Chapter 1: The Weight of the Present James stirred from a fitful sleep as the first blush of dawn crept through his bedroom window. It looked very muggy and overcast. It was probably going to rain again today. His old bed was less forgiving than the memory foam mattress at his studio apartment. Only a few more days. He rubbed his eyes, he swung his legs over the bed and got up. The kitchen welcomed him with its familiar warmth. He went about fixing breakfast for him and his mother. Cracking eggs into a bowl, he then whisked them up with ease. The sizzle of butter in the pan filled the air, sweet and savory like a summer day. Poured a glass of fresh orange juice, its sweet and tangy smell mixing with the aroma from the eggs. As he plated the golden scramble, a spark of hope ignited in his chest. Maybe today would be one of her good days. He set the table carefully, making sure everything was close at hand. The morning sun streamed through the window, casting a soft glow. "Mama?" James called out, his voice gentle. "Breakfast is ready. It’s still nice and warm. Come and enjoy it with me.” James heard shuffling footsteps approaching the kitchen. His mother appeared in the doorway, her silver hair dishevelled from sleep, her eyes clouded with confusion. "Good morning, Mama," he said softly, moving to guide her to her seat. "Come on, let's get you settled." Margaret allowed herself to be led, her movements hesitant and unsure. She sank into the chair, her gaze darting around the familiar kitchen as if seeing it for the first time. James placed a plate of steaming scrambled eggs in front of her, his heart heavy with a mix of love and concern. "Here you go, Mama. Just how you like them." He turned to grab the toast, hoping to coax a smile from her with the scent of freshly buttered bread. But as he pivoted back, he froze. Margaret had picked up the glass of orange juice, her hand trembling slightly. Before James could react, she tipped the glass over her plate, pouring the bright liquid all over the fluffy eggs. "Mama, no!" James started, the words catching in his throat as he watched the juice soak into the eggs, turning them into a soggy, unappetizing mess. James felt his heart sink as he watched the orange juice seep into the scrambled eggs. A wave of frustration crashed against him, but he took a deep breath and pushed it back. Margaret's eyes widened in realization. Her face crumpled, a mix of embarrassment and confusion washing over her features. "Oh, I... I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I didn't mean to... I thought..." James swallowed hard, forcing a gentle smile. He reached out, placing his hand over his mother's. "It's alright, Mama," he said softly, reassuring her. "Don't you worry none. Accidents happen. We'll fix you up another plate in a jiffy." He squeezed her hand, ignoring the ache in his chest. "How about some toast while we wait? With a little honey, just how you like it." As James turned to the counter, he allowed himself a moment of quiet grief. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. When he faced his mother again, his smile was back in place, determined to make the best of the morning for her sake. James cleared the table, his movements mechanical as he scraped the ruined eggs into the trash. Next, he wiped down the counters, his gaze fell on a faded photograph taped to the refrigerator. It showed his father, strong and smiling, with an arm around Margaret. Her eyes sparkled with life, a stark contrast to the confused stare he'd seen that morning. The loss of his father had been a blow, but watching his mother slip away day by day was a slow, aching pain. James leaned against the counter, his chest tight with emotion. How quickly their lives had changed, the roles reversed as he now cared for the woman who’d raised him. He didn’t want to repeat the same mistakes with his mother. He still has a chance to connect with her. He couldn’t let the opportunity fade away like he did with his Father. He glanced back at Margaret, who sat quietly in her chair, staring out the window. Rain started pattering against the house. A sudden urgency gripped him. Time was slipping away, he had to find a way to show his gratitude, something that would reach her even in her confused state. The thought of her passing without knowing how much she meant to him was unbearable. Chapter 2: Memories and Revelations James walked past the kitchen table, his gaze lingering on his mother sitting alone in the living room. An idea sparked in his mind. He walked over to the living room shelves, running his fingers along the spines of old photo albums. Carefully, he gathered an armful of photo albums, their leather covers worn and faded with time. He took a deep breath as he carried them back to Margaret. "Hey, Mama," James said softly, sitting beside her on the couch. "I thought we might look at some old photos together. Would you like that?" Margaret turned to him, a glimmer of recognition sparking in her eyes. James felt his heart lift. He gently placed the first album on her lap and opened the cover, revealing a page filled with snapshots from years past. James watched Margaret's face as they turned the pages. Her eyes lit up with recognition at some photos, a smile tugging at her lips. "Oh, look at you," she cooed, pointing to a picture of James as a toddler, covered in mud. But as they turned the page, confusion clouded her expression. She squinted at unfamiliar faces, her brow furrowing. He squeezed her hand gently and turned to a page showing his university graduation. ”Remember this day, Mama?" James asked softly. Margaret leaned closer, her fingers tracing the outline of his face in the photo. A lump formed in James' throat as he recalled the challenging years leading up to that moment. Late nights studying, constant worry about tuition payments, and gnawing self-doubt threatened to derail his dreams. "You were there for me through it all," he murmured. He remembered the care packages she'd sent, filled with homemade cookies. The long phone calls where she'd listened to his fears and bolstered his confidence. James watched Margaret's smile waver, her eyes darting between the photos and his face. She nodded a bit too quickly, her fingers fidgeting with the album's edge. He recognized the signs of her struggle to stay present, to appear engaged for his sake. His heart ached, but he pressed on, determined to make the most of this moment. "Hey, Mama," he said softly. "Remember that summer we went to the lake house? You, me, and Dad?" He pointed to a sun-faded photograph of them standing on a weathered dock, fishing poles in hand. Margaret squinted at the image, her brow furrowing. "Oh... yes," she murmured, her voice uncertain. "The lake. It was...nice." James nodded encouragingly. "It sure was. Remember how Dad couldn't catch a single fish? And you ended up reeling in that huge bass?" He searched her face for a flicker of recognition, hoping to spark a conversation about that treasured memory. Margaret's eyes darted between James and the photo, her smile fixed as she struggled to recall the details he remembered so fondly. James closed the photo album, his heart heavy with a mixture of love and grief. He watched Margaret's face, searching for any sign the memories had reached her. The weight of unspoken gratitude pressed down on him, making his chest tight. He wanted to tell her everything - how her sacrifices had shaped his life, how her unwavering support had carried him through his darkest moments. But words felt inadequate, fleeting. James feared they would slip from Margaret's grasp, lost in the fog of her condition. His mind raced, trying to find a way to honour her that would reach beyond words. Something tangible, something she could hold onto even in her moments of confusion. James glanced around the living room, his eyes falling on the scattered family mementos. An idea began to form, vague at first, but growing clearer by the second. He could create something - a scrapbook, perhaps, or a memory box - filled with tokens of their shared history. Something that would capture the essence of Margaret's love and sacrifice, even when words failed them both. James squeezed his mother's hand gently, a small smile tugging at his lips. He had work to do on this rainy day. Chapter 3: A Heartfelt Connection James settled into his chair, the glow of the lamp cast a warm light across the weathered desk surface, illuminating a blank sheet of paper. He took a deep breath, pen poised above the page. "Dear Mom," he began, his hand trembling slightly. The words flowed hesitantly at first, then gained momentum as he poured out years of gratitude. James paused, reaching for the stack of photo albums beside him. He carefully removed a faded snapshot - him and Margaret at his college graduation, her face beaming with pride. Gently, he tucked it into the pages of the letter. More photos followed: family picnics, childhood birthdays, and quiet moments of shared laughter. Each image stirred a memory, adding depth to the words on the page. James found himself smiling through tears as he arranged the photos, creating a visual journey of their life. He hoped that even if his mother couldn't fully comprehend the words, these images would spark recognition, anchoring her in the love they shared. After hours of crafting, James held the letter, its edges slightly crumpled from his tight grip. He took a deep breath and stepped into the living room. Margaret sat in her favourite chair, her eyes fixed on the window. Sunlight streamed in, casting a warm glow on her silver hair. He slowly approached her and knelt beside the chair. "Mama," he said softly, gently taking her hands in his. Margaret turned, her eyes meeting his with a flicker of recognition. James swallowed hard, his throat tight with emotion. He unfolded the letter and rested it on his knee. "I've written something for you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. As he began to read, his words filled the quiet room. "Dear Mama, I've been wanting to tell you..." James paused and squeezed her hand. He looked up, making sure she was still with him. Margaret's eyes were focused on his face, a slight furrow in her brow as she concentrated. James continued, his voice rising. He gestured to the photos he'd included, holding them up for her to see. With each memory shared, he touched her arm or patted her hand, trying to convey through touch what his words could not. James watched Margaret's face intently as he read, his heart racing. Her eyes, usually distant, now focused on him with an intensity he hadn't seen in months. She leaned forward slightly, her brow furrowed in concentration. As he described the day of his college graduation, Margaret's eyes widened. A flicker of recognition crossed her face, quickly replaced by confusion. James paused, giving her a moment to process. He gently touched her arm, grounding her in the present. "Do you remember that day, Mama?" he asked softly. Margaret nodded slowly, her lips moving silently as if trying to form words. James continued reading, his voice rising with each sentence. He then held up a photo of them at the beach, Margaret's laugh frozen in time. Suddenly, Margaret's hand tightened around his. James looked up, startled. Tears glistened in her eyes, but there was a clarity there that took his breath away. She reached out and touched the letter with trembling fingers. "My boy," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "My sweet boy." James felt his heart swell as Margaret's words washed over him. "My sweet boy," she repeated, her voice stronger now. She reached out and cupped his face with a trembling hand. "I am so proud of you." Tears streamed down James' cheeks, hot and unexpected. He leaned into her touch and breathed deeply, savouring the rare moment of clarity. "I love you, Mama," he choked out. Margaret's eyes lit up with recognition and love. "I love you too, James. Always have, always will." They sat in silence, the weight of unspoken years between them. James held his mother's gaze, memorizing every line of her face. He knew this moment was fleeting, but it filled him with a warmth he hadn't felt in years. Margaret's hand slipped from his face and came to rest on the letter in his lap. She patted it gently, a small smile playing on her lips. No more words were needed. In that quiet moment, James felt the unbreakable bond between them, stronger than any illness.


