Americans, unhappily, have the most remarkable ability to alchemize all bitter truths into an innocuous but piquant confection and to transform their moral contradictions, or public discussion of such contradictions, into a proud decoration, such as are given for heroism on the field of battle. James Baldwin D’Mitri stumble-limped to his door, taking mental stock of his condition and his assets in the cool and quiet aftermath of Nick’s party. He didn’t have his keys, but he had somehow acquired a cute girl, and she had his keys. Check. He looked at his shirt and frowned. There were flecks of blood on it, and an ominous brown stain of unknown provenance. He smelled it and decided that it must either be a mixture of whiskey and gooey fudge brownies or, more likely, vomit. Check. What he didn’t have were either pants or shoes. That was odd, he thought, for he was sure that he had gone to the party with pants. And shoes. Check. His right leg was festooned with gauze and tape and pain. It felt like someone had jabbed several needles into his leg and it looked like whoever did the bandaging struggled with the concept of gauze-to-tape ratio; the tape went all the way down to his ankle and as high as his knee to secure a small, square piece of gauze. Perhaps, he thought, I was being mummified and escaped just in the nick of time. Check. The couple fell into D’Mitri’s bed for the night, though it was actually 4:30 in the morning. D’Mitri wouldn’t be seen again until Monday morning, dressed for success. The cute girl left in the afternoon, telling D’Mitri that she hoped they could “do this again.” D’Mitri didn’t know if she meant the party or the bedroom antics or both, but he accepted the informal invitation in the spirit that it was given. He nodded dumbly and closed the door. Double check, with some stars and doodles thrown in for good measure. Let me tell you about the party and how D’Mitri lost his pants. ___________________________________________ Nick always threw great parties because he was rich and spent obscene amounts of money on food, booze, outlandish decorations, a DJ, party favors, and cocaine. He was a third-generation Greek-American who made it big writing apps for Apple and productivity software for corporate tax attorneys. D’Mitri would often tell him that he wrote code for the predators of the American Dream, but Nick would just shrug it off and point to his Lamborghini or his house by way of defense. D’Mitri arrived at the party just as it was getting crowded. Supermodels from the Americas (North and South), Greece (of course), France (predictably so), and one uniquely pretty one from Iceland had just arrived. The guests were indulging in the expensive seafood, the expensive beef, and the expensive booze, all prepared by expensive chefs. The actual servers, however, were more like D’Mitri: foreign, and wondering if the cocaine laid out on the table was for everyone. All eyes were drawn towards the towering ice sculpture upon arrival. It was a 17-foot-tall replica of the Statue of Liberty. The icy behemoth was surrounded by smaller ice sculptures of people kneeling in front of the lady, hands raised in supplication. What the fuck? D’Mitri wondered. He wasn’t drunk enough - or high enough - to ask Nick about it yet. No one else seemed to wonder about it; in fact, the party guests evinced a distinct lack of wonder at the message. They commented on the size and left it at that. D’Mitri was suddenly accosted by a bear hug from behind and the smell of vodka and caviar on the assailant’s breath. Nick, of course. “Hello, Russian friend! You like?” Nick had released his hold and waved his arms expansively around the room. The Icelandic model was by his side, smiling at us. “This is Helen, my woman. Helen! Say hello to this man!” Nick pushed her forcefully towards me. Helen took it all in stride, literally and figuratively, holding out a hand with amazingly long fingers. “You have the hands of an artist, Helen. Are you an artist?” I asked, trying to be polite in the face of Nick’s boorish behavior. Her laugh was deep and scoffing, a laugh that seemed incongruous with her profession and with the types of people that Nick usually invited to his parties. Like she had brains and a a self-effacing sense of humor. “Yes I am. I travel the world wearing beautiful clothes for which I am paid an exorbitant amount of money. Doesn’t that sound artistic?” She laughed that deep, throaty laugh again. What the hell, D’Mitri thought, is a girl like this doing with a guy like Nick? D’Mitri doubted that Nick even knew where Iceland was. D’Mitri wandered around the rooms, marveling (again) at the size of Nick’s house and the decadence (as per usual) of the party. A bevy of pot-bellied pigs in lady liberty costumes passed D’Mitri. It was a sign of D’Mitri’s desensitization to Nick’s excesses that he barely gave them a look. Even the nude, snake-draped dancers in cages failed to elicit more than a cursory glance from D’Mitri. The booze and the cocaine were starting to affect the party goers. Though Nick had eleven bathrooms, most of the guests were either too high or too drunk to find most of them. Long lines formed in front of the three easily-found bathrooms on the lower floor. Some of the guests, though, didn’t deign to wait. One man took it upon himself to relieve his urinary discomfort on Nick’s back fence. That’s what started it all. “Hey! You! Why are you pissing on my motherfucking fence motherfucker?” The man on the other side of the fence couldn’t be identified, it being dark outside and the dim security lighting did little to alleviate this condition; likewise, the angry man couldn’t identify the mystery man peeing on the fence. I mention this because it is relevant to the story. (As I am the omniscient narrator, my word is inviolate. So go suck an egg if you don’t like it.) D’Mitri heard this exchange and laughed quietly. Hijinks and outside peeing were always funny to guys. So were farting and witnessing someone else’s pain. And they wonder why they have such a tough time getting laid. But I digress. The man with the pissy attitude (see what I did there?) arrived at the party, but he was not alone. He had a large and intimidating-looking pit bull with him, secured to the man’s hand with an actual chain. The dog strained at his metal leash, jerking the man’s arm as if the man were a marionette. “Where the fuck is the pissing guy?” the man shouted at no one in particular. A hundred eyes turned towards the outburst. Most of the guests shrugged and returned to their conversations, their drinks, and the man or woman they were trying to impress. This served to make the man even angrier. Striding inside with his dog, he toured the area with all of the aplomb and personality of a general who just found his wife in bed with a corporal. The dog barked and growled while the man looked for someone who looked as if they would be the type to piss on a man’s fence. What that would look like is anybody’s guess, but the man stuck to his strategy. “Okay you fuckers! Who pissed on my fence? I’m not asking again!” But he did. Several times. No one seemed to care about the man, but the dog was scaring people. They moved away. Not to put too fine a point on it, they abandoned the immediate area that the dog occupied, and they did it with an impressive alacrity. And then the dog got loose from the angry man. It was inevitable, I suppose. The man, being who he was and the dog, being what he was, forced fate’s hand. The dog rushed to and fro, barking and growling and snapping at the well-heeled ankles of the now-terrified guests. This caused a chain reaction of events that resulted in...well, you know the state in which D’Mitri arrived at his house. The angry man tossed the food table over, the crash of expensive food and crystal creating an expensive sound. Shrimp, crab, lobster and caviar slid across the floor and came to rest quietly and serenely against walls and shoes. The tablecloths folded themselves inexpertly, gathering stains the longer they remained on the floor. Guests were stampeding outside, causing a crush of bodies in the foyer. Yep. That’s where lady liberty was chilling. Bodies bumped into bodies, some of the collisions causing some bodies to crash into the ice sculptures. This, in turn, caused the aforementioned bodies to careen into lady liberty. Lady liberty fell. The impact with the floor was resounding; the force of the impact sent shards of ice skittering on the floor, dancing merrily in a chaotic ballet of cold, making friends with the seafood that had been left to its own gruesome fate. And, of course, the police arrived. Several cops were trying to simultaneously secure the dog and avoid its bite. As you can imagine, their success was nonexistent. They yelled at the owner to get his dog under control or else. The man yelled back that he would, after he found the guy who pissed on his fence. The cops retorted with their vague threat of “or else,” and this had the effect of the angry man taking a swing at one of the cops. While all of this was going on. D’Mitri was being bitten by the dog. In a display of questionable decision making, D’Mitri decided to watch the drama with the angry man and the cops unfold. Unfortunately, the dog was doing the same, and the dog spotted D’Mitri’s right ankle as a likely target for his aggressive instincts. Soon, D’Mitri was dancing around, trying to shake the dog from his ankle. In a display of good (if desperate) decision making, D’Mitri decided to rid himself of his pants in an effort to dislodge the dog from his ankle. The trick worked; the dog was left with an empty pair of pants (which it quickly abandoned) and a puzzled expression on its face. D’Mitri was now in the unenviable position of wearing no pants and thus displaying his boxer shorts. The ones that were covered with bags of cashews, almonds and the like. Yes, he was wearing boxers that screamed that they were nut holders. A pretty girl watched as D’Mitri tried to get away from the dog and recover his dignity. He was only half successful at this, but the girl still smiled at him and gave him an invitational wave of the arm. She was behind a trellis, holding a large bowl. The cocaine. “You escaped with your life, at least. I escaped with the coke. I guess we both did a fine job in the melee,” she laughed out the words. The pretty girl frowned at the damage done to his ankle and quickly took sensible action in the form of retrieving a first aid kit from the kitchen. “Bixby. Bixby! Come here! We have a hero in need of your expertise!” The girl looked at D’Mitri before responding, her eyes twinkling with mirth. “Bixby’s a doctor. He’ll fix you right up,” she said. During the time it took the very drunk (or high - or both) Bixby to meander his way to the girl’s voice, the girl had unwrapped a gauze pad and soaked it with vodka and applied a small amount of cocaine to the pad. A paste formed on the surface, looking much more innocent than it was. Bixby applied the gauze and the tape, being extremely liberal with the tape. He was also falling over as he knelt, so the tape often went around D’Mitri’s ankle in exciting and unique directions. “Uh. Bixby. You own stock in this tape company?” Bixby looked at the girl, looked at D’Mitri’s ankle, and shrugged as he stumbled to his feet. The girl had to catch his arm so that he wouldn’t suffer the indignity of falling over the trellis. “Let me take you home, sweetie. You don’t belong here,” she said. She intertwined her fingers with D’Mitri’s and led him to a nearby bench. “What do you mean, I don’t belong here? I was invited!” D’mitri sounded more irritated than he was. “Nick’s acquaintances are all the same types. The progeny of the super-rich, the professionally beautiful, the professionally musical, or the professionally athletic. You are none of these,” the pretty girl looked at D’Mitri and smiled. She smiles a lot, thought D’Mitri, but it isn’t always a happy smile. “No, I still sing for my supper. My 120k salary isn’t especially attractive to Nick’s friends...” “Acquaintances. Nick doesn’t have any friends. Except you!” The pretty girl had just realized why D’Mitri