" "Ya, ya, brag when we're at the bar later with 40 mil' in each of our accounts. Just get us to the jump point." "Sure thing boss." He turned back to his nest of wiring and dug around for a tablet. Finding it he quickly pulled up the engine diagnostics and began calculations for the jump. "How's the kid doing?" - Twenty metres aft of the bridge was the only other finished room on the ship, the engine room. Clutching a power conduit a youngish man firmly held his eyes closed. Repeating his new mantra of "40 million, 40 million, 40 million..." he began to regret signing on to this job with the two other Mercs. He was the muscle, or the gun more aptly. The job was supposed to be a simple one. Small facility, small staff. Stealth infiltration, cut communication, steal something, get the fuck out. Simple. Except when the something turned out to be an experimental ship and an ASF crusier shows up to perform a staff rotation. So now, in a less than half finished ship, they were running as fast as they could to the nearest jump point. - One of the scientists who had accompanied the ASF Fragile is a State of Mind stood on the bridge watching salvo after salvo of missiles impact on the little ship which had been his focus for the past 2 years. In a sense he was incredibly proud that it was performing exactly as the simulations predicted. "That's it Captain. We're spent. All that's left is the nukes." Reported the gunnery officer. "Major damage to both of our rotary launchers. They weren't meant to launch the entire payload in such a short time period." "Motherfucker!" exclaimed the Captain pounding the arm of station. "You," pointing at the scientists, "will a class 2 nuclear warhead destroy that thing?" The scientist gave a shrug. "Maybe? At this point I don't know how the shield will perform. It's held up incredibly well." The Captain let out a long exhale. "Bring up the launch codes for the fusion warheads." "Yes sir!" Replied the gunnery officer, tapping instructions into his console. A few seconds later a dozen warnings appeared on the Captain's screen. With a grunt of frustration the Captain began filling out the required forms. "Sign here, and there, and here. Oh and initial there, great. Can't imagine what we'd do if we actually had to use these things in a real combat." Finally the red warnings were dismissed and he was left with a single green button which read 'Confirm.' Quickly pressing it he turned to the gunnery officer "Fire when ready. Both of them." - "Aaaaaand here come the nukes!" Shouted the man lost in cables. Looking around, he quickly began tying himself down with whatever was available. The woman seeing this followed suit and shouted aft through the uncovered structure of the ship. "Hang on baby face, it's about to get bumpy!" Turning back to the small man, "this is gonna work right?" He gave a shrug "Grea..." Was all she managed to get out before the ship shook with a force that warped and bent the bulkheads far from their intended positions. But the ship held and kept burning furiously towards the jump point. "Woooooo! That's what I'm talking about!" Yelled the woman returning to a sitting position. Her arm was dangling useless at her side as it had been pulled from its socket. The small man's head popped up out of the cables. He has a gash in his forehead but seemed otherwise unscathed. She then noticed the pile of flesh mashed into the wall to her left. Confused for a second she then realized that the kid had failed to strap himself down in time and was thrown about the ship by the blast. She considered the sight for a second, honestly remorseful that he had died. He was a good shot and took orders well. She turned to the small man and gestured to the pile. "Make that 60 mil, we'll pour out some of the good stuff for him." The small man gave a solemn nod and glanced at his tablet. "20 mins to jump point, and I don't think they have anything left to shoot at is, we're in the clear." - "Her superstructure is bent to hell, any normal ship would dust. She's still flying though." "What do we have left?" Asked the Captain. "There's got to be something else." "We've fired everything we had at them. All that's left is the point defense turrets and they wouldn't even damage a normal ship let alone whatever is going on over there." Said the gunnery officer pointing at the ship on the forward monitor. Getting the Captain's attention with a sight cough, "I think I have a suggestion. The shield was meant to repel high velocity projectiles with the intention that PDTs would take care of slower threats." The scientist explained. "We did that so resupply craft, fighters and shuttles could come and go without lowering the shield. With a quizzical look the Captain asked "So we need to hit it slower? Well that's great, I'll just go out and give it a kick then, shall I?" "Well actually, I worked on designs similar to our current ship and I know that a lot of the reinforced areas are towards the bow of the ship where the ammunition is held. While the shield ship is smaller we have the advantage in speed as our engine is more powerful." Giving a long sigh. "So what do you propose I do then, huh?" Asked the Captain. "Ram it." - "Five minutes till jump, calculations done. We'll follow the backup plan jump to the fallback system, sit in an asteroid field for a few days then jump to the client and do the sale." "Sounds good. Still can't believe