Senti mused as the Heshian trireme, the *Centaur*, sped upon the waves. He was two days out from the city of Tesh, that denizen of lawlessness...no, wait, that wasn't fair. The council of traders that ran the city certainly had laws in place. They just weren't *Heshian* laws. Which galled, of course, as it had for the last century and more. Well, no more. Anatoli, King of Heshiot, had dispatched Senti to force the issue. Why His Majesty had decided now to upset the tenuous balance between Heshiot and Tesh, Senti didn't know. He did know that King Anatoli had issued an unprecedented total recall of all mercenaries, which would surely irritate Dilak, Emperor of Jihkama. Compared to the cost of raising, training, and feeding an army, paying the cost of mercenaries to do the same job was cheap. So why would King Anatoli choose *now* to antagonize both Tesh and Jihkama? Senti worried. *** Two days later, Senti stepped off the *Centaur* onto the quay wall and exchanged greetings with the council's unofficial ambassador, Marone - or at least, he tried to. "Good day, Marone. It is my hope that the sun shines on...your...um. Would you mind toning your glare down just a notch, if you please?" Marone was certainly not making any of this easy for Senti; but then, he didn't have to. Without a word, he turned and strode back to the city proper, leaving Senti and his small retinue to find their own way. Senti's teeth ground together...the man was exasperating. Half a dozen times he'd been sent here, and half a dozen times Marone's rudeness had cast a pall on the mission from the first moment. So far, he'd yet to hear a single word slip past Marone's lips. Senti steeled himself, raised his hand by his ear and flicked it sharply forward. His retinue set out towards the Three Swords, his home away from home for the next couple of months. *** Senti's trio of servants entered the Three Swords ahead of him, one holding the door open for him. His eyes darted here and there, checking the darkened corners out of long habit. Some of the tension in his shoulders eased momentarily, only to come back as he thought of his mission again. He watched idly as the innkeeper haggled with Karesh for rooms for the four. Finally, the two agreed and coins clinked as they changed hands. Karesh returned with a pair of keys and a grin. "Sair! Fortune smiles upon you this day! I have gotten your Excellency two rooms for two weeks at five silvers the night, supper included." Senti's eyes darkened as he glared at Karesh. "And what of our lodgings after that? You know as well as I that we are likely to be here long past that time." Karesh's eyes darted to the side, and he licked his lips. "Ah, that is an issue that I am hoping to solve before then. Understand, Sair, that good Bartolemew has already had his inn reserved for other parties beyond that. He does offer to speak to his wife's brother's cousin, who runs the Crook'd Cat, and see if he has space." "What!" Senti felt eyes all around glance his way, and he lowered his voice to a strident hiss. "That place is barely fit to house offal torn from sheep! I made the mistake of staying there my first time here, and my body itches yet after that stay. The only way that place could possibly be cleansed enough is by setting fire to it, *if* a flame can be found that would lower its standards enough to eat it!" Karesh leaned back, away from Senti's vehement outburst. "I see, Sair. My apologies. I will endeavor to find more...reputable lodgings. In the meantime, shall I have the others take your things upstairs?" Senti sighed and nodded, then sat and waved for a bottle of wine. The tart vintage rolled across his taste buds as he brooded over the upcoming meeting with the Council. Should he walk in like he owned the place? Or should he act as a mediator between aggrieved parties? The right tone, Senti knew, was vital. After a few moments, though, a persistent sound intruded upon his thoughts. Senti rose again, and peeked out the window. To his utter astonishment, he saw a pair of ships on fire, and a squad of men battling upon the docks! He threw open the door, his mission forgotten for the moment as he raced down to his ship. From this distance, it appeared that it was safe, but if the captain didn't cast off soon, his only mode of transportation out of the country would go up in flames. Senti's feet thudded upon the wood, warped by the sun, salt and wind, and worn smooth by thousands of feet over the years. He ducked and dodged through the edge of the melee, ignoring them except when they interrupted his path. He'd almost reached the brow of his ship when one warrior turned and, with a calculated thrust, slid his sword smoothly and effciiently through Senti's gut. As Senti dropped to his knees, his eyes wide in shock, he saw the first flames lick at the *Centaur*'s sails. Moments later, Marone knelt over his body. "Only business, my brother. Only business." Marone patted the corpse's stiffening shoulder, then rose, turned, and paced back to the council, leaving Senti's lifeless eyes open to stare at the fully engulfed *Centaur*.


I shouldn’t be here . It’s the stubborn thought that hasn’t left my mind for the past month. One month since the family of my dreams caught a glimpse of me outside their window and invited me inside. Bram, Lori, and Nell. Bram, with his strong and gentle fatherly spirit. Lori, who’s made me dinner every single night. And Nell. With her auburn hair and sea-green eyes that make me feel like she can see right through me, with the shy smile that sends my heart racing. I’ve been trying, I really have, but it’s become evident that I don’t belong here. These three are two good for me, even Nell. Especially Nell. It’s been a good month, but I can’t keep dragging them down like this. The freezing streets are calling me back to where I came from, the deepest shadows in the corner of that dark alley. Like I told myself when I first looked through a certain window, into this house: there’s two worlds. The inside world, warm with a yellow glow, and the outside, dark with a perpetual chill. I belong to one of them, and it’s not the first. I realized it when I came back here after running off for the third time. It wasn’t actually running off--I was just making my weekly visit to the five windows around town, the ones that I keep returning to as a reminder of my old life--but I wasn’t about to tell Bram that. He would pity me. I didn’t want pity. So I hesitated when I opened the door to find him leaning against the wall, giving me a once-over. “Where did you go this time?” “Nowhere,” I mumbled. His eyes came to rest on my tattered hunter-green windbreaker over my shoulders. I hadn’t realized I’d put it on. “That jacket must be special to you, if you’re still wearing it in that condition.” I nodded. The look in his eyes was begging me to explain where I kept going, why I kept bringing the torn windbreaker with me, what had brought me here in the first place, but I had no intention of doing so. He wouldn’t understand. None of them would. And I didn’t want them to abandon me like everyone else had, which they would surely do if they knew just how broken I was. Bram sighed at my lack of elaboration. “You’re not planning on telling me anything, are you, kid?” I shook my head slightly. He put a hand on my shoulder, but I could read past the facade. He was disappointed. In me. Anyone would be--I’m me. That’s when it started. Soon, despite their kindness, I found myself drowning in my secrets, drowning in my past. I can’t escape the feeling. Which is why I have to get out. I ease myself to my feet, careful not to make too much noise. I could be sleeping on the plush bed in my room, but I’ve gotten too used to the floor. The sinking of the mattress only worsens that drowning feeling. I find the tiny notepad and pencil I keep in my drawer and scribble out a quick note. I’m sorry, and I know this is abrupt, but I have to leave. It’s nothing against you all--this has been the best month of my life. It’s me. I know I’ve been nothing but a burden, and I’m really sorry about that, too. Don’t worry--by the time you read this, I’ll be gone. Thank you for your hospitality, and for being like the family I never had. I’ll miss you all, but it’s better this way. Sincerely, Caleb Murphy I take a deep breath. No second thoughts. I fold the note, grab my windbreaker and my tennis shoes, and set the note on the kitchen counter on my way out. A gust of wind greets me the moment I step out the door, but the familiarity doesn’t bring a smile to my face. I have to find somewhere to go. Not my old house, the one with all of the painful memories. I can’t go back there. The alley. The one where I had a week’s worth of canned food stored up, at least before the Nelsons took me in. I set off at a steady jog. Something weighted in my pocket bounces with every step, and I pause to see what it is. A few loose coins. Lori gave them to me only weeks ago. “For allowance,” she said. I raised my eyebrow. “I didn’t do anything.” “You helped me with dishes,” Nell said with a grin, tucking her auburn hair behind her ear. “And helped me with dinner,” Lori said, dropping the change into my pocket. “You shouldn’t pay me for that. You’re letting me live in your house, for goodness’ sakes!” I protested. “You’re part of the family now, Caleb,” Lori said, turning to leave. “And don’t even think about trying to give that back!” she called over her shoulder. Nell gave me a soft smile after she’d left. “What?” I asked, tucking my clammy palms into my pockets. She shook her head. “I don’t get you.” “There’s not much to get.” She tilted her head. “I don’t know. Something tells me there’s more to you than