was at the party. “But I get by, you know. I own a house with a nice lawn and a two-car garage. My dog has his shots and I always walk him on a leash. I use my outdoor grill often. I have cable TV and five streaming services. I don’t have Nick’s money, but I’m good.” “I, on the other hand, came from the seed of a billionaire. I go to parties like this one, I attend charity functions for the family, and I am generally left alone to spend as much money as I care to spend, and to use my time in any fashion I choose.” “That’s a nice life,” D’Mitri said, rubbing his ankle. It felt numb from the cocaine. “Yours is better,” she countered. The police were wrapping up the party. The angry man was handcuffed, the dog was under the influence of an electric jolt from a Taser, and tired, high, happy guests were straggling to their chauffeured vehicles. There was broken furniture everywhere, and lady liberty was melting away into an ugly amorphous mass. Vomit was everywhere, looking like a gargantuan Jackson Pollock work spread over grass, floor, and wall. The pretty girl patted D’Mitri on the arm, standing him up and leading him to her vehicle. “C’mon sweetie. I’m taking you home.” D’Mitri turned to her. He wobbled slightly because of his injured ankle, and he was wearing those ridiculous boxers. The pants were M.I.A. He held his head up proudly. “I can make it on my own. Really. I’m fine,” D’Mitri sounded more defiant than he was. The pretty girl looked at him and laughed heartily. He liked that laugh. It was genuine, like the Icelandic model’s laugh. “You aren’t understanding me, sweetie. I am taking. You. Home.” She gave D’Mitri a significant look. “Oh!” D’Mitri finally came to the right conclusion. “Tell me where you live, sweetie. I can’t find your wallet.” D’Mitri patted where his pockets belonged, hitting only boxers and embarrassment. “The cleaning crew will find it. You’ll get it back tomorrow, with everything intact.” D’Mitri looked at her and shook his head. “Maybe missing some money, though.” The pretty girl shook her head forcefully in negation. “No. It is an unfortunate trait in our immigrants that they don’t steal money from a found wallet or handbag. Nor do they purloin the odd piece of jewelry laying around. Deplorable, really,” the pretty girl mused. D’Mitri frowned and faced her after flopping ungraciously into her waiting limousine. The driver was scary by his very implacability, so D’Mitri tried to put him out of his mind. The pretty girl simply ignored the driver after giving him a brief smile. “Unfortunate trait? I don’t...” “No, you don’t. Think like an American, that is. Sad, because you are very American success story. This is the land of the free and the home of the brave isn’t it? Free to pursue your own interests, brave enough to do it by any means necessary. You think my daddy made billions by playing fair? Or Nick?” D’Mitri nodded at her logic. She was, in fact, just like Nick. Or her daddy was, at any rate. Either way, it was a philosophy that was deeply ingrained in her. Her voice broke in on these thoughts. “Yeah, I’m like Nick. But I have lady parts and he doesn’t so...” she turned to D’Mitri and kissed him on the lips. It was one of those kisses that linger sweetly, like the smell of jasmine in the back yard. D’Mitri wanted the lady parts, and more jasmine-lingering kisses. “Home, Jeeves!” he said boisterously. “His name’s Sancho,” the pretty girl said. “Home, Sancho!” The destruction of the party receded into the distance; the aftermath would have to be dealt with in due course. There would be recriminations, wounds, and costs to assume. But there would be another party at some point. And another. And another. Their vague and ephemeral allure would just grow stronger with each subsequent party because...because... “Why are you going home with me?” D’Mitri asked, genuinely intrigued. “A girl has needs, you know?” D’Mitri nodded. So do guys. Even bourgeois guys like him. “Besides,” she said, turning her luscious face to him, “you might die of rabies soon, so I want to get something out of you first.” D’Mitri wanted to be appalled, but he wasn’t. He was, after all, an American.


First there was the light. The light was brighter than the sun. Brighter than the ten-terawatt laser that the ignition facility used. Brighter than the light of a million, billion galaxies that we had yet to discover. It woke me from my slumber. I ignored it, thinking another police helicopter was searching. Then came the shockwave. It blasted across the city like the hand of God, wiping clean the dirty slate of civilization. My window shattered in a burst of glittering, sparking glass, and for just a moment, I was able to see the stars. My eardrums burst. I screamed, blood pouring from my ears, as the drapes covering my window burst into flame. Rolling to the ground, I crawled under the bed and bawled like a toddler. As the pain began to subside, I managed to get my wits about me. *What happened? A bomb, explosion, something nearby?* I shook my head trying to think clearly. *The army? They must need me. Something bad happened. Really bad. Where is Anita? She was in here!* A thousand thoughts raced through my mind at once. Half of the room was engulfed in flames as the light outside subsided. I crawled to the door and flung it open, gasping for cleaner air, only to find more acrid smoke filling my lungs. I half crawled, half tumbled down the stairs in a bloody mess to where the open kitchen was all but gone. The front door had been blown in halfway across the living room. I managed to get to my unsteady feet, my balance all but gone. Stumbling out onto the street, a wave of heat hit my face and made it feel as if it was going to boil away. Wiping away some of the dirt and blood from my eyes, I managed to look up, shielding my eyes from the heat and dust. *Dear god, and all that is good in this world. It happened. Shit, shit shit shit shit shit.* Ahead of me in the city center, a menacing mushroom cloud rose into the sky and proclaimed it's sentence of fiery destruction to all who were near.


Crash! Hailey fell down in the middle of the spin. Mr Guller walked over to her, his face a deep maroon color. “Jenny, what in the world was that?!” She stood up. “Umm, a spin-jazz hands combo? I just... tripped.” She turned to glare at the reason she fell - Tammy Sanchez, mean girl, popular, pretty, catches the eye of every guy. Her middle name was “evil”. They went to high school together, and every day there, she was tormented, ridiculed, intimidated. For no reason, whatsoever. And now, Tammy was trying to get Hailey kicked off the dance team. They were doing a performance at the Christmas Extravaganza, and it was less than 36 hours away. “What kind of spin was that?!” Mr Guller yelled, bringing her back to reality. “Again, I tripped,” Hailey said. Mr Guller’s face deepened in color, if that was even possible. “Bullshit! Take 10, everyone!” He stomped off to his office, most likely to scream in rage or makeout with a cardboard cutout of Jessica Alba. Tammy sashayed over to where Haily had dropped herself. “The poor man... I’d think he would just be fed up with your stupid little mistakes by now, don’t you?” She said in a singsong voice. Hailey stood up again, standing a good 2 and 1⁄2 inches above Tammy. “Why do you hate me?” She asked. She was furious at this brat, but she couldn’t do anything to her, as her father was good friends with the principal of the school. “I don’t hate you.” “Then why must you make my life hell?” “Peer pressure?” “If your dad wasn’t tight with the principal...” “What? You’d beat me up? You’d trip me? Guess what, Hailey, you wouldn’t get a chance! The only time I’m not surrounded by my adoring fans is when I’m in the bathroom. But one time I did find someone in there...” “Ugh!” Hailey stalked off. She walked off the stage into the wings, backstage, out of the auditorium. She walked down the hallways until she reached her locker. “35-12-why is she so mean?” Haily asked herself, putting in her code and popping the lock off. She dug through her backpack to find her phone, and she unlocked it. No new notifications. Well, there was one from her mom, but that didn’t count in her mind. Laughter rippled down the hall from the auditorium, but Hailey ignored it. Mom: I’ll pick you up at 5? Love you, be safe! <3 Augh, moms. She glanced at the time. 4:36. Twenty-four more minutes. She heard Mr Guller screaming at everyone to hurry back to their spots, so she put her phone back in her bag, locked her locker, and ran back to the auditorium. She got to her place just as the music started, and she started dancing. Step, step, shimmy, kick kick, swoop, turn, wiggle, shimmy shimmy, back step back step, point, 2, 3, 4, step step, shimmy, kick kick, swoop, “Whoa!” Hailey toppled on top of Tammy, who had just tripped her, again. Mr Guller slammed the pause button, and stomped towards Hailey. “Hailey, stop falling!” He screamed. “I didn’t! Tammy tripped me, again! She’s trying to get me kicked off the team!” Mr Guller looked at Tammy. “Is this true?” Tammy stood up. “No! I might have accidentally tripped her, but I’m not trying to get her kicked off!” Mr Guller turned his head slowly towards Hailey. “Hailey, it is one thing to be late, to mess up, or to fall. But falling on top of Tammy, and lying?! I AM THIS CLOSE TO KICKING YOU OFF THE TEAM!!” He screamed, showing her his pointer finger and thumb, just an inch apart. He stalked off into the wings. Tammy walked over to Hailey. “I expected more from him. Perhaps kicking you off. Sad.” Hailey whipped around to glare at Tammy. She had tears in her eyes and her face was red. “Aww, you gonna cry?” Tammy asked in a crybaby tone. She really didn’t like talking normally. Hailey had had enough of Tammy’s bullshit. She had been dealing with it since grade 7. So, instead of talking it out, she balled up her fist, and aimed right for Tammy’s perfect face. Tammy fell on the floor, and everyone immediately surrounded her. Before anyone could glare at her, go tell Mr Guller, or anything, she ran. Hailey ended up walking home. All she wanted was peace and quiet for Christmas. It was one and a half miles to get back home, but she didn’t care. She walked in silence, tears falling down her face. She really hated being pushed around and bullied. She also hated violence, though. She knew that she would probably be suspended, and her parents would ground her until her 21st birthday. When Hailey finally got home, her parents were standing in the dining room, looking worried. She closed the door, and her parents looked up to see their daughter. They rushed towards her, saying how scared they were, how worried, and “don’t do that ever again!”. She was looking down the entire time, but when she looked up, her parents asked what was wrong. Apparently, it was very evident that she had been crying. She tried to hold back tears as she told them that she punched someone, but the water flooded the dam. Her parents hugged her while she cried. They told her that she would be grounded for three days, no phone until then either, but she didn’t care. The three days went by fast. She was still sad, and her parents were slightly disappointed (especially when they had to pay $485 for abuse to Tammy’s parents), but they still had a wonderful few days together. Then, the day before Christmas, her parents woke her up at 4:30 in the morning. They brought her to the car, and they started driving. She woke up at 5:03 at the airport. Her parents led her through check in, security, and finding the gate. First they stopped at Starbucks for breakfast. “OK, I’ve held it off long enough. Where are we going?” Hailey asked. “You’ll see,” her parents replied. After 10 minutes, an announcement came on overhead. “ Attention. Flight 294 to Hawaii is now boarding. Flight 294 is now boarding. ” Her parents grabbed their carry-ons and stood up. Hurriedly, she stood up too, thinking they were preparing to get on another plane. But they started walking to the Hawaii gate. Hailey’s eyes widened as she watched her parents turn around and motion for her to follow. When she finally did, next stop, peace, quiet, and Hawaii.