we pulled this off." Said the woman who let out a long breath she didn't notice she was holding. The calming hum of the engine was a nice replacement to the stacato rhythm of the bullet impacts. "What are they doing?" Said the man as he squinted at his tablet. "What?" "They've blown by us and are going wide. I don't know what their plan is." Glancing at his console. "Well whatever it is they don't have any time or ammo left. We good?" Asked the woman shutting her eyes and laying her head back. It had been a long day. "They've come about. Heading straight for us on intercept! They'll reach us before we get to the jump! The fuck are they doing!?" He yelled as he once again began strapping down. - "All hands, clear the foreward sections." Reported a member of the bridge crew. "One minute till impact. All hands brace!" Came the call over the ships intercom The Captain liked his ship, but he knew she wasn't built for this. It would be unlikely she would fly again. Fuck it. Next time he'll have the egg heads put one of their fancy 'shields' on his ship. - The two mercenaries left on the ship, braced as best they could but there was little they could do as the bow of the ASF Fragile is a State of Mind pierced through the side of the little ship. The sound of tearing metal was quickly overpowered by the detonation of the power core and the rush of air as the atmosphere quickly left the ship. The man and woman, and the remains of the kid were torn apart and sent spiralling of into the black. The ASF Fragile is a State of Mind did not escape without damage. The forward 15 metres of her length were crushed and destroyed by the impact. The shockwave spread through the ship and warped her to the point where many of the main power conduits were severed. She was adrift, but had fulfilled her orders.


Officer Nicholson watched the crazy man run around the blood-splattered crime scene, inspecting everything but the dead body in the centre of the room. This crazy man was apparently the best detective on this side of the force. Officer Nicholson was told that the detective was a little eccentric in his methods, and that he rarely ever worked a case with another officer due to his eccentricity, but Nicholson was all for whatever crap the detective had to pull to solve the case. What he was not ready for was an early 30-something adult man to start chatting to a lamp. “Lamp, how are you doing? Haven’t seen you since we busted your dirty rat of a brother. Yeah, his bulb isn’t so bright anymore,” the aforementioned detective said, as if he were casually making small talk about the weather to an old friend, and not speaking to an upright floor lamp, “Now, Lamp, I like you, I really do, but you have to tell me what you know about this. You come across as an honest guy, but something about you seems shady. I got a family man lying dead on the floor in his own blood, what am I going to tell his wife and children? I need your help, Lamp.” “Good-cop-bad-cop routine,” a voice behind Nicholson quietly whispered. Nicholson jumped, turning around to find that the voice belonged to none other than the chiseled, salt-and-pepper haired head of his superior. “Kowalski,” Nicholson replied in greeting, turning his head to look at the man who was his boss. “What do you mean good-cop-bad-cop routine?” “It’s his way of doing things. Cliché, I know, but it gets the job done.” Nicholson looked back to man that was still talking to the lamp, “Are you su-” “Don’t even try to frame Window over there, he has an alibi!” There was a pause. “You son of a bitch, what did you say about my wife?!” Suddenly, the lamp-talking detective grabbed the lamp and threw it against the wall, hard enough to crack the bulb a little but not hard enough to break it. Nicholson stood still, unable to comprehend what he’d just seen. A man, who was among the best and most trusted detectives in the city, had just thrown a lamp against a wall because the lamp had ‘commented’ on his wife. How the hell had this man not been put under disciplinary action yet? A number of questions flooded the mind of the junior detective. He chose the simplest one. “He has a wife?” Kowalski nodded, “I can see how it’d surprise you, but yes. From what our friend over there has told me, she’s a lovely sweet woman.” “Huh”, Nicholson replied, “I’ll take the initiative and assume that she didn’t marry him for his charming personality and dry wit.” Kowalski barked out a laugh, “You might be right.” Before Nicholson could air any more of his numerous questions about this whole situation, the seemingly mental man walked up to Kowalski and proclaimed, “It was the delivery driver. Lamp finally confessed that he’d seen him stab our victim over there, and I found a small drop of salsa, most likely a bit that had dropped onto our murderer’s hands as he was delivering the food.” The crazed man walked out of the room calmly, not saying another word. The door hitting the frame was the only action in the room, until Nicholson started to stare at Kowalski. Kowalski shrugged, “What can I say? He may be insane, but he’s never wrong and he’s actually quite the charming fellow when he’s not talking to the furniture.” Kowalski turned and walked out of the room, following after the eccentric detective. Nicholson shut his mouth that was gaped open in surprise, and hurried after Kowalski and the psychotic detective, eager to know more about his new partner.