meets the eye.” I didn’t have a response. “How’d you end up on the streets, anyways?” “It’s complicated.” “I have time. Unless that was your way of saying you don’t want to talk about it, in which case we can change the topic.” “Second option.” Nell, of all people, didn’t need to know about my troubled past. How even the people who were supposed to love me left me in the dust. Nell shrugged. “Alright. But if you ever need someone to talk to who isn’t Mom or Dad, you’ve got me.” I glanced at her gratefully. “Thanks, Nell.” She smiled. “No problem. I’m just hoping one day you’ll tell me your story, Caleb Murphy.” Nell won’t get that story anytime soon, or ever, considering I’m not going back. When I find my alley, my stash of food is gone. A curse slips out under my breath as I slide my father’s windbreaker over my shoulders. I’m going to have to get more, and it would be best to do it before I’m weak from hunger. It’s not like I had any other plans for tonight. There’s a supermarket a few blocks down, one that I’ve made midnight visits to so many times I’ve lost count. I can take a pot and some canned soup, and maybe a lighter to warm it up. I sigh. Just like the old days. Not a prospect I’m excited about, but better than going back to the Nelsons, disappointing them, and being abandoned again. I reach the supermarket in less than fifteen minutes, but immediately duck back into the shadows when I see the scene outside the back entrance. A group of five. They look about my age, but the clothes, tattoos, and constant frowns give me the feeling that they would gladly rip my head off if given the chance. I risk a peek around the building. From the boy crouching in front of the door, fiddling with the handle, it looks like they have the same mission as me: get in, grab what we need, and get out with nobody the wiser. This just got a whole lot more complicated. I’ll be fine , I tell myself as my stomach turns. I’ve dealt with worse. All I have to do is follow them in unnoticed and lose myself among the tall shelves until they’re gone. Easy. The group finally unlocks the door and, glancing around warily, slips inside. I dart out from my hiding place and make it through right before the door closes. It makes too much noise for comfort and I wince before ducking into the nearest aisle. I can hear the whispers of the others on the aisle next to me. “I told you to shut the door quietly!” one hisses. “I’m sorry, I’ve never done this before!” “Exactly why you shouldn’t have come! This isn’t amateur hour!” “Guys,” a third voice cut in. “Let’s just get the stuff and get out of here.” Now’s my chance. I make my way across the store, to the canned food aisle. Darting between aisles, unseen, unheard by the five who are only paces away at times. I’ll be fine. Just grab the soup and go. I pause in front of the cans, breathing heavily. I’m out of practice after a month with the Nelsons. I fight the image of Nell’s sea-green eyes as I reach for some Campbell’s tomato soup. Always good, basically never expires. Perfect for a night--no, for the rest of my life--out on the streets. “Hey!” The shout comes from behind me and I whirl around. One of the boys is standing face-to-face with me, barely two steps away and brandishing what looks like some kind of pipe. I swallow hard and bolt, leaving the soup behind. “Get him!” someone yells. My feet pound harder, but it’s no use. Two of them appear in front of me and two cover the aisle to my right, leaving me no option but to spin and head back towards where I was. I don’t even take a full step before running head-on into the one with the pipe. He doesn’t budge as I stumble back, head pounding from the collision. I lock eyes with him and he gives a wicked grin. “Trying to steal from our supplier, are you?” I don’t respond and he lands a punch on my jaw. I step back, one hand reaching up to my face. There’ll be a bruise there tomorrow, for sure. If I even live to see tomorrow. The boy must guess what I’m thinking, because he adjusts his grip on his pipe. “Lights out.” I don’t have time to brace for the hit that comes when he swings his pipe. It connects full-force with my stomach, knocking the air out of me. More hits come, from all directions and all of my attackers, and I drop to the tile floor with a groan. A coppery tang coats my tongue and I can smell blood, but I don’t know where it’s coming from. Everything hurts as hit after hit lands on my curled body. I can’t do anything but clench my eyes and just wait it out. Something sharp pierces my side and I yelp. “You idiot!” one of them hisses, the beating momentarily stopped. I barely manage to roll onto my stomach, protecting my more vulnerable side. “I don’t know what happened! There must’ve been a nail in my pipe or something.” “Now we’re going to have to clean this up! If we leave him here with a stab wound someone’ll trace it back to us!” Someone kicks me, the same spot the nail or whatever it was went in, and I groan. “Get up, boy.” I don’t respond. I can’t move. Another kick. “I said get up!” A soft moan is all I have in response. He huffs out a frustrated breath. “Fine. We’ll just drop him in the middle of the woods or something. I don’t think anyone would care if we killed him, but better safe than sorry when it comes to murder. He’ll die in the woods, anyway, in this condition.” Rough hands grab me and drag me outside, where one of them slings me over his shoulder. I can’t even muster the energy to groan. Everything hurts, and I can feel a warm wetness spreading from the wound in my side. Whatever stabbed me was much more than a simple nail. They jog for a few miles, into the cover of the trees, and drop me there, then leave. I can’t move, can’t open my eyes. Nell . I miss her, right about now. But it’s for the better, I manage to convince myself. They’re better off without me. Footsteps interrupt my thoughts as my consciousness begins to fade. “Caleb!” I try to raise my head, try to pry my eyes open, but I can’t. The pain overtakes me and my world goes black. I jolt awake, chest heaving, wild eyes darting around. How am I alive? The footsteps, before blacking out. The shout. Someone found me. “He’s alive!” a voice shouts. Frantic, I try to sit up, but hands hold me down. “Where am I? What happened?” “Easy, easy. Take a breath. You’re okay.” I fight harder. “No--I need to--” “Hey. Lay down. You’re hurt.” My gaze finally comes to rest on my savior and my eyes widen. “Nell?” I whisper hoarsely. “There you go. Relax. You’re okay.” She eases me back down onto the couch. I’m back in the Nelson’s living room. “No,” I rasp. “I have to go.” “I read your note,” she says quietly. I nod. “I have to go,” I repeat. “No, you don’t.” “I’m nothing but a burden.” I gesture weakly at the bandages around my torso to prove my point. “Do you really think that?” Nell asks. Bram bursts into the room before I can respond. “Thank goodness,” he mutters, crouching next to Nell. “How are you feeling?” I shrug, wincing. “Good enough to leave, if that’s what you’re asking.” He shakes his head slowly. “I can’t believe you, kid.” I don’t say anything. “Caleb,” Nell starts, “you’re part of the family. We like having you here. We need you here.” Her eyes lock on mine, pleading with me to understand. Something tells me she’s saying more with that look than she did out loud. Bram nods. “She’s right, you know. And you’re not going anywhere in your condition, anyways.” I gingerly trace a finger along the bandage at my side. “How long was I out?” “Two days.” “Two days?!” I try to sit up again, but Nell holds me down. “You’ve been taking care of me for two days?” “Of course.” “Why?” “How many times do I have to tell you this? You’re one of us. We’re not just going to leave you to die in the woods.” “You should’ve.” “Wrong. And you’re gonna have to get that attitude out of your head, kid, because you’re not going anywhere.” I open my mouth to protest, but stop. They want me. They saved my life. And they weren’t planning on abandoning me anytime soon, not like everyone else. “Okay,” I whispered. Bram grinned and Nell gave me her trademark smile. “Let me get you some water.” Bram stood and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Nell and I alone. “I’m glad you’re staying,” she said softly. “Yeah, me too.” “Why did you go?” I shrug. “None of you know where I came from and I figured if you did...you’d kick me out anyways.” “We would never. Unless you’re secretly one of Mrs. Patty’s kids, in which case you’re free to go, but you’re too nice to be one of them.” A grin tugs at my lips. “Thanks.” Nell just nods. “It’s true.” A few beats of silence. “Mom should be home soon,” Nell finally said. “She was out getting groceries.” My eyes widen as a thought strikes me. “My windbreaker,” I say. Nell raises an eyebrow. “Where is it?” I sit up, and this time Nell doesn’t stop me. “I don’t know,” she responds. “You weren’t wearing it when you got back.” It’s probably torn to shreds somewhere in the middle of the woods, or in the streets I used to call my prison. The one material thing I had left from my old life. Gone. In a way, it makes sense. I’m not going back to my past now--Nell and Bram and Lori made sure of that. It’s only fitting for the constant reminder of where I came from to be gone. But I’ll miss it. “I’m sorry, Caleb,” Nell says quietly. “I know it meant a lot to you.” “It’s fine. Really,” I add when I catch the look she gives me. “It was mostly a reminder of where I came from--where I belonged. But I guess I belong here now, so...it’s okay.” Nell smiles. “I would love to hear that story you keep refusing to tell me sometime.” “You will,” I promise. “And you’re not leaving again?” I shake my head. This is my home now.