“Thomas, come here and add this log to the fire.” His speech was cut off with a big resounding cough. “But father, I’m cold and tired.” I squeaked out. I was always cold, but I knew that if I stood up, the tiny spot of warmth that came from curling up next to my sleeping mother would be gone. My legs shook at just the thought of crawling off the mattress and making my way across our tiny house my father build a few weeks earlier. He looked at me from his position of the other side of my mother and gave me a strange smile that looked like he was hurting, “Thomas, we cannot let the fire go down, otherwise, you and your mother and I will be much colder than we already are.” “Okay.” I shifted out of the blanket, and struggled to stand; trying to force my numb legs and arms to move out of their position. I had barely managed to get my feet under me when the wooden walls spun around and around until I fell over, crying out as my knees crashed onto the hard, frozen dirt. “Thomas baby, please do not hurt yourself.” My mother gasped. “He’s just fine Jane,” my father whispered to my mother. My vision cleared enough that I could see my mother, her eyes were squinted open and she weakly reached her hand out to me. “I can do it mother, go back to sleep.” I took a deep breath and looked back down at my hands; I had fallen right next to the last dry log we had. I forced my fingers to curl around it and drag it over to the dying coals of the fire. I dumped it on the orange embers with a small grunt. Nothing happened at first, but I sat and watched as the outer portions of the log began to catch on fire. I waved my hands near the small flame, feeling the warmth wrap around my hands and seep into my bones. “Thomas, come back now, we have to warm up together.” I wordlessly crawled back, not trusting myself to try to stand, and slid back under the thin blanket. I pressed my cold face against my mother’s shoulder and she responded by slowly winding her arm around me and pulled me close. Her skin was hot to the touch-even as I felt her shiver with a deeper cold that I did not feel. I looked over at my father, curled up on her other side, mirroring me with his head resting on her shoulder and staring at me with sad eyes. “Is mother going to get better?” I whispered. He was quiet, and for a moment I thought I had asked about one of those grown-up things that grown-ups only tell you when you are grown-up yourself, until he whispered back, “I pray everyday that she will.” “That is why we sailed to the Americas right?” I asked, remembering the quiet and hurried conversation as my mother and father woke me up in the middle of the night when we left England. They told me then that it was so we could pray to God whenever we wanted, and so we wouldn’t have to hide or be afraid of soldiers coming to get us. “Exactly.” “Then why did we leave Holland?” He sighed, “go to sleep Thomas, get some rest so we can all get better.” I closed my eyes, and as I fell asleep, my thoughts unknowingly slipped out in a breathy whisper, “But if we stayed in Holland, we wouldn’t be so cold.” The comforting emptiness of sleep flew away as someone knocked on the door to our small shack. Bitter cold wind rushed through the fabric wrapped around me, but I was too tired to do anything but squeeze myself tighter against my mother and wait for it to be over. My eyes were still squeezed shut as I listened to the soft voices of my father and the man that had entered our home. “Mr. Tinker? It’s me, Myles Standish.” “Myles, how good to see you!” My father’s voice sounded so quiet and weak compared to the strong tone of this soldier. “I brought you something,” something landed on top of the thin blanket wrapped around me, I squinted my eyes slightly to see that it was another blanket. “Myles! Where did you get this? I thought there was only one per family?” “Well...” There must have been something in the sergeant's expression that I couldn’t see, but my father muttered a soft “oh” in understanding. I could smell the stench of old sick on the blanket, and wondered what happened to whoever had been sick on it. But I could feel everything getting a bit warmer, so I was glad he brought it. “How are they holding up?” the man whispered, changing the subject. My father sighed, and a great sadness permeated his voice. It was so thick and overwhelming that it caught in his throat multiple times. “Jane is close. She’s always been strong but, this sickness is keeping her out of consciousness most of the time now. And the boy is so tired and weak-I don’t think he has caught whatever this illness is yet-but once he does, I wonder if he will last to his 9th birthday. It is only 2 months away, in February.” His voice broke as he said these words. I was not sure what he meant, would I not have a birthday this year? “And what about you Thomas?” It was always strange hearing people call my father by his first name. I was named after him, so we are both called Thomas, but to me, he is just my father. “It has gotten a hold of me too. I can feel it in every breath I take. At this point, I know I am going to watch them go, and then join them myself in the heavens.” My father took a deep breath before asking, “How bad is it with the rest of the colony?” “It is not looking good. Right now there are about 2 or 3 passing every day. Even William Bradford has fallen ill.” “No...” “I am afraid it is true. But remember: Always hold onto hope my friend. I brought you this as well. Just some dried meat, and a pail of boiling water. It is still hot, so wait for it to cool, then it will warm you up nicely from the inside.” I heard a soft clink as the sergeant set something on the packed dirt floor. “Thank you so much.” There was a note of desperation in his voice now, as if this was the last thing he would ever say to his friend. “Not just for this, but for everything you have done for me and my family since we fell ill.” “Of course! You are my friend, and one of the best carpenters we have. You built half of the houses that we have now yourself! Anything I have done is repayment in kind for all the good you have brought to this colony. You deserve so much more than this.” My father responded with a round of wet and shaky coughs. All I could hear was the pain in each hack that turned into quiet sobs, and the soft murmurs of comfort from Mr. Standish. When all was silent again, Mr. Standish whispered a farewell, and slipped out the door. It was quiet for so long, I wondered if my father had fallen asleep. But then he gently shook my mother awake. I opened my eyes as well to see him smiling at us. “What is it father?” “Look,” he said, holding out a few strips of dried meat to us, “we are going to have a family dinner, just like we always do.” My mother looked at the pieces that he gave to each of us, before taking some of hers and pushing it into his hands. “If this is a family dinner,” she rasped, “then everyone in the family must eat.” My father smiled at her, before bowing his head and murmuring a quiet prayer of thanks. When he raised his eyes again, he continued. “So, I realized there was something we are not doing,” he glanced at my mother and me in the eyes, “we need to feed our souls as well as our bodies." “How do we do that?” I asked, cuddling closer to my mother. “We need to remind ourselves of all the things we have to be grateful for.” My mother interrupted by forcefully heaving a round of coughs. She spat whatever came up into the dirt behind my head. Her voice was a croak, but I could still make out her words, “We do have so much to be thankful for. Why don’t you go first Thomas?” She gently stroked my father’s cheek before falling into another round of coughs. I wanted to tell her to stop speaking, since it only seemed to make it worse, but stopped when I saw the radiant smile she gave my father. “I am eternally grateful for men like Myles Standish," my father began, "who have taken care of us these past couple of weeks.” He bit off a small piece of his food and drank from the pail of water Mr. Standish had brought. “It is your turn Thomas, say what you are thankful for, and then have some of your meat.” “But I am not hungry, father.” “Thomas, you must eat. You cannot get better if you do not eat.” I wanted to obey my father, I knew I had not eaten in a while, and that I should be hungry; but the thought of eating something made my stomach clench painfully. “I am thankful for my mother and father.” I shoved a tiny bite into my mouth and my father handed me the heavy pail of still steaming water. I blew on it and sipped some of it down, feeling the warmth slide down my throat. I smiled back at my father and handed the water back to him. Then I looked up at my mother. Her face was shiny in the firelight. “Mother, why are you crying?” “Because,” her voice was still weak, but was choked with emotion instead of bile. “I just love you and your father so much. And I am so thankful that we made it.” “Made what?” She pulled me closer and whispered in quiet awe, “We made it to freedom.” I looked back to the selfish thought I had about staying in Holland. I had said that without thinking about how life had really been there. We were no longer under English rule, but we were not truly free in Holland. I remembered the tired look on my father’s face after coming home from a long day at the carpenter's shop with barely anything to show for it. I remembered the dread in my parent’s eyes when they spoke about a coming war between Holland and Spain. I remembered the frustration when dealing with other religious groups that disagreed with us. I remembered the fear we all felt when some of those sects threatened violence. And I also remembered the joy on their faces when the sailors first caught sight of land after our long voyage on the Mayflower . My father helped my mother bring the food to her mouth, and pour some hot water down her throat. “I am thankful for Jesus Christ, and the sacrifice he made so that we could live in Heaven together forever. I know that one day, we will live together in true freedom, and be warm and happy and together as a family. No matter what happens, we are a family, and will always be together.” He wiped away the tears that rolled down his face; smiling through it all as we huddled together on a thin, dirty mattress. We finished the rest of the food in satisfied silence. And I fell asleep that cold winter night with a full heart, a full belly, and a mind full of thankful thoughts. “Thomas Tinker and his wife and sone all dyed in the first sicknes.” -William Bradford


A tense conversation with an armed man where I lost five hundred dollars. I rolled my car window down. The man's thin lips opened with his scripted, opening robotic speech. I assumed the role. “I'm officer blank.” I was half listening. More so skimming for important information. “I pulled you over because, blank. You are being recorded, blank.” I must’ve looked like a deer in the headlights or maybe dead eyed. I shook my head. I had smart ass comments to all these lifeless statements. Smart for me anyway. I was listening intermintly. I had all the soon to be requested plastic and paper in my hands. I was guilty. My fate sealed. No way out. I waited. Behind him the gawkers gawked. Rubberneckers failed to keep their cars straight. A single horn. No deaths yet. My only hope. The lights flashed & blinded. “You know why I stopped you?” Sterile. A statement rather than a question. Spoken down at me while he wore sunglasses as dark as an open manhole cover wearing a hat that no one would wear if it weren't a requirement. “Yes.” Attempting to play robot too. “License and registration please.” I handed it to him. “So I stopped you because you were going nearly double the posted speed limit. Why did you feel the need to do that? Are you going to an emergency?” Tell the truth I thought. What emergency? You know what you were doing. Tell the truth. There's no getting away from this, maybe lie and talk your way out of it. You're quick enough right? How bad can it get? Try it? You're definitely not getting your license back might as well double down and take a chance. Or tell the truth. Silence and then I firmly said “Sorry, no emergency. I just wanted to go for a drive and got carried away.” Damn. Without a change of tone. “ok. You know there’s a lot of deers on this road? In your little car and at the speed you were going you could have easily been seriously injured or worse. I’ll be right back.” I could’ve gone the death wish route, maybe I still can. It's kinda true. So was my kinda truth. I did leave my job in a hurry. I don’t like how my life is ending up. I’m not ok. What normal person would drive twice the speed limit on an interstate. I wouldn’t have minded it. Sure might’ve been dramatic but it would seem like a genuine accident. I wouldn’t have minded if it did happen. I know the risk. Unfortunately sober. I stewed in the silence knowing the truth. The officer returned. “Ok so I've knocked the fine down a bit. You can pay online or through mail and there's other options there as well. Do you have any questions?” “No thanks. You” I spit out. “Ok. Drive safe.” He walked away. I never turned my car off. I switched the car into sport mode, lowered the emergency brake, and slowly let the car move forward. I looked into the rear view mirror for traffic and the cop. I resumed the music that was never paused, only lowered. I then adjusted it to the proper volume for a late night drive. I accelerated. Foot about half way down. Fast but not as fast as I could. I still have a nerve. It was quick. Nothing dramatic. He didn’t follow. I hit the cruise control at the speed limit and exhaled. I made my way to an exit and hit a traffic light. As I waited I looked at the ticket. Bold letters said: **Speeding in excess of a posted speed limit of 65 miles an hour by 20 miles an hour or more. 5 Points and a 500 dollar fine.** Well, could’ve been worse.