He finally made it up the tower, and there was the princess sleeping peacefully. He leaned in to kiss her . "Whatcha doing?" my best friend Sam startled me. I was in the middle of writing my masterpieace a fantasy-romance. Sam (Samantha) is my best friend we have been friends since kindergarden. There is always one kid who dresses werid and that would be Sam. Sam looks like a fairy princess dressed in pleasant blouses and long skirts. You wouldn't believe by looking at her that she is a tomboy. Her mom is a hippie and buys all of her clothes, and has the strange notion that girls should wear skirts. Sam is a budding naturalist, sketchbook in hand documenting the local wildlife. She has steel grey eyes and honey colored hair. Right, I haven't introdouced myself yet. I'm Aimee, I am a writer. I have been writing since I first picked up a pencil. I have green eyes and brown hair. Actually really frizzy hair, I swear it has a mind of it's own. Sam snatches my notebook, reads it. She "yawns", my friend is more into action or adventure stories. See that boy over there, the one with the glasses trying to hide from our English lit teacher, that is my other best friend Oliver. A gangly boy with black hair. English lit isn't his best subject, and is horrible at reading out loud. He is the smartest boy in the ninth grade. Of course a moment later, he is called on and tries to read a passage from Romeo and Juliet without stumbling. Our teacher Mr. Finch, announced our creative writing assignment. The winner will be featured in the Silver Springs Chronicles Mr. Finch is a very tall man and has a collection of bow ties, a different one for each day of the week. He also dresses like an English gentleman. I am a good writer, so this assignment will be a pieace of cake. My friend Sam thinks that I will be a shoe in for this month's issue. Eleanor was also competing to be featured in Sliver Springs Chronicles. Eleanor was Aimee's rival, the two had been bitter rivals since the second grade when Aimee beat her at the science faire. Eleanor had blond hair and icey blue eyes. She believed that she could write a better story. The class had until the end of the month to finish their assignment. That night, Aimee staired at her notebook, she had a million ideas for a story but none of them seemed good. She knew that Eleanor would have a really good story and would rub in her face. She was like the Wicked Witch from The Wizard of Oz trying to thart Dorothy. The evil witch was jealous of Princess Crystal . Aimee wrote. Eleanor was a witch. Aimee wrote that in a far away kingdom there lived a beautiful princess, and an evil witch. The witch was jealous of the princess's beauty. The next day, Oliver and Sam invited her to play baseball with them. Aimee did go, but sat on the bench furoiously typing away on her laptop. Sam was up at bat, her long tye-died skirt, and baseball cap didn't cordinate with each other. She swung hard, but missed then wack. The ball flew into the air, she went to first but only to be tagged by Oliver. It was Oliver's turn, he swung, the ball flew and almost hit Aimee. Oliver, of course caught it. "Why don't you put that down and take a break from writing". Take a break? She was just getting to the good part. "She is to interested her in her dumb story, to play baseball" Sam said. The next few days, Aimee was glued to writing, she wrote non-stop day and night, crafting the perfect story. She even wrote while she was walking. Oliver had to stop her from running into a pole. At lunch the next day, Oliver sat by her at lunch. Aimee was to busy writing. "Yoohoo, earth to Aimee" he said, but it was no use, she wouldn't stop writing. In the hallway, she almost ran into somebody, Sam stopped her. Sam then yanked the notebook from her. "I wasen't done" Aimee said, snatching it back. "I think you should take a break" Sam said. At study hall, Oliver sat by Aimee. A girl almost sat on him, she didn't see him. She apolgized. It happened a lot, Oliver felt like he was a ghost, invisible, nobody really saw him. "See I am a ghost, invisible" hiding in his navy blue hoodie. Sam sat by them. "Your not a ghost, I can see you" she said. Aimee had already put Sam in her story, and now had the perfect character for Oliver in her story. "Are you going to come out of there?" Aimee said. Oliver