A tall man in a suit walks into a busy building his hair is a mess and his cheeks flushed. As he walks the people around look at him with question like he doesn't belong. He walks very quickly to his destination "Wesley?" the woman at the front desk calls but the man ignores her and continuous walking towards his destination. Finally the man arrives he pushes open a huge wooden door in front of him and walks in to find a group of eight men sitting on a rectangular table. "What is the meaning of this" a man at the end of the table Says. "My my Wesley are you so desperate to join the conversation" one of the men say as those around him laugh "I will get the last laugh." Wesley says "what?" The man at the end of the table says "I said Gerald, that I will get the last laugh" the man tilts his head in confusion. "It's all wrong." "What are you talkin about" Gerald replies "The train designs they're all wrong" Wesley throws the papers under his arm on the table. The man at the end of the table walks up and picks one of the papers he looks at them with care and attention "This can't be right, we went over this it can't be right." he said as he looked at the papers "oh yes they're right every last bit of it. 500 people on that train today and they are all going to die all thanks to you. I'll say I'm impressed I'm sure it'll make news like you expected Gerald. But I'm sure you can make it if you hurry now and say..." Wes looks at his watch "20 minutes." Gerald along with the men on the table upon hearing this get up on their feet and rush out towards the door. Wesley smiles. The men burst out of the building in a bustling street there are people crowded everywhere happy, jubilant and busy Gerald has been running for quite some time his suit is messed up and his cheeks are red. He is covered in sweat everywhere. "Stop!" Gerald said "stop the train." he called out but no one hears him it is a loud City and no one is paying attention to him. In the distance there is a man in a conductors uniform. The man shouts " last call!" "No stop the train!" Gerald repeats The Man Standing on the train looks out and Squints his eyes. "Gerald?" He says "Sir we're ready to go" a young man says to the conductor no no wait a minute the man in the conductor suit walks up to Gerald and waits for him to catch up. " is there a problem." Out of breath Gerald finally said "you can't... you can't run the train." "Why not it's all fixed up ready to go the people are ready. " " No, you can't Gerald says as he pushes past the conductor and walked towards the trains engine. The other men that were sitting around the table finally cought up to the conductor also covered in sweat with their jair in a mess. "What on earth is going on the conductor asked the calculations... they're all wrong if that thing were to start moving everyone on it would die." A man said out of breath. "How hm did that come to happen?" the conductor said "we're not sure but we're glad we found out." "I'll get the engineer right away" the conductor jogs off into the train with urgency and later on returns with a man covered in soot. Two men stood near the engine and watched the comition unfold. watching as the men gather around in Frenzy one of the two men said should we tell them now?" "No" the other man replied "Wes wants to make the final bang. the man in soot walks out and smiles at the two men and then quickly hides the smile from Gerald. The man in soot got down and started unscrewing some of the gears Wesley finally catched up he looked cleaner now not flushed hair neat and tidy. "What seems to be be the problem gentlemen?" The men in suits look at Wesley with a confused expression but then turned their attention back to the engineer. "Gerald do you remember our April first tradition?" Wesley asked again but he got no response. "Well in case you forgot ill have you men know that it is indeed April 1st and I'm sure you know what happens on April 1st." He says with a smile on his face. "April Fool's Day. The man in suit says "winner winner chicken dinner" Weslie says. Gerald turns to look at Wesley "excuse me?" Gerald said "you just got pranked." The man in suit says as he stands up . "I'll say that's got to be the best one I've done yet." Wesley says. With anger in his eyes Gerald asks "could you be anymore wicked." "This was supposed to be our train Gerald." "you left first or fid you forget. You were going to steal it and keep it all for yourself." "why would I ever want to do something like that.I was a dear friend I would never do such a thing." "And yet here you are." Gerald replied. "Listen here the conductor said I don't care what kind of Child's Play you've had but whatever your problem seems to be you should never under any circumstances include the life-and-death situation of other people in it." The conductor stumped off and into the train. The fumes from his head almost visible. Gerald in disappointed walked away with a group of some of the men in suits while some of them stayed to watch the train. "So the train was never in danger then?" a short man said the rest of the men around and looked at him like he was an idiot he put his hands up in surrender. "Well I'll say that was a genius prop could've have fooled me the man said to the engineer as the train roared off in the distance the engineer pooled his eyes away from the moving train and looked down at his hands to realize he was still holding one of the gear parts the look of shock in his eyes could not be recreated by anyone else he looked at his hands again and then at the train which was now speeding up. "Is it supposed to be going that fast?" a man said. The color drained out of his face. "stop stop the train." he said his voice a mere whisper but of course no one on the trains coulf hear him. It was off in the distance now suddenly they heard a loud crash come from the Train it was going faster now. more and more and more to the point where It got off the rails and crashed into a nearby Forest and then capsided. The people who were still standing on land rushed towards the train trying to help those who were still inside. "No no!" the engineer said "stop!" but no one could hear him the world around him began to grow slow and slower and the noise from the earth had suddenly just disappeared it was quiet, dead silent and then from depts of the train came the roaring fire which couldn't be heard at first but then it was so loud it was deafening and it consumed everything around it for miles as it stretched outwards and upwards into a mushroom and that changed the 1st of April as they all knew it.


First Story Give me hell guys =) FOREWORD This short story is set in a world similar to ours during the late medieval or early renaissance period. I am not a scholar of history but I try my best to mimic the feel of the period. In the world of the Fighting Fiefs they are several major powers. The Three Kingdoms- Led by a council of three kings who vote on any issue that arises they are the second largest military power on the planet. They lead the rest of the world in science and the design of their capital, Santuario, is the largest trading hub in the known world. They worship a tree god who they believe watch over their pastures. They are based on the Italian free states or the old Spanish Monarchy. Framani- Led by King Alexander the kingdom is the largest on the planet. They have recently began sending scouts into old Imperium territory to reclaim land lost in the collapse. Their capital Stolzes is a city famous for its large temple in the center. They follow the pantheon of the old Imperium They are based on France and Germany. The main characters of our story hail from Framani. Avalon- The savage pirates of Avalon are famed for their fleet that has never lost a battle. The people of Avalon are rough and speak in a brutish tongue. They were never a territory of the old Imperium and as such lack the sophistication of the late age advances in culture and in science. They worship the harsh gods of the ice and snow. They are based on Norse occupied Scotland and Ireland. The Old Imperium- Once were the greatest might on the planet. The great collapse led to three centuries of chaos in the realm that eventually led to the current age. They ruled most of the known world for over 800 years. All that remains of the old Imperium are their former territories and their extensive aqueduct and road systems. They were based on the Ancient Greeks or Romans. The Waste- A large area covered in sand and ashes due to the great collapse. No life can be sustained in this area due to the heavy amount of soot in the air. Recent efforts by Framani to re colonize these lands are underway but progress is slow. This is the setting for our tale. Chapter 1 They had been traveling for three days and Cesar could feel the slow burn of his feet cramping as they walked through the wastes. “Perhaps we should turn back” he asked. “Don’t be a fool we have ten more miles to scout before morning” replied Jean. Jean was the leader of the group of scouts that were sent to wander into the grey waste and find a place for settlers as part of the King’s new recolonization plan. Cesar was not fond of Jean, in truth no one was fond of Jean, he was a decorated military officer that claimed his fame from the sack of Norgdium during the raid against the Avalonian pirates. He was famed among the women in the nobility because of his bright blond hair and dark blue eyes. “Why Cesar you scared of the spirits in the ashes?” laughed Dorian as he waddled through the sand. “Fuck off Dorian.” replied Cesar. Dorian, in Cesar’s mind, was quite simply a dick. He had shoulder length black hair and a small goatee that made him look as though he was calm and casual. Though Dorian came from nobility he was disowned for a scandal with his family. No one knew what the exact details were but rumors were circling that it involved a suitor meant for his sister that was found in his bed. “Fine we’ll stop here” said Jean “We have to wait for that failure Pierre to catch up anyways. Cesar looked behind him and saw a large shape waddle through the dense smoke and slowly come into view. Pierre was a fat, old soldier he had thin brown hair that had specks of grey in it and a long beard that was mostly grey. Pierre was running as fast as his short fat legs could take him. “My lord my, my lord!” Pierre panted trying to catch his breath. “What is it” spat Jean”Well spit it out gros cul” Dorian laughed at Pierre trying to catch his breath “The fat bastard looks as though he has seen a ghost”. “My lord the ashes...they moved.” “Well no shit” replied Jean “they are falling from the fucking sky!” “No my lord the ashes on the ground they moved” Don’t be ridiculous Pierre everything here is dead and has been for 300 years.” “But you do know what they say of this waste my lord?” “The ghosts in the ashes I know it is no more than superstition from the settlers to scared to move at the kings command.” “But” “Quiet Pierre or I will have Dorian rip your tongue out” “And I will gladly comply” Dorian jested. “We will set up camp here tonight.” “Cesar and Dorian set up the tents, Pierre get a fire ready, you can do that can’t you?” “Yes my lord” said Pierre though he was not quite sure of himself. Chapter 2 “What do you mean it’s gone?” asked Jean angrily. “The water sir it’s been turned to this.” Said Pierre with a look of terror on his face. Pierre tipped the canteen and a thick black sludge oozed out of the opening. “You know what this is don’t you sir?” inquired Dorian. “Yes I do, its ash water, but we are not far in the wastes enough for this to be happening.” Cesar remembered the stories of the wastes of the children who would go in and never return of the souls of the old Imperium warlocks who would cast their dark spells on any one who dared enter their territory. “It’s the ghosts my lord I’m telling you, no, I’m begging you please let us go back. “I will have no more of these talks we will go forward.” Said Jean with a blank stare on his face. Suddenly Cesar saw an arrowhead come out the back of Jean’s skull. “Holy shit!” screamed Cesar as he ducked for cover. “I don’t want to die!” screamed Pierre “I’m sorry”. Dorian already had drawn his sword and shield and was circling trying to deflect the arrows which were no longer being shot. Cesar looked over at the body of Jean the arrow had gone through his left eye and out the back, blood was beginning to pool near the wound. “Shouldn’t we help him?” asked Pierre “No use” said Dorian “he’s dead”. “We should bury him” said Cesar “No need, the ashes will cover him by morning” “He deserves a burial or at least a cremation.” “He was a dick and a terrible commander.” “But he was still our commander and a fellow soldier.” “Look if you want to bury the connard go right ahead I’m going to go fortify our surroundings.” Cesar pulled out a small shovel and began digging a hole to put the body in. “Um...Cesar can I talk to you for a moment?” asked Pierre almost as if he was scared of Cesar. “Of course my friend” replied Cesar as he continued to dig the hole “What did you need”? “It was the ghosts I’m almost certain” “It’s just a story” “No it’s not” “What do you mean?” “I saw them. While I was lagging behind you guys in the first day I saw it. It looked at me its skin was as grey as the ashes around it. It looked into my very soul with its large dark eyes. When it noticed I had seen it, it stared at me for a half a second and disappeared into the ashes around it. The Image is still in my mind Cesar” “And you think it killed Jean?” “I know it did” Chapter 3 It had been two days since Jean was killed and everyone in the camp was hungry and thirsty. They had tried to return the way they came but the wastes always looked the same. “Did you see that!” yelled Dorian. “See what!?” said Pierre. “Nothing.” “Don’t do that Dorian. Do you think this is a goddamn game? Our commander is dead killed by something we can’t even fucking see!” “It was his own damn fault he was killed. He should have turned us back the moment the horses had died but it was his own arrogance that led us further into the wastes than we should’ve been.” Dorian immediately regretted his words and realized what he had said. “He did what?” Cesar said with rage filling inside of him. “He...he wanted to claim more land for the empire”. “And you knew? YOU FUCKING KNEW AND YOU SAID NOTHING TO HIM!?” “I have nothing to live for anyways I have no home to go back to and neither did he why should we care if you two died with us? Even if I wanted to turn him around he would’ve killed me and went anyways.” “YOU BASTARD!” Cesar pulled his sword from his sheath and charged at Dorian. Dorian unsheathed his own sword and blocked the first blow. Cesar swung downwards hard but Dorian moved out of the way. The swipe managed to cut his shoulder deeply. “Cesar, don’t make me have to kill you” pleaded Dorian. Cesar showed no remorse as he cleaved into Dorian’s hand and severed it. Dorian screamed in pain and fell to his knees. “Why?” asked Cesar