I was starting my second year at The Academy. I had narrowly survived the first year after the minotaur stampede that the Dark Mage Halloran unleashed. Gods only know why he is after Johan. He isn’t that good a mage, to begin with. Always seems to be up to some kind of mischief. I make my way down the hallway and pass Johan and his friends. They are speaking in whispers. Clearly, they think Haloran is going to return this year. I really hope he doesn’t. I’m here for a simple course to research and get my degree in herbology with a minor in Artificing. I do not need mad mages ruining my experiments and burning the dorm where my thesis is kept. It is by the Gods mercy I used flame magic proof paper and ink. Giving a friendly wave to a pair of first-years who are gaping around the building. Oh, how I miss those days. So naive. So clueless to the hell they are about to step into. I finally reach my goal of the Professor's meeting room. I, along with a few other exemplary students, have been called for a meeting. Stepping into the room, I can see every professor lined up. There is even Lord Sloth, for once not in his research building. This must be an important meeting if he is here. “Thank you, Alan, for joining us”, Professor Alex says, gesturing for me to stand alongside five other students standing stock still. “Sir, why have we been called here?” Alora asks, flicking her hair in the haughty way she usually does. “That is...” Lord Sloth begins before trailing off. “Before we begin, we will need you to sign a blood contract that what we tell you will not leave your lips after you walk out this room”, Professor Yuu says, rolling out a parchment covered in ancient runes. “A blood contract?” I exclaim. Using such a thing on students means this is beyond anything a normal mage will be handling. Hesitantly I sign along the bottom along with each of the other students. Finally, we each prick our finger and allow a single drop of blood to fall on the page. The blood is absorbed and vanishes. “Good with that; we can continue,” Lord Sloth says with a smile. “We wish for you boys and girls and quex to become School Prefects”, Sloth explains. “Why the shecreshy shir?” Quexly asks, their tongue flickering. “Simple, while you’ll have your normal duties, you will have additional ones on top of what your fellows will do”, Sloth explains, resting his elbows on the table and steepling his fingers. “What would that be, sir?” I ask. “Simple, you are aware of Johan, I take it?” Sloth asks. The group of students all nod. “Perfect, your first task will be to harass him and his group of friends at every single turn. Every minor infraction you see must be punished with the maximum sentence”, Sloth explained. I and the others all had perplexed looks. While it would be enjoyable to exact some revenge on Johan, this seems unbelievably petty. “Why?” Alora asks, dropping her haughty act. “Simple, you will be ‘Under the Control’ of good sir Halloran”, Sloth explains, gesturing to a door that was opened. In stepped the Dark Mage Halloran, who gave a sheepish wave. I and the others instantly readied our wands and equipment. Prepared to fight this mad mage. Had he taken control of the teachers? This really was a worst-case scenario. A loud finger snap echoed from behind us, and I could feel my mana being suppressed by an overbearing level of mana. Turning around, I saw Professor Alex wag his finger at us. Before pointing back to sloth. “You see, you lot are the most exceptional students of the second years. So we will let you in on a little secret. We have a program where an old retired professor will return to menace some of the....” Sloth trailed off as if looking for the right words. “More problematic students. The simpletons. The legacies. The ones who think they have grand destinies”, Sloth explained. “So all the chaos?” I begin. “Completely staged. These brats who think they are the best are going to leave school realising they peaked and fall to the obscurity they so rightly deserve”, Sloth said with venom dripping from his voice. “I am aware how this will sound coming from me. But we do not like nor tolerate slothful students”, Sloth said sardonically. I, along with the others, was stunned and confused. “But yoush are meant to teash shtudentsh”, Quexly shouted. “And we do, but some students will never learn. We identify them in the first month and set loose a Dark Mage on them”, Professor Yuu explained. “But this is disruptive to other students”, Alora protested. “Is it though? Our attacking mages never harm other students. They ensure no work is destroyed. Professors even make sure any experiments that may be ruined are protected”, Professor Alex explained. “If anything, many students feel motivated to improve all the more to stand above this outside threat”, Grund, the combat teacher, added finally speaking up. “Indeed, we see an upswing in grades whilst doing these things”, Sloth nodded. “So we are to be Halloran’s cronies as it were?” I asked. Halloran nodded. “Bully them, punish them at every turn. Make their lives as difficult as possible if you are ever confronted, act ignorant. Worse case, they follow you, and we can pretend you were mind-controlled. Works every time”, Halloran said. So much for a quiet year was all I could think as I accepted the prefect's badge. At least I would get a bunch of extra credit points for this.


Ten Days to Hell or Health Suzanne Marsh January 1, 2021 Dear Journal, Tomorrow I begin a new diet. Yes, I know I say that every year, and I fail miserably. Not this year, I am determined to take off at least ten pounds in ten days. How you may ask. Simple the No Sugar No Carb diet. I am also going to begin to exercise. This will be a first for the couch potato queen. You can bow to me later, after I complete the diet. The diet looks easy enough the exercise I am not so sure about. Somehow, I think I should have done this thirty years ago instead of waiting until I turned fifty. My new mantra is: "I can do this!" I did my grocery shopping yesterday for the next ten days. Perhaps I will look like Marilyn Monroe, I could dye my hair platinum blond, get some silicon implants, gee with my new figure and looks, I could look like a frumpy Marilyn Monroe. Until tomorrow when I start my diet... Dear Journal, Day 1 My new years resolution is now in effect, this diet takes ten days. This should entice my taste buds according to what I have read, Apple Cider Vinegar three times per day, I just had my first taste, it is bitter, it did not help; now I lust for more sweets. I was supposed to have scrambled eggs, with spinach and mushrooms, instead a nice big piece of cake was so much nicer. After the cake, I knew I should have oatmeal, the oatmeal looked like wallpaper paste, it tasted that way too. Ugh! Black coffee...it needs SUGAR AND CREAMER. I am not so sure this is such a great idea. I can't even begin the damn diet correctly. Actually oatmeal seemed like a great idea at the time. However I did learn an invaluable lesson: NEVER MAKE OATMEAL IN THE INSTAPOT. It seems if you don't watch the thing closely it can and will build up to much pressure, I now have ceiling with oatmeal plopping down onto any surface in the kitchen; including me. I simply do not understand how one cup of oatmeal could completely destroy the kitchen. Day 2 My exercise routine began this morning, I am still questioning myself as to why I even got out of bed. I wonder if can declare myself legally insane. I began with the correct breakfast of scrambled eggs, sliced avocado and tomato. No substance but okay I suppose. The exercises are a trip! They are supposed to be heart healthy, let me tell you the sadist, I would really like to meet him or her. I do believe I would have several words to say, and they would be very colorful. The first thing was twenty five squats, by the time I got five my legs felt as they were about to fall off. Fifteen I was beginning to wobble, by the time I got to twenty five I was tottering. Forget the other exercises, I am going to go to the gym. I guess I need a class in flexibility. Day 3 Being out of shape is the least of my problems. I think I sprained my body, if that is possible! I went to the gym yesterday and enrolled. Today I met with my personal trainer, who must have graduated from the Marquise de School of Sadism. She was a really tiny woman with the pep of a ten year old. She began the session with push ups, I now have muscle sprains where I never knew I had muscle. The muscle must be well hidden, I am rather flabby but this was ridiculous. The next thing the class did was to get on various machines: the tread mill was okay but some of the other torture devises...well let's just say oh no oh hell no! Day 4 First of all I need a sugar fix, this diet is making me crazy, exercise is making me so tired I fell asleep in the lazy boy while watching the boobie tube. I don't ever remember what I was watching, although I am sure it must have the Food Channel. Snacks are a nightmare of their own, nothing sweet. There is something about sunflower seeds that is revolting. Almonds yech! walnuts are okay but for ten days...I think not. Lunch today was a giant fiasco. What sane person has chicken wrapped in lettuce grilled, it looked like green slime, after I grill the slime then I added snap peas, bell peppers, and mushrooms. I dislike bell peppers and I detest mushrooms, they taste like earthy shoe leather. I hate this diet but I am going to stick with it! Day 5 If and I mean if I survive the diet from hell I will have lost my mind along with ten pounds! This is the half way point, hallelujah! I may just treat myself to a hot fudge Sunday. No, that is not a good idea, that could put five pounds back on. I went to the gym today, there I met another woman about my age fifty. I asked her what made her decide to come to a gym where torture machines were no doubt located. She smiled: "Well, I decided after my sister had a heart attack it was time to shed about fifteen pounds. I was once a very active person, now on a good day I am a couch potato." "I am grappling with loosing ten pounds in ten days. I guess I should try to stick to this diet but it is not easy. I was entertaining the idea of splurging with a hot fudge Sunday." "Don't do it, that poison to your body!" That was enough of that! I could see out of the corner of my eye the instructor smirking. This was not a smirking moment! Day 6 Here I sit, pen in hand wondering why I undertook this damn diet! Yesterday I rented a treadmill so I don't have to go to the gym to use one. I thought it was a great idea until I began to use it. I had no idea what the numbers were for, so ten seemed like a good number. The damn thing took off like a scalded cat. I had no idea my legs and feet could go that fast as I clung to the rails. Not only did I get an all body work out, I broke two toes and have a black and blue butt. Whoopee! I may send the treadmill back I don't think I can use something that attempts to hurt me! Day 7 Three more days of torture, three more days of this diet! Three is a good number. I am in the process of making dinner: baked chicken, green beans and kale chips. The adventures of eating right. The baked chicken was