imitated a turtle, and poked his head out, but then retreated to his fortress of soilitude. "Actually it is quite cozy in here". Aimee laughed. Aimee had finally finished her story, an A+ for sure. Princess Crystal and her two friends-Peony the fairy, and Albert the ghostly knight defeated the evil witch and saved the kingdom. A week later, Mr. Finch passed by their assignments back. Sam was surprised to get a "C", but with all the spelling mistakes it made sense. Oliver was happy to get a "B -" his plot was inconsistent but good enough. But where was Aimee's paper? Oh no. Mr. Finch held up two papers, "Both are excellent, but this one is amazing" he handed back Eleanor's to her. That meant, Aimee had the best story, if she won then her story would be read in front of the class. Oh no. She sunk in her chair. Then about a magical kingdom and a beautiful princess. Then the heroes got lost in the gumdrop forest, and then had to find the magical jewel of friendship. It was super enbaressing. It was finally over, not quite. She was then interviewed on Sliver Springs Live , the school's news report. It could not get anyworse. Sam and Oliver were so excited to see there friend on t.v. Peony and Albert where such cool characters. Peony was a spritely fairy, and Albert was a knight but then died and became a ghost. Albert was very murose and a sour puss. Sam pointed, there was Aimee. "So Aimee, everyone is raving about your story" the host said, "How did you come up with the story?". Sam munched on popcorn. "Oh well, Peony is based on my best friend Sam". Sam nearly choked on her popcorn. Peony was a ditzy fairy who randomly broke out into song. Now everyone at school, would think she was like Peony, and laugh at her. "I am sure she means another Sam" Oliver said sheepishly. No it was her. So if "Peony" was Sam, then "Albert" had to be Oliver. Aimee thought he was harsh and melancholic. The next day at school, the two friends decided to confront Aimee. Aimee was to busy signing autographs. Oliver fought his way through the crowd. "Isn't this amazing?" she said. Oliver crossed his arms, "You wrote me as a harsh, severe.." Sam fighting her way through the crowd, "Move aside, best friend comming through". She was out of breath, "And you wrote me as some ditzy fairy, do really think I am like that?". Aimee shook her head. "No, I.." Oliver snatched a copy of her story from someone. He cleared his throat. "He is the most dispicable person.. harsh.. incapable of feeling" Oliver read. Aimee nodded, Sam snatched it from him. "sing-songey, laughable". She read. Both crossed their arms. "No, really, I.." Aimee was intrupted by a fan. Sam looked at the crowd, they were giggling and pointing at her and Oliver. "Now were the laughing stock of the school". Aimee signed a paper. "No, this is great, they like my story". Sam tried to smile, but couldn't. "Yah, just peachy". The two friend started to walk away, Sam put on her large sunhat, Oliver put up his hood. Aimee stopped them. "Aimee, I am really happy for you, but everyone is laughing at us". Oliver said. Sam dragged Oliver away. "We should be going". The next day, both refused to talk to her. She tried, but both refused. "Don't ever talk to us, ever again" Sam said. She tried to sit with them at lunch they moved away. Eleanor found her. Oh great. Eleanor smiled, "You really made a mess of things huh". Aimee nodded. She saw Sam and Oliver. Sam hiding under her large sunhat, Oliver in his hoodie, a few snickering as they passed by. She didn't mean for this to happen, she wanted to write the perfect story and win. Now her best friends hated her. Aimee had to make things right. She decided that enough was enough, she confronted her friends. "Look, I am sorry, alright" Aimee said. Sam turned her back. "I am sorry, I thought I heard something, nope must be the wind". Oliver was going to say something, but Mr. Finch rushed in. He had made an error. Eleanor actually had the best paper, Aimee had an A-. Everyone flocked to Eleanor who beamed. Aimee breathed, finally not the center of attention for once. Aimee looked at her friends, Sam sighed, "Alright, we forgive you,". Then she pulled a notebook jammed packed with sticky notes. "Oliver.. well mostly me have a few changes, minor details of course for certain characters for your sequel" Sam smiled.