blankly with his sword’s point to Dorian’s throat. “He. Owed money to a lot of people. He tried to escape by volunteering for the task. It was never personal.” “Cesar. Let him live he knows what he’s done.” Said Pierre “let’s go” They walked away from Dorian and left him to the wastes. Chapter 4 “I never told you about my home have I?” said Pierre “No you haven’t” replied Cesar. “It’s a nice little place in the country I own about five pigs and” “What did you mean by I’m sorry?” interrupted Cesar. “What?” “When Jean was killed you ran away. You said you were sorry.” “It was 45 or so years ago. My first battle just happened to be the day we broke the walls of Santuario.” “You were there during the siege?” “No not during the whole thing only during the sack. My father was the leader of my regiment and he personally took me with him to loot the district. I was terrified. We got to this one house in the western district, which was on fire at the time, and my father saw a woman running. He quickly went and grabbed her and threw her to the ground. He looked me in the eyes and commanded me to go to him. I did as my father commanded. When I got to him he said he was going to make me a man and told me to take the woman. I did.” “You...raped her?” “Yes” Pierre said and then began sobbing uncontrollably.” And when I was done my father slit her throat.” He broke down and curled into a ball. “I wanted to tell her I’m sorry before I died.” Cesar felt a presence behind him he turned quickly. There in front of him stood a large shadow, it had grey skin that seemed to be made of the ashes and dark sunken black eyes, in it’s hand was a cruel spear made of stone and ash wood. “Stand back!” Cesar commanded the creature but it did not listen. It slowly moved closer to Cesar and pointed at Pierre. “Pierre?” Cesar said puzzled. The creature nodded. Cesar then realized that the creature was human. Its body covered in ashes and its eyes covered in a thick black sludge. Cesar held his hand out to the strange man and then saw behind the man more creep out of the ashes. There had to be at least fifty of the strange people. The man nodded behind him and motioned for Cesar to follow. “Pierre get up” said Cesar Pierre got up slowly his eyes red from crying and followed Cesar and the strange people. Chapter 5 They approached the massive walls of the city by daybreak. They had been following the strange people for several days and were fed and given water by them. They spoke no common language but some words sounded vaguely familiar to worlds spoken in the old Imperium tongue. The gates to the city opened and they were received by a man on a horse. “Hail” he said in a hard to understand voice. “I am the king of the city” the rest of the words were unintelligible “Hello I am chevalier Cesar and his is my friend Pierre” The king of the city looked confused he motioned his men who gave them food and water. “Lev you r not welcome here” the king said. “But” Pierre said as he stepped forward. A man drove a spear through his neck. Cesar looked on in horror as he saw Pierre fall to the ground. “Leave” the king said in a harsh voice. Cesar turned and walked back into the wastes as the city vanished into the ashes.


I met her at the cafe on the corner. I was waiting at the back of the queue, seventh in line. She was at the counter scanning the board wondering which coffee to choose. It can be a problem, there are twenty-five different coffees on offer - Espresso, Latte, Americano, Red Eye, Black Eye, and Flat White to name a few - it’s not always an easy choice. I don’t have that problem myself because I always order the same - the cheapest, biggest, hottest drink up there - double latte (two shots of espresso with steaming milk). What I’m looking for is something that takes a while to drink. I’m not fussy about the taste, I’m not a connoisseur, just so long as it’s hot so it takes a while to cool down. I can take an hour over the same coffee. I get my money’s worth. She was holding up the queue and the guy behind the counter was getting impatient - as were the other customers. She couldn’t make up her mind so she stood to one side and let the next customer get served. She was still undecided by the time I got to the counter. I ordered two double lattes, paid the bill, and when they were ready I handed one to her. “Save you from having to choose,” I said with a grin. She was so grateful that she agreed, without hesitation I add, to come and sit with me. Marianne: twenty-eight years old, pretty as a picture, and nearly twenty years younger than me - and I’d picked her up without any smart-ass pick-up line, just a nice gesture and the help she needed at just the right time. We talked for two hours, ordered more coffees - my treat - and discovered we had a lot in common: the films we like, the books we read, our view of the world, our morals and political preferences... A match made in heaven, though we both agreed heaven didn’t exist. The only inconsistency was in our decision-making abilities. I leaned definitely towards “impulsive”, always have. Never thought of why, it just works for me and saves a lot of time and trouble. Maybe it was just practice - over the years I built up a strong sense of intuition that I could trust. I made decisions on the spot and, as it turned out, few had any serious consequences. So I learned not to worry about consequences, and anyway, I had the mindset that believed there’s something to be gained no matter what you choose - it’s a matter of perception whether something is good or bad and I always sought the good in things. And if I ever encountered a difficult choice I just flipped a coin in my head and went with it. Marianne was my polar opposite. She told me she’d always had difficulty making decisions. She also saw the good in everything but that was what made it so difficult, she said, and she’d made some bad decisions in the past - relationships and jobs mostly - and that made her so insecure that it affected even simple decision-making, like choosing what to wear that day, where to go walking, which coffee to order... When it was time for me to leave - which I would have chosen not to but I had another appointment - I gave her my number and said I’d like to keep in touch, but I was leaving the decision up to her. She said she’d think about it. “Or toss a coin,” I said, and she laughed. It was a week later that I got her call. I picked her up and took her to the sea. It was the middle of December and blustery - all raging surf and salty spray. We strolled up the beach, two lovers-in-the-making, close but separated, reading each other sentence by sentence, testing familiarity with flirty remarks and elbow-nudges... walking back down we were already holding hands. I kissed her by the car and she didn’t resist. We shared side-glances and smiles on the way home. I invited her to my place for dinner, she accepted and ended up staying the night. We dated for a year before I asked her to marry me. That’s the longest I’ve ever taken to decide on something, not because I was unsure - I could have easily asked her after that first walk on the beach - but I was truly afraid of the consequences if she’d said no. As it turned out she said yes, and we were married the following spring. Life was easy and fun - we fitted each other like the wedding rings on our fingers. I made all the big decisions in the beginning: new house, what to cook and eat, where to go on holidays, which restaurants, bars, museums, galleries, and shows to visit, channels to watch on tv, Christmas and birthday gifts to buy for relatives and friends. Our circle of friends dwindled as we spent more and more time in our own company - we kept it to a select few and didn’t socialize much, which suited me fine because I was getting too old for galavanting, and she was just relieved not to have to keep choosing what to wear, and when we did go out she’d actually ask me what she should wear and she wouldn’t question my preferences. It sounds like it could have been a recipe for disaster, like she was handing over her independence to me, and if I’d been a control-freak it may have turned out that way... but I’m not. It was easy for me to make decisions so it didn’t trouble me, and over time she got to understand my mindset and learned to adopt it in a way, learned to be more nonchalant about choices and outcomes. I’d give her little decision-assignments from time to time - it was a game, I’d give her a selection of choices regarding something and she had thirty seconds to make a decision, then we’d follow through regardless. Eventually, she got comfortable with it, becoming almost as impulsive as me. It was the morning of her thirty-third birthday when she said it. I was shaving and she was standing by the door watching, her reflection smiling at me in the mirror. “Checking out my ass again?” I quipped. “I want a baby,” she said. Out of the blue. I nearly sliced my face off with the razor I was so surprised. Maybe I should have seen it coming, she was at that age after all, but I didn’t - we’d never discussed babies before. I dabbed my bleeding face with a towel and turned to face her. “Where did that come from,” I asked. “You been thinking about it a long time?” “No, just came to me.” “A bit impulsive isn’t it? Even for you these days. I mean, a baby is a big, big decision.” “I know but I’m listening to my intuition just like you taught me and I’m certain it’s a good idea. What’s wrong, you don’t think so?” “No... I mean... yes, of course, it’s a good idea. You just took me by surprise that’s all.” She came up to me then, still smiling. Took the towel from me and started patting my wound clean. “Hope you’re not getting too insecure in your old age,” she said. “Come on back to bed, I want to start right now.” Old? Was I getting old? Was I getting scared of consequences? I don’t know. But I couldn’t decide right then if I wanted to be a father or not. I followed her to the bed and we made love, and for the first time, I admit my mind wasn’t entirely focussed on her or the activity. She didn’t seem to notice though - obviously I wasn’t yet too old to still please her. We tried for two months but nothing was happening. On a spur decision, we decided to check if there was anything wrong with either of us. We made an appointment with a physician but when we got to the clinic she paused outside the door. “I’m not sure I want to do this,” she said. “Why not?” “I don’t think I want to know. Suppose we find out that one of us is infertile... what then? “Then we deal with it, the way we deal with all consequences. Trust me, it’ll be fine.” I could see she was still hesitant but she agreed to the test when I reminded her that we wouldn’t get the results right away - we could always choose not to know later. The results came in the post a week later. The envelope still lay unopened on the table after another week. And another week. And another. Each time I mentioned it she shook her head saying she wasn’t ready to know. I left the decision up to her - possibly the hardest decision of her life, but I couldn’t make it for her. I would have been happy regardless. I told her if I was the problem she could always get impregnated by a donor and I’d go along with any choice she made because I loved her and I would love the child whether it was my own or not. “But if I’m the problem?” she asked. “Then we adopt. Simple.” She thought about that for another week and suddenly the envelope was gone from the table. She said she’d put it away, unopened. Decided conclusively that she didn’t want to know. Told me she loved me and wanted my baby and no other and if it wasn’t destined to be then so be it. We didn’t talk about it again. We still made love unprotected though, and often, pushing destiny to the limit you could say. Life went on. Five years passed. Everything was fine. I thought. Until I came home one day to find her sitting at the table, eyes red from crying, the envelope open before her. “I needed to know,” she said. “I’m sorry... I needed to know.” I read the results. I was the problem - some hereditary genetical condition, unlikely to improve with treatment given my age. I took her in my arms and she wept on my shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she kept saying. “Don’t be,” I said, “it’s not the end of the world.” But it was the start of the end... for me at least. We didn’t make love that night. Over the following months, she became moody and distant. I tried everything to cheer her up. I couldn’t mention anything to do with babies though without her tearing up. She lost interest in all the fun things we used to do together. She stopped caring. She stopped wanting. I was running both our lives, making all the decisions again. It wasn’t as easy as before though - I was starting to worry about consequences. She left without notice. I came home to an empty house, empty dresser, empty wardrobe - all trace of her gone. A short note on my pillow saying: “I’m sorry!” and nothing else. I collapsed onto the empty bed and lay there for three days, weeping until there were no more tears to weep. My heart was a black, cold stone in my chest. My mind was a bottomless pit of sorrowful bleakness. A month has passed. I haven’t worked, I haven’t answered any calls or responded to the mountain of messages on my phone. I haven’t left the house once. The food cupboards are almost empty, the sink is full, the house is a dump of strewn clothes and empty beer cans and wine bottles. I sit like an oversized, bearded rag-doll in an armchair across from the window, staring out at a grey sky. Grey has become my colour through and through. I stink. I know I stink because I can smell it myself. I need to wash but I can’t be bothered. I know I should do something soon - get up, clean up, get my life together - but I’ve lost all motivation. I don’t know what’s important anymore. I can’t decide if anything is. I can’t even decide if I should be angry, or sad, or disappointed, or hurt. I don’t feel anything anymore. The flame of life within me has gone out and I don’t know how to light it again. I don't know if I want to. In the past, whenever I felt down or indecisive about something, I’d take a walk. A walk always brought clarity - an answer, an idea, a decision. Simple. Maybe I should take a walk. But that would mean deciding to get up and go out. I don’t want to make any decisions. I don’t want to think. I would start thinking about her. I’m lost. I’m scared. Of life. Of myself. I can’t see the good anymore, only pain and suffering and emptiness, and I’m scared to confront it. I don’t want to confront it. The sky is getting darker. It looks like rain. Walking in the rain would just add to my misery - or wash it away. I can’t decide. I could flip a coin - another decision I don’t want to make. I want someone to make it for me. I decided a long time ago that God doesn’t exist but I find myself praying now - not for guidance or forgiveness but for a decision. I stare out at the sky. “Please God...” I cry aloud, “make it rain.”