really good with a dash of lemon. Green beans are great. Kale chips are terrible, sort of like eating freshly mowed grass. It is green and tastes awful. Glad I did not boil it. That most certainly would have been barf material. I have no doubt it would have looked like the spinach like Mom used to make it reminded me of algae that grows in water. Talk about something unappetizing, that is it! Day 8 One more day, I know I can do this! I feel better, my clothes fit better. Tomorrow I weigh myself. I don't know if I am ready for the revelation but at least I stuck to the diet, that is more than I have managed up to this point. I started this particular New Years resolution twenty five years ago. I have tried every diet that has come out since then and there must be at least one hundred or more by now! I don't know if I am bragging or complaining! Day 9 Not only have I rounded a corner but I am eating healthier than I ever did. I still would like a sugar fix, but thus far I have been good. Resistance, I suppose pays off in the long run. I had roasted turkey, no stuffing...that part sucked eggs! The salad almost cleaned out the ten day diet from hell! The salad had lettuce, bell pepper, walnuts, mushrooms...those still taste like earthy shoe leather. I guess my next New Years resolution is stop being so sarcastic, the damn diet does work. Day 10 Day ten, imagine that. The very first thing I did this morning was to weigh myself. I lost ten pounds!!!!! Ten pounds, imagine! I guess the ten day wonder diet does work, although it more like the ten day wonder diet from hell. I now weigh one hundred and fifty pounds. Since I am fifty and also weigh one fifty I guess fifty is nifty. The treadmill has been returned. I still attend the gym...although I am sore from stretches and a machine whose designer was a masochist! Was the trials and tribulations worth it...yes I think so. I now have the energy to walk the dog...a mile a day up from one block every six weeks. I am very pleased with myself...I went out and bought a brand new set of jeans...no more stretch pants for this girl! Hallelujah and amen!


Dear Diary, Why are heroes so destructive, and why is insurance so hard to get these days? I feel like the two are connected. Seriously though, it’s frustrating. While they fly around, smashing into buildings, throwing away bystanders' lives like worthless trash, the rest of us are left with physical and financial reminders of our average-ness. Yeah, I get it, Spectacular-Man. You can shoot lasers from your eyes and I can’t. Did you really have to slice my aunt’s car in half, though? Was that really necessary? My mom suggested I start keeping a journal of everything that’s going on. “A mess like this only happens once in a lifetime,” she said. “You’ll want to be able to tell your kids one day.” If I live to have kids. Anyway, I’ve never been much of a writer, Diary, so please excuse my lack of linguistic expertise. You’ll get used to it quickly. Dear Diary, It’s been two weeks since the aliens touched down and three days since my first entry. It’s scary how quickly I’ve become accustomed to the chaos around me. When the end of the world seems imminent, you’d think people would be too busy losing their minds to worry about anything else, yet here I am, sitting at school, watching teachers scramble to put up sound-proof padding on the walls. As if that’s enough to keep out the muffled sounds of the intergalactic war going on outside. The worst part? This shitty school lunch sitting in front of me is the most upsetting part of my day so far. I forgot to pack my lunch this morning because I was too busy trying to save my neighbors from the wreckage of their apartment. Somehow, a tussle between a gang of “teen heroes” and some aliens made its way to my part of town. I only caught a glimpse of their faces before they flew away, but I could have sworn that one of the “heroes” was my science partner last year. He couldn’t even dissect a dead frog without passing out, and now we’re expecting him to help save the world? The aliens have a slimy appearance, somewhat similar to frogs, so I’m not sure how he held it together through the fight. You may have noticed my quotation marks around the word “hero” in that last paragraph. When you think of a hero, what comes to mind? Most likely someone who saves people, right? Maybe with huge muscles and an even bigger ego? Not a scrawny white kid with shitty energy-manipulation powers and a savior complex. Definitely not a scrawny white kid with a severe lack of upper-body strength (such a lack that, after realizing he was not able to lift the rubble HE created in an unnecessary fight, decided to flee the scene and leave his old science partner to save the people whose lives he ruined.) Definitely not that, right? Right? So yeah. I didn’t have time to pack my lunch. I hate being treated like a device for character development. Dear Diary, I’m becoming more and more glad that I chose this thick leather notebook over the flimsy composition book I was considering using for this... documentation? Is that the right word? I don’t know. My education has gone sharply downhill these past few weeks. My aunt finally got some compensation for her car, though. She found some loophole in her insurance agency's “no coverage for super-human accidents” policy since Spectacular-Man is technically part demigod. God, that’s not a sentence you get to say often. When I was a little boy, I use to pray every night that I would magically wake up with powers. Teleportation, or maybe fire breath. Anything I could use for good. I’m glad God never answered. I shit on these super-freaks a lot, but it’s gotta be a lot of stress for them to suddenly be thrust into the spotlight like this. We had a lot of good Samaritan types before, just intercepting muggings and pulling cats out of trees. Local stuff like that. Nothing nearly as destructive as foreign life forms with a thirst for human brains. I didn’t even know that Scrawny Dude had powers. I guess “energy-manipulation” (whatever those buzzwords mean) isn’t a very useful power for everyday life, so it’s not surprising he kept it secret. Dear Diary, My mom says I should make copies of my entries in case you get destroyed. She seemed adamant about it. I think she’s still in disbelief I even listened to her. I was too lazy to copy all my writing again, so I just took pictures of the pages with my phone and copied them onto my computer. I think that’s good enough. Dear Diary, My mom was right. Your first body got destroyed, along with everything else in my locker. And every other locker at Standard High. Thanks, Tornado-Woman, great work keeping us safe! Now you’re that flimsy composition book I mentioned earlier. Should I rewrite everything, or just print off the pictures I took and tape them in here? I’m leaning towards the second option. I hope the library is still offering students free printing privileges. On second thought, I hope it’s even still standing. Dear Diary, Boy, oh boy, oh boy. Where do I begin? Tell me which phrase sticks out to you most: Alien egg nest, rip-off Teen Titans , hospital stay, or super-science-buddy? Should I just go in order? I think I’m just gonna go in order. It all started last Thursday. That’s when my notebook got destroyed. I briefly mentioned that a hero named Tornado-Woman was responsible for the locker massacre. I criticized her techniques, which, in hindsight, I must apologize for. I am sorry Tornado-Woman. You were definitely right to tear through the rows of metal cubbies with no explanation while all the confused high schoolers around you begged you to stop. My bad. I’m only half-kidding. Basically, she had noticed that a lot of the aliens were congregating around the high school and snaking somewhere underground. She suspected that it was some sort of nest and thought they were using our lockers as incubators. Her hunch was halfway right. At lunch the next day, an announcement was released to the whole school calling for an evacuation. Everyone filed out in line, except for a few kids. Remember “Scrawny Dude” who almost killed my neighbors? Well, apparently he has a whole super posse . These “heroes” decided that this infestation was their moment to shine. Literally. One of them has the power to turn into a ball of light. How useless. I’m getting off-track. Anyway, they all ran back in and decided to handle this mess all by themselves, once and for all. This lasted about five minutes before they realized they’d bit off more than they could chew. Most of the freaks retreated, except for Scrawny Dude and the Light Girl. I guess it was like, dark, or something, down in the basement where they found the nest, so Light Girl did her thing and became... light. Here’s the thing: she doesn’t actually turn into solid light. There’s some sort of core or center that is super hot. Usually, this isn’t important, because usually, she’s not surrounded by highly flammable gross-alien-space-egg-goo-shit. So long story short, the whole basement erupted into flames. Light Girl was fine, she just phased through a wall in her light form to escape, leaving Scrawny Dude alone and really wishing he had a different power. Ok, get ready, because this is where I come in. I, in a stroke of absolute genius-ness, remembered that the main entrance to the basement was only a few steps behind the exit I used. Adrenaline took over my body and before I knew it, I was in the building. Within seconds, I located the door, crept along the wall, and finally wrapped my fingers around the handle... but, before I could pull, I heard thunderous applause from outside. My mind raced. Was it for me? I hadn’t even done anything yet. Were my peers so amazed by my bravery that they preemptively gave me a standing ovation? The possibilities whirled through my brain before I saw it: Scrawny Dude, draped across the shoulders of an invisible form, emerging from halfway across the building. The figure set him down on the ground before materializing as a short blonde girl, now doubled over and coughing. Someone got to him first. I didn’t even have time to react before a blast of heat from the staircase in front of me shot me backward, straight into a giant window. I had been holding the door open as I took in the scene around me, and in that time, the fire spread onto some explosive chemicals in a storage closet. That’s what I’m told, at least. I lost consciousness pretty soon after. When I woke up again, I was in the hospital. I’m writing this entry in the so-called privacy provided by the flimsy blue curtain strung in the middle of the room. Due to the recent influx of injuries these past few weeks, the hospitals have had to get crafty about making more space. I caught a glimpse of the person behind the curtain; it’s the blonde girl who saved Scrawny Dude. I’ve watched feet shuffle in and out of the room all day, all of them barely noticing me before ducking behind the cloth wall to bring her gifts and kind words. Nobody came for me. Scrawny Dude showed up at one point. He looked fine, just a few bandages here and there, maybe a cough or two every few minutes. He gave me a sad smile and wave before leaving. Now I feel bad for forgetting his name.