(Content Warning: Fantasy Violence, Mild Language.) Lee Oswald awoke to the sound of a shrieking moan not more than ten yards from his bedroom window. Without contemplation, his feet hit the cold floor running, knowing that his cattle were in danger. Rushing through his cabin, Lee eyed his double-barrel shotgun hanging above his fireplace and grabbed it. The weapon was always loaded for occasions just like this, and for a brief moment, Lee was glad he had it. Wearing nothing but white long johns, he exploded outside, ready for combat. The cool air stabbed Lee’s skin like a thousand daggers erasing any grogginess leftover from his slumber. The thermal underwear provided no protection against the frosty March temperatures, but this was the least of his concerns. Something was attacking his cattle. This was Lee’s livelihood and the only reason he could afford to live on the outskirts of Franklin. Lee ran through the field, allowing the frozen grass to slash at his pajamas like a thousand thorny vines in a rose garden. He paid no mind to the minor inconvenience and continued his search. The moan came again. He was close now, very close. Lee halted with senses alert and listened. He knew this valley well, having spent most of his life here. When Lee was a young boy, his parents, Ben and Martha, moved to Pendleton County in hopes of striking it rich. It was the time of the big gold rush, and everyone had the gold fever . The Smokey Caverns just to the east of Franklin bore huge golden nuggets, which attracted hundreds of eager families and decent folk who only wanted to get ahead. Things were fine for a time, but then the greedy businessmen came to town with their slave laborers and stripped the mines dry. Most people moved away during this time. They had the good sense to know when to get out, but not everyone was so fortunate. Ben and Martha had spent everything they had relocating from Virginia to Colorado, so they had no choice but to stay. Over the next few years, the Oswald’s carved out a nice life by raising cattle and selling them to the local butcher in Franklin. They were not rich by any means, but they made the best of things. Money was scarce, but there was love. Always love. Lee grew up under the stern but loving guidance of his father and learned the ways of the land. His mother taught him everything else, like cooking and how to treat the ladies. Through the years, Lee became so adept at working the land that he knew every nook and cranny. If a cow wandered too far, Lee knew exactly where to find the estranged animal. Martha wished that her son had the same fortitude when it came to finding love. She desperately wanted to be a grandmother, but it was not meant to be. Through the years, Lee had to say goodbye to his parents when they fell ill and died from cancer. The loss was devastating, but Ben instilled in his only son an iron will to carry on, and so he did. Martha gave him the gift of compassion, and without hesitation, he took over the farm and endured. Time is our greatest enemy, and before Lee knew it, those old hands of time had caught up with him. Standing alert in the frozen field, Lee’s heart thundered in his chest, and his ancient bones ached from the sudden sprint. Arthritis bit his nerves like a feral cat gnawing on a half-dead rooster, which is what he felt like. With steely eyes, Lee scanned the land looking for anything that might be amiss. His gaze fell upon a lonely hill where the soil had been disturbed. Contorting his face with determination, Lee gripped his shotgun and trudged forward. The hill was slick from the frozen precipitation, and Lee cursed his old bones. He made it to the top with small baby steps and peered down the slope. In the pale glow of moonlight, Lee saw one of his cows lying on its side. At first, he thought the animal was sleeping, but the sound of cracking bones and violent convulsions made him think otherwise. The lonely cow wasn’t sleeping. Something was eating it. Lee scrunched his lips and aimed the shotgun. The moonlight shining through the trees allowed a sliver of illumination, but still, shadows remained, and the predator bathed in the darkness. Lee wanted a better look before firing because he needed to know what this thing was for future reference. A good farmer needs to be aware of all threats. Taking a step closer for a better look, the icy grass crunched beneath Lee’s feet, betraying his presence. The invading creature lifted its head, knowing it wasn’t alone anymore. Hideous yellow eyes stared at Lee, which was the only thing he could make out. “Come out here so I can get a better look at ya!” he yelled. The creature let loose a fierce growl and teetered into a stray strand of light. If by purpose Lee couldn’t tell, but he did manage to get a brief glimpse. The monster looked like a coyote but stood on two legs and had a massive humped back. Lee could see a steady stream of blood flowing from the demon’s maw, and in a panicked fright, he fired. Boom! The monster snarled and took off. It had an uneven gate and looked like a gorilla running through the field. Lee had never seen anything like it before and wasn’t sure if he had wounded the creature. With trembling hands, Lee reached up and wiped the sweat beads from his brow, which steamed in the moonlight. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths to allow his heart rate to settle. After a while, Lee returned to the warmth of his cabin, but going back to sleep was out of the question. Thoughts of the creature filled his mind, and he wondered if he was safe. He knew the world was changing, and change was the only constant thing in the universe. Life is about making choices and dealing with the consequences. The outcomes of those actions bring change whether we like it or not. The results can be good or bad, but we don’t know until we venture down that chosen path. It’s a paradoxical dance that Lee knew all too well. With this demon on the loose, Lee knew that nothing good could come from its existence. How could it? Evil only lives to serve its own intentions. When the sun kissed the moon goodnight, Lee ventured back into the field and buried his cow. He wasn’t sure if he could even move the animal, but there wasn’t much left to move after the attack. Still, it took Lee all morning to lay the lifeless husk to rest. Lee stayed ever vigilant over the next few days, but he didn’t see the beast again. He scoured the land for any signs of the creature but found nothing out of the ordinary. He reckoned that maybe his shot did wound the monster, and perhaps it ran off to die somewhere like most wild animals tend to do. That night, Lee slept like a baby and awoke early to make breakfast. He had a craving for biscuits and gravy and thus gathered all the necessary ingredients. His joyous mood turned sour, however, after discovering that he was out of flour. Lee cursed his forgetfulness. In all the time thinking about the strange creature, he had neglected his weekly run to the grocery store in Franklin. Lee sucked in his aggression and released his pent-up rage with a deep breath. All the while, his stomach grumbled, wanting to digest food that wasn’t there yet. Dreading the thought, there was no getting around this dilemma. He had to go to town. Grabbing his satchel and some coin, Lee fetched his walking stick and set out for town. The winding road leading into Franklin was nothing to brag about, but the luscious scenery did bring a wry smile to Lee’s face. It’s funny the things you get used to. Most people go about their business and never take the time to look around. Those that do get accustomed to their surroundings and forget the beauty that nature brings. The town of Franklin was only three miles from Lee’s house. Although he hated the pain that ravaged his bones, walking was a simple pleasure that he enjoyed. It was something that brought meaning to his lonely, isolated life. After all, a simple man could only have so many conversations with cattle before people called him crazy. Lee cursed himself once more for not listening to his mother. He should have married when he was younger. Approaching his destination, Lee cast the thought aside. One might call Franklin a ghost town for all that remains. After the gold rush fallout, the only thing left in town were two rows of buildings that mirrored each other on opposite ends. The entrance sign read “ Welcome to Franklin ,” but the cruel hands of time had all but faded the carved words. The dry-rotted plank hung on two rusty nails, not knowing when to give up, just like the few unlucky souls who still remained. Lee made his way to the general store without much fanfare and purchased the flour he needed and a few other choice items. His gaze fell upon a local bar called the Bowery on the way out. Lee rolled his tongue around in his mouth and salivated at the thought of having a drink. He was a sucker for a good whiskey. Strangling the thought into obscurity, Lee decided that ruining a sixteen-year dry spell wasn’t worth it. “Hello, Lee. It’s good to see you out and about!” Lee turned to see Harold, the local butcher. He was a robust man that didn’t miss a single meal. His white blood-stained apron screamed for release and smelled like fresh meat. “How are you, Henry?” Lee greeted with a smirk. “I’m doing just fine,” Henry boasted. “You still fixing to sell me those cattle next month?” Lee cocked his head and wondered if he should tell Henry about the creature. He decided against it. Once you get a reputation for being crazy, it’s all over. “Yep, those cows are plump and juicy. They’ll be ready, minus one.” “Minus one?” Henry repeated, confused. “Yeah, I lost one recently from a wild coyote, but I shot that sum-bitch, and haven’t had any trouble since.” “Good,” scoffed Henry. “I’ll be seeing you next month! Aside from killing cows, the only thing worth doing is playing cards, drinking beer, and screwing the local whore!” Suddenly, a big buxom woman strode over and slapped Henry. “The local whore has a name, you big fat disgusting pig!” Henry’s face turned crimson. “S-sorry, Linda,” he stuttered. “I was only kidding!” Lee grimaced and walked away. He had what he needed and didn’t see the point of wasting time. A mile from town, a harsh wind brushed against Lee’s wrinkly skin as he reached up to scratch his white stubble. Out of nowhere, he heard a blaring moan that echoed through the valley. The creature! Lee gripped his stick and cursed himself yet again for not bringing his shotgun. There was no way he could run all the way home; it was too far. He circled the area looking for any signs of danger, and when he came around, he saw a medium-sized shepherd dog with brown fur and a black nose. The animal had a nasty cut across its left eye and limped around. “Hello, there,” whispered Lee. “What’s happened to you, girl?” The dog whimpered and nudged against Lee’s leg. Having his full attention, the animal flicked her head toward the Smokey Caverns as if to tell him something. “What is it, girl?” asked Lee. “Do you want to show me something?” The dog moaned again, wanting Lee to follow her. He reached down and patted her head. Her fur was wet and sticky with fresh blood. Taking a deep breath, Lee uttered, “Well, I guess breakfast can wait.” He motioned for the wounded animal to move on and said, “Lead on, girl. Let’s see what this fuss is all about.” Lee followed the injured dog with great intent and kept up reasonably well. After a few yards, Lee realized where they were. The animal had led him to the top of the Smokey Caverns. The view was breathtaking and showcased the entire valley. He only had a few moments to take in the majestic beauty before the dog led him to the edge of the cliff. There, Lee heard a faint squealing sound. He got on his knees for a better look, and his investigation yielded an unexpected result. Nestled on a narrow ledge just beneath him were four puppies crying for their mother. “Well... would you look at that!” Lee gasped. Lee’s attention was diverted as he heard the momma dog growling fiercely. He turned and saw the hunched-backed coyote demon snarling at them with hungry intentions. The monster was even more grotesque in the daylight than Lee could have ever imagined. The beast had mangy black fur, long claws, razor-sharp canine fangs, and spikes protruding along its humped back. Most people would flee for their lives, but Lee was beyond running. Without his shotgun, he didn’t know how to fight back. At this fragile moment, Lee was able to piece together what had happened. Momma dog must have come across this demon making its way to Franklin and placed her pups down on that ledge for protection. Then, she fought the monster, who no doubt wanted to eat them as a light snack before moving on to town. Putting up a valiant effort, momma dog must have sustained those injuries and saw me walking along the road and rushed towards me for help. Rising to his feet, Lee locked eyes with the creature and held his walking stick like a shotgun. He hoped the monster might be fooled by this farce from their earlier encounter. “Runaway, you bastard, before I shoot you again!” The creature wasn’t afraid. It was fear itself. Leaning back, the demon sprang forward, unleashing its claws for a deadly strike. Before the beast could land a killing blow, momma dog pounced first and knocked Lee out of the way. Lee flopped on the ground and felt every bone in his body crack. The bag of flour in his satchel busted open and blew in the air like a fine mist. The demon now stood at the edge of the cliff and had found its prey. The pups were howling for their momma to save them. Hearing her babies cry for help gave momma dog another burst of energy. She raced away from Lee and bit the hunched-backed monster in the hind heel just as it reached down for the pups. The monster withdrew its claws and howled towards the horizon. Momma dog would not let up. She sank her teeth deeper into the creature's flesh, causing dark ichor to spew forth. Lee grabbed a handful of flour and rose to his feet. He knew he had to do something before the monster could regain momentum. He limped over to the beast and roared, “Breakfast is ready!” He threw the flour into the demon’s face clouding its vision. The beast was angry, and it slashed the air in a desperate attempt to kill the old man, but Lee was able to keep his distance. Lee reached down and grabbed his walking stick. “Hold it steady, girl!” Momma dog clenched her jaw tighter and pulled the beast to the edge of the cliff. Lee held his stick like a spear and stabbed at the beast, throwing it off balance. “Let go of it now, girl!” As momma dog released her jaw, Lee put every ounce of energy into his last thrust and jabbed the monster off the cliff. The beast fell with a haunting scream that would no doubt disturb Lee’s sleep for the rest of his days. With the monster dead, Lee reached down and gently pulled each pup to safety. He brought them home with him and discovered a new bond that he had never felt before. Together, they became a family, and as they looked on at a new horizon, they realized that where the shepherd dogs lie is indeed a great place to live. The End Daniel R. Hayes


The rhythm of the dryer reminded me of industrial metal. Seated on the blue plastic chairs under the cool white glow of fluorescent lights, I closed my eyes and imagined Trent Reznor sitting backstage waiting to come on. The squirt of water into one of the washing machines added to the symphony, and the increasingly manic whir of the rapid cycle brough the tempo up a notch. The laundromat was empty except for me and one old guy who was sitting on the opposite side of the room. I doubt he was expecting a Nine Inch Nails gig, but you never know. He wore one of those peaked caps that old Englishmen wear in films, and a collared shirt that was buttoned to the very top, making his neck look all wrinkled like the part of a chicken thigh where it meets the arsehole. Not a typical fan I thought, though his right foot was tapping in time with the washing machine so I could have been wrong. It was hard to tell. He noticed I was watching him. I nodded and offered that familiar expression that kind of says a polite 'hello' but is also kind of a polite 'fucking leave me alone'. Sort of half smile, half lips pursed together. I looked down at my feet and watched as they tapped out the rhythm of the drier. He wasn’t going to like what was coming but I needed it. I couldn’t find my muse without it. I walked to the washing machine. 17 minutes left. That meant that I had about 12 minutes before Trent would appear. The live performance would go for almost five minutes. The world would disappear, and I would be absorbed in the sounds of the machines around me. The man in the peaked hat would probably leave. They usually did. For now, he simply looked at me with an expression of pure confusion as I applied black eyeshadow. Another man waddled in wearing flip-flops and a singlet that was about a couple of sizes too small. I looked up and gave him the pursed lip look of recognition and he returned the same and shrugged. I bet it was the eyeshadow. I hadn’t always been a fan of Nine Inch Nails but I’d noticed one night while I was waiting for my load to finish that when I really paid attention to the rhythm of the machines my mind seemed to clear and left room for something else. Inspiration. And it happened that it reminded me of Nine Inch Nails. Trent became my muse. Twelve minutes. Seven minutes to go. Waddling singlet man had decided not to sit next to me or peak hat man, and had instead sat outside on one-and-a-half chairs under the neon laundromat sign. It was time for me to get changed. There isn’t really any privacy in a laundromat. I guess most of the time there isn’t really a need for privacy since most people are there simply to wash the clothes they have worn already. Not me. I hadn’t yet worked out why I needed to get changed at the laundromat but I had tried it a few times and it wasn’t the same. I needed to walk in wearing whatever I had been wearing on that day. I needed to sit and listen to the machines. I needed to wait for the familiar buzz of washing machine number 14 as it reached a crescendo of spinning. Then I needed to get changed. I stood up and looked at old peak hat man. “I’m really sorry for what is about to happen,” I said, prompting a look of fearful bemusement. I assured him that he was not in any danger and, somewhat surprisingly, he stayed sitting right where he was, pulling his laundry basket just a little closer to his feet. I pulled off my jeans, throwing them onto the floor in front of me, then I reached over my shoulders and lifted my shirt. I saw myself in the mirror to my right and was momentarily embarrassed by the thick coat of middle-aged grey hair on my back. “The show must go on,” I whispered to myself as I threw off my underwear and stood momentarily naked before the old man who was doing an unconvincing job of pretending not to notice what was happening. My leather pants stuck to my thighs as I tried like a man possessed to put them on as quickly as possible. I danced across the tiled floor, hopping up and down as I heaved one leg up, inch by inch. I almost fell over and steadied myself against the wall. Peak hat was now watching me with his mouth slightly open. I thought I saw him mouth the words, “what the actual fuck?” I got the pants on and then my slightly moth-eaten shirt. I was ready. The drier reached the downbeat of its second last spin cycle and settled again into a rhythmic pulsing beat as the drier maintained a steady hum. “You let me violate you.” I began to sing. Now was Trent’s time to shine. “You let me desecrate you.” Perfectly timed with the beat of the washing machine. “You let me penetrate you.” Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. “You let me complicate you.” Old peak hat man stood and walked out as I danced across the tiles towards the door where w-waddles was sitting. I bent down to and put my face close to his. “I broke apart my insides.” He pulled away sharply and gave a look of absolute horror as “help me” spilled out of my mouth. “I’ve got no soul to sell.” I was in a trance. Up the road I could see red and blue lights. They did not stop me from my performance. “I want to fuck you like an animal”. Waddles got up and walked, then ran, away from the Laundromat. “I want to feel you from the inside.” I was in my zone when the police officer tapped me on my shoulder and I span around, a man possessed, and spat into his face, “I want to fuck you like an animal!” And then I was tasered. I came to in a watchhouse cell, still in my Trent outfit, sore and a little broken inside. I sat on the side of the small bench on the eastern wall and pulled out a notebook and pen I had stuffed into my right sock and began to write. The ritual had worked its magic. Trent had worked his magic. The rhythm of the dryer reminded me of industrial metal...