Harley and I were just walking down the street, he was wearing army fatigues, while I was carrying my tri pillow and evocca bag with the essentials in it. I'm not sure where we were, but things changed fast. It started with the silence, the dead calm in the middle of the street. Cars stopped, people looked to the skies, and a second later the world erupted into chaos, a chaos that would never end. Harley grabbed my hand and we ran, explosions surrounded us as we dodged falling debris, just trying to make sense of what was going on. We kept running until we came across a school that appeared to be untouched, but was surrounded by people, looking scared and confused. We stayed there for a little while, trying to get answers from people, but they were too scared to say much, we just caught snatches of conversation about, "it was like they came from no where." The school was packed with people, but we found a corner in a classroom to curl up for the night, it was cold and the floor hard. Neither of us slept well that night. The next morning, we soon found out what "they" were. They were monsters, ugly huge greenish monsters, and they were packing some serious weapons. Harley was a corporal in the army so he was soon pushed into being the leader of the group of civilians, and it became a war. The evacuation began. We found an army helicopter sitting in the gymnasium, no one knew why it was there but for us it seemed like a miracle, as it was just what we needed. Harley and I led the pack, he knew how to fly so he was going first, but in the rush we got separated from each other, next thing I knew, the helicopter was packed to the rim, and I was left outside. I told Harley to leave, he had to. There were too many lives at stake, and i Knew he would come back for me. As I melted back into the crowd, yelling 'I love you' over the sound of the propellers, it occurred to me that I may never see him again. And I didn't. Months later. The zone I was in had turned desolate, buildings surrounded by desert. It was a safe zone for humans, but not by much. We had set up temporary beds inside the buildings that lined the street, store fronts mostly. The school where I'd last seen Harley, had been reduced to ash some time ago, by our fighters. I had tried to locate Harley's friends, to see if they had seen or heard from him, but I could not find them. The world had changed so much in so little time. The sun was high in the sky, the sand blowing around my feet, I was walking down what used to be a very busy street. It was hot, but I kept the blanket around me to hide from the sun and severe winds. I had heard whispers in the wind, so often thinking it was Harley's voice, that now it was just a cruel comfort, of what I used to have. But even if he was to find me again, he would not recognise me, as I had lost so much weight in these harsh times. I was in a shroud of sadness and isolation. On the wind I heard him call my name. My heart didn't skip, I didn't form any hope. It was just another day, the wind being cruel. But it wasn't just another day, because in the distance I could make out a figure, walking toward me. I could not see his face through the wind, but I knew him immediately.


March 10 th . 2015 As the sun sets in the distance, the mourners start to disperse. One by one, they turn and walk away, giving Roxanne a gentle pat on the shoulder, or a sympathetic nod as they pass her on the way out. Eventually, she’s the only one left, stony-faced, still staring at the fresh mound of earth beneath which her best friend now rests. Pretty white and pink roses are strewn on the grave, and as the trees sway in the cool, gentle breeze, the weight of the reality finally hits her: Janet is gone. Her best friend of 30 years is gone. She’s never coming back. Ever. Roxanne heaves a sigh of relief. ---------------------------------------------------------------- January 25 th . 2000 “No, no, no! Janet! Wake up!” Roxanne’s shrill voice rent the otherwise still air, her screams echoing off the walls of the empty building. Tears streamed down her bony cheeks as regret flooded her entire being. Her trembling body was bent over the motionless girl lying flat on her back, limp, blonde hair plastered across her face. Janet William’s pale face looked lifeless, although the gentle rise and fall of her ribs indicated otherwise. At first glance, she didn’t seem hurt. But her legs. Her pudgy legs were bent at odd angles, almost as if they’d been pulled violently apart. Roxanne couldn’t breathe . How could she have been so careless? How could she, Roxanne Jones, a state swimmer, have let her guard down for a minute? She shouldn’t have gone along with this stupid idea. Everyone knew that the disused swimming pool was cursed. How could she have allowed Janet to get to the top of the diving platform? 30 metres above the ground, built over 20 years ago and hadn’t been maintained in the last 5 years. The platform wasn’t sturdy. Definitely not sturdy enough to support a 150-pound teen with no experience whatsoever in diving. Perhaps if she’d fallen into the water beneath, Janet would’ve been fine. Maybe a few scratches, or a bumped head even, but still fine. But she’d hit the cold cement with such a sickening thud. Perhaps if Roxanne had been able to grab onto her friend’s flailing arms as she teetered on the edge of the platform, Janet would have been all right. Perhaps if Roxanne hadn’t also climbed onto the platform, Janet wouldn’t have lost her balance in the first place. They didn’t know it then, but that one moment of stupidity (or was it misfortune?) had altered the course of their lives forever. ---------------------------------------------------------------- September 20 th . 2002 “You’re going to resign?? Again??” Janet screeched at the top of her lungs. “But you promised to stick to this job! No other job will pay as well as this, and we need the money, remember??” “You need the money, you mean,” Roxanne muttered bitterly under her breath, inaudible to anyone but her. This was not the life she had envisioned for herself. She had once harboured great aspirations, aspirations that seemed certain at that time. Winning the state swimming championship just over 3 years ago had caught the attention of the top sports schools in the country, and she was sought after by world-class coaches who’d promised to send her to the Olympics. She was so close to her dreams; so close. “Roxanne? Are you listening? We need the money. We’re supposed to go for that Taylor Swift concert in Singapore next month. Aren’t you excited for that? And our Europe tour later this year? Isn’t that on your bucket list? Roxanne forced herself to look at Janet. Her best friend. The girl with whom she grew up at the orphanage. The girl who’d been by her side since they were toddlers. The girl who’d been confined to a wheelchair since that horrible incident 2 years ago. Janet looked hurt, tears starting to pool in her eyes. It took very little to set her off these days. Janet’s once-bubbly personality had been crippled along with her legs. Initially distraught after the doctor’s declaration that she’d never walk again, she’d now come to terms with it. But Roxanne became everything since then. Even as children, they were inseparable, but now, it was as if Roxanne was her lifeline. All of Roxanne’s ambitions had to be abandoned; all of her desires were put on the back burner. Janet’s needs, and wants, took precedence over all else. Whatever Janet wanted, she got. Through Roxanne. Janet was living through Roxanne. Despite her frustration, Roxanne thawed. Although she wanted to scream at the unfairness of it, her expression softened. Once again, she was consumed by the familiar guilt. It was after all, partially her fault that Janet was now in this state. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I won’t quit the job. We’re definitely making the concert and the tour. Two items off our bucket list,” Roxanne heard herself say, kneeling so she could hold Janet’s hand. This was how all of their disagreements were resolved - with Roxanne conceding. --------------------------------------------------------------- June 10 th . 2005 “You want me to what??” Roxanne bellowed. “Trust me; it’ll all be worth it -” Janet’s sentence was cut short by Roxanne’s outburst. “You want me to be a surrogate?? Carry your child? Are you insane?? You do know that I’m engaged right? Marc and I plan to start a family one day when we’re ready. That’s probably years away. Who’s going to raise this child of yours then? Or are we all going to live together for the rest of our lives? How much more are you going to ask of me, Janet? Haven’t I given up enough for you??” Roxanne knew instantly that she’d gone too far. The expression on Janet’s face said it all. Her features were contorted in agony, and tears cascaded down her cheeks like a burst dam. “I-I can’t b-believe you just said that!” Janet’s voice broke as she yelled. “Given up enough for me?? If you hadn’t dared me to jump off that wretched platform that day, I’d still have a life! If you’d stopped me from climbing up those steps, I wouldn’t now be a paraplegic! If you’d grabbed me when I reached out for you, I’d probably be a wife and a mother today!” Roxanne felt like she’d been slapped. She always wondered if Janet truly blamed her for the mishap. Now she finally got her answer. And it stung. In that moment, words failed her. Janet wasn’t done. “Since you’re the reason my life has gone down the drain, don’t you think this is the least you can do for me?? You know how much I love children, right? It’s probably one of my dearest dreams, which I can no longer achieve, no thanks to you! So you think 9 months of carrying a child is worse than 5 bloody years in a wheelchair? 5 years and a lifetime to go! You owe me this!” Roxanne sank into the couch, covering her ears, refusing to listen. ---------------------------------------------------------------- August 2 nd . 2008 The smell in the doctor’s office was oddly comforting. Roxanne winced when the cold gel was applied to her growing belly, but she was eager to see the ultrasound image of the life within her womb. Janet looked ecstatic of course, seated in her wheelchair by the foot of the bed, squeezing Roxanne’s foot reassuringly. “Did you feel any movements today, Ms. Jones?” the doctor’s concerned voice boomed after a few minutes. The smile on Roxanne’s face faltered. “I t-think so,” she stammered, looking at Janet for confirmation. “Is something wrong??” Janet’s voice was laced with panic. “I’m afraid I can’t detect a heartbeat, Ms. William. I’m very sorry.” And just like that, their second surrogacy attempt came to naught too. Both Janet and Roxanne grieved, but in different ways. While Roxanne withdrew into her own cocoon, Janet was more vocal. Her heartbreak was too painful to contain. She bawled her eyes out daily, inconsolable, irrational. For Roxanne, the pain was beyond words. Granted, she’d been a reluctant participant initially, but with each attempt, the idea had grown on her. She’d broken off her engagement with Marc, choosing to put Janet first, as usual. She’d devoted all her time and energy to this. She was so invested. She felt like a failure; she’d failed Janet once again. ---------------------------------------------------------------- March 10 th . 2015 Roxanne heaves a sigh of relief. A part of her aches at the thought of spending the years ahead without her best friend, but another part feels as though she’s been liberated. But the guilt is something she’ll carry with her forever. Janet managed to live her life to some extent through Roxanne, but many of her dreams remain unfulfilled. The past few years have been rough. Janet’s health took a turn for the worse after a bout of pneumonia about a year ago. Recurrent infections and hospital admissions became more frequent until last night, when Janet finally gave up. “Goodbye Janet. I hope you’re in a better place now,” Roxanne whispers as she takes a step back and finally leaves the cemetery.


Centuries ago a secret society, bent on the idea of a world inhabited only by them and those of their choosing, quietly formed and began to lay the foundations that their chosen predecessors would build upon for generations to come. Eventually they proclaimed themselves the Elite Intelligence Leaders of Earth's Reform or EILERs. Only the very highest of society's high class and those viewed to be absolute genius within the proper academic fields were deemed worthy of recruitment consideration. Those candidates were thinned further using stricter scrutinies until only those found perfect were cleared to be approached. With members dedicating their entire lives to their sacred cause the EILERs swiftly and silently put into place everything ruled necessary to create the world they so feverishly sought. For decades enormous laboratories, safe houses, storage facilities, and highways connecting them were installed deep beneath Earth's surface in preparation of the day their dreams could be realized. Years before humanity could develope infantile suspicions, EILERs had developed things far beyond their capacity to fathom. Genetically engineered beasts known as Wolgarears, Fawldorees, War Baralin, Crocazurphin, all programmed to obey the EILERs. Any human wanted for entertainment or servitude purposes would be lab produced, pre-progammed specimens of chosen design. The different countries, states, providences, even the plant itself would cease to exist by their former names as with only one controlling factor any needs for such divisions were rendered extinct. This new playground for the true deserving rule would be known only as Euphrasia, the perfect combination of EILER humor and truth, as this Utopia would come about through their unique form of euthanasia for euphoric gains. Many would like to believe this only science fiction, perhaps at worst the ramblings of some conspiracy theorist who's mind has finally completely broke; for Remainders, the last surviving non-EILERs, however, Euphrasia has been their new reality for the greater part of eight years now and, despite it's spelling, they all understand it's pronounced hell. Rag-tag groups of Remainders had banded together in mostly small numbers since the EILERs launched their first wave. Many were hunted down and killed by the various beasts that now prowled on land, in the sky, and by waterways alike. Others starved or succumbed to the elements, diseases, or effects of nuclear and chemical fallout. Some couldn't be defined as surviving, their minds had snapped leaving them barely more than wild beasts themselves. Others just disappeared into what wilderness was left, content with existing however long they may have so long as they lived and died on their own terms. Sure some fought back but to no avail, most fought and squabbled amongst each other handling the EILERs work for them. A very rare few had proved themselves quiet the intolerable nuisance; as had been the case for Alina's band of misfits. Had been was, of course, the key phrase of that statement. Alina came back to semi- consciousness in panic and an agony like she'd never known trying in spite of it to bolt upright and intensifying the terror as she realized she was immobilized. Hot tears sprang to her eyes but with effort she blinked them away and staved off the flow. They could take her life but not with the satisfaction of breaking her first. Physical pain is only temporary no matter how bad, she told herself, the phrase fast becoming an inner mantra even as the fog settled back in fading her out. "Alina?Aaaaliiiinnnnaaa? ALINA!" That final snapping of her name, sharp as a slap, brought her to the surface enough to at least cut her eyes in the direction of it's origin. "Ah, yes, atta girl. Unfortunately, instead of just putting you down like the repulsive vermin you are I need you alive and conscious for at least a bit longer. Alina dear, don't do that, focus." Someone was talking and snapping fingers in her face, and again she fought to understand. "Fine, I'll give you the antivenin, though I'd much rather you suffer through. Pay attention damn it, you'll be coming out of it rather fast once this traverses your veins a time or two." A pinch, then a feeling like being forcefully yanked from watery depths. Alina gasped and nearly wretched. "Don't you dare!" A man, thin and balding, thick glasses, stood over her with such an extreme hatred in his eyes he could be no other than an EILER. Fear gripped her hard again and this time, as the agony faded away, she knew she should have fought to stay inside the fog instead. This was it, the end. He knew it and knew it wasn't going to come easy. His could only hope the others had gotten away safely somehow. He was long overdue on the other side of life, he was good with dying, but getting one of them killed? Unacceptable. They should've been ten times more cautious, years of successful raids on EILER buildings had made them stupidly confident and bought them their send off this time. Hagan mentally checked his body for injuries, rating severity, while attempting to appear still lost in unconsciousness. Nothing noteworthy internally, he focused on what his senses, with the exception of sight, could tell him about his external surroundings. Lux somehow made it to the rendezvous point before collapsing to his knees, then over onto his side. Gone, they were gone, the only family he'd known for the last five horrendous years now just names on an already too long list. His mind replayed that last heart wrenching sight before he'd finally forced himself to follow logic and run. Alina leaping from the roof, attempting retreat, nearly making it but being brutally seized in the air by a Fawldoree, it's lethal, venom soaked talons piecing deep into her back. Her scream before the beast disappeared back inside the compound with her would haunt him forever. He knew the risk he was taking every second past the set limit of ten minutes but leaving was like confirming them dead. Chrissy sat shivering, her back pressed against the damp earth of the pit she dropped into. The ground had just opened up beneath her, swallowing her whole and closing behind her. The darkness so complete she may as well have squeezed her eyes shut. As absolute as it was, it didn't feel empty, and when the stench of rotting meat hit her nostrils followed by a warm, sickeningly wet tongue lapping slowly up one side of her face as if savoring the taste of her fear, Chrissy began to scream. Rainer came to with blood running into his eyes, the stinging causing him to grab a fistful of the his shirt and use it to rub at his face forcefully. The night around him was deathly still but as he started to raise up a strong arm snaked around his throat dragging him backward. "What do you want from me?"Alina found her voice as her captor dug through a desk compartment for who knew what. "Hmm? Oh, not much really just keep breathing for now and when the time comes do really well with your part as the pitiful, helpless female so I can extract the information I need from your mate." "From my...." She internalized the rest of her sentence. Mate? What mate? Did he mean one of the men in her crew? Had some one else survived? "You're wasting your time and mine." He casually stood and walked calmly to the table she was strapped on, looking down at her with an eerie smile before exploding into violent action and driving an old letter opener straight to the bone inches above her right knee. Calm again, he watched her strain involuntarily against the straps, her high pitched scream fading into the keening of a wounded, terrified animal. "I don't believe I am, no. No I think something of that sort will be just the ticket." He smiled again, flicked the opener's protruding end and danced away as if enjoying some grand tune. Checking the masterpiece they dared still title a watch, Harrington smiled again, what an exciting night, and oh, how he loved excitement. Now that the filthy little rodent was squirming in pain again, he had other business that should be delivered within the minute. Leaving the interrogation chamber and swiftly entering his temporary living quarters, he was not displeased with the timing of a thump at his door. Rolf, his personal Wolgarear, sat patiently with his part of this mission balled up and shaking between his massive front paws. "Very well, bring her in and place her on the cot." Carefully as a mother lion might her cub, the grizzly sized wolf, cougar, bear hybrid lifted it's living package and padded into the room doing exactly as he was told. As they always did. "Hmmm, very good, too long, too long indeed....hmmm. Thank you Rolf, see yourself to the male's holding area and await further instructions." He absentmindedly waved the beast off. "Welcome home daughter." He strived to hit the perfect tone of disappointed, stern, yet relieved parent. "Let's hope the cleansing it's gonna take to rid the last seven years you've insisted on living as normal filth doesn't actually kill you before we can reunite as a proper family." Gently as possible he tightened the restraints on her wrists, ankles, and midsection. He'd let her rest as he worked on the disgusting bile that had somehow poisoned her mind and taken her from him long ago. Having heard the muffled but still bloodcurdling scream, Hagan had to rethink the good of his previous prayers, he knew death could indeed be a great mercy. He didn't get long to chew on it as a Wolgarear entered, plucked him from his gurney as though he was a mere infant and trotted out into a corridor of sorts. Humiliating to say the least, dangling from the beast's mouth like a chew toy. He caught glimpse of a man, unmistakably an EILER, seconds before a hood slipped over his head and the trotting started again. He was soon roughly discarded onto a hard surface pulled upright into a sitting position and the hood was yanked free. A whip thin man in at least his early fifties stood towering over him, his expression inquisitive with a fist pressed to his lips, forehead furrowed above beady squinting eyes. "Not even acceptable breeding stock, ah well, not the purpose anyhow, nothing lost. Come now look at me, really look so I know your fully aware." "Fuck you, how's that for breeding stock you evil piece of shit." "Not much intelligence either, speech is understandable though and that's all I need. Listen carefully I only say this once without consequence, I need to know how many little friends you brought with you and where to find the ones that may have managed to survive." Slowed reaction time due to just regaining consciousness saved Blades from being flung across his shoulder and ending up with a broken neck. "Shush it tough guy, I didn't drag myself and your sorry ass out of that cluster fuck just to die from your lack of control." "Fuck you, Blades." He managed to sputter out. "You got a long way to go before that's a possibility Romeo, pull yourself together." "How, bad...everyone..." "Shush, listen. It's bad, worst we've ever got. Jeremy and Feist are dead, Chrissy and Lux are unaccounted but it's difficult to believe in a happy reunite at a rendezvous...." "Alina?...Ha..Hag..." She paused but then. "Taken." Causing him to strain to get up forcing her to muscle him around more. "No. Don't be stupid. We try to go in that only ends with all four dead and you know they may already be gone, breathing or not. We wait, we watch, long as we can. If we can we will do everything possible if we cannot we do not dishonor them by dying stupid." She was right, he hated it but he'd preached those very concepts to them repeatedly for years, he and Hagan had. Alina squealed and thrashed about despite her every attempt not to as the bastard viciously twisted the object deeply embedded in her thigh. Hagan spewed a stream of obscenities and promises of brutal death and she desperately sucked in deep, unsteady breaths trying to prepare for the next assault. "That does not pertain to a single question I asked you, I'm very disappointed in you." He disappeared behind his desk causing Alina to start shaking. "Hagan keep your mouth shut, it don't matter!" She still managed through clenched teeth. He'd known pain and suffering, seemingly unbearable agony, but this... this was indescribable. "Hagan! Don't you fucking da..." The EILER son of a bitch cut her off mid sentence by grabbing her by her chin and pinching tightly. "It's a shame I need you making all those pretty screams, else and I'd sow that filthy mouth shut!" Releasing her with a shove he turned back to Hagan. "Now that I have your undivided attention..." He held an inconspicuous little silver instrument in front of him for Hagan to see but hidden from Alina's view. "Do you know what this is? What it's used for?" Hagan's chest and throat began to tighten and burn as he worked desperately to keep down the churning stomach acid. "No? Ah, well then, allow me to educate you." He towered over him again but leaned down til they were almost nose to nose. 