It’s been 412 days since the rains last came. Everyone collected as much as possible, and for a while, water was plentiful. Now, the roads are dry and cracked, starved of moisture. Most of the reserves are gone. My canteen is running low, and my wallet even lower. Sweat beads up on my forehead then breaks loose of its hold, rolling gently down the side of my face, teasing me with its wetness. “How much farther?” Ciara asks. I look over at my 12-year-old sister and swallow down the annoyance that’s rising up my throat. She holds her hand up to her forehead, trying to create some shade on her face, her hat long gone. “Stop asking me that,” I say with as much patience as I can muster. “I told you, we’re almost there.” In truth, Portland Town, rumored to be a bustling tradepost in the middle of the Oregon Desert, is a lot farther than I envisioned. We’ve been walking along Columbia Road for a week now with no sign of it. It’s hard to imagine this road was once a river, lined with trees. It’s even harder to imagine that trees ever grew anywhere in this wasteland. “Annika, look,” Ciara says as we turn a corner. Finally, in the distance I see some structures. I squeeze my eyes shut and open them again. I’ve been fooled by mirages before, the image of something you want nearby that’s not really there, and I blink a few times to make sure I’m not seeing things. “Portland Town.” Relief pours through me like the glass of water I envision buying. “I told you we were almost there.” Ciara’s smile at the sight of the town almost makes the trip worth it. Soon, people are strolling around us, tipping their hats toward us in greeting. They don’t look quite as dirty as we are, which means there must be a way to bathe here. “Maybe mom and dad are here,” she says, her pace quickening. “Maybe,” I agree, “but don’t get your hopes up.” It’s been a month since we were separated from our parents after a group of raiders stormed our camp site in the Idaho Desert. We were on our way to Cannon Beach, where the Oregon Desert meets the salty sea, and where there is rumored to be a fully functional desalination plant, providing water for all who need it. “They would be almost a month ahead of us, so they’re probably already at the coast.” But even as I say the words, I start scanning the crowd for their faces, and I see Ciara doing the same. When we hit the main road in town we start passing stores, mostly selling dried food and canned goods or medical supplies. “They’re selling water!” Ciara calls out pointing at a nearby shop. It has a sign on the window saying “bottled water available.” “Let’s go.” I grab her hand and we walk inside. The shelves are only lined with canned goods of course, it would be too risky to leave water unlocked. I approach the woman working behind the counter. “How much for a bottle of water?” I ask. “A hundred dollars,” she says. “A hundred?” Bottles were closer to fifty last time I tried buying one in a store instead of trading for one. “You can look elsewhere for a cheaper one, but you won’t find it,” the lady says. Ciara puts on her best sad face, but it garners no sympathy. I only have a hundred and fifty left in my wallet and we need some food and supplies too. I still have half a canteen so I’m not sure it’s worth it. “How far to Cannon Beach from here?” I ask. “About two days walk. Water isn’t any cheaper there.” A half of a canteen won’t last us two days. We can live without food for that long, though. I reluctantly hand over my hundred dollar bill in exchange for the bottle of water. I pour it into my canteen and hand her the bottle back so she can reuse it. Ciara and I mumble thanks and walk out. At the far end of town we come across a large warehouse with a sign reading “workers needed.” “Maybe I can get some work,” I tell Ciara as we walk up to the man out front. He’s large and towers over us, his muscled arms threatening to rip his shirt. “Hi, I’m Annika, what work do you have? I’m available.” “I need unloaders to move boxes from a shipment we got today. It pays one water bottle per day.” “Can my sister work too? She’s strong.” He furrows his brow at me. “How old is your sister?” “She’s thirteen,” I lie, “but she’s stronger than she looks.” Ciara flexes her arm muscles to show him, which makes me laugh, but he doesn’t even look at her. “I don’t hire kids.” “Ok, just me then.” I show him my ID which proves that I'm nineteen. “Straight through there,” he says, pointing inside. “Ok, just one sec, I’ll be right back.” I take Ciara by the arm and we walk over to a nearby bench under a tree, where I sit her down. “Wait here for me. Close your eyes and get some sleep, and when you wake up I’ll be done.” She nods and curls her backpack up under head and lies down on the bench. I hurry back inside the warehouse where I see an assembly line of workers moving boxes. I jump into the line and start hauling boxes from the carriage onto the shelves inside. The weight of the boxes quickly slows me down, and I can’t keep up with the speed of the men around me. “You,” a man not in the assembly line says to me. “Come here.” I get out of the line and walk over to him. His button down shirt looks freshly washed and there’s only a hint of dust at his temples. “You’re slowing everyone down.” “I’m sorry, I’ll pick it up.” “No, come here.” We walk to a storage room. There are boxes on the ground filled with mason jars of various pickled items. “Unpack these boxes and line the shelves with the jars. If you steal anything, you go to jail. If you break anything, you don’t get paid for the day, understand?” “Yes, no problem.” “As soon as you're done unloading this room you can come see me for your water bottle.” He turns and leaves and I exhale. This is much easier work. After I have two boxes unloaded, its contents neatly lined on the shelves, I hear a voice. “Annika!” I turn and see Ciara rush into the room next to me. “What are you doing here? I told you to wait outside. How did you even get in here?” She shrugs. “I snuck in. I got bored. Can I help?” I hesitate, but two can finish this a lot faster than one. “Ok, but be careful not to drop anything. If you hear anyone coming, hide in one of the empty boxes.” She smiles and my heart mends, as it does little by little every time I see that grin. Together, we make quick work of the job and before we know it all the boxes are unloaded, and all the mason jars are lined neatly on the shelves. “Ok, can you sneak out without anyone seeing you?” I ask Ciara. “Yep, I know how.” “Ok, I’ll get our water and meet you back by the bench.” She takes off and I go to find the man that gave me the storage room job. He inspects my work carefully and then produces two water bottles. “Here, take two,” he says, crinkling kind eyes towards me. “You look like you need it.” “Thank you so much,” I say, staring at my new treasure. Two bottles will make all the difference. “Come back if you need more work.” He shows me out and I run to the bench where Ciara is waiting. “He gave me two bottles! We have enough now, we can start heading to Cannon Beach.” “And find mom and dad!” She throws her arms around me. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get her this far. Mom and dad always told me if we ever got separated to meet them at Cannon Beach. It hasn’t been easy slugging the kid through the desert, but we’re so close now. Two. More. Days. I spend the evening getting some jerky and new socks with the rest of my money, and with my last dollar I pay for a salt-water bath; a luxury only coastal deserts have. We set up camp under some trees nearby, and at first light we start the last leg of our journey. I use the compass and the map I have and head west. Ciara doesn’t say much. The anticipation of our arrival and reunion with our parents is too great at this point. There’s nothing left to say. We walk 15 hours the first day, stopping only briefly for lunch. It should leave us with less than 8 hours to go. We camp under the stars that night, giggling and taking small sips of water here and there. We’ve learned how to ration it. I can’t wait for Cannon Beach, but I’ll also miss having this alone time with Ciara, time we normally don’t ever have together. As the sun peaks over the horizon, our eyes shoot open. “We’re gonna see mom and dad today!” Ciara exclaims. We pack up our camp and hit the road as soon as possible. We practically run the remaining distance. By late afternoon, the roads start getting busy with travelers. They’re cleaner than any travelers I’ve seen in quite some time. By the beach, you can take salt water baths for free whenever you want. We cross one last hill and the sight of the never ending sea sprawls in front of us. “It’s not a mirage is it?” Ciara asks. “Just a vision of what you want?” I take a deep breath and smell the salty air. “You can’t smell a vision.” I grab her hand and we run into town, smiles plastered on our faces. Our eyes start frantically searching the crowds as we shuffle through the now-busy streets. How are we going to find them? The dirt beneath our feet starts changing to sand. We’ve reached the beach. It’s lined with tents up and down the coast as far as we can see. Just past them, waves, beautiful watery waves, crash on the shore. No wonder everyone here is so clean with so much salt water at their fingertips. Ciara and I start walking up and down the rows of tents, searching all the faces. “Annika?” I hear a voice in the distance. Was it calling my name? “Annika!?” I turn, my eyes darting at a speed faster than my quickening heart rate, when I see them. A few tents away from us my mom and dad emerge and start running towards us. “Annika!” They call. I sprint towards them, Ciara at my side, until we are nothing but a mess of arms and hugs and tears. Finally, they pull back and my mom cups my tear-filled face in her hands. “I can’t believe you made it. How did you get here?” She asks. “Ciara helped me.” Her eyes crinkle with worry as she drops her hands from my face, looking to my dad for help. “Honey,” dad says. “Ciara’s been dead for years, you know this.” I look down at the spot beside me where Ciara was standing, but of course she’s not there. “I know,” I say. “Mirages aren’t really there, but sometimes they can help you get where you’re going anyway.” They look at each other again, their brows furrowed. “Come inside, honey,” mom says, wrapping her arm around my shoulder. “We have some water for you.” THE END