'Big mistake asshole.' Hagan had to suppress a grin, but then... "Rolf, should this pathetically stupid Remainder do anything to prove that nature, the girl automatically becomes your dinner and you are to take your time, really savor your meal." "You son of bitch, you sorry motherfucker I'll.." "You'll shut up and listen to me only speaking when asked to or I'll cut my losses and he can have her now." As if to get in it's rathers the Wolgarear whined and chuffed from its place by the door. "Now, back to our lesson, this pretty little instrument here is simple yes but a must for any data extraction kit. You see you take this end like such, placing this part underneath the fingernail just so and press until you feel the resistance of the nailbed. Now, here's where technique is applied, some prefer to just cram it in and pop the nail loose all in one quick go. Myself, I say what a waste, no creativity. This is an art! I like to slowly work it back and forth, never really letting up pressure but not rushing the process either and my way you can get all the way to the base and pry loose the entire nail. None of that sloppy business." Hagan trembled, his eyes closed tight enough to cause starbursts, his jaws ached from clenching his teeth, and his finger tips threatened to bite into his palms. "Please." "I'm sorry what was that?" "Please. Please don't." "What? Use this? On her? I most certainly will without your intervention. I'm not the bad guy here really, you could stop it. You could end every bit of this, I just need a number and relative location. Pretty fair trade I believe." He stood back up straight and began backing toward Alina, twirling the damn thing between finger and thumb. "Going once...going twice...AND I'll count the silence as your choice. Negotiations are closed for this round folks." Turning, he latched onto one of Alina's fingers as she fought hard to get away. "The more you squirm the longer this takes. Your choice." Showing obvious surprise in his voice, he couldn't help but cruelly tease her as she stopped struggling. " Now see, there a good dumb c...." Now his eyes registered a very different surprise and he tried to straighten himself to full height, mouth gaping. Harrington Mathews Fellerock III fell dead without ever finishing that sentence. Alina's eyes widened with fear as she remembered the Wolgarear, Hagan already had his attention glued to the beast that still sat by the door calmly as though nothing had become of his owner. Chrissy went straight to quickly loosening Alina's restraints until she was satisfied Alina could finish the task, silently she stepped over her father and began loosening those on Hagan. Alina and Hagan remained tense but stunned into a continued silence Chrissy finally broke. "I'd say search quickly but I'm not sure that would be smart, I've already gathered some supplies while I searched for a weapon and your whereabouts, they're waiting outside the door, can both of you manage walking out of here or..." She grinned devilishly, looking from one to the other for dramatic effect before walking over to the Wolgarear still sitting as calm and innocent as an oblivious puppy. Neither could hold back gasps of alarm as she put her face to it's and spoke something inaudible to them. The confusion only intensified as the Wolgarear stood up, nudged her chin almost in a loving like gesture and padded out the door where it stopped and glanced back as if to say "You guys coming or what?" "Well? Walking or riding?" "Walking." They declared in unison. "Chrissy" Hagan started but she hushed him with a stop gesture. "Earning everyone's trust was harder for me than anyone else in our group, why?" "Because you're...." Quickly connecting the dots his astonishment only increased."That piece of work is?" "Was, at one time, my father. Yes. Not for a very long time now and I feel nothing other than relief in saving you two and admitedly excitement for getting to reunite after all these years.... you see? Rolf was never his, he was created and programmed for me when my father was still convinced I'd delight in being an EILER." She smiled again brightly. "So, how you think our next raid is gonna go seeing as how we have our very own Wolgarear now?"


Earth 2150 is a much different place. Most of the world has turned into slums, areas where the poor and desperate live in squalor. Austin had a family on earth until the wars started in the slums. Losing his wife and kids while he was away getting rations from the aid convoy took everything from him. His family had always talked about moving on to one of the colonies, but the kids were to young, one more year and they could have done it. After spending months trying to get justice for his family, he decided it was time to do what his family never would now. Move on. It was a one-way trip but Hell what did he have left? They are offering ten million cred’s and 5 acres of land on Rylon, the newest colony. He signed up, made it through the tests and prepped for cryofreezing; The only way to make it through the 5-year journey to Rylon. Austin awoke with a jolt, ears ringing, eyes glazed over with whatever paste they put in them to protect his eyes from the cryo. His body hurt everywhere; they tell you this will happen and that it will pass but they could not have conveyed how much this hurts. Ears screeching with sounds that he can’t make out, because the nerves are still working on waking up. His body is asleep, that needles and pins feeling when you sleep on hit your funny bone but all over. A voice . . . a woman’s voice. What is she saying? “Austin, everything is alright you have made it to the station orbiting Rylon 6. We are bringing you back. I know that it hurts more than anyone ever could have made you believe but just hold on and you will be all set up.” Fading into blackness. Austin awoke to find himself in a room grey walls and white ceiling. The last thing he can remember was the burning he felt all over his body. He tried to move his hands and feet and was surprised to find that he had been strapped into the bed so that he could barely move. He opened his mouth to speak but all that came out was an awful groan of pain. His throat felt like he had not had a drink for years. . .and with that one thought it all came back to him. The loss of his family. Deciding in the months that followed that there was nothing left for him on earth. He tried calling out again. “H - h - h cough Hello?” he got out in the gravelliest voice he has ever heard. Behind him he can hear someone sitting up and a chair moving. “Hello, Austin how are you feeling? We have strapped you down so that incase it takes a few hours for you to remember where you are you do not hurt yourself.” As the disembodied voice was talking, he could hear footsteps moving along the floor and suddenly a blurry woman stood over him. “Here let me get these out of there” She reached down and pulled the protective lenses from his eyes and suddenly he realized just how bright this room was. The overhead light panels are off and the room is brighter than he has ever seen. “There we go that’s better! My name is Beth I am the doctor that woke you up from Cryo this morning.” “Its over?” “Yes, it is! You landed on Rylon 6, 12 hours ago.” “Where are we now?” “Let’s sit you up, shall we?” As Beth was talking, she had pulled the control remote for the bed from her pocket and began to sit him up into a sitting position. Austin Could not believe his eyes. He had seen the pictures of what earth had looked like when his Great Grandad had been a young man. And even those he had though could not be real. So much Green. But can you even call it green when it is so many different colors that all contain green? “I did not believe it could be this beautiful” as a single tear runs down his cheek as he thought of the family that would never see this. “I will leave you now. If there is anything else just press the button there on your bed.” Alone with his thoughts he came to grips with the fact that it was done. He figured all that was left now was to keep moving forward. The following day his legs were finally stable enough for him to stand. Rylon has a slightly less dense core as such gravity was about 70% of what Earth was. He started the physical reconditioning process so that his body would not lose the muscles that had not been used in 5 years. Cryo stops everything you don’t age but when you wake up your body begins to atrophy so to combat that there is a 6-week conditioning process to counteract that process. Austin could feel a noticeable difference in how his body felt on Rylon 6 due to the weaker gravity. The air he was breathing was somehow different than earth Austin had never breathed air so fresh. 6 weeks flew by and before he knew it, he was sitting in his room on the night before his release to his new life. “Hi Austin! How are you feeling? Ready for your departure tomorrow?” Beth asked as she walked in with a tray of medicines. “Oh, hello Beth, Yes I believe I am. I packed what things I have had here and had all my documentation sent to the decontamination station so that the remaining portion of my personal belongings could be sent to my storage container. What’s with all the meds?” “These are your last set of immunization boosters. We don’t want any of the viruses from Earth to make it here to Rylon so we have to give you an inhibitor to help clear them before letting you out.” She drew up a few syringes of medicine while she was talking and laid them all out ready to go so that the unpleasant necessity can be taken care of quickly. “Oh yeah. . . I remember you telling me about those sorry! Here which arm?” “Left please” Austin turns to his right exposing his left bicep so that the medicine can be injected. Just like that she had given him 4 shots and had disposed of the needles in the little sharp’s container on the wall. “I wish you the best of luck Austin! I need you to come back in 4 weeks for the last set of injections to ensure that everything is in order! Here is your final packet with the finalized printout of what you need to expect moving forward. Your land will be about 5 miles South-West of the main colony landing zone.” “Awesome thank you!” The next morning Austin awoke with the sun as he had for 6 weeks and after a brief breakfast and farewells boarded the cargo transport to get to his new home. When the captain of the cargo transport told him they would be landing in moments he looked out the window and felt his breath catch in his chest. Beauty indescribable and unforgettable surrounded him. He knew at that moment